#the wires in my brain were never the same after that

[omegalerc]

Im // this close to running EITHER an omega/Mpreg Charles fic fest or just a general f1 omegaverse fest I NEED more fics with babies okay

PLS ANON IF U EVER DO I WOULD DEFINITELY PARTICIPATE!! if this is the copium lestappen fandom is gonna take after recent events then im overdosing on copepills…

[faaun]

procrastination is starting to have its consequences finally

[malachitezmeyka]

Honestly this cold would be 5x more bearable if the way our mom used to treat colds when we were kids wasn’t so insanely traumatising

[topazy]

Teen spirit

Pairing: Carl Grimes x reader

Warnings: Swearing, main character death, violence

Chapter: 7.01

Your eyes sting when tears roll down your cheeks, leaving a horrible salty taste on your dry lips. The sound of Negan’s wooden bat pounding into someone's skull over and over was horrific. Negan pretended to play a game of eenie meenie miney mo while deciding who to kill, but he already had his mind made up.

“Show them no goddamn fear.”

Negan picked Abraham because he showed him no fear. For all you thought he could be an asshole, at times Abraham was brave, and he risked his life multiple times to save others. He was a hero, and he was loved.

“Did you hear that?” Negan chuckles. “He said, Suck my nuts!”

A couple of the men laugh behind him. Negan swings his bat around, causing blood to splatter across Rick’s face. His eyes move along the line up looking for someone else to torment, and when he gets to the end, he smiles.

“Oh shit girly, that wasn’t your daddy, was it?”

You can’t hold back the sob that escapes your mouth. Rosita was a hysterical mess beside you, and you’d never seen Rick look so terrified before. Would anyone get out of this alive? You wished your dad was with you; he always knew how to make you feel better.

Negan crouches down so he’s eye level with you. “Tell me, am I the worst man you’ve ever met?”

You wipe at your nose before letting out a shaky breath. “No, I’ve met a worse man than you.”

Negan smirks at your answer; he enjoys scaring you. You sob when he uses the bloodied bat to stroke the strands of your hair that had fallen in front of your face, leaving small parts of Abraham's blood in your hair. Horrified, you try to brush it out with your fingers, but Negan did the same thing but on the opposite side of your head.

“Leave her alone!” Daryl snaps; he leaps to his feet and punches Negan in the face.

“No!” You are screaming and watching as two men start to beat Daryl. “He’s sorry, just stop it! Please, please don’t hurt him!”

Negan chuckles. “That? Oh my. That is a no, no. The whole thing, not one bit of that shit flies here.”

Dwight steps out of the crowd and points Daryl’s own crossbow at him while he’s pinned to the ground. “Do you want me to do it?”

“No.” Negan had a sadistic smile on his face. “No, you don’t kill them... not until you try a little.”

Dwight looks confused for a moment, but he grabs Daryl and drags him back to his space in the line-up.

“And anyway, that’s not how it works. Now I already told you people the first ones are free, but I said I would shut that shit down! No exceptions.”

Your breath catches in your throat when Negan steps closer to your side of the line-up. He was going to kill one of you next. You close your eyes, not wanting to see the bat coming.

“Now, I don’t know what kind of lying asses you’ve been dealing with, but I am a man of my word. First impressions are important. I need you to know me. So… back to it.”

Your eyes flicker open, and you scream, seeing the bat covered in barbed wire and blood coming down towards you, but Negan doesn’t hit you; he hits Glenn, who was right beside you.

Glenn survives two blows to the head, but one of his eyes was popping out of his head. He manages to lift his head; he was in so much pain, grunting and sputtering blood from his mouth.

“Are you still there, buddy?” Negan asks mockingly. “I just don’t know. It seems like you’re trying to speak, but you just took a hell of a hit. I’ve hit your skull so hard your eyeball just popped out, and it is gross as shit!”

“Maggie, I’ll find you.”

Maggie sobs in response to Glenn’s final words before Negan counts to beat him. He continues to hit him until his skull is completely destroyed.

“You bunch of pussies! I’m just getting started.”

You feel as if you struggle to breathe when parts of Glenn's brain land across your lap. After your father died, you looked to Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Glenn, and Abraham for strength; they were the ones who kept your community safe. And now the blood of two of them was quite literally on your hands.

“Lucile is thirsty; she is a vampire.”

Maggie was distraught. First your mom and brother, then your dad, then Beth, and now Glenn were gone. You just pray to God that if you make it out alive, she doesn’t lose her baby.

“Now back to you.” Negan points his bat directly in front of your face, causing you to tremble with fear; seeing the blood drip off it so closely to your face causes you to freeze. “Which one of my men stabbed you?”

You’re unable to speak.

“Come on now, kid, you won’t get in trouble for telling me.”

Your eyes darted around the circle of men who were standing and watching Negan torment you all. You finally spot the man who stabbed, “h—h—him.” You swallow thickly, terrified of what was to come next. “It was him who stabbed me.”

Negan walks over to the man and pats him on the shoulder, then brings him out of the circle. “This man right here attacked you.”

You nod.

Negan swings his bat again and strikes the man across the face, causing him to scream in pain. But unlike Glenn and Abraham, he doesn’t beat them to death. “As you said, he’s a man who took the easiest option by stabbing a little girl. I can’t have that.”

—

Before you know it, the sun is starting to rise again. You do your best to avoid looking to your left. The daylight only meant it was easier to see what was left of Glenn.

Your heart drops when the RV pulls up to where you are all still kneeling, the outside of it covered in blood. Negan had taken Rick somewhere, and you expected him to be the next victim, but to your surprise, the door opens and Negan shoves out of the van.

“Rick, do you even know what that little trip was about?”

Rick doesn’t answer; he’s in complete shock.

Negan sighs, “Speak when you’re spoken to.”

“Okay, okay.”

“That trip was about the way you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand, but you’re still looking at me like that. Like I shit in your scrambled eggs, but that’s not going to work. So... Do I give you another chance?”

“Yeah, yes. Yes.”

“Okay, alright.” Negan smiles. “The grand prize game. What you decide next will be the difference between everyone’s last crap day or just another crap day.”

Negans men step forward and put guns to the back of everyone’s head. Perhaps death would be the better option than being tortured anymore. He was continuing to torment Rick by mocking him and threatening everyone at the same time.

“Kid…” Negan wags his finger in Carl's direction. “Right here. Kid, now.”

Carl glares at him but does as he says.

Negan pulls what looks like a leather belt from the side of his black biker jacket. “Are you a southpaw?”

“A what?”

“You a lefty?”

With nothing but venom in his voice, he answers, “No.”

Negan’s amused by his attitude, “good.” He ties the belt around Carl’s arm. “That hurt?”

“No.”

“Should. It’s supposed to.” Negan steps back, “Get down on the ground, kid, next to daddy. Spread those wings.”

When Carl goes to lay on his stomach on the ground, Negan pushes on his back, forcing him onto the gravel below. “Simon, you got a pen?”

“Yeah,” Simon tosses him a black marker pen.

Negan puts the pen lid in his mouth and starts drawing on Carl's arm. When he’s done, he laughs, looking directly at Rick. “I ain’t doing shit. Rick, I want you to take your axe... cut your son's left arm off, right on that line.”

Rick looks utterly traumatized.

Negan was giving him a horrific ultimatum. Amputate Carl’s arm or watch Carl and everyone else be murdered.

“You don’t have to do this,” Michonne pleads. “We understand, we understand.”

“You understand? Yeah. I’m not sure Rick does. I’m gonna need a clean cut right there in that line. Now I know this is a screwed up thing to ask, but it’s gonna have to be like a salami slice, nothing messy. Clean. Forty-five degrees; give us something to fold over. We’ve got a great doctor; the kid will be fine. Probably.”

Rick looks completely lost in his own head, a thousand times worse than when he went a bit crazy after Lori died.

“Rick... this needs to happen now. Chop, chop. Or I’ll crush the little fella's skull in myself.”

“It can... it can... It can be me. It can be me. You can do it to me.”

“No, this is the only way. Rick picked up the axe. Not making a decision is a big decision. Oh my god, I will start counting. Three!”

“Please, please, I can be me!” Rick cries hysterically.

“Two!”

“Please, don’t do...”

Negan slaps him then grips his jaw. “This is it. One!”

Rick lets out an agonizing sob, then reaches for the axe. You cover your mouth when Rick raises the axe in the air, but right before he can do it Negan stops him. “You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?”

Rick nods.

“Speak when spoken to! You belong to me!”

“Yes.”

“That’s the look I wanted to see.” Negan stands with a proud look on his face. “Well, it took a while, but we got there. Even the dead guys are on the ground. Hell, they get the spirit award for sure. Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope, for all your sake, you get it now. That you understand how things work. Dwight load him up.”

You try to reach for Daryl’s hand, but they take him. You completely zone out after that, trying to think of any happy memories buried in the back of your mind so you can block what just happened out.

—

You vaguely hear Maggie say she wants to fight the saviors, but her voice is so far away that it’s hard to register if it’s going on for real or inside your head.

Their blood was still on you.

Looking down, you start scratching at your hands, trying to get the blood that had dried in off your skin.

It’s not until someone’s arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling your hands apart, that you start to snap out of it. “Stop it; you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I need to get it off.”

“And we will,” Michonne says calmly. “I’m bringing you back to Alexandria. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

[tinydumpsterdiver]

So I've been thinking about Axle's early past a bit.. uhhh

Yeah here are a few doodles and a sketch. Along with a small bit of Axle's early childhood life. I got carried away

Just some simple doodles of Axle's childhood. He technically grew up in a lab although he wasn't born in captivity. Most of his early childhood was doing puzzles or tests, lots of observation as well.

His development is similar to that of a human in terms of brain growth and physical form. He grows at about the same rate as a human just on a far smaller scale.

For the most part in his younger years he mostly did cognitive testing and development. They mostly used simple tests, and some general animal psychology experiments. Such as seeing what he did for fun, for food, and some logical reasoning.

The odd time the scientists still would do a surgery or two on a young Axle, but it wasn't the norm at that time.

However as time went on they began to do more invasive tests.

Axle had always liked the scientists growing up, as he was younger he'd seen them as a sort of family, having favorites and having preferred caretakers. But at the age of about 12 years old even the nicer caretakers had begun to grow sour.

People were being more careful around him, using gloves more often, constricting his movements more often, and other things of the sort which Axle noticed.

The experiments eventually began to get more invasive, such as when he was 13 he had his first brain vivisection specifically. It was a procedure to place wires into his brain to do more invasive tests on his nervous system.

He tried asking more questions, which quickly he learned would get him nowhere. Soon even the nice humans he'd barely see anymore or they would just leave all together. It was at the age of 13 he'd decided he didn't like the humans or how they kept him captured. He didn't know what else there could be, but he knew from the little bits and pieces he was able to listen to that there had to be more than the lab.

At the age of 14 Axle was being treated more like the mice he'd been raised with than a person that the scientists would talk to passively. Axle only grew more resentful as the months went on and the rotation of scientists got more harsh.

At 16 he was being treated as though he was completely feral. He refused to cooperate with the humans but they would refuse to let him feel like he had any form of control over the situation whatsoever.

Ok so this was just a doodle that got out of hand and colored. It's not great but it's the best I got rn. I'm pretty stressed out lol

Anyways. Axle had a pretty traumatic upbringing, but it did teach him to never trust humans which was probably the best thing he could have learned for when he did eventually escape one day.

He did have his mother with him at one point in captivity, but one day she disappeared and he never really figured out what happened to her. Current Day Axle likes to think she managed to escape one day and was free somewhere.

Axle after that day grew up around mice, usually a circulation of mice that were young enough not to be a danger to Axle. But this really took a toll on him when eventually all his mice friends would get taken away and he'd have to get attached to new friends all over again.

Sometimes the scientists would have him do experiments alongside grown mice, sometimes he would remember them but usually not. Under normal circumstances the mice were never aggressive with Axle, but were usually more curious about him.

Ok my unorganized ranting is over. I'm not sure. I think it's fun to share my silly cringe lore.

Thanks for reading it! Or thanks for just looking at the art ^^

Sending positive vibes y'all

Till next time

[b3ach-bunn7]

I THINK YOU WERE IN MY PROFILE PICTURE ONCE PT 2

After the party, Touya can’t stop thinking about you.

Fluff, sfw, no quirk au

—————————————————————————

It’s been six days and Touya can’t stop thinking about you.

He had been right about the party. The end of it at least. He’d shaken you awake and you rushed off to find your friend, a smile and wave goodbye all he had to remember you by. You were late, apparently, too late to stop and give him anything to remember you by. He’d gone home soon after, slipping out before Hawks could berate him for leaving too early.

While Touya had settled for less, had made peace with the fact that you were to be another girl he’d spoken too at a party, he hadn’t been able to get you out of your head. For whatever reason he didn’t want you to just be another girl at a party he’d never speak to again. Touya wanted to see you again and he had no idea how.

What makes the situation ten times worse is he didn’t even get your name. He’s racked his brain for the past couple days and he had come to the embarrassing conclusion that not only did he not get your number, but he was also stupid enough not to ask you what you're called. Maybe if Touya had managed that, he could find your socials. A friend in your course could find your number. Or he could convince Fuyumi to do her weird girly stalk thing and find your mother’s Facebook. But alas, he could do none of that. 

Touya yawns. He scratches at the stubble that’s been growing on his face the past few mornings. It’s a rare day when the weather is warm enough in November for him to wear a short-sleeve, and he abuses the chance while he can. It’s shifts like this, where the shop is empty apart from a few dawdling customers he knows aren’t here to get anything done, that everything drags on.

Touya had (un)subtly hinted at his friend's tattoo and piercing shop because he works there, and it’d be an ample opportunity for him to see you again. Of course, in the past six days he hadn’t seen your face, but that was neither here nor there. It was a nice joint. It looks like any other tattoo shop, designs hung up on the walls, one side of the shop filled with shelves of piercings and jewellery. One side was reserved for tattooing and the other for piercing. Touya works in both parts of the shop, wherever he’s needed most. He has plenty of piercings to prove it but he’s never gotten any tattoos. His skin is marred enough as is. 

The pay was good, and the hours weren’t long. Touya gets on annoyingly well with his coworkers, too. They’re all his age apart from Toga, who, funnily enough, is the same age as Shoto. That’s where all their similarities end, though. She’s loud and full of annoyingly eager energy that he’s grown fond of, unfortunately. The only thing his job is missing in a pretty girl with shitty wired headphones

Touya drums his fingers against the counter. The day has been slow and his fingers itch to do something. Touya thinks, in another life, he might’ve been an artist. Touya loved drawing and painting and all forms of it, but even his mother wouldn’t let him choose it for university. And she never said no to him. Psychology was a second best, another interest he’d dug up from his ass when he realised he actually was going to make it past fifteen.

A job like this, where some shifts Touya can just sit and draw and design things for people, It’s his dream. Maybe he’ll open up a therapist agency next door so he can keep working here part-time.

Touya decides drawing is what he’ll do. He’s got a couple clients expecting things from him. He grabs a scrap of paper from under the desk. The first biro he finds is pink, and he lets spirals and flowers and whatever designs pop up in his head spread across the page. 

“Hey, it’s you!”

Touya thinks that maybe he might have fallen asleep and started dreaming when he hears your voice. But then he looks up, and there you are, grinning like Christmas has come early. You’re wearing a black coat and a scarf, thick and long enough he’s sure you can use it as a blanket. Your jeans are embroidered, colourful flowers leaving a trail down your thighs, and when Touya’s eyes flick back up to your face your cheeks are dusted red from the cold.

“Why the hell are you wearing a short sleeve shirt? Are you mad? It’s freezing out.” You huff, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck.

Touya just watches you. The logical part of his brain tells him that he should probably say something, but instead he just watches as you shrug your coat off. You’re wearing a shirt with what he thinks might be an album cover. Its red and green and yellow, splatters of watercolour, not something he recognises. Touya hopes you’ll play it for him. You finally look up at him, stuffing your earbuds in your pockets.

“You’re awfully quiet today.” You smile.

You lean against the counter, mimicking his position. The two of you are just a little too close for any average customer and cashier interaction, but he doesn’t care, and he is pretty sure you don’t either.

“Just shocked. Didn’t think you’d take me up on the piercing offer.” Touya says.

“Well. I was promised someone called Shiggy, not my nap partner.” Touya snorts at your words and you smile slightly.

Touya gestures around the shop. You follow his hands, looking around the empty store, before landing back on him.

“We’re empty. Only one working right now is me.”

“Well. That doesn’t sound up to code.”

Touya shrugs. “We’re always quiet at this time. My boss is in the back and my coworker is on the way. I’m the best guy here for the job.”

You hum under your breath, nodding. You bite at your thumbnail. Touya tilts his head slightly, and you smile at him nervously. 

“You doing alright?” He asks.

“Yes. Well. No. I’m scared.”

“What are you looking to get done today?” Touya walks round the counter, leaning one hip on it and crossing his arms. Your eyes dart very briefly to his biceps and he is suddenly very thankful he wore a short sleeve today, and that he’d gone to the gym yesterday.

“A piercing.”

“Which one?”

“I’m thinking nipples?”

Touya stammers. He can feel his ears redden and you last all of five seconds with a straight face before you burst out laughing.

“It’s a joke! I’m joking!” You cackle, hands up in the air. “The look on your face!”

Touya rolls his eyes as you wipe tears from under your own, turning his head so you don’t see the flush on his face. “Ha Ha. Very funny.”

“I know, I’m hilarious. What I actually want is a nose piercing.” You tap the side of your nose and Touya nods.

“Okay, cool. That’ll be twenty, including a stud.” 

He reaches under the counter and grabs a consent form. He passes you a pen and gestures you over.

“Here, sign this. Just a safety thing.”

He watches as you scribble your name at the bottom. It’s pretty. Suits you. You bite at your bottom lip and he smiles slightly. You’re not saying anything, but the nerves sit clearly on your face.

“You’ll be fine. It doesn’t hurt that bad.” He reassures.

You glance up at him and worry darts across your face. “You mean it?” You ask, passing back the form. 

Touya starts walking further into the shop and you follow next to him. “Yes, I’m sure. You can hold my hand if you’re really that scared.” He teases.

“Shut up. I might have to. I feel like I’m going to pass out.” You huff.

Touya lets the two of you into a room. You sit down on the chair in the middle of it, and Touya starts grabbing all the things he needs. The disinfectant, a mirror, the needle. You’re too quiet, and when he glances behind him you’re staring at him.

He shakes the disinfectant in the air. “Enjoying the show?”

“Shut up.” 

He brings all the stuff to the small table next to you. Touya puts his hands on his hips and you look up at him.

“What?”

“You still look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

You shove him away. “Shut up. Again. Just get it over with.” 

Touya laughs. “Okay, okay. So. I’m going to use a pen to mark where I’m going to do it. Then I’ll grab the needle and you take a big breath in. And when you breathe out I pierce you and it’s done.” 

He puts on a pair of black gloves as he speaks. He acts like he doesn’t see your eyes following his movements, the lithe movements of his fingers. 

You look back up at his face. “Okay. That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Touya nods. “It’s not. Now you want it on the left or right?” He passes you a mirror and you look through it.

“What do you think will look good?” 

“I think you’ll look pretty with both.”

“Aw. You think I’m pretty?” You bat your eyelashes at him.

“Pretty good. Is what I meant to say. Maybe ugly even.”

You giggle and he grabs the mirror out of your hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll do the right side.”

Touya nods. His hand comes up and turns your face to the side, fingers grazing your jaw. The touch is fleeting but it makes him nervous. Like he’s thirteen with a crush on his babysitter. He clears his throat, desperate to distract from how close the two of you are right now.

“So. What made you change your mind about getting something done?”

“Well. I kept thinking about you.” 

It’s Touya’s turn to raise an eyebrow and watch your face redden under his gaze.

“Aw. You were thinking about me?”

You smile cheekily. “Of course! That was the best thirty minute nap I’ve had in my life. I’ve been chasing that high ever since.”

Touya scoffs slightly. His hand finds your jaw again, lifting up your face. You words stutter slightly as he does so. The room settles into soft silence and he reaches forward and dots your nose with his marker. He leans back slightly and you’re close, close enough that he can see the fluffiness of your eyelashes, the blemishes on your skin. You smell so good, something sweet and girly and he breathes it in, scared he’ll forget. Your eyes are trailing over his face, just like how Touya’s doing to you. 

Touya steps back. He needs to be professional. He needs to calm down before he throws himself on you. 

“That's all I am to you? A shoulder to nap on?” He pouts and you laugh.

“Something like that. I also realised I never got your number. Or your socials. Or even your name.” You say.

Touya grabs the needle, sanitising it quickly and tossing the wet wipe away. “I also realised that. I'm Touya, by the way.” 

You say your name back and he nods. “Pretty.”

“You can’t flirt with your customers, Touya. Very unprofessional.”

His name sounds so soft on your tongue, and he wants you to say it again, never stop saying it.

“Who said I’m flirting?”

“You call all your customers pretty?” “Only the ones who can’t stop thinking about me.” 

You roll your eyes. Touya is tall enough that when he drags over a stool and sits down he still towers over you a little. Your fingers grip the edge of the chair you’re sitting on. You eye the needle in his hands and he hides it behind his back.

“Don’t look. You’ll freak yourself out more.” He chides, and you huff.

“What, should I just keep my eyes shut the whole time?”

Touya shrugs. “If you want. I’ll talk you through it.” 

Your eyes widen slightly and Touya laughs nervously.

“Like- I’ll tell you what I’m doing. By talking. While I’m doing it. It- the piercing.” 

You smile teasingly and he taps your knee so you’ll close your eyes, before you see how flustered he looks. You comply quickly, and god you’re just so beautiful. You swing your legs slightly and it’s only when confusion teases at the edges of your eyebrows he realises he’s been staring at you like a freak for so long. In silence. 

Touya’s voice is low when he speaks again. “Alright. I need you to breathe in for me.”

Your chest rises as you breathe in quickly. “And I’ll countdown, and when I reach one you breathe out quickly and I pierce you. Easy, right?”

You nod. Your eyes are screwed shut and Touya thinks you feel the shiver that runs down his spine when you reach forward and grab his forearm. Right over his scars. You don’t seem to care though, fingers finding comfort in him despite the marred skin on his body. 

“Three. Two. One.” 

You breathe out loudly and the needle goes through. Your eyes water slightly and your grip on him tightens.

“Good girl, see? Wasn’t that bad.” He soothes, putting the stud in your nose. 

He places the needle onto the table and grabs the mirror. Your eyes are still shut tightly and you’re still holding onto him. Touya takes off his gloves and pats your hand.

“You can look now.” He says. 

You open your eyes and take the mirror from his hand. Your face lights up lightly and you let go of him to touch the piercing gingerly, and he misses the cooling touch of your fingertips immediately.

“Wow. It’s cute! And it didn’t even hurt that bad, either.”

“I told you.” 

You sigh happily. And then you look at Touya again. He feels nervous under your gaze, so intense and so focused on him.

“Thank you, Touya.”

“Its, uh. It’s no issue. It’s my job.”

The two of you talk as he leads you back to the counter, basic housekeeping for your new piercing,  but he can’t help but think about the fact you’re going to leave and he might not see you again for god knows how long. As nervous as you make him Touya is not going to pussy out twice.

“So. What are you doing in two hours?” He asks, leaning over the counter.

You pause from where you’re cocooning back into your puffer coat and scarf. You blink at him owlishly. 

“Me?”

“No, the other person standing in front of me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. You loop your scarf around your neck before looking back up at him.

“Nothing. What are you doing in two hours?”

“Taking you out, hopefully.” He says.

You laugh nervously, face heating, and god if you keep looking at him like that he’s going to get fired for doing indecent things to a customer.

“Alright, Touya. You want me to meet you back here?”

“Nah, I’ll come pick you up.” 

You nod, biting back a smile. “Well. In that case.”

You grab the pink biro Touya had forgotten on the counter. And then your hands, still cold compared to the heat that blooms against his skin, wrap around his wrist and drag him closer. You lean over slightly, writing you number across the small of his arm.

“God, you’re so warm.” You mumble, ending the long string of numbers with a poorly drawn heart.

“You’re hands are freezing.” He replies.

And before he really thinks he’s grabbing your hand in his own, and both of your hands could fit in one of his, and god he is a creep. You just smile though, squeezing once before letting go to grab your bag.

“Good think I’ve got you to warm them up for me.” You grin, waggling your fingers in the air.

Touya just nods. Your grin widens at his silence, and before he knows it you’re waving goodbye and he’s left wishing you’d come back.

—————————————————————————

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE 🥳it took me a scarily long time to finish this 😭i had sooo much uni work I literally had no time but I’ve been (once again) in love with Touya so I had to finish this fic

This was heavily based on a post I saw from @tragikomizm of artstudent! Touya that I LOVED so deffo check out her stuff!

Anyways I hope u all enjoyed :P I really do love writing these and I will try and get more stuff out! Also if anyone has any good ao3 fic reccoemndation (happy endings plz) PLZ COMMENT I JEED SMTH TO READ!

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Just Another Notch

Bucky Barnes x Plus Size F!Reader

Masterlist Part 3/?? Part 4

Word Count: 1,824

Summary: If Bucky thinks his charms will work on you, then you’re gonna put up one hell of a fight to prove him wrong.

Warnings: Nothing explicit 18+, until later chapters, read at your own discretion. Fat shaming, bully!Steve. Protective!Bruce

Training felt useless. When you made it to the simulation room, you didn’t even power up the hologram tech. You sat in the chair facing the super computer. Seeing your reflection in the monitor screen, cause tears to well in your eyes. You thought you were beautiful, when you looked in the mirror after you got dressed, you felt so confident. The look on Bucky’s face when you emerged from your room boosted that confidence tenfold. You could laugh at yourself now. How quickly things change, it’s the cosmos teasing you. Blowing a long breath out of puckered lips, you drop your forehead, landing it on the cool glass desktop. Maybe you bit off more than you can chew. Maybe you weren’t strong enough to play this kind of game.

You knew you never stepped foot in that gym for a reason. Why did you think today would be different? “You ok?” You raise up, searching the room. “Uh hello?” You say, standing up when you still don’t spot anyone. You see the top of a curly head of hair bent under a desk. Walking up to it, the gym situation leaves your mind instantly. You see Bruce folded up untangling wires underneath a desk. “What a sight.” You laugh. “Yeah, yeah, poke your fun.” He contorts himself free, standing up to press the power button on the monitor screen.

When he’s met with continued darkness, he rolls his eyes and faces you. “Your forehead.” He motions towards his own. You make eye contact with yourself in the mirrored wall behind him. Apparently you’d banged your head harder than you thought. You didn’t feel it but you saw the blood at your hairline. “Oh my.” Your eyes grew to be big like saucers.

You look at the desk to see a large crack down the center of it. “I heard you do it, that’s why I asked if you were okay.” He was looking at you with disbelief that you did that to yourself without noticing. “It didn’t hurt, don’t worry about me.” You brush him off, running to the sink in the corner to wash the blood and sweat from your face.

“I know you have a hard head, my desk though? Priceless and fragile.” He jokes, you can hear the real concern under his voice. “What happened, really?” Bruce steals your rolling chair, sitting below you, looking up intently. His big brown eyes gave you the courage to admit it. “Just the same old, same old.” You kick at one of the wheels to the chair.

“C’mon, you know it’s not good to hold it in. Let the doctor help.” He sounds playful, but you know he’s dead serious. You never considered Bruce one of the main team, so there was no reason to ice him out. He was a scientist more than anything. He spent almost one hundred percent of his time in this simulation room, save for when you both knew you’d rather be training alone. He kept you company, not in the verbal sense.

Most of the time the room was filled with the clicking of keys and hard labored breaths. You both did your own thing, over time you started appreciating each others meekness and opened up. Once you got the man talking, he never stopped. You’re sure his brain is a computer, he soaks up information and spits it back out, corrected. You knew better than to ever lie to him, he was far too smart to fall for whatever you planned to say.

“Tell me.” His smile drops and you feel yourself break a little more. “I embarrassed myself, Bruce.” You look away from his saddening eyes. They were starting to pool with pity, and that’s the last thing you want from him. “Hard to believe, but how?” He says, grabbing your wrist to keep you from running away.

With a deep breath you begin, “I went the the gym with Bucky this morning, mistake one.”. Bruce quickly interjects “Bucky? What are you doing hanging out with him?” He presses his eyebrows together, you can’t discern his expression, was it judgement or something else? “It’s a long story.” You find yourself looking down and away from him again. Like there’s a smudge of guilt and shame creeping in.

“I’ve got time.” He raises his arms in a gesture that conveyed ‘bring it on’. God he wanted the details, why? You glance around the room, finding another chair and rolling it infront of him. “Where should I start?” You giggle, forcing yourself to lighten the mood. “The beginning, please.” He starts to bounce his knee.

“Last night, I was eating my late night cereal in the kitchen, when everyone got home.” Bruce folds his arms and nods. “Bucky joined me in the kitchen and well, he dumped a bowl of milk on me. It was an accident, I think.”

“You think it was an accident? Or you have proof of otherwise?” He says, tilting his head. “Maybe the latter.” You admit. “Okay, so the guy spills milk on you, so you go workout with him?” He was obviously confused. “Not directly after! He apologized and brought me coffee this morning to apologize again, offered to help me out with training.” Bruce rolls his eyes again and you’re sure they’ll fall out the next time.

“Please tell me you didn’t believe he was just innocently apologizing.” He sounds annoyed with you, it kinda stings. You never expected Bruce to get upset with you over it. “What else would he be doing?” You shrug your shoulders at him, genuinely curious if he saw it the same way. “Anyone with eyes here knows, that Casanova, will pull any girl in the building, I’m sure he doesn’t even have a type.”. So Bruce also thinks Bucky was flirting with you.

“I honestly didn’t want to believe it. Why would a guy like him be with me?” You shake your head, trying to throw the thoughts from your mind. “He has been nothing but nice to me, I promise.” You look him in the eyes and you see the tone you’ve been hearing in his voice. Flecks of green shine and then die out instantly, his knee was bouncing faster than before. “If he was so nice then why’d you leave the gym?” His voice wasn’t questioning, it was accusatory.

You choose your next words carefully. “Steve came in, and he said something that wasn’t so nice, so I left. That’s all, Bucky didn’t even do anything, there goes his attempt at sleeping with the whole office.” You try to laugh it off, but Bruce isn’t budging. “What did he say?”

“I was getting a water from the vending machine-“ before you could finish, his knee stopped bouncing, and he unfolded his arms. Now you were worried. “Did he comment on your weight, yes or no?” He stands up, harshly slamming the chair into the desk. You would never lie to Bruce, but the truth might start something you don’t want. “Sorta…” you say, ashamed. He strides past you, and now you’re reaching out for him, “Wait.”.

“No, I’m tired of these pompous assholes doing and saying what they want. I’m not letting it happen, especially to you.”. He looks back before exiting the room, and you feel something in your chest swell. He was so serious right now, you could feel the anger radiating off of him. You didn’t know Bruce felt anything besides casual friendship for you, now you’re starting to think differently.

“I’m coming.” You run to catch up with him, taking long strides behind him as his white lab coat swings behind him, and in front of you. “What makes him think he can even speak on my- on you?” He redirects as he swings the gym door open.

You’re met with Bucky and Steve racing each other in push-ups. “99-100!” “You suck.” “You cheated.” They’re laughing as if you and Bruce didn’t just walk in. “No one cares.” Bruce cuts in. The look of annoyance on his face was enough to confuse the super soldiers. “What are you doing out of the lab?” Steve jokes, but no one laughs. “The next time you even so much as think about Y/N, you’ll be talking to the big guy, not me.”. Steve looks around the gym, wondering who Bruce thinks he is. “Sure, pal.” He grabs a towel and wipes the sweat from his neck. “Tell your girlfriend to lose some weight then.” Before you could even be hurt, all you saw was green.

Hulk was infront of you now, taking heaving breaths. You poke your head out from behind him and see Steve and Bucky holding their hands out as if they were calming a wild boar. “Woah, don’t you think you’re over reacting?” Steve says, stepping back. “Y/N! Call off your dog!.” He says, tripping over his own feet.

Hulk slowly stalks towards both of the men, ready to shred them to pieces. A sinister smile on his face. You feel no pity for Steve, but the thought of Bucky being hurt in the crossfire didn’t sit right with you. Before the jolly green giant could break a bone you pipe up loudly. “Hulk? Hey! Over here!” You wave your hands around in the air.

He can see your tiny form trying to catch his attention, and Hulk has the peace of mind to just ignore you, and do what he knows best, smash. The first fist landed on the gym floor, splinters of wood flew everywhere, a hole to the basement left in its place. “Hulk!” You scream this time and it catches his attention. “Go home!” You demand. You knew better than to have a civilized conversation with him. He knew how to take orders from Fury, so maybe it would work. When he just stands there and looks at you, you double down. With a faux confidence, you looked him in his giant green eyes. “Now, Hulk!” You raise an eyebrow, like a tested mother, as if you were about to count to three.

You don’t know why, the hulk didn’t frighten you one bit, but silly, mean words would make you crumble. He growls one last time at the scared super soldiers before breaking through the door way leading outside. Leaving you alone with the men you almost had killed. Bucky looks in disbelief, like he wasn’t almost used for a human punching bag. “Sorry.” You shy away, stepping on fallen bricks to follow Bruce outside.

“What the actual fuck just happened?” You hear Steve ask, but you’re halfway to the swaying trees before you could hear his response. You don’t really know where Bruce lives, so following him through the woods was your only option. You don’t want him destroying more floor boards on your account. Also, you need to find out why he was so passionate about defending you.

Tag List:

@cjand10

@winterslove1917

@honestlywork

@calwitch

@missvelvetsstuff

@differenttyphoonwerewolf

@Thewiselionessss

@mcira

@sashaisready

@thejujvtsupost

@toxicteapot

[princessbrunette]

deer!reader gets the zoomies and pope's trying to calm her down? ♡

˙✧˖° 🐬🛼🎀 ⋆｡♡

“oh my god, please get into bed.” pope chuckles, watching you from where he lays, a hand resting behind his head. you were wired up, pacing the room at the foot of his bed in your pyjamas. he’d taken you on one of the infamous pogue missions today, getting into all kinds of drama. pope had been stressed, hating that you could get into any kind of trouble. he did the best he could to keep you safe, as did the other pogues — in mutual understanding that you were a sweetheart who was not to be corrupted.

you’d been quiet throughout everything, all wide eyed and curious even through the dangerous parts. pope couldn’t gage you, half expecting you to burst into tears from all the commotion of the day as soon as he got you back through the door — but to his total surprise you were off like a rocket, rambling excitedly and grinning ear to ear.

“it was like— it was like this one scene from my book! i’ve never felt adrenaline like that before pope it was just— wow! and — and the way jj punched that guy in the face! he’s insane! and the way kie told that guy to shutup, like woah!” you squeal, twirling about excitedly as your boyfriend shakes his head calmly, used to the pogues shenanigans.

“yep, they’re all crazy. what’s gonna get you over here, huh?” he smiles lazily and you pause breathlessly in your tracks.

“not sure. i just feel so excited right now, popey.” you smile honestly and he sits up at the edge of the bed, patting the space next to him. reluctantly, you skip over— sitting right up by his side, looking at him expectedly with those wide curious eyes.

“look, i’m gonna be honest— i was stressed today. the most important thing to me, is keeping you safe, aaaand — that? that was far from safe. i’m glad you had fun, but i can’t in good conscience let you tag along to anymore pogue missions. okay?” his forehead crinkles as he knits his brows, watching your face fall a little, pensive.

unsurprisingly, you do as your told with little resistance. “mm, okay. but can you tell me more about your adventures? i wanna know.”

“mhm.” he loops a strong arm round the back of your neck to draw you in for quick kiss, a silent testament to how adorable he thought you were in the moment. “but tomorrow. not while i’m trying to get you to calm down.” he smiles, to let you know he’s not scolding you.

“fair.” you smile and he tilts his head, staring at you whilst he thinks.

“at the risk of sounding gross and vulgar, i do know one thing that usually gets you to calm down pretty quickly.”

your back straightens a little, perking up the same way a deer would after hearing a leaf crunch in the distance. “what’s that?” you question energetically, and instead of answering you — pope brings you in for another slow kiss, gently laying you back on the bed.

“well, it involves me being knuckles deep inside you. can’t give you any more clues though, i’m afraid.”

just like that, your brains mush. if pope had his methods to calm you down, who were you to intervene with such brilliance?

˙✧˖° 🐬🛼🎀 ⋆｡♡

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 102)

Welding while three days overdue in a pregnancy is hard Uzi realized.

The inside of the shuttle was warm enough that the wind and weather outside wasn't something to worry about, but the amount of strain the baby was putting on her internals was slowing her down heavily.

Even still… it was almost finished.

All that was left was the internals, the controls and the little bit of air they needed to cool their systems. And it would be ready.

And so right now she was putting in the cramped recharge pods that would be the bulk of the inside, small little upright beds that filled the function of a place to rest and…not much else.

When space is at a premium, it would have to do.

Khan was working on the airlock, big, steel hydrologic doors. His expertise. So they were nearly working side by side.

Uzi stretched upwards to reach the ceiling from the step ladder she was using,sealing up a messily managed cluster of wires within a tube of aluminum. And then doubled over in pain.

She made a wince and a squeak and held her expanded abdomen as a wave of pain shot through her.

Khan was on her in an instant, taking one of her hands in his own and helping her off the stepladder.

“Uzi! Are you alright? Is the baby-”

“N-no! No. Just uh… just them kicking me in the stomach. Ow…” She calmed him. “I almost wish…”

Khan still held her and made her sit in one of the incomplete charge pods, checking her over.

“I'm fine. Dad.” She almost laughed, but it turned into another wince as the baby proceeded to kick the shit out of her insides once more.

“Agh…”

“Maybe you should sit the rest of the construction out dronelette… you need rest.”

“What I need is to get this done. This was my plan and it needs to work and-” She struggles to get out of the pod, legs kicking our uselessly.

“And you have been every single day you have been able. It's just finishing touches, then we start packing what we can.”

Uzi crossed her arms in a huff.

“I don't wanna be useless.”

“No offense dronelette, but I think your body has more say about that then your mouth.” He smiles sheepishly, gesturing to the fact she couldn't even get out of a shallow pod by herself.

“Bite me.”

He laughed and helped her out of the pod, not letting go until both her feet were on the ground and she was steady on them.

“Where's N? Still on patrol?” He asks, hand still on her back.

“Yeah, he'll be out for awhile…”

“I gotcha.” He peered out the door, flagging down somebody.

“Nico! Can I borrow you for a minute?” He shouted, at the purple eyelighted door gaurd, who was deep in conversation with his partner.

“Aye sir!” He rushed over with a lopsided grin. Goggles bouncing on his head.

“Can you lead my daughter back to her apartment for me?” Khan asks, smiling happily at the young man.

“Dad! I can walk on my own!” Uzi protested, but it went in one ear and out the other.

“Sí Mr. Doorman.” Nico replied, getting into place at Uzi's side despite her indignant grumbles.

“Thank you, Varga.” Khan grinned, before heading back inside the ship. Nico and Uzi look at each other.

“After you senora?”

“I'm not that much older then you…” Uzi smirked, raising her eyebrow. And Nico just laughed.

“Hehe… I'm just being polite.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “You snapped at me for my manners once.”

“Huh?” Uzi wracked her brain. “Oh! Were you the same guy who was staring at Tera when she was a pillbaby?”

They began to walk, passing through the doors of the bunker.

“Guilty. Forgive me? Por favor? I was just surprised… you never struck me as someone who wanted kids, at least… at the time.” He grinned.

“I think I was just in a bad mood that day. I was getting lots of stares.” Uzi admitted, feeling a little self conscious.

“Lo siento, aren't you always in a bad mood?”

“Hey!” She snarled as they passed by several residential doors, before she deflated and smiled. “I guess you're not wrong.”

He laughed again. It sounded… familiar somehow.

“If dad's gonna have you tail me, I need to pick up my daughter from a freinds house before I head home.” She spoke, and at her words, his smile seemed to get a little pained.

“Of course. It's Tera right?” He asked, cocking his head. “How… is she?”

“Tera? You mean other then destroying everything soft she can get her fangs on? She's great, she's so energetic, she's a little hard to keep track of.”

He smiles, then looks confused. “Fangs?”

Uzi looks guilty, looking away from him.

“That's… my fault. My oil is… uh, effected by a condition…” She shows him a flash of her own fangs. “And I didn't realize it was contagious that way until it was too late.’

Nico furrows his brow, Uzi mistakes his concern for judgement. “It doesn't seem to effect her negatively! She's happy and healthy, it's just… she'll look different, is all.”

Nico nods once. “I wasn't judging.”

“So long as she is happy, I don't think anyone will judge. You took her in when… no one else wanted to, or could.”

“If no one has thanked you yet. Let me be the first.” He smiles, for once it seems to go up to his visor. “Gracias, Miss Doorman.”

“Uh… you're welcome?” She returns a confused smile as they stop in front of a door that reads “von Roth”.

Nico nods again before coughing and pulling out a little military canteen, taking a swig of it.

Uzi looks at him curiously.

“Ah, software issue… I go through coolant like my abuelo did battery acid! Hehe.”

Uzi nods, satisfied with his answer before knocking on the door with three quick raps.

A drone with light blue eyelights answers the door with a beaming smile. “Oh! Mrs Doorman! You're here to pick up Tera yes?” His accent is slightly Italian, and he smells slightly of fermented oil.

“That's right.”

“I'm Jason! Nice to meet ya!” He shakes her hand firmly. “My Flower’s getting her now. What a good kid you have, treats my daughter like a princess!”

“Uh, thank you Jason.” Uzi says awkwardly.

Delilah pops her head put under his arm, and he chuckles before moving out of the way for her.

“Hi Uzi! Here she is!”

Tera is handed to her… with a big fat purple bow tied up in her hair and forced into a little grey dress.

She looks defeated. Looking up at her mother with eyes that pray ‘please help me.’

“Oh God! What happened to you!?” Uzi smiled, incredibly amused at Tera's deadpan expression.

“Dress up.” Tera answers, as Delilah squeals.

“Look how adorable she looks! Though it was a lot of effort to get her in that dress…” She shows off the tiny scratches on her hands.

considering that Tera resisted being dressed in anything. The fact the Delilah was not in worse shape was astonishing.

“I'd say… Thank you for watching her.”

“Oh, no problem! She's a sweetheart, any time you need!” Delilah answers, before her husband pulls her into a little head nuzzle.

“Absolutely! Kiara needs more freinds like her!” He waves as Nico and Uzi move off, Tera crossing her arms in indignation.

“Not a fan of the dress chica?” Nico asks with an amused look.

“No.” Tera answers, shaking her head and pouting in her mother's arms. It's not until she does the toddler equivalent of a double take that she notices him and stares, cocking her head.

“Heh, Heya kiddo.” He smiles, face soft. Uzi raises a brow.

“Hi! Like you!” She says immediately, beginning to vibrate. “Name?”

“Ah. Nico.” He replies.

“Hi Nico!” She replies back, grinning visor seam to visor seam. Forgetting for a moment all about her distaste for the dress she was in.

But… too quickly, Uzi was at her door, and it was time to say goodbye.

“Thanks for walking with me. It was nice, even if my dad made you.”

“Don't mention it. You both take care, sí?” He cocked his head.

“Bye Nico!” Tera hollered, waving with all her might. And then; “Adiós!”

Uzi blinked. “Where did you learn-”

Nico was gone very, very quickly.

Who knew languages were inheritable?

Next ->

[lieutenantfloyd]

Ensemble Cast

pairing: Platonic! Task Force 141 (+ Alejandro & Rodolfo) x GN! Reader

words: 660

Summary: Hours into a stakeout, your boredom leads you to ask the everyone the classic hypothetical question, “If they were to make a movie about us, what actor would you want to play you?”

warnings: Lots of fluff and dialogue, found family trope, mentions of injuries, and an implication of angst.

a/n: MW2 is the ultimate found family story, change my mind.

Running your fingers along the edge of the map, your watch caught your eye. 5:14am, the bold digital numerals taunted. you pushed back from the table and made your way across the small room. You quickly scanned for an open spot to sit before finding one along the wall. Settling in with the group, you fought the urge to sigh. Stakeouts, while typically easy work, were never something you particularly enjoyed. A welcome break from the firefight you had been active in the past few weeks, yes, but nonetheless almost entirely boring.

You had been with them for what felt like forever and had long considered the group more like a band of brothers than a task force. Yet even the closest groups of people are bound to experience a lapse in conversation when stuck in a room together for hours on end. Unsurprisingly, a hush had fallen over most of the group more than a few hours ago. Like Ghost, you were more than comfortable with a bit of silence. But as the ninth hour of the stakeout came to a close, you couldn’t help but ignore your growing itch for conversation.

“If they were to make a movie about us, what actor would you want to play you?”

The question escaped you almost absentmindedly. The result of your brain slipping into semi-auto pilot. The words simultaneously cut Soap’s quiet one-sided ramblings short and introduced a bit of spirit and levity to everyone. You felt the room fall into a moment of quiet consideration, as the men began using the same war strategist intensity that was hard wired into their brains to figure out what Hollywood star they felt was most like themselves. Hypotheticals were a more than welcome break from going over the intel for the umpteenth time, or worse, being forced to listen to the vocalization of whatever popped into Soap’s mind.

With a groan, Captain price shifted his position in the stiff plastic chair he occupied. Trading his relaxed posture for sitting at attention in anticipation of everyone’s answer. A few moments passed before he spoke up. “Easy. Hugh Grant.” He started before taking a dramatic drag from his cigar. “A classic British gentleman after my own heart.”. Even through the darkness, you could see the playful glint in his eye. Price’s answer earned a range of amusement from the group and a full-bodied laugh from soap. “I’d want either James Mcavoy or… that guy from Game of Thrones.” Soap grinned. “Jon Snow!” Gaz snorted. “For me..” He started ”I know he’s not an actor, but I’ve been mistaken for Lewis Hamilton once or twice before, so probably him. What about you, Alejandro?” “I’d play myself. Why hire an actor when you can have the real thing?” Alejandro chimed in. “¿Y usted?” Alejandro said, elbowing Rodolfo. “No estoy seguro… ¿Maybe Mario Lopez?” “¡Vaya! Looks like Rudy’s feeling confident!” Alejandro chuckled, earning a smile and a slightly bashful look from Rudy. “What about you, LT?” Simon simply shrugged. Clearly not impressed by the current conversation. “Well. we could always dress up one of those twelve foot skeleton decorations and have you do the voiceover.” Soap snickered.

A moment passed before everyone, Simon included, burst into laughter.

Seeing everyone fall apart to such a dumb joke left you giggling right along with them, almost unable to contain yourself.

For years you found it strange how much joy you felt in moments like this—sitting in a dark and musty shack, laughing and cracking jokes alongside your rag tag group of soldiers. Yet you couldn't ignore how these moments brought up a near forgotten sensation; a syrupy sweetness in your chest. A feeling synonymous with those of love and what it meant to finally belong somewhere. The feeling of finally finding a family. Because what is a family, if not a cast of characters - often beaten, more than a little broken, and almost always bloody - who still choose to form glimmers of light in a world of dark?

[void-occupation]

Some Lee!Alastor Headcanons to Fuel My Brain

The lee!alastor tag has been painfully empty for the last few days, so I've decided to contribute a few headcanons of mine for you all to see and consider as you wish. Feel free to add on to this post with headcanons/rants/fics/whatever of your own if you want, I was just personally experiencing withdrawal symptoms and needed to fuel my addiction lol

(These are tickle headcanons for those unfamiliar with the terminology. If that isn't your thing, just scroll right on by)

First thing's first. Something I think everyone is sleeping on? Scalp massagers. Specifically the wire ones. I personally think those things are ticklish as fuck, and I'm far from the only one. The majority of us have come to the agreement that Alastor's ears are also ticklish as fuck. Just take a moment with me and imagine the potential:

Someone (probably Angel, or Lucifer) gets a scalp massager and is going around trying it on other hotel residents when they aren't paying attention. It's just for fun, and they're getting the typical reactions (jumping away, super startled, or just completely Unphased). Then, they manage to catch Alastor by surprise and do it to him, but instead of the typical reaction, Alastor startles before bursting out into staticky giggles. Alastor has no clue WHY it tickles so much, but it does, and he's practically paralyzed in a weird half-curled position as whoever has the massager just keeps running it over is head over and over. He can't try to escape, he can only giggle and babble out nonsense words, especially when the ends rub up against his ears which only makes it MORE ticklish, which he didn't think was possible. After the other demon shows mercy (and somehow isn't immediately slaughtered) Alastor develops a healthy fear of the massager, and grows incredibly anxious with anticipation and adorably flustered any time someone brings one out

Speaking of massagers brings me to my second headcanon. This man CANNOT get a massage or he will absolutely die. People who are tense can be more ticklish as a result, and since Alastor is already incredibly ticklish, having tense muscles makes this 100x worse. I have really tense shoulders, and any massage there immediately makes me hysterical, and I imagine Alastor would be the same. If he was comfortable enough to do so, he would be the kind of person to absolutely die if he were to get a full-body massage because it would tickle so damn much - even through the pain that comes with massages. Rosie likes to pretend to massage his shoulders and neck just so she can tell him to stop squirming and giggling so much because she's trying to help him

Another quick headcanon. I like to imagine that he's mostly covered in fur, and while it isn't terribly long in most places, it can still get tangled after a shower, or after being smothered by his clothes all day, so he has to brush it regularly. This is an absolute nightmare for him. Even when he's brushing his own fur, he has to stop every few seconds because he starts laughing too much in certain areas, like over his sides or belly for example. No matter how often he does it, he never gets used to the feeling, and it only gets worse if someone else (usually Rosie) does it for him. At least if he does it himself, he can stop once he starts laughing. It makes it take a long time, but it's less flustering. If Rosie (or Satan forbid someone else for whatever reason) brushes his fur, she usually tries to get a much done at once as she can, so she usually keeps going until he's begging for a break. Also, she thinks it's absolutely adorable, so she'll keep brushing areas that make him squeal long after all the tangles have been removed

Last one for now is that he can feel the static from people's phones. If he's close to someone when their phone rings, he can usually feel the static of it crawling teasingly over his skin. It usually isn't a big deal, but if someone is being bombarded by calls that they keep ignoring (let's say Valentino obsessively calling Angel Dust), the static quickly becomes overwhelming and he'll beg the person to answer their phone or turn it off, if straight up bashing it against the nearest wall isn't an option. It doesn't tickle a particular area, more of an all-encompassing tickle over his entire body. If he gets to the point of begging them to answer, it's usually because he can't hold his laughter and squirming anymore and is trying not to make a fool of himself. He feigns annoyance so people don't find out the real reason he wants the calls to stop. The secret comes out when Angel absolutely refused to answer Valentino one day, but didn't want to turn off his phone because he was in the middle of doing something on it, and Alastor finally broke and curled up where he sat, giggling hysterically and begging Angel to turn his phone off

That's all I have for now, I hope you enjoyed these headcanons. If you decide you like them enough to incorporate them into anything you write/draw, tag me!!! I'd move to see it. Also, as mentioned earlier, feel free to add onto this as you wish, I'd love to see how you all make these headcanons your own

[nekrosdolly]

everything is blue

you're vergil's "something blue."

cw; lingerie mention, established relationship, canon compliant, vergil is a cat, somewhat needy vergil, this is not a full fic just something i thought of earlier, powder blue is such a good color, sex mentioned but not described, i love 40 year olds (vergil is 43)

a/n; dear god the dmc brain rot has started... fear not! i will still be a resident evil account, just with some... extras here and there. btw i finished 3 & 1 in two days... tryhard who? i might make a dante version of this too! this will officially be my vergil divider i think!

blue. that's what reminds you of vergil- blue. deep, navy blue. sometimes a shade of indigo. if you asked him, he'd tell you that associating someone with a color is odd and something he would never do. it's silly, he'd insist, and not something he really cares for.

or so he says.

unbeknownst to you, he's decided that you are light blue. specifically powder blue, not quite baby blue, and not exactly periwinkle- powder blue.

whenever he buys you something, it's always that exact shade. you don't notice until lady points it out to you one day, after you've told her about something vergil has, once again, bought for you (an irresponsible spender, it seems, but he'd give the world for you.)

"that sounds cute," she says, leaning into the old couch cushions behind her back. the entire damned piece of furniture is old, so it's no surprise that she inadvertently sinks into your side.

"yeah, it is." you nod, leaning into her, too.

"what color?"

"blue. like a baby blue, sort of." you say and she hums.

"weird," she comments.

"why is that weird?"

"he always buys you blue stuff. like he's claiming you with a color or something." she shrugs, which moves your shoulder, too.

"huh…" everything vergil has ever gotten you- lingerie, skirts, shirts, little charms for your lanyard, the lanyard itself, bracelets with aquamarine, even some earrings with the same stone. when you ask him what color to get on your nails, he always says the same color- powder blue. you wonder if it's his way of staking a claim. he's never been outright possessive, never told you to your face that you belong to him or that you're his in every single way, inside and out.

truthfully, you'd never thought he was wired that way. maybe it's a demon thing, and part of you wants to assume it is, but it's not like you're dumb. you've dated other men before vergil, much to his dismay, and you know how they can be. maybe, when indulging in sins of the flesh, he's not so different. his touches are never less than gentle, especially when it came to the early stages of your relationship. they were very chaste, then, never below the belt until you told him you were ready. he was gentle, then, too.

he's extra affectionate when you're actually wearing the blue things he gave you- maybe one of the skirts he bought you, or the thigh-highs he nervously gave you to wear, too. even the jewelry has him touchy. like a cat, he'd press himself against your side, one hand on your thigh, thumbing the hem of your skirt somewhat obsessively as you pay attention to your phone instead of him, still holding his arm. his stormy grey eyes would be a little more blue, his pupils dilated some. pouty lips would find your cheek, your temple, your hair, anything to get you to pay attention to him without him needing to ask. maybe your theory was right.

not to mention the one day you wore red to work, he looked like somebody stomped on his heart. to anyone else, the crease between his brows was the same, the pout his lips were always in didn't change, but to you, he was sulking majorly. realistically, he knew he didn't control you, but some darker, inner parts

it's not his fault. ever since you two began dating, he'd had this obsession with seeing you decked out in his color, even though he knew it was silly.

[baldurs-gape]

Beware of the Pointy Bits

Somehow Gale had always thought that the most difficult part of dating a vampire would be avoiding the fangs. Loathe as he was to admit it, he was wrong. Kissing Astarion was easy, the other had had 200 years of perfecting how to kiss without revealing his fangs so it wasn't an issue. Not once did Gale nick his tongue or lips on them which was only a slight shame as there was something quite erotic about the idea. Then again his blood was rather potently vile so it was perhaps for the best.

Armour was one thing to get caught on. Weapons was not one Gale was a fan of. Nothing was worse than getting back to somewhere (mostly/kind of/somewhat) private only to have to start fiddling with straps and buckles. And gods forbid a metal pauldron was thrown to the ground in enthusiasm rather than delicately placed with reverence. Horny and eager did not make for a good combination for such moments. Astarion had actually bitched and moaned the one time Gale had discarded the chest piece of his armour and it got a scratch.

Then there was the issue of the helmet and Astarion's ears. Whoever came up with the design was obviously not very caring of pointy ears. Gale cursed them out when he'd tried to tug it off Astarion, only to elicit a yowl of pain rather than a purr of happiness. Rather than spend the time getting off, Gale had to sit with Astarion in his lap and rub his poor ears better. Elves and their sesitive ears, it was just not fair.

Finally though, sword, bow, arrows and armour (including helmet) came off and Gale thought maybe fortune would turn in his favour. Kissing Astarion, he pressed close against him only to jerk away.

"Ow." He rubbed just below his rib where something had poked him sharp. Looking a little sheepish, Astarion reached under his shirt and pulled a dagger out and Gale squeezed his eyes shut. "Why? You couldn't get that out from under your armour even if you needed it."

"If I get caught and taken prisoner they'll take my weapons and armour. But they'll never find all my weapons."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gale tried to will himself into the present moment. There was flirting with danger and there was bedding a walking armoury.

"Fine. Right. Could you please take all weapons and clothes off? The only thing I was hoping to get impaled on was your cock." But the mood was rather rapidly going.

Leering, Astarion reached down for his boot. Out came a dagger from the outside of his calf. An arrow from the inside. And the same on the other foot. His sock garters might as well have been called throwing knife stores with an alternate function to hold stockings up. On one level it was impressive. On another it was excessive.

"Excellent. Done?"

Astarion held a hand up to halt him moving closer. While his bracers had held a couple of daggers, under his sleeve were scalpels tied to his lower arms. Under his shirt, strapped to his back was a shortsword. After that Gale stopped paying much attention. What was more of note to his brain was the growing pile of weapons next to Astarion. Aside from the usual sharp and pointy there was now also a whip, a couple of bombs, a syringe, a couple of throwing stars. Finally Astarion stood naked before him, arms out to the side.

"Done!" His smile morphed into a frown. "Hang on!" Reaching into the curls of his hair, a coil of garotting wire joined the pile as well as a couple of lockpicking tools and a razorblade. "Now I'm done."

Somehow, Gale wasn't quite sure when, he had gone from post-battle "oh shit we're alive" sex desires to "you are so competent that my brain is leaking from my ears with how much I want you to put that competency to use on me". Thankfully, Astarion didn't much care which kind of horny he was, all that mattered was they had a good time.

[glitchy-npc]

54 for whump prompts?

54: “You were right.”

Thank you @keltena for the same prompt!

Late afternoon, maybe an hour till sunset. 

The Boneyard is almost empty this time of day. Only a handful of people and their dogs, the last few stragglers trying to tire out their energetic companions before heading home for the night. 

Routine. Normal. Not that you’d know.

Is this what your life would have been like if you had been born human? A boring, safe, nine to five job and a dog to come home to? Something to care for, to guard you in return? Love, free from judgment.

It doesn’t matter, those thoughts are pointless. You’re not here for the dogs or their people, you're here to confront your tail. You don’t know who but you’ve felt someone tracking you the last few hours. Not direct thoughts but a prickle at the back of your neck, a feeling of being watched and you’ve survived too long to ignore those kinds of instincts. In an initial spike of panic you had been worried it might be the Special Directive, but waiting so long isn’t their style, they’re far too efficient. You doubt it's Ortega either, even if you can’t read him he’s never had any patience and he should be all too eager to confront you now after what you did to him. Stop thinking about Ortega, nothing good ever comes from that.

Did Hollow Ground send someone to babysit you? Watch you? Either way, maybe the presence of witnesses will keep things from getting messy.

You close your eyes and wait. 

It's not long before someone sits down heavily next to you. You don’t jump, you felt the familiar portcullis of the Marshal’s shields slam shut around his mind as soon as he entered The Boneyard, a bigger tell than even his heavy gait. His work legs you’d guess. That doesn’t bode well for you, neither does his silence.

“How long have you been following me?” Maybe letting him know you're not as easily ambushed  as the first time he met you here will level some of the playing field.

“What makes you think I’ve been following you?” Of course he answers a question with a question. Asshole. 

“Please,” you scoff. “Do you expect me to believe this is a coincidence? You're not even here with Spoon.” That thought makes you a little sad, you suppose you’ve lost your dog walking privileges now that you’re a known villain. That's a shame, Spoon is a good dog. 

The Marshal doesn’t bother to offer any other excuse. Maybe you don’t deserve one.

“So are you here to arrest me?” Might as well start with the worst possible scenario.

“No.” The admission is quick, the ‘not yet’ left unsaid. 

“Then what, just here to remind me not to fuck up?” Your laugh is dry.

“What makes you think you haven’t already fucked up?” You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t take the bait, you keep staring straight ahead. You wonder if he means your choice of career or the mess you've made of your friendship. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean. You’re fine with me off the leash for now but if I fuck up and get someone killed, that blood would be on your hands too.”

“There's already blood on my hands, for a long time” His sigh is heavy and tired. You sneak a glance as he clasps them together, mechanical fingers interlocking. “At some point you just stop trying to wipe it clean…and try to do better.”

“Do better…” You echo his words and shake your head. “Is that what this is? Honestly I’d prefer being arrested over having to sit here and listen to your platitudes.” It’s not much of a joke but it gets something between a laugh and a cough out of him. 

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to lecture you.” You're about to call bullshit before he continues. “I thought you might have questions for me.” 

“Sure, I got one, is cryptic bullshit just wired into your brain or something? You always do that.” Talking like you're supposed to know what he’s talking about, reading minds doesn’t work miracles. You roll your eyes but catch a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe, but you’re smart enough to figure it out.” Ugh. Flattery? Asshole.

But he’s not wrong, it’s been almost six months after the crash and you haven’t seen any of the Rangers since – well, aside from a not so gentle reminder from Lady Argent that she’s getting impatient with your lack of progress on your little shared project, but the Marshal doesn’t need to know that. Instead you opt for something safer. Maybe you can spin this into information you can use. 

“Has Herald been keeping up with his training?” Somehow calling him Daniel feels wrong. That was a name he shared with Tegan, not Retribution. 

“I’m…not sure, he’s mostly been out on patrols.” Is that a warning? Maybe you should watch the skies more often. 

“You're just a wealth of information aren't you.” 

“To be fair, I thought you’d ask about Ricardo.” 

Fuck. As if that wasn’t the most dangerous topic between you. Maybe the Marshal will let you get on with your work so long as you toe the line, but you doubt he’ll keep letting you break his best friend's heart, not after last time. You wonder if he’d care if it's breaking yours as well. 

“Is he still mad about you keeping the photos from him?” The photos, what a quaint little term for the evidence of your torture at the hands of the Farm. Impossible to survive, maybe that makes them feel unreal. It’s a low blow shifting the blame, but then again, you are the bad guy here.

“We talked.” There's an undeniable tension in his clipped words.

“You mean you fought.” 

“I mean we talked. Yes, it got bad…and maybe he won't forgive me, but we cleared the air. It’s a start.”  

“Never would have pegged you for an optimist.”

“I‘m not but…are you?” You catch his quizzical look out of the corner of your eye.

“You have got to stop fucking doing that, I am litterally not reading your mind right now!” You curse yourself for losing your cool but it's really the most irritating thing about him. He never says what he means.

“Are you still angry? That I kept the photos from him.” He’s looking at you but you don’t dare look back, you can feel his gaze practically searing into your clenched jaw.

“When I was…recovering” A simple word for the agony that was being trapped in a medical bed in your base, helpless, hurting and all too vulnerable. “All I did was hate you.” If Ricardo had known, even suspected you were alive, maybe he would have tried to save you, maybe none of this would have had to happen. Maybe-

No. You’re long past maybes.

“And now?” There's something fragile in his question, not something you're used to hearing from him. Not fear, but something terribly adjacent to hope. 

Your sigh feels bone deep. You can only lie to yourself for so long. Even when it feels so much better than the truth. 

“No. You…you were right.” You wish it didn’t feel like pulling barbed wire from your skin to admit that. “He would have gotten himself killed looking for me…and I don't want that.” The last is said no louder than a whisper.

The Marshal nods, maybe he's made up his mind about you, or himself, you don’t know. You don’t want to. He stands up before the silence between you grows too long, looks like your interrogation is over.

“Take care, Tegan.” Your old name feels like a bruise neither of you will stop poking. 

The words slip out before you can stop yourself.

“Say hi to Spoon for me.” 

Chen hesitates, but doesn’t turn around.

“I will.”

[sandorsubs]

wiring your brain to control shifting

i was playing a video game but level was extremely hard. i shed blood and sweat, thinking "maybe this game is for pros and i'm not a good gamer" i was this close to give up but i wanted to see rest of the game so badly i kept trying. finally i passed it thinking it's just luck.

years later i played the game again. i hesitated at first but passed the same level in my first try. mind you i didn't become pro gamer or anything in all these years. it was just my brain wiring in the background, collecting data to find out what to do exactly but i've never realized this until i have to do it again.

if you ever said "i have never been able to do this throughout my life" for anything wait for a second and admit this is just a mental block you put between you and your desire. when you are wiring your brain, you don't realize it's happening, looks like nothing is changing or only little changes happening. because you don't see what's happening in background. it actually becomes easier but we don't care because if it's easier we are too focused on moving forward and achieving the desire.

then a random day it feels natural being able to do that. almost like you were born with this.

i've said this in my previous post, shifting isn't a skill/talent/sth related to luck or genetics. if you still think shifting is just one big change happens rarely and miraculously, please try to change that.

because shifting is just like water. it can be a drop or big ass ocean(depending on the changes in the realities). just because you've never seen an ocean, it doesn't mean you can't look at rain and say guess there has to be more.

you won't wire your brain to shift but to control it. if you aren't new to shifting, at least couple months passed since you've started your journey, your wiring has already started.

how wiring works for shifting?

i'll call this wiring path. you either stick to one thing you like or feel comfortable with, even a little interest is more than enough. or find an existing wiring path. the times you felt close to shifting for example. maybe a little voice keeps telling you this is your method. you probably have more than one wiring paths for shifting, but they are like unfinished projects. one of them must be more prominent, like at least 50% finished project.

after you've decided on your wiring path, it's not any different from achieving anything. you are not a monk, you won't be spending eternity if you are actively learning. do you know those clicking moments? you can meditate for thirty hours straight but a feeling or realization in one of your attempts takes wiring process further. and i gotta admit, maybe you needed those thirty hours meditation to realize this. that's what i love about wiring. nothing goes is in vain.

everything you do takes your wiring further.

if it feels like literally nothing is changing, you either work on more than one wiring paths or the process slowed down.

when you are not aware of this wiring, it's like pushing all the buttons and hope for best. that's what they mean by lock in. because trying everything at the same time or having backup methods is working on more than one wiring paths.

it's like learning ten languages at the same time but you are barely a1 in all of them.

like i said you have more than one wiring paths and they are unfinished projects, they all have potential. don't give them powers thinking one of them is better than the other. you make them work better with yourself. you have power to choose.

wiring from loa perspective

before loa folks come and say "so what you are saying is, you have to actually do sth to shift? stop planting assumptions in people's minds! i don't have to do anything to shift!"

baby, i'm gonna hold your hand while saying this, you assumption is also a work. you assumed you don't need 46 step method to shift or you have already shifted, right? good, i'm happy for you but see that's also a work. you still do something. you wire your brain this is how you'll control shifting. seriously, what do you consider as "work"? i'm not telling you to do 30 push-ups everyday. (i'm not being sarcastic btw, i love loa. but some of y'all doesn't like to see anything out of assumption-core. this isn't progressive and if my opinions are shaking the foundation of your assumption, sorry but maybe it's not much of an assumption because it shouldn't matter even the whole world is against you when it comes to loa -sandor goddard). whatever get on the ship loa gang, we are sailing

why "tried it all" shifters couldn't complete their wiring process then?

so i remember a person in my dm saying "i've tried a particular method for long period of time. i've tried it all and gave time."

i picture a student when i see "tried it all" shifters. this student thinks if they study math and score high marks in exams they'll be a perfect student. so they start working hard, ignoring the fact they hate math or find it hard to understand.

maybe they're interested in sports or literature but this student is obsessed with having perfect student image. they are not actively wiring, they are bargaining which only slows down and takes extra effort even to reach a milestone. they'll still have hard time to wire their brain even in subjects they do like. they study for 9 hours straight but the friend of them sniffs the textbook and scores higher.

then we have to let go of desire? it depends, i think there are two kinds of desire: first, a desire that helps you, reminds you of what you want to have and the second, desire that reminds you, what's lack. if your desire feels like a liability or its leeching you it's the second one. atp what your desire is unimportant. it's about how you see this unaccomplished desire.

plus if you are actively wiring your brain, you won't even have time to think about this desire obsessively. because you are too focused on what to do, desire is just a fuel and collectively helping you.

so people whose shifted in first attempt didn't wire any shit?

when you bumped into a "i shifted in my first attempt" person next rime, know that they are not shifting gods or prophets. they just figured out in instant what makes their brain easier to wire for controlling shifts. let's be fr some people are gifted with focusing or visualizing. they have useful existing wiring paths for shifting. plus i want to remind you something:

don't underestimate the power of a blank page. neutrality has higher frequency than courage, do you know why? because you don't have any fears or worries, when you are neutral you don't need a reason be courageous. i know if i erease your shifting attempts from your memory right now, you'd be shifting in your "first" attempt either. because most of the time you deal with your fears and worries instead of actively wiring.

how to actively wire?

people are trembling, throwing up and procrastinating when it comes to "attempt". i don't even want to call it attempt because you are actively learning. and no it's not "dw we learn from every attempt 🌺🌻✨" kinda motivation, it's literally how your brain is getting wired.

let's assume you find your wiring path, it's more prominent than other paths you have. for example its raven method + visualizing and falling asleep. you felt close to shifting with this method before. be aware of your every attempt and observe closely because by the time you'll get better at each part of your method. active wiring is not doing the same thing everyday robotically.

maybe normally you count to 100 but one day you feel you are already focused when you reached 40. or your focusing skills improved so much, you need to discard counting part, because you already wired that part in your brain. or you were visualizing yourself in your dr bed but suddenly you felt like you want to visualize one of your dr memories. your brain will be more invested in something they find interested. in previous student example i gave you, bargaining person misses these moments, they stubbornly do the same thing and rarely progress.

don't be scared of working on your wiring path. if you feel like you are waiting or pending, your wiring only slowed down. it doesn't always mean you need to do something, maybe you need to observe what you are doing and make simple changes. even if it means taking a break.

active wiring is not waiting for the day you'll achieve it. when you are learning a new skill you do your thing and expect it to be successful every single time even if it's your first time. you can almost see yourself achieving it. this expectation doesn't come from bargaining tho, it's your desire, the healthy kind.

in next posts i'll be sharing my way to wire my brain to control shifting and the terms i came up with. this is how i observed and decided to use wiring for myself. please take care and don't consume everything you read if it feels wrong or doesn't sit with you, or you don't even want to accept it true. spit it out. same for this post.

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 21) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

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

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

Chapter 21

You were never very sensitive to noise, but over the last year, you’ve gotten a little too used to the sound of screams. People screaming in the clinic after Kamino, injured and confused and scared. People screaming during the Deika incident as Decay spread down their streets, into their homes, crumbling them where they stood. You wouldn’t say you’re desensitized, exactly, but you learned the volume down inside your head. You have to get through somehow, and as terrible as it feels, you can’t save everyone. If you get distracted by the sound of screams, you risk losing the ability to help the person right in front of you.

But there are some screams you can’t tune out, one person you can’t turn away from. The screams leaving Tomura’s mouth as today’s procedure begins are the worst sounds you’ve ever heard.

The doctor explained why he was doing the horrible things he’s doing, and you read the procedure notes last night, but this one looks even worse than you thought it would. Tomura’s been screaming in agony since it started, and when you glance through the observation window, you see him jerking and thrashing, bound to the operating table at his wrists and ankles. There are half a dozen tubes and wires crawling out of a jagged hole in his stomach, one that’s been there for a week by now. The doctor’s never let him rest long enough for your quirk to heal it.

You can’t watch. You’re not supposed to be watching. Tomura told you not to after the first day, when he finally realized what the next four months were going to be like. But that doesn’t stop him from looking towards the observation window, where he knows you’ll be, his eyes blurry and bloodshot, his pupils jagged at the edges. You lay your hand flat against the glass, letting him know you’re reaching for him, that you’re here. Not that it helps anything at all. His eyes go blank in the middle of the next spasm, and his screams take on an odd, husky note.

You look away, towards the doctor. “What happened?”

“It’s likely that his vocal cords snapped,” the doctor says absently, like he’s talking about the weather. “Nothing life-threatening.”

“Will he still be able to talk?”

“That depends on you, doesn’t it?” The doctor makes some adjustments to the panel that controls the instruments, something that forces Tomura’s back into a horrifying arch and freezes him there, his legs twitching and kicking helplessly. “Pay attention to your work, my dear. He’ll be fine, so long as you remain devoted.”

The doctor has his set of screens and instrument panels, and you have yours. You’re monitoring Tomura’s vital signs, a job you insisted on when you realized that the doctor was paying less than no attention to them, and you spend most of your days watching extreme swings in Tomura’s heart rate, his blood pressure shifting to life-threatening drops or spikes, his ability to maintain a blood oxygen level compatible with life constantly wavering. It’s the last number that worries you the most. Tomura’s heart can be restarted, if it comes to that. It’s likely that your quirk won’t let it stop. But you’ve got no idea if your quirk can fix the kind of brain damage caused by extended periods of hypoxia, and you don’t want to find out.

Which is why you’re concerned about Tomura’s vocal cords. “What happens when the inflammation kicks in? It’ll compromise his airway.”

“I’ll trach him if it becomes problematic,” the doctor says, unconcerned. “Is it becoming problematic?”

The entire thing is problematic. You consult your screens. “He’s not in the red.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” The doctor tsks. “This procedure is simply to prepare his body for the transplantation of the first quirks. That process will not be so gentle.”

“You call this gentle?”

“We’ve been through this, Saintess. No pain, no gain,” the doctor says. “Stop smearing the glass. You have work to do.”

You’re tempted to rub your face all over the glass like a cat trying to scent-mark something, but you’ll be the one cleaning it later, and Tomura’s not looking for you right now. You pull your eyes away and focus on your workspace. You’ve set your screens to sound an alarm if any of Tomura’s vital signs begin to slip into the red, but you spend most of your time watching them anyway. The only time you’re not is when you’re working on your other task – one that Tomura wants completed, but probably didn’t mean for you to do.

The quirk-canceling bullets the League stole from Overhaul would have been invaluable against the MLA, but you only have six. You need more. Which means that you’ve got a lab workstation wedged into the corner of the doctor’s control room, where you’re supposed to sift through the vast collection of quirk factors the doctor and All For One have accumulated over the years and create a synthetic to mimic the effect of Eri’s quirk.

You were against it at first, but then you realized what it would mean. If your gun is loaded with quirk-canceling bullets, it won’t matter where you hit your opponents, and you won’t have to kill them. One shot and they’ll be out of the fight. You won’t pretend you don’t feel a sting of guilt at the thought of consigning someone else to quirklessness, but it’s easy enough to banish it. All you have to do is remind yourself that you survived twenty years without a quirk, and that if you’d have even one quirk-canceling bullet during the Deika incident, you could have put Re-Destro down like a mad dog.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you sort through the quirk profiles, and you draw it out. Speak of the devil himself – it’s Re-Destro. HOW IS IT GOING??

He texts like your grandfather. You’re tempted to ignore him, but if you ignore him, he’ll call you, and if you hear his voice right now, you might text Toga and ask her to kill him. You text back. I’ll have a full report when I return.

WHEN???

When the doctor throws you out. That’s the only time you ever leave. When the next phase begins. If there are any important developments, I’ll inform the high command at once.

THE HIGH COMMAND WOULD LIKE TO VISIT. You make some sort of frustrated sound and inadvertently draw the doctor’s attention. “What is it, dear?”

“Re-Destro wants to visit.”

The doctor makes the same noise as you did. “The CEO of Detnerat, here? Absolutely not.”

Every so often, you and the doctor are on the same page. Too much of a security risk. I’ll provide updates to the high command as needed.

You’ve shut off any other line of questioning with that, you think – and even if you haven’t, you have work to do. You go back to sorting through quirk factors and spot one that looks promising. “Shock nullification,” you say, and the doctor makes a questioning sound. “Could the nullification mechanism be separated out?”

“That’s an intriguing thought. Mocha-chan will make a copy and you can give it a try.”

You thought the doctor only had one tiny Nomu, but he actually has two – one named Johnny, with the warp sludge quirk, and one named Mocha, with a copy of Twice’s Double quirk. You’ve learned that the doctor routinely doubles himself and sends the double out on rounds at the hospital, freeing himself to work on the Nomus. And on Tomura. Tomura’s not screaming any longer. Even the weird, husky rasps have gone quiet, and you look up from your work in time to see his heart rate slide from reasonably high to extremely low.

“Stop it.” Your voice is too quiet, but the alarm that goes off from your station speaks for you. “He’s decompensating. Stop it!”

“I can’t simply stop it,” the doctor snaps. “This is a delicate stage, and this is is where you come in. Get in there.”

Usually you go in during breaks in the procedures, to help Tomura bounce back faster. The doctor’s never told you to go in during a procedure before. You abandon your station and book it, struggling into a gown and mask and gloves and hairnet along the way. The sound of the alarms going off follows you down the hall and into the operating theater. You can even hear it through the glass.

Tomura’s unconscious. He’s stopped fighting the restraints. Even though the machines are still running electricity and who knows what else through him, the only results are a few jerks of his limbs. You race to the head of the operating table, crouch down so you’re at eye level with him – or you would be, if his eyes were open. “Tenko,” you murmur. The doctor can’t hear you over the sound of the alarms, and even if he could, he already knows you knew Tenko before. “Tenko, come back.”

He doesn’t move, but when you raise one gloved hand to brush his hair out of his eyes, his eyelids flutter. You keep talking, repeating the same things you say when he’s awake. “This isn’t forever. It hurts right now, but it isn’t forever. It’ll be over, and when it’s over, you’ll have all the power you need to do anything you want to do. Everything you want, you can have it.”

One of the alarms falls silent. Tenko stirs slightly. His lips split and bleed as his mouth opens. He sucks down a gasp of air, then expels a raw, rusty cry of pain. You don’t flinch. “You aren’t alone. Everyone’s waiting for you, and I’m here with you right now. I’m with you all the way.”

You’re not sure if he can hear you, but you keep talking anyway. You keep brushing his hair back from his eyes, find a sterile pad to wipe blood away from his lips between screams, and turn all your thoughts towards him. It isn’t hard. The consequences of your love for him are countless and intractable, but loving him is easy. It’s always been easy.

The two weeks between Tenko’s acceptance of the doctor’s offer and when the procedures actually began were strange. Tenko’s recovery went well, and without complications, and for the first time, the League was together as a group with a place to stay and clean clothes and hot food – and with no need to hide from anybody. Things were calm for once, other than the low-grade chaos of the clash between the MLA’s delicate sensibilities and the League’s desire to smash said sensibilities with a hammer. Things were calm – enough – and happy. You’d never seen the others happy before. You got the sense they couldn’t remember the last times they were happy, either.

You’ve seen Tenko happy before, and he wasn’t quite there. You knew the procedures he was about to embark on were weighing on his mind. But he was – content, you think. Content to watch the others, content to join in whatever they were up to if he felt up to it, content to keep you close. He has full control of his quirk now. He can touch you safely without putting on gloves, and he always had his hands on you, as long as you were in reach. Sometimes his hands wound up places that they shouldn’t have in mixed company, but you let it go. You wanted to be as close to him as possible, as much as possible, before it was too late.

Tenko tried to pick up your physical relationship as soon as possible, and you fooled around for sure, but you didn’t actually have sex again until his cast came off. He likes when you ride him, so you rode him, slow and easy in the giant bed he’d been tossing and turning in for the last week and a half. You had enough patience to draw it out, in spite of being insanely pent up, and Tenko let you set the pace, only to spend half the time begging you to go faster.

“Don’t tease,” you remember him saying, half-whine, half-snarl. “I need you –”

You moved a little faster, even though you knew it would break your control, knew you’d be unable to stop yourself. “Like that. Fuck, that’s so good –” Tenko’s head fell back against the headboard, and you leaned in to kiss his neck, whimpering as the change in angle pressed his cock against the exact spot you’d been trying to avoid. You muffled the sound you’d made against his throat, only for his hips to tilt upwards, mimicking the same motion again. “Come on. Let me hear it. I want to hear how it feels when I fuck you.”

As hazy as your thoughts were growing, you couldn’t let that stand. “I’m pretty sure I’m fucking you.”

“Yeah. And I let you hear it.” With your lips against his neck, all Tenko had to do to whisper in your ear was turn his head. “Come on. For me?”

He didn’t really give you a choice about it. His good hand relaxed its iron grip on your waist and dipped between your legs, circling your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. Your breathing stuttered. “Tenko –”

“Yeah.” His mouth was still against your ear. His breath was warm. “Keep talking.”

You’re not good at talking about how you feel. You somehow worked it around to talking about him instead, while you left marks on his neck and wound your fingers into his hair, until he lost patience and rolled you both over. He makes your head spin no matter what position you find yourselves in, and he was still the same –a mess of sweat-soaked skin and uneven thrusts and harsh breaths and moans. He still managed to tell you he loves you, and that time, you said it back.

The two of you weren’t using a condom, again, and you felt a rush of heat when he came inside you, only to come seconds later, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. Tenko’s face was buried in the curve of your neck as the two of you caught your breath. “Are you going to kick me out?”

You know what he meant by then. “No,” you said, and he smiled against your skin. You wish you could have seen it. “Not tonight.”

He didn’t speak again until he was almost asleep, his voice soft and blurry at the edges. “Is this what it’s going to be like?”

“The new world?” you asked, and he nodded. Your heart lifted so high and fast that it was impossible to speak for a second. Somehow you got the words out. “Yeah. It is.”

He was thinking about getting to have sex and not have to scramble back into your clothes immediately afterward, but you learned the next day that that wasn’t all it was – he asked you the same question again, while Compress and Toga were unpacking the insanely expensive takeout they’d ordered on Re-Destro’s dime. Then again when Dabi got tired of watching you and Spinner play shogi “the wrong way” and gave you the meanest lesson ever while the rest of the League cracked up laughing. You could see Tenko testing the idea, trying to get used to it, trying to picture a world where this was the norm instead of the aberration. A world where he could be happy, too.

Another alarm goes silent. Tenko’s stabilizing. “In the new world,” you say, keeping your mouth pressed to his ear, “you’ll have all the power you could ever need, but you won’t need it. There won’t be anyone trying to hurt us. You won’t have to fight, so you can do the things you want to do instead. And it’s okay if you don’t know what they are yet. We can figure it out. I love you.”

The trigger phrase only needed to be said once, but you’d like to think it helps to say it again. You owe Tenko a lot of repetition, for all the times you didn’t say it back. “I love you,” you promise, and the last alarm goes quiet. “I know you can do this. I’m here with you until it’s over.”

“He’s stabilized.” The doctor’s voice issues smugly from the intercom. “Ordinarily, I’d wait to transplant the quirk, but we might as well get a head start. Standby. I’ll bring in the speed enhancement.”

Speed enhancement? “Super-Regeneration. That’s what we agreed on. That’s what you told him –”

“Yes, but if I apply Super-Regeneration before the process is complete, I’ll be unable to make any further modifications to his body. We’ll move that quirk last.”

He lied to you. Suddenly you understand why Tomura’s always so ready to murder the doctor. “What if his body can’t take it?”

“That doesn’t matter,” the doctor says. He comes through the door, masked and gloved and caring a surgical tray, and he’s completely unfazed by the fact that you’re glaring at him. “Why would it matter what his body can take? He’s got you, and at this range, there should be no effect on you at all.”

You swallow the retort you want to give. You’ve gone back to keeping your temper on a tight leash, because if you don’t, you’ll either destroy your credibility or do something you can’t come back from. Killing the doctor would be really hard to come back from, and you’re pretty sure you can do it later, once Tomura has his master’s quirk and you know how to make Nomus and the League officially runs out of uses for him. You’ll probably have to fight Tomura for the privilege.

“Hold his head steady,” the doctor orders. He’s feeding something into one of the tubes that disappears into the hole in Tomura’s abdomen. “The grafting process is unpleasant, and we don’t want him to damage anything too valuable.”

Tomura’s eyes are open again. They follow you as you shift from crouching next to the head of the bed to standing behind it, as you ignore the doctor’s instructions and put your hands on Tomura’s shoulders instead. The doctor bustles past and Tomura’s body goes tense. His gaze drifts, and you tap against his chest with one finger. “Don’t worry about him. Just look at me, okay?”

Tomura’s gaze settles back onto yours. You feel a hum through the air as the machines come to life again, and Tomura’s eyes widen, then slam shut. His jaw is clenched and the tension in his muscles is worse than before, his manacled hands curling into fists, his feet kicking uselessly. You know he’s trying not to scream, probably because you’re here. “You can scream if you need to,” you say. You hate that this is happening. You hate everything about it. “I’m right here. Look at me.”

Tomura’s red eyes open for a split second, locked onto yours. Then he squeezes them shut and screams, ruining whatever progress your quirk has made on his vocal cords. The doctor tsks. “Such hysterics – and after All For One and I did so much work improving his pain tolerance, too. This is good for him in more ways than one.”

You bight your tongue with an effort – on that subject, at least. “Tell him why this is happening.”

“Excuse me?”

“At the clinic I work at, we explain what’s happening and why to patients who are awake during a procedure,” you say. The doctor scoffs. “That’s best practice now. Maybe not when you were in school –”

This time, the doctor laughs at you. “When I went to school, we were still lobotomizing women who talked too much. No one else who’s undergone this process has required an explanation.”

“Everyone else was dead while you did it,” you say. Tomura lets out another one of those horrible screams, and your hold on your temper frays. “And I’m not the one doing this to him. You are.”

“Indeed,” the doctor agrees. “You’re just the one holding him down.”

Your stomach lurches. Sure, Tomura asked you to be here with him. Begged you to be here with him, swore he needed you to help him through this, and not just with your quirk – but he never said to hold him down. He could hate you for this. Maybe he will, when he wakes up. But right now your quirk is helping him stay alive. You’re doing what he asked you to do, and he can hate you later if he wants to. In order to hate you, he has to be alive.

The doctor heaves an exaggerated sigh, halfway cut off by Tomura’s screams. “If I must, Saintess,” he says, and turns to Tomura. “The point of the initial procedure was to prepare a grafting site for the first set of quirks we’re transplanting. The human body is resistant to accepting multiple quirks, and therefore –”

The humming in the air sharpens, suddenly. Tomura howls. “Therefore,” the doctor says loudly, “the process requires breaking down the body’s defenses to create receptivity to the new quirks. In order to ensure the quirk takes properly, I’ve prepared multiple grafting sites. I’m certain you don’t want to do this again.”

Another howl from Tomura, but this one’s cut off abruptly as his head jerks to one side. Alarms begin to ring in the control room for the second time today. “He’s seizing. Do something!”

“Lorazepam, 4mg,” the doctor snaps. He doesn’t give a shit about Tomura’s heart, but he cares about Tomura’s brain function a hell of a lot. “I assume they taught you how to deliver an injection in nursing school?”

You’re already prepping the syringe, and finding a vein isn’t hard. Tomura’s veins are standing out in sharp relief, and you choose one in his left arm, just shy of the scar from a bullet wound you once tended. The seizure activity begins to slow before you’ve finished half the injection, and by the time the syringe is empty, Tomura’s lying still on the table. The alarms have gone silent, and he’s unconscious again.

The doctor glances at him. “Quiet? Finally. Now I can work without –”

“Keep explaining,” you say. The doctor raises an eyebrow. “Best practice. He can’t demand that for himself right now, so I’ll do it for him. If you were in my spot, would you do anything different?”

“My master would never be so childish,” the doctor says. You stay quiet and hold his gaze, just like you used to do when you were calling your younger siblings on their bullshit – and just like your younger siblings eventually did, the doctor rolls his eyes and quits. “If I must.”

He puts on the voice he always uses to lecture you. “The grafting sites I selected for the quirks are mainly within the center mass, with a few exceptions, in order to allow the quickest dissemination of the quirk factors throughout the body. This is the reason for the abdominal incision. The discomfort you’re experiencing is the result of breaking down cells at the grafting sites to allow the transplants to take.”

Tomura doesn’t stir, but his heart rate also doesn’t drop. You have to wonder why the doctor’s insisted up to now that he stays conscious. The doctor keeps talking, mulling over the various processes by which it’s possible to break down cells, and you lift your hands from Tomura’s shoulders, cradling his head instead. His hair is soaked in sweat, glued to his shoulders and his forehead, and you move it back, move it away. You watch the clock on the wall as it ticks past second after second, waiting for the procedure to end. It has to end at some point. It can’t be like this forever.

The transplantation of the first quirks concludes without any further seizures, and the doctor elects to give Tomura a break rather than transplanting another quirk. The procedure requires a rest period for the next twelve hours, to ensure that his body isn’t rejecting the transplanted quirk, after which he’ll go into stasis for a week to make sure it sticks. The twelve hours between the end of the procedure and the moment the doctor puts him under belong to you.

It’s your job to get Tomura cleaned up. To get him to eat if that’s possible or to accept IV nutrients if it isn’t. To get him to remember why he’s doing this and get him to hang onto his will to live under what for all intents and purposes is torture. There’s an open hole in his abdomen. You can’t feed him anything, so it’ll have to be intravenous. You cover the wound as best you can in what basically amounts to clingfilm and start setting up the IVs.

Tomura rouses from his Ativan-assisted sleep as you’re taping down the second one. “What –”

“Everything’s okay,” you say. Tomura doesn’t look like he thinks everything’s okay. He looks scared, and you feel sick. “The doctor just transplanted the first quirk. You’re all done for a little while.”

Tomura tries to talk, flinches at the sound of his own voice, and you see his organs shift position through the clingfilm. You swallow hard and explain. “There was some damage to your vocal cords. I’m trying to heal them faster, but my quirk only has one speed.”

You’ve tried to make it have multiple speeds, but it doesn’t work like that. You love Tomura the same amount all the time – more than your own life. You can’t really top that. Tomura coughs again and speaks. “They’d heal faster if you kissed me.”

“Really?” you ask, after a second in which you’re too appalled to speak. “You’re trying to get it right now?”

“Not sure when else I’m supposed to get it.” Tomura coughs again, and you force yourself to look away from the hole in his abdomen. “Come on.”

You don’t pull down your mask until you’re at the head of the bed. When you lift one hand to cradle Tomura’s face, he flinches. “No gloves.”

You should have them on at all times, but you made sure the cover on the wound was airtight. You peel the gloves off and drop them into the medical waste storage. This time when you touch him, Tomura leans into your hand, and when you lean down to kiss him, he kisses you back. You were going for more of a true-love’s-kiss, break-the-spell style peck, but you don’t want to say no. In some ways, it reminds you of the first time you kissed him, where your lips were the only things that touched.

“I wasn’t done,” Tomura complains when you draw back, and both of you startle at the sound of his voice. The ghost of a smirk crosses his face. “See? Told you.”

The smirk doesn’t last for more than a second before twisting into a grimace. “What is it?” you ask.

“Hurts. Shouldn’t. It hurts –” Tomura’s hands are curling into tight fists beneath the manacles. “Let me out –”

You’re not supposed to let him out. The doctor doesn’t want him moving too much, or worse, Decaying any of the equipment. But if he didn’t want you to let Tomura out, he shouldn’t have given you the code for undoing the cuffs. You enter it and the manacles around Tomura’s wrists and ankles pop open. You adjust the operating table in a hurry so he won’t try to sit up and capture both his hands in yours to stop him from peeling away the clingfilm. He studies you through hazy eyes. “Which quirk?”

“A speed enhancement,” you say. “It was supposed to be Super-Regeneration, but he said he can’t do that one until last.”

“Yeah.” Tomura’s eyes fall shut. “I figured.”

Your stomach lurches. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want you to get mad again. Or sad. Whatever it was.” Tomura’s hands twist in yours, hanging on tight with index fingers raised even though he can control his quirk now. “I’m not supposed to be the one who makes you cry.”

You haven’t heard him say that in a decade and a half. You remember the first time you heard it all too well – in a game the two of you were playing, when Tenko lost his balance running and bumped into you. You lost your balance, too, but you fell all the way down, and when you sat up, your knees were scraped and bloody. You teared up more out of shock than anything else, but Tenko panicked. He crouched down next to you and hiked up his shirt so he could wipe at your face with the hem.

“I’m fine,” you said, but your voice was wavering, even though you didn’t want it to. “Your dad will be mad if you ruin your shirt.”

“It’s my fault.” Tenko kept wiping your face, even though you’d only cried a little. By that point he was crying more than you were. “I’m not supposed to make you cry. If I make you cry you won’t want to be my sidekick anymore.”

“You didn’t make me cry,” you said. You pulled your sleeve over your hand and started wiping his face. It was the kind of thing you did to your siblings all the time, but you remember how Tenko startled, froze. “I always want to be your sidekick. I’ll only be sad if I can’t be your sidekick anymore.”

Tenko’s grey eyes were still tearful. They brightened at that. “Then you’ll always be my sidekick,” he said. You smiled – beamed, maybe – and Tenko smiled tentatively in response. “Do you still want to play?”

“Yes!” You rocketed to your feet, knocked into Tenko, and knocked both of you over again. For a few seconds you couldn’t do anything but stare at each other in horror – and then you both laughed, so hard that your eyes filled with tears again, so hard that you could barely breathe.

It’s hard to breathe now for a different reason. “I’m just scared,” you say. You wish you could hold more of him than just his hands. “I never want you to be hurt. But I still want to be your sidekick. That’s never going to change.”

Tenko’s shoulders, tense a moment ago, relax slowly. Was he really worried? He leans back, eyes closed. “What happens now?”

“We wait twelve hours to see if the quirk is going to reject. Then you go into stasis to make sure it sticks.”

“Are you going to stay?”

“He won’t let me stay while you’re in stasis,” you say, and you see Tenko’s brow furrow, see his mouth turn down. “I’ll be here whenever you’re awake. I promise.”

“You keep going away. When we were fighting Machia. Now.” Tenko’s voice is fuzzy. He’s getting tired. “When are you going to stop?”

“Once this is over,” you say. “Once it’s all over. When it’s safe for both of us and no one’s trying to hurt us anymore.”

“That’s why I need this. So it’ll be over fast.” Tenko’s hands are starting to shake in yours, and you let go so you can grab a blanket. “Don’t. I just said –”

“It’s just this.” You help him sit forward slightly, then settle the blanket around his shoulders, wishing you could roll yourself up in it with him. You settle for taking his hands again instead. “I put in IVs to make sure you get fluids and don’t starve. The solution’s a little cold. It’s cold in here, too. Try to get some rest.”

“I don’t want to rest,” Tenko says. “I want –”

“Don’t say you want to get it. It would probably kill you.”

“You owe me once it’s over, then.” Tenko opens his eyes to look at you, but you can tell it’s an effort. “Talk. I want to talk.”

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“You.” Tenko’s eyelids flutter. They fall shut and he hauls them open again. “I can hear you sometimes. Nobody talks to the doctor like you do. Kurogiri used to. Then they took him away and he was different when he came back.”

You learned what Kurogiri actually is a while back – a Nomu, the most advanced one the doctor’s ever created. But the more advanced a Nomu is, the more trouble it can cause if it goes off-script, and the doctor spent a while bitching to you about how the personality of the person whose corpse served as the base keeps reasserting itself here and there. “Kurogiri wanted to protect you,” you say. “That’s what I want, too.”

“What else do you want?”

You can’t keep the surprise off your face. Or out of your voice. “What?”

“That’s not the only thing you want.” Tenko loses the battle to keep his eyes open. “We talk about what I want all the time. What do you want?”

You don’t want to talk about that. “I want to talk to you, not the Ativan.”

“The what?” Even sleepy, Tenko’s voice takes on a note of irritation. “No. Say what you want. Why won’t you say what you want?”

Because you won’t get it. You don’t want to say it, because saying it would make it real – that what you want is stupid and unrealistic, that it’ll never happen, that you should never have even thought about it in the first place. But you don’t want to lie to Tenko. You’ve realized that you can keep a maximum of one lie to Tenko going at a time, and the lie by omission you’re already carrying is a lot more important.

“I haven’t thought about it very much,” you say, which isn’t untrue. You spend a lot of time trying not to think about it. “When I think about the stuff I used to want – I didn’t have very big dreams. I never wanted to be a hero, but I wanted to help people in other ways. I wanted my life to mean something. Not in a big way where everyone would remember me, but in little ways. That felt like something I could do.”

You think Tenko might be asleep. You’re hoping he’s asleep. You go silent, and after a little while, he speaks up. “Is that how your dreams always go? You decide if they’re doable before you have them?”

“No,” you say, a little stung. “I mean, I wanted them to be in the realm of possibility. So they’d at least have a chance of coming true.”

“Really.” Tenko’s barely awake, but he still manages to sound skeptical. “You never had a dream you knew wouldn’t come true?”

“Yeah. One.” You really don’t want to talk about this, but Tenko’s pried his eyes open, and he’s waiting for an answer. “When you disappeared, I always dreamed I’d see you again.”

“That one came true,” Tenko says. His eyes fall shut again. “So can the others. With this kind of power I can make anything happen.”

“Let me think,” you say. You don’t plan to stall, but it’s what ends up happening, and it occurs to you that you might be able to stall long enough for Tenko to fall asleep. “It’s kind of a hard question. There are a lot of things I think about that should be different, but I don’t know if they count as dreams. What counts as a dream? Is it just something I want to have happen, or is there something else? A lot of the stuff, we’re already going to change. I think –”

You know he’s asleep by his hands, when they relax in yours rather than gripping for dear life. He’s got Decay controlled to the point where it switches on and off at will, and even in his sleep, his hands are safe for you to hold. Once you’re sure he’s out, you answer his question. “I wish I could turn back time.”

Not to when you were kids. That’s too far, and you like the person you are, or you did – and you like the person Tenko is, too. Not to when you were kids, but to a year and change ago, when the two of you were standing in the back doorway of the clinic the afternoon after you met again. He wanted to leave, and you let him go, but you shouldn’t have. You should have held onto him tight, refused to let him get away with the lie that he was okay, told him he wasn’t going back to whoever stole him. If you’d gotten to him then, none of the rest of it would have happened, because he’d have been with you.

He'd never have attacked USJ. Kamino wouldn’t have been destroyed, and you could have introduced him to Sho and Hirono instead of telling him about them after they were gone. All For One had fifteen years to twist Tenko into some version of his own image. Untwisting him would have taken time. Maybe twice that long. But you know how to be patient. Even if he was ambivalent, even if he was angry, he would have been with you.

That was the last time you could have stopped this, the last time the thing you really wanted could have come true. You’re going to have to live with that, and it’s fine. You tell yourself it’s fine. Over the last year, you’ve learned to live with worse things.

Tenko’s going to be asleep for most of the next twelve hours. You drag a chair up to the head of the operating table, brush Tenko’s white hair aside, and rest your head next to his, pillowed on one arm. Your free hand slips beneath the blanket to rest over his heart. You’d close your eyes, but there’s no point when you can barely sleep two hours at a stretch. Instead you keep them open, watching the rise and fall of Tenko’s chest. This is as good as it gets for now. If this is as good as it gets, you’ll take it, no questions asked.

Chapter 22 ->