#this is more about the nature of “content creation” as well on second thought

[coraxaviary]

ok so like does anyone else have the rational fear that

someone's gonna come along and mention/post/recommend/rant about their fic on tiktok or some other social media? Mostly tiktok, but I suppose there are other possibilities.

Like, I don't want random people from tiktok coming to read my stuff. I certainly don't want to ever get the attention of anyone associated with the production of these shows -- especially the actors, God forbid.

Like, oh my gosh the prospect of "blowing up" for fanart is so appealing -- like, my eyes *light up* you know what I mean -- but the thought of someone mentioning my fanfic on any other website gives me a cold sweat and heart palpitations

[tonycries]

Like An Animal - T.F.

Synopsis. Of course Toji doesn’t want any more kids. Of course he’s lying as he stuffs your pretty cúnt full of his cúm for the third time tonight.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, cúmplay, mating press, chóking, overstim, oral (female receiving), créampie, dirty talk, Toji really REALLY wants to get you pregnant, spitting, mentioned kids, absolutely filthy, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Need this man so bad you don’t even understand AAA.

Toji Fushiguro didn’t want any more kids. Why would he? They were messy, expensive, and it was a sheer miracle that Megumi wasn’t anything like the little demons he’s seen during drop-off at the kindergarten. He didn’t need another reason to watch Babyshark for five hours straight - and he wasn’t about to change his mind anytime soon. 

Or, so he thought.

“Hey doll, m’home- what the f-”

“Toji! Language!” you hiss, hastily covering the ears of a very oblivious Yuji, who was deeply engrossed in mixing icing. 

Oh? 

Now, there have only been three times in his life that Toji has been truly taken aback. The first being when he discovered that yes, Megumi’s hair really does stand up that way naturally. Second, when he realized that he was falling for you - and that oh shit maybe he does still have feelings somewhere in there after all. 

And finally, right now, the sight of you covered in flour and wrestling three giggly toddlers into some semblance of order in the kitchen. “Welcome home, handsome.”

Oh. 

It made something deep inside him lurch so strangely.

“Why…” Toji rasps, eyes flitting between the mixing bowls messily clinked together and the three toddlers happily stood on stools, flour in their hair and matching smiles on your faces. “Why have they multiplied?” 

“We’re baking cookies!” Yuji exclaims from the counter, swiping a thick wad of dough on Nobara’s hair. To which the latter responds with a swift smack on the head. 

You smirk at your dumbfounded boyfriend, “Well, Toji, it seems that when you leave me alone with a batch of cookies to bake, I have a tendency to summon reinforcements.” Gesturing at the chaos surrounding you, “Megs wanted to bake some cookies before his sleepover at Yuji’s so I had these three over because we have more than enough space.”

“I see…does insurance cover this kitchen?”

Rolling your eyes, “Oh c’mon, don’t be such a spoilsport.” You reach for the batch of freshly baked goods, “You’re just in time to taste-test our latest creation!”

And, well, how could he ever say no to you? Although - flour-dusted and disheveled - some strange part of himself thinks you look even more gorgeous than usual right now, as if that was even possible. His girl was so pretty, even when you’re wrangling three little gremlins. Too pretty. Toji just couldn’t get his head around that nagging little voice saying you looked so pretty especially when you’re wrangling three little gre-

“Ehh? Fushiguro is your dad blushing?”

“Gross.”

“You idiots he isn’t blushing, it’s called ‘swooning’. My mommy says it’s a grown-up thing.”

It was hard to not hear the (extremely loud) whispers from behind you, but it was even harder to ignore the slight red tinting Toji’s ears as he pointedly reached out for the tray you were holding. Fingers barely even brushing against the cookies before a tiny voice speaks up, “Mama, can I have one too?”

You freeze. Toji freezes. You think the whole world freezes except for Yuji and Nobara who stifle giggles behind their hands.

“Look Kugisaki, now he’s really swooning.”

“Yeah, my mommy says that’s also how you get babies. You swoon and pop! they appear.”

Toji raises a brow at Nobara, gritting out a strained, “Your mommy says a lot, huh?” That jolts you out of your reverie, and you flash a gentle smile at a very red-faced Megumi. Leaning down to reply, “Of course, sweetie.”

And as he mumbles a quick “Thank you”, hastily grabbing another cookie and retreating to a corner of the kitchen - hoping to disappear into the shadows - you risk a glance at Toji. Cheeks flushed hard enough to rival Megumi’s, ah, like father like son. 

“Anyway, don’t just stand there. Come help me n’ the kids, Yuji’s grandpa’s coming to pick them up soon!” you playfully swat at your boyfriend’s sculpted chest, going back to busying yourself with the icing. 

Toji, however, was having an epiphany that was altering his perception of reality, one that he’d probably been denying ever since he stepped in through that damn front door. You. The kids. You and the kids. You and his kids. 

“Mama.”

And Megumi’s little slip-up had been the final nail on his coffin to certify that oh Toji Fushiguro was utterly and irrevocably screwed. And he’d like to blame it all on you being such a goddamn wonder, but he’s got a nagging feeling that the three little gremlins currently decorating cookies share an equal part of the blame. 

What was it that girl had said? Swooning is how you get babies? Because, well, eyeing the way you scooped up a pouty Megumi in your arms, chatting animatedly with a tittering Nobara and Yuji, only one thought rings through his mind - damn right, kid.

---

“-and make sure to brush your teeth. No faking this time, okay? I’ve told Yuji’s grandpa to check. And-”

“No summoning demons, and no summoning the police. Though you’re probably too young for that.” Toji interrupts your little tirade, ruffling the hair of a very disgruntled Megumi. “Have fun, little man.”

You giggle at the usual father-son dynamic, but as you waved off Megumi and his friends, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something in the air felt a bit different. Something a bit tense. A bit exciting.

Maybe it was the heavy silence that hung in the room after that door slammed shut, leaving just you and Toji all alone in the house. Forcing you to register the heat of his large frame looming behind yours. When did he get so close? Or maybe it was the prickly of his gaze on your back, a resounding slam! echoing in your ears as he cages you against the door. 

Or maybe - just maybe - it was the way he leaned down to whisper in your ear, husky and tinged with something so utterly dangerous. 

“So…mama, huh?” 

A thrill goes down your spine at his words. “Oh, stop.” you wave off, though you feel your cheeks flaring up in response. Especially as he plows on, “Why? I think you make a great mama.”

You scoff, casting a sidelong glance at the muscular arm just inches away from your head. “Don’t joke, Megs was so embarrassed after that.”

“I’m not joking.”

Your back hits the cool door before you can react. Toji’s hands almost painful on your shoulders, muscles rippling as he turns you to face him. You raise your eyes to meet his and oh-

Oh shit. 

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies as you take in the man before you. His expression darkened, breaths slightly labored, eyes half-lidded and locked on you. You’d almost have been worried at the sudden flip of personality had it not been for the words that spill from his lips. 

“I’m not joking.” he repeats, voice strangled. 

Great, the man has finally lost it. Despite the traitorous throbbing in your cunt, you try to make sense of the situation. “Toji, this joke has-”

Your words get caught in your throat as he raises a hand to squish your cheeks together into an almost-embarrassing pout, looking down at you through dazed eyes. “Do I look like I’m joking, doll?” Leaning down to lick a stripe up a smudge of icing on your cheek. Lingering far too long, murmuring into your skin, “What do you think?” 

In the heat of it all, you manage to choke out, “W-what?”

“Don’t you think,” he mutters, as strained as if he were about to snap any second. Losing his sanity with each word that comes out of his mouth. “That you’d make the best mama?”

“I mean- yes-”

And then his lips are on yours, shutting you up - bruising. Such a sloppy mix of teeth and spit as he drinks you in with an aching desperation. Toji breathes in your gasp as you feel his cock, hard and throbbing against your front. 

“Fuck.” he hisses into your mouth. “Not enough, ma. Need you s’bad.”

The buttons hit the floor before you realize what’s happening. Toji’s fisting your shirt in one hand, too impatient - too starved - he pulls down, down, down. Ripping. Urgently moving down to your shorts- “Those are expensi-” you yelp. 

But it’s useless - the tattered fabric hits the ground faster than your jaw as he groans out a quick, “I’ll buy ya a new one when we shop for baby clothes.”

Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, hands trailing up your thighs. He swiftly unclasps your bra, mouth dropping into a soft little oh! at the sight, immediately groping each and every inch of skin he could reach. Tweaking and rolling your swollen nipples on his fingers in wonder. “Oh, doll. These are gonna be s’full, huh? Wan’ taste how sweet you’ll be.”

“T-Toji hah-” you whine, as he takes one nipple in his mouth. Lips wrapped so prettily around your tit as he tugs lightly, sucking harshly like he was miraculously trying to draw milk out. Looking up at you so obscenely through his thick lashes. “Ngh- wan’ more.” you buck your hips, grinding against his thick cock. 

And, well, how could Toji ever deny the mother of his children?

Because he immediately drops to his knees, biting down on the thin fabric of your soaked panties. Tugging with his teeth, “This what you want, ma?” he slurs. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he breathes in the scent of your dripping pussy, “Wan’ me to eat out your pretty lil’ cunt? Jus’ say the word.”

“Please, daddy.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

And then he’s pulling - tearing your drenched panties to shreds with his teeth. Flashing you a devilish grin at the sinful strings of slick that connect you to the flimsy fabric. Oh Toji had half the mind to tease you about how wet you were already, but no, he had no time to waste.

With a guttural, fucked-out little grunt, he’s surging forward, diving face first into your pretty pussy. Nose pressing against your throbbing clit, licking a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds. 

“Oh hngh- please.” you mewl, as he buries himself deeper into your dripping cunt. Tongue bullying its way past your folds to lap at your slick, not stopping till he’s had his fill of your sweet juices. “M-more.”

Two large hands dip into your waist as he wraps his glossy lips around your pulsing clit to suck harshly, both keeping you still and supporting your weight as your knees weaken. Toji can’t have his pretty girl hurt herself right before he fills her up n’ gets her pregnant, right?

“Sure ya can handle more, ma?” Electricity runs up your spine as your boyfriend rolls his tongue across your clit just the way he knew you liked. “Y’should be thanking me for not jus’ stuffing you full of my cock like I want to right now.” 

“Then hah- why don’t you?”

Toji pulls away ever-so-slightly, relishing in the delirious little whine of disappointment that leaves you. One that quickly turns into a surprised squeal as he spit a steady stream of spit into your quivering cunt, spreading it across your pussy with his thumb.

Sloppy - it was so fucking sloppy. He looked at you like you were his favorite meal and ate you out just as much. 

Your juices decorating his lips like a badge of honor. Smearing across the bottom half of his face and trickling down his jaw. One which moves as he utters, “Can’t break the mother of my kids, doll.” 

But oh how you’d beg to differ as he brings his face to your sloppy pussy once more, tongue darting out to catch the obscene little drip! drip! drip! of your slick. “Gon’ be the best fucking dad to all three of ‘em.”

“T-three?”

And with that, he’s squeezing his soft tongue into your tight pussy. Throwing your left leg over his sculpted shoulder to make out deeper with your cunt. You tug on his hair pathetically, impatiently. Cute little whines of his name leaving you each time he drips into your sloppy pussy, stretching you out, swiping at your clit, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over-

“Yeah, three.” he mutters into your folds, “Gon’ give me two more beautiful babies? Gon’ be so round n’ pretty with my kids?” Tongue curling deftly against that one spot he knew would have you keening and rocking your pretty cunt into his mouth. 

“Ah- fuck fuck fuck- hngh- yes!” you moan, body jerking violently at the way he hit that spot over and over.  

He huffs out a laugh, hungry gaze taking in that cute, desperate expression on your face. Toji just couldn’t help but tease you a little bit. “Use your words, ma.”

“H-huh?”

“Tell me what you want.”

You gasp out a pathetic little sob, “Want to so badly. Wan’ you to hah- fill me up hngh- W-wan’ cum-”

“So demanding.” he titters teasingly into your cunt, vibrations making you drag your pussy more erratically on his mean mouth. Now, Toji could tease you with his tongue for hours until you’re crying and begging for his cock. But right now, he doesn’t think he has any more patience nor sanity. “I love that.”

Toji knows by the way your pretty pussy clenches around his tongue that you’re close, pulse urgent on his face as he greedily laps at your cunt. So he speeds up his movements, drinking you in like a madman. 

A hand snaking up to plunge knuckle-deep into your sloppy entrance. Pussy taking him so readily after being stretched out on his tongue. Your adorable, fucked-out little whines of his name going straight to his rock-hard dick as he fucks you with his fingers the way he wants to with his cock. Two fingers thrusting in and out while his thumb draws rapid little circles on your clit. Sinking his teeth gently into your swollen folds.

Bucking into his touch, “Hah! S’too much, daddy. Hngh, g-gonna cum ah! Gonna cum-”

“Then cum, doll.”

And you are - fast and violent. 

Plushy walls clamping down on Toji’s fingers as if your fluttering cunt was trying to suck him up. Mind hazy and your only thoughts being about Toji and his tongue and Toji-

“Mmm taste s’sweet, love you on m’tongue.” he grunts, breathing you in and letting your juices slide down his throat. Lewd squelches in time with your cute lil’ whines as you ride out your orgasm on his pretty face. Tongue fucking you through your high. 

“Had fun, ma?” Toji grins once you blink back your vision, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Dangerous little smile only growing at your barely-lucid nod. 

Ah, but even the ever-confident Toji Fushiguro faltered as your shaky hands reached out to pet his achingly hard cock. Swollen and leaking a mouthwatering dark patch against his trousers. 

“Wan’ your cock now, daddy.” you murmur, watching the way his darkened eyes widen ever-so-slightly, breath hitching. “Wan’ you to fill me up over n’ over like you promised.”

Oh you little minx, with all your dirty tricks - you were going to be the death of him. 

With a dark little chuckle of disbelief, Toji rises to his full height. Lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss - tongue licking at the seam of your mouth and intertwining with yours. Forcing you to taste yourself on him. So sweet of sin and all his dreams of stuffing you till you were sure to have his kids - two of them, in fact. 

“Anything y’want, doll.” he whispers into your lips. 

And that’s all that is said before the clinking of a belt rings in the heady air. The realization that you were so naked and splayed out for him while he was still unfairly clothed finally hitting as Toji peels his shirt off. Your mouth waters at the chiseled front, hands immediately reaching to squeeze his large pecs. Running your hands along his body. 

“Ah, fuck.” he shudders, “Y’never change, huh?” 

Yet your greedy hands are momentarily stunned as he lets his pants fall to the floor with his boxers. Rock-hard cock springing up and hitting his stomach. 

He was so painfully hard that it made your cunt quiver in anticipation. Red and throbbing, soaked in precum and glistening in the dim lighting. Twitching at the sound of your voice as you say “Want you to fucking ruin me, daddy.” you blink up at Toji, all doe-eyed and teary after your last orgasm. 

And oh does that make him snap - maybe his sanity, maybe you by the end of this, because before you know it, Toji’s spreading your legs with his knee. Biting his bottom lip as your slick trails down your pretty cunt and onto your legs. 

“What m’girl wants.” he grits out, dragging his weeping tip across your swollen folds. Collecting your sweet juices on his head. “My girl- gets.”

You keen as Toji bullies his massive cock into your cunt on the last word. “Ngh- T-Toji.” you whine, vision flashing at the stretch. No matter how many times Toji stuffed you full of his cock - his size never failed to disappoint.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.” Trying to steady your breathing as he fucks into you in quick, mindless little jabs to fit himself inside your snug pussy. “I’ll make sure of it, doll. How else m’gonna breed your pretty lil’ cunt?”

Your dripping cunt rubs so deliciously against his abs, slick mixing with his precum and smearing across both your bodies. Filthy, and exactly what you wanted right now. 

“Shit, love when your pussy’s so messy. Now, legs.” he rasps, with a quick smack to your thighs. And that’s all that has to be said - your queue to wrap your legs around Toji’s waist, letting his strong arms lift you with ease. Splitting you apart deeper and deeper onto his cock, veins rubbing so deliciously against all the right spots. A maddening little bump! bump! bump! matching your heartbeat. 

“Ah! Hngh- Fuck fuck fuck, m’so full.” you keen, heels digging into his hips. 

Sliding down his cock far enough that his heavy balls meet your ass, already so wet with precum and slick. Ah, you were so full of him you almost felt like he was pushing against your lungs.

“Oh, yes.” Toji hisses, throwing his head back. “Fucking finally.” Finally he gets what he’s been aching for ever since those three gremlins stepped out the door. All the blood draining to his cock at the idea of fucking his cum into you till you couldn’t walk. Till you were so full of him that he was the only one you could think of. Hey, he needed to get some attention before the baby arrives, right?

“Need this s’bad. Fuck.” he gasps. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, shallow, desperate little grinds of his hips. “Gonna fuck a baby into you, you little slut. Fill you up with my seed till you can’t take it anymore.”

Neat little crescents of his fingernails on your ass as his thrusts get longer, more purposeful. Twitching balls smacking against your skin in such a lewd rhythm, matching the cute little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time his fat head hits your cervix. So deliciously painful. 

“C’mon, ma.” Toji moans, hips out of control now. Taking in the way your head was thrown back, body bouncing each time he rammed his cock into your tight cunt. But oh how he wanted to see the fucked-out expression on your face. “Look at me.”

So cockdrunk and delirious, you barely register the way Toji cradles your head to press his sweaty forehead against yours. Only looking up at him with delirious heart-eyes as he milked himself on your sloppy pussy. 

“Shit feel s’perfect split-apart on my cock. Really made for me, huh?” he gasps into your mouth. “Need to cum in this pretty pussy. Need to fill you up- ah- need this need this- fuck.”

“Shit shit shit, Toji m’so close. I’m hngh-”

A hand hurriedly unwraps from your waist to draw rapid, desperate little patterns on your cunt. Not even circles anymore because shit Toji couldn’t think of anything aside from the way your pussy was milking him so good- And how he was gonna fuck a baby into you and Megumi was gonna be the best big brother and-

“-you’ll bake with ‘em. And I’ll tuck ‘em to bed.” the words tumble out of his lips and into your parted mouth. Pussy drunk and babbling, “N’ we’re both taking those three to the park and try not to lose ‘em.”

Dragging himself inside you till his weeping tip kisses your sloppy hole. Fingers on your clit becoming more and more frantic. Fucking you so filthy, each word punctuated by quick, harsh thrusts, “Then at night m’gonna steal you all to myself, and y’know what, ma?”

At this point you can do nothing more than just take it as Toji bounces you on his cock in midair, sobbing out a strained, “W-what, daddy?”

Toji leans impossibly closer, thumb catching on your swollen lips, breath fanning your face as he mutters, “Gonna fuck another baby into you. Fill you with my cum all over again, doll. Give it all to you.”

Now, you’ve heard of orgasms that come out of nowhere and have you seeing stars. And this was no different - yet you see the pearly gates of heaven as you cream around his cock. “Ah! Hngh m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

He lets out a guttural groan as your nails rake his back, hips stuttering and sloppy now. Breathing out raggedly, “Yeah fuck jus’ like that use me like’ that- hngh squeezing me s’tight gonna cum. Gonna give my pretty baby my cum, fuck a baby into ya- oh-”

Body bowing into yours, teething latching onto the crook of your neck, biting down right over your pulse. Fingers digging and bruising on your hips, holding your filthy pussy to his cock as he cums with a strangled moan. Hard. almost painfully so. 

White-hot pleasure behind his eyes, pumping thick, hot ropes to fill your snug cunt. Just animalistic movements from such a carnal part of himself as he fucked his seed deeper and deeper into you. 

Not even thinking of stopping even as you keen at your poor overfilled pussy. Toji’s cum dripping down your legs and onto his quivering balls as he fucks you like an animal. Over and over and-

“Hey, who said we’re done, doll?” Toji tuts mockingly, snapping you out of the haze. “Don’t pass out on me just yet.”

And you don’t even realize it before he’s manhandling you onto the nearby couch. Pulling out only admire his seed gushing out of you, so white and hot and his. Cock twitching to life at the pool of cum and slick slowly forming on the cushion below. Fuck that, you’ll need a bigger couch for five people anyway.  

Ramming his throbbing cock into your poor, swollen pussy. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and bending down down down till your knees were at your tits. 

Not even bothering to let you adjust this time before he’s fucking you again and again and maybe he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear - probably it was just promises of how he was gonna fill your pretty lil’ cunt till Megumi gets home. Promises he fully intended to fulfill. 

“Fuck. One more. G-gotta make sure it takes, ma.” he swears into your mouth. Voice jagged, and you almost couldn’t recognize it as your boyfriend’s. Barely even lucid, just mindless motions of his hips as he watched your slutty cunt suck him up so good. “Yeah, who’s cum is that, doll? Who’s that painting your pretty pussy white?”

Drinking in the sobbed out little, “Y-you, Toji! Ah- Hngh-” as he starts ravaging your swollen clit again. Toji’s balls squeeze so painfully as he fucked you like his personal sextoy. And your pussy was so heavenly around him that you were basically asking for him to go harder. Begging. Begging him to ruin you. 

“Ah! Fuck I’m-” throat shot, you can’t even form a proper sentence before you’re seeing stars being your eyes. Walls milking Toji’s thick cock as you cum - almost painfully. Mouth dropping into a fucked-out little oh! tears streaking down your face. 

Ones that Toji can’t help but lick off, salty on his tongue as he cums again. And again and again. Voice stuck in his throat, eyes widening, the veins popping out on his arms as he pulls your hips closer to his. 

Hips burning now as he breeds you like some animal. Like he was ready to fill you up until he was shooting blanks and couldn’t anymore. Cum squelching out of your sloppy pussy and seeping into where you were joined. Ah, well, the couch was ruined - time for Plan B. 

Which is why Toji found himself wrestling you onto the cool floor, cock still twitching inside you, spreading you for him on whatever flat surface he could find. Milking his cock so he can cum more than he has his whole life. 

Both of you barely lucid at this point. He wasn’t even sure if he could cum again - but by God if he wasn’t going to try. He was drunk off of the feeling inside you, so warm and wet with him. So perfect to carry his child.

“Hngh- yes yes yes wan’ carry your child, daddy.” you whine. Oh shit, had he said that out loud? Ah, who gives a fuck at this point. The only thing he cared about now was the feeling of your sloppy lil’ pussy wrapped around him and whether Megumi would want a brother or a sister. 

“Hm, yeah? Like the idea huh, you little slut. Fuck s’perfect f’me- ngh-”

Running on just the sting of your nails down his back and your legs pulling him impossibly closer. Barely even thrusting at this point, just frantic shallow, grinds to milk his swollen cock. Trying to fuck out something delicious. It hurt, but it hurt so good. 

So good that Toji doesn’t even realize when he’s cumming again. Just faint little tingles before his cock is shooting thin, long wisps of cum, making you squeeze around him as he fills you up again and again.Your own orgasm just a small spike of euphoria before he starts moving inside you. Again.  

Ah, he wonders, vision hazy at the edges - but still perfectly capturing the white gushing out of your ravaged cunt. Taking in the messy floor, and your even messier pussy. Where to next, huh? He hasn’t even fucked you in the kitchen yet.

“N-next?” you repeat, eyes widening as much as they possibly could through the exhaustion and the urge to pass out. And oh he said that out loud too? Whoops.

“Of course.” he pools the cum trickling out of you on two fingers, shoving them in your mouth. Making your head spine as you choke and gag around his thick fingers, pressing the back of your tongue. Only two things ringing in your mind, Toji’s unforgiving cock - raw and hot, dragging against your ravaged walls again and again - and the words that spill from his lips.

“Besides, we gotta practice for the fourth one, too, ma.”

A/N. Fully believe this man will fuck you till both of you pass out. 

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[misstycloud]

Platonic. Fae father

Fae father! Who loves you more than anything. He’d trade his immortality and beauty a million times if it meant saving you. It’s worth nothing if he can’t be with you.

Fae father! Who originally wasn’t very interested in you but simply didn’t have the heart to throw you to the wolves like he would if it’d been any other baby- you were his, after all. But as time passed, he found himself more enamoured with you for every second you spent together. Before he knew it, you were an irreplaceable part of his life. He can’t imagine how he managed to live for centuries without you.

Fae father! Who is very protective and while he knows you’re safer inside his territory than you’d ever be anywhere else, there’s still a possibility something could happen you you. He can’t have that happen! What if you accidentally trip on a root and scrape your knee? Sure he can heal you with his magic, but he’d rather spare you the unnecessary pain and tears.

Fae father! Is scared that you’ll leave him eventually. This is especially regarding when you’ll have grown up. He never hid your half-human side(you were bound to find out anyway, considering you didn’t have magic in the same sense as him, and your ears were slightly rounded unlike his purely pointed ones), but he’s beginning to think it was a mistake. His attempt at good parenting could backfire and you would become naturally curious as you got older. Then you would request to leave the safety and familiarity of the forest you grew up in, to go adventure beyond it and come into contact with your human side.

Fae father! Who thought about how horrible that would be. He knew the cruelty of humans. They were greedy beyond imagination and an ugly stain on the world; truly a mistake of creation. He thought about what they could potentially do to you, a wonderful, kind yet naive child. His child. You were part fae and that was obvious- if he had to be honest, he had always been happy you appeared more fae than human, it made him feel more connected to you- the price that you would go for on a market was immense. Fae father nearly faints at what kind of filth could be wanting to get their hands on you.

Fae father! Who wove to protect you at all costs- even lying and misleading you. The only way he saw to do that is to keep you in the forest; your childhood home and his domain.

“Father, what’s beyond the forest? Are there really human towns? The animals tell me they are bustling with life- and there’s so many strange and new things!” You asked your father. You two were in your favourite meadow, you sat up in the lush grass, making a flower crown.

Your father had laid down a while ago and was content with the relaxation the summer weather brought. However, the moment you began talking about humans and your curiosity for the outside world, his eyes snapped open and he, too, sat up.

He gave you a soft smile, “The animals told you that?”

You nodded vigorously. He reminded himself to warn the animals to not tell you about such things, afterwards. If he had to guess, it was most likely that damn squirrel friend of yours that didn’t know when to shut up.

“Well, dear-“ he said, finding the way you were hooked on every word incredibly endearing, “yes, there there are human settlements outside these woods. But I do not want you going anywhere near them, you hear? It’s simply not safe for you.” Your father ended the sentence with booping you on the nose.

“What? What do you mean?” You exclaimed.

He chuckled, “I am older- I have many tricks to defend myself with; you do not.”

Pouting, you crossed your arms and said in defiance, “Why would you have to defend yourself? You’re not fighting, are you?”

You father ran his hand through his long locks with a sigh. “Dear, I am afraid that might not be the case.” You looked at him in confusion. “You see, we- as in magical kind- have not been on good terms with mannkind for centuries- maybe even ever.”

You were silent, pondering over what this meant as your protector watched. Had it not been a serious subject, he would have thought about how cute you look whenever you are thoroughly grumbling over something. He took it upon himself to expand his reasonings while combing through your hair.

“We are rare, beautiful, immortal and have powers they could only dream of.” To prove his point, your father held out a seed in the palm of his hand. He closed it for a second and a green light flashed. Opening his palm again, the little seed quickly grew into a wonderful, fully grown flower in a matter of moments. “See, if they had the means to do this, then a new war would break loose every day. They are greedy and selfish and struggle because of it, while we live away from such mundane troubles.”

“But what about all those amazing things they have invented? I hear they sing and dance just like us. They have families too, just like us. They can’t all be bad!” You protested. If all those things your friends had told you were true, then you needed to know and find a way to see them for yourself.

Your father sighed once more. He appeared to be doing that a lot during your conversation. He grabbed a hold of your hand and squeezed it tight. “I understand your curiosity regarding humans- trust me, I do. I was young once upon a time, as well. You believe that I did not sneak away to peek at the towns myself?”

“You have gone there yourself?”

He nodded to confirm your question. “However, they are far from what your little friends have been tricking you into believing. They are not fun and do not sing nor dance. Like I said, they are selfish and horrible, you best stay away from them.”

“But-“ you tried.

He cut you off immediately. “-No ‘buts’. You stay away from the town, alright? Simply stay here where you’re safe. I won’t tolerate any violation of the rules when it comes to this.” He took notice of your gloomy expression and added, “It’s for your safety, nothing else. Oh, sweetie, I do wish the world was different. However, this is a truth we must face. You do understand, correct?”

Seeing your worrying father’s serious demeanor as he urged you for an answer, you looked down before saying, “Yes, Father. I won’t go into human towns. I’ll stay out of trouble.”

He sighed in relief. “Good child. Remember, I am only looking after you. I’m your father, I know what’s best for you.

[familyabolisher]

you said that you don’t take lines of questioning / thought about “romanticizing” dark topics (SA, incest, etc.) seriously. would you mind elaborating on that? what does it mean, if anything, to romanticize? i think i get why it’s a fundamentally reactionary (or just silly?) thing to be concerned about, but would you mind elaborating on why?

thanks! your posts have been very illuminating on this sort of thing.

okay so let's talk about "romanticise" as a literary discourse for a second because there are a handful of things happening with its usage:

is the assumption that there exists a state of non-'romantic' discursive matter from which something 'romantic' is being created, and the content of the text in question is the process by which that creation is happening;

is the use of 'romantic' to describe something that appears to the viewer as desirable and attractive, thus obscuring the ways in which it is harmful/abusive/violent/&c.;

is the idea that this 'romantic' state represents something morally odious due to the ideas it might impress upon the audience about the nature of the discursive matter made 'romantic' in question.

i think it's worth breaking each of these assumptions down because i don't believe that any of them actually hold water, and i find that they in fact telegraph some pretty reactionary paradigms around literary criticism.

first is the idea that there exists discursive matter that is not "romantic," here to mean suffused with cultural narratives that render it desirable, and that the matter in question only takes on these desirable qualities after undergoing this process of "romanticisation." by this logic, the matter is in fact prediscursive; the onus of constructing a “romantic” discourse lies solely with the cultural response. when in practice, normative cultural assumptions and the media that interacts with them exist in a feedback loop relative to one another, and it surely makes more productive sense to engage with the apparently objectionable material not as an object that creates or even necessarily reifies a normative cultural standard, but that interfaces with that standard in what could potentially be any number of variant forms. this widens the scope of our response as an audience—we might well say that a depiction of XYZ was tasteless, clichéd, voyeuristic, lacked interest in the interiority of its subjects, &c. &c., just as easily as we might say that it engaged with extant cultural narratives in compelling, thoughtful, meaningful ways. we're not taking the cultural object as the didactic “creation” of a social norm—we're situating it within the norms from which it already emerged.

the second is the idea that this ‘romantic,’ aesthetically desirable construction must necessarily obscure the ways in which the subject matter is harmful (however we define ‘harmful’). i find this position v condescending, towards creator and audience alike—one way of crafting horror that can be really exceptional when done right is the total sealing-off of the narrative from any didactic intervention, any suggestion that what's being depicted is morally “wrong.” the dissonance between subject matter and audience—and/or between subject matter and creator—can be brilliant when you can have faith that that dissonance exists. audiences aren't little babies who learn our morals from our media; we're prepared to critically engage with and respond to a discourse presented to us. as i said above, doing away with this whole “romantic” sheen as an obfuscator of violence opens us up to new, more precise, more compelling readings.

the third – and imo, the most damnatory – is the suggestion that the narrative itself represents a potential site of harm due to the underlying ideology that it imposes on those who engage with it. like, we're still adopting this approach whereby we construct and engage with narratives for instructive purposes; if we see a depiction of sexual abuse that renders the abuse pleasurable, aesthetically pleasing, desirable, then we absorb this idea that sexual abuse is pleasurable and aesthetically pleasing and desirable and thus covet the position of the subject in question. i don't think this is necessarily true! i'm obviously not suggesting that we don't absorb and reproduce our cultural narratives in media – as i said in the first point, there exists a feedback loop between the two – but i think we as audiences and critics ought to think more highly of ourselves than to imagine that we are incapable of seeing some fucked up shit given an aesthetic gloss without asking why the aesthetic gloss is being used, how the creator is making use of perspective, how we might respond to it, etc. and i just don't think narratives ought to be instructive or didactic; nor do i think creators bear responsibility for how their work is received to the extent that they are obliged to orient their discourse towards a presumed impressionable individual for whom every action or aesthetic contrivance is a categorical imperative. this is the oldest and honestly the most boring debate in the book; the question of "moralism" in fiction has been done half to death by now, and i don't see any use in rehashing it to any significant extent. suffice it to say that the “moralist” approach is stultified and limited and intellectually dull.

note that nowhere in this did i say that there are never narratives that ought to be called into question for their depiction of X, Y, or Z; just that i think we need better, more precise language to defer to do when we do so. simply put, i think it's possible to make a piece of art that holds these “romantic” qualities, and doesn't have a guy walk in midway through and go “by the way, abuse is Bad/age gaps are Problematic/mental illness is Unsexy,” &c., and still greatly compel me wrt its subject matter. & that is a statement which exists in straightforward contradiction to the idea that the term “romanticise” communicates anything necessarily and inherently condemnatory about a text, so, i don't use it.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Taking Care

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit, RAPE/NON-CON

Summary: Commissioned by an anonymous user. Dabi and Shigaraki didn't start their working relationship off on the best foot, and to be perfectly honest, his view of his new boss isn't exactly favorable. But Shigaraki does seem to be trying to do better by the League, and him, in his own way. It's probably not his fault that he was socialized to be a total creep too. Dabi really shouldn't have given him the benefit of the doubt.

Contents: RAPE/NON-CON, brief descriptions of violence and vomiting, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, non-consensual body modification, natural lubrication, anal sex, anal fingering, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia, creampie, brief feminization, molestation, abusive relationships, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, yandere!Shigaraki, dead dove: do not eat

Word Count: 10871

He is never gonna say that he 'hit it off' with the boss when they first met. Though, Dabi will say that's in part to the fact he could very clearly tell that Shigaraki wasn't the boss. He was just another over-confident jackass who had a bigger villain actually calling the shots from the shadows, and Dabi can't stand working with people like that. The guy's fucking second was giving him orders and trying to coach him into making smarter choices in his villainy and stepped in and stopped their fight before they could even really get started, and Dabi was left with a bad taste in his mouth and with the constant thought that the boss was a little pathetic. But the League was offering room and board, and a chance to fuck with UA again, even targeting his father's perfect creation, and Dabi had stuck around anyway. 

And for a month, his image of who Shigaraki was did not get any more flattering. He was absolutely a puppet for AFO and a spoiled brat on top of that. He felt entitled to anything he wanted and no one had ever told him 'no' or had shown him how that wasn't how the world actually worked. Well. It's not how the world is supposed to work, but Shigaraki does get whatever he wants as long as he proves to AFO he actually put at least a tiny crumb of effort into why he wants whatever it is that he's asking after. Dabi hates that too, but he keeps his mouth shut. The rest of the League is made of people so clearly desperate for somewhere to belong, and wanting to ensure their youngest members aren't exposed to the truly heinous parts of this world, that they are softening the work for them and trying to grow into a close-knit crew. But Dabi doesn't have the time or any interest in that bullshit. If he's joining a crew backed by AFO it's all going to be in service of ensuring that he burns Endeavor alive. He doesn't bother 'bonding' with the rest of them, he just works to ensure that he gets what he wants out of this arrangement. 

He feels like that might be happening when Shigaraki ends up making him the leader for the summer camp job. He isn't sure why he chose him over Compress, but he doesn't give a shit if it means he gets to be in control of how they hit the camp and who they go after primarily. He can make sure he's the one to see Shoto. The downside of all of this is that he also has to spend long hours planning with Shigaraki. They do most of it after the others have cleared out or gone to bed for the night, assessing their skills during the day, and planning around them at night where they don't have to worry about them confusing brainstorming for their final orders. Dabi doesn't love spending hours with Duster at night, but at least when they aren't being watched by AFO or Kurogiri, Shigaraki forces himself to behave a bit better. He acts more like an adult and less like the teenager he still is. 

It's during one of those late night planning sessions Dabi stretches, cracking his back, and feels his shirt ride up a bit. When he glances back, he can see that Duster is watching him. It's automatic to flip him off as he speaks, "What are you staring at, handjob?" 

"How far do your scars go?" And Shigaraki, among many other things, is incredibly blunt, so Dabi really isn't surprised that he'd asked. 

"None of your business, weirdo." They're sitting at the bar and he's ready to get up and head to bed, the two of them having gotten to a good stopping point for the night, when Shigaraki leans over and cages Dabi against the edge. He automatically tries to twist away, his temperature spiking hotter, as four cool fingers brush his side and start to push up his shirt. "What the fuck--" 

"Hold still or I may slip." Shigaraki's voice is flat and almost bored as he slides Dabi's shirt up his chest and side, red eyes dragging over him, far too intense for the tone he'd used. Dabi goes stock still as his deadly hand moves up his body until his shirt is pressed up beneath his arm, and Shigaraki hums, the other palm moving over his skin. He doesn't know what the other wants from him but he really doesn't want to end up dead because he's careless with his quirk. "You're already so damaged--" Dabi didn't know he could bristle any further, but he feels smoke and sparks behind his tongue as he grits his teeth. "If I don't know how bad it is, then I can't help make sure it doesn't get any worse." He brushes his thumb gently over one of the lines of staples curving over his side, and Dabi's anger, his breath, catches in the back of his throat. 

That's what this is? Concern? Some deeply weird, fucked up version of it from how poorly socialized Shigaraki is, but still. Concern all the same. Duster's hand moves over his chest, flicking his thumb over his nipple with a little snort as he does, sending an uncomfortable twinge across his nerves as the piercing there makes him so sensitive the bud hardens immediately. He only has three fingers against him then, and Dabi feels safe enough to bat away the touch. 

"Hands off, freak. I don't need you to take care of me. I know what I can handle." 

"I'm going to take care of you anyway." Shigaraki tells him without a hint of irony. "So you can tell me what you need, or I can figure it out for myself." He doesn't stop Dabi as he straightens his shirt and slips from the stool, fully intending to go upstairs and get stoned before going to sleep. 

"Whatever." He doesn't want Shigaraki, AFO, or the League to know anything about him. It'll just make it harder to escape them if he decides they aren't his best option in the long run. He heads upstairs and Shigaraki doesn't stop him. 

///

After that, though, he starts to notice little things that change around the base. Only he and the vampire kid are living here for the time being, and he really doubts she's the one who put a fancy antibiotic wound cream in the medicine cabinet of their shared bathroom, sitting right next to his toothbrush. For a second, out of sheer stubbornness, Dabi considers ignoring it. He is perfectly capable of taking care of himself and he doesn't need a brat like Shigaraki thinking that he's reliant on him for anything. But the logical part of his mind knows that he should take whatever help he can get. The whole point of being here is to get strong enough to kill his father. If he wants to do that then having his skin falling off is only going to make it more difficult. 

He starts to use the wound cream and realizes over the course of a week and the wave of exhaustion and relief that comes in its wake, that keeping his body at a low fever was only keeping weak infections at bay. They were still there and fighting to really make him sick for, well, he's guessing it's been a long time. But the medicine actually kills them and starts to let him heal a bit. Which, in turn, makes him fucking exhausted and starving all the time. He's been trying to eat better here now that he has access to non-spoiled food readily all the time, but he has an appetite for the first time since he was a kid. 

And he doesn't mention that, doesn't usually eat around the others, but he starts to notice the fridge and pantry is stocked with more and more every week. Healthy things, for the most part, but tons of protein bars, fruit, and the like, some of which he recognizes as brands that his father and other heroes endorsed because they helped them to put on and maintain a healthy weight and muscle mass. Dabi is thin as a rail, a side-effect from three years in a coma and seven starving on the streets, but maybe... maybe he can put on a little more muscle if he takes advantage of this. So he uses his phone to look up how to recover from long-term malnutrition and how to safely get his body used to a calorie surplus instead of a deficit. 

And about two weeks after Shigaraki felt him up while they were alone, he tells the entire group that they have a doctor-- the one who makes nomu, but is apparently a real doctor during office hours-- who is happy to see them all for check-ups. Dabi wants to be annoyed about that, but Magne perks up immediately and asks when the soonest she can get in is. So maybe, just maybe, this isn't actually Duster taking the opportunity to show him that he absolutely meant what he said before. Maybe he just actually wants to make sure they're in better condition than the first group he took to UA was. 

It doesn't mean he isn't acutely aware of how smug Shigaraki seems when Twice is bitching a few weeks later as he re-takes Dabi's measurements, the old ones no longer sufficient because of how much healthier he's gotten since he took them before. 

///

Hitting the summer camp is exhilarating. Getting to overcome forty students and six pros with a crew of nine outshines whatever the fuck Shigaraki had been trying to do in his original debut. Being able to snatch their main target and getting to stand there and watch his brother, his father's perfect creation, desperate and failing, had put a delight under his skin he wouldn't have words for if he ever were asked to describe it. But he locks that away and acts as unaffected as he always strives for, especially with AFO breathing down their neck as they get back to base. 

They get the kid situated, debrief, prep for the next steps of their plan, and try to get some rest. Even without three of their number returning, it was a resounding success as far as their leader and his teacher are concerned. 

And when that all falls apart, Dabi is out for the majority of the fight. 

He wakes up, his head throbbing, the room spinning, and desperately needing to puke, which he does almost immediately, barely managing to roll onto his side to keep from choking on it, and definitely splashing the side of Duster's sneaks with sick. But he doesn't get decayed for that. Shig just gives him a tissue from his coat pocket and reaches over for a water bottle. He doesn't have any pain medicine, not that Dabi expected that given they're hiding out in what appears to be an abandoned warehouse, but it would have been a nice surprise. He sits up a little, and Shigaraki helps him, one hand staying at the back of his neck, palm cool, and thumb rubbing soothing circles there like that could help take away the ache in his skull. 

Dabi swishes the first sip around in his mouth and spits further away from them to clear the taste before actually drinking some of the water and wiping up his mouth. "Sorry," because he might not like the guy most of the time, but he doesn't hate him enough to think he deserves to get puked on when he clearly got him out of getting arrested while he was knocked out. "What happened?" 

Duster reaches over and sticks a hand into Dabi's coat pocket, which even through his headache, sends a mixture of amusement and annoyance through him, before he draws out his cigs. And yeah, fine, he could definitely use one of those too. He sets a spark on his finger and lights up for them both, and Shigaraki actually takes his mask off so he can smoke before he starts to speak. 

///

Which is how the kind of good thing that the League had going, turns to absolute shit. He doesn't hesitate to stress that them traveling in a big group like this is going to make it damn near impossible for them to actually move without being spotted, and since they're currently going to be on a cross-country tour to try and find someone who will actually give them an ounce of the resources that AFO promised to his supposed successor, splitting up is their best option. If he does this entirely so he can make sure he is as far away from the rest of them as possible as they get a taste of the way that he's been living for the past seven years, then that's his business. But Shigaraki only lets him go under the guise of 'recruiting', like they could get anyone that wasn't complete trash to join up with them now. 

But that's what he's off doing when Shigaraki calls him in the middle of the night. He killed a few potential recruits today, using his flames to burn their heads from their shoulders, and going through their pockets yielded him enough cash to get a motel for the night and a real meal, so he's honestly doing better than he has been for a while, and it's deeply tempted to not answer his phone and just enjoy the rest of his night in limited luxury. But when the first call goes to voicemail, it immediately starts ringing again so he huffs and snags it off the sheets, cig between his lips and taking a deep pull before he answers, 

"What, Shigaraki?"

There's a slight pause and then he hears Shigaraki let out a slow, low breath. "Magne's dead."

And Dabi is suddenly a lot less annoyed with the call. 

Shig explains what happened, Twice not communicating with him or Duster, Overhaul being more than they thought they were getting involved with, Magne and Compress rushing in to defend the group, and Magne being splattered all across the warehouse. It sounds horrifying and all, and the group is apparently using the last of their funds on a back alley medic for Compress so that he doesn't bleed out or die of an infection. 

"What about after?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Once Compress is stable-- What are you doing after?" There's another pause and Dabi feels his temperature starting to creep a bit higher. "The fucking dregs of the Yakuza just killed and injured members of your crew-- if anyone finds out about that after the shitshow you and your teacher put on in Kamino, then we are all fucked. The League has already lost almost all of our credibility after you used us to build it up again after your first fuckup at UA." 

"Dabi--" And he can hear him scratching at his skin, can hear that venom starting to build in his voice that usually precedes one of his temper tantrums. But Dabi isn't Kurogiri or All For One, and he's not in this game to cater to anyone else's ego ever again. 

"Shut the fuck up." He snaps before the other can get going, and the hiss of his voice actually does stop the other man in his tracks. "You're the leader, no more 'second tries', no more 'do-overs', no more fucking training wheels. You either figure out how to fucking lead this group, do what you fucking said you were going to, and be worth our time-- or you cut us loose, Shigaraki. We aren't just characters in your games that you can move around however you feel like. We're your crew, you have a responsibility to take care of us and when you don't-- Your actions have consequences, and it's about fucking time you grow up and start acting like it." He doesn't even wait to see how that lands. He hangs up, turns off his phone, and goes to take a cold shower before he literally sets himself on fire again from his fury. 

///

He doesn't hear from Shigaraki or the rest of the League for nearly a month. Instead he gives up on the pretense of recruiting for the League, goes back to his old haunts and takes whatever arson jobs he can get. Unsurprisingly, after word has spread about what he did at the summer camp, he has a lot more opportunities for those kinds of jobs than he did before. Dabi doesn't like that this is what he's left doing, but he will do whatever he needs to in order to survive. He just didn't think he would be back in survival mode so soon. He thought that he was finally setting himself up to be the monster he always promised his father he would come back as. But he is making due. As fucking always. 

He probably should have ditched the phone that he was given, but he figures that if Shigaraki is so useless, then it's unlikely that he'll have gotten back any of the resources he needs in order to use it to track him. And he's not in the position to throw out a perfectly good phone when he's still squatting in abandoned buildings for at least three nights a week when he can't find or afford a shady enough motel to stay in. Dabi is in an empty apartment building, glass and worse is scattered across the first floor, and the the windows are all boarded up, but he has a pretty good idea of when a building has been in disrepair for long enough that it's likely to fall on his head, and he figures it's safe enough to go up a few levels. He almost laughs when he finds a door someone locked that whoever went through the place and cleared out, didn't bother to open, and he melts the handle right off and goes inside. The lock and whatever fear of the upper levels other people had, kept this room from being trashed, and he throws his backpack into a corner of the one room that has carpet. It's not much, but he'll be happy to have something soft under him besides his coat. 

He's settling in for the night, a protein bar shoved between his teeth as he uses his hand-crank battery pack so that his phone will be able to charge while he's sleeping, when said device begins to ring. It does that occasionally, but it's usually someone contacting him for a new arson job. This is the first time he's seen Shigaraki's name appear on his caller ID in ages. Dabi sincerely considers not bothering to answer him. It's an impulse, a whim, maybe a little bit of hubris because he's curious to see if Duster is calling to grovel for him to come back because everything's falling apart even worse since he left, but he answers anyway.

"What do you want, Shigaraki?"

"Dabi," And Shig sounds a little breathless for a second, and Dabi is about to hang up because if he is being chased down by heroes or something, Dabi is going to burn his phone and chuck it out of the nearest window. "I've been working on making sure that the League gets reparations for what happened to Magne and Compress. We're on the verge of using the heroes to destroy the Yakuza and obtaining a new weapon that is capable of destroying quirks." He takes a breath and continues, more evenly, "In two days we're going to destroy the last of the Yakuza on a public stage, we can do that without you, but I want you with me."

There's something about the intensity in his voice, something that eclipses anything that he heard from him in Kamino, and the part of his mind that has been looking out and trying to protect him since he ended up on the streets, stirs restlessly in the back of his mind. But the more immediate part of him is curious, if nothing else. "How exactly are you gonna do that, Duster?"

And Shigaraki starts to explain his plan and what the League have been up to in his absence.

///

Two days later he is warring with the exhilaration in his body from putting on such a display, seeing Shigaraki and Compress tear Overhaul's arms off, and the constant, and heavy motion sickness that keeps going through him from Spinner's awful driving. It's really a lot, and he's so glad that when they lose the cops and teleport to the base that Shigaraki and the others have been using-- an empty administration building on the edge of an abandoned warehouse district that has two shower stalls in the boys and girls' bathrooms and that they've scrounged around to find any vague cushioned furniture so they would have something better than the floor to sleep on-- Toga and Twice really do want to go shower and recenter themselves after a month undercover in a high-stress environment before the League celebrates the end of such a long plan that's finally come to fruition. Spinner goes to ditch the car and Compress goes to use his still lightning fast sticky-fingers, and his maskless face to go steal them some libations and food for the celebration. Which means he somehow ends up 'alone' with Shigaraki. 

He hasn't been alone with Shigaraki since he walked into this shitty little hideout yesterday afternoon, and that had been kind of by design. He still doesn't know what to think about the fact that the rest of the League treated him like he's been out trying to recruit and gather resources for the group this whole time, like he didn't just fully abandon them and make his own way when he realized how utterly fucked they would be under Shigaraki's leadership without AFO at least funding them in their downtime to make that worth it. He is fully planning on just going into the corner and taking a nap while Duster plays his game or something, when Shigaraki catches him with four fingers around his wrist. Dabi's temperature creeps up, ready to turn the hand into ash if he tries to close his fingers around his wrist. 

"Let go." 

"You're not going to leave again." He tells him, and Dabi is reminded again that he and the League are the first people Shigaraki has ever had to deal with who could say 'no' to him if they wanted to. He thinks this socially inept loser is actually asking him, maybe pleading, for him to stay after being down a valuable player for over a month. 

Dabi eyes him. Shigaraki isn't wearing his mask at the moment and his eyes are intense as they search his face. He pulls at his hand, and Shig's grip tightens for a second before he lets go. But his fingers follow his skin even as he pulls away, the pads of his fingers brushing down the back of his hand. "Depends on if you can make this arrangement worth my time again." 

"I'll be worth it." He promises. "I'll take care of you." 

The intensity of the words makes something in him wary, but a larger part does feel some measure of smug satisfaction that his words, of all things, were what were able to snap Shigaraki from the pampered delusion of his youth. Good. Still. Dabi scoffs and rolls his eyes, going to claim the cushiest couch for himself. "Yeah? We'll see about that, Duster." He grumbles before getting on the couch and turning away from him. He fully intends to sleep while he can. The rest of the League hasn't figured out that they need to take rest whenever they can get it because at any second they could be on the run, but that's not his responsibility to teach them. 

Duster leaves him be as he curls up, but Dabi swears he feels his eyes on him the entire time it takes for him to actually pass out.

///

He does stick with the League after that. He isn't sure he meant to, but Shigaraki always keeps him close. He never lets on to the others that Dabi is always a split second from abandoning them, and they seem to think he's part of their big happy 'family'. He's only allowed to go out recruiting when the League is getting ready to leave a location, and then he meets up with hopefuls in an assigned location that Shigaraki has picked out, close enough for the League to be nearby, just in case he needs assistance. Dabi can't say he loves being babied, but he understands why Shigaraki and the rest of the League are so worried about him going off on his own. He just hopes they get over it soon as he burns another group of eight hopefuls to death. He uses the last of his flames to light a cig and starts to head down the alley. 

"Well, if that's the rejection process, I might have my work cut out for me." He doesn't recognize the voice immediately, and that means he isn't shy about sending a blast off in that direction so hot that he knows it can cause concrete to crumble. There's a blur of red and yellow and his eyes track it to the opposite end of the building, a blur that he is not happy about seeing is the number two hero lands there. He has his hands up in surrender as he crouches on the edge of the building, a dumb, goofy smile on his lips. "Whoa there, hot stuff! I came for a chat, and you're really gonna blow both our covers if you set fire to half of the street." 

"Back off hero, or I'll turn you into fried chicken." 

"That is my favorite food, but not really what I'm going for." He resituates himself on the edge of the building, sitting on the ledge and kicking his feet like he's got nothing to worry about. Like Dabi doesn't know that birds burn. "I was hoping we could have a chat about how interested the League of Villains would be in having a hero in their ranks." 

And Dabi knows heroes better than any of the League. He knows the awful things they get up to behind closed doors, he knows how corrupt the HPSC is, and he knows that no matter how talented he is, Hawks should have never climbed the charts so quickly after his debut, and definitely didn't do it without someone's help. "You want to join the League?" He wonders if the others are close enough today to hear that. 

"Sure do, hot stuff. I--" he definitely has his whole speech ready to go and whatever, but Dabi cuts him off. 

"Then you can go through our official channels and prove you’re worth my time." He takes a few steps forward, very clearly still heading to leave. "You start proving you want a working relationship by letting me fucking leave." And the bird's wings fluff a little, twitching with his agitation as this very clearly doesn't go the way he was trained to expect it would. Dabi raises a brow at him and ashes his cig. 

"And how do I go through your 'official' channels?" 

"If you're worth the League's time, then you'll figure that out like even those ash smears did, pigeon." He says blandly and starts to walk. 

Thankfully, Hawks lets him go, and Dabi makes sure he's lost his tail before he goes back to the others. 

///

He's not expecting Shigaraki to look half-crazed when he gets back to base, but as soon as he's inside, the other man is catching his wrist and dragging him right off into the nearest mostly private area in the base. Duster has gotten worse and worse about invading his personal space, but he doesn't put up a fight this time as he cages him up against a wall, eyes wide and desperate as they look at him like he doesn't know if Dabi is real. 

"You aren't going out on any more recruitment jobs, you're staying with me." 

"If I don't go out you're gonna have to send Twice, and we all know how well that went last time." He only lets himself be that cruel because he knows that no one else is around. "Besides, having a spy-- even an untrustworthy one-- could help us get access to more--" 

"No." And he has never heard or seen Shigaraki have such vitriol in a word, not even when talking about destroying All Might at the beginning. "He's the fastest hero in Japan. He could have killed you, he could have taken you away, I am not risking losing you, Dabi. We're leaving tonight, and you're going to stay close so that I can keep you safe." 

A part of Dabi really wants to protest that. He wants to snap at Shigaraki and tell him that he doesn't need to be watched like he can't take care of himself, but there's another part that can't help feeling a little... good from how protective Duster has been since he started to get his shit together. He may have swung hard in the opposite direction of treating the League like pawns, but the fact he changed his outlook at all means that he really is listening to them when they talk. He needs to find a happy medium, but Dabi thinks he will the longer that he has to figure things out. "...Fine." It's not like he really thought Hawks was a good idea. 

Duster lets out a breath, slow and even, and hides away the desperate thing he just showed him. Dabi expects that to be it, but Shig reaches for his face. He's pretty sure he's the only one who Shigaraki touches so much, but he tries to ignore that as his cool knuckles brush over the back of his cheek. "Stay with me?" 

"You're such a freak. I'm not going anywhere." He rolls his eyes, batting away his hand before he feels how his temperature started to creep higher. 

But he keeps his word. He doesn't go out recruiting again, he ignores the calls from an unknown number that try to come through, he sticks with the League. Shigaraki always seems to be hovering around him and in his space, orbiting him like he's the center of his whole world and the new version of himself and the organization that he's starting to build. Dabi can't say he hates that. He hasn't been important to anyone for so long, so he stays, and the League grows, and Shigaraki changes. 

///

They take over the MLA, they heal from their injuries, they are able to gather resources and plan their attack. And when they do, it's with Shigaraki fully nomu, with all of AFO's quirks at his disposal. It's a year of planning and everything else, but in one year, they are ready for their war. It only takes Shigaraki one hour to kill Best Jeanist, Hawks, Eraser Head, Mirko, and half a dozen other less well-known heroes. He even harvests the ones that he can, their broken bodies being snatched from the battlefield by the doctor for future nomu. And in the middle of all of that, Shigaraki having teleported around to find his targets and get the heroes more and more on edge and scrambling, their soldiers were moving in, destroying local police and hero agencies, cutting into infrastructure and wiping out power in large sections of the country. But in all the ones that do still have power, when Endeavor is called to the HPSC building because the world is burning all around them, Dabi airs his video, he tells the world his name. 

And he and Endeavor die together just the way he'd always planned. 

///

There is a persistent, and unfamiliar, ache under his skin. The air feels like it's a little too warm, and there is a heavy exhaustion throughout him. Hands move over his skin, firm and bringing with them a soft towel that he realizes is wiping away something from his body that feels oily and is filling his nose with an unfamiliar chemical smell. But he doesn't hurt. All he remembers from the moment just after he watched his blue flames boil Enji's eyes out of his skull until the sockets were spilling cerulean fire, was a sharp satisfaction and an overwhelming pain as they both crumbled away to ash. He opens his eyes, surprised that he still has his, and finds himself looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling. The lights aren't too high, and he tries to figure out what's going on. 

Shigaraki is leaning over him, washing away a thin purple liquid from his naked skin, and Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat. He was definitely missing limbs by the time he had his father pinned, his skin was gone in so many places. But it wasn't smooth and black like it is now. There are patches of skin, like there were before, that are still his original skin tone, but the rest of it doesn't look like the knotted scar tissue he knows to expect. There are no staples either, just faint lines of pink scars around where the different sections meet.

"You're finally awake, firefly." Duster's voice is breathless as he sees his eyes open, as he shifts to feel how this is his body, he can feel it all, can see himself. 

"What--" 

Shigaraki's hand curls around the back of his neck and Dabi is speechless as he leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead. "It doesn't matter. You're here, and I promise I'm never going to stop taking care of you." He rests their foreheads together, and Dabi is still and silent because he has no idea what he should do as he grapples with the fact he's still alive. 

///

Shigaraki, seeing as Dabi's awake, helps him into a fancy bathroom off of the side of the lavish room, making him sit on a shower stool, but letting him wash away the lingering liquid as he calls in the doctor. Dabi knows what happened to him before he speaks to Ujiko. Looking in the mirror, seeing the sections of his body that have the distinct skin of a nomu, seeing out of eyes he's certain should have been destroyed-- he knows that Shigaraki or someone must have pulled him out of the crater that was supposed to be his and Enji's gravesite, and send him to be fixed. They brought him back from the brink of death. Dabi isn't sure if he's happy about that or not. 

But he cleans himself up and submits himself to testing. He's the same kind of nomu Shigaraki is. His physical strength will be insane, he shouldn't have any worries about rejecting the other tissue that was grafted on him. He will be ageless, healthy, and stable for as long as he lives, and as long as he checks in with the doctor from time to time if he does notice anything strange. And then the doc leaves and it's just him and Shigaraki alone again. There's a strange numbness that has gone through him throughout his waking and he doesn't know where to even start with it. All he manages to do is turn to Duster and ask, 

"What happened?" 

Shigaraki threads their fingers together, no longer needing to worry about his quirk destroying anything he doesn't want it to, and smiles at him, warmer and realer than any he's ever seen on the other man's face before. "We won, firefly." 

///

He finds out over the course of the next two weeks that the League, Shigaraki, didn't just win, he devastated Japan, and every foreign military that tried to come into the country to stop him. He ensured that all of his people would have exactly what they needed and over the course of the twenty-two months that Dabi was in the tank and being treated by the doctor, Shigaraki has started rebuilding Japan with himself as its king. He is actually the king now, and the only heroes left in the country are the ones who are being systematically hunted down by his people. He took the world for himself and shattered it into pieces, but he's creating something new now. The others are all off doing their own work to those ends, and none of them know about Dabi surviving what was supposed to be his final fight. 

"I knew I would bring you back," Duster tells him. They're sitting out on the porch that wraps around Shigaraki's house. It's not a palace, though it's essentially treated as such by the rest of the world, it's just a nice house sitting on top of a mountain. On top of Sekoto Peak. Because Shigaraki wanted something here for him after finding out who he was. They don't have to stay here if he doesn't want to, they can go anywhere, he can have whatever he wants. But Dabi just feels numb. He wasn't supposed to live to see the end of the war, the rebuilding efforts, and it feels like every ounce of drive that was in him from before has been stolen away. He keeps wondering if he could burn himself again faster than this new body could regenerate. He wonders even if he did, if Shigaraki would just spend another two years fixing him. "But I didn't know how long it would take. I wanted them to go out and build their own lives now that they can without fear." 

Shigaraki is holding his hand. He holds his hand a lot. Runs his knuckles over the back of his cheek, catches him around the back of his neck and presses kisses to his forehead. Dabi keeps meaning to rebuff whatever weird familiarity Shigaraki is displaying, but he feels like all the things he notices about his surroundings are being filtered in through a fog, and he forgets about saying something because he doesn't even think to until hours after the touch happened.

"I can call them back, when you're ready to see them." 

Dabi doesn't know if he's ever going to be ready for that. He hasn't even asked what happened to the rest of his family after he killed Endeavor, and Shigaraki hasn't offered the information either. If he can't manage that, he doesn't know how he's going to even pretend to not be numb when the others see him. 

///

He's been awake for a month in this haze, so thick that he actually did ask Shigaraki to bring the doctor back again because he was kind of worried that his brain was going the way that the gray and black nomus do. But Ujiko had just looked at him with barely constrained pity and informed him he was showing symptoms of depression. Dabi had let out a bark of laughter at that, and it was the first time he'd laughed since he woke up. It felt like glass shards in his throat, and did not convince anyone that he was alright. He tries to get given work to do, something, anything to try and make this awful numbness go away. But working on how to run a country is no more or less exciting than running the PLF, especially since Shigaraki is still keeping him secret. 

He tries to train, and when Duster sees him going outside, he catches both of his hands and pulls him to a stop. 

"What?" He asks, barely registering it as he pulls him in closer, and brings his knuckles up to his lips. He needs to tell Shigaraki to stop doing that. 

"You can't train, firefly." 

"Why not?" 

"After how badly you hurt yourself, do you really think I would let you have your quirk?" Shigaraki says, pressing his cheek to his knuckles. "No, precious. You can have it back when you're all better and I know I can trust you again." 

And the first flicker of something cuts through his numbness. A sharp, hot indignation that-- that doesn't make his temperature creep higher from his quirk. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He snaps, yanking his hands away from the other. "You don't get to choose if I deserve my quirk or not--" that anger, that spark, takes away the numbness that he has been drowning in for so long now. "You don't get to decide if I live or die! You shouldn't have brought me back! I wanted to die! I meant to die! You took everything from me!" His face doesn't hurt when the tears start to slip down his cheeks and he wipes at his cheek with horror, seeing translucent, healthy tears on the back of his hand. Duster took away every inch of him, replaced the things that were broken but were his, with something that so clearly–

Shigaraki catches his wrist again, squeezing hard enough that Dabi gasps as he feels his bones grind against each other as he does it. Red eyes burn into his as he yanks Dabi closer, his other hand clasping around the opposite bicep in the same bruising grip. "I took care of you. I took care of the League. I made certain that you would be safe. You're mine," he tells him, and there is a madness in his eyes as he says it. Something that puts a sharp spike of fear in him and-- and reminds him of how his father used to look at his mother before Shoto was born. 

Dabi only lets out a thin whimper, a sound he's never heard himself make before as he's held helpless in Shigaraki's grip. It doesn't matter if they're the same breed of nomu, Shigaraki has All For One, he's holding him. He could kill Dabi right now if he wanted. And then he could bring him back and do it again. 

The mania in his eyes dulls a bit. He pushes it away, and they go to that unbearable softness again. Duster sighs quietly and loosens his grip before shifting a hand to his chin. "I know that you're not feeling well, precious." He says, pressing a kiss to his cheek, breaking a stream of his tears. "I'm sorry for yelling. Why don't you come with me to the kitchen and I'll make you some tea?" 

Dabi tests his limits, and is allowed to pull out of his grip. He doesn't have words as he shakes his head slightly and flees back to his room, but at least Shigaraki doesn't stop him from going.

///

It takes him hours after dark for him to be able to curl up in his bed and try to go to sleep. He kept ignoring Shigaraki's weird behaviors before because he just thought the guy was poorly socialized, but now he realizes that he's the only one he touched like that. That he never did it in front of any of the others either. He doesn't know what the others would think about this, but he wants out now. He just doesn't know how he's going to get it. Shigaraki owns Japan. He's in charge of everything, which means that unless he is willing to learn how to get by on his physical strength alone, lose his quirk forever, and be willing to kill the League and whoever else Duster sends after him, there is nowhere in all of Japan where he can go. 

He isn't asleep, not when those thoughts are rolling around in his head, but he is dazed and bleary when all of the sudden his bed dips. Dabi jolts, turning, trying to lash out with his quirk, and not finding it again as Shigaraki gets into bed with him. He catches his arm as he swings it towards him and barely blinks before he leans over him, his other hand against the mattress and caging him in. "It's just me, precious." 

A sharp fear he's never felt before starts in his gut and Dabi tries to pull his hand away, but he's held in place so that he can't sit up, "Shigaraki, get out of my room." His voice sounds thinner with that fear. He needs to break whatever delusional claim the other man thinks he has over him before this gets any more out of hand. "I don't want you in here." 

"I know you're upset, sweetheart," Dabi is far more than that when Shigaraki calls him that as he shifts closer. He tries to squirm out from under him, but the other man is so much stronger than him, and he keeps him exactly where he wants him on the bed as he forces a leg up between one of Dabi's own and pins him to the bed with his weight. Terror sears across his nerves and he tries to fight harder, tries to tap into the strength that this body is supposed to have, but he doesn't make the other flinch in the slightest as he does. "But I don't want you to go to bed angry." With him pinned from the waist down, Shigaraki reaches for his chin and holds him still. "I know this isn't what you planned, I know that taking away your quirk doesn't seem fair, but, precious, can you blame me?" 

He sounds like this is all perfectly reasonable, like Dabi is the one who is being insane. 

"When you had it before, you were going to kill yourself, baby. You were going to leave me. After you promised you weren't going anywhere." He leans closer and Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat. "You said you would stay, firefly." There is a sharper ache in the look that he gives him now. "I need you with me, precious." He doesn't wait for Dabi to try to find his words, he just holds him still as his lips seal over his. 

Dabi keeps his lips pressed tight, he tries to turn away, but the grip on his chin holds him still as Duster kisses his mouth. He kisses him like this is something he's been waiting to do for so long, and a horrible sickness goes through him as he wonders if he did wait to do this, or if the reason he had been so unfazed by cleaning him up and helping him shower, was because he's already had his fill of his body while he was sleeping. Shigaraki doesn't care how unresponsive he is, he shifts his fingers up his jaw so he can press hard at the hinge of it, until Dabi knows his bones will break, or he'll have to open his mouth. The sharp pain is enough to have his eyes watering again, and his mouth opens with a sob. 

Shigaraki doesn't care. He licks into his mouth, holding his jaw open so that Dabi can't even try to bite him, as he licks deep inside. Duster takes like cold rain, and Dabi feels like that flavor is somehow sinking through his skin and all the way down to his bones. He wishes he were still feeling so numb as he lets go of Dabi's wrist to shift closer instead. Dabi tries to push against him, tries to pull on his hair or scratch his nails through his shirt, he tries to get away. He tries. Shigaraki doesn't even seem to notice. 

He pulls away, resting their foreheads together. "I've been waiting for you for so long, precious. I was so scared that I wouldn't get to make this new world for you."

Dabi shakes his head, weakly, tears dripping off his cheeks. "Shigaraki, let go of me, please." 

"Never again, firefly." He promises, kissing at the tracks of them again. "The whole world is mine now, and I've been waiting so long to share it with you." He strokes his thumb over his cheek and kisses the edge of his lips. "My queen." 

"I'm not yours--" Dabi yelps as pain lances through his cheek. It's not the same as burning, not the same as a bruise or broken bone. It feels different and wrong. And the pain comes with a soft crack as his skin shatters under the effects of Decay. He tries to thrash away, and Shigaraki holds him to the bed, but doesn't make his head crumble into nothing as he lets out a strangled cry. 

"Shit, I'm so sorry, precious. I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry." Shigaraki grabs him again, not in the same places as before, catching him in a hug and pulling him in, onto their sides so that he can hold him close, tucking Dabi's head against his chest as he strokes his hair and Dabi sobs, his own hand going to his shattered skin as he shakes. It takes about half an hour for the new healing to knit his skin back together, and he can't stop crying the whole time. He cries for his quirk, he cries for the body that hasn't been his own since the moment he was conceived, he cries for the end he was denied so someone else could use him for their twisted delusion. He cries and cries, and Shigaraki holds him and strokes his hair. He kisses the top of his head, and he tells him softly, again and again, "It's alright, precious. Nothing is ever going to hurt you again. I'm going to keep you safe, baby boy. It's all going to get better, firefly. I love you so much." 

It takes a long time for him to find words again, and when he does he only manages to say the other's name. "S-Shigaraki--" because he is terrified if he tries to protest again, if he tries to tell him this isn't love, this is something sick and twisted, that he'll be hurt again. 

Duster doesn't make him find words, he just tries to pull him into whatever soft hazy place he believes that he's living in, by kissing him again. He kisses him over and over, only parting enough for him to suck in a breath and let it back out on a fresh sob as his hands start to move over his body. He hadn't really dressed for bed, he'd just taken off his t-shirt and lounge pants and climbed in, and Shigaraki takes advantage of every inch of his naked skin. His hands move over his back, stroking around his sides and up to his chest to tease at his nipples. His piercings were all removed when he was in the tank, but his nerves, all of the new nerves all over his body that aren't broken and constantly screaming his pain, they somehow feel even more sensitive than before. 

Dabi's stomach floods with sickness as he realizes what he's angling for to put this 'argument' to bed, to prove how much he 'loves' him. "Shigaraki--" 

"Use my first name, precious. I want to hear it. I've been waiting so long to hear your pretty voice again, sweetheart." He breathes against Dabi's lips desperately as he kisses him again as he pushes him back onto his back, this time forcing Dabi's thighs wide around his hips. He can't help it when his breath hitches again as he feels Shigaraki's cock pressing against his as he's forced to this angle. He hates himself for the way that a jolt of pleasure goes through him there even as this only makes his fear sharper. 

"Tomura, please, I don't--" He pinches a little more roughly at Dabi's nipples and he whimpers but shuts up. Shigaraki wants to play this game. He wants to pretend, and he's going to make Dabi pretend too if he doesn't want this violation to be as physically painful as it already is in other ways as Shigaraki licks and nips along his jawline. 

"You don't have to be nervous, precious." He breathes against his skin. "I'm going to take such good care of you in our bed too." 

He doesn't bother to protest again. He knows it's not going to save him as his mouth settles against his throat, licking and biting like he wants to leave marks that he can't now because his skin is black there. Shigaraki starts to rock his hips into his, slow rolling movements that Dabi wants to twist away from, especially when they... start to feel good. He bites on his lip hard, trying to keep the only sounds coming out of him his soft sobs, as his cock begins to stir. But Shigaraki feels him, of course he does, and he smiles sweetly at him before his mouth moves down his chest to replace one of his hands. His other slips lower, catching the back of his thigh, pushing his boxers higher so that he can have his hand against his skin and drawing soothing circles there as he grinds against him. Dabi is pretty sure the petrichor taste of him is sinking past his skin and going all the way into his bones, settling there into a heavy, inescapable chill as his body, untouched for so long, starts to warm to his touches. 

The tears never hurt as they slip over his cheeks like they used to, and they never stop. Shigaraki's touches never hurt, and he never stops either. He pulls back for long enough to pull away his shirt and then he is kissing him again, his hands going down Dabi's hips and forcing them up so that he can pull away his boxers. Dabi tries to twist away instinctively, his body unable to suppress the urge when he doesn't want that. Shigaraki bites his lip so hard that he starts to bleed and he makes himself be still under him again. His erection doesn't even have the decency to flag as that fresher fear and pain go through him. His skin is so desperate for a touch. Even before he was supposed to have died, even before the League, it had been at least a year since anyone was willing to go to bed with him, and no matter how much his mind recoils, his body longs for pleasure. Shigaraki licks away the blood from his lip and murmurs, 

"You look so beautiful blushing like that for me, precious." His hands move over his body and he leans back to really look at him. "I wish I could have seen you before, but we were always so busy with work. I promise things will be different now. I'm going to make sure that you never have to lift a finger for anything else ever again." 

"Tomura, we don't have to," do this? Change how things were before? What? It's so sharply clear that this is all Shigaraki has wanted out of him since Overhaul. 

"I want to, precious. I want to make you feel good. I want to make every part of you mine. I want to make love to you, Dabi." He wishes so badly that he had burned hot enough to have only been ashes in the wind, and for the first time in his life, he doesn't know if he means when he was twelve or when he killed his father. 

Shigaraki kisses him again, his hands moving down his body, one wrapping around his cock and stroking him slowly from root to tip and Dabi hates himself for how loudly he moans. It feels so sickeningly good that his toes curl against the sheets and his cock starts to drool so much so quickly. He bites into his lip this time and tries not to squirm and have that pleasure turn to agony as Duster's eyes stay so pleased and adoring on him as he strokes his cock a few more times before he, thankfully, lets go of him. 

Then his hand moves over his balls and behind him. No, no, no-- His fingers, only wet with his pre, circle his hole, and Dabi grabs onto his shoulders, his nails biting into his skin. He's not even bothering to try to push him away, he's just bracing himself for the pain of being opened, or being raped by the thick cock he can see outlined in Shigaraki's pants, without proper preparation. But when Duster starts to rub around his hole, Dabi feels a surreal, unfamiliar ache in his pelvis before he feels-- he yelps as something warm and wet starts to slick his hole and Shigaraki's fingers as he rubs them over him. 

"Wh--" 

"That's it, precious. Getting so wet for me," and his voice is thicker with his lust. "I knew my baby girl would be so needy after having to wait so long to have me." 

He understands then, as Shigaraki circles him one more time before he pushes his finger deep inside, sliding along his wet walls without the discomfort he was expecting, that he didn't just have the doctor fix him. He had him made perfect for his delusions. He had his 'queen' made so that he could fuck him whenever he wanted. Dabi squeezes his eyes shut as a fresh wave of tears spill down his cheeks as he realizes that he probably tailor made his body to react to his touches. Made it impossible for him not to... like it as he's violated. 

Shigaraki rubs his finger along him, until Dabi is panting and keening softly as his cock leaks heavily against his stomach, and his hole is all but gushing slick as he puts in another. He sinks them inside and scissors them just enough to get him used to a stretch, strokes just long enough to ensure that his prostate is sensitive and making him moan with each little brush against it, before he kisses Dabi again and pulls his fingers out. 

"Tomura, please," and he wants to think that he's begging for him to stop. He knows he doesn't want this. But his body is lost in the heady, unwanted pleasure that is being forced across his nerves. He wants to die. He wants to be fucked. 

Shigaraki won't let him do the first, not when he thinks he owns him. But he takes the second for himself. He strips away the last of his clothing and Dabi shifts, twisting his torso so that he can hide his face against the pillows so he at least doesn't have to look at the other man as he wraps his hand around his thigh and holds him open and at the angle he wants, as his other hand steadies his cock so he can press inside. Dabi hates himself for how good it feels, how much wetter he gets, how loudly he moans, as Shigaraki feeds his massive cock into his body. He's breathless and soaking the pillow with his tears as the other man bottoms out.

"Fuck, precious, you're so tight." He leans in and kisses his cheek as he starts to rock his hips into him in slow, gentle, rolling thrusts that make certain every one of Dabi's nerves is stimulated and suffusing his body with pleasure. He laughs softly and Dabi wishes he could burn him alive. "First time you've had something inside since I brought you back, huh, precious? Guess that really makes you mine." He teases like they're lovers. As far as he's concerned, they are. 

And Dabi's body agrees as he starts to shift, angling his thrusts deeper, dragging their skin against each other slowly, kissing and touching wherever he can reach. He forces his pleasure to go higher and higher, and no matter how good it all feels, Dabi knows that it's wrong because his quirk isn't racing to meet him. His body gets warmer, but only the way a normal person’s would. Only reminding him with each sobbed moan and whimper as Shigaraki wraps his hand around his cock and begins to stroke, that his body isn't his. It never has been. It belonged to his father's ambitions first, then it belonged to his revenge, now it's Shigaraki's and he's never going to be able to escape. 

It's not an escape, but it is a relief when his pleasure goes so high that he can't fight it back any longer. His mind goes blissfully blank as he arches and cums, his insides tightening around Shigaraki, and pulsing just as much as his cock as he spills his release. His whole body feels consumed by the pleasure and he cries and cries as Duster keeps moving inside of him. He pushes him past the oversensitivity, telling him the entire time how beautiful he is, how much he missed him, how much he loves him, how he's never going to let him go again. He talks, and touches, and rapes him, and Dabi's body doesn't have the decency to be disgusted. He gets hard again, and this time, Shigaraki only lets him cum when he finally does, lacing their fingers together and kissing him sweetly as he fucks him full of his cum, until Dabi's mind gives him another few seconds of reprieve as his orgasm drowns him again. 

///

Shigaraki barely lets him be alone after that. He is with him in his bed-- their bed-- when he sleeps and wakes. He is with him when he eats, when he goes anywhere in the house, and if he has work to do, he brings Dabi to his office and he does his work, while holding one of Dabi's hands so that he can't go far. Dabi has to ask to even go to the bathroom when he needs to, and if he's not back in a timely enough fashion, Shigaraki comes looking for him. Now that he's shown his hand, proved to Dabi he is insane beyond anything he could have guessed, he doesn't bother to hide his obsession anymore. He keeps Dabi close, he pulls him into his lap for kisses and wandering touches that could turn deadly, or at the very least, painful, at his slightest whim. He slips his hand into his pants whenever he feels like it, either stroking him off or fingering him until he's dripping and trembling through his orgasm. He kisses away his tears and tells him how beautiful he is, how much he loves him, as he does, and Dabi lets him. 

He's not numb anymore. 

No, Shigaraki keeps him close, he dotes on him and adores him, and Dabi moves past the anguish. He moves past the regrets and wishes that he had just died when he had the chance. Wishing for those things won't save him now any more than it did when he was a child. He learns what Shigaraki wants from him, and when he wakes up in the morning a week after the first night that Duster forced his way into his bed, Dabi rolls into his chest and nuzzles his face up under his chin, pressing a kiss there, just beneath his jaw. 

"Morning, Tomu." He mumbles. 

Shigaraki's hands against him twitch, tightening just the slightest bit. "Morning, precious. Did you sleep better last night?" No secret now that they're sharing a bed that he has nightmares. Of the fire, of his father, and of Shigaraki too now. Dabi doubts he'll ever stop having any of those, but he shrugs. 

"Do you have a meeting this morning?" He asks instead. 

"Why, baby?" 

He kisses up his jaw until he reaches his ear. "Wanna see if I can take your cock without having to prep. You made me perfect for you, didn't you, Tomura?" 

"You were always perfect, firefly." Shig breathes, catching his chin and looking into his eyes. Dabi doesn't know if he'll ever learn to fake whatever he's going to need to in order to make Shigaraki believe his words are real. But he has time. He'll never get older, never be hurt again so long as he plays along. He can pretend. He wonders if Shigaraki can see those thoughts in his eyes as he looks at him, his gaze calculating. Dabi will play along. He'll do it until his mind shatters and he really does fall in love with this monster, or until Shigaraki sinks so far into his delusion that he never sees it coming when he burns him alive. 

Dabi knows how to bide his time to destroy someone. When he does it this time, he's going to make sure that no one is around to ruin the finality of that action. "I love you." He says on a breath, and Shigaraki smiles at him sweetly even though his eyes are still sharp. 

"I love you too, precious." They're both lying when they say it, but Dabi at least understands that his own words aren't just a lie, they're a promise. He will either love Shigaraki, or he'll kill him. Time will tell. 

[theeternalwombtarot]

what your in laws would think of you (and their child)

Message: I had to put both of the gifs because it feels incomplete if not. This reading has been long awaited and I’m sorry. I felt like doing a reading tonight though, I have a lot of energy tonight, sort of unnecessarily and I want to put it to good use. I might do a second version of this about what your in laws would think of you and your child, like the child you share with their daughter/son. I would’ve done it all in one reading but I don’t wanna bite of more than I can chew tonight. The color blue is heavily significant tonight. It’s prominent in all the images I chose and I’m really feeling drawn to these blue and purple hues that we have going on thus far. Let us carry on with the reading, god willing, it will find you in a place of peace. I love you and thank you for supporting me.

***

for the collective:

blue: "Blue is the color of spirituality, intuition, inspiration and inner peace. It is also associated with sadness and depression (the "blues"). In healing blue is used for cooling and calming, both physically and mentally. In the aura blue indicates serenity, contentment and spiritual development."

purple: purple represents wisdom and spirituality

***

i.

silver

gold

jewelry

riches

butterflies

growth

monarch - hope and transformation

mourning cloak (nymphalis antiopa)-"seen as a symbol of hope, as their dark wings signify an individual’s ability to transcend darkness and emerge into the light."

melpomene - *" After mating, male Postman leave a scent on the females that deters other males.*

beetle - "Beetles can symbolize strength, good luck, creation, teamwork, rebirth, and adaptability."

insects

tradition

bells

singing

music

angel numbers:

888 -"..strongly associated with abundance, prosperity, and financial success. It's a sign that the universe is aligning to bring material rewards and blessings into your life. This could manifest in various ways, such as financial gains, or opportunities for wealth creation."

777 -"Associated with wisdom, intuition and divine connection, the angel number 777 is considered a powerful spiritual message. When it appears repeatedly in your life, it is a reminder that you are on the right path and that you are in tune with your purpose and mission in life."

666 -" a guidepost pointing toward recommitment to nurturing your foundation—your physical, mental, and emotional well-being." "a sign to let go of perfectionism and find gratitude in your partnership"

556 -"a potent symbol of spiritual awakening and enlightenment." " you are on the right path and to keep going."

79 -"It is a reminder that you are on the right path in life and that you are being guided by the divine. The number 79 also represents spiritual growth, inner strength, and abundance." (double confirmation)

802 -"signaling to you that your life is currently in alignment."

600 - " the 600 angel number centers around inner wisdom and strength. The number serves as a reminder to tap into our internal resources."

700 - "The 700 angel number is a powerful reminder that you should stay open to what life brings your way. It's time to trust that everything is happening for a reason. The angels are reminding you to stay in alignment with your heart and soul. If you do, the universe will aspire to bring you what you need."

811 - " a reminder from your angels to prioritize your spiritual well-being above all else"

222 -" good fortune in finances, relationships, and career, as well as a reminder to work towards your soul's purpose." " balance, harmony, and spiritual alignment."

444 -"love, support, and guidance from your angels."

555 -" spiritual guidance and learning"

***

you had a lot of channeled messages pile one, I thought it'd never end lol spirit was very serious about this concept of unwavering strength for your group. the imagery on the image I chose for your pile says a lot about you and your person and the nature of this connection. This person is going to be very taken up by you pile one, devoted, willing to do anything, willing to protect you fiercely, willing to turn into anything for you or undergo transformations. I'm hearing something about this person growing into you very nicely. just as we grow out of people, grow out of our clothes, grow out of cycles, this person may begin a certain way and grow into you very well.

The tail of this individual is wrapped very tightly around the feminine in the photo and his attention is pulled directly to her, there are no outside influences that can rip his gaze or his attention away from her in whatever ways his attention and care may present itself. Your in laws or your persons parents may perceive you to be very driven, self assured or maybe even stubborn i'm hearing, you command a lot of attention, you command a lot of things to go your way or not at all or you have a very selective way about yourself. I'm receiving this empress or goddess energy here. They could see you as someone whose bossy or whose very authoritative about certain things.

I keep hearing, "this is my shit." there is something very matriarchal about you and they may see you as someone who is very serious and intentional. Something about the way that you are may intimidate this persons parents or be very hard for them to grasp. You hold a lot of power. When you speak, people listen. your person listens to. This is just in, they may think that you're a succubus or that your energy is very dark. there's like siren energy here or an energy of hypnosis or a very entrancing energy I'm receiving. No, there's more about this later, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

they may also perceive you to be very introverted or withdrawn. You may be very quiet or demure. I'm hearing the words "demure" and "dolly" like doll or barbie, their perception of you is that of someone very perfect or someone who appears very perfect. You may be very attractive, very beautiful, have a beautiful figure as well. If this persons parents already know about you, you may be picking up on their rejection or their discomfort about you or involving you even if you've not met them yet. You may have had this issue before with other relationships or the parents of ex lovers.

Their parents and I feel family in general may feel that there is a lot they don't know about you, that you're mysterious, that you're dark, scary, or unsettling, they may also feel that you have some magical or otherworldly aspect to you as well. This persons parents may play a huge role in how their siblings and non-immediate family members feel about you as well. Outside of the mother, you may get along well with their sisters or other feminine energies in the family, although, you may choose to be highly selective about who you choose to speak to.

They also feel as though you're a free spirit or there's something very boundless about you. they may feel you're unpredictable and that may scare them, but you may also live a very free and self led life and they may have certain rules and lifestyle choices that may contrast against your way of life.

how they feel about you and their child together:

they don't feel you belong together, they may feel like you're not a good match or they may feel that there is underlying existence of disharmony or even imprisonment involved in this connection here. They may feel that your values aren't in alignment or that your love or connection is fake or fabricated or is a result or symptom of your magic. they may feel as though you've bewitched their son or daughter or child. There's a message i'm getting here about them potentially not knowing their child as their child knows themselves. there is a reason your person has married you, there is a reason why your person chose you, there is a reason your person loves you. They don't see it, but that doesn't mean that those reasons aren't valid or present.

they may also see your person love you out loud or see their devotion and divert their eyes or lower their gaze because it feels like a slap in the face or it contradicts what they've brought themselves to believe. Spirit gave me a message earlier, "you're exactly where you're meant to be, be strong, protect the connection." these peoples parents may also pry or have a tendency to be nosy towards you or very curious about what you're doing, what you'll do next, and what your plans are as a whole for anything and everything. You're a master at protecting your peace here though i'm getting or protecting what's yours.

they feel you've brought a lot of unwanted change, that you've changed their child, manipulated their child, or brought disfunction or drove a wedge between them and the family or them in the child, they don't realize that it's a possibility that their child is creating space after realizing certain behavioral patterns that hurt them or could bring harm to you or the connection or what the two of you will create or have created. they may feel you took their child from them. there's a lot of change and transformation you're forcing this family or these parents to undergo and they may perceive you as a karmic or a karmic energy. In reality, you may be someone who has a tendency to trigger people, cause tower moments, and cause growth. They feel you've murdered the family dynamic or really have caused a lot of uneccessary conflict or division.

they not only feel that you've bewitched your person but that your persons motivation for being with you, supporting you, or defending you is due to you being cunning or manipulative or even because of your sex. They may feel you've casted a sex spell on this person or that you're a temptress or a Scarlett or even a jezebel spirit if you're familiar with that term. You may live an alternative lifestyle, be into spirituality, have a different religious background, or have spiritual hobbies or participate in certain spiritual practices that may be seen as anti, demonic, or magic of some shape or form. this is really intimidating to this persons parents, they may have religious parents or very traditional religious roots.

You may have said before that if it would make your persons parents comfortable that you would cover up, present yourself in a way that was easier to digest, or make certain shifts to keep the peace but I'm hearing something here about you changing your mind and continuing to be authentic and be yourself. I just heard, "I've never stopped being me for anyone ever before, now is not that moment either." They feel you'll be the downfall of your person or that you're going to break their heart pile one.

***

ii.

guys I promise I wasn't using the pile images as a bases for the message of these readings, but they're so perfect and aligned for the messages coming through from spirit and through the cards. you provide sanction or comfort and healing to your person pile two. your persons in laws see you as someone sociable or a friend of the world or someone who gets on well with others. the color yellow is significant. You're a light or you have a way about yourself that brings others joy or is very adaptable. You could be a social chameleon and blend in well with others or be someone who can go anywhere and make gold out of your surroundings.

your persons parents find that you have a quiet power or they feel you're slightly unaware of your worth and ability bring light where ever you go but I just got right now that you may be unaware of what your worth to your person or how much they care for you or how happy you make them after a long time of having a hard time. Your person is sick, struggles with mental illness, anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, or something of the sort or your person struggles with a bodily disease or disorder like an auto immune disorder or something. There is an aspect here of something in your persons life that impairs the way they show up in their lives or makes things increasingly difficult for them and as a result or as a symptom they've experienced a lot of loss.

they may have even had a trivial or troubled history in terms of love and relationships, an inability to properly connect with others, an inability to heal internal wounds to rise up to who they needed to be to give someone what they deserved, this may not be something you want to hear but it's possible your person could've had a great love in their youth that ended up not lasting eternally because this persons live path was written in a way that required that they receive more than what your person was able to provide to them do to certain limitations or hardship. Your person may have fallen into a cycle of heart break or may have moved through life with an unhealed feeling of loss that they couldn't seem to get rid of but your love for them and your tolerance may heal this within them.

They may have a tendency to fall short sometimes, create delays, or may have moments where all of their energy cannot be wholly poured into you because they need it to keep themselves well, mentally, physically, and emotionally. You work for this person. There's nobody better for them as maybe unconventional or untraditional this connection may be or look. It takes a special type of person to sit beside someone through chronic hardship but you fill those shoes without protest or without issues. There's an eye in the palm of the feminines hand, whilst the masculine in the photo seems to be lying with one eye shut. her eyes are closed as she focuses an energy of peace and comfort, but where he cannot see, or what he does not have, she has for him.

Your persons parents may feel that you work very hard to fill your role in this persons life or they may feel like you've grown to know your person and what is required of you or what needs to be done out of love or support. Some of you could not even be interested in marriage. For some of you, it could be the case that you may end up being a very long term girlfriend to your person, and by law you may end up being married due to the longevity of your marriage but I don't see an official marriage or the two of you joining one another in a traditional marriage.

what your persons parents think of you and their child together:

they see what the two of you share as a very stable connection that is in for a lot of longevity and can survive a handful of obstacles. They see it as something that works, that is fair, and that is successful. They may have observed their child in a dark place for a long time or in a lonely place with wavering support or in a place where people were constantly coming and going. They may hold a lot of respect for you, even if they don't outwardly express it. Or, they know that something about this connection would be difficult to anyone and you've managed to stick it out to the end.

I also see them feeling as though there's only a possibility for healing and for happiness or harmony to progress with you around or with you being in your persons life. I hear them saying that their child has no direction to go but forward with you building up the momentum for them to move in that direction. there's something very unconventional about this connection but if it works it works, different people have different needs, and all connections are different. they feel you've provided their child with freedom or has set them free of a lifetime lived in a lot of hurt and stagnancy.

***

iii.

your in laws may see you as a very stuck person. You could be someone who does things one way and sticks to that, or someone who fears change, or someone whose had a hard life, or even someone who has a lack of foresight or a lack of vision for expansion. someone who doesn't know what or who to become, someone who could live in a constant space of pondering their worth or someone who has spent a long time stumbling through life without real direction or intention. Whatever the case may be this persons parents see you as someone who lives in a stagnant position. For a handful of you, this persons parents may feel for you, sympathize with you or have a tendency to heavily give you the benefit of the doubt or even enable this behavior or habit of being afraid of change or being constant.

they may feel that you have a lot to move on from or they may also feel like you have a lot of growing and maturing to do, it's possible they may perceive you of someone who is childish or child like, lacks direction is isn't very self sufficient. They want you to move forward or undergo some sort of transformation or transition but it's possible that you may not do that or they believe that there's a possibility that this is just who you are and they will have to accept you for who you are. I'm looking at this imagery of the six of swords, this person in the boat here under the cloak who is sitting down, slouched over represents your energy while the person standing behind the figure at the back of the boat rowing may be your person or your partner or this is how they see you and your person or you and the people in your life. There's something here about the company you keep having to be of service to you or having to be able and willing to stand by or behind you in your journey forward. all the time.

they may also see you as someone who is divinely protected or someone whose fortunate for how far you've come although you've had a hard time or they see you as someone whose constantly looking towards faith or looking towards your faith to will you forward. You could be religious, on some sort of spiritual journey or path here as well. If so, it's been a long one.

what your persons parents think of you and their child together:

I'm hearing Rihanna "Umbrella" , "When the sun shine, we shine together, Told you I'll be here forever, Said "I'll always be your friend", Took an oath, I'ma stick it out 'til the end, Now that it's rainin' more than ever, Know that we'll still have each other, You can stand under my umbrella, You can stand under my umbrella." This connection is designed in such a way where this person is going to support you or sit with you through whatever hardship you may experience and is going to try and do whatever it takes to help you. There's a lot of imagery of water in this pile, you may love the ocean, be into mermaids or marine life, be a water sign or end up married to a water sign.

A water sign lover may be ideal for you in the end because they're always going to be able to be receptive and compassionate. You could potentially be an air sign as well. I'm looking at the art I chose for this pile, and there's so much in it, you've got a masculine down here in the foreground of the picture tied down by a rock but he's got a sword, there's a feminine in the water clearly alive still but unconscious and tied up, and this giant monstrous fish in the back that I feel represents hardship and obstacles and things in your life that threaten to hurt you or bring you down but your person is ready to protect you and is able and willing to make the sacrifice or sinking down to the bottom of the ocean along side you in order to help. and there is skeletons of people at the bottom in the corner of the art who didn't make it, but your person will make sure that you do.

your persons parents may feel that you are somewhat of a blockage for your person or that you hold them back or slow them down. they feel that you're a great responsibility, I keep wanting to say burden but I keep trying to find kinder words because that's rude but in all honesty is possible that that is very well how your persons parents feel. while they feel for you, they want their child to succeed and they don't know if there's a possibility for their child to succeed or be happy while having to support you in the way that they effortlessly do already. They fear their childs energy being drained, their light going away, or their happiness declining.

I'm getting they know that their child makes you happy though and is good for you though. they don't doubt this and they don't doubt that maybe with their help and support that one day you'll find your way or be better off but they'll be concerned with the wellness and livlihood of their child. Your person could have a heart problem or have a history of heart problems, stroke, or stress related illnesses within their family as well and it's possible their parents want for them a stress free life despite their childs desire to help others so uncondtionally.

Goodnight, good morning, or good evening to you, whenever this finds you! I wish you well, and I hope that everything is okay and you're getting the things you need most out of your experience on earth at this time. It's one in the morning and I'm tired lmao I'll see you soon, please come back and visit me, you're always welcome. Bless~

[whumpninja]

W.M.D., Part 1: Living Weapon

Featuring: living weapon whumpee, heavy and literal dehumanization, lab whump, blindfolded whumpee, creepy whumper, brainwashing, memory loss

Taglist: @whumperofworlds

The meeting had been scheduled for 1:00. Mr. Abel showed up at 1:48, drinking something neon pink in a plastic cup and smiling apologetically. “Just chalk me up as ‘fashionably late’,” he quipped, extending his hand for a shake. “Nolan Abel, but you probably knew that, I’m everywhere. You’re Algernon Fowler, right? The scientist?”

Dr. Fowler stared witheringly at Mr. Abel’s extended hand, waiting for the man to realize that the empty right sleeve of Dr. Fowler’s lab coat was pinned up and out of the way. It took an embarrassingly long time for Mr. Abel to withdraw his hand, and even then, Dr. Fowler wasn’t sure whether he noticed or just wanted to end the awkward stare down.

“Is this your lab?” Mr. Abel asked, looking up at the top of the abandoned clock tower. “It’s…nice.”

“It is adequate,” Dr. Fowler replied. The billionaire nearly jumped at the low, whispery sound of his voice, and Dr. Fowler held back a twisted smile. “If I decide to enter into a partnership with you, I will require a more…updated facility.”

“Sure, Doc, no problem. I’ve got one all set up that nobody’s used in awhile. But I was told that I would be getting a…preview?”

Dr. Fowler nodded to the open door of his clock tower-turned-laboratory. “Just through there.”

Mr. Abel finished his drink as he entered, carelsssly tossing the plastic cup aside. It clattered on the pavement. Ignorant buffoon, Dr. Fowler thought, and followed him inside, shutting- and locking- the heavy door behind them.

“Got yourself a fixer-upper, huh?” Mr. Abel glanced around the first floor. “What a mess.”

“The natural consequences of my work. Science is not always clean.” Where Mr. Abel saw old, yellowing papers littering the floor and broken furniture pushed up against the grimy walls, Dr. Fowler saw nothing but promise and potential in the empty space. He’d thrown the papers out because he had advanced beyond their contents. He’d shoved the furniture away because he needed room to work. Even the location was important- in the middle of the most downtrodden, poverty-stricken part of the city. The building itself had been carefully chosen- a modern laboratory would have been inaccessible and drawn too much attention. The clock tower was perfect for his needs. Whatever mess the foolish Mr. Abel saw, Dr. Fowler could overlook in favor of the results that would come out of it.

“So where’s your brilliant masterpiece?” Mr. Abel asked. Dr. Fowler didn’t appreciate his teasing tone. “You said you had something special to show me.”

“I do. Upstairs.” Dr. Fowler led the way up the twisting metal staircase to the next floor of the clock tower- there were five in all. He rarely used the first floor. The second and third were his workspaces, as was the underground floor Mr. Abel did not- and would not- know about. The fifth floor was empty save for the ancient clock.

It was the fourth floor where his masterpiece lived. And it was the fourth floor where he led Mr. Abel.

“So you make weapons,” Mr. Abel said as they ascended. “Living weapons. You brainwash ‘em or something?”

Dr. Fowler scoffed. “Do not insult me. My work is no mere brainwashing or hypnotism. You may as well buy a robot if you merely want something to be commanded.” He shook his head. “The beauty of my work is in its balance. Too much, and you are left with a husk. Too little, and the result is unpredictable. There are many others in the business of making weapons. They all fall short. Their creations are mindless drones, suitable only for simple tasks.”

“And yours are different?”

Dr. Fowler smirked. “The secret of weapon making is not in the mind, but in the will. Unlike those imposters, I leave my subjects’ mind intact. What I remove is their free will. Once I am finished, they can still think for themselves. They can reason, find solutions to problems- they do not stand stupidly waiting for someone to command them. And yet they still obey commands, without question.”

“If it works like you say it does, I’ll definitely want some,” Mr. Abel answered.

“That is only the first step in my process. They must be trained as well. And there is another variable that must be accounted for.”

“What’s that?”

“Humanity. I have learned that the best way to create my weapons is to strip them of their humanity. If you’ve looked into my background, as I’m sure you have, you’ll know that I was a genetic biologist. One can make a man believe that he is less than a person. I take it one step further. I take the lie and make it true.”

They had reached the fourth floor. Dr. Fowler came out into the middle of the room first, waiting for Mr. Abel to catch up.

This floor was bare, nearly completely empty. The only things in the room were the scientist, the investor, and a figure that knelt in the center of the room, their head covered by a hood.

“You asked for proof, Mr. Abel. Here is my proof. My first successful masterpiece. Project Magnum Opus.” Dr. Fowler crossed the room and removed the hood. “Or, as I prefer to call him…Kestrel.”

Mr. Abel’s mouth dropped open as the kneeling form stood.

Dr. Fowler knew what he was seeing. A young man, or what had once been one, dark-haired and pale-skinned, hair tumbling down the neck and over the forehead to conceal the face in shadow. Bare-chested, showing a burn scar on the shoulder and smaller scars scattered over the torso. Slender, but with lean muscle corded through the lines of the body, a body made to be quick, agile and strong.

“He’s impressive. But, if I can ask, why do you call him Kestrel?” Mr. Abel asked.

A smile tugged the corner of Dr. Fowler’s lips. This man was even more oblivious than he had thought- even though the primary reason for that name was still concealed, there were still clues visible if one looked. Mr. Abel seemed to be a man who had to be shown.

Well, let me not disappoint him.

He stepped behind his weapon and unbuckled the harness around the shoulders, allowing Mr. Abel to see the evidence of the other side of his process. The billionaire actually staggered back in shock. “Are- are those real?” he breathed.

The massive black wings slowly unfurled to their full span. Dr. Fowler did not try to hide his smile now. “Of course they are. The talons are real as well.”

Mr. Abel had somehow not noticed that the weapon was barefoot, displaying the vicious curved talons that were so useful in combat, or that the hands too had talons rather than nails. If it weren’t for the blindfold over the face, he would have also seen the piercing golden eyes. The wings and talons were enough, however, and he clung to the staircase railing like he would fall out of pure shock if he didn’t hold on to something.

“You may touch him if you like,” Dr. Fowler offered magnanimously. “He will not attack.”

Mr. Abel looked distinctly nervous and Dr. Fowler reveled in it. “Are- are you sure?”

“He will not attack,” Dr. Fowler repeated. “That is, not unless I tell him to.”

Mr. Abel approached cautiously, stretching out his hand like a small child about to pet a large dog. Kestrel watched him impassively, blinking once or twice. Mr. Abel stroked the edge of the wing, his mouth stretching into a grin. “Wow,” he said. “It feels real. How’d you do it?”

Dr. Fowler smiled, and leaned close to Kestrel’s ear, and whispered, “Corpus et sanguinis. Strike.”

Mr. Abel didn’t hear the exact words, but he certainly saw the effects. Kestrel went rigid for a split second before leaping into motion, knocking Mr. Abel to the floor, the head tilting to the side as the predator found the prey even without the use of sight. The wings were useless in this confined space, but spread out anyway, helping to terrify Mr. Abel even more thoroughly. The man was screaming, horror twisting his face as a sharp talon tore a gash in his sleeve.

“Hold, Kestrel,” Dr. Fowler said. Kestrel froze, still keeping the man pinned to the floor. Dr. Fowler waited a few more moments, savoring the look of fear on Mr. Abel’s face, before he commanded, “Release him.”

Kestrel let go and stepped back, and Mr. Abel staggered to his feet, white-faced. Mr. Abel glanced from one to the other, shaking, panting, his eyes wide. He pointed a trembling finger at Dr. Fowler. “I could sue you for that, Fowler. I could sue you for all you’re worth and have your- your- thing shot.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Dr. Fowler answered. “Not without admitting that you were ever here in the first place, which, Mr. Abel, you cannot do without coming under scrutiny so intense that all your filthy little secrets will be dragged out into the light right beside me. You would lose everything, and you are not the kind of man who would risk that.” The corner of his lips turned up. “Besides, you said you wanted a preview. That is what you were given.”

The anger stayed a moment longer, fury darkening Mr. Abel’s eyes. Dr. Fowler waited, unconcerned.

Finally, Mr. Abel pulled himself to his feet, laughing sheepishly. “I guess I did want a sneak peek, didn’t I?” The anger bled out of him, replaced by intrigue. “Wow. I mean, that’s impressive. I want a dozen of them. You told anyone else about this?”

“No.”

“Don’t. I want you to be my private supplier.”

Dr. Fowler smiled. “What does a rich man need with living weapons?”

“You stick with your business and I’ll stick with mine.” Mr. Abel ran his hands through his hair, his face transitioning into an easy grin. “So how does he work? You said something to him before he jumped me.”

“When I begin the mental reprogramming process, I implement cue words,” Dr. Fowler explained, careful not to give too much away. “In the absence of anything else, the brain latches onto anything it is given. In this case, the trigger words. Once the process is complete, those specific words will place the weapon under the control of whoever speaks them.”

“And his words are…”

“Not for you.” Dr. Fowler folded his arms. “I will make you your own weapons. Kestrel is mine.”

Mr. Abel shrugged. “Sure.”

The man seemed to have gotten over his fear, approaching Kestrel- although, Dr. Fowler noticed, he did not touch the weapon this time. “So what are his limits?” he asked. “I mean, he’s the prototype of mine, right? What can he do?”

“Anything you command.”

“Could I order him to fetch me a vodka with lime?”

“Kestrel is not some sort of personal butler,” Dr. Fowler said, his smile disappearing. “Kestrel is a weapon, perfectly designed for that purpose and that purpose alone. Not a toy for a rich man’s amusement.”

“Could you make one that is?”

Dr. Fowler sighed. “If that is what you would like, I can do it. I suppose you want it to be beautiful, barely clothed, and enamored with you, as well?”

The billionaire grinned. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Self-obsessed fool.

“Do you always make them…animal hybrids?”

“Yes. It tends to be more stable when I do that, and as I said before it helps the reprogramming process. I have tried many kinds, on many candidates. Kestrel has the DNA of a species of vulture.”

“That where the wings came from?” Mr. Abel walked around to look at the weapon’s back, where the wings protruded from the shoulder blades.

“The wings were originally from a California condor,” Dr. Fowler answered. “I grafted them into Kestrel. DNA can do many things, but it cannot give something wings. The talons and the eyes, yes. The wings required help.”

“Huh.” Mr. Abel looked sufficiently impressed. As much as he disliked the billionaire, Dr. Fowler had still hoped to take his breath away with his demonstration, and it seemed as though he had been successful. “So how many of these weapons can you make for me?”

“How much time do you have?” Dr. Fowler asked instead of answering directly.

Mr. Abel frowned. “Why does time matter?”

“Do you think it is an easy thing to create one of my masterpieces? That I can snap my fingers or hold up a swaying pendant and they’ll be ready to do whatever I command? The human will is the most stubborn force on this planet, Mr. Abel. To break it into splinters and scrape it out, to fill the empty mold back up with your desires, to make sure the vessel does not shatter under the pressure- it takes time.”

“How much time?”

“Months.”

“What?”

Dr. Fowler continued as if he hadn’t heard. “And of course, I must have the perfect candidate. I have tried this method again and again. All attempts ended in disaster. Some subjects did not survive the initial operation. Some lasted longer, but the strain of being reprogrammed was too much for them, and they died or became comatose. Some survived reprogramming, but as empty shells that could not move without being commanded, that had to be told to even breathe. It took years, Mr. Abel, years of failure, before I finally succeeded with Kestrel. But I think you’ll agree that the results are worth the effort.”

“Where do you get candidates?”

Dr. Fowler shrugged. “Kestrel is an excellent hunter. I sometimes have him bring them to me, but that tends to draw too much attention. I prefer more subtle methods. Money is a splendid lure. People who have no other option will gladly submit themselves to scientific study for the mere promise of cash in their hand. Though, of course, they stop having a use for money long before I would have to pay them.”

“You’re really committed to this, Doc.”

Dr. Fowler pinned the man with a look. “This is my life’s work, Mr. Abel. I am as devoted to it as a mother to her child. No force on this earth could sway me from this path. No amount of begging or bribery, threats or tears, no amount of opposition can stop me once I begin my work. It is not an easy road to walk, but I walk it, and it does not matter what obstacles are placed in my way. I have set out to create the perfect living weapons. That is what I will do, no matter how many tries takes. No matter how many bodies I have to bury. I will suceed.” Abruptly the smile returned to his face. “I have succeeded, with Kestrel. Though of course there are always improvements that can be made.”

“So how do I do this, when I get mine? What happens if he disobeys?”

“My weapons cannot disobey.”

“Okay, what about when he does something I want?”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Abel shrugged. “If I tell him to do something and he does it. Do I click a button, or give him a reward or something?”

Dr. Fowler smiled humorlessly. “Yes, he gets a reward.” He trailed his gloved fingers down the side of Kestrel’s face, ghosting over the blindfold. He was always careful to avoid touching Kestrel with his bare hands- skin-to-skin contact could have an adverse affect on the training.

“What kind of reward?” Mr. Abel wanted to know.

“He gets to live.” Dr. Fowler moved his hand lower, wrapping it around Kestrel’s throat. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t have to. Kestrel knew he could. That was enough.

“I do not tolerate disobedience, Mr. Abel. If one of my creations fails me, I destroy it, and start again with a new base. There is never a shortage of test subjects in this city.”

It was, at least partially, a bluff. Dr. Fowler did not get attached to his creations, but Kestrel was his first true success. It would take a failure of great magnitude for him to start over. There were other ways to discipline a weapon.

Mr. Abel was grinning. “So far, Doc, I’m seeing no drawbacks.”

Dr. Fowler replaced the hood over Kestrel’s head, gesturing Mr. Abel towards the staircase. This time he let the billionaire go first, all the way back down to the ground floor. “What do you think?” he asked.

Mr. Abel hummed, stroking his chin. “I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful partnership. I’ll have one of my lawyers write up a contract-“ at Dr. Fowler’s warning glance, he held up a hand. “And I’ll leave out any details to keep your secrecy. You can add those in yourself.”

“That is appreciated.”

“But I want one more thing in exchange, Doc. I like what I’ve seen so far, I do. And I love the idea of having my own personal weapon who will do anything I tell it to.” He folded his arms, and suddenly the foolish billionaire seemed slightly less so. “Your Kestrel. I want to see him fly. Tomorrow morning.”

“You- what?” Dr. Fowler was not often taken aback. But this request sent him reeling a little. “Kestrel isn’t used to flight. I don’t send him out often, and then always under cover of darkness.”

“Exactly. I want to see the reaction to him, if there is one. If the government has a conniption fit and comes down on you, I don’t want to be involved.” He spoke bluntly, without shading the truth. Dr. Fowler grudgingly appreciated that. “And I want to see those wings in action. You can send him out early enough that there won’t be many people on the beach. But I want to see what he does when he’s away from you. No offense, but I’m betting he takes off.”

Dr. Fowler pressed his lips into a thin smile. There were still some things this man didn’t know. “All right, Mr. Abel. I will take you up on that bet. Tomorrow morning, I will send Kestrel out. And we’ll see what happens then.”

Mr. Abel returned his smile. “We will, won’t we?”

They shook hands on it.

[deathbxnny]

Hello! Could I request some Xianyun, Guizhong and Rukkhashava x Immortal genius yet somewhag lazy Gn!Reader? (The reader is one if not the most intelligent people on all of Teyvat. Their craft so top tier that most people considered them a deity for their impressive knowledge and craft. They are basically unrivaled in terms of intelligent solving the most complex and complicated problems in a matter of seconds and have the besg stategic and organization skills. But because of this they often find themselves unmotivated or bored pretty quickly not giving them enough motivation to work much)

Genshin women with a lazy Immortal!Reader. | Rukkhadevata, Xianyun, Guizhong x Gn!Reader

Hello Anon!! Thank you for your request, and I am sorry for taking so long. I hope you'll like this!<3

Content: Immortal reader, unserious, established relationship, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》RUKKHADEVATA

She loves your mind and the way it overflows with wisdom daily, despite your clear lack of motivation for anything. Working around your laziness to earn more of your cherished thoughts and opinions has become somewhat of a little challenge for her that she enjoys. You indirectly get her to theorize deeply and contemplate every crumb of knowledge you give her, something she craves.

With that said, your place as a near diety at her side is greatly respected by her own people. You are seen as a savior, as a second power to her home, and every opinion you do muster up the energy for to share is listened to gratefully by her. She therefore doesn't mind your lazy nature and perhaps even thinks that you're deserving of it. Someone so intelligent deserved to rest their mind every now and then after all.

She hopes to experience the world changing and evolving at your side, whilst you two share it's knowledge at your own pace.

》XIANYUN

Slacking off with her around is impossible, to say the least. Your highly respected status in Liyue is near disregarded by her every time she drags you out of your resting place to work with her on a new project. Attempting to hide is never an option, either. She sees your laziness as a self hindrance and doesn't want you to waste your talents so easily. She may nag you at times, but even you know she means it well.

Xianyun always has you inspecting her newest creations and demands you give her detailed feedback on each one. You indirectly push her to do better and match your own intelligence, but your easygoing nature often allows her to outdo you, something she's smug about. She, however, still often times wishes you'd find the motivation to craft something with her, which you do after enough (affectionate) nagging.

She respects you for the immortal genius that you are but doesn't treat you any differently from anyone else. If anything, she wants to see you grow even stronger at her side.

》GUIZHONG

She gets it. She really does. There are days when even she would rather slack off than work on her latest projects, something you take full advantage of. But when she is able to resist your lazy temptations, she makes you work alongside her and does her best to make the activities as fun as possible. Whether it was creating new battle strategies to aid Rex Lapis with or creating projects for the both of you, she was always able to spin things in a way that did get you to work in the end. She also would just kindly ask you for help often or for your expertise in general, as you rarely ever said no to her.

She never liked pushing you too much, though, as she feared somehow overworking you or making you feel like she only wanted you for your intelligence. Guizhong, therefore, allowed you to laze with her in her home whenever you have some downtime where she'd play instruments or sing for you. In a way, she worshipped you as a diety, too, even if quietly through her own special way.

Guizhong sees herself as lucky to have you, especially as she doesn't always understand how she was able to acquire such a strong and intelligent person like you.

[n3kk1tty]

Beast's of Santa Carla

(Prologue read for more context before chapter 1)

Original Character in chapter: Lamia

(Y/n) - Your name

(F/C) - Your favorite color

(Beasts of Santa Carla is a AU of the Lost Boys. It involves adult themes, poly relationships, and is definitely not made for the underaged. If you don't like poly content, queer representation, shipping of the boys together or heavy sexual themes and violence. This story is not meant for you and that's okay. This story is made solely for my own enjoyment and anyone else who's along for the ride. )

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 1

Succubi Hybrids weren't an uncommon occurrence in the underworld. Sexual beasts of the night able to feed off a wide range of beings surely had to have a few weaknesses just like others. Just so happened that their strength of being able to reproduce with many intelligent species was also a huge weakness. A simple bite to the back of the neck was a permanent marriage to another in the succubi species. When mated one lost complete reproductive control that's usually kept in check with reproductive seals and even if the succubi kept in a male gendered state they were still susceptible to pregnancy.

As if a mocking from the creators of the universe themselves not only would a mating be permanent and pregnancy would sure follow if one tried to feed the succubi would also lose the ability to gain substance from anyone other then the being who marked them. This sadly became a popular method of enslaving a succubi as being the only food source they would have no other choice but to obey unless they turned to getting marked again by another. Creating bond after bond mate after mate. Losing total freedom to choose their meals having to survive solely off their mates.

A genetic set back that was also the reason succubi society thrived since the beginning of time. They could produce child hybrids who could take both strengths of parents or produce hundreds of succubi from a single bite. You fiddled with your chocker thinking about your parents. How could a split second decision in a night of passion end with your own creation. The back of your neck itches remembering the task your aunt had given you.

You had gotten into a deep well of shit with her after you were caught attending an exclusive fight club for the non humans of Santa Carla. I mean how were you and the others supposed to know the guy you were fighting wasn't a ghoul but actually a human so high on drugs his face looked rotted alive and he was surprisingly rabid to boot. That night your aunt Lamia practically dragged you by your ear the whole flight home hissing about how a hybrid as yourself shouldn't be using your strength to rough house with unruly lycanthropes when she wasn't watching. And as if she wanted to dish out the worst punishment in the seven circles of hell for you she hand picked you for the task of a resident vampire babysitter.

You could practically feel your neck itching worse at this title. Vampires were notorious for being bite happy and were did those fuckers like to bite people the most. That's right. The neck. A succubi's worst possible match up. I mean truly that's the whole reason Max and his thugs were banned for life from any succubi ran establishment in Santa Carla was because they were known to be bite happy. Your aunt was confident your status as a hybrid gave you a natural edge over them but the thought of having to out fly a pack of bite happy feral vampires who barely knew there own society's rules was not a comforting one to you.

Luckily though tonight was supposed to mostly be for you to get used to watching them and to take in some Intel while you were at it. If you had your way during this whole time frame as a babysitter you'd never even breathe in the same air as them. Though right now that seemed more like a dream then a reality as you trailed behind the young fledgling the group called Laddie. You could feel your opinion of these guys getting worse by the second, I mean come on making child vampires has been outlawed since the dark ages and here you are following behind this small boy as he had gotten lost from the group a while back.

You felt bad just leaving him to his own devices in this crowd so once you noticed him split you made a point to trail him. Out of all of them this boy seemed the weakest and most vulnerable to attack your poor heart couldn't even stomach the idea of this kid just getting picked off. Even in the night in their own hunting grounds if anyone with even a minor sliver of ill intention wanted to they could easily take this kid out. So like a loyal guard dog you tailed him at a distance making sure to follow his movements and keep weary that none of his older companions spotted you either.

It wasn't a certainty they had even noticed he dipped out on them about an hour ago. The group seemed to be way to occupied with the growing argument between the head of the pack David and the newest addition Micheal. You could barely hear what they were even arguing about as these damn board walk attractions and crowds were creating the perfect white noise for their argument to be hidden from snooping ears. You and this little guy were definitely a great distance from any of the gang members by now.

The poor boy looked lost and a little panicked at this point obviously so lost he couldn't even smell his pack mates and make is way back on his own. His worry wasn't the thing that had you on edge though, it was the kids sense of starving you could feel radiating off of him. The hunger any demon could identify. It was the need to feed and this was definitely not the place nor time for a young fledgling to be. One little split second decision and the whole board walk would be a mass panic as this kid looked ready to lunge for any ones throat.

You grinded your teeth. You didn't want to be spotted, your presence wasn't supposed to be known but this kid. There was a reason kid vampires were outlawed and this scenario was exactly why. Kids are to emotional, to instinctual. A child can't control the beast that's blood thirst and Laddie looked absolutely starved almost like he's never had a drop of blood in his whole life. You frantically looked and tried your best but as you figured no one has come to find him yet so it was you and this kid in this growing problem.

Laddie was a ticking time bomb and you knew it. You didn't like any of your choices but everything faded to the background as the bomb started to go off almost in slow motion. Laddie was morphing and gearing up to lunge at an old couple walking by. You were in a corner and had no choice but to do what a babysitter should. Protect the peace. Protect the fucking vampire kid. You weren't in a fight club with werewolves for nothing. Your speed and reaction time was unmatched. In a blinding swarm of (F/C) moths morphed Laddie was scooped in your arms and whisked away from the prying eyes of mortals like a flash of light.

You slumped against a wall in the dark alley as you let Laddie take greedy gulps of blood from your forearm. The small boy cradled in your embrace as he snarled hissed and chugged blood like his life depended on it. You have never been happier in your life to have the ability to mass produce blood than in this moment. Thanks dad for being a huge fucking bug demon ,flesh manipulation has never been a better ability to have then for a hungry fledgling.

This little guy was really going to town if you had been a mortal this guy would have already started draining them to raisin status. You felt a sense of sadness for him. Was he really that hungry? Were they not helping him get kills to feed on. How irresponsible were his pack mates. You pondered the question before softening your gaze and gently soothing the boy releasing pheromones to help the poor baby relax. His whole body was tense and desperate like if he let go he would die.

"It's okay sweetness Im not going anywhere, drink as much as you want I have plenty to give." You stroked the boy's greasy hair feeling his jaw slightly let up on your arm. He instinctually relaxed into your embrace.

All Laddie could hear was your heart beat and soothing words as it felt like his head was coming out of a fog. He felt so calm and safe. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled his nose reminding him of a freshly baked sweet in Autumn. His head hadn't felt this clear in a long time. He didn't understand why Star told him not to drink blood this experience was so warm and inviting maybe Dwayne was right. His yellow eyes glowed softly. His transformation was complete. He had his first taste of blood and he didn't think it would be this calm.

If only Star and Micheal knew that at this very moment in time it was now too late for Laddie he'd be a vampire permanently now whether they killed Max or not. Though I don't think any of the vampires would or could have predicted that Laddie 's first feeding wouldn't be human. Instead Laddie's first taste was that of this Hybrid who had him gently cradled into her softly humming a succubi's lullaby to help whisk him to sleep so she could sneak off. The little one had long finished feeding and now was just gently nodding off into her arm after such a big meal.

If only they knew what this split second decision had done to change their fates in the future. As now Laddie was no regular vampire like the boys. This accidental tangling of fates had now turned Laddie into a day walker. Day walkers were vampires able to walk in the day concurring the sun in exchange for the weakening of powers in the light and an extreme taste for demonic flesh and human bones. If only (Y/n) had known this was Laddie's first feeding ever she may have never let the boy feast off her valuable blood or maybe even that knowledge wouldn't have stopped her caring nature from taking over. No one can say what would have happened in paths not chosen.

All that was for certain now was (Y/n) was going to have even more encounters with the vampires she was wary of. Her fate now eternally tangled with this vampiric child and those who surround him. As the others discovered a sleeping Laddie curled in a blanket with a strange scent on it and dried blood on his mouth it was evident something had transpired. Now they needed to find out what happened to their youngest member and figure whose scent this was. As the boys could tell by the scent this definitely didn't belong to no human. It had the semblance of scent of a place that were barred from going.

The nest of the Succubi of Santa Carla.

Chateau Vermillion

(Prologue)

(End of chapter 1)

(Chapter 2 )

[owl-writing]

In the beginning, there was Death.

That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? How can there be death without life? But this was how the story started.

Death started as a lesser god, the first of their kind to emerge from the primordial ocean of Chival. As they clawed their way from the eternally-roiling waters, land emerged where their hands swung, until they had their own world, a single large island in the midst of the eternal waters. They called it Shelterhill, though they did not yet know what a “hill” was.

It was only them for a long while, as they wandered Shelterhill and taught themself everything they needed to learn. They created the first plants and tended to their every need, learning about the harvest. Since they were Death, the plants did not last long, so Death took pebbles and fashioned them into the first bees, the caretakers of plants. The bees developed their own way of doing things, forming their hives and doing their duties. Death was content with their first creations, though they felt as though something was missing as they tended to the deceased bees removed from the hives.

The bees eventually requested living caretakers of their own. Death thought about it, then fashioned their second species. These were the keeperlings, who were a bit short but had opposable thumbs and an innate talent for building things. The keeperlings fed on the plants and the excess honey produced by the bees, and they too learned the art of the harvest and what to do with plants such as wheat, rice, and corn.

Soon, however, one of the keeperlings died. Unlike the bees, who were removed from the hives once they died, the other keeperlings buried their deceased near their homes. Death took the soul of the keeperling gently into their arms, heading down into the caves below Shelterhill and crafting an afterlife for their keeperlings that went much, much further down than any living mortal could tread. This first deceased keeperling became the Psychopomp, who would lead future keeperlings to the afterlife once their souls made it to the caverns.

When Death returned to the surface, they discovered that another primordial god had emerged from the ocean and onto the beach. This was Nature, and new plants sprouted under their feet with every step. Death took Nature under their wing, guiding the new god and teaching them everything that Death had to learn alone. Nature embraced the bees and keeperlings, who in turn embraced their new god.

Death and Nature were inseparable companions. It was not long until they united for a brief moment, producing a fourth god – Harvest themself, who appeared often as a tall keeperling and worked the plants that their parents had created.

As more and more keeperlings died, Death eventually accepted that their duty was to remain in the afterlife with their charges. Nature and Harvest bid them goodbye, and Death headed into the caverns below alongside Psychopomp, taking on the role of Ruler of the Dead. Nature followed their cue, taking on the role of Ruler of the Living. Harvest and Psychopomp worked between the two, becoming companions themselves.

Eventually, the churning primordial waters of Chival overtook the land of Shelterhill, flooding the lands and driving the keeperlings to extinction and nearly wiping out the bees as well. Nature, in mourning, decided to fashion another race. This second race was taller and more agile, better adapted to the now-flooded land. These were the wavelings, who followed their predecessors’ beekeeping culture but built riverside cities, using the waters as their primary travel and trade routes. They fashioned boats and rafts, built their cities from sandstone and glass, and invented tools to stake out territories and set up more beehives. Harvest, inspired by the wavelings’ ingenuity in turn, decided to create more animals to live on Shelterhill. Livestock, prey animals, predators, and carrion feeders alike came from their outstretched hands.

One day, a waveling fashioned a stone into a point and attached it to a long stick, using it as the first spear. This invention allowed the wavelings to hunt prey animals and protect themselves from predators. This waveling became known as Hunter, becoming the fifth god and the third of Harvest and Psychopomp’s group.

Life continued on with these five gods looking over the living and dead together. Death changed the afterlife so the wavelings would be comfortable there alongside the keeperlings. Nature ensured that life flourished. Psychopomp guided wavelings to the afterlife. Harvest ensured that everyone remained fed and cared for. Hunter ensured that everyone remained fed and safe.

Unfortunately, this third race would come to an end as well. A great drought swept over the land, drying the waters and withering the crops. The bees once again were the only survivors, and Nature was sent into mourning again.

Harvest, Psychopomp, and Hunter worked together to create the next race. They designed one that could swim, but wouldn’t die from a drought. They invented one that would take care of the bees left behind, but also could follow Hunter’s lead and hunt for sustenance. The three gods united their power and created the fourth race, the dawnlings. These were the most random, versatile people yet, thanks to their trifold-divine origin. Each was far more unique than any individual keeperling or waveling had been. Some looked more like keeperlings, some more like wavelings, and some like something else entirely.

The dawnlings rediscovered the creations of the keeperlings and wavelings, and, like the wavelings before them, used that as a starting point for their own civilization. Harvest taught them how to tend to plants and of the works of Nature, Psychopomp taught them about Death and their great efforts for the land, and Hunter taught them how to survive and protect themselves. The three younger gods – one born, two risen – became the patrons of the dawnlings and worked in unison to lead and rule them. The bees, the beloved older race, worked in unison with the dawnlings.

As the ages have worn on and the dawnlings have advanced further as a society, the five gods wonder if there will be another calamity, especially since the waters of Chival grow rowdier again. Death and Nature watch the ancient waters, primarily to see if another god will emerge from Chival like they once did, and Harvest, Psychopomp, and Hunter watch over the mortals of Shelterhill.

[stillness-in-green]

Chapter Thoughts — Chapter 391: Rejecting the World + Chapter 392: Villain Name

On Toga’s Accusations

I am somewhat wary that two-thirds of Toga’s accusations towards Ochaco—you’ve never wanted for anything; your life was perfectly easy to live—are worded in such a way that they’re very easily parried by a reminder that Ochaco grew up in poverty.[1]  No, Uraraka never struggled with quirk-based compulsions like Toga did; she always seemed to fit easily into her social surroundings; that doesn’t mean she’s never wanted for anything and has always had an easy life.  It feels extremely akin to the Spinner fanboys yelling at the Black dude that he has no idea what it’s like to be judged by his appearance; it makes the accusers look wildly self-centered, oblivious to hardships suffered by people other than themselves.

That said, Ochaco’s already done the thing where Toga expresses that she finds her life difficult and Ochaco responds by ignoring that statement completely in favor of moralistic scolding about actions having consequences.  One would hope, given the contents of these two chapters, that we’re not due for yet another speech of that sort.  At most, I’d like to see Ochaco use their shared difficulties—different in nature, but both still present—as a basis for empathy rather than an excuse to chide Toga for not trying harder.

A while back, I criticized the Flamin’ Sidekickers for feeling the need to justify their continued association with Endeavor to Dabi—as if their reasoning makes any difference to Todoroki Touya!—and I feel similarly about this. True as it is that Ochaco has faced her own share of problems, her firing back about those problems and comparing her and Toga’s responses to them would not actually be helpful right now in de-escalating the situation.  It’s not always about you and your own problems!  Especially not when you’re trying to talk someone down!  As was the case with the Spinner fanboys, Toga’s in a very bad place right now, and has been for a long, long time.  Ochaco doesn’t have to validate her crimes, but I do think it’s important to validate her pain.[2]

(Hit the jump for more on Toga—her flashback and the intersection of her emotions with her quirk mechanics—as well as some musings on the broader implications of the quirk counseling scene, and the usual assortment of odds and ends.)

   

On Toga’s Emotional Quirk Mechanics

O Nice to finally get a hard confirmation that the doubles are clones of Toga-as-Twice, not clones of Twice himself.  Makes sense, given the speed with which she’s replicating, and makes it slightly easier to justify her own emotional hang-ups interfering with the way Double normally functions, though I’m by no means rescinding my complaints about that whole thing being hella arbitrary. Also, confirming that these are all Togas would seem to make it less probable for Uraraka to be able to pick out the real thing by her tears, right?  If they’re all Toga-masquerading-as-Twice, shouldn’t they all be crying?

O I like the Zeno’s Arrow-esque nature of the problem with Toga’s time limit on her transformation here.  Like, yes, any given double, and Toga herself, will run out of transformation time eventually, but she’s making exponentially increasing numbers of doubles every single second; each one of those doubles is created with the same amount of blood stock its creator had at the moment it started the creation process.  Each double thus comes into existence with one second more time than its creator now has.  So, how thin can Toga slice those seconds?  How infinitesimally close to the timer reaching zero can a double still snap out a new copy, which now has that tiny fragment more time remaining to make a copy itself? Real life doesn’t operate on philosophical time, of course, so she’ll run out of time eventually, prompting a huge tidal wave of Twices turning back into Togas, but it’s a neat thought exercise.

O DELIGHTED that Tsuyu’s guess was off-base, so all the ice-cold, “Toga doesn’t really love the League,” take meta from the people who think the League are toxic and bad for each other is rendered just hilariously short-sighted in retrospect.  Because, hey, maybe you shouldn’t take Tsuyu’s word over Toga’s about Toga’s own feelings!  Imagine that!

O Interesting that, despite the whole horde moving with the feeling of, “All heroes must die!” when they overrun Tsuyu, they don’t kill her on the spot, but rather just bind her and hoist her up as a hostage.  I assume there’s at least some influence from Hori not wanting to kill off any student characters, but extra-canonical explanations being what they may be, it still reflects interestingly on Toga’s own desires and intentions, and certainly her (underutilized) affection for Tsuyu.

   

On Toga’s Flashback

O So like, Toga’s dad definitely hit her in the flashback, right?

His hand is outstretched, specifically visible against the black silhouette of the rest of his figure; he could have just slapped the bird out of her hands, but I don’t think that would have been enough to spin her all the way in the opposite direction from when her parents first discovered her with the bird.  Further, she’s on her knees and hunched over, one arm raised towards the left side of her face, and if you look closely at her cheek in the next panel—

              —you can see a mark on the left side of her face that isn’t there on the right.

I don’t have a particular observation about this to discuss further—just wanted to point it out.  Toga’s father’s first response to seeing his three-year-old daughter holding a dead bird was not to tell her to put the bird down, or to hit it out of her hands, but to slap her so hard it spun her around and knocked her over.  Oh, and then to accuse her of killing it.

The three-year old.  Killing a fully-grown sparrow with her bare hands.  I couldn’t kill a fully-grown sparrow with my bare hands because a fully grown sparrow wouldn’t let me in touching range without flying away!  What is wrong with Toga’s father, exactly, that that’s the assumption he jumps to??

Incidentally, one of the bright little changes the anime made to that sequence back in MVA—one I actually overlooked in the In Memoriam posts—was to specifically animate him slapping the bird out of her hands and then leave her standing there grinning, arms lowered, as her parents continue berating her.  It’s truly astounding that we are still uncovering new issues stemming from the anime’s butchering of My Villain Academia!

O Speaking of Toga material the anime wildly fucked up, let’s talk about ~~quirk counseling.~~

So like, I tried for so long to maintain a layer of skepticism about what Curious said about quirk counseling.  After all, Curious was a villain, a member of a free-quirk-use cult, violently against the current social order.  She was categorically not a reliable narrator about the intentions and outcomes of quirk counseling!  All the same, it seemed safe to assume she was at least partially right, if only because, in a meta view, no one ever showed up to contradict her!  If we were meant to understand that she was wrong, why allow her words to stand uncontested?

Well, it turns out it’s because she was 100% right!

“They attempt to hammer out any bumps in your understanding of the world and program you to fit neatly into society’s little boxes,” she said, and, “The counseling ends up emphasizing the inherent differences among us all.”  And here we find a counselor saying, “Let’s get you all reformed, nice and normal,” thus emphasizing that Toga is very much not normal.

Of course, the counselor then immediately turns around and reveals that Toga’s desires are normal, at least in the sense that “deviant” desires are quite common in “children with powerful quirks.”  It happens all the time, apparently!  Despite the frequency of the problem, though, the best answer Hero Society has come up with is to preach repression, to strictly control who is allowed to use their quirk—and thus alleviate any natural urges that might accompany it.

Remember what Re-Destro said back in Chapter 227?

Wow!  It’s almost like this was an entirely predictable outcome!

O My perennial gloating about the (MVA-era) MLA being justified and correct aside, it’s interesting and, I think, promising that Horikoshi made time to include that bit on quirk counseling here.  Firstly, it reinforces the idea that Toga did not become a villain due to the actions of one discrete villain like AFO; she was failed by society at large, so simply offering her the sanctified blessing of The Sympathy of One (1) Teenager is not going to do a thing about the problems that created her, and will go on creating others like her unless real change happens in the attitudes of the current society.

(Of course, all of that is also true for Spinner, and we saw how the confrontation with the societal problems that created him went, thanks but no thanks, Shouji.)

Moreover, though, it’s yet another element that points in the direction of the Quirk Singularity Theory looming on the horizon.  If quirks are getting stronger and stronger as generations pass (and we’ve got plenty of evidence that suggests that they are) and psychological issues like Toga’s are common in those with strong quirks (and I don’t see any reason for a professional counselor to misstate something like that[3]), then it follows that such issues will also become more common as quirks increase in strength.  Indeed, an irresistibly strong desire to use one’s quirk would be a logical expression of Ujiko’s conclusion that quirks will eventually go out of control!

This is the dark side of Second’s conflation of a person’s intent with the term “quirk” back in Chapter 369.  It’s a place where the translation of the word kosei as “quirk” obscures the sentence somewhat.  Recall that the word Horikoshi uses translates more literally as “personality.”  So, Second says that a strong intent is what makes a person fearsome, and this is why meta-abilities were given the name they were[4]: the power is merely a vessel, a weapon to be used to carry out the intent in question, a characterful, personalized expression of one’s inner will.  In other words, a “personality.”

But the inverse also becomes true.  If a quirk, a “personality,” is reflective of one’s will, then to suppress one’s quirks is to suppress one’s will.  To condemn someone’s quirk becomes the same as condemning them.  To label a quirk deviant is to label the person’s will deviant.  And if a quirk grows too strong to control, then the will-as-embodied-by-the-quirk also goes out of control.  Hence, Toga snaps after too many years of suppression.

So how does that problem get addressed?  The MLA, of course, wanted free quirk use, because Destro foresaw a time when quirks would grow too powerful for suppression to be effective.  Even radical self-acceptance and an even more radical restructuring of society are still just kicking that problem down the road, though, assuming they’d be effective at all—not that it looks like Hero Society is on the cusp of embracing that particular point of the MLA’s ideology regardless!  Indeed, as Team Hero still regards the problem of quirks increasing in strength as “fringe thinking reserved for cults,” they don’t seem to have any intention at all of addressing the problem.  Time will tell if the story itself will do so.

O It’s striking that even after some years of emotional abuse, Toga was still barefacedly begging her parents to please explain to her what made her so different from everyone else.  It’s a telling parallel to her willingness to actively seek out Ochaco and Deku to ask their opinion on things, and makes it not terribly surprising that she reacts so negatively to being rebuffed by them.  Her whole question in the wake of Jin’s death was whether heroes viewed villains as human—when heroes go on to reject her, like her parents did, of course she’d assume that it means those heroes also view her as inhuman.

   

Stray Notes

O ‘Eeeeeey, people picked up on the Death part of the Parade name this time!  I notice it hasn’t been corrected in the online version of 375, though; I wonder if the volume release will fix it?

O One thing I wasn’t clear on from the leaks/scanlation—the former of which are too fuzzy, the latter too murky—but am very happy to see here is that the Himijin Horde is definitely visible on the horizon for Hawks.  You can tell from the difference in the shading: fuzzy, gray, irregularly sized trees on the right and left, but a long black line of much more regular height in the center:

They’re heading for the Todorokis and Iida, too, of course, but Hawks is obviously the confrontation I’m most interested in.  (Read: GET ‘IM.  GEEEET ‘IM.)  Very much hope we get to see that before Uraraka completely defuses this whole situation.

O Love the acknowledgement from both Ochaco and Tsuyu that Ochaco’s efforts here are late, and that’s worth an apology, worth Toga being upset about.  I’m thrilled that the story is finally, explicitly folding villains into that idea expressed by Nedzu that it’s difficult but necessary for someone to be the first one to hold out a hand if society is to meaningfully advance.  I extra love that Ochaco is holding out that hand while also taking a huge risk: offering her thoughts on why Toga’s having problems with making quirk-use-capable clones.

As I said about Chapter 382, Toga resolving that issue would be incredibly dangerous for Team Hero, and I love that Uraraka is still—despite being very aware of that danger—willing to try to help Toga with it.  With no guarantee of reciprocity, with everything at stake, Uraraka still takes the time to carry on that conversation because it’s what her heart tells her is the right thing to do.

After all, if she can resolve Toga’s issue, that stands to win her back at least a degree of Toga’s faith, at which point a Toga-made clone of Shigaraki obliterating this whole stretch of countryside would no longer be what Toga wants.[5] More than the strategic considerations, though, it's plainly apparent that Toga struggling with Jin's quirk is causing her great anguish, and that's really what Uraraka wants to soothe.

Taking the talk-no-jutsu gamble is how Shinsou should have handled Machia; it’s how Deku should have been handling Shigaraki instead of drowning him in his Fist Ocean.  I praised Mirio for making at least a game attempt at it, and Shouto took a crack at it before slipping back into castigation; if Spinner had been coherent enough to hold an actual conversation with Shouji, we might have gotten it there.  This conflict, though, is where I expect the tactic to finally work, as Toga has both the emotional investment in Uraraka[6] and the presence of mind/free agency to actually respond.  I can’t wait to see how it goes!

O Toga’s spitting-mad injunction that Uraraka not dare to pity her based on societal standards that never made room for Toga to begin with is an excellent echo of Jin's indignance that Hawks would dare to say Jin led an “unlucky” life, as well as Toga’s own fury at Curious for trying to paint her as miserable.

----------------- FOOTNOTES -----------------

[1] So far as I can tell, there’s not an officially recognized difference between “being poor” and “living in poverty”—they’re just different parts of speech describing the same condition—though it seems many people feel instinctively that there’s a difference in severity there.  Still, I’ll stick with “poverty” in this case: while Uraraka’s family never seemed so destitute that they were worried about keeping a roof over their heads, we know that, as of the beginning of the manga, she was skipping meals to save money.  I doubt she would have been so blasé about going hungry that it could be used as grist for comedic volume extras if she didn’t have prior experience with it, and not having enough money to have regular meals is right there in what it means to live under the poverty line.

[2] Elsewhere in this same angle, Deku’s frank empathy for and validation of Gentle and his motivations is what made Gentle’s return feel so much more earned compared to Nagant’s, and Shouto scolding Dabi for involving innocent people proved ineffective.  Shouji, meanwhile, took a stab at validating the mob’s pain, but didn’t have a single word of sympathy for Spinner.

[3] You know, assuming she doesn’t turn out to have been secretly on AFO’s payroll or something.

[4] Setting aside Second’s rampant historical revisionism about the origin of the term, of course, because not a lick of what he says lines up with the actual story of the Mother of Quirks.

[5] Though, you know, the clone Shigaraki would probably still want it!

[6] Dabi’s emotionally invested in Shouto, but in an inverted way, not one that primes him to listen to anything Shouto has to say.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Hi, India!!

I’m writing my first fic for a fest and I was so excited about it. But I reread what I wrote so far and it’s just soooo bad 😭 I can’t think of anyone reading it, specially because english is not my first language and I fear my writing is not natural or fluid enough.

Do you have any advice on how can I take my mind out of this though and just write for pleasure as I used to? 🥲

Hey, love 💕

I’m sorry this took me awhile to answer. (I’m also not the most eloquent right now, I’m sorry.) Honestly, it’s a little funny that you chose to ask me this question, because I’m notorious for being very, very in my head about my writing and being consistent about quality.

To be fair to that, and to you, I’m going to try and give you a handful of answers, from different perspectives. They can be taken together or separately or not at all, whatever suits.

First, most importantly, and most pragmatically:

1. Get a beta you trust.

I know the face of this fandom has changed, I know content creation has dwindled and that less and less people are able to support writers this way, but honestly, for me, this is more important than almost anything about the writing process, and especially so if you’re writing in your second, third, fourth language. There are just too many nuances to language and verbiage, and it helps so much for someone to say “I know what you meant here, but it doesn’t read like that.”

(I don’t believe in ever letting my work go unbeta-ed, no matter how confident I feel in the raw work or the language, because of course I know what I meant to say — I’m the writer. I need some to firmly (but kindly) check that the audience understands it as well.)

Betas also help in terms of managing self-criticism, because being hard on yourself is just not always something you can change, especially if you care about the story and skill-building. A good beta will help by either saying “it’s not bad, you’ve just read it too often, put it down” or “why do you think it’s bad exactly” and help you improve it.

Second, on the concept of writing for pleasure:

2. Just because something is hard doesn’t mean it’s not fun.

People often mistake “fun” for “easy”; I don’t think it’s the same. I think when you enjoy something and are passionate about it, it’s going to cost you and force you to push yourself. There’s no such thing as “low-stakes passion”, that’s just incongruous. (Marathon runners don’t keep running races that are easy for them. They progress because they like it — process, challenges, rewards, everything.)

Similarly, you clearly write because you love it. But if you’re getting to the point where you’re cognizant enough to be self-critical, that means you’re improving. It means there are things you want to convey that your skill doesn’t allow you to yet.

Hold on to that, because that’s motivation. It means that you love something enough that you’re consumed with doing it justice. That tension is not a bad thing; that’s where a hobby turns into a passion and the solution is not about regressing back to something low-stakes — it’s about finding out how to bridge the gap between your skill and your ambition.

And third, focused on the output:

3. Focus on how much you want your story to exist.

Most of the time, writing is a long game. It’s about consistency and effort and focus and discipline, and all of those things are tiring as fuck.

It’s so much easier to bang out a drabble and get the validation, and move onto the next “fun” idea. And that’s totally fine, except for when you want this particular story to exist this particular way.

I’ve found that’s the only thing that pushes me to stay motivated and devoted to writing — the thought that I just want this story to exist and I don’t want to live in a world where it doesn’t.

My boss always says this thing: “let the content lead”, and I think that’s true of writing. If you’re focused on weaving this idea into something tangible, if that’s mainly what drives you, the relationship stays between you and the story (not the story and it’s external reception) and that can alleviate the pressure a lot, because you shift into writing to fulfill an internal goal, and as long as that story exists, you’ve achieved that.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I think all of your concerns are valid. You have a very practical issue: the language barrier, that needs a very practical solution: a beta. But you’re also hitting a moment of growth in terms of your writing, and I don’t want you to look at that hurdle and assume it means you need to turn around. Things can be hard and also fun, and I wouldn’t want the fandom to miss out on this version of this story that can only be written by you just because you’ve outgrown your current skill set.

Lastly, and I think this is really important: remember that this is never going to be your last fic. So if it’s not perfect — if it’s not exactly the way you want it to be at the end — write another one that’s better, and another, and another. There’s room in this fandom for every version of you as a writer, and your chances to improve and represent yourself better are infinite. Write what you can write now, and then write something better later. 🩷

[katyspersonal]

8, 12, 16, 18, 22, 23 for the last ask game!

(Asks from this ( x ) meme)

8) common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

I am not sure whether this qualifies as "everyone", the takes I've seen might not reflect larger fandom, but I'd say thoughts that beasts are innocent? Beasthood in Bloodborne is revealed, not created! Dark Souls trilogy AND Bloodborne both depict humans in their lore as inherently evil and dangerous by nature, but the gut punch is that the attempts to deal with it make things even worse.

Humanity did not need to consume the holy blood to start being violent, cruel, destructive, stupid, unhinged and to eat their own; we've always been this way. Does it matter if what we're consistently doing is in human form or furry form, in the end? Holy blood removed the restraints that already were not super functional should you analyse history and society in general! At the same time, attempts to 'remove' that side of humanity with Eyes Inside and Kin ascension are whole another can of worms, and likewise a bad thing no one asked for. But yeah.. Beasts, indeed, ARE men! This is just Fromsoft's brand of despair!

12) the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

I answered this question like 3 times already, because in 'choose peace' variant of the ask meme it was unaltered! XD ( x ) ( x ) ( x ) These replies are for Gratia, Forgotten Madman and Dores and they still work! This time I will offer not a set character, but a mentioned character that does have backstory potential!

Logarius killed the king, but who was he? Was he Annalise's husband, since she is a Queen and not a princess? Or maybe he was her father, and she is the Queen on the account of no other ruler left?

^ The King is unused content and there are two kinds of models used for him; the first collage is for 'ghost king' that comes in three variants, and the second one seems to be 'actual' king. Again, are these spirits relevant? Or they're his servants? Or you can use these references to make TWO characters - the father and Annalise's husband?

I think this is some really good material to use for Cainhurst backstory! Maria's past in general is never developed aside of her Hunter era and all that happened afterwards, but I think he'd be a presence in her past in some way! As well as characters like Annalise, and maybe Bloody Crow depending on your timeline headcanons! + My take on it is to use both variants; former was how King used to be and three ghost variants currently function same as Brador's phantoms, latter is what he turned into (just less skeletial xd) since apparently for the ritual featuring Ring of Betrothal to conceive a child of blood it doesn't matter if you propose to Annalise as male or female hunter 🤔 And what are your thoughts VOTE NOW FROM YOUR PHONES

16) you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

"Laurence is Choir and Micolash is Mensis" headcanon. Okay, this is instant lie, right off the bat, because I DO understand why so many people like this! It creates the parallel/opposition that is fun to utilise in Micolaurence ship. Rivalry and all. But, honestly though.. Laurence is the head of the Healing Church! The bit about "creation of the Choir divided Healing Church in two" could be read as either 1) the staff now had a proper distinction between blood ministration and Insight research, in which case Laurence still governs BOTH 2) Choir lowkey turned on Laurence by pursuing more Willem-esque research but wasn't defunded for one reason or another or 3) Choir formed after Laurence's death where Healing Church was no longer organised properly. And in all of these cases, he is not Choir's 'face'!

If anything, School of Mensis is closer to how Laurence researches with Moon rituals and removed Great One cords. He is not Choir, he is either above Choir or against Choir! And more than anything, I don't understand the appeal of drawing Laurence in unaltered Choir garb. Regardless of headcanons, it makes no sense for the leader to dress the exact same as his subordinates! He should create the impression of the most important person, not a Choir boy that forgot his hat! ......what?

Siiiiiigh FINE, I'll downvote my own uploads here and say that it IS possible that Laurence was wearing this clothing and Choir copied him afterwards, when he either died or shifted into different direction (with new drip). It can work! But I still do not understand the appeal personally!

18) it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

The historical background within Bloodborne's universe! What happened with Pthumerians, how all of this started, how Pthumerians and humans divided exactly, what happened in Loran, the reasoning between civil war within Pthumerians, what happened with the Great Ones, who was the guy that created Holy Moonlight Sword, what the heck was with beta!version of the Hunter's Dream since you can see Hunter's mark and Messenger statues back in Dungeons- argh if only they've made Bloodborne PREQUEL, because all this information is so worth it! I want to create a Pthumerian warrior character xD

Also no, not the "then do it yourself if you're so damn smart" moment: I do have all of this and more mapped in my head! You can read the summary in this ( x ) post if you want to, but warning, it is fanfic-sized, not even an essay!

22) your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

Everything in canon is my favourite part lol x) I don't even know which bit to single out! I think maybe Logarius' relation to the core Healing Church? With ignoring Brador, you could cope saying he was just 'another' assassin, or that the Cleric Beast he killed was not Laurence, or something.. But how can you erase Logarius and his Executioners, that went to destroy Cainhurst on Laurence's behalf? It is always just "oh look, Laurence and his TWO most important associates Ludwig and Gehrman! :3" meanwhile Logarius is just here like:

23) ship you've unwillingly come around to

I used to dislike Gascoryk, believe it or not! I started right out with the 'the grandpa little girl mentioned IS Henryk, so he is Viola's father!' so it constantly felt strange for me. And I also had bad taste after previous fandoms where people would take a male character who canonically had girlfriend/wife established and either ignored her to not let her "get in the way" or paired her with female character to "get rid" of her (you just know what I mean). It just felt so weird for me that people liked this ship when I just started in the fandom?

But yeah, I could only see this ship enjoyed and treated normally so often before I started to question my own perception of it. Like maybe I was reading it the wrong way, or projected former cringe experiences with shippers on this new fandom that is more mature? This is why I say that I came around it 'unwillingly': everyone enjoyed it and no one thought it was strange, so I ended up being chill about it over thinking that maybe I was the strange one about it. Granted, it was to the BETTER, since I figured that timeline is flexible and they still had a story before Gasc's marriage, also open relationship is a thing, also maybe 'grandpa' was not to be taken literally but just a sign of how present he was in the family or something they told to the girl xd Not to mention that the most active shipper of Gascoryk that I know of absolutely DOES care about Viola and Eileen too, so I've had a lot of positive exposure that completely overrode the negative impression from previous fandoms that I carried here!

[best-romanov-monarch]

Final Result(s)

Oh, how the time flies! It truly feels like yesterday when we've announced the creation of this tournament. And yet, it has only been a little over a month (there weren't THAT many Romanov monarchs, and we are very efficient). Nonetheless. On this very fine day of 22.1.2024, we are both proud and saddened to announce the ending of this tournament. As said in a previous post, this blog isn't quite dead, not when there are other tournaments to promote, and so far we still have a horse in the Napoleonic Sexyman race (if you haven't heard of this, it's over at @napoleonic-sexyman-tournament) But there will be no more polls, at least none created by us, and no regular posts. If you'll miss the fun and games of picking your favourite historical monarch, we have a few recommendations:

@rulers-of-poland-tournament is also nearing the completion (sadly, they have already kicked out all of our candidates, because of course they have, the damn Poles)

@best-hohenzollern-ruler is also ongoing

@best-bourbon-monarch is still going on, and probably will for some time

@best-braganza-tournement also has already started

@best-pope-ever is also a thing, so for all of you papists out there, you can join the conclave

@besthrestate is a bit different in character (you are picking the best state of the Holy Roman Empire), but pretty much the same in spirit

Now, enough preamble, onto the results!

***

THE CROWN OF MONOMAKH

Main tournament was a profoundly tense affair, especially at the finale, where we had a very close race between everyone's favourite (though by no means the most) toxic girlboss and the one mildly less autocratic than the rest. And oh my, what a competition it was - would the electorate's love of girlbosses and sense of fun prevail over the plain old moral considerations? After all, when it comes to competence, you could make the case for both. In the end, thanks to two well-placed last minute endorsements, Alexander II. prevailed and gained the title of Best Romanov Monarch! A round of applause for Sasha, everyone!

THE TRUE HEIR OF RURIKIDS

This one kind of got out of hand when your esteemed admin didn't manage to learn from history and turned to the FUCKING POLES for help. As a result, the electorate of @rulers-of-poland-tournament overran the poll and let Władisław IV. Vasa win a decisive victory. Our new absolute ruler has assured us that he has already declared war on the meddlesome Poles for this (for the record, second place, also pretty decisively, went to Boris Godunov).

BEST ROYAL FAVOURITE

Okay, we get snubbing our great forefather Filaret once, but two times? And he gets NO VOTES??? For shame! This electorate has disappointed us immensely. Otherwise, the results are pretty much what you'd expect; the one and only almighty chaos gremlin has come out on top, and Ekaterina II. fans out there can at least be content with this title for their beloved's long-time partner (possibly secret husband?).

BEST RULER OF KIEVAN RUS'

Because Rurikids don't have their own tournament yet. Anyway, this electorate has shown a slight (though not as pronounced as you might think considering these are Romanov enjoyers) preference for the toxic girlboss flavor of monarch, so no surprises there: Saint Olga, of course it's Saint Olga.

BEST ROMANOV PALACE

We've been told this one was kinda unfair, since we avoided some very obvious candidates. considering its historical significance, we suspect the victor of this one would easily win anyway, just not THAT decisively. Anyway, the best Romanov palace is Winter Palace, and it's not even close.

WORST ROMANOV MONARCH

As a nice bookend to this post, we are handing out the title of Worst Romanov Monarch together with the Best one! We thought this one might not be representative of the actual state of affairs, considering the unusual quickfire nature of this poll, as a result of which the attendance seems to have been low... But looking at the results, this sounds about right. Of course the electorate that crowned Alexander II. the best Romanov monarch would think his son was the worst one. Anyway, hooray for Alexander III., the Worst Romanov Monarch! *unethusiastic cheers*

[fang-and-feather]

Dancing between Emotions

Fandom: Ayakashi: Romance Reborn

Rating: General

Categories: F/M

Pairing: Toichiro/OC (fake date, pre/developing relationship). Small mentions of Shizuki/Futaba

Words: 1920

Prompt(s): Being the MC/LI's fake date for a Christmas party/ball, from the "’tis the season for love" content creation challenge hosted by @xxsycamore and @voltage-vixen

Summary: In need of a date for a party, Toichiro asks Rinka to be his pretend date for the night. Their relationship has been changing and they notice new things about each other the longer she's been working for him. That doesn't mean they get along. Or do they?

Toichiro watched the girl sitting by his aide with interest.

The first time he met Rinka at a party, he didn’t know what to make of her. Way too perceptive for his taste, but her attempts to play back with him were mildly entertaining, especially for a girl of high society.

The second time it was a whole different Rinka, clothes that made people double take her gender, good fighting skills for a human and an almost childish humor.

The third time she was more serious, defensive in an almost aggressive way, but kind underneath. Not exactly fun to interact with, but they were there for businesses, anyway.

And business had led him to what seemed to be a more true Rinka. Beneath the tough and alert facade, she had a softer core that he again found mildly entertaining. She was still way too perceptive, but he knew how to find the small cracks on her armor not to make their working together too boring.

That was mostly why he had invited her as his fake date to this Christmas party. Her reaction to the actual invitation had already been the most entertaining he’d ever seen her.

This wasn’t the change he’d been expecting, though.

Usually calm and brave, Rinka looked startled. Body tense, eyes that darted around inquietly, occasionally frowning at the window, hands on her lap crumpling her dress, to the point she could have torn a hole in it. Sitting across from her friend, Futaba looked worried, but anytime she looked ready to say something, the other girl seemed to change her mind. And they had barely started the ride.

“If you didn’t like the dress, you should have told me.”

That Rinka was hard to get a rise of, he knew well, but absolutely no reaction was unexpected. It looked like she didn’t even hear him.

“Toichiro…” Futaba started, probably trying to tell him off teasing her friend, but Shizuki, on the seat next to his girlfriend, squeezed her hand lightly.

“Mistress Futaba.” Shizuki only called her and shook his head. She looked hesitant, but nodded with a sigh.

Toichiro observed the couple’s exchange. It wasn’t worth interacting with them more than was necessary, either. He actually made a little more effort to be on Shizuki’s good side when the weather was already cold. The last thing he needed during winter was a Snow Spirit angry with him.

So he turned back to Rinka and placed a hand over hers, only to halt her movements before she actually tore a hole in the dress and to get her attention. He wasn’t expecting her to nearly jump off her seat.

“What… what do you think you’re doing?” Wide blue eyes stared at him with a mix of fear, confusion, and anger.

“Oh, dear, are you that afraid of me?”

“O-of you…” her voice trembled, and she looked away, cheeks tinged pink, “of course not. Don’t make me laugh.” Anger returned to her voice, but not to her face. This was the most expressive reaction he had ever gotten from her.

Rinka was returning to normal but, at the same time, being a little more open.

“Really? Because I thought that more plausible than you being this flushed by my touch.”

Toichiro took one of her hands in his, interlacing their fingers when she tried to pull away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rinka hissed, but the blush didn’t leave her cheeks and her eyes still flitted around when he looked at her.

“You are my date. It is natural, is it not?”

“I di-didn’t think this fake date started before we arrived at the party.”

She had stuttered again, and this time not of fear or surprise. Her being so vulnerable was both unsettling and interesting.

Rinka looked over at Futaba and Shizuki on the other side, but the two were too engrossed in their conversation with each other to pay attention to them. On purpose, Toichiro was certain. Not that he was paying enough attention to what they were saying.

“You agreed to be my date for the night. It is already night, isn’t it?”

Her eyes narrowed in thought and quickly widened in realization. The flush of her cheeks became darker and Rinka scowled at him in a poor attempt to keep her composure.

“Lords. You’re so needy.” She grumbled. “Fine, you can hold my hand.” She sighed, but it sounded more like a sigh of relief than annoyance, turning back to the window to avoid his gaze, face still red.

Since the ride was almost over, Toichiro let her be for the remainder of it, amused by how, once in a while, she would squeeze his hand.

Rinka wondered if she was fantasying too much, thinking Toichiro had distracted her not only for his own amusement but also because he noticed her fear.

It was unlikely from the Toichiro she thought she knew but, after a little incident that had her seeing the kitsune in his environment, she had began to wonder if his masks, as much as they were part of his nature, weren’t a defense mechanism as well.

Besides him being a compulsive liar, maybe they weren’t that different.

The party itself wasn’t as bad as Rinka expected. It was as boring as expected, but being by Toichiro’s side, he interacted with the other aristocrats, leaving her to only convey holiday wishes and other messages from her grandmother.

Pretending to be dating wasn’t as awkward, either. Most people only made light comments, all of them nice, but it was clear not everyone was as satisfied as their words would lead other people to believe. Only one man, the host of the party, had made a couple of awkward questions about their relationship, but she -and it would seem that Toichiro too - had been prepared for them.

She was pretty sure that man was the reason Toichiro insisted on having a date for the night.

Also, Toichiro’s usual teasing hadn’t been as annoying.

Maybe she’d gotten used to it. Or maybe she was still shaken from the freaking carriage ride, because she caught herself almost showing signs of being unsettled by him a couple of times.

By the time they had probably spoken to everyone at least once, Rinka was already thinking Toichiro wasn’t so bad and could even be fun, if he wasn’t constant and likely accidentally - in most cases because he could have guessed some things about her, but not everything - triggering her defense mode.

Odd mood for her to be in. Maybe it was Christmas. This time of the year usually made her happier and even, sometimes, more sentimental, and despite this being the last place she wanted to be, the atmosphere was still quite festive, with beautiful, traditional western decoration.

She parted from Toichiro, who was still talking to some people, with the intent of getting a drink, despite Shizuki’s insistence on attending to her. If it wasn’t something for his master, he should enjoy his time with his girlfriend.

Her break was short-lived, though, because Toichiro was soon by her side.

“You’re not running away from me, are you?”

These kinds of jokes got tiring fast. Why was he so obsessed with her suddenly?

“Running away from humans.” Not a lie, although she didn’t mind a break from Toichiro either. “Do you need me for something?”

“For a dance.” The usual smirk didn’t leave his face, and Rinka considered if it was a joke or not.

“I’m not great at dancing with people. You wouldn’t want me to embarrass you, right?”

Rinka also meant it as a joke. She couldn’t care less. But it was true she had never danced with another person before. All of her grandmother’s attempts to get someone to teach her had been swiftly dodged so far, and she wouldn’t regret it.

“Couples dance at parties like this. I’m sure not everyone is convinced of our partnership, so we have to act accordingly.”

Sounded like the truth, but his face told her otherwise. Yet, it was logical enough, and she was aware not everyone had readily accepted their lie.

What could go wrong, anyway?

“Fine. One dance, then you find whatever excuse you need and let me go home.”

“Deal.” He offered her a hand, and she took it, letting him guide her to where other couples were already dancing.

Rinka was surprised that Toichiro agreed so swiftly, but maybe he actually expected her to do something that would turn into amusement for him. Or maybe he wanted to see himself free of her, too.

Neither was unlikely and she would be fine with either.

But when he stopped, facing her and put one hand on her waist, pulling her closer, her body stiffened and suddenly all of her knowledge and usual grace and swiftness escaped the grasps of her brain.

Rinka wasn’t used to physical contact that she hadn’t initiated. It was small and over her clothes, but she could feel his heat. And the rest of his body was so close, any movement would make her brush against him. She started to feel trapped again, but it didn’t come with the usual fight response she’d felt during the carriage ride.

“Rinka!”

The girl almost jumped and ran away when Toichiro called her in a low, amused tone, so close to her ear. And she hadn’t even noticed him move.

Biting her bottom lip, she prayed no one had noticed her spacing out and held onto him properly. That wouldn’t help.

Toichiro started guiding her into the dance. At least it was easy not to step into someone when you were aware of their every movement.

“You have gone such a fine shade of scarlet. Are you unwell!”

He could at least stop joking for five minutes! Or was he trying to distract her again? Well, it wasn’t helping this time.

“Yes. There is too much movement of too many people. It feels stuffing.”

Toichiro chuckled, no doubt at some face she was making. Why was he having such an effect on her that night?

No. It wasn’t just that night. It had started since she had hunted down a particular thief to somewhere close to his village and the two had worked together into something different from what he wanted of her.

“Interesting. You don’t react when I try to get you to, but when I react on your own, when I don’t?”

Rinka couldn’t deny it without lying. She hated that he was right.

Was it just because she wasn’t used to being so close to a man for longer than a simple hug? Was it the little alcohol from earlier?

No. She wouldn’t have reacted like this to another man. In fact, she would have already left if it was with anyone but a friend, and a friend wouldn’t have made her feel so conscious of him but, at the same time, not prompted her to run away.

In fact, she considered running away, took a deep breath and tried to think of an excuse, but her mind had turned inward and gotten in the way of the instincts guiding her, and Rinka lost her footing. It would have been a disaster if Toichiro wasn’t holding her.

“So, you really did fall for me?”

“Dance is over. Let’s just go home.”

Toichiro was amused despite her anger and unlikely to drop the ‘dating’ act until she was dropped at her house.

It would be a long carriage ride back.

If it seems like I am using the same OC in different fandoms, it is because they're only slight different versions of the same character.

I was also going to elaborate more on the actual party, but it is my first time actually writing Toichiro and he is exhausting, but I thought he fit the prompt nicely and I think I wrote too much given these circunstances and don't know how well I got him... I would need much more time to write more and better of him and I still want to finish at least one more fic for this challenge.

[instant-angel-chaos]

The sun had nurtured nature back into life over the past month. It was warm, even the breeze of wind no longer made shivers run down your spine. Today was good, albeit not only the weather. The paint had began drying on canvas some time ago; in the right company watching it dry was one of the few wonders of the world. Alec breathed deep, exhaling long. It had been a while since he had gotten a birthday this good. Well, what was a birthday to him was just a late Sunday afternoon for his mother - he neverminded. She had also had a very succesfull day in the way she was allowed to leave the grounds of the nursing home (although always accompanied by a nurse) and attend a Sunday service with her son. Their local church didn't ring the bells in her mind but she had loved it nonetheless; faith had been the one thing that had never been swallowed by the fog overtaking her mind. Only growing stronger after the news of cancer.

After a beautiful ceremony she'd felt good enough to agree to afternoon painting - arranged by Alec thinking it would do her mind and soul some good, while also providing a nice activity for what was supposed to be his birthday. The bench on which they sat on was surrounded by puddles of forget-me-nots, the scent of approaching summer lingering on the trees arching over the forgotten family of two. Not much had been said between the two but words weren't necessary. The young man was more than comfortable in the meer presence of his mother who'd taught him many years ago to find sound in silence - that way it would never be overbearing. The days in which she found her forgotten son comfortable, not quite a stranger but not who he really was either, were days that had become fewer and fewer over the last half a year. Hence why he now never took for granted the moments in which, maybe even just for a passing second, she thought she might know him. She laid down her paint brush, glancing over at the figure of Alec seated next to her. Their canvases were slightly tilted away from one another to provide the privacy needed for their creations.

"I think I used to love painting," she stated after a moment. Her tone seemed content. Alec hummed in return, giving an encouraging nod. She had bought him his first paints when he was five-years-old, he still had collections of her artwork from over the years.

"What did you paint?" the question was gentle, although he still seemed to forget how to approach his mother as he would a stranger. The needed carefulness wasn't always there. Still, he smiled and it often helped to assist her in dropping her defences.

"Ah- just something that came to mind," she chuckled at her choice of words, shrugging, "if I ever used to be good, I'm certainly rusty now." She was magnificent. After motioning for him to look over, Alec scooted closer from the other end of the bench. Observing the carefully laid out acrylics on canvas (they used to be her favourite medium), it didn't take him longer than a moment to recognize what she had painted. More so where she had painted. Quickly blinking away the involuntary tears that had began pooling in the depths of his aquamarine eyes, Alec came to terms with the fact his mother had painted their home. There was no mistake about the stone path leading up to the front door, the garden that was in full bloom- the house she had not seen in what felt like an eternity at this point. A house she no longer remembered.

"As I said, I feel a bit rusty," she continued, breaking the silence that had fallen over the moment.

Alec was quick to recover, shaking his head and hurrying out a bewildered chuckle. "I was just taken aback by how truly wonderful your work is- this is.. wow." He swallowed, overtaken by what almost felt like nervousness. "And you came up with this scenery just now?"

"Yes, although.." she paused, observing her creation as if she was just seeing it for the very first time as well, "it feels homey."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She sounded certain. "What did you paint?"

Having almost forgotten he'd created something as well, the young man stammered over his words in an attempt to come with an excuse not to show. He rubbed the back of his awkwardly, a hearty laugh bubbling to the surface.

"It's alright, I reckon I wouldn't have felt comfortable sharing my work at your age either."

The silence that fell upon the two felt heavier, albeit still warm. Had he just dared, he would've shown his painting of the same exact house she had painted - but in fear of frightening her on such a lovely day, Alec decided it was best to stay silent.

"How old were you again?"

"Twenty-three."