#irrelevant bnha things like all the time

[girlatrocity]

hi i love ur toga talks thank you for like profundizing into her backstory and stuff ily metroman

AND I LOVE YOU ANONYMOUS

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

>They are really following the “saving child shigaraki” path 💀

No? Well, yes, but Deku seeing what happened to Tenko and talking to Tenko was always going to happen, it doesn't mean that only child Tenko gets saved lol. Tenko is Shigaraki's origin, his core, his genuine ideas, his honne (true feelings and desires). Of course Deku has to understand and save Tenko to save adult!Tenko, lol. Nobody seemed to complain when child!Ochako was talking to child!Himiko and etc., so what's up with some people's attitude now? 😭

I think the fandom is a bit paranoid because they really fear some theories.

I sometimes entertain those theories just to fuck around and create what ifs. It's a mere childplay. "Oh what if the school burned today and we all graduated earlier" type of mindset. The odds of it happening are non-existent, but c'mon. Unless you plan to burn the school yourself or you know someone will try, the odds are almost zero.

"but somewhere in the world a school burned—"

Sure, some mangas decide to end things the worst way possible only to cause shock, to fuck with fans, for money, sometimes simply because they don't understand their own stories. Even the big mangas is subjected to that. The author can go bananas for whatever reason and give you a terrible ending.

From my perspective, Horikoshi has rarely lost sight of the story he wants to tell. If he opens a plotline, he takes care to close it later. We got our traitor, we got the resolution with the Todorokis, we got AFO, class 1B, the villain comebacks...

Even when there were moments I knew Horikoshi went a little on the tangent (like Stars and Stripes) he was quick to return to the main issue. In bnha, to get an answer for your question you only have to wait for the manga to explain it— or in some cases, check the spin-off. If the answer is not in bnha itself, it normally is in the Vigilantes manga.

When someone asks me "Hey Shan, do you think that is possible?" the correct answer is always yes, because as long as the story is not over anything can happen. Objectively speaking, yes, it is as possible as anything else. As long as you're alive a lightning strike can hit you. A shark can bite you. An alien can come for you. The odds are there.

Now, is it probable?

No, not much.

Turning Tomura into a child to erase his crimes and resolve Deku's role within the plot is not only the lazy route, but also a disservice to the story. People don't resurrect out of nowhere in bnha. Limbs don't grow again. This is a story where the consequences are permanent. Even saving Mirio had a cost. There are only a few characters that can magically heal and their participation is soo little, it's almost as if they weren't there.

Each story has rules. You don't care about the real life rules or your own law code or whatever; you care about the inner rules of that story.

So far, Horikoshi has taken care of not breaking the inner rules of bnha. Why would he do so now?

Another bnha trait is that it doesn't stay stagnant on a plotline that is interesting yet irrelevant to the main story. It also doesn't hurry the story if it needs to go down a certain path. It will happen on its own time, after the events that need to happen had happened too. Example: saving Tomura has been a whole process. If Horikoshi were to turn Tomura into a child, why would he show all that he has shown us?

That's 'cause Horikoshi is explaining Deku's choice of saving Tomura. I know the trend of separating Tomura from Tenko, but it's absurd. They are one and the same. The kid is the adult and vice versa. You save the kid version, you save the adult one too. In order to save the adult one, you need to save the kid first. And if you went all the way to save that person, why would you want to erase all of it and turn them into a child again?

Isn't the story about how Deku giving little Tenko a chance? Isn't the story about Deku telling others they can do the impossible? Didn't Nighteye say that Deku could change the future and now we see him also changing the past, if only to allow the present to be a little more bearable? Livable?

I'll say this here: the theory that dictates that the heroes will turn the villains into kids to save them and the villains will stay like that has absolutely no foundation within the story.

If it happens, it's bad writing.

Horikoshi uses the kid images as symbolism. It is meant to represent the core of a person. It's the part of them that would never change, the part of them that dictates their dreams and goals, what they hate and love, who they are. It's the most basic of their forms, their essence, their soul if you want to speak on those terms.

Heroes are meant to connect with those parts of a human in order to save them, because the job of a hero is not only saving the body, but the human as a whole. To preserve hope, to heal past wounds and give people a reason to smile. To help people laugh as a kid again, to bring back their wonder and their innocence, to fight the apathy and the cynical part of themselves.

Bnha is fantasy. People have powers. The dead can communicate with the living. Of course that the heroes can talk with the childhood versions of the people to heal their past traumas.

Easy as that.

I can't say for sure if the villains will live or die. I only have my opinion (they'll live), but I am not the author. Horikoshi can have an epiphany tomorrow and kill everyone in the story with a meteor. Idk.

I can only say that Horikoshi has presented a cohesive and coherent writing, one that follows the lines it dictates to their natural conclusion. If things stay like that, there's no need to fear none of the crazy theories circulating the fandom. At the end of the day that's all they are, theories.

[artemis32]

I've read Subjugation II, and it's amazing!! I didn't evem notice that was the first time you've written smut (that's the name? I forgot, lol). Anyway, what are your thoughts if reader fells pregnant after that? Or not even after that but in the same universe of the fic? 🙄🙄

Hope you're well 😃

subjugation drabble i

So usually I'm not into the whole pregnancy thing, but oh my gosh do I have some thoughts (also the phrase “barefoot and pregnant” sounds a bit strange in English, I’m sorry ://)

I have no idea if this is a drabble or not, but we’re labelling it as one

Also - my laptop is very buggy at the moment, so until that's fixed, I unfortunately can't write anything (except maybe a few short drabbles)

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tw: pregnancy mentions, noncon / dubcon, oral sex (f receiving), creampie

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subjugation masterlist

bnha masterlist

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So neither of these men believe in wrapping it before they tap it - why should they when you belong to them. They don’t care much for pulling out either, that’s no fun.

Really, it wouldn’t be any surprise to either of them if you ended up pregnant sooner or later.

Only, it might happen a bit sooner than either of them would like. 

You only just started to “accept” them, they really want to enjoy their time with you for as long as possible - children would be a distraction. 

Don’t get me wrong, they definitely want you to carry their children in the future, and not just one either, though they haven’t decided on a specific number yet.

They want children, they truly do - but they want your full attention more, at least for the moment. They can’t very well get down and dirty if you have a few rascals running around at all hours of the day.

Then again, the idea of you barefoot and pregnant has been one of their biggest fantasies for a while - the gentle swell of your stomach, plush breasts filled with milk, your face glowing beautifully as your pregnancy continues.

It’s tempting, getting you pregnant as soon as possible. But they’ll put it off for as long as they can stand. 

Shota is the voice of reason, reminding Hizashi of how much time and energy goes into raising infants, children who you have to care for all day, everyday.

You don’t get a say in the final decision. They may take into consideration your thoughts and feelings, but ultimately, their word is law. Whether you actually want children or not is irrelevant.

Any anxieties you have about pregnancy or being a mother are brushed off, gently but firmly. They may try to quell your fears at first, but eventually their patience will run out and they tell you outright that you have no choice in the matter.

They may consider putting you on some form of birth control until they feel ready to give up their time with you, until they’re ready to become parents, but who knows how long that will last.

When they eventually do want children, no amount of begging or pleading will change their minds. Sobs and screams fall on deaf ears, and physical retaliation is met with stern discipline. They aren’t above tying you down to get what they want.

Out of the two of them, I imagine that Shota has more of a breeding kink than Hizashi does. 

Hear me out - while Hizashi loves the sexual act in itself, Shota loves the idea of you being pregnant, especially with his or Hizashi’s child.

Not only the mental image of you being pregnant, but also the idea of you relying on him during the pregnancy, having to ask him for help with anything and everything.

Washing your hair while you shower or washing your back and legs while you bath. He’d insist on bathing with you, slotting himself in behind you, gently massaging your shoulders, softly rubbing circles onto your back with the washcloth. 

He’d help you get dressed too, and he’d take his sweet time. He’d help you put on lotion, squirting it into his hands to warm it up first. He’d have you sit on the bed while he kneels on the floor between your legs, both of you covered by nothing more than a towel. 

His fingers would lightly massage your ankles, gently rolling the swollen joints, working his way up, kneading your sore legs. 

Of course he wouldn’t stop there - he would massage your hands and feet, your arms and back. He would save your stomach for last.

Still kneeling on the floor, his rough palms would smooth over your bloated stomach, rubbing in small, slow circles.

If you happen to look at his face, you would see him staring at you already, eyes dark and filled with a deep loving look.

Naturally, seeing you all pliant and willing would stir up something within him.

Sex helps with stress during pregnancy - that’s what he would tell you in those moments, gently coaxing you on to your back.

“I’m helping you. You and the baby.” He would say as he lowered himself between your legs, shifting you so that your legs lay over his shoulders.

He would stare at you with such adoration, placing soft kisses on the inside of each thigh, working his way up to the apex of your thighs.

Soft is the best way to describe him. His only focus is you, your pleasure, your desire. 

One orgasm turns into two, which turns into three.

After he’s had his fill, he’ll straighten up, dropping the towel around his waist. Still, he remains calm and gentle with you, slowly working his thick cock into your dripping cunt. There’s almost no stretch, no burn - curtesy of the three or four orgasms he pulled out of you with his mouth minutes prior.

He rocks his hips back and forth to a gentle rhythm, the veins along his cock dragging over your sensitive walls. Usually he’s able to push you into another two or three orgasms - pregnancy made you more sensitive than before, not that either of them ever complain.

Once he’s cum, buried to the hilt inside you, he’ll pull out slowly before pulling you into him, cuddling you close.

He never rushes to leave you, to clean you up or dress you. Oftentimes, you’ll fall asleep in his arms, still naked, and wake up hours later, clean and dressed, wedged between him and Hizashi.

Hizashi loves slow gentle sex with you too, though he hangs around you more than Shota does, if that’s even possible.

He seems to believe that pregnancy addles your brains, and he doesn’t trust you to complete tasks - he helps you put on your shoes, feeds you, brushes your hair for you.

It might have infuriated you, how both of them almost infantilize you - it should, but their softer demeanour is refreshing. Having them coddle you is far better than them punishing you in a cruel and painful fashion.

So overall, they love the idea of you being pregnant, and they definitely want to start a family one day, just not anytime soon.

Though when it does eventually happen, you’ll probably end up smothered and coddled to death.

[justatalkingface]

So this was something I asked my Discord Buddies a while back but I wanted to hear your opinions on. What rules from here do you think BNHA needed the most?

...Huh. Alright.

1. This is something that, if anything, MHA is committing to too hard, with how they're 'redeeming' flawed heroes and the villains; the fact they're trying is basiclly absolving them, or for just wanting things to be better so... not that one. Effort alone isn't everything.

2. Yes two. Definitely two. Like, Mirko's entire creepy thing falls under that, and I guess how Shigaraki went full Eldritch Hand later on (I think that's cool, personally, but I'd bet that'd be unpleasant for a lot of people). There's also the lack of focus on so many things, and Izuku's entire dismissal of his character in particular, under this rule.

3. ...This goes back to how unfocused Hori seems on whatever his end goal is, and how hard he seems to be trying to dodge various themes that are still present and relevent (corruption, villains with points, etc), so pass.

4. I'm not quite sure how that's a rule... I assume that means, have a simple story in mind or something like that? Stay on target? In that much, Hori is covered, it's just the gaps between 'Izuku becoming a hero' and 'saving the day', or 'becoming the Number One Hero' that need work, so not this either.

5. This. God this. MHA has so much bloat, so many one-off characters awkwardly being brought back for the final arc, or just made for this arc, or plot threads that seem to exist just to exist (that reporter? Really? Really?). Underline this one.

6. ...Actually, yes. Like, Izuku is never challenged beyond, 'Fight this', really, and he's still got shy bones to him, so forcing him to social situations, or into the more public end of heroism, could have a lot of plot to play with and general story development.

7. I'm assuming Hori has this covered, though I get the feeling that ending may have changed? It's hard to tell with how muddied things are. Still, he does seem to be going somewhere, even if it's badly, so I'll call it a pass.

8. ...I. Don't think Hori has much of a choice at this point, on this. Jump is going to make him finish this even if they have to bring him back from the dead.

9. This seems ultimately a writer only thing, so... call it irrelevant? Then again, I wonder at what his list of 'impossible' would be....

10. I get the feeling he does this; Mineta, probably, and I think he's got to see something of Endeavour in himself for him to go to bat for him so hard. Ultimately, though, don't know enough about him to call it, but I don't think that this is a major concern.

11. I like this. This is related to the whole theme thing I keep talking about; Hori doesn't know what he wants this story to tell, and so it kinda wobbles all over the place, message wise. Mark this one, for sure.

12. Yeah, he probably could have used this once he got going. A lot of the stuff after MHA took off has been way too predictable, though I wonder at how much time he had at that point.

13. This! The reason so many people like the earlier characters compared to later ones is they had opinions; it fleshed them out, made them feel human. As time passed, there was less focus on the characters beyond their narrative role, which makes them feel hollow.

14. And this, I think, is my theme diatrade, if put in different words. Hori has lost his plot so he can't tell his story right. The theme now isn't the theme it was at the beginning, which is very bad, but worse than that he never replaced that theme. I'm not sure there is one anymore. If I had to name the 'essence' of MHA at this point, it'd be, 'I don't agree with you, so let's fight'.

15. *taps it rapidly* Izuku says 'Hi', Hori. Also, the entire Todoroki family, and basiclly everyone Bakugou has ever talked to. This story needs a heavy dose of this so damn bad, because people don't act like people in the situations they're in would, which makes it all feel so artificial.

16. Stakes are covered. Stakes are almost nonsensically covered, really, so we are more than good here.

17. ...I. If Hori had committed to it, actually committed to it, dropped the themes that he started with, full out, and gone with something new, instead of half assing mentioning them every other minute, I think the story would be better off. I also feel like his approach to main character could have used this, though ironically, I'd like it he'd stop dropping every other character willy nilly.

18. Considering he's throwing the story out the window to be done with it, irrelevant. Quality has got to be one of his last concerns at this point, and things would have to be changed on such a systemic level to improve the situation to make this kind of thing pointless.

19. This is more of a late-game problem, but yeah, shit like SFO being shot just before killing someone, which is miraculously able to actually do enough damage to matter, with no story prep before hand hurts the suspension of disbelief.

20. Irrelevant for our purposes.

21. I've said this as well, but too much stuff is happening just so it can happen, just because it's cool, at the cost of plot and character, and he's never realized that that is a bad deal to make. Very much yes.

22. Toga alone proves MHA needs an infusion of this; he clearly has ideas on how certain characters are like, where they're going, and what people think of that. The reality of the matter, on the other hand, doesn't agree with that idea.

This was pretty interesting, actually. Some of these are bit too geared to the actual writing process to translate well, but still, definitely good stuff here.

[strawberry-milkbunny]

Random Discourse about Sakura and women:

Anime community especially MEN is wack pls I’m begging y’all just say u hate women and MOVE ON it’s getting EMBARRASSING how blatant misogyny is showing or just watch the BARBIE 2023 movie (aka feminism/the patriarchy broken down in the simplest terms possible) 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️‼️‼️

I’m an adult woman and have broken down my internalized misogyny that plagued me as a child in the anime community aka I got over the whole “Sakura is useless” thing which was lowkey funny 10 years ago but is NOW very much giving off hating women vibes.

Like as an adult I can wholeheartedly say that I do not expect men to be able to write female characters properly. Hence as a baseline all female characters r automatically considered “cool” until they prove otherwise bc ik for a fact that their faults r due to the author. Especially in anime where we’ve seen over and over again how female characters lack where their male counterparts prosper. (I’m an anthropology student and I very much want to write a dissertation on sexual repression/misogyny in Japanese culture bc I recently visited and YIKES but that’s irrelevant rn lol).

It’s very much disappointed but not surprised and I will say that in the Shounen category it’s gotten a lot better (such as chainsaw man✨chefs kiss✨ or JJK) where female characters are just like the protagonist aka normal ppl without the whole tsundere archetype that’s automatically assigned to female characters (I cannot help but think that archetype was created by men’s lack of comprehension of women eventually turning into comedic violence. Which in a meta viewpoint means that women have to be physically strong/inhibit violence in order to be a “strong” character/stand beside their male counterpart. Which is just untrue and annoying god I hate that archetype). There’s definitely been an improvement of women just being goofy and unhinged and I love that (once again Power), and I can’t help but think that Naruto was probably a big influence in that.

Say what u will about the series but Naruto was definitely a pioneer/classic archetypes for modern shounen. My babygirl Sasuke is the OG angsty-dark haired boy in a trio ft the MC and main girl, the traumatized aloof teacher, tournament arcs, etc. Part of that influence is also learning from the mistakes of the series, specifically the most prominent female character aka learning to write women from Kishimoto’s mistakes.

Idk I feel like it’s just so hard to be a woman and watch anime only bc the female characters are so lacking most of the time. Once again there have been improvements but it feels like we’re doing a “congrats u’ve done the bare minimum” or there’s themes of feminism/foreshadowing development but that’s basically dropped. For example: BNHA all the girls in 1-A have the exact same personality (minus Jirou). They’re all cheerful, bubbly, nice and it’s not bad it’s just fucking BORING like it would’ve been a lot more entertaining to have a somewhat female Bakugo or even Mirko-like personality in the class. Or ooooh give me a misunderstood MEAN GIRL (Ao No Flag QUEEN MAMI I LOVE HER SO MUCH‼️😩😩). In BNHA in the beginning there was definitely the theme of treatment of female heroes that was gonna be set up but dropped. Ex: Momo being sexualized (another discourse), Bakugo vs Uraraka and how Bakugo was being booed for not holding back on a girl, etc….

“Sakura is useless” = “blank is a better love story than Twilight” in my head….truly just say u hate teenage girls/ANY activity girls enjoy (I will never forgive ppl for making fun of girls for buying hydro flasks) and move on the conversation is tiring and BORING. Aka I love Twilight UNIRONICALLY and ironically like 7th grade me was a die hard STAN and I love that about myself which made living thru the active 2012 twilight era painful. Even my king Robert Pattinson said hating twilight isn’t cool anymore 🫡🫡🫡

Flashfoward I think I’m more than qualified to say that to ME Sakura is just okay. I will argue there’s only 4 well written female characters in Naruto (TSUNADE, KONAN, Karin and Kushina). Like even if I wasn’t a diehard SNS shipper I feel like overall she’s just aight, once again I’m kinda just neutral on her bc she’s just kinda there up until that ridiculous war arc that I semi refuse to believe exists. I have OPINIONS on the whole “new age Sannin/Team 7 dynamic” that everyone loves but feels like lazy writing.

Not saying anything to fanfic writers or Sakura Stans bc y’all do u, but I feel like it says a lot in a sad way how Sakura is shipped with every single male character in the series or how in fanfic she’s given Mokutan or part of a clan (which admittedly is very fun to think about). I can’t help but feel that she’s such a blank slate that u really CAN ship her with every character and it would somehow work. For example: could you do that to someone like Sasuke? I mean if ur a talented enough writer than SLAY but for the most part Sasuke has such a defined personality and VALUES that it’s HARD. Or Sakura is born into a clan and given a cool jutsu (which kinda disregards the point of her character: being one of the only Civilian born kids/normal person in her whole class thrown into the terrible and cruel world of Naruto and having to actually work to even SURVIVE not to mention trying to “catch up” to an Uchiha and the 9 tails). Once again fanfic writers you do you I’ll eat that shit up no cap LOL

This post was originally a crack post but turned into a discourse of women in anime LMAOO anyways here’s the actual post:

I am CONVINCED every fandom has a self insert character like for Naruto it’s SAKURA bc the way she’s shipped with EVERY character is so funny (where do y’all come up with MADARA AND SAKURA LIKE WHAT SHSJSKKSKKSK)

Like omg in Game of Thrones it’s totallyyyy JON or Sansa (which kinda makes me sad bc they’re both super unhinged in the books esp Jon mans is basically the teenage manager of the worst McDonald’s in Alaska like his POVs r sooo funny and melodramatic)

In Tokyo Rev it’s Takemichi bc how is he a cannon folder in his own anime 😭😭😭 or maybe it’s bc everyone is horny that they gotta be Takemichi to get with one of the boys in fanfic LOLL😵‍💫😵‍💫

[khattikeri]

i loved reading your post. i think hori is way worse than kishimoto when it comes to writing female characters. he has disgusting opinion on women and at this point i cant even separate the art from the artist. hori disgusts me on many levels. also, are you an anime only fan or do you follow the manga as well. if its the latter, what are you thoughts on the recent events of the series.

apart from his sexist view on women, i think the plot itself, it's fights and everything in between also has plenty of flaws rearing it's ugly head

I think it's less of a hatred for women on Horikoshi's part and more an unconscious bias that ends up leading to female characters all dying or fading away into irrelevancy... or being established as "strong" only for them to have a single shining moment before being relegated to supporting male character arcs, which get a lot more time and detail.

I quit the anime halfway through season 5 and haven't been reading ongoing manga chapters properly in years (I stopped when Lady Nagant was defeated), so I don't actually know how the final arc is going. I've seen some things relating to Dabi/Todoroki family drama and Bakugou's status in the battle. But I check leaks very rarely.

I was pretty disillusioned and emotional when I wrote the rant post on misogyny in the series. I just typed it out in one go fueled by my own indignance at how conveniently things go for Midoriya and how little any of the women in the story get to shine, even when the intention is for them to do so.

I obviously missed some points and examples because I was so emotional... so seeing people take it out of context on twitter and calling me a crazy tumblr fujoshi or radfem acting in bad faith pissed me off. I blocked a lot of people over it. Not worth my time if people can't fucking read and use their brains, lol.

I hesitate to throw labels at Horikoshi though. Maybe he does truly believe that women can be as strong as men. Maybe he doesn't truly hold misogynystic beliefs in the extreme way, where he thinks women have to be subservient. How people view strength between genders is an important aspect to consider. Saying a woman is strong or having her fight physically is not the same as being given equal character development to a man. Men get inhuman or creature-based designs, such as the centipede, but all the women have moe humanesque faces even if they have different skin colors or horns. Where do you draw the line?

Regardless of Horikoshi's intentions, there is a disparity in how he writes and draws his female vs his male characters, and especially how many of each of them he creates. I think it's ridiculous to act like that difference doesn't exist at all, or that someone calling it out (with no intention to like, cancel him) is reading into it too deeply.

In the end if people can't handle others pointing out flaws about things they like, that's a problem for them, not me. I've heard others say the final bnha arc is flawed and overly rushed, but I wouldn't know. I don't intend to read it until the series is over so I can binge and then mark it complete on my lists.

I used to like it but these days I find myself understanding more and more that shonen manga, especially Jump manga and action shonen, truly are not meant for me. I'm not a kid anymore and my standards for character development, plot development, and critical analysis just don't mesh well with it.

[staraxiaa]

shutter-click

pairing: midoriya izuku x artist! reader contains: fluff, childhood friends to implied lovers, heavy emphasis on the implied. coming of age. status: standalone, one-shot, completed wc: 9406 summary: all your life, you have feared the shutter-click of a camera; a wallflower through and through. but what you come to realize, slowly and over the years, is that the memories a picture can hold⏤ the good and the bad and the ordinary⏤ are what makes them so beautiful, just as they do you.

note: whether or not they end up together remains up to interpretation. i set it up so that it's a (hopefully) romantic ending, but i can also see the best friends arc so. technically gender neutral reader ( i think ), but written with a female mc in mind. loosely follows bnha storyline, but is centered almost entirely around reader, so this is irrelevant. discusses social anxiety disorder and selective mutism to the best of my ability. may very well be inaccurate. also cross posted to ao3

You don't quite remember the first time you stand in front of a camera, but you suppose you can imagine it clearly enough. After all, you have stood in front of them the same way for all of your life. 

You’re not talking about your baby pictures, because no one can really remember those. You’ve seen enough of them anyways, you think, their copies preserved in the yellowed pages of your nanny’s picture book; small and wrinkled and ugly, in the way most newborn photos simply are. They are the only ones of you from that time that exist, which, when you really take the time to think about it, is strange, because the rest of your life⏤ at least, everything that you can remember⏤ is practically lived in pictures, in the background of them. But your nanny only smiles and tells you she keeps them, amongst the pages of her children, aged and grown⏤ because you are beautiful. 

And when she tells you this, your first reaction is to disagree.

The earliest picture of yourself that can be found online is taken from when you are two. It’s a candid shot⏤ you don’t know who had taken it, and no one’s ever stepped forward to claim it⏤ of you dressed in mourning black, as is your sister, as are your parents. 

You are only glad that you have always been good at reading the room, despite your age at the time it was taken. After all, this funeral had been that of your late eldest brother’s. And when you look back upon it, the only thing you think is that you are glad you look appropriately solemn. 

You feel a twinge of guilt at the reminder, but you don’t remember anything at all of him: you were not even three. But what you do know is what others have told you, how it had quickly gone viral in the weeks after⏤ courtesy of the world, always curious as they are over the many appearances of Japan’s ruling elite. But this time, it is not your parents that they zoom in upon⏤ your father, stoic and grim as usual, or your mother, skin waxy with the pallor of both her makeup and her grief. 

What they zoom in upon is you. Or rather, the one who looks just like you; twins with your mother’s face and your father’s eyes, slightly somber as she stares towards a casket where this eldest brother of yours lies, a boy you have never known. 

You hate this photo, you think. How it diminishes your similarities and highlights your differences, the way she stands at the center of it all and you are withdrawn to yourself in a corner. But⏤

She is a beautiful child, it is a beautiful angle, and the world does not. 

You know only this: that from this moment on, you are a wallflower, and your sister, a star. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your mother starts posting the two of you to her social media regularly by the time you turn five.

You are always in the background, because in the rare cases you are called to the front, your face is sullen, you are half-turning away, or your eyes are scrunched, like you’re staring into the light of the sun. 

Your sister asks you, once, why you always look like that in photos.

You don’t know. You have your mother’s face, your father’s eyes; two famous actors who should have somehow made children like them, because, you think, it should be like math. Two groups consisting of the same thing should not have ever produced something so different yet, it does. ( Your sister, who is beautiful and photogenic even squinting into the sun, and you, everything she is not. )

You don’t know what it is, if it’s because you’re ugly or anything else. You’re not, you think, you can stare boorishly at the camera, but whenever the phone comes out, the lenses, you feel yourself tense; a horribly uncomfortable feeling settling into the knot of your stomach. 

You don’t know, and you shrug. It has always been slightly easier communicating to her than to your parents, but you feel like you’re standing before them now, with the way she seems to be staring at you, as if in judgment.

The two of you have never been very close. You stare up at the ceiling, and listen to the rustle of her sheets as she turns away. 

Your parents give you the same resources, the same tutors, in the early days, and then your sister is off to private school, and the tutors they give you only increase. The doctors say they do not know if you can handle going to school like your sister, and you do not protest: you are apathetic, you don’t really see the point. After all: no matter how hard you try, you will always pale in her brilliance, her fast mind, sharp tongue, victorious grin. She shines as bright as the sun, and your parents dote on her for it⏤ while you are the black sheep, and not even deserving to call yourself the dark side of the moon. 

Your first deviation from this tired routine, you think, is when you are seven. You are scribbling on your worksheets, coloring upon them with your markers⏤ you think it looks a little bit like the dawn, with its pink-orange streaks stark against gray. 

Your nanny sighs down at you, in her thick accent and brusque elder manner. “Study well. Study hard.” 

You have heard this from her more times than you can count. 

But you only think to yourself, as you did all the times before: what’s the point? You have your mother’s face, your father’s eyes, you are not ugly, you can think your thoughts to yourself but not say them out loud, but you are not the child they want, the child they like. You don’t need to study⏤ not these things, at least⏤ to achieve your mediocre grades, the ones barely points above passing. 

You think: you will never be a star, not like your sister. No matter how hard you try, you will only ever be like the dark side of the moon, the empty space between stars, a mediocre existence, a ghost. 

You think you are born a wallflower, if only so she can shine, alone and all the brighter. 

Your nanny pats you upside the head, in the way that she used to, when you were younger. “I held you, all you, as baby. Want grow well, yes?” 

Your marker pauses. You are a little suspicious. 

“Yes.” She repeats, a little more firm, a little insistent. 

You nod at her command, albeit slowly. 

Your nanny sighs, but continues. “Focus school. Art. Something.” She taps your worksheet. “This. Sky?” 

You are surprised she could tell. You nod again. 

She smiles. “Good.” 

Your cheeks flush. You drop your gaze, feeling a little bit light, a little bit strange at her words. 

She taps your worksheet again, a little assertive. “Ask?” 

You hesitate. You think for all of a second, about how your chest feels tight whenever your father tells you, as you’re fumbling over your words, nerves like a wound coil⏤ stand straight, correct your posture⏤ your mother doesn’t say a word, but you can feel her gaze boring into you all the same. Waiting, watching. 

Your shoulders curl inwards. 

Your nanny touches your shoulder, soft, but you still flinch. She only squeezes it. 

“Come. We go. I ask.” 

You are anxious, and you are about to say no. But then, you think: that this is the woman who calls you beautiful, you in those early pictures of yours, small and wrinkled and ugly; before they can tell that you have your mother’s face, your father’s eyes. She is the one that cradled you when you were but a still-suckling babe, rocked you to sleep at night, held you in her aged, swollen hands; pointed at this work from your heart and said, simply, good. 

You let loose the tight breath in your chest, and then, you nod. 

Your parents are together when you approach them, your nanny in tow, and you feel caught like a deer in the headlights. You had thought it would be one of them, had mentally prepared yourself for one of them⏤ one of your father’s short, curter words, or your mother’s impatient little sighs⏤ but not both. You are not prepared for both. 

“Yes?” Your father prompts, and your eyes shoot up instinctively to meet his gaze. 

He is staring straight at you, and your mother is, too.

Your shoulders curl in upon themselves, and you can’t help it. You flinch. 

You want to bow your head like you always do. Your heart feels like it’s stuck in your throat, there’s a lump in it, the words won’t come out. You want to whisper your departure, stumble as quickly as you can from the room, discard the remnants of this embarrassment, this humiliation that drapes you like a cloak. 

But then there is a hand at the small of your back. 

You look to your left, a little surprised. Your nanny stands there, beside you, her arm reaching out, but she is not looking at you, you do not feel the weight of her gaze. 

You wait for her to say something, to speak for you as she always does, but she is only staring forward at your parents. 

( You think: that this is the woman who calls you beautiful, you in those early pictures of yours, small and wrinkled and ugly; before they can tell that you have your mother’s face, your father’s eyes. She is the one that cradled you when you were but a still-suckling babe, rocked you to sleep at night, held you in her aged, swollen hands; pointed at your work from your heart and said, simply, good. ) 

Your nanny pats you on the back. “She. Go school.” 

Your mother blinks at you. 

You feel the full weight of her gaze. Your heart is hammering, your hands feel clammy, your own eyes dropped towards the floor. 

“What?” Your father stands. There is an unfamiliar look on his face, and yet for some reason, you think that you have seen this look before. But only ever directed at your mother, or your sister⏤ never at you. 

Your mother is already pulling out her phone. “I’ll call all the schools in the area, see if they’ll accept a new student this late in the year. We’ll make as much of a donation is needed⏤” 

Her hand still on your back, your nanny feels you tense. 

“Public.” 

Your parents freeze, looking at her a little questioningly. 

She only repeats, a little more insistently. “Public.” 

A beat of silence. And then, your mother says. Softly, carefully. “Is that also what you want, dear?” 

Maybe it’s the tone of her voice, or the hand still at the small of your back.

You don’t know what it is, but you find it in yourself to nod. Small, slight. 

When you find the courage to look up again, your nanny is smiling at you; a fierce, gap-toothed grin. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You remember: you were four when they finally figured out what was wrong with you.

Severe social anxiety disorder, your doctor had said, at the bare minimum, and when your parents asked about why you wouldn’t talk to them, they are your parents, what was there to be so afraid of?⏤ you want to become one with the chair, unnoticeable, unremarkable⏤ the doctor deduces: selective mutism. 

You don’t remember how it started; if it was before the funeral or after, but what you do remember is how the hospital lights that glared down at you were bright. Too bright, you think, and it made you think of the stage: how your sister had dragged you upon it and made you stand there with her, directly under the spotlight, during one of her many talent shows.

“This is my sister,” She had said, and you remember her grinning⏤ you remember freezing, there and then, at the center of it all. You remember something white-hot through your veins, something ice-cold settling into your gut; the clamminess of your hands, the heat of your cheeks. You hated it, you thought, because even at four, you knew you were what your sister was not; slow and stupid and unlikeable, the ugly duckling of your family. 

You also remember, this was the first time you had ever heard your parents angry with her; your mother furious, and thinking it was so strange. You had never heard them like this, angry with their golden child; the beautiful one, willful and charming and glorious. You remember haunting the halls, the ghost of a shadow, tiptoeing around in the fear that next, it would be you; your sister sulking in your shared room for over a week, often sending a glare at you. 

“I was only trying to help,” More than once, you will hear her mutter to you. 

But you don’t know what to say, how to say it, and so you don’t. 

She does not try to do it again, and you do not ask. 

But here you stand, a full five years later, once again thrust onto the stage⏤ caught like a deer within headlights, pinned beneath what feels like a thousand judgmental stares⏤ and find yourself unable to move away, or even breathe.

You have no one but yourself to blame. 

There is a mask concealing the lower half of your face, so it is not too bad. They cannot see your mother’s face, and your gaze is lowered, hidden by the bangs of your hair, so they also cannot see your father’s eyes. Your hood is drawn, the softness of your hoodie a familiar comfort, and you stand at the front of the class, hands clenched in your hoodie pockets and feeling familiarly miserable. 

You wanted to back out this morning. Should have backed out, found the words in yourself, the courage, when your nanny told you in advance that she could not go in with you. You had looked up, eyes wide, terror in your veins, giving her a pleading look⏤ you can’t do this without her, you want to say, and it had been her idea in the first place? 

She pats you upside the head. A little admonishing, a little firm. Then, she points at your heart.

“Tell you,” She says, and you blink up at her, a little confused. 

Your nanny smiles at you knowingly.

“Prepare.” 

You only wonder how she can read you like this, wordless, how she can read you so well. 

But no amount of preparation can prepare you for the real thing. You can run through a thousand scenarios in your head, think of a thousand things to say, tell yourself a thousand times that it will be okay, or that it will be fine, but when the time comes, you feel a familiar choking fear, your chest tight, a lump in your throat, your lungs heaving, like they can’t quite figure out how to breathe. 

You are silent as the man that calls you his sensei smiles at you, you are silent as he introduces you⏤ you hear, shy, anxious, mute, feel their gazes upon you, the silent judgment⏤ and you are silent as you sit.

Even throughout the class, you can feel the weight of their eyes. You want the ground to open up beneath your feet, to swallow you, consider jumping out the second-floor window⏤ there’s grass beneath, you think you will be fine⏤ want to cry, want to go home, just about everything in between. But you are a deer in your headlights, you are frozen, and moving at all will just make them notice you all the more. 

You drop your head to your arms, fully-masked, fully-hooded, feel the tears prick at the back of your eyes, and try your hardest not to cry. 

You leave before lunch. You do not think you can handle the rest of a school day, and it takes a full week for your nanny to convince you into trying again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The sensei does not introduce you this time, nor does he make a particularly loud comment. He notices you, of course⏤ you are a wallflower, but you are terribly conspicuous in your black mask, your black hoodie. Just before you drop your gaze, you catch a glimpse of his eyes widening⏤ your shoulders curl in upon themselves, and you think, this is it. 

But he only says, very softly, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Glad to have you back,”

He turns away, and you feel a little confused. 

In the morning, before she walks you to school, your nanny is firm. “Lunch,” She tells you sternly. “Yes?” 

You think back to the first day, and anxiety hits you with all the force of a truck. ( Like those of your manhwa protagonists, isekai-ed and reborn into a different body, a different world. ) You don’t want to, coming back was already a step enough. 

Your nanny answers for you. “Yes.” 

You don’t nod in response⏤ you do not know if you can promise, but you decide as you stand, alone in the courtyard, that you will at least try. 

You don’t go to the cafeteria. You don’t need to⏤ your parents’ chefs pack you a bento box that your nanny tucks firmly into your bag in the morning, her actions unfaltering, brusque⏤ lunch, she had said, but she had not said where. 

You write down your request on a piece of paper, and your sensei’s eyes widen⏤ you think of curling up, of running away, but then, you also think of: glad to have you here. You are not sure if he was lying, you think he very well could be, but he had also said it softly, quietly, for no one but you to hear. 

“Oh! Yes, we have a rooftop area that no one really uses,” He tells you. “Well, there’s one other student, but he’s quiet, a good kid. In this class, actually. Is that alright?” 

You hesitate. You do not know if it is alright, but if this is a choice between two evils⏤ you think of the cafeteria, the number of people in your class, the size of your school.

You pick the lesser of two evils, and you nod. 

The sensei shows you how to get there. You had stayed late in your classroom, so the hallways are empty, there is no one to stare. 

You arrive at the rooftop⏤ there are short walls that rise up above your chest, so you don’t have to think about falling, it’s open to the sky, and you notice: it is entirely, blessedly empty.

Your sensei blinks. “It seems Midoriya isn’t here today,” He tells you, and you don’t mind in the slightest⏤ you prefer it this way. 

He shrugs, before turning to you. You tense a little at the attention, as usual. 

“We don’t lock this roofplace area, so you can come here anytime you need a break, considering your… situation,” He says, somewhat kindly. You hear: social anxiety, selective mutism, but really, you also just wonder if he means your parents; your famous actor parents, who had very likely just made a grand donation to the school. “Just let me know if you do, alright?” 

You don’t dwell on it for very long. It’s trivial, it could be one or the other, it could be both. What matters is that he told you that this area was not off-limits to you, even during class-time⏤ you do not always need to be at your lone desk by the window, separated from the rest of the class, thinking of their stares, the distance to the ground outside, how you want the ground to swallow you whole. 

You can come here anytime you want to take a break, he says kindly, and you hear: you can come here anytime you like. 

You think of your nanny, her gap-toothed grin. 

Slowly, you nod. 

You take out your bento box, and then you sit down. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The boy your sensei calls Midoriya does not appear on the first day, nor on the second. 

You think you are glad for it, if only so you don’t have to deal with another presence in your newly-discovered safe space. 

You have found a spot that you like, tucked away around the corner, and out of sight of the door. With your back against the wall, there’s enough space that you can stretch out your legs and then some, your backpack nestled at your side, your bento-box propped open on your legs. And then, you are allowed your almost-hour of wind and sun-warmth, nothing but you and the world, free of the shutter-clicks of a camera, judgmental gazes, your usual fear and worries, free of anything else. 

You like it here, in the quiet. 

You meet him for the first time on the fourth day, your mask down, your hood up, a bite of your food halfway to your mouth.

You hear the door first, sliding open, and then shut. You pause, your heart in your throat⏤ but it’s alright, you think. You are in your corner, your back is to the wall, he cannot see you.

You take your bite, hearing him sniffle. Briefly, you wonder why he’s crying⏤ but then, you hear a sharp intake of breath. 

You are alarmed. You feel as if you are standing in front of the spotlight the first time, terribly frozen, terribly out-of-place. 

You look up, dread coiling like a serpent in your gut, and finally lay eyes upon the one your sensei calls Midoriya. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The first time he lays eyes upon you, he is seven. It’s on the rooftop where he usually eats his lunches, because there’s no one he really sits with in the cafeteria, anyways, and Kacchan had just snorted at him as he passed. He doesn’t really remember the words⏤ something along the lines of quirkless and nerd for the millionth time, but he is not-yet entirely used to receiving them from his childhood friend, and can’t fight the emotions; the hot sting of tears.

He sniffles a bit as he rounds the corner, heading for his usual spot. Against the wall, out of sight of the door⏤ he likes it there, the way he can sit and stretch out his feet, or stand to peer out over the wall; at what he likes to imagine is the rest of Musutafu⏤ strong and powerful and proud, just like All Might. 

And then he sees you. 

You are curled⏤ a little self-consciously, he thinks⏤ into the corner, your bento box sitting neatly atop your legs, backpack at your side. Your hood is up, but your mask is down⏤ he has all of a second to wonder why you keep it up all the time, because you are clearly beautiful. ( You, with your mother’s face, your father’s eyes). He thinks he has seen you before⏤ he has, he thinks⏤ ( your parents are well-known, and your sister alongside )⏤ but then he looks at you again. 

He doesn’t think you look like what he remembers from the pictures, but by then, you have already ripped your mask violently upwards, covering the rest of your face from sight.

And then, he remembers: the girl from those pictures was bright and vibrant and glorious, along with how you had been introduced⏤ shy, anxious, mute⏤ you are not her, your eyes are widened in alarm, you’re reaching for your backpack and curling a little bit in on yourself. 

He’s never talked to a girl before, but the apologies still spill endlessly from his lips. 

“I-I’m so sorry,” He starts, the words fast and rushed and jumbled, mind working in overdrive⏤ shy, anxious, mute⏤ he feels terrible. Is he scaring you? You move for your bento box, as if to start packing up⏤ “Wait! You don’t have to leave, it’s okay, I’m sorry for intruding, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, um. Yeah. Sorry again. I’ll just leave now.” 

His cheeks are warm. His face is flushed. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, or if he even got the words across right. You are staring at him, he thinks, still mute, he doesn’t know if it’s the shock, and he doesn’t dare look up at your face. 

He bows, muttering another apology, and hightails it out, cheeks warmer than he has ever known to be before. 

When he thinks back to this incident, years later, he will remember the embarrassment, and the horror of the moment, the way he became tongue-tied.

But when he thinks back to this incident, years later, he will remember that this is the first time he’s ever talked to a girl. 

( You are not your sister, but you have your mother’s face, your father’s eyes. You are clearly not the girl from the pictures⏤ she is bright and vibrant and glorious, while you are shy, anxious, mute⏤ you are a girl who tucks herself away from the rest of the world, softly and silently, your presence like that of a ghost. And yet⏤ )

When he thinks back to this incident, years later, he will remember how, even then, he had thought of you as beautiful. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You feel a little bit bad.

You feel really bad, actually.

You remember: the ways his eyes had widened, his cheeks had flushed. And then, the countless apologies that had come after, so fast that you almost can’t make them out, one after another. You remember your sensei telling you about a quiet, good kid who likes to use this space sometimes, who had probably come here before you, and you remember the way he was sniffling, his eyes not red, but teary.

You remember how he had ceded the space to you⏤ you, shy, anxious, mute, when anyone else (your mind flashes briefly to the louder kids in your class) might have tried to demand that this was their space. You were already on the brink of leaving, anyways, but he tells you that he’s the one sorry for intruding⏤ ( you think of yourself as the intruder, not him )⏤ and you think of how he tells you, I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. 

You feel really bad, and though your heart palpitates a little at the thought of it, what you plan to do, you think of your nanny’s gap-toothed grin⏤ and do it.

It is a short phrase. You think you’ve used the right kanji⏤ you get passing grades, mediocre ones, and you are not illiterate. It’s readable too, you think, though your handwriting does look a little ugly⏤ you rewrite it several times before you settle with a version you think looks less lopsided, one that you can say you’re satisfied with. 

Your nanny drops you off at school as she usually does. There are already people in the classroom, and the slip of paper feels like an iron weight in your pocket. But you have written it out⏤ you think of the way your sensei had told you: quiet, but a good kid, the way he had apologized for intruding on your space, as if it wasn’t originally his. 

Heart in your throat, you make your decision. You note where he sits. 

You do not know if he will see it⏤ the slip of paper is not large; just big enough for the whole of your message. And especially not when you tuck it in, slowly, carefully, unnoticeably. 

You do not know if he will see it, but you do it because you feel bad.

You think, it is okay if he does not see it, and it is okay if he does, because when you leave it in his desk, your heart does not jump to your throat, and it does not clench.

You think it feels a little lighter. 

( You think of your nanny, her wide, gap-toothed grin. )

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He is not there the first day, and you do not expect him to be. You have only just left the note in his desk that very lunchtime, after all. 

He is not there the second time, either, because he has not read it yet. You know this, because you have been watching him from your periphery⏤ eagle-eyed, hoping he sees it, and also hoping he does not. 

You are glad that you do. On the third day, you see him notice your paper, straightening with a little start. You watch him read it, once, then twice, scanning it as if he can’t believe what it says, note the widening of his eyes. 

You are watching him long enough to see him start to turn towards where you are. 

You jerk your gaze away before your eyes meet.

You are glad that you have been watching him, because he is there on the fourth day, and you are prepared. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are prepared. Your hood is up, along with your mask, you have not brought out your bento box⏤ there is a book in your bag, just in case, along with your notebooks. 

You hear the door open, tentative, the sound of a hesitance. You hear the sound of soft footsteps, and how they stop, clunky red shoes hovering in the peripheral of your vision. 

You do not acknowledge his presence. 

He clears his throat. “Um… I saw your note,” 

You know he saw it. Does he expect you to say that?

“Thank you,” He tries again. “I was really happy when I saw it.” 

You did not know this. Instinctively, your eyes flicker up⏤ his gaze is trained at a spot above your head, though his own flicker down at your movement. 

His eyes widen, and then they’re fixated above you again. 

You’ve never seen someone act like this. You don’t know why he is, so you think you’re probably staring, a little dumbly. 

“Is it… alright if I sit with you?” He asks, tentative. 

His eyes flit down. For some reason, you hold his stare⏤ you do not drop your gaze, your shoulders are not curling in upon themselves, your heart is not hammering away in your throat. 

You get the sense that: you could say no. You could shake your head, and he would never bother you again; bow his head and duck away from the space that you intruded upon, his space, all because he thinks he is making you uncomfortable. 

In the light of the day, you see his eyes: a shade of emerald green; honest and hopeful. 

Slowly, you bring your head down into a nod.

You are still holding his gaze, so you see the way the smile splits across his face, ethereal and breathtaking.

Your hands itch. You want to paint it; can hear the familiar shutter-click of a camera. You think, if there is a moment that should be captured for eternity, it should be this. 

( You don’t know why, but you think of your nanny here; her wide, gap-toothed grin. )

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He remembers to introduce himself properly the second time you sit together. 

He tells you his name is Midoriya Izuku, and that you can call him Midoriya, Izuku, or anything that you’d like⏤ but then, you see the way he remembers: you are you, shy, anxious, mute. 

“If you’d like,” He finishes, soft before adding, as an afterthought. “Ah! You don’t have to introduce yourself, don’t worry! I remember your name⏤ sensei told us, oh wait, you probably remember that, you were there. Sorry.” 

You see him flush a little, ducking his head down to eat another bite of his food.

You muse to yourself a little bit, and then. You find a page in your notebook, already drawn upon, with some white-space⏤ you scrawl down your name. Your full one. It’s a little messier than you’d like, and you are tempted to erase it, but⏤ you think of the way the smile split across his face. 

You want to see it again, and you think of your nanny’s gap-toothed grin. 

The bit of the page is torn off, and he looks up, surprised, as you drop the scrap before him, so close that it almost falls into his open bento box.

You are already retreating into your corner, and he moves so fast to try and catch it that you are surprised he doesn’t upend his food. 

He reads it, his eyes darting over the slip of paper, again and again, like the first time he discovers your note in his desk, as if he can’t believe what he’s reading. 

You wonder if his expression that day had been something like this.

His smile splits across his face, and he looks up towards you

“Thank you,” He says. His eyes are green, bright-emerald; like something hopeful. “Would you… like to be friends?” 

You are a little surprised. You are not expecting him to ask that.

( You, with your mother’s face and your father’s eyes, the black sheep, the ugly duckling, the abnormal one, shy and anxious and mute. )

His eyes widen a little, as if he’s realized what he’s just asked⏤ a little bit too abruptly, a little bit too forward, not careful at all, and entirely open; his heart displayed clearly upon his sleeve for all the world to see. “I-I mean! Sorry, that was really weird of me⏤ you don’t want to if you have to, I’m sorry, it’s just you’re so nice, and I’d really like to be friends⏤ sorry. Please say no. I mean, I don’t want you to, but⏤” 

His cheeks are flushed, his eyes frazzled, his hands making a mess of his hair, when you stop in front of him, another slip of paper clutched in your hand. 

His eyes dart between your masked face, and your hand. He seems like he doesn’t quite know where to look. 

You hold it out to him.

He takes it. 

There is only one thing written upon it, but his eyes still flit back and forth disbelievingly across it. 

All you have written is the hiragana for yes. 

His smile splits across his face, and you think: if there is any one moment that deserves the shutter-click of a camera, then it would be this. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Slowly, you grow used to his presence. 

It’s not entirely like how you are with your parents⏤ aware of their every breath, every movement, and not entirely like how you are with your nanny⏤ so attuned to her that her movements go almost unnoticed. Especially not during the early days, where you don’t touch your food, don’t pull down your mask, don’t even open your bento box, watching him carefully out of the corner of your eye. 

But⏤ he tells you, one day, breaking your amiable silences, that you can feel free to eat in front of him, he won’t look, so long as you’re uncomfortable with it⏤ that he’ll try his best. 

You are looking at him, so you see the way his eyes are fixated upon a spot above your head, though he glances down at the movement, as always. 

You don’t open your bento box that day, and you are silent. 

But the next day, when he arrives, your mask is down, and you are eating. 

You don’t look up, so you don’t see his smile, but you think you can still feel the radiance of it from here. 

Slowly, you grow used to his presence. 

You still don’t talk⏤ you have never made a sound, not in front of anyone except your nanny, and even then, you have never talked⏤ you have always communicated in slight nods or shakes of the head, and more often than not, with nothing at all. But he doesn’t quite mind your silence⏤ you’re friends now, or rather, best  friends, as he corrects himself, and he tells you that you can call him Izuku, and how if you get annoyed by his chatter about anything anytime you can just write a note to him! 

You don’t mind, and you tell him as such in your next slip of paper. You’ve never been particularly interested in Heroics yourself⏤ ( you, with your mother’s face, your father’s eyes, a wallflower; the blank space surrounding your sister’s star )⏤ but, you think, the way he talks about them and All Might in particular is rather interesting. Or maybe that’s just because of the way his emerald eyes are bright and hopeful. 

You draw him a small sketch of All Might the next day.

He stares at it, before telling you, entirely earnest. “This is… the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” He says, tears welling in his eyes. “Thank you. I’m so happy we’re friends.” 

You feel a little guilty. You hadn’t spent that much time on it⏤ it’s a bit of a mess, rough in its outline, considering how you’d drawn it from memory as he’d talked; your recollections of the Hero a little hazy. You don’t think it’s deserving of such praise⏤ your other artworks, the ones you’re prouder of that you show to your nanny sometimes, are drawn much better. 

You draw him a proper one the day after. He’s so moved he bursts into tears. 

Slowly, you grow used to his presence. He trades one of his notebooks for yours, complimenting you on your attention to detail, your usage of color; telling you that you could definitely become an artist, you’re practically a professional already! ( You think of your nanny, how she taps your worksheet and tells you good, her gap-toothed grin. ) He gushes as you draw him hero after hero, telling you that when you get famous, he’ll be your number one fan⏤ you think, dryly, that he probably already is. 

It is not entirely one-sided. You admire his fascination with heroism; how he could probably name well over two hundred heroes off the top of his head, with detailed explanations of their Quirks, outfits, movesets⏤ you have seen his notebooks, and the endless writing that litters them. But, you notice: whenever he talks about Heroism, he’s always talking about this hero or that hero, or even that one Kacchan, an endless admiration in his eyes. 

You ask him, on a slip of paper. And you? 

He’s Quirkless, you have discerned that. And you watch as his emerald-green eyes, bright and hopeful, shutter a little, as he laughs, bringing a hand awkwardly to the nape of his neck. 

So, you write simply. I think you’ll be a good Hero, too. 

You don’t tell him about how, to you, you think he already is one. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You think it is around this time that things really start to change.

You are thirteen. Midoriya gets you a camera for your birthday, and you stare down at it, a little dumbfounded. It’s not the most expensive one you’ve seen, but you think the heft of it in your hands feels like something weighted, something hefty, that you think it’s expensive enough. You think of the dreaded shutter-click and wonder why he’s gotten this for you, for by now you know he is one of the gentlest and most considerate people in the world. 

“I-I know you dislike having pictures taken of you,” He’s a little nervous, a little fidgety. “But I thought, well, you’re an artist, and that’ll probably make it easier for you to capture whatever you want to draw, instead of from memory, since you said it was hard for you a couple times. A-and, well, my mom says people usually take pictures of things they like, so.” His ears redden. 

You watch him, your heart caught in your throat. 

He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, a flush spreading across his face. He squeezes the words out so fast you barely hear them, like he’s almost embarrassed to think them, to say this to you. “I thought maybe, you could see how everyone else thinks you’re pretty, too.” 

You are so startled. You don’t know what to say, or to even think, but you think that beneath your mask, your face must be as cherry-red as his is, because yours are warm. You don’t know what this feeling is, have never felt something like it before, this buoyancy, the euphoria of it all⏤ you think of your nanny, how she had showed you your baby pictures, small and wrinkled and ugly, how you had not believed her when she called you beautiful⏤ but then, you think, of a smile that splits; a gap-toothed grin. 

You are not sure, but you want to believe. You think: you have never known them to lie to you, and your heart feels so light.

You don’t even think of reaching for your pen⏤ you don’t know how you do it, but your mouth opens, and what comes out is sound. 

You say: “Thank you, Izuku-san,” So quietly that you almost don’t hear it, almost don’t think you have said it.

Your eyes widen. His expression is almost the exact same.

But then, a smile. So wide, so fierce, so proud, that you are reminded of your sister’s glory, your parents perfection, and your nanny⏤ your nanny who calls your work good, who puts her hand on the small of your back and gives you a gap-toothed grin. You think there might just be tears in his eyes, and you want to paint this expression of his, and that’s when you remember: you have a camera. 

You press the power button, tilt it upwards, and before he can react, you press down.

Shutter-click. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The person who first notices it is your sister. 

You don’t see your nanny as much anymore⏤ she doesn’t come around, for she is older, her bones aging and weak. You are the one that goes to see her, a weekly trip that your parents’ drivers have probably memorized by now, and you haven’t told her about it yet. 

( You imagine how she will react when you talk to her, you with your camera, and you wonder what she will say: beautiful or proud or simply, good. You imagine it will be some combination of all the three, that she will be grinning, and there is a bounce in your step when you think this, a lightness in your chest. )

Your sister is leaning on the railing, looking a little bit bored. Her manicured fingers tap idly upon the wood of it⏤ she looks beautiful, you think, with her hair in perfect curls, her phone in her hands, texting one of her many friends or scrolling through social media, you’re not entirely sure. You don’t see her very often around the house anymore, between your classes and hers, your lack of a shared room, and the modeling shoots she travels around often for.  

Before she can move, and before you can reconsider, you raise the camera and hear the soft shutter-click. 

She hears it, too. 

She raises an eyebrow in your direction, drawling. “What’s that for?” 

You are examining the picture, imagining it sketched by your hand, coloured and painted in. You are thinking of Izuku, and how he’d grin when he sees it, tell you that it’s a really pretty picture, that he’s eager to see how you bring it to life, show him the final product. So you feel like you are talking to him when you say: “It was pretty.” 

You hear the sound of her phone clattering against the floor. 

You blink at her. She looks just as surprised as you are, pointing an incriminating finger in your direction. You glance at the finger, wondering if you have done something wrong. 

“You⏤” She starts. She stops. You blink again. You have never seen her so lost for words. 

Your mother opens the door, her bags in hand. Oh, yes⏤ you think, distantly⏤ returning from her Paris trip. 

“Mother!” Your sister shrieks.

Your mother glances up, alarmed.

Your sister is still gaping at you, her mouth opening and closing. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” 

“She just⏤” Her finger is shaking. “She just spoke!” 

You feel a little strange. This is how you imagine people react when they see their baby crawl for the first time; see their first steps. You are fourteen years old, a full-grown teenager, far beyond the age where such things would even matter. 

“Darling, did you really?” You feel the band of her wedding ring against your cheek, the only thing cold about her touch⏤ ignoring the way your sister barks a: hey, I’m not lying!⏤ and you see the way her gaze is fixed imploringly on yours, how she asks, desperate, pleading, and soft. “Can you⏤ do you think you can try again, for me?” 

You’re not sure exactly where you find the courage to say it, but you think of a smile that splits, and a gap-toothed grin.

You are a little quiet, a little uncertain, but you say it. “Hi.” 

It’s the smallest sound you’ve ever heard.

This close, you are able to watch your mother’s eyes well up with tears. Only for a second, though, before her face contorts⏤ it’s an ugly expression, scrunched up in a sob, and you think, dazedly, that you have never seen her look like this; like anything less than perfect. But then your father is there, swooping the three of you up into a hug.

“My girls,” He says, and you think his eyes are also misting. “I’m so proud of you.” He says, and you hear the fierceness of it in his voice, in his grin that you have seen directed a thousand times at your sister, in pictures or otherwise⏤ now directed at you. 

Your heart swells. You think you believe it. 

“I’m going to parade you around to all of my friends,” Your sister tells you, grinning something sharp and glorious and beautiful from the other side of the hug. But she must’ve also seen the way your shoulders curl into themselves at even the thought, because then she adds, an afterthought. “When you’re ready, obviously.” 

You think back to the earlier days. Your father, gruff as he tells you, slowly but patiently⏤ stand up straight, correct your posture⏤ your mother, waiting and watching, silent and attempting to give you the space that you need. You think back to all the times you had stood off to the side as one of them came in, laden down with their luggage, as your sister twirled into their embrace with a⏤ welcome home!⏤ and you wonder how you had missed the way their arms had been outstretched, just a little⏤ waiting for you. 

You look at your sister, her eyes glimmering and hopeful, and you think, they look almost like the ones you remember, of emerald-green. 

You wonder how you had missed all the ways they tried to love you, all along. 

You bring yourself, to say, quietly. “I think I’d like that.” 

You think, you want to hold this moment within you forever, capture it in a painting, timeless and beautiful. 

You’re not sure how⏤ you have never tried such a thing before, you do not know if it will even work.

But, you think, you want to try. 

And so you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are accepted into the art school you apply for first. 

It’s a prestigious one, and one all the way on the other side of the country⏤ but it is one that you’d picked out for yourself, insisted on applying for yourself, and got in, entirely on your own merit. Naturally, your parents donate a generous sum to them after, but the pride of it settles down within you, something nestled, somewhere deep⏤ you got in on your own merit, with your own hands. You are an artist.

Izuku is delighted when you tell him.

You worry a little bit about his reaction before you do⏤ you haven’t seen him much in the last year, and he’s always so tired. You wonder if he’ll be disappointed that you won’t be able to see each other in person now, but his grin is bright and genuine, something ear-splitting⏤ “You’re amazing,” He tells you. “I’m not surprised at all!” 

He gets his acceptance to UA during your flight, and you wake to see a thousand messages waiting for you on your phone. 

( Your parents secure a limited All-Might figurine for you at your bequest. Something insanely limited, with around less than a hundred existing in the world. You’re not entirely sure. Your father had procured it, after all. 

It’s dropped off in front of his house, and you wake in the morning to see just about another thousand messages right after. )

You like this art school, you think. You are still shy and anxious, though you are not mute anymore⏤ the teachers are not without their harshness, but their eyes are significantly less critical than your own, and you only nod as they point out the small you had already discerned by yourself, those minute colors that are just a shade too light. 

Mostly, they compliment your work, and with every piece of praise you collect, you think your heart grows a little more full. 

Izuku still texts you everyday, with things that he found interesting, and you respond with little tidbits of yours. You tell him about your friends⏤ there’s an insanely extroverted one, you tell him, one of your sister’s connections, who had adopted you basically on sight. You are not entirely sure if this was at your sister’s request, but she is very kind to you, as are the rest of this friend group that has become yours, and you think that no matter what, you are grateful. 

You take pictures of everything pretty that you see, send the nicer ones to him, and in your family group chat, along with a brief collage of your finished works, at your parents’ behest. But mostly, you work on your pieces⏤ the ones you want displayed at your first exhibition after graduation, your entrance as an artist into the world. You know the things that you want in it, the emotions that will be displayed, these bits and pieces of your life integral to you. You’re not sure what you will name it⏤ but then one day, you are scrolling through your camera roll for inspiration, sitting upon your dorm bed, and the name settles within you. 

You think you will title it: shutter-click. 

Your parents are at your graduation, your mother with tears in her eyes, your father misty-eyed and proud. Your sister is not there⏤ she offers to cancel her shoot for you, but it’s an important one; one that could potentially be career-changing, so you simply ask her to send a congratulations instead. 

You walk across the stage, and that’s when you see him: there and waiting in the wings. 

You almost stumble⏤ he’s significantly taller than you remember, and when did he get so big? The snippets of him you see online do not do him any justice; Deku himself, in the flesh, on the verge of becoming a Pro-Hero, and already known to the world as the new Symbol of Peace. 

He’s smiling at you a little nervously, you think, and when you cross into the wings, you see why his hands are held behind his back. 

Your steps are light, and you think you are a little amused, but no less adoring as you ask him. “Is that a bouquet?” 

“Of pencils,” He nods, and from the way his face lights up, you know you are grinning; so obviously pleased by the gift⏤ but more so his presence. 

You think you laugh, and you don’t know what exactly compels you to do it, but you step a little closer, and then you’re closing the last of the distance between, almost in a run. 

He catches you easily, with one arm, your bouquet still in the other, and you think you hear him gasp, and then he’s wrapping his both arms around you, squeezing you tightly to him. “How did you even know? I didn’t tell you when the graduation was,” you say through your giggles, your heart so light you feel as if you are floating. 

He flushes a bright red. “Your sister told me, but I wanted to come.” You are set gently back down, and you uncurl yourself from him a little reluctantly. He looks a little hesitant. “Is that… alright?” 

You are grinning. He’s so ridiculous, you think, this boy who’d willingly fly across the country just so he can hand a bouquet of coloring pencils to you at the end of your graduation, who worries that you might not be happy to see him, despite the fact that he was your first friend, is your best friend, and is quite possibly the number one contributor into shaping you as who you are. 

( Him, with his green hair and emerald eyes, bright and hopeful and honest, as he tells you again and again that your art is beautiful, just as you are. Him, the one who gives you your first camera, knowing how you hate them, and turning it into something you treasure with the whole of your heart, in the hopes that you can see how people take pictures of the things they like; in the hopes that you see yourself as beautiful. 

Him, this big, towering Pro-Hero of yours, so different from the boy who had stumbled upon you, tucked away into your little corner of yours, little more than a ghost. This big, towering Pro-Hero, who picks you up like you weigh nothing with only a single arm, fights daily against the human equivalents of natural disasters to emerge upon the other side, entirely unscathed.

And yet, you think to yourself, his heart is still the same. )

Now, you see him, both the man and the boy, standing before you a decade older, bearing that same splitting smile; those same emerald eyes.

You are so wholly happy, you think, with this boy who treats you like you are the most precious thing in the world, approaching you delicately and slowly, in hopes that he does not scare you away. And before you can regret your decision, second guess yourself, you give yourself willingly to impulse

You step forward, standing upon your tiptoes as tall as you can, to press a kiss gently into his cheek. 

He is rendered incoherent, tomato-red, and you smile a little mischievously as you draw back. “W-what⏤” He stutters. “Y-you? What? R-really?”

You are not sure if you are reading him right, if the hopeful look in his eyes is born entirely out of your own delusions. You have lived a lifetime overthinking, after all. So you simply tell him, quiet and sure. “It means whatever you’d like.” 

He gapes wordlessly at you for the whole of another second, before snapping out of it. “So does that mean⏤ can I⏤” He gestures hopelessly. “Can I hold your hand?” 

You are so fond of him, you think, that you feel sick. 

You walk together to greet your family, your hand in his, and you feel as if you are floating every step of the way. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You don’t quite remember the first time you stood willingly in front of a camera. 

There are the baby pictures, and then the earlier ones, all candids, and then the ones from later. The ones on your parents’ social media pages, with you as the wallflower, and your sister the star. You are always in the background, because in the rare cases you are called to the front, your face is sullen, you are half-turning away, or your eyes are scrunched, like you’re staring into the light of the sun. 

But now, you think, you do.

You trace the lines of the picture before you⏤ you, and your mother’s face, your father’s eyes, the lines you probably seen well over a thousand times. You trace the familiar gap-toothed grin in the artwork displayed behind you, your collection’s crowning glory, immortalized in your oil paints, upon your canvas. 

You are smiling just as wide, you think.

You remember standing willingly in front of this camera.

And in the wake of it, you emerge a star. 

afterword

[seiwas]

im back. hi selly belly ily how r u

im currently listening to this love by maroon 5

and I was just thinking abt pale blue (mays yk it) and OMGMGNGKDBGKDNFKDKD the brainrot is real?!!?!!!

THEN i started listening to corpse and hot demon bitches near u started playing. and oh my god the things I’d let sugu do to me. I DO HAVE A LIL CONCEPT IN MY BRAIN THO and it’s actually completely irrelevant to everything I’ve said before this BUT REGARDLESS. MEGUMI TIME

that was so chaotic..made no sense but it’s ok! incase u couldnt tell i think my brain got like……rearranged and put upside down. and that’s why it’s all skrunkled around in there ANYWAY

ive been trying to think abt the music all the jjk men would listen to, and megumi is puzzling me. because I can’t decide if he’d listen to like………….corpse, metal etc bc quiet emo boy = loud aggressive music ofc BUT WHAT IF HE LISTENS TO CLAIRO AND LUNAR VACATION AND JACK STAUBER. WHAT IF HE LIKES RLLY SOFT STUFF AND HES JS AN ANGY BABY ON THE OUTSIDE. i have to know. so I thought I’d share with u and see what ur opinion is on gumis music taste bc gumi brainrot 💔💔💔 ANYWAY i hope u have an amazing day ily be safe

— anonnie 💌

nonie 💌 hello!!! 🥹 lovely to have u back!! 🫶🏻

am doing good!!! spent the day w my bfs family hehe wbu!! how r u!!

omg the way music just brought u on a journey aksnsknx the last time i felt this was when i listened to lizzy mcalpines entire discography and ended up attaching each song to some hq/bnha/jjk boy 😭 w plot and everythING 😭

but!!! what is ur concept!!! i am curious!!!

and as for megumi omg . u know 🥹 i think gumi’s music taste is wildly diverse 🥹 but !!!! i do hc that he’s such a snob abt it 😭 will listen to metal and stuff like clairo, lunar vacation, etc., alt rnb, and indie stuff bUT !!! if it’s mainstream he won’t touch it . 🥲 (is that an ick? if it is, i think that’s his…)

stargazing by the neighbourhood always reminds me of him, along with pretty by col3trane & mahalia and!! omar apollo stuff too!! (those r personally the kinds of songs i think he could be listening to) but as a general rule of thumb . i think . gumi’s music taste is probably everything yuuji DOESN’T listen to 😭😭

this was so cute of u to ask nonie, i hope you have the best day too! ily 🫶🏻

[knowlessman]

bnha s4e1-5

(recap) "even if I don't have a Quirk, can I become a hero?" well, yes and no

new OP, huh. I never figured out who it was in the beginning of the last one with the teeth and the goggles : | probably a character introduced last season I didn't recognize, I guess

"the editor doesn't look as pretty when she's mad" we interrupt your regularly-scheduled superhero show for a crossover with Aggretsuko, apparently

…that was a whole episode, huh. eh, whatever

I expect we'll be finding out who this tiefling-looking kid is this season

"organized crime? how's he different from us?" he's organized.

: | o-kay, that's one… questionably-portrayed genderqueer character totaled

Present Mic can be eradicated from the script as well, he's not much less annoying than Mineta. at least Endeavor is part of a story.

togata: "so, what kind of hero do you want to be?" deku: points across the table at all might (he didn't but tbh I'm slightly surprised they didn't do that) -- "the very best like no one ever was" is a weird answer, but I guess it's an answer

(nighteye's… tickle machine) …uh. nighteye for weewoo tier I'm thinking

…wait so deku can just… do that. scrunch his face up and look like all might. I thought the first time they did this, it was just to show that he was mimicking his voice

karate kid nonsense, then -- if he has future sight but no physical enhancement powers, idk if he should be able to keep up with midoriya to this extent. heck, there are cards in mtg that make your opponent play with their hand revealed, but they hardly ever see play because that only does so much

we've had an entire cast-recap episode and are four seasons in, subtitlers, idk why you keep putting people's names and quirks at the top of the screen. I'm having a hard enough time reading the ones at the bottom since they keep putting white backgrounds and stuff at the bottom of the screen and the borders on the white text are so damn thin

hm. I've very vaguely heard of this Hawks guy. : | nothing specific, just bad vibes

it's good that you're trying to practice talking to your peers, todoroki, but maybe you'll make better progress talking to someone other than bakugo. well, I guess at least you're not hanging out with mineta

they keep calling overhaul number two, but who does he work for? -- also why's he complain about places smelling when he's got that big honkin mask on? damn thing doesn't filter anything out? just an enormous, cumbersome-looking decoration?

ohey, it's the tiefling kid

togata sure wears a lot of costume for a guy with a nudist power. gotta be a pain in the ass getting that cape and that mask back on

"I only have to save a million people, not everybody" wtf does that mean. maybe it's supposed to be like a might guy kinda thing? pick an arbitrarily-high number that just means "more?"

hm. the plague doctor mask is a bit goofy, but I don't hate the coat. kind of a vulturish look

"your hood came off again. maybe the sizing's off?" and I swear you're gonna get a third nostril one day with that pointy mask thingy you never use, deku. -- …knowing when not to say things is a survival skill. in fairness, one that's hard to learn sometimes. really tho, deku cannot stop saying only the darnedest of things to only the darnedest of people -- "it looks like you won't let this go, so would you kindly follow me into this amb - I mean alley?"

"he showed his killing intent -" me: "IS IT SATSUI" listens "I KNOW TWO-ISH COOL JAPANESE WORDS"

why would all might owe it to deku to tell him about all of the candidates he'd considered? : / just seems kind of irrelevant to me; if anything, arrogant of deku to think he's entitled to that. like, maybe it could be useful to him now to know what's expected of him, but there's no reason all might needed to tell him beforehand, or at any specific time. also, I think all might could be forgiven for worrying that knowing what made him choose deku could lead to deku getting a big head about it. -- …unless it turned out to just be flat-out luck, I guess

"all might's going to die" y'all said that Foresight thingy can only see an hour into the future. -- "six or seven years" bullshit, he was just making an educated guess based on the obvious

ohey, kaiju fight -- oh, so a dude with kaijufication powers and no name can keep his pants on just fine, but when it's a named character who gets more than ten seconds of screentime, it's "unrealistic." or is it that some quirks are magically clothes-friendly, and it just so happens that none of them are on named characters? (actually wait, Mt Lady has that same power. guess kaiju powers are exempt)

Handface dint bring his handler. Can't see this business meeting going well.

hm. gorillaz boy is kinda-not-really Beast Boy. neat.

hm. it's that one x-men plot with the bald kid. from the way they're talking about it tho, it's temporary this time. "I perfected his methods…" science? maybe not even quirk-based?

…dang. I can't even think of what work's monster Kirishima looks like here.

post-credits scenes with plot in 'em. hate 'em. dangit, marvel.

[mettywiththenotes]

I find it funny how BNHA is one of the most popular anime/manga and yet people seem to forget almost everything that happens. like how.

[sakuranoumi]

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/ Shaman King AU

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Amidamaru

Word Count: 936

Summary: Waking up to a samurai ghost watching him is definitely a new experience for Izuku. Previous

Notes: I am aware this is in present tense and the last one was in past tense. My writing is a weird hybrid these past couple years (which usually means I have to fix it to past tense), and I just fully committed to present tense today and didn’t feel like editing it into past tense.

Izuku isn't used to spirits seeking him out. Generally, when he helps a lost spirit they pass on without any time to go a tell the other spirits of the boy who can see them. There are also the spirits content to linger on the earthly plane with no grudge, or to perform more of a guardian rule, and Izuku tries not to tip his hand that he can see them, and thus he maintains his anonymity. There are a few household ghosts from when Izuku was first discovering his power, but they are either too lazy or protective to spill his secret.

The samurai spirit sitting stoically in the corner of his room seemingly at peace just waiting knowingly turns his eyes to Izuku when he hears the rustle of blankets. Izuku freezes which in hindsight is more suspicious and tips his hands, but the way the samurai maintains eye contacts gives Izuku the sinking suspension he knows that Izuku can see him.

Izuku could try and play dumb and pretend he can't see the spirits, but he's fairly certain the spirit knows and wouldn't have been waiting for him to wake if he didn't. Izuku decides to bite the bullet and find out what he wants.

“Um do you need help passing on to the next life?” he asks tentatively.

The spirit chuckles before answering, “No, my spirit had already been put to peace long before you were born. My name is Amidamaru and I serve the Asakura family. While the current generations have forgotten the ways of their heritage, there is still one far from eternal rests who I still serve. Upon his request I've come to help you in his stead.”

“The boy with the orange headphones?” Izuku asks.

“Yes,” Amidamaru confirms, “although before you ask anymore about him, know that I am not allowed to give you those answers.”

Izuku purses his lips before deciding on the next question to ask. “Then why are you here?”

“None are really practicing the ways of Shamanism, so if you want to learn to use your gift then you must learn from the spirits or self teach. There is one far more qualified to teach you, but his absence would immediately be noticed, and alas the spirits of past shaman would be out of questioned for the same reason. Plus if you want to pass off your gift as a quirk to get into hero school, you would need to discard much of the old way.”

“That's right the spirit would either need to control my body which would be difficult to pass off as a possession quirk because to completely optimize it I would need to have different spirits qualified for different situations. The other option is to channel through a medium, but I would have to find a way to play off that I would always need a support item to use my quirk. No to mention I would have to find just the right spirit and item combination that would be believable,” Izuku mutters, chin cupped in his hand as his bedroom melts away as he spiral deeper and deeper into thought.

The spirit clears his throat to bring Izuku out of his thoughts once the muttering drops to an inaudible level. “There is one other option, however, there are several conditions to it working. One you will be drawn into a major and conflict and will have to take up the responsibility of fighting against a threat to all humanity. Two there is only one person who can give you this power, and you must earn it on your own merit. There is no divine intervention that can make this individual pick you. With it you could have your own quirk in addition to being able to use the tactile advantage of the spirits.”

Without missing a beat Izuku answers, “I'm in. Tell me who I need to prove myself too.”

Amidamaru takes a cursory glance of Izuku's room trying to hide the smile pulling at his lips. “I don't think it should be hard to figure out,” he answers fading into the background.

Izuku takes a look around his room. He isn't sure what Amidamaru saw, but something must had made the spirit sure Izuku could figure this out. Amidamaru had been cryptic, as if he and the boy with the orange headphones shouldn't have been contacting him. Was it a faux pas for spirits to help the living, or were they trying to orchestrate something they weren't supposed to interfere in? Izuku had read on the website about the Shaman Fight and how it crowned a Shaman King. Did all of this go against the king's wishes? Surely he was a benevolent and kind ruler, but the website hadn't really had much details on what happened after someone becomes Shaman King. Did they only get to fulfill one wish? Did they have to take a backseat and just let events unfold as they played out? Was this more of a title and figure head with no real power? It all didn't make sense. Somehow after this whole encounter Izuku had been left with a million questions he didn't even know he had.

With a frustrated sigh, Izuku gets out of his bed and exits his room. He needs some breakfast, and maybe if he tells his mom all the weird things that have happened in the last 12 hours then maybe something will make sense.

As his door shuts behind him, he misses the ghost peering in his window, eyes sharp and observing.

[quidfree]

Thoughts on the depiction of women in bnha?

bad.

look, i know some fans really love the bnha girls, and i don't begrudge them that, but horikoshi is... not....good....at writing them. at all. i'm not a big anime watcher so maybe this stands out to me more than it does for anime fans because this is pretty standard fare anime stuff (call it the sakura syndrome), but it's really blatant in my eyes.

the problem really is twofold. firstly, there's the rampant objectification/sexualisation, which is extremely unnecessary and weird- people will cope by being like 'but in-universe!!!' except they conveniently forget horikoshi invented these in-universe justifications and there is in fact no good reason for a fifteen year old to be tits out constantly or another fifteen year old to be naked when she fights. ditto toga's needing to be essentially nude when transforming, or the fact every female pro wears a skintight bodysuit regardless of personality and quirk, or the fact people like bubble girl's costume is hysterically impractical for the sake of having half her tits and crotch area out. people will bend over backwards pretending there's good reason for this but there isn't. if all the male pros were in skimpy bathing suits or wearing nothing more than jockstraps with a tank top it would be comically grotesque, but people are so used to women (and literal kids) being sexualised for no reason that they don't see the double standard. that's without getting into the existence of mineta, whose sole purpose is to provide 'comic relief' by way of being a 'lovable pervert' trope.

the second and less superficial problem is that horikoshi doesn't write his women well. if you sit back and think about it: out of all the characters in bnha, how many characters with any real significance are women? i'd say none. there are girls with real screen time, sure- uraraka, or yaoyorozu, etc, but not one of said girls has had any of the focus, care, or development afforded to them that a whole host of male characters have. contrast the amount of in-depth exploration that's been afforded to midoriya, bakugou, todoroki, kirishima, iida, all might, endeavour, hawks, shinsou, shigaraki, overhaul, mirio, tamaki, etc, with any single female character. it's no contest! and that applies regardless of category. look at shigaraki or overhaul or dabi versus toga, whose entire personality is just 'yandere schoolgirl'! contrast mirko, most beloved 'strong female character' of the show, with someone like hawks! contrast uraraka, on paper the main female character of the series, with all of her male classmates, some of whom aren't even in the core class! shinsou or even goddamn monoma have had more careful focus on their motivations and inner dilemmas as to heroism than uraraka has- even in the moments she is allowed to be heroic, it's almost unfailingly in relation to midoriya, her inspiration via midoriya, or her fucking crush on midoriya. the ONLY moment i really feel was on-par with the boys was her sports fest fight against bakugou, because bakugou ironically took her seriously as an opponent. but if you think about the series, and what it examines, and what the characters are supposed to be doing, it blows my mind that none of its women has had even marginally similar levels of inner life to their male counterparts- none of the nuance, none of the layers, none of the depth. and in nearly every single significant moment in the show the women are essentially irrelevant and/or sidelined- think of the stain fight, or the kidnapping arc (yes, momo was on the rescue team, but let's not argue she was of much importance to it), or any of the latest fights, wherein each of the golden trio gets massive important character-revealing moments and the girls aren't even present. eri alone has had that kind of narrative relevance, but solely as an abuse victim in need of rescue (and to bolster mirio and midoriya's personal arcs).

one of the things i think really encapsulates this issue is the way horikoshi treats the todorokis. todoroki is a main character, sure, but over the last few arcs endeavour has been treated as a main character himself, with endless focus on his inner struggle with redeeming himself after his horrendous treatment of his children and spouse, and what a hero he is, and how hard he's fighting to fix things- and then, of course, we get the entire dabi backstory. meanwhile, the women at the centre of the drama have had so little dialogue that their fandom characterisation is essentially fanon. what do we get of rei and fuyumi other than the fact that, post-everything, they forgive endeavour? fuyumi especially we know /nothing/ about other than the fact she's domestic and never shows even an iota of resentment towards her father- and is consistently framed as being 'right' for letting go of any of the completely justified anger shouto and natsuo feel towards the man. where every single male todoroki is an active character, rei and fuyumi are forever passive, irrelevant save as motivators of male emotion of some variety. it's so incredibly insipid.

anyways, that's my two cents. the depiction of women in bnha is bad. stan fem bakugou and give me control of the narrative

[elkian]

Oh yeah! So I finally figured out how to phrase what bugs me so bad about Izuku’s whole deal!

(NOTE: BNHA/MHA critical.)

Short version: Izuku Midoriya and Rock Lee have the same setup, but only Lee’s actually seemed to work.

Rock Lee couldn’t do Genjutsu or Ninjutsu, only Taijutsu. In the (ninja) society he lives in, this is treated as a disability*. However, he chooses to pursue his supposedly unachievable dreams anyways, and is referred to by his teach as “a genius of hard work”. He overcomes the limits imposed on him through sheer effort and determination.

Izuku Midoriya has no Quirk. In the (Quirked) society he lives in, this is treated as a disability. However, he has skills in many areas and a strong drive, as well as a will to save others. He overcomes his limits by... having All Might come in and wave a magic wand, “curing” him.

*My understanding is that there’s a distinction between a physical disability and a social disability. Key point in the latter form is that social disabilities can be overcome if society implements effective accessibility tools, and people act with compassion towards each other.

Now, I’m not an expert in this matter, so I don’t want to push the idea too far, but it feels very real for both of these characters. Medically speaking, both Lee and Izuku are completely healthy, able-bodied humans (before the injuries, at least). However, they lack an outlier ability found in most people around them, so society treats them as ‘disabled’ for not being able to do certain things.

Rock Lee overcomes both his own insecurities, as well as the opinions of others (note that I am going off of the wiki for most of this, never finished Naruto), by working hard under a teacher who understood and nurtured him. He pushed what he could do to limits that other people -who could also use Taijutsu!- never dreamed was possible. His lack of certain abilities does not mean he has to remain below his peers.

Izuku, on the other hand...

A key problem in Izuku’s arc(s) (which spells trouble for the series as a whole, because he’s the main character) is that... frankly, Horikoshi has some real issues understanding how to resolve anything in an emotionally satisfying way. I think his Zoo manga was pretty okay iirc, but it feels like he hasn’t tried to hone his skills in that respect since then, and has only gotten worse in some ways.

Honestly, a lot of it brings me back to HelloFutureMe’s breakdown of The Last Airbender (LINK), particularly in that the film kept echoing emotionally effective scenes from the show, but as a blase tracework rather than understanding why those scenes were emotionally satisfying in the first place.

You can see this a lot in Horikoshi’s work throughout BNHA (note that I stopped around the time Shigaraki returned and all that and honestly, I’m not interested in getting back in for these exact reasons). He’ll set up something that could have a great impact, and then completely flub the landing, if he remembers it at all.

The Stain sequence was probably one of the last times he came close, imo. The Eri Rescue isn’t necessarily bad, but it’s hard to feel bad about Nighteye dying when most of his actions contradict outside information about him (caring, having a sense of human, having a sense of justice). What we see of him involves him chewing a teenager out for wanting to save an abused child. Also the only time the humor thing comes up is in his intro, making it feel tacked on and irrelevant by the time that arc concludes. His death did have a profound effect on other characters that we could feel, but it all feels a little distant.

I’d go on, but this is supposed to be about Izuku.

Izuku Midoriya is shown to have many traits and skills before he ever reaches UA. He’s smart, analytical, focused, compassionate, and has a strong sense of justice.

Yet, even here, we have problems. He talks about wanting to be a Hero, but never puts any visible effort into that dream. I mean, he protects other kids from harassment, and he seems to try and be a dutiful and helpful kid.

But even with his supposed ‘Hero Analysis For The Future’ notebooks, the cracks show. First, his notebooks and analytical skills do come up and aid him in the main story, but only a few times. Second, All Might’s training regimen is implied to be the first serious workout he’s done maybe ever.

Exactly how did he plan to get into his dream school, and go into a very physically intensive career path, when he doesn’t exercise? When he’s proven to be intelligent and analytical, at that? Why did he never formulate any actual plans to get where he wanted to?

Basically, his dream is just that: a dream. It’s not a goal. Which makes him getting constantly beat up and harassed for it... not necessarily weird, but it seems strange that a hurt child wouldn’t at least attempt to avoid more pain by claiming to throw out the dream he was being mocked for, especially if he’s not actually doing anything about that dream.

My best guess is that it’s a matter of hope and despair. As long as he keeps telling himself he’ll go to UA and be a Hero, he can cling to some hope despite all the bullying and abuse.

He also fails to bring his analytical skill to the front regarding his own Quirk. You know, the very things he’s been feverishly annotating and dissecting for the last decade?

Part of it could be that he just can’t quite grasp that this has actually happened to him, but it just reeks of bad writing. It makes no sense that Izuku wouldn’t leverage his absolute greatest and strongest skill on the exact thing he’s thought about every day for the last 10+ years.

But we’re here about Rock Lee, so I’ll draw it in a bit.

Rock Lee is a good character because he has a good attitude, an enjoyable personality. We loved him kicking the shit out of villainous young Gaara because we love an underdog story, and their attitudes and situations were the perfect counterpoints. ‘Disadvantaged’ sunshiney Lee, with his one-of-three honed skill, versus Gaara whose power seems, up until this point, completely unstoppable. Gaara who is dim and cold and seems perfectly evil. Seeing Lee overcome a skill that other people could not with the abilities he doesn’t even have, all with just the one thing he honed to perfection, is a delight. It’s a payoff for all of the work he’s ever done.

This makes Lee’s injury have more emotional impact, because we’re now invested in his success and well-being. And recovery is a fraught road for him starting with a risky surgery. No one snaps their fingers and fixes all of his problems, or forcible shoves Ninjutsu or Genjutsu into him and says “you’re fixed now!”

Izuku is much less inspiring story. Giving him a Quirk was not exactly the problem. I fully believe this story could have worked, but Horikoshi doesn’t... seem to think things through. It’s wild that he’s so good at coming up with Quirks that have drawbacks that make them seem natural, and character (if not costume) designs, and yet completely crumple on vital worldbuilding and character arc elements.

Izuku works hard, hones his analysis and physical abilities, and gets a power he can just barely bring to bear. He can’t use this immense strength without self-injury, which is a good balancing element.

But from here on out, the story only remembers that he was Quirkless sometimes. It essentially tries to erase the last 10 years - while acknowledging the fallout of that time period.

Where does Izuku’s insane pain tolerance come from? Physical abuse while Quirkless. Where does his deep well of compassion and empathy come from? Being treated like shit as a Quirkless person. Where does his analysis and unbiased love of Quirks come from, refusing to believe that any Quirk on its own is ‘villainous’? Ding ding ding!

And yet, throughout the story, the overwhelming tone is that he was broken, and is now fixed, and shouldn’t have to think too hard about the time he was broken.

This is not an inspiring story. This is the abled idea of an inspiring story, the kind where people throw away canes and wheelchairs and medication and “live uninhibited”. This is the idea that he only counts as a valued human after his “problem” has been eliminated.

Rock Lee is inspiring because his story has a good message, about hard work and determination and all those things. We may have heard them before, but they aren’t inherently bad.

Izuku’s story, meanwhile, his message, is: It doesn’t matter how hard you work or how skilled you are unless you have one specific thing that society values. That he has to be ‘saved’, has to be ‘fixed’, to operate as an acceptably worthwhile person. All Might claims his bravery and compassion are what caught All Might’s attention, but it just feels... hollow, at this point.

[yanderenightmare]

Ok hi again, I may be over doing it......idgaf I like ur shit! Good shit grade A writing. Aha

Aftercare, does it happen? What do they do?

Also....are these guys aware of their s/o limit if so do they stop😈

Pressing X for doubt

yandere ! BNHA thirsty headcannons

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goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncom/dubcon, abuse, manipulation, mind control

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

He’ll at least ask. He’s always careful to ask. The actual response isn’t too important. Protest that are drowned out in a moan can’t be seen as an actual protest anyway, and he always makes sure that her words are chocked in her throat. Bakugo knows his worth, he knows that each and every thing he does to her in that bed, it’s guarantied she likes it. Her pride makes her a liar, she can’t be trusted with her own pleasure, not when he knows and has proven time and time again that he knows her body and her limits better than what she does. When he has her bent over his lap, that cute little ass that he knows belongs to him, aiming to make sure that she knows it too, each time his hand comes in harsh contact with the soft flesh, feeling it up like putty in his hand as she winces and cries for him to stop. Her protests can’t be taken seriously, not when two fingers gliding up her pussy tells him all he needs to know, feeling how soaked she already is for him, all warm and velvety and ready. That’s all the answer he needs to keep going.

As far as aftercare goes… it can vary. Sometimes he’ll draw a bath with bubbles and lavender oil and light scented candles. Other times he’ll make food, where he’ll bake desserts more than anything. But there are days he won’t do much more than keep a painfully suffocating grip on her as he drifts rather quickly off to sleep. Exchanging no words except for those growls of good night and I love you. Leaving the rest for after they wake up, having an early morning where he’ll never let her sleep in, dragging her with him to shower before he has to leave, where afterwards he’ll treat her to more tender care on the bed with his face buried between her thighs in a way of apologizing for having to leave her alone all day.

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

She shouldn’t worry her pretty little head about anything. Dabi might look like your worst nightmare, but you’d be surprised how soft the darkness really is. He can be persuasive and disarming if and when he wants to be, or he can be foul… He likes finding a mix between the two though, they work better together anyway. Make her feel safe, but only if she obeys, and make her feel fear if she doesn’t. He won’t bite… at least not for any longer than to make her cry for him, for those precious little water-works to bubble up to the surface. Making a chew toy out of that pretty swan-neck of hers, paint it with purple, resembling what hue of mulberry-wine found on his marred skin. Nibbling on that cute button between her legs, feel her tremble in his hold and hear her gasp out his name. Or grinding those perfect little nipples between the rows of his teeth, watching her blubber out her pleas when the pressure he applies threatens to bite the flimsy nib off, feel her pussy clench around his shaft upon the anticipation and fear. Fear does such peculiar things to people, especially in the form of threats, especially when walking hand in hand with pleasure. His darling doesn’t know what to make of herself, left completely like putty in his hands, all for him to toy with and tamper and tease. Where she doesn’t dare try and make him stop, she doesn’t dare allow herself to enjoy what he’s doing either, because only mad people run into things they already know to be a trap.

He’ll hush and coo at her to stop crying afterwards, her little mind on the verge of breaking and her pitter patter heart standing on the cliff’s edge ready to jump with nothing but Dabi to hold onto, the knot in her lower abdomen already having exploded time and time again because of him. She’s such a mess, such a cross-eyed wet hot mess, his little mess and that always manages to bring a smile to his face.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

If Tomura’s in a mood, as in a childish fit, she can expect no rest, because the wicked as we know get no rest, and the unfortunate sweet thing kidnapped by the wicked get no rest either. Tomura’s mood, quite like his morals, change like tidewater. Sometimes he’ll behold her precious beautiful body as though she’s made up of fine porcelain, meant to be touched and worshipped softly, where the fact of her wanting the worship or not is irrelevant. He’ll still touch and touch and let himself get carried away by how insanely soft her skin is as opposed to him. He’ll fuck her slowly, each hump meaningful and hauled out to the max as so to feel every single inch of him filling her up… Then there’s his other mood… The feeling of opposition is no less there, how unfairly gorgeous she is in contrast to how appalling he is, however… instead of it evoking worship… it evokes humorous triumph. Gut-wrenching nasty despicable satisfaction, where it brings him such inane pleasure to think that someone as disgusting as him has the power and the will to corrupt something so pure, something so pretty, and how there is quite literally nothing she can do to stop him, nothing at all… it gets his blood rushing in sadistic glee when he pushes her down on her stomach, fisting her hair while jutting into her from behind, every little salacious depraved thought growled into her ear, with no regard to her choked screams except for a wild grin, spiked to go even faster.

Not much tender aftercare here I’m afraid, he thinks it’s best to leave her alone, getting in his chair to game, taking one long last look at his cum seeping from her hole, his handprint red across her ass, still looking so pretty even with all those bruises… maybe even inspired to go for another round.

SHINSO HITOSHI

Aww. Little kitty is at her breaking point? The collar is too tight for Master’s precious pretty pet? Pussy-cat wants a break? But good kittens deserve good toe-curling eye-crossing world-shattering rewards, and bad kittens will be punished however Master chooses, won’t they? If she screams no, he’ll hear yes. If she screams stop, he’ll hear more. If she screams please, well… he’ll still hear please… It’s so unbearably cute to see her stutter and frustrate over how her words come out all wrong, as if someone’s picked her brain, pulled on her strings as though she were a puppet, changed what she wants to say, to what he wants to hear. What’s even cuter is when those large eyes of hers go all ditzy, crossing paths, that crinkle between her brows furrowing, with her tongue falling over her lips. But, the cutest thing is when her tail wraps around his thigh and leg, holding onto him in such a soft embrace when her bliss strides over her body, reaching all the way to the tip of her plushy soft tail, when her wrists and ankles are too busy being kept tied snug and firm together, as he continues to slam himself fast-forwardly into her.

He’ll erase his mind-tricks afterwards, careful to restore anything he might have disturbed or broken during their playtime. Her fluffy tail still slithered around his thigh as he pets her over her soft ears, telling her what a good little kitten she is and how proud she’s made him, feeling her shiver and jolt against him, small little spasms followed by short acute hiccups, proof of how bendable those so-called limits are when Hitoshi takes control. Proof of how good he can make her feel, so good she loses track of where she is, so good she loses contact with her mind, so good the only thing she’s still able to do is purr.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

Oh… She can’t blame him when his rut rolls around the corner. He can’t control those urges. Not when she’s there, so plain and defenseless and a perfect fit for him to take all that cooped up frustration out on. He just needs to fill her each and every crevice up with his seed, make sure she’s well bred, pump her full of his cum until his balls no longer have anything left to give. He’ll hump like a frenzied pup, hands gripping her hips so tight her feet don’t even touch the ground. He’ll pound until he’s exhausted, until she’s left a swollen sweat-slicked mess, no longer able to stand straight without her weak and wobbly knees giving out beneath her. She wishes his rut and her heat could line up, so she doesn’t have to go through the same thing twice, but she isn’t that lucky, and Keigo is. He’ll be counting down the days until finally picking up those sweet tones in the air, that aroma that makes him go feral. She does him a favor by acting so shy, so ashamed, it makes it that much more fun when she’s struggling against both him and herself. All it takes is for him to put his thumb in her mouth… how she’ll begin to drool at the very first taste, her eyes losing that feral fight and falling prey to the feeling of her nerves being set on fire. He gladly indulges her needs, his heart fluttering at how clingy she becomes, how sweet, blubbering out gibberish, shapeless words that are such a good replacement for what vile things she’ll yell at him most other times.

He’ll be so hungry in the mornings after, disappointed for the lack of food in the house, but he can’t blame his darling for not cooking, not when he’s rendered her lame, she can’t very well cook if she can’t stand. He’ll order so much take-out the smell of sweat and juices soon gets coated and overwhelmed by the smell of spice and broth. Eating, regaining all his strength… that was only day one of two weeks… the rut is only just beginning.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Don’t worry, Izuku knows how much to give and how much to take, just as he knows when to give it and when to take it, and how to give and how to take. He knows what punishment is due for what crime as well as he knows when rewards are in order. And if he so happens to need to punish her… he’ll make sure she does something in need of punishment. It’s not often he needs to act on those sadistic carnal vulgar yearnings, but a bad day gets a whole lot better if he can come home and take it out on someone, especially when he gets to play with her beforehand, poke and prod until she slips up, allowing him to pounce on her the second she fucks up like a fox finally done playing with his food, his little bunny. The ends justify the means after all. He knows that it’s unfair to take his frustration out on his little darling… but… it being wrong… somehow makes it feel better. Having her blubbering on choked sobs and quaking beneath him, under his blood-soaked scarred hands, her little hole serving as such a snug and no doubt painful fit for his cock to abuse. Hearing her apologize for doing absolutely nothing at all, just to satiate his craze, all because he decided he wanted to exercise his dominance.

One thing that’s good about Izuku is that once is enough, and though that one time might feel like a million times stretching over a million days, where she’s left unable to walk properly… once he’s done, she can be sure he’s done… at least until the next day. If she hasn’t passed-out, he’ll let her cry it off when he’s done, offering no words but still comforting her by stroking her back or fiddling with her hair, twirling it about his fingers as she rests on his chest, her tears making his bicep itch with irritation, but he’ll allow her that much.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

He tries being sweet, he tries being gentle, he tries mimicking the same type of softness as his darling bestows upon him, yet… although she’s sweet, she’s also so aggravatingly reluctant, and Kai doesn’t have the time nor the patience to second-guess every single little thing he wants to do. It’s impractical, it’s wasteful, it’s stupid, and stupidity as we know is a disease he can’t risk being infected with. No, better then, for him to just take the lead, for him to make the decisions for her, for him to decide her limits, up to him to decide when she’s ready to take his cock, how fast and hard he can thrust into her, how tight he can grip her wrists when she starts pushing at him, how many bruises are too many, how many times she can cum. Besides, if things go too far… he knows how to piece her together again. He hasn’t studied every single detail of her just to let all that valuable information go to waste. He’ll see to it that she’s as good as new once their done, if not, maybe even better, maybe even less reluctant to give into what he wants next time, maybe a bit more respectful of the rules, maybe a bit more understanding of who there is the boss and who there is the brittle brainless little toy.

Pain is a good cleanser anyway, despite it being bloody and gory and mixed in with tears and drool and snot and whatever else may occur once the need for his quirk arrives after his aggression causes something to bruise or break. She might think that it’s cruel that healing her has to hurt more than the wound itself, but what she needs to learn is that prosperity always comes at a price, a price that he’s all too willing to pay when she fails to live up to her potential.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Limits are made to be broken, to be conquered, in order for us to prosper. She should be grateful she at least gets the liberty to be with the one she loves, the one who loves her. She should at least be grateful that it’s not just anyone who’s breaking her limits, but him. Him and his hands and his tongue and his cock and his frostbite and his flames and his smile and his biting laughter. She knows by now that there is no stopping him when he starts, she knows that her only hope is to wait for herself to achieve that opium-blown ecstasy and ride that insanity where her skin feels like fire and her insides like ice and every touch, no matter how feather-light or how brutish and bruising, is god’s touch.

Shoto is unprecedentedly thorough and dreadfully talented at aftercare. While his darling is lying all limp and numbed-down, holding onto the prickling feeling dancing like fire-ants on her skin, she can barely even capture the feeling of Shoto wrapping her up in a fuzzy robe. His cold lips pressing onto her forehead and by the time she comes to, when she finally and woefully breaches the surface and gets reeled back into reality, right when she’s at the verge of collapsing from having all her hormones crash, her adrenaline fizzing out into nothing and she’s left feeling all cold and so dreadfully sad, Shoto’s right there, making her feel warm and appreciated and safe. He’ll light candles, scented with rosehip, he’ll already have picked out a movie, he’ll have the chocolate ready, the tea brewing in their matching cups, swiftly braiding her hair into a neat loose setup to keep it from falling into her face as he knows she’s much too drained to lift her hand, resting between his legs, her head using his chest as a headrest. If he’s being honest, he isn’t quite sure what he loves more, the play-session or the aftercare, all he knows is that one is impossible without the other… yet again proving the importance of balance.

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[justatalkingface]

Got another question for ya!

Do you think bnha forces conflict in some places?

Like say the war arc for example. Like how they had most of their Pros give up and retire so they could bring in the UA students to fight.

And it's just... why is UA the only hero school doing this? If this is supposed to be a big war that'll decide the fate of the world, why wasn't Shiketsu or Ketsubutsu brought into this? I know some of their students have quirks that could've been useful in the war, why was it just UA?

If you could think of any other examples of this series forcing conflict, I would love to hear them!

Oh yeah.

This gets to the heart of something that's bothered me for awhile now, and for the longest time it's been a UA only thing (though of course War Arc/Post War just dumped that everywhere as well): UA, and hero schools as a whole, are narratively trying to be too many things at once.

You see, on one end, UA is a high school. A fancy high school, at that, one where there's a high academic bar to admission (one I doubt Mina and Kaminari could actually pass, for the record, but OK, Hori, these classic normal teenagers that spend a lot of their time in and out of school training to fight, and seem to spend a lot of their free time being normal kids instead of intensely studying are in the top ten of the country academically or whatever that bullshit was in the beginning), with school festivals, and parental permission required.

On the other hand, students are all but thrown into dangerous shit all the time.

The school that goes, "Oh, hey there, first year interns! Whooo's ready to go raid a Yakuza den!" is the same school that has to bow down to Inko so Izuku can live there, because surprise! We did the whole, 'put the kids knowingly into a super dangerous confrontation as first years' bit before the War too!

Do you see the disconnect here? I've mentioned this before, but MHA suffers from being a 'modern' setting, with modern values, in what is apparently just normal ass Japan, despite all the technological advances that probably should have radically changed society. It makes it fun and exciting, sure, but... the thing is, in modern time society as a whole cares about kids, and isn't exactly ready to throw them into the meat grinder. Shonen school settings like this, though, are about that meat grinder, about throwing the kids into ever more dangerous situations to see if they live or die against all odds.

Everywhere else, though, gets away with it by being detached from modern society, like Jujitsu, or just in a different world altogether, like Naruto. In a military dystopian hellscape, after all, things like modern values are irrelevant, so we can watch Naruto go into dangerous missions where people die with no logical dissonance!

To some extent, the League allows Hori to get away with this, since they're outside of UA's control, but relying on just them to carry the plot gets stale, so other problems are needed to be, again, confronted by first year high school students.

So to allow that, they either need to just... not really explain why kids are allowed part of it beyond 'reasons', like Izuku raiding Overhaul, or try and give an explanation, like Kaminari is apparently the only decent electromancer on the hero's side in the entire country, so they needed him to hard counter the other only decent electromancer in Japan, only to raise more questions than I think Hori really wants to answer, or just make it really obvious how that their participation is being forced.

It reason for all of this goes back to, on a simple Doylist perspective, the fact 1A, or at the very least Izuku, needs to be involved with major events. In a shonen setting like this, they need to fight, need to be put in danger. But, again, modern setting: that isn't OK, to put actual minors in harm's way, deliberately, all the time. So 1A and/or Izuku are just... shoehorned into these dangerous situations, are forced into them as you said, but it's only 1A. Where are literally every other school?

*shrug* That's an excellent question!

No, seriously. You can ask that at almost every given moment in the manga given how nonexistent the other schools are. Shiketsu literally only exists to be UA's rival as needed, and that's still more than what Ketsubetsu gets (or hell, almost any other class in UA). Compare this to like, Harry Potter, and you'll see a similar problem that world building often seems to exist only to service the plot, rather than making a world that makes sense and making a story that fits within that world. HP is so mono focused into the (utterly nonsensical) school of Hogwarts means they can avoid those problems better than MHA, which keeps trying to shove us into the greater scope of the setting, only to look away and whistle innocently when we ask questions about it.

When you look at it, after the initial setup you can see how Hori is trying to alternate where the dangers come from, to keep the story fresh: League attacks, then students go on an internship and are attacked. League attacks again, so they need to internship again so someone else can try and kill them. Ugh. And yes, I know Shigaraki is lurking in the background during the internships, but the League isn't the focus at those points, the heroes vs internship villains are; all he's doing there is showing how he's developing as a mirror to Izuku's development.

Beyond that.... you know, when you actually think about, when the staff knows that, A, a mole exists, and B, there's a group of people who seem interested in ambushing portions of the school when they separate from everyone else and become vulnerable, maybe, just maybe, someone should have brought up that taking a field trip into the wilderness was perhaps a questionable choice. You know, between how isolated they are, full of vulnerable kids they need to protect, how there's no way to call reinforcements, and how the mole could tell the people who want to, among other things, kill said children, and have access to a warper wasn't exactly a genius choice. Doubly so for Nezu since he knows Izuku has OFA, and that with the context that AFO has he probably knew about it by that point, and just in general since 1A was already attacked and that unstable individuals might have a grudge against them.

Of course, this is forgetting the conflict in school. And to a degree, I think I'm getting off topic, since a lot of that forced conflict in school is about Izuku feeling stressed and in danger rather than him being in physical danger, but... you know, Bakugou literally tries to kill Izuku, and there was nothing stopping him other than his own inability to land the hit. Izuku randomly gets a quirk, and then some murder tentacles almost off someone before he can get it under control.

They put these kids, kids with dangerous superpowers, teenage impulse control and minimal apparent training on how not to hurt someone when using them, into fights and then do basiclly nothing to keep them from going out of control. Why? Because, well, it makes it more dramatic for the readers. Thinking about it for five seconds makes it clear how messed up that set up is, compared to Final Exams, for example, which for all its problems are against teachers, well trained teachers with years of experience deliberately holding back (seriously. The idea of those weights doing anything to slow All Might is laughable. Really, the idea of any amount of them beating him is hilarious, but that's more because how wildly OOC his power level is more than anything).

I mean, hell, the Zero Pointer exists. I know people think its programmed to stop before it hurts anyone, and that it wouldn't have stomped on Uraraka, but.... that's putting a lot of faith into UA's safety policies. Even if it was, the fact it's so big means it destroys everything around it, which could easily kill someone on accident if a building collapsed on them. The sheer spectacle of it aside, the fact that someone in charge thought to unleash that in a city filled with kids (or really, anyeone) is nuts.

So yeah, there's definitely some forced conflict in MHA, as part of how so much of the setting itself is enslaved to the almighty weekly cliffhanger.

[rights-for-redshirts]

What really frustrates me these days.

There's a few "strong" female characters in BNHA, and in fiction in general. And don't get me wrong, I love Uraraka and Momo and Jirou and Mina with all my heart. Fanfiction about them? Love it. Fanart? Comics? Ships? You name it. They are my children and I would die for their happiness.

But ... as characters, I ... can't bring myself to like their concepts. And that's because ... even while they have strong quirks. And usually aren't that bad at fighting. (Ochaco's knife stealing moves are so. Cool.) None of them have any meaningful agency, drive or ambition to change something (and therefore rarely any influence on the actual plot, but that's not even the point here).

Look at the males: we've got

Midoriya, the visionary, who wants to become no.1 to make for a better world as well as save everybody and keeps raising the philosophical question of what it means to be a hero. Meaningful motivation, as well as what drives the show.

We've got Todoroki, who has Daddy IssuesTM and is struggling to find his own purpose away from that. Meaningful struggle.

Bakugou, who is a bundle of complicated volatile emotions wrapped up in nitro and spiky gelled hair, who undergoes a shitton of character development and I don't think I even need to point out how complicated he is under all of that violent behaviour. Motivation: pretty sure those are inferiority complexes caused by your messed up society. Meaningful and terrifying.

We've got Iida, who is more of a side character but stil has this whole responsibility: rules vs morals thing going on as well as his deep relationship with his brother

Now for the females:

Ochako, motivation: Money for her parents. Nice. Cute. Completely irrelevant. Or at least that's how it's treated in the show itself, since I'm pretty sure there are a lot more issues buried beneath that than what we're shown.

Asui, motivation: idk? Saving people, I think? Which would be cool if they actually explored it and dedicated some time to, but ... sure let' just ignore that because it's NEVER FUCKING RELEVANT to the plot. Her internship was cool, I guess.

Yaoyorozu, motivation: ... does that ever actually come up? The most character development I've seen from her was her confidence crisis in the finals, aside from that ... nothing comes to mind. She's really cool and I love her as a person. And she joins on adventures more easily, like the rescue attempt at Kamino. But she doesn't take the initiative either, at least as long as the guys are around (the tracker on the Nomou duringthe training camp was extremely cool, I admit it). In the end, she is more of a commodity for the "leaders" of 1A than an actual player.

So ... all of that has probably been said already, and by someone better with words than me at 1am. But I needed to get this off my chest -

It doesn't matter how strong a female character is. Or how weak, for that matter. What does matter is the impact they're having on the story, and what kind of impact that is. A female Gojo who never impacts the plot is a weak fucking female character. A quirkless female Midoriya throwing a book into the sludge villain's eye full well knowing she has no way to defend herself afterwards, but doing it anyways because it's the right thing to do and saving Bakugous life in the process as well as kickstarting three other events like receiving OFA, is an extremely strong female character; not because she's powerful, but because her actions drive the plot, because she has impact.

And seeing how the girls in BNHA are always, always treated as an afterthought - not when it comes to their own personal little arcs, but how every single one of them ends up being an irrelevant filler in the grand scheme of things - quite honestly, that's ... pretty painful.