can y'all help me reach 100 followers??? I'm currently at 91 and it's been such at that for a long while 🤧 all likes, reblogs, comments, and ofc follows are always welcome!!!
feel free to send in an ask, and I'd love to be one of those blogs with the anons/questioners who have specific name. if u can't already tell, I'm very into animals, specifically things that fly 😅 so....
warnings: fluff, cuddling, reader needs a hug, gn! reader
Jason ver.
you've been dating dick for about 8 months
and in that time, you barely initiate touch with him
and when he initiates it, you flinch
not a little arm comes up in defense flinch, I'm talking a full on, body jerking, swinging up from the chair flinch
reminds me of 'mama that burnn'
at one point, he begins to think maybe you're not that interested in him
so he brings it up with you one night while you're on a separate end of the couch, as casually as possible
like: "do you hate me? it's totally fine if you do, I'm just wondering"
silence
the silence was so loud your ears started ringing
it was like even the streets of Gotham went dead silent and you could hear it (even though you're in Bludhaven)
and you're just there like 😶
brother whatchu YAPPING bout???
what happened to hi, hello, how are you?
and then he starts going on and on and on about "well it's just that you never try to cuddle or even hug me and I'm getting so depressed and when I touch you you act like I just striked you with lighting twice in the same spot"
and you're there, confused, wondering what the fuck is happening
and then when you finally explain that you're just touch starved and not used to physical attention?
oh he's like a dog
a golden retriever with too much enthusiasm he was forced to keep in since 1652
immediately on you (respectfully of course 🙂↕️)
like: "omigod babyyy. you shoulda told me, I mean I sat in my room crying for hours last Tuesday cause I touched your shoulder and you almost climbed the wall??? I didn't even know you could do that???"
and from then on, he's clings ASF
this man won't let you go anywhere, or do anything if his chest is not almost fusing to your back
overall though, he's super understanding about it, loves you to the moon and never back
cause why would he come back? that's basically saying he don't love you anymore
he gets you used to physicality in less than a week
Why are SOME female readers SOOOOO pressed by the idea of male readers/writers? 💀 Isn't the majority of the "x reader" stories centered around the female audience? Why are YOU complaining about a gay dude not wanting to write fics for female readers? What point are YOU trying to make to shame the creator for writing gay love? HOW IS IT AFFECTING YOUR DAILY ROUTINE?!?!?!
Telling gay creators a character is not queer and being continuously bitchy over it won't stop them from making fics. There is no such thing as being "underrepresented" and "oppressed" by ONE fic 🤦
Stop complaining about homosexuality. Start minding your hetero business. ✌️
yes girl go write that fem!reader in which you make her have beautiful long blonde shiny hair and eyes blue like the ocean!
Please imply that shes a clean preppy perfect girl with a perfect life!
oh and dont forget, no diversity, dont even try to make the reader smart, dont make her even slightly imperfect and last but not least, make her seem like a sex depraved woman , that her feelings dont matter and shes useless!
For anybody not caught up: Tennessee just passed a new map that pretty much makes it so black neighborhoods have no power in local votes. Two things about this. While protestors were chanting "No Jim Crow", white Tennessee lawmakers were caught laughing on video. On top of this, Representative Justin Pearson and his brother KeShaun Pearson were arrested for trying to give their takes on the matter (which is not only their legal right but literally his job). If you give a shit about black people, help fight this. We can't allow a return to Jim Crow.
You've been in school for two weeks now. It's been good, classes are easy and you were exempted from hero trainings for those two weeks so you could settle down. Meaning no one knows of your relation to Gang Orca.
Yet.
You go home on weekends to have some family time and train with your father if he has the time, though he's usually away saving the world. Overall though, everything's been going good.
Which is why today is one hell of a shitty one cause not only do you have hero training today but you also got lectured by Iida for ten minutes straight about falling asleep during class.
Such a busy body. You thought as you put on your gym clothes. You hadn't gotten your hero suit due to your mom insisting on making it more complicated than it needed to be.
As you walked into the large grounds of gym gamma, you noticed you were one of the few people that were already there. It took a few more minutes for the rest of the class to fully filter out of the changing rooms as they chatted amongst each other.
Once everyone was out, Aizawa began the debrief on the exercise you would all be doing.
It was normal enough. All you had to do was to get into groups of 3-5, discuss who the attack styles and coordination is centered around and win against the other team.
Simple right?
Wrong.
Your quirk is very similar to your fathers once it's active. The little bits you got from your mother are more mental than physical. So the chances of you being immediately discovered....
Very high.
|••••••••••••••|
It's noisy all around you. Everyone is getting into their groups, already familiar with each other while you stood there, like a sore thumb. You could feel stares and quick glances behind you but didn't bother to look back, already knowing it was probably Mina and her group.
You were about to walk up to Mr. Aizawa and ask if you could solo or just sit this one out when someone placed a hand on your shoulder.
Well- not a hand. A tail. A very big, heavy, tail.
"Hey. Um, I'm Ojiro, nice to meet you. I don't think we've met?". Well no shit. You haven't really 'met' anyone since you got here.
"[Name] Tanahashi. Likewise." You gave as pleasant of a smile as you could muster up and he seemed to buy it. You almost said your actual surname. Oops.
"I was wondering if you'd wanna work in my team? It's just me and Shouji right now." As he spoke, his tail coiled around him as he used it to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly.
Cute.
"Shouji?" You asked, dismissing your thoughts quickly. He perked up, "oh yea, the dude with the multiple limbs." He pointed to a direction to the far right, where a tall boy was standing. You quickly assessed him.
Ah, Mezo Shoji. Quirk: Replication Arm. He can replicate things using his extra arms, though it seems to be limited to body parts. He wears a mask over the lower half of his face for whatever reason.
Insecure maybe?
"Yeah sure. I'll work with you. "The boy beamed at you, "Oh that's great." A pause, "um... Do you want me to explain how our quirks work and what we can-"
"No, I know everything I need to." You cut him off and he looked surprised. "Well that's cool, would you.. like to share yours? Quirk I mean." You paused, it'd be revealed soon anyway but you're still gonna keep it a secret until then.
"Nah I'm good. Are we having more people on the team? If not, I think the formation and attacks should be centered around me. Unless you wanna add people, then it'd depend on who it is." You said while looking around. It's people have already formed their teams and were just chatting amongst themselves .
"Uh, no. Just us three." He said. " Cool. " You replied absentmindedly, mind already straying from you. "Alright, settle down. If you're done forming your teams, head to the observation rooms. The bigger teams will go first, drawing lots."
And with that, everyone filtered out, still chatting, whilst you stay a bit behind. And unless you were imagining things, one of Hawks' feathers just landed directly in your pocket.
Finally got to writing this y'all, seems people like this concept. Read here on A03
^•••••••••^
You walked into the homeroom of Class 2A and 20 pairs of eyes immediately snap to you. The home room teacher- Mr. Aizawa- was at the podium, interrupted by your sudden entrance.
"Tanahashi. How honoured we are that you finally decided to join us 20 minutes into homeroom." Aizawa said blandly as you sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck.
"Sorry sir, I got lost in the hallways." Before he could answer, whispers broke out in the class.
'𝘸𝘩𝘰'𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦?'
'𝘰𝘩𝘩𝘩𝘩 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵?'
'𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘺'
'𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘭𝘺!'
The last one caught you off guard and you looked around the class confused, though it didn't show on your face. Aizawa didn’t react to the comments. Of course he didn’t. The man probably hears worse before his morning coffee.
“Take a seat,” he said, already turning back to whatever he was doing like your existence was just another mild inconvenience.
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and walked as calmly as you could to the back of the class, taking the only free seat there.
The other students kept glancing at you from time to time, but you ignored them, instead doodling in your notebook as you boredly listen to Aizawa drone on about something you couldn't give two fucks about.
As the bell for the next period rang, you stood up and walked towards the giant door. And then a bright pink pole with horns intercepted you.
"Hiiiii," she practically screamed. "I'm Mina Ashido. Just call me Mina. Tanahashi right? Let's be friends! I'll give you a tour around the school and- omgg. I LOVE your hair it's so cool and-"
You tuned her out in the middle of her rant, I stead choosing to assess her. Mina Ashido. She lost to Fumikage Tokoyami in the sports festival. She's energetic, bubbly, and overly friendly. Also very, very pink.
Sheesh. "Nice to meet you." And then you walked past her. You caught a glimpse of the shocked expression on her face as you walked away. You didn't mean to be a bitch really, but people get tiring.
Especially when their skin colour is the same as their personality.
You stepped into your dorm room and slammed the door shut behind you. Today had been a long day. Meeting new classmates, finding your way through the large halls of UA, talking to an overly loud teacher that you can't remember the name of.....
Ragebaiting Bakugo.
He was so easy to get angry it got comical. You've made absolutely no progress in making friends. It was all too much at once, and it seemed like Mina had told some of the other girls about your clipped response earlier cause they were all ignoring you and giving you long side eyes.
What a reck.
You looked around your room. It was plain. Too plain. You weren't a minimalist. Neither were you a maximalist. You were in between. Normal. And you needed something to decorate this space before you run mad.
You put down your bag, walked to some large suitcases by the bad and opened the first one. You pulled out a dark blue bedsheet, paired with a duvet and two pillow cases. You flung them to the bed and continued unpacking the suitcase.
Next was two new sets of LED lights with a remote. That went onto the bedside table and you turned back to continued. You pulled out a totalk of 8 more things from the suitcase after that.
A pack of picture frames, 4 large sketchbooks, a large pencil case that's too big for comfort, an ocean themed piggy bank and a small box filled with all your favourite jewelleries.
Then you got to work.
First, you made the bed. The sheets were fluffy, fluffy enough that it'd cause you to sweat even during winter. Then you moved on to the bedside table.
It was plain white, like all four corners of the room. You made a mental note to paint the walls and all things white later as you arranged your sketchbooks, pencil case and other stuff on the table.
Once you were done, you thought about unpacking the second suitcase but thought against it as you looked at the time on your phone.
9:15. You need to get food and have a long shower before bed to keep yourself hydrated. You put on fluffy slippers, an oversized hoodie and headed towards the kitchen.
You found that most of the other students were also there, though they were sitting in the common room. Some chatting amongst themselves and the others playing Mario Kart.
Your eyes met Mina's and you realised she'd been staring at you. You raised a brow at her but said nothing and turned to make something small to fill your stomach for the night.
Once you did, you plated it and went back to your room. Quick and harmless. You ate your food, left the plate on the bedside table, thinking to yourself you'd take it back the next morning as you went down to the shared bathrooms.
You took a shower, got to your room then changed into your nightwear then went to sleep.
Hope y'all like this cause I finally got to doing it lol 😅
A/N; Idk what I'm doing here, but I hope you enjoy.
The chalk squeaked as Cementoss underlined the word Load Distribution across the board in big blocky strokes.
“Everything in the hero world is about balance,” he began, voice deep and gravelly. “Buildings. Bridges. Defenses. Even teamwork. If a single part carries too much stress without support, it fails. And when it fails, people get hurt.”
I tried not to fidget in my seat. He was looking at me in particular, which made my chest feel like I was already flunking the subject.
Cementoss gestured at the diagram of a bridge he’d sketched—arches, beams, lines of pressure marked in red. “Akari, what happens if your vines catch a falling bus but you anchor them unevenly?”
I blinked. “Uh… the bus crashes anyway?”
“Exactly.” He pointed the chalk at me like I’d just solved a riddle. “The stronger section will hold for a second, but the imbalance will cause catastrophic failure. Imagine that bus full of civilians.”
Ouch. Okay, guilt trip effective. I sank lower in my chair.
“Let’s make this practical.” He dusted his hands and looked around the room. “Get up. Time for a demonstration.”
I glanced at the empty seats—there was no one else here. “Wait, you mean me?”
“Of course.” He motioned me toward a wide open space at the front of the room, where a bunch of weighted sandbags and planks of wood were stacked against the wall. “You’ll create a support structure with your quirk. Something simple. A flat surface to hold weight. Show me what you’ve got.”
My palms prickled. Great. From kanji to construction in under ten minutes. No pressure.
I held out my hands and coaxed the vines free, weaving them together into a crude lattice. The smell of chlorophyll hit my nose as the green strands twisted into a kind of net. I thickened it, then stretched it across two wooden blocks, making a makeshift bridge.
It looked… okay.
Cementoss nodded once, then dropped a sandbag onto it.
The vines sagged immediately, the center bowing like a hammock. The bag didn’t fall through, but it looked way too close.
“See?” he rumbled. “Uneven distribution. The force pulls everything toward the weakest point.” He tapped the chalk against the sagging vines. “Now try again. But this time, think like an engineer. How can you redirect the load?”
I bit my lip, studying the net. My brain wasn’t exactly trained for this—at least, not yet—but something about the arches he’d drawn on the board stuck in my head. Curves. Angles. Redirection.
I pulled back the vines and reshaped them, this time weaving them into a crisscrossing arch pattern instead of just a flat sheet. When I anchored it between the blocks, it almost looked like one of those mini rope bridges.
Cementoss dropped another sandbag on top. The vines flexed, but this time they held steadier, spreading the weight along the arches.
My chest lifted a little. “Okay… that’s not terrible, right?”
He grunted—a sound I guessed was approval. “Better. You’re starting to understand. Nature already builds in patterns: trees, bones, honeycombs. Your quirk lets you grow structures faster than any architect could design. But if you don’t know the principles, you’ll collapse them before they’re useful.”
I hadn’t thought of it like that before. To me, vines were just… vines. Weapons. Shields. Traps. Not potential architecture.
He placed another sandbag on top. The structure bent alarmingly, but it didn’t snap. I let out a shaky laugh. “So what you’re saying is, if I fail this class, I fail as a human skyscraper.”
Cementoss actually chuckled, low and rough. “Something like that. But if you succeed, you’ll be building more than vines. You’ll be building survival.”
By the time the bell rang, my notebook was crammed with rough sketches of arches, triangles, and load diagrams. My fingertips were stained green, my uniform smelled like a greenhouse, and my brain hurt in a way that wasn’t entirely awful.
Pa was waiting outside when I left. He looked me over, scanning the chalk dust and vine scraps clinging to my sleeves. “Well?”
I hesitated, then muttered, “…I think I'm becomig a jack of all trades.”
His mouth twitched in the tiniest almost-smile. “Good. You’ll need it.”
And just like that, he walked me back toward my next class, scarf swaying lazily as if he hadn’t just casually redirected my entire academic career.
I lingered for a moment, notebook clutched to my chest, fingers still tingling from the vines, before finally shaking myself and heading toward my next class.
Hero lessons.
The corridor smelled faintly of sweat, rubber, and the faint tang of excitement that always seemed to hang around the training areas. Students bustled past, some laughing, some striding with purpose, all of them already in the rhythm of the morning. I felt like I was stepping into a completely different world, where every heartbeat and every movement could turn into action—or disaster.
I slipped into the training room, quietly taking a spot near the edge, letting my eyes flick over the layout. Mats were set, targets lined up, and everyone was already warming up.
Today was going to be about applying what I’d just learned—or at least trying to. The vines still hummed faintly in my fingertips, reminding me that I could build, protect, and maybe even fight with them if I dared.
I exhaled, steadying my shoulders. No more chalkboards. No more theoretical bridges. This was real. And it was time to see if I could hold myself up under weight far heavier than sandbags.
A sharp whistle blew across the training room, cutting through the low hum of chatter. “Settle down! Today’s focus: precision and adaptability!” All Might’s booming voice filled the space, larger than life as always. “You’ll be paired up for quirk application drills. Think fast, move faster, and don’t get reckless!”
I swallowed, glancing around nervously. He towered at the front of the room, grin impossibly wide, chest puffed like he could take on the world single-handedly—and probably could. In private, he was “Uncle Might,” but here, in full All Might mode, he was All Might, radiating energy and authority.
I flexed my fingers, feeling the faint hum of my vines in response. “Alright… don’t mess this up, Akari,” I muttered under my breath.
The drill began: intercept a falling projectile and redirect it safely to a target zone. The first sphere dropped from the ceiling. I extended my vines, weaving them into a crude lattice. The sphere bounced safely toward the marked area, and I let out a small sigh of relief.
“Excellent!” All Might boomed, clapping his massive hands. “But remember, this is only the beginning! Speed and control are key!”
Another sphere dropped, faster this time. I arched my vines, adjusting midair, feeling the strain travel up my arms. Sweat pricked my brow, but my focus sharpened. By the third round, I was weaving arches and crisscrossing strands instinctively, directing each sphere perfectly to its target.
All Might’s voice rang over the room again, enthusiastic and almost contagious: “Impressive, Akari! You’re thinking like both a hero and an engineer! Keep it up, and you’ll be ready for real missions in no time!”
I sank to the mat afterward, fingers trembling but proud. My vines relaxed, still buzzing faintly with energy. And even with All Might’s booming praise, I couldn’t help the little grin tugging at my lips.
Hero lessons weren’t just about strength—they were about creativity, adaptability, and thinking ahead. And today, I was starting to see just how far I could push myself.
And thankfully, I didn't get any run ins with Bakugou.
The rest of the classes went by uneventfully (thank the deities). Lunch came and went, and I ate like a hungry gorilla. We had another round of hero lessons. Then came art—my favourite.
I let all my worries, quirks, distractions, and thoughts go, and painted what I now consider one of my best works yet. The painting was of a quiet stream winding beneath a small arched bridge, surrounded by trees in full pink blossom. The colors blended softly, almost glowing, like a dream caught on canvas. It was simple, but it felt alive.
This;
When the final bell rang for dismissal, I lingered, staring at the canvas as if I’d wake up and it would vanish. My brush was still in my hand, streaked with pink and gold. For once, I didn’t feel like the girl carrying too much weight, the girl being tested at every corner. I just felt… me.
“Beautiful,” the art teacher murmured, pausing behind me. “It’s rare for a student to capture peace so vividly.”
Heat crept up my neck. Compliments always felt heavier than criticism, somehow. I gave a small shrug. “I just… painted what I wanted to see.”
What I wanted to feel, really. A place untouched by pressure, fear, or expectations. A place where I could just breathe.
I left the art room feeling calm and refreshed as I headed to maths.
Math, of course, was the exact opposite of art. Cold numbers, sharp lines, and formulas that didn’t care how you felt inside. Normally, it left me tense, chewing the end of my pencil like it owed me money. But today… I didn’t mind it as much.
The stream was still in my head, the blossoms still glowing behind my eyes. Even as the teacher droned about quadratic equations, I sketched tiny arches and water ripples in the margin of my notes.
“Yamada,” Pa called suddenly, pulling me from my daydream. “X equals what?”
I blinked at the board, my stomach lurching. But instead of freezing up, I let the rhythm of the numbers settle, almost like brushstrokes. “Negative three?”
There was a pause. Then, “Correct.”
A couple of heads turned in surprise, but I just hid a small smile behind my notebook. Maybe art hadn’t made math easier—but it had made me lighter.
I walked to my dorm room, headphones in and on the loudest volume. I couldn't hear anything but the rythimic tunes playing in my ears. I felt light and at peace.
Until.
I opened the door to my dorm room and was immedeatly met with multiple white boards of carefully detailed plans and diagrams of how to get Sho and Momo together.
And in the middle of the heap?
Ves, Vas, Miko, Reiji, and Ranmaru.
Of course. *insert eye roll*
I yanked out one earbud. “…What in the matchmaking hell is this?”
Ves jumped up first, grinning like she’d just been caught red-handed. “Operation Confession Extravaganza! We’re making sure Todoroki doesn’t crash and burn when he confesses to Yaoyorozu.”
“Crash and burn?” I echoed, staring at the insane amount of diagrams littering the room. “This looks like you’re planning a bank heist.”
“Love is a heist,” Miko said dramatically, smacking a marker against the board. “You’ve got to plan every angle. Entry, exit, emotional timing—”
Vassar didn’t even look guilty. He was lying on my bed with an ice cream bar, casually flipping through one of the boards as if it were light reading. “Honestly? Their odds are better with us than without.”
Reiji gave me a sheepish wave. “They dragged me in. Said I had a good sense of aesthetics.”
“And me,” Ranmaru muttered from behind a pile of sticky notes. “Apparently I’m the ‘logistics guy.’ Don’t ask.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting a laugh. “You guys realize Sho didn’t ask for a task force, right? He just asked me for advice.”
Ves beamed. “Exactly. And now you have a support team!”
I groaned. So much for peace and quiet. "Where did you even get all this stuff?"
Vas looked away guiltily.. “I borrowed it from my roomates room. I forgot his name but don’t worry, I’ll put it all back… eventually.”
“Eventually?” I repeated, eyes flicking between the three giant whiteboards, two corkboards littered with color-coded sticky notes, and a suspiciously expensive-looking pack of glitter pens.
I sighed. "You know what? I'm not even gonna stay here. I'm going for a walk."
I walked into the bathroom, changed into some casual clothes, a bag that was pretty much empty except for a notebook, pen and some sweets.
I headed out but not for a walk. My steps carried me past the dorms, through the quiet courtyard, and toward the small, secluded training field I’d discovered earlier.
The chaos of the dorm room, the whiteboards, the sticky notes—they all faded behind me with every step. The mist from the morning still clung lightly to the grass, and the world felt slower, quieter.
I knelt on the dew-damp ground, letting my fingers sink into the cool soil. The vines twitched instinctively at my touch, sensing my presence, waiting. But this time, I didn’t push them into forceful shapes or complicated structures. I just let them coil gently around my wrists, alive but calm.
I pulled out my phone and played the beat of the song.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and let my voice flow. A low, steady note rose from my chest, vibrating through the earth and into the waiting vines.
(Sing along!)
Voilà- Emma Kok
Écoutez-moi
Moi, la chanteuse à demi, Parlez de moi
À vos amours, à vos amis
Parlez-leur de cette fille aux yeux noirs
Et de son rêve fou
Moi, c'que j'veux, c'est écrire des histoires
Qui arrivent jusqu'à vous
C'est tout
Voilà, voilà, voilà
Voilà qui je suis
Me voilà même si
Mise à nue, j'ai peur, oui
Me voilà dans le bruit
Et dans le silence
The sound was soft, a gentle hum rather than the roaring notes I’d used before.
Regardez-moi
Ou du moins ce qu'il en reste
Regardez-moi, Avant que je me déteste
Quoi vous dire, que les lèvres d'une autre
Ne vous diront pas
C'est peu de choses, mais moi tout ce que j'ai
Je le dépose là. Voilà
Voilà, voilà, voilà Voilà qui je suis
Me voilà même si, Mise à nue, c'est fini
C'est ma gueule, c'est mon cri
Me voilà, tant pis
Voilà, voilà, voilà, Voilà juste ici
Moi, mon rêve, mon envie
Comme j'en crève, comme j'en ris
Me voilà dans le bruit
Et dans le silence
The vines responded, stretching and curling in rhythm with the vibrations, growing slowly, purposefully.
Ne partez pas
J'vous en supplie restez longtemps
Ça m'sauvera p't'être pas, non
Mais faire sans vous, j'sais pas comment
Aimez-moi comme on aime un ami
Qui s'en va pour toujours
Je veux qu'on m'aime, parce que moi, je sais pas
Bien aimer mes contours
Voilà, voilà, voilà, Voilà qui je suis
Me voilà même si
Mise à nue, je compris
Me voilà dans le bruit
Et dans la fureur aussi
I felt the quiet thrill of control, not the violent bursts I’d pushed before. The growth wasn’t just happening—it was listening, responding to me, alive with the subtle energy of my song.
Regardez-moi enfin
Et mes yeux et mes mains
Tout c'que j'ai est ici
C'est ma gueule, c'est mon cri
Me voilà, me voilà, me voilà
Voilà, voilà, voilà, voilà
My voice rose as the note and my emotions grew.
Voilà, voilà, voilà
Voilà qui je suis
Me voilà même si
Mise à nue, c'est fini
C'est ma gueule, c'est mon cri
Me voilà, tant pis
Voilà
The last note lingered in the air, trembling softly, carrying every ounce of vulnerability and strength I’d poured into it. My chest rose and fell slowly, the vines curling gently around my wrists, flowers tilting as if listening to the echo of my voice.
The soft echo of my voice still hung in the air when a new sound cut through the quiet.
“That… was amazing, Yamada.”
I froze mid-breath, eyes snapping open. Standing a few feet away was Mei Hatsume, her goggles pushed up onto her forehead, hair sticking out at odd angles, and a wide grin that was entirely too energetic for the serene field.
I blinked at her. “Uh… thanks?” My voice was still rough from the song, but I tried to steady it.
She leaned forward, practically bouncing in place. “Seriously! The way your vines… I mean, they respond to your voice? That’s insane! I’ve seen quirks react to sound before, but not like that! And the flowers! Did you—did you make them glow on purpose?!”
I swallowed, my heart still racing, partly from the song, partly from the unexpected attention. "No, it-it just happened."
"It would be soo cool if I could make my inventions glow like that!" Then she paused like she just remembered something. "I'm Mei Hatsume by the way. I'm the one who made your hero costume, it was amazing to make. And I saw you with Vlad in the support classroom a few days ago."
I blinked at her, still trying to catch my breath. “Oh… right. The costume. Yeah, it’s… really comfortable. Thanks.” My voice came out quieter than I intended, and I shifted a little on the spot.
Her grin didn’t falter. “Comfortable and functional! That’s my motto. And hey, seeing you with Vlad? Yeah, I was totally spying… purely for scientific curiosity, of course.” She wiggled her fingers in the air like that explained everything.
I let out a small, awkward laugh, brushing a few stray petals from my sleeves. “Scientific curiosity… sure.”
She was about to say something else when another voice called for her. She turned to the voice, then back at me as she gave a wide smile, skipping away toward the voice.
I blinked after her, feeling the quiet settle back around me. The mist drifted lazily over the field, the glowing petals swaying gently, and for a moment it was just me and the vines again.
Then my phone buzzed sharply in my pocket, cutting through the calm. I pulled it out and froze.
Mom.
My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I hadn’t expected this—hadn’t wanted this. The screen glowed with her name, and my fingers hovered over it, unsure if I wanted to answer ort hrow it the other way.
After about five minutes of the phones constant ringing, I picked it up with a shaky breath. “H-hello?”
“Xylia, darling! How are you? How’s everything? I’ve been so worried about you!” Her voice was bright, effervescent, like nothing bad could exist in the world when she spoke.
I swallowed hard, glancing down at the vines curling around my wrists. "What do you want mom? We both know you're not just worried about me."
There was a pause on the line, the kind that made my stomach twist.
“Oh… Xylia,” her voice softened, just a fraction, almost wistful. “You’re right. I… I just… I wanted to hear your voice. I wanted to know how you’re really doing. And… I suppose part of me wanted a chance to explain. To try and make things right.”
If I didn't know better, I'd say she was being genuine and believe her. But I lived with this woman for 15 years of my life, I know when she's using that 'I'm only being nice right now so I can get what I want' tone.
I frowned. "Stop lying to me woman. First you send a text saying you want us to talk, and now you're calling me acting all nice and shit. I've lived with you for 15 years of my life. I know when you're lying, so spit it out already."
I began walking towards the dorm, incase I had a mental breakdown and need to get to lock myself somewhere.
There was a pause on the line, heavy and deliberate, and then her voice shifted—slick, smooth, with a sharp edge I hadn’t heard before.
“Oh, Xylia,” she said, almost purring now. “You wound me. Always so blunt, so distrustful… I suppose that’s why I’ve had to be careful with you all these years. But you’ve grown. Strong, capable… useful. And that’s exactly why I’m calling.”
I froze mid-step, my stomach twisting. That wistfulness, that softness from before—it was gone. All that remained was the same calculating undertone I’d known for fifteen years. She wasn’t here to apologize. She was here to take advantage.
“I… I’m not doing anything for you,” I said, voice tight and trembling. The vines along my arms pulsed faintly, curling like protective tendrils. “Not this time. Not ever.”
A small, almost amused laugh floated through the line. “Xylia… always so stubborn. You think I’d call just to hear your voice? Darling, I’ve missed too much, and now you’ve grown… wonderfully capable. Imagine what we could do together. Think of all the doors I can open for you—if you’d just cooperate.”
My jaw clenched. Each step toward the dorm became deliberate, grounding me. “I don’t care about your doors. I’m done being your pawn. I’m not falling for it.”
There was a quiet, slow sigh on the line, almost indulgent. “We’ll see, darling. I’ll wait. Always. You’ll come around… eventually.”
I pressed end, letting the phone slip into my pocket. The vines around my wrists uncurl slightly, easing their tension but still alert, protective.
I walked the rest of the way to the dorm in silence, every step reinforcing a truth I had to hold onto: not this time, not ever.
A/N; I wrote this on a whim cuz I had a spark of idea and decided to throw in a plot twist. Don't judge, I like plot twists.
The weight of yesterday didn't lift with the sunrise. Instead, it clung to my skin like the ash from my failed fire ball, an invisible residue I couldn't quite wash off. Lying in bed with my back to the wall, I watched the morning light filter through the blinds and paint thin stripes across the ceiling.
My phone lay face down on the nightstand, its silence more unsettling than any ringtone could have been. I hadn't replied to my mother. And I didn't know if I ever would.
“You’re thinking too hard again.”
Vespera’s voice, raspy from sleep, cut through the quiet. She was sitting up, her eyes already focused on the blank wall, a thoughtful, almost-too-still expression on her face. Her hair was a wild sprawl of white that made her look like fresh snow fall.
Kamiko snorted from her side of the room. “She always thinks too hard. It’s her human-form default setting.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I just rolled over and looked at the two of them.They were whispering to each other, a massive whiteboard propped up right in front of the bed. On it were flow charts and stick figures, all centered around a single, hastily drawn heart.
Vespera pointed to a small diagram. “The Confession Board is our first priority. Step one: research her interests. Step two: find the perfect setting.”
Vespera pointed to a small diagram. “The Confession Board is our first priority. Step one: research her interests. Step two: find the perfect setting.”
“Step three: emotional manipulation,” Kamiko added, her eyes glinting. “We need to make it so heartfelt she has no choice but to say yes. It is, after all, for Akari's best friend.”
They had been like this since last night, completely absorbed in their mission to help Shouto with his love life. It was a bizarre, almost endearing distraction from the storm in my own head.
I got out of bed, grabbing my uniform off the chair. “You do realize he’s a human with his own emotions, right? Not a quest objective.”
“All love is a quest, Moonbud,” Ves said with a sigh, not taking her eyes off the board. “And this one is ours.”
Kamiko got up and turned to me. "You better start getting ready Akari. Your classes will start soon."
When the morning bell rang, everyone else shuffled toward English. I dropped into my usual spot in the back, too caught up in my own head to notice the empty seat next to me. My mind was still replaying the fireball, Bakugou’s glare, my mother’s unanswered text—everything crashing together in a messy, unfixable loop.
It wasn’t until Present Mic called roll that I realized something was off. He scanned the room, paused, then frowned.
“Oi, kiddo. Why’re you here? You’re supposed to be with Vlad today.”
My stomach dropped. Oh, crap. Right. That arrangement.
Half the class turned to stare at me. I wanted to melt straight through my chair. Hastily, I scrambled up, mumbling something that might’ve been “sorry,” and bolted out the door before Mic could roast me with another nickname.
And sure enough—Vlad King was waiting at the end of the hall, arms crossed, foot tapping like he’d been expecting this exact screw-up.
“You forgot.” It wasn’t a question.
“…Maybe?” I said weakly.
His sigh could’ve powered a wind turbine. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
Vlad led me into one of the smaller practice rooms off the main hall. The kind with padded floors, reinforced walls, and shelves stacked with textbooks thicker than my forearm. He grabbed one off the shelf and dropped it in front of me with a thud that made the table wobble.
“This,” he said, tapping the cover, “is your new best friend.”
I glanced down. Applied Heroic Theory: Volume II. A dense, blocky title that screamed boring lectures and migraines.
“You’re not just here to throw around your quirk,” Vlad continued. “You need to understand the mechanics behind it. Why plants react the way they do, what chemical processes fire creates, how biology affects stamina. Theory first, control second, instinct third.”
I gave him a weak thumbs up. “Cool. Love theory. Totally my thing.”
He raised a brow, unimpressed. “Open to page seventy-three. Start reading.”
So I did. Or tried to. My brain immediately began staging a mutiny. Every paragraph felt like slogging through mud, my eyes darting to the walls, the clock, literally anywhere but the page.
Vlad noticed. Of course he did. “Focus, Yamada. The sooner you learn the science, the easier it’ll be to keep from blowing yourself up next time.”
That shut me up fast.
I had to suffer through thinking of this even though I didn't have to, so you're gonna have to suffer reading it even though you don't have to.
Excerpt from Applied Heroic Theory: Volume II, page 73 Section 4.2 — Bio-Combustion and Stored Solar Energy.
Plants differ fundamentally from inert fuels in that their tissues act as reservoirs of solar-derived chemical energy. Through the process of photosynthesis, light energy is converted into glucose and other carbohydrates, which in turn can be metabolized or stored as structural biomass (cellulose, lignin, etc.).
When an external quirk-user manipulates this energy, two primary outcomes are observed:
1.
Acceleration of Growth: By stimulating the plant’s metabolic pathways, the stored sugars are consumed rapidly, producing rapid cell division and enlargement.
Result: visibly increased height, leaf spread, and biomass.
Aftermath: Excessive hunger, headach and sore muscles.
2.
Bio-Combustion (Spontaneous Ignition): If energy output is unregulated, the stored sugars oxidize too quickly, generating volatile byproducts (oxygen radicals, ethanol vapors).
Under high quirk-intensity, this process culminates in spontaneous combustion of plant tissues.Spontaneous ignition in plant matter is rarely stable. Most often, flames collapse within seconds unless supplied by additional oxygen or combustible substrate.
The aftermath is typically nutrient-depleted ash, which—while destructive—can enrich surrounding soils if contained.
Case Study Reference: Evergreen Quirk-User #1157, “Ashwood.” Documented episodes revealed that combustion was rarely deliberate; rather, it was the body’s default response to energy oversaturation.
We spent the next hour dissecting the biology of combustion versus photosynthesis. Vlad asked me to explain, in my own words, why plants combust differently than raw chemical fire.
“Uh… because one’s, like… wood and leaves, and the other’s… gas or chemicals?” I offered.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Close enough to start. But you’re missing the point. Plants store energy from the sun. Your quirk manipulates that storage. If you don’t understand what kind of energy you’re pulling from, you’ll lose control every time.”
Something clicked in the back of my head. He wasn’t just making me memorize boring textbook lines—he was connecting it to me.
I scribbled notes furiously, doodling little vines and firebursts in the margins. For once, the storm in my chest quieted, replaced by the steady rhythm of pen scratching across paper.
Still, by the end of the second hour, my brain felt fried. My hands were itching to do something, not just read.
Vlad must’ve sensed it. “Alright. Enough theory. Time to put it into practice.”
He led me outside to a small greenhouse tucked behind the training wing. Sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating rows of potted plants, each neatly labeled.
“Your assignment,” Vlad said, gesturing to the room, “is to use your quirk to accelerate growth in one section without triggering combustion in another. Control, not chaos.”
The weight of the task settled heavy on my shoulders. Last time I’d “accelerated” anything, it had gone up in flames.
I crouched beside a tray of small ferns, pressing my fingertips to the soil. Heat curled beneath my skin instantly, vines prickling like they were impatient to leap free.
Slow. Breathe. Don’t force it.
I exhaled, coaxing the energy outward. A few shoots stretched taller, leaves unfurling with a faint shimmer. No fire. No explosion. Just growth.
I almost laughed from sheer relief—until, two pots down, a cluster of dry leaves suddenly ignited, crackling in tiny sparks.
“Focus!” Vlad barked.
I snapped my hand back, pulse hammering. “Sorry! Sorry—I didn’t mean—”
But then I noticed something strange. The flames sputtered out almost instantly, smothered by a creeping wave of moss that hadn’t been there a moment before.
My moss. My control.
I stared at the moss as if it were some alien creature. I hadn’t consciously grown it, but it had responded like a failsafe, covering the flames before they spread.
Vlad crouched beside me, examining the result. His eyes weren’t angry—they were thoughtful. “Interesting. Seems your quirk has its own form of self-regulation. When it senses danger, it balances with something opposite.”
“…Like nature does,” I murmured. “Growth and decay. Decay and regrowth.”
For the first time, that heavy knot in my chest loosened. Maybe my quirk wasn’t as out-of-control as I thought. Maybe it was trying to help me.
“Don’t rely on instinct alone,” Vlad warned. “But don’t ignore it either. Your job is to find the middle ground—direct the instinct, don’t fight it.”
I nodded slowly, tracing the moss with my fingertip. It was soft, cool, grounding. Like a reminder that even after fire, life found a way back.
By the 3rd the second-period bell rang, I was sweaty, exhausted, and covered in dirt—but also lighter somehow. Vlad clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. (English is a double period on Thursdays. English & English 1)
“Good work. You’ll be back here twice a week. Next time, we’ll push harder.”
I groaned. “Define harder.”
He smirked faintly. “You’ll see.”
As I trudged back toward the main building, the hallways were already buzzing with students switching classes. I caught snippets of gossip—Bakugou’s dodgeball massacre yesterday, someone nearly breaking a window, rumors swirling about training exercises.
And under it all, my own thoughts still lingered on my mother’s silent message. I shoved it away for now, letting the memory of the moss fill the gap instead.
One step at a time. Control, not chaos.
I straightened my shoulders and headed toward Japanese, bracing myself for whatever came next.
I barely made it back before 3rd period started. My uniform collar was crooked, my notebook was upside down, and my head was still buzzing with Vlad’s lecture about combustion like it was tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.
Japanese class was supposed to be normal. Boring. Safe. The kind of “zone out, copy notes, don’t set anything on fire” environment my fried brain desperately needed.
Five minutes in, I’d just managed to copy the first sentence on the board when the door slid open.
And in walked Pa.
Every head turned. Aizawa didn’t even say anything—he just crooked a finger at me. The class went silent, the air immediately heavy with curiosity. Even the teacher looked unsure whether to argue.
I mentally groaned for what felt like the billionth time today.
I shoved my notebook into my bag and shuffled out, cheeks burning at the stares drilling into my back.
Once we were in the hall, I hissed under my breath, “What the hell—?”
“You’re being reassigned,” he said flatly. His scarf twitched around his shoulders as he walked, and I had to jog to keep up. “No Japanese for you. You’ll be working with Cementoss for structural studies instead.”
“…Structural what now?”
He didn’t slow down. “Your quirk can affect plant growth and biomass density. You need a foundation in how structures are built, how weight is distributed, how materials hold—or fail. If you’re going to use vines or wood offensively or defensively, you need to know what they can support. Cementoss agreed to take you.”
I blinked, stumbling a little. Of all the random twists I expected, this wasn’t on the list. “So… I’m trading kanji for architecture?”
“Engineering,” Pa corrected. “Get used to it. You’ll thank me when your constructs don’t collapse on you in the field.”
He stopped outside a wide, chalk-dusted classroom where the walls looked like someone had fused an art studio with a construction site. Metal rulers, thick textbooks, and stacks of drafting paper were everywhere. Cementoss was already at the board, sketching out a cross-section of a bridge.
Pa gave me a gentle push forward. “She’s yours.”
Cementoss turned, his rocky features creasing into what I guessed was a smile. “Excellent. We’ll start simple: understanding load-bearing principles. Sit down, Akari. You’ll need a fresh notebook for this.”
I exhaled slowly and dropped into the nearest desk.
Okay. Fine. Structural studies instead of Japanese. Honestly? Probably better than public humiliation when my kanji stroke order inevitably betrayed me just cuz I wasn't paying attention.
But still—seriously? Load-bearing much?
Too Much On My Mind
The thoughts won’t stop, they spin and twine,
A thousand voices, none are mine.
Each whisper claws, each echo binds,
Too much, too heavy, on my mind.
The past replays in endless streams,
The future drowns my fragile dreams.
Hoping one day the weight will fade,
No peace to find, no place to hide,
Just storms that crash from deep inside.
Yet still I walk, though worn and slow,
Through tangled paths I barely know.
And silence bloom where noise was made.
The next chapter will continue from here since I had to cut it in 2 cuz it was getting too long. So the next chapter is still a Thursday and we are still with Cementos.
This came on a whim, nd yea I'm still working on the Aizawa one.
Imagine this:
You're a new student in class 2A and today is your first day. You're nervous, of course, but also a little curious about your class mates. Youve seen them all perform in the sports festival last year, youve seen how they fight villains often from the news and now you get to witness their destructive yet intriguing personalities first hand.
The only problem is, youre no ordinary person. Youre gang orcas daughter. Very shocking, you know. Your father has kept his personal life so private that no one knows if he even has a wife. But he does. Your mother is only known to her colleagues as Mrs. Tanahashi, the hardworking office worker with an information quirk.
What they don't know, however, is that her quirk goes much farther than retaining information. You look like your mother, but when using your quirk, it's very noticeable who's daughter you are. Which is why, in this new school, attention is a curse and invisibility is bliss.
You open the door to class 2A's homeroom and all eyes fall to you.
"Hm. Destroying that underground pipe line with Dabi would have been much more interesting" you think.
it’s honestly wild how some of yall tumblr writers write nsfw for jjk characters. its just horny slop atp. like, i get that thirsting is fun and all, but at some point you have to actually consider who the character is.
most of the time its two characters fucking and then their names and appearances are thrown in with very little characterization outside of boning
i open this app in hopes to read worthy pwp, angst, & fluff fics but then im faced with the most unimaginative, generic and eye-roll worthy slop. be so for real
don’t even get me started on the writers who use ai. u guys aren’t that slick lmfao
Saw this nd needed to say smth bout it. Nd yes I know I'm not that big of a writer on here but I try.
Anyway, in my opinion, it's a valid opinion that u don't want porn nd stuff on ur feed. U don't want to see it or it's not good or they're using ai and that's fine, that's YOUR opinion.
But to now call it "horny slop" is just rude, because if u weren't interacting with posts like that, u wouldn't see it. And it's not that hard to read something and not comment or scroll away if u don't like it.
Some ppl actually like these "horny slop" and the writers also like it. They do what they want and write what they want for people who engage in their posts.
Hence why some people like porn to the point of obsession and some just downright hate it. Now if ur saying its just cuz they don't right it well, then find someone who writes it the way you want or write it yourself.
The people who engage and like tho "not well written" posts know what they want and like, and no ones forcing you to read it.
So in conclusion, you're right but you're wrong. You can't complain about what you see because Tumblr shows u what you interact with, like most other social media apps. If u don't like what you see, change ur settings, it's possible. You don't have to come here and be rude about what other writers put their time, effort and as much imagination as they can gather into their work.
