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lady-literature · 4 years

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what a lion cannot manage

i have no excuse for this except that it is apparently my Brand™ now to write very niche AU’s that take one look at canon and then punch it in the face for being such a fucking nerd.

enjoy.

Ao3 | chp 1 | chp 2 | chp 3 | chp 4

Midoriya Izumi is born wailing.

A crying waif of a girl with eyes like copper-sulfate flames and magic bubbling hot and bright beneath her skin.

Inko stares, exhausted and flushed with the glow of new motherhood, down at her beautiful baby girl cradled in her arms. Her family gathers in close, yelling and jostling for a glimpse at their newest addition.

She runs her pinkie finger down her daughter’s short stub of a nose, sweeps it under her fragile eye and over the bright apple of her chubby cheek all in one smooth motion. Izumi quiets almost immediately, and her big, green eyes stare up at Inko with far too much intelligence for a freshly born babe to have.

But, well, Izumi is no normal infant.

"Welcome to the world," Inko whispers over the shouts around her. Such a joyous occasion this is, she can’t fault them for yipping and barking in celebration. "It will shake beneath your feet, my sha’alabbin."

***

The family celebrates for three days following Izumi’s birth, as tradition dictates.

One day for love, one day for health, and one day for magic.

The celebration on the third day is very large indeed, for they have much to celebrate for.

***

Izumi is bundled into a cosy nursery nestled in the center of a large manor at the edge of a small, sleepy town. She sleeps in the nexus of the house, carefully chosen for her over the many months the family waited for her arrival.

Her room is decorated in forest greens and honey soft golds, filled with books and toys and many, many chairs for the steady stream of visitors she sees every day. There’s not a moment in her life where Izumi wonders if she is loved because it is painted in every crack and seam of her world.

Even she, still tender with infancy and still so ignorant to the world and how it works—but learning, oh, how quickly she learns—Izumi knows this. She knows because it’s obvious.

That doesn't stop her from crying when she thinks she’s alone, of course.

Object permanence takes longer to grasp than the love of her skulk.

***

No one in town can agree on exactly how many Midoriyas there are.

The family has lived there for generations, they’re as woven into the land and town as the roads and fields and rivers are. Everyone knows the Midoriyas.

But only as a group. A whole. Because knowing individual Midoriyas is infinitely trickier.

The family is friendly, and active enough in the town, but they’re so private. Living off at the very edge of town and half-hidden in the forest. And there always seems to be some strange relative visiting from one place or another, or family friends staying for this reason or that.

The number of Midoriays always seems to be changing.

But the townspeople, whenever asked, always seem to agree that there can’t be more than twelve at the house full time.

(There’s more than double that living within the manor. And none of them are ever ‘just visiting’.

None of the family ever corrects them.)

***

Izumi’s first word is momma.

Her second is why?

Her third is how?

Such a curious child, with questions spinning and whirling behind her eyes too fast to keep up with. She babbles non-stop, not quite words falling from her lips quicker than anyone can keep up with, including herself.

She cries when the skulk can’t understand her. Cries when her thoughts move too quickly for her to keep up with. Cries when she’s frustrated, hungry, sad, happy—cries and cries and cries.

All children cry when they’re young, but Midoriya Izumi never gets the memo to stop.

It becomes her most favored form of communication. And when you live in a house half bursting with foxes who can smell the different chemicals in your tears and hear the stuttering of your heartbeat, it’s a terribly valid way to do things.

So she does just fine, all things considered.

***

For the first few years, foxes are normal for the most part. Human, except for perhaps the ears and tail.

It’s not until they’re older that the strength comes in, or the strange affinity for words and Promises. It’s not until they’re older that magic begins pressing down on them with a suffocatingly affectionate weight, possessive in all things it deems to own.

At least, it shouldn’t. But as with so many things, the fledgling curse the Midoriyas are under complicates everything it touches.

It’s a good thing Inko had already been planning to be a stay at home mother, because Izumi is barely a year old and dances with magic like they are old friends. It clings to her in a way it hasn’t touched any of the skulk in years. Not since the curse that was meant to kill them bound them all to their own land instead.

Izumi is the first child born to the Midoriya skulk in over twenty years, is the first child born as Shual Nephesh in even longer. She is the first of the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter—a legacy of batsheva. Perhaps she would have been strange and different no matter what. Would have had this unusual relationship with the world even without the curse twisting everything.

But they will never know, and it does not help to think of what-ifs.

Inko worries, because her daughter is bright and clever and beloved even for a fox. Magic clings to her daughter’s soul and fate waits in her shadow and Inko worries because it doesn’t matter how much They may love Their avatars. So many great heroes of myth and legend—demi-gods by name and not—have been dearly loved and still shattered under the weight of their destiny.

One day, Izumi will burn for that life, and Inko will be helpless to stop her.

But for now, Izumi is allowed to just be small, is allowed to be a child and there is nowhere else Inko would rather be. So Inko stays at the family home even when the skulk could take care of her daughter as she worked, and she watches with pride and affection as her little Izumi grows and grows and grows.

***

Sat on Auntie Umi’s lap, Izumi hums without a care in the world.

Her Auntie’s long riot of black curls is pulled up on top of her head, safely out of reach of Izumi’s curious hands. She twists them into the strings of beads hanging around her Auntie’s neck instead. There are dozens of them carefully beaded onto the strings, each one unique in size and shape and color.

As Izumi touches them she knows—not sure how or why, but she knows—that they are not normal beads. Her fingers jolt at their touch and if she looks close, she can see they shine with a light that no normal glass bead has.

Everyone in the family has some. Prettily coloured not-beads hanging from necks and wrists and ears.

Nona has the most of them all. Her arms jangle and clink with all the jewelry she carries, but her neck stays bare save for a simple choker twined around her throat.

She asks then, because she’s never been good at keeping her words or questions to herself. Never quite grasped the talent of being silent. All her ideas and thoughts are too big and too many to keep neatly tucked away inside her head.

Uncle Kyo says that’s going to get her into trouble someday. He says that a silent fox is a clever fox, but Izumi doesn’t think that sounds quite right. Her thoughts are all too loud to keep them all inside. Isn’t it cleverer to get them out?

But then, she thinks, maybe she’s just a bad fox.

“They’re Promises, little kit.” Auntie Umi carefully untangles her fingers from the strings before playfully nipping at them and making her laugh. “Favors and debts and prizes I’ve won fair and square.”

“Like in a game?”

“Yes. I suppose,” Auntie Umi smiles in that way Izumi knows means she only got it kind of right. “It is quite like a game.”

***

Once she’s old enough to walk around town, Izumi captures the townspeople's hearts with startling ease. They quickly grow used to having her underfoot, always running about and asking questions and seemingly unintentionally causing mischief wherever she turns.

She’s such a curious and bright child. Spends hours upon hours reading any book she can get her hands on. Her eyes are a constant flicker of green, taking in everything around her with a sharpness no toddler should have.

Watching, learning, remembering—gorging herself on knowledge of any kind.

The librarians start to recognize and dote on her, so ardent in her pursuit of knowledge. They regularly give her treats and gifts, things Izumi takes and then repays as quickly as possible by helping to reshelve books or run errands or speak to the pixies living in the shelves to give back what they took when someone loses something valuable.

(“You are not fae,” her Nona says, “so your actions and words do not bind you. But debts are power just the same. You’ll do well to remember to never let another hold power over you, sha’alabbin.”)

She’s the town darling and Inko gets many offers for babysitting if she ever needs it and play-dates with the few other kids around his age.

Izumi always comes back home with more beads on her arms when she plays with the other kids.

Inko watches as she puts every one on her left wrist, never looking at them again, and finds herself smiling for no reason she can discern.

***

Izumi has two names: the one she's allowed to tell people and the real one.

Well, they’re both real, she supposes. Just in distinctly different ways.

The secret one though—the one she’s never told anyone because it’s the one written on her soul—that one has power.

All names have power, of course. It’s why foxes have two and why The Good Neighbors are so careful to never speak their own and why demons have none, angelic names burned and lost in the Fall.

But the secret name Izumi holds close to her heart, always so careful to protect, that one has power all on its own. Only her mother and Nona know it. Her mother, because she gave it to her, and Nona because she is Matriarch, leader and protector of them all. It’s her right to know it, just as it is Izumi’s to do with as she pleases.

It’s an Olde Name. One that is written only in the hearts of storytellers and hidden quietly in the wishes of victims yet to be saved.

Anyone can understand what it means. Somewhere in the back of their minds where instinct and history live, they know this name. The translation, should one know the path they must walk for this truth, would be easy.

Savior.

***

Izumi is three and the weight of names, so ignorantly given, press behind her teeth like bile. Bitter and making her ache with holding them all in. She has dozens of beads on her left wrist, pretty and light and jangling with names she doesn’t want. Promises she didn’t earn.

Her mother tells her the humans don’t know what it is they give away, that they cannot begin to understand the Promises they make. She tells her that humans can’t feel the weight of Magic on their skin like she can.

Izumi thinks that’s very sad. Poor mortals, deaf even to the magic floating around them when they are already clueless to so much.

It makes her want to protect them. Keep them safe from those that would use their ignorance without thought. Those who would play malicious tricks and spit cruel taunts of their superiority.

She tells her mother this childish wish and watches her smile, even as it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“How tiny you are for such large ambitions,” she tells her and playfully taps her nose, causing it to wrinkle.

“I’ll grow!” Izumi insists, chest puffing out and tail fluffing to twice its normal size. “I’ll grow big and strong and I’ll be able to save everyone.”

“Yes,” her mom says, with that same sad smile. “Just like All Might, right?”

Izumi giggles and cheers at being compared to her hero, her idol, and in her chest, Inko’s heart remains steady. Because Inko has known this since Izumi was born. From that first moment her beautiful daughter had drawn breath, Inko had known. For all that Izumi seems too fragile and small now, one day…

One day Midoriya Izumi will be mighty.

***

There’s something strange about Izumi’s family.

She’s always known they aren’t quite normal, of course. Not by any human standard at least.

Half her family walks around with ears and tails most of the time and as brightly colored foxes for the rest. Lessons on illusions and glamours replace her bedtime stories and family time is always a mess of riddles and puzzles and languages that have never touched mortal lips.

So, no. Not normal, but there’s something else. Something no one ever speaks to her about.

She asks why she can’t go outside without hiding her tail and ears under the heady magics of a glamour, asks why she can’t speak about Nona and the outings they all have in the forest. Asks and asks and asks about why they must keep so many secrets. Why she always has to lie.

The only answer she ever really gets is: “So we can stay safe, sha’alabbin.”

Nobody ever tells her what they’re supposed to be staying safe from.

***

Tricksters—masters of illusion and rule-bending—are rarely ever held in place by bindings. Their magic is too slippery to be easily confined, unlike the proud dragons who hold magic in their throats or the rigid Nephilim, so solid in their convictions.

The magic of Shaalim Nephashoth twists and reshapes like smoke on the wind. Harmful magic passes through it, a natural defence for creatures who so often play pranks and tricks on important people.

It takes a powerful magic user to bind a fox. And even then, they don’t stay bound for long, too often wiggling out of their enchantments.

To subdue an entire skulk of foxes, well…

The Takanashi clan may have been powerful hunters in their own rights, backed by sheer numbers if not skill, but they were no Grand Coven. The Midoriya Skulk, once so powerful and great, may have been weakened and bound to their land, but they were far from dying husks the hunters aimed for.

Their forest did not become their tomb, and they did not run scared.

The Midoriya Skulk survived their attack and that was the last mistake the Takanashi Clan ever made.

You do not wrong the Yōkai. Not if you’re smart, not if you wish to live happily.

(Not if you wish to live.)

***

It happens like this.

Izumi is born quirkless.

Izumi is born quirkless and it’s not a surprise. It’s almost expected when there is too much other in her veins to leave room for something so distinctly human.

This does not, of course, mean she is powerless.

Izumi, as a child, is more acquainted with power than most adults. It winds around her greedily and floats at her shoulders. It is her birthright, is her to command and call upon and do with as she pleases in spite of the Hunters’ irritating magical barrier she only vaguely knows exists.

(She is Shual Nephesh. She is a Midoriya. She is a batsheva legacy.

There is little she will be unable to do if she wishes it.)

But quirks and the power she wields are not the same, and they do not easily pass for one another. The skulk still waits in the shadows and the few remaining Takanashis still lurk at the edges, waiting for them to make a mistake.

A too powerful child will draw attention they cannot afford. But a powerless child is just as noticeable in this age of petty beliefs and false demi-gods.

So they lie.

A month after Izumi turns four, Inko tells anyone who asks that her daughter has enhanced senses, a common ‘quirk’ in their family. “Her newly sensitive nose gave her away,” Inko says with an amused chuckle.

It’s all perfectly ordinary and perfect for hiding in plain sight.

It’s not perfect for being a hero.

Before, when Izumi babbled happily about saving everyone in Japan (because Inko hasn’t told her yet, hasn’t yet dared to explain this unbearable truth), she got pats on the head and hearty encouragement.

Now, when she tells anyone who’ll listen about her dream of being the best hero ever, she’s met with only pity.

“Oh,” they whisper behind their hands, “ that poor girl will never make it. That poor girl with the world in her heart will get herself killed because she’s not strong enough, not big enough, not powerful enough.”

Izumi hears them, because no one ever realizes how much she hears or how much she pays attention.

She hears their heartbeats stutter too. When they tell her they believe in her, that she can do it, that they’ll be cheering her on the whole way.

And Izumi doesn’t understand.

She is clever and smart and powerful but she’s still so young. She hears all of this and doesn’t understand. She wants to yell at them, wants to scream that she can. That she’s enough.

The truth burns on her tongue and Izumi wants to tell them everything so they’ll just stop.

She doesn’t. Instead, she swallows her words and bears the weight of it all. Every lie and pitiful look and useless piece of advice.

Izumi will be a hero. Whether anybody believes in her or not.

***

The townspeople aren’t mean and they aren’t cruel.

In fact, they’re very kind and Izumi loves them all in that way she adores all the best bits of humanity.

They aren’t cruel, but she thinks it might’ve been easier if they were. She thinks it would be easier to bear the disappointment of their lack of belief if they were hard-hearted and terrible.

But they aren’t.

And Izumi’s not sure how to feel about it.

***

She starts kindergarten with the ten other kids her age and finds she learns much faster than anybody else in her grade. Her small-town school can’t keep up with her hurricane mind.

They don’t let her skip kindergarten, because she’s meant to learn to socialize, but when she’s supposed to be starting first grade, they put her in a second-grade classroom instead. A spinning dervish of thoughts and ideas and questions half everyone’s size.

The second graders all call her Imouto-san and Izumi grins as she swings her feet beneath her too-big desk. No one else can see it, but Izumi’s tail wags fast enough to cause the wind to knock all of Hiro-san’s papers off his desk.

She apologizes, but can’t quite stop herself from doing it again.

***

Time moves on, and Izumi grows, but doesn’t change. Not really. Not in the ways that matter.

Magic still sings in her blood and sometimes, if she asks nicely and pays its price, it will do things for her. Not just glamours and charms but strange, impossible things that not even her Nona can do anymore.

(She is Shual Nephesh, is a Midoriya, is batsheva legacy, is fit to bursting with power. Sometimes, her Skulk wonders what she’d be like if not for the cage she’d been born into. Other times, they wonder if she's like that because of it, not in spite of.)

She’s still the town darling, sweet and kind enough to soften even Old Man Watanabe’s heart. She still cries and laughs often, and is still a bleeding heart.

It’s after school one day, when Izumi is walking home that she passes by the park. Normally, she cuts through the forest to get home instead of taking the main roads. That way she can run as fast as she likes without anyone asking questions.

But today was sunny and she wanted to enjoy it a little more. And, perhaps, she wanted to visit the Odd Shop on Main. Mrs Lily is always so nice and gives her new American sweets for free if she tells a joke—even if they're bad.

She's skipping passed the park gate when she notices it: harsh voices and the sound of someone being pushed over.

Her ears swivel automatically and her head follows a second later. When the scene registers, Izumi is already jumping over the tall fence, uncaring of who will see.

“Hey!” she yells, running full-tilt at the pair of third graders standing above Yashiro, one of her classmates. He was a soft-spoken kind of boy. Shy, but always nice to her even though she’s small and cries a lot.

The two older kids—twins she thinks, though she doesn’t know their names—turn to look at her. Their matching, glimmering insect wings buzz behind them in shock at her sudden arrival as she plants herself in front of Yashiro.

She puts her hands on her hips and tries to make the same face Nana Naoki makes when she’s particularly cross. “It’s not nice to push people,” she says scoldingly. “You should apologize.”

The twins look hesitant now that she’s standing there. It doesn't matter that she’s half their size and weighs about thirty-eight pounds soaking wet.

Everyone in town knows who she is.

And if, by some strange circumstance, they don’t, they know her family. The green hair and eyes can only mean one thing after all and, while no one is quite sure why, everyone knows better than to cross the Midoriyas.

(There’s just something about them, the air they carry, that makes one very careful to not provoke them.)

When neither twin makes any move to either leave or do as she says, Izumi hums meaningfully, the air around her turning stifling.

The girl grumbles, and glares over Izumi’s shoulder. “He should’ve stayed out of our way,” is all she says before grabbing her brother and stalking out of the park.

Izumi’s mouth twists, because that was not an apology, but she decides against going after them.

Yashiro has pulled himself to his knees and is gathering the things that fell from his book bag. Izumi kneels to help.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She doesn’t smell any blood and his heartbeat sounds normal, but it’s probably polite to ask anyway.

Yashiro looks at her, cheeks pink and shoulders hunched to his ears. “Yes, I- Thank you, Midoriya.”

She grins, handing him his pencil bag, newly refilled with all his pencils. “Anytime!”

***

It becomes a Thing.

The whole, ‘Izumi stepping in between schoolyard squabbles’ Thing.

It gets to the point that the other kids, older and younger, begin to expect her to step in. Because of course Izumi will help. She always does.

(Sometimes, she can even hear kids using the threat of her name to ward off bullies rather than saying they’ll tell a teacher. It makes something warm bloom in her chest every time.)

The arguments are never anything serious, and cases of bullying like with Yashiro and the twins are few and far between. The townspeople are good and so are all the kids, but they’re all still children. They get rowdy or into stupid fights over toys or someone accidentally fires off their quirk.

It doesn't quite matter how or why a situation pops up, because, for no real discernible reason, Izumi always finds herself stepping in the middle of it to play mediator.

Which is okay. She wouldn’t do it if she minded or anything—and it’s not like she can really stop herself either. She just… moves when she hears voices raised, like some strange sort of pavlovian response.

It’s not a problem. In fact, it’s great because Izumi is saving people, even if it’s only in small ways (but that's okay for now, she’ll work her way up to bigger ones) and the other townspeople have started to stop looking at her so pitifully.

And, well. It’s not quite what she wanted, and it’s not the reason she’s doing any of this anyway, but it feels… nice. Like a weight lifted from her shoulders she didn’t know was there.

***

Four months after it all becomes a Thing, Izumi gets into a fight.

Not on purpose, because she never seems to do these kinds of things on purpose, but she steps in the middle of an argument she probably shouldn’t have. It was bound to happen eventually.

The bigger boy, Daiki, has some impressive anger issues and a quirk that makes people around him just as angry as he is. She’s interrupted many altercations between him and some poor kid who accidentally set off his quirk. Normally, it takes only a few soothing words to calm them down.

Daiki is quick to anger, but equally quick to calm, if you know how.

And now, it seems, her luck has run out. The moment her mouth opens, Daiki is already screaming at her and the anger is just there. It burns, acidic and hot at the base of her throat.

She swallows it back and refuses to shout back. This is not the first time she’s been on the wrong end of his quirk, she knows how it works and she knows how to handle it.

That is, until he throws a punch at her.

Her head snaps to the side, cheek stinging with pain. She slowly turns back to Daiki, and for the first time in Izumi’s young life, she is furious.

Her eyes burn with unfamiliar rage. The taste of copper and iron sit heavy on her tongue. She bares her teeth in a ferocious snarl and Daiki steps back, suddenly afraid.

Later, she’ll feel unbearably sorry and embarrassed enough to spend an entire day making cookies with her mom to give to Daiki as an apology. But right now?

Right now, Izumi looks over this boy and finds him lacking. She looks at him through the haze of red and hears the rabbit-quick beating of his heart over the whispers of magic twinning at her fingertips and she leaps.

***

She gets in trouble, obviously.

But everyone knows her and they know Daiki’s quirk. They aren’t really mad at her for fighting, but they are mad at her for biting and scratching Daiki enough to draw blood and send him to the nurse.

(She fought dirty. Fought the only way she knew how, with her teeth and claws and wicked sharp mind. All Daiki had was his fists and anger.

He never stood a chance.)

Izumi cries after the haze of Daiki’s quirk falls away. Babbles apology after apology through the hot burn and hiccups of her tears. She didn’t want that to happen, didn’t want to hurt anyone like that.

When her mom comes to pick her up from the principal's office she looks disapproving. When they get home, Nona calls to see her and looks disappointed.

Izumi wants to burrow into the ground and never come back up.

When Nona asks why she had gotten into a fight like that, Izumi has to explain it all. Daiki’s quirk and the interrupting situations and stopping big kids from picking on little ones. She can’t tell what Nona’s thinking when she finishes and she doesn’t ask.

“A good fox,” her Nona says after a long moment, “is a smart fox.”

Nona doesn’t continue, but Izumi knows what she means anyway. She’s heard it her entire life.

A smart fox avoids fights.

A smart fox does not seek them out.

A smart fox does not fight for everyone.

A smart fox, when they absolutely must, only fights for themselves and what is theirs and nothing else.

Izumi, for all that she tries to be, is not a good fox.

But she knew that already. The whole skulk knew that.

She’s too loyal, too stubborn, cares too much and speaks too loud. She wants to be a hero. Wants to save everyone she meets and even the people she hasn’t.

There is a want, a need, that burns in her chest even know. It grows hotter each passing year as she watches all her favorite Heroes swoop in to save the day on the news.

In her heart of hearts, she knows one day she’ll be on that screen too. No matter how un-fox-like it is.

When Nona tells her only to fight for what is hers, Izumi does not argue and she does not barter.

She knows it will not get her anywhere.

Instead, Izumi says okay and takes every innocent person and helpless victim and tucks them in her heart as hers. She Promises to fight for them, Promises to win for them, Promises everything she has to strangers she has never and will never meet.

Izumi Promises herself to the world and, at the tender age of seven, a shackle twines itself around her right wrist. All the vicious intensity of her vow boiled into iron. Her impossible affection for the world made physical for everyone to see.

Her Nona sets her mouth in a firm line, but behind her, Izumi sees her mom smile. And for Izumi…

For Izumi that is enough.

***

She’s eight when she meets a boy with fireflies in his palms and caramel in his skin.

He moves into the house next door, almost half a mile down the road, and Izumi can hear him and his mother scream at each other for an hour before it suddenly stops, the sound of a door slamming echoing into the air.

The next day, the mom and boy show up on their porch.

Izumi answers the door.

***

Katsuki stares up at the looming, old house and glares.

He didn’t want to be here in this stupid, nowhere town with a bunch of useless nobodies.

He wanted to be back at his old school, where everyone told him how great he was and always did what he said. Here, in this stupid small town, there were barely even any kids to order around.

It made Katsuki angry.

But the Old Hag and his Pops didn’t seem to care. He yelled and cried and demanded to stay and they still just packed him up and moved out to this stupid house that’s apparently been in his mom’s family for generations.

It looked old and smelled like mothballs.

Katsuki hated it.

He hated it and his stupid weirdo grandfather for dying and telling them in his will that they had to live here. What did it matter to his grandfather? He was dead!

Katsuki is alive and almost nine years old and it’s the end of the world.

“Oh,” the Old Hag says in surprise when the door opens. “Hello there, cutie.”

Standing at the open door is, instead of some adult, a fluffy green-haired girl almost an entire head shorter than himself and absolutely covered in freckles. She’s half-hidden behind the door and keeps looking between him and his mom rapidly.

Katsuki glares at her, baring his teeth in the hopes she’ll run away scared like all the other girls from his school did.

Instead, she just blinks at him and beams, sunshine bright and delighted.

It doesn’t get better from there.

***

Izumi stares at the boy with fireflies in his palms and can’t help but think this. This is what she's been waiting for. This boy with power bursting from skin too small to hold it all and Fate clinging at his heels.

This boy who’s like me in all the ways no one else has ever been.

The boy, Bakugou Katsuki, does not think so. In fact, he doesn’t seem to like Izumi at all.

Izumi tries not to take the yelling and insults personally. Katsuki is upset and sad and on unfamiliar land with people he doesn’t know. Izumi would be scared too.

When she says that to Katsuki, she only gets shoved to the ground by blisteringly hot palms.

“I’m not scared, idiot!” His heartbeat stutters in his chest. “Stay away from me!”

So Izumi does. For a little while, at least.

She gives him a week.

***

For all his screamed insults and crude personality, Izumi finds there’s much more hiding beneath the surface of one volatile Bakugou Katsuki.

Her first glimpse is when he walks into her fourth-grade classroom despite him being her age. Izumi grins at him when he enters, eyes bright as he takes the seat in front of her. He’s smart, apparently. Smart enough to skip a grade like her, or perhaps just hard-working enough to overcompensate.

Izumi watches him throughout class, sees the way he takes notes and asks questions, and thinks that, perhaps, it’s a combination of the two.

***

He wants to be a Hero like her.

Wants to fight and win and beat back the darkness with his fists and teeth and sheer tenacity.

It’s different from what she thought a Hero should be. And different still from the kind of Hero she wants to be.

Battle versus rescue.

An image of unyielding victory versus the quiet surety of hope Izumi wants to spread.

This new side of heroics fascinates her and she can’t help asking about it. She wants to know everything and asks question after question, barely pausing to breathe.

“Holy fuck,” he exclaims, causing Izumi’s eyes to go wide. “Do you ever shut up?”

She opens her mouth and closes it. Then, “No. Not really.”

His scowl is the kind that curdles milk and perhaps Izumi should be offended or scared or any type of normal reaction, but instead, she just grins and offers to share some of her sour gummies. He takes them all, snapping his teeth at her like he expects her to protest but she only laughs.

Katsuki is sharp and feral like the cats in the forest and Izumi thinks perhaps it’s just that he’s never been shown the right kind of kindness. She knows better than anyone how an environment shapes a person.

There’s a whisper in the air when Izumi looks at him, a voice just at the edge of her hearing. It tells her to pay attention. Pay attention to this half molded boy standing at the crossroads of destiny. Pay attention to him because he’s going to be important.

And, well. If that's true then Izumi is hardly going to let his bad mood chase her away.

***

Katsuki holds out for an entire month before Izumi’s constant giggling laughs and habit of following him around town wears him down. The other kids are stupid and don’t like how he yells. They don’t do as he says and that pisses him off so he yells more and the cycle starts all over again.

So, Katsuki decides that even practically useless, annoying, Izumi is better than no friends at all.

***

“Why do you do that?” he asks her angrily one day, a few weeks into their friendship—not that Katsuki will call it that.

She’s climbing down from a tree, kitten held in her arms and she stares at him in confusion, head tilted to the side.

“Do what?”

“That!” he says as she happily passes the kitten to the preschooler he belonged to. She waves the toddler off with a grin while Katsuki fumes at her side. “You’re always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, doing stupid things for everybody and running around town like a chicken with its damn head cut off. Why?”

She’s always running off. Always so busy because she’s agreed to help this person or do that thing. Doesn’t she ever just stop?

Izumi blinks, before thinking over the question carefully.

“Why do you want to be a Hero?”

Katsuki glares, mouth already opening to demand a real answer, not a stupid question to his question, but Izumi speaks over him. “No. Really think, Katsuki. You say you want to win and be the best, but you could do that in any job. If you like fighting, you could be an MMA fighter, or a bounty hunter, or even join the military. Become a colonel or something, the youngest ever. But you don’t want to do that. You wanna be a Pro Hero. Why?”

She- He doesn’t- That isn’t-

Katsuki glares at her when he can’t come up with an answer. Saying he wants to be better than All Might sounds childish, and… it’s not really what Izumi’s asking anyway. He’ll look stupid if that’s what he says.

But, he doesn’t know the answer to the question she asked either. He’s just… always known that’s what he’d do, from the very first moment he’d learned what a Hero was. He never bothered with anything else, never bothered to question why.

Izumi just stares at him, her gaze digging into him with burning intensity like none of his secrets or thoughts are safe from her.

“The answer isn’t in your head or your fists, you know,” she says, looking away to pick up her bright yellow bag covered in Hero stickers and pins. When she turns back, her eyes are filled with a secretive light. She pokes his chest lightly. “It’s in there.”

***

Katsuki’s unusually quiet for the next three days.

She worries that she messed up, that she may have pushed Katsuki too far too fast.

But then she sees him climb a tree, just to pick the brightest apple to give to a little girl. And hold the door for the people behind him instead of slamming it shut. And immediately move to pick up the rest of Old Man Watanabe’s groceries that she can’t carry herself.

It’s such small acts of kindness, but it’s all things he hadn’t been doing before. He grumbles and shouts and rages the entire time he does them, but he wouldn’t be Katsuki if he wasn’t acting like he was angry.

Izumi can tell he’s pleased though when Old Man Watanabe thanks them. Hears his heart trip over the lie when he says he doesn’t give a damn what the old man thinks, causing the two temperamental blonds to begin squabbling like a couple of old fishwives.

(Izumi tried hiding her giggles behind her hand, but she doesn’t think she succeeded since Katsuki started yelling at her too.)

***

It isn’t long before Katsuki becomes Kacchan and Izumi becomes Izu or nerd or crybaby or a thousand other throw away, half-insulting nicknames.

Katsuki bears his nickname with as much elegance he can muster—which isn’t a lot—while Izumi always seems so delighted by hers. Even the insulting ones.

Katsuki never quite understands her obsession with nicknames, with being so very careful about introducing herself. The third time Izumi tries explaining the power of names without giving away magic and skulks and the world hidden in the stars that she’ll never get to share with her best friend—and the fourth time she’s cried over it—she gets a determined look in her eye.

The next moment, both her hands are on Katsuki’s chest, right above that soft place where your ribs begin to fall away, vulnerable and warm. The pressure she applies is firm and ungentle.

There is nothing gentle about what she plans to do next.

Katsuki doesn’t have a second name, not like Izumi does. He wears his soul on his sleeve and that terrifies Izumi so she’s going to fix it.

***

The thing about a name, is that it’s not just what someone calls you.

A name is a brand upon your soul. A name is the story that your entire being is dedicated to writing. A name is the culmination of everything that you were, that you are, that you will ever be.

It is the key that unlocks you, that most easily makes you vulnerable.

Izumi places her hand over that key, tenderly grabs that thing inside Katsuki that makes him all that he is, was, will ever be, and then she rips it from its lock. She takes her first true friend and reforges him into something else, something better, something he was always meant to be.

Katsuki screams for only a moment. And then…

The fireflies in his palms turn to stars.

***

Bakugou Katsuki has two names.

The first one, is the one he was born with, the one he’s told everyone his entire life was his name.

The other is the one his strange, otherworldly best friend burns into him at the tender age of eight years old.

It’s an Olde Name. One that is painted across cave walls in human blood and tucked neatly behind the teeth of every battlefield corpse.

Anyone can understand what it means. Somewhere in the back of their minds where instinct and history live, they know this name. The translation, if one was willing to sacrifice for such knowledge, would be easy.

Warrior.

***

After, Izumi whispers her own name in his ear.

Her other name, the one she should never tell unless she’s absolutely sure she can trust them.

(Because it is an Olde name. Because she is batsheva legacy. Because she is the youngest Midoriya. Because there is too much power in her chest to be so careless with her name even if it’s her right to do with as she pleases.)

But Izumi knows she can trust Kacchan because he’s Kacchan. If she could’ve, she might’ve waited longer to tell him. Until her birthday maybe or after she convinced him to stop handing his name out to anyone who asks.

But things changed and she grew impatient. She knows his name—chose his name. It’s only fair he knows hers too.

Katsuki doesn’t quite know what it means to be given this gift, just like he doesn't quite know what it is Izumi did to him, but he promises to guard it all the same.

***

The pair are practically attached at the hip after that.

It’s something no one in town ever saw coming. In fact, they all half-believed the two would end up killing each other—or, more likely, that Katsuki would eventually kill Izumi.

It’s practically a miracle. By all accounts, the two should have crumbled under the weight of their volatile differences. Two opposites that never should have mixed coming together and working in a way no one can quite explain.

Where Izumi—strange, selfless, little Izumi—prefers to use her mind and heart to solve the problems she’s always running at without a second thought, Katsuki, her ever-present shadow, uses his fists and sharp tongue as his opening move. A bleeding heart shoved in the center of a human explosion.

For every insult Katsuki sees fit to fling, Izumi is right behind him with an apology and kind words as if she was created to temper the blond.

For all the times Izumi is too caught up in her own mind, thoughts too loud and emotions too high and all the variables too much, Katsuki is there to snap her out of it with easy decisions and barked orders.

They ebb and flow around one another. An ever-present push and pull between the two that sparks up into stubborn drive and exuberant competition. For all their differences, there are some places where they're just too similar. But it’s those that allow them to function as a unit at all.

A yin and yang, balanced and opposing and complimentary all rolled into one relationship.

Izumi becomes the filter through which Katsuki can interact with the world. She understands him in a way few can, can read him and speaks his language and know when he’s just posturing to save face. And in turn, Katsuki becomes the flame and gasoline made to keep Izumi running, keep moving forward, keep reaching and growing and building.

The townspeople grow used to the two of them running around and causing havoc. Rarely a day goes by without hearing of a new situation the pair have somehow roped themselves into.

But if asked, they can all agree. One day…

One day those kids will be extraordinary.

***

Time passes. Katsuki turns nine with little fanfare while the whole town pitches in for Izumi’s celebration.

When they both turn ten, Izumi ignores the months between their birthdays and celebrates them together so Katsuki can have a big party too. (She still gets another one on her actual birthday, but it was the thought that counted.)

At ten years old, Katsuki refuses to admit that Izumi is the best friend he’s ever had. Everyone can see it, but he never says it out loud.

At ten years old, Izumi knows it anyway so it doesn't really matter. His heart tells her it every time it stutters around the words ‘I hate you.’

At ten years old, both Izumi and Katsuki are looking towards the stars, eager and excited for what the future has in store.

At ten years old, All Might disappears from the public eye, and Izumi feels something hollow settle in her stomach.

***

I used a lot of Hebrew words to describe the foxes and endearments. I did this because it's a pretty language and is honestly not used enough. I do not speak Hebrew but tried to keep it as accurate as possible.

TRANSLATIONS: sha’alabbin: sly fox batsheva: "bat" is daughter, "sheva" is the number 7, so it literally means "7th daughter." Shual Nephesh: "shual" is fox, "nephesh" is literally translated as a soul but is also referenced as living beings/sentient creations. kinda like spirits. Shaalim Nephashoth: plural form of the above

#bnha #fem!izuku #bakudeku #mha #my typewriter #wlcm #my hero academia

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