a/n - chapters in Japanese mean that their titles are more important/give too much away, you can find each translation at the end
Obaa's daily routine began when she got the will to get out of bed, knowing well her body would not fall asleep anytime soon, she would hobble down the hall to the living room where the sliding oak doors would be opened to allow the cool dawn air to flow through the home as the old woman settled on the couch. Waiting and listening for the world to wake around her.
It wouldn't be too long before the tell-tale signs of you waking up were heard. The creaking of the boards, followed closely by the shuffling of feet, was your grandmother's signal to make her way to the kitchen to begin making breakfast. Only this time, as she placed a pan on the stove, the shuffling that would make its way to the couch hastened. Obaa watched as your disheveled appearance came around the corner,
"Can I help?"
She never had seen your eyes look so awake until that morning. "You do not touch the pan or stove." A light sparkled in your eyes as you turned and dragged a chair over to the counter. She wonders if this would be the beginning of a new routine.
A small change and a helping hand seemed to spark something in you. Not only did you begin helping with cooking but also around the house, the grass needed watering? You were there, "I know how to, Obaa-san."
The days' worth of dishes not cleaned? "I got it, Obaa-san!"
There was a shortage of ingredients? "I know a shortcut to the store, Obaa-san."
You spent your days outside exploring more than the time you spent inside. It wasn't a bad thing, your grandmother thought, only that you seemed to always come home as if you just finished a 9-to-5 job. Face smushed against the coffee table. Obaa could hardly get more than a sentence from you yet on the better days when you would come home with twigs in your hair, dirt covering your clothes, and scraped up skin. You would inhale like your final breath and retell the stories of your day -
You know the beach park, um- it starts with a T and everyone litters there- but someone threw out what they shouldn't have and lost their wallet. I said it was in the bushes, they didn't follow me. I found it! But they were already down the street! So I ran! I ran to them, and I didn't feel tired!
Or, pray she has enough patience, you would stand outside and wait for a towel soaked to the bone -
A dog! It was cute and shivering in a ditch. She thought I was a bad guy and ran, but I'm fast! I had to find her home, which she helped me with but it was confusing sometimes. That's why I'm home late, sorry.
Each time, Obaa made sure to give you an earful as she threw you in the bathtub, "Goodness, child. You can't go wondering aimlessly around getting yourself into trouble." And each time you would look down, hands gliding through the water as a small smile graced your lips. "I know, Obaa-san."
The day would end and start once more with you carrying the chair to the counter, ready to take on another adventure. Obaa would stand by the door watching as your young legs carried you down the lawn and into the maze of neighborhood streets. Wishing for your safe return.
That's why, when she heard the stomping of your feet and slamming of the door, she knew there was something wrong. You entered the living room through the kitchen, not sparing a glance at the woman on the couch, and yanked open the sliding door. The thump of you sitting enough to get your grandmother to move from her relaxed position.
Your back was small as you huddled into yourself. Sitting in the middle of the veranda was something she thought she would never see again. The space felt empty and out of place.
An ounce of fear tightened her throat, her hand gripping the door frame. As the light of the setting sun dimmed and a breeze rippled through the blades of grass. Your back hunching and shoulders jumped as you began to cough.
In a blink, the grass settled, and the warm evening light burst into the calm of night. If she were a simple person, the thought of imagining the light dimming would have passed her mind, but she was a woman of the Ln bloodline. Nothing in this life was more beautiful and haunting than what the eyes of the Ln family saw.
"Heroes are actors, aren't they." The woman only continued to look at your back, your coughing had died down but you continued to hide in yourself, arms hugging your knees to the best of your ability, "I'm sorry, Obaa-san." You were crying.
"I'm so sorry." You weren't talking to her anymore, voice cracking, sobbing, "I won't hurt anyone again, I promise! I'm so sorry!" The strength she had disappeared, her knees hitting the ground as she held herself up from her grip on the door frame. Her cheeks wet from her own tears, the view of you still clear. You holding on to the talisman, forehead pressed against the marbles, body shaking from the hiccups and wailing.
It's okay. Your grandmother thought, it's okay. This is what you needed. Ever since the day she opened the door and saw you stood on the front steps, eyes hollow, lips cracked and dried, you never once shed a tear. To caught up in her own grief, the quirk she had polished and perfected grew inside her until she could no longer hold back and yelled at you to leave the home. Never again did your grandmother want you to witness such a thing again. She didn't promise herself that when she ran away from home, she didn't promise herself that when she first felt life inside of her growing.
What she promised was a life where the disgusted and distrustful eyes didn't hurt anymore. A life found dancing in the rain. A life where you fall asleep warm and wake up dry.
Her arms found their way around your child's body and held on with the strength of love and protection. Cry, child. Cry. Let it out and grow to be a better person than me. Let it out and grow to be happy.
Guilt was something a child first learns, it was the feeling when you're laughing at what you had done but saw your parent's eyes crumble as they tell you to be careful next time. In the end, the child learns a lesson.
Guilt for you was the reason you breathed. Your first breath in life was a howl of grief. Someone who had been there said you hadn't cried like a baby, you cried because you knew you hurt someone. Only when a voice spoke in your ear and cradled you, did the sorrowful cries stop. You don't remember who told you or who spoke into your ear. All you know is that the grief has been the reason that your heart kept beating since.
Yet when you felt your grandmother's arms around you, when you felt the love and protection, something clicked. And a fog you never noticed started to fade and replacing it was a feeling you could only describe as when you first looked out at the ocean - in awe - both afraid and wondering how it would feel to touch it, if the waves would hurt and carry you away.
But you couldn't touch it, not yet. Not when the pins and needles grew with the feeling, hands pinching and cutting your back. Voices starting to form in wordless whispering, only a breeze in your ear than gone. The feeling that had led you to the body - No.
No, Yn. Focus.
Marbles click together, hurtling right and left as your body continues up the trail of the hill. Focus, you told yourself. No more, like you promised to Obaa. You weren't going to let your mind walk for you anymore. Focus on the twigs under your hands as you climb your way to the top, to the birds that fly between tree branches and chirp away.
Ever since you started your new routine of cooking with Obaa, you had also spent most of your time outside. Walking around the streets of the neighborhoods, finding out that though they feel and look like mazes, most of them connect to Tatooin Station - the most famous ward in Musutafu - weaving through the alleys and backstreets that were home to unknown bakeries and stalls.
Through the alleys and sidewalks is how you found yourself climbing the hill beside your house one day. Conversations of a hero school that sat on a hill always seemed to be a popular talk among the crowds and children in their uniforms. You told yourself that whatever was atop your hill would be better than a school for pretenders.
You thought right, as your body takes the final steps and reaches the peak, the trees along the edges of the clearing leave sight for the forests and houses along the coast before the ocean takes a hold and reaches as far as the eye could see. It was at this point that your young mind realized how small you truly are. That the city was too big to take into view with just this hill, that not even the famous school could be seen. It was perfect in your eyes as they looked down to the parts of neighborhoods you could see, wondering if Izuku is down there somewhere, hoping he was happy. That he was okay because you knew his bully was.
Walking and exploring the city wasn't just for your grandmother to have time alone, it was also to maybe get a glimpse of the green-haired boy but no matter the time or days you spent, one day turned to a week, which turned into a month until July began and you caught the blonde spiked hair as he hiked the trail you had grown fond of. You had promptly hid behind a tree as he made his way to the top, hoping that another pair of footsteps would follow, but nothing sounded behind him.
The only sounds were of the birds and trees, his own footfalls blending into the beautiful sounds of nature. His face wasn't scrunched up, his lips weren't scolding. His eyes weren't afraid or mean. They just were. You couldn't find the word for it, he was just there. No yelling. No tiny explosions in his hands. Just a boy hiking a trail.
The memory was still confusing and made your head spin. He was a bully, wasn't he? But how could someone that calls another use look so.. relaxed, like not a thing could disturb them? Does Izuku look like that? Can he be without a care in the world just as his bully?
You sent a prayer on the wind that wherever he may be that Izuku could be happy. That he's surrounded by the people who love him and protect him. That if it can be in this large world, you would be able to meet again.
The day you had feared finally came. Listening as the two older women talked, their hands busy with packaging the fruit to take home. Obaa held the bag as Mrs. Hachimachi stuffed the produce in the bag, not caring if it overflowed.
"Came up to me, says someones hurt. Always been a quiet one, knew something must be wrong," Obaa points to the bananas, Mrs. Hachimachi's hands don't waver. "The darling brought me over and I sees a man passed out, went to check on him. Shook him a little, you know."
"Don't touch him! Never heard her yell like that before, never been yelled at before." The last bag of fruit is placed into the wagon as the two women straighten from bending over, Mrs. Hachimachi places her hands on her hips as she smiles, "That man had lost consciousness on his feet. Nothing stopped him from falling flat on his face, broke his jaw. Sprained muscles all throughout here," She stretches her neck sideways, her hand sweeping up and down the side of her throat to her shoulder.
"No one saw him. No one would've. I'll tell you what a hero had been there, you know. Not one sign of that man after the ambulance arrived, I tell ya." Your eyes are downcast, hands keeping the handle of the wagon straight, "Yn's a decent one. Only 6-years-old and she can already sniff out danger. A hero for sure, that one."
Something snags in your mind but is gone before you realize, the hand caressing your head all but takes your attention. Obaa was proud.
The wheels of the wagon crunch along the pebbles of the sidewalk as you enter a Hyaku-en shop, stopping by to get more stationery for yourself and your grandmother. You walk throughout the store, placing paper and pencils in the wagon that you see yourself would use when you pass an aisle. Green in the corner of your eye.
You stop and see Izuku's mother staring at something on one of the shelves before placing it in her basket. You walk over to her, bowing as she notices you approach. She seemed more upset than when you had met.
Glancing in the basket, your heart grows cold seeing the candle shaped as a 6. "Hello. Yn was it?" You nod and move around her as she is about to call you but leaves you be as Obaa comes down the aisle and exchanges greetings with Mrs. Midoriya.
As for you, you search the shelves looking for the perfect gift for Izuku. Maybe a toy? Or a card? What does Izuku like?
Just then, something catches your eye. The red spine and green body with accents of blue. It was perfect.
Slipping it into the wagon, none of the two notice as they continue to talk. Mrs. Midoriya's eyes fly towards you before looking into her basket. She wants to say something.
"Have a good evening, Mrs. Ln, Yn." She bows and leaves heading to the cashier, you and Obaa lining up at the other. Just as the notebook is scanned, you grab it and head to the green haired woman starting to walk to the exit.
Jogging to be level as you call out for her to wait, presenting the book to her - two handed - has she turns around, eyes taking time to disgust the scene before her.
"For Izuku." The green eyes begin to water, Obaa is beside you once more.
"Izuku is a good child. Yn is new in town and has been wanting to know your son better."
"Would-" She hiccups and covers her mouth, apologizing. "Would you like to wish Izuku a happy birthday?" A glance to your grandmother was all the answer you needed as you turn back to Mrs. Midoriya and give her a resolute nod, she laughs.
"Around 6:30, maybe. izuku would be happy with the wishes." She grips Obaa's hands, bringing them to her chest, "Thank you."
You couldn't finish your dinner, too busy looking at the clock every second, watching as the time grew closer. Springing to your feet as you pack fruit for dessert and making sure that the notebook is still as perfect as you saw it.
Obaa made sure to keep a mentally strong leash on you. Reminding your racing mind that you would get lost in your excitement, you would run back to her side every time.
When you get to the apartment, it isn't like before, no storm, no darkness. Only the warm air of summer as you enter the cooled down building.
Arriving at the apartment door, your fingers start to fidget around the basket of fruit. What if he didn't want you here? What if he had his friends over and you were just too desperate to have a friend?
But Obaa is already knocking on the door to back out, as seconds later a click fills the hallway and Izuku is standing at the doorway. The hair is as green and fluffy as it was before.
You both stare at each other, and all you can do is thrust the basket towards the green-eyed boy in hopes he knows what you mean.
He does, of course he does as tears begin running down his cheeks, arms trying to wipe and catch them before they fall. Another step of footsteps is heard moving towards the door, and his mother is behind her son, soothing his hair as she opens the door wider, allowing you and your grandmother to enter.
"お邪魔します" Ojama shimasu - Sorry for intruding on you. Thank you for inviting us in. Whatever translation, it holds the gratitude of the speaker to the invitation of entering another's home, another's safe space.
You just hope you can convey it better than just some words. So you're there when he blows out the candles, wishing him a blessed future when his eyes begin to dim. You're there for the first slice of cake as he presents it to you only for you two to fight on who gets it first, Obaa tisking and telling you to take it with gratitude. You do with a shy smile, locking with Izuku's eyes as he smiles back.
You're there when Izuku starts to cry as he holds the notebook in his hands, seeing the significance it was to him but never truly understanding the depth.
You're there when Mrs. Midoriya asks if you'd like to have a playdate with Izuku. He stands beside his mother, a blush on his cheeks as he tugs on his shirt, beaming when you nod your head. A wave of heat dizzying your brain as the two Midoriya's wish you a safe trip home, knowing full well you get to see Izuku again.
Curtains ripple and colours blur, voices mumbling in the morning air.
Your eyes blink slowly, cheek pressing against the coffee table as you watch the subtitles change only catching bits and pieces while characters you had never seen come up more often than not. You don't see the show playing but know that it would be one of your grandmother's collections of pre-quirk shows.
Obaa always preferred the older shows than the ones most people enjoy now, all heroes and quirks. There's no difference than actors and heroes, she had said once under her breath, shaking her head as the news played out on screen, letters filling it with 'number one hero' an old mans face crinkled in a smile, his eyes the sharpest blue.
"Yn." You must have missed her once because her voice was annoyed. Peeling off the table, you answer, "Yes?"
"When will you go outside? You've been holed up, it's not good for you." A breeze comes past the sliding door hitting your back. I am already getting fresh air, you thought. Yet Obaa was right, you haven't stepped out of the house since the night of meeting Izuku. The days had been slow and you always found yourself waking up feeling weightless, floating. Your body moving on its own to do the things you needed to do, to eat what you needed to eat.
Your mouth opens, jaw slumped on the table mumbling your response.
"Huh?" The voices of the TV go silent, your grandma's attention solely on you. "Speak up, child."
Lifting from the table, body straightening, your gaze is on the mess that litters the wooden surface. Evidence of the way you had been spending the past days - children's books, drawings on different colours of paper, flawed origami you wouldn't be able to tell what you had been trying to make - Obaa only a blur in your peripheral.
"I'll go after the doctors."
The sigh is heavy one that says, what am I going to do with you child, as the silence is filled with the sound of the TV once more. Leaving you feeling worthless. How could you tell her that it felt weird to move? That every step seemed to be made by someone else? When Obaa's health declined significantly since? Arms shaking when she cooked, breathing labored even when sitting down.
You feel guilty.
The cough that comes out of her throat makes your own ache from the sound of it. Your hands fidget in your lap, Obaa's body is shaking from the power of the coughs but you can't move to see her fully. She tries to speak in-between the fit, you don't catch all of it but enough to know the message.
Go out, now.
"You're going to die." Who can you go to know? Whose home can you destroy- "YN!"
You're already at the door stuffing your feet in shoes you can't see, hand hitting the wall to stop yourself from falling. The air in the entrance feels chilly. Stumping your foot it finally slips in just as you're halfway through the door and stop. Obaa's coughing stopped, the voices of the TV were replaced by another. A voice, one you never heard before had spoken like he was in the home.
Turning slightly just enough to get a view of the living room through the kitchen you see a young woman sitting on the couch looking above the head of a child who sits by her feet. The boy's hand holds a pencil as he writes, the woman points somewhere on the paper and the boy flips his pencil to the eraser side.
You slowly back out, the door slamming as it closes and sprint. Leaving the foliage covered hill and neighbor houses behind, you sprint to the maze of neighborhood streets.
That woman. That... child. Pictures you had seen when Obaa took out photos to show you, are dizzying in your memories.
"You in a bathtub?" The chest rumbles, "No it's a walker."
That's not grandma. Your chest hurts. How long have you ran?
"Who's that? Who is it?" Your fingers hold the finger as it traces along the face. Smiling, her hands holding her stomach.
Are you going to end up like your family? Is your life only going to hurt? Was your quirk only going to cause pain?
NO. No. Shaking your head, Obaa had told you she would take you to the doctors. She told you.
The air is knocked from your lungs, marbles clattering as they bounce on the ground. Forearms and hands burning still you don't cry. You can't not with the shoes that hurry over to you.
"Oh my! Are you okay?" You get on your side, knees aching just as a hand comes into view has you crawling away, back hitting a wall. Fingers already wrapping around the marbles, eyes twitching to the one who tried to touch you.
Tentacles hang from their chin, their nose slits. Skin the color of pink in a sunrise. The hand that reached out falls, balling on their sides. They stand taller even when you sit on the ground, much younger than them. Their voice is sharp and hurtful, "Don't think you can live like that. You're disgusting."
Turning they walked away, as you wish you could blend into the wall making yourself as small as possible. Hoping the groups of eyes that burn holes in your head would disappear.
Stupid wind.
The day is spent as you move around stores as they hide the neighborhoods behind their structures. You and your grandmother had walked here twice since you moved in with her.
Watching as cars pass yet not one student seemed to be out. Only older people, babies that were pushed in their strollers, and ones who wore dark blue or bright orange vests. It still wasn't summer yet, the time when kids got out of school and played.
It must be fun to be around your friends everyday. But would anyone be yours? Would you find someone you like?
The question lingered as you knelt by a bus stop, looking at the grass that had grown between broken concrete and a metal pole of the shelter. A flower leaning away into open space as it bloomed fully from the April showers.
"-saw her while I was shopping." The glass reflection showed two women whose heads were turned towards you, their eyes on the top of your head. One had spiked hair, blonde. The other.
Long green hair tied in a ponytail. Your heartbeat picked up, was she- could she be Izuku's mother?
"Hey, kid." You jumped, having kept your eyes on the shorter woman, you didn't see the blonde come up to you. "Are you waiting for someone?"
She had the same red eyes as her son. You were sure, yet she still stared, her eyes held only curiosity. No disgust. No hate. Sneaking a peek at the other to see that her eyes widen with worry. How long had you stayed silent?
You shake your head looking up at the woman. "Is your parent in any of the stores?" She expresses with her arm pointing, head looking back to the different stores that line the street before settling on you. Another shake of your head.
Her frustrated face is similar to her son's. The shorter woman enters your sight, her body more open - hands interlocked by her thighs, the blonde's had been crossed since looking back to you - more kind. Just like her son. She eyes your appearance.
Your grandmother hadn't had the strength to wash your hair while you only slashed some water on your face to clean up. She must see it. Her voice, gentle.
"Do you know where you live? Your home?" A nod. It seems to ease her, as the blonde woman straightens and looks around, groups of other parents had appeared. Their eyes cast downwards to you. How small are you supposed to be to have the eyes stop looking at you?
"-rent would leave their child dirty." Your jaw clenched, it wasn't Obaa's fault, you wanted to yell. It was your own.
Your eyes look down to the flower, the stem growing away from the pole. "Sweetie, are you o-?"
"OUTTA THE WAY, DEKU!"
All of the attention goes to the bus that had silently pulled up. It was different to the ones you had seen all day, smaller, the colour - yellow. But you don't get to see the drawings that fill the side of the bus. Not when you see Izuku stumble, having been pushed by the blonde that laughs behind him. Three more boys join in the laughing.
"BAKUGOU KATSUKI! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!" His face ticked in annoyance, looking up to his mom who had stormed her way over. You're sure she said his name, you don't remember it as his head is pushed down, silently fuming as he walks, Izuku right behind him. Eyes full of worry.
Izuku is coming this way. You stand from your crouched position, hands wringing together. He's going to notice you're dirty. Izuku is going to be disgusted. Should you run?
His eyes sparkle as he looks to his mom. You must have moved, green eyes flick to you. Izuku's pace slowing, coming to a stop in front of you and his mother. The two blondes are behind him now, you catch the boys eyes. You don't know where else to avert your gaze and look down.
Izuku still wears his red shoes.
"Hi!" He was surprised, but was he happy?
"Oh, Izuku, do you know her?"
"We met at the park. Her name's Yn."
Thump. He remembers your name. Your eyes flick up to his, he's smiling. "Hi, Izuku." Now he's blushing. Your eyes meet the ground once more, your stomach feels sick.
"Was someone with Yn?"
"Her grandma," Izuku grips his shirt, "She walked me home."
The blonde boy laughs, his mother slaps him in the back of the head. "Is your grandmother okay, Yn?"
Your body locks up. What time was it? How long has it been? Was she okay?
Of course. Of course, she is. She'll be there when you get back. She will be okay.
The nod hurts your neck. "She's making dinner." You bow, turning away as you follow the route you had taken with Obaa. Maybe if you get lost, she will have to come find you. She'll be angry and annoyed but will tuck you in like always.
You don't see the bump on the sidewalk. You don't have enough strength to keep from falling, knees scratching the pavement. It's okay.
"YN!" Izuku. You turn and see his hand outstretched, you cower. He stops, his hand still out. "Are you okay?" You reach.
And grip a railing. Finding your feet under you, you get up. It burns to bend your legs. It's okay. Pins begin to grow in your chest. It's okay. Your shoe is back on. It's okay. You nod. His hand falls. It's okay. The boy grips his shirt, and you tighten your hold on the railing. It's ok.
You lost a friend.
All you see is green. A tug on your foot. Izuku stands, backing up a step. His eyes are kind. "Get home safely." So kind.
You don't hear the call from his mother nor the call of the blonde woman. You don't want to be stopped anymore. You need to get home with the shoe that had been tied by Izuku. You need to see Obaa.
The shoe isn't as tight as your grandmother’s still it stays on the whole way home. To the end of the street where the house sits beside a hill. Up the steps and to the front door. It stays on as you are greeted with the scent of your comfort food. Only does it come off when you force off your shoe - you can find a way to put it back on - looking around the blind spot of the entrance to the kitchen and see your grandmother standing as she places food on the table. Hands steady, a small nod turns her wrinkled head, inclining you to join her at the table.
Your shoulders drop. "Come Yn. Come and eat." Her voice is strong and stable, the way it had been when you had first arrived. When you first met her.
The dinner is silent. It was always like this, but you were comfortable with it but you saw the way Obaa's eyes look to you. The same eyes you saw in the reflections of yourself.
"What does Deku mean?"
The sigh is one of relief, Obaa puts a spoonful of food in her mouth. The question lingering.
"It means useless." The bully had called Izuku useless? "It doesn't matter what they think. It's what you turn it to be."
Obaa's words echo. Why are her words echoing? But how can you turn deku into something else?
Glasses Doctor is stupid and ugly. Ever since he came in and sat down in the comfortable chair while Obaa had to sit in a squealing stool, you knew he was a bad man.
You didn't like his mustache that covered his mouth. He can put the hair under his nose on his head where no hair was, you thought. Or maybe his bushy eyebrows that peaked out of the glasses that covered nearly his entire upper face.
"Has heart issues been a constant in your family?"
You didn't like him at all.
"Just my son."
Ever since the day you ran out, Obaa had been better. She breathed better, walked around without a limp or cane. You didn't like how she sounded now, her voice guarded.
"Who is second generation, yes?" A nod from your grandmother, a clock ticks somewhere in the hospital room.
"It's almost unheard of to have an emotion-based quirk. Let alone two finding and marrying each other." His pen is painful in your ears as he writes. "A stable household is what the young girl needs. There are plenty of verified children's housing with nurses and doctors who deal in trauma and quirk counseling." Obaa's stool squeaks, her hands tighten on her purse
"We wouldn't want what has happened, happen to anyone else, yes?" The marbles collide with one another, your fingers pinching the string.
"Growing old and becoming less able is something I too face. Think about it. For Yn's future."
A car honks as you wait for the bus. Your legs hanging from the bench, not long enough to reach the ground, not like the one who sits beside you. Your grandmother is mad, you can feel it. Like heat rising from her body.
"You'll continue to go to the hospital in Tokyo." Your head lowers.
"I'm sorr-" "Enough, Yn."
"I need my exercise just like you."
Another car passes, a group walks behind the stop, their voices fading as they leave.
"Look up, child."
You do as told, no need to get her more angry. Your eyes burn from the sun that reflects on the buildings windows. Slowly gaining more vision as the sting hurts less.
People continue their trek even on the other side of the street, more cars than you expected commute and zip by.
"They may be going the same way but not everyone has the same destination. This world is more diverse than ever, but humans never change. You have to understand that everyone has their own lives, Yn. Just as you have your own. Some may see a bracelet, but you know it's a talisman. Just-" She sighs, you stare at the road, the colours of cars blurring together.
"You've done nothing wrong, Yn."
A shadow falls on you as the bus stops in front of you two. Obaa reaches for your hand already standing.
You've done nothing wrong. Maybe you'll believe that someday until then - You hop off the bench, your grandmother's hand holding onto your own.
pandora. chap. 1 - Before Light, There was Darkness
masterlist | chap. 2
a/n - if you read the first time this chapter came out...
no you didn't
The city of Musutafu watched as their shadows disappeared.
Once thin, wispy strands of clouds now carried veins of grey bleeding into the white, the city being engulfed in inky dark sky. Day turning to night in only seconds.
Along with the shadows went the sun blocked by the ever growing storm cloud. The air chilling as the ones on the street watched the spectacle, some with their eyes, while others took behind their phone screens recording the moment, wondering if they would get more than just a storm.
Their words caught by the wind as it wound its way from the sea through the coastal city.
Up and over the beach to the grassy hill as a mother sighed watching the damp-haired children play, complaining to the ones around her of how someone could ruin this day. The importance of it all. Some nodded their agreement as their eyes landed back to the children's screams of joy.
"I'm All Might!"
"Fat Gum!"
"Can I be All Might?"
Twisting and turning through the densely packed cityscape that seldom felt overcrowded, two young men ambled. Steps unsteady as they focus on a cellphone, the screen showing white clouds, gangly veins of grey soon following.
"-ems to be out of control."
"But no rain. Could it be some type of gas Quirk?"
The leaves were a whispering audience, tumbling around the wheels of cars as they were shot into the air by the different slips of wind. Others drifting along, going higher and higher till they reached the top of the multi-story buildings.
Flipping backward and continuing forward as strong gusts blew them further north. Where the thickest and darkest clouds converged.
Just as things do, the leaves found gravity and fluttered down, skipping as it scratched the pavement, joining in a chorus as trees blew along. Moving below swings as they creaked and swung filling the playground void of laughter.
The wind formed around the structure, creating an invisible outline as it climbed to the top, cocooning a body. Still and Silent.
You heard it before you felt it. Rustling of the trees that border the width of the playground. The slithering of wind as it came up the slide wrapping itself around you.
Whooshing past your ears. Whispering. Laughing.
"Why are you lying? My mom says lying is bad."
"All Might is a real hero!"
Didn't your mom tell you it's bad to yell at other people? You thought as your arm that came up to wipe your nose froze, the sound of marbles clicking together makes you stop.
"It's a bracelet! That's a bracelet!"
Talisman. A talisman, not a bracelet. Stupid. You wiped your nose once more before placing your arm in your lap, the two marbles falling. One hitting the side of the slide while the other lay underneath your hand. Bound by the string wrapped around your wrist.
What do they know of heroes? What do they know of the mountain your hero is? A twitch of fingers wrap around the one marble, its surface uneven.
Was. That your hero was. Your eyes begin to sting from the wind. It's always the wind.
Stupid kids, stupid All Might, stupid Heroes.
If only you didn't open your mouth. If only they weren't stupid and understood you. If only you weren't the problem.
Looking up as another burst of wind comes from behind, you see two lampposts sat on either side of the playground, the only lighting offered to the front of you. While behind - marbles colliding against the metal, ringing - as you grip the slide's bars to keep from falling down, was the jungle gym.
Behind the jungle gym, a blue fence separated the playground from the apartments. The sidewalk beyond the fence shined brighter as three lampposts were spaced out. One on the left, one in the center, and one to the right.
It was all the same in the end. You were alone.
Even in your short-lived life, even with the experience of the eyes that followed your family. Your young self was taught to not mind the people around, that you are you, and nothing is better than that. You still couldn’t help it.
The hope of a friend.
Maybe that’s why your body found itself on top of the playground’s structure. Waiting for someone to come, didn’t kids like to play at the park?
Huffing that ended in your inhale stuttering, you settled back to the front. Letting go of the bars as you slid down, the sting in your eyes worsening.
Silent as your feet met ground, your hand formed a fist achingly tight as it wound around the marbles, to the point it felt like they would burst. You hoped it would always be like this - dark, windy, the smell of rain, the safety the darkness held - it would be better than when the sun was out and the days were loud and happy.
A cold swept your body, wind hitting your back. Your throat filled with an icy feeling, you coughed to clear it away. Only to be in time with another sound.
Your head snapped up. You couldn’t have imagined it. The leaves crunching were steady. The sound of something skipping along the pavement came with it. You looked to your right just where the lamppost was used as a mark between the neighboring houses and playground - there! The shadow that followed as a rock bounced along the length of the sidewalk.
Heartbeat quickening as your knuckle cracked from your hold. The one who walked came into view.
His blonde spiked hair never moved in the wind. A net of some sort sat on his shoulder, the hand closest to you swung as he walked, in no rush to get home even with the storm clouds overhead. Yet the most prominent feature, he looked to be your age.
Your eyes glued to him as he continued his strut, never once looking in the direction of the playground. The boy had already reached halfway when your chest tightened, the heat in your head running cold. You wanted to call him. You wanted to scream, but all that came out was a held back whine.
He wasn’t going to see you.
Please see me. Please. Please. Please. A gust once again blew at your back, rustling the surrounding trees as it made contact with the boy. His head snapped in your direction as if you had been the one to ruffle his clothes.
Eyes widening, body shooting straight up a thought came to your child’s mind. Did you finally find a friend? But all too well, even with the distance between you two, you saw as his eyes bulged.
Net swinging down at such force, it broke in two, hitting the ground. His fist clenched, eyes turning into a scowl, “What do you want, HUH!” The boy’s nostrils flared, standing to his full height even if he were close to being five-years-old.
“You creep!” Throwing the net back over his shoulder, handing by a thread, the blonde shoved his free hand in his shorts pocket. Clicking his tongue as he disappeared around the corner.
Cut from strings your shoulders slumped, bones cracking again as you loosened your hold around the now sweat covered marbles. Landing in your lap as the world ebbed away. The sting once brought from the wind now numbed to the familiar pins growing in your heart, spreading to your whole chest.
Lap, shoes, and ground mixed and blurred together even as your eyes dried.
It was your fault. YOU. you. you. you. yo- A blob of red.
The blonde haired eyes were red. Did he see a monster sitting on the slide?
“Um..” The red took form in the shape of shoes. Shoes that shared the same space as your own colourless ones.
“There’s a storm coming,” This voice wasn’t rough. It was higher pitched, small. “You- you should go home.”
Home. You could never go home. Why are his hands bawled?
You crawled into yourself more, the movement seemed to spur the boy as his fists tightened.
“Are you o-” “YN!”
Thump. You know that voice. Thump. The string around your wrist rubs against your skin. Thump. When did it get so cold? Thump. Would you ever be able to go home?
Red shoes pointed to the direction of your grandmother’s voice.
“Hi-um. Hello.” The boy’s second attempt sounded more respectful toward the elder. Footsteps you knew by heart moved closer but never made it to you or Red Shoes.
“Thank you, child.” Her voice was breathy and drawled. Your head lowered. You could no longer see past your lap. Your hands felt like ice. “Come now, the storm is about to break.”
You wait till Red Shoes moves, moving around in a wide arc, coming up beside your grandmother.
Red Shoes must have done something as Obaa clears her throat, “You, too-”
“Izuku. Midoriya Izuku, ma’am.”
“Izuku, come along.”
You see hands swatting their dismissal in your peripheral. Before any words can leave him, Obaa has already turned her back on you two. Dipping your eyes as the boy follows after your grandmother, a flash of a green box around Red Sh- Izuku’s waist, the only thing you see as you follow behind. The voice of Izuku quieting when he realized Obaa’s words were final.
Turning a corner, you were met by the back of an apartment building. It was nothing like you ever saw.
Koi streamers hung from the railings of the balconies, decorating the cement coloured buildings. Green. Black mixing with red and blue. Pink and a dash of blue created one koi's scales. Long and short, they hung to signify the parents and children. You spotted one with its fins, like wings. Yet as wind filled their paper bodies, bringing them to life, the koi swam.
Their soft rustling echoing as you three made it to the front of the building. Izuku bows and thanks your grandmother for walking him home even when a few minutes before he had been adamant in his own to walk back alone.
“No one should be in a storm alone. You have a goodnight, Izuku.” He bows once more before turning and opening the door of the apartment building. Warm air blasting out as it mingles with the wind from outside.
Red shoes are already halfway through the threshold holding open the door when they hesitate. Shuffle. And turn. Pointing directly at you.
“It was nice to meet you-”
Izuku was doing what your grandmother had, leaving room for you to introduce yourself. Your voice felt croaky and quiet, more air than sound, “Yn.”
“Y-” His voice pitched up in question as he sounded the first letter, his body leaning towards you, and you saw green. Green box hanging in the air as his body leaned to catch your vision. Green bushy hair. Green eyes that were more beautiful than anything you had ever seen. You felt your body stiffen as you pulled away, heart uncomfortably speeding up as your hands came up to your stomach as if it would make a wall between you and the boy.
Baby, you thought. Having to have Obaa tell him your name because your voice would not come out.
“Yn-chan.” The door closed, and with it came a burst of warm air filling your chest even as the wind continued to thrash around the awning. The way he said your name, those eyes that locked on yours for a second.
There was fear. But his eyes were kind. He was kind.
A strong gust with dust and all whipped in your face, breaking you out of your reverie as the silence was filled with your grandma’s labored breathing. It had been getting worse. You watched as she slowly declined ever since you showed up at her door. Wheezing for breath after only a couple of steps. Having to sit on a chair in order to cook food for the both of you.
Ever since you came.
You try to ignore the ache settling in your legs in your chest. It was your fault for how your grandma was, how you ran off, and had her search for you. But the children’s laughter, their mocking, grew in your head.
Looking to the woman you hurt, you found her eyes already on you. Your own falling to the side, followed by her sighing as she leaned heavily to her left and all in one motion shuffled towards you. Reaching down to grab your hand but found your wrist instead only to blink and hold nothing but space as you thrust your way out of her grasp, coming out of the cover of the awning.
A single drop of rain hitting your head.
“Yn.” It was a commanding voice with no room to argue, “I have traveled all evening to find you. I am passed the age as to pretend my body is fine.” You never knew, but she saw how your back spoke for it all.
I hurt everyone I love. I’ve already hurt you. Looking to the ground as she sighed, she sent a prayer, somewhere, to someone. Asking for the strength needed.
“Come here, child. Now.” After a few seconds, you moved back to her silently. She gripped your shoulder, limping severely as her body weight leaned on you for support.
“Rain is to be enjoyed under a roof, where you go to bed warm and wake up dry.” Your steps were slow and steady as you made your way back to the home your grandmother spoke of. The sky rumbling in the distance.
Yet not one drop fell. Not when the door to the house closed. Not when your bones grew weary, your breathing uneven as the pins and needles grew underneath your skin. Hands pinching and clawing your back as you lay in bed.
The first drops came when your grandmother hobbled her way over and found strength to tuck you in. Your body sighing with relief as the hands melted into the warmth of the mattress.
The rhythmic slow descending rain was your lullaby, eyes growing heavy as your consciousness slipped into darkness.
Only then did the storm break. Lightning cracking and thunder booming as rain beat heavily on the roof, wind howling as it moved the trees to dance hauntingly.
Even so, you slept through it all. Dreams only a blur as they filled with green.
SUMMARY 𐀔 "in the eye, stood disorder. in the eye, stood calm. in the eye, I stand."
Hero - to the world you live in, a hero was the title given to individuals who had been licensed to protect the people with their quirks. A Pro Hero were those who took it as a profession.
Kids grew up wanting to be called a hero, dreaming of becoming number one. But to you who grew up differently, who looked to the Heroes, everyone so admired, as normal people. Becoming one was never a solid dream to reach for.
So how did you get here, standing in front of U.A Academy - the school for heroes in training - with nothing but the desire to pass?
This is your story, a story of an Extra in the shadow of your best friend as he carries the burden of a pillar crumbling.
PAIRINGS 𐀔 mina x reader, bakugou x reader, jirou x reader, midoriya x reader, todoroki x reader, uraraka x reader, momo x reader (she/her pronouns)
THEMES 𐀔 fluff, angst, crack, slice of life, slowburn
WARNINGS 𐀔 graphic descriptions of violence and injuries, gore, bullying, quirk discrimination, quirk experimentation
Ln Yn - physical attributes ; scars on fingers, collarbone, and chest
- poc friendly (scars are only described as shapes)
- no height / weight / hair mentioned (you are but a spec in space... a beautiful one)
- replaces Sato (though he will make an appearance)
a/n : there will be 3 endings all with their own love interest routes. the endings will NOT be the same as canon BNHA
vaporwave
blakekathryn
kianamaiart
izzy806
germansingergirl
romaincrisis
gummygunk