Naughts and Crosses | Dadzawa [BOOK 3]
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    Naughts and Crosses | Dadzawa [BOOK 3]

    Fanfiction

    When the few remnants of stability in Musutafu are threatened by a force that remains out of sight, the Aizawa siblings find their upcoming battle between Heroes and Villains suddenly turned upside down. But are the battle lines really as clear as w...

    #adoptivefamily #dadzawa #erasermic #erasermicfamily #eri #hantasero #heroes #hitoshishinsou #hizashiyamada #izukumidoriya #leagueofvillains #myheroacademia #neitomonoma #rodysoul #shotaaizawa #vigilante

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    WARNINGS: fire


    It was quiet to begin with. It always was. That's how the most horrifying stories always start.
    With the quiet.
    Then there would usually be eerie footsteps echoing off the halls of an abandoned house, the floorboards threatening to cave.
    Or sometimes it was the howling of a wolf, the creaking of winding tree branches, the song of an owl too far away to see. 
    And every so often it would open with a family. Gathered for a birthday, or a marriage, or a funeral. Regardless of scenario, children would cry and laugh, teens would huff and complain, and adults would pretend to be okay, when really all they wanted was a way out from the falsities of being The Perfect Family.


    In this case, it was the hissing of a new flame. The spark of a fire that would end tranquillity, end happiness, end lives. 


    His head spun as the fire began to spread. Scaling the walls, crawling across the floor, lapping at his ankles. He couldn't feel the heat. He never could. It was always the same. 
    Glowing embers encircled him, dancing around his head, across his vision, into his lungs. He never felt their burn. It was always the same. 
    Walls creaked, the ceiling stained with fresh smoke, the carpet burned. It was always the same. It should have hurt. Should scar him senseless. It should hurt. It was always the same. 
    The a door crashed open, a figure stumbling through. They collapsed to the burning carpet, but the flames no longer hindered them. They lay there, breathing ragged, hair singed, face stained with charcoal.
    They leaned up.
    He stopped breathing, the weight of the smoke and embers gathered in his chest proving too much. 
    Their lips parted to speak, but nothing came. 
    The quiet stretched on. 
    Always the quiet.
    It was always the same. 
    He edged forwards, falling to his knees and pulling them into his chest. 
    It was always the same. The quiet. The silence.
    Their head pressed to his shoulder, arms wrapping around him
    It was always the same.
    Together, they burned.


    It was always the same.
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