#miathinksalot

Izuku would be oblivious about his tendencies. Not only does he have multiple notebooks of information on Eraserhead, but he also has them on Shouta’s civilian identity. Izuku doesn’t have a concept on what information he should or shouldn’t be privy to, so he has records from Shouta’s birth all the way to present. He has notes on things that Shouta isn’t even consciously aware of himself yet. He doesn’t take any candid photos. God no! People might have called him a creep all his life, but it’s not like he actually is one. Instead, he has multiple sketchbooks filled with in depth drawings of Shouta. This is outside of what he already has sketched within his Eraserhead volumes.

Izuku knows what he’s doing is a bit much even for him, but he wouldn’t be such a great analyst if he didn’t go the full nine yards. Eraserhead is just such an amazing hero! Who wouldn’t find out everything they could about him? However, Izuku acknowledges that his work can be off-putting even when it's required, so he doesn’t advertise the extra Eraserhead volumes and definitely not the ones on Shouta’s civilian identity. To the random stranger that runs into Izuku once, his actions make him seem insane. To anybody who remotely knows him, this behavior is no different from how the analyst normally operates.

Shouta has known all his life that his tendencies aren't normal for the bulk of society, much to his displeasure. It never did make much sense to him why people were so inefficient. If you care about something and don’t want it broken then you keep it close. You do what you have to in order to keep your things close by and in tip top condition. If that requires some on-site research and action, well Shouta is just taking the most efficient and logical path. All the information he obtains and everything he does is for the betterment of what’s his. And when he decides that something is his, he never lets go. Fortunately—or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, Shouta couldn’t care less about the majority of the world beyond surface level.

ᴀɴ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇ ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴄɢ ꜱᴇʀᴠᴇʀ'ꜱ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ʙᴀꜱʜ ʙɪɴɢᴏ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ. ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ 1 ʜᴏᴜʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴇᴇ, ɪ'ᴍ ᴀ ꜱʟᴏᴡ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀ.

⌯⌲ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 697

⌯⌲ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ɢᴇɢᴇ!ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ x ᴍᴄ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⌯⌲ ᴛᴀɢꜱ: ᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴇxᴘʟᴏꜱɪᴏɴ, ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ᴘᴏᴠ, ɢʀɪᴇꜰ, ɴᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰʀᴇᴀᴅ

The summer heat. The sound of cicadas. The setting sun bleeding into the night sky to paint it a familiar violet. The soft breeze drying the sweat on my skin. And a house that looks the same, but isn’t quite how I remember.

“So they finally finished…”

Well ‘finally’ probably isn’t the best word to use. That makes it seem like I was actively waiting on someone before I could move in— that I was being inconvenienced. I have a place to stay. Provided and handled by the hunter’s association to boot. Yes, I started the reconstruction of this house, but I only did it offhandedly way back when I was still in the hospital. Way back when I also had to arrange a funeral…

I wasn’t in my right mind and it was quickly pushed out of my thoughts. I pushed it aside.

I’d forgotten all about it.

Well, I had until both my ‘leave of absence’ order and ‘construction completed’ notice showed up on my desk at the same time.

What was I thinking packing a single bag and coming here in a single trip? I didn’t even tell anyone. Now it’s getting dark and I’m staying in a unfurnished house. By myself. No one to rely on. Not anymore.

Similar house, not quite the same.

I bite my lip and take a deep breath at the empty space around me once I step through the front door.

“Was it always this big?”

The air smelt of fresh paint instead of citrus and spice. The wood of the house unmarred, new…different.

Despite myself I crumple to the floor, baggage falling unceremoniously at the doorway, as a choked sob rips out of me.

What was I thinking? It’s not the same at all.

“What am I supposed to do? The space you left behind is so large, I feel like I’m being crushed…” My words break with each syllable I force past my tears.

This is all such a ridiculous farce. My return to work after discharging from the hospital only for them to force me on leave after failing their little evaluation not even a few months later. As well as my return to grandma’s house— the rebuilt house. The house that isn’t the same no matter how much I wish it to be.

I was getting somewhere at work! I’d found a rope to yank on, and then they tied my hands. All because of a failed psych evaluation.

It’s all ridiculous.

So ridiculous that all I can do is weakly laugh as the numbness I’ve come to call friend takes over all my senses, tingling just beneath my skin.

Don’t they know I need this? I need to keep searching.

There was no body— just one set of scorched bones. Not two. Just one. I won’t end his life off of mere assumptions. Caleb was still alive somewhere. Until I find concrete evidence for otherwise, he’s alive.

He has to be alive.

I drag myself back to my feet and head up the stairs, carry-on blanket and pillow in tow and the rest of my baggage still at the door.

“I’m tired. There’s so much I have to do tomorrow.”

Tomorrow I have to start filling the house back up again. I’ll be spending the entirety of my indefinite leave getting it back to livable condition. It won’t be the same, but it’ll be good enough. I don’t want to let go, to let it stay destroyed— that seems like giving up. This is too important to just leave behind.

Even if everyone says I’m in denial, I’m rebuilding this house. I’ll find new things to refurnish it with even if they’re not the same. I’ll replant the flowers that used to surround it and take care of them until they bloom again. And then afterwards I’ll stay here and wait. I’ll continue being a hunter, but I’ll always return here at the end of the day. I’ll have everything ready so that when he comes looking, he’ll feel welcomed— he’ll be able to walk through those doors and stay. I’ll wait not because I’m in denial, but because that is faith.

Keep in mind that this is a gege/meimei safe space. I acknowledge and love all the tropes that come with him, problematic or not. If you cannot accept all of Caleb, you aren't a Caleb main or enjoyer as far as I'm concerned. Both this space and he are not for you. Please remove yourself from my blog.

⌯⌲ Without You

barely worked on, what you see here is what I have so far. will most likely contain smut.

⌯⌲ Breaking Down Walls

also barely worked on, but this one is pretty self indulgent so I'm excited to write it. smut heh.

⌯⌲ About: Necessity

part of a series specific to my mc-- literally just a singular dialogue as shown here

⌯⌲ About: Hair

part of a series specific to my mc. heavily worked on, I'm at 3k words-- the closest one to being finished. very crashout, very angst

⌯⌲ Working Out with Gege

smut. heh. heavily worked on-- 3.3k words but that's only halfway through the content I have planned.

My MC was in complete denial over Caleb’s death. She refused to believe that it was simply an accident. The only way she was able to continue with her life and Hunter job was because of that stubborn conviction that there was a reason. That there was someone to blame.

It was easier to exist if there was something alive to carry the weight of her loathing. She wasn’t strong enough to do it herself. Just look at the mess she’d become even while gaining leads. While she’d always been a little reckless it had gotten to a point where it seemed like she was trying to kill herself. She was throwing herself into clues and didn’t care if it was dangerous. Whatever the outcome, it was a win-win for her.

She was just waiting for the thing that would take her— that would reunite her with Caleb. I can’t imagine what she would’ve become if there hadn’t been a bigger plot at play. If she’d exhausted herself to ruin only to find out that they’d simply been unlucky.

Caleb was the sun. She’s now a starving plant and the only thing fueling her is denial. So no, the death of him couldn’t have been an accident, not when it felt like the death of her too. What would that mean for their lives if his death carried none?

‘Lily’s eyes.’

Severus mentally scoffed at his colleagues’ sentiment as wide eyes flicked over to glare at him. The heat contained within them would set a better man alight with their shame. Severus, however, took it in stride. He’d been burning in the flames of his sins long before an incandescent teen felt entitled to judge him. Acidic green bore into him behind large coke-bottle glasses. It truly was an imbecilic statement. Lily’s eyes had never looked like that.

Lily’s green was like a pleasant day. It was warm like the sun during spring. The color of it was the meeting of soft grass and lively sky. They settled on him like a comforting reprieve. Even when Severus had irrevocably damaged their relationship, Lily’s eyes had never looked like Harry’s.

Harry’s eyes were all encompassing— demanding. The brightness of them caught Severus’ attention and then drew him into their depths. They threatened to drag him down and drown him before he even knew what had occurred. Viscous and unrepentant. Those eyes took and took, and then demanded more even when there was nothing left to give. Insolent and greedy. Their color was the shade of a toxic poison depicted in muggle cartoons.

They’re the same shade as the killing curse. A darker part of his mind provided, unbidden. He snarled.

Severus had no doubt that a better man would melt, torturously, under the gaze of Harry’s green. The sharpness of the barely restrained emotions whittling down until the person ceased to exist. Severus, however, was hardly man anymore and what man was left certainly couldn’t be considered ‘better’.

So he meets the slaughter head-on, leveling the acidic stare with his own cutting glare. And Severus doesn’t melt a little every time black collides with green. And he certainly isn’t tortured by them long after their departure. No, Severus laces as much contempt as he can into his voice and sneers. It comes easy, naturally.

He's gonna be so much fun to write in this one hehehe

At first pro hero Deku was very embarrassed to give his former teacher things with his face plastered all over it, but decided to do it since everyone else in his class had. Aizawa didn’t seem upset by it so Izuku took to the job very earnestly.

Shouta is shown a clip of the group one day by his very musically inclined best friend Hizashi, and he can’t bring himself to look away from their sunshine center. Even afterwards Shouta just can’t stop his mind from wandering back to that video. He almost thinks that the feeling he felt at the time was a vague sense of attraction. But that would be illogical— it was one measly clip, barely a few seconds, and a single smile. Which is why he had to watch more. And there it was hook, line, and sinker. He had fallen for the trap.

Shouta falls down the rabbit hole much harder and with far less grace than Alice ever did. He finds clips of Izuku’s trainee days and starts watching all the way to present. Shouta enjoys falling under the radar by giving off the air of laziness, but the reality is he doesn’t do half-baked—especially in regard to being knowledgeable. He likes to obtain all the information he can before making a decision, thank you very much. Regardless of how absolutely fucked he already was. Not that he would admit it. However, when perusing the videos of Izuku’s career, many things became apparent to him.

First and foremost Izuku used to suck. Bad. His singing wasn’t the best, but his dancing was by far the worst. The poor kid had two left feet and then some. But at some point he had begun to significantly improve. It wasn’t because of the instructors from his agency—they had already given up on him at that point. The kid was far too average in everything besides enthusiasm from what Shouta could see. It was so obvious that it soon came up as a question in an interview after the unit’s debut. Shouta clicked on the video featuring a woman in a cute dress with a curated smile and more energy than he could ever imagine having.

“Many fans have noticed that your dancing ability received a significant boost out of no where during your trainee days. What’s your secret?”

The camera follows the microphone over to a head of soft verdant curls, somehow tamed to be parted down the side. A pair of big, round green eyes, so bright and filled with mirth, looks directly at the camera and Shouta’s heart stutters for a second. And oh, that was weird.

Izuku smiles a smile different from his signature sunshine smile. It’s shy, awkward, and it makes something warm stir inside Shouta’s chest. For some reason, it feels like he can’t get enough air. His head’s fuzzy and he feels lightheaded. Maybe he’s coming down with something. Shouta returns to the screen from his musings when he hears what he thinks is a little laugh. It’s short, strained, and more like a mixture of a whimper and getting the air knocked out of you than an actual laugh. Izuku reaches up to rub his neck before looking away from the camera, blush rising on every exposed freckled surface. And Shouta can’t help the absent contemplation of how far down that delicious red extended.

“Actually…I stumbled across an online mentor of sorts. I ended up studying their videos quite a bit. It’s a faceless underground dancer that not many have heard of, but I’ve come to admire.”

And oh.

“Well don’t keep us in suspense now.”

Oh, Shouta knew.

“No one knows their actual name but…”

In the safety of his own home, when he fell out of his chair—eyes wide, pink quickly staining the pale of his cheeks and ears— in tandem to the name that fell from Izuku’s plush lips, Shouta knew.

“They go by Eraser.”