#robot trains mark

[jullinh4x]

🇧🇷:

Alguém que viu esse desenho na infância?

🇺🇸:

Anyone who saw this cartoon as a child?

@miss-kennedy @sophie-avocado-girl

[moviewarfare]

A “QUICK!” Review of "The Wild Robot (2024)"

This is easily the best-animated movie of 2024.

The story and message are incredibly heartfelt and wonderfully done. The theme of family, communities coming together and accepting being different have been done hundreds of times before but The Wild Robot still executes this in such a masterful way that it will still be incredibly touching.

The animation and art style are beautiful with many stunning shots. It is hard to believe that this film had a $78 million budget, especially when compared to the $200 million budget of Inside Out 2. Every voice actor does a phenomenal job as well and it doesn't feel phoned in.

This is a must-watch film and I hope Dreamwork continues to give more of this and less of Kung Fu Panda 4.

For more reviews like this visit:

https://moviewarfarereviews.blogspot.com

[artbyblastweave]

Something this season of Invincible has been doing that I find interesting is how it's engaging with the Superman archetype in the specific context of his role as the quote-unquote "top superhero-" what happens when "superhero" is enough of a demographic that you've got a bunch of moderately powerful ones, but then you've got one who's basically so overwhelmingly powerful compared to all the rest that from the perspective of the people in charge of planetary security, he's basically the only one who matters. There have been several subtle beats this season about how holding that position is distorting Mark's interactions with everyone around him without him even realizing- Robot leaves the Guardians not because he necessarily thinks Mark is right, but because he thinks it's important to stay on his good side. The Powerplex subplot has Scott's coworkers at the GDA expressly state that Mark is being granted infinitely more leeway by Cecil than anyone else would be, because he's their only plausible answer to the Viltrumites.

What's interesting is how they've made Rex the site of a lot of this. One of the first scenes of the season is him complaining about the needing constant adjustments to the hack-job prosthetic he was issued after the Lizard League debacle, juxtaposed against the bajillion dollar bespoke machine that was built for no purpose other than training Invincible specifically. When they go out into the field together, Rex is perfectly in his element against a single street-level opponent, but when Multipaul jumps him, Invincible has to pull his ass out of the fire via intense meatgrinder violence. It isn't a coincidence that in the same episode where (Debbie's boyfriend) Paul realizes the gulf between the impact his job has on the world and the impact that Mark and Oliver have, with Debbie assures him that it's okay to be normal- Rex gets his fatal crossing-the-Rubicon moment by refusing to retire with Rae.

Rae can read the writing on the wall here about the power scaling of the story she's in; capes like Invincible and Immortal brush off everything the world can throw at them, but she and Rex are gag characters- a couple extra bodies who, in the best case scenario, are somewhat useful to have around, and in the worst case scenario end up in the hospital for months at a time before getting stitched up and thrown back into the fray so the GDA can wring a little more utility out of them. But even though his lifestyle is very clearly going to get him killed, Rex refuses to quit because being a superhero- even a middling one- is all he has going on. He's never going to be as relevant as Invincible because he's nowhere near as powerful as Invincible, but if he doesn't keep throwing himself at the same kinds of problems Invincible does, he'd be nobody. He'd be Paul. Is being Paul worse than dying? Well, we're gonna find out in a minute

[mediocreanomaly]

Rookie.

Cecil Stedman x Reader (GN!Reader, Age Gap)

Authors Note: Yes I'm a Cecil stan. No I won't apologize. There's just something about that old man's dry humor and morally grey decision making that enraptures me.

Cecil had stared down literal demons with a steadier pulse than this.

No, seriously, he'd experienced just about everything during his time on earth, kaijus, dead gods, alive gods, magic, mad science, fish people who, ironically, were pescatarian. Yet somehow, this is what shocks him.

“You don't want this, kid,” he sighs, pressing his fingers to his temples like he has the mother of all headaches coming on.

“You think you do, but you don't.”

The cocky mother fucker across from him just grins.

It's hard to pinpoint when exactly this had gotten so out of hand. With Rae, Rex, Rudy, Monster Girl, and Bulletproof gone, to say they were short a few guardians had been an understatement, and unfortunately, it had been Cecil who'd had to run the new tryouts. In the end only one really stood out, some local hero with the ability to steal other people's powers through touch for half an hour at a time. It wasn't much but apparently it used to be five minutes which suggested it could be extended whether that ended up being through training or the GDAs tech was yet to be determined but Cecil was desperate for a Hail Mary after his plan b and c against Mark had done jack shit and a temporary Viltrumite was as good as ever in terms of plans.

Looking back on it Cecil should have seen it from the beginning, the way the rookie had sat up straight like a dog waiting to impress its man with a trick when he'd walked in, but several of the others who'd known who he was had put on faces as well so he'd written it off as an attempt to impress.

The actual tryout had gone similarly; the little sneak had managed to get their paws on a few powers before getting into the ring and had made sure everyone knew it when a few training robots had nearly gone through the walls. Admittedly, Cecil had enjoyed the cunning; powers only got you so far if you didn't have the brains to use them, so it had been an easy call to green-light them onto the team.

Then things had gotten weird.

It had started with the training. Cecil didn't make it a habit to oversee every regimen; that's what Immortal was for, but he tried to stop in at the beginning of the month to see how the new members were settling in. When the rookie had noticed this, they'd begun showing up thirty minutes early and lingering late, purposefully trying to flaunt whatever flashy power they'd managed to snag for the session or showing off their new record for weights. Again, Cecil had begun wondering if they were attempting to brown nose their way into some higher position because it had at least become clear they were showing off for him.

It hadn't really clicked per se until a few months in when the rookie realized their golden ticket to seeing him was running reports to his office, a chore even Black Samson attempted to avoid at all cost.

Cecil should have nipped it in the bud; they'd begun overstaying their welcome as of late. He didn't do conversation, but God damn, the kid didn't give it a rest; they'd chatter on about how the guardians were, how their day had gone, about how great the GDA was. When he'd responded with varying levels of noncommittal grunts and ‘Do I look like your diary, kid?’ They'd begun a new approach.

Food, for one. Dropping off food with their reports because ‘there was no way he ate with his schedule’ which was half true but it didn't make it any easier accepting meals. Then they'd somehow managed to pick Donald's brain about interest of his and sneaking it into conversation.

‘I was just listening to Miles Davis the other day’ (they hadn't) ‘Ugh I could really go for a scotch right about now’ (they hated it)

What was worse is it had begun to work. Cecil didn't know why he hadn't told them to give it up and get the hell out of his office, if it had been anyone else he certainly would have but he was still a man at the end of the day.

It's not like he hadn't appreciated the occasional man or woman passing by before, but he was well out of his prime, not to mention too damn busy to even humor a one-night stand, much less anything regular. Besides, it's not like anyone really glanced his way these days, or they hadn't until you.

You had thrown some colossal-sized wrench into his life that he'd been trying desperately to ignore, which wasn't typically his style. Cecil was a problem solver at heart and saying ‘no’ to some green newbie on the team should have been one of the easiest decisions he'd made in a long life of hard calls. So why were you still sitting across from him and why was he still playing this game?

You pick up a stress ball off his desk that Donald had gotten him years ago (Cecil highly doubted he even remembered) and toy with it in your hands.

“You do know I'm not actually a kid right?” You retort

“You're still a kid to me, you're a third my age, rookie.” he watches the way you roll the ball between your hands, back and forth, back and forth.

“Put that down,” Cecil snaps, and you put it back on his desk, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Okay, well, I can consent is all I'm saying. Besides, you've been watching me too” you huff nonchalantly lounging against the seat.

Cecil stiffens at the accusation and sets his jaw in irritation. Watching you? Of course he had, he was the director of the GDA it was his job to watch you.

“I've been watching you because it's my job to make sure our new Guardian of the Globe isn't a liability” he answers cooly “Especially the reckless ones.”

That gets a snort out of you.

“Come on, boss, I've been on good behavior,” you say with a grin that drips with young cockiness and naivety and makes Cecil understand why he's losing hair.

It's irritating, both because you're a smug little bastard and because you aren't wrong. Cecil didn't need to look through your files or check in on the cameras to make sure you were getting on. All the reports said the same thing, a little rough around the edges in terms of discipline and skill but a very promising investment to both the team and GDA with great potential and a knack for following orders (especially when they came from Cecil himself).

“Plus-” you continue before he can lay his next words of disapproval down upon you. “-the fact you're even entertaining the conversation makes me think you're not as opposed to this as you're trying to make it seem.”

Ceci keeps his composure but internally, as much as he hates to admit it, you had a point. Despite all his reservations here the two of you were.

“Don't mistake tolerance for interest, kid.” he says a warning in his tone. “just because I'm listening to you does not mean I'm not opposed to this”

Your smile falters for a fraction of a moment before a new set of determination falls over you as you cross your arms.

“You're lying.” You cross your arms and fix Cecil with your own hard look forgetting the playful facade in favor of your own equally serious shift in mood.

“You barely let Samson talk about the weather but I get half an hour about jazz? I call bullshit.”

Cecil's eyes narrow at the accusation.

“I'm not lying I'm… omitting certain details.” He says crossing his own arms mimicking your stance, silently daring you to challenge him again.

“you mean the ones where you're interested in me?” You ask raising an eyebrow refusing to lose this little verbal tennis match.

“Interested is a strong word.” He replies cooly, but damn it all. Why did it sound like he was trying to convince himself?

“It's more… tolerating your relentless advances.”

And there it was, acknowledgment of the subject he'd been dancing around.

“Oh, so you have noticed,” you reply pleased.

Cecil fixes you with an unimpressed look, as if he could miss the outrageous peacocking that had begun to take place in his presence. His only saving grace had been the fact that no one in their right mind would guess who you were showing off for.

“That's good, I was starting to think it was going to waste.” You continue unbothered.

Cecil grits his teeth, torn somewhere between annoyance and grudging respect. The rookie had persistence if nothing else.

"How can I not notice you constantly showing off for me," he retorts "You're like a damn puppy. All eager eyes and wagging tail."

“For some reason…” you drawl leaning your elbows on his desk. “I feel like that's your type”

“My type?” Cecil lets out a short laugh, caught off guard by the audacity of the statement.

“I'm not sure you want to know ‘my type’, kid. It's anything but fresh-faced overly eager do-gooders.”

You shrug.

“Maybe. Or maybe you don't mind what sort of outlook or attitude you get so long as you're listened to in the end.”

You trail your fingers over the nameplate on his desk, tracing out the engraved pattern of ‘Director Stedman’

“And I've never questioned your orders, sir.”

Cecil's gaze follows the movement of your fingertip, trying to ignore the stir in his chest.

“You don't question me because it's my job to keep your naive ass alive.”

“Why are you pretending you don't want me?” You fire back.

“is it such a big deal if you feel a little something for someone?”

Cecil feels his patience thin at how easy you make this sound, like he's some handsome stranger at a bar and not the director of the god damn GDA.

“It's not about feeling, and it's a little bit more than a ‘little something’ You're like a damn virus, always there infecting my thoughts.”

He pushes away from his desk, fist clenching at his side like a physical manifestation of the internal struggle he was feeling inside.

You frown and furrow your brows at the man at the firm reluctance on the other man's behalf.

“Why are you saying it like it's bad? I've been thinking about you too you know”

A sharp laugh escapes between his teeth, harsh and humorless.

“It is bad, kid. This… whatever this is, whatever feelings you think you have, it's dangerous.”

Cecil begins pacing the spot behind his desk, his steps quick and frustrated.

“This isn't some high school crush, you can't just move on when you realize how wrong it is.”

You huff slightly insulted by the implication.

“I've put a hell of a lot of effort into this for a ‘high school crush’” you reply unimpressed.

“I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't serious”

“How can you be serious? You're more than half my fucking age!”

Cecil runs a hand through his hair frustration etched into every line of his face. Despite his better judgment, he could feel his ability to keep up the argument waning.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales.

“What could I possibly offer you aside from a life time of trauma and a constant reminder I'll probably die before you hit your fourties?”

You wrinkle your nose at the distasteful words.

“you're sixty, not eighty, plus I have money on the fact that you'll manage to outlive Omni-Man on spite alone.” you muse before letting your expression fall into something more serious.

“but honestly? I don't care about that. I like you. I mean sure at first I just thought you were attractive but-” you continue before Cecil can make a smart comment. “-you're competent. Like overly competent. You're witty in conversation and I know you care more than you let on. Let the others say what they will but I've seen the things you do for people's families and for their safety, maybe the job limits what you can do with that good but that doesn't mean it's not there. I'd like to know that man.”

“You make me sound like a god damn saint” he mutters eyes flickering to yours.

Your words had hit more then a few nerves whether he liked it or not. Ones that deep down… he knew had already begun to fracture.

You sigh and meet his gaze, unwavering.

“I get it more then you think. I'm young, not stupid... I won't pretend it'll be an easy relationship but I'm in it to try.”

You pause before adding, “and if it makes you feel better I like that you're an asshole too.”

Despite everything, an amused smile plays at his lips and with it a small pang if affection.

“You like me because I'm a bastard? That's a new one I'll admit.” he retorts, dry humor in his voice.

“what can I say?” You shrug “your general irritation is charming.”

You watch him carefully knowing that this was the make it or break it moment.

“... Would it really be so bad? You've given your life to the GDA, you could use something nice behind closed doors.”

Something nice…

He could feel his feet on the metaphorical edge of whatever leap was ahead of him. He was being worn down with your persistence but what was scarier is that he didn't really want to fight it in the first place.

“You know how how this would look right? The director of a top secret defense agency dating some rookie hero?”

You can feel it. The way you've got him snagged.

“I won't let it affect my work performance, hell I'll sign an NDA if you want”

“an NDA, how romantic” he scoffs but there's an undercurrent of sarcastic amusement at the idea.

Despite his barbed words, he appreciates the practicality. It was, after all, one if the reasons he'd been drawn in in the first place.

He let's out an exasperated sigh.

“... You're too damn stubborn you know that?”

You grin, already knowing you've won.

“I'll grab my pen.”

[badsopen]

You Can run, But You Can't Hide...

Yandere!Mark Grayson x Superpowered!Reader

A/N : The reader in this has a teleportation power, not interdimensional teleportation but like regular teleportation, and they can phase through walls, obviously in this dimension Mark joined his dad and he doesn't want to kill you either

Hiding with Robot and Adam Eve's group wasn't ideal. Resources were scarce. People scared and paranoid whether they got to live another day or not; but going back and forth from one part of the planet to another wasn't sustainable either, especially since with how fast the both of them can travel; it'd only be a few minutes of resting time before you had to teleport again. So, after narrowly escaping Nolan's death grip in Honduras, you made the decision to move back up north even to settle down in the sewers to have more than thirty minutes to cool down.

But you had spotted one of the freedom fighters and followed him back to the underground base, he was clumsy and loud. It wouldn't be long until they found this place. Finding Adam and Robot telling them was the best you could do for them; they were surprised to say the least. After all a hand straight through your chest should've killed you; but with the combination of teleporting and phasing an escape was granted to you. However, not without a cost, your heart was weak, Nolan had grazed the front of your heart and thinned the muscle there. Normally that wouldn't be an issue, just pop on down to Cecil and he'd have you fixed up in no time. So, your life was on a schedule, it was a rough estimate…maybe a year? Two if you were able to properly rest without the teleporting at all.

Adam convinced you to say, sweetly said it was to treat your injuries, but Robot had made it clear it was for you to help out gathering resources and getting as many people as possible out of here in case this place was found. No matter, it was nice of them to give you a place to recover after Robot had fixed up your heart. The scar was a thin long line, from the top of your throat to the underside of your belly button. It was overkill you were sure of it, but even after waking up after the pain of being ripped open, you still were in better health, than teleporting in fear of being caught and killed.

You were inside of a subway car, practicing teleporting instantly from one side of the room to the other side, it was going to take a couple of days of practicing to build up to longer distances again. It was nicer not having a time frame of when you were going to die, or having hope for the future that wasn't under the Viltrum Empire.

It was short lived however..

There was rumbling coming from the roof of the underground train station, at first it was dismissible-just buildings crumbling to the ground, but after the screaming started to pick up and then people rushing by the car it was obvious. They had found this place, and they were going to kill everyone in this place.

Rushing out of the car, you saw that they had split themselves up, Nolan was fighting Robot and Adam Eve was fighting Mark. Omni Man had made quick work of Robot and the other people who were unlucky enough to behind him after he was rushed. Teleporting to Robot after Omni Man had delivered his last words to Robot, you had told him that you would 'take care of it and not to worry'. His voice was rasped and hard to make out with the screaming, but the message was delivered a simple Don't fail.

Looking around for the both of them wasn't hard, just follow the fear induced screams was more than enough to be pointed in the right direction.

Mark had his hand around Eve's neck, they were talking to each other. Her hands are on his wrist... and then a snap...he broke her neck. Omni man is up there now he's saying something, Mark is shaking his head not as he puts Eves' body down. They're still talking to each other.

Both of their heads snap in your direction, FUCK they saw you! Before you can think of a place to teleport to Nolan rushes you bursting the people in-between you both like bloody pimples. He lifts you in the air by your neck. Mark slowly floats his way down to you and his father.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here" Nolan grimaces slightly "especially with how keen you were to get away from the city."

His voice was monotone and short. It was hard to see where this conversation would go. You try and keep yourself levelheaded knowing that one wrong move will get you killed or captured by the of them.

"I can't stay away from home for to long."

A nervous smile came across your cracked lips, hurting but not bleeding. The grip Omni Man had on your throat was tight, keeping you suspended in the air by your throat was starting to expose the scar. A flush of air meant that Invincible had come up to interrogate you with Omni Man.

Marks soft voice rang through the silence of his and his fathers animalistic brutality just minutes ago.

"Why are you here?"

His tone had remained soft and understanding like he was talking to a child; it made would always make you wonder if Mark was choosing to do these horrible things, or he was going along with his father trying save thousands from his father.

Nolans eyes started to wonder down the slightly red line and a deep frown began to set on his mustache.

"Ah, Mark, that's a really st-"

Nolans grip had tightened suddenly as he dropped lower to the ground making sure your feet could barely scrape the rubble ridden concrete. A stern look strikes his face as he turns to Mark. A short look is shared between them before turning back to you, their eyes drift down your face and towards your pulsing scar. Nolan's thumb presses in deep enough to make Mark suck in air harshly and Nolan giving a somewhat disappointed grumble from some deep crevasse of feeling that you quite aren't sure is there.

A soft sigh came from Mark as a frown sets deep on his skin.

"What happened to you? What's with the scar? Is because of what happened in Honduras? You know if you'd just stayed still nothing would've happened. You pushed dad's buttons..., I'm not saying you deserved that, but still."

A shrug passed through him, he moved closer, Nolan's grip was starting to get harsher. Mark puts his hand on top of your head, he doesn't take heed of it. He begins to it upward slowly as you struggled to look up, a chuckle came from Nolan.

"He won't kill you, just make sure you won't be able to see straight. I've seen him practice works well enough."

You weren't able to at least get a sarcastic rebuttal out before his hand came down on, your head. It was an odd experience a slight pain, a sharp realization of being able to see in opposite directions, burning in of bile, and then not having sight in front of yourself.

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Dude after the free use human fic, after human was finally out of the hole is she going to get asked by the bots if that can do it again instead of y'know being stuck in the wall, because I can imagine the bots won't stop thinking about it

......

>:333

Rehehehehehehe

Various Lost Light crew members x reader, gender neutral AFAB reader, racially ambiguous, free use, very mild dubious consent if you squint

I bet Swerve begs the human to have a free use night at his bar. Like buy two drinks get to use the human. You know Ultra Magnus had to help set up in order to make sure everything was in line and in order. Buy two drinks then get a ticket with your number for the human to service you. Then it just breaks down into a huge robot gangbang in the middle of the bar.

You know Rodimus is coming to the human like twice a day absolutely pussy whipped and begging to be inside his favorite human again.

Megatron finally getting a turn and making it so the human can’t walk for a whole week. Just blissed out smiling with a lake of transfluid under them as their abused hole just gapes. He’s very attentive with aftercare but he’s also worried he might have broken them.

Ratchet took them in under the guise of their own medical well being but bro doesn’t know jack about organics and just wanted an excuse to have them to himself. Drift jacking off Ratchet using the human like a spike sleeve.

You know Tailgate is humping them like a rabbit every chance he gets and Cyclonus is watching the whole thing with his spike in his servo.

Rewind and Chromedome taking the human out on a romantic excursion so they��re all buttered up when they share them. Soft lighting and music while they take turns using the human’s holes. I feel like they’d run a train on their special little human.

Nautica would probably be int having the human ride her then tease them when they get tired. “Nuhuh! I saw what kind of stamina you have,” she’d say while giving a sharp thrust. “I know you can do better than that.” Then she’s punishing the little human when they cum before her. She’s fingering them and using them like a toy. The human comes out of her habsuite covered in purple lipstick marks and smiling like a dope.

Whirl would scoop the human up and stash them away in his habsuite all for himself. He just wants the soft mushy sex where his human is stroking his face and peppering kisses all along his body until he can fuck their face with his spike. He’d definitely tease at breaking them and turning them into nothing but a hole for everyone to use but he knows how fragile humans are and to be more gentle.

Brainstorm is running all sorts of experiments trying to see which toys his human has the best reaction to, how hard they can cum, how many orgasms until they pass out. It’s all for research purposes he tells himself while watching Perceptor fuck you stupid while jacking himself off.

[lilacgaby]

title: entranced.

pairing: katsuki x fem! reader.

through all stages of his life, katsuki was entranced with you.

katsuki was destined for greatness. everyone told him so, it was engrained in his mind from the moment his quirk manifested.

as a kid, he was top of the hill always, king of his crew, every game they'd play would leave him the champion. he was the fastest, the strongest, the coolest.

his ego fluctuated with every new person he'd meet, how he felt none could match up to the god-given power of his, until his last year of junior high you joined his class.

you, who hung around deku, not minding that he was quirkless.

you, who he found so entralling.

you didn't really socialize to the other classmates, so he didn't know what your quirk was..

at least not until the teacher announced you and deku were applying for U-A beside him. he scoffed, "you two? heroes? don't make me laugh, maybe you'll be lucky enough to be assistants at my agency, and that's a huge if, quirkless idiots."

"i'm not quirkless, and midoriya isn't an idiot. so take your foot out of your ass and learn to respect people." you grabbed midoriya's hand and guided him out.

that was the first time you ever spoke to him and he didn't have a rebuttal.

he glared as you two walked out the hallways together, his pack of goons followed him as he walked down the alleyway. they ran away when he got captured by the villain.. but you. you and deku ran against the crowd to go save him. despite how he insulted the two of you.

that was the first time he'd seen your quirk. behind deku who was aimlessly scrapping the gooey flesh of the villain attempting to take him over, you had taken to making magma rock, that turned to lava upon contact, and burned the flesh of the villain. this caused the villain to create an opening, that allowed allmight to save him.

he didn't talk to you after that, he didn't have the chance. the most you'd given him after that was a nod.

he saw you everywhere and in everything now. in the orange flowers, in the dandelions, in the way the clouds shaped.

he wasn't looking for you in the entrance exam, no way. but when he saw the familiar silhouette of your body next to deku's, he felt his heart race. you looked amazing, your body a bit more toned now, he assumed youve been training alongside deku all this time.

he wasn't looking at you.. but, he saw the look on your face as you pouted, mouthing to deku the session you were placed in. he was in the same one.

he wasn't looking for you or anything, but when he spotted the aftermaths of your quirk, referring to the massive amoungs of molten iron from the pointed robots, he sped up.

the sight of you in action sent cupid's arrow through his heart.

you, now covered in the magma rock yourself, with your hair being the main source of the lava pooling around the exam center. the robots turning to nothing as you blast each shot with pinpoint accuracy, the small sighs you'd occasionally let out birthing fire from your mouth.

there was now a range of symbols, red and apparent, marking your body. from your face to your arms and even your legs. he was in utter awe of the chaos, yet elegance of your quirk.

you were breathtakingly horrifying.

as soon as time was up, he'd gotten the top score of course. but it wasn't by a landslide as he'd hoped, because you were only 0.5 points away.

he'd hoped to see you again. and he did, in class 1-a, you'd taken a spot next to deku again, and a girl with pink cheeks. he tsked as he put his feet on his desk, prompting a guy with engines on his legs to reprimand him.

he was deeply moved whether you used your quirk, whether it was in the quirk physicals, team battles, or mock missions.

he didn't know how or why, but he'd managed to become friends with you. along with the rest of his group, or the people that followed him around and forcibly made him their friend, you'd hang around.

his conversations with you were usually short, he didn't know how to talk to you. you made him feel weird, a feeling he never really understood.

not until their first encounter with villains that is.

the second they were teleported, he was on a mission to look for you. kirishima walking behind him as he tried to find you and make sure you were okay.

but when he saw you cornered by a group? he went rabid, sending shot after shot onto them until they were unconscious. he helped you stand up. "you okay?" he held your hands in his.

"i.. im fine bakugo. thank you."

he felt his face flush, he was lucky his hands were covered by his outfit, because he was sweating inhumanely. you finally let go of his hands, making him sigh before you suggested, "let's go regroup with the others, k?"

he nodded, and joined back in the fight.

he got more comfortable with you after that, holding your hand seemed to be casual for you two now. he sat beside you at lunch, his hand on your thigh as you two ate. you trained together, studied together, hung out in his room together.

napped together once, his heart leaping out of his chest when he realized it wasn't a vivid dream, and that you really were next to him.

when he was kidnapped you were apart of the group who saved him, giving all for one a nasty burn on his bald head.

after that, he realized how you were on his mind constantly.

he wondered if you ate, if you slept, if you studied, how you scored.

when you were training at the agencies if you'd be safe, he knew you were capable, but because of the destructive quality of your quirk you couldn't use it often.

he'd confess his nightmares to you on late night calls. how the phantom pain of being suffocated would sometimes come back to him, how he hated being approached from behind.

and he'd go to bed, his heart racing when you confessed yours. "honestly.. my biggest nightmares are about losing you."

you were even on his mind when he died. alongside all-might and deku, stood you. he wanted your validation, he wanted to be a hero to you, that's what he thought about in his last moments.

when he was revived, he saw you in the hospital. you were alive. except for the severe burns on your arms from your body's over exertion, the only other wound was in your stomach.

his heart ached as he saw you. there was a gash in your stomach.

after weeks of rehabilitation, he couldn't take it anymore.

he bowed his head to you, confessing his feelings that had been boiling over for years. your arms were still bandaged and one of his was still in a cast. you grabbed his face, pulling him up to yours before planting a gentle kiss on his lips. you kept him there after, looking into his red eyes.

"i've liked you too for a while, bakugo."

"katsuki."

"...katsuki."

you started dating. he worked to strengthen his hand, as you worked to up your bodies tolerance for your quirk. throughout the years you'd grown even closer. he got you a gorgeous promise ring, scratching the back of his head as he said, "it's just a placeholder for the next one. so, sorry if it's--" you cut him off with a hug and a kiss.

you graduated alongside eachother, where he gave another speech and you had to try your hardest not to burst out laughing at the memory of his first one.

you both worked hard, becoming pro heroes, and surprisingly

becoming popular because you two were dating.

you'd constantly be caught out together. photos of katsuki's smiles as you smear frosting on his nose, you two laying down on a picnic blanket and staring into each others eyes, you two walking around the streets.

sometimes you'd catch him watching your fights. could you blame him? he thought you were gorgeous, always. but especially when you were fighting. the look on your face, your actions, your confidence,

it'd send him spiraling.

you attended gala's together, him at your side. you've received thousands of modeling contracts, but you only accept ones that'd let you pose with katsuki.

you still made him nervous after all this time, so he'd audibly gulp whenever you circled him, striking poses so he'd laugh.

you became the nation's couple, which shocked the two of you to no avail.

he proposed to you on your 5th anniversary. true to his word, the ring was extravagant, it glimmered from all angles. he explained, looking into your eyes as he held your hand, "i could never find anything as gorgeous as you, but i hope it comes close."

your wedding was huge. you actually had two, one for close friends and family, where his mother took the reign to plan everything since you two were so busy.

and a huge public one, media and journalists allowed to see the million dollar wedding you two had to celebrate your years together, and katsuki's undying infatuation with you.

he was wrong though, because he did find something as gorgeous as you.

your beautiful baby girl that you welcomed to the world.

[agirlwithglam]

Do you ever feel sick and don't feel like doing anything when the day before you told yourself you were going to do a glow up, live always the best ecc..?

yes definitely! unless i'm actually sick and incapable of doing anything, i will at least try. you didn't ask for advice, but here we go anyways. when i feel like that, heres a few things i do:

how to do things when you don't feel like doing them: (from personal experience)

believe that you can do anything. dont roll your eyes at me! dont skip this part either. this is the main point that gets me going every single time. i truly believe that i can do anything, that i am capable of literally anything that i want to achieve. if i want it, i will have it. that is the first mindset you must have when it comes to this.

start small/ make it fun. yes, ofc i said this. if you can't do a full 1 hour workout, do some pushups/squats/lunges and go for a bike ride or a walk with a friend. what i do when im going bike riding with a friend is we go to a mall and buy drinks there! so make it fun! adding friends to whatever you need to do certainly makes it fun. another thing you can do is if you need to read, you can create a cosy spot in your room with scented candles and a little snack and everything and sit and read there. just the idea of it gets me excited!

treat yourself like a project/ robot. now THIS is something that has certainly gotten my some discipline. we as humans have emotions and feelings and moods. sometimes we don't wanna do stuff, and we actually cave into that. if you promised yourself that you would change your life, switch off your emotions and moods. treat yourself like a robot or an "apprentice" that you're training to become the best.

reward yourself! so you can either reward the action (like reading or studying) or the outcome (like finishing a book or getting a high mark on a test). decide what works the best for you. example: you don't wanna study? you can either a) reward yourself for studying with some free time with friends or watching your fav show or b) you can reward your self by the score you get on the test (ex if you got higher than 80%= a certain thing on your wish list, above 90%= a better thing on your wish list, 100%= the thing you've wanted for ages) you don't wanna read? you can either.. a) reward yourself for reading for x amount of minutes or b) you can reward yourself for finishing a book in a certain amount of time.

alter egosss. i know, i mention this quite often, but trust me this actually gives such a burst of emotion! embody someone else/ a different version of you that can best handle the situation. im gonna make a whole post on alter egos soon cus i mention it in a lot of my posts.

EDIT:

Please remember that if ur actually sick or genuinely feeling really low, remember to rest!! Remember to take time to relax and slow down. Take care of yourself honey <3

thats it for now! i hope this helped <3

btw heres a big master-post to how to get things done when you dont want to (not by me)

[killmeprettypleasee]

Price x Ftm!lieutenant!Reader general dating hcs pls and tyy

Dating headcanons W/ John Price.

Warning: SFW AND NSFW mentioned, clingy price, mentions of killing someone, slightly possessive Price, switch Price and switch reader.

SFW

Before you and Price started dating, the two of you are already close friends, you two joined the military together and trained together back then before you guys are in your current ranks.

He is very sweet to you and supports you being a trans person.

He found out you were trans waaaayyyy back then, and the way he reacts was kinda random..

"Wait.. so your one of those transformers robots????" He looked at you dumbfounded as he scanned the surgery scars on your chest.

He was very confused.. but still supports you!

When someone was being toxic to you he WILL and not hesitate to unalive them.

He loves you too much see😭

He'll give them the coldest death stared making their bones quiver in fear.

He will cuddle you, and be hella clingy.

Imagine.

You both at the halls of the base and he's just hugging you, not caring if anyone is watching.

He would call you to his office to just hold you and have you sit on his lap.

Hell, every once i a while he'll make you skip training just to have you there with him..

He will never let you out of his sight.

NEVER.

You're his sunshine afterall, his Marshmellow to the hot cocoa, his sauce to the spaghetti, his peach to the eggplant (okay thats just weird..)

When you're both at home, he wouldn't let you go out to buy groceries and insisted that he should be the one buying.

He's just scared because he overthinks that someone will kidnap you.

He doesn't even care if you know self-defense 💀

When both of you go out on a date he'll take you out to the beautiful restaurants ever, but he rather keep it simply

He'll even buy you beautiful clothes to match your date.

One time both of you went to a Chinese sea food restaurant that serves raw and fresh sea food.

He bought himself those tentacles cus he wanna try them out.

End up sticking to his face.

Both of you gotta go to the doctor cus the tentacles suction wont let go.

He was traumatized and both of you never went to those fresh sea food restaurant.

NSFW

After ever date there should a spicy intimate time with him.

He would bend you over when you both in your car or at your house.

Just somewhere private where both of you could fuck.

He loves dominating you, but sometimes he also likes it when you're the one dominating him

He likes it when you overstimulate him till he's a whining mess when you're taking the lead.

You just loos so sexy ontop him while riding his cock while calling him a good boy.

It makes his cock twitch when you do that.

And the way you moan just sends him over the edge.

But when he's the one in control he would bend you over doggy style and hit your prostate head on with his tip.

He absolutely loves when you moan out his name.

Its just so cute.

He likes raw sex.

He wanna make sure to mark your insides aswell your body to show who you belong.

He loves it when your cunt squeezed his cock.

He'll call you a good boy for that.

When both of you are more on the romantic side he'll be gentle and loving with you.

He'll caressed your body and worship you.

He loves touching your scars btw.

He thinks its fascinating.

"God baby.. you're so damn beautiful.. such a handsome boy eh?.." He softly praised against your ear as he touched your scars.

He grunted when your cunt tightened around him.

"You're getting so tight around me baby boy.. such a good boy huh?"

Yeh...

He sometimes think about having a child with you sometimes.

This man has an extreme breeding kink...

Sometimes he'll rub your lower belly while he's fucking you cunt, whispering praises while he day dream of getting you pregnant.

He's glad you have a cunt ngl.

He could just impregnate you anytime..

But you're still a soldier and you still wanna keep the job so he respects that.

He'll wait when he's allowed to Impregnate you.

But he wont stop fucking you raw.

Sooo you have no choice but to go on birth control🤷.

[fanged-fanfics]

Oh, my God! I admire you, the way you write, the way you convey the character, taking into account the plot. I've been reading you since the very beginning of creating this account.

I could ask about the Red Son, and the reader could ask about their family life? For example, because the reader is an ordinary person living in an apartment with a red-haired son. because it will be dangerous for the reader to live in his castle because of his parents, the robot, inventions and traps in the castle itself

❤️🔥Life at Home — Red Son x GN Reader HCs🔥❤️

Genres: Fluff || he/she/they pronouns for Red Son, they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚��⋆୨🔥୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

- Life with a firey royal had its ups and downs. Red Son could cook well and preferred to keep a clean home, but their temper caused a few scorch marks in quite a bit of furniture. At different times, however, they'd referred back to their childhood home. Things like "mother expected a clean home" or "father and I cooked together once"

- Eventually, the curiosity got to you. There was definitely a lot to ask, as someone so picky and used to royal treatment like Red Son settling into a modest and simple apartment with you seemed like an odd contrast

- One day during TV time, you ended up taking a wild shot in the dark and just outright asking. What was her home like? Why did she seem so apprehensive of the subject? Things of that nature

- Red Son seemed a little hesitant to answer at first. You knew her relationship with her parents had a history of being on rocky ground, so it almost made you want to apologize and take it all back. But the prince reassured you, admitting that the current living situation wasn't what she was expecting either

- They tell you of the firey interior, the magma that filled moats and fissures, the Bull Clones running around. She also described her old office as being quite full of shards of scrap metal and tools. He mentioned how he built all his servants, and how it was a sort of castle for his family

- At first, you seemed impressed, maybe even a little awestruck. With the way she was describing it, filled with pride and bombastic dramatics, it made the home sound like something out of a fairytale. You were tempted to almost ask to visit, but Red Son gently stopped that train of thought

- He also took the time to explain the more personal aspects of the home. The marks raked into the ground from his father's temperamental hooves, the way the walls had cracks from his horns. The way the fire often caused smog and humidity, and the air quality was generally low

- You listened intently, noticing how he was treading around the lingering more sensitive topics that were always underlying everything that happened in her home. You gently stopped them, ending their rambling

- Once he pulled back, he settled on lightheartedly telling you that a home full of temperamental bull royalty was no place for a squishy little mortal as she held you close

- They reassure you that at the end of the day, they might miss royal living a bit, but they're much happier being in a healthy environment with you than being back at her childhood home

[clownprincesshq]

Chapter 8 Part 2: Two Lines, One Choice

"You will remember nothing about the specifics of why you're there. But what you will have--which nobody can take from you, ever--is who you are. That will never change--try to hang onto it. It will see you through."

Main!Mark Grayson x Psychic! Reader

warnings: depression, manipulation, vomit, mark is stressed, mentions of abortion

w/c: 13.2k

You’ve stopped checking clocks. Stopped counting the hours, the days, the seconds between waking up and breaking down.

But your body still knows.

Seven weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since the portal burst open and stole him from you.

You didn’t shout at first. You didn’t even move.

Because part of you, some deep, obstinate part, thought he’d come back. Just as quickly. Just as sudden. A flurry of blue, yellow, black, and blood and apologies. You even half-expected him to tumble into the earth alongside you, groaning like he often did after a big hit, muttering something silly like, “Okay that was new. Are you okay?”

But he didn’t. You waited. And the world moved on.

You recall being dragged out of the bulding. You recall Robot’s voice in your ear, cold and clinical. You recall someone trying to grab your arm, and the floor crumbling under you because your powers erupted before your sadness could keep up.

Since then, it’s been silent. Cecil hasn’t spoken it out loud. Not in front of you.

But you know what he’s thinking.

They think Mark’s dead.

And now, finally, after seven weeks of pretending you don’t feel the emptiness like a blade under your ribs… You think he is, too.

You’re sitting in the Guardian HQ briefing room again. Third night this week. Same corner. Same posture, knees drawn to your chest, arms over your legs like you're attempting to hold yourself in place. If you sit tight enough, maybe the trembling won’t show. Maybe your power won’t leak.

It does anyhow.

The lights above you hum inconsistently. The wall across from you warps like heatwaves. A pen left on the table floats a few inches in the air, throbbing softly with whatever rhythm your sadness decided on today.

No one disturbs you. No one tells you to quit. They’re all too terrified of what occurs when they do.

There’s a dull, persistent aching under your skin now. Not pain. Not really. Just... friction. Like your body’s out of rhythm with itself. Your joints feel overly lax. Your equilibrium is off. You’re nauseated more frequently than not. And you're exhausted.

God, you’re so exhausted. You’ve put it up to stress. Sleep deficiency. The agony of loss shrouded in psychic static. But something in your gut, deep and slow and steady, knows better.

You’ve felt wrong since the day Mark left.

Not just emotionally. Not only psychically. Physically. But you don’t want to call it. Not yet.

Because if you speak it out loud, it becomes real. And you’re not ready for it. You’re not ready to realize you could be carrying something that still has his blood in it. That his disappearance might’ve left something behind inside you. That as the cosmos was taking him away, it might’ve left you with a piece of him you never asked for but now can’t imagine letting go.

You put your head between your legs. The air moves around you. You’re so used to it by now, the bending. The way time bends and space blurs at the limits of your perspective. You don’t flinch when things rattle. You don’t apologize when electricity crackles from your fingertips. It’s not panic anymore, it’s just present.

Your power is always active now. Like it’s mourning with you. Or preparing for anything.

You haven’t informed anybody that the last time you sobbed, the lights blew out across half the building. Or that when you woke up from a nightmare five nights ago, your reflection was gone from the mirror for an hour.

You haven’t informed anybody that you keep feeling him in areas he’s not. The fragrance of his perspiration lingered in the gym. The tiniest echo of his chuckle near the training field.

Your skin flinching at the phantom warmth of his touch at the back of your neck, while you’re perched on the edge of your bunk and thinking too loud.

But that’s all it is, right? Echoes. Ghosts.

You clench your eyes shut. Try to breathe from your nose. Try to hold yourself firm against the flow. You mutter his name beneath your breath.

Like maybe, just maybe, the cosmos will say it back. But all you get is silence.

Seven weeks.

Forty-nine days.

And you’re still waiting to wake up from it.

Still waiting for someone to tell you he’s okay. That he’s just off-world. That a signal eventually pinged. That he’s coming back. But no one says anything anymore. And you don’t ask. Because they’re all thinking it. And now, so are you.

He’s dead.

You think it. You detest it. You believe it.

And still, some bit of you rips open like a wound every time you do.

You convince yourself it’s just the sadness. That’s all it is.

The headaches. The nausea. The weight behind your eyes like you haven’t slept in days, even when you have. The way food tastes wrong now, metallic or overly sweet or like nothing at all. The tiredness that clings to your spine, drawing you down in the middle of discussions. In training. In missions, when they even let you go on them anymore.

You don’t say anything to the others. Not to Rex. Not to Eve. Not to Cecil. Not even to Robot, who’s been following you too closely lately, like he already knows something you don’t. Like he’s waiting for your powers to breach another wall.

Because this type of broken doesn’t feel like it belongs to them. This sort of broken belongs to you.

And maybe… maybe to Mark.

You think about him frequently, even when you don’t mean to. Even while you’re trying not to. Even when your chest already feels like a raw nerve. He shows up anyway, in peaceful times, in empty rooms, in the fragrance of his t-shirt you refuse to wash even though it’s been seven weeks. Seven silent weeks.

And every time your stomach twists, every time the dizziness comes, every time you wake up sweating through the covers, body thrumming with something you don’t understand.

‘This is what losing him did to me.’

Of course you’re sick. Of course you’re exhausted. Of course you feel like you’re disintegrating from the inside out. He was everything. And now he’s gone. Your body is mourning just like your mind is. You’ve convinced yourself of it so fully, you’ve stopped questioning it.

Almost.

But Debbie has.

She doesn’t push. She never does. Not with you. She knows what it is to lose someone you believed was indestructible. She understands what it’s like to live in a house full with echoes. She lets you come and leave. She offers you room. She makes tea without asking whether you want some.

But recently, she’s been observing you more intently. Asking questions you don’t want to answer.

“Are you sleeping?” “You look pale. Have you been eating?” “Sweetheart… you’re shaking.”

And you brush it off every time. You smile, or you attempt to. You tell her you’re OK. That your powers have been out of harmony. That you’re just tired. But Debbie Grayson has suffered too much grief to accept quiet falsehoods from people she loves. Last night, she put a hand on your shoulder as you were washing dishes at the sink, peering out the window into the dark backyard. He’s older now. Oliver had gone to bed already, after you helped him put away his scattered toys and gave him a half-made-up story about stars and flying dogs. He’d gripped your legs hard and told you you looked sad. That caused something in your throat tighten up.

Debbie didn’t say anything at first.

She just stood by you. Then, quietly. “Have you thought that maybe it’s not just sadness?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t glance at her. Because the reality is, you had considered it. Once. Maybe twice. A week ago, you nearly passed out in the shower. You put it up to stress. The day following that, you vomited up in the restroom at HQ. You didn’t tell anyone. Just gazed at your reflection thereafter for a long time. You looked hollow. Wrong. You started avoiding mirrors. You think about Mark again.

How proud he looked, holding Oliver for the first time. Nervous, but steady. Joking that he’d never held a kid before, like the newborn may break in his grasp. The way he looked at you like you were the one who made it possible. Like somehow, just being here made everything make sense. You brush the idea aside before it settles too deep.

Inside the home, it’s peaceful.

Tonight, Oliver’s already half-asleep in his room, his little body snuggled up in a too-big hoodie, one of Mark’s, of course. You know he can’t grasp everything yet, but he feels things. He’s growing so fast, talking more, asking questions, studying you with those piercing eyes that seem more and more like his brother’s every day. You brush your fingers over his hair softly. He whispers your name in his sleep. Your throat catches.

You tuck a blanket about him and settle down nearby, drawing your knees up to your chest again.

The nausea hits you not long after. And this time, you don’t pretend it’s nothing. You just sit there, one hand on your stomach, tentative, doubtful, not ready to acknowledge anything out loud, but thinking all the same.

‘What if I’m not sick?’

‘What if I’m not broken?’

‘What if there’s a reason I still feel him?’

You put your head back against the couch, eyes closing as your powers settle around you like a pulse. Maybe you’ll remain here for a few days. You need to remain stable. For Oliver. For yourself.

You wake to the sound of birds.

It takes you a moment to realize you’re still at Debbie’s.

You’re on the pullout couch in her house. Blankets drawn up around your shoulders, a pillow that smells slightly like laundry detergent and dust and something a bit like him. Not his aroma, precisely, but something near enough to make your stomach flip.

You sit up carefully. The light is faint and sweet, trickling through the thin drapes in delicate ribbons. You hear a quiet thump overhead, Debbie moving about in her bedroom. A child’s sigh behind you.

Oliver.

He’s snuggled up on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked beneath him, lips slightly open, eyelashes black on his cheeks. He must’ve crept in when you were asleep. You don’t recall it. But you’re not surprised.

He’s been doing that more lately. He’s not quite clinging, but... he lingers.

You don’t move. Not yet. You simply sit there and watch him breathe for a minute. It settles the static in your head, almost. Your abilities aren’t flashing this morning, which should be a comfort. But you feel odd nevertheless. Your head is heavy. Your joints hurt. And there’s something in your chest that feels tight.

Not grief. Not precisely. Or maybe it is grief. You’re losing track of what it feels like anymore. Every feeling seeps into the next until everything is simply noise.

You push the blanket off and stand. Immediately, the agony in your legs makes itself apparent. You stretch, slowly, carefully, and stroll into the kitchen. Debbie’s already there, at the stove, her back to you. She’s in sweatpants and an enormous sweatshirt, her hair pulled up. There’s a mug of tea on the table already, yours. She must’ve started the kettle before you even stirred.

“Morning,” she says, without glancing around.

“Morning,” you say, voice raspy.

You rub at your arms. The air feels frigid even if it’s not.

Debbie motions to the counter. “Coffee’s almost ready.”

You nod, walking forward, and then it hits you.

The scent. Sharp. Bitter. Stronger than it should be. The instant it meets your nose, your stomach flips. Hard. You freeze.

Debbie turns around slowly, brow furrowing. “You okay?”

You shake your head, one hand flying up like that’ll stop your body from performing what it’s going to do. But it doesn’t. You hurry to the sink just in time. It’s not dramatic. It’s not even loud. But it’s violent. Quick and harsh and unexpected, the type of nausea that leaves your palms braced on the edge of the counter, air shuddering out of your lungs as you struggle not to weep from the power of it.

Debbie is by your side in an instant. She doesn't ask anything yet. She merely rests a solid, steadying palm on your back and waits.

When it passes, you rinse your mouth out with cold water and lean over the sink for a moment.

“Jesus,” you murmur.

Debbie hands you a towel. “When did that start?”

You wash your face, eyes still closed. “Just now.”

“Not before?”

You shake your head again. “I mean... I’ve been tired. And I haven’t been eating. But I thought it was stress.”

Debbie doesn’t say anything. You sense her observing you.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” you say, as if that explains anything. “It’s just, grief, probably. That smell just hit me too strongly. My body’s been out of tune ever since…”

You don’t complete the sentence. You don’t need to.

Debbie nods once. “Okay.”

She doesn't push. Just pours you a glass of water and lays it on the table, then goes back to the stove like nothing happened. But there’s something fresh about her motions now, quiet, thoughtful. You feel her peek at you again when she thinks you’re not looking.

You sit down, holding the drink with both hands. And try to breathe past the nausea still boiling down in your gut. You don’t suspect anything. Not really.

Because your mind is too loaded with other things. Because your body’s been wrong for weeks, and you put it all up to Mark being gone. To the manner you stopped eating correctly. To the way your powers have been wavering like broken radio waves. To the way everything inside you seems too loud or too empty, depending on the hour.

He’s been gone for over two months. Your anguish is killing you slowly. That’s what you tell yourself. Because it’s easier than asking the other question.

Easier than unlocking that box in your mind, the one that houses the memory of his hands on your hips, his kisses on your collarbone, the gradual stillness of that one night in his childhood room when the chaos halted long enough for the two of you to believe you were simply human.

You take another drink of water.

You touch your palm on your stomach absently.

And you think, ‘This is just grief.’

It needs to be.

The water glass is cold in your hands, but it doesn’t help.

Your stomach still feels like it’s trying to wring itself inside out. Your skin is clammy. You can feel your powers coiled up inside you like something wanting to strike, but they’re silent for now, pinned under the weight of something heavier. Something calmer. Something not fully yours.

You hear the faint clink of the coffee pot as Debbie switches it off.

Then quiet.

She doesn’t sit down. Doesn’t talk yet. Just wanders around the kitchen like she’s thinking about what to say.

You grasp your glass closer.

She eventually breaks the stillness, her voice low. Careful.

“You know…” she says, without looking at you, “when I was pregnant with Mark, I couldn’t stand the smell of coffee either.”

Your hand tightens around the glass.

You gaze straight ahead, not replying. Not responding.

She glances at you now. Gently. No judgment in her eyes. Just… care. The type that seeps in even when you don’t want it. The type that stays.

“I thought I had the flu,” she continues, more nonchalantly now. Like it’s just talk. “Was throwing up all the time. Couldn’t keep anything down. Got dizzy every time I stood up too fast. And every time Nolan made eggs, I nearly passed out.”

Your gut twists again.

You shake your head. Not even sure what you're saying no to. “It’s not… I’m not-”

Debbie extends a hand, soothing. “I didn’t say you were.”

But something moves in your chest. Something ancient and terrified and too near to true.

“I’ve just seen a lot,” she says gently. “I’ve felt a lot of what you’re feeling.”

You scoff, attempting to disguise the sudden tightness behind your eyes. “No offense, Debbie, but I don’t think anyone’s felt what I’m feeling right now.”

And to her credit, she doesn’t take it personally.

She just nods. “That’s fair.”

You drop your head, swallowing hard.

It’s silent again.

And then she continues, softly, “Did you and Mark ever talk about…protection?”

You blink.

Your heart loses a beat.

And it hits you, all at once, like being slammed against a wall.

No.

You didn’t.

You never even thought about it.

That night, his childhood room, his flesh under your nails, his breath pausing as you uttered his name like it meant anything. The way your bodies pressed together, seeking for calm, for anything normal. You just let yourself have him. Let yourself be loved.

And he loved you like he didn’t imagine there’d be a tomorrow.

There was no conversation. No hesitation. No barriers.

You close your eyes.

Shit.

You don’t even know you’ve stopped breathing until Debbie’s hand is on your shoulder.

She’s kneeling beside you now, soft. Her voice warm.

“Hey,” she says, softly. “It’s okay.”

You shake your head, the words becoming caught in your throat. “It’s not. I can’t…I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” she continues. “We’re just talking. That’s all.”

You attempt to answer but nothing comes out.

Because the pressure’s mounting too quickly. The nausea, the tiredness, the reality screaming in the back of your brain.

You’re not just sick.

You’re pregnant.

With Mark’s kid.

And he’s gone.

Your face crumples before you can stop it. The tears come fast, hot, quiet, persistent.

Debbie doesn’t say anything. She merely draws you close, throwing her arms over your shoulders while you shake in her grasp. You’re not used to being held like this, not softly, not without expectation. It breaks you more.

“I can’t,” you sob into her shoulder. “I can’t do this without him.”

“You’re not alone,” she adds, squeezing you tightly. “I promise. You’re not.”

“I didn’t even know,” you choke out. “I thought…I thought it was just grief. I thought my body was falling apart, not this.”

Debbie’s hand smooths across your back. “I know. I know.”

You sob again, your whole body shaking now.

It’s not just about the baby.

It’s about him.

You would give everything to see his face again. To hear him laugh. To grasp his hand in yours and tell him, ‘You did this. You’re going to be a dad. And I don’t know what to do.’

But he’s not here.

You cry like the truth would kill you.

And Debbie doesn’t hurry you. Doesn’t try to solve it. Just sits there, steady, her warmth anchoring you to the floor of a kitchen that smells like coffee and burnt toast and the only piece of your world that hasn’t gone apart.

Eventually, as your tears lessen and your breath starts to smooth out, Debbie draws back just enough to meet your eyes.

“I can pick up a test for you,” she offers softly. “You don’t have to take it now. But when you’re ready.”

You nod, barely.

Then mumble, “Thank you.”

Because she’s right.

You don’t know what to do yet.

But maybe… maybe you don’t have to do it alone.

You want to keep still.

The blanket Debbie left you draped over your shoulders is nice, but it doesn’t help. You’re too heated. Your skin’s clammy. Your stomach is still clenched into a fist from the nausea that slammed you like a punch half an hour ago.

You don’t want to relocate.

You don’t want to feel.

The sound of the front door shutting behind Debbie is still lingering in your ears. She said she’d be back shortly. Twenty minutes, maybe. She didn’t specify what she was buying, but she didn’t have to. You saw it in her eyes, quiet, steady, too nice to say it out loud.

You didn’t stop her.

You should’ve.

You should’ve informed her it wasn’t required.

But instead, you just sat there like your body was no longer yours.

You’re on the couch again. Oliver is sleeping against your side, his head lying on your lap now, one of his arms wrapped over your knee. His breathing is slow, deep, serene in the soft, relaxed way youngsters sleep when they know they’re protected.

And you can’t stop shaking.

Not brutally. Not clearly. But you feel it. In your fingertips. Your legs. Your chest.

It’s not simply the coffee smell anymore. Not simply a one-off wave of nausea.

It’s been happening more and more.

The dizziness. The scent sensitivity. The tiredness so profound it feels like gravity’s crushing harder than it should. You haven’t trained in days. You can hardly get through a briefing without fading out. Half the time, your powers are on a hair trigger, spiking just enough to make lights flicker, air buzz, paper crinkle under phantom weight.

You keep telling yourself it’s sadness.

That your body is responding to the loss. To the absence of Mark. That this is just the protracted, drawn-out collapse of someone who hasn’t slept properly since the person they love were snatched from their arms without a warning or a farewell.

You haven’t allowed yourself believe anything else.

Until now.

Now, you’re sitting in the silence, at Debbie’s house, with a three-year-old breathing quietly against your leg and something black and new curling under your ribs.

And suddenly?

You’re not so sure.

Your hand wanders down, gradually and almost without thinking, to your lower abdomen. It’s not large. Not even noticeable beneath your hoodie. But it’s different. You feel different. Denser. Like something’s coiled there, developing in the quiet.

You blink hard.

“No,” you mumble, barely audible.

You close your eyes and shake your head. “No.”

Because it doesn’t make sense.

Because it can’t be that.

Because there’s no way the cosmos is so terrible.

Not when he’s gone.

Not when you don’t even know whether he’s alive. If he’s breathing. If he’s out there screaming for you as you’ve been screaming inside since the minute he went.

You breathe out a trembling breath and fall back, sinking your head into the cushion behind you.

Mark had hugged you like the world was ending that night.

The way his hands slipped down your back. The way your lips moved together, frenzied and tender all at once. Conquest was gone. Nolan had left again. And for a few hours, there was nothing except the two of you. In his childhood bedroom. On a rickety twin bed that barely accommodated you both.

No discussion of protection.

No plans.

Just his kiss on your shoulder and his voice in your ear pleading please, stay like it meant something more than he had words for.

You never thought…

You draw your legs to your chest softly, trying not to wake Oliver, and fold in over them.

It’s too much.

Too quick.

You can’t be pregnant.

You can’t be.

Because if you are…

Then this isn’t simply grief anymore.

This isn’t just losing Mark.

It’s carrying what he left behind.

It’s waking up every day and knowing he might never come back, and you yet have to continue forward with a piece of him inside you.

And you don’t feel powerful enough for it.

You hide your face in your knees, body shivering with the attempt to be quiet.

Because Oliver is still asleep.

And you can’t fall apart.

Not yet.

Not until the door opens again and Debbie comes with something solid, something you can grip, something you can know.

You stay there, lying on the couch, not breathing correctly.

Not thinking too hard.

Waiting.

Waiting for the response you’re still not ready to ask.

The plastic bag is light in your hands.

Lighter than it should be. Lighter than it feels. You hold it like it may detonate, that the items inside would blow your life into something different the second you pull them out.

You gaze down at it from where you’re sitting on the edge of the tub. Legs tucked close. Hands clutched. Your stomach’s still twisting, but the nausea has settled into something quieter now. Not gone. Just... waiting.

Like you are.

Debbie’s seated across from you, on the lid of the toilet, elbows on her knees, hands folded. Her sweater sleeves are pushed up to her elbows, and her face is the same one she had in the hospital waiting room after Mark’s first serious mission, still and silent, like she’s bracing for something she’s already been through.

You’ve never felt so vulnerable.

“I don’t have to be here,” she replies, gently. “If you want privacy…”

“No,” you say too hastily.

Then again, gentler. “No. Stay.”

She nods.

And that’s all. She doesn’t ask anything else. She just stays, like a lighthouse in the fog.

You open the box with shaky hands. Your fingers are stiff, clumsy. You attempt to read the directions, but the words don’t sit well in your head. You have to go over things twice, three times, before they click.

Debbie doesn’t take the test from you, but she offers to set the timer.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

You follow the directions with silent, shivering attention, your body numb and sluggish and awkward in a way you don’t recognize. When it’s done, you set the test down on the counter like it’s a shard of glass. Like if you touch it too hard, it’ll shatter.

Debbie lays her phone on the edge of the sink. Timer: five minutes.

You sit back down.

And wait.

The room is still.

Not tense.

Not quiet in the manner you imagined.

Just... motionless.

The bathroom light hums above you. The heating kicks on softly from the vents. Somewhere upstairs, the house creaks in that way old houses do while the day is still waking up. You can hear a bird chirping out front. A car moving slowly down the street.

It everything seems wrong.

Too typical. Too peaceful.

You put your arms over your knees and try not to cry. Again.

Debbie doesn’t say much. But she’s watching you. Not hovering, just there. Present. Like she understands precisely what this moment needs, and what it doesn’t.

Two minutes pass.

You shatter the stillness first.

“If it’s positive…” You trail off.

She raises her eyebrows slightly. “Yeah?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to know.”

You blink hard. The timer continues ticking.

You whisper. “I thought I was getting sick from missing him.”

Debbie nods slowly. “Sadness does that. It burrows into your body.”

“I’ve been so tired,” you go on. “So angry. My powers keep reacting without me telling them to. I can’t eat. I cry for nothing. I felt... I thought I was just coming apart.”

“You’ve been holding yourself together with whatever scraps you had left,” she adds. “And you’ve been doing it alone.”

That hurts.

Because it’s true.

You have been alone.

Even when others were in the room, even when Rex attempted to talk to you, or Eve placed food outside your door, or Cecil checked in with that clinical not-quite-worried voice of his, you’ve been alone.

Because Mark’s not here.

Because nothing feels genuine without him.

Debbie watches you, her voice weaker now. “Did you and Mark ever talk about this? What you wanted?”

You shake your head.

That night, in his room, after the dust had fallen, when the world felt like it had just put itself back together, there were no talks about futures. No plans. Just mouths. Hands. Breaths. The tremor in his voice when he uttered your name, the way he wrapped his body around yours like he was terrified of the world stealing you from him too.

There was no protection. No pause. No second-guessing.

Because there wasn’t meant to be a future beyond that night.

There was only that night.

“No,” you answer finally. “We didn’t talk about it. We weren’t even thinking.”

Debbie exhales, slow. She’s nodding, but her expression looks distant, like she’s recalling something. Maybe Mark’s starting. Maybe her own.

The timer buzzes.

Your whole body goes motionless.

Debbie grabs for her phone, silences it. She doesn’t move to look.

She stares at you.

“It’s okay,” she adds gently. “You don’t have to look right away.”

You sit transfixed for another second.

And then you move.

You reach out with shaky palms. Pick up the test.

You read the outcome.

And the breath leaves your lungs.

You look. You don’t blink.

You don’t need to read it twice.

You know what those lines signify.

Positive.

It feels like a wave slamming through your chest. A cold, painful jolt that travels right to your ribcage and knocks everything free.

You don’t talk.

You don’t move.

You just hold it.

Your voice breaks as it comes.

“I can’t do this alone.”

Debbie doesn’t hesitate. She’s alongside you in seconds, one arm slipping around your shoulders, bringing you close.

“You won’t,” she says. “I swear to you, you won’t.”

The tears come then.

Messy. Raw. Painful in a manner that doesn’t feel like grief anymore, but something else. Something rooted. Something real.

You cry till your throat hurts. Until your body slumps forward and the test slips from your palm and clatters on the tile.

Debbie hugs you like she’s done this before.

Because she has.

Because she knows.

And when the sobbing eventually decreases, when your breath starts to even out and your hands stop trembling so fiercely, she says the one thing that counts at this moment:

“You’re not alone, sweetheart.”

And somehow?

Even in this grief-shaped, half-empty world

You believe her.

The home is peaceful again.

Too silent, save for the subtle rise and fall of Oliver’s respiration upstairs.

You’re sitting on the side of the bed in Debbie’s guest room now, the pregnancy test still lying on the nightstand next to a half-empty glass of water and a tissue you never actually used, just crumpled in your fist when the tears wouldn’t stop pouring.

Debbie let you be alone for a bit. She didn’t ask questions when you asked to lie down. She merely pulled the blankets back, helped you out of your shoes like you were a child, and kissed your temple like it meant something. And it did.

She said she’d bring breakfast up soon. But you’re not hungry.

You can’t fathom being hungry ever again.

Your stomach isn’t twisting anymore. Your head isn’t whirling. You’re not shaking like before.

Now you just feel... empty.

Like your body is creating room for something you’re not ready to bear.

You peek toward the doorway, toward the calm upstairs corridor, and then you look at the small folded baby blanket that Oliver left on the floor earlier, his favorite one, the one he won’t sleep without.

You look at it till your throat tightens.

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it?

Real.

Not simply grief. Not just a maybe. Not simply terror, or tiredness, or guilt.

You’re pregnant.

You’re going to have a baby.

Mark’s baby.

And Mark is gone.

You don't know where he is.

You don't know if he's breathing, or confined somewhere, or dead.

Everyone else has stopped talking about it.

They've stopped waiting.

But you never did.

Not really.

And now?

Now you’re staring down the barrel of a life that’s only going to grow harder, and the one person you need to tell isn't here to hear it.

You cover your face with both hands, elbows braced on your knees.

You breathe heavily. Not weeping yet.

Not again.

But the pressure’s coming back.

The heat behind your eyelids. The weight in your ribcage.

You think about Oliver.

Of how he clung to you when Mark went. How he’d wake up weeping at first, begging for “bra bra” in the middle of the night. How his skills started showing out in subtle ways, accidentally gripping your finger too hard, dashing too quickly across the floor, and how you were the only one who could calm him down when it worried him.

You thought of smoothing his hair back, murmuring vows you weren't sure you could keep. ‘I'm here. You're safe. We'll work it out.’

You adore him.

God, you love him.

And you realize suddenly, he's the reason you even considered about having kids in the first place. Not a dream, not a fancy, not some concept in the far future.

Him.

Mark once questioned once whether you'd ever thought about it. That day at the park. Just the two of you sitting on a bench, weary from patrol. He’d been watching Oliver play, laughing with the other Guardians, when he turned to you and said.

“Would you ever… you know. Want that?”

You pretended not to hear at first.

Because the concept was horrifying. Beautiful, but disturbing.

But deep down, you did. And you told him later. Quietly. In bed, behind his blankets, cuddled up against his chest. You said, “Yes. One day. When we’re ready.”

And now?

Now you’re not ready.

And he’s not here.

And you don’t have a family.

You don’t have a team anymore, not really.

You don’t have your parents. You don’t have a house.

You have Debbie.

You have this child.

And you have this awful, overwhelming sensation that you are not strong enough to do this without him.

The sob rises before you can stop it.

It bursts through your chest like a second heartbeat, strong and abrupt. You tumble forward, your fingertips grasping the edge of the nightstand, your breath falling into hiccuped breaths.

“I can’t-” you choke. “I can’t do this without him.”

You don't know if you're talking to Debbie.

Or to yourself.

Or to the universe.

You feel like you’re unraveling.

Like every thread keeping you together is snapping one by one.

You wish you could teleport. Run. Disappear. Fold time around yourself till this moment doesn’t exist.

But instead you’re here, face in your hands, ribcage shaking, weeping as you did the day you knew he wasn't coming back. But this time?

This time, it’s worse.

Because this time, you’re not alone.

Not really.

And there’s the part that tears you open entirely.

The gentle groan of the flooring catches your attention.

You don’t lift your head.

But you feel Debbie sit next you on the bed. Not too near. Just enough.

She doesn’t say anything for a time. Just lets your sobs fill the room.

And when the stillness eventually returns, she speaks.

Her voice is gentle. Steady. Tired in a manner that only moms know.

“I didn’t think I could do it either,” she admits.

You shift your face slightly, just enough to view her profile. She’s looking ahead at the wall, like she’s picturing a different house. A different time.

“I was twenty-three when I found out,” she says. “Nolan didn’t cry. He didn’t hug me. He just said, ‘Alright then.’ And went back to writing his book. I remember looking at the sink for almost an hour after he left.”

She laughs once. It’s dry.

“I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know what I was meant to be. But I had a kid inside me, and I had no option but to figure it out.”

You’re still weeping, but calmer now.

“I didn’t have powers,” Debbie says. “I didn’t have an army. I just had a modest house and a job and… and love. That was all. Just love.”

She glances at you.

“And I see that in you,” she continues. “I see it when you look at Oliver. When you speak about Mark. When you grieve. When you fight.”

You bite your lip. Hard.

“You can do this,” she adds. “You already are.”

Your breath stutters.

Then you mutter, “But I don’t want to do it without him.”

Debbie nods.

“I know.”

She draws you into her arms again.

And you let her.

Because right now?

That’s all you can do.

Oliver’s still upstairs sleeping. Debbie’s out in the yard, giving you space without saying she’s giving you space, just going through the day like she understands how close you are to breaking again.

You’ve taken up position on the couch again, legs pulled underneath you, Mark’s sweater drowning your figure. It still smells vaguely like him, even after all these time. You should probably wash it. You won’t. You’ve said it before.

Your head’s throbbing. Not from weeping. Just from thinking. Too much of it, too loud, going in circles like it’ll alter things.

You haven’t been back to HQ since the test.

But Rex?

He’s the only one who didn’t quit trying to talk to you.

You ignored every one of his calls, every snide voice memo, every “yo, I know you’re ghosting me and I’m showing up anyway” text, until today.

Because today, he follows through.

The knock on the door is light, but persistent.

You already know who it is before you even wake up.

You draw the hoodie tightly about yourself and open the door.

He’s standing there in joggers, a fitting long-sleeve shirt, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, a bag of takeout in one hand and an expression on his face that’s considerably more serious than you’re used to seeing on Rex.

He looks you up and down once. Frowns.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

You don’t answer. You stand aside.

He goes in like it’s his place because he knows you won’t stop him. He tosses the bag on the coffee table and kicks his shoes off like he’s done this a hundred times.

“You’re lucky I like you, y’know. Most folks who ignore me get roasted in the group chat.”

You sit back down on the couch, drawing your knees up again.

Rex observes you from the opposite end of the room. He doesn’t sit immediately away.

“Why’d you stop showing up?” he says. “I mean, I thought it was grief. Or you were off trying to bring Mark back from the void or whatever but it’s been so long.”

You push your face into your knees.

He sighs. Loudly. “C’mon. You gotta give me something. I’ve been worried. Eve’s been worried. And when Eve gets worried, I suffer.”

You don’t answer.

“Is it your powers again?” he tries. “Is Robot being a dick? Did Cecil say something? Because I can chuck him into a recycling bin, like emotionally.”

You shake your head.

Rex eventually sits across from you, his elbows on his knees.

When you still don’t talk, he leans forward, voice quieter.

“I know it’s not my thing to be, like, the emotional support dude, but... I’m here. Okay? You don’t have to describe the whole issue. Just allow me in the room.”

You elevate your head carefully.

Your eyes are crimson again. You didn’t think you’d have more tears left, yet they’re there, prickling at the corners.

“I’m pregnant.”

You speak it like a confession. Like a sin.

Rex blinks.

Then again.

And then, so gently it catches you off guard, he just murmurs, “Oh.”

You wait for the punchline. The laugh. The joke. The awkward shuffle. You braced for it.

It never arrives.

Instead, he just nods. Once. Then again. Slow, like it’s still soaking in.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

You bite your lip, hard. “It’s Mark’s.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

The way he says it isn’t mean. Just apparent.

You start to weep again, and it irritates you off because you wanted to get through saying everything without sobbing. But your chest sinks and your shoulders shake and suddenly your hands are covering your face again like you’re trying to hide the whole damn affair.

“I didn’t want this to happen without him,” you mumble. “We weren’t ready. We didn’t even talk about it.”

Rex doesn’t say anything. He merely moves, slowly, across the couch and sits next to you. Not near enough to squeeze you, but close enough that you can feel him there. Anchoring.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you concede. “I don’t have anyone. Not really. Debbie’s been amazing, but I don’t have a family. I don’t have... I don’t even have him.”

You wipe your face with your sleeve.

Rex scrapes the back of his neck. “You got me, dumbass.”

That makes you cough out half a giggle, half a sob.

“I’m serious,” he says. “You think I don’t know how to step up? I’ve been a screw-up most of my life. But I turn up when it matters. And this? This matters.”

You peek over at him.

He looks, genuinely there. Not faking. Not performing. Just real.

“And I’m not gonna bail,” he says. “I’m not gonna ghost. You need someone to yell at Cecil? Done. You need someone to babysit a psychic apocalyptic kid while you sleep for 10 minutes? I’ll do it. I’ll damage that kid’s vocabulary in record time.”

You smile. It aches. But it’s a smile.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you say again, voice raspy.

“You don’t have to know today,” he answers. “You just have to show up. One hour at a time. You’re entitled to not have it together. That’s why folks like me exist. To cook you breakfast and ridicule your crying.”

You elbow him softly, and he allows you.

He leans back on the couch, arms extended.

“And, for what it’s worth? Mark would’ve been a great dad.”

You nod. Your throat’s too tight to answer.

“He’d suck at diapers, though. I know that dude would’ve wore goggles like it was a chemical hazard.”

That draws a great laugh out of you. Short. Breathless. But genuine.

Rex smiles. “See? Still have it.”

You wipe your eyes one more time.

And for the first time since you saw those two lines, you start to believe it, just barely, that maybe you won’t have to face this alone.

The two of you sit on the sofa longer than you planned to.

There’s a gap in the discourse after the tears. A gentle, weighty type of silence but not the painful kind. Not like previously. It feels different now. Lived-in. Almost safe.

Rex leans back, legs splayed out, one ankle crossed over the other, arms slung over the top of the couch like he owns the room. His body language is comfortable, but you know him well enough now to detect the quiver in his knee, the way his thumb continues tapping against the cushion. He’s holding space for you, in the only way Rex knows how, part quiet, half restless energy, all-in even when he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

And that implies something.

You’re nestled onto your end of the couch again, finally breathing without breaking. It’s quiet in the house except for the faint buzz of sunlight outside, distant traffic, birds, the odd thud from Debbie’s garden tools on the patio stones.

And above, the faint sound of Oliver stirring in his sleep.

You gaze at Rex.

He notices.

“You want me to go?” he says. Not defensive. Just willing.

You shake your head. “No. Stay.”

He nods. Doesn’t say anything else for a second.

“Debbie’s a damn saint, by the way. When I went to the bathroom she offered me a muffin, and told me if I destroyed anything in her house I’d end up in a river.”

You snort gently. “Sounds about right.”

“She makes a mean blueberry muffin,” he says. “Not gonna lie. Almost cried.”

You gaze at him. “You cry over baked goods?”

“Bro,” he says, dead serious. “One time a woman in Italy gave me a cannoli I didn’t ask for. I proposed on the spot.”

You roll your eyes, yet your lips twitch. You detest how simple he makes it, how his presence removes the strain away from your chest without asking for anything in return. No expectations. No pity. Just... him.

He’s not Mark. And he never pretends to be.

But there’s something about the way he comes there for you, every time, without fanfare, that cuts through the fog.

You rest your head back on the cushions.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well. You’re the only person on this squad who doesn’t treat me like I’m made of explosives.”

“That’s because you are made of explosives.”

“Exactly. I feel seen.”

You smile. You don’t mean to, yet it sneaks through again. The strain in your shoulders diminishes.

He observes you for a beat. Then, more quietly.

“You really scared us.”

You blink.

“After Mark left. You shut yourself in that room. You didn’t talk. You hardly ate. Cecil started mumbling about putting you off mission rotation permanently. Robot continued trying to scan your vitals. I told them all to back off, but... I didn’t know whether you were gonna make it out of that.”

You look down at your hands.

Rex continues, voice quiet. “You’ve always been intense. But that was something else. Like you were midway between battling the world and letting it plummet down a cliff.”

You swallow. “That’s... not wrong.”

He leans forward now, elbows on his knees again, voice more serious than before.

“And now you’re pregnant.”

You nod once.

He nods too, slowly.

“You gonna keep it?”

You don’t answer right away.

You gaze toward the window. The sunshine seeps through the slats in long, pale lines. It makes the dust in the air apparent, moving slowly across the area like time is slowing just for a second.

You think of Oliver.

His small hands grasping yours. His giggle when you lift his favorite toy just a bit too high. The way he yells your name when he needs something even when Debbie’s closer.

You think of Mark’s expression when he first held him.

That astonished, gentle gaze. Like everything had snapped into place.

You think about that night, how real it felt. How whole.

And you whisper, “I don’t know how. But yes. I guess I am.”

Rex pulls out a big sigh. “Okay. Cool. Yeah.”

You gaze at him.

He’s nodding a bit too rapidly.

“Cool?”

He shrugs. “I mean, like, not cool like yay, trauma baby. Just... cool like alright. It’s real. It’s happening. You’ve made a decision. I’m processing.”

You laugh beneath your breath.

He grins.

Then adds, “For the record, I think you’re gonna be awesome at it.”

You blink at him.

“You’re saying I’d be a good mom?”

“I’m saying,” he continues, sitting back, “if you can hold your own on a battlefield against a guy with laser eyes and a rage problem, you can probably handle a kid who drools and screams about snacks.”

You’re laughing again, and this time it’s easier.

You gaze at him, heart still weary but warm now. Just a bit.

“You’ve changed, y’know,” you say.

Rex raises his eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re... showing up.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I got tired of being the guy no one counted on.”

You pause.

“Thank you,” you say, silent.

He looks to you, and for once, there’s no humor in his gaze. No sarcasm. Just a true, constant type of support.

“I got you,” he says. “For as long as you need.”

And somehow, in the thick of everything breaking, that promise sits deep in your chest and keeps something in place that’s been threatening to collapse for weeks.

It’s later in the morning now.

The sunshine has intensified through the living room windows, creating long warm stripes over the couch cushions. The house is still quiet, Debbie’s out watering the garden again, Oliver still asleep upstairs in that half-sprawled way kids sleep when their bodies are developing too quickly to sense tiredness.

You’re cuddled on the couch again. Rex is sitting on the floor nearby, eating another muffin and switching between channels on the TV, grumbling under his breath about how “no one watches cable anymore” and “why do cartoons look like this now?”

It’s calm.

Not normal. Not really. But calm.

The first type of tranquility you’ve had in weeks.

And then the knock comes.

Three mild knocks. Hesitant.

You and Rex both gaze toward the door.

Debbie’s not expecting anyone. You’re not either.

Rex squints toward it. “That a delivery or a ghost?”

You sit up gently, tug Mark’s hoodie tightly over your torso, and proceed toward the door. Something flutters in your chest, a glimmer of nervousness. You don’t like surprises anymore. You don’t trust them.

You open it.

And your heart stutters.

“William?”

He blinks. His hand is still elevated mid-knock, like he didn’t expect you to really answer.

“Oh my God,” he whispers, breath hitching. “You’re here.”

You gaze at him. He's scarcely changed, same piercing brown eyes, same sweater draped over a little rumpled button-up, same aura of fast-talking confidence and warmth you forgot how much you missed.

He shifts nervously, gaze flashing past you into the home. “Is-? I mean, I heard something happened with Mark, and I tried calling a dozen times, but your phone’s been off, and I didn’t even know you were still here… Debbie said you were staying for a while, and I just thought-”

He stops. Looks at you.

And his smile disappears.

“You look… not okay.”

You breathe out, unsteady. Then step away.

“Come in.”

Rex glances up as William enters. “Yo.”

William nods graciously. “Hey. Uh, hi. You’re... here too.”

“Always.”

William turns back to you.

You close the door behind him.

He glances at you again, more slowly this time. Really looks. Takes in the dark shadows under your eyes, the way you’ve pulled your sleeves down over your hands, the tightness in your stance. The type of fatigue that sadness carves out and makes permanent.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he continues, his voice lower now. “I figured if I could find Debbie, I might find something out. But I wasn’t sure.”

You sit down on the edge of the couch. Rex adjusts so there’s room for William to sit. He doesn’t, not straight now.

You glance at him for a long moment.

Then you say it.

Not lightly. Not slowly.

Just… out.

“I’m pregnant.”

William freezes.

His lips open slightly, eyes growing big, and for a second he just blinks at you.

You wait for him to speak. To say anything.

“Oh my God,” he gasps.

You gaze down. Your hands twist in your sleeves.

“Mark’s?” he asks, although he already knows the answer. His voice breaks slightly as he says it.

You nod.

He slips into the armchair across from you like someone yanked the cords out of his knees.

Rex keeps silent this time.

You watch William process it.

You watch everything occurring in real time, the shift in his expression, the calculation behind his eyes, the terror, the despair, the pain layered atop the delight that can’t quite surface. It’s too early for joy. Too raw.

“Jesus,” he murmurs quietly, his eyes sparkling. “I didn’t even know you were together like that.”

You grin, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

William places his palm over his lips. “Do the Guardians know?”

You shake your head. “No one but Debbie. And Rex.”

William glances at Rex, then back at you.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits. “I haven’t seen you since everything went to shit. You and Mark were constantly gone rescuing the world, and I just... went to school trying not to get vaporized by association.”

You laugh. Soft.

“I didn’t know how to tell anyone,” you mumble. “It didn’t even feel real. I thought I was sick. I assumed it was sadness. Then it wasn’t. Then it was, but in a different way.”

William leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“And Mark, he still hasn’t shown up?”

You shake your head.

The stillness that follows is so heavy it buzzes.

You swallow hard.

“I don’t know if I can do this without him.”

Your voice cracks.

William gets up.

Walks over.

And, just like Rex did, he sits alongside you, on your other side now, and wraps his arms around you like he used to when you were hardly sleeping during finals week and Mark had gone off-world and everything felt impossible.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

You lean into his shoulder, into the warmth of it.

“I should be happy,” you murmur, muted. “And I-I am. I love them. I already do. But I’m terrified, William. I don’t have a family. I don’t know what I’m doing. And every time I try to see the future, he’s not in it.”

William squeezes you tighter. “Then let’s picture a different one. One where we’re still here. Where you’re not alone. Because you’re not.”

You gaze up at him.

His eyes are wet too.

“I know I disappeared,” he says. “But I’m here now. You call me, I show up. That’s the rule.”

Rex nods. “Same.”

You glance between them, astonished. Vulnerable.

And then?

You let it strike you, this bizarre, delicate moment, where love looks like two mismatched guys sitting on each side of you, holding you up without asking for anything in return.

It doesn’t fix the agony. Doesn’t bring Mark back.

But it matters.

You can sense the shift in the room as soon as William shifts down next you.

He looks over at Rex. Recognition flickers in his eyes, but it’s not familiarity.

It’s TV familiarity.

That ‘you’re-on-the-news-a-lot’ type of face. The way someone glances when they’re attempting to connect the myth to the human.

Rex leans back a little, bending his head.

“You’re William, right?” he says, nonchalant, but eyeing him up. “Mark’s college friend?”

William nods. “Yeah. You’re Rex Splode.”

“In the flesh.”

There’s a pause.

William clears his throat. “I’ve seen you on TV. Mostly breaking stuff.”

Rex shrugs. “Well. That is kind of my thing.”

You gaze between them, stomach knotting.

Rex’s speech is light, but his shoulders are tense than normal. William’s sitting straighter than necessary, like he’s preparing for something, and you realize none of them knows what the other means to you. Not really.

They’re not friends.

They’re just here.

Because of you.

You close your eyes.

You weren’t ready for both of them in the same room.

And suddenly, here they are, opposite ends of your existence. One from your normal. The other from your not-so-normal. And you, stranded in the center with your whole universe broken wide open.

William glances at you. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t.”

Rex raises his eyebrow. “Yeah. Not intruding. I was just, y’know. Making sure she didn’t blow anyone up or something.”

“Is that a regular problem?” William asks, half-wary.

“Only when people piss her off.”

You groan, placing your palm to your brow.

“Guys, please,” you whisper.

Rex leans forward, tone changing. “I’m just saying, I’m here. I’ve been here. Since day one.”

William stiffens somewhat. “Yeah? I’ve known her since she left the GDA.”

You groan. “Not a pissing contest.”

Rex lifts both hands. “Just stating facts.”

William glances at you, his voice lower. “I just want to help.”

And Rex, surprisingly goes silent. Because he understands that tone. That type of searing earnestness.

And for once, instead of one-upping, he nods.

“Then we’re good.”

William nods back.

You breathe out a trembling breath and sink back onto the cushions, wiping your eyes.

“I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“You want water?” Rex asks, already half-standing.

“I’ll get it,” William adds, also moving.

They both halt. Look at each other.

Then together, “You get it.”

It’s absurd.

It’s so idiotic you almost laugh.

You wave a hand. “Both of you sit down. I’m fine.”

They settle, although uncomfortably.

You draw your legs to your chest again.

The pregnancy test is still up in the room, but it may as well be blazing through the ceiling. Every second it feels more real. Every action in your body tells you something else is developing inside you.

You gaze between the two of them.

“I didn’t plan this,” you reply gently. “None of it.”

They both glance at you.

“I don’t even know who I am right now,” you go on. “I’m scared. And I’m exhausted. And I feel like there’s this thing inside me, this kid, and they’re pure and wonderful and his, and I don’t know how I’m expected to keep it all.”

William’s face softens instantaneously.

Rex moves, more restless than nostalgic.

But both of them stay.

“I’m not ready,” you mumble.

Rex scrapes the back of his neck. “No one’s ready.”

“Speak for yourself,” William mutters. “I need three reminders just to water a plant.”

You nearly grin.

Almost.

“I thought I’d have him,” you remark. “Mark. We didn’t talk about it but… I guess we both expected we’d be there. Together.”

Silence settles again.

Not hefty.

Just honest.

Rex talks first. “You’re not alone.”

William echoes it, not because he’s imitating, but because he means it. “You’re really not.”

You gaze between them.

And something loosens.

You never anticipated the two individuals who would help you hold your world together would be the person who can blow up a building and the former college roommate who once blocked Mark’s shower with Rick’s beard trimmings.

But they’re here.

Not perfect.

Not Mark.

But here.

“Does it feel real yet?”

You hesitate.

“I don’t know,” you say. “Sometimes I think it’s happening to someone else. Like if I close my eyes, maybe I’ll wake up and none of it happened. Mark will be in the kitchen, naked, ranting about cereal again.”

William smiles, but his eyes get hazy.

You wipe at your face. “And other times... I feel everything at once. Like my body doesn’t know how to bear it. Any of it. Him being gone. This baby. The silence.”

William leans out, apprehensive, but he touches your hand, just his fingers. Like he’s asking.

You allowed him.

“You don’t have to do this by yourself,” he continues, his voice raspy. “I mean it. Whatever you need, whatever I can give, I’m not going anywhere.”

You chuckle faintly, wet. “You sure? You don’t even like kids.”

“I tolerate kids,” he says. “I like your kid.”

“It hasn’t even been born yet.”

“Yeah, but it’s got a 50/50 shot of being a sarcastic nightmare. So, I like my odds.”

You breathe out gently, stress seeping from your shoulders.

And in that moment, with William’s palm touching yours, Rex still close trying not to listen, and the weight of your entire future coiled somewhere inside your ribs

You finally let yourself believe it.

You’re not alone.

Not exactly. Not anymore.

The sun falls low behind the trees outside, throwing warm amber light through Debbie’s kitchen window. The stillness in the home has shifted, still full of tension, but no longer oppressive. Everything is weighty, but everything breathes. For once, it breathes.

William helped clear the cups. Rex murmured something about avoiding doing dishes because he “technically wasn’t invited.” You didn’t laugh, but you did smirk. He saw it, and that was enough for him.

Now they’re both at the door, the sky behind them dipped in purple, the last stretch of day collapsing into darkness.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” William asks. He’s clutching his jacket over his arm, reluctant. “I can hang around if-”

“I’ll be okay,” you say, gently. “I just need... quiet. Some air.”

He nods, but not like he’s fully persuaded. “Call me. Seriously. Anytime. Middle of the night, dramatic mental collapse, I’m good for it.”

“He was crying during Up,” Rex says, zipping his hoodie. “He’s ready.”

William glares at him. “You cried during the dog commercial.”

“It was a really good dog!”

You shake your head, glad for them in a manner you can’t describe.

William looks back at you before departing. “I mean it. We’re here.”

“I know.”

You grip his hand before he goes outside, and he holds yours a bit longer than required.

Then they’re gone.

The door closes behind them with a faint click.

Debbie’s in the living room, reading with the lamp on. She glances up when you turn around. Doesn’t ask. Just knows.

“I think I want to stay at Mark’s tonight,” you say.

She nods. “Do you need me to go with you?”

“No. I just... I need to be somewhere that feels like him.”

Her face softens. “Take the key from the hook. You remember the code for the building?”

You nod.

“Text me when you get there.”

“I will.”

She doesn’t hug you. Doesn’t crowd you.

Just lets you go.

And that, more than anything, reminds you why you adore her.

It’s dark by the time you reach to Mark’s apartment.

The trip is peaceful. You walk the last few blocks just to feel the breeze on your skin. The night’s warm, yet you still keep your sleeves pushed down past your wrists.

His apartment is precisely way he left it.

Still a little messy. Still lived-in. The fridge hums as you enter. A hoodie is slung over the back of the couch. The bed’s unmade. One of your old hair ties is still coiled around the light switch.

You stand in the doorway for a full minute before walking inside.

The stillness here is different from HQ or Debbie’s residence. This one is heavier. It’s personal. Intimate. Like the walls are yearning to be filled again with someone’s voice, his voice.

You move around slowly. Turn on a little lamp. Pick up one of his notebooks from the counter and browse through the pages without truly reading them.

Your hand rests on the edge of the table.

You close your eyes.

Try to breathe.

You’re not here to fall apart.

You’re here to be close to him. Or to the version of him that lived here. The ghost of his toothbrush. The worn groove in the floor where his chair regularly scuffed.

You stroll into the bedroom and sit down on the edge of the bed, drawing your legs up to your chest.

It still smells like him.

You detest how much that helps.

You don’t yell.

You should.

There’s a man in Mark’s flat.

You don’t identify him, don’t know the face, the voice, the form of him standing so peacefully on the edge of the room, like he belongs here.

Like he knows you.

He steps forward a little. Slowly. Measured. Like someone who knows you’re close to lashing out.

You do lash, just not physically.

Your powers increase intuitively, the air surrounding your hands beginning to twist, the edges of the light bending into crisp white.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he replies swiftly, lifting both hands. “Please.”

You freeze.

Your chest tightens.

He said your name.

“Who the hell are you?” you murmur, your voice raspy with sudden terror. “How do you know me?”

“I’m not a threat. I swear it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He nods, slowly. Patiently.

“My name is Angstrom Levy,” he says. “And I’ve come here because... I think you need someone who understands what you’re going through.”

Your abilities flicker, heat pulsating at your fingers. You stay fixed at the doorway, body tight, your back already partly turned toward a departure you might have to make.

But he simply keeps standing there, calm, poised, like he’s accustomed to being feared and chooses not to use it.

“I know about Mark,” he says.

Your heart stutters.

You don’t let it show.

“You don’t know anything about him,” you snap.

“I know he’s gone,” he adds gently. “That the GDA couldn’t trace him. That no one can explain what happened. I know that everyone’s trying to move on and pretend he’s not coming back, but you haven’t. You can’t. Because he was everything to you.”

Your stomach flips.

You feel it again, how sadness has made your powers reside just beneath your skin now, constantly humming, always ready to spike if you feel too much.

“How do you know that?” you ask, calmer now. Less force. More terror.

He takes one step forward.

You don’t stop him but your jaw tightens.

“I watch,” he says. “I listen. I... travel through places others can’t.”

You gaze at him, chilled.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away. He speaks like someone who already thinks he’s within the boundaries of your pain.

“I’ve seen versions of you,” he murmurs. “Across realities. I’ve seen what happens when people like you are left to shatter alone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Angstrom hesitates, just long enough to let you feel the weight of the pause.

Then he replies, simply. “I can help you find him.”

The world tilts.

Just a bit.

You step back a half-inch without meaning to.

“What?”

He nods. “I know how to reach places your people can’t. Realities. Timelines. I’ve seen where he went. I know the locations he may be.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he adds kindly. “And I’m not asking you to trust me. Not yet.”

You can’t talk.

You can barely think.

It’s been almost two months.

Two months of quiet.

Of no traces. No signals. No signs.

Everyone stopped hoping. Even the Guardians. Even Cecil.

But not you.

And now this stranger is at Mark’s apartment, your last safe place, and telling you he knows how to bring him back.

“Why would you help me?” you ask, your voice trembling now.

“Because I understand what it’s like to lose someone,” he whispers, so gentle it aches. “And because I believe you’re more important than they realize. You’ve been handled like a weapon. A liability. A name on a file. But I see something more in you. Something no one else does.”

Your arms wrap securely about yourself before you even notice.

“I’m not trying to take anything from you,” he continues. “I want to help.”

You don’t drop your powers. Not yet.

But the humming in your flesh changes.

Doubt crawls in beneath your ribs, wrapping tight around your lungs.

You want to believe him.

And it worries you more than anything.

He makes another step ahead. Still slow. Still delicate.

“I can show you how to look,” he offers. “You don’t have to believe me tonight. But let me remain. Let me prove I can help.”

You gaze at him.

Mark’s hoodie is still bunched in your hands. Your heart is still broken. Your stomach twists in ways that have nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with the sudden, inexplicable flash of optimism that shouldn’t be here at all.

But it is.

You don’t trust him.

You don’t even like him.

But you don’t tell him to go.

Not yet.

The air in the flat still hasn’t settled.

Your powers haven’t either.

The light hums about you, hues twisting softly where your fingers curl at your sides. The bulb in the corner flickers with each heartbeat. It’s automatic now, part of your body, part of your anguish. You can’t recall the last time your energy didn’t respond to your worry before you could.

And yet, despite all of it, Angstrom Levy steps forward.

Slowly. One foot, then the other. Deliberate. Gentle.

He moves like someone who’s been around the unstable. Who knows how to handle explosions without being burnt.

His voice is quiet when he talks.

“I know you feel it,” he adds. “The instability. The fissures in reality. The way it bends to you even when you don’t want it to.”

Your jaw clenches.

You don’t answer but something in your chest tugs tight.

Because he’s not wrong.

You’ve felt it.

The slippage.

The weird flickers in the edges of your eyes. The way sound sometimes goes too slow, or too rapidly. The way lights pulse without you wishing them to. The delicate folding of rooms that shouldn’t shift, yet do, just slightly, when your emotions spiral.

You blamed grief.

Fatigue.

The pregnancy.

But deep inside, you knew.

Something in you has been unraveling since Mark departed.

Or maybe it’s not unraveling at all, maybe it’s attempting to wake up.

“I’m not here to manipulate you,” Angstrom replies, voice still calm. “I’m here because you’re on the edge of something, and you can feel it. You realize it’s not only your power shifting. It’s the world around you. How it reacts. How it listens.”

You detest how much of it rings true.

You despise how your body doesn’t reject his statements.

You hate that this stranger knows more about your power than half the people who pretend to care about you.

Still, you don’t lower your hands. Don’t allow the static surrounding your fingertips disappear.

“You’re trying to use me,” you say. “Everyone does.”

“No,” he says. “They use your strength. Your discipline. I see what they can’t.”

He makes another step ahead.

You flinch, not overtly, but your energy pulses again. The light splits at the base. The walls moan just slightly, like the foundation wants to breathe.

“You don’t want to trust me,” he continues, steady. “And I don’t expect you to. But I think you desire something else more.”

Your teeth grind.

“What do I want?”

He tilts his head.

“Control.”

You freeze.

Because yes.

Yes, God, yes.

You want to stop flinching and smashing things. You want to breathe without glass shaking in the walls. You want to feel your own body without it battling you, without light draping about your shoulders like shame.

You want to possess this thing inside you before it owns you.

“You’re afraid of becoming a weapon,” Angstrom replies gently. “And I know why. Because people like us, we don’t get to fail. We don’t get to fall apart. We damage things when we do.”

You blink, leisurely.

Your abilities settle just a fraction. Barely noticeable.

He sees it.

“I can help you find the cracks,” he offers. “I can teach you where to step, how to shape what’s already happening. You don’t have to be terrified of it anymore.”

You still don’t trust him.

There’s a slowness in your chest that refuses to soften all the way. The fear of the unknown. Of being lured into something you can’t reverse.

But there’s something else.

Something you do desire.

Control.

Not just for you.

For them.

For the baby.

You gaze toward the hallway. The spot where Mark once stood brushing his teeth, where his voice once drifted softly through the door. Where now there’s simply quiet and a stranger’s offer lingering in the air.

“I don’t want your help,” you reply finally, voice raspy. “But I need to understand what’s happening to me.”

Angstrom inclines his head.

“Then let’s start there.”

The room feels smaller now.

Not because Angstrom has moved closer, he hasn’t. He’s still a few steps away, totally calm, arms relaxed at his sides. But the weight of his words, the way he stares at you with that knowing, that slow-burning conviction... it crushes in. Like the walls are listening. Like something else is.

Your strength hums in your bones. Not sharp. Not lashing out. Just... alert.

Watching.

Waiting.

You narrow your eyes. “What do you mean ‘start there’?”

Angstrom’s speech maintains calm, measured. Like he’s describing the weather.

“You think this is new,” he adds. “The flickers. The warping. The way the world bends when you’re unhappy. You assume it’s a side effect of grieving. Or your powers developing. Or the pregnancy transforming your body.”

Your throat tightens with that word.

Pregnancy.

You haven’t stated it out loud today. Not since this stranger came and broke the delicate serenity you were barely grasping.

He senses your quietness.

And his gaze, so far distant, so composed, softens just a bit.

“I know,” he says.

You freeze.

“What?”

“I know you’re carrying Mark’s child.”

The world tilts again.

Your powers surge without permission. The floor cracks under your bare feet. The sofa shakes behind you, light cracking above. He doesn’t flinch. He just stands there, so motionless it’s inhuman, while the room convulses around you like a wounded animal.

You move back, hand reflexively shooting to your stomach, like you can defend it with force alone.

“How do you know that?” you demand, voice quivering now, trembling from somewhere deeper than your throat.

“I see across fractures,” Angstrom explains. “Across time. Across versions of you. This isn’t the only you. And this isn’t the only child.”

You can’t breathe.

You don’t understand, don’t want to understand, but your skin is crawling, your heart hammering in your chest, and there’s a part of you that wants to scream at him to go, to get out, to never say it again.

And another part...

Another part wants to hear everything.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeats again. “I came to offer you something.”

You look at him, jaw clinched. “What could you possibly offer me?”

He tilts his head.

“I can help you bring Mark back.”

Your abilities evaporate.

Just for a time.

Just long enough for the hush to settle around the form of those words.

You gaze at him, shocked. Hollowed.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“No one can bring him back.”

Angstrom makes one hesitant stride ahead.

“Not as you are now.”

Your voice cracks. “What does that mean?”

“It means you haven’t awakened yet. Not entirely. You’re powerful, yes, but your ability isn’t simply telekinesis. Or energy. It’s not even psychic. You are something more. Something the world hasn’t named yet. Something even the GDA doesn’t understand.”

You shake your head and repeat. “You’re just saying things. You want something from me. Everyone does.”

“I want you to become what you are,” he says. “That’s all. Because if you do, if you stop holding yourself back, you’ll be able to reach areas no one else can. Including the spot where Mark was taken.”

Your knees nearly give out.

You brace yourself against the counter behind you, blinking hard. Your stomach flips again, your body throbbing with too many realities flooding in at once.

Pregnant.

Alone.

Out of control.

And now... this.

“You expect me to believe you?” you whisper.

“I expect you to feel it,” he replies. “You already do. You just don’t know what it is yet.”

You detest him.

Not with fury.

But with the type of hate that sprouts from a break in your armor. From the part of you that wants to believe.

Because what if he’s right?

What if Mark is out there?

What if you truly can contact him?

What if this thing within you, this power, this pregnancy, this grief—, isn’t simply pulling you apart, but constructing something else?

Something harmful.

Something necessary.

“I don’t trust you,” you say, shivering.

“I know,” he responds. “But you don’t need to trust me yet.”

You wrap your arms about yourself.

And for the first time since Mark left, the terror that’s dwelt inside your chest begins to shift—

not into peace,

but into possibilities.

The stillness between you stretches long and thin.

You stay there, back pushed to the counter, arms wrapped around yourself like they’re the only barrier between you and a total collapse. You may still feel your powers just under your skin, blazing and disappearing like air.

The crack in the floor hasn’t mended.

The lamp is still flashing.

Your hands are shaking, but you don’t attempt to stop them.

Angstrom hasn’t moved. Not since he whispered those words, you can bring Mark back. He stands near the middle of the room, calm in a way that throws your nerves on edge. Too calm. Like a man who’s been here before. Who’s watched people break, and knows precisely how long to wait before lending a hand.

You detest the stillness.

But you hate the hope more.

Because it’s there now.

A quiet, piercing creature behind your ribs, breathing for the first time in weeks.

He uttered Mark’s name.

Said he knew where he went.

Said you could reach him.

If you become something more.

You should be shouting. You should be hurling him through the wall. You should be sinking into yourself all over again.

But instead…

Instead you ask, voice barely above a whisper, “What do you want from me?”

Angstrom’s face shifts, just slightly. Not victory. Not satisfaction. Something gentler. Like he’s been waiting for you to ask.

“I want to show you,” he says. “What you’re capable of. What they’ve concealed from you. What your power actually is.”

You glance at him, eyes piercing despite the tears clinging to your eyelids. “And then what? You just help me out of the goodness of your heart?”

“No,” he responds honestly. “Not the goodness of my heart. I aid you because your strength is the key to something I can’t touch without you. But I won’t lie to you. I’ll never lie to you.”

You examine him, your mouth gritted so hard it aches. You don’t trust him. You may never trust him. But part of you is tired of waiting. Tired of sitting stationary. Tired of bleeding out silently as the world continues on without Mark.

You need something.

Even if it’s harmful.

Even if it’s him.

You elevate your chin.

Your voice firmer now, even if your body trembles.

“Then show me.”

He doesn’t react at first. Just stands there. Watching you.

Then, slowly, he nods. Once.

“I’ll come back in two days,” he says. “Same time. Same site. If you’re ready to begin, open the door.”

“And if I’m not?”

His eyes don’t harden. Don’t narrow. They just quiet.

“Then I’ll wait.”

You say nothing.

He steps halfway through the door, then stares back at you one final time.

“When you stop fearing what you are,” he adds quietly, “you’ll realize you were never meant to be anyone else’s weapon. Only your own.”

You don’t know how to feel about that.

He shouldn't know anything about you. Not your name. Not your powers. Not Mark.

Not the baby.

And yet, he does.

He knows something, and that something has dug its claws in. Deeper than you're willing to accept. Because for the first time in weeks, someone is expressing more than condolences. More than ‘I'm sad, he's gone.’ Angstrom is providing you something real. Terrifying. But genuine.

Control.

The one thing no one else can give you.

Not Debbie.

Not Rex.

Not William.

Not even Mark, especially not Mark, wherever he is.

Because there’s something in your belly now. Something coiled around your ribcage.

The smallest, most harmful thing of all.

Hope.

You close your eyes.

And for one second, you see Mark.

Not his body. Not his laugh. Just a sensation. Warm. Close. So close.

Your hands quiver.

Then you open your eyes.

And meet Angstrom’s.

“Then tell me what I have to do.”

[thewirewitch]

My Over-Analysis of The Daycare Attendant (FNaF)

ALRIGHT so this is going to just be a big ramble about all the things I've noticed (or have learned from others' posts/videos) about the DCA as well as some headcanons (hopefully I remember to add those lol) about them. These guys are currently rotting my brain and I need an outlet to express the absolute mess that is my current train of thought.

So uh, if you wish to proceed, good luck! I have NO IDEA how long this is going to end up, and I may also add-on to it (probably in reblogs) either because I realized something new or new material comes out (looking at you, Escape From the Pizzaplex). I also cannot guarantee any form of organization so...whoops ^^;

ALRIGHT so the first thing I wanna start off with is something I just kind of thought of/noticed pretty recently. Carousel.

This minigame in HW2 HAS GOT TO BE a confirmation that Sun and Moon are older animatronics. I thought that since I started to brainrot over them (a bit after SB first came out). They look old. They sound old (talking about their joints/movement noises). Even their designs seem a bit old. And Carousel gives me even more evidence towards this.

The carousel is called the "Fazbear antique carousel" which means it is definitely a bit on the older side. And who's voice is used as the pre-recorded message for technicians when it breaks down? Sun's. Also, Moon seems VERY comfortable maneuvering around on a (somewhat) functional carousel. Seems like he's got a familiarity with it.

The carousel also seems to be linked with Fallfest in some way (the background and the fall-time theme), and we know Fallfest happened a WHILE ago.

Also, just something I've thought about, the carrages/carts/booths/whatever that the Fazerblast minigame takes place at? There's a sun and a moon carved into the wood on them. Fazerblast also seems to take place during Fallfest.

Also Jack-O-Moon's just Moon wearing make-up/painted over. There's some chips in the paint that shows his normal colors underneath. Maybe that's why he's a little spooky gremlin man lol

Adding onto this: I've pondered if the reason Sun burnt out being a daycare worker/being the one in control most often, while Moon is so desperate to stay in control could be because Moon used to be the one who was primarily out. There's like, 0 evidence for this, it's just a thought I had. If it's true though, I can see why they'd be ill-suited for their current rolls lol

-

Something else I've thought about related to this is how Glamrock Freddy addresses the Daycare Attendant. He called them "it." Makes me wonder if the fact they're old either lead to either 1. Him not realizing they're also sentient (older model = less advanced) or 2. There's some programming/system that all the Glamrocks have that lets them recognize eachother as other people, but the Daycare Attendant isn't part of it.

Could also just be that they don't interact enough for Freddy to really know them as a person and not just something that exists. Or they also use it/its pronouns ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-

Something else HW2 implies is that...the DCA got damaged when Sun was the one in control, not Moon. Makes me wonder what exactly happened to them to cause that...

I also do wonder what happened first: The daycare was destroyed, or all the lights (except the emergency ones) went out. If the lights in the daycare were on when the place was wrecked, maybe, just maybe Sun had a hand in disassembling those endos that wondered in. (I think about those endos in Ruin a LOT. They got messed up, man. Claw marks and severed robot hands in the play structures.)

Edit while still in drafts: Idk what my brain was thinking in this moment lol. Still kinda curious which one messed up the endos though.

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If you're wondering why I think Sun could possibly have torn apart a few endos, it's because of the disassembled STAFF bots in the loft. I feel like if Sun was against tearing apart other robots, then he probably would have gotten rid of the pieces of STAFF bot left in their room. Maybe him and Moon both have a mutual dislike of those guys.

Another edit: Apparently there's some STAFF bot-like bots in Secret of the Mimic, and the Mimic seems to really not like the DCA in particular, so maybe they had some past beef with each other.

-

Also, on the topic of Ruin for this one: I have a few different reasons for why I think Moon decided not to chase Cassie.

1 - He's not under Vanny's control anymore and lost some of his aggression. He still has some aggression in the very first interaction he has with Cassie, but he's also...prooobably not in a good state of mind tbh. The sound of his laughing is a lot more bitter/forced sounding. (He might also be kind of desperate to do his job since he finally has control???)

And even when you do just stroll up to him without turning on any generators, the death animation is kind...weird. When viewing it from a 3rd-person perspective, he seems to pick Cassie up off the ground while using his wire. Cassie does try to fight back, but what kills her? Might have been a fall. It seems like Moon may have dropped her. Whether it be on purpose or by accident? No idea.

(Also, gonna touch-up on the 2nd jumpscare: Moon is in active pain during it and seems MUCH more aggravated. Makes sense as to why he goes for the jugular in that one.)

2 - This one's my silly reason as to why Moon doesn't chase you: Their missing foot.

Compared to Sun and Eclipse, who we see walking with their busted leg, the only time we see Moon put any weight on it, aside from just standing, is the initial encounter with him. He uses it for some balance, having it on the bar of a lower part of the play structure while his undamaged foot is pushing off the "wall," but it doesn't seem like it's the most optimal for balancing (he does fall backwards lol). Even when he spins around when the 2nd generator is turned on, he puts more weight on his undamaged leg.

Makes me think that, without his hee-hoo gremlin way of walking/dancing around, a chase isn't really worth it to him. Either that or he's a bit cautious about his damage.

3 - Which is most likely the reason why he doesn't: Steel Wool wanted to make the daycare segment easier than it was in SB. A LOT of people got stuck in the daycare for a while before the colored glow was added to the generator wires lol.

Either that or the daycare was a bit of an afterthought/rushed.

-

BONUS: I think Cassie was banned from the Daycare. Why? When she had the VANNI mask on, the word "BANNED" is written in distortion over the Moondrop ads on TVs in certain areas. This wouldn't make sense unless she had been banned before since the AR world seems to get a bit personal at times (and even if she knew Gregory got banned, it probably wouldn't do that).

I also find it really interesting that it's over a Moondrop ad. Makes me wonder what happened...

...

Cassie also doesn't talk to Moon like she does Chica, Roxy, Sun, Freddy, and even Monty...

I literally just connected these dots while writing this. Help.

-

Another Ruin thing I've been pondering is: Why don't Sun and Moon have a puzzle when they're being rebooted? They are THE only thing (if I remember correctly) that a Fazwrench is used on that doesn't have a puzzle. I know the Mimic says that Roxy is one of the last security nodes, but, is that even true??? It could have easily been lying to Cassie about that.

But anyway. My best guess is so that there'd be an unbroken cutscene with Eclipse, but I'm imagining how cool it would have been if they added one of those little Flow Free puzzle things where you had to connect a Moon icon to a Sun one and then boom Eclipse happens.

THEY HAD AN OPPORTUNITY AND SQUANDERED IT!

-

ANOTHER THING I find interesting is how any character with a speaking roll in SB and Ruin just call Sun and Moon "The Daycare Attendant" (aside from themselves). Glamrock Freddy and The Mimic both address them as such, even though in both instances the one they're talking about is Moon.

And what I also find interesting is that while Sun addresses Moon as either "him" or "the other me" as well as including him in "us," Moon actually calls Sun by his name in Ruin. This makes Moon the only one so far to call either of them by their name and not their title or just the use of a pronoun.

In Ruin, Moon also flip-flops between plural ("us" and "we") as well as singular ("my") after the 2nd generator is turned on in the daycare.

Honestly, I just really think these guys' speech mannerisms are interesting.

-

SPEAKING OF SPEECH MANNERISMS something someone else pointed out is that Sun and Moon both repeat words/phrases when they're distressed/agitated.

REMEMBER TO ADD-ON TO ABOVE FUTURE ME THERE'S GOOD STUFF HERE

^I'm leaving this here because I think it was funny to leave off my draft here lol.

ANYWAY as I was saying. Some instances of this that I can think of at the moment for Sun is when he says "Keep the lights on. On. On..." since even just the thought of the lights going out absolutely terrifies him. There's also when the lights do go out. "No! NO! Why would you do that??? Light's on! Light's on! I warned you! I warned you!!!" That is THREE repetitions going on. Once the lights come back on? "Rulebreaker! Rulebreaker!" Dude's ticked, and once again repeating words.

Gonna go to Ruin now. "New friend? New friend!" and "Reboot! Reboot!" are both said when Sun's desperate. We also get another "Light's on! Light's on..." from him. Then, if you go up to him with one generator on, he repeats "no" a lot before telling Cassie it isn't safe yet. Dude knows the danger Moon could be towards her in this state, and he's also really close to his current goal (getting rebooted), so he definitely would have a lot to worry about in that moment.

Help. Wanted. 2. Oh boy lol. I don't remember a lot of Sun's lines from this since he got SIX. WHOLE. MINUTES. of new voicelines. Anyway, the one I remember most is when he gets mad at you and yells "Bad kid! Bad kid! I'm putting you in time out!" I am genuinely blanking on if there's any other instances of him repeating something in HW2 but oh well I've got enough examples from him lol

Makes me wonder about him saying, "Hey, hey! Are you having fun yet? Are ya? Are ya???" Seems like he might be nervous that he's not doing his job right. Poor guy...

Anyway, as a transition between Sun and Moon, let's take a look at a line they both share!

"Clean up, clean up!"

Both of them have different emotions behind this line, Sun sounding anxious and Moon sounding mildly aggressively annoyed (lol).

On to Moon! I'm going to skip right to Ruin since this is the one he talks the most in. The one line this is most prevalent in is, "Naughty! Naughty! The light makes us hurt! Grind, grind, grinding gears inside my head! We can't move. Error! Error!!!" after the second generator is turned on. That is, once again, another three repetitions in a single line. Dude is Going Through It™.

But anyway, there was something else I found interesting about Moon's voicelines. He...has always had a lot of repetition in them. "Naughty boy. Naughty boy. It's past your bedtime. You must be punished, Nighty-night." "Naughty, naughty." "Knock, knock." "Hidey-hide. Hide away..." as well as "Bad children must be punished" + "Bad children must be found."

This brings up the question: Has Moon always been kinda agitated about something? (Honestly, could just be that he hates being locked away in his own body most of the time.)

-

Just gonna plot this here and say I feel like Eclipse is kinda a Steven Universe gem-fusion between Sun and Moon. Sun saying that they "need to be whole" and Kellen Goff saying that Eclipse is like the perfect balance between Sun and Moon (saying something along the lines of Sun's Yin to Moon's Yang) in Dawko's "The FNaF Show" interview (season three episode). Also, since Sun was able to say "thank you" to Cassie, I feel like he and Moon are both still fully aware and present, but just in a much more peaceful state where they can actually cooperate.

-

SPEAKING OF ECLIPSE- I. I just think I realized something HEAR ME OUT-

Okay, so, since Kellen described Eclipse as being "reborn" in his Tweet about them (if I remember correctly), and Eclipse's first line being "Happy Birthday!" AS WELL as the Balloon Boy arcade easter egg, is makes me think Eclipse used to be around, but ended up getting deactivated/"split" at some point.

"But 'Happy Birthday' is a reference to Frosty the Snowman when he was made." YES BUT! Frosty also says that when he gets resurrected!

Sun knowing that there is a possible way for him and Moon to "be whole" also seems to show that they may have been that way at some point in the past. My guess as to what happened? Well uuuuuuh

Alright, so, this has to do with the books. In Tales from the Pizzaplex, I believe it's Bobbiedots Part 1, the main character (Abe) tells the guy he's training that at one point, that Sun and Moon, after no longer being used as stage animatronics, had been reprogrammed (the light trigger was something they has also tried to remove). My guess is, if Eclipse used to be a normal thing for them, and if the books are accurate in this case, then THAT is when they were split.

-

I know I've mentioned her a lot, but I find the comments Cassie makes about the Sun and Moon AR merch very interesting.

"I used to have so much fun in the daycare." and "I never slept better than I did in the daycare." could be either taken as genuine, which would mean Sun and Moon used to be good at their jobs as daycare attendants (or Cassie was just weird lol), or could also be a little sarcastic. I doubt they're sarcastic, since they'd probably have some kind of drawn-out vowels in them if they were. Also, I find the description of the masks ("FUN FUN FUN!" for the Sun one and "Sleep." for the Moon one) to be pretty funny.

Also, the "Weird. it looks just like the other one." for the golden Moon plush is very interesting to me. For he golden Sun one it's "Funny. It looks just like the other one." which, yeah, Sun's usual colors could easily be replaced with gold and he'd look very similar. But Moon? Nah. Makes me wonder if Eclipse was around back then, or Cassie had seen them at one point, even if they weren't around anymore (maybe promo material or something idk).

-

Sooo that is all I have for now! I will inevitably remember something I forgot to put here like, right after I post this or something. I'll definitely add any additional stuff I think about in a reblog.

It is 1:07 am. I meant to go to bed like, and hour ago.

G'niiiiiight~!

[sloppysequinz]

My little addict

Summary: mommy observes her pet intox bimbo on a perfect afternoon.

I open the bedroom door to check on her. She doesn’t notice me. I don’t mind. I lean against the door frame to watch for a minute.

She’s sprawled in bed, as usual. Her eyes are transfixed on her computer screen. She robotically brings a bottle of soju to her mouth with one perfectly manicured hand. The other slides down her stomach and between her legs. As her legs spread and her skirt rides up, I see she’s not wearing panties. Good girl. She begins to rub her pretty cunt. I can see from here it’s dripping wet, can hear the squelching, can practically smell her—she’s been edging all day, as expected. She rubs and chugs from the bottle. I appreciate my work. I pay for her acrylic sets, all the nail charms and art, because I like how her long nails look wrapped around a bottle or bong or cock, how they look in her pussy.

As the bottle empties, she pulls her hand away from her cunt with a whine and drops the empty on the floor beside the bed. Looks like this isn’t the first or second or fifth bottle of soju today. I’ll need to restock soon, she’s burning through this stuff faster and faster. Not that I mind. As I ponder what to buy her next, she slumps back into bed and moans. Her perfectly blonde hair spreads across the sheets, framing her like a halo. Her pretty hands slide up her shirt to play with her enormous tits, another gift from me. Her back arches. “Fuuugg I’m *hic* drung…” she giggles to herself.

Well, not really herself. The cam on the dresser broadcasts her all day. Turns out certain folks will pay good money to watch a pretty girl get herself fucked up and edge to nasty porn day after day. After the wave of alcohol washes over her, she stretches and clumsily rolls over to the laptop. She’s typing—probably answering chat and messages, as much as she can with her clumsy fingers and impractical nails. Her brow furrows as she tries to read. She’s adorable. Comprehending one of them, she rolls over and scrabbles in the bedside table before pulling out a package of edibles. I don’t recognize it—one of her online friends must have sent it. She gets so much fanmail these days. She addresses the camera.

“Sho, dese are *hic*…nanos! Dey’re shupposed to hit, like…reeeerally fasht. Whaddya thing?” She watches the replies come in, brow furrowing again. “I knoooow…like *hic* I know you wanna shee me smoooge but, like *hic* mommy saysh no shmoking in the *hic* house…”

Everybody in the chat knows better than to push back against Mommy. I watch a smoke wash over her face as she thinks of me. Beloved Mommy. I’m very lucky.

“Ohgay, howwabout dis? *hic*” she giggles again and shakes the bag at the camera. I can see now that they are in fact nanos, watermelon flavored, 20mg each. “I’ll take one of dese for ebery sub in the next….fibe minutes.” She watches the chat to try and gauge the response as much as her poor little brain can. Seems like it’s positive. I hear the jingle of a new sub almost immediately. She smiles at one message or another.

“Uh huh, I can vape toooo! *hic*” She scrabbles around the bed again until she finds her pen. It’s between her legs. She must’ve dropped it there after a particularly hard hit drove her to edge immediately. She’s well trained, after all. She brings the pen to her plump, shiny lips and breathes in, leaving a little lip gloss mark on the pen. The lip filler, the designer lip gloss—I pay for all that too. She smiles dreamily. “I’ll *hic*…tage a hit…ebery time…I see…hit!” She and I both know that the chat will be spamming hit for the next five minutes at least. She tabs back over to porn and leans back so she can take continuous hits and touch herself, tits and cunt on full display for the camera.

I love her. I love how she gets beautiful and dolled up every morning to get high and drunk and edge in bed for strangers. I love how much she adores her own hedonism, her own pleasure. She’s a pretty pink cloud of a person and she belongs to me.

I decide it’s time to stop watching. I lift myself from my relaxed position and walk into the room. “Hey princess.”

“MOMMY!” She replies. “Mommy Mommy Mommy!” She’s wiggling with joy, pen forgotten, as she gets up on her knees and reaches for me eagerly. I lean down to kiss her and then climb into the bed. As she settles to lean back against my chest, I turn the laptop towards myself and check the chat.

Hit!!

MOMMY SIGHTED

omg cryptid appearance

HIT HIT HIT

Omg it’s mommy!!

Hiiiii mommy!!!

Mommy mommy!

Wait mommy is real?

Be my mommy too…

I smile and turn towards the camera, leaning down to kiss my baby girl first. “Keep hitting your pen, sweetie.” I command. She obeys. As she exhales cloud after cloud, I address the chat, playing with her as I do.

“Thank you for supporting my princess, everyone.” I massage her tits in my hands and she moans and hiccups at the sensation. Another new subscriber ding.

We love princess!

Princess x mommy foreverrrrrr

I want a princess too…

Pinch her nips!!!

Hit hit hit!

I pinch her nipples and she squeals. I laugh. “Come on princess, don’t get distracted from the pen.” She takes another hit and I address the crowd again. “I hear people want to see her smoking?”

YESSSS

SMOKING

smoke her brains away

wanna see her frfr

It would be like soooo hot

“Well, we’re almost at 1000 subscribers.” I muse. “We could schedule a special outdoor smoking and drinking session to celebrate, what do you think?” As she keeps hitting the pen, I slide a hand between her legs to spread her cunt for the camera. She slides a hand down to cover mine. “Aht, aht!” I scold, using my free hand to grab her by the hair. She whines and pulls away, free hand now desperately grabbing my thigh.

OMG OMG OMG

outdoors too…

That would be so hot mommy!!!

DEW IT

Can it be public?

I wanna try and find her outside…

Two more new subscriber dings. “Wow, that’s four edibles, everyone—that’ll be eighty milligrams. Think we can get her to a hundred before the end of five minutes?” I slide my hand over the wetness of her cunt, relishing the heat and the way she whimpers into her pen as she tries to keep hitting it. I tighten the hand in her hair and she whines louder. Her eyes are crossing, and the hand on my leg is getting limp with inebriation or overwhelming desire.

Two more dings in quick succession. “Wow, a hundred and twenty! I knew you could do it, chat!” As celebratory emojis flood the screen, I flip over her open hand. She lets me puppet her freely. I open the bag and count out six gummies into her hand. “There you go, slut” I croon into her ear, just for us. “I can’t wait to see you in thirty minutes.”

She shivers and slowly brings the clumsy hand to her mouth, dumping all the gummies in at once.

FUCK YEAH

We love to see it

Fuck yeah gummy queen 👑

Oh you’re fucked girl x

How fast are nanos supposed to hit?

“How about something to wash it down?” I ask. She nods slowly. I stop rubbing her to reach down next to the bed. There’s an uncracked six pack of Smirnoff ice sitting down there. I hoist it up. “I think these are calling your name, sweetie.” The chat agrees.

ICE HER ASS MOMMY

ICE ICE ICE

omg I can’t believe she had that hidden

Does it count as icing if she finds a whole six at once?

Can she chug all six?

I crack open the first one and hold it to her mouth. She goes to push me away for a second but then thinks better of it and starts swallowing. “Good girl…” I whisper as she lets me pour the whole bottle into her mouth. “Just like that…”

When the bottle is finished, she rolls over to snuggle into me. She looks up at me bleary eyed. “Mama…” her tongue is thick and difficult. “I’m *hic* really…fuggin *hic* drung…”

“I know baby, I love it.” I reply. She giggles. “But mommy has to go back to work.” She begins to whine in protest but I shake my head. “Do you want the BBL or not? Mama needs to pay for it somehow.” She pouts but nods and flops onto the bed, freeing me. Her ass is up for everyone on chat to see. I flip her skirt up to give them a better view and then extricate myself.

“Think you can make her finish these?” I wave the remaining five Smirnoffs at the camera. I don’t have to check the chat, I know they’ll try. I set them beside her on the bed and leave, pausing in the doorway to admire her one more time.

At the end of the day, when she’s too high and drunk to speak, when she’s so desperately horny from hours and hours of edging for strangers that she’ll do practically anything—that’s when she gets what she wants from Mommy. And the afternoon has just begun.

[kikyoupdates]

Goddess Wink ⭑˚💘⭑ 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡

bnha x f!reader

reverse harem, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn

Ever since your Quirk first manifested, you’ve been the apple of everyone’s eye. With the goal of becoming a hero, you enroll to U.A. and soon find yourself drawing the attention of many. Will you form genuine connections with others, or is this all just your power's will?

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“Special recommendation?”

“Yes,” Mikael nodded. “Based on the information I’ve been able to gather, U.A’s entrance exam consists of fighting large robots and gathering points that will go forward to determine whether or not you earn a passing grade. There is also a written component, which I have no doubt you’ll do well on, but it’s not enough to pass. Your Quirk has no effect on anything besides living people, which unfortunately means their system places you at a disadvantage. Luckily, I happen to have some connections and it’s possible to enroll you in U.A without you taking the exam.”

“But… isn’t that like cheating?”

“It isn’t cheating. They wouldn’t be able to evaluate your powers properly, which is why I’m making sure you get into the school and have a chance to prove yourself.”

“Well… if you say so. I guess it’s true that I can’t do much with my powers unless it’s against an actual person.”

He smiled and patted your hair. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it all sorted out. They’ll be receiving your letter of recommendation soon enough, which leaves us time to focus on other matters. I’ve actually got some business in Greece around the time your classes start up, but you should only be missing a few days.”

“What?” you groaned. “I’m coming with you again?”

“Of course. Each visit gives you the opportunity to strengthen your connection to your ancestry. Even if you may not realize it yourself, it helps your powers grow more stable, and deepens your spiritual bond to Aphrodite.”

“Huh… I’m still not all that convinced.”

“Well,” he smiled, “you’ll just have to wait and see.”

It had been just about ten years since Mikael had become your legal guardian. As he’d promised, you’d gained more and more control over your powers, and they were noticeably stronger when activated. A big part of his training regimen was bringing you along on his trips—not just to Greece, but to see the world. He always said that heroes needed to see the big picture, the larger scope of things, and in order to realize just how vast their horizons were, travelling around the world and learning about other people and cultures was essential. As a result, you were almost certain that out of all your future classmates you’d ventured the most outside of Japan.

At first, you’d been opposed to going on your most recent trip to Greece. You did enjoy sightseeing there, and the weather was always beautiful, but you’d been reluctant to miss your first bunch of classes. But after hearing about the villain invasion that had taken place at USJ, you were actually somewhat relieved that you’d gotten to miss out.

“I hope my classmates are nice,” you mumbled to yourself. Tomorrow would mark your very first day at your new school, and you wanted to make a good impression. You’d gone out shopping with the intention of buying some new school supplies, but you’d gotten a little carried away and picked out some new outfits too. Which was frankly quite pointless, since you’d be wearing your uniform the whole time, but oh well.

You were just walking home with your heaps of shopping bags in tow when someone bumped into you, and rather forcefully, at that.

“Oops, sorry,” the boy apologized, offering a sheepish smile. “I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine,” you brushed off. “No harm done.”

He continued smiling and standing around, blocking your way. “It must be my lucky day, getting to run into such a beautiful girl. Where are you heading? I can help carry those bags for you.”

So it’s going to be one of these days, I see.

“Thank you, but I’m alright,” you politely declined. “They aren’t heavy or anything, and I’m in a bit of a hurry to get home.”

“Aw, but I feel bad now that I’ve run into you. If you’re just walking, you must live around the area, right? I can escort you there.” He was still smiling, and he ran his fingers along your shoulder, trying to coax you into giving in. You almost laughed at the stupid little display. It was funny how shameless people could be. What kind of person would let a random stranger walk them home?

“I said it’s fine,” you smiled, pink hues filling your irises. “Be a good boy and leave me alone now, okay?”

“Ah—” He stiffened all at once, fingers slipping off your shoulder. His vision had gone glassy, eyes glazed over, and his cheeks were distinctly flushed. “Oh… my bad,” he slurred. “I didn’t m-mean to—”

His knees buckled underneath him, and he passed out right onto the floor. You looked down at him with your lips pursed.

“It was a lot stronger than I was going for. Well, he must’ve been attracted to me a fair deal if he was trying so hard.” You stooped down to a crouch and whispered into his ear. “When you come to, head home and get a good rest in bed. Don’t try to harass any other girls on your way.”

You adjusted the bags in your grip and continued walking on, ignoring the cluster of people that were now swarming around the unconscious boy. Freja greeted you in the lobby once you were home, helping take the bags off your hands.

She smiled. “It seems like you bought quite a lot, [Name]. Wasn’t this just supposed to be for school supplies?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled awkwardly. “I saw a bunch of cute clothes and just got carried away…”

“I’m sure they’ll all look lovely on you. Mikael is waiting in your room. I believe he wanted to have a quick chat with you since you’re starting at U.A tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thanks, Freja.”

“My pleasure.”

As promised, Mikael was waiting in your room, eating chocolate on your bed, of all things. You puffed out your cheeks and let out a squeal of protest.

“Hey!” you cried out. “No eating chocolate or messy desserts on the bed! I just replaced those sheets!”

He blinked innocently, even though he had melted chocolate all over his lips and fingers. You sighed and grabbed a handful of napkins before taking a seat beside him.

“Hello, [Name],” he smiled. “How was your shopping trip?”

You dabbed at the corners of his lips with the napkins. “It was fine. Some guy was hitting on me while I was heading back, and I used my Quirk on him. He passed out even though I wasn’t trying to get him to.”

“Did he come into contact with you?”

“Yeah. Well, he touched me, but I didn’t touch him back. I just used my voice.”

“I see.” He waited for you to finish wiping him off before twirling a lock of your hair through his fingers. “Different people are bound to experience different levels of attraction and thus react differently to your powers. It’s always going to be challenging to figure out just how effective your Quirk is against certain people.” He extended the half-eaten chocolate bar towards you. “Want a bite?”

“No thank you. Actually, please put that away. You’re making a mess.”

Seemingly defying human limits, he managed to fit the rest of the chocolate bar into his mouth. “I’ll be putfing togesher a nishe dinnar tonifte. To shelebrate yhu starting skhool.”

“Please don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Mikael swallowed the rest with a big gulp, licking the remnants off his lips. “You must be excited. Many of the most renowned heroes made their start at U.A. And with a Quirk like yours, there’s no limit to the amount of people you’ll be able to save.”

You looked up at him in earnest. “You really think so?”

“Of course. You have the gods—quite literally—on your side.”

You laughed a little at that. Still, you couldn’t deny how excited you were. You’d trained your Quirk all these years in preparation for this. Maybe it was that spiritual sense that Mikael claimed you were developing, but something told you the group of people you’d meet there would forever change your future.

“Are you all ready, transfer student?”

“Yes. I’m fine, but… are you sure you’re okay? Your entire face is wrapped in bandages…”

You were officially on U.A's campus, and who else to greet you but the homeroom teacher in charge of Class 1-A—Aizawa Shouta. Or, more commonly known as Eraserhead. He wasn’t the first pro hero that came to mind, since he was so elusive and underground, but you’d definitely heard of him every now and then. A hero with the ability to erase Quirks. Put that way, it was highly unlikely your powers would affect him… guess you couldn’t charm your way out of trouble, then.

“It’s not something you need to worry about,” Aizawa deadpanned. No doubt he’d gotten those injuries during the USJ invasion that had just happened, but to think that he was still teaching under those conditions was crazy. “I’ll enter first and quickly announce to the class that we’ve got a new student, and you follow after. Okay?”

“Sounds good.”

With that, he opened the door to the classroom and strode in, completely ignoring the concerned and bewildered cries of his students. He waited for them to quiet down before making his announcement. The class went silent, and you took that as your cue to walk in.

I’m a little nervous, but here goes!

You stopped in front of the class, swiveling on your heel to face everyone. “I’m [Last Name] [Name],” you greeted with a smile. “For various reasons, I wasn’t able to make it for the first days of classes, but it’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

The room was still silent. Everyone’s eyes were glued to you, but no one was saying a word. You’d been standing there for a good while now, and you were starting to feel a little apprehensive. Had you said something wrong? Was there something on your face, or—

“Whoa! What a beauty!” a blonde male with a lightning bolt in his hair exclaimed.

“She’s so pretty!” a pink-haired girl gushed. “Oh my god, oh my god! She looks like a model!”

“That’s crazy! I had no idea we’d be getting another classmate!”

“[Name]-chan, right? I’m Uraraka!”

“Call me Tsuyu.”

“Hey, hey—what kind of music do you like? Pop? Rock? Punk?”

It had only taken seconds for the entire class to turn to uproar. You chuckled inwardly, unable to keep track of the ridiculous amount of questions being thrown your way. Even though you’d gotten a late start, everyone seemed really nice, so you were relieved.

Aizawa let out a weary groan. You couldn’t make out his expression behind all those bandages, but you had a feeling he was scowling. “Everyone’s being too loud. [Name], there’s an empty seat over there next to Bakugou. That’ll be your desk.”

You smiled, making your way over with a spring in your step. Everywhere you looked, friendly faces were smiling at you. Some were boisterous and loud—like the pink-haired girl and the other guy—while others were more subtle with their excitement—like the freckled boy seated behind you who kept blushing and averting eye contact, all the while trying to maintain a wobbly smile. And then there was the ash blonde beside you. Aizawa said his name was Bakugou or something. He was the only one out of the whole class who was outright glaring at you, for whatever reason. You couldn’t recall the last time someone had looked at you with such distaste, so drastically in contrast to desire.

You smiled coyly, leaning over in your seat to whisper to him. “It’s nice to meet you,” you said, eyes glowing the faintest shade of pink. The anger left his expression for just a moment, and his crimson eyes widened in surprise as a blush settled across his cheeks. You canceled your Quirk immediately after, and he stared at you in confusion before scowling and snapping his head away.

Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t have teased him like that.

You placed your hands on your lap and leaned back in your chair. You could already tell you were really going to like this class.

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[timaeusresponds]

Everyday I think at length about Dirk all alone in the ocean by himself. Surviving. There’s a lack of conversation in the greater fandom about that part and so many people jump on Dirk for being a socially inept nightmare, but can you imagine??

Your entire life has been a fight to survive. Your entire life was predestined, and your predetermined destiny is marked with isolation and suffering. You have one friend on the same planet at the same time as you, she is so far away even your most expert transportation would die before reaching her(you’ve imagined dying, alone, drowning in the ocean for your hubris and desperation so many times). She is the only one who understands your situation, and even she has ‘people,’ or something like it.

You are fighting as far back as you remember, not just the environment but literal entities— the only other ‘living’ thing besides fish and birds. They are massive, loud, and they want to kill you, it is their only directive. You spend every day a little anxious they will come and you will have to defend yourself again. You cannot get sick, injured, tired, distracted— they will kill you if you do.

You spend time alone, cradled in the nest of your apartment on stilts, and it rocks in the storms in a way that makes you wonder what happens if severe structural damage takes place.

You do not have the comfort of constant access to food. You do not have the comfort of access to medicine. You do not have the comfort of people. You do not have the comfort of not just friends but strangers. You do not have family.

You talk across time with people who do not know and would not understand your circumstances.

Can you fucking imagine.

They’ve noted extreme geographic isolation can cause health problems, immune system issues, and that’s not touching the mental state. Dirk is in extreme survival settings that the comic never really pokes into, but it’s really not hard to imagine given what Dirk says and what we see? An isolated oceanic apartment, the Imperial Drones, he references fishing, it’s. Not hard to fill in the large blank spot of ‘guy alone in the ocean all by himself and two robots.’

And the two robots are not expressly alive, and he knows that. I’m sure he bonded with them, I’m sure he loved them, but they need to be maintained and they’re as much a weight as they are an aid. Yeah, having Sawtooth around has saved his life probably a huge number of times, but Sawtooth also requires repairs, resources, time, energy.

I’m not excusing everything Dirk did, I think his actions are bad and we see him harken with that fact, we see him face it when talking with Dave, we seem him make changes. But when talking about Dirk as this ‘all bad, monster’ we need to remember he spent his formative developmental years absolutely scraping out the ability to live and likely learned social interaction from movies and the internet. Yes, he needs to be the one to make those changes himself. Yes, he needs to learn how to talk to people. Yes, he is controlling and overbearing. Those are not ignored just because he suffered, but finding the origin to why is so important.

Control is probably the number one thing he had to worry about. What can he control in his situation. What can he change. He can’t control when the drones come, but he can prepare. He can train, he can build, he can prep first aid supplies, beef up Saw, he can cover his bases and make sure he’s not only ready but ready for failure. He can’t control the lack of reliable food, but he can try and prepare better. Cold storage, nets not rods, see if he can make the process mechanical so he doesn’t need to spend time physically out fishing. He can’t control getting sick, but if he keeps Sawtooth properly equipped, maybe makes extra bots, he can have defenses while out of commission— the extra food stores come in handy here, too. Control every aspect of his life that he can to survive, and it worked until the game, so he keeps using it. Control his friend’s entry, control their actions, control their feelings, because interpersonal relationships aren’t life or death but that’s all he knows at this point. It’s not good, but we can see how he got there.

Idk I just think the greater fandom likes to jump Dirk for being an unsociable, difficult, controlling person while ignoring everything pre-entry.

[sundeathh]

Matchmaker's Quirk: Love Blooms

ONE-SHOT | MASTERLIST | words: 1 K

Pairing: Student!Aizawa × GN! Student!Reader

Tags: romance, fluff, cute, reader being a bit of a badass and straight forward.

CW: Hizashi and Oboro participation, fight mention (training).

In the bright corridors of U.A. High School, the air was thick with anticipation as students bustled about, preparing for another day of hero training. It had been just a few months since the start of the scholar year, and the school was abuzz with the vigor of young heroes in the making.

You, a spirited and good-natured student, strolled confidently through the bustling hallways, your eyes catching the attention of many admirers. Little did you know that your magnetic presence had already attracted the curiosity of one particular, quiet student.

Aizawa, then just a student like any other, observed you from a distance. His disheveled black hair and stoic expression hid a shy and reserved nature beneath. Despite being known for his strong analytical skills, the prospect of approaching someone as vibrant as you left him uncertain.

In the classroom, Hizashi Yamada, the ever-energetic voice student, chatted animatedly with Oboro Shirakumo, a kind and easygoing one. Both had noticed Aizawa's interest in you and decided to play matchmakers.

"Hizashi, have you seen Aizawa staring at (Y/N)?" Oboro nudged him, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Hizashi chuckled, "Oh yeah, he's got it bad. We should help him out, don't you think?"

The plan was quickly set in motion. Hizashi and Oboro subtly orchestrated situations to bring you and Aizawa together. They pair you up for training exercises, place you next to each other during classes, and even manage to organize study sessions.

In one of those particular training exercises, the day was marked with anticipation as the hero training course embarked on a joint exercise, putting students together against formidable robotic foes. 

You and Aizawa, selected to work together, found yourselves in a training ground filled with the hum of machinery and the distant echoes of clashing metal.

Aizawa, usually composed and analytical, couldn't deny the nervous flutter in his stomach as he stood beside you. Your playful banter and the lively yet sweet tone of your voice had left him in a state of mild disarray, a feeling he wasn't entirely accustomed to.

As the first wave of robots approached, you and Aizawa leaped into action, ready to face the metallic adversaries.

"Be cautious, (Y/N)," Aizawa warned, adjusting his capture weapon as he assessed the situation. "My Quirk won't work on these robots. We'll have to rely on our combat skills." 

You nodded, appreciating Aizawa's quick thinking. "Alright, Aizawa, we've got this. Stick close to me, and we'll take those robots down," you said with a confident smile, readying your hero costume.

Aizawa nodded, struggling to find his voice. "Sure. Let's work together." He muttered awkwardly, and the two of you engaged in a coordinated assault, dodging and countering the robotic enemies.

As the robots got closer, you leaped into action, demonstrating agility and precision. Aizawa, however, found his attention divided between the approaching threats and the fact that he was fighting alongside you. Impressed by your combat prowess, he couldn't help but watch your every move.

As the battle intensified, you found yourself back-to-back with Aizawa, fending off robots on all sides. A stray robot lunged towards Aizawa, and you swiftly intercepted, delivering a well-timed kick to dismantle the mechanical threat.

Noticing Aizawa's distracted state, you called out. "Hey, Aizawa, focus! We've got to take these down together."

Aizawa blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "Right, sorry." He jumped into action, joining you in coordinating attacks. And, as the last robot fell, a sense of accomplishment filled the air.

Aizawa, however, felt a different kind of victory – the realization that he enjoyed fighting alongside you more than he expected.

After the battle, as the training ground quieted down, you turned to him with a grin. "Not bad, partner. We make a great team."

Aizawa scratched his head, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. "Yeah, we do. Thanks for watching my back."

As you walked side by side, discussing the exercise, Hizashi and Oboro observed from a distance, both wearing satisfied smiles. It seemed their matchmaking efforts had not only brought together an effective hero duo but had also unraveled a side of Aizawa that even he wasn't entirely aware of – a side that blushed and stumbled in the presence of someone special.

As your friendship evolved, Aizawa, despite his initial reservations, found himself enjoying your company. Your flirtatious nature would bring a blush to his usually stoic face, and he struggled to find words at times. However, beneath his quiet demeanor, a genuine interest in you started to blossom.

One day, during lunch break, you found yourself alone with Aizawa on the rooftop. The sun cast a warm glow on the scene, and the air was filled with the delicious scent of your meals.

"You know, Aizawa, you're pretty cute when you're not glaring at everyone," you teased, a playful grin on your face.

Aizawa scratched his head, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. "I, um, well, thanks, I guess."

The silence that followed was broken by the arrival of Hizashi and Oboro, who had been discreetly watching from a distance.

"Haha! Look at these two! Love is in the air!" Hizashi announced dramatically, earning an exasperated glare from Aizawa.

Oboro chuckled, "You've got to admit, Shouta. You should tell them how you feel."

Aizawa sighed, running a hand through his hair. As he struggled with words, you glanced at him, a soft expression attached to your features. Encouraged by Hizashi and Oboro, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

With a sly smile, you took Aizawa's hand, intertwining your fingers. "You don't always need words, Shouta. Sometimes, actions speak louder."

Aizawa's eyes widened, but he didn't resist. The warmth of your hand in his sent a comforting shiver down his spine. You leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek, leaving him utterly flustered.

"Hmm, not bad, Shouta. You should've done that yourself," Hizashi teased, earning a half-hearted glare from the blushing boy.

From that day forward, Aizawa and you became inseparable. The once reserved student found solace in your presence, and your flirtatious and lively nature brought a new light into his life.

Hizashi and Oboro watched with satisfaction as their matchmaking endeavors bore fruit, solidifying a bond that would shape the future heroes of U.A. High School.

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