Wingless Freedom || Wings AU TodoDeku

[Sorry_guys]

Humans have evolved to have wings for a long time, now. As technology advanced, as did the culture surrounding their avian features. Massive buildings with personal balconies to land on, doors to accommodate the largest set of wings, fashionable clothes to accentuate the colors and patterns of that of each individual, specialized spas to help with preening of both wing and tail feathers as well as the careful plucking of stray feathers in undesirable places. Everyone was different, and it was incredibly rare for anyone to be born without. Even those with partial wings, either amputated or whatnot were helped with prosthetics or accommodations to help them get around on foot.

But.. Izuku Midoriya was certainly a... special case of wingless.

When he was a young age, his father had decided he was weak, that he didn't deserve wings of any kind. So when they were still small, barely even developed all of the baby down, his wings had been, well... torn off. He doesn't remember it happening, his mom says it happened within his first year of life, so he didn't have any memories. He knows he would've had Trochilidae wings, like his mother, instead of the Picidae wings like his father. Part of him suspects that's what made his father consider him weak, having the wings of such a feeble and fragile bird and having ripped them off in a blinding rage. At least he didn't have to look at the ugly scars on his back. And at least his father had done the duty of getting rid of the tail feathers, too.

It had been hard, growing up without wings. Most buildings hardly had ground-level entrances, and Izuku would either have to climb or ask for a ride up from his mother, though as he was getting too big, climbing was his go-to more often than not. Since there weren't a lot of people that didn't need to fly other than the elderly (who more often than not stayed home and had their kids run errands for them), he knew that unless he wanted to spend his whole life struggling, he was going to have to think of something.

And he started working on something when he was sixteen.

Thankfully, his mom was patient and allowed him to study her wings whenever she wanted him to help preen her, often having him take the old feathers to look over, having memorized each different one and their purpose after years of preening and studying. He was able to go to old scrapyards and dig up parts and carry them home, making a spot in the forest as to not clutter up his room at home. He spent any time not studying or at school working on them, and it took a lot of planning and figuring things out.

But his prosthetics were ready, he's sure of it.

They're made of a light-weight metal that doesn't hurt his back when he slips the wings on, and the tail 'feathers' aren't feathers, but they provide the same steering system as any other. Of course, the only distance is that he controls it with special stirrups that his feet can fit into, and subtle movements should allow for proper steering and control, though today was the first time he was actually going to test them.

At eighteen, he peers over the roof of the apartment complex, swallowing thickly at the massive height. He would have to perfect this... or else he might actually die from this. Exhaling a slow breath, he puts on the aviation goggles and does a quick check, making sure the motors and joints were working properly. Then, after double-checking everything and getting a fresh page open in his journal, he starts them up, turning his head as he steps out into open air.

Amazingly, they work.

Until they didn't.

He's able to stay in the air for about ten seconds before the motors seize up, black smoke starting to billow out of them. He drops in and instant and shouts, journal and pencil falling from his hands as he plummets, and he's working fast to try and get the wings to work again.

"Come on, come on!!!" He's frantic, tears filling his eyes before he's colliding with someone unexpectedly, dragging them down with him into the tree canopy below.

When he opens his eyes, he's dangling from a branch, one ankle caught and definitely broken as he hung upside-down. He takes a moment to groan and get his bearings, only to realize he had crashed into someone. He gasped and bent to unhook himself from the branch, falling with a grunt only to push the goggles off and look around frantically until he saw wings. He crawls his way over and rolls the other onto his back.

"I'm so sorry!! Are you okay? Did you break a wing?"

[LovelyBones]

That day had already been going so shittily for Shoto, only for some poor bastard to plummet out of the sky, and on top of him, no less. He'd just gotten home after a terrible day interning under his father, just for the man to go on a tirade about finding out that Shoto had already packed most of his things in the night, and sent them to a storage unit at least for the time being. Of course the bastard was mad-- it was clear that Shoto was done being bellittled and beaten over the simplest of shit, as well as things that were beyond his control. So of course his day was only going to get worse, and soon, he was on the ground beneath a tree, utterly sore all over, with a pounding headache, despite his best attempts to protect his head.

He heard the branches of the tree rustle and creak above him, only for another body to fall near him, and he whinced in sympathy, even while he himself was probably in pretty bad shape. However, he hadn't expected to be rolled over, face up to the sunlight peeking through the canopy, all while his poor wings were probably fucked, even if it were just his flight feathers. It takes a hell of a long time to re grow those, if you were even able to, and he didn't want to think about the costly alternatives he sure as Hell wouldn't be able to afford now. Whether it be flight implants or a whole new wing altogether, he wouldn't be able to afford it, not jow that he'd surely been disowned the moment he left his childhood home.

At the concerned questioning, he whinced again, groaning as he covered the ear the voice was closest to, "I've probably had worse.... But I might be concussed, I don't know. Head's throbbing, and he slowly, carefully looked toward his hawk wing, and was relieved that it was only bruised, maybe sprained. However, upon looking at hia owl wing, he felt his gut tie into a knot, seeing how it was Ben wrong in two places, the snowy white feathers slowly staining red in the wrist portion. "D-dammit.... Of course I break it today...." He hissed, before carefully trying to roll back onto his stomach, though as the broken wing was dragged over with him, he sneezed, gritted his teeth through the pain. "Just great.... The day I leave my shithole father is the day I actually need his insurance and money.... Great." He hissed as he made it to his stomach, resting his forehead on layered palms. He had to stay conscious, be careful not to throw up and possibly drown in it-- sure, he might juat have a bad headache for a week, but he had to take this as seriously as he could in his current state.

Could today get any worse?