#but needles under the nail IS a torture method so it would still hurt like hell

[sealer-of-wenkamui]

I think a lot of people miss the fact that Varré does NOT have red eyes? And it’s not just that his unmasked appearance is showing him before any eye alterations, in-game as well, they are pale eyes, not the deep red you get after he does the bloody finger procedure.

So I guess the accursed blood he was given was something different from what he did to the Tarnished? The implication seems to be that it was Mohg’s blood, unclear if it was also injected under the nail or given to him by some other means. There’s also the line that he was the only one of the surgeons able to “tame” it. We seem fine though and there are other bloody fingers, so that also seems like its something different. We do see other White Masks though, and the description specifically mentions the war surgeons being given the accursed blood, so those are probably some of the others? So they didn’t die? Did they go insane then??

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Truth or Dare?

I can’t even remember at this point if this was a prompt someone sent me or not, but tbh i kinda just wrote it cuz it’s been a while and it sounded cute in my head. Sorry I’m so bad with answering asks i’m the worst lol but thanks for sending requests / nice messages ya’ll are all very sweet :)

Peter, Ned, and MJ decide to play Truth or Dare. After a certain truth about Peter is revealed, Peter finds himself fiercely regretting his choice in party games.

word count: 2,150

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“Truth or dare?”

MJ sipped on her Caprisun pouch with a bored expression, leaning against the coffee table with her legs sprawled across the rug. Peter sat on the couch beside her, cross-legged, blinking sleepily.

“This is stupid,” she said.

“Ah, come on,” Ned whined. He was lying on the floor with his hands folded under his chin, scissoring his legs above his back. “It’s no fun if only two of us participate.”

“It’s no fun in general,” MJ murmured, but eventually shrugged in defeat. “Fine. Dare.”

Ned furrowed his brow in thought, glancing around the room. “Hmm…um…I dare you…ha! Dare you to lick that TV remote!”

Without hesitating, MJ grabbed the device and touched her tongue to it, her expression unchanging. “There,” she deadpanned, tossing it back on the table. “Happy?”

Ned huffed irritably. “In my head, that was a lot funnier. But that’s on me.” He rolled on to his back. “Your turn, MJ.”

“We can do something else,” Peter suggested. “Play a board game. Watch a movie.”

It was rare that Peter had any time to hang out with his friends outside of school and decathlon stuff, especially when Spider-Manning ate up so much of his life, so he wanted to make the most of every second they had together this Saturday evening. Unfortunately, when it was pouring rain out, their social options were restricted to in-house activities. And Peter was not a particularly creative host.

Ned pouted. “But we only just started! And things don’t get juicy until the second or third round.”

MJ rolled her eyes. “If you say so. Peter? Pick your poison.”

Peter yawned, the gentle patter of the rain lulling him to sleep. He wasn’t in the mood to move much. “Truth, I guess.”

MJ crossed her arms over her chest and blew a tuft of hair out of her face. “What’s your weakness?”

Peter blinked, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “My weakness?”

“Yeah. You know, the thing that renders you useless or whatever.”

He frowned and glanced at Ned, who looked just as confused as he was. Is she talking about me, or about Spider-Man? She doesn’t know, does she? He decided to play dumb.

“Um…death?”

MJ snorted. “No. I mean something specific to you, but not necessarily deadly. Like something you love, something you hate, a phobia, an obsession, that sort of thing.”

“You ask weird questions,” Ned chuckled, but looked to Peter expectantly. Peter squirmed a little beneath their gazes.

“I…I don’t know. I don’t think I have one of those.”

“Oh, come on,” MJ prodded. “Everyone has a weakness.”

“I feel like that’s not true,” Peter chuckled. The clap of the refrigerator door shutting turned his head, and he felt a hand card through hair as May walked up behind him.

“What are you guys up to?” she asked, handing Peter a platter of crackers and cheese. He took a handful and shoved it in his mouth then placed the rest on the coffee table.

“Truth or Dare,” MJ said dryly. “I just asked Peter if he had a weakness, and he said he didn’t. This game could not be more exhilarating.”

May feigned profound disbelief. “What? That’s not true. Peter, why are you lying to your friends?”

Peter scowled at his aunt. “What? What are you talking about? I’m not lying.”

“Yes you are,” May insisted.

“Unless recklessly purchasing Star Wars merch off Amazon counts as a weakness, then I don’t think I have one. At least, not one that falls under MJ’s definition of weaknesses.”

“What about this?” May asked nonchalantly, moving her fingers from her nephew’s hair to his neck and skittering her nails against his spine. The unexpected sensation made Peter jolt and squeak involuntarily. He shrunk into a ball to evade her attack, hunching his shoulders to his ears, high-pitched giggles slipping through his defenses. The adorably childlike reaction never ceased to make May smile. No matter how old or super-powered he got, Peter never seemed to outgrow his extreme ticklishness—if anything, it had only gotten worse.

“Aha!” Peter squealed. “M-Mahay, stop!” She pulled her hand back from her squirmy nephew with a giggle, endeared by the bright pink color overtaking his face.

Peter turned back to his friends, flustered and embarrassed, doing his best to maintain his cool. But to his horror, he watched as a slow grin curled along both of their lips. He knew what was coming. They knew what was coming. And he had to find a way out.

“Oh, you’re ticklish?” MJ said, tilting her head to one side. Peter’s whole body went hot when he spotted the sinister gleam in her eye. He cringed at his own voice, which came out high-pitched and nervous.

“I—um—I mean, I guess,” he murmured, avoiding everyone’s penetrating stares. “But, uh, hey, isn’t—isn’t everyone? That’s not really a personal thing.” He pulled his knees to his chest to hide his burning face.

“It is when you’re as ticklish as you are,” May teased him, spidering her fingers against the backs of his ears. Peter yelped and flinched away, trying to shoot May a glare of betrayal but foiled by the smile tugging at the corners his mouth.

“Quihit it! Let’s just get back to the game!” He looked to Ned, praying that his best friend would catch on to how desperately he wanted to escape this predicament. “O-okay, Ned, your turn. Truth or dare?”

“I want to join!” May interrupted enthusiastically, leaning over the back of the couch. “Ned, truth or dare?”

Peter looked at her bewilderedly. “But hey, I just—”

“Dare,” Ned replied, ignoring Peter.

May smiled sweetly. “Ned, I dare you and MJ to help me tickle Peter to prove being ticklish is his weakness.”

Peter’s jaw dropped along with his stomach. Oh. Shit. Dread seized his entire being as three of his most trusted companions turned on him in unison, accepting the proposal without hesitation, approaching eagerly.

“W-what?” he stammered, his eyes darting between them. “No, wait—!” He tried to make a break for it but was stopped by May, who blocked him from leaping off the couch and shoved him on to his back in a heap. This gave Ned the chance to pounce on to his midsection; he sat on his legs and waist to keep him from moving and wrestled his arms above his head, which May then grabbed and pinned against the armrest.

“Noho no no!” Peter begged, kicking and squirming uselessly. He looked up and gave his friend the best puppy-dog eyes he could conjure. “Ned, c-come on! Let me up!”

“Sorry, Peter,” Ned giggled, wiggling his fingers tauntingly. “But this is too hilarious not to test.”

The moment his friend’s hands met his torso, Peter knew he was done for. Ned gently skittered his fingers against Peter’s sides, barely any pressure behind his touch, but Peter immediately gasped and cringed, giggles flooding from his lips.

“Ahaha noho! Oh god, plehease don’t! Nehehehed!” Peter wriggled beneath him, knowing he could easily throw all of them off, but also afraid of accidentally hurting someone. The fact that MJ (probably) didn’t know he was Spider-Man complicated the situation further, which meant all he could do was lie there and take it.

Even though every second was absolute torture.

“Seriously?” Ned chuckled. “But I’m being so nice! You really are extremely ticklish, huh? How did I not figure this out sooner?” He drummed his fingers against Peter’s tummy, making him blush in anticipation. “Do you know how many arguments I could’ve won, how many of your dumb decisions I could have overturned? All with just a few poke, poke, pokes!”

He jabbed a finger into Peter’s midsection every time he said poke, moving all over his belly and up towards his ribs. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, Peter jerked and squeaked every time.

“StohahACK!” he giggled. “You suhuhuck!”

“Oh, really?” Ned said smugly, sharing an evil grin with May. Ned switched from delicate teasing to curling both his hands around his friend’s torso and squeezing sporadically, digging his thumbs deep into Peter’s sides. “How about now? Still think I suck?”

Peter’s giggles gave way to loud peals of laughter. He arched his spine and twisted his legs to try to escape Ned’s needling fingers, but they stayed firmly clamped to his midsection, never once breaking from their methodical kneading. Peter’s struggling seemed only to encourage Ned to increase his tickling intensity.

“AhahahahaNehehed!” Peter bellowed. He thought out of everyone present, Ned would be the most merciful of the bunch, but clearly he had been misled. At that moment, an evilly genius idea came to Ned, who was starting to feel like a very quirky Spider-Man villain, tormenting the poor hero with cruel glee. Ned lifted up Peter’s T-shirt and slipped his hands underneath to tickle his bare tummy.

He was not disappointed in his friend’s reaction. Peter’s giggles jumped multiple octaves higher and his feet started twitching against the couch. “AAAhahahahagh! Crahahaphahaheehee!”

Between bouts of heavy belly-laughs, Peter opened one eye to see MJ standing over him with her hands on her hips, smiling slyly and enjoying the show. He felt his face flash twelve shades of red and forty shades of humiliated. Out of all the people who could be witnessing this embarrassing fiasco, did it have to be MJ? His crush? Even worse, at this point, she was his only hope. He squished his face into the cushions to hide his shame and muffle his laughter, blushing from head to toe. “Ehemjahayhahaha!” he giggled shrilly. “Hehehelp me! Plehehehease!”

MJ smirked crookedly—an adorable smirk, were it not in response to his suffering—and stepped closer. “Of course I’ll help you, Peter,” she said, voice dripping with false earnestness. She lifted both hands into the air and curled them into claws. “Help you see how steep the consequences are for lying in Truth or Dare.”

With that, she went straight for the kill: his underarms. Peter gasped, then jerked, then shrieked. Then a new wave of laughter came barreling up Peter’s throat like a giant giggle tsunami, louder and wilder than ever.

“N-NOHO! NOHOEMJAHEHAHAHAHAAA!” Peter screeched and threw his head back, shaking it from side to side, the sensation driving him berserk. Her fingernails scritched and scratched along the hollows of his pits, tracing fiendishly delicate circles above and around the insanely sensitive skin. It was so gentle yet so maddening: a truly heinous combo. She switched between that and drilling her fingers deep into his armpits, going back and forth between the two techniques, making poor Peter yelp and squeal helplessly, her evil smile widening every time.

How could she have known that was his worst spot?

Between Ned wrecking his tummy and MJ teasing his underarms, Peter was ready to explode. “AHAHAHO MY GAHAHAHA!” he cried, tears welling in his eyes. “OHO-OKAHAY! IT’S MY WEHEHEEHAHAHAAA—MY WEHEAKNESS! YOU WIHIHIN!” Peter leapt against the cushions as Ned’s devious fingers moved down to his hips, grinding viciously into the hollows just above the bone. “GAHAHAHA NOHOHAAAA! P-PLEHEHEASE! STOPSTOHOPSTAHAPSTAHAHAHAHAHAAA!”

“Well that didn’t take long,” May laughed. “Then again, it never usually does.”

“Look how red his face is,” Ned snickered. When Peter’s hysterical laughter transformed into squeaky, violent hiccups, Ned stopped squeezing Peter’s sides and hips and settled into running his fingers up and down his belly in soft, teasing strokes. He didn’t want to kill his best friend, after all. MJ took the cue and started to do the same on Peter’s forearms, using her fingertips instead of her nails. Peter’s explosive, hiccup-filled laughing slowly died down now that the tickling wasn’t so intense, but the gentle tickling was still enough to keep him giggly.

“Oho—oh mahan,” he huffed, panting heavily, unable to make himself stop smiling. “You guys—you guys are—eheeheehee—I cahan’t—I can’t even—” He squirmed and giggled beneath the feathery touch of their fingertips. His hands twitched and clenched as MJ tickled his wrists and goosebumps flared across his skin while Ned’s fingers inched closer and closer to his bellybutton.

“I’m never letting you live this down,” Ned cooed. “Who would’ve thought—being tickled is Peter Parker’s weakness!”

“And Spider-Man’s,” MJ piped in casually, tracing the veins in his arm with her index finger.

In an instant, Ned stopped tickling Peter, Peter stopped giggling, and May stopped holding Peter’s arms against the couch. Everyone turned to MJ in disbelief.

“What?” Peter exclaimed, propping himself up on his elbows, wide-eyed. “Y-you know?”

MJ shrugged. “I mean, yeah. It’s kind of obvious.” She poked him in the stomach with a cool smile, making Peter wince and squeak. “And so is the fact that you’re insanely ticklish. Better not let any of Spider-Man’s super villains find out about that, huh?”

If it was even possible at this point, Peter’s blush deepened. He most definitely was never going to live this down—and he most definitely wasn’t planning on playing Truth or Dare again anytime soon.

[forgedobsidian]

Aphelion

A MHA fanfiction. Chapter 12 of 20.

Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3    Chapter 4    Chapter 5     Chapter 6

Chapter 7     Chapter 8     Chapter 9     Chapter 10     Chapter 11

AO3

Summary: Izuku has been kidnapped by All For One, for reasons the young boy doesn’t understand. He is forced to stay at a rundown facility, surrounded by villains and, for all he knows, completely without help. In-between his attempts to escape or learn why he has been stolen, the young boy spends his time with a near-comatose man who seems strangely familiar.

Trigger Warnings for: kidnapping, body horror, medical torture, needles, and pain

Shigaraki stalked down the hallway, trailing one finger in the grout between the bricks. The buzzing in the back of his head was quiet today. His father’s hand had been carefully stashed under his blanket; he wanted to feel air moving past his face.

I wonder where Sensei is.

His teacher had been away for longer and longer periods of time, reestablishing trade routes with their old contacts on the coast. He’d only been back for a few days this time, long enough for Izuku to try his most-recent escape attempt. He knew that Sensei had talked with the boy since then, even though Shigaraki himself had yet to see his teacher.

He walked towards a junction in the hallway, finger still trailing the wall, when he heard a pair of familiar voices. One was obviously Sensei, his voice distorted by the mask. Shigaraki would have rounded the corner towards his teacher, but Murata’s voice made him pause.

“Are you sure it was smart to let the boy leave his room?” The doctor seemed worried.

Sensei hummed, the sound distorted by his mask. “We’ll see. Children don’t respond in favorable ways when they’re pushed up against a corner. Granting him something of a peace offering might make him settle down.”

“Yeah, well. That makes sense. I don’t see why we couldn’t have let him keep his backpack, though.”

“He used the paper to flip the lock. In a way, it was a favorable escape method. It provided a logical reason to remove another reminder of his past life, and it allowed me to give him the tracker and a semblance of freedom.”

Shigaraki felt his head cant to the side, and a smile twitched at the corners of his chapped lips as he leaned against the wall. So that’s how the brat did it. Clever, if useless.

“Why the worry, Murata? You’re not Eihei, to second-guess my motives.”

There was a sound of a shoe scuffing along cement. Shigaraki rested his shoulders against the wall and idly scratched at his neck, waiting for Murata’s reply.

The man was obviously hesitant, taking a deep breath before speaking. “Well, no, I’m not. I trust you, boss.” There was a deep sigh. “I just don’t like letting him wander around with a head injury and a cattle prod strapped to his wrist.”

“Spoken like a doctor, Masumi, but not the one I need.”

“I know.”

“I need someone willing to push boundaries.”

“I know, Sensei. You don’t need to worry. I just want to make sure Izuku is healthy, is all. For our work.”

Sensei gave a pleased hum. “Yes, that would be ideal. I have been tempted in the past to keep him sedated, and the only reason I haven’t so far is out of kindness for young Tomura.”

“How’s that work?”

“Tomura needs to learn and grow, and the boy provides that opportunity. Midoriya is a useful resource in more ways than one.”

Shigaraki felt his gut tighten. Izuku is a tool? For me? For me to learn?

Something didn’t sit right. Izuku was all smiles and hard questions. He was his own person, a NPC. He was strong in his own way, even if he didn’t agree with Shigaraki.

He wasn’t . . . wasn’t a tool. Buzzing settled in the back of Shigaraki’s head and he started to claw at his neck, tendons sliding under his fingers.

“Ah, Tomura. I’ve been looking for you.”

One of Shigaraki’s nails broke through his skin, leaving behind another mark as a thin trail of blood slid down to his collarbone. His neck was red and irritated, inflamed scratches from his jawline to the collar of his shirt starting to rise and welt.

There was a hand on his wrist, and he looked up into the metallic mask of his teacher.

“Tomura, put your hands down.”

“Y-yes, Sensei.” The blood was starting to cry on his fingertips, and he tried to wipe them clean on his shirt. The buzzing faded, lurking in the background. “Welcome back, Sensei.”

“Tomura, how long were you listening to Murata and I?”

For the first time in years, Shigaraki was afraid of his teacher. He couldn’t tell why.

“Not long, Sensei. I was just wondering where you were.” The lie came easily, and Shigaraki hated himself for it. The buzzing kicked up a notch.

I have nothing to fear from him. He saved me, he’s my master, my Sensei.

“Ah, yes.” Sensei withdrew his hand, letting his arms hang by his sides. “I haven’t been able to see you. Reestablishing trade routes, especially after four years of disappearance . . . it’s fatiguing.”

Shigaraki winced and gave the man a quick look-over.

“I’m well, Tomura. There’s no need to be concerned.”

Something uncoiled in Shigaraki’s gut, and he gave an acknowledging jerk of his head. Murata was lurking in the background, hands fiddling with something in his labcoat pocket.

Sensei clasped his hands behind his back. “In the meantime, I need you and Murata to finish up a project for me. Don’t worry, it won’t be difficult. As a matter of fact, you might enjoy it. It would be best to keep it from your young friend, however. He would object, I’m sure. Still,” Sensei’s voice took on a chilling edge, “it’s something that needs doing.”

Izuku sighed and flopped over on his cot. He bunched his thin pillow under his chin, kicking his legs back and forth as he thought.

He was tired, and his eyes itched, but . . . there was a warmth in his chest, and things didn’t seem as hopeless.

The memory of him helping Yagi back into his seat came to his mind. They’d been on the floor for a while, Yagi rocking back and forth until Izuku stopped crying. Before the man had fallen back asleep, legs stretched in front of him as he sagged in his chair, he’d given Izuku a fond hair-ruffle and a shaky thumbs-up.

Izuku closed his eyes and stuffed his cheek into the pillow. He couldn’t help the small, relieved sigh that built in his throat.

It might turn out okay.

There was a rasp of a turning hinge, and Izuku sat up on his bed as Shigaraki stepped into his room.

The older boy seemed more anxious than usual, with bright red stripes on his neck and an uncertain twitch in his fingers. He seemed to relax a bit when he saw Izuku, and his hands steadied as he closed the door and knelt in front of the cot.

“So you’re okay.”

Izuku nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

Shigaraki’s eyes darted up to Izuku’s forehead. “Murata said you got hurt.”

He nodded.

“He never said he bandaged you up, though.”

Izuku looked down and brought one arm up to hug his shoulder. “. . . I visited Mr. Yagi last night.”

“And it’s . . . he’s the one who . . .” Shigaraki reached out and touched the bandage on Izuku’s brow with the tip of his finger.

“Yeah.” Izuku rubbed the back of his head, flinching away from Shigaraki’s touch. “I got a pretty nasty bump, I guess.”

Shigaraki’s face twisted, and the older boy stood and took a step back. “You’re an idiot.”

Izuku frowned.

Shigaraki started to pace, pulling at his hair. “You’re so stupid. You could have . . . things aren’t as simple as you . . .” With a muffled growl he reached out and clasped the lone chair, all five of his fingers wrapping around the wood. In moments, it was a pile of dust.

Izuku flinched. “Shiga, what’s -”

“You piss me off.” He whirled and pointed a shaking finger at Izuku. “You could have gotten hurt.”

Oh.

“You were worried?” The question slipped out before Izuku could think about it.

Shigaraki opened his mouth, closed it, and started pacing again.

“But I’m fine, see?” Izuku reached up and touched the bandage. “Yagi helped me. He helped me, Shiga, and I’m alright.”

The older boy paused, looking at Izuku with surprisingly distressed eyes.

Izuku nodded and looked down at his hands. “He’s a good person.”

Shigaraki sighed, tension bleeding from his body as his shoulders slumped. He shuffled to the door and reached out his hand, resting several fingers on the knob. He froze before leaving, shooting one last numb glance at Izuku.

“Sensei is having him killed tomorrow, Izuku.”

Izuku felt his lungs lock up. “W-what?”

Shigaraki turned and stared at the door. “Murata’ll bleed him dry for some final projects. He won’t even know he’s dying, and it’ll be painless. I’ll be the one to dispose of whatever’s left.” His grip tightened on the handle, his knuckles turning white. “There’s nothing you can do, and it . . . he won’t suffer. It would be best to just . . . stay here. Stay safe.”

“S-Shiga, no, he’s . . .” Izuku’s heart hurt. “He’s not . . . why -”

“Stay here,” Shigaraki said, his shoulders tense. “Please.” Then he left, closing the door behind him.

The world felt unreal, and Izuku knew his eyes were out of focus. No. He’s alive. He’s alive! They can’t . . .

He felt himself start to hyperventilate. He slid from the cot to curl up on the ground, hands clenching his head.

Get up . . . get up!! I have to . . .

Izuku took a deep breath and forced himself to hold it up to a count, and slowly let it out between his teeth. He got to his feet slowly, shakily, his vision still blurred at the corners.

He’s still alive!

Izuku stumbled to the door, the world muted around him. He grabbed the knob and twisted, a frantic sob breaking past his teeth when the metal skidded against his palm.

The door was locked.

Author’s Note: Now might be the time to review the definition of aphelion.

I know things keyed up several chapters ago, and the next several I’m going to try and take a step further before we reach the conclusion. I will say that I’m not planning for ‘Aphelion’ to be angst for the sake of angst. I want to tell a story, and this is just how it starts.

@coffeedoodle made a really cool art for the last chapter that you should all check out!! 

Thank you so much for reading!!