"STOP YELLING!"

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They send me away to find them a fortune A chest filled with diamonds and gold

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The speaker icon on the screen felt rather lonely.  

Tomura was aware his Sensei was on the other side of the connection, but his voice alone didn’t feel personable.  

He was set to be his successor—his greatest invention—the one to take All Might, and the system of heroes, down in flames.  

The price that came with an unjust society was surely profitable to those like Tomura should they succeed in tipping the scale. Power, influence, freedom—all gold in the eyes of those who are forced to creep in the shadows of those polished like diamonds by the public. They could reach for it had they only been encouraged to do so. The heroes—they shoot people like Tomura down without another thought, never bothering to dig deep and judge if they are worthy or not.  

The shadows could snuff out such a light, if they chose to follow the leader All For One had presented them.

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The house was awake, the shadows and monsters The hallways, they echoed and groaned

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Tomura truly hated the heroes—but was it his own hatred? There were days he wasn’t sure whose voice belonged where; Was his even still coming from his own throat?  

The bar was dirty and drab. The outside looked uninhabited—intentional, possibly—but decent within. Tomura hated it, how empty it seemed to be; Silence was a rare delicacy for those with tortured souls, but there were times it drove him further away from reality.  

Standing at the end of the hall, it took him back to his childhood; He was afraid, then. Why was he afraid? Something related to shadows crawling along the ground and the monsters just out of sight calling out for him.  

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I sat alone, in bed till the morning I'm crying, "They're coming for me"   And I tried to hold these secrets inside me My mind's like a deadly disease

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Nightmares were much scarier then—perhaps now he had just grown accustomed to them? Someone had always been there to comfort him, tell him that nothing had to be feared for the heroes would protect those in need.  

He started to keep the monsters to himself, then. Being a hero meant showing no fear—making sure you were always brave, smiling, ready to protect those around you. He was young, then-- naïve, innocent—childish for assuming the poison from the shadows that clouded his soul would taint his mind. Why were the monsters calling out for him once again?

At the end of it all, he found himself crying, covered in blood, calling out for someone to save him from the shadows clawing their way into his sight, though no hero had bothered to show up.

It was just a child’s imagination, he had been told, it was foolish and irrational. Monsters were not real—until he turned into one.

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I'm bigger than my body I'm colder than this home I'm meaner than my demons I'm bigger than these bones

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Tomura wondered if he were a god. Surely, something about him was otherworldly—how would one such as him be so blessed had he not been?

Tomura was a god, though the world turned a blind eye to the bitter truth that no god was truly free of sin.

He had been sinful, sinister, evil—whatever form of the word felt the heaviest across their tongues—but he had been truthful. True to himself, true to his Sensei, true to those who dared called themselves his disciples and joined him in his cause.  

Mean, nasty, despicable—the public loved calling him all sorts of things, though they felt no need to call their beloved heroes the same. Were they not just as corrupt as he? Were they as just as they claimed to be? It was as though they were the thieves of heart, swaying the publics opinion to see those like him as the trash beneath their feet. Disgusting.  

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And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" I can't help this awful energy God damn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control?

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“Villains”, what a dirty word—Tomura enjoyed the title, though it’s meaning was futile when thought about it. Wasn’t everyone a villain to someone else? Wasn’t everyone a hero to another? Or had he simply been too tainted by the world to ever be golden as the ones on the television; Thinking about the light hurt his head far too much.

He liked control. He liked instilling fear in the hearts of those who dare defy him—who dare worship these corrupted heroes so willingly as though they were pure gods. Tomura was a god! Had they not seen it? Had these children been blinded by the light for so long that the shadows no longer became visible to them? One good encounter, face to face, should keep the flame of fear alive in the back of their minds—that's what he’d give them.

“An adolescent”, “a tantrum”, they had described him as nothing more than a child and had written him off as a minor threat—still a threat, mind you—but something minor. Tomura’s role in this game was anything but minor in the grand scheme of things, and they would be sure to realize as his hand grow closer to the heart of it all.

Tomura was much more than the neighborhood “bad guy”-- he was the shadows that clutched at the hearts of other little children like him.

But who’s hand had been tugging at his strings?

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I paced around for hours on empty I jumped at the slightest of sounds

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The stress of it all had made him go mad.  

It was the stress, wasn’t it? The need to please his Sensei, to take him place on the throne, to make those who shine yield to his crown—it all was too much, wasn’t it?  

Tomura found himself in another world when his thoughts got to be too much—it was almost as though he had given his body to another and allowed them to make his body’s decisions. Walking, reading, studying—none of which seemed to be done by him though it was indeed his hand that had been holding the metaphorical reigns. It was odd—it reminded him of his childhood shadows, a doppelganger of sorts, creeping in through his skin to make itself at home. It was frightening, not knowing when or where you would find yourself, and coming to made him feel much worse as the weight of his duties crushed his chest.

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And I couldn't stand the person inside me I turned all the mirrors around

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They were right—those people on the news, the ones walking the street, those who simply had to say their piece on the matter—he was dirty. He was disgusting, evil, disgraceful—nothing about him was pretty and his Sensei had made this very clear.

“It doesn’t matter,” he had told him, “You’ll shine in the way you’re meant to.”

But how? How was one like him to shine when everything inside him had been dark and twisted? A misfit—that's what he had been—surrounded by equally as blind characters who needed to look to him for guidance. Where was his guidance? Where had the other version of him gone when he needed it the most?  

His stomach was upset. Thinking too hard about who he was hurt his head; The voices beyond the mirror grew far too loud—he turned them to dust.

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I'm well acquainted with villains that live in my head They beg me to write them so they'll never die when I'm dead

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As the days go on, his head only grows more painful. His limbs are heavy, they’re as tired as he was, but something had kept them going. String, perhaps? They pushed and pulled as though he were nothing but a puppet among a handmade stage.  

“This is who you are,” a voice says, “You’re nothing. You’re tainted.”

Tomura used to cry at the words, they stung after all. They hurt him in ways he wasn’t used to, ways in which he didn’t think were possible; That’s changed, now. They grew onto him—with him—he's done nothing to fight back with them anymore. Such dirty words are nothing but a breeze against scars that had once been hit with knives.  

The voice felt like home. It was something he had grown accustomed to—it certainly wasn’t his own, but he wasn’t sure whose it had been. Familiar, yes, but something about it was needy—it needed him to continue forward. It cried for him to follow through and complete what it couldn’t-- to become the god it never got to be despite its will. They needed him to live life for them.

The shadows hand was much colder than he had expected as it wrapped around his throat. It had finally caught up with him—though he wasn’t surprised—and now it wasn’t going to let go.

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And I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head They beg me to write them so I'll never die when I'm dead

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The voice demanded he do his part. It broke him—bending his will and snapping whatever fight he had left in him. He was tired—it was useless, anyway. It demanded he play this part in the game, finishing it’s will until he was no longer necessary.  

The shadows hand gripped much tighter, though Tenko had no longer fought to breathe. He was a puppet, a marionette at most, something the shadows had longed for since he could remember.  

Their heavy breath drowned out the distant voices as they grew more faint; They had given up-- (Y/n) was free from the public’s abuse for the moment, but how long could they run? How long could they hide? Surely, they’d have to return to their town, their home, and endure more and more pain until their very spirit breaks; For now, however, (Y/n) had only needed to rest their beating heart as they sat underneath one of the vast, welcoming trees.

A light against the back of their eyelids made them weary—could one of the townspeople have found them? Their family, perhaps? Or maybe it was the moon, comforting them and making her presence known to tell them to stay; The light danced in front of them—curious, quickly, unsure. They opened their eyes to the faint light in front of them.

It flickered like flames, but danced like faeries—perhaps it was one? It had come to check on the lonely human? (Y/n) reached out to touch it, only for it to speed away quickly; It hovered at a safe distance away from their touch and danced once again, still seemingly curious about (Y/n)’s intentions. Had it not moved, they may have thought it were simply a moon halo welcoming them home; Now, it had piqued their interest.

“Hello?” they called out gently, “Are you... a faery?”

The light twinkled, gently swaying back and forth—it offered no answer, but something about it seemed... calm. Was it trustworthy? What was it in the first place?

“Well, I didn’t expect an answer in the first place, I suppose...” Carefully, they moved to their feet, “but you certainly are interesting...”

(Y/n) moved towards the light, gasping when it disappeared momentarily. They were disheartened until they noticed it reappear, just a bit away from where it was previously. It seemed to be... playing with them. Was it friend or foe? They couldn’t sense any malicious intent—but they didn’t sense anything kind either. It seemed to just... exist, fluid and silent, dancing around beneath the moon and prancing through the trees in no set pattern; It seemed free—was it truly free? (Y/n) wished to be as free as the light.

There was nothing left to lose. (Y/n) was too curious, too tired of their life, to simply allow this phenomenon to appear and disappear without any answers. Their feet took off faster than their mind could keep up, blindly running towards the ball of light—what were they going to do once they caught the light, if they could get close to it, that is.  

It watched them approach with anticipation, bouncing gently to egg them on. As the human approached, it moved backwards, avoiding their touch. They slowed their pace, realizing now that the light had waited for them each and every time; They were thankful, if they were honest, their body was covered with scratches and bruises and their muscles were as tired as their brain was.  

The two of them moved along, weaving through the woods, the moon (and the light itself) illuminating the earth beyond. (Y/n) had avoided roots, ducked beneath branches, and even stopped to appreciate the nightshades blooming in the comfort of the moonlight. They spoke softly to the light, who now seemed as though it were some sort of friend, and voiced their troubles. Their life, their family, the endless pain they’ve had to endure both physically and mentally.  

“The world’s system is wrong,” they blurted out, studying a sleeping flower bud, “Why are others loved for such superficial reasons while people like me are treated as though we’re nothing but burdens?” They caressed the flower, something in their eyes longing, “I wish it were different.”

Further into the woods was calm—just where had they been walking to? (Y/n) began thinking about this light; They felt there was no emotion behind it either way, but it seemed to act as though it were intelligent. Was it leading them somewhere specific? Did it have thoughts? Was it listening to them ramble on and on as they make their way through the night?  

“You’re a pretty colour,” they mentioned out of the blue, “You aren’t a bright yellow like fire can be, but you aren’t... white like the moon. A grey colour... blue, maybe? I’m not sure. It’s interesting.”

The light grew... comfortable? Or was it bold? It allowed them to get closer without running, as though it was... attempting to soothe their woes. Would it do such a thing?

“You’re real, right?” they asked, “I’m actually seeing this light? This isn’t a figure of my imagination that I’m following just to get away... or is it?”

The light bounced around as if to deny their doubt. They continued following in silence, confused when the light suddenly stopped; (Y/n) was able to walk up to it—odd—and reach out towards it.

The area around them lit up brightly, the light dispersing to show just where (Y/n) had now stood; Mushrooms—in a perfect circle is where they had grown. The mushrooms sparkled with the borrowed light, the heavy realization now donned on (Y/n); They certainly found themselves in quite the predicament.  

“You... You tricked me!” They cried, “You just wanted to lure me to a faery ring! After all of that?” Tears started to trickle down their face—was it panic? Anger? Secret relief? “I trusted you... whatever you are! I trusted you!”

The light gathered together once again, now growing into a human figure. They were surrounded by the same coloured glow, but what was once vague was now crystal clear.

It was a man—tall, yet hunched over. (Y/n) thought he looked... tired—as though he had gone through his own share of troubles—but something about him was still alluring. Was it the soft glow of red in his eyes? The beautiful colour of his semi-long, wavy hair? Was it his stature over all? Perhaps it was as the lore warned—the allure of the faeries was hard to overcome; He was as magical as the stories have told.

“What... what are you?”

He offered a soft smile—a bit of danger hid behind it—and offered his hand.

“Have you not heard of tales of the will-o'-the-wisp's?” his voice had a rasp to it, but was overall smooth, “Surely you should have known following one would lead to your death.”

“My... death?”

“Yes, your death. Yet, you followed so... willingly. Have you nothing left to live for?”

“Would you?” (Y/n) gave a sad smile, panic vanishing as they found their mysterious partner to be an adequate conversationalist, “After all I’ve laid upon your ears? Could you honestly tell me you would still have the will to live?”

“Perhaps not,” he shook his head, “But I am not you.”

“I wouldn’t wish that upon you anyway.”

“(Y/n).” He closed the gap between them, grabbing their hands to hold them between their hearts, “Are you ready to die?”

“Well...”  

They stood there and thought about it; Death was such a frightening concept—some say there will be an afterlife full of happiness and light, others say you simply cease to exist. Is that what they wanted? Looking into the red eyes in front of them, they weren’t sure anymore. Something drew them into this creature—this... light—would death mean they would forget about him?  

“Would you tell me your name first?”

“I’m known as the will-o'-the-wisp.”

“You may be known as such by the stories passed by the lips of humans, but what are you known as to those of your kind?”

He thought for a moment and allowed his eyes to join his smile, pulling them closer to his body—the light radiated warmth that started to lull (Y/n) in further.

“Tomura. Though it’s not my given name.”

“Would you tell me your given name?”

His lips brushed against their knuckles—it was a gentle action, though they could tell his lips had seen the effects of his light.

“You’ve wanted to get away, have you not?” he disregarded their question, “Now that you’ve followed me, you’ve found yourself in an irreversible predicament. Stepping foot into this faery ring ensures your death.”

“Will it hurt?”

“(Y/n), are you ready to die?”

They took another moment and closed their eyes. They stood, anticipating, calmly accepting what had awaited them on the other side, only to find silence. (Y/n) dared to open their eyes, peeking first before fully realizing that nothing had changed; They stood in front of him still, a gentle smile on his lips.

“Now that you’ve followed me, you’ll be lost to the world you have known. Your being, your soul, your life you have lived will stay here, in this lifetime—this realm—and will be dead to the you that is to come.”

(Y/n)’s face had voiced their surprise—they were lucky it did since they had no physical voice to pass through their lips. As they cocked their head to the side, Tomura’s hand rested upon the back of their jaw, his fingertips grazing the back of their head as he caressed them.

“You’ve been granted your wish here—by the faeries. You will leave this life behind and live, instead, by my side. You may call me Tenko.”

His grip tightened, his voice now sending shivers down their spine as a chill dripped through his voice like venom.

Polished silver crown upon his head—though it isn’t the sparkle that catches his eye.

The king, the Theurgist Magician, the ruler of the forbidden kingdom—Tomura stood among the members of his court, leaning against the war table in front of him. The tattered map sprawled across the surface held faded pictures of the kingdoms below—that damned golden kingdom disgustingly in the center. Hand crafted flags and pawns scattered about, marking who they own and where, where they were going to strike next, and signified their biggest threats.  

He played with the pawns, rolling them between his fingers while his eyes scanned his possibilities. His mind was as cold as his body, unnerving and calculative. He fell into his own mind at times, imagining each and every outcome, losing himself in just how pleasurable it would be to get his hands on the sunshine hero of the high kingdom—how immense the feeling would be to just watch him crumble in between his fingers while the mind and hopes of those who follow him shatter simultaneously all until they’re ash;

“Lord?” his shadow rogue spoke, “You’re looking particularly mad today. Are you ill? Might we call for the doctor? Perhaps you need to rest?”

“No,” he placed the pawn representing his kingdom back where it belonged, “I’m simply thinking.”

The shine caught the corner of his eye again—he assumed it had been the gleam of the knife in his rogue’s hand, but it had been sheathed.  

“Toga.”

“Yes, Lord?”  

The shadow rogue was young; She looked as though she were simply a pure maiden, allowing her to indulge in her fantasies without fear of being caught.

“Here.” He placed her pawn on the board, “The commoner and his party. Infiltrate it.”

“The commoner?” her face light up with something akin to insanity in her eyes, “I’d love to! I made friends with the witch, you know.”

“Then take her place. Gain intel.”

“Of course!”

He took a moment to imagine how her quest may go; Flawlessly taking a blade to the witch, drawing her blood in order to take her place. She would play her part, gain their trust—would she take after her Lord and take matters into her own hands were she caught? Perhaps before she were caught, just for fun? For the experience? Take pleasure in how smoothly her blade moved through the air and fluidly through their bodies, bathing in their life source and feeling the warmth leave their bodies as they--

“Lord.”

Tomura sighed, picking up another two pawns—his death knight and illusionist magician—and placed them towards the mountains.

“Dabi, Twice. Up here,” he tapped the map, “resides the King of Dragons. He’s young, impressionable. Incredibly strong—a leader—do not engage in more combat than you have to.”

“What would you have us do?” the knight asked, tapping the hilt of his sword lazily, “If we aren’t to fight, what do you have in mind?”

“As I said—impressionable. Bring him back to me, we’ll hold a hearing and attempt an alliance.”

“Is that such a good idea?”

“Perhaps not. However, it’s the only way to get an audience with him—he doesn’t play well with others, after all. Avoid his dragons.”

His knight had a mind of his own—his taste for destruction high as his will to do so drastically differentiated. He looked and played the part of death, his fire magic deadly and vast; With the help of the illusionist, he was sure to get close. Draw in the king with challenges with the illusionist’s projections, swipe him with his own hands.

“As you wish, Lord.”

His words fell on deaf ears as Tomura had been lost in thought once again. Could his knight keep his control? Would he get irritated and use that fire in his soul to make the young king comply? Would such blindingly heat burn from his hands as they touch the king’s skin, tearing the young boy apart at the very core of his being? Would he bask in the light, the heat, the glory of taking down the kingdom in one fell swoop? Would he get to laugh as the kingdom, the scenery, the people, all go up in flames as Tomura wished he could do?

“My Lord.”

“What is it, Kurogiri?”  

His psychic bowed slightly in apology, Tomura only now realizing the others had left his side. The shine that passed his side must have been his knight’s sword, right? Or was it off of the jewel upon his psychic that had caught the lantern’s light? His psychic, yes, he had a role for him as well.

“And what do you wish of me?”

“Guide them. Communicate if needed. Watch and ensure that they do not fail.”

“And if they should?”

“Then you’re all to be executed.”

“My Lord, that’s not practical--”

“Do not tell me what is practical!” Tomura yelled, banging his fist on the table—his pawns falling and rolling across the map, “I am the king! I’m the ruler! What I say is what shall be done—there is no room for failure!”

“Yes, my Lord.” Kurogiri bowed once again, taking his leave.

Tomura took a deep breath, staring at the splintered wood at the edge of the table beneath him as he leaned further above it. It was steadying him—his head was hurting; it was as though someone else had been trying to talk in his own mind, overpower his choices, call him naïve.  

The glimmer in the corner of his eyes returned, only it increasingly became blinding. He had to squint to focus on what he had been seeing—threads? Had he been caught in some sort of silk? Spider’s web?

His wrist felt as though it had been yanked upwards by this thread, his other one following suit. He could feel it around his throat—the constant tickle that always accompanied him as his thoughts went wild grew uncomfortable, painful, irritating. It grew tighter, this invisible grip, making it hard for the king to breathe.

As quickly as it had appeared, the glimmers had disappeared, all previous feelings against his skin dissipating faster than he could register. He had to catch his breath—should he had taken his rogue’s advice and called for the doctor? The chair closest to the table is where he fell, resting his body there and his head against the surface in front of him. His eyes closed—his mind finally calming down as his body followed suit and allowed him to slip into a quick slumber.

The king, the Theurgist Magician, the ruler of the forbidden kingdom had his unspoken secret in which he was even a fool to.

The Theurgist Magician, one blessed by the Gods with power dark as the night to make him special—to make him important—to give him the tools he needs to rule his kingdom and succeed his predecessor without disappointment.  

The God’s were nowhere to be found these days—higher powers were almost as vague as the stories the bards had told; Magic was to be natural, to be within a person as they were born, the God’s were not to give such luxuries to those of human status. But who had given Tomura such a power—who had given him such a gift that he was blind to the giver?

The power tugged at his threads once again, watching as his limbs twitched and dropped lifelessly; The God’s have been gone, their descendants roaming around the humans in peace so long as they live a life of harmony—though this power had lived in nothing but shadows since awakening. For years this higher power had roamed, watching, waiting, crafting the perfect plan and the perfect puppet to play with.

Tomura had made a deal with the Devil, devoting his life to the dark power in order to complete his puppeteers wishes, slowly growing mad as the strings of his mind had been pulled so taut they had snapped, allowing the darker power to slip between the crevasses and call it home.

Far away from Tomura’s reach, the puppeteer had pulled on his strings once again, watching his puppet dance to his every will in exchange for his tainted heavenly power.

“Did you enjoy my handiwork?”

His voice was smooth through the phone, showing no indication of the smirk that rested on his face. Tomura had found himself a plaything over these past few months, enjoying any chance he had gotten to push and pull them in every which way.

It was foolish, he knew, to mess with them. Playing with a pro hero was like walking a dangerous line—one side provided injury or death as the other offered captivity. There was no third side—one which would provide the two of them peace of mind within the arms of one another—as their interest, their possibility of love, were both doomed by the poison of sin from the start.  

“I made sure it was special, just for you.”

“Aw, just for me?” their voice teased, the vibration from the speaker tickling his ear, “You shouldn’t have. Really, you shouldn’t have.”

“How else am I supposed to keep you busy?”

“You could come down to my agency in some restraints. I’m positive the paperwork I’ll have to file for capturing you will keep me busy enough.”

“That’s not as exciting,” he gave a pout, “Did you not enjoy yourself? Those nomu’s are my tools and their chaos is my masterpiece. Wasn’t it beautiful?”

“Art doesn’t seem to be your hobby.”

“Hurtful,” Tomura almost sang—a genuine smile graced his features, “Are you truly not entertained? Maybe I should come play with you myself—would that satisfy you?”

“Only if we can play cops and robbers.”

“You mean heroes and villains? Isn’t that what we’re playing now?” he let out a laugh, “Surely playing pretend with me would be worth it.”

Playing pretend—isn't that also what they had been doing? What he had at least been doing? Pretending there was some sort of hope, some sort of chance, to hold or touch them without consequence—to see their face, to sweep them off their feet and hide them within the shadows with him.

The shadows were cold—but they had been the sunlight, radiating the warmth of day; He was blinded.

“We could pretend this conversation was actually going somewhere for once.”

“Oh?” he drawled, “You mean hearing my voice isn’t reward enough?”

“It’s lovely; Like nails on a chalkboard.”

“Maybe I should sing for you then.”

“Denied.”

Tomura laughed, something fluttering in his chest. This feeling, he knew it needed to be pushed down, buried, locked away; He knew this feeling would kill him.  

“If you didn’t like my artwork this time, I’ll make sure to use a different media next time.”

“You could give me a self-portrait. 3D. Hyper-realistic.”

“Now now, the 3D ones always take longer to render.”

“I think you’re just afraid of me. Think I’m better at the game than you.”

“Is that what you think?”

Enemies—it's what they should be. Villain, hero, the two of them should be at each other's throat; They weren’t. In theory, yes, they wanted him capture and some part of him wanted them dead—maybe these feelings would cease—but they seemed to love this dance. It was almost as though the two of them bounced off of each other, leveling up and growing individually.  

Enemies—no, enemies what they should be; Rivals—that's the correct word. Attempting to one up each other, be better than the other, secretly enjoying the game the two of them play.  

The sun and the moon danced with each other each day, the product of their love a mixture of sun rays and shadows; The two of them meet at the line, as life and death does, and dance as gently as possible—cursed to never pass the others line, but to take each step as mirrors.

“Kick my seat one more time and see what happens to you.”

Tomura hated feeling as though he were caged in—being stuck in this car with the others did nothing to help that fact.  

It was too cramped, too loud, too hot; He felt as though he were suffocating—he became hyper aware that they were all technically sharing the same air and he couldn’t stand it any longer.

He rolled his window down and scrambled to stick his head out into the wind, how fast was Dabi even driving? The wind felt as though he were being sucked underwater rather than the breath of freshness he was hoping for.

“Will you slow down?”

“Did you really expect me to listen to traffic laws?” Dabi had replied—he sounded as annoyed as Tomura had felt.

“Well don’t kill us!” Toga cried from the back seat, “Though I’m sure we’d all look really pretty in the aftermath... I change my mind, go faster!”

“Yeah, go faster! Don’t do that!” Twice gave his input; It seemed as though their reptilian friend was too busy hanging out of the window without a care to reply as well.  

“We’re not going faster, we need to get there in one piece,” Tomura backhandedly threatened the driver, “None of you have a say in the matter. Why are you all here, anyway?”

“You said road trip and we thought it’d be fun!” Toga’s feigned innocent was shining through her voice, “We’d all get to spend more time together!”

“This trip isn’t for fun,” Tomura sighed, “It’s for business. None of you should have come.”  

The passengers grumbled to themselves before settling into a stressed silence. Tomura finally took the moment to close his eyes and rest his head against the back of his seat—he was right, they shouldn’t have come. Not only were they annoying him, they had no business being there in the first place. It was a delicate situation—he was going to get his way no matter what, but he didn’t feel like having to fight for it in this case; they were going to make that very difficult seeing as they couldn’t-- wouldn’t-- shut up.

“Are we there yet?” Toga whined.

“Don’t start that shit,” Tomura snapped, attempting to keep his head resting, “That will not be happening here.”

“What won’t be happening?” Spinner asked, finally returning to his seat.

“Asking if we’re there yet.”

“Oh. Are we?”

“What did I just say?” Tomura whipped his head towards the back seat, the three passengers shifting their eyes anywhere they could so long as it wasn’t towards him.

After another moment of silence, muffled whispers started to hit his ears just as he was drifting off, causing him to grit his teeth. He knew something was coming, as it normally did with his colleagues, but it didn’t make it any less irritating.

Soft clapping started to fill the air, slowly but surely growing louder, faster, annoying. Tomura turned around in his seat to find Toga and Twice playing some sort of... game? Were they just attempting to smack each other? No, there was some sort of pattern to it; Tomura lost himself trying to analyze the pattern, was it significant? A yell by his side snapped him back to reality.

“Will you knock it off?” Dabi raised his voice, “I’ll turn this damn car around.”

The other four slowly turned their attention to the driver, taking notice of the murderous intent in his eyes. Just as slowly, everyone moved to sit correctly in their seats, none of them daring to speak another word until Tomura took the plunge.

With his arms crossed and a pout on his face, he had the audacity to ask Dabi when he turned into a middle-aged father, earning himself an unpleasant smack of his head against his recently closed window as Dabi sharply turned the wheel.

“I’ll kill you,” Tomura growled, lunging for the steering wheel.

“Knock it off!” Dabi warned.

The two of them fought for control of the wheel as the back passengers’ emotions varied vastly. As Toga giggled, Spinner clutched onto the safety handle—he realized it’s much more fun if you’re the one driving—and Twice had been shouting things that encompassed both sides of the surrounding emotions. Dabi had regained control and Tomura threw himself back into his seat like a child, giving him and the others the silent treatment after Dabi had yelled once again to be silent.

Minutes later, Toga had spoken in a whisper, “This road trip sucks.”

“Wasn’t that Kacchan?” Izuku asked with a frightened squeal, “What was he doing with (S/o)?”

“I don’t think that was Bakugo,” Tsuyu commented, “Seems a little out of character for him to openly carry (S/o) like that.”

“It’s not the Bakugo you know,” the prince sighed, irritation rising in his voice, “The unsightly red cape belongs to the King of Dragons.”

“You seem to have a history with him,” Shoto noticed, “That bad, huh?”

“He stole my knight from me,” his head dropped, “So I wouldn’t describe our history as ‘pleasant’, but it’s still history nonetheless. Based on that voice, he’s taken them once again. I knew they weren’t happy—they couldn’t have been.”

“I don’t know, um... Prince... Todoroki?” Izuku tested out the distinguishing name, “The way they were screaming, I think that’s this world’s (S/o).”

The prince waved his hand apathetically, disregarding the information. Either way—his world, this world—it was still (S/o) who was in the clutches of the King of Dragons, and he wasn’t going to allow it to happen again.

It was a foolish idea, them leaving of their own free will; He had known his father drove them away, now they were bound to be held captive by that barbarian—he'd rather lay his life on the line than allow this world’s (S/o) fall to that very same fate. He’ll save them this time, for sure.

With his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, he quickly made his way towards the sounds of struggle, leaving everyone to lag behind in confusion. Making their way to the shared clearing, Prince Shoto had disregarded his counterparts heed of warning, standing tall against the King of Dragons himself with his blade already drawn.

“Barbarian!” his voice boomed, “Unhand (S/o) at once, or face your demise.”

The blonde turned with haste, practically flinging (S/o) to their feet with him as their shield. He bared his teeth with a threatening growl to accompany the crazed look, his own dagger drawn in retaliation to Prince Shoto’s sword while he stood in a lowered, ready-to-strike stance. Prince Shoto read the situation—he wouldn’t mind going all out with the force of his ice, but that posed a heavy threat to (S/o) which he couldn’t even imagine committing. What was he to do?  

“You’ve got only a few seconds to release them!”  

Why did he assume threats were going to work? On a thick-headed barbarian? Preposterous—the blonde charged at him, his red cape momentarily distracting the prince as a heavy thud resonated through his chest upon impact, causing him to toss his sword out of his reach. Going on the defense, a wall of ice surrounded King Bakugo the moment Prince Shoto had a moment to fill his lungs; A large explosion followed close behind, shattering the ice and scattering the shards across the clearing and coating the bystanders with a light layer of snow.

“Kacchan!” Izuku called, “Er—King… Kacchan?”

“Who do you think you’re addressing you damn commoner?” he snapped, “What are you doing here anyway? Tch, I should have known you’d be running around here with that excuse of a royal. I don’t care what you think you’re gonna do—you’re not taking (Y/n) from me!”

“But Bakugo, that isn’t your—”

“Shut it!” the king set off another explosion, “I don’t want to hear your excuses!”

“That isn’t our worlds (Y/n),” Prince Shoto tried to reason, “So just let them be.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Prince Todoroki explained it all to us, you’re from an alternate version of this world,” Izuku jumped in timidly, “But that (Y/n)… is from here, right?”

“Alternate universe? Are you suggesting there’s something like an alternate universe out there? Of course I’m from here!” (Y/n) had finally gotten a chance to speak.  

“That’s what he’s saying,” Shoto stepped beside his prince counterpart, extending his hand out to (Y/n), “They’re looking for the other you, but it seems their Bakugo is just as thick-headed as ours.”

“What did you just say about me you dirty warlock!” The king shouted, “I see you couldn’t handle being me, huh? Now you’ve brought your little friends along too—Whatever! I’ll take you all down!”

The Dragon King charged forward once again, constantly counteracting the ice barriers both Todoroki’s had put up. With him distracted, the prince gave the group behind him a knowing look, telling them they could set whatever plan they needed into motion to save their (Y/n); Midoriya gave a nod, having Asui quickly grab (Y/n) to bring them close while he readied himself to block the blow of the impeding tantrum the king was going to throw his way. The prince moved quickly, hoping to at least lessen the damage done by the explosion, but found himself—and his friends—knocked to the ground.

“I’ve already told you; you won’t take my knight from me in the first place!” the king came at the downed prince quickly, explosions popping at the ready to release.

“You’re the one who took my knight away from me!” the prince’s voice held a hurt undertone, glossed over by an angry growl, throwing up another ice wall to help protect his—his counterparts—friends, though no amount of ice could keep the hot-head back far enough.

Enough was enough; The emotions residing deep within the prince started to boil over as memories flashed through his mind, blinding his view and throwing him into a blacked-out frenzy. Ice and explosions clashed time and time again, both boys struggling to gain the upper hand and toss his enemy aside. Ice castle, dragon’s breath—attack after attack—they each stood their ground until they clashed once too many; Too much air pressure blew between the two of them, easily clearing the group of people and throwing them all to painful landings, though (Y/n)’s landing caught both royal’s attention.

(Y/n) was caught off guard by the blast, tumbling backwards and struggling to get their feet back to the ground as they were lifted by the wind. A pained gag passed their lips as the wind had been knocked out of their lungs by the tree they had been thrown against; They stuttered, struggling to regain the breath lost as they slid to the ground.

The two royals watched in horror; The king cried out for them while the prince shook—was it mere terror? Fear for the knight he had grown to love dearly? Or was it anger—anger for the king whom took them away and in turn harmed in front of his eyes.

Prince Shoto’s blood ran cold—his skin chilling down to its freezing point as ice crawled up his form in sharp, jagged fashion. His left side provided a new, darker armour doubling as his ultimate power—the spirit of an ice beast—and the anger boiling over through the cry towards the (Y/n) who wasn’t even his own was the fuel for this forbidden power.  

“Look what you’ve done,” his voice was as icy and dark as his appearance, “You’ll never be forgiven!”

King Bakugo steadied himself, resulting in his standard crouched pose, palms cupped and ready for an attack. Pressure accumulated around him, becoming almost unbearable to those in his vicinity as it was accompanied by an extreme heat. In flames, flowing as fluid as smoke and burning as hot as the sun, a shape started to take form behind him—the Spirit of the Dragon—the king’s ultimate power.

They stood toe in toe, the pressure between the two of them was beyond intimidating to the bystanders; They struggled to get to their feet and made their way towards an asleep (Y/n), ready to protect them from the inevitable fight between the royals.

Yells escaped both boys, both moving towards each other, ready to strike; An equally intense gust of wind caused the two of them to stumble and stutter, struggling to look towards the sky for the source.

“No...” Prince Shoto whispered, his enemy contradicting his reaction.

“Dragon!” King Bakugo shouted with the utmost glee.

The large red dragon hovered above the clearing, his large wing span causing a heavy, constant wind. Everyone moved their hands up to block part of the sun, now witnessing the frightening expression on the beast’s face—large teeth glistening as they parted to blow a puff of flames down towards Prince Shoto and his (not-so) party members which they barely avoided.

Beyond the wind, Prince Shoto could hear a familiar voice and caught a quick glimpse of the Dragon King’s doppelganger peaking over the side of the large dragon. He seemed to be arguing—with the dragon? Was he attempting to argue with him from all the way up there? It was painfully obvious that he was aware of the situation—thankfully, since the king certainly seemed to have a thick skull—but how in the world was he able to get the dragon? He must have run into the king earlier, he determined, but he wouldn’t know to talk to the dragon, would he? Who had he been speaking to?

Another burst of flames snapped him out of his thoughts as he threw himself down to roll out of the way. A glint in the sky caught his eye—apparently the king’s as well—as they both turned back to see just what it was; An enemy? Had this world’s Bakugo fallen from the back of the dragon? The glint momentarily blinded the both of them, causing them to both grimace a moment before finally being able to focus on the human form freefalling down to the earth between them; They seemed to know what they were doing, falling without fear—the both of them knew just who had enough confidence in their abilities to do such a thing.

Both sets of eyes grew wide, smiles growing just as quickly as realization hit the both of them at once, causing them both to cry out for the one they love--