#it just feels viscerally and painfully unfair sometimes.

[your-lovely-ghost]

(Yelling at the void)

[taylortruther]

i have so so so many thoughts (I think we all do, lol) but one that I was particularly struck by, last night at like, 3AM, was a sudden wave of "wow, i'm really glad i don't look at love/relationships the way she does" along with some "wow i'm really glad i'm not taylor swift"

and it immediately felt a bit like an unfair thought/reaction to something so deeply personal and visceral but even today i can't really shake it. parts of the album feel deeply (painfully) relatable and then other parts feel so far removed from just how I tend to view things and make certain decisions idk idk

(and like, i'm certainly not the most famous person on the planet having a very public breakup, which is probably part of it sdjfhzskjhf but idk! just sitting with it, wondering why that was such a quick reaction on my part)

yeah, i know this will come across really mean to people, but i know you're not trying to be mean, but it's also because i agree. i like her music a lot but i have basically never related to taylor's view of love and sometimes that gulf is very stark! like, i approach relationships way more carefully, whereas taylor has frequently described feeling like love is this unstoppable force that she must obey. of course, all of our experiences shape us differently, so maybe 5-10-15 years from now, i'll look at ttpd and feel seen! and maybe taylor and any of y'all who follow me would think my view of love or my relationships have been stupid and bad.

also, you are right that taylor has a unique life, with crazy pressures. we can't really relate to that. BUT we can relate to dating the wrong person, or the mistakes we make when trying to leave a relationship or find out what will make us happy. the thing about art is that you don't need to have shared the same exact feelings or experience to relate to it. or have sympathy for it (even if it's limited!!)

[sisterspooky1013]

Sound Conclusions

Rating:Explicit

Words: 3975

Author: SisterSpooky1013

Tagging @today-in-fic

Find it on AO3

*********************

2000

She hadn’t expected that her desire for him would only increase after she’d had him once. That first night, emboldened by loneliness and a little red wine, she’d found the courage to reach for him, to lean in to his desirous gaze, to walk them slowly to her bedroom between fervent kisses. It was an itch to be scratched, something that you could anticipate fading away once sated, but it hadn’t. Perhaps that was because it had exceeded even her most graphic fantasies about how it might be, the slip of his fingers inside her igniting nerve endings that her vibrator had never located when she had imagined his touch. The grip of his palms on her hips as she writhed, gasping, in his lap a detail she had never known to conjure. The depth of the growl in his throat when she told him she was going to come vibrating through her bones was a memory she couldn’t shake. The smell of his cum in her panties hours after he’d left her apartment had her breathless, wanting him again already, somehow more than she ever had before she knew the taste of his saliva and the scratch of his stubble against her nipples.

They’d arrived to work the following day and acted as though nothing had happened, pretending not to feel things being one of her specialties. She worked hard to mask the new way her pulse quickened when he touched her back, the visceral response she had to the smell of his breath when he leaned in to whisper a snarky comment during their weekly division briefing. She found herself getting lost staring at his hands while he took notes, remembering the way they stroked her insides, and then blushed when he asked her if she was okay. She knew, without a doubt, that she wanted him again. If he at any point had offered to take her right there on his desk, she wouldn’t have been able to say no. And yet, she was so careful to avoid giving him any indication of this, feeling embarrassed and guilty for such wanton desires, for objectifying her partner like this. The Catholic guilt a wet blanket on her newfound lust, suppressing her into the polished, poised, sexless FBI agent she had spent so much time working to be. Weeks passed, her need for him coursing through her veins like a drug, intoxicating her to the point she often forgot terms and concepts that she normally recalled easily, again prompting him to inquire as to whether she was feeling alright, noting that she didn’t seem like herself.

She wasn’t herself. She was a woman obsessed and fixated, aroused by the casual brush of a hand or the timbre of a laugh. She was sitting on the edge of a precipice, teetering between control and absolute abandon. Normally so securely in the driver’s seat of her own body, she was unnerved by the feeling that she barely had a grip on the wheel, that at any point she might let go and crash into him, revealing the truth that she needed human contact and sexual release just as much as anyone did. The vulnerability in that need made her feel unhinged.

She found herself trying to entice him, concurrently hating herself for stooping so low. She left an extra button on her blouse undone, put a switch in her hips when she walked ahead of him, brushed her own fingers across the skin of her neck in a way that would be unnoticeable in anyone else, but she caught him noticing from the corner of her eye. When she anticipated that he’d come by her apartment, she wore shorts or a low v neck shirt, forgetting a bra or sitting cross legged to reveal the milky insides of her thighs, inviting him, wordlessly, to taste them. Sometimes she thought she saw a flash of desire in his eyes, but he always composed himself quickly, sometimes making an excuse to leave. She didn’t know what to make of the fact that he hadn’t tried again, that even when she did something as overt as leave her bedroom door open when she changed, he chivalrously averted his eyes. She realized it was unfair to expect him to understand, to know, what she wanted. Even if he did pick up on her painfully subtle, and occasionally obvious, signals, that didn’t mean he returned her feelings. Perhaps that night had been a mistake in his eyes, a slip up never to be repeated. The possibility that he would reject her if she risked reaching out to him again was enough to hold her back from doing so. Though he had enthusiastically participated the last time, that did not preclude him from having regretted it once it was over.

Now she stood before his closed apartment door on a Friday night, taking deep breaths to calm her nerves. Not because she was nervous, but because she was on fire. Her pelvis twitched and her spine arched at the idea of being near him in a private space, where the possibilities that ran through her mind all day seemed more plausible. He’d invited her over for dinner and a review of some possible cases they might take on, so they could plan how to spend their time the following week. Since he’d made the proposal that morning, she’d convinced and then talked herself out of his ulterior motives countless times. She knew that working herself up into thinking that something would happen made it even harder, and she heard her grad school professor’s voice in her head saying “expectations are premeditated resentments, Dana.” Gathering her composure, she took a moment to hike her breasts up in her push up bra and tug her jeans up over her hips so that they were snug against her ass. She’d finally settled on jeans and a green T shirt, which felt appropriately casual, but she’d selected a shirt that was a little too snug and a little too low cut, jeans that were half a size too small and slung low on her hips. If she were to bend over the flesh of her back would be exposed, which gave her a tiny thrill. Any stranger on the street would never give her outfit a second glance; it was painfully basic and unremarkable. But for buttoned-up, proper Dana Scully, it was reckless and suggestive. She may as well have been wearing lingerie for how sexy it made her feel.

Putting on her game face, she knocked. From inside the apartment he called “it’s open” and she let herself in, setting her purse on his cluttered dining room table and scanning the adjacent rooms to locate him. He wasn’t in the kitchen, nor the living room, and she found herself standing in the doorway of his bedroom, eyes roving over his naked chest and belly, a towel slung low on his hips and his hair spiked and wet from the shower. She smirked a little, wondering if this were intentional. Given her recent antics it seemed entirely possible, so she took a risk and didn’t look away, allowing him to see her rake her eyes over him appreciatively, finally reaching his face where a knowing smile played at the corner of his lips. Those lips. She sighed and smiled back at him, and he glanced down her body and back up before saying “hey.”

“Hi” she returned, suddenly feeling shy. She averted her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll be out in a minute, this isn’t what I was planning to wear.”

“That‘s too bad” she said in her head. “Okay” is what came out of her mouth before she turned and went to sit on the couch, tortured by the knowledge that he was naked on the other side of the wall. Was she supposed to take that as an invitation? Was he trying to send her signals just as much as she was him? She suddenly remembered why she didn’t bother with dating; all the guesswork was exhausting.

He emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later in a black T shirt and jeans, his feet bare. He looked freshly shaved. “I ordered Italian” he said, sitting down beside her, only a sliver of space between the sides of their thighs. “Should be here in about an hour, they were really busy.” He smelled like soap and his old spice deodorant, mint on his breath. She figured he had played basketball after work and that explained the shower, but did he normally shave and brush his teeth before dinner? Her expectations were weaseling their way into her thoughts again. Stop, she told herself.

“Do you want a beer?” He asked, and she said yes a little too quickly. He opened a beer for each of them and she sipped it steadily, welcoming the way it would smooth the edges of her thoughts but not wanting to appear as though she were planning to get drunk. Mulder was a gentleman beyond gentlemen and wouldn’t dream of touching her if he thought she were incapacitated in any respect. This was a fact she appreciated generally, and resented presently.

They dug into a thin stack of case files, each leaning forward with their elbows braced on their knees. She watched out of her periphery to see if he was looking down her shirt, and bit her cheek to keep from smiling when she saw that he was at regular intervals. Within about 20 minutes they narrowed it down to three cases they’d dig into on Monday, revealing the fact that an entire evening together wasn’t necessary for such a task, but they were both grateful to set the case files aside and just exist outside of suit jackets and basement offices. Scully was sitting sideways, cross legged, with her back against the arm rest, her toes grazing Mulder’s leg as he sat beside her, his torso twisted slightly to face her. She held her nearly empty beer bottle in her hands, picking at the corner of the label with her fingernail.

“So” he said. She felt the prick of anticipation and the hairs on her arms stood at attention, on guard for whatever might come next.

“So” she responded, because what else was she to say?

He studied her intently, his hazel eyes traversing the terrain of her face, darting from eyebrow to lip to nose, searching her for something. Finally the unbroken attention made her so uncomfortable that she was willing to speak.

“What?” She asked him, keeping her tone neither accusatory nor annoyed, simply curious. “What are you thinking about?” it conveyed, without saying as much.

He took a deep breath and exhaled it forcefully. “Was it a mistake, what happened? Do you think of it that way?”

His speaking of the unspeakable caught her off guard and she felt her face flush immediately. “No” she said, but she couldn’t meet his eye. “No, I don’t think of it that way.”

“What was it then? One time thing? Random fluke?”

How he was able to speak so directly about such fraught topics was always a marvel to her. She opened her mouth to speak once, twice, but closed it again each time. What she wanted to say was that she didn’t know what it was supposed to be when she initiated it, but the second it was over she wanted it to be part of her daily routine, like brushing her hair. Finally she gave him a tiny shrug and an “I don’t know.” She hated herself for making it seem like she didn’t care, but she didn’t know how to be honest without sounding like a teenager with a crush.

He studied her face again, and she self consciously fussed with her hair, looking at anything but him. She could feel him thinking, strategizing. She could only hope his strategy ended with her naked in his lap, but she also realized that if that were to happen, she would have to make more of an effort outside of simply not getting up and leaving.

“Do you want it to happen again?” He asked, and she laughed out of surprise, biting her lip but not answering. She lifted her eyes to meet his and her stomach clenched when she saw the stoic expression on his face, his eyes full of self-doubt. She was an asshole for making him think for a second that she didn’t want him. They lingered there, locked in an impromptu staring contest, until Mulder reached out and took the empty beer bottle from her hands and set it on the coffee table. He then lightly grasped her wrist in one hand and pressed the middle and forefinger of his other hand to her pulse point. She knew what he was doing. Her heart, which was already racing, sped up to something resembling the beat of hummingbird wings. After a moment, he removed his fingers and brought his lips to kiss the spot they had just vacated.

“I realize things like this are hard for you to talk about, and I know you well enough to know that if the answer were no, you would have told me as much and high-tailed it out of here. So I’m going to take the fact that you’re still sitting here, as well as the fact that your heart is working triple time, to mean that it would be acceptable if I were to kiss you right now. Is that a sound conclusion?”

“It is” she said in a near whisper, every cell in her body reaching out for him like he was magnetized. They were still locked in eye contact, though with this new understanding it had shifted from awkward to intimate.

They both jumped at the sudden pounding on the door. “Marinos!” Someone called out from the other side, and Mulder stood and went to grab his wallet. While he was gone, Scully let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding since she got here, and stood to use the bathroom. She studied her face in the mirror, sniff-checked her armpits, freshened up to be sure there were no errant toilet paper shreds clinging to her anatomy. When she opened the door, she found Mulder standing on the other side, waiting. She gave him a confused but also amused look.

“Hi” she said around a shy smile.

“Welcome back” he replied with a cool bravado, then stepped forward and cupped her face in his hands, drawing her in to a sweet kiss. She sighed into his mouth, the relief after weeks of tension pooling at her feet. She brought her hands to his neck and used his weight as leverage as she leaned her body against his, wanting him closer. In return, he stooped to grab the backs of her thighs and hoisted her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. It was still light out, and without the cover of darkness or the clumsiness of a first time, she felt more powerful and in control. She knew he wanted her, and she knew what she wanted from him. He stepped the few feet towards his bed and gently lay her down, moving to plant kisses along her neck. Pushing the bottom hem of her shirt up to expose her belly, he asked “is this okay?” And she replied “you don’t have to ask, you can do whatever you want.”

“Fuck” he breathed. It was an expression of excitement, and nervousness, and amazement that she trusted him so perfectly, and wanted him so completely.

She sat up and he pulled her shirt off over her head, deftly un-hooking her bra before she slipped it down her arms and threw it over the side of the bed. He sucked a nipple between his teeth and she gasped, her hips bucking into him, her head falling back. He repeated it on the other breast and she whimpered, to which he pushed the bulge in his jeans against her thigh, seeking relief. She pulled at his shirt, signaling him to take it off, and he did in a split-second maneuver, not wanting to stray from his task for a moment longer than he had to. Kissing down her belly, he unbuttoned her jeans and tugged them forcefully off her hips and down her legs. His actions were desperate and hungry; he couldn’t wait to get at her, and she could not wait to be gotten. When he went to pull her panties off they ripped under his urgency and he tore them away, hooking his arms under her knees and pressing his face into her vulva as he drug her to the end of the bed.

“Jesus Christ” she called out, her hands threading into his hair as he lapped at her hungrily. She could not believe the speed with which she approached orgasm. She would never have described herself as someone who was easy to please in bed, and yet he seemed to locate every pleasure point on her body with admirable ease, slipping a finger inside her to massage her G spot as he sucked on her clit. She felt herself falling over the edge and she hung there deliciously long, the point of release laying across her like a blanket until it crashed against her like a wave.

“Oh, I’m gonna come” she pleaded, the sound more breath than words, as if he didn’t already know from his position on the seat of her orgasm that it was happening. She came for an eternity, unaware of her own sounds or movements, existing only within her body and beneath her pleasure. He stayed with her, teasing out every throb she had to give, running his rough hands over as much skin as he could reach, until she was sated, and lie still and quiet. He rested his head on the inside of her thigh and waited for a signal that she was ready to return to Earth. After a couple minutes, she spoke.

“Holy shit.”

He laughed, and crawled up to lie next to her, tucking his nose into her neck and placing tiny kisses all over her chest.

“I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that I am completely naked” she said, a mix of self-consciousness and humor in her voice.

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down and then back up the length of her body. “You most certainly are” he said matter-of-factly, and she wrapped her arms across her chest in mock-modesty.

“You tore my underwear” she accused him, and he shrugged.

“Do you want to tear my underwear as payback?” He thrust his hips against her gently, and she was reminded that he had yet to be touched.

“Perhaps” she said against his lips, biting the lower one gently, signaling that they were not yet done. As she kissed him, she reached for the button of his jeans and flicked it open before easing down the zipper. He shifted up a bit to give her better access and breathed a low moan when she slipped her hand into his pants and grasped his erection.

“Mulder, I can’t help but notice that you’re not wearing underwear”

“Maybe if you’d had the same idea I wouldn’t have needed to rip them off” he teased breathlessly.

She pushed his jeans down and he stood to remove them before rejoining her, curling his naked body against her side as she resumed stroking him. “Come here” she directed, moving her leg aside to make space for his body. He hovered over her, their tongues dancing between their mouths as he thrust against her belly. She lifted her knees towards her chest and reached down to grasp him, brushing the head of his cock against her slick lips. He hummed and mumbled words she couldn’t understand, until she guided him inside her and he said “fuck.”

“Watch your language, Mulder” she chastised playfully, and he thrust into her suddenly, eliciting a gasp.

“I’m sorry, did that hurt? He stilled, searching her face.

She shook her head with a sly smile. “Even if it did, that’s not always a bad thing.”

His eyebrows went up in surprise “I’m learning so much about you today” he mused, resuming his thrusts slowly.

“Likewise” she replied, but her breathing was growing ragged, their playful banter becoming unsustainable.

He quickened his pace, kissing her neck and lips, burying his face in her hair when it became too intense for kissing. Suddenly he stopped and withdrew from her, and she looked at him incredulously. “Where are you going?” A question she’d asked him hundreds of times in an entirely new context.

“I’m interested in seeing you in every position imaginable, however I’ve been thinking so much about last time and I’d really like you to be on top again, if you don’t object to that.”

“No objections here” she replied, moving so that he could sit at the head of the bed against the wall. The sun was setting and she felt a little less exposed in the fading light of the bedroom. She climbed into his lap and kissed him for a couple minutes as she teased him at her opening, shifting her hips so he’d slide by, but not enter her. When she finally sunk down onto him, he dropped his head back and moaned in delicious agony. She started rising and falling slowly, planting kisses on his neck and nipping at his earlobes. As his breathing quickened she changed her rhythm, keeping her body close against his and sliding back and forth. His eyes shot open and his head lifted to watch what she was doing, gripping her hips though he made no attempt to control her movements. He reached down between them to touch her clit and she pushed his hand away. “Too much” she panted. “This part is just for you.” He returned his hand to her hip and trained his eyes on the place where their bodies met, slack jawed and wide eyed as she flexed her pelvis forward and back. When she could tell he was close, she increased her pace until he closed his eyes, he tightened his grip on her and cried out. As he crested over the most intense point, he opened his eyes again and looked at her face, locking eyes with her in the dim light of his bedroom as he filled her with his hot cum, desire giving way to the deep affection they held for each other. She collapsed against him and they sat like that for a while until she felt his fading erection slip out of her and a rush of fluid followed.

“Shit!” She said, sitting up with a worried expression. “I forgot about that part.”

He made a face that set her off giggling, which caused even more to drip out of her and into his lap. “Gah, don’t laugh, Scully, that makes it worse!” His protests only made her laugh harder and he smiled at her jiggling breasts as she wiped tears from her eyes.

“How about a shower, then dinner?” He proposed, and she nodded, still regaining composure.

After a hot shower and a borrowed pair of boxer shorts, they sat on his couch eating reheated lasagna and smiling at each other. After Mulder cleared their plates, he sat back down beside her.

“So” he said.

“So” she returned. What else could she say?

“I’m going to take the fact that you’re still here and that you’re wearing my underwear as an indication that this wasn’t a two-time only thing. Is that a sound conclusion?”

“It is” she replied with a smile.

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (3)

August 12th, 2277

Izuku lay on his bed staring at the screen of his phone. He'd already typed in the emergency number, but he hadn't started the call yet. He honestly wasn't sure if this qualified as an emergency or not. Probably not. But it was kind of a big deal. Kind of massive. For him, anyway. He wasn't even sure if his father could respond in the first place. A couple of months ago, he'd said he'd be likely to resume his normal phone calls soon, but maybe his throat hadn't fully healed yet. And what if that polite colleague picked up instead? Izuku certainly couldn't tell him about… all that.

He hadn't told his mother either, or the doctor. He didn't want to cause trouble, neither for himself nor for Kacchan. But he really, really felt the urge to tell someone. He'd been waiting for this moment for so long, and it had gone so inexplicably wrong.

His thumb tapped the green button.

It took less than five seconds for the call to connect.

"Izuku. What is it?"

"Hi... Dad..." Izuku started, but he found himself trailing off. He hadn't heard his father's voice in so long and, while still recognizable, it was very different. Rougher and somewhat distorted, as if he was speaking through… something metallic?

"What's going on?" His father pressed when the silence stretched. It suddenly occurred to Izuku that the man could be misinterpreting his hesitation as the kind of situation that may warrant an emergency call.

"Ah… N-nothing much, actually. I'm not dying or anything. Mom's not dying- no one's dying." He blurted out, hurried explanations rushing out of his mouth bypassing any form of brain check. "This isn't really an emergency. More like… an emergence. Of my quirk."

The silence from the other side of the receiver was deafening. Wow. Inconveniencing his still convalescent father for no serious reason, and topping it off with a pun. Izuku wouldn't be surprised if he decided to hang up on his face.

"...Sorry. I shouldn't have called." He apologized. "D-Does it still hurt to speak? Ah, never mind, we can talk about that next-"

His father's sigh came through as a brief burst of static. "Where are you now?"

"At home. In my room."

"Alone?"

"Yeah."

"...Why don't you tell me what happened then?" The softer timbre of his father's voice lifted a weight from Izuku's chest. And the tale of the afternoon's events spun almost by itself.

Lately, it didn't happen often that Izuku and Kacchan hung out without the rest of the gang. His friend was a natural-born and enthusiastic leader, and he enjoyed having people around to let him play that role. But that day someone had homework to catch up with, someone else had the flu, a third one was grounded… So it had been just the two of them. They had headed to the usual spot by the small river, to stave off the heat. Which didn't seem to especially bother Kacchan, who had been trying to blast an anthill to smithereens with his quirk. He had casually remarked, as he often did, what a pity it was that Izuku would never develop one.

Izuku didn't know why he hadn't let that comment slide, like every other time. Arguing on that point never helped, it always made things worse. But this time he had answered back. That his quirk would manifest one day, sure as hell. And then he'd joked that they'd have a match to see who could exterminate the most ants in one minute.

Kacchan hadn't liked that. At all. He never did take well to amicable competition.

Do you see this? Huh? Look, take a closer look. Kacchan had said, holding his palm mere centimetres away from Izuku's face, so close that he could feel the heat from the small explosions popping off from his skin. This is what a quirk looks like. Looks like you still can't tell the difference between a quirk and nothing, nerd. 'Cause you have nothing. Nothing's all you'll ever have.

"This friend of yours- sorry, what's his name again?"

Izuku was startled by his father's interruption. "Kaccha- I mean, Katsuki."

"Why was he so aggressive? Did you two have a quarrel before this?"

"Oh, no. He's just… he's just like that."

"...He's just like that?" His father repeated. It was a bit difficult for Izuku to read his tone now that his voice was so muffled and unfamiliar. "This is a common occurrence? Him using his quirk to hurt you?"

"Oh no, no no! He didn't do that! He never does that, he knows it's bad!" Izuku hurried to elaborate. "He just uses it to… show off a little. Sometimes he blows up stuff. Things can get a bit rough when we play, but he never burns people with his quirk. He's very good at controlling it!"

"...And this is your best friend we're talking about." His father didn't sound terribly convinced. Izuku felt the necessity to make things absolutely clear.

"He's a cool guy, dad. Really. He's great. He's smart, and talented, and strong, and brave… He just has a bit of a short temper. His mom's like that too."

There was a long pause. "...I see. Go on."

Well, even if Izuku knew that Kacchan wasn't going to hurt him (not much, not with his quirk, at least), at that moment he was still pretty upset. And Kacchan kept waving his explosive hands uncomfortably close to him, and he kept going on about how Izuku would never get a quirk, and it was… it was just so unfair, that's what it was. It was unfair that Izuku would have to wait for God knows how long for what his father had assured him (multiple times) would eventually happen, while Kacchan always let his anger run away with him. Izuku had felt a heady burst of resentment, and he had grabbed Kacchan's wrists with both hands, trying to shove him away, and that's when it had happened.

He had managed to send Kacchan staggering into a nearby bush. But at the same time, a sharp pain had spread in both Izuku's hands. It wasn't the searing of an explosion, it was more as if his palms had been stabbed by a big needle. He had checked, and found two small, circular marks on them. They were like scars, but very old ones, already closed and healed, definitely not bleeding.

He hadn't had time to process the fact. Kacchan was already back on his feet, shouting and marching towards him, reaching for him with his arms thrown out before him, fingers clawed in the familiar position they assumed when he summoned his quirk…

But nothing had happened. No explosions. Not even a spark or a flicker of flame. Kacchan had stopped in his tracks, flabbergasted. He had tried again, to no avail. And Izuku, on his part, had felt it. That awareness. That visceral perception that something had changed inside him, that there was something new in him. Something he could summon himself. He had flexed his fingers, and done it.

A small explosion. Right there, in his own hand. It hadn't burned at all.

Give it back! Kacchan had screamed at him when they had both emerged from their quiet stupor. Izuku had stepped backwards in fear, tripping down on something. He had raised his hand to defend himself from the impending assault, and shot off another blast, a bigger one. Too big. The recoil had hurled his arm backwards, bent his wrist painfully, sent it crashing against a rock. It had hurt a lot.

Give it back! Kacchan had yelled after he'd stopped laughing, laughing at how hopeless Izuku was even with a stolen quirk, laughing at how the useless nerd had managed to injure himself even before Kacchan could touch him, and probably more severely too than Kacchan would have dared.

GIVE IT BACK! Kacchan had howled while dragging him into the shallow river. He'd pushed him down, pressed his hands into the stream, cunningly exploiting his own weakness. The water washed away the sweat from Izuku's palms before he could even try to ignite it. He was harmless, pathetic, impotent, even with Kacchan's impressive quirk.

He had given it back after he'd promised Kacchan that he would, as soon as he let go of-

"What?"

"Uh? What?" Izuku echoed obtusely.

"You gave it back?"

"...Yes. Of course." Izuku blinked. "What… what else could I do? I promised him-"

"You could have just kept it." His father sounded surprised. Very surprised. "He was using his quirk to threaten you and hurt you. Why would you give it back to him?"

"I…" The notion that he could have just lied and ran away with Kacchan's quirk hadn't even entered Izuku's mind. "I didn't even know how to use it. All I could do with it was hurt myself. I-"

"You could have learned how to use it, over time. You could have obtained the quirk you so deeply desired. You could have deprived a bully of a dangerous weapon. You could have made him understand what it feels like to be on the weaker side of a confrontation."

Izuku heard those words, but they didn't fully register. "...I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"...It's Kacchan's quirk. It's his. I couldn't keep it." Izuku said simply.

Another long pause. "...What happened then?"

"Kacchan just left. He was very angry, he said he'd- that I'd better never use that 'trick' again on him. I came home too, but my wrist was swollen and achy, so mom brought me to the doctor. It's fine though, I don't think it's broken." Izuku recounted, wiggling his bandaged arm subconsciously.

"Did you tell your mother what happened?"

"...No, I… No." Izuku hesitated. "I just told her I slipped on some wet rocks."

Izuku himself couldn't quite put his finger on why he'd wanted to hide the accident from everyone except from his father. Something about how easy it had always been to talk to him, how he was always ready to listen to everything Izuku wanted to say, even things he clearly didn't care about. He may have been present in Izuku's life for only one or two hours a month, but Izuku truly felt that, for those one or two hours, his father's attention was solely focussed on him. Something about the distance too, maybe, which made him more akin to an imaginary friend than to a real parent that could dish out tangible punishment, worry and contempt. Something about this aura of wisdom and confidence and calm that his polished words and deep tone always radiated.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Uh… No one, I think. Just Kacchan and I."

"And when did this all happen, exactly?"

"Earlier this afternoon. At around 2 or 3, I think?"

"I see." His father's voice sounded distant. "Sorry, Izuku. Do you mind if I put you on hold? Don't hang up, it'll only take a minute."

"Oh, of course."

There was a soft click, and the speaker went silent. Izuku remembered with a flash of guilt that his father was probably working at the moment. He hoped he hadn't caught him at a bad time. Maybe that had to do with the fact that his voice was so weird. Maybe he was wearing some sort of disguise or protective gear?

Click. "I'm here."

"Sorry if I bothered you for something like this. You're busy now, aren't you?"

"I have nothing urgent on my plate. Actually, I'm glad you rang. This could have turned into quite the problem if you had waited another two weeks to inform me."

"Uh? Why?"

"Do you understand what happened today, Izuku?" The gentleness of the question somehow alarmed Izuku more than if his father had been scolding him.

"I…" He gulped. "I think I stole Kacchan's Explosion. With my quirk. That was a quirk, right?"

"Yes. That was our quirk."

Izuku's brain screeched to a halt.

Our.

"Your… Isn't your quirk Fire Breathing?"

"That is one of my quirks, yes."

There was silence as the pieces fell into place in the kid's head. There may very well have been an earthquake, and he would have barely noticed it. "You can… take quirks too?"

"Yes."

Izuku had so many questions that it took him several seconds to even decide where to start. "W-Why have you never said so?"

"Because that too is classified. The very existence of our quirk is classified." His father paused, then resumed almost tiredly. "I see I should have warned you about this regardless. Truth to be told, I was expecting your quirk's first appearance to unfold… differently. I guess it doesn't matter now."

Izuku sat up as he kept listening, hanging on his father's every word.

"Our ability allows us to take other people's quirks permanently, and use them as our own. As you have already discovered, we can give them back as well. Another very important perk is the capacity to store many quirks inside us at the same time. A great many." His father stopped again. "Do you know what this means?"

Izuku shook his head negatively, forgetting that his father couldn't see him. His silence conveyed the message anyway.

"This means that our quirk is powerful. Astoundingly powerful. More powerful than Fire Breathing or Hellflame or Explosion or Fiber Master or Foresight. Because it can be all those quirks at once."

Izuku's mind was reeling. It was... unimaginable. He thought of all his favorite heroes, all the top heroes, all the most incredible powers and skills… all concentrated into a single individual. He thought of Endeavor, Jeanist, Yoroi Musha, Gang Orca, Nighteye…

All Might...

"The downside of our quirk is the cost it has on the owners of the quirks we appropriate. They are rendered quirkless, unless we decide to grant their abilities back." His father went on. "You can imagine the implications of this."

He could. He could imagine having the power of taking All Might's quirk - not only becoming a hero like All Might, but practically becoming All Might himself… at the cost of mutilating the original.

The mere notion made him dizzy.

"That's… that's not right…" Izuku stuttered, drawing his knees to his chest. "It can't be used in that way…"

"Most people would agree with that sentiment, yes." There was a sort of… disappointment, of weariness in his father's voice that Izuku had never heard before. It unsettled him deeply. "Most people would claim that it's a quirk that handicaps and feeds on others, that can only be fuelled by theft, prevarication and selfishness. An inherently villainous quirk, if you will."

"That can't be true." Izuku objected, curling up on himself even more. "It… depends on how you use it. All quirks do. I'm not going to use it like that, ever-"

"That wouldn't be enough to discourage those cynical voices, I'm afraid. Power terrifies people who don't have it, Izuku. A type of power as overwhelming as ours, all the more so. They wouldn't need to see you abuse your quirk to condemn you, the mere fact that you could do it, if you ever decided to, would be enough to draw suspicion and distrust on you."

"W-What does it mean?" Izuku's breaths left his mouth in a rush as his eyes started to burn, the telltale signs of an impending burst of tears agitating him even more. "What do I have to do?"

The man took his sweet time to reply, and for a terrible moment Izuku thought that even his father might be at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. "As things stand, I would encourage you to act as if your quirk never manifested, in order to avoid negative attention."

"But Kacchan already knows. He'll tell someone, his parents at least…"

"I doubt it. If he's as clever and proud as you describe him, I think he'll understand the dangers of doing so. He'll realize that you could take his quirk for good at any given moment, and he'll choose not to anger you. Or he may simply refuse to acknowledge your superiority over him, and behave as if nothing happened in the first place. I can imagine many reasons that would lead him to keep your secret without you even asking him to - in fact, I would strongly advise you not to, and shove the whole thing under the rug. It would be for the best of everyone involved."

Silence fell again. Izuku's head buzzed with fear, confusion, doubts. It didn't make any sense, none of it. "I… can't use my quirk? Never? I will never be able to use it?"

"There are certain powers, certain weapons, that instil so much fear in humans that one can only either bury them deeply and pretend they don't exist, or bear them unhesitatingly lest the fearful tear their wielders apart. It is an unavoidable reality of life."

Tears rolled down Izuku's cheeks freely. "Y-You… you said you have more than one quirk. You used yours. Are you… doing it secretly? Is that what the whole 'classified' thing is about?"

"...My circumstances are unique." His father answered, after a slight hesitation. "I certainly do not flaunt my original quirk carelessly, nor do I have it printed in bold letters on my personal documents. The government is aware of my ability, but gaining my immunity from their wrath was no small feat. I honestly cannot imagine someone like you going to such lengths to achieve the same result. Not as you are now, probably not as you will be in the near future."

A few things were starting to make sense now, things that Izuku had always brushed aside as amusing or perplexing eccentricities of his father's. His unrelenting reticence about his job, a job likely tied to or issued by the government, a job that kept him separate from his family and that robbed him of time and leisure, a dangerous job he probably wasn't all that proud of. The kind of dirty, ambiguous job Izuku saw in movies and read about online, the kind of job where law and ethics sometimes parted ways. The kind of shady, hushed-up, unrewarding job that might make anyone envy a shining, pristine, beloved symbol like All Might.

"...I'm sorry." He sobbed, because he was, even if he wasn't sure what for. For being unable to walk the same path as his father, maybe, or for the grief the man's work surely caused him.

"There is no reason to panic." In a moment, his father's tone had recovered his trademark, comforting composure. Its effect on Izuku's nerves was immediate. "Luckily, today's incident was trivial and self-contained. As long as you don't reveal your quirk to anyone else, your life will go on unchanged."

Unchanged. As if Izuku hadn't been waiting his whole life for it to change. As if the quirk he thought he'd welcome as a blessing hadn't turned out to be some sort of nightmarish curse. It was a cruel joke, but it was no one's fault. He'd just have to adapt to it.

His father seemed to read into his wordless discouragement very easily. "I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm afraid I have to go now, but we'll talk more about it soon. Don't lose your sleep over this, there's no need for concern right now. Can you promise me you'll stay put at least until next month?"

"...Yes, of course."

"Wonderful. Have a good night, Izuku."

Izuku stared at the wall blankly, the call ending with a low beep. For the first time in his life, talking with his father had made everything feel remarkably worse.

October 1st, 2277

"How are things between you and Katsuki lately?"

"Same as usual. We… don't really hang out much any more. Or at all. He just keeps ignoring me all the time." Izuku mumbled, his spirit instantly dampened by the subject.

"That may be for the best. At least you won't have to put up with his inopportune mood swings, no?" His father offered encouragingly.

Admittedly, there was some truth to that. Izuku did feel a little less stressed, a little less constantly on edge every time the two of them happened to cross the same street or bump shoulders in class. It was reassuring to know that Kacchan wouldn't do anything worse than staring daggers at him, and his varying cohort of backers never took the initiative when it came to openly hostile behavior. It was… fine, in a way. And yet, Izuku missed their strange, complicated sort of closeness anyway. Kacchan really had been the first person Izuku had ever considered a friend, and he was sad to see this friendship, as unpleasant and troublesome as it could be at times, degrade into a quietly rancorous acquaintance.

"...I guess." Izuku glossed over. "I would like to talk things through with him though. I know you think I shouldn't, but-"

"If Katsuki hasn't brought up the matter yet, he probably has no intention of ever doing so. There's no point in being pushy with him. No doubt he's had a lot on his mind these past months, after all."

"Yeah, I know." Guilt squeezed Izuku's stomach in a tight grip. It was very self-centered of him to keep obsessing over his quirk, he should just be happy that Kacchan was safe and sound, all things considered. "I'm not even sure I could manage to talk to him alone. His parents always walk him everywhere he goes, and I think the police are still keeping an eye on him."

"It's understandable, and all the more reason for you to stop fretting about all this. Your secret is safe, and so is he. A fortunate conclusion all round."

"Mh." Izuku couldn't fully share his father's optimism, but he supposed the whole situation was at an impasse anyway. His eyes fell on his notebook, closed atop of a pile of school textbooks, and he decided it was time to tackle another tricky discussion. "...I've been having a little trouble with my quirk research lately."

"Oh? Have you stumbled upon an especially puzzling one?" His father took the bait, his interest immediately piqued.

"Yes. Ours."

"...Ah."

"I've been looking for any kind of information related to quirk-stealing abilities. I've found mentions of similar ones, from copycats to erasers to temporary absorption… Nothing quite like ours, though." Izuku hesitated. "I have found some rumours though. Here and there, in forums and old uh… clickbait-y articles."

His father's progressive de-escalation from proper replies to monosyllables to complete silence was a familiar pattern, and not a concerning one per se. At the very least it meant he was willing to give Izuku a chance to make his point, so he continued.

"It's all very vague. There are no details about the ability to give quirks back, or about palm marks. But all the hearsay is centered around this… this mysterious figure who lived around the era of the advent of quirks and who is said to have been able to steal them."

"I know all about those rumors."

"Do you?" Izuku had never pegged his father for the kind of man who'd spend his time digging for gossip around the internet… but then again, the last months had proved he knew less than he thought about the man. "They say… they say he was a criminal. The most dangerous villain who ever lived, even. It's all a bit exaggerated and unrealistic, I know, since there's no mention of anyone like that in history books-"

"It just goes to show how fantastically threatening our quirk would seem to the average person." He replied casually. "It is literally the stuff of legends of our modern age."

"Do you know if there's any truth to it? Or if they're just stories?"

A pause. "...It is true. It's part of the reason why I've been so insistent on you keeping quiet about your quirk. You'd better avoid being connected to those rumors if you plan on having a peaceful life."

Izuku balked. That was uncharacteristically forward on his father's part. And it was a disconcerting piece of information to boot. And it raised a further, even more disquieting possibility. "Did that villain have the exact same quirk as us? Was he… related to us? A grandparent, a great-grandparent…?"

"The real issue here, Izuku, is that it doesn't matter." His father said sternly. "The issue is that anyone who is aware of those voices - or worse, anyone who knows them to be true - will react in the same way you did. They will suspect or presume you to be a descendant of that criminal, and you'd have no way to prove them wrong."

Izuku wanted to ask if his father was speaking from experience, if his subtle bitterness and extreme caution were the result of the blatant prejudice he had had to deal with personally. He couldn't quite gather the courage to do so, though. "Very few people know about this though, right? It wouldn't be that much of a problem day-to-day…"

"It depends on the kind of people you'd have to deal with in your daily life. It would be enough of an obstacle to prevent you from pursuing your dream career, for example."

"What? You mean becoming a hero?" Izuku frowned. "Why?"

His father sighed deeply. "Picture this, Izuku. The government of a country was once almost overthrown by a dangerous villain with a certain quirk, and it has been trying to suppress any information about that evildoer ever since. The same government also handles the designation and retribution of all heroes in the industry. One day, a young man with the same devastating quirk as the aforementioned criminal appears, and he applies to a hero academy - an institution which, among other things, trains its students to fight, strategize, be reasonably charismatic, refine and master their quirks to their fullest capacity. What do you think the government would do when faced with the possibility, however remote, of accidentally grooming this young man into another nation-wide calamity?"

Izuku felt as if the whole world was crumbling beneath his feet. There was… there was only one rational conclusion, wasn't there? "...They wouldn't take that chance. They wouldn't let him become a hero. They wouldn't want him to use or train his quirk at all, to be on the safe side."

"Exactly-"

"But- but…!" No, it couldn't be the only way this would unfold. Surely they wouldn't be this gravely biased, surely there had to be some way to prove his good faith, surely… "What if I used my quirk differently? In a way that would never harm anyone? I could… I could just borrow quirks instead of stealing them! Borrow them during an emergency and give them back as soon as it's over-"

"I'm afraid our quirk isn't well-suited to that kind of application." His father countered plainly. "While we do acquire an immediate, basic and instinctive understanding of any quirk we take, it is rarely sufficient to deploy it efficiently and safely right off the bat, unless the quirk is particularly simple in its mechanics. You experienced this first-hand when you sprained your wrist with your first sizable explosion. It takes practice to become proficient in each ability we receive, and without enough time to learn beforehands, you'd be more of a liability than an asset on the field."

The cold, ironclad logic of that long speech gutted Izuku more neatly than a knife. The boy squeezed his eyes, focussing on the problem, thinking, thinking, thinking… "There has to be some way though. There has to be…"

Silence stretched as he struggled against frustration, fear, discomfort, disappointment. He only needed to think, to come up with an idea, a single good idea to demonstrate that this amazing quirk of his wasn't necessarily a menace-

"...There could be." His father said, oddly tentative.

Izuku perked up, hope and gratefulness springing in his chest. "How?"

"You could simply pretend to have a different quirk. Take someone else's, just the one, and pretend it was your original quirk. Become a hero using that, and only that."

That wasn't what Izuku wished to hear. Not at all. "That means I'd still need to steal from someone, dad. I-I can't-"

"There are ways to acquire quirks that don't involve outright robbery, you know." The man sounded mildly peeved now. "Just think about it. A friend blessed with a quirk they don't like or get much use out of, donating it to you out of sheer good will. An old relative on their deathbed, willing to pass on their ability before it gets lost along with their life. An acquaintance debilitated by some illness or chronic condition that renders them unable to draw on their power, entrusting it to you rather than letting it stagnate within themselves."

Izuku pondered on those words. Even though they were all quite specific and uncommon situations, they sounded sensible… on paper. As purely theoretical possibilities. On the practical side, however… "I don't think I'd ever want to take a friend's quirk, no matter what. Being quirkless is… I wouldn't wish it on anyone, honestly." He didn't bother adding that he had no such close friends that would ever consider sacrificing their quirks for his little pipe dream. "And I really wouldn't want to pester old and sick people for something like that. I'd feel like I'd be taking advantage of their suffering…"

"Not even that, uh…?" His father sounded thoughtful. It was odd hearing him so unsure of his words, for once not the impeccable source of complete answers and well-spoken certainties. "Duplicity does not come naturally to you, nor does greed. It is unfortunate that you were endowed with a quirk whose maximum potential hinges on both."

"...What do I do then?" Izuku asked, feeling his hope and energy melt like snow under the sun.

"With strict morals such as yours, I'm afraid your hands are tied." The man paused. "Do you trust my judgement, Izuku?"

It was a rhetorical question, obviously. His father had been right about Izuku eventually getting a quirk. He had been right about Kacchan keeping his secret. He had always been right about anything they had ever talked about. There was no doubt that, if there was anyone in the world who could analyze the current predicament, predict its developments, advise for the best course of action, it was his father.

"Of course."

"Then keep holding your cards close to the vest. Maybe things will change one day, and you'll find more options available to you. But for now, you would gain no advantage from exposing yourself to public scrutiny. You would only attract suspicion and enmity. Keep your quirk hidden and play it safe. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion."

March 2nd, 2280

"It… rewrites DNA?"

"Exactly. Every time it is used, both on yourself and on others. Despite their seemingly complex functions, quirk factors tend to be encoded and clustered within a relatively small number of genes. Our quirk allows us to detach them from all chromosomes in the body at once, transfer them and reallocate them - think of bacterial plasmids, albeit with a higher degree of complexity."

Izuku hummed, tapping the head of his pencil against his chin as his father's information seeped into his brain. "If DNA is the means through which quirks are transferred… I guess one does not need a… a whole, living human being as a source." Izuku let his thoughts trickle through his mouth unbidden, aware that his father never minded his rambling observations. "...What about a corpse? A very… fresh one, I guess? One which hasn't started decaying yet, not even a little bit. Could you take its quirk from it?"

"Alas, no. For the same reason why we can't collect quirks from detached limbs or single cells, for example. The donor must be a living organism. It is a stringent requirement. The moment the person dies, their quirk becomes unreachable for us."

"The moment the person dies…" Izuku toyed with the concept in his head. Vague memories of wandering internet searches and dramatic soap operas resurfaced. "Isn't that… difficult to establish though? Like, there's cardiac death, brain death… Total death? What applies here?"

"'Total death', I suppose." Izuku's father answered with a trace of humour. "There is a markedly... spiritual side to our quirk - to many quirks, in fact. The death I'm talking about is the loss of what makes a human being truly alive. Call it however you want - soul, mind, life force, spirit, personality, will. The essence of their being."

A pause, then the man spoke again. "I'm afraid that's as precise an explanation as I can give you. I wish I knew more about it myself. It is a tremendously fascinating subject." Izuku nodded in agreement, absently scribbling a small Quirks tied to souls??? on a corner of the receipt for the ice-cream he had bought on the way back from school.

"Izuku? Are you taking notes?" Izuku flinched as his father's tone suddenly turned severe. Had he heard the pencil scratch on paper? Curse his unreasonably sharp ears- "I told you a hundred times never to write down any information about our-"

"I know, I know! Sorry! It's just a habit!" Izuku rummaged through the drawer to find an eraser and immediately remove the offending line. "I wasn't writing on my notebook, it's just a scrap of paper I had lying around. I'm getting rid of it… right now..."

A long-suffering sigh crackled through the speaker. "...Still. I'm quite surprised that you're already considering ransacking graveyards and morgues in order to obtain quirks. It didn't occur to me to try my hand at desecration until I was much older than you."

"I'm- I'm not considering it!" Izuku sputtered, failing to find the eraser and electing instead to just rip the corner off the receipt and swallow it. "That would be incredibly disrespectful! Also a crime!"

"Right."

"I'm just… brainstorming. Keeping an open mind for unseen possibilities." Izuku sighed, not bothering to hide the familiar sting of annoyance. "You know, it wouldn't hurt if you were a little more forthcoming about how you obtained your yet-unspecified number of quirks. Surely you don't expect me to believe they all come from nursing homes and emergency rooms…"

"Izuku." There it was again, that cautionary edge that tinged his father's voice increasingly often as of late. On the bright side, Izuku was growing sort of accustomed to it, finding it easier to simply power through it.

"...I've been reading up on Tartarus lately." He threw out there, twirling his pencil in his fingers. "Not that there's much to read about it. They keep a close lid on any information regarding their security procedures and systems, which is fair. I do wonder though, what kind of measures they may have in place to restrict such a large number of dangerous quirk users."

His father didn't seem to have any comment on the topic, so Izuku decided to lay it on a bit thicker.

"They used to cut hands to punish thieves in certain countries a long time ago. It doesn't really happen any more, it violates all sorts of human rights. Coincidentally, there are rumors of multiple lawsuits for human rights violations being brought up against Tartarus." Izuku paused emphatically. "I'm sure that if the government knew of a way of 'amputating' quirks from incarcerated villains, it would be a strictly classified matter."

His father let out a quiet laugh. "So your current working hypothesis is that I'm obtaining my quirks from those who make poor use of them or are deemed unworthy. Your mind works in truly admirable ways. I'm starting to worry that one of these days you'll show up right on my doorstep."

"So it's true then?"

"Even if it was, do you think I would be at liberty to say?"

Izuku dropped his head on the desk and exhaled in frustration. Deflections, deflections. Even a frank denial was too much to hope for. There was no winning against his sphinx of a father.

"Have you given some more thought about what to do after middle school?" The infuriating man asked with the most casual of tones, as if they'd just been chatting about the weather. He wasn't even trying to be subtle with his diversions any more.

"Yes, and I haven't changed my mind." Izuku muttered, recognizing a losing battle when he saw one. "I want to try the admission test for the hero course at U.A."

A sigh. "I don't even know how I can be any clearer. Heroes aren't going to accept in their ranks someone with your-"

"I'm not going to use my quirk." Izuku interrupted him, with more pluck than he actually felt. "I… I've been wanting to apply since way before my quirk appeared. I'll apply as I would have applied if it hadn't. As quirkless."

Izuku heard some odd tinkering noises coming from the speaker. "I wish I could put this more kindly, but that is a fool's errand."

"It isn't against any of their regulations. There are no precedents, but-"

"Spare me the innocent talk, you're too smart for that." His father's voice cut through him with unusual vehemence. "They don't need regulations to politely dismiss people they presume worthless. A quirkless applicant would be the very embodiment of that worthlessness. You know it as well as I do."

"So you aren't even going to let me try?" Izuku hated the way his voice almost cracked on those words. He hated that he couldn't truly find it in himself to resent his father for being always, unfailingly right.

"...Whatever gave you that impression?" His father sounded genuinely taken aback.

"The fact that you're shooting me down like a trained sniper?!"

"Don't misunderstand me, I'm merely supporting my argument. I have no intention of stopping you. I don't think I even have the right to, really. I'm not exactly a prime example of involved parenthood."

Izuku's jaw hit the proverbial floor. That was… unexpected. "So… you aren't going to stop me. Even if you think it's stupid."

"One has to fall before he can learn how to walk." The man replied with mock solemnity, then he continued more seriously. "If I forbade you to attempt the test, all you'd gain from it would be a long-standing aversion to me and the lifelong regret of not knowing what you could have become, had you been given the chance. Neither of us would benefit from that. If I let you pursue your silly dreams to their inevitable failure, however, you may actually learn some valuable lessons about the importance of realistic objectives and the pointlessness of moot idealism."

That was... less unexpected. Izuku's shoulders dropped. Well. Questionable pep talk aside, at least he'd obtained an outspoken permission. He'd take what he could get. "Thanks, dad. You always know what to say to brighten my day."

"I try my best." His father chuckled. "If you could indulge my obsession for common sense for another moment… what are your spare plans in case of rejection? What other careers are you considering?"

"I… haven't quite worked out a plan B yet." Izuku bit his lip, blatantly caught out. "I-I still have a whole year to decide though. I'll pick some other possibilities before the end of school."

"There will always be plenty of paths open for you, Izuku. Way more than you know." His father sighed, a hint of sourness tinging his voice. "I only wish you would consider them.”