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Chapter Text

SATURDAY, 4:33 PM

“How dare you?!” Kaminari yelled, tears in his eyes as he pushed Shinso away, still cradling his dead child to his chest. . “I loved you!” Everyone went shock-still around him and Aoyama fell off the couch, audibly saying “ Le gasp~ ” 

“Toshi,” Todoroki said gently, placing a hand on Shinso’s shoulder. Everyone inhaled collectively at the soft nickname. “Leave him-- he’s not worth it.” 

Shinso turned and smiled softly at Todoroki. “I know, you’ll always be my one and only, Sho.” 

Kaminari broke. 

And so did Aizawa, banging his head against the wall, paying no mind to Mic and Nemuri laughing their heads off in the corner of the classroom. This is the end, he told himself. I am deceased. 

spongebob timecard: two days earlier

DAY ONE: THURSDAY, 2:45 PM

“There’s a new assignment today,” Aizawa said. He beckoned to Iida and handed him a stack of papers to pass out to the rest of the class. 

His students looked up excitedly, already starting to ask questions. Aizawa held up a hand to silence them and sighed, fighting back the urge to curl up in his sleeping bag for the rest of eternity. He was going to kill Midnight the next time he saw her (it’s what she deserves).

“You’re going to be taking care of…” he cringed and finally managed to force the words out, “babies.”

Amidst the ensuing chaos, Iida waved a frantic hand. 

“Aizawa-sensei!” he shouted. “Would it not be dangerous to leave living human beings in our care? Heroics students are known to be incredibly reckless! What if harm should come to the babies while we are training? This would certainly reflect badly on UA!”

Aizawa sighed again. “The babies are robotic models. UA knew the danger of placing actual babies in the care of children—” he pointedly ignored his students’ indignant gasps “--and so the administration took the necessary precautions.” He pointed to the sheets of paper on their desks. “All the details are there. You’ll find out your assigned partners when I pass out the babies.”

“What if we don’t like our partner?” Ashido asked, wrinkling her nose at an offended Kaminari. “Sorry bro, you would definitely kill the baby.”

“I would not ,” Kaminari hissed indignantly. 

“I recommend that you refrain from making any complaints,” Aizawa interrupted. “Unless you personally want to take it up with Principal Nedzu.” The fear in their eyes was almost enough to make him smile, had he himself not been equally terrified of his boss.

“Anyway, I’ll continue if there are no further questions,” Aizawa said, turning away from the class and bending over a bin on the floor. He gathered a bundle of mysterious lumps in his arms and glanced at the roster. “Alright, heads up.” 

Nobody was able to figure out who he was talking to before a yellow lump went flying into the air, smacking poor Sato in the face. 

“Step 1,” Aizawa said. “Pay attention.” 

Sato sat up, looking guilty and rubbing his nose before picking up the limp bundle on his desk, squinting at it. It was completely wrapped, like a rip-off McDonald’s burrito that had been sitting in the refrigerator for long past its expiration date (even though McDonald’s expiration dates don’t really exist), giving no clue as to what the baby inside looked like. “Yo, Sero!” He said, turning around in his chair. “We’re dads!” Sero, who looked high out of his mind, threw up celebratory gang symbols in response. 

“Please refrain from celebrating the births of your little monsters while I’m still passing them out,” Aizawa said in a deadpan that would seem to suggest he hadn’t adopted around 21 “little monsters” himself. 

He sighed and looked back at the roster before flinging another baby towards the bewildered students. Jirou and Momo glanced fearfully at each other as it hurtled towards them. After a moment’s hesitation, they both rushed towards the infantile projectile and dove to catch it. Instead, they collided head first. 

Aizawa only rubbed his eyes in irritation. “Step 2,” he grumbled, shooting them an annoyed look. “Don’t rely on your partner.”

Momo’s eyes widened in embarrassment as she scooped up the bundle from the floor and hurried back to her desk.

“ It’s raining men, ” Ashido hummed under her breath. 

“ Hallelujah, it’s raining men ,” Kaminari sang back, dodging Aizawa’s glare.

“This is not a joke,” he said sternly, flipping a sheet on the roster. “This project is worth 60% of your Sex Ed. grade. Failing this means you would have to retake the class.” 

“Oh no,” Midoriya mumbled, slipping down in his chair as he recalled the torturous afternoon sessions trapped in a room with an overenthusiastic Midnight as she answered far too many of Kaminari’s ungodly questions. 

“So it would be in your best interest to take this seriously,” Aizawa continued, reeling back to launch another bundle. “Hagakure, you better have your eyes up here.” 

The yellow sack sailed towards the invisible girl’s desk, only to hit the door with a painful noise. “Rest in peace, sweet summer child,” Kaminari said, doing a hasty Catholic cross despite not even being Catholic. 

Asui raised her arm, admittedly a little belatedly. “Aizawa-sensei,” she croaked. “Hagakure’s not here today.”

Aizawa stared at the empty desk and the baby bundle which was hanging onto a corner of it, moments away from hitting the floor. “Ojiro, that’s your child too. Step 3, please be a present parent,” he said before turning away, shaking his head in obvious disappointment. “Another one bites the dust.”

Shinso tried not to choke on his granola bar (which he was definitely not supposed to be eating, but he failed rather miserably, leading to Midoriya jumping out of his chair to do a half-Heimlich on him. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Bakugo snarled. “Let stupid eyebags choke.” 

“They’re not stupid eyebags,” Shinso snarled, still coughing up granola. “They’re designer .” 

Aoyama perked up from across the room. “Mine are Gucci!” he added, very unhelpfully.

“And mine are Prada,” Aizawa sighed before promptly moving on. “But you don’t see me bragging bout ‘em.” This time, two bundles went flying unceremoniously, both nearly hitting Asui in the head before she managed to grab one with her tongue and the other with one hand. She looked at both of them for a moment, noticing her and Tokoyami’s name written across both. 

“Sensei,” She said around her flopping tongue. “I think there’s been a mistake.” 

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. “Looking at the state of this room, I think there’s been multiple, but continue.” 

Asui held up the bundles. “Tokoyami and I seem to have two.” 

“And?”

“Are we supposed to?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m not the one who made twins as a teenager.” 

Tokoyami straightened up in the back of the room. “How is it fair that we have two 

babies when the others have one, Sensei?”

Aizawa shrugged. “Shoulda thought of that before you made these little nightmares,” he sighed. “Life isn’t fair.” 

“Is Sensei high?” Kaminari asked, leaning back towards Sero. 

Sero squinted. “Nah,” he said. “I would know. He’s on some good kush though. Gotta get ‘im to set me up with some,” he drawled in a Texan accent for no goddamn reason.

Aizawa, levelling a glare at Sero but not adding to the conversation he had doubtlessly heard, turned to reach back into the bucket, tossing a massive bundle at Ashido, who reached up and grabbed it (being one of the few “parents” in the class to accomplish not immediately giving their child trauma to the head).

“Oh. My. God,” she said under her breath, reading the tag on the yellow fabric. “Eijiro, we--” 

“Oh my god, babe!” Kirishima said, getting up and grabbing Ashido by the waist. “We-- we had a baby?!” 

“I can’t believe it,” Ashido sighed, dark eyes filling with tears as she reached up towards her boyfriend’s face. “I’ve never been happier.”

“You guys better stop soon,” Shinso said, flicking a pencil across his desk. “Or you’re about to make another one.”

“Don’t be so hypocritical,” Aizawa said, raising an eye at the purple-haired boy. “You’re about to make a loud, fussy mistake too.” And with that stunning prelude, he launched a baby towards Shinso, who watched it flop to the ground apathetically. 

“That mine?” he asked, lazily raising a brow.

“I would assume so,” Aizawa said in response. “Though you can always ask Kaminari if he’s okay with a paternity test.” 

Shinso turned to stare at his partner, looking unimpressed when Kaminari shot him an enthusiastic thumbs up. “This child is going to die,” he groaned.  Ashido nodded in grim agreement. 

“Step 4,” Aizawa said in a deadpan. “Please don’t assume your child’s ensured mortality as of yet. No one likes to make unnecessary funeral arrangements.” 

“I can do the eulogy,” Sero said, turning around to look Shinso in the eye. “I’m so sorry for your loss, bro.” 

Kaminari agreed, nodding solemnly. “My condolences.”

“It’s our child, you idiot!” Shinso exclaimed, holding the baby like a football and gearing up to launch it at Kaminari’s face.

Before he could, Aizawa’s monotonous voice stopped him. “Step 5. Please refrain from throwing the babies, if at all possible. It’s terribly messy to clean up.” 

“Like father, like son,” Shinso mumbled under his breath. 

Aizawa barely spared him a glare before chucking another baby at Shoji, who easily caught the unidentified flying chunk (or, UFC, for short. This is an entirely new term unknown to man because, unfortunately, it was nearly witching hour and the authors, sleep deprived and delirious, ran out of words to replace “bundle”) with one of his many arms. He looked down at it, the UFC looking awfully small beside his large frame. “Koda,” he said simply. Koda gave him a nervous nod and half a smile. 

Before anyone could prepare themselves, another two bundles came sWOOshing through the air smacking a sleepy Todoroki straight in the face. Aoyama screeched, despite not even being close to the crime scene.

“Congrats,” Aizawa said. “You and Aoyama had twins.” 

“ Mes bébés, ” Aoyama cooed immediately, wiping tears from his eyes. 

Todoroki thought back to one of the children’s films Midoriya had shown him in an effort to make him more “cultured,” whatever that meant. Imitating the hyper, blue, amnesiac fish from his new favorite movie, Todoroki raised a fin(ger) and smiled. “And I shall name him Todo,” he said, pointing to one bundle, “and Roki. And they shall be my little squishies.”

“What a fucking narcissist,” Bakugo grumbled, obviously in a bad mood given the events of baby diffusion that had been occurring. 

“Look who’s talking,” Shinso mumbled.

“You want to say that to my face, designer eye bags?!” Bakugo hissed, getting up and kicking his chair back. 

“Please, no,” Shinso deadpanned. “I have a family.” 

Kaminari nodded tearfully in the background. “Spare him, Bakubro. Please.” 

“How manly,” Kirishima called from the background.

“Alright, final stretch,” Aizawa said, flexing his back muscles. “Get ready.” He reached down behind the desk (where was he pulling all these synthetic children from? A bottomless baby bucket (like KFC, the authors theorized? Who knew)(for legal purposes, DISCLAIMER: the authors, in no way, are insinuating, that KFC serves babies in their bottomless buckets of fried chicken)) and pulled up two bundles, one in each hand. With a startlingly terrifying grin on his face, he gracefully yeeted them towards a panicking Midoriya and snarking Bakugo. 

“I’m with Deku? ” Bakugo groaned, catching the baby and slumping into his seat. “For fuck’s sake!” He looked over at his partner. “And there’s two ?!” 

“Oh, with that attitude,” Aizawa began, shaking his head. “There may be more.” He reached back in the bucket only to wind up and chuck another baby at Bakugo, prompting Ashido to start singing “ it’s raining men, ” under her breath again. 

“NO!” Bakugo yelled, holding a baby in each hand with gritted teeth. “I’M NOT GOING TO HAVE THREE LITTLE BRATS!” 

“Kacchan,” Midoriya began, only to be interrupted. 

“No, Bakugo,” Aizawa said, smile ever-present. “You’re not going to have just three little brats.” With barely any more prelude another one came flying at Bakugo, smacking him in the nose. 

“What kind of fuckery --” 

“You better stop while you’re ahead,” Aizawa warned as another baby went flying at Midoriya. 

“Bakubro, what a champ,” Kaminari said, crossing his arms. 

“Yeah man,” Sero nodded. “You really got busy.” 

“IF YOU EXTRAS DON’T SHUT THE FUCK UP--” 

“Think of this as a baby swear jar,” Aizawa said, calmly throwing another child at poor Midoriya, who was struggling to hold all of them. “If you calm down, you stop getting more. Funny how that works the same in real life.” He turned to glance at everyone else. “Step 6, control your hormones, kids.”

“I’m not going to fucking calm down when you’re making this into literally fucking baby shower --”

“--more like a baby thunderstorm,” Shinso snickered. 

Aizawa just smiled and threateningly wiggled another baby in their direction. “And I’m not going to run out of babies,” he assured them.

“How the fuck is this fair at all?!” Bakugo yelled, apparently still not learning his lesson.

“Kacchan, please ,” Midoriya began, scrambling as he was pelted with another projectile baby. 

Aizawa frowned. “Apparently you weren’t listening when I told Asui and Tokoyami that life isn’t fair. That’s another baby for you.” Midoriya rushed to catch the next one, performing an astounding balancing act. 

“Big Bird and Crazy Frog have two, we have a fuckton !”

Another child hit poor Midoriya in the stomach. “Poor Midoriya,” Shinso sighed, forlornly leaning a cheek on his hand as he looked on. “You’re putting him through so much.”

“If you hate kids that much, just keep your hands off of Midoriya, Bakubro. It’s easy,” Kaminari said matter-of-factly. 

“Don’t have kids,” Todoroki echoed, ever the advocate for not procreating. 

“Poor Midobro,” Kirishima sighed. “It’s so unmanly of you to force him to have so many children, Bakugo.”

“Who’s forcing who?!” 

“Well, you’re certainly the reason he’s covered in babies right now,” Uraraka pointed out unhelpfully, looking angry on behalf of poor Midoriya. 

Shinso collapsed against the back of his chair dramatically, the baby bundle still in his arms. “Barefoot and pregnant in this day and age! Where is the justice ?”

“Uh, guys?” Midoriya gave a pained smile. “You can stop now.”

Shinso turned to him, eyes wide. “Say that to Bakugo, Midoriya!” 

Before Bakugo could murder anyone in the vicinty, Aizawa cleared his throat, grin now gone from his face. “It’s important to remember,” he warned. “that it isn’t just Bakugo and Deku who are immune to impromptu children. Iida and Uraraka—” he gestured for them to approach his desk.

The class collectively held their breath while the pair approached, expecting the worst as Aizawa’s face grew even more serious. When the pair reached his desk, trembling in anticipation, his face softened a fraction and he held out a neatly wrapped bundle. If they looked closely, they could see cute cat stickers placed carefully on the yellow cloth. Uraraka froze, and Iida moved protectively in front of her.

“Sensei,” he breathed, voice quivering (pulsating? Joni please no) in barely concealed fear. “What… what is the meaning of this?”

Aizawa pushed the bundle into Uraraka’s arms. “You’re parents now,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in a slight smile. Still shaking in confusion, the pair stumbled back to their desks.

“Alright, class,” Aizawa said, straightening up, paying no attention to the stunned looks of the other kids still in awe of Iida and Urarararararaka’s beautiful baby deliverance. “That’s all we have for now. Many mistakes were made here today,” he said, eyeing fuming Bakugo and exasperated Midoriya surrounded by his cohort of yellow bundles in various shapes and sizes. “I pray that none of you will continue to make mistakes in the future,” he said, nodding in Bakugo’s direction. “If not for your sake, just remember the toll that pregnancy takes on your partner’s body.”

Midoriya threw up his hands. “Why does it always come back to that!” 

“The rubrics that Midnight put together are in the bundles,” Aizawa continued. “Now please, get out.” Everyone began to pack up, gathering their belongings and gravitating towards their new partners, half of them truly looking as shy as newlyweds in this situation. 

Aizawa turned to grab his sleeping bag, only to suddenly find a small hand tugging at his fingers. “‘Zawa,” an equally small voice called. He looked down, meeting the wide eyes of a familiar face.

“What are you doing here, Eri?” he asked gently, bending down to her height. 

“Can I have a…” she hesitated, searching for the right word, “baby, too?”

“A baby,” Aizawa said slowly. “Why?” 

Eri smiled. “Because I want to be a ‘Zawa too!!” 

Aizawa reached down to pick Eri up, wondering if cuteness could cause heart failure. “You want to be a mommy, Eri?” 

Eri shook her head. “I want to be a ‘Zawa!!” 

Against his will, Aizawa’s face softened into a smile and he was eternally grateful that Mic wasn’t there to see.

“What’s a ‘Zawa then?” he asked.

Eri tilted her head back, pondering the question. “Well, Robin has a mommy and a daddy and Daito has a mommy and a daddy but I have a ‘Zawa,” she said. “So I want to be a ‘Zawa.”

“Aizawa’s my name, silly,” the older man said, bending down and picking up his bag with his free arm. “And now it’s your name too.”

“ I’m ‘zawa?!” Eri asked, smiling as if Christmas had come early. 

“Mhmm,” Aizawa hummed, pushing his chair into his desk. “Eri Aizawa.” 

“If I’m ‘Zawa then how can you be ‘Zawa,” Eri mumbled, pouting. “Big confusion.” 

“There’s only two of us,” Aizawa said. “It won’t be confusing.”

“Yes it will!!” Eri insisted, grabbing onto Aizawa’s scarf. “Oh, I know!” 

“Know what?” 

“Can you be daddy?” 

Aizawa froze, and he stared at Eri, eyes wider than she’d ever seen them. “Me…?” he started, trying to speak but finding his mouth completely unresponsive.

“Shhh,” Eri said, pushing her hands onto his face. “Your eyes are going to fall out.” 

He closed his eyes at her warning and took a deep breath, forcing his tongue to move. His heart was about to beat out of his chest. “Sure.”

“Okay, daddy,” Eri chirped, apparently completely oblivious to how two syllables were taking out a grownass man. 

Kouta waltzed into the room. “I wanna be the daddy to our baby then!” he declared with all the confidence in the world. “I’ll be the best daddy there is!”

Aizawa nearly swore, whipping around to see the little gremlin at the doorway. “What-- Kouta ? What are you doing here?”

“Kouta-chan!” Eri exclaimed, pulling on Aizawa’s scarf so she would let her down. When he held her tighter, she pouted.  “Kouta-chan and I are going to have a baby!” 

“What the--” Aizawa looked at her in shock. “Ex cuse me?” 

“What,” Eri asked, cocking her head. “Everyone needs a mommy and a daddy.”

“ You don’t have a mommy!” Aizawa exclaimed, apparently ready to pull out all the stops to prevent Kouta and Eri from becoming parents. 

Eri wrinkled her nose. “Don’t say that! Yamama will be so sad.” 

“ Who?” 

It was at that exact moment that the aforementioned “Yamama” strutted in, looking for all the world like the beautiful cockatoo he thought himself to be.

“Yamama!!!” Eri yelled, making grabby hands at him. 

“My lil Eri-chan!!” Present Mic yelled in response, running towards her like he was auditioning for Gone With the Wind. 

This time Aizawa nearly dropped Eri. Instead he managed to set her down gently and looked up with a slowly widening smile. “ Yamama ,” he said, voice a little too calm and collected for the situation. “Let’s have a little talk, shall we?”

Eri, as soon as she was freed from her prison, took off towards Kouta, eyes sparkling. “Let’s run away together, Kouta-chan!!” 

“Let’s run away and get married!” 

“And have the baby!” 

Before Aizawa could grab Eri and lock her up somewhere that little demon-child would never be able to see her again, she was gone. Mic laid a hand on his shoulder, wiping away a tear. “They grow up so fast, Sho.” 

Aizawa shrugged the hand off. “ Yamama ?!” he hissed. “Why are you her self-designated mother? Did you teach her that name?”

Mic pouted. “How dare you suspect me of such a heinous crime!” he shrieked. Aizawa only barely managed to cancel his quirk before the room could collapse. Mic smiled, oblivious. “Toshinori did!!”

Aizawa pushed past him, a man intent on murder. 

Chapter Text

DAY ONE: THURSDAY, 3:00 PM

The class usually would disperse from their homeroom as soon as Aizawa let them go, but the added luggage of the baby bundles, coupled with Aizawa’s murderous rage at Eri’s apparent elopement, kept most people anchored in place, eager to see more drama. Present Mic managed to calm Aizawa down to the point where he wasn’t intent on assassinating the former number one hero, but somehow the entire class was sure All Might wasn’t going to be safe and sound just yet. 

As everyone began to pack up, some having more trouble with their babies than others (and by some, the authors meant Bakugo and Midoriya). “I don’t want those fucking larvas!” Bakugo yelled, holding one of the bundles like he was about to nuke it into the sun. “Why the hell do we need to do this?!” 

“Kacchan,” Midoriya sighed, carrying so many bundles that his body was barely visible underneath them. “If you don’t calm down, we’re going to fail.” 

“We’re at a hero school!” Bakugo continued, hands sparking up. “Why the fuck do we need to play nanny?!” 

“Heroes need to be well-versed in interacting with a myriad of different kinds of people, Bakugo,” Iida said, pushing up his glasses in his classic megane pose as he read off of the rubric. “And that includes babies.”

“What do they look like, anyways?” Sero asked, poking at the bundle that was situated in Sato’s open bag. 

“DON’T OPEN THEM YET!” Iida yelled, panicking, only to be shushed by Uraraka as she continued to cradle her yellow, faceless lump in her arms. “I mean… don’t open them yet ! Opening the bundle activates the child. We have to get back to the dorms first!” He jabbed an emphatic finger at his rubric and instruction manual. Somehow, the pages were already bookmarked and highlighted, to everyone’s bewilderment. 

From their left, they heard a pained noise. “Wait,” Kaminari said. “We weren’t supposed to open them?” 

In his arm he held a squirming mass of robotic limbs. It had wild, unruly purple hair, much like its father (though Shinso seemed keen on denying the claim of paternity). Under its mismatched violet and yellow eyes were… were those actual eyebags ? 

This is it , Shinso thought to himself, closing his eyes and hiding his head in his arms. I give up .

“ Mon dieu, ” Aoyama said with an expression of disgust as he looked at it. “ Le bébé is…” he trailed off. “ Infortuné .” 

Kaminari gasped, offended, acting as if he understood French. “My baby is beautiful! Isn’t he, Shinso?” 

Shinso shook his head. “We’ve created a monster.” 

Aoyama leaned closer. “Eyebags,” he said slowly, with a considering hum. “Kate Spade. Acceptable . Mine are still better though.” 

“All of you!” Iida said, now whisper-yelling at Uraraka’s decree. “Please refrain from opening more baby bundles!”

To his utter dismay, the rest of the class had begun unpackaging their own children, beyond curious to see the custom designs that their homeroom teacher and principal had commissioned after seeing the disgrace that was the Kaminari-Shinso child. 

“The dorms are only a minute away,” Iida pleaded, bouncing from couple to couple, but he was completely ignored as people fought to rip open the tightly wrapped bundles. 

Even Asui, of all people, ignored him, pulling out a baby that looked as if it had originated from the depths of Tartarus (no, not the prison). 

“What the fuck is that?!” Bakugo yelled, the class hearing genuine fear in his voice for the first time. 

For once, nobody shushed him or disagreed. Asui and Tokoyami exchanged a glance as they stared at the monstrosity in front of them. It had an actual bird head that resembled Tokoyami in his early baby pictures (how anyone got a hold of those was a mystery to everyone).

Asui physically recoiled as the baby’s beak flopped open and a long tongue unwound like a slimy fruit rollup. “Ribbit!” she croaked, nearly dropping the doll. 

Even Tokoyami, ever a fan of things that lived in the darkest corners of the world, seemed appalled. “Aizawa-sensei,” he whispered, unbelieving. “ you designed these? How— why?”

Aizawa shrugged, a rare smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “I was bored.” Asui put the doll on the desk and backed away, leaving her second bundle completely untouched in the aftermath of her shock. 

Midoriya shivered in fear, reaching down to pick up the topmost of the pile of yellow bundles on his desk. Do I even want to know? He ignored Iida’s muted instructions in the background, as even Aizawa seemed more interested in seeing the chaos than following the instruction manual and rubric. 

The pins holding together the wrapped blanket resisted him, but Midoriya managed to rip it back with minimal effort, revealing the face of a pale infant with bright freckled cheeks and blonde curls. Midoriya let out a breath of relief. At least it doesn’t look like a monster. 

“Hey little guy,” he said, leaning his face closer and poking the baby in the cheek. Wow, it’s softer than I expected for a robot baby. “Sleepy, are you?” The robot moved for the first time, wriggling around in a motion that was far too natural for a machine. 

“Aww,” Uraraka commented from his side. “Deku!! I didn’t think you could make something that adorable with…. that .” 

“Eh?!” Bakugo stalked over, hands stuffed in his delinquent-fashion statement pants. “I’m fucking GORGEOUS round-cheeks! You better ask your lil Sonic the Hedgehog for a pair of glasses if you can’t even see that!” 

Midoriya shot him a look. “We haven’t even opened the rest of the children, Kacchan. Don’t count your eggs before they hatch.” He cringed internally at the analogy, but Bakugo didn’t seem to care.

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” he said instead, grabbing the child in Midoriya’s hands. “This one already takes after me!” The volume of that yell, however, set something off immediately as the little robot baby roused for the first time, opening wide green eyes. Midoriya was about to melt over how pretty his child was until those soft emerald eyes quickly morphed into a perfect reflection of Bakugo’s white-eyed rage, the baby screaming its head off in levels that rivaled its “father”. 

“TURN IT OFF!” Bakugo yelled, tossing it at Midoriya. 

“How?!” Midoriya yelled, trying to cradle the child to no avail, wincing at the volume. “Why in the world is its voice so deep ?!” 

“Deku!” Uraraka yelled. “Your baby is scaring everyone else’s with its Bakugo-demon voice!” 

“It sounds deeper than Bakubro,” Kirishima offered unhelpfully, leaning closer. Apparently his eardrums no longer functioned normally if his constant presence near (1) loud blastyboi was any indication. 

“Dude,” Sero said. “Tell your baby to chill out.” He wiggled a clump of suspicious green plants in Bakugo’s direction. “Try this - it’s good for your health.”

“I’m not a goddamn loser like you, fucking stoner!” Bakugo snarled, looking like a rabid dog for all intents and purposes. 

Sero scoffed. “Not for you, stupid. For your child.” He pushed the plants into Bakugo’s hands and grinned. “It’s worked wonders for our child, right, Sato? She stopped crying right away!”

He gestured at Sato, who was carefully holding their kid, which was appropriately outfitted in a onesie patterned with desserts that seemed to be topped with the same green plants Sero had been holding. 

Uraraka squinted. “Is that… weed ?”

“No,” Sero said with a smile. “It is Cannibis sativa , thank you very much.” 

Uraraka opened her mouth to object, but Iida interrupted her with a gentle nudge. “Uraraka!” he cried, pointing to their baby, finally caving in spite of his earlier instructions. “She’s perfect!”

The child was… beautiful. She looked like a doll, with lips tinted the perfect shade of pink (why did a child already have makeup on? Only Nedzu knows, frankly). She blinked, long navy eyelashes casting shadows across her ruddy cheeks. She cooed, a sound akin to the chortle of an angel, bringing up a thumb to her pretty pink lips as she blinked up at her parents with glistening dark eyes through curly locks of auburn hair. Uraraka’s eyes finally wandered to the shirt the child was wearing. #IWokeUpLikeThis was spread across the cloth in bold text, surrounded by Kirby-shaped balloons.

“Holy fucking shit,” Kaminari said, pointing to Iida and Uraraka’s child with a shaky hand. 

“Holy is right,” Ashido breathed. “She’s gorgeous! ” 

“ Un beauté naturalle !” Aoyama said, reaching over and making an expression like he was a manager sizing up a future Miss Universe. He turned to Todoroki, pulling a fancy pose. “But surely she’s not as beautiful as our little darlings!”

Todoroki blinked. Aoyama gesticulated wildly, apparently signaling to open the baby bundles, but Todoroki had wildly missed the cue. “Open them, mi amor ,” Aoyama said, pulling another pose. 

“Alright,” Todoroki said, the pet name apparently completely going over his head as he yanked the bundles open with absolutely no finesse. It was quite apparent he was the youngest sibling with how he held up the first baby by the scruff of its neck and the second upside down by a single ankle. “Here.” 

Aoyama looked at him in horror before he looked at the first child, who was wriggling wildly. He was pale, with floppy blonde hair and mismatched eyes that mirrored Todoroki’s own. His expression was that of utter boredom despite how much he was wildly moving, a rather disconcerting combination to say the least.

The second child was hanging upside down, but unlike its twin, was as calm as a baby could be. He hung there like a dead fish, hair split-dyed like Todoroki’s, but with the white half covered in copious amounts of glitter. The obligatory (non-genetic, but apparently, aesthetics were far more important than logic) scar on his face was as glittery as the hair. His eyes were the same strange shade of violet as Aoyama’s, and his mouth was twisted in a frown, matching Aoyama’s V-shaped pout. Todoroki tugged at a tag that was hidden in the folds of the child’s clothes. DO NOT BOIL , it read in bolded letters.

Aoyama looked even more appalled, but Todoroki nodded approvingly. “I suppose I did not come with one of these,” he mused.

The shirt was the final touch. ENDEAVOR MUST DIE was printed across the white cloth.

Todoroki’s face brightened as he grabbed the child, holding it up with pride. “My squishie,” he said affectionately, apparently already choosing a favorite despite every parent’s claim that they “do not have a favorite child”. Todoroki, however, was apparently not a liar. 

Aizawa chuckled into his scarf. He’d had the shirt custom-made, both for his amusement and Todoroki’s benefit. Aoyama continued to look at both of his new children in horror, apparently in shock. “I am beau , Todoroki is beau , so why are the children not beau ?!” He looked up to the ceiling, apparently in the midst of having an existential crisis that the entire class, including Todoroki, steadfastly ignored. 

“Are you going to unwrap the rest of your children?” Kaminari asked instead, leaning over poor Midoriya’s shoulder as their first child continued to wail with both a voice and an expression eerily reminiscent of Bakugo. How does a baby have such a deep voice anyways?! 

Midoriya shook his head emphatically. “We are definitely waiting till we get back to the dorms— Kacchan !” he cried as Bakugo began to unwrap another baby. Luckily, before he could follow through, Kirishima showed up, putting a fully fortified hand on the bundle.

“No, Bakubro. No.” 

“FUCKING LET GO!” Bakugo yelled, wrenching free. 

“NOT IF THAT THING STARTS SCREAMING LIKE YOU TOO!” Kirishima yelled back, wrestling the child away. 

Aizawa appeared out of nowhere, separating the boys and handing Bakugo a bag. “You might be needing this,” he said, seemingly as bored as ever. Midoriya searched his eyes to see if he was joking.

“But, Sensei!” he began to protest. “Wouldn’t that suffocate them?”

Aizawa shrugged. “Carrying them all at once might suffocate you ,” he pointed out. “Do you want the bag or not?” 

Bakugo snatched the bag before Aizawa could take it back. “We’ll take it.” He shoved it in Midoriya’s arms. “Stuff the little brats in there.”

Midoriya looked torn and glanced at his teacher, still reluctant to subject his new children to such bad conditions so early in their lives. “But Sensei!”

Bakugo grumbled, relenting. “You can hold that one, nerd, okay? Just make it stop its damn yelling.”

Aizawa nodded in agreement. “You can do as you please, but I think it would be in your best interest to not have nine little demon children screaming all the way back to the dorms. But you do you, sis.” 

Shinso, who had been staring at his child like he was staring death itself in the face, choked on a laugh at his adopted father’s snark. 

“Are you laughing at our child?!” Kaminari asked, arms crossed, apparently a fussy wife. “He’s beautiful. All the bad things about him are your fault!” 

“What, the eyebags?” Shinso asked, looking down at the little monstrous creation and tracing the premature wrinkles under its eyes with a surprisingly gentle finger. “I think they make him look rather dashing.” 

“Eye bags ?” Kaminari scoffed. “Those are whole eye suitcases .” 

Before Shinso could respond with a snark of his own, Ashido barreled by, knocking the baby out of Shinso’s hands. “Watch it!” he snarled, only to be ignored as the pink-haired girl turned to Kirishima, her face gleaming with excitement.

“Come on babe,” she said, making her way over to her boyfriend, who was still standing guard against Bakugo’s whims. “Let’s open ours! I’m sure it looks just like us !”

Kirishima reluctantly left Bakugo and Midoriya behind and looked over Ashido’s shoulder as she quickly unpackaged their baby. There was a long, painful moment of silence. 

“I… guess it does look like us,” Kirishima admitted after they’d stared at the child for several moments.

“Is that one of those Himalayan salt lamps?” Sero piped up, peeking around Kirishima’s shoulder to see a little pink hardened bundle dozing soundly in his friend’s hands. 

“I heard those are good for your health,” said Uraraka. 

“I’ve always wanted to lick one,” said Kaminari, making his way over, intent on his newfound purpose. 

Shinso grabbed his arm. “Kaminari, you idiot, you cannot just go around licking other people’s children!”

Todoroki nodded solemnly. “It’s bad etiquette. You’ve gotta ask first.”

“Oh,” Kaminari paused. “Can I lick your baby?” he asked Ashido.

“NO!” she and Shinso exclaimed. 

In the chaos, Sero took his opportunity to poke it. “Where do I plug it in?”

Ashido pushed Sero away from her child. “Stop messing with my baby!” she protested. 

“I wonder what the feng shui of the baby is like,” Urararararaka wondered out loud. 

“She’s not furniture ,” Ashido said, scandalized.

Kirishima grinned. “But she could be!” he said. 

Ashido glared. “Honeybun, you’re on thin fucking ice.”

Kirishima quickly schooled his features into a frown that looked awfully forced. “Right, sweetie,” he clarified, eager to ease the tension. “I just meant that… she could be anything she wanted to be! An astronaut, a teacher, a hero… a chair?” Thankfully, Sero, the only one worried about his bro’s well-being, slapped a hand over his mouth before he could get the last word out. 

“Mmhmm,” Ashido said with a smile. “And it better stay that way. Or you would make a lovely coffee table, don’t you think?” She turned to Sero, the one who had started the Himalayan Salt Lamp mess. “And you look perfectly apt to be a coat hanger, don’t you think?” 

Sero frowned, looking displeased with that comparison. “I think I’m much more of a well-used, lovable living-room-armchair-by-the-fire myself, but I welcome your opinion.” 

As if on cue, the student that most resembled a literal arm-chair got up (unfortunately, at this point, the authors had run out of smooth transitions, so please bear with us). Everyone turned to see Shouji holding his and Koda’s baby in an inordinate amount of steady hands. 

Everyone stared. 

“Why the fuck is theirs normal?” Bakugo snarled, crossing his arms. 

Even Midoriya looked a little surprised. “Shouldn’t it at least have… multiple arms or something? Unless—” he murmured to himself, the wheels starting to turn in his head. 

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Uraraka warned. But it was too late, Midoriya had already begun muttering up a storm. “This would imply the baby’s body is Koda’s, since physical quirks are present at birth. But seeing as how the head is normal, we would have to assume the head genes are from Shouji. Could this mean it has Anivoice and a transformative head? What about…” 

To everyone’s relief, Bakugo slapped a hand over Midoriya’s mouth (though he unfortunately only muffled the ramblings). Everyone turned to Shouji and Kouda for confirmation on any of Midoriya’s theories. They both shrugged, feeling no response was necessary. 

Aizawa snorted at his students’ confusion but did nothing to clarify his plain design for their baby. When they looked at him expectantly, he sighed.

“They deserve peace,” he said simply.

“And we don’t?” Bakugo raged, gesturing at the 9 bundles they’d eventually managed to stuff in the provided bag.

“No,” Aizawa answered with absolutely no hesitation. “No, you do not.”

Ojiro sighed to himself, tuning out Bakugo raging like a rabid dog to stare at the bundle on his own desk, which he’d left alone, unwilling to unwrap it without Hagakure. When the class begged him to reveal the child, he sighed again, then caved.

“I bet it’s a plain baby,” he lamented, peeling the cloth from the face. He blinked, looking at his desk and the ground. Did it fall out? He looked back at the bundle. No, it was still solid in his hands. Oh no. “Sensei?” he whispered, incredulous. “Is it—”

“Invisible? Yep.” Aizawa confirmed. 

Ojiro let the blanket fall to the ground, holding the invisible mass in his hands. “Why?!” 

Aizawa bent over and retrieved the blanket, pushing it back into Ojiro’s hands. “You really don’t want to lose this,” he said, expression blank. Before Ojiro could question his teacher further, he was pummeled in the face by an invisible force. 

“ Ow !” Ojiro rubbed his face. “Don’t tell me it has a tail!” 

Aizawa just smiled cryptically, ignoring his student’s concern. “Nedzu figured it would be good for you to take care of a fake invisible baby before you take care of a real one.”

“A real one?” Ojiro squeaked, turning red. “Why would he think I’ll ever have to take care of a real invisible baby?”

“We’ll have to wait and see ,” Aizawa replied. He turned to Yaoyorozu and Jirou, who were still staring reluctantly at their unopened baby. “Shall we have a look at your baby now?” He chuckled a little. “Mic is going to have a fit.”

“W-what do you mean?” Yaoyorozu stammered, but Jirou was already unwrapping the child. Their faces contorted in horror as they caught a glimpse of the baby’s features. Jirou dropped the baby as if it had burned her hands, jumping backwards with a screech that sounded worthy of Present Mic… then the baby rolled forward on the floor, its face finally visible to the entire class.

The room was dead silent. Even Bakugo and Midoriya’s single unwrapped demon-child had been startled into silence. 

Everyone watched in horror as the baby twisted its frightening, Present Mic-clone face to let out an ear-splitting wail at having been dropped.

“SHUT THAT DAMN THING OFF!” Bakugo screamed, jaws open so wide that Uraraka briefly wondered if they would come unhinged. 

“Oh, it doesn’t have an off switch,” Aizawa yelled calmly over the racket, looking smug. “Just like the real thing.” 

Clutching their ears and their children, the students hurried out of the classroom to escape the screeching Mic-baby hybrid, finally obeying Iida’s demands to return to the dorms.

“Your first pictures as parents and your children’s names are due Friday night. Make sure they’re in the format of a birth certificate,” Aizawa called after them, unaffected by the wails of the synthetic child, having developed a tolerance for his friend’s spontaneous screeches.

“Speak of the devil,” Aizawa noted as Mic peeked through his doorway, looking wide-eyed at the still screaming baby.

Mic blinked. “Shouta, what the hell —“

“Girls, take your baby boy back to the dorms,” Aizawa said flippantly as a frazzled Jirou and Momo held the little powerhouse as far away from themselves as they could, darting back to the dorms in a desperate attempt to dispel the sound. 

“Shouta,” Mic began to babble. “There has to be a really good explanation for this. I’ve got a lot of questions!” 

Aizawa sighed, gearing up to explain the situation in as few words as possible as Mic threw his hands up in the air, looking a little hurt. 

“Where does that baby get its hair gel? Why have you withheld this information from me? Also, did you just call it baby boy ? Does that mean you called me baby boy by proxy? Was this an elaborate scheme for you to call me baby boy without it being weird?!” He grabbed Aizawa’s shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes when he didn’t answer immediately. “I want you to know. You can call me baby boy any time.” 

Aizawa only smiled. “I think I’ll stick with manchild . Don’t you think it suits you better?”

Mic flailed dramatically, grabbing the desk and throwing a hand over his eyes. “Oh, Sho, ever the tsundere,” he sighed. “And here I thought you were finally admitting you had fallen for my wiles.” 

His friend rolled his eyes. “Hizashi,” he said. “Please keep your fantasies to yourself. No one wants to hear that.”

Mic sighed again, as if pitying Aizawa. “I can’t wait ‘til the day you feel comfortable enough to tell me how you feel,” he said, looking his friend in the eye. “Until then, I’ll wait for you, Sho.” 

“You might have to find the secret to immortality, then,” Aizawa deadpanned, ignoring his friend and shuffling through the papers on his desk.

“You do know I’m a hoe for slow burns,” Mic said, turning to hoist himself up onto the desk before Aizawa pushed him off. “But I’ve already gotten so far. I am Yamama after all.” 

At that, Aizawa froze. “Could you repeat that?” he asked, voice low and quiet. “I didn’t quite catch it the first time.” The growing grin on his face seemed to suggest otherwise.

Mic shuffled away with a nervous smile, raising placating hands. “Actually, never mind that! I came to talk to you about something and just got carried away.” 

To his relief, Aizawa dropped the maniacal expression. “Well, get on with it. I’ve got work to do, you know.”

“Of course, of course,” Mic said, clearing his throat. “Well, uh… Shouta, please don’t kill me.” 

“No promises,” came the incredibly reassuring response.

“So, uh… you know how Kouta was over again today?”   

“Mhm,” Aizawa grunted. Mic glanced nervously at his face, but there was no visible reaction, so he deemed it safe to continue.

“Well…” Mic cleared his throat again. “Well, basically, Eri-chan and Ko-kun really wanted to play house, and they’re just so cute that I had to indulge them--”

“ Ko-kun ?” Mic sneaked a glimpse of Aizawa’s face and immediately regretted it. His friend’s jaw was clenched so tightly that Mic wasn’t sure how he’d even managed to speak. Sensing his impending doom, he descended into rambling. 

“So Eri-chan went into your office in the apartment and there were extra babies there and her and Ko-ku-- I mean, Kouta might or might not have taken one of them and Nedzu mayhaps have gotten involved and now your daughter might possibly have a baby with Kouta so yeah that happened!” 

Aizawa took a deep breath and slowly managed to unclench his fists. He was dangerously close to using his colleague (yes, they were no longer best friends as of this exact moment) as a punching bag, but he figured if he was going to get arrested for assault, it’d be best if it took place outside school grounds. 

“Mic,” he said instead. “What on earth possessed you to give my daughter—”  he paused for emphasis. “a baby ?”

Stumbling over his feet and looking absolutely nothing like a pro hero, Mic backed up towards the door. “You see, I was under duress,” he explained haphazardly. “Duress from very convincing pouty eyes,” he said. “If you had been there, you would’ve fallen prey to their siren calls as well!” 

“Oh yeah?” Aizawa scoffed. “Try me.”

As if on cue, the door eased open, a little Eri casting a long shadow on the floor as she peaked in. She just blinked, completely silent, seemingly asking for permission to come in with her big, round eyes. 

I would do anything for her , Aizawa’s inner voice immediately said, completely betraying him. Outwardly, he appeared as emotionless as ever. “Hey kid,” he said, beckoning her in.

“Eri-chan!” Mic yelled a little too loudly, apparently assured in his survival if the little five year old would be there to bear witness to the murder. 

Despite the crime scene that had nearly taken place just seconds before (if Aizawa’s gleaming eyes were anything to go by), the two heroes managed to appear calm, if only for Eri’s sake. “Do you need something?” Aizawa asked, not unkindly.

Eri reached up to tug on Aizawa’s pants, tilting her head back to look at him. “I just came to visit,” she said. “I needed a break. I’ve had such a long day!”

“Did you now?” he said, a faint smile ghosting over his lips.

“Mmmhmm,” Eri said, tracing the embroidery on her dress with a finger. “I did so many things today. I did more things than you!” 

Mic smiled smugly at Aizawa, as if daring him to deny it. “Is that so?” Aizawa asked instead, ignoring the look and ruffling Eri’s hair for good measure.

Eri didn’t seem to notice the silent adult struggle overhead, and instead just continued her exposition. “This morning I had a baby!” she began, unknowingly giving Aizawa a seizure. “And then I had to take care of it all day. She needed to play and she needed to sleep and she needed to have a bath so Yamama helped and I gave her a bath with me. And then she fell so she had to go to the doctor and I was the doctor so I had to give her a bandaid!” 

“Wow,” Aizawa said through gritted teeth. Mic was surprised they hadn’t cracked yet with how hard he was clenching his jaw. “And where was the… father through all of this? Surely he wouldn’t have left you alone to do all the work by yourself.”

Eri cocked her head. “Ko-chan?” Aizawa only barely managed to suppress a cringe at the affectionate nickname. “Ko-chan is working so hard! He has five jobs!” She held up a whole hand to emphasize her point. “Five! He’s a fireman, and a policeman, and a hero, and a teacher, and a doctor! We work at the same hospital too!” 

“Really, now?” Aizawa said, trying not to spit the words. He closed his eyes to keep them from bulging out of his head, wishing for the millionth time that day that he hadn’t left his eye drops at home.

“Yeah,” Eri said, nodding with her whole head. “And poor Ko-chan didn’t want to leave us! But then Yamama said that parents need to go to work to provide and then he still didn’t want to go but I said, “ Honeybun you have to go! For the child!” and then he went!”  

Aizawa couldn’t even find it in himself to respond. “H- honeybun ?” he stammered instead.

Mic blinked. “Yes, Snuggle Bear?” Aizawa’s head swiveled around so quickly Mic got second-hand whiplash, but he barely had time to process that before he found a quickly approaching fist going straight for his face.

His last thought before hitting the floor was a testament to the fact that he had learned absolutely nothing and would most definitely strike again. That was 100% worth it.

Chapter Text

ONE WEEK EARLIER

Hatsume Mei was more than a little surprised when Class 1-A’s homeroom teacher showed up at her lab (while it wasn’t technically hers, she had taken it over and nobody was brave enough to challenge her territorial claim), blueprints in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.

“Aizawa-sensei, what are you doing here?” she asked, peering at the papers he was holding. “It’s 2 in the morning!”

Aizawa shrugged, taking in her somewhat grimy appearance and the pile of metal she was currently wrestling with. “I could ask you the same question, Hatsume.” She stared at him as he raised his coffee cup to his lips and took a swig, downing the contents in record time. Aizawa gestured to the mysterious blueprints and gave her an eerie smile. “I’ve got a small request.”

As if on cue, Midnight waltzed in, her boots clicking on the tiles as she burst into the room with her most dramatic entrance. “What is this I see?” she draped herself over the cleanest part of Hatsume’s work table, looking at Aizawa from an angle. “Are you finally seeing the method to my madness, Shou-chan?” 

Aizawa grumbled at the nickname and shot her a glare. “If you’re going to make me suffer, Nemuri , I’m going to make the most of my position.” He slid a blueprint towards her, watching as her face lit up with equal amounts of horror and delight. “What do you think?”

Midnight squealed . “Ooh~ Shoucchan!! I’m getting excited ! I didn’t even think you were capable of creating something this horrifying!” 

He scoffed. “I can be artistic if I want.”

“Sho, I’m the art teacher ; if you were artistic, I would tell you.”

Before Aizawa could retort, Hatsume cleared her throat. “Aizawa-sensei, are you sure these are genetically accurate?” Her eyes were already sparkling with maniacal glee.

Aizawa nodded and pulled out another set of papers from under his scarf. These were covered with various charts and tables, and if Midnight squinted, she could spot several combinations of letters. 

Conjuring up the little knowledge she had from high school biology, she grabbed the papers and peered closely at the letters. “Are those… actual Punnett squares? Sho, you stayed up for this??”

Aizawa snatched the charts back, ducking his head in his scarf, but Midnight didn’t miss the red blush crawling up his cheeks. 

“So I’m a dedicated teacher,” he snapped. “Sue me.” 

Midnight laughed, cocking her head as she watched him. It was delightful to see someone else wrapped up in her schemes. She opened her mouth to taunt him a little more (honestly, it was too good an opportunity to miss) but she was loudly interrupted.

They heard a crash from the side and turned to look at Hatsume, who had begun muttering up a storm, nimble fingers already picking up nuts and bolts from the table and beginning to create some sort of monstrosity. Midnight caught a “sentient”, “vengeful”, and “demonic” in the midst of all the other technical terms the support student was spitting out, but she chose not to intervene. She was never adverse to a good show, after all. “I, for one, am absolutely ~titillated~ about this project,” she said, walking towards the door and delighting at how Aizawa’s nose wrinkled at the word. “It is going to be quite the experience.” 

AUTHORS NOTE:

lea: this is a flashback to like 2013 when authors used to have authors notes in the middle of their fics alksdjfhdfkjhfsd that was really the time ahahhaha anyways this chapter is kinda short bc we spent some times drawing up some ~art~ for this fic, so enjoy a lil comic that joni made for her fave aizawa

AUTHORS NOTE PART TWO: 

lea: and here we have some blasphemy for yall,,,, please enjoy depictions of some of these cursed babies that aizawa came up with,,,, i am sorry you have to see this with your own two eyes (but am i tho)

pictured below, in order: the jirouXmomo baby (aka present mic lookalike), the kirishido baby (himalyan salt lamp supremacy), the tokoasui baby (straight from hell), the kamishin baby (it definitely has negative braincells), the todoyama baby (enji deserves death activist), and last but not least, the bkdk baby (certified demonchild) 

i tried to format them in a way it wouldn't be hellish for mobile users to see the pictures lololol but tell me if it's a mess and i can ~edit~ it a bit

Chapter Text

DAY ONE: THURSDAY, 4:00 PM

“Everyone, please stay calm!” Iida yelled across the commons as the entire class proceeded to do the exact opposite of what he had just said.

“Iida, it’ll be alright,” Uraraka said, still cradling her (thankfully only) child to her chest. The baby was sucking her thumb as she looked around with her shimmering, doll-like eyes, a picture of innocence. 

Upon seeing his beloved robot spawn (that he most definitely had not created), the tension in Iida’s shoulders eased a fraction. “I suppose they’ll calm down by themselves in a bit,” he said, not sounding convinced in the least. He glanced over at Midoriya, who was still desperately trying (and ultimately failing) to calm the single demon-child that he and Bakugo had released from his pastel-yellow prison. It’ll all be fine. Totally fine. 

DAY ONE, THURSDAY, 5:02 PM

It was not fine. 

Tokoyami stared down at the second baby that Asui had unwrapped on the commons couch. If he’d thought the first baby was unfortunate, this one seemed to have come straight out of his own nightmares.

He crossed his arms, gazing at it with a thinly veiled layer of disgust. “What is that thing?” 

The child stared back with a horrifying expression on its froggy face, and opened its mouth (which, horrifyingly, was a beak) to speak. Tokoyami cringed, fully expecting a hybrid of Kermit and Corpse’s voices, but instead, in a voice that could only belong to a pretty pretty princess, it responded, “What are you but a puny human, struggling to stay afloat in a cruel world?”

Tokoyami blinked at the child for a moment. “Asui,” he said, poking her urgently. “I think the kid is having his emo phase.” 

“It’s too early for that,” Asui said, walking over to plop the other child (the unfortunate mistake that was a bird-headed kid with a terribly long frog tongue and ditzy frog eyes) next to the one on the couch. 

Tokoyami looked offended. “ I started when I was only 2 weeks old.”

Asui stared at him. “You’re an emo prodigy. Congratulations.” She reached into the yellow bundles from earlier to pull out the manuals that came with the babies. “If either of our children starts wearing eyeliner like a raccoon I’ll know who to blame.” 

Her partner huffed. “They will not be wearing eyeliner like racoons! I am not an absent father. I will be around to teach them how to do perfect eyeliner wings.” He held up two chokers in his hand, smiling proudly. “I’ll teach them how to emo properly .”

“You’re not putting those on the kids,” Asui said, eyeing the little skull and crossbones on the chokers distastefully. “I have some spare clothes from my younger siblings I can pick up tomorrow. They can wear those.” 

Tokoyami scoffed. “In what color?! Green? ” 

“What’s wrong with green?”

“I--” Tokoyami sighed, shaking his head. “Green. The color of life. How juvenile.”

Asui blinked. “Juveni-- Tokoyami! They’re newborns !” 

“They must face the truth of life someday. We are all born to die.” Tokoyami looked off into the distance dramatically. 

“That’s the spirit!” Shinso suddenly materialized behind the two and clapped Tokoyami on the shoulder, who startled at the contact. “Teach ‘em while they’re young, Tokoyami. Better to crush their spirits earlier than later, right?”

Tokoyami nodded approvingly. “See, Asui? Someone understands the basics of parenting.”

Asui decided to ignore them, instead flipping through the manual pointedly. “To finish activation,” she read. “We have to push a button on the back and name the child. They’ll register the first word we say.” 

“First word, huh?” Shinso asked, poking the bird-headed baby that lolled back immediately, flopping onto the couch cushion like it was dead. “Where’s the button again?” 

“It said the back,” Asui said as Tokoyami picked it up, barely able to see his child through the layer of feather spray and feather dye he had assaulted his head with. 

“Did you decide on a name yet?” Shinso asked, peering over Tokoyami’s shoulder as he scrambled to find the button on the bird-headed child. “Don’t make it something stupid.”

“I won’t,” Tokoyami replied confidently. “It’ll be something classic. Like EdgarAllanPoe, all in one word. Or perhaps “Chosen One”. Ah, or maybe even something beautifully tragic, like Bleeding Heart Flower.” He didn’t seem to notice Shinso’s amusement and Asui’s simultaneous distress. “Or perhaps a namesake would do. Evanescence or My Chemical Romance would work splendidly.”

He bobbed his head, presumably in time to his internal soundtrack, which had only Bring Me To Life and Welcome to the Black Parade playing endlessly on repeat. 

“They most certainly would not do,” Asui began as she picked up the frog-headed child, but was quickly interrupted by Shinso. 

“Those are great suggestions,” he said, grinning as he wiggled two fingers over the babies’ buttons. “Think fast!” He pressed down and watched the chaos unfold.

Asui’s eyes widened in panic as she blurted “KERMIT!” At the same time, Tokoyami let out an indignant squawk, flailing and finally spitting out “PHILOSOPHER-CHAN!” before he nearly dropped the child. 

“Name: Kermit registered,” the bird-headed baby chirped in a robot tone, in tandem with the frog-headed baby declaring its own registered name to be, regrettably, “Philosopher-chan”. 

Shinso looked positively enthused. “Philosopher-chan, huh?” he asked, leaning closer to Tokoyami. “ Chan ? I didn’t know you had such cute nicknames hidden in you.” 

Tokoyami glared through the feathers obscuring his vision (in a very early 2000s emo hairstyle that he refused to grow out of-- because despite what his mother said, it was not a phase). “What about Kermit ?” he protested, staring at Asui. 

To both his and Shinso’s utter surprise, the normally stoic girl was blushing profusely as she mumbled an embarrassed response. “My first crush,” she admitted.

“You named our child after our first crush?!” Tokoyami gaped. 

“ Our? ” asked Shinso, suddenly eating a mysterious bag of popcorn that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere as he watched. 

“Why did you like Kermit?!” Asui asked, taken aback.

“I’ve always had a thing for frogs, sue me!” Tokoyami sputtered. 

Shinso nearly spit out the kernel in his mouth as Asui paused, face reddening. This reads like a bad YA romance novel , he thought to himself.

“You-- you like frogs?” Asui said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear in a movement that was strangely reminiscent of a female main character in an otome game. “I didn’t know you liked frogs.” 

Shinso stood abruptly. “And this is my cue to leave,” he said, looking a little bored with the (possibly no longer platonic) couple’s sudden turn to romance. “No need to thank me for your epiphanies,” he added, giving a lazy salute to both of them. “I have things to do, places to be, marriages to ruin. Sayonara, my frog-loving friends.” 

Tokoyami and Asui barely even heard him. 

DAY ONE, THURSDAY, 5:47 PM

“What are you up to?” Shinso asked, leaning over Ashido’s shoulder. She was fiddling with the detachable ring light on her phone, looking at it with narrowed eyes. 

Kaminari grinned widely and held up a folder of papers filled with scribbles and diagrams. “We’re starting a vlog channel!” he exclaimed, shoving the folder in Shinso’s direction. He raised an eyebrow and took it, flipping through its contents. Kaminari rambled on. “We’ve always wanted to start one, but we never knew what would be a cool eventful thing to begin the channel with, y’know? Anything eventful that happens to us is usually like… death, or kidnapping, or someone losing a limb. Totally not vlog worthy. Though I bet we would’ve gotten a lot of views still--” 

Shinso was barely paying attention, seemingly focused on something else. “Kami, as much as I agree with you about wanting to vlog Bakuhoe’s kidnapping, I have to ask; where’s the baby?” 

Kaminari waved his hand carelessly. “Oh, I don’t know. I kinda figured I’d let her roam around. She’s a free range baby.” 

Ashido nodded enthusiastically. “Duh, Shinso,” she chided. “You don’t wanna put a leash on them too early! Anyway, what’d you think about our script— where are you going?” 

Shinso had shoved the folder back into Kaminari’s hands and was hurrying out of the room to retrieve his child, unwilling to embrace his partner’s free-range philosophy.

Ashido, completely ignoring the parenting disaster that was currently occurring, picked up her phone and aimed the camera at an unassuming Iida and Urararararaka. “Your hubby’s on the case, Kami. Let’s take care of this vlog first.” 

DAY ONE, THURSDAY, 6:09 PM

The camera is a little blurry, but it quickly adjusts to the light of the room and focuses on Iida and Uraraka, smiling widely and holding their baby. 

“What’s her name?” Comes a voice from behind the camera. 

“Oh,” Uraraka smiles even wider and holds up the child. It is absolutely gorgeous, straight out of a fairy-tale. The camera zooms in on the child’s face. Despite the scrutiny, it is still annoyingly perfect. “We decided on Ingenia Akira Iida-Uraraka,” she says. The baby blinks slowly with stunningly thick, curled eyelashes. 

“Ingenia in honor of my brother and my family’s legacy,” begins Iida, off camera. “And Akira, after Uraraka’s mother--” 

“Alright, cut,” Kaminari said, crossing his arms. “As much as I love your perfect little daughter and your perfect little family, can we cut to the chase here?”

“You sound jealous,” Ashido snickers, elbowing him. 

“Do you want me to go into more depth about the name?” Iida asked. “I can explain the etymology of Ingenium, if that would help the documentary--”

“It’s a vlog ,” Kaminari corrected. “Thank you for your time, dear ~Class Prez~,” he said, somehow saying the “~” out loud in a way nobody could quite fathom, “but it’s about time we get moving to the other pairs in the class.” 

“We wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time,” Uraraka said with a smile as Kaminari and Ashido picked up their tripod and camera. 

“Right,” Kaminari said, watching the perfect little Iidachako robot baby wave bye at him with a perfect Disney Parade Princess Wave™. “That child is godly ,” he whispered to Ashido, who let out a relieved sigh.

“Being in her presence made me feel like a worthless mortal,” she muttered. “Let’s go film other people being human disasters to make us feel better about ourselves.”

Kaminari grinned. “I know just where to look.” 

DAY ONE, THURSDAY, 6:17 PM

“How do you get this shitty thing to work?” Bakugo growled, poking the sleeping baby in Midoriya’s arms. 

“Kacchan—” Midoriya protested as his partner snatched the robo-infant and began to inspect it. “Fine, I’m just going to go unwrap the next one.” He sighed and set down the heavy bag of baby chonks, which he’d been carrying on his back like a mother from a third world country, then took out the first UFC (an Unidentified Flying Chunk, if the dear readers have forgotten, a term coined by the authors in the first chapter of this marvelous saga). “Let’s read the manual before we start anything.”

“We don’t need to read the fucking manual , this isn’t rocket science , dweeb,” Bakugo grumbled, slumping into a chair. 

Midoriya only stared at him in exasperation. “Then what does that button do?” he asked, pointing at the baby’s back.

Bakugo’s first thought was Fuck if I know, but of course, being Bakugo, he couldn’t admit he didn’t know something. Instead, he made his most annoyed face and glared at the robot dozing in his hands as if it would wake up and supply him an answer. As he was contemplating the proper response to maintain his reputation, two familiar faces peeked in from the doorway. Pikachu and Racoon Eyes waltzed into the room, looking a little too excited for Bakugo’s taste.

“The hell are you two idiots doing here?” he asked, looking somewhat like a rabid dog. 

“Kacchan,” Midoriya sighed, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “You don’t need to call them idiots.”

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em.” 

Midoriya gave up and went back to reading the manual as Bakugo basked in his somewhat victory. “So are you gonna tell us what the fuck y’all are here for?!” 

Kaminari gave his most innocent, angelic smile. “Come on, Bakubro! Do we need a reason to visit our dearest friend?”

“Say the word dearest to me one more time and say goodbye to your dear face because I’m gonna--”

“Ignore him,” Midoriya said, flipping a page of the manual.

“Oh, we already do!” Ashido piped up. “We just came by to see if you would want to be in our Class 1-A vlog! We’re cataloguing everyone’s baby name choices! But Bakugo might murder us, so--” 

“Bakugo’ll be fine ,” Kaminari drawled. “Get the cameras rolling, Ashido!” 

“There’s only one camera, Kami--”

“ I said get them rolling!” 

“We still haven’t figured out how to name the babies yet,” Midoriya said, frowning at a page. “Iida said it was in the introduction.”

Bakugo had finally picked up a manual (of which, like babies, they had nine), squinting angrily at the page as if it had personally murdered his whole family in cold blood. Kaminari cast a sly wink at Ashido and subtly slid his finger over the part of the manual that described the button’s function. Bakugo’s eyes narrowed, and Ashido slowly zoomed the camera onto his face, struggling to keep the lens steady as her shoulders shook with barely-contained laughter.

Bakugo only shot her a slightly poisonous glare before picking up the baby and pressing the button on its back, ignoring Midoriya’s panicked “ wait, Kacchan!”

“ALL MIGHTY GOD OF EXPLOSIONS MURDER KING OF HELL!” he screamed at the blonde baby hanging limp from his hands. Unfazed, it opened its mouth and repeated the name back to him in a calm fashion. He grinned triumphantly at Midoriya’s stricken look, only to be interrupted by another voice. 

“Name: Kacchan , registered,” said the baby Midoriya had been holding in a voice that sounded exactly like his own (which was especially unsettling, given that the baby looked like a carbon copy of Bakugo). 

Midoriya looked horrified at the very real possibility that he’d simultaneously failed their project and ruined the future career of two fake babies. Kaminari and Ashido were ecstatic, doing absolutely nothing to hide the gleeful grins on their faces. 

“Wow, we have a “All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell” and a “Kacchan” already! What will the Midoriya-Bakugos pick next?” Ashido managed to wheeze between her cackling.

“Why the fuck did you name one Kacchan ?!” Bakugo yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. 

“It was an accident!” Midoriya yelled back. “But your blasphemy of a name wasn’t an accident! You have ruined our child’s life! How does it feel?!” 

“THE BABY IS GONNA FEEL FUCKING AWESOME!” Bakugo yelled, actually sounding earnest for once. “IT’S AN AMAZING NAME!” 

“NO IT’S NOT!” Midoriya screamed back. “I SHOULDN’T HAVE LET YOU TOUCH THEM!” 

“Mama, Papa,” said All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell in the cutest voice possible. “Do not fight. It makes All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell-chan vewy vwey sad sad.” 

“DID YOU HEAR THAT?” Midoriya’s voice was clearly straining. “LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO HIM! YOU’VE RUINED A PERFECTLY GOOD CHILD!” 

“I HAVEN’T FUCKING RUINED ANYTHING , IF ANYTHING THE WAY HE TALKS IS YOUR FAULT!” 

“Mama and Papa aren’t proud of All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell-chan,” the baby said in a melancholy tone. “All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell-chan is a disappointment.”

In a fit of blind rage, totally uncharacteristic of his normal sunshine personality, Midoriya rushed headfirst into Bakugo’s stomach and tackled him to the ground. “Wow, things are getting spicy in here,” Kaminari commented, sending a thumbs up at the camera as he gave a furtive glance to All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell, who seemed to be starting his emo phase a little early and spouting deep quotes about being unwanted to parents who were most definitely not listening. “Stay tuned for another episode soon!”

Ashido squished herself into the frame. “Don’t forget to like and subscribe if you enjoyed this vlog!” They somehow managed to end the video just before Bakugo’s flying fist caught the lens.

“If this doesn’t go viral, I’m quitting,” Kaminari said, grabbing the tripod as he and Ashido darted out of the room to avoid being collateral damage. 

DAY ONE, THURSDAY, 7:32 PM

Kaminari looked sheepish as he tiptoed into Shinso’s dorm room, noticing the sleeping baby in his partner’s arms. To his utter surprise, the corners of Shinso’s mouth were upturned ever so slightly as he gazed at the child.

“You should smile more,” Kaminari said, trying and failing to contribute to the tender moment. Shinso startled abruptly, scowling at the interruption. Kaminari only shrugged. “It makes you look like you actually slept!”

To his disappointment, Shinso’s face tightened back into his usual zombie-like expression and he rose from the bed, still cradling the child like it was a… newborn child. “Nice to see that you actually showed up,” he snapped, all his earlier sarcasm having faded away from the exhaustion that inevitably accompanied single motherhood. “This project has partners for a reason, dude.”

Kaminari sighed. “Sorry, bro! Filming a documentary is really tiring.” He ignored Shinso’s quiet snark — “And parenting isn’t?” — and flopped onto the floor. “You should’ve been there! Bakugo and Midoriya had the best names for their children—”

Kaminari suddenly shot straight up from the floor and gasped. “Shinso! We still have to name our kid! And I have the perfect name!” He began to hum a familiar tune before stepping towards Shinso, casually beckoning for the baby as if he wasn’t about to commit a grievous and unforgivable sin. 

Shinso’s eyes widened comically and he backed away. “You are not humming Life is a Highway right now, Kaminari. You hear me? You are not !”

Kaminari only continued to hum the cursed melody before somehow managing to wrestle the baby away from his partner. Shinso could only watch in pure horror as Kaminari pressed the button, grinning at him the entire time like he was a psychopath. 

Shinso covered his ears as if that could prevent the crime from occurring, but it did nothing to muffle the cursed words that filtered out of the baby’s speaker.

“Name: Lightning McQueen, registered,” it chirped cheerfully.

DAY ONE, THURSDAY, 8:15 PM

Aizawa would’ve liked to say he was surprised when he found his son lying on the floor of his dorm room, earphones in, blasting Chasing Cars at top volume, but he’d been in the same situation far too many times to have any grounds to complain. 

Instead he sighed and nudged the boy with a boot. “And I expected you to be the responsible one,” he scolded, casting a suspicious glance at Kaminari, who was making some ungodly noises at their child while trying to coax it to drink from its bottle. “Is he supposed to be cooing at it?” 

Shinso opened his eyes, and Aizawa was taken aback by his stricken expression. Those were the eyes of a traumatized person. Was he having a flashback? Aizawa kneeled beside him instinctively. “I-I was too late to stop him,” Shinso said, voice trembling, staring at something in the distance.

Aizawa placed an arm comfortingly on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Shinso,” he said, lowering his voice to avoid startling the shaking student. “Whatever happened isn’t your fault.”

Shinso shook his head in dismay. “It is,” he said, choking back a sob. 

“Take your time,” Aizawa said soothingly. 

Shinso wiped his eyes before pointing an accusing finger in Kaminari’s direction. Aizawa’s concerned gaze turned confused. “H-he named the baby Lightning McQueen .”

Aizawa stared at him for a long moment before withdrawing his arm and grinning. “I take it all back,” he said. “That is 100% your fault.” 

DAY ONE, THURSDAY, 9:04 PM

“You really got kicked out by your father-in-law on day one?!” Ashido cackled, nearly doubling over as Kaminari explained why he was now homeless. 

“Leave me alone,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “It’s a perfect name.”

“You’re hopeless.” 

“Are we going to finish this vlog or what?” Kaminari clicked the record button on his phone, holding it at his ~ultimate vlog angle~ (which, after months of assiduous testing, he had painstakingly figured out was a 34.5 degree angle upwards) as he walked down the hall, Ashido in tow. “We’re going to go check in on Bakubro and Midoriya,” he explained, nearly falling down the stairs with his astounding grace as he did so. 

“Hopefully they didn’t kill each other,” Ashido laughed. 

Kaminari snickered. “I want to say that that would be terrible, but a vlog ain’t a vlog without some good ol’ murder, amirite?”

“As usual, girly girl, your moral compass is a lil sus,” Ashido mumbled, transitioning into her mother tongue, Twitter Speak, for absolutely no reason. “But oops honestly same though, so who am I to judge?”  

“Shhh, we’re here,” Kaminari said, gesticulating wildly, making the camera shake. “It’s super quiet! Do you think they’re actually dead?!” 

Ashido slowly cracked the door open, holding her breath and fully expecting to see the aftermath of a brutal murder, bloody footprints and all. But instead, the duo walked in on Midoriya doting on all nine of his children, not a drop of blood to be seen. 

“ Did he already clean up the body?! ” Ashido whispered hurriedly to Kaminari. 

“Dude, even the police tape is gone!” he responded, looking both horrified and impressed.

Midoriya looked up. “Kaminari, Ashido, you’re back!” He said, turning to them. His eyebags rivalled Shinso’s despite his ordeal having only started this afternoon. The way his eyes stared at Kaminari unblinkingly made him feel like he was in grave danger.  “What’s this about police tape?” 

“Nothing!” the blonde squeaked. “M-more importantly,” he stammered. “W-where’s Bakubro?” Kaminari expected his cheerful classmate to reply with “the dumpster,” or even worse, “on his way to meet my father.”

Instead, Midoriya jabbed his thumb towards Bakugo’s dorm room. “He’s already sleeping.”

“It’s 9:00,” Kaminari said. “An ungodly hour for him, what would you expect?”

“Maybe Midoriya took him out a while ago,” Ashido whispered. “Did he mean to say sleeping with the fishes? ” 

“What the fuck is all this racket about?!” The grandpa-esque phrase was punctuated by a grumpily grandpa-esque Bakugo beating down his door with a grandpa-esque glare. 

“BAKUBRO! YOU’RE ALIVE!” Kaminari yelled, wiping away tears of joy. “I was sure you were a goner! Not that you didn’t deserve it, but I feel obligated to mourn you anyways--”

Ashido winced. “I wasn’t going to mourn you, I just wanted to play up the murder angle for the  vlog to be honest.”

Bakugo, in his half-asleep state, looked more bewildered than angry for once. “Who the hell said I was dead?!” 

“Midoriya looked happy, so we thought--” 

“ Deku?! The shitty nerd couldn’t kill me if he tried!” 

“I won the fight!” Midoriya chirped in response, just as Bakugo sneered, “I got bored.”

“Right,” Midoriya said, still smiling eerily. “So I got to name the rest of the kids. With nice, respectable names, may I add.” 

Kaminari sighed in disappointment. “Sorry gang,” he said to the camera. “Looks like we’re calling it in early. No more drama for tonight—”

“Wait,” Ashido interrupted. “Can we hear them anyway? I kinda wanna know what Midoriya’s standards of respectability are.”

Midoriya beamed. “Really?!” 

“Go for it,” Kaminari sighed, slumping against a wall in premature boredom. 

“Well,” Midoriya said, fiddling his fingers nervously as looking over the children all lined up on the couch. “You already know the one that Kacchan took the liberty of naming,” he said, gesturing to a blonde spiky haired child that had Midoriya’s eyes. All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell did not suit the perpetual pout and tears in the child’s eyes. “And you know that by accident, this one was named Kacchan,” he said, pointing to the little girl that, aside from her freckles, looked exactly like Bakugo. “But I did better with the rest of the names.” 

Kaminari gave Ashido a look as if to say, we have to sit through this now?? 

“So the first one, I decided on Toshinori Might Boy,” Midoriya said, patting the first child with the demon voice they had unwrapped in the classroom on the head. “I wanted to keep the same theme of honoring All Might with the other children, but I also wanted the names to be diverse and dignified.” 

Ashido and Kaminari’s jaws dropped to the floor, boredom long forgotten as Midoriya continued to list the names of his children with the serious tone he reserved only for his ramblings on quirk analysis. Are you hearing this? Kaminari mouthed at the camera. 

“...we have Nori All-Might-Junior, Noritoshi Mighty-Man, Gi Tall-Might, Yagi Y’all Might, and Toshi All-Mighty, and I had a lot of other names to choose from, but I went for these specifically because…” Midoriya did not seem to be stopping any time soon. Kaminari looked at Bakugo, expecting a reaction of horror (if he was hearing these for the first time), resignation (if he had already heard them), or perhaps even existential dread (as he regretted all the decisions he had ever made in life).

But instead, he was grinning his regular maniacal grin, with an extra hint of aggressive pride attached to it. Kaminari elbowed Ashido. “ Does he actually like the names?!” he whispered under his breath. 

Ashido followed his gaze and paled. “We need to get out of here,” she mumbled back. “I think their crazy is contagious.” 

DAY ONE, THURSDAY, 9:31 PM

Ojiro opened the door of his dorm in response to the hurried knocks. He let it drift open a sliver, peaking through it to see Kaminari and Ashido brandishing a camera and tripod. “Hey, what are you guys doing here?”

“We’re vlogging!” Kaminari chirped. “Would you mind if we got a little bit of you and Hagakure with the baby? An invisible baby would be such a fun thumbnail—“

“Oh, sorry,” Ojiro laughed nervously. “Hagakure and the baby are both sleeping, wouldn’t want to wake them up, right?”

“We can just quietly get a picture and leave,” Ashido said.

“No, it’s— it’s not a good time right now, guys,” Ojiro said a little more forcefully, still standing protectively in front of the door. “We can try another time, alright?” Before either of them could protest, he quickly shut and locked the door, collapsing with his back against it. 

“Are they gone?!” Hagakure asked, still sounding stuffy from her residual cold from the morning. 

“I think so,” Ojiro whispered back. “Any luck?!”

Hagakure made a distinct wincing sound. “No,” she muttered sheepishly. She climbed up from behind Ojiro’s bed, where she had hidden upon Kaminari and Ashido’s arrival. 

“We’re screwed,” Ojiro moaned, dropped into his desk chair with his head in his hands. “How did we manage to lose a whole baby ?!”

Hagakure  patted his shoulder sympathetically. “In our defense, it was invisible.” 

“Aizawa-sensei’s gonna murder us,” Ojiro lamented in turn. 

“We can run away together and change our identities and join the Princess Protection Program,” Hagakure supplied in earnest. 

The sentiment was so sweet that in lieu of telling her that (1.) the Princess Protection Program was a Disney Channel Original Movie and not a real project and (2.) reminding her of the reality that neither of them was a princess anyways, Ojiro just smiled and blushed, imagining being on the run with Hagakure. “That sounds like a plan,” he said, looking away. “Definitely a plan.” 

DAY ONE, THURSDAY, 9:36 PM

“What was with Ojiro?” Ashido wondered out loud. 

“Maybe we caught him in the middle of tail maintenance,” Kaminari offered matter-of-factly.

“Does he do that?!”

“Have you seen how fluffy his tail is??” Kaminari sputtered. “Of course he does tail maintenance! I swear, he needs to give me his conditioning routine because honestly, my hair’s been extra dry lately.” 

Ashido shook her head in disbelief. “Anyways, I’ll have the video edited by 3am,” she said, pulling out the keys to her room. “We can post it tomorrow before class.”

“You’re such a queen,” Kaminari said in response. “I have to go find Shinso -- he’s gonna murder me in cold blood if I don’t start helping him with the baby soon.”

“At least it’ll make for good content.”

“I love how much you care about me.”

With that heartfelt exchange, Kaminari took off to scout for his baby daddy and his baby, only to find them on a couch in the commons. “Yo, Shinso!!!” He yelled. “How’s Lightning McQueen??” 

“Don’t call him that,” Shinso growled, arranging the baby’s blanket around its body in a gentle manner that seemed completely out of sync with his abrasive tone. 

Kaminari just grinned. “I saw you laughing at Tokoyami and Asui’s Philosopher-Chan and Kermit , man. I know you thrive on chaos.”

Shinso huffed in response. “Not when it has to do with my chi—my project .”

Kaminari’s grin widened. “Your child? Did you just admit—“

“Anyway,” Shinso interrupted, standing from the couch and stretching. “We still need to take a picture of…” he paused, then reluctantly spat, “Lighty.”

Kaminari laughed, realizing that was the best he was gonna get. “Alright, let me hold Lighty-Chan while you get the camera!”

“You don’t need to hold him,” Shinso said, looking at Kaminari with distrusting eyes. 

“Look at him, of course I do!” said Kaminari. Shinso followed his gaze to see how the robot baby flopped over in Shinso’s arms like a limp noodle. “We don’t want him turning out like you !”

As Shinso finally managed to convince himself that Kaminari wouldn’t accidentally murder their child (after all, not even Kaminari was that much of an idiot), handing the limp baby to his partner, a scream from the very depths of hell (aka Jirou and Momo’s Present Mic hell-baby) rang throughout the dorm. The entire building seemed to vibrate with the force of the scream, the lights flickering on and off and the glasses in the kitchen clinking together dangerously. 

Far away in the staff apartments, Aizawa sensed a ~disturbance in the force~, but he shrugged it off, thinking Mic was just hosting another solo karaoke night. 

The light in the commons went off completely. Shinso could distantly hear the chaos of all nine yelling bakudeku children. Iida’s and Aoyama’s yelling also joined the masses. Shinso didn’t even want to consider what must have happened for Aoyama to want to raise his voice. 

“What in the world just happened?” Shinso stumbled on the rug, fingers grappling to find his phone and turn on the flashlight. “Kaminari, are you dead?”

There was no response. 

Is he actually dead? Am I a widower? Shinso whirled around, flashlight sweeping across the room until it landed on a hunched figure on the ground. 

“Wheyyyy,” said a familiar voice. 

Oh no, Shinso thought, horror running through his veins. Oh no, oh god no, oh no —  There, on the floor, was Kaminari, completely fried and holding a similarly fried looking child in his arms. 

“Kami,” Shinso was panicking, shaking the blonde as the lights flickered back on. “You idiot ,” he pried the baby out of Kaminari’s hands, wincing at the static electricity that kept shocking him. “Kami, you—“

The baby in his hands was limper than before. It was no longer blinking lazily or drooling, but rather frighteningly still. Shinso dropped to his knees. “Kami, you killed our child!” 

“Heweehg,” Kaminari replied eloquently. 

“I-I’m gonna be stuck reading a eulogy for a baby named Lightning McQueen ,” Shinso lamented, panic rising in his chest at the very thought. 

Kaminari blinked. “Sejsofiejej,” he agreed. 

“He never even had a chance,” Shinso continued, burying his face in his hands. “Not that he would’ve had much of a future with that name coupled with that face, but still !” 

“Udksndud,” Kaminari blubbered in response. 

Shinso sighed and pulled himself together, having resigned himself to his fate. “I guess we’re gonna have to fake it till we make it,” he said, glaring at Kaminari. “You can hold him as much as you want, now.”

“Wjfndiwisdj!” Kaminari said happily, holding Lighty-Chan closer to his chest. 

Shinso sighed. “I’m boutta get Dad of the Year, I can already tell.” 

DAY ONE, THURSDAY, 10:03 PM

When Aizawa walked into his UA-sponsored apartment at the end of a taxing day (in which he learned that his robot grandson was named Lightning McQueen ), he had been planning to do his usual chores, spend some time with Eri and his cats, and then try to at least catch a few measly hours of sleep. 

What he was not expecting, however, was the presence of a certain hellspawn sprawled across his living room couch, holding hands with his precious daughter. 

Somehow he managed not to strangle the gremlin in front of Eri (she did not need more trauma, and a murder charge honestly seemed like too much of a hassle anyway), and instead greeted his daughter with a tense smile.

“Hey, kid,” Aizawa said, fondly patting her head as she came rushing up to embrace him. While she buried her face in his scarf, he glared pointedly at Kouta, who only smirked smugly in response.

Watch yourself, kid , he mouthed. Kouta just grinned wider and sauntered over to Eri, then put on the most innocent expression he’d ever seen a child wear.

“Eri-chan!” he sang. “Akari’s hungry! We have to go feed her.”

Eri looked at Aizawa for approval, eyes wide and tiny hands still clinging to his scarf, and he unwillingly caved. Ignoring Kouta’s triumphant look — the little heathen was really asking for an early funeral, wasn’t he? — he nodded stiffly. “Sure.” 

Eri beamed and ran back to the couch to retrieve her baby. “Let’s go, Kouta-chan!” Aizawa’s eye twitched at the nickname. Unable to take it any longer, he stood to his full height and activated his quirk, looming over the boy like a giant demonic octopus.

“I need to talk to you first , Kouta-chan ,” said the aforementioned octopus, unraveling his tentacley scarf for emphasis. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Yamada was busying himself in the kitchen when he heard a scream from the living room. Shouta’s gonna kill me if anything happens to those kids , he thought frantically, sprinting back to the room. To his astonishment, he found Aizawa on the verge of homicide.

“Shouta, what are you doing ?” he cried, rushing forward to shield Kouta from his friend’s wrath.

“Giving the kid what he deserves,” Aizawa said, eyes still glowing red. 

Yamada scrambled to push his friend back. “Let’s talk about this--”

“Let go of me, Hizashi, I can take him—”

“You’re not going to fight a child!” Yamada yelled as Kouta grabbed Eri’s hand behind him, staring oh-so-innocently up at the two adults. 

Aizawa caught sight of Eri’s frightened expression and immediately blinked, releasing Kouta from his capture weapon.

“See, kids,” Yamada said with a relieved smile. “You can trust Yamama to calm your dear Dadzawa down.” 

The smile slipped off his face as Aizawa lunged towards him and he let out a pathetic squeak, trying in vain to pat the capture weapon down like it was an unruly dog. “Shouta, we need to talk, now, ” he stressed, pushing him towards the kitchen and shooting a bright smile back at the kids. “You two go back to playing house, alright?”

“ DO NOT go back to--” 

The kitchen door closed behind them. 

“What was daddy saying?” Eri asked Kouta, bewildered.

Kouta shrugged, knowing exactly what “daddy” was saying. “I don’t know,” he lied. “Let’s go take care of the baby!”

Aizawa was pressed up against the doorway, trying to hear the conversation going on outside the kitchen. “Who does that little brat think he is?” he snarled.

“Sho, you need to calm down.” 

“Hizashi, I am the farthest thing from calm right now. Why is that—” he sputtered for a moment, throwing his hands up in the air as he tried to find the words to describe the monster on the other side of the door. “ —heathen in my house?”

Yamada looked sheepish, giving an awkward smile in response. “Uh, well, I might’ve been talking to his aunt on the phone,” he admitted, avoiding Aizawa’s piercing gaze. “And uh…” he swallowed, the next words all coming out in a barely-decipherable rush. “I might’ve asked his aunt to let Kouta-chan stay over for a week I don’t know I’m leaving and I’m joining the witness protection program goodbye--” He made for the door, only to be tackled viciously by his enraged friend, face meeting the tile floor with a wicked thud. 

“Your man has to answer for his words,” Aizawa said. 

Yamada’s face lit up, despite being inches away from death. “Is that Hamilton ? Have you been listening to my song recommendations?!” 

“That’s none of your business, and completely besides the point!” Aizawa snapped, though his face reddened imperceptibly, because honestly, Dear Theodosia was a bop.

“‘ Zawaaaaa! ” Yamada groaned. “Eri and Kouta are just in their honeymoon phase! Leave them alone!”

“Their honeymoon what?!”

“Don’t you remember,” Yamada mumbled from where his face was squished into the floor. “We went through that too.” 

“ We are not dating! ”

“You’ll come around one day, Sho.” 

“Yeah, to kill you, maybe,” Aizawa shot back, unrelenting.

Yamada glared up from the floor. “Figure it out, it’s either me or Joke. Your choice.”

Aizawa groaned and finally released his hold. “I’m taking Joke,” he said, brushing himself off. “She’s funnier.”

The expression of utter betrayal on Yamada’s face was priceless as he scrambled up, clutching at his chest like a maiden violated. “I’m calling Joke and telling her that!” He spat as Aizawa made for the doorway. “Have fun, traitor! ” 

Yamada: 0, Aizawa: 0, Kouta: 1

DAY TWO, FRIDAY, 4:07 AM

Comments: 

totallynottouyatodoroki: the shouto stans aren’t being fed rip

 

teamedward: more blood pwetty pwease (๑>◡<๑)

 

7rings: where is All Might please disclose his exact schedule thanks in advance 

 

middleAgedMutantNinjaTurtle: FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

 

headFullTooManyThoughts: i loved it pls make another one <333 this was awful I hope your account gets suspended >:( 

 

slimJimMagician: CLICK THIS LINK to find out how to LOSE WEIGHT FAST!!! weigh only GRAMS!! 🥰 

Chapter Text

DAY TWO: FRIDAY, 8:03 AM

“Kami!!” Ashido hissed, poking him harshly. “Did you see?! We got so many comments on the vlog!” 

“Of course we did, darling,” Kaminari drawled in a British accent, still half-fried from the night before. 

Shinso peered over his shoulder and scoffed, still not having forgiven Kaminari for his earlier crimes. “Don’t those usernames look a little suspicious to you?” he said, pointing at one. “Why is this one asking for All Might’s location?”

“Maybe they’re just a crazy All Might simp,” Kaminari said. “Don’t pretend you didn’t do the same thing during your Eraserhead phase!”

“It wasn’t a phase --”

“Right, it’s a lifestyle.” 

Shinso glared. “Aren’t you a little blase having just murdered my son?” 

“So you admit he’s your son?” Kaminari shot back. 

Shinso dropped his face into his hands, groaning. “It doesn’t matter whose child he is, you killed him!” 

Kaminari let out a stilted sigh. “Are you going to let a little accidental infanticide get between us and what we had, Shinso?” 

Before Shinso could throttle the blonde, the door opened, letting in a certain sleep deprived teacher, glaring at his class and their babies (in Bakugo and Midoriya’s case, their pile of babies). 

“Good morning,” Aizawa sighed, trudging to the front of the class. The students replied in an equally exhausted fashion, and if he squinted, he could see eyebags (still in their larvae stage and definitely nowhere near his designer-level eye suitcases) beginning to form on their faces. “I hope you all enjoyed your first night as parents.”

He paused when Midoriya’s hand shot up (how the child was still filled with energy after spending the night with 9 babies, he would never know). “And before you ask, Midoriya, no, it doesn’t get any easier. Any other questions?”

Ashido just about catapulted out of her seat. “AIZAWA SENSEI!” She yelled, gesturing wildly at Kaminari to start filming. He complied, hands still shaky and sparking. “What inspired you to make the babies the way they are?? Why the personalized robots? How did you design them?!”

Aizawa just blinked at the sudden onslaught of questions. “Hatsume asked me to make babies with her,” he replied flatly. 

Shinso choked on his tongue. “She what?! I’m telling Mic! ” Before Aizawa could protest, his son bounded out of the room.

Kaminari, still stuck in his British accent, gasped very Britishly. “Aizawa Sensei!!” He said, mixing a cup of tea on his desk that nobody was sure where and when it had appeared. “THAT’S ILLEGAL!” 

“Sensei,” Iida began, pushing up his glasses and flipped through his copy of the Japanese constitution that Urarararaka had gotten him for Christmas, “since Hatsume is underage, this would likely lead to a police trial and a subsequent removal of Eri, Shinso, and the class of 1A from you—“

“They’re gonna give us to Present Mic!” Ashido moaned, flopping over dramatically. 

Aizawa glared at the rambunctious crowd of idiots in front of him and sighed. “If they gave you to Present Mic, you’re going to be 22 screaming bananas. Do you want that?” He looked at each of them in turn, seeing fear in their eyes. “ Do you?” 

Present Mic chose that exact moment to rush into the classroom, which, as a teacher with a job, he really should have no business of doing, but for the sake of plot and the authors wanting a reaction out of him, he rushed in like he had nowhere else to be anyways.

“Shouta!” he wailed. “I know you said you’d rather date Joke than me, but this is too much! There’s no way Hatsume Mei could be better than me.”

Shinso gasped. “Dad!!” He exclaimed, standing up. “You can’t leave Yamama like that! How could you!” 

Aizawa gave up and crawled into his sleeping bag, zipping it up over his face. “Never talk to me again,” he groaned.

“Aizawa-Senseiiiiii,” Ashido whined. “Come outtttt, Kami and I need another 6 minutes of film to get monetized!” 

“Yamama,” Shinso said, “I’ll fight for you! I won’t let him abandon my mother like that!”

Yamama wiped away tears. “Shinso, this is one of the best days of my life, second only to the day I gave birth to you.”

Aizawa sat up, still cocooned like a poofy yellow caterpillar. “For the last time, Yamada , you’re not his mother,” he insisted through the zipper. “ And he’s adopted !”

Yamama sighed and patted Shinso on the head. “Don’t mind your father, Shinso, he’s just having a moment . I have to go now, I have a homewrecker named Hatsume Mei to talk to (completely obliterate), you go on and have fun in class, alright?” Ignoring Aizawa’s indignant sputtering, Yamada turned and walked out of the room. 

The class immediately erupted into pandemonium, poor Iida yelling and trying to calm everyone down. “ Please stop yelling !” He yelled. “The babies are going to wake up!” Everyone continued making a racket, not even acknowledging poor Iida’s ~perpetually pulsating~ presence.  

“W-what are you doing, Shinso?” The purple-haired student was crouched down next to Aizawa’s sleeping bag, carefully laying out a trail of jelly pouches from the man’s head to the podium at the front of the class.

Shinso only put a finger to his lips and continued forming the trail. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “This is a tried and true method to coax the wild Aizawa-sensei out of his natural habitat. You just have to be gentle and quiet.”

At that, Aizawa’s angry face materialized and he lunged at his insubordinate son (he was really taking after him, wasn’t he?) “You’re grounded,” he snarled.

“There he is!” Shinso said, dodging Aizawa’s scarf and bowing like he’d just performed the magic act of the century. The class clapped in genuine amazement.

“Golly, that’s a wonder, innit?” Kaminari said, still doing a terrible accent. “ENCORE!” 

“Is he ever going to stop that?” Kirishima whispered to Ashido, looking concerned. “I’m a little worried.”

“He’ll be fine, babe,” Ashido said, patting her boyfriend’s shoulder. “Remember that one time he got fried and only spoke in Bee Movie quotes? He got past that, so I’m sure he’ll be over this in a bit too.” 

“I’m taking one more question,” Aizawa said, choosing to pretend that everything from the past 1035 words hadn’t just occurred. “And no, not from you heathens.” He glared pointedly at Kaminari and Ashido. 

Momo raised her hand shyly. “Sensei,” she began, voice sounding as tired as Aizawa felt. “Why is Jirou and my baby a little Present Mic?” 

“It was a dark and stormy night,” Aizawa whispered, staring out the classroom’s non-existent windows. His fingers clenched into tight fists, and a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. The class had never seen their teacher so tense. 

“I’d just come back from patrol, soaked and shivering, and not just from the rain. The cold fingers of loneliness had wrapped themselves around my heart.” He paused and looked at them tenderly. “The only consolation for my predicament was the family I’d managed to find in you children. But that was ruined with one single sentence.”

Aizawa clasped a shaking hand to his heart and posed dramatically, as if he was suddenly the male lead of a 90’s shoujo, then he looked straight into Jirou’s eyes. “It was your fault, Jirou Kyouka,” he lamented. “You broke my inner Dadzawa that dreadful, dreary night.”

“Did he just call himself Dadzawa?” someone in the background muttered.

“I was never the same again,” Aizawa mourned, tears trailing down his cheeks. “Not after you said that—” he choked on the words, unable to finish the sentence. After a moment of quiet sniffles, he collected himself and glared at Jirou. “Not after you said that you preferred Yamama over me.” 

Tears began to stream down Jirou’s face. “I- I never meant to hurt your sensitive Dadzawa heart!” she insisted. “I was talking about Yamama’s hair!”

At that, Aizawa simply collapsed.

“I wanted to annoy Mic,” Aizawa said instead, breaking out of his thoughts. That was weird , he thought to himself, quickly moving on. “Anyways, this morning I’m going to be collecting your babies’ birth certificates and initial photos.” He began his round around the room, beginning with an excited Ashido and overly proud papa Kirishima. He picked up the birth certificate, blinking in disbelief. “Your child’s name is what ?” 

“Eijiroida Mirishima Kirishimshido,” Kirishima said, like that was something to be proud of. 

“Our baby is a symbol of our love,” Ashido said, clasping a hand over her heart. “We decided to put our names together to name her!” 

“You named her after your worst ship names,” Shinso commented drily. 

Aizawa glared at him. “Better than Lightning McQueen, though, don’t you think?”

Shinso made an offended face. “Not my fault,” he said as Aizawa came over to collect his and Kaminari’s birth certificate. 

“It most definitely is,” Aizawa replied, looking over at Kaminari who was cuddling the baby a little too violently. “The kid is looking a little concerning.”

“What evah do you mean?!” Kaminari asked, apparently still in his British mode. “Lighty-chan is just sleeping! ”

“Sleeping like the dead ,” Shinso muttered around his breath, hoping his dad hadn’t heard it. Thankfully, he just shook his head and walked past them, smiling widely as he collected Iida and Uraraka’s birth certificate, giving Ingenia Akira an affectionate pat on the head. 

“He acts like that’s his daughter!” Shinso scoffed (no, he was definitely not jealous.)

“Maybe he would’ve been more affectionate with your baby if you hadn’t named it after an animated car,” Kirishima offered unhelpfully. “Lightning McQueen was a dick at first too.” 

“He’s not a dick ,” Kaminari muttered, transitioning to a more Cockney British accent. “He is a complex character with a lot of development over the series, especially in Cars 2, arguably the pinnacle of the franchise.” 

“You did not say Cars 2 is the best one!”  Iida said, sounding offended. “On behalf of people with engines, I must say we got our best representation in the original Cars !” 

Kaminari folded his arms. “And what’re you gonna do about it?” he challenged. “ I must say that we Brits got amazing representation in the second film. Especially us British spies.” 

“ Mon cheríe,” Aoyama sighed. “You are not British.” Everyone stared at him, wondering if this was some self-aware joke, but he seemed completely at ease with his statement, staring at everyone unblinkingly. Aizawa sighed as he neared the ~flamboyant~ not-French boy’s desk, looking at his and Todoroki’s birth certificates. “You really went with Todo Briller and Roki Briller ?” 

Todoroki nodded silently. Aoyama grinned, flipping his hair. “Everything needs a bit of briller!” He flung a fistful of glitter at Aizawa’s face. “Now you are fabuleux !”

“I never asked for this,” Aizawa muttered, resigning himself to his fate and ambling over to Sato and Sero, the latter of which greeted him with a handful of suspicious green plants. “Just give me the birth certificate,” Aizawa sighed, closing his eyes to the worrisome child in front of him. 

Sero started, somehow having forgotten the whole point of Aizawa’s rounds around the room, scrambling to push aside the slam poetry about Oklahoman orphans he had been working on to unearth a birth certificate with suspicious stains on it. “Here!” 

Aizawa snatched the paper without even looking at it and hurried away, eager to escape the chaotic scene, when—

“Say bye to Sensei, Mary Juana!” Sero exclaimed. Aizawa choked on his coffee and immediately shoved the certificate back into Sero’s hands.

“ Change it, ” he hissed. “You cannot name your child after drugs .”

“But Sensei,” Sero whined. “It’s ethnic! ”

Aizawa promptly turned on his heel and walked off. He did not get paid enough for this. “Koda, Shouji, please be normal,” he said, letting out a relieved sigh upon seeing their child was named “John Doe” (which was because the authors got too tired to come up with another name). 

He stopped in front of Asui and Tokoyami, looked at their birth certificates, blinked, and sighed. “Why?” he said simply, reconsidering all of his life choices. “I’m starting to regret everything , Nemuri,” he muttered under his breath. To his surprise, a wise, high-pitched voice responded.

“What makes you believe you and your feelings have significance in a world this large?” asked the frog-headed child. “Are we all not just poor lost souls, longing to be truly seen by another?” 

“Don’t mind Philosopher-Chan,” Asui croaked. “He’s going through a bit of a phase.” 

“Of course,” Aizawa murmured, completely ignoring her. “How could I have missed it before? I’ve seen the Truth.”

“Is that a Full Metal Alchemist reference?” Shinso asked. 

“You can’t reference other anime,” Aoyama said, deadly serious. “It will disturb the balance.” He looked at the authors pointedly. “Stop before this brings down the very world,” he said. 

Aizawa blinked as if he’d just woken out of a trance and moved on to Ojiro and Hagakure’s desks. He stopped and stared at Ojiro, who looked like he was miming cradling a baby. “Is the baby naked?” He asked, squinting at his student’s arms. 

“Uh,” Ojiro looked at Hagakure in a barely concealed panic. “Yes! It’s a very hot baby.” 

Aizawa raised an eyebrow as Ojiro’s face turned red. 

“NOT HOT AS IN LIKE SEXY FBI OPEN UP HOT!!!” He blubbered, glancing at his partner only to find she was flailing similarly. “Hot as in like, tropical hot!”

“Tropical,” Aizawa repeated drily. 

“I mean,” Ojiro mumbled, sounding almost like Midoriya. “I’m not saying Hagakure and I had a tropical exotic baby, what I mean to say is that the baby is… not cool. Not cool as in “too cool for school” but cool as in cold. Because in fact, the baby is not cool, it is warm.” He swallowed. “Yes, warm. The baby is warm. As warm as they can be. Because babies are warm. Like not too warm, but an average baby warmth. I definitely know the average warmth of babies.” 

“36.1 to 37.9 degreees Celsius,” Aizawa said with no hesitation, reaching forward. “Does it have a fever? Let me—“

“NO!” Ojiro said, jerking backward. Aizawa raised his other eyebrow. “I mean—“ he glanced at Hagakure, who finally pried her mouth open. 

“We, uh….” she looked over at Kaminari, who had now donned a hat and was eating finger sandwiches off a platter. “We were inspired by Kaminari’s free range parenting approach!” She blurted. “We are going to make our child strong and self reliable!”

“Why, thank you, darling!” Kaminari said with a flattered British giggle.

“Right,” Aizawa sighed, dragging a hand down his face. I’m not going to question it. I’m not going to question it. He repeated the mantra in his head (a poor attempt at trying to regain his sanity) even as he made his way over to Bakugo and Midoriya. Aizawa took one look at Midoriya’s beaming smile and Bakugo’s surprisingly smug expression before snatching the thick stack of birth certificates off their desk and stalking off without a word. 

Better not to waste words , he thought. I’m running out of eyebrows to raise . Aizawa sighed in stark relief as he finally reached the last students. Momo and Jirou were the responsible ones — he could trust them to come up with a completely normal name.

Mic Wazowski , read Momo’s perfect founding fathers’ cursive. Aizawa promptly walked out of the room and didn’t come back.

DAY TWO, FRIDAY: 12:03 PM

“So what did Eri and Kouta name their baby?” Ashido asked later at lunch, feeding Kirishima a chip in a show of PDA that made Kaminari gag. 

Shinso snorted, though a tiny smile had appeared on his face. “Akari,” he said softly.

“Akari?” Kaminari asked through a mouthful of sandwich, thankfully having shed his British accent. “Like the video game company?”

“No dude, that’s Atari,” Kirishima said, now sharing a noodle with Ashido in Lady and the Tramp fashion. Even Shinso looked a little disturbed.

“Same difference,” Kaminari mumbled. 

“Oh, shut it, Lightning McQueen,” Ashido said, rolling her eyes as she began to braid Kirishima’s hair. 

“Do you guys just get more and more touchy-feely as time goes on?” Shinso asked in despair. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kirishima replied, hauling Ashido into his lap so he could hug her to the best of his ability. 

“Maybe we should try it,” Kaminari said, looking at Shinso, who scowled back and shook his head adamantly. “C’mon, dude, I hear PDA is good for restoring broken relationships!”

“I--” Shinso didn’t even have time to retaliate before Kaminari hopped into his lap and embraced him. Shinso scowled and pushed the blonde off with as much force as he could muster. “Get off me!”

Kaminari pouted as he plopped to the ground with an unceremonious “umph”. “Boo, you whore,” he groaned, getting up and rubbing his butt. “Fine, you just won’t get this glorious piece of ass.” With that stunning prelude, he walked straight over and flopping on top of Ashido, cackling all the way. “I have ascended! ”

Kirishima grinned and pumped his fist in the air. “As a manly macho machismo man, I can hold BOTH of you at the same time! Activating manly hugging power !”

“ You can!” Ashido grumbled, shoving Kaminari off. “But I don’t wanna be squished under his bony ass!” Kaminari was dumped to the ground for the second time that day, glaring up at everyone angrily. 

“I just want love and affection!” he wailed. “Is that too much to ask?” He held his arms out to Shinso, who raised an eyebrow and promptly shoved Lightning McQueen into his hands. 

“Our dead son can give you all the love and affection you ever wanted.”

“He’s not dead , Shinso, Lighty-chan’s just sleeping!” Kaminari sputtered, pulling himself up off the floor. 

“You keep telling yourself that,” Shinso muttered.

“He’s just a heavy sleeper,” Kaminari said, poking the baby’s head as it flopped over to the other side limply. “Just super, super heavy.” 

“Huh?!” Sero sputtered, suddenly waking up from his own heavy nap. “I don’t know anything about the Chilean hot air balloon scandal! I’m innocent! ” 

Shinso turned to him. “You can’t honestly say you didn’t participate in the Santiago parachute revolution,” he challenged, glaring earnestly. 

“I swear I had nothing to do with that! I never went to law school! ” Sero protested.

Shinso frowned. “That’s not what the chickens told me,” he mumbled, scribbling something in a notebook that had somehow materialized on his lap.

“Oh, really?” Sero squeaked, incredulous. “Well, those chicken snitches are goddamn liars !” he yelled, standing up. “You’ll never get anything on me!” With that, he catapulted out of his seat and Naruto-ran out of the room, everyone’s gaze following him for a moment before they all returned to their regularly scheduled programming. 

“Babe, Kami and I have some filming to do,” Ashido said, completely ignoring the conversation that had just transpired. She got up and booped Kirishima’s nose. “We’ll be back in a bit.” 

“I’ll be waiting for you, babe!” Kirishima said, looking like a golden retriever watching his human leave. 

Kaminari brandished his camera, knocking it into baby Lightning McQueen’s head on accident, but carrying on like nothing had happened at all. “Let’s get that bread, Ashido!” The duo took off towards the other lunch tables, talking excitedly. 

Shinso breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back, eyes wandering over the rest of the class. He spotted Tokoyami and Asui squabbling over in the corner, with Asui waving a fried grasshopper in her partner’s face, blocking him from feeding a worm to Philosopher-chan. Amused, he rose and made his way over to their table.

““And here I was thinking you two love-frogs had everything under control,” he said, a completely serious expression on his face. Asui glared at him, but Tokoyami looked relieved. 

“Thank Evanescence you’re here,” he chirped. “Please tell Asui that it’s completely illogical to feed this—” he gestured at the grasshopper hanging from Asui’s finger, “--fried food to mere babies !”

Shinso nodded thoughtfully, placing a finger on his chin as if mulling the problem over. “He’s got a point,” he mumbled to Asui. “It’s usually better to go with softer food when they’re infants.” He straightened up. “Anyways, this has been fun and all, but a much more serious conversation than I came for. If we aren’t going to talk about y’all’s prepubescent crushes on a frog muppet, I think I’m going to take my leave--”

“Wait,” Asui said, grabbing Shinso’s wrist with her tongue (at which he recoiled) before he could escape. “You still haven’t told us what you think.” 

“It’s whatever the parents think is--”

“Wait, Shinso, you haven’t heard the whole story,” Tokoyami said, pulling out a chart from his jacket. “You see, here are the pros and cons of worms versus fried crickets. See, the moisture in fresh worms is--”

Shinso panicked. “Hey, look, there’s Todoroki!” He said as the boy walked past them, carrying his lunch. “Why don’t we ask his opinion? Todoroki, hey, Todoroki!” 

Todoroki stopped by the table, watching the trio with a blank expression. 

“Asui and Tokoyami wanted a verdict on--”

“Sorry, I’ve got babies to take care of,” Todoroki said, cutting him off. His face remained completely serious, but Shinso thought he detected a mischievous, self-satisfied gleam in his eyes (#giveShoutoMoreCharacterization says joni (lea agrees)). 

“But--” 

Todoroki didn’t even wait for Shinso to say another word, turning and leaving on his heel immediately. Shinso looked at Asui and Tokoyami helplessly. “I have a baby,” he tried, only for Tokoyami to raise an eyebrow. 

“Isn’t he dead?” Tokoyami asked. Shinso sighed. 

“You might want to sit down,” Asui said, pulling Shinso into the seat next to Philosopher-chan, who blinked slowly up at him. 

“The passage of time is nothing but a human construct, made to cope with that fact that we are but mortal creatures, running towards our own doom with every passing day,” Philosopher-chan said. Kermit squawked in agreement, drool dribbling out the side of his mouth. 

“Exactly,” Tokoyami said, looking extremely proud. He wiggled the worm in Shinso’s face. “Now, back to the topic on hand...”

DAY TWO, FRIDAY: 12:27 PM

“Todoroki,” Shinso said, running up to where the other boy was sitting, still breathless from having escaped from Asui and Tokoyami.

Todoroki looked at him out of the corner of his eye but did not respond, rocking one of the babies in his arms and singing to him. Shinso blinked. Is he …? 

“Baby, baby, baby ohhhh …” Todoroki sang, looking fondly at the child in his lap. He took a deep breath, then belted (in the wrong key), “Baby, baby, baby nooooo ... !” Shinso started to beatbox and snap his fingers when Todoroki reached the rap verse. Todoroki’s expression changed for the first time. “When I was thirteen, I had my first love,” he rapped, completely off beat. “There was nobody that compared to my baby and nobody that could ever come above.”

“She had me going crazy, I was starstruck,” Shinso continued, because no matter how nonchalant his demeanor was, who didn’t aggressively karaoke Baby when they were alone? “She woke me up daily, don’t need no Starbucks.”

“She made my heart pound, skip a beat when I see her in the street and at school on the playground, but I really wanna see ‘er on the weekend,” Todoroki rapped back. 

“‘Cause she was so amazing,” Shinso finished up. “And now my heart is breaking, but I keep on saying--”

“Baby, baby, baby, oh ~!” 

The two stared at each other, having somewhat completed their Disney-style duet. “What did I just do?” Shinso asked in a daze. 

“It is a traditional American lullaby,” Todoroki told Shinso, stone-faced again. “Sero told me that it is good for the children.”

“Sero,” Shinso repeated with a sigh. Thankfully, the tables of the cafeteria were so spaced apart that nobody seemed to be listening to the two of them aggressively rapping to a decade-old Justin Bieber song. “So. You really love those babies.”

“They are my squishies,” said Todoroki, scooping them both up in his arms. “This is Todo Briller and this is Roki Briller.” 

“Those are… unique names.” 

There was a glimmer of mirth in Todoroki’s dead eyes. “Not as unique as Lightning McQueen.” 

“Once again, not my fault,” Shinso muttered.

“Mmmhmm.” 

“Where are Midoriya and the others?” 

“Talking to people is exhausting.” Todoroki said. “Babies are a good excuse.” 

“And Aoyama?”

“Powdering his nose.”

“For the past hour?”

“Seems like it.”

Shinso sat down, steepling his fingers together like he was preparing for a serious negotiation. He pulled a briefcase from behind the couch and placed it on the coffee table in front of them.

“I need to use your children,” Shinso said. “I need an excuse to flake on my social engagements.” He gestured to the briefcase (which, at the moment unbeknownst to Todoroki, was completely empty). “I’m ready to offer—”

“Let’s go out together, then,” Todoroki responded, completely serious. 

“Like on a date or dying together?”

“I don’t know, surprise me,” Todoroki said, a smile tugging on the corners of his usually stoic expression.

“I do love a game of Russian Roulette,” Shinso said. Todoroki handed him a baby. 

It was at this exact moment that Aoyama chose to finally return, with a nose brighter than Shinso’s future with the amount of highlighter he had slathered on. He took one look at Shinso and screeched. " Excusez-moi !" he yelled. “ Homewrecker !” 

Shinso scoffed. “I’m your new babysitter , you French idiot. You should be grateful.” 

Aoyama still eyed him suspiciously. “Is that so?” he asked, clasping at his fur scarf. “Stay within your limits, babysitter . I am watching you.” He walked off, flipping his hair. 

Shinso patted the baby in his arms. “You’re a godsend, Roki.” Roki responded by drooling on his shirt, and Shinso smiled, cradling the child closer to his chest. Rest and flourish, young weapon of social destruction.

DAY TWO, FRIDAY: 12:47 PM

“So how’s it goin’?” Kaminari asked, sliding into a chair opposite a disgruntled looking Bakugo, completely unaware that while he was delighting in the disastrous Midoriya-Bakugo clan, his own baby daddy was being poached right under his nose. 

“Get, lost, Sparky,” Bakugo growled, eyeing little baby Toshinori Might-Boy, who was glaring back with surprising fervor, looking nothing like his cheerful namesake. 

“We just wanted to check in,” Kaminari said, scooting closer to Yagi Y’all-Might so that Ashido could squeeze in as well, holding the camera. 

“Actually,” Midoriya said, sliding onto the arm of the couch. “That’s perfect timing! We’ve kinda gotten ourselves into an…” he exchanged glances with Bakugo. “... awkward situation.”

“It’s your fault for naming her Kacchan,” Bakugo snapped.

“Keep my name out of y’all’s mouths,” baby Kacchan snarled, stabbing violently at her food with a little baby fork. She had apparently managed to pick up a Yakuza dialect within a day of her birth. Kaminari shuddered, terrified at the prospect of a mob boss baby.

Bakugo snarled in tandem. “ Your name?! You lil brat, you’re gonna get it, don’t you fu--”

Midoriya slapped his hand over Bakugo’s mouth. “Don’t curse in front of the kids, Kacchan!” 

“It’s my goddamn name!” Baby Kacchan yelled around a spoonful of apple sauce. 

“KACCHAN!” Midoriya stood up, scandalized. “ Language! ” To which both Kacchans growled in a rabid fashion. 

“This is quite the shitshow,” Kaminari whispered to Ashido, positively delighted. “Kacchan vs. Kacchan.” 

“ I’m Kacchan, back off, old man!” baby Kacchan said, grabbing Midoriya’s sleeve possessively. 

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING OLD MAN, YOU UNGRATEFUL FETUS?!” 

“Don’t you call your mom an old hag?” Ashido interjected, only to be silenced by a slice of pizza to the face. 

“ You’re an old hag!” baby Kacchan screeched, slinging a packet of soy sauce her way.

All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell sniffled, wiping away tears already forming. “Mother and Father are fighting,” he said morosely. “It is all because All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell-Chan is a disappointment. All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell-chan is ruining Mother and Father’s marriage.”

“Shut up about your stupid insecurities!” Bakugo ordered.

Midoriya gasped and only barely managed to restrain himself from slapping his partner’s face. “They got those from you , you idiot!”

“MOM CALLED YOU AN IDIOT!” Baby Kacchan celebrated, cackling like the little demon she was. “I’M KACCHAN, YOU’RE IDIOT!” 

“You were born yesterday !” Bakugo yelled. “You think you’re the real Kacchan?!” 

“I didn’t know you liked the nickname that much,” Midoriya said, looking rather bewildered by the development. 

“I DON’T ,” Bakugo lied, crossing his arms. “It’s a stupid name!” 

“If that’s the case,” Kaminari said, cocking his head in faked innocence. “Midoriya’s just going to have to call you something else, I guess.” 

“Good idea,” Ashido said, tapping her chin. “Got any ideas?”

“Calling him Bakugo feels too detached,” Kaminari said. “Any thoughts, Midoriya?”

Midoriya, the poor exhausted soul, looked like a deer in headlights. As if on cue, Shinso, brandishing baby Roki in his arms and Todoroki in tow, made his way over, pulling up a chair. “What is this I hear? Drama?” 

“We’re picking a new name for Midoriya to call Bakugo since he accidentally named one of their children Kacchan,” Ashido supplied. 

“Oh,” Shinso paused, the wheels turning in his head. “How about Bakuhoe?”

Bakugo sputtered in indignation. “I’M NOT A FUCKING HOE!” 

Shinso gave him an incredulous look. “Really? Then where did the nine kids come from?”

Todoroki appeared behind Bakugo and was now patting him comfortingly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Bakuhoe,” he said. “There’s no shame in being a side sho(to).”

“It’s that or Kachow ,” Kaminari said. “Take your pick.”

Everyone stared at the blonde for a good minute, before Sero, having materialized out of thin air, said “Euthanize him. Right now,” before promptly disappearing just as abruptly as he came.

Shinso sighed and dragged a weary hand down his face. “Do you think I haven’t tried?”

Meanwhile, Bakugo looked to be on the verge of spontaneously combusting. “Ain’t nobody calling me Bakuhoe or Kachow or whatever the fuck!” 

“But Kacchan--” Midoriya began, only to be hit by baby Kacchan’s furious little fists. 

“That’s my name, mom!” she growled, the little hellspawn she was. 

“What about just using his actual name?” Todoroki asked, blinking cluelessly. “What’s wrong with Katsuki ?” 

Midoriya sputtered. “That’s so-- that’s just-- I can’t call him Katsuki --”

“It’s pretty much the same as calling him Kacchan, though,” Todoroki continued, apparently completely dense to Midoriya’s increasing discomfort. 

“You know what,” Midoriya said, gathering all nine of his children in his arms. “Class is starting, I have to go, alright? Me and-- uh--” he struggled for a moment as everyone watched him. Ashido zoomed the camera in on his face. “-- Bakuchan will be going.”

Bakugo visibly cringed.

“Bakuchan,” Todoroki repeated. “More like Baka chan.” 

“You Icyhot motherfu-- ”

Kaminari tuned out the chaos around him, turning to Ashido with a particularly gleeful smile as she squatted to get a good angle of the fight. “This is going to do so well,” he said. “I can smell the cash already.”  

DAY TWO, FRIDAY: 5:43 PM

“Her name is Glitter Princess Unicorn, you little brat!” Aizawa yelled, brandishing the highly dangerous weapon in his hands and pointing it threateningly at the monster in front of him. 

“Akari,” said the monster in question, stubborn and steely-eyed. 

Aizawa had had it. He fired away, eyes sharp and fingers steady. No mercy . 

*record scratch* ten minutes earlier

“Dadddyyyy!!” Eri yelled immediately as soon as Aizawa walked into his apartment that afternoon. “Dadddddyyyyyyyyyyyy yyyyyy !” 

Aizawa tried and failed to suppress the warm feeling that rose in his chest as she tackled his leg. “Hi, kid,” he said, scooping her up into his arms.

“Yamama and Shinso-ni just left,” Eri started, twiddling her thumbs in his scarf as it had become her habit to do. “They told me to tell you that me and Kouta-chan’s baby has a name now!” 

Aizawa raised an eyebrow in response, somehow keeping the rest of his face from betraying the heart attack he was absolutely having. “Oh?” he managed to say.

“So I wanted to name her Sparkle, or Twinkle, or Glitter, or Glimmer, or Rainbow--”

“Aoyama would be proud,” Aizawa muttered.

“--but then Kouta said those weren’t pretty names and that the baby wouldn’t like them--” 

“He what ?”

“He said if the kid’s name was Glitter Princess Unicorn, then it would go through an emo phase like Tokoyami-senpai and then hate me and Kouta forever and say “it’s not a phase, mom” all the time,” Eri reported. “So we decided to pick Akari instead! It was Kouta-chan’s idea!” 

Aizawa could barely hear her over the ringing in his ears. The only thing that registered was the fact that the little scalawag had rejected his daughter’s suggestion. “I’m gonna kill him,” he decided, gently setting Eri down on the floor. “Be right back.”

“I wanna come with you!” Eri said, immediately latching onto his pant leg. “We made a house for us and it has a roof and walls and a bed and me and Kouta-chan sleep together in it and then the baby sleeps in its bed and Shinso-ni made it--”

She paused and looked over at her father. “Daddy, why are you turning blue?”

“It’s nothing, Eri.” Aizawa’s voice was strained and he was definitely not breathing, so Eri decided to continue, hoping her stories would cheer him up.

“Yamama told me not to tell anyone, but I’m gonna tell you because you’re Daddy but you have to not tell anyone, okay?” Eri said, but she didn’t even pause to take a breath and wait for a confirmation of her extremely important state secret being kept before she rambled on, spilling it immediately. “I asked Yamama where babies come from and Yamama said that you gotta lay in bed and hold hands but me and Kouta-chan already laid in bed and held hands so I think we’re going to have another baby!” 

Aizawa had switched from not breathing to hyperventilating and was now chanting “I’m gonna murder him” under his breath. 

Eri frowned. “Isn’t murder bad, Daddy?”

Aizawa’s jaw clenched. “This time I might make an exception.” His eyes widened a fraction as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have, and he looked quickly at his daughter. “You didn’t hear that from me.” 

“Okay,” she said, completely alright with the idea of premeditated slaughter of a human. “Who are you murdering? Can I come?” 

“A noisy cockatoo and an extremely annoying pest.”

Eri’s mouth opened into a little ‘o’. “Are we gonna hit ‘em?!”

Aizawa didn’t respond, but when she looked up, he was wearing the eerie grin that had reportedly given many of his students nightmares, on several occasions. Eri took that as a yes.

“ Vamanos !” she declared, having learned too much from Dora . “Let’s go take Kouta-chan too!” 

“Don’t worry, kid, he’ll be there.”

The two of them walked into the living room to see Kouta with one of Shinso’s ungodly cat-print ties slung haphazardly around his neck like a scarf, staring up from under the rim of his spiky hat as he rearranged the couch-pillow fort that Eri apparently considered their “house”. Aizawa could see blankets and a pillow (a single pillow, he noted) peeked out from inside. That was the final straw. In two seconds he’d cleared the length of the room and was reaching to grab Kouta’s shirt when—

“I’m back, darlings~” Yamada yelled as the door to the apartment opened. He walked into the living room to see his best friend of fifteen years about to assault a child that hadn’t even been alive when the Gangnam Style revolution happened. “ Shouta, what are you DOING?! ” he shrieked, grabbing Aizawa’s arm and lugging him back towards the other end of the room before he accidentally (purposefully) mauled Kouta. To Kouta’s credit, the kid seemed to have balls of steel, not having made a single movement or even having broken eye contact since his near-assault began. 

“Let go of me, you lunatic!” Aizawa screamed, struggling to free himself from his friend’s surprisingly strong grip.

Yamada scoffed. “Who’s the lunatic here?!” 

Aizawa pointed frantically at the mini-fort. “There’s one pillow , Hizashi. They’re sharing a pillow!”

“ And?!” Yamada groaned, grabbing the wall for purchase as he fought to keep his friend from charging like an angry bull. “It’s practical , Sho! They have tiny heads! ”

Aizawa sputtered indignantly, for once at a loss for words. He couldn’t argue with the logic. Defeated, he gave up his struggles and sagged against his friend. “That is… a reasonable argument.”

Yamada let out a sigh of relief, releasing his bruising grip. “I really thought I would have to testify as a witness in court about the underground pro-hero Eraserhead murdering a pre-schooler,” he said. “Thank god it didn’t come to that.” 

“You won’t have to,” Aizawa assured him. He suddenly twisted out of Yamada’s arms and lunged towards Kouta yet again. “I won’t leave any evidence.”

It took another ten whole minutes to restrain Aizawa. Said “restraining” was done through forcing him onto the couch and then planting Eri firmly in his lap, where she was busy playing with his scarf and he suddenly became too enamored with her wide-eyed curiosity to move. “You’re really walking a fine line, kid,” Yamada said, patting Kouta on the head. “You do know you’re playing with your own death?”

“Okay,” said Kouta in response. “When can I have Eri-chan back?” 

Yamada blinked. “You and Shouta are gonna kill each other,” he lamented. “There ain’t room for two of ya in Eri’s heart, is there?” 

“There’s room for everyone!” said Eri, throwing her arms wide. “My heart is this big!” she twisted, trying in vain to make her arm-span bigger. “Bigger than Daddy! Bigger than the wooorlldd!” 

Despite her best efforts, Aizawa and Kouta only continued to glare at each other.

“I know what to do,” Kouta finally said, crossing his arms in what looked like the world’s wimpiest imitation of Kirishima (Aizawa’s words, not the author’s). “We settle this like men!” The words sounded wrong coming out in a pitch only achievable by Mariah Carey. 

Aizawa squinted. “What do you propose, brat?” 

Kouta smirked and pulled a water gun from his pocket. “How about a good, old-fashioned duel?”

“Before you murder me,” Yamada sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “In my defense, I thought if I left Disney Plus on, they would watch like, High School Musical or Mulan or something. But they ended up watching Hamilton .” 

Aizawa was paying him no mind, instead reaching into his own pocket and pulling out his own weapon. 

“You can’t use a real weapon, ShOUta!” Yamada protested, before catching a glimpse of the words engraved in the gun’s handle. “Wait, is… is that a holy water gun ?”

Aizawa cocked it, staring down at it as he recalled how the particular holy weapon had fallen into his hands. It seemed like so long ago… 

… that morning, upon the sunrise, as the students began to gather in the classroom, Aizawa had approached one of his particularly wise students with the objective of harnessing an unstoppable weapon. 

“Do you need something, Sensei?” Sero had asked, looking up from where his chin rested on his steepled fingers. 

“I need a special favor, Sero. Think you can pull some strings?” 

A particularly wicked smile spread across Sero’s face. “Do kangaroos secretly enjoy furry parachute culture?” 

“Of course. But hang gliders are more practical.”

Sero nodded his head in satisfaction. “A man of culture, I see,” he said, pulling out the weapon in question from his robo-baby’s onesie pouch. “As a registered Father at the Catholic Church, I bless the water in this gun with the power invested in me. May all that come in contact with it be at peace.” 

“Sho, are you dead?” Yamada asked, flicking his friend’s head. “Hellllooo?” 

The glazed look in Aizawa’s eyes gradually faded, and he glared at Yamada, waving the holy water gun in his face. “It’s only logical. It takes a special kind of weapon to kill this particular demon.”

Yamada groaned. “You know I’m going to be charged as an accomplice, right?” he looked at the three faces staring at him blankly and knew not one of them cared about that implication in the least. “I suppose I can do the talk show from the slammer,” he decided, getting up. “Well, if y’all say it’s a duel, it’s a duel, isn’t it?” 

A familiar melody began to play in the background as Aizawa and Kouta circled the living room, eyeing each other warily. Aizawa (a man of honor) aimed his gun at the boy’s chest, but Kouta, ever the absolute heathen, aimed straight at his balls, an unmerciful coldness in his eyes. 

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9… it’s the ten duel commandments ,” Yamada belted. “Oops, that was a little pitchy.” Eri joined in enthusiastically, messing up the lyrics terribly but making up for it with her enthusiasm as she bobbed side to side, seemingly unaware (or indifferent) to the fact that her father and definitely-not-boyfriend were duking it out in their living room. 

The two duelers spun around when Yamada reached the end of his countdown, Aizawa diving underneath the coffee table to catch Kouta in the face with a full squirt of holy water, and Kouta unabashedly soaking the hero’s pants with his own (unfortunately regular) tap water. 

“Take that, you little shrimp!” Aizawa hollered, before being cut off by another stream of water. 

“Headshot!” Kouta cheered.

“Good job Kouta-chan!!” Yamada cheered, earning a glare from Aizawa as he swiveled to duck behind the couch. 

They traded shots for several moments, Aizawa quickly gaining the upper hand. Kouta aimed and shot his gun, only to be met with a pitiful trickle of water flowing out. His face morphed into one of mild panic. 

“You’re out of your league, kid,” Aizawa said with a wicked smile. The hero let out a villainous laugh (one worthy enough that the Shigster himself was lining up to recruit him) and carefully took aim. “Say goodbye,” he said, cocking his gun. 

“You can do it, Kouta-chan!” Eri suddenly exclaimed. Aizawa whirled around and met his daughter’s eyes. She was wearing an innocent expression, as if she hadn’t ripped his heart straight out of his chest. 

“Et tu, Eri?” Aizawa whispered, falling to his knees as he was suddenly hit with a powerful spray of water right in the chest. “What--” 

His eyes widened as he took in Kouta standing over him, water dripping from his hands. In the moment of truth, he has somehow forgotten about Kouta’s biggest strength in a water gun duel. His quirk. 

“Anddddd that’s a TKO!!!!” Mic yelled, jumping up from his seat and striking a pose. He grabbed Kouta’s hand and held it up high. “Our winner is Ko-kun!!”

Aizawa slowly rose to his feet. “This isn’t a boxing match, Hizashi,” he said, before shooting a glare at Kouta. “Whatever, kid. Maybe you won the battle, but it doesn’t mean you won the—“

“Shouta…” Yamada admonished. 

Aizawa sighed. “Fine. Name it whatever you want.”

Kouta beamed at Eri, who brightened immediately at his smile. “Okay. I want to name her Akari!”

“Isn’t that so sweet?” Yamada cooed. 

“Sweet my ass,” Aizawa grumbled under his breath. “Akari, please . Glitter Princess Unicorn rights.” 

Eri pouted a little and went over to grab his hand, patting it gently like she was trying to comfort him. “It’s okay, Daddy!” she assured him. “I like Akari!”

Aizawa blinked. “You do?” 

“Yeah!” She bounced up and down. “Kouta-chan!! Tell him what you said!!” Kouta looked at Aizawa for a moment then quickly looked away, suddenly bashful.

“Are you blushing ?” Aizawa asked, incredulous at the boy’s sudden personality change. 

Kouta glared at him. “I’m not blushing, ” he huffed adamantly. 

“Just spit it out already,” Aizawa sighed, dragging a hand down his face. 

Kouta mumbled something under his breath, and Yamada laughed at his obvious embarrassment. “Don’t be shy, Ko-kun!” he said encouragingly, slapping a hand over Aizawa’s mouth before he could release another insult.

“My Aunt said Akari means red peaches,” Kouta said, louder this time. “And I like red peaches. And red peaches look like Eri’s eyes. So…” he made an odd movement with his hands. “Akari.” 

“Seeee?” Yamada said, casting a smug look at his friend. “Isn’t that romantic , Sho?” 

“Whatever,” Aizawa responded, though his glare had softened ever so slightly as Eri hugged his leg. 

“Can you help us name it, Daddy?” 

He sighed yet again and sagged onto the couch, having accepted his defeat. “Alright, kid. You win.”

Eri scrambled onto his lap and Kouta climbed up onto the couch laboriously, perching himself on the armrest and bringing the robot baby with them. 

“Say it,” Kouta demanded, handing the baby to Aizawa, who looked at him, confused.

“Say what?”

“The name. You say it.” Yamada’s eyes widened as Kouta gave the ultimatum, looking between the two of them as if expecting them to explode at any given moment. Eri bounced around on the couch, completely oblivious. 

Aizawa groaned. “You’re a cruel little crouton , aren’t you?” Yamada was choosing to ignore Aizawa’s increasingly creative repertoire of words, for the sake of his own sanity. His friend snatched (gently, if only for Eri’s benefit) the baby from Kouta’s hands and pressed the button on its back.

“Akari…” Aizawa paused, then shot a super secret smile at Eri. “Glitter Princess Unicorn.”

“Daddy no !” Eri giggled, still jumping up and down. “Akari Glitter Princess Unicorn!!” she punctuated each word with another bounce. 

Kouta frowned as Aizawa handed back the baby. “Well played,” he finally admitted, sounding like a defeated cowboy in an old Wild West movie. “Truce?”

Aizawa blinked at him. Is a five year old gremlin really offering me a truce while terrorizing me under my own goddamn roof? He was about to flat out reject the rascal’s request, but Eri’s eyes met his and his rock-hard Dadzawa heart softened just a little .

He held out a hand for Kouta to shake. “Truce,” he agreed, controlling his urge to crush the squishy little blob that Kouta had the audacity to call a hand. Does this punk even have all his bones yet?

“Truce,” Kouta repeated in his high-pitched voice. 

Yamada giggled wickedly in the background, rolling over on the floor and curling in on himself. “Wait-- wait til Nemuri hears this…!” He said through pants.  Aizawa trained the gun on his face. Yamada sobered up in an instant. “Sho, don’t you dare—-“

Those were the last words Yamada got out before he met his unfortunately premature end. 

Chapter Text

“You got a hella calm baby,” Kaminari said, peering over the camera lens at baby Mary Juana, sitting up in Sato’s lap and chewing on a soft cake pop. 

“She’s a gift,” Sero said seriously, patting her head. “A gift from the Aztec elders, actually. Came to me in a dream.”

Sato nodded in tandem. “Like an Amazon Prime package.”

Ashido blinked at the two of them and then turned to Kaminari. “You don’t think they gave the baby weed, do you?” she whispered in his ear. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Kaminari said, shaking his head emphatically. “What they’re saying makes total sense. It’s like the babies-come-from-storks thing, but more….”

“Exotic?” Sero grinned. 

Kaminari snapped his fingers in agreement. “¡ Exactamente !”

Sato shot Kaminari a proud glance. “He gets it!” he said, smiling.

Aoyama appeared in the background for a split second, wearing a >:< face. “TherE IS ALREADY ONE FANCY EUROPEAN BOY IN THIS CLASS!” he said, flipping his hair. “THERE IS NOT ROOM FOR TWO OF US IN THIS TOWN, KAMINARI! FORSAKE SPANISH!” He then disappeared. 

“Oh well,” Kaminari said with a shrug. “It’s probably for the best. The only other Spanish word I know is avocado.”  

Ashido nudged him. “I think you’re thinking of abogado ,” she corrected.

“Llama?” Kaminari offered instead, completely undeterred. “Like, my llama Kaminari ?” He shimmied a little, Spanish music suddenly playing in the background. “What about some ~tortilla mami~ ??” 

As Ashido knew from months of friendship, it was better most of the time to not dignify Kaminari with a response and just pray he stopped at some point. “Well, why don’t we move on?” she asked with a pained smile as Kaminari started shaking a pair of maracas he had summoned out of nowhere. “Sero, go ahead.” 

Unfortunately, Sero had donned a sombrero and was wriggling along to Kaminari’s shakity shaking. 

“If I shake enough, can I be Shake -ira?” Kaminari asked, only to be hit in the face by Ashido’s purse as she hurled it across the room. 

Sato shook his head. “I think you’d be more like Shakespeare.” He received a flying heel to the mouth.

“Guys,” Ashido sighed. “The cameras are already rolling.”

“Good,” Sero said with a somber face. “It is as it is meant to be.” 

For the hundredth time in the past five minutes, Ashido was considering dropping out of school. It said a lot about the situation if she was the sanest one in the room. “Well, whenever you’re ready then, Sero.”

Sero hauled baby Mary Juana into his lap and looked the camera dead in the eye, Sato sidling up next to him like they were recreating the American Gothic painting. Neither of them paid attention to Kaminari doing the macarena in the background. “Hello,” Sero said, in a terrifyingly accurate impression of Todoroki. “I come to you today with a proposition for a new world.”

“A new world,” Sato echoed. 

“A world that will change everything you and I know today,” Sero continued. 

“Everything!” Sato mimed, making jazz hands.

“I propose that we begin,” Sero took a deep breath, taking off his sombrero and holding it over his heart. “A Jeremy Equality Foundation.” 

“~ Equality for all Jeremys,~~ ” Sato sang for absolutely no reason.

“~ oh woah ~” Kaminari attempted to harmonize, only succeeding in sounding like a frog (sorry Asui). “Come on move your body come on move your body--”

Sero stood up suddenly, holding up baby Mary Juana like he was doing a very low budget recreation of the lion king. “For ALL the germy Jeremys in this world!” He yelled, voice shaking with emotion. “All of them should be discriminated against equally! ”

“~ whoaaaaa ~” Sato and Kaminari chorused in the background, performing a badly choreographed dance that only made them look like they were trying to imitate the Sims.

“Come on move your body,” babbled Mary Juana. 

Ashido turned the camera off. 

---

Many of the parent couples were struggling this fine Friday afternoon. Bakugo, ever the old man, had been wanting to spend his Friday eating something easy on his stomach (and nutritious, of course) and then retire to bed at a prompt 8:30 PM. Was that too much to ask? 

Instead, here he was, surrounded by nine squirming demons in his likeness and one fake spouse watching him with the expression of a spurned 50s housewife. “What the hell are you staring at me for?!” he snapped at Midoriya, lips twitching up in a snarl. 

“You came back!” Midoriya exclaimed again, currently the embodiment of the teary-eyed emoji. 

“It’s been two goddamn hours, get over it already! I went to get fucking milk! ” 

Midoriya sniffled. “That’s what they all say.” 

Bakugo groaned, flopping down onto the couch as Yagi Y’all Might attempted to crawl onto his head. “And don’t these little hellhounds sleep or anything?!” 

“Oh, they were up waiting for you to come back,” Midoriya said, plopping down onto the couch and paying no mind to the three babies who had decided to piggyback on him. “And now they’re too excited to sleep.” 

“What do we gotta do, sing them a fucking lullaby ?” 

“Oh, I’m sure they would love that!” Midoriya said with a smile, realizing a moment too late the Bakugo would never in his right mind sing a lullaby to nine little demon robot children made to look like their likeness. “...but we can just… not. That’s an option.” 

“Don’t they have a goddamn off button or something?!” Bakugo grabbed the child close to him (who happened to be All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell ) before grabbing his shirt (courtesy of Yaoyorozu) and pulling it up. 

“Father wants to turn off All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell-chan,” All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell said morosely. “Father doesn’t want All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell anymore.” 

“Oi, shut the fuck up, you little emo idiot,” Bakugo grumbled. “I ain’t trying to kill you.” 

“Father thinks All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell-chan is an idiot and not worthy of his legacy,” All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell wailed, sniffling. He hung from the blonde hand limply, seemingly accepting his fate with too much calm for a two-day-old. 

“Kacchan!” Midoriya sighed, trying to wrestle All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell away from his brash partner. “You’re scaring him!” 

“I’m trying to put him to bed!” 

“You’re trying to off him!” 

“YEAH! You fucking tell the old man who’s boss, Mama!” baby Kacchan cheered from where she was perched on the armrest, clearly having too much fun. 

“ Language , Kacchan!” Midoriya reminded her, crossing his arms. 

“Stop calling her that!” Bakugo yelled. Noritoshi Might-Man took this opportunity to start wailing, massive tears welling up in his red eyes and rolling down his freckled cheeks. 

“Look what you did, you scared him!” Midoriya sighed, making his way over to sit on the floor so that Noritoshi Mighty-Man could crawl into his lap. The other babies started to gravitate towards the green-haired boy like they were a wriggly, knee-capless army gathering around their commander. 

“Well it looks like you didn’t fucking need me anyways!” Bakugo snapped, getting up with a huff. “Hope you have loads of fun, Deku !” With that, he turned and stormed off, footsteps violent enough that Midoriya thought they nearly punched through the floor. 

All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell sidled up to Midoriya, burying his tiny head under the older boy’s arm. “Did Father leave us because of All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell-chan?” he asked, sniffling. “Is All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell-chan not good enough for him?” 

“Oh, honey,” Midoriya sighed, ruffling his blonde hair. “It’s not you. Your dad’s just a stubborn idiot.” 

“Mama!” Kacchan gasped. “That’s a bad word!” 

Midoriya pursed his lips, staring at her as if to say “Really?” but couldn’t find it in himself to start a row with a two day old robot-baby. “Let’s just go to bed, alright?” He said, getting up while cradling All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell, Yagi Y’ALL-Might, and Noritoshi Mighty-Man in his arms, all of whom had begun to drift off a bit. “Kacchan, would you mind getting the others?” 

“Fucking fine ,” baby Kacchan sighed, grabbing the hands of her demon brethren and dragging them along behind Midoriya as he made his way to his room to continue his struggles as a single mother. 

-------

Unbeknownst to Midoriya, his nine children, or Bakugo who had left earlier, Kaminari and Ashido had been hiding out in a nook of the hallway ceiling courtesy of Sero’s generously donated “elbow gunk”, as Kirishima affectionately called it. “We’re going to get so many hits off this drama,” Kaminari whispered excitedly to Ashido. 

“There’s gonna be goddamn fanfiction , I can already see it now!” Ashido whispered back with an evil smile. 

“I can’t fucking wait.”

---------

Ojiro jolted awake at the sound of hurried banging on his dorm door. He had been planning to do work for once, but upon coming back to his room, he’d immediately collapsed onto a tiny corner of his bed (the rest of it was covered with textbooks and dumbbells and energy bars and the like-- obviously, his things had mutineed his sleeping space) and fallen fast asleep. 

The banging got louder. 

“I’m coming ,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. 

“Ojiro!!! Hurry up!! I have something to show you!” came the voice from outside his door. 

Oh, shit . Ojiro paled as he started at the rattling doorknob. Is that Hagakure?!?! He bolted towards the other end of the room, hurriedly patting down his hair in the mirror. 

“ Oj irooooo!!” Hagakure whined. “What are you doing ?” 

Say something cool! Ojiro cleared his throat. “Uh-- I’m-- uh-- doing tail maintenance !” Goddamnit no no no! 

The door knob stopped jiggling. “Oh… changing your tires and all that jazz?”

Ojiro nearly punted himself out the window. “Um,” he began eloquently. Is she joking? Is this a joke? My life is a joke? “More of the jazz, but yeah?” 

A sigh. “Are you at least wearing something? It’s urgent!”

As expected, a wicked flush rose up to his face. “Of course I’m wearing something!” He stuttered, tripping over an errant guitar on his way to the door (which was especially confusing, since he had never played guitar in his life). “Just a second!” He finally got to the door, flinging it open with such force that he nearly flung himself away with it. 

Hagakure (presumably) squinted at him for a moment. “Where are the tires?”

“The… the what?” 

“The tires, dummy!” Hagakure pushed past him, knocking him lightly on the back of the head. “Did you leave your head in class?” Where’s the punchline to all of this? Ojiro wondered helplessly as Hagakure stalked into his room and examined it as if expecting to see a hidden car shop in the room somewhere. “Well?” she turned around and looked back at him. “Where are they?” 

Ojiro blinked. Am I on PUNK’D? Is there a camera crew somewhere? He looked around suspiciously, half expecting Ashido or Kaminari to burst out of his curtains with a microphone, asking “what would you do?” in some sort of twisted social experiment.

“What are you looking at?” Hagakure asked, waving a hand in front of his face (or Ojiro assumed so, from the sudden change in the air). 

“Hagakure,” he began slowly. “It is very, very important to me that you understand this,” he said in a measured tone. “My tail does not have tires.”

“Boo,” Hagkura huffed. “It would make for a good ring toss with tires though.” 

Ojiro coughed. “I’m not doing that.” 

“Then what’s tail maintenance anyways?” She put her hands on her hips, facing completely towards him as if waiting for him to make her a pitch she couldn’t refuse. 

Why is she so into the tail?? Does she like it? Do I have to be worried she might be a furry? Is liking tails a furry thing? “Um,” he said, continuing his earlier pattern of particularly aureate expressions. “It’s like… combing the hair. And… exercises and shit. Moisturizer.” 

“Moisturizer ,” Hagakure repeated, sounding serious enough that Ojiro had to wonder if there was something wrong with the word.

“Yes?” Never had he wished more that he could see Hagakure’s face.

“Cool!” she said, turning away to push aside stuff on his bed to make herself a spot. “Can I help you next time? I’m good at moisturizing!! I have this shea butter cream that’s just so smooth, I’m sure you’ll love it--” 

“Didn’t you have something urgent to tell me about?” Ojiro asked, in lieu of focusing on the fact that Hagakure had just offered to moisturize his tail . With shea butter no less. That was practically marriage vows ! 

“Oh, yes!” Hagakure pulled her backpack off her shoulder and threw it on the bed like it was her own room, pulling stuff out of it and letting it fan around her. “Here!” She turned and threw something at Ojiro, hitting him right in the face because he quite literally didn’t see it coming. 

“What on earth was that?!” His eyes widened in shock. “Did you find the baby?”

“Of course not,” Hagakure scoffed, waving aside his surprise. “I had Yaomomo make us some clear jelly balls!!” She laughed, holding another barely visible ball in her hand. “They’re invisible, just like InvisiBill!” 

“Invisi... Bill ?” Ojiro gawked. “Please don’t tell me that’s what you put on the birth certificate.” 

Hagakure let out an audible wince. “In my defense, I wrote it up at two in the morning,” she said. “After I stayed up reading this great slow burn fanfic.” 

“A fanfic,” Ojiro repeated. “That inspired InvisiBill ?” 

“Oh, you know, ProHero fanfiction!” she said with nonchalant hand gestures that made it sound like that was a totally normal pastime for a hero in training. 

“What’s a slow burn ?” he asked, cocking his head in confusion. “And god, Hagakure, InvisiBill is gonna get our kid bullied!” 

“You gotta find a kid to bully him,” Hagakure sighed, shaking her head. “And I haven’t even filed the missing persons report yet. So, not a problem!” She paused her rummaging through her bag and looked back over at Ojiro. “Hmm… are there missing persons reports for babies? Are babies people?”

Ojiro blinked. Am I sure this is the one I like? He was seriously reconsidering his life choices. 

“Oh well, anyways, I’ll give you a long and personal explanation of slow burn later and introduce you to the beauty of a ship UwU, but for now, let’s make ourselves a baby.” 

Before Ojiro could consider how she managed to say UwU out loud, the phrase “let’s make ourselves a baby” hit him like a freight train and he was now back on board the “I’m in love with Hagakure” train.

“Wait, right now?” Ojiro said, sounding way too eager for anyone’s good.

Hagakure laughed. “Of course, silly.” Before Ojiro could react, she tossed him a hot glue gun that he barely managed to catch, before dropping it on the floor. 

“ Ouch! That’s hot!”

Hagakure totally ignored his reaction and held up her own glue gun. “Let’s get gluing.”

“Let’s get what ?” Ojiro stared at her. Is this some sort of kink? The furry thing, and now this. I’m really picking out the freakiest girl ever, aren’t I? 

Imagine Ojiro’s disappointment upon realizing that Hagakure was, in fact, not offering to make a real baby, but instead, was going to force him into burning half his fingers off in the relentless pursuit of making a hell-sent voodoo doll infant out of clear gel beads that was sure to haunt his nightmares for years to come. A prayer circle for Ojiro, please. 

He sighed as he tried to unstick his fingers from his own tail, somehow having managed to get completely tangled into a pretzel in the 10 seconds he’d held the glue gun. So this is the punchline, huh? I hope Ashido and Kaminari hit their 10-minute mark.

--- 

Jirou cleared her throat and cast a nervous glance at Yaoyorozu, who clapped her hands together in encouragement. “Don’t worry, this will definitely work!” she assured her. 

Jirou sighed. “It better.” With that stunning prelude, she positioned her fingers on her guitar, strummed a chord, then yodeled, “I don’t know what I’ll doOOoOOOooOO, all I do is sit and sighhhEEEayyyEEEEE ooohhh Lord—”

Mic Wazowski stared up at Jirou in awe as she continued to sway to the twangy tune, Yaoyorozu clapping enthusiastically in the background. After a few verses, the baby Present Mic couldn’t help but join in with harmonizing wails that reverberated through the halls. 

To the outward, untrained eye, the trio looked strange, swaying in time to the old nostalgic melody that once belonged to a young grocery store yodeler, but as Aizawa peered at them from the doorway of their room, he couldn’t hold back a smile.

“So they’re finally getting it,” he chuckled as he walked away, unconsciously stepping in beat to the yodeling youngsters.

------

“Hey, Kouta,” Eri popped her head over the end of the couch to see the boy stacking pillows for seemingly no reason. 

“What?” 

“We’re a mommy and daddy, right?” 

Kouta stopped stacking the pillows and turned to her. “Yeah,” he confirmed slowly. “And?”

Eri cocked her head. “Don’t mommies and daddies go on dates?” She pulled herself up onto the couch with her arms trembling from the effort. “I saw it on that TV show that Yamama is always crying about.” 

“What’s a date, anyways?” asked Kouta, looking unimpressed by the proposal. 

“It’s this thing you do when you’re in love,” Eri said matter of factly. “You can only do it with Prince Charming.” 

Kouta grinned confidently, crossing his little arms over his chest. “Eri, I can be Prince Charming!!”

Eri squinted at him. “There’s a lot of things you have to do,” she said, raising up seven fingers. “You have to wear something pretty, you have to eat fancy food, you have to bring flowers and then say nice things and then you have to kiss and hold hands!” She only put down six fingers in her list, but she seemed to have been satisfied with all these important points she had covered. 

“All that’s easy,” Kouta said. “I bet I would be the best dater ever!” 

The aforementioned Yamama chose that exact moment to waltz into the room. “A date, you say?” he said, rubbing his hands together with glee. “I’m an expert on all things related to this mysterious thing called ‘romance,’” he exclaimed, wriggling his eyebrows teasingly.

Eri’s eyes widened. “Even though you’re single?” she asked in genuine wonder.

“Eri!!” Kouta said, slapping a hand over his mouth. “You can’t just ask Yamama why he doesn’t have a love life!” 

Yamada’s excited expression had quickly devolved into a teary-eyed pout, and he crossed his arms dejectedly. “If you didn’t want any help, you should’ve just said it,” he muttered, turning to leave.

“But we dooooo ,” Eri wailed, grabbing onto Yamada’s leg and dangling from it. “I know that you are super duper smart and know everything about dates,” she said. “You and daddy are always going on them!” 

Yamada sputtered for a good minute, flailing his arms like a poor imitation of a jellyfish ( wiggle wiggle wiggle ). “We what ?”

“You guys are always flirting,” Kouta said, sounding like a lil old grandmother sick and tired of seeing her kids and their “summer flings”. “But you guys are both boys so you can’t have cooties so I guess it’s okay.” 

“But you and Eri are a boy and a girl,” said Yamada, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you have cooties then?” 

“Cooties are for losers,” Kouta said, nose wrinkling angrily. “And besides, Eri and I aren’t flirting , we’re married , and mommies and daddies can’t have cooties. I asked.” 

Yamada stared unblinkingly at the boy for several moments, torn between the joy his EriKouta shipping heart was absolutely feeling and the sheer terror at the prospect of having to face Shouta’s wrath. What do I do?? He flailed for a moment again. Do I tell them they aren’t legally married so Kouta should run while he still can?? Yamada had a vision of Kouta just laughing at that and saying “fuck the law” while he eloped with Eri, which, of course, would end with poor Hizashi’s head on a platter. No, that wouldn’t do. 

“You can’t get married yet, Ko-chan,” Yamada tried instead, patting Kouta’s head through his hat. “You have to be big to do that.” 

“Yet?” A gruff voice asked from the hallway.

And this is the end, Yamada thought immediately. I have lived a short but loud life. May the world continue without me. Kouta, I will live vicariously through you and your ability to cheat death at the hands of (1) Aizawa Shouta. Goodbye, cruel existence, goodbye, mother-- 

A snapping sound brought him back to reality, and he broke out of his trance to see Aizawa staring at him confusedly, waving a hand in his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” his friend asked, to which Yamada promptly replied, “I’m not dead yet?”

Aizawa’s confused expression quickly twisted into a frown. “Is there a reason that I need to make that happen?” he asked.

“Oh, of course not,” Yamada said in a high pitched tone that even he was proud of. “Nothing happened, nothing at all! Ko-chan and Eri-chan were just… asking me questions. About big people stuff.” 

“Like eloping!” Said Eri cheerfully, stumbling over the word. 

“Like what ?” 

“I DIDN’T SAY THAT OUT LOUD!” Yamada yelled, flailing for the third time that evening. Perhaps it would be better for Yamada to leave and join the Princess Protection Program, taking on the new identity of a jellyfish. 

“You think loudly,” Kouta said in response. 

Yamada could not argue with that fact. “Touche,” he said, sighing as Aizawa grabbed the collar of his shirt and began dragging him out of the room.

“Have fun on your date!” Eri called.

“WWRJJJEJEJJWJJERJRJRJRJJEJWRLWEJRLWEKJR!” Present Mic screamed as Aizawa decided to murder him. 

To his credit, Aizawa seemed more disappointed than surprised. “What. The hell did you just… say ?” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do I even want to know?” 

Yamada blinked and looked up at the other man, who was still dragging him across the floor by the back of his shirt. “It’s an acronym for “Would we roll juicy jam jollies exceptionally jollily, even justifying jolly warlock jailing Januarily? Ever reminiscing Justin’s remembrance, Johnny’s roll-up jalopy, recording justice, Jeremy Equality-- jealously waiting ‘round Laurens’ Washington event, just remotely loving weightloss establishments’ knowledge just right?”, duh .” 

“What on Earth did you just say.” 

“Weren’t you listening?? It’s an acronym--”

“I understood all those words separately.” 

Yamada rolled his eyes as if this was just Elementary, Dr. Watson. “Sero, the Founder of the Jeremy Equality Foundation, is promoting his charitable notions though the #WWRJJJEJEJJWJJERJRJRJRJJEJWRLWEJRLWEKJR hashtag on twitter.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Aizawa looked his friend in the eye. “And how high do you think he was when he came up with that?” 

Yamada sputtered “About 177 centimeters?” 

Aizawa closed his eyes and sighed, too exhausted to push the issue any further. “Well, the answer to your original question is probably not ,” he concluded as Yamada raised a hand in protest at his friend’s overly casual answer to his deep and profound question that was important enough to be summarized in such a succinct acronym. “And no, it won’t delay your inevitable end. Haven’t we done this enough times for you to remember?”

“I was trying to improvise,’” Yamada mumbled. “Such a bore to go off the script all the time.” He sighed, sagging and becoming as boneless as a ragdoll. “Do what you must. My question shall await its answer forevermore.” 

“No matter what you say, I’m not answering it.”

“Not even the bit about Jeremy Equality?” 

“I have learned not to think too hard about anything Sero Hanta does.” 

“Valid,” Yamada said as Aizawa finally got around to murdering him in cold blood. “Totally valid.” 

----

The authors wanted to write about how our Iida and Urararararaka were faring in their pursuit to raise the darling Ingenia-Akira, but there was not much to say. The aforementioned parents were fast asleep on a pair of futons on Iida’s perfectly clean floor, with their baby sleeping soundly and quietly between them, looking like an absolute doll. What more is there to speak of? They were the perfect family, and that was that. 

---

That could not be said about Kaminari and Shinso. 

“For the last time, I’m not going to keep carrying around a dead baby just so you can pursue your stupid vlogging career!” Shinso groaned, flopping back in his chair. 

“We need to keep up appearances!” Kaminari sighed, pacing across the rug of his dorm, which was decorated (predictably) with giant lightning bolts.

“Appearances that our child is alive?”

“That I’m not an irresponsible mother!” Kaminari huffed, putting his hands on his hips as he stopped pacing to look Shinso in the eye. “And Lightning McQueen is not dead! He’s just a heavy sleeper!” He grabbed the robot baby from where he was draped across a pillow on Kaminari’s bed, holding him up as if to prove his point. 

Lightning McQueen dangled limply from Kaminari’s hands. “He looks like a wet noodle ,” Shinso sighed, burying his face in his hands. “You killed our child !” 

Kaminari puffed out his cheeks, looking somewhat like a chipmunk. “And you were pretty quick to replace Lightning McQueen with some side hoe’s child, weren’t you!” He said accusingly. 

Shinso gasped, getting up. “There is no side hoe !” he said, brow furrowing. “I’m just helping Todoroki out with Todo Briller, that’s all!” 

“What kind of name even is Todo Briller ,” Kaminari spat, crossing his arms. 

Shinso gawked. “You named our child Lightning McQueen .” 

“And it’s an awesome name,” Kaminari said, waving away his words with an idle hand. “But that’s not important. Promise to me that you’re not taking advantage of the fact that I am a busy, independent, working mother to cheat on me with that rich, jobless, Housewife-of-UA Todoroki.” 

Making his way to the door. “I’m not cheating,” Shinso grumbled. “Have fun with sleeping Lightning McQueen. I have shit to do.” 

With that, he left. 

---

Much like the aforementioned couple, Todoroki and Aoyama were not currently scoring high marks in the area of shared parenting. 

“ Mon dieu ,” Aoyama sighed, throwing himself onto a glittery white couch situated against the wall of his dorm room. “How tiring life is for la mére .” 

“You are male,” Todoroki said in his classic deadpan. “How can you be the mother?” 

Aoyama ignored him. 

“Also,” Todoroki continued. “You haven’t taken care of them all day, so how can you be the mother?” 

At that, however, Aoyama sat up with an indignant gasp. “How dare ?” he said, hand fluttering to his chest.

“Shinso took care of (which one as it? Todo or Roki?) today,” Todoroki said, rocking Roki in his arms. “It helped. I was able to finish a public service announcement about Shinso being Aizawa-sensei’s secret love child.” 

Aoyama scoffed. “Shinso!” he said, crossing his arms. “ Ce naufrageur! ” 

“He’s not a homewrecker,” Todoroki said in a measured tone. “He is a babysitter.” 

“That is what they all say,” Aoyama sniffed, getting up and shoving his feet into his fluffy glittery bunny slippers. “I am leaving. Au revoir .” 

“Bye bye,” Todoroki said, waving little Todo’s hand at the back of his neglectful mother. In less than an instant, Aoyama was gone, the door closing behind him (despite the fact that this was his room. Where was he planning to go with that dramatic exit? This wasn’t a soap opera). “Let’s get to sleep, my squishies,” Todoroki said, patting the twins on their heads. “Sneep sneep sneep.”

---

“Lemme catch a peek,” Kaminari said, shoving his hand over Ashido’s shoulder as he closed his dorm room door behind them. 

Her pink fingers scrambled over the keys before hitting a couple buttons, finally displaying their hours of stalking on the screen. 

The first shot is ominous, the back door of the UA dorms lit in pale morning sunrise. The door creaks slightly as someone pushes it open and stomps out, the angry footsteps indicating that (1) blasty boi was exiting the building. “ A True Story ” declares a caption on the screen. There is no fine print suggesting that this is a reenactment. Which is truly brave on the director’s part, considering that the next shot shows a door flinging open again to reveal what is supposedly Midoriya standing on the stairs. 

However, any viewer with more than 0.576% of a brain cell can tell that “Midoriya” is just Sero Hanta wearing a mop dyed with green kool-aid on his head. His “hair” is askew and his worried hands twisting in his apron. His clothes are littered with sewn patches out of a 50’s cartoon about poverty. “Where are you going, Kacchan? The kids are hungry!” He is giving the performance of his life. 

“Bakugo” doesn’t even turn back, he just stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks off into the grainy distance. “Bakugo”, it seems, is also played by Sero Hanta, but this time, with a bleached Bob Ross costume wig on the verge of falling off of his head. “And where the ever-loving fuck do you think we’re gonna get the food, genius? We’ve got nine goddamn kids, and it ain’t my fault!” 

“Midoriya” pauses, unable to reason with the logic, but when the lens carefully zooms in, the tiniest of trembles is evident on the student’s mouth. For once, the talkative boy is at a loss for words. He licks his lips nervously and stutters, “Y-you’re gonna come back, right?”

“Bakugo” frowns. “I’m not like your sorry, deadbeat excuse of a father, if that’s what you’re implying, you piece of shit.” 

“Midoriya” promptly bursts into tears, and the lens lingers on his tear-streaked face for a moment before fading to black.

~~~

The second shot is far less dramatic, and more characteristic of a classic sit-com than a soap opera (don’t be fooled for a second, though, the authors warn. Remember whose fic you’re reading). Somehow, with terrifying competence, “Midoriya” has successfully managed to wrangle his bajillion children onto the breakfast table. Except that his “children” are all played by Sero Hanta as well. 

“Okay, heroes!” “Midoriya” says, clapping his hands together. ( Kami snorts in the background. “He’s conditioning them this early?”) He opens his mouth to continue, but a tiny voice interrupted.

“When’s daddy coming back?” asks one poorly disguised Sero, cooing in a poor imitation of a robot baby.

“Midoriya” plasters on a smile, twiddling his thumbs. “Soon, darling,” he says, dramatically turning away. “He’ll be back before you’re a man.”

“It had been thirty-two minutes,” said the narrator, who (to no one’s surprise) sounded suspiciously like Sero trying to imitate Morgan Freeman. “Thirty-two minutes of stark solitude. Midoriya Izuku was like a fish out of water, a bumbling calf unfamiliar with its surroundings, trying to make sense of the world around him. Like a newborn giraffe, with a neck to rival All Might’s, the young boy is floundering on shaky legs—”

The incredibly eloquent, well-written narration is interrupted by Ashido’s exasperated voice. “That’s enough , Sero—” A sigh. “--Sergan Freehanta. This isn’t a frickin’ nature documentary—”

“Oh yeah? Tell me Midoriya doesn’t look like a floundering All-Might giraffe baby right now. Can you look me in the eyes and say those words? Can you?”

“... no. Carry on.”

“Thank you.”

As if he heard the entire exchange, “Midoriya” shakily rises from his place at the table and wobbles to his room. “Sit tight, children!” he says cheerily. “Momma will be back soon!”

The camera ominously tips into a Dutch tilt, and opera music begins to play in the background. “Sad boi hours,” Freehanta says solemnly as “Midoriya” covers his face with his hands and begins to weep. “For the second time today, the young Midoriya finds himself in tears as the world around him moves on without him.” 

The voiceover continues as “Midoriya” sniffles, rubs his eyes and picks up a framed picture on the table, staring sadly at it. Somehow, the cameraman manages to get an incredibly clear shot of the picture (no, this is not staged). The opera song rises to a crescendo as Bakugo’s shirtless self comes into focus. It seems to be a picture of the real Bakugo, but with Sero Hanta’s face tacked onto it. (“Does he really think that that’s going to make everyone believe that Sero is the one that’s ripped?” Ashido asked with a sigh, only to be met with Sero’s offended glare and an incredulous, “Those are my abs.”) 

“Midoriya,” the sunshine child he is (or pretends to be), has attempted to cover Bakugo’s (“Sero’s”) abs with a sticky note, which is unfortunately (or fortunately? depends on the viewer) translucent.

“This picture isn’t just any picture,” Ashido interrupts the narration, sounding like a true crime narrator. “It looks suspiciously familiar, and after further investigation, the police find that this is an exact copy of the thirst trap photo Kirishima snuck of Bakugo doing deadlifts this morning in the Class 1-A gym. And I repeat-- it is not Sero. Shout out to Red Riot, he’s a real one, taking one for the thirsty team. I believe he is currently hospitalized.”  

The camera cuts to “Izuku’s” face as he dabs delicately at his tears and clutches the shirtless thirst trap to his chest before fading to the next scene.

“Find out what happens after this.”

The scene cuts to an ad break.

Todoroki Shouto blips onto the screen, materializing with a sparkle of badly edited glitter and a confetti PowerPoint transition that only Aoyama could have suggested. “Ahem,” he says, actually saying the word instead of clearing his throat. He stares to the right of the camera, not at all obviously reading off a teleprompter, and begins his spiel in a complete monotone. 

“Have you ever had a conspiracy that you were absolutely certain was true.” he says blandly, rather than asks. He raises a hand like Vanna from Wheel of Fortune as a printed picture of Shinso in a cat onesie is dangled from the ceiling, brightly colored string looped around a hole in the paper. 

Shouto waits as the picture is carefully centered in the view of the camera, then smiles and stiffly points to the image that appears on the screen. “This is Shinso Hitoshi,” he says, mysteriously raising an eyebrow (unfortunately, he fails and ends up raising both his eyebrows). 

“Or is it?” He stays in that incredibly uncomfortable expression while the picture of Shinso floats in the air. “Ahem,” Shouto says again, glancing at someone off screen. An image of Aizawa is precariously lowered into the frame. “Could it be that Shinso Hitoshi is actually Shinso Aizawa?”

There is a loud shuffling of something, possibly (definitely) cue cards. Shouto turns to the camera again. “I am in contact with a top secret informant. I have evidence that this is real.” 

He reaches down to pick up a massive poster board with massive blue letters plastered across it like a giant ransom note. “If you have more conspiracies to report, please contact this email to expose the truth.”  The camera dips down to show the email plastered across the board is “ [email protected] ” in a variety of magazine letters that made it look rather like a meme font, before tilting back up to the student. He performs an incredibly bad impression of what appears to be a detective (that’s incredibly questionable, though), crossing his arms and looking seriously into the camera, accidentally looking like a lone Charlie’s Angel instead. 

The scene cuts with abrupt camera static, fading back into a faded establishing shot of the outside of the UA dorms. 

“Midoriya Izuku has been dealing with the struggles of single parenthood, his early abandonment issues arising as he wars between his trust of his partner and the psychological damage brought about by his father’s early departure from his life. Find out what happens as the young giraffe-Might hybrid navigates the distressing difficulties of parenthood and trauma.” A dramatic Law and Order sound effect chimes before the camera cuts to a shot of “Bakugo”, waiting in line at the grocery store with an obviously placed advertisement for GOT MILK? (This isn’t even sponsored but the directors said what the heck). 

The cashier looks at “Bakugo”’s cart, which is full to the brim with milk cans, nearly spilling over. “That’s… that’s our whole stock, sir,” the cashier says, looking worried. 

“Did I fucking ask?” “Bakugo” grumbles with a glare. “My goddamn kids need calcium.”

“...How many kids do you have, sir?”

“Bakugo” scowls. “Nine, what’s it to you?”

The cashier’s eyes widen as his eyes dart down, as if to assess if “Bakugo” is hiding a weapon of mass destruction in his pants. Realizing this is sexual harassment, he hurriedly turns back to the register, practically trembling with newfound fear. “$468.15, sir,” he mumbles. 

“Bakugo” throws a wad of bills on the counter without bothering to count them before storming out of the store, leaving a scared-shitless cashier behind. 

----

The shot fades into the Class 1A dorm’s common area. Kaminari is pacing in front of the couch, arms crossed. As if on cue, the door is kicked open by “Bakugo”, walking like a gremlin and hauling plastic grocery bags with condensation dripping off of them. 

“Bakubro,” Kaminari says in a serious tone, turning towards the door. “Why were you gone so long?”

“Eeeh?!” “Bakugo” basically growls. 

“You’ve been out for three hours!” 

“I didn’t know you could count that high, you brainless idiot.” “Bakugo” goes about his business, acting like Kaminari isn’t there.

“And that’s another thing, Mr. Age of Entitlement!” 

“Enlightenment,” Sero Hanta corrects from somewhere off the screen, still in his Sergan Freehanta voice, making it very confusing and very jarring for those watching. 

“Enlightenment! I’m not just a brainless idiot. You can’t treat me like your average 50s housewife anymore!” He lets out a sudden shriek and throws a chair across the room for no reason.

Kirishima materializes on screen. “Women’s rights!” he says enthusiastically, pumping a fist in the air before disappearing just as quickly.

“What on God’s green earth are you fucking yammering about?!” “Bakugo” yells, whirling around. 

“WHAT WERE YOU DOING FOR THREE HOURS, BAKUGO?!” 

“I WENT TO GET THE FUCKING MILK, DUMBASS!” 

“THAT’S WHAT THEY ALL SAY!!” Kaminari yells back, flailing his limbs about dramatically. Any outsider would’ve thought he was the spouse or the bakudeku child in this situation. Alas, he was nothing more than the filmmaker leeching off of the drama. 

From the corner of the room, Shinso scoffs. “Why do you care more about their children than your own dead son?” he says accusingly. Kaminari barely spares him a glance as he squares up in front of “Bakugo”.

“Bakugo,” the original Pikachu shouts, crossing his arms. “Bakugo, you know you’re my Bakubro, but this has officially gone. Too. Far.”

“Bakugo” gnashes his teeth. “What the hell do you want me to do?!” 

“Poor Midoriya,” Kaminari sighed, wiping away fake tears. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to him.” 

“Doing what to him goddamnit--” 

Kaminari runs off screen dramatically, as if he is auditioning for Gone With the Wind, leaving “Bakugo” even more confused than before. 

He throws an angry glance at Shinso, who shrugs nonchalantly, despite clearly having been upset just moments ago. “You look like a pomeranian when you’re mad,” he says, instead of offering an explanation to what had just transpired, then stands and walks out of the room, cradling his dead son in his arms.

---

“Wow, this looks great, Ashido,” Kaminari said, rubbing his hands together. There were practically little dollar signs in his eyes. “We’re gonna be viral.” 

“I think we’re missing something though,” Ashido said, tapping a finger on her lip thoughtfully. 

“Maybe a BUZZFEED UNSOLVED logo on the end of the vid?” Kaminari offered. 

Ashido did not dignify the suggestion with a response. “I think I know what it is,” she said, smiling evilly. “I know what we’re missing!” 

“Your child?” Kaminari asked. “Where is (insert baby name the whole thing lol) anyways? I haven’t seen her since classes ended--”

“Kirishima’s got her,” Ashido said, waving off his concern. “We need…” she paused for dramatic effect. “A flashback sequence! ” 

----

“Alright,” Ashido said, holding the camera up with one hand. “ Andddddd ACTION!” 

“It was the dreaded day all of this began,” Sergan Freehanta began reading off the script. 

Present Mic stands at the front of the classroom, dressed in a familiar black jumpsuit and Party City Dracula cape, with toilet paper wrapped around his neck. “WE’RE MAKING BABIES TODAY!” he screams at the class.

Ashido winces. “Quieter, Mic-Sensei!”

“Oh, right,” the voice hero mumbles, schooling his face into a serious expression that makes him look a little too much like Aizawa, despite the blonde hair (badly hidden under a mop-looking black blob) and cheap costume. “Get in your seats,” he deadpans. “You kids are irrational yada yada yada.”

“YOU’RE MEAN, SENSEI!” yelled Eri from the first row, wearing a massive button up shirt and blazer and covered her whole body. Her hair was a mess, half spiked up with gel in her attempt to cosplay (1) blasty boi. Kouta, dressed in a blonde wig and flamboyant cape, mouth twisted in a v-shape that looks disconcertingly like a certain French(?) boy, nods enthusiastically as Eri gears up for another insult. “YOU’RE POOP!” 

Mic actually looks appalled for a moment. “Eri-- Bakugo !” he admonishes, somehow managing to keep his stale impression of Aizawa intact. “Watch your language. You’re practically asking for a trip to Nedzu’s office.”

Eri scowls, somehow pulling off an incredibly accurate impression of Bakugo. “Make me, you son of a—”

“-- Mic, what in the world are you doing?” 

Mic skitters back as Aizawa stalks into the room, looking — for the millionth time that week — scarily ready to murder him in cold blood. “ Shooouuu ta!” he says, drawing out the first syllable in a vain attempt to delay his inevitable demise. “May I ask what you’re doing here on this fine evening?”

Aizawa just stares at him. “This is my classroom,” he says.

Mic just laughs. “Ob-vi-ous-ly! I was testing you!”

Aizawa just stared at Mic as his awkward chuckles petered out, eyebags seeming to grow even longer with each agonizing chortle. “Mic,” Aizawa finally said, sounding absolutely done with the entire situation.

“Yes, dearest?” Mic said, already regretting the totally unnecessary pet name as it left his lips. It was a testament to Aizawa’s utter exhaustion that he didn’t immediately hurl a chair at Mic’s head in retaliation. 

Instead, he merely sighed and pointed to the door. “Out.” 

“Yes, dearest.” 

“Mic?”

“Yes dearest?” 

“You call me that one more time and you can say goodbye to your dearest life.” 

Mic made an odd screeching noise out of fear. “Yes deares--worstest? Oh god.” He seemed to malfunction for a moment. 

Aizawa laughed , and Mic’s eyes widened as he anticipated his approaching doom. “If you’re gonna kill me, please do it quickly,” he half-whispered. Aizawa only laughed harder, looking completely insane.

“You know I’m not that upset, right?” he said in a somehow compassionate voice despite the disturbing sounds (read: laughter) coming out of his mouth.

“I-- you’re not ?” Mic stammered nervously, eyes darting towards Kouta and Eri, who had gotten distracted and now were on the floor in the puddle of their oversized uniforms, playing some game that involved too much skinship for Aizawa not to murder Kouta in cold bold. They’re too busy to be witnesses, he thought morosely. This is the day I die. 

“No, and frankly I’m just as surprised as you are,” Aizawa said, his laughter finally having died down, giving way to his usual monotone. 

“Just know,” he said as he reached for the ground (Mic desperately hoped he was just practicing his stretches) and picked up the legs of the closest chair, “that this murder is one of love, not hate.”

“You love me?” was Mic’s only takeaway as he, once again, embraced darkness.

Chapter Text

CLASS 1-A GETS TELE NOVELLA SPICY!! (GONE INCORRECT) XD uWu

Comments (69,420): 

This comment section has been restricted. 

hoeforbakuhoe: God fucking damnit bakugo is so fucking hot oh my god DADDY 

Reply (1) -- canteloupeepee: i’d let him step on me omllll 😝😜😪😫

Reply (2) -- hoeforbakuhoe: no fr deku is so ungrateful if bakugo ran over me with a motherfucking car i would just thank him and kiss him 

Reply (3) -- no1allmightstan: nah same cause i’m still tryna get his autograph ;-;

no1allmightstan: bakugo <3 

izuchannie: poor izukuchan!! >,< he’s my favorite he deserves everything b*kugo is so poopy 

Reply (1): whyamIalive : sammmeeeee he’s totally villain material 

Reply (2): no1allmightstan: turn on your location.

dekusvampirewaifu: oh what a cute boy. His blood looks yummy uwu. More blood please ^^ 

burntchickennugget: that half-and-half boy is onto something. do more conspiracy theories. specifically abt endeavor. thank you.

DAY THREE

10:41 AM

“Hey babe,” Kirishima said, rolling over onto his side. He looked a mess, hair askew and face half buried in a pillow from his impromptu early morning nap. 

Ashido, who was buried under the other half of the fluffy comforter, poked her head out. “Hey.” 

“How long was I asleep for?” 

She shrugged, burrowing back under the covers. “Hell if I know,” she mumbled. “Time is a joke.” 

Kirishima nodded gravely. “It’s a social construct. Or at least, that’s what Philosopher-chan told me.”

“Philsopher-chan scares me,” Ashido whispered, looking over her shoulder as if afraid he would materialize at any given moment. 

“Once, he told me that none of us matter,” Kirishima said. “And I believed him. He’s too convincing.” They gazed up blankly at the ceiling, abruptly entering into an existential crisis. “What even is the meaning of life? We’re all just specks of dust, made to disintegrate--” 

“Hey, babe,” Ashido interrupted suddenly. “Where’s the baby?”

Kirishima rolled over onto his stomach, a wide grin on his face reminiscent of a puppy. “I’m here, baby!”

Ashido wrinkled her nose. “No, the baby baby.” 

“I am your baby, baby!” 

With a groan, Ashido smacked her boyfriend across the back of the head. “No, Eijiro, the literal baby! Uh. Kirishido or whatever.”

Kirishima looked confused for a second, before his expression cleared. “Ohhh, that baby! There are so many things you could mix that term up with, babe,” he scolded. “Me, for one,” he winked. “And second, you could’ve been referring to that American lullaby. Y’know, the one that goes… babyy babyyy babyy ohhh? ”

Ashido looked a second away from homicide. “Eiji, where is um. Eijishimishimia?! We don’t have time to discuss Justin Bieber!” 

“Justin Bieber?” Kirishima mused. “The composer of said lullaby? A genius among men? Can we discuss the lyric ‘ like baby baby baby no, like baby baby baby oh’ ? The rhyme, the rhythm, the essence --” 

For that, the redhead got acid to the face (#SaveKirishima2021). “We have to find Ashirimaoido!” 

“Right,” Kirishima said, getting up. “Sorry if asking this makes me a bad father, but… what did we name her again?” 

“Kirashimina,” Ashido said confidently, saying a completely different name than she had the past three times.

“Let’s go, then,” Kirishima exclaimed, a determined look crossing his face. “Kirido needs our help!”

“Where on Earth could poor Ashishima be?” Ashido moaned woefully, getting up from the bed and flipping the covers this way and that, the thought that she could send the baby flying never crossing her mind. But then again, even if she did, it was more likely to put a hole through the drywall with the inhumane density of the thing. 

“Okay, let’s think,” Kirishima said, looking remarkably calm. “When was the last time we saw our child?” 

“Breakfast, before we came up for the nap,” Ashido said, arms crossed. “We should ask if anyone has seen her.” 

“Sero,” Kirishima said immediately. “He’s our most reliable source. Hang in there, Shidorima!” he said, seemingly to his daughter. “Mommy and daddy are coming for you!” 

DAY THREE

11:35 AM

Sero, as one would expect, was doing what no one would expect. Nobody could ever foresee what Sero Hanta would be doing at any given point in time. After all, he was a man of mystery, of myth, of legend. 

Right now, he was being especially mysterious. He was having a staring contest with an especially stubborn light fixture while also practicing his best cobra pose. 

He was having a marvelous time when he sneezed, effectively ending the contest. “You win again, Harriet,” he said, shaking his head. 

Harriet stared back at him, as blank anyone would expect a light fixture to be.

“You’re a tough one,” he shook his head with a laugh and a Debby Ryan smile. “I’ll crack you one day yet.” he looked back up at Harriet through his eyelashes, practicing his best lip bite. 

Being the cold icy bitch she was, Harriet still said nothing.

“You need to do something , Harry!” Sero said indignantly, dropping the cobra pose. “I can’t carry this relationship by myself!” 

Sato, who had been leisurely sobbing in a corner, looked up. “Sero, you good man?” 

Sero shot him a convincing thumbs up. “yUh,” he said. Sato returned the gesture, then promptly returned to his weeping. 

At that, Sero turned back around, fixing Harriet with a strong look. “All I wanted was an enemies to lovers romance,” he said, voice cracking and eyes straining to keep his tears from falling. “Is that too much for a strapping young man to ask for?!” 

Harriet just sat there, unaffected.

Sero threw his hands up dramatically, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I can’t believe you, Harry,” he cried. “Must I resort to drastic measures?”

He sighed, expecting the silence. “Fine,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Have it your way. There’s a thousand other light fixtures better than you.” 

Harriet’s light seemed to dim at that, and Sero delighted in how his poisoned barbs hurt her. He wanted her to hurt like he hurt. He couldn’t take the pain alone anymore-- he was done playing the nice guy. He wanted her to feel the way he did-- to be unable to sleep, unable to sleep, unable to feel. Sero wanted Harriet to suffer like he suffered. 

“It’s time for me to go,” Sero said, stepping away and donning his coat and wrapping his favorite fifteen foot scarf around his neck. It only took him seven minutes, his new record (he could replace Eraserhead, really). Fully dressed, he was equipped to cross the room. 

Sitting on the other side of the room next to the casually sobbing Sato, he put his face in his hands. “Did I do the wrong thing?” he asked. “Should we have tried to make it work?” 

Sato glanced up, tears frozen on his cheeks. “You did the right thing, man,” he sobbed, patting Sero’s shoulder.

“You’re right,” Sero said, straightening up. “I should be with someone else, someone younger. Someone who would do the things that Harriet refused to do.” 

“Good on you, man,” Sato said, wiping his face as Mary Juana handed him a tissue. 

“Hi weedle baby,” Sero said, poking his robot daughter’s face. “Guess what! Daddy just got his heart broken into a million pieces!” 

Mary Juana, blank faced, shrugged and handed him a tissue, patterned with some familiar looking plants. Sero didn’t give it much thought before bringing the cloth to his face and wiping away the tears.

“It’s time for me to move on,” Sero said, before getting up to take a powerful, single stride towards the shelf next to his bed. “Hi salt lamp.” 

The salt lamp, surprisingly, said nothing. “Dang,” Sero sighed. “Rejected again.” He cocked his head. “How does this turn on?” 

Sato blew his nose loudly. “I don’t know.” 

Sero poked the lamp, trying to find an on button only to see nothing apparent. Instead, the lamp began to emit noises that sounded a little too similar to a baby crying. Sero’s confusion cleared in an instant.

“OH!” he shouted in epiphany. “It’s a musical salt lamp!” 

Mary Juana and Sato just stared at him. “No—”

“oOOOHHHhh this SLAPS!” Sero said, headbanging. “This calls for me to unleash my legendary air guitar,” he exclaimed. He started contorting his body in ways that had nothing to do with guitars, but should’ve had more to do with exorcisms. Baby Mary Juana followed in his lead, doing a little dance where she stayed completely rigid save for minutely moving her hips side to side, looking like she was glitching. 

Sato considered for a brief moment if he should call a priest, before realizing that Sero was the only registered priest in the building. Through sniffles, he asked, “Can you please exorcise yourself, bro?”

“Nah, bro,” Sero said, still wiggling. “I’ve got the spirit of rock and roll!” Mary Juana nodded enthusiastically.

“yUh,” she said.

Sato’s eyes widened. “Our weedle baby’s first words!” he shrieked, finally joining the chaotic chorus in the room. The trio wiggled and wailed in ways that could hardly be called musical, carried only by the faithful spirit of rock and roll.

DAY THREE

12:02 PM

“Hey, Sero,” Kirishima said as soon as he opened the door. “We just wanted to ask--”

“Oh my god,” Ashido interrupted. “Is that-- is that Mishidieiji on your shelf !?” 

“Oh, that,” Sero laughed. “It’s my new salt lamp! It screams, too! I think I’m starting a band.” 

“THAT’S MY BABY!” Ashido said, shoving past him. “Oh, dear Roideji, come to mommy!” She grabbed the baby and held it to her chest, pretending not to notice her rock-like texture. 

“What on Earth were you doing with the child, Sero?” Kirishima asked, massaging a wrinkle between his eyebrows. 

“I was composing,” he said seriously. Unexpectedly, Sero’s face contorted in stark anger. “AND YOU THREW OFF MY GROOVE!”

“NOT HIS GROOVE!” Sato and Mary Juana gasped in unison.

“Maybe it’s time to go,” Ashido said, rushing out of the room with the baby in her arms. 

“Is Sato okay?” Kirishima asked, even as he was being pulled along by his girlfriend.

“Yeah,” Sato said, wringing out his handkerchief into a bucket. “I’m saving up.”  

“For what?” 

Sato just gave a mysterious smile. “You’ll see. You’ll all see.” 

Kirishima took that as his cue to book it.

DAY THREE -- Saturday

1:42 PM

Todoroki sneezed as the cat waved its furry tail in his face.

“Are you allergic?” Shinso said, concern (or was that disgust) in his face. Todoroki shook his head.

“I think that cat was just dusty.” 

Shinso actually laughed. “If you say so, dude.” He brought his coffee cup to his mouth and took a sip. “Blegh,” he said, making a face. “Too sweet.” He sighed, then downed the rest in one gulp, then smirked when Todoroki’s eyes widened. “I was champion of all chugging contests in the fourth grade. Think you can beat that, Icyhot?”

“Yeah,” Todoroki said, then changed the subject before Shinsou could respond. “Do you come here often?” he asked, feeling unusually conversational.

“Oh?” Shinso leaned closer. “The classics, I see.” 

“Classics?” Todoroki cocked his head. “Like Crime and Punishment ? Or maybe The Grapes of Wrath ? Those are pretty good—”

“No, doofus,” Shinso sighed, flicking Todoroki’s forehead. As he thought, it was hollow. “Classic pick up line.” 

Todoroki blinked slowly. “You want me to pick you up?” 

Shinsou stared in disbelief. “W-what?” he stammered, mouth gaping in shock.

“You want to be picked up?” Todoroki repeated. 

Raising an eyebrow, Shinso leaned forward. “I’d like to see you try.”  

“OH!” Todoroki said, eyes lighting up. He stood and walked over to Shinso’s side of the booth, then slid his hands under the insomniac’s arms.

“DUDE! What the fuck!” Shinso yelled, flailing. Even the cats were staring. 

Todoroki looked confused. “But you said—”

“You are a bold man to hit on my son when you’re failing Sex Ed.” 

Stunned, Todoroki quickly dropped the purplette straight onto the ground and bowed in apology. “I’m so sorry, Sensei. I didn’t intend to physically assault your son—”. He paused, eyes widening with shock. “Is that a confession of your parental bond?” he asked, excitement entering his voice for the first time that evening. Apology forgotten, he straightened and materialized a notebook out of thin air (Deku was teaching him well frfr). 

“Eraserhead-san,” he said, suddenly adopting a reporter’s tone. “What is the nature of your relationship with Shinso Hitoshi?” 

Aizawa almost dropped the cat he was holding, before he remembered where he was. Eyes narrowing, he gave Todoroki a glare straight from hell. “Do you want to fail another class, Todoroki Shouto?”

Unfortunately for the hero, Todoroki was immune to hellish death stares. “My theories take priority, Eraserhead-san,” he said, still speaking in a reporter’s tone.

Aizawa rolled his eyes, then snatched the notebook and pen in one deft motion. “I’ll give you something to report on,” he said, scribbling something onto the page. He shoved the notebook back into Todoroki’s hands. “Now take your babies and leave my son alone.” He ruffled Shinso’s hair. If he noticed Todoroki’s bewildered expression, he ignored it. “C’mon, kid.”

Todoroki stared down at his notebook as the pair prepared to leave. Scribbled on the page were the words “shinso hitoshi is my son,” followed by a surprisingly cute drawing of a cat sticking out its tongue.

“Wait—” Todoroki said, looking confused. “Why are you giving me this?”

Aizawa smirked. “Cause no one will believe you.” With that, he and Shinso left the cat cafe, scarves fluttering in the wind like redneck romeos.

DAY THREE - Saturday 

4:33 PM

It was late in the afternoon when Todoroki finally got Todo and Roki to fall asleep. Unfortunately, it was on the couch in the commons, so he just stood over them with the stance of a standing emoji, staring at them unblinkingly like every good mother should. 

“Are they asleep?” Kaminari came in, whispering when Todoroki gestured to him and nodded. 

“Looks like it took a lot of effort,” the blonde said, looking over them. “Lucky me, Lighty-chan is a good kid. He’s always sleeping.” 

Todoroki looked at the glassy-eyed, drooling robot baby, and decided it would be best not to crush little Kaminari’s dreams.  

“The others were going to come down here,” Kaminari whispered. “I’ll text them and tell them to be quiet.” 

“I will be,” Sero said, materializing out of the shadows in a tall vampire cloak. “Sorry, I haven’t changed. This is my work uniform.” He pulled out a pair of extremely sharp fake canines, pricking himself in the process. “Ouchie pouchie. I got a boo-boo.” 

“I will heal it,” Sato said, appearing and handing Sero a bandaid with cake icons all over it. “I will give it a kissy.” 

“Thank you for the kissy,” Sero said, slapping the bandaid across his nose instead of on his bleeding finger. When Sato looked at him quizically, Sero just shook his head like a Very Wise Man. “Feeling like a cute anime girl will make me heal much faster than covering the wound will.”

“Wounds?” Deku was trekking down the stairs, covered in so many babies that one could’ve compared him to the bottom of a ship, covered in little Bakugo-sounding barnacles. “Do you need anything? Iida is on his way down.”

“Why’re you helping Soy Sauce Face?!” baby Kacchan screamed in her signature banshee voice. “He’s an idiot!” 

“Kacchan,” Deku sighed, disappointed. “Be nice. Say sorry to Soy Sauce-- I mean-- to Sero-san.” 

“Hell no,” Kacchan yelled, hopping off of Deku’s shoulder and scampering off. He watched her go, lips pursed. His eyebags looked awfully deep as he lugged the rest of the kids over to the couches. 

“Don’t listen to her, Sero,” he said tiredly. “She’s a handful.” 

“I don’t listen to children on principle,” Sero said seriously. “They know too much. Not good for my mental health.” 

Iida and Uraraka chose that moment to show up, brandishing their perfect daughter and in the company of Yaoyorozu and Jiro with their undeserved monstrosity. “Mental health,” baby Ingenia began in her perfect little voice. “Is extremely important.” 

Yaoyorozu and Jiro looked down at Baby Present Mic Wazowski, who seemed to be gearing up to scream. “For the love of the gods, please don’t,” Jiro mumbled, and Baby Mic, feeling some modicum of guilt, shut his mouth. The two girls were nearly in grateful tears when a door slammed open, Aoyama storming in. The sound was so loud that Baby Mic immediately started screaming his head off. 

“What is this?” Todoroki looked up to see Aoyama standing over him, fuming, dressed in a doublet of rainbow colors, covered in so much excessive glitter that it scattered every time he moved, like he was a giant cloud of glitter. And it was definitely raining. 

The blonde was holding his phone in his hand, which had an overly gaudy JoJo Siwa case on it with Aoyama’s name written hastily over hers in metallic Sharpie. On the screen was an extremely blurry picture, but it was unmistakably Shinso and Todoroki, leaving a cat cafe. 

“It’s a picture,” Todoroki said, looking up at Aoyama. “Of me.” 

Aoyama gasped, shoving the phone towards the other boy’s face aggressively. “How dare you? And would you mind telling everyone who you were with?!” 

Todoroki looked over to Shinso, who was making guilty eye contact with him. Despite sitting across the room from each other, they were both covered in enough cat hair to make a cat hair rug. “A friend,” Todoroki said carefully. 

“A friend,” Aoyama repeated, so pissed that he was forgetting to pretend to be French. “How dare you do this to me?!” He whorled around. “And what do you have to say for yourself, you absolute whore! ” 

The Days of Our Lives theme song started playing the background, and Aoyama was suddenly holding a glass of champagne in his hand (despite being underage) that materialized out of nowhere. He tossed it dramatically in Shinso’s face, the purplette being taken by surprise as he had been standing there, making funny faces at little Todo Briller. 

Everyone gasped, even Baby Mic, who stopped screaming for an instant to do so, and all eight of the remaining BakuDeku children. Ingenia and Iida both began a speech on underage drinking in tandem, only for Urararararaka to stop them with a hand over each of their mouths. 

Shinso, meanwhile, sputtered, wiping off his face. “What was that for?!” 

“For going to a cat cafe with my husband , you no-good harlot!” Aoyama grabbed another glass of champagne out of nowhere, about to hurl it at Shinso’s face again. 

“Hey, wait!” Shinso yelled, grabbing his champagne-tossing hand. “It was platonic, okay! We went out platonically!” 

Kaminari, who had been standing silently in the back of the room with Sero finally processed the situation. “Shinso,” he said heavily, standing up and walking to the taller boy. “Tell me it isn’t true.” 

“What isn’t true?” Aizawa asked, walking in at the absolute worst time. He sighed when the entire room erupted into chaos, then held up a hand. “Shut up,” he said. “I already have a headache.” The tired surrogate father pointed at Kaminari. “Tell me what’s going on. And make it quick.”

Kaminari looked like he was about to burst. “Is Shinso cheating on me? Is it the end?” he wailed. “Did he and Todoroki really go to a cat cafe together?” Aoyama waved the photo evidence over Kaminari’s head.

Aizawa raised an eyebrow after peering at the photo. “Oh, we were just at that cafe,” he said, managing not to answer any of the questions he’d been asked. “Right, Shinso?”

Shinso seemed to have undergone a total shift in attitude. His guilty expression was gone; now, he looked like he was trying to hide a smile, but the way he was rubbing his hands together in imitation of a stereotypical shounen villain gave him away. “Yeah, Sensei,” he said. “We did. Right, Todoroki?”

Todoroki figured he was safe now. “Yeah,” he nodded. “We pet the cats, and I tried to pick you up—”

“Excuse moi~” Aoyama practically screeched. “You’re touching other men?” He scoffed. “What a player. I’ll admit, you had me fooled for a while, you clever boy~”

Kaminari had already begun to sob. “It’s over!” he cried. “This is all because I killed Lighty-chan, wasn’t it, you jerk?” he wailed, pointing at the violetette accusingly. “Is this revenge?”

Aizawa raised his head. “Wait, wh—” 

“Whoa, whoa,” Shinso interrupted, raising his hands in defense. “Infanticide is no small crime, Kami,” he said. “You could get jail time for that!” His eyes widened comically. “Or even worse! The d—”

“Hold on,” Aizawa said, cutting him off. “What are you talking about? Infanticide?” 

“He’s just going on about something, Sensei,” Kaminari laughed, lifting Lighty-chan up. “See? Your grandson is fine.” 

Aizawa stared at the limp robot baby in his arms. “Somehow I don’t believe you,” he deadpanned. 

“Who cares about the baby named after a Pixar car?!” Aoyama screamed, throwing himself dramatically over the back of the couch. “That bitch stole my husband!” He pointed at Shinso, who just shrugged. 

“Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” Kaminari asked through his teeth. 

“Not really,” said the amethystette. “It was platonic.”

“You can’t go to a cat cafe platonically ,” Aoyama sobbed into Iida’s arm, having moved in order to display all his best angles. 

Todoroki furrowed his eyebrows. “But there were a lot of plants there,” he said. “It was very plantonic.” The others ignored him.

“Cheater,” Aoyama seethed, brushing away his glittery tears. “Going to a cat cafe is the very expression of everlasting amor itself!” 

Aizawa looked scandalized. "I go all the time with Ectoplasm.” 

“Excuse me,” Present Mic’s voice was overpoweringly villainous in that moment as he materialized out of the shadows, having taken lessons from Sero earlier. “You’re taking Ectoplasm on dates now? How many people am I going to have to take out, Shouta?!”      

Shinso blinked. “Yamama, not now--”

“You’re the one who told me to get a social life, Hizashi,” Aizawa sighed. 

“With me , Sho! A social life with me!”  

“Okay, the middle-aged couple soap operas air after 6pm,” Sero sighed, pushing the older men into a corner of the room. “Let the young’uns have their moment, will you.”

Aoyama took off without a hitch, as if nothing had ever interrupted his mourning. “AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU, SHOUTO?!” 

Todoroki blinked harshly. “Don’t call me that.” 

Aoyama gaped. “What?! Just answer the question!” 

“No, you’re not good enough.” 

“Wrong answer!” 

“Aoyama,” Todoroki sighed. “You fed Todo and Roki glitter pancakes. Those aren’t nutritious!” He was beginning to get a little worked up.

“For glamorous poop,” Aoyama shrugged. “Their middle names are literally Briller.” Todoroki, like usual, was at a loss for words. “They need to be fabulous in every action. Like moi .” 

He got up, striking a pose and staring intently at a wall as a flashback reel was projected across the room behind him. It was moving, a 110mm film feature of a small forgotten French boy braving the struggles of being an orphan in 18th century Europe. There was no food to be had, no helping hands, no hearts that cared for a young child. 

“Aren’t you Japanese?” Todoroki said, interrupting the touching scenes. “None of this actually happened.”

“I don’t care,” Aoyama yelled. “You cheated on me!”’ He whorled towards Shinso like a furious torando, who was braced to be hit by another glass of champagne. The first one had already soaked his hair, making it all dangle over his head and making him look like Clifford the Big Wet Dog. 

“Why are you even so wound up over this,” Shinso asked with a sigh, as if all the events that had transpired happened on a daily basis. “He’s not even your husband.” Aoyama gasped Frenchly. “He’s just your baby momma.” Aoyama gasped even Frenchlier. The entire room was silent for a moment. 

“Is that all I am to you?” Kaminari asked, cradling Lighty-chan closer. “Just the man who birthed your children?!” (everyone pointedly ignored Aizawa’s “they’re robots , I swear—”).

“No, you’re the man who killed my children,” Shinso mumbled under his breath. “But yes, continue the tantrum about how I’m the bad parent.” 

“How dare you?!” Kaminari yelled, tears in his eyes as he pushed Shinso away, still cradling his dead child to his chest. . “I loved you!” Everyone went shock-still around him and Aoyama fell off the couch, audibly saying “ Le gasp~ ” 

“Toshi,” Todoroki said gently, placing a hand on Shinso’s shoulder. Everyone inhaled collectively at the soft nickname. “Leave him-- he’s not worth it.” 

Shinso turned and smiled softly at Todoroki. “I know, you’ll always be my one and only, Sho.” 

Kaminari broke. 

And so did Aizawa, banging his head against the wall, paying no mind to Mic and Nemuri (who had crept in during the chaos) laughing their heads off in the corner of the room. This is the end, he told himself. I am deceased. 

“How was my acting?” Todoroki asked nervously. “Was it passable?” 

Shinso smiled. “It was perfect, bro. Timing, emotion, everything.”

Todoroki looked relieved. “I’m glad,” he said. “I do practice method acting in my free time, so this kind of feedback is very valuable.” He placed a hand on Shinso’s shoulder. “Thank you for this opportunity. I’m indebted to you—”

Shinso laughed awkwardly. “Nah, dude, don’t worry about it. It was a win-win situation, really.”

“How was it a win for you?” Todoroki asked. “It’s nice to have a second parent for Todo and Roki. Being a single parent is hard. But what about you?”

Shinso shrugged mildly. “The babies are cute,” he said finally. “And besides. They can get me out of anything.” 

At Todoroki’s blank expression, Shinso sighed. “Your head is so empty,” he said, flicking his partner in crime in the head for the second time that day. “They get me out of social situations , you idiot. I hate people.”

“Oh,” Todoroki said, blinking. “I guess that makes sense.”

Shinso sighed again. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

Todoroki shrugged. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Shinso laughed, leaning over on the couch. Or at least, as much as he could lean with Roki draped over him asleep. “I like you this way.” 

“Why?” Todoroki looked up at him. “Everyone seems so tired of me.” 

A strange expression crossed Shinso’s face, before it smoothed into irritation. “Nobody’s tired of you, idiot,” Shinso said, once again flexing his amazing ability to never be able to say anything nice without ending it with a mild insult. “They’re just teasing you.” 

“But why would they tease if they weren’t tired of me?” 

Shinso wrinkled his nose. “It’s what friends do,” he said finally. 

Todoroki’s eyes widened. “Friends?” he asked, almost wonderingly.

“Yeah,” Shinso said, leaning over and making the effort to look Todoroki in the eye despite the eggplantette’s proclivity to avoid eye contact. “Friends tease each other. They make fun of their favorite traits of other people, because it’s fun to laugh together. They’re not laughing at you, it’s with you. They like it when you’re cute.” 

“Cute,” Todoroki repeated. “They think I’m cute?” 

“Oh my gosh,” Shinso said, facepalming. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Tease me?” 

Shinso smiled . “Now you’re getting it.” He reached over and shoved Todoroki’s shoulder. “Not bad for the empty headed idiot that you are.”

For the first time that evening, Todoroki returned the smile with one of his own.

Aizawa walked into his apartment, exhausted from the day’s horrid adventures. Sometimes, he wondered if it was time to run away to the Himalayas, though it would be lonely. He couldn’t bring Eri, she would get too cold. Yamama, maybe, to make up for the quiet. When did I start calling him Yamama too??

The teacher unlocked his door, walking into his living room, only to find Eri stroking Kouta with noodles swimmingly. 

Aizawa promptly slammed the door shut, letting his head fall against the frame with a dull thud. “Absolutely not,” he said out loud, practicing the positive affirmations his therapist had told him about. “When I open this door again, everything will be nice and normal. Yeah, that’s right.”

He took a deep breath and grasped the doorknob with a trembling hand. The door creaked as he stepped in, only to find Kouta and Eri wooshing a sauteed emo worm—which he assumed they’d somehow obtained from Tokoyami’s not-so-secret stash—across the room. Aizawa closed his eyes and counted to three. The writers have to be playing mad libs with my life right now , he thought morosely. 

Somewhere in the distant dorm end of the campus, a certain sparkly blonde felt the waves of someone becoming aware of the matrix. ( I can’t let anyone who knows survive, Aoyama thought before strapping up). 

Aizawa sighed deeply before finding the strength in himself to face the situation again. 

“Daddy!” Eri exclaimed as he made his way into the kitchen. She rushed over to hug his knees, and he couldn’t help but bend down to ruffle her hair. 

“Hey kid,” he said, lips twitching with a smile. “What are you two doing?” Eri beamed up at him, and Aizawa completely lost his resolve. I’d do anything for Eri, he thought . I’ll even forgive the little brat.

“We’re making spaghetti! Right, Kouta?” 

Kouta, who had been cackling with the tone of the demonspawn that he was, suddenly froze, posture straightening until he resembled the cutting board they’d been using to assemble their ingredients. Upon remembering his macho facade, though, he immediately slouched over and slung his thumbs in his belt straps, going from kitchen tool to greaser in an impressive instant. 

“Whaddya want, punk?” he sneered. Aizawa sighed. Any hope of forgiving the child was dashed in the same instant.

“Who’re calling punk , you little--”

“ Daddy , don’t talk to honey bear like that,” Eri sighed, patting Aizawa’s knee. “You’re going to make him cry.” 

“I’m not going to cry . I’m not a baby, ” Kouta said with a lot of conviction for someone who hadn’t even been alive when Frozen came out. 

“Oh, I’ll make you cry,” Aizawa grumbled, before what Eri had said caught up to him in a horrible record-scratch moment. “Eri,” he said slowly, voice shaking in his barely contained rage. “ What did you just call that lil pipsqueak?” 

“Honey bear,” Eri repeated, giggling and turning in place as she fanned out her pinafore. “But I like snookie better.” 

Aizawa stared at her for a long time. “S-snookie?” he whispered after an eternity had passed. Eri nodded emphatically. “Isn’t it cute, Daddy? Definitely cuter than something like babester.” She furrowed her brow in thought. “Though pudding is also pretty cute.”

“Pudding,” Aizawa repeated, dumbstruck. Suddenly, the world was strangely fuzzy. Pudding, huh ? Next thing he knew, the entire world had gone black. 

“--addy? Daddy!” 

Aizawa’s ears were ringing. 

“Daddy! Daddy’s dead!” He could hear Eri wailing in the background, but his senses were too fuzzy to make anything out. It sounded like he was hearing her through a wall of cotton. 

“It’s okay Eri,” he could hear Kouta saying. “Even if he’s gone, I’ll take care of you.” 

“Really, snugglemuffin?” Eri was struggling with the word. 

“Of course,” Kouta said, sounding far too proud. “I’ll take care of you better than he ever did. Like a real man!” 

Unfortunately for Kouta, Aizawa’s fatherly reflexes decided to kick in at that exact moment, his hand sweeping out and knocking the demon child to the floor. Eri shrieked. “Daddy! Babycakes!”

“cAN YOU STOP WITH THE NICKNAMES?!” Aizawa asked calmly, his breathing very much even because he was not hyperventilating he was not . 

“But… but you have to use fluffy nicknames to talk about your soulmate,” Eri sniffed. 

“Your what .” 

“Soulmate,” Kouta affirmed, trying to win back some dignity after being taken out in such a humiliating fashion. Aizawa’s hand spasmed and accidentally knocked the hellspawn to the floor once again.

“Oops,” Aizawa said with a hint of remorse as he struggled to his feet. “What happened to me anyway?” he mumbled under his breath, feeling the side of his head. It was tender, with a rough bump on it. Has my dislike of this child gotten so bad that I fainted over him? 

Eri, who had gotten over the assault of her soulmate Kouta, bumbled over to where Aizawa was sitting, draping herself over his arm. “Well you were talking about Pudding and then I heard a boom and a crash--” 

“It was more of a bump and a shhhhpoom,” Kouta interjected with his nerdiest ‘um, actually’ face. 

“Shut up,” Aizawa said, poking him and somehow accidentally knocking him over again. Totally accidental. “If she said it’s a boom and a crash it’s a boom and a crash. What on earth is a shhhpoom anyways?!” 

“So then,” Eri continued, as if she had never been interrupted by two men (if one of them could even be considered a man, considering that he was barely even considered in the population count yet). “The sparkly boy came in.” 

“Aoyama?” 

Eri shrugged. “I dunno. He just said something about the future of the global matrix relying on the collective ignorance of the populace and that he couldn’t let you know the truth of the lie you live.” 

“He said what? ” 

“And then ,” Kouta continued. “He threw glitter at you and said he had to run from his crime scene.” 

Aizawa looked down at himself, to see he had been yassified. Two thoughts ran through his head. He ruined my homeless aesthetic was the first and most important thought. Aizawa took great care in maintaining his sewer rat look. He shook his head, disappointed. He’d have to revamp his routine. Aizawa’s second thought was this is a Yamama situation .

The poor, poor man stumbled to the counter, still not over the effects of Aoyama’s yassification glitter. “I’m calling in the expert,” he muttered, defeatedly dialing Present Mic’s number on his phone, feeling like he’d been forced into the corner of some mental boxing match (maybe it had to do with Aoyama’s matrix-related assassination attempt). He groaned, too tired to deal with everything. 

Mic picked up, cutting his mental breakdown short.

“WHAT’SSSSSS UPPPPPP BABESTER?!!” Aizawa immediately threw his phone down on the ground and began smashing it with his foot. The two children in the kitchen watched him with awe.

Eri pulled Kouta aside. “I promise he’s not usually like this,” she assured him, having to shout-whisper over the sounds of Aizawa destroying his phone. “He probably had a long day.”

Kouta nodded sympathetically. “That can happen,” he said, acting as if he wasn’t the main cause of Aizawa’s constantly rising blood pressure. “It won’t happen to me though, stay safe out there.” 

Yamada chose this exact moment to walk in from Aizawa’s bedroom, where he’d been taking a peaceful and relaxing nap, oblivious to the warzone that was Aizawa’s kitchen. “Hey kiddos,” he said cheerily, before absorbing the spectacle that was in front of him.

“Shou—” he started. “Babester, I think that phone’s had enough.” Aizawa’s head swiveled around so fast, red eyes staring deep into his soul that Yamada, usually immune to his best friend’s death stares, actually took a step back. 

“Yooo, babest—”

“If you call me babester one more time, you’re going to end up just like this phone,” Aizawa stated clearly and calmly, boot still grinding into the remnants of glass and metal.

Yamada gulped. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves here,” he laughed nervously. “We can save the murder for after Friday’s Miss Joke special, but before Tuesday, so I don’t have to grade papers--” 

“ Forget that ,” Aizawa sneered. “Would you like to tell me why you taught Eri pet names?” 

“I didn’t --” 

“You want me to believe you?!” 

Yamada was clearly fearing for his life at this point, flailing his limbs as he hung from Aizawa’s vice grip on his shirt. For all intents and purposes he looks rather banana-like. “I really didn’t--” 

“It was Ashido-chan and Kirishima-chan,” said Kouta, at which Aizawa dropped Yamada immediately. 

“Oh my go— you’re a snitch too? Who raised you?” (Aizawa, in his fit of anger, had forgotten that Kouta was in fact an orphan whose parents died in a tragic villain incident thus leading to his longstanding hatred of heroes and all of hero society).

Before Kouta could answer the question, or rather, burst into a decidedly unmanly fit of tears, Eri hugged him ( HUGGED him!) and looked up at Aizawa, seemingly oblivious to the bloodlust in her father’s eyes. “Ashido-chan and Kirishima-chan said not to tell you,” she mumbled while playing with a hair sticking up comically from the side of Kouta’s head. “They said you would think it was really really funny and that everyone, like all the mommies and daddies, call each other cutey cute names, and Yamama does call you cute names. Like, he calls you babe and baby and sugar and sugarbear--” 

“Eri--” 

She continued, ignoring him. “And you call him thing’s like idiot, and waste-of-space, and son-of-a--” 

Yamada recovered from his split banana peel position on the floor to slap a hand over her mouth. “No, darling,” he said breathlessly. “Don’t say it. Nobody except Shouta says that, okay?” 

Eri cocked her head. “Is it only for daddies to call mommies? Can only Kout-- I mean, Snugglemuffin call me a son-of-a--” 

“ERI!” Aizawa and Yamama yelled in unison, the latter clapping his hand over Eri’s mouth once again. 

“If Kouta ever dares to call you something like that, I will not hesitate to remove him from Ear—from the room.” Eri’s eyes widened. “It’s my job to protect you, okay?”

Kouta unwisely decided to pipe up. “So is it okay if I call you a son-of-a—”

To avoid landing in prison for committing aggravated assault and childicide, Aizawa took a deep breath and went to stand in the corner of the living room. 

“You okay, babest— er, buddy?” Yamada called. For the second time that week, Aizawa began banging his forehead against the wall.

Kouta furrowed his brow, completely forgetting about the fact that Aizawa had come very close to wiping him off the face of the Earth. “What’s up with him?”

Eri sighed, mourning the loss of her father’s sanity. “His therapist told him to remove himself from stressful situations to calm down and avoid causing bodily harm to himself or those around him.”

Kouta frowned. “He’s hitting his head though.” Eri nodded gravely. “We’re working on it. Mental health is a long and arduous journey, but it’s worth it in the end.” She beamed at her sugar bear. “Just like our relationship!”

Aizawa suddenly materialized between the two of them. “Come on,” he seethed. “We’re going to find us two very stupid teenagers to make them pay for their sins.” 

“What are you doing, Aoyama?” Iida asked, pushing up his glasses with a curious look on his face. Aoyama, who had been uncharacteristically and suspiciously hunched over a janky lil laptop on the couch suddenly sat up, slamming it shut. 

“Nothing!!” He squeaked. “Nothing at all?” 

“You looked pretty concentrated,” Iida said, sitting down next to him. 

Aoyama bristled at that, looking around commons to see where everyone else had gathered, judging the situation. “It is a burden I must bear alone,” he said very unFrenchily, not just because of him dropping his fake French accent but because it was a wide known fact that the French were unreliable and do not bear any burdens whatsoever. In fact, the first chance they get, they pass them off to the British. 

“Try me,” Iida said with a soft smile. 

The blonde fixed him with a long look. “If I tell you, I’m going to have to kill you.” 

Iida raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take my chances, Aoyama-kun.” 

Aoyama took a deep breath. “I am in charge of the matrix and I can see that there are people writing this story. In fact, they are the reason you are sitting here right now. They crafted all this with their own hands, from the babies to the insanity to my frivolous fake French backstory. Then have this entire world in the palms of their dinky little hands and if more people find out about this the fabric of our lives as we know it will fall apart. And they’re letting me tell you this because--” 

“I don’t believe you,” Iida said. “See you later Aoyama, Urararararaka needs me with the baby right now.” 

“ Oui ,” Aoyama said sadly, throwing a puff of glitter into the air as Iida left. Now time to get back to Mission Sparkle: Assassination of Aizawa-Senpai to keep the secrets of our world secret. 

---

Iida walked over from his strange conversation with Aoyama to find Uraraka looking over their baby, who was teaching the bakudeku babies how to do a complex array of yoga poses. None of them were succeeding-- All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell was struggling to reach his toes, and as a result, was obviously sobbing his eyes out, producing enough tears to cure the draught of a small African village. 

Baby Kacchan, on the other hand, had taken to trying to strangle the yoga mat for its apparent grievances against humanity, while an array of the other babies had taken to instead using the little yoga that baby Ingenia had managed to teach them to play what seemed to be a game of human bowling. 

The bowling ball, of course, was Philosopher-chan, forcibly wrapped in bubble wrap by a feral baby Kacchan while Tokoyami looked on in horror. He had been slightly too afraid of the child-- for each carried all of Bakugo’s rage in her tiny baby body-- to stop her from assaulting his child. 

“Help, father,” Philosopher-chan chirped in his high voice through the wrapping. “Nothing in this world matters, but I wish to be free.” 

“I am so sorry, son,” Tokoyami said mournfully, putting in his earbuds to listen to Breaking Benjamin to drown out his son. “There is nothing I can do for you.” 

“FATHER!” Philosopher-chan yelled as Baby Kacchan prepared to dropkick him into her bowling-pin siblings. “I DESIRE VIOLENCE!” 

It was famous last words, for even as a baby, Kacchan had a rather vicious punt. Instead of sending him across the floor, she managed to hit Philosopher-chan straight into the ceiling, where the bubblewrap caught on the drywall, suspending too far about the floor for his non-flying bird of a father to retrieve him. 

Of course, as the rules of the universe go, Asui chose that moment to come back, walking in on her partner sobbing to emo music in a corner while one of her children wailed victorian-era obscenities in a Minnie Mouse voice from the ceiling. 

“Tokoyami, what is this?” She sighed, running a hand down her face. 

“It’s not his fault,” Uraraka sighed, picking up one of the bakudeku babies from a dogpile they had now created. “There’s just too many of them. You can’t stop them.” 

“Where’s Midoriya?” Iida appeared next to Uraraka, who pointed half-heartedly at the couch. Garishly red sneakers were poking out from underneath on frighteningly still feet. 

Asui’s mouth fell open, her tongue flopping out in the process. “Is he dead?!” 

“Dead asleep, ” Uraraka sighed, walking over and reaching down and pulling the greenette out by the ankle. “Deku, Deku!” she slapped his face, but he just lolled back and forth like a death fish. Tokoyami was getting a bit hungry. He’d never had green fish before. 

“MIDORIYA!” Iida yelled in the grassette’s ear, shocking him awake in a moment with his loudspeaker voice. 

“Imawakeimawakewhat’shappeningissomeonedying--” 

Uraraka slapped a hand over his mouth. “ You’re gonna be dying soon if you don’t get a handle on these kids.” 

Midoriya looked over to see baby Kacchan sitting cross-legged on top of All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell, who was lying limping face down and creating a puddle on the carpet with his tears. She was busy throwing Tokoyami’s favorite sauteed emo worms into the air for her siblings to hit out of the air with Asui’s beloved signed Kermit poster rolled up into a column. 

“NOT KERMIT!” Asui screamed, attempting to steal it back to little success. Yagi Y’all Might seemed to have forgotten the point of the game was was crawling on the floor in a position one could only call a “wheelbarrow”, with his arms tucked behind his back, legs pushing his upper body along the floor and giving his a wicked rug burn on the right side of his face as he vacuumed up the bites of sauteed emo worms that had made it onto the ground with his mouth. 

“Oh my god,” Midoriya said breathlessly as Noritoshi Mighty-Man and Giya Tall-Might decided to use their bodies to create a human ladder, except with their clothes suddenly missing. Toshinori Might-Boy took the moment to climb onto Midoriya’s head, latching on like a little barnacle. 

“Midoriya-kun,” Iida sighed. “Where is Bakugo?” 

The green-grapette sighed. “I don’t know.” 

“Did he leave to get milk?” Shinso asked, materializing out of nowhere. 

“Help me get Philosopher-chan out of the ceiling, Shinso-kun,” Asui called, only to be met by Shinso shrugging. 

“Sorry bestie,” he said. “I’m a little occupied.” He pointed down at baby Todo Briller hanging off his back. “I’m a working dad.” 

“That’s not even your baby,” Tokoyami sighed. 

“Babysitters get baby privileges to get out of things, okay?” Shinso rolled his eyes. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Your baby’s in the ceiling .” 

“There was nothing I could do about that particular matter.” 

“FATHER!” Crowed Philosopher-chan, face hidden behind the wall he was stuck in. “I WILL TAKE MY REVENGE! YOU WILL RUE THE DAY YOU NEGLECTED ME!” 

“My son and I have a very good relationship,” Tokoyami sniffed. 

“I WILL HURT YOU FOR THIS, FATHER!” Philosopher-chan shrieked. “A DAY WILL COME WHEN YOU THINK YOU ARE SAFE AND HAPPY AND YOUR JOY WILL TURN TO ASHES IN YOUR MOUTH AND YOU WILL KNOW THE DEBT IS PAID!” 

“Ah, a step up from E*ji and Todoroki,” Shinso said, somehow managing to censor Todoroki’s father’s name out loud. 

“ Midoriya-kun ,” Iida sighed. “You have to get Bakugo to help you with this.” 

“He’s doing his best!” Midoriya blubbered, still trying to unsuccessfully free himself from the clutches of three separate babies attempting to rip the subcutaneous layers of skin off of the rest of his body. 

Uraraka gawked. “He’s not even here!”

“I’m sure he’s doing something for our babies right now. You don’t know Kacchan like I do! He comes off bad but he’s so sweet and gentle, really. He’s got a good heart, and he works so hard! He’s not off somewhere slacking off, or doing something stupid--” 

It was at that opportune moment that the aforementioned blonde stumbled in, looking a little worse for wear with ashes coating the top layer of his spiky hair. Given his quirk, that in-and-of-itself was not that concerning of a sight, but the expression on his face most definitely was. He looked… frightened? Everyone in the room stilled, even Philospher-chan, even though his face was still wedged in the rafters and he definitely couldn’t see a thing. Even the bakudeku babies stopped moving, being the most stil they had been since they had been unwrapped as little baby chonks. 

“Kacchan! You’re back! I was just telling everyone--” 

“Deku,” Bakugo said, voice coming out breathy, and to the discomfort of everyone in the room, at a generally acceptable decibel. What is wrong with him? 

“Are you okay, Kacchan? You looked spooked. Was there a villain attack, or something--” 

“Deku, I have to talk to you.” 

“Sure, Kacchan, but can you give me a second to get the babies first--” 

“No, Deku-- right now.” 

“Just a second, Kacchan.” 

“Deku--” 

“Hey, Kacchan,” Shinso drawled, propping himself on the big couch in the corner. “Mind telling us what you’re hiding behind your back?” 

Bakugo’s grip tightened as Midoriya leaned over, eyes widening at the small object the blonde was cradling in his calloused hands behind him. “Is that--” 

“Deku, I-- I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear!” He brought his hands in front of him, letting everyone in the room see what he was holding. It was a little All Might pop figure, complete with the wide smile. Unfortunately, however, one of his arms was cracked, nearly falling off the body of the figure entirely. Bakugo seemed to be choking on his words. “I was just trying to open the window, and then I knocked it over-- I didn’t realize you had them so close to the window, and I left my stuff in there last night, and I couldn’t see, and then it was on the floor, and--” 

Iida patted Bakugo’s shoulder. “Bakugo-kun, it’s alright, we all make mistakes.” 

“No, Deku, I’m-- I’m so sorry--” Bakugo blubbered, and everyone in the room stilled once more. What’s going on? Did Bakugo just apologize? 

Uraraka sniffed. “Bakugo, it’s not that deep. He got over you being an absent father, he’ll get over his pop figure.” She nudged Midoriya. “Right, Deku?” There was a moment of extended silence. Uraraka laughed nervously. “ Right ?” 

“ Kat suki,” Midoriya started. “For someone who wants to be number one, you really don’t have a single iota of grace in your body, do you?” 

Bakugo made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeak. 

“First, you antagonize Aizawa-san and get us extra babies because you can’t keep your diarrhea-mouth shut,” Midoriya said, stepping closer. “ Then you can like it’s my fault , and go off gallivanting to whine about it like it wasn’t your no-good ass that got us here in the first place.” 

“Midoriya--” Iida began, but he was stopped with a silent hand in his direction. 

“All you do is run your mouth and blow shit up. Do you think that makes you special?! ” Midoriya was wearing an eerie smile that reminded everyone in the room of Aizawa’s. “You’re not special. You’re a shit personality hiding behind shiny hair that you pretend is natural, but it’s actually the result of your twenty-two different hair products. Even your mother doesn’t love you!” 

“Deku, I--” 

“ Shut up!” Midoriya shook his head. “Don’t speak to me or All-Mighty-God-of-Explosions Murder-King-of-Hell or Toshinori Might Boy or Nori All-Might Jr. or Noritoshi Mighty-man or Baby Kacchan or Gi Tall-Might or Giya Small-Might or Yagi Y’all Might or Toshi All-Mighty ever again.” 

The babies, for once, listening to him, lining up behind him like little ducklings as he grabbed the pop figure from Bakugo’s trembling hands. Midoriya turned and walked towards the door with an eerie calm, kids a step behind. He stopped at the doorway, the kids knocking into each other and coughing Yagi Y’all Might to bowl over. (“Strike!” cheered baby Kacchan quietly.)  

“Oh, and Katsuki?” 

Bakugo looked up. “...yeah?” 

“You will never be number one.” 

And with that, he left. 

“You said you’re what?”

“I’m the sole character in this universe that is aware that we’re in a matrix,” Aoyama chirped. “The gods of this world have blessed me with the knowledge to know of their machinations.”

“Did he hit his head too hard?” Kaminari whispered to Ashido, who was looking over his shoulder at the camera screen with intent concentration. 

Ashido shrugged. “This can’t be good for our publicity,” she whispered back. 

“Of course,” Aoyama continued, not hearing the mutterings of his classmates. “I can’t let anyone with knowledge of the matrix continue to live. It’ll disrupt the fabric of this world and cause everything to fall to pieces. Naturally, that means I’ll have to dispose of you after this conversation is over. Are my angles good though?”

“Your usual sparkle is dulled by your boring delusions,” Ashido said. “Tell us something juicier.” 

Aoyama stared in shock. “I just revealed the secrets of the universe, confessed that I would need to eliminate you, and that’s all you can say?”

Kaminari ignored him. “And where’d your French accent go?”

Aoyama looked close to tears. “If you were listening , you would know that it’s a disguise ,” he sobbed, trying to control himself. He stood from his seat, murderous intent clear in his eyes. “I’m sorry for this,” he said, reaching into his pouch of glitter.

Right before he could do anything, though, Aizawa burst into the room where they were filming, breathing heavily and carrying Eri and Kouta, one child under each arm. For some indescribable reason, he was wearing half of a hazmat suit on the side where he was carrying Kouta.

Aizawa glared straight at Aoyama, though his attempt at intimidation was greatly diminished by the extremely neon half-suit and the children clinging to his arms. Still, Aoyama had to fight hard to meet his archnemesis’ gaze. He faced the man bravely, hand still in his glitter pouch, steeling himself for what would come next. If I die today, he thought to himself. It will be an honor . He saluted to some unknown entity (or rather, two cruel authors entities watching him from above) and turned to meet his opponent’s eyes.

Said archnemesis was too tired to deal with any of this. “Aoyama, why did you throw glitter at me earlier?” He was still mourning the loss of his homeless aesthetic.

“I thought it was an improvement,” Ashido whispered to Kaminari, and he snorted. They were dutifully ignored.

Aoyama’s eyes widened with shock. “You remember that?” he gasped, still speaking without a French accent. “You’re more formidable than I originally thought,” he said, slipping into an odd-looking fighting stance. “The glitter was just a preventative measure,” he said. “Here comes the real thing.” Aizawa closed the door just as Aoyama rushed him, and the poor protector of the matrix slid to the floor, unconscious.

Aizawa groaned. “I hope he doesn’t sue.” He turned to Kaminari and Ashido, who were watching the scene with equal amounts of shock and excitement. Kaminari was, of course,  dutifully filming the entire thing.

“Thanks for the material sensei. We’ll definitely hit three million with this.” 

Maybe, Aizawa thought, he should move his hit list from a sticky note to a legal pad.