【 OLD VERSION 】
You can find the rewritten version through my profile :)
❝ Ｄｉｄ ｙｏｕ ｊｕｓｔ ｇｒｏｗ ａ ｆｕｃｋｉｎｇ ｃａｃｔｕｓ ｏｎ ｍｙ ａｓｓ? ❞
➪ ⁱⁿ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ᵃ ᵍᵃᵐᵉʳ ᵍⁱʳˡ ᵐᵉᵉᵗˢ ᶜˡᵃˢˢ 1ᵃ.
*this is literally the first fanfiction i've ever written, that alone speak volumes...
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IT WAS 2 PM, and parents had begun to arrive and pick their kids up. Naturally, I knew that my mother was going to come and pick me up much later than the rest due to her work and recognition issues, she had already told me beforehand as not to get me worried.
Ocha-chan had long been picked up by her parents, she gave me a long, warm hug goodbye just before she left, which was really sweet of her, but this meant that without her, I wouldn't have anyone to talk to. Therefore, unlike the others who had begun packing up, I went to the craft bin and picked out crayons and a piece of printer paper, placing myself in my seat
Before I had gotten my quirk, my mother had always allowed me to watch her paint, the way the colors blended and mixed, the way every stroke my mother swung protruding an area, later forming a bigger picture, it's like magic.
She had always told me how much she enjoyed painting sunsets, describing the sense of freedom to blend the colors of reds and oranges, dabbing in cute pink clouds with a bit of yellow speckling here and there, allowing the sun to be peeking just over the horizon.
Every once in a while, my mother would let me paint something in her picture, but my clumsy hands just couldn't seem to make the strokes come together as a whole, ultimately ruining her masterpiece. Which is why later on, I would only watch in the sideline, not wanting to destroy her progress. Art had always seemed so fascinating to me. Maybe it was influenced by my mother, but either way, it had always brought my mother and I close together, up until now.
Now, my mother won't even allow me to hold her hand; she says its due to my quirk, but I know she just despise me. I know how to control my quirk, I mean, enough to not let it go rampage. I like to think I'm rather mature for my age due to my background, but my mother still refused to let me get anywhere close to her at home. Of course, to maintain her image, she would act motherly towards me in public. My mother was such a good actor, no wonder the reporters were never able to pick up on the tiny gags from my mother.
Even if it's fake, I still enjoyed the tiny moments of attention from my mother, so I always played along. This had made me gradually liking to go outside more and more, not that it was a bad thing, considering the number of times adults seemed to complain how locked in the children are now 'these days.'
My quirk had ruined everything.
If I had a stronger quirk, my mother and I would still be close, like how we used to be. If I had a stronger quirk, I would be able to handle the press in a prestigious school. If I had a stronger quirk, my mother wouldn't have to pretend to like me. If I had a stronger quirk, my mother wouldn't worry about her future. If I had a stronger quirk, my mother would be happier. If I had a stronger quirk, I would be happier.
