#or tomura seeked it out on his own

[mettywiththenotes]

Love Tomura going into a whole history lesson about hero and villain names

[katsukikitten]

You've been writing to inmates in prison for almost two years now and have helped many feel more at ease with their current situations and possible futures. So it should come to no surprise when the warden of the most notorious prison seeks out your help with a difficult inmate they can hardly contain. The task proves difficult after you receive your first letter back from Bakugou Katsuki. More infamously known as Ground Zero, and you're not so sure you can help a man this far gone.

wc 6.8k warnings: dunno but he's mean and a villain so read at your own risk. MDNI 18+ content

Congratulations!

You've been selected for a special project due to your credentials with previous inmates. Letters exchanged between you and other inmates have had a positive effect on their rehabilitation which is one step closer to getting them assimilated back to the normalcy of society. 

We ask that you help us by reaching out to inmate B-001174 Bakugou, Katsuki. He has not had mail correspondence nor a visitor due to his self isolation since his incarceration. We are hoping that a letter from the most well received correspondent begins to pave the way for a brighter future for B-001174. Please see the below instructions on what topics to avoid for inmate B-001174

Family members of any relation to inmate

Previous crimes by inmate or inmate's affiliates. 

Current crimes by inmate's affiliates or any such nature of crime 

Current events of any kind including natural disasters, diseases, political elections or anything of relation. 

Current hero rankings, change of status or death of any hero since incarceration December 18th 2XXX

Any mention of hero(es) who captured inmate listed as follows : Aizawa, Shouta - Eraserhead, Todoroki, Enji - Endeavor, Toshinori, Yagi - Allmight, Usagiyama, Rumi - Mirko 

Current known affiliates are listed as follows : Kirishima, Eijirou, Midoriya, Izuku, Shigaraki, Tomura and Todoroki, Touya. 

We appreciate your efforts in brightening the dull lives of inmates and hope you pick up your pen and do what you do best, change lives for the better! Please see the following attachments for instructions on how to address the letter and seal inside the pre-paid postage envelope before dropping it off at any post office.

Remember each letter will be opened and read for any sort of criminal activity before being passed along to the inmate. 

Sincerely, 

Warden of Tartarus Maximum Prison Facility

You flip the letter over and skim the instructions, the same as they always are expect this time there is an extra line to add, maximum security level ten, as if you had to notate some sort of alert to the mailroom for an extra thorough check of this particular piece of mail. You bite the inside of your lip, toeing off your kitten heels before padding over to your computer with letter in tow.  

The request comes as a surprise, mostly because they listed a specific inmate instead of your usual list of inmates who wished to receive mail but had ties cut from their own families or needed some semblance of someone on the outside to speak with. Never asking you to address some sort of conversation with someone who sounded like they didn't want to have one at all. 

Snarling your lip when you read the affiliates that you needed to avoid as if their government names gave you any idea of who they were, some of them anyway. 

Two with whom you were already exchanging letters with weekly. 

Your usual routine to wind down from work is lost to your undying hunger of who this person was. Although you had to admit Bakugou sounded eerily familiar. 

A quick search brings up his villain name,  Ground Zero, captured during a raid of some sort and he alone needed several heroes for his capture. His quirk was dangerous, explosions detonated by sparks along his forearms and palms from his sweat that contained nitroglycerin and it seemed as if his mental health was just as stable as the fuel to his quirk. 

Looking at him wrong set him off and he was powerful enough to level buildings from just a few juls of output from his intense explosions. Still curiosity killed the cat and you delved deeper. 

Wondering how Izuku, aka Deku, who was quirkless and Eijirou, aka Blood Riot who could harden his skin, which you knew from their letters, got caught up with a living, breathing nuke. 

Thankfully most of the documentation and footage involving Katsuki's arrest was released to the public with redactions and edits of course but what you needed was the raw data. 

Finding unofficially released footage from Mirko's body cam, the only surviving body cam between the pursuing heroes. It starts right in the midst of the action, sirens wailing  and people screaming in the background as the scene unfolds. Ground Zero and Mirko exchange blows evenly while Endevor tries to ambush him from behind. The hulking blonde smirks, as if he had no blind spot, swinging his large arm backward hitting Endeavor right in the mouth, hard enough it sends him flying.  Katsuki's bromine eyes flicker to what must be vantage points off camera as if searching for something. 

"Got that pesky ass four eyes on me huh? I'm hurt ya don't wanna play with me properly, hops." He dodges a kick to the chest, sliding back and it's obvious his prowess as a fighter is unmatched, even with his quirk silenced.

"Shut the fuck up. Ya talk too much."  Shifting her weight to fein a kick that he catches, pinning her thick leg between his sturdy ribs and strong arm as he wears the nastiest smile. One that Mirko wipes off quickly with a swift kick from her free foot straight to his handsome face. Turning his cheek and blood arcs from his mouth, still he does not stagger nor falter. 

He even still has her leg pinned as she stands awkwardly, back arched to him and her bunny tail twitches. The viewer can only see the ground and her free leg but the mic still very much catches what he says next and you're sure the smile he was wearing earlier comes back tenfold. 

"Careful hops, ya get any rougher with me and I'll cum." 

His laugh echoes shortly after and the sound should not cause your stomach to flip the way it does before the footage abruptly ends. 

Taking the time to scroll through a few more pictures and articles, trying to find where it all went wrong when really none of that was your business, still it killed you to know. 

And when you fail to find anything, fail to find that butterfly effect that puts his whole life askew, it does little to quell the uneasy feeling that gnaws at the pit of your stomach. If anything it fuels it yet still you rummage your desk for stationary and a pen. 

Sealing away the envelope once you were done and setting it by your purse to grab in the morning when you think you'll be braver. 

Or maybe less brave as you hesitate by the mail drop off box, your train fast approaching the outside terminal before you shove it into the slot quickly. 

Too late to take it back now. 

Besides what were the odds he'd even send one back?

"B-001174, got mail." The guard grunts as he slips the already open letter under the cell door, finishing his rounds before the doors would open and the inmates could roam about the pod as they saw fit. 

Katsuki snarls, he didn't get mail, letters or pictures or even the cult following he once had he'd scared 'em all off. Tired of all the stupid bullshit they spewed at him, the ideals they placed on him or the words they shoved into his mouth. Worst yet were how they justified their actions, their own wrong doings in the name of Ground Zero, too pussy to even own up to their own actions. Katsuki hated that as much as he hated liars. 

Besides he didn't ask for all that shit, didn't care. He just wanted to watch the world burn. 

Wanted to set it on fire and Katsuki's philosophy was that anything was kindling. 

That everything is kindling. 

And he thinks he should just ignite the smallest spark despite the quirk "silencing" cuffs and let the letter be devoured by the heat of his palms. 

But the return address catches his eye, the name does. It's familiar in a way he can't quite place yet. Pulling the paper out of the envelope in the meantime. The first thing he notices is the faint almost perfumey smell of coconut from the paper, not from spraying the stationary but as if it were lotion rubbing across the parchment as you wrote in long looping letters, for a moment he finds the smell pleasant. His poisonous bromine eyes slide over the letter with ease. 

Dear Bakugou, 

I heard you don't get letters very often, if any, so I hope this one finds you well. The weather is warming up quickly, the cicadas are starting to scream even though it's barely June, we'll all be sweltering come August. Summer is my favorite season, do you have a favorite? Work slows down around this time and they usually grant us extra leave so we can enjoy the weather, which is quite nice. I hope you're getting to enjoy the sun as well. 

I know cooking is one of your favorite things, I can see why. It can be relaxing or make you feel good to nourish someone else. What other hobbies do you have aside from cooking? Any favorite books or authors? Maybe I can send your favorite one in! Just let me know. 

Do you have everything you need? Do you need any money for commissary? Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything at all, I'm only a letter away. 

Hope to hear from you and maybe soon I can call you Katsuki. 

Much Love

He snorts as he reads the last line and it finally dawns on him from where he knows your name. Lifting himself out of his prison cot with ease, the cheap thing groaning from his bulk as he exits his cell. Heading towards the neighboring cell that holds Deku and Riot, shoving his way into the too cramped space for the bulking men. 

"Ka-kaachan!" Izuku chirps, surprised to see the hot headed blonde out of his cell and especially surprised to see Bakugou in his own. Lingering by Izuku's half with a quirked brow, his eyes roaming until they found the hidden stack of papers. 

"Gonna grab breakfast with us?" Kirishima asks as he watches large hands snatch at the pile. Instantly Izuku stands, eyes darkening as he steps towards Katsuki.

"Put those down, Kaachan." It's that fake polite smile Izuku wears before a fight, the kind that never reaches his eyes and Bakugou doesn't heed the warning, "Please."

It's clipped and now Kirishima thinks to rise, doesn't want either of them to do solitary or to deal with the month long bickering if they do get into a physical fight. 

Katsuki looks over the letters, reading them quickly and appreciating that Izuku is meticulous enough to keep them in chronological order, each one signed off the same way. Much love. 

Such bullshit. 

Izuku shoves Bakugou when he still scowls down at the papers that also smell like coconut. Katsuki drops the letters unceremoniously and Izuku scrambles to keep them from hitting the concrete floor. Bakugou already on Kirishima's side who watches with a confused glare. 

"What are you-" But Kirishima doesn't get to say much else as Katsuki lifts the thin mattress from the metal frame to find the hidden letters. Tucked away safely as if the battle worn villain took comfort in the false words in shiny black ink. 

Same return address, same name, same bull shit sign off. 

"Katsuki!" Kirishima shoves him and the blonde hardly moves, Eijirou's skin half hardening out of habit before he tries to shove again. Katsuki hits his forearm harshly, a soft pop in warning although neither could do too much with the amount of sedation and silencing that came from the collar from around their thick throats. Izuku sans silencing cuffs, has no worries about a part of him being dulled. He was built like an ox with the metabolism of a pubescent teen despite being in his late twenties so sedatives or mood stabilizers hardly have any effect. 

Bakugou tosses the letters onto Kirishima's scratchy blanket before he scoffs. 

"Tsk, believe that bullshit?" He's rolling his eyes as he leaves the cell with nothing but the rustle of paper as they try to rehide what they act like is their dirty little secret. 

God weak hearted fools were so fucking annoying. 

Post through the prison system could take some time, especially when it came to newer exchanges. It could be anywhere between two weeks to two months before you saw a reply from Katsuki. If you got one at all. 

But the thought of his phantom reply slips to the back of your head what with your current workload and the other correspondents so when you see a sealed envelope the prison's return address you think nothing of it. 

Not until you open it to see an open envelope with your address but instead of your name is spelled out Fake Bitch. 

Blinking furiously you pull out the letter, unfolding it quickly to let your eyes scan over the page, each word burning into your retinas.

Piece of shit, 

Such a pathetic fuckin slut, writing any and every desperate man behind bars you think is hot, hopin you'll get a conjugal visit. Already fucked everyone at surface level ya gotta try prison dick? 

Or is it worst than that?  Mommy and daddy didn't love ya enough? Didn't give ya enough attention so you look for it in anyone that'll give ya the time of day? Prey on those with no one to talk to knowing you'd get a reply out of desperation. 

Lickin knives all ya know sweetheart? Pretty fuckin scummy if ya ask me. 

Fuck off and die, 

Bakugou Katsuki 

Now you've received your fair share of mean and asshole letters but this? This was different. 

This felt personal. 

It was rule number one you'd given yourself when you were asked to start penning letters while in a shitty place yourself. 

And yet here you were breaking it for some asshat who thought the cityscape was his to destroy. 

Heart ringing in your ears as you try to calm yourself, counting your breaths until you finally could see straight. Penning up something simple yet effective telling yourself that even if he didn't reply it didn't matter. 

You drop it into the mail the next day, two weeks later the same guard is slipping another opened letter under Bakugou's cell door. A snarl to his lip, he didn't expect you to reply and if he was being honest he may have forgotten about you, still the envelope was addressed to his inmate number and no longer is his name written in your cute script. 

While you may think you know everything there is to know about life and me, I'd like to point out your position over mine. 

Last I checked I'm not miles and miles in the ground, under heavy security, among other things a civilian wouldn't be privy to. However I will put it into lame man's terms as it seems your cognitive abilities have declined. 

I'm not the one behind bars, asshole. 

Much Hate

Bakugou clicks his tongue, he was used to the insult, wore it proudly most days but he knew his first letter would go one of two ways.

One, you'd cry when you read it and never replied to him again, which was his hope or two there was a very slim chance he'd get under your skin enough you'd feel the innate need to respond and defend yourself. 

Bakugou does what he does best and burrows further under your pretty skin twirling the pen he finds in the library with ease as he takes to writing out a delicious reply. 

Mail from Tartarus normally came on Wednesday or Thursday as if someone at the facility always forgot to send it out at the beginning of the week. So it became a part of your routine to check your PO Box you set up in a prefecture over in order to preserve your safety should something ever go awry with any of your pen pals or to receive online purchases. Mail day used to be a day you looked forward to, something to help you get through the remainder of your work week but today it was a day you dreaded. 

The excitement from seeing the others' responses in the mail is overshadowed by one particular envelope that slips out of the Manila folder that all of the letters to the same correspondent were sent in to save postage. 

You should be reading Touya's letter or hell anyone else's for that matter, yet here you stood, going for that obnoxious scrawl as he still refused to spell out your name and instead gave you some horrible insult. 

Pathetic Slut

If lying to yourself by writing half ass disingenuine letters to prisoners out of pity makes ya feel like yer changing the world then by all fucking means write away sweetheart. 

Just don't be surprised when you get an asshole response from an asshole behind bars. 

Cause we both know that's what you think of all of us don'tchya? 

Die, 

Bakugou Katsuki 

It shouldn't bother you, it shouldn't burrow so deep into your skin that his inky words scratch at your bones. Like his fingers could dig around in the marrow like maggots yet still it makes your cheeks heat. Makes your eyes burn from frustration and lack of blinking as your palms sweat. 

Soles of your feet burning as you walk further into your apartment to rummage through the drawers of your desk.  Uncaring how things topple over as you furiously grab for a permanent marker, pens and books scattering over the hardwood floors. 

Heart pounding as it resounds through your body like metal striking a bell. Each beat faster, harder than the last until you think your vision starts to ehb at the edges from how much hatred burns away at any of the kindness you built up over the last decade. 

Snapping the marker in half by the time you're done writing your final letter to the asshole. 

FUCK 

YOU 

You don't read it, don't care if it makes it past screening and he never sees it at all. Shoving it into one of your personal envelopes on your desk slapping on a floral postage stamp before stomping down to the express box that sat just outside of your apartment complex. 

It takes a full week for you to calm down, another week to stop thinking about it daily, and one more week to even reply to the letters you got almost a month ago. 

An email comes in from the post office, alerting you to something being placed in your box. You hope it's the new sun dress you bought as retail therapy after a long week and an even bigger bottle of booze that you'd drained. Spending quite a pretty penny on something you didn't even really have an occasion to wear it to. 

More like a nice date, the type of dress you could dress up or down depending on what sorts of accessories you paired with it. 

Taking the train three stops past your own to head into the post office. Turning the key to your decent sized box finding within the metal your promised package. 

And on top of that a familiar manila folder with the return address to Tartarus. 

You grit your teeth, holding onto the mail harder than you should as you take those three long stops back home. Swallowing thickly as you climb your steps, the folder and plastic bag package punctured from your sharp nails as you quickly press in your seven digit key code to get into your apartment and out of the sweltering mid August air.

When your door shuts it closed off the sound of the screaming cicadas and the few crickets that lie in the green space beside your apartment as you try to force yourself to follow your nightly routine. 

Remove shoes, take off makeup, eat, shower, sleep. 

But that damn folder was burning a hole into your fingers as you go to your desk, rocking your chair side to side before you just rip it open like you'd rip off a bandaid. 

This time the letter addresses you in a new way. 

Sweetheart, 

I dare you to come say that shit to my face. You fuckin better show up Saturday other wise I'll let your precious Izu and Eiji know just how much of a fake bitch ya really are. Imagine what it would do to them? Break their hearts I'm sure.  

Ya'd hate to mess with their progress wouldn't ya? 

Don't forget to wear something cute, it'd be nice to see some fat tits in my face at the very least. If a shitty woman like you even owns anything relatively sexy.

Fuck off 

Bakugou Katsuki 

You see red, breathing deeply as you re-read the letter again, who the fuck was this asshole? Black mailing you into visiting him so it wouldn't hurt your other correspondents because Bakugou was so fucking selfish. 

So black out angry you don't seem to wake up, not when you put yourself in that sleek summer sun dress that went to your mid thigh, not when you stare at your angry scowl as you apply light make up, and especially not on the hour drive and then two hour ferry ride to Tartarus. Especially not during the twenty minute descent in a cramped elevator box with a guard in front and behind you with AKs clipped to their chests, the sweltering heat seeping down this low in the ground due to body heat and poor ventilation of the prison. 

Not until the buzzer of the barred door in front of you screams its demands, that the handle was "live" and could be opened by the guard standing in the cage between the hallway that led back to freedom and the other where you could already see toxic bromine burning into your skin. 

This was a bad idea. This was a really fucking bad idea.  

You swallow thickly, it was too late to turn back now wasn't it? The door had already swung shut as the guard came closer to you for one final inspection.

"Dress is kinda short." Katsuki can overhear the guard mumble to you, can see how the guard's fingers twitch and for some reason his own do too. He watches how the guard lingers, how the man's hand press against your body and bunches up your dress as he pats you down a little too roughly. How you bite your lip when the man squeezes your ribs and under the weight of your breasts a little too roughly. 

Katsuki is starting to see red, sweat begins to collect on his brow. He hasn't even fully seen you at least not without an obstructed view but already he can tell he likes what he sees. 

Likes how the dress clings to parts of you you'd favor, the parts you want to really highlight. How the hem flusters higher with each step of your strappy flat shoes.

Loves the scowl that pinches up your cute face when the door buzzes to allow you into the room with him and another six guards. Likes how you straighten your spine as if you've gotten fresh resolve when you come in. 

Looking at him like he was trash and he smirks, like how you don't recoil from him despite how he looks now.  

Plexiglass spit guard with metal framing afixed to his face to keep more than his salvia to himself, more so to keep his gnashing teeth away from people's skin. How his throat is encircled with a thick black collar with a red light set far past stun and closer to kill that would send an electric pulse if he misbehaved but only if they could reach their remote fast enough. 

How the silver cuffs around his thick wrists chain him to the table top, thick forearms exposed from him rolling up his bright orange suit that was harsh on the eyes thanks to the flickering fluorescent lighting overhead. Soft ash blonde hair messy at the top with a self given undercut beneath, iris so bloody red it was as if he was born straight from the calf of Ares himself. 

"Hey Sweetheart." He purrs and his voice is pure sin. 

Pure fucking sin. 

Sending a jolt straight to your clit as his pretty lips curl up into a deadly smirk, showing his sharp canines. 

Bakugou can't contain the feeling of triumph that dances in his veins, purposely egging you on in his letter with the closest Saturday knowing you'd be allowed to come on such short notice. See, most visitors needed to have thorough background checks and intensive mental testing before coming to meet anyone in maximum security five hundred meters below sea level. 

But the conniving blonde knew you were special. 

Knew the warden of Tartarus favored you and would allow you to skip these precautions, especially after what that dumbass thinks you've done. In less than a month of writing to him, that damn Deku finally added Inko-san back to his visiting list, actually came to the visit and cupped her hands. Murmuring on and on that her baby boy with the wavy emerald curls was okay. Inko cried and returned every month since.

No different for Kirishima either, adding Fat Gum, who was like a father figure to him during their shared time at UA, to his visitor list. Surprisingly Taishiro came, still comes, him and Inko car pool together. 

Not even a few heartbeats pass between the two of you before you feel your tongue slicing up the sensitive skin of the roof of your mouth. Of the hard bone of your teeth. 

"Fuck. You." The words drip with sticky poison that even one of the guards behind him flinches but not Bakugou. 

No never Bakugou Katsuki, the Ground Zero himself who leveled a city for the fucking fun of it 

He smiles, both sides of his mouth curling up and it should be disturbing how much he obviously gets off on your frustration, on your hate. But it isn't, it's almost mesmerizing how he looks at you. Like you're something to triumph and conquer, something he wants to keep for himself. 

With that you turn to leave, skirt fluttering from the movement and Katsuki can see the tattoo on your upper thigh, the ink making his mouth salivate as he wonders if he can find any more you've got hidden on that fine body. 

He lunges despite the rattling chains that keep him close to the table, still he has enough leeway to grab onto your arm in one giant hand. Foolishly you try to pull free. 

"Oh come on sweetheart. I've got a whole hour of play time for this. Yer not leaving, sit down." 

His grip on you is tight, his hand big enough to engulf half of your forearm and it gets tighter still. Hot palm making your bones creak from the pressure as he smiles up at you cruelly. All you can do is glare down at him, bore all of your hate where the two of you are connected, his skin feels electric against yours. 

"Ya know, I could probably still blow your arm off." He doesn't bother to say it quietly, chuckles when you look at the quirk silencing cuffs and collar he dons, "They ain't shit against strong quirks." 

Your eyes flash, anger spiking your blood and stupidly you strike. Hand stinging as badly as the tears that come to your eyes and threaten to fall past your lash line. Clawed fingers met with the metal framing of the glass spit guard mask that covers his mouth. Still one of your claws cuts his cheeks and he howls with laughter. 

"Like I said-" He yanks you down harshly, playful tone from his voice gone as your ribs smack into the edge of the metal table, puffs of hot breath fogging the glass of his spit guard, "Sit." 

The awkward angle forces your knees to bend, settling on to the cold metal stool while his warm fingers leave blossoms of black and blue on the skin. As if returning the favor for the cut. 

"I can feel your heart pounding princess,yer pussy throbin this hard too?" He licks his lips, laughs when you lean away from him in disgust, "Ya like it. All sluts play hard to get at first." 

Your eyes flicker to the guards behind him, all six pretend not to notice, panic shoots through your veins and the realization of just how bad of a fucking idea this was settles over you harshly. Like ice water flowing from the nape of your neck.  

He follows your gaze, even cranes his head like he didn't know who was behind him and exactly where they stood. 

"Oh them? They ain't gonna do shit. They're too scared of me. Blew a guy's head off last week." He smiles and one of the guards suddenly finds the floor interesting, "Do ya know how drugged up I am right now baby? How much force these cuffs have to use to bring my quirk down to half power?" 

Choosing not to respond you let your eyes fall back on his handsome face watching it snarl as you ignore him. 

Oh he'd make you see him. 

"What cat got yer tongue now ya scared cause I'm so strong? Invincible?" Your eyes narrow as he speaks the arrogance of this man is far beyond your comprehension. 

"You bleed like every other man." He loves the way you speak, how you wield that sharp tongue. How he wants it pressed and slashing over his own as he's two fingers deep into your tight cunt, moaning into his mouth. 

He brings the thick digits of his free hand parting gift you bestowed upon him. The long thin slash as rough pads bring smeared blood into view so he can lick away the dark red beads. 

"Bloody men are usually the most dangerous, you never know if it's his or that of another's." He lets his hot thumb roll over the cut, cauterizing the small wound hoping it scars. 

Eyes widening as he blatantly uses his quirk as if there weren't armed guards behind him. You're watching his eyes closely as he does and finally you realize what he said is true. There is a dullness to them that was lacking in the raw footage you saw all those months ago. 

Then his eyes were vibrant, sharp and slicing, much more intense then the hazy glare he gives you now. It didn't make him any less of an apex predator. 

Still watching you, recording your small movements and committing your soft skin to his memory as he studies you. 

"Got a quirk?" He grunts out after a moment, after he collects whatever information he was looking for, "I wanna guess first. Manipulation?" 

He smirks at his own joke and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore how his thumb swipes at the underside of your forearm idly. How the motion twists your stomach violently with dizzying emotions. 

Rolling your eyes before you scoff an answer, "No. Besides you expect me to manipulate through what? Ink?" 

"Ya never know. Went to school with some asshole whose quirk was comic book sound effects." He leans back never letting go but now his hand is around your wrist. His fingers twitch when he looks at yours, fights the urge to roughly lace them with his own. 

"Well I don't. Manipulate I mean." You adjust in your seat, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, "And I won't disclose whether I have a quirk or not." 

"Haaah? Worried I'll like it?" When you don't answer he adds, "Is it compatible with mine?" 

Slowly blinking at him trying not to read into what you think he means. He groans at your silence, the higher dosage of his morning meds finally catching up making him a little lethargic. Taking his edge off when all he wants to do is rise over the crashing wave of the pending high he can barely keep at bay and whisk you out of the depths of hell the two of you currently sit in. 

"So then what? You just used regular words to manipulate them?" He fights back a yawn. 

"Who?" Your ribs still ache from his actions earlier, it doesn't warn you like it should. 

"Don't play fuckin stupid, Sweetheart." He's lurching into your space again, hand moving back over your bruise. It makes your stomach clench when it shouldn't, especially not as the chains rattle against the metal table top, serving as a heavy reminder of the setting of this conversation. 

Still his breath comes in quick puffs as it fogs up the glass again, "Shitty hair. Deku." 

Your brows furrow for a moment, another groan from him. 

"For fucks sake." Light squeeze of your arm as he spits their names, "Fuckin nerdy ass Izuku. Eijirou."

"I can't talk about them." Looking away from his darkened eyes that flash with a fury of emotion.

"Who's stoppin ya? Them?" He tilts his head towards the guards, "I told ya-" 

"B-001174, you have five minutes left for visitation." A voice crackled over an old speaker in the visitation cell, "Please remove your hands from the guest or we will apply force." 

The small light on his collar flashes red and he just smirks, looking up, well above your head. Staring directly at the warden like he knows exactly where he stood behind the two way mirror. 

"Yea? You'll apply force? Go ahead. Nothin but a little shock t' me but t' her? She'll die warden." There is no mirth in his smirk, lips twitching as his eyes are shrouded in dark warning, "And we wouldn't want that would we?" 

The way he speaks sends a chill down your spine, the haze of whatever sedative they had him on is now gone and you're left sitting across from those vibrant radioactive eyes. Burning through the mirror to sear the warden's skin in a threat, a promise. 

A buzz rings out as the seventh guard comes in, he scrunches his nose and it makes his oddly shaped mustache twitch. 

"Miss." He grunts holding out his hand for you to take too close in your personal space for your liking. Slapping it out of your face before following your right arm down to where Katsuki held fast. Peeling off his thick digits with your finely manicured claws. 

He hisses at the loss of contact, glaring at the guard when his hands hover close and the older man is smart enough not to antagonize a literal monster. Katsuki stands suddenly, a scream comes from the bolts securing metal to metal as he rips the table out of the ground, unable to break the chains for now. 

Everyone but Bakugou in the room freezes, guns cocked and aimed at the bulking villain who rose to his full height, sticking his prison issued white shoe onto the seat he just sat on to push down roughly. Thick thigh muscles straining against the fabric of the bright orange pants. A smile to his face when the chains finally snap and he can move his hands more freely before ripping off the plexiglass spit guard letting it clink on to the ground. His large hands run through his hair as if to fix it. 

"I'm entitled to a proper fuckin good bye." He hisses at everyone in the room, they keep their guns aimed at him but make no move to pull any trigger. 

Katsuki stalks closer, a wall of muscle, broad chest and shoulders, slim waist that leads down to powerful legs and you try not to let your breath catch in your throat. 

Try not to let the big bad wolf win by letting him know just how scared you were. Over how impressive it was that he snapped reinforced titanium chains so easily. 

He's well within your arms reach now, so close heat radiates from his chest. 

"I'll see ya soon, Sweetheart." He bids you a final goodbye, waving his fingers that pop with burning caramel explosions. You're not sure why it sets you off, maybe it was the way he wore that stupid smirk on his face, maybe it was the way he demonstrated his power or his dominance in an attempt to intimidate you one last time. 

Maybe it's the way he was arrogant enough to think you'd waste six hours round trip on his ass ever again. 

Either way it makes your temper flair, burrows deep into your subdermis to scarpe at your bones one final time before you unknowingly seal your own fate. Not knowing how his body would react to your parting words. 

"There won't be a next time. I came here for one thing and that was to say fuck you." Delivered with just as much clotting venom as it was before, middle finger held high.

His smirk turns deadly, blowing out a snort as he leans closer as if to share a secret. You can smell the cheap commissary soap that clings to his skin that's starting to lose out to the rapidly building nimbus of smoking caramel that clouds the air as his lips press to your ear.  

"Don't have t'. I'll come to you." He pulls back and winks as you're guided out of the room, glare fixed on him as he stands unbothered. 

He's lying, prisoners lie all the time especially if they think they can get the upper hand. He couldn't come to you. He couldn't escape prison for starters and lastly there was no way in hell he'd ever find out where you lived.  The prison made sure of that by always including a fresh envelope with their own return address in the top left corner, you should know. You only triple checked each time you sealed away the letter, even a fourth time at the post box staring down at the address on the envelope making sure both were correct.

So fuck Bakugou Katsuki for being a dirty liar, fucking hypocrite.

Shoving yourself into an oversized shirt after your body shower you finally get to plop down into bed. Relishing the feel of fresh sheets and blankets as you sigh deeply. It had been a long, long day and no amount of self care could get his toxic blood red eyes out of your head.

Switching on the TV to pull up some show to numb your mind with familiarity when the channel cuts out. Breaking news flashing across the screen makes your body go rigid. 

A prison break from Tartarus has occurred in the late evening hours, several high profile villains are believed to have escaped such as Shigaraki Tomura, Todoroki Touya, aka Dabi, Kirishima Eijirou aka Blood Riot,  Midoriya Izuku aka Deku and Bakugou Katsuki better known as Ground Zero. Please do not approach suspected escapees, please report any suspicious person or activities immediately. Most importantly keep all doors and windows locked at all times. I repeat do not engage with the inmates. 

A knock comes from your left, making you jump out of your skin as you fist the sheets. A cold sweat breaking out over your skin in goose flesh as your hearing rings in your ears. Unable to bring yourself to look at the sliding glass door to your balcony just yet as if you could ignore it and the cause of the sound would simply go away.

Another rapt of knuckles pulls your attention once more before you finally dare to peek to see glowing red eyes peering in. The devil himself at your door and you knew better than to let him in. 

Knew better that a locked door couldn't keep him out. 

Bromine burning in the night like ever fanned flames, orange jumpsuit obnoxiously out of place against the night sky, stained in deep burgundy red and ash grays, the same colors streaking his face before he knocks again. But this time it's in warning, hard enough to rattle the door that you both know he could rip off the track with ease.

"How- how did you?" Teeth chattering that you grit closed still refusing to give in to his tactics until he presses a small envelope against the glass. Your personal envelope with your real home address listed for return. 

Panic bubbles up your throat in a scream that dies at the back of your teeth as you sit frozen a minute longer while he gives a predatory grin, large hands pressing against the glass before his palms glow bright orange. Brighter than his jumpsuit before the glass shatters and your scream finally escapes your lungs. 

In an instant he's towering over you, palms pressing into biting shards as he cages you against the plush comforter dipping his head low so he can nose at your throat, hot palm at your ribs. Leave a searing bite pulling a strangled yelp from your soft lips that makes him laugh before his mouth is at your ear for the second time today. Finally speaking dangerously low.

"Told ya I'd see ya soon, Sweetheart."

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

The appeal of a villain friend in fiction is more often than not the thought that someone out there would choose you over the entire world.

The members of the League of Villains were anyone's priority. They felt replaceable or even worse, they knew they were replaceable. They weren't pretty enough, strong enough, normal enough, cool enough. They were wrong in the head, were too violent, too weird, too creepy.

All the rage? The hurt? They were told to swallow it because it was making people uncomfortable.

Stain was their inspiration, but he wasn't the one to pick them. He wasn't the one who looked at them and told them "you have a place". That was Giran. The manga tells us that Giran was putting together a sort of friendship group for violent outcasts like them. That he formed the League for them to have company, a reason to fight for, to exist.

There's a sort of catharsis that fictional villain friendships give that you can't find somewhere else. A sort of short-lived relief that comes when someone sees you being mistreated and decides retribution is needed. Wouldn't it be wonderful if revenge had no consequences and the damage it caused was at once lasting and non-existent?

That's what fiction is for. You put all your feelings there and create scenarios where you purge those feelings. No one gets harmed and you come out of it cleaned, renewed, with a clear head.

So when Tomura Shigaraki creates the League of Villains, it is an instant click for people who had been wronged and are seeking catharsis of their negative experiences and feelings.

The League of Villains punishes someone with torture and failure for misgendering and hurting their trans friend. A shonen manga does that, a gender where nonconforming people are a joke by tradition. Do you get what that means to some readers out there?

Tomura claims to hate everything and everyone, but when Toga asks him, he admits that they are his exception. He wouldn't destroy something they loved. His prioritizing their wishes and their likings. There was no one else above them for him and no one was as important to him as they were.

Suddenly, they are someone's number one people and not out of manipulation. They recognize in Tomura a man who really cares.

Tomura was shown to live in total neglect. He had poor hygiene, was isolated almost completely from the outside world, talked with maybe three or four people tops, ate whatever, liver whatever. He didn't care about his living conditions. It was only when the League asked for clothing and food and other stuff that he began to care. For them.

He wants them to live, to succeed, he wants to hurt anyone who hurts them, to protect what is precious to them.

And now we got confirmation that they matter more to him than his own past.

Tomura would destroy the world simply because they asked him to, because they promised to. He would destroy himself trying because he must be their hero. Remember how every time a villain would question him about his motivation or his ideals, he would talk about his hatred or his need to destroy. We've gone past it and at his very core we found that the thing that truly fuels him is the desire to be a hero.

For them.

It's really something to see people wondering why a reader would be fond of Tomura Shigaraki or the LOV in general. Is it that hard to understand?

Again, that's the appeal of a fictional villain's friendship to real life victims:

To be important, to be picked, to be prioritized, to be felt, to be seen, to be understood, to belong to and be considered, to be irreplaceable. To be all those things to the point the weight of it shatters the universe.

So much love outplacement in someone's love— to matter so much to someone —that to see you hurt would make them want to destroy the world.

[lanasheart]

LOV members and their love languages ~

★~`

Shigaraki ~

DEFINITELY an Acts of Service man.

Do NOT expect this man to try and touch you.

If he really loves you, I doubt he'd dare touch you as he wouldn't wanna accidently decay you.

Plus, this man absolutely hates it anyway. The only person he wanted to touch was his mama.

He would totally kill anyone you ask him to, either if he's jealous or if he has the urge to kill.

Or, he'd just invite you to play League Of Legends or Fortnite with him and Spinner.

(which isn't bad because he could definitely carry you in fn)

He would try and learn everyday how to be a good boyfriend. (He pays way more attention to you than you notice.)

He enjoys receiving Physical Touch, but to an extent.

You could touch his face, or anywhere really, but definitely not his hands.

He just doesn't want to lose you.

Touya ~

Acts of Service and Words of Affirmation.

He'd probably be super surprised if you told him your feelings

But he'd be open to a relationship since he'd be down to try something new.

SECONDS into the relationship he's making up so many nicknames for you.

'Babe', 'Darling', 'Hottie', you name it, he's calling you it.

And, he'd definitely kill someone for you.

I think he'd be more down too than Shigaraki would be.

He'd probably be all of the other love languages too, because don't tell me this man won't steal you a thousand dollar ring.

If you were also a villain, he'd totally BEG Shigaraki to let you go on missions together.

He likes Quality Time the most, since Endeavour never gave him any.

So, if you watch this man shoe you his special moves, he's gonna fall 2x as much in love with you.

Toga ~

Himiko literally seeks acceptance through unconventional love.

So I'd think her love language is Physical Touch or Acts of Service.

Along with the others, she'd be more than happy to kill someone for you or more likely impersonate someone for you.

Plus, she'd definitely have to avoid the temptation of using her knives on you.

So, if you told her she could use them, she'd be the happiest girl in the world.

She would be turning into you everyday.

As a means to show her love for you.

She'd want to be you, and feel what your body feels like upon her own accord, like if she was you.

If not, she could find out every little detail about your body by Physical Touch.

She definitely cuddles. (no one can change my mind!)

She likes receiving Words of Affirmation the most, so if you call her beautiful or pretty, she'll go feral for you.

Jin/Twice ~

Quality Time man.

Even a few weeks into your relationship, he'd be down for you to move into his little apartment, if you wanted to.

This would literally be so big for him, he'd spend every single day next to you, even if you were just cooking or cleaning.

If you were showering, he'd literally comes in and sit on the sink to talk to you.

You would definitely have some deep chats about the state of society, or the people you both retrospectively spend your other time around.

I think this man would somewhat enjoy Physical Touch.

Even if it's holding your hand on a busy subway, or leaning your head on his shoulder as he smokes his cigarette.

He would go feral.

It would be difficult to keep his clones' voices under wraps, but if you love him for them too, he'd be happy enough.

Iguchi/Spinner ~

Gift-Giving, definitely.

Although this man spends probably all of his time playing League Of Legends with Tomura, he'd definitely put some time aside to get you presents.

Whether it's something expensive that he's stole, or something small that he's recently heard you talk about.

Such as a new plush, or figurine.

He probably thinks it's more romantic to actually buy the gift, instead of stealing it, so trust me when I say this man has multiple piggy banks in his room.

He would try and ask Tomura for help, but we all know this man wouldn't give good advice.

'buy her League' shut tf up Tomura.

He would buy you both games he'd think you'd like, and would help try to teach you to play.

If you already play games, he'd buy you everything in the game, like DLCs or extra skins.

He most likely enjoys receiving Words of Affirmation.

He didn't get complimented much growing up, so when you do it for the first time, he's super confused.

But, he relaxes more into it and loves when you call him pretty.

Mr Compress ~

ATSUHIRO MY BABY

He'd totally be into Gift-Giving.

I mean, this man comes from a bloodline of thieves, and you think he won't steal you everything you want?

He would literally go to every store in Japan to buy you the most perfect rings, or necklaces, or clothes to make you look even more stunning than you already are.

He'd make sure you had matching things too, like jewellery or clothes, or even small little trinkets to remind yourselves of eachother.

Your room would literally be filled to the brim of everything he's gifted you, also because you would never throw it away.

He'd swear he doesn't need anything in return, but he'd be more into receiving Acts of Service.

Even if this is making him food or coming to see him if he lives a long way away, he'll appreciate every little thing you do for him, no matter how important it is to yourself.

Muscular ~

Muscular would probably just be into Physical Touch.

This man is 6"6, so if your any shorter he would be making fun of you everyday, by ruffling your hair or leaning his arms or head down on your shoulder or head.

Even though he is huge, he'd love to hold hands, if you even can.

He'd LOVE showing off to you, by picking you up or throwing you over his shoulder with ease.

He might have a small feeling that you dislike his muscles or eye, but if you disregard that, he will be all over you again.

Just make sure that you don't get smushed underneath him and his muscles.

Because we all know he would not be careful at all.

He'd be into Physical Touch too, as he would definitely like having his muscles appreciated by your hands.

If you ask him to flex or show his muscles, he will be down within a millisecond and will show you them in every position possible.

hey guyss this is my first proper post to give you a taste of what I wanna do [even if this is not a lot or very detailed so far], so pleasee give me some feedback, and help me so that I can grow my account. feel free to ♡ !!

[thehusbandoden]

You Flinch During an Argument -Todoroki Shoto

Sooo I decided to change this into drabbles instead of headcannons and a drabble bc I'm a lot more comfortable writing in this format, sorry if this bothers anyone <33

Oh and this is a lot more fluffy bc I'm so soft for Sho <3

I'll make Bakugou's a lot more angsty tomorrow >:))

Angst to fluff/comfort | 1,057 words

Warnings!: Mention of arguing, flinching, fear of hurting/scaring your s/o, mention of abuse (Shoto's childhood), and spending money in copious amounts (is that a warning??). Pls let me know if I miss any <33

Dabi | Hawks | Todoroki Shoto | Bakugo Katsuki | Midoriya Izuku | Shigaraki Tomura | Aizawa Shota | Amajiki Tamaki | Kirishima Eijiro | Shinso Hitoshi

The argument was getting nowhere, you were exhausted, angry, and hurt. You also bet that Sho felt the same.

Sighing, you stand up and walk towards where Shoto was pacing around.

"Listen Sho, let's just go to bed, we can talk about this in the morning."

"Fine then, you go to be-" Shoto froze as he saw you flinch away from him, he wasn't going to.. hurt you. He would never hurt you.

"Did.. did you think I was going to hurt you?" Shoto asked, inwardly panicking as he rushed to your side, hands hovering over your arms, shoulders, and hands, too scared of hurting or scaring you to touch you.

"No baby no. It was some kinda reaction from my body, probably because the tension was high and we're heroes." You coo, grabbing Shoto's hands comfortingly.

"A-are you sure?" Shoto asked, body shaking as he moved his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort you as best as he could.

"Positive my dear, lets just get to bed, yeah? We can talk about our.. disagreement in the morning." You smile, causing Shoto to nod as he followed you to your shared bedroom, hovering behind you as you go through your night time routine.

"Baby.. I promise I'm not scared of you." You whisper, turning around to hug Shoto as he hovered over your shoulder, heart broken.

"I- I know.. it just reminded me of mom.. and him.."

"Oh baby, no. That is completely different."

Hugging Shoto tighter, your heart partially broke as Shoto clung to you, burying his face in your neck, seeking any kind of comfort he could.

"T-this was a one time freak accident.. right?" Shoto asked, a few tears staining your shoulder as he let you comfort him, needing some kind of stability for him to be sane.

"Yes, yes this will only happen this one time. I was not scared of you, my body moved on its own, I hold zero fear towards you, my love."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Now, let's get to bed and cuddle, yeah?"

Shoto simply nodded, shuffling his feet in a way where he could move yet stay attached to you, and he completely climbed on top of you, burying his face into your chest as you played with his hair, kissing his forehead sweetly.

~~~

The next morning he was attached to you until you had to go to work, and even then he was very reluctant to let you go, asking for kiss after kiss as you attempted to leave.

You came home to a completely cleaned house, your favorite meal, and your favorite at home activity set up.

And the next day, after he came home from work he brought you flowers, your favorite treat, take out, a movie, and a book that's been rotting in your 'tbr' list on Amazon.

It stayed that way for at least a week and a half, Shoto doing everything he could to show you how much he truly loved you.

~~~

"Baby I'm home." Shoto calls, shutting the door with his foot as he moved to set todays findings on your kitchen island.

"Hey, you're home early!" You smile, quickly making your way to kiss Sho's lips before hugging him, smiling at the comforting warmth and smell.

"Yeah, I missed you too much and there wasn't much going on. If there's any thing they need my help with they'll simply call me in."

Pecking his chest as acknowledgment, you turn to the island, blushing in embarrassment at the multiple bags on the smooth surface.

"Sho, how many times do I need to tell you that you don't need to keep buying me things?" You sigh, smiling as the hero pecked the back of your ear to help you cool off.

"And how many times do I need to tell you that I know I don't 'need' to, but I can, and want to spoil my queen."

"Sho you're too good for this world." You huff, blushing at Shoto's bold honesty.

"I belive that is you, my love."

"Okay okay- what did you get this time?" You sigh, peering at the bags curiously.

"You have to wait for this one," Sho mused, picking out a small black bag from the bunch, maneuvering it so you wouldn't see the brand name.

"Ah c'mon Sh-"

"and this one is for dinner-" Sho continued, shushing you with a quick peck to the lips, setting the grocery bag aside.

" and the rest is for you to enjoy at your leisure." Shoto smiled, causing you to blush.

Smiling, you look through the remaining four bags, smile widening at the sentimental gifts Shoto had gotten you.

One bag was full of books and movies you were dying to read/watch, and another one was full of bags of sweets you enjoyed from the gas station near your house -which means he most likely grabbed them on a whim, barely putting a thought into spoiling you as he remembered all of your favorites and which one you liked the most.

The other two were full of some of your favorite hobbies, and things you were meaning to get. Needed a new pair of earphones for long hours of patrol? Sho got the new model, making sure to get your favorite color. Oh- did you want a pair of fuzzy socks for the upcoming winter? Shoto got you just that, spending extra money to make them just right for you. The list went on and on, causing you to both feel giddy and annoyed.

"Shoto, you can't just spoil me. You need to be spoiled too, and all of your money is going into this isn't it?" Giving Sho a look to stop him from interrupting, you continued, "but, I really do appreciate this. You're too sweet for this world, Sho."

Shoto just smiled at you, eyes holding a certain spark that made you giddy.

And that alone stopped you from telling him to stop.

Because he truly enjoyed spoiling you, and you won't be that one to dampen that light, you'll be the one to continue to let it grow.

Plus you started spoiling him too- and now it's basically part of your routine

Series' masterlist | Shoto's masterlist | Main masterlist | Navigation

Tips <3

~~

Reblogs help spread and support my work, and therefore help me out a ton, but any support is appreciated <33

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging.

[scary-grace]

PARIAH - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Shigaraki Tomura was buried three days ago, struck down at last by the affliction that’s haunted him all his life. Now, with muffled screams emanating from the graveyard and the same affliction striking down villagers left and right, the priest has ordered Shigaraki raised from the grave and put to death properly this time. It falls to Spinner, wracked with guilt over his best friend’s fate, to seek help from a monstrosity equal to the one that haunts Shigaraki — the witch who dwells in the darkest part of the forest. In other words, you.

Nosferatu AU, Spinner POV, 5k+ words. Vampires, wolves, and witches, oh my! If you like Gran Torino this is not the fic for you.

Not far now, Midoriya said the last time they stopped to catch their breath, but the woods seem to go on endlessly, and Spinner feels as though he’s been running for even longer. He’s no stranger to fleeing for his life. In one way and another he’s been doing it since he was born. But he’s never run for someone else’s life before. Never before has someone else’s survival hung in the balance of his heavy footsteps through the snow and the breaths of air so cold it sears his lungs. Spinner is the weakest of them, with the least to offer, closer to dead weight than a valuable ally. But in this moment, he’s the only one who can save Shigaraki’s life.

They came to this village six months ago, and for six months, life was quiet. The villagers were wary of strangers, of course, particularly strangers like Spinner and his friends, but for once, they all managed to keep their heads down. Toga made friends among the maidens in the village, while Twice made himself useful., and Dabi did them the favor of putting out fires rather than starting them. Spinner helped where he could, but mostly he watched Shigaraki. The evil that haunted Shigaraki had done so all his life, but it had only attempted a fatal strike when their backs were turned, and when they fled with the city in flames behind them, Spinner swore he would never allow such a thing to happen again.

Spinner kept a careful watch, but it didn’t matter. The affliction came again, weakening Shigaraki to the point where he could barely rise from his bed, and worse, it began to spread through the village. The villagers blamed Shigaraki and came to punish him, but they were too late. Spinner’s best friend died before his eyes three nights past, and the villagers buried him in an iron coffin before the sun could rise.

Or at least, Spinner had thought Shigaraki was dead. On the first day, he believed the muffled screams issuing from the graveyard were the manifestation of his own guilty conscience. But on the second day, the others heard them, too, and although the villagers believed they had locked away the source of the affliction, it continued to spread. The priest came to the graveyard, heard the screams, and ordered Shigaraki exhumed. Fool that he is, Spinner thought they meant to help him.

Then he and everyone else saw the ash stake in the priest’s hand, sharpened to a deadly point. It was an error to bury him whole, the priest said. This will quiet him forevermore.

They could not reason with him. No logic could overcome the priest’s certainty, nor the absolute faith the villagers had in him. It did not matter that Shigaraki had not left the house since falling ill. It did not matter that the coffin had been locked shut, nor that the surface above the grave was undisturbed. The priest and his followers buried Spinner’s best friend alive, and now they mean to dig him up and stake him through the heart.

Spinner hung back as Dabi and Toga and Twice argued. He’s worthless at arguing, just as he is at everything else, but as he stood at the edges of the conversation, someone caught his hand and drew him away. When Spinner looked down, he found Midoriya Izuku looking up at him. The strangest child in the village, known for daydreaming so vividly and so often that he falls into potholes at least twice a week, wore a determined look that shocked Spinner in its ferocity. You cannot stop the priest, he said. Only the witch can do that.

Every rural village has its superstitions, and this village has the witch – never seen, never spoken to, always blamed for blighted crops, missing livestock, and bouts of ill fortune. It is said that the witch is monstrous, raised by wolves and lies with them, too, an enemy of all that is holy. But when the affliction struck, not a single villager placed the blame on the witch. And when Midoriya Izuku spoke of her, he did so without fear.

He bade Spinner follow him, running across the bridge over the stream and down the sole path into the northern woods, and although Spinner questions the wisdom of challenging a mundane evil with a supernatural one, he has no other choice. He swore to protect Shigaraki, just as the others did, but he’s the one who failed. The witch will drive a hard bargain for her help, and Spinner will take it. What happens to Spinner doesn’t matter. Better by far that Shigaraki survives.

Not far now, Midoriya said, but each twist and turn in the path reveals only further twist and turns ahead. When Midoriya stops again to catch his breath, Spinner’s patience snaps. “There is no time. We must hurry.”

“The ground froze hard these past nights,” Midoriya gasps, “and they buried him deep. We have time. After this I will not need to stop again.”

“You had better not, or I will leave you here and find the witch myself.” Spinner says that, only to feel his nerves turn to water at the thought. “How do you know she will help?”

“I don’t know what she can do,” Midoriya says, and Spinner’s heart sinks further. “But I know that when the priest ordered me to kill a wolf-dog pup from my dog’s last litter, she came down from the woods to take it away.”

He straightens and picks up the pace, and Spinner chases after him, questions upon questions queued up on the tip of his tongue. “You’ve seen her?”

“Not – not really,” Midoriya admits as they careen around a corner. “She wore a veil over her face, and dressed all in white. But her voice sounded ordinary. Not as a monster’s voice should, or I think not. If she is not one, I have never heard a monster speak.”

Spinner has. It’s unmistakable – not just a hearing or a feeling, but a knowing, a terror beyond thought and reason. “I had to cross the bridge to bring her the pup,” Midoriya continues. “She would not cross to me, but when I gave it to her, she promised to raise it well.”

Spinner knew Midoriya was naïve, but this is ridiculous. “Did it not occur to you that she would lie? Monsters know only how to deceive.”

“She didn’t lie,” Midoriya says sharply. “I know when someone lies to me. She wouldn’t have hurt my pup. She –”

He stops talking, and stops running, too. Spinner fails to stop in time and bowls him over from the back, and as he picks himself up, he sees what caused Midoriya to balk. The path continues still further into the woods. But a wolf sits sentinel in the middle of it, blocking the way.

No, not a wolf. Spinner has seen wolves, more than his share of them, far more than he would have wished to. This is – “A wolf-dog?”

“Yes,” Midoriya says, his voice trembling with something like awe. “Mine.”

The wolf-dog’s ears prick upwards, and its tufted tail wags, scattering long-dead leaves away from the path. All at once it rises to its feet, turns, and lopes away, but only as far as the next bend in the path. There it turns and looks at them. Waits for them. “She wants us to follow,” Midoriya says, and he does so. Spinner follows, too, wondering who exactly Midoriya meant by she.

The wolf-dog keeps a brisk pace as the path, lined on either side with thick brambles, narrows such that Spinner and Midoriya must walk single-file. There are strange lights tucked away within them, emitting a pink glow that Spinner can classify neither as unholy nor divine. The wolf-dog rounds one turn in the path after another, and only when Spinner has thoroughly lost his sense of direction does it come to a stop. They’ve stopped at the edge of a large clearing, ringed in yet more of the odd pink lights. Within the clearing, there is a fence, its posts laden with wildflowers — the same flowers that climb the walls of the small cottage in the center.

It looks like something out of a children’s story. Not at all somewhere that a witch with the power to challenge the priest should live. Midoriya starts forward eagerly, and Spinner seizes his arm. “No. Even sweet things can be a trap.”

The wolf-dog noses the iron gate, and it swings open. “You want to save your friend, don’t you?” Midoriya asks. “She’s the only one who can help you. And you were wrong. She didn’t hurt my dog.”

Spinner is not at all convinced that it’s the same dog. It seems more likely the product of Midoriya’s wishful thinking. “I don’t like your friend,” Midoriya continues. “He frightens me, and everyone else. But he shouldn’t die for our fear. If you won’t go in, I will.”

Spinner is a coward. He knows he is. But even in his cowardice, he cannot allow this — a child taking the risk that belongs to him. He lets go of Midoriya’s arm and shoulders past him, past the wolf-dog, through the iron gate and along the path through the witch’s garden to the cottage’s front door. He knocks hard enough to bruise his knuckles. “Witch! I am here on a matter most urgent. Come out, or –”

“There’s no need to shout,” a perfectly ordinary voice says from behind him, and Spinner’s heart nearly stops in his chest. “I’m right here.”

Spinner wheels around, and there you are. There you have been sitting the entire time, concealed from view of the path behind your flower-entangled fence, dressed all in white just as Midoriya described and blending in with the snow. Just as Midoriya described, your face is veiled. All around you in the snow, wolf-dogs sit and sprawl, some ancient and grey-muzzled, others with the gangly clumsiness of pups. White roses are scattered around you, and even as you harken to Spinner, your fingers continue to weave them deftly into a crown.

“I thought I might have visitors today,” you say. “What are your names?”

“I don’t share my name with strangers,” Spinner growls, in the same moment as Midoriya blurts his out. “Shut up, you idiot!”

“The point of sharing names is to remove the designation of strangers,” you say mildly. Your veil is not quite opaque; Spinner sees your lips move beneath it. “I cannot blame you for your caution, but you mentioned an urgent matter. What brings you to my door?”

“The village,” Spinner says, biting down on the desire to curse its name. “It has been struck by –”

He runs out of words. He and the others have been careful in their description of it, for fear of being called insane. Even a village with such superstitions as witches is too skeptical to believe in – “Vampires,” Midoriya announces. He’s apparently abandoned caution; he’s crouched in the snow at the edge of the path, petting the wolf-dog he believes was his. “Each night more wake with bites, and not long after they fall desperately ill.”

“Are they drained of blood?” you ask. “Or is their skin simply rotting?”

“They haven’t been drained,” Midoriya says, frowning. “But the bites –”

“My friend was drained,” Spinner says, and you look to him. “He grew weak. He could not eat or drink, and visions tormented him at the end — or what we thought was the end –”

“They buried him,” you say, and Spinner nods. “But people continue to fall sick, and they believe your friend is the cause, so they intend to exhume him and put an end to him properly this time. Am I incorrect?”

Spinner can barely believe his ears. “How do you know?”

“Fear strips away reason. It comforts them to think that killing your friend will end their misery, and their desire for comfort only serves the greater threat.” Your hands work more quickly, plaiting the crown together. “You’ve come to me for help. What is it you wish me to do?”

“Stop the priest,” Spinner says. You tilt your head, studying him. “Prove my friend’s innocence.”

“That is within my power,” you say. You add a few more flowers to the crown, set it upon your head, and rise to your feet. “Is there time?”

“When we left they had already started digging,” Spinner says uselessly. “What price do you ask for your help?”

“None,” you say. You brush past Spinner, slipping into the house and emerging seconds later with a small satchel slung across your body. White deerskin with silver fastenings — not at all what Spinner would expect a forest-dwelling witch to possess. “We must travel with haste.”

“Yes. Have you horses?”

You shake your head, then raise one hand to your mouth and whistle, high and wavering. Within moments, Spinner hears the sound of heavy footfalls, and the shape that moves within the trees is so monstrously large that even Midoriya is scared up from the ground and closer to Spinner. “What is that thing?”

A wolf. Not a wolf-dog, but a true wolf, hulking and enormous, standing taller than Spinner at the shoulder. It dwarfs you as you approach it, but you approach without fear, and it lowers itself to the ground so you can speak quietly in its ear. You use no language Spinner can understand, but it is not the language of the demon, and in your ordinary voice it does little more than raise the hairs on the back of his neck. “This is a friend of mine, who has agreed to aid us,” you say, straightening up. You throw one leg over the wolf’s back and climb up, seating yourself just behind its head. “If time is as short as you say, it is not wise to hesitate.”

Spinner climbs up first, followed by Midoriya. “Keep low until we leave the trees behind,” you order, “and hang on.”

Midoriya promptly grabs hold of Spinner, but Spinner has no easy recourse. “To you? It’s not proper.”

“Would you rather be proper or survive the journey back to the village?” you ask impatiently, and Spinner secures his arms around your waist, his face miserably red. “Hold on.”

You whisper something else to the wolf, and it lurches into motion with such violence that Spinner tightens his grip in terror. He learns instantly why you ordered them to lower their heads — at the speed at which the wolf moves, a collision of their heads with a branch would result in decapitation. Spinner can’t watch the trees speeding past without feeling ill, so he shuts his eyes only to feel sicker. Opening them, keeping them fixed between your shoulder blades, is the only solution. That, and occupying his mind with something other than how inappropriate it is to hold you this closely.

You feel human. Spinner’s taken women in his arms before, human women of his own will and vampire women against it, and while the unholy attraction of the undead is absent from you, there is something undefinably strange about your presence. Perhaps all witches are thus. You have yet to do anything more witchlike than speak to wolves and live deep in the woods, and once again, Spinner begins to doubt. Who are you to challenge the priest, to counter the village’s faith in him? How could you save Shigaraki, when Dabi and Twice and Toga could not?

The wolf breaks through the tree line, and you sit up quickly. Spinner does the same, although it makes the ride significantly bumpier. Out of the woods, it’s easier to gauge the wolf’s true speed. It barrels down the hillside, as fast as any horse, and ignores the bridge in favor of leaping across the stream in a single bound. At the apex of its flight, Spinner feels you startle, then flinch, a sharp gasp exiting your lips. It’s as if you’ve been shot or stabbed, and for a moment, you go completely limp, your grip on the wolf’s mane relaxing. Only Spinner’s arms around you keep you from slipping sideways into the water – but then the wolf’s paws touch land, and you straighten up again. Spinner would think it his imagination if not for the audible catch in your breathing.

When the wolf reaches the graveyard, Spinner’s own breath catches in horror: Shigaraki’s coffin has been raised up from the earth, its lock shattered and its lid shoved aside. Between the coffin and the priest stand Toga and Dabi and Twice, and before Spinner can call out to tell them help has arrived, villagers seize his friends and drag them out of the way. The priest approaches, stake held high, and a shaking hand rises from the coffin in a weak attempt to forestall him. Shigaraki is alive, and awake – awake just in time for Spinner to watch him die.

“Wait,” he tries to call, but his voice shakes so badly that he can barely raise it above a whisper. “He isn’t –”

“Father Torino!” you call out, your voice strident and strong, and the priest stops in his tracks. He turns towards the sound of your voice and flinches as he beholds the wolf, and you and Spinner and Midoriya on its back. The villagers cower, and Dabi and the others seize the opportunity to get free and return to guard the casket — but they, too look wary. “Is it now the custom of the Church to murder innocent men by hand after burying them alive has failed to do the job?”

“This is no man, but an abomination,” the priest growls. He is a small man, and old, but neither matters when righteous fury animates him. “It is the custom of the Church to carry out God’s will and remove such things from the face of His earth.”

“If this man’s death is God’s will and not your own, then it can wait a few moments more.” You slide down easily from the wolf’s back and start forward across the graveyard, the villagers scattering from your path. “I will examine him, and prove his innocence or his guilt.”

The priest does not challenge your ability to do so, and a small measure of hope is turned loose in Spinner’s mind. He slides down from the wolf’s back as well, much less gracefully than you did, and seizes the back of Midoriya’s coat to prevent him from going face-first into the snow when he does the same. Ahead of him, you confront Dabi. “Stand aside. Let me see him.”

“What, so you can kill him?”

“Do you see a stake in my hands?” You spread them out, revealing them empty. Spinner notices for the first time the silver rings on your middle fingers, and the web of silver chains extending from them to connect to a matching bracelet around your wrist. “I only wish to examine him.”

“She can help,” Midoriya says, and Dabi’s eyes flicker to him. “Let her help.”

Dabi looks to Spinner. Spinner nods, and Dabi stands aside, allowing you to approach the coffin.

Spinner does the same, and what he sees fills him with a guilt so powerful that it nearly strikes him dead on the spot. As terrible as Shigaraki looked when they believed him dead, he looks worse now. Paler, sicker, more haunted than before. Blood stains his fingernails — what’s left of them, at least. Spinner imagines his best friend clawing at the lid of the iron coffin, desperate to get free, and nearly vomits at the thought.

Shigaraki is barely conscious, barely breathing, as you come close. Spinner was unsure of what to expect from you, but your first act strikes him as completely incongruous — you lift the crown of white roses from your head and settle it on Shigaraki’s. Shigaraki doesn’t stir, and on the other side of the coffin, the priest’s shoulders stiffen. “That proves nothing.”

“White roses are anathema to vampires. They teach you that in your book of demons,” you say. You unclasp one bracelet from around your wrist, slide one ring from your finger. “They speak of silver, too.”

You lift Shigaraki’s hand and slide the ring onto his finger. His hands are larger than yours, yet so skeletal that the ring fits easily. As does the bracelet, when you snap it shut. Once again, Shigaraki does not stir. The priest scoffs. “You expect me to believe that’s real silver?”

“I expect you to ask yourself what reason I among all others would have to collude with this affliction,” you say. You of all others? Spinner sees his confusion writ large on Toga’s face, on Dabi’s and on Twice’s. “But if it will satisfy you, I will ask someone else. Who here has something silver?”

It’s silent. Midoriya disappears into the crowd, then comes back pulling his mother. “Mother. Mother, show her — you have some –”

The woman clutches at her necklace, as though she expects you to rip it from her throat. “You will have it back unharmed,” you promise in that ordinary voice. Spinner no longer doubts that you are no monster; rather, you seem so human that he doubts your ability to help at all. “Either you will help to protect your village from a grave threat, or you will save an innocent man’s life. To save one life is to save the world entire.”

“Cease such pagan nonsense in my presence,” the priest snaps. “Even if he is no vampire, he has forfeited his right to life by bringing the affliction upon our village.”

You ignore him, and after a moment, so does Midoriya’s mother. She unclasps her necklace, and Midoriya places it in your hand. You hold it for a moment, then set it down in the hollow of Shigaraki’s throat. He does not move beyond the rise and fall of his chest. “Odd,” you remark. “A vampire should flinch from such things.”

The priest doesn’t answer. You gesture for Spinner to come closer, to stand alongside Dabi and the others. “Bite marks,” you say, and Spinner startles along with the rest of them. “Where were they?”

“He had many,” Toga says. She tended to Shigaraki most closely, and took his apparent death nearly as hard as Spinner did. “On his throat. His chest. Both wrists and ankles.”

“Were there others?” you ask. Toga shakes her head, and you raise your voice, addressing the crowd in the graveyard. “In the legends, a true vampire’s body bears no bite marks. The transformation erases them. Is it not so?”

The crowd mumbles assent, and Spinner wonders if this is why Midoriya insisted on summoning you. The priest’s frothing rage looks particularly mad when contrasted to your calmness. You look to the priest next. “Is it not so, Father Torino?”

“In tales and in history.” The priest speaks through gritted teeth. “Let us examine him. I — what are you doing?”

“My eyes must be clear,” you say, and you lift your veil.

Half the village recoils, but when you fold it back, Spinner sees nothing out of the ordinary about your face. There is no mad light in your eyes, no distorted sneer on your mouth, no dark magic writhing visibly beneath your skin. There is an odd pallor to you, but nothing more. You turn back to face the priest — the priest, who did not flinch. “Let us examine him.”

Shigaraki does not react to your touch, but when the priest reaches in to grasp his arm and haul his wrist into the light, he shrinks back. “You see?” the priest demands. “He recoils from a man of God –”

“A man who was about to drive a stake through his heart. I’d recoil, too.” You have Shigaraki’s other hand, holding it carefully, and you turn it to expose his wrist to the light. “Look, Father. Those resemble bite marks to me. And here –”

You lift the wrist that Shigaraki pulled away from the priest. “More bite marks. Just as the maiden said.”

Shigaraki’s mouth opens, and the voice that issues from it is hoarse from three days of screaming. “Spinner –”

Spinner hurries forward, and without a word, you shift your examinations to Shigaraki’s ankles. “I’m here,” Spinner tells Shigaraki. “I’m sorry.”

Shigaraki shakes his head. “What’s — happening?”

“Midoriya took me to see the witch. She came back with us to help.”

“Witch?” Shigaraki rasps. “Doesn’t sound like a witch.”

“Her voice is wrong,” Toga agrees quietly. “I don’t know what she is.”

“You do not need to know. She is unclean, and those who fear God should stay far from her and her accursed woods,” the priest says. “And you, Shigaraki — you fear death a great deal for a man who does not fear God.”

Shigaraki’s red eyes flutter shut. He seems to have exhausted his strength, and Spinner finds himself watching the rise and fall of Shigaraki’s chest, fixated on the smallest motions. He kept this same vigil before, three nights ago, dreading every new second until the motion stuttered and stopped — or rather continued, so imperceptibly that everyone believed him dead. Whether you’re a witch or not, you are an effective counter to the priest, but what happens after you spare Shigaraki’s life? His affliction will not fade, and the evil that stalks him will not relent. Has Spinner saved Shigaraki’s life only to consign him to a slow, agonizing death?

Spinner’s thoughts are interrupted when your hand appears in his field of vision, parting the buttons on Shigaraki’s shirt to expose the bite marks directly over his heart. The priest grasps Shigaraki’s jaw and turns his head roughly to one side, revealing the bite marks on his throat as well.

Spinner remembers the first time he beheld the evidence of Shigaraki’s affliction. Shigaraki had kept it from them as long as possible, but one by one, they saw things that could not be explained, heard things in the night that could not be dismissed. They knew too much to find safety in ignorance, but they could not protect themselves if they did not know the truth, and so Shigaraki shared what he knew of the evil that had clung to him since childhood. They doubted him at first, but he must have expected it. Spinner will never forget the shiver of disgust that tore through him at the sight of the marks on Shigaraki’s throat – and how it grew ever worse with each set of marks he revealed.

The reminder alone of what Shigaraki suffers fills Spinner with disgust. He cannot imagine experiencing it and surviving with his mind intact, and yet Shigaraki has survived. And he will survive this, too. Faced with all the evidence you have revealed, the priest cannot kill Shigaraki now.

“Are you satisfied?” you ask, when the priest fails to respond. “This man is not the source of the affliction. He is its victim, as much as any of the others who have fallen ill.”

“Perhaps,” the priest says – and he raises his stake. “I’d rather be sure.”

Before he can bring it down, you seize it. Dabi does the same, and so does Spinner, while Toga and Twice throw themselves across the coffin to shield Shigaraki. “Careful,” you say to the priest. Your grip tightens, and Spinner feels the fire-hardened stake buckle slightly. “If you kill this man now, it will be murder, and your list of sins is not so short as to allow for the addition of one more.”

It’s a long moment before the priest releases the stake, and when he does, it splinters to pieces. Perhaps it was Dabi’s grip that shattered it; your hand is too small. “If you wish to save him, begone with him,” the priest says. “He is barred from the village until his affliction is cured. If it can be cured.”

Spinner’s heart sinks, but once again, you remain calm. “I will cure it,” you say. “I will take him with me, if he will go.”

“No,” Twice says at once. “He stays with us.”

“Let her take him,” Midoriya’s mother urges. Spinner thought she would have fled, but then again, her silver necklace still rests against Shigaraki’s throat. “The others will come for him tonight, and kill you to get to him, no matter what the priest says. It is safer to let him go.”

“We should come with him,” Toga says. You shake your head. “Why not?”

“The forest is unkind at night. I cannot shield your minds and heal his at the same time.” You look regretful, and ill at ease. “Stay here for the night, and visit in the morning. My friends will guide you to me.”

The wolves and wolf-dogs. Spinner remembers the rumor that you were raised by them, that you lay with them, and feels a surge of distaste — not for you, but for those who would start such rumors and spread them. “It’s Shigaraki’s choice,” he says. He looks down into the coffin at Shigaraki, at his pale face and bloody hands, swathed in silver with a crown of flowers on his head. “Do you wish to go with her?”

“Spinner.” Shigaraki’s voice is little more than a whisper. Spinner leans close. “Can she do as she promises?”

There seems to be nothing magical about you at all. Spinner doubts you can do anything — but he does not doubt that Shigaraki will be safer in the heart of the forest tonight than anywhere else. He nods. “I can’t face him tonight. Not like this,” Shigaraki says. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” the priest says. His disgust is etched deeply into his wrinkled face, and as he transfers his gaze from Shigaraki to you, it only grows. “As the filthy beast you rode in on has fled, I have no idea how you expect to remove him from my sight. Do you honestly think someone will lend you a horse?”

“I have no need of one.” You nudge Spinner to one side and lift the necklace up from Shigaraki’s throat, handing it back to Midoriya’s mother. Then you lift one of Shigaraki’s arms, looping it around your neck, and he expends what appears to be his last measure of strength to lift up the other. “I can walk.”

You can’t mean to carry him. Even half dead, half-starved, Shigaraki is bigger than you are. But as Spinner watches in horrified fascination, you slide one hand behind his best friend’s head and the other beneath his bent knees, and you lift Shigaraki from the coffin as though he weighs nothing at all.

Shigaraki slumps against your shoulder, barely conscious once more, and the crowd of villagers parts before you again. Your voice, still ordinary, carries not even a hint of strain when you speak to Spinner. “Come visit at first light,” you say. “No harm will come to him while he is with me.”

Dabi’s hand comes down on your shoulder, just as Toga grasps your elbow. “Swear it.”

You incline your head, and Spinner sees a web of faint scars across your brow. “I swear it by my blood.”

You set off walking at an easy pace, as though you aren’t carrying a grown man in your arms the way a lord might carry a maiden. Dabi’s voice is low in Spinner’s ear. “What did you do?”

“What?”

“Her kind don’t do favors,” Twice says. “What did you give her?”

“Nothing,” Spinner says. “She took nothing.”

“Except Tomura,” Toga says grimly. “In the morning we’ll take him back.”

“Damn right,” Twice says, ignoring the look the priest gives him. “We’ve tried everything but witches to heal him. Maybe she will fix him.”

“What’s wrong with him isn’t inside. It’s out there somewhere,” Dabi says. “Whatever she fixes, it won’t last.”

Dabi’s right, as much as it burns Spinner to admit it. All Spinner’s done in retrieving the witch is buy Shigaraki a little more time. One night where the villagers can’t come for him, howling for his blood the same way the evil that stalks him lusts for it. Spinner’s best friend has spent so many nights in misery and pain. If the best Spinner can do is secure for Shigaraki one night of relative peace, he’d have paid all you asked for and more.

But you asked for nothing. Spinner watches you approach the bridge, still walking smoothly with Shigaraki cradled in your arms, and wonders why.

[darkmajesty-xo]

Ready Player 1 ? - Shigaraki x reader

18+ MDNI | masturbation, praise , video chats, crack-humor

most would consider it unwise for a girl like you to be in these chat rooms due to the questionable discourse and rather infamous patrons, but girls just wanna have fun right ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: saw an old couple today, could be me and shig but he’s playing ☹️

user2345: i think you mean planning* as in planning world domination and torment of quirkless losers like you.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: oh sweetheart you’ll never get any pussy if you keep acting like one

user3333: damn bro, you gonna take that ?

user2345: who gives a shit about some villain groupie ?

user2345: she keeps her mouth so full of cum that it’s starting to affect her whore brain.

user2345: do you really think the true leader of the new world would make time for some dumb cunt like you ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: there’s probably a higher chance of tomura shigaraki and i living happily ever after than there is of ANY woman even looking in your direction.

this was a normal friday night, you simping over shigaraki in the forums and clapping back at the misogynistic incels that hid behind their keyboards in their mothers’ basements. but there was one guy that always stood up for you whenever the idiots got too out of hand. he was also a moderator so he had no problems blocking them.

the two of you would dm off and on about life , thoughts on hero society, hobbies , etc. from your chats you gathered that he didn’t walk that straight and narrow but that didn’t mean much to you. he would sometimes tease your about your crush on shigaraki and your general taste in men.

finalboss: honestly, what kind of girl likes a criminal?; who knows what kind of twisted shit the guys into— you’re not even a villain.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: you know nothing jon snow

finalboss: that reference just confirmed btw

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: i’ll have you know that my beloved is a certified otaku fantasy nerd.

finalboss: oh yeah ? and how’d you obtain such info ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: i run 3 stan accounts on twitter and i belong to a shiggy fan club 🥹

finalboss: 😃

finalboss: seek help

finalboss: 😃

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: you wound me ☹️

finalboss: i’ll just leave that too your Prince Charming lol

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: oh lord , did you see the footage of his latest attack ?

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: he was dressed like a whoreee 😩😩

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: tits just out for my viewing pleasure

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: shigaraki is my shepherd, he know what i want.

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: wanna suck on those sugar nips and call him mommy

finalboss: you get weirder and weirder every time we chat

xoxo_|hisMC ✮: that means we’re becoming besties ㅤ♡ ︎

finalboss: ♡ ︎

it was nice having someone to talk to about your secret obsession, it’s not like your “real life” friends would understand. the two of you had carved out your own little piece of the internet to goof around in. he never disclosed much information about himself and typically kept the conversations focused on you, but you still felt an undeniable bond to this faceless stranger.

then he ghosted you.

weeks went by without a word from your friend. he no longer defended you in the forums and he didn’t respond to any of your dms. you’d started to get worried that he may have been arrested or worse. and at the three month mark you’d finally given up hope that you’d ever hear from your friend again. but then the unexpected happened.

finalboss is requesting to video chat.

this was completely out of character but after months with no word, you were desperate to hear from your friend.

you were prepared to chew him him out for abandoning you. thinking of all the ways you could insult him while simultaneously expressing your need for his comfort and company. but your mind went blank when the grainy screen loaded into the pixelated image of your companion.

whispy tendrils fell from his bun, framing the sculpted planes of his handsome face. his lips were dry, slightly chapped, with the only lubrication being the sheen of saliva left by the slow drag of his tongue. bloodied eyes bore into your own leaving you breathless and dazed.

“hey bestie”

his voice was low and raspy, almost like a whisper. a deep rumbling that echoed in your ear drums. it was oddly hypnotic. he was absolutely mesmerizing.

tomura chuckled into the camera, showing flashes of perfectly white teeth. he leans back into the chair, a hand on the back of his neck showcasing a broad chest and toned abs.

“didn’t expect you to be this quiet, bestie. is my outfit not slutty enough for you ? i could always take these off…” his hand fell from his neck to rest and the waistband of his black jeans.

you remained speechless, eyes glued to the light dusting of hair below his belly button.

more laughter and shifting. now you were met with the glorious girth of shigaraki’s cock clenched tightly in his fist. the darkened tip oozed a sparkling trail of pre that spilled down his length. his thumb swiped the fluid to spread over his veiny member.

“c’mon , doll. don’t leave me hanging” he teased, squeezing his fist upwards to produce more pre. “i thought you wanted to be my ‘mc’ ? seems more like an npc if you ask me”.

“y-you’re him” you stammered, eyes following the slow drag of his fist. “you’re tomura shigaraki”.

“in the flesh” he teased, shooting a wink that went directly between your legs. “well kinda, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. sorry i’ve been away so long, but you’d wait forever for me won’t you , perfect girl ?”

your nod was automatic. robotic even. you’d moved closer to the screen, completely engrossed by his ministrations.

“anything for you beyon—shiggy”

you both laughed at that. he appreciated your humor, especially with all the drama in his day to day. even in def con simp mode and being ghosted didn’t stop you from being undeniably you. that’s probably why he was as obsessed with you as you were with him.

“i know we probably have alot to discuss but todays been kind of shitty and i’d really like to explore our final fantasies”.

you snorted, “that was really bad , shig”.

he shrugged, “i’m a villain, not a comedian, beloved. “now show me that perfect little pussy”.

[epickiya722]

"How is Horikoshi going to wrap up everything on five chapters?"

I don't know, you don't know. We just know Horikoshi and his team have a plan and they know how MHA is going to be wrapped up in five chapters.

They got it, they'll handle this. At the end of the day, this is Kohei Horikoshi's story.

Regardless, I feel like this is the case with some of you.

You're afraid of being disappointed. You're afraid of being disappointed because you have these expectations set so high. With that kind of standard, you're never going to be satisfied with anything.

So stuck on "this must satisfy me and only me" that you forget that that story not written by you is a story that is just being shared with you. Not given to you because you're special and you're not.

On top of that, some of you just crave for more, more, more. And more. And more. Even more.

You want nonstop content being pushed out while being impatient about it (looking at you, 'how dare we not get a new chapter this week' folks).

Just because one manga had been going on for longer than another, maybe even came out before that one, doesn't mean every manga is meant to last for a long time. Manga, anime, TV show, comic book, novel series, etc.

Fun fact, Horikoshi's previous works didn't last for ten years. His last one, Oumagadoki Zoo, lasted little less than a year. From July 2010 to April 2011.

Three years it ended before My Hero Academia came into the picture. And I'll be honest, I doubt Horikoshi even planned for MHA to last this long because he didn't have the experience before.

Once it got to a certain point, I doubt he even wants for MHA to go even longer.

Hell, that's something I know all too well as someone who writes. And from what I remember, stories have a beginning, a middle and an end.

Stories aren't meant to keep going on forever. They're meant to be read, to be told, to be understood, to be enjoyed.

Not be graded like some college report and not ongoing like the people who create those stories are damn machines.

Something that it's very clear to me that some of you forgotten that. Or even care, let's be real.

Some of you want perfection so bad and yet can't even write your own damn story.

Who even wants a perfect story anyways? I don't know about the rest of you, but a story with flaws is a story that could be learned from. Stories can guide you, too, in more ways than one.

Horikoshi's writing to me, at least, isn't perfect. It's entertaining. I got into MHA because I was entertained by the concept. I got interested into it because of a meme I saw. You think I wouldn't want to seek it out and see if it will entertain me?

Yes, there are some points of the story where I wanted to pull my hair out and I don't doubt that a future part may make that feeling return.

But at the same time, what if... that's the point? Maybe you were meant to feel that emotion? Maybe that's what the writer was going for?

Are you understanding me?

Maybe, example, with the end we got for Tomura was meant to upset you? Sadden you, anger you even? Stories work like that sometimes!

But I doubt the writer should be condemned for it because at the end of the day, it is just a piece of fiction. My Hero Academia is the same story where a woman can grow to the size of a building and a kid has a speech bubble for a head.

Now does that sound like a story that you should be acting like a complete fool over? Wishing harm towards and arguing with others over? Huh? Does it?

Honestly, after MHA ends, if you choose to move onto the next manga, anime, whatever how about stop expecting so much?

How about stop having this entitlement that the story must go your way and your way only?

How about remembering that eventually that story will end?

[pikahlua]

Fourteen Days of MHA: Day 1

Home

WARNING: Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood spoilers (seasons 1 and 2)

You: Huh!?!?!?!?

Oh yeah, it's time for a little mini-meta.

Okay, well, we're not going to get into the ENDING yet, but there's actually a lot going on in MHA that looks eerily familiar if you're an FMA fan. MHA itself is in many ways a referential work, and I don't think all of these parallels are coincidences (though surely some are).

Let's talk about the symbolism of the home.

My Hero Academia has three major examples of "home" that it highlights as symbols: those of the villains Tomura Shigaraki, Himiko Toga, and Touya Todoroki. The villains view their homes as symbols of oppression and pain. We know the home is seen as the image of all that oppression based on how various characters treat the houses themselves.

When Touya returned home after his miraculous survival, he found the home hadn't changed as a result of his death. The "scene" there always looks the same.

And when Endeavor tries to atone, Endeavor acknowledges that the "house" he raised his children in is full of bad memories to the extent that he decides to build his family a new home where they can live without him.

Touya's opportunity to demonstrate his feelings about his home arises with Himiko Toga. She returns to her abandoned childhood home out of curiosity and finds it full of hatred and derision, symbolizing her experiences there.

Touya does her a "kindness" by destroying the house.

Then he reveals that doing so, to him, is a way to get back at Endeavor--at the man who created Touya's own broken childhood home.

This scene in particular evokes the famous imagery of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood of the Elric Brothers burning down their own childhood home.

The act of destroying their own home is so important to them that Edward chooses to commemorate the date by engraving it inside his pocketwatch, "Don't Forget 3.Oct.11." To the brothers, this act is a symbol of their resolve--of their chosen path to atone for their sins and restore their bodies. There can be no going back home if there is no home to return to.

In other words, the purposeful destruction of one's home represents a threshold, a point of no return. By destroying their homes, the villains of MHA demonstrate their conviction for the paths they've chosen.

The problem is, there's another reason one might destroy their own home.

To run away. To hide. To forget.

Why does Himiko call Touya's act of destruction a kindness, even if Touya denies it? Because he has destroyed the largest reminder of the pain of her childhood.

The League of Villains seek to destroy the world because they were rejected by the world and wish to reject it back. Those homes were the world to them at one point, when they were children. To them, the world is just an extension of the suffering they experienced.

Tomura wants to destroy the world to justify his existence as a destroyer, but in reality he doesn't want to face the fact that he killed his family by accident.

The tragedy of his childhood was so traumatic he repressed the memory and only found his concrete motivation to destroy the world once he remembered his past in Deika City. As soon as he remembers that house, he wishes to destroy it again. It's already been destroyed, but the memory of it continues to hurt him long after. By destroying the world, maybe he can forget it again. Maybe the pain will make sense and he won't have to think about it anymore. Maybe he'll stop being a crying child deep down.

The villains seek to destroy their own origins, which is by nature a self-destructive cause. Paradoxically, they will end up destroyed in the end no matter if they succeed or fail in their goals. Either the world will be destroyed and they along with it, or they will die trying.

To save Tenko's heart, Izuku has to bring that memory of the house to the surface. He has to recontextualize it to validate Tenko as he is.

And the recontexualization is All For One.

By contextualizing Tenko's life as a product of All For One's machinations, it gives Tomura a new reason to destroy that memory and that house: to destroy All For One.

And with that comes a new justification for Tomura's existence.

The destruction of All For One.

[thekingofwinterblog]

Fundamental Flaws

So one interesting thing i noticed about the League's flaws, is that the things that kept them from working together at the start, remained the basic flaws that prevented them from helping each other overcome their own flaws.

Namely that they all joined together out of convinience, and they never really got to the level where that actually changed.

When Himiko joins the league, she introduces herself with her seemingly rather confusing motives, namely that she wants a world that is easier for her to live in.

Shigaraki does not understand her wishes at all, and of course lashes out shortly after this after dabi has introduced himself as well, having deemed both of them as not the sort he wants to hang around him.

Dabi by contrast doesnt even try to explain his motives or goals beyond the very vague "fullfill stain's will."

The end result of this is that Shigaraki doesnt even attempt to understand either, and decides to just kill them.

The funny thing is... this kinda attitude never really changes.

Compress even notes it as one of the main reasons he loved the league so much. it didnt pry into his backstory and just took him in regardless.

This attitude is what managed to bring the league together as a force... but it also prevented them from truly truly growing as a group.

Because of the fact nobody wanted or even tried to learn each other's backstories and deeper motivations, none of them ever managed or tried to Help Dabi make a possible future for himself where he could get his vengeance on Endeavor, and still get to live afterwards, instead they just let him burn on, even encouraging him to do so, with the end result that he came to a hellish innevitable march towards death.

Dabi himself tried to help Toga emotionally by setting her childhood home ablaze and rally her heart towards vengeance and freedom, because that's what he is motivated by, but he completely failed to understand what she actually wanted out of life, the reason why out of the entire league, the only person she was able to transform into was Twice, because he was the only one who actually tried to understand her.

This in turn means that Toga ultimately ended up seeking what she truely wanted amongst the heroes, and finally found in uraraka, what she had been afraid to seek/never got from most of the league.

Something that ultimately cost them the war.

this is best showcased when Shigaraki actually lays out his motivations and feelings for villainy, and the rest of his crew(other than spinner) is either completely disinterested, dissapointed or confused.

None of them actually cares about Shigaraki's motives other than spinner, not even Twice.

only spinner and the doctor(who doesnt give a shit about Shigaraki himself) actually cares at all.

of the rest, the only one who even attempts to understand Shigaraki is Toga, and not because she cares about how he feels about it, but because she begun to realise that her goals and interests are ultimately incompatible with shigaraki's(something that would come to fruition during the final arc).

Out of the league, the only one who even tried to understand and did care about shigaraki's motives, and attempted to figure out how they allign with his own wishes, is spinner, and it's not a coincidence that at the very end, he is the only one Shigaraki left his final words to, even if Shigaraki loved the other main members of the league.

The five people Shigaraki Tomura truly cared about in his hearts of hearts at the end... But even here where his feelings are laid bare, there is also another, sad truth.

Kurogiri, the man who effectively cared for Shigaraki as his own son isnt included amongst them.

Kurogiri is a rather complicated character, but it's clear by his final words, that he truly loved the league, just like compress did, and hoped they would be reunited in whatever came next.

It's not clear WHY shigaraki felt like this(maybe once he learned the man was a Nomu that pretty much sealed his ability to think of him as an actual person) but it goes to hammer in the fact that the league was just on a fundamental level not able to try to reach out and understand the motivations of each other.

the main exception to this, and the only one who seems to at least have wanted to understand everyone else is Twice, withouth any doubt the true heart of the League of Villains. The only one who everyone, even cold, brutal dabi considered a close friend.

he is the only one who understood Toga, who always opened his heart bare for the entire league, and when it seemed Hawks was about to join that number, he did everything he could to make him feel welcome and to actually understand what hawks was teaching him.

it's not a coincidence that it is when he dies, that the league really begins to come loose at the seams.

Dabi completely loses it in a way he hasnt done since the time he snapped and tried to kill shoto as a baby, and afterwards any and all morals and reservations completely evaporates in his heart, which is is replaced by a fire that doesnt go out until he literarily cant do anything anymore, having become a burnt out husk.

Toga as to confront the fact that she is living in a fantasy and has to actually commit to the league and it's goals or go her own way.

Mr compress tries to step up to fill in the void Twice left behind, but the grandpa of the group ultimately realizes that somebody is gonna have to sacrifice it all, and decides that like any good father figure, the duty will fall to him. Thus any wisdom he might have been able to impart to the next generation is lost when he becomes the next leaguer to fall right after twice.

But he could have shared these bits of wisdom at any time before this... his goals, his background, the origins of his unique insight into the world. But he didnt. only here, at the very end is he willing to put all of his cards on the table for the league he loved so much.

Spinner doubles down of his friendship to shigaraki, but in the process lets all of his other relationships in the league falter in the hour when they matter the most, when everyone needs to stick together, and by doing so ultimately fails shigaraki as well by not reaching out to him as he's suffering.

Withouth twice and compress, Shigaraki in his most critical hour, when the question of wheter he or AFO will rule this new body, has nobody who has no reservations about reaching out to him to try to be his emotinal support, with all the rest of the league literarily just standing by listening/staring at this mental battle as he suffers.

In essence, all of the leagues problems and weaknesses could have been solved if they had actually been willing to talk to each other to understand their respective ideas and goals in life.

Instead, they did the opposite of what the members of 1-A and aizawa did, and let everything foster and grow until the rot destroyed all of them from the inside out.

[sapphic-agent]

There's something I've noticed especially since chapter 431 came out and that is that I saw a lot of his stans criticism for making Bakugou centered on Izuku and not giving him his own independence as a character, and I think it's funny because Bakugou's character has the development he has because he's connected to Izuku, if he wasn’t part of Izuku’s story he wouldn't have a narrative arc to develop. Some stans complain about it and even recognize that in the final arc of Bakugou contribution was minimal and he didn't really touch on important themes of the work, remaining only on the surface with the shiny but insignificant moments.

When I talk about his contribution being minimal is that Bakugou doesn't have a villain by himself, partly his development is just learning to play as a team but his final moment with Afo is even pathetic because the villain was already weakened and he’s the final blow (Tokoyami even had a quirk awakening much more powerful than Bakugou), his parallelism with the second user was random because each character at that moment wanted to fight to eliminate AFO, it was forced to bring that parallelism between the two when you have all the characters in the manga trying to do the same and considering that All Might had more power over AFO's emotional out of control than Bakugou himself. I can understand why someone would superficially watch the manga and say that Bakugou has the best ending (before chapter 431 according to his fans), but then you go to his final part and it’s so insignificant compared to the arcs of Shoto (who has his own narrative outside of Izuku), Ochako and her relationship with Toga and even Izuku and Tomura (as mistreated as their character treatment was), Bakugou doesn’t represent any of the main message of the plot and his arc is a redemption, chapter 431 shows Bakugou stagnating because even if it isn’t a big change, the society of heroes no longer needs heroes like him, that is why characters like Ochako, Shoto, Izuku and others have lives outside of heroism or seek to have it because at the end of the day the heroism of today's society is not fights with great threats but what would be more community work, preventing villains from forming because society has different tools than the expulsion of what they see differently (Ochako and her job) or even the initiative of the people around them who would see someone in trouble and try to act.I think there are many things I can criticize Horikoshi for in the entire manga, but I understand that the final message was that society, even slowly, is changing and that the role of heroes is also changing in some aspects (now children want to enter other fields, medicine, technology, etc.), in other words, it isn’t All Might’s era even though there is still a ranking, at least I’m going to recognize that in Horikoshi's ending.

I mean yeah you're pretty spot-on with this.

It's only because of Izuku that Bakugou was given so much exposure in the first place. Not even because of Izuku's own development, just the fact that he's always been there to validate Bakugou's character. Always defending him, always there to shove his "good" traits in our faces, and always there to forgive him. Bakugou's redemption doesn't exist without being heavily reliant on Izuku because Horikoshi failed to take the time to separate him from Izuku.

Bakugou's redemption should have been an easy one. All it needed was him not consistently forcing his victim to be the one to deal with his shit. He constantly makes his problems Izuku's to fix, which just makes him look worse every time he does it. Because he couldn't make the change on his own, everyone- including his victim- did the work for him.

Keeping Bakugou and Izuku separate would have been the best thing for both characters. Bakugou stans are only realizing that now because this time it happened to be Bakugou that got "screwed over," not Izuku

[doumadono]

For send me character(s) and a letter and I’ll write you a minific!

Please do A with Dabi 💙💜

A/N: I hope you'll enjoy this little drabble, my dear ♥ The inspiration for this ficlet came from the following post

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

The snowstorm raged outside, a relentless dance of icy winds and swirling flakes that threatened to bury everything in its path.

"This is just fucking great," he grumbled, his usual indifference not hiding the annoyance in his voice. "Who sends people out in this weather?"

"Tomura," you replied, wrapping your jacket tighter around your figure.

"We need to find shelter," Dabi said, his tone more serious now. "This storm isn't letting up anytime soon."

You and Dabi, reluctantly paired up as "team" by Shigaraki, sent on a mission to gather critical intel, found yourselves seeking refuge in an old, abandoned house that creaked and moaned under the pressure of the storm.

The air inside the dilapidated structure was just as chilly as outside, and the cold seemed to seep through every crack and crevice.

Dabi, his blue flames flickering ominously from his palms, took charge. With a sly grin, he ignited some discarded materials, creating a makeshift fireplace in the center of the room.

You huddled close to the fire, relishing the warmth but still shivering from the lingering cold.

Dabi, seemingly indifferent to the freezing temperatures, settled beside you. The fire's glow reflected in his eyes as he glanced your way.

"So, we're a disposable pawns with a mission," he snarled, a hint of amusement in his gravelly voice. So, what do you think about the League?"

The flames cast eerie shadows on the walls as you considered his question. "They're certainly… unconventional. But their goals? I don't know. It's hard to wrap my head around it. I find myself without alternative options. Given my history of misdeeds, the prospect of a conventional, ordinary life remains elusive, you know."

Dabi's skepticism lingered in his gaze. "Don't expect too much. These people have their own way of doing things, and it's not for everyone. Specifically, a young woman hailing from an esteemed household, as that seems to be the background you come from, based on the information I've gathered from Giran."

You only scoffed, rolling your eyes.

As the conversation continued, the cold continued to nip at you.

Uncharacteristically, Dabi sighed and, with a flicker of hesitation, said, "Come here, Y/N."

You raised an eyebrow, puzzled by his sudden shift in demeanor. Nevertheless, you edged closer, and he enveloped you in his arms. His quirk emitted a comforting warmth, and you couldn't help but lean into it.

"You're freezing," he stated matter-of-factly, as if it were the most natural thing for him to notice. "Fuck, this is exactly what I need - my partner freezing her ass off in this fucking weather."

"I can handle it," you insisted, although your teeth betrayed your words with an involuntary chatter.

Dabi rolled his eyes. "Stop being stubborn, Y/N. Just sit on my lap. I can make myself warmer if I want to."

You hesitated, unsure of the unexpected intimacy. But the cold won over, and you found yourself gingerly perching on his lap, still shivering like a leaf caught in the storm.

Dabi's arms encircled you, holding you close. The flames from a fireplace danced in his eyes as he spoke, his voice softer now, "You know, I didn't expect anyone to stick around. My appearance tends to drive people away."

The vulnerability in his admission caught you off guard. "Well, appearances can be deceiving," you replied, trying to sound reassuring. "And you ain't that bad, man."

He nodded, a subtle gratitude in his eyes. "Guess you're different."

Silence settled between you, only broken by the crackling of the fire. The warmth of Dabi's embrace began to thaw the chill in your bones. In that vulnerable moment, he hesitated before finally confessing, out of sudden, "I like you, Y/N."

The admission hung in the air, the crackling fire casting a warm glow on the revelation. As Dabi confessed, your response was a quiet smile that held a blend of sincerity and acknowledgment of his gruff demeanor. "I like you too," you replied, your words carrying a teasing edge. "Even if your gruff ass is problematic at times."

Dabi's rough laughter echoed through the room, a surprising sound that seemed to cut through the cold like a welcomed flame. "Yeah, well, can't argue with that. I've got my issues."

He shifted slightly, the light of the fire highlighting the scars and staples that adorned his skin. In that moment, he seemed almost vulnerable, a stark contrast to the tough exterior he often projected. With a flicker of curiosity, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. "You surprised me, you know?" he admitted, his gaze holding yours. "The day Giran brought you in, I was sure you'd last, what, two days? Tops. Figured you'd take one look at the League's shit and hightail it out of here."

You couldn't help but chuckle, the sincerity in his words catching you off guard. "Well, I guess I'm more resilient than you thought."

Dabi's smirk returned, a playfulness in his eyes. "Resilient and useful. You've pulled your weight a few times. I admire that, actually."

As the conversation hung in the air, he continued to study you. With a surprising gentleness, his fingers traced a path from your cheek to behind your ear, the touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

Shivering slightly, not entirely due to the cold, you found yourself captivated by the closeness. His scarred face, illuminated by the flickering flames, told a story of pain and resilience. In the dance of firelight, you observed the lines etched on his skin, the staples that held it together — a testament to a life lived on the edge.

Your lips parted slightly, breath catching as you observed him. It was a moment of vulnerability, a shared understanding beneath the surface of gruff exteriors.

Dabi's gaze met yours, and for a heartbeat, the world outside the abandoned house ceased to exist. In a bold move, he closed the already minimal distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as unexpected as it was intense. The initial contact was almost clumsy, a collision of warmth against the coldness of your lips.

Taken off guard, you hesitated for a moment before surrendering to the unexpected intimacy. The kiss was messy at first, a tumultuous exploration of unspoken emotions.

His hands cradled your face, the heat from the fireplace mirrored in the heat exchanged between you. As the seconds passed, the kiss deepened, becoming a dance of tongues in unison. The initial awkwardness transformed into a shared rhythm, a connection forged in the heat of the moment.

As the kiss finally broke, a warmth lingered between you and Dabi. You felt his fingers gently brushing against your lips, mirroring the touch of your fingertips as you touched them in a dazed realization. The firelight painted a soft glow on both your faces, and when you looked into Dabi's eyes, there was a tenderness that seemed to soften the rough edges.

"Guess I've got some surprises left in me," he muttered, a rare hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You couldn't help but return the smile, your fingers gently tracing the lines of his face, the scars and staples that told a story of resilience.

"Maybe I like surprises," you replied.

His hand found yours, fingers interlacing in a silent agreement.

As you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on Dabi's cheek, the fire continued to burn, casting a warm glow on the scene. The snowstorm howled outside, but within the walls of the abandoned house, a different kind of warmth prevailed — a warmth born from shared vulnerability, unexpected connections, and the sweet taste of a kiss that defied the cold reality of their surroundings.

[d1s1ntegrated]

basilica

tomura shigaraki

cw: religious trauma, religious motifs/themes/imagery, catholicism, defiling of the church, angst, hurt, slightly ooc

a/n: just a short angry religious trauma post drabble bc i'm feeling a type of way rn and it kinda sucks lol. sorry for projecting this onto u tomura i love u

try reading with the song! it adds a layer to the writing i feel honestly is kind of important

Tomura wanted to cry. Wanted to scream in anguish, beg and plead for a miracle or a sign from a God, any God. But the pews of the rotted church served little to sanctify him as he crumbled each one with an angry fist. Shaking fingertips dug into the deep grooves in the mahogany and crumbled them into forgotten prayers. Scattered pages of proverbs and psalms littered the marbled tiles, and the sun rays twinkled in through the ornate stained glass, reminding him just how small he was against the hands of God. There was no God here- only Him, and He alone could stand the tides of change with a battering ram for a heartbeat. It hurt, it hurt so badly, to be forgotten and known all at the same time. Who was he? Tenko Shimura, the sweetened cherub boy, with scraped kneecaps and bruised elbows? No, never. It was a dream, a softened hymn that only time knew the words to. Now he stood, an adult in the eyes of society- though his body never felt quite big enough to be- Tomura Shigaraki. A man, a disciple of the Feared One, a machine created to destroy. And destroy he would. Starting here.

He didn't believe in God. He didn't follow the practice of any one religion, especially not the Catholic Church. Hell, the fact that there was even a church to find out here was a one in a million shot- they weren't exactly few and far between in the cities, but the Catholic population in Japan was a small decimal compared to Shintoism or Secularism. But for this moment, he felt it was best to be in here. A lot of western media he had consumed over the years painted church and Christianity as some all-consuming Light, like this is where miracle happened. Well, the only miracle here was that Tomura even set foot inside.

Every step pressed another layer of dust into the deep red runner up to the sanctuary. The altar remained pristine as he caught his breath, his throat tight and dry. The sound of his thumping heart swelled in his ears and head, the pressure reminiscent to being underwater. Looking up, the height of the cathedral shrank him down to atoms. It felt like a mockery. Like even God was reminding him he was small.

Small. Tiny. Pitiful.

Each word of arrogance against him made his blood turn darker, thinner, rushing through his veins as he grasped at the elegant pillars, dragging himself to the ground with a gasping cry, so that he fell to his knees at the altar rails, his tired bloody eyes locking with the adorned chancel, and the poignant, giant statue of the Son, hung plainly in front as if to scream "I'm here, too".

He felt more alone at this revelation, that human faithlessness was so overlooked because of sin, that people like him weren't meant to be here not because of their trouble finding faith, but for their lack of it. That he too would be damned because he chose not to find light in God, and instead found his own way of safety through destruction and chaos and everything Sensei had taught him. His own scripture, signed in viscera, torn at the edges. It wasn't his fault no one taught him to believe, but it was damn sure his fault he didn't seek it for himself- and he felt it, now, as Mother Mary's half-lidded gaze held above his wakened frame as if he were a pestilence on this world that God created.

Was he in the wrong for keeping his head low? Should he hang it high, be grateful for the hands that supposedly formed him and molded him? This, Tomura knew, was the entire reason behind his aversion to faith. Because he needed someone to listen, and not a single ear fell for him. Not even Sensei cared enough to listen to his alleged son, his pride and joy as some called it. He felt neither prideful or joyous when face to face with him, instead it was a sinking, sorrowful feeling, that could best be described as grief. Grief for his old life, or for the new one he failed to perfect for himself, his Sensei, his friends- try as he might, he was just so small here, and could do only so much.

Church was a last-ditch effort to feel something. Anything. His time was low, and the unfortunate arms of fate were every turning and chiming, reminding him that his goal was only so far. It was seconds away, he felt as he could reach out and grasp it- but he was too well trained, he knew better than to reach out to the things he really wanted, in fear he would destroy it all in the blink of an eye. Not even Gods hands could hold him now, though, as he pretended to pray for one last chance.

His hands pressed into the cold tile and he felt the ground beneath him rumble, his body quaking and splintering in wretchedness, the power lifting him entirely. The pure white turned a murky grey as they shattered and cracked under him, the giant spires atop the roof even quivered at the desolation. And as he screamed, as his throat burned in anger, poor Mother Mary fell to the ground from her pedestal, an ironic display. The caricature of fallen angel, in the house of God, airing his grievances to no one but marble and blood wine, he stood. Destroying it all.

Not in the name of God, but the name of Tomura Shigaraki. Because there was no God that could ever come close to being this angry.

[bakugotrashpanda]

Tribute!Touya x Stylist!OC Word Count: 4.5k

Hunger Games AU

A/N: This was supposed to be a couple paragraphs, but here we are. No beta we die like men. Thank you @t-tomuras for the inspiration <3 I know it’s supposed to be self-ship, but I put an OC in for my comfort.

They escaped the Reaping only to be pulled back in.

The games have gotten boring. There's no shock in seeing kids fight each other in the arena any more. Sure, it serves as a reminder of the past and shows that no matter where someone is from, given the right circumstances, anyone can kill. Barbaric. But… the glamor of voyeurism, of watching kids suffer mentally and physically as entertainment, has lost its spark.

But pushing the age range for the reaping back? Giving kids more time to hope and dread, to understand what they're losing once they have a taste of a future – their future? Ripping families apart at an age where maybe someone is losing their parent rather than a sibling? Cruelly putting a decade of adults who thought they escaped the horrors of the Capital back into the running of dying? Delicious. 

At least in the jaded eyes of the Capital.

For Touya Todoroki though, it’s a chance for him to finally live up to his father’s expectations. Living in District 2 has its perks – if you’re seeking glory in death. The finest training establishments for Peacekeepers also means the finest training for careers who want to put their names in the stars or die trying. Touya wouldn’t even have to sneak into these facilities if he wanted that; he’d just need to throw his last name around and every door would open for him.

Special benefits of being a colonel’s son.

But he was never interested. He skated through life putting his name on the stupid ring out of some sense of duty and familial pressure only for it never to be drawn because some other idiot volunteers. Usually it was multiple idiots all clamoring to be first. 

He escapes his teenaged years unscathed. 

Adulthood means nothing to him. There’s no sweet relief he knows other districts must feel now that they have one less thing to worry about – for now, nor is there any bitter resentment at losing the opportunity at doing something great and having the eyes of the country on you. Life just… goes on. 

When faced with the prospect of needing a job, Touya’s options were to follow his father’s footsteps and become a low level military grunt and rise through the ranks, or join the miners in the quarries. 

It was a never-ending tirade from his father about how he ‘wasted his potential’ and ‘humiliated the family name’ by going into the quarries.

A couple years passed. Touya finally got a place of his own, left a string of broken hearts, and generally felt unsatisfied with life. There has to be more to living than just waking up, working, joining his coworkers at the bar, and then going back to his shitty apartment at the end of the day to wake up and start it all over again.

And then the rules change. It happens mid-shift. A roar rises above the normal work noise. He thinks it’s another truck rolling over – that would be the second one this week. But the angry cries work their way down the line to where he’s stationed. 

We’re back in the Reaping.

Fear. Chaos. Anger. 

Everyone around him is in a tizzy. And Touya feels numb. Back in the Reaping?

The site clears out. People panic and run home to hear it for themselves and not through the grapevine. 

Touya goes to the best source he can (unfortunately) think of; the Todoroki household.

Tensions are high.

His brother and sister sit ramrod straight around a rarely used dinner table that is more for show than anything else. Fuyumi fiddles with the locket around her neck – pictures of her new child no doubt. Natsuo’s clenched fists on the table are stark white causing the onyx band on his ring finger to stand out even more.

“It’s true,” his father says quietly. “You’re all back in the Reaping.”

Silence. 

Tears trickle down Fuyumi’s face.

As adults, there will be less bravado about volunteering. Less people will want to willingly leave their lives behind and–

“I’ll volunteer.” Shouto. Perfect fucking Shouto. Of course he would. Touya has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“You’ll make me proud,” their father says and fondly claps him on the shoulder. 

That’s that. Everyone disperses back to their own homes. If Shouto volunteers, then that’s the boys taken care of. If Fuyumi’s name gets picked, then she’s shit out of luck.

So why does Touya stand tall on the day of the Reaping? Why does his voice ring out loud and clear after the introductions are done? Why do his feet carrying him onto the stage?

Standing next to the announcer, his gaze flicks from his stunned brothers to his father. That’s why. Watching his father try and fail to control his bitter rage, his face turning dark shades of crimson. That’s why he did it. To rob him of what should’ve been a proud moment in his life.

There’s a mic in his face. He stares at the announcer who’s hungry for an answer.

“Your bravery,” they start again, “What motivates you?”

He looks at the screen behind him and smirks. He’s no longer the scrawny teenager internally mocking all the tributes. His years working have filled out his formerly lanky frame. 

“To show that the Todoroki name means something,” he answers condescendingly, “And that I’m not wasting my potential.”

There’s an outburst from the stands. He refuses to look. He knows who it is. It would only be the cherry on top if his old man keeled over and died from anger right here right now.

He did it. He volunteered. 

What a stupid fucking mistake. 

His goodbyes are awful and he spends most of it deflecting questions from his family. Yes, he’s aware Shouto was going to volunteer. No, he doesn’t have any remorse for what he did. Yes, he definitely is thinking of family, just not in the way they’re implying. Will he survive and win? That’s to be determined. 

His father doesn’t make an appearance.

The short train ride to the Capitol is spent silently with the mentors and the other tribute. His counterpart seems… alright. She has some training  and a determination that’ll maybe help her live past the first day. What can Touya do? Explosives. Operate heavy machinery. Swing a hammer. How much different can a skull be from a rock?

Peacekeepers escort them to a processing center with sterile white walls and bright overhead lights that give Touya a headache. How many of them were trained by his father?

The tributes from 1 arrive at the same time as them. He gets a glimpse of the duo before being whisked away to a slightly less off-putting room. A woman with matte black lipstick and electric blue hair styled in an angular bob waits inside.

He can feel her calculating brown eyes rove up and down his body. Taking stock.

“Like what you see?” Touya says sarcastically. She doesn’t respond, but walks up to him, the slightly dimmer light reflecting off the gold lining her gray suit.

The woman extends her hand. “Alex. Your stylist.”

“Great,” says Touya, ignoring her hand. “Just what I need. Fashion.”

Alex pulls out a tablet and a laser pointer of sorts and starts circling Touya. “Think of me as your personal storyteller,” she says and taps away on her tablet before returning to scanning him. “I use your body to tell the world about you.”

“I’m not one of the children you can dress up like a doll.”

“Good. No one needs another sob story in the lineup. There are enough people leaving spouses and kids behind that’ll try and use that to their advantage.” She stops in front of him and shines the laser from his left to his right shoulder. From this close he can see the layers of makeup the Capitol is renowned for. “Tell me you’re more interesting than that.”

“Got no wife, and no kids with my name.” Maybe a bastard or two, but who’s counting?

“And what do you do in 2?”

“Quarry work.”

“Which is?”

“You’re fuckin’ annoying. Rocks. Demolition.”

“Why not military? Your father is up there, right?”

“You do your homework,” Touya smirks, “I was on a train for less than two hours after I volunteered.”

“I have to in order to be good at my job.”

Touya crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s your real question?”

A smirk crinkles her supposedly flawless facade. “Why volunteer?”

“To be every bit the disappointment my father expects me to be. One final ‘fuck you’ just for him.”

Alex stands there for a moment tapping one perfectly manicured nail against her thigh. Lost in thought, she chews on her bottom lip for a second, the black lipstick coming off at the inner edge to reveal her natural lip underneath.

Fuck he wants to smear it. Take the perfection of the Capitol and ruin it any way he can. 

“I can make this work,” she says determinedly and taps furiously at her tablet. “Your first appearance isn’t for a couple days. I want something bold; something that’ll make everyone stop and stare and the first volunteer and wonder what was going through his head.”

“Don’t dress me up like a fucking gladiator,” Dabi says. He recalls that being the go-to in the past – a show of strength and closeness to the Capitol. Gaudy. 

Brown eyes meet his, and fingers that were flying fast over the screen are still for a second. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Back to work.

“Then what, want me to show you my work uniform?” Because nothing says ‘I’m here to win’ like beige coveralls.

“I have bigger plans for you. You’re not going to be something as archaic as a gladiator, and I’m certainly not playing up to your district’s masonry export. If I wanted that I’d go to 12 and deal with the coal mines.” She turns her tablet off and tucks it away to stare up at him. There’s a small spark in eyes otherwise devoid of life. “I know about the secret export that the Capitol overlooks. We’re going military chic.”

Touya’s face crunches into a sneer. “Why don’t you raid my father’s closet, there’s nothing but uniforms in there.”

“You do a good job of looking like a stuffy asshole on your own,” she counters. “I’ll make you look good. You just need to focus on making sure you can win.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Touya says sarcastically. 

Alex goes to the door and knocks twice. “I have full confidence in you Touya — if you want it, I believe you can win it all.”

The Peacekeepers return and escort him to the training grounds. More like a prison with shiny luxuries meant to distract them from the fact that they’re going to die in a few short weeks. 

When the tributes are rounded up the following day, they’re brought back to the harshly lit facility. Alex waits for him again in their room, hands clasped behind her back. Wisps of bright blue hair purposely fall out of the two buns at her neck and barely graze the white dress covering her lightly tan skin. The loose material is cinched at her waist with a thick golden belt. 

For someone who doesn’t want to dress her tribute as a gladiator, she pulls off the toga-esque dress well.

Alex raises an eyebrow and nods to a clothing rack beside her. Touya approaches it and nearly drops the only thing hanging there on the floor when he realizes what it is.

“You can’t be serious,” Touya says.

Alex’s smile drips with overwhelming sweetness that sets Touya on edge. “Today is all about you and making you look good. That’s what you’ll wear today. I’ll step out of the room for three minutes.” Her dress flows behind her as she walks out of the room.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Touya mutters to himself. Regardless, he pulls the clothing off the hanger and strips.

The black, lightweight bodysuit bends easily with him. He gives a couple test jumps with no hindrance. Black boots with thick soles remind him of his work boots – but much better quality. Something the Capitol can no doubt afford. A subtle dark blue honeycomb pattern runs throughout the suit and is only noticeable in the light. Silver metal plates are seamlessly worked into the chest area, forearms, and various points in the back.

There’s a small knock at the door. Alex slips back inside, her eyes greedily roving over Touya’s body again. The corner of her gold stained lips quirks up briefly.

“Is this it?” Touya asks. He extends an arm and moves his bare wrist around. A pair of gloves would help. Immediately he drops his arm. Help? Help what? This is just for show. It won’t help him in the arena.

“I have some accessories to try out over there.” Alex points to a table Touya didn’t notice before in the opposite corner. “You’re my dress up doll today.”

“And this?” Touya gestures to his outfit.

“You’re the future of Peacekeepers.” Alex reaches a hand out and hesitates. She meets Touya’s gaze and hesitantly asks, “Can I?”

He nods and fights the heat rising up his face.

“Naturally, it’s functional,” Alex says confidently. Her nails tap against the metal plating on his forearm. “In a real fight, this would help protect you without the clunkiness the current Peacekeepers have.”

“And protect the vital organs.” Touya can’t help but notice the not so decorative metal covering certain parts of his body.

Alex smiles impishly. “Precisely. Titanium-reinforced plating protects key organs, and a strong reinforced weave body suit resists knife and other close combat weapons.”

Touya frowns. This could actually be for a Peacekeeper in the future. Is he just her toy to promote her fashion line or whatever?

He should be angry. He should tear it all off and wear a his fucking work uniform. He’s going to die, and she’s using him as a model.

But it doesn’t matter. He agreed to this. He volunteered for this. And so what if she wants to use him?

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does…

“If you’re trying to get on my father’s good side to gain his favor, you chose the wrong son to align yourself with,” Touya says bitterly.

“Why would I get on his good side?” Alex tilts her head, “You’re doing this for whatever personal vendetta you have against him.”

“And possibly outfitting the future Peacekeepers hadn’t crossed your mind?” he quips.

“Of course it did,” she snorts, “But I have other avenues for that if I really want to. For now, I enjoy the freedom I get with you tributes.”

Freedom. Tributes. How ironic.

Alex floats over to her accessory table and comes back with a pair of black gloves lined with silver. “Put these on.”

She flits back and forth between the table and Touya, holding up various tools and having him put things on and take things off. It feels like an hour of bartering for different accouterments. No, the belts are overkill. Yes, the gun and knife harnesses are fine. Yes, kneepads are bulky, but they’d be practical. No, he will absolutely not wear anything that covers his neck entirely.

He thinks it’s over and he can go – where? He doesn’t know. Anywhere but here – but Alex drags Touya over to a full length mirror. He’s startled by his own appearance. Alex wanted military chic, and she delivered in a cyber punk, dystopian way. He looks like he should wear a faceless mask and keep the masses bent through fear.

He looks like a minion trained by his father.

He looks like someone his father would be proud of.

Brilliant blue fills the lower half of his vision. Standing on her tiptoes, Alex runs her hands through his hair. Her nails scrape his scalp lightly and send shivers down his spine. This close, he can smell her perfume — an amber and rose mix. To someone who has no time for luxuries like perfume, it’s an assault on his senses, but by Capitol standards it’s rather lackluster. 

“What’re you doing?” he murmurs before clearing his throat and asking the question again in a harsher tone. 

She frowns and runs her hand through his hair again, pinning it back between her fingers. “Trying to figure out how I want your hair styled,” she says absently. 

“Wouldn’t the mirror be better for that?” He gestures at the enhanced mirror, no doubt recording his every move. 

With a huff, Alex steps back and plants her hands on her hips. “Is that what you want?”

No. 

“It’ll make this go faster.”

“Fine.” Alex taps the mirror and pulls him over. Bright lights illuminate his face. Alex taps his hair on the reflection and a menu pops up. “I was thinking about having it slicked back or parted instead of this spiky mess you leave it in.”

She swipes through a couple hairstyles, pausing on a couple to see his reaction. 

Touya turns his head on a couple and stares at his augmented reflection. Slicked back doesn’t look half bad. Parted is a no go.

“I look like my brother like this,” Touya grimaces at the near perfect Natsuo hairstyle, “But slicked is fine.”

Alex studies his reflection. With a wave of her hand everything resets. 

“One more option.” Pulling up a color wheel she drags the color selector to black. Touya watches his hair change from stark white to inky black. “Keep it styled as you have it and change the color. Then during your interview go with slicked back.”

Hair dye?

He does look sinister with it. Deadly. 

“Do it.”

It’s a whirlwind of activity before the parade. Lambs being led to the slaughter.

He’s harnessed into the chariot with the other District 2 tribute who sports a similarly designed suit. Her hair is pulled back in a low bun and her face is caked with enough makeup to be mistaken for a Capitol native.

They’re the second ones in. Cheers and roars from the audience and the warm sun slam into him. When was the last time he felt the sun? On the day of the Reaping?

A round camera flies with them, zooming in on their outfits and faces. Without thinking, Touya raises a hand and makes a finger gun. This one’s for you, old man. Pulling the ‘trigger’, he smirks and goes back to ignoring the device. The crowd’s reaction is deafening.

He ignores the other chariots coming to a rest beside them. He ignores the President and his speech. He ignores the audience. 

Calm.

Cool

Collected.

Keep a level head.

Survive. 

With a jolt, his chariot is following District 1’s out. 

He’s plunged back into darkness and artificial lighting.

Unhooking himself, he hops down and purposefully walks back to his room. Keep the facade going as long as possible.

Silence is just as bad as thousands of people cheering for him.

Amber and rose teasing his nose is the only warning he gets before warm arms wrap around his neck. “Genius! Pure genius.” Alex’s hands trail down his arms. “You made this work for you and the audience loved it.”

He lets her prattle on but doesn’t listen. Instead, his eyes follow the curve of her cheeks and the spark in her eye. There’s even flecks of gold in her irises. How much of her is actually her and how much is changed for the Capitol? Does it really matter? He drinks up her essence and commits it to memory. 

A week passes. Much like the Peacekeepers training in his district, Touya’s kept to a tight schedule. Eat. Sleep. Train. There’s more to it though – layers and layers of politics; impressing the right people, finding allies to fight alongside, measuring up threats.

Trying not to get to know the people he’ll have to kill.

It’s after a brutal day of training when Alex whirls into the room, her eyes ablaze. 

“I heard you took a beating in training today,” she says. Walking over to the wall, she pushes a panel and drags a hidden clothing rack out.

“Is that concern I hear?” Touya taunts.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Bossy,” he scoffs but lifts his shirt knowing full well that if he doesn’t do it, she’ll do it for him. He turns and tosses his shirt in a corner.

“You have your final interview tonight and I need to see if there are bruises where-” There’s a pause. Touya smirks. He knows what she’s seen. “There’s a tattoo.”

One he got as soon as he was old enough and had the money. The first thing he purchased on his own. A dragon that starts at his left shoulder and wraps around his back, crosses his abdomen, and ends below the belt. “And?”

“I didn’t know you have a tattoo,” she says bluntly. He watches her eyes follow the scales wrapping around his hip. “How… How far does it go?”

“Interested in what’s below the belt?”

“I’m interested in how I can use it.”

“In that case, find out for yourself.” Touya expects some banter – a witty retort telling him where he can shove it. But nothing comes. With a sigh he pats the end of the art. “The tail ends on my thigh.”

“Okay. Okay.” Alex says, hands clasped together tightly in front of her mouth. Even with all her makeup, Touya can see the flustered glow rising in her cheeks. “I can work with this.” A pause. “I can work with this.”

“You sound so confident,” Touya says sarcastically. That gets her attention.

“I am a professional,” she snaps back, but it seems to be more of a reminder for herself. She clears her throat and marches over to him. Her eyes pinpoint every bruise on his chest from training. “I’ll cover those up, but we’re leaving your art on display for everyone to see.”

“What, no shirt?”

“No,” she smirks, “You’ll have a shirt… of sorts.”

Turns out ‘of sorts’ means ‘mesh shirt under a leather jacket. Much to Touya’s chagrin, his verbal sparring partner remained quiet during their time together – only answering questions when he asked.

In the end, Touya ends up in leather pants and jacket with neon blue lighting at the seams. Even his boots from the parade were updated with the same strips of light. The only alteration Alex made on site was removing the zipper of the jacket and installing more lights in its place to keep it open and exposing just enough of his tattoo to pique Caesar Flickerman’s curiosity.

True to her word, Alex slicks back Touya’s hair for the interview.

And as usual, he’s impressed with her work.

They’re the first ones to gather at the studio. The other tributes trickle in with their mentors and stylists, but Touya ignores them all. The general buzz of noise around him doesn’t compare to the frustrating silence between him and Alex.

“I don’t know what they’re going to ask, but the vibe I’m going for is ‘play boy’,” Alex finally says. “Make the women want you, and the men want to be you. Confident. Charismatic. Charm the money out of their accounts.”

He lets her ramble for a minute more before sweeping up both her hands in one of his own. Wide brown eyes framed by blue hair stare at him.

She’s shaking.

“Stop,” he says in a gruff voice. “You’re worrying. Where did the confident stylist who wanted to take on supplying the Peacekeepers go?”

“This is your last chance to make a good impression before you go in the arena tomorrow. You need them to like you,” she blurts out. As if he didn’t already know that.

“Whatever happens happens,” he shrugs. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.”

He hears his name and thunderous applause. Dropping her hands, Touya steps back.

“It’s my time.”

“Good luck,” she whispers. Was that meant for his ears? He almost stops. Almost. But she’s right, he needs all the money he can finesse out of these people.

The day of the Games is a somber affair. A bodysuit waits at the foot of his bed for him, and he wonders for a moment when that arrived. He pulls it on and waits silently in his room. No doubt his counterpart is in the main dining area with the mentors going over strategy. He should be there too. But starting this afternoon it’ll be just him.

So why not start being by himself earlier.

He even opts to wait in the arena loading zone by himself. Until Alex arrives to make last minute appearance alterations.

“No special outfit for me today?” Touya asks and gestures to his bodysuit.

“No.”

Right. And he knew that too, but damn, any conversation would be appreciated right now. “Any advice?”

“Don’t die.”

A voice booms through the intercom in the room. Two minutes, tributes.

“Alex.” Desperation rises in his gut. “Kiss me.” Don’t let the last thing I hear and see of you be misery.

“What?” Deep brown eyes filled with pain stare up at him. Fuck. It hurts to see. It’s not the first time he’s left a woman with that look on her face before, but dammit why did it have to be her?

“Just once, before I die.” He’s not pleading. Touya Todoroki doesn’t beg. “You can’t refuse a dying man’s wish.”

“Touya,” Alex smiles faintly, “You’re not going to die.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re going to win.”

“Alex…” 

“I know you will,” Alex says fiercely. “You have to.” He hates the way her voice starts to break and quaver. “I… I don’t want to watch you die.”

“Why?”

Say it.

“You know why.”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t say it now.”

Say it. For me.

The intercom goes off again. One minute, tributes.

“I won’t ask ag-”

Soft lips are on his. He wraps his arms around her body and pulls her close. Fuck the Peacekeepers in the room. He’s going to die, and he’s going to enjoy this last moment with Alex.

Nails rake through his hair and elicit a groan from him. He digs his nails in and deepens the kiss. One minute feels like an eternity, but Touya takes it all – her taste, her scent, her sounds – and commits it to memory. Breaking the salty kiss, he stands on the pad and watches the glass casing come down around him at the last second.

Drying her tears, Alex beams at him. Probably trying to stay strong until I’m gone. “Come back to me, Touya.”

And maybe he will.

[tomumess]

Don't. Look. Back.

Run. Run and don't look back. Those were the only words echoing through your mind as you sprinted across the dark street, looking around for any open store to seek refuge in. Everything was closed so late at night, and the footsteps were just getting louder.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your throat felt like it was burning, uncontrollably panting as you dragged your feet as fast as you could, hoping this was all a nightmare.

TAP. TAP. TAP.

A hand gripping your throat caused you to try to scream, but another one quickly shut you up, covering any noise you tried to make.

"Don't you dare scream after all the running you made me do." Tomura panted as he held you tighter than he had planned, barely standing on his feet as he looked at your shaking body.

"Fucking bitch... You're going to pay for this." he was about to punch you, before stopping for a moment and opting for a slap. It was less painful, but it definitely served a message in his eyes.

You flinched, teeth gritting from the pain as you felt tears welling up in your eyes from seeing his disgusting grin as he rubbed the sore spot on your cheek.

"Oh I know just the way to shut you up." Tomura laughed at his own idea, shoving you down onto the ground as he grabbed you by the hair, making sure to make it as painful as possible.

"Get to work. Unless you'd like to end up on tomorrow's news as my next victim." he gestured towards his zipper, making you gulp, reaching out with shaky hands to unzip it. You had no power left in you to try to fight, or even speak.

"Oh and if you try to bite me, I'll choke you with my cock until you drop dead." he sighed, suddenly feeling more relaxed after seeing you fidgeting with the zipper, shakily pulling his pants and underwear down, revealing his erection.

You've had no prior sexual experience, and given the situation, your mind was blank and you couldn't help but just stare at it - dumbfounded and terrified.

"Ugh... you're really a stupid one, aren't you?" Tomura pushed your mouth onto his cock, feeling like he might cum from just seeing your choked up expression as he thrusted into your poor mouth.

"Aa-ah...if this is how good your mouth is, I wonder how that pussy would feel." his voice grew shakier with each word, and despite his earlier arrogance, he really was going to cum in less than a minute. It was embarrassing, but he really was enjoying this.

"F-fuck... You better swallow it all." he spoke through gritted teeth, as you felt his cock twitching in your mouth, and it felt like you were in a trance - letting him use your mouth as a fuck-toy, hearing his surprisingly high-pitched whimper as he came, feeling the hot seed burning your throat, fitting back the urge to vomit as you swallowed it.

Tomura looked at your fucked out face, seeing the cum dripping down your lips made his cock harden again.

"Let's see what you got under that uniform..." he giggled as he went to disintegrate your top, accidentally pressing his hand across your exposed skin as well.

"Shit! FUCK, I did it again!" he yelled, gripping his hair in frustration as he watched you crumble away, disintegrating into a pile of dust and bone.

"Oh well. I'll just find another one..." Tomura sighed pathetically, trying to be nonchalant, even though he really wanted to fuck something. Unfortunately for him, the only thing he'll be cumming to is low-quality porn and weird fetish fanart of his new favorite hero.

[irontragedyreview]

Ok, so I read the chapter with the official translation because if I'm going to say that Horikoshi is mediocre writer, that this arc was completely rushed and a shit show in general I'm going to use the official translations. It should be noted that honestly nothing can fix this chapter so meh, the relevant points would be

AFO loves Yoichi, some criticism focused on Afo saying this didn't make sense but  from the beginning of the arc we see AFO declaring that he loves his brother, since we know the story of OFA/AFO we know that he wantsYoichi by his side, but even beyond his methods of locking him up and wanting to break his will, the truth is that he wants Yoichi's decision to be by his side to be of his own free will. Even though he’s willing to break Yoichi, he didn’t want him to be by his side through some quirk manipulating his will, because that could have been an option, what he wanted when Yoichi was alive is for him to finally stand by his side.On the other hand, AFO's love isn’t healthy, it’s twisted and toxic because he considers Yoichi his, his first gift, the first object he had, so yeah, AFO loves his brother but no one is saying that this love is good or healthy.

Some people interpret that Kurogiri is dead, I'm honestly not interested in his character and the truth is I'm not very clear about what happened, I suppose it will be something that It will name above in the following chapters.

Midoriya showing empathy or compression for AFO? I've seen some comments saying that Midoriya's words are an attempt to show empathy towards AFO. Personally I think it’s completely wrong, if anything Izuku is telling him how small and pathetic he is, pointing out that he isn’t a demon king, he isn’t an incomprehensible monster, just a lonely man. There is no understanding or empathy but rather it’s establishing that he isn’t the terrible threat that AFO wants to think he represents but that he is ultimately a pathetic and lonely being.

AFO wanting to transmit his quirk to live in another body as a parasite, he says that Midoriya or anyone would do, this isn’t really true because although we know that a person can withstand a certain amount of quirks at some point it will fry their brain, Nagant handled her quirk well and one more, Spinner from what we saw became more irrational due to the quirk he received from AFO since his system was overloaded. So far the only one who has endured more than one quirk is Midoriya, although we can assume that he wanted to pass his quirk to another body and then if that body failed he could always look for another one.

bakugou is there, again nothing about horikoshi surprises me anymore.

Izuku and Tomura's talk, if those pathetic panels can be called that. Midoriya impassive, the only difference I find in the unofficial translations Izuku directly said he couldn’t forgive him, in the official one it isn’t so much the word forgiveness and more like he couldn't stand there just watching what he was doing. I use the official translations because 1) I don't know Japanese; 2) People usually argue that to discuss the points of story one should take the official translations. Since I don't know Japanese and the fandom is picky, I'll use these. Obviously it can be interpreted as that he can’t forgive what he did or forget it but well the truth is that I honestly don't think anything improves the talk. Tomura asking Midoriya to pass the message and telling him to tell Spinner that his convictions never changed, which it’s true I guess, although he also accepts that he couldn't destroy anything and that it may be that in the end he is that crying child that Izuku said, this line is interesting and something that a good author would surely seek to expand on, but considering that we’re talking about Horikoshi, we can leave it to the conclusion that hopefully the topic will be touched upon again or that nothing will ever be said.

Having said all the above, I imagine that there are only a few chapters left that make up a very long epilogue. At this point I doubt that Horikoshi will make a plot twist by reviving AFO a fourth time, I honestly hope not, some are talking about Tomura appearing in the form of Tenko? which at this point wouldn't fix anything either because you screwed up any chance of the save idea when you kept Izuku's plot going without a single introspective thought and ended it with him killing AFO in Tomura's body. The explanation would have to be very good to fix the shit show that was the chapter.

Some also say that Tomura isn’t dead, this is mostly because Horikoshi has used the resource of death and revived so many times that many no longer believe that he’s capable of killing a character, but I don't believe it if he’s saying goodbye, I doubt that miraculously appears alive. I would say that the chapters to come can’t be worse than this one but I fear that Horikoshi will take it as a personal challenge and do it.