Vibe prompts

He knew things didn’t get better for people like him. Knew that the torment he had faced so far was the norm, that he would be lucky to make it to twenty. He knew the statistics, knew how likely it was that he would commit suicide, get killed in a hate crime, get looked over by a hero during a rescue. He knew how society saw people like him. Quirkless people were useless, after all. They were weak, they had no ability to protect themselves with, they were less evolved. Never mind that they healed faster than most quirked people and were sturdier due to the lack of a quirk.

But people didn’t want to hear that.

They wanted to think of quirkless people as useless. Wanted to beat them down, to leave them struggling. They weren’t wanted in a society based around the strength of your quirk, on a hierarchy based solely on what power you were born with. Your character, your drive, your intelligence… None of it was as celebrated or as important as your quirk.

He had hoped that All Might would be different. That he would live up to his image, his proclamations that “Anyone can be a hero!”

He had been sorely disappointed.

The man had been just like the rest of them. The second he had said the word, All Might's eyes had turned to pity, a mostly hidden disgust lurking behind it. He had told Izuku it was too dangerous, even to people with quirks. Had told him to be realistic, to become a police officer instead. As if that was an option, as if they’d even let him into the program. He’d checked- you needed a quirk to even apply. The best job he could hope for was a janitor or some such thing, and even that was unlikely with the amount of quirks that could make work go faster. He had no hopes for his future, no pathways available. He had just wanted this man, the almighty symbol, to give him even the tiniest sliver of encouragement. To live up to his image.

Instead, All Might had crushed Izuku's dreams without a thought, and left him alone on top of a roof. He hadn’t gotten him medical attention after the villain attack, not that they would give it to him anyway, hadn’t taken time to get him to someone who could help him-and that was before the man had learned about his lack of quirk.

He had idolized the man, had seen how strong he was, how many people he brought hope to, and wanted to do the same. To follow in his footsteps, to make people feel safe. Now? He had learned how true it was that you should never meet your heroes, breaking a piece of himself in the process.  

They heard nothing after quirkless, did they? Never mind that he had notebooks and notebooks full of detailed analysis, that he had lists and lists of weaknesses, big and small, for every quirk he had heard of. They would never acknowledge his mind, that he had methods for taking down the strongest villains-and the strongest heroes-without involving any quirks. He wouldn’t even need help, just support gear. He had designs in his notebooks too, support gear both new and improved, better costume designs, anything that he could think of. He’d even built some of it out of whatever scraps he could find, dipping down to Takoba Beach whenever he was in need of supplies. He had prototypes scattered throughout his room, the most refined ones tucked neatly into boxes in his closet.

But they would never see that. They would only see him as weak, as helpless. A drowning kid, someone who couldn’t fight back, even against others his age. Weak, useless, quirkless, Deku.

He gripped the railing, white knuckled. All Might had told him to knock on the door and get someone to let him down. There was no guarantee anyone would come, that he would be heard. For all the man knew, he would be left out here, alone.

He leaned forward, relishing the wind that whipped through his hair. He stared down at the street below, the people scrambling about like ants. So many of them, all going about their days as normal. And to them, it was normal. They hadn’t faced death, had their dreams crushed, and been left like a piece of trash.

He tipped forward a little bit more. What would it be like, he mused, to fall? It would be a rush, adrenaline pumping through his body. He wondered if it would feel like flying, if he would finally be free as he fell. The thought of all of his tethers snapping, of finally abandoning every cruel thing this world had done, had said, was soothing. He felt too calm to be contemplating his own death, to be looking down at the streets below and imagining the mess he would make. Would the people be covered in his blood? Would it soak into the ground and stain the pavement, making a mark so that he would have to be remembered?

If he tipped forward any more, he would fall. He was held there by the tips of his toes, by his grip on the railing. The slightest slip, and he would be dead. His legs were already trembling from the strain, his hands aching.

All he had wanted was a chance at a future. A life beautiful in its simplicity, in how he was able to help people, even if they had never helped him. Being able to wake up to the sun on his face and let himself lie there, soaking it in. To not dread leaving his bed, his body feeling full of sand. All he wanted was a little apartment, and maybe someone who looked forward to seeing him, who would miss him if he disappeared. He had no desire for anything complicated. He just wanted to have a life that made him want to live.

He had known it was unlikely, known the hell on earth that had made up the last decade of his life would follow him as he got older, but he couldn’t help but hope.

And that hope, that tiny sliver he had left, had been completely extinguished. Tossed aside, broken without a care. He could never be anything. If even the number one hero saw him as pathetic and weak, what else could he be?

Finally, the tears came. They spilled over his cheeks; body wracked by silent sobs. They dripped down over the side, landing far, far below. How easy it would be to follow them, to finally give up. Kacchan would be happy he had taken his advice. Maybe he’d get lucky, and a quirk would appear on his way down. Either way it was a win, right? He’d have a quirk, or he’d be gone.

A sad smile overtook his face, salty tears slipping down his lips and into his mouth. He didn’t bother to take off his shoes, to write a note. No one would care anyway; he’d just be another statistic. Another blight on the world, finally gone.

He pushed himself up a little bit higher and toppled over the side. He realized he wasn’t afraid anymore. He felt weightless and floaty, even as his heart pumped audibly in his chest and his stomach squirmed. He closed his eyes to savor the feeling.

He fell for a moment more before a strange cold overtook him. He shivered, unsure why the day suddenly felt so frozen. He opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by a purple mist. Maybe this was death- it was far less painful than he had imagined, he hadn’t even felt the impact of his body hitting the ground.

The area began to get brighter, a tear in the smog opening below him. He tumbled through it, finally crashing onto the ground. It hurt less than he imagined, only stunning him and knocking the air out of his lungs. He laid there, pulling in large breaths. His hands twitched, and he felt the grain of a wooden floor below his fingertips. Above him was a dimly lit ceiling, a bar looming above him and littered with bottles.

He groaned and sat up, coming face to face with two people. One was a boy who appeared to be in his early twenties, with whitish-blue hair and dry, flaky skin, scars all around his lips. The other was made of the same purple mist he had fallen through, wearing a vest and tie over a white button up. He was polishing a glass, sitting attentively, a strong contrast to the boy, who was laying backwards on a chair, holding a small game system in his hands, pinkies outstretched.

Perhaps the weirdest part of this was the hand sitting on the armrest next to the boy, which neither seemed to be paying any attention to. He was barely able to pull his focus away from it as the mist man began to talk.

“Apologies for pulling you through so suddenly, but I couldn’t let such a promising young talent go to waste.” His voice was smooth and well regulated, expressing just enough emotion to not be completely robotic. He set the glass down and stood, walking over to stand next to Izuku. He offered the boy a hand, pulling him up and motioning for him to follow.

He was sat down at a table near the other boy, kicking his feet nervously and fighting the urge to run. The mist man set a glass in front of him, and he took a sip. Izuku realized how thirsty he was, the apple juice refreshing and cold, essentially chugging the rest of the glass. The mist man chuckled, sticking his hand through a portal and pulling out a jug, pouring Izuku another glass as he sat down across from him.

“Now,” he said, interlacing his fingers and leaning forward slightly, “we have a proposition for you. How would you like to get revenge on all those who hurt you?”

Izuku tilted his head, eyes darting between the mist man and the other one. The mist man noticed this, calling out to the younger.

“Shigaraki Tomura, come greet our guest.”

The boy groaned, putting his game down and shuffling over, collapsing into the chair furthest away from Izuku. He waved mockingly, wiggling his fingers in Izuku’s direction.

Probably a five finger touch activation, Izuku thought, considering how he held his game and the emphasis on them. Probably something dangerous, that was definitely meant to be threatening considering the way the mist man looked at him. It’s likely something involving dehydration or disintegration, considering the state of his skin. I wonder if-

The mist man chuckled, the other perking up a bit. “That is excellent analysis, and why we wished to talk to you. One of our… associates stumbled upon this,” he held up Izuku’s burnt journal, “and thought that you’d catch our attention. Which you have.”

“Oh, it’s not much. And that one’s a bit of a mess…” He trailed off, face flushed. He hadn’t had anyone compliment his work before. People normally thought it was creepy that he knew so much about them and their quirks. He’d been called a stalker plenty of times, even though all of it was just gathered from searching the internet and normal observations.

“If this is a mess, I’d like to see your normal work. It could be very helpful to our cause.”

“And what is that?”

“To remake society,” the teen, Shigaraki, said. His voice was raspy and crackled a bit, as dry as his skin- more evidence of his quirk being something along the lines of disintegration.

“Heroes are liars, they say they care but they don’t. Society idolizes those idiotic people, they can get away with anything. It’s disgusting.” Shigaraki snarled, hands clenching. Izuku found himself agreeing with him, even if he was a bit uneasy about where this was going.

“Your analysis would be of great help. We could make society a better place, destroy the idea of villainous quirks, the entire hierarchy of hero work. You would be well taken care of if you joined us, you’d be safe and respected here.” The mist man had a soothing voice, and Izuku felt himself liking the idea. However…

“I’m quirkless,” he whispered, barely a breath of sound.

“We know.” Shigaraki said, scratching absently at his neck.

“You… don’t care? You think I could be useful anyway?” Hope welled within him. Even if this was suspicious, as he had the sneaking suspicion that these people would easily be classified as villains, the idea of finally having a place-a future-was too tempting to resist.

“Why would we care? You have the skills that we need. You’re a good supporting character, and we need to up our stats.” Shigaraki leaned back in his chair, rocking back and forth.

“Then… Yes. I’ll join you.” He couldn’t say he had never considered being a villain. He knew that they were generally more accepting of those with quirks that didn’t fit the expectations of the rest of society. He had designed his tools and strategies for hero work, but with slight modifications they would work just as well for villainy. And if he could have a place, have people who cared for him, if it gave him a purpose?

Well, that was all he really wanted, wasn’t it?

Shigaraki grinned, scars around his mouth stretching taught.

“Welcome then,” he said, “to the League of Villains.”

Months later, they attacked for the first time. Izuku had told them that they needed a better team, that they should wait until after the sports festival so that they knew what the students were capable of. Shigaraki had wanted to try and kill the heroes, but Izuku had convinced him that it would be better to take the students, to slowly erode trust in hero society. Killing them would just turn them into martyrs, and wouldn’t contribute to their main goal. Shigaraki had begrudgingly agreed, although he sulked in his room for a couple of hours afterwards.  

Their team was well rounded, although he had rejected some of Shigaraki’s possible recruits. They needed sane, reasonable individuals- or at least somewhat sane. Shigaraki’s suggestion of Muscular and Moonfish were vetoed, replaced by a girl who called herself Void, and her partner Infinity. Izuku had allowed Mustard to be brought into the group, but insisted they stay in the base once he had learned that they were younger than he was.

Overall, they had the whole thing planned. The heroes didn’t suspect anything, completely unaware of the chaos that would descend upon them. Izuku looked up from his phone and grinned, although it was more bared teeth than a genuine smile.

“They’re going through a trial tonight, they’ll be split into groups and scattered throughout the forest. Goodness, I know I’m a Gen Ed student, but they’re so idiotically trusting.” His voice was fond, a distinct contrast from the coolly interested tone he usually had when discussing the hero class.

He handed out pictures to each of them, all with their target’s name written on the back in red ink.

“Try not to damage them, or I will be very displeased. Otherwise, have fun, but don’t get caught. Push your emergency button if you need Kurogiri to give you a quick escape.”

The mission went smoothly, ending with nine students with their hands cuffed in front of them. One was gagged, his screaming and cursing irritating Toga so much that she had stuffed a rag in his mouth to muffle him. The others were quiet, trembling slightly as they stared up at the group of villains that had brought them here. They startled as the door creaked open, revealing the last two members.

Bakugo yelled louder as green hair came into view, hurling insults as Izuku laughed.

“Awww Kacchan, let’s not struggle too much. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself and ruin your chances at becoming a hero.” He smiled brightly at the rest of them, who were looking at him in horror.

“Sorry about tricking you guys. I was genuine about wanting to be friends, but I won’t say that you haven’t been helpful in other ways. Right now, however, Kacchan and I are going to have a little chat. I think you all deserve to hear it too, so just listen for me, alright?”

They had no choice but to sit there and listen as Izuku told his story, and their anger over his betrayal began to turn into anger for him. They had never thought much about quirkless people, but how he was telling it… well, it was more of a horror story than a childhood.

When the heroes came to save the students, the only one they found was Bakugo. He was physically untouched, but his face was streaked with tears. His eyes were glassy and dull, his spark gone. Even as they removed his cuffs he was silent, his brash nature and overwhelming personality absent. He was, in a word, broken.

He said nothing for months, barely moving. The remaining members of his class tried to help, but there was little they could do. He showed no emotion, no response to anything. They’d taken to leaving the television in his room on, and leaving him to stare at it blankly.

So, when they heard manic laughing, they rushed up to his room. They found the T.V. turned to the news, where the Hero Commission was going up in flames. Bakugo was laughing so hard that tears were running down his face, hands sparking and popping against the ground. His laughter continued as the camera zoomed in on a group of figures running from the building. It was clear that they were happy-some were holding hands, and all of them were laughing.

Among them were their lost classmates. The Bakusquad was running together in a small group at the front, Yaoyorozu and Hagakure behind them, hand in hand. Todoroki followed them at a more sedate pace, Shinso and a green haired boy next to him, chattering away. The class recognized him immediately, and suddenly knew how the League had always been one step ahead of them. After all, they had a perfectly planted spy. A quirkless boy who would never be seen as a threat, who everyone felt comfortable around and spilled their secrets to.

Midoriya turned to the camera with a bright smile. He could smell smoke, feel the heat of fire on his skin. The building crumbled behind them, heroes running towards their groupF from the other direction.

And life had never been so horribly beautiful.