Chapter Text
Growing up, there was always something in the air. An uneasiness.
The way their mothers shielded them from strangers — more often than not, men. But there were a few women too, who just looked a little too weird at the beach — and it made them aware.
The way people moved in crowds. The perverts on the stuffed trains. And that one teacher in their middle school.
At fourteen, they were much more aware than their classmates. Different classes, but the same problems.
The way misogyny was always taught to the girls without words. Wear that skirt, but don’t show skin. Don’t wear makeup, it will distract the boys — and the male teachers. It went unsaid, or whispered by the nurse, away from the class.
At fifteen, they were first associated with the oh-so-condescending word “thug.”
Future thugs, to be exact.
Not the boy who was stupid enough to get his hand under Mina’s skirt. Not the group who thought it was harmless to corner Uraraka in the hallway when she was alone.
No. They were just boys.
And how they hated that sentence. Despised it.
Because being boys didn’t stop them from having human fucking decency.
Their mothers came in every single time the principal — or his secretary, because as the principal there was no way he would be caught calling parents himself, fucking prick — called.
Bless their mothers, they did not disappoint.
The prick wasn’t slow. After the third time, he just sent them home and told them to come back after two days.
The boys’ mothers were proud. Their boys were taught right. Their boys saw the girls as they were: equals. Not objects to touch and use whenever they wanted to.
And really, the ancient prick should have known. He was the principal when they were in high school too.
If he had been a little smarter, he would have remembered that Inko and Mitsuki were the ones who first went into the school wearing long skirts that hid not just their knees, but their ankles too.
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It was their last year of high school when the two boys put their heads together. With their rap sheet, they weren’t going to college.
The prick never failed to document their “wrong” doings. Not one college was going to give them a chance.
Izuku was too blunt. People often got uneasy when he said something — something that was in no way rude — just not sugar-coated enough.
Katsuki was brash — an asshole, really, with a swearing capability that left people speechless — but he wasn’t rude if people didn’t give him a reason to be.
Neither of them was going to fit in.
Their friends came with the same problems. Really, it was amazing how “social rejects” — as some of their peers liked to put it — gravitated toward each other.
Mina was too hyper and unkempt. She, just like Izuku, was a victim of the racism half-black people got in Japan.
Tenya was too much with his fondness for rules. The boy likely had autism, but in Japan, “mental illness” like that would put a family to shame, therefore it was never diagnosed.
Uraraka was too man-like. God forbid a girl liked to lift weights instead of shopping.
Eijiro was too loud and open about his views of the world. A pin of a rainbow-colored flag was all it took.
Hanta and his self-medication for his anxiety — just like Tenya, “mental illness” was not acceptable, even if one’s mother was Hispanic — was too frowned upon. To be honest, bloodshot eyes were not a good first impression, especially in Japan.
So Izuku and Katsuki put their heads together.
Mainly Izuku — Katsuki was not stupid in the least, but Izuku’s analytical thinking was needed here — and Katsuki was there to interrupt any rants that strayed further than the problem at hand.
In the end, it came down to one thing. Nothing legal was going to be a lifetime fix.
Even if breaking into the underworld wasn’t easy.
Again, bless their mothers. Maybe for them, it would be just a little easier.