Yo! I return with the next installment! And also news of an impending new story (I know, I know, I already have too many WIPs. I REGRET NOTHING). It's a favor for a friend mostly, but I figured I'd share it since it's progressing so nicely. It's a Horizon Zero Dawn/Final Fantasy XV crossover, so if either of those interest you maybe come take a look!

Copyright Disclaimer: I do not own My Hero Academia or any references made in this story. The only things I own are the plot and my interpretation of AU characters.

Chapter Three: Destiny Reforged

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He had been in the area for week when it happened. A shortcut he should have known better than to take —did know better, but he was tired and impatient to get to his new house and hadn't wanted to take the long way around— and a group of kids with nothing better to do than to shake down the neighborhood newcomer for cash.

He eyed the boys without fear —he'd taken on worse when he was their age— and gave them a thin smile when they tried to intimidate him, "See here, boys, you have better things to be doing than wasting your lives getting criminal records-." He should have seen the punch coming, he should have. Even if the kid throwing it had a speed enhancing quirk, he was a pro, he should've been expecting it. But he'd underestimated them, forgotten how helpless he was now.

He lectured himself mentally in between gasps for air and gurgling coughs as the taste of copper soaked his mouth. The middle school teens took a collective step back, "Dude! We want his cash, not to kill him!"

The boy with the enhanced speed flailed, "I didn't hit him that hard! He's just weak or something!"

The third snorted, "Whatever, who cares. Just take the cash and the beer and let's go." He shifted to get up and the third teen kicked him in the ribs, sending another wave of copper into his mouth as he tried to wrestle down his instinct to grab the threat and throw-it-through-a-wall-.

"Hey!" A fourth voice, younger than the muggers, but edged with violence, thundered down the alley, "The f*ck do you think you're doing?"

The boys jumped in surprise and the one with enhanced speed bolted without waiting for the other two. The third one cursed, "You again! Why don't you f*ing mind your own business?"

Rapid footsteps and the crack of an explosion followed by a snarling, "Because I'm d*mn well making it my business." He opened his eyes and watched through with slightly watery vision as a shorter boy cannoned into the muggers, slamming his fists into their midriffs and limbs and then setting his fists on fire. The teens yelled and flailed and the third boy lashed out with tentacle arms that were quickly scorched and driven off by a miniature whirlwind of blond aggression. The second fired a tiny laser from his index fingers, then howled when his fingers were grabbed and twisted to the point of a sickening crack.

The two fled within seconds, yelling threats and curses the entire way. The blond —primary school age at most if he didn't miss his mark— spat contemptuously onto the pavement and flexed his hands a few times before he turned. Crouching down in front of him, the boy reached up and fiddled with something behind his right ear before he said, "Sh*t that's a lot of blood. You need an ambulance?"

He shook his head and sat up, already reaching for a handkerchief to wipe away the blood on his lips and chin —nothing he could do about the blood on his shirt until he got home—, "No, thank you. I'm alright."

Narrow red eyes conveyed disbelief, but the boy shrugged, "If you say so."

He smiled weakly, "I do." It wasn't like a hospital would be able to help anyway. He picked himself up slowly, making sure not to trigger another coughing fit, and when he turned around to check the state of his groceries, he found the blond boy already packing them back into the bags and hoisting them in his arms, "Ah, you don't have to do that-!"

He hadn't thought anyone would ever be able to level a deadpan glare so powerful, especially at such a young age, and yet he found himself pinned in place by burning red eyes, "Which way is your house?"

He gestured weakly out the alley, "Two blocks from here, blue house with the white trim-" and the blond was off, taking his groceries with him, "h-hey wait a minute!"

He was given a disdainful glance that turned threatening the moment he reached to reclaim his groceries, "I'm not letting the guy coughing up blood carry this sh*t. Just open the door when we get there."

"That really isn't necessary young man, I am fully capable of-."

"Will you shut the f*ck up and let me help already? I can f*ing tell you're in pain!"

Well. There wasn't much to say to that now was there? This boy apparently earnestly wanted to help him, a total stranger, even if his way of expressing that desire was incredibly rude. He couldn't stop the tiny smile on his face as he gave in and allowed the boy —who had managed to fight off teenagers several years his senior in defense of a stranger— to carry the groceries to his new house.

He opened the door when they arrived and directed the boy to set everything on the table. The boy went a step further and insisted on unloading everything and putting it away, even the beer.

"Young lad, you aren't old enough to touch those-."

"Who the f*ck cares and who's gonna tell? Now do you want these in the fridge or the cupboard?"

"…The fridge, please. Thank you."

Tasks done, the boy examined the kitchen with a critical eye and then gave him a five sentence lecture on either not taking shortcuts or carrying mugger deterrent —the boy pulled a can of pepper spray and a taser out of each pocket as an example and then pointedly put the pepper spray on the table with an expression that warned him to use it or else—. Lecture given, the boy nodded to himself and marched for the door without so much as a request for water for his efforts. He trailed after the boy, baffled —and rather touched— by the heavy-handed assistance. He couldn't help but joke softly as the boy put his sneakers back on and made to leave, "Do I at least get the name of my hero today?"

The boy went very, very still and pointedly didn't look at him for a long time. Then red eyes glanced shyly over his left shoulder, "Katsuki. Bakugo Katsuki."

He smiled down at the boy, "Yagi Toshinori. It was a pleasure to meet such a brave young man, Bakugo-kun. Are you sure there's nothing I can do to thank you for all your help?"

Red eyes shifted to glare at the floor, "Don't do stupid sh*t like that again. Kaa-san get's mad when I break the other kid's bones, even if they deserve it." A pause, a thoughtful glower at the door, "You're new here."

"I am, I just moved in a week ago. My doctor recommended somewhere quieter than the downtown area for my recovery." Before the boy could ask, Toshinori added, "I had a bad accident two years ago, I'm afraid I'm still recovering."

Bakugo-kun grunted and, after a slightly awkward pause, yanked open the door and stomped off down the driveway, "Bye. Stay out of sh*tty alleys that will get you killed."

Toshinori watched him go with a baffled smile. What a strange boy. To be so earnestly stubborn about helping someone in need, but to have such atrocious language and temperament he could have just as easily been mistaken for a mini villain in the making himself. He wondered if he'd see the boy again anytime soon. He'd have to see if he could coax the kid into accepting an ice cream as thanks. That confrontation could have ended very badly —especially since he wouldn't have been able to use his quirk without giving away his identity—.

Five days later Toshinori nearly choked on his own blood when he opened the door to investigate the loud thump noise he'd just heard and found a newspaper at his feet and a little blond bundle of goodwill, swearing, and aggression standing at the end of his driveway, a large leather bag slung over one shoulder. Once he'd recovered his breath, Toshinori made a cautious approach, "Ah, good morning, Bakugo-kun." He got a borderline-hateful blink in return that was far too much like certain pre-coffee heroes in the morning for it to not be a greeting. Toshinori ran a hand through his hair, "…Is there any reason you're standing at the end of my driveway?"

Another hateful blink, then a flat, "Where's your pepper spray." It wasn't even a question, just a demand delivered in a grumpy monotone.

Toshinori obediently fished out the item from his pocket, "I carry it with me whenever I leave the house. Do you want it back-?"

"No."

"…Alright then." He put the pepper spray back in his pocket and waited for the boy to explain why he was standing there. Neither of them moved for several long seconds before Toshinori politely cleared his throat, "Ah, was that everything, Bakugo-kun?" Dead silence. It was like trying to draw blood from a stone or get Aizawa to be sociable at any point before —or after— five in the evening. He waited several more seconds, receiving only a blank stare that somehow conveyed irritated swearing without ever twitching an eyebrow, "…Okay then. I'm just … going to go on my morning walk now."

He slowly set off down the street, hoping to put the strange encounter behind him. Five yards later, he turned to see what the periodic "swish, thump" sounds behind him were and realized he had a bodyguard following a few steps behind him. As he watched, the boy fished a newspaper out of his bag and threw it with obvious bad humor at the door of the house they were passing. The newspaper hit the door with roughly the speed of a professionally thrown baseball and made contact with enough force to sound like someone had just attacked with a small battering ram.

Toshinori blinked —so that was the thump he'd heard earlier—, then kept walking with the assumption that the boy would turn off at the intersection and continue his paper-route elsewhere —he never seen Bakugo-kun on his morning walk before, so the boy was probably just a bit late getting started or something today—. Two intersections later and Toshinori turned around again in time to see a newspaper smack an unwary fellow right in the face when he opened his door at the exact wrong time. The man fell over from the force of it and Bakugo-kun raised his voice for the first time that morning, "You f*ing dead, Bald Geezer?"

The man who had been felled by a mach 3 newspaper sat up and shook the now-slightly-bloody bundle of papers at the boy, "F*ing watch your sh*tty language, young man! This neighborhood isn't a sh*tty pigsty!"

"F*ing learned it from you, Bald Geezer!"

"I can still tell your mother to take you over her knee you sh*tty brat!"

Someone the next house down flung open their living room window to bellow, "Will you two shut up? It's too early in the morning for your stupid-!" Another dead on meeting between face and newspaper.

The nice lady who always greeted Toshinori while watering her flowerbeds laughed aloud, "You deserved that!" Her attention shifted to the moody, apparently lethally armed youth trailing behind Toshinori, "Hello, Bakugo-kun. Where's Izu-kun today?"

"On our usual route. Teiji's sick, so I have to cover for him."

"Aw, poor Teiji-kun. I hope he gets better soon. Well, I won't keep you," she held out her hand expectantly and was given a newspaper without having to risk life and facial structure for it, then smiled at Toshinori, "good morning, Toshinori-san."

He smiled, "Good morning Reika-san."

Toshinori continued on his way, watching in baffled amusement as Bakugo-kun eventually moved to march beside him rather than behind, throwing newspapers at doors, walls, and the occasional unlucky face with the intent to kill. Toshinori could feel his eyebrows rising each time a newspaper left the boy's hands with a whip-crack of sound, "Do you always deliver your newspapers with so much … enthusiasm, Bakugo-kun?"

"…No." Whip-crack-thud.

The negative response was hardly convincing, but Toshinori gave him the benefit of the doubt, "You're angry that you had to take a different route today, then."

"No." Whip-crack-thud. Slightly more convincing, but not by much.

Talkative this one. A real master at conversation. "Then why are you trying to knock people's doors down with a newspaper, if I might ask?"

Whip-crack-thud. Whip-crack-thud. Then, "Deku's not here. We usually share a route."

"Ah." Unhappy at being separated from his friend then. Still, "I don't think that's a very good reason to give people concussions with paper, Bakugo-kun."

A snort, "Then they should learn to f*ing duck."

"Language, Bakugo-kun." That got him the evil eye, but surprisingly no comment. Toshinori watched Bakugo-kun assault another few doors before he said, "…After your route, would you like me to … buy you an ice cream? Or a soda?" A questioning grunt and another door shuddered under the assault of a paper missile. Toshinori sighed and reminded himself that patience was everything, "As a thank you for the all your help the other day."

"No." Whip-crack-crunch. There was definitely a crack in that door now, and the paper was smoking slightly.

"But surely I can at least pay you back for the pepper-."

A rolled up newspaper was suddenly being held under his nose like the barrel of a lethal weapon, "No."

Toshinori held his hands up in surrender, "At least tell me why…?"

Bakugo-kun seemed to contemplate throwing the newspaper in his hands at Toshinori from point-blank range, then instead turned and abused another door with it. It took three more door assaults before, "I'm not a hero."

That … okay. That wasn't the answer Toshinori had been expecting at all. Not that he'd really known what to expect —he knew how to deal with kids as All Might, but not as skinny, sickly Toshinori—, but that had definitely not been it, "You saved me from being mugged. You checked whether I needed an ambulance, and you carried my heavy groceries to my house and put them away for me. I know that isn't flashy like what Pro Heroes do on the news, but that all sounds heroic to me."

He could see jaw muscles go tight, then forcibly relax. The next newspaper was definitely smoking —just like the palm that had thrown it— and the wall looked dented, "They still managed to hurt you before I got there."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad…" Not compared to the villains he'd faced over his career —up to and including the man who'd taken his lung and stomach from him—.

"Tell that to all the f*ing blood all over d*mn ground-." The last word came out strangled and the boy stopped short to breathe heavily. Toshinori felt alarmed concern zip through his veins as he recognized the beginning stages of a panic attack in the glazed eyes and harsh breathing. Before he could try to help however, Bakugo-kun's breathing evened out and his eyes unglazed. The boy stood on the sidewalk, knuckles white around the strap of his newspaper bag for what felt like a long time. Then he growled, "I'm not a hero. Heroes aren't late."

Toshinori took a bracing breath of his own as he tried to stow away the many memories of being just one second too late, one heartbeat too slow or one inch too far away to save someone. He dared to reach out and place a hand on the boy's shoulder, "Even heroes … even heroes can't be on time every time, Bakugo-kun." Bakugo-kun released one hand from the shoulder strap to clutch at his shirt just over his chest and his response was so soft —so tiny, so lost and weighed down by memory— that Toshinori almost didn't hear it.

"I know."

Bakugo-kun jerked his shoulder out from under Toshinori's hand and resumed throwing newspaper-missiles. If he'd looked back, he might have seen the world-weary, guilty look on Toshinori's face as the secret Pro Hero shuffled along behind and wondered who had failed the boy, and when, to make him go from being so loud and fearless to so quiet and scarred in the space of seconds.

Bakugo-kun's newspaper route, by happenstance or design, ended right next to the little cafe that had been introduced to him by his beloved predecessor Nana. The owner of the house ran the cafe on the bottom floor of her two-story home and Toshinori had taken a liking to sitting at one of the porch tables, drinking one of her berry smoothies —doctor's orders, he'd rather have coffee—, and munching on a small pile of scrambled eggs with ham before going about his day.

Toshinori went inside and the owner —an older woman named Avery— smiled and greeted him in her native tongue of Southern-accented English, "Toshi-boy! Yah're late, Ah was beginning ta worry 'bout ya. Yah didn' run inta trouble did'ja?"

Toshinori smiled at her, but was cut off from answering her when Bakugo stormed up to the counter and slapped his last newspaper down on it with a loud smack and huffed in accented English, "He's fine. Jus' walks slow as a d*mn snail."

He watched in baffled amusement as Avery promptly snatched up the newspaper and cracked Bakugo-kun over the head with it, "Watch your language around mah customers, brat! 'Specially, Toshi-boy! He's tha boy of mah good friend Nana, may she rest in peace, an' has got more manners in his little pinky than ya've got in your entire fool body!"

The boy rubbed his spiky hair and sneered at Avery as he switched back to Japanese, "Who the f*ck-" he ducked another newspaper swing, "cares about manners when he's got the common sense of a d*mn-" another rustle of weaponized paper as it was dodged, "drunk hamster?"

Avery paused in her swinging, scrutinized Toshinori's underweight form —which she knew was massively underweight and bedraggled, she'd known him from his high school years on even if she didn't know what had happened to leave him this way—, then tapped her chin with the paper in thought, "…Thah's true. He does have tha common sense of a drunk hamster."

Bakugo-kun nodded sagely, "I had to give him a can of pepper spray, moronic zombie was taking alley shortcuts without so much as an f*ing dog to protect him from the sh*tty muggers around here."

Well. That was a bit harsh, and Avery did not have to nod so agreeably with the mouthy eleven year old's assessment of his mental capabilities, "…I'm right here you know."

Avery shot him a look, "Ah can see thah. Yah go sit yourself down in your usual spot, Toshi-boy, Ah'll bring yah your usual?" Toshinori nodded and Avery barreled on, "Ah'll bring ya your usual and then ya can tell me about this muggin' Bakugo here stopped. As for yah," she turned to Bakugo-kun and switched back to Japanese, "truck don't show until tomorrow, so yah might as well-" the boy gave her a long, flat look and she sighed, "take tha trash down ta tha dumpsters for me. It'd be a great help not ta bend over like thah."

The boy nodded, hung his bag on a coat peg and disappeared into the back of the restaurant with the same semi-murderous look he always seemed to have. Toshinori waited until Avery had brought him his usual smoothie and eggs —by which point the boy had returned from trash duty and taken a dishrag to the empty tables without prompting— to ask, "Bakugo-kun seems a little … young to hold two jobs at once, doesn't he?"

Avery barked a quick laugh and sat down across from him, switching back to English to answer, "He don'. Ah'm just one o' tha people he likes ta mother on a regular basis." She propped her chin on her hand, "Ya wouldn' know 'cause ya only just moved here, but Bakugo's somethin' of tha neighborhood watchdog. He may have tha mouth of a sailor on 'im, but his heart's in tha right place." She waited until the boy had moved farther away and lowered her voice, "He used ta be a brat. I mean, he's still a brat, but he was on a fast track ta being a violent little-" she shook her head and didn't finish that thought, "Anywho. When he an' Izuku were seven, they got caught up in a villain attack. A Pro Hero nailed tha perp, bu' not afore Izuku took a bad hit right in front of Bakugo. Poor kid got hospitalized an' well, Izuku copes, an' he's happy again, but things were never … quite the same."

She paused in her story to set Bakugo to another chore at the boy's grouchy behest, "Bakugo took it pretty hard, and after thah he … well, he's still as loud an' rude as ever, but he ain't cruel no more. He straightened himself up. Started helping out tha other kids at school first, drivin' off bullies and the like. Then he started volunteering around tha neighborhood, doing chores for tha older people 'round here, helpin' out at tha animal shelter-."

"Isn't he too young for that?"

Avery shrugged, "He's better at carin' for tha animals than some o' tha professionals. He finds 'em an' brings 'em ta tha shelter and some o' tha caretakers call him in ta deal with tha more abused animals. He's got a real gentle touch with 'em, so everyone turns a blind eye ta his age. Anywho. He an' Izuku are thah little neighborhood heroes now. They check up on everyone, help out wherever they can." She smiled fondly, "Honestly, they got more heroism between 'em than most any o' tha Pro's runnin' round nowadays." She leaned back and shook her head, "They're gonna shake tha world someday, Toshi-boy. Just like Nana used ta. Mark mah words."

Toshinori hummed around his smoothie, "Where is Izuku-kun now, do you know?" He was interested to see the other half of the "neighborhood heroes" now. See how the boy compared to the door-denting Bakugo-kun —and perhaps see what the villain attack had done, that left such a strong impression without crippling the poor boy—.

Avery shrugged, "Oh, Ah expect he'll come 'round soon. Hard ta separate those two nowadays, it's like they're glued ta tha hip." A pair of customers came up the porch and Avery hauled herself out of the chair to tend to them. Toshinori lingered at his table, watching as the two men greeted Bakugo-kun, then chuckled when all they got was a vague snarl in response from the boy now busily mopping the floor despite Avery's efforts to make him sit down and accept a small pastry as a reward.

More customers drifted in as the morning shifted from "far too early" for most people to "time for some good coffee and pancakes". Bakugo-kun hovered to and fro, moving from mopping to helping serve with a stubborn dedication Toshinori hadn't thought a boy his age capable of showing for any kind of chore. Let alone voluntary ones.

His aggressive assistance only stopped when a bright animal trill and the telltale rustle of leather membrane heralded a new arrival. Toshinori couldn't help but stare as an honest to goodness night fury roughly the size of a pony dropped onto the lawn, dressed in baggy pants with a wide hole cut out of the back to accommodate the tail and a harness style newspaper bag strapped across his chest. The dragon waggled his ears cheerfully and a tiny light flashed from the bulky thought-to-speech vocoder clamped around his neck, "Good. Morning. Kacchan! Avery-san! Everyone!" The voice from the collar was flat and monotone —a sign of a cheap brand, the high quality ones could sound almost exactly like a regular person's voice—, only the gleeful body language of the owner and the spike in volume from the collar conveying the happy mood of the speaker.

Bakugo-kun hurtled across the lawn in an instant, colliding with the night fury —and seriously, how had the boy gotten a quirk that was identical to a famous fictional dragon?— in something that Toshinori tentatively assumed was supposed to be a hug. Even though it looked far more like an attempted wrestler's tackle. The night fury —presumably the boy Avery had called Izuku?— wrapped his wings and paws around Bakugo-kun with a hiccuping laugh and a stilted, "Kacchan. Hi! Sorry. I'm. Late. Tanaka-san. Needed. Help. With. His. Dog. Again."

Bakugo-kun pulled away from the other boy and began undoing the straps holding the leather bag in place, "Stupid old man. He knows that dog is too f*ing dumb to learn to obey. He should just keep her on a cable already so she doesn't hurt herself going after cars or something."

The two continued to chat as the bag came free. Bakugo-kun slung it carelessly on the peg next to his own bag, then smacked the dragon's shoulder and stomped toward Toshinori's table. The dragon —boy? Toshinori was mostly sure that this had to be Izuku— followed obediently behind, ear flaps pricking in curiosity as Bakugo-kun came to a stop at the table. Toshinori offered a slightly nervous smile, "Hello there. You must be Bakugo-kun's friend. My name is Yagi Toshinori."

A black scaled head that refracted deep green in the sunlight dipped in assent, "Yes. Hello. I. Am. Midoriya. Izuku. It. Is. Nice. To. Meet. You. Yagi-san."

"You can call me Toshinori. It's very nice to meet you Midoriya-kun."

Bakugo-kun straightened up, red eyes deadly serious as he laid a hand on his friend's scaly shoulder, "Deku here is going to be the next Number One Hero. Even better than All Might."

Toshinori had to sputter into a napkin at that, startled that the grouchy child would so fearlessly tout his friend as a future best hero when he himself seemed so adverse to the idea that he was heroic. Midoriya-kun's head twisted to eye Bakugo-kun with a wordless noise of protest that was followed by, "No! Kacchan. Is. A. Better. Hero. Than. Me!" Bright green eyes, like fresh grass in the sunshine, pinned Toshinori to his seat, "Kacchan's. Going. To. Be. Number. One. Someday. Just. Watch!"

Toshinori could only watch in helpless confusion as Bakugo-kun's expression turned dark, "I ain't a hero, Deku. You're a f*ckton better than me."

"No. You. Are! You. Are. A. Hero!"

"No, I'm not! Now shuddup and accept the praise, Deku! You're gonna be the best Pro Hero there ever was if I have to kick your *ss and make you!"

Midoriya-kun's ears and wings drooped into a body-sized deadpan, "That's. Counterintuitive. Kacchan."

Human palms crackled with sparks, "Do I f*ing look like I care?"

Toshinori felt he should interrupt before the argument turned violent —even if Bakugo-kun was no longer armed with newspapers, he still looked like he could make quite a mess of Avery's establishment if he got physical—, "Boys!" Both heads swiveled to stare at him and he held up placating hands, "Can't you both just be the best Pro Heroes you can be? See which one of you becomes the next Number One in honest competition?"

They stared at him like he was crazy and pointed at the other with either a claw or finger.

"But he's the f*ing hero around here!"

"Kacchan. Is. The. Best. Hero!"

They resumed glaring at each other and Toshinori scrambled for how to stop the impending fight before Avery noticed and had to break it up herself, "W-wait!" They glanced at him again, "So, the problem here isn't that you think you are each the best, but that you both believe the other is better suited to be Number One?" They nodded slowly and Toshinori tried not to facepalm. Well, that's definitely a new one. Most heroes, even veteran pros, got into arguments over how they were obviously better than the other hero. This was the other way around and he wasn't sure how to solve that.

In his scramble to say something, anything, that might keep Bakugo-kun's short temper from snapping —and who knew what damage Midoriya-kun could wreak if he lost his temper too—, Toshinori blurted out the first thing that came to mind when he scrounged for something to say to bickering children, "C-can't you just share?"

A moment later, he realized the stupidity of his statement. The title of Number One was meant for just that. One person. No one had ever tied for the title, and certainly two young boys would never agree to share such glory even if they could-.

Except the two were staring at each other like they had just witnessed some kind of holy revelation.

Midoriya-kun broke the awed silence first with a serious flick of his ears, "I. Will. Be. The. Number. One. Hero. If. You. Will."

Bakugo-kun bared his teeth, looking far more feral than his dragon friend, "If that's what it takes to see you at the f*ing top, then bring it on."

They nodded sharply and exchanged a high five to seal the sudden deal, gazes far too solemn for children their age. Toshinori just sat there and gaped quietly at the two children who had gone against all convention and decided they were going to share the title of Number One like it was some kind of cake to be sliced up evenly. Midoriya-kun then flopped over onto Bakugo-kun in an enthusiastic hug and the serious moment dissolved into wheezing laughter —from Midoriya-kun— and inventive cursing —from Bakugo-kun—. The cursing, for all its creativity, didn't hide Bakugo-kun's smile as he squirmed out from under his larger friend … and Toshinori didn't have the heart to point out the impossibility of their new plan.

Of course, he would only learn later that "impossible" to them just meant "work harder".

An alternate title for this chapter could have been: In Which Toshinori Accidentally Dooms the Hero Industry to A Glorious (and Explody) Reformation Because of His Incorrect Use of a Parental Platitude. XD

Also! I have a tumblr! Come drop me (or the characters in my stories, either OC or not) an ask! Or something. (Tumblr usage beyond basic posts, likes, and reblogs is still something of a mystery to me so, eh). secret -engima .tumblr. com (just put it back together).