#Handgun ammunition | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vivwritesfics · 5 months ago

Text

Set The World On Fire

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lando Norris had been incredibly angry when they met. Incredibly angry, but sweet enough to help her. Turns out he just needed somebody to talk to, somebody to be there for him.

He was easy to fall for, and that put her in a world of danger

Mafia AU

1.6K

Warnings: kidnapping, murder (like, quite a bit), smut

Series Masterlist

Lando sat outside of the warehouse. His chest was heaving as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. She was in there. That was the location they'd sent.

Fucking idiots. If anybody was going to be good at a kidnapping, you think it would be the police. But they were useless. They'd told him exactly where to find her.

He checked for ammunition in his guns and climbed out of the car. A bitter, coppery taste entered his mouth as he started towards the warehouse. She was in there, and he was going to get her back.

Lando's finger was on the trigger before he walked into the warehouse. There were two men outside, guarding the door. He couldn't shoot them, not yet. Not without alerting everybody inside. And then he'd have no chance of saving her.

They weren't even properly guarding the door. One went to light his cigarette, distracting the both of them enough for Lando to slip past. Getting inside unnoticed was easy.

His girl was the first thing he saw. Tied to a chair, body slumped forward. Tears stained her cheeks and her body was shaking. Shit, he needed to get to her.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Lando hid himself behind some empty crates as the officer approached her. "Soon this will all be over, pretty," he said, voice echoing around the warehouse. Lando watched, jaw clenched as he grabbed her cheeks and forced her to look up.

Lando saw red.

Nobody touches his girl like that.

He looked around for the other officers in the warehouse. Some were in police uniform, some of them Lando recognised. He couldn't put a name to their faces, but he knew them. They'd been in his club before, arrested people, brought them for Lando to 'deal with'.

Weak, useless assholes, he knew. He readied his gun in his left hand, grabbed his handgun in his right hand. Clearing his throat, Lando stood up, alerting everybody to his presence.

"Ah, Norris," The police officer touching his girl called, a grin on her face. "You have my money?"

Lando shot him in the head.

His body dropped, and all hell broke loose. He ducked behind the crates as shots were fired at him.

Fuck, he should have been more covert, taking them out one by one. Instead he'd let rage blind him and he'd put his girl in danger. He spared her a glance.

She was okay, eyes squeezed shut, turned away from the men with the guns.

Lando stood and shot one of them, his bullet finding its home in a man's skull. He dropped, leaving two firing at Lando.

He ducked again, waited until they stopped. When he stood, he shot the second. But a bullet flew past his shoulder, just grazing it. A hiss left his lips as he fell down behind the crate.

Just one to go. Why hadn't the two guarding the warehouse come in? He checked the amount of bullets in his gun.

Another many left. But that was fine, he just had one more guy to kill. His shoulder throbbed, but he ignored it as he stood up and raised his gun. One shot, just one shot and it would all be over.

He stood, gun raised, and fired the final shot. The moment he pulled the trigger the gun dropped from his hand and he gripped his shoulder in pain. "Fuck!" He cried as the final bad guy dropped to the floor.

He could ignore it. Ignore the pain to get to his girl. He stopped holding his arm, hand coming away red, and strode across the warehouse towards her.

"Baby," he whispered as he dropped to his knees in front of her. He pulled the gag from her mouth and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Fuck, I'm so sorry," he cried as he untied her legs.

Walking behind her, he untied her hands and pulled her to her feet. His thumb moved over the red, painful marks on her wrists and she released a hiss.

Tears fell down her cheeks as Lando pulled her into his side. "How's Bruiser?" She mumbled against his shirt. She hadn't yet noticed the red on his other arm.

"He's fine," Lando replied as he walked with her out of the warehouse. "Max found him in the park and took him back to the house. He's there now," he explained.

The tears were still falling. Fuck, she hated him. He was the reason she got kidnapped and she hated him for it. Lando looked down as she still rubbed at her sore wrists.

When they left the warehouse, Lando moved her behind him. Nothing bad was ever going to happen to her again.

But the men outside of the warehouse were on the floor, out old. If Lando hadn't dropped his gun, he would have shot them both dead. He looked up, looked at the familiar car pulled up alongside his own.

"You're an ass," Max called as he pushed away from his car. "I should have known you were going to do something like this."

Lando scoffed. He was in no mood for this. Still holding her, he kept going towards his car. "Where do you want me to take you?" He asked, voice so gentle as squeezed her hand. "Your mums place?"

She stopped, hand still in Lando's. "Lan," she said, voice shaking as she touched his cheek. "Take me home. To our home."

"Our home?"

His chest was heaving as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The moment she touched his shoulder, body accidentally pressing against it, Lando hissed and she pulled away.

"Fuck, that's bad," he gasped and grabbed a hold of his shoulder, trying desperately to alleviate the pain. "Shit, that fucking hurts."

She stepped away, hands raised. "What's wrong? What's the matter?" She asked quickly, trying to check him over without touching him. "Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

"Not the hospital," Max said quickly. "I'll drive him back to the house. You follow behind in his car."

"Max, no!" She insisted, but Lando shook his head.

He used his uninjured arm to fish his keys from his pocket. "He's right, baby. It's better if we go back to the house."

But she still looked panicked. "I..."

"Trust us," Max said as he opened his car door. Lando kissed her and climbed into Max's car, leaving her there with her fingers closed around his keys.

***

A bandage held his arm in place as he sat up in bed, flipping through channels. Retirement was hard, harder than his grandparents had made it seem.

Bruiser snored at the end of the bed. It was loud and comforting. Walking Bruiser was the only time Lando had left the house since his retirement. Things would get better once his arm was better, he told himself.

Maybe he should have kept his club, gone legit with it. He'd stopped sleeping with strippers before he'd met his girl, it could have been a proper business. Now, he had nothing to do. Retirement sucked but it was better than putting the love of his life in danger.

The front door opened. Lando's eyebrows raised and he looked towards the bedroom door, open just enough for Bruiser to come and go as he pleased. As soon as he heard the front door shut, he was up and out of bed, barking as he made his way to the front door.

"Hi baby," came the voice of the woman he loved more than anything. "Can you stay out here for me? I need to talk to your daddy."

Bruiser didn't understand her. Obviously he didn't. He was a dog. He followed her until she dropped her bag to the floor, which he immediately stuck his head in. She slipped into the bedroom and pushed the door shut.

"Lan," she said. His head wasn't turned as she unzipped her skirt and dropped her clothes to the floor by the door. And then she walked forward, stepping into his view.

Lando sucked in a breath. "Fuck, I missed you today,"

She pulled off her underwear and dropped it to the floor. Lando was still as she climbed on top of him, knees on either side of him as she freed him from his zipper.

There was no foreplay, no time for that today. She sank down onto him and threw her head back, releasing a groan. "That's better," she mumbled breathlessly.

Her hips rolled as she leaned forward, hand touching his cheek.

Lando squeezed her hips as she sat on him. "Hi my love," he whispered, smile front as he stroked over her hip. "How was work today?"

She kissed down his neck instead of answering. Lando released a breathy laugh and gently pushed her away. A pout graced her features as she bounced slightly. "I've been thinking," she started, voice shaking slightly.

"Thinking what?" He asked and bucked his hips up.

"We've been through some crazy shit, right?" She asked and Lando nodded. "Well, what's the next logical step?"

Lando raised his eyebrows. Where the hell was she going with this? But he stayed silent, let her continue.

"I think that the next logical step is to get married, right?" She bounced again, almost as if she was nervous. "Wanna get married, Lan?"

He sucked in a breath.

"Fuck yeah I do."

FIN

Permanent taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool

@rewmuslupin

@prettiest-at-the-party

@hellowgoodbye

@minseok-smaus

@formulaal

@darleneslane

@hiireadstuff

@urfavnoirette

@goldenharrysworld

@andydrysdalerogers

@llando4norris

@evlkking

@lilymurphy03

@hollie911

@customsbyjcg-blog

@honethatty12

@nikfigueiredo

@not-nyasa

Series Taglist (CLOSED): @millinorrizz

@cinnamongirlontv

@sainzluvrr

@aquangxl

@drunkinthemiddleoftheday

@queenofmanydreams

@somepeoplemaybe

@shobaes

@thatsusbitch

@ibanstro

@barcelonaloverf1life

@hotbuns13

@dinodumbass

@bellezaycafe

@maddie-naps

@dontleaveitsmyfault3

@jule239

@noneofyourfbusinessworld

@annispamz

@thehufflepuffavenger1

@eviethetheatrefreak

@lovejunz

@nervous-bee

@lifelessfan

@phantomxoxo

@ladymarvel27

369 notes · View notes

nebula1734 · 15 days ago

Text

The media keeps saying stuff about the gun used in the UHC CEO killing being a 3D printed ghost gun , and as someone who knows guns and 3D printing, I want to give my opinion.

The use of a ghost gun is possible. While I don’t know much about them or procuring them, I do know stuff like 80% kits are relatively easy to procure and assemble. A ghost gun is just a gun that doesn’t have a serial number. This leads me to part two.

I’ve seen a lot of articles talking about a lot of ghost guns using 3D printed parts, if not being 3D printed entirely. This is, in the majority of cases, not true. There have been some designs capable of firing bullets that were 3D printed, but it’s rare and very hard to design. 3D printing is essentially just laying down layers of a melted plastic on top of each other and using that heat to connect the separate layers. This leads to several issues with trying to design a firearm made entirely of 3D printed plastic, primarily heat and pressure.

When a bullet fires, part of what applies force to the projectile is extremely hot gasses. The standard 3D print material, PLA, has a melting point of 175 degrees Celsius, which is (probably) much lower than those gasses. That gas also creates pressure which wants to take the path of least resistance, namely through the now softened thermoplastics.

This doesn’t even get into the issue you would have with reliably getting the weapon to cycle and feed ammunition, and from everything I’ve heard/seen, the Adjustor used a semi automatic handgun.

My point is this: don’t listen to the “it was a 3D printed ghost gun” bullshit. It’s fear mongering. In addition, it allows them ignore the issue of gun control in this country. If people are able to just make guns, then that is a completely separate issue.

Edit: It has since come to my attention that it potentially used 3D printed parts, though I haven’t found which ones exactly, presumably ones that would have the least amounts of stress. My point still stands, by calling it a “3D printed ghost gun,” they make it seem like it was entirely 3D printed, which is not the case. The alleged weapon shown in pictures uses components that look like a Glock slide and barrel, as well as magazine.

#luigi mangione #free luigi #the adjuster #uhc ceo #uhc shooter #uhc assassin #news #media back on their bullshit again #just to cover my bases #I am pro gun control #deny defend depose

149 notes · View notes

serpentface · 1 month ago

Text

Retconned Wardi firearms- a basic handgun, a highly decorative ceremonial handgun (belonging to Faiza), and a lance-gun.

Gun tech has officially been nerfed down to hand cannons (press F) (this has been a long time coming but I'd been fallacy of sunk costs-ing myself out of retconning).

Handguns are held similarly to a shotgun, with the butt pressed into the user's shoulder, one hand gripping under the barrel, and the other free to ignite the gunpowder. These represent the most advanced firearms in contemporary usage, both in make and in their use of uniform iron projectiles built to match the gun's bore for greater range and efficiency. Lance-guns are the more basal form, usually larger and mounted with the pole held over the shoulder, and are most effectively used by two people (one to hold and aim, one to light the gunpowder).

The spread of firearms is currently mostly limited to the Eastern Inner Seaway peoples (with some additional distribution via overland trade), and actual manufacture of hand cannons and gunpowder at Significant scale is limited to the region's core powers.

The reason for this limited spread is partially due to specific elements of the technology's history. Gunpowder was first synthesized by Burri alchemists and considered to be the discovery of the legendary divine weapon + solar fire of the deity Inanariya, and its formula (along with techniques for ideally refining its components) remained a closely guarded state secret. It was used predominantly in priestly contexts to generate flame and explosive sounds (in conjunction with earlier practices of generating multicolored flames with use of other chemicals), then integrated into combustible weaponry in the forms of fire lances, which would eventually develop into early handcannons.

The treatment of gunpowder as a guarded sacred or semi-sacred substance continued with Wardi adoption, where knowledge of its making is considered a closed rite. It's name (inya tsatsul or just tsatsul, a derived adoption of the Burri iñazatsūya) still reflects a divine solar association (the Burri word means 'sun's thunder', the Wardi 'inya' invokes the sun, 'tsatsul' is an adapted loanword and has no meaning independent of the substance itself), though its priestly use is now predominantly associated with the firearm'ed Odonii (rather than priests of the solar Face Inyamache). The composition of gunpowder can no longer be regarded as a Secret by any means, though efforts to obscure the methods of its creation are still moderately successful and has kept knowledge of gunpowder manufacture more limited than the total sphere of firearm usage itself.

The actual strongest limiting factor of firearm usage is the rarity of natural saltpeter deposits necessary for making gunpowder. The practice of actively producing saltpeter via nitraries has not been developed anywhere in the setting, and all is instead obtained via natural sources. These sources are rare and limited within the current spread of firearm technology, and result in gunpowder being a limited and expensive substance to produce. The weapons themselves are also very expensive to manufacture (a good quality steel SWORD is far too material-cost prohibitive for most people to own), particularly high quality firearms designed for use with standardized ammunition.

These guns are also very basal, and logistical difficulties in their use (weight, very slow loading and firing speed, high visibility, Relatively low reach and accuracy) along with the restrictive cost of production has kept firearms far from rendering conventional weaponry, armor, and projectiles obsolete (even within the societies that have access to them). They are still, however, very devastating in use within their contemporary context, particularly in that high quality guns have a longer range than the best arrow-based projectiles, and utterly negate most contemporary forms of armor at close range.

#I'd consider the setting to be like.....most closely analogous to like 3rd-1st century BCE earth (in terms of the average scale of #societies + Most of its technology (aside from major exceptions like this) + trade interconnectivity)#There are VERY few Very Big states capable of mass-manufacturing and resource extraction (like nothing the size of #the Roman empire has Ever existed in this setting. The biggest empires aren't even close. Cynozepal has a pretty massive territorial #span so is probably the closest thing but its actual control is highly fragmented along disconnected central hubs)#There's significant seaway trade connections but the Vast majority of transmission of goods is localized (even moreso over land)#So point being firearms have developed '''''earlier''''''' than in IRL history but the conditions that enabled very rapid spread are #not really present (though it's fairly inevitable that they'll become widespread over the next few centuries)#Also the likely trajectory of adaptation is going to be the development of Plate armor (which could absorb/block shots #from some types of firearms More advanced than these).#The types of armor used in this particular region is mostly lamellar/scale/padded fabric/leather and rarely involves #full body protection (using a shield to compensate) so developing thicker and fully protective armor would be the next logical #step in the arms race #I think it would be a fun constructed history for armor technology to outpace these simple firearms enough that they end up largely #abandoned in favor of re-specializing in close combat but I don't really care to plan out the far future that much

76 notes · View notes

gigabyte-flare · 2 years ago

Text

There's No Escape (Part 7) [FINALE]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: The door is open, is it worth risking walking through to your freedom?

Pairing: yandere!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Word Count: 3.2k

If any of the warnings below trigger you, please kindly pass on this fic

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life; if you feel this way, please go touch grass. You are solely responsible for your own content consumption

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL YEET YOU INTO THE GODDAMN SUN. Thank you!

Warnings (may not apply to all parts): Sex, gaslighting, swearing, stalking, acts of violence, blood, dubcon, kidnapping, pet names (baby, doll, angel, sweetheart, etc.), PTSD triggers, unprotected sex, forced breeding, daddy kink, manipulation, oral (m and f receiving), choking, overstimulation, knife play, gunplay, masterbation, drugging, tokophobia, Stockholm syndrome if you squint. Long story short, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. More warnings could be added in the future.

This part does make mention of miscarriages, which I know can be triggering for people. If this is something that triggers you, please read with caution or pass on this part.

Tags: @lipglossanon, @ghostkennedy, @explorevenus, @nexysworld, @ilookatlater, @shroomietrip, @dollrxst, @lomaeuwu, @aliet, @luniaxifics, @miwsolovely, @tosuckmyweenis, @admirxation, @susanmukami, @andieperrie18

[Author's Notes are at the end!]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It has to be a trap, there’s no way he would have left the door unlatched like that, right?

You must have stared at the door for at least an hour, waiting for Leon to walk back through and praise you for being his ‘good girl,’ but he never did. You mull over your options.

If it is a trap, the worst that will happen is he puts you in the timeout room, you know he won’t rough you up too horribly because he wouldn’t risk you miscarrying, right? If it wasn’t a trap, if he actually did accidently leave that door unlatched, this was your perfect opportunity to finally escape, especially now that you have a good idea of where you are.

You decide it’s worth risking, so you start to get a plan in your head. You go into the bedroom closet and find an old looking backpack and start packing supplies: a few bottles of water, some granola bars, bug spray and band aids. You find your sneakers and pick out a loose t-shirt and a pair of your jeans and put them on; you need to be as comfortable as you possibly could, you have no clue how long you’ll be hiking for. You realize it wouldn’t be a bad idea to find something to defend yourself with, not just from Leon if he happens to catch you but from the wildlife: black bears, coyotes and god knows what else.

You approach the front door, opening it hesitantly and poking your head out. You look around, trying to see if you see any sign of Leon out here, waiting for you. To your surprise, he’s nowhere to be found. Feeling confident that he’s definitely not here, you step out and follow the trail to the shed, hoping that you could find something in there to defend yourself with. Upon getting to the shed, you found the door was locked. You step back, giving the door a few fierce kicks before it breaks off its hinges, slamming to the floor, dispelling a cloud of dust as it lands.

You step in and immediately start looking around, eventually stumbling upon a collection of guns that Leon has displayed on a wall. You grab a smaller handgun along with a box of 9mm ammunition. You put the ammo in your backpack and you tuck the gun into your waistband after making sure the safety was on. As you start to walk out, you spot a red canister. You walk over to it, picking it up and realizing it was full of gasoline. That gave you an idea.

Taking the canister with you, you go back into the house and stomp into the timeout room. You open the cap to the canister and start pouring the gas all over the bed until it's empty. You go into the kitchen and start opening drawers until you find a pack of matches which, thankfully, had one match left. You go back into the timeout room, staring down at the single match in the palm of your hand, tears forming in your eyes.

When you light the match, you can burn away this nightmare.

You light the match, holding it in front of you for a moment before tossing it onto the bed. The force of the fire bursting to life knocks you off your feet, but you quickly regain your composure and run out the front door. Once outside, you stop and turn around. It doesn’t take long for the fire to spread to other parts of the house. Taking a huge sigh of relief, you turn back around, looking up at the sky to find the sun. You discern which direction you think South is in and begin walking. You have a long journey ahead of you to freedom.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The meeting with President Graham lasted for far too long, in Leon’s opinion. He sat at the oval shaped table, chair leaned back and his arms crossed, looking unamused. It was him, a handful of other agents tasked with combating bioterrorism, the President and the newly appointed Secretary of Defense; he recalls that the dark haired man, an agent like him, sitting across from him is named Patrick.

Leon half listens as the Secretary of Defense goes on about the investigation of former Defense Secretary Wilson; the government was still trying to track him down but so far, all efforts to find the man were unsuccessful. Leon thought back to that incident a year ago and Jason’s words:

“I will show everyone what fear is. Then, then it will spread.”

Leon suddenly can see your face, the fear in your eyes as you look at him. Leon’s heart ached for you; as soon as this meeting was over, he was going straight home to you, to show you how much he loved you. After about another half hour, the President dismisses everyone. Leon couldn’t get out of his chair fast enough, however, Patrick soon stops him in the hallway.

“Hey! How’s it going at that house you got? How’s your girlfriend doing?” Patrick asks, his voice full of excitement; he is always starstruck by Leon.

“It’s good, she’s good,” Leon says flatly as he pulls out his phone to check it.

A series of notifications, from about two hours ago, made his heart sink: Motion Detected: Front Door. Motion Detected: Shed Door.

Fire Detected.

Leon’s eyes widen, he opens up an app on his phone to check the camera feeds, but he finds that all the cameras are offline except for the shed.

“I hate to cut this short, Pat, but there’s an emergency at my house. I have to go. Tell the President I’m sorry and give him my regards.”

Leon bolts out of the building, running to his Jeep and climbing inside. He peels out of the parking lot, his heart racing as he pushes his Jeep as hard and as fast as it could go. He gets back to the house in record time, only to find it engulfed in flames; it is a complete loss. He parks his Jeep, standing in front of his burning home and collapsing to his knees. He lets out the most agonizing cry out, tears threatening to pour down the sides of his face as he slams his fists into the ground. It’s not the house he’s upset about, no. That can be replaced. What destroyed him was that you were gone, again.

He takes deep, trembling breaths before he stands back up, he sees something out of the corner of his eye that gives him hope: footprints. They tracked about South-Southwest, deep into the forest. He walks back over to his Jeep, grabbing some supplies out of it and begins following the trail.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The night was the worst. You couldn’t sleep. Every snap of a tree branch startled you awake, thinking that Leon had finally found you. You didn’t dare start a fire or anything in fear it would draw his attention to you. You imagine he’s back home by now and found the house burned down and is now looking for you. Just as the sun starts to break through the trees, you immediately set out, trying to stay on a Southern track as best as you possibly could.

You keep your eyes on your feet, nimbly navigating the rocks and tree roots that jutted out of the ground. You thankfully were an experienced hiker; this came naturally to you. At the same time, you kept your ears open, being attentive to every sound you heard in the forest. You have no idea how much time has passed, but you see the sun hanging high in the sky, beating down on you. You stop under a large pine tree to take a break, leaning against it as you take off your backpack, taking a granola bar out to have a quick bite to eat.

That’s when you hear a sound that chills you straight to your core; your name being called. The voice echoes through the forest. There’s no mistaking it; it is Leon. You’re shocked that he managed to track you down that quickly. Are you really surprised though? He’s a government agent; he’s used to this kind of work. With each call, you can hear his voice get closer and closer, so you run. You sling your backpack back over your shoulders, running as fast as your legs can take you.

Suddenly, you stop in your tracks, sliding until your feet stop at the edge of a large ravine. You look down, wide eyed, at the raging river in the gully below. You look around, spotting a tree that lay across the ravine. It’s risky, but it’s your only way across. You approach the tree, stepping up onto it and carefully balancing yourself across. You try not to look down, but you happen to glance down, the drop making you dizzy. You almost lose your balance, but you quickly correct yourself and manage to get yourself across. You step off the fallen tree, letting out a heavy sigh when you hear your name called again, this time, from directly across the ravine.

You spin around and to your horror, you see Leon on the other side, approaching the fallen tree to cross to get to you. You pull out the pistol from your waistband, turning off the safety and pointing the gun at him.

“Don’t come any closer!”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

“It won’t end,” Leon hears Jason’s words once again echo in his mind as he watches you pull the gun on him, your eyes wide in terror, “you are here. You are a witness to this fear. And now you will help it spread.”

Leon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as he steps onto the fallen tree to cross the ravine.

So much for that…

“Sweetheart,” Leon opens his eyes and starts taking a few steps forward onto the fallen tree, “listen, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I said… don’t come any closer!” you shout, tears welling up in your eyes as your finger hovers over the trigger.

“Baby, please!” Leon pleads, continuing to advance across the tree, “I promise I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad about the house, ok? I’ll buy us a new one. We can go back to Boston or D.C. or anywhere you want! Just you and me… and our baby…”

“I’m not going anywhere with you…”

“Babe,” a wicked smile starts to cross his lips as he continues to step forward, now in the middle of the makeshift bridge, “that’s where you’re wrong. You have my baby growing inside you, you’re tied to me forever…”

“SHUT UP!” You scream, pulling the trigger.

Leon watches as the bullet strikes just in front of his feet, splintering the wood from the old, rotten tree. He carefully continues to step forward. He watches you pull the trigger again, this time a sharp pain going through his right shoulder as the bullet finds its mark. He growls, reaching over with his left hand, gripping his shoulder; it quickly is covered in his own blood.

“You’re going to stop where you are, turn around and go back to where you came from. We are done.” you say, still pointing the gun at him.

“No we’re not,” Leon says, continuing to approach, “I am not losing you… I am not losing my baby.”

You fire at him again, the bullet once again going into the tree. Leon looks down, letting out a low chuckle as he looks back up at you, taking another step forward. However, with this next step, he hears the tree start to give under his weight. He attempts to leap forward, but the tree gives way before he’s able to and the last thing he remembers is your face staring down at him as he falls into the ravine.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You watch as the tree snaps and Leon falls into the ravine; into the white rapids of the river below. You stare down at the river, dumbfounded, your eyes searching the rapids for him, but you don’t see him. You fall to your knees and break down crying. You probably just killed Leon. The horror of having potentially murdered Leon gives way to a huge wave of relief, the nightmare was truly over. You must have stayed there for over an hour, staring into the river, waiting for Leon to surface.

But he never did.

The sun starts to set, so you decide to set back off, heading south once more. Once it gets dark, you find a safe spot to set up camp, feeling safe enough to set up a fire to keep yourself warm. You stare into the fire, your body trembling from your ordeal. You still can’t believe you probably killed Leon, you can’t believe that your nightmare is over. That you’re free.

Several days go by; while you were sometimes startled by random sounds in the forest, your trek through the forest was uneventful. It had downpoured at one point, completely soaking you, your clothes and your shoes. You had run out of granola bars and water and you quickly were becoming dehydrated. One night, you settle down to get some sleep; however, you could hear sounds that immediately caught your attention.

Laughter. The laughter of several people

You immediately get up, grabbing your backpack to head towards the sound. After a few minutes of walking, you see a campfire and break into a sprint, bolting into a small clearing where you find a small group of people gathered around the fire. You stand there for a moment, looking at all of them. You must have been a sorry sight, your clothes dirty and wet, your hair greasy, soaked, matted and stuck to your face. You feel tears well up in your eyes as a wave of relief wash over you.

You finally speak, your voice barely a whisper, “please… help me…”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The following days went by in a blur, the group, which you found out was a group of college students, helped you out of Baxter State Park and immediately contacted Fish and Game, who in turn contacted the police after you recounted what had happened to you. You were rushed to the hospital, where you were put on an IV for your dehydration. They were able to confirm that you were, in fact, pregnant, much to your dismay, but you weren’t going to worry about that right now.

Police had come in to interview you as you stayed in the hospital to recover from your ordeal, you told them as much as you possibly could about what happened to you, however, not once do you mention Leon’s name.

Why are you protecting him? you ask yourself, he’s dead, it doesn’t matter now.

But deep down you knew if you told them that an elite government agent had done this to you, they wouldn’t have believed you. One day, you overhear a couple cops talking outside of your hospital room, saying how they didn’t find a body in the ravine that you pointed out on a map of Baxter State Park. You try not to let fear overtake you; you could have been mistaken where the ravine was. You saw him fall, there was no way he survived that fall.

A couple days later, you were released from the hospital and were greeted by your parents, who were so happy to see you. They drive you back to D.C., and you pass out, sleeping the majority of the way there. The following days go by peacefully, as you acclimate back to a semi normal life. You then start to talk to your parents about what you’re going to do with the child growing inside you, it’s starting to sound like adoption was the best option. However, your own body made that decision for you.

You wake up one morning to severe abdominal pain; you cry out, grasping your lower stomach as you sit up and toss the blankets off you. What you see is horrifying. Your bed and your pajama bottoms are soaked in your blood; you scream a blood curdling scream. Your mom comes rushing in to see what’s going on and immediately calls 911 upon seeing the blood. You’re rushed to the hospital, where you’re told you have miscarried. As you lay in the hospital bed, you can’t help but feel relieved. The last thing you would ever want was to bring a child into this world who was conceived under such horrible circumstances.

The doctors suspect it was due to the sheer amount of stress you had been under and the dehydration. You don’t doubt it. You can’t help but think about how horrified Leon would have been if he were here. Thankfully for you, he wasn’t. Once you are released from the hospital, you start the agonizing journey to heal yourself and to find yourself again after what you had gone through.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Three years later, Northern California…

You and your new found girlfriends drive down Route 1 in one of the girls’ convertible. You all joke and laugh as the wind flows through your hair; you couldn’t be happier. Your ordeal seemed so far away, especially since you decided to move West, as far away from the East coast as you could possibly go. You needed a fresh start. Neither of these girls knew what you had gone through. Someday, you would tell them, but not today. Today was for happiness and friendship. The girls’ names are Jill and ironically, Rebecca. You had met them at a bar one night and they welcomed you into their friendship with open arms.

Jill is driving and she pulls over in a scenic stop area so that you all could watch the sunset over the Pacific ocean. You all get out of the car and lean up against it, facing the ocean. You all talk amongst yourselves, paying no mind to the motorcycle that had pulled into the scenic stop along with you. After a few minutes, Jill stops, looking over at the motorcycle that’s parked over on the other side of the scenic stop.

She elbows you, “look at that handsome stud.”

You lean forward and crane your neck to see who Jill is talking about and your heart sinks. It’s a tall, blonde haired man leaning against a black, Ducati motorcycle. He wore a black leather jacket with white, horizontal stripes on the sleeves, black jeans and black boots.

He looks just like Leon.

You take deep breaths to calm yourself down and close your eyes, hugging yourself.

It’s not Leon, Leon’s dead, you watched him die. You’re safe.

You open your eyes to see the man staring right at you, you can tell he has brilliant blue eyes, just like Leon’s. He winks at you before climbing onto his motorcycle and starting the engine. Much to your relief, he drives off, getting back on Route 1. You let out a sigh, leaning back up against the car to stare back out into the Pacific ocean.

“He was quite the looker, wasn’t he?” Jill asks, elbowing you again and smirking at you.

Your eyes remain fixed on the ocean, your face blank and emotionless.

“Yeah… I guess he was…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: This series has been quite the journey for me. Not only did it kick start my return to Tumblr, it connected me with some truly wonderful people in the Leon Kennedy/Resident Evil fandom. I've made beautiful friends because of this series and I am so incredibly grateful. If this series was a movie, I always imagined The Summit by Spiritbox to be the "ending credits" song.

Thank you to everyone who has joined me on this journey, I appreciate every single one of you who have supported my work on here. Love you all!

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #yandere!leon kennedy #yandere!leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy smut #gigabyte writes #there's no escape

674 notes · View notes

jacktheeldergod2 · 6 months ago

Text

Guess who's back at it again

Pick a creature you gotta hunt. But ofcourse your armaments will be added first. Pick one of these. All are nonmagical. The ammunition refers to how much you are given for free not how much the item holds

71 notes · View notes

elbiotipo · 10 days ago

Note

If you think about it guns are pretty bad against zombies. If you point a gun against a mob of humans, they will stop even if they outnumber you but that's cause we understand whats a gun and are afraid of them. A zombie wouldn't care. Plus, you might stop a person with a single shot even if you don't hit a vital spot because of the pain, but zombies in fiction not only not feel pain, they can walk despite being half rotten, so they probably can take a few bullets before getting stopped.

Yes, exactly. Guns are effective because they generate a lot of pain at once when shot to stop/harm someone, and they hit vital organs so they're deadly when shot to kill. Zombies don't care about either of that, and if we're going for the typical "hit them in the head" lore, a headshot is remarkably hard to do compared to hitting body mass which is more effective in the case of humans (recent events have, uh, put this to the test), but less so for zombies. The only truly effective kind of gun against zombies would be some sort of emplaced machine gun, everything else will just run out of ammunition without you achieving anything. Though I'm sure the internet had this conversation a thousand times already and it's on the Zombie Survival Guide (Max Brooks is a hack though)

The other day I was talking with my friend about Project Zomboid and we concluded that in a country like Argentina, where guns just aren't widely available outside of police, the military and criminals (and even those are often handguns), the most effective thing for combat would be to go full medieval, get motorcycle helmets, padded clothes, improvise some lances (this is my knife-stick) or such. A single gun with six rounds is useless in such a case (it's also frankly useless for most things besides intimidating or murdering individuals), you have to get a bunch of people, organize them, think Roman or Greek tactics. Again, Max Brooks is a hack but he did this analysis well.

34 notes · View notes

thespnreferencedesk · 5 days ago

Text

How to Use the Reference Desk

The SPN Reference Desk is here for all of your nichest, most seemingly insignificant questions about Supernatural canon as well as comprehensive guides covering the basics in one single space. Unlike a fandom wiki, these guides are aimed specifically at the needs of creators and fan-fiction authors who want to dive deeper into certain topics like Baby’s specs, Bobby’s house layout, or how the hell the boys’ different guns work.

Types of Guides - SPN Reference Desk written guides - SPN Reference Desk screenshots - Art references - How-to guides - Other people’s guides

Reference Desk guides will be broken down into categories. Within those categories, each guide will be grouped by topic and tagged for easy access.

Due to the “work in progress” nature of this blog, categories and topics that are listed below but don’t have a link are guides planned for the future.

Locations - Bobby’s House - Singer Auto Salvage - Men of Letter’s Bunker - etc. Car Talk - Baby (1967 Impala) - Castiel’s Pimpmobile (1978 Continental) - John’s truck (1986 GMC) - etc. Weaponry - Handguns - Dean’s M1911 - Sam’s PT92 - “The Colt” - Shotguns - Ithaca 37 - Remington 870 - Ammunition - Blades - Magical weapons - etc. Lifestyle - Personal belongings - Travel - In-universe brands - etc.

Have a suggestion for a guide? Got a specific question you need help answering? Drop an ask and leave a question for your librarian!

#about #navigation #tag masterlist

358 notes · View notes

on-a-lucky-tide · 5 months ago

Text

Price takes Nikolai to a gig and gets more than he bargained for.

cw: sexual content towards the end.

Price stood on the outskirts in the standing area of Liverpool's Olympia stadium tracing back the decisions that had led him to this moment. He clutched half a pint of the worst lager he had ever tasted in one hand, his fingers bending the plastic inwards under a tense grip, while the other hand remained deep in the pocket of his jeans, turning his flat keys over and over.

Nik had thrown the flyer down on his desk about a month ago, and those big brown eyes had been turned onto their pleading setting immediately. Laswell likened them to the eyes of her barrel-shaped black Labrador; big, loyal, soft, irresistible. Price had asked her whether her wife knew there would soon be a third in their marriage and she'd thumped his arm hard enough to leave a mark. "Liverpool, this is where you live," Nik had said, stating rather than asking. "Can you help me book this?"

Nikolai could fix you a handgun in Liverpool no problem, replete with silencer and enough hollow point ammunition to create a very bad night for the Merseyside police force, but booking and attending a gig was apparently too much. Price had snagged up the flyer, squinted at the band name as if he had a chance in hell of recognising it, and then agreed.

Because why the fuck not? Brass were pressuring him to book some leave so they could tick the 'monitoring mental health and well being' box on his performance management, so it was as good excuse as any. You can kip on my sofa, he'd said, I can cook a better sarnie than the Premier Inn.

Nik's entire face had lit up. "Good! And you can come with me," a single beat of breath, "or I might get lost." There has been no time to argue the point because Garrick had knocked and entered, only to be scooped into a hug with a boomed, "Gaz, my brother, good to see you!" and the Russian-shaped whirlwind had disappeared.

So Price had done just that. He'd booked two tickets at the same time as his annual leave - three days should get them off his back - and put it out of his mind.

Not that there would have been much time to mull it over; they shipped out on a week long recon mission the following day, and the fallout that followed had taken up the rest of the time. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the train with Nik opposite, watching the British countryside sprint by in a blur of green and grey, drinking a beer and playing cards.

Being around Nik was easy. It wasn't just that he didn't take up energy to entertain, or require a certain mask from Price, it was more than that. Like he slotted into a part of Price's psyche built precisely for him, and Price felt happier when he was there. Laswell said it was like Nik removed the stick from Price's arse as part of his exfil service and Price had told Laswell to fuck off.

They had spent the afternoon mooching around Price's gaff. Not much to see really, but Nik had been fascinated by the dusty family photos on Price's wall and asked after every face; mother, father, sister, two nieces, a nephew, grandparents. He'd wanted to know about them all.

Then, with an hour and a half to go before Olympia's doors opened, they'd got changed for the evening. Price had thrown on the only shirt he owned that didn't come from the bargain bin of a Mountain Warehouse or the Army Surplus catalogue - a Ralph Lauren his sister has bought him one Christmas instead of the much preferred fishing-themed memorabilia - and stepped out to be confronted by Nik in a Slayer cut off tank that showed off the sides of his torso in a way that made Price feel hot under his designer collar.

"You look," Nik had said, studying Price carefully, head tilting to the side with a wry little smirk, "ill-prepared."

"And you look like Ozzy Osbourne took some steroids so I reckon it evens out." Nik had laughed at that and thumped Price's chest, and in the next moment they were sitting in the back of a taxi, Nik talking through the set list with the same excited gusto he did when pawing over a new bird in the hanger. Price was just glad he had remembered his Loop earplugs and couldn't help but smile along at Nik's excitement.

After drinking together through the support band and watching Nik grow gradually more and more restless, Price had sent him into the pit. He stood watching Nik from afar - "your shirt is too nice, captain, you stay here and finish your beer, I'll be back," - a man ten years his senior, orchestrate what the lead singer was calling a Wall of Death. More, more, further. Don't be a pussy! And then they sprinted at each other to the crescendo of a shredding guitar. Jesus fucking christ. Price lifted his lager to drink and then hesitated; he was pretty sure he'd felt something wet slosh over his face and shoulders, into his drink, and he couldn't be sure it wasn't piss, so he put his inordinately expensive and shit lager down on the nearby bar.

The last gig he had been to was at fifteen, a year before he joined the service. 3rd November 2000 at Wembley in London; the Smashing Pumpkins. He remembered it so clearly because of the hiding his father had given him for not only hitchhiking his way to London, but stumbling home off his head on cheap vodka the morning after. There hadn't been any Walls of Death at the time.

Nik stumbled out of the melee that had followed the wall's demise just as the song ended, and a line formed down the centre of Price's brow. A knot twisted in his belly, and a little further down, at the lumbering mess of a man that approached. His tank clung to the curves of his chest, darkened with sweat, his usually neat hair ruffled and erratic, the sheen on his arms and collar bones reflecting the strobe lights and drawing Price's eye. A shiver of something that felt far too fucking much like longing ran down his spine.

"You're bleeding," Price said dumbly, his throat tight. His gaze settled on the split in Nik's lip and the blossoming bruise on his cheekbone.

"Eh," Nik huffed, wiping a smear of blood on the back of his hand. "The other guy looks worse." There was that feral little grin. The same grin Nikolai wore in the field when shit had gone Pete Tong but they had still come up golden through sheer grit, dumb luck and the precise application of violent savagery. It set a fire in Price's chest, made something feral and untamed rouse from slumber, and suddenly there was an itch beneath his skin.

"Damn fuckin' right," Price replied, reflecting Nik's grin back at him. A breath passed between them, something unspoken and wild as their eyes met. And then there was a strong hand gripping his jaw, another on his hip, pushing him into the wall behind him. His back hit home, knocking the air from his lungs, and his fists bunched in the sweat-soaked material of Nik's shirt as Nik's lips pushed to his. The coppery taste of blood mixed with cheap beer and cigar smoke, and every sane thought fell out of Price's head, replaced instead by a maelstrom of chaos centered around the feel of Nik's tongue, the softness of his lips, the demand of his teeth and the rock hard bulge that ground into Price's hips.

Price was sure his moan would have been audible but for the thump and scream of the music. Nik kept that grip on his jaw as he damn near plundered Price's mouth for what he wanted, but the other hand left his hip to push against the wall, clenched in a fist near Price's head. When they pulled apart, Price sucked in a strangled gasp of air and Nik pushed his face into the scruff of Price's beard. "Ty prekrasen," Nik breathed, "ya tebya hochu."

Price had been practicing Russian. He still couldn't read it, but even if he hadn't understood the words or the low growl in Nik's voice, the hunger in Nik's kiss on his neck would have communicated his meaning just fine. "Bloody hell," Price arched against the hard line of Nik's body, fists shaking. "Yeah. Fuck. Wait..." He shoved Nik away, just a fraction, but held onto his shirt with the same desperation. Caught in the conflict between what he wanted and another part of him that had been wounded once before. "I'm not your three a.m. shag, Nik. We clear? I don't do that. If this is--if this is what this is, then no, look at me, you hear?"

Nik let out a burst of a chuckle, eyes soft as he met Price's gaze. "John, you are and always will be my everything." He was drunk enough to struggle around the 'J' in Price's name, defaulting the zsho- inflection, but his eyes were clear as he said it.

"Fuck," Price responded, eyes wide, and Nik kissed him again, slower this time. When he stopped, Price was shaking.

"And you?" Nik breathed into his lips.

"Not here, not... I can't hear myself fucking think."

"Then home." Nik pulled him from the wall and soon they were navigating the corridors crowded with drunks and staff into the night. The cool air bristled over Price's skin, but it did little to cool the heat in his body, barely able to keep his hands off of Nik when they fell into the back of the cab. Nik sat contentedly, the backs of his fingers stroking up and down Price's forearm as he watched the city speed by.

Price's hands shook as he shoved the key in the door of his flat, and he turned just in time to be crowded across the threshold by Nik's chest. The door slammed shut and they tumbled onto the beaten up old sofa padded out with a spare duvet and pillow. Nik tore into Price's clothes remorselessly, thirty-ish quids worth of buttons skittered under Price's coffee table as the shirt was k.i.a. It didn't matter, because the feeling of Nik devouring his chest, scrubbing his stubble into sweat, hair and cologne with a deep, guttural groan, was worth every shirt Price owned and then some.

They fumbled and wrestled out of their clothes in search of skin. Nik worked his way down Price's body, wrenching his jeans and boxers over his thighs to lick a long stripe up the hard line of his prick before swallowing it in one. A strangled noise broke from Price's chest as he buried a fist in Nik's hair; the responding moan that vibrated in Nik's throat sent pleasure licking up Price's spine like tongues of flame. Nik kept him teetering on the brink, pulling away with a soft pop to work his way back up Price's body and squirm out of the baggy cargo shorts far enough to free his own cock. He took them both in one big hand and rutted forward, grabbing at the arm of the sofa behind Price's head for purchase.

Slicked by their precum and Nik's saliva, Nik fucked them both into his palm with enough pace and force to make the old sofa creak. He leaned down to kiss the moans and whimpers from Price's mouth in between growled pants of want, slipping in and out of Russian, English and some of the other eight languages he knew, like his brain had short-circuited and was spinning out. Fuckin' hot, is what it was. One of Price's hands joined Nik's, if only to feel the silky iron of his prick against another part of him. He squeezed tighter as his pleasure crested, balls pulling tight, and spilled between them.

Nik practically fucking purred with delight, thrusting against Price's spent cock until he grunted in discomfort before pulling away. No fucking way Price was letting him keep the upper hand; he snagged Nik's shorts and used them to yank him up until Nik's cum-slick cock hung over his face. His palm gripping one plentiful arse cheek, he sucked Nik into the back of his mouth, encouraging him to thrust in with a firm squeeze and low growl.

If Price had thought Nik had been loud before, the act of fucking Price's face had unearthed a whole new vocal range. Nik moaned, growled and panted like an animal, fisting Price's hair as his balls settled against the bristles on Price's chin. Price's throat spasmed, his chest ached, his damn eyes watered, but fuck he wanted Nik buried in him forever. His fingernails bit into the flesh of his arse, his spent cock flicking with interest across his belly, as Nik staked his claim. It took only a handful of deep thrusts before Nik hit his peak, buried to the hilt and spilling down Price's throat with a euphoric shout.

His grip loosened in Price's hair and he withdrew slowly, cock still twitching as it drew over Price's tongue. He replaced his prick with his mouth, kissing the taste of himself on Price's swollen lips with a bone deep moan, before lapping at the tear tracks on Price's cheeks.

At some point, Nik must have moved them to the bed, because Price resurfaced from his haze with his face on a thick, furry chest and a strong arm around his shoulders, the bedsheets draped up to their waist. Nik traced vague circles on Price's bicep, half lidded eyes unfocused as they stared at the ceiling. "I meant it," Nik said, clearly sensing Price's return from his post-fuck delirium. "Everything I said."

Price swallowed hard. How did you respond to that? Nothing in his life so far had prepared him for Nik's devotion. "I know," he murmured. "I... Me too. For a long time."

Nik shifted, rolling Price onto his back so he could look down into his eyes. "Then we make it work."

"Nik... Our lives, we... Shit could go upside down real bloody quick."

A finger pressed over his lips. "I specialise in upside down, captain."

"You just put your prick in my throat and you're still going with captain."

Nik shrugged, lopsided grin slipping back into place. "It is hot. Maybe I will fuck you in your uniform next time, hm?"

"Presumptuous, Nik..."

"Maybe over your desk." Nik sank down to kiss Price's neck.

"Cleaning lady would have somethin' to say about that."

"She is not invited. I do not share." A nip against his throat, and Price arched into Nik's chest.

"Fuck, okay... Mate, you're rabid."

"Hm, only for you."

Fuck. Only for you. Price closed his eyes as Nik's hand slid beneath the blanket. Yeah, fine, they could make this work. They could have this. They deserved it, this one thing, and fuck did Price want it bad.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #call of duty #cod #pricenik #nikprice

68 notes · View notes

historyofguns · 1 month ago

Link

The article "Dry Fire Training — Misconceptions vs. Reality" by Clayton Walker on The Armory Life explores the benefits and limitations of dry fire training for firearms proficiency. Emphasizing that live fire is not the only method for building competence, it highlights airsoft training as a viable alternative for shooting sports enthusiasts, particularly in countries like Japan where private handgun ownership is restricted. Dry fire training, which simulates live rounds with an empty firearm, is cost-effective, especially with rising ammunition prices, and can significantly enhance skills such as trigger control and target acquisition. However, it stresses that dry fire is not a panacea, as many shooters continue to experience issues like recoil anticipation—often termed as "flinch"—despite mastering dry fire techniques. The article recommends incorporating snap caps, dummy rounds, and dry firing at the range to bridge the cognitive gap and eliminate ingrained bad habits, ensuring effective trigger manipulation across all shooting contexts. Ultimately, it underscores the necessity of integrating dry fire training into broader practice routines for improved marksmanship.

1 note · View note

scary-grace · 3 months ago

Text

Enough to Go By (Chapter 17) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Chapter 17

When you get to the supply cache, Giran is waiting for you, leaning back against the door of the storage unit and smoking a cigarette. It’s not his first one, either – the ground around his feet is scattered with the remains of five or six more. He notices you looking and smirks. “Seems like I’ve been littering, Saintess. Are you going to absolve me?”

“Only if you want me to,” you say. “Do you have what we ordered?”

“Cash first.”

“We paid in advance,” you remind him. Giran holds out both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Was any of it hard to get?”

“Only what you asked for,” Giran says. “For the others, I’ve got replacement parts for Compress’s arm and Toga’s gear, more of those gloves for Shigaraki, gauntlets for Spinner and Twice – you sure you don’t want a set? They were buy two, get one free.”

You’re not sure if he’s joking or not. “That’s everything for the others. How about for me?”

“Of course.” Giran sets the crate with the rest of the supplies aside and pulls out a smaller box. “I have to say, I was surprised when you asked for this. I didn’t think the League’s resident angel would have any interest in a gun.”

“I’m interested in defending myself,” you say. “Open it.”

Giran opens the box, revealing a gun that looks like any other gun you’ve seen, not that you’ve seen many guns up close. “You don’t know enough to specify, so I chose something beginner-friendly,” he says. “This is a .22 caliber handgun. It’s designed for minimum recoil, so as to avoid knocking you back on your ass when you try to fire it. It’s also designed to be quiet, but I’ve thrown in a silencer free of charge.”

“Thanks,” you say. “What about ammunition?”

“Also included, but I’m charging for that. Thanks to the Americans and their mass shootings, it’s hard to buy ammunition in large quantities anywhere else,” Giran says. “Call it a convenience fee. Additionally, the trigger on this model is known to be fairly sensitive, so trigger discipline is going to be key. You know what that means?”

“I know.” You’ve been researching. “Safety on and fingers off unless I’m planning to shoot someone.”

“The instruction manual’s included,” Giran says. You scowl. “Ask Twice for help if you’re confused. He knows how to shoot.”

“Twice with a gun. That sounds safe.”

“Safer than you,” Giran says. “Running around with villains is one thing. Murder’s something else. I don’t think you have it in you.”

“Then I’ll hand the gun off to somebody who does.” You pick the crate up, grimacing at the weight, and Giran shuts the box with the gun and sets it down on top. “Thanks for getting it for me. Stay safe.”

Giran laughs at that. “Try ‘get lost’ next time. It’ll make you sound more intimidating.”

Your costume is a veil and a crown of thorns, and as of right now your weapon is a backpack. Intimidating is a lost cause. “Thanks for the tip. We’ll be in touch.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Giran lights up another cigarette as he walks away.

You unlock the storage unit and step inside. This is a supply cache you haven’t visited before, and you can tell Mitsuko’s the one who set it up, because there’s a box of condoms prominently perched atop six or seven cases of bottled water. You and the others have a water source right now, and while your medical supplies are dwindling, you don’t need a refill just yet. What you’re short on is food. You set down the crate, followed by your backpack, and open them up. Then you start filling both of them with prepackaged food.

Energy bars are the most efficient, space-wise, and they at least make a gesture at containing any kind of nutrients. Unfortunately, the League of Villains is full of adults with children’s tastes in food, and they wouldn’t know a nutrient if it walked up and introduced itself. It’s taken almost a month into the effort to batter Gigantomachia into submission for them to admit that eating nothing but calorie-rich, nutrient-poor food makes them feel gross. If you could get them real food on a regular basis, you would. But it’s almost never feasible, not with the tiny amount of downtime Tenko and the others are working with. It’s packaged food or nothing. They need to eat.

You pick out a variety of items and stuff them into the crate and your own backpack, text thank-you to Mitsuko while pretending you don’t see her message asking if the condoms were the right size, and head out. There are a few more things to buy before you can head back to the others.

As the medic, you’re responsible for the team’s health, and you’re worried about Tenko in particular. He’s exerting himself more than anyone and resting barely at all, and when he does get to rest, it’s all you can do to convince him to eat a few bites of anything before he passes out. The caloric input to output imbalance has stripped him of any remaining body fat, and when you touch him now, all you can feel are hard ropes of muscle and prominent bones straining beneath his skin.

The caloric imbalance is bad enough, but you’ve seen everything he’s eating, so you know he’s massively vitamin-deficient as well. If he won’t eat enough to get the amount he needs, you’ve got another way to do it. The clerk at the drugstore looks askance at the number of pill bottles you’re carrying. “These aren’t cheap, you know.”

“I know,” you say. “I’ll need a bag.”

The bag plus the crate and your backpack are stupidly heavy. You’re struggling as you head for the train station, gritting your teeth against the pain in your arms. You’ve been more active in the last month and a half than you’ve ever been in your life, and there’s not a day when some part of you isn’t sore. You pause at the bottom of the stairs to the platform and stare dismally upward. This one is going to hurt.

“Do you need help with that?”

You almost jump out of your skin, and almost drop what you’re carrying in the bargain. There’s a girl standing next to you, and you recognize her. In fact, you know her hero name, her real name, her quirk, and her blood type, courtesy of Toga. “Ochako?”

Uraraka Ochako, hero name: Uravity, looks shocked. “You know my name?”

“I remember you from the Sports Festival,” you say. It’s not so much that you remember watching the Sports Festival and more that Toga watches clips of it on YouTube to fall asleep. “You were really good. I liked your plan a lot.”

“Oh, thank you! I just wish it had worked,” Uraraka says ruefully. She gestures at the boxes you’re carrying. “Do you need help with those? I can make them lighter for you.”

You were going to say no, but if all she has to do is touch them – “Thank you so much. That would be really great.”

It’s much easier to get up the stairs when the stuff you’re carrying is lighter than air. Uraraka follows you up. “Do you live nearby? I can help you get them home.”

You shake your head. “I have a really long way to go.”

“I’ll stay until your train gets here,” she decides. You protest that your train’s running late, and she probably has somewhere to be. “My internship is right around here, and I’m off for the day. I don’t mind.”

You sort of mind. You’re on your way to hook back up with the League of Villains and you’re carrying what feels like a literal kiloton of contraband. You have a hard time believing that the word VILLAIN isn’t stamped on your forehead. But you can’t be rude, the crate really is heavy, and Toga will kill you if she finds out that you had the chance to talk to Uraraka and didn’t take it. You struggle for a topic to raise, and your brain suggests the Shie Hassaikai raid. “I saw in the paper that you helped rescue that little girl.”

“That wasn’t me. It was Deku,” Uraraka says. “I helped with other things, but he was the one who saved her.”

“Do you know how she’s doing?” you ask. “Is she okay?”

“She is! She stays with Aizawa-sensei and the other teachers and we all love her so much.” Uraraka is beaming now. “She’s okay even though the League of Villains kidnapped her. I can’t believe they just gave her back.”

Not ‘dumped her’, not ‘threw her away’. Gave her back. Your heart lifts enough that it’s a struggle to come up with the appropriate civilian response. “She must have been so scared. Did they hurt her?”

“That’s the weird part. She says she wasn’t scared,” Uraraka says. She frowns slightly. “She said they were nice to her. They gave her this blanket and this dog plushie. Aizawa-sensei keeps trying to swap it out for a cat plushie, but she won’t let it go.”

“Weird,” you agree. “Are you sure it was the League that got her?”

“She described them all. Shigaraki, Toga, Dabi – everybody.” Uraraka’s frown deepens. “And one we hadn’t heard of before. One nobody had heard of before. Saintess.”

You were hoping Eri wouldn’t remember, but it sounds like she does – and she knows what you look like. Did she describe you, too? Is that why Uraraka won’t leave? You struggle to stay calm. Physically, you don’t stand out. There are probably thousands of people who match your physical description, and Uraraka isn’t acting like a hero who’s just cornered a suspect. Heroes don’t play it cool. She thinks you’re just a random civilian with a bunch of boxes to carry, and she’s helping out. Which is – nice. Heroes aren’t usually nice like that.

“Saintess,” you repeat. “That’s a weird name for a villain.”

“Right?” Uraraka’s frown shifts into confusion. “The whole thing is weird. They’re villains. It’s easier when they just act like it.”

Huh. You don’t spend a lot of time around full-fledged heroes, but when you were Kazuo’s girlfriend, you spent a lot of time around heroes in training, and you don’t remember any of them ever saying something like that. “What do you mean?”

“I mean –” Uraraka pauses to think for a second. “Shigaraki tried to kill us at USJ. The League of Villains attacked us and kidnapped one of my classmates. It’s weird that they’d draw the line at hurting a little kid.”

“Villains have lines?” You fake confusion. “I thought they didn’t care who they hurt.”

“Some of them don’t. The one Deku fought to save Eri definitely didn’t. I guess the League does.” Uraraka looks uneasy. “That doesn’t change anything.”

It does, though. You can see it in her face. The fact that the League let Eri go, that they took care of her while they had her, is challenging her worldview to a degree she’s not comfortable with. You need to ease off, switch the topic before she doubles down – and before you can slip up defending the others. “I’m glad she wasn’t hurt, and that she’s doing better. It sounds like you all care about her a lot, and everybody deserves people who love them.”

“They do.” Uraraka’s smile returns at last, and you breathe a sigh of relief. You got her to agree to that statement in the middle of a conversation about the League. That feels less like a narrow escape and more like a win.

Your train arrives late, and you bid Uraraka goodbye and thank her for her help. Then you climb onto the train with your crate full of supplies and check the time on your phone. If you’re lucky, you’ll get back just as the fighting’s dying down.

At first you thought Gigantomachia could keep fighting forever, but it turns out that his strength and stamina aren’t infinite – just more than sufficient to outlast any normal human. He can fight for three days at a stretch, hibernate for less than three hours, and pick up right where he left off. There’s no hiding from. Wherever he is, he’ll seek Tenko out, and while Twice’s copies of Tenko can keep him occupied for a short time, three and a half hours is the longest break you’ve ever seen Tenko get.

It’s not enough. Not even close. The fight against the giant is destroying Tenko, and there’s nothing you can do except try to make sure he eats something before he falls asleep – and try to make sure that whatever sleep he does get is as restful as humanly possible.

The train gods are kind to you. You get back on time, meet Compress just outside the small town nearest to where Tenko and the others are fighting so he can contain the supplies and make them easier to carry, then head towards the base camp that’s been set up for the hibernation period. Compress’s phone rings as the two of you hurry along. It’s Twice, and you can hear him shouting even though he’s not on speaker. “Do you have her? He’s going to want to see her.”

“I’m here,” you say. No matter what, you make sure you’re there when the fighting pauses. It’s the only time you get to see Tenko these days. “How is he?”

“This was a rough one,” Twice says, but he says that every time. “Better hurry.”

You pick up the pace until you’re practically jogging. It’s been three days since you saw Tenko, and you’ve missed him a lot more than you want to let on to the others. You know they don’t question your commitment to the League or your devotion to him. You just don’t want them to know how far it really goes.

You reach the base camp a few seconds before Tomura and Twice do, and it’s just enough time for Compress to release the supplies and for you to set them down before Tomura collides with you. You realize instantly that Twice wasn’t kidding – instead of his usual limp exhaustion, Tomura’s shaky, and when he hugs you, you can feel his heart beating through his ribs. The level of adrenaline in his system must be absurd. He’s not getting to sleep like this, and if you wait for him to crash, he’ll be exhausted by the time the fighting picks back up again.

You piece together a plan on the fly, a plan that will hopefully net you some time to make sure he eats and get him at least an hour of uninterrupted sleep. Tomura’s trying to put on his gloves without letting go of you. You step back out of his embrace and take hold of his wrist. “Come with me.”

You don’t tell Twice and Compress where you’re going or what you’re doing, but you have a feeling they can guess. As much as that makes you cringe, it’s not enough to stop you. This is important. You have to calm Tomura down if you want him to sleep at all, and even though it’s selfish, you want a chance to be close to him again. Tomura puts on his gloves clumsily as you walk, his hands shaking too badly to fasten the Velcro around his wrists. You stop walking, turn, and do it for him. Then you take both his hands in yours and pull him forward into a kiss.

Tenko kisses you back with enthusiasm, in spite of the fact that his lips split and bleed instantly, that his hands are shaking so badly that he can barely hold onto yours. You nudge him a few steps backwards, and a few more, until he’s leaning against a tree. You’re not pinning him, exactly, but it’s close. “Hey,” Tenko mumbles against your mouth. You don’t want to interrupt him, so you switch to kissing his neck, conscious of just how little time you have. “Where did you go? Twice said you left.”

“Supply run.” You pull his jacket down from his shoulders, then tug the neckline of his shirt aside to kiss him there. “I made sure I’d be back in time. I wouldn’t have risked not seeing you.”

“I know.” The affection in Tenko’s voice is direct and obvious enough to make you blush. “We’re making progress. I’m wearing him down.”

“You’re a wreck.” You ignore the insulted noise he makes, a noise that turns sharp when your teeth scrape along his collarbone. “Something happened today. What was it?”

“Twice doubles you, sometimes. In case I get hurt and the others aren’t close enough to help.” Tenko’s grip on you is bruising. “He didn’t tell me he’d done it. That thing got to you. It threw you –”

And he wouldn’t have seen the copy dissolve, the way all of Twice’s copies do when they take too much damage. He’d have thought Gigantomachia killed you, and he probably wouldn’t have believed Twice when Twice told him it was just a clone. “I’m okay,” you tell him. You bite his shoulder lightly to underscore the point, making him shiver. “I was a long way away from this.”

“I don’t want you a long way away. I need you – here –”

You slide your hand under his shirt and run your fingers along his flank, swallowing alarm at just how prominent his ribs are. Then you trace downward, finding the waist of his pants. Tenko goes tense. “What are you doing?”

“I need you to relax, or you won’t be able to fall asleep in time,” you explain in between kisses to his neck. “This is the best way.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No,” you say. “I miss you.”

“Me, too. No, you, too. I mean – fuck, I miss you too.” Tenko fumbles the sentence, but that doesn’t surprise you. Underneath the adrenaline rush, he’s exhausted, and you did just stick your hand down his pants. “Fuck, that feels good –”

“Good.” You tug his pants and underwear down to free his cock. “Relax.”

Tenko slumps, half against the tree, half against you. “What about you?” he mumbles.

“Don’t think about that.” You kiss his cheek, the corner of his jaw, and begin to stroke his cock in earnest. “Let me take care of you.”

It kills you that this is the best you can do – one quick hookup in the forest, before you feed him whatever he’s willing to eat along with a bunch of vitamins to make up for the nutrients he’s not getting and try to get him to fall asleep. But you’re never anything but pleased to have a chance to be close to him, and it amazes you how completely Tenko gives up control. His legs shift apart to make more room for your hand, tilts his head to one side so you can go back to kissing his neck, moans when your lips move over his scars. One hand is scrabbling for purchase on the trunk of the tree you’re leaning against. The other is glued to you, struggling to work its way under your jacket and shirt to make contact with your skin.

You told him not to worry about you, but you’re going to have a hard time walking back to the others like this. Your face is hot and you’re way too wet for the fact that you barely kissed him. This is Tenko’s fault. It’s his fault for going from too embarrassed to let you see his face when he comes to letting go of any sense of shame, and it’s your fault for finding it really hot. Are you really this addicted to being wanted, needed? When it comes to Tenko, absolutely.

The two of you have been together long enough now that you know when he’s close, just by the way his breath catches and his hips jerk. You pull away, ignoring Tenko’s protests, and sink to your knees in front of him. When you glance up, you find him staring at you, jaw dropped and face flushed. “It’s not as messy,” you say by way of explanation. You steady yourself with one hand on his hip and lean in to take his cock in your mouth.

Blowjobs aren’t your favorite thing in the world, but you’re a big fan of the effect they have on Tenko. You’ve gotten better at handling your gag reflex, and you never have to handle it for very long. Tenko lasts maybe thirty seconds before he gasps out a warning and his hips jerk sharply forward. You don’t let up, even when the taste of his cum fills your mouth. You don’t just need him calm, you need him relaxed to the point where he can barely keep his eyes open, and drawing back by degrees, lavishing attention on his tip as your hand closes around his length, is the only way you can think of to make it stick.

Tenko squirms but doesn’t tell you to stop, and a few small spurts of cum paint your tongue. You stop, draw back, and swallow a few times. Then you look up to see the results for yourself.

You’re sort of worried you might have killed him. He looks semiconscious, his chest rising and falling rapidly, lips split and mouth open to pant for breath. You pick yourself up off the ground, bringing his coat with you, and he pushes it away in favor of struggling to pull up his pants. His free hand slides almost absentmindedly between your legs, rubbing you through your jeans, and you’re so turned on that the sensation makes you gasp.

You struggle to stay focused. “We don’t have time.”

“It won’t take long.” Tenko’s eyes are barely open, but his mouth tilts into a crooked grin.

Once he’s got his pants up, he goes after yours, one hand down the front of them just like you did to him. His fingers brush your clit, then dip lower, and when you try to pull away, his other hand seizes your hip and pulls you against him, too tight to pull away. “Tenko,” you protest again. “There’s not enough time –”

“Not with that attitude.”

Your attitude isn’t going to matter all that much. Just like you’ve gotten to know his body, he knows yours – which means he probably knows how badly you want his fingers inside you and how frustrated you are that he won’t stop teasing your clit. But your attitude doesn’t matter, and you need him enough to take what you can get. It’s been a month since you were together like this. You miss him too much to say no.

His touch sends sparks through you, and you bite back a gasp. It’s hard to spread your legs wider when you’re standing, but you give it your best shot, and Tenko slides two fingers inside you. He mimics the shallow thrusts that drive you insane when you have sex, only this time, he’s been teasing you too long for you to hold out. You bury your face in his shoulder as his languid, barely-enough touches tip you over the edge.

When he speaks, he sounds triumphant – or maybe smug. “Told you it wouldn’t take long.”

You don’t know how much time Tenko just burned through. Too much. “Come on. We need to go back.”

“Say I’m right first.”

“Fine. You’re right.”

“I know.” Tenko yawns. “Love you.”

You kiss him instead of responding in kind, your mouth coming away bloody. “Let’s go.”

If Twice and Compress know what you were up to, they have the sense not to comment on it. If Dabi was here instead of off cultivating an ally, you’d never hear the end of it. You sit Tomura down next to the fire Twice must have built and dive into the supply box, coming up with food and water and the collection of vitamins you sorted out on the train. Tomura shakes his head. “I’m tired.”

“You need to eat.” Your plan might have worked a little too well. You hold two energy bars out to him and he grimaces. “Okay, fine. If you won’t eat, at least take these.”

Tomura makes an even worse face at the sight of the pills. “What are those?”

“Vitamins,” Compress says from across the fire. “Saintess has decided that we’ll get our essential nutrients one way or the other.”

“That’s right. I don’t want to have to treat any of you for scurvy,” you say. Twice snickers. You return your attention to Tomura and pull out your only remaining weapon, other than a whiny-girlfriend guilt-trip. “If you won’t eat and take your medicine, you can’t use me as a pillow.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You already did,” you say as quietly as possible. Tomura tries to glare at you, but the effect’s spoiled both by his mouth twitching as he tries to hold in laughter and the enormous yawn that swallows up whatever retort he was going to come up with. “Just eat a little bit. Please.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Tomura mutters, and you know you’ve won. You pass over the water bottle, followed by the pills. “Otherwise this would be annoying as hell.”

“I’d be a bad sidekick if I didn’t take care of you,” you say. “And I’d be a bad medic if I let any of you pass out from vitamin deficiency.”

“Or get scurvy,” Twice hoots.

“Scurvy?” Spinner and Toga are back, Spinner to relieve Compress and Toga to continue her mission to collect some of Gigantomachia’s blood. It hasn’t worked yet, but it keeps her busy. “Who has scurvy?”

“All of us, according to Saintess,” Twice says, cackling. “She’s gonna make us take our vitamins.”

“That’s right,” you say, as Tomura downs a handful of pills and chases them with half the water bottle. You’re worried you’ll have to fight him over the energy bar, but he peels back the wrapper and takes a bite without prompting. “Twice, get over here. You’re next.”

“So the supply pickup went okay,” Spinner says, coming closer as you hand Twice his vitamins. “You didn’t run into any trouble with Giran?”

“He gave me a hard time for not being a real villain, but that’s it,” you say. “He found the gauntlets you and Twice asked for. And the spare parts for your gear, Toga.”

“I can fix it while we’re waiting,” Toga says brightly. She peers into the supply box, then emerges immediately with a gasp. “This is a cute little gun! Who’s it for?”

“Me,” Spinner says at once. “I need a ranged weapon until I get better at throwing knives.”

You wonder if Spinner knows he’s covering for you. You can ask him later, once Tomura’s asleep. Toga doesn’t look convinced. “You need something bigger,” she says. “You have muscles. It’ll look silly if you’re holding such a small gun.”

“I’ll tell Saintess to send it back, then,” Spinner says. “Quit messing with it. It might be loaded.”

You’re pretty sure it’s not loaded, but your internet gun safety research made sure to point out that even if the gun looks empty, there could still be a round in the chamber – and Toga’s having a little too much fun pointing it around and striking poses. You need to put a pin in that, and you’ve got just the thing. “If you don’t quit messing around with that, I’m not going to tell you who I met today.”

“You just met Giran,” Toga says. You allow a smirk to cross your face. “Wait, who else? You have to tell me!”

“Put the gun away. Then I’ll think about it.”

“Saintess –”

The sound of a wrapper crumpling up yanks you clear of Toga’s whining, and you glance over to see that Tomura’s eaten both energy bars and finished the bottle of water. He looks even sleepier than before. “Okay,” you say. “How do you want to do this?”

Over the last month, Tomura’s tried out a variety of positions for using you as a pillow, and his favorite involves him sprawled out on top of you with his head on your chest. Your favorite is when he’s got his head in your lap and you can mess with his hair, but you’re not the one running a potentially-deadly sleep deficit. You find a rock to lean back against, and Tomura flops down on you. Usually he rustles around a bit, trying to get comfortable, but this time he’s out like a light as soon as his head hits your chest. It’s a deeper sleep than usual, which is good. He needs every second.

It’s not until you hear snickering that you realize where one of Tomura’s hands has landed. “I knew the boss was a boob guy,” Twice crows as you move Tomura’s hand off your breast, cringing the whole way. “There’s no way to go wrong. No, bullshit! The ass is where it’s at!”

Spinner shushes him, looking about as uncomfortable as you feel. Toga, meanwhile, drops down next to you. “I put the gun away. Tell me who you met. Was it Izuku?”

You’ve met Izuku. As of today, you’re two for three on Toga’s hero crushes. “I met Uraraka.”

“Ochako?” Toga squeals. Thankfully, Tomura’s too deeply asleep to stir. “That’s even better! How did she look? Was she wearing her school uniform or her costume? Say it was her costume – no, her uniform! We’d look so cute if we matched, don’t you think?”

You think Uraraka wouldn’t have been nearly as nice to you if she’d known you were going to report back about her to Toga. “It wasn’t her costume or her uniform. Civilian clothes. She had this pink coat –”

“Like mine?”

“No, puffy,” you say. Toga nods, beaming. She gestures for you to go on. “Um, and she had a hat that matched. With a white pompom on it.”

Toga looks like she’s going to faint. “Did you talk to her?” she asks. You nod. “Did she mention me?”

You don’t want Toga to have a heart attack, but you also don’t want to lie. “She mentioned Tomura and Dabi and you,” you say. Toga blushes. “I asked her about Eri – I figured even civilians would know about that, since her picture was all over everything – and she said Eri mentioned you specifically.”

“Wait, she remembers us?” Spinner looks alarmed. “How much?”

“More than I thought she would,” you admit. “But apparently it’s good. She remembers that we took care of her.”

“Ochako told you that?”

You nod. “It seemed like it was messing with her. The idea that we’d treat a kid we kidnapped well.”

“It shouldn’t mess with her,” Twice says. “We kidnapped the explosion kid and we were nice to him, too. And he wasn’t even cute.”

“I don’t like him. He’s mean,” Toga complains. “We should have stolen Izuku instead. He looks so cute covered in blood – I know you’d like him, Saintess –”

“I met him.”

Toga’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of her head. She swats you on the shoulder. “When?”

It takes her fifteen minutes to forgive you for not mentioning that you handed Eri off directly to Midoriya himself, and another fifteen minutes for her to interrogate you for every detail of that interaction, too. “You’d tell me if you met Tsu, right?” she demands, looking like she’s this close to drawing a knife on you. “You wouldn’t hide that from me. You wouldn’t dare.”

“I haven’t met her,” you say. “If I do, you’ll be the first person I tell.”

“Which one is Tsu?” Spinner probably wishes he’d left this conversation half an hour ago, but for some reason he’s still hanging on. “The pink one?”

“No, look!” Toga’s downloaded every UA Sports Festival video to her phone. She pulls one up and shows Spinner. “I love her big eyes and her hair – and she’s so mean! She says we’re not friends, but I know we are –”

“You have a crush on a heteromorph?”

Toga gives Spinner a weird look. “You can’t have her, she’s mine. But you’d have a crush on her, too.”

“That wouldn’t be weird. I’m a heteromorph. But you –” Spinner stops, shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“It’s okay.” Toga pats his shoulder. “Love is just weird like that. It doesn’t care about the stuff we care about. Like Tomura-kun and Saintess. Tomura loves her and he says it all the time. She loves him too but she never says it back. I would hate it if someone did that to me! But they don’t mind, so it’s fine.”

She gives Spinner a meaningful look. “I don’t mind, so it’s fine. Besides, I’m a heteromorph, too.”

She is, technically speaking – her amber eyes and almost-fangs are far enough from the human standard to count – but it’s a tone-deaf thing to say to someone like Spinner, who can’t hide who he is. You can tell it bothers him, but he stays put, and Toga eventually gets up to repair her support items. And Spinner stays. It occurs to you that he might want to talk to you. Alone.

He doesn’t speak up until there are twenty-eight minutes left on the clock, when it’s just him leaning against one side of the rock and you with Tomura fast asleep in your arms on the other. “How come you don’t say it?”

“What?”

“Toga’s right. He says it all the time, but you never do.” Spinner is cringing, like he can’t believe he’s saying this. You can’t believe he’s saying it, either. “What’s the deal? Do you – not?”

“Why are you asking me that?” You don’t mean to sound as defensive as it comes out, but you’re honestly confused. Then it occurs to you why Spinner, the person in the League who’s least likely to comment on anybody else’s life, is bringing it up. “Did he say something?”

“When? In between trying not to get flattened by Machia and sleeping for two hours at a stretch?” Spinner can’t make eye contact with you. He keeps looking away. “He said something one time while we were hiding. Asked if it was normal that you wouldn’t say it, like I know anything about girls.”

You think Spinner would probably do okay with girls once they got to know him. “If anything goes wrong with you two, it’ll snap his focus and he’ll get us all killed,” Spinner continues. “I want to see his vision come true and I don’t want to die. So I’m asking. That’s why.”

“I do,” you say. Spinner looks relieved, but he doesn’t look surprised. “I don’t know why I don’t say it. It feels like – a lot. Like something will happen. I don’t know what.”

Spinner gives you a curious look. “Something bad?”

“Just something.” This is making you feel stupid. “I do, though. I thought it was obvious.”

“I mean, it is.” Spinner gestures awkwardly at the two of you. Tomura’s still dead to the world, and maybe drooling a little bit. You must be really far gone, because you think it’s sort of cute. “Like I said. I don’t know anything about girls, but I don’t think someone who didn’t love somebody else would put it on the line like this. It was just a question. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You want to stop talking about this, and you’ve got a question for him. “Why’d you cover for me earlier? You must have known the gun was mine.”

“It would have freaked him out.” Spinner doesn’t have to say who he’s talking about. “He thinks it’s his job to protect you, since you’re his sidekick. And his girlfriend. And if you’re using a gun, you can commit actual crimes. The kind people get put away for. I don’t think he wants that.”

You’re pretty sure you’re already going away if you get caught. You haven’t directly participated except in the attack on the CRC, but that was probably enough to put you within Kazuo’s search parameters, and if your interaction with Uraraka told you anything, it’s that the villain named Saintess is officially on the heroic radar. But Spinner’s got a point. Right now you can only be charged as an accomplice to the League’s crimes. That charge carries a significantly lighter sentence than whatever you’d do with a gun.

Still – “Tomura can’t be everywhere,” you say. He stirs in his sleep but doesn’t wake. “I can’t have him getting distracted trying to look after me, so I have to be able to look out for myself.”

Spinner doesn’t answer, but you know he knows you’re right. “Don’t tell anybody I have it,” you say.

“I’m not going to lie to him.”

“Don’t lie to him. If he says “hey, Spinner, does my girlfriend have a gun”, tell him the truth.” As far as you’re concerned, it never needs to get that far. “Just don’t tattle on me.”

“Don’t say tattle. Say snitch,” Spinner corrects. ‘It sounds more – villain.”

That’s the second person today who’s knocked you for not being villainous enough. “Fine. Don’t snitch on me.”

“Deal,” Spinner says. It’s quiet for a moment. “Do you ever think about what happens when we win?”

“You and me come up with a new world that doesn’t suck?”

“Besides that,” Spinner says. “Like what has to happen for it to count as a win. We don’t all have the same answer. Toga thinks it’s a win as long as the stuff she likes makes it through. Twice probably thinks it’s a win if Toga makes it, and Compress probably just wants to do the same stuff he’s always done and not get arrested. Who even knows about Dabi.”

“He’s got a mission,” you say, and Spinner snorts. You’re starting to see where he’s headed with this. “What about you and me?”

“We win if we build the new world,” Spinner says. He glances down at Tomura, whose hand has migrated back to your breast in his sleep. You move it off again. “And we lose if he’s not in it.”

You blink, taken aback. “I don’t have another best friend,” Spinner continues. “I can’t replace the one I have. And you can’t replace him.”

“I know,” you say. And then, without thinking: “I tried.”

Spinner stares at you, opens his mouth, but before he can say a word – and before you can backtrack straight to Yokohama – your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. So does everybody else’s, plus Spinner’s watch and your stupid laptop, which is shut and supposed to be off in your backpack. The clamor sends a jolt of pure fear down your spine, just like it does every time you hear it. It’s your timer, synced to everyone else’s. Gigantomachia’s awake.

Tomura lurches awake, in command from the second his eyes open. “Twice, send out a double to buy us time. Make it run.”

“It can only run as fast as you can –”

“I’ve gotten faster. Send it to the hills. He’ll have a harder time with the terrain.” Tomura gets to his feet, and you scramble after him. He turns to you. “Get clear. We’ll drop a pin once we have a new campsite. Will you –”

There’s not time for that question, and he should know the answer. You silence him with a kiss. “I’ll be there.”

He’s already peeling off his gloves, fastening on his family’s hands, scanning the horizon. “I love you.”

You remember what Spinner said. The question Tomura apparently asked him. How just showing it might not be enough. That you shouldn’t expect it to be enough – but you can’t get the words out. You need to try something else. You grab his hand, careful to avoid his fingers, and raise it to your lips, kissing the heel of his hand, the center of his palm, the ridges of his knuckles. His hands have so many scars now. He’s being hurt, and you can’t help him. There’s nothing you can do.

Tomura’s grip on your hand tightens, index fingers raised. The ground rattles slightly beneath your feet, and he lets go. “Run.”

Compress has already contained the supplies; Twice has stomped out the fire. He and Spinner have their gauntlets, and Toga’s support item is fixed. They’re ready to go, and so should you be. You spare one more glance for Tomura, then turn to flee, bolting into the woods alongside Compress as Gigantomachia’s silhouette appears over the horizon.

The two of you shed your disguises at the outskirts of the same town, uncompressing the supplies to reorganize them. “Spinner forgot his gun,” Compress remarks. “Shall I hold onto it?”

“I will,” you say. “We’ll see him at the same time, and nobody’s going to search me.”

Compress nods. “I’ll be getting some sleep. I’m three days behind. What about you?”

Your phone pings with a fresh text, and your heart sinks when you see the number. “I’ve got some stuff to take care of. Keep me updated.”

Compress nods again, and the two of you split. He heads down the street, probably aiming for the capsule hotel you scoped out on your way into town, and you go in the opposite direction, towards the train station. You don’t check your messages until you’re waiting on the platform.

You texted Kazuo a few days ago, asking him a question, ordering him not to look unless his health allows it. You’ve been anxiously awaiting his reply, if it comes at all, and now you’ve gotten six texts from him in a row. Your heart races as you open them.

Kazuo: Yoshimi is in remission. Mitsuko and Ryuhei are supporting her in your absence. All three appear to be doing well.

Kazuo: Their involvement with your friend has not been noticed.

That’s good news. You’ve been thinking about her. And about them. For a moment, you’re almost suffocated by a wish that you could celebrate with them. You gave up your old life, your old friends. And you miss them even more than you thought you would. You swallow hard and keep reading.

Kazuo: Your codename has appeared on the official roster for the League of Villains. They are attempting to track you by quirk and criminal history, and therefore coming up empty.

Kazuo: I’ll keep you clear as long as I can, but if they sufficiently alter their questions, I won’t be able to.

Kazuo: I was able to look into the question you gave me. It was specific enough to instantly rule out all other answers, so I thank you for that.

Kazuo: The answer is yes. Congratulations.

Your eyes go blurry, and a second later, your throat closes off. Your train arrives, but you don’t get on it – instead you sit down on a bench, staring down at the floor between your feet, trying not to cry and furious with yourself for wanting to cry at all. You asked Kazuo to use his quirk and see if you – you, identified by your birthdate, blood type, height, career, and city you were born in, for all the specifics he could ever need – have a latent quirk. You trust his word over the doctor’s. His quirk isn’t wrong, ever. You told yourself that you’d accept his answer as the truth. You were hoping he’d say no.

Instead he says yes. You do have a latent quirk, something that’s been hidden your whole life because the conditions necessary to awaken it have never been met. They’ll probably never be met, and your quirk is probably worse than useless, but the fact that it’s latent means you’ve spent your whole life being treated like you’re quirkless when you aren’t. You should feel cheated. Instead you feel betrayed.

It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. If you don’t know what it is, it’s like you don’t have it at all. Nothing needs to change. You don’t need to tell anyone. You tell yourself that, but it doesn’t make much of a different. The doctor knows, and so does Kazuo. So does All For One.

The next train arrives long before you’ve calmed down, but you get up and shamble aboard anyway. Nobody looks at you – not for long, anyway. Most people go out of their way to avoid seeing others’ pain. When your eyes have cleared a little bit, you take your phone out and start looking up firing ranges. You might not be able to be useful to Tenko and the others with your stupid, latent quirk. But you can definitely be useful to them with a gun.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x you #shimura tenko x reader #tenko shimura x reader #shimura tenko x you #tenko shimura x you #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #please hold

47 notes · View notes