Chapter Text
Himiko Toga always tried her best to be a good girl, but she’d never quite managed it.
It started when she was about six. She’d seen a dead bird on the ground in the yard, covered in its own blood. She’d thought it was pretty, even though it was dead, and showed her parents.
They had been horrified. They declared she had killed it, no matter how much she’d insisted otherwise, and sent her to counselling to try and ‘fix her.’ It hadn’t quite worked, even though she had really tried to be good for them. It still never worked.
It was because she was a demon. That’s what Ma and Pa had called her. A demon child, inhuman. She’d only been trying to suck on her friend’s injury – they’d been hurt, that was normal to do. So what if she liked the taste? She’d been trying to help. But that had never mattered to them. They knew what she really was, and they’d never avoided telling her so since. Monster. Demon. Inhuman. Mistake.
She got really good at hiding. She wore the contacts they bought her, never smiled wide enough to show her fangs. She didn’t like the people her parents wanted her to hang out with, but she tried her best to be a good girl. Ma and Pa knew best, after all. She never talked about her quirk, or how good blood tasted, how she could smell when the other students were bleeding, how hungry she felt. Those were the things that made her a demon, and she wasn’t supposed to let anyone know about them. The Togas were absolutely and totally clear about that – nobody was to know what she was. Freak. Mutation. Failure. Demon.
Of course, she couldn’t stave off the hunger for long. Sometimes she’d manage to sneak out, feed on rats in back-alleys, even though it made her feel all the more like what they told her she was. Abnormal. Monster. Demon. She was supposed to be normal, and she learned to hate the growling in her stomach when she hadn’t had enough of ‘it’. She would spend weeks ignoring the pain in her gut, refusing to tell anyone. Every time she slipped up, her parents would pull her out of school and muzzle her, and make her take drugs that made her feel so sick that suffering the empty pain in her stomach was better. She preferred to grin and bare it. At least, grin as wide as she could without revealing her fangs.
Maybe she had killed that bird. She didn’t remember it that way – she’d just seen it, broken and bloody in the yard, and felt a mix of sadness and adoration – sure, it was dead, but death was pretty too. Her homeroom teacher had said it was a part of life, in between lectures about maths and science and, when he came to work drunk enough, about how people with certain quirks deserved it.
She didn’t need to be told what ‘it’ was. She knew that well enough already.
Maybe she had killed it. She didn’t remember it that way, but her parents insisted she had. Insisted there was no way a demon like her wouldn’t have. What were her memories to their conviction? Maybe they were right – she was a demon, after all. She was a monster, who might do a thing like that, even if the idea of it strained at her heart and made her sick in a different way than usual. She’d let the idea wash over her, again and again, until it wasn’t so sickening.
She was an ungrateful girl, she knew that. Ma and Pa said it all the time. They made so much effort to feed her and clothe her, to keep her clean and alive and safe, even though she didn’t deserve any of their affection. Demon. Monster. Freak. She should be more grateful, try harder. They’d marry her off someday, they said. She had to be a good girl for them, to pay them back for what she owed them, for making them take care of such a monster.
She was walking home one day – they let her do that sometimes, when she’d been good for a long time – fiddling nervously with the sleeve of her seifuku. She was running a tiny bit late. She could still make it home in time, but her legs were getting tired and she knew if she was even a few minutes late it’d be another muzzling. She pressed on, legs burning, ignoring the gnawing hole in her stomach.
So, she took some shortcuts. Not her usual route, the one they’d planned for her, that they’d marched her along enough times so that she knew to never stray. The route she took when she was desperate, hoping nobody would catch her and tell her parents she’d strayed from their instructions. She didn’t want to be a bad girl, but she just couldn't help herself. She was a demon, after all.
Rats jumped out of the way, and she ignored the impulse to give chase, to bite down and drain them. Their blood tasted gross anyway, like rot and vinegar. She wrinkled her nose and pressed on.
She passed a poster for UA, the hero school. She stopped at it for a moment, eyes glinting curiously. They always looked so happy in the posters, their quirks on display, learning to be the next generation of heroes. She shook her head and turned away. The Togas thought hero work was beneath them, so they’d would never allow her to go there. They wouldn’t want her anyway, demon that she was. The cravings, the blood, they proved that better than anything.
The cravings for blood, the desire to be somebody else. I mean, it was only natural – a demon as she was, why would she want to be herself? Poison, Freak, Villain. No, she much preferred to be other people – pretty, bloody people who weren’t monsters like her. Did that make her a monster? Probably. Ma and Pa thought so. She didn’t understand why – people at school talked endlessly about who they’d like to be like. Why was wanting to be somebody a step too far from that? Wasn’t it the same?
Maybe it’s because she’d be hiding what she really was. Hiding the monster behind somebody else’s skin. Maybe she deserved to be hated for that.
She exited an alley, stepping out onto a main street. The crowd was oppressive, and Toga’s gut spasmed at the smell of all their blood. Great. She’d almost forgotten the last time it’d gotten so bad that she’d started smelling the blood inside of people. She clenched her teeth (behind her lips, never visibly, never show the fangs), knowing she’d probably need to give in soon. Go for a rat, or a city fox.
Once, she’d drained a cat. She’d cried for hours afterwards. She wasn’t doing that again. (Unless she got really desperate, some part of her whispered.)
The animal blood was always so unsatisfying, though. Part of her knew what she wanted – human blood, fresh and hot and red. She saw it in her dreams, gushing from skin of different tones, gushing into her mouth. The first time she’d had that dream, she’d woken up and forced herself to vomit, punished herself for such a monstrous, evil dream. She couldn’t muster the energy to do that anymore – it happened too often to bother. Another reason to hate herself.
She never told the Togas about the dreams, of course. Even as she hated to lie, knew that it was wrong of her, she feared what they’d do if they knew too much to do what she knew she was supposed to. But then, she was a bad girl, wasn’t she? More evidence to the pile.
BANG! She startled, almost forgetting to keep her mouth closed as she instinctively went to hiss. Bad. She’d have to slap herself for that later. Nevermind, what was that noise? Everyone else was just as shocked, looking around before stopping in panic. She followed their gazes, eyes widening as they caught sight of the culprit. There, at the top of a apartment building, was a villain.
She quelled the spike of curiosity going through her heart as she ducked into an alley as people began to panic and scream – rough cubes of shattered concrete were flying around, and she had no intention of getting hit. She watched as the villain laughed maniacally as he stomped and kicked at the apartment block he stood on, sending great chunks of masonry everywhere.
As she watched, a hero arrived at the scene – a broad man with triangular, spiky red hair and a grey facemask (at least, she thought it was a mask). She couldn’t make out what he said, but he quickly jumped up and began pulverising as many of the projectiles as he could with his hair, turning what would have been lethal meteors into a shower of painful but mostly harmless concrete dust. She stared in awe as he seemed to jump from the falling blocks (how was that even possible?) to reach the villain atop the building.
Himiko caught sight of a shattered clock on the ground, probably from one of the destroyed apartments, and came back to her senses. What was she doing! She was going to be late, she’d get the muzzle again, she shouldn’t have come this route, this had been a mistake- She began to hyperventilate. Himiko tried her best to still her racing heart and keep a level head – she could still make it if she just walked away! The shortcut was good enough, she was certain, to get her home in time – she just had to leave as soon as she could and get back home and make sure to brush off the dust from her uniform-
Then she saw it. There, in the crowd, a girl with strange eyes and pink skin, helping people through the bustle – oblivious to the chunk of concrete about to land on her head. Himiko could see it, in her mind – the splash of blood, the smell, it mixing with the dust, staining the white shirt red, adding a deeper tinge to her pretty pink skin. So beautiful. So cute.
And then she imagined the scream of pain, and her feet began to move. Her brain railed against her limbs, commanding them to stop – no, bad! She’s not a hero, she’s going to be a housewife, this is bad, she should go home like a good girl! But her legs had no interest in listening as she bolted, faster than she knew she could, and lunged at the girl. The two of them fell to the ground just as the faux meteorite hit behind them, exploding in a shower of gravel and rebar.
She coughed from the dust, joints aching. She got the sense that she’d hurt tomorrow, from the bruising, but somehow she’d made it out mostly unscathed. The girl she’d pushed, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so lucky – there was a gash on her forehead that was bleeding profusely. Before Himiko could begin to panic though (or before she could get a taste, the demon within whined) the girl sat up and waved her back a little.
‘I’m alright, I’m alright!’ She winced as she brought a hand up to her bleeding forehead. ‘Might have a concussion maybe, but I’m okay. I’m alive.’
Himiko let out a sigh of relief as she reassessed, looking at the girl properly for the first time – her eyes were strange, even compared to her own – black scleras and yellow irises, both staring back at her. She got the sense that Ma and Pa would hate them, but she couldn’t find them anything but gorgeous. She had two crooked horns sticking out of fluffy pink hair that was just slightly darker than her skin. The girl smiled encouragingly, and the sight of her smiling, blood dripping down her face and pooling between her teeth – Himiko fought back the rising flush in her cheeks. She was so cute!
‘I’m Mina Ashido, by the way.’ The girl seemed to smile even wider and winked. ‘But since you saved me, you can call me Mina!’
Himiko blushed deeper. ‘M-my n-name is T-Himiko. It’s Himiko.’ She knew she should insist on family names, that she should resist this familiarity (she could hear her mother in her mind; ‘You are a Toga first and foremost. Remember that.’) but she didn’t want to, just in this moment. Besides, it might be better if the Togas were left out of this – she was already terrified to be late, who knew what they’d do if they found out she’d done this!
‘Are the both of you alright?’ A voice called from behind. She started, realising she’d still been lying next to Mina, to see the hero with the strange hair staring down at the two of them, eyes catching on Mina’s head. Mina stumbled to her feet, waving her hands placatingly.
‘I’ll be alright, I’m good!’
‘Good to hear, but I’d like to take you to a hospital to be sure.’ The man shook his head and sighed. ‘I apologise for your injury – I should have been faster in blocking his blows.’
‘It’s alright! Himiko saved me!’ Mina gestured at her, and Himiko startled – this was the opposite of where she was supposed to be! She began to panic, resisting the urge to flap her hands.
‘I-I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have been so reckless and interfered-‘
‘Now, none of that, young lady.’ The hero laughed. ‘I caught a glimpse of that from up there – it looked like you moved without thinking, which is the mark of a true hero indeed. I remember when it happened to me, and many other pros would say the same. And you may have saved this young lady’s life! Be proud of that.’
Himiko shifted awkwardly. ‘I…. thank you…’
Mina smiled. ‘No, thank you! It was very heroic of you – hey, I’m applying to UA at the end of the semester! You should try too, you know? You’ve got the instincts for it.’
The man nodded in agreement. ‘Say, what’s your quirk? I’m impressed you didn’t use it, but also glad – quirk use in these instances is still illegal, you know.’ He nodded forcefully.
‘Oh! Uh…’ Himiko swallowed. ‘It’s not really that impressive – I’d rather not-‘
‘That’s alright.’ The hero laughed again. ‘As long as you have a manly spirit, it doesn’t matter what quirk you have – the mark of a true hero is one who is always ready to help, and lives their life without regrets.’ He nodded a second time, as if the movement of his head alone made it true.
Himiko started to nod along, but then remembered the time – she was so close to being late! And from fraternizing with heroes no less! She hoped she could make it home in time.
‘Sorry, I have to get home! Thank you for your, er, service!’ She ran in the opposite direction, homewards, ignoring Mina’s shout of confusion. She ducked through backstreets and quickly dusted off as much of the dust on her uniform as she could see, quickly fixing her hair, praying she’d make it in time.
She made it home just in time, steadying her breathing as best she could as she walked through the door. Ma was waiting, stern faced, with a wooden spoon in hand.
‘Nearly late.’ She scowled. ‘And why are you so dishevelled, Toga Himiko?’
She blanched. ‘I’m s-sorry, Ma, I had to rush to make it home.’
Ma’s scowl deepened. ‘Palms.’
Himiko resisted wincing as she held out her palms. Ma brought down the wooden spoon hard, sending stinging pain up her limbs. She didn’t cry out – she’d made that mistake before, and it had only brought more pain, more punishment. This is what she deserved.
‘A lady doesn’t rush. You’re not getting dinner tonight, Himiko. Think on what you’ve done.’
‘Y-yes, Ma. I promise, it’ll never happen again.’
Ma scoffed, heading back to the kitchen. ‘Go to your room.’
Himiko made her way quickly (but without rushing, don’t rush, don’t rush) to her room and closed the door. She soon heard it lock from the other side, and she collapsed onto her bed.
The room was perfect for the girl she was supposed to be – pink walls and carpet, white ceiling, a small white wardrobe (which only included school clothes and pajamas these days, they’d given up on other outfits once they’d decided to keep her locked away) and a single bed with simple, pink sheets. She wasn’t the girl she was supposed to be, though, and part of her ached that there wasn’t any red in any of it.
Of that, the Togas had been very clear.
Nursing her hands, and her rapidly aching body as the severity of her bruising from earlier made itself known, she changed into her pajamas and slipped into bed. She made sure to not look into the mirror as she took her contacts out – she knew well enough the monster she’d see in her reflection.
As she drifted off, she prayed her parents wouldn’t come in and punish her for going to sleep early. The demon girl should face her punishment instead of sleeping it off, after all, and a good girl only sleeps when she isn’t needed by her husband. (Her Pa had been particularly proud of that line.)
/-/
Himiko was woken, suddenly, by an aching hunger in her gut.
She shivered, noticing the time on her alarm clock – 2am. The Togas were asleep.
A groan of pain came unbidden as she curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her stomach. She was so hungry – the lack of food that evening had just made the other hunger worse, and now she was near delirious with pain. Jumping up in panic, she bit down hard on her arm to try and stop herself from losing it. The pain was minimal – she’d done this before a thousand times, and she deserved the pain she still felt anyways – and the taste of her own blood, warm and fresh, helped clear her mind. Still, it wasn’t enough – it never really was.
Shaking, she stood up and approached the window. The Togas had always kept them locked and shuttered, to stop people looking in – and to stop their failure getting out without permission. She’d figured out the lock years ago, though, and the careful action of a couple hair pins and a bit of force and it came open enough for her to slip out.
The night was absolutely freezing against her satin pajamas, which she was suddenly uncomfortably aware covered very little. Another shiver ran through her, this time not of hunger but of cold. She swallowed deeply and slunk away, keeping to the shadows, trying not to step on anything sharp while she was barefoot.
There – a squeak, from an alley to the right. Her body shivered a third time, now with anticipation, and she felt her mind dull with a primal hunger. She crept over, listening close to the sounds of her prey, until…
She pounced, catching the squealing mouse in her arms. Feral, she bit down, sucking and sucking and rending its flesh and chewing and crushing. She grabbed another as it tried to run in panic, replacing the now pulverized rat in her mouth and getting another sweet taste of blood. So hungry she didn’t even care about how gross it felt, and tasted, only about how it filled that drowning pit in her stomach. Finally, she threw the other carcass aside, breathing slowing as she came down from the high.
She looked into a puddle, framed by the moon in the sky and the lights of the city. Her face was covered in red around her mouth, and she smiled automatically, big and wide and giddy, fangs glinting in the half-light. The gore strayed down her chest, and she grimaced – she’d have to throw these away now, and sneak her way home in the buff. Oh well – not like she hadn’t done that before.
She began to heave and panicked, swallowing down and covering her mouth. She could not vomit. She needed to eat the blood, she needed to keep it down, she couldn’t do this again so soon just cause she lost her stomach. Not again. Tears beaded at her eyes as she stripped the ruined satin off and fought off the nausea, disgusted by what she became. Staring into the puddle, she slapped herself, over and over, almost drawing blood. The same gross face stared back – eyes in slits, fangs bared, mouth bloody. The demon they said she was. She knew she was. She could never escape.
She sat on top of her shed pajamas, sighing tiredly. She was just so sick of this. She was sick of hiding herself, sick of feeling sick all the time, sick of having to settle for rats and foxes and other animals. A part of her just wanted to let loose, to bleed someone dry, to make them cute with their blood and drink it all. The rest of her hated her for it, would rather die than try. She knew, in her heart, that if this went on one of those parts of her would win out, but which first?
Her gaze trailed upwards, and settled on a poster – hey, that’s a UA poster again! She hadn’t thought they’d pasted them up this far out. Again, she stared at those brave heroes, showing off with their quirks – how she’d kill to do that. To use her quirk, to be free, but also be good. Heroes were good, right? She was meant to be a housewife, she was meant to keep it all under wraps, but that life she saw on the poster… she couldn’t help but want that freedom. It was the demon in her, she figured.
But even if she did become a hero, what kind of one could she be? Her quirk was evil – a curse, only capable of hurting and being gross and disgusting (she’d thought it was super cute, but Ma and Pa had made it clear that that was Wrong) and not at all suited for hero work.
And yet, unbidden, the memory from that day surfaced. The triangle-haired hero, cape flapping in the wind. ‘As long as you have a manly spirit, it doesn’t matter what quirk you have – the mark of a true hero is one who is always ready to help, and lives their life without regrets.’
Without regrets, huh? Well, that was already failed – she regretted being born, for one. She regretted doing this. She regretted being the demon she couldn’t help but be, causing her parents so much pain. So ungrateful. Being manly didn’t really sound her style either – she’d always wanted to be cute, even before her parents had commanded it of her, even if their understandings of the word differed greatly.
But something about the quote struck her anyway. ‘It doesn’t matter what quirk you have.’ Was that really true? A part of her wanted to believe, a part of her refused to. But looking up at that poster, for the first time in her life, she saw… an answer.
If she was going to be a demon, no matter what, she’d might as well try and help people, right? That was Good. That hero had praised her for doing it! She’d disappoint the Togas no matter what, so… the devilish idea formed in her mind, and the longer it sat there, the longer it festered.
UA was accepting applicants from across the country… maybe she should apply?
Idea planted in her mind, she disposed of her soiled pajamas and slunk back to her bedroom. She was telling herself she was only thinking about it, that she had plenty of time to choose, but by the time she’d carefully re-locked the window behind her she knew deep down she’d already made her choice.