#hero stories
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you’re my hero!
bnha doomed yuri was not on my 2024 bingo card
(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)
#my art#artists on tumblr#digital art#fanart#bnha#boku no hero academia#mha#my hero academia#togachako#ochako uraraka#toga himiko#a snack for the og bnha followers if any of you are still here#really liked the lines on this one so i tried to go easy on the rendering#which has been burning me out lately#thankfully theres a cure for that (silly doodles)#no idea whats going on with the story though#like wdym bnha is ending???#I literally started watching as a high school freshman its been going on forever#i did hear abt the togachako storyline so this is a product of all the bits and pieces floating in my brain#doomed yuri my beloved#just girls supporting girls (ft incredible violence)
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The Unforgettable Story of Ethan: A Three-Legged Hero's Courage and Sacrifice in Willowbrook
A man named Ethan lived in the quaint village of Willowbrook, nestled among rolling hills and serene landscapes. Ethan was unlike any other in the town; he was born with a third leg. Though some initially viewed him with curiosity and even pity, he became an integral part of the community, his unusual limb symbolizing resilience and strength. The village cherished its traditions, and none was…
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#dungeon meshi#Shuro/Laios/Kabru are all mirror images of each other representing different takes on stereotypical heroes in fantasy stories#and the similarities they all share both draw them together and constantly put them in friction with each other#bone chatter
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take responsibility.
#i am always thinking abt anya and how she is simultaneously central to the story and kept out of focus by jimmy's pov#eventually culminating in this scene where everything is about her and yet she herself does not -- cannot -- appear#the way the scene immediately ends with polle's question there -- the revelation that jimmy won't accept.#he is confronted with the truth and turns right back to the story he wants to tell himself where he's the hero#mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#curly mouthwashing#swansea mouthwashing#daisuke mouthwashing#my art#uh. feel like this probably could use some content warnings (besides you know. the game itself being its own warning) but idk what#so. ask to tag i guess
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Katsuki Bakugo who has a FAT crush on reader. Who he hardly sees around.
You're a healer mainly, so you're in general courses and train with Recovery Girl on the side. He only sees you when you're with Shoto Todoroki, your half sibling. (Endeavour had an affair and failed to get custody after some things were exposed.)
You met at a family dinner, Shoto dragging him and Izuku along. Bakugo took a liking to you, liking how sharp you were. Cutting into any detail while everyone waiting for your next word. Bakugo tried to respect Shoto, not wanting to cross any boundaries. But god, did he want you. You were everything he wanted in a person and more-
So after graduation he spent more time injured than not. Making you joke about him doing it on purpose. Eventually you realized that actually was the case. So with a little pushing, he finally caved and forgot about his friendship for Shoto entirely. Focusing on the way you felt against him instead.
Lmk if this is interesting! I'll write a story for it or something!
#brothers best friend#one of my many ideas for a story#bhna x reader#mha x reader#boku no hero acedamia#mha fanfiction#my hero academia x reader#Katsuki Bakugo headcannons#my hero academia fanart#my hero acedamia#my hero academia fanfiction#boku no academia#my hero academia#mha#x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bnha bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo mha#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugo#katsuki bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#bakugou x reader#bnha bakugou#mha smut#fluff#simpee yaps
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Danny's human form ages like normal, but his default form as Phantom is still the 14y/o he was at his time of death. Luckily he can change that with concentration, since his ghost form is malleable. But he has to a) have the time to enact the change and b) consciously maintain his form. His superhero colleagues don't know he's half alive, so he's typically got his adult ghost form firmly in place before they meet. While fighting a powerful enemy, Phantom's concentration slips and he reverts to child form. Doesn't matter, it's just aesthetics and the enemy is what's important. He’s equally strong in his 14 y/o form. Except, his colleagues are very concerned to “discover” that their teammate is a child who has been lying about his age all this time. So now Danny has to figure out how to convince them that he's just looked 14 for over a decade now, or bite the bullet and show them all his secret identity. Preferably before they demote him to a team of teen heroes, or he gets forcibly adopted.
#Heroes: we must protect the child#Danny: I'm almost forty. I've got a mortgage guys#danny phantom#phanfic#fanfic prompt#story prompt#could be Danny is a member of the Justice League#or this could be any other crossover#your choice#dp x dc#dpxdc#dc x dp#justice league
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pjo/hoo/toa + the cycle
The Lightning Thief / Growing Sideways, Noah Kahan / Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan, Ilya Repin + Saturn Devouring His Son, Goya + Saturn, Rubens / The Blood of Olympus / The Family Jewels, MARINA / The Last Olympian / The Sea of Monsters / The Family Jewels / Orestes Pursued by the Furies, Bouguereau / The Hidden Oracle / Apollo and Marsyas, Manfredi / In The Blood, John Mayer / The Sea of Monsters / The Combat of Ares and Athena, Jacques Louis David / The Family Jewels / Mark of Athena / The Combat of Ares and Athena / The Lightning Thief / Family Line, Conan Gray / Cronos and Rhea, Schinkel / The Lightning Thief / The Blood of Olympus / In The Blood / The Last Olympian / Chronos and His Child, Romanelli / Desireé Dellagiacomo / The Lightning Thief / Family Line / The Fallen Angel, Alexandre Cabanel + The Last Day of Pompeii, Bryullov / The Blood of Olympus / The Outcast, Botticelli / Glass, Irony and God, Anna Carson / House of Hades / Family Line / The Last Olympian / The Lament for Icarus, Herbert Draper + Sacrifice of Iphigenia, Roman School + Minerva and Arachne, Houasse + Venus Induces Helen to Fall in Love with Paris, Kauffmann / The Last Olympian / Hadestown / The Lightning Thief / apple, Charli xcx / The Last Olympian / I Would Leave Me If I Could, Halsey / The Sea of Monsters / ? / LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK, Lavery and Corrigan / The Last Olympian / Eat Your Young, Hozier / The Last Olympian / Orpheus and the Bacchantes, Lazzarini / The Blood of Olympus / Susan Smith, wych elm / Orpheus and the Bacchantes / The Burning Maze / ? / The Tyrant’s Tomb / Perseus Freeing Andromeda, Veronese / Abduction of Psyche, Bouguereau + Bacchus and Ariadne, Van Loo / The Tower of Nero / The Tower of Nero / The Tower of Nero
#I didn’t put the cycle ends here picture because I think this whole ww implies it (also it’s overused and I already had too many overused#quotes here)#but fun fact for those interested: the four paintings are meant to represent horrible things the gods have done such as Iphigenia’s#sacrifice demanded by Artemis and Aphrodite essentially starting the war of Troy#The Bacchantes painting was bc I couldn’t find a painting of this one story where a mother participates in the worship of Dionysus and ends#up killing her own son which you know. That’s the cycle etc etc#and the of course Perseus & Andromeda (the one hero that was happy) and Cupid & Psyche and Dionysus & Ariadne (which are considered to be#happy endings for two Greek lovers)#enough yapping#web weaving#pjo hoo toa#lester papadopoulos#percy jackson#annabeth chase#jason grace#luke castellan#frank zhang#hazel levesque#reyna ramirez arellano#clarisse la rue#trials of apollo#percy jackon and the olympians#tw graphic#tw blood
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lololol
#mha#my hero academia#bakudeku#bnha#izuku midoriya#bakugo katsuki#bkdk#katsuki bakugo#midoriya izuku#izkt#mha izuku#bkdk my fav horror story#I can’t fathom this#free me from the confines of my mind which endlessly loop scenes of these two
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✦ Cockroach ✦
#own art#own characters#CanisAlbus#art#artists on tumblr#Vasco#Machete#comics#anthro#sighthound#dogs#canine#animals#modern au#immoral-majority#are you implying Vasco isn't a big hunky hero#I think he'd go for the pacifist route and just take it outside#you can't kill a bug by dropping it from a balcony I don't think that's possible#my comics are ~riveting~#I guess it's just nice drawing them doing the most mundane things that serve no story purpose and have no punchline or anything#inconsequential slice of life stuff#dropping bugs from balconies#Machete is more afraid of horses than cockroaches
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The Crimson Clown's Threat - art by John A. Coughlin (1931)
#john a. coughlin#the crimson clown#pulp art#johnston mcculley#pulp heroes#detective story magazine#the crimson clown's threat#1930s#1931
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everytime somebody talks about the big three kids and excludes thalia and hazel an angel loses their wings
#justice to my girls!!!!!#thalia matters more to the story than jason or nico#thalia grace#hazel levesque#jason grace#nico di angelo#percy jackson#pjo#heros of olympus#hoo#text
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The Parade Day Bandits
Harrison, a young boy with a mop of unruly hair, was not yet old enough to attend the local school with his siblings. For that, he was delighted. The thought of shuffling off to a gloomy classroom with many kids making noise and a teacher telling him what to do was a nightmare. He’d rather be where he was, in his dad’s bustling barber shop, sitting high on the shoeshine chair overlooking the men…
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#barber story#Bed time#Bed time story#Bedtime story#blog#children story#clean stories#hero stories#LGBTQI#parade#short stories#short story#stories#story#story tellers#story telling#story time#story writer
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cw: pro-hero bakugo, reader has boobs, kind of explicit/nsfw? idk i describe boobs, reader is smaller and shorter than bakugo, unedited sawry
bakugo's muscle tee looks as ill-fitting as it'll ever be draped over you.
there are reasons for this, perfectly founded and logical reasons for why that is—the main one being that, it's, well, his; two, maybe even three sizes larger than what it should be to fit you properly.
but, he can't stop staring, and there are reasons for that too—the main one being that, it's his, and yet, the only way he can ever imagine it now is when it's being worn by you.
your hips sway to the song you've been humming for the past five minutes. it's the same one, the chorus on a perpetual loop. he's sure it's the only part you know; you do this often enough that it's the only part he knows now, too.
the hem of his tee hits right at the top of your thighs, concealing just enough to tease, but he’s confident that if you reach up even the slightest bit for the cupboard overhead, there'll be nothing to hide.
he feels a little bit like a creep like this, watching as he stands in the middle of your shared living room, but it's impossible too look away—you've got to be doing this on purpose, right?
heat flares inside of him when you turn your body ever so slightly, the armhole of his muscle tee large enough to give him the clearest view of skin—
he gulps.
it's smooth, sloping just right; the side view of your under boob curves into its perfect shape and he can imagine it, feel—
(is this considered perving if he's been with you for years?)
the pan in front of you sizzles as you plop in god knows what. you pour in something from the side and wait, one hand propped on the hip you pop out. then, you pick up the pan, attempting to flip what's inside (probably a pancake, now that he thinks about it).
it’s hard to focus on what you’re cooking though, especially when all he sees is plump flesh jiggling, bouncing as you further agitate the pan.
he just got the pants of this suit readjusted, and now they're fucking tight.
bakugo normally runs hot; it’s kind of part of his dna. but this warmth is different, flushing him from head to toe. it creeps up the side of his neck, painting the tips of his ears a blooming red.
you turn around then, plopping the pancake on the plate atop the counter behind you.
"oh! you're done," you greet him with a smile. so. fucking. casually.
as if your tits aren't fucking peaking against the gray fabric of his tee.
as if you think he buys the fake innocence poorly concealing that sly, conniving look in your pretty eyes.
as if you aren't standing in front of him in his muscle tee, wearing nothing underneath it like you didn’t do this on purpose. like you don’t know what it fucking does to him.
his eyes squint suspiciously, deep vermillion staring straight into yours.
you tilt your head, the tips of your lashes kissing the top of your cheekbones as you blink. you reach for a bottle of honey.
“everything okay?” you ask, voice syrupy, sickeningly sweet.
your movements play in front of him languidly, the corner of your lips curling up slightly as you smirk. honey catches on your finger as you pop open the bottle cap.
he’s supposed to be out the door in five minutes if he wants to make it in time for a meeting at the agency. technically, he should already be there if he wants to keep up his track record of consistently being fifteen minutes too early.
but you start to approach him, rounding the kitchen island. there’s a narrow space between him and the slab of marble, but you slide into it like it was made for you.
he’s certain it was, from the way the tip of your nose brushes against his as you tiptoe. your tits are right fucking there, brushing against the skintight material of his suit.
there’s too much fucking fabric if you ask him, between cotton and spandex.
your grin widens, and he feels hot, the heat from his cheeks radiating.
then you whisper, still saccharine, “breakfast is ready,” before kissing him on the lips lightly. a short peck, soft in the way that promises more before you slip away, giggling in your retreat.
he huffs, watching you leave. his feet shift as he thinks.
five minutes, huh?
like hell he’s going to eat these damn pancakes for breakfast today.
#bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bnha x reader#mha x reader#ALWAYS GOING TO PUSH FOR THE BKG CLOSET PERV AGENDA 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#he HAAAAAAAAATES that he feels this way BUT LIKE ALL HERO STORIES START WITH: his body moves on its own 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️#he tries to restrain it sooooo hard#but i think when youve been together a while something shifts in him#he still gets flustered!! still gets so hot and embarrassed about it!!! but i think he grows comfortable#with the idea that he /can/ act on it. that it isn’t shameful if he does.#so i think the big difference between a pining bakugo and being in a relationship w him#esp a long term one#is the fact that his reactions are still very much the same#but his actions become more proactive when he feels more secure in the relationship#and i adore the idea of a reader who loves teasing him for it#who looooves pushing his buttons#who looooooves seeing how far they can take it#and it's all fun and games and he's blushing and everything when you do it#but he gets you back so good for it. SOOOOO good. oh my god.#ok bye this was my brainrot at the gym today#rated#shotorus.bubble#bnha#katsu
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Next page
#altta main story#altta#a link through the ages#loz fancomic#loz#the legend of Zelda#hero of legend#ravio#altta link#altta ravio
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See, Katsuki Bakugo asks you on a date. You're beyond shocked. You're in general studies and have hardly run into him, only seeing him when you met up with Shinso. And he asked you on a date. In front of everyone. Not only that but he continues to asks you on dates, one after another, constantly parading you around campus. He's even nice over text, never wanting to call, but he doesn't have an issue spending time with you.
So after three or so months, you go and confess. You wanted more after all, it's just been dates but by now you're dying for an actual relationship. Things were probably already offical on his side any way-
"Huh?"
You blinked, "I said I liked you Bakugo, and I want an actual relationship. Titles and all, you know?" With his face just scrunching more, you continued, "God you probably already think it's a relationship, huh? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"You like me?" he cut you off.
"Obviously?" you peered up at him.
He shuffles how he was standing, crossing his arms, a confused look painted across his face, "We were just dating to get rid of the fuckin' rumors. I thought y'knew?"
Color drained from your face, "Oh!"
---
THE ACTUAL FIC
#one of my many ideas for a story#bhna x reader#mha x reader#boku no hero acedamia#mha fanfiction#my hero academia x reader#Katsuki Bakugo headcannons#my hero academia fanart#my hero acedamia#my hero academia fanfiction#boku no academia#my hero academia#mha#x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bnha bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo mha#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou katsuki#bakugo#katsuki bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#bakugou x reader#bnha bakugou#mha smut#fluff#simpee yaps
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The Hero and Hope
Based off a world where everyone gets a Destiny they must fulfill. Bakers and Demon Kings (x) and Villagers (X). You? You are a Hero.
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You are a Hero.
Nobody at the orphanage knows. The mark sets during the worst winter in three decades, when the windows have to be barred to prevent snow spirits from ripping them to shreds and the Director takes half the reserves and runs in the middle of the night.
Sarah, the only caregiver left in the rickety building, holds as many of the kids as she can while the snow spirits scream outside. You’d love to be in the circle of her arms, but you’re holding the door shut with as much strength as your eight-year-old arms allow.
She doesn’t tell you to get away from the door.
“It’s alright,” she says, voice trembling. Her brown hair, matted from the months indoors, hides her eyes. She croons to the younger kids like a bird, so softly and gently that you have to strain to hear it over the howling demons and roaring winds. “We’ll be okay. Our land’s Lord will send a Hero, you’ll see. We’ll be okay then.”
Your arms burn as intensely as your eyes. A Hero. Your stomach aches from hunger and your fingers sting from the cold. You aren’t sure how much good you’re doing keeping the door closed, but there’s something deep inside of you that tells you you must do something. The blows from the snow spirits outside vibrate up your arms, nearly throwing you back.
Heroes, you think, only matter if they show up.
Hope is traumatic. Eight-years-old and you’ve been returned from potential families twice. Three days ago, you found the beginnings of greenery in the woods behind the orphanage. When you excitedly raced back to tell the others that winter was ending, it was only to find the Director and most of the caregivers gone with a significant portion of the rations.
Then the storm clouds rolled in.
So that long, dangerous night, you don’t hope. You shut your ears to Sarah’s gentle comforts and the snow spirits’ shrieks. You focus on the burning in your arms, the blisters forming on your heels, the cold nipping at your fingers.
Hope is traumatic but trying is something you can do. You put your small body between all of the horrors outside the door and the other kids. You try to stand firm.
You don’t notice when the burning in your arms hides the arrival of a telling mark on your left bicep.
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You are fourteen years old, one year shy of coming into your power, when a couple visits the orphanage intending to adopt.
Sarah is now the Director of the orphanage, awarded the position by the land’s Lord after that terrible winter six years ago. She’s different than she was then. You lost three kids to hunger before spring finally came and she held each one in their last moments.
You and Sarah never develop the close relationship she has with the other kids. But she always makes sure you have more meat in your meals than most and, when you hunt in the woods, you always let her decide how the food will be divided between dinner and winter stores.
“We’re Knights,” the potential adopters tell the Director. They’re a couple, a man and a woman with dark hair and muscular bodies. “Retired. We’re settling just north of here for good and are looking for a suitable child who can follow in our footsteps.”
Director Sarah looks at them coldly, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands over her stomach. If she notices you and two of the younger kids peeking through the crack in the door, she doesn’t say anything. “I apologize, Mr. and Mrs. Bahr, but it seems there’s a misunderstanding. We do not pair children with families based on their Destiny.”
“We’re not saying you do,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her gaze is cutting though her shoulders are relaxed. “Our Lord explained before we came. However, there is no rule against asking the children their Destiny, is there?”
Loophole. You pull away from the crack in the door, letting Hera and Josiah take your spot. You lean against the wall with your eyes closed. Orphanages aren’t allowed to disclose Destinies, but that’s where the protection ends. If someone sees a child’s Destiny or learns of it through some other means, that’s alright.
These people aren’t here to adopt because they want a child. They’re here to adopt for a guarantee. A guarantee of what remains to be seen. An heir like they claim? A prodigy for status? Or a weapon for them to control?
You listen for any other clues behind their motives, but the Bahrs don’t push the issue of Destiny again. They accept Director Sarah’s schedule for meeting the kids, even offering to host a picnic day at their estate as a treat. The couple wants to gain trust, you can tell, and by the end of the meeting it’s working.
Director Sarah sees them off to the door herself.
“We’ll wait for the invitation,” she says. She’s older now, her thin brown hair showing the beginning signs of going grey. But her handshake looks strong when she shakes Mrs. Bahr’s in farewell. “I’m sure the children will be thrilled.”
“I hope so,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her husband nods to the Director gravely, but Mrs. Bahr lingers. “I’m sorry if we came off a little…forward when we mentioned Destinies. Please believe me when I say that my husband and I aren’t so shallow. We are looking for a child – one we can call our own.”
“I see,” Director Sarah says. There’s a hint of warmth in her voice. “As I said, we look forward to your invitation.”
Mrs. Bahr nods and joins her husband in their carriage. They set off down the road without once having asked to meet one of the children on the first day of their introduction.
You can tell Sarah likes them.
“What do you think?” Sarah asks. She doesn’t turn from the road, even though the Bahr’s carriage is out of sight. “Isla?”
You don’t ask how she knows it’s you lurking in the shadows of the orphanage. Director Sarah is a Guardian. Her senses are elevated when it comes to those under her charge.
“I don’t think anything,” you say. You step out from around the corner with a sigh. No use hiding now. “They’re influential people if they were recommended here by the Lord himself. We’re fortunate.”
“You’re the right age for a Knight’s apprenticeship,” Sarah says.
“Hera hasn’t shown me her Destiny, but it’s probably something suitable,” you say. Hera is ten, one of the older kids at the orphanage. Last summer she lifted Josiah, only a year younger than her and already a head taller, out of the well before he could drown. “You should talk to her about what being part of a Knight family could mean.”
Sarah looks at you over her shoulder. The setting sun catches in her eyes, turning the warm brown into an unearthly amber. “I hope you can accept the possibility they might choose you.”
They won’t. “Aren’t I needed here?” you ask.
Sarah’s expression softens. “You are, Isla,” she says. She weighs her next words carefully. “But I am the one who’s responsible for all of you. I can take care of everyone. If the Bahr family is a good fit…”
“Sure,” you say flippantly. You shove your hands in your pockets and slink back into the orphanage. You don’t dare hope. “I’m going to help Josiah.” He’s on dinner duty tonight. He always cuts the onions too roughly. “See you later.”
You feel Sarah’s eyes on your back like a physical warmth.
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Being a Hero doesn’t change anything about you. You expected it to when you first noticed the mark but, even six years later, nothing���s different.
You aren’t kinder. When Josiah asks for your dessert, you steal a bit of his as punishment for even asking. When Hera asks for a bedtime story, you tell her one so scary that she has to sleep with one of the other girls. When Sarah asks you to fix the fence around the chickens, you whine and complain that you’re the only one who does anything around the orphanage.
“The curse of being the oldest,” Sarah says dryly. She hands you a hammer and a bucketful of nails. “Some posts were dropped off at the end of the lane. Make sure you’re back by sunset.”
Maybe you’re a little stronger than others. You can drag three posts at once and could probably drag more if you wanted. But another curse of being a Hero is that you’re very aware.
It’s not until you’re nailing a third rail to the fence that Mr. Bahr makes his presence known. You don’t turn even when he makes his steps purposefully heavy to avoid scaring you.
“You’re very strong,” Mr. Bahr says.
His shadow is long and thin, just like him. You observe it from your peripherals, unable to speak with the two nails you’re holding between your lips. You take your time pounding them into the wood. He’s arms, a sword at his hip, but his hands are loose at his sides.
“Good thing I am,” you say at last. You stand and turn in the same motion. He waited for you to finish without chastising you for not speaking right away. You perch the hammer on your shoulder. “Otherwise, the chickens would take over.”
Mr. Bahr laughs. Unlike when he was meeting Director Sarah, his face is relaxed and open. His blue eyes sparkle. “We couldn’t have that now, could we? I suppose we all owe you our thanks for preventing the coop’s coup.”
You want to laugh. You don’t. “Director Sarah won’t like you being here uninvited.”
“I just came to drop off an invitation,” Mr. Bahr says. He studies you for a moment and then smiles. “I hope you’ll accept, Isla.”
A chill races down your spine. How does he know your name? You wipe the sweat from your brow with a scowl. “Maybe I don’t want to be adopted.”
To your surprise, Mr. Bahr nods. “I can understand that,” he says. He looks up at the sky. The light is sliding from the sky, catching on the clouds and turning them a brilliant orange. When he looks back at you, he almost looks…sad. “Think of our invitation as a party, hm? No strings attached.”
For some reason your tongue feels heavy. It takes two tries before you can say, “I need to fix this part of the fence before dark.”
“Want some help?” Mr. Bahr asks.
“I couldn’t ask—”
“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Mr. Bahr says. He rolls up his sleeves and nimbly plucks the hammer from your grip. “I may be a Knight, but I’ve done my fair share of carpentry. Let me show you a few tricks.”
You listen quietly as Mr. Bahr shows you how to twist the nails to avoid splitting the wood. What would have taken you an hour to finish, he accomplishes in a quarter of one, talking to you the entire time.
It’s…odd to have an adult’s attention on you for such a long time. He’s careful not to get too close, always offering you the hammer to practice by setting it on the grass between you rather than handing it to you directly. When you manage to replicate his technique on your second try, Mr. Bahr is more excited than you are.
“Wonderful,” he compliments. He glances up at the sky. The first stars are twinkling. “I’ll be going now and you should too. Have a good night, Isla.”
Unlike the first time he said your name, it feels pleasant now. You mutter a goodbye and leave before he does, scurrying towards the orphanage with your bucket of nails clutched to your chest.
He’s gone when you think to check the road for his carriage. Did he walk here? Ride a horse?
You close and lock the orphanage’s doors behind you.
----------------.
The picnic isn’t scheduled until the middle of summer and it’s spring now. Still, it’s all anyone can talk about.
“We have plenty of time to get ready,” Director Sarah tells them. “The Bahrs will be dropping in from time to time until then. I expect everyone to be on their best behavior when they’re here.”
Josiah raises his hand. “I hear they live in a castle!”
“A manor,” Sarah corrects. “Given to them by our Lord for their years of service.”
“The Guard in town says they worked for the King once!” Hera says, wiggling in her seat. “Is that true?”
“You can ask them yourself,” Sarah says. She claps her hands together and starts urging the kids up. “It’s time for chores. Your assignment is posted by the kitchen…”
You stay seated at the breakfast table. You haven’t eaten your third egg or your last slice of toast. Your stomach feels queasy. You keep thinking about Mr. Bahr saying wonderful when you worked on the fence together.
You aren’t supposed to want to be adopted. You’ve had your chance and you ruined it both times. It’s not fair of you to imagine what it would be like learning swordsmanship from Mr. Bahr and what it’d be like to hear him praise you when you got the next move right. One of the other kids deserve that chance.
You can only do what you can do.
---------------.
Mrs. Bahr is alone the next visit.
No one recognizes her at first. She’s wearing a gown like a noble and her hair is gently flowing down her back rather than tightly pinned behind her head.
“I’ve received the Director’s permission to hold a lesson on writing,” she tells the children. She gestures to the bag she’s set on the table. “Come get a slate and a piece of chalk. We will work all together.”
The kids have never had slate and chalk before, not the real ones anyway. Sometimes you find a nice, flat rock they can draw on with charcoal, but it’s not as entertaining as what Mrs. Bahr brings. She watches everyone in amusement as they immediately start drawing instead of starting the lesson, flower and trees and swords.
“Look, Isla,” Hera says, tugging at your sleeve. You’re seated on the spare chair by the wall, away from the table. She twists from her spot to show you she’s drawn a shaky stick figure. “It’s you!”
Your eyes flick up to Mrs. Bahr. She’s not irritated by the distractions yet. You point with your bit of chalk at the drawing. “Which part of it is me?”
Hera points at a blob in the stick figure’s hand. “That’s the horned rabbit you brought home yesterday!”
You snort. The horned rabbit you’d killed yesterday wasn’t half the size of your body. “Are you sure that’s a horned rabbit? Looks like a turtle to me.”
Hera points to the stick figure’s face. “You can also tell it’s you ‘cause you’re frowning.”
“Hey!”
Mrs. Bahr claps her hands together. Instantly, she has the room’s attention. “I’m glad you all like my present. However, it’s time to get started.”
“Present?” Josiah asks.
“If you work hard today, you will be allowed to keep the slate and chalk as a present,” Mrs. Bahr says. She takes care to make eye contact with every kid. “Only those who work hard.”
It’s generous. You watch Mrs. Bahr from under your lashes as she talks everyone through writing the alphabet. It’s too generous not to be genuine. Try as you might, you can’t figure out any ulterior motive to spending so much on the kids. To look good? For who? For Director Sarah?
Director Sarah won’t be swayed by gifts like this even if the kids could be.
Mrs. Bahr stops well away from you, observing your slate from afar. “Very good, Isla. Do you know how to write?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Read?”
“Only a little.”
Mrs. Bahr hums. She doesn’t look disgusted by your stupidity or put off by your clipped tone. Your first family returned you when you told them. Mrs. Bahr’s lips curve. “Your letters are wonderfully steady. I can tell you will be a very good student.”
She turns before she can see you flush.
---------.
Over the next few months, there isn’t a week that goes by without at least one of the Bahrs visiting. They become a regularity around the orphanage to the point that even Director Sarah stops worrying about the state of their rooms with every visit.
“Kids will be kids,” Mrs. Bahr says when you ask her to wait while you tidy the toys in the parlor. “It’s alright, Isla.”
Your head spins. Sometimes, when one of them says something particularly bizarre, you feel like you’re outside your body. There was a time when they didn’t have toys to leave out in the visiting area. Thanks to the Bahrs, every child has a doll, a slate, a new set of shoes, and an abacus. You are still waiting for the strings that come with these presents.
There haven’t been any yet.
The kids love the Bahrs. Hera insists on baking fresh strawberry tarts for them after a day of gathering. Josiah carefully sounds out passages from their new books to show them that he’s still practicing his letters. Annie and a group of the younger kids spend all day weaving a flower crown for Mrs. Bahr that you have to confiscate before they can put it on her head.
“Go wash your hands,” you scold. Despite your tone, your hands are gentle as you push Annie to the schoolhouse. “Don’t touch your eyes.”
Annie blinks rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “I didn’t know it was poison, lady, I swear.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Bahr says, hand fluttering over her heart. She steps towards Annie. “Dear one—”
You give full body flinch when Mrs. Bahr stoops to hug Annie, but you don’t get between them. The Bahrs have won your trust in this. They won’t hurt the kids.
You sigh to hide your flinch when Mrs. Bahr stands. “Now Mrs. Bahr needs to wash. Poison ivy is no joke.”
“It is not,” Mrs. Bahr agrees. She ruffles Annie’s hair. “Go on, do as Isla says. Wash up.”
“We can go together,” Annie says with her big, blue eyes. She reaches for Mrs. Bahr’s hand and then thinks better of it. She tucks her hands behind her back and kicks at the ground. “If you want.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Mrs. Bahr says, smiling.
Annie nods and races to follow her friends.
“I’m sorry,” you say as soon as Annie is out of ear shot. You busy yourself picking up the fallen flower crown and the various trimmings of poison ivy they’d used for foliage throughout it. You feel flustered. “They really didn’t know any better—”
“I know,” Mrs. Bahr says so gently that you have to look up at her. She’s frowning at your hands. “I’m more concerned about you. Should you be holding onto it like that?’
“I’m immune,” you say. You’re not worried that she’ll guess your Destiny from that. Lots of Villagers are immune to poison ivy, particularly the ones in this region who rely on gathering and hunting. “Since I’m in the woods so much.”
“Knights are immune too,” Mrs. Bahr says. She follows you away from the orphanage and to the tree line. “You’re quite the hunter, aren’t you? I remember Hera saying you slayed a horned rabbit.”
Heat comes to your face. You stomp ahead of her to deposit the flower crown in some denser foliage where the kids won’t be able to get it. “I get lucky.”
“I’d consider it unlucky to run across a horned rabbit,” Mrs. Bahr says. She examines the forest with interest. “A demon is a demon. Even adults have difficulty with horned rabbits.”
It hadn’t been difficult. You’d been armed with a sharpened branch and, when the rabbit leapt for you, you knew right when to stab. You clear your throat. “It was difficult.” Then when Mrs. Bahr doesn’t say anything, you add, “It was frightening.”
She believes you. She lays a gentle hand on your shoulder to get you to look her in the face. “The orphanage budget is enough that you don’t need to hunt, Isla,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I know I don’t like the idea of a fourteen-year-old out here alone and unarmed.”
“Almost fifteen,” you say, “and I had a sharp stick.”
“A sharp sti—” Mrs. Bahr cuts herself off with a deep breath. “Regardless of your…aptitude, Isla, it’s dangerous. I’ve spoken to the Director and she agrees with me. You aren’t to go hunting anymore.”
The forest suddenly feels too hot. The leaves overhead rustle, but you can barely hear it over the roaring of your blood. “Excuse me?”
Mrs. Bahr steps closer. “You’re a very strong girl, Isla, but it’s dangerous. If you want to go out with me or Mr. Bahr—”
You shake off her hand. “The Director agreed with you? She said I’m not allowed to go hunting anymore?”
“Out of concern for your safety.” Mrs. Bahr looks like she regrets saying anything. “Once Mr. Bahr and I explained to her what a risk a horned rabbit poses—”
You run away. Mrs. Bahr calls out after you, but you don’t stop. Beyond the sting of Mr. and Mrs. Bahr not thinking you strong enough to hunt, there’s a deeper hurt. The Director agrees. Really? Really?
“Isla? What’s wrong? I thought you were with Mrs. Bahr,” Director Sarah says when you burst into her office. She sets the papers she’d been reading down and frowns. “You look—”
“I’m not supposed to go hunting anymore?” you ask.
Sarah’s face blooms in understanding. “After what Mr. and Mrs. Bahr said about the increase in demons in the area, I agreed—”
“It’s summer,” you interrupt. You stalk up to her desk, your fists balled at your side. “It’s time to hunt.”
“The Bahrs have agreed to accompany you—”
“They only come once a week,” you say. You’re being so incredibly rude to the Director, but you don’t care. “I need to hunt three times that at least. The game has been moving deeper into the forest—”
“Where you are not allowed to go,” Director Sarah says, this time interrupting you. She steeples her hands in front of her. “I should have curtailed this activity long before this point, but I thought you needed it.”
“We need it,” you say. You can’t believe what you are hearing. “We need to store up rations, you know that.”
“Our budget allows us to purchase rations in town.”
“But what if that’s not enough? It’s better to have our own supply—”
“It will be enough.”
“It still doesn’t hurt to have some extra jerky—”
“The store we have will be enough.”
“But what if it’s not?!” You’ve raised your voice without realizing it, fists shaking at your sides. “The other kids are too young to remember o-or too new, but you and I do. That winter, we didn’t have enough. Why are you trying to stop me?” To your horror, your voice cracks. “I thought you understood.”
There’s silence in the room except for your panting breath.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah finally says. The sudden apology is enough to close your mouth against what you might have said. She meets your eyes. “You’ve always been so strong that I…Isla, you were a child. I will always be grateful for what you did that winter and for every winter since. I relied on you, a child, because I didn’t have any other option. We didn’t have another option. But now we do. We’re okay now, Isla. You don’t have to work so hard to protect us.”
“Yes, I do, I’m—” the Hero “—I can do it.” There is something inside of you telling you that that is what you must do. You think that it’s part of being a Hero.
((You’re worried that it’s because you’re scared.))
“My decision is final,” Sarah says. She picks up her documents and straightens them. “You are only to go hunting with an adult from now on. If I find out you went to the woods without one, there will be consequences.”
She’s using the same tone she uses on the other kids when they’re misbehaving. I mean business. You stare at her for a long, breathless moment. You jerkily turn to go.
Mrs. Bahr is hovering in the doorway. She looks guiltily between you and Director Sarah. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”
You shove past her and run to your room.
-------------.
Somewhat counterintuitively, as an orphan you’re never alone. You throw yourself face down on your bed.
A shocked silence swallows the occupants on the other bed.
“Is she okay?” Josiah asks Hera.
“It’s Isla,” Hera answers. There’s the rustling of bedsheets as Hera climbs out of bed and then the soft sound of socks on hardwood as she comes over. “You okay?”
You are not okay. There’s an intense war of emotions in your chest. Anger that none of the adults seem to think you’re capable. Betrayal that Sarah isn’t on your side. A sick fear at the thought of being unprepared for winter. And, now that you’ve run away so spectacularly, shame. They probably think you’re overreacting, but they’re wrong. They’re the ones who are being naïve. They’re the ones who—
A gentle hand on the back of your head freezes the thought. Hera pets your short, black hairs in an attempt at comfort. “It’s okay, Isla. You can just sleep. Sleep makes everything better.”
That’s what you tell the younger kids. The difference between you and Hera saying it? When Hera falls asleep, you work to fix the problem. If you fall asleep, no one is going to fix the problem for you.
You flip over, dislodging Hera’s hand. You look up at her as if seeing her for the first time. She’s ten, two years older than you were when the winter happened. She was four then. You want to ask her if she remembers, but instead you ask, “Do you think Sarah hates me?”
“What?” Hera’s eyes are wide. “No! What makes you think that?”
“Nothing,” you say. “It’s stupid. Forget I asked.” You turn on your side, your back to them.
“I know she’s worried about you,” Josiah says. He offers the information tentatively. “I overheard her and the Bahrs talking. Did they ban you from the woods?”
You don’t move. “What else did they say?” You’re afraid that he’s going to say they called you weak. Or, worse, a nuisance. “Did they say anything else about me?”
“Not really.”
Nobody hears anything useful around here. You close your eyes. “I just want to be alone for a little while. I—”
There’s a knock on the door. “Isla? It’s me, Marie. Can I come in?”
Marie? Too late you remember that that’s Mrs. Bahr’s name. She’s been trying to get the kids to call her be her first name. So far no one’s taken her up on it and she hasn’t pushed.
Hera opens the door. “Hi, Mrs. Bahr. Isla is being moody.”
You sit up with a squawk. “I am not!”
“If it’s alright, I’d like to talk to Isla for a moment,” Mrs. Bahr says to Josiah and Hera. “Alone.”
“Don’t let her yell at you,” Hera says as she passes Mrs. Bahr. “She never means it.”
You are going to strangle her. “I don’t yell!”
“That’s not an inside voice,” Josiah says. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, pulling the door closed behind him and Hera.
You are suddenly alone in the room with Mrs. Bahr.
You sit up further, pressing your back against the headboard. Mrs. Bahr doesn’t look mad. Her hands are clasped in front of her and she’s looking down at the floor. It almost looks like she’s the nervous one. You hug your pillow to your chest. “You can sit down if you’d like.”
Mrs. Bahr looks up at you. Her lips twitch. “Thank you, Isla.” She sits down on Hera’s bed gingerly as if afraid it wouldn’t be able to take her wait. When she’s settled, she says, “I wanted to apologize to you.”
Your arms tighten around your pillow. “Why?”
“Not for saying you shouldn’t hunt alone,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s not a mind reader but sometimes it seems like she is. “For not understanding what hunting means to you. I would have approached things differently if I’d known.”
“Known what?”
“About what you’ve been through.”
The winter. That’s the only thing Mrs. Bahr could be talking about. She must have heard more of your conversation (argument) with the Director than you thought. “It was a long time ago,” you say. You really don’t want to talk about this with Mrs. Bahr. Not when you can still feel that winter’s desperation in your molars like a memory. “I’m fine.”
Mrs. Bahr is quiet for a moment. She studies you much like Mr. Bahr did all those weeks ago mending the fence. “I was a knight for 30 years, you know. I supposed it’s not weird that a Knight worked as a knight for so long. As soon as I came into my power at 15, I was compelled to hold a sword. To seek out evils and defeat them. To follow my Lord into battle no matter the cause.” She looks up at the ceiling. “I’ve had a lot of adventures and helped many, many people. But there was a time when I wanted to quit.”
You start. “You did?”
“I wanted to work in a flower shop,” Mrs. Bahr says. She leans back on her hands. “What a life it could have been! Waking up before the sun and hiking to the flower fields…I had my new house all picked out. It’d have a koi pond and a row of red rocks from the Harrow River. That’s where I met Ivan.”
Mr. Bahr. He’s been trying to get you to call him by his first name too. Unlike Mrs. Bahr, he’s much pushier about it. “What made you want to quit?”
“Exhaustion,” Mrs. Bahr says. She closes her eyes. “It seemed that there was a new threat to my Lord every day. An assassination attempt from a branch family. A territorial dispute. A new influx of demon beasts. It got to the point that I hardly left my Lord’s side for fear of returning to find him dead. He was the first Lord I swore my loyalty to. I always felt like I was failing those days. So I wanted to quit.”
You’ve felt like that before. Sometimes it seems like you never catch enough while hunting, that you’re never kind enough, that you’re never strong enough. You’ve never thought about working in a flower shop though. “Why didn’t you?”
“I did.” Mrs. Bahr laughs at your shocked expression. “I was in my twenties. They tell you things calm down after your teen years, but that’s not true. I handed in my resignation and fled for the nearest town.” Her smile softens. “Ivan followed me.”
“He was there?”
Mrs. Bahr nods. “We were sworn to the same Lord. He came galloping up with my resignation clutched in his hand. His face was so red!” She laughs. “’What does this mean, Marie? He was crying! You can’t quit! I haven’t beaten you yet!’”
“And that’s what convinced you to stay a knight?” you ask. That doesn’t help you. You don’t have a significant other to come racing after you.
“No,” Mrs. Bahr said. “Ivan didn’t know why I wanted to quit. I can’t do it, I said. I can’t keep the Lord safe. I’m not enough. You know what he said?”
You shake your head.
“He said, Of course, you’re not enough,” Mrs. Bahr says. She’s lowering her voice in imitation of Ivan’s. “You were never going to be enough.” You’re gaping at his harsh words, but Mrs. Bahr looks amused. “That’s why we have a squadron. The job is too big for one person. All you need to do is your part.”
You stare at her, not understanding.
“The world isn’t carried by one person,” Mrs. Bahr says. “I was so convinced that everything was up to me – the Lord’s safety, the next campaign’s success, or defense from monsters – that I buckled under the pressure. What I didn’t see that it wasn’t all my responsibility. I was part of a team. All I had to do was one part.”
You think of the winter night and holding the door shut. There hadn’t been anyone to help you then. Someone needed to comfort the younger kids. Someone needed to try and protect them. “What if there isn’t anyone else?”
“Then we do our best,” Mrs. Bahr says immediately. She meets your eyes. “But are you by yourself now, Isla?”
Yes. You open your mouth to tell her that, but the word won’t come out. Are you? Director Sarah looked so defeated when you accused her of not understanding. But didn’t she understand better than anyone else. You swallow. “No. There’s Director Sarah.”
“What does she do?”
“She takes care of us,” you say. “She makes sure the money we get goes to the right things.”
Mrs. Bahr smiles warmly. “That’s right. Who else?”
“…Hera,” you say. You remember she pulled Josiah from the well before Annie even had the chance to tell you what had happened. “She watches the younger kids.”
“She’s very good with them,” Mrs. Bahr says. “Who else?”
Your mind blanks. Who else? “Josiah. He helps us study.”
“And?”
And? “T-the Lord. He makes sure we have the funds for what we need.”
“Including winter provisions,” Mrs. Bahr agrees.
You frown. You suddenly see where this is going. “The amount of winter provisions he thinks we need.”
Mrs. Bahr hums. “What happens if he’s wrong?”
“That’s why I hunt,” you say. Maybe now she’ll understand. “So that we’ll be okay if he’s wrong.”
“What if you don’t hunt enough?” Mrs. Bahr asks.
Your chest is tight. You rub at your sternum and try to breathe deeply. “We starve,” you say. You wheeze and then clear your throat. “We’d starve, but that’s not going to happen. Because I always hunt enough.” I have to.
“This year,” Mrs. Bahr says, voice gentle and soothing, “say you don’t hunt anymore. The winter is harsher than expected and the orphanage’s stores are depleted. What do you think will happen?”
You laugh and gasp at the same time. “They’d all starve,” you say again. What doesn’t she get about that? “First the little ones then—”
Mrs. Bahr is shaking her head. “No, Isla, that’s not what would happen.”
Your temper flares. “That’s what always—”
“What would happen,” Mrs. Bahr says in her even tone, “is that Mr. Bahr and I would come deliver extra provisions to you.”
All the air is chased from your lungs. You feel eight again, small and vulnerable and cold. You’re shivering as you stare at her. “You would?”
“We would.” Gently, as if afraid she might scare you, Mrs. Bahr moves from Hera’s bed to yours. She puts a warm hand on your knee. “We’re a fortress. The Lord gives us part of the emergency fund in order to keep our stores and grounds ready for refugees. Mr. Bahr keeps fifteen percent more than the most generous estimate out of an abundance of caution. We would come and make sure nobody starved.”
For some reason, that makes you want to cry. You blink against the sudden heat behind your eyes. “Oh.”
“That’s why we don’t want you to go hunting,” Mrs. Bahr says. Her thumb rubs over your knee. “It was worth the risk before. You worked hard to keep everyone here alive. You are incredible, for that, Isla. I can’t tell you how much I admire your strength and your bravery. But things are different now. You don’t need to do as much as you did before. There are other people on your squad.”
But I’m the Hero, you want to say. Heroes are supposed to save the day, aren’t they?
Knights help save the day too.
You let Mrs. Bahr pat your knee for a long time. She seems content to let you think, her energy a pleasant hum next to you. A knot is untying in your chest. If you don’t hunt, it’s not the end of everyone. There will still be the funds from the Lord. Sarah’s always been excellent at stretching those as far as they need to go. And, if they aren’t enough, there’s something different this year. The Bahrs are here.
“You’d help us even if you’re only going to adopt one of us?” you ask.
Mrs. Bahr’s lips thin. She looks sad, but hides it quickly. “We’re Knights,” she says. “Even if we are retired. We’ll be here the moment you need us.”
You don’t hope. Hope is traumatic. But…
You believe her.
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(Part 2) (part 3)
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Thanks for reading! There will be a new part of Hope and the Hero every Friday!
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There's also a new story up there, a sequel to my Dandelion villain story (X)
Summary: You are free of mind control for the first time in a year. The only things standing between you and your revenge are the heroes.
#my writing#second person#the hero and hope#long post#this part is 6k words and the entire story is almost 19k
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