[ID: Two pages of fan comics for Undertale. The first page has a black background and has two panels. In the first panel, Frisk is crying and hugging Sans, who is entirely in silhouette except for his smile. On either side, stained glass windows with the delta rune can be seen. The second panel shows Frisk in the same position, except this time jolting backwards in alarm. Sans’ silhouette is now red, and five huge red bones protrude from Frisk’s back. The second page is a full panel spread. The camera is looking down on a scene of Sans standing over Frisk’s body. Sans is smiling and his left eye is glowing blue. Frisk is lying face down on the ground, with many bloody bones protruding from their back and a pool of blood beneath them on the floor. Sans says: “Get dunked on! If we’re really friends… you won’t come back.” Sans’ dialogue is in Comic Sans and all lowercase. End ID]
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geeeeeeettttt dunked on!!! frankly, it’s only karma for the number of times you’ve betrayal-killed other monsters, frisk.
Hello! In celebration accumulating over 290 bookmarks on my AO3 account featuring IwaOi, Haikyuu S4 part 2, and @haikyuuweek2020 (Day 7 - Free Choice), I decided to create a masterlist of all of my favorite fanfictions in order to keep myself organized as well as contributing to more traffic for those works! I decided to split the works up by my own self-imposed genres, such asadulting(they’re adults but they didn’t end up where they did in canon), alternate universe (either in a non-modern world or not childhood friends), angst, andcoming of age/canon-compliant.
This is incomplete as I got distracted while re-reading a lot of these and have only gone through half of my bookmarks, but feel free to check my own page here for the rest of them! I really do hope you guys enjoy reading these and leave comments and kudos! Please reblog and like so more people can enjoy
Titles marked with (♡) are my absolute favorites and there’s a chance I cried while reading them but otherwise there is no set order to the way the works are listed.
Take a Slice || Tanjiro Kamado, Zenitsu Agatsuma, Kyojuro Rengoku
warnings:mentions of injuries, mentions of blood
word count: 541 words
summary:you finally show them what you’re made of.
author’s note: ok I personally think stone breathing is underrated, give some love to stone breath users <33 *cough* gyomei*cough*
“Sitting pretty in the prime of life, I’m so tasty and the price is right.”take a slice, glass animals
Tanjiro Kamado
You’ve always seemed so passive to him, your scent pleasant and calm. Your behaviors are steady and meticulous, always practicing with your bendable sword in the training grounds of the butterfly mansion
He finally sees you act without mercy on a mission together, he’s always been curious on why your sword was so pliable, and what breath style you used that required you to bend in ways he never could
When he sees you jump up and twist your body, sword following you it clicks when you mutter, “Love Breathing, Third form: Catlove Shower”
When your blade connects with the putrid flesh of the demon Tanjiro doesn’t notice he’s left himself open to attack. He pulls himself out of the thoughts that tell him you look so pretty in the moonlight and focuses on protecting himself and Nezuko
After the battle he’s exhausted, but now teeming with curiosity and intrigue. While you tend to small cuts on Tanjiro you explain and he soaks it all in.
Some details may be fuzzy because of how your fingers touch his skin, assessing his injuries.
Zenitsu Agatsuma
Nervous to approach, hesitant to talk. You look so intimidating Zenitsu can’t help it, and when you carry that spiked flail and chain weapon on your hip with ease, he can’t help but shrink down, hoping you don’t notice him.
Just his luck when you two are attacked by a random demon on the way back from a mission.
Zenitsu is frozen, in the direct path of the demon’s attack. As you push him aside and shove him to the ground he hears the chains rattle and groups of muscle in your arms tense as you fight back.
“Stone Breathing, First Form: Serpentinite Bipolar” Oh. That’s what breath style you use. Zenitsu plays dead, and as soon as it starts, it ends. The chains rattle again into their holster, hanging off your hip and making a quiet clink clink clinksound.
You offer him a hand to help him back up and Zenitsu swears the blooming sunrise makes you look radiant. You sigh when he’s just staring at you.
He ignores the ache in his shoulder when you pull him back up, the warmth of your palm unforgettable.
Kyojuro Rengoku
There hasn’t been a thunder hashira for a long while, and Rengoku is intrigued when you show up at the following semiannual hashira meeting, making your introduction to the rest of the hashira.
A friendship blooms, and soon you two are scouting for information on the 12 demon moons.
Two lower moons appear, eager to collect the heads of two hashiras. Rengoku readies an attack and before he knows it you disappear from his side, a crackle of static where you were.
As you call out “Thunder breathing, Sixth Form: Rumble and Flash” he sees both of the demons heads fall like raindrops. You stand over them, silent and with your sword still drawn, flicking the blood off before putting it back into the sheath.
Rengoku heard the thunder loud and clear, he brightens. Asking you where you trained and how you developed those moves. You approach him and answer your questions, raising your voice so he can hear
And just like that he’s drawn in, intrigued, in a different way.
specific tw: canon-typical violence, bullying, and injury (midoriya breaking his bones), brief mention of uraraka throwing up in line with canon, bakugo does call reader a bitch just in case anyone has some gender issues w that. see masterpost for genre + genre tw.
notes: bakugo is a bully here, but fear not i will be doing my best to do him justice in this series.
the UA lecture hall looms in front of you, and you’re not going inside of it. not because you’re avoiding the written exam, or because you want to stay out here with all of the other people – loud, chattering, grating on your ears. no. you’re out here because it’s sunny and warm, and, both fortunately and unfortunately, loud. this is the best place to charge your quirk for the physical exam.
you watch the other students arrive as you bask in the heat and light and noise, observing the ways they walk and talk and approach each other: ankle injury, probably acts rashly, touching her hair to calm herself down; nervous, shy, doesn’t like his smile. easy to figure out. you move on to observing the next group of students – might as well, there’s nothing else to do while you wait.
specific tw: canon-typical violence, bullying, and injury (midoriya breaking his bones), brief mention of uraraka throwing up in line with canon, bakugo does call reader a bitch just in case anyone has some gender issues w that. see masterpost for genre + genre tw.
notes: bakugo is a bully here, but fear not i will be doing my best to do him justice in this series.
the UA lecture hall looms in front of you, and you’re not going inside of it. not because you’re avoiding the written exam, or because you want to stay out here with all of the other people – loud, chattering, grating on your ears. no. you’re out here because it’s sunny and warm, and, both fortunately and unfortunately, loud. this is the best place to charge your quirk for the physical exam.
you watch the other students arrive as you bask in the heat and light and noise, observing the ways they walk and talk and approach each other: ankle injury, probably acts rashly, touching her hair to calm herself down; nervous, shy, doesn’t like his smile. easy to figure out. you move on to observing the next group of students – might as well, there’s nothing else to do while you wait.
specific tw: canon-typical violence, bullying, and injury (midoriya breaking his bones), brief mention of uraraka throwing up in line with canon, bakugo does call reader a bitch just in case anyone has some gender issues w that. see masterpost for genre + genre tw.
notes: bakugo is a bully here, but fear not i will be doing my best to do him justice in this series.
the UA lecture hall looms in front of you, and you’re not going inside of it. not because you’re avoiding the written exam, or because you want to stay out here with all of the other people – loud, chattering, grating on your ears. no. you’re out here because it’s sunny and warm, and, both fortunately and unfortunately, loud. this is the best place to charge your quirk for the physical exam.
you watch the other students arrive as you bask in the heat and light and noise, observing the ways they walk and talk and approach each other: ankle injury, probably acts rashly, touching her hair to calm herself down; nervous, shy, doesn’t like his smile. easy to figure out. you move on to observing the next group of students – might as well, there’s nothing else to do while you wait.
a blonde man with spiky hair walks through the gate, scowling, hands shoved in his pockets. you watch as he zeroes in on another man – solidly built, with green hair and a curled-in sort of posture – standing by himself near the steps, about ten feet away. you want to say they’re friends, but that doesn’t seem right, with the way the first guy is practically stomping toward the other one. maybe not friends, but they definitely know each other.
the blonde grabs the other boy by a backpack strap and yanks him forward, “what are you doing here, nerd? trying to one-up me, hah?”
yeah, they definitely know each other, and they definitely aren’t friends.
the guy with green hair is shaking and trying to push the other man’s hand off of his bag. “i’m just here to take the exam, i have the right to apply, kacchan–”
“and do what? cheat to get in? you’re not good enough to get in, so what’s the point in trying, deku?”
fuck it.
you’re over there in a flash; the sunlight and conserving your quirk for the past few days has made it easy to use bursts of kinetic energy like that.
the blonde man – angry guy, you decide – sees you approach and whirls around, still gripping the other guy by the strap of his backpack. “fuck off, extra. this is between me and deku.”
you blink at him. “no.”
the nervous guy – deku – starts scrambling to get out of the angry guy’s grip, and the blonde’s hand starts popping with what look like small explosions. he looks like he’s about to start some kind of tirade, so you cut him off.
“look, i don’t know who either of you are, or what you,” you jab a finger at angry guy, “think you’re doing, but you shouldn’t be getting in people’s heads before the exam. it’s underhanded and nasty to undermine someone’s performance like that.”
deku, green hair, whatever his name is, is whipping his head back and forth between the two of you, looking like a deer in the headlights of two oncoming cars, not knowing which direction to run. “uhhh–”
angry guy snarls. “i am bakugo katsuki, and this is deku, and you’re a nosey bitch that i’m going to turn into a stain on the ground.”
you grab him by the shirt and suck the heat and noise and light right out of his palms. “no,” you hiss, “i’m the nosey bitch that you don’t want to mess with. leave, or i report you and you don’t get to take the exam.” you pry his hand off of deku’s backpack and shove angry guy away. “get.”
he stumbles back, switching between glaring at you and his smoking palms, which he shoves back into his pockets. he’s hiding his hands; unnerved, then. “fine. i’ll see you after, deku, when they’re not around to get in the way,” he throws another scowl over his shoulder and stalks off, into the exam hall.
you turn back to deku, who is staring after the other boy, stunned. “are you okay?” it comes out so stiff that you can hear your parents telling you to talk nicer.
he shakes his head and looks back at you. he still looks dazed, eyes flitting around your face, swallowing nervously. “yeah, yeah, i’m fine. mhm. just fine. totally.”
“do you want me to report him? i know the proctor, and he’ll kick that guy out for bullying.”
he shakes his head even harder, taking a step back and waving his hands in a frenzy of activity, flushed, “no! no, you don’t need to report him, i promise he doesn’t mean anything by it, kacchan has been my friend my whole life, he just shows it a little differently, you really don’t need to report him – he needs to take this exam, he’s perfect for the hero course, really. yeah. i promise, you don’t need to report him.”
you look him over, eyes narrowed, skeptical. “mhm.” he looks like he’s going to combust. you switch directions before you have to deal with even more awkwardness, “i’m [surname] [first name].”
he visibly relaxes. clearly he’s glad to have moved on from potentially reporting his ‘childhood friend.’ “midoriya izuku, and it’s great to meet you!”
midoriya’s smile is so bright that you wonder if you could use it to fuel your quirk. the thought makes you smile, just a little. “yeah, good to meet you too.”
you stand there and watch him fidget. the conversation might be dry and awkward as hell, but nothing gets people to talk like silence, and he keeps looking like he’s going to reach for something in his bag.
“can i…” he chews his lip, then brightens, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “can i ask some questions? about what you did to kacchan’s quirk?”
your smile almost drops, but you keep it up. he can use this information against you, if the exam is structured that way. he doesn’t look like the type, but… it’s not smart to share that type of thing. you don’t owe him anything – you just saved his ass, and his friend’s ass by way of not reporting him; if anyone owes anyone, he owes you. and you’d really prefer not to discuss this, anyways.
midoriya is almost vibrating with excitement. he gets a notebook and pen out so fast that he almost drops them. the look on his face is so hopeful, bright; it makes it hard to say no.
“fine.”
“so, you extinguished his explosions, right?”
you nod.
“did you deactivate his quirk? can you put fires out? is it an oxygen manipulation quirk? or a chemical reaction manipulation quirk? maybe you’re planning to work with water hose as a rescue hero?”
the variety of guesses, the possibilities, they make your head buzz, so much to think about. you file those away for later, when you can look them over in detail. “no deactivation, yes i can put fires out, no oxygen manipulation, and it doesn’t work too well for being a rescue hero.”
midoriya scribbles frantically, smile splitting his face, glancing up at you and nodding in between notes. after a while he stops and cocks his head. probably waiting for you to explain. you could toy with him and make him guess, which is what you usually did to people at school. but he just wants to know for the sake of knowing. that much is obvious, just from the pure excitement he’s exhibiting over basic questions. it’s stupid to do this, you remind yourself, if the exam pits us against each other, he’ll be fully capable of taking me down – or at least of planning to take me down. it’s stupid – but he looks so happy, and you may not be in the same exam section, so you do it anyway. you give, just the tiniest bit.
“it’s energy manipulation.” i won’t answer any more questions after this.
“i have so many questions– can you–”
present mic yells from inside the hall – the presentation on the written exam is about to start. the other students start to make their way inside.
his face falls – god, he wears everything on his sleeve, doesn’t he – and it makes your chest tighten. weird.
“i can explain after the exam, if you want.” it makes the weird chest feeling go away, at least.
just like that, he’s beaming, pen flipping in his hands, writing something down before tearing the paper out of his notebook and handing it to you. “i’m not sure, uh, if there’ll be an opportunity to talk after the exam? so here’s my number?”
you take the paper. he freezes and abruptly goes bright red, obviously realizing something.
“oh my god i did not– i totally did not mean it like that i just wanted to talk to you about– i’m so sorry that was so rude i promise– i wasn’t– i uh–” he covers his face with his hands. “i cannot believe i just. oh my god.”
you just put the paper in the outside pocket of your bag. “i didn’t think you meant it that way, so it’s fine.”
“thank god,” he mumbles, still hiding behind his hands.
that’s not something you’re gonna try and read into. you point toward the hall. “midoriya, we should probably go inside. the exam information session is gonna start and i’d rather not miss it.” it sounds awkward, stiff, but it’s the best you can manage.
“right, right! crap!”
—
this is almost too easy, you think, downing robots with localized electromagnetic pulses. it’s quick work, and it doesn’t take too much energy. you didn’t even need your capture weapon for this – it just makes it easier to maneuver, but you would’ve been fine without it.
still, you are starting to run out of energy. you’d refused yamada’s offer to charge you by screaming positive statements at you – you were going to pass this exam without help, thank you very much – and as much as electricity was a great charging source, it really concerned your parents and your mentors when you used electrical outets. fire was, similarly, out of the question. the point is, sunlight only does so much, and your palms stung from all of those electromagnetic pulses, and you’d absolutely wiped the floor with the rest of the contestants – you stopped the twenty initial robots dead in their tracks with a giant pulse right off the bat. so yeah, your battery capacity is running a little low.
of course that’s when a giant, towering, zero point robot shows up. there’s a woman trapped under rubble left behind by one of the more destructive candidates, she’s struggling to push it off. energy thrums under your skin and you’re off like a shot, speeding toward her in a blur of kinetic energy and the robot is approaching and you’re almost there and–
and the energy runs out and you fall hard, still going some unholy speed, tumbling across the pavement with the force of your momentum like you’ve been thrown from a speeding car. you land in a heap next to the young woman. you sit up – completely fine, and slightly recharged from the impact – and start trying to dig her out from under the slabs of metal and concrete. you have to pump kinetic energy into your limbs and back to lift the rubble. your bones are starting to feel a little brittle.
“if i can touch it with my hands, i can float it away,” she says, jerking her chin towards the rubble on top of her. she seems remarkably calm, even if her jaw is clearly tense – from pain or fear or both, you’re not sure.
either way, you nod and focus on the chunk of concrete pinning one of her arms. the ground is shaking as the robot gets closer. you need to hurry.
a flash of green flies by. you keep pushing the rubble until she has a full range of motion, and she floats the rubble off of her.
there’s a terrible crunching noise – you look up. midoriya is falling from the sky. the robot is incapacitated. and you are out of energy again. you have maybe five seconds. your capture weapon can’t reach that high, and it has more than enough tensile strength to hold him, but you’d risk his momentum slamming him into the ground at such a short distance.
you turn to the woman next to you – thankfully she’s visibly unharmed, other than a few cuts and bruises. “hey, can you float people too?”
she nods, exhausted and draped over a floating piece of rubble, one that had been under her when she was trapped. you shove her and the rubble through the air, approximating where midoriya will land – she reaches out to grab him just before he hits the ground.
everything falls out of the air. you’re grateful your feet were out of the way of the cement chunk. she throws up over the side of it. you’re even more glad that you were out of the way.
midoriya is lying on the ground, limbs twisted at awful angles, miraculously alive and not passed out or dead. you sit next to him on the pavement, careful not to touch him, because frankly his arm looks like the bones have been liquified.
“i’ve got some questions about your quirk, dude, never mind mine,” you say, wondering why the absolutefuck someone with a bone breaking quirk would want to ask about yours, which was comparatively pretty straightforward.
“yeah, me too.” it’s strained, but either he can’t feel anything or he’s got an insanely high pain tolerance, because he should be passed the fuck out from using a quirk that intensely. for his sake, you hope his brain has decided to cut off all those pain signals.
“you can still talk? while your arm and legs look like they’ve gone through a meat grinder?”
he winces. “is it that bad?”
“worse.”
“hopefully recovery girl gets here soon.”
you wonder if you should even ask, but he seems like he’s willing to respond to most things. anything. “so you’re telling me… you didn’t know your quirk was going to do that to you?”
“yeah.” he goes along with the topic u-turn, like you’d predicted.
“you propelled yourself hundreds of feet in the air and punched a giant metal robot in the face, not knowing what your quirk would do?”
“otherwise both of you would’ve been crushed. i couldn’t just let that happen!”
“thanks, i guess? although, since you’re so interested in it,” you huff a laugh, “you ought to know that my quirk would’ve protected both of us. you kind of broke your bones for nothing.”
he’s quiet. you get the feeling he’d be putting his hands over his face again right about now, if his arm wasn’t pulverized.
“but i appreciate it. not letting people you’ve just met get crushed by a giant robot. and now we’re even, too.”
you watch a watery smile flicker across his face, but it’s not a grimace. he can’t feel his arm and legs, then, at least. the thought soothes you.
recovery girl arrives, and you stand up. she can take care of midoriya and gravity girl. “see you at UA.”
you hear him say something like, “but i didn’t score any points!” as you walk away. rescue heroes exist for a reason, midoriya. and there is no separate exam for them.
you can only hope you’re right.
reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!! ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* main taglist here,series taglisthere. back to gt&h masterpost.
pairing + wc: parental erasermic + reader, midoriya izuku x reader in future chapters just not in prologue; 3.7k
specific tw: discussions of human trafficking + child abuse by villains, mention of foster system, mentions of death, mentions of chronic pain, collapsing buildings. see masterpost for genre + general tw.
notes: i’m rlly happy to be re-releasing this w gender neutral reader + some minor tweaks to the style! <3 pls enjoy!
your chamber is cold, dimly lit, and soundproofed. there’s very little for you to draw energy from, but there’s no worry of you getting too cold – the faint lights, far above, are enough for you to generate heat using your quirk. just not enough for you to get out, and just enough to make you strain as you force your quirk to keep running.
sensei stops outside your chamber – you can feel the buzz of electricity in his cells, and you press your tiny hand to the wall, trying to figure out exactly where he is on the other side of the one-way mirror. the warmth of your hand drags against its cold surface, a blur of barely-there fingerprints, the lines of your palm smeared with the motion.
pairing + wc: parental erasermic + reader, midoriya izuku x reader in future chapters just not in prologue; 3.7k
specific tw: discussions of human trafficking + child abuse by villains, mention of foster system, mentions of death, mentions of chronic pain, collapsing buildings. see masterpost for genre + general tw.
notes: i’m rlly happy to be re-releasing this w gender neutral reader + some minor tweaks to the style! <3 pls enjoy!
your chamber is cold, dimly lit, and soundproofed. there’s very little for you to draw energy from, but there’s no worry of you getting too cold – the faint lights, far above, are enough for you to generate heat using your quirk. just not enough for you to get out, and just enough to make you strain as you force your quirk to keep running.
sensei stops outside your chamber – you can feel the buzz of electricity in his cells, and you press your tiny hand to the wall, trying to figure out exactly where he is on the other side of the one-way mirror. the warmth of your hand drags against its cold surface, a blur of barely-there fingerprints, the lines of your palm smeared with the motion.
you stop when sensei is directly in front of you. the buzzing in his cells sings to you. you press closer to the mirror. there’s another pocket of electricity, but it feels odd, shifting; sensei is probably talking to that man with purple fog over his face. but you’ll never be able to hear them, not with the way your chamber is insulated, so you walk back to your bed, in the back corner of the room.
it’s starting to get warmer in the chamber, so training will be soon. you’re only allowed large quantities of energy when they know you’re going to use them up.
but hours pass, and the chamber is too hot, your whole body buzzing as the energy tries to jump out from under your skin. maybe it’s a new training exercise, a new way to push the limits of how much energy you can absorb. either way, you have to keep drawing it in, or it’ll get too hot.
you fall asleep and wake up sweating, skin crackling, and the air smells humid and warm and full of ozone. it’s hard to breathe, it’s so heavy – your lungs keep trying to hold it in, extract every last drop of energy from it. you have to force yourself to exhale, hard, like sensei taught you.
there’s light cracking through your skin, but you register it only faintly, too focused on grappling with the twisting, writhing mass of energy and trying to force it to stay in the center of your body.
but it’s not staying still – every time you push down on a wave of energy trying to escape in one direction, it just pulses out in the other. maybe, if you just let a little bit of it go, you’ll be able to hold on to the rest of it?
you hold your arm out, intent on discharging a small sound wave – but the cracks on your arm, the light energy seeping out of them in wisps, it scares you, and suddenly that ball of energy is tumbling out of control.
the wave of kinetic energy ripples out of you and slams into the walls of your chamber – they splinter with a deafeningly loud sound, folding and tearing like wet paper into the chambers next to yours, and the one-way mirror shatters into millions of tiny shards. but it doesn’t stop there – the entire building is shaking, and you can hear the other mirrors shattering and see the other walls crumbling throughout the warehouse. and then the ceiling comes down on top of you.
–
shota gets the call at six in the morning. or rather, he gets the call, but hizashi picks it up, because there’s no way in hell that anything is waking him from the dead of sleep on his day off.
except hizashi, who just shakes him awake and hands him the phone, saying, “it’s for you, babe. something about an explosion.”
“eraserhead speaking.” he wants to complain, but he knows it’s not the operator’s fault, and he knows there’s a reason they called him in on his day off.
“we need you to suppress some kind of explosion quirk in the warehouse district. there’s a collapsed, sorry, still collapsing building, and some fire and electricity issues. the fire department is dealing with the parts of the building that are burning, but there are people trapped inside, and the heat signatures indicate that one of them – a child, judging by size – is causing uncontrollable explosions, which are making it difficult to get anyone out. cementoss is currently stabilizing the building.”
“i’ll be there as fast as i can.” he can’t find it in himself to complain anymore.
as shota swings himself across the city on his capture weapon, rapidly approaching the warehouse district, he can see a plume of smoke billowing against the orange of the sunrise. he stops on top of a building and uses a nearby lamppost to lower himself to the ground.
the collapsed warehouse is smoking, and steam is rising off of it in the early morning light, but it is thankfully no longer on fire. cementoss is fusing cement slabs together in an effort to keep it from caving in further, and infrared hero, aptly named infra (hizashi calls her “heat seeker”) is intently watching the building. shota approaches her for debriefing.
“it was hard to see, earlier, with all of the fire interfering, and it’s blurry because of the heat retention of the concrete, but there are at least twenty people inside, half or more of which are children. there’s someone close to the center of the structure who is periodically letting out bursts of heat, and who we assume is also producing some kind of kinetic shockwave.”
“and cementoss has constructed a pathway so i can extract the person without disturbing the rubble and crushing other victims?”
“yes–” infra starts, and is abruptly cut off when the building rumbles, the ground shuddering along with it, the pavement near its base fracturing. “yes,” she pauses, eyes narrowing, “but you might want to wait while cementoss deals with whatever might’ve come loose just now.” she hands him an earpiece so she can direct him to the source of the explosions.
shota stands there, watching the wood and cement and metal smoke and steam, until cementoss gives him the go ahead.
he picks his way through the rubble, listening carefully to infra’s directions. sirens wail in the background, and broken glass crunches under his feet, but he can hear children crying through all of it. shota moves faster, pulls his goggles over his eyes.
infra tells him to stop and look down and to the right. all there is is a pile of debris, and it makes his heart leap into his throat. he starts digging through the chunks of cement, using his capture weapon to pull away particularly heavy or sharp pieces and to keep any large ones from falling. he has to work quickly, or risk getting hit by whatever quirk is hiding under there.
it only takes a few seconds, and then he’s looking down at a child – maybe seven years old, a little kid, curled up in a ball with their arms around their knees. there’s fissures in their skin with light pouring out of them, ashes in their hair. their eyes are glowing a terrifying, brilliant white – shota activates his quirk, hair floating up, and all the light evaporates from that tiny little body, they just look like a normal, scared kid.
it hits him that they really should’ve sent someone who was better with children. maybe gang orca. well, he might as well bite the bullet.
“i’m eraserhead. what’s your name?”
“[surname].” the kid looks up at him, face blank except for a slight frown. “what did you do to me? where did it go?”
shota offers his hand, and they take it, standing up. “where did what go?”
shota doesn’t have an answer.
he leads them out of the rubble, and thank god for the fact that they’re following – he really does not want to deal with a kicking, screaming kid in the middle of an unstable structure. the sunlight glints off of warped rebar, sharp and threatening. he tugs the kid slightly behind him.
“the energy. your hair went up and it went away.”
he has no fucking idea. “you’re right, it went away.” sometimes, telling kids that they’re right is the fastest way to get them to be quiet. surprisingly, it works.
they follow silently, gripping his hand with their tiny, slightly chubby fingers, until they finally get out of the rubble maze. now that the exploding kid is out, it’s safe to extract the other victims.
he crouches down in front of them, still holding their hand. “i’m going to leave you with the medical team, okay? they’re gonna check you over and take you to the hospital, if needed. i have to go get the other people out of there.”
except when shota stands up and tries to move away, they aren’t letting go. he tries stepping away again. it doesn’t work. it’s not just that they’re not letting go, it’s that he can’t break their grip – which is ridiculous, they’re a child, and their hand doesn’t even encompass his, meaning there’s a point where it should, in theory, be easy to break their hold.
theory isn’t holding up.
“you need to let go, or else i can’t get the other people out.” maybe he can guilt them into letting go? thankfully the other heroes on the scene are already digging through the rubble for the other victims.
they shake their head furiously, making some of the ash in their hair fly off. “no, sensei said i have to stay here. i can’t leave.”
shota resists the urge to drag a hand down his face. he really wishes tsukauchi was already here. “this is a school?”
“yes.” they nod solemnly.
“but this is the warehouse district.”
they stare at him. he tries breaking their grip again. they squeeze his hand tighter, and shota hears one of his joints crack.
“you can tell the police about the school and sensei when they get here, but you need to let go. i have to do my job. besides, your sensei is still in there, and i need to go rescue them.”
they cock their head, but loosen their grip a tiny bit. “no, sensei isn’t here. he left with the man who makes purple mist doorways. i think all the teachers left. i felt it, when they disappeared.”
felt it? grip strength? explosions? he can think about whatever the hell is going on with this child’s dangerous, wack ass quirk later. “okay, but the other students are still in there.”
“no,” they scrunch their eyes shut, grip tightening. “i can’t feel them. except amanatsu-chan. no one else is there.”
shota has a horrifying thought about heat signatures and dead bodies. he motions infra and one of cementoss’ sidekicks over.
“where is amanatsu-chan?” he asks, making eye contact with the sidekick, who is paying very close attention to the kid.
“she’s right next to where i was. in the room to the right, ‘cause she’s a month older than me.”
he turns his back to the kid and looks at infra. “that is the only person we need to rescue right now. everyone else is probably dead, according to them.”
infra looks toward the building, scanning. “the heat was probably trapped by the collapsed structure, and the fire made it difficult to see, but now that some of the rubble has been moved and the fire has been put out… there is only one heat signature that could possibly belong to someone who is alive. everything else… not even hypothermic bodies get that low.”
the sidekick rushes off with infra to guide them.
shota drags the kid along with him to the ambulance, which is now useless, with the exception of the two kids, and sits with them while the medical team looks them over. they still won’t let go of his hand, but he could break their hold now, if he needed to. if he wanted to.
he doesn’t.
—
they get the kid to the hospital, only with shota riding in the ambulance next to them, but they’re fine, and so is the other kid – a little girl. the only reason they decide to take the two kids to the hospital in the first place is because there’s nowhere else to take them, and they really, really need to see a quirk specialist. the other kid had some kind of odd, controlling speech effect, and he cannot, for the life of him, figure the first kid’s quirk out.
he leaves them with the quirk specialist, whom both kids use the sensei honorific for – they do that for every nurse and other adult, too – and goes back home to sleep. it’s almost the afternoon, but he doesn’t care. it’s his day off, damn it.
—
fuck that quirk specialist. he and hizashi are going to have to help the kid manage their quirk, according to his medical advice. thankfully, cementoss and tiger are more suited to the second kid.
he picks the problem child up from the train station in civilian clothes, hizashi next to him, cap pulled down to hide his face, hair half-down and not in that ridiculous cockatoo style. the kid’s brand new foster parents give them their phone numbers.
hizashi smiles at the kid and takes their hand, obviously completely forgetting that he’s not dressed as present mic. he does that around kids. “what’s your name, little listener?”
“[surname].” they turn to shota and blink accusingly, like he was supposed to tell hizashi.
“your first name, though?” hizashi prods, and shota laughs quietly through his nose.
“six.”
he stops laughing.
hizashi laughs awkwardly, his complete opposite, and definitely trying to smooth the situation over. “well, do you want to be called something different?”
their eyebrows furrow, and they reach for shota’s hand; he lets them. fine, they can hold both of their hands, dammit.
“is that allowed?”
hizashi gives him a look, one that means what the fuck. “yeah, yeah that’s allowed.”
“i think [first name] would be fine then.” they nod, like it’s an important decision.
“okay, [first name] it is, then. can i call you [first name]-chan, little listener?” hizashi says, starting to walk in the direction of their home. honestly, shota forgot that people use that honorific for children. he tries to avoid them in rescue missions; they’re uncomfortable around him, find him unnerving.
[first name] nods again. “mhm.”
“great! you can call me yamada-sen–” shota activates his quirk to tell him to shut up without actually telling him to shut up in front of the kid.
“no sensei honorific,” he mutters, thinking of the warehouse.
“you can call me yamada. that’s aizawa, kay?”
they nod again.
great, he’s training a child.
—
turns out they don’t need much training. the email from the quirk specialist explained that they could absorb energy and then manipulate its form, but it did not explain the frankly worrying level of precision they had.
they’re standing in the park, across the street from their hero-specialized apartment complex.
“i’m going to scream, kay? and you’re going to try to absorb it, and then we’ll see what you can do.” hizashi is still holding the kid’s hand, fifteen minutes after they’ve gotten back from the train station. shota is starting to worry that he’s getting attached. who is he kidding – of course hizashi is attached.
“aizawa will shut your quirk off if it’s too scary.”
they nod, already frowning in concentration. hizashi steps back and screams “HELLO!” at the lowest level possible. it still makes the grass ripple and the leaves on the trees shimmer. the kid just giggles, unphased, eyes glowing, and the grass and trees behind them are completely still, undisturbed. their control is disturbingly tight.
“again!” they shriek, relaying every bit of hizashi’s volume, and shota has a sickening thought about the types of bonding activities this kid had in that warehouse. training is playtime, to them.
all the pieces fall into place; the blacked out, confidential police reports, the inability to locate biological parents, the overpowered quirk, the ridiculous level of control for a child, sensei, the other children, the number six. quirk trafficking. all for one. collecting successors. his stomach turns.
he jerks back to the present as hizashi laughs and complies, yelling “HELLO!” again. shota can see the worry and caution seeping into his stance, though. they’ve been together long enough that he knows they’re both having the same thought, because hizashi isn’t stupid, and he’s seen every ugly little thing the world has to offer.
this time the kid doesn’t yell back, just holds out their hand. “wanna see what i can do?”
shota gets ready to activate his quirk, and hizashi nods.
their hand bursts into flame. shota’s hair flies up on reflex, a familiar burn in his eyes. the fire goes out, and a blast of light spirals off of their skin and dissipates into the air.
they all try several times more. [name] sends electricity crackling across their arms, drills a hole in the ground with a push of kinetic energy, makes their whole body glow with light, lifts a rock that no child should be able to lift. not once do they seem scared, not once do they hurt hizashi or break anything they don’t mean to.
they don’t need help managing their quirk. they need an outlet. (they need parents).
—
the years pass quickly; he and hizashi get teaching positions at UA, he expels and re-enrolls hundreds of students, works the streets at night. hizashi runs his radio show and works as a daylight hero and teaches english. they train [first name] every weekend, until the kid occupies the spare room at their house and the cats almost like them better than shota. [name] stays with their foster family during the week, and hizashi says he misses them, and shota wishes he could say different. (he doesn’t).
they watch the way they avoid going to their teachers when they need help, avoid going to their parents, and only ever come to them, shota and hizashi. shota thinks they have issues with trust, hizashi says they have issues with authority. shota worries about what that means they see their mentors as – authority figures they can trust. (it doesn’t worry him at all).
they crush exams and don’t talk to other kids, and hizashi and shota only know this because hizashi tries to make dinner table conversation about the kid’s classes and friends, and [name]’s answers are noncommittal, “i’m near the top of the class, okay?” and “i don’t really have any.” they proudly tell them that they punched someone in the face for bullying another kid. they ricochet wildly from sullen and silent to laughing obnoxiously loud. hizashi worries for their social development, shota tells him that they can’t go to parent teacher conferences, because they’re not the damn kid’s parents. (they are. [name]’s foster parents don’t go.)
they get sick after training some days, staying an extra day instead of traveling by train, just lying in bed while their quirk makes their whole body hurt,because it was cultivated for power, not for compatibility with the human body. hizashi calls their parents, who call the school, and he makes them tea with honey and lemon. shota sits in their room with them and the cats. the next day, after they leave, hizashi will say, “it’s just the weekends, but it feels like we’re raising them,” and shota will say, “we’re not.” (they are).
he teaches them how to use a capture weapon after they beg for months. they’re terrible at it. they keep trying. they get better, and they like heroes in black costumes and they listen to english music, and they want to be just like them, and they’re loud and sharp and sarcastic and competitive and sometimes quiet and kind, and it doesn’t make him cry into hizashi’s shoulder at night, it doesn’t. they don’t have a kid. they don’t. (they do).
—
they want to take the UA entrance exam, and shota wants to throw himself in front of a bus. he tells hizashi as much.
“shota, you can’t just expect them to be a civilian. they want to be a hero.” he’s doing his hair, yelling from the bathroom so shota can hear him from where he’s laying in bed, wondering how much longer he can stay there until he has to get up and go teach the brats.
“it’s dangerous, and they’re a kid, hizashi. kids always want to be heroes, it doesn’t mean they have to be.”
“first of all, they’re almost an adult, UA is a college. and even if you still think of them as a little kid, they have training, two mentors, and a burning desire to save the entire world. good luck stopping them. and it’s not like we haven’t been encouraging them for their entire life by giving them said training!”
“but it’s dangerous!” he sits up and slaps the quilt.
he hears hizashi sigh and sees him stick his head back into the bedroom. “they’re in too deep to stop unless they suddenly hate heroes. plus, we literally teach kids how to be heroes. you literally are a hero. you have no room to talk. none.”
“but those kids are–”
“less well-trained? not our kid?” hizashi raises an eyebrow as he cuts him off.
shota shuts his eyes and lays back down. “fuck.” he wants to go back to sleep. “they’re not our kid,” he adds, as an afterthought. it makes his stomach twist.
“sure,” says hizashi, and goes back to doing his hair.
—
“kid,” you hear aizawa say, and you look up from your homework. it’s a saturday.
“yeah?” he’s standing in the doorway, holding a flat, white box, like the kind fancy clothes come in.
aizawa shuffles in and sits on your bed. he pats the space next to him, “sit.”
you set down your pen and sit next to him, cross legged, in your pajamas, eyeing the box. he puts it on your lap and you lift the lid off; inside is a pile of black fabric, one long, thin strip, with threads of metal glinting in it.
“you’ll need it for the exam,” he says, and stands to leave.
you clutch the cool, heavy fabric to your chest, knowing it’s the ticket to your dream, your chance to prove yourself. “thank you.” thank you for believing in me.
“don’t mention it.” of course, kid.
reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!! ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* main taglist here,series taglisthere. back to gt&h masterpost.
[ID: A digital drawing of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood on a muted green background. Jon is lit with orange with a purple under-light, and Martin is lit with yellow with a teal under-light. Their clothes are all partly tattered and torn, with rips and patches.
Jon is a short, thin, Arab man with brown eyes and brown skin covered in various scars, including a burn across the side of his face that disrupts his beard. He has long, curly white hair half-pulled back in a bun with stripes of black tape coming out of it and a beard to match. He has half-moon glasses on a green beaded chain and a small stud earring, and is wearing a black turtleneck, green sweater, long brown coat, dark jeans with red knee patches, purple boots, and red fingerless gloves. He is holding onto the straps of a brown backpack and looking sadly towards the viewer. His right leg is wrapped in bloody bandages and the pantleg is torn.
Martin is a tall, fat, white man with brown eyes, freckles, a tooth gap, and bright red hair with white streaks pulled into a low ponytail with a beard to match. He has round gold glasses and gold stud earrings, and is wearing a blue sweater, a yellow striped scarf, a light blue denim hoodie, cuffed blue jeans with large rips on the thighs and colorful patches on the knees, blue socks, red sneakers, and blue and red striped fingerless gloves. He’s also wearing a dark grey backpack with a sleeping bag tied to it, and he is looking uncertainly off into the distance holding his hands in a t-rex position. He has a bloody bandage taped to his throat. end ID]
~~~~
kept forgetting about this one. i had started it during my pre-finale-anniversary relisten and just. never completely finished it. here it is. here they are. enjoy the thems
…sometimes I want you to take a look at all the pain in my news or in my insta feed. But more often, I wish no one had ever experienced anything like this in their lives. Hey, lovely people! It’s me again, Anz, Tumbr content creator of SPN fandom. And yes, I’m talking about war in my country again. And I will be, until it’s over. Here’s the question for today: Why we donate?
- To help rebuild infrastructure (both military and civil) - To buy and replace weapons, machinery and armours lost in combat - To buy necessities for suffered from war civil population needs - To rebuild homes, to fix roads - To help our medics save lives…
War costs a lot. We pay in blood.
So… I’m once again asking you to help if you can! This is my PayPal:
I’m donating everything to local volunteer organizations, animal shelters, to my dear friends who help to buy food and deliver it to people in need that are staying in the most dangerous areas (you can check my prev entries, I post donation reports regularly)
Every cent counts, every cent helps to save lives of innocent people.
Thank you
Love you ❤️
This is Demyan from Izum city
You can find details for direct donations to his family in this post:
Oh, but that was a discussion she wasn’t looking forward to having.
She wasn’t sure enough why she felt that way. Anxious, with a strange itch all over her skin and in need of something more than the short breaths that her lungs allowed. But in perspective, one would have to blame the loss of blood for taking a toll not only on her body, but also in the way her thoughts came and go with a feeling of fear attached to them. Fear of what Nadia would say when she found about the circumstances of that accident, of how little and ashamed she would feel having to expose herself like that. If the Countess would love her still or rethink on that very same possibility. All those things that would have been absurd any other day, but that right now was making her go down a spiral of her own making, and to an attempt to fight it by biting her own lips and focus on her lover’s hands treating her leg. On the cold and numb feeling of her own limb, and how very tired she started to feel now that the trap wasn’t torturing her any longer.
Her answer to her instructions limits to a brief nod. Partly because she doesn’t have energies for much more than that, and partly because she can’t understand her full sentences any longer. She feels dizzy, uncomfortable as to how reality decides to stay and leave when all she wants to do is to capture one more word, one more look at her face as she lifts her up in her arms and takes her to safety. But at the very least she thinks she can understand, and that’s why from her lips slides a word she mutters amidst her weakened state.
“Thank you…” Two words in exchange for all the things she wanted to say to her. Of how she’s put in awe with her strength and bravery. Of how, as the world began to turn darker to her, she clung to the sweet feeling of her embrace. And although she felt like she would pass out soon, she felt at peace like this. Resting against her as the race back to the palace took place and Nadia’s horse did its best to take them there seemingly in no time at all.
Soil turns into stone as they reach the city, and the last thing she thinks she hears is Alwa roaring. A loud, exasperated noise when the Palace finally entered her sight, and the guards moved aside to let the four them enter its domains.
Getting Nish back to the horse hadn’t been as challenging as she had expected, since she already knew which path to take (and thankfully still had Alwa by her side to guide her in case she got lost). She was soon back where she had left her horse, and after some careful manoeuvring to ensure that she didn’t hurt her any further, the were soon riding back to the palace as fast as she felt comfortable going while she held her in her arms.
Nadia almost says something in return when she gives her thanks, but she quickly realises how futile it would be to do so, since it was clear that she had all but fallen unconscious at that moment. For now she remains quiet, focusing on making sure that the two of them reached the palace without any further trouble, making sure to check that she was still breathing while she rode on. After what had felt like an eternity, she saw the city coming into view once more, and only a few minutes later, the palace was once more in sight.
Thankfully things had moved rather quickly once they had returned to the palace. The guards had been quick to help move Nish to the infirmary, and after the physician had looked her over and treated her wounds as best as they could while she was unconscious, they had relayed what they had found to the countess. She now sat beside the cot that she was resting on, reading a book in an attempt to distract her from the whirlwind of thoughts that were going through her mind as she waiting for the magician to wake up.
It wasn’t helping much, but it was better than nothing.
Title: the value of protecting everyone (includes you) Fandom:Paperinik New Adventures. Prompt: Bleeding through the bandages. Character(s):Uno & Paperinik/Donald Duck. Warnings:Blood and implied self-harm. Summary: If there’s one thing Uno likes about Donald, is his determination to protect everyone. It turns out to be the thing he hates the most as well.
❝ you need someone. let me be that person. let me be what you need. ❞
Everything in Ella wanted to immediately say no, to immediately shut down that train of thought. To let them know that they were wrong, that she didn’t need someone, she didn’t need anyone, she had been by herself for as long as she could remember. People just disappointed and used, they betrayed.
Ella just didn’t have it in her right now though to argue, having just fought off another panic attack that could have led to a disaster with her powers. Her injuries may heal quickly, but healing them exhausted her. She had no energy left, she was starving, she was sore, everything was fuzzy, and now left raw from her emotions. So instead of replying to their comment, Ella rolled her head in their general direction and offered a glare. She hoped it read as ‘piss off’.
Doing research for my history class and I fucking love this union poster that is trying to say you need to join a union to have better workplace safety standards but instead sounds like a mob boss threatening someone
