ANN 😭😭😭😭 Why Ann. How Ann. WHO ANN??

"I didn't comment on a fic I liked because I don't think the author would care or remember my comment anyway". fanfic writer here, I still remember comments I got on my fics from seven years ago. I still think about them and they still make me smile. your kind comments are what motivates us and what helps us keep writing.

I personally know writers who take screenshot and print out comments they got from their readers.

TL;DR comments matter to us writers more than you think. if you like a fanfic, never be shy to let the author know ♡

Kerosene, part 1

Summary: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚃𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚒 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚠𝚗, 𝙴𝚖𝚒𝚔𝚘, 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢’𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚌 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝— 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘 —𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝. 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝙴𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗, 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜?

Warnings: strong language, mentions of abuse and neglect, not a lot actually 🤷

"Touya," Emiko tugged at his shirt, stopping him in his tracks down the hall. Her bright turquoise eyes bore into his as she tilted her head. "Please don't be sad."

Emiko spoke those pleading words like a mantra. The constant tension in the household formed a knot in her throat. It caused a brain fog of mustard gas and stole the air from her lungs. She would say or do anything, all just to make the gnawing ache come to an end.

He forced his scowl in another direction, anywhere out of her sight. Touya pulled her off of him and stumbled into the wall.

"Go play or something, " he huffed. "or go bother Yumi. Anything, I don't care. Just leave me alone." He stormed to his room, fighting the tears that nipped at the corners of his eyes.

The five-year-old girl stood at the end of the hall dumbfounded, with a pained expression, and her arms hung to her side in resignation.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The dead summer sun beat down on the children as the sound of cicadas calls filled the air in the distance.

"Why's Dad always so mean to Touya? All he wants is ta' be a hero too." Her unkempt snow-white hair hid her narrowed eyebrows from view as she sat on the dirt patch poking at a cicada shell with a stick.

Fuyumi watched her with a worried expression. She wanted nothing more than to shield the youngest Todoroki from their harsh reality, to give her just a few years of a normal childhood that she and Natsuo had. But she was smarter than that. Fuyumi had already tried feeding her white lies, as well as telling her things were 'normal' or 'going to be alright', but Emiko saw through it.

In the end, she's still young. Whilst she knows these dark truths exist, how they make her feel, it grants no understanding unto what she can do to fix this cruel helyzet she was born into. What could she do? She had no standing within these walls. She was merely at the bottom of the food chain.

"Dad's just.. like that. Y'know? There's nothing we can do." She dismissed. What else could she say? Emiko always had questions beyond what anyone could answer.

She sighed. She could tell by the way Emiko drove the stick into the dirt that she wasn't pleased with her answer. She picked up the brittle shell and held it out in the palm of her hand to her sister.

"You see how the shell's empty? How the cicada crawled out and flew away a long time ago? The shell's kinda like Dad." She explained with hesitation.

Emiko looked up at her sister. Her thumbs danced with one another on the surface of where her shins met.

"But how?"

"Well.." Fuyumi felt the need to backtrack, but she knew that once something had piqued the child's interest she would chase it with persistence. She lowered her voice and continued with caution. "Dad’s missing something inside of him."

She picks up a pebble and attempts to drop it within the casing without success. "So he's looking for things that'll feel like it gave him something he didn't have."

"But- Dad's the number two hero!" Emiko blurts, her elbows stiffening into a narrow path. Her expression was desperate, as if she were telling her father himself her thoughts. "What more could he want?"

Fuyumi had expected anything but for her to take such a great understanding, causing her to stutter back. She puts her hands up in a silencing manner. "Hey, hey, not so loud, alright?"

She slumps down but nods.

Fuyumi reluctantly continued. "Dad’s wants more. So, he- uhm.." her gaze averted as if looking into an invisible dictionary. "Well.. he had kids. Us. And some of us,"

"Like Touya and Shoto?"

"Like Touya and Shoto," she acknowledges, "he trains to become strong heroes. Ones even stronger than him."

Emiko pouts. "Then why did Dad say Touya couldn't be a hero anymore? He's sad. No.. he's mad. Really mad."

"well.. Touya's quirk hurts him, you know? It's not safe."

She looks back to the dirt. "I guess.."

Fuyumi puts on a smile and pats Emiko's matted, unkempt hair. "There you go. Let's go wash up for dinner, alright?"

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

A thousand footsteps rang through the train station. The monotone voice of a woman named off the departing and approaching transits, while Emiko zones out on the ground below two men sharing a pack of cigarettes.

She'd wanted to take the day off to grieve, begged even. Father had told her that it was almost a decade ago, and she needed to get over it. "Hell week," she called it. Seven consecutive days at the age of four where her world began to crumble.

She steps onto the train, herded like animals bunched together with the rest of those getting off of school or work. She grabbed a handle overhead, burying her face deep in her outstretched arm. Her throat burned more than anything. She woke up early, sat through 8 hours of school, though she skipped her after-school training course. She had an hour-- no, less -- before she got home. All she had to do was hold it in just a little longer. Just a little longer...

The house was empty. Natsuo had completely moved out last week, into an apartment not too far. It was far enough though. Far enough that he no longer had to endure the strain in the household. Fuyumi had convinced him to leave, believe it or not. She was out late grading papers, or maybe it was a cover for staying out longer. But thats not Emiko's sister. She puts everyone over herself, and always has. That's why she thought it'd be best if Natsuo considered moving to a healthier environment to start his life. Yumi didn't mind staying behind in the family home until Shoto and Emiko aged out. "It's more time for me to get my savings in order," she swears. It doesn't make her age any faster, but it sure does help that Emiko is a grade ahead. At least in her mind, it helps.

She fumbles the key until the door opens. Hot tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

Though her status is impressive by word of mouth, it's not to say that she isn't drowning in the assignments she refuses to do and the classes she skips. While she'd originally applied for the general studies course, word had gotten out to her father that she was accepted into U.A. The man swore up and down that she wouldn't amount to anything more than Fuyumi, but when Aizawa mentioned Endeavor having two children participating in U.A, he couldn't admit that she had been neglected up until that point.

Once she gets the door open, she slams it and throws the keys down on the entry table. She forces her fingers through her tied hair and pushes herself into the wall. She was too fragile to argue today. If it weren't for her previous absences, or maybe if it were any other day, she wouldn't have gone. She hadn't noticed the entry light being on, otherwise she would've expected Shoto to turn the corner. He'd already changed into more comfortable clothes, it seems. She faces back towards the door, wiping her cheeks with her sleeves. It didn't take much to drench them. Or maybe she just had a lot pent up.

"You're home early," She mutters, trying to hide how congested she sounded. "What happened to after-school classes?"

"You didn't go." He states, pressing something icy against the back of her arm. She jumps, turning around to an outstretched gallon of ice cream and two spoons. "I thought today was a good day for a break." he offers.

She had been forced to try for the hero course, faced with her fathers raging fury and his harsh training. She couldn't remember the last time she interacted with Shoto before her father paired them to train together. After Touya had passed, Their mother hurt Shoto only a few days later. A "psychotic break," the doctors called it. Nobody talked much after that. The house was eerily quiet for weeks. She sometimes wonders if the two week rule applies to that. That maybe they just fell out of the habit of talking. It's not like there was ever a lot of time to talk. Their father secluded Shoto from the rest of the family a lot growing up. But there was always a silent understanding to never mention Emiko's quirk to their father. A silent promise of protection from her big brother.

"You shouldn't... risk getting in trouble with father for skipping class.." she mumbles as she looks over her shoulder at the tub.

"I don't care what the old man thinks. Mr. Aizawa said it was alright and it won't be counted against me." He argues, a underlying desperate tone laced into the fabric of his words.

Fuyumi and Emiko were never taken seriously. They were born of the cursed sex, Endeavor believed they had no place in the heroes world. That's not where they belonged. Emiko wasn't like the rest anyway. Endeavor already had his golden child, he had no use for her. So when she crawled into bed with Touya claiming she felt sick with a faint blue glow and delicate ice crystals crackling like fine porcelain on the surface of her skin, it became a silent agreement amongst the children to let it fly under the radar.

That night, she sat on her bed scrolling through her grades: geometry, B+; literature, A+; history, B. English, B. Science, A. Hero Course 1-B, D.

"If you can't get that F up to an A, how do I know you're not going to disgrace the family name once you're in the spotlight?" Father's words echo in her head. "You're humiliating me in front of my colleagues. I know you can do better, your quirk is more than exceptional.”

“Damn it…” she hisses. “Not good enough.”

“Just come talk to Mr. Aizawa. Maybe he can help you transfer back into general studies without him knowing.” Shoto suggests, sitting stiffly on the foot of her bed.

“No good. He watches our grade books like a hawk. Not to mention he’s in touch with Mr. Vlad.. that would just make a bunch of other issues when that plan fails. Vlad’ll wonder why I didn’t go to him, and why I’d wanna leave the hero course in the first place. That’d only get Dad in trouble unless I lied..”

“No, you’re right..” He rubbed his chin, pulling the rest of himself onto the bed in a similar cross-legged position as Emiko. “It’s not good enough to risk it.”

“What if…” She paused. Her eyes lost focus of the screen before she attracted Shoto’s gaze. “What if I dropped out altogether?” The words fell out before she considered the consequences. She broke contact, looking back at the computer. “Just a thought, y’know.” She swallowed.

“No.. No, you shouldn’t even be considering that. Transferring back to general studies is better than that. Or- Transferring to 1-A, with me.” He stands to face her fully, but she keeps her eyes down. “Emiko if you’re struggling I can help you. I’m ahead, I can-”

“Shoto quit!” she snaps, meeting his gaze once again. “I don’t want to be in the hero course.”

“Well, what do you want to do?” he retorts.

“I- well, I don’t know yet..” She stumbles over her words, “But I don’t wanna be a hero!”

Shoto keeps his eyes on hers, his features slowly softening from their panicked state. He sits back down, tracing the fabric that stretches across his knees. “Of course, you don’t wanna be a hero..” he mumbles. “I’m doing it to prove a point. I don’t expect you to do the same. But…” He turns to her, closing the laptop. She looks up at him. “You can’t drop out. Whether you pass or fail your main course, or if you tell someone about Dad, just don’t drop out, alright?”

She sits with his words for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah.. okay.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

“I miss you, ya’ deadbeat,” she whispers off into the cold air.

“How long’s it been?” She readjusts herself as she leans against a burnt-down wooden post. The exact place where her brother was last alive. “Ten, eleven years?” She speaks again, without response.

“I always thought you were so old. A cool teenager, or whatever. But now I’m sixteen, and you’re still thirteen.”

Another moment of silence passes.

“I’m failing my classes, y’know. My teacher said I need to ‘apply myself’. Hate to bring down the average, but I just-...” she sighs. “I can’t care.”

“...I unenrolled, today.” She admitted. The remains of the planks that used to make a house creaked and groaned, but she was used to it. It was all old and broken, and with the weather changing and the wind blowing it was to be expected.

“I’m not really sure what to do from here. I just feel.. Broken, I guess. And every time this time of year hits.. I can’t help but miss you more than anything.” She sits for another minute or so, before standing.

“I’ll.. be back tomorrow, maybe.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Emiko tossed and turned in her bed. She swore she was coming down with a cold. She sat up in her bed. She was excruciatingly hot, but couldn't control how her body viciously shivered.

"Mama" she called out in a tired and sick tone, despite knowing her mother wouldn’t answer. She looked over at her sister in the bed over. It was obvious by the dark spots under her eyes that she had been up far later than anyone else so she could comfort Shoto. He had a rough day training and was littered in bandages.

She shivered, the motion causing a bead of sweat to fall from her face. She hesitantly tip-toed to the last person she knew to help her. She slid the paper door open and snuck to her eldest sibling's bed, wooden panels murmuring under her feet as she stepped.

A small blue glow pulled him from his sleep. She stood silently beside his bed, her arms wrapped around herself as she shook. Small blue flames created an aura around her figure, while intricate sheets of decorated ice patches clung to her skin.

"Touya, I'm sick.." she sniffled.

He rubbed and squinted his eyes, a tired expression the only thing acting as a backdrop.

"Emi?" He confirmed, not completely sure if he was actually awake.

She acted to crawl into bed, but the scent of burnt fabric immediately filled the air. He gasps, jumping to his feet and holding her in his arms. "Hey! Y're gonna start a fire!"

Natsuo shot up at Touya's exclamation, but Touya had already run out of the room.

As he ran down the hallway the small blue flames spread onto the surface of his skin, though it didn't burn. He dropped her into the tub and ran the bath. Touya hastily filled a cup with water and poured it over her head and shoulders. She rubbed her blue eyes and looked up at him.

He took a breath, meeting her gaze. "One hell of a fever, huh?" He laughed nervously, warranting a tired hum from his sister. She wiped the pouring water from her eyes. It had successfully extinguished the flames, but the icy crystals continued to climb her skin. Each crack sounded like porcelain. A gentle hiss when the fire went out.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

“When were you going to tell me that you unenrolled yourself?” Enji paced back and forth as she sat at the kitchen table with her head down. “Where did you learn to forge my signature? Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get you in that class? Just for you to what, act like a delinquent? I knew you should’ve been in 1-A. It was those second-rate hero students in B, wasn’t it? If you were in A, Shoto would’ve kept you in line.” She winced as he berated her.

“Are you even listening to me?” He turned to face her. You need to understand that you’ve never been in more trouble in your life.”

“Does that mean you’re finally deciding to be a parent?”

“…”

“…”

“…call your brother.”

“Because he blocked you?”

“Because you’re staying with him until you get your shit together. I’m re-enrolling you first thing tomorrow. Until then, I don’t want to see you until you find your gratitude. Do you understand?”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Her sneakers struck the concrete with a steady cadence, blending seamlessly into the city's bustling symphony.

A drop of oil in a cup of water.

Why did everyone keep just a bit extra distance away from her?

Emiko grips the bag that hung over her shoulder, swaying back and forth. She lets out a sharp hiss.

“Look– I can’t get involved in family drama right now.” She recalled Natsuo’s words verbatim. “I have a girlfriend now, and well- It’s too early in the relationship to have to explain why my sister absolutely has to stay over.”

She grips the metal rung, pulling back in disgust and wiping away the wet rusty substance on her pant leg.

“He won’t actually kick you out. You two just need to back away from each other. Hold up in your room for a while, alright? It’ll blow over.”

She tosses her bag onto the roof and throws her legs over the pony wall with a huff.

“Blow over.” She growls. “Yeah, whatever.” She throws herself down and leans over the city, mindlessly trying to zero in on a person or two. A snowflake melts on the surface of her hand. Her eyebrows pinch together before she ignites the small drop of water with a large, quick flame. A burnt smell stung her nose afterward. It.. it wasn’t her fire. No.. it wasn’t fire at all. Smoke. Cigarette smoke?

“This isn’t where you said you’d be, now was it?”

She jolted, but not much more. She looks over her shoulder a bit at the silhouette.

“What, ‘re you one of my dad’s sidekicks or something?”

“As if.” The man scoffs. He tilts his head back, his teeth just barely reflecting the light of the city. “Hey, let's make a game out of it. Guess again.”

Her eyes fall back on the city with a roll and a snarl. “Guess? Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He pushes himself off the wall and slides down a few feet away from her. He wears a casual black pair of tattered pants, boots, and a hoodie hiding his side profile. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

She sighs and looks back down at the people below. She just wants to be left alone to hash out her feelings, but a distraction would be nice..

“Well? Can I have a hint?” She looks over to him. She can only really see the tip of his nose and his fingers from under the hoodie. Two are outstretched, letting a lone cigarette burn.

“Tch. no. It’d be too easy.” Silence falls between the strangers. “So.. What’s someone like you doing hanging out on rooftops? It’s snowing, y’know. You’ll catch a cold.”

She pulls her knees close to her chest, watching closely as the cigarette briefly disappears behind the shield of his hood.

“You share?” She squeaked out, less confident than she anticipated.

She was immediately met with bright, scornful eyes and dark scars. Jeez, what happened to this guy?

“This?” Ash fell to the wind as he raised his hand. “What, aren’t you like twelve? ‘Do I share’, not with a kid.”

Her shoulders met her ears. More scolding. Nice. “I dunno. I figured you were… y’know.” She trails off.

“A criminal?” he grins, leaning in a bit as he presses the palm of his hand against the cold brick below.

She pauses a moment, sheepishly shrugging and looking back down. “Something like that.”

“So that means I deal Drugs n’ Crap ™ out to kids, huh? This isn't a school PSA. These things are expensive, y’know.”

“So..”

“So? No. Unless you’re payin’ f-” He’s interrupted by the sound of crinkling as she digs through her bag, then proceeds to hand him multiple wadded-up ¥5,000 bills. He stares down with awestruck eyes, before recomposing himself.

“Of course. Rich brats..” he scoffs.

“So? I can pay, I-”

He grabs the wad of cash, pieces and corners poking through the gaps of his fingers. He flips through the bills with wide eyes until his brows furrow. He looks back to her, shoving the bills in his pocket and standing. Her face drains pale.

“Wait, wait, what are you doing?” She steadies herself upright.

“I’m doing you a favor.” He readjusts his hoodie and stuffs both his hands in his pockets, checking over his shoulder. “Consider it a savings account.”

She throws herself into him, clawing at his wrist and the fabric of his hoodie.

“You can’t do that man, that’s all I’ve got!”

“Hey, hey! You said it yourself, you have a death wish or something? I’m the bad guy. Don’t give your money to strangers.” He pushes her down onto the roof off the pony wall. “Especially not guys like me.”

She glares up at him, catching her breath through gritted teeth. With slow, confident steps he makes his way to the ladder.

“Smoking’s bad for you anyway. Smarten up, yeah?”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

She lets out a long, exaggerated sigh as she mindlessly rolls a pencil around her new desk. Her head rests downcast as students gradually enter the classroom.

Shoto hasn’t said a word to her since she got back. Maybe he just didn’t know what to say. Or maybe it was to avoid a fight. To keep the peace, or what little’s left of it.

Emiko sat in a brand new table in the far back corner. Talk had gone around the grownups about a dunce seat at the front of the class besides the homeroom teacher, but it was a short-lived idea. The man was outraged by such a thought, claiming he didn’t get paid to babysit troubled youth. Mr. Aizawa was against the idea of an extra student anyway. She had to be on her best behavior, the best in the class if she wanted to stay. She didn’t want to, but Enji did. The threat of being out of the house for good hangs over her head. “If you can’t handle staying in school,” she recounted his words. “You’ll have to learn how to live out in the world on your own.”

As the number of people in the room increases, chatter breaks out about the new student. How the amount will be uneven, or what a new student is doing joining in the middle of the year, or what to expect.

She groans, rolling the pencil more vigorously until it flies off onto the floor. She sighs, pressing her forehead to the icy surface of her desk.

Her seat was off center. Just kind of thrown in the nearest clearing. Her nearest desk neighbor being a rather tall girl with a tight black ponytail. Emiko pulled herself back up when the girl offered the fallen pencil and a formal smile.

“Momo Yaoyorozu.” She introduces.

She takes the pencil. “Thanks.” the mumbles coldly.

Emiko looks up at her with a rather tired expression, not returning her warmth. “Emiko. Emiko uhm.. Todoroki. You can just call me Emi, though.”

Shoto’s shoulders stiffen. He’s been only a few feet away from her for the past half hour and hasn’t said a word. I mean, he hasn’t seen her in days—

She’s pulled from her thought, her eyes fall back on the girl standing beside her desk with an awestruck expression.

“You’re from the Todoroki family? And you’re seated so close to you’re brother, how lucky!”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“It makes sense now, why you’re here. Why so late getting in? I can help you catch up from the past month if you’d-”

“No.” Emiko interrupts. “ I mean, no thank you. I’ll be fine.” She corrects herself.

“O-oh. well, alright. But- if you change you’re mind later on the offer’s still open.” She clasps her hands together, looking to the side before sitting down at her desk.

A group of people fly through the door right before the bell rings, taking their seats as the teacher prepares himself at the front of the class.

She liked him. So far, at least. He only spoke to her when necessary. There wasn’t a class introduction either. He had said something about pros having to make allies on their own time, and if she wanted to survive his class it would be in her best interest to put in her all. Maybe she shouldn't have been so cold with Youyorozu. She’s at the top of the class, she could have been useful.

Oh well. This class was the least of her worries. She just had to pass, not excel. She could if she wanted to of course. If she survived her fathers harsh grading growing up while she was homeschooled, she’d be just fine here. Hell, she was in the top five in general studies, and she didn’t even try.

“Todoroki.” Aizawa had been calling on her at least four times. She snapped out of her thoughts, looking up at him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did you pick up a textbook? You have a month to catch up on, I suggest you have it readily at hand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, and your paper?’

“Huh?”

“You need to pick up whatever papers I have set out at the beginning of class.”

“Oh. Right.”

(Leaving out the awkward walk of shame up to the front of the class bc its too brutal 😔)

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

She slings her bag over her shoulder, which she swears tripled in weight since the class began. A chill ran down her spine as she walked down the crowded hall. The thought of going home was less than ideal. She was welcome back already. But for what, passive aggressive comments and more scolding?

Maybe she’d visit mom.

No, she’d just drag unnecessary stress to her mother.

Stay and knock out some chapters in this damn textbook?

She readjusts the bag into a slightly more comfortable position. Pass.

She readjusts the bag into a slightly more comfortable position. Pass.

A cafe? Get some coffee and a pastry—oh, right, no cash. Thanks for that, random mugger. Real classy.

Her steps slowed. She could try and get her money back. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen? Some guy trying to mug her again? She’d like to see him try. She had her quirk… kind of. Okay, maybe she hadn’t practiced much, but even a little fire could scare someone off, right? People usually weren’t stupid enough to mess with a Todoroki. Or so she hoped

Ahead, she sees the distinct color of her brothers hair. She pushes through people, throwing in a few ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’ before grabbing his shoulder.

“Shoto! Hey,”

“Oh, uhm.. Hey.”

“Hey, so you actually haven’t talked to me all day, how’ve you been?”

“I’m well. But.. maybe lay low at home.”

“Tch. I’m not going home. Not right now, anyways. Hey, you wanna help me out with something? I could use some backup.”

“Uhm, actually I should get going.. I’m not going home either. I’m studying with some friends. If… you’re not busy, i think it’d be a good idea for you to come along. We could help you catch up.”

“Nah. but thanks though. Maybe next time.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Cars honked and sped by from her right as she walked down the sidewalk. It was just a bit earlier than it was the other night, but it couldn’t hurt to be early. Who knows how long he was up their before she arrived, or if he visits that roof often. What if it was just a one time occurrence? Just, a random crossing of paths maybe.

She hoisted herself up the ladder. The bag’s a no-go, it weighs as much as she does. She drops it on the first step with a heavy thud, before proceeding the rest of the way up.

She threw herself over the pony wall and took a few steps in, looking around. She didn’t smell burning cigarettes, but the night was still young.

Until it wasn't. Hours passed, just her alone on the edge of a rooftop. She played with a controlled cobalt flame at the tip of her thumb, before standing up with a huff. Three hours passed since the time they originally met. During that time she eventually brought her bag up and went through a few pages. The intro, and half of chapter two. Something about hero ethics.. Maybe she shouldn't have skimmed ahead a few extra pages. Maybe she just didn’t understand it yet. But it didn’t sit right with her. She couldn’t understand its values, much less relate to them.

She packed up her stuff and threw her bag off the roof, before climbing down after it.

Where did that— did someone spill their soda down here since she’s been up there? Eugh!

She walks down the street, bitter and defeated with a sopping, sticky bag. Great.

Her shiny new penny loafers were scuffed and scraped up all to hell on her first day back at school. Oh well. Old high-tops it is.

Of course, her blazer’s stained, too. Guess that’s why U.A sells sweater vests. Maybe not directly the reason, but it’ll work for school tomorrow.

She shoves the blazer deep into her bag. Both will be cleaned, eventually.

She sighs walking down the street. It’s cold and humid, and the guy wasn’t there. She loosens her tie as she waits at the train station.

The train hisses as it comes to a stop. She enters, grabbing a pole with the least people hanging off.

A hand nudges hers as it reaches for the bar.

Those same markings. Huh..

Really, she wants to be surprised, but she’s just not feeling it. Without looking up, she murmurs at him tiredly.

“I want my money.”

“I already told you, I’m saving it. Saving you from throwing around that much cash. Ever heard of ‘thank you’?”

“Tch, tough luck. I’m not thanking you for stealing.”

“Fine, don’t.” He rolls his eyes, extending away from the bar a bit to take note of the other passengers before leaning back in. “You don’t really believe in being a pro, right?”

Her eyes dart up to him, making him retract. He looks the other direction.

“Just saying. The face you were making while you were reading, it was—”

“You were watching me?” she furrows her brows, finally meeting his gaze.

“Shh, y’re gonna draw too much attention.”

She huffs and looks away.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I saw you. You didn’t like what you saw, did you?”

“..I dunno. I didn’t read it in the right order. I was just confused. If you saw me why didn’t you say something? You did last time. How long were you there?”

“Long enough to witness you pick your nose.”

“oh.”

“So? What had you so confused? Hero work should be clear as day, right? If it were so noble or good or whatever.”

“What are you talking about? You don’t…”

“Don’t what? Question the system? Hate heroes?” He leans in slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Come on, throw me a bone here.”

“...what’s.. The point? In following me, I mean.”

“Bold of you to assume I give a shit enough to follow you. Right place, right time, nothing more.”

She pauses. “So..”

“So?”

“So how do we keep meeting? It doesn’t fell as random as you say it is.”

“Pfft.” Everyone sways forward as the train comes to a stop. “It’s not my problem that you don’t get it yet.”

She looks back in his previous direction, but he’d already disappeared. He threw up a lazy wave before getting lost in the ocean of people.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

I’m no fan of authors notes, but I wanted to further explain the cicada scene with Fuyumi. In Japanese folklore it’s said that on account of some sin the buddhists believe that a soul can enter the minute form of a cicada or cricket as punishment. I felt like it was a good representation of Endeavor, but it wouldn’t have been as well understood as the shell of a cicada.

Realized I had free will today, so I did a quick and low effort doodle of bald Dabi.

Baldi.

And then he celebrates like he just solved a riddle so you can’t even be mad at him because LOOK AT THAT SMILE.

telling shigaraki to make you scream with two fingers and he pokes you in the eyes 💀

Ykw yall should know the difference between plagiarism and using a general plot point and making your own story out of it. Happy writing, my beautiful writers/artists 🥰

reblog if you’re okay with people writing fanfics of your fanfics and/or fanfics inspired by your fanfics

“I bet on losing dogs” but it’s the League of Villains.

No disrespect to Horikoshi. I genuinely feel like he was just tired and trying to wrap BNHA up. But the ending made no sense and made the entire series seem like it was for nothing.

Whether you love the League or hate them, you have to admit that killing all of them and imprisoning the remaining two is a shitty wrap to each of their stories. Like genuinely, they have actual backgrounds and real goals. I’m not saying he had to please the fans of every character, but killing them off with no resolution? All of them? And hero society didn’t become any less economy based and judgemental.

Between Magne, then Twice, why did they have to keep killing them off one by one? Those character deaths were sad, but the plot could at least carry on. An entire antagonist group was just wiped from the world.

Realistically, none of them are quiet. Especially not Dabi or Tomura. You KNOW that if they were given the chance within Tartarus walls, they would yap everyones ear off on how unfair the world was, and that no matter how hard they worked no change was made whatsoever. Plus, they’d have people there who’d listen to them. Endeavor, a character that I don’t particularly like at all, could finally *actually* atone for 20+ years of abuse. He has #1 hero money that could have kept him alive. Not to mention that Touya wasn’t supposed to live the first time around, but he did. Since Enji’s disabled now he could help Touya get his word out or something. Idk, anything is more than killing them all off.

And Tomura would have Midoriya at his side the entire time. You think Deku would throw him in prison and be done with him? No! He made a connection someone a lot like him, but was never given the chance to become anything else. I feel like the more Tomura would rant to him, the more Deku would want to help him. That was the whole point of not killing him sooner. He wasn’t *supposed* to die. The foreshadowing in previous seasons would have suggested there was more in store for him than death when Nana Shimura tested Deku.

You *know* Deku would’ve helped him, and eventually started a rehab facility or something. Deku’s whole deal is that he can empathize with almost anyone. And he *did*, so why couldn’t we pull more on that?

Like, they do quirk counseling for kids. Think about how many League members didn’t get that? Really think. Enji probably taught Touya himself. Tenko had *just* developed a quirk when he pretty much started his villain arc. if Toga had proper quirk counseling don’t you think they would have A) found out that her quirk would naturally give her a fascination with blood or B) given her alternatives for the natural bloodlust her quirk gave her? I know it’s not their quirks fault for their behavior, but it explains what lead them there. You know, the difference between a sociopath and a psychopath (*cough cough* AFO).

More on that, if a quirk rehab existed beforehand then Twice could’ve gone there after his accident. It would help him cope with being convinced he might be a double, hence saving him from the loneliness that the judgement of society left him in.

Like SPINNER. Society was judgemental over something he couldn’t even control (quirk + racism = quirkism?). All he wanted was a safe world for heteromorphs, leading him to the league. I don’t think he would specifically benefit from quirk rehab, but the point is that he very obviously wanted change for the better and he didnt even get that.

They aren’t saints whatsoever, but I feel like it should’ve been acknowledged that they *did* have goals. I could write a novel on this alone, but I feel like at some point you’ll get tired of hearing me yap 😅

WE’RE BACK BABYYYY — ♚ 𝕶𝖊𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖊 ♚ pt.II

(Pt.I here)

Summary: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚃𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚒 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚠𝚗, 𝙴𝚖𝚒𝚔𝚘, 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢’𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚌 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝— 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘 —𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝. 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝙴𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗, 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜?

Last chapter introduced Emiko, as well as a bit of her past to better understand her current state of mind. This chapter is shorter than the rest and is the continuation of expressing the conflict Emiko’s facing, as well as making one path visible to her.

The teacher's coffee nearly jumps out of its container at the sudden drop of Emiko’s textbook. 

“You finished a month's worth of material,” She looked him dead in his dumbfounded eyes, nodding along as he spoke. “In a night?”

She confirms with a firm nod. 

“A single night?”

“Yes sir.”

His eyes narrow, and he leans forward on his desk. “You have a month to do it. Are you sure you don’t just want to go over it before you turn it in?”

“Nope, thanks though.” She takes a few steps away, before backtracking for that morning’s assignment and continuing her path. A deep sigh fell from his lips as he hung his head.

Someone had grabbed Emiko’s arm, stopping her in her tracks. She looks back to see Shoto. Her face lights up, before she notices his untamed hair and distraught look.

“Where were you? You can’t just disappear like that.”

“I didn’t feel like fighting yesterday.” she shrugs, but he yanks at her arm trying to pull any bit of seriousness out of her. 

“Then don’t fight. The old man was pissed, and we were all worried. Natsuo said you never stayed at his in the first place.” 

She pulls her arm out of his grip, furrowing her brows. “What is this, an interrogation? I thought you’d have my back. You hate him just as much as I do. I offered for you to come with, y’know.” 

“What do you mean ‘come with’? Come with where, Emiko?”

“Nevermind, just forget it.” she sighs, turning towards the direction of her desk.

“Hey, wait.” He grabs her again, but she doesn’t turn around. “Just- come home after school, alright? We can walk together. You could talk to me too, if you want…” he offers for any sort of support. “I know this week’s rough for you, and I think you might’ve felt like I’m siding with Dad over you.. But last night was horrifying. I don’t care what his motives are, I only want to know that you’re safe, wherever you go.”

She swallows back the lump in her throat, nodding. They stood there for a moment as the last few students flowed in before the bell rang.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Lunch had finally come. Everyone started packing once the bell rang, but she’d been packed for the past half-hour. She’d gotten home late enough to miss dinner and left early enough to avoid confrontation. She’s hungry, to say the least. She was the first out the door, blending in with the hundreds of students. 

“Emi,” Shoto called. “Wait up.”

She turns back to see her brother amongst his group of friends trying to catch up with her. In truth, everyone had wanted to introduce themselves earlier, but she’d been so cold and closed off that they figured she wouldn’t appreciate being bothered too much.

But Yaoyorozu had asked Shoto if they were really related, which made so much more sense to everyone. Who knew he had a sister? No wonder she’s so reclusive and abrasive. Shoto was intimidating at first, they thought. Maybe she’s warmer in person.

“Hey,” she mutters, at a loss for what else to really say. 

“I was wondering if you’d like to join us for lunch.” 

She looked amongst the group. She opened her mouth, but was quickly shut down. 

“Before you say no, I think you’d really like them.” 

She sighs, but nods. 

After some introductions in line, she sat down more familiar with Shoto’s friends. They were nice people, really. They just didn’t seem like her kind of crowd. She’s proud of him though, proud of him for finding a bunch of people to hang out with.

They were both homeschooled ever since they had basic book smarts, probably averaging them to have been pulled out of school around first or second grade. Neither of the two remember. It was so far off and insignificant. She was more or less self educated. She had her own books and resources, but her father just didn’t put as much time or effort into her schooling as he did Shoto’s. 

She’s still smart, though. At most lacking in one or two areas which she wasn’t disciplined enough to endure. The hero ethics textbook was long, and she was convinced that most of those words were made up. But it’d all gotten done and the bit of self-validation it gave her felt nice. 

“I just can’t believe you have a sister,” Uraraka smiled, stuffing her cheeks with curry.

“He didn’t tell you about us?” Emiko’s expression was softer, relaxing into the casual chatter as she poked at her tempura. 

“‘Us’? Todoroki, you have more siblings and never told us?” Yaoyorozu put a hand over her mouth, feigning shock.

“It didn’t seem important.” he shrugs.

“Unimportant?” Emiko quirked a brow. “I’m sure your other three siblings would just love to hear that.”

“Two,” he corrects.

“Huh?”

“Two other siblings.” he clarifies.

She presses a napkin to her lips. “Right.” She squeaks. “My bad.” 

Fortunately, the others didn’t seem to catch onto the tension, carrying on with their conversation.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Class drug on for what felt like an eternity. This time, she was more sluggish getting packed. Her second-to-last class was quirk training, which completely drained her by the time English class came around. 

Shoto stopped by her desk with his bag already slung over his shoulder. 

“What about your friends?” She asks, looking up at him after she shoves her books in her bag.

“They’re going a different direction,” he explains. “I thought it would be a good time to talk.”

She hums in response, standing up and throwing on her bag. 

“Hey, what’s on your bag?” He asks as they make their way to the door, pointing out the sticky brown stain.

“This? Oh, I just sat my bag down. Didn’t realize the soda on the ground, I guess.” Her eyes fixate on the wall’s seam as they walk. A small white lie, she thought. He didn’t have to know that she was on a roof. It would only make him ask questions, and the answers would just warrant more questions. Short and sweet, it’s for the best.

They finally break free from campus walls, the crowd of people eventually thinning. When they reach a less populated portion of the street, Shoto takes a sharp breath in, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I won’t tell Dad, you have my word, you know.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Where you went yesterday. I won’t say anything, I just wanna know.”

“Selling drugs.”

He nudges her, looking her in the face. “I’m serious.” She kept her eyes on the road ahead, but his gaze remained fixed on her.

“I just needed a break, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, an address? People?”

“Bold of you to assume I have people.” She scoffs. Silence falls between them. Shoto stops on the sidewalk, Emiko only doing the same a few steps ahead.

“…You know, I didn’t invite you to lunch out of pity.” He starts, waiting for her to say anything at all. 

“Dad robbed us from being friends. But we’re not rivals anymore, and I really do want to be friends with you. I want to be your brother, it’s just—“

“‘It’s just’ what? I know I’m a piece of shit, alright? I’m a disappointment to dad, I piss off Yumi, I pushed away Natsuo, I’ll never be able to give mom a home to come back to..” her voice strains and cracks, her shoulders pulling close to her neck. 

Shoto puts a hand on her shoulder, but gives her the autonomy to hide her flushed face and teary eyes in her arm. “Fuyumi’s not mad at you. She’s never mad at you. You were best friends growing up, you were practically at the same level as her.”

She grimaced at his words, wiping the fresh tears with the base of her palm and sniffling.

“She’s not mad. She’s worried. We all are. Natsuo is too. He said you didn’t come by the other night. That he told you it wouldn’t work and to just stay in your room. He feels bad, you know. He was worried about you getting hurt. I was worried about you getting hurt,” He escalates. “Where the hell did you go??” He spits, only to hear soft sniffling entangled in the dead silence.

“Emiko, I’m—“ He pauses, his hand falling off of her like his attacks at the wall she’s put up. He lets out a sigh. 

“I should’ve come with you when you asked for back up. I don’t know what it was for, but if I didn’t brush you off then I would. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t…” she wipes the snot from her face and readjusts her bag on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It was stupid, anyway.” She turns her head in his direction, but her eyes remain downcast. Wet strands of white hair stick to her bright red cheeks, no matter how hard her sleeve battles it. “Can we just go home?”

He watches her fallen and defeated figure for a moment, before silently nodding.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

“It’s not fair.” each hit Touya landed was an emphasis, a point that he could never get across to anyone. “He won’t even watch me practice. Why won’t he just look at me?” The sack barely budged, but getting some pent-up hurt out felt better. He sighs, catching his breath. “And Yumi..” Tears prick at the corner of his eyes before he goes back to abusing the punching bag. “She doesn’t think I’m good enough either. Why doesn’t anyone think I’m strong? I was before. So what if I get a little hurt? Heroes get hurt all the time!”

Emiko sits crosslegged at the corner of the tatami mat, picking at loose threads. “Hey,” his arms drop heavy with exhaustion, only swaying with each pant. “Are you listening?” 

She pouts at the floor. Lip out, eyebrows knitted together, and shoulders high. She lets out a huff, shooting up and running to the center of the mat. A soft thump comes from the punching bag. His head fell to the side watching her. She seemed so… determined. Hitting the bag as hard as her little five-year-old arms could as if she were hammering something. Slowly, Touya breaks into snorts and giggles. 

“And why are you upset?” He plops down on the mat right where he stands while he watches her work herself out. “Because everyone thinks I’m stupid. I’m smart all the time! You all think I don’t understand, but I do!”

He watches up until she tires herself out. When she’s done, she throws herself down and pulls her knees to her chest. Did he make her feel that way? After giving her a few minutes to breathe, a few moments of silence to really feel, he gets up and holds out his hand to her. When she stands up, he closes her hand into a fist and repositions her thumb. “Don’t punch with your thumb in your hand, and..” He moves her arm to her side. “Start from here, not above your head.” 

Being wrong gave her a headache. Like if she couldn’t do something simple like this, then maybe she really was stupid. For someone to point out that she was wrong, her brother of all people, she got that sharp feeling in her throat. 

He eventually had her completely repositioned, before giving her the go-ahead to hit again. They’re still weak, the stillness of the sack proving this. Regardless, she spills everything she has into each punch. A tear slid down her plump cheek. She felt so small. She was painfully aware of how weak she was. 

“See? It feels better to get it out, right?” with each hit, they slowly packed less power. She nods, catching her breath.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

“Oh, you’re  so mature for your age!”

 Those words were repeated over and over growing up.

Any time she shared a toy, or ate a vegetable, or said something just slightly intellectual, it was always met with the word “mature”. 

That’s a lie. It wasn’t that simple. She was a people pleaser, just like her sister. She made sure the house stayed clean, food stayed hot, and grades stayed high. Even after Touya’s passing, she knew it was her father's fault. It was his fault that Shoto got hurt and mom went away. It’s his fault that Yumi’s “as-needed” anxiety meds run empty all too often. His fault that Natsuo moved away.

She held her head high, though. Fuyumi wanted her to. She told her that it was all alright, and that she had things handled. Emiko’s small hands rested in hers growing up, trying to believe she was honest. Now she was fifteen and seethed every time her sister washed a dish or moved the old man's shoes where they went.

Now, she sat at the kitchen table. Dinners had been silent for years. Really, what was the point in doing these things anymore? Because Fuyumi wants to. Dad was here this time. The odds are always mixed on whether he “gets home in time” or not. Emiko knows he always stays out just a bit later than he has to. Between Shoto’s glares, Nastuo’s backhanded comments, Fuyumi’s over-the-top anxiety, and Emiko’s fragile patience, she wishes he would know better and stay gone. 

“So?” He starts. 

Fuyumi’s shoulders tense. “Dad, not right now, please?” She pleads

Emiko’s eye twitched, sharply side-eyeing him from across the table. She would only hold together for so long. For Yumi’s sake, but for hers as well. It wasn’t fair to herself to hold her tongue, to simply take the abuse.

“I have a right to know,” he persisted in a demanding tone.

“I don’t want anyone fighting at the table,” she retorted firmly.

“Then don’t fight with me.” He directed toward Emiko, cutting out Fuyumi as the messenger. 

“Dad—“ 

“I’m not speaking to you.” He reiterates, cutting Fuyumi off. She rests her head in her palms,  before grabbing her only half-eaten plate and excusing herself. Natsuo silently pleads for her to stay, but she waves him off and tells him to sit back down. 

Enji keeps his eyes fixed on Emiko, expecting an answer.

Moments pass before she scoffs, breaking eye contact and shoving tempura in her mouth. 

“She was with one of my friends.” Shoto confesses in a stale tone just as Enji opens his mouth to tell Emiko off. 

“She was mad, and I didn’t want her doing something stupid. So I sent her to a friends house to cool off. I’m looking out for her, like you tol—“ Shoto’s cut off by the blunt sound of his fathers fist to the table. 

“I’m not playing telephone, she’s capable of speaking for herself.”

She glances at Shoto, the slight rise of her shoulder saying ‘Thanks for trying’. Silence falls amongst the table. An uncomfortable silence. 

“I uhm,” her already low tone cracked, breaking under the pressure in the dining room. She stabbed through a piece of tofu. Keeping her eyes down like a vice, only briefly meeting her fathers to gauge his expression. “I just needed a break, that’s all.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.” his tone was softer than usual. Not by definition soft, but softer. 

“You’re question was?” her brows raise and she shakes her head defensively.

“Where were you.” he demands, becoming irritated once again.

“I went for a walk.” she retorts, finally meeting his eyes. “What else do you want from me? I can’t tell you more than I have.” 

“That’s bullshit.” He snaps. His gaze harshens, but she doesn’t back down. Not like he wants her to. She won’t tell him the truth, she wont hold her tongue, he’s losing control of her and it’s driving him to the brink of insanity.

“Prove it.” She dares. Natsuo presses his lips together, keeping his eyes firmly on his plate. Shoto kept his gaze directly on Enji. He never condones picking fights with their father, but for something so out of his control, he might as well watch the old man crumble. He can see defeat rising in him, the fact that he’s losing Emiko.

“Lose the disrespectful tone.” he starts, before his own tone drops. “I’m worried about you. You’re acting recklessly. And I feel.. Partially to blame.” 

Her jaw nearly drops. Everyone’s did. Her heart almost wouldn't start beating again. He was worried about her? That felt.. Like for the first time she wasn’t on the back burner. Maybe she’d taken too long to answer. He looks back at the table and starts stacking plates. What is this man doing, he hasnt washed a single dish in his entire life?

“And I’d like to nip your poor behavior in the bud. You’re going to UA under my name. When you bring shame on yourself, you bring shame on the rest of us too.”

Just as quickly as he made her feel acknowledged, he ruined it. He belittled her and chalked up years of battling her mental health for merely keeping his house liveable to “poor behavior”. She was so, so close to an actual resolution. 

Plates clinked against each other as he left, like his words hadn’t just split her chest wide open.

𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏-𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓-𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝒕𝒐 𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒅 ‘𝒏𝒐’ 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆:

𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂: “𝙸 𝙷𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄, 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝚂𝚃! 𝙸’𝙼 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙻𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙸𝙲𝙴𝚂!!”

(ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ)

𝑨𝑭𝑶: “𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚘?”

𝑻𝒐𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂: “𝚂𝙷𝚄𝚃 𝚄𝙿‼️” (𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒑 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒎)

Imagine hugging him— his hand twitches, anything to ease this weird feeling. When he realizes it’s good weird and not bad weird, his hand relaxes. Not fully, but close enough.

Pls I just need more headcanons of tomura.

Not just nasty but the overly explicit little things like:

-He tends to really stare at something when he’s deep in thought—face tense, slightly frowning. Not even because he’s pissed… he just looks that way.

.

.

-Back in his loser era, I imagine him in his shitty little room, surrounded by trash, empty cans cluttering his desk, the blue glow of the screen lighting up his face. At some point, he takes off his headphones and just sits there in silence, the only sound being the clicking of his mouse. He tries to fight off the raging, depressive thoughts that haunt him constantly. Tomura tenses his jaw, staring into the screen—but he’s not really seeing anything. It’s like a movie reels through his head: all the reasons the world keeps rejecting him, the way people look at him with disgust, and that twisted, masochistic belief that maybe he wants it that way. That he deserves to be hated, feared, unloved. And so, he hates the world back—because it’s the only thing that still makes sense.

Then he just boots up LoL, like none of it ever happened. Anything to escape that screaming, gnawing void that gets louder the second his mind isn’t buried in a screen.

Imagine him in the middle of the night—he can’t sleep. Partly because of the caffeine, but mostly because he's in a constant argument with himself. (Honestly, I don’t think he likes overly sweet energy drinks. There are green tea cans scattered around his room—unsweetened.)

He just lies there, staring at the ceiling, or into the dark. Nights are the worst. It’s when he’s completely alone with his thoughts, no distractions left.

That’s probably why he avoids sleep altogether.

But do you think he ever strokes his own arm, just trying to remember what warmth feels like? Would he allow himself to imagine what it’s like to be held?

When that hollow ache in his gut gets unbearable, maybe he even reaches for the disembodied hands of his family, holding them close—just so that small, buried part of him can remember what it felt like to be loved.

I love how every Tomura lover wants to wash his hair specifically 💀

tomura tying his hair up.... much to think about