- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Romance, Horror, Fantasy, Modern, Angst (with a happy ending)
(this thread is the continuation of a deleted thread from a different site.)
One of the first things Kanae had learned about Izuku during their first year at U.A was how openly expressive he was. His heart was always on his sleeve, much too large for one body to possibly contain. His feelings were always obvious. His smile shined brighter than the sun; his tears cascaded like waterfalls when he cried. He rambled the ear off of anyone who'd listen in his excitement, and he'd explode into a crimson, stammering mess when embarrassed. Always so open, so animated, so alive. Though he was often scolded for being a crybaby during their years spent as heroes-in-training at U.A, she could never see it as a fault the way others did. His compassion, his capacity for empathy and emotion, was his strength. His greatest gift. More powerful and more meaningful than any quirk in the world, even his own. It was that part of him that made him the greatest hero, that part that made him special. He should cherish it, now and always. So she noticed immediately, that he stopped listening to her the moment she rested his daughter in his arms for the first time. Not that she could blame him; she had been in the same position, just a little while earlier. She carefully watched his face, the emotions swirling like a kaleidoscope in his emerald eyes, tears threatening to swell in them again, and gently leaned to rest against him. "You don't have to force yourself to not cry, y'know. It's okay to feel what you're feeling; no one here's going to judge you for it. Even if they tried, I wouldn't let them." She assured him with a smile, eyes closed in contentment. Both of them were overwhelmed with emotion, and it was only natural, wasn't it? They were parents now. The little family of four they'd been waiting for was finally complete. How could they not feel this way?
Shouta needed to keep reminding himself that this was normal. The feelings overwhelming him were normal. With the birth of their daughter, their entire worlds had changed. Everything was different now. Kiko's birth was always going to change everything, even if he had no way of knowing to what extent. Maybe it was startling to him, the permanency of it all. He was a father now, and from this point on, he'd never not be a father ever again. This was a core aspect of his existence, and from this moment on, it always would be. The childless Shouta Aizawa was ultimately dead, now, much like the unmarried Shouta had died at their wedding. Those versions of him were dead, replaced by who he was now; a father and a husband. Someone who would dedicate his entire life to the little family they'd created together. They'd guide his every action. Every mission he went on would be laced with the concern of making it back to his family, to make sure he wouldn't make a widower and a single parent out of his wife. To make sure Kiko would know her father. He looked down at her, his entire body tensing a bit when she seemed to curl into him. As if she knows she'll never have a safer place to land. He knows she's a baby and this is just what babies do, he knows this, but he lets himself believe Kiko already knows he'll never let her fall. She sleeps like it, like she already knows, and Shouta can't help but marvel at this tiny human that already trusts him more than he thinks he's ever trusted anyone. He doesn't say any of this to Akemi when she asks how he's feeling -- he doesn't know how to, if he's being honest. He can't bring himself to say anything. He has nothing to say, and he feels terrible about it, but he knows she'll understand. He's grateful to her for that, for this, for everything.
One of the first things Kanae had learned about Izuku during their first year at U.A was how openly expressive he was. His heart was always on his sleeve, much too large for one body to possibly contain. His feelings were always obvious. His smile shined brighter than the sun; his tears cascaded like waterfalls when he cried. He rambled the ear off of anyone who'd listen in his excitement, and he'd explode into a crimson, stammering mess when embarrassed. Always so open, so animated, so alive. Though he was often scolded for being a crybaby during their years spent as heroes-in-training at U.A, she could never see it as a fault the way others did. His compassion, his capacity for empathy and emotion, was his strength. His greatest gift. More powerful and more meaningful than any quirk in the world, even his own. It was that part of him that made him the greatest hero, that part that made him special. He should cherish it, now and always. So she noticed immediately, that he stopped listening to her the moment she rested his daughter in his arms for the first time. Not that she could blame him; she had been in the same position, just a little while earlier. She carefully watched his face, the emotions swirling like a kaleidoscope in his emerald eyes, tears threatening to swell in them again, and gently leaned to rest against him. "You don't have to force yourself to not cry, y'know. It's okay to feel what you're feeling; no one here's going to judge you for it. Even if they tried, I wouldn't let them." She assured him with a smile, eyes closed in contentment. Both of them were overwhelmed with emotion, and it was only natural, wasn't it? They were parents now. The little family of four they'd been waiting for was finally complete. How could they not feel this way?
Shouta needed to keep reminding himself that this was normal. The feelings overwhelming him were normal. With the birth of their daughter, their entire worlds had changed. Everything was different now. Kiko's birth was always going to change everything, even if he had no way of knowing to what extent. Maybe it was startling to him, the permanency of it all. He was a father now, and from this point on, he'd never not be a father ever again. This was a core aspect of his existence, and from this moment on, it always would be. The childless Shouta Aizawa was ultimately dead, now, much like the unmarried Shouta had died at their wedding. Those versions of him were dead, replaced by who he was now; a father and a husband. Someone who would dedicate his entire life to the little family they'd created together. They'd guide his every action. Every mission he went on would be laced with the concern of making it back to his family, to make sure he wouldn't make a widower and a single parent out of his wife. To make sure Kiko would know her father. He looked down at her, his entire body tensing a bit when she seemed to curl into him. As if she knows she'll never have a safer place to land. He knows she's a baby and this is just what babies do, he knows this, but he lets himself believe Kiko already knows he'll never let her fall. She sleeps like it, like she already knows, and Shouta can't help but marvel at this tiny human that already trusts him more than he thinks he's ever trusted anyone. He doesn't say any of this to Akemi when she asks how he's feeling -- he doesn't know how to, if he's being honest. He can't bring himself to say anything. He has nothing to say, and he feels terrible about it, but he knows she'll understand. He's grateful to her for that, for this, for everything.
Last edited: