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Izuku gets his first notebook at the tender age of four. Ostensibly, the notebook is for practising writing.
(the reality is that it ends up filled with colorful sketches of heroes, All Might most prominent)
His mom packs it away carefully each night, the wobbly lines soon becoming characters as he ages, the date starting to appear in the corner half-way through the book.
(there’s only one skipped week, after the world came down around him)
Izuku enjoys learning, especially learning to write. He’s faster than most kids, Kacchan included.
(and oh, it burnt the other boy up
“Do you think you’re better than me!? You don’t even have a quirk!”)
His notebook burns along the edge, smoke swirling up, the outer shell crinkling. Aunt Mitsuki rips it out of Katsuki’s hands.
“Katsuki! You have to be more careful of your quirk! Especially around Izuku!” A quick smack to his hands has the boy rearing back. She hands the notebook back to Izuku with a smile.
It hangs loosely in his hands. He smiles back.
(it looks more like a grimace)
Tsubasa snatches his notebook when he’s nine-ish. These are dedicated to quirks and heroes, one full one just dedicated to All Might, and all but one stowed away on his bookshelf. No longer are they practice notebooks, they’re something bigger, something special.
(hero fights happen nonstop; plenty of strategies and quirks to consider when at home
but he still needs more)
Izuku wrote under the trees at playtime. Most everyone left him alone, so he hadn’t noticed the winged boy following after class. His eyes dart around, noting Tanaka sneering beside Tsubasa. Kacchan looks uninterested, bouncing a ball with one hand a little further off. The rest of the children on the playground ignore the group.
(heads hunched over his new notebook, poorly drawn costumes on the page,
“We’ll be heroes together, Kacchan!”
“Duh! You’ll be number two of course! I’m always gonna be number one!”)
He scrabbles up, pen still clutched in hand.
“You know,” Tsubasa drawls, “Every time you write in these, that creepy muttering starts up!”
Izuku flushes, fists clenching by his sides. He doesn’t mean to mutter! The thoughts just fly through, fast until he’s full up and then they start to slip from his grasp, so he has to let them out somehow!
“What are you even putting in these dumb notebooks?” Tsubasa says, starting to hover just out of Izuku’s reach. Even on tip-toe, Tsubasa is far too high up. He smirks, waving the notebook around. It brushes against Izuku’s fingertips before being yanked up again. Tears prick at his eyes and Tanaka laughs.
Kacchan snorts behind them.
(“Ahh! I have so much on your quirk, Kacchan! It’s incredible!”
“Hah? Ob-vi-ous-ly, Deku! I should get a whole notebook for myself!”
“O-oh? Yeah! I can do that!”
“Heh, you aren’t half-bad at this.”)
“He writes about heroes and quirks,” Kacchan spits, bouncing the ball a few times, “I guess he’s still thinking that a quirkless Deku can be a hero.”
Izuku tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. Hunching over, he bites his lip. Kacchan stops paying attention after his statement, trying to explode the ball upwards with his quirk. Tanaka, at least, seems distracted by this. Izuku would be too, as it’s a wonderful display of control, but the pen twitches in his hand, sans notebook.
Tsubasa waves it at him again, cackling.
“Really? Then this is pretty useless, huh?” He chucks it over Izuku’s head.
It falls into the tree. Trapped by the branches, far out of reach.
(“Ah, Izuku, honey, I don’t think it’s safe to keep going in the woods.”
“But mom, that’s where everyone goes!”
“Please? I’d feel safer knowing you were in town.”)
“I wouldn’t bother getting it,” Tsubasa says, landing on the ground with a thump, “I’d say it was almost as useless as you are!”
He trots away to play with Kacchan and Tanaka. Something splinters inside, tears welling up fast and furious and Izuku whips around, knees shaking, to face the tree.
Through tear-wet eyes he notes the features of it. Old, perhaps, because he’s seen it as far back as he can remember. The trunk is thin, leading to pale green leaves and fluffy white somethings. Flowers, maybe?
Tsubasa isn’t that strong, so the notebook hangs on a low branch.
Low enough to climb to.
The bark bites sharply into his palms when he jumps, hitting the trunk and staggering back. He tries again. And again. And again. And finally he grabs the lowest branch, heaving himself up, legs scraping against the tree.
Carefully, he stands, wobbling right and almost tipping off. Izuku breathes a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he steadies.
His notebook is in reach.
Rising on tip-toes he manages to knock it off its precarious perch, but jostles the white flowers in the process. They fall squarely on Izuku’s face, feathery and fragile.
He sneezes.
He falls.
(ow)
It turns out that sprained ankles are actually enough to get his mother called. The nurse glares at him after Izuku limps into her office, sent by his teacher.
She sniffs, looking at him from atop her nose.
“Really, children like you should know better than to climb trees. What did you expect to happen?”
He flinches back, arms curled protectively around the notebook he still hasn’t put in his backpack.
(before the teacher rushed over he grabbed one of the white flowers from the ground
pressed it gentle between the pages of Gang Orca’s sketch and quirk
he’s never bothered to notice what type of tree it was
that’s probably rude)
“Attention seeker or stupid,” the nurse huffs at him. His fingers whiten, they’re pressed so hard on the pages that the notebook bends.
Izuku releases it, hand cramping. He could say something.
But nothing would happen.
The nurse calls his mom, blessedly leaving out her theory.
(“Izuku! Are you okay!?”
a smile, strained
“It just hurts a little!”
whispering, behind his back
“A tree!? Izuku…”)
Aldera Junior High is marginally better in the fact that preteens learn to be subtle. They may shove past him, or trip him, but no one steals his things.
Gum in his seat or words hissed as he passes are easier to ignore than getting beaten up.
The teachers are the same, uncaring or oblivious and totally uninterested in him. They coo over Kacchan, which Izuku can’t fault them for.
(kacchan always wins
the closest thing to victory near him
even if his attitude leaves much to be desired)
But there’s Watanabe, with her minor telekinesis, and Suzuki, who can stretch her arms out, that the teachers give favor to. Izuku would hate to say someone wasn’t fit to be a hero, but while they make noises about it, everyone can tell they aren’t sincere.
Regardless.
The world is unfair and certain quirks reign supreme.
(watanabe and suzuki both have timed limits to their quirks
it would be possible to increase it
but no one but Kacchan does that
what a waste)
At thirteen, career counseling begins. The school counselor calls each of 3B back to discuss potential high schools before they turn in their applications.
(UA’s sits on his desk at home
the hero course
of course, what else)
“Midoriya Izuku,” the man calls. Izuku’s palms are sweating and his books almost slip out of his hands.
They may not steal his things anymore, but his classmates will mark all over the pages if he leaves anything behind.
The hallway to the office seems to stretch, a weight pressing hard on Izuku’s back and he hunches in on himself. Yamamoto’s back becomes a point of focus, a nucleus in the ever shifting, wobbling world that curves in on him. His heart beats faster, breath quickening. The books he draws to his chest, a guard against the world currently caving in. Yamamoto stops. Opens the door.
Izuku collapses in the chair provided.
(yamamoto is a steely sort, with old grey eyes
izuku has never met him in person
the room is slightly too warm)
“So, Midoriya,” he says, steepling his fingers across the desk, “What high schools were you thinking of applying to?”
His palms sweat even more. But.
This is his dream. A dream he’s had as long as he can recall. If he can stand day after day of mocking classmates, one junior high counselor should be cake.
“I-”
“You’ll need to go all the way, of course,” Yamamoto interrupts, “With your condition you’re going to need all the help you can get.”
Izuku’s mouth snaps shut, something fiery and foul rising up to rest in his throat like bile. Sharp and hot, like the times Kacchan used Explosion near him.
(shut
up)
Yamamoto continues, “There aren’t a lot of options; business, perhaps? And there are so few computer-related quirks that finding a job in IT wouldn’t be hard…”
He glances at Izuku.
He must not see the clenched fists or the snarling smile.
He sees someone quirkless.
(the world is unfair)
“Your teachers mentioned a notebook you write in, may I see?” His smile is edging on condescending.
Izuku’s hands curl around his notebook, the book sitting atop his actual school ones. Letting go of it would be like parting with an eyeball.
Yamamoto sighs, as if Izuku is being the difficult one here.
“If you let me know what you’re good at, I can help you. You don’t want to be scrambling at the last minute, especially with a case like yours.” He adjusts his tie. Izuku bites his cheek, tasting iron.
(he could leave, right now, take his books and run
but the school would call his mother
and his mother would worry)
Izuku thrusts it over, something tearing out from behind his lungs and heart. He’s what the adults always whispers he is; fragile, delicate, glass.
Yamamoto grabs it, flicking through, a sledgehammer poised above.
“Heroes, huh?” He sounds like he’s pieced something together, triumphant. Smug. Izuku tenses, a tight spring ready to snap.
The notebook is laid down, Yamamoto lightly flipping the edge.
“Support will be hard to get into. It’s competitive and without any natural advantages…” he stops his fiddling, “It may be better to focus on management, and even then a smaller hero school would be your best bet.”
He smiles, “There aren’t as many applicants.”
(no consideration for heroics, no mention at all
he knows what smaller schools yamamoto is talking about
knows their reputations
knows why no one applies)
Boiling lava like rage bubbles forth from his chest, spreading over in a hot flush; a paroxysm of anger of which he hasn’t felt in years, his hand lashing out to snatch his notebook from Yamamoto’s hands.
“I want to be a hero,” he says, firm. Izuku’s hands are trembling, from what he doesn’t know. Anxiety or anger, it doesn’t matter. The world is fading at the edges, the small sun in his chest still burning even as he watches himself from a distance.
A scowl forms on the man’s face, “Midoriya, you need to be-”
Izuku leaves, mind trailing behind his body.
They don’t call his mother.
(and if he has a panic attack behind the school
panting and crying into his knees
no one has to know)
When Kacchan throws his notebook out the window, it’s the most damage any of them have ever sustained. The cover partially burnt to a crisp, the water logged pages with the ink running down them- it weighs heavy, an impossible ocean of a million cruel words.
But these things are fixable. Paper can dry, and the edges are the only singed parts.
Drowning in slime is not so fixable. The thick ooze climbs in his throat and creeps towards his eyes-
But then he has All Might’s autograph.
And he’s hanging on and learning a terrible secret and having his dreams crushed and-
There’s slime and it’s his fault and maybe a hero can-
(kacchan)
His notebook hits the sludge villain right in the eye and maybe he didn’t do much but still-
Mt. Lady tucks it back in his backpack, a soft scowl on her face.
“You should be careful, kid,” she says, tugging him up, “Leave it to the pros!”
All the heroes scold him, but-
(it’s worth it)
(“You can be a hero!”)