#like this is like bad boyyyyyyyyy

[auraxins]

(writing this after the complete DUMP of text that follows but monty i loved this sm WAH i hope ur ready to witness my live spiral into incoherency whilst i read this bc u can REALLY tell when my brain just went to jelly lmfao /pos so very pos)

okay i have to live react to this because im so excited to sit down and read it finally so lets go!

the opening is so detailed and paints a vivid picture of the setting for the fic, i love it so much!! your writing is always incredibly immersive to be fair and this is by far no exception to that

eri is going to make me CRY she's so sweet and wholesome and the little interruption for mochi was ADORABLE WAH

im ADORING the conveyance of different characters and tones in the emails, like with kaminari's signature and midoriya clearly having fallen asleep mid-typing. i knew the email format would tie neatly through this whole piece and i was definitely right about it because it adds just the right amount of something different to the regular writing format that it functions not only as little pagebreaks but still remains cohesive to the whole piece and its done so well!

the dynamic you've incorporated with all the teachers living together is so sweet and im such a big fan of how you've tied yagi into this too i think he fits so well as the older mentor-type figure thats looking out for the other teachers as much as youre looking out for the kids its incredibly sweet and a wonderful little parallel

also you're always very detailed with your fics and this carries on here, the fact that you really go into the quirk science itself helps maintain the immersion and makes it really feel like we as the reader do know this stuff intimately

fucking CRYING over shinsous spacebar rip his laptop poor guy very

very big fan of the magnetism between reader and aizawa in this, its subtle but it leaks through every single interaction ive read so far and i love it. in fact, everything about their interactions so far has been wonderful and the way you convey feeling resonates deeply to the point where i really do feel myself in reader's position

THE PARALLELS BETWEEN MIDORIYA KEEPING EVERYTHING TOGETHER AND SMILING ALL THE TIME FOR THE SAKE OF HIS CLASSMATES W HOW ALL MIGHT ACTS IM CRYING IM SOBBING IM THROWING UP HES JUST A BABY BOYYYYYYYYY

'do not call unless you are dying' and 'an email is here!' im WHEEZING im echoing myself but these little details really do make this fic, it just brings such a warmth to it and im having so much fun reading this

the fact that aizawa clearly is just so done with these kids but begrudgingly loves them all the same is so fsdkfhdskfsfhkds UGH I LOVE IT

bkg with the fidget toys so true oh my god and midoriya just having more on hand im gonna sob

'and you thought: such is grief' hits SO HARD oughhh so simple but so effective, beautiful

i love love LOVE all the little comedic moments of interruption that happen in this it just adds smth really sweet to it all, and tbh really hammers home the theme of 'yeah bad things have happened but its gonna be okay'

MIC SENDING DATING ARTICLES LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOO i love his inclusion in this sm it feels so natural and sweet (yes ik i keep using the word sweet my brain has turned to MUSH reading this /pos)

every little mention of the five senses in this is just SO ough ive already said how immersive this feels but its the little scenes like this (the coffee one in particular this time) that keep that immersion and hold me in it as i read the little details sprinkled in about the setting really help bring that more solemn tone to things, a reminder of what happened prior to the fic, and the fact that theyre still working their way through the aftermath

oh we BOTH know those cat pens are for aizawa himself, eri's only getting one if she sees them

oh the bakugou scene i have broken my first tears i am crying theres something so heartbreaking about seeing him so vulnerable like that (because he IS just a kid) and i suppose thats the point of the whole piece really but it hits so hard right here in particular

complete aside, as im reading this the neighbour's kids are laughing and screaming out in their garden and im ngl its the type of sound that usually irritates me and yet it feels fitting here

ROLL CREDITS WE SAID THE LINE this scene is so tender and visceral and warm and soft and WAH

'he kisses you deeply and it feels four weeks too late' IM SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGSSSSSSSSSS

OUUUGGGGGHHHHH THE SHIFT TO USING SHOUTA IN THE NARRATION OOOOOOOOUUUUUUUGHGHHGHHHHH

eri-bug is SO CUTE BTW

NEDZUS FINAL EMAIL I AM GOING TO BITE HIM

oh monty words cannot describe to you how much i needed to read this fic actually, those live reaction comments dont even scratch the surface of the emotions i felt throughout this. there was such a strong resonance in reader's characterisation and their actions and i felt it in my very bones with every single word and it was beautiful in such a tragic way. the sheer levels of comfort this fic provides is overwhelming and i know for a fact i'll find myself reading this again someday (quite likely soon)

ily and i can feel just how much love and thought and care you put into this writing, it bleeds through so profusely, drowning you in smoochies for producing such a wonderful thoughful masterpiece <3

THE KIDS ARE GONNA BE ALRIGHT ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: teachers are like bridges, there to facilitate students on their ungainly journey through life. add a war, a new subject, a gaggle of traumatised children and a handsome coworker with an apparent sleeping disorder — see where the bridge leads.

tags: GN reader (called 'Sensei'), coworkers to lovers, reader is a UA teacher (quirk science), single parent aizawa (adopted eri), some workplace shenanigans, meddling kids (class 2A + B), mutual pining, fluff + angst, learning difficulties, mental health (alluded PTSD), getting together, post war arc (heavily implied spoilers ahead), first kisses + making out, suggestive content + heavy themes, HAPPY + HOPEFUL END

wc: 19K

From: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: Welcome to UA! Message:  Good morning!  It is my pleasure to welcome you to UA — we are very excited to have you aboard! The files attached to this email are as follows:  

A map of the campus

The UA handbook and Emergency guideline

The Teachers Code of Conduct 

Please refer back to these regularly to familiarise yourself with everything. As we discussed in our prior phone call a place has been prepared in the teachers dormitory in preparation for your move. Your key and security badge are at the reception desk. Please bring identification to collect them. Do let me know if you require a reserved spot in the parking area. 

One last thing to note: 

The staff lounge and kitchen is located in the west wing of the first floor heroics building. It is regularly restocked with snacks and beverages. The coffee machine is also available to you at any time. Feel free to help yourself!

If you have any further questions you can email me or call me. I will get back to you as soon as possible. 

Kind regards,

Nedzu Principal of UA High School  〒123-4567 Ōikuyō, Shizuoka, Musutafu.  Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!

Your new world is bordered by a large imposing wall. 

It towers above your head, reinforced concrete and steel reaching for the heavens, housing weapons you could only imagine. Gone is the classic archway that once welcomed students with open arms. The public walkway leading uphill to the school is cordoned off. 

Even alongside global assistance progress was slow. A large chunk of Musutafu had remained levelled— debris and dust, unrecognisable. After the battle ended, rebuilding the country came first. Hospitals and emergency services were given priority; more shelters followed close behind, and once given the go ahead, individuals confined to UA were able to slowly integrate back into their own communities. 

One step at a time. Life stops for nothing, that is clearer than ever. 

You qualified as a quirk specialist, mainly working with college students, teaching science, history and philosophy of quirks. Principal Nedzu was an old acquaintance. You crossed paths at a conference or two, and you saw his name in citations of papers you read from time to time, but it never grew beyond professional respect. Thus, having him reach out to you through your private number had come as a big surprise. 

After the war a number of the current student’s quirks had evolved at an unprecedented rate, largely due to the trauma and strain they endured. He expressed his wish to include quirk study in the new curriculum and reasoned that having someone with your credentials on staff would not only ease the anxiety of the teenagers, but also that of the remaining teachers, who were inexperienced in dealing with stress manifestation. 

The call ended an hour later with a sixty three page contract in your inbox and a new job. You covered a broad range of subjects but your field of study was an elective, therefore smaller than you are used to. Even so it was your territory now. You tried to own it. The desks have been rearranged into a U shape, charts with interactive pieces affixed to the surface, and you decorated the space with Nedzu’s express permission in hopes of making it inviting. 

Over a month into the term and you can’t yet say you regret taking up his offer.

“Phyletic gradualism and punctuated equilibrium are the two extremes in a continuous model of evolution. The first kind is a far more uniform and gradual accumulation of changes that subsequently generate new species…”

Your mouth keeps moving as you scan the classroom for the fifth time, words muffled by the brief loss of focus. The students don’t notice the lapse; most eyes are still on you, some clouded and others intent on listening. It’s a true miracle that nobody has fallen asleep—though Kaminari is always a close call. Beneath it all is the soft, frantic scratch of Midoriya’s pen to paper and his low mutter, holding the attention of a bone weary Bakugo. 

“…Comparatively, punctuated equilibrium proposes that once a species appears, it becomes stable, showing little evolutionary change until an event triggers a rapid speciation process”.

Yaoyorozu’s hand flies up and startles Shinsou to attention. Her enthusiasm brings a slight smile to your lips. You point to her, “Yes, Yaoyorozu?”

“In that case, Sensei, would that mean that quirks are an example of punctuated equilibrium?” she asks. 

“That is the most agreed upon theory amongst the quirk science community,” you reply, directing the answer toward the entire class. There’s a scarce mix of Class A, B, and support students. Monoma straightens under your gaze. He’s flanked by Kouda, who returns a mousy smile, fingers idly petting Yuwai-chan, his pet rabbit. 

“Quirks are our reality—that much is undeniable. But with that comes a myriad of unknowns. How, why, and when did this happen to us?” Striding toward the board you uncap a blue marker with your teeth and write the phrase ‘theories’ down in large, neat penmanship. You cast a passing glance to the clock. Any minute now. 

“There is still no definitive answer. So for your next assignment I’m going to ask that you research and write an essay on a specific theory about the dawn of quirks,” you are helpless to the wicked grin that pulls across your mouth at their collective groan. “It’s due next Friday. That’s ten whole days to complete it! So generous, aren't I?” 

Overhead, a bell blares out an incessant ring to indicate the lessons end, and in a moment of synchronicity each student rouses from their chair. Bakugo shoves his hands into his pockets and makes a beeline for the door and ignores Midoriya’s aborted squawk as he shoves his notes into his backpack. 

“Thank you Sensei,” he stammers, rushing after the boy. “Wait for me, Kacchan!” 

Nobody calls attention to the seemingly tumultuous relationship. The 2A kids in particular watch their interactions with a trepid fondness. They’re always like that—or so Shinsou told you, once, barely audible over Bakugo’s incendiary growls as he hauled his childhood friend into a headlock. You understood it a little when you heard Midoriya’s bubbly laughter for the first time. And you let them be. 

The others file out slowly, lost in conversation or waiting on a friend. Iida stops at your desk and bows before leaving, bidding you an effusive goodbye, a habit he has steadfastly maintained no matter how much you assure him otherwise. In stark contrast the two subdued support students, Toma and Nakao, throw a simple salute with startling synchrony.

Just when you think you have some peace, a shadow crosses your peripheral vision. “Yo, Sensei,” Kaminari chirped. There’s an edge to his voice that draws your attention. Shinsou lingers nearby feigning disinterest as Kaminari fidgets with his blazer button. “About the—uh. About the essay…”

Blinking away your initial confusion you sit up in realisation. “Oh! That’s right,” Kaminari tenses as you lean across the desk, flicking through your copious bits of stationery. You peel off a cloud shaped sticky note and write down a date and time before handing it to the boy. 

“I scheduled a one to one so we can go over everything you’ve done before the deadline,” you explain gently. Kaminari takes the note between his fingers, grip delicate either end as though afraid it might tear. “Don’t worry if you lose that. I’m going to send the details to your student email, and I’ll remind you again on the day. That sound good?”

Had you been any younger your eyes might’ve stung at the clear wonder unfolding on his face; surprised and happy to be accommodated without interrogation. Now there is only a dull ache beneath your skull and resentment in your heart. His reaction spoke to the copious rejection he faced before UA. 

You’ve come to learn that children are only ever as brilliant as you allow them to be. 

“Y—yeah. That’s amazing, thanks Sensei,” Kaminari steadily brightens. His fist hits his chest with a quiet thump, “I won’t let’cha down!” 

“I’m sure you won’t. And please don’t forget to bring your overlays,” you call to them as they amble out into the hallway. Shinsou holds the door, nodding shortly in acknowledgement. The savoury smell of curry has already distracted Kaminari enough to have him forget your discussion. 

You sigh, hearing their laughter grow quiet in the distance. Another muted pang echoes through your skull. Expression contorted, you wince and gather your things, thoughts latched onto the lacquered bento box that awaits in the teachers lounge to distract from the pain. 

Once a stream of bustling students is now a mere trickle, stragglers hanging by the bathrooms, others cross legged in front of their lockers, grouped tightly together without causing obstruction. They appear wilted. An overarching air of despondency; grey against the brightly painted corridor. 

The muscles in your face twinge. You resolve to greet them all, offering a smile as sincere as you can muster despite the heaviness in your heart. For many of these kids, if not all, life would never be the same. So young, grappling with such unprecedented loss. 

You come to a halt. Lofty double doors loom. Your fingers curl into the recessed handle and you slide them open. Though the walls are bare, the windows are large, and into the staff lounge beams intrepid light. 

You’re met with a chorus of sluggish murmurs, few heads lifting to see who has entered. Of the faces present there are two you’re most familiar with—class 2A’s heroics mentor and their homeroom teacher. 

Yagi is hunched at his computer desk. A cardigan too large for his frame is draped across his shoulders and pools around his wrists. Cradled in one hand is a thermos covered in stickers. Steam pours from the open top, wispy tendrils curling into the air. You inhale and recognise the weak scent of bone broth. 

Those sunken eyes flicker as you approach, striking blue roving over your form. Whatever he sees must be cause for concern. “Are you feeling unwell?”

You had felt an immediate fondness for Toshinori Yagi when you first met him. The presence of All Might hung tangibly in the air, a stifling ode to his service that still unnerved those who did not know him, but you were different. Like his colleagues, you looked back and saw a well meaning, sweet but bumbling older man. 

“No, no,” you demurred. “It’s just a headache”. 

Yagi grimaces sympathetically, furrow etched into his brow. Hips slumped low on the staff sofa, garish yellow sleeping bag at his feet, Aizawa hums a low amused sound that draws your attention. You’re surprised he’s awake. “My kids will do that to you,” he murmurs. 

The Erasure hero’s head is tipped to bare his throat, jawline shadowed by stubble. Dark curtains of hair fall across his shoulders. Aizawa is handsome. This you cannot deny. Before you met you’d heard him described as quite the opposite. Yet here you are, magnetised to him; to his callous humour, and the rough, rare instances of laughter; to the sturdy body hidden beneath baggy clothing and the deep, blasé manner in which he speaks. 

You swallow the sight thickly and pinch the bridge of your nose with a self deprecating laugh. It’s just a silly crush. “Nothing like that,” you assure him. The chair creaks slightly beneath your thighs as you recline. “I don’t think I slept well last night”. 

Admitting it invites a sudden wave of fatigue. Aizawa is no stranger to exhaustion. You think he could probably sleep anywhere—hell, you’ve seen him sleep standing up. He regards you thoughtfully, and the longer he stares the warmer your collar becomes. You feel his scrutiny even as you avert your eyes. 

Incognisant to the tension, Yagi continues to fret. “Ah, that’s no good. Let me make you some coffee,” he insists, brushing off his pants as he stands. Yagi sheds the feeble slope from his shoulders and you blink at the burst of energy. 

“Alright. Thank you, Yagi-san,” you reply, voice dwindling as he ducks into the modest kitchen connected to the lounge. Aizawa clicks his tongue. 

“You’ll regret that,” he breathes, ensuring the other man would not hear. “Unless you’re a fan of drinking tar”. 

“Don’t be mean. I’m sure it’s not that bad,” your trembling lips press firmly together, not wanting to to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh. He exhales and shrugs as if to say ‘it’s your funeral’. 

Yagi soon returns holding a cup of coffee and your bento box. “Here. I thought you might want to eat,” he gives a signature toothy grin. You say nothing of the shake in his hands as he sets them down on your desk and bring the hot drink to your mouth. 

The coffee is awful. You hold your breath and smother the urge to cough, swallowing it down with feigned enthusiasm. The astringent taste lingers. A shudder runs throughout your body and you inhale sharply. “That—will definitely wake me up. Thank you, Yagi-san,” you rasp, trying to smile. Yagi looks rather pleased and gives a thumbs up. 

Next you look, Aizawa has shucked the sleeping bag up to his midsection and burrowed into his capture weapon, leaving only bloodshot eyes visible above the fabric. They’re crinkled at the edges and full of mirth—you interlock and he lifts his chin to mouth, “Told you”. 

That shouldn’t be so attractive, you think.

On the next mouthful of your rice you subtly uncurl your middle finger from beneath your chopsticks and pointedly flip it at Aizawa. He snorts, amused. 

“Gesundheit,” Yagi chimed between sips, enjoying the warm broth in his thermos flask. From what you understood he had to follow a strict liquid only diet. He could hardly stomach solids anymore. “Are you getting sick too, Aizawa-kun?” 

Aizawa sighs at the obliviousness, though you think he’s a little glad for it. 

The conversation tapers and the lunch hour crawls on. Your mind drifts to the students as you idly chew, grains ground to mush, vision blurring out of focus. Thankfully it appeared to be one of their better days. Shinsou remained awake for the entire period. Yaoyarozu participated confidently. The shadows under Bakugo’s eyes hadn’t been as severe. Iida’s legs had not restlessly bounced under the table. Midoriya kept his hands to himself and felt no need to feel for his friend's heartbeat. 

However one of your more boisterous spirits, Monoma, had been noticeably withdrawn. Kouda’s rabbit—trained to detect and assist with anxiety—scrambled into his arms on numerous occasions. 

Your skin prickles, alerted to the weight of someone’s gaze on your back. Not a second later you hear the low call of your name. Aizawa slips into the chair opposite, disconcertingly silent in his approach, and leans his chin against his fist. 

“If you keep thinking so hard, All Might really is going to give himself a hernia,” he mutters. 

Yagi’s lighthearted chuckle devolves into a harsh spluttering cough. “Blunt as always, Aizawa-kun,” he jokes, voice muffled by his hand. 

“I’m not sure he could even get a hernia…” you muse, offering him a tissue. Yagi nods in thanks as he wipes the blood from his mouth. “I was thinking about the kids, that's all”. 

Aizawa tilts his head. The sun settles at her highest point and golden pleats stretch across his face. These are the rare instances that his artificial eye becomes observable. Light refracts in the iris, glittering crimson through graphene layers. 

“They’ve really taken a shine to you,” he says, and it comes like an accusation, softened by the slight jut to his lips. You smirk, shutting your bento box and setting it aside. How wonderfully petty. 

“Curious?” 

“Midoriya burst into class last week and asked Tokoyami if he had a twin that he ate in the womb,” he drawls, brow twitching. Yagi splutters. “So yes, I’m curious what it is you’re teaching my students”. 

A fleeting sense of exasperation comes over you. Trust Midoriya to abandon delicacy in his eagerness. “I assume it’s because we covered the genetics of chimerism and how it relates to quirk inheritance,” you say, bemused. Hopefully Tokoyami was not offended. It’s a wonder he didn’t ask Todoroki.

“And how does it?” Yagi blink owlishly as you turn to him in surprise. “I’m curious!” he defends. 

“Oh. Well, genetic chimerism is when an organism has multiple sets of DNA often originating from the fusion of different zygotes,” you recite. Instinctively, your posture straightens as though you were back in the classroom. “This can happen with twin embryos. One absorbs the other and as a result, they have two sets of DNA”. 

“O—oh…?”

“So,” you continue, fingers wrung together in your lap, turning to give him your full attention. Colour drains from the retired hero’s cheeks. “The question I presented was this: would it then be possible for the surviving twin to inherit an additional quirk?”

“I see,” Yagi swallows and his grin strains at the edges as he realises you are waiting for a genuine answer. “Ah, I’m not—”

The lunch bell abruptly begins to ring. You both startle in your seats. Unperturbed, Aizawa pushes to his feet. His hair falls forward as he sways in place and meets your gaze. “As interesting as this is, we need to get to gym gamma for basic heroics,” he says, tone laced with monotony. 

Yagi jumps at the chance to escape. You try not to laugh. He continues to nervously glance over his shoulder, worried that you might be disheartened, but you wave them off happily. 

Coworkers come and go throughout the afternoon. Kurose keeps you company during their free period, later joined by Yamada, who insisted on quizzing you about western rock music. With no classes left to teach you spend the remainder of your day planning quirk counselling sessions, printing worksheets and sending routine emails, headache persisting. 

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From: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  To: Kaminari.Denki@UAedu.jp  Subject: Reminder [High importance] Message: 

Good afternoon,

Please see the two files I have attached to this email. One has a highlighted version of the essay brief, and another detailing how to structure an essay. 

As I mentioned, I have booked a one to one session for us to go over your draft and any concerns next week on [x] September 13:00 — 14:00. However do not hesitate to email me with any questions you have before this date. 

Take care!

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After the final bell rings you linger a while, not wanting to be swept away in throngs of students making their way to the dorms. There are no stragglers as you leave and your footsteps reverberate unsettlingly throughout the main building. 

The sky bleeds into early dusk with disquieting rays of light. Gentle enough that you can look directly into the sun and see the canvas it paints. Standing in the middle of the walkway, balefully watching the far off horizon, the early autumn air makes you shiver. 

Living on campus was a big change. Even so you had little to complain about. The staff dormitories are larger and much more private. You’d been given a studio on the second floor, neighbour to Ishiyama, the rather withdrawn cement hero. While there is a bathroom and kitchenette in each apartment you usually preferred to cook in the shared kitchen, conjoined to an open plan common room. 

Another familiar face greets you as you enter. Powerloader is seated at the dining table, mulling over a mess of blueprints. Quirk science and quirk support often went hand in hand thus you had collaborated before, albeit very rarely. 

He lifts his head at your entrance, face obscured by long, spiked copper hair. Seeing him free of his big excavator helmet—much like with Kurose without their space suit—is still quite strange. “Hey, Maijima-san,” you skim over what looks to be a box buckle belt. “Working on anything interesting?”

“I’m designing an MMF induction system for Tetsutetsu in 2B,” he explained, sifting through the papers to show another preliminary sketch. You notice the ink stain on the heel of his hand. “I’m hoping with the belt and armbands acting as coils we could turn him into an electromagnet of sorts”. 

“Wow. That’s actually pretty cool. There are so many things he could do with that,” you mumbled. Flash bangs. Emergency power. Assisting in triage. The possibilities were endless. Awed, you lean forward to scrutinise the chicken scrawl dotted around the drawings, some characters smudged beyond your comprehension. “How do you plan to measure his tolerance to—?”

“Mochi?!” a small, giddy voice interrupts. 

“…Mochi?” you repeat, bewildered. You look toward the source, gaze falling upon two silvery pigtails. Eri rocks on her heels and excitedly holds out a curved plate full of rice cakes. The height draws her sweater sleeves down her thin, scarred forearms. She makes a droning noise to stress that you take one. 

Aizawa strolls out from the kitchen behind her. A dull clink accompanies his footsteps, slanted to one side. You immediately note the various colourful clips pinning his hair away from his face, tied into a similar pigtail style, though tousled and loose.

“Eri,” he rumbles. “It’s impolite to interrupt private conversations”. 

The little girl wilts a fraction as her expression pinches in worry. She lowers the plate, but before it is out of reach, Maijima stretches across the table to snatch one up. Eri brightens at the exaggerated happy sound he makes as he chews, “This is some good mochi, Eri-chan. I’ll forgive you this once”. 

“Thank you, Maijiji,” she chimes. At that Maijima’s jaw unhinges mid-chew, the corners of his mouth twitching in quiet shock. Aizawa’s nostrils flare. He turns his head from the scene. Similarly, you tuck your chin to conceal your smirk and pluck up a mochi for yourself. 

“These look delicious,” you tell her, diverting the topic from Maijima—who, in your periphery, is mouthing ‘old man?!’ toward Aizawa with some incredulity. Eri’s focus remains on your face. She watches intently as the sticky dough yields under your thumbs. 

You tear a piece away to eat. Softer, smoother on the inside. It begins to melt on your tongue. The red bean paste is sweet with earthy undertones. “Wow!” the exclamation comes warbled, muffled. Eri tugs at the hem of her pink knit sweater, her smile stretching wider. “You’re very kind for sharing these, Eri”. 

“Mhm. S’because Yama-san teached me a quote in English today,” she effuses proudly, “He said sharing is caring”. The foreign enunciation doesn’t quite fit, like the words are choppy in her mouth, but they fall easily from her lips as if she has practised them a hundred times.

“Taught,” Aizawa corrected, bending into view to take the plate from her hands and set it on the table. She blinks at him curiously, and he explains, “You should say ‘Yama-san taught me’, not teached”. 

“Oh,” she says. You watch fondly as he licks his thumb to wipe away a smear of bean paste on her chin. Her face scrunches up, lips pursed and air in her cheeks. 

“And now you’ve been taught a new word,” you add, pulling off a bigger piece of mochi. Eri bounces in place as you offer it to her and she shoves it into her mouth. “Thank you for the treat, Eri. I think I’ll enjoy this in my room”. 

“Ywor lea’win’?” 

Aizawa sighs and concedes defeat to her poor manners. He cradles the crown of her head with his palm, stroking her hair. “I’m a little tired so I really want to take a shower and get in my pyjamas,” you say, hoping to placate her with a smile. “But I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime tomorrow, okay?”

Eri concedes rather reluctantly. Her fondness for you, once a stranger from the yawning unknown, is warming. Though her dejection is short-lived, soon distracted by the late arrival of Yagi and Yamada. 

The soft hair on your neck prickles. Sensing his stare you meet Aizawa’s gaze, heavy enough to feel like touch. It stirs a fleeting sort of hope in your chest. He looks gentle, frame wrapped up in the gauzy evening lustre. You clear your throat, “Did heroics go well in the end?” 

His brow twitches and you get the distinct feeling that you’re being laughed at. “No broken bones. So I would say so,” he deadpanned. 

“If it were anyone else saying that I’d be concerned,” you smiled, knowing class 2A in particular was well renowned for incurring injuries in training. “It was their first one since… everything, right? I’m glad they’re doing okay”. 

He hums, eyes sliding toward his daughter when her laughter breaks the delicate quiet. You shift awkwardly where you stand, overly conscious of Maijima seated nearby, now engrossed in his work. Aizawa levelled his voice, “How’s the headache?” 

“Persistent,” you murmur. Acknowledging it invites another dull pang inside your skull. “Honestly I can’t wait to get in bed”. 

“Hear hear,” he breathes. The corner of his mouth curls as he looks at you and gravity vaults around your stomach, rendering you momentarily weightless. Just a crush, you think, half hysterical. “Get some rest. If you plan on missing dinner then take a jelly pouch or an energy bar with you”. 

Touched by his concern you sway toward the kitchen. Your teeth sink into your cheek, biting down a grin where he cannot see it. “Yeah, okay,” you laugh under your breath. Louder then, “But I’m going to take your favourite flavour”. 

“Don’t push your luck,” he dared. 

You retire to your apartment with a green jelly packet in hand and a clunky wave. Energy seeps out of you like water through a sieve as soon as your door shuts. Fatigue creeps in; the body needing rest yet the mind restless. 

The shower does little to shake you awake. Dragging your feet to your bedroom, pouch uncapped and held between your lips. Tepid air sticks to still damp skin. Your bed yields, thoughts slowing. You crawl across the mattress, cheeks hollow as you lazily suck the jelly until the foil wrinkles. 

Cocooned in plush fleece and linen, you tilt your head and let it loll against the pillow; exhaustion sweeps through you, consciousness waning. The ache behind your eyes lessens as they close. You sleep. 

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From: Kaminari.Denki@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: RE: Reminder [High importance] Message: 

Hi hi

The worksheets really helped!!! You’re the best, Sensei!

I was talking to Mido and he said some ppl think quirks are a genetic mutation from a disease spread by rats?? ? (◎-◎;) super freaky. Can I make that my essay topic? 

Thnx!

Kaminari Denki AKA ⚡️ CHARGEBOLT

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From: Midoriya.Izuku@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: An analysis of the Q-gene theory Message:

Sorry to email so late! Or early haha… I found some articles while I was researching that I think will be helpful to my essay but the journal is not open access. Is there any way that I cannnnnnnnvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvccccccccccccccvvvvvvccccccccccccccccvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Sent from my ePhone 

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Morning comes abruptly. The sound of your alarm cuts out as you stretch across the bed to hit snooze, limbless and heavy handed. You rise with a crick in your neck. Barely cognisant, the floor rises to meet you, cool against the soles of your feet. 

A mottle of pale blue and white blended into a grey low lit morning, flooding the common area. It’s no surprise to you that people are already awake. Snipe is seated on the couch meticulously cleaning his pistol while Kurose is clad in their gym wear, jogging in place where they wait for Yagi to zip up his jacket. 

Upright, he beams at the sight of you, “Good morning! You look much better today”. 

You do not feel much better. 

“Morning,” you return lightly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Snipe tips his hat in your direction with a quiet grunt. “Are the others still asleep?” 

The drooping blonde hair that frame’s Yagi’s face sway as he shakes his head. “Not everyone. I believe Yamada-kun is at his radio station. Ectoplasm is out walking the perimeter with Hound Dog. Though Aizawa-kun may be sleeping…”

“He got back from night patrol a few hours ago,” Kurose adds. They wave both hands at you, spacetime wielding fingers wiggling as though to entice you, “That aside, would you like to join us on our morning run?” 

Your expression immediately shifts, exhibiting strong disinclination. “I appreciate the invite, but I’d rather return to a horizontal position until my work hours start”. 

Kurose laughs warmly. Yagi, however, insists on reciting the benefits to early exercise while he ties and reties his shoes. You send them off, holding the door open to breathe in the morning dew, and spend a minute feeling the cool air prickle your cheeks. 

The day crawls on. You get to your classroom before the first period and review the lesson plans. The third years stagger to their seats. You can sympathise with their dead eyed stares—two hours of quirk regulation law is not exactly the most riveting topic—and take no offense to their spiritless attitudes. 

Third period is spent fostering discussion about politics with the business students. By the time lunch hour comes and goes you have barely left your classroom. Your next set is composed of first year hero students. This academic year both class 1A and B had been mixed into the same group. Hardly six months after a war steeped in blood and sacrifice, Japan’s citizens were not so eager to hand their children over to a hero school. Thus there were few applicants. Nevertheless, Principal Nedzu remained optimistic about their potential. 

Straight away you understood his judgement. In covering the quirk history module you saw first hand their iron willed determination to learn from the past and change the system. Hands are thrown high in the air—eager despite your intention to wind down—as you inquire their thoughts about the quirk classification system. 

“The whole thing is bull—brainless!” one of your more headstrong students, Higuchi, calls out. You can picture the lurid glare behind his blacked out glasses. His classmates murmur in agreement. 

“He’s right, Sensei,” Kaneko, 1B class president, adds quietly. The air distorts around her when she speaks and your jaw clenches, withholding a flinch as your ear pops. “Why are there only three categories? It makes no sense”. 

“I agree. The classification system is simplistic and outdated. Which is what leads me into my final question…” you hold out your hands in mock surrender, brows pointedly arched, and they settle down. In that instant, the door slides open and disrupts the peace. Every head turns to watch Eraserhead slip brazenly into the classroom, and after a pregnant pause, gesture for you to continue. 

Heat rises to the high point of your cheeks. His expression is soft in the artificial light, fixed on you with intent and sincere intrigue. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.  “Ah—What was I saying?” you joked nervously. Sensing your embarrassment the kids begin to laugh under their breath. “That’s right. My question is, if possible, what are some of the categories you would introduce to improve the quirk database? Brainstorm for me. There are no wrong answers!” 

Those eyes nag at you for the remainder of the hour. With another teacher present, heralded as a war hero no less, the motivation to impress increases tenfold. You bullet point their answers on the class board, prompting further explanation or examples and suggesting your own. It’s a welcome distraction—

And the outcome is far more comprehensive than you expected:

Generation describes quirks that allow the individual to create something from their body. Example: Creati. 

Manipulation refers to quirks that control what is pre existing. Example: Poltergeist. 

Users with a Transmutation quirk can change or alter the function of things around them. Example: Mudman.

Augmentation quirks allow the individual to improve their own body in some way. Example: Mount Lady. 

Information quirks classify those that can detect, understand and apply information. Example: Nighteye.

You watch them rush to scribble the list down. Murmurings carry through the classroom as they turn to one another, listing more examples, giving thought to how each quirk should be designated. Pride swells in your chest. 

“I have a question”.

Aizawa remained hunched in the corner, one hand deep in his pocket. The other is raised lazily above his head. This elicits some anticipation from your students. You motion for him to continue, “Yes, Aizawa-sensei?”

“Erasure is listed as ‘Emitter’ in the quirk database. This means I share a category with quirks which are fundamentally different, such as Hellflame,” he speaks with a calm, assertive cadence that holds the kids' attention. His gaze sweeps across the class and they squirm. “Tell me, what would you categorise my quirk as to draw that distinction?”

The long silence is contemplative rather than daunting. Higuchi fakes a cough. He lifts his fist, fingers unfurling as his wrist then falls limp, feigning indifference. It was made no secret that he admired Eraserhead, given their shared ocular abilities. Allure was a powerful quirk. Persuaded with a single glance, inhibited only by the specialised lenses in his glasses. 

Thus you recognise the attitude change for what it is—a preemptive measure in the case that he slips in front of the man he admires. “Higuchi,” you warmly addressed. Aizawa centres his attention on the boy. “Do you have a suggestion for Aizawa-sensei?”

“Y—yeah,” he says. “I thought we could add something like ‘Condition’ to the list…?”

“Can you elaborate on that?” you try to encourage. Aizawa’s posture shifts, his interest piqued. 

“I was just thinking, Erasure doesn’t fit any of the shi—stuff we thought up,” Higuchi continues, his fingers knotted tight on the desk, knuckles white. “Condition would cover people whose quirks enforce a condition on others. Like an infatuation quirk or—or my own quirk”.

Everybody is seemingly waiting with bated breath. You glance back at Aizawa, now carefully regarding Higuchi. You know that look. “Not bad, kid,” he nods, quietly pleased. Higuchi grins. 

Smiling, you move to add ‘Condition’ to the list. 

You’re on edge after the bell rings. Aizawa’s presence brushes you like a breath of balmy air, biding his time while you send off your class, grunting in response to those who bow in his direction. When you finally turn his half lidded gaze is mellowed. 

“So,” you begin clumsily. “Is there any particular reason why you interrupted my lesson?” 

Aizawa hums. A sound so deep, so supple you want to lean into it. “I have a favour to ask. Is the rest of your afternoon free?” 

“The Eraserhead asking me a favour?” you tease, needlessly lining up your stationary before collecting your things. “I’ve got no more classes to teach, if that’s what you mean. Why?”

“All Might can’t assist supervising heroics training this afternoon,” he mutters, examining your display boards with absentminded curiosity. 

“You need to give me more than that, Aizawa”. 

He exhales, mouth pressed thin, ducking into his capture weapon. You see a shift in expression, the skin of his cheeks drawing up to crinkle around his eyes. The petulance brings a smirk to your lips. Aizawa had been mildly avoidant and emotionally reserved from the moment you met him, but for someone so motivated by logic he seemed to expect you to read his mind lately. 

“Two people are required to oversee the class”

“And you want that second person to be me?”

“If you’re going to be difficult I can ask Thirteen,” he replies dryly. The tip of his tongue wets his bottom lip, tempting your gaze. You feel yourself consciously resisting. 

The empty threat hangs lightly in the room. Your smirk gentles into a smile. He tracks your movement, standing aside while you tuck in the desk chair. “No, no. I’ll come,” you demurred. “I want to help. Let’s go”. 

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From: Shinsou.Hitoshi@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: — Message: 

Hisorrywoulditbepossibletogetanextensiononmyessay?Myspacebarisbroken. 

Shinsou Hitoshi

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From blue rafters to monochrome stone, the arched structure of Gym Gamma comes into view. Towers over you as you approach. Aizawa’s footsteps are purposeful and his legs carry him forward with a lumbering gait. You’ve changed into shoes befitting the outdoors—a pair of boots that hug your calves tight and keep your ankles warm as the afternoon wanes toward an inevitable cold evening. 

“The students participating today have been previously cleared for training in a controlled environment by their psychiatrist,” Aizawa says, breathing slightly visible in the autumn chill. His hands are buried deep in his capture weapon. “First they’ll start by sparring without quirks to warm up. If I see no risk they can then move on to using quirks”.

Allowing the kids to train again had been a sensitive matter. Not a single hero student came out the war unscathed; the first years especially, given the proximity to AFO, were dealt extensive physical and psychological trauma—a handful even undergoing  forced quirk awakening. Throwing them back into a battle environment, controlled or otherwise, needed to be handled with care. 

Aizawa did just that, and to your knowledge he always had. He exercised caution with his students. Even if it came across as harsh. Even if the chances of danger were nil. He was staunchly protective of his brood. You understood that to be the reason why their parents trusted him to lead them forward—

And you hoped it meant he would be open to your advice throughout the training. 

Your head bobs, nodding in acknowledgment. “During the latter half of the session, if I see signs of a student in distress—?”

“Inform me,” he cuts in firmly. A flash of crimson pools into his irises, gone between blinks, and you’re left to wonder if it was just a trick of the light. “I’ll erase their quirks and stop the spar before it escalates”. 

You ponder that as Aizawa shields his eyes and scans the beyond when a chorus of voices reaches your ears. An amalgamation of 2A and 2B are waiting by the gym doors, with the few that recognise you excitedly waving their arms and calling your name. 

“Understood,” a small smile pulls at your lips. You wave toward the group, donned in their UA tracksuits. “You’re the boss”. 

Iida graciously bids you both welcome, his hand chopping through the air as he speaks over the others and attempts to assuage them. Questions of All Might’s whereabouts are few and far, instead entirely focused on your unexpected presence—all the more surprising that Midoriya visibly brightens, unaffected by his mentor’s absence. 

You allow Aizawa to take the wheel while he makes introductions, rocking idly on your feet, nodding along when prompted. “I’m sure some of you are well acquainted, whether it be through individual quirk consultations or taking quirk science as your chosen elective…”

Yaoyorozu is poised beside a fellow student, Jirou, arms crossed over her midriff. Fingers wiggle by the crook of her elbow in another subtle wave, smile gracing her lips. Bakugo catches the movement and his eyes flicker in your direction. He acknowledges you with a short nod.

“Today is not about analysing the progression of your quirks. We will be observing how you apply them,” he continues. There’s a fleeting emphasis to his voice. It carries an underlying warning, the same way a parent might quietly reprimand a child. The class visibly stands straighter and Midoriya raises his hand. 

Aizawa exhales, a fond sort of exasperation shining through, “…Midoriya”.

“Will we receive individual feedback?” Midoriya eagerly questioned. “And can we get Sensei’s opinion on our own ideas? Because—!”

“Kid,” Aizawa drawls. Colour paints Midoriya’s face pink but he seems bashful rather than ashamed. “Once we move onto sparring with quirks, yes, you will be notified of anything we deem significant. After class”. 

Bakugo, Monoma, Shinsou, Tetsutetsu and Midoriya appear particularly motivated by this. You clear your throat, gaze sliding to Aizawa as you add, “And anyone seeking my opinion or reassurance is free to email me. We can set up a meeting. That’s what I’m here for, after all”.  

The hour wore on. Aizawa was happy to watch in comfortable silence, offering up any thoughts and observations as they passed. There’s a clear sense of pride about him. A softness. Comfortable showing it now he’s a distance from the prying eyes of his students.

Hand-to-hand warm ups progress to quirk use. Some have formed small battle royale type groups while the others chose to pair up. You scan the gym with a keen eye. The quick streak of Midoriya’s red sneakers as his left foot pivots on the mats catches your attention. His opponent, Todoroki, falls into a balanced stance. 

You watch their fight unfold. The intensity swells. Dread prickles down your spine. “Aizawa…” you cautioned. 

Green lightning pulses. One For All activates. A metallic taste sticks to the roof of your mouth. Midoriya’s body twists, and with it his right foot swings up in a singular, upward path. It cleaves through the air, a slice more than it is a swing, and the force lands squarely on the side of Todoroki’s skull—or it would have, if he hadn’t blocked it with his arm, encased in ice. 

There’s a split second in which everything stops. An immense, charged force bore down on your lungs. Your vision blurred. As quick as it came the lightning died out and a deluge of shattered ice fell to the ground. 

“Ouch,” Todoroki says, cradling his wrist. You think that probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Aizawa sprinted across the room without ceremony, his hair hung high in suspension and ready to step in. Todoroki interjects first. Presumably to defend his friend and assure them both that he’s fine. While Aizawa scans his forearm for any sign of major injury you watch Midoriya return to himself. Colour drains from his face. Chest heaving. There’s a violent tremor in his legs.  Between rapid blinks you hear the crack in his mumbled apologies. 

Aizawa settles a gentle hand on his shoulder. The rest of the students return to their matches, save for a select few who spare Midoriya a concerned glance—nevertheless, nobody is truly surprised. You can only wonder how often this happens. 

Midoriya broke himself for the sake of others more times than you could stomach, and you’ve been witness to how uniquely adept he is at hiding those splintered parts first hand. With the wound still so fresh, people needed the courageous, forthright, spirited version of him, the one with the beaming smile and the promise of safety. At only sixteen years old that is already his delegated role in life. 

There are not enough words to depict just how catastrophic the war had been. You suffered heart-wounds of your own but in facing the sacrifice these children gave you felt a contrite, shameful hole in your consciousness. This is victory; the only one on the table, and it is painful.

While Aizawa calms Midoriya, your focus returns to the rest of the class. Tetsutetsu is holding his own against Iida. Kuroiro is half steeped in shadow, reflexively sinking into his quirk as he wards off Bakugo’s punches. You note that Kaminari is unsteady on his feet, having already discharged too much electricity. 

Something about Monoma’s hesitance also holds your attention. Of the abilities he’s used there has only been four. Odd, given his ability to hold five at a time, and the plethora of quirks surrounding him. 

You chew your lip and it occurs to you that he must be keeping one on reserve from prior to the lesson. The next thought comes unbidden, inhaling sharply as a sudden, cold sort of clarity slides through you. 

The only quirk you imagine Monoma could still be intentionally holding onto is the one he took during the fight against AFO. Erasure. 

“What’re you thinking?”

You shake out of your stupor and find Aizawa closer than expected. Somewhere in between he had tied his hair up. He tucks a wayward strand behind his ear, eyes squinted and wrinkling the scar tissue high on his cheek. “What?” you ask dumbly. 

“You went somewhere,” he clarifies. You feel his knuckles lightly knock your temple. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Ah,” you smile, abashed, and rub the spot of skin he touched. “Just making mental notes. I wish I had brought something to write with”.

“Well?” Aizawa says, as though his silence was enough of an invitation. “Tell me about them”. 

“It’s obvious the student’s have made incredible progress when compared to their first year quirk assessments. But there are some minor adjustments that I think will help considerably…”

You go on to list ideas for development and support tech. Things like regularly involving parkour into all their training routines. Or having Iida request smaller engines along the front legs of his costume for faster braking, or sharper turns. Or experimenting with Mina’s quirk, testing how precise her control is over her acid’s viscosity and if she could potentially create gaseous forms.

Your awareness wanes periodically, pausing open mouthed to discern the skill of each group, weighing your thoughts. To his credit Aizawa does listen to you ramble, mellowing the longer you speak. Tension seeps from his shoulders as though pulled down by gravity and that look of contentment returns. 

“In terms of wielding their quirk the one I’m most concerned about is probably Kaminari,” you hesitate, chewing your lip as your voice lowers. “I believe he still views his quirk as a final move”.

Aizawa leans forward, attentive to your opinion, and hums. The dulcet melody is warm by your ear—

You become conscious of his proximity. The air retains his heat, the indistinct woodsy notes that always clung to his clothes. 

—and your throat constricts as you swallow.

“Because of that he immediately jumps from zero to one hundred. I’ve seen his files. It results in mild cranial nerve lesions which then induces temporary impairment mid battle,” you continue soberly, staring ahead with lips stretched into strained assurance as some of the students begin to notice your proximity. 

Monoma strikes the back of Tetsutetsu’s leg as he makes a suggestive gesture, making him collapse on one knee. You close your eyes as embarrassment floods your body, “I have to wonder if he ever worked with a quirk counsellor in the first place”. 

Aizawa signals his agreement and moves back a fraction. His expression remained unchanged. He is by no means an unfeeling man, but you can’t help being jealous about how unshaken he is. All the while you probably look like a spring bouquet. 

“So, how do you suggest we help him?” 

His genuine countenance tempered your short lived frustration, and the word ‘we’ echoed in your mind. You knew what he meant, but it still brought a pleasant flutter to your chest. “I think we should start by having support give him a multimeter,” you reply. “Atleast that way we can discern the point that he begins to lose cognition and work upwards from there”. 

“Alright. I’ll ask Maijima-san once we’re done here,” he nods. There is a tentative pause. “Anything else you think needs to be addressed?” 

“There is…Monoma,” you add. His head turns in your peripheral vision, visibly taken aback. 

“Monoma?” he repeated. 

“This is just speculation on my part,” you grimace, sparing a glance toward the students. As the session winds down they’ve gathered in the centre of the mats, talking to one another. “But I have a hunch that he might still be holding onto your quirk”.

Aizawa’s face becomes pinched. The apparent frustration grows as his expression shifts. Mouth twisting, jaw moving with gritted teeth. “I should’ve noticed,” he mutters. 

“Monoma is primarily in Kan-san’s care, not yours. If anything he should be the one to notice,” you say, subtly detailing his side profile as he continues to observe his class. “Between the media circus, your physiotherapy, teaching and being a father—you can hardly blame yourself”. 

The bridge of his nose wrinkles at that. “Shit, sorry. Did I overstep?” you fret. 

Aizawa’s expression smooths out, reluctantly. He exhales. “No. I’m just not used to the idea of being a parent, I suppose”. 

“Guardian, then,” you amended with a flippant wave, hoping to lighten the sullen atmosphere. “Though I guess teaching is like a sub-branch of parenting in itself”. 

“How so?”

“Good or bad, a teacher plays a big part in shaping a child, right?” For a strange, short moment, you’re hyper aware of how closely he watches you as you speak, and you deal with it by finding great interest in the gym floor. “Y’know. Their self confidence, beliefs and ambitions… didn’t you have anyone like that?” 

That gives him pause, and while he thinks you drink in the line of his jaw, angular and shadowed by stubble, the wispy strands framing his face as his haphazard ponytail slowly loosens, and the faint crease formed across the bridge of his nose after grimacing so frequently. 

Aizawa’s brow arches. Caught, you quickly cast your gaze to the gym floor. “Well. There is the man that made me realise I wanted to go underground,” he says, graciously ignoring your ogling. “His purple highness”.

“His purple highness?!” you echo, voice clamouring through the now quieted din, diverting the students attention from their post training stretches. “Fuck, sorry. Of all the heroes I wasn’t expecting you to say him”. 

Nakaoji Tenma, now retired hero ‘His purple highness’, was the polar opposite of Aizawa. Widely renowned for flamboyance and theatrics, his notorious vibrant two piece suit and frilly open chested jacket sporting vibrant epaulettes on each shoulder was particularly unforgettable. 

“You wouldn’t be the first. I thought Nemuri was absurd for recommending Oboro and I during her work study,” he reminisced. 

“Surely it wasn’t that bad”.

Aizawa cracks a rueful grin. “His highness quickly recognised that I would have poor media presence and tried to teach me ‘how to smile’ properly. As you can see, it didn’t work out”.

You weren’t so sure. Aizawa’s amusement always started behind his eyes, a mirth that flashed across a grey midwinter and trickled into his chest to create a brief, reserved huff of laughter; though you sense underlying melancholy as he recounts his internship and lost loved ones, his smile still curled sincerely at the edges. 

“I don’t know. I like your smile. Even if it can be a little…”

“Disturbing?” 

“Disarming,” you return, nudging his side. Without intention your fingers brushed against the rough skin of his knuckles, fine hairs prickling—and then a sudden, shrill whistle cuts suggestively through the mood, shattering it. 

Kaminari stands proud a few feet ahead of his snickering classmates, lips closed around his middle fingers. Aizawa rolls his neck with an indignant sigh. The joint clicks. He raises his voice and impassively announces, “For that you can all do ten laps”.

A chorus of objections fills the gym. One by one, the students drag their feet toward the outer edge and break into a jog. You bite back a smile, “You’re awful”. 

“Never claimed not to be,” he tells you. “All Might has another hospital appointment at the end of next week, if you want to join us again”. 

A nascent fondness unfurls in your chest. “Sure,” you murmur. “I’d like that”. 

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From: Aizawa.Shouta@UAedu.jp To: Maijima.Higari@UAedu.jp Cc: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: Request [High importance] Message:

Our resident quirk scientist has advised us to provide Kaminari Denki [ID: 16XXXX] with a multimeter to assist in his training. Do we have one on campus or am I going to have to do more paperwork?

Aizawa Shouta 2A Homeroom Teacher, UA High School Private number: +81 (03) 1234-5678 Do not call unless you are dying. 

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From: Yagi.Toshinori@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: An email is here! Message: 

My friend,

Young Midoriya informed me that you took my place alongside Eraserhead in training this afternoon. He found your input very impressive, and even expressed the desire to have you look over his notebooks. That is quite the privilege! Ah, but please don’t tell him I told you that…!!!

Thank you for your hard work today. I will see you at dinner.

Yagi Toshinori Heroics Department, UA High School └（★ｏ★）┐ 𝓹𝐥𝔲ｓ Ǘ𝐋ⓣ𝔯𝓐 ┌（★ｏ★）┘

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Something indiscernible has since shifted. 

The work week is long, and when you crawl your way out of the mire of trepidation that decidedly hung over you, the source becomes clearer. 

The kids are being weird. 

Heroes in training, absolutely, but masters in subtlety they are not. Less than innocent, mischievous whispers would reach your ears, and silhouettes duck behind the nearest corner whenever you look back. Above all else they’ve taken to closely observing your interactions with Aizawa—sometimes going as far as forcing them. Kaminari even deems it appropriate to be nosey about your love life—or rather, your lack thereof—during your supplementary one-to-one. 

“That is not your business nor is it relevant to your essay,” you told him, tapping the end of your marker against the desk. The gentle reprimand did nothing to placate him. Scratching his cheek, Kaminari simply laughed and returned to reading the annotations you’d left on his work. 

Aizawa doesn’t bat an eye to any of it. While he presented himself as an extremely private man with clear boundaries drawn between home and work, it was obvious to you that that line had been trampled. He was accustomed to their harmless meddling. 

“Believe me. It’s worse if you tell them to stop,” he said, as if they were toddlers and would eventually tire themselves out.  

You have the pleasure of teaching their final class that Friday. If you’re lucky, come Monday they’ll have forgotten whatever it is they’re hatching.

Their focus wanes with the hour, your lesson structure a little looser to lead them into the weekend. Eri had joined unexpectedly, hidden behind Midoriya’s legs and teetering on her tiptoes to peek around the room. Kouda let’s Yuwai-chan rest in her arms as she sits on her very own chair beside Shinsou, mumbling small delights. 

“Focus, guys. We all have something called a Plus Alpha Mechanism in our DNA…”

Your pen glides along the board. The quiet repetitive sound of Bakugo’s tangle fidget matches your meridian rhythm, and you could almost forget the nonsense that has shadowed you since the training session. 

“…Here. The simplest way to think of it is like this,” following along with a finger, you read the written equation. “For example, if somebody has a tail—”

“Like Ojiro-kun!” Midoriya chirps. Bakugo gives him a sidelong glare, and his cheeks fill with air. 

“Correct, Midoriya,” you smile at his sheepishness. Your finger moves along to the latter half of the equation, “But the mechanism to move and wield his tail comes from the Plus Alpha. Added together, this forms the Quirk Factor”. 

“Sensei, is it then possible that quirklessness can occur when the Plus Alpha gene expression is not activated?” Iida inquires. Midoriya’s pencil stutters. 

“That’s right,” you flash him an encouraging smile, wider as he preens. Bakugo’s hands, too, have notably faltered, the tangle fidget balled up into a knot. “It’s a popular explanation amongst fourth gen members of the medical community. Older generations tend to prefer the whole archaic toe joint theory—but I don’t have time to cover that today”. 

Midoriya and Bakugo exhale in tandem. Monoma observes their behaviour closely, chin cupped in his palm. He seems well rested which alleviates the heaviness in your chest a fraction. You hope Aizawa has had the chance to speak with him. 

“Any other questions before I start to wrap up?”

Shinsou goes to raise his hand, stopping midway. Your brow arches and he indicates to wait. You watch on as he leans down to whisper something to Eri. Her doe-eyed gaze snaps from Yuwai-chan to his face, meeting an expression apologetically soft. And whatever it is he says, she pats his cheek in response. 

Sufficiently reassured, Shinsou once again raises his hand above his head. And as he relays his question a sober atmosphere befalls the class. 

In a roundabout manner—and refusing to name him—Shinsou asks about the Quirk erasing bullets used in the Shie Hassaikai case. You, like him, immediately seek Eri’s permission to speak on it. She gathers Yuwai-chan closer and nods. 

“Despite the name, the quirk erasing bullets did not technically erase any individuals quirk genes. They were engineered to directly attack the Plus Alpha,” the tip of your pen squeaks as you write out the words below the previous equation, underlining them twice. “Therefore the quirk could no longer be activated, making them functionally quirkless”. 

Shinsou accepts this, cheek sunken where he chews the flesh. Between blinks the pensive downturn to his mouth begins to curl into a faint smirk. “What about Aizawa-sensei’s quirk?” he asks, feigning innocence.

Your benevolence tapers as the class titters. Eri giggles, muffled by Yuwai-chan’s fur, and her shoulders hunch to hide in the little neck she has. 

“While I understand why you might conflate the two, Aizawa-sensei’s ocular quirk, Erasure, deactivates the Plus Alpha temporarily,” you answer at the end of a short sigh, taking a step back to lean against the wall. You skim the room with a pointed look, “As I’m sure you have all experienced first hand”. 

A few shudder at that. The whiplash of having the connection to your quirk severed must be alarming. You imagine it’s not something one can ever get used to. 

“Oc-u-lar?” Eri repeats. You feel your expression gentle as you meet her curious gaze. 

“Ocular means it’s connected to his eyes,” you explain simply, pointing to your own. “That is why his left eye glows red when he uses his quirk. Cool, right?” 

Accepting this, Eri’s cheeks swell with her smile and she chirps in agreement, “I like his eyes. They’re pretty”. 

“She likes his eyes,” Kaminari repeats with a faux-solemn nod. “Do you think so too, Sensei?” 

Iida sits ramrod straight in his seat. The abrupt jolt knocks his glasses halfway down his nose, “That is hardly appropriate for the classroom!” 

The electric blonde waves in surrender, “It’s just an innocent question, Prez! Not like I asked if he was United States of sma—”

“Kaminari-kun!”

Something snaps. Yuwai-chan yips. A litany of orange curved pieces spray across the table. Bakugo slumps, wearing a scowl dark enough to silence the chaos, debris from the broken fidget between his fingers. “Who gives a fu—” he spares Eri a quick glance and releases a long, deliberate exhale. “Who cares. Bunch’a nosey losers”  

Worry paints Momo’s features. Somewhat uncharacteristic of her, she readily rolls up her sleeve to offer the creation of another tangle. “Bakugo-kun, do you need me to…?”

“Don’t worry, Yaoyorozu-san!” Midoriya interrupts with a sunny complexion. He lumbers his backpack into his lap, zips it open and pulls out an identical fidget. “Kacchan breaks them a lot”.

You stifle the urge to groan into your hands, or gather them all into an uncomfortably strong hug, or both. For as much as you could tease Aizawa for allowing the students to bulldoze through his work-life boundaries it is becoming clear you're just as guilty. 

Bakugo lingers after the bell rings. The others file out, some with apologetic smiles, and neither of you speak until the classroom is empty. “Is everything okay, Bakugo?” you ask lightly. 

He itches his neck. Shoulder jerking as he shrugs, giving a stiff nod. Looking a little frayed around the edges, Bakugo mutters, “Sorry about the mess. M’staying to pick it up”. 

“That’s not necessary,” you objected. A slight pout works its way onto his lips. You know well enough that for all his posturing, Bakugo respects the word of his teachers. “I assure you it’s fine, Bakugo. But I really appreciate the sentiment”.

“Whatever,” he says, barely above a mumble. He shoves his hands into his pants pockets and motions to leave. “See ya Monday, Sensei”.

“Take care, Bakugo,” you call after him. Your ears latch onto the leaden echoing of footsteps until they disappear down the hallway. Silence creeps in while you pick up the small curved pieces.  The little moment of peace you had sought all week does not arrive. There are still emails to attend to, assignments to mark and future lessons to structure—

Your stomach rumbles and interrupts that thought. Again, evermore persistent while you attempt to ignore it. Eventually you dump the collected orange pieces into your desk drawer and make for the staff lounge, switching off the lights as you go. 

All Might and Present Mic are the only two in the room. Yamada spots you first. He’s yet to remove his costume, and the leather sleeves cream as he lifts his arms, waving loosely. Yagi spins on his axis for the source of the fuss. There’s a spoon in his mouth, and his lips stretch into a smile around it. 

A smile that dims as soon as you land in your chair with a heavy sigh. “I feel that,” Yamada says. His comically tall hair reaches high over your computer monitor, green eyes peering over the frame. “Kiddos run you ragged today?” 

“I don’t know how they do it. It’s not like we’re sparring,” you snort lightly and rest your chin against your hand. The muted scent of Yagi’s greek yoghurt lingers in the air. You wrinkle your nose, “Have either of you noticed them behaving…oddly? I feel like they’ve been scheming”. 

Yagi pauses mid scoop, bewildered. He looks from you to Yamada, who appears infuriatingly in the know. “Odd?” he asks. The shadows around his eyes darken in concern. “Is there anything we should be looking out for?” 

“I wonder,” Yamada titters, tapping a finger against his nose. Green eyes smile at you over the top of his tinted lenses. “Could it have anything to do with Mina asking me about your blood type?”

“Blood type? Whatever for?” 

Covering his mouth, Yamada bends and covers his mouth, amplifying his cryptic whisper, “Romantic compatibility”.

Chewing your inner cheek, you shake your head and insist, “It’s just a popular theory about personality types from the pre quirk era”. Yagi’s expression clears. He accepts the explanation easily. You wished it were that simple. “I’m sure it’s nothing…” your attention wavers as you notice movement out the window. 

A distant black figure grows larger the closer it gets. Eraserhead is coming back from his afternoon patrol. He sweeps up onto the roof of a nearby building and dashes along the eaves before leaping off again. His capture weapon lassos the adjacent dormitory building and he swings in a perfect arc that vaults him upwards. The movements flow into one another naturally, without thought, nimble as he twists through the air. You can’t take your eyes off him. 

“No, you’re right. It’s definitely nothing,” Yamada quips lightly, his voice drawing you to the present. The implication behind his tone rings loud and clear and it shakes you from your reverie. 

Embarrassment sours your expression; it feels like you’ve swallowed the sun. “It’s not like that,” you insist, laughing nervously. Your gaze settles on a heart sticker Eri pasted on the desk. An old coffee stain has blurred the colour, cheap ink smeared into the wood. Your fingers come away stained pink. 

“Young love is exciting! There’s no shame in it. You can be honest with us. With me,” Yagi’s large hand comes down on your shoulder to give a reassuring pat. “I may be old but I’m not that dense. I think”. 

“You’re hardly old, Yagi-san. You’re only fifty”.

Yagi chuckles in that signature All Might fashion, a blush glowing bright on his cheekbones. “Thank you. But that is beside the point,” he says. The laughter mellows into a contemplative hum and you fidget while he watches you closely, warmly, “…It’s just, Aizawa seems a bit more alive when you’re around”. 

Yamada leans forward to rest his chin in his palms, held open like a flower in bloom, and murmurs his agreement. 

“What…do you mean exactly?” you ask. 

Yagi exhales, wringing battle worn hands in his lap. “He has been through a lot,” he begins. “Of course we all have but as I’m sure young Yamada here can attest, Aizawa shoulders more responsibility than he needs to”. 

“Lotta unnecessary blame, too,” Yamada nods. A bittersweet tone pervades the air. “Always has, ever since we were kids. Reckon that’s why he doesn’t sleep”.

“See, there’s the kind of exhaustion that usually just requires a good night’s sleep,” Yagi’s face is sallow, and his gaze flickers to Aizawa’s empty desk. “But there is also another kind that asks much more—and I see that in Aizawa. Like he’s wearing a heavy coat that became heavy bones”.

Despite the clumsy metaphor you feel his words weighing on your heart; notably shared in a way that makes you think that he, too, wore a similar heavy coat of blame. And you thought: such is grief. 

“But!” Yagi suddenly blurts, restoring his former enthusiasm. “Since you started here it’s like…” he gesticulates with his hands then, searching for the right thing to say, stalling as seemingly he does not find it. “All that is to say Aizawa has a fondness for you and I think you should go for it!”

Self conscious, you pick at the skin around your thumb. Yagi’s encouragement was appreciated. With the quintessential All Might optimism unintentionally bleeding through it almost felt like you could do anything. But your head shakes and you laugh breathlessly at the thought, “You’re actually quite a gossip, aren’t you, Yagi-san?”

Yamada’s cackle reverberates around the lounge as Yagi splutters his shock into a tissue. You pat his shoulder. Pressing your lips thin you try not to smirk. 

“What are you doing?” 

Simultaneously, the three of you freeze, voices converging the instant you three blurt, “Nothing!” 

Aizawa frowns, displeasure framed by windswept hair tousled in all directions. He loiters in the open doorway a moment longer and his scrutiny pervades the air. You tightly cross your ankles under the legs of your chair and maintain an innocent look. 

Feigning obliviousness Yagi attempts to redirect the subject, “Did anything interesting happen on patrol, Aizawa-kun?”

Ultimately, Aizawa let it go. He shut the door behind him and the tension slipped from his shoulders as he shrugged and accepted the deflection. “Nothing significant. A bit busier than usual,” he replies.  “Seems like the commercial district has finished being rebuilt”.

Your heart beats and blood rushes to the tips of your fingers—dark eyes do not leave you as Aizawa slinks past to the kitchenette, taking with him a brush of cool fresh air. Yamada ducks between the computer monitors. Mouth puckered, he begins making an exaggerated kissing face at you. Oscillating between flustered and irritated, you reach for the nearest thing and throw it. A pencil bounces off his forehead, clattering to the floor, and he yelps. 

Aizawa returns holding two nutritional jelly pouches. “I don’t doubt you deserved that,” he comments, blasé as he passes you one of the colourful packets unprompted. It takes great effort not to gawk at his fingerless gloves, the once buttery leather now weathered. 

“Wow. Where’d my best friend go?” Yamada laments. He makes a dramatic show of the betrayal, long limbs sagging across his desk. “And no jelly for me, either. For shame! What happened to brothers before lovers?” 

Twisting off the cap to the pouch with his teeth, Aizawa sucks out the gelatinous innards until the plastic flattens. A smile plays on his lips as you stifle your amusement. “Hizashi, you know I flunked English,” he deadpans. 

The voice hero deflates. He turns to wave the previously thrown pencil at you, “Here. You left this knife in my back”. 

“You’re ridiculous”. 

“Et tu, Brute?”

The interaction does nothing to ruffle Aizawa. Like water to a duck's back. He merely saunters over to his desk, discards the empty pouch in the small bin beside his chair, and scoops up a thick binder of papers.  

“And now he flees,” Yamada pouts, holding the pencil between his top lip and his nose. 

“No, I need to wash up,” he dismisses Yamada and indicates toward his prosthesis, then dryly adding, “And I’m not sticking around to listen to you recite Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar simply because I didn’t bring you a jelly pouch”.

“Aw. That’s cold, Sho”. 

You bask in their back and forth. A friendship built on open hearts and feet that bleed. They share jabs, opinions and hardships without worry because there’s unequivocal trust there. Watching them together unearths a fraction of envy; stuck between wanting someone like that at your side, to wanting it to be him. 

Aizawa leaves not long after. He casts you a sidelong glance that you can’t read. One job to another, the work is patently endless, though you can’t help but to notice that it is self imposed—being stagnant is never in the cards. 

You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Yagi clears his throat in the prolonged pause. “So. What is your blood type?” he asks with little tact, avoiding your look of betrayal. “If I had to guess, Aizawa-kun must be type B. He is quite honest and unconventional…”

Yamada cackles again. 

You put your head in your hands. This is hell. And it is largely populated by the UA heroics department.

The three day weekend couldn't come any quicker.

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From: Yamada.Hizashi@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: Check this out! Message: 

HEEEEEY 😎

[HYPERLINK: myquirkyintrovert.jp//11-introvert-friendly-activities-perfect-for-a-first-date/] Figured you might need this. ROTFL !

(Rooting for you)

Yamada Hizashi English Department, UA High School Put Your Hands Up Radio 81.3FM QOTD: If music be the food of love, play on 🎵 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The morning spills over your senses like a heady fog. It obscures your vision, sleep-sand still tucked into the corners of your eyes. Dust fairies dance in the spotlight cast through the room and you turn into your pillow, away from the performance. 

You’re caught in a web—linens tangled around your ankles, anchored to the bed, suffering through cottonmouth and haze. According to the time you slept plenty. According to your body, however. 

The floor is cold against your feet. You yawn, joints clicking as your limbs stretch. Meander through the typical morning routine without a second thought, or a third. Only when your face is washed and you’re significantly more awake do you wander out of your apartment.

Cushioned by a set of fluffy, foam soled slippers, you stumble into the common area, welcomed to a languid, warm atmosphere. Surprisingly, a few people are already there. Yamada is dressed in his civilian clothing, waist length hair pulled back into a braided ponytail that mimics a mohawk. Eri is seated on one of the kitchen stools, squirming as his fingers work through her hair in gentle twists, styling it to match his own.  

She’s wearing a denim overall dress dotted with embroidered cats over a long sleeved shirt, matching the subtle pattern on her white tights. Her legs kick happily under the island. A smile pulled at your mouth as you watched the homely scene. 

A familiar sleep-worn voice murmurs your name and you try to look more alert than you feel.

The smell of percolating coffee reaches your senses. You retreat from the stinging heat that brushes your knuckles as Aizawa nudges a freshly poured mug toward you. “Oh, shit. Thanks,” you mumble. The surroundings are still gossamer soft and blurred at the edges; you’re impassive when your fingers slip through the curved handle and overlap his. 

Faint, coarse hair on his knuckles. Dull nails. Rough skin. You take the mug and bring it to your face. Steam kisses each cheek, billowing as you blow across the tawny surface. Aizawa’s throat bobs. Your stare lingers over the rim longer than appropriate, dragging down his body to take in the rare casual appearance. 

“You look nice”. 

His jaw ticks, eyes fixed on the button of his loose knit cardigan as he rolls it between his thumb and finger. Black, like most of the articles in his wardrobe, but stylish. The hem falls below the hip, hung over a pair of dark slacks. It’s flattering on his frame despite being oversized.

“Contrary to popular belief I can actually dress myself,” he says. 

“Colour me surprised,” you sip the hot coffee in a poor effort to conceal your grin. Even as the remaining dregs of sleep subside you can’t find it within yourself to be embarrassed. “Are you guys going somewhere?”

Before he can respond Eri is bounding over. She crashes into your legs, chin above your knees as she looks up and chimes, “Good morning!”

“Good morning sweetheart,” you say, holding your hot coffee out to the side. Eri’s eyes squint with the force of her smile and sunlight pools through tall standing windows, highlighting the glittery clips in her faux mohawk braid. “Your hair looks beautiful”.

“Thank you,” she delicately pats the top of her head. “I wanted it to look pretty today. We’re going to the com-mer-cial dis…”

“District?”

“District,” she nods excitedly. “Have you ever been to a district? Deku said there are lots of fun things for us to do. Will you come with us?” Then looking to her father for permission, she clutches her dress and asks, “Please?”

You blink. The coffee mug begins to sting the skin of your palms. “We can always use an extra chaperone,” Aizawa offers slowly, eyes sliding over you from head to toe, making you all too aware of the ratty old pyjamas you’re still wearing. “You can accompany us if you want to”.

The next words leave you in an instant.  “Do you want me to?” you asked. They’re clumsy and your voice fractures, bringing with it a flood of warm embarrassment. “Sorry. I think—I’m still half asleep”. 

Shouta suddenly appears to have swallowed a lemon. 

“Of course he wants you to,” Yamada strides over. The absentminded tapping of his phone’s keyboard echoes amidst the awkwardness. A smarmy grin plays on his lips and he tucks his chin to peer at Eri over the rim of his yellow tinted glasses, “Ain’t that right, Eri-chan?”

Eri nods insistently. Aizawa settles his hand atop her crown, careful not to disturb the braid, and stops the bobble head movement. “I don’t need you to speak for me,” He sighs, and the sound is fond more than anything else. “We’re meeting the students by the bus in thirty minutes,” He meets your gaze. A red-gold hue catches the light against the dark limbal ring around his iris. “You should come”.

Your chest flutters and you put his tone down to imagination. “I’d love to,” you reply, patting down your pyjama shirt. “Let me just get ready”. 

Quiet bickering follows you upstairs. You rummage through your wardrobe at a frenetic pace. There’s really no time to spare to worry about what you should wear. Once dressed you cram a water bottle, a lightweight fleece, sun protection, recovery gummies—

You pause, eyeing the unnecessary bulk in your rucksack. No doubt the kids were old enough to bring their own bags. Your tongue smooths over the teeth marks inside your cheek and you set the thought aside. No harm in being prepared. 

The clock on your phone screen blinks. Five minutes to go. You slip it into your pocket and hurry out the door, bag strap drawn over your shoulder. Kurose looks up from the couch as you stumble through the common area, navy hair flattened to one side, a few stray golden strands upright and reminding you of an antenna. 

“Hi Kurose-san,” you huff, jogging past and giving a quick wave. “Bye Kurose-san”. 

“Have fun out there,” they cheered. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That really doesn’t narrow it down by much,” you call back from the genkan, slipping into your shoes. Laughter bleeds through at the faux wounded look Kurose sends your way before you leave. 

The crisp morning air bloats your lungs on a deep inhale. Not a cloud to be seen, the sky a pleasant blue canvas. You descend the steps and follow the path toward the staff car park. Ushered into a single file line, a modest flock of hero students wait beside the minibus. You can’t help noticing how much younger they seem without their uniforms. 

Eri locks onto you instantaneously. Her lips move, and you think she must’ve called for you, but her voice was too small. Still it beckons the attention of the teenagers around her. One by one they shout your name, their clamouring coming together in an ill practised chorus.

Yamada ducks out from the minibus. “Yeaaah!” he beams, leaning against the folded door. “Right on time, my friend. We were just discussing the buddy system”. 

That reminder elicits a quiet groan from the class. Yamada laughs good naturedly, “I know, I know. But safety comes first, kiddos. Have you picked who you’re stuck with today?”

There are various nods and shrugs. Numerous heads turn to Bakugo, including both Midoriya and Todoroki, and he appears indubitably unimpressed that he’s spoiled for choice. Yamada’s focus lands on Eri. “What about you, mini me?” he pokes at the swell of her cheek. “Gonna be my buddy today?” 

Her anxious eyes flicker between you and him. You’re admittedly flattered that she’s torn. But the doubt is short lived, decided by an inconspicuous wink from Yamada. A toothy grin brightens her face. “Okay,” Eri chirps, holding out her hand for him to take. 

“We get to be passenger princesses today,” the voice hero whispers excitedly. You do well to restrain the coo building in your throat as his palm dwarfs her fist and her lips form an ‘o’. 

Suitably organised, the kids begin to climb onto the bus in their pairs. Iida and Todoroki sit in the spaces in front of Shinsou and Bakugo. There’s a soft pout to Midoriya’s lip but he happily joins Kouda, fingers moving in graceless strokes as they sign to one another. Yaoyorozu joins Jirou, taking the window seat. Tokoyami listens along to Kaminari’s aimless rambling; Sero, Mina and Kirishima behind them at the very back. 

Aizawa is already aboard the bus discussing safety policy, capture weapon draped around his shoulders. He pauses conversation with the driver and smiles as Yamada ushers Eri into seats positioned at the very front. Languid, his focus slides to you, the very last to enter. Heartbeat quickening. There’s something there, you feel it existing on the fringes. 

“Enough. Settle down,” he says, voice rough and commanding authority. The commotion dwindles. You nod before shuffling through the aisle to the remaining spaces. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this trip is a privilege. I am trusting you to behave, follow instructions and stick together. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei”. 

“Do you all have your phone notifications on?”

Yamada throws up a peace sign and jumps in, “Yes, Sensei”. 

Aizawa rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment. With the polite incline of his head to the driver the bus doors whirred on their hinges and began to shut. He tucks a curtain of hair behind his ear, adding, “Any questions before we leave?” 

Shinsou clears his throat. His elbows rest on the back of Midoriya’s chair. He lazily points towards Aizawa and drawls, “Does Aizawa-sensei have a buddy?” 

You immediately become conscious of a tangible weight. Their stares fall to you, his included. Dark eyes like flint to your very core. You grin and bear it—grimace through the tension and hope his sharp intellect does not extend to 

Aizawa pressed his lips thin, “Any actual questions?” 

The figures in your periphery all shake their heads, biting back amusement in the face of their teachers' chagrin. The pressure does not dissipate when Aizawa takes the spot next to you, nor when the engine sputters to life and the looming barrier bordering the school entrance lifts to allow passage. 

The destination isn’t far. A fifteen minute drive at best. Still, as the journey progresses the air grows notably sombre. While much of the city has been restored, ghosts will remain. Skeletons of buildings sit on the landscape. Once a sprawling metropolis now made a uneven scar tissue terrain. 

That twinge of concern has you looking over your shoulder and scanning the bus in a less than subtle way. Everyone seems fine. Kaminari waves when you catch his eye. The only student that gives you pause is Bakugo, who has taken to staring hard out the window, discomfort etched into his features.

Or perhaps it’s your overactive imagination. The frown smooths into contentment and you realise he’s sharing a split earphone jack with Shinsou—maybe it was a song he didn’t like. 

You try to shake off the trepidation hanging over your mood. Aizawa notices but doesn’t pry and you find yourself grateful. 

Your concerns become minor the moment the minibus pulls into the commercial district. Standing prominent against the skyline, the building is sun drenched and unsettlingly clean. Inside, light pours through the high domed ceiling and reflects on the shiny tiled floor. There are three upper levels visible on spiralled balconies, each dedicated to different departments. 

Ground level is rather miscellaneous. Record stores, hobby crafts, tech booths and things of the like. Soothing music plays in the background, gentle melodic notes. Being somewhere that brought a sense of normalcy boosted the students morale. You’re warmed by contagious excitement—Aizawa too, lacking his usual force and a smile in his tone as he tells them. “Remember, you’re not to leave this building. If something happens you contact one of us”. 

They split off in opposite directions with the promise to meet at the food court in two hours. Eri and Yamada linger a few minutes longer. She tugs at her fathers sleeve and when crouched to her height she plants a short kiss on his stubbled cheek. 

You are then gifted a sparkly clip for keepsake, as though she were giving part of herself to take with you. “Thank you sweetheart,” touched, you attach it to your bag strap. “I’ll keep it safe”.

Satisfied, Eri thrusts her hand up for Yamada to take, and she comically leads him to march in the direction of a children’s store. The crowds are unexpectedly thin. Though you supposed a majority of the general public did not yet have the confidence nor the funds to make leisure trips to the mall. You’re only thankful they are respectfully giving your class a wide berth. 

Aizawa puffs an indignant breath, “…I think we’ve finally been set up”. 

Fondness surges deep in your chest and you bite back a grin. There’s urgency to it that you can’t satisfy. “Glad I’m not imagining things,” you wet your lips, moving to match his stride. “Does it not bother you?” 

“Which part?” he asks. He’s looking anywhere but you. There’s a playful lilt in his tone that equally settles and ignites your nerves. You would search his face for answers if the lower half were not obscured by his scarf. 

“The ‘clearly trying to get us to date’ part”. 

“There are worse people to be lumped with”. 

Aizawa’s profession rarely left time for indulgence. You’ve heard him discuss it before. He never thought it sensible to involve another person in what he had presupposed would be a tumultuous relationship. For that reason, you wonder if he has much experience in romance at all.

“Ever the charmer, Aizawa”. 

“Shouta,” he says. You blink, narrowly caught in a stupor. The erasure hero sinks to burrow deeper into his capture weapon. Warmth rises to the tips of his ears in spite of his efforts. “Just call me Shouta”. 

Very eloquently, your response is, “Oh”. 

“Or don’t,” he grunted. 

There’s a wealth of unspoken confessions behind a single name. Your heart feels full, stuttering in a way it hasn’t in a long while. “So. What should I tell my friends?” you pick up speed, giddiness spurring your pace and taking you a few steps ahead. “‘This is Shouta. We work together. He has twenty-something kids and our first date was spent patrolling the Musutafu mall’?”

“I have one kid—” Shouta falters, though fleeting, as if he hadn’t realised he’d begun to walk the perimeter. He arches an unimpressed brow, any scorn decidedly betrayed by the mirth in his eyes. “Did you have somewhere in mind?”

An hour rolls into another. You meander various stores together, occasionally bumping into the students and ignoring their suggestive looks. He buys some things for Eri—or so he claims, now in possession of three different cat gel pens—and you pick out new books to keep in your classroom. 

And in the grand scheme of things it’s a paltry affair. You’re looking around a newly built mall with a man you’ve known for close to two months. Simple, comfortable, as most things are with Shouta; yet it feels like a path you’ve walked more times than you can count. Fastened by mattress stitch seams, shoulder to shoulder, you share conversation written in passing glances, so many possibilities etched into a handsome crooked smirk—

Three message alerts come loud and in quick succession. That alone is enough to shatter the atmosphere. They feel frantic, and Shouta’s expression is explanatory enough. 

“It’s Shinsou. Something happened with Bakugo,” he mutters. In one fell swoop he is dashing ahead and you are not long behind. He turns a corner. Your kids are bunched together, seemingly bickering and distraught. Midoriya’s frantic voice can be heard above them all. Civilians have parted, tucking themselves against walls and waiting at security’s instruction. You’re comforted by the fact that they are not rushing out in droves. 

Bakugo is absent. The air smells like smoke but there’s no notable damage. Shouta flashes his hero license and steps into the shoes of a guardian so naturally you wonder if he ever takes them off. The officers standing nearby offer sympathetic smiles, allowing you through, too, after seeing your UA badge. 

While Shinsou is relaying what happened to Shouta you approach the others. A chill spikes the air, colder as the distance lessens, and you realise it must be Todoroki’s quirk. He’s standing at Midoriya’s side, exhaling visible breaths, laying a cold hand on his friend's neck to allay the panic. 

“Hey guys,” you greet gently. “Aizawa-Sensei is just clearing things with Shinsou. Do you know what happened?”

Midoriya snaps to attention, “Sensei—Kacchan, he’s—!”

Kaminari closes in, careful as he drapes his arm across Midoriya’s back. “It’s alright, man,” he murmurs. Todoroki nods. There’s a helplessness in his expression. “Kacchan’s okay. He just needed to blow off some steam. Or smoke, I guess”. 

A repetitive sound loops above your heads. You realise then that there’s a jumbo multi screen hovering in the centre of the ceiling. Clips depicting Gigatomanchia's rampage fade one into a title card, the words ‘twenty city rampage’ highlighted across a sepia backdrop. Your stomach churns at the sight, inhaling sharp between your teeth. 

“It’s that new bullshit documentary,” Jirou interjects. She fiddles anxiously with the jack hung from her earlobe. “They—uh. There were pictures of…”

“I understand. Thank you, Jirou,” you say. They needn’t relive it again—but they had. They will. Bakugo simply raised his head and saw his worst experiences pilfered for television. 

You exhale, taking with it the abrupt anger and frustration. They’re looking to you for reassurance. “I promise we’re going to find Bakugo,” you tell them. “I’m sorry that any of you had to see those images again. Like Kaminari said, I imagine he got overwhelmed and needed some space”. 

Midoriya swallows thickly and he nods. The motion is unsettlingly lifeless. His blank stare passes over your shoulder, and a silhouette of bodyheat settles behind you. 

“Shinsou explained everything,” Aizawa says. His presence visibly untangles the knots in their posture. “Security informed me Bakugo is still in the building. I need you all to wait here for Yamada-sensei—” he holds his hands out in a placating gesture as Todoroki begins to interrupt “—you will wait here while we look for him”. 

“I’ll start heading that way,” you point where the wide walkway narrows towards the southern exit and hard turns left, not wanting to remain still for longer than necessary. Aizawa regards you with a meaningful look and nods. 

You take off. The air retains a faint smokey smell. It grows thicker, more prominent as you pass the various hero merch stores, meeting the eyes of a Edgeshot cardboard cutout. Acrid nausea rises unforgiving in your stomach. 

It guides you to a fire door slightly ajar. Through the door is a dreary stairwell, presumably to be used by customers on the upper floors during an emergency. Bakugo’s hunched figure can be seen through the crack. He’s sitting on one of the steps, head cradled in crossed arms. 

You quickly text Shouta to let him know, and ask that he give you two a little space. You’re hardly expecting him to talk. But where Aizawa-sensei goes his ducklings will follow, and you have a feeling Bakugo is not yet in the mindset for company. 

The door creaks on its hinges as you enter. “Leave me alone,” the Bakugo shaped lump growled. An emotional hurricane in the body of a boy. Your throat swells. It threatens to drag you in. You can feel the sharp winds clipping at your resolve as you lower to sit on the step beside him and he bristles, furiously spitting, “I said fuck off!” 

Another, someone more volatile and disciplinarian, could be tempted to jump in. A person such as yourself, lenient and with less experience, might find it easier to flee; to let the gale propograte northward and weaken on its own. Before being employed at UA your students had always been older, plausibly wiser—but, you suppose, children still. You are honest enough to inwardly admit that you don’t know how to make this better. But you are determined to try. 

So you see your body relax and let your voice flow out calmly, “I’m not going anywhere”. 

Bakugo laughs humorlessly and snaps, “What, you gonna lecture me now?” His hands are wrung tight to stop the tremors. Blood surfaces beneath the pressure and seeps into his nail beds. “Gonna tell me some bullshit about how heroism isn’t defined by success and things will get better if I stick it out?” 

“No. I didn’t come here to lecture you,” you say. He eyes you with suspicion. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. We can sit here as long as you need”. 

What follows is a long, thick silence. The lives of people can be heard muffled through the stairwell walls. Unawares, and in a way, unintentionally mocking. Bakugo’s laboured gasps toll louder in your ears. You don’t speak. You monitor the rise and fall of his chest, gradually slowing until the defensive vitriol clears away. 

“I hate losing control like—” Bakugo’s expression twisted uncomfortably then, as though the confession tasted bitter, and you patiently held your breath. "Fuck. How can I call myself a hero when…" his voice loses strength, reminiscent of an echo. 

He rubs harshly at the spot where his heart rests. You take the young hero by the wrist. You envelop his split knuckles wearing a thin smile, admittedly strained, and squeeze around those shaking fingers while the moment simmers, a gentility not in the absence of violence, but despite it all. 

Bakugo blinks up at you. The movement knocks a tear free, careening down the side of a flushed cheek. The sight lodges something in your throat, thick and hard to swallow; all the words you don’t know how to say. You would never understand what it means to reside in his body—to think of yourself as the scene of a crime. 

Family members, strangers, had visited his hospital room to mournfully listen to that pulse one last time, and Bakugo told them to come by whenever as though he were a living effigy of their lost son. You saw the disconnect he felt from himself. That lifelong debate of what makes a person a person. 

He’s just a kid. 

“Bet you’ve heard hundreds of ‘I’m sorry’s’ at this point, huh?” you murmur. Bakugo snorts. 

“Try thousands,” he rasps. Clicks his tongue to his teeth to save face. “Never know what they’re really apologising for. Rubs me the wrong way”. 

And after being witness to how Bakugo’s mind works you understand what that means. Atleast, you think you might. Teenagers hold enough shame without the weight of another person's life in their arms. You only imagine he hears their regret, guilt, disappointment—hears ‘sorry it was you, kid’ and ‘sorry it wasn’t him’. 

“It’s okay to be angry, you know,” you vowed solemnly. “There’s so much pressure to channel what happened to you into something positive. To make it your strength. And maybe you will, eventually. But you’re allowed to step back and say ‘I went through something scary and traumatic and that changed me forever’”. 

Bakugo grunts. He scrubs under his nose with the back of his hand. “Don’t need you to tell me that,” he says, tone lighter than before. It sounds a lot like ‘thank you’. 

“I’m glad,” you nudge his side and return your hands to your lap. “In that case we should talk about something else”. 

“Like what?” 

“Your assignment,” Bakugo snorts, rolling his eyes. “Hey. I’m serious. Most of the others have come to me with their topics but yours is still a mystery”. 

“‘Cause those losers need help and I don’t,” he says. There’s no malice in it. His cadence is lighter, the burden he carries now far more loose fitting. You watch him pick at the rips in his jeans. “…Mine’s about mythological figures. Some cult wackos out there believe the old Gods had quirks. Hence the animal heads and shit”. 

“That’s a brilliant choice, Bakugo,” his answer brings a sincere smile to your lips. “Gives you a lot more to explore in your discussion. I can’t wait to read it”.

The muscles in Bakugo’s face twitch. Mouth deliberately downturned. A flustered yet pleased blush paints the tips of his ears and the simple praise breathes him to life like a technicolour Oz. It eases the anxiety simmering under your skin. You prompt him to talk further, pleasantly surprised to find that his curiosity extends further than Japan’s own mythology. 

Eventually you need to update Shouta again. Leaving it too long would only worry him further. Bakugo’s eyes track your thumbs movement across the keyboard as you type. “Are you texting Eyebags?” 

“I’m texting Aizawa-sensei,” you correct blithely as a text bubble appears on the bottom left of the screen. “I thought Shinsou was ‘Eyebags’”. 

“They’re interchangeable,” he rebuts. You huff a laugh, screen going dark with a quiet click. Bakugo’s reflection looks back at you where he’s peeking over your shoulder. 

“You two a thing or somethin’?” he asks, not even attempting to hide his interest. 

“We aren’t ‘a thing’,” your fingers form quotation marks around the words. And it’s true. You aren’t. Yet. “I don’t know why you all came to that conclusion”. 

“Probably ‘cause you look at him all googly eyed. And he always shares that shitty jelly with you. Basically his alternative to a proposal,” he smirked. Shouta is still typing—

Your phone vibrates. The message comes through.

—A thumbs up emoji. 

Bakugo laughs. His eyes crinkle. A crease deepens on the bridge of his nose. The brief flash of a toothy grin. No longer a hero-too-soon on two tired feet but instead a teenage boy, poking light fun at his teacher. 

“The hell. He texts like my old man”.

You hum in amusement. “Some people do better face to face,” the ‘like you’ remains unspoken. Shadows pleat across the stairwell as clouds shift, disturbing the dim stream of light. You become conscious of the hour. And it seems so does he. 

“How do you feel about heading back?” 

Bakugo’s stare fixed itself onto his hands. You notice the crescent shaped marks, the skin around his nails fraying, picking at his body like a seam. “I can go back,” he grunts. 

“You can, but do you want to?” you ask, blindly feeling up the strap drawn over your shoulder. The small, glittery claw clip is still there. “Humour me for a sec,” you unclip it and Bakugo frowns as you proffer it to him, rolling in the centre of your palm. “Let it bite you”. 

“Let it bite me?” he repeats dryly. 

“Clip it around your fingers or pinch your hand with it—yeah, like that,” you grin as he blindly follows the instruction. The little claw clip bites into a swathe of the skin from the back of his hand. “Better, right?” 

Lip jutted into a pout, Bakugo eyes the clip dubiously; no longer focused on the anxiety, and you take it as a big win. “I guess. Thanks Sensei,” you tense in surprise as he gets to his feet, dusting off his jeans. “I want to go back,” he says, nothing short of a demand. 

There’s certainly no love lost between you and the cold step under your thighs. You stretch as you stand, shucking the backpack higher up your shoulder. “Alright. Then let’s get you back”. 

Bakugo doesn’t protest when you remain at his side, keeping pace. His finger and thumb work at the clips hinge while he walks, absentmindedly opening, closing, running the teeth over his knuckles. You’re sure Eri would gladly let him keep it. 

Tears are all dried up which Bakugo appears grateful for. The class doesn't immediately rush him, though you can see that they want to. Rather they wait for him to come to them, parting like arms and coaxing him into the centre. 

You branch off to where Shouta is standing watch with Yamada. Eri stands behind his leg, clutching at his pant leg. Her eyes are glassy and wide as she looks up at you. “Bakugo is alright now,” you tell them. “But you know what?”

Eri instinctively pushes up onto the balls of her feet, as though climbing higher to hear a big secret. Lowered into a conspiratorial hush, you say, “I bet he would feel even better if you gave him a hug”.

Shouta’s hand crowns her head. He carefully pats the side of her braid, giving silent permission. Expression tight in a determined pinch Eri ducks between his legs and toddles toward the group. 

“He really doin’ okay?” Yamada quietly asked. 

You murmur an affirmative, shifting in place as you turn to watch the scene unfold. Eri pats Bakugo’s hip. He seems vaguely nervous as he rests on his haunches and allows her to tangle herself around him. 

Shouta’s knuckles knock your own. His fingers twitch, unfurling as though to reach out and then thinking better of it. “Do you think I should talk to him?” 

When you look at him he’s already looking right back. Eyes soft like the sun had made them warm. You mind the small gap and stretch your pinky, brushing the outer curve of his palm and retracting again. “Bakugo respects you. He feels safe with you,” you assure him. “I think it’d be good if you talked”.

“Maybe some extra sessions with Hound Dog, too,” Yamada adds. Your heart staggers, having near forgotten he was there. “For all of them”. 

“I’ll see if he can do another class session during their independent study period,” Shouta says, attention returning to Eri’s antics—she’s now walking Bakugo over, hand in hand, subsequently bringing the other students with her. 

Shouta exhales, clicking his neck. There’s a finality to it. You see the internal headcount he does in their approach, and how the preparation to jump back into action recedes at the confirmation that all his kids are present. 

“We’ve got two options now,” he announces. “I’m sure none of us want to stick around longer than we need to. So either we go up to the food court and eat, or we can head back to campus”. 

Mutterings break out amongst the group. Iida diligently attempts to organise a sensible vote and asks for a show of hands, but his effort is squashed the instant that Kaminari suggests WcDonalds. 

Eri keeps hold of Bakugo's hand the entire way back, and insists on sitting with him. Yamada switches buddy’s without complaint, wiggling himself into the window seat beside Shinsou, happy to pull out his headphones and collect music suggestions from his beloved students. 

Shouta remains at your side. You hear unfettered laughter and think you might be close to tears—the tender kind. Softly, you mumble, “I’m glad I took this job”.  

He exhales slowly, and the loss of tension has him leaning into you ever so slightly. Your shoulders touch. “Me too,” he says. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

From: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp   To: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  Cc: Inui.Ryo@UAedu.jp; Aizawa.Shouta@UAedu.jp Subject: Incident report [High importance] Message: 

Good evening,

Attached is my account of the incident that occurred at Musutafu Shopping District on Saturday, [x] September 11:34am. 

Hound Dog and I have also brainstormed a few suggested classroom additions for students coping with anxiety. 

Take care!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sleeplessness is an open invitation to overthinking. 

Everyone has since retired to their apartments and it is long past the hour for Eri to be in bed. Time slips through your fingers. You count the dust bunnies behind your eyes but nothing works. 

Clarity shrikes through you with small cuts. The day wears on your body like a bruise that you cannot ignore now the adrenaline has subsided. You’re processing the fleeting touches, the purposeful looks, the whiplash of panic, the heartache that comes with being helpless—

Your mind is a spinning top with no hands to stop it, not even the clocks. Though it falters at a single thought passing overhead.

There is one man you can trust to be awake at this hour. 

You kick off the sheets, unsteady as you nudge each foot into the wrong slipper. The dormitory is cast in shadow. Your eyes are slow to adjust, shapes and lines sharpening around you. 

Shouta is seated at the kitchen island, dark space doused in the low lighting from the stovetop hood, warm across the contours of his face. Papers are laid out before him in organised piles. 

“Burning the midnight oil?” 

A pen spins around his thumb. He peeks through dark hair curtaining his vision and hums. Your gait is heavy, like wading through waist high water. The quiet clink of melting ice draws your attention to his glass. “I didn’t take you for a gin and tonic kinda guy,” you murmur, leaning your elbows onto the counter. “Regular old sake, maybe”.

The corner of his mouth twitches and he takes a pointed swig of his drink. He smacks his lips. “Gin and tonic keeps me awake,” he explains dryly, nudging the glass in your direction. You fold to his soft suggestion and bring it to your nose. The smell alone is enough to make you shiver. 

Shouta laughs at your grimace. At that point you sense in your gut that maybe, maybe you should have stayed in bed. You’re warm, pleasantly sleepy, and your tongue feels dangerously loose. 

Seeking distraction, your gaze drops to the papers stacked before him. You set down the gin, beaded condensation wet around your fingers, and lean in for a closer look. The grade written at the top is worryingly low. “That’s… not looking so good,” you prompted. 

“This is Todoroki’s,” Shouta clarifies, brow pinched. He gives an empathetic nod to your wide eyed stare. From reading their files you knew Todoroki consistently ranked top five in class A.  “It’s not just him. They’re all struggling in different areas. And I was never expecting things to go back to normal but it’s…” 

“You’re doing what you can,” you say. 

Shouta clicks his tongue, “But is that enough?” 

You cover his hand without thought, thumb outlining the rough dips and peaks of his knuckles as you insist, “Yes. I believe it’s enough”. Somewhere in the spaces between seconds Shouta overturns his wrist, and your fingers are intertwined, and you’re squeezing until your palms kiss. 

You think of that heavy coat Yagi referenced. Of a man wearing his failures as self imposed repentance. “You aren’t the only one here helping them. We’re going to get them across this bridge, and then the next, and the next—” Shouta turns a cheek to hide his amusement as your rambling becomes more exaggerated. 

“You’ll never be rid of them. Not even after they graduate”. You smile softly, “The kids are gonna be alright, Aizawa”. 

Dark eyes smile back, “…You did good today, you know”.

Hundreds of butterflies hatch inside your stomach. “I—I did?”

He huffs at that, wetting his lips. “You’re impossible”.

Something unspoken weaves into the atmosphere—the attraction between you becomes a tangible thread before either of you speak another word. He’s much closer. Every movement he has made you’ve mirrored without meaning to. 

“Impossible?” you repeat, hushed.

He pitches his voice low and says, “I thought I told you to call me Shouta”. 

At what point had you settled into the cradle of his thighs? Your breath catches. Two hands are on your hips, soft flesh yielding under his thumbs as they massage shapes from memory. You clutch at broad shoulders and exhale, settling into the hold and surrendering yourself.

“Shouta,” you echo, charmingly dumbfounded. 

Gentle, Shouta takes your chin and turns you toward him. A large, rough palm cups your cheek. He brings your forehead against his, close enough to hear his breath falter. The air is clammy. Taut, primed to break with another tilt of your head, and he must sense it. There’s trepidation—hesitance to handle something as tender as this when the things he knows best are animosity and bloodshed.

You offer mercy in taking the lead. Your hands slip from his shoulders to his jaw. Shouta lets himself be guided into your magnetism, a contented hum rippling in his throat like the water of a wellspring. 

He kisses you deeply and it feels four weeks too late. It feels like muscle memory. It feels like something you’ve done a thousand times over. Those hands circle around your waist, splayed at the lower back, heat radiating through your shirt. Lips part at the light swipe of his tongue. You taste the faint notes of citrus and juniper, coaxing him into your mouth, swallowing a soft groan. 

Heat flashes through you. Familiar want is coiling low in your belly, so stark that you shake with it. Hands wander. Lips too. Shouta kisses across your cheeks, nipping the delicate line of your jaw. Stubble tickles your throat. He mouths at your pulse and pulls you impossibly close, a desperate edge to it as though he were making up for all the times he wanted to but couldn’t. He outlines a topographical map of your figure, fingers walking the bumps, curves and dimples, tentatively slipping up your shirt to reach your soft stomach. 

The hair along your arms stands on end. Fingertips climb higher toward your chest, and a heart that threatens to leap right out through your ribs. “Aizawa, we can’t—”

“Shouta,” he mutters, continuing his path down your collar. You shudder and his fingers flex, sensing the aftershocks of his touch. 

“Shouta,” you amend breathlessly. “We can’t have sex in the common area”. 

A rare clemency follows. Shouta stops, and your hands come to thread through his hair. Dull stubble tickles the dip of your collarbone. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk. 

He leans back to look up and doesn’t take his eyes off you. Half lidded and soft, wrapping you in a gauzy roseate veil that hems the whole world pink. Something about the surety of his desire stunned you. To be wanted by a man who always seemed above such things—it makes your chest pound and your face warm, exhilaration spreading to the very tips of your fingers, restless with the urge to touch him. 

“Who said anything about sex?” he asks, tenor low and deeply amused. It seems any mercy from him ended there. 

“So now you can play dumb?” you mumble, an indignant exhale puffing through your nose. You feel him twitch, heat seeping through the thin fabric. “As if you were going to stop there”.

Shouta merely gives you a crooked grin. The scar tissue around his eye wrinkles. You find him unfairly, preternaturally handsome. You like him so much you’re dizzy with it. 

All at once you are torn apart. Shouta has pushed you into the adjacent seat and turned back to his papers. An ephemeral dread rushes through you—immediately washed away by the sound of a door opening. Two familiar voices follow. 

“I bet he’s somewhere down here,” Yagi whispers. He turns the corner into the kitchen, awkwardly bent to hold a small hand. Swimming in her sleep shirt, Eri shuffled in beside him barefoot and rubbing the sleep from her eye. 

“Look, see. And even…” Yagi’s eyes widened as he spoke your name. They flickered over your dishevelled state and then to Shouta, who is equally unkempt. Luckily for him that is nothing suspicious. You, however—

“I’m here Eri-bug,” Shouta says. His clothes have been smoothed out, hair tucked back over his ears, expression soft and unruffled as he crouched to her height. She stops short of him, laying her palm over his outstretched hand. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” he quietly asks. Eri shifts in place and nods. You look away from their vulnerable moment with instantaneous regret. Yagi meets your gaze, freezing mid step as he backs out, brows arched high on his forehead. There’s a slight blush around his ears. You grimace. He absolutely knows. 

Something small clutches at your shirt sleeve and tugs. The yellow ochre of light dances in Eri’s big red eyes as she studies you from the security of her father’s arms. “Hi there Eri,” you murmur gently. “Are you okay?” 

Her grip doesn’t loosen. She blinks long and slow, “Did you have a bad dream too?” 

Shouta adjusts her on his hip but says nothing. Behind the nonchalant veil lies fond amusement and warmth. “…Not a bad dream,” you tell her. “I couldn’t sleep because I was worrying a lot. But I’m feeling better now”.

A sleepy smile stretches across her lips. Eri is seemingly satisfied by your answer but not by the distance. Without ceremony she leans away from her father’s embrace into your own. You make a short noise of surprise as she wraps her legs around your middle. 

The weight is oddly comforting. You run a hand down her back, “Eri…?” 

“Bed now,” she slurs, rubbing the swell of her cheek against your shoulder. “Sleep safe”.

Shouta moves closer. There’s something in his gaze that makes your throat dry. You’re not sure what he’s seeing. What it is he has been seeing in you all this time—

“You heard her,” he pressed a kiss to Eri’s hair, then turned to kiss your temple. He lingers, and each word leaves another. “Let’s go to bed. We’re alright now”. 

—You can only assume, like for you, it is everything. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

From: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: [High importance] Message:  Good morning!

I heard the news and thought it important that you’re reminded of UA’s relationship policies:

There are none! Ha ha! Did you panic?

Much happiness to you both. It is always a pleasure to see love blossom.

Kind regards,

Nedzu Principal of UA High School  〒123-4567 Ōikuyō, Shizuoka, Musutafu.  Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!

[ificouldflytotheclouds]

Who let 5sos infiltrate my life again. 

[thisishaskins]

uhhhh why tf marius kiss eponine on the mouth after she dies in this production

[obsidiancreates]

The Creeping Doom Liveblog

Full disclosure, I watched this one already recently. But this'll still be a train-of-thought liveblog, just not a first impression.

MIKEY STOP FUCKING AROUND IN DONNIE'S LAB I LOVE YOU MIKEY AND I KNOW YOU JUST HAVE UNMEDICATED ADHD BUT PLEASE SWEETIE THERE'S EXPLOSIVES AND POISONS AND ACIDS ALL AROUND YOU

Mikey- oh Mikey...

Mikey has a photographic memory, which is cool but also concerning given all the horrifying shit they see all the time

This episode upsets me because April is the only one to actually show concern for Donnie's dementia-like symptoms and no-one notices him constantly scratching that burn. It makes me mad at everyone but April.

CREEP DRANK BRAIN JUICE NOW HE SMART LAD- god the breathing sounds are distressing

Oh he's so distressed, he just looks sad, he's not even like frustrated now he's just upset and confused...

Hey wait Mikey slipped in the Brain Eating Juice but it doesn't affect him during the episode. More Magic Mikey Evidence?

Oh poor Mikey, he's so upset about being blamed and so desperate to help out, he must be wondering if his accident earlier lead to this. Awww he's trying to make them laugh... sweet boy... his RSD must be going nuts right now

ICE CREAM KITTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

You sense something is wrong? I'll say HIS NEURONS ARE DYING

Okay yeah Donnie puts too much burden on himself, yes, but the rest of you don't help. He takes on those burdens because he's been conditioned to, by everyone relying on him all the time for all the answers. Including you, Splinter. Everyone takes advantage of him and he feels the pressure of it.

HEY APRIL THERE'S GLOWING GREEN EYES BEHIND SPLINTER MAYBE NOTICE THAT

NOOOOOOO ICE CREAM KITTYYYYYYYY DON'T MELT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

This Jason Vorhees-ass bitch- HOLY FUCK HE CHOKED LEO OUT

He needed to glow for a second before an idea same to him, it happens.

It kinda was your fault though, Mikey.

Oh Donnie he looks so confuseddddddd someone notice his itching his hand ohhhhh he just looks so sad and lost. Later in the episode they play it more as a joke but right now it's just making me think of dementia.

Awwwww his face playing the game though is adorable.

GUYS GUYS DONNIE WENT FROM SPEAKING FULL SENTENCES TO JUST MOANING TIREDLY IN LIKE TWO SECONDS MAYBE THAT'S SOMETHING TO NOTE WITH CONCERN

Aw bless him he's trying.

Now he's making random sounds and staring at nothing, ohhhh it must be so awful god I hate the idea of losing your ability to think like he's losing it, this episode is so sad for him, must be terrifying

I JUST REALIZED THE FRIDAY THE 13TH SOUND THAT HAPPENS AROUDN THE CREEP IS SAYING "MUT-A-GEN" HOLY HELL HOW DID I ONLY JUST REALIZE THAT

LOVE that Raph gets to fight The Creep solo, he deserves some revenge stabs.

OH DONNIE IS HIDINGGG

OH AND THE MOMENT OF PANICKED LUCIDITY "I DON'T UNDERSTAND I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING" OH WHAT A FUCKING AWFUL THING TO EXPERIENCE

Oh he's so scareddddddddddd oh good the squirrel made him less so MY BOYYYYYYYYY

Andddddd now we're getting into his brain damage being more comedic and almost weed-high-like than dementia

Now they just told Rob Paulsen to make random laughs and annoying noises I think, just popped him into the booth and said "Make whatever noises and say whatever random lines you want, we'll animate around it."

I DON'T THINK A LOT OF MEDITATION WILL HELP SPLINTER (I shout this lovingly, I know he's just trying to find solutions among what he knows)

YEAH WELL NOT JUST THE MUTANT WASP MIKEY MAYBE ALSO REMIND THEM HOW YOU MADE THE RETROMUTAGEN A MILLION TIMES BETTER

They really all just watched Donnie chug that shit without even trying to grab it away.

PFFFFFT SPLINTER'S FACE WHY DID HE MAKE A "Well. Awkward..." EXPRESSION

HEY HEY GUYS MAYBE DON'T LEAVE THE VULNERABLE BRAIN-DAMAGED DONNIE ALONE AND UNPROTECTED DURING AN EARTHQUAKE THAT'S MAKING ROCKS FALL OUT OF THE CEILING MAYBE THAT'S A BAD IDEA

Ooooooh That's what the big wooden spiral is for, a periscope, ooooohhhhhh okay

I'd say they're being too harsh on Mikey and the episode proves Mikey was right but, also Mikey did still feed his brother unknown and dangerous chemicals

AWWWWWW DONNIE IN THE DRINK HATTTTTTTTT HE'S MAKING SUCH CUTE FACESSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Highly doubtful" at least try motherfucker it worked on CURING POISON

Very fortunate that Donnie thought of the mower cart before his dementia serum debacle. Must be because he worried The Creep would be back someday.

LEOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

SHIT MIKEY ATE IT

Uhhhh why is this shot from behind? Weird vibe to that shot.

RAPHHHHHHHHHHH

MIKEY I LOVE THE CONFIDENCE BABY AND IT'S NOT UNWARRENTED BUT BE CAREFUL- YEAH SEE

YAY DONNIE TO THE RESCUE IN A NEW VEHICLE!!!!!!!!!!

Love that they showed us Donnie is back to normal by immediately having him use Big Latin Names Of Plants.

Evil Laugh Donnie Mad Scientist Donnie fuck him up my mad scientist boy!

Donnie please try to teach Mikey proper lab safety he clearly has a talent for this chemistry stuff.

WHY DOES PIZZA ALWAYS FINALIZE THE CHEMICAL COMPOUNDS IN TMNT STUFF IT MADE THE RETOMUTAGEN IN SECRET OF THE OOZE WORK IT MADE THE RETROMUTAGEN 2.0 IN THIS SHOW WORK NOW IT MAKES THE BRAIN JUICE WORK IS PIZZA MAGIC IN THEIR UNIVERSE??!?!?!?!

Donnie you're smirking about that subtle jab now but what this end card doesn't show is that two second later he ate shit so hard that he got yet more brain damage and Splinter had to use his Healing Spell and realized "Shit, his brain's more battered than out training dummy."

[gffa]

IF YOU STRIP CONTEXT OF THE REST OF THE SHOW--HELL, EVEN OF THE REST OF THIS EPISODE--FROM THIS SCENE, I can see how we should be siding entirely with Ahsoka, especially on the heels of the walkabout arc and her conflict with being drawn back towards the Jedi and the Jedi Order. Her points aren’t wrong, in the sense that she’s right that Obi-Wan is playing politics with this, but she’s stripping context and consequence out from the choice he faces and that’s specifically why he says, “That’s not fair.” and even Ahsoka herself says, “I’m not trying to be.” Her accusation is not fair. Because, let’s say that Obi-Wan did exactly what Ahsoka said--that he prioritized the people of Mandalore over saving the Chancellor.  We’re setting aside that this was a manipulation on Palpatine’s part and that Mandalore is a trap, only what we can see from Obi-Wan’s point of view and his motivations, his good faith assumptions on why rescuing the Chancellor is important. If they chose Mandalore over Coruscant, what would happen is: - They would be drawn into yet another war because they had broken a treaty, when they’re already stretched to the breaking point for this first war. - The Chancellor may be the one in trouble, but what does Ahsoka think will happen if the Chancellor dies or is ransomed back?  The Republic would be in chaos, the war effort is already balanced precariously, and none of them know that the Separatists aren’t the real threat.  Whatever good reasons many of the Separatists may have, they murder, enslave, and oppress the worlds they attack.  If the Republic loses the war, that’s what happens to every world in the Republic. - The Jedi might be more popular with people if they saved Mandalore, but would it really benefit the galaxy as a whole, given a good faith assumption on what these characters would know?  (There is no right answer to this question, of course.) Ahsoka is very nearly arguing for popularity over doing the more important thing, because this isn’t a situation where there aren’t consequences.  Mandalore needs their help, but so too does Coruscant and it’s not just about the Chancellor, it’s about the Republic as a whole.  And it even comes down to--why are politics bad?  I get that Ahsoka means that choosing your actions based on politics is a calculated sort of thing, but why is that bad?  Because Star Wars: Propaganda basically posited that that was the problem, that the Jedi didn’t play enough politics, that’s why their image was so bad. Ahsoka’s case for Mandalore could be argued to be the same thing--you want to win back the public’s faith, then you have to take this path.  That right there is politics, too. EVERYTHING IN THIS WAR IS POLITICS.�� NOTHING CAN ESCAPE IT.  BECAUSE POLITICS IS EVERYTHING LIKE WE ARE LIVING IN A WORLD THAT HAS DEMONSTRATED THAT TO US VERY CLEARLY.  AND WE SHOULD ALL LEAN INTO POLITICS, RATHER THAN SEPARATING OURSELVES FROM THEM. If politics were inherently bad, we wouldn’t see characters like Padme Amidala, Bail Organa, and Mon Mothma--or, hell, even Leia Organa herself--as heroes.  Because politics are important!  You don’t have to be (and shouldn’t be) a full-time politician for politics to still be important.  That working within a system to help better it and be able to reach more people is a good thing. Further, this doesn’t come without context of earlier in the episode, Obi-Wan is specifically shown to be incredibly desiring of helping people--he basically caves to Anakin’s strategy based on Anakin’s argument that they can help people sooner:

That is right there in this very same episode.  Obi-Wan agrees to a reckless strategy specifically when Anakin points out that it can help people sooner. Obi-Wan Kenobi is not someone who doesn’t want to help people, that’s his whole thing! Further context, which isn’t specifically related to this particular issue, but does give context to Obi-Wan Kenobi as a character is everything with Bo-Katan seething over whether Satine even meant anything to him.  She did.  And she still does.  But he cannot allow his feelings to cloud his judgement--and that is something that is key to being a Jedi.

It reminds me of George Lucas’ commentary on attachment: “But [Anakin] has become attached to his mother and he will become attached to Padme and these things are, for a Jedi, who needs to have a clear mind and not be influenced by threats to their attachments, a dangerous situation. And it feeds into fear of losing things, which feeds into greed, wanting to keep things, wanting to keep his possessions and things that he should be letting go of. His fear of losing her turns to anger at losing her, which ultimately turns to revenge in wiping out the village.“  –George Lucas, Attack of the Clones commentary “He turns into Darth Vader because he gets attached to things. He can’t let go of his mother; he can’t let go of his girlfriend. He can’t let go of things.”  –George Lucas, Time Magazine interview (2002) The thing about Obi-Wan/Satine is that it was pretty clearly created to be a foil to Anakin/Padme (and, boyyyyyyyyy, is that abundantly clear in the scene with Bo-Katan where Anakin is STARING at Obi-Wan as he says this, as we all know Revenge of the Sith is looming riiiiiiiiight over our heads), where Obi-Wan and Satine do make the right choices about the vows they’ve taken to other aspects of their lives.  That they are balanced in a way that Anakin and Padme are not. Dave Filoni says it himself in the commentary for the Bad Batch arc, in this very season: “I mean, even Obi-Wan was in love with someone.  That’s not abnormal.  It’s very normal.  What you choose to do and how you choose to have a relationship, what you sacrifice, then that becomes a bigger deal when he’s made an oath to the Jedi Order to be selfless, to put everyone else ahead of himself.”  --Dave Filoni Obi-Wan’s feelings for Satine are very much a parallel and contrast for Anakin’s feelings for Padme, and we know exactly how that’s going to turn out for Anakin, because Revenge of the Sith looms incredibly large over this entire episode and this entire arc. ”He’s made an oath to put everyone else ahead of himself.” is something Obi-Wan has done and continues to uphold, so accusing him of politics is like--what does Obi-Wan gain by playing politics then?  He’s putting other people ahead of himself, so playing politics must be for that reason, too. Furthering this context, especially in tying it to what it means to be a Jedi, is commentary from “The Lawless”:

”And in that moment, that critical moment, he cannot seize on his anger and his hatred for Maul.  Though that’s probably there, deep within, he can’t seize on it or Maul will win, he knows that.  I think we learned a lot about Obi-Wan and what it means to be a true Jedi, which is what I see Obi-Wan as.“ –Dave Filoni, on “The Lawless” All of this is important to understand that, when Obi-Wan Kenobi talks about the choices one makes, about not letting his feelings cloud his judgement, he’s coming from a place of established narrative reliability. We want to side with Ahsoka, because her hurt is so genuine and valid.  Because she sees a problem with the way the galaxy views the Jedi and we know that the Jedi’s doom is soon upon them.  (And this is where I get wary of the show’s narrative potentially trying to say, “Well, they’re kind of responsible for their own genocide because they just weren’t nice enough to people and only helped so many people, that they should have done more and more and more.” because, no, fuck that idea for real, the Jedi are not responsible for their own genocide, certainly not based on anything in the canon!)  She wants to fix this problem and she’s coming at it with a choice that she thinks would restore faith in them. The problem is that the Jedi are being asked to make choices between what’s popular and what they see as doing more good for more people.  And there’s a great line from the Age of Republic - Padme Amidala comic that ties into these themes as well:

“But trying to serve the greater good doesn’t exactly make you popular.”  (Oh, hey, look!  More politics!) On first blush, the idea of helping the people of Mandalore over saving the Chancellor seems like the right thing to do because we know Palpatine is Sidious, we know that it leads to ROTS, we know that ROTS leads to the Empire, especially when Ahsoka ties it to the Jedi Order becoming unpopular with the galaxy.  But Obi-Wan points out that she’s not being fair.  He points out that the Republic is on the line.  I’m pointing out that everything is politics, one decision over the other isn’t less political just because it’s more intimate.  And it doesn’t come without context.  It’s not just the Chancellor, it’s bigger than that. And serving that greater good--as Obi-Wan genuinely sees it--doesn’t always make them popular. And still even further, this isn’t entirely about the Jedi Order’s politics, but it’s about Ahsoka’s own hurt at how the Jedi had to play politics with her, too.  She’s still hurt that they expelled her--though, as always, context shows that she gave them absolutely nothing to work with, she immediately distrusted them before they even heard anything, she refused to even send them a message, she attacked clones on her way out, she was seen colluding with a known Separatist war criminal, she was found with incredibly damning evidence, and still wouldn’t actually talk to them or ask them directly to trust her, and ultimately none of her own actions saved her, it was a Jedi who saved her--that this doesn’t negate that they made mistakes as well, they should have visited her in the jail, they were playing politics and it doesn’t matter to Ahsoka that their hands were forced--and that’s driving her conversation with Obi-Wan, especially as someone who is part of the Council that she feels betrayed her. And Obi-Wan’s coming at this from the point of view that she let her emotions cloud her judgement over what happened, that she reacted blindly rather than trusting them in the critical moment (and the theme of trust was allll over that arc), and she’s still coming from this from a place of emotion, but that he respects her choices in the end and he obviously still cares very much about her.

All of that is underlining the conversation and one of the things that makes it such a hellishly complicated scene here in “Old Friends Not Forgotten” is that both of them are pretty narratively reliable. They’re both coming from a place of deep care and a desire to help people. They’re both coming from a place wanting to do what’s best for people. Which is why I love that I think Ahsoka genuinely loves the Jedi Order and why she says, “people who truly need us”.  It furthers my feeling of how I think, had Order 66 not happened, she may have come back to the Jedi eventually, if this difference could be resolved, but at the very least she certainly never hated them.  This is all coming from a place of love for the Jedi, for her family.  Even if she’s on a different path, even if ultimately she’ll say, “I’m no Jedi.” in Rebels, that’s about what she’s willing to do, what lines she's willing to cross, that a Jedi wouldn’t, and that it doesn’t mean they’re not still her family and that she wants good things for and with them. And why I love that she may not be being fair here, she may be stripping context and consequence out of the choice she wants to make, she may be letting emotion cloud her judgement, but she’s still so incredibly valuable and I do think they should have listened to her more.  The Jedi’s genocide is not on them, the murder of an entire people can never be on the victims, but I do think Obi-Wan has so much weight on his shoulders that he has trouble seeing the forest for the trees.  And that’s not a horrible thing, especially because Ahsoka’s shoving the trees aside here. But that there was no right answer here.  Mandalore is a trap.  Mandalore is going to fall to the Empire anyway.   Coruscant is a trap.  Coruscant is going to fall to the Empire anyway.   It doesn’t matter if they choose Mandalore or Coruscant.  Order 66 is already set to be triggered any minute now, nothing can stop that.  Them being more popular wouldn’t have saved them from it, not in a galaxy where the Republic general public was apathetic enough to not stand up against the Separatist themselves, instead allowed a clone army to be commissioned and the Jedi to be drafted into the war.  They wouldn’t stand up for themselves against the Separatists, they weren’t going to stand up for the genocide of a tiny religious culture, either.  It doesn’t even matter if the Jedi fought in the war or not--fight and be killed.  Don’t fight and they’ll be like Mandalore and be forced into it anyway or killed. That the Jedi were forced to make shitty choices in situations where there weren’t any right answers and get blamed for not having magical answers to problems that they cannot possible solve. What really brought that home to me was the way the scene ended--when Anakin offered an actual reasonable, viable solution (something that most people don’t offer the Jedi when saying what they should or shouldn’t do, they’re rarely given actual, workable options) where they could do both, Obi-Wan pretty readily jumped on it.

This shows that of course the Jedi want to help, whenever and wherever they can.  Not going to Mandalore isn’t that they don’t care or that they don’t want to help, but that there are two tire fires put in front of them and they didn’t see a reasonable way to do both, and Coruscant, as the capital of the Republic, which is the only body that can possibly stand between the Separatists and the enslavement/oppression/murder of thousands of worlds, must be protected. (Just look what happens when the Republic and the Jedi fall--the Empire inflicted atrocity after atrocity on the galaxy, which says to me that the Jedi were right in that the Republic had to be defended because it was all that stood between the galaxy and a lot of really evil things happening.) Ultimately, the only thing that the Jedi could really do that mattered is that they helped save people--people like Hera Syndulla--and they did do that.  And the accusation that they’re not trying to help people is not a fair one.  Even when it comes from a place of deep care.  And that’s why this scene was ouchy in such a good way, it really was an amazing episode to watch!

[sylvieeee5]

It’s time.

Good morning everyone!

I’m writing this liveblog at 3 am- I know, I know, but I couldn’t sleep! Too many thoughts… head full……

But hey, you get to enjoy my incoherent blubbering at full effect :)

Episode 8: Big Day Today. I can’t believe it’s here already. The big finale of season one! Lots of stuff to wrap up this episode, and some major things to be revealed…

It’s currently too dark to get a picture of my feline companion, so here’s one from last week in which he attempts to Steal Bread

Alright guys. Let’s do this.

!Warning!! Bad jokes, excessive sobbing, and MAJOR BOOK/SHOW SPOILERS AHEAD!

the THUMBNAIL

CONSTANCEEEEEE

wait, am i going to have to change my blog header now?

hhhhhh no we’re not thinking about that rn episode time-

0:06

Recap! And we go allllll the way back to episode one with Mr. Benedict’s explanation of his narcolepsy... HMMMMMMMMM

0:14

MILLIGAN

1:02

dangit

rip dirigible :(

1:12

DR. GARRISON MY BELOVED

1:31

translation: be my scapegoat

1:58

SHE

2:10

MARTINA

nononononnononononnononnononoonon

2:32

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

2:35

theme song,,, 

3:16

i’m already sobbing

3:40

I LOVE HER

4:01

ma’am... where did you get hydrochloric acid... this is a wendy’s...

4:06

that’s ominous and terrifying thanks

4:14

CONSTANCE NO

4:24

👀 👀 👀

4:32

have i mentioned recently how much i love reynie

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

4:48

OOOOOOOOOOH

4:53

he looks so offended stsitjgbdkchhodgwihffg

4:59

MA’AM

5:08

f

5:18

MILLIGANNNNN

5:24

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

HELLO????????????????

5:33

his family,,,

5:35

5:43

him,,,

5:53

oh! …this guy!

5:56

hdpydyoyoyxhvjvgtstihhc

6:25

MARTINA

she did rat out kate… but still…

7:11

she’s actually getting the acid

7:19

7:26

7:30

NO-

7:32

NO

7:37

awww

but also please don’t give the small child acid???

7:43

NYYOPE

7:51

constance!!! help her!!!!!!

8:15

:(

8:21

oof

8:26

one entity… one FAMILY

8:56

gorp

9:15

great job guys, very creepy :)

roll credits

9:19

HEHKHGITSITDYIEEICOHHETIL I LOVE THEM

9:26

my boyyyyy

9:36

THEY CAUGHT HER

this scene is going to kill me i can already tell

9:44

OOOOOOOOOOOH

9:54

you disrespect me... you disrespect my family...

10:21

hhhhhhhh

10:32

w

why do you have those

where did you get them

what

10:55

this was an excuse to show off his magic act

11:21

WHAT WAS MARTINA GOING TO SAY??

11:31

limes

11:48

12:12

NO

12:33

she didn’t even applaud smh rude

man just wanted to show her his act to get into the circus

12:46

i am very uncomfortable with the energy that we’ve created in the studio today

12:54

MILLIGAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

13:05

hhhhhhhhhh

on a separate note how is this man so tall-

13:23

Well, he does hang out with Mr. Benedict...

13:33

can’t get much clearer than that!

13:53

14:40

14:51

elephants

14:53

i’ve heard of them

15:32

he’s like

a full head shorter than this man

what

15:36

curtain: dr garrison could you bring me my stool please, i’m trying to be intimidating

15:40

OH SHOOT

THERE IT IS

15:49

he was a chemist??

16:02

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

16:10

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

16:20

KATE!!!!!!!

constance... milligan... martina... SOMEONE PLEASE

16:33

NEVERMIND YA GIRL DOESN’T NEED RESCUING

KATEEEEEE

16:46

okay maybe she needs a little rescuing

17:05

17:21

17:31

constance???

17:35

CONSTANCEEEEEEEEEEE

17:42

DSDUAKYWASUZDJWAYSJZASUYDHNBUYAS

I AGREE

17:44

SOBBING

17:46

them,,,

17:55

17:58

FRAME THIS IMAGE AND PUT IT ON MY WALL

18:36

NUMBER TWOOOOO

19:34

THE PERUMALS

20:25

my boyyyyyyyyy

21:07

YOOOOOOOOOOOO I AM SO HYPED

this is my FAVORITE scene from the book

22:04

👀 👀 👀

22:22

AAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE IT

kateeeeeee

22:31

i despise you

22:34

REYNIE

22:36

CONSTANCE

23:10

DDSIIKDHAIUKJSZMWAIDSJZXMWDYASHQYWIDASHZKJQEAEJZMWS

REYNIE

23:21

BABY BOYYYYY

keep trying maybe one of them will stick

23:38

awwwww

sticky being a supportive friend

24:11

reynieeeeee

24:46

that’s... not how it works,,,

NARCOLEPSY CONFIRMED THOUGH 

25:01

is dr. garrison still here

just... watching

25:28

25:36

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

26:20

THEM,,,,,,,,

26:37

martina... come on...

26:39

OR MILLIGAN ALRIGHT YEAH 

27:10

“I want this for you”

>:(

27:16

HE SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE HIS BROTHER

but it’s all manipulation...

27:46

27:57

28:12

control.

that’s what it’s all about.

28:23

OOOOOOOOOOOH

I LOVE THIS

28:52

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

29:15 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

29:35

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

TEAMWORK

29:48

MARTINA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

29:55

my girlfriend

30:05

YEAH

30:30

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THERE IT IS! THERE IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!

KATIE CAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I LOVE THIS SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!

it took all i have in me not to scream out loud it’s still extremely early sabksjkjzxnskjznxskjzxskjzmsjzkxm

i have the biggest smile on my face

31:31

HELL YEAH IT WAS

CONSTANCE!!!!!!!!

32:32

IT’S RHYMING

33:15

YOU CAN HEAR ME

34:20

CONSTANCE CONTRAIRE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

34:36

Hugs!!!!!

35:15

everything is working out! i’m so glad they saved the day-

*20 minutes left*

*still no benedict-curtain confrontation*

,,,,,,,,,,

uh oh

36:00

for the reckoning

36:58

you can tell they have years of emotions they’re both experiencing right now.

props to tony hale... man.

37:12

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

WE ARE PAST FORESHADOWING BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WE ARE SHADOWING!!!!!!!!!!!

I DIDN’T EXPECT THEM TO COME OUT AND SAY IT

SCREAMING

38:09

nathaniel,,,

40:03

oof

I know I’ve stayed quiet for most of this scene, it’s just... so good.

40:06

hhh

41:13

!!!!!!!!!

41:17

hdauzsuakjdzadiuskjziasj

41:23

SHE’S SO PRETTYYYYYYY

41:35

MADGE!!

42:06

oh boy time to cry

42:36

hfsdfnfdsiukjesukjdusjddj

42:45

ooooooooooh

43:32

It was you.

43:40

I am bawling

44:02

tears.

44:25

44:50

YES

45:20

45:57

:,)

46:23

HHHHHHHHH

46:37

47:27

sisters,,,,

47:59

SQ!!!!!!

48:09

oof

48:13

man’s got too much baggage for you to carry, dude

48:23

DR. GARRISON MY BELOVED

48:35

SEQUEL HOOK??????

48:54

“A map to my therapist’s office? Yes. She’s great, I think you’ll like her. And with all due respect, sir, you’ve got some issues.”

49:17

cool ship

49:25

NO WAY ON A CLIFFHANGER????? THE FINALE ENDS ON A CLIFFHANGER?????

DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS????

it’s not a confirmation... but i’m one to celebrate prematurely.

SEASON 2!!!!!!!!!!

Wow. That was... almost everything I ever wanted.

I can’t rate that finale in numbers.  I can, however, rate it in images:

Wow. I can’t believe it’s really over...

This has certainly been a ride.

When my fourth grade teacher started reading us a book called The Mysterious Benedict Society, I was instantly enthralled. I doubt anyone expected that the house of mouse themselves would get their hands on it years later and create something like this! I certainly had no idea that this series would introduce me to so many wonderful people.

Seriously, thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me. And as for the future... Let’s just live in this moment for as long as we can, shall we?

❤️

oh, and to all of you who stayed up until 3 am to watch the new episodes:

may our sleep schedules recover  ❤️

[pien-ru]

GOD i missed ff7 so so much. advent children was my SHIT in 7th grade (and it’s what made me fall in love w rendering). 

im playing the ACTUAL ff7 rn and it’s so charming and fun, but touch me frogs can fuck off

zack is my BOYYYYYYYYY oh my god. he’s so anime and abt as deep and faceted as a puddle of water but damn if he isn’t 5000% likeable. shiiit. 

sephiroth is so chill in crisis core man. i kinda love him bcse he looks like That. but he aint all that bad. 

[pokemaniacal]

Something that’s been on my mind for a bit that your professional word may be able to help with. Would you happen to know how ethnically diverse the Greek and Roman empires were?

very

next question please

…

…what, you want more?  Oh, fine, but for the record this is not the sort of thing people just “happen to know.”

Okay so I’m assuming by “Greek empire” (remember, kids: there was never a politically autonomous and unified state called “Greece” or “Hellas” until 1822) you mean Alexander’s empire (320s BC) and the Hellenistic successor kingdoms (323 BC – 31 BC), and by “Roman empire” you mean Rome starting from the time it becomes a major interregional power (say, following the second Punic War, which ended in 201 BC) rather than just Rome in the time of the Emperors.  You could spend like most of a book on each of these just corralling the data that might let us answer this question, but whatevs.

Lesson one: the ancient Greeks and Romans did not think about ethnicity in the same way as we do.  In particular, they were not super hung up on the colour of people’s skin – skin colour in ancient art is more often a signifier of gender than race, because women are expected to spend less time outside and therefore have lighter skin (which is another whole thing that we shouldn’t even get into because this is an aristocratic ideal of female beauty and of course lots of Greek and Roman women would have worked outside).  Arguably the most important signifier of ethnicity to the Greeks and Romans was actually language, with everyone who didn’t speak Greek or Latin being a “barbarian” (traditionally this word is supposed to come from the Greeks thinking that all foreign languages sounded like “bar bar bar,” although I’ve also heard a convincing argument that it comes from the Old Persian word for taxpayer, barabara, and originally signified all subjects of the Persian king).

In the modern world we have designations of ethnicity that are super broad and grow in large part out of early and long-since-debunked anthropological theory that divided humanity into three biologically distinct races, Caucasoid, Mongoloid and Negroid, and don’t really reflect a lot of important components of ethnicity.  The thing is, as the internet will happily tell you ad nauseam, race is a social construct.  Like, yes, designations of race describe real physical characteristics that arise from variation within human genetics, but the way we choose to bundle those characteristics is arbitrary, and where we choose to draw the lines is arbitrary (like, for a long time in the US, Greeks and Italians weren’t considered “white,” but today they definitely are, even though nothing changed about their genetics).  If we today were brought face to face with a bunch of ancient Greeks and Romans, we would probably be pretty comfortable with assigning a majority of them to the big pan-European tent of modern “whiteness,” but if you had asked them about it, they certainly would not have felt any kinship with the pale-skinned people of northern and western Europe from whom most English-speaking white people today are descended.  Those people were every bit as barbarian (and every bit as fair game for enslavement, for that matter) as the darker-skinned folk of the Middle East and North Africa.  Ancient Greeks and Italians also had loads of internal ethnic divisions – like, the Latins (the central Italian ethnic group to which the Romans belonged) were a different thing from the Umbrians to their east, the Etruscans to the north and the Oscans to the south.  In Greece, you had Dorians in the Peloponnese, Ionians in Attica and Asia Minor, Boeotians and Thessalians in central Greece, Epirotes in western Greece, and DON’T EVEN ASK about the Macedonians, because boyyyyyyyyy HOWDY you are NOT ready for that $#!tstorm.  The point is, race and ethnicity can be basically anything that you think makes you different from the people in another community.

So yeah, Alexander’s empire.  Alexander the Great conquered Persia, which was already the largest empire the world had ever seen at the time and incorporated dozens of ethnically distinct peoples (including many Greeks of Asia Minor, some of whom willingly fought against Alexander) through a philosophy of loose regional governance and broad religious tolerance.  Now, here’s the thing: Alexander had no idea how to run an empire of that scale.  No Greek did.  No one alive in the world did – except for the Persians.  Alexander didn’t have anything to replace the Persian systems of governance or bureaucracy, so… he didn’t.  Individual Persian governors were usually given the opportunity to swear loyalty to him and keep their posts; vacant posts were filled with Macedonians, but the hierarchy was basically untouched.  Alexander himself married a princess from Bactria (approximately what is now Afghanistan), Roxana, and had a kid with her, and encouraged other Macedonian nobles to take Persian wives as well, to help unify the empire.  Unfortunately Alexander, of course, had to go and bloody die less than two years after he’d finished conquering everything, and tradition holds that on his deathbed he told his friends that the empire should go “to the strongest,” which was an incredibly dumb thing to say and caused literally decades of war, which we are not even going to talk about because it is the most Game of Thrones bull$#!t in the history of history.  All you need to know is that when the dust settled there were basically three major Greco-Macedonian dynastic powers: the Antigonids in Greece, the Ptolemies in Egypt, and the Seleucids in Persia.

In terms of ethnic makeup the Antigonid kingdom is in principle the most straightforward because they’re basically still running the same Greece that Alexander’s father had conquered.  Even then, you should bear in mind that a) most Greek cities had legal provisions for allowing foreigners to live there under certain conditions (“foreigners” often meant Greeks from other cities, but in principle could be anyone), and b) the Greeks had a lot of slaves (many of whom were, again, Greeks from other cities, because that’s fine in ancient Greek morality, but a lot of them would have come from all over the place), and even though the Greeks didn’t count slaves as “people” or consider them a real part of a city’s ethnic composition, WE SHOULD.  The Ptolemaic kingdom in Egypt seems to have had a relatively small Greco-Macedonian upper class ruling over a native Egyptian, Libyan and Nubian peasant majority.  Members of that ruling class seem to have been kind of snobbish about any mixing between the two – only the very last Ptolemaic ruler, Cleopatra VII (yes, that Cleopatra), even bothered to learn the Egyptian language.  However, the Ptolemaic rulers did make some important cultural gestures of goodwill towards the Egyptians.  They took the native title of Pharaoh, which previous foreign rulers of Egypt hadn’t, and adopted a lot of traditional Pharaonic iconography like the double crown.  They also worshipped some of the most important Egyptian gods, most notably Isis, and may have kind of… deliberately created a new Greco-Egyptian god, Serapis, by blending together Osiris and Dionysus (Serapis actually becomes super important in the Roman period and is widely worshipped even outside Egypt).  And then there’s the Seleucids, an empire that did nothing but slowly collapse from the moment it was established.  They have a rough time of it because they have the largest land area to cover and dozens of distinct ethnic groups to bring together, and it doesn’t help that they kinda keep doing the Game of Thrones thing for about two hundred fµ¢&ing years.  They often get a bad rap in history and have a reputation for oppressing the non-Greek populations of their empire, but that’s probably at least partly because some of our most important sources for the Seleucids are Jewish, and the Seleucid kings’ relationship with the Jews broke down in a fairly spectacular fashion during the reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes (r. 175-164 BC).  It’s not clear whether that’s representative of the Seleucids’ normal relationship with their subject peoples, or a worst case scenario.  Also, the Seleucids tend to get painted as villains in the historical record by both the other Greek powers and the Romans, and never really get much of a chance to defend themselves because we don’t have Seleucid histories.  What is clear is that they inherited all the ethnic and religious diversity of the Persian Empire, and most of their rulers were half-Persian because they followed Alexander’s example by marrying into the Persian nobility.  After an initial period of conflict they also seem to have maintained cordial relations with the Mauryan Empire of India, their neighbour to the east, for several decades, and contemporary Indian sources talk about sending Buddhist missionaries into Seleucid lands, so… like, there might have been a bunch of Greek Buddhists running around the empire; that’s a thing.

Whew.  Okay, so that is a criminally brief answer to-

OH CHRIST YOU ASKED ABOUT THE ROMANS AS WELL

WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE WANT FROM ME

Right.  Romans.  One of the major schools of thought on how the Romans were able to create such an enormous and long-lasting empire in the first place is that their openness to accepting foreigners into their community gave them an enormous manpower advantage over every other ancient Mediterranean state.  Greek politics generally operates on the level of cities; even in the age of Alexander, individual cities have quite a lot of legislative autonomy.  Citizenship is also something that works on the level of cities: you aren’t a citizen of, say, the Seleucid Empire; you’re a citizen of Antioch, or Tyre, or Babylon, or whatever.  But then the Romans happen.  The Romans are weird, because they will sometimes just declare that all the people of an allied city are now also citizens of Rome.  In the early period of Rome’s expansion in the central Mediterranean, this meant (or so the theory goes) that they could draw upon larger citizen armies and sustain more casualties than their rivals.  This is how they beat Pyrrhus, the Greek king of Epirus (r. 297-272 BC), when he invaded Italy in response to disputes between Rome and the Greek colony of Tarentum; this is how they beat Hannibal, the legendary Carthaginian general, even after he annihilated the largest army the Romans had ever fielded at Cannae during the second Punic War (218-201 BC).  Now, at this point they are basically still just bringing in Italians, which we might consider ethnically homogenous even if they didn’t, but there’s more.

Once they really start to get going, the Romans enfranchise entire provinces at a time, like when the emperor Claudius (r. AD 41-54) decided to make everyone in Gaul (modern France, more or less) a Roman citizen.  The really interesting thing about this particular decision is that we actually have a copy of the speech he made to the Senate in Rome at the time, so we can examine his rationale.  Claudius’ argument is basically that being inclusive has always been what has made Rome stronger than its rivals, going right back to their mythological past, when Romulus populated his city with disenfranchised criminals from other communities (and, uh… women that they kidnapped from the next town over).  The Romans believed that everything great about their civilisation had originally been learned or borrowed from someone else – metalworking and irrigation from the Etruscans, infantry combat from the Greeks, shipbuilding from the Carthaginians, etc – so it wasn’t a huge stretch for them to believe that all these people should eventually become part of Rome as citizens (well… the ones who weren’t killed or enslaved in the conquest, anyway – no one ever said the Romans were saints).

The reason Claudius feels he needs to justify all this to the Senate is that citizenship (rather than any of the forms of semi-citizen rights that Romans would sometimes grant to their allies) will make rich Gauls eligible to become Senators themselves, and occupy other high-level posts like provincial governorships.  The decision affects the ethnic composition of the Senate, so even though he doesn’t actually need their permission to do it, he asks as a courtesy (the emperors’ relationship with the Senate is a weird and complicated thing).  Even without being a citizen, you could actually do a great deal in the Roman government in Claudius’ time.  Many of the most important jobs in the empire were ones that had existed during the age of the Republic, when Rome was theoretically a democracy, and all of those were restricted to citizens even after they stopped being elected positions – but there was also an imperial bureaucracy that answered directly to the emperor and his aides, and he was free to choose literally anyone to fill those positions.  As a result, a lot of emperors deliberately picked slaves and former slaves for loads of senior positions, specifically because their lack of citizen rights meant that they could never be political rivals, and because they were a useful counterbalance to the power of the blue-blooded Roman aristocracy.  And, again, slaves can be from basically anywhere.  A lot of these administrative slaves were Greeks, because Greek education provided useful skills for running the imperial bureaucracy that the Romans themselves often didn’t have, but emperors could and did commission literally anyone for these positions.

Eventually the emperor Caracalla (r. AD 211-217) just decided it wasn’t worth keeping track anymore and declared that every freeborn person in the entire empire, which by that point stretched from northern England to Morocco to Romania to Jordan, was now a Roman citizen.  All of these people are now “Romans,” regardless of their language or culture or religion; the only criterion is that they not be slaves or former slaves (and even if they’re former slaves, their children will be Roman citizens).  And these people can move, in ways that were never possible before the Empire existed, because Rome is the first – and so far the last – political entity ever to unite the entire Mediterranean region, which allows them to wipe out piracy almost completely and jump-start trade and travel in ways that would never happen again for over a thousand years.  My own research on Roman glass has led me to encounter glassblowers with Syrian or Jewish names working in northern Italy – people who were probably integral to spreading the technology of glassblowing to western Europe.  The Roman army also moves people around – like, a lot.  You might enlist in your home town in Syria, then serve on Hadrian’s wall and retire in northern England – in fact, we know that this happened because we’ve found stuff like inscriptions in the Aramaic language in Roman Britain.

Also Rome had, like… a whole dynasty of African emperors one time.  Septimius Severus (r. AD 193-211) and his successors were part Italian, part Punic (of Carthaginian descent – ultimately Middle Eastern, since the Carthaginians were originally a Phoenician colony) and part Berber (native North African), and Severus grew up in what is now Tunisia.  And that wasn’t really a big deal for the Romans, 1) because Severus’ Italian ancestry made him a Roman citizen, which trumps all other signifiers of ethnicity, and 2) Rome had already had a couple of emperors of Iberian (= Spanish) descent by this point who were considered some of the best ever, and the Iberians are just as “barbarian” as the Berbers as far as Rome is concerned.  Other Roman emperors of varied ethnicities include Philip (Arabian), Diocletian (Illyrian), the three Gordians (probably Cappadocian), and Elagabalus (Syrian, and incidentally the gayest Roman of all time; like, normally I would warn you to be super cautious about using modern labels like “straight” and “gay” for Romans because they just didn’t think about sexual orientation in those terms, but I make an exception here because Elagabalus was super gay).

Oh, and just because someone will definitely bring it up if I don’t, there was a big fuss in the news a few years back because someone discovered the skeletons of what they claimed were Chinese people living in, of all places, Roman Britain.  And to me, one Chinese family in Britain in the first century AD is not particularly a dramatic stretch of plausibility (a handful of people could easily slip through the historical record and just never be mentioned), but the evidence in this particular case falls some way short of “proof.”  There’s chemical data that suggests these individuals grew up somewhere far away from Britain, which is well and good, but the thing that points specifically to China is not the isotopic analysis but a study of bone morphology, and trying to determine someone’s ethnicity on the basis of what their bones look like, on the universal scale of things that are sketchy, ranks “sketchy as all fµ¢&.”  Again, I’m happy to believe that they exist, because China (Seres in Latin) and Rome (Dà-Qín in Chinese) definitely knew about each other, and we occasionally find Roman artefacts and coins in eastern Asia, or Chinese artefacts in the eastern Roman Empire, but the specific evidence for these individuals isn’t there, in my opinion.

…that was a brief answer.  Let it stand as a warning to others.

[maliciouslycreative]

Oh boyyyyyyyyy. This is something that has always happened to me. Like I get comments about it way less now in my 30s (probably because I don't work with the public any more) but still get on occasion. It was terrible though in my teens and 20s.

I was probably one of the earliest afab people to hit puberty in my grade and it was hell. I've always been naturally pretty and feminine looking and people noticed. Combined with how I never was particularly interested in being feminine and this lays the groundwork for where a lot of my bullying and harassment came from. People have just always felt like it was their job to tell me that "oh you're so pretty but think of how much prettier you'd be with makeup!" When I was in school, especially elementary, people certainly used it as a weapon and I got the impression from them that "maybe if you weren't so weird and were into make up and other feminine things then you wouldn't be excluded from social circles. Like even the tomboy of the grade likes and wears makeup so what's wrong with you."

It was less of a problem from other girls in high school but the boys it was bad. Lots of "you're pretty/hot but you'd look prettier/hotter/older if you wore makeup." Girls would like look at me in awe and be like "I wish I was as strong as you and didn't have to wear makeup" or "I wish I could be as pretty as you without makeup". And like this is something I still get from time to time. People seem almost offended when I tell them the only makeup I own is a lipstick and eyeshadow pallet I bought for cosplay.

Thankfully pressure about makeup never came from my parents or family (though clothing is a whole different can of worms).

So yah any interest I ever had in makeup was pretty much destroyed by people insisting I should wear it and be interested in it. Plus thr thought of presenting more feminine was always sort of nauseating. I probably wouldn't care so much about it if makeup wasn't associated with femininity.

Genuine question for whoever feels up to answering, because I just saw a post about performing femininity and it made me wonder.

I am an almost-39 year old enby/afab (mostly not out as enby in meatspace) in the United States. I can count on my fingers how many times in my entire life I've worn makeup. I have never once been given crap by anyone - growing up, in college/grad school, while the work force - for not wearing makeup. Literally never.

But there's that post above, and I've seen others like it, that suggest this is a real thing that happens to people?? My peeps who are/were female and/or were performing "female" in your teens/20s/onward...have you actually had instances where you didn't wear makeup and people gave you shit??? This is...a real thing...that happens???

[tbzhours]

THAT JACOB BAD BOY AU MADE MY HEART DO SUMMERSAULTS IM JSOSHSOSJXOSJSKSJS IT'S TOO FLUFFFYYYYY IM GONNAAAAAAA DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

OMG ADSJFKSDFJK THANK YOU FOR ENJOYING IT!!!!!! 

i had so much fun writing it, it was such a good time because jacob really looked like a bad boy during the ddd era like BOYYYYYYYYY YOU BE DOING GOOD THINGS HUH ADFJDSKLFJDSKFJ 

thank you so much again, i’m gonna go back and read it again ahhhhh my heart’s gonna be destroyed 🥺😭💖 

[tellywoodtrash]

ishqbaaz 02.08.17 lb

fiesty wife isn’t scared of billu and his tactics anymore. 🙄🙄🙄

ohhhhhhhhhhh boy. shivaay was so inspired by rudy’s little handcuffs waala mishap that he got these installed at his headboard too. 😳😳😳

god, please don’t ever get them removed. this could make for some verrrrrrrrrrrry kinky sex. 😏😏😏

literally me right now: 

did he drop the key on purpose???? either way, this man has fucking lost his marbles. 😟😟😟

oh boyyyyyyyyy. angry, grabby!kara. 😬😬😬

ok good. glad you cleared that up, om. now she can leave in peace. 😑😑😑

the editing and transition in scenes is hella abrupt and giving me whiplash bruh. 😖😖😖

honestly rudra, what will it take for you to leave the girl alone???? 😒😒😒

lol om’s like “good, i was just pretending to care about your problems anyway. like i always do.” 

whut, om doesn’t like sugar? great. there goes my dream of a being happily married to him. i can’t marry a fucking freak who doesn’t like sugar. 😟😟😟

rudra: log shaadi kyun karte hai? om: yeh toh tujhe pata hona chahiye. tune toh do do kiye hai. ek nashe mein ASLI, aur ab ek majboori mein nakli. 

OMFG THEY REFERENCED THE SUMO WAALA SHAADI. 😧😧😧😧😧😧 AND CALLED IT THE ASLI ONE. DUDE LIKE DON’T EVEN FUCK WITH MY FEELINGS LIKE THIS....

WHAT IS THIS, A BIG FUCKING JOKE TO YOU FUCKING WRITERS?!?!?! 😡😡😡

bs misogyny waala bonding. fuck you idiots. 😑😑😑

this fucking idiot and his fucking aloo puri plan. honestly. 🙄🙄🙄

IF YOU KNOW THAT THEY KNOW, THEN WHY DON’T YOU JUST BEAT IT OUTTA YOUR FUCKING BROTHERS, INSTEAD OF HANDCUFFING YOUR WIFE. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, MAN?????? 😧😧😧

snort. good that shivaay knows that when it comes to picking between the two, devar squad always picks bhaabi. apni aukaat yaad rakh, billu. 😆😆😆

OH HO RUDRA. IS LADKE KE PET MEIN KUCH BHI NAHI REHTA. 😣😣😣

billu’s sooooooooo matter of fact now that he knows how things stand. this is his businessman of the year side. 😐😐😐

oh yes, my girl is free! FLY ANIKA, FLYYYYYYYYY. 🕊🕊🕊

.... so do they just keeeep weed around the house in case they need to interrogate stubborn wives or........ 🤔🤔🤔

who am i kidding, he obviously took some from omki’s stash. you CANNOT convince me that om doesn’t 420 blaze it.  🚬 🚬 🚬 

YES, MY GIRL KNOWS. YES. THANK GOD. THIS WAS GETTING VERY DATE-RAPEY. 😕😕😕

lmao she’s gonna fuckkkkkkkkk. himm. upppppppp. 😈😈😈

WHY AREN’T HIS FUCKING BROTHERS STOPPING HIMMMM FROM BEING SUCH A CREEEEEEEEEEP? 😫😫😫

"i also don’t want to hurt you, anika.”

yeah i’d believe that, if you weren’t SUCH A FUCKING PSYCHOPATH WHO HANDCUFFED HER AND IS TRYING TO DRUG HER WITHOUT HER KNOWLEDGE. 😒😒😒

pretending aside, i’d have given him extra hell for losing the fucking key. like seriously. fuck him. 😤😤😤

NO DON’T PLAY ROMANTIC MUSIC FOR THIS. 😡😡😡

side eyeing him majorly for blaming her “zidd” for “making him do this”. fucking creep. 😠😠😠

ok feeling the feelz for him fussing over her bruises. ugh i hate himmmmmmm for making me love him. FUCK MY STUPID HEART FOR OVERRIDING MY SMART BRAIN. 😫😫😫

aaaaaaaaand, i have officially started crying. the flashbacks did me in. god, what an awful day that was. 😪😪😪

“kyun hua yeh sab?” 😥😥😥

oh god my heart. my poor broken heart. the way he asked that. 😭😭😭

“TUMHE mujhpe bharosa nahi tha. kuch baat thi, toh baat karni thi mujhse. koshish toh karti.”

siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 😢😢😢

don’t think i didn’t notice anika being distracted and just staring at his mouth, not paying attn to a single angsty thing he was saying. 😏😏😏

sudden switch to comedy. oufffffff. 😣😣😣

LMAOOOOOOOOOOO HER FACE AS SHE FUCKS HIM OVER. I LOVE HER SOOOOOO MUCH. 😂😂😂

oh idiot billu. stupidly smug fucking idiot. 😗😗😗

..... aaaaaaaaaaaaaand....

yup. high as a fucking kite. fucking idiot. 🙄🙄🙄

looks like a good couple bonding experience though. 😆😆😆

lmao, this is surbhi laughing for real at nakuul being a dork. so fucking cute. 😂😂😂

oh god. naach gaana. fwding. 

.... is this real or the hallucinations of billu’s drugged out mind? 🤔🤔🤔

ok real. i think. god, don’t make me go back and watch the fucking song and dance. 😒😒😒

i’m just assuming it’s real for now. 

aw man. my heart. they missed each other sooooooo much. 😭😭😭😭😭😭

siiiiiiiiigh, look at his open and earnest expression when he’s asking her. 

“sab kuch sahi tha. hum kitne khush the... main tumse shaadi karne waala tha... uske baad hum live happily ever after hone waale the. tumhaari hindi picturon mein dikhate hai na?” 

oh my heart. i caaaaaaaaan’t. 😭😭😭😭😭

i hate that nakuul makes his “drunk/high” voice so high pitched. like... his shivaay voice is deeper than his actual voice, and this is just tooooo high pitched. he’s currently squealing “kyunnnnnn” at a frequency only bats can hear. 😣😣😣

ohhhhhhhhhh boy. part 1 of the truth is out. 😬😬😬

PLEASE TELL ME SHIVAAY HAS CAMERAS IN THIS ROOM OR SOME SHIT AND IS RECORDING THIS COZ 1000% HIS HIGH ASS ISN’T GOING TO REMEMBER THIS. 😣😣😣

oh ho, KASAM waala nonsense. since when does SHIVAAY believe in KASAMs? 🤔🤔🤔

billllu, tum NAHIIII sambhaaal paoge. ouff. just... man why can’t you just be like a normal stoner and get the munchies. no, you have to be the PARANOID type of stoner. 😒😒😒

i regret this. i regret this so much. take me back to 3 seconds ago, when i didn’t know the sach. 😐😐😐

OK STOP WITH THE EKTA TYPE EDITING. MY HEAD. 😖😖😖

yup. she broke him. like those cats when you put something on their foreheads and they just... 

oh noooooooooo. ho gaya shuru nakuul ki ghatiya acting. i fully knew he’d be doing this in this scene and ruining it for me. goddddddd, why??? and how can he be good at CRYING (the toughest part of acting) and so bad at the voice modulation and dialogue. ouffffffff. 😑😑😑

“aapki khushi ke liye main aapki kya, puri duniya ki nafrat seh sakti hoon.” “MERI KHUSHI TUMHARE SAATH HAI, ANIKA! MERI KHUSHI TUMHARE SAATH HAI! TUM JAANTI HO NA YEH???” 

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

... why is she telling him all this now though? in confidence that he’ll forget coz he’s high? but he’s the kind who remembers. he remembered after the #shiTia party. he didn’t really forget anything after the berries in the jungle either. soooooo...... 😕😕😕

oh boy. he’s fixating on the khoon now. 😶😶😶

bruh, why can’t you think of a positive? YOU GET ONE MORE OF YOUR FAVOURITE THING IN THE WHOLE WORLD: A BROTHER!!!!!! 😊😊😊

“sab ko pata tha. sivaiii mere. sab ko pata tha.” 

yuuuuuuuuup. 😐😐😐

oh wow, he’s now remembering the daimaa convo and things are clicking. see anika? still remembers things when high. your reveal strategy is so... weird and random. 😕😕😕

... aaaand his guilt has kicked in. this is a LOT of feelings for a man to handle SOBER, let alone high. 😬😬😬

aw. he’s apologizing. siiiigh. this is the one time that SHE should be the one apologizing though. he wasn’t reaaaallly at fault. other than of being a hot headed asshole. but she knew that about him and used it and instigated him to the max. 😒😒😒

... he fell asleep, didn’t he? 😒😒😒

..... yup. that some dank weed, bro. 

how did she carry him from the pool to the bed? please show us that!!!!!!!!!!! 😧😧😧 

is anika wonder woman in disguise? 🤔🤔🤔

at least cuddle with himmmm, girl. come onnnnnn. 😙😙😙

meanwhile idhar bulbul is in a crisis of her own. 😔😔😔

is bhavya even fucking listening???? all signs point to no. 😒😒😒

... you never really talked about anything though? i mean, not to defend him, but how would his misunderstandings magically disappearing without any clarification? 😕😕😕

i’m not really digging this bhavya’s new style of denim jackets over kurtas. i like the concept, but the jackets chosen are all so wrong and ill-fitting! 😫😫😫

... ALL THE WOMEN IN THIS SHOW DESERVE BETTER THAN THE STUPIDASS MEN THEY’RE SADDLED WITH. ALL. OF. THEM. 😠😠😠

except tia. she got a good one. tia + dobin 4eva! 💘💘💘

lmao wait whut... has jhanvi locked herself inside a cupboard???? 😐😐😐

lololol svetlana’s exasperation on having to put up with jhanvi’s crazy. 😂😂😂 imagine. svetlana is like 98% cray cray herself. even she can’t take this. 

has jhanvi just... moved to svetlana’s???? 

really om????? after what you said, you expect her to still be around here? you’re such a daft prick, is2g. 🙄🙄🙄

really? they can’t eat without their girls??????? 🤔🤔🤔

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAS. THE GIRLS RAN AWAY (TOGETHER???) YAS YAS YAS. THIS IS THE BEST THING EVERRRRRRRR. 🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽

lmaooooooo svetlana and jhanvi are getting massages together. MAN I LOVE SVETLANA SHE SEEMS LIKE THE COOLEST FUCKING GIRLFRIEND TO HAVE. 😍😍😍

um... WAIT WHAT? 😧😧😧

oh pfffffffffffffft. 😑😑😑

today’s surety that this is a tejLana plan to drive J mad: 92% 

BUT LOOK AT MY MURDER GIRLFRIENDS! 😍😍😍

time for bs alpha male posturing and pretending that all iz well. 🙄🙄🙄

YUP. THEY LEFT YOUR UNWORTHY ASSES. ABOUT FUCKING TIME. 🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽

great. he doesn’t remember. wants to do the whole drama again. ouff billllllllllllu. tangggggg aa gayi hoon main tumse. daffffaaaa ho. 😣😣😣

[eternlmisery]

The only thing he says is like “open your eyes” please 

oh yeah there is this 

me gouging out my eyeballs at season 3 of legends of tomorrow 

i had to i’m sorry \

but i think they heal or something idk 

“just shoot em” hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha 

they were so gay by the way 

the dark haired dude

he loved nolan i think 

or am i seeing thingidk 

ew what does he look like 

what?

OH NO ALL THE VILLAINS 

SCOTT MCCALL IS THE BEST CHARACTERS IS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED 

NOT MY BABIES 

NO DONT KILL THEM PLEASE 

I do not get any of these 

WHAT 

me 

smoke bomb bish 

wow that’s good stuff 

teen wolf you are good boy 

DEREK AND PETER AND MALIA AND MY KIDS 

THEY ARE ALIVE 

FUCK YOU MONROE 

FUCK YOU 

HE IS PETER HALE BITCH 

I ma so passionate about this i’m sorry deeseee bootssss 

BABIES 

BABIES <3 

MEEEEEEEE 

PROTECTING MY SHIP 

THE HIGHLIGHT 

YESSSSSSSSS

I LOVE HIM SO FUCKING MUCH 

oh no 

IS THIS? 

FUCK 

oh i thought that was corey 

wi dont care about that guy 

i mean yeah i feel but he was asking for it 

well... too bad honey

i feed bad

fuck 

theo baby 

he is so hot 

fuck me 

is he gonna take it away? 

bitch 

THEO’S CHARACTERS DEVELOPMENT HAS ME SHOOK 

LOOK.AT.THEO. YESSSS 

HE IS DOING IT 

I LOVE YOU THEO 

I love everyone on thos show 

except gerard monroe and jennifer and some other people 

ah theo... 

you good 

you loyal 

you charcter improved 

ah 

is nolan gonna say anything? 

no? 

okay 

YESSSS

WHAT THE FUCK FUCK YOU MAN 

YOU’RE RIGHT KATE YEAH 

except allison and his wife 

they died 

OH

OH YEAH 

OH YEAH 

OH YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH:) 

I love how chris didn’t do anything 

ht emost happy moment between him and kate 

and some trick he has literally never done before 

fuck you mornoe

god SOMEONE KILL THAT FUCKING BITCH 

YEAH BOYYYYYYYYY

KILL HER 

OH MY GD

SHE IS THE MOST ANNOYING SHIT EVER 

i had to gouge them out sorry boy 

HEAL 

“look at me” 

man i can’t 

AW BABIES 

LYDIA 

MALIA 

OH MY GOD 

THIS IS SO GOOD 

FUCK ME 

MAN I’M CRYING 

I LOVE TEN WOLF 

i;m writing all caps sorry 

i’m just sobbing 

he is fixed oh my god 

oh my god 

oh my god 

they are epic 

i love them so much 

fuck mornoe 

this is like the moral of the story 

we can all agree that mr mccall is getting fired 

COACH 

I LOVE HIM 

II LOVE COACH 

OKAY 

I LOVE HIM 

HE ALMOST CRIED 

I FEEL SO BAD 

PETER THEOOOOOO DEATONNNN CHRISSSS MELISSA AND CHRIS YESSSSSSS

SSOMG GGGGGG

I’M SOBBING 

FUCK ME 

JACKSON AND ETHAN HAD THEIR HAPPY ENDING 

the best step dad and step son duo ever 

im stull crying 

i’m still crying 

WE COULD HAVE JUST SHOT THE FUCKING BITCH 

OH MY GOD FUCK MORNOE 

THE JEEEP 

THE JEEP 

THE CARS BOYYYYYY 

Derek baby 

Stydia jeep power coupleeee

thiam please tell me its thiam 

malia and scott 

where is theo bitch 

i kinda dont want it to end 

no 

i dont want it to end 

fuck 

this was iconic 

this was so good 

so stydia ended up together and scalia too?

I LOVE THIS 

FUCK 

SCOTT 

I’M CRYING SO MUCH 

OH MY GOD IT’S OVER 

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD 

OH MY GOD I’M SHOOK I CAN;T 

THIS WAS 

THE BEST FINALE THESE TWO EYES HAVE SEEN 

it’s literally TEEN WOLF>PLL>TVD

[nothing-blue-can-stay]

Hi Iz, The guy that I like often tells me how much he likes thin small girls... and it makes me so sad to think that he's never gonna fully like me because I am the opposite of that. You're probably wondering why I care so much and the reason is that I had anorexia and bulimia but I never really totally recover, now I feel like I need to loose weight because I feel so sad everytime I'm naked or having sex with this guy who I know he likes skinny girls. Sorry for my bad english but I am latina

well i want to start by telling you that the guy you are currently talking to is absolutely out of line by telling you how you should look or what body type he prefers. you need to realize that you are SO MUCH better than his low vibrational energy… you are beautiful for who you are, no matter what he may think. please start finding love & compassion for yourself & your journey & realize that this guy is holding you back from completely healing. you are so much more than surface level comments & degrading words. RAISE YOUR FREQUENCY and shed that f*ck boyyyyyyyyy

[chippedtoothczech]

I started college yesterday and boyyyyyyyyy am I already stressed tf out. Like I thought my stress in hs was bad nooooooooo this is worse. Way worse