Proship/proshipper Means Pedophile. It Has Always Meant Pedophile. I've Been Here Long Enough To Remember

I live in a country that HATES me. People like me. What a fucking disgrace. This country is finished. Don’t look to black women/femmes for anything else ever again.

People like to pain Aizawa as someone who wouldn't have dismissed Izuku's dream. Who would be upset if he found out about what All Might said in the first episode.

I think it's complete bullshit.

Aizawa was more or less ready to expel whoever came in last for the training on the first day.

I think he would have been equally as bad, of not worse.

Fanon aizawa would be mad at all might and would support Izuku's dream of being a hero as a quirkless individual.

However, canon aizawa would not.

First of all canon aizawa very much based the potential of his students on the way they can use their quirks and handle themselves in battle. He was ready to expell them if they made it dead last and he was ready to expell anyone who didn't meet his criteria. Aizawa also has his own internalised issues about strength that stemmed from oboro's death and how he wasn't capable or strong enough to protect everyone so yeah I don't think he would support Izuku's dream.

There's also the fact that aizawa has only helped people with a "weak" quirk or a quirk that wasnt inherently suitable for heroics like shinsou other than that aizawa has a very internalised belief that quirks do actually make or influence a person and we see this in canon with how he treats bakugo and how he seems to take pity on shinsou because he reminds him of himself.

TUMBLR 101: a helpful guide for tiktok refugees

are YOU a former tiktok user trying to learn how to use tumblr to fill the void the american tiktok ban is leaving in your soul? here are some things you should know, from someone who’s going on their eighth year on this hellsite:

1. you can say anything on here. gone are the days of having to use words like “unalive” and “seggs.” murder! kill! sex! fuck! speak your mind!

2. there is a community for you on here. regardless of what you’re into or however small the fandom is, you have a place here. at least one other person will have heard of your weird obscure interest. strike up a conversation!

3. followers don’t matter. tumblr is one of the last remaining social media sites in which your number of followers means absolute jack shit. this can be disorienting at first, but once you lean into the fact that everyone on this website is equal, it’s very freeing. clout means nothing here.

4. similarly, you can post at any time. while tiktok has an algorithm that favors certain times, tumblr has no such algorithm. post whatever you want, whenever you want. every post has virtually the same chance at getting notes, regardless of when it is posted.

5. tags can have spaces between the words! this one is very exciting. tags can be a whole sentence. you can also use the tags to comment on someone’s post without actually adding onto the physical post itself (which is sometimes frowned upon and called “derailing” if you use this feature to bring up a completely different point other than the one that’s being made on the original post).

TL;DR: speak your mind, find your place, followers don’t matter, post anytime, have fun with tags!! tumblr is a wonderful site used to share things you’re excited about. be patient with yourself as you’re learning and have fun!

FROG EYE KOKUSHIBO

*turns him into a pin*

yesh I made this hes so silly goofy

Thinking about Endeavor and how he could’ve been great for exploring the corruption within the Hero system, how some Heroes are just full of shit. All they know to do is punch Villain and let camera go click flash and fans go aaaa omg Hero do hero thing that’s so cool I love him yay yippee

Imagining a world where Endeavor was introduced as a Hero who was just as widely beloved as All Might, and he carried himself similarly to him and everything. A facade where his whole reputation relies on practically being a clone of the no.1’s personality, just with a twist of competitiveness and maybe a sprinkle of awkwardness or quirkiness. So when we’re introduced to Shoto, we start out confused as to why he hates his father so much. We think of him as just another rebellious teenager, doesn’t want anything to do with his dad yada yada yada. Maybe we even roll our eyes at him at first. But then we learn, oh wait Shoto isn’t just some other rebellious teen. His father actually legitimately sucks. Overtime we slowly learn of Endeavor’s true nature, how abusive he is, and not only that, but how the Hero system has failed Shoto and his family because it did nothing to stop Endeavor from doing what he did to them. Endeavor gets away with so much simply because he’s at the top of the charts. Shoto has to live with and rely on a selfish abusive man who’s beloved by the mass public, who pretends to be this heroic caring guy just doing what he does for the sake of peace, when in reality it’s all for the money, fame, and power. And nobody believes Shoto when he opens up about his trauma. Nobody except Midoriya. Because they’ve been convinced that because Endeavor is a Hero that it must mean there’s a reason behind why he’s supposedly treating his family so badly, or that Shoto is being overdramatic that he’s wording himself poorly on purpose just to make his father look bad, because he’s the rebel kid who hates him and therefore surely that means he’s trying to drag others into his rebellion and hatred so he can avoid any kind of self reflection.

And what if All Might bought into the act. Instead of being directly rivals, they’re both good friends in the public eye. NightEye never trusts Endeavor for jackshit, and it could’ve been one of the things him and All Might argued over. All Might having so much faith in humanity that he trusts Endeavor with his life, going as far as to say he’s one of his best friends. Meanwhile Endeavor’s just happy that he has a “friend” who’s popular and rich. Since high school they had always been rivals, and Endeavor still viewed him that way, only now he was more discreet about it, wording himself in ways that made his jabs at All Might sound like it’s just bros being bros. All Might slowly opening up to the possibility that his “close friend” is just some guy who takes his speeches and tweaks them just enough so to seem like he knows what he’s talking about. Endeavor just regurgitates whatever All Might says but worded differently, and the public eat it up without a second thought.

Hero Killer Stain could be the starting point of really unraveling Endeavor and his true colors. Shoto being placed in this strange intense situation where he knows his father won’t back down and change just because Stain is targeting him, so on one hand the thought of his father dying—as cruel as it may seem—is honestly relieving, but on the other hand the same thought leaves him dreadful and guilty because he wants to be a Hero. He wants to be a Hero better than Endeavor. He wants to be a true Hero. Knowing that his father’s attitude towards the situation is only going to get him killed, what kind of Hero would that make Shoto if he just allowed that to happen without a fight? He had to at least try to save his father, even if he had hurt him so much. Not because of any way he felt towards Endeavor, but because of his own dream and to make his mother and siblings proud.

And HAWKS. OH THE ANGST POTENTIAL WITH HAWKS. Hawks learning that his idol is a piece of shit and him struggling to come to terms with the fact that he let this man influence him to become a Hero. He let Endeavor influence him so much on a personal level. Wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the more time he spends with Endeavor and then learning about Dabi and his whole deal, eventually he can’t continue trying to defend this guy. He’s gotta distance himself somehow but his collaboration with Endeavor has already gone on for a long while now. Even if Endeavor’s reputation has been starting to decline due to Stain and All Might needing to retire early, Hawks can’t just back away now. Not when the Noumus are attacking the city and Endeavor is struggling to keep up with them on his own. And Endeavor’s reputation is only going to tank more from there too as he ends up showing that he’s incapable of handling being the no.1 Hero like he always wanted to be, no longer having anyone to copy speeches and motivational quotes off of and Hawks’s personality being too laidback for him to fuel his already cracking facade. To the point where Hawks has to do a lot of the heavy lifting. Endeavor is pushed to the point of desperation, trying so hard to cling onto the reputation he has left, and it affects their teamwork by a lot. Hawks keeps getting his feathers burned in battle because Endeavor keeps recklessly throwing himself into the fights only thinking about himself, practically neglecting Hawks altogether. It gets to the point where in private, Endeavor ends up hurting him. Hawks gets hurt by his own idol, and he’s left stunned. He’s not sure whether to distance himself or to keep attempting to look on the bright side of everything, to tell himself maybe I’m the one doing something wrong not him.

Touched up a panel from one of my first Douma posts :D

So I was looking around the bnha subreddit and found a forum asking who everyone's least favorite hero (besides endeavor because that would be too obvious). One comment talked about how uwabami wasted momo and itsukas potential, and one of the replies said this about momo:

live suchusoid reaction:

I'd tear this argument down myself, but I'm to tired and hungry, so I was wondering what your thoughts on this were.

Ugghhhh, it's 1 AM. I was gonna leave the rest of my asks for a more motivated me.

This has, officially, motivated me. For this ask specifically, the rest of y'all will have to wait.

So!

Momo's quirk is insanely powerful. Her quirk is creating objects out of her lipids, though the measure is never really clear.

She isn't even fazed by creating a canon. Which! By the way! A canon is roughly 600kg. Six. Hundred.

That is over 10 times her weight. And that isn't even the limit.

All we know is that she cannot create living organisms, but it's also not clear if this includes things such as bacteria. Because it's unclear, I'll only look at inanimate objects.

Momo is literally only held back by her creativity, and thus Horikoshi's creativity.

She's insanely powerful and versatile.

Oh, the villain has a fire quirk? Time to make a fite extinguisher!

Oh, the villain has a wood-based quirk? Time to make a flamethrower!

Oh, a civillian is bleeding out? Time to create a medkit!

Oh, someone's drowning? Time to make an oxygen tank!

Her quirk is only limited by what she knows and her ability to think on the fly. That is all. Because there is no known limit to how much she can make.

It isn't that her quirk isn't OP, it's that Horikoshi didn't allow Momo to use her quirk to her full capacity.

Like, against Tokoyami, she could have easily created flashbombs to weaken him, or a flamethrower to keep a consistent amount of light.

She could destroy Bakugou simply by creating gunpowder and throwing it at him - he'd blow himself up. Or making a hose and spraying him.

Most of all: she could make a gun. Like, it's so weird that so many mangakas forget that guns exist, because so many people in MHA could be beaten by a gun.

Momo has the ability to create anything she needs to beat her opponent. It's literally just her ability to adapt and her (or Horikoshi's) creativity.

Fucking– LOOK AT FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST!

Ed is far more limited in his alchemy than Momo is with her quirk, in that he can only transmute things if the cost is equivalent. But he's still far more creative than Momo is in the use of his abilities.

Heck, even Senkuu from Dr. Stone has more creativity than Momo, and he doesn't have any supernatural abilities.

Momo's quirk is OP, and she would be awful as plain fanservice.

I'm not against fanservice. Heck, I love both One Piece and Fairy Tail - fan service is not unwelcome. But, fan service should be done in moderation and some series just don't need it. Also, the context does matter.

Bringing up FMA again, the only fan service we get is from Lust who, shocker, is the personification of lust. Her entire being is lustful, so it makes complete sense for her to be fan service. But she also serves other purposes, and doesn't exist solely for fan service.

In MHA, it's fine to include fan service if it has a point.

Mount Lady is introduced via fan service to show how female heroines have to act in order to gain fame. Uwabami emphasises this, as does Midnight.

However, a theme that was (attempted to be) shown was 'Old vs New Generation'. All those heroines showcasing their fan service were part of the older generation, and the new one was supposed to change the status quo.

Momo and Kendou were both shown to be disgruntled at the idea of using their sexuality to gain fame, and were far more focused on actually becoming heroes and bettering their abilities.

To say that Momo should have only existed for fan service is completely missing the point and invalidating her character.

If anything, she should have been able to show skin without it being sexualised. In the same way male fan service was used to show strength, Momo (and other female characters) should have had fan service to show their strength, rather than being sexualised.

People like the person in that image frustrate me, because they have no idea what they're talking about.

"At best, a canon that doesn't move," NO!

At best, a fucking hydrogen bomb. She could create nuclear weapons. She could do so much, it's Horikoshi who limits her.

Hygge | Nanami Kento x Tiana

↳ Pairing : Nanami Kento x Tiana

↳ Rating :  T

↳ Summary : Nanami breaks his well cultivated routine 

↳ W.C : 4.4k

↳ A/N: the voices in my head got me y’all… this is a purely self indulgent fic featuring relatable king Nanami (I, too, do not dream of labor✊🏾) and black girlbossqueen Tiana

↳ Tags + Warnings: xenophobia from a side character, fluff, set in Tokyo, next door neighbors, cultural differences, salaryman x cafe owner, they can speak each other’s languages but not fluently

🎵 A Commuter’s Trip (The Commuter OST) by Roque Baños

🎵 Hello Stranger by KAI

Hygge (n.) | Danish

“the feeling of calm, comfort, and contentment evoked by life’s simple joys”

Nanami had a simple routine. Wake up at 6, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast by 7:45 and be out of the door—at the latest—a minute before 8. He had everything calculated to the T. If Nanami had been a minute too late—let’s say 8:01— he would miss the morning train and therefore be late for work, and he was never late. He had taken into account all contingencies i.e. a train delay, traffic, inclement weather, and made sure he was prepared for any and all possibilities.

That’s why, much to his chagrin, he was “Employee of the Month” every month since he had been promoted from associate to advisor. Most workers would’ve taken pride in that, felt their presence valued at their company. But Nanami didn’t care much for awards or titles, in fact, he just hated working period. He made sure to always clock out at 6 p.m. on the dot. One minute more would be overtime and he didn’t want to give his thankless job a second more of his labor. 

When he left work, he always went straight home. When his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes, thoughts about the next day would drift into his mind. 

Did the market close up or down? What reports did he need to finish? There’s a client meeting coming up; the presentation deck needs to be prepared… Just two more days. Get through two more days and it’s the weekend. 

And so on and so on. Wash rinse repeat. 

He presumed this endless cycle of corporate monotony would continue until the day he turned 40, after which he could retire and live modestly in a country like Malaysia or the Philippines to catch up on all the reading he missed. Perhaps even find a nice woman and marry her while he was there.

The marriage part was new—an afterthought after years of daydreaming—and he didn’t really think much about the kind of woman he wanted to marry. What she looked like or what she did was more of an amorphous thought, a vague idea in his mind. 

Until her.

He met her by accident. Nanami had been cooking, a hobby he only indulged in on the weekends, and he was just in the middle of making a rolled omelet when he heard a loud thump outside his door.

His apartment building was more of an office building which meant that his floor didn’t get much traffic. The people who rented rooms were not really tenants who lived there, but workers looking for an extra workspace.  He had assumed the thump to be a delivery man outside his door so, naturally, he was surprised when it wasn’t the post, but a foreigner woman standing outside the room next door.

The woman had a heavy bag of groceries balanced in the crook of her arm and another by her feet that he presumed had been the source of the sound. When they made eye contact, he had been so startled that he quickly closed his door. The apartment next to his had been empty for months, but it looked like it had finally been rented out. 

He thought nothing more of it until her very presence began to infiltrate his well-maintained routine. Every morning, if he was quiet enough, he could faintly hear her humming as he got dressed. Other times, he could hear upbeat jazzy music on the weekends if he opened his window.

Every night, he was surrounded by the fragrance of whatever she seemed to be cooking. Most of the time it was sweet, other times it was savory. It wasn’t an unpleasant aroma, just noticeable to the point where its absence would feel strange. There were days when they would leave for work at the same time, though oftentimes he would end up holding the elevator door open for her when she left her apartment a few minutes after he did. 

In the brief moments they encountered, Nanami made small observations about her: She was an American. Beautiful. Unmarried—Americans wore rings on their ring finger to signify marital status, he’d noticed she didn’t.

He couldn’t infer her job or what exactly brought her to Tokyo in the first place from her appearance alone, however. He’d seen a fair amount of young foreign teachers in the city. He wondered if she was a teacher. She looked young enough. A missionary? She dressed modestly and wore sensible shoes. Her curly hair was often tied into a low bun. From the very slim list of what young American women did for work in Tokyo, he decided on teacher and his curiosity was sated. 

One day he found out. After a long day of work, he walked his usual route from the train station back to his apartment building but was redirected due to construction at his usual subway exit. When he alighted from the escalator he was on a different street entirely. The extra few minutes from this detour would undoubtedly cut into the time he’d set aside to unwind, and subsequently, he’d have to make a few adjustments to still get a full 8 hours of sleep.

He loosened his tie and sighed inwardly as he walked on. Since he’d moved to this district last year he didn’t make much effort to visit any new places. For all he was concerned, he only really needed to know his route to work and the nearest Starbucks. 

So when he passed by a small cafe called “Tiana’s Place”, it didn’t immediately click that the jazz he’d heard playing softly from her apartment was the same music that was playing now. It was familiar enough that it gave him pause. Where had he heard that song before? When he finally caught sight of her—his neighbor— through the glass window, it finally registered that she wasn’t a teacher or a missionary, but a cafe worker, and from the looks of it, she owned the place. 

He watched her dimples deepen as she interacted with customers, giving each and every one of them a tireless smile. Before he knew it, Nanami found himself inside the cafe whisked into the after-work rush of impatient office workers. She was so busy already, the only indication of strain being a moment when she blew the hair out of her face before the next customer walked up to order. He planned to buy something small and leave; he wanted to give her time to catch her breath but inadvertently in his musings he was already holding up the line. 

She was…right in front of him? And speaking to him now? It was the first time he’d heard her voice and he decided it suited her. She spoke in Japanese and, though accented, was clear and practiced enough in a way that impressed him.

“Are you still deciding, sir?” Impossibly large brown eyes waited in expectation for him to order.

He broke out of his reverie quickly enough to make it seem like his stalling was deliberate, his unmarred poker face further upholding the charade.

He scanned the prepackaged foods and retrieved the first thing that looked like bread. “Just this.” 

“Good choice,” She looked positively elated as she scanned the barcode and activated the card machine. “Beignets are my specialty.” She was beaming at him. Not in a “thank you come again” customer way but like in a he’d just made her entire week way. She was so laughably easy to please that it discomfited him.

He muttered a “thank you”, taking the package and turning to leave quickly before he met her eyes again. The Fall of Icarus was a cautionary tale for a reason, he wouldn’t risk another trip into the sun.

Nanami’s routine had drastically altered over the next few weeks. Every morning he’d gotten used to riding down the elevator with her. They greeted each other regularly, albeit a bit awkwardly, in the shared space—A slight bow from him as he held the doors open, reciprocated by a grateful wave from her.

The last time they shared an elevator, however, they'd accidentally brushed hands while reaching for the ground floor button. For some reason, that unnerved Nanami. So now, most times, he avoided that, opting to wait and listen to the click of her door before he left the house. For good measure, he started taking the stairs. As a result, Nanami had added an extra 10 minutes to his morning commute.

The detour, having yet to be fixed, took him past the café every day. Though Nanami knew the process of waiting in line would add an extra 15 minutes to his after-work trek, he did so anyway, calculating that picking up a quick dinner bento would be a fair trade to taking the time to cook something for himself. 

“What can I get for you today, sir?”  

He knew her name now—Tiana, from the name tag she wore, and the sign on the storefront. He noticed from the way her eyes would widen as he approached, that she recognized him now too.

“Black tea. No sugar, please.” He placed his usual prepackaged meal and packet of beignets on the counter, taking out his wallet. Nanami didn’t always plan to add beignets to every order, but he found himself reaching for them every time, dreading her predictable delight when he did. Ordering tea was another stroke of impulse he didn’t account for, but it wasn’t so busy now, he could enjoy it before he went home.

He decided on a table by the window, savoring the warm liquid as the sun set to a melancholy soundtrack of brass and bass. It was like being transported to another time, outside of crowded subway cars and the hustle of his high-powered office.

Nanami closed his eyes and felt something akin to contentment. When he exhaled, the stiffness in his shoulders abated, and the strain behind his eyes subsided. Was this what it was like to finally relax? 

He was about to take another sip of his drink when he heard a loud bang. The front door to the restaurant had flown open, a bulky man with greasy hair and a lecherous smile stalking in. Nanami’s eyes trailed after the man’s movements, the cup still raised to his lip.

“I’d like a dozen of those powdered donut things. Ya got any of those?” The man leered at the part-timer manning the counter. He sauntered back and forth at the register, eying the self-serve pastries in the display. 

“Sure, would you like them fresh? There aren’t enough ready-made ones for a dozen, but if you’re willing to wait there’s a new batch being made—” 

The man picked up a package of beignets that had been warming under a heated case and without warning, ripped open the package and took a bite.

“S-sir! You need to pay for that first!” The part-timer sputtered.

“Well, I’m waitin’ for that new batch. I wanna try before I buy.” The delinquent guffawed and attempted another gleeful bite only for the pastry to be smacked out of his hand and onto the floor.

He whirled around to face Tiana, bursting into laughter upon seeing her. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be?” 

“Call the police,” Tiana stated calmly to her employee as she stared down the man. Her usual polite smile had been replaced with a stony-faced expression. “Sir, if you’re not going to buy anything then it’s best you leave.”

“Huh? What was that? I can barely understand you, foreign bit-AHh” A pressure on the man’s shoulder made him crumple in pain.

“Your ears must not be working. I can understand her perfectly well,” Nanami murmured, his vice-like grip squeezing at the juncture between the man’s neck and shoulder. While the delinquent whimpered pathetically at the deepening pressure, Nanami directed his attention to Tiana, motioning with a slight tilt of his head for her to step away. “It’s not worth your trouble, I’ll take care of it.” 

She nodded reluctantly and joined her staff member who was now waiting with a phone at her ear behind the counter.

Nanami appeared to be saying something to the man now, but in a volume that Tiana couldn’t hear. His face was calm, betraying no emotion while the delinquent paled gradually in terror, trembling under his grip. The moment Nanami released him, the man scrambled out of his grasp and prostrated himself on all fours.

“I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I PROMISE I WON’T DO IT AGAIN PLEASE—” He shouted hysterically and proceeded to do a fervent bow of penitence. 

Tiana looked at Nanami quizzically but was only met with a mild shrug. 

“Alright alright,” she stepped around the counter to placate him. If he could just stop snotting up the floor she just mopped and get out of there, they could just forget this all happened.

The tinkling bell sound of the cafe door opening interrupted the scene; everyone’s attention shifted from the blubbering man on the floor to the police officer who had just stepped in. 

Before anyone could speak, the man sprang up from the ground and ran toward the policeman. “OFFICER! IT'S ALL MY FAULT I ADMIT IT! ARREST ME, PLEASE! JUST GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Within 10 minutes the offender was cuffed—willingly, to the cop’s surprise— and whisked noisily out of the cafe just as quickly as he’d burst in. Nanami, suddenly uninterested in the commotion, walked calmly back to his table and gathered his things. 

Tiana made her way over to Nanami, eyeing the man through the window. He was currently being escorted to a police car on the curb. Still in hysterics, he’d practically thrown himself into the back of the car.

“Ok…what on earth did you say to that man?” She quirked an eyebrow at the blonde businessman.

That this cafe is his one and only oasis in the heaping pile of shit called life, and if even so much as one insignificant waste of air like him tries to ruin it he’ll have no choice but to chop his fingers off one by one and shove them down his throat so hard he’ll be shitting fingernails for weeks…among other things.

It would’ve been improper to divulge this to Tiana, of course.

“I asked him to apologize,” he said instead in simple English, a far cry from the eloquently horrific threats he’d made in his native language. 

“Really?” She asked, accepting the sudden change of language in stride. Her arms were crossed, her hip jutted to the side, face incredulous. “Just like that?”

“I’m rather persuasive.”

After a beat she laughed. 

Nanami didn’t consider himself a funny person. And frankly, he didn’t understand why she was laughing now but he welcomed it, if only to see that the earlier disturbance hadn’t caused her too much distress.

“Well, thank you kindly,” she drawled in between giggles, her southern accent now unmistakable when she switched to English. “Mister…” 

“Kento.” He offered his first name, aware he was skipping over several customary stages of familiarity. In any other case, anyone less than an acquaintance addressing him by his first name would be extremely frowned upon. But it was common business practice to use given names when dealing with American clients; he thought it fitting to do the same with her.

He reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a silver business card holder, and passed over an impressive looking card: 

Nanami Kento, Investment Advisor

“If there are any similar issues please don’t hesitate to contact me.” He repeated an English phrase that had come in handy from past business dealings.

“Mr. Kento,” she repeated to herself with finality studying the card. Tiana faintly wondered why a guy with a fancy title—and the most expensive suits she’d ever laid eyes on— lived in the modest one-room apartment right next to hers. She pocketed the card and patted around for her own business card. 

“I would’ve given you my own card too. But if you ever need to contact me—”

“Boss!” Her part-timer called out, waving her over from where she stood next to a police officer holding a clipboard.

“I’d better go, you know where to find me.” She excused herself with an apologetic smile.

Unfortunately for Nanami, this little ordeal had cost him another hour of wasted time.

The next day Nanami waited for the familiar click of her door shutting before starting his commute. When he exited his apartment, he could still see the silhouette of her back walking towards the elevator bank. 

She left without an umbrella, he noted to himself as he walked part of the way down the hallway. He imagined walking up to her and bringing it up casually as they waited for the elevator. But as soon as she’d turned his direction he changed course abruptly, legs moving on their own through the emergency exit and down the stairs.

Work went on as usual. He sat at his desk going over the pitch deck, but his eyes could not seem to follow the text. Instead, he found himself gazing out the window, watching the clouds slowly darken in the horizon. 

“Fucking weather, right? News said it’s gonna rain like a bitch the next few days.”

His boss had walked up behind him, crouching at his eye level to see what Nanami was looking at. 

“Hope you brought your galoshes, rookie, we’re going overtime today for that big client meeting. Dinner’s on me.” His boss clapped a hand on his shoulder and went off to bother a different team.

He tried to return his attention to his work, but he couldn’t. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes against the blue light of his computer screen. All he could think about was the rain.

Tiana had hoped that by the time she closed, the rain would’ve stopped. But she found herself outside the doors of the cafe, reluctant to leave. The rain hadn’t let up, and it didn’t look like it was stopping any time soon.

It was a day of disappointments. On top of forgetting her umbrella, Nanami hadn’t come into the shop that day. She’d gotten used to seeing him enter the store at the same time every day, and perhaps even looked forward to it. 

She took one tentative step outside, shivering through the draft of wind. She didn’t live far, maybe it would be alright if she just ran home with a plastic bag over her head. Tiana locked the door behind her and raised the collar of her jacket, clasping it with her hand to protect her neck. On the count of three, she lifted the plastic takeout bag over her head and took the plunge.

After a few strides in the pelting rain, it suddenly stopped—She had run into something or someone. The rain made it difficult to see where she was going so she blindly sputtered a reflexive “I’m so sorry!” in English at whoever it was that she had run into.

When she wiped the rain out of her eyes she could see nothing but an impeccably tailored pinstripe suit in the dim of the streetlights. It was Nanami and he was holding an umbrella over her head. His collar was unbuttoned without a tie, and he looked utterly exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced from where she stood underneath him.

“Mr. Kento? Are you alright? What are you—”

“I figured you could use an umbrella,” he said dryly and pretty pointedly at her makeshift plastic bag hat.

“Yea, I guess I could use one of those,” she laughed breathlessly and took the bag off her head, before giving him one of those heart-stopping smiles he loathed. “You saved my life.*”

The corner of his mouth quirked slightly, amused. Perhaps because her choice of words sounded highly literal, almost…cute?, in Japanese. He “saved her life” just by sharing his umbrella? Americans were known to have a penchant for the dramatic. But he didn’t bother to correct her, instead, he only hummed somewhat of an affirmative response.

They walked in a comfortable silence down a familiar tree-lined path leading to their apartment building. She noticed Nanami’s shoulder getting wet, and leaned closer to him. 

Feeling the imperceptible shift, he gave the woman beside him a sidelong glance. His eyes settled on the loose wisp of hair he’d always seen her blowing out of her face.

It bothered him.

Maybe it was the fatigue-driven delirium, but he was struck with the inane compulsion to brush that lock out of her eyes. He couldn’t have been more grateful for the umbrella currently occupying his hand, otherwise, he would’ve indulged it.

Tiana reached over and gently adjusted the umbrella closer over his side. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that nice suit of yours,” she said softly.

“I hate this suit.” The curt statement came off a bit more brusque than he’d initially intended, though, it was true. He hated that suit and everything it represented.

She looked at him curiously, wondering if this was another aspect of his humor. But from what she could see on his countenance, he was entirely serious. 

He glanced at her again, catching the confused look on her face. “I don’t mind if it gets wet,” he reiterated this time with the intended lack of severity, along with a kind of finality that implied an end to the discussion of his suit and his decision to prioritize her dryness. They continued the rest of the way, the umbrella above them biased towards her side.

When they got to the apartment he held the building door open, letting her walk through first. 

“Thank you again for yesterday. That man, he was—” she paused to conjure the correct word.

“He was being a nuisance,” he completed, pushing the button for the elevator door. Naturally, he had chosen the same number for their floors, and when they arrived at their floor he waited for her to alight before walking after her.

When they finally reached their neighboring doors, he set his umbrella on the hallway floor for it to dry and began to punch in the code for his door. 

“Mr. Kento, wait a moment.”

He stilled his movement and watched as she rummaged into her purse. 

Tiana pulled out a paper box from her bag and presented it to him, “I was going to give these to you earlier if you came in. Glad they didn’t get wet.”

It was a small gesture. Even so, he was reluctant to take it.

“You… didn’t have to,” he frowned, eyeing the box.

“You didn’t have to walk me home, either,” she shrugged. 

“We’re neighbors. We were going in the same direction,” he said plainly, though, he didn’t entirely believe the words as they left his mouth either. It was unlike him to go anywhere else except straight home after working overtime. He hadn’t run into her by some coincidence or divine guidance. He’d gone there on purpose, and he had a sinking feeling she figured that out already too.

“Then just think of it as a ‘thank you gift’,” she insisted, tugging gently at his wrist and nudging the box softly into his hands. “For being my favorite customer.”

He shifted uncomfortably to receive the box with both hands. It was an unfamiliar concept for him to be anyone’s favorite anything.

“Good night, Mr. Kento.” Tiana’s voice had an amused lilt to it. Nanami must’ve stood there frozen because she was already halfway through her door, a knowing smile on her lips.

He regained his composure and mumbled back a formal “Good night, Miss. Tiana,” —her name a bit alien on his tongue—before retreating back inside.

When the door shut behind him, he immediately shed his suit jacket. His body was much too warm despite one side being wet; his collar much too tight, despite his lack of tie.

Nanami stared at the assortment of pastries that Tiana had given to him. He couldn’t recall the last time he willingly ate dessert though he assumed if he had, it would’ve probably been with Gojo and his infantile palate.

Truthfully, Nanami didn’t really like sweets at all. The first time he bought those beignets, he’d just picked up the first thing in line that day and just…never stopped buying it. Over the past weeks, he’d amassed a bevy of unopened bags of the foreign confection and they were occupying the much-needed counter space of his kitchen. 

It was rather ironic for an investment advisor to be so frivolous with his money. Spending on foods he didn’t even eat when was supposed to be saving it didn’t make any sort of financial sense. He had been planning to retire by 40, and now he’d have to add an extra 5 years to his projections over mere fried dough.

Nanami turned over the yellow business card for “Tiana’s Place” that he had found wedged in the box. A simple “Bon Appétit ;) -T.” was written on the back.

He picked up a beignet from the box and took a bite—It was made for him, after all. He chewed it slowly, the consistency not too far off from that of a baguette. It wasn’t too sweet, either. In fact, it was…delicious? Better than any dessert he’s had before. Maybe everything he’d tried before this was just a crude imitation, a poor excuse for the craft of baking. 

Perhaps he did like sweets or even dessert right before bed. Maybe he didn’t even mind that he wouldn’t be getting his full 8 hours of sleep. If he concentrated hard enough, her faint humming as she got ready for bed filled the silence of his apartment. He could stay up even longer if at all possible.

When he finally closed his eyes, a rush of different kinds of thoughts flooded his mind. 

Some were more mundane: Maybe I’ll have a beignet for breakfast or It’s probably going to rain tomorrow. 

Some were imaginations: plump glossy lips curved in an oversweet smile meant solely for him. His fingers gently tucking that bothersome tendril of hair behind her ear. 

He finally drifted to sleep with one last thought just as simple as the others, a tiny hope that she would forget her umbrella again.

*A/N: Tiana’s words sound like a literal translation/unnatural because she’s a non-native speaker ex. “you saved my life” vs a more natural/colloquial “you’re a lifesaver”

©️ blackreaderfics // credit to cafekitsune for the dividers

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