#handofsmite

Kosuke paced the floor, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth . . .

It’s a crude and unappealing form of entertainment, if it can be considered such at all, but there is little else available for him to occupy his mind with. The walls about this place were oppressively small and mind-numbingly silent, and as days turned to weeks, and soon months turned to years turned to decades . . .

The outside world was changing at a remarkable pace, that much he’d gleamed from his all too brief reprieve. However long ago now that had been, he’d long since abandoned trying to keep a reliable track of time’s passing. Whispers were all he could catch now and again from a guard, but even those had changed since he’d first found himself here.

The lone prisoner paused abruptly in his pacing, a unique sound filtering through his ears. Footsteps, but not any that he could easily identify. Someone new.

He stepped up to the door of the cell, peering curiously out to the hallway for a glimpse of who may be coming to visit. Only to visibly cringe and take a quick step back when the man’s features finally came to light.

Izuku furrows his brows, back against the metail railing and arms crossed over his chest. There's a feeling like something's scratching at the back of his head, trying to get to the surface, but he can't quite put his finger on it aside from a fuzzy notion that he knows this face from somewhere.

And that somewhere's happened before the man talked to Shigaraki.

He lets out a sigh and takes off his hood, coming to terms with the thought that he has to let these divagations go for now. The light wind brushing through his hair now feels nice, refreshing even, and for a moment he's tempted to take off the mask, too; he even moves his hand up to the mechanism, but he never goes as far as to actually remove it. Better not.

🍒 so back on my old mic blog I followed your mic blog but you were inactive. Then you were active on toshi and I followed you there too. You are so sweet and talented and probably one of my best friends that I’ve ever made on here. You’re super great and chill and I love all the plotting we’ve been able to do together.

"Excuse me, please!" He easily steps through the crowd of agitated villains, footsteps entirely silent.

   hiroto is FRUSTRATED and EXHAUSTED. when he can’t quite get his quirk to do what he wants, the boy has a habit of shutting down. hands are balled into fists at his side, head tilting up to look at the other as he speaks. eyes blink, and for a second you can see SURPRISE wash over his face. his words are firm but encouraging. he’s not shouting at him, scolding him like his father used to during a day of training. he blinks, trying to get OUT OF HIS HEAD. 

It’s commendable how the design and atmosphere of this establishment fit so well together, especially considering the fact that the rough neighborhood it was located. Still, she’d learned not to question the circumstances too much and just be thankful she’d received an invitation to a private event. Perhaps she’ll actually make an attempt to enjoy herself for once; there’s good liquor, fine cigars, a poker table... she’s dressed to the nines and there’s a live band playing smooth jazz.

And there’s also him, which evidently must’ve been the biggest perk of the night. Not to be a fangirl, but it’s impossible not to know his face or to have heard of his deeds at least once. So, naturally she sought his attention, a prolonged stare here, an arm brushing against his there... It must’ve worked since now they finally came head to head.