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Prompt Playground

Chapter Text

Chapter Index

Chapter 1-- Eye Contact Pt 1 (All Might/Reader)

Chapter 2-- Feel My Wrath and Extreme Self-Doubt (Todoroki/OC)

Chapter 3--"Shadows of the Heart". The prompt: "Hey, do you want to help me and Robin resurrect Bob Ross?" (Teen Titan/Justice League One Shot)

Chapter 4--"Taco Bell and Angst"--Axel tries to convince Asher to go to Taco Bell. (Kingdom Hearts)

Chapter 5--"Are you a bad person?" "Depends on who you ask." Jacob Frye/Reader

Chapter 6--"Wanted Dead or Alive." "How About Undead?" Trevor Belmont/Male Reader

Chapter 7--Mizushima Aiko, a water base side kick in training, finds a kitten in an alleyway. Weak and barely clinging to life, she knows she needs help to take care of the little one and the only person she can think that can help her is her ornery neighbor, Shota Aizawa.

Chapter Text

Prompt Playground

(aka Where My Prompts Go to Be Read So I Can Get Them Out of my Head)

By ThroughtheMirrorDarkly

Eye Contact Pt 1


The railway soared seamlessly along the tracks, with the occasional jostle here and there. Normally, you avoided public transport like this, the enclosed space making you feel stuck and trapped. Your heart was as fast as a hummingbird’s, rushing and thumping against your ribcage. It didn’t help that a lot of creeps ended up showing up on subways, using the crowded enclosed space to harass unsuspecting victims or worse. You never liked being touched and had your quota on dealing with such harassers filled for the foreseeable future, thank you very much. Sometimes, you wished your quirk was impressive or fierce to make people not dare to mess with you.

Instead you had one of the worst quirks in the entire universe and no, it wasn’t an exaggeration.

When strong emotions as embarrassment, attraction, anger or the like would overcome you, your face would turn slightly red and steam would literally blow out of her your ears. It left you looking like Popeye the Sailorman after Olive gave him a big smooch on the cheek, and every time it happened it made you want to crawl into a hole and die. And no, you didn’t constantly blow steam out of your ears during intimate moments. That was an intrusive and vulgar question you received all the time. All through school to college to—well, you still got bothered with it. Those harassers you had enough of? Male co-workers who thought it was fun to joke about your quirk and after you had turned a particularly nasty one done when he asked you out, you had been given the nickname, “Choo-Choo Train.” And rumors soon followed implying that you were a slut willing to let anyone “ride”. It was insulting, and made you feel ashamed and vulnerable.

You had tried to suck it up, do your work even as the whispers followed you about endlessly. However, the sexual harassment got steadily worse, making you wish you hadn’t kept your head down and meekly tried to get by. You wished you had been loud and brash, and maybe then they would have backed off. It wasn’t until a co-worker followed her into the restroom and tried to hold you down, one shoving his hand up your knickers and tried to touch you. You broke his nose in retaliation and slammed his face against a mirror, to defend yourself.

And you were the one that got fired.

Bitterness still coated the back of your tongue over the unfairness of the situation. You felt helpless in your life and work, you couldn’t use your quirk for a job purpose so you were considered on level with quirkless people. The lowest on the society totem pole and while “equality” was preached about like it had been achieved, you has always been glaring aware that it had not. So now you sat feel like a trapped and wounded animal on the transit, caught in despair over each interview that seemed as unsuccessful as the last, desperate to find a new job. You didn’t have so much money in the bank that you could afford to sit back and relax, and your anxiety felt like it was sky rocketing with each passing second.

You smoothed out your jacket and fixed your scarf, using it as a barrier to hide your face from other passengers with earplugs in and with Alex Clare blaring in your ears, you tried to fight down the knot of emotions that swelled white hot in your throat. “Just a little bit of sweetness to dull the pain,” you whispered the words, as a litany with the last bit of hope inside your chest put into those words and suddenly the subway jerked to a halt. There was a loud thunderous noise that reverberated like a shockwave, rolling from the front part of the subway down all the way down it. You pull your ear buds free and like all the other passengers looked around, wary and worriedly.

In a time of heroes and villains, civilians like yourself ended up in the crossfire of a lot of battles. Just last week you had nearly been set on fire when Endeavour fought a villain. The boasting hothead seemed not to take notice of civilians when his eyes were on a villain. You rose out of your seat, your head phone dangling from around your neck and you had a sick sensation fill your gut. You had a bad feeling that you needed to get off this subway train, and fast. When more shockwaves rattled down the line and became more frequent, you voiced this thought, “We need to get out of here.”

And then you saw the glint of fire in the distant. The subway was on fire. You knew now you definitely needed to get the doors open, and everyone needed to get out. You rushed to the doors and tried to see if there was any emergency way to open them. The other passengers started to freak and many joined you, trying to pry the door open. You were shoved and slammed against the metal, you bit back several curse words as they rose into your head. When two men had managed to get the door open an inch, you asked a nearby man to borrow his cane. He handed it over without argument and you shoved it into the gape and shoved with all your might. It was difficult to get the leverage when people were crowding you, but somehow you succeeded. The door slid open, and the people poured out like a fountain. Some ran away immediately, other stayed to help the elderly and children out of the subway train.

You were one of the last few that got out, rubbing your upper thigh that had been trampled on by another person. You dropped down onto the tracks, and tried to give back the metal cane to the gentlemen. He refused, stating, “Other carts have people that need to get out. Please help them.”

You watched him, hobble off with the help of another passenger and stood rooted there to the spot. Help them? Your mind screamed. You weren’t some hero. You couldn’t go charging into the fray and save people. Yet your heart gripped tight in your chest, hearing the distant screams of other people. You turned and could see people thrashing about in the cart ahead. Gnawing on your lower lip, you found yourself rushing found with expletives falling off your lips. You made it to the cart to see them trying to pull the door open, much like you and the passengers in your cart had moments before.

You yelled, “Hold on!”

“There’s someone out there!”

“Please help us!”

You felt beads of sweat roll down your forehead, and you shoved the cane into the door frame. You grunted with the effort of trying to shove the doors open. Inch by inch you forced the doors to slid, and with the help of the trapped people, eventually you got them all the way open. You stumbled off to the side, barely managing to get out of the way before they stampeded past you. Your breaths were coming in fast and burning gulps, almost like you were choking on wet sand. You trembled from head to toe, and just wanted to flee with the rest of the people. But your feet dragged you forward to the other cart once the cost was clear.

You could see and feel the heat off of the flames now, and could hear a lot of screaming. There was stench of burning flesh and blood that burned your nostrils, and you could see movement beyond the flames. You think it is heroes trying to help. At least, you hope it is. You shoved the cane through the door, it takes enough effort to make your shoulders burn with exertion. Everyone inside is coughing and hacking and your pulse throbbed in the base of your throat. Panic splintered down your spine when you realize that these people are suffocating to death, breathing in the black smoke and ash that coats the air so thick that it was starting to make it harder to breath. The flames snaked further along the cart, and you felt your breath hitch with fright. You glance at the flames out of the corner of your eye, and you swallow the whimper that rose sharply inside of your chest.

You readjust your grip on the cane, your hands were slick with sweat. “Shit!”

You pulled back, leaving the cane wedged into the doors. You quickly strip off your jacket and used your scarf to wipe your hands and the cane off with. Coughing violently, you step forward again and start shoving the cane. The doors gave a low metallic creak, barely budging. You gnashed your teeth together, and growled, using all the strength you had in you to push. Suddenly the cart doors slid open, with a force all their own. You fell forward, knees smashing into the concrete below and you caught yourself on your elbows to prevent your face from suffering the same fate. The metal cane clanged to the ground in front of you, and you look up puzzled.

You see that all the doors on the subway have pulled open, and realized that someone must have gotten to the controls. It was a miracle that they still worked as the fire seemed to have devoured and demolished a good part of the railway, but you weren’t above counting your blessings as they came. You awkwardly stumbled to your feet, and you saw a few people weakly drop out of the cart. “Hurry,” you encouraged, voice raspy from the smoke inhalation. “Hurry.”

The people ran, trying to keep low to the ground to avoid breathing in more smoke.

You were about to follow when a voice called out to you. A weak, trembling voice and you turned to see a young teenager—probably only 13—trapped and pinned by a pole that had fallen down in whatever cataclysm that happened inside of the cart. You reached forward with the intent of getting into the cart when a tendril of black smoke wrapped around your ankle, and formed into a solid hand. Your heart slammed into the back of your throat, and you were suddenly jerked back, thrown against the concrete wall without mercy. You felt your whole body ripple with the shock and pain, and slumped to the ground bonelessly.

Out of the flames and fire, emerged a volcanic looking man. You recognized him as the dangerous villain called “Vulcan”, and your mind literally feels fractured by the sheer amount of fear that you feel in that moment.

“Someone has gone and let out all my little hostages, and it appears they have a little helper,” Vulcan spoke, sparks and embers floating out of his mouth with every word. His eyes were red and burning, hotter than the seven circles of hell. His skin was charred and cracked, with veins of orange glowing underneath. “The gall you have to interfere with my plans, and not even a noteworthy hero, just a little citizen playing pretend.”

His hand around your ankle, sizzled and heated. “Burn!”

You screamed, the blistering pain tearing through you as swift as lightning. Tears poured down your cheeks and your clawed at the hand, trying to bat it away. Vulcan chuckled, darkly and his other hand reached upward, groping your upper thigh. It burned through the fabric of your jeans, and you thrashed violently, sobbing. The pain was too much. You had never been in so much pain in your entire life. You felt vomit rise up in your throat, and you could hear him laughing. Laughing how he was hurting you and branding you like you were a cattle.

You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You weren’t certain that this was the end.

And then suddenly Vulcan was gone. Off of you. The smelt of charred flesh and the burning pain remained, but he was gone. You hiccupped, tears streaking down your cheeks. Your mind felt fuzzy and light-headed with relief, and you could barely make out the outline of a figure standing before you. He was ginormous, a mountain of a man with a booming voice that said: “It is fine now! Why? Because I am here!”

You saw blue eyes—so warm and powerful—staring down at you with kindness and compassion, a jaw set tight with determination to not let anything else bad befall you. A smile so bright that nothing could extinguish it, and a number of emotions rose up in your chest because of those blue eyes. You didn’t know, but you weren’t strong enough to pinpoint just what you were feeling. Only that the second your eyes connected with his, a calm wave washed over you sliding from your head to her toes. (And maybe a little steam coming out of your ears but in this heat and as out of it, you weren't sure if it was really you or just smoke.) Despite the pain, you believed him and the conviction of his words in a way that you probably wouldn’t have ever believed from anyone else. The last thing you recalled was slumping over sideways, and replying in a voice so soft that it made a whisper seem like a scream, “Oh…that’s nice.”

And then darkness.

Chapter Text

Feel My Wrath and Extreme Self-Doubt
(Shōto Todoroki/Original Character)

Students stood all around underneath the canopy of cherry blossoms, the petals were serenely falling with the gentle wind and an utter contrast to the tension in the air, drawn tight like a bowstring. I could hear Izuku trying to play peacemaker, and felt his hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off. I ignored the wounded look aimed my way by the green haired boy and kept my dark blue eyes focused on the object of all my ire.

“You had absolutely no right!”

I was going to make Bakugo Katsuki pay.

He thought he was the hothead worth worrying about, but there’s no wrath so powerful as one that simmers and seethes until it boils over. I couldn’t believe the bastard, but it shouldn’t be so shocking. His complete disregard for his classmates such as myself, and the brash way he would shout and tirade over everything. And he made my life absolutely miserable. While Midoriya Izuku was his number one punching bag, I had the “privilege” of being his back up punching bag and all because I was his cousin by way of his mother. I wasn’t in Class 1A, but in Class 1B, so I was spared his bullshit mostly during school hours.

Except today that is. Today he decided to cross a line, and this slight could not go unchallenged.

I could feel the sweat gather on my palms, and urge to give Bakugo a taste of his own medicine. I, Hisakawa Satsu, swore this upon my ancestors. (No, I don’t care if I am being overdramatic and I don’t care if he shares some of those ancestors! If we ever did meet our ancestors, I am certain I’d be their favorite anyways!) I bit my inner cheek so hard to reign in the impulse to utterly obliterate his face, because while I would rather choke on hot coals to admit out loud is that while we both inherited the quirk, passed down from our grandfather to both of our parents, Katsuki’s was far more powerful. So giving him a taste of his own medicine would backfire on me, no pun intended.

But I inherited a mixture of quirks from both of my parents.

“Give it back now, Katsuki,” I demanded, my tone laced with venom.

“Or what?” Bakugo smirked, smug and arrogance radiated off of him in waves.

Lightning danced upon my fingertips, I felt a malicious feeling grow in my heart and right before I could smite him right off the face of the planet. And then I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and a feeling of dread overcome me when my quirk stopped working. Oh, shit, I craned my head to look over my shoulder to see none other than the hero known as a Eraserhead, or more commonly known as Mr. Aizawa around the school.

His eyes were glowing red, and his hair had lifted up ever slightly. “That will be quite enough of that,” he stated, his tone sharp and filled with a hint of exhaustion. Judging by the yellow sleeping bag, he had just been on his way to take a nap or had just awoke from one so he was not in a good mood. Not that I ever seen him in what one would call a good mood. “Satsu, you know the rules against attacking other students, especially with your quirk.”

I felt shame replace my anger in a split second. My lightning quirk was unstable and could be dangerous. Like stop your heart dangerous, if I put enough force into it. Could I have been able control it with how angry I was? I really didn’t know, and Mr. Aizawa knew his reprimand had worked, so he stopped using his quirk to erase mine. His dark eyes flickered over to Bakugo who was still smirking, enjoying the show. “Bakugo, you know the rules against taking another person’s personal property. Give Satsu back the journal right now.”

Bakugo’s face immediately fell into a scowl, at getting in trouble, too. He huffed, and looked away, tossing the copper leather book to the ground carelessly. I growled, lunging forward and picked up off of the ground with haste. I dusted it off, and flipped through the pages to make sure there wasn’t a single thing missing or out of place and that he hadn’t defiled the book where I wrote down all my secrets. About my anxieties and fears, the highs and lows of battling with maniac depression and the greatest and most embarrassing—at least to myself—was the crush I had been harboring on Todoroki Shōto.

Was it possible to ignore him? Even if you didn’t like him, he had a presence that few other boys around this age did. He was always calm, collected, and unfailingly polite from what I seen. The only time I had ever seen him get rattled or angry was when one student dared to compare him to his father, and that hadn’t been pretty. Ever since the sports festival, he had been warm and started friendship with some people, including Izuku. And I had been friends with Izuku, so I had become an acquaintance to Shōto. I had been too anxious to pursue a friendship, afraid that my eagerness would give away my crush and if Todoroki knew of my crush then I would never been able to look him in the eyes again.

I looked up with a spine tingling fear and saw the malicious glint in my cousin’s eyes, the way he looked over my shoulder at Todoroki who stood with Izuku, Iida and the rest of my peers. I knew it before he parted his lips what he would say, and I felt utterly rooted to the spot unable to stop or defend from the latest attack that Bakugo threw at me.

“It was a crappy read anyways. All Satsu writes about is the Icy Hot idiot. Guess he has a new fangirl to add to his collection,” Bakugo sneered, then turned on his heel and walked away.

I could hear the gasps, the chuckles, and the feel the looks pinned on me. I felt my lungs seize like two hands had reached into my chest and squeezed every ounce of air out of me, and I clenched my jaw tight against the mortified sob that welled up inside of me. Tears started to burn my eyes when Prince Belly Button decided to start singing the “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” song, and I clasped my journal tight to me as if it were a shield. I rose to my feet, my knees knocking together unsteadily. I didn’t want to look behind him. I didn’t want to see the look on Shōto’s face, but as if pulled by strings of an unseen puppeteer, I turned my face towards him.

His snow white hair, with a patch of red on the right side was tossed slightly by the wind. His mismatched gaze was widened, and the handsome planes of his face froze with shock. It made my stomach clenched uncomfortable, and a cold sweat broke out along my skin. The next thing I knew I was running away as fast as my feet could carrying me, leaving all everyone in the dust. For a few seconds, nothing happened and then all the girls’ eyes turned to Bakugo with gimlet eyed stares.

Bakugo glared back at them. “What the hell is your problem?”

The girls descended upon, circling him like vultures.




“I DON’T NEED TO APOLOGIZE FOR ANYTHING!” Bakugo snapped, furiously. His palms out at his sides, ready to start attacking at any given second. “BACK OFF OF ME YOU HARPIES!”



Aizawa wordlessly got out of his eye drops, and put one in each eye before stowing it away his pocket. “It’s going to be a long day,” he sighed, and stepped towards Bakugo and the girls ready to tear him apart before the boy could give into his more violent impulses.

I had ended up on a bench, just outside of the UA walls. I could see the guards at the gates, sending worried glances my way. After the incident at the USJ, I supposed I could understand their worries, but I was too lost in my own head to even care. I had the worst habit of going through stuff in my head—all my fears and doubts—and let them revolve over and over on repeat, unable to put them to rest. And this moment was no different, with my journal sitting in my lap clasped in a knuckle-white grip. I reprimanded myself for leaving it out in the open. I should have known that Bakugo would have seen it as opportunity to humiliate me, and I knew he had been too subdued at the family dinner the other evening.

There was an impulse to ring up my aunt, but I hated doing that. I wanted to be treated like an adult, so I should be able to take care of my own problems without running to the nearest adult for help. I sniffled, wiping away the tears off my cheeks knowing I problem looked horrid like I was the crypt keeper or something just as repulsive. Brushing my bangs out of my face, I huffed and told myself, “Stop being a crybaby. It’s not the end of the world.”


I winced at the sound of his voice, and glanced up at Todoroki with a miserable expression on my face. I felt ashamed, embarrassed, and so many other things that rattled inside of me like hornets. Oh, God, why can’t it be the end of the world so I don’t have to face him? I thought with more than a little mortification. I felt myself pale upon the sight of him, and nearly swallowed my tongue when he requested to sit down. I nodded, a little helpless at what else there was to do.

There was a long pause. The air wasn’t what I would call unbearable awkward, but it certainly wasn’t comfortable. I sat there looking at his striking profile before I averted my eyes. The last thing I wanted right now was to be caught checking him out and add a whole new level of discomfiture to the situation as it stood.

“Were you afraid?” Todoroki asked, suddenly.

“What?” I gaped at him, unable to understand what he meant.

Todoroki turned towards her, a very serious and grim expression on his face. “Were you afraid of how I would react if I found out about your feelings for me,” he stated, his heterochormia gaze bore into me with an uncomfortable intensity. “Is that why you kept your distance?”

“No!” I looked up at him, startled by his words. I could almost see what his fears were. I didn’t know a lot about his relationship with his father only that it was bad—abusive bad, though Todoroki had never come out and said that. My father became a foster parent after he retired from the hero business, and I had seen how my foster siblings—ones that had been through abuse of all kinds—treated their surroundings and people. I could see some of those mannerisms in Todoroki, though I never spoke up about it which made me feeling horrid. But I doubt my word would do much against his father who had influence aplenty even if he was the Number 2 hero. “No, it wasn’t like that at all! I just,” my eyes darted back down, cheeks flushed with heat and hands clenched into fists on my lap, “I just didn’t want to be another person that took or expected something from you.”

Shōto looked at you like he had never seen anything quite like you before.

“You are such a good and honest person with a bigger heart than you let on. So many people come to you and expect to gain something by being friends or more with you. People who want to use you to gain favor with your father, or girls and boys that want to date you to gain popularity,” I explained, hurriedly and rushed. I wanted to salvage this somehow. I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable around me, just because of a silly crush. I swallowed the knot wedged in the back of my throat, and I continued, “I didn’t want you to think I was like that so I… I kept my distance. I just wanted to be a sort of friend, one that you could rely on without worrying about what conditions came with it.”

He swallowed, looking away.

“I…” Each breath pulled up through my chest like my insides had been rubbed raw by sandpaper. “I don’t expect you to be nice or pretend to be my friend now, to spare my feelings. If you feel uncomfortable then—”

“I don’t.”

I whipped my head to look at him, surprised.

“I don’t feel uncomfortable around you. I never have,” he elaborated, a hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth. His eyes softened now along the edges, just a minute change in his expression that I was able to notice. “I hated what Bakugo did, intentionally hurting you like that, but I’m glad to know your feelings.”

“Y-you are?”

“Yes. I never pushed for friendship with you because you…seemed so shy and nervous. You are very private person, and I didn’t want to cross your boundaries. I know how important they are to you.”

It was like having my world tilt off its axis, hearing these words out of his mouth. Todoroki wasn’t a person to just make up things to make a person to feel better. He stated the truth as how he saw it, and that was one of many traits that you found so admirable. “Really?” I asked, genuinely baffled. It never occurred to me that Todoroki was being mindful of my idiosyncrasies and anxieties so that’s why he never approached me as he would Izuku or someone else. I did have heavy boundaries, walls that I kept up to keep people out. I created them after how people tried to take advantage of my father and I when my mother passed away. She had been killed by a villain, leaving the shadow of the legacy of the hero of BrightBolt behind.

Todoroki let out a soundless chuckle. “You have no idea how much I’ve come to admire you, do you?”

“You…admire…me?” I said, my voice high-pitched with disbelief.

“You are there for people. The way you listen to them and their problems, allow them time to think out loud and don’t judge them. You let them be whoever they want to be which is more rare than you know,” Todoroki spoke, a wistful tone in his voice. “You are resilient, headstrong, and incredibly kind.”

I let out a little snort of amusement. “I don’t think that I’m really all that you think that I am.”

“You also have a terrible knack for underestimating yourself,” he added, with an eyebrow arched.

“Everyone has flaws,” I replied, with a light laugh. I only seconds later realize that this is probably the most normal conversation that I have ever had with Todoroki, one on one that is. I gnaw on my lower lip, and nervously run my palm across the leather bound journal. “I guess we should get back into the school before the teachers come after us. I don’t know about you, but Mr. Aizawa is scary.”

Todoroki smirked. “He can be intimidating.”

The two of you rose up off of the bench, and Todoroki paused, a distant and thoughtful expression on his face before he told you, earnestly, “I’m not sure what I can be for you. I know that you have feelings, but I…”

I understood that, even if it was a bit painful. We didn’t know each other well enough to jump into a relationship just because my crush been outed, and I honestly wouldn’t like that kind of thing. I was past the age for fleeting fancies, and wanted to put real effort into relationship now. A good foundation for something that could last didn’t just come out of nowhere, and it couldn’t be fabricated. This wasn't some fairy story or instant love, after all. Life didn't work that way. “I think we could both use another friend, don’t you? After all, you are a good listener, too and I could use a friend who listens. How about you?”

Todoroki smiled. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

“Shadows of the Heart”

Teen Titans/Justice League One-Shot

“Hey, do you want to help me and Robin resurrect Bob Ross?” Beast Boy asked, his expression earnest and eager. A bit of drool leaked out of the sides of his mouth where he couldn’t fully close it thanks to the gauzes shoved in there. He had just had his wisdom teeth removed three hour prior to his, and still hadn’t completely worn off the medicine. His blinked his bleary eyes every so often, his head bobbing tiredly. The medicine was the only reason he was getting out of a severe punishment.

Others, however, would not. You glanced over at Robin with thinly veiled disapproval flashing in your mercury colored eyes. “Did you tell him that you wanted to resurrect Bob Ross?”

The Boy Wonder shifted, nervously on the balls of his feet and studiously avoided your gaze. “Maybe,” he said, with a light shrug. “It was only a joke.”

“Correction, it was just a joke,” you stated, voice hard and sharp with reprimand. The scarring on the left side of your face twisted as your face pulled into a scowl, and you folded your lone arm over your chest. You glowered down at the embarrassed teen superhero. “Until Beast Boy got ahold of Raven’s grimoire—” you let your gaze flicker over to the gothic teen sorceress who looked equal part appalled and mortified by all that had happened before you turned back to Batman’s protégé, “—and now we have Dr. Fate and Zantanna trying to stop a horde of zombie Bob Ross look-a-likes from sacking art stores and killing people with paint brushes.”

“Poor Bob Ross, this ain’t no way to honor his legacy,” Cyborg said, shaking his head solemnly.

“Don’t even,” you hissed, giving him a look. “Don’t pretend you don’t have a hand in this, either. I know for a fact that Beast Boy is in no condition to be running around on his own, and you can’t get me to believe he somehow managed to bypass the code lock on Raven’s door on his own. The only one of you Titans that isn't in trouble is Starfire and that's only because she's off world and isn't here to cause any.”

Cyborg blushed, and ducked his head bashfully.

“How were we supposed to know he was going to get Raven’s book and do this?” Robin demanded, sullenly. He may have had a mask on, but you could sense the unmistakable challenge in his gaze.

“Because he is your teammate, he is your friend. You know how he is on a normal basis let only when he is on medicine so strong it makes him loopy. He hasn’t even—” You stopped, glancing at Beast Boy who watching your hand gestures a little too intently for your liking. “What?” You asked, defensively.

“How do you clap?” Beast Boy asked, genuinely worried.

“I don’t,” you flushed, embarrassed. It wasn’t the first time someone had spoken about your lack of limb, though it was probably the first time it had been mentioned with a genuine and innocent curiosity. There was no malice or derision in his tone or face, unlike other commentators that you have faced since the “incident” that took your arm from you happened. He was lucky that you could tell he wasn’t being mocking, otherwise he would be in a world of hurt and you would have a lot of paperwork to explain just why you decided to beat up a teenager. You had no desire to see Superman shaking his head at you like a disappointed parent.

“That’s so sad,” Beast Boy said, chin quivering. Big, fat tears welled up in his green eyes and he seemed devastated for on your behalf. “I’ll help you clap! I’ll help you clap whenever you need to, okay? Okay?” He held up his hand as if expecting a high-five from you, and you just sighed heavily.

You reached out, giving him the high-five in efforts to stop his tears. It seemed to have an opposite effect, and in the end, you ordered Cyborg to take him to his room and watch him. Once the hysterical animal-shifter was out of the room, you turned back to the other two teens and continued, “He hasn’t quite come down from the high of the medicine and anesthesia. I am well aware that families often pull pranks on each other when they are still recovering from surgeries like this one, but you have to acknowledge that you aren’t just another team or another family. You are people who are very talented, but also have access to very dangerous items and more. A joke can become something much more devastating very quickly.”

“Raven, you have to ward your book better. I know that you didn’t consider Beast Boy’s shape shifting when you created your wards nor that Cyborg would help him break the sanctity of your room in order to go through with this…joke,” you said, the last word scathingly. “For your punishment, you will go work along Dr. Fate who will train you better in the arts of ward casting, and you will help him with any missions as he sees fit. I expect you to be on your best behavior, understood?”

Raven nodded, without argument. Not that you expected one. The young girl had grown close and saw you as a mentor over the last few months, and has shared the secret about her father to you. The source of her powers was not one to play around with, so she was taking this very personally as though it had been her fault alone. You would have to take her aside and explain that she should not shoulder the fully burden of this, it had been many circumstances that led up to the nightmare that Jump City was currently undergoing.

“Robin, you—”

“Let me help Dr. Fate and Zantanna,” Robin cut her off, jaw clenched tight.

Your eyes narrowed into slits. “No.”

“If I am to make this right—”

“They have the matter in hand, and Batman arrived just minutes ago to lend a hand,” you told him, icily. “You are staying here and grounded for the seeable future, Robin.”

“What? You can’t do that!”

“Do you think I’m stationed here to be your maid? Your nanny? My job is to watch you and the other Titans backs. To make judgment calls when needed and to supervise you until such a time that you are responsible to handle this on your own,” you stated, your voice sharp like the crack of a whip.

“We are responsible!” Robin argued back.

“All evidence to the contrary,” you retorted, hand clenched into a tight fist at your side.

“We don’t need some failed hero—”

“That is quite enough,” a deep, gravelly voice interrupted Robin’s intended insult and made the three occupants of the room turn. There seemingly appearing out of the shadows was Batman, who marched across the room with lengthy strides. “Shadow Hart,” the Caped Crusader greeted, “how is Beast Boy?”

“Suffering no apparent knock off effects from the spell, though I will have Zantanna do a more thorough examination when she returns. I take that you being here means that the demented Da Vinci’s have been handled?” You commented, your tone suspiciously light. You didn’t say anything about Robin’s words, not the way that they had impacted you.

You understood that this wasn’t an ideal situation. You hadn’t wanted to spend your days monitoring and mentoring young superheroes. You had wanted to be out there on those streets making a difference. For a time, you had been a force for good. You had been the hero, Shadow Hart, and had made a name for yourself. You hadn’t been as famous as Superman, Wonder Woman or Batman, but you did what you could where you could. You had the ability to manipulate shadows and even travel through them at will. Sometimes, you wondered if you had never met with the Justice League upon Zantanna’s request and if you hadn’t started working alongside of the famous the heroes, if you would have attracted the attention of the madman, Hugo Strange.

Strange was on a quest to make super powered soldiers. He had been kidnapping people with powers for years to see if he could figure out how their powers worked, and reproduce them in people of his choosing. In an attempt to save innocent children from being turned into weapons, Shadow Hart had been captured and Strange kept you drugged, beaten and tortured—too weak to escape until he made a specific collar that dampened your umbrageous teleportation. The blinding light all around the room, that left no speck of shadows big enough for you to utilize and left in weakened down state, you were virtually helpless.

You fought back. You fought tooth and claw every day, against the beatings and torture. Barely clinging to life, Hugo Strange decided to clip your wings so to speak and cut off your right arm—your dominant arm—in order to punish you. He had you sit in the room while he dissected it for any scrap of DNA that would further his super soldier progress, and had the gall to praise you for your contribution to his research. It had broken something in you, your time spent there until you couldn’t function properly. You couldn’t use your abilities anymore without having a panic attack, a product of being hurt after every attempted use during her imprisonment. You couldn’t uncross the wires inside your pain that equated your powers with pain.

You spent seven months in Hugo’s care until Batman saved you. You wonder if him offering you this job is out of some kind of misplaced guilt which only made the situation all that much worse. You weren’t sure you wanted to be here, but you felt that through these kids you could still do some amount of good. But what teenager wants a person monitoring them every day? The Teen Titans and this Tower were meant to be a way these younger heroes could prove themselves and earn a little bit of independence out of their mentors’ shadows. They wanted to take responsibility for themselves and their lives, but they weren’t getting the free reign that they hoped for.

“The last of the zombies were vanquished, yes,” the Bat replied, with a slight nod of acknowledgment.

“That’s good,” you heard yourself, voice faint to your own ears. “Since you are his mentor, I’ll let you handle this.”

You turned and left the room.

You just needed to get out of there, and remember how to breathe.

You were alone for about a half-hour, maybe longer before the shadows around you hummed with warning, and you sensed Batman before he even walked out onto the rooftop. He approached you, every step sure and measured. He had a confidence about himself that you always envied, even when you pretended to have all the answers and life figured out. Now you wished to have one single ounce of the confidence he had, and maybe you’d be able to get through the day unscathed.

“I apologize for Robin’s words. He crossed a line with what he said.”

“He’s pushing boundaries. He’s a teenager, that’s what they do,” you shrugged, looking very tired and feeling older than you were. “I remember my own days of rebellion, and I was a hellion that drove my parts crazy, especially when I came into my powers.”

“Still, he should know better than that,” Batman was not about to let his protégé’s behavior slide.

You sighed, raking a hand through your hair. “He shouldn’t have said what he said, but me storming away out of the room the way I did wasn’t exactly the height of maturity. I don’t know why you thought I was the right fit for this job. If I don’t have thick enough skin to handle a teenage boy’s comments then how the heck am I supposed to deal with them on a daily basis, let alone teach them anything?” You asked, feeling the self-doubt rising inside of your chest like shards of glass. The sensation moved outward with each breath until pain seemed to reverberate through you from head to toe, and you looked up at Batman with a hollow look. “I don’t know what you expect of me. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Are you looking for my advice?” Batman asked, archly.

Before the trauma you had gone through, you wouldn’t have gone to anyone for anything. You were too stubborn and headstrong, determined to deal with your problems on your own. Now you didn’t feel strong enough to stand on your own. “I guess I am. You…you listen. You don’t say things unless there is a reason to say them. You don’t offer well-intended, but ultimately meaningless advice. You are probably one of the wisest people I know, and right now I could any scrap of wisdom I can get,” you told him, looking out across the skyline as the first sign of dawn started to creep along the horizon. The wind up here was cool and chilly, but you could barely feel a thing with the coat wrapped around you so tightly.

Batman stood there, for a long time silent and contemplating. He turned away from you, his gaze following yours towards the horizon and he let out a mute sigh. “People think it's an obsession—a compulsive need or an irresistible impulse to act that drives me to fight for the soul of Gotham. It has never been like that. I chose this life, and I know what I am doing. And on any given day, I could stop doing it,” he stated, voice soft and carried on the wind. “You aren’t like me. I know your background, your history.”

All the air is driven out of your lungs by his words, but you dare not interrupt—out of fear, out of need to hear more, you weren’t sure.

“You can’t help, but want to fight, to thrive. You have this need to defend and protect. It’s not just a choice to you, but something as vital as breathing,” Batman continued, with his arms folded over his chest. “Do you really think you can walk away from that? From trying to help forge a better world, in any way you can?”

You sat there, with hands shaking and eyes downcast. “I can’t be a hero. I can’t even use my powers without thinking about—” you cut yourself off, not about to go down that vicious rabbit hole of pain. You swallow thickly, and let out a deep breath. “How am I supposed to teach these kids? How I am supposed to help guide them for the future? I’ve seen what happens when a hero messes up, and seen the price it costs. How can I sit there and knowingly let them go down the same past? I want to help people. I want to help the world. I just don’t if I’m the right role model or person that should be watching these kids’ backs. I don’t trust my own judgment anymore.”

The Dark Knight didn’t turn around, but you had a feeling he was exasperated by you. “Do you know why choose you out of anyone else that the League could have posted at this job?” He asked, in the rhetorical sense. His body twisted towards you, and his cape billowed dramatically in a way that made you seriously think it was bewitched to do that. “Because of what you been through, all of it not just what happened with Hugo Strange. You would defend and protect them with your last breath if it came down to it, no matter what fears you have. You wouldn’t let them go into danger unless you were sure they were making the best decisions they could, and you’re not so close to them that you can’t be objective when it comes to making tough calls if need be. You can give them something vital to helping them grow, and I think that you could come to find something that you think you’ve lost by working with them.”

You opened your mouth, but no sound comes out. You felt like your soul had been lain bare, and if you said one would that you would completely shatter. You stared at him, eyes widen and root to the spot unable to move.

“You think yourself unworthy, broken because of what Hugo did, but you never consider this,” Batman told you, as he passed where you sat. “Being a survivor doesn’t mean always being strong, sometimes it means relying on others. Allow others to help you and remind you that you aren’t alone in this world; that you are worthy of friendship, compassion, and more. You are worthy of being a hero, and you deserve a place amongst us, even if you don’t believe that right his moment.”

You felt tears steam down your face, and you ducked your head to hide them away. He disappears silent into the night—er, well early morning darkness, and leaves you there to your thoughts and feelings. You sit there for what for feels like forever, and the same circular argument played into your head until your rose up to your feet. You took in a deep breath, holding for several heartbeats before you let it out. You were screwed up and you were a hot mess, but Batman was right. You could stand by when you knew you could do something, and despite all the doubts and anger that still resided inside of you—the hard moments just like this one that would surely come down the line, you knew that you had to try.

If for nothing else, then just for a place to belong.

Chapter Text

Taco Bell and Angst

Alternative Title: Don’t Cry For Me, Burrito

an Kingdom Hearts prompt

Asher Potts was a Keyblade wielder, having studied underneath Master Yen Sid for the last eight years. It happened after she was in Hawaii on vacation with her family, she had met an alien named Stitch and his owner (technically more like sister) Lilo who were being attacked by shadow like creatures. A rose gold keyblade with an art deco style, with sharp edges that glistened and pulsed with light appeared and she had awkwardly finished off the creatures. Afterwards, Asher was confronted by Maleficent who wanted a keyblade wielder to help her capture seven hearts of light. Asher had known it was wrong to help Maleficent, felt the wrongness pouring off the sorceress that chilled her down to the marrow of her bones.

Maleficent had laughed—that cold, high pitched laughter—at the sight of short ten year old, with thin and wry limbs and knobby knees that stood up against her. The old witch had warned Asher she would regret not having joined her, and in the next week, Asher had woken up to the smell of smoke. Green flames ate away at her family’s home, and she had crawled through the inferno, trying to reach her mother and father. She could still feel the burn of embers that seared down the back of her, and the tears that rolled down her cheeks because of the smoke. She remembered burning the palms of her hands on the door knob, trying to pull it open to no avail. She remembered the embrace of darkness, and no more.

She woke in the care of Master Yen Sid, whose magic had barely saved her in just time. He had worn down the wards that prevented an escape from the magical fire that Maleficent started, but by the time that he had gotten through the dark spell, Asher had been the one barely alive. Her parents had passed away, died from smoke inhalation. Covered in burns, Asher had a lengthy recovery ahead of her—both emotionally and physically. It had taken four years for her to fully recover and become an efficient fighter with her keyblade, and finally Master Yen Sid sent her on a quest to find a box—a special box that held something important to the future of the worlds, though he did not elaborate any further and Asher trusted him enough to know that he would tell her more in time.

She had found reports from someone called , and various clues that seemed to lead to dead end after dead end. There was a time when Sora became known as a Keyblade wielder that she had helped him along in his quest against Ansem, and then reunited with the group two years later when she suddenly remembered him. Apparently, Diz (the real Ansem) had put him into a machine and in order to restore him, Namine had to take all the memories people had of him and put them back together. She wasn’t entirely clear on the whole process, but that year—that was grueling to say the least, with nobodies and heartless—had kind of led up to the situation she was in now.

Namely, babysitting Axel—former nobody turned Keyblade master.

Her armor was silverite chainmail, hidden beneath a velvet blue outer robe, embroidered with golden leaf patterns. She tightened the straps of her gauntlets, and gave the pleading red head a gimlet eyed stare. “We are not returning back to earth,” Asher Potters told Axel, with a slight huff.

The former nobody turned keyblade master kept his moniker from his organization XIII days, instead of going back to his birth name, Lea. Master Yen Sid had assigned them together as a team, but Asher really believed he just wanted eyes on Axel just in case. Not all the nobodies that had their hearts returned were on the side of light, so they had to be treated with caution.

“Why not?” Axel demanded, with green eyes narrowed.

Asher placed her hands on her hips, and cocked her head to the side. “Do you not recall what happened last time?” She asked him, rhetorically.

Three months ago, Axel and Asher had ended up on earth to help a group of toys—as if life couldn’t get weirder and Asher had a whole new spring of issues, like guilt about all the toys she had broken and thrown away as a child—and protect their owner, Andy. Apparently, the heartless were after the boy’s pure heart. There had been a school bake sale (where they had killed the big heartless drawing the others to the sleepy small town), and at some point Axel had gotten ahold of some questionable brownies. He had upped and disappeared, and Asher had found him about two hours later in front of the local Taco Bell, with a burrito in his mouth and him sitting on the train kiddie ride outside of the fast food place. He was trying to shove munny into it to no avail, and had a police officer staring him down with a reluctantly amused expression. “Sir,” the officer said, as Asher approached to diffuse the situation, “that’s for children only.”

A bit of magic to make the police officer more open to suggestion, Asher had talked their way out of trouble and hightailed it back to the gummi ship, dragging a high Axel all the way.

Axel looked away, his cheeks turning pink with a blush. He raked a hand through his spiky hair, with a sheepish grin on his face. “It was an accident?” He said, glancing up at her with a hopeful glance.

“Accident or no, we aren’t repeating the experience any time soon,” Asher told him, with a lofty brow raised. “Besides, I’m pretty sure we landed on the military’s radar when we landed last time.”

It was a little worrying. Gummi ships had the ability to shrink down to palm size so Asher wasn’t concerned about them finding the ship, but it wouldn’t take a lot of effort to ask about any strangers who seemed out of place, especially in a small town. In a bigger city, they’d probably go unnoticed for the most part. Still she’d rather not go back to earth unless absolutely necessary.

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun,” Axel waved his hands, dismissing her fears. “Besides, don’t we deserve a little reprieve after dealing with Ursula’s emo younger sister?”

Asher grimaced at the mention. Morgana, Ursula’s sister, had kidnapped Ariel and Eric’s newborn baby to use as ransom for Kind Triton’s trident. With team work and quick thinking, Asher and Axel had saved the baby and put the seawitch out of commission. While under the sea, the people were quite lovely and nice, it still was a pain to swim underneath the ocean and fight tons of heartless. Asher had never been much of a swimmer and having a fin didn’t change things up.

Axel was sort of right. They did deserve a break after that.

But Asher was sort of…leery of letting Axel dictate things. She had OCD and her anxiety made her need to be in control constantly. So, when she had lapse in judgment a few weeks ago, she had been hardcore trying to ignore Axel as best as she could. They had decided to chill in the living area of the ship, after helping clear out some heartless for Jack and Sally in Halloween town. Made popcorn, cracked a few jokes, watched “Crimson Peak” and someone had fallen asleep together. Asher had woke upon lying on top of a snoring Axel and her mind made her crash head first into the fact that she was deeply attracted to the red head, even though she had fought against those feelings and tried to see him as a job only.

Her feelings…they felt out of her control, so she did what she did best. Clammed up and focused on her mission, instead of the bond growing between her and the former nobody. “You are driving me completely and utterly mad.”

“It’s in the job description. I mean, literally,” the cheeky red head stated, pointing to the bulletin board where Asher had taped a paper listing all his qualifications for this job. It had been an exercise to help Axel see where he needed to build up his skill in certain areas, like trust and communications after he nearly set her on fire when he got too eager in battle. She had the last bit that he cited in retaliation to his sarcasm. “You wrote it right here.”

“I was being sarcastic!”

“So?” Axel said, with his signature grin.

“Don’t smile at me like that,” Asher pointed a finger at him.

“Why not?” Axel broadened his smile, leaning forward ever so slightly. “With this smile, I can get away with everything.”

“Not with me it doesn’t. It may work on Aerith or Kairi, but your smile doesn’t do anything for me whatsoever,” Asher declared, her cheeks turned a bright pink.

Axel chuckled, the sound deep and low in his throat. “Something tells me, you protest too much, princess.”

“Don’t—Don’t call me that,” Asher hissed out. “I’m not some fragile flower or delicate princess that was locked away in a tower.” She jabbed a finger in his direction when he opened his mouth, and annoyance flashed through her eyes like lightning. “The time I was hurt doesn’t count! Now, you need to give up and stop pursuing this—”


Asher stopped short of finishing her tirade. His voice had been quiet and very somber that it had taken her aback, and she stared at him with rounded eyes. He rarely acted serious, rarely had such a solemn look in his green eyes and his expression was stoic. It was like he realized there was something more to her vehement arguments against going to earth, or perhaps, he had always know, but was trying to be subtle with his jokes to prod for answers.

“I know that you don’t like going to earth because it reminds you of your parents.”

Asher shifted on the balls of her feet, and glanced away from him hurriedly. “That’s not—” she choked on her words, feeling her throat close up.

“No, it’s not all of it,” Axel agreed, with a dip of his head. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since we fell asleep together on the couch because you’re embarrassed about so vulnerable with someone who just a year ago was your enemy. No hard feelings, I know that the trust between us won’t be built over night and that we both have a wealth of issues that we have to sort through. But the whole avoiding earth thing? It’s about your parents. Even before the Taco Bell incident, you’ve always hesitated going back to earth.”

Asher felt uncomfortable bare in that moment. Her eyes were filled with shock and hurt, glistening with tears at how easily he had seen to the root of her problem and how easily he put it right out there in the open like they were merely talking about the weather.

“I’m not going to push you to speak about it. It’s your pain and your hurt, but I will say one thing…you can’t let the bad things be all that you remember. There are good memories, too, and your parents would want you forget the good things,” Axel told her, with a sad sort of smile on his face.

Asher felt tears slip down her cheek, her eyes downcast and she found her shoes extremely interesting in that moment. There were several moments that she was too choked up to say a word, that she wrestled with her emotions and then finally she sniffled, reached up to wipe the tears away. She looked at Axel and arched a brow. “Are you banned from all Taco Bells, or just that Taco Bell?”

Axel smirked.