Chapter Text
Objectively, it was, in fact, morally wrong to burn books. Izuku understood this fact, and he understood it very well. One should never burn a book, but he was pretty sure he could make an exception in this case.
The metal waste bin was alight with the burning books. Sparks were spiraling up to the heavens and Izuku was watching, and watching intently as they soared into the open air. Six books, stacked one on top of the other, all reeking of smoke and lighter fluid. It was a pity, really, and a gratuitous waste of money. His mom was going to be upset, but what else was Izuku supposed to do? Just leave them? No, he could not, in fact, do that.
The Hobbit was the last one to burn. Izuku tried to reassure himself that this was the correct decision. It wasn’t like the damned thing would let him put it back in. If he could, this wouldn’t be a problem. He could have kept the books, but no. No, the blasted object just couldn’t let him do that. No, it had to do this. And here Izuku thought he could just have a sick sword to add to his collection in his room. Functionally, it was rather useless, as there were no orcs in the world he lived in, so it would not light up, but it could still stab things. And it would have been the perfect size for him, too, but no, of course Tolkien just had to make something sentient and also evil and of course his quirk had to be hijacked by the damn thing.
Of course, because some god up there hated him, and one of these days Izuku would have to kill that god for its crimes. The crimes of inconvenience.
“Bring me my master,” the being hissed against his chest, and Izuku frowned at the damned thing.
“He’s too damn big,” he snapped as the sliding glass door behind him opened.
“Izuku, what are you doing?” Mom asked from behind him and Izuku let out a long, upset sigh.
“Books’ haunted,” he replied.
“... Right. At least get the mithril before you waste all that power,” Mom replied with a sniff. “Ghost or not, the mithril is useful.”
“I will,” Izuku replied. He was pretty sure the other rings were never mentioned in the Hobbit, anyways.
“I’m making katsudon. Hurry up and finish, baby,” Mom said and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
“I will!”
“Love you,” Mom said and the door shut, leaving Izuku with his terribly immoral burning trash.
With a sigh, Izuku flipped open the worn, secondhand book and followed through the bookmarks of useful spots to find his marked spot of the mithral shirt gifted to Bilbo Baggins. Perpetually ink stained fingers stroked over the words on the paper as he mouthed along to the katakana there, memorizing the words and repeating them as he read his special copy one last time.
And, then, he pushed. Pushed past the first layer as the ink stained his fingers, molded to his flesh, the paper sucking in his hand as he whispered the words before him. His ears were assaulted with the sound of Thorin Oakenshield’s voice, and a smile twitched at his lips as his fingers wrapped around cool metal. With a tug, the shirt was slowly, achingly slowly pulled from the book, inch by inch, until it fell into his lap, fully formed and gleaming in the light of the fire.
Well. That was that. It was very pretty. A sigh escaped his lips, longing and quietly sad at the loss of such valuable resources for his collection, and then he tossed the final seventh book into the blaze.
It was a sad thing, the burning of a book. Were he anyone else, this would have never mattered. But he was Midoriya Izuku, and he was pretty sure he was cursed. The mithril armor cast over his lap, he sat there for a moment, watching the papers curl in the flames, and then he sighed once again as he pulled the source of all of his problems out of his shirt.
A single golden ring. Unobtrusive. Not a problem in the least. It didn’t seem like much, sitting on that golden chain, and he stared at it in irritation.
“I’m not calling you precious,” he said to the thing, and words formed in his mind.
“Bring me my master.”
“Gremlin. You’re going to be Gremlin, since you want to be so talkative. Asshole.”
The ring was dropped back into his shirt and he stood up, mithril in hand, and opened the door.
Annoying. This was all entirely annoying. What he wouldn’t give to be able to just pull Mount Doom out of the Return of the King and be done with it.