#bloodwalker

Trigger Warning/s: none

Pre-chapter notes: We’ve once again been thoroughly blessed by our very hard-working and skilled artists! Ari provided us with this very sweet sketch of MC in her school uniform, unsmiling (I’m sorry MC! It’s my fault you’re not smiling!). Ari also drew a more… traumatised version of MC here, based on how she would look if she was experimented on more. Ari, if you read this, I am afraid of your love for angst. Ari also created these hypothetical texts between Inasa and MC here and here, which are think are quite accurate and funny! Not only that, but they also provided this sketch of MC wearing streetwear. They included a snake around her neck since next year will be the year of the snake! I think it’s so cool! Thank you so much for your support as always, Ari (even if I am afraid of you)!

Asterix drew this wonderful visual of MC using her kusarigama! The dynamic pose displayed in this artwork is wonderful - I have a particular love for dynamic poses in art because they seem so difficult to master! Thank you and I appreciate your hard work, Asterix!

Venus provided us with this wonderful digital artwork of MC curled up in a ball, bandaged all over. I like the fact that she’s sitting in a pool of blood (I interpret this as her own) while her bandages are also stained with blood! It seems that she can’t get away from her own quirk! Thank you, Venus!

Finally, Crow drew this incredible piece using a mouse and MS Paint (I don’t know how, but her hands are magic). Here, MC is visibly trembling while using her quirk to potentially attack someone or defend herself. It’s such a wonderful piece and I will appreciate it forever. Thank you Crow!

Also, Gyokuro is a very expensive type of Japanese green tea. Rocket League is a video game that can be played on a console. Both will be referenced in this chapter.

Thank you to everyone for your patience!

Art: Michael Tiedtke on ArtStation! He has modelled this beautifully sculpted version of the Goblet of Fire from Harry Potter. I think the blue flames look so vibrant and beautiful! He has wonderful skills, and I hope you’ll support him.

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An all-seeing stare.

Aizawa knows it is the principal’s quirk that grants the little animal intelligence beyond human means, but sometimes, he thinks there is something a little too intelligent about Principal Nezu’s gaze. It is almost as if he can read minds. In a game of chess between Aizawa’s enigmatic nature and Nezu’s sometimes chilling smile, Nezu always puts him in check.

Of course, this is all nonsense. Malarkey. The principal has a good heart. Aizawa knows that the principal has his full trust, and he knows that likewise, Nezu puts full trust in him. He just can’t help but feel that sometimes the principal knows more about him than himself - uncannily so.

In front of him, the mouse-like animal sips a cup of gyokuro, his legs dangling high off the plush couch. “How are your students, Aizawa-san?” he asks passively. Eyes like dark marbles bore into his very being - never malicious, but not quite comforting either.

Aizawa has a feeling that Nezu already knows what he’s come here for, but he entertains the small talk. “Progressing. A few of them still need to choose their internships. I’m not particularly worried about that, though.”

There’s another uncomfortable pause while the principal takes another sip of his tea. Naturally, he had already offered a cup to the other man, but the ragged homeroom teacher had declined. And so at present, the conversation flows at the pace of Nezu and his drink. When his cup is set down on the dish, the discussion continues. After all, it is only natural hierarchy for the principal to be in control.

The chink of porcelain on porcelain indicates the talk’s revival. “But you didn’t come here to talk about your class, Aizawa-san. You came here to talk about one particular student, yes?”

“Yes.” The man isn’t surprised that he already knows. “Chibana Chiyo - I presume you’ve heard of her?”

“I’ve heard a few things here and there,” smiles Nezu, “about unusual behaviour patterns and her unusual lack of personal belongings, but nothing in detail. Will you be providing that information today?”

Aizawa hands him your student file and a pile of papers which the principal skims - a compilation of incidents and observations assembled by all your teachers.

“And what is your personal opinion of her?”

The erasure hero grunts. “Socially stunted would be putting it kindly,” he says, scratching the nape of his neck. “It doesn’t make much sense, but there’s a lot of basic things she doesn’t know. And it’s true that Chibana really doesn’t come to class with many materials. I’ve also heard some of her classmates comment on the food she eats. Not sure what kind of situation she’s living in. And at the USJ incident…”

“Hm,” muses Nezu, perusing your student file. “I assume you’ve tried contacting her father?”

“Reaching him is difficult.” Aizawa frowns, watching as his employer takes another sip of tea. “I’ve been able to get him to pick up a phone call once.”

Another all-knowing smile is thrown his way. “You’re quite worried about her, aren’t you?”

With an annoyed look in his eyes, the man averts his gaze. “I just don’t need any more casualties.”

Nezu flicks through the documents once more before setting them down onto the coffee table. “Why don’t you try contacting her middle school and inquiring about any previous bullying incidents? Let’s see what we can find out about her before UA. If you think it’s still grounds for concern, I’ll send a few associates to investigate.”

Aizawa checks your records, punches in the recorded number for your middle school, and dials. Three rings and they pick up. The principal watches on impassively as the man inquires about you with a furrowed brow, the lines on his forehead only deepening as his brief investigation continues. After that feels like about ten minutes, the call ends. Your homeroom teacher sends a weary gaze to his hero counterpart. “Interesting. None of her old teachers remember her.”

The principal hums. “And she’s not one to be forgotten easily, I trust.”

“The influence of a quirk, perhaps?” Aizawa suggests.

“Or perhaps she was never truly enrolled,” Nezu smiles.

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In the dark, cold basement that the League of Villains calls their base, Shigaraki thinks he’s losing his mind.

It is not because of his recent failures to acquire you or make any significant moves in his plan. It is not because of his fifth consecutive loss in Rocket League. It is not even the stress of managing his recently gained League members.

Actually, that might be part of the reason, because it is the very fact that Toga Himiko will not shut up about a girl she’s, in her words, been meeting recently. Shigaraki Tomura has no interest in his members’ activities outside of the League unless they benefit him. In fact, he thinks he probably cares more about the number of hairs he has on his backside than whatever Toga is talking about.

“Mm, I like her, I like her, I like her! Look, don’t you think she’s cute?” Toga shoves her phone into the League leader’s face. Shigaraki grimaces. Given the length of time with which the girl has been talking, the man thinks his ears will fall off before the ragged layers of skin around his fingers and at the base of his neck have a chance to. He looks anyway, in hopes that it might get the high-schooler to be quiet.

On Toga’s phone is an image of a H/C-haired girl, fearfully glancing over her shoulder with bandages wrapped around her forearms and-

Wait.

Toga’s “friend” looks suspiciously like…

“Toga,” interrupts the blue-haired man with a low voice. “What’s this girl’s name?”

The blood-loving fanatic tilts her head questioningly. “I already said it! You really must’ve been distracted,” she pouts. “It’s Y/N! Her real name is so cute! I don’t know why she doesn’t use it more! I can’t wait to get more of her blood and become her. She invited me in, and her blood was so sweet too…”

Perhaps the new League members aren’t so useless after all. Shigaraki’s fingers twitch in thought as the blonde continues rambling. “So you know her address.” After a few more seconds, Shigaraki adds, “Oi, Toga, why don’t you bring her back here?” As strange as it sounds, if your blood can be a motivator for Toga, so be it. As long as she doesn’t kill you, that is.

Elated at the suggestion, the girl bounces on the balls of her feet. “Can I really?” Her smile widens. “If she lives with us, I can have a taste of her blood every day…”

“F***ing weird,” mutters Dabi, who’s also in the room.

As if suddenly remembering his presence, Shigaraki’s eyes zero in on him. “Dabi. Go with her tomorrow night. The two of you will find her and bring her to me.”

“F***.” he groans. “I don’t wanna babysit. What, you want a stakeout?”

“Do whatever you need. Just don’t cause a scene.”

“Yay! I can’t wait to see Y/N-chan again!” cheers Toga. Pouting, she adds, “She locked me out last time.”

Dabi rolls his eyes. “Sounds like a great friendship.”

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Your home is wrecked - slaughtered. Despite being so empty, too. Loose scraps of paper are strewn over the floor. Your uniform has been turned inside out, and all your cupboards and doors are open. You don’t know what’s happening, but it’s clear that someone is after you.

But who? It wouldn’t have been Boss. With him, there would be warning signs of an outburst like this - even very subtle ones. And something like this wouldn’t benefit him in any way.

Overhaul could be a marginal possibility, but what would be his goal?

How did this happen in the first place?

You had been practicing. Practicing your ability to fly in the late hours of the night. It was a good time, since patrols were sparse in your particular area at this hour, meaning you wouldn’t get in trouble for unlawful quirk use. Unfortunately, you didn’t have any fresh blood available to you, so you had to use your own. You were spread thin, and that was dangerous. But it was a good time to be out. And clearly, good enough of a time for someone to ransack your home while you weren’t there.

At least you know one thing now.

That you need to run. To pack your only writing utensil and notebook and stash whatever food and clothes you can in your backpack and run. You have barely any possessions (and anything important like your weapons are already with UA anyway ) and you’re sure you don’t have anything worth stealing, so what else can the assailants be after but you?

But why?

And where should you run to?

It’s hard to think over the drumming of your heart, river rapids of adrenaline tearing through your body. You nearly rip your bag open trying to shove in your belongings. It’s hard to breathe from the effort. The adrenaline’s making it hard to focus. The adrenaline-

That’s not adrenaline.

That’s the thundering pound of two other heartbeats.

You turn around slowly, as if moving too fast could upset the eerie silence that is only now being broken up by discordant rhythms from the hearts of your unwelcome visitors. A silhouette leans against your doorway, blocking the much of the exit with their arms casually crossed.

“Nice to see you’re packed already,” the figure drawls. You faintly catch the scent of ash and smoke. “You’ll be coming back with us tonight.”

Another silhouette appears behind him - this one shorter, and whose movement is terrifyingly familiar. It moves with sharp, reckless dashes towards you, almost as if dancing.

Unpredictable.

Toga Himiko.

“Y/N-chaaaaan!”

Your real name. Of course she’s using your real name now.

The doorway is now entirely blocked by the two intruders, and so to escape…

You’ll have to go through both of them.

You don’t think you’ll come out unscathed.

“Toga-san? What are you doing here? Why have you brought someone?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re taking you back to meet our friends!” she cheers, arms taking a swipe at you. “You can live with us forever!”

“Friend?” scoffs her companion, still leaning against the doorframe. “I’m not your friend.”

You think about what it would mean to live with Toga forever.

Offering up your blood to her on the daily. Allowing her to claw at and maul you to her liking until you’re littered with marks and scars by her doing. Given how possessive Toga seems to be, you might not even be able to leave to the outside world.

It would almost be no different to your life now. Not to mention, Boss would definitely kill you.

“I am not allowed to come back with you,” you choke out, almost a whisper. “Please leave.”

You can barely see her face in the dark as the girl’s expression turns sour. “What do you mean… you can’t come with us?”

Time almost stops. The only sound you can hear is your own breathing, the heartbeat in your chest drowning out everything else.

In seconds, she moves. Toga leaves her position at the door and goes for your neck. You suppose this is her answer to your rejection.

You grasp your bag tightly to your chest and swiftly dash towards the exit, but the other figure moves to account for the gap left by Toga. A momentary flicker of cobalt blue in his palm has you faltering.

“Try it,” he sneers, “I’ll burn this place to the ground.”

Blood, you plead internally, please help me. If I go with them, I’ll die.

In desperation, crimson red thinly coats your skin - a crudely made covering that you have no choice but to trust in. You’re not sure if you’ll even make it out alive at this point.

You barrel past the gap under the man, who moves to block you. Knocked to the side by the impetus of your charge, he grunts in surprise, but quickly recovers.

As promised, Toga’s mysterious companion unleashes blue hell behind you. It licks at the blood covering your skin, charring it with blackened hues. You feel the heat above your skin.

But you’re out in the open, just in time. Any longer and you might have been dead.

Now you can escape.

You quickly shed the blood covering your body onto the ground, much of it lying blackened and unusable on the floor. Thankfully, you’re mostly unharmed, but…

This is bad. I wasted a lot.

This is no such time to think about that though, is it?

You keep running.

One breath in.

One breath out.

Blood emerges like roots from your back through your already-torn shirt from your earlier practice sessions, and fans out across the space behind you, coagulating into wings.

Nothing like a little more practice, right?

The ground around you becomes limned with cobalt blue and though you won’t look behind you, you now know that you no longer have a place to stay. You can feel Toga and her companion’s pulses clamouring with urgency alongside the crackle of flames; they’re gaining on you, which only means there’s one thing for you to do.

You’re lightheaded. You’ve lost a lot of blood. You flap your wings.

Still, you fly.

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There have been no sign of your two pursuers in the past twenty minutes you’ve been flying. And flying aimlessly you have been - with no true direction or objective, except only to temporarily escape the clutches of the lunatics you’ve had the misfortune of meeting.

You probably shouldn’t be flying for much longer, though, lest you pass out midair. Though the limits of your stamina are much more than this, there’s not much you can do with a large portion of your blood missing. So, clutching your belongings tighter, you land yourself on the roof of another tenement building and collapse.

Peace at last.

But you’ll need to find another place to stay, because there’s no way you can go back to yours. There are slim chances Boss will curb his reaction if you tell him what has happened, and telling the school would probably not be a good idea either since they might start to question your family and living situation. Especially since your “father” on paper is really just a subordinate of Scarface’s, chosen at random for his convenience.

It horrifies you, but your last resort and only choice might be Inasa’s place. You really don’t want to bother him with this, and worse still, he might not even be able to house you. With internships approaching, everything is going to be a mess if you don’t have somewhere to sleep at night.

The sounds of the tranquil night are disturbed by something approaching. You have always thought that wingbeats sounded like a human heartbeat. Now, you hear both, and you whip around in fear that your assailants have caught up somehow, and that they’ll be able to take you with them now that they’ve weakened you to your current state.

When you see who it actually is, a new fear strikes your heart.

It’s a hero.

More specifically, it’s that man. The one whose wings you had touched upon your first escape from the compound. The one you had seen in passing on the street during a villain attack once. You do not know him well. What you do know is that he is far more powerful than you, in more ways than one.

Hawks.

He’s going to punish me for unlawfully using my quirk, you think, panicked. He’s going to put me in jail and then Scarface will be very angry with me and then-

“You shouldn’t be out all alone at this hour,” comes his voice, smooth and soothing. He lands in front of you and squats to your level. “You alright, little one?”

“U-Um…” you stutter, flinch and shuffle backwards. “I… I’m sorry. I just needed some fresh air.” There’s no way you can tell him that you were just being hunted by two strangers over twenty minutes prior. That would only invite more questions.

Hawks laughs. “You’re not in trouble. Don’t look so scared. Though, you shouldn’t be using your quirk like this. It could be dangerous for you, y’know?”

He isn’t going to put me in jail?

“Okay,” you whisper. It is then that you realise your wings are still out, so you quickly recall the blood back into your body, the remnants splattering behind you. The man with wings of crimson watches you curiously, before moving to sit down cross-legged in front of you.

“Nice quirk you got there,” he hums. “How’d you learn to fly?”

You fidget nervously with your bandages, averting his gaze. “…I learnt to fly because I liked your wings. And I saw you do it once.”

“Oh?” The man looks amused. “And when was that?”

“When you saved a bunch of people from a villain around here one time,” you mutter, trailing off, “and… maybe when I was really young… I think I might have touched your feathers…”

The hero smiles softly. “Oh? So you do remember me,” he says quietly. “I thought you might have forgotten since you were so young.” His grin grows wider, more familiar. “You’re so much taller now,” he laughs, moving to ruffle your hair. “Are you well?”

Fear shoots through your veins. You yelp and flinch at the contact. Eyes widening, the man removes his hand apologetically, scanning your expressions to ensure he didn’t accidentally harm you.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling back, “should I not have?”

“I thought you were going to hit me,” you blurt.

“Wha- why would you think that?” His expression darkens. “Has somebody been hitting you?” he asks, eyes flitting down to your bandages. He remembers how your forearms were bruised when he had first met you. He remembers that they’ve been covered ever since. “Are you hurt?”

“…no,” you say unconvincingly, crossing your arms over your chest self-consciously, “but you’re right. Maybe you would peck me instead. Because you are a bird man.”

“Do you see a beak anywhere on my face?! And hey, don’t change the subject!”

“…no.” You hang your head in shame. “You are right. You have no beak. I am sorry.”

The man sweatdrops. Though, not wanting to push you further, Hawks decides to take the leap at another one of the burning questions he has. “Then, can I ask you something else?”

You nod.

“Is there any reason why you go by a different name now, Y/N-chan?”

Your heart almost stops.

“I’m not allowed to say,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “Please don’t tell anyone I have that name. Please. I’m Chibana Chiyo now.”

Something’s wrong. The hero can feel it, and he won’t ignore his instincts any longer, though he really hopes that for once, they’re wrong.

So he sits straighter and leans forward. “I won’t tell anyone. I’ll call you Chiyo-chan from now on.”

You look visibly relieved.

“On one condition.”

You stiffen. “…what is it?”

“You’ve got to tell me why,” he insists, “and in return, I’ll keep your secret for as long as you need.”

“I said that I’m not allowed,” you counter firmly, shaking your head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t have to be now. You can tell me anytime. Just as long as you tell me one day.”

Now you’re in a dilemma. On one hand, if you refuse his request, the man could just shout to the skies your real name if he wanted to, and Boss would have your head. But on the other hand, you could accept his request, and just never actually tell him at all. You could just leave the man waiting on the possibility that you would, trusting in your promise, and as a result you’d survive another day. It’d probably make you look less suspicious too, if you complied. Would you feel guilty? A little. But self-preservation is a skill to be used at the cost of morality.

It never occurs to you that this is a weird promise for a hero to be making with a civilian.

It never occurs to you that he might be suspicious of you and your situation already.

“Okay,” you breathe, trying to look convincing. “I will tell you. Not now… but one day.”

He looks satisfied.

Now that you’ve truly met him properly, you can’t help but think that the contrast between the two of you is almost uncanny. Because are you not Hawks’ villain counterpart? The two of you, being like winged animals of the day and night? He, the hero of the skies, should be destined to roam in the sun while you remain shrouded in darkness. Oil and water - the two of you should never mix. You will never be a hero, and he a villain.

But the truth is he is being kind to you. He’s treating you the way your classmates do - as if you’re one of them. Like someone that belongs in the light. Someone with a heart of gold. Would he still be this kind to you if he knew who he was talking to? You, a soon-to-be murderer of his fellow colleagues? A future nuisance for him to eliminate during patrols?

Your late master had always hammered into you that heroes were liars, but you think a part of him never fully believed those words when he had said them. You don’t want to doubt him, but when you look at Hawks smiling warmly at you right now, you want to think that maybe the Adjudicator was wrong about some of them.

“Alright, it’s late. Time for you to go home now, yes?” Hawks reminds you gently, like the responsible hero he should be.

“…yes. Home time.” Not that you have one to return to.

“Should I fly you home?”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, sprouting wings from your back again, “I will go there myself. Thank you, Hawks-san.”

He waves. “Take care, little birdie. Or should I say little bat?” he chuckles, studying your wings again. “Oh, and before I forget,” the man says, taking a pen and notepad from his pocket, ripping out a page, scribbling something on it, and handing it to you, “call this number if you’re in trouble, okay?”

You take the page cautiously.

In messy writing, Hawks has scrawled a phone number.

“…is it really okay for me to have this?”

“Yes,” he insists. “This is my hero duty number. If you need help, just call it."

“…okay.”

“I’m serious, Chiyo-chan.” Hawks is no longer smiling. “If you’re in trouble, I’ll do what I can to come to you.” He turns to face the ledge of the building. “I’ll see you next time.”

Next time?

You’ve no more time to question it before Hawks takes off into the sky.

Now what are you to do? Sleep on the roof? Hide out in a tree at the local park? You’ve nowhere to go, and there’s no use wasting your energy flying around. You had only brought out your wings so that Hawks might not worry about how you’d get home. It’s not like you’re going to call Hawks’ number now and ask for a place to stay. In fact, you hope you never have to use his number. Entanglement with the heroes like this will only land you into more trouble.

In the end, you think you might knock on Inasa’s door in the morning.

Unbeknownst to you, a red feather hovers near you, out of sight.

Hawks wonders why he never hears you take flight.

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Dabi: We grab her on three.

Toga: Okay!

Dabi: One, two-

Toga: Hi, Y/N-chan! We’re here to take you home with us!

Dabi: …Toga, you had ONE job.

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Author’s notes:

Long time no see, everybody!

I’ve been adhering to some of your wishes and drinking more water recently. I know it is good for me, but I find it quite inconvenient given that it seems that I now have to visit the bathroom every five minutes. To combat this, I have taken to drinking water in bulk, so that I do not need to go during inconvenient moments. I am, quite simply, ahead of the times.

Taglist:@the-hangry-otter @kingexplosionmurda

Obsidian Bloodwalker

Done for personal project

Trigger Warning/s: blood, slightly gruesome description of self-harm (not by MC!)

Pre-chapter notes: Jinkx has delivered to us this fantastic work of MC here, with pink hair, a fringe, and twin plaits. I am really starting to see that this hairstyle seems to be the dominant interpretation of her, and I don’t dislike it! She’s very cute - thank you, Jinkx!

Art: Dominic Sagona on ArtStation! He is a fantastic 3D artist who puts an incredible amount of detail into his work. The work of his I have chosen to show is one of parquetry (a decorative mosaic of wood pieces). From the scratches on the wood, to each tile’s individual texture, and even the way the light hits and scatters across the space is so beautifully represented. He’s wonderful at what he does and I hope he finds success wherever he goes!

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It sweeps across vast swathes of crumbling infrastructure. From its distance from the ground, the lambent light of the razed city is barely visible. Yet, with its attuned senses, it can feel the grating of smoke in its lungs, and hear the panicked shouts of the people below. Its master would probably think they were simply gibbering idiots. It wouldn’t agree though, or more accurately, it wouldn’t be able to. Simply because it was not made with the ability to think.

It flies lower, and its vision broadens. It sees humans, fighting their way out from under the rubble, almost if crawling their way up precarious scree. Others spot its towering silhouette, screaming and pointing at it with knobbly, ash-covered fingers.

The creature doesn’t register the noises that leaves these peoples’ mouths. It doesn’t register the reason why they are afraid of it. And you might not either if you were reasonable enough to ignore the top half of the creature, because its bottom half might almost seem ordinary - threadbare jeans, circled around the waist with a frayed, leather belt.

Part man, part Nomu.

It searches for something, but it does not know for what. Not yet, at least. It awaits for the inevitable call from the one with blue hair - an inescapable din in its mind that would otherwise be considered harsh to its senses if it were not a body without an active consciousness.

And as it perches on the top of a building, the call from its master arrives.

Find the girl with the blood quirk. Find L/N Y/N.

Not unusual for a Nomu, its mind is not filled with the thought of how the wind is cold through its wings of membrane, or how the smoke is hindering its sight as it flies; nor does it provide a reaction to either obstacle. Only does it keep in mind its master’s goal. A one-track mind - would it be a blessing, or a curse? Nomus don’t deliberate on such things. It takes to the skies, scouring the city for any sign of the girl.

It knows who she is. It had been watching her when the other Nomu had pinned her down - whether she had realised it or not - until the broad-shouldered man with flames sent the other unfortunate creature pinwheeling to the side. But even with enhanced vision, it is challenging for the winged aberrant to pick out the girl his master wants amongst the skirmishes and the pandemonium down below. There are too many hidden beneath rubble, too many screaming, too many obscured by smoke and flame.

It turns its bull-necked form towards the outskirts of the commotion, and spots a small group of young humans hurrying through an alleyway. They look ordinary. It almost dismisses the group. Beyond basic cognitive observations, there is not much more the Nomu is capable of in terms of independent thinking.

But one member of the group is carrying a girl.

The girl isn’t moving. Perhaps that means she is dead. That doesn’t matter to the Nomu, because something in the hollow caverns of its judgement and reasoning clicks, and it knows who she is. It swoops down towards the girl as a gull hunts for fish, and grips its unconscious victim in a taloned claw.

There are shouts of protest and panic from the group, but the Nomu pays them no mind, even as one drops to his knees in frustrated exhaustion and screams. It will bring its catch back to its master the way a cormorant brings hers to a fisherman.

Soon, all sounds are swallowed up by distance, save for the creature’s rhythmic wingbeats and the unsteady breathing of its prey, still hanging limply from the talons girdled around her torso.

“…shou…” she murmurs deliriously.

Dreaming, apparently - not that the Nomu knows or understands what that is. Not when its mind is so solely focused on returning its spoils of war to the very man that commands it.

“…Shishou.”

The captive mutters it louder, more insistently this time.

Something stirs at the back of the Nomu’s dormant mind - an itch with which it doesn’t have the fingers to scratch.

It’s never experienced such discomfort before.

Then again, even if it did, it had never felt the urge to react.

It gurgles uneasily. Suddenly, it is acutely aware of the smell of your blood. It smells interesting and familiar.

Familiar?

A young child.

H/C hair.

Joy, and a comforting feeling.

Pain, blood.

A girl’s screams.

Memory.

The Nomu sends out a piercing cry. Its body contracts, wings folding in on itself mid-air. Without the sounds of insistent flapping, for a second the night is truly silent.

Then, an unwilling descent.

Born natural or unnatural, just like everything else, it is a slave to the forces of the Earth. Suddenly, it registers the wind in its face as an irritating cold. Suddenly, its gut stirs at the speed it plummets to the ground with.

Suddenly, it matters whether the girl in his claws is still breathing or not.

His.

It was once a he.

Instinctively, he knows she’s still bleeding. It remembers that she has bled before. On parquetry, on dirt floors, on dull concrete.

The rooftop of a building nears his vision and he braces for impact. It’s too late to avoid it, so he brings the girl in his claws up into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her.

A Nomu’s body is made with limits beyond human comprehension. Bioengineered dense muscle, damage resistance and regeneration, amongst many other abilities, allow a Nomu to shrug off an impact that would kill a person. Thus, the impact is nothing he cannot withstand.

But he will not risk the girl’s life. He doesn’t know why - only that his body and mind refuse the action.

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The Nomu’s master is nearby.

He knows this because he feels a faint pull in his mind, but chooses to ignore it in favour of tending to the one lying on his chest. Prodding her body with a clawed finger allows her eyelids to stir, until she meets his eyes with an unsteady gaze of her own.

He chitters as gently as possible. She responds with saccadic eyes, her breath coming out in short pants. Dully, the creature discerns the emotion as fear. He’s never been able to distinguish emotions before, and doesn’t understand why he can now.

Gingerly, he sits up and his arms pull the girl up into a sitting position, but it’s an inutile decision, because the girl tumbles back over on her side.

She’s immobile and the Nomu has no clue as to why.

No matter.

With his long, wiry fingers, he clumsily pokes and prods at the girl’s arms and legs, as if checking for broken bones. After a few minutes of fussing over his unwilling patient, he sits on his haunches and chitters again with uncertainty. He’s not sure what to do with her now. He doesn’t know how to stop her bleeding.

The pull in his mind is unremitting now, and the urge to deliver the girl into the hands of the one who commands him is almost unbearable. Yet somehow, deep down, he knows that the young teen doesn’t belong with his master.

She should not be caged, but free.

So he resists, gathering the girl into his arms and flying down into a busy street, gently laying her down in the middle where she’ll be easily found. Now, the pull is almost a harsh scream, almost censuring him for not following his master’s orders sooner. His claws twitch, almost betraying his heart. Almost obeying.

But he won’t.

His fingers fly up to his face and dig into his eye sockets. Two eyeballs meet the ground with a sickening squelch.

Then the Nomu flies away before he can reorient himself, crashing into the sides of buildings as he leaves. He must go before his eyes can regenerate.

Before his body disobeys him in favour of adhering to his master’s will.

Before he can hurt her.

It’s a worthy trade - her freedom for his eyes. His master will be irate - he knows this. But a Nomu is built to do, not to think, feel, know, or remember, and so not a morsel of guilt tugs at his heart.

Though, once upon a time, think and feel was all he did. And the urges to do so had returned when he had the girl tightly grasped in his talons.

Truly, he has no idea who the girl is - only that he wants to protect her.

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“With my leg like this, he probably could’ve killed us if he wanted to.”

“We were obviously left alive on purpose. Iida, you’re amazing to have been able to face him after all the murderous intent directed at you.”

“No, that’s not it. I- wait, Chibana’s waking up!”

There’s a vitals monitor next to your bed, the slow yet incessant beeping enough to make you groan. You catch the distinct smell of antiseptic when your head lolls to the side. That’s how you know you’re in one of the places you fear the most.

The hospital.

When your eyes peek open, you see Todoroki and Iida casting shadows over your form, anxious expressions lining their faces. Midoriya is not far behind, hobbling to your side with an injured leg, determined to see you.

“Chibana,” Iida swallows with guilt. “How do you feel?”

Truthfully, you feel like you’ve been trampled by a bison stampede, been disassembled and reassembled, had your head screwed on backwards and had your kneecaps replaced with coconut shells. But you can’t tell them that, because then they’ll tell the nurses, who will tell the doctors, who will then want you to stay at the hospital for longer. And you just want to go home as quickly as possible.

The boys’ concern is amplified when you stretch the seconds with your silence, the monitor being the only indication of time passing. Wordlessly frozen, they wait for you to deliver to them a sign that you are still yourself - to tell them that you’re okay.

“I thought I was going to die,” you finally say. You thought they might have died too. That scares you more than you’d like to admit.

“You almost did,” responds Todoroki, mouth set in a grim line. “The doctors said you lost a lot of blood.”

“Is that so?” you sit yourself up, breaths heaving. “I… feel fine now.”

Midoriya pales. “You look like you’re going to faint, Chibana - maybe you should lie back down.”

“He’s right,” agrees Iida with a deep sigh. “Your body needs to recover after that fight, and then with you getting carried off by the Nomu…”

Ignoring Midoriya and Iida’s request, your arms come up to tug at the sleeves of your costume absentmindedly - except, they’re not there. You’re in hospital garb, and the sleeves are not long enough to cover your bruises. With much relief, you realise the boys haven’t so much as commented on them. They probably think you sustained those injuries during the battle. “So it was not a dream.”

“You were conscious?” your green-haired classmate questions. “Do you remember much?”

You do, but you can’t tell them that. There was something strange about the Nomu’s behaviour that day, and if you told them, that might raise suspicion about you. After all, the creature had done plenty of harm to other civilians, but to you, it had treated you as gently as a baby. Why were you any different from its victims? Something like this would certainly raise questions. Not to mention, Todoroki already knows that a villain has already been sent to try and recruit you. So you need to maintain your silence.

You meet his eyes without meaning to, and he stares you down warily. Hesitantly, you shake your head. A glob of saliva slides down your throat uncomfortably.

Midoriya sighs at your response. “With the state that you were in, I’m not surprised. We’re lucky it let you go before anything happened to you!”

“It’s strange that it didn’t attack you,” Todoroki notes pointedly.

Before you can explain further, the door to the room slides open.

Three figures stand in the entranceway. You recognise two of them. First, there’s Pro Hero Manual - Iida’s mentor. He looks well. The next person your eyes rake over is your own mentor - Native. With much relief, you note the healthy colour on Native’s cheeks. His injuries must have healed well, and quickly, too, for him to be visiting others so soon. The man catches your eye and delivers a reassuring smile to you. You wouldn’t know, but truthfully, the man is relieved to see that you’re alive.

“Oh, are you wounded kids awake?”

The gruff voice comes from a third person that you don’t recognise. An ordinary civilian, upon first glance, would probably judge him to be an ornery old man, forehead wizened with age. But from the way his sprightly figure marches towards Midoriya with a mentor’s authority and criticism on his tongue, you know that he’s a hale and shrewd man, which to you, makes him a dangerous man.

You don’t hear the rest of the conversation because your eyes now scan the room for an escape route. The window panes seem thin enough for you to break through, but you’re not sure whether you can use your quirk so soon. Assuming you’re well enough to run, you could escape through the main door. However, it’s currently blocked by three heroes and you can feel the pulse of another guest waiting outside in the hallway, so that’s not an option either.

Before you can deliberate on the logistics of crawling up into the ceiling, the mysterious guest you had detected enters the room - the towering figure of a… dog?

“Hosu’s chief of police, Tsuragamae Kenji,” the old hero states.

The police.

You must be in trouble. They must have discovered that Shigaraki had been trying to bring you to his side, or worse, they might have found out that you were part of a separate organisation altogether.

They’re going to take you away.

Iida and Todoroki stand up out of respect, but you and Midoriya struggle to climb out of your beds; the difficulty for you is partly due to your condition, and partly due to your fear. You are so caught up in your own emotions that you don’t realise that the police chief is looking onto you with kind eyes.

“You guys can just stay where you are, woof,” he says, with a sonorous voice.

And so you do, eyes still flitting around the room for any plausible escape routes.

The chief sees fit to continue speaking. “You must be the UA students who brought down the Hero Killer, right?”

Todoroki answers for the four of you, and you’re grateful that in this moment he’s taken on the role of spokesperson. It is at this moment that Hosu’s head of police launches into a lecture about the importance of following the standards applied to the profession of heroism, and how unlicensed heroes causing injury, even to villains, violates a code of conduct. The rest of you in the room listen on sombrely, and the man continues to outline the fact that even though Native was at the scene and technically had a supervisory role during the fight, he was incapacitated, not in a state to give commands, and also admitted to not doing so.

You watch as Midoriya’s expression morphs from a grim line into abject horror. Then, in your peripheral vision, you watch as Todoroki’s eyes narrow, his rising pulse ringing clear through your senses.

Rarely do you think positively, but at the very least it feels like you’re in the clear. Not completely, since you’re being reprimanded with the rest of your peers in the room for taking action without explicit instruction from a Pro - but at least the police aren’t here to just capture you and you alone for whatever involvement you have in the network of villainy.

“The four of you, and the Pro Heroes Endeavor, Manual, Native and Gran Torino must receive strict punishment.”

Todoroki’s blood flows like it’s boiling water now, and you see him cast a scalding look at the police chief.

“Wait a minute,” he begins with a low, incensed snarl. “If Iida hadn’t done anything, Native would have been killed. If Midoriya hadn’t come, the two of them would’ve been killed. Chibana saved my life and at some point, stopped all of us from bleeding out. No one realised that the Hero Killer had appeared.” He looks as if he’s about to march forwards but is quickly stopped by Midoriya. “Are you saying we should’ve followed the rules and watched people get killed?”

You’ve never seen Todoroki with so much as a frown on his face - sure, he keeps a solemn expression with him most of the time, but you’ve never seen him truly angry. His anger may not be outwardly explosive, but you can hear the level of rage in his trembling blood - enough to rival the rage of Bakugo.

It scares you a bit, but before you realise it, your heart also fills with warmth. Todoroki has incredible gall to defend all of you with a tongue this sharp - and from the police, no less. To think that he would believe in the goodness of everyone’s actions so strongly is jarring to you, considering that you believe everything you’ve ever done in life has either been wrong or not good enough.

Todoroki-san is scary. But he is also kind.

It is here that you learn that anger, when controlled and used to deliver logical and civil emotional arguments, can be used for good. Not when it is used to scatter bruises like confetti across your skin, or to steal the air from your lungs.

…or maybe not.

Because in seconds, the police chief delivers more scathing words to Todoroki, and his face morphs into something quite frightening. Suddenly, Midoriya’s soft pleas are not enough to hold him back from striding towards the imposing man, a snarl on his lips. “You dog!”

Fear flickers in your stomach like an uncovered flame. You want to stop him too, for you know that pushing against authority never ends up well, even if you haven’t actually ever attempted to defy anyone before.

Who are you more afraid of right now - the police chief, or your classmate? You’re not sure. You think that the pure, murderous fury on Todoroki’s face makes him look like his father.

“Hang on a minute. Hear him out until the end,” the small man called Gran Torino reasons.

Your classmate obeys, but looks as if he’s about to explode.

“That was the official opinion of the police,” continues the police chief, not unkindly. “And the punishment and such would only happen if this were all made public, woof. If this were made public, you would probably be applauded by the public, but you would not be able to escape punishment.”

You definitely do not want to be applauded by the public or anyone.

“On the other hand, this is a bit underhanded, but if it is not made public, the burn scars would support Endeavor being the hero who saved the day and it would end there, woof. Thankfully, there were very few witnesses.”

Nothing lifts your spirits more than knowing that most people did not witness you using your quirk in the ways you did during that battle.

“This violation could be crushed here, woof. But this would also mean no-one would know about your good judgement or achievements. Which do you prefer?”

The answer lies on your tongue - let nobody know about what you’ve done, so you can continue living your life unacknowledged. You can only hope that Iida, Midoriya and Todoroki agree with you. Because if your work can be played off as the actions of another hero, you can continue fulfilling Boss’s purpose. You can stay hidden for a little longer, creep a little closer to his goal.

Then, the police chief smiles - as best as a dog mutant can with his tongue lolling out, anyway, and gives you all a thumbs up. “Personally, I don’t want to be the one to find fault with promising young ones because of one big mistake, woof.” He looks so friendly that you want to pat him, but then you remember that such an action probably wouldn’t be appropriate for someone as highly-ranking as he is.

So he’s not here to apprehend you or your classmates. Your shoulders drop with a relieved sigh, and you catch Native grinning widely.

One by one, you and your classmates bow to the four adults in the room, apologising for causing trouble. There’s a general consensus that the best course of action is to let Endeavor take all the credit for your work, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Todoroki grumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but you feel the angry roil of his blood begin to subside.

Finally, the chief does something unexpected.

Suddenly, he’s the one bowing deeply to you, as if he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes lecturing all of you on the hero code of conduct. “Because of the unfairness of adults, you will not be able to receive the praise you would probably have gotten, but at least, as someone who also protects the peace, I can say thank you.”

You’re stunned. You’ve never received respect like this before - much less from somebody this important. Usually, the unfairness of adults leaves you battered and bruised on the ground. Today, it has saved you.

“Thank you for keeping our secret,” you murmur quietly, and you think he doesn’t hear you until he looks up from his bow and winks at you.

A dog mutant has a dog’s hearing. Of course.

When the four adults finally leave, you and your classmates sit in silence. There’s no sound other than the beeping of your vitals monitor and the shuffling of sheets.

But you feel lighter. Calmer. Something you never thought you’d ever feel at a hospital, of all places.

And now, you can really focus on recovering.

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Gran Torino: This is Hosu’s chief of police, Tsuragamae Kenji.

Tsuragamae Kenji: Woof.

Y/N: This dog has a job. I knew those cats at the cat café were slacking off.

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Author’s notes:

Hello everyone!

Thank you for your continued patience with Bloodwalker and apologise to all of you whom I know I have left waiting.

I am now going to explain my prolonged absence.

At the beginning of this year, I was blessed enough to finally begin working full time at a job. This job is extremely busy, and I find myself often working overtime and getting sick. Thus, these past 6 months have been a constant cycle of being too busy and getting sick, and then recovering and then being busy again. Nevertheless, it is a job that I enjoy and love and I am very grateful to have it.

I still enjoy writing and look forward to getting back into it properly!

In other news, Auntie is uh… not alive. I wanted to spoil her and ended up overwatering her. And then… you know the rest. I think I am not made to look after plants. These are the harsh consequences of spoiling your kids…

But before you get angry, Grandma is still thriving!

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: mentions of death

Pre-chapter notes: Some more, lovely fanart has come in today! Ari has drawn this beautiful perspective shot of MC falling down into a pit, surrounded by columns. I think it reminds me a lot of the last chapter’s fight scene! You have a wonderful eye for proportion, Ari! Ari has also drawn us a realistic version of MC which is simply wonderful - I like the detail of the bags under her eyes. She’s certainly not getting a lot of sleep! And once again, here’s Ari trying to tempt readers into liking Scarface again, with this sketch of Boss… stay strong, readers. Finally, there’s this wonderful comic interaction of MC talking to some of the server members! The interactions are certainly… very interesting. Thank you, Ari!

Sam made these wonderful edits of what they imagined MC would look like in real life: [1], [2]. I think one of the ladies is Yeji from the group ITZY. Unfortunately, I am not sure who the other lady is, but the edits are fantastic and they are all very beautiful. I think black and white really suits MC! Thank you, Sam!

Art: shofik islam on ArtStation! Their 3D modelling projects range from very detailed pieces, such as this rope piece I have chosen for this chapter’s artwork, to cuter, more game-like modelling pieces (see their profile for more)! I hope you’ll be able to support this lovely artist!

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A person in a hero suit that looks like Iida’s is just a few metres away from you, walking stiffly alongside another man. You can’t entirely verify that it’s him, with his face being obscured by his helmet, but you hear the faint accents of his telltale vocal boom, and so you think to yourself that if it looks like Iida, sounds like Iida, and walks like Iida… it’s probably Iida.

You hadn’t had expected to see him so soon.

Would it be weird to go and say hello?

Would you even be allowed to?

You look to Native to ask about it, but it seems he’s already beat you to it, striding towards the pair with a large grin on his face. Upon reaching them, he throws an arm around Manual, startling the poor man with the impact.

“Oh! Native! What are you doing here? Your patrol isn’t usually this early, is it?”

Native delivers a hearty laugh, releasing the fish-like man. “Good to see you around, Manual. You’re right; it’s not common for our paths to overlap during patrol. But, the Commission recently assigned me an earlier patrol,” he explains, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Probably something to do with the Hero Killer.”

You feel Iida’s pulse increase. Yours perks up at the mention of the villain as well.

“Right,” muses Iida’s mentor, “I did hear about them increasing hero presence around here, but I didn’t know it would happen so soon…”

Native scoffs. “Huh. Trust the Commission to be quick to act only when it concerns themselves.”

It had only just been days since you had heard about the Hero Killer. You realise that the Hero Commission is scarily efficient when they want to be.

Before you can listen in on the two adults’ conversations any further, Iida steps forwards to address you.

“I did not expect to see you so soon, Chibana!” You can hear the smile underneath his mask. “What have you been up to so far?”

“Hello, Iida-san,” you answer quietly. “Native-san showed me his building. Then, I sparred with him. Now we are here. That is all. What about you?”

“Mostly the same, except we were already patrolling for a while before you came.”

“Oh.”

The two of you look back to the two adults, who are now laughing and slapping each other on the back. Clearly, they’re close. Iida has the thought that this moment feels exactly like moments when he was younger, where his mother would stop to talk to a friend she had spotted across the shopping centre for half an hour while he would endure the painstaking wait.

“Why are they hitting each other? Are they fighting?” you ask. “Should we stop them?”

Iida sweatdrops. “It’s just their way of showing each other that they’re friends… I think they’ll be fine.”

“Then should I hit my friends too?”

He fixes you with a look that you can feel but can’t see due to his costume. “Kindly refrain.”

The two of you fall into silence, half hoping for your mentors to finish their conversations and half hoping that the other might say something to slice through the awkwardness of this encounter, and so you take to focusing on the tempo of your class president’s unabated pulse.

Unabated ever since the Hero Killer was mentioned.

Of course. He must still very affected by what happened to his brother, you think. You should probably broach the topic, if it’s important to him.

Gently, of course.

“Iida-san… are you angry with the Hero Killer?”

In an instant, he’s sent back into the doldrums of his grief, and though unseen to the world thanks to his costume, water prickles behind his eyes. Iida Tenya has a visual image of his brother being wheeled away on a gurney, face blurred by the news outlets on TV. He remembers Tensei telling him that Ingenium is no more.

Iida doesn’t say all this.

Instead, he grits his teeth, and churns out words like the slop of concrete. “Why are you asking such a question?” He shakes his head dismissively. “I’m fine, Chibana.”

He’s not, but you don’t push him any further - there’s something in his tone that tells you it’d be a dangerous thing to do.

Tone. You’ve become better at understanding that these days, you think. Spending more time with the comparatively muted personalities in your class has helped a lot. Suddenly, you feel a wave of longing for the routine and warmth UA has provided you. Your classmates. You miss them. That can never be a good thing.

“It will be okay,” you say after a while, giving Iida an attentive pat on the shoulder, careful not to have your hand linger for too long even though you’re really only touching cold metal.

It takes a few moments before Iida can look you in the eye. “You can’t be certain,” he mutters in response.

Oh, but you are. He doesn’t need to know why, though.

Because Iida is innocent. An innocent, aspiring hero. He shouldn’t have to get his hands dirty with anything. Not when yours already are.

In your heart, you’ve already decided. Not just for Boss, but for Iida, and for everyone else, too…

You will kill the Hero Killer.

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For a hero that you’ve previously never heard of prior to internships, Native is surprisingly difficult as an opponent. Though that’s quite the unreliable benchmark (after all, you came into UA not knowing who All Might was), there’s no denying that the man is faster, physically stronger, and far more cunning than you. Even if you haven’t used your full strength against him yet.

Not that you plan to.

From the morning until noon, you train hand-to-hand combat with him, as Native had stated that it wasn’t good for a hero to rely on their quirk too much. You had agreed. It was part of the reason why you kept the Adjudicator’s weapons as a part of your costume. In fact, you would have been happy to not have been born with a quirk at all, and to just remain an ordinary citizen that would only be able to rely on traditional methods for self-defence. Instead, you’re here now, parrying Native’s kicks and punches, and then pretending to struggle with swivelling your hip for a kick of your own, when it’s a move you mastered long ago in the years you spent sparring with your late mentor.

Still, you recognise that there are valuable lessons to learn from Native. In your time spent with the Adjudicator, you eventually were able to best him with your quirk, but without it, he was always physically stronger than you in quirkless combat.

Much like Native right now.

Native delivers a right straight that you think almost contacts your jaw, and you draw up your guard only to find that his fist is no longer there.

A feint. The man switches to a left hook, and you stumble backwards as you feel the wind his swing leaves behind caress your skin.

A mistake. It might have been better to take the punch, as terrified as you are of them, for your dodge costs you your balance. The hero is quick to take advantage of this, lurching forwards and pinning you face-down to the floor in a hold. The back of your neck prickles with abject horror, but thankfully, the man releases you before your mind goes haywire from the panic of it all.

“Hmm,” he muses, unaware of your plight, “you’re holding up well, but there’s some areas that could use some improvement.” Scanning over your enervated form on the floor, he rubs his temples and comes to a conclusion. “Listen, Chi - if someone is physically stronger than you, they will always overpower you with brute strength. In that case, your allies are your technique, and your speed. You mostly seem to have technique down, but you could work on your speed a little more.”

“…my speed?” you ask.

He nods. “Precisely. In fact, I’m fast in my camouflaged form, but I think you have the potential to be faster. And if you can be faster than me, you’ll be faster than about 60-70% of villains,” he explains. “Anything after that, though,” Native winks, “and you’ll have to use your imagination.”

You wonder if you really can be faster than Native. It might be possible if you work at full power and use your blood ribbons efficiently enough to slingshot you across space. To test that, though, would mean revealing all your cards to the man, and that’s not something you’re supposed to do. Still, there’s no harm in taking his advice and training by yourself in secret so that he doesn’t see how quick your progress actually is.

Native checks the ivory-coloured clock in the corner of the room and huffs. “Alright, let’s go and have lunch, and then we’ll switch to quirk training.”

You do just that, scarfing down a quick meal in this cafeteria that you think is simply divine. Naturally, you pick something with a lot of meat - you need the iron for your quirk, after all. The man just chuckles and compliments your appetite before the two of you return to the third floor where the training room is. All the while, all you can do is marvel at how energised a good meal can make you feel after such intense training.

“Alright, how do you usually train with your quirk?”

Reluctantly, you tell your hero mentor about how you practise creating relatively complex shapes with accuracy and speed, and in increasingly greater quantities. You tell him how you practise manipulating them and using them to your benefit, until it comes to you like breathing, and how you work to come up with creative ways to use your quirk - though you’re sparse on the details of that.

You don’t tell him how your training sessions back at the compound force you to push yourself to your limits and beyond - to use so much of your own blood until you pass out.

You don’t tell him that sometimes, you’re forced to use blood that isn’t yours. Not blood donated willingly, but blood sourced from unconsenting participants. From participants that aren’t breathing anymore.

“Very interesting. I’ve had an epiphany,” begins the cloaked man, grinning at you. “Can you show me your blood… strand things?”

You don’t bother to correct him on his word choice. Silently, you call on a stream of blood to emerge, one from each palm, and hover vertically in the air. Native leans in, marvelling at their composition.

“These are pretty versatile,” he hums, “but the first time we sparred, I sliced through one of these pretty easily. Is there any way to increase its overall strength?”

A valid question - one he needs to know the answer to in order to help you become stronger. That doesn’t mean you want to give him the information, but really, what choice do you have?

“This particular structure is based off of ribbons. The shape is easy and, as you said, it is a very versatile material.”

“You can’t make it more durable?”

“My quirk does not really work like that,” you pause, reluctant to give out more information. “My particular blood type is… best for flexible objects. Most objects I create with my blood type will be of that strength.”

Native pauses and hums, but doesn’t ask about your quirk’s capabilities with other blood types. You’re thankful that you chose him. A more well-known hero, having more at stake given their ranking, might have pressed you for more details.

“Remember what I said last time about changing the structure?” hums the pro, still deep in thought. His eyes drag towards you, and then away, as if cogs are whirring about in his head as he contemplates the possibilities.

“Yes…?” you respond with uncertainty.

“You could try shaping your existing blood creations into a stronger shape to reinforce the structure, like in the form of nylon ropes, for example.”

You begin to try explaining to Native that that might be too complex - that you’ve tried doing something similar before with feathers which simply puts too much of a strain on your body and mind.

But Native persists, and it is good that he does, because you can never underestimate the eyes of a professional.

“Nylon ropes aren’t as complex as feathers in shape, though,” he reasons with a thoughtful look in his eye. “They’re just many thin versions of your blood ribbons twisted together. That’s something you can work up to, right?”

And again you realise that he’s right.

Theoretically, it shouldn’t be so difficult, given how much you’ve trained - especially not when compared to the feathers. You would just need to figure out the weaving pattern.

That’s something you’ll be working on for the foreseeable future, then.

In pursuit of your improvement, Native is quick to diverge from the topic of your blood ribbons and focus on other possibilities. “Do you fight in other ways other than using blood ribbons?” he asks. “Have you tried reinforcing your fist with blood, for example?”

“The material will be soft because of my blood type. I’m not sure that will work.”

“But it’ll absorb the impact on your fist from any punches you make, like a boxing glove. Try it - it can’t be so bad.”

“Okay, Native-san,” you agree. “I will give it a try.”

“Good. Oh, and one more thing,” he adds, “have you considered using other people’s blood?”

Your shoulders tense up. Internally, it’s as if your world has been sent pinwheeling into the depths of your misery. Nails rake over your arms aggressively, and if it weren’t for your bandages, you would be sure to see red trails on your skin in their wake.

Much to his credit, your mentor notices your discomfort and waves his hands disarmingly in the air. “Not in a bad way, of course! I mean, during combat. Maybe an ally lets you use their blood, or something like that.”

The thought of doing so has you wishing to chunder the contents of your stomach.

How could you use the blood of your comrades, when you don’t even want to use the blood of your enemies? How could you treat them like animals, or like containers of living ichor? You would much rather be removed from the world yourself. The thought slithers into your mind and roots itself there with a vice grip.

To use others like a tool?

Never.

Yet, you’ve done it before.

No.

Never again.

“I am sorry, Native-san,” you bow, trembling, “but I am not open to the idea.”

The man smiles knowingly, surprisingly tolerant of your refusal. “Not a problem. You have a lot of other things you could work on anyway.” The man flexes his fingers and readies his stance. “Now, let’s do some more hand-to-hand again, but this time, try to sneak in your quirk as well.”

Then the man uses his quirk and rushes towards you.

Instantly, it’s more difficult to pick his figure out amongst the structures in the hall - the same one where the two of you had initially sparred on your first day here. Though, very faintly, you hear him.

The barely perceptible puff of his breath.

The faint flutter of his cloak.

You need to finish him off in close quarters.

When you turn around, he isn’t there. Native is looking to ambush you and overwhelm you all in one move.

Blood, come.

And it does - quietly at first. Your fluid coats your hands and coagulates into firm gloves - just like Native had suggested.

Then, your blood moves quicker. You call on more to form ordinary ribbons - just for mobility purposes, though. You won’t let Native destroy them with his knife again.

Finally, you listen.

Not for his breathing or his footfalls, but for the tiniest hint of his pulse.

To your left.

You turn and your ribbons instantly reach forwards and attach themselves to two adjacent pillars, slingshotting you forwards for a few metres. The pulse gets louder. It may just be your own bias, but you feel as though you can almost smell the musk of his costume…

And then you see him. Crawling along the base of a pillar, waiting for you to let your guard down. But this time, you’ve found him first, and you deliver a square punch to his jaw, though you make sure to scale back the power.

The man grunts, delivering a kick of his own to your rib. You parry with a blood ribbon, quickly whipping it away when you see the glint of the man’s knife.

“Very good!” he pants, still dodging your attacks. “I’m impressed at how quickly you’ve picked that up. A lot of the time, villains will be caught off-guard by a simple punch, especially when they’re expecting something crazy from someone’s quirk to come at them,” the cloaked man explains. “Some of the best fighting techniques I’ve seen combine traditional methods with quirked methods.” Native sends another kick your way, but you quickly dart away before it can clip you on the shoulder.

This fight is going nowhere. Native is too well-matched for your scaled-back abilities and you refuse to show him any more of your tricks. But you need to finish this fight, because you need him to think you are capable - capable enough to take out with him on future patrols. Capable enough to deal with the Hero Killer if he appears in the area.

A sharp jingle on your waist reminds you of something you’ve been neglecting.

Your kusarigama.

You still have your tonfa strapped to your back too.

Would it be cheating to use them?

But Native told you to use traditional fighting methods too, right? So what do you have to lose?

You quickly unhook your kusarigama from your belt, and with great accuracy, you throw the end of the chain held down by the leaden weight around the Pro Hero’s leg. Aided by momentum, it wraps itself around the limb like a python constricts its prey, and when you tug on the sickle attached on the other side, Native loses balance and falls to the ground.

“Did I win, Native-san?” you ask politely, still holding the sickle end of your weapon while he stays splayed on the floor.

He sighs, hands held up in surrender. “Yes. You could’ve easily ended me there.”

In minutes, you release him. The man dusts himself off and stops using his quirk. Finally, you can see him again - properly.

Native leans in curiously to inspect the weapon in your hands. “Very interesting weapon choice. Can you show me?”

You hold it out for him to view, but not close enough so that he can touch it. He also notices the pair of tonfa on your back, and glances at them with interest.

“Wonderful. What made you choose these?”

“I did not choose them. They were… gifts.”

“Well, whoever chose them has some great taste!”

“…you like them?”

“I’ve always been a little bit interested in traditional Japanese weapons,” he explains. “Unfortunately I’m not familiar with fighting with these ones so I can’t really teach you, but… please continue using them when sparring with me. As weapons, they might be a little outdated, but they still have merit,” he reassures. “I’m sure they’ll come in handy one day.”

You hope so. With any luck, you’ll only need your own blood, your own skills, and your own weapons to hold your own. To deal with villains. To deal with the Hero Killer.

You’ll never use the blood of another human again.

Oh, but how wrong you’ll be.

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Iida: So, what have you learned so far on your internship?

Y/N: This. (delivers the most earth-shattering, ground quaking, tectonic, volcanic slap to Iida’s back).

Also Y/N: This means we are friends.

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Author’s notes:

Hello everyone, it’s been a while.

I’ve finally gathered my bearings now, but will continue to be gathering my bearings! These few weeks will be a little inconsistent in terms of upload, but I hope to get back into a routine soon so that I can say hello to you all frequently and properly.

In other news, Grandma’s main shoot that I thought had passed away seems to have a green shoot hidden within the dead leaves… I don’t want to get my hopes up but! She! May! Be! Alive!

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: mentions of needles, mentions of drowning

Pre-chapter notes: It seems that last chapter spawned a lot of art! First of all, Reine produced this beautiful portrait of MC sitting in front of a painting, where there is a hand in the painting reaching out towards her. Whose hand do you think it is? I know I have a few names on my mind. I think all the eyes in the painting are also wonderfully poetic and eerie; really telling of her situation. Reine also drew this beautiful visual of MC hiding behind Dabi and I think the way that they have illustrated his flames is just beautiful. Thank you, Reine!

Ari produced this wonderful piece of MC hiding behind Dabi and it’s very cute! I can just see MC trembling behind him and it is strangely endearing. She also drew MC in different art styles such as in manhwa style and Omori style - here. She also drew this one of MC lying in a pool of blood. So wonderfully tragic. It also seems that Ari has not lost her fixation on Scarface, because she drew this visual of him stretching at work. He’s got quite nice long hair! Finally, she produced this beautiful work - a side-by-side of MC in Bloodwalker in black-and-white (left), and a happier MC from another universe in colour (right). She explained that the right-hand side was intentionally designed to portray the complete opposite of the MC in Bloodwalker - that is, happy, carefree, rebellious, maniacal, and notably enough, not afraid to use her quirk. Thank you for this beautiful portrayal of MC, Ari!

Celeste has also drawn her take on MC hiding behind Dabi here, and I think it is wonderful. I do like how nonchalant Dabi is while MC peeks out from behind him. It’s very cute. The folds on his clothing are also impeccable! Thank you, Celeste!

Finally, maggot drew this extremely cute artwork of MC with the most edible-looking braids. I can’t explain it but it looks like Bueno chocolate. This art makes me want to turn her into my own daughter. They also drew this version of MC, which was their initial interpretation of MC! Both are very cute! Thank you, maggot!

Art: Alex Bitsadze on ArtStation! He’s illustrated this wonderful visual of a black and yellow spider in its web! I think the lighting is wonderful in this image, and it makes it look strangely serene. Also, the dew drops on the spider’s legs are a very nice touch. The spider has also been animated on his portfolio if any of you are interested in seeing it - it’s very smooth!

BW MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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Inasa’s mother envelops you in another hug as soon as you enter through the door - almost as if she has been waiting for you.

She greets you with the most affection you’ve received from an adult in a while, but when she mumbles a soft, “Welcome back,” into your ear, gently stroking the back of your head, it feels so natural. Like you’re a part of the family.

“Inasa isn’t back yet, but he will be soon,” Auntie Yoarashi explains, loosening her hold on you. “I asked him to pick up some things from the store from you - and I hope you don’t mind, but I organised your belongings. I also placed a futon in Inasa’s room, because I thought you might be more comfortable not being alone at night, and…”

She trails off, realising that she had been rambling in her haste to make you feel comfortable. You reassure her with a light, momentary hug of your own, though you’re quick to let go.

“Thank you, Auntie Yoarashi.”

“Would you like something to eat?” she inquires.

“Thank you… but I think I am not hungry. Am I allowed to go to Inasa-san’s room and rest?”

A huff of amusement leaves her nostrils. “You don’t need to ask permission to do that, Chibana-chan. You must be tired after today.” She shoos you away promptly with promises of a warm dinner later tonight, and normally you’d be elated. Instead, you tread up the stairs as if you’re dragging your legs through molasses, and move to where you remember your friend’s room to be.

As is by fate’s design, your belongings indeed have been arranged. You have so little possessions that they all fit within a small section on Inasa’s shelf; the daruma gifted to you by Kaminari, eyes still uncoloured, sits cradled on an orderly pile of your only clothing. Your brown scarf, bought during your outing with Mina, is demurely folded to the side, shielded by loose papers that you vaguely recognise as Midoriya’s sketch of you and Kendo’s list of one-liners she had written up for you to use in defence against Monoma.

All that is yours is that, the belongings in your schoolbag, and the uniform sitting on your skin.

It’s all you were able to bring.

By contrast, the boy’s room is littered with trinkets, posters, and other paraphernalia - all signs of a well-cared-for child. Is this what it means to be loved? Warm meals, things that remind you of others, and a place to sleep? You feel like it is. Even though you are in the home of another, you feel like you have more privacy here behind and between the ancillary walls alone than in your own apartment where Boss had had his eyes and ears on you. However, you can’t indulge in such things excessively; it’s a bad idea for you to be attached to your own existence.

Content to wait for Inasa’s return, you take your place on the futon that lies on the floor, grateful that his mother had not chosen a bed for you to lie in. You don’t know how to sleep in a bed and you refuse to try - some foolish path dependence of yours, perhaps - but at least that is one less thing that needs to be aired out to the family hosting you since you’re not being forced to anyway.

What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

Even though you know that it can and it will.

Ballasted by apathetic torpor, you lie inert on your comforter. You know that exhaustion always catches up. A race you can never win. Fatigue runs a marathon inside you, reaching its zenith at your eyes which begin to flutter shut.

You don’t want to go to sleep. Inasa will return soon and he’ll know you’re in good condition and cease his worrying, and things will remain the same and-

And?

And sleep takes you.

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In your repose, Inasa thinks you look rather distressed. He doesn’t have the kind of keen observation or prescience that allows him to know if this is a common occurrence for you, because the first time you had stayed over, he wasn’t able to observe you; you had fallen asleep after him and had awoken before him. He’s a heavy sleeper, too, so he didn’t remember anything from the night.

He hears you whimper, and the sound alone has him reaching out to soothe away the incessant incantations that leave your lips - spouting a language he can’t understand.

You writhe at the contact and he pulls his hand away.

Mother had asked him to purchase some clothing for you, along with other necessities, so he busies himself with organising them into their rightful places, your audible discomfort background noise for his work. He worries for you - he truly does - but if you’re not awake by the time he’s done, he’ll wake you up.

It is strange, he thinks, to not have to answer your frequent questions - to work to quell your unabating curiosity of the world.

Strange, not to feel your eyes on him, when you are in the same room as one other.

You don’t think he notices, but he does. You don’t gaze at him the way people gaze at stars, full of wonder and awe. You watch him with the vigilance of a prisoner, and even when you don’t, he knows you are still hyperaware of his movements - his every position.

Inasa finishes his work, and leans down towards your sleeping form. His request comes out in a low baritone, in hopes that it will stir you from whatever ordeal you’re enduring now.

“Wake up, Chiyo-chan. You’re having a nightmare.”

You curl in on yourself. A bead of sweat trails down your neck.

“Chiyo-chan?”

It doesn’t work. Instead, you seem to writhe even more, limbs splayed and scattered like dice on the futon. He doesn’t mean to add to your distress, but it’s difficult not to when he doesn’t know what sets you off.

He’s going to try something else.

He swallows the way he does when he knows he’s about to cross a line, to entangle himself into something he knows little about. You might hate him for it. But if it’s to end your current afflictions, he doesn’t think he’ll regret it.

“Y/N-chan?”

You stir. “Mm… Inasa-san…?”

Then realising your surroundings, you bolt upright.

“I am sorry, Inasa-san; I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you mutter apologetically. You continue as if you never heard him use your real - and rather forbidden - name, still lost in the haze of your nap. “Was it difficult to wake me? Usually I am a light sleeper.”

“You must’ve needed it, then,” he remarks, unsure if you’ll be upset with him for going against your wishes. If you were more socially adept, you would’ve realised he was trying to say, “You don’t sleep a lot, do you?”, but of course you are none the wiser. “You were having a nightmare.”

“…yes.”

“Want to talk about it?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth. In another world where nothing was at stake, you might’ve told him - that you dream of roiling waters and suffocation and needles piercing your epidermis. But doing so would make him curious, and curiosity is a risk to him. To the both of you.

“…no,” you whisper, and Inasa can tell you have more to say, so he waits with bated breath. He’s spent enough time with you to know that there is no use pushing you for an answer when you are this cagey. “Inasa-san, I think…”

He watches you fiddle with the hem of your uniform - you must have truly been exhausted if you hadn’t had changed before succumbing to your slumber. His sharp eyes meet your bleary-eyed ones, never wavering.

“I think I should not stay with you and your family for very long.”

Yoarashi Inasa’s heart drops.

Is it the food? Is it not to your liking? Or do you not feel comfortable in his home? Worse still, is it because of him? Maybe he shouldn’t be so pessimistic. Maybe you’ve found a new place to stay, though the thought of you being all alone again makes his heart twist something sour.

“Can I know why?” he asks, moving to kneel properly in front of your futon. “Is something wrong?”

You shake your head. “Nothing is wrong,” you mutter. “Your family is very kind. Everything is good. It’s just that…”

His silence cajoles you further.

“I don’t want to cause you trouble,” you finish, tugging on the bandages on your forearms, sinking your fingers into skin and flesh.

Then finally, you look up at him.

Inasa’s posture is rigid like steel, face frozen in a displeased rictus. “Do you have somewhere else to stay?”

“…not yet. But-”

“Then it’s not safe for you, and it’s better that you stay with us.”

You scramble for an excuse. “…my father will keep me safe.”

“You’re father’s never there!” He doesn’t mean to raise his voice at you, but it happens anyway, in a last-ditch attempt to convince you. “Why won’t you let us keep you safe? Let me? Why won’t you let me help you?”

You flinch at his volume, and regret instantly fills his features. He finds solace in the fact that you don’t move away, and he can tell by your eyes that you’re deliberating on a response.

At last, you level him with the blank stare that Inasa’s learned is your default whenever you want to hide something. “…my burdens are not for sharing,” you insist quietly.

“They’re not burdens,” he perseveres, taking your hands away from martyring your forearm wraps. “You’re not a burden.” He brings your palms to his lap. “And whatever you’re not telling me, Chiyo-chan,” he breathes, “it scares me. I’m scared…. scared for you.”

His admission sends you reeling - raw emotion evident in his voice. It is not your desire to have him entangled in your matters, or to be caught in your web of lies and deceit. Now it seems that it is too late.

Your hands are almost drawn back to your bandages like a magnet but Inasa tightens his hold on them, giving you a gentle look of reproach. To the side, your eyes sweep over a bag of items that his mother must’ve asked him to buy, and you continue to look away from him as you speak. “What happened last night… you don’t need to worry. I found out that one of the people there was actually a hero. I met him today and he saved me from someone.”

“…saved you? Just what on earth happened last night and today-”

“UA knows about it and extra heroes are being sent to the area,” you cut him off. “I am safe. You do not need to worry anymore.”

“It’s not going to stop me,” he grumbles, and you almost see a faint pout forming on his lips. He squeezes your hands gently once again and leans in to really study your face, as if to analyse your every expression. As if to ensure you’re really as well as you say you are. His voice comes out as a faint whisper. “Can… can I hug you?”

You’ve never heard him sound so timid.

“…okay.”

The boy releases your hands pulls you in for an all-consuming hug, pressing his cheek against your head so tightly as if he’s going to lose you. “Sorry for yelling at you,” he mumbles into your hair. “Did I scare you? Be honest with me for this, at least.”

You’re still a juvenile when it comes to hugs. Your body twitches like it wants to run, spine tingling. “…yes,” you admit, “but I know you are just worried.” You never know quite where to put your hands, and in the end you settle with just gripping the front of his uniform. “I’m… sorry for scaring you and making you worry about me.”

“I’m not angry with you,” he clarifies quickly, “but I don’t like how you have so much… strange stuff to deal with. Things that you won’t tell me.”

Reticent as always, you dismiss the notion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sighs resignedly. “I’ll drop it for now. You’re telling me about your day properly afterwards, though. I need to hear about what this hero saved you from. And,” he pauses, “don’t worry about finding another place so soon. Just stay.”

“Mm,” is all you reply with as you bury yourself deeper into his arms, basking in his warmth. The two of you remain that way, and you find your eyes drifting closed again.

Inasa feels the soft thud of your head against his chest, and he freezes where he sits. Sure, you’ve hugged before, but this is something… new.

With painstaking caution, he looks down to confirm what he already knows. Your eyes sealed shut, soft, shallow breaths barely tickling the divots on his neck. He swallows as he observes you - the way you rest on him. The way your usual, vacant expression peeled back from your face. The rise and fall of your shoulders. Inasa thinks that he’s never seen you so at peace.

He doesn’t want to wake you - earlier you did mention that you were a light sleeper, and he can see that now with the way your eyes flicker when he shifts to sit more comfortably. You lie entirely open - unguarded - and his heart squeezes at the sheer trust that must have taken you. Someone who did everything to keep him at arm’s length when the two of you had first met.

You trust him. The thought sends his mind into a flurry. You trust him, despite the fact that he’s just yelled at you. You trust him, despite whatever your past experiences have been, and despite how shuttered and closed-off you are.

Inasa holds you a little closer. Wraps his arms around you a little tighter. You mumble and twitch but don’t stir.

He revels in the fact that you’re warm too.

She trusts me.

You don’t know it yet, but you do.

It is nothing but the highest of compliments.

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At night after dinner, you set out to the compound after convincing Inasa and his family that you need to run an urgent errand. Inasa had made you promise to return, but you had only sent him a woeful look before disappearing from sight, because in your line of work, nothing is promised.

However, you find yourself longing for the warmth of the Yoarashi residence the further you travel away from it, and perhaps it is because you are now going to a place so cold and devoid of life - a place that chewed you up and spat you out like you were pigswill and gruel. Still, it is a necessary journey you must make - to the compound, that is. Scarface will need a proper report from you, after all, and for an incident as severe as you losing your place of residence, a text will not suffice.

It is a horrifying realisation to make.

Horrifying to realise, that you’re getting attached. That your mind, more often than not, drifts to the warm smiles and gentle touches of the people around you. Whether in Inasa’s home, or in Aizawa’s classroom, the roiling pit of emotions that threaten to surface is something you’d rather not deal with.

But they will only distract you.

And they themselves will become your own enemies one day.

“Explain yourself,” Scarface snarls, barely giving you a chance to adjust to the dimly illuminated room when you step into the compound, one that weak fluorescent bulbs barely seem to rectify. “Your one condition for the mission being successful is to stay out of trouble. Don’t tell me you’re so daft that you can’t even manage that.”

And from his words you know that Boss already knows the news about your place. You’re not sure you’ll leave unscathed.

Your eyes adjust, and view the faint outline of Overhaul as well. Perspiration, wet and cold, prickles like thorns at the back of your neck. And then your body folds to the ground, pressed to the floor to grovel at Boss’s Oxford shoes. To beg for your life. You are so close to them that you can observe the decorations of brogue lining the vamp of his footwear, and the perforated leather reminds you of the way Overhaul had roughly punctured your skin the first time he had met you.

“Boss, please spare me,” you beg, tremors in your voice. “It’s true two people tried to come into my apartment last night. I don’t know who they are. B-But I will do better at staying out of sight-”

“Shut your mouth,” he hisses, his foot moving to press down on your skull. “You’re an incompetent fool, attracting the eyes of all these other villains-”

He’s interrupted by a faint scoff, and he turns to the source of the sound, vexed.

“How controversial,” interjects Overhaul with a bored drawl, “have you ever considered that the place you gave her simply wasn’t secure enough?” He levels Scarface with a stare that makes the man’s blood fill with bile. “I can arrange something for her. The Shie Hassaikai has more than enough funds to spare.”

Boss grits his teeth at the man’s crass insinuation, but can’t find it in himself to refute the argument. It was true that he had found the cheapest place for you to stay in. After all, he was determined that you would get no better than you deserved.

But now how can he directly oppose Overhaul’s offer, when his own organisation is now merely a subsidiary flue for the Shie Hassaikai’s fumes? One look at the man’s eyes tells him it’s not up for debate. You are supposed to be nothing but his thrall. How is it, now, that after all his work, you will end up under the care of another villain?

That f***er’s planning something, he thinks. He had more or less predicted that this day would come sooner or later, after the germaphobe had shown the slightest morsel of interest in you. He had only tried to delay it - by keeping you in his grasp for as long as possible. To no avail.

But he knows your loyalties lie with him. He’s sure of it.

“How about it, Chiyo?” prods the Yakuza leader. “A new place to stay - when would you like it?”

It’s a trap.

You know it is.

Even with your face pressed into the ground and Boss’s heel grinding into your head, you grit your teeth and stay silent.

Why would a villain ask for your opinion as if to accommodate your preferences, if not for plotting some nefarious deed? Why should the man seek to willingly provide you with superficial comfort? Every passing second has your lungs coming short of breath. Your blood prickles with panic you try to quell, but you fear it is going to drown you.

If you speak, it would be the same thing as asserting loyalty to Overhaul. You think that Boss might kill you then and there. Yet, if you don’t, Overhaul might be the one to put you in your place.

You don’t know who you should listen to. Everything is so confusing.

In your disquietude, you fail to notice the pressure on your skull being released, until you are yanked upwards into a kneeling position by your hair.

The voice of the Shie Hassakai’s head, one that you dread hearing so much, is whispered into the shell of your ear.

“Answer me, girl.”

Shuddering, you lift your neck to send one hesitant glance to Scarface. To see if he’ll let you. To gauge your odds of survival.

“Go on. Answer him,” Boss gruffly relents, secretly pleased that you had still chosen to look for his permission.

Living through the support of Overhaul is a terrifying thought.

But living with Inasa and having him be in danger because of you is scarier.

“As soon as possible… please,” you whisper, trembling in his hold.

Satisfied, Overhaul releases your hair, and you fall forwards onto your hands, throat seizing up with dread. He chuckles and it’s the first time you hear it - a dry, humourless sound echoing in his throat. “Good. I can arrange that.”

Nobody’s holding you in place anymore, but you can’t even move. You have the terrifying feeling that something horrible is going to come out of his mouth.

“One more thing I’ll say,” the Yakuza head says, grunting as he stands up, “for your… test sessions with The Undertaker. You don’t need to do them anymore.”

There’s always a catch. Your blood turns frigid.

With the slightest hint of chilling satisfaction in his voice, the words slip out. “You’ll be living closer to my compound, so you’ll come to me instead.”

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Y/N: I’m fine, well, and happy.

Inasa: Your place got burned down last night and you’re telling me one of your attackers from then happens to be a hero that also saved you from another incident today and you’re telling me you’re fine? Gang, you are one french fry short of a depressed meal.

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Author’s notes:

A lot of you have recently finished tests, midterms and finals. Congratulations to everyone who has finished, Merry Christmas to those who celebrate and well done for prioritising your education!

Taglist: @kingexplosionmurda

Trigger Warning/s: none

Pre-chapter notes: For whatever reason, I believe Bloodwalker and my account in general has been terminated by Wattpad. If you were one of the people who happened to read Bloodwalker on there, I sincerely apologise for any inconvenience this has caused. An appeal has been submitted, but I do not expect any results, and I will not be uploading on there again afterwards if the appeal does not go through. Please do not feel bad for me - this is quite a trivial matter in my eyes (especially coming from the person that does not even know when Bloodwalker’s first chapter was uploaded). I only feel bad for the people who were reading it and now cannot anymore.

Also, cheers to the first unserious chapter title of Bloodwalker!

Art: KK Zhang on ArtStation! They’ve got incredible concept art and they seem to really like creating artworks of dragons and the warriors that ride them. This particular illustration featured in the chapter is one they did of a dragon flying with flamingos, which I think is simply wonderful. They have also done work for Riot Games, and if those aren’t great credentials, then I don’t know what are! After all, the artists at Riot Games are known to be incredible at their work! Please support them, everybody!

BW MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

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Ashido Mina stands across from you on the concrete platform, stretching her arms and brimming with fervid joy and excitement. She bounces from foot to foot restlessly, as if itching to claim her victory. As if your battle couldn’t come quick enough.

Your face is a stark contrast to hers - quiescent expressions spearheaded by an unsmiling visage. If Mina is the sun, full of life and animation, you are the moon when it is shrouded in darkness and covered by nebulous, black palls. It feels cruel to remind yourself that you are so different from everybody else, because somewhere inside you, you long for acceptance too. You are only a child, after all - a young student just like them. But you can never be with them, because they are not under the thralls of a villain like you are, and they act with such candour that you think they would probably hate you if they ever found out your true identity.

For now, you tell yourself that you’ll keep your distance. That’s how it should be, you remind yourself. Mina will be a hero. Heroes are meant to be in the light. Not me.

The crowd erupts with a stentorian roar, and the echo of Present Mic’s voice feels like thunder shaking the firmament, painful enough to feel like it’s tearing out your eardrums. But loudest of all, is Mina’s heartbeat.

Ashido Mina’s heart thunders with absolute confidence.

Yours weakly stutters with anxiety.

Hers is a beat that will drown yours out. It is only fitting, though; after all, Mina must be victor this round, and she will add to the pool of already-cast shadows that you seek refuge in.

“Her stoic face doesn’t move a muscle! Who knows what she’s thinking? From the hero course, it’s Chibana Chiyo!” Present Mic screams.

…does he really have to announce you so crudely? Especially when Mina’s announcement, which comes seconds after, is not nearly as blunt?

Your opponent finds humour in the broadcasted information, giggling with sudden gaiety. “Pfft!” she laughs good-naturedly. “Alright! Good luck, egg girl! But just know, I’m not going to go easy on you!”

Egg girl. You had forgotten about that nickname she had given you. The thought of it brings you back to slightly simpler times, when you did not yet have to worry about blending in with your classmates. Perhaps she wishes for you to use hers too.

“Okay. Good luck too,” you give Mina a desultory reply, “…flamingo girl.”

She giggles more. “You’re so silly, Chiyo-chan!”

“…why?”

Present Mic does a very good job at cutting off your conversations. “Fifth match, start!”

As planned, you hold yourself back from making the first move, standing in place. You anticipate Mina doing the opposite, to charge in headfirst - a quotidian habit of hers, and well-fitting for her very boisterous personality.

But in fact, Mina does not. She slides around on her acid at a distance from you, respecting your presence on the battlefield as a threat. The flamingo-coloured girl sizes you up with a cautious eye, though the grin never leaves her face. Perhaps she has more of an eye for strategy than most give her credit for.

You make no move to engage in combat, other than calling upon your blood to emerge from the palm of your hand - almost as if dangling bait in front of her, waiting for her patience to run out.

She bites. Tired of waiting for something to happen, she decides to sway the momentum of the match herself, sliding towards you. Viscous acid aids her trajectory. “Alright, let’s see what you’re made of!”

Straw. You’re probably made of straw - or at least, that’s how you feel right now, trembling in your shoes.

Your blood elongates and splits into three ribbons, and they lash out defensively at the girl. In response, she evades any impact dealt by their blows and attempts to corrode your coagulated formations.

Mina is fast and strong - it’s not obvious at first glance, but your trained eyes can see the way the toned muscle in her arms flex when she throws out acid towards you. Her lithe body twists on the battlefield with a natural ease - fluid and graceful like a dancer. She curves herself around your approaching tendrils, swerving easily with her acid underfoot as if skating on ice. Effortlessly wily.

Easily, you can see that this is a fight that will be difficult to fake. You have years upon years of training over her, but the girl is talented and unpredictable. Your classmate will be deadly if left unaccounted for; if your eyes leave her for a second, your defeat may be much more painful than it needs to be.

Really, isn’t that how you feel about all of your classmates, though?

Mina breaches your ribbons’ defence now and zips forward, ready to attack. It’s a close combat battle now, and you parry her acid with coagulated veils of blood.

The acid hisses and your solidified blood creations leave with holes in them. To the crowd, it must look like Mina is a bad matchup for you - anything you do with your quirk is easily trumped by a fling of viscous fluid towards you. But only you know that you’d probably be quick enough to send a ribbon to latch onto her leg and fling her out of the border if you wanted to (though, if she were to decide to cover her entire self in acid, you would not be entirely sure on what to do).

You’re not going to do that though.

You’re here to do things the hard way.

Which means watching Mina’s every movement as carefully as you can, to find openings where you can attack without sending her out of bounds.

Compared to fighting back without a care, this is much more tiring. It’s hard not to use all facets of your quirk like you’ve been trained to do; here, you don’t really want to reveal the other objects you can create with your ability, lest the pros start seeing you as some sort of potential sidekick with incredibly diverse capabilities.

As boring as it may be for the audience, you’ll stick to your blood ribbons as much as possible.

You send your blood ribbons to coil around your legs and beneath your shoes. Mina is instantly cautious, wary of another attack.

Instead, you use your you blood to erupt much like a geyser would, sending you high up into the air, away from her.

Her eyes widen. Momentarily, you’ve got her stunned.

And then you quickly recall your blood to your side and reshape them into tightly coiled whips (after all, they’re technically still blood ribbons but harder… right?).

With a tight grip on the whips, you swing your arms back.

Then with the impetus of your fall to the ground, you slam them back down, so hard that you send cracks from the epicentre of the impact crawling all the way towards Mina like the roots of a germinating tree.

Oops.

Maybe that was a little too hard.

The ground trembles. She almost loses her footing from the vibrations. The crowd goes wild, and Present Mic makes some exclamations. None of that matters to you.

What matters to you is that Mina’s quickly recovered from the initial shock of your attack and is once again attacking you in close quarters. She sends acid flying directly in your face just as you land, and you have no time to change directions.

So instead, you duck. If not for your honed reflexes, you might not have escaped unscathed.

Present Mic chooses that opportune time to scream out more commentary. “Chibana keeps playing on the defensive! But, have you noticed? It’s working! Ashido hasn’t landed a single hit on Chibana yet!”

That seems to light a spark of blazing determination in Mina. She now acts with more urgency, sliding faster. Now, she is hunting.

You duck, weave, and dodge. There is no such thing as exfil for you - no retreat or withdrawal. You are a dog in a ring with no choice but to fight for your survival, though your definition of survival is probably very different to the animals that are forced to participate in blood sports.

Mina’s acid narrowly whizzes past your head as she becomes more and more desperate with her attacks. Desperate to prove herself worthy of being a hero.

Ill luck has a few drops of her acid crawling onto the bandages on your arms.

Hissing.

Your heart leaps, and you grit your teeth to staunch the atavistic fears and instincts screaming at you to fight back with all your might.

The bruises! They’ll be seen. But I have to stay calm.

Your blood rapidly coils itself around your forearm, mantling it in an impenetrable sheen of red before your arms can be exposed to the crowd. You breathe a sigh of relief.

Then you look up.

Mina’s fist is sailing right towards your stomach.

Right where your bruise is.

“Chiyo-chan, I’m sorry in advance!” she exclaims with a sheepish expression on her face, as if she isn’t about to punch the lights out of your weakest spot right now.

You feel the rush of air from how fast you move to the side and Mina’s fist meets air where your body used to be.

But she’s prepared for that too.

Because what you don’t anticipate is acid spraying out from her other hand, anticipating where you’ll dodge to.

The acid eats away at the bottom of your shirt. The bandage underneath is revealed.

Again, you call on blood to cover up the area.

But you know it’s too late when you hear the announcer echo with a comment on the attack. “Ashido’s acid burns away at Chibana’s shirt! And there are bandages underneath! Was she injured this whole time?!”

You curse yourself on your carelessness. You had been so focused on not hurting Mina, on tempering your quirk, on hiding your bruises… that you forgot to account for her own perspective on your capabilities. Because she knew. She knew you were good enough to dodge the blow and devised countermeasures to adapt.

It wasn’t that you underestimated her. You underestimated how you looked in her eyes.

Blasted, rotten luck.

You take another breath in to try and think rationally. You suppose this can work in your favour, since your earlier reaction to Mina’s blow was genuine, but it is also certainly to your detriment because now everyone knows that you’re injured.

Now would be a good time to go out of bounds and lose the round.

All you need to do is to just make sure Mina doesn’t touch you, because you’ll probably panic and end up fighting back with the ferocity of a thousand bears.

You and the girl continue to rapidly parry blows - you with ribbons and veils of blood, and her with spouts of acid.

She aims acid at your side. You block with a veil of blood. She tries to sweep your legs under your feet. You jump and dodge.

Your blood ribbons attempt to ensnare her legs. She dissolves them.

Repeat.

Slowly, Mina advances, and you permit her to herd you closer and closer to the stage perimeter. You can feel the anxious pumping of her heart as she draws nearer to victory, like the beat of a military drum.

Before you know it, your foot steps outside the boundary and the match is over. Mina looks puffed. You pant too, not from exhaustion, but from the paralysing performance you just had to put on for millions of people.

At least, you think that your defeat was probably pretty convincing.

You redirect your blood ribbons to redistribute themselves around your waist and arms, already mantled in red from your previous endeavours to cover up your injuries. With the added volume of more blood, they look comically thick. Almost as if you have donned on a fauld around your waist and a pair of vambraces on your forearms. If Inasa were here, he might laugh and tell you that you look battle-ready for the Middle Ages.

Either way, you refuse to recall your blood here. Villains might be watching you too, since you’re being broadcasted for the world to see. You don’t need them knowing about your 95% blood recall rate.

Mina jogs up to you with a wave. “Chiyo-chan! Are you okay? Sorry about your uniform! I’ll come with you to the infirmary to make sure you’re alright!”

You look at her dully. “I can go myself.”

“But you might be hurt,” she pouts, smile dropping from her face at your resistance. “Let me come with you!”

And there she leaves no room for argument.

Silently, the two of you trudge away from the public eye until you’re enveloped by the hallways. You don’t acknowledge her once, afraid of what she might say.

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.

At his agency, Hawks marvelled at the way you fought with your quirk.

Though your battle was quite underwhelming compared to that of your peers, he found great curiosity in the capabilities of your blood. What else would you be able to create, other than ribbons and whips? Could you fly, maybe? Could you create a pair of wings for yourself and take to the skies like he could?

Notably, you did everything with no life in your eyes. Hawks felt quite perturbed by this, as most other participants in the Sports Festival at least showed some semblance of emotion across their face - whether it be fear, joy, nervousness, or excitement.

There was another thing that stumped him.

You were announced as Chibana Chiyo, and not Y/N, like he had known you to be.

Had you had a name change, perhaps? Or did you have an identical twin he didn’t know about? Chibana Chiyo. Y/N. What were the two of you to each other?

Hawks felt like there was an itch in his brain that he could not scratch. All of this was purely conjecture, but there was something about your situation that urged him to prod a little further. But would he even have the authority to investigate a random civilian he barely knew without instructions from the Hero Commission?

He already knew the answer to that.

Hawks watched as you dodged your opponents’ acid.

Hawks watched as you lost.

Hm. Better luck next year, I guess, he had mused to himself, turning away from the television screen and heading out to patrol.

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.

At the door of Recovery Girl’s office, Mina stops walking and turns around.

Despite her victory, she doesn’t look happy. In fact, she looks quite upset. You can’t think as to why.

“Mina-san,” you breathe, “are you alright?”

You’ve never seen the girl this quiet before. Wide grins fit her face, not whatever visage of dejection she puts on now.

In a way, she looks… somewhat guilty.

“You were injured,” she states, not directly answering your question.

“Um, well… not exactly, well-”

“Then… are you mad at me?” she asks carefully. “For aiming for where you were hurt?”

You deadpan at the fact that she just ignored your response and assumed you were wounded. “No, not at all,” you reply. You can’t think of any reason why you’d be mad at her. If anything, she would probably have more of a right to be mad at you, for not battling her with all of your potential and holding back to serve your own needs. Thankfully, it seems like she isn’t. Otherwise, you might be punished, and a punishment from Mina would probably be very painful, given her quirk and all. “You were just doing what you were supposed to do.”

The frown on her face tells you that she is not convinced. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I am looking at you.”

“You weren’t before.”

As much as you don’t want to admit it, Mina is right - you were certainly avoiding her gaze before. Not because you were or are upset at her, but because you think she probably knows - knows that you didn’t fight her with everything you had.

Instead of saying that, though, you settle with a meek: “…I didn’t want Aizawa Sensei and the others to know I was hurt, so I was a little… concerned. But,” you insist, “you should still not be upset.”

“I’m sorry,” her face falls, “It’s my fault. It was a dirty trick. Especially after I had seen it in the changing rooms.”

“It is not your fault,” you correct. “You were just trying your hardest. I congratulate you on your win.”

Your flamingo-coloured friend smiles a little at your comment. She can’t help it - it’s the way you’re so forgiving, as if her aiming her attacks at your injuries isn’t a cause for concern at all. Strangely enough, it’s endearing. “You’re so silly, egg girl.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

“You’re way too nice, y’know that? I did win, but I don’t really feel satisfied with it, because you’re injured!” She grins, turning back around to open the infirmary door. “So I don’t feel like I was fighting you at your best. I hope I’ll get a chance to fight you when you’re able to try your hardest!”

So she could tell. At least you can blame your mediocre performance on your bruised midsection. But to be able fight Mina one day at your fullest… when that time comes, you’d probably have to kill her.

But you don’t say that aloud.

Mina finally slides open the door to Recovery Girl’s office.

And it’s probably not a great sign, but Recovery Girl doesn’t even look surprised to see you.

“Come in, girls,” she croaks, swivelling around in her chair. “What do you need?”

You ask for bandages. Recovery Girl hands a roll to you and asks if you need help. You vehemently deny any assistance from her - inexorable as always. Mina tries to offer the same when you move to the corner and pull at the curtain on the side to give you some privacy.

“Do you need help?”

“No. Wait outside, please.”

“As you wish!”

Finally in your own quiet space, you recall the blood covering your waist and forearms. You’re careful as to not let straggling droplets splatter onto the infirmary bed.

Time to change your bandages.

You are pleased when you realise that the bruise on your waist is healing nicely. Slowly, you rewrap the areas on your body previously covered. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about your corroded uniform, but thankfully, it’s only the lower hem that is destroyed, and all people will be able to see is your bandaged waist. No point hiding that now, now that everyone’s seen it already out on the field. As for your uniform, you’ll get a new one later.

Before long, you reemerge from the curtained area, where Mina sits patiently while Recovery Girl taps away on her laptop.

“Need a checkup, dear?” the older lady asks.

You’re quick as always. “No.”

She hums, somewhat disapprovingly. “As is always the usual with you.”

Mina stands up as soon as you approach. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you too bad?” she asks worriedly.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Good! Next time, you have to tell me if I do, okay? Even if we’re training!”

“Okay.”

Then she holds out her hand to you.

You’re not entirely sure what she wants.

A blood doll? But Iida-san said that people didn’t want blood dolls when they held out their hands. A handshake, then? But her hand is parallel, and not perpendicular to the ground. I don’t understand.

“Ready to go back?” she asks.

You’ve been staring at her hand for a bit too long, it seems, because Mina reaches down to gently clasp one of your hands in hers.

“Like this,” she explains, beaming at you. “Are you ready?”

You squeeze her palm gingerly, and you’re sure she can feel how unfamiliar with the contact you are (even if you’ve held hands with some of the other girls before). Her hand is warm and soft. Mina squeezes back.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

She smiles and you walk out of the door, hand in hand.

.

.

.

Minutes prior, before your match…

“Get her, Ashido! Get her, Chibana! Beat each other like in those fighting games where their clothes get ripped off!” screams Mineta. Around him, Shoji, Tsuyu, and Jirou look at him with disgust.

“What are you, scum?” Jirou hisses.

Overhearing Mineta’s impulsive thoughts, Momo turns around from where she is seated at the front and returns the boy’s comment with a heavenly smile. “Mineta-san. Since you are so eager for clothing to be removed, may I suggest that we start with yours?” she beams innocently.

“W-what?”

“I can create a chainsaw with my lipids and we can have yours torn to shreds. You’d blend in quite well with the animals at my Uncle’s estate in Europe afterwards. What do you think?”

“Uh, Yaoyorozu, t-that’s a bit…”

“Or if it’s more to your liking,” Momo continues, seemingly oblivious to the terrified expression of the boy, “I can hire a few dogs to do the job, if that’s more accurate to what you’re describing. Ripped off like fighting games, yes? I think that would be quite a delightful experi-”

“I’m sorry!” Mineta screams, trembling in fear. “I’ll stop! Okay?! I’m sorry!”

Momo beams while everybody else sweatdrops in fear. “I’m glad we came to an understanding, Mineta-san!”

.

.

.

Mina: Are you mad at me?

Y/N: No.

Mina: Are you sure?

Y/N: Yes.

Mina: Would you still love me if I was a worm?

Y/N: I would probably offer you to Tokoyami-san as a snack.

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Author’s notes:

Hello everybody. I apologise for my tardiness on this week’s chapter. Have you ever debated the benefits of carpeted and solid floors? It is quite a debacle to think about.

Carpeted floors are wonderful - wonderful at comfort, and wonderful at hiding dirt. If you know about my penchant for cleanliness, then you can probably guess I have mixed feelings about carpet. They are so horribly dirty, but they feel so excellently clean. What’s more, they are so wonderful to lie on after a long day. But the dirt…

Hard floors are wonderful too, and I do like them for how easy they are to clean. However, I think they are also, in that respect, terrible, because they make dirt so, so visible even though they are most likely much cleaner than carpeted floors. Though I believe that living spaces with them are more customisable since people can use different rugs to decorate the area (which are much cleaner and easier to wash!).

What do you think? Carpeted or hard floors? For the sake of hygiene, I think I am more likely to choose hard floors, because I can avoid the prospect of stepping on dirt with house slippers. Though, I do take severe psychic damage every time I see a speck of dust on a hard floor.

If you have forgotten where the Egg Girl and Flamingo Girl nicknames are from, they are from Chapter 11: Return the Favour.

Trigger Warning/s: none

Pre-chapter notes: none

Art: Eva Muzza on ArtStation! She is a wonderful traditional artist that uses mediums such as oil, but also does digital art too! She has a very comforting and homely art style that I would love to see in picture books (by the looks of it, she already does illustrations for books, which is wonderful) or in videogame concept art. In fact, some of her art reminds me a little of the NPCs in the videogame Hollow Knight. I hope you can support her!

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Dabi thinks Shigaraki has officially lost it.

To be fair, the blue-haired man was already quite off-the-rails when he had first met him.

A stakeout, outside Toga’s hypothetical friend’s place, no less - that is the objective he’s been tasked with carrying out. To him, it feels more like he’s being asked to babysit Toga - to ensure she doesn’t go haywire upon seeing you. Is it a wise decision by the League’s leader? Dabi doesn’t think so. Is it rash? Very.

A drag. All of it is a drag to him. He’s already been briefed of your apparent value to the League, so if anything, at least this field trip to the outside world will serve to satiate his minute curiosity about you. Though from the documents that Shigaraki had been obsessively reading through earlier in the day, you didn’t seem to be anything particularly special.

The scarred villain dons his signature black overcoat and prepares to exit the building, not caring to walk alongside the boisterous girl who skips and hums joyfully ahead of him.

Inconspicuously, the two make their way to where your apartment block is supposed to be, guided only by Toga’s memory and the uncertainty of how Shigaraki will react if they come back empty-handed.

And then they arrive.

It is a dreary, miserable apartment block that you live in. It looks like it’s crumbling away at the corners. Graffiti and yellowing patches of grass are the only spots of colour in the area.

Dabi and Toga hide away in a nearby alleyway and observe the place. Ideally, they will break in and take you with them afterwards.

Which is the plan.

Unfortunately, Toga has problems following plans.

“I’m tired of waiting. Let’s break in now!”

“Don’t,” he warns, “Shigaraki already told us to watch for a bit-”

Toga’s already climbing up the steps and over to your front door, and if Dabi’s hair wasn’t already naturally white, he’s sure it’d be greying by now.

“Dabi! Melt this door handle!” she giggles, prancing from foot to foot.

The man swears under his breath but still complies.

And your door swings open.

The first thing Dabi notices is that your place is almost barren. UA, the school you supposedly attend, is a prestigious school. It is rare that the children who are enrolled into the establishment aren’t supported by a foundation made from years of generational wealth. Perhaps you’re on some kind of scholarship.

The second thing he notices is the smell of residual smoke. And not from his own body, but rather, coming from your tiny kitchen.

“You sure this is the right place?” he asks lazily. “Oi, looks like nobody’s here.”

“It definitely is!” the girl squeals with glee. “I sat right here on this chair! And she fed me her blood right here! Oh, oh, and this is where I woke up after she fed me something nasty.”

Nasty? he thinks. That explains the smell.

While Dabi isn’t particularly interested in what little belongings you have, Toga begins rummaging through your drawers and closet with no care in the world other than discovering more about you.

“There’s nothing interesting here,” she bemoans, but her disappointment quickly changes when she spots your uniform hanging in a small closet and snatches it, holding it up against her body. “Ooh, her uniform is so cute! How do I look?”

Dabi rolls his eyes. “You ask me like I give a s***.”

“You’re no fun, Dabi,” she whines, pouting.

“I don’t care. This is stupid,” he shoots back, rolling his eyes. “Let’s wait outside like we were told to. She’s not here, but she’ll have to come back at some point.”

Eventually, his blonde companion relents, retreating with him to a dark alleyway that affords an excellent vantage point of your flat.

Just in time, too.

They watch as you suddenly appear in view, jogging to your apartment. They register the shock on your face when you realise your door handle has been destroyed.

“Wonder what she’s doing out so late at night,” giggles Toga.

Dabi hisses at her to be quiet. “Shut up. Wait for her to go inside first.”

Tentatively, you enter.

And immediately, the two villains move, scrambling out from their hiding place in their attempt to make sure you’re cornered. In just a few seconds they’re blocking your only escape, casting long silhouettes on your floor.

Dabi huffs in amusement. There you are, shoving the remainder of your belongings into your bag, ignorant of his presence. You are a mouse that doesn’t know it is cornered yet.

“Nice to see you’re packed already,” he taunts you, revelling in the way your shoulders stiffen in terror. “You’ll be coming back with us tonight.”

Toga, always needy to get a word in, moves in front of him and begins to talk to you. Dabi scoffs under his breath and zones out of the conversation, scanning your place once more instead.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness of your flat, he notices that, though mostly empty, small, miserable, and dingy, there are still some belongings of yours that furnish the room. Curiously, he gazes upon the singular futon in the corner, internally noting down your unusual state of solitary living. Interesting behaviour for a high-schooler, he thinks, and probably not entirely legal.

He zones back in just in time to hear Toga tell you: “We’re taking you back to meet our friends! You can live with us forever!”

“Friend?” Absolutely not. Dabi is a rugged villain, hardened by years of pain and abandonment. He is not anybody’s comrade. “I’m not your friend,” he hisses towards his villain counterpart.

His churlish remarks are not sentiments that either Toga or you seem to hear. Rather, he hears you deny her “request” to accompany the two of you back to the League’s base, and he watches as the blonde villain frowns and clenches her fists.

She’s about to throw a tantrum, isn’t she?

As expected, Toga always goes for the jugular, hands reaching to claw at you. You move just as quickly, which surprises Dabi. He observes your eyes as they flicker towards him and then beyond him, through the doorway he is supposedly guarding.

That’s where he comes in, he realises. Blue flames coat his palm, a silent threat, and he revels in the way you reel away from the light momentarily. Dabi does not feel the pain of his quirk in this moment - the nerves in his hand are long burnt. He is one that has conquered pain and continues to conquer it, while you quail at the sight of fire. He was right. You were truly nothing special-

It happens in a second.

You’re in front of him, trembling.

Then you’re covered in blood.

Then he’s pushed to the side as you shove yourself through an unguarded gap in his defence of the doorway.

In seconds, Toga’s leapt outside, not far behind you. Dabi’s flames flicker to life, not only sending cobalt blue barrelling through your apartment, but also following your trail.

It doesn’t get far.

He watches on as blood emerges from your back, peeking through ready-made holes in your torn t-shirt, and spreads out to form wings.

What the f***?

Before either him or Toga can do anything about it, you’ve already flown off, your wingbeats snuffing out some of the man’s flames behind you.

“God, she can fly too?” hisses Dabi, turning to his partner. “You couldn’t have mentioned this any earlier?!”

“I didn’t know!” whines Toga, mildly frustrated that you’ve slipped out of her grasp once again.

Dabi curses. “Well we can’t go after her now! You’re f***ing telling Shigaraki that we lost her.”

“What?! Why?” bickers back the girl.

The man glowers at her and storms off back in the direction of the League’s base, the other villain following behind him.

Frustratingly enough, babysitting was his only real accomplishment this mission.

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It is around 7am in the morning when Inasa calls.

“Chiyo-chan! Are you okay?!” he asks urgently. “Please tell me why the first thing I heard about on the news this morning was that your apartment block was almost burnt down!”

Ah, Inasa. Ever the mother hen. Pleasantly, you’ve found that he’s been fussing over you more lately, ever since the last time you had been over to his place for dinner. It’s nice, knowing he won’t forget about you, even though you don’t see each other as much anymore.

This news report risks drawing more attention to yourself. It is problematic that Inasa knows about your situation without your telling him, and so soon too. That means your classmates probably will have heard about it as well. At least there’s consolation in the fact your classmates don’t know where you live.

“Hello, Inasa-san. Yes, I am unharmed. I am not sure what happened, but I got out in time with all my important things.” You can’t tell him that you know why there were flames at your building. That would only invite more trouble.

Inasa doesn’t sound convinced. “People are saying the flames were blue. That’s not natural… that’s a villain’s work. The news report was saying everybody got out unharmed, but… are you sure you’re alright? Actually, where are you staying?”

“Maybe the villains were trying to rob the apartment block,” you suggest. “And I’m… not staying anywhere.”

“What, have you just been on the street then?!”

“Please don’t be angry,” you say. Pausing, you take a deep breath. “Yes.”

There’s a resigned sigh on the other end of the line. It reminds you of Aizawa’s, and if it were him on the other end of the line instead of your friend, he’d probably be pinching his brow and carving deep furrows into his forehead with a chilling glare that could probably freeze over a desert. “Chiyo-chan, next time if you’re in trouble, just call me,” he says wearily, “even if it’s at 2am in the morning. I promise you that my family and I will always be happy to help you. Where are you right now? I’ll come and get you.”

You’re not entirely sure where you are, but you drop down from the rooftop (where you had spent much of the night) using your blood, and check your surroundings to ascertain your exact location. Not long after from when you send it to Inasa does he arrive in front of you, pedalling a bike.

The two-wheeled vehicle screeches to a stop and the boy quickly dismounts, hurrying over to place his hands on your shoulders and give you a once-over for any injuries. “Chiyo-chan! Thank goodness you’re okay! I’m taking you home, alright? Hop on behind me!”

“But I don’t know how to.”

“Just sit behind me and hold onto my waist tightly!”

You do exactly that.

The feeling of the wind combing through your H/C hair feels like freedom. There is something liberating about being subjected to the elements and yet being able to ground yourself as you are pressed to the warm shield that is Inasa’s back. Especially when you’re not running away from anything, but going to a home.

His home.

And if that is freedom, then the stable trajectory of Inasa’s bicycle despite your added weight behind him feels like balance. On a precarious two wheels, Inasa never dithers, but he forges a path through the harsh sun and the oppressive winds. It is something you find yourself admiring about him - the ability to move without hesitation, in full confidence of his own abilities.

The bicycle turns a corner and Inasa shifts in front of you, shoulders tensing. The next words that leave his mouth sound a bit strained.

“Why wasn’t your father with you?”

There’s a shift in the air as your grip tightens on his navy jacket, deliberating on your response. If your friend notices, he doesn’t say anything. But what can you say to him? It must be strange for a child to be without their parent. And the stranger you look, the more you’ll stand out.

For how much longer can you lie to Inasa?

“He is away on business again,” you say, slightly muffled by the wind. “It is okay. He will send me some money.”

Though you cannot see it, the boy’s lips press into a thin line. “Okay. We’ll talk about this later.”

The two of you ride the remainder of the route to his home in silence. In fear, you wonder if he is angry at you for not calling him first, or if he thinks you should have done more to protect your building. All of your doubts are dispelled when the two of you dismount and Inasa gently leads you inside with a palm on your shoulder.

“Come on. You need to eat,” he murmurs softly.

Inasa’s parents are sitting at the dining table when you enter, and they abruptly stand up to greet you. His mother envelops you in a hug, and this time, you are ready for it, hugging her back gently. Your friend looks on approvingly.

“Chibana-chan, dear, we heard about your place,” she murmurs sympathetically, stroking your head, “and you are welcome to stay with us as long as you need to. Come, have breakfast with us.”

The future hero’s father grins and nods in affirmation, pulling out a chair for you. “Let’s eat!”

“But…,” you say uncertainly as you sit down, “this is your food.”

“And yours now, too.” Inasa’s mother spoons something into a bowl. “Come here and have some rice.”

In the blink of an eye, you have an entire assortment of dishes in front of you, which you wolf down without delay after giving the two adults in the room a quick sign of your gratitude. Pleased with your lack of initial restraint (contrary to your first few times there), Inasa and his family share smiles between each other before continuing on with their own breakfasts.

It would be a beautiful scene if not for the uncertainty churning your stomach, because you can’t stay with Inasa’s family forever, can you? Not only would it be impolite, but they would be in more danger than they already have been just by associating with you.

Toga and her “friends”, for whatever reason, are after you. So much that they’d willingly destroy infrastructure and have innocent civilians be caught in the crossfire. And Toga knows Inasa’s face. What would she do to him if she knew he was housing you? Thinking about it has you itching to chunder your breakfast, but you do your best to hold it because don’t want to make your friend’s parents angry.

You know that you can never tell them the truth about you.

Afterwards, you quickly change into your school uniform and turn to the broad-shouldered boy’s parents.

“Thank you for breakfast,” you bow, “I will go to school now.”

“Will you be alright?” smiles Mother Yoarashi. “Inasa can walk you there.”

“No need,” you tell her. “I don’t want him to be late.”

And with that, you walk out the door, leaving the Yoarashi family still sitting at the breakfast table.

“Awfully quiet this morning, she was,” points out the woman of the house. “To be fair, she did just lose her home to a fire.”

“I wonder where her father is,” muses Father Yoarashi.

“Yeah,” mutters Inasa. “I wonder that too.”

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You’re quiet and unresponsive.

Eerily so.

Shoji has been watching you curiously from his seat for the past ten minutes. You’ve always looked exhausted, to him at least, but today, there is something more intense about how weary you look. How unhappy you look. And class hasn’t even started yet.

Tokoyami, who, that morning, had stood next to his desk to idly chat with him, seems to have the same idea, bringing out Dark Shadow in hopes that you’ll respond to the latter’s presence. To draw out a reaction from you. Anything would be better at this point.

But you don’t.

You remain as if frozen in time, poised with a fixed stare directed down at your desk.

“What’s up with her?” snarks Mineta. “She’s brooding a little too hard, don’t you think?”

“Don’t make such asinine remarks!” scolds Iida, though he’s secretly concerned about you too.

You vaguely hear Mineta’s snide comment, and you don’t think he’s wrong. It would be wrong for you to not brood. After all, you’re in danger. Everybody’s in danger. All of it is your fault. But why do you care about other people? You’re supposed to be a villain anyway.

“ALL OF YOU SHUT THE F*** UP!”

Your eyes lift at the commotion, muscles tensed and ready to fight.

You find it strange that they relax slightly when you see that it is just Bakugo with his usual churlish remarks.

Just Bakugo? The same boy you were so afraid of, weeks prior?

Yes, the very same one.

Bakugo, standing up in his seat, glaring daggers at everyone else.

Bakugo, marching his way over to you.

“Oi,” he snarls, standing in front of your desk.

“Bakugo-san,” you murmur, staring dully at him. “You are upset.”

“Come the f*** outside,” he hisses, “everybody’s getting antsy because of you.”

Midoriya, also watching on, takes a step forward. “Kacchan, that’s not-”

You stand up from your seat. “Okay.”

Nineteen pairs of eyes follow your path out the classroom’s front door. Bakugo trudges behind you, hands stuffed in his pockets. His wintry glare never leaves his face. When the two of you are outside and away from prying eyes, the boy tugs you by the collar to a corner.

“What the f*** happened to your apartment?” he snaps, his tone ending up harsher than usual. “You homeless now?”

Your stomach sinks.

You had momentarily forgotten that Bakugo knows where you live.

How on earth are you supposed to reason your way out of this?

“People are saying it was a villain attack,” you say, avoiding a direct answer. You do not need him knowing about your circumstances right now.

The boy doesn’t seem to buy your response. “Yeah, so tell me why the news report said that it seemed to originate from your floor. Specifically your flat.”

Damn those fire investigators. They’re too good these days.

“Maybe they were trying to rob me or other people,” you say, giving the same excuse to him as you did Inasa.

“Bulls***. You ain’t got nothing to rob, stupid extra.” He narrows his eyes.

You hold your breath.

Does he think that you’re the cause of the flames? That you’re the villain who caused the flames last night? That’s not even possible - your quirk is nowhere near anything of the sort. But what if he hands you in to the police anyway and they arrest you and-

“Are people f***ing targeting you or something?”

Somehow, knowing that his assumption is accurate feels even worse.

For a while, you hang your head silently. You fear that you’ve given yourself away already. Bakugo waits for your answer, looking more enraged by the second.

In the end, you can only give him one response.

“I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t,” he retorts, crossing his arms grumpily.

“Let it go, Bakugo-san,” you murmur, “please. I’m tired.”

At that, his expression softens, though he still grouses under his breath at your avoidant nature. “Whatever. I don’t care anyway, you damn extra. Where are you staying?”

“I am staying at my friend Inasa-san’s place.”

The ornery boy averts his eyes. “Alright. Good.” He prepares himself to hurl another crass comment, but thinks better of it. “F***ing call somebody if you’re in trouble.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go inside.”

“Okay.”

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Y/N: So I’m a villain in disguise, I’m being hunted down by other villains, and there’s a third villain out there that really wants to control me. Also, I’m homeless.

Bakugo: Didn’t ask. Not my problem.

Y/N: You literally cornered me to ask me what was wrong???

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Author’s notes:

I am extremely hungry while writing this. Please recommend me your favourite dishes.

Thank you for all your comments and concerns over my water-drinking adventures. It is going well. However, in my quest for healthy water intake, I have neglected my quest for healthy sleep. But I simply must write. This is all being done with the willpower of a person who wants to go back to biweekly updates for a short period of time. Who knows if it can be done…

Taglist:@the-hangry-otter @kingexplosionmurda