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[crisdanielson]

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[lightseoul]

REVENGE (KEEP US TOGETHER) (1.9k)

a/n. this bkg lives rent-free in my mind. i had scenes and interactions that i wanted to insert in this scenario, but i think i blacked out 300 words in and bakugou and y/n just took the reins from there. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy this one!

c.w. pro-hero!katsuki, aged up (~26), mentions of injuries, mentions of canon-typical violence

the first thing that registers in your mind the moment your eyes flutter (creak) open is that the ceiling looks unfamiliar.

the second thing is that everything hurts like a motherfucking bitch.

but apparently being in a wholly foreign place is enough to trigger the metaphorical alarms in your head, at least enough for you to still muster the strength and presence of mind to scan the area—first, the space on your right—despite the way your body’s practically screaming at you.

what immediately catches your attention is your right arm. it’s nowhere in sight, but you can still vaguely recognize it being attached to the rest of your torso. it takes you a second to realize it’s elevated and wrapped in a thick, white cast, and the moment you do, another wave of pain courses through you, and you find yourself gritting your teeth in its wake.

a few feet behind your heavily bandaged arm seem to be two doors, one of which you think is the entrance to this dimly lit room, the other probably leading to a comfort room.

and, if all of these aren’t indicators enough, the faint beeping sound echoing across the small area gives you the definitive answer that yes, this is a hospital and yes, you are on a fucking hospital bed.

how the fuck did you end up here?

stifling a groan, you attempt to turn your head to the left to examine the other half of the room.

and that’s when you see it.

you freeze—not because the minuscule movement is causing a nauseating throbbing in your frontal lobe—but because you see it.

the all-too-familiar, unruly ash-blonde spikes that can belong to only one person.

from where you lay flat on top of the increasingly uncomfortable bed, you can barely see his forehead, but there’s no denying it.

even more so when the person speaks up.

“you’re awake.”

upon hearing his gruff voice, your stomach instantly drops in dread, so much so that it physically hurts, and you’re starting to think that maybe you’re bleeding internally, too, and that in the midst of whatever happened to you, you hurt your organs as well.

when he says your name in question a few beats later, you make no move to respond, but deep down you know you can’t just close your eyes and pretend you’re asleep again to avoid regarding him entirely.

he literally saw you moving just now.

and so you try to sit up, at least for a whole millisecond, because a pulse of pain shoots through the entirety of your body, and you can’t help the wrangled moan that tumbles out of your lips at the scalding sensation. you barely see him through your half-lidded eyes, but the man jumps up on his feet, finally coming into full view.

bakugou, who’s decked out in full hero gear is looking uncharacteristically worried when he asks: “are you okay?”

you clench your eyes closed, fighting the urge to squirm in discomfort. you merely shake your head, as subtly as you can lest you bust a fucking nerve on your neck, before: “elevate my backrest. i can’t sit up.”

“shit, right.”

it takes him a beat to figure out the controls at the side of your bunk, but when he finally does, you find yourself slowly inclining up until to about 45 degrees.

up 45 degrees and now face-to-face with him.

once the contraption clicks into place, bakugou sits back down on what looks like a stool beside you, an inexplicable expression etched on his features.

and before you can even think better against them, the words are already out of your mouth.

“what are you doing here?”

that must not have been what he was expecting or wanting to hear, because his face immediately contorts into a look of borderline offense.

“the fuck do you mean ‘what am i doing here’?” he scoffs, folding his muscled arms across his expansive chest. “you almost got abducted, dumbass. you’re lucky you made it out alive.”

abducted?

the last thing you remember before you most likely blacked out and were sent to the hospital was that you were just exiting the grocery store that you frequent on Fridays after work when an oddly familiar-looking man appeared before you. he didn’t seem too harmless right up until he emitted his quirk that sent you tumbling across the asphalt and…

that’s just about where your memory cuts off.

“what happened?” you manage to choke out, suddenly feeling scared.

“as i said,” he starts, voice low and strangely hesitant, “you almost got abducted. you passed out after you hit the neighboring building arm first, but a pro-hero patrolling the area managed to get you before the villain could take you with him.”

you gawk at the man. “what the hell would a villain want to do with me?”

at that, bakugou’s face hardens.

“…’s because they want to get back at me.”

a million things beg to be spoken out of your mouth in an instant, but what you end up saying is: “why are you here, then? shouldn’t you be with the police or in the agency if this guy’s got a vendetta against you?”

“seriously?” he retorts, incredulous, before shaking his head in what you think is frustration. his eyes shift to the rest of your body, “you’re fucking injured and yet you’re asking all these stupid questions.”

you feel yourself flame in indignation, but you bite your tongue. if you allow yourself to speak, you may end up saying something you’ll regret later.

“…but if you must know,” he pipes up all of a sudden, catching you off guard, “they said i was your emergency contact.”

his voice is quiet when he asks: “you didn’t change it?”

you gulp despite yourself. thankfully, his eyes remain trained on yours and do not drift down to your throat.

“i forgot to,” you lie out of your ass.

you are not about to tell him it’s because you haven’t had the heart to remove him as your favorite contact, let alone delete his number.

“well…” he starts, diverting his gaze onto the pillow beside you, “…that and the fact that this villain has been after me ever since he got out of prison. fucking bastard can’t accept i apprehended him so fast back then. guess it hurt his fucking ego and wanted revenge.”

you stare at the pro-hero, debating as to whether or not to say the next thing, ultimately deciding for it.

“…and he was planning to do that by hurting me.”

bakugou’s eyes drift towards you again at your statement, a serious glint in them, although he doesn’t say anything in response.

a long pause.

“why didn’t you just tell them we aren’t together anymore?” you finally ask. “you could’ve just referred them to my family or best friends or something.”

“and have them be on my ass about us breaking up?” he quips almost instantaneously. “you were rushed to the er—i didn’t have time for that shit. and in case you’ve forgotten from that time they found out about us—”

“of course i haven’t,” you cut him off, eyes trained downcast on your fiddling fingers. “it wasn’t like i wanted the media to find out we were together in the first place. my point is that it would save you a lot of trouble if we just suck it up and announce it. that way, you won’t have to play pretend and be forced to be my guardian, and i don’t get targeted by vengeful villains anymore.”

when you finally look up at the man, the frown that found its place on bakugou’s mouth at the start of your spiel has apparently now deepened into a scowl.

“what?” you ask before you can rein yourself in.

“i’m sorry you got hurt,” he states sternly. “ i should’ve kept a closer eye on you despite everything, and i’m taking full responsibility for what happened. but—”

“—katsuki,” you try to interject.

“—but don’t think i’m in front of you right now just because i feel guilty or that i just didn’t want to deal with the fucking press,” he huffs. “i—”

you wait for a moment for him to continue, but he doesn’t. his mouth only opens as if he’s going to say something before it closes again, then opens, and closes.

despite yourself, your heart physically aches at the sight of him struggling to verbalize his feelings. you hesitate for a second, before finally deciding to say it.

“…i know what you mean.”

at that, bakugou whips to look at you, an almost imperceptible, stunned expression on his sullen features. “you do?”

you nod. “…i still care for you, too, you know? even if i try to talk myself out of it, i still find myself going through the news all the time to make sure you’re alright.”

and you really, really do.

because, at the end of the day, you didn’t break up because you fell out of love or anything remotely close to that.

it was an amicable agreement to part ways because you had absolutely little to no time for each other—what with bakugou’s demanding schedule as a rising pro-hero—and almost every little time he had free was always in conflict with your own career.

you both tried to make it work, you really did—adjusting and compromising and adapting in every way you could—but when it all boiled down to it you were always left disappointed, frustrated, and frustratingly yearning for each other.

and so before the love you’ve carefully cultivated together could morph into ugly resentment—with you hating each other—you both decided to just call it quits.

you chance a glance at the man, whose gaze has visibly softened at your admission.

and you wish you really couldn’t, or you wish you’d forget how to recognize it, but you can’t deny the look of what you’ve long identified as longing that’s written all over his face.

but before you can say anything about it, a soft array of knocks resonates from the door, catching both of your attention.

not a few seconds after, a nurse squeezes herself through the entrance, holding a clipboard close to her chest.

“sorry to interrupt your conversation,” she starts, painfully timid, “but i just wanted to inform you that the premiere suite is now ready, and we can now move the patient there.”

you whip (as much as you can, at least) to look at bakugou, who only shoots you a look telling you to just roll with it. you purse your lips in a thin line, itching to protest, but manage to not say anything as the nurse continues.

“…i’ll also have to talk to mr. bakugou later on as he is your registered guardian. i’ll just drop by again later in the suite so i can take your vitals as well. that’s basically it for now, thank you!”

and just as fast as she appeared, the nurse was gone.

when you’re sure she’s out of earshot, you turn to the man. “this is too much, katsuki.”

he merely shakes his head but again, doesn’t say anything.

you stare at him for a few more beats before finally sighing in what you feel is resignation.

this is going to be a long night.

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @k0z3me

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 my asks are always open as well. have a lovely day, y'all!

[valkyrieromanoff]

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

PREVIOUS NEXT

CHAPTER FIVE: SAUNA

synopsis: trapped in a sweltering sauna with Anakin, a tense confrontation unravels hidden truths about his fractured marriage to Padmé, leaving you torn between guilt, forbidden desire, and a fragile connection that defies reason.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, angst

words: 3.0k 

a/n: hello there, I confess that I started writing thinking it would be something hotter, maybe something happening, but then I started listening to 'Love is pain' by Finneas, and it ended up being more depressing than I imagined, anyway, I hope you like it ;) I appreciate the comments to know if the story is flowing for you too

Say it's not okay to feel that way It's real, you may not make her happy So what's wrong with me? If honestly, I wanna be the only way she can be

You left the pool in a rush, every step feeling heavier than the last. Avoiding Anakin had become a survival instinct. You muttered something about a headache to Luke, your voice barely steady, and excused yourself, desperate for escape. Anakin had suggested walking you to your cabin, concern evident in his eyes, but you’d refused—your heart pounding, your resolve teetering. You had to get away before you slipped further, before the line you shouldn’t cross blurred beyond recognition.

In the sanctuary of your cabin, you stripped off the bikini and stepped into the cold shower. The icy water hit your skin like a shock, chasing away the warmth he’d left lingering. You lathered soap onto your body, each motion deliberate, as if scrubbing away the memory of his touch—the way his hands had grazed your thighs, the way his eyes had traced every curve.

You closed your eyes, letting the water cascade over your face, but the memories were relentless. His rough, calloused hands on your skin. That low, gravelly voice that curled around your senses, sending shivers down your spine. Heat pooled in your core, an ache that refused to be washed away.

Stop it. You forced your eyes open, breath unsteady. This was dangerous—a free fall with no safety net. You couldn’t let yourself get lost in these thoughts.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel, needing something—anything—to pull you back to reality. Grabbing your phone, you opened the notes app and started a list. Pros and cons. Maybe seeing it in black and white would make it easier to resist.

Cons: he’s married, he’s Luke’s father, he’s much older. It’s reckless. Dangerous. Wrong.

Each point was a red flag, glaring and impossible to ignore. Rationally, you knew this. But your heart pounded, a traitorous rhythm that whispered other truths.

Pros: the way his eyes lingered on you, seeing more than anyone else, the warmth of his touch, the strength in his hands. That smile—dangerous, disarming, a weapon you had no defense against and the way your body responded, drawn to him like a magnet, every nerve alive and yearning.

You stared at the list, fingers trembling. The cons screamed caution, logic, self-preservation. But the pros—the pros were written in fire, each memory a brand on your skin, a temptation that refused to be ignored.

You can’t let this happen. But deep down, a darker, quieter voice whispered back, What if it already has?

_____________

“Come on, it’ll be nice…” Leia stood insistently at your cabin door, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe the massage will even help with your headache. You know, sometimes it’s more psychological than physical—stress and all that.” Her voice softened thoughtfully, her genuine concern shining through.

Beside her, Padmé nodded, the white terrycloth robe draped elegantly over her frame. “If you don’t like it, you can leave early,” she added gently, her tone soothing. “Just try to relax a little. You seem tense.”

Her kindness cut through you like a knife. The warmth in her voice, the sincerity in her eyes—it felt like a cruel reminder of the line you’d already crossed in your mind. Padmé wasn’t some distant, untouchable figure; she was right here, extending her hand to you, offering comfort. A good woman. A devoted wife. A loving mother.

How could you do this to her? The bitter taste of guilt churned in your stomach, rising like bile. She didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve the betrayal lurking in the corners of your heart, the passion you’d allowed to bloom for her husband.

It had been easier when you’d painted her as unreachable, cold—a distant figure, more concept than person. A political figurehead. A symbol. But now? Now she was real, flesh and blood, standing before you with empathy in her eyes and concern in her voice. Each word, each gentle look, felt like a condemnation.

“I don’t know, I…” The words barely escaped, your voice a whisper, cracking under the weight of shame. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken truths. You couldn’t pretend everything was okay, not when the guilt was a stone in your chest, pressing down, suffocating.

Warm tears blurred your vision before you even realized you were crying. Padmé’s eyes widened, her brow furrowing with concern. She stepped forward, her hands resting gently on your shoulders, guiding you into an embrace.

You clung to her, your sobs muffled against the soft fabric of her robe. Her touch was comforting, maternal—everything you didn’t deserve. Each tear that fell was laced with guilt, each sob a silent confession. She held you, whispering reassurances, her kindness only deepening the ache inside you.

“Why are you crying, dear?” she asked softly, pulling back just enough to search your face.

The lie slipped out before you could stop it. “I… I miss my parents.” The words tasted hollow, but Padmé’s smile was understanding, her eyes filled with a compassion that twisted the knife deeper.

A few minutes later, the three of you walked together to the spa, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken truths. Leia and Padmé, already dressed in their robes, went straight to the massage area. You watched them, the weight of your guilt pressing down, a constant reminder of the betrayal you carried.

An employee handed you a robe, gesturing toward the changing room down the hall. Each step felt heavier than the last, the simple fabric in your hands a tangible symbol of the role you played—the lie you lived.

The mirror in the changing room reflected not just your image but the conflict etched in every line of your face. This trip was meant to be an escape, a simple act of kindness for a friend. But here, in the quiet moments between words, it was becoming a battle you weren’t sure you could win.

Should you turn left or right? You hesitated, brow furrowed, as you left the locker room. The ship felt like a maze, each identical hallway blurring into the next. It must be the last door at the end. You convinced yourself, hands stuffed into the pockets of your fluffy robe, heart pounding with an unease you couldn’t shake.

The moment you pushed open the fogged glass door, a wave of heat enveloped you. The air was thick, oppressive, making your cheeks flush from the contrast with the cooler hallway. Your eyes scanned the room—large wooden benches lining the walls, steam rising in ethereal curls.

This isn’t the massage room, you realized, your pulse quickening. There should have been stretchers, calming music, not this suffocating heat. You turned to leave, but the sound of approaching footsteps froze you.

Anakin.

He stood there, a white towel wrapped low around his waist, another draped around his neck. Droplets of sweat glistened on his skin, catching the flickering light. His hair, damp and tousled, framed those piercing blue eyes that locked onto yours.

Panic surged. You spun around, hands fumbling with the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. Desperation mounted as you pounded against the fogged glass.

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Stop.” His voice was calm, almost soft, but the weight of it made you freeze. His fingers closed around your wrist, gentle but firm. “They lock it for the duration of the sauna,” he explained.

You jerked your arm away, as if his touch scalded you more than the heat. Crossing your arms tightly over your chest, you avoided his gaze, staring at the floor instead.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me for twenty minutes, angel,” Anakin murmured, his tone laced with something dangerous. He took a step closer. “Are you sure you want to spend that time sulking over there?”

You shrank back, clutching your robe tighter. “Don’t touch me,” you whispered, voice trembling with something between anger and fear.

His smile didn’t falter. That infuriating, knowing glint remained in his eyes. “You didn’t complain about my touch earlier today,” he said, the words a sharp jab, dragging the memory out into the open.

“Is everything a fucking joke to you?” The words escaped in a rush, your voice raw, quivering with anger and shame.

Anakin raised his hands, his expression a mix of confusion and defiance. “Wow, angel. What the hell bit you?”

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the thick air. Moving past him, you sank onto the sauna bench, eyes fixed on the floor. “Why?” The question was barely more than a whisper.

He frowned, pacing, frustration etched into every line of his body. “You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

“Padmé.” The name was a raw wound, guilt twisting in your chest. “She doesn’t deserve this. She’s… she’s kind. She’s everything.” Your voice cracked, the words a confession and an accusation all at once.

Anakin’s jaw clenched, his steps faltering. “Oh, so you’re feeling guilty, and you decided to take it out on me?” His voice was sharp, defensive, but there was something else beneath it—a fracture, a hint of something deeper.

Tears pricked your eyes. “You don’t deserve her.” The words were out before you could stop them, trembling with conviction.

He stopped pacing, exhaling a strangled sigh. For a moment, he stared at the door, as if the answers lay beyond it. “You don’t know shit,” he muttered, frustration threading through his voice.

You stood, anger and shame boiling over. “I know you shouldn’t have cheated on her.” You pointed a shaking finger at his chest, each word a stone thrown, heavy with accusation.

Anakin’s eyes flashed, something raw and dangerous surfacing. “Look, angel, I didn’t do it alone.” His voice dropped, low and rough. “In fact, you seemed pretty eager at the time.”

The truth of it hit you like a punch, leaving you breathless. His words weren’t just a defense—they were a mirror, reflecting the darkness you were trying so hard to avoid. You’re just as guilty. The realization twisted inside you, a storm you couldn’t escape.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand collided with his cheek, the sharp crack echoing in the steamy room. Shock and guilt hit you immediately, your eyes wide, breath shallow. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, stumbling back. But before you could escape, Anakin’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm, knuckles white.

“Do you want to know the truth?” His voice was low, rough, the words simmering with something raw and dangerous. “Do you want to know the fucked-up truth about the ‘happy family’?” His face was so close to yours that your noses almost touched, the heat between you both stifling in more ways than one.

You swallowed hard, locked in his intense gaze, fear and something else—something thrilling—warring in your mind. He let go of your wrist, the sudden release making you stumble, falling onto the bench.

Anakin sighed, running a hand through his damp curls, his eyes distant. He sank onto the bench beside you, the space between you filled with a heavy silence. He didn’t look at you; instead, his gaze fixed on some point in the past only he could see.

“Padmé was my first love.” His voice was quiet, a mix of nostalgia and sadness. “I met her in school. She was a few years ahead of me, barely noticed I existed, but I swore I’d marry that girl one day.” A small, bitter smile played at his lips. “I met her again in college. I was nineteen. It was like those years had only made the feelings stronger. We thought we had everything figured out.”

You watched the way his fingers twisted together, the vulnerability in his posture unfamiliar. He was always so controlled, so intense. This was different—raw, unguarded.

“I proposed on our third date. Stupid, right?” He laughed, but it was hollow. “We got married that year. We were barely adults, but the love… it felt invincible. We thought we had our lives in our hands.”

You listened, your heart aching at the weight in his voice, the way his words carried the residue of dreams gone wrong.

“I joined the army right after. Months apart, letters are our only connection. It was hard, but it was worth it, our love worth it. Padmé got pregnant, and when I found out I was going to be a father... It was the best day of my life.” His eyes flickered with a light that dimmed as he continued. “I left the army when the twins were born. Padmé had just been elected, and I always knew she was always going to outshine me… Her future would be brighter”

His knee brushed against yours, the touch grounding, almost accidental. Yet it felt like a tether, holding you in the moment.

“The first few years were... perfect. Like an eternal honeymoon. I had everything I’d ever dreamed of. The wife. The kids. It felt like nothing could go wrong.” His voice faltered. “But it did. Slowly. Quietly. I don’t even know when we fell out of love. Was it the mornings waking up to an empty bed? The nights she worked late, barely noticing me anymore? I felt like I was falling down her priority list”

He laughed, a broken sound. “Maybe it was my fault. My jealousy of some stranger she met while I was gone. The arguments. The things I said that I can’t take back. I tried, but… she cried. And it was always my fault.”

You didn’t say anything, each word settling like a stone in your chest. Your heart ached—not just for him, but for Padmé, for the ghost of the love they’d lost.

“Leia and Luke were ten when we finally sat down and had a real conversation. We laid it all out. Everything.” He paused, his hands clenching into fists. “We should have divorced. We both knew it. But Padmé had just been elected to the Senate. She was already under scrutiny, criticized just for being a woman in power. If we divorced her career could have collapsed.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. This wasn’t what you’d expected. The image of their perfect marriage crumbled in front of you, replaced by something real, something flawed.

“We stayed together. Not out of love, but because we couldn’t afford to fall apart.” He finally looked at you, his eyes raw, haunted. “That’s the truth.”

You opened your mouth, searching for words, but nothing came. What could you say? He’d laid bare a part of himself you’d never seen, and the weight of it pressed down on you both. The guilt you felt twisted deeper, sharper, yet there was something else—a desperate need to comfort him, to ease his pain.

Your hand hovered near his, hesitant, the boundary between what you wanted and what you should do blurring. “Anakin…” you whispered, your voice soft, unsure.

He didn’t pull away, but the space between you was heavy with everything unspoken. In that moment, all you wanted was to bridge the gap, to offer solace. But you knew the line was thin, the risk too great. So you stayed there, the silence wrapping around you both, an unsteady truce in the heat of the sauna.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The words slipped out, barely more than a whisper. Your hand rested on his, a tentative connection.

Anakin’s eyes softened, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “It’s not like we go around telling people.” There was a bitterness in his voice, a weight beneath the casual words.

You swallowed, the questions swirling in your mind too heavy to hold back. “But how? It’s been years. You’ve been married for over twenty years… How did you make it work?” Confusion and curiosity tangled in your voice, the pieces of his story not fitting the perfect image you’d held of his family.

He tilted his head, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You’re a curious little thing, aren’t you?” he teased, his tone lighter, but his eyes held a depth that pulled you in. He turned your hand, his fingers sliding between yours, the contact sending a jolt through you.

His voice dropped, quieter now. “We’re married on paper, but that’s all it is. Separate bedrooms. Separate lives. We stay married because… well, it’s easier that way. For Padmé’s career, for the image we’ve built. We can’t marry other people, but we… find companionship where we can.”

Your mouth fell open in surprise, the confession hitting you like a wave. This wasn’t the story you’d imagined.

Anakin’s expression was unreadable as he continued, his voice calm, almost detached. “I’ve had my fair share of… casual encounters. And Padmé has had hers. We have an understanding.” He paused, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for judgment.

The words felt surreal. “You just… ignore it? The other people?”

A flicker of something—pain, maybe regret—crossed his face. “We don’t talk about it. We don’t need to. It’s none of my business what she does, just like it’s none of hers who I spend my nights with.” He exhaled, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “I’m sure she and her secretary, Sabé, have something. I’ve never asked. It’s… easier that way.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. You tried to process it, to reconcile the man before you with the image of the family you’d known. There was a sadness in his voice, an emptiness that tugged at something deep inside you.

Your thumb brushed gently over his knuckles, the gesture instinctive, an attempt to offer comfort. “That… sounds lonely.”

His eyes met yours, the mask slipping just enough for you to see the truth beneath. “It is.” The admission was soft, raw. A single word that held years of quiet suffering, of nights spent in an empty bed, of dreams that had slowly unraveled.

Your heart ached for him, for Padmé, for the fragile facade they’d built and maintained for so long. You wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between you. But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, you sat there, your hand still in his, the heat of the sauna wrapping around you both. The silence was heavy, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with everything you couldn’t say—the understanding, the guilt, the unspoken connection that pulled you toward him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

[court-jobi]

Phantom Spasms | Headcanons

Pro-Hero!MHA x Reader: Kirishima, Midoriya, Tamaki, Shinsou, Bakugou

Words: 3.8k

Prompt:

A telltale quiver wracks your body every now and then. Trembling: like a ghost which holds its wrenching fingers in wait to play piano on your nerves and muscles- attacking your body without warning or mercy. Once upon a time, those unsettling sensations would have been the sign of a flare-up or overextention… but now, phantom spasms merely unlock memories of pains seen and unseen. How will your hero best soothe your aches?

Warnings: desc. of injury/ body aches, language (because BK exists) HURT/COMFORT/FLUFF assorted

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

A/N: Still working through some fun asks, but here's some headcanons since it's been a minute~ show weeks are crazy for me (my theatre kids get it) Happy Halloween and Happy Booping, yall!

--Eijiro Kirishima

The first time you jumped out of your skin at work due to someone's hand landing on your back, Sero simply figured you spooked easily from behind. You made a joke right away to his teases. Then another time, you pinned whoever it was to the wall, when it happened to poor unsuspecting Mina at a party. You apologized and everyone laughed the overreaction off- sweet ‘Pinky’ included. 

But it wasn’t till it happened a third time at night -in your kitchen- with your own sweet-spirited Kirishima, that he finally became the one to learn what the reason behind your jerks stems from.

You were a little down in the face, getting some ice cream when he sleepily trudged out of bed for some water– and to find his sweetheart who’d left him cold and lonely. He found you up and tracing the bottom of your dish with your spoon, and made to come behind you with a hand to your waist– when you gasped. Flinching hard and snacking him with a grab– to root him to the spot and rear up to hit your attacker-

"OW- babe, it's just me!!" 

Your eyes widened and back stayed arched until you kind of stuttered and rubbed it with your free hand. Your gaze fell away to Kirishima’s arm- with stinging tears and guilt. You’d drop the scoop carelessly on the counter and regulate your breaths, all in hopes this could be perceived as another nervous-nelly reaction and not sign of what this actually is… something worse. 

"I-I’m sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, baby-" Kiri carefully raised a hand to brush your face into a sweet caress. Like magic, his touch soothes and your back finally eased up and let you sigh.

"No. I'm sorry. God, did I hurt you?" you straightened and rubbed at his arm yourself.

"Nah, it's fine, manly hit tho, babe!" He brushed it off until his laugh died seeing your eyes. "Hey. You ok? Is... something wrong with your back?" Kirishima smooths your hoodie’s folds back over your shoulders and down your arms to casually hold your waist."You were... rubbing it, just now."

"...happens more than I let on..." you sighed a little dejected. "Old injury, just - spasms- sometimes, when someone comes from behind me and I didnt notice." 

Kirishima’s gears worked together through the drowsiness,, "so... when Mina?"

"Yeah."

"And when Sero came in the-"

"Not as bad, but yeah," you nodded.

"Oh God, babyyyy," he lifted you and rubbed the outsides of your thighs when he sat you on the counter, shifting the ice cream remnants aside and caressing your low back. "Why didn't you say anything? I never would have teased you like that! Damn, I give you surprise hugs all the time..."

"It's not all the time!" you tried to assure him. "I usually hear you or know it's coming, and it's nice. It's really nice." 

A fond smile brings you to run a hand through his floppy hair. 

"I.... it actually feels better when I know it's you at my back. It feels... safe, y’know?"

He hummed and lifted his brows, raising his hands to your cheeks and giving you a sweet kiss. 

"Then consider me your personal koala, angel. I've got your back." The reassurance would touch you at its sweetness– till you see that he glanced down to your cleavage. "And your front, too."

"Oh hush, Kiri."

He laughed at the far more tame slap at his chest and tickled your sides to get you to join in. Once calmed down, you hugged Kirishima tight from your spot on the counter and so did he- now taking careful, soothing rubs on your back. 

"I love you so much, baby. Tell me anytime it hurts from now on, ok?"

-- Izuku Midoriya

It was in training at Grounds A when it began storming outside, so you figured you’d stay a little longer and not fight the bad weather on the roads. If nothing else, it gives you extra time to watch him practice his new and improved shoot style. With the new suit came a learning curve, so Izuku practically lived on campus nowadays, long after his classes were over. Before he could take to the streets, he’d need to learn how to work as a hero again, merging his physical disciplines with the new tech he now wears to protect himself. 

Happy to spend any break with him and support him on his hero track, you came anytime Izuku called and asked for you to take notes. He’d call out how high he guesses he can reach, and you’d yell the actual figure back as soon as he landed; as a game of sorts to see how far he could go. 

Izuku shouted one simultaneously with a thunder crack and while you did answer, it sounded faint. He looked back through sweaty bangs and he noticed you kind of spoke it downwards to the ground- and you were rubbing at your back with an awkward reach.

"You ok?" Izuku called– you looked up suddenly and smiled to mask the quivering sensation as it died down.

"Yeah, I'm good! Go again!"

A few more rounds passed and in between kicks, the thunder cracked again. Even Izuku cringed at the sight out the window, seeing how nasty it was getting. The passing worry over ‘Kacchan’ being out in this drek came through a mutter when he bounded back to your side with a solid thud on the ground, looking to you for perhaps some reassurance– 

– at least he was seeking you out, until he realized he was the one who needed to attend to you. Izuku’s eyes went wide and he rushed to your side with a higher-pitched call of your name.

Shoulders held uncomfortably straight, you were half slumped on the railing, trying to regulate your breaths. 

Izuku huffed over to your side in a second, the flash of electric teal ebbing through his suit's grooves catching your eyes as he worried in front of you. 

"I'm really fine," you rasped, "it happens’a lot– more annoying than anything." You chuckled as it eased up and allowed you to carefully kneel to a sit. Izuku crouches by you too, easing you down slowly.

"Honey, that's not normal! What's happened? Are you ok?? " 

He is quick to start mother-henning you, cupping your cheeks… and you had to smile.

"It’s just a phantom pain," you twisted and pointed at the back "Not even really ‘painful’ anymore, even- just.. strange. Like, have you ever had a bad dream that something's poking you in the back, but nothing’s really there?"

He sweated through that strange scenario, "Uhhhhh, no? I've never had that before..."

"Well, it’s a thing. The doctor checked me out," you brushed off all the same. "Just the thunder spooked me, and it acted up. Loud noises make me jump., and everything siezes."

Izuku is still hard to settle, so you give him the speed-read through what happened to you. A rookie mistake of pushing yourself beyond your limits when you were young resulted in a (potentially) life-long bout with strengthening your core, keeping good posture… years have been spent working around the scar tissue under the surface as best as you can manage.

"Scar tissue?"

"Yeah, right... here." 

You thumbed at the spot of your tremors, 

"Surgery took care of it. There's not even a bad incision- it just..--”

-a low rumble shook the sky-

“- teases, sometimes. Under the surface."

"Oh," Izuku mumbled, noting you seemed embarrassed, “So it’s like a missing limb? Amputees will say that, I hear. Aizawa has before, too, after what he did with his leg...”

Thinking back to a darker time, you’d felt the same of yourself… when you worried whether or not you’d walk again. It has been so scary, feeling that there should have been horrible pins and debris sticking out of you with how your nerves twisted and pinched all around the site of your wound. As much as you wish it wouldn't, sometimes it feels like yesterday that you were laid up in the hospital for endless scans and tests for weeks on end.

Simply put, you agree so as to not worry him more: “In a way, yes.”

"-But it’s not hurting you?"

"Not... ‘hurt’ exactly, just feels kinda queasy."

Izuku’s powers of observation can read as overwhelming, though right now, you think it’s sweet how he’s taking in every inch of you to memory. He's running through a thousand and one solutions- you know the signs.

He got an idea. 

"Hey, well, let me rinse off and we can stay in and watch a show until this storm lets up! That way, you won’t be alone! And I'll sit at your back... I can rub it, if it helps?" His ears got a little pink as he rambled through, but you smiled up at his eyes sweetly. 

"That'd be nice~"

-- Tamaki Amajiki

Tamaki laid curled up in his favorite spot on your chest: his long-sleeved hand rests tucked into himself while he nuzzles into your neck. It’s his favorite spot since he could hear you and feel all of you so well, but you didn't have to see his face.

He admittedly had fallen asleep there, even though a storm had started. Poor baby can sleep through almost anything as long as you're still enough (as his pillow).

But today? When your jump underneath him roused him, he suddenly went self conscious,

"mmmmmAHHH, s-sorry, I didnt- I... hey, what are..."

A moment’s delay, Tamaki noticed your pained expression as you let out shallow breaths. 

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you??"

"No, honey, no, you’re... ahh... yer’fine...." you tried to press your tummy back down and nuzzle back into bed. You were clearly preoccupied and not able to fully focus on resolving his quivering self as quickly as you normally would. 

"Y-you’re shaking..." Bridging up on an elbow off of you, Tamaki sounded concerned and a little more commanding. He could be very protective once he knew there wasn't a risk of embarrassing himself, "Tell me what hurts, love."

He laid on his side and regarded every twitch of your face as you glanced his way. For all his shrinking into himself and generally submissive nature, no one stands in your corner like Tamaki Amajiki. Now with your roles of confidence reversed, you felt ashamed not telling him sooner.

"It's just... my low back." You turned to face him, thumbing it, and he instantly touched the spot, your skin jumping at contact but settling as he palmed it. "It acts up sometimes... old injury and all."

"Do I need to take you to the nurse?"

"Oh no," you brushed off, "there's nothing she'd do anyway- it's supposed to go away on its own." Then another thunderclap brought it on again, and he tightened onto you again.

His little face dropped, feeling horrible that you were suffering all this time. After your initial recovery, physical therapies, even taking you to and from your yoga classes, Tamaki had foolishly assumed you’d made a full recovery without an ounce of lingering trouble.

 "I can't believe I didn't see this before. God, I'm a terrible boyfriend…" he mumbled into your shoulder, holding on for comfort as he tucked you under his arm so your back laid mostly on the bed again and he shielded you from on top. You cooed at his self deprivation and just petted through his hair.

"Tama-honey,” you tapped his chin to look up at you, "you're the best boyfriend I could- ever- wish for.”

And it's not a lie- never a lie when it comes to him. Had he only been in your life during your recovery from that pesky broken leg back in your teens, you're sure you would have bounced back ten times faster.

You're here now," you sunk adorably under him to make him feel bigger, "why would I ever feel anything but completely safe with you?"

His little lip quivered into a smile and he leaned to kiss your nose and cheek to which you sighed at both touches happily. "What should I do? To help, I mean?"

You keen a little at this caring attention. You rarely told him to do anything due to his fawning -and already skittishy- nature that simply wanted to be held and adored when in your company… but with how gentle he's being, this opening makes you answer him honestly. What's so wrong about giving him a reason to please you?

"Back rubs are nice~”

When you turn over gingerly and he starts to pet along your back, you wiggle your hips a touch.

“You can go under, hon. I won’t break, promi-”

“U-UNNDER?!” 

You giggle into the pillow. Simple back scratches will have to do for your shy darling.

-- Hitoshi Shinsou

You haven't noticed much pain since you were in the hospital, post-accident. The meds they gave you were gold, and just about knocked you out within fifteen minutes of a dose. Truly all you’d wanted was to go home and ride out your recovery, but everyone on staff urged you to take the PT seriously, as it would help you in the long run. Your chief cheerleader -and drill sergeant- was none other than your partner in both heroics and love, Shinsou.

Once settled in your second story apartment, you really hedged against leaving to brave the stairs unless absolutely necessary. But even when you needed to for an appointment, Hitoshi was there, taking you by the hand to support you step by step. There to help you shower, there to help you dress until you could proudly manage on your own. But even then, you claimed you relied on his witty banter more than anything else… He’s strong in every sense of the word, and stoic where you need him to be, even now off duty. You missed heading out to fight crime with him, but ‘all in good time, sweetness’ was his anthem during your six week long ‘house arrest’.

Being home was such a happy change of pace from the white hallways of the triage floor; you were actually eager to tackle the monotony of chores again. Shinsou had encouraged you to rest, but didn’t fuss or demand it when you went piddling around the apartment. It wasn’t until you were putting dishes away that you had your first, huge flare-up.

You couldn’t even call it pain- just the most intense muscle spasm and queasiness you've ever felt that shook you from your low back up your spine. The sensation honestly scared you. The mug in question immediately retreated to the counter and you stumbled beside the fridge -balancing on the counter- your breaths fast and short as the tremors vibrated in you, 

"Hi–Hitoshi?!" You called weakly, trying not to panic.

He was there in a matter of seconds; he’d already heard the crash and was on his way to investigate. You heard him curse lightly before coming up beside and behind you, lowering your arms from their mismatched hold on whatever cabinet handles you could grab and placed both palms on the counter, 

"Let go," he prompted, and you obeyed without any coercion. When you held onto the flat surface, he took your waist in his hands to steady you. "Don't tense- breathe through it, deep breaths."

"What's happening…?" you can’t turn to look, even though you wanted to.

"It's in your back, right here?" Shinsou laid a warm palm on the queasy area, and you whimpered an affirmation. "You're ok, sweetheart. It’ll pass- it's just a spasm. It'll pass... just breathe."

You forced yourself an inhale that’s not as slow as you know he’d prefer, but Shinsou doesn’t correct you. Here he stands, rubbing your back with two expert fingers and his thumb over the bundle of nerves where your initial surgery had been. It seemed to help because breathing got easier. 

"That's it,” He whispered close to your ear, closing his eyes to pray. "You're doing good." He kissed a few spots on your shoulder as you relaxed as the minute wore on, him rubbing your back and you sinking away from the counter as your back bowed back from its arch.

"Oh my God...." you breathed.

"Better?"

You nodded. He looked up and saw the open pantry and let out a little breath. He kept a hand on your waist and put the mug up himself.

"You know things like this are why I'm here. Don't push yourself."

You soured at that, "I should be able to reach things in my own kitchen..."

"You will- just not right now." Shinsou said firmly, but in a tone that softened at the end whenever he was with you. You turned your back to the counter,

"Thanks," you breathed out, rubbing up his arm. "That was... really wierd. And kinda scary."

"The same happens in my neck from time to time. Not so much anymore. It will fade after a couple months." 

You exasperated at the sound of that time frame. Shinsou had suffered a bout of whiplash after a villain sting earlier that year, and you remembered his more subtle shudders and shivers indicating his nerves were getting back to standard operating procedure. That neurological progress took nearly half the year, just as he said.

But Shinsou knows your brand of impatience all too well. He lifted your chin to his gaze, more concern than scolding, 

"-which is why you need to take your recovery seriously. I know you wanna bounce back fast; I can help you get there. You know what to do. We want to avoid these as much as we can."

You nodded, but your chest still sunk. You know more practically that you couldn’t bother him every time it happened, yet you now fear what would happen now if he hadn't been here. He’s only off night duty for another week, so after this weekend, you’ll be managing life solo, more or less… 

But despite any lingering discomfort showing on your face, Shinsou would do anything to see it go away. He pressed a kiss to the soft edge of your eyeline and leaned his forehead to yours, rubbing your back comfortably in his hold- making your hands naturally hold back on his arms to make him stay. He brought you gaze back up, 

"Hey sunshine..." 

You opened your eyes to see his small smile. Makes him look all the more sleepy, but it’s such a soft sight, you’re happy to see it all the same.

"Do you trust me?"

You smiled back a little brighter. "I do."

"Then you should let me help you when you need it. I'm counting on you to tell me when that is. Promise?"

"I promise." You closed your eyes, just soaking in his presence. "I just want to be normal, babe."

He nuzzled noses with you, "Normal is subjective. You're healing, and that's nothing to be ashamed of."

You had to smile at his logical reasoning– takes after his mentor. So you nodded and asked if you could turn in and start up a bath, even if it was a little early in the day.

He massaged the soft skin by your ear and responded, "of course, love. Whatever you want."

--Katsuki Bakugo

You had rare help in the kitchen most days at this hour, since Bakugou was still on some personal leave from his agency (a forced break from his pr specialist who's placed him in time-out from the public eye). Given the availability he now has should be regarded as a gift, he was there to readily help you and no doubt distract you with kisses while you worked. His teasing has carried on throughout the afternoon as he cleaned up behind you, and was working on washing up the last few dishes when you were getting out a stockpot for dinner.

Crouching a little too fast to reach it on the low shelf, the shooting queasiness had your back bowing, and breath expelling out of your lungs in a gasp not unlike ‘fear’. You flopped almost immediately to your butt and pivoted with your back to the cabinet as you let out an uncontrollable moan.

At the sound of a hushed 'ughhh not again' in your first language, Bakugo peeked from the other end of the island and couldn’t find you at first… so he leaned off to the side and found your crunched body on the floor.

With a loud curse, he dropped everything and rushed to your side, 

"What the hell happened??" Bakugou’s hands went everywhere, from your hands to your shoulder, scanning your legs and your tense face for signs of a cut or a bruise you could have made this quickly.

"Babe, I'm fine, this is normal f’me."

"THE FUCK YOU’RE FINE– you're on the DAMN FLOOR!" He went to pull you up bridal style but you stopped him suddenly,

"No, no don't!! It's just gotta pass first…"

His eyes went wide and felt panic creep down his back. Bakugou flopped criss-crossed on the floor, and ran a hand through his hair- all that’s left was to watch you helplessly, which was the last thing he wanted to do in this moment. Surely he could do something. The waiting made him angrier than ever for a split second, until he reigned in some breaths himself. Eventually, the blond just reached a hand out to rub your knee. What else was he supposed to do?

You sensed your boyfriend’s now silent concern, and sent a little weak smile his way as it started ebbing away, 

"It's already better. My back just seized up sometimes, it's just an old injury that acts up every now and again. I usually don't do ‘squatty’ movements like that- things that tax it,” -you wink a little playfully- “Rookie mistake~”

Bakugou nodded, yet just stared at your core as it leveled back to normal.

"Sorry about that. Getting older sure doesn’t help these things~" You breathed out as you sat up normally-- only to have Bakugou launch at you fast and grip you to him–

You yelped at his sudden reach but brought a hand to his back– strange, that you think you might need to soothe him instead with how hard he’s breathing– 

"Katsuki?"

"Don't scare me like that again, dummy," he croaked out, nuzzling his face into the warmth of your neck and cradling your head to him in the dearest way.

Really, you should know better by this point. He can be battered and bruised beyond recognition and won’t pay a bit of attention to himself… but when you get so much as a paper cut or a wasp’s sting, and he will nearly go ballistic to tend to you.

[scientia-rex]

Because my most popular post is about weight loss and how it's a crock, I get a lot of questions about various things, including bariatric surgery--just posted the link to the post I did about that--but also Ozempic/Wegovy, the once-weekly injectable semaglutide medication that was developed for diabetes but was found to have independent benefits on weight loss.

I always said that weight loss was like Viagra: when a medication came along that actually worked, it would explode. We'd all hear about it. Fen-phen in the 90s worked, but it was bad for your heart. Stimulants, like meth, may cause weight loss, but they do it at the cost of heart health, and raise your likelihood of dying young. Over the counter weight loss supplements often contain illegal and unlisted thyroid hormone, which is also dangerous for the heart if taken in the absence of a real deficiency. Orlistat, or "Alli," works the same way as the Olestra chips Lays made in the 1990s--it shuts off your ability to digest fats, and the problem with that is that fats irritate the gut, so then you end up with fatty diarrhea and probably sharts. Plus Alli only leads to 8-10lbs of weight loss in the best case scenario, and most people are not willing to endure sharts for the sake of 8lbs.

And then came the GLP-1 agonists. GLP stands for glucagon-like peptide. Your body uses insulin to make cells uptake sugar. You can't just have free-floating sugar and use it, it has to go into the cells to be used. So if your body sucks at moving sugar into the cells, you end up with a bunch of glucose hanging out in places where it shouldn't be, depositing on small vessels, damaging nerves and your retinas and kidneys and everywhere else that has a whole lot of sensitive small blood vessels, like your brain.

Glucagon makes your liver break down stored sugars and release them. You can think of it as part of insulin's supporting cast. If your body needs sugar and you aren't eating it, you aren't going to die of hypoglycemia, unless you've got some rare genetic conditions--your liver is going to go, whoops, here you go! and cough it up.

But glucagon-like peptide doesn't act quite the same way. What glucagon-like peptide does is actually stimulating your body to release insulin. It inhibits glucagon secretion. It says, we're okay, we're full, we just ate, we don't need more glucagon right now.

This has been enough for many people to both improve blood sugar and cause weight loss. Some patients find they think about food less, which can be a blessing if you have an abnormally active hunger drive, or if you have or had an eating disorder.

However, every patient I've started on semaglutide in any form (Ozempic, Wegovy, or Rybelsus) has had nausea to start with, probably because it slows the rate of stomach emptying. And that nausea sometimes improves, and sometimes it doesn't. There's some reports out now of possible gastroparesis associated with it, which is where the stomach just stops contracting in a way that lets it empty normally into the small intestine. That may not sound like a big deal, but it's a lifelong ticket to abdominal pain and nausea and vomiting, and we are not good at treating it. We're talking Reglan, a sedating anti-nausea but pro-motility agent, which makes many of my patients too sleepy to function, or a gastric pacemaker, which is a relatively new surgery. You can also try a macrolide antibiotic, like erythromycin, but I have had almost no success in getting insurance to cover those and also they have their own significant side effects.

Rapid weight loss from any cause, whether illness, medication, or surgery, comes with problems. Your skin is not able to contract quickly. It probably will, over long periods of time, but "Ozempic face" and "Ozempic butt" are not what people who want to lose weight are looking for. Your vision of your ideal body does not include loose, excess skin.

The data are also pretty clear that you can't "kick start" weight loss with Ozempic and then maintain it with behavioral mechanisms. If you want to maintain the weight loss, you need to stay on the medication. A dose that is high enough to cause weight loss is significantly higher than the minimum dose where we see improvements in blood sugar, and with a higher dose comes higher risk of side effects.

I would wait on semaglutide. I would wait because it's been out for a couple of years now but with the current explosion in popularity we're going to see more nuanced data on side effects emerging. When you go from Phase III human trials to actual use in the world, you get thousands or millions more data points, and rare side effects that weren't seen in the small human trials become apparent. It's why I always say my favorite things for a drug to be are old, safe, and cheap.

I also suspect the oral form, Rybelsus, is going to get more popular and be refined in some way. It's currently prohibitively expensive--all of these are; we're talking 1200 or so bucks a month before insurance, and insurance coverage varies widely. I have patients who pay anything from zero to thirty to three hundred bucks a month for injectable semaglutide. I don't think I currently have anyone whose insurance covers Rybelsus who could also tolerate the nausea. My panel right now is about a thousand patients.

There are also other GLP-1 agonists. Victoza, a twice-daily injection, and Trulicity, and anything else that ends in "-aglutide". But those aren't as popular, despite being cheaper, and they aren't specifically approved for weight loss.

Mounjaro is a newer one, tirzepatide, that acts on two receptors rather than one. In addition to stimulating GLP-1 receptors, it also stimulates glucose-dependent insulinotropic polypeptide (GIP) receptors. It may work better; I'm not sure whether that's going to come with a concomitantly increased risk of side effects. It's still only approved for diabetes treatment, but I suspect that will change soon and I suspect we'll see a lot of cross-over in terms of using it to treat obesity.

I don't think these medications are going away. I also don't think they're right for everyone. They can reactivate medullary thyroid carcinoma; they can fuck up digestion; they may lead to decreased quality of life. So while there may be people who do well with them, it is okay if those people are not you. You do not owe being thin to anyone. You most certainly do not owe being thin to the extent that you should risk your health for it. Being thin makes navigating a deeply fat-hating world easier, in many ways, so I never blame anyone for wanting to be thin; I just want to emphasize that it is okay if you stay fat forever.

[ghostblade-official]

Who Are You?

(Made by moi, inspired by @serenastark-official ‘s super awesome mood board!)

(Apologies in advance for the sheer length of this! I’m unsure how to link things so this is the only way I could get it done <3)

A/N: Also apologies if this changes, OCs are always changing! (Also my name is Casey! Rp is open in DMs as well. No minor/adult ships, no pro ship. Fighting and stuff is allowed. Love you all!)

Finnian’s Character Playlist!

☾ 𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 ☽

╰┈☆ 𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝 ☆┈╯

⟾ Finnian “Finn” Holloway Barnes

⟾ 14

⟾ HYDRA controlled experiment

⟾ “Ghost Blade”

╰┈☆ ℍ𝕐𝔻ℝ𝔸 ☆┈╯

⟾ Codename: Ghost Blade

⟾ Cryogenic sleep victim

⟾conditioned/programmed

⟾ attempting to break free

⟾ Trigger words: Shadow, Silence, Eclipse, Revenant, Null, Vanish, Oblivion, Hollow

╰┈☆ 𝔸𝕓𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤/𝔼𝕟𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 ☆┈╯

⟾ Invisibility

↳ He can render himself mostly invisible to the naked eye, essentially “phasing” out of sight. His body, clothes, and anything he is touching will disappear, leaving no visible trace.

↳Mechanics: Infrared sensors and advanced tracking tech can locate him. He becomes invisible on instinct rather than on will— when feeling anxious, threatened, or overwhelmed, his body will often flicker or phase out. This lack of control causes further isolation.

↳Side effects: Staying in his invisible form for extended periods leaves him drained both physically and mentally. After some time, he will become dizzy and it will get worse the more he tries to sustain the invisibility.

↳Experimental Procedures and its side effects: Hydra exposed Finn to biochemical and enhancements that were aimed to alter his DNA structure. These “treatments” allowed him to disperse or phase his molecules on will. The experimental cocktail included gene-editing viruses combined with advanced nanotechnology injected into his bloodstream. It altered him and allowed him to manipulate his intangibility and visibility.

➢ The repeated treatments left his body in a constant state of flux, causing him to feel detached and “unreal.” The modifications weren’t perfected, which is why his powers sometimes activate involuntarily, and he suffers from exhaustion and mental strain when using them.

⟾ Retractable Arm Blades

 ↳ Finn has two razor-sharp blades embedded in his forearms, which he can extend and retract by flexing certain muscles in his arms. These blades are a little over a foot in length and made from a reinforced, near-indestructible alloy.

↳ Mechanics:  The blades are housed within Finn’s forearms, embedded beneath the muscle and aligned along the bones. When activated, they extend outward, emerging just past his wrists. This design offers better stability and control, as the forearm placement allows the blades to be longer and more durable without compromising his wrist flexibility.

↳ Side effects: they add weight to his arms, causing fatigue after prolonged use. Finn is also sensitive to cold weather, as the metal affects circulation around the forearm area. The installation of the blades left visible scars on his forearms, making them a constant reminder of Hydra’s hold on him. Repeated usage causes strain on his arms, resulting in soreness and occasional bleeding from the incision points. He tries to use the blades sparingly, both because of the physical toll and his resentment toward the violent purpose Hydra had designed them for.

↳Experimental Procedures and Side Effects: Hydra surgically implanted retractable blades into Finn’s forearms. The blades are made of a high-strength alloy, specifically engineered for durability and ease of deployment. To make them functional, Hydra installed mechanisms in his arms, with nerve links that allow him to control the blades with specific muscle contractions.

➢ The surgery was traumatic, involving significant tissue damage and painful rehabilitation to ensure the blades functioned as intended. The scars remain visible reminders of Hydra’s control over him, and Finn often feels phantom pain from the nerve-dense areas around the implants.

⟾Enhanced Senses

↳ Hydra enhanced Finn’s sensory perception, particularly his vision and hearing, to support his role as a stealth operative. His vision is sharper than average, allowing him to see with clarity at both great distances and in low light. His hearing is similarly acute, capable of picking up subtle sounds from a distance.

↳ Mechanics: His senses operate like a heightened state of alertness, constantly absorbing details in his surroundings. This makes him exceptionally skilled at observing environments and detecting movement, even in near silence. His enhanced hearing is especially useful, allowing him to pick up on whispered conversations or approaching footsteps.

↳ Side Effects: His hypersensitivity often makes crowded or noisy spaces overwhelming, as he struggles to tune out background noise. This sensory overload can lead to headaches or anxiety, forcing him to withdraw. He’s also prone to sensory “burnout” if he has to remain focused for too long, which leaves him temporarily dulled and disoriented.

↳Experimental Procedures and Side Effects: Hydra enhanced Finn’s senses using a combination of gene therapy and sensory implants that amplify the nerves connected to his eyes and ears. This treatment pushed his body beyond natural limits, making his vision sharper and his hearing extremely sensitive.

➢ The heightened senses are a double-edged sword, as Finn is often overwhelmed by his surroundings and finds himself unable to tune out background noise or visual stimuli. Hydra conditioned him to use these senses as tools, but in normal life, they make it challenging to relax or feel at ease.

⟾Combat Skills

↳ Finn was rigorously trained in hand-to-hand combat, stealth, and evasion techniques. His training was intended to make him an infiltrator and silent eliminator—skills that make him a formidable fighter despite his young age.

↳Mechanics: Hydra focused on agility and precision rather than brute strength, so his style relies on quick movements, accuracy, and evasion. He uses his small size to his advantage, weaving in and out of attacks, striking at weak points, and utilizing his blades with precision.

↳Side Effects: His combat training involved psychological conditioning, which sometimes resurfaces as flashes of instinctual aggression or muscle memory. These impulses unsettle him, as he fears they are remnants of Hydra’s control rather than his own choices.

↳Experimental Procedures and Side Effects: Hydra trained Finn extensively in hand-to-hand combat, infiltration tactics, and evasive maneuvers. The training was brutal and relentless, aimed at breaking down his will and rebuilding him as an obedient soldier. He endured rigorous drills, simulations, and mock combat against other captives. To ensure compliance, Hydra utilized a regimen of psychological and physical abuse, forcing him to suppress emotions and prioritize efficiency over empathy. The training created instinctual reflexes and muscle memory that he sometimes taps into unconsciously, especially in high-stress situations.

╰┈☆𝔹𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘/ℍ𝕐𝔻ℝ𝔸 ☆┈╯

Finnian “Finn” Holloway’s conditioning was brutal and meticulously engineered to forge a weapon devoid of individuality and emotional connections. Hydra’s experiments with Finn began when he was a young child, having been forcibly taken from his family in the early 1940s. This is a breakdown of how Hydra severed his ties to his past and molded him into a ghostly operative they could control.

⟾ Timeline

↳ The Abduction: Finnian was taken from his family in New York during the 1940s. Hydra operatives targeted him due to who his biological father was. Initially they targeted his step-father and mother who were remarkable scientists, but they ended up with Finn due to his… sacrificial tendencies.

↳ Cryogenic Suspension: Hydra lacked the ability to keep such young children consistently trained and operational, so they subjected Finn to cryogenic sleep, only waking him when they needed his skills for a specific mission or for reconditioning. This extended his life unnaturally, as he was preserved for decades, occasionally awakened, reconditioned, and deployed, then returned to cryo. This periodic “hibernation” dulled his perception of time, making it impossible for him to understand how much of his life had slipped away in fragments. Each time he woke, he was briefly disoriented, forced to reorient himself to whatever time or place Hydra needed him in.

↳ Surgical Trauma: Hydra conditioned Finn’s body through invasive surgeries and modifications that began shortly after his abduction. As a child, he was subjected to painful procedures to alter his skeletal and muscular structures to accommodate the retractable blades. His body was pushed to its limits through intense physical regimens designed to optimize his movements for stealth and close-quarters combat, transforming his small frame into a highly efficient weapon.

↳ Pain Threshold Conditioning: Finn was trained to withstand pain, and Hydra used this as a method to desensitize him. They subjected him to controlled injuries, testing his reactions and pushing him to disconnect from physical discomfort. By the time he was in his teens, his pain tolerance was unnaturally high, with Hydra successfully numbing his response to physical suffering.

↳ Isolation and Deprivation: In between cryo cycles, Hydra used extended periods of isolation to condition him further. They stripped him of any comfort, human contact, or even familiarity, forcing him into a constant state of disorientation. Hunger, sleep deprivation, and extreme sensory deprivation were also used to break his spirit and reprogram his sense of reality, weakening any attachment to his former self.

↳ Identity Erosion: Hydra purposefully erased any remnants of his former life, stripping him of his name and calling him only by assigned aliases or numbers. They burned photographs of his family in front of him, calling them “illusions” and “fabrications” until Finn began to question his own memories. They rewrote his identity as their ghost operative, telling him his only purpose was to serve Hydra.

↳ Emotional Suppression: Hydra used shock therapy and psychoactive drugs to force Finn to suppress emotions. Any display of fear, empathy, or resistance was met with painful repercussions, conditioning him to view emotions as weaknesses. Hydra also exposed him to horrifying images and missions that desensitized him to violence, making him detached and numb to human suffering.

↳ Hypnosis and Brainwashing: To reinforce Hydra’s control over Finn, scientists would place him under hypnosis, repeating phrases and implanting commands that would override his natural instincts. These sessions often took place after missions or during cryo-wake cycles to refresh his obedience. Under hypnosis, Finn was made to repeat mantras about loyalty to Hydra and his “purpose” as their weapon, embedding these ideas deeply into his psyche.

⟾ Long-Term Effects and Psychological Toll

↳ The psychological effects of Hydra’s conditioning on Finn were profound. His fragmented life—marked by alternating cryo-sleep and forced missions—made it impossible for him to develop a sense of continuity or self. Each waking was marked by disorientation, confusion, and loneliness, which left him feeling like a specter drifting between worlds.

↳ Detachment: Finn became emotionally detached, struggling to connect with others and unable to relate to even his own memories. His mind was haunted by fragmented images of his family and Hydra’s brainwashing, creating an unshakable feeling of emptiness.

↳ Nightmares and Trauma Responses: Finn suffers from intense nightmares and flashes of the conditioning sessions, and the trauma triggers extreme responses. He’s haunted by the cries of other children taken by Hydra, the blinding lights of surgical rooms, and the echoes of his own screams during training.

↳ Difficulty with Autonomy: Even after breaking free, Finn’s conditioning makes him prone to moments of confusion and compliance. The ingrained obedience runs deep, and he sometimes follows commands automatically before realizing he’s no longer under Hydra’s control.

╰┈☆ 𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 ☆┈╯

⟾ Physical Build and Posture

↳ Build: Finn has a lean, wiry build with muscle definition that suggests both agility and strength, honed through years of intense physical conditioning by Hydra. He is built less for brute force and more for speed, balance, and stealth, making him seem almost weightless in his movements, as if he’s a shadow flitting across a room.

↳ Height: Standing at about 5’10”, his height is average, allowing him to blend in with crowds and remain inconspicuous. However, his posture and movements give him a presence that’s hard to ignore.

↳ Posture: Finn holds himself with a careful, restrained posture—back straight, shoulders slightly rounded, and limbs relaxed but ready to spring into action. His stance and the way he carries himself reflect years of conditioning, always appearing alert and prepared to either attack or fade into the background.

⟾ Face and Expression

↳ Face Shape: Finn’s face is angular and sharp, with high cheekbones and a strong, defined jawline. His bone structure gives his face an almost haunting quality, like he’s a relic from another era, frozen in time by Hydra’s cryogenic cycles.

↳ Eyes: His eyes are a striking gray, with a hint of cold steel that seems to pierce through people. They are intense yet distant, as if he’s looking past or through his surroundings rather than at them. Dark circles rest permanently beneath his eyes, a testament to the sleepless nights and trauma he’s endured. His gaze often holds an unsettling, almost haunted quality, with moments where his pupils seem to dilate ever so slightly, reacting to unseen stimuli—a lingering effect of his programming.

↳ Eyebrows: His brows are dark and thick, with a natural arch that gives his gaze a permanently intense expression, even when he’s relaxed. They can shift quickly from a guarded, calculating look to one of detached indifference, reflecting his struggle to feel or express true emotion.

↳ Mouth: Finn’s lips are thin and often pressed into a firm, neutral line. Smiles are rare and fleeting, and when they do appear, they carry a tinge of bitterness or irony. His mouth can settle into a grim expression, as if he’s carrying the weight of his past with him in every moment.

⟾ Hair

↳ Color: His hair is a dark, deep brown, almost black, with a few lighter strands that catch the light subtly. Hydra didn’t maintain or care for the appearances of their experiments beyond practical grooming, so Finn’s hair has an unrefined, slightly messy quality.

↳ Style: Finn keeps his hair at shoulder length, with a slightly uneven cut that he trims himself. It has a natural wave, which falls messily around his face, often casting shadows across his sharp features. He wears it half-up or fully down depending on his level of alertness or need for disguise. The longer length and unruly style give him a haunted, nomadic look, like someone who exists outside conventional society.

⟾ Skin and Scars

↳ Skin Tone: His skin is a pale, cool-toned complexion, made more ghostly by the years spent in cryogenic suspension. His pallor almost gives him an otherworldly glow in low light, as if he’s both present and not.

↳ Scars: Finn’s body is riddled with scars from Hydra’s surgeries, training, and combat missions.

➢ Forearms: Two thin, linear scars run along his forearms, where Hydra embedded his retractable blades. These scars are raised slightly, a permanent mark of his enhancements.

➢ Torso and Back: He has surgical scars across his chest and back from various modifications and conditioning implants. The scars form a patchwork on his torso, mostly faded but occasionally red or irritated, especially around scar tissue that didn’t heal properly due to the lack of post-surgical care.

➢ Hands and Knuckles: His hands bear small scars and calluses from years of combat training. His knuckles, especially, have rough skin and faint scars from close-combat conditioning.

⟾ Clothing Style

↳ Preferred Attire: Finn favors dark, functional clothing—simple, unadorned pieces that let him move freely and blend in. He often wears a worn, long-sleeve black hoodie or jacket, layered over a fitted T-shirt or thermal, with reinforced cargo pants that allow for flexibility.

↳ Gloves: He wears fingerless gloves most of the time, concealing the scars on his knuckles and forearms while keeping his fingers free for precise movements.

↳ Boots: His boots are sturdy, lightweight combat boots, weathered from use. They have reinforced soles and ankle support, ideal for running, climbing, and stealth.

↳ Accessories: Finn doesn’t wear any accessories that could be used to identify him or hint at his past. However, he occasionally wraps his forearms in dark cloth or leather to protect his scars and reduce the strain on his embedded blades.

[crippleprophet]

hi, i was wondering if you had any resources on antidepressants, in general or from an antipsych perspective? i’m starting on medication soon and i’m hoping to get informed. no rush/feel free to delete, and thank you! <3

yeah absolutely!! there are obviously tons of differing perspectives in antipsych conversations, so a bit of background on mine:

i’m not unilaterally anti-medication (even ones with significant risks such as antipsychotics); i’m pro-informed consent.

assuming physically disabling side effects should be an automatic deterrent from psychotropic medications has a multitude of ableist pitfalls - for example, as someone who’s started experiencing involuntary movements that are probably dystonia due to chronic illness, if anyone said antipsychotics shouldn’t be prescribed because of the possibility of dystonia, i’d let them get within smacking range.

rather, people should not be pressured to start certain medications (including to receive housing, employment, financial support, accommodations, other medical treatment, social support, etc etc), should be given thorough information about other options, and should be given an accurate description of risks.

i’m on an antidepressant myself (duloxetine - generic of cymbalta) for mood and nerve pain, which has helped me significantly, although neither of those experiences are fully managed by it and i know plenty of people whom it hasn’t helped at all.

the number one thing to know is that the serotonin model of depression is total bullshit, and this has been widely known and accepted by the majority of scientists for a long time. there is “no consistent evidence of there being an association between serotonin and depression, and no support for the hypothesis that depression is caused by lowered serotonin activity or concentrations” (source).

if a doctor tells you this antidepressant will improve your mood by inhibiting serotonin reuptake, they are lying to you, probably knowingly. SSRIs inhibit serotonin reuptake, and they improve some people’s moods, but there is no evidence that this is a cause-effect relationship. basically, sometimes they work, but we don’t know why they work - or why they don’t act as intended on other people.

Mad in America has a wealth of resources in terms of scientific research and community experience - a good starting place is this drug info page on antidepressants in adults. they also have pages about antipsychotics, antidepressants in children, withdrawal, and much more.

my anti-psychiatry tag focuses mostly on the social construction of diagnostic labels and deinstitutionalization; this excerpt about selfhood is an excellent unpacking of how society frames antidepressant use.

you’d probably notice me reblogging from these folks a lot anyway lol but some of my favorite tumblrs who post a lot of antipsych content are @librarycards @bioethicists @bananapeppers @noncompliance @illnessfaker @psychiatricsurvivorpositivity @fuckpsychiatry

[bottlepiecemuses]

Pro-Palestinian Turds Don't Wave Luffy's Flag If You Shitheads Are Also Going To Ignore Shit Like This

A month or two ago you selectively oblivious asshats had the nerve to put up the Strawhat flag as if the Strawhats without question would support the Palestinian side. You guys wanted to make it seem like this was a black and white situation where the Palesintian side were complete angels while the Israeli side were one dimensional oppressive villains.

Here is one of the victims who cam home. She came back mute and traumatized from the experience of being kidnapped after you shitheads tried to downplay the atrocities that Hamas did and tried to make it seem like Israel was the oppressor and needed to ceasefire. Her reaction after being kidnapped reminds me too much of a scene from One Piece and it involves another little girl who was also traumatized from a horrible situation of being kidnapped and abused.

You people want to say Free Palestine, but what are you doing in the name of that so-called liberation which is shown to include hurting children who probably did nothing you consider wrong. And in other words, maybe just maybe the Palestinian side isn't the side Luffy would go with because despite you hypocritical shitheads saying that Israel does collective punishment that's been a feature of the Palestinian side and more. I currently don't see anyone comforting this girl after what she did or outright ignore her and say her pain means nothing compared to a Palestinian child because I know and have seen you dumbasses downplay their drama because you have a narrow minded view of what privilege and oppression is. In other words, you people have no right to put up the Strawhat Jolly Roger because you guys aren't the good guys, so stfu.

[redtail-lol]

If you're pro-life you can't kill spiders and here's why:

Life: A spider is more alive than a fetus. The spider knows it's alive and is aware of its existence. It feels fear and it wants to live. Yes, the creepy spider that gives you the shivers wants to live. It is more cruel to kill something that knows it's alive and wants to continue living than to terminate a life that never knew it was alive.

Reliance on you: Like a fetus, the spider relies on you for survival. Rather than actually taking from your body, it just wants to stay in your home so it can be warm and safe. The spider doesn't take, it only wishes to occupy space with you. Outside it may freeze or be eaten, exposed to the dangers of nature and it's cruel ways. Surely, throwing it out to potentially die is not that far behind abortion. What, you didn't want a creepy spider in your house? It's a living thing! And killing the spider? Now that's only a species barrier from being just as cruel as abortion.

Your choices: yes, sometimes you get pregnant when you took precautions or didn't even want the sex to occur, just like how a spider can get inside even when you do everything right to keep them out. But if you don't support people who "made their own choices" having an abortion, then I know you made your own choices when you left your window wide open without a screen. You invited the spider in your house and now you just wanna kill it? No, you made your choices, you can live with Fred now.

Equivalence: No, I do not believe a spider and a human are equal. However, I do believe the fact that a fetus cannot feel anything (even if the nerves are formed, its brain cannot register pain, and it definitely doesn't feel fear. It doesn't even know it exists yet) and the spider can makes it a little closer. Pair that with the fact that a spider is not a lifelong commitment and isn't going to be any bit burdensome for your wallet, free time, happiness, or anything else, and you can make the argument that killing a spider isn't too far behind ending your pregnancy. Therefore...

Values: If you truly believe every life is precious, that all of God's creatures are beautiful, and that abortion is morally wrong because it ends a life, I hope I don't ever see you kill a spider. Let them outside if they creep you out but do not kill them. It may not be a human life but it is, by all means, a life.

This post was made by the pro-choice pro-spider gang. It was prompted by me having a spider on the back of the seat in front of me on the bus today for the whole ride and I didn't squish him. He was a little guy.

[crymeariveronceagain]

Okay, okay, I know you don't associate with the (albeit very toxic) bnha fandom, but I just desperately wanted to know about your thoughts on Denki?

Also hi ily sm for entertaining me and seriously if this is making you have the anxieties don't answer it

Love ya <333

aaayyy beloved!

happy to share my thoughts on Denki Kaminari(the loml)!!! I just don't tag my bnha stuff as anything other than bnha, because then they will never <3 find me <3 hah <3

anyways. Denki Kaminari:

Pop punk all the way. Sk8r boi see you later boy all the way. He's got a sense of style that's unrivaled. Ripped jeans, band tees, necklaces, earrings, Paramore, Fall Out Boy, Avril Lavigne, Panic! At the Disco. He wears converse and plays his music on the highest possible setting through his earbuds. He's black and white and pink and yellow, pastel blue and neon green, and of course, bright, bright, bright yellow.

Skateboards are the only thing he's coordinated with. Whenever he's got free time on weekends, he heads to the park near his house and skateboards. He's actually got a ton of non-school friends who go to the skate park regularly and they all just generally have a great time. If he wasn't going to be a pro-hero, he'd be a pro-skateboarder instead. His phone is full of shaky videos of him and his skater friends doing tricks. In the background, there's always half-ecstatic shrieking whenever one of them lands a trick.

He chews bubblegum and sticks it to the bottom of desks. Also, if a class doesn't have assigned seating, he's the kid who constantly moves around and disrupts the self-assigned seating of everyone else in the class. People get so annoyed about it, but Kaminari is never going to change.

The lightning bolt in his hair is natural. It just matches his entire aesthetic perfectly.

Super high pain tolerance naturally. Once, when Mina demanded that all her friends try that period pain simulator(because Mina's like that), Kaminari made it all the way to the second-worst pain level before having to stop. Bakugo, however, was out in two levels.

It gets worse after a ton of quirk usage. All that zapping really frazzles his nerves to the point where someone could punch him in the arm and he wouldn't feel it. It's a dangerous side effect to have brought on in battle, but it's just something he's gotta deal with.

That being said, he could get shot and not notice until after the battle's over and the adrenaline starts to wear off. He could keep a hand pressed over the wound because he still doesn't feel it. He could slowly start to feel it again, get woozy from pain and blood loss, and stagger forwards, only to collapse and have his friends crowd around him worriedly. Just a thought.

ADHD, Dyslexia, and Dysgraphia. Diagnosed. However, he thinks a pro-hero should be able to pass without accommodations. So my dude is struggling in class, and absolutely sucking, because of his pride and his internalized idea that he is somehow less diligent, less smart, and less worthy of his place in the class if he actually gets help with his diagnosed medical issues.

His parents really trust him to know how to take care of himself. They're good people, and they pretty much let him deal with his own life. They're always there if he needs them, but he's so determined to not need them, that he simply won't go to them. He's independent enough, the sixteen year old said to himself, who needs parents? Gotta have that "self-reliant to a fault" complex that all the 1-A kids have, right? Why get an adult if you can get trauma and pain and do it yourself!

He silently hates short-circuiting. That's it. He loathes it. He hates how he reacts. He hates how much of an idiot he seems. He hates how he can't think. It's like the numbness from earlier takes over his whole brain. It's nasty, and he hates it. But he laughs it off. Humor is an excellent coping mechanism, because if he can't laugh, he'll cry, and then everyone will know he's got feelings about it deep down, and nope! Pro-heroes can't have those! He's just gotta get better and stop short-circuiting.

Aizawa loves the kid. Aizawa loves all his kids. But Aizawa really appreciates what Kaminari can do, and appreciates the vibe he brings. Especially his positivity. Reminds Aizawa of Present Mic. The world definitely needs more Present Mics in it. Bubbly, confident, on-fire people, willing to speak their minds and brighten the lives of others? Aizawa loves to see it.

I have so many more thoughts on him... but like these are some of my main ones!! :DDD

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too: Chapter Eight: A Meaty Interruption

In which Jon makes a choice, Jared makes a trade, Daisy asks for help, and Elias shows up for a… "rescue" of some kind...

>>> NOW ON AO3!

Oliver Banks is great.

Martin Blackwood is sad. (I feel that deserves its own warning because I feel badly for doing it.)

Slaughter-typical spookiness.

And warnings for Elias, because... yeah.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER EIGHT

He is aware of pain. It is distant, but still terrible.

Aware of his dreams—of walking other people’s, staring while they suffer, funneling it all to his patron, though it is not by choice.

Aware that dreams of the Circus and the Spider try to intrude.

And Michael chases them away.

He knows this, but he cannot interact with it. He can barely see it.

It’s like Michael is avoiding him.

That feels so strange, and so bad.

Jon misses the Distortion.

Yet it is there; he knows it is there, and Jon can pull away from them—

And then Michael stops coming, and they get him.

Jon feels an undefined grief.

He returns again and again to the dreams of other people, sees Georgie’s pity. Sees statements he took himself, or read, or listened to.

Re-enters his own dreams, nightmares he now cannot recall how to escape.

And the pain is bad, and he floats, and he misses Michael very much.

A new voice comes to him.

A man’s, gently pushing through—unfamiliar, and yet he knows who it is, though they have never met.

It tells a story. A new story. As it speaks, the dreams Jon walks go quiet, fade, like someone turned the volume down.

The voice has a self-conscious laugh, free of anger, or hate, or cruelty. A gentle voice.

One that would be nice to hear, at the end.

Jon listens to the voice.

“The thing is, Jon, right now you have a choice. You’re not quite human enough to die, but still too human to survive. You’re balanced on an edge where the End can’t touch you, but you can’t escape him. I made a choice. We all made choices. Now you have to, as well.”

The voice fades away.

Wait, thinks Jon, because the nightmare-road begins to come back into focus. It starts right in the middle of someone’s experience, as if the film just kept rolling through the interruption.

A choice.

He’d already made one, hadn’t he?

Many choices, Elias would say, but that wasn’t this.

Even what happened with Mustermann was not this.

Maybe it’s because he’s facing a decision, or maybe the Eye is just being kind, but Jon can suddenly turn away from the nightmare-road and consider the path before him.

If I do this, I truly leave my humanity behind, he thinks.

Do what?

Choose to wake.

He can’t recall why that’s important.

What is humanity? comes back to him, not in words, not even a challenge, just a gentle query because it wants the questions to flow through him.

Jon has no answer.

He finds he no longer thinks monster is the opposite of person.

He misses Michael.

There’s some other reason on the pro side of waking up, but he doesn’t remember what it is. It must not be important.

He looks at his hands, his dream-hands, sees every finger-whorl and scar, every vein and nerve and tendon. Sees everything they’ve touched and done, all throughout his life.

And he could still know more.

It’s time to make his choice.

#

“No, I think you can leave, is what you can do,” says Martin, sounding fearful and fierce, stammering and steel at the same time.

“Sorry,” says Oliver Banks (avatar of the End, the fear of death itself—that’s who woke me, Jon thinks). “Good luck, okay? If he wakes up, just… tell him I said hi.”

Martin makes some kind of sound that neither affirms nor denies, and then comes the gentle sound of the door closing.

“Thanks,” says Georgie.

“Yeah, well. That’s like the fifth weird guy to come by since he’s been home, you know? I just get tired of it, sometimes.”

Fifth? “Who came by?” Jon asks, his voice like a rusty hinge.

“Jon?” says Georgie.

“Shit!” says Martin.

“Who… I…” He’s floating into awareness faster than he likes, as if attached to a balloon and rocking up through deep water. “Ugh…”

His throat hurts. His eyes feel glued.

“Get the nurse. Get the nurse, get the nurse, get the nurse!” Martin shouts, and then he is close, and warm, and touching Jon’s arm, and helping him to sit up, manipulating the bed.

Georgie is gone, door closed.

Jon manages to get his eyes open. Everything is very bright. “Where’s Michael?”

Martin’s expression jumps through a few different emotions before settling on reasonable. “I wouldn’t know, Jon.”

“It’s been here?” says Jon quietly.

“It?” says Martin.

“That’s how it refers to itself, and god forbid I disrespect a monster’s pronouns,” Jon says, and laughs unsteadily.

Martin stares at him.

Jon blinks. “Was that… a weird thing to say?” I could see all his veins if I wanted to, he thinks, but doesn’t, because he’s trying to be polite.

But he could. It’s right there. He could reach for it.

Martin swallows. “Jon, you were shot.”

Oh, Jon thinks, and suddenly realizes why this choice mattered.

Georgie returns with a whole herd of medical professionals, and communication takes a back seat for a while.

They don’t actually tell Jon what happened, these people. But that’s okay. If he listens, listens well, he knows.

It’s in the front of all their minds, after all.

A week. No heartbeat. No indication of life at all—except for wild, constant brain activity, a frightening amount, which no one could explain.

His heart was horrifically damaged.

Now, it isn’t. And that happened very fast.

He’s unnerving everyone just by being alive, but he can’t help feeling so glad that he is.

The Unknowing, he thinks, amazed that while in his coma, he forgot about it, didn’t feel it was important. I can still stop the Unknowing.

“Jon, are… you still you?” says Georgie.

I don’t know, he thinks, but cannot say that to her, cannot watch her face fall more than it already is. “I think so? I don’t even know how we’d establish that, but as far as I know, I am.”

She sighs. “Good. I’m glad.” She doesn’t sound glad.

He could know, could know, so easily, but he won’t do that to her, can’t, can already see that whatever she’s seeing as she looks at him is not a good thing. “Georgie?”

“Good luck, Jon,” she says softly. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

She’s leaving? “Wait,” he says, eyes wide.

She pats Martin on the shoulder and just leaves.

Jon stares after her, mouth open. “Georgie,” he whispers. “What did I do?”

Martin’s lips tighten. He doesn’t answer.

Jon doesn’t have to reach to know this one: people don’t sit in a heartbeat-free coma for a week and then wake up chatty.

Monsters do, though.

Jon goes quiet.

The doctors confer with Martin. They’re taking blood, asking Jon to watch a moving pen, asking him to count their fingers. Taking dozens of vitals and murmuring to each other.

It hurts.

This pain isn’t from a bullet.

Martin finally sits beside him and puts his hand over Jon’s, waiting while the nurses do their thing, while they ask more questions (what’s your name, how old are you, do you know where you are, who’s the prime minister).

It seems forever until they’re done.

Martin stays.

He doesn’t look like he wants to, though.

“I…” Jon swallows. “It was one of the… the anatomy students. Part of the Stranger. He…”

Martin’s eyes widen.

“How did I get back to London?” Jon has a guess, but he wants to seem less… eldritch, just for a moment.

“Michael brought you to the Institute. Just… right into the Archives, and put you on Tim’s desk.”

“It what?”

Martin sighs. “They had a lot of questions. About the only good thing was the blood loss showed you couldn’t possibly have been shot anywhere near us.”

He’s not looking, but he sees the panic, sees Martin calling 999 and shouting, sees Tim yelling at him to stop being stupid and wake the fuck up and don’t you die you son of a bitch.

“So the bear helped,” Martin says suddenly, and laughs. “But it didn't, um. Survive. So. You can get me another one, right?”

“The bear? What—”

“It deflected the bullet just enough,” says Martin. “I mean, it still… it went through your heart. But it would have hit you right… just… it would have killed you. The police said a cardiologist couldn’t have aimed it better. Except… the bear knocked it to the side just a little bit.” He swallows. “It’s why you still had a heart to, um. To heal.”

The bear had not been in his shirt pocket.

Jon breathes quickly, looks down, tries to see if there are webs, but he finds none.

It had to be the Web. There are few other explanations.

But why?

When?

How?

“Um,” says Martin, trying to fill the silence. “I don’t think Georgie will let you stay with her right now.”

“No.” He sighs. “I have a… temporary place. But they need to let me out, first.”

That’s going to take a while. Being shot makes it a criminal matter.

Jon hopes his I don’t recall game is strong today.

#

Jon doesn’t know the actual address of the penthouse.

Well. At first, he doesn’t know.

It gives him a bit of a headache to reach out and know, and he understands why—he hasn’t fed the Eye in a week.

He still gets the address, and insists on getting a cab to go there alone.

He refuses Martin’s offer of his small apartment.

It's tempting. Martin is safe to be around—but things are chasing Jon, and Martin will be decidedly unsafe if Jon says yes.

He doesn’t add, I need to see Michael.

He doesn’t have to. Martin is not stupid.

“I’ll probably come into work tomorrow,” says Jon. “I learned some things. It’s possible to disrupt the Unknowing… but only once it’s started.”

Martin pales. “Are you sure? You should rest. Jon, you were shot.”

“And now I’m fine,” he says, repeating the doctors’ wide-eyed diagnosis.

“Jon…”

“It can’t wait,” he says softly. “But I will rest after the Unknowing is stopped. I promise. Cross my… heart.”

Martin looks at him oddly.

That’s how Jon knows he’s being too chipper again.

He can’t help it. A weird giddiness has replaced his usual cynicism.

“I guess I’ll see you then,” says Martin, visibly unsure how to end this conversation.

Jon certainly doesn’t know. Knowing does not, apparently, get one out of awkward situations. “Thank you,” he says. “For being there. I’m glad you were, when I woke up. And… I’ll replace the bear.”

Martin smiles weakly. “It was a joke, Jon.”

“Not to me.”

Martin takes a cab home, too.

Jon is amazed that his bag made it back to the UK.

His new phone is smashed (possibly on purpose, given what stole him). His wallet was clearly rifled; nothing seems to be missing—he still has Gerry’s page—but of course, that doesn’t mean he has a key.

He has to burn Gerry’s page.

He doesn’t want to.

But Gerry asked it of him. Gerry—who, in half an hour’s time, felt like a friend.

Jon is going to burn his page. He promised.

For now, though, he needs to go home.

He stretches as he leaves the cab, heading for the building’s entry. He should at least be stiff, after being in a coma for a week, after being shot. He’s not. His physical heart doesn’t hurt at all. Even the brand-new scar—tiny and puckered—looks years old, and doesn’t feel like anything.

He’s weak, though.

The Eye gives him a whiff of stories, of people asleep in their beds all around him, tempting him to go and…

Do what? Break into somebody’s flat?

That’s not how this works, he thinks, though he knows, somehow, that the Eye isn’t hearing that.

Or maybe isn’t listening.

He wonders if it’s a convenient eldritch ignorance he’s dealing with.

The penthouse looks dark, at least from the street.

Jon touches the scar on his left arm. Runs his fingertips across it, shudders at the strange feeling of scar-tissue and unnatural healing. Michael, he thinks.

Nothing happens.

It should have.

He knows.

Jon frowns. Is it refusing to come?

Was this intervention the last?

Did they actually… break up?

Maybe. They had not parted on good terms, and dumping him in the archives certainly felt like a final, You handle him.

It’s for the best, isn’t it? He asked it to go away, and it did.

Because he was hurting it.

Jon laughs, and it is an uneasy sound. He can’t even keep a monster near him without it getting hurt.

He wipes some tears, smiles poorly. It’s funny, if he looks at it the right way. Maybe he can look at this thought hard enough so it falls to wet, meaty pieces, too.

Well. There will be no penthouse tonight. He has no way to access it, and doesn’t fancy being arrested for breaking in.

A hotel should be possible—though, without a phone, he’s not sure how he’s going to find one.

Jon suddenly realizes he’s walking without meaning to do so at all.

It makes no sense to walk. It’s late at night, took far too long convincing the doctors to let him go. He’s prone to being kidnapped, assaulted, worse. The street is empty, and—

He stops. Looks down. Squints through the headache.

And for just a moment, fine, glimmering threads appear in the light of the streetlamps.

Jon gasps.

Melancholy gives way to a heady combination of fear and rage.

The Web wants him to walk, does it? Wants him to go wandering down this street, unprotected, without even a working phone? Well, she can go to hell!

It takes effort, but Jon is able to turn around and walk back toward the penthouse, feeling a tug on his will—but it’s like wet fingers, slipping off him.

Ha! he thinks. Ha ha! In the moment, this ability to choose feels worth whatever he traded away.

Jon looks around as if that would bring immediate comeuppance.

Noth-

There’s a sound in the street behind him.

He spins.

Breeze. Distant cars; someone’s laughter, some party with the window cracked open to the cool night.

The sound is not repeated, but that… that’s worse.

Whatever it is, the Web failed to send him to it—so she is sending it to him.

Jon takes off at a run.

He strains as he goes, trying to know where a cab might be, but he has no practice channeling the Beholding while running for his life, and it is not working at all.

Behind him. He hears it, hears…

Steps so heavy and broad, steps from a thing that surely weighs more than a human should, steps that are quicker than his, nimble, and accompanied by a suspicious crack as though it is occasionally breaking pavement.

Jon puts on a burst of speed.

It is not enough.

A hand—human in shape, but far too large, far too strong—gets him right around the neck and his face, gripping his skull like a walnut as it yanks him back and hoists him into the air.

Jon has not met Jared Hopworth before, but he knows without any extra powers that this must be him.

Jared is… large.

Jared would make Breekon and Hope together look like teenagers.

He has a raw, weird beauty—all his muscles too sharp, his jaw too clean, his entire body somehow fake in the way he’s pushed it to whatever he thinks of as perfection.

But his eyes.

They are dark. Cruel. There is less humanity in them than even Michael has ever shown.

Jon dangles from Jared’s hand, peeking out over sausage fingers, gripping his I-beam wrist.

“Shouldn’a run,” says Jared, his voice greasy, low and soggy. “That pissed me off.”

Jon tries to say something. Of course, it’s muffled.

“‘S why I don’t do favors for people,” says Jared, who seems to be considering whether to do something to Jon or fulfill whatever favor he means. “She said you’d come to me, but you didn’t.”

Jon makes a questioning sound, but his stomach is already sinking.

Jared starts to walk, holding Jon out like a book he’s reading.

Jon tries to struggle, but only hurts his neck. Goes still.

“Came to the hospital, you know? Your boyfriend there, he’s funny.” Jared laughs, and it is a wet sound, a meat sound, a sound like he has a wrong esophagus and too many lungs. “Told me off right to my face, though he was pissin’ his pants.”

Michael? thinks Jon for one second before realizing. Martin.

Martin stood up to Jared. For him.

His stomach does an unpleasant flip.

“Don’t matter. I’m done, after this,” says Jared calmly, and plops Jon on top of a dumpster at eye-height like shelving a boring toy.

Jon’s neck is creaking alarmingly, but he ignores it, tries to see, discovers right away that Jared… is not put together like Mustermann was.

The Stranger cobbles pieces together poorly because they’re not supposed to belong, they’re supposed to unnerve, they’re supposed to leave the viewer uneasy and afraid.

Jared Hopworth, the Boneturner, the Flesh’s selfish son, is made of meat, and it is sewn together at an atomic level with powers beyond comprehension.

Jon can’t look him apart.

He’d be too weak to, he thinks, even if fully fed. I am a baby monster, after all, he thinks hysterically. “J… Jared Hopworth?”

“‘S what is says on me license,” says Jared, still studying him as though preparing to pick a cut of steak for tomorrow. “And you’re the Big Deal.”

Jon recoils, scoffs. “Big… deal? I am not a big anything.”

“Yeah, you’re not,” Jared chuckles, looking him up and down.

“Wh… wha… what are you—”

Jared narrows his eyes, and Jon closes his mouth with a click. “Better not,” says Jared unnecessarily. “This’s already been a pain in the ass. Not that you got much of one.” And he laughs at his own joke, a deep and awful sound, a squelching sound.

Jon’s stomach churns. He swallows. “Why did you chase me down?” he whispers, fighting the urge to compel.

“This.” And Jared holds out a square envelope, about the size of a children’s book.

No, thinks Jon. Oh, no, oh, no.

He recoils.

Jared laughs. “You’re scared of this? Really?” He flaps it.

Jon is shaking. “It, ah. I. Don’t suppose I could convince you to… take that far away from me?”

Jared considers him. “A trade? Yeah, maybe. What’re you offering?”

Jon hadn’t expected a yes. “I… I don’t know.” He laughs sharply, unsteadily. “I don’t think anything of mine would fit inside of you very well.”

He was trying to be practical.

Jared leers.

It takes Jon a moment. “Oh—no, no, that is not what I—”

“Annabelle said you were funny,” says Jared.

Cold washes through him. “Annabelle Cane?”

“Tell you what,” says Jared. “I’ll take something you won’t even miss,” and there is a cruel glee in his eyes now, a light that wasn’t there before at all, and it is harsh and uncompromising and eager.

“Wh-what?” Jon whispers.

“Tip of your little finger.”

Now Jon is deeply confused. “What?”

“Won’t even miss it, will you, Big Deal? ‘Cept when you look down at it. ‘Cept when you go to reach for something, and don’t grip it quite right. ‘Cept when you touch anybody, and it just won’t feel the same. Then you’ll remember me, for the rest of your life.”

It is brilliant. Horrifying. A weird, disgusting legacy, written in scars.

But it’s just a finger-tip. If Jared is telling the truth. “Just… this?” He holds up his left hand, pinches the pinky in his right, lets the barest bit show through.

“Yeah. That’ll be enough.”

“And you’ll take the book away?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not… afraid of angering Annabelle Cane?” Because Jon is. She’s Web. He’s never met her and does not want to. She’s more frightening than anything he can think of right now.

“No.” Jared frowns. “Weird idea, though, innit? Maybe I should just take a rib instead.”

“No, no, that… that’s fine,” blurts Jon, because ribs protect your organs and that seems so much worse. “It sounds… properly horrifying. To me.”

Jared waits. Tilts his head, predatory. Whatever modifications he made to his forehead hide his eyes in this position, placing them in shadow, and he is monstrous.

A fingertip, or Mister Spider. It’s not really a choice. Trembling, Jon cautiously holds out his left hand because he cannot handle the idea of anything else happening to his right.

At least he got to choose which hand.

He doesn’t even ask if it will hurt.

It does.

He knew a lot of nerve endings go through the fingers (and the Eye provides him with a wild view of each one being severed), but this hurts so much more than it should.

Why didn’t I pick the hand with no feeling? he gasps at himself, but it’s too late for that kind of logic.

Jared holds his hand almost tenderly, lightly pinching the tip away as if Jon is made of clay. There’s not even any blood. Jon’s finger seals right over, does what Jared wants, no matter how unnatural it is.

Jon clutches his hand to his chest, pain pulsing; he can’t see through his tears. Half of the distal phalange is gone, from the fingernail up.

Was it as bad as Jude Perry’s burn? He can’t tell. It’s different.

He made it hurt more than it had to, Jon suddenly realizes, and is too busy gasping to ask why.

Jared considers the tiny, brown shape between his fingers, and then it is gone.

Absorbed into him, maybe. Jon has no idea.

“Huh,” says Jared. “That was weird. You got a weird body.”

“I, uh… I wouldn’t know,” Jon gasps, heart and finger still pounding. “It’s the only… one I’ve ever had, so.”

“I could fix that for you,” says Jared, and opens his mouth, Jon’s fingertip rolls from his throat to the tip of his tongue, connects there, wriggles at him.

Jon gags.

Jared’s still laughing as he leaves, envelope in his meaty hand. The moment he’s out of sight, there is a bubbling, fleshy sound, like rendered fat squeezing through a storm drain. Then silence.

Jon can’t get down from the dumpster yet. It hurts too much.

He’s so mean, he thinks, which fits with what he’d read. Jared, like so many before, had been a bully long before being chosen by his god.

Jon frowns. Few avatars were not bullies of some kind before being chosen. It makes sense, in a way—but then what about people like Jon?

Yes, he loves to see, he’s always asking questions, but he never did it to hurt people, never relished fear, never enjoyed causing pain or distress. How in the world was he a good choice for this?

He can’t stay here. Annabelle Cane is involved. He checks himself for webs, is only mildly relieved to find none, and slides down into the alleyway.

Well, these clothes are nasty, streaked from the dumpster, redolent. At least they aren’t his.

“Ugh,” he says. Will they even let him into a hotel? “Thanks a lot,” he mutters, only on second thought hoping Hopworth did not hear.

The headache really feels like nothing so much as some kind of blood sugar crash.

He stumbles on his way out of the alley.

Catches a glimpse of someone watching him.

Annabelle? he thinks, panicked—but it is not.

Daisy. She stands at the end of the street, dead still, like a dog that’s caught a scent. Though her face is mostly shadowed, there is a gleam, like gold, near her eyes.

“Daisy?” he says.

She runs at him.

“Are you serious?” he shouts to the sky as he turns to run, even though he knows it’s stupid (she is Hunt, this is guaranteed to not calm her down).

Stupid! he tells himself, and stops suddenly, hoping to talk his way out.

She slams into him and they both go down.

How he caught her wrist before she plunged her knife into his gut is a mystery for the ages, and he grips it with both hands as she growls like an animal and leans. She’s making snarling noises, is not the same as when she dragged him into the woods to kill him, not the same as when she shot Mike Crew.

There is no reason in her eyes.

“Daisy!” He shouts.

She can’t hear him. Her face is wild, thrilled, utterly focused on taking his life. She’s nearly fully possessed. He can see the Hunt in her, absolutely gleeful, and see the woman pressed underneath—and he suddenly knows she does not want this.

He doesn’t think even she realizes. She’s been marked by the Hunt nearly as long as he’s been marked by the Spider.

“Daisy!” She’s overpowering him, pressing so hard he can’t get out from under. There is no time to be gentle with this: “Where is Basira?”

Her head snaps back as if he popped her in the nose.

There’s a confusing moment of flailing, of blood; then she’s off him, crouching and growling, a wolf in a woman’s body. Her eyes gleam yellow in the streetlight.

Jons heart and head are both pounding as he sits up. He’s scraped all to hell. “Where is she?”

“Help Basira,” she says, rumbling the words, and with a broken whine, she turns and lopes off down the street.

At a distance, trusting he’ll know where she is, Jon follows.

The headache grows worse. He keeps squinting at things, and they do come into focus after a moment, ticker tape trivia included—but those crucial few moments are a heavy concern.

He has no time to feed the Eye right now.

Daisy hunts her way right out of nicer places, transitioning into those areas considered unwise by travel agencies and police. There are plenty of pubs open this late, lots of raucous sound and drunken laughter.

Jon feels like he’s grabbing crumbs from empty plates as he passes, catching whiffs of infidelity and murder attempts and nearly died in that fire.

Can’t stop. He’ll lose her.

Daisy lopes between old buildings and through sloped alleys so narrow even Jon has to turn slightly sideways, and then she ducks into a doorway that has definitely been forced open.

Down a set of decidedly modern stairs.

Then down a set of decidedly not modern stairs.

Dark, so dark, bulbs too far apart to do more than hint at each other’s existence.

At the bottom, far below, is a cold, cement-lined cellar, something (the Eye says) left over from Roman times and rebuilt, over and over, and used as a hiding place for refugees and a cold place to store wines and a secret fight-club with no rules and—

Now, it contains two hospital cots on wheels, and on each of them is a woman.

Melanie’s on one. Basira is on the other.

Both are straining, flailing, trying to pull free of the straps (surely too many) holding them down, and Jon opens his mouth to say What the hell is happening here when his vision blasts wide.

The Slaughter, filling this room, filling these friends, looping between them like some bloodthirsty binding, filling their mouths and their eyes and making their hands like teeth and their teeth like knives.

He stares.

“She got her,” rumbles Daisy, straining to speak clearly. “Didn’t catch it happening, when we pulled Melanie down. Though that’d be it. Figured we’d call you, figure it out from there. But then Basira went… bad.”

“She said someone died,” Jon whispers.

“Yeah. Fix it.”

Jon blinks at her. Daisy is swaying, and he suddenly realizes she looks far worse off than he does. She’s breathing hard, smeared with grease and dirt, only not attacking him now because she caught him and the chase is over.

How the hell is he supposed to fix it?

Nobody gets free of the Slaughter, do they?

Of course, he’s still going to try.

His finger throbs. For some reason, its new shape embarasses him, and he keeps his hand folded tight.

Seeing the power of the Slaughter here doesn’t seem to be doing anything for them. He studies them both, going as close as he dares—for all he knows, awareness of him (living, breathing, filled with blood) will give them both enough strength to break free.

Odd, though. That swirling, tangled mayhem isn’t connected to the same spots.

On Basira, it’s her shoulder; looks like a bite. Melanie got her good before Daisy took her down.

But on Melanie, it’s her calf, which seems like a very strange place to be connected to the embodiment of murder.

Jon inches closer.

There is a deep violet throbbing emanating from her leg, barely visible if seen straight-on, but most definitely there.

Jon needs to see more.

He’s there, sliding up her pant leg, staring at the spot.

“She’s been shot,” he says softly.

“What?” says Daisy, leaning in and… sniffing?

Yes, she’s sniffing. All right, then.

“Right there,” says Jon. “Look at that. It’s horrible.”

Daisy’s more human dislike of him comes through (he should be glad at that, right?). “Sims. It’s a leg. There’s nothing there.”

“Yes, there is.” He has to get it out, has to get it out of her now, doesn’t even know if it would help, but he has to do it now. “I need something sharp. A scalpel. Tools. I need…”

Daisy produces a knife.

Without thinking, he touches it.

Sees how she’s used it. How many people she’s killed, certain she was hunting monsters.

Jon shudders and pulls away.

But not for long.

Grits his teeth. Grabs it. Does not hesitate, because if he does, he won’t go through with this at all.

He’s very dizzy as he slices her leg, but he did it just right, and there is a strange little clink as something invisible falls from it. Then it clinks again and rolls away on the floor—and though it is invisible, it leaves a little trail of blood.

Melanie shrieks.

She’s thrashing so hard that the whole cot is moving, jerking itself catty corner to Basira’s.

Daisy is staring at the tiny blood trail, looking back and forth. “Is that all?”

“I don’t know what else I can do,” says Jon helplessly. “I…” His eyes widen. “It’s weakening. Melanie’s leg, and in Baira’s shoulder. It’s fading." He inhales. “I think they’re going to be okay.” He jumps back as Melanie tries to lunge at him so hard that the entire cot jumps inches. She snaps her teeth at him.

“Both? Basira?” snaps Daisy as if Jon had not been clear enough.

He looks at her. “She hasn’t killed anyone, has she?”

“No. Can you do the same to her?”

He swallows. “What, amateur surgery? There’s nothing in Basira to cut out. It’s going to just… have to take its time.”

“Then you’re no further use. Get out. We won’t be here when you come back,” says Daisy.

Jon blinks at her, vaguely offended. “Surely I can help, at least help you get them up the—”

“Out!” she snarls in his face.

He’s backing for the stairs. “You have my number! My phone is broken! I’ll get another!”

“Get oooout!” And so help him, as he flees up the stairs, her bellow turns into an honest-to-Fears howl.

#

He’s panting at the entrance to the alley, leaning on his knees, head down.

“Anybody else want to have a go at me tonight?” he says to no one, staring at the blood spots on his shoes.

Did that really just happen? It was surreal.

Did it work?

He can’t tell, anymore, now that he can’t see them.

At least they’re alive.

Though someone else isn’t.

He’s glad he didn’t ask who they—

The Eye shows him anyway.

Who knew he still had it in him to run, after all?

He has to put space between them. He can’t think of Melanie doing… that… to a person. Can’t think of Basira’s utter logic decimated by the need to rend and kill.

So, he jogs. Head spinning. Panting like a lion on the veldt (which he is most definitely not). Crying, unaware, until a car pulls up beside him, pacing him, and the window silently rolls down.

“Goodness, Jon,” says Elias, leaning on his elbow and peering at him with the mildest curiosity. “What have you been doing to yourself?”

Jon stops.

Stares at him.

Imagines, vividly, vomiting in his face.

Sighs.

Elias is waiting.

Jon slumps. He says nothing as he walks around and gets in the passenger seat.

He hopes he gets dumpster juice all over the fine leather.

(part nine)

[tips-from-john]

ProNerve 6 Reviews: Should You Buy It? (⚠️✅ Honest Insights)

ProNerve 6 Reviews: Should You Buy It? (⚠️✅ Honest Insights)

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🎥 Welcome to Wrestling Best!

Are you searching for an effective solution to manage neuropathy symptoms and enhance your nerve health? In today’s video, we present a comprehensive review of ProNerve 6, a powerful supplement designed to alleviate nerve pain and improve overall nerve function. Here's what we'll cover:

How ProNerve 6 Works to Relieve Neuropathy

Key Ingredients that Make ProNerve 6 Effective

Where to Buy ProNerve 6 Safely and Securely

Potential Side Effects and Safety Information

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Key Sections:

00:01 - Introduction to ProNerve 6 Review

00:54 - Overview of ProNerve 6 Capsules

01:41 - Official ProNerve 6 Website

02:46 - What is ProNerve 6?

03:30 - Benefits of ProNerve 6

04:21 - Potential Side Effects of ProNerve 6

04:55 - Effectiveness of ProNerve 6

06:46 - How to Take ProNerve 6

06:22 - ProNerve 6 180-Day Money-Back Guarantee

07:05 - Customer Reviews and Feedback

07:37 - Conclusion: ProNerve 6 Reviews

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The post Pronerve 6 Reviews was first published on Wrestling Best Channel.

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[sublimeobservationarcade]

Discover Dental Secrets To Save You Money and Pain

Have you ever tried playing golf with a bad tooth ache? I have and it’s no fun. Bite & Smile is my new book and is full of expert dental advice. Discover dental secrets to save you money and pain. Why do our teeth fail to measure up when it comes to staying healthy and lasting the distance. In some ways they are like that round of golf where everything falls apart over the final stretch. There are basic scientific reasons why our teeth and gums cannot cope with the modern diet and cause us pain and expense as a result.

Dentists & Golf Pros Endlessly Fixing Teeth & Swings

Is the dental profession a bit like the club golf professional in that fixing teeth and teaching the golf swing are both never ending stories? What do I mean by that? Teeth cannot cope with our modern diet and lifestyles; therefore, they are a lucrative gold mine for dentists. Golf swings never stand up to 18 holes of competitive golf for the majority of players; thus golf swing lessons are a cash cow for PGA club and teaching professionals.

Save Dollars By Knowing More About Dental Secrets Bite & Smile: Delving Into Dental Care for an Informed Choice. Discover dental secrets to save you money and pain. There are some basic things you need to know about oral care and hygiene and these will reduce your need for expensive procedures going forward. Most of us only go to the dentist when we absolutely have to. Dental emergencies are much more costly than preventative behaviours designed to maintain the health of your teeth and gums. Water plays a big role in this and it will cost you little to incorporate this key to keeping your oral care in good shape.

Photo by Michelle Leman on Pexels.com The say beware the wounded golfer. Pain can sometimes focus you on the job at hand. Tooth ache pain is in another league of its own. Nerve pain from broken and decayed teeth is a nasty business, as many of us well know. It pays to learn the dental secrets that many dentists don’t want you to know. Modern diets are full of sugar, even in processed foods that you probably think are sugar free. Our teeth have not evolved to deal with sugar laden diets. Do you snack on chocolate and candy bars on the golf course? What about soft drinks, sports drinks and the like? Many golfers do just that. All this sugar and these processed carbohydrates mean that our teeth are constantly being assailed by acidity. Sugar feeds bad bacteria and this results in infection and decay to our teeth. Longer term, teeth break apart and fall out from decay and gum disease. It is a never ending story and your dentist grows rich from temporarily fixing all these dental problems. A bit like your club pro and your failing golf swing, but he or she doesn’t get as rich as your dentist. Discover dental secrets to save you money and pain. Robert Sudha Hamilton is the author of Bite & Smile: Delving Into Dental Care for an Informed Choice – his brand new book. https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0DPM9WS6K ©GolfDom Read the full article

[best-reviews-usa]

PRONERVE 6 (DON’T BUY?!) PRONERVE 6 REVIEWS – PRO NERVE 6 – PRO NERVE 6 REVIEWS

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If you’re searching for a natural and effective solution for neuropathy and nerve health, ProNerve 6 might be the answer you’ve been looking for. This detailed review will cover everything you need to know about this innovative supplement, from its ingredients to how it works, so you can make an informed decision.

Welcome to another video from the Mi Contaí channel! If you’ve made it here, chances are you’re eager to learn about ProNerve 6 Intro, a supplement designed to support nerve health and provide relief from discomfort.

In this review, we’ll answer key questions:

How does it work?

What are the ingredients?

Where can you buy ProNerve 6?

Does it have side effects?

Stick around for all the essential details about ProNerve 6!

🤔 Let’s Start by Explaining What ProNerve 6 Is

ProNerve 6 is an advanced formula crafted to alleviate the symptoms of neuropathy, including tingling, burning, and numbness. By targeting the root causes of nerve pain, whether related to diabetes or other conditions, ProNerve 6 helps restore the normal functioning of the nervous system. It also reduces inflammation, supports better digestion, and enhances energy levels.

✅ Does ProNerve 6 Really Work?

Absolutely! Based on personal and user experiences, ProNerve 6 has proven to be highly effective. It significantly reduces nerve discomfort, boosts energy, and improves overall vitality. Many users have shared similar positive outcomes, confirming its reliability as a nerve health supplement.

🤔 What Are the Ingredients in ProNerve 6?

ProNerve 6 features a selection of scientifically-backed ingredients, including:

Acetyl L-Carnitine: Helps relieve nerve pain, supports nerve regeneration, and improves energy production.

Alpha-Lipoic Acid: Provides antioxidant and anti-inflammatory benefits to protect nerve cells.

Diferuloylmethane (Curcumin): Reduces inflammation and pain while supporting heart and cognitive health.

Each ingredient undergoes rigorous testing for purity and potency, ensuring a high-quality formula in every capsule.

🤔 How to Use ProNerve 6?

Using ProNerve 6 is straightforward:

Take One Capsule Daily: Swallow one capsule with a large glass of water, preferably in the morning.

Be Consistent: Incorporate it into your daily routine for optimal results.

❤️ Where to Buy ProNerve 6?

To ensure authenticity and access to customer support, purchase ProNerve 6 exclusively from the official manufacturer’s website.

✅ Does ProNerve 6 Have Side Effects?

Made with premium natural ingredients, ProNerve 6 is safe for daily use. Manufactured in an FDA-inspected and GMP-certified facility, it meets the highest safety and quality standards. Most users experience no side effects, though consulting your doctor before starting any supplement is always recommended.

🤔 Does ProNerve 6 Have a Warranty?

Yes! ProNerve 6 offers a 180-day satisfaction guarantee. If you’re not completely satisfied with the results, you can request a full refund, making your purchase risk-free.

✅ ProNerve 6 Reviews Consumer Reports

To wrap up this review, ProNerve 6 stands out as an excellent option for anyone seeking relief from neuropathy symptoms. Customer testimonials on the official website highlight its effectiveness in improving nerve health and overall quality of life.

Ready to take the next step toward better nerve health? Visit the official ProNerve 6 website for more information and to place your order today!

Important Topics:

00:01 - ProNerve 6 Review Intro

00:54 - ProNerve 6 Capsules

01:41 - ProNerve 6 Official Website

02:46 - What is ProNerve 6?

03:30 - ProNerve 6 Benefits

04:21 - ProNerve 6 Side Effects

04:55 - Does ProNerve 6 Work?

06:46 - How to Take ProNerve 6

06:22 - ProNerve 6 100% Money-Back Guarantee

07:05 - ProNerve 6 Reviews and Complaints

07:37 - ProNerve 6 Reviews – Conclusion

The post ProNerve 6 Reviews was first published on Mi Contaí Channel.

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Smile Pro Eye Surgery: The New Standard in Eye Care Technology

 In recent years, advancements in medical technology have transformed the landscape of eye care, leading to more effective and less invasive procedures. Among these innovations, Smile Pro Eye Surgery has emerged as a groundbreaking solution for vision correction. As patients increasingly seek out efficient and precise treatments, it's essential to understand what Smile Pro surgery entails, its benefits, and why it represents the new standard in eye care technology. At Amanat Eye Hospital, the best eye hospital in Pakistan, this innovative procedure is offered with the highest level of expertise and care.

Understanding Smile Pro Eye Surgery

Smile Pro Eye Surgery, also known as Small Incision Lenticule Extraction (SMILE), is a minimally invasive procedure designed to correct refractive vision problems such as myopia (nearsightedness), hyperopia (farsightedness), and astigmatism. Unlike traditional LASIK surgery, which involves creating a flap in the cornea, Smile Pro employs a unique technique that removes a small piece of tissue from the cornea through a tiny incision. This advanced approach minimizes disruption to the eye and enhances recovery time, making it an appealing option for patients.

The procedure utilizes a femtosecond laser to create a lenticule—a thin disc of tissue—within the cornea. The surgeon then extracts this lenticule through a small incision, reshaping the cornea to improve visual acuity. The entire process is typically completed in under 30 minutes, and patients often experience immediate improvements in their vision.

Advantages of Smile Pro Eye Surgery

Minimally Invasive: One of the standout features of Smile Pro surgery is its minimally invasive nature. With only a small incision required, there is less trauma to the eye, which can lead to reduced pain and a quicker recovery.

Faster Recovery: Patients who undergo Smile Pro surgery often report faster recovery times compared to traditional LASIK. Many individuals can resume normal activities within a day or two, making it a convenient option for those with busy lifestyles.

Reduced Risk of Complications: Because there is no flap created during the procedure, the risk of flap-related complications is eliminated. Additionally, the precision of the femtosecond laser contributes to better outcomes and fewer complications overall.

Improved Visual Outcomes: Clinical studies have shown that patients undergoing Smile Pro surgery achieve excellent visual results, often comparable to those of traditional LASIK patients. The procedure effectively addresses a range of refractive errors, allowing many individuals to achieve 20/25 vision or better.

Less Dry Eye Syndrome: Post-operative dry eye is a common concern with refractive surgeries. However, studies suggest that Smile Pro surgery may result in a lower incidence of dry eye symptoms compared to LASIK, as it preserves more corneal nerves during the procedure.

Who Is a Candidate for Smile Pro Eye Surgery?

While Smile Pro eye surgery is suitable for many individuals, not everyone is an ideal candidate. Generally, candidates should meet the following criteria:

Age: Patients should be at least 18 years old, as vision typically stabilizes after this age.

Stable Vision: Candidates should have a stable prescription for at least one year prior to surgery.

Overall Eye Health: Individuals should have healthy eyes free from diseases such as cataracts or severe dry eye syndrome.

Refractive Error: Smile Pro is effective for myopia, hyperopia, and astigmatism, but candidates should consult with an eye care professional to determine if their specific condition is treatable.

A thorough consultation at the best eye hospital in Pakistan is crucial to assess candidacy for the procedure. The eye care team will perform a comprehensive examination, discussing expectations and answering any questions you may have.

The Procedure: What to Expect

Consultation: The journey begins with an initial consultation, where your eye health and vision will be assessed. This step includes a detailed history, vision testing, and corneal mapping to determine the best treatment plan.

Pre-operative Preparation: On the day of the procedure, you will be given numbing eye drops to ensure comfort. Sedatives may also be provided to help you relax.

The Surgery: The actual Smile Pro surgery typically takes about 30 minutes. You will lie back in a comfortable chair while the surgeon uses the femtosecond laser to create the lenticule and perform the extraction through the small incision. During the process, you may experience some light or pressure, but it is generally painless.

Post-operative Care: After the surgery, you will be monitored briefly before being discharged. It's essential to follow post-operative care instructions, which may include using prescribed eye drops and avoiding certain activities for a few days.

Follow-Up Appointments: Regular follow-up appointments will be scheduled to monitor your recovery and ensure that your vision is improving as expected.

Cost Considerations

When considering any medical procedure, cost is an important factor. The laser eye surgery cost in Pakistan varies based on several factors, including the facility's reputation, the surgeon's expertise, and the technology used. However, investing in Smile Pro eye surgery can yield significant long-term benefits, including reduced dependence on glasses or contact lenses and improved quality of life.

At Amanat Eye Hospital, you can expect transparency in pricing, along with information about any available financing options. The hospital aims to make advanced eye care accessible to all patients without compromising on quality.

Why Choose Amanat Eye Hospital?

Choosing the right facility for your eye care is crucial for ensuring the best outcomes. Here are some reasons why Amanat Eye Hospital is recognized as the best eye hospital in Pakistan:

Experienced Surgeons: The hospital is staffed with a team of highly skilled and experienced eye surgeons who specialize in refractive surgery, including Smile Pro.

Advanced Technology: Amanat Eye Hospital is equipped with state-of-the-art technology, ensuring that patients receive the highest standard of care using the latest surgical techniques.

Comprehensive Care: From initial consultation to post-operative follow-up, the hospital provides comprehensive eye care services, ensuring a seamless experience for patients.

Patient-Centric Approach: The hospital prioritizes patient comfort and satisfaction, taking the time to address concerns and provide personalized treatment plans.

Positive Patient Outcomes: With a strong track record of successful surgeries and satisfied patients, Amanat Eye Hospital is a trusted name in eye care.

Conclusion

Smile Pro Eye Surgery represents a significant advancement in the field of vision correction, providing patients with a safe, effective, and minimally invasive option for improving their eyesight. As more individuals seek out innovative solutions for refractive errors, it's essential to choose a reputable facility that prioritizes patient care and utilizes cutting-edge technology.

At Amanat Eye Hospital, the commitment to excellence in eye care is unwavering. With a dedicated team of professionals and a focus on delivering the best possible outcomes, the hospital is proud to be recognized as the best eye hospital in Pakistan. If you're considering Smile Pro eye surgery, don't hesitate to schedule a consultation and take the first step toward transforming your vision today.

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Nervogen Pro: Achieve a Neuropathy-Free Life with Natural Ingredients

Living with neuropathy can be a daily struggle, marked by persistent pain, tingling, and numbness, often in the hands and feet. Neuropathy is a condition that affects millions of people worldwide, often resulting from nerve damage due to diabetes, injuries, or other underlying health conditions. Finding effective and natural relief can be challenging, but Nervogen Pro offers a promising solution. This natural supplement is specifically designed to support nerve health and alleviate the symptoms of neuropathy. In this blog post, we’ll explore the benefits of Nervogen Pro, its natural ingredients, and how it can help you achieve a neuropathy-free life.

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