#where does their regeneration end?

[esterigermaine]

Sometimes I wonder about the limits of vampire spawn healing and then I remember Cazador and get really sad for all of his spawn.

[rystiel]

doctor who is like: here is david tennant as the doctor, now before we get rid of him we’re going to have 2 doctors at once, then proceed to give david!doctor to a beloved companion for them to adopt into their family

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

aw man am i gonna have to wait out the rest of the season to find a satisfying ending for this

i can easily give 13 some wrong-way flashbacks. i mean premonitions are just remembering in the wrong direction right. bigeneration side effects, lets not get bogged down in the order of things

[the-meme-monarch]

"that's Astro for you! always going through phases! haha, but I'm stagnant, stuck in the middle of the universe."

my sibling and i wanted to make a sun character that we liked <:] we just never found one that clicked with us. he's a show-only character bc he'd make playing the game too easy even though he'd absolutely have the worst stealth ever. (maybe have some ability to regenerate other players’ health)

the episode is about how astro feels incredibly sidelined with his brother visiting, bc he’s So Much Better And Cooler And Everyone Likes Him, but like ray isn’t even mean about it or anything so it makes astro feel bad for Feeling Bad bc how can he have such negative emotions abt his brother who is So Smart And Nice. so dandy wants to prove astro is just as good at things as ray/has his own things he’s good at that ray isn’t. it doesn’t really work out until the end where astro realizes this for himself, as he’s been offhandedly mentioning things he’s good at all throughout the episode, not that he noticed(like the ‘i can mediate’ line). the moral would be about like. not comparing yourself to others/nobody’s perfect/you have your own uniqueness/etc

ray’s biggest flaw is he doesn't remember people’s names. literally the only person who’s name he remembers is astro’s. he gets around this by immediately giving people friendly nicknames. where as astro Does remember everyone’s names and also knows a lot About them/what they like, partially bc of his dream magic but also he’s The Listener

[yellowjestertfs]

Spare Parts

Al untucked his shirt, then tucked it in again, then quickly untucked it before landing on a French tuck—a mix of both that suited him worse than either. He had never been so nervous about going out with his friends. In the past, he was the life of the party, staying out clubbing until the witching hours, getting drunk, and ending up in some stranger's bed the next morning. That was before he made the fatal mistake of jaywalking drunk and got hit by a bus, which flung him into the path of another bus, which sent him off a bridge and into the water, where he was run over by a boat. Honestly, it would have been a pretty comical way to die—only he didn’t die. He should have died; he broke every bone in his body and turned his organs into a smoothie. The wonders of modern medicine intervened. He still didn’t quite understand exactly how, but the doctors had used stem cells, like those regenerating cells babies have, to essentially bring him back from the dead. A miracle, yes, but even miracles had their limits. The recovery process was long and hard, and even now, recently released from medical custody, he was not the same man he’d been before the accident.

Getting hit by two buses and a boat does that to you. His face was mangled—not to the point of being monstrous, but not attractive either. His body had also suffered from the accident, practically wasting away as he recovered. While the old Al partied with abandon, this new Al was self-conscious of his appearance and absolutely terrified to cross the street. Now, he stood at the crosswalk, fidgeting with his short-sleeve button-down shirt, thinking about why he had asked an old lady to help him across. He clutched her tightly as they crossed, ready to throw her in the way if a bus came barreling toward them—luckily for both of them, none did. Despite her age and his current condition, the woman actually made a pass at him, calling him a “handsome lad” and asking if he wanted to go back to her place. It helped his confidence, if only a little, and gave him a strange tingling feeling.

Finally, after detaching himself from the woman, he reached the club. Despite the relatively early hour, the place was bumping; the bass-boosted electronic music and a flashing rainbow could be seen and heard from the outside. A quick check of his phone informed him that his friends were already inside, so he joined the short line and waited to be let in by the bouncer. As he neared the front, he realized he recognized the bouncer. Back when he frequented this place, he was friendly with the muscular man. Now, though, he doubted the man would recognize him, and he honestly hoped to keep it that way. Back then, he was sort of a legend, a position he doubted he could live up to now. As the bouncer—Rod, he thought—waved him forward, Al couldn’t help but admire the man's physique. It seemed that while Al recovered, Rod made some serious gains. His arms were particularly impressive; Al found himself feeling bad for the man’s sleeves as they tried and failed to contain his massive arms. Their sheer size was only enhanced by the web of veins that patterned the muscles. 

“ID, please,” Rod said, indeed not recognizing Al as he had predicted. Al handed over his card, suddenly realizing the picture on the ID was pre-accident.

“Had a bit of a glow-down,” Al said awkwardly, trying to flash a smile but only managing to lift one side of his mouth—the other’s nerve endings were damaged beyond repair. Rod grunted but returned Al’s ID; even despite the discrepancies in the photo, there was little doubt that Al was of age. As Rod handed back his ID, their hands touched just slightly, and for a second, Al felt a slight tingling in his upper arms. Then it was gone as quickly as it came. 

“Have fun, man,” Rod said, “and nice guns.” Al laughed at that, thinking the man was making fun of his twig arms.

He lifted his arm, expecting the usual sight of his scrawny limb. But when his gaze landed on it, his breath caught. His bicep had swollen under the skin, somehow in the span of a heartbeat his twig arms had become tree trunks. Al’s fingers traced the now firm, rounded muscle, a mix of fear and fascination flooding his mind. The sheer size and hardness of his new bicep felt both alien and irresistibly satisfying, a forbidden thrill coursing through his veins at his arms meaty massive things they now were. They looked like almost exact copies of Rod’s, only instead of the man's olive complexion, the biceps had the pale look of someone who had spent the last two years in a hospital bed.

Al felt light-headed. How was this possible? Was he having some sort of mental breakdown, a delusion? He needed to find his friends. No, he needed to find a drink. The bar was right where he remembered—just to the left of the entrance. Unlike Rod, the bouncer, he didn’t recognize the bartender—a short, slightly pudgy man who looked to be in his mid-40s, with a strong square cleft chin that didn’t particularly match the rest of his average features. Al walked up to him, trying to hide his now-massive arms to little avail. He found he couldn’t stop flexing and feeling them, equal parts concerned and turned on by the mysterious new muscles.

“I'll take a vodka soda,” Al tried to say casually, although the words came out more as a question than a request. Luckily, the night was still young enough that he managed to get the man's attention, although the fact that he wasn’t a pretty girl kept him from making small talk. As he worked, Al saw the bartender occasionally glance up at his biceps, which he had crossed in an attempt to hide them. They looked a little ridiculous with the rest of his scrawny body. Wordlessly, the bartender placed a garnish on the drink before handing it to Al. Just as with Rod, their hands innocently touched, and again Al felt a strange tingle, this time centering on his chin. Lifting the glass to his lips, Al quickly lowered it, uneasy at how strange the sensation felt. Years of drinking had made him familiar with the feel of a glass against his lips, but something felt off now. His bottom lip somehow felt more supported, stiffer. A quick exploration with his finger revealed that his chin was causing the offense. But that couldn’t be—his chin had been round and soft even before the accident. Whatever this new chin that had somehow attached itself to his face was, it felt like a block of stone, the bone protruding in a harsh, strong way completely foreign to his face. The deep cleft was also new, creating a valley in the mountain that was his chin. Pulling out his phone, he saw what his fingers had felt: his face now somehow sported a strong, masculine chin almost identical to that of the bartender.

Al wasn’t the brightest, but even he began to put the pieces together. Somehow, he was absorbing the best qualities of every person he touched. His mind raced, trying to figure out what could be causing this. The stem cells he received might be the explanation, but why now? Al needed to get out; he needed to see a doctor. Panicked, he looked for the exit only to find a crowd had congregated between the bar and the nearest door. There was no way he could make it to the other side without touching anyone. Could he risk it? 

His contemplation was cut short as a woman sauntered up to the bar, her stumbling gait indicating she was already a few drinks deep. That was hardly the most noticeable thing about her; put bluntly, she had massive boobs—the type that could never fit in a top without being the center of attention. As she stumbled her way toward the bar, she tripped on one of her own feet. Al’s eyes widened as he realized too late that her fall would take her directly toward him. He tried to move out of the way, but as she fell, her arms reached forward for support, landing on his own. For a brief second, he hoped he might absorb her winning smile, but judging by the tingling in his chest, he wasn’t so lucky. Horrified, he glanced down, expecting to see breasts pushing out of his shirt. Instead, he found different mounds there—equally large, yes, but the lumps on his chest weren’t boobs; they were too firm and square. No, instead Al had somehow gained massive pectoral muscles from his contact with the woman. Their growth had unceremoniously demolished the first three buttons of his shirt, which was having a bad day trying to contain his massive chest and arms. The muscles looked downright strange on his body, the rest of it still emaciated from the accident. In fact, Al struggled to support the weight of his new mass, his shrimpy legs and shoulders straining under the sudden load.

The woman pulled away from his arms, drunkenly apologizing before reaching out to grope one of his now-massive pecs. Luckily, no tingles followed, confirming Al’s suspicion that he could only absorb from a person once. Now, Al felt torn about what to do. On one hand, he still worried about the changes and their possible repercussions, but did he want them to stop? If he went to the doctor now and they fixed him, would he be stuck in his current disproportionate form forever? This could be a blessing—a way to heal from the damage caused by the accident, to become the ultimate version of himself—or rather, of the people around him. So far, none of the changes had been bad. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Al scanned the room for someone with a feature he wanted to absorb. The choice became easier when a cute guy walked right past him, his clothing tight on his lean, muscular body, and he looked well-groomed. Before the accident—in fact, before tonight—Al had never paid much attention to the appearance of other men. Maybe it was the fact that he now saw their features as ones he could have, or perhaps it was something else, but for whatever reason, he found himself checking out the other men in the club, including the one walking by. On instinct, he stuck his foot out, tripping the man, their bare ankles making contact for a second in the process. The man stumbled and then turned to face Al, his face red with anger, which quickly cooled as he took in Al.

“Hey, I like your hair, dude,” he said. Al had hoped that he might absorb the guy's cute, tight ass or maybe his strong Roman nose, but his hair worked too. It was silky, thick, and coiffed attractively—definitely an improvement over his current thinning hair.

“Thanks, man,” Al said, reaching up to find that he indeed had hair identical to the man he had just tripped. 

“Do you go to Clarice?” the guy asked. The question sparked a brief conversation in which Al lied through his teeth, pretending they went to the same barber rather than admitting that he thought his stem cells had magically copied the guy's hairstyle to a tee. Eventually, Al excused himself, claiming he had seen his friends. This was true; as they chatted, Al had located his friends huddled close to the DJ booth on the dance floor. Steeling himself, he made his way over to them, trying to avoid physical contact. His efforts were only somewhat successful. An accidental brush of a college-age girl’s hand lengthened his eyelashes, while a hip bump into a man with rolled-up sleeves thickened his forearms, so his arms were now somewhat proportional. Once he reached the dance floor, however, he lost total control. Falling arms and thrusting hips assaulted him from all sides. An accidental step on a foot caused his lips to buzz as if they had momentarily fallen asleep, puffing up to appear pillowy and soft. A hand brushed across his back, causing a tingle in his shoulders, widening them and only making his progress more difficult. The elbow wedged awkwardly into the crevice of his pecs by a sheepish-looking man earned him a short, coarse beard across his jaw—a jaw that had become wider and sharper thanks to the impatient shoving of a male model behind him. Al quickly lost track of exactly what features he had gained from whom. A sudden numbness in different parts of his body was the only indication that he continued to change. At one point, a gigantic man who had to be some sort of pro basketball player moved next to Al. Al indulged himself, letting his hand “accidentally” rub against the tall man's leg and feeling his whole body lengthen. The constant shifting of the dance floor meant no one noticed Al or the way his features shifted. As he neared his friends, a twink dressed only in a leather harness and thong approached him and started to grind up against him. Even more shocking was the rock-hard abs that formed from their contact and the boner that Al inexplicably developed from the experience. The twink started to unbutton the last few remaining buttons on his shirt, and he let him, not wanting to deprive the world of his body.

At last, Al reached his friends, finally finding a pocket of relative emptiness near the loudspeakers. 

Al reached out to tap one of his friends on the arm before thinking better of it and just stood there awkwardly, waiting for them to notice him. Eventually, the song ended, and his three friends turned to face him. Only with a pang of shock did Al realize they didn’t recognize him. How could they? He had become a sort of Frankenstein’s monster of different features from the various patrons of the club. Where they expected their scrawny, balding friend fresh out of an extensive hospital stay, instead before them stood a 6’5” bodybuilder with a face, a hodgepodge of features from various people, somehow working together to give him a handsome and exotic look.

“Hey, have you seen our friend? Short, skinny, looks like he might have been hit by a bus or two,” his friend Jordan asked. It was a simple question, but for maybe the first time in two years, Al noticed not a trace of pity in his friend's voice. No, rather it was admiration. Al’s previous intentions of coming clean to his friends and seeking help melted away as he realized the opportunity he had. He could finally escape the shadow of those busses; he could have a new start.

“Nope, haven’t seen anyone like that,” he said in a voice much richer and deeper thanks to the vocal cords of some unknown stranger. 

“I’m Jordan, by the way,” his friend said, raising his voice to be heard over the music. 

“Al.” Shit. So much for a fresh start. Jordan glanced at his other two friends but didn’t say anything. Instead, one of his other friends, Sergio, grabbed Al’s hand and pulled him into their dance circle. The contact made his whole body tingle and, glancing down, he saw that his skin had darkened to the same ruddy tan as his friend's. Luckily, the flashing lights and the general darkness of the club made Al fairly sure no one noticed the transformation.

Throughout the night, he became reacquainted with his own friends and found innocent ways of making contact with each of them. From his friend Marge, he gained her show-stopping ass, the muscular butt complementing the thick thighs he had gained sometime during his mad rush. Contact with Linsey copied her perfect Barbie blonde hair. The stylish haircut and scruff he had grown sometime during the night bleached itself instantly while all his body hair, limited as it was by various tingles, turned the same gold color. His friend Jordan took a special interest in the new Al, and Al found himself reciprocating the attention, for the first time noticing just how hot his friend was. When at long last they touched, Al grabbed the man and brought him into a passionate kiss. He swore he felt tingles but couldn’t notice any change on his body. After long hours of sweaty dancing, a round of shots, and many more kisses between the two former friends, the group headed over to Jordan's apartment. Al nearly blew his cover by heading straight to his friend's door, but the excuse of “lucky guess” seemed to satisfy his non-sober companions. After a few more hours of chatting and more alcohol, everyone left but Al and Jordan.

Jordan used the classic “let me show you something in the bedroom” line, which led to more kissing and Jordan feeling up Al’s new muscular body. Eventually, as both men removed their pants, Al discovered what he had picked up from his friend. Long and thick, Al’s penis was identical to that of his lover, which Jordan seemed delighted by, claiming he had never been with someone with a tool as big as his. It took a moment for Al to get over the surprise of his friend packing so much meat and the fact that he now did as well, but once he accepted it, he used his new member to the fullest. After hours of fucking, the two fell asleep, not waking up until the afternoon the next day. Al politely said his goodbyes and awkwardly avoided giving Jordan his number, not wanting to explain why it was the same number as Jordan's sickly friend. 

Exiting the apartment, he noticed the same elderly woman from last night and to his chagrin, she once again hit on him, asking to hold his bicep while they crossed the street. When he touched her, he felt no tingles, which he thought strange until he remembered she was the first person to induce that sensation upon him last night. Could it be that he had somehow absorbed her sex drive or sexuality? Was that why he had a sudden appreciation for men? The thought amused him as he made his way to his car. But before he could dwell on it too much, his attention was abruptly pulled back to the present.

Lost in thought, he didn’t see the bus careening down the street, heading right for him. The blare of the horn hit him a second too late, and everything went black.

The next thing Al knew, he was waking up in a hospital—a horrifying déjà vu of two years ago. A young doctor stood over him, clipboard clutched in two massive, masculine hands. His eyes fluttered as he tried to make sense of his surroundings, the cold sterility of the hospital room bringing back memories of his long, painful recovery. Blearily, Al glanced down at himself. His perfect, hunky form was now a mess—bones broken, muscles flattened. All except his hands, which looked larger and callused, suspiciously identical to the doctor standing above him. It seemed that Al’s luck with public transportation hadn’t changed, but now he knew how to build himself back up. A minor setback, sure, but nothing a few spare parts wouldn’t fix.

Wrote this a while ago but thought i would post it here with images and some small edits. Not my best but think its still a fun story.

[kyokutsu-sama]

Headcanons

"How they apologize after an argument"

A/n: I remember of writing some headcanons with the same topic for the Bleach captains but now I'm going to write the same topic for Black Clover captains. I'm so in love with them❤️

_____________________________

Yami:

Yami can be all brute and intimidating but he also recognizes when he messes up and regrets it, especially when he knows he hurt you in some way.

Sometimes he is stubborn and this becomes an obstacle for both of you when you're trying to solve something, he wants to be the master of reason just because he's the captain and thinks he can do things alone. This makes you believe that he's being arrogant, putting you aside like that.

(But the fact is that he actually just tried to protect you so that you wouldn't do anything that would put you in danger)

"Baby, please don't overreact, I'm just--" "Don't talk to me until you change your attitude" You replied, walking past him without even looking at his face

He starts to realize that you're taking the silent treatment too seriously and starts doing all kinds of things to get your attention, which don't lead to anything.

He thinks you're thinking about breaking up with him and this makes him drink twice as much, which leads him to arrive at the hq more drunk than usual.

You start to realize this and you start to worry too, even if you don't admit it.

On one of those nights he arrives at the hq very drunk and sees you in the living room and hugs you from behind, staying like that for a moment while you feel his heavy sighs against the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry if I was hard on you, I just want to protect you. Please don't give me the silent treatment, it breaks my little heart" He whispered against your ear and you sighed before turning to face him "I accept your apology, you dramatic" You slapped his chest and smiled

This man was much more relieved after you forgave him. It was as if his little heart regenerated.

Fuegoleon:

I'm sure if you two argued Mereoleona would take action and beat him up because she's on your side🤭

Sometimes Fuegoleon is too serious and too strict, more than he should be and that stresses you out.

"I'm not going to have this conversation with you again, do as you wish" You left his office, angry "Y/n, wait, I just--" He got up from the chair but you slammed the door

He doesn't want to lose you nor does he want to see you upset with him but he also doesn't want to put pressure on you.

"Mereoleona is gonna kill me if she finds out about this" His first thought

He then calms down and choose to give you space, however, he always wants to know how you are and that's why he orders the servants to deliver flowers to you and also order that the meals be taken to your room.

You recognized that all that princess treatment was Fuegoleon's work to apologize.

However, one day he went to the room where you had been sleeping these days and sat on the mattress next to you and try sorted things out.

"Honey, I'm sorry if I spoke that way. It's been so much that sometimes I don't even know how to separate my personal self from my professional self and with that I ended up hurting you"He confessed with his head down but you hugged him "It's okay, love, we all make mistakes. I accept your apology and thank you for the flowers, by the way" You thanked him and he smiled hugging you

The captain of the Crimson Lions felt much better and promised you and himself that he would change.

William :

Seriously, I don't see how there could be an argument with this man because he's so cute and so gentle.Aghhh...I want a man like him now😫

But if by chance you and him disagree about something and it gets serious, It will be very difficult for him to deal with the situation.

"William, I'm sorry but this matter is going too far" You left the room "Y/n, come here, please listen..." William went to the door but you closed it and he sighed, feeling helpless

He refuses to see you walk past him and not talk to him, he refuses to see you doing your life and not being able to be by your side. It's as if you two became strangers and that touches his heart.

Even if you didn't want to clarify things yet, he uses his magic to create beautiful bouquets of flowers and leave them on your bedroom door, just like the captain above. You can't hold back your smile at the cute action every morning when you come across the flowers right at your feet

One day, you were at the bedroom window watching the group of the magic knights of the golden dawn enter through the front door and William also accompanied them. It had been a while since you two spoke, but you just wanted him to walk through the bedroom door so you two could talk.

And to your surprise, he did.

"Y/n, I came here to resolve things between us, I can't be without you. Please forgive me if I said something I shouldn't have said" He confessed with his melancholy eyes fixed on yours "Oh William, I forgive you. Come here" You hugged him giving in to his bright eyes and how cute he looked

You couldn't stay upset with him and neither could he with you. Everything was fine now and William was grateful to have you back just like you.

Nozel :

The way he spends his life idolizing the name of the Silvas and royalty is sometimes tiring for you. One day you have a conversation that goes a little sideways because he's being too proud again.

"You know what? Stay there with your pride and your fucking royalty. I lost my appetite" You threw your napkin on the table and hurriedly left the dining room "Y/n, come back to the table, we're not done" Nozel got up but you ignored him

Nozel knows he went too far, he wasn't supposed to be like this and sometimes he found himself being too proud which led to some arguments.

However, he knew he couldn't act like that towards you because he loved you too much and didn't want to keep you away from him. In response to this, he told all the servants to watch over you and to give you expensive gifts that he bought.

You couldn't help but smile at his actions. The fact that he sent someone to look after you and gave you valuable things made you think it was cute of him.

Yes, he was overprotective, even if he didn't admit it to anyone but himself. However, you could see that through his actions and there was nothing he could do to hide it from you.

You were sitting in the living room by the fireplace and he came into the room looking at you and you at him. There was a certain tension in the air at that moment.

"We need to talk, I... I think it's time we sort this out" He confessed but you didn't say anything until he got to the part that you wanted to hear. "I want to apologize, I know I let my pride speak too loud and that hurt you"He said and you smiled, seeing that he got to exactly the part you wanted "My dear Noble, I accept your apology but control your pride. Doesn't suit royalty" You used his usual words and he raised an eyebrow at you

Nozel promised to do so, so that situations like those wouldn't happen again.

[robiniswriting]

the thirteenth doctor’s regeneration does not get the credit it deserves. despite knowing that she’s losing herself, she doesn’t run from it like ten or twelve. she doesn’t hide the terrifying truth of what will happen and how exactly she might change from the companion she loves like nine or eleven. she doesn’t remain in the TARDIS, her true home and safe haven, where everything is familiar, like all the rest choose to do, despite knowing their regeneration energy will likely damage their beloved ship.

instead, she holds off just long enough to have ice cream with the woman she loves. to give her companion a goodbye, a real goodbye, something none of the doctors before her had managed to do for any of the others that came before. she finds a cliff with a stunning yet unfamiliar sunset, and faces the end of her story — her new beginning, the unknown — with a quip and smile.

in the end, I think she was truly the bravest of them all.

[kalpeavaris]

I see you've got a bunch of fankids, do you have any Jessa fankids?

Oh anon, indeed I have! Well, not kids, but one kid!

May I present you - Jecka! Whoever guesses where that name comes from, I'll love you.

Jecka's appearance is more humanoid than most Workers or Disassembly Drones which comes from Tessa's biodata instilled in her code. She's extremely experimental, coming from a Solver User and a former human.

More below the cut!

In my headcanon/Synemy universe, Tessa - despite her Dronebody - still has biological code and DNA inscribed in her own OS, which got inevitable transferred to their child when the uploading process took place.

It took 5 tries to actually get this to work as Tessa's code just was hardly compatible with J's, which strained her alot - even her physical body and being was acting like it rejected the Disassembly Drone. But in the end, the final attempt was actually successful!

Although this experimental hybrid of J & Tessa didn't come with downsides. Jecka's code is very unstable, often resulting in her shutting down involuntarily and having to be rebooted by Uzi to keep her running.

Jecka's daredevil personality appears very brutish on the surface, but similar to Becky (who appears shallow and gossip-y) there's more to her if you know her. She's gotten alot of empathic and extroverted traits from Tessa, is easily exciteable and loves to be around people.

She cares alot for people's well-being, but will put herself first if she needs to. A friend you can rely on and a foe you need to watch out for. Jecka gets along with Becky fairly well but Angel and her sometimes do butt heads. Especially since Angel isn't really fond of Jecka's ability to magnetically draw in conflicts with people she doesn't really like. And Jecka can hold grudges until the end of time, lol. That she got from J.

Like Tessa she has Solver symbols on her body, although more focused on her legs and back (not pictured here). Jecka doesn't mind them and finds them somewhat cool. I mean, it does look cool. BD Can't blame her.

She cannot use the Solver like for example Uzi and Tessa can, but she has the passive abilities of the Disassembly Drones (regeneration, not being affected by the Solver's telepathy etc.)

[reidsworld]

The Time We Have

Summary: Logan struggles with the fear of dying and leaving Laura alone, but meeting you helps him find peace. Set in an AU where Logan does not die at the end of Logan (2017).

Paring: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Angst, Fluff

Content Warnings: Talks of death.

Word Count: 1.4k

Mars speaks… gif is from pinterest!

Masterlist

Logan’s knuckles ache, the bones beneath his skin creaking with every movement as if they’re finally giving in to the wear of time. It’s a pain that never quite leaves him anymore, a constant reminder that his body is failing him, betraying him in ways he never thought possible. He’s lived more lifetimes than most, fought more battles than he can count, and somehow, it’s this—this slow, inevitable decay—that feels like the cruelest blow of all.

He’s not afraid of dying. That’s never been something that scared him. He’s seen it too many times, come too close to it on too many occasions, to feel anything other than a resigned acceptance when he thinks about the end. But this… this slow, agonising decline is something different. It’s not the swift, clean death he always imagined for himself, the kind that comes in battle, in the heat of the moment. No, this is something that eats away at him bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but a shadow of the man he used to be.

And that scares him. Not the dying part—he’s made his peace with that—but the idea of leaving Laura alone in a world that’s anything but kind. He’s fought so hard to keep her safe, to give her a chance at a life he never thought he’d have to walk away from before it was time. The thought of her being alone, without anyone to protect her, has kept him up more nights than he can count.

He doesn’t talk about it. He’s never been one to share what’s on his mind, to let anyone see the cracks beneath the surface. But it’s there, every time he looks in the mirror and sees the new lines on his face, every time his claws take just a little longer to come out, every time he feels the weight of exhaustion settle into his bones.

It’s a bitter realisation, knowing that his time is running out. He doesn’t know how to feel about it, doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he’s slowly dying and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. The adamantium that made him unbreakable is now his undoing, poisoning him from the inside out. And there’s no one left to save him, no one who can stop the inevitable.

He’s spent his life fighting, surviving against impossible odds, but this is a battle he knows he can’t win. It’s a fight he’s destined to lose, and it’s not something he’s ever been good at accepting.

And then, he met you.

You came into his life like a breath of fresh air, a light in the darkness that had consumed him for so long. He didn’t want to let you in at first, didn’t want to admit that you could make any kind of difference in the mess that his life had become. But you were persistent, stubborn in that way he’s come to admire, and somehow, without him even realizing it, you slipped past all the walls he’d built up around himself.

You weren’t like anyone he’d ever met. A mutant, yes, but your powers weren’t about brute strength or regeneration. Instead, you had the ability to manipulate energy, to create barriers and shields that could protect those around you. It was a power that reflected who you were—a protector, a guardian. And it was exactly what he and Laura needed. Before he knew it, he found himself drawn to you in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It was Laura who first noticed the change in him, the way he seemed lighter somehow, less burdened by the weight of the world. She’d always been perceptive, too smart for her own good, and she didn’t hesitate to call him out on it.

“You’re different,” she said one day, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. “You’re… happier.”

Logan had grunted in response, not wanting to admit that she was right. He wasn’t used to being happy, wasn’t used to feeling anything other than anger or pain. But with you, it was different. You didn’t change his purpose; you just made the burden lighter, made it easier to carry on knowing you were by his side.

But you didn’t push him. You let him come to terms with it on his own, never demanding more than he was willing to give. You were patient, understanding in a way that made him feel like he could finally breathe, like he didn’t have to be on guard all the time.

And slowly, without even realising it, Logan found himself accepting the inevitable. He was dying—there was no denying that. But for the first time, it didn’t feel like a death sentence. It felt like… closure. Like maybe he could finally find peace, knowing that he wasn’t leaving Laura alone, that you’d be there, that you’d spend the rest of your life with him.

One night, as you lay curled up against him on the couch, your head resting on his chest, he found himself speaking the words that had been weighing on his mind for so long.

“I’m not gonna be around forever,” he said quietly, his voice rough with the weight of the truth. “I’m dying, and there’s nothin’ I can do to stop it.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, you lifted your head to look at him, your eyes full of understanding and love. “I know,” you said softly, your voice steady. “But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

He let out a slow breath, the tension in his chest easing just a little. “I’m scared,” he admitted, the words coming out before he could stop them. “I’m not used to this… to not knowin’ what’s gonna happen. To not bein’ able to fight back.”

Your hand moved to cup his cheek, your touch gentle and reassuring. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, Logan,” you said, your voice full of warmth. “It’s okay to be scared. But you’re not alone in this. Laura and I… we’re here for you, for as long as you need us.”

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. “I don’t know how much time I have left,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But whatever time I do have… I’m glad I get to spend it with you.”

You smiled, a soft, loving smile that made his heart ache with something he couldn’t quite name. “Me too,” you said simply, as if there was no question, no doubt in your mind.

And in that moment, Logan felt something shift inside him. The fear, the uncertainty that had been gnawing at him for so long, began to fade. It didn’t disappear completely—he knew it never would—but it didn’t seem as overwhelming anymore. Because he wasn’t alone. He had you, and he had Laura. And that was enough.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as if he could hold on to this moment forever. You settled against him, your body fitting perfectly against his, and he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in the scent of you—something that had become so familiar, so comforting.

And then he thought about Laura, about the future he’d once feared she’d face alone. But now… now he had hope. You were by his side, and together, you could give Laura the life she deserved. She’d have you to guide her, to be there when he was gone. And maybe, just maybe, she’d have a sibling to watch over her when both of you were long gone.

For the first time in a long time, Logan felt like he could finally accept what was happening to him. He was dying—there was no escaping that. But it didn’t feel like the end. It felt like… a beginning. A chance to live the life he’d never thought he’d have, with you by his side.

And when the time came, when the poison inside him finally took its toll, he knew he wouldn’t be alone. He’d have you, and he’d have Laura. And that was more than he’d ever hoped for.

So, he closed his eyes, letting the warmth of your presence wash over him, and for the first time in his long, tumultuous life, Logan felt at peace.

Mars speaks… (again) Thank you for reading, any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

[howtofightwrite]

So I have a character that heals faster than normal. Nothing like Wolverine, where he basically gets stabbed and although it hurts, he keeps rolling because he'll heal in 5 seconds. Or even Deadpool who can regrow limbs. My character would heal way slowlier. Where maybe a wound that would take someone a week to recover from would take them a day.

But my problem is that, determining the speed of the healing process in comparison to the wounds. Someone like Wolverine and Deadpool have their healing abilities cranked up to a 10, which makes it easier to write imo. When mine is dialed up to a 4 or 5, how do I determine the healing speed and keep it consistent with each wound, even if they're all different from each other? Especially with deadly wounds. I hope that makes sense.

It's not that Wolverine and Deadpool's regenerative abilities are, “cranked up to 10,” those operate strictly under, “the power of plot compels thee!” There's nothing inherently wrong with that approach, but it can cause problems down the line. (At this point, it's functionally impossible to kill Wolverine because he's been shown to be able to regenerate from any surviving tissue. Which does make it a little harder to hold him up as being in significant peril.)

So, really, the question becomes, “how fast do you want your character to heal?” “What can they recover from?” And, “how realistic do you want to be?”

In a lot of cases, you can look up projected medical recovery times from injuries. This is usually calculated around a healthy adult (18-35), and will increase as you get older. Or as other health factors slow your ability to heal.

It's pretty easy to take wound recovery estimates and just divide them by a fixed value. So, for example, recovery from a minor gunshot wound is estimated at a few weeks, so if your character heals 7 times faster than a normal human, then they'd be back up and going in a few days. If you want, you can pretty much stop there.

This practice of looking up how long it takes to recover from a given injury will also apply to a lot of those mortal wounds. It doesn't matter how horrific the injury is, someone has probably lived through it.

The question of what they can recover from is a little more involved.

On one end, you have the normal limitations of a character who can only recover from injuries they'd be able to naturally heal from. While in other cases (like broken bones or severed tendons) they'd still need significant medical attention, even if the resulting recovery times would be dramatically reduced. On the other end, you might have a situation where these kinds of injuries can self correct with minimal assistance from your character (and no, formal, medical assistance.)

Then there's the question of being able to regenerate lost limbs. That is biologically possible, and in fact young children can regrow lost digits, though the ability to do so genetically shuts off as we age.

At the same time, humans cannot heal off nerve or spinal damage. Again, this is biologically possible, but the ability is genetically shut down. (In this case, it's theorized because scarring on the nerves could result in horrific issues down the line.)

Ironically, one of Wolverine's more plausible powers is his biological immortality. If his healing factor regenerates his telomeres (which, again, is quite possible. In the real world, some cancer cells exhibit this behavior already), then that would mean that he is not subject to the Hayflick limit. The Hayflick limit is the number of times an individual cell in your body can undergo mitosis, and once it's expended, when the cell dies, it cannot be replaced. In a very real sense, the Hayflick limit, and telomere shortening are what causes biological aging. Regenerating the telomeres would mean that a cell could, potentially, undergo mitosis an indefinite number of times. So, if a character's regenerative abilities do prevent telomere shortening, it's likely that they would be biologically immortal.

If your character's regenerative abilities can restore brain damage fast enough, it might also be impossible for your character to die from bloodloss. So, this probably needs a little more explanation. Bleeding to death is, really, just suffocation with extra steps. Blood is critical for getting oxygen to the brain, and when your cardiovascular system can't do so (for example, because someone's punched too many holes in it) then your brain asphyxiates and dies. With a fast enough healing factor, your character would literally immune to death from bloodloss. (And, you'd probably need to tap them in the head to kill them.)

How fast does that regeneration need to be? I'm honestly not sure. Brain death tends to occur within a few minutes of lack of oxygen to the brain.

This also creates a related potential outcome, depending on whether or not their regenerative abilities shut down when they died. If their abilities are dependent on them being alive, so killing them is enough, then that's normal. However, if their healing persists after brain death (which can happen, as some autonomic functions can continue after death, at least, for a little while), killing them could easily see them regaining consciousness some time after the lethal injury was inflicted, with most of the damage having been regenerated.

One final consideration (and one that doesn't happen that often with superheroes) is the consideration of how you actually fuel all of this. Regenerating an arm is going to require a lot of energy, and your character's going to need to get that from somewhere. Whether they're literally pulling in power from some fixed source (as with the early Spawn comics), or if they just have an implausibly aggressive appetite for food. They will need to get the energy from somewhere. Again, there isn't really a correct answer here, just an answer that fits the story you want to tell. (A fixed power source, like Spawn's, does give you a lot of room to have healing at the speed of plot while still maintaining tension. Or, at least it did, until the countdown was removed.) Of course, if they do run out of energy to fuel their healing ability, that probably means it will fall off, though it could potentially kill them in the process.

One legitimate concern over running out of juice would be scurvy like symptoms, which causes previously healed wounds to reopen. It's pretty horrifying, but might be a way to inject some serious tension into the story, if you've set up the rules to support it.

-Starke

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[am-i-interrupting]

Reacting to You Hurt

For @aliceneedsphalis

Alastor

Hell is an awful place and you’re used to it at this point. It didn’t bother you when someone tried to jump you and managed to stab you while you got away. What did bother you was the fact that now you were late.

Every week you and Alastor met up sometimes at your place, other times his radio station, occasionally on his bedroom balcony, and every so often you’d venture out to a restaurant.

You met up to catch each other up on the going ons in Overlord business (in his case) and general populace activity (in your case)

You were grumbling to yourself as today you went to his radio tower.

They’d ripped one of your favorite tops because of course they did and now it would be stained!

You were not looking forward to the patching up process and cleaning but hey, it is what it is, right?

You knocked on the door and were let in by a shadow.

Alastor had beginning to get worried. It was unlike you to be late but he felt his worry fade when the knock sounded.

He stood and spun around. Arms extended in welcome. They immediately fell.

His eyes went to dials instantly.

He patches you up quickly and efficiently but his touch is unintentionally harsh before he gets ahold of his anger.

He begins to interrogate you for a description of the person who hurt you and a name of you have it as well as where it happened.

When you insist it’s nothing, his head turns, neck popping at an unnatural angle.

“Nothing? My dear, you’re injured. This is not a mere scratch at that. You’ve been stabbed and contracted or not, you are a soul under my protection. No one messes with what is the radio demon’s.”

Alastor is not above using intimidation tactics to try to get this information.

If he gets it, God can’t save the person who hurt you.

A special broadcast for a sinner who never stood a chance.

He will torture this person for hours on end.

Rosie

You blamed yourself, honestly. This was Hell. The extermination was not that long ago. Turf wars were rampant. You should have stayed home.

The molotov that went off nearby was not at all your fault but you felt like you should have known better than to go out on the streets the day after the extermination ended.

You stayed home until the turf wars died down but you did go home and stay home until they did right after.

For the most part, yeah, it hurt like a bitch but it wasn’t something you couldn’t handle.

The skin would regenerate. The main thing was making sure you didn’t need to regenerate completely.

A couple days later, you managed to work up the energy to go to Cannibal Town.

You opened the doors to Rosie’s Emporium.

“Oh my lord! Sweetheart, what happened?!” “I went out after the extermination, got hit in some crossfire. I was wondering if these clothes were salvageable or am I going to have to plan an order for something new?” “Sit down!” “Yes, ma’am.”

She would redo all your bandages properly, put some top notch cream and ointments on you and send you with some to go home with.

Rosie may want to know who did this so she can go have a very stern chat with them but she cares about you being well more.

She does bring goodie baskets and restocks your entire wardrobe while she temporarily has you on bed rest.

She will fuss over you and you won’t have to lift a single finger because if she’s not there, one of her most trusted cannibals are and they are trusted because they will report back if you’re being stubborn and refusing their help.

She will check up on you every day until you’ve completely regenerated all your skin and you’re good as new.

Vox

When you got caught in the middle of a drug deal gone wrong and your eye got damaged, you did not want the annoyance.

You see, people would think that having your eye merely damaged would be better than having it gone but. . .

Your vision was iffy at best. You would get constant headaches due to the imbalance of vision. (I am not projecting with my imbalanced as hell prescription, fuck off.)

It just was not worth it so you went to a friend and got the entire eye removed.

So instead of a week’s worth of headaches and pain while going about your day to day, you got off with two weeks without an eye until it regenerated. May be twice the time, yes, but a well off trade.

At least, you thought so until you explained this to Vox when you brought him lunch the next day.

“You did what?!”

He was looking at you like you’d done something completely irrational. Claws digging into his desk, eyes wide and spiraling, a snarl curled on his face.

“Okay, okay, okay, let’s start off small? Who did this to you?” “I don’t know, some stranger on the street.” “Some stranger on the—“ *cue maniacal laughing—“okay. Where did this happen?”

You don’t go to work for the next month. Vox makes sure of it.

You are being pampered and holed up in the V Tower. You can’t leave by yourself ever again. He’s getting you a bodyguard.

“No, doll face, I’m not budging on this. You don’t have to talk to them. Hell, you don’t have to interact with them at all but you are not leaving alone.” “You think I don’t know you stalk me?” “Clearly I don’t do it well enough with my attention divided!”—his eyes would spiral before he takes a deep breath and places his hands gently on your shoulders—“I’m not budging so look over the resumes and choose one or I’ll do it for you.”

Yeah, say bye-bye to your privacy, not that you had much anyway but you did use to have the illusion of it. If you’re with the Vs or in one of their buildings, the bodyguard does not have to be with you but somehow they always know when you try to sneak somewhere yourself.

At least you have someone to carry your bags for you when your shopping now.

Vox absolutely checks all of his security footage and finds the people who hurt you.

Let’s just say they don’t regenerate for. . . a long while.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I was just reading up on ink’s faq on comyet’s tumblr and two parts stuck out to me; his rainbow tongue and their tendency to draw outfits on people. and like a quick tw for possible body horror and experimentation for the tongue part I think.

The last one made me think of how I, and a few others, share a HC that killer tends to be more fashion forward than most sanses. that he even starts exploring different outfits and fashion in his good ending with color. I thought it’d be a wonderful idea if it was ink who helped inspire and encourage killer towards that idea.

even if killer decides its ultimately not safe to risk while still held captive by nightmare, i thought itd be rather sweet if his interactions with ink during the darkest periods of killer’s life actually inspires him towards things like self expression and creation—a sense of hope for someone like killer, who has spent his life believing he existed to destroy and be destroyed. and ink seems very good at inspiring others, just by being themself.

my first thought about ink’s tongue, though, created a very vivid scene to me. where like its one of killer’s rare off days, hes exhausted. ink’s sitting nearby, info dumping about an au—killer’s having a hard time keeping track of which one it is today, ink’s words sound like they’re coming from underwater—when a sudden flash of color (hehe) catches his attention.

Rainbow. Inkblot has a fucking rainbow tongue. Killer’s never seen that before!

And before ink knows it their poor tongue is being grabbed between thumb and forefinger and guided out of his mouth by killer and ink’s just like “???” and then killer gives him a dead eyed look and asks, “does this regenerate?” cuz he wants to cut it out and study it lmao.

[khruschevshoe]

How Behind-the Scenes Issues Affected the Writing of Doctor Who (Both Good and Bad)

Doctor Who is such a fascinating show to look at from a Watsonian v. Doylist perspective. Like, entirely just from an episode writing point of view:

Twice Upon A Time feels so slow and meandering and even boring in places because Chris Chibnall didn't want to start his run as showrunner and Steven Moffat didn't want the show to lose the coveted Christmas timeslot (ironic, I know) so he bumped the Twelfth Doctor's regeneration from the end of The Doctor Falls (where it makes sense) to the end of the Christmas special

Boom Town (my beloved) only exists because originally there was going to be an episode in its spot explaining that Rose had been molded to be the Doctor's perfect companion (by the Doctor, gross) and the writer didn't have the time to commit to the show

The ending of Last Christmas feels like one inside-a-dream too many because originally Jenna Coleman was questioning whether she was going to leave the show or not and the ending was rewritten after the first readthrough when she decided she wanted to stay for another season

The first five episodes of Season 7 feel like each one takes place in a different genre because that's literally how Steven Moffat pitched it to the writers; for example, A Town Called Mercy was literally pitched as "Doctor Who does a Western"

Not so much a weird one but one I find cool: Eleven's first words and Thirteen's first words were literally written by Moffat and Chibnall respectively, as they were brought in to write the first words of the first Doctors of their runs so as to make it cohesive

The reason why Fourteen isn't wearing Thirteen's clothes when he regenerates is because Jodie Whittaker is much shorter than David Tennant and Russell T. Davies didn't want it to look like he was making fun of the genderfluidity of the Doctor (still think he made the wrong decision, but eh)

Wilfred Mott isn't in the Runaway Bride and Donna's father isn't in Partners in Crime because the actor who played Donna's father, Howard Attfield, died after filming several scenes for Partners In Crime, leading to the character of "Stan Mott" from Voyage of the Damned being written into Partners In Crime as Donna's grandfather

Astrid Peth doesn't die in the original drafts of Voyage of the Damned, but Russell T. Davies wrote what is generally considered one of the most emotional deaths in Doctor Who just because he wanted Kylie Minogue to be able to focus on her music career

Originally Oxygen was written as a prequel to Mummy on the Orient Express, where a corporate representative appeared on a monitor. Said representative was fired for his fumbling of the station and would later live on as the company computer, Gus

During Season 11, Chris Chibnall had to do some major rewrites for many of the one-off episodes, therefore The Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos ended up being a first draft that made it to screen. He later admitted it was his least favorite episode of the series

And this is only a fraction of what I found in terms of major behind-the-scenes writing reasons. Though I am still totally willing to critique the product that made it to our screens, finding out the reasons behind some of the more badly written episodes of the show really made me feel sympathy for every showrunner of the show as well as appreciate a lot of the good episodes that ended up here despite the short production schedule/unexpected problems (once again, Boom Town my beloved AND everyone's favorite companion Wilfred Mott only exist because of unforseen problems). Absolutely bonkers, isn't it?

[wade-fucking-wilson]

Just finished Deadpool and Wolverine WW3

So much to go over, so I thought I might try to convince you all to read it while I’m rabidly fixating.

For a Deadpool and Wolverine comic, I think this one is arguably the most intense, riveting, brutal, heartbreaking, and gay of them all.

SPOILER WARNING!!! I can't promise minimal spoilers since I'm going in-depth, so be warned that this is spoiler territory.

During this comic, Logan is almost drawn towards Wade. For a man who supposedly hates Wade's guts, he's more than willing to travel to Russia when Wade summons him. Once there, he finds Wade has been turned into a bloodthirsty cyborg to entertain the rich. As someone who's been experimented on himself, he naturally feels sympathy for what Wade has become and sticks around to help him.

After being dropped in the Russian wilderness together, Wade finally begins to snap out of his brainwashed state. He asks why Logan came to save him, to which Logan replies that he asked him to come. Wade apologizes for bringing him all this way and says that Wade was frightened when he summoned Logan. The question is, why Logan? Why did he call Logan when he was scared, and why would Logan come if he supposedly hated Wade?

Anyways, as the two trek through the Russian wilderness, Wade begins to physically/mentally weaken. So, of course, Logan does what any normal person would do; he cuts out a chunk of his leg for Wade to eat!! Cannibalism as a metaphor for love, anyone? He cares enough about Wade to feed himself to Wade, how fucking nuts is that?? Guys, friends don't do that for one another.

Later on, during an intense fight with some enemies (and a huge monster), Wade "dies." Logan genuinely mourns Wade. Once again, this is coming from the guy who supposedly hated Wade's guts at the beginning of the comic. I would say he mourns because his travel partner just died, but we all know it's more than that.

As he mourns (and fights for his life), Logan becomes aware that Wade has literally begun to regenerate on/in him and is connected to his back (Best I just show you the frame for this one)

(Kinda nasty; I'm sorry)

Weird Blob Wade explains that their blood mingling resulted in Wade regenerating while connected to Logan's body (possibly leeching off Logan’s energy??)

There's a few pages where they share a brain and body, which is INSANE. Like, I don't know if it can get much gayer than that. Truly. They have shared their bodies with one another (in a non-sexual way this time around), which I feel is more intimate than sex would have been in this situation.

The comic ends with Wade fully regenerating and the two going on a killing spree (classic), but not before Wade says this:

("When you say "@*** off" it sounds like "I Love You")

In summary:

Cannibalism is a metaphor for love

These two literally sharing their bodies with one another

The unrefuted fact that Wade and Logan are DRAWN TO EACH OTHER.

This comic is batshit insane, and I highly recommend it.

[yuesya]

“Is that her?”

Aoi pauses at the whispered question, glancing down towards the three younger girls who are helping her hang up laundry. The three younger girls who are no longer focused on hanging up laundry, rather –Naho, Sumi, and Kiyo are currently peering curiously towards the other end of the garden, where Shinobu-sama is standing with the newest guest to the Butterfly Estate.

Snow-white hair, and deep blue eyes. The coloration is unusual and eye-catching, and it only takes an instant for Aoi to realize that this is the girl from the rumors. It has to be her –the one who’d saved the Flame Pillar by killing Upper Moon Three, and the one whom Oyakata-sama had mobilized so many people to search for over the better part of the past month.

“It has to be, right? Didn’t Nagakura-san say that the girl who saved the Flame Pillar would be staying at the Butterfly Estate for a while?” Naho peeks over the edge of the freshly-washed bed sheet. “Look at the way that Shinobu-sama is talking to her! It seems like she’s someone important, doesn’t it?”

Naho’s observation is very astute. Even though the white-haired girl only looks to be around Aoi’s age, Shinobi-sama does not speak to her as if she were a junior demon slayer. Rather… there’s a certain level of respect, and… wariness…?

The suddenly girl turns around. Blue eyes look towards them, precise and unflinching, causing all three of the younger girls to let out startled squeaks of surprise simultaneously. Aoi squeaks a little bit, too, embarrassed at having been caught staring red-handed by their new guest.

Shinobu-sama glances towards them, smiles, then says something to the white-haired girl. Then, she leads the other girl over to them.

“I see that you’ve already noticed our new guest,” Shinobu-sama says. “This is Gojo Shiki –our newest recruit to the Demon Slayer Corps, recruited by Oyakata-sama himself after her timely assistance to Rengoku-san.”

The girls pull themselves together, and offer their greetings in a cheerful chorus together. Aoi, too, echoes a polite greeting, and introductions are exchanged.

“Hello.” Gojo-san bows slightly, courteously. The movement is refined and elegant, and Aoi finds herself staring a bit at the other girl. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Gojo-san will be staying with us in the Butterfly Estate for a while,” Shinobu-sama informs them. “She… hasn’t trained with a cultivator before, and there are certain gaps in her knowledge that Oyakata-sama would like me to fill in for her. We also need to send a missive to the Swordsmith Village; she’ll also need a nichirin blade.”

Aoi blinks.

… How in the world had Gojo-san killed a demon, then?! And Upper Moon Three, no less?

“Is there something special about a ‘nichirin blade?’” Gojo-san asks.

Aoi stares at the girl, then turns incredulously to Shinobu-sama.

“… Yes,” Shinobu-sama says. “They’re special blades forged with crimson iron sand and scarlet ore, from the Sunlight Mountain. Decapitating a demon with such a blade will kill them, instead of allowing them to regenerate from their injuries.”

Gojo-san’s expression does not change. But for some reason, Aoi gets the impression that the other girl isn’t very impressed.

Shinobu-sama seems to realize it too, because she lets out a small huff. “Although… from what I understand, the weapon that you used to kill Upper Moon Three wasn’t a nichirin weapon, was it?”

“No.” Gojo-san tilts her head slightly. Then, proceeds to reach inside the sleeve of the kimono she’s wearing, and pulls out a… knife? “I used this.”

… Isn’t that just a normal knife? The kind that’s used in regular households and the like?!

Aoi looks at the knife, then looks at Gojo-san, and swiftly comes to a decisive conclusion:

She’s utterly terrifying.

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

Hiii!!!

I have a bit of a random, thought about it at 3am type request. How would MC react to the brothers (and the undateables if you have time for a pt.2) carrying around something that reminds them of MC? (ie. keychain, photo, letter, flower etc)

Thx!

Heyyyy I love your request!! I hope you enjoy this one and part 2 with the dateables is coming soon!

Author's note: I'm sorry for the recent delay of my requests and that I've been posting less but I've been busy for the past one to two weeks. I expect to be back to normal by next week.

Summary: You notice that each of the brothers is carrying something around with them that reminds them of you.

Contains: Fluff

GN!MC = reader

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

MC reacts to the brothers carrying a reminiscent of them.

Lucifer

The first time you see him carry such an object would be either when he is doing paperwork in his study (or wherever it is) or if you're walking down the street with him.

It is a fountain pen that you gave him not so long ago. He just carries it around with him all day. He does his paperwork with it and sometimes swirls it in-between his fingers whenever he's uneasy or just casually walking around.

The pen isn't any interesting itself but to Lucifer it means the world. It's a gift from you after all. And since it's a gift from you he cherishes it like he cherishes his life.

---

Sitting in the study with Lucifer while he's doing paperwork. Suddenly you noticed the fountain pen in his hand that is so smoothly writing on the paper. There was something familiar about it but you couldn't exactly put your finger on it. It's like it was talking to you. And then it suddenly clicked. It's the pen you gave him as a gift when he mentioned that he lost his favourite fountain pen!

MC: "Hey, Lucifer. Is that.. the pen I gave you?"

Lucifer: "Indeed it is, MC. I see you noticed. I have to say... I've grown quite the liking to it. And of course I would. It's a gift from you after all."

Mammon

The first time you noticed Mammon's item could be absolutely everywhere. Why? Because he carries it with him wherever he goes.

It's a keychain you once bought together and you actually also have a matching one as well. He has attached it to his phone and walks around with him every day. Whenever he looks at it a smug expression appears on his face. He has a matching keychain with his human!

He calls it his "lucky charm". Whenever he goes to the casino or to dig up some treasure from some where he attaches it to his belt. Though whenever luck wasn't on his side he'd just blame it on the keychain saying that the "luck energy" died and it needs to "regenerate".

---

You and Mammon where hanging out together in his room. He was sitting casually on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on the phone while yo were carefully counting his money since he demanded that you should do it instead of him since you are his "servant". After a while when you lift your head and look at the second-born you notice the keychain, attached to his phone. You immediately realise where it came from and smile.

MC: "So you attached your keychain to your phone?"

Mammon: "Yea. 'course I would. It brings me luck to carry it around with me. And also it kinda suits my phonecase."

MC: "Is that the only reason though?"

Mammon: shrugs "Fine.. I also carry it around since it reminds me of ya! But don't ya go telling that to anybody! Ya hear me? Now go back to counting the Mammon money!"

Leviathan

Once a while back you and the third-born cosplayed one of his favourite animes together and in the end you ended up taking a bunch of pictures. You made a lot of different poses and different facial expressions. In the end it turns out that Levi had printed some of them out and put his favourite one inside his phonecase.

He loves walking around with it tho he doesn't make it obvious.

Sometimes during class when he is bored or doesn't understand something and had gotten rather irritated, instead of summoning Lotan which earned him a thorough scolding from the eldest, he'd just look at the picture of both of you that's in the back of his phone, which always managed to put a smile on his face.

While gaming or watching anime he'd always make sure that his phone is close so whenever he felt like it he could look at the picture to liven up his mood.

Overall he was utterly in love with it.

---

One day while gaming with Levi in his room, you noticed the picture of you and him, cosplaying in the back of his transparent phonecase. You smile and decide to point it out.

MC: "You put a picture of our cosplay in the back of your phonecase? It's adorable."

Levi: "Uh Y-Yeah. I actually r-r-really like it. T-that's why. Don't think much of it."

You didn't say anything more though you couldn't help but notice the pinkish blush that appeared on the demon's cheeks.

Satan

A while back you and Satan had gone out in a flower field and while laying among the flowers, gazing mindlessly at the sky you noticed a flower that reminded you of the fourth-born. You plucked it up and handed it to him which he happily accepted.

Since that day forward Satan couldn't make himself to throw the flower away. Instead he just carefully put it in-between the pages of one of your favourite books that he owned.

Every once in a while he'd open the book just to see how the flowers has changed and dried. Though in his eyes it never lost its beauty.

---

One day you were sitting together with Satan in the library. You were reading a book while Satan was studying cursed he could prank Lucifer with. That's until you open the book to the page where Satan had put the flower. It didn't take you long to recognise it even if it was completely dried up. You smile.

MC: "Awh, Satan. You kept the flower I gave you.."

Satan looks up from his book with a soft smile on his face.

Satan: "Of course I would. After all you gave it to me which makes it one of my most priced possessions. And where else could you keep a flower that would eventually dry?"

Asmodeus

On one regular day when you walked past Asmo he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled happily. You stopped and looked at him. His expression was relaxed yet satisfied. When you asked him what he was thinking about he said that your scent had sent him into a daze. That day you gifted him the perfume you were using and he so liked.

Asmo kept it in his room. He'd always spray himself with it before going out outside. At some point the perfume ran out but the fifth-born didn't throw out the bottle. He kept it on his vanity just because every time he looked at it it reminded him of you.

He'd often find himself daydreaming about you while looking at the bottle and sometimes he'd glance at it while doing his skincare our make up.

He was obsessed with the little perfume bottle.

---

One time you were with Asmo in his room, doing skincare together when you noticed the bottle. You immediately recognized what it was and smiled but then you saw that there was actually no perfume inside.

MC: "Asmo, why have you kept the perfume bottle when it's empty?"

Asmo: "MC, dear. It just reminds me of you so so sooo much I can't make myself throw it away! I'm even considering to fill it with another perfume so I could use it. It would be soo adorable!!!"

You smiled and shook your head.

Beelzebub

One time when Beel was going to his training you decided to make him a lunch box so he could have something to snack on if he gets hungry. You put a few of his favourite foods in it and wrote him a small letter along with it. "Enjoy your food! Love you! <3"

Ever since the sixth-born saw the small note he always carried it around with him wherever he went.

He'd either put it in his phonecase or somewhere in his bag so whenever he needed a little boost of motivation he'd read it. Though it always made him hungry since there was no food along with the note this time.

---

One day when you were eating at Hell's kitchen with Beel you noticed the note when he pulled up his phone to answer a message from Belphie. It made you smile. Knowing that he kept such a simple and meaningless note.

MC: "Beel? You kept that note? Isn't it meaningless by now? Considering how long it's been?"

Beel: "Meaningless? No it's not meaningless, MC. A letter or a note in the matter could never loose it's meaning when it's from you. Even if it does make me hungry every time I read it..."

You chuckled subtly to yourself.

Belphegor

Upon going to bed one night you noticed that your pillow was missing. You didn't think much of it and just grabbed another one from the closet and went to bed. It turns out the demon of sleep himself took it without warning.

Belphie would always carry it around the house with him.

Whenever he felt the need to nap somewhere, whether it would be the attic or the living room he'd just sleep with that pillow. It practically became his favourite.

It always soothed him and lulled him to sleep simply because the pillow still smelled like you. And Belphie along with the other six can't help but find your scent soothing.

Whenever he'd sleep with that pillow he'd always have trouble waking up afterwards and someone of the other brothers would have to either use force to wake him up or drag him like a sack of potatoes.

---

One afternoon upon walking into the living room you noticed the youngest sleeping peacefully on the couch. You smiled and sat next to him and that's when you noticed that Belphie was sleeping on your pillow that had gone missing a few days ago. You wanted to talk to him about it but didn't want to wake him so you waited patiently for the demon to wake up by himself. And when he did...

MC: "Hey, Belphie. How'd you sleep?"

Belphie: yawning "I slept okay. Though I could use some more sleep.."

You nodded you head and chuckled before speaking up.

MC: "Belphie, I couldn't help but notice... Is that my pillow you're sleeping on?"

Belphie looked down at the pillow and a smile formed on his face.

Belphie: "Yeah. It is. It helps me sleep and I love sleeping with it. It smells like you so when I cuddle it I feel like I'm cuddling you... I hope you don't mind."

A blush creeped onto your cheeks and you smiled

MC: "You can keep it."