specific tw: food/eating, chronic pain, anxiety. see masterpostfor genre + general tw.
notes: god i missed this fic
you sit on the edge of your bed – the one at yamada and aizawa’s house, not the one at your foster family’s house – and stare at the piece of paper in your hand. your phone is in your other hand, open to the contacts page. your favorites – your mentors and amanatsu-chan – hover at the top of the list. everyone else in your phone is either your foster parents or someone you’d done a school project with.
you don’t really want to call him – talking over the phone is just asking for a dry conversation that cannot be easily escaped. texting him is awkward but… less so. and not contacting him is worse, because if he gets in and so do you, you’ll have to see him every damn day, knowing you effectively ghosted him before you even talked.
you type midoriya’s number into a new contact and send a quick text.
specific tw: food/eating, chronic pain, anxiety. see masterpostfor genre + general tw.
notes: god i missed this fic
you sit on the edge of your bed – the one at yamada and aizawa’s house, not the one at your foster family’s house – and stare at the piece of paper in your hand. your phone is in your other hand, open to the contacts page. your favorites – your mentors and amanatsu-chan – hover at the top of the list. everyone else in your phone is either your foster parents or someone you’d done a school project with.
you don’t really want to call him – talking over the phone is just asking for a dry conversation that cannot be easily escaped. texting him is awkward but… less so. and not contacting him is worse, because if he gets in and so do you, you’ll have to see him every damn day, knowing you effectively ghosted him before you even talked.
you type midoriya’s number into a new contact and send a quick text.
you: hey, it’s [surname], from the exam
you plug your phone in to charge and lay down to take a nap, exhausted after the exam, when your phone buzzes on the floor next to your bed. your mattress is on the floor – it’s comfortable and you’re not going to fall very far out of it – so it’s easy to reach your phone. the screen glows with a text message. how the hell is he awake after getting nearly his entire body healed? shouldn’t he be practically comatose?
midoriya: oh hi!! this is midoriya!
so many exclamation points. anxiety. pleaser. you brush the unnecessary thoughts away and unlock your phone to open the message. several more pop up.
midoriya: you already knew that tho, sorry
midoriya: did you still want to tell me about your quirk?
midoriya: it’s okay if you don’t!!
jeez, he types as fast as he talks.
you: yeah, i can still tell you abt it
you: tomorrow work for you?
you pull the quilt further up to block the light coming from the window behind you. your head sinks into the pillow; your head hurts. the bright screen is making it worse. it feels like your brain is six feet outside of your skull, raw and exposed in the open air. your neck aches.
midoriya: yes! tomorrow is great! i live in musutafu, so if you do too, and if you want, we can meet up? i really don’t have anything to do while i wait for UA to release the results (;´・`)>
the kaomoji is cute. it makes the corner of your mouth twitch. the idea of seeing someone you don’t know well, however – that makes your skull nearly crack. you say yes anyway.
you: sure. i live in musutafu too
well, at least for the week while you wait for the results. no point heading back if you’re going to be attending school here. (not that you want to head back. being here is much easier.)
midoriya: great!! i’ll text you tomorrow about it ヽ(´▽｀)/
you turn on do not disturb and put your phone face down on the floor. your head fucking hurts, the bones in your fingers feel like they’re vibrating and grinding each other into dust, and you’re going to sleep. hopefully it’ll go away if you sleep.
—
aizawa is slumped over his bowl of rice and egg, but neither you nor yamada, presumably, is worried about him face-planting this morning – his grip on his chopsticks is good enough to indicate that he is, in fact, awake. yamada is eating at the speed of light in order to get to the radio station on time – not that he’s ever late in the first place.
you stare down at your bowl of tamago gohan. “hey, uh…”
yamada pauses and nods encouragingly, still stuffing rice into his mouth. aizawa turns imperceptibly towards you.
“do applicants get points for rescuing other applicants on the exam?”
aizawa is trying not to smile, or at least you assume he is, because he shoves his face down into the capture weapon he’s already wearing.
yamada looks blankly at you, chewing.
“yeah,” says aizawa, and shoves some rice into his mouth.
you go back to eating.
yamada chews faster and swallows in a hurry. “you’re not supposed to tell them that, shota!” he hisses, like it’ll do any good.
aizawa shrugs. “they already knew. illogical to lie to their face.”
“it’s not lying if i don’t say anything.”
“omitting information.”
“omitting information that they are not supposed to have!”
“omitting information,” aizawa says, firmer.
“and they say i’m the loudmouth?”
“cheap shot.”
“still scored.”
aizawa huffs – he’s not really annoyed – and turns to look at you. “why?”
“i saw someone at the exam only rescue people – they didn’t get any points from the robots.”
aizawa nods and eats some more rice. “they’ll be fine.”
yamada gets up to put his dish in the sink, “but don’t tell them that.”
“sure.” good thing you didn’t ghost him, then, since you’re probably going to end up in the same school.
your phone has a few texts waiting for you when you get back to your room after washing the dishes.
midoriya: i’m basically free all of today – we could meet at the takoba beach park?
you: okay – i can take the 4 pm train
midoriya: okay!! ill meet you at the station at 4:15?
you: see you then
you put your phone back down and crawl under the covers for another nap. your hands still feel like the bones in them might explode.
—
the train is mostly empty, so you sit in the back – you can see all of the doors from there – and put in one earbud. you leave your phone on do not disturb again, with only aizawa, yamada, amanatsu-chan, and midoriya’s notifications allowed. those are the only people you’ll need to talk to today.
the more rural and suburban areas of musutafu open up as you leave the city – more space, less places for people to hide, fewer people in the way. not quite as rural as your legal residence, though.
you can see him through the window of the train as it slows, waiting on the platform. he has his backpack on – which looks a little poorly proportioned on his broad frame – and a stupidly big smile. his expression actually hurts your stomach a little bit.
the doors slide open and you step off.
“hi!” he waves and you raise your hand in response, then shove it into your pocket.
“hi, midoriya.”
he looks at you, and you want to look away. neither of you speak, and neither of you look away.
“midoriya, the beach? how do we get there?” you prompt, finally ripping your gaze away, the silence too aggravating for you.
“right, right, yeah, uh, just follow me? i’ve been going there since i was a little kid and i spent a lot time there this summer so i know the way really well!”
you walk beside him. “i have one question, before you start asking me things.”
he nods way too quickly.
“actually, two. one – why do you want to know so much about my quirk? two – did you score any points on the exam yesterday?” you fix your gaze ahead, but you’re still watching for his reaction, which will hopefully be unguarded, since you’re not looking directly at him.
midoriya chews on his lip and walks a little faster. “for the first one, it’s because i find quirks really interesting! i’ve been analyzing them since i was a kid because i wanted to be a hero, and i really liked watching the fights and the news clips and, and, ah, i uh, didn’t get any points. no.”
“did you apply to the support department as well? they’d probably like to have a quirk analyst.”
“no, i didn’t. i really wanted to be in the hero course…” he tangles his fingers in his hair. “it probably sounds ridiculous. but i did really, really want to. i thought that maybe i’d have a chance.”
you hum. “maybe you still do.”
he whips around fast enough to break his neck, “what? but i didn’t– i didn’t get any points, i didn’t get any of the robots except that giant zero pointer that broke my arm! it would be stupid to keep hoping, you know? even if i passed or did well on the written exam…” he stops walking, looking at his feet. “even then, i need to accept that i won’t get in. i didn’t get any points on the practical, and i need to be realistic about it.”
you’re not sure if he’s telling you or himself, but a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, and you look at him from the corner of your eye. “but they never said admissions were based on points, so you still have a chance, right?” you leave out the part about rescue points.
midoriya laughs, bright and clear, sudden, and it burns like chlorinated pool water in your sinuses. he claps a hand over his mouth and then drags it down his face like he doesn’t know what to do with himself – he probably doesn’t. there’s a long silence as you start walking again, and he jogs to catch up.
you’re in step again when he almost trips over one of his feet in a sudden fit of excitement, apparently done processing (mumbling) and ready to launch into a rant.
“i might have a chance, i, i might actually have a chance. i can’t believe it, how did i miss that? that makes so much sense, though, because they just said we could gain points, not that it actually mattered how many you got… oh my god–”
“we’re here, midoriya.”
the waves, crystal blue, lap gently at the beach. it’s the afternoon, but the beach is relatively empty and calm, not crowded with people. or crowded with the piles of garbage that had washed up there. “this is much cleaner than i remember it being.”
just like last time, he follows your conversation jump without issue. “yeah i, i kind of spent the whole summer cleaning it?”
“nice. i’m sure the whole community appreciates it.” you have to actively work to make sure it doesn’t come out flat. you’re not entirely sure it works. you really do mean it, you think.
the compliment or the tone must set off some kind of alarm in his head, because he’s immediately waving it off. “no, no, no one knows i cleaned the beach! it was a personal project and it’s – oh no, now you think i picked this spot to brag about cleaning the bea–”
you kick some sand at his shoe, hands still in your pockets. “midoriya. i don’t think that. it’s fine.”
“really?” you’re quiet, and he slowly un-pretzels his arms from around his head. “oh, uh. okay. good!” he nods to himself. his smile slowly comes back until it feels like the sun is blazing full force in your face, bright enough to make you look away at a bench that happens to be to your right. it’s in the ocean grass right before the sand begins.
“we could sit over there?”
midoriya nods again and you sit down on the bench, one knee pulled to your chest. he sits next to you, cross legged, shoes on the bench, and pulls out a notebook and pen. the sun glows marigold on the white pages.
he scribbles your name down at the top and turns to you, “do you have a hero name yet?”
you rest your chin on your knee. “i haven’t picked one, no.”
he beams, and it feels like you’re in front of a solar flare. “that’s okay! i can help you come up with plenty later, if you want! or if you already have some ideas but you just don’t know which one to pick, i could help you with that too.”
you wait a few seconds to see if he’s done talking – this rant isn’t an anxiety tangent, so no need to interrupt it. “sure.”
“so, can you just manipulate energy in your surroundings? or produce it? or store it? can you absorb any energy at all, no matter the form?”
he writes as you respond.
“it has to… i have to use my physical body as a conduit in order to manipulate it. i can’t change it without it passing through some part of me. and i can store that energy, and i’d assume every form, although i haven’t tried nuclear, and for safety’s sake i won’t try it.”
midoriya keeps scribbling, apparently unphased by the nuclear comment. he pauses and taps the pen against the page, humming. “but what about sound, or light,” he mutters, the tapping speeding up, probably keeping time with his thoughts. “you can’t really touch those forms…”
“yes you can.”
he stops tapping his pen, blinking at you.
“if you can hear it or see it, you’re touching it, or more accurately, the energy is touching you. same thing with heat – if i can feel the heat from a fire, i’m touching the edge of that energy source, which means i have access to the whole thing.” this is starting to feel oddly like a quirk counseling or training session.
“is there a limit? to the amount of power you can hold? do you have to release it? what happens if your quirk gets canceled or you turn it off while holding energy – wait, wait, can you even turn your quirk off? does it work that way? what about turning off the absorption and the storage separately? can you do that?” he’s practically vibrating, pen blurring in his hand as he switches between writing and tapping the pen on the page.
you wish you’d brought a notebook, just to keep track of all of the questions. you grab at them, trying to keep them all centered in your mind until you can get through all of them. you lunge for the topic in general instead. “yeah, i can hold onto it – the more energy there is, the harder it is to hold onto. like dropping soap in the shower. if my quirk is cancelled, the energy dissipates. so far that’s been harmless.”
you have no idea how he can keep writing without looking at the page. he’s looking at you instead, beaming.
“and what about turning your quirk off? can you?”
“yeah, but i prefer to leave it on and just… intentionally not absorb anything.”
he turns to you and you can feel the next question that’s coming – why? doesn’t that lead to symptoms of overuse? – so you reroute the conversation.
“i have some questions for you, midoriya.”
you can see the way he mentally stumbles, tripping over himself as the momentum of the conversation shifts in an unexpected direction. “you have questions for me? about me? me?”
what he means is what could there possibly be to ask about, to know about him. a terrible sense of familiarity curls in your gut, so you abruptly swerve away from the quirk questions. you won’t reduce him to that, even if that’s what he’s reduced himself to, or perhaps what he’s beenreduced to.
“why do you want to be a hero?”
“it’s been my dream since i was a kid. and recently it’s become someone else’s dream for me, too, so i can’t let that person down!” he clenches his fist and smiles like he’s facing something down. it’s a childish kind of joy, one that should look out of place on a soon-to-be-hero’s face, but he wears it well.
you cock your head, “but… why is it your dream? it just being a dream isn’t a reason.”
“it’s my goal to save people, both from villains and from the possibility of villains. i don’t want anyone to be worried about being a victim,” he says, simply.
you nod and rest your chin back on your knee. “who’s your favorite?”
“all might! he’s just… i want to be unbeatable like that, so that way no one has to worry, so that people will see me and think ‘i’m safe now.’ i want to make people happy and safe, and he does that really well!”
he beams at you in the afternoon sun. “what about you?”
“my favorite?” you pull your other leg up onto the bench and turn to face him, mirroring his cross-legged position.
“yeah, your favorite!” he’s still holding his notebook and pen, but he’s not tapping or writing anymore. just waiting for you to answer, focused.
a smile cracks across your face, barely unrestrained. “eraserhead, present mic. but gang orca, fat gum, ingenium, joke, and midnight are close behind.” they’re all great to hang around. sakamata-san sucks at monopoly, though.
“they’re all really cool, yeah! have you met any of them? i was really lucky and got all might’s signature a few months ago.” he flips his notebook to a different page to show you.
“why am i not surprised that he signs in all caps?”
midoriya beams even brighter at that, laughs, and it stings a little less in your lungs than the first time. you have to force yourself to pick the conversation back up and not let it drop into the quiet white noise of the waves.
“yeah, i’ve met all of them, actually.” at yamada’s saturday game night. nemuri and emi are always there, and tensei used to bring kid’s games when i was small.
midoriya almost throws his notebook in his excitement, hands flying around again. “you met all of them? how?! they’re all so busy and their agencies are in completely different places! some of them don’t even do signings, so there’s no way you could have met them without either looking for them in their patrol areas or seeing them by chance, but that’s a lot of heroes to just see by–”
you reach out and take the pen out of his hand. his jaw snaps shut. he plays with the corner of one of the notebook’s pages, staring down at it instead of looking at you like he was before.
“sorry,” he says, quieter, slower. “i know that all the talking and mumbling to myself is annoying and creepy.”
you hand the pen back. “it’s not.” he looks like he gives himself whiplash from how fast he looks up.
“it’s not annoying,” you say it again, shrugging. “i just… i could explain it to you if you just ask. no need to wonder about it.”
he clutches at the pen with both hands, holding onto it tightly. he chews his lip again. “you’d answer? i know i’m asking a lot of questions. i don’t want to be a bother!” he lets go of the pen with one hand so he can wave rather frantically.
“if you were being a bother, you would know.”
midoriya’s smile comes back, not full force, wobbly and nervous, mercury knocked slightly out of orbit, bright and unsteady. he shuffles so that he can sit facing you. “so… then how did you meet them?”
you twist the truth as it rolls off your tongue. “one of them is my mentor.” two. “i met the other pros through them.”
he looks so incredibly excited that you worry all that energy will tear his body apart. “oh i have a mentor too! i can’t tell you who it is, so you don’t have to tell me who yours is, that would be unfair. do you think everyone at UA has a mentor? is it common?”
“i don’t think so, at least not for first years.”
midoriya slumps back against the arm of the bench. “oh, that’s a relief! at least i have a little less catching up to do, then.” he sits up fast enough that he almost falls off the bench. “i don’t mean that i’m ahead of everyone! i did not mean to come across that way, i just meant, uh.”
“you meant the gap you’re trying to cross is smaller than you thought it was for a second.”
he nods and relaxes again. you study him for a few seconds.
“you’ll catch up,” you say. he will.
midoriya looks at you like there are stars in his eyes, shining, glossy, probably because he’s tearing up. “i hope you’re right. there’s a lot riding on you being right.”
“i’m always right.”
he laughs. this time it doesn’t sting at all. “i hope you’re right about that, too.”
“you’re always hopeful, it seems.”
“i try.”
that makes you laugh through your nose. he glances at you when you do, and you see his smile melt into something soft, thoughtful. hopeful.
reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!! ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* main taglist here,series taglisthere. back to gt&h masterpost.
specific tw: anxiety, injuries, exercise (bc hero training). see masterpostfor genre + general tw.
notes: i apologize to anyone who wanted a not slow-burn romance. i’m terrible fjfj
you’re walking onto the field with midoriya and the rest of the class. aizawa is leading the class to the throwing pitch. his earlier comment about you being ahead had made it seem like you were the most obedient student, and the idea of being the teacher’s pet makes your skin crawl. you’re making your way to the top without favoritism as a stepping stone, and you need to know he’s not playing favorites.
but that wasn’t favoritism. that was a sharp comment used to keep the class in line. and, as a side effect, to put a target on your back. he was challenging me to do better.
you are where you are as a result of your own work, and it had better stay that way.
the class shuffles into a little crowd in front of aizawa, chattering nervously. he begins talking, and the whole class almost immediately falls silent, anxious to hear the test guidelines. “we’ll be testing your quirks today.”
specific tw: anxiety, injuries, exercise (bc hero training). see masterpostfor genre + general tw.
notes: i apologize to anyone who wanted a not slow-burn romance. i’m terrible fjfj
you’re walking onto the field with midoriya and the rest of the class. aizawa is leading the class to the throwing pitch. his earlier comment about you being ahead had made it seem like you were the most obedient student, and the idea of being the teacher’s pet makes your skin crawl. you’re making your way to the top without favoritism as a stepping stone, and you need to know he’s not playing favorites.
but that wasn’t favoritism. that was a sharp comment used to keep the class in line. and, as a side effect, to put a target on your back. he was challenging me to do better.
you are where you are as a result of your own work, and it had better stay that way.
the class shuffles into a little crowd in front of aizawa, chattering nervously. he begins talking, and the whole class almost immediately falls silent, anxious to hear the test guidelines. “we’ll be testing your quirks today.”
gravity girl’s hand shoots up.
“yes?”
“what about the entrance ceremony? orientation?” she wrings her hands.
“UA is known for having a freestyle education system. the professors are no different. there is no time to waste on ceremonial things. you have three years to become heroes, and that time is better spent learning than attending ceremonies,” he looks out over the class, and when no one raises their hand, he continues. “do you remember the no-quirks-allowed gym tests you participated in in middle school and high school? the ball throw, 50-meter dash, endurance run, etcetera?”
you see a few people nod in front of you, but mostly everyone just stares.
“it’s irrational to bar quirk usage on those exams. all that does is prevent you from reaching your highest potential.” aizawa turns sharply to look at bakugo, kacchan, asshole-bully-guy from the practical exam, whatever his name is. “bakugo-san, how far could you throw in high school?”
“sixty-seven meters.” he has a kind of bitter, snarling look to his face.
aizawa dips his face down into his scarf, and you know he’s hiding his smile again. he hands bakugo a softball. “do it with your quirk.”
bakugo takes the ball and steps into the circle.
aizawa pulls out his phone. “do whatever you want, but stay inside the circle.”
bakugo grins with too many teeth and stretches a bit. midoriya shuffles nervously next to you. you wonder if you can block the sound of explosions fully.
bakugo finishes stretching and winds up to throw, sending the softball rocketing off into the sky with a powerful blast from his hand and an eloquent “DIE!”
you muffle the explosion and the shout a little bit in your and midoriya’s area at the last second. he glances at you, mind clearly already spinning like a hamster on a wheel, but you don’t say anything.
aizawa holds up his phone, “705.2 meters,” he says. “it’s rational to know your limits; only then can you push beyond them, and only then can you build a foundation on which you can become a hero.”
there are various cries of excitement from your classmates, elated to have free reign over their quirks and to be able to show off in front of potential new rivals and friends.
aizawa laughs; the whole class pauses to look at him. “you all want to be heroes, right? and you think this is awesome? that it’s fun? that it’s a game? well, the person with the lowest score across all of the events will be judged as hopeless and lacking potential, and i will expel them.”
and re-enroll them, you think smugly, knowing aizawa is and has always been too much of a softie to expel a student permanently without a much stronger line of reasoning.
but the rest of the class doesn’t know that, just like they hadn’t known when aizawa was finished explaining earlier, inside, and the cluster of students erupts into chaos.
“that’s completely unfair, sensei! it’s only the first day!” gravity girl protests. you think of training sessions in the warehouse and the lack of mercy from sensei. aizawa was and is far more fair to you than sensei could have ever been.
“the world is full of unfairness,” aizawa responds, echoing your thoughts. “as heroes, it is your job to find, overcome, and correct unfairness. and for the next three years, you’ll be training and studying non-stop in order to improve your abilities to the point where you can do that. UA will put you through the wringer. it will feel unfair.” get used to it.
—
izuku worries that he’s about to die of a heart attack. he is paired with kacchan for the fifty-meter dash, and he’s completely unprepared for this test.
if i use one for all once, i’ll be incapacitated by pain for the entire rest of the exam, which means i have to choose one of the later events to boost my score.
one for all will only occur as a burst, since i can’t sustain it, so it’s no good for me to choose the endurance run, side stepping, toe-touch, or sit ups. the fifty-meter dash will be first, so i can’t choose that. grip strength and long jump come after, both ideal for a burst of power, but both too early for me to use one for all. that leaves the ball throw, which is in the middle, but later than the other options…
“choose the ball throw,” you whisper from next to him, completely nonchalant.
izuku jumps in surprise, although at this point it’s not that he’s surprised he’s mumbling his thoughts aloud, it’s that he’s surprised that you listened to him talk.
“you’re right that it’s the best for a burst of power and that it’s the latest opportunity you’ll have.”
he flounders. they’re my competitor, they shouldn’t be helping me – if i do well, they could be expelled instead! but maybe they know they don’t need to worry about being expelled, because they’ll do well enough? maybe they don’t think we’ll really be expelled?
“midoriya,” your voice pulls him out of his head again. he’s not sure if he was talking aloud this time, and you give no indication either way. “it’s your turn.”
he tries his hardest to race against kacchan, he really does. he does better than in high school, at least, but he ends up with a mouth full of soot from an explosion too close to his face. izuku steps back on the sidelines and tries his best to focus on the ball throw, to think through minimizing damage and maximizing power output.
instead, he watches you step up to the starting line. you’re racing the woman with the ponytail, who has made herself a light motorbike, the kind built for sudden acceleration in races. the air around you shimmers like a mirage, wavering, unstable. your eyes glow brighter and brighter.
aizawa starts the race and you’re off like a shot; he barely even sees you move, but you skid to a stop in a cloud of dust, ponytail lady following close behind.
“3.03 seconds,” the counting machine chirps helpfully, followed by ponytail’s time.
iida huffs and adjusts his glasses, and izuku remembers iida’s time: 3.04 seconds. holy shit. they’re faster. his hands itch for his notebook.
the grip strength has you nearly crushing the measuring device with hundreds of kilograms of force, and the standing long jump sends you ridiculously far. every event has him watching the air ripple around you and preparing for the smell of ozone and a crushing display of power. he watches kacchan fume as you stay ahead of him in every event, palms smoking.
then it’s time for the ball throw.
izuku steps into the circle. he takes a deep breath and prepares to throw with every ounce of power one for all can provide. but the end of the throw doesn’t feel like it should, it’s like he’s losing his grip on the ball, but that isn’t it.
“46 meters,” says the measuring machine.
his heart drops. he had tried to use one for all, and not only was he an unfit vessel, unable to contain that level of power, he couldn’t even call on it properly. the odd feeling of losing his grip is still there.
“i erased your quirk,” says aizawa-sensei, a good distance behind him.
izuku whirls around. that’s what that odd feeling was. my quirk was gone.
aizawa-sensei’s capture weapon is hovering around him and his hair is standing up. “the entrance exam is ridiculous and irrational. you cannot control your quirk; it incapacitates you. but you were still allowed in. after that throw, do you know what would have happened?”
izuku’s heart bangs against his ribs. he gets the sense that the question is rhetorical, so he keeps his mouth shut.
“you would have been unable to throw again without healing, just like in a combat situation, where you would be unable to aid your allies because you would either be physically incapacitated from the injury, or mentally incapacitated from the pain. you cannot be a hero if saving one person will take you out of commission.” aizawa-sensei sighs and closes his eyes tightly, hair floating back down as he snatches the ball with his capture weapon and hands it to izuku. “you have your quirk back. try again and get it over with.”
izuku’s face burns, his eyes sting. his classmates are chattering around him, and he hears kacchan make a comment about izuku probably being expelled. and the thing is, izuku knows, he knows that he hasn’t caught up, that he’s not even close to where everyone else is, that his quirk is working against him and that in his current state, he really did get in by luck.
but he stuffs his anxiety back down because he has another shot and he is not going to waste it, not when for the first time in his entire life, he has a friend, someone who believes in him.
yes, he has his mother, but she had scarcely begun to believe in him by this morning. yes, he has all might, but he is all might’s successor, it’s practically a requirement for him to believe in izuku. but you, you had no such obligation, no previous ties or relationship with him to maintain, no reason to butter him up or flatter him or say meaningless things.
izuku thinks of you, sitting on that bench at the beach, the calculating way you’d looked at him and said, completely confident in your words, “you’ll catch up.” he had hoped you were right, that even if he had to work harder than everyone else, he would be able to catch up. but in that moment, holding the ball on the dusty pitch, something clicks in the whirring of his mind: he has to make you right. for the first time in his life, someone believes in him, and instead of having someone to prove wrong, someone to defy, he has someone to prove right.
he was right to choose the ball throw. he was right to watch how the rest of his classmates used their quirks creatively, and even if his is new and uncontrollable and dangerous, he can use it just as creatively. he remembers the way you explained your quirk - your body as a physical conduit.
izuku throws the ball and releases the entirety of one for all through his finger at the last second. his vision blurs as the bones in his finger shatter, but he breathes through it as best he can, grinning madly, shoving his fist against his shirt in a weak attempt at pressure.
he’s shaking as he turns toward aizawa-sensei, and you, hovering just behind him, “i’m still standing, i can still fight,” he grits out, and he watches the barely perceptible nod you give him. aizawa-sensei ducks his face down into his capture weapon and izuku sees your mouth twitch in a suppressed smile. he smiles so hard that it hurts, even as his finger swells, purple and blue with bruises, pulsing pain in a sharp, terrible way. he can barely see you through his tears of both pain and relief, but he smiles.
“705.3 meters,” aizawa-sensei reads, and izuku wipes his eyes with his good hand just in time to see kacchan lunge for him.
but kacchan stops a couple meters away. aizawa-sensei’s capture weapon is wrapped around kacchan’s head and body, keeping him restrained, although he’s still shouting.
“stop using your quirk. i’m getting dry eye.” aizawa-sensei huffs and drags kacchan back toward him. you’re standing nearby, like before, and you look just as vicious as that day outside the exam hall.
“we’re moving on to the next events. stop wasting time.” aizawa releases kacchan, and izuku breathes as best he can. he still has the endurance run, sit ups, and toe-touch to get through.
—
the endurance run has always been your favorite, mostly because of the mental component, and because it was your favorite part of training on the weekdays, which you spent at your family’s house. it was always nice to get out of the house and run along the streets before your parents were awake, a peaceful and quiet moment to yourself.
this is anything but peaceful and quiet. yes, it’s an endurance run, but what it really is is a longer race.
you’re running in a dead sprint, neck-in-neck with iida. he’s taking strides as long as he can, pushing harder and harder to keep his pace and to pull ahead of you. you’re grasping at every bit of sunlight and ambient heat and noise that you can, even the noise of tennis shoes on the track, fueling yourself with your quirk and hurtling forward.
the finish line approaches. your feet are pounding the track, chest heaving, and iida is tearing along next to you. you cross the line and keep running, both of you going too fast to slow down, and as you taper off into jogging, you hear the machine chirp out your times.
they are the same.
iida slows to a walk. you do too. you turn backwards to watch the others race. he mimicks you.
yaoyorozu, the woman who sits behind you in class, has crossed the line on the motorcycle she used in the first event. midoriya is in the middle of the pack, looking a bit worse for wear. his hand is clearly bothering him, as is the idea of being expelled.
iida’s exhausted, resigned sigh makes you look at him. “[last name]-san… i do not think anyone outside the iida family has ever tied with me or beaten me in a foot race.”
“i’m glad to have someone to race against,” you say, unsure of how to respond. you stop to stretch.
“indeed.”
—
izuku’s stomach twists as he stands in a crowd of his classmates, waiting for the results. there’s nothing particularly notable about any of his records, except the ball throw. he runs over them all again, just in case he forgot something that could save him. there’s nothing to find. the ground sways underneath him.
you appear at his side, apparently a magnet for his anxious mumbling. “midoriya,” you say, cold and quiet, and he feels the ground still. “if you’re worried about being expelled, don’t.”
it’s simple, offers zero explanation, and is weirdly cryptic. it still makes his stomach flip a little less violently.
“here are the scores.” aizawa-sensei flicks upward on his phone and projects the rankings.
izuku starts at the top of the list (in doing so, he realizes how optimistic that seems, and how that will let him down in the gentlest way possible). your name is at the top, tied with a “yaoyorozu momo,” who he thinks is the woman who did the endurance run on a lightweight motorbike.
he skims down the rest of the names, over a “todoroki shoto,” kacchan, iida, but that’s as far as he gets before aizawa-sensei says something.
“the lowest scoring student will not be expelled.”
izuku’s heart drops out of his goddamn chest in relief, straight through his ribs and into the ground.
“what?!”someone shrieks.
aizawa-sensei grins like a cheshire cat, and it is not comforting. “it was a logical ruse.”
“i’m starting from the bottom,” izuku murmurs to himself.
“the bottom of the top,” you reply. “you worked hard to get here. keep working hard so you can stay.”
—
after a trip to recovery girl’s office, izuku returns to the classroom. aizawa-sensei is napping in the front in his yellow sleeping bag. there are syllabi and various course documents on everyone’s desks, but at least five students are clustered in the back of the class, around yours and yaoyorozu’s desks.
he sits down to look at the syllabi, but he’s instantly distracted by the topic of conversation behind him: quirks.
“i can make anything non-living, as long as i know the chemical formulas and have enough lipids,” yaoyorozu explains.
“and what about you, [last name]-san? you kept up with pretty much everyone. do you have a strength quirk or something?” the question comes from a floating uniform – hagakure, izuku reminds himself.
he expects you to explain the basics, if not the details of your quirk. but you’re silent as you cast your gaze over the group of students, and you shake your head a bit when you make eye contact with izuku. he gets the message: don’t say anything. “my quirk is similar to yaoyorozu’s in that it’s an all-purpose type of thing. other than that, you don’t need to know anything right now. i will explain it in the future if necessary.”
his heart stops; he’s never been part of a secret before in his life. and this is a secret that’s special in a different way entirely. you’d told him all about your quirk, no resistance at all, handing over every bit of information he’d asked for. but here you are, refusing to tell your classmates anything, even though it would be beneficial for future training exercises.
izuku doesn’t like being selfish. he thinks it’s wrong. but he watches you snap at a blonde student with a lightning bolt in his hair (kaminari denki, his mind supplies) when he keeps pushing for information on your quirk. he watches your classmates guess your quirk, watches you batting them around like a cat with a mouse in its paws. your responses are short and clipped, ice cold, closed off. he realizes that he’s the only one being included here, the only one you bother to treat just a little more gently, openly, and his head spins. he is your exception in that moment, and he’s deliriously happy with that revelation.
izuku doesn’t like being selfish, but all his life he’s been the one excluded, never the exception to the rule, always the example; he thinks he might be okay with being selfish about you.
reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!! ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* main taglist here,series taglisthere. back to gt&h masterpost.
specific tw: anxiety, overthinking. see masterpostfor genre + general tw.
notes: sure, everyone reading this knows you got into UA - but do you know you got into UA?
you’re laying on your back on top of your quilt, earbuds in and one of the cats sitting on your stomach while you pet her. she’s your favorite cat, azuki, a birman with grey and white coloring. her job, and the music’s job, is to crush the anxiety bubbling in your chest.
the UA exam was easy, even the practical. you have no reason to worry about getting in, and even if you did have reason to worry, you could easily get into shiketsu or some other university. but that competitive drive stabs at you, demands that you go to the top school, and anxiety crinkles like bubble wrap.
specific tw: anxiety, overthinking. see masterpostfor genre + general tw.
notes: sure, everyone reading this knows you got into UA - but do you know you got into UA?
you’re laying on your back on top of your quilt, earbuds in and one of the cats sitting on your stomach while you pet her. she’s your favorite cat, azuki, a birman with grey and white coloring. her job, and the music’s job, is to crush the anxiety bubbling in your chest.
the UA exam was easy, even the practical. you have no reason to worry about getting in, and even if you did have reason to worry, you could easily get into shiketsu or some other university. but that competitive drive stabs at you, demands that you go to the top school, and anxiety crinkles like bubble wrap.
specific tw: anxiety, overthinking. see masterpostfor genre + general tw.
notes: sure, everyone reading this knows you got into UA - but do you know you got into UA?
you’re laying on your back on top of your quilt, earbuds in and one of the cats sitting on your stomach while you pet her. she’s your favorite cat, azuki, a birman with grey and white coloring. her job, and the music’s job, is to crush the anxiety bubbling in your chest.
the UA exam was easy, even the practical. you have no reason to worry about getting in, and even if you did have reason to worry, you could easily get into shiketsu or some other university. but that competitive drive stabs at you, demands that you go to the top school, and anxiety crinkles like bubble wrap.
you stomp on it, and every single bubble pops, leaving you flat and apathetic. you haul azuki further up so that she can curl up next to your head. your whole body itches with the need to do something, anything.train, run, talk, kick something, anything. but you’re going to lie there and ignorethat nervousness if it kills you. there’s nothing to do but wait, and you’ll be damned if you let this stupid, irrational fear run your life.
there’s a gentle knock on your door, so gentle that you almost think it’s just part of the track you’re listening to. you sit up sowly. the cat jumps off the bed and walks toward the door to rub her chin on yamada’s pajama pants; he’s standing half in the room, half behind the door. azuki purrs loudly and smashes her face into his shin.
“hey, can i come in?” he’s holding a letter. your stomach jams itself against your lungs.
you nod and take your earbuds out. yamada sits on the edge of your bed.
“is aizawa home yet?” you ask. he might want to be here to watch you open it.
yamada laughs, hoarse and booming, a little wheezy. he spends all day yelling. “yes,” he says, looking smug. “he’s sitting in the kitchen, stress-drinking coffee. he won’t admit it, but he’s scared of both possibilities.” he hands you the letter. “why don’t you open it and put him out of his misery.”
the front of the letter is addressed to you, the back embossed with the UA logo. you slip a finger under the edge of the envelope and begin prying it open. your hands shake so badly that you can’t rip it open cleanly, and the top edge ends up a mangled mess of paper. “i couldn’t put him out of his misery if i tried.”
yamada just nods.
there’s a projection disc inside the envelope. couldn’t they just send a letter? you shake your head and put the disc down on the comforter, careful to leave it upside down so it doesn’t accidentally start playing. you stare at it. your skin buzzes with impatience.
“you know shota will be proud of you, we’ll be proud of you, no matter the result, right?” yamada says. you can’t see his expression, unwilling to look up, but you know it must be horrifyingly forgiving.
your head spins as you pick the disc up, anger and anxiety wrestling in the eye of your hurricane mind. the pride yamada has in you makes something inside you rage and thrash, desperate, fighting against a lull, like a predator just before a tranquilizer dart takes effect.
you nod.
“do you want me to stay?”
the brief, impossible scenario of bursting into tears in front of yamada flashes into your mind. it won’t happen for a multitude of reasons, but it’s enough to put you off the idea of another person in the room. “no, it’s okay. you can go worry with aizawa.”
he snorts. “okay, kiddo. i’ll go worry with him. not that i’m worried, i know you’re going to get in, i just… let us know when you’re ready.” he rests his hand on your shoulder, and it’s so gentle and so yamada that it actually soothes you.
the anxiety fizzing underneath your skin dissipates, just for a second. “alright. i’ll let you know.”
azuki follows him to the door, yowling. he scoops her up. “i’ll take her with me. she’ll make shota feel a little better.” he shuts the door behind him.
you flip the disc over, and a projection comes to life above it.
all might comes into the frame and announces that he’s teaching at UA. the exact words skim over the surface of your mind as you will the video to progress faster, to just get to the results so you can have some goddamn peace of mind.
“with fifty-five villain points and thirty-five rescue points, not to mention a nearly perfect score on the written exam, you’re a shoe-in for UA, young [last name]!” all might booms, giving you an aggressive thumbs up. “welcome to your hero academia!”
the projection narrows to a thin black line and disappears. elation flits through your veins and leaves you to flatline on something empty. you know competition will jumpstart your heart later, anyways. you stare at the wall of your room, a few feet from the end of your bed.
numbers float through your mind. fifty-five. thirty-five. ninety points. scores are never disclosed to the public, so they’re meaningless without comparison. you can only assume that the shoe-in comment means you’re above the median score. good enough to get in, and good enough to be above the median, but nebulous, hanging somewhere between the top and the middle, and abstract and pointless in the face of real combat, real rescue situations, real villains, real quirk use. enough to get in, but not enough to matter.
your phone buzzes next to you on the quilt, startling you out of your reverie. midoriya’s contact pops up on the screen. your fingers hover over the accept call button.
you’d met him earlier, at the beginning of the week, and after that you’d occasionally texted, speculating about the exam or discussing the latest villain fight from the news. but you hadn’t called, and phone calls are much harder to escape than texting conversations. you can’t just leave whenever you want to, and your responses have to be more immediate. you’re running out of time, you realize, watching your phone shift a little on the quilt as it rings.
you put your earbuds back in and accept the call.
“hi, midoriya,” you edge in as soon as you hear the call connect, knowing he’s going to start talking the instant you pick up.
“hi [last name]!” you hear him take a deep breath, and you know he’s about to talk as fast as he can. “i already told my mom this but i wasn’t sure who else to call because i don’t really have anyone else to tell except my mentor? but i’llsee my mentor later so it would be redundant to call him, and i shouldn’t call kacchan about this since he’ll be angry enough as it is when he finds out through the school, so i called you, since you’re the only other person i talk to and who i think should know about this.”
the world passes around you like you’re in a bullet train, blurring fast and meaningless, distracting you from what he’s saying. “what is it you wanted to tell me?” you take a shot in the dark and hope that it’s accurate enough to keep the conversation on the rails.
“yes, right! uh, anyways, i… did you get your UA results yet? i don’t want to tell you this if you haven’t opened your results yet!” he must be practically vibrating with excitement.
you huff, a soft, barely there laugh. “yeah, i just opened them. i think we all get them at around the same time.”
“okay, okay so!” his voice gets thick, like he’s talking around the urge to cry. you hear him sniff. “i, i did it! i got in!” he laughs a little hysterically. you’re sure he’s openly sobbing, hand clapped over his mouth. “you were right, well sort of, there were points for rescuing that nice lady from the zero pointer, so you were right that i had a chance, just not right that points didn’t matter.”
“i was right, ultimately,” you push.
“and i was right to be hopeful,” he pushes back. you can practically see the determined gleam in his eye.
you play with the edge of the quilt in your lap. “what course?”
“i’m in the hero course, [last name], the hero course. and all might is going to be teaching us. all might.”
“us?” you say slowly, “isn’t that a little presumptive? what if i didn’t get in?” the corner of your mouth tugs up, and alone in your room, you still force it back down, just out of habit. just in case leniency now means leniency later.
midoriya stutters on the other end of the phone. “i– you– what? you had to have gotten in! i saw you taking down those robots – the ones at the beginning should’ve been enough on their own, but then i saw some other ones near the end and you should have some points from helping rescue that nice person from the zero pointer. there’s no way you didn’t get it. unless you’re right and points don’t matter and they just decided to let me in for some other reason? maybe because of my mentor? and the points were all a ruse? maybe–”
a laugh bubbles up in your throat. you barely manage to suppress it. “midoriya,” you cut him off.
“yes?”
“i was joking.”
“oh… oh, well thank goodness because i don’t know anyone else except kacchan in the hero course, and i didn’t want to be all by myself, and maybe you don’t either – not that i’m saying you don’t have friends or–”
“midoriya.”
he hums, voice pitching with nervousness.
“it’s fine,” you continue, “and i’m in 1-A. are you in A or B?”
“that’s great! that’s amazing! i’m in 1-A too! i’m going to have so soso much catching up to do but that’s okay, that’s perfectly fine because i did it! we did it! we’re going to UA!”
you have catching up to do, untold amounts of it, considering you’ve never met your other classmates. and considering midoriya will probably accelerate to the top of the class at light speed.
the thought of classes and work spills over into your earlier discussion with midoriya about mentors, and you remember that aizawa and yamada are waiting in the kitchen, probably ridiculously concerned because you’ve been sitting in your room for so long.
“i should probably go, i have a few other people to call about the acceptance.” you fumble for a way out of the conversation after midoriya’s inspiring mini-speech.
“yes, right! go do that.” he sounds so bright and clear, even over the phone.
“i’ll see you in class,” you say, lowly enough that you’re not sure he’ll hear. you’re not sure why you say it, either.
“alright, yeah, i’ll see you then. bye?”
“bye, midoriya.”
“bye!”
you hang up before the awkward chain of goodbyes can continue, and sit there in your pajamas, phone held loosely in your hand, projection disk in your lap, quilt pooling around you. the world spins lightly, only inside your head. the room is still. the hurricane in your mind is not, propelled onward by some unseen force. the air is cool and dry; you shut your eyes against it, against something.
you take a deep breath and haul yourself out of bed.
the wooden floor is cool and smooth, grounding as you stand there, willing yourself forward, something about the idea of your acceptance to UA being acknowledged holding you back. like petting the spine of a cat the wrong way, or hugging someone you despise, a special form of discomfort that makes you angry first and uncomfortable later.
you dig your nails into your hand and plow forward, opening the door and walking down the hallway to the kitchen. aizawa is sitting at the kitchen counter, surrounded by three different coffee mugs, and yamada is perched on a stool next to him, hand on his arm. words ball up behind your tongue, different ways to announce your acceptance. a thought tumbles out like the first spray of snow in an avalanche.
“have fun dealing with me in class.”
yamada, in his typical emotional manner, jumps up and runs to hug you. “i always knew you could do it,” he says, hugging you tighter, and it doesn’t make you angry or uncomfortable. it never has, no matter how afraid you were that it might begin to one day. yamada and aizawa have never been the people to make you angry.
“you will be more tolerable than the other students, most likely. and don’t make me expel you. expelling and subsequently re-enrolling my own student would be illogical and embarrassing.”
yamada lets go of you and returns to his seat next to aizawa. you sit down at the end of the counter.
“i won’t disappoint you,” you say, looking aizawa dead in the eyes.
he sips his coffee, and you get the feeling he’s hiding a smile behind the rim of his cup. “i never thought you would.”
—
izuku is standing in the subway car – he gave his seat to an elderly woman, she needed it much more than he did – when he sees you board at a stop near UA. you’re blank-faced with your earbuds in, just like the last time he saw you at the subway station near his apartment.
he hopes you’ll see him and come stand with him, a little fluttering thing in his chest, wishing for a friend. you walk further into the car, hands in your pockets, unhurried even as the subway pulls away from the stop and begins to move. you’re looking down just enough to avoid the gaze of most people in the car without seeming shy. he sees you pause a few seats away from him, gaze locked on the ground near him. and then, in a heart-stopping, anxiety-inducing moment where he wonders if his wishing actually worked and he has some obscure quirk he only now activated the condition for, you approach him, eyes flat and expressionless, but addressing him.
“i recognized your shoes.” you grab the ceiling handle next to the one he’s holding and take one earbud out.
izuku feels a blush spread under his freckles at the comment. he is suddenly hyper aware of his shoes. “yes, uh, they’re… distinctive?”
he watches the way you smile, if it can be called that. it’s faint and could easily be mistaken for the natural position of someone’s mouth, a slight upturn, if he hadn’t seen the flat, even slight frown, to your face when you weren’t paying attention to anything in particular. he desperately hopes that your smile is not a cruel one.
you raise an eyebrow at him after a moment. maybe your smile was cruel?
“your tie is tied wrong.” the way you say it makes it sound like a fact, but not like an insult. he suspends judgement on your smile. it’s something he can figure out later. his hyper awareness switches from his shoes to his tie.
“yeah, i don’t really know how to tie it? i never learned because my high school uniform didn’t have a tie, and neither did my middle school one. i tried googling it but it was kind of difficult to figure out? i’m not the best with spatial awareness and geometry, so i tied it kind of messily…” izuku touches the back of his neck, and his hyper awareness switches to that instead, knowing that you know that it’s a self-soothing gesture, meant to smooth out his fraying nerves. it has the opposite effect and he can feel the way his mind tailspins into a feedback loop of his own behavior, out of control and swerving wildly inside his head.
his eyes refocus on you when you step closer to him. he almost stumbles back in surprise, but catches himself with the ceiling handle.
“i’ll fix it,” you mutter, shrugging, hands already on his tie. izuku is pretty sure his entire body goes bright red at your close proximity – although that would happen from being that close to any person, contact has always flustered him and he assures himself that it’s just the nerves from his first day that are making him like this. but he’s self-aware enough to know that that assurance is only a half-truth, and that he wants to impress you, to be your friend, and he’s been down this path before and he can only hope this one ends in a better place than it previously did.
the wormhole of his thoughts spits him back out in the real world, with you smoothing his tie down after fixing it. “thanks,” he chokes out, incredibly grateful when his – and your – subway stop arrives and the train comes to a halt – he can take the time of walking off the subway to process what just happened.
except he doesn’t get that time, because you pull both of your earbuds out, coil them around your fingers, stuff them into the pocket of your blazer, and say “let’s go,” which just leaves him speed walking after you.
you walk so fast that he worries you’re both late, but according to the time on his phone, you both still have twenty minutes before you even need to be in the classroom.
“do you know anyone in 1-A?” you ask him, staring straight ahead as you pass through UA’s gates.
thirty-six students, four recommendations, split in half, twenty people in 1-A. he hopes he knows only you, because everyone else at the exam – except maybe the nice woman with the gravity quirk – terrified him. “no, i don’t think so.”
“me neither.” except me, they know me? but that was probably implied…
you start up the stairs. there’s a ridiculous amount of flights, and he’s terribly glad that he’s much more in shape now than he was at the beginning of the summer. you’re still speed walking – stepping? – up the stairs, and it would’ve been embarrassing to fall behind or struggle to keep up.
izuku stands in the stairwell and stares down the long hallway of the floor classroom 1-A is on. his hands sweat.
your voice breaks through the cloud of anxiety forming in his mind like the beacon of a lighthouse. “it’s good that you don’t know any of them. there’ll be plenty of new quirks for you to take notes on.”
as soon as you’re done talking, you’re already walking towards the classroom entrance. izuku scrambles after you and manages to fall into step as you reach the door. it’s extremely tall and wide – probably to accommodate students and teachers with quirks that make them bigger in some way, like wings or a tail or a quirk like fat gum’s. you slide it open.
he stands next to you in the doorway, eyes flickering over the different students. kacchan. the scary fast guy from the exam. the nice gravity girl.
izuku looks back at the whole room and sees every student staring at both of you. the fast guy with glasses approaches and he blanks, mouth dry, fingers shaking.
“i’m iida tenya. i attended somei private academy. please do not sit with your feet on the desk like bakugo-kun is doing, it is disrespectful.” he makes a sharp, downward sweeping motion with his arm, hand parallel to the ground, and it’s sudden enough to startle izuku into talking.
“i’m– ah, i’m midoriya izuku. pleased to meet you, iida-kun.” he feels like he’s running down a hill too fast, feet milliseconds from tangling and sending him sprawling.
“i’m [last name] [first name].” the lack of pleasantries makes izuku feel like his throat is closing a little bit from the potential confrontation. then he remembers that you don’t use an honorific for him, and his throat closes a little more, thousands of reasons dancing in his head.
iida pushes his glasses up and stares izuku down. well, the space between you and izuku. “i… midoriya-kun, [last name]-san. both of you understood the practical exam far better than i did. you understood its true purpose and test. it does not please me to admit this, but you were both superior candidates to me.” he sighs, “midoriya-kun, you especially i would like to apologize to. i believe i was rather rude to you at the exam instruction seminar. i misjudged you.”
izuku is pretty sure his jaw is on the floor. he tries to explain, but the words won’t fit right in his mouth, “i– didn’t? the exam was just? iida-kun i– i didn’t, i’m not superior–”
“midoriya,” you butt in. “take the compliment. and sit down. sensei will be here soon, and it’s best that everyone is in their seats when that happens.”
izuku refocuses on the rest of the class, searching for his seat, and realizes that every student is watching the exchange between you, him, and iida. most of them hurriedly sit down at your comment, suddenly aware that they are in a classroom and that they want to make a good impression on their professor.
he hears you huff and sees you take a piece of paper out of your pocket, probably to check your seat number. you make your way toward the back of the room and sit down in seat nineteen, in front of a woman with glossy black hair in a high ponytail. izuku checks his seat number. eighteen. he sits down in front of you. kacchan is sitting directly in front of him. izuku fiddles with his tie.
a couple of students are still hanging out near the doorway when a yellow sleeping bag, with a person in it, flops down between them. the students jump in surprise, and one screeches.
the sleeping bag unzips slightly. izuku gapes; eraserhead is our homeroom professor.
“if you’re here to socialize, then get out. if you’re here to learn, get in your seats.”
the students scramble to sit down.
eraserhead stands up out of his sleeping bag and walks to the speaking podium, checking his watch. “only five seconds,” he mutters, and izuku can’t tell whether he’s looking at him, you, or the woman behind you. “still, time is a precious resource. you all will need to behave in a rational, efficient manner to get what needs to be done, done.”
kacchan scoffs lightly in front of him. eraserhead ignores him.
“i’m your home room professor, aizawa shota. pleased to meet you. don’t give me a reason to expel you, and don’t be late.” he surveys the classroom, but no one says anything in response. “change into your gym clothes. head out to the grounds. we’ll be conducting a test of sorts today.”
the class waits for him to continue, to explain the test. izuku’s mind buzzes with the possibilities, and with the reality that he is completely unprepared for this test, that he has no idea what it is, or how it will be scored, and that he is behind the others in every way possible.
the buzzing cuts off as he hears you stand up behind him, and then aizawa-sensei says something just after you do so. “what are you all waiting for? [last name]-san is already ahead of you.”
the entire class rushes to catch up.
reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!! ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* main taglist here,series taglisthere. back to gt&h masterpost.
The site is incrediblymisleading, the tagline literally stating “For your health, choice and future.” The front page has three links labeled “Pregnancy,” “Adoption” and “Abortion.” “Abortion” is not clickable but the other two are. There are three ‘happy client stories’ and only one has talked about deciding to parent, the other two are extremely open-ended and leave a lot up to the person reading the ‘story’ and one even makes it sound like they’re opting for an abortion but ‘haven’t decided yet.’ There is no indication they do not preform abortions aside from a small ‘disclaimer’ stating a list of services they do not provide. The list reads as follows:
“
~All of Positive Options’ services are free of charge; ~Medical services are overseen by licensed medical professionals, some of whom are volunteers; ~Our pregnancy test is 99% accurate 3 to 5 days before a missed period (positive or negative); ~Positive Options recommends clients consult a licensed physician to confirm the results of a pregnancy test or ultrasound; ~Any counsel received at Positive Options is not intended as a substitute for professional counseling; ~The use of electronic recording devices will not be permitted in order to protect client privacy and the privacy of Positive Options staff; ~Any attempt to obtain services or resources under false pretenses will result in the discontinuation of services; and, ~All information is kept confidential and will not be released without a client’s written consent, except if child abuse and/or criminal sexual conduct reporting laws apply or if we believe or hear that a client is in danger of hurting themselves or others. ~Positive Options does not offer annual exams, birth control devices, mid-life services, abortion services or referrals, mammograms or breast screening, in-vitro fertilization services, pre or post-natal care, treatment of infertility, or treatment of reproductive tract infections. ~Clients will receive a referral list of local physicians for continued reproductive care. ~The contents of this website are for information purposes only. The content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. ~In no event shall Positive Options be responsible or liable, directly or indirectly, for any damage or loss caused or alleged to be caused by or in connection with the use of or reliance on the content of this website.
“
Some items have been bolded because they deserve extra attention and cause suspicion.
This site has an entire page dedicated to abortion and the different types with no indicators that this ‘clinic’ does not offer them. Oh, excuse me, yes they do have a smalldisclaimer at the bottom of the ‘services’ page:
I have gone through the entire site at least four times and only justnoticed this. I couldn’t imagine what a scared, nervous, anxious, or upset pregnant person could miss or interpret.
The ‘medical team’ includes two Nurses (Linda Dykstra RN, Nurse Sonographer and Val Kuipers RN, Nurse Sonographer) and a Nurse Practitioner (Mary Teerman LPN, Nurse Sonographer) and a Doctor Jim Gerard, MD the Medical Director, and a local practicing OB/GYN in West Michigan. Three nurses and one doctor for four locations? My general practitioner has two LPN’s and about six nurses and she’s in a small family practice!
Also this cute line:
“We are dedicated to providing our communities with a wide range of free and confidential services to all.”
Yeah, you mean pee tests and free ultrasounds. That’s a ‘wide range’ of services.
So if you live in or near Allendale, Allegan, Grand Haven, and Holland be aware of Positive Options. If you do drop by, say hi to aubscares for me. :)
Imagine your F/O helping you get through a wave of anxiety… you know, one of those times when you just aren’t feeling that calm or comfortable, and feel stuck with a sense of nervousness, even if nothing terrible has happened recently; you just feel “off” and don’t know what to do. Your F/O understands that it can be challenging to deal with, and does whatever it takes to help you get through it.
Maybe being distracted by a familiar show or movie can help ease your mind a bit. In that case, your F/O asks you to join them on the sofa underneath your favorite blanket, turns on the TV, and watches it together with you, making the occasional funny comment that gets you to laugh, and gently stroking your hair and back to keep you feeling grounded and secure.
Maybe you feel better going outside your home for a while to get some fresh air - that’s okay, too. Your F/O will happily accompany you to anyplace that helps distract you, like your favorite park to take a relaxing stroll while observing nature together.
Maybe it’s been a while since you last had something to eat, and that’s what’s throwing your mood off. Your F/O doesn’t mind making you your favorite comfort food, or making a quick stop at the store to pick it up for you.
Your F/O understands that the way you feel isn’t your fault. There’s no need to blame yourself for ending up in a low mood again… it can happen sometimes, especially if you’ve been struggling or dealing with more than you give yourself credit for. Your F/O loves to see you happy, but they aren’t disappointed in you if you can’t feel happy all of the time. They’re always going to be there to support you through whatever type of mood you’re in, and be there for you for as long as it takes to feel a little better again.
i thought things would get better because it’s summer….
honestly i feel terrible all the time and i am having overwhelming anxiety to where i am breathing oddly all the time and my stomach is in knots and i just i really wish i had something or someone
they don’t tell you what anxious impulsivity looks like.
when people imagine anxiety, they always imagine risk averse behavior. you overthink, you’re deliberate, your thinking is catastrophic, and you’re always thinking through seventeen possible scenarios in which things can go wrong.
but sometimes you’re so anxious and things feel so horrible that you do things without thinking because you want the bad feelings to stop. you say something stupid in a group chat, so you immediately leave all of your servers and block your friends so that you don’t have to see the aftermath. you’re unsure about your relationship, so you break up with your partner out of nowhere or you wake up one morning and just decide to ghost them so you don’t have to deal with it anymore. you’re uncomfortable at a party with people you don’t know, so you run outside and take the train home at 3am without realizing how dangerous that is because you just need to leave.
your anxiety can get so bad that, in an attempt to feel safe and secure, you can’t predict what you’ll do next.
My therapist and I have done a lot of talking about peaks and valleys. That my life cannot be all peaks and it cannot be all valleys. That jumping between the two makes you live constantly in panic. And that having a chronic mental illness means I will always be traveling between the two and that doesn’t mean a lack of peace or a lack of a fulfilled life. And intellectually I get that. But I haven’t had to test it to much while actually IN crisis mode. Meds and therapy and journaling and good luck and brain chemistry have kept me mostly stable for the year and a half I’ve been getting treatment.
But last week was a really hard. It was maybe one of the hardest weeks I’ve had. And not because anything went wrong. I’ve had hard weeks because of external stressors this year (hello my father’s break down and my parents separation) but this was my hardest week from just my brain being my brain. Nothing to blame. Nothing to fix. I’m truly trying to go as easy on myself as possible. I haven’t had a really bad depressive/anxiety swing in a long time, so consistently, so I kind of knee-jerk reacted to it. I’m used to having hard days and good days, or environmental stressors but this was real routine “afraid to go to bed and afraid to wake-up and snapping at every small stressor” bullshit. It’s really hard not to immediately think you’re going back to The Bad Place you were in, you know? My therapist was telling me it’s very much PTSD and you switch into survival mode even if what you’ve been doing TO survive isn’t what’s actually needed for you to thrive. You go back to the easy stuff that temporarily soothes you, or you slip back into “I’M SICK FOREVER AND WILL ALWAYS FEEL LIKE THIS” because those feelings are so familiar and therefore comforting. But I was really patient with myself, and just tried to be upfront and honest with people that I wasn’t being an irritable nightmare, or rather, I was, but it was because I felt like my joints were being held together with electricity and FEAR, and I believed it would pass but I understood if that’s annoying as fuck to be around. And what do you know, no one hated me for it and I got to listen to my mind and body and I’m feeling much better. Who knew.
It was also my first time being “sick” in front of my parents and being honest about it since my dad started therapy. I couldn’t have gotten a better response, honestly. They listened, didn’t try to fix, and didn’t keep asking me “what’s wrong, what triggered it?”. They just accepted the situation for what it was and checked in on me a little more frequently to let me know they love and support me. I am so bad at being vulnerable and honest when I’m not doing well because i’m equally terrified that the answer/response will either be dismissive and make feel feel invalidated or wrong, or it’ll be overwrought and then I’ll feel guilty and dramatic. I need to trust more in the people who love and care about me.
But my parents were wonderful and it just helps me remember that no matter how messy and hard and terrible this year has been for us a family, we’re all still in it and we’re all still listening and TRYING. It also made me feel a little like i’ve got some of my dad back. I’ve never really doubted my parents unconditional love and support, nor my unconditional love and support of them, but if this year has done anything it’s pushed and tested that for all of us and at least I’m realizing this aspect of our relationship still survives.
[a/n] : this ‘drabble’ turned out to be more like a small fic hehe, but this is for the lovely @peacheat and i truly hope you like it babe
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It’s been a hot minute since you’ve last been to a party. Life has been kicking your butt and the days that you were free, you either wanted to get away from everyone and recharge your social battery or spend time with your dog. Some might say you’re missing out on life’s great opportunities. One of them being none-other than your boyfriend, Miya Osamu.
The persistent younger twin would try almost anything to get you out of the house and ‘have some fun’, but you beg to differ though. Clearly, you both have different perspectives of the word ‘fun’.
It’s not that you hate to go to parties. Well, only the ones where you don’t know the people attending. It makes you feel anxious and extremely uncomfortable and that’s why you rather spend your time at home doing your own thing.
However, Osamu doesn’t know this fact about you. You refuse to tell him about your anxiety, due to your own pride. Osamu can be very perceptive at times and you have no doubt that he might have speculated something, especially every time you text or call him to cancel.
Osamu thought it was more or less a phase you’re going through or because of your reserved nature. He meant to ask you why you keep declining every party invitation, but when he does you would skillfully divert the subject. Sometimes it would irk Osamu how persistent you are at avoiding the topic, but he also respects your boundaries, which is why he never blatantly drags you to a party himself.
This is kinda vent-ish sorry;;; (update: had to type this two times through because my computer shut down for an unknown reason right after i finished it the first time)
Pairing: Sidlink (sidon x link)
Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild
Rating: T
Word Count: 576.
Warnings: PDA, Anxiety
Some days, such as this one, Link felt like he was sinking.
A somebody who couldn’t even remember his own life, he wasn’t sure how he was expected to save the kingdom from a threat he had already failed to defeat. Even now, a hundred years in the future, he walked amongst the results of his shortcomings. Ruined buildings, roaming guardians, and desperate people all reminded him of everything he failed to do. As time went on, he struggled to keep his head above the water.
How come nobody else could see that he wasn’t enough? He wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t brave enough, and it was Zelda who paid the price. Yet, she was the one who had Link revived, and as he looked out across the world that was supposed to be familiar to him, he wondered why. The current was strong and the weights around his ankles were dragging him down.
He honestly didn’t believe he deserved Sidon. All that positivity seemed wasted on him. As much as the zora encouraged him, he couldn’t seem to keep up with his happiness for long. And yet, Sidon never gave up on him. As he looked up and the divine best he just barely defeated, he realized that if he weren’t currently on Sidon’s back, he really would be drowning.
As he laid in bed that night, he found himself unable to sleep, haunted by all the things he could be doing right now. How could he be resting when Zelda was waiting for him? After defeating Vah Ruta, King Dorephan had insisted he stay and gave him a guestroom that was far too nice for him. He sighed as his fingers brushed against the sheets. He no longer noticed it when he started crying, and this time was no different. What was another drop of water in the raging river he was constantly being sucked into?
He jumped when a gentle, uncertain knock rapped on his door. After waiting to see if the visitor said anything, he quickly shuffled to his feet and rubbed the tears from his eyes, glancing in the mirror. His looked gross; his hair was tangled and his eyes were bloodshot, but it would have to do.
He wasn’t sure why it surprised him to see Prince Sidon, especially since he was the only zora he knew well at this point, but it did. Sidon offered a trademark smile and began another rant about the hylian’s greatness before quickly trailing off as he glanced at the hero. Link shuffled in the uncomfortable silence, as he was unable to break it himself. He settled for tapping Sidon’s arm.
“Ah, forgive me,” Sidon stuttered, snapping out of his own thought. “But are you quite all right, my friend? You don’t look well.”
Link wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, but he quickly found he didn’t need to. His failed attempts at steadying his uneven breaths spoke for itself. Before he could understand what was happening, he was wrapped in Sidon’s arms. It wasn’t like the quick, bone-crushing hug he had been given before, but more like being held.
“I can’t even imagine the stress you’re under. I understand you may not want to share your emotions with the world, but please, confide in me. I want to help you.”
It was the first time in a long while Link had cried freely, and for once, he floated.
Sometimes my anxiety makes me want to retreat into my own little bubble, away from it all. Away from all the noises, the yelling. And sometimes I have to face it head-on, and that’s ok too! I hope anyone who feels similarly may find peace within themselves.
trying to build up enough money to pay off all my taxes (accumulated from years of??? having??? no idea?????? how to do any of this properly??????) totaling somewhere in the region of $1,200-1,500. i feel like i’m losing my pride, but i’d rather not be terrified so if you wanna give a broke millennial a hand here’s my ko-fi
Prompt: Anonymous asked: Do you think you could do a part 2 of the dealing with the trauma with Legolas? I really liked it! Maybe what happens when they wake up? Pairing: Legolas x Reader Written by: Shelby ________________________________________________________________
The smell of cooking pastries brought you to a gradual awakening. The customary feeling of aprehension upon waking up subsided as you remembered you weren’t in battle, as it did every morning. You also recalled the previous night’s events and realised you hadn’t had another nightmare. Rolling over under the soft covers, you came face-to-face with the blonde elf.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling at you.
“Good morning,” you replied. For a moment you just laid there, staring at his sky-blue eyes and thinking of how lucky you were to have him. “Thanks for staying with me last night. It’s the first time I’ve slept after a nightmare.”
“Of course, Y/N. I’m always here to help.”
It didn’t take long to get properly dressed to greet the rest of the company. Legolas had returned to his room to avoid arousing rumors of any relationship beyond friendship. Soon you were rushing out of your room and into the dining room, being met with the sight of a bunch of people sitting down to breakfast.
“Hello!” You greeted them cheerily.
You were met with several replies, the heartiest of which belonged to Gimli and the hobbits. Never doubt a dwarf when it comes to cheer, you’d learned.
Legolas entered a couple minutes later, sitting a couple seats down from you. Your face brightened when you saw him, but for necessity’s sake you offered nothing more than general greeting. The breakfast proceeded slowly (as it always does when hobbits and dwarves are present) and you found yourself enjoying the feeling of not being anxious at all.
Once the meal was over, you helped Frodo begin to bring everything into the kitchen to be cleaned up. You would have taken care of everything, but he insisted, as it was his house.
The clanking of the glass dishware wasn’t enough to cover up the talking at the dining table, so, hoping to spice up the monotonous act of cleaning, you listened in.
“…slayed that pig like an orc!”
Shit.
An uninvited memory of battle entered your mind, sparking the smallest stirring of anxiety. Trying to block out the conversation, you breathed deeply and focused back on the steady task of washing dishes. Unfortunately the residents of the dining room had deemed it fit to have a mock battle of their own, likely waving around the wooden spoons and using barrel lids as shields.
You noticed that there wasn’t much left to be done, so you decided you could wait it out until you finished. The noises of playfighting rang in your ears, bringing with them memories of your own fighting. Panic rose in your throat as you fought back tears, trying in vain to ignore everything else. Before you knew it your breathing was getting faster and shallower. You took a quick break to down a glass of water, desperately hoping to fend off the impending light-headedness. No use.
“Frodo?” You asked lightly.
“Yes, Y/N?”
“Would you be so kind as to finish the dishes? I’ll help with lunch and dinner, I promise.”
“No worries!”
You hurriedly thanked him and walked out of the kitchen as fast as you could without tripping over your own feet. Glancing out at the dining room, you noticed that Legolas wasn’t among those in the mock battle, and a glimmer of hope pushed its way through your panic.
Your hope was well placed when you turned the corner into his room and saw him reading. He looked up, icy blue eyes searching your own and deepening with concern.
“Are you all right, Y/N?” He asked, getting up and crossing to you.
You shook your head as his arms wrapped around you and you found the pressure of the hug comforting.
“They… in the kitchen… they’re fighting and…” You were barely able to choke out that much before Legolas pulled you closer to his chest, slowly stroking your hair and muttering soothing words.
After a few minutes you’d calmed down a bit, still breathing shakily and fighting off the last bits of anxiety.
“Do you want to lie down for a bit?”
Nodding, you turned and began to head back to your room before Legolas gently put his hand on your shoulder.
“I… I meant in here, like last night.”
A gush of happiness bloomed in your chest, and you made your way over to the inviting bed. It didn’t take long to bury yourself under the covers, but you noticed Legolas had left the room. You could hear him talking in the kitchen and you hoped he wasn’t getting too detailed about the state their play-fighting had put you in. Soon he was back and you rolled over, watching him as he crossed the room to where you lay.
“Thank you, Legolas.” You whispered.
“Like I said, I’ll always be here for you.”
He slipped under the covers and pulled you into an embrace, whispering sweet nothings and playing with your hair until you fell asleep.
1. you guys have GOT to start telling me when i forget to switch blogs on mobile and end up reblogging things to the wrong blog for three days i can’t keep finding out like this
2. more importantly i have been having AnxietyTM for like two weeks nonstop now and my family is trying to keep me busy, which means no writing time, which is honestly ok because it was getting to the point where I was panicking about writing (and everything else, such as listening to music and looking at walls. writing, you are NOT special) and I don’t wanna associate writing with anxiety. I have therapy in the morning (don’t laugh: my first ever therapy session. I know. I know. there’s a reason I say not to listen to anything I say.) and a doctors appointment on friday to hopefully get me anti anxiety meds. I don’t think there’s gonna be a chapter this week. should be one the week after this, though. I’m gonna get you guys your fishnets i swear
