— WE CAN CHANGE OUR FATE

A whisper of a chuckle, not wanting to disturb the small corner of peace the other had. “I know I could just ask, but you seemed like you were enjoying the book, so…” His words turned into a little, “eep!” as he was pulled very flush against Shoto’s warm side. Unable to help himself, nuzzling his nose into the crook of the dual wielder’s neck with a content little sigh.

“A-Ah…thank you.” It was warmer, his shivers slowing slightly as he nestled closer, a scarred hand finding one of the other’s free ones to squeeze. “What….were you reading, anyway?”

DID IT TRULY MATTER, in the end, whether he was enjoying the book when the company of his lover was infinitely more appreciated? ❝I was reading about different breeds of cats.❞ It is an admission that causes his cheeks to take on a tinge of pink, embarrassment working its way through his system as he realises how utterly ridiculous such a thing is to read when it holds no relevance to anything else in his life.

& THIS WAS A FATE HE HATED DEARLY; the one where time & time again, he tried his hardest to protect his brother. The one where time & time again, he was no more than a nuisance, an obstacle to Shoto’s happiness, no matter how he longed to be close to his twin — he sees the anger in his brother’s eyes each time he follows him around, the annoyance when Aisuke insists on giving him a packed lunch & refused to back down.

It wasn’t as if they had ever been close. Not when Endeavor had kept them separate, not when Aisuke had failed to save him from any of it, not when he was the reason Shoto refused to stop training.

( his care was a curse, plain & simple. it destroyed others, took away all they could have been — it should have been him in that training room taking hit after hit, should have been him in the hero course despite his own wishes, should have been him- but it never was.

he hated that it never was. )

❝Sho-nii!❞ Today, his voice wavers a little more, his smile wobbles a little less steady, his eyes a little less joyful — even on these days, the ones where he despises himself, there is no use showing his sadness when it will not bring back the childhood his twin had lost, it would not bring back Shoto’s happiness, it would not erase anything that had happened & it would not let him forget that all of it was his own fault. 

❝You forgot your lunch,❞ is uttered when he finally catches up, breathing a little uneven but nothing particularly bad, tub of soba awkwardly held in his arms as he reaches to grip his brother’s wrist, stopping for a moment to catch his breath before he holds out the tub, grey orbs hopeful for its acceptance. ❝You left without me, again... You walk kinda fast, you know?❞   

@dualdreamt·

She was stirring the oil in the pan as she cooked. Fuyumi hummed under her breath, chuckling when she heard the door unlock. “Sho! I’m in the kitchen, do you want to help me cook?” She tosses the chicken she was frying into the pan, stirring it around quickly as it browned. The oil popped, and she calmly turned the heat down a bit to save herself from the little burns it would produce. “You can cut the vegetables if you’d like… Or wash the rice?”

WHILE COOKING WAS NEVER HIS STRENGTH, it wasn’t something he minded doing, especially when it lessened the burden on someone he cared for. For a moment, he does not respond, placing down his school bag & changing into slippers, not daring to dirty the floors with outside shoes— if only to save himself the lecture, despite the inefficiency of it all.

messages // always accepting @quirkdysfunction​: Snuggles up against his left side, trying to be sneaky about it. Little shivers and sniffs from a blocked nose giving him away as he pressed closer.

IT WAS TYPICAL: the way Izuku moved against his side & inched ever closer as if not to startle Shoto with his sudden presence & the way he felt his heart flutter as he took in the presence of curly hair & too-big green eyes staring at him with adoration. Even more, it was familiar & it left him at ease, left him falling in love with that soft smile & those gentle edges that made up Midoriya Izuku all over again.

— It has always been like this .

Obsession to never change sides , a habit , a need - neither be called well for it’s purposes , but neither was it born with intentions of malice . A cause of admiration , an emerald carrying observation toward scenes that would make heart flutter – where spirit would cheer on only one side in past , no longer mattered the results at present time. As long as information was captured , new facts, secrets buried from eyes of society - each new collection of knowledge, could be aid in any path it leads toward, by puzzling it within plans of bringing a greater change. The change of the system , the corruption carried within & turn a blind at , educated by brainwashing heroes of what’s ‘wrong’ and ‘right’, what you can do and what you can’t .

It all needed fixing — little by little , but surely .          He’ll be the savior this cursed world seeks . – No , the weak seek .   Tilted one as ‘villain’ , just for the simple request of equality .

A heated battle , for heroes to let promising victory to be soon handed by the grasp of palm - would each movement of brought curiosity be written as story , and hand of hidden scars would just work inhumanly – word after word printed like following , endless melody - one could never tell whenever would it reach a pause , or if would the pen be first to give in & snap . Regardless of two troubles , mind always wrapped around a backup plan , as to record anything that may not be gained by second opportunity – had it to be done while not forgotten.

Tension within crowd , each puff of breath to be stolen by strangers – a place to be called hell for a soul surrounded by fright from society , to find every contact , even accidental , as disturbance – a trigger to cause such small figure , to jolt as if under an incoming attack , expecting harm as habit . Excitement of a true , loyal fan boy won over worst fears for the battles to record by peeks of glimmering emeralds , but the crowd to strangle at each corner was set a reminder of pictured reality when shoulders would be rubbed , and locks would get tangled by fingers that aren’t of own – there , another one , causing heart to be pressed & wrapped by tight wires that were uncuttable . Wouldn’t a being know , of course , however – and still, a rare apology was given for . - [ Huh ? what was he sorry for ? would people PUSH and SHOVE , BEAT and STRIKE , KICK and intend to KILL . What there’s to be sorry of ? ]

‘ I - It’s alright . ’ those would whisper in return , the typical answer to stage upon particulars who would still show interest in well-being , and that would appear to be dull as well – expecting a ‘thank you’ or a reward , for doing something as ‘heroic’ of getting to know the condition of an abused heart after deeds of violence & curses thrown from known bullies , but when one would eye those who dare to approach the victim in an inviting manner of hesitant kindness , and be viewed by the predators that were feeding off the weak - would they block future interaction with new bricks , pretend as if existence of same interacted person as if was always gone , and turn a blind eye - the easiest answer .

— There was , difference implied , however - the tint of insecurity within tone, a common trait shared between. Still , such matter of fact wasn’t grasped - right now, what mattered to keep attention over match , a mission of own, whenever personal or of job, to end the day yet with another perfect analysis , to bounce against the chair of a writer that awaited home . Distraction forced upon stolen every intent of proceeding the quest - the weird boy’s mutters for self [ or was it directed to any ? ah , he seemed alone ], the movements that poked and poked , puzzling light annoyance within freckled who held onto both anxiousness & impatience – and finally , a question. Orbs awkwardly shifted to snatch a glance over the other - [ ah , he’s looking at me. creepy . ] . A flinch , sweat hung from cheek presenting nervousness - lips pursed together as eyes darted to find anyone else that he could’ve possibly meant to speak with - no one was looking . ah no, he was talking with him. why him , why .

“ M - Me .. ? ” Nobody ever asked him such personal questions – a STRANGER , especially . The act of talking - how would such thing be performed ? It has been TOO LONG . “ .. I’m .. well.. I-.. I - I like writing about it .. ” A notebook held by injured hand , however - slapped to close before unfamiliar eyes could lay upon those. “ .. A - And everyone likes heroes , so .. ” THESE ACTS OF VIOLENCE , against people who were HURTING since first memories – those fans of heroes , they would CRAVE for the sights of abuse, against those who were simply given the names of ‘evil’ or ‘wrong’ . Emeralds softly darkened , a little force to put to lead to a calmer attitude – [ why to be asked for such in first place ? This guy .. ] 

“ You .. don’t really belong here … right ? ” To have such battles to occur so occasionally , it’s hard to believe it’d be any citizen’s first sight at his age – and still . “ T - The truth is , I wonder what would happen if the villain wins.. would people be scared , and run leaving their friends behind , or would they leap into action .. ? i - it’s just a thought . ” A smile presented for him , fake - hurt - but none could ever tell. All it shown, to look bright despite all, to hint on that naivety that was gone a long time ago .

& HIS BLOOD FELT COLD: the moment that last sentence was spoken, he holds a silence, shakes his head & inhales deeply. No, no villain would ever win against a hero— or so he hoped. They couldn’t, could they, when the heroes were always meant to win & protect others? Even those who were cruel & unjust would help if they were needed, if only to boost their ranking.

( what would become of me if they were to win? it speaks inside their brain, twisted parasite leeching his joy & chilling him to the bone. he does not want to think of it, they do not dare to do so— )

❝Nothing good.❞ They whisper, a lilt of horror in his voice as he stares at the boy, eyes wide with fear & no longer locked onto the performance ahead of them. He drowns in these emotions for a moment, falls quiet once more & brings their hands to wipe away involuntary tears, not daring to show such weakness to him.

(— but it’s a simple answer, in the end, of how shoto’s story would come to a close if the villains won.

it would start with a moment, on his knees before his father as a prisoner of war, a traitor now retrieved, pleading for forgiveness as if it would lessen the punishment they were to experience. it would be followed by pain, burning hot & blinding, fire in their eyes & ice in his lungs as he attempted to suffer through it all, unable to even speak by the end of it.

third would come his presentation in front of them all, body scarred & eyes afraid, told to be the leader of their new revolution: the public face of what would become of those who rebelled, of those who dared to go against Inferno: they would feel his wrath & what he had been named after. they would see he wasn’t afraid to kill his own wife, to torture his own children to death & to show the world what he had done.

& it would end once he had outrun his usefulness, once everything he knew about his friends was the knowledge of those who never should have had it. it would end with his death, another face & another name in a list of those who had crossed people. a nameless grave with faceless people leaving wilted flowers.

it would end for him like everyone else: a life cut short after suffering more than was deserved. ) 

❝Of course everyone would be afraid.❞ He uttered after a moment, snapping himself from his thoughts as he stared at him, attempting to school his face into showing less emotion & failing: there was no way to hide the way his skin crawled at the others thoughts.❝It depends on the person, but most would run away. I wouldn’t.❞ He wouldn’t dare to run when if he did, it would only guarantee his fate.

❝For some of us, it’s better to die in the fight than to live to see after it.❞   He looked away, fixing his gaze on the ground instead, head tilted downward as if to hide his emotions from the crowd.❝I don’t belong here, you’re right. That thought of yours... I would suggest not even entertaining it. I’ll tell you how it would end if villains won.❞

( poorly, awfully, we’d all be d e a d. )

❝Inferno would take it as a chance to head a revolution, taking everyone prisoner & killing any who dared to defy him.❞ His jaw is clenched, voice leaving in a hiss, quiet enough that he was sure no one else would hear.❝He’d take the rest & get any information he deemed useful before discarding them. He’d dress up people nice & pretty to execute them in front of a crowd just like this.❞

( he’d kill all of us. no one would live. this would be a wasteland of fire & charred buildings left to b u r n. )

❝He’d snap you in half if you even talked back.❞ & he hated to speak of this, hated the way bile rose in his throat & anger in his heart.❝There would be nothing but suffering, nothing but death & destruction & chaos.❞ It would never be a world that could be saved if the man was put into power, Shoto wasn’t stupid enough to entertain any other idea.

❝Take it from his son,❞ & how he hates to admit to the title he has held for so lon, one he no longer wishes for, ❝none of us would live to tell a tale that he didn’t want to hear.❞

DANGER WAS A HOME TO HIM. His childhood had been characterised by silence, fear of stepping out of line if only to avoid that orange glow being transferred from his father’s hands to his own & the way it left him screaming, burning, wishing for nothing more than his freedom. It was danger — no, fear — that had shaped him as a person, blindly following a man he knew did not deserve his loyalty in order to survive.

( he would have killed me. his mind screams at him, quiet & barely there but it is jarring nonetheless. i should have killed him. )

Therefore, it is only a matter of time before he finds himself drawn to it once more. He shouldn’t stay, he should walk away & forget about watching this fight unlike those who surround it: the crowd that cheers for the heroes & watches them win. A fantasy that doesn’t always ring true but it brings them hope & as much as he hates this world, the one where people always get what they deserve in the minds of people who did not know true pain, he can’t deny that he wishes he was one of those people.

But he knew pain, he knew what it felt like to be trapped & praying for help, whether it be someone to take him away or an opportunity. To wish for a reason his father had to leave, that he would drop dead, that somehow Shoto would manage to find hope & happiness in a world not meant for him. He knew what it was like to grow & slowly realise that, no matter how hard he tried & how much he wished, no one was coming for him: no one cared enough to try.

He stands at the front of a crowd, the hood of his jacket pulled up to hide his hair in an attempt not to stand out until he can find his way around this & return home, considering his guardian would scold him for being out alone after he had stated he was only going to a nearby store — he would never hear the end of it, although every word spoken by his new mentor comes from a place of care, a place of worry, & he is not so foolish as to be ungrateful for such things despite how new their presence within his life is.

( there’s no way out of the crowd. it will disperse soon, but for now he is stuck between the large crowd & the fight in front of them all & the fluffy green hair to his left & the woman to his right. )

He takes a barely-there step back, eyes narrowed & arms moving themselves around himself in a defensive gesture, not daring to look away in case something starts to go horribly wrong & in his almost-stumble, his fingers catch on the hair of the boy next to him, a quiet apology falling from his lips in a too-shy fashion & a tremble to his voice as if he is reminded of something as he watches what is happening, too enraptured in it to look away: too afraid to forget what is happening.

❝Should move back...❞ His advice holds a lilt to it that could be described as a worry, barely readable between the monotone & the voices of those around him, dual-hued orbs fixated on the shorter boy as he takes in his appearance, a habit he found himself doing often with people he finds notable. It stems from long ago, from days spent memorising every detail of a hero’s appearance in preparation for their death.

( crimson bleeds from his fingertips but it is not his, it was never his, & it was not done by him. he is acquainted with the feeling of blood & nausea rising in his throat as he fights down the urge to snap at his old man as a hand is placed on his shoulders & in that booming voice, that cruel tone, is muttered this is what happens to people who don’t listen, shoto. 

this is what happens to those who destroy masterpieces. they all burn. he wishes he never had to watch her die, that he never had to be an accomplice in the murder of a hero that had done nothing to deserve such things. )

❝If anything gets much closer...❞ He stumbles over the last word, doesn’t bother to continue his sentence as he attempts to move back, met by the resistance of the person behind him & the growing feeling of an unsettled stomach the longer he watches this happen. His eyes close for a moment, head down as he attempts to hide himself.

( this isn’t him. he tells himself. you’re safe, it’s not him. it’s difficult to believe the truth when it is different to the one he always knew. )

❝I don’t know why no one moves.❞ Whether he is speaking to himself this point or the stranger beside him, he doesn’t know, but he isn’t sure it matters when this is an attempt to calm himself before something goes wrong. ❝.. Do you enjoy watching stuff like this?❞ It is a direct question, eyes opened & aimed back at the boy with curiosity hiding in his gaze, a glint that could be mistaken for the sun reflecting off them. ❝.. Is it something a lot of people like to see?❞

messages / @heborne​: the dragon would snarl at the prince, clearly confused. he had not faced humans in his rather, human form. he'd yell at him in dragon tongue; though it was very clear the other didn't understand.

& THEIR EXPRESSION IS FILLED WITH CONFUSION, his eyes gazing at the dragon with wonder in amidst his other feelings. He has only ever heard of dragons over the years & rarely from those who had seen one of the creatures: it wasn’t as if he had a chance to get out of the castle before now, after all, skin covered in the darkness of his own soul, cursed by his mother to a life of not knowing the world around him due to what she had done.

❝What?❞ leaves his mouth after a moment, uncertainty lingering in their tone as they attempt to figure out what he had done to cause such a reaction & what it meant: whether it was speaking to him or whether it was a primal reaction caused by their presence. Were dragons even sentient beyond the base instincts of most animals or were they as intelligent as humans? He didn’t know the answer to his own questions. 

♡ / @heroicalling​: ✂ :eyes: