You've got your chains wrapped around me so tight

give me enough just to keep me alive

I try to run but it hurts everyime

Nothing I can do to save my soul

--

JoJo

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I remember the first time it happened. 

I was 8 years old when my quirk first appeared. Blinded by the delight that I had a quirk, I ignored the aching pain of my broken finger. I drowned out the worried yelling my parents called out as I watched the swing float in mid air. The chains bent and slack as the wooden plank hovered, twisting and turning clumsily in the air.

I was filled with a warm happiness, even as I sat in the doctor's chair, even with the pain shooting up my arm as they stilted and bandaged my broken index finger. 

I was filled with a warm happiness even when they brought in a specialist to talk to me, to try and figure out what my quirk was. I had spent the next few years thinking it was telekinesis. 

Staring at a piece of paper in front of me I tried desperately to get it to float, to move, to do something. But the piece of paper remained still, unmoving, inanimate. I grit my teeth at 12 years old, siting at the kitchen table, staring at the piece of paper that seems to mock me. 

It didn't move, it didn't do anything, it sat there, taunting me in my failure. 

doubts were beginning to swarm my head at this point, whether that incident with the swing had been a dream, whether I actually had a quirk or not. But the miniscule scar on the tip of my finger by the first where the broken had protruded my skin. 

I clenched my jaw, hands belling as they sat rested on the table "come on, do something" I let out a frustrated huff under my breath as I glared down at the paper. 

I sat there for two hours, glaring at the paper, daring it to move, hoping that it would do something, anything at all. 2 hours wasted. The paper didn't make a single move, sitting there completely oblivious to my desperate attempts at manipulating it. 

In a fit of frustration, my hands surged forward and grasped the paper tightly, it crumpled beneath my anger fuelled fingertips. Crisp sheet collapsing into a ball underneath the pressure of my balled fists. I gave a pained hiss at the feeling of the thin edge of the paper cutting into the skin of the pad of my thing.

Releasing the paper, I glanced down at the injured appendage, just a small separation of skin, barely bubbling up with blood. Slipping my thumb into my mouth I attempted soothing the stinging cut. 

Flitting my eyes from my hand to the table, my jaw dropped at the sight before me, floating, like the swing from my childhood, was the ball of crumpled paper. I ignored the pain in my thumb, pulling it out of my mouth I sat up and shuffled towards the edge of the seat. 

"Okay (Y/n), you can do this" 

I exhaled deeply and held out my hand, holding it adjacent to the floating ball of paper, hand balled into a fist, slowly I uncurled my fingers. There was no movement for a moment before the crinkling sound of paper brushing against paper echoed in the empty room, the paper was slowly uncrumpling itself.

As my fingers spread out, the paper opened up until it laid flat, open, and almost brand new had it not been for the wrinkles where the paper had been folded on itself. 

I let out an elated breath of disbelief, lips turning up into a wide smile as my other hand lifted, fingers spread I held it next to my right hand and slowly, I spread the two apart and gradually, all of the wrinkles in the paper had soon been pushed out. The paper was wrinkle dree and brand new, lowering my hand, the paper followed until it was laying on the table where I had been, almost untouched. 

Slowly, the delighted smile began to slip from my face as my gaze lowered from the paper to my injured thumb, mind wandering back to the swing, how I had broken my finger after falling off of it and was suddenly able to control it. 

"Oh you've got to be kidding me"

...

The trip back to the specialist was filled with excitement and dread, now knowing the real powers that I possessed but also knowing the consequences that came with it. 

"I've never even heard of a quirk like this before" the specialist says as he looked over the small bump on my head where a book had fallen on me and subsequently flown out the window. 

"So what you're saying is that whatever injured my daughter is then under her control?" my father mumbled in disbelief, arm wrapping around me securely. When the specialist's nod followed, my mother let out a shaky breath and gripped my hand tightly. 

Both my parents being quirkless themselves, I could see how worrying it must be for them, how scary knowing with the future I wanted, with the road I wanted to take, that I would have to injure myself every single day, every single time I wanted to use my quirk.

"I hope you're both aware the extent that this quirk could reach, if she could control people with this quirk, she could be a good hero, a really  good hero. And I am hoping that's the direction you'd prefer to take" his gaze settled back on me, words clear in his irises 'don't choose villainy'.

"I don't know doctor, if it's really so dangers maybe she shouldn't commit to a life where she would need to use it on a daily basis" my mother mumbled quietly, a worried glance shooting towards me as she tightened her trembling grip on my hand. I have her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance, smiling up at her. 

"I'm well aware of that, Mrs. (L/n)" the specialist sighed and leaned back into his seat, hands entwining with one another and settling on his lap as he settled his focused gaze on my form. 

"That's why I'm willing to offer my help, run a few experiments, safe I assure you - and make sure that she knows her limits, know the extent of the things that she can control doesn't just limit her to inanimate. I'll make sure she's alright, I assure you".

Leaning forward he pushed a slip of paper that had been seated in front of him towards us, pulling a pen out of the pocket of his lap coat, he placed it down atop the paper "just--" a smile turned up the corner of his lips "sign here".

My father reached forward and picked up the pen, signing along the dotted line to the left and placed the pen down, sliding it over to my mother. She gaped at him "you didn't consult us!" she hissed angrily, "(M/n) please, this is the only person who can help (Y/n) find out who she is, we don't have quirks to even think of what she's going through". 

The specialist's smile only seemed to widen "he's right, I'll only guide (Y/n) in the direction that will benefit her the most". 

My mother's trembling fingers reached out, slowly brushing the plastic of the pen before slipping it through her hesitant fingers. The tip of the pen trembled as she slowly signed her name down on the dotted line on the right side.

She dropped the pen back onto the paper with a shaky breath, the hand that confirmed the testing lifted to cover her mouth to hide the trembling of her lower lip. 

"Perfect! Pleasure doing business with you. You'll get your daughter back every single day, save for a few hours each day, you'll barely notice, I swear". 

The specialist reached forward to grasp my wrist, pulling me onto my feet and leading me away from my parents, as he pulled me from their grasp I glanced over my shoulder at them. 

My father's arms wrapped tightly around his wife and they watched me leave with dread, hope and regret, and as I was being dragged through the door the corners of my lips turned up into a reassuring smile. 

"It's okay, I want this, I want to be a hero"