#fic: your looks can kill

[voxofthevoid]

Lift and Fuck. 😏

Thank you kindly.🧡

I Know Who You Are 👁 👁

Here, have some lift-and-fuck with bonus chikan. Yes, I'm shamelessly targeting your weak spots.

CW for dubcon, public sex, noncon exhibitionism/voyeurism—all the usual suspects for the chikan trope.

He sees the people next. The busy platform, crowded with people of all ages, from all walks of life—waiting, looking, seeing.

Behind him, behind Yuuji, there are people moving, talking. Satoru can hear them. He can’t see them; he can’t bear to look.

“Yuuji,” Satoru says, soft and frantic. “Yuuji, they’re going to see.”

A hand curls around the back of his thigh and lifts, Satoru’s foot sliding out of the pants pooled on the floor. His insides shudder, a red-hot lash of sensation that flays him open from the base of his spine to the meat of his skull. His vision blurs, a riot of wet color, and when he blinks the world back into focus, Yuuji’s got a hand on his other thigh too, sticky hot with come but strong and sure as it lifts him, and this time, the biting change in angle takes a backseat to the dizzying experience of being lifted off his feet and spread open around a thick cock and shoved flush against cold glass.

Yuuji says, “Then let's give them a better show.”

The people, they’re—

They’re looking, they have to be, and Satoru doesn’t know if they’re seeing him, can’t think of any way they wouldn’t, but he doesn’t know, he can’t, his vision blurring and unblurring with tears and worse his whole damn body pulses with a new, nauseating heat.

“No.” It comes out weak and whispery, more plea than protest. “No, don’t, Yuuji, stop—”

Yuuji doesn’t stop.

He spreads Satoru wider, settling each knee on the crook of an elbow, and it’s ridiculous how easily he does it, like Satoru doesn’t weigh some eighty kilos, but that outrage dies when the sensation hits, Satoru’s thighs screaming nearly as loud as his ass.

“You’re very flexible,” Yuuji says, like he’s adding insult to injury. “Does it feel good like this, Satoru-kun?”

“No,” Satoru hisses, and it comes out more pathetic than angry, but fuck, he can’t feel anything except the stretch of thighs and the obscene mass plugging up his ass, like Yuuji’s cock has found whole new swathes of flesh to bully.

(Tumblr, why do you keep fucking with my paragraphs...)

[keferon]

The tac net crash chapter is one of my favorites so far~

Ah and. Guess what. I just discovered that including this post, I made 50 pieces of fanart for Mistakes on mistakes until.. I’m so sane and normal about this story can you tell👍

[leafwateraddict]

Couldn’t stop thinking about Dust being able to pass as Classic. So I had an idea where Dust replaces Classic in a timeline and steals(?) his partner.

He gets conflicted when he starts actually caring about you… But denial is an easy road to take when there’s seemingly no consequences to your actions.

The reveal i guess. Most normal reaction to learning your partners been replaced for god knows how long and you have no clue where he is.

Now that I think about it I might’ve gotten some inspiration from that one chapter of IJAG by @htsan (iykyk) only a lil bit tho

(Full rambling of the idea + extra sketch cuz i liked the expression) ↓↓

I originally wanted y/n to notice the differences instantly but i think it would be angstier if they didn’t and only noticed like months later >:3

[unfinishedslurs]

The boy stops in his tracks. “I know you,” he says, tilting his head curiously. He’s not tall, but he’s regal nonetheless, dressed all in white. Something about him makes Leia’s hair stand on end, and although she hides it she feels a stirring in her own chest. I know you like I know my own soul, she thinks wildly, and wonders where it came from. Has she gone insane?

“That’s nice,” she says, and shoots him anyway.

He deflects it in a flash of light, a glowing blue laser sword appearing in his hand like magic. She’s only seen one of those before, and it’s Vader’s. If this boy is anything like Vader, she realizes, she’s in deep shit.

She’s smart enough to know when she’s outmatched. Leia makes the tactical decision to run for her life.

Later, as she’s getting the hell out of there, she wonders why he didn’t try to stop her.

She remembers being young and tugging on her mothers skirts, demanding to know why their guest was so sad. “Does he not like it here?” She’d asked, and then, trembling, because Kenobi always seemed saddest around her. “Is it…because of me?”

“Oh, Leia,” her mother sighed, lifting her into her arms. “It’s not that, I promise.”

“Then what is it?”

“Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, years ago.” Breha’s eyes grew deeper, darker. “It was not his fault, but he blames himself. You remind him of that child, that’s all.”

Leia had quieted at that, contemplative.

The next time she’d seen Master Kenobi, she had given him a hug. He didn’t seem to know what to do with that, so she resolved to give him more of them. “He’s lonely,” she’d told her mother. “No one should be lonely.”

Looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi now, the memory seemed so far away. He’d aged thirty years in the ten it had been.

He looks, Leia thinks with a small twinge of regret, very lonely.

“Leia,” he greets. “It’s been a long time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia sees a glint of white.

Kenobi freezes in his tracks. “Luke?” He whispers, and through the distance Leia can hear it as if he’d been speaking directly into her ear.

Master Kenobi lost a child under his care, her mother whispers in her head. He blames himself.

In an instant, Leia understands everything.

Kenobi is still staring at the boy he’d lost so long ago when Vader cuts him down.

Later, as she’s pacing around on the Falcon to Han muttering darkly about Princesses and supernatural abilities, she rememberers the way the boy collapsed, as if all his strings had been cut. Vader was too occupied with him to even look at her as she shot at him desperately.

Luke. She hates him more than she hates herself.

“They know where you are,” he hisses frantically. “They’re coming for you. You have to run.”

“Wait!” Leia quickly pulls up their sonar. Nothing yet, but it would explain the distant queasiness she’d felt since they’d landed. She tended to trust her gut. “How do you know? How much time do we have?”

“Not important, and not enough,” he says. “I have to go, and so do you. You need to leave yesterday.”

“How do I know I can trust you? I don’t even know who you are.”

He pauses. “Call me Skywalker.”

“That’s not an answer, Skywalker.”

“Yes it is.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but there are faint voices on the other end, drawing nearer.

“Shit,” Skywalker mutters. “I have to go. I’ll be in contact, okay? Don’t ever tell me where you are, or where you’re heading. Vader and Palpatine aren’t shy about reading minds. Just leave as soon as you can, and figure out the rest.”

“But—“

It’s too late. The comm has disconnected.

She stares down at it, disbelieving. How would the Empire know they’re here? Why should she trust a stranger who somehow got her personal comm code?

Gut feeling or not, on paper this was a perfect location. Supplied, armored, and most importantly, extremely well hidden. There was no real reason to think it would possibly be found out.

It’s probably a trap. Almost definitely a trap.

Han sticks his head in the door, a sour look on his face. “Hey Princess, can you tell these idiots—“

She makes a decision then and there.

“We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re evacuating, effective immediately.” She pushes past him, and he follows so close he’s nearly stepping on her heel.

“Why? I think it’s pretty cozy here. Actual sunlight doesn’t hurt, either.”

“Apparently too cozy.” She grabs the first person she sees, a pilot who stares at her with wide eyes. “Emergency evacuation. Spread the word to pack everything you can and leave, I’ll let you know where we’re headed when we’re in orbit.”

He salutes and scurries off.

“Woah, hey now.” Han snatches at her elbow until she turns around to face him. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a new informant. He told me the Empire knows we’re here. They’re coming for us.”

“And you trust this person because…”

“I don’t have a choice,” she snaps. Someone runs past them, holding three packs filled to the brim with rations. “It’s either he’s lying and we’re not in danger, or he’s telling the truth and we’re going to die if we don’t listen. It’s not exactly hard math.”

It could be a trap of course, but he hadn’t suggested any sort of direction or destination to follow, and Leia wasn’t inclined to share. Especially not after his tidbit about Vader and Palpatine reading minds.

He squints at her. “That’s not it.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you,” he insists. He’s so infuriating. Leia doesn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, and you’re either gonna tell me why, or find a different transport when we head out of here.”

“Who said I was riding on your hunk of junk?” She demands. She actually was planning on going with them, since the Falcon has more than enough room for all the supplies that can’t fit in the other ships and none of the trustworthiness of the other pilots, but Han doesn’t need to know that.

“Well?”

Damn him. Damn him for knowing how to read her. She doesn’t know when she let that happen.

“I feel it,” she admits, defeated. “Something tells me he’s trustworthy. We’ll wait and see if it’s right.”

He studies her. She holds her head high, but inside she’s jittery at the scrutiny. They don’t have time for this.

“Yeah, all right,” Han finally says.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He rolls his eyes, like she’s not acting absolutely insane by putting all her trust in a random man she’s never even met. “Now come on, Princess, weren’t you the one who said we had to hurry?”

What is it about this man that makes it impossible to tell whether she wants to punch him or drag him into the nearest supply closet? They don’t have time to find out.

“So there’s good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first,” she demands.

“They know there’s a mole.”

“Shit.” Of course they know, how could they not? She should have been more careful, less obvious about the correlation of their movements with the Empire’s plans. “The good news?”

“They’ve tasked me with hunting down this ‘pathetic rebel spy,’” Skywalker says, humor in his voice. “That should buy me some time.”

Leia can’t quite stop the snort she lets out. “Seriously?”

“Yep. You’re speaking to a professional mole-hunter, here.”

“Well congratulations on the promotion, Skywalker.”

“Thank you,” he says grandly. Then, quieter, “It won’t last, Princess. They’ll find out eventually.”

“I know. Just hang in there, it will be over soon.”

“Will it?” He asks, suddenly sounding very young. She realizes that she has no idea how old he is. She doesn’t know anything about the man who has saved them more times than she cared to admit, and the idea rattles her until they sign off.

Later, she looks up the name Skywalker in their archives. There are a few results, but only one sticks out.

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight and hero of the Clone Wars. Killed at the hands of Darth Vader. There are gossip articles too, speculations on his relationship with the pregnant Senator Padmé Amidala, who died around the same time Skywalker did. The baby, it seems, died with her.

Unless he didn’t.

It’s ridiculous. It’s impossible. The idea is so ludicrous that Leia almost rejects it entirely.

But it makes sense. By the Maker, it makes sense.

The child of Anakin Skywalker, it seems, would be a powerful Force user indeed. Powerful enough for Kenobi to take the baby and run. Powerful enough for the Emperor to want him for his own gain. Powerful enough to send Vader after Kenobi and take the boy himself.

Maybe even powerful enough to shield his mind from Vader and Palpatine’s intrusions.

Powerful enough to hide the fact that he’s a spy.

Leia sinks into her chair, covering her face as she laughs.

Maybe Luke isn’t so bad after all.

“No, no, no,” she mutters, digging through the smoking wreckage of the TIE fighter. “Don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

“Princess…” Han lays a hand on her shoulder that she immediately shrugs off.

“No, he’s not dead. He’s not. Luke!”

A faint cough answers her, and she’s so relieved to hear it she could cry. Behind her, Han starts bellowing for a medic and, “Some damn help here, do you expect us to move all this ourselves?”

“Luke, it’s me,” she sobs. “It’s Leia. You’re at the Rebel Base. You’re safe.”

More coughing, and there’s a worrying rasp to his voice when he says, “You know…my name?”

“I figured it out.”

“Smart.” This time, the coughing is so bad Leia and Han both wince.

“Shit, kid,” Han says, moving another piece of rubble. “Don’t talk. We’re gonna get you out of here, all right?”

“Stand back,” Luke chokes out.

“What?”

“Stand back. Please.”

Han protests, but something in Leia knows they should listen to him. She drags him back, and motions everyone else to fall back with them. They do, albeit reluctantly.

“Clear,” she calls, hoping Luke can hear her.

The TIE explodes.

“Fuck!” Han goes back in, Leia on his heels with the terrifying feeling that she’d just allowed Luke to die, before they both stop in their tracks. Around them, the broken pieces of the TIE are floating.

And curled up in the middle is a man dressed all in white.

“Luke!” She pushes past Han to start dragging him out, and after another moment of staring around them, he helps her.

As soon as they get clear, the pieces fall to the ground with a clatter. Luke falls limp with them.

Han is still looking at the TIE. “Can you do that?” He asks quietly.

Leia pauses her examination of the unconscious man in front of her to glare at him. “Is that what you’re most concerned with right now? Really?”

“Excuse me for asking, Princess!”

“It’s white,” Luke grumbles, pulling at his hospital gown bitterly. “I hate wearing white.”

“Should I be offended?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t even. You look great and you know it. I just feel like I never left.”

“Well,” she says gingerly. “I guess it’s a good thing you got sick of it. If we went around in matching outfits all the time, people might think we’re twins.”

He snorts. “Yeah, right.”

[tennessoui]

I enjoy any reverse age fic that keeps Anakin realistically dark (and dramatic - I am an eViL SItH!!!) while also letting twink Obi-Wan be like, nope, Jedi live and Palpatine dies, those are the rules for fucking me <3

its very important to me that anakin thinks and acts like he's the most powerful person in the whole galaxy but then his soaking wet pathetic chihuahua of a padawan actually holds both of their leashes yeah

padawan obi-wan is like kill your master for me it would make me happy for a millisecond and anakin does the math and is like. perfect ok will do immediately. is there anyone i can kill for you that would make you happy for a whole minute? maybe thirty whole seconds? just let me know. i'll do it. i'll do it so fast.

[sharkfund]

what if i Dont want insane intense very niche and graphic smiling friends angst. what if i just want them to kiss and hang out and be funny. Why is that like a herculian writing task for ao3

[outism-had-a-purpose]

Ryoshu and Rodya friendship where they sometimes sleep in each other's room when it gets too much in theirs.

When the candlelight in Ryoshu's gets too bright and suffocating with the heat and reminds her too much of the fire her daughter died in sometimes she knocks (more of. just letting herself in lmao) on Rodya's door to literally cool off.

Sometimes when Rodya's room freezes her down to the bone to the point where that she can't sleep, and the stench and sight of her dead neighbors haunts her every senses, Ryoshu gets a quiet knock on her door, and an even more surprising, a solemnly quiet Rodya outside, asking her if she can take a quick snooze here because she doesn't wanna go out and do the night watch.

Something something the only bed worth sleeping is the one right next to you (sad). Fire and ice duo. you get me riht

[pretendfan]

💜🍆😈

[quietwingsinthesky]

like not to turn into a rhack blog for a minute (holy shit this game came out in 2014, does anyone even still ship these two) but. Extremely gay for a guy to try and take over your body, trap you in the crashing space station you’ve sentenced him to die in, insert himself back into your skull just for a chance to choke you out even if it means killing himself in the process, and then get on his knees begging you not to kill him again.

[iwoulddieforienzo]

Something that makes reading TOA so devastating is how fucking much Apollo feels about Everything. There’s so MUCH. Like I don’t even know how to describe it to you if you haven’t read the books yourself. He has so many complicated thoughts and emotions about just about everything and he cares about everything so much and there is just SO MUCH going on in his head. And yet none of it ever reaches his mouth!!

He almost never says what he’s feeling. What little comes out of his mouth about his thoughts barely even scratches the surface of what he actually means. Like he’ll be having a long ass monologue about how incredible someone is, showing a deep understanding of them as a person and empathizing with them so hard you’d almost think it’s projection but it’s not he’s legitimately just mind melding with this random person he met like a week ago and he’s thinking the softest, kindest thoughts about them like he knows they’re fucking incredible - and what comes out of his mouth is just like, “you’re a wonderful friend :)” AND ITS LIKE. THERES SO MUCH MORE UNDER THE SURFACE. the sheer admiration and adoration he has for everyone around him……… UGHHH!!! But he never VOICES ANY OF IT!!!!!! He never tells anyone about what Zeus did to him……. He never tells anyone except the reader about his realization that Zeus is abusive…. He never even tells commodus about how much he adored him, not then and not now… he refuses to tell anyone when he’s in pain or tries to justify the things he does when he actually had Decent Reasons for why he did something… I’m. I’M. AUGH. AHHHHH

HE DOESN’T EVEN TELL US ALL OF HIS THOUGHTS IS THE THING. THERES EVEN MORE THAT HE IS NOT TELLING US!!!!! THE FUCKING OCEAN OF FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS HE HAS ABOUT EVERYTHING IS THE CLIFF NOTES VERSION. I AM IN DISTRESS.

And YET…. Even what slips out of his mouth is so fucking devastating it is SO devastating. He’s so fucking kind and gentle with Harley and Meg and and other younger Demis and his kids… he’ll act like an obstinate idiot and then turn around say something that drags the core of the person he’s talking to into the light like nail on the fucking HEAD like he reached into their soul and gave them the words to express something that they were struggling to say aloud or that they didn’t even realize about themself. Around the 2nd book he starts putting voice to some of his feelings and thoughts about others and even that tiny fucking sliver is overwhelming to the people he’s talking to bc he’s SO. AUGHHHH

[voxofthevoid]

Now that the Amnesia Fic is over (only took 14 chapters and 72k words *sobs*), we're moving on to my next set of word crimes—fondly but unofficially titled the Double-Dong Dickfest.

Yes, really.

Age reversal (but no role reversal) with 15-year-old Gojou and 29-year-old Yuuji set in canonverse. This was meant to be just a oneshot featuring dubcon public sex of the chikan variety, but then the outline escalated into an 8-chapter porn fest where Gojou gets wrecked seven ways to Sunday. For once, nothing is @nearalways' fault; teen!Gojou animated just...inspired me too much.

Let Dickfest Wednesdays commece! Since the first chapter is just a setting-establishing prologue, there's a total of 0 dicks in the excerpt below.

"Nobody sane would want to walk around in this heat.”

Yuuji grimaces. “That’s fair. The summers are getting worse every year, huh?”

“You don’t get to talk,” Satoru says, eyeing him up and down. “What’s with that outfit anyway? You tryna look cool or something?”

Yuuji looks down at himself. It’s not a particularly outlandish outfit by sorcerer standards; it’s pretty simple even—a hooded, full-sleeved jacket and thick pants, all a deep, gleaming black. In literally any other weather, Satoru wouldn’t bat an eye, but this July has been scorching. Satoru’s sweating through his summer uniform, and he can’t even look at Yuuji without feeling five degrees hotter.

“Is it working?” Yuuji asks.

“You’re too old to be cool.”

“Ouch,” Yuuji intones, even clutching his heart. “I’m not even thirty yet. But I guess twenty-nine would feel ancient to a kid your age.”

“Don’t call me a kid!” Satoru wants to throw something else at Yuuji, even knowing it’d be pointless. “And you’re missing my point!”

“Oh, you had one?” The teasing is mild, Yuuji smiling like he’s inviting Satoru to laugh with him. Even the thick scars cutting across his eyebrow and mouth don’t detract from the sheer niceness he exudes.

Satoru’s tempted to scoot away, half afraid it’ll spread like some contagion, but they’re already on the far edges of the park bench. Alright, maybe Satoru’s taking up most of it, but he’s a big guy. Yuuji’s not small either, six feet tall and obscenely broad, but somehow, he doesn’t take up much space.

“Satoru-kun?”

Satoru drags his eyes up from Yuuji’s thick thighs, running right into two sets of warm brown eyes. It’s still a little weird to look at someone’s face and find double the expected number of eyes, but it’s an interesting kind of weird. And Satoru definitely prefers this to the way Yuuji closes the lower two when they’re with other people. They might look like just weird scars to non-sorcerers, but Satoru’s own eyes are metaphorically triple the usual number, and all four of Yuuji’s eyes are violently visible to him even when he’s playing at normal. It’s much better to just see all four open instead of watching the second set swim under Yuuji’s skin.

As if sensing this thoughts, Yuuji’s eyes narrow into a frown, concern creeping across his expression.

“What?” Satoru asks a little belatedly.

“You were saying something,” Yuuji prods.

What was he—

“Oh, right, the assistant managers. Fushiguro Tsumiki isn’t the only one, and you still haven’t told me why we can’t just call someone else.”

“So spoiled,” Yuuji repeats with a sigh, but before Satoru can protest, he adds, “You already know why. They’re scared. Tsumiki-san is the only one who doesn’t mind working with me. I have Megumi to thank for that.”

“The hell does the Zen'in head have to do with any of this?”

“Tsumiki-san is Megumi’s sister.”

Satoru takes a moment to mentally compare the two. He doesn’t know Fushiguro all that well, but she’s sweet-faced and mild-mannered; Zen'in Megumi is anything but.

Well, whatever.

“You’re wrong,” he tells Yuuji.

“That so?” Yuuji asks, and Satoru really doesn’t like how indulgent he’s acting, from the pretty little smile on his lips to the way he tilts his whole body toward Satoru, but none of it feels mean or mocking. It never does with Yuuji. “What am I wrong about, Satoru-kun?”

Satoru leans into Yuuji’s space, staring right into those four glimmering eyes. “She ain’t the only who’s not scared of you. I’m not. I don’t give a fuck that you were Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel. That guy’s ancient history, and you chewed him up anyway. Who the fuck cares?”

It’s subtle but there, the slightest widening of Yuuji’s eyes. Satoru grins, victory sweet between his teeth.

“Thank you,” Yuuji says. “I appreciate that.”

Satoru’s grin sputters and dies. “What the—no! It’s not a compliment! I’m trying to—”

“But isn’t it a little too early to decide?”

“Huh?”

“You barely know me,” Yuuji points out placidly. His face is still very close, and Satoru’s sunglasses have slid down to his nose, leaving him exposed to every minute shudder and shift of the muscles on Yuuji’s face as those lips curve into a crooked smile. “What will you do if it turns out I’m a monster after all?”

“You?” Satoru laughs; it comes out a little too breathless. “I’ve met puppies more evil than you.”

Yuuji’s smile widens, exposing a gleaming line of pearl-white teeth. His canines look unusually sharp.

“That’s sweet, Satoru-kun,” he says. “I hope you won’t change your mind. They all do eventually, even cocky ones like you, but I guess it’d be nice if you didn’t. You’re a fun kid.”

Satoru hisses at him. “Stop calling me a—”

Cold metal cuts him off, Yuuji pressing his can of soda to Satoru’s mouth. He rears back, condensation smeared on his lips.

“You can have that,” Yuuji says before Satoru can start cursing him out.

Satoru wraps his hand around the can; it’s nearly three-quarters full. “It’s yours though.”

“I’m good. You’re all red—cool down a little. It’s a long walk to the station.”

“I’ll be fine,” Satoru says, thrusting the can at Yuuji. “Just drink it. I hate martyrs.”

Yuuji sighs, his whole body drooping. “You’re impossible to please. I’m not being a martyr. You asked why I dress like this. I run cold. The heat doesn’t get to me as much. Will you drink it now?”

Satoru narrows his eyes at Yuuji, the can still held out. But the pleasant chill of the metal against his palm is kind of making his throat ache.

It is hot, and he is very thirsty.

Yuuji’s expression softens. He wraps a hand around Satoru’s wrist, using it as a handle to raise the can to his own mouth. He takes a small, wet sip.

Satoru’s throat clicks around a swallow.

“There,” Yuuji announces, licking his lips and letting go of Satoru’s hand. The skin he touched burns, even though Yuuji was right—his skin is much cooler than Satoru’s. “Finish the rest. That’s fine, right?”

Satoru wordlessly brings the can to his mouth, downing its contents in a single, shuddering gulp.

Yuuji’s approval simmers in the air—the ferocious focus of those four eyes branding Satoru.

[pikkish]

idk if this is a good prompt but put doomguy in myhouse.wad I think he would find it enriching

Right, so I've been mulling on this one for a little bit now, n I'm not opposed to writing something for you, I'm just not... entirely sure what to write? Because the thing is, myhouse.wad doesn't actually really have anything to do with Doom as a story. Sure, Doom is important in that it's the vessel through which the story is told and one of the connections between the narrator and his dead companion. But as far as Doom itself goes, and the story about a man who was too angry/stupid to die, fighting demons and saving earth, none of that is at all relevant to myhouse.wad and its story. For all intents and purposes, Doomguy isn't actually a character in myhouse.wad. So I'm not really sure how exactly to fit him in there.

[esterigermaine]

You learn about the damage to durge's brain and cranium from an easy to miss NPC in the underdark that examines them. Specifically that the cranium has suffered severe trauma and that it is a miracle that their brain functions at all.

Could you imagine the reactions you'd get if other characters discovered this damage sooner in the story?

[turtle-of-winter]

[ask-ursa-tonypeter]

[fic: double-blind] Ok i dunno if this is too much of a hypothetical/meta question or not, but if it's ok, i would like to ask sim!Tony from the previous ask (kidnapping AU, i think?):

Say, somehow, through magic or time travel or whatever, your Peter, your actual son makes his way back to you, alive. And the first thing he does is he asks you to take a serum that reverses the effects of extremis. Would you do it?

I... yes. Yes. I would do anything for him.

[s0fter-sin]

i miss when we all interpreted shigaraki’s quirk as true decay rather than just reducing things to dust. i remember fics that had him rot things as he touched them and it was so much more visceral