All My White Lies | bnha

three | inked curls

I REMEMBER THE LOOK OF SHOCK ON THEIR FACES. Well, more specifically, how the moon suddenly tinted green and looked like he was going to vomit. "How. . . what. . . " Mirio trailed off, a mixture of disbelief and confusion written across his skin. Tamaki, on the other hand, opted to bury his face in the sun's bicep, having had enough.

I wasn't sure how to exactly explain it, especially when the aforementioned thing began to explain itself. "No way! You made friends?" He was the color of pure obsidian as if the night sky had practically enveloped a traditional Halloween ghost. However, I think the more nauseating factor was his movements.

He was a sludge, a dark moving mass that swished from one end to the other; the only thing keeping him there being the tattoo he sprouted from in the first place. "Maybe just one considering the other's currently trying not to vomit and Mirio's trying to console him," I pointed at the duo.

The mass hummed, leaning forward. His red eyes gleamed with interest towards Nejire momentarily, realizing she was the only one left out of my commentary. "Does. . . does your quirk have to do with your blood?" Mirio finally blurted, eyes locked onto the skin of my right arm that was covered in drawings.

It didn't exactly help that Kioshi started laughing.

Curls of ink, none of which were words, sprawled across my limb as if someone had simply taken a pen and refused to lift it. "Anything I draw can come to life. My blood isn't exactly blood either, it's more so. . . ink? You. . . there's no way you think that I actually just drink pen ink for the fun of it."

I sounded nervous which only made Kioshi grin harder. Like any other sibling, he enjoyed seeing me in my demise. Additionally, I didn't know why I sounded so unconfident.

Mirio shrugged with a gesture to say 'who am I to judge?'. I scrunched my nose at him, shaking my head lightly. "I'll let him introduce himself. He's at least the more. . . sentient one," My brows furrowed. I still wasn't entirely sure of how that worked, but perhaps it had something to do with my imagination as a kid.

The sludge moved, almost like an unnatural shiver and I could see Tamaki fight back a wave of nausea again. I would send him an apologetic look if it wasn't for Kioshi stretching forward, his inky hand protruding from his body. He was gangly, almost as if his substance was dripping off him, but I knew that was impossible.

It was just the texture of the ink itself fighting to cling onto him, to keep him alive the same way it did me. "My name's Kioshi. As you can tell, I'm way cooler than my older brother. I mean, c'mon, at least I don't have to flex my muscles for them to be seen." I glared at him, trying not to let my embarrassment be so blatant.

His dark lips parted, making a weak attempt of a smile in my direction as he raised both arms, the lumps of ink keeping him together forming muscles. "See? Way cooler. In fact, if it wasn't for me, he never would've made it to the hero program in the first place." I forgot how much of a pain in the ass he was sometimes.

Mirio eyed me curiously, raising his brow. Nejire was the only one who seemed willing enough to offer her palm, a friendly smile on her features. "Hi, I'm Nejire!" She chirped. I blinked at her. How is she managing to be friendly to something that looks like that? Kioshi shot me a look as if sensing what I was thinking.

"Nice to meet you," He politely popped, his sludgy hand enveloping hers. To anyone else, it would look like he practically swallowed her arm whole, but we both seemed to know better. I knew he couldn't cling to her like that, not unless he truly wanted to. On the other hand, Nejire smiled at me.

She trusted me. My heart skipped a beat at the thought and I looked down. "How is he your younger brother exactly?" Mirio seemed to get over his initial shock, unable to hide his grimace, however, when the sludgy hand had moved onto his. Kioshi didn't take it to heart (not that he could).

He still had that dumb, gummy smile on his 'lips'. "Easy, don't we look alike?" I flinched when he wrapped his free arm around me, tugging me closer to his figure. I suppose it looked weird considering he was protruding from my shoulder in the first place. "Well, he drew you, so technically wouldn't you be his. . . son?" Nejire mumbled.

I smirked, looking over at Kioshi who avoided my gaze, refusing to come to terms with the truth. "No, absolutely not. I wouldn't be so pretty if I was his son. Besides, that would make all the rest of these ugly things my siblings." The slime boy made a noise akin to snapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eyes sloped in disapproval.

"Ugly things. . . ?" Nejire said. She grabbed my wrist as she had before, twisting my arm over to get a glimpse of the other tattoos. How the ink slithered over my skin, spread dashes on my arm for fake feathers with claws scattered like makeshift freckles. "Wow," She hummed. "You really are a terrible artist."

Tamaki tugged at her arm, finally allowing Kioshi to get a full view of him. The slime creature leaned forward in enthusiasm but pulled back when I shook my head at him. I wasn't fond of the idea of having my friend fight for another second with no nausea. "How does this work anyway? I mean, your blood is ink, how does he just. . . emerge?"

Nejire grabbed my arm, pulling it upwards and turning it unnaturally. I would've hissed from the pain if I wasn't trying so hard to fight off my own flustered expression. "There aren't any slice marks," She eyed me. I gritted my teeth and after a moment, she let go, still trying to study me.

Yet, no matter how much she stared, I knew she wasn't going to be able to come up with anything. "Y'know how bodies kinda stabilize for certain quirks to work? I don't know all the details but my body's able to control when my pores open and close to let my blood out. That's why I always chew on pens. . . replenish the supply, I guess."

I didn't really know if that was completely scientifically proven to work in the first place, but it would be weirder to explain how pen ink tastes good. "Huh, that explains a lot," Nejire was close to me as usual, her fingers moving up towards my jawline as she cupped my face.

I swear she could feel the heat underneath my cheeks as she smiled at me. Pink dusted across her own features but she was more adamant about ignoring it, studying me like my ink-blood was going to pour from my face any second now. "Explains what?" Tamaki mumbled, brows knitted together.

Nejire tapped my cheek once before pulling away, that impish grin still shaping her lips. "Why his skin is so clear!"