#mobius-loop

“You’ve taught us a lot,” Midoriya continues. “As a teacher and as a pro hero we all look up to.”

Something tightens in his chest at that; look up to, huh?

Iida removes the class gift from behind his back and holds it out to their teacher.

It’s wrapped in a plain yellow paper, the true shape of whatever it is obscured by the packaging, but the weight in his hand is familiar, and he has to hold back a small smile.

Aizawa’s amassed a collection of mugs over the years from his students. They’re a good staple, and he’d be lying if he didn’t enjoy being able to put off doing his dishes another day for every cat-themed novelty mug he has, plus every one he has proclaiming he’s the #1 Teacher or with a joke about needing coffee in the morning.

“Thank you,” he says, thumbing at the tape keeping the whole thing sealed. “May I open it?”

The whole class makes a chorus of affirmative noises, all apparently excited for him to receive it. It sounds like they had it custom made, so it’ll probably be something more personal than previous years, but he’s not sure if any of them actually know enough about him to make it something personal.

There’s a small card taped to the top, so he opens that first.

Sensei,

We all want to thank you for your dedication to our class and to us individually as students and as future heroes. We look forward to continuing to learn from the best for the rest of the year.

Happy Teacher Appreciation Day!

He wonders which of them wrote it, considering how extraordinarily formal it sounds and how neat the writing is.

“Iida composed it and I wrote it out,” Yaoyorozu points out.

“We decided she has the best handwriting out of all of us,” Jirou nods, and Aizawa mentally agrees. None of them write terribly sloppily, but Yaoyorozu has such a neat, composed script that it’s always something of a relief when he realizes her homework is next to grade.

He puts the card gently on his desk, propped up so the multicolored ‘From Class 1-A’ on the cover points out toward the room.

He continues to unwrap the gift carefully, flashing back to one year where it had been taped and folded in odd places and he’d dropped it, but successfully wrangles this one out of the mass of tissue paper and ribbons.

“We tried to wrap it pretty nicely but still cute,” Uraraka points out, apparently the one behind the awkward (but cute) bow scrunching all the paper around the middle.

“I see,” he humors her, carefully untying the bow so it doesn’t rip or crinkle.

The top of the mug reveals itself first, and it surprises a laugh out of him. There’s three gel packs stuffed inside, each in a different flavor, and there’s scattered laughter as he pulls them out and examines them.

As often as he replaces his meals with these, he thinks he’ll probably save these for a special occasion. Keep them in his office until the written portion of finals need to be graded, and live on them as motivation reminding him his students are worth it to sit through the same test 20 times.

“Thank you,” he says, out to all of them, and sets the packs on his desk.

Kirishima and Tokoyami both chirp out ‘you’re welcome!’ from somewhere behind the front wall of students.

“It was their idea,” Tsu informs him with a smile. “I don’t think the rest of us wanted to encourage you, though.”

He snorts at that, wondering if Hizashi had told them to give him shit about the protein packs if they saw him with one, but does still appreciate the thought.

They all look excited as he moves on to the mug itself, pulling paper away to reveal something printed on it. As the majority of the paper peels back, he realizes it’s their most recent staff picture; every instructor and professional working at UA, most either smiling or goofing around with their coworkers, wrapped around the front of the mug.

“It says something, too,” Todoroki pipes up. “On the bottom.”

Aizawa scans the blank edge under the picture, but doesn’t see anything.

“On the bottom bottom,” Kaminari clarifies. “Under it.”

Aizawa gives them all a questioning glance, but slowly turns the mug so he can check the underside.

And sure enough.

On the bottom of the mug, only visible at an angle tipped up to drink from, is a simple sentence in bold font.

I’d rather be having a cat nap.

It’s…

His eyes feel warm.

It’s perfect.

“I love it,” he blurts out, in genuine awe and fondness. “It’s true,” he jokes, shooting them all a tired look.

There are a couple very real cheers from some of the students.

“I told you!” Midoriya beams at Todoroki, who just smiles as though he also knew it’d be a great gift and just made Midoriya second-guess himself to… Fuck with him, or something? He knows the two of them are something like friends now, just like everyone that comes within a mile of Midoriya is eventually.

“Thank you all,” he says, still smiling softly at how thoughtful they’ve been. “Don’t tell the other classes, but this is absolutely the best mug I’ve gotten.”

To his surprise, there’s a very satisfied ‘HELL YEAH’ from the back of the cluster. He’s 99% sure it was Bakugou.

All Might doesn’t know what to expect for his first teacher appreciation day. As the #1 pro hero, he already receives appreciation on a daily basis.

“None of us could figure out what we could get you,” Midoriya admits. “So we just decided to all make you cards.”

All Might beams.

“Oh, I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble. Having you all as my students is already a gift every day.”

Someone in the class calls out “That’s cheesy!”, earning a couple laughs in agreement.

Midoriya seems to be their leader in this situation, apparently still the only one out of them all that’s comfortable approaching All Might, and the rest of them follow when he stands from his desk.

They form a practiced line, which is just as endearing as it is efficient.

Midoriya hands his card over first, of course. The front says Happy Teacher Appreciation Day, and rather than writing out a note within it, he’s drawn a picture of them both. They have lightning around them, their shared quirk imagined at full power, and they both look ready to save the day.

“I love it,” he gasps. “Thank you, Midoriya! I do hope that one day we’ll see this picture become a reality, and we’ll be able to fight side by side as pillars of hope.”

(It rings false in his head, considering his powers are waning, but he’s not ready to let Midoriya know that yet.)

All Might scoops Midoriya up in a hug and the boy yelps, then laughs as he hugs back. As expected, he has tears in his eyes when All Might puts him down, and All Might ruffles his hair before addressing the next student.

It goes on like that for each of them; they’ve all prepared a card, and while most do have a note in it thanking him for his dedication or gushing about how honored they are to be training under him, a few have also followed in Midoriya’s footsteps and made doodles as well.

Iida draws them both running together. Jirou draws them in a little band, with All Might wearing black and yelling into what he assumes is a microphone. Shouji just draws six little thumbs-up hands. Tsu’s features her crouched on his bicep as he poses, both in matching frog-themed outfits, and while All Might is gushing about how cute it is, he realizes he’s going to need to buy frames to keep these all in.

Almost every student goes for a hug, as well, when All Might opens his arm after thanking them for their card. Todoroki even considers it, but holds out a fist for All Might to bump instead.

He does, of course. He knows Todoroki isn’t supposed to like him because of his father’s grudge, but that doesn’t change the fact that Todoroki is a bright and talented kid, and All Might is here to help them all grow regardless.

Eventually, every student has handed over a card but one.

Finally, hesitantly, Bakugou approaches.

Most of the class have dispersed back to their seats, chatting amongst themselves and giving Bakugou space. There’s a mutual understanding that All Might is someone they all look up to, and it might be weird to have people hovering around while you try to tell your hero how much they’ve inspired you.

Bakugou looks just as annoyed as ever, but he holds out a card, too.

“I’ve looked up to you since I was four,” he rushes out. “I always wanted to be just like you so I could save the world and help people. I still want to be like you, but now I want to be even better.”

It sounds so rehearsed, like he practiced it in the mirror over and over. He almost sounds cruel, talking about wanting to surpass him instead of being like him, but All Might smiles wider. He knows exactly what Bakugou intends to say.

“I’m proud to have inspired such a strong young man not just to be like his heroes, but to improve where they did not,” he says softly, as though it’s a secret just between them. He takes Bakugou’s card in the same conspiratorial, I won’t tell if you won’t way. “You are determined and will only become stronger and faster as your training here continues, and I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be leading a new generation of heroes toward greatness.”

The slightly horrified look on Bakugou’s face reveals he hadn’t expected All Might to say something heartfelt in return, if anything at all, and he wipes at his eyes quickly to keep a tear from falling.

All Might opens his arms to offer a hug just as he had with the other students. Bakugou hesitates again, and All Might wonders if he should let him know he obviously doesn’t need to feel obligated to hug anyone (and throw in something role model-y about consent and never succumbing to peer pressure), but then Bakugou lurches forward and wraps his arms around his waist as much as he can.

He squeezes so tightly All Might thinks this might actually be an assassination attempt, but then he’s pulling away, this time not wiping his eyes in time to stop a tear slipping down his cheek.

“Thank you,” Bakugou mumbles. “I promise I’ll kick your ass one day.”

All Might chuckles.

This dedication and talent will become the bar set for the next twenty years of heroes, and his heart swells knowing that he’s helping them reach for their full potential and further.

One      

Cassidy wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting into when he agreed to go with the preacher, and his girl. What he did know was that his preacher was wont to get himself into spots of trouble, and there was no way he was going to let them go on a road trip without him. Even if he wasn’t wanted.

Overall, he was beginning to feel like some sort of guard dog, ripping into anyone who got near his padre. (He would have extended that to Tulip, but she threatened to gut him if he ever suggested she couldn’t take care of herself, again.) Jesse wouldn’t see it that way, of course. Protecting the preacher from the forces of the unknown, from chainsaws, and whatnot – was a thankless job. Not that he minded. He was grateful to have the company of a man, and woman that he enjoyed being around.

The bloody clones – or angels, government implanted cyborgs, or what have you not – hadn’t reappeared for a while. He supposed that was grand, as he was getting right tired of beating them into the ground like feckin’ pancakes –  Or chopping them up into bloody bits or – well, he could go on for days on end, couldn’t he. Mostly it had been a grand ol’ time, beating the shite out of the terminator wannabees. A part of him wanted to question why the idjits hadn’t come back – especially after the dramatic confrontation at the hotel – but it wasn’t in Cassidy’s nature to probe farther than he needed to. They were gone, for now, and he was satisfied with that.

The many conversations that he, and Cassidy had been entertaining, and a bit enlightening providing Cassidy with company, and keen insights into the preachers’ thoughts. He was tight lipped, that one– but what he did say was indicative to the sort of person Cassidy had figured him up to be. And as fucked up as the Preacher was, Cas warmed up to him fast.

It didn’t hurt that he was bloody handsome, on top of that.

And the least he could do was look. Cassidy figured it was polite, and all – acknowledging the hard work that went into the beauty of Jesse Custer. Padre went on, and on about the creation of his Lord, and how they should see it as beautiful. So, logically – it should follow that someone should be appreciating the sight of this man. And who better to do so than him.

If Cassidy had a duty in life, any sort of predestined plan, he figured it was distantly related to the contours of Jesse Custer’s arse. And what a mighty fine arse it was.

Presently, he had a grand view of it from the seat he was perched in, as Jesse leaned over Tulip. They were bickering about something – he figured it was nothing of importance as they hadn’t called him over – Jesse’s hand around Tulips’ waist, guiding her pool cue carefully. Something about the way they were pressed together, Jesse’s groin pressed all against the back of her lithe form, did something for him.

He immediately resolved himself to a little alone time, whenever possible.

Cass himself was nursing a shitty beer – some kind of watered down American shite, watching them with keen interest. The bar was nearly dead at this time of day, only a few miserable blokes sipping quietly into their lagers.

This silence is interrupted almost abruptly by a gruff voice. “You two need someone to play?” The man was tall, built tougher than a brick house. His chest was broad, arms bulging out from his sleeveless shirt. There was a cigarette dangling from in-between his teeth, and he nodded towards the pool table. “Me, and my friend over there could use a distraction.”

He motions back to the aforementioned friend – who was jostling his leg up, and down – but managed to nod his approval.

“Well,” Tulip starts, leaning back against Jesse, pool cue in hand. “We’d be alright with that – but what about raising the stakes?”

Jesse’s brow raises, and Cassidy leans forward, rapt. They both share a glance, before the man speaks again. “What? Like...putting money on it?” He eyes the two of them, appraising them slowly – and apparently finds that acceptable. He then slaps a fifty twenty-dollar bill onto the pool table, and grunts. “S’that enough?”

Watching Tulip smile is like watching an explosion; it is beautiful, and sharp and amazing.

Something in his gut squeezes tightly in response – and unsure what it is, he ignores it.

“That’s more than enough.” She responds, offering her hand to shake. He ignores her hand, and goes to shake Jesse’s – a move that spells his doom – and Tulip grabs his wrist, a certain look on her face. “He ain’t the one making the bet with you.”

He hesitates for a moment too long, but accepts the handshake.

It doesn’t take long for them to handily kick their asses. They play three games, each time doubling down their bets, spurred on by Jesse pretending to play badly, or Tulip feigning ignorance of how to play the game. However, the last game, they drop all pretenses.

Tulip sinks the winning shot in the pocket smoothly, and grins, as smug as can be.. “Well, boys – I think that’s all you’ve got.” She scoops the winnings towards her, and arches her brow. “Unless you want to bet…what do you think, Jess?”

Jesse snorts, adjusting his collar – one that he still clung too, even after leaving Annville. “Don’t think they have anything left. You bled em’ dry.”

The uglier of the two takes offense, easily. His broad, heavy hand slams down onto the table and he scowls. “Are you fucking with us? Because it ain’t funny.”

Tulip raises a slim brow, leaning against the pool cue. “Well, we were waiting to see how long it took for you to notice. I guess you aren’t an imbecile, then. Just plain ol’ stupid.”

Cassidy laughs, not able to stop himself, and the skinnier of the two cunts glares at him, and takes a step forward, a glint in his eyes. “You think this is funny?”

He coughs, grin stretching wide. “A wee bit, yes.”

“Care to explain why?”

Cassidy pauses, scratching at his nose briefly. “Well. Cause it was obvious, yeah? They were setting you up, you gobshite. Christ almighty, are you slow. They got you hook, line, and sinker, eh?”

The man charges blindly ahead, and Cas is able to trip him -

Jesse reacts quickly, grabbing the man’s arm, and twisting it up against his back, making a sickening crack. The man squeals, making that same bunny noise that Donnie made when they had first met, when he first realized there was something more to this preacher man.