Ivette Midoriya absolutely hated heroes. The whole concept baffled her; how could those who declare themselves to be symbols of justice be so corrupted? How could society judge people based on their quirks and appearances? Fuck that. Ivette swore to...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
HAVE YOU HEARD THAT saying? By the author of a hundred tales, both written and imagined. "There's nothing more intimate in life than simply being understood." What a way with words. The ability to draw out a thousand emotions with letters arranged in a perfectly sequential configuration.
To be understood, what a sweet thing.
Some are left with no knowledge of empathy, no knowledge of their souls. Some are left with their lives being read like open books, in simple, colourful language. Some are left torn at the edges, parchment papers stained with coffee, alcohol, blood. Each individual has their own story, and each individual must find their right audience. The stories of one's soul must be cherished and handled carefully. If an individual is careless, it will all fall apart.
Ivette was never understood.
Not by her mother, not by her twin.
The closest person was Bakugo.
But she didn't speak to him anymore.
Now, Ivette's book was shut closed. Perhaps that's why people struggled to understand her. Her life's words were sealed tight. The only thing that could communicate with her in a way that transcended basic human behaviour was the entity residing in her head.
Right now, she stood above fallen children. Their bodies shook with the trembles of terror and nightmares. Eyes squeezed shut, fingers clutching the sides of their heads.
The metaphysical being in her head glowered with malignant pride. Emotional instability was always his favourite— manipulating unease and destruction to his advantage.
