Here’s a sample from the story I wrote featuring the unlikely bond between Bakugou and Recovery Girl
“Why am I even here?” he growls, knowing exactly why he’s there. Katsuki Bakugou is stuck in detention at the nurse’s centre, furiously scrubbing bedpans and giving the stink-eye to the grey-haired woman filing paperwork at her desk.
Three weeks ago he’d been showing his classmates the real meaning of power when Aizawa had intervened, cutting his quirk and landing him with this bogus punishment.
“You nearly decapitated a fellow student,” she says bluntly, taking a sip of her tea. “And you’re not the first one to get shunted into my office because Nezu thinks I can put out a dumpster fire.”
Five weeks left.
She should have seen it. Glorious. The whole “no student fighting” rule be damned. Bakugou Katsuki exists to prepare those other weaklings for the real world. And teach them what being a hero is all about.
“Not my fault he should’ve ducked,” he grumbles, wiping his brow. “And I’m not exactly learning anything about ‘compassion’ by scrubbing shitbins, now am I?”
She doesn’t answer. But she does glance over at her vibrating phone. “We’re about to have a visitor. Finish your job and I’ll let you tie a sprain bandage.”
Most of the time, she sits up at her desk; head hardly ever in his direction, yet somehow still able to watch him like a hawk. She’ll notice the second he puts down a broom or stops scrubbing. She’ll ask if he’s tired. She’s taunting him.
Three weeks he’s been here. Every day, after class. Three weeks in a wing of the school legally required when the curriculum involves fighting giant robots just to attend. He’s mopped floors, disinfected everything he’s set eyes upon, taken inventory of medical supplies, and on occasion, she’s sat him down to learn basic first aid. Normally things are slow, but… accidents happen.
Here’s a sample from the story I wrote featuring the unlikely bond between Bakugou and Recovery Girl
“Why am I even here?” he growls, knowing exactly why he’s there. Katsuki Bakugou is stuck in detention at the nurse’s centre, furiously scrubbing bedpans and giving the stink-eye to the grey-haired woman filing paperwork at her desk.
Three weeks ago he’d been showing his classmates the real meaning of power when Aizawa had intervened, cutting his quirk and landing him with this bogus punishment.
“You nearly decapitated a fellow student,” she says bluntly, taking a sip of her tea. “And you’re not the first one to get shunted into my office because Nezu thinks I can put out a dumpster fire.”
Five weeks left.
She should have seen it. Glorious. The whole “no student fighting” rule be damned. Bakugou Katsuki exists to prepare those other weaklings for the real world. And teach them what being a hero is all about.
“Not my fault he should’ve ducked,” he grumbles, wiping his brow. “And I’m not exactly learning anything about ‘compassion’ by scrubbing shitbins, now am I?”
She doesn’t answer. But she does glance over at her vibrating phone. “We’re about to have a visitor. Finish your job and I’ll let you tie a sprain bandage.”
Most of the time, she sits up at her desk; head hardly ever in his direction, yet somehow still able to watch him like a hawk. She’ll notice the second he puts down a broom or stops scrubbing. She’ll ask if he’s tired. She’s taunting him.
Three weeks he’s been here. Every day, after class. Three weeks in a wing of the school legally required when the curriculum involves fighting giant robots just to attend. He’s mopped floors, disinfected everything he’s set eyes upon, taken inventory of medical supplies, and on occasion, she’s sat him down to learn basic first aid. Normally things are slow, but… accidents happen.
