Alien Queen For The Win

Denki’s my name, flirting’s my game. Hit me up if you’re not too afraid to get shocked.

come join us!! 

we’re looking for a bunch of characters, so please send in some applications! especially characters such as: 

✨ Uraraka Ochako 

✨ Asui Tsuyu 

✨ Kaminari Denki 

✨ Sero Hanta 

✨ Hagakure Tooru

✨  Tokoyami Fumikage 

and many more!! 

Welcome to the “Put Your Hands Up!” Radio page and personal blog of your favorite razzle-dazzling, energizer-bunny Pro-Hero Present Mic! Thanks for tuning in with us tonight. I hope you’ve had a great day and are just getting ready to have a fantastic night. Tonight, we’ve got an excellent selection of non-stop music planned and I hope you’ll stick around to hear it! Sit back, relax, maybe get some popcorn! It’s going to be a really fun night!

Hey, I’m Jirou. Don’t be afraid to drop a beat or play a tune with me 🎶

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

Still, his failures never failed to sting. Not even know. Especially now. He had gotten into U.A. fair and square, and it was something that Kaminari knew he should be proud of, but here, surrounded by brilliant people, his own shortcomings were even more obvious. I mean, it wasn’t like he was the only one that had some trouble on tests – Mina joined him in the D to F range more often than not. But Mina at least understood what was going on at a base level. Kaminari had to work five times as hard just to get where she landed without much exertion.

No. That wasn’t fair. Not to Mina, not to himself, not to U.A. as a whole.

He had friends now; friends that would help him study, bring him food when he had to cram on Sunday and didn’t have time to go out and get any himself. Friends that would sit up with him at three am and help him memorize the last bits of vocab he would need for the quiz the next day.  Bakugou helped him make flashcards, and Kaminari knew that any insults the blonde may hurl at him in the process were just his own special brand of encouragement. Sero was a nerd for organization, and helped Denki with rewriting his notes and preparing for midterms and other cumulatives. Kirishima was energetic, so much so that it couldn’t help but infect you, make you think that maybe the praises he hurled at you might be true. And Mina? She provided an invaluable source to just… complain with. Having someone to laugh with over your mistakes was invaluable. It helped you to get over the initial feeling of defeat of getting a bad grade so you could move onto working on improving.

So, Kaminari didn’t let his academic difficulties get him down. Not anymore. So what if he had it tough in the smarts sector? That just meant that when he did get a good grade, it was all the more to celebrate.

The buzz of his phone on the bed next to him jerked Kaminari out of his thoughts. He yawned, tearing his eyes from the textbook in front of him in favor of picking up the phone and opening it up to read the new text.

»»————- ————-««

Bubblegum Bitch: Hey hey Kami!! Hope your night is going well!!! I miss you so shoot me a text sometime okay???? ( ◠‿◠ )

»»————- ————-««

A fond smile spread unprompted across his face as he read the message.

God, he was so lucky.

»»————- ————-««

Pika Pika Motherf*ckers: Mina!!! Pika Pika Motherf*ckers: I’ve been in study hell for the past four hours, sorry about that :/

Pika Pika Motherf*ckers: HOWEVER!! I should be good now, so if you want to come over and watch a stupid romcom or whatever ? That’d be? Cool?

»»————- ————-««

The void was filled with music and the ambient noise of wind pressing against her glass every now and again. About an hour ago she had texted the one person she still felt fully comfortable around; Denki. The text message was small and sweet, just a simple little ‘hello’ with undertones of ‘please talk to me’ underneath the bubbly wording.

It had been an hour, so when she finally heard her phone buzz over the static noise of flat sound her head whipped around instantly, hand snatching her phone up in a heartbeat so she could read over the text. For the first time all night a smile cracked her lips, thumbs swiping over the letters in front of her eyes to type out an easy reply.

»»————- ————-««

Bubblegum Bitch: Woah really? That would be super cool!!!

Bubblegum Bitch: I’ll be over soon okay? Thank you so much for this you don’t know how much I needed it!!

»»————- ————-««

After a few moments of silence Mina picked up her phone and a few blankets, hugging the soft articles to her body to try and feel better before heading out.

She still felt the weight of the last week pressuring her down, but..: but she’d put it aside for now and smile like she always did around the hyperactive boy, who over the last week, she had dearly missed... it’s why when she was at the door her knock was hyper and her eyes were wide and excitable.

Be it from the loud explosions echoing in a dorm room, or the quiet mumblings of one leaving with a heavier weight than before he had entered; both seemed to draw the girl out of her bed to stand at her door, listening to the final moments of the interaction with her brows pulled close together.

When Katsu’s heavy footsteps were no longer in earshot she peaked out of her room, eyes scanning the halls for the blondes figure until she was certain that he was gone. With heavy lungs weighing her heart down she closed her own door, taking easy strides down the hall to where Izu’s room laid. The door seemed misplaced to her, though that could have simply been worry overworking her systems at the moment.

One knock, “Izu?” Two knocks, “can I come in?” No answer, no reply, silence filled the air and suffocated her thoughts to the point where her actions became unconscious. The door was open before she even fully understood why she’d invade someone’s privacy without hesitation; this was different, right?

Recently all she had been doing was getting mixed into other lives, others problems and issues. Each time she had severely regretted it, regretted what she had seen and heard, what she had said and what she had done. Yet here she was again, fingers curled around a doorknob that wasn’t hers with her shadow casting down into a room that wasn’t hers. None of this was her business, none of it had even been her business.

Guilt thrived in her stomach, lived and breathed in there like another life. Each time this occurred it would grow, and now she could feel it’s cold tendrils wrap around her throat and silence her concern for the boy; she could only squeak out another slow question of his name, shifting uncomfortably in the foreign doorway as she once again pushed her presence into someone’s else’s life without consent.

Midoriya realizes that as an afterthought. He realizes this, sitting at the foot of the bed, looking at his hand, how it curdles and clots blood where the splinters are. He’s taking them out, one by one, putting them in his pocket rather than on the floor for someone to step on.

They jab at his thigh idly, and he regards them so. Idly. His mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, and he breathes heavily through his nose, through the sinus pressure, through the way he wants to be embarrassed and guilty and upset, but refuses to be.

Midoriya realizes that, after the black lightning had left, that it was some kind of catharsis. Like fire and powder, when they kiss, consume; when the black lightning had wrapped around Midoriya like a boa, he only knelt.

And he’s angry about that—he is, truly, that there was no other option than to destroy himself and relieve it—the pain, or to submit. Midoriya thinks that he fought back-to-back against the relief, and submitted to it—that, like crash test dummies, he found his place against the airbag, limp and lifeless.

When Ashido enters his room, green eyes embezzled with lightning go wide. He manages not to flinch; he expects red, for some reason, but meets honey yellow. He forces his shoulders to slump and forces a reassuring smile to appear as the exhaustion begins to dip its claws into his spinal cord.

“Mina-chan,” Midoriya says, breathlessly, focusing a soft-served look at Ashido. “Wh—what’s the occasion? I—did I forget a h-hangout session or,” he pauses, looks at the crater in his desk and winces. The reminder is served to him like a silver spoon carrying hot coals—it’s painful to swallow. He dreads its presence. “H-ha—I guess you heard the racket, huh?”

“Izu…” she breathed, body slumping as the last bit of strength left her body. One more look around the room led to her slowly closing the door behind herself, listening to the latch click before clapping her hands together and pointing them at the young boy, “What the fuck.”

Before he could even stumble over his answer she raised her hand, finger pointed up to notion for silence while she tried to wrap her head around the whole extravaganza that had obviously taken place here, “you… you don’t have to ask a question that you already know my answer to… your hand is bleeding and you’re room looks like a tornado made this it’s humble abode,” she sighed, heavy in its leave as she tilted her hand, pointing her finger at the young boy, “Izu, worried is an understatement, I thought your whole room had blown up.”

As hard as she was trying to stay calm it was proving to be a difficult task; eyebrow twitching and lips forcing themselves into a thinned smile to sell the weakly preformed act. When her finger lowered and her hand once again met her side she slowly walked over, crouching down before the boy as if to say a prayer, only to hit her head against his knees, repeatedly, each knock against him being followed by a repeated sentence, over and over she cursed, “God dammit why do you keep doing this,” one hit, one word, a staccato sentence of disappointment and regret leaving her lips until she finally rested against him, and screamed silently.

This boy would be the death of her and she was going to accept her fate with nervous laughter and stupid jokes to lead her to hell.

“For once my only saving grace is the fact that Boombastic came to make sure you were okay…” her head tilted to the side, watching the wall as she spoke offhandedly about something she probably, shouldn’t even know about. It’s not her damn fault Katsuki’s default setting is ‘Loud As Fuck.’

Midoriya laughs abruptly when she swears, humor falling out of his mouth like popcorn kernels. His cheeks flush weakly and then, gathering his composure, talks despite her words under his breath.  “To be fair, even if you double—no, triple dog dare me I don’t think I could st—stop getting in trouble,”

He watches her movements carefully, his lip trembles as she approaches and his eyes water traitorously, but he watches silently. He fidgets with his hands, picking at the splinters and the fresh scabs. He watches her wander around his room—with purpose, with betraying intent—and flinches when her head meets his knee, as gentle as she does.

Despite his best efforts about how he thinks this really is a terrible idea, his left-hand moves against his will. Calloused fingers curl around pink, and he begins to slowly rub and circle her scalp. He pets her, softly, at first—moving more gradually to play with her hair, his uncertain thoughts getting lost in the rhythm.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Midoriya says. His voice loses the remnants of his humor, eyes fluttering to half-lid. He’s serious—he’s always serious when someone’s worrying. And this time is no different—the change in tone hangs over his head like a hawk, talons outstretched.

“Boom—ah, Kacchan you mean,” Midoriya’s voice is like a split in a waterfall; clear as day, but not necessarily poetic or beautiful. “Yes, he’s—been incredibly helpful to me lately. He’s really..been my saving grace, these past few days. Probably the reason why I have any composure right now at all,” Midoriya wills his voice to stop trembling, and it does, somewhat. Leaving him cold and vulnerable without a shell of a shake to protect him with.

“Did you hear him speak? I—everything he said felt very quiet—er, sounded. I was making a lot of n-noise, though, so maybe that’s it.”

His hand stutters and falters on her head, but he quickly resumes it as soon as the thoughts and the feelings come rushing back, and he can feel his eyes begin to fill. It’d be mortifying to wail about his lifetime appreciation for his childhood friend now, when he’s hurt, Ashido in his lap. Out of any other opportunity, he’d feel the need to cry now because—of course. Because why not.

While he talked she stared at the remainders of his desk, letting him get all his thoughts out while she just, listened. The information was dumped onto her in an easy succession; waterfall into a pool, rippling it but never fully breaking its calm. For him, she would stay calm.

When asked about Katsuki’s voice she glanced up, bobbing her head from side to side before shaking it intently, “nah, I heard him walking down the hall and back but that’s it…” she laughed lightly, leaning her head back to glance up at him, “he’s loud but not that loud,” she was trying her best to lighten the mood, but at the first sight of tears she dropped it and decided to take this a little more serious.

With careful movements she reached up, touching his cheek softly and rubbing soothing circles against the skin, “you really put yourself through hell, don’t you Izu…” she murmured and sighed with a smile, glancing down at his hand. Hands really seemed to be victims this month.

“You really gotta stop doing that, one day I’m not gunna be around constantly to tell you that,” she laughed and stood up slowly, taking his hand in hers as she did and looking it over. She couldn’t help much sadly, and Recovery Girl was asleep… the irony of this situation was iconic. Carefully she let go of his hand in favor of sitting beside him.

“I’m glad Katsu came in to help you, it’s really cool that he was so open to help you,” she paused, glancing over at him and tilting her head, “do you… usually call him when you need something?” She asked softly, kicking her legs innocently.

Broken—but not fully broken. Just enough to be embarrassed over, just enough to not want to look at.

That’s usually how those things go, anyway. Never hurting enough to be life-threatening, but always hurt enough to make someone uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable to talk about it—this quirk of his and the damage it leaves in its wake.

He didn’t notice tears had started to well in his eyes from the force of it—he wasn’t racked with the effort and pain it took to control himself, but in the aftermath, alone and vulnerable and hollow—he feels it. A bustling beehive for a shell with too many holes to fix.

His eyes flutter closed when she touches his cheek, a slow and intentional breath leaving his lungs. He hadn’t noticed he was holding his breath, but it felt nice to release it, to breathe after the flood’s drained.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Midoriya says, voice-cracking. It’s pathetic, he wants to be strong so much—he wants to be able to lift the weight of the world, to not let anyone see how he succumbs. And he fails. Time and time again, he fails. He succumbs in front of everyone—in front of Bakugou, in front of Ashido, in front of his mother, of All Might, of Todoroki, they see how he shatters.

And he hates it.

“The desk I—was desperate, Mina-chan, I was so desperate. And I knew that I shouldn’t have done it, that it was a bad idea from the start, but I couldn’t, Mina-chan, I couldn’t stop myself,” he leans into her touch, laying his palm flat on top of hers.

And he snivels—disgustingly. He whimpers under his breath until there’s nothing left to sniffle back up. His head hurts with the force of his sinus pressure, but it’s nothing compared to what he’s been through. A dull ache, if anything.

“Kacchan came when I asked, Mina-chan. He came with no questions. He came when I asked, he—really is amazing. A-and to answer your question, yes, he—sorry, I do. Kacchan’s um—he’s kind of everything to me. My hero, my symbol of victory, and he’s just—been so p-patient with me lately. I don’t know w-what I did to deserve it, b-but—I’m so so so grateful.”

Some popped harder than others, but the loudest one stuck to her heart, *”He’s kinda everything to me. My hero, my symbol of peace,”* and boy did it fucking stick.

Mina smiled, waited, hand placed gingerly on his shoulder to rub calming circles against it while she though about her next response. With the info-dump she had just received she carefully picked through the soap to craft her own response to his frenzy, one that was calmer in its own pop, “it’s really nice that you have him then... Katsu’s rough around the edges but honestly I can tell how much he’s helped you over the years...” her smile was sweet and friendly when she turned to him.

Now, was time to pry open this subject just the smallest bit more, “is he really your hero? Cause that’s like, super cute!” Being light and happy about it, she tried to edge the conversation along in a direction that she was, admittedly, curious about;

Be it from the loud explosions echoing in a dorm room, or the quiet mumblings of one leaving with a heavier weight than before he had entered; both seemed to draw the girl out of her bed to stand at her door, listening to the final moments of the interaction with her brows pulled close together.

When Katsu’s heavy footsteps were no longer in earshot she peaked out of her room, eyes scanning the halls for the blondes figure until she was certain that he was gone. With heavy lungs weighing her heart down she closed her own door, taking easy strides down the hall to where Izu’s room laid. The door seemed misplaced to her, though that could have simply been worry overworking her systems at the moment.

One knock, “Izu?” Two knocks, “can I come in?” No answer, no reply, silence filled the air and suffocated her thoughts to the point where her actions became unconscious. The door was open before she even fully understood why she’d invade someone’s privacy without hesitation; this was different, right?

Recently all she had been doing was getting mixed into other lives, others problems and issues. Each time she had severely regretted it, regretted what she had seen and heard, what she had said and what she had done. Yet here she was again, fingers curled around a doorknob that wasn’t hers with her shadow casting down into a room that wasn’t hers. None of this was her business, none of it had even been her business.

Guilt thrived in her stomach, lived and breathed in there like another life. Each time this occurred it would grow, and now she could feel it’s cold tendrils wrap around her throat and silence her concern for the boy; she could only squeak out another slow question of his name, shifting uncomfortably in the foreign doorway as she once again pushed her presence into someone’s else’s life without consent.

Midoriya realizes that as an afterthought. He realizes this, sitting at the foot of the bed, looking at his hand, how it curdles and clots blood where the splinters are. He’s taking them out, one by one, putting them in his pocket rather than on the floor for someone to step on.

They jab at his thigh idly, and he regards them so. Idly. His mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, and he breathes heavily through his nose, through the sinus pressure, through the way he wants to be embarrassed and guilty and upset, but refuses to be.

Midoriya realizes that, after the black lightning had left, that it was some kind of catharsis. Like fire and powder, when they kiss, consume; when the black lightning had wrapped around Midoriya like a boa, he only knelt.

And he’s angry about that—he is, truly, that there was no other option than to destroy himself and relieve it—the pain, or to submit. Midoriya thinks that he fought back-to-back against the relief, and submitted to it—that, like crash test dummies, he found his place against the airbag, limp and lifeless.

When Ashido enters his room, green eyes embezzled with lightning go wide. He manages not to flinch; he expects red, for some reason, but meets honey yellow. He forces his shoulders to slump and forces a reassuring smile to appear as the exhaustion begins to dip its claws into his spinal cord.

“Mina-chan,” Midoriya says, breathlessly, focusing a soft-served look at Ashido. “Wh—what’s the occasion? I—did I forget a h-hangout session or,” he pauses, looks at the crater in his desk and winces. The reminder is served to him like a silver spoon carrying hot coals—it’s painful to swallow. He dreads its presence. “H-ha—I guess you heard the racket, huh?”

“Izu…” she breathed, body slumping as the last bit of strength left her body. One more look around the room led to her slowly closing the door behind herself, listening to the latch click before clapping her hands together and pointing them at the young boy, “What the fuck.”

Before he could even stumble over his answer she raised her hand, finger pointed up to notion for silence while she tried to wrap her head around the whole extravaganza that had obviously taken place here, “you… you don’t have to ask a question that you already know my answer to… your hand is bleeding and you’re room looks like a tornado made this it’s humble abode,” she sighed, heavy in its leave as she tilted her hand, pointing her finger at the young boy, “Izu, worried is an understatement, I thought your whole room had blown up.”

As hard as she was trying to stay calm it was proving to be a difficult task; eyebrow twitching and lips forcing themselves into a thinned smile to sell the weakly preformed act. When her finger lowered and her hand once again met her side she slowly walked over, crouching down before the boy as if to say a prayer, only to hit her head against his knees, repeatedly, each knock against him being followed by a repeated sentence, over and over she cursed, “God dammit why do you keep doing this,” one hit, one word, a staccato sentence of disappointment and regret leaving her lips until she finally rested against him, and screamed silently.

This boy would be the death of her and she was going to accept her fate with nervous laughter and stupid jokes to lead her to hell.

“For once my only saving grace is the fact that Boombastic came to make sure you were okay…” her head tilted to the side, watching the wall as she spoke offhandedly about something she probably, shouldn’t even know about. It’s not her damn fault Katsuki’s default setting is ‘Loud As Fuck.’

Midoriya laughs abruptly when she swears, humor falling out of his mouth like popcorn kernels. His cheeks flush weakly and then, gathering his composure, talks despite her words under his breath.  “To be fair, even if you double—no, triple dog dare me I don’t think I could st—stop getting in trouble,”

He watches her movements carefully, his lip trembles as she approaches and his eyes water traitorously, but he watches silently. He fidgets with his hands, picking at the splinters and the fresh scabs. He watches her wander around his room—with purpose, with betraying intent—and flinches when her head meets his knee, as gentle as she does.

Despite his best efforts about how he thinks this really is a terrible idea, his left-hand moves against his will. Calloused fingers curl around pink, and he begins to slowly rub and circle her scalp. He pets her, softly, at first—moving more gradually to play with her hair, his uncertain thoughts getting lost in the rhythm.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Midoriya says. His voice loses the remnants of his humor, eyes fluttering to half-lid. He’s serious—he’s always serious when someone’s worrying. And this time is no different—the change in tone hangs over his head like a hawk, talons outstretched.

“Boom—ah, Kacchan you mean,” Midoriya’s voice is like a split in a waterfall; clear as day, but not necessarily poetic or beautiful. “Yes, he’s—been incredibly helpful to me lately. He’s really..been my saving grace, these past few days. Probably the reason why I have any composure right now at all,” Midoriya wills his voice to stop trembling, and it does, somewhat. Leaving him cold and vulnerable without a shell of a shake to protect him with.

“Did you hear him speak? I—everything he said felt very quiet—er, sounded. I was making a lot of n-noise, though, so maybe that’s it.”

His hand stutters and falters on her head, but he quickly resumes it as soon as the thoughts and the feelings come rushing back, and he can feel his eyes begin to fill. It’d be mortifying to wail about his lifetime appreciation for his childhood friend now, when he’s hurt, Ashido in his lap. Out of any other opportunity, he’d feel the need to cry now because—of course. Because why not.

While he talked she stared at the remainders of his desk, letting him get all his thoughts out while she just, listened. The information was dumped onto her in an easy succession; waterfall into a pool, rippling it but never fully breaking its calm. For him, she would stay calm.

When asked about Katsuki’s voice she glanced up, bobbing her head from side to side before shaking it intently, “nah, I heard him walking down the hall and back but that’s it...” she laughed lightly, leaning her head back to glance up at him, “he’s loud but not that loud,” she was trying her best to lighten the mood, but at the first sight of tears she dropped it and decided to take this a little more serious.

With careful movements she reached up, touching his cheek softly and rubbing soothing circles against the skin, “you really put yourself through hell, don’t you Izu...” she murmured and sighed with a smile, glancing down at his hand. Hands really seemed to be victims this month.

“You really gotta stop doing that, one day I’m not gunna be around constantly to tell you that,” she laughed and stood up slowly, taking his hand in hers as she did and looking it over. She couldn’t help much sadly, and Recovery Girl was asleep... the irony of this situation was iconic. Carefully she let go of his hand in favor of sitting beside him.

“I’m glad Katsu came in to help you, it’s really cool that he was so open to help you,” she paused, glancing over at him and tilting her head, “do you... usually call him when you need something?” She asked softly, kicking her legs innocently.