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shibaraki · 17 days

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OUT OF MY HEAD, HALF BURSTING ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

synopsis: japan’s sweetheart and saviour is in a quirk induced coma. you’re the only one that can bring him back.

tags: GN reader, post canon au, pro hero deku, quirk accidents, fluff + angst, hospitalisation, mutual pining, intimacy, technically doctor/patient but they know each other, friends to lovers, reader has quirk (‘dream walker’), memory/dream sharing, referenced depression, getting together, kissing, cheesy idc idc

wc: 5.2K

In your years wading through patients' memories, you’ve found that people have the most uncanny ability to resign themselves to their fate. You’ve wondered time and time again whether it’s instinctive to ruin things—if humans couldn’t help but stumble and make a mess of the things around them.

You recall that thought process now with a weary sigh, as your eyes skim over the patient's name for the tenth time in as many seconds. Midoriya Izuku.

“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?”

You’ve been staring at the medical file for long enough that an uncomfortable silence has dawned upon your office. Two weeks prior, a villain named Catatonic used her quirk to force Deku into a comatose state, that which he has yet to wake from. Even after the liberal use of quirk inhibitors, countless visits from Eraserhead and the administration of various stimulants, Deku would not stir. Realistically he should’ve roused from the coma naturally as soon as the quirk was cancelled. But he hadn’t, and his doctors can only assume it’s because he can’t, or refuses to.

Thus the case in your lap. A last resort.

“I’ll do it,” you intoned, thumb flicking at the corner of the manila folder. There’s already a deep crease there. The file itself is the heaviest you’ve ever had in your hands. Dense in a way that makes you ache. You and Deku are good friends—the kind of friendship that forms mainly because you frequent the same places. That place in particular being the hospital, except you were there to work, and he was often wandering the hallways listlessly to burn off the dregs of whatever sedatives he’d taken or visiting with patients.

Awkward small talk eventually blossomed into real, fulfilling conversations, and you started to like him, a lot more than you should. You kept the memory of his small, sincere smile close to your chest; nothing like that dazzling grin he wore on duty, it was softer, something private, and you relished being on the receiving end of it.

He was skilled at talking around his injuries. Sometimes if you felt especially bone-weary after a shift you’d be so relieved to see him that you forgot to ask. That sits with you. Deku is a hero. A good one, the best one. He’s brilliant at what he does—keeping people safe, protecting them from harm. In the entirety of his career, it appears he rarely, if ever, turned that care and consideration onto himself. You’re not a licensed therapist, and barely a doctor. Still you contemplate his medical history with a cold sense of regret.

“You realise there’s a large possibility I’ll end up seeing a lot of confidential stuff while I’m in there”.

“Don’t care. S’not like you can tell anyone”.

“I don’t think you understand how invasive this will be. I’ll see personal things. Private things, Bakugo. He won’t be happy”.

“Don’t care. If he doesn’t like it then maybe he should fuckin’ wake up”.

“This might not work, you know,” you finish tiredly.

Bakugo arches his brow at that. Despite the shadows under his eyes there’s no defeated slope to his shoulders, only a fierce scowl. “Either you can do it or you can’t,” he says, voice unsteady as if reeling between rationality and outright aggression. “You’re supposed to be the best at what you do”.

“I am the best at what I do, Bakugo. I can promise you I’ll find him”.

“Then what’s the damn problem?”

The file feels heavier. It feels like a foregone conclusion. You swallow, your throat dry. You don’t bother attempting a smile. You’ve lost the will to maintain your professional veneer.

“I can’t promise he’ll want to come back”.

Dream walker.

At twelve years old you thought it made your quirk sound whimsical, and gentle, and not at all the invasive thing that it actually is. After all, your reach didn’t end only at dreams. You were able to project your consciousness into another’s mind if it pleased you, parse through every memory, ambition, fantasy, trauma and fear, and manipulate them however you liked. Back when your control was non-existent you would drift into people’s heads whenever you slept like some wayward soul and saw far too much far too young.

The need to understand yourself and your quirk is what drove you to studying medicine. Neuropsychology, mainly. You carved meditative techniques into the very recesses of your own brain and learned to keep your consciousness tightly moored but had no real ambition beyond that. After the war and the complete upheaval and reform of hero society, it was difficult to find your place.

Until Okumura Yukiko.

At the small age of eight, Yukiko fell under the effects of a severe nightmare quirk, and despite the quirk being canceled she couldn’t wake up naturally. You had carefully walked through the delicate threads that made up her young mindscape—quirk-infested by formless shadows with knife-sharp teeth and worse, eerie figures that wore the appearance of her father—you found her trembling inside her mothers figmental wardrobe, took her hand, and guided her out.

When you came to she was curled up in the swaddle of your arms, trembling still, but awake. Her timid incantations ring true in your ears even now. Those tiny little thank you, thank you, thank you’s inspired the person you are today. Not quite a doctor, or a therapist. A specialist for special cases.

Something in your gut told you that traipsing into Midoriya Izuku’s mind wouldn’t be simple. That it would permanently change things. This isn’t some stranger, or a patient you’d never cross paths with again. He’s important to you in a way others aren’t.

Your hand hovers over his face, fingertips brushing his temple. You push your fingers into his thick green hair, rich in colour and soft, no knots to catch on your knuckles. His friends have been visiting in shifts, keeping him comfortable and presentable.

Bakugo had managed to keep the Hero Commission at bay for the time being, but if you came back without Midoriya tomorrow there would be far more than one scowling man looming in your office. Though the possibility left a bad taste in your mouth you can admit, in the privacy of your thoughts, that you’ve contemplated prolonging his recovery for the sake of allowing Midoriya rest. There must be something keeping him under, his genuine reluctance or worse; you’ve been reassured repeatedly of All for One’s death and the absence of the previous quirk holders but it’s best to exercise vigilance.

Midoriya does not react, not even a twitch of his nose, but there’s a flutter beneath his eyelids and a sleepy-sweet warmth to him that has you smiling, fond. Tucking your feet around the legs of your chair, you scoot it forward and bend closer, elbows resting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure you can hear me in there. Maybe not. But I hope you won’t hate me for this,” you tell him.

Midoriya’s face remains serene as ever—more so than you can remember. It makes you wonder how much pain and discomfort he’s been hiding throughout your interactions. The tension has been sapped from his expression, lashes fanning over his cheeks. You’re close enough to count each individual freckle. Lightly, your thumb taps the space between his brows. “There are a lot of people out here that love you. They’re waiting for you to wake up, so I’ll have to have a look around your head a bit. Okay?”

Nothing. Heartbeat monitor pulsing a healthy rhythm, broad chest rising and falling, Midoriya continues to sleep. You sigh and cast a final glance around the private hospital room. The clock reads 18:22. Outside the window you see a single cloud, wispy as a dandelion, slowly disintegrate across the dusky sky. You make a cradle with your arm, head resting in the crook while you take Midoriya’s hand and try to relax. Anticipation turns in your gut. Years of experience aside, you’ve never really acclimated to the feeling of that first step into another’s subconscious.

Pressure gathers inside your skull as your quirk activates. You inhale a quick, wounded breath at the sensation. Your eyes roll back, vision swallowed by abrupt darkness, and you jerk against the distinct sensation of falling as your stomach roils. You’re overwhelmed by a cacophony of images and sounds—a determination that happiness would come, then moored to the burden of expectation, any optimism muffled under exhaustion and pain, replaced swiftly by a sense of discontent, grief and regret that swelled over time.

And then everything stops.

Your arms feel empty. Your chest feels hungry. You ache with it, the disquieting loneliness. Fog leaks into the memory, surroundings concealed beneath a thick mist. Behind you is a small pond. There’s a notebook soaking in the water. The koi are mouthing curiously at the weathered corners, faint black tendrils of ink curling off the charred pages. Scrawled boldly across the top is ‘Hero Analysis for The Future: No. 13’. Your strikingly young reflection ripples as you plunge your hand in and fish it out, holding it at arm's length as you shake the excess away.

Sufficiently less soaked, you draw the notebook to your front and carefully turn the cover to read the first page. You can feel the slight indentations on the back where a pen has been pressed hard enough to score the words through the page. Written inside, smudged but undeniable, is Midoriya Izuku’s name.

“Uh—excuse me…” a shaky, pitched voice comes from behind you, belonging to a very familiar pair of teary eyes. Midoriya is not just small, he’s scrawny. His hair is longer, unable to decide on which direction it wants to grow, and his middle school uniform is slightly ill-fitting, as though his mother bought it a size bigger for longevity. He ducks into the higher collar to hide his reddened face when you look at him.

The urge to bundle him up and hide him from the world is fierce. The situation is odd, but you offer a smile and his blush worsens. “Is this yours?” you ask, holding up the notebook. You try not to grimace at your own childlike voice. Midoriya nods frantically. His hands flex around the straps of his backpack. Smaller than the broad palms you’re familiar with, neither scarred nor crooked, trembling where they motion to clasp around the notebook. Your fingers brush and he attempts to swallow the yelp that bubbles in his throat.

“Thank you,” he stammers, pressing the notebook flat to his own chest. Midoriya swallows. His gaze never strays from you, growing brighter with each passing second as the idea in his head takes shape.

“Do you go to school here?”

“Oh,” you blink and the shadows have elongated. The pond is now hugging a school building. You recognise it despite never having seen it before. Aldera Junior High. “I don't,” you answer, sounding sorry. He predictably deflates. “I live close by, though!”

Midoriya perks up again. He shifts his weight between each foot. Red faced and unsteady, he quietly asks, “Do you think we could be friends?”

Your mouth slacks a bit, answers dying in your throat. You look down at your hands, palms upturned and unblemished. The dappled sunlight passes through your incorporeal form. Interaction with anything aside from the true patient during your work is incredibly rare though not entirely unfounded; people who daydream in vivid detail or ruminate chronically on old regrets usually had false memories in excess. Their minds seem to naturally meld around your intrusion, but they never went so far as to seamlessly incorporate you. Which can only mean one thing.

You fit because Midoriya has imagined this numerous times before—befriending you as a child.

Before you can respond you’re being dragged abruptly into a memory, the echo of a blinding flash of pain rippling through you. A reflexive gasp has your chest heaving and you curse at your lack of control. There’s barely a shard of light. Behind you is a hard, jagged surface but below is loose, uprooted. Attempts to move are futile, and agonising. You slump into the displaced rubble, silt and icy embrace, and listen. From above there is only a haunting silence but only a few feet ahead you hear muffled crying and Bakugo’s strangely tinny voice.

Your vision adjusts in increments, from pure darkness to a soft outlined blob to a comfortingly familiar silhouette. Midoriya is poised like an Atlantean statue, holding up the creaking structure and keeping it from crushing the young girl cowered in front of him.

Another wave of pain washes over you as the rubble groans. Midoriya bites back a whimper. His body is sinew and bone pulled taut, skin stretched over a drum. Everything seemed to swell dramatically around him.

“We’re almost there, kid. Two minutes,” Bakugo’s voice spills jarringly from the bulky earpiece hugging Midoriya’s ear. “Now look at Deku for me. You lookin’?” the young girl does as he commands. You see her trepidation falter at the easy smile Deku is wearing. “Bet he’s got a big dumb grin on his face right now, yeah?”

“Y—yeah,” she echoes, clutching the dirtied hem of her dress.

“You think he’d be smiling if there was anythin’ to be scared of?”

Her shoulders slant, the tension released, and she offers a tremulous smile of her own, “No”.

But you can feel, quite viscerally, how scared Deku was in that moment. The nauseating pain in his arms has dwindled into numbness and he daren’t spare himself more than the occasional shallow breath, as if the bloating of his lungs alone might disrupt his balance. Not once does his smile falter.

The surroundings warp again. You struggle against the whiplash, flung unwillingly into another memory. Breath forced from your lungs, the echo of Izuku’s pain dissipates in a blink and you land on unsteady feet, coughing and spluttering in the middle of an eclectic café covered in tinsel.

A sign written in cursive above the chalkboard menu reads ‘Mean Mug’. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and the bell above the door is soft enough to get lost in the smooth notes. You’re cocooned by heat and met with bold patterned wallpaper. The unifying palette seems to be warm-toned colours; red, orange and brown come together amidst the mismatched decor to create a cosy atmosphere.

A half heartedly disguised Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the counter, looking up at the door with trepidation every time the bell chimes to signal another customer. He grins once Uravity arrives in a casual disguise of her own, eyes still bright beneath the shadow of his cap.

They order and settle in a quaint alcove away from the windows and any prying eyes. Neither hero notices your presence as you seat yourself at their table and listen to their conversation. There are things you don’t understand. Code words to be used when discussing sensitive matters outside of their agencies. Inside jokes that you weren’t there for. But most curious of all is the knowing look on Uraraka’s face when Midoriya mentions that he saw you at the hospital that day.

“You’re hopeless, Deku-kun,” she says, as fond as she is amused. “What was your excuse this time?”

Midoriya clears his throat. He grips his cup, pressing until his knuckles turn white. It draws your attention to the thin cast splinting his ring and middle fingers together. “I broke my fingers sparring with Kirishima”.

You remember that, though too entrenched in his memory to attempt receding into yours for details.

“So you leapt halfway across the city to have them stuck together despite the fact that your agency has an on-site infirmary,” Uraraka’s hair falls in a gentle swoop beneath her jaw as she laughs. Midoriya shrinks into himself ever so slightly and her eyes soften. She pokes at his forearm. “C’mon Deku—why haven’t you asked yet? Do you really think you’ll get rejected?”

Glancing back and forth between them, your heart beats a tattoo across the inside of your ribs. You feel as if you’ve both missed something quite important and heard too much. You push your chair backwards and fall away from the table, and the memory, before Midoriya can respond.

With renewed determination—and heat rising to your cheeks—you reign in your quirk, steering cautiously through Midoriya’s subconscious mind as you should’ve in the first place. Images flicker in and around your periphery, each as desperate to draw you in as the last.

You see Midoriya crying, bleeding, lashing out in anger. You see him in a sterilised room, lulled by monotonous beeps, flesh stitched back together. You hear the doctor's voices coalesce into white noise. You watch as he’s handed crudely drawn thank you cards, coffee-stained police reports and thick manila envelopes marked as confidential in large red letters.

You turn away as Eraserhead approaches, a solemn expression, a quiet clink accompanying his footsteps, unnaturally heavy to one side, a young girl with silver hair following right behind him.

Your heart leaps to your throat when he screams in agony. You look down. There’s blood running down the street in rivulets, skin coming apart like wet paper.

You close your eyes. Next you risk a glance All Might is there, thinner than ever. He’s sitting in a wheelchair by a large window swaddled in a thick knitted blanket, watching over the city, smiling.

You turn away, feeling a pang of grief. Midoriya is expressionless, examining his battered body in the mirror, condensation still lingering on the glass, tendrils of heat curling upward as the shower drain gurgles.

Then he’s in a dark room bringing a stranger's hand to his mouth, kissing the centre of their palm, drawing the finger into his kiss-bitten mouth and sucking with a hazy gleam in his eyes.

It’s overwhelming. You stumble and suddenly Shouto is eating across from Izuku. He brings his chopsticks to his lips, noodles hung limp between them. “It’s obvious you like each other. You should just confess,” he says before shovelling his food.

Too private. You turn on your heel and find a patient of yours on the bed, unresponsive. Izuku is beside you, muttering under his breath, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. He reaches back to brush your wrist and offers a tentative touch of reassurance. You watch yourself lean against him for a moment and then retreat, grateful for his consideration, unneeding of it, and desperately wanting it, all at once.

The scene ripples violently. A reporter is staring up at Izuku with sparkling eyes. Her hair cycles through an array of colours as she shakes with excitement. “It’s amazing, Deku-san,” she insists. “For your spirit to be so heroic that it physically steers your body… that’s special!”

Izuku conceded with a strained laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. You feel how his stomach knots. “I used to think so too,” he says, sounding far away.

It’s the middle of the night somewhere when your search finally comes to a halt. You find you’ve landed on an empty street, in that dense, heavy darkness that makes you feel like the only person in the world who’s awake. There’s a tall residential building hugging the pavement. Intuitively, you know this is where Izuku lives.

Your footsteps are made heavy by Izuku’s lingering hurt and exhaustion. It’s disconcerting, the way he feels about his apartment. Coming home should be effortless. People come home in the same way they draw breath. But to Izuku, it's a weary, miserable journey that he must consciously think about and do. His perennial loneliness is overwhelming, a near physical force repelling you from opening the large glass door.

One foot in the lobby and the surroundings undulate. You’re dropped in the middle of his living room. It’s vacant. There’s a large box of case files tucked under the coffee table, an old takeout box left out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch cushions. You pinch the soft fabric and rub it between your fingers, bringing it to your nose as you’re overcome by the urge to smell it. Izuku’s warm scent floods your senses.

Something thuds outside, followed by a tinkling of keys on a chain. Your blood runs quicker as the front door abruptly opens. Izuku looks harried as he ducks into the genkan, quite visibly frayed. The upper half of his hero suit is unzipped, pushed down to hang over his hips, littered with debris and dry mud. You hold your breath as he kicks off his shoes and lifts his head, meeting your wide-eyed gaze. The air around you is charged. Trepidation prickles at your nape.

Then the shadows over his stormy face recede. Izuku gentles, light returning to his previously empty eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes. “I missed you”. His voice shivers down your spine—you know in your gut that this is him, the real Izuku, but that fact is hard to believe while he’s looking at you like he wants you.

“Welcome home,” you smile back, slipping the blanket around your shoulders as you move toward him. “Hard day at—?”

Your intentions are to sit him down, keep him calm so as not to be ejected, and explain what’s happening, but before you have the chance his larger body crowds you against the wall—the dull impact reverberates through your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs and he’s kissing you as if it’s something he always does.

Though it’s more of a collision than a kiss. The sensation is indescribable. Information spills into your mouth, your quirk reflexively absorbing his every fantasy, ache and want. Your knees almost buckle. The blanket puddles at your feet. Fingers snake into his thick hair, nails dig into his roots where skin becomes earth as you try to reciprocate his fervour.

Under your tongue you feel the cut on his lip, under your palms the dark swell across his cheek. You shake off the cloud of desire. Too many lines have already been crossed. “Izuku,” you whine. His name comes naturally now; you know him deeply enough. Blunt teeth graze at your jaw, your throat. You lean away for air only to catch a glimpse of another angry ivory-red bruise peeking from beneath his loose collar. “Izuku,” you tried again. Then louder. “Izuku, that’s enough”.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Izuku rasps as he rears up from the crook of your neck with wide, glassy eyes.

“No—I’m,” your heart beats hard in your ears. Dread sinks low in your belly. “It’s me. I’m really here, Izuku. You’ve been away for too long. I had to use my quirk. We need to wake up”.

“Wake up? You’re… oh,” his eyes grow wider, then shutter closed on a shaky exhale. The cut on his bottom lip has started bleeding again. Rivulets seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. You yearn for the searing heat of his hands as he releases you and staggers backwards to scrub at his face. “Oh my god”.

“Wait. Please don’t throw me out,” you say quickly, reaching to clutch at his wrist in case he panicked. Izuku tenses at the contact only to relax a beat later, his fingers spreading over his eyes so he can get a peek at you. “It took me forever to find you here. There’s a lot of stuff in your head”.

“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he mumbles. You could collapse in relief. He’s not angry, he’s embarrassed.

“Thank you. I promise I tried not to look at anything too private”. Your mind didn’t make it easy, you think. It was almost like he wanted me to see everything.

Izuku groans and lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat, revealing an entirely pink face. You keep your fingers curled around his wrist, his pulse light and fast. “Okay. I’m okay. We should probably sit down for this,” he eventually croaks, a tremulous smile working its way across his lips. “Drink?”

You pick up the blanket and make your way to the couch while he briefly disappears into the kitchen. Around you the apartment takes on a rosy sheen. A dull clink shudders through the silence as Izuku sets a cup on the coffee table in front of you. It’s your favourite work mug down to the smallest details.

“You remembered this old thing?”

Shaped like a cat, the handle curved in and away like a feline’s tail. It’s piping hot, steam already curling up from it like a crooked finger, like the invitation he meant it to be.

Izuku nodded awkwardly, perched so far forward that it stretched credulity to say he was on the couch at all. He tracks your movements with intensity when you lean to pick up the hot drink. The initial sting to your palms quickly dwindles into numbness as you bring it closer and realise what’s inside. Hot chocolate. The surface sprinkled with those small, cube shaped marshmallows that he likes.

You swallow and feel the warmth spread through your body. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as the thick, saccharine flavour floods your senses, washing back the bitterness and thawing your anxiety. You can hear the tension in Izuku’s shoulders snap as he slumps forward, arms hung over his knees and head low in relief. His reaction is oddly vindicating, if not contagious.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asks. “Time is weird here”.

“You’ve been comatose for over two weeks,” you reply. “They tried everything they could before Bakugo insisted on bringing me in. You have a lot of people waiting for you”.

Izuku inhales sharply. He makes an aborted motion to scoot closer before thinking better of it. Your attention strays to the nervous wringing of his battle worn hands. Endeared, you put your mug down and close the distance yourself. Pressed thigh to thigh, you envelop his tightly curled fists, bringing them into your lap. The shaky breath he takes is loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Honestly I’m surprised you’re still working”.

He looks at you with an unsure, watery smile, sunlight caught in glassy eyes. His voice is thick as he asks, “What do you mean?”

You smile sadly and run your thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been on patrol. I thought you might’ve locked yourself in your head because you needed a proper break—and who could blame you, really. But you’re working yourself thin even in your dreams”.

Izuku huffed a laugh, more breath than humour. “I love being a hero. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice tight. You sink into his side and feel his diaphragm stutter. “But it isn’t everything. It felt like I was suffocating and I needed something more. Something to come home to for a little while…”

His red-rimmed eyes quickly return to his lap when you meet them. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Your quirk really is incredible”.

You can feel the shame swatting at you like a summer-born heatwave, reminded of just how deeply you’ve invaded his privacy, and how easily you overstepped your bounds.

“I’m so sorry,” he continues, at the same time that you tell him, “I’m sorry, Izuku”.

“Please. Let me go first,” he murmurs like a question. You nod your assent. “I’m sorry I forced myself on you. I thought you were a part of my imagination, like the rest of this place. I should have realised you weren’t. I’m sorry,” he rambles on. “I wanted to be closer to you but I got carried away and I’m sorry”.

“You couldn’t have known. I should have told you it was me as soon as you walked in,” you firmly interject. Izuku doesn’t look any less stricken in your periphery, cheek sunken where he’s gnawing at the flesh. “And you didn’t force anything. I hardly pushed you away,” your brow wrinkles and you smile despite yourself. “I got a little lost in your head, too. Not my most professional moment. But I wouldn’t want to leave either, if we were cuddled up in here all day”.

“Really?” Izuku blinks. Hope colours his cheeks. He clears his throat and shifts in place as he tries very hard to appear unaffected. “You don’t think it’s creepy—me picturing all this with you?”

You think of that young boy yoked with the burden of expectation and feel your heart crack. You can still taste his desires. They’re insipid, belying their age, as though they’d lingered long enough to stale. Izuku treasured his friends and fans', their love and loyalty; yet he felt guilty for allowing them to foster such a blind faith in his goodness. He was a man with faults like any other, capable of making mistakes, of inflicting harm. More than anything Izuku longed for someone to see the darker, uglier corners of his life, and make room for all of him. You wanted to be the one to do it.

“I’ve imagined this with you. This and more,” bolstered by everything you’ve seen, the confession spills out with startling ease. Your eyes squint above the curve of your smile. “I like you too,” you coaxed his fist open as you spoke, mapping out the carved furrows, shallows and depths on his palm. “A lot”.

“Oh,” he exhales, slowly entangling your fingers.

You give an emphatic nod.

“How mad is Kacchan?”

“Pretty mad. But when is he not?” you laugh at his grimace. “I’ll be there as a buffer when you wake up. It’s my professional opinion that you need a few more days to recuperate and take me out for crêpes. So will you come home with me?”

There’s a gleam in his eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugs at your chest. His gaze flickers across your face, from your lips to your eyes in askance. You lean in and he kisses you again, sipping gently at your mouth, firm and slightly sticky with congealed blood. Strange. It feels so real. You suppose it is, in all the ways that matter.

“Okay,” he whispers after one last peck to your lips. You get to your feet as he stands and gestures nervously toward the genkan. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to get out of here so… lead the way?”

You laugh and take him by the hand. “Don’t worry. The way back is always a lot faster. It’s a little disorienting—watch your step,” you warn as he follows you through the front door. Rather than the lobby, or a stairwell, both bodies are swallowed up by darkness.

Spat out just as abruptly, your senses return to you piece by piece. Breathing through the vertigo you peel your eyes open to the rapid rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he reorients himself. A crick in your neck, a knot in your spine. The clock reads 07:12. There are already nurses bustling around the hospital bed, likely alerted by the frantic heart monitor; that which does little to hide the way Izuku’s pulse stutters when you lift your head to get a look at him.

“I’m home,” he says, throat rough from disuse.

Your hands are still entwined, albeit a little sweaty. You smile, “Welcome home”.

#deku x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #q’d

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wttcsms · 1 year

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for the last time ; simon “ghost” riley.

pairing simon “ghost” riley x f!reader word count 2k synopsis simon is greeted by an image that haunts him the most: you, completely still and no longer breathing. content contains death mentions, mentions of blood, slight angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, pregnant!reader, the two of you are married, obsessive!ghost notes takes place in the same timeline/au as this fic! ; title is inspired by miss taylor swift’s line in ‘anti-hero’ (stream midnights, btw) where it goes “i wake up screaming from dreaming one day i’ll watch as you’re leaving and life will lose all its meaning for the last time”, so do what you will with that information!

Is it possible to be so afraid that you can taste the fear on your tongue?

Simon Riley finds himself questioning this as he takes one step further into his home — your home, the empty residence that has never known warmth in between its walls until the first time you graced them with your presence — the foyer eerily quiet.

Usually, you have the TV playing in the background for company when he’s away. Maybe none of the shows airing were to your liking; that’s fine, he reasons. There’s no need to panic. No need for his heart to bang against its ribcage barrier, almost as if it’s trying to break free to search for you itself.

The house is dark, but after years of tactical operations held in worse places, his eyes easily adjust to take in these familiar surroundings. His eyes dart around the room, looking for any sign of trouble. He doesn’t know whether he should be relieved or not to find nothing out of the ordinary.

He moves quickly through the house, searching for any sign of you that he can. You’re not a quiet person — not when you’re in the comfort of your shared home, not when you know that you’re safe to live as freely as you want because Ghost will always see to it.

When he put that ring on your finger, he had promised to always keep you safe. Even before it, you were always going to be under his protection, and ever the honorable soldier (and lovesick fool), it’s a promise that he intends on keeping.

When he doesn’t hear the familiar sounds of you humming in the kitchen or the running water of your hot showers, he starts to feel the panic rising in his chest. It’s fine. You’re fine. He’s a rational thinker, quick and calm in a battle. He doesn’t lose his cool, never loses true sight of his mission.

He’ll find you, he reassures himself. He’ll find you, because to lose you is to lose himself, to lose the last remaining shred of humanity he has left in him. Burned, betrayed, abandoned — every moment of suffering he’s endured throughout his life has left him hardened and cold. Perhaps the universe is a merciful thing; after all, it gave him you. You, who only needs to give him a smile meant just for him to reverse all the pain he’s accumulated over the years.

He never thought he would be able to feel again. And now because of you, he’s feeling entirely too much.

He heads to the last room left: the bedroom.

He’ll find you there. You’ll be sleeping peacefully, tucked into the sheets that will cling with the scent of your body wash, blissfully unaware of your husband’s silly anxiety. Nothing could possibly happen to you — no one even knows you exist, save for the select few who Ghost finds himself able to trust.

He turns the knob, slowly and gently opening the door out of fear of interrupting your slumber, only to be greeted by the sight that haunts his every dream.

You’re lying on the bed, eyes shut, but there are thin, red rivulets running down your face — the face that he can perfectly envision in his mind, down to every eyelash and minuscule mark — and instead of the steady rise and fall of your chest…

…There is no movement.

The acidic feeling of bile rising up his dry throat burns, but he swallows it back down, ignoring the acrid taste in favor of forcing himself to approach your still body. He reaches out for you, noticing the erratic, shaky movements of his hands. When was the last time he had ever been so nervous, so scared, that his hands started to shake?

He doesn’t want to believe it. Your body is cold to the touch, and he finds himself daring to grip you tighter. He doesn’t want to leave a bruise, darling, he promises. He’ll apologize tenfold when you wake up. He shakes you, not as gently as he wants to, because he needs you to wake up. You have to wake up.

“Love?” His throat feels so choked up, he’s surprised he can even manage to speak. He shakes your body again, his knees almost buckling to the heavy weight of immense grief. Your blood stains the otherwise crisp, white sheets of the bed.

He’ll never sleep again if you don’t wake up.

He takes a hand to rest against your baby bump, desperate to feel the familiar kick of his son sensing his father’s presence.

“C’mon, kid.” He pleads and he begs, only to be met with nothing but silence.

He chooses to cradle your face instead, taking in your sweet features and trying desperately to pretend like he doesn’t see the blood spilling, ruining your otherwise perfect visage. The syllables in your name are broken up as he tries to say your name but finds himself struggling to speak properly.

Did you know that Simon rarely cries? Of course, you do — you know everything there is to know about him, down to every traumatic experience that has shaped him into the man he is today. You know that the last time Simon cried was because of his father, and it was very early in his childhood. Even as a baby, Simon was considered to be a very quiet child.

But now he feels the corners of his eyes watering, and he’s not ashamed of the tears — he’s ashamed of himself. You’re not breathing, your body’s gone cold, and he will never get to meet the boy fated to be his son. Is this why the universe had tried so fucking hard to keep him from making attachments? Had fate known that he was undeserving of having a family?

He couldn’t protect you, either of you.

The anger comes — he’ll track down whoever is the cause of this, and he will slaughter every single person involved, knowing that it’ll never be enough, even if the streets are permanently stained red from the amount of blood he’ll spill. But even those thoughts can’t chase away the agonizing grief that is crushing him from the inside out; it takes root inside of his heart, and he feels a part of himself snap.

Rage and agony blend together as the reality of his situation tears him apart. He will never love again; you’ve taken all of what he had to offer straight to the grave. Despite the persistent beating of it, he refuses to acknowledge having a heart, cold or otherwise. There’s nothing. There is no meaning to his life anymore if he cannot share it with you.

His pained screams seem to reverberate around the four walls of your bedroom, and his eyes are instantly open. He sits up, gasping for air, cold sweat dousing his body. He needs several seconds to calm down, and the erratic beating of his heart only quickens its pace when he realizes that all of it was merely a nightmare. But if it was only a bad dream, why does he turn his head only to find your side of the bed empty?

“[Name]?” He calls for you, throwing off the blanket from his body and leaving the warm bed. “[Name]?”

He sounds desperate and frightened — feelings he normally doesn’t display because he usually doesn’t experience them.

He’s gone about most of his adult life knowing that he doesn’t care about what happens to him, but now — now, he actually has something to live for, something to lose. He’s given up so many parts of himself, all for the sake of survival or for a mission. Whatever he hasn’t given away has been stolen from him (boyhood had always been a short-lived concept in his household; his father made sure of it). And then you came into his life — or rather, he infiltrated the building you were held captive in, and suddenly, the world had color again.

He didn’t ask you to fix him, and you never saw him as someone who needed it. You always tell him that he saved your life, even going so far as to call him your hero. You know everything about him; everything but the fact that you saved his life, too.

More accurately: you brought him back to life.

And now his life will go back to being nothing but static and self-sacrificial motivations.

He calls out your name in the darkness of the house, only to be greeted by the sound of his own heart beating against his chest. He stumbles through your home, only to find you rummaging through the kitchen, the light inside of it glowing against your skin and making you appear as an angel.

Breathing becomes significantly easier for him now.

It takes him little to no time to erase the distance between the two of you, and the familiar feeling of your husband’s strong arms wrapping around your body envelopes you. His embrace is comforting albeit a bit suffocating, and you choose to lean into his warmth, allowing him to bury his face into the mess of your hair.

The scent of your shampoo mixing with your own natural scent overwhelms him, and he only attempts to bring you impossibly closer to him.

“Simon?” The sound of your voice is his favorite thing to listen to; even more so when it’s you saying his name so sweetly and softly.

“Simon, what’s going on?” You don’t sound scared, but you take a hand to put over his, massaging his knuckles. It’s nearly one in the morning, and while you know that Simon is secretly clingy, especially when the two of you are sleeping, the way he’s hugging you… It’s almost as if he’s scared that you’ll evaporate the moment he’s not touching you.

“...You weren’t there.” You can feel the movement of his mouth and jaw, his head still very much buried in between the space between your neck and shoulder.

“I wasn’t… Oh.”

The turning point of your relationship had been the fact that Simon was always there every time you had nightmares. It wasn’t until the two of you moved in together that you realized he suffered from some of his own, as well. They’re few and far between nowadays, but sometimes, he’ll thrash in his sleep, tiny, pained groans waking you up from your slumber. You know the memories of watching his former teammates die in front of him haunt him in his subconscious when exhaustion leaves his mind defenseless. Those bad dreams have stopped coming for a long time.

He refuses to tell you about his new nightmare that’s been plaguing him, but either he’s an open book or you’ve just gotten too good at reading him because you think you have a sneaking suspicion as to what’s been scaring him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper softly, and it should be impossible, but his hold on you only tightens up at your words of reassurance. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me.” You take his hand, and he allows you to adjust it to where it’s resting against the swell of your belly. “Nothing bad is going to happen to us.”

He refuses to go back to living that bleak, miserable existence that was his life before you. It’s okay to starve when you don’t know what you’re hungering for; it’s torture when you know you’ll never have what you truly need to survive.

“Let’s go back to bed, Simon. Please?” You plead with him, and after a minute, you feel him nod in agreement.

“You’ll be there when I wake up?” His words come out rough from having not spoken in several hours, but there’s something in his voice that reminds you that there are still remnants of that little, heartbroken boy Simon had to destroy in order to survive his childhood. Those fragments of himself are buried deep through layers of tough skin and pseudo-heartlessness, only coming out in his most vulnerable moments. So far, you’re the only person to witness it. If he has it his way, you’ll be the only one who does.

“I promise. I’ll always be there.”

True to your word, as long as he’s sleeping in the safety of the walls of your home, Simon Riley doesn’t have to find himself waking up alone ever again.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #angst #one shot #drabble #fluff #hurt/comfort

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drawnfamiliarfaces · 1 month

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I was looking at your Halloween posts of the HoM and a thought occurred. Is Ben's extreme fear of ghosts/spirits and stuff related to his experiences with Ghostfreak/Zs'skayr?

And how did such fears affect his initial meeting with Danny?

Yes it is related! Original Ben10 run always gave me an impression that beside Vilgax, Ghostfreak/Zs'skayr left probably one of the most lasting impressions on 10-year-old Ben. After all, imagine you are 10 and you can tranform into aliens, but one of them almost takes over you and nearly kills your family member. Like??? I would be having an existential and identity crisis, not to mention the nightmares about not being able to control your own body and hurting your loved ones???

And sure, he defeated Zs'skayr multiple times, but I like to think that his fear of being controlled/taken over by Zs'skayr (or anyone) left one of the deeper scars on his psyche (amongst like a bajillion of others).

So, yes, that fear and trauma did affect his first meeting with Danny >;) very badly.

Their first encounter was full of misunderstandings and miscommunications all around (sort of like what we see happen between Rex and Ben in Heroes United but even worse) AND it didn't help that Ben was... let's just say, not in the greatest state of mind at that time and Danny didn't have the most rational and calm reactions to the situations either. Both had their own valid reasons, but it's still wasn't very good, lol.

There are also two very important extra circumstances surrounding their meeting that contributed to their reactions, that I dont want to spoil, because it would be more fun to try and tell in a story. xD

And there hopefully will be one, because Danny&Ben first meeting is one of the flashbacks that I had a lot of ideas for AND is important to the AU.

#que?#hom au q&a #hom au #danny phantom #ben tennyson #you have no idea how happy this ask made me when i first saw it #cause i made the 'ben afraid of ghosts' mentions twice and wondered if anyone noticed >;3 #i literally cackled when i finally got the ask because it made me >;)))))#makes it more awkward now that i took so long to answer. eeeeeeee sorrrrryyyyyyyy <;D #i say im excited about trying to tell about their meeting but i am also suffering about HOW to tell it #why is plot building so hard? D;>

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cardansriddle · 11 months

Text

You're so dark - (tom riddle x fem!reader) (modern au)

Summary: A mysterious stranger in a bookshop takes a sudden interest in you when he notices your peculiar taste in literature.

Warnings: not proofread bc i'm a bitch like that.

A/N: inspired by arctic monkeys' song "you're so dark" because I'm obsessed with it and I had to incorporate it into my writing somehow.

༻♛༺

The bell chimed distinctly in the dimly lit library, announcing the arrival of a yet new customer. You kept your head hung low, eyes fleeting over the words inked on the pages of the book with brows furrowed in concentration.

It was only when you heard the thump of shoes against the wooden floor did you raise your gaze from the page, only to be met with the sight of a man who looked like he walked straight out of a dark fantasy book. You assumed he would be the anti-hero, with his chiselled features, and dark hair. His face was unfairly handsome, and the self-assured yet stoic expression on his face only proved your theory further. Definitely a villain.

“How may I help you?” You asked after a brief moment of silence, marking the spot where you had left off and carefully setting your book aside to help out the customer.

His dark eyes flickered down to the book, fleeted over the cover before it locked with your own leather jacket clad form.

He was about to say what he had come after; you could tell he knew what he wanted, but then in a split second, he seemed to change his mind, and he cocked his head to the side, stare still on you.

“What would you recommend?” He asked, and the deep rumble of his voice sent a shiver straight down your spine. He gestured to the book you had just put down. “How about that one?”

You rose an inquisitive brow. “Not many people are fond of Lovecraft’s works. Too dark for their particular tastes.”

The stranger did not seem bothered by your answer, if anything, he was spurred on to continue. “What if I want to read dark literature?”

He watched as your eyes roved over him, lingering for a second too long on the perfect frown of his lips, before you tore your gaze away. “Perhaps you may want to try Edgar Allan Poe.” You suggested. “Dark and poetic.”

“And that is what you like? Dark and poetic?” The stranger asked again, and you felt his stare burn through your whole being as the implication of his question ran deeper than simple literature. He was watching you, in that intense manner of his, and it was enough to ignite fire in your entire being.

You bit your lower lip, before slowly looking up at him. “I think everything dark is naturally poetic.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and you could sense that he was strangely pleased with your reply. A raven cawed from somewhere outside, and a chill ran down your spine at the sudden tension that seemed to hang around the two of you.

“Then Allan Poe it is.” He decided with a subtle smirk tugging at his lips.

You nodded and began making your way between the shelves to find the book you presumed the stranger would enjoy from the author’s works. You felt him following your trail but did not notice how his eyes had become glued to the tattoo on full display thanks to your shirt that exposed some of your back. The black ink engraved on your skin in the form of a murder of crows sent a sense of thrill through his veins, and with every new thing he discovered about you, he was becoming more and more hooked.

Rising on your toes, you reached towards the upper shelf to grab the book you presumed the stranger would enjoy, and as the pads of your fingers barely grazed the spine of the object, you suddenly felt warm as a body pressed against your back to retrieve the book with ease.

Your lungs stuttered, struggling to find air to breathe while his chest brushed your back, and then you felt his hand grabbing a firm hold of your waist.

Tom usually withheld himself from such urges, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that he wanted you bad. It was as if all rational thoughts had been drowned by the need to have you. He wanted you down on all fours as he made you scream his name into the night, and he wanted his teeth to be marking your throat with bruises that would stay on you like a tattoo.

You turned around in his hold to face him and the sight of his form half shrouded in shadows and the other half illuminated by the winter sun seeping through the windows was enough to send your mind reeling. You caught his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. As if on instinct, your own dropped to his mouth, and it did not go unnoticed by the stranger.

You did not know who moved first, you did not care, because one second you were staring at one another, and the next his lips were moulded against yours. His hand on your waist circled to your back to hold you tighter against his body, while the other grasped your hair. It was messy, desperate, and urgent— the way he kissed you as if he was a man starved. But you were just as eager, with your back pressed against the bookshelf and your hands running over any part of him you could find as you allowed yourself to get ensnared in his trap.

When you finally pulled away to catch much needed air, you were both panting. His dark eyes roved over you once more before he stepped closer, entirely blocking the sunlight from your view.

"I'm Tom Riddle." He said with his gravelly voice.

And when you gave him your name, it felt as if you willingly handed your soul to the devil instead.

༻♛༺

taglist: @faerienotfound @orangepact77 @on-ya @a-mj-a @darkmoviesquotespizza @444s0ul @amarisout @daechgustinad @lillywise-the-dancingclown69 @eceamaizmirbosislermuduru @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @turnip-milk @kammsinn @ratsys @linosluna @lizzieolseniskinda

let me know if you wish to be added/removed from my taglist!

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle one shot #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle x you #tom riddle au #tom riddle modern au #tom riddle fluff

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quitealotofsodapop · 7 months

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For the Wukongverse, what do the SWKs feel about Mac / being married to Mac?

Like jealousy, confusion, or heartbreak?

I think only New Gods had any mentioned of Mac. (NG!SWK pretend to be him)

Will be funny if the other SWKs start flirting with Mac. Mac will be so flustered while LMK! SWK will be so annoyed.

One of my fave interpetations of different Macaques in the new JttW-inspired media is this one by @m4nt1dr4x. I especially love the idea of all these different Wukongs meeting their Macaque for the first time and being like; "Whoa... another weird monkey like me? And they cute!?"

But a bunch of them have yet to meet their Macaque, so they see LMK au Shadowpeach and are befuddled.

*all the SWK's are hanging out at LMK's Wukong's place* LMK!Mac, casually walks into room: "Peach, where's my fabric scissors? I need to fix one of Bai He's stuffed animals." LMK!SWK: "They're in the bathroom. I was using them to make toilet paper origami." LMK!Mac: "This crime will not go unpunished." *kisses Wukong on cheek before leaving* "Have fun with your alternate dimension counterparts." LMK!SWK: "Thanks plum." (��￣ω￣〃) The Other SWKs: *in silent shock* LMK!SWK: "...what?" Netflix!SWK: "Who was that?!" LMK!SWK: "My husband?" Reborn!SWK: "Since when did we have one of those!?" LMK!SWK: "Since forever! I mean, not forever forever. We've had rough spots. But me and Mihou have known eachother since childhood." Meihouwang!Shihou: *excited gasp!!* "You and your Mihou are married!?" Hero is Back!SWK: "Do we all get our own "Mihou's"? I haven't met another mystic monkey yet." NewGods!SWK: "I have no idea, I killed my Six Eared Macaque." [is lying, he and his Macaque are very old and very married] All the SWK's: *loud arguing over whether or not they are destined to have a goth gf/bf* LMK!Mac, overhearing the ruckus: "Typical Wukong. A single kiss and he loses all rational thought. Even his counterparts." Meihouwang!Mihou: (๑❛////❛)

Soon you have a bunch of Monkey Kings running around their respective universes trying to find their own Macaque, both platonically and to possibly romance.

#wukongverse #shadowpeach #peachbuds #lego monkie kid #lmk #crossovers #monkey king hero is back #monkey king reborn #the monkey king netflix #meihouwang #new gods nezha reborn #sun wukong #six eared macaque #liu er mihou

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mushroomwoods · 8 months

Text

fear(less)

After a few months of travelling together it was only to be expected that they would catch onto your little habits, especially if it was one that put you in harms way so many times.

characters — Chain, romantic or platonic (platonic only!Wind)

warnings — gore&blood, !depiction of deep wounds!, canon-typical violence, reader is reckless™ and has no sense of self-preservation, a sliver of harmful thoughts (sky!time!), poorly described battles; mild angst with comfort (hyrule!), hints of player!au.

Wow, i finally finished this thing, took me longer than i thought. Anyways, there are a few parts that don't really follow the game line of battle, as I've adapted some things just... because i thought it'd be fun, but i hope you guys enjoy it all the same. Also tagging the dearest @cloudninetonine, didn't know which blog you would prefer so i used the one more related to LU, i hope it is up to your standards, Cloud. also, i said twi part was long? you can't wait to see legend's then.

At first it wasn't anything too eye catching.

The heroes already knew you were... hopeless when it came to fighting, the few experiences in combat you had beside them proved as much, and they didn't mind it, you helped them enough around the camp, always eager to do something when it was possible.

And while they did train you enough to at least hold out on your own in urgent cases, they didn't expect you to become a seasoned warrior like most of them, you had no need or obligation to, after all, not being bound by duty like them.

However, a few experiences in battle were enough to prove them, that yes, your less than ideal choices, were, against all odds, made rationally.

Timeʼ

It was an oversight.

A terribly, horrid, oversight.

One that, goddess fobid, could've costed your life, as you full on charged at the monster trapping him under it's claw, sending both you and the shadow beast toppling over, a disorienting groan falling from your lips as you crashed onto the floor, barely escaping the clawed hands that reached out for you, your unsteady dominant hand, trying to grip hard enough at the hilt of your sword so you could finally, finally, thrust it into the dizzying mark in it's chest.

And then, as it lifted, ready to pounce back into your form, you got the chance to see it's weakness, barely, but enough. With not an ounce of hesitation, you gave up trying to make your, now useless, dominant hand to obey you, and switched you weapon, lurching under the monster and stabbing the glowing red skin, a surge of black blood dripping into your face and clothes as the monster disappeared into itself.

“Name!” Time finally got it into himself to call you out, armored form rushing to your side at an abnormal speed.

You looked back at him, still a very gruesome, bloody messy as you gave him a victorious grin, but he couldn't find it in himself to worry about that in the moment, just wanting to check if you were too injured from the battle, but just as he was two steps in, your face morphed into something akin to panic, stumbling hurriedly into your own feet and frantically running to him.

“Wait! Beside you!” Your shout was enough to alert him, shield quickly lifted as he bashed the monster into the ground, yet, his vision blurred at the sudden movement, body still weak from the hit he'd taken previously.

He felt your hand on his back, trying to keep him steady as the other swung the blade in front of you, the metal making an annoying screech as it made contact with the black mask, which only seemed to anger the monster further, pushing forward at an ungodly speed with it's tentacles trashing around.

In the heat of the moment, you mustered all the strength you could, pushing the hero to the side — a feat that was only possible because of his weakened state — as you took the full impact, body falling to the ground with a crushing thud, you winced, but still pushed forward, the blood pumping through your body giving you the last bit of adrenaline you needed to finally ground the monster, watching it slowly disappear as the aches in your body only now started to settle.

You could hear Time thunderous voice from beside you, but it sounded so distant, yet so loud, you could only close your eyes in hopes the tinning in your ears would stop.

You felt a cool hand — a metal plate? — settling against your burning cheeks, Time eye scanning you fully, rambling quickly about something as he seemed to shout to someone on the other side of the battlefield, you tried to laugh at his worry, only being able to hack a cough, throat clogged with blood.

You could see him turning his head back to you, mouthing a “don't leave me yet” at you, you grinned.

“Not before you, old man.” You saw him frown and was quick to add. “Don' worry, 'ts not the time yet.” You couldn't wait for his answer, face drooping into his shoulder as your vision blackened.

You could only hope he would lessen his nagging from next time you woke up, pitying your battered state.

Twilightʼ

It seemed that ever since he got into this adventure, with eight other unsettling versions of himself, plus an unassuming you, his luck whenever he transformed with the twili magic pummelled — yes, even more than in his own aventure, wasn't he sufficiently unlucky during his trials.

It was an unfamiliar Hyrule, and both you and him, well, Wolfie, had assumed the responsability of checking the sorrounding areas for any threat.

And what a threat it had, a swarm of dynalfos madly chasing after the both of you, a few too rough swing of their weapons barely catching at your tearing tunic as you tried tirelessly to keep up with the wolf speed.

“Fuck! I thought these bastards didn't wander in groups, what the heck are they even doing out in the open!?” As much as Twilight would like to agree with you at the moment, he could only let out a huff in the bestial form.

You gritted your teeth, pushing your legs until they were burning with the strain, never losing speed in fear they might actually catch up with you, as you rummaged through your backpack, probably looking for anything that might work, since your sword proved to be pretty damn useless against their gauntlets.

“Hey Wolfie, do you trust me?” He barely spared you a glance, quickly noticing the bomb you recklessly lightened in your arms. “Because if you don't, you might as well go on your own way.”

He tried to yelp as you didn't let go of the bomb even as the fire engulfed almost all of the rope, your hands shaking in what he assumed to be fear, though at this point it might as well be excitement, with the maddening smirk that played in your lips.

Waves of roars and shrieks resounded behind the both of you just as you threw the bomb back, the object exploding not even a few seconds after, as you made sure to hold it until the last possible second, so they wouldn't be able to throw the object back at you and make the situation even worse. Flames licked just short of your backs, threatening to burn both the strap of your leather bag and the tip of Wolfie's tail.

You cussed under your breath, legs stopping, as you turned around to face the enemies, now finally weakened enough for the both of you to at least try to face head on.

“If I'm right, they're from the captain's Hyrule, so we don't have much time to take them down.” You saw the wolf tail flick, as if in understanding, and you took that as a signal to rush foward, hearing his steps right behind you.

You surged foward, striking the monsters with the barely retained memories of the hellish training the captain had drilled into you, almost finishing off your enemies when you heard your companion yelp, a dinolfo having grabbed at his tail just as he tackled another of the oversized lizards into the ground, just as he was about to turn, ready to maul whatever got him, a wooden shield flew past his nose, right into the monster head, sending it into it's back, completely unmoving.

When the both of you were finally finished, it was nothing more than a gory mess, guts splattered all over as the both of you laid in the midst of the atrocious visage, panting and bleeding, the man long since turned into his original form, throwing all his care into the wind as he made himself comfortable beside you.

“We have to report it back to them, especially since these fuckers must be from the captain world.” You muttered, breathing heavy as you tried to lift your arm, only a groan making it past your mouth.

The man laid beside you only mumbled in agreement, not actually moving to get up, and actually throwing an arm over your body, making sure you wouldn't get out of there until the two of you at least got some rest.

Yeah, he could let the nagging wait a bit more, for now the thought of a little rest just seemed so much better than going back only to hear how reckless the both of you were to actually act alone.

He then frowned as if remembering something, face turning to you.

“How many times did we tell ya not to thrown the shield.” His voice was exasperated and you all but glared at him.

“Ah c'mon! It works!”

Warriorsʼ

“Get down!” A cry in your voice was enough for the warrior to follow through your orders, barely dodging a monster attack on the right as you nimbly shifted to his side, blocking an aerial attack with the shield Wild had lent to you weeks ago.

He hadn't thought much of the occurrence, as one of the archers in the group quickly sent the monster down, and you dealing a final blow without much trouble, what he didn't expect, however, was to find you barely a few hours after the battle kneeled beside a water body trying to wash down an conspicuous amount of blood off the arm you had previously wielded the shield with.

“Name? Did you get hurt? You could've asked me for a potion if your stock ran off, Hyrule would've also helped, we didn't have many casualties today.” He was quick to close off the distance, even as you seemed to do your best to avoid any type of contact with the hero.

“The stock is running low...” You started, low voice, but as he didn't budge, waiting for a more plausible excuse you saw no choice but to continue. “and there's still shards in my arm, it wouldn't be helpful to heal it as it is.”

Azure eyes ran over what he previously thought to be only stains and clogs of blood over the grass, only now noticing how it shimmered under the light, pieces of what seemed to be freshly cut flesh clinging into the sharper edges.

Warriors rushed to your side, hands grabbing firmly at your shoulder and wrist, fresh blood quickly oozing into his own pristine robes, but he didn't mind, not as he noticed just how serious what he thought to only be a light wound actually was. He suppressed a frustrated groan as he heard in inhale sharply at his prodding in the less open part of the wounds.

“How did this happen?” His voice was sharp, clearly not giving you a chance to even try and escape from him.

“Nothing...” A sharp glare was enough to make you stop, clearing your throat before continuing. “The kargarocs clawed at my arm just as Wild's shield shattered. It was just that, besides, it's not as bad as it look.”

The way you winced when his fingers flexed a little too harshly around your wrists was enough to betray your own words, yet you didn't back down, not until you saw Link's face morphing from a frown into the most —fake— dashing smile you've seen him send your way.

“If it's not that bad, then i guess you wouldn't mind a little help.” The way his eyes didn't match his smile was enough of a warning of the hell he'd put you through for not taking care of yourself in the first place.

“Wait, no—”

Your loud scream resonated through the quiet forest, as the man all but huffed, taking out the shards littering your arms with a gentle, yet rigid touch.

Too bad, it was already too late, maybe this way you'll learn to stay out of trouble next time.

Hyruleʼ

He couldn't say he was thrilled to get back to his own Hyrule, while, yes, it was comforting to recognize the vegetation around, much like the many hiding spots he found during his tireless adventures, he still felt much too paranoid to parade around the existing bustling town, a gnawing feeling at the back of his head saying — screaming — that as long as he was there, the hunt for his head would prevail.

So with such thoughts, he didn't think much of letting you talk with some of the locals, much too unrelated to the hero to pose any apparent threat to the villagers, as he hid himself just short of your eyesight, as the both of you waited for the rest of the group to buy whichever necessities you were still lacking from the journey.

What he didn't expect was to suddenly hear an almost guttural growl from you, as you tensed up from the previously amicable chat, his body turning just in time to see you land a punch straight into the other person nose, blood cascading instantly down your fist.

From there it went downhill, the other two person joining in the brawl you seemed to start without a care as Hyrule rushed to your side, trying to both protect you, while also pulling you out of the fight.

“Stop that, Hyrule! I'll kill those bastards!” You voice resounded with so much unfiltered hatred, that he considered that your threats may actually turn out be true, wasn't he quick enough to act.

He had always thought of you as calm and collected, a little silly sometimes, but that was about it, yet as he saw you snarling at the opposing group, having to almost wrestle you out of the place, he could see just how soft you actually were to the group of heroes.

The traveller regretted having put out his power bracelet in fear of hurting anyone too much, as throwing your fighting form over his shoulder and setting back proved to be much harder than when he did same with the usual pacific you, his steps thumped loudly against the dry grass, the sound of angered shouts getting more and more distant with the passing seconds, along with your own, which died into tiny sobs and hiccups.

When he noticed your chasers weren't on your tails anymore, he finally stopped, breathing hagged as he carefully lowered you to the floor, hands instantly coming to cup your face carefully, thumbing at the tears, worried expression as he checked your body for any wounds, his magic making quick work on any he spotted.

“Now now, what's the problem? What happened.” He watched as the tears didn't stop, yet you frowned in annoyance.

Not at him, of course. Never at him.

You pursed your lips, teeth gritting as you finally started talking, a sigh falling regretfully from your lips.

“Those bastar—” A quiet hush from him forced you to stop, his eyes never letting yours leave his. “They” You growled “were acting like you were nothing more than a curse. It's not fair that you get this type of treatment after all you did to save those people.”

His smile grew a little, strong arms engulfing you in a warm hug, your own slithering across his back naturally as he leaned into your shoulder.

“I don't care about those things.” Not for as long as I have you. “But thank you, Name.” His soft hum was quiet against your ear, and that was all the comfort the both of you could ever need, tightly wound in each other embrace.

Legendʼ

Legend was against the whole plan.

Especially when it took place with you acting as the bait, taking the unlucky lot while they drawed each person role.

He gritted his teeth, looking regretfully at the Pegasus Boot and the defense ring he placed in your hands, while you laughed awkwardly.

“You don't have to give me that, you know. I know how to battle, maybe not as much as you guys, but I can handle on my own.” You tried, pushing the items back into his hands, but he stepped back before you would force him to take, his frown only getting deeper.

“I know.” Was his only answer, to which you quirked your brow quizzically and he huffed. “We all watched your progress in battle, still, it just feels wrong to leave someone behind.”

Warriors was about to make a teasing comment about his unusual character, when Twilight jabbed at him, forcing the knight to bend over.

Time sighed as he watched the veteran so restless, drawing the attention back to him.

“Then the veteran stays back with Name.” The oldest sent a teasing smirk your way, which the others seemed to not notice, as he turned back to the rest of the group. “The rest of us will go as planned, Wild come with me, Warriors with Wind and Hyrule with Twilight. Get ready by the doors and make sure to come back before the time runs out.”

You prepared to start the mechanism of the dungeon, pulling the lever when the acting leader nodded. You and the veteran watched as they all disappeared into the passages, stone doors closing behind them as soon as they left, leaving the place you stood only barely lightened by the scarce torches lit around the walls.

The first wall to light up was the one in the right, where the traveller and ranch hand had disappeared into, both you and Legend walking up to it to take a closer look at the glowing blue scriptures.

“Only when the sun is lit, can the lost ones be found.”

It was easy enough, you looked around the room, soon finding a tile carved with the sun marking, Legend didn't think much before using the fire rod on it, the first pillar lightening up in blue, the form of a child carved into it.

The second wall lightened up, this time from Wars and Wind side.

“Only a cup of water can sate one's thrist.”

Sound of dripping water started to resonate around the room, the statue glow dimming as the child now bent over it's form, tears welling down the pillar. You took the bowl beneath it, already half full as you looked back at your partner, who pointed at the drying flower who bloomed among the stone path. You watered it, the flower blooming back to life, a golden key appearing between it's petals. The veteran didn't think much before picking it up, the second pillar lighting up with a garden.

As the third and last wall lightened up, the torches were blow off, all lights around the room turning from a soft blue to bloody red.

"A true warrior may carve it's path upon the enemies blood.”

Gears started to sound around the room, the torches blow off and the only light around now being the poor scriptures that barely let you count the fingers in your hands.

The child statue now stood as a imposing adult holding a sword, the tears that fell turning into a river of blood, and the garden pillar now turning into a fire caught wasteland.

A opening appeared on the ceiling, in which Keeses started pouring over like ants, Legend took the fire rod, knowing that with a single hit he could take at least a few of them down, however just as he was about to shot the magic, it died down altogether.

“What!?” He shouted exasperated, trying again in a futile attempt.

You looked at him, drawing your bow, hoping to even get a few down from how bad your eyesight got in the dark place.

He followed your example, grumpy about his malfunctioning item as he gripped onto his sword, taking down any that got too close to the floor.

As you were finally setting a rhythm, you started hearing a buzzing, looking into the hero direction the see the electro keese closing in on him.

“Vet!” You hand hooked at the hero tunic, all but throwing him to the other side, the monster reaching you as it's electric aura engulfed your body in an excruciating pain.

...

Or not. You blinked, looking up from your kneeling form, the hero running up to your side, as a disheveled mess, trying to look for injuries on your body, the red lights returning to a blue hue, and torches lighting back as the doors clinked open.

“But only true heroes won't think before saving a dear one.” The sailor voice sounded behind you, apparently reading the newly lightened wall who led you to the next room. “Whatever happened to the both of you here?” He asked, confused face as he stared at the both of you.

As you and Legend looked at each other face, clear confusion written all over it, the both of you nodded at each other.

“Nothing.”

Wildʼ

Wild could somehow feel the consequences of his actions catching up with him.

His hands tightened around your wrist, tugging you along with him as you ran from the lynel positively huffing like a bull as it ran behind you. He felt like this would be the feeling Twilight felt whenever he saw him running to do some things stupid.

Why did he just have to give in to your pleading eyes when you asked him to show you how to hunt a lynel?

He could see you stealing glances at the monster from the corner of his eyes, your figure pretty much laid back even when you knew — or at least he thought so — that thing could send you flying with a single hit.

When it's axe was lifted, you shifted to the side, pulling Wild out of its reach and almost sending the both of you colliding to the floor.

“I think I understand it now!” You shouted at him, blood pumping so hard from the adrenaline you almost couldn't hear yourself.

And with that, Wild felt a bad sense of premonition, his gut sinking as he recognizer that look on your face. The same look he had when he first tried to beat a lynel, before he was beaten half to death and ran back to formulate another plan, and while it was... well, different from the first, it certainly wasn't optimal.

He looked at you, face bewildered as he whisper shouted a “no”, hand tightening around yours as if he was the leash keeping a child from doing something idiotic, yet you only huffed and rolled your eyes.

“You do it, why can't I?” You whined and he considered begging for Twilight's forgiveness for every shit he put his mentor through. “Besides, you're here to help me, we can just retreat if you think it's getting too dangerous.”

He sighed, before pointing to the bottom of the hill, a large lake surrounding the area.

“If it get dangerous I'll use cryonis and we'll get out of here, no if's and but's, okay?” You grumbled out and his eyes thinned. “Okay?” He repeated himself.

“Okaaaay.” You drawled out, charging to the point he pointed, letting go of his hand as he attracted the lynel to he area.

It started fairly well, he attracted the monster to him while you shot it from the side, his bow trainings paying off as you hadn't hit the blonde man a single time yet. And hopefully you wouldn't for the rest of the battle.

Just as you were about to pull the last arrow, you saw the shining, massive axe in the hands of the lynel start flying towards your direction, the young hero quickly telling you to run towards the lake.

Your mind raced as you thought of your options, eyes flashing from Link's place near the lake to the weapon flying your way sickeningly fast, the bow dropping from your hand as you took the claymore strapped to your hip.

Wild's face dropped, heart sinking as he could already read your thoughts. Damned be the day he tried to teach you how to parry.

You waited. Waited. Wait... And then with a sharp, deafening sound the ginormous weapon was sent flying, it lasted less than a second, yet for you it seemed as if the world had stopped, you felt like you could understand, even if a little, when Wild talked about how the world seemed to slow down around him when he was battling.

Before you could turn to the hero to celebrate, you felt a heavy punch landing into the side of your head, sending you flying back, vision wavering.

He would have to teach you not to take your eyes off the enemies in battle it seemed, he sighed running up to finish dealing with the monster before you were too beaten up.

Windʼ

It was just your luck.

The dungeon had separated the whole group, and while you weren't too worried about only you and Wind forming a duo, you were quite worried for whose world it was now.

All of the heroes eras were quite the catastrophe, however Time's was an utter mess, especially with the happenings of Majora Mask he had to deal while still a child.

You gritted your teeth, pulling the younger one beside you by the arm, as he whined something about being able to take them on.

“Look Wind, I know you're competent and all, I also understand that you know how to deal with them, however you have to understand that these are not the ReDeads from back at your world.” You pursed your lips as you heard their screeching approaching.

The young hero huffed, finally accompanying your steps on his own, instead of being dragged like dead weight.

“So, any plan?” His pout was very much visible, in your mind at least, as the corridors were dark enough for you to trip over your own feet sometimes.

“You betcha, sailor.” You only hoped it would actually work. “Think you could play a song right now?”

You could feel Wind's judgemental stare right through your skull, but when you did nothing but press him for an answer he giggled madly.

“I don't know what you're brewing up, but I hope it'll be fun.” The boy grabbed onto your hand, sprinting even faster, pulling you through some many doors and corridors of what you thought to be the correct path, until you could see a few barely visible flashs of light streaming down from the ceiling, the first room you had fallen into when you first entered the dungeon, the bars showing only enough for the both of you to see the shadow of your faces, giggling as if the monsters that followed you wouldn't just up and kill the both of you with as much as a single touch.

You quickly scampered further into the light, knowing it would only be enough to slow them down for a little, before you started talking lowly, not considering the earlier fits of laugh would be enough to alert all of the monsters around of your exact position.

“I assume you don't have your mirror with you.” The sailor nodded, almost rolling his eyes at the predictability, but before he could voice his complaints you continued. “But you wouldn't come without your wand, right?”

He now raised an eyebrow, mouthing an “Of course”, as you nodded to yourself.

“Let's pray that it counts as an magical instrument, get it and try to follow the music I'll hum to you.” You barely got him any chance to process before humming the Sun Song you'd grew so familiar over the time.

The boy just looked at you as if you were crazy, grabbing onto the item and hurriedly trying to follow along, a few tries in and the both of you huffed, patience running thin as a strew of curses fell from the boys lips, something you thanked the goddess above that the Hero of Time or the Hero of Twilight weren't there to see.

You groaned, exasperated, as the monsters were now only a few feet away from you both, you pressed him further up into the wall, fully covering his body from the monsters view, almost like a living bait, a thing he'd certainly nag at you later.

In the desperation you whistled the song, praying it was sufficiently in tune for him to relate to the sound of the wind he often listened to while on his journey.

“C'mon, three, three, five!” You prayed, a phantom touch at your neck sending chills down your spine as if sucking your life force, while you tried to whistle the tune again.

“Got it!” He exclaimed, a whirlwind forming around you both as the light shone even brighter above the both of you, almost like the salvation light, the wave of monster falling slowly with shrill screams, one you'd hope to never hear again.

You finally let go of his arms, body trembling so much you could only topple down as tears streamed down your cheeks, the bone chilling presence of their touch still very much vivid in you mind, as the younger one could only rub your shoulders soothingly, knowing full well you took most of the hits in order to keep him safe.

He sighed, resolved to let your actions slide this one time, with a tired smile.

“Thank you for trying to protect me, let's rest a little and then well go back to the others.” His voice was way less chirpier than usual, you nodded, leaning one against the other, finally able to get a breather under the warm light casted over the two of you.

Skyʼ

It was somewhat stupid, honestly.

You knew fully well that all of those men had full capacity to take over at least a dozen monsters more than you, without even breaking a sweat, no less, especially the local lazy eyed hero who seemed to enjoy his little naps a little more than it was healthy and just happened to take over a god all by himself.

You knew it, yes, but your stupid body decided to move before your brain could fully process what was even happening.

“Sky, that...” You lightly tugged at the hem of the skyloftian armor, eyes focused on the strange spikes fluctuating dangerously beside the hero.

The form seemed familiar, but you only were able to fully recognize it when little eyes peeked through the sand wasteland, the man beside you now standing in full alert as his eyes seemed to catch onto the same thing as you.

The whole group stopped, now looking back at the two of you, but as you tried to point towards the enemy to explain you wouldn't have to battle as long as you avoided it's vision, you could see from the corner of your eyes one of the more reckless from the group charge full on at the little monster.

“Wait, it'll explode!” Sky tried to warn, a little too late as it's body expanded, sending projectiles of poisonous darts around.

Thankfully Wild was quick enough to react a pull a shield to protect himself, and the others were far enough not to get in the way, however as both you and the Hero of the Skies were the one who stood closer to it, you had taken the full brunt of the blow, fully ducking the hero behind your form.

You gasped as you felt the thorns ripping through your flesh, the feeling way more painful than you had expected at first, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes as you all but hollered at Wild.

“Don't go touching it, you dumbass! Just blow it away!” You winced when the hero held in your arms moved to trace the sides of your wounds, a wince of his own sounding as he saw his bloodied gloves.

“Don't move, it'll hurt.” Sky voice was still collected, but you could see his eyes wavering a bit, knowing full well how terrible it was to receive one of these attacks head on, he sighed. “Why did you protect me? My armor was enough to take it.”

It was unusual to hear the usually so pacific hero grumbling around like that, but you could barely focus on that as you felt his hands making quick work of removing the most superficial ones from your skin, the scalding hot feeling of the poison in the open wounds soon melting off as Hyrule made a quick work of staying beside you to heal the wounds.

“I panicked, besides, if it was a black blooded monster, who knew what else he'd— shit! Do?” You felt your knees weakening, even as he held you upright, so you gave in to muffling a cry into his shoulder as he took off a particularly hard spike buried in the side of your waist.

“So you did this even considering it was a mutated monster?” You could feel he bit off another sigh. “Really, you're the only one reckless enough to throw yourself in to protect a hero.” He patted your head in a comforting touch to tell it was over. “But don't go thinking I'm not mad at you and Wild. The both of you should stop acting so recklessly already, it'll worry all of us.”

You could hear Wild whining off at some distance, as you held the urge to do the same, as you knew the boy could be as scary as Time if pushed far enough.

Fourʼ

The short hero was quite used to be underestimated, and at first he thought you'd fall under the same category of people who judged his strength based on his height alone.

It was a pleasant surprise for him when he could finally notice your protectiveness came from a place of care, actually.

What wasn't pleasant, however, was how, no matter how much you knew that the hero was much stronger than you, you couldn't let go of this worrisome habit of always putting his safety and comfort before yours.

Especially now, where you, and the four parts of the little hero battled away against a wave of skulltulas, the monsters easy enough for you and the four heroes to tackle on, however their sheer amount was enough to give you a harder time dealing with them.

You sidestepped, back meeting with Green's, hearing him chuckle before branding his sword to the right, striking down two of the monsters with a single attack, you and Red joining hands so the smaller one could easily acess the weak spot of a specially tough one.

However, things seemed way messier at the other side, Blue and Violet having to deal with just as much as the three of you, while also sparing jabs at each other, harsh comments over the other clumsiness as they rashly brandished their sword, clearly tired of the long running battle.

“It doesn't seem to be ending anytime soon.” You muttered, both of the man beside you nodding in agreement. “Should we just take off?” You offered, an instant disagreement falling from both Blue and Violet.

“If its a swarm this big, it could reach one of the nearby cities.” Red made an actual helpful comment, to which you sighed.

You held your tongue, knowing none of them would appreciate you making any comments about their far too heroic side, putting your focus back on the battle.

It didn't take much longer for the wave of Skulltulas to actually start to thin out and finally take the last one on. Tge five of you finally lowered you weapons, watching as the last of the enemies disappear in a black mist.

The only sound now being your heavy breathings and the rustling of the trees above you. You looked up, heaving a sight and watching as the leaves above your head danced from one side to another along with the wind, only now noticing a strange light, or actually, a lack thereof.

“Hey guys..?” You started, as they looked at you. “I guess i know why they were so mad at us now.” They followed your line of sight, a gasp sounding behind you, which you didn't bother naming whose it was.

A skulltula — if you could even call it that, at this point — hung over the trees, it's web big enough to cover a whole house, the monster only shying a little in question of size.

“Are you guys sure you still want to play hero?” Surprisingly, it wasn't you this time, but Violet.

You shook you head, already knowing their answers, as you hooked your fingers under your bow, pulling one arrow and readying to fire under their command.

“Well.... like it or not, we are heroes.” Blue stated, giving you the signal.

You shoot the arrow, the object hitting bullseye into one of the monster's eye, not that it was too difficult from it's sheer size.

With a thundering roar, it dropped down from it's web, the natural floor shaking under your feet as you stepped back to gain the distance advantage this time, the split hero standing in front of you to act like a bait.

The four of them each had gone to one side of the monster, as you made another clear shot, this time taking one of its hind leg, the blood spraying in a somewhat gruesome way you hadn't had the chance to notice when fighting the smaller one.

Just as you were about to shot another of its legs, you heard a groan, Blue falling to the ground as the monster charged into him. You gritted your teeth, lowering the bow as you pulled your sword from your waist and running up to him without a second thought, stopping in front of him, and parrying the oncoming attacks however you could as Blue still seemed disoriented from the fall.

What you didn't take into account was how heavy it's attack would be now that it had the added weight of it's sheer size, you lightly hissed when it's fang bit into your left shoulder, almost dropping the weapon out of reflex, but you clenched your jaw, forcing your fingers to remain flexed into the sword hilt, then thrusting it into the spider's many eyes when it finally let go of you, it's bug juice overflowing into you and your wound, only making it sting more.

Barely a few seconds after you could see the monster disappearing, as Violet and Green each cut one side of the monster, the skulltula disappearing into a black matter quickly as you heaved a sigh, the five of you finally regrouping into the center of the clearing.

“Did I already say that I hate spiders? Because if not, now I do.” Violet said, clearly disheartened at the whole ordeal, to which you only nodded in agreement.

#lu hyrule #lu time #lu legend #lu wild #lu wind #lu sky #lu twilight #lu four #lu warriors #linked universe x reader #i don't know how to tag this there are too many people sjdkxnxkd #link x reader #fungi's delicacies

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fantastic-nonsense · 4 months

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im soso curious, i need to know... why is tim a child of apollo? bless u for not going with fanon<3

[referencing how I decided who the Batfam's godly parents were in my PJO AU WIP]

People like to sort him into Athena because DC has spent the last few years emphasizing how smart he is and how he's better at the more “cerebral” and detective aspects of the job. But Tim’s most prominent pre-reboot traits are not actually his detective or tech skills: they’re his reckless, impulsive bravery, his ability to analyze and think very quickly on his feet in dangerous situations, and his "power of friendship" idealism.

He's a people person; it's one of his greatest strengths. Tim is like...physically incapable of going somewhere and not making at least one friend while he's there. Hell, when he ran off to travel the world on his "fuck you, I'll find Bruce on my own" trip he still managed to pick up his own little crew of assassin friends along the way. Making connections and talking to people and relying on others for help is how he successfully navigates being a hero, as he himself notes on multiple occasions:

"Did you think I was going to run all around the city, desperately trying to save everyone all by myself? I'm not Batman. I have friends." -Red Robin #12

Tim loves his family and friends, and losing so many people he's close to within such a small timespan sends him off the deep end in multiple ways (trying to clone Kon, fighting Dick to get the Lazarus water, isolating himself from everyone, fighting with Dick and running off to find proof that Bruce was alive on his own, etc).

At his core, Tim is an idealist who becomes a hero for no other reason than a) a broken man needs help and a broken family needs mending and b) if Dick won't go back to being Robin he might as well do it, because someone has to be Robin. He sees what will happen if Bruce stays on the path he's on and says "no. I'm not going to let that happen." He's a hero because someone has to help, and he's able and available to do so. He doesn't work on cold hard logic and facts. He works off of gut instinct and then uses his big brain to go find facts and logical conclusions that support those instincts.

Tim was never going to be an Athena child.

So I started thinking. At first, I wanted him to be a Hermes child; it seemed right to frame his parentage around being the child of the messenger of the gods given how he became Robin. But that's not really him, either. Apollo, within the scope of both classical mythology and the PJO-verse's depiction of him and his children, fits him better.

While modern culture tends to zero in a lot on Apollo's status as the god of music, poetry, and the arts (for good reason), Apollo in classical Greek mythology was first and foremost known as the god who (for lack of a better term) helps his people. He's the god of the sun, of light, of medicine and healing, of prophecy, of truth.

Tim comes into Bruce's life at a time when Bruce is at his absolute lowest point. Jason is dead. He's estranged from Dick. He's failing in his mission to save Gotham. He's highkey passively suicidal. And Tim takes it upon himself to fix that. And he does it by being a solid, bright, stable presence in Bruce's life and an extremely blunt, truthful messenger of the future he sees: Batman needs a Robin, and if Bruce doesn't have one he's going to die.

And I didn't abandon his intelligence in the calculations: Apollo is also the god of rational thinking, order, and knowledge, contrasting and working in harmony with Dionysus (the god of irrationality, chaos, and passion). He was also known to be the god whose job it was to interpret the will of Zeus to humankind, which I thought was appropriate for a boy who spends quite a lot of his time being the living communication translator between Bruce and everyone around him.

So. Apollo child.

............also I thought it was funny to make the god of youth the father of the boy DC refuses to allow to age.

#I also have a thread of connection running between Apollo being the god of plagues and Tim getting the Clench in Contagion #but that was kind of an aside to the whole thing #tim drake #tim drake meta #dc comics #bruce wayne #batman #my writing #batfam pjo au

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moonkit60633 · 3 months

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Weight

#merchant has a very small amount of mana #he can’t use the master staff without SEVERE consequences #in turn Gi is extremely guilty over merch #he wasn’t aware that he accidentally skipped a ravio #ravio #loz ravio #heros of rationality au #ravios meet au

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pianokantzart · 7 months

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I saw this post by @elitadream for her Body Swap AU. I then blacked out, and when I came to I had written a one-shot. Enjoy! As usual, be mindful of the tagged trigger warnings.

––––––––

"Don't look so gloomy, you should revel in the fact that you held such power! You were the sole pillar that held The Mushroom Kingdom aloft!” Kamek reached out a hand and patted the great chained beast on the snout like it was the head of a small child. Mario winced and tried to turn his face away, but the enchanted shackles held him firmly in place. In his helplessness, he locked eyes with the malicious magikoopa, and blew a puff of smoke in a silent threat.

Having been imprisoned for so long, Mario passed the time learning to wield and control Bowser’s fire breath in hopes that, at some point, it would be of use. The way the heat built up in his lungs didn't feel too different from how firebrand once burned within his heart and weaved around the bones of his hands. In the dingy silence of his cell, he spat large jets of blinding orange flames, breathed tiny flicks of red embers, and puffed dark billows of grey smoke in a quiet contemplation of what all he was capable of. While his body was restrained in such a way that he couldn’t aim the weapon, the fact he could use it at all proved to be a very helpful form of self-defense against the soldiers who delivered his rations of food and water.

Once the guards had overcome the initial strangeness of Mario inhabiting their King’s body, they grew cruel, taking every opportunity to taunt the fallen hero. Physically damaging him was off-limits, but everything else was permitted, and when the usual insults escalated to spitting and throwing food, Mario finally lost his temper, releasing a billow of fire and a fearsome roar that cleared the room in seconds. From then on, whenever a koopa entered his cell, he would growl lowly and breathe smoke. This effectively deterred any further abuse…

… unless, of course, it was Kamek. Kamek was not only accustomed to Bowser’s fearful form, but he knew he was Mario’s sole hope of returning to his own body. Whatever threat was directed at him was nothing more than an amusement. “On the other hand," he continued, "you are the greatest crack in their defenses. Never before have we made so much progress in conquering a kingdom in such a short amount of time, and you’re entirely to thank for it!” “Leave me alone.” Mario had intended to sound menacing then, but despite his new voice there was no denying the fear and sorrow that muddled every word. Kamek smiled. “Oh? But don’t you want to hear about this progress we made? That the castle is falling? That Princess Peach has disappeared?” Mario’s eyes widened. The chains holding him back clattered as his massive body jolted. Fear built within him, stoking the literal flames in his chest until it glowed with heat.

Kamek appeared satisfied with this reaction. “Yes! Disappeared entirely! We expected such behavior from your brother… hiding himself like a proper coward… but we are having a good deal of trouble figuring out where The Princess has gone to!”

Mario suddenly became aware of a strange pain spreading through his body. He had, by now, become accustomed to the burning aches that accompanied being chained up for so long, but this pain was different: more direct and intentional, like a thousand little blades tearing at the sinews beneath the skin. He now saw that the wand in Kamek’s hand was glowing, the smile on his bespectacled face wider and more malicious. “Now, your body is still the property of Lord Bowser, and as such is not allowed to come to any harm.” He hummed, “Thankfully, I know a few spells capable of causing a great amount of pain without damaging the vessel.”

Mario tensed. The agony spreading throughout his body worsened, and he huffed a small burst of flame from between gritted teeth.

“So, I’ll ask this only once:” Kamek hissed, “Where do you suppose the princess has gone?”

Mario answered with a cold glare, then squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation. Kamek, having expected this, obliged by intensifying the spell. There was the initial surge, white-hot and agonizing, forcing a restrained cry, when the pain suddenly– and unexpectedly– ceased. Even stranger, Mario felt his restraints fall away, and nearly collapsed in their absence, his limbs slowly shifting in the relief of newfound freedom.

Kamek released a guttural gasp. Mario opened his eyes just in time to see his tormentor struggling against tendrils of bright pink magic that wreathed around him like serpents, until the magikoopa slumped quietly to the floor in an unconscious heap. Behind him stood the familiar figure of Princess Peach, her hands ablaze with magic that sparkled like starlight.

Seeing her in the doorway, disheveled but unharmed, scowling at the fallen foe before her, Mario was suddenly overwhelmed by fear and shame. He’d had dreams like this during his captivity, and believing them for even a second proved immeasurably painful when he awoke to find himself restrained and alone. But even if this wasn’t an illusion, everything he was at this moment was an affront to her: a strange combination of monstrousness and uselessness. His alien form complemented his own newfound insignificance, every ounce of goodwill he’d earned over the years now actively destroying all they had struggled to protect. His body fought to make itself smaller as he stumbled back, only to be immediately stopped by the far wall of his tiny cell.

“S-Sono costernato…” he began, loathing the sound of his own voice. But Peach had already crossed the room, desperate to hold him the moment she recognized his eyes. Mario felt the soft fabric of her gloves wrapped around his face, her hair tickling his snout as she pressed her forehead against him. It was difficult not to hold her in return, but Mario restrained himself. He feared underestimating his own strength and unintentionally hurting her more than he already had, so he simply stood there, basking in the sensation and taking in the undeniable reality of it all.

#my writing #Mario body swap au #Super Mario Brothers #Princess Peach #abuse tw #torture tw

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saintobio · 1 year

Text

LOST WORLD

“when the end approaches, but the apocalypse is long lived.”

pairing. satoru gojou, reader

genre. angst, post apocalypse au

warnings. unedited, gore, death, zombies infectious diseases

Do you remember what life was before Satoru Gojou?

It was sad. Miserable. Pathetic in every sense. The world had no meaning, and existing felt like a punishment rather than a privilege. The things you were doing had no purpose. They were repetitive, soulless, and depressing. Each time you’d find yourself staring outside of the window, the skies were becoming gloomier. The miasma of decay was getting thicker. There was scarcity in food and water. Yet, there was no option to go outside of your abandoned home when an eerie fog with the acrid smell of rotting flesh and blood were everywhere haunting you.

At one point, rather than trying to survive in a world that no longer welcomed you, you believed it would have been easier to just perish. Die at long last just like everyone else you knew. The people who once had a family, a lover, a pet, and a friend—they used to be people like you. Alive and breathing under your warm skin and fully-functioning set of human organs. But now, they were the opposite of what you once knew. They had become ghastly, tottering creatures looking at you with their frenzied, colorless eyes, and their putrid, saliva-filled mouths. In fact, when a couple of them managed to break into your home, staggering to chase you around the house with the rabid eagerness to masticate on your innards, you thought of finally just letting things be. After all, no one was left. You were probably the only living being in an area full of decomposing, white-blanched corpses. With their wretched appearance and fetid smell, the last bits of humor inside of you wanted to go along and mimic their series of raspy growls. You were dying, anyway. Finally.

You knew you were dying. You anticipated how their disease would soon be inching its way into your flesh.

That, with no resistance, you would let yourself be one of them.

That was your plan. That was… until every single zombie in your vicinity was sniped with a shotgun. You could barely move as bits of flesh, blood, and sinew flew all over the place. Their skulls—busted. Their entrails—falling out. You would have screamed in disgust after seeing maggots crawl out of their eyes, but then your eyes caught sight of the hero who saved the poor damsel in distress. His arctic white hair, electric blue eyes, and porcelain skin. There was no sign of a single disease in his body.

Damn. How could one person shoot a shotgun with such precision and accuracy? But more importantly, how much of a cliche was it for him to show up and be your savior at the brink of your death?

“Satoru Gojou,” he’d easily introduced himself, pulling his makeshift mask down while standing tall behind the army of foul-smelling beasts that he just massacred. What a cool man. What a dream. What a… what a… hold on, wasn’t he too good to be true?

“I must be dead,” you even joked at the time despite your struggle to catch your breath, “There’s no way a random guy would just come up here and save me like this.”

One smirk from him was all it took to completely win you over. “You don’t look dead to me.” And then a hand to help you up. “Come on, we gotta leave this place.”

And so you did. You were brought to a safe haven that you never thought existed. You were acquainted with people who had a beating heart and an uninfected brain. You were given the golden ticket to cohabit with them in a secured camp and an acceptable living condition. Everything was rationed, but you had no right to ask for much in a situation like that. All you could offer was your gratefulness, and every time you saw your godly, angel-faced hero, you could not help but think of how much you owe your living life to him.

So much so that you would think about ways to approach him without becoming a bother. He was your typical popular guy, expected by the others to rescue their lives. You were just one of the many. He had the virtue of a soldier, ready for war just to make sure that his people were safe and sound. Maybe he actually was in the army before, which could explain the reason for his expertise in guns and survival. There was no way for you to know when you barely had the chance to talk to him, and sincerely thank him at the very least, for saving your life when you almost lost it.

But then, he must have heard the same thing from the countless women who followed his tail each time he arrived back in the camp. The ladies would scramble on their feet just to make sure that they were tending to his needs; feeding him warm meals, treating his wounds, making him laugh.

You see, crushing on a stranger was a ridiculous idea, especially in the middle of an apocalyptic world. You kept that thought in your head as you stepped through a pile of mud, cursing under your breath while continuing towards the pathway to the bonfire. No, you didn’t make it there. Because someone had smoothly pulled you by the belt loop, dragging you behind the tree before he revealed his most admiring self.

“S-Satoru,” you stammered without a reason. Or maybe you did have a reason. He was good-looking enough that your thoughts were becoming jumbled. A hot mess, truly, with his mop of white hair and his piercing blue eyes. Not to mention his parted, pink lips and his slightly exposed toned chest.

“You’re really out here pretending I don’t exist, huh?” There was that playful tone and that goddamned attractive smirk. With his hand moving to your lower back and his forearm resting on the trunk of the tree, you almost let out a swoon. “I was waiting for you to approach me.”

You turned your face away a little, only to a certain degree so he wouldn’t notice the heat on your cheeks. “That’s funny ‘cause… since that day, I’ve actually been waiting, too.”

“Hmm?” he tilted his head and deepened his gaze.

“I mean, waiting for an opportunity,” you clarified, releasing an awkward chuckle, “to talk to you and thank you. You’re just always surrounded by people, so…”

He straightened his posture as he pulled away and began nodding his head, as if he was connecting the dots in his head. “You can always walk up to me. Anytime,” he assured, “I’d actually love to know you more.”

You knew what everyone else might be thinking; ‘Seriously? You’re having a love affair in this situation?’

Well, if you were going to meet death, anyway, why should you settle being a miserable, lonely woman?

“You’re a miserable, lonely woman,” spoke one of the survivors in your cabin, Meredith, glaring at you with her arms crossed across your bunker. “That, or you just truly lost it.”

While she was laughing and moving her index finger in circles beside her head, the other survivor was decent enough to shush her, telling her to stop throwing insults towards you. “Quit doing that. She needs time to adjust,” said Shoko Ieiri, “It’s traumatizing out there, you know?”

“Yeah, but she still needs to help us with some errands here! We’re not living here for free. We have duties. Ugh… I’m so sick of cleaning the nasty toilets.”

“She’ll come around. Be patient with her.”

“She’s been here for two months! She can’t just stay in her bunker all day and do nothing!”

“Meredith—”

“Hey, lunatic!” her amber eyes bore into you. “Wake the fuck up and get your ass workin’. If you really wanna survive, you need to do your job.”

You took a deep breath and sighed. “Can I… Can I see Satoru first?”

Meredith let out a groan. “Here we go again.”

“Wh-Why?” you asked, frantically. “I just… I wanna talk to him. I wanna thank him for saving me.”

This time, it was Ieiri who sat at the corner of your bed, patting your back in a soothing motion. “Satoru is…” she hesitated. “He’s not here, Y/N. He never was.”

As if lightning struck your entire body. “What do you mean? What do you—? He was here. He was just talking to me last night!”

“I know, I know.” Ieiri sent you a look of sympathy. Sympathy that you didn’t really ask for. “I understand it’s been a difficult time. It’s been a really traumatizing experience, but trust me, everything’s going to be okay.”

You held onto her arms as tears pooled your eyes. All those voices in your head, the pain in your heart… “S-Stop. What are you saying, Ieiri? He was… He was with me.”

“He’s dead,” she said the very words you refused to hear. “He didn’t survive the first wave of zombies that infested our town.”

“But…” You shook your head in hard refusal. “But he was there, he rescued me.”

“It was Suguru who did,” Ieiri confirmed, reaching what appears to be a bottle of Fanapt pills under your pillow. “Satoru’s not with us anymore. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for your loss.”

#hello i’m not really back #i’m just dumping a wip that was rotting in my drafts for a long time #hope everyone’s been doing well #also i think i wrote sumn like this before but for another character #idk if this even makes sense #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojou x reader #satoru gojou x you

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