Izuku drifted through the next few minutes, and that was only partially metaphorical. At first, it felt like a miracle.
Something was different. The palpable misery he'd harbored didn't vanish, but neither did it remain. A fog lifted, so to speak, and for the first time in months, Izuku felt true clarity. His anxieties remained, but it no longer twisted his thoughts and oppressed his better judgment.
Despite countless anxious hours and years spent dancing just out of reach, Izuku and Setsuna finally understood one another. Before, he'd doubted she could ever feel the same for the real him next to the version he showed her—but she proved him wrong. In the face of her acceptance, what he'd done and who he hurt stopped mattering. So long as he was Izuku, she would care.
She'd never doubted herself, and now, Izuku allowed himself to embrace the same confidence. The mental transition between suspicion and trust wasn't hard; on the contrary, it was bliss. Euphoric. Easy.
Light. Too light. Before he knew it, he'd grown so light and insubstantial that their hug went airborne. At first, he thought Setsuna got carried away in her excitement—but then he noticed how she held him. Two loose arms around his neck would've sooner choked him than lifted him so gently.
"...I'm not the one holding us up," Setsuna said.
Izuku's brain lagged behind—the fight, the stress, the kiss; he was still processing the events. But, with her admission, it all clicked.
Today was real, it happened, and Izuku finally understood Float.
Izuku cracked a grin and laughed. Heat crept up his neck as Setsuna watched him with her small smile, but it only encouraged him to laugh more.
Cementoss's walls totally encircled them. They towered above him, blocking any vantage he could've had on the spectators. It dampened his spirits when he realized their purpose wasn't for his privacy, but for their protection—but it also eased his worries. Absolutely no one was hurt.
Before he got lost in thought, Setsuna touched his hand. Shimmying out of his grasp, she took his hand and pulled him towards the Arena's edge. Float kept him aloft as she towed him along, but he couldn't quite maneuver himself yet.
It was strange; mental commands did nothing. Saying "Up" in his mind did less than wishing for wings. Willpower, likewise, was also not the key. He was unwilling to thoroughly test it here, but he also doubted physical commands were necessary. If he had to play charades just to fly a few feet, he'd rather just propel with Smokescreen.
"Are you certain you want to surrender?" Setsuna asked, hovering over the dead grass. She watched him leverage her hand to push himself out of bounds. He loosened his grip on her fingers and prepared to plunge. Izuku already accepted his loss—or rather, conceded that Setsuna won. Even if the fight wasn't properly concluded, in the end, she'd done what she'd set out to do, and he respected that. It seemed, however, that she didn't share his train of thought. "I'm kinda tired, man, and… the finalist is…"
Izuku froze. Kacchan slipped his mind.
"Ah," Izuku said, hesitating on the precipice. A rumble took over the Stadium as Cementoss began lowering the walls. They only had a few seconds. "Uhh, oh crap—"
"It's not that big a deal," Setsuna said, darting in to peck his lips. "If you're tired too and you think it's best, then I can try my hand at Ba—"
It took Izuku a split second to remember his name, but that was all he needed.
With a gentle tug, he spun them back around and pushed her out of bounds.
"No," Izuku said, watching as Setsuna slowly sank. She controlled her descent, giving him a second to reconsider, before cutting her flight a meter off the ground. She landed in a soft thud. "You've done more than enough, and I can finish my business myself. Thank you for everything. I love you."
She didn't reply, choosing to just nod. Izuku couldn't fathom how such a simple expression eased his doubts, but it did. She did.
He was glad to have her back.
As the walls went down, the audience grew less ignorable. At first, as the tallest seats gained a full view of the scene, their excitement was manageable—but once the front row seats caught the glimpse of them, the world exploded.
"The winner of the semifinals is Izuku Midoriya with a ring-out!" Midnight announced, barely audible over the unstoppable crowd. Drones buzzed past, missing him by only a few feet. Izuku pulled his shoulders back and sighed. "Which means our climactic battle pits him against Katsuki Bakugo!"
An hour ago, such an announcement would've destroyed him. Now, he was just frustrated. All he wanted to do was to float down and help Setsuna up—but Float wasn't cooperating. He was stranded mid-air, with no balance or control.
"—And he's freaking flying!? Where'd that come from? I knew the kid had smoke, but mirrors, too?" Present Mic interjected, commenting on the obvious. Izuku grinned, but immediately regretted it.
Surveying the Arena dampened his mood. Nothing about the Arena was dysfunctional, but Izuku did terrible things to the ring's aesthetic. Gouges in the Arena, upturned dirt, and cracks littered the Stadium's heart. Extensive damage in the Arena drew his eye, where the concrete was more powder than stone.
A shiver ran down his spine. With a shallow nod to Cementoss, Izuku grit his teeth and turned for the exit.
The longer Izuku remained still, the more unbearable his discomfort became. With the crowd at his back, he let Smokescreen envelop and whisk him away. The audience screamed with his flight, excited by his exaggerated escape, and Izuku screamed with them.
His own scream was not out of excitement—nor was it a proper scream, really. It was more like a high-pitched, over-emphasized wheeze.
Not even victory could erase consequences. Abusing Blackwhip always ended the same way, even if someone kissed his boo-boos better. From his stump to his leg, pins and needles consumed him for three agonizing minutes. He tried to hold as still as possible, but without control over Float, he drifted around the hallway and bumped into walls. Each bump was another seizure, but he endured.
The pain gassed Izuku. He clung to the ceiling weakly, and didn't react to a pair of arms encircling his waist. Though the touch was gentle and accommodated his every ache, the contact was like a hot brand. He supposed he was thankful, since it could've—and probably should've—been far worse. The foreign gentleness unnerved him. Only someone with Danger Sense or telepathy should've known how he needed to be held, at that moment.
Still, it somehow didn't surprise him when Setsuna smiled down at him, his head in her lap.
"Pins and needles?" She asked, a tiny mischief in her eye. Izuku swallowed, but decided to face the danger head-on.
"Mm… Like the first time I used Voidlimb…" Izuku said, pushing the words through closed teeth.
Of course, she immediately pinched his ribs, and he thrashed like an orange tabby in the bath. She laughed, but held his head still in her lap.
"Just relax, dude. We can just sit here for a little while. There's an entire match between now and then; close your eyes and let the time pass. I'll wake you up."
Izuku relaxed a smidge, but still looked up to her.
"Are you positive? Shouldn't we go find our seats, or stop by the clinic? People will be coming through here for a while…"
As if on queue, footsteps rounded the long tunnel's curve. A 1B student froze, seeing them loitering in their tunnel, but Setsuna waved them on.
"Don't mind us, we're just tired. Good luck with your match!" Setsuna said. Hesitantly, they nodded, and moved on past them. Turning back to Izuku, her eyes lingered on his shoulder. "See? They don't care—unless you're serious about the clinic. Did I beat your butt too bad? How's the shoulder?"
Izuku shifted, and his arm made a tiny click. It wasn't ideal, but it didn't hurt… and he was growing rather comfortable…
"Mmmm… It won't bother me…" Izuku whispered, struggling to keep his eyes open. "But don't you want some sleep too? You already said you were tired—"
"If I sleep now, who's gonna wake you up? Just fuckin' relax already."
Izuku chortled, and closed his eyes.
"Fine, but I owe you a pillow."
"... Pfft… it's at least two pillows by now…"
[x]
When the Sports Festival took a hiatus, Inko thought her heart might give out. When it resumed, and showed her baby hovering mid-air over Set's body, she thought it did. Her stomach twisted itself in knots and tears threatened.
Then he flew away. The building sobs won, and tears rolled down her cheeks. A mother knew when her child was hurting, and having this screen between them was a torture she wouldn't wish on anyone. She just wanted to pull him into a hug and smack the hell out of him.
His treatment of Set echoed in her mind. Finally, the girl had grown the balls to kiss Izu, but ever since that clip, Inko didn't see a single good thing happen between them for hours.
Inko nearly broke something with how hard she Attracted her phone into her hand. She was halfway through putting on her shoes when U.A. called her back to assure his good health. It was only after that fright that Inko saw Set and Izu on the screen together, and still, nothing good. Among the several crises, it stressed her beyond what felt appropriate.
She knew she shouldn't be as invested in them as she was. The last thing she wanted to be was overbearing—but she couldn't deny how good Set was for her son, or how she couldn't imagine his life without her. Inko knew Set was just a girl, but Inko also knew she cared deeply and worked hard. To Inko, Setsuna was the daughter she'd never had. If her kids were fighting, then something was wrong in the universe.
The Sports Festival broadcast liked to linger on Izuku and Setsuna. Whoever controlled the stream must've sensed the story between them, and leveraged it for entertainment. Inko should've been mad, and normally would've been, but let it slide. For once, the exploitation of Izuku gave her a better vantage on the situation.
Until their duel, Inko sensed their tension in a few quiet moments, but hadn't understood it. Mere language wasn't equipped to transcribe the mental hurdles Inko jumped, leading up to their fight. When it began, however, her over-anxious mind ran dry.
They were going to fight, obviously, and more than likely fight hard. That was irrelevant. What truly put her mind at pause was how they fought.
Vicious, quietly, and with zero intent to beat the other. Real emotions ran through their fight, and even as a non-combatant, Inko could feel it. Really—it was so palpable she wondered if anyone else felt it.
Well, until Izuku used his blackwhips. After that, she was certain everyone knew something was off. Her baby nearly killed himself using them earlier, and this time looked no different. Inko glued herself to the television, watching every frame as Izuku grew more and more out of control—
Until the videofeed cut off.
It resumed with Izuku hovering in stone cold silence. In the back of her mind, she questioned how he was flying, but she could live without knowing. What she couldn't live with was if her son had hurt Setsuna when no one was watching.
It was an ugly fear—the kind that signaled her weak resolve. She loved her son, but knew he was fragile. Though he was the gentlest soul she knew… she also knew he was capable of devastating things. When Izuku flew off without even helping Setsuna up, Inko feared the worst.
For several seconds, she considered putting her other shoe on and leaving. Though she didn't have a ticket, she was sure she could get through security. If either Izuku or Setsuna needed her, she could be there.
But, before she made a decision, Setsuna sat up, smiled at the camera, and then strutted away without a limp in sight. Inko was so relieved she almost didn't notice that Setsuna chose to leave through the same exit Izuku took.
It was a subtle thing, but for whatever inexplicable reason…
It eased Inko's worries.
Kicking off her single mary jane, Inko settled back into the couch, and decided to trust her kids.
[x]
Something was lodged in Katsuki's chest.
Every step he took felt a tad off, as if one leg strode further than the other, or one foot sported one too many toes. His hands felt either swollen or irritated; one wouldn't fit in his pocket, and the other felt rubbed raw by the texture. As he progressed further and further through the hall, he was certain something terrible must've happened to his ears.
Katsuki's hearing wasn't the best. Hearing loss was natural when his quirk's explosions were never further than an arm's length out. Still, his hearing wasn't lopsided—so when he only heard his own footsteps in one ear and not the other, Katsuki wasn't sure where he went wrong.
What, exactly, disrupted his organs he couldn't say. It might've been a slab of granite or limestone, as just standing upright exhausted him. On the other hand, he didn't quite remember munching on any bedrock stones. It might've been a gilded birdcage; in many ways, he felt light, if a little congested, as though a little sparrow's beak was reaching between the bars and nibbling on his intestines.
He was fucking lost. Katsuki didn't remember setting out on this journey. One moment, he was standing on the stage, staring at Uraraka's unconscious body, and the next, he was here, staring at a crooked portrait of Joust.
More than the pain in his chest, more than the pooling sense of unease, the crooked portrait annoyed him the most. Why the fuck was it crooked? He knew U.A. was a pigsty, but good lord. An certified gallery of symmetrical, even portraits, and someone leaves this thing crooked?
Without thinking, he grabbed the corner and corrected it.
The hook holding it up came undone, and before Katsuki could react, it tipped off the wall and shattered. Thin shards of glass scattered across the hall, scoring the tile laminate with a hundred tiny screeches.
The painting landed Joust-first on the floor. Glass crunched under Katsuki's sneaker as he bent over and picked up the painting. There was a long, thin fracture in the wooden frame.
What glass hadn't scattered was buried in Joust, shredding the entire piece's left half. Joust himself was mostly intact, but for his arm and leg.
A child might have dropped the painting and ran. A brat would've chucked the ruined painting in a rage. Katsuki was neither; he was a teenager, a growing young man, and knew what to do. He should carefully set the painting aside and call a custodian, and carefully avoid shards of glass scattering the floor. Bonus points might be earned if he apologized.
Instead, the slight fracture in the frame creaked, and with one ugly noise, opened. Roughly two equal halves came away in each hand, but the canvas did no such thing. Nearly all of it came apart in his left hand, leaving only half a signature in his right.
Katsuki blinked. His hands shook, but not from fear. Breaking the frame felt good. Destroying it—finishing the job of whoever disturbed it in the first place—felt so cathartic that Katsuki rode out a little high. Bracing himself, Katsuki's ears popped as Explosion burned the evidence to ash.
The property damage would come out of his own pocket, if U.A. found out. Maybe he'd be expelled on top of that.
Uraraka's face flickered past his mind's eye, and whatever comfort he took in the vandalism turned sour. When he swallowed, it was dry, and worked down his throat like a quartz pebble.
For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to care. Expulsion or not, Katsuki was Katsuki. Even if he graduated and left U.A. with a license for active duty, he knew, better than anyone, that he wouldn't be a hero. He had no drive, no spirit, no intent or archetype. There wasn't even a trope he could belong with, let alone an ideology. Nothing drove him; he just went through the motions. Even if he wanted to…
An archaic crackle sounded down the hall as Midnight announced the combatants for the Secondary Bracket's semifinals. More glass crunched underfoot as Katsuki turned and made his escape. His match with Izu would come soon.
Katsuki didn't want to be late.
[x]
Izuku's feet dangled off the ledge, swinging to some inaudible tune. Split perfectly between them was a familiar beach, a thousand million meters down. The ocean and the dunes shifted as if alive, but in unique ways. One for All's waves shimmered and glinted with fluorescent moonlight, while thin gusts of misery tinted his Dunes dark and blueish.
It was impossible to determine how high up he was. It could've been ten stories or ten thousand; though, since he could trace the Dune's curvature, Izuku figured he was at least orbital.
When he'd first woken here, he believed the Dunes stretched out forever. He had, after all, only been on the surface. It'd been the same with One for All—by standing directly between them, he could see neither in their entirety, and thus assumed their infinite natures were equally infinite. Now he knew how dramatic he'd been—and his conversation with Five left him feeling a little embarrassed.
Still, it was vast. Disturbingly so. Perhaps he should forgive himself for being convinced of their infinite nature—he had, after all, nearly been swallowed by it. But… the difference between "vast" and "infinite" was still infinite. Now, peering over the bottommost step leading into One for All's Castle, Izuku could see the truth.
There was no horizon. Where the dark ocean should've met the black sky, there was no border, no transition. It was one and the same. Everything that wasn't the Dunes was One for All. From sky to sea, from space to soul. The Dunes were a planet in a galaxy.
Yes, they had carved out a niche. No, Izuku's misery did not match centuries of accumulated power. It might've made someone else feel less significant, and certainly, deep down, Izuku secretly wished his strongest feelings measured up. Ultimately, however, knowing they did not was a gift.
His problems weren't so overwhelming in the grand scheme of things. He felt silly for almost sinking into the despair they represented.
Sighing, he tapped the thick arms hugging his neck with his left hand.
"You can let go now, Seven," Izuku said. He could feel the vestige's reluctance to release him, but after a moment of fidgeting, she withdrew.
Izuku stretched his neck and stood. He hadn't yet turned to face the Castle. Whereas he'd woken upon the beach last time, here he woke at the Castle's foot. He hadn't intended to linger here, but the magnificence of the view was too seductive. Once it had him, it held him tight, and even Seven's embrace hadn't drawn his eyes away.
Unable to stop himself, he toed the ledge. What might the freefall feel like? They say that you can't die in a dream; that if you fall, you'd wake before you crash. It was encouraging, and now that he had Float, he could feel his instinctual fear of heights receding.
He considered it. Not facing her. Enjoying the fall. Ducking from the inevitable would be far easier than embracing it; after all, if the last hour had all been a dream, this would be the moment he crashed—and he wasn't ready to wake up yet. Things had finally started to go his way.
But…
His undeveloped left hand squeezed.
…Giving up wasn't a choice, it was the absence of choice. He refused to tip-toe anymore.
Turning, he faced Seven, and the six men behind her. The grand light of the Castle's interior haloed them from behind, blurring their faces and forms the further they stood from Izuku. Seven, standing the closest, was in such heart-wrenching clarity that the years of resentment almost bubbled up and out his mouth.
In a strange way, he loved her. She was more than a friend and less than a mother; she was himself, the decision on his tongue and voice in his ear. Nana Shimura wasn't his blood, and before he got the chance to befriend her, she forced her quirk on him and locked One for All away. In a strange way, he loathed her. He wanted to yell and berate her, to blame her for all of life's twists and turns.
He might've been a better person without Float, or grown stronger with their tutelage. In fact, he was almost certain of that.
…Almost.
Five stood just to her right, looking decisively more "alive" than he appeared in his phantom-like form. His words on the beach meant little to Izuku at the time, but looking back, they felt profound.
"Mastery," Izuku quoted, "is knowing how to improve without being told. I… I think I did well enough on my own, no thanks to Banjo."
A hearty smile broke out on Five's big mug, but Izuku wasn't done.
"But I… would've preferred seeing you. I missed you guys."
"We missed you as well," En said, his voice barely audible through his cloak's high collar. "It's good to see you after all this time, though I'm a little jealous. The things you've managed without me..."
Izuku bit his lip, feeling each word as a tingle. En—Six—gave him his first quirk, Smokescreen. Everything, from great to bad to horrible, unfurled from that moment. Hearing his praise… it was a double edged sword.
His heel grazed the ledge. Seven still hadn't spoken, and Eight… he was nowhere to be found. If he wished, he could still jump, still wake up.
It was so, so strange to be back. There was a time he thought this would never come. And, if he was honest, sometimes that was comforting. Even years after that fateful train ride, Izuku still hadn't figured out what he'd say to Nana when he returned.
But he was here now, and there was nothing left to figure out. Everyone in his life had split mountains for him, and Izuku, at long last, accepted that the valley path was safe. Seven might've made a mess of his life, but his struggles brought him here today, sleeping in Setsuna's lap.
Looking Nana Shimura in the eye, Izuku stepped up and embraced her.
The fear was still there. The trauma. None of it was gone. Eight was still dead. But as Nana held his shoulders and pulled him in, Izuku realized the weight wasn't holding him down anymore.
[x]
If she was honest, she almost fell asleep herself. It was a little embarrassing, after talking up such a big game, but it was true; without the adrenaline, she was just as tired as Izuku. The months of stress hadn't disappeared, even if their source had. Every bone in her body might've ached, but her good mood was a testament to her success. Setsuna finished the job, and she could finally rest.
But… if Izuku wasn't finished, who was she to clock out? His head in her lap was evidence enough that it was worth it; as charitable and reliable as she'd tried to seem, she was giddy. Being with him felt right, even when he wasn't awake. A piece of herself had returned with him.
Setsuna couldn't put a finger on what, exactly, went missing without him. She was still herself, after all; she still worked hard, still laughed, still lived and thrived. As much as she'd missed him, living without him was perfectly easy. Really, no one could call her codependent.
Blinking away her sleepiness, she traced the contour of his jaw. Her insides did a little dance when he unconsciously leaned into her. She paid extra attention to the scars, caressing them with the back of her hand, not wanting to disturb him with her calluses.
Maybe they could call her a little obsessed. That was fine. But not codependent. She didn't need him, so much as she wanted him dearly.
Regardless of whether she was obsessed, needy, or independent, it didn't help her understand their situation. The question was simple: if she felt fulfilled without him, why had she felt so incomplete? How could this boy, who was more trouble than he was worth, radiate such abundant comfort that she had to fight the sandman off tooth and nail? His aura warmed her, drew her in, and made her eyes heavier than normal.
Setsuna couldn't remember the last time she got a good night's sleep. She was intimately familiar with exhaustion, but plain "sleepiness" had eluded her for months—at least, until now. Here she was, barely upright. He was the drug she'd needed.
Her eyes, between too-long blinks, lingered on his arm. Fulfillment and completeness, she supposed, were cousins, rather than synonyms. Izuku, after all, by every standard human measurement, was an incomplete person—yet he was capable of self fulfillment, just like everyone else. Perhaps her questions were more simple than she thought.
Even after pulling him off the ceiling, Izuku remained floating. All the way until he fell asleep, he'd been a few inches off the ground—was that an All Might thing?—before collapsing on his side. A devious idea flickered past, but she stilled her hand. With his empty shoulder facing up, it'd be too evil to pinch his unguarded ribs again.
Instead, she began rubbing circles into his chest. She worked up from his hip, keeping every circle easy and light, as she crossed his ribs and ultimately reached his shoulder. Setsuna paused when he tensed up, but decided to go through with it anyway.
She massaged his stump, and realized she'd never actually examined it before. In the past, she often acted as his left hand, and only stood inches from his flank at any given moment. People had this ugly habit of staring, and she liked feeling helpful. Setsuna was always close to him—and it, by extension—but as she studied him, she understood she didn't actually know what the nub felt like.
Despite his shoulder being a sailor's knot of pure muscle, what little of his deltoid remained was soft, like bread or puddy. It was a morbid shock; every part of Izuku, she'd thought, would be firm. Of course, logically, she knew there was no way to train those muscles, but his washboard abs and bicep of steel painted a different picture. She could hardly imagine Izuku Midoriya, battle-hardened hero, had anything softer than lips on his body, but here she was, palm full of loose fat.
Distantly, she was aware his time was running out, but she also knew even a minute of extra rest could be vital.
"Shhh…" Setsuna said, massaging the loose tissue hanging off his shoulder. He hadn't untensed once in the time she'd held it, and while she was tempted to ease off, her gut told her otherwise. Something unconscious in him hated anyone acknowledging his vulnerability, but that was a boundary for regular folks. She knew, deep down, that he held her to a different standard. "It's alright, Izu… It's okay. I've got you good, just rest a while longer…"
There was a lot of crap they still needed to sort through together. She was finished letting him off easy, and planned on holding him entirely accountable for every second they were apart. Izuku owed her answers, and several pillows, and a nice meal in some cute clothes. But that was for later. Right now, she was satisfied enough feeling the last traces of tension drain from his body.
Now, if only her eyes weren't so… heavy…
[x]
Izuku awoke a little before the old Stadium speakers actually called his name. Perhaps, in the spirit of transparency, he'd been awake a tad longer than a little. Mayhaps, just a little bit, he'd been awake for several minutes. He felt Setsuna work up his side, and felt her settle her attention on what he wished she hadn't—at least, at first.
Once again, Setsuna proved herself stronger than his base emotions. She chipped away his initial discomfort until he couldn't help but accept—no, embrace her attention. While he'd never explicitly denied anyone intimate access to his stump, neither had he given anyone permission, and for good reason. Even the lightest touch sent electric tingles down his spine.
It was a little embarrassing that Izuku almost got caught faking his slumber, but ultimately it was worth it. The longer she held him, the better he felt, until the electric tingles warped into something… less unpleasant. Better. Almost… enjoyable. He relaxed into her.
Izuku felt Setsuna slowing down before he felt her slump forward, but by then, he knew it was inevitable. She was asleep, and if he shifted even an inch, she might wake back up.
Of course, he couldn't allow that. So he stayed in her lap. Because he didn't want her to wake up. Of course.
When the speakers failed to wake her though, he knew he couldn't play pretend anymore. Utilizing 100% of Danger Sense, Float, and Blackwhip, he managed to extract himself without disturbing her whatsoever. Then, in the corner of his eye, Seven appeared as Five usually did.
"Touch her," she said, and Izuku nodded. Quickly, he stripped off his U.A. shirt and pressed all five fingers against her bare cheek. Seven's phantasmal visage overlapped with his physical hand, and a little twinge in his gut told him it worked.
Setsuna began floating a few inches off the ground. Without letting go of her cheek, Izuku adjusted her mid-air and eased her back down, guiding her cheek to the neat fold of his U.A. shirt. In a matter of seconds, she was fast asleep, and Danger Sense told him she wouldn't wake up with a crick. Hunching over while asleep would've been miserable.
Izuku didn't mind his undershirt sporting a few holes. Everyone would be able to see his stump, but that just meant more openings for Blackwhip. With a sidelong glance at Setsuna and a deep sigh, Izuku turned for the Arena.
[x]
AN: This was a cuteish chapter. Theres an argument to be made that the katsuki fight, as the finale, would've been a better fit, but it'd never live up to it. I actually already wrote it once, but after some personal review, I've decided to scrap the chapter and work on it again-so I apologize, but it's likely to be delayed an extra week.
I'm not taking summer classes, however, and I'm putting off job hunting for a while longer as I am helping deal with my grandfather's estate. So, in short, I'll have a lot of time to write for the next two months (until june, when the Elden Ring DLC drops). I hope to end at 100 because why the fuck stop at 97 of all numbers.
review!~
ps, still thinking of a name.