Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mama, Papa, can you please tell me a story?” Izuku looked up from picking up Eri’s toys around her room, glancing over at Céleste who had paused in folding and outing away the last of the laundry for the night. “A story, huh?” Céleste mused, glancing over at Izuku impishly. “What kind of story?” Eri threw her covers off and hurried over to her bookshelf. Quite a few books had been collected over the last year she’s been with the couple, so the girl had no trouble plucking her book and rushing back to the bed, flopping down next to Gala the Microraptor.

“This one! Read this!” Izuku took the book after sitting on one side of the bed, reading the title. “Monsters of the North?” Izuku chuckled, looking over at Eri with a raised eyebrow. He recognized this book, of course, aside from night after night of reading this story to their adopted daughter, it was a personal biography, a memoir written by himself and his wife, of their adventures, their triumphs and their defeats, their ups and downs, and how they met each other.

Izuku exchanged a gentle glance with Céleste, the soft glow from Eri’s nightlight painting their faces with warmth and anticipation. “but we’ve read this hundreds of times, sweetheart,” Izuku said, thumbing the spine of the book almost fondly, but Eri, eyes wide and sparkling with expectation, hugged Gala the Microraptor close to her chest and snuggled into her covers, almost vibrating with anticipation. The book’s cover shimmered faintly with the gold ink that made the cover’s intricate vines and feather motifs, as if inviting magic into the quiet room.

“All right, then,” Izuku said, settling in beside Eri, one arm draped protectively around her shoulders. He opened the book, thumbing past its title page, feeling the well-loved edges with a fond smile. Céleste perched herself just on the other side of the bed, her hands resting on Eri’s small feet, ready to add her own flavor to the story whenever inspiration struck.

“Once upon a time,” Izuku began, his voice dipping into the soft cadence of storytelling, “in a world filled with dinosaurs, pterosaurs, wyverns, and sea beasts, a young boy washed up on the shores of an island… He was not the tallest nor the strongest, his back scarred from a past that hurt. He came from a world that called him useless...”

Céleste leaned in, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of the nightlight, adding a gentle harmony to his words. “But he was equipped with an important tool nonetheless: his mind. It didn't take him long to realize that this island was unlike any other. Its forests echoed with the calls of ancient creatures, and its cliffs stood guard over mysteries older than memory itself. The boy, shivering in the dawn mist, gazed up at the sky just as a flock of tiny dimorphodon darted overhead, their feathers glinting emerald and gold. He wondered if anyone else on the island noticed such miracles.

He wandered, his steps uncertain, guided by nothing but the wind and the soft heartbeat of hope that refused to be silenced by old wounds. Even as he stumbled, even as shadows from his past seemed to whisper at his heels, the boy pressed on, drawn by the promise of a new beginning.

One evening, while seeking shelter beneath the sprawling roots of a gigantic cycad, he heard a rustle. Out from the ferns emerged not a fearsome beast, but a curious creature—small, feathered, with eyes bright as fallen stars. The dodo cocked its head, chirped softly, and hopped closer, as if to say, 'You are not alone here.'

The boy, feeling the warmth of companionship for the first time in memory, reached out a trembling hand. And in that gentle, wordless moment, he understood: though he had crossed a world that called him useless, in this place—where dinosaurs soared and wonders awaited—he might yet find a purpose, a family, and a story of his own.”

Chapter Text

“…The first thing the boy could remember before he truly woke up on the beach was that he was falling, tumbling, flashes of red, blue, and green spilled through the vortex like the glittering droplets of a waterfall. He had no way of knowing where he was going or where he would end up. The cruel voices of his childhood up to now replayed like a vinyl record, scratching only to restart again and again and again.

“You should give up!”

“Sorry kid, it ain’t gonna happen!”

“Useless!”

“Quirkless!”

“Null!”

“Void!”

“Why don’t you take a swan dive off the roof of a building and pray you get a quirk in your next life!”

On and on, Izuku Midoriya fell, spinning into the tunnel… until, in a splash of bubbles and cold water, he opened his eyes… and broke for the surface….”

He gasped, lungs greedy for air, as daylight fractured across the ripples surrounding him. Bewilderment seized him—the sky was an electric canvas, crisscrossed by a blue sky and smatterings of clouds, their light cutting through the haze. The water tasted hard and almost salty, tinged with a strange natural tang.

For a moment, the voices threatened to drag him under, their echoes clinging like seaweed to his mind. But as Izuku treaded water, adrenaline surging, he realized the vortex was silent now. Only the beating of his own heart, loud and insistent, filled his ears. Overhead, a flock of strange, iridescent birds wheeled in formation, their calls foreign yet somehow hopeful.

He paddled toward a distant, sandy shore, and even from here he could see the ancient trees twisted skyward. Pulling himself onto land, shivering, he pressed his palms to the white sandy beach. The sand was warm—blessedly so for the chilly air he found himself in—seeping heat into his trembling hands, grounding him in this place that felt so alien.

‘Wh-where am I?’ he thought, his curls dripping water as he shivered in the night, blinking and looking about. ‘The last thing I remember was—was—.’

Oh.

Everything came rushing back: the rooftop, the tormenting, the last thing Bakugo said to him (because he lost the right to call him Kacchan years ago).

Izuku pressed his forehead to the sand, jaw trembling with the effort to keep himself together. For a heartbeat, pain lanced through him—not only the sharp sting of memory, but the deeper ache of hope flickering out, guttered by words he’d tried not to etch into his soul.

But there was something different here. The air hummed with possibility, thrumming beneath his skin where cold and fear once lived. He sat up, wrapping his arms about himself, and forced himself to wait for his eyes to adjust to the night. The sky above, strange but dazzlingly blue and wide, offered no anchor to the world he’d known, but the color was not unfriendly. If anything, it seemed to beckon.

You’re alive, it seemed to say. The wind, cold as it was, carded through his hair, flinging droplets of water across his shivering back as he hunched in more on himself.

Further on the horizon, Izuku spotted a beam of green light- steady, unyielding, and a beacon over the viridian trees.

He drew a shaky breath. “This isn’t home,” he whispered, voice thin as mist, “I need to- I need to find shelter, food, water… then I can try to figure something out.” His gaze drifted past the shadowed line of ancient trees, where the sand gave way to a shadowed land under branching canopies. Somewhere, something called- a creature or the wind, he couldn’t tell- but Izuku staggered to his feet, determination kindling in his chest. He was determined to survive and make it home.

Home.

God, Izuku wanted to knock his head against a tree- what home did he have? Bullies at school every day, an absentee father, a mother who never supported him?

‘At least you have your mother, and you know she loves you’ that small voice said. ‘Without her, you wouldn’t have anyone. How could you put her through a suicide attempt?’

He would move forward. He would find out where he was, and why he’d been brought here.

He was going to survive.

=◊=

The gentle roar of water crashing against the ground wakes a green-haired teen from a fitful sleep. “What…?” Izuku muttered groggily, struggling to open his eyes. The sunlight, relentless in its brilliance, slipped through the gaps in the leafy canopy above, casting fractured patterns across his face and piercing forest-green eyes. He grunted, attempting to shield himself from the spears of morning light, and rolled toward the sheltering shadow of a nearby driftwood log. Beneath him, the sand shifted—coarse and cool, clutching at his skin in jagged clumps, some still damp with the night’s lingering moisture.

As his senses sharpened, the world revealed itself in layers. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth, moss, and decay, tinged with a faint sweetness from unseen blooms hidden deep in the undergrowth. Towering ancient trees loomed overhead, their trunks twisted and knotted, bark scarred by age and the elements. The foliage above was a tangled mess—branches entwined so densely that only slivers of sky peeked through, flashes of dazzling cerulean flickering high above.

Nearby, the river carved its way through the landscape, a ribbon of silver tumbling over smooth stones. Its waters sang a continuous, gentle symphony, punctuated now and then by the plop of a leaping fish or the distant croak of a hidden frog. The bank was littered with the detritus of the wild: fallen leaves, driftwood, and delicate ferns shivering in the cool breeze. A mist clung to the low ground, creeping between roots and curling around Izuku’s ankles as he shifted upright.

Beyond the river, the forest grew thicker and more mysterious. Vines hung like curtains from the upper branches, their emerald tendrils brushing the sandy ground and swaying with each breath of wind. Somewhere within the dense maze, the calls of birds echoed—sharp, melodic, and unfamiliar. Shadows flickered at the edge of vision, suggesting movement: perhaps animals, perhaps something stranger.

Further out, the horizon glimmered with a solitary beam of green light, steady and unwavering, slicing through the viridian trees and painting the morning air with promise and warning. The sand gave way gradually to tangled roots and patches of moss, then finally to a land of shadows beneath the ancient canopies, where every step would be met with uncertainty.

He remembered making his way a little further into the trees yesterday, making a lean-to and covering the ground with leaves and moss before curling up to sleep; he’d found the stream full of fish and considered it a good camping spot. With a groan, Izuku rolled all the way over to lay prone on his belly, protecting the instinctive soft parts of himself first and foremost, and struggling to get to his hands and knees secondly.

A sudden breeze swept down over the river, brushing his exposed skin with a chill that made him shiver. Izuku stiffened, a prickling awareness flooding his senses—his bare back was vulnerable to the morning air, and it took him a moment to realize the source of his discomfort. Glancing down, the green-haired teen flushed a vivid beet red. He was only in a pair of shorts-like undergarments, nothing else between him and the wild. Embarrassment and vulnerability tangled inside him, sharp and raw, but necessity pressed harder than shame. He forced himself upright, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso, wishing for a shirt, a blanket, anything.

Yesterday’s memories filtered in—his scavenging for moss and leaves to soften the cold earth, the hurried construction of a lean-to, the discovery of the fish-laden stream. He’d called it a good camping spot, though now, stripped of comfort and certainty, it felt less like a haven and more like a test. Still, he tried to focus on survival: on food, water, shelter. He would have to find something to wear, something to protect himself against the chill and whatever else lurked in the forest’s depths.

Izuku stilled as another breeze curled around him, stirring the mist and ruffling the canopy overhead. He scanned the forest floor for anything useful, eyes sharp and searching for remnants—abandoned cloth, thick leaves, even bark, anything to shield himself. Humiliation burned across his cheeks, but beneath it, determination flickered. No matter how bleak or strange this place was, he would endure.

Quietly, he crept out of the lean-to, gathering handfuls of moss and broad leaves around his little campsite and fashioning a makeshift cloak to drape across his shoulders. The improvised garment did little for his dignity, but he steeled himself and pressed forward. The river sang beside him, the green light on the horizon beckoned, and the wild morning air carried with it a scent reminiscent of petrichor and forest musk

Izuku took a trembling breath, squared his shoulders, and resolved to explore further, to keep moving, to find answers—and perhaps, with luck, something more to wear.

“There’s no sign of humans anywhere,” Izuku muttered to himself. “Is this a deserted island? Could it be a test site for something? maybe one of those islands like on that TV show Bare and Terrified?”

A sharp pain against his toe made Izuku stiffen, yelping in pain as he gripped his foot and bounced around, chanting “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!” under his breath.

Ugh, scratch the clothes for now, He’s finding himself a pair of shoes!

“Okay, but to be honest, the first thing I need is a weapon,” Izuku said to himself as he pushed a large fern out of his way- having stripped some dried thatch off of a palm tree to supplement fibers, he had an idea to make himself a shirt and some pants, then later he’d work on some wraps for shoes and gloves… maybe he’d make a hat too. “I have no idea what animals live on this island, and if there are people here, they could be violent,” he continued, finding that just talking soothed his nerves.

The tall ferns parted with a sibilant sigh, dew scattering across Izuku’s makeshift leaf and moss cloak as he pressed forward, clutching the ragged bundle of palm fibers close for warmth and resolve. The forest floor beneath his feet was a patchwork of tangled roots and scattered stones that bit into the soles of his feet, but his focus was on preparing for danger of any kind now.

Setting down the palm fibers, Izuku paced a slow circle around his little camp, gaze raking over the debris for any stick sturdy enough to serve as a walking staff, a spear, or—if he was lucky—both. “Yeah, weapon first,” he murmured, echoing the new mantra swelling within him. “Clothes can wait.” Already, his mind raced with strategies: the strongest branches always hung a little higher, away from rot and fungus; stones smoothed by the river could be shaped with enough patience and persistence.

His fingers trembled as he selected a promising limb, fallen but not yet decayed—a length just long enough to reach past his waist, with a splintered tip that, with some sharpening, might be menacing enough for self-defense. He dragged it back to the lean-to, fetching a sharp-edged river stone from his stash. Every scrape and stroke drew the branch closer to his mental image of a crude spear, the rhythm of the motions helping to mask the jittery fear thrumming through his chest.

He paused, listening to the hush of the woods—the distant call of a bird, the hush of wind, the gentle murmur of the river. The world was vast and indifferent, the horizon’s emerald light still pulsing as a silent warning. But at least with a weapon in hand, he felt a flicker of confidence, a piece of himself reclaimed from the wild.

“I don’t know what’s out there,” Izuku whispered, voice steadier now. “But at least I won’t face it empty-handed.” He tested the heft of his spear in the air, imagining all the ways it might protect him, might buy him time, might help him carve a place for himself. The next step, he thought, would be to set some snares for food—or maybe, if luck favored him, to discover footprints that weren’t his own.

With a deep breath and the spear gripped tightly, Izuku straightened. The day was young, and there was still work to be done.

Focusing his gaze on the ground surrounding his makeshift camp, Izuku noticed, at last, a subtle depression in the undergrowth—a faint road of pressed earth threading through the tangled roots and clumps of moss. He blinked, heart thumping with renewed alertness. “A trail made by the animals of this place, maybe?” he whispered, inching closer on cautious, bare feet. The mud here was damp, yielding easily beneath his weight, and as his eyes adjusted to the play of shadow and pale sunlight, he saw it: an unmistakable print, splayed toes and a hollowed heel pressed deep into the softened earth.

Izuku’s breath caught. He dropped to his haunches, spear braced across his knees, and leaned forward, determined to not miss a single minute detail. He traced the outline with trembling fingers, careful not to blur the edges. The print was fresh—the ridges still sharp, the mud not yet dried by the sun. Whatever had passed here couldn’t be far.

He studied the track, mind cycling through the animal guides he’d pored over in childhood—paw, claw, hoof, or something else? The footprint was too broad for a fox, too defined for a wild pig. Could it be a large bird? Or perhaps something more formidable—a wild dog, or a beast unknown to him?

His curiosity warred with caution. “If there are animal trails, this is a popular watering location,” he murmured, running through contingency plans. He scanned the path for more prints, following their winding arc with his eyes. Each step forward pulsed with possibility: a meal, a threat, a clue to the shape and rhythm of this island’s hidden inhabitants.

Clutching his spear a bit tighter, Izuku resolved to follow the trail, but not too far—just enough to gather information, to learn the lay of the land, and to prepare for whatever new challenge might be waiting in the whispering green. He was determined to at least try to make his first day on this land a successful one.

Chapter Text

Izuku followed the trail of matted grass and strange prints all the way to a fork in the river.

He got sidetracked by the myriad of other tracks coming across his main set, and his fingers itched for a notebook and pencil to scribble his notes into. Each print seemed to hint at a different story—a delicate bird’s claw, a heavy, lumbering paw, and something else entirely, claws splaying in the mud with a purpose that made Izuku’s heart beat faster. As he came to a stop at the fork, Izuku bent over, panting—he had no idea how far he had gone—his chest rising and falling in sharp bursts. He wiped sweat from his brow with the edge of his sleeve, the fabric already damp from the effort.

He was thirsty, lips dry and tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, but without knowing if the water was safe to drink, he didn’t dare take a sip from the rushing river beside him. The current sparkled in the late afternoon light, but instead of cooling relief, it offered only temptation edged with risk. He gazed at the water, listening to its burble and the soft rush as it split around mossy stones, but turned resolutely away.

For a moment, he crouched there, studying the muddy crossings, the impressions of the strange prints crisscrossing, as if the creature that made them had ambled about like a curious dog. Insects whirred low to the ground, and a two-foot wingspan dragonfly flickered blue and green as it darted past his knee-

Wait… a dragonfly with a two-foot—?! Izuku jerked back with a shriek, arms flailing wildly as the monstrous bug buzzed near his face, sunlight glancing off its prismatic wings. He managed to swat at it, knuckles brushing the edge of a glossy wing, but the creature simply banked, hovering with a furious whirr—like a tiny, irate helicopter, impossibly loud in the stillness.

His heart thundered, breath coming in short bursts as the dragonfly spun midair, pivoting with mechanical precision before launching itself straight toward him. Izuku ducked, scrambling backward through the grass, hands scraping for purchase in the muddy earth. The dragonfly zipped past his ear, a blur of blue-green and the flash of translucent wings, then circled back, intent on defending its patch of the riverbank.

He pressed himself low, barely daring to move as the insect hovered, eyes glittering with alien intelligence. Only when it finally darted off, vanishing upstream in a shimmering arc, did Izuku let himself exhale, limbs trembling. He swiped at the sweat on his brow again, this time leaving a muddy streak across his cheek, and glanced warily around as the world slowly righted itself, sounds of the forest seeping back into his awareness.

“That—that wasn’t normal,” Izuku muttered, his voice shaky as he pressed a trembling hand to his chest, feeling the wild thrum of his heart echoing in his ribcage. Dragonflies didn’t get that big… at least, not anymore. The image of the impossibly large insect was burned behind his eyelids, each detail too vivid to dismiss as a trick of the light.

Swallowing, he tried to steady his breathing, but the memory tugged him backward in time—back to sun-drenched afternoons with Kacchan Bakugo, back when their hero games rarely detoured into ancient worlds filled with towering ferns and thunderous lizards. He’d spent hours poring over battered library books, the glossy illustrations of prehistoric creatures etched into his mind. That was when he first learned about Meganeura—a dragonfly the size of a raven, with two-foot wings that sliced through the steamy air of the Carboniferous forests. He remembered gawking at the numbers, trying to imagine such a thing landing on his arm, and laughing with Kacchan Bakugo as they used sticks for “fossil wings.”

But Meganeura was extinct—had been for nearly seventy-five million years, swept away with the last of the dinosaurs. They belonged to ancient ages, to the pages of textbooks and the glass cases of museums as dusty reconstructions. There weren’t supposed to be any left in the world, much less guarding some forgotten bend of riverbank. And yet, here he was, mud streaked and still breathless, feeling the pulse of the impossible in the air pushing from his lungs.

Izuku’s mind spun with half-formed explanations. Was it a mutation? Some quirk of biology, a new superpower unleashed by the rise of quirks? Or had he stumbled into a pocket of time, a place where the past pressed against the present, leaking through in the shape of iridescent wings and predatory eyes? The thrill danced in his chest, curling tightly with a flicker of fear.

He straightened slowly, muscles aching from the adrenaline, and wiped another muddy streak across his freckled cheek. He crouched again, trying to recall the details from his old books. Did he get hit with a time quirk? If he did, that could mean that he was thrown back before mankind even existed…

For all he knew, Izuku was alone here.

The forest pressed close around him, sunlight filtering green and gold through the tangled branches. Something rustled in the ferns, and Izuku’s breath caught, but it was only a-.

That wasn’t a bird.

The small, winged beaked, lizard-like creature, around the size of a housecat, fluttered from the branches with a hoarse caw, paying Izuku no mind as if went about it’s day.

“What- what is that?!” Izuku breathed hoarsely.

Every sense strained for signs of another anomaly, his curiosity battling a deep, animal wariness. If Meganeura could exist here—if something so ancient and impossible could survive—what else might be lurking in the shadowed undergrowth or hidden in the cool, dark water?

He found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he had his notebook and pencil. The urge to record every detail, to capture the extraordinary before it vanished, gnawed at him. He tried to memorize the curve of the tracks, the shimmer of the river, the exact shade of blue-green that had flashed past his knee. Each detail was precious, proof he hadn’t just imagined it all.

Izuku drew a shaky breath, pushing himself to his feet. The world felt different now—stranger, more alive, brimming with secrets he might never understand. He cast one last, searching glance upstream, half-expecting the dragonfly to return, to challenge him once more. Only the river answered, its music bright and ceaseless, carrying his doubts and hopes away.

It wasn’t long before Izuku eventually had to cave. His throat stuck closed with every other swallow, and his brow was drenched with sweat from the humidity. He knelt by the river, grimacing at the muddy flecks swirling in the pale current, frowning at what he was about to do. “I hope I don’t get e. coli or something,” he muttered, sending a silent plea to whichever deity might be listening to a quirkless kid stranded in a prehistoric forest. He cupped his shaking hands and dipped them into the cool stream, bracing himself for the worst as he brought the water to his lips.

To his surprise, the water was crisp and startlingly clean, sliding smoothly down his parched throat, washing away the uncomfortable scratch. Izuku blinked, amazed, then went in for another greedy draught, gulping until his stomach ached pleasantly. The river, it seemed, was kinder than its muddy banks suggested.

For a moment, he let himself simply exist, hands braced against the soft silt and elbows damp with spray. The air shimmered with humidity, thick and fragrant—the subtle tang of moss and distant blossoms, the cool breath of running water. Cicadas droned above, their chorus blending with the rush of the current. Izuku closed his eyes and listened, letting the world wrap him in its unfamiliar embrace.

When he finally opened them, the sunlight was shifting, refracting across the water in dizzy patterns. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the aching heaviness in his limbs eased for now. Upstream, shadows flickered between the reeds, and Izuku wondered about the creatures that called this place home. Was he really the first to see them, to survive here and drink from their river?

Suddenly, a flicker of movement seized his attention: something small and reptilian, scales glinting emerald and ochre, crouched at the far bank. Its eyes locked onto Izuku with a curious intelligence, unblinking and calm. The moment stretched between them—old instinct and new wonder mingling in the heat. Then with a loud curious chirp, it splashed and swam through the river to try and reach him.

Izuku yelped, jumping back when he saw just how big the ‘little’ thing was- about the size of a baby- when the water suddenly foamed.

Vicious, snarling came from the frothing waves, and the little creature gave a shrill shriek as giant piranhas swarmed it, dragging the poor thing under the water, which was soon turned red.

Izuku’s eyes went wide, his frame trembling as he stared at the flash of bone-white, a tiny head with a small crest of feathers bobbing in the waves before a mouth as big as his head swallowed it with a crunch. “I-I think I’ll head back to c-c-camp…” he stammered, shock filling his mind as he stood, leaning on his spear heavily as he made his way back, following his own prints, his initial mission forgotten.

Behind him, the river surged and settled, its surface smoothing back to deceptive calm, the violence already vanished beneath the gleam of late afternoon. Izuku’s heart hammered in his chest, each beat echoing the memory of gleaming teeth and the fragile, feathered thing that had slipped so swiftly from existence. He kept glancing over his shoulder, half-convinced the monstrous fish—or something worse—would launch itself from the water and come wriggling after him.

The forest pressed close as he walked, shadows stretching long and strange along the banks, cicadas now shrill and menacing in the charged silence. His legs felt wobblier than before, the resolve that had carried him here now washed thin and trembling. All around, the prehistoric world seemed to watch, patient and hungry, ancient rhythms pulsing beneath every leaf and ripple.

Izuku gripped his spear tighter, each step measured and hesitant, the path to camp suddenly feeling like a fragile tether to safety. Today’s discovery—and sudden witness—had marked him, left him wary and awed by the wild beauty and danger lurking in every corner.

If he was right, and he had been sent back in time to a time and place no human would ever see in any point, then it was a hostile, dangerous world he’d been sent to.

He was suddenly startlingly aware of how weak he really was. ‘this is the one who wanted to be a hero?’ the prehistoric world seemed to laugh at him. ‘A quirkless little weakling who ran home at the first sign of nature at work? Pathetic.’

Izuku simply walked faster.

He didn’t stop until he got back to his lean-to, and he shuddered as he knelt in front of the fire, the much shallower area of the river bubbling mockingly at him in the background.

“Er... Izuku’s second day hadn’t gone well, as you could see,” Céleste said, smiling at Eri as she peered over at her papa. “Why?” she asked. “It’s just- it’s just the way nature in-pen-ded. Right?” Izuku ruffled her hair gently. “it’s intended, Unicorn, and yeah, that may be, but I didn’t really know it at the time… this world… it was still new to me back then.”

Eri gave a small hum before she sat up, red eyes wide. “Wait, then how did you meet Mama?”

Izuku blinked before he snorted, then he threw his head back, laughing as he tried to scan the book to see where that part would come up. Céleste had gone beet red, hiding her face in her hands. “Oh, gods, I’m so embarrassed,” she sighed. Izuku chortled, eyes visibly brightening as he found the spot.

“Oh, it was actually right after my second week,” he hummed, raising an eyebrow at Céleste.

“Despite what your mother can do today, she wasn’t the one with the most… impulse control, should we say?”

Eri tilted her head. “What’s that mean?”

Céleste muttered into her hands and Izuku leaned in teasingly. “Anything you wish to share with the class, Love?” he asked.

“…Izuku found me trying to spear-kill a trike, okay?!”

Next Time: “…And hungry Ashen-Haired Girls”