#this is so damn indulgent | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lucabyte · 2 months ago

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hello

is this how your peopls work. i am obsessed with your comics and the panel layout and the way they react to eachother and sdgafkhgfdhsagfha s i very desperately need to have a grasp on how you see them in their dynamic and interacting and i feel like i don't know as much about how isabeau and loop be interacting but i am so so so so SO curious as to how that goes and how they feel about eachother pre-"i'm a former siffrin" and post-"ok you know who i am"

oh hell yeah a diagram we love a diagram

but yeah i'd say you've gotten my interpretation of the dynamic down pretty solid??

in general i think my instinct with loop-isabeau interactions is a lot tamer/calmer than others ive seen, my reasoning for why being hmm... i think i can note my core 'things im keeping in mind from the text' here

isabeau's line in act 6 remarking that loop seemed 'shy'. for all of loop's bravado @ siffrin (and thus the player's pov), they are still siffrin, so while it can be easy to percieve them as this loud bombastic personality-- there is this textual reminder that them acting this way is probably due in part to being up against siffrin, someone who won't speak unless spoken to (and thus loop takes the initiative, and is also presumably reveling a bit in making them uncomfortable and annoyed, inkeeping with their self-hatred and self-flaggellation) this to me reads as a reminder that they'd probably retreat into their shell hard when presented with other people- the party included. so even if i can see them trying to undermine their relationships with others, i think it's probably more on the insidious 'insulting siffrin to make the party protective of them' side, because that also feeds into 'proving' that the party only cares about one siffrin and that loop can be replaced. meanwhile isabeau has shown that, even with a vicious jealous streak, he can mostly keep a lid on it. he's the most emotionally intelligent of the group, and would probably be able to suss out loop's self-harm-via-getting-people-pissed-off-at-them gambit relatively simply given how obvious it is. also isabeau is not immune to insecurity-- and would probably let loop take some precidence over their relationship with siffrin because 'well i cant compete with the guy who actually went through All Of The Timeloop With Them.' because like... damn how are you supposed to do that. loop understands their pain better than isa ever could, and it would show in their fucked up unspoken understanding of each other (because how is Isa to know thats because theyre the same guy, and not just because the timeloop traumabonded the fuckers baddddly. which it also did.).

timeloop stressful as fuck. absolutely has both of them on tenterhooks the whole time. we visibly see how it affects siffrin (despondance & mania & aggression), and we see SAPfrin be very. very very despondant. so it would seem to me that loop is basically in a perpetual state of mania, given how sif's internal monologue begins to resemble their way of speaking (with the tee hees and such) when they are clearly broaching into manic states. one can assume that if you take loop out of the Torment Nexus, while they probably wouldn't faire well, all of the tension and pressure that's holding them up would collapse, likely putting them more depressive again by default? Of note, whenever i write loop's dialogue (which im told i do well? i will be honest i kind of feel like that's far too high praise.) i initially write it as very blunt and pissed off-- and will afterwards go back in and Maybe change wording to be more 'silly', but mostly i just add tildes~, italics, exclamation points and laughter to the pissed off dialogue without changing the actual content of it?

loop likes their friends! They are fucked up in the head about it (badly!!!) but they like their friends! They still care a lot, and can barely even hide it a little bit with their aloofness in game. it feels redundant to even try pointing out where they slip up because its everywhereee. They de-person their Actors because theyre the same lines over and over and over, but you see in SAP alone how any break from the script makes them overwhelmed with emotion, and how devastated they are if that deviation occurs a second time and becomes predictable (dying to the king after triggering the requisites for the true end, forcing you to go through it again). BUT!! You take their friends out of the timeloop and let them be New Unpredictable People again? I genuinely find it hard to believe mx siffrin "i love my friends so much id explode the world about it" nolastname would be able to see that and just go "nope im emotionally disconnected i can keep being a bitch to these guys forever". like no theyre gonna slip into being at least neutral no matter what. even if it's in a quiet depressive state when the mania wears off.

my biggest deviation from frequently observed fandom things here i think: i think loop doesn't actually believe that ISAT!Party are 'replacements'. they rarely if ever word a sentiment like this. this is something the fandom goes for because the horror of being replaced wholesale probably WOULD make it easier to cope if you considered those people to Not Be Your Real Friends. But loops WHOLE act 6 spiel? 'THEY WERE MINE FIRST. I LOVED THEM'? (paraphrased) they obviously desperately want to be with them again, and know they're the same people. The Fighter/Defender discrepancy clue is mostly metatext here-- since Loop never acknowledges the defender title-- just calling ISAT!Isa Fighter-- because they are the same guy. Your Fighter. They even call them Fighter in the "You got memory of X, your Fighter will now..." dialogues! Which are practically system dialogues! So. they see these isabeaus as the same. And while I would not put it past them to come up with the "they are different, my party is Dead" thing to Cope... I do think it is a delusion, plain and simple, and that I think any post-knowing-the-truth party would probably shut down weird rituals ive seen the fandom propose (often in a cute way??? it makes me feel insane?? like the concept of loop 'memorialising' their 'dead' family is not cute its nuts. they are being nuts. its like actively feeding into an extremely maladaptive coping mechanism. sorry this is like a massive sidebar but like. Yes i do think this is something loop might do if left unchecked. but it should not be presented as sane or rational? it outright undermines the themes of the game to treat the concept of 'Loop's party' being 'dead' as 'True'?? There's like several points in the game where Loop and Siffrin express that things that happened in the loops Still Happened even if the party dont recall it-- which is why their actions-- being cruel or doing 'experiments' still hold weight and can be Wrong. That it's tragic that the party will never remember but that their forgetting is NOT a pass to do whatever with no consequnce (experiment, bad touch, etc). It follows that by Nixing all of "loop's party", treating them as seperate, in some way implies loop's memories are Lesser and what they did "doesn't matter as much", which is antithetical on account of being contradictory to however you take the stated theme. PLUS... The game and Paratext are clear that there is One Timeline. SAP is in the same contiguous space as ISAT-- it is effectively just that on the loop between SAP and ISAT that we the audience dont see-- loop ate that star and when the loop restarted there were two of them. for all intents and purposes one can intuit that Loop 0 of isat and SAPfrin's first loop are legitimately identical from sif's POV, as Loop does not reveal themselves until Loop 1. BUT YEAH GIANT SIDEBAR OVER. THIS WHOLE READ OF THE TEXT INFORMS MY THOUGHTS RE: ISALOOP AND RELATED CONCEPTS VERY GREATLY)

jesus christ i wrote a lot in the above um. sorry. i dont know if its intelligable. uh. good luck?

im also on team 'orrery book and sif's thoughts about it belie a real deep-seated brainworm' re: their response to a Cautionary Tale About How You Will Inevitably Kill Your Double seemingly being "Nah, we'd be besties."... like. i do think it is. funny. and not particularly Unbased. Given how they are. For siffrin and loop to specifically be compelled by how they are the same guy. And i think that there's a lot to be mined from 'Both of them are convinced that the party knowing who loop is would fuck up everything badly, so they're going to great lengths to conseal this' played in tandem with '... they are like. very much explicitly doing things together that are directly related to a feeling of shared ownership over siffrin's body and form & the fact they are The Same Guy'. like it is a hysterical setup to me and i think is only added to when you have to put Isabeau in the middle of this polycule also. With the few exceptions of times ive drawn stuff specifically hinging on characters Knowing Who Loop Is (which is like. all bonnie-centric stuff so far? i think?), i take a lot of care to try and make their exchanges Vague as if they are worried about being overheard or saying something that's too much of a smoking gun. But also it's really god damn funny to think about how concerning some of those things could sound the vaguer you make them. Remember that above all i live and die by The Bit. (... as do they.) ie basically because im powered by The Bit thats why i focus more on the sloop side because its like. actively Funnier and more drama filled. or at least presents oppertunities for such. i feel like on isabeaus side here its kinda frequently like

yknow ? (oh god my formatting is broken now) . i DO very much think it can become like. niceys. of course. i think they can just be normal fucking throuple eventually (though if i'm going that goddamn far into the future u may as well partycule the fuckers 2 me. by the time theyve solved whatever the fuck you call pre-reveal isiloops i think odile has gotten involved at the very least. but this is why i mostly keep myself to the realm of 'the mostly immediate post-game conflict' stuff since i think all these characters leave off the end of the game with such solid springboards for arcs set up (clearly intentionally) that the infinite realm of possibilities opens up too wide for me to be comfortable with.) anyway i keep thinking about the tragicomedy of isabeau finally finding an "in" to nurture a friendly bond with loop by comisserating and steeling themselves for changing again even though it feels like a betrayal of their previous actions/beliefs and how fucking funny the idea of 'loop reveal but theyre like 2 weeks into using she/they' is. just like you get all the way through the horrors of 'oh jesus christ the timeloop was even worse than we thought it was' but now '.. d. do you still . what pronouns do you want?' is tacked onto the end. Sorry did you hear something . must've been the wind. anyway . this ask is a fucking mess i hope its readable like at all . can you tell ive been brainscramblied for six weeks

TL;DR:

yeaghj you got it. its not like im doing anything revolutionary im just trying to stick as close as i can do what i percieve the characterisation is in canon & thus generally dont tie down any of my fanwork to specific post-canon-plot-concepts. its all just nebulous extrapolation set 'pretty close to the end of the game because i think these characters are going to grow and change extremely rapidly once the game is over given how they're all intentionally poised for character arcs when the game ends'. but also you should put isabeau in the worst social bind of all time with two of the most mentally unwell BPD OCD havers youve ever seen and let him try to figure out the balance of 'be gentle' and 'treat them like the almost-30-year-old adult they literally are' while he also balances his own set of entire life changes it'll be fine he'll be fine (someone should probably check on him)

#isat spoilers #2hats spoilers #isiloop #lucabytetalks #long post #sorry i took like 3 days to answer this you caught me just perfectly after i had freed myself from my shackles and cleaned up my #Desolate Mental State Bedroom. im normal now. <- guy who couldnt tell they werent normal during the proceedings but clearly wasnt #but now we are back in business babyyyyyy. and also sorry to every server im in for vanishing lol. ill be alive again after christmas #this also means i might god damn have art to post again. that transfem sifloop piece was legit a desperate hour-or-two doodle #which is why its so self indulgent lol . brain was turned the hell off and i let my id out. to which the id said draw blorbos as women. Now #next port of call is purrgatorio tho... i only got the mall one out because i was sick as a dog with cold LOL. unintuitive i know

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gvtsfvkk · 25 days ago

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In darkness you will feel alright

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #stainmight #vampire au #hero killer stain #akaguro chizome #all might #yagi toshinori #ok damn this nearly made me lose my shit to finisj even though it's not that good 💀#au where toshinori is a vampire hunter and chizome is the vamoire he was tasked to hunt down but things dont turn out how planned #this is so self indulgent in sorry LMFAOOO #my art #digital art

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incorrect-riordanverse · 1 year ago

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lets go live reaction of the pjo trailer:

just clicked on it and theres an epic version of riptide playing. i feel unreal.

#im hungover and just woke up from a nap so this trailer is gonna send me over the edge isnt it #sorry for the radio silence guys. ive been so excited for this damn thing that i couldnt indulge in it lest before handing in all my-#-uni assignments #i wont shut up now #riordanverse #incorrect riordanverse #rick riordan #grover underwood #annabeth chase #percy jackson #pjo #rewriting

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chiquilines · 6 months ago

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Damn so everyone was as starved for miryumi content as i was? Have another treat

#these are fresh out the oven #looking through my old miryumi doodles for the prev post inspired me again #the sillies #this is genuinely my canon #horikoshi has said nothing about it so its true #while stain was getting curb stomped by a high schooler miryumi were out buying groceries #fuyumi watches every single one of rumis fights btw #to be supportive and out of fear #even though shes generally not all that worried #cause lets be real #mirko could take on god and win on a good day #i headcanon that mirko will answer fuyumis calls live on air cameras be damned #and this is how fuyumi gets obscure celebrity partner status #people know she exists but not who she is #they definitely have a dedicated fanbase though #the day people find out 'yumi' is pro hero endeavors daughter theyre gonna lose their shit #the reveal in the previous post is my canon #anywaysies! self indulgent as usual #fuyumi todoroki #usagiyama rumi #mirko #miryumi #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #wlw #chiquilines draws

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chimimon · 4 months ago

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No One Noticed

College AU - Shigaraki X f!Reader

Disclaimer! What you are about to read contains the following: graphic descriptions of mental illnesses (anxiety/panic attacks), alluded stalking (if you squint really really hard), suggestive material, mentions on a sharps/knifes (it is NOT what you think), biting <- :), & kissing ♡

& what I have to say is… This first ever aired fic was written in front of a live studio audience. All of the kicking, squealing, and giggling was recorded in real time during the creating of this fic. We also sincerely apologize as one member in the audience asked that the studio put the piece into chatgpt and ask it to quote, “make it gayer”. We unfortunately had them escorted off the premises.

October took you dazed and no one noticed.

The party stopped feeling like a party as you wandered within the rib cage of the house. At the heart of it some kid pumping the room full of bass so heavy, that you could feel it sink into your chest. It was too loud to hear yourself think while also being too loud to hold onto whatever was playing. All you could hold onto was that you needed to find a bathroom, fast before the anxiety unwinds itself in front of everything and everyone; but the bathrooms on the bottom floor were locked, the closet was occupied with people and everyone you got near kept asking you to raise your cup. Part of the crowd was too into beer pong, trying to pull you in as you tried to push your way out. You aimlessly fought your mind’s grasp on empty devastation while one of those faces reached out to pat your shoulder in excitement, loosely trying to bring you in. It made you sick.

Upstairs was where all the magic was found. Some arguments were happening at a volume that rivaled the music, but even louder than that was some love making. It was just your luck that bathroom would be locked too. With your fight wearing thin, you began wildly trying every door again. At the very end of the hall, past the balcony that overlooked the party and, you swam through another crowd of people within the houses throat. Finally, there was a room. You found your green light in a door that was a hair open. The drop in volume made it noticeably quieter, and you slipped in despite sudden convince.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to the room. I’ll head out soon- I just need a moment you thought to yourself as you pushed the door closed, moving toward a wall.

There was no point in you showing up. There were no friends to see here, and certainly no invitation to the drunken festivities. This was just the house on campus. Touya was known for throwing parties and wasn’t like they stopped anyone who tried to enter. The soul center of these parties were to have good time. That’s all you came here for. A. Good. Time. It didn’t take long before cup in your hand looked off, before the faces stopped looking like acquaintances and more like strangers. The third sip was the charm that brought forward the sudden but still realization that you don’t know anyone at this party. Not really. So, why get drunk with strangers? Why did you come at all?

Lying on the floor with your eyes closed was the highlight of the night so far. The vibrations pushing through the carpeted floor kneaded your back, slowly calming you down. As the anxiety left it felt like your senses were coming back to life. You were finally making your way back to the moment. No more daze, no more paranoia, you could finally be someone lying on the bedroom floor of someone else’s house party.

“Woah,” a voice cut in, “Um.”

You shot up onto your knees petrified. When did someone come in?

“I-” you faltered and looked up.

It was too dark to make out the figure towering over you as your eyes hadn’t adjusted to glow of the night.

“I was just leaving.” you said despite doing nothing to stand.

The moonshine was finally enough to see with. Looking the man square in the face brought you to the notion that you not only (sorta) know him, but that you’ve done most of your partnered class work together. Shigaraki was cordial and quiet. He was pleasant to work with as it was always nice to work with someone competent on anything school related. Shigaraki would actually try to look into each bit of poetry, any excerpt assigned, and every novel you would finish in English. But thinking back on the last couple of months, the realization hit that you have never looked Shigaraki in the face, ever. And if you did it was with little to no need to take in his features.

It could have been whatever likely strong concoction was in your cup earlier, but the moon sat especially pretty on his features. Shigaraki’s dark circles looked a little deeper, the red of his eyes looked blood soaked within his powdery white mess of hair.

It was bewitching. Or maybe it was just the angle at which you sat.

Maybe it was time for you to get off your knees.

Shigaraki maintained eye contact as he dropped down to on his heels, “Did you need a hand?” He tilted his head with a lopsided grin.

“Oh,” you snapped out of it. “Yeah, no that’s-” not necessary, you were going to say. But Shigaraki wordlessly interrupted you as he took both of your hands into his before hoisting you up.

The sudden and full movement of the act pushed you into him. Within your loss of balance you could feel yourself slipping onto his shoulder, but he further pulled you in by the nape of your neck, “You okay?” He readjusted your position back to face you. “Is something up?” Shigaraki asked with wide eyes and furrowed brows. It kind of looked like he was concerned.

It had to be the moon.

You took a couple steps back, fidgeting with the sides of your top as you pulled it down. “I’m fine, just” you smiled, “I’m just a light weight.” you said soberly.

“I see.” Shigaraki raised an eyebrow in search of anything to be read in your face.

Within the bounds he found you, he decided against keeping you in. Shigaraki walked toward his door and waited for you with a reminder about a Shakespearean assignment that’s to be started Monday.

“Did you need my number or anything?” He kept trying to read you. “I know I can be bad with emails.” Shigaraki smiled.

“Are you?” You smiled with a knowing tone. “Just email me your number then.” You finally stepped out of his room.

An email was sent Sunday night saying that class would resume Wednesday because of some personal emergency the English professor was having, but that had clearly left your mind until you stood outside of the Education building Monday morning. Having already made it that far, (as far away as you could be from your dorm), you decided that it would not be time wasted. That time was going to be spent in the library alone, going over Lady Macbeths drive to insanity.

The building was dimly lit and warm with four of those old, green glass shaded lamps on every table. You headed to the only unoccupied table that was tucked away in a corner near some stand alone seating. With the gradually growing crowd in mind, you sat at the edge to leave room for inevitable overflow in the library. Your laptop was brought out but remained closed as you scanned over your borrowed copy of Macbeth atop it.

Just as expected, some students joined your table on the opposite side. They would type things out, wait, and then giggle to themselves with just enough space in-between that it hadn’t disrupted your train of thought. What did get under your skin was the person who seated themselves right next to you. With a couple chairs beside you and on the row across from you open, you wondered why anyone would have to seat themselves as close as possible to you. Moving your book closer to your face, you tried to ignore their presence, but it was your ruminating annoyance that kept you from comprehending anything Lady Macbeth was crying to her husband about.

“Did you get my email?” Shigarakis raspy and curious whisper was coated in sugar.

There was sharp inhale at recognition. “What email?” You tilted your head his direction with your eyes still on the page.

He remained quiet, waiting for you to go on.

“Ah, well no-” you got the hint. “I’ve been here for nearly an hour without opening my laptop.” You continued while closing your book. “Or my phone for that matter.” You finally faced him.

Shigaraki’s elbow was sprawled out on the surface, cupping his face while drumming his fingers on the edge of the table. He was lazily watching you meet his gaze. In this light Shigaraki looked blurry, his dark circles from before were cancelled out by the low, orange light. His dull, and dry skin were similarly muted, but in a noticeably different way than Shigaraki had looked under moonlight of his bedroom. It was that comparison and thought which straightened your shoulders and neck. The thought that last time you spoke to him was on your knees in his room. A thought he held onto, that clearly didn’t bother him.

“No need to get stiff,” he teased. “I had just asked if you wanted to meet up here since class was cancelled.”

Shiagraki tore away his gaze as he dove into his backpack, grabbing his copy of Macbeth and a notebook. He began to go over his notes which included highlighted, and annotated passages in his book, often asking if you would like to copy anything down. He was patient as you looked through and noted his findings and took whatever stuck out to you. Then he asked to look over your own notes. You handed the laptop over his way, now self-conscious about your eloquence on screen. He complimented your findings, seeming drawn to the washing of Lady Macbeths hands and how it was married to her husband's growing confidence in murder.

Shigaraki’s voice was smoothing itself out as the conversation continued, the sugar coating being reduced to a powder. His whispers grew softer as you two went back in forth in studious banter. Every few pages his voice would get quieter, and every few pages you kept having to lean in. With the lack of distance, you felt yourself melting into his scent of sweet lavender. How many inches would it take for your temple to touch his shoulder? Your attention moved from Macbeth to him. It was hard to recall when you last heard him say anything but for the small moment you both had been quiet, you realized that Shigaraki’s attention had been placed on your mouth; and you wanted to ask for how long he had been staring. An even better the question appeared in your mind.

How much further would I need to lean in for our lips to meet?

A muffled buzz emitted from his bag, snapping you both into your starting positions. He pulled out his phone and rolled his eyes. “Sorry to cut this short.” He groaned.

Shigaraki quickly hit enter a couple times, tapped a bit on the keypad and finally slid the laptop back to you. He hurried off before you could properly part ways, making you feel a little crazy about the moment you both seemed to share; but just as you were coming out of this sickly soft spell casted by the library, you were curious to see what he had left for you at the bottom of your notes.

It was two words, followed by his number.

Shigaraki was too kind. The moment you texted him, asking if you could call about class and everything you might’ve missed, he answered without a minute to spare, seeming very prepared to get you caught up.

“I really appreciate you going through all of that with me.” You tried to sound as thankful as one could between light coughing fits and pure exhaustion.

A head cold kept you from going to two English classes in a row, a six days after meeting him in the library. The anxiety of missing a weeks' worth of information was the only thing that pushed you to finally text him. You put it off after feeling silly over the blatant, longing desire you let bleed from your eyes before he left from the library. A desire that he noticed but returned as hunger.

The conversation died as Shigaraki wrapped up six hours of class time in two. “I don’t want to keep you on the phone any longer,” you lied.

“It’s not like you’re not interrupting anything. Besides,” you could hear the air leave his chest as he plopped onto his bed. “This is keeping me from having to be with Touya, and his hellions.” He said matter of fact-ly.

“So,” he dragged out. “About the party-”

“Are you still on the phone with that sick chick, Shiggy?” Touya’s voice cut in the background of the call, and you thanked every lucky star ever placed in your sky.

“Sick chick has a name, and yeah, why?” Shigaraki had no issue saying into the call.

“Because I’m fucking bored.” Touya whined

“Not my problem.”

“Yeah, it is. Toga wants to do my nails because Spinner doesn’t want her to do his, so I let her know I would grab you to so she can do your nails.”

“What does me having my nails done have to do with you being bored?” You could hear him shuffle off his bed, Touya's voice getting louder as Shigaraki approached him.

They continued their effortlessly, snippy banter which pulled a dry and weak laugh from you. Shigaraki smiled, “Oh?” He said with sarcasm. “So this is funny?”

It could have been the fever but his question and syrupy tone gave you butterflies. If you weren’t already in bed, you were sure you would have had to sit on the floor. “Yes sir, it is.” You hummed. “Well, just a little bit, Shiggy.” You bit your knuckle after quietly singing his nickname.

Shigaraki was blatantly ignoring Touya’s pestering, and had started talking over him. “And now I’m Shiggy?”

You could hear his door slam, and you froze.

“I’m kidding,” he sung back. “You can call me that.” He said with warmth.

“Can I?” You grinned at your pillow.

“Yes ma’am.” He hummed knowingly.

“Shigaraki,” you said pouting at his tone.

“What happened to Shiggy?” He teased some more, enjoying your weak whining from the other side of the call. “Kidding, but back to what I was saying.” His voice coolly transitioned back to normal.

The party, his room, and the dizzy feeling that memory brought.

“About texting?” You reached for the wheel of the conversation.

“No- Well,” Shigaraki said thoughtfully. “Yeah actually, why didn’t you text me sooner?” He let you steer.

It may not be a better of direction of conversation but you carried on anyway. “I just,” you smiled at your pillow. “It just seemed that you were doing emails better than you gave yourself credit for.”

“You got me there,” he gave up with an airy laugh.

“So,” you flipped onto your stomach. “Why do they get to call you Shiggy, Shiggy?”

“I never said you couldn’t. Besides, it sounds better when you say it.” He moved the mic closer to his mouth. “Maybe you could try saying my first name.” The gravel in his tone tickled your ears.

“Ahm,” you huffed, embarrassed at how casually he’d suggest that. “Would you prefer that?” You acted innocent.

“I don’t know yet,” he purred, “I haven’t heard you say it.”

Shigaraki had been back in bed, on his side as he spoke to you facing the bedroom door. You excused yourself to grab some water as in as a strong coughing fit occurred. As you stepped away from the phone, he became enamored with the spot you sat in. No, that wasn’t right. You were kneeling when he found you. Recreation pulled him off bed to back where he stood when he found you at the party. “Pretty thing,” he whispered to the spot on the floor.

“Sorry?” you can back, hearing only the second word.

“Nothing,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Ah,” He dryly laughed out. “Did you want to try and do something this weekend?”

You shyly laughed and it made him falter. “It’s fine if -” He stretched away the tension, “I’m sure you’ll need more time to rest.“

“No!” You answered too quickly. “I mean, I think I’m at the tail end of this head cold.” A warmth beyond fever reached your neck, shoulders, and ears. “What does something mean anyway?”

“It can mean food, or it can mean the library. We can talk about our newly assigned excerpt in Macbeth.” He was testing the waters.

“Oh,” you said aloud. “Okay yeah, maybe a cafe then, so we can really talk.”

“What does “oh” mean?” Shigaraki felt pleased to hear the disappointment in your voice.

“Nothing. I just thought,” you stalled. “I just think that’d be nice.” You felt whiplashed.

“I see.” He sat back on his ankles again, “You can come to my place after if you’d like. We can work on Macbeth and get something after.”

“Don’t trick me with an innocent invitation to study in your room.” You mocked.

“Did I say anything about you coming up to my room?” Again? He kept from saying.

“I think the café is just fine, Shigaraki.”

He frowned at the sound of his last name. “Bring your laptop then. Coffees on me.” He sighed.

On Friday, English was fizzling out. You were on act 4 of Macbeth, and as the Professor read the witches warning you were becoming deaf. The room grew large and it felt like she, the professor, was staring at you. It felt like Shigaraki was too.

It was more than a feeling, because they both were, and your professor was headed your way.

“Hun,” she warmly placed her hand on your shoulder. “You’re good to step out if you need a minute, okay?” She whispered as not to draw any more attention than she already had.

Before you knew it, tears began to run down your cheeks, only noticing as you saw them land on the table. For the small moment you looked forward you could see Shigaraki completely turned to you, from behind the professor, with wide eyes. You avoided making eye contact with either of them as your eyes darted to your bag, packing up to leave. Wordlessly you made your way from the second row of seats, across the classroom and out the door.

The clock above the double door exit read 9:47, it wasn’t even 10 in the morning before you fell apart. You couldn’t get your heart rate down. You couldn’t stop the tears. You couldn’t feel the tips of your fingers and your lips were going numb. This terror was stronger than the one at the party and it would not wait for solitude before taking hold.

It was like striking gold when you spotted a single restroom. With cold water, you splashed your face before warming the tap to get back any feeling in your fingertips. As soon as your body could register the water was in fact not warm, but scalding hot, you began to calm down. The heat sunk into your skin like ice even with the water cold again. The bright red, throbbing irritation in your hands was the only thing you could face. The person in the mirror looked pathetic and facing them meant having to accept their apology.

The party was the first time it had ever felt that horrible, but it apparently was not going to be the last.

The restroom wall’s started closing in as you tried to catch your breathe, the hyperventilating only shrunk it further. Like a knife, a soft but rapid vibration cut through your panic.

You answered the incoming call without looking and without greeting.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” You said lowly. “It was nothing,” You tried to convince yourself.

“Where are you?”

“No where.” The response was automatic and cold.

“No,” Shigaraki cut in.

He called without a second thought and didn’t think about what he was going to say past those first two questions. “I mean, God. How about I take you somewhere?” Shigaraki groaned at how stupid that suggestion was.

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not?” He sounded annoyed. He was, with you and himself.

“I said I’m fine.” You snipped.

Shigaraki groaned and it made you feel guilty for being difficult. “I’m going to be outside the main office.” You gave in.

“Okay.” With that, Shigaraki hung up before he could say anything stupid, and you weren’t sure if you should wait for him.

The front facing camera showed just apparent it was that you had been crying; with swollen lips and doe-like wet eye lashes. Even patting your eyes dry proved to be a painfully raw task.

The dorm, you did not want to go back to your dorm. You were second guessing Shigaraki but knew no one was going to be there. You didn’t have any roommates and you didn’t talk to anyone on your hall. Even if you settled for cheaper student housing, going back to a roommate looking and feeling the way you do was not an option.

The morning autumn air bit your nose as you idly stood around. Every minute felt like ten and it made you desperate to figure out where to go. Staying in place, unsure if you were waiting on anyone made you tear up again like a lost little kid. You found yourself starting at your reflection again on the black screen.

It was embarrassing to think that he looked so concerned and you wouldn’t be able to tell him how to fix it.

The screen woke up, and before the phone could be unlocked, you saw the stack of missed calls from him. Six of them.

You unlocked your phone to stare his contact information, realizing that you hadn’t reached out to him for anything besides school work since you were ill. With that in mind, it made you insecure about whether you should still see him this weekend.

Another few minutes passed as you talked yourself to keep a look out for Shigaraki. You backed up against the main office and slid down onto the floor, tucking your knees up to your chest. Before you returned to scrolling, you scanned upward one more time only to let yourself down. You figured if you were not waiting for anyone, you were going to at least try and catch your breath.

Meanwhile, Shigaraki had called Toga to ask where she took his car.

“I was grabbing us both lunch,” she said. “I got out of class early, and thought that my favorite roomie wanted a little something to eat.” Toga exclaimed, clearly proud of herself.

“I need to pick someone up. And when did you even take my keys?” He patted his pockets with furrowed brows and before settling to scratch his neck. “Never fucking mind, are you close.”

“Hey, lose the tone. I got you food so be nice!”

“Are you close?” He said with the tone in tact.

“Yes~uh! Jerk!” As soon as she hung up, he could hear his tires swerve into the parking lot a block away from where he wanted to be.

“Out of the driver's seat.” He said to her through the window. “Since I’m picking someone up you gotta get in the back.”

“Shouldn’t I just stay up here and drive you two?” Toga shimmied her eyebrows.

“No. Because you answered the phone while driving and I’m gonna get sick with you behind the wheel.”

“I’m doing better.” she unbuckled her belt, folding her arms.

“I won’t let you do my nails.” he threatened.

Toga put it in park and dove into the back seat, folding her arms, huffing, and puffing. “I won’t let you do my nails,” she mocked his low tone.

“And be quiet and when I get her-“

“Her?!” She interrupted with excitement. “Can I do her nails instead?”

“Yeah,” she squealed despite his lack of enthusiasm. “But that’s only if you get out and walk home.” She hit the back of his seat.

“You’re no fun, Shiggy.”

As you pretended to be doing something important on your phone, a text dropped down saying “here.”

You stood up to look around, seeing that a crowd of students were bleeding into different directions but not one of those people was Shigaraki. Another text appeared. “Main office parking lot.”

A car, you thought. You didn’t think he would have a car and somehow that was felt intimidating in your overthoughtful state, but there it was. In front of the main office, behind the faculties parked cars, was a navy blue car that looked gray under all the dirt. Approaching the passenger door, you noticed it was slightly open with Shigaraki leaning over to push it open further. As you climbed into the passenger seat you caught sight of the small blonde in back, and the scent of burgers as you sat down.

Shigaraki drove off as soon as you closed the door, ensuring you wouldn’t back out when you saw his roommate. “Sorry. She had my car.” His used his chin to motion back as turned onto the main road.

“Hi!” She was leaning on middle console, putting her hand out to shake yours. “I’m Toga Himiko.”

You thoughtlessly took her hand and introduced yourself. Her amber eye and fang filled smile was meant to be warm, but returning the smile felt unnatural. As soon as your hands connected, she pulled you in closer to her to examine your nails. Shigaraki heard the hitch in your breath as you adjusted yourself to face her more.

“Toga.”

“What?” She was using both her hands to analyze your nail beds and palms. Muttering something about them being soft.

“She’s not a doll.”

“She’s as cute as one.” she dragged out that last word.

“But that’s a terrible excuse?”

You turned to face him, unsure if the heat in your face was from her compliment or him not denying it. Shigaraki shot an insecure smile at you before turning back to face Toga at the red light.

“Let go of her hand.” He snapped.

“Did you want me to do your nails?” She ignored him and beamed at you.

“I said let go,” he grabbed your wrist and pulled it from Toga's grasp, turning back to face what was still a red light.

“Don’t be a brute.” She pushed herself into her seat. “I was being gentle.” She whispered to herself.

“You were being persistent.” He said loud enough only you could hear. “I’m sorry she’s just- like that I guess.” She kicked his seat, and he rolled his eyes.

You coughed to suppress nervous laughter. The light turned green, and you turned to stare out the window, wiping the whole scene from your mind.

“We’re not far, we’ll be home soon.” Shigaraki shot a dirty look at Toga in the rear view as he turned into the block.

“To your house?”

Toga theatrically gasped. “You didn’t even tell her where you were taking her? You slut.”

“Shit,” he hadn’t realize that he completely skipped over that. “I can turn around, I’ll just take you home.”

No- “It’s fine,” your voice rode up. “It’s really okay.”

Shigaraki nodded although didn’t believe you.

The sidewalk looked funny from the passenger window. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine yourself walking up the driveway as Shigaraki pulled in.

Toga was the first out of the car, and into the house. Taking the smell of fast food with her, she placed one bag on the counter and kept the other to take to her room. “You’re welcome. It’s a combo, you dick.” She made a face and stormed off. “If I knew you had a friend, I would’ve bought an extra meal!” Toga’s voice faded as she headed down the hallway. “It’s nice to meet you by the way, he’s a dick though so… sorry!” and her door shut.

Shigaraki shook his head, and spun around his keys. “I can still take you home.”

“I don’t want to be alone right now.” You nearly interrupted him.

He nodded without pressing further, dropping his keys and taking his bag of food off the counter. “Hungry?”

When you looked up, he was studying you the same why he did that night. You watched his eyes scan your face, and neck.

“I can take the fries.” You figured.

Anxiety brought in nervousness before dissipating. Being back into that house was not making anything better, but it was not making anything worse, you were simply surrendering to the structure. It was too clean inside; the staircase was not how you remembered it to be, and the balcony looked naked without bodies peering over. The comparison was taking you out of the noonday sun, and placing under the midnight moon, it was like you could feel its heart beating again.

Shigaraki noticed you weren’t focused on anything you had been looking at, you still looked lost. He started knocking on the wall a couple times to get your attention and when that didn’t work he decided to take your hand in his, smoothing his thumb over yours. “Are you okay if we head into my room?”

Your eyes trailed down at your intertwined fingers and then back up at him.

“You can say no.” He was hoping you wouldn’t, but he meant it.

You nodded with one side of your mouth curled.

“We can head to the living room.”

You thought about it, looking down into the unfamiliar space before shaking your head. “No actually.” One side of your mouth curled up. “I want to go to your room, Shigaraki.” The power in your voice died as you said his name.

He raised his brows at your shy tone. “Well,” the door opened and he let go of your hand, “After you.”

Without a second thought you reached for his hand, then you dropped his hand after catching his index and middle finger.

“Ah,” you shyly laughed. “Sorry I wasn’t thinking.”

Shigaraki snorted as he closed the door behind you and walked over to his desk.

You were melting into his room again, finding familiarity in the air as you made your way to sit on his bed. “Am I okay right here?”

“You’re perfectly fine there.” He booted up his PC, grinning at the screen.

The wall facing the foot of his bed displayed sizable TV on a mount with pictures and posters of movies and illustrated characters surrounding it. Below that stood a pale wooden entertainment center. On the surface were a couple figures of women in burlesque lingerie, and a game console. In the shelves were comics and even more figures in poses to match some of the comic covers. As you looked around the rest of the room there were floating shelves beside his desk with more comics, thin magazine backings and novels in-between. The whole room smelled of him, of a sweet lavender, something woody and human. Especially his bedding.

Curling in on your side, you turned to face the wall opposite of Shigaraki. Upon first glance it looked empty, but in the center was a single frame with a dry preserved, needled moth inside. The longer you stared at the trapped insect, the more it looked like it was shrinking, or like the blank space around it was becoming larger.

You knew what was coming and quickly dropped your gaze to the sheets. They were light grey, his pillows were white, and the mattress was firm. The fight with anxiety was getting easier, finally heading down hill as you focused on feeling the way his sheets hugged your body. Everything looked chaotically organized when you closed your eyes, pushing you nerves to the ground as you recalled what you saw. A clean, lived in mess with a hurriedly made bed to match.

With open eyes, your stare hit the short haired carpet, and for a moment it didn’t mean anything.

Until suddenly it did.

The nerves jumped into action, lunging at your gut. Dodging it was to frantically shove the memory in a paper box, and sealing it shut with painter's tape. The hope that it would hold was easier to stomach as you rolled over to face Shigaraki, who has been caught watching you from the corner of his eye.

“How’s my bed?” he paused whatever he was doing, moving his headphones off his ears and around his neck. Facing you, he leaned his arms forward onto his thighs. “You haven't taken your fries yet.”

Shigaraki was close. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.” you said self-consciously. With your hands you pushed yourself back and moved higher up the bed, settling once you were against the headboard.

“But how are you feeling?” His voice gave concern that his face lacked.

“Better.”

Shigaraki leaned back, placing his headphones on his desk, and moved to sit beside you. Before he got comfortable, he waited for your approval. You shimmied away and made room for him to scoot in, propping a knee up to your chest. You leaned in and watched as he laid on his side, propping his head up with his elbow.

“Can I ask you something?” he said to your hip, pulling his gaze to your neck. It felt like Shigaraki was inching near the box.

“That depends,” you said honestly, watching as his eyes found yours. “Is this about tomorrow?”

“Hmm?” Shigaraki 's attention fell again as he thought. “Oh, no, but I might touch on that later.”

“Did you forget about tomorrow?” You feigned offense, trying to get him away from that night.

“Well,” he rolled his eyes. “When you look as empty and lost as you have today, everything else becomes a blur.” He said obviously.

It was supposed to be sweet, you thought, but it didn’t land. Without knowing what to say you asked what he wanted to know. Shigaraki was taken aback by your gloss over his concern and pulled out a box cutter to test the water.

“So,” he pointed to the door and drew a line from there to the floor. “What was that about?”

You were feeling brave and followed the line he made with slight exaggeration. “What was what?”

“The party?” His focus sharpened. “You know. The one that happened in this house.”

“Oh! That party.”

“Yeah, that one.”

The contemplative face he made wasn’t enough to draw out an explanation so you shrugged as you relaxed down into the bed.

Shigaraki got up from his side to move onto you. One hand planted beside your hip, and the rested in the space between your legs. “I think you know what I’m talking about,” He teased.

“Oh,” he said coyly, watching your eyes on the hand between your legs as he readjusted it at your other side. “My bad.”

Shigaraki watched the tension that formed with him a leg shy of being between yours. He held you in place as the painter's tape curled itself back, that knee was a hair away from touching you as his hands made way to the sides of your neck

“Why were you in my room?” His head hung as he stalked your answer.

The lavender was intoxicating, creating a fog that carefully encircled you. The daylight through the blinds painted strips of shadow on his face and shoulders. One line of the noonday sun landed on his eyes and it was like being hypnotized. They glowed like a warning, already catching fire in the warmth he emitted. It drew you in, and you were shamelessly staring at his mouth again.

“Ah, ah-uh. No,” He recoiled. “Answers first.”

You bit your tongue in light of being teased. Oh, how it both bothered and excited you. “Shigaraki, I told you I can't handle my ale.”

“I feel like that’s not it,” he raised a brow and himself from you. “I know that’s not it. You seemed sober and scared even with my warmest grin.” The tone in his voice was no longer playful as the fire went out.

Shigaraki moved off of you, threatening to shift off the bed. The sudden shift in scene casted something over you. You brought the box to him as you reached for his arm, landing on the hem of his sleeve. “I just needed a place to hide.” You opened up.

Honesty looked small in comparison to box it was thrown in.

“I don’t know what came over me, Shigaraki.” Verbal acknowledgment felt embarrassing, but not as much as holding onto his sleeve did; so you finally let go.

Shigaraki made his way back onto the bed, stiff as you sat back with your legs in w-position. “Why hide?” He said after a beat. “Was it from someone? Or, actually- who brought you?” his demeanor softened.

“No,” You shook your head. “No one. And, and I don’t know why.” You thought about how to word it, but looking at him made it hard to think so you turned you attention to the cluttered wall.

“Lately, I just can’t figure it out. It’s like my body is fine, everything is cool, and normal. But then my mind makes my heart race and my stomach drop like something bad is happening. Or more like something is about to happen. Sometimes it’s a slow build, and I can feel that I’m off but lately it’s like someone’s flipping every switch at once.”

With the hope that you don’t sound silly, you also hoped that sharing this might help you feel seen, and Shigaraki seemed like he was listening. When you faced him in-between thought, his eyes were planted on his hands as he hummed in observation.

To him, it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. What happened in English reflected what happened before he caught you in his room. Shigaraki turned back to you, patiently waiting for you to continue.

“So far, it has started with me not hearing what people are saying, or,” Recalling the events threw you onto the fine line of retelling and reliving, making you stammer. “Or I have trouble recognizing faces.” Your voice shrank.

Shigaraki watched as you swallowed something down and before you could turn away again, he caught your chin with his thumb and index finger. “Go on.” he tilted his head and let go.

“It traveled to the tips of my fingers, and today, I couldn’t feel my lips.” You said thoughtful of his distance again.

Actually, it wasn’t distance, it was closeness with him.

At that time, Shigaraki didn’t actually know what to make of your position when he found you on the floor. He had grown used to finding at least two people in his room. Normally they were in his bed, partially clothed, and too in the moment to snap out of their hot and drunk state. Because of that, it became rare that his door would be left unlocked on the weekends he joined the party, or that he would leave his room at all on the nights he stayed in. Catching you in his space was a weird mix of worry and pleasant surprise.

Well, catch is not the right word.

What Shigaraki had caught was glimpse of you from the balcony and wasn’t sure if he wanted to approach you or spend the night watching you. Approaching you meant meeting whoever brought you to the party, and even thinking about that felt like a chore. What he also didn’t want was to find you wrapped around someone else’s arm. Shigaraki had his eye on you for a while and at first was not planning on it moving past distant admiration, but as time in class passed, the more you two talked, and the more you two talked he found himself reading your body language in toothsome passages. Then everything about you began to tempt him. He would look for reasons to be near you, just see you and keep reading. So, the one time he looked up from the page was the one time you sat on a platter, staring up at him as you did now.

Mixing in what you shared, he was trying to play the scenario in his head, switching his point of view. He was realizing that hadn’t seen you speak to anyone. No one seemed to be looking for you in living room, or trying to stop you for idle conversation; you simply showed up alone and stayed that way. Shigaraki had thought that you maybe got bored of whatever was happening in the kitchen, and couldn’t be bothered to watch beer pong, so when he lost sight of you, he headed to the restroom. He also knew that he had felt something like that before, the panic, but he couldn’t put a finger on when or even how often that might have been.

But then he asked himself, if he had just approached you, would you have just asked to go into his room? Could he have at least kept you company?

“Shigaraki?” The question was asked with you head tilted and up. You leaned on your hands as you got closer to him.

The closing space and locked in eyes was tugging on a loose string.

“I-” he breathed. Can I kiss you? He thought. “Or would that be inappropriate?”

“Would what be?” Your brows stitched themselves together.

Shigaraki shoved impulse aside and questioned his method of drawing out answers. “God,” he said to himself.

“What?” You couldn’t tell whether to be bothered or confused. “God, what?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “It’s not anything you said.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing.” A thin smile said.

“Oh, come on.” you quietly groaned. “I have to be honest and you don’t?” You said semi-playful disbelief.

Shigaraki rolled his eyes as he began to turn away, and you decided to play the same card he did, taking his chin with your thumb and pointer. In dragging his attention back, you saw his eyes narrow like he was stalking again and that sharp edge forced you to let go.

"I mean,” You sat up onto your heels. “I guess I am the guest in your room. Again.” You waited to see what he would say, and when nothing came out you sighed. “I’m sorry for intruding when I was last here.”

“Don’t be.”

“But I am. Things would be, I don’t know, better if I just didn’t hide here in the first place.”

“It’s fine.” Shigaraki didn’t really know what he wanted, but he didn’t to make you regret coming to his room a second time. You probably already did.

“I think I'm going to, uh,” you stuck out a knee to slide off his bed. “I think I should go.”

“Let me drive you.” He sat up.

“No, I can walk. I did last time. Besides it’s only like two.” You weakly smiled. “So, thank you for listening, Shiggy.”

No wait.

Your back was flat on his bed before Shigaraki could register his own movement; he was looming over you, between your legs with his hands clasped around your wrists. Shigaraki studied the surprise in your eyes as it transform into something half lidded and dreamy.

“Tomura?”

That had torn the string. Whatever tied him down in self-discipline had snapped as the sound of his first name thinly spilled out.

His right hand let go of your wrist and darted to the base of your head as his lips met yours with eager force. You kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm, angling your head to let him sink in deeper. Tomura’s lips were dry, but you could taste some sort-of vanilla balm as you caught his lower lip between your teeth. Wordlessly you asked him to let you in while your free hand snaked up to cup his jaw, drawing from him a desperate whine as he opened his mouth for your entry.

With his right hand again, he dragged his fingers down to pull your waist into his, his left hand pulling your wrist to the side of your head. As your tongue snaked into his mouth, his thumb opened your palm to then intertwine with all of his fingers. Tomura held onto your tongue as he pulled away from soft and messy kisses.

“God, you’re sweet.” he trembled downward.

With closed eyes you focused on the feeling of everything soft and messy was peppered onto your cheek and chin. Then Tomura licked the contour of your jaw to the bottom of your ear. He bit your ear lobe and laughed into shell-shaped part of it when you whimpered.

“You’re so soft too.” His hot breathing trailing down your neck. “You even sound soft.”

He played with the hem of your shirt, “May I?”

You nodded and watched as he hands slipped down latching onto your hips. The attention was embarrassing as he took in your tummy. Leaning in and trailing kisses toward your waistband before sinking his teeth into your hip.

“Tomura!” You winced, your hips raising in pain.

You gasped when he forced your hips back down.

“I’m sorry.” He feigned worry.

You bit your lip as his tongue that outlined the marks of his teeth before planting a kiss at the center. The tender feeling grabbed your attention.

“Does that feel better?”

Tomura looked like a hungry animal leering at you through his lashes. He was humming up your waist and didn’t waste a second to resume the trail of marks he was going to leave.

Something tickled. Tomura was just about to slip your shirt up your chest before loud knocking snapped you both out of the moment. “Damn it.” he hissed just under your breast, placing one last kiss before getting off the bed.

As Tomura opened the door Toga looked ready to rip him a new one. “Do you even know what time it is?”

“Apparently not.”

“Check your phone!” She snapped at him, following after Tomura as he made it to his desk. “And you better be behaving.” She said to the back of his head.

Toga then turned to you. “Is he being good to you?”

You sheepishly smiled. “So far.”

“Good. I’m glad.” She smiled warmly, before making a face at the back of his head. “He barely knows how to act so I’m actually kinda surprised.”

“I am right here, Toga.”

“Yeah, so hurry up!”

Tomura scrunched his nose before turning to her. “That was today-”

“Today? Yeah exactly, how else am I supposed to get my own car if no one it gonna take me to check it out?”

“Why didn’t you ask Spinner?”

“How often do you see him on his phone?”

“And Touya?” He retorted.

“Was he really gonna take me, Shiggy?”

Tomura knew Touya didn’t do anything unless it would immediately benefit him and Spinner had his own weird quirks so he got why Toga looked to him.

He looked sad in his own pouty way, and sighed, “Go on.” Tomura pushed forward both his hands.

Toga was jumping with glee as he wiggled his fingers and at first you couldn’t tell what was going on until Tomura gave her the green light to pick whatever color she wanted. As soon as he said that Toga bolted out of the room to grab anything (and everything) she needed to do his nails and as soon she was out, Tomura hopped back onto the bed to kiss you ravenously before his roommate returned.

Toga walked in right as he hopped, but before you could lean back again. Slowly blinking, Toga ignored it and grinned at you, presenting a small selection of polish at the foot of the bed.

“I think you should pick.” She giggled.

“Hmm,” You crawled toward her, shifting around until you were comfortable to carefully examine each color. “What do you think, Tomura?”

Toga’s brows raised when you said his first name, intently staring at him who flashed a modest smile.

“I think the clear one is good.”

“I think so too.” You in spite of having three colors in your hand. “We can put that on top. Toga,” You beamed her way. “Are you comfortable with designs?”

They were facing each other, sitting crisscross on the floor as you watched from the bed. Toga was in her element as she painted each nail but Tomura kept sighing as she alternated between the three colors. “I’m almost done. I just have to do a top coat after this.” She sang after dipping a thin brush into the black polish.

Toga instructed Tomura to mimic her hand fanning in order for polish dry faster, but she warned him it wouldn’t be dry for at least 15 minutes.

“I swear” Toga stood up with her thing. “If you mess with the design or try to wipe the paint off, the universe will tell me and I will break down this door.”

“Got it, girl.” Tomura groaned while unenthusiastically wiggling his freshly painted nails at her.

As soon as Toga left you joined him on the ground, picking up his hand to look at Toga’s work. “She did a really nice job.” you said in awe. “I might have her come back to do my nails too.”

“Don’t call her back up here, please.” Tomura dropped his head before bringing you forward to peck you. “She actually does not need to come back up here.” He said with disdain.

You laughed but returned to looking at his hands. “I think my choice in colors worked out well.”

“Yeah, well” He flipped his wrist to catch yours, pulling you into his lap. “I’d like you pick where we left off.”

Before you could jokingly bring up his nails, Tomura dipped his head into your neck.

#shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #my hero academia #mha #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x y/n #this took way too long #like way too mf long oh my #and this was so self indulgent until I started cleaning it up #like damn #bnha #boku no hero academia #chimimon writes

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appropriatelystupid · 7 months ago

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what would you do if they never found us out? what would you do if we never made a sound?

#jumping on the sc multiverse train because they are all i can picture now when i hear this song #entirely self-indulgent for me and maybe 4 other people #joke was on me kieran blocking the computer was to give me time to think because deciding on the last two took ages #idek how to tag this what did we decide the ship is again??#saskie #was that it?#personally i think sadkia is funny but that's just me #the ts to sc pipeline remains strong #even across the multiverse #sadie mccarthy #saskia de merindol #flashing gif #flashing tw #tw flashing #sc #lena #kara #like. in the most technical sense ya know #side note sadie spends too much of the show with a phone in her hand and homegirl can't sit still like damn girl pls stop moving so much

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squatch-and-stretch · 1 month ago

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Deep Dive

Stanley Pines & Stanford Pines | 6,335 words | Hurt/Comfort, Scuba Diving

One of the last skills you learn in dive training, and the one that likely sticks in your head the most is what to do if your buddy runs out of air. Even in the controlled environment of the training pool, 15 feet under synthesized salt water with a dive instructor behind you, warning you very clearly that they’re turning off your air, the moment that the gauge hits zero is briefly terrifying. Once you’ve got your buoyancy under control and have adjusted to the way it feels to be underwater, it’s surprisingly easy to forget that that is not where humans are supposed to be. And then your air supply cuts off, and you are reminded of the fact that you are desperately out of your depth in every conceivable way.

But your partner is right in front of you, and they were expecting this just as much as you are. As quickly as you run out of air, you can grab their arm, gesture with a flat hand across your throat, and rip their primary air source out of their mouth if you have to. You swim around a bit, holding each other's arms in a wet death grip, and you surface a minute later with no harm done.

That’s how it works when you’re learning, anyway. In practice, things work a bit differently.

Or, Sea Grunkles scuba diving hurt/comfort fic.

Despite his initial reservations, Stan ends up enjoying diving a lot. He’s always loved the ocean, but never really had any interest in going too deep into it. He’s a decent swimmer, but summers on Glass Shard Beach always consisted of goofing off in the shallows and working on the original Stan O’ War. In Gravity Falls, he was happy staying in his little boat and bringing the fish up to him.

Ford always had a bit of a different attitude, though. Ever since they were young, he was pressing his luck swimming out further and filling his eyes with salt water. Sometimes Stan would look out and see Ford floating face down in the water and he’d freak out every time, only for Ford to suddenly perk up and turn to Stan with red eyes and wide grin, insisting that he saw something this time.

So it really was no surprise that he ended up getting his diving license at some point while they were apart. He admitted that he hadn’t really ended up using it much— the bait shop by Gravity Falls Lake definitely didn’t double as a dive shop and he couldn’t really justify any destination diving— but he was happy to tell Stan all about it, and, eventually, insist on getting him certified as well as they planned a trip in warmer waters.

With the certification done, both of them properly geared up with a little help from Fiddleford both in terms of finances and technology, and some small modifications to the Stan O’ War II, they were ready to dive as soon as they circled around to the Caribbean through Panama. While part of Stan prickled at being so close to Colombia and all the unpleasant memories that brought back, Ford’s enthusiasm was, as usual, infectious, and made it very hard to get lost in his memories.

With a few air tanks rented from a dive shop in Belize and one of Ford’s sci-fi doohickeys detecting something over the reef, they were set to go.

“Any idea what we’re in for down there?” Stan asks as he gears up.

“Charles Darwin once described the Belize Barrier Reef as the most remarkable reef in the West Indies! Over 100 species of coral, 500 species of fish, and countless other invertebrates! It’ll be an incredible dive, Stanley, just you wait!” Ford says, fumbling with the buckles of his BCD in his excitement.

Stan rolls his eyes as he tightens the straps of his own.

“I meant whatever anomaly your doohickey detected.”

“It’s a highly advanced sensor,” Ford defends, looking down at the sensor on his wrist. With Fiddleford’s help, he’d modified it to serve as a fully functional dive computer as well. “As for what it might be sensing, it’s hard to say for sure.”

“So much for highly advanced,” Stan teases, and Ford huffs. “That guy at the dive shop mentioned the reefs being a little sparse lately. You think that’s related?”

“It could be!” Ford agrees, perking up. “Reefs are very fragile, any disturbance due to our anomaly could upset the balance and have a significant impact on the richness and abundance of local species. That being said, the same fragility means that any number of other factors could have the same effect…”

“So… who knows?” Stan concludes.

“We will,” Ford says with that bright-eyed smile that he gets whenever he discovers something new. “Are you ready?”

Stan clips the last strap of his BCD into place, checks that everything’s tightened, and nods.

“Lemme check you over,” Stan says, and Ford rolls his eyes but nods.

At first glance, it was easy for most people to assume that Ford would be the more cautious twin. That was never really the case.

Stan looks his brother over as Ford does the same, making sure everything was strapped or clipped or held in place. He gives both of Ford’s air supplies a quick squeeze, making sure the loud burst of air didn’t cause the gauge to dip from just over 3000 PSI, and then making sure his watch read the same thing. He does the same for his own while Ford watches.

Once they give each other a nod of approval, Ford slips his mask over his eyes, adjusts the strap, and gives Stan a grin as he stands. It’s a little infuriating how easy he makes standing and balancing with forty pounds of steel strapped to his back look. Stan slides his own mask into place and stands up with none of the same elegance, steadying himself against the wall of the boat as he steps around the dive bench with clumsy flippered feet.

Stan is glad he insisted on installing a gate at the side of the boat because he’s not sure if he’d be able to pull himself up onto the wall to enter the water backwards like Ford had first suggested. As it stood, he clumsily waddles over to the gate that Ford had already opened and secured.

“I’ll enter first,” Ford says over his shoulder. “You can follow once I give you the sign, remember?”

Stan rolls his eyes, pressing his fingers to the top of his head to form an ‘o’ with one arm. Ford nods his approval, slips his air supply into his mouth, holds it and his mask in place with one hand, and takes a large step into the water. He lands with a heavy splash, and immediately turns to face Stan and kick away from the boat. Stan steps into place, hand on either side of the opening, and waits for Ford to give him the sign. He does so as soon as he’s a few feet from the boat, bobbing along with the gentle waves.

Stan checks himself over one more time, grabs his air supply, and slips it into his mouth. He fits the mouthpart between his teeth and takes a few puffs, double checks his gauge one more time. He holds his mask and air supply in place, lets go of the boat, and steps into the water.

The cold shock he always expects when entering the water never comes. According to his dive computer, the water is 80 degrees Fahrenheit, a fair bit warmer than most showers Stan has taken in his life. Even the 3 mm shorty wetsuit he’s wearing almost feels like overkill, which is a shame considering how much of a pain in the ass it was to wiggle his fat old man body into the damn thing.

Ford catches his attention by pointing at Stan, making an okay sign with his hand, and then pointing down.

‘You okay to go down?’ Stan translates, and gives Ford a thumbs up, before shaking his head and giving him an okay sign instead.

He swears he sees Ford smile around his air supply, eyes amused behind his mask. He confirms with another okay of his own, and pulls the dump cord on his shoulder to begin the descent. With a bit of a struggle that mostly consists of Stan flapping with the hand not around his deflator in an attempt to submerge himself, Stan follows. Ford is already a bit below him, following the mooring line to the bottom. Stan descends a bit more cautiously, clearing his ears all the while; he’s already lost hearing in one of them, he doesn’t need to do any more damage to the other.

By the time he hits the sandy bottom, Ford is already there, has adjusted the air in his BCD, and is squinting at his sensor. Stan puts a quick pump of air into his own vest, just enough that the pressure of the water stops pushing him into the sand. Ford catches his attention, gesturing with a flat palm to one side, towards what looks to Stan like a whole lot of boring open ocean.

Still, who is Stan to protest? He follows Ford without question, just like he used to.

Eventually, the flat expanse of sand slopes downwards into a steep cliff wall littered with coral and crevices, and Stan is briefly awed by the sight of it. The man in the dive shop had said that the reefs were looking sparse lately, but if this is sparse, Stan can’t imagine what one might look like in full swing. A small school of tiny bright blue fish weave behind a purple fan of coral. Below them, a massive grouper disappears into a deep crevice. In a dark cavern lined by coral, an orange fish cautiously peaks out at them with a massive red eye. A large school of greyish fish with yellow and blue tails circles above them, each individual nearly indistinguishable within the group.

Not for the first time, not even for the first time today, Stan thanks whatever higher power might be out there for letting him make it this far. For letting him live long enough to see all of this with his brother.

Ford continues to descend, and Stan checks the depth on his computer. He’s at 51 feet, and isn’t exactly dying to go that much deeper. It’s not that he particularly cares about following the rules of his certification, he just doesn’t want to use up too much of his air. He doesn’t have a good handle on his breathing yet, his lungs are fucked up from years of smoking, and he’s a pretty big guy. He doesn't want to have to tug Ford up to the surface before he finds whatever anomaly he’s looking for. He doesn’t want to ruin this for him.

So, at least for now, he keeps an eye on his brother from above. Ford doesn’t so much as glance up at him, flicking on his flashlight and shining it into each barrel coral and crevice he comes across. Even above him and unable to see his face, Stan can read the excitement carried in Ford’s every move. Stan isn’t nearly as fast as Ford once they really get moving, but he also isn’t stopping to shine his light into every little hole he comes across, so he keeps pace well enough.

And it’s not like he’s entirely distracted by his brother either; there’s too much to see all around him. Some round lump with a silvery sheen catches his eye, nestled amongst the algae. He barely stops himself from grabbing it, because he knows the lecture he’ll get from his brother if he does. A huge lobster wiggles some of its weird spiny mouth parts at him, glaring from the crevice it’s lodged in. A sea star’s long, hairy limbs tangle along the inner surface of a smaller barrel sponge. A small dark head of a wide-eyed fish darts into a hole in the coral before Stan can see much of it.

Everywhere he looks, there’s something to see. Stan isn’t often amazed by the beauty of nature— he fancied himself too cynical for that kind of crap— but even he’s left in awe. He swims a bit closer to the coral, trying to make sense of the tiny fish he saw retreating into it, when he sees something big moving out there in the open ocean out of the corner of his eye. He turns to face it, but he must have been closer to the rocks than he thought, because his tank bangs against them hand enough for the first stage of his regulator to jam into the base of his skull.

Ouch.

The thing that caught his attention is still too far away to make out beyond a long, dark shape. It almost looks like a massive eel, but even Stan knows eels aren’t typically out swimming in the open ocean.

Still, it’s big enough to leave him a little breathless.

Real breathless, actually. The next breath is a struggle.

Is he panicking? He’s never been the most in touch with his emotions, but he’s pretty sure he’s not having a panic attack or anything. Sure, big unknown creature squirming around in the depths of the ocean is kind of scary, but he knows they can handle it.

Another inhale, even harder than the last.

Okay, well, maybe he’s panicking a bit, but only because he can barely breathe. That’s an effect, not a cause.

So what is the cause? He checks his computer, meaning to confirm that he’s not that deep, but his eyes catch on the air gauge. He gasps a little when he sees how low it is, and it dips even lower, the arrow plunging to zero.

Fuck. Fuck. Okay.

He needs Ford. He needs to find Ford.

Stan glances around, gasping in what little air he can. For a brief, terrifying moment, he doesn’t see Ford at all, can’t make out the shape of him in the water, before finally, finally, he sees the dark silhouette of him below and ahead. He has his flashlight on, head buried in some crevice in the rocks of the cliff. He can’t be that far, but the distance seems insurmountable.

He tries to take another breath, but he can’t. He can’t.

He grits his teeth around the regulator— don’t take it out unless you have something better to put in— and kicks down towards Ford.

Don’t hold your breath, especially not while ascending, air expanding as pressure decreases, burst lungs.

Good thing Stan’s going down.

His watch beeps at him, warning him that he’s exceeding the maximum programmed depth.

Ford! He thinks desperately, staring at his brother’s back. That twin telepathy stuff is bullshit, and even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be strong enough to reach Ford when he’s so focused.

You lose air more quickly the deeper you go. Stan swears he can feel it being crushed out of his lungs. A dull ache grows between his ears, but he can’t stop and clear them, not when he can’t breathe.

He reaches out for Ford, but can’t quite touch him. His legs ache as he gives one final kick and his fingers press against Ford’s tank. They scramble uselessly against the metal, searching for something to grab onto, before he gets his thoughts together enough to follow the straps to his BCD and slide his fingers into the narrow gap where the curve of the plastic doesn’t quite meet that of the tank itself. He tugs Ford towards himself, or himself towards Ford, and scrambles to grab his arm and turn towards him. He can faintly hear a startled noise from his brother, one that would be amusing in any other context.

No air, Stan signals desperately. Ford’s expression is hard to read behind his mask, but he’s not doing anything. He knows, in an emergency, he’s supposed to rip the reg out of his buddy’s mouth, hand them their backup and let them figure it out, but he can’t bring himself to do it, not to his brother.

No air, Stan repeats, and finally Ford moves. Without bothering to unclip his secondary, he spits out his primary, rips Stan’s out, and all but shoves his own into Stan’s mouth and pushes the purge before he can suck in a lung full of water. Good thing too, because clearing it was the last thing on Stan’s mind at the moment.

He gasps. The dry air and faint taste of salt water has never felt better. He doesn’t even care that it was in his brother’s mouth seconds earlier.

He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes. Fuck. He loves breathing.

Ford grabbed him at some point, and he tugs Stan closer as he continues to gasp for breath. He hooks his elbow through Stan’s and pulls them shoulder to shoulder. Stan, for his part, just lets himself be manhandled. He doesn’t mind any of it, doesn’t mind anything at all now that he can breathe.

After a bit— Stan has no idea how long— Ford squeezes his arm with his other hand to get his attention. Stan reluctantly opens his eyes, and is relieved to see Ford has his secondary in. Shit. Stan didn’t even think about making sure Ford was alright.

He points at Ford’s chest before he can do anything and holds up an okay sign.

‘You okay?’ he asks his brother, cocking his head to emphasize the question. Ford looks so annoyed that Stan can see it through that mask and reg, and it’s another thing that would have been funny in any other context. He can particularly hear Ford say, ‘are you seriously asking me that right now?’

Ford nods with both his head and his free hand, before jabbing a finger into Stan’s chest and making an okay sign of his own. Stan mirrors the two part nod. Ford squints at him, and Stan curves his fingers back into the okay sign.

I’m okay, he wordlessly insists. For a moment there, he wasn’t sure he would be, but he’s okay.

Ford still seems unconvinced, but he gives Stan a thumbs up. Thoughtlessly, he mirrors the gesture before remembering what it means in this context, but it serves him just as well. He’d love to be able to breathe an entire atmosphere’s worth of air without worrying about the tank on his back or any of the hoses connected to it. He’s still not sure what went wrong, but at the moment he doesn’t particularly care. He can breathe for the time being, but Ford’s air tank won’t support both of them for long.

Ford pulls Stan even closer, and Stan doesn’t mind even as it drives Ford’s boney-ass elbow into his hip. It gives him the opportunity to check the gauge attached to his brother’s regulator, to see that it’s around 1700 PSI and not visibly dipping with every breath the two of them take. They’re also at 83 feet, well below what Stan’s basic certification covers. Oh well, he’s never followed any other rules, there’s no reason for this to be an exception.

They’ll be fine, Stan concludes. Ford looks down at his computer, and gestures to the side and slightly upwards. Stan can only assume what that means, but he nods either way. He trusts his brother. He’ll get them out of this. Thinking is a lot of work right now.

Nitrogen narcosis, part of Stan’s sluggish mind whispers. Oxygen toxicity, it insists.

The rest of his brain, even running at half speed, knows that he’s not really displaying symptoms of either of those. He was scared, and now he’s tired. He knows that as long as his brother is with him, he’s safe to shut down just a little. They aren’t out of the water yet, but they’ll be alright.

Blearily, he lets Ford lead the way. He kicks weakly at the knees in the exact way he knows he shouldn’t, but his hips hurt like hell. He refuses to ever believe it, much less act on it, but as usual, his brain tells him he’s too old for this shit.

Luckily, Ford has a lot more stamina than Stan, and more than makes up for his weakness and poor form. He’s also capable of navigating underwater, which is more than Stan can say about himself; he’s fine making his way through an urban environment, and he even got pretty used to the forests of Gravity Falls, but he only knew enough about underwater navigation to get his certification.

Before he knows it, they’re back at the mooring line. His watch beeps at him again, and as he glances at it, he sees a three minute timer start to count down.

Right. Safety stop.

They’re seventeen feet down. Ford’s computer tells him they still have somewhere around 1500 PSI. As much as he wants to be out of the damn water already, he lets Ford hold him in place, and nods when Ford taps his own computer and gives him a questioning ‘okay?’

Stan nods. Okay, he confirms, hoping Ford can’t see his reluctance.

2:37, his computer tells him, and Stan focuses on breathing steadily but shallowly, watching it count down the whole time.

It’s among the slowest three minutes of his life, but eventually it counts down to zero and lets out a little beep of confirmation. He looks over to Ford, who gives him the okay, and the two of them finally make it to the surface.

Stan’s hand scrambles blindly for the snorkel attached to his mask, and he eventually manages to tip it upright and tug the mouthpiece to him. He spits out Ford’s regulator, clears the snorkel with a wet puff of air, and breathes into that. It tastes, as expected, of saltwater, but it feels great to breath and not feel like he’s stealing the air from his brother's lungs.

He glances around, and finds the Stan O’ War II waiting for them a few yards away, just where they left it.

“Are you alright?” Ford calls. His hold relaxed once they hit the surface, but he’s still gripping onto Stan’s hand like a bear trap. His other holds his snorkel at the ready, but he seems more worried about Stan than he is about the seawater splashing into his big dumb mouth.

Stan rolls his eyes, gives him the okay sign with his free hand, and gestures towards the boat. Ford mumbles a confirmation, puts his snorkel in, and begins kicking his way towards it, dragging Stan along with him. Stan tries his best to carry his own weight, but he feels like a kid doggy-paddling next to an Olympic swimmer.

They make it to the boat easily enough, and Ford reluctantly releases Stan in favor of the ladder. He plunges his head into the water, and Stan is briefly baffled before he resurfaces moments later with his fins around either wrist. He glances over at Stan one more time, as if worried he disappeared the moment he looked away, before he starts making his way up the ladder.

It’s far from effortless, but Ford manages to get up with little issue. From above, Stan can hear the loud clang of Ford’s air tank hitting the deck, and he winces at the thought of the dent it must have left on her.

He can barely manage to tilt his head up far enough to see Ford above him, his neck aching and the first stage of his regulator digging painfully into the back of his head, but at least he can see his brother above him. Now he just needs to get to him.

He takes a deep breath that feels like it’s mostly sea foam, and clears the remaining distance between him and the ladder.

Stan hooks his arm through the first rung above the water and braces one foot against the hull. He awkwardly contorts himself to grab at the other foot, slick, wrinkly fingers scrambling at the easy-release buckle at the side of his fins. His arm shakes with the strain, and even through the snorkel, it feels like he's breathing in mostly water.

Finally, he releases the buckle of one of his fins, and barely manages to loop his fingers through it before it slips off into the water. Now that it’s off his foot, it’s easier to latch the buckle again and slide it over his hand, keeping it in place as he shifts his aching body to grab the other.

“Brace!” Ford calls from above, and Stan does so without question, pulling himself tighter against the boat and holding his breath as a large wave sweeps over.

Once it clears, Stan scrambles to get his other fin off and pull himself further from the water. The relief of being mostly out of the water is undercut by the sudden weight of the tank on his back. Without the buoyancy the water provided, Stan’s legs nearly buckle beneath him.

Ford calls something to him, as loud and clear as he always talks, but Stan can’t quite catch it. All he knows is that it’s too long to be another call for him to brace.

“Throw up your fins!” Ford tries again, slower this time, louder.

He sounds impatient, but Stan knows he’s just worried.

Probably.

Still, he wiggles his fins off his arms as quickly as he can, and tosses them weakly up towards his brother.

Ford catches them with ease, and drops them on the deck without a second thought. The removal of a few extra feet of plastic around his arm helps some, but climbing the ladder is still a slow process.

They’ll have to add some traction tape to the damn thing next time they get a chance, Stan thinks as his foot slips against a rung yet again. As long as he doesn’t fall backwards with his feet caught between a rung— something that has happened to him at least once on land— he’ll be fine. Slow and steady.

“I’ve got you, Stanley!” Ford calls, and the weight of the tank on his back suddenly begins to lift.

With that, Stan scrambles the rest of the way up the ladder, all but crashing into Ford once he's on the deck. Luckily, Ford manages to keep his footing and shove Stan back into the bench. His legs buckle at the slightest pressure against the back of his knees, and the tank ends up landing in the right place by sheer luck.

Before Stan can even raise his hands to do so himself, Ford is unbuckling and loosening his BCD. Just as that registers, he pries off his mask as well, tossing it beneath the bench and out of the way. Stan just lets it happen, blinking blearily at the blurry figure of his brother.

Ford mumbles something to himself that Stan has no chance of hearing over his own coughs.

“You okay?” Stan slurs, mouth struggling around the words. He feels like his teeth are still locked around Ford’s regulator.

Ford huffs in the bitchy little way he so often does.

“I’m fine, I’m not the one who ran out of air approximately 27 minutes into our dive.”

He doesn’t mean it like that, a kind, logical part of his brain tells him, a part that was created recently and gets a bit louder every day.

Way to fuck it up, knucklehead. You saw that thing, but you had to ruin everything before Ford even caught a glimpse of it, another part says, loud and familiar. You should have stayed down there.

“Well sorry,” Stan says, thick with sarcasm even though he means it.

“You—“ Ford huffs, cutting himself off. He runs a hand through his soaking wet hair, and then immediately shakes off the sensation with a grimace.

And then he turns around and retreats into the cabin, leaving Stan, soaked and aching, alone on the deck.

Shit. He really is angry, huh. When they really, seriously fight, Stan tends to pursue, to hurt the other party before he can get hurt but Ford, Ford retreats. He doesn’t do it out of fear or even an unwillingness to argue with his brother— everyone who’s been around them for more than five minutes knows how much they both love to squabble— but because he needs to cool off before he says something he regrets. The thing about them being twins, despite all the time apart, is that they still know, almost instinctively, exactly how to hit where it hurts.

If Ford’s retreating, he felt, in that moment, like he wanted to hurt Stan.

Shit.

It’s not like it wouldn’t be justified. He’s not sure what he did wrong down there, but he did something that ruined the dive for him. That would be bad enough on its own, he saw how excited his brother was just being down there, but there was an anomaly. Potentially a very dangerous anomaly that’s having a negative effect on biodiversity or some crap. And Stan tore him away from that.

His brother wanted to share this with him, and he ruined it.

He wants to get up and pace out his frustrations, but his legs ache. His head pounds painfully with each rapid beat of his heart. The wind can’t be that cold, but soaked and alone, it has Stan shivering.

Get up, get dry, fix this, Stan tells himself.

He doesn’t move. His pruny hands, still dripping saltwater onto the deck, clench into useless, shaking fists.

Get up, Stan insists, fix this.

Diluted by sea water, blood trickles lazily from a scrape on his calf. He has no idea when or how he got scraped, but he didn’t feel it then and he doesn’t feel it now.

Get up.

Despite everything, his throat feels dry enough to hurt.

Get up.

Saltwater is running into his eyes from his wet hair, stinging with each blink. He can’t even manage to lift his arm to wipe it away.

The door to the cabin swings open, and it’s like a switch is flipped as Stan finally stands. His legs shake beneath his weight, and the gentle rocking nearly sends him right back down to the bench.

“Stanley!” Ford scolds. He’s stripped out of his wetsuit, just wearing his swim shorts and a towel around his shoulders. He has his actual glasses back on, and his hair is dry enough to no longer be dripping at least. Another towel is draped over his arm, hand holding Stan’s glasses.

Oh. So that’s where he went. Obviously. The scared animal in Stan’s chest reluctantly settles.

“Sit! Sit down!” He fusses, and Stan can’t even be mad about his brother insisting on undoing all his hard work. Sitting down is better than collapsing on the deck in front of Ford.

“Get out of your wetsuit, you can’t be comfortable,” Ford says, and Stan can’t really argue with that. He reaches for the zipper on his back, and Ford flits over in an instant to unzip it himself with a, “Oh, let me help.”

Stan stills, just to make sure Ford doesn’t intend to do anything else while he’s still standing over him, but he just gives him a quick once-over and nods, before turning his attention to Stan’s BCD.

Stan leaves him to it, and begins squirming, wiggling, and writhing his way out of the shortie. Once it’s off and in a wet heap by his feet, he pulls his hair out of the tight ponytail he had it in, and starts scrubbing it dry. As much as he likes growing out his hair, but it’ll be a pain to brush it later, and it’s a pain to dry it now.

Ford says something beside him, and Stan stops scrubbing and lets the towel fall around his shoulders. He slides his glasses on to see Ford is staring at the first stage of his regulator with a look somewhere between horror and rage. Stan follows his gaze, and sees that it’s not quite sitting on the tank properly. He’s amazed that neither of them noticed it leaking, because it must have been the whole time.

“Stanley…” Ford says, and that expression settles into guilt.

It’s a look Stan seems to be on the receiving end of more often than he ever expected. Every time Stan has a memory lapse, every time he remembers something unpleasant, every time he references some unsavory part of his past, Ford looks at him like a kicked puppy. He might not directly apologize every time, but he’s done it often enough. Too often, Stan would argue.

He just doesn’t know why he’s doing it right now.

“Stanley, this is all my fault, I… I must have screwed it on wrong, or perhaps I didn’t tighten it properly, I didn’t even check your air supply properly, I let you test your own regulator, and I thought I was watching, I thought it didn’t dip, but it must have been leaking the whole time and I just didn’t notice, this is all my fault and I’m so sorry,” Ford says breathlessly, running his hand through his hair and tugging. “And I shouldn’t have swam off like that, I didn’t even check if you were following once I reached the shelf, I should have stayed close, how long were you without air? No, it doesn’t matter, it was too long, and you had to go so deep to get to me, Stanley, I’m so sorry.”

“Quit it, Poindexter,” Stan huffs, swatting at his wrist. Ford lets go of his own hair and starts shaking out his hand instead, like a cat with a piece of tape stuck to its paw. “I checked my air, it was working fine before we got off the boat. Hell, it was working fine until…”

Stan shifts towards his regulator, now laying on the bench beside him. The knob on the first stage is scraped up, plastic torn, and he holds it out for Ford to see.

“I bumped it against some rocks while I was turning. It must have gotten knocked out of place.”

“It shouldn’t have gotten ‘knocked out of place’ so easily! It must have been to lose in the first place, ergo, it’s my fault,” Ford insists. “I could have killed you with my negligence, Stanley.”

“But you didn’t,” Stan argues. He can’t definitively prove that Ford had attached the first stage properly, and yeah, if he didn’t and that was his fault, that would suck, but Stan was alive. Sore, exhausted, and a little rattled, but alive. They both were.

“But I could have,” Ford repeats.

“And I could throw you off the boat right now,” Stan dismisses, leaning back and waving a hand lazily.

Ford frowns and straightens up into his usual haughty posture.

“… I doubt it,” Ford says, which is as close as he’ll get to admitting defeat in their prior argument.

“Totally could,” Stan mumbles, and then louder, “whatever. Doesn’t matter. The point is, even if you did fuck up, we’re fine.”

“Are you fine?” Ford asks, staring at him with wide, worried eyes.

“Yeah yeah yeah, I’m fine,” Stan dismisses. “I’m aching like hell but when am I not, am I right?”

Ford frowns at him, but nods anyway.

“I… I truly am sorry, Stanley,” Ford says, soft and painfully genuine. “Regardless of my own role in its failure, this is not how I wanted our first reef dive to go.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t great for me either, but that’s just the way that it is in this bitch of a world,” Stan says, shrugging. His neck jolts painfully. “It was pretty cool before it all went to shit, though.”

Ford smiles slightly, his eyes flashing with that bright-eyed nerd look he gets sometimes.

“It was, wasn’t it? I dove off the coast of Oregon a few times, even explored the Gravity Falls lake once or twice, but neither could even compare. Even if we didn’t find whatever set off my sensor, it was worth seeing,” Ford trails off, his hesitant smile dying on his lips. “Or, it would have been, if I hadn’t nearly gotten you killed.”

“You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that if you want me dead, brother of mine,” Stan snarks, elbowing Ford in the ribs.

“I don’t!” Ford protests, offended at the mere idea. “I don't want you dead at all!”

“I know, I know,” Stan says, “you care about me or some crap.”

“I do,” Ford agrees, painfully genuine. “In fact, I care about you so much that I’ll let you take the first shower.”

“I just started to dry off,” Stan grumbles, just to be an ass.

Ford is, as expected, not especially sympathetic. He gently helps Stan to his feet and escorts him down the stairs into their tiny bathroom. Stan wishes he was more upset about the babying than he is, but as it stands, his shaky legs definitely appreciate the support, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

“Holler if you need anything, okay?” Ford says, lingering awkwardly in the doorway as Stan shrugs off the towel Ford brought him. It’s one of the thin ones that dries real fast, and there’s a proper bath towel waiting for him on the closed toilet.

He waves Ford away with a dismissive grunt, and he closes the door as he finally leaves.

The rest of the day proceeds in a similar fashion, with Ford only leaving Stan’s side to fetch things for him. It’s always like this every time Stan gets hurt or something goes wrong, has been ever since the damn memory gun. He can’t even enjoy having someone at his beck and call when that someone is his brother and he looks so damn guilty the whole time.

“C’mon Ford,” he says, tugging his brother down to sit beside him as he settles in to watch tv. “Relax for a second, will you?”

Ford sighs, but sits down beside him and, as usual, shoves his feet beneath Stan’s legs. He can be touchy about being touched sometimes, but he does like the reassurance of having some form of contact. Usually, it’s brushing elbows or butting his head against Stan’s shoulder or shoving his cold little toes under Stan’s thighs when they sit next to each other. He wasn’t always like this, but Stan has gotten used to it.

“I’m okay, got it?” Stan insists, tilting his head to butt it gently against Ford’s.

“… got it,” Ford says softly.

He repositions himself to settle into Stan’s side, resting his head on his shoulder. His hair is still slightly wet; his thick curls don’t let go of moisture easily, especially not in this humidity, but Stan doesn’t mind as much as he’s sure Ford would if their positions were reversed.

His need for reassurance seems to have overcome his general aversion to touch, and Stan is happy to oblige, even if that means being stuck on the couch for a few hours after he would have preferred to go to sleep because Ford passed out on his shoulder.

#silver scribe (writing tag)#stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls fic #this one is so damn niche and self indulgent. i miss diving tails. i miss diving a lot

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