An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
My birthday gift fic for the lovely @c-c-cherry
Inspired by Aura by @silvercap
Summary:
Leon Kennedy was no longer a private citizen, but government property. A tool, being sharpened and trained to undergo only the most dangerous and important missions.
The program would take years to mold him, and he had no way out but forward.
(OR: Leon has a rough transition into military training with Krauser. The training is hard enough, but he also has to deal with the stress of being blackmailed, let alone his crippling survivor's guilt. How long can he carry it all?)
Chapters: 2/2
Word Count: 12.9K
Additional Tags: Leon S. Kennedy Needs a Hug, Hurt Leon S. Kennedy, Post-Resident Evil 2 Remake, Pre-Resident Evil 4 Remake, Blackmail, Misunderstandings, Trauma, Leon S. Kennedy has PTSD, Sleep Deprivation, Mentioned Sherry Birkin, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Guilt, Military Training, Military Inaccuracies, Angst, Whump, Flashbacks, Mentioned Claire Redfield, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, It’s not RE2 Leon but not RE4 Leon either so we call him Pi Leon (3.14), Because RE3 Leon is actually just RE2 Leon again. So he’s a little more than that
Summary: When Ashley starts acting uncharacteristically quiet during their walk upon a beaten path, Leon assumes he can cheer her up by mirroring the girl’s previous attempts at small talk. This strategy backfires tremendously.
He couldn’t think straight, Ashley’s voice multiplying and swirling in his head, noises overlapping each other like layers of fluid that poured deep into his ears, falling down, down, and mixing together in the pit of his gut. His clothes and skin felt tight against his muscles, which burned and ached with the urge to sprint while he still could.
I’m giving you an order, Rookie! You save yourself first!
Leon.
You’re a cop… you’re supposed to know something—!
Leon!
“I can do this,” Leon said between labored breaths. The words were surprisingly hard to get out, which was strange, because he didn’t mean to say them out loud.
He could see it in his mind, turning corners and shuffling down dark, twisting hallways. Keeping his ears open for groans and hissing breaths, praying that he still had enough ammunition to make it to the next undiscovered room.
“Leon? Leon! There's a—“
An iron grip snared his right calf and squeezed tight, tearing a pained yell out of his throat.
He tried to drag his leg away but the grip only clawed him harder, pulling him, breaking skin. Leon pulled out his combat knife on instinct, the one given to him by his Lieutenant, and readied himself to plunge it into the zombie’s throat before it could bite his leg.
“Leon!”
Another zombie went for his knife-wielding arm, tugging on it with a weak grip. He could feel its breath on his forearm as it groaned in hunger, rancid breath wafting into his nostrils as the living corpse tugged urgently to lead his exhausted flesh into its awaiting jaw.
Leon swiveled and shoved the zombie off his arm, knocking it to the ground with a yell. He was trying to remember his training from the academy, but his movements were panicked and instinctual. He couldn’t slow himself down to think his actions through, his body and brain filled only with the goal of survival.
The monster at his feet refused to release him, no matter how much he tried to back away or shake off its desperate hold. Its nails still pierced deep inside his skin, a cold burn that urged him to flail desperately. Leon’s balance finally faltered as he fell backwards onto the dirt, air forced from his desperate lungs.
The bloody leather of his gloves creaked from the strain as he held his knife in a shaking grip.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Ao3 seems to be enjoying this one so here I am to cross-post some suffering
Word count: 4073
“You—you told me Raccoon City was where you couldn’t make a difference. How do you—” She tried to find the words. “How did you get that feeling to stop?”
Grace closed in on herself when Leon hit her with a look as cold as ice. Any kind-hearted expression had left his face. A part of her wanted to reach out and make sure he was real, that she hadn’t left him behind with a bullet through his head or his body beyond salvation.
***
Or: Post-RE9 with more guilt and more parallels and more Porsche and also more comfort I guess
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Ao3 seems to be enjoying this one so here I am to cross-post some suffering
Word count: 4073
“You—you told me Raccoon City was where you couldn’t make a difference. How do you—” She tried to find the words. “How did you get that feeling to stop?”
Grace closed in on herself when Leon hit her with a look as cold as ice. Any kind-hearted expression had left his face. A part of her wanted to reach out and make sure he was real, that she hadn’t left him behind with a bullet through his head or his body beyond salvation.
***
Or: Post-RE9 with more guilt and more parallels and more Porsche and also more comfort I guess
this year's prompts were sourced through an open suggestion form, where over 6,000 prompts were submitted. after, the best 100 prompts were voted on in a poll which received 6,265 votes. the top 28 were rearranged into the 28 prompts of febuwhump - with the most voted prompt in the number 1 position ("I like you better broken", 1,959 votes) - while the alternate prompts were selected from the mod's personal favourites of the remaining options.
this is such a great list of prompts, and i'm so excited to see what creativity they spark with you!
if you're interested in taking part in all the facets of febuwhump, then check out the expected timeline for this year's event! pay special attention to march 6-8, after febuwhump, in which everyone is encouraged to comment on as many febuwhump works as possible to ensure that everyone leaves this event with encouraging feedback on their creations!
as always, please check the faq or scroll through the previously asked questions before asking questions. i know the faq is short, but it really does answer just about any questions you have. when in doubt, assume the answer is that you can do literally anything you want.
please note: notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form released towards the end of febuwhump, and if you are interested in joining the febuwhmp discord server, the link will be available to do so for one week during january.
full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:
FEBUWHUMP 2026 PROMPTS:
DAY 1: "I like you better broken"
DAY 2: old injury
DAY 3: ghost
DAY 4: blood stains
DAY 5: survivor
DAY 6: soul bond
DAY 7: forced to hurt another
DAY 8: hunger
DAY 9: false memory
DAY 10: god complex
DAY 11: broken fingers
DAY 12: bodyguard
DAY 13: "again"
DAY 14: hanahaki disease
DAY 15: test subject
DAY 16: touch aversion
DAY 17: fingers in the wound
DAY 18: time loop
DAY 19: "I didn't mean to"
DAY 20: hunted
DAY 21: flashbacks
DAY 22: worse than death
DAY 23: kintsugi
DAY 24: head injury
DAY 25: medical restraints
DAY 26: time travel
DAY 27: "can you stay?"
DAY 28: breaking point
ALTERNATE PROMPTS:
ALT 1: environmental whump
ALT 2: pregnancy
ALT 3: alternate universe
ALT 4: lazarus
ALT 5: auction
ALT 6: live broadcast
ALT 7: the devil you know
ALT 8: child soldier
ALT 9: you would have loved this
ALT 10: flu
RULES
soft rules:
prompts should be answered in the form of whump
creators can produce any kind of media they want
you don't have to complete all the prompts to take part
you can use the prompts after the event ends
you can complete the prompts in tandem with any other event
you can post to any platform you want, however this blog will only be sharing links and prompt fills posted to tumblr
if you want to be featured on the hall of fame, you must inform this blog by the 3rd of march that you have completed all of the days using the provided form
if you have questions, consult the faq before asking
hard rules:
to be a completionist, you must complete all 28 prompts, in order, in whatever medium you want, before the end of the event
(specifically for being featured on the blog)
when uploading febuwhump content to tumblr, please use the tags:
febuwhump (or febuwhump2026)
the relevant day's tag e.g. febuwhumpday1, febuwhumpday2...
nsfw (if relevant)
any important trigger warnings
you can also tag the blog: @febuwhump
I cannot guarantee your work will be archived on the blog. a random selection of properly tagged works will be reblogged every day of february
Hi! I just read the 14 chapters of Area Hysteria, and I loved it soooo much. So I was wondering if you have even a vague idea of when you will finish it. I can't wait to read the end of it!
Hello, and thanks for the ask! I'm so happy my silly little story is still being enjoyed >:))
march and april is the most dreadful busy time for me and so I plan to dig into finishing this current chapter very soon. I've been completely absorbed in original projects this month but I have not forgotten about my little guy -- it's all outlined, more than halfway done, and just begging to be finished. <3
Eri’s time living at UA runs as smoothly as it can go. It only takes Eraser's terrible self-care habits to topple it. Aizawa and Eri learn to trust one another in the process (and maybe a lot of other people, too).
aka; obligatory Cherry sickfic with family feels?
________
When Eri was in the hospital, Lemillion visited every day.
The moment he was allowed in to see her, the hero couldn’t stop himself from dropping by and talking with her. While the doctors and nurses seemed too scared to touch Eri and her horn some days, Lemillion would sit on the edge of her bed, still covered in bandages himself, and hold her hand with his working arm.
Lemillion would stand there and smile whenever Eri would try to apologize for what she’d done to him, the damage she’d caused to everyone around them. He waved her off every single time with his non-casted hand, always with the same reasoning.
“Don’t let those villains get to you. I’ll keep telling you until you believe it. Leave everything up to the heroes now, okay?”
Lemillion would tell her stories when she felt well enough to stay awake for longer. He talked about the school he went to and the building he lived in with all his other friends. They were all heroes, too.
He talked about the man with the glasses, even if he sometimes got a different look on his face when he said his name. Sir Nighteye’s favourite thing was to make people laugh, Lemillion said. If heroes could do things with a smile, it would make everyone happier.
Eri didn’t know if she had it in her to smile. Lemillion told her that still didn’t make her bad.
“You’ve been through some pretty scary stuff. I don’t blame you for not wanting to smile. But you’ll be perked up and laughing in no time if I can help it!”
When Eri was in the hospital, she met Eraser, too.
He was nothing like Lemillion.
Meeting Eraser up close was nothing like when she saw him before. Not when she clung onto Deku and watched the man stand there at a distance like a speck in the rubble. His hair didn’t rise now like it had before, and Eri didn’t find herself falling to the ground this time, either.
Eraser didn’t look like the other heroes. At first, she wondered if he was a hero at all. Eri remembered hugging a pillow tight to her chest as they were properly introduced in her room, a barrier between her and the silent figure looming over her.
“Hello,” he greeted her much calmer than the rest of the adults she’d met. Everyone so far had flashed a big smile, talking loud and slow as if Eri didn’t speak their language. It wasn’t cold like the bad men but it was nothing like the other good people she’d met. “Shouta Aizawa. If Eraser is easier to remember, that’s fine.”
Eri couldn’t do much but stare, even though the bad men always said it was bad to stare. Eraser didn’t laugh like Lemillion or Deku. He didn’t try to exaggerate the look on his face to prove he was a real hero. Nothing in his outfit felt much like a hero, either. The scarf around his neck looked like it was choking him, and his outfit and hair faded into the hospital’s background of blacks, whites and greys.
After a long period of silence, the white-coat lady said something Eri couldn’t hear. Soon, Eraser had bent down to her level, head rising just over the side of the bed. She continued to sit cross-legged, clutching the pillow just in case.
“Eraser can make a person’s quirk disappear whenever he looks at them,” the white-coat lady smiled big, but Eri could feel the nervousness radiating off of her. “He can help when your horn makes you feel scared. Isn’t that nice?”
Eri remembered how she felt when Eraser first looked at her. It was like all the pressure in her head had vanished. Maybe he had a power that was the opposite of her’s. So who was good and who was bad? She felt her shoulders relax anyways as the man held his gaze.
“I work with kids,” Eraser, balanced on one knee, had said to her. His voice lacked any kind of tone at all. It was neither kind nor threatening, and Eri didn’t know what to make of it. “They’re older than you. Closer to Togata—Lemillion’s age.”
Eri felt her chest loosen up when he mentioned someone she knew. If Eraser knew the heroes that protected her, that meant he was good, right? After all, Eri hadn’t smiled once since staying here, and everyone kept calling her good, too. She thought back to what Lemillion had said about classes and friends and heroes, and managed to squeak out her first words to him.
“Do…you go to hero school with Lemillion?”
Eraser blinked a few times in response, and Eri watched with wide eyes as the corner of his mouth twitched, upturned despite everything else in his face remaining stone cold. It must have stayed like that for a fraction of a second, yet Eri remembered seeing it as clear as day.
“You could say that.”
When Deku and Lemillion came for their next visit, the nurses and Eraser had already told her she’d be moving under his care. The two heroes must have been told about it, too. It was like they could sense her unease about it without even having to ask.
“Don’t be scared of Eraser,” Lemillion sported his usual grin as Deku sorted through the assorted fruit basket they’d brought with them. It was becoming more and more of a routine now that Eri had let it slip how much she liked it. “I know he looks pretty scary, but that’s just how he is. On the inside, he’s a real softie.”
“Softly?” Eri tried to understand. The healing wounds all the way up her arms itched, but she knew the others wouldn’t like it if she scratched at it.
Lemillion smiled bigger, in a way that only happened when she messed up her words.
“Softie,” Deku repeated with an equally gentle look on his face. “It means that Mr. Aiz—Eraser might look mean, but he still wants to protect everyone as much as Lemillon and I do!”
Eri felt her hands release their grip from the layers of blanket overtop her. Lemillion held up the fruit basket, letting the handle hang from his bandaged forearm.
“He’s a strange guy,” Lemillion said, “He doesn’t really dress or act like all the heroes on tv, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t one. He wants to make sure people are safe—even us heroes! That’s why he’s a teacher. Do you get it?”
Eri didn’t quite think she did. Heroes helped people, saved people. They always said that. If Eraser saves people, why does he act like he doesn’t?
Lemillion looked puzzled for a moment before looking down at the fruit basket still hanging from his arm.
“Look at this, Eri. Pretend you’re a peach. Or no—you’re the apple, okay? I’m the peach, and Deku can be the kiwi,” Lemillion set the basket down and pointed at each piece of fruit. Eri could tell by his face that he was thinking really hard about what to say next. “Fruits are awesome, but they can’t just sit on their own, right? They could roll away, or fall down, or get stepped on! So is there something making sure they don’t do all those things?”
Eri watched as Lemillion dumped out the rest of the fruit, letting them sit unprotected on the bed. Deku looked just as confused as she felt, but Eri soon reached out her hand and tentatively touched the wicker structure.
“Basket,” she finally said. Lemillion beamed and placed a hand overtop her head. It made her chest feel warm.
“You’ve got it!” he said, “The basket’s hard to think about with all the flashy fruit sitting in it, right? We’re all nice and guarded without even realizing.”
Eri nodded slowly, and Deku spoke up again.
“Togata…you should totally be a teacher,” his eyes shone with admiration, and Eri felt warmer as he turned to her, “I think about certain foods when I use my quirk, too. I think that’s a perfect way to describe Mr. Aizawa.”
Lemillion laughed again, ruffling Deku’s hair this time before turning back to Eri.
“But there’s something else you really need to think about,” Lemillion stretched out his fingers and pointed to her forehead, “You’ve gotta remember that even though we need the basket, it needs us in there, too. That’s the type of hero Eraser is. How else can a fruit basket be a fruit basket? ”
Eri stared down at the basket again, watching as Deku began to load it back up with fruit. Her eyes couldn’t tear away from it now. She tried to imagine Eraser standing between them, his sharp eyes making sure everything was okay, even if he wasn’t as warm and smiley as the other heroes.
Even if he didn't look like it at first, Eraser still carried all the fruit.
Eri could try and understand that.
***
Eri knew the heroes gave her nice things because she was good. She didn’t need the bad room with the bad men anymore. The heroes would make her happy if she followed all their rules.
She must have followed all their rules especially well. After learning all about fruit, Eri visited UA more times than she could count. Without realizing it at first, she found Lemillion was right about learning how to smile.
When things felt right, he and Deku helped decorate Eri’s new room. It felt so much warmer than the bad room with the bad men. Her bed didn’t feel so lumpy, and she could see the sunlight brighten up the space where she sat on the floor to play. Eri was allowed to fill it with her favourite colours and as many toys as she wanted, and the walls here weren’t made of cold cement.
Deku finished off the set-up by placing a calendar on the wall. It had different photographs of a man with golden hair and two spikes sticking straight up like bunny ears. Eri thought she’d seen him on tv.
NOVEMBER IS HERE!! it said boldly in blue at the top. Deku read it out loud to her and laughed to himself, but Eri didn’t quite get the joke.
She didn’t care too much about what the calendar looked like, instead fixated on how she could count the days herself. Lemilliom and Deku helped circle the days that certain things would happen. They could tell her what and when, ask her what she wanted or how she felt about it.
That part was Eraser’s idea. It should help make you feel more comfortable, having some control over your time here, he said as he passed Deku that blue marker.
Eraser was a hero who really liked rules, but Eri learned more things about him the more they spent time together. She decided that the others were right about him.
Eraser took her shopping for new clothes after her first night under his care. He told Eri that he liked cats when she tried on a sweater covered in them. He said he could find a way to allow a real one on campus if she ever wanted one.
Eraser always made sure she had something fun to do, and never made Eri do anything she didn’t want to. He filled the fridge with snacks on their third day together once he found out what she liked. He told her she could eat whenever she felt hungry, that she didn’t need to wait for him in between meals. Eri was worried he’d be unhappy if she told him the bad men barely let her eat at all.
Eraser put on shows for Eri and sat on the other end of the couch when he had to work with a pen and a big stack of papers. He would read stories to her before bedtime, even if he wouldn’t do the voices like Lemillion and Deku.
Eraser brushed her hair in the mornings. It so much gentler than the bad men had ever been. When he caught Eri shrinking away from it, Eraser didn’t even get angry. He sat cross-legged next to her on the floor and placed the brush in her hands, pointing at his equally unkempt mop of hair.
“Show me how you’d like it done.”
He said that a lot. Eraser always gave Eri that option to choose—to control things herself and make everything unknown feel less scary. He would let Eri swim out to the deep end all while standing right next to her. He always made sure it turned out okay.
Eri could see the smile in his eyes, even when she couldn’t smile herself.
Sometimes, Eraser came home with bandaged arms and legs. He’d return with his body bruised and his hair wrapped up and smelling like the hospital. He talked about how it was all just a part of protecting people.
On worse days, his chest would be too fragile for Eri to rest her head against, or he’d wince at the bright kitchen lights at dinnertime and announce they were getting takeout instead. Other nights, his eyes would droop and he would fall asleep when they watched movies together. He’d wake up just in time to help Eri get ready for bed.
On the hardest days, Eraser would stare right through the wall until Eri had to tap him on the shoulder. Even if Eri could tell how hard it was, he would leap into a sort of hero mode that reminded her of Deku. He would take extra long naps and take medicine with his food that loosened his muscles, but it never stopped her from feeling any less like a fruit in a basket.
Beyond everything else, even if Lemillion and Deku had warned her that he wouldn’t, Eraser always made time to smile.
It was never a big one like everyone else gave her, but his mouth moved in that familiar upturned fashion she first recognized back in the hospital. His eyes always looked too tired but some of the darkness sitting past his lashes would disappear when he looked down at her.
It was how Eri knew she really was a fruit, just like Lemillion said.
Today though, something felt wrong. Bad.
This morning, Eraser didn’t feel like Eraser at all.
When the little clock in her room read the time, Eri realized Eraser never came to wake her up. He hadn’t said good morning when Eri made her way into the kitchen either, still in her pyjamas.
He barely turned his head away from the mysterious machine that made him coffee. Eri wasn’t allowed to have it yet, it was supposed to keep adults awake. Today, it couldn’t keep Eraser awake enough.
“My class has a training day with the upper-years. That means no lessons,” the man made his way over to the table, speaking the first words from either of them that morning. He placed a bowl of apple oatmeal in front of her. No cinnamon today—Eri stuck her pinky into it and tasted honey.
“So no school?” she asked curiously. The energy around her guardian felt strangely uneasy. Eri looked up at him and noticed his eyes looked more vacant than normal, already weighed down by the day despite it only just beginning.
“No school for them,” he corrected her, “I’m still very busy today. Midoriya and Togata won’t be able to join you today. I can ask them to keep you company tomorrow.”
Eri knew better than to ask why he was busy. When Eraser said he had to go to work, Eri knew she had to stay out of the way. The bad men had taught her that. Some things they said still helped her, even at UA.
“Okay,” she replied, but something in the man’s eyes still seemed wrong. He didn’t look at her like he usually did. Eraser’s eyes squinted down at his half-finished cup, his eyes glazed over. His breakfast was nowhere to be seen.
Eraser’s face seemed whiter than it did before, too. It looked strikingly pale in contrast to his all-black outfit. The bad men—back before she’d met everyone here—their faces always turned white when Eri used her horn. It was because she’d done something scary, something wrong. Had she done something wrong here, too?
Eri looked down at her plate, almost empty now. Eraser had his head balanced on his hand, resting a fist on his forehead and his elbow on the table. Eri tensed and waited for him to tell her what she did, the things she’d finally done wrong enough to make him angry.
He said nothing, so she waited for his smile, instead. When that still resulted in nothing, Eri felt her chest swarm with unease. Eraser’s eyes flickered over to her with an unfamiliar exhaustion.
“Finished?” he gestured to her plate and Eri eyed the glass of milk, still half full. He liked when she finished it. Maybe he was waiting for that.
Pressing the cup to her mouth, she downed it in one go. She watched eagerly for his reaction, but it never came. Fingers now pressed to the bridge of his nose, Eraser stood up and stuck her plates in the sink.
“If you’re able to find something quiet to do today, that would be very helpful, Eri.”
Eri could be quiet. She was the best at being quiet. She could hold her breath, still her movements. She’d grown used to hiding behind doors and in between cracks. She could follow all the rules because rules were important, and rules made them all happy.
When she was especially good, Eraser had a type of smile just for her. His mouth would move upward slightly, the skin around his eyes would soften. When she was good, he would bend down and place his hand on her head, and when she was bad, he would place her in front of him, letting his eyes focus gently, hair raising until her horn didn’t hurt anymore.
He was watching her, always. He never said it out loud, but Eri could feel the warmth that came with his eyes. Lemillion said that when he watched her like that, it was like having armor. He said it was like an invisible piece of clothing on her that made her safer. Something she could feel over her chest but not see.
Eraser was an adult—a hero—and made sure everything was okay. Eri didn’t want him to stop.
But no matter what happened that morning, he still wouldn’t smile at her like he always did.
Eraser was tired after breakfast, even after finishing his coffee. He didn’t say it, but Eri always knew when it was time for him to take a nap. The spots underneath his eyes were too dark and he tried too hard to squint.
He didn’t smile when Eri drank all her milk or tried to bring her plate to the kitchen all by herself. He didn’t notice how Eri had gotten on her favorite dress all by herself without any of his help, even if she usually needed him to do up the zipper at the end. She clipped the barrettes that Deku’s friends gave her into her hair without help, too. He didn’t seem to notice, disappearing into his office the moment dishes were done.
“I’m very busy today,” bounced around in her head as she sat in her room. Her heart hurt when she looked around at everything everyone gave her.
Keeping quiet and small should have been easy now, with all these toys in her room. She even had a window to look out of this time. There was so much more to draw when she could sit on the edge of her bed and stare out of it.
When Eri was first in the hospital, she drew Deku in the sky back when he first introduced himself. It was just with pencil, but he put it up in his room and showed it to her when she was finally allowed to visit. She drew Eraser the first time he spent all day with her in the hospital. He stood on the ground and his hair flew up in the air. The next day, he came back with one hundred crayons, and it was the first time he really smiled at her. He sat on the edge of the bed and let her hold them up to his hair, trying to find the one that matched.
Eraser had one of her drawings in his office now. Maybe he wanted another one, and it would make him change his mind about her.
Eri sat on the floor and looked through the pink box that held her crayons. She tried to draw Eraser but she couldn’t get his mouth right. Eri closed her eyes and tried to remember how his face was supposed to soften and crinkle when he looked down at her, but she couldn’t think of anything but his words to her this morning. It was like she was barely there in front of him.
She drew Lemillion instead, and hid it away for when she saw him next. Then Eri thought about the story he told her about the fruit, and she drew an apple and a peach in a tiny basket. It looked so much like the basket he and Deku had brought her that Eraser was sure to like it, too.
When she snuck around the corner and peered into his office, the feeling from before came back. Her drawing didn’t seem so nice now. She hid it behind her back just in case. Eri’s eyes surveyed the top of his desk for the picture she once watched him stick in a frame on his desk. Eraser wasn’t looking at it today. He looked just as unhappy staring at nothing than he did staring down at her this morning.
Did she do something bad and didn’t know? Was he waiting for her to say sorry? Eri opened her mouth and thought to get the man’s attention, but bad men came back into her head.
“Sorry for what?” she remembered the worst of them saying. “You think just being sorry is going to fix the bad things you do to other people? You’re gonna need to pay it forward some other way.”
He was always so mean. But he wasn’t ever wrong when he talked about her mistakes. She had done so many bad things, and maybe Eraser just didn’t know about all of them when he took her home with him. Maybe he knew now. Or maybe she just wasn’t doing her part anymore.
Eri knew better. She’d spent all her time with Eraser trying to be good, but it wasn’t enough. Eri hadn’t been good at all.
“Eri.”
She jumped back when Eraser’s desk chair spun around, and he spotted her by the door. His eyes unfocused when he noticed her there, and Eri found herself too frozen in place to speak. Eraser’s eyes looked twice as clouded. Eri gripped the drawing tightly behind her back.
“What is it?” his eyes wrenched themselves open as he spoke, as if it hurt to open his mouth. Eraser’s voice sounded harsher than normal. He sighed into his hand, pushing his hair back, away from his eyes. “Do you need something?”
“No,” Eri shook her head. The thought to apologize for bothering him almost slipped out of her mouth, but she thought back to what the man used to say. Sorry for what? What will sorry do now?
“I have a lot to do today,” he repeated, even though Eri already knew he was busy. She was good at listening because it was part of the rules. “Are you getting bored?”
Eri shook her head again. Busy meant she had to stay quiet, even if Eraser had never done anything mean to her when she wasn’t quiet.
Eraser must have seen the look on her face, because he narrowed his eyes at her and the drawing she held behind her back. Eri tried to transform her expression into something else. Lemillion could do it so easily. When he thought no one was looking, his face would move into a frown, like he was thinking hard about something. It would shatter the moment Eri would grab onto his pant leg or call his name.
She couldn’t do it as well as Lemillion but Eri could feel the lines of her mouth move into a smile.
“I was…just looking,” her voice wobbled, but she felt determined to keep that cheerful expression. It was greedy but she hoped Eraser would see the look on her face and give her that piece of reassurance she’d been looking for since waking up. Then she could smile for real.
“Alright. Go find something to do,” Eraser spoke to Eri like he spoke to his students, tone sharp and targeted right at her. His response felt delayed, like his body was just now catching up to his brain. Eri watched as the man blinked a few times, hand resting inside his hair, before softening his expression a bit. “We’ll have lunch in an hour. Unless you’re hungry now.”
It still wasn’t enough to make him smile.
***
Eraser didn’t want to eat lunch with her.
The hour that he promised quickly became two, and Eri snuck past his office doorway, down the hall and to the fridge to grab a pouch of apple sauce in the meantime. The action felt bad, even if Eraser always said she could eat when she was hungry. The bad men always decided when it was time for that.
Eri knew Eraser wasn’t bad. He just didn’t look like fruit, like the rest of the heroes who rescued her. He was the basket, like Lemillion said. But still….she’d never seen him like this, even when he was really tired.
Even if he wasn’t bad, Eri still winced when she heard his footsteps coming down the hall. When Eraser came into the kitchen, he barely gave her a second glance. He didn’t say anything about the snack in her hand, only muttering an apology about being late.
Eri felt confusion take hold of her like tendrils. Eraser said sorry, even if it was barely directed to her face. Did that mean it was her turn?
She watched from her spot next to the table as Eraser grabbed things out of cupboards and drawers. He looked even more unhappy than before.
Within minutes, a sandwich and a sliced orange had appeared on the table. The man poured himself another cup of coffee as he set down a plastic cup of water for Eri.
She ate in silence, wondering what she could possibly say to make things good again. Eraser’s face had paled more since breakfast. Sweat glistened off his face, which was still set in a distant frown. He had one hand clenched on the table, the other trembling as it held his mug. He didn’t make any food for himself.
“Are you hungry?” she finally asked. Eraser blinked a few times, as if his mind wasn’t really in the room until now.
Finally, he settled on saying, “Don’t worry about me.”
Eri had a really hard time not worrying. She wanted to know what was wrong, if she could make things better. She wanted things to be like how they were a few days ago when everyone felt good and no one was afraid of smiling. She didn’t know where to start. She didn't know how to start.
“I’m sorry,” Eri ducked her head down, her voice coming out in a whisper.
Eraser stopped, and for a moment, Eri thought he would turn around and bend to one knee and address her. She liked when he came down to her level to speak. That usually meant there’d be a smile. Today was different though, different in a way Eri couldn’t put into words.
“Sorry,” he repeated her words in a half-attentive mutter. He shook his head slowly, as if barely taking in the words. “Sorry for what?”
It came out like a bullet. He sounded annoyed at best. At worst, it...
Eri didn’t know if he meant to—he was the basket, not the fruit, and he wasn’t supposed to be scary—but he sounded like the bad men. It made her chest hurt all over, her stomach sink as the man looked down at her, just as irritated as before. His pale hand shook next to him, she could see it resting on the kitchen counter. The worst of the men always trembled when he got really angry.
Eri didn’t know what she was sorry for. She didn’t know how to fix what she was sorry for, either. Instead, she sat glued to her chair, unable to move as Eraser finished cleaning up. It was messy, the way he left all the dishes in the sink, including his mug of coffee. Eri couldn’t see much through her shield of hair but she knew he had to be angry with her. Her eyes felt watery, and focused all her energy on holding back the lump in her throat.
Eri only lifted her head when she heard the tv playing in the next room. Eraser, an arm wrapped tightly around his chest, held the remote in his other hand. He flicked it to a show that she recognized, something that Deku’s friends at the dorms let her watch one evening. When she wandered in, he gestured vaguely to the couch.
“This must not be fun for you,” Eraser forced out in a short, painful breath. “I’ll have Midoriya or Togata take you out this weekend so you won’t be stuck here with me again.”
His voice had a layer of breathlessness, as if walking across the room was like running one of the races she watched on tv with Lemillion. Eraser let the remote drop between the couch cushions, allowing his spare hand to grip the end of the couch like a lifeline. He still wouldn’t look at her. Eri’s eyes burned as she stared into the back of his head, slowly making his way back down the hall to his work.
Eri had forgotten all about coaxing out his smile by dinner.
She thought long and hard about what to say to him when he would surely emerge from his office again, even if it wouldn’t cause his mouth to upturn.
Eraser always made her dinner, every evening without fail. Even on the days when he was tired or hurt or sad and trying not to show it. He would come into the kitchen, ruffle her hair, and ask her what she wanted. On most nights he would give it to her alongside something she’d never eaten before. On really tired days, he would pull out his phone and let her pick something to eat that would come to their door in paper bags and plastic containers.
Today was more different than Eri had ever seen.
She wasn’t very good at reading the clock on the wall, but hunger rippled through her enough to know it was time to eat. The feeling made her arms weak. The television still blared beside her, playing a show she didn’t recognize. Not able to wait any longer, she got up and checked the clock on the oven.
5:56.
Eraser liked making dinner at 5, but today he was busy. Eri knew he would want her to wait. She wondered for a moment if it was okay for her to eat a snack in the meantime, but hunger took over and forced her to step over to the fridge.
After a cheese string and four more episodes of a show she didn’t like at all, Eri crept back into the kitchen to stare at the clock.
6:42.
The sun started to go down, and Eri couldn’t discern between hunger and anxiety. The achy feeling behind her eyes re-emerged when she thought about bothering him again.
Eraser’s office door was still wide open when Eri walked over to it, the lights off. She wondered if maybe he just forgot. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Eri wished she could make her own dinner. She always caused so much trouble.
“Eraser?” She called out softly.
Eri knew she couldn’t have everything she wanted. She already had more than she needed. But selfishly, she wanted the Eraser that she’d grown used to again.
Smoothing out her dress and balling up her fists, Eri walked into his darkened office. Sure enough, he was fast asleep at his desk, head lulled uncomfortably to the side.
“Eraser,” she said, louder.
The man stirred before lifting his head up. Eraser was slow, as if he was made of metal, and he turned to speak to her once he realized the source of his wake-up call.
“I told you, I’m—” Eraser began to speak, just as irritated as before, but he stopped himself. The man looked around at the sunset glow coming from the window, then at his phone.
“Oh,” he muttered, suddenly more awake now. A string of words under his breath that Eri wasn’t allowed to say accompanied it. “It’s—late. I didn’t mean for—”
The man rose out of his desk chair too quickly. His train of thought never finished as he wheeled the chair to the side, swaying on his feet. Eri watched with surprise as he took three steps forward, gripped the doorway with both hands, and stumbled blindly into the hall.
Eraser landed soft against the opposite wall, and he hung there in a half-stance until his head fell back with the rest of his body. He slid to the ground, body limp, eyes barely open.
“Oh no,” she parroted what Lemillion would have said, except he was always calm, even when Eri found herself tripping and falling. “Oh no…are you okay?”
Eraser always answered her questions. It didn’t matter if Eri thought they were too small. He even answered the ones that the bad men never liked to hear, and he never locked her away or took things away, no matter what she asked.
This time, Eraser barely looked at her. The last time she saw his chest rise and fall so quickly was when they first met. She sat upon Deku’s back and Eraser’s hair was up in the air, and for the first time, she didn’t feel like she could hurt anyone at all.
Eraser said she didn’t have to worry about hurting people again, but maybe she just didn’t know she was hurting people. Eraser looked hurt, and all he’d done was be with her today.
“Eraser?” Eri asked again. Her voice wobbled, and suddenly so did the rest of the world as tears began to fill her wide eyes. She placed a hand on his arm and shook it. “Are you okay, Eraser?”
This time, he blinked his eyes open in response. His gaze refocused, looking a little too glassy now. The man narrowed his eyes at her, beads of sweat causing hair to stick to his face. Eri felt scared, even if he wasn’t supposed to be scary.
“Eri…” his words sounded jumbled, like he was digging them up out of his chest. “Dinner. Five minutes, and I promise I’ll…”
Eri didn’t care about dinner. Something was really, really wrong and she didn’t know how to make it better. His hand pressed deeper into his face. He looked hurt, covering his eyes like he was scared of the light. Eri darted out of the hallway and past the television.
Sometimes, she felt too bad to get up from off the ground, too. Eri stared at the kitchen tiles and tried to remember what the others would do for her.
Water. Eraser looked too hot. Eri could feel the heat coming off of him, even with his sleeve as a barrier between their skin. He needed water. She could get him that, couldn’t she?
Eri made a run for the plastic cup still sitting on the table, forgotten by both of them from lunch. The other heroes always took care of her, always made sure she was okay. She just wanted to help Eraser, show him that she wasn't such trouble when she put her mind to it, but…
As Eri ran over to the sink, she felt the hot feeling sticking to the back of her neck freeze over. When Eraser washed dishes, it didn’t look so tall. Now that she was alone, it was towering.
She couldn’t reach it by herself.
Her eyes clouded over with watery frustration, and her eyes flew over to the table. She had a stool somewhere, one that helped her reach the kitchen and bathroom counters, but Eri couldn’t remember where Eraser put it after a piece of it broke off.
I’ll get you a new one this weekend, she remembered him saying.
She was just so much trouble.
With tiny, trembling hands, Eri ran aimlessly towards the table and chairs, attempting to drag one of them out from under the table. She was too weak. Too small. It scraped against the floor, barely moving an inch from where she started. Any solution—any other thinking at all—flew right out the window.
The tears that had welled up minutes ago finally spilled over, and the bottom of her chin felt wet before she could even think to wipe the tears away. Eri couldn’t do anything. She was useless and helpless, and that was bad. She couldn’t do anything on her own like everyone else could.
She wanted to collapse to the floor now, too, right next to Eraser and have him lean over and stick a hand in her hair. He wanted him to tell her that she tried her best. Eri knew Eraser would never say that now, especially after how much she’d bothered him today. This whole thing must have been her fault. Maybe she got sick with something at the hospital and gave it to him. Maybe she made him too tired. Maybe she used her horn again without realizing it.
Eri felt even more like melting down than she had all day, even though the whole day was nothing but wrong.
But…Eraser felt too bad to get up. Eri could tell it was worse. Something was wrong, and he wouldn’t smile, and the only thing she could do now was collapse next to him and cry.
A hero wasn’t supposed to do that, but Eri wasn’t a hero. She needed help—they both needed help. Maybe there was something else she could still do.
Cup still in hand, she raced back down the hall, past Eraser who had unfolded himself and leaned a bit more alertly against the wall. Eri thought she heard him call out her name as she pushed open the door to her room and opened up the bag she always wore with her outside. The little phone she carried had all the heroes she knew in one place. As her eyes darted across contact photos, her eyes landed on the one she recognized most.
She had yet to use it even once, but…
Eri could only hope a hero would answer her call.
________
If you made it this far down, hello! And thank you for reading! Do let me know if you enjoyed ;)
🥺🥺my god this is DELICIOUS!!! I always wonder if certain scenes are coming across the way I want them to, but your work has captured the feeling of them so perfectly (and Reigen’s expression with his hand on Teru’s shoulder is killing me)
Seeing the man with his proxy children (featuring weary Seri in the background) has brightened my day. Thank you so much for sharing this!! :) ❤️
Bro is definitely not over the whole Shirakumo thing.
~~~
Some incredible and (semi) chronological scenes to share with yall gifted to me once again by the lovely Shadow!
Based on my febuwhump day 6 fic, No One, No Way, Nowhere that you can read here or on my tumblyy ;) thank you once again shadow!! Happy to know I am in good company making Aizawa my human punching bag this month
My first (and hopefully not last???) contribution to febuwhump! Aizawa gets thrown around so much in canon and I can't be the only one to wonder what happens during those moments in between. Ao3 is on the fritz this week so I thought I'd cross-post for once lol
___
Read on ao3 for more specific tags!!
Art for it is HERE!!
cw: vomiting, (past, canon) character death, general suffering (its febuwhump you get the drill)
___
No One, No Way, Nowhere
Day 6: Forced to Stay Awake
Word count: 7121
He thought he knew himself by now, that nothing could phase him anymore. No injury or death or horrifying realization could get behind that hard exterior.
Whatever he used to believe was irrelevant now. This feeling wasn’t going away like it was supposed to.
After confronting what’s left of Shirakumo, Aizawa finds it impossible to close his eyes.
Aizawa could feel his own breath, hot against his face. It stuck to his hair like sweat, making contact with the frigid air of the facility, that was too air-conditioned for a human to stand.
It was all he could hear, aside from the roaring in his ears, growing louder by the second as he tried to shake the sound that Kurogiri had blasted their ears with. While heavy and laboured, he knew he could still breathe despite the sensation that shook his shoulders, despite everything today.
He sat kneeling on the bathroom floor, somewhere in the decrepit basement that held the remains of what used to be their comrade. He didn't bother to lock the stall door—Aizawa had made it painfully clear that no one was to follow him in. The harsh air of the investigator's facility bit back against his eyes, causing them to sting even more than when his quirk had been activated minutes prior.
The world still felt as it did back there. Not even the feeling of the air had changed. The sound around him was muted, exposing his ears to nothing but echo. The area behind his eyes throbbed painfully, making it impossible to hold his head up any longer. Aizawa blamed the blurriness of his surroundings on overusing his quirk, even if his sight had never morphed the room into shapeless blobs like this.
He breathed deeply, intentionally pushing the air out of his lungs as if he'd forgotten how to do it naturally. When a muffled, desperate noise cut across the still air, Aizawa couldn't help but press a hand to his mouth to avoid making too much sound.
He couldn't believe what the hell he just saw.
That thing wasn't something he knew. Aizawa refused to believe it. It wasn't something he could recognize in the end. It was something reanimated, manipulated, disgusting, it—Jesus.
He swayed forward as the image, that split second of recognition, forced its way back into his head. Aizawa pitched forward and let his hands find the walls of the bathroom stall, pressing against the sides until his knuckles turned red, then white. He attempted to prop himself up to no avail. His stomach churned urgently, how it felt whenever he had too much to drink or not enough sleep.
Aizawa's eyes begged to close, but he knew if he took his sights off the bathroom wall, images of what just transpired would flood back to him again. He couldn't do that again.
He thought he'd gotten past this grieving stage. It had taken him a long time to undo it and suppress it. Aizawa always thought that dead meant dead. That was how the world worked, even with quirks. It wasn't fair to defy that truth and open things back up so tastelessly. Not after so long. Not after the tragedy had long been put to rest.
Aizawa's chest jumped painfully as he gagged, his mouth filling with saliva instinctually. He swallowed it down, ignoring the sour taste and the shiver that wracked his body in response.
They were monsters. Whoever did this to his friend was a monster. More monstrous than any Nomu. More hideous than what Shirakumo had been turned into. They couldn't just let him rest? Hell—after everything, Oboro wasn't allowed to rest?
He was going to be sick.
Aizawa couldn't control his movements. His stomach convulsed against his brain's better judgement. He shivered, attempting to breathe through it as watery lines of cold sweat trickled down his face and the back of his neck. Everything in his body just wanted to reject itself, rid itself of what he'd seen and heard and felt today. With a full-body shudder, the man choked again on a gag stuck in the back of his throat. Then, with enough silence to fool a whole room, he emptied his stomach with nothing more than a handful of coughs.
It was quick, silent, without much struggle. The noise of it splashing into the toilet bowl echoed through the line of empty stalls and sinks, but Aizawa couldn't hear it over the sound of his ragged breathing. His face felt undeniably wet as he bent down and spat the taste out of his mouth. Round two came out quicker as if it knew Aizawa had somewhere to be later. After the third round, he flushed the toilet, slumped onto himself and let his breathing regulate.
Aizawa knew he should feel better after something like that. It had been a long time since something left him disgusted enough to vomit. But sitting here, his body curled up against the wall like crumpled-up foil, things felt far from okay.
His feelings—whatever feelings he had left to show today—felt like they'd been pulled out of him against his will, brought up like another thick ribbon of vomit. The investigators had used him to crack some code, something that would help him get revenge on whoever had done this, but…
"Aizawa," a familiar voice came from outside and a hand knocked on the bathroom door. He tensed up, waiting for someone to enter. They never did. "You good, bro? We should get going."
He could recognize Hizahi's voice, trying his best not to sound as concerned as he did. Aizawa knew what those words really meant. Underneath it all, Hizashi was asking if he had to come in and see if he'd done something stupid. Aizawa recognized the same tone in his voice every time he landed in the hospital.
Bringing someone into this, even someone he knew would understand…it felt too much to bear. He just wanted to forget this, but he couldn't.
"Yeah," Aizawa called out gruffly, trying to make this voice sound steadier than it was. "Yeah. Fine."
After everything they'd seen, he told Mic and Torino to give him five minutes. Five minutes, and then they could drag him back to school. He just needed to fix up his eyes. He needed to compose himself before returning to Hizashi's car and pretending nothing happened.
Pulling himself shakily off the floor, Aizawa blew his nose, still running from the pressure released upon spilling his guts. He washed his mouth out, then his hands. Finally, he applied a few drops to his eyes and pocketed them later. He didn’t bother looking at his reflection.
Hiding strategically behind his hair and readjusting his capture scarf, Aizawa pushed the door open as determined as he could muster. Sure enough, Hizashi and Torino stood a few feet away. For once, the blond was silent as he trailed along next to him. They both had a lot to think about.
"I know it doesn't seem like it right now to you, but I'd consider that a miracle," Gran Torino finally broke the silence. "It's not the one we all hoped for, but the fact that we could get him to talk at all was an incredible breakthrough."
Neither of them could respond to that. Aizawa felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, mingling with the cold sweat stuck to his skin like glue. Thinking about it made him want to vomit again.
"So, what?" Mic's voice was so low that it was hard to hear. "What now?"
Torino kept walking, as grim-looking as the rest of them. It was as if he never witnessed their outbursts earlier. Treating them like adults when they both felt like such kids.
"There's only one thing we can do from here," the older man stopped at a pad of numbers, typed in a series of them, and stood back as the large metal doors screeched open. It was comforting to know that everything he'd seen today was contained to this series of hallways. "We listen to what Shirakumo told us."
That wasn't Shirakumo, Aizawa wanted to say. He kept having to remind himself. These people should be locked up for even assuming that such a thing could still be Shirakumo. They had no idea what he was like back when he was Shirakumo. They couldn't take that purple-shadowed amalgamation and stick the name of a martyr onto it.
"I don't want to be called out of class again unless there's something else to show for it," Aizawa snapped out instead. He could feel his skin prickle and tried to imagine Hizashi's hand on his arm from before, something that now felt strikingly absent. "Don't waste my time."
I'll continue the investigation myself if no one else shows competence. That was what Aizawa knew he should add to that, but he just couldn't. Promising something like that right now would be a death wish. This entire ordeal was going to kill him, and just after he tried to lay it all to rest.
The elevator took them up to ground level. Hizashi didn't call him out on his harsh words like he had before they saw what they'd seen. He didn't tell Aizawa to calm down. There was no reason to be rational now.
"We'll be in touch. I imagine we'll be out on the field later this week," Gran Torino nodded in their general direction, barely bothering to look at them as the two wandered into the parking lot like a pair of zombies.
The passenger seat of the car was cold. Aizawa had to swallow back the taste in his mouth as the vehicle jerked to life. Within minutes, they found themselves back on the freeway in bitter silence.
"A miracle," Hizashi finally muttered. It was venomous, ready to strike at anyone who disagreed. His hands gripped the wheel like it was someone's neck. Someone's neck. Even after all these years, they couldn't shift the blame onto anyone specific. "What a load of shit. Torino's old, but he's not senile enough to forget that miracles are supposed to be fucking happy."
Aizawa turned and looked out the window instead. He couldn't look in Mic's direction anymore. They never spoke about it like they should have when it first happened, and he wasn't ready to do it now.
"And now what? They want us back to teach?" Hizashi continued under his breath. Hearing him below top volume was unnerving. "How do they expect us to train kids to fight things like that? When the hell did that become part of the job description?"
The blond laughed with disbelief, almost manic. Aizawa curled in on himself and viewed the reflection of the man in the window. He didn't want Hizashi to look at him. Didn't want anyone to look at him.
"We signed up for it," he said gruffly, but— Jesus—did they really? Was this really in the books when they first became teachers?
"Yeah," Mic laughed breathlessly, "Sure. Whatever, Aizawa. I'll have no problem conjugating verbs while thinking about the state of whatever we saw in—"
"Watch it," was all Aizawa could snap in the end. He could feel the tension in the car grow tenfold as his friend fell into silence, and fuck, bickering with Hizashi was always so awful when it was over something real. Watching the man get serious was like watching the sun crash out of the sky.
"Take a nap," Hizashi's hand dug into his shoulder, and Aizawa felt the need to shrug it off. "Until we get back, at least. You need it."
Aizawa didn't have it in him to argue, not even to tell him to fuck off. He let his head fall numbly against the cold window instead, allowing the frost to seep the rest of the warmth out of his body.
As if he could sleep after seeing something like that.
~~~
Aizawa knew what shock looked like. He had years in the industry to get accustomed to it. He'd seen it on the faces of civilians and in the unspoken body language of his past students. It stuck to the faces of Pros despite how tough they all seemed in tense moments.
He was forced to identify it in school and then trained to act on it in the field. When he enrolled as a teacher, mandatory courses and workshops on ensuring your students coped adequately with exposure to dangers became trivial.
Aizawa had seen enough shock to recognize it in himself, too. Or he thought he did. The USJ and Eri's rescue did a number on him, but even that eventually floated to the back of his head. He thought he knew himself by now, that nothing could phase him anymore. No injury or death or horrifying realization could get behind that hard exterior.
Whatever he used to believe was irrelevant now. This feeling wasn't going away like it was supposed to.
Aizawa wasn't quite sure what was happening now. Was this was a new development that would stick with him forever? Or maybe things had felt like this his whole life, and he was just noticing it now. It felt endless, the feeling of watching a hollowed out version of himself.
Aizawa was used to feeling detached. It was necessary for his work, but something about this felt painfully different. His hands barely felt like his hands now. The reflection looking back at him looked foreign, too old, too unfamiliar. His work after seeing Kurogiri felt more like a series of computer commands than any kind of mission with substance. Everything about him felt aimless. He couldn't tether himself back to solid ground. He couldn't even pretend to.
Maybe he had more in common with Nomu than he thought.
You're sickening, he told the person in front of him, the unrecognizable him. Comparing yourself to those things? What right do you have even entertaining that?
After a day of carrying out orders like clockwork, saying the things he was supposed to say and plotting a well-deserved revenge plan with the other Pros, Aizawa couldn't help but feel like the rug that had been pulled out from under him wasn't even close to being back beneath his feet.
It could be a delayed response, he kept telling himself. That was entirely possible. He'd seen prolonged effects of bad moments in his students all the time, especially within this batch of first years. Midoriya and Bakugou faced off against one another over issues that happened years ago. Kirishima got a faraway look in his eyes when he watched Ashido in combat. Even the class reps had their rocky moments of self-consciousness and blinding rage.
But this kind of a prolonged response from a Pro? An employee? A mentor? It was unprofessional, even at its best.
Aizawa didn't get it.
All they had in there with Shira—no, Jesus, Kurogiri—was a conversation. Nothing more than that. A conversation with something horrific, yes, but nothing compared to the other things they'd faced. Mic seemed angry but still just as functional as before. Why was this happening to him? Why now?
Pushing through it or taking time off seemed like a viable solution. In fact, Aizawa was sure Nezu would have forced him to take a few days to himself after going through something so awful, but it seemed impossible to think about now. Not when the mission to find out who'd done this was already underway.
It didn't take them long to zero in on the hospital, to find a name and a face. It wouldn't be long before Mic could blow the monster's brains out, and Aizawa could strangle it with his scarf until it turned blue.
Aizawa knew he should feel invigorated, finally allowing himself some kind of closure after years of grief. Hizashi couldn't wait for revenge, so why shouldn't he? Instead, he sat over his computer, watching confidential emails flood in about the operation. More and more Pros outside of UA had been copied to it.
He suppressed whatever feelings he had with blue light, his bed in the other room still made and untouched since the night before. He would read about the finer details of the operation over and over. He would stare at the unfinished profile of the man they suspect made the Nomu.
If his eyes began to close, he would feel around in his desk drawer for eye drops and apply them. Rinse, repeat. Sleep wasn't going to happen just yet.
"...Aizawa."
The man nearly jumped out of his chair as a cold hand tugged at his sleeve, pulling him away from whatever harrowing thing kept him glued to his screen. Aizawa thought of the worst first. Early ambush, Nomu, another dead friend. He spun around, lack of sleep already filling him with irritation and misplaced adrenaline, ready to separate himself from whatever force had locked onto him.
It was only when his eyes strained in the half-lit room that—no—nothing was coming back to haunt him, after all.
"Eri," he breathed out, trying to keep his expression neutral rather than… whatever he was showing. "You snuck up on me."
Eri looked up at him, hand still gently gripping his shirt's sleeve. She was always so quiet, even when sitting and playing in her room. Aizawa preferred the silence compared to some of his wilder students. He knew she did, too, at least for now. Mirio suggested putting a bell on her to ensure no one tripped over her, the way she loved to sneak up behind them.
"You've been here a long time," the girl ignored his previous comment. She pointed over to his computer screen. "What is that?"
Aizawa's heart nearly fell into his stomach as he flipped back around, head running through all the graphic evidence he'd been looking into all afternoon and how he was going to make the poor girl doubly traumatized. He was lucky it was nothing. An email from the Endeavor agency.
He sighed into his other sleeve.
"Work," he spun the chair around slowly, bending down to her level. "I've been working. Is there something you need from me?"
"It's dark," she said quietly, "But you aren't sleeping."
Aizawa felt the pounding in his head far more intensely than before. It used to be light out, he realized. The sun had nearly set, leaving the room in a dusky, half-lit glow. Eri was always a little too observant.
"I'm doing some research for my next job," he said. The girl looked confused, and he realized she was probably too young to know what that meant. "I'm trying to know more."
"Oh…" she looked down, thinking about it. Aizawa watched her carefully before she looked back up and stared right at him. "You didn't go to bed yesterday. I wanted water in the middle of the night, and you were awake. And you didn't fall asleep today like you always do."
Aizawa blinked unexpectedly, a bit of moisture coming back to his eyes. He supposed she was looking for a bit of reassurance from the blip in her everyday routine. "I've been busy. But everything's okay."
"Did you get hurt?" Eri stood her ground. "Heroes get hurt sometimes. Lemillion said it."
Aizawa shook his head, trying not to chuckle. "I'm not injured."
"What about here?" standing on her tip-toes, Eri leaned over and pressed her finger into his chest. Dragging it slowly, it landed right above his ribcage. Aizawa's shoulders tensed suddenly as he realized she was trying to find his heart. "When it hurts here a lot, I stay awake, too."
Her words pierced him more than he expected. His mouth felt dry. Eri wasn't supposed to worry about him. That wasn't her job. The fact that she understood something at such a high emotional level was both impressive and heartbreaking, and Aizawa felt sick thinking about it. Before he could reply, the door opened wider.
"Eri, Aizawa's working in here, remember? What did I say about going in without asking first?" A sunny voice accompanied by a pair of big hands came up behind her, hoisting her several feet in the air. The girl squirmed under Mirio's grip, eventually falling limp as he stuck her on his shoulders. The blond looked over at Aizawa, his smile too big for his face. "Sorry. I was in the bathroom. She's been wanting to come in here all afternoon."
She was really worried about him. Aizawa didn't like that for a number of reasons.
"Thank you for looking after her today," he crossed his arms as if trying to hide whatever part of his heart that Eri could see. "She'd be pretty bored with just me today."
"It's no problem at all," Mirio let Eri situate herself on his shoulders and reached up to hold her dangling hand. "Big day coming up, right? All the teachers have been talking about it."
"An understatement," Aizawa's head throbbed with each word, and he was grateful to be sitting down. He wanted to put more eyedrops in, but…hadn't he just done that?
"Lemillion says a big hug can make anyone feel better," Eri inserted herself back into the conversation. She still had her eyes locked on him. "Lemillion…can you tell him? Please?"
Mirio tilted his head to the side playfully.
"What's that? Does Mr. Aizawa need a hug?" he looked up at Eri and laughed, not noticing the frustration growing on her face. "For the sake of UA's future, maybe we should both volunteer!"
"Very funny," Aizawa tried to deadpan, brush it off, and return to his work. But now, with the funny feeling of dread hanging off his arms, shoulders, and face, he couldn't help but feel it in his heart, too.
~~~
Aizawa knew he should be preparing his body more for this moment.
People were counting on him out there. His quirk was needed more than anything. They needed it to have a fighting chance with who they were up against.
He'd received special orders, classified instructions that blurred and warped on the paper when he looked at them. There were places he had to be. Times he needed to memorize. He couldn't overuse Erasure for anything unnecessary, had to save it for the pivotal moment he was sure to contribute to in a matter of days.
His allies instructed him to protect his eyes twice as much until the day came. He had to rest his body and ensure he wouldn't burn himself out before the battle began.
Aizawa would have taken the opportunity to sleep in an instant. The room had started to tilt at an angle, and his head pounded incessantly. He knew he needed to give his body a break.
If only he could close his eyes without wanting to rear his head and vomit.
Sleeping was a no-go until that dreadful feeling let up—if it ever let up. For now, Aizawa found himself in the staff room. it was empty, as everyone else scrambled off to prepare for their anticipated confrontation with the Liberation Army.
The students and teachers participating in the fight found themselves on the field, coaching themselves and others on what to do in every conceivable scenario.
Aizawa was alone, pulled away from his students. They required him for "bigger things," meetings with Endeavor and the Hero Commission and whoever else had been recruited to take these people out. He stared down at his stack of papers, trying to lie to himself that he was being productive when he could barely lock his eyes on the words.
"Aizawa. Hey there."
Correction. He was almost alone. It seemed he'd forgotten that one teacher at UA couldn't participate in the fight.
"All Might," he greeted the man without turning his head, not bothering to straighten himself out and sit up. The staff was used to his informal, exhausted posture. The former symbol of peace was no exception. "You're not out training."
The older man stretched his arms above his head as he crossed the near-empty teacher's lounge. Aizawa should thank the man. Toshinori covered the classes he should have taught when he was pulled into the investigator's facility. He wondered if the man knew how important that was. There wouldn't be a solid attack plan like this if it weren't for that.
"I'm giving them a breather. Letting them escape my iron grip," Toshinori laughed to himself, and Aizawa couldn't help but think it was ironic that All Might himself was teaching people about taking breaks. "Handed them off to Cementoss for the more endurance-level activities. Not much I can do in that department anymore, right?"
The man flexed whatever was left of his bicep and laughed again, a chuckle that quickly became a wet, crackling cough. The imagery of blood spilling out of the man's mouth didn't usually phase him, but this time, it made Aizawa visibly wince, his shoulders instinctively closing in on himself. He shook it off and tried to focus on the list of commands he'd barely been able to memorize.
"Right," he muttered.
Aizawa felt the world catch up with him late as he turned his head and watched a blurry version of the hero on the other side of the room.
All Might didn't seem to notice his colleague's off-ness. Instead, he chose to cross the room, over by the coffee machine that Aizawa knew was there, even if it blended messily into the wall when he tried to focus on it. He strained his eyes at the golden silhouette insulting his eyes instead.
"And what about you?" Toshinori asked curiously, "Last time I checked, you're supposed to be recharging your battery. I didn't expect anyone to be in here with everyone out preparing."
Aizawa knew he couldn't use any kind of usual excuse. Prep work, mission planning, debrief, lunch break…none of that mattered until the League was dealt with and things could lull back to normal. He winced again as All Might flicked on the second set of overhead lights. He could hear the noise of a spoon clinking against a coffee mug. He blinked. His eyes felt painfully dry, like they could shrivel up and fall out of his head.
"Reviewing instructions," he answered slowly. He tried to keep that monotonous tone in his voice. It was unexpectedly difficult.
"What, for the ambush?" Toshinori, coffee presumably in hand, came closer. Aizawa tried not to flinch away as two blonde strands of hair poked over the back of the couch, peering down at the page in his hand. "They handed those out the day they located the hospital. You still haven't looked at them?"
God damn the man for being so nosy. He couldn't even fight this battle. Why did Toshinori have to know every detail about the operation? He bit back whatever honesty he had for the man and tried to say something less damaging.
"I can leave if you don't want company," Aizawa tried to squash the waver in his words.
There was a momentary pause before Toshinori put his hands up defenselessly. "No—no, I don't mean it like that. I don't mind at all. I guess I'm just surprised."
"Surprised," Aizawa repeated tiredly, like a robot. He'd run out of filler words, so he had to take them from someone else.
"Normally, you'd take up any offer to get some sleep."
The energy in the room shifted quickly. Something about those words felt loaded, but he couldn't bring himself to read between the lines.
Aizawa paused, straining his eyes to focus on the man as he rounded the side of the couch and sat down next to him. Toshinori kept his distance, but something about this felt off. Everything felt off. He wasn't himself. How would he aid in this ambush if he wasn't himself?
"I've slept more than enough," he lied through his teeth, hands falling into weak fists. If he wasn't careful, the papers he held in front of him would crumple. And then a lot more would crumble after that.
"Sure, sure," Toshinori offered him a wry smile. "Your eyes are so bloodshot, they're making mine feel dry."
The world tilted again, and Aizawa tried not to let the secret slip that he could feel the earth rotating beneath him. The retired hero was speaking again, and he snapped himself out of this disorienting feeling by forcing himself to respond.
"What?"
"I said you look like you're ready to fall over," a quick pause before, "Seriously, when was the last time you slept?"
The roaring in his ears was back. Aizawa ignored the cold sweat that gathered on the back of his neck and swallowed. He'd get up and leave if he trusted himself to walk, but right now, he couldn't tell if he was swaying or if the rest of the room was. His eyes burned.
"Everything's under control," he forced out, even though that was far from the truth. "I'm doing what's been asked of me to ensure this runs smoothly."
"You don't have to spit out whatever lines you're feeding to the Commission," Toshinori pressed, uncharacteristically hard for someone who barely knew him. "Sleep is important—even more so for someone like you. If you need someone to look after Young Eri, I'm sure we can arrange for—"
"Everything's under control."
Aizawa meant it as an end to their conversation, a plea for the man to stop prying or else he would discover something he didn't like. Because everything was not under control. It unravelled like a spool of thread, too thin and wispy to pick up and fix.
Aizawa considered getting up, but where would he go? Eri was already worried enough, and only so many places at UA felt so secluded. A part of him thought he could make it to his feet, even if his body felt stuck to this couch like a magnet. Toshinori's slim figure remained silently next to him. Neither refused to move.
"I know what happened with Kurogiri."
And just like that, the world began to spin out of control again. Aizawa had gotten used to the shaky ground he now stood on, but this was so much more nauseating. The couch felt like quicksand. It pulled him in, crawling up his back and filling his nose and mouth.
Aizawa shifted his eyes to All Might, who stared into his mug. He looked guilty. He always looked so fucking guilty over every bad thing that happened.
"Sorry. I probably should have started with that. I wasn't quite sure how to bring it up, if at all," Toshinori set down his coffee and shifted over to Aizawa, whose body threatened to turn away. "I got a call from Gran Torino after it happened. I don't know the full details about the interrogation, but I know enough."
He felt an endless pit in his stomach now. Any minute now, he would start to choke on his own breath.
"Just hearing about it makes my stomach turn," he muttered, and Aizawa stared forward, out the window and off into space. All Might shuffled closer, trying to catch his gaze. His warmth did nothing to shatter the cold he could feel down to the bone. "I'm sorry you had to go through something like that."
None of this is your place to know, he wanted to snap back, among a million other things. I don't want to hear what you have to say about sacrifice. I don't want a speech about not giving up. I want to be left alone. I don't want to be left alone. I don't know what to do. I don’t know what I want.
Exhaustion took over any motivation to be angry. It took away motivation to be anything at all. No matter what fleeting thought came to mind, Aizawa couldn't do anything but try not to sway with the earth. The sky on the other side of the window looked hazy.
"Torino sounded worried about it on the phone. After seeing you now, I think he has every right to be."
That monster that Shirakumo had become tried to say his name. Shouta. He almost heard it. It sounded so painful, horrifically human. His heart rate climbed until he could barely mask his breath, coming in and out of his mouth unnaturally. Everything felt surreal, and he refused to blame it on the days of sleep he'd missed.
"Do you remember what you said to me a few days ago?" a low, gentle voice pierced through his thoughts, "I can still teach people, even if things are different for me now."
Had he really said that? It sounded wise. Something a teacher would say. Someone who had everything under control.
"Yeah," he forced himself to speak. It was painful doing so. The blurred room had a mind of its own now, his vision swarming like a watercolour painting, just like before. "I said it. What's your point?"
Toshinori was silent for what felt like too long. Then, an alarming and unexpected hand fell onto Aizawa's back. He inhaled sharply as the hand touched the back of his shirt. It sent a shudder down his entire body, one he wished he could control.
"I don't want to overstep," He could almost see All Might's sunken, sombre smile just outside his periphery. "But it feels to me like you need a teacher more than anyone else right now."
That declaration shook him like paper in the wind. Aizawa didn't like feeling 16 again when he was well past 30. The sensation was suffocating. He was an adult now, yet he couldn't stop thinking about how defenseless and childish he felt back when everything first happened.
As if on instinct, Aizawa reached for his eye drops with a trembling hand, cursing to himself as he realized he'd already gone through his other bottle. He couldn't do anything right. He hadn't done anything right this entire school year.
"Your eyes are in pretty bad shape," the voice attached to the hand on his back spoke up again. Aizawa could feel the man's fingers twitch, an unexpected warmth passing over him. He suppressed the urge to shiver again. He felt so cold. "If you don't sleep, at least let them close. Just for a few minutes, and hear me out on what I have to say."
The soft, authoritative voice blanketed over his thoughts. Aizawa's body felt like static as he fought over whether it was a good or bad idea to plunge his sight back into darkness. He kept seeing things that weren't there when he closed his eyes but his retinas couldn't take much more light. It burned to keep them open.
Finally, he hunched forward and stopped fighting it. Aizawa thought it would take everything in him to keep them like that, but the temporary relief it brought to his head was like a drug.
He tried not to let his thoughts wander back to Shirakumo, but that felt impossible now. It wasn't just that face anymore, the one he saw in the purple smoke. It was the building. The weather that day. The last expression he saw on his friend's face. Aizawa breathed in a little too harshly, as if even closing his eyes was too torturous.
"You can't be thinking straight, thinking you can rush into battle like this." Toshinori's hand was still pressed against his back. Aizawa kept his eyes closed, lids screwed shut a little too tight. "So tell me what you are thinking."
Aizawa couldn't help another strained, shaky exhale. He wasn't even sure what he was saying anymore—if he was saying anything at all.
"I think it should have been me instead," he choked out roughly, trying and failing to steady his voice. The silence afterwards was deafening, as if he'd revealed his most coveted secret. It had to be obvious, the way he held himself. Aizawa hadn't stayed alive all this time for his own sake.
They both sat there, letting the air fill the gaps between them. Aizawa regretted putting that thought into words.
"I know what it feels like to see someone come back from the dead," Toshinori finally said. Aizawa let his hands find his face and he redirected his breath into his palms. "I've seen it in enemies I thought were gone. Enemies that came back and continued to hurt others. For that, I'll never be able to forgive myself. It felt like I failed my only job."
Dead is supposed to stay dead. Thinking that was the only way to cope with grief. Losing all hope of seeing them again was a part of the process, and now everything had been turned on its head. Dead is supposed to stay dead. Aizawa felt like he'd been screaming that since the interrogation, but no one seemed to understand it.
"But…I see it in the kids, too." Toshinori’s hand moved over to Aizawa's shoulder. It felt strangely solidifying, both his grip and his unexpected words. "I see people who are gone come back to life in the students we teach. It's like I'm staring right at them sometimes." He paused. Aizawa could hear the smile in his voice. "I know you see it, too. It's one of the twisted perks of staying alive this long."
Toshinori laughed softly at that, and Aizawa felt something wet drip onto the palms of his hands. His eyes were just recovering moisture. This wasn't anything more than that. He still found himself sniffling in response.
"Don't apologize for being alive." The space between them grew smaller, and Aizawa could feel an arm sling around him, loose yet confident in his motions. "You said that to me too, Aizawa."
If Aizawa were in any other state, he would have strangled him for violating the five-foot barrier of aura he exuded. Instead, he brought his sleeves up to his closed eyes and let his breath grow wet and unsteady.
"I know you're hurting. It's not hard to see it now," Toshinori's half-hug felt surprisingly strong for his current form. "I know it's unfair that people expect you to move on from what you saw so quickly. You deserve more time to grieve instead of dealing with all these loose ends. I wish I could give that to you now, but I can't." the man looked away for a moment as if he couldn't handle saying that last part. "I'm so sorry for not being that anymore."
Those words felt more like an apology to the world than just him. All Might sounded disappointed that he could no longer prop everything up on his shoulders, and Aizawa hated how good it felt to have his thoughts spoonfed to him from another source. It helped him think less. He didn't want to think anymore. He wanted to drift, ignore how he felt and what he'd seen.
"No matter what's right, avoiding sleep will make everything feel worse."
Aizawa couldn't do anything but nod thickly. He hated being wrong, but everything this week repeatedly proved otherwise. He sniffled again. His sleeve was getting wet.
He really needed to pull it together.
"I want to," Aizawa finally said, not moving from his position. He thought to get up again but a part of him knew that would be difficult. The previous symbol of peace could ward off Shirakumo's ghost with his presence now, but that wouldn't last once he got up and stumbled to his room. "But I don't know if it's possible."
He didn't like how his voice sounded hanging in the air. It pathetic and desperate. He didn't know why All Might of all people had been the one to make him break. Despite the man's insecurities, he still had the aura of a hero. A protector.
"If you fight in this state, it won't just be you who dies," Toshinori spoke, "I don't think your body has much of a choice."
He could barely handle closing his eyes. Exhaustion transformed into panic again. He couldn't go back to his room. He couldn't worry Eri or Hizashi or any of his students, who were undoubtedly much braver and more passionate than he could ever be.
Aizawa couldn't stop himself from admitting how he truly felt.
"My mind says otherwise."
Toshinori was still for a moment, and just like that, he seemed to move without thinking. Quickly and ungracefully, he lifted both arms out and wrapped Aizawa in a tight hug. It was a proper one that squeezed his chest and stomach into one and forced his head to rest in the place between the hero's chest and neck. Aizawa couldn't hide the trembling in his shoulders, letting his head fall onto the man's chest. His eyes swarmed with tears, and he blinked, his scarf catching them as they fell.
This sight would have been unseemly at any other time, but Aizawa couldn't find it in him to care. It felt like his chest had been ripped open and exposed, and he couldn't help but fall limp like Eri had the other day under Mirio's care. He was good at being quiet—silent with everything he'd ever done—but the way his breath shook him and the rest of his upper half felt strikingly loud.
When Toshinori broke the hug, Aizawa found the courage to look up and finally meet his eyes. They were teeming with guilt…or maybe it was more like understanding.
"I'm here for awhile. If you try again, I'll make sure you aren't disturbed," Toshinori said, as if to really say, I'll be here to protect in whatever way I can.
It was so like him. All Might's state of mind hadn't changed much with the loss of his body.
Aizawa couldn't argue. He was no stranger to napping in untraditional places. He wrapped his arms around himself, head falling forward into his scarf. The world still spun beneath him, even with his eyes closed. Right now, it seemed less like quicksand and more like…nothing. Open air. More neutral than before.
"Did I ever tell you what happened to those water filters I ordered for delivery? UA security thought the delivery guy tampered with them. Said they could be bombs or poison. I could only use them if I went out and bought them myself…I asked what difference it made if I bought them in person instead of online… you're not gonna believe what they said…"
Aizawa knew what the man was doing. It was painfully purposeful. Filling the room with mindless words instead of the obvious. You only have so much time left before leaving for Jaku Hospital. People are counting on you. You need to think more about living for your own sake. You need to sleep now.
Like always, All Might's actions somehow spoke louder than his words.
As he finally drifted off, he couldn't help thinking that maybe Eri was right.
___
If you got this far, thank you for reading!! As always, my ask box is open for any thought/requests :)
I have the pleasure of posting this art for Area Hysteria ch 14 given to me by the lovely Shadow!!💚💚 It had my jaw on the floor and also my heart on the floor because isn't it beautiful??? I know I predictably pick favourites but Dimple in the bottom right is making me feel feelings...
this year's prompts were chosen through an open suggestion poll (in which we received over 4,000 prompts) and a subsequent vote, where 5,019 votes were submitted. the top 28 make up the core prompts, and the febuwhump mod's favourites that remain have become the alternates. the first prompt in the 28, "vocal chords", was our number one prompt of the vote, with 1,625 total votes.
i am so insanely excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and i hope they're inspiring enough to trigger a whole month's worth of creativity for you!
as an extra added challenge, some creators will be undertaking another, smaller goal, of including apples in each of their prompt fills as an ode to the wildly popular prompt suggestion of "apples" that didn't make it through to the poll. this is totally optional, but is a good extra challenge if you'd like to take part in it!
if you have any questions, please check out the faq before sending an ask, or skim the blog's previously asked questions to see if your question has already been answered.
please note: notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form released towards the end of febuwhump, and if you are interested in joining the febuwhmp discord server, the link will be available to do so for one week towards the end of january.
full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:
FEBUWHUMP 2025 PROMPTS:
DAY 1: vocal chords
DAY 2: holding back tears
DAY 3: pinned down
DAY 4: hivemind
DAY 5: not trusting reality
DAY 6: forced to stay awake
DAY 7: alternate timeline self
DAY 8: bleeding out
DAY 9: necromancy
DAY 10: magic exhaustion
DAY 11: demonic possession
DAY 12: used as practice
DAY 13: “i don’t trust anyone else”
DAY 14: becoming the monster
DAY 15: icarus
DAY 16: eaten alive
DAY 17: power instability
DAY 18: living weapon
DAY 19: death wish
DAY 20: “i did good right?”
DAY 21: put on display
DAY 22: “grab the little one”
DAY 23: gunshot wound
DAY 24: forced to beg
DAY 25: bound and gagged
DAY 26: concealing an injury
DAY 27: post-victory collapse
DAY 28: recovery
ALTERNATE PROMPTS:
is there a specific day’s prompt you don’t want to fill? here are ten alternatives you can switch them out for!
ALT 1: major character death
ALT 2: blowtorch
ALT 3: pick who dies
ALT 4: body swap
ALT 5: die a hero
ALT 6: emergency surgery
ALT 7: body horror
ALT 8: on the run
ALT 9: in another life
ALT 10: feeding tube
RULES:
soft rules:
prompts should be answered in the form of whump
creators can produce any kind of media they want
you don't have to complete all the prompts to take part
you can use the prompts after the event ends
you can complete them in tandem with any other event
you can post to any platform you want, however this blog will only be sharing links and prompt fills posted to tumblr
if you want to be featured on the hall of fame, you must inform this blog by the 3rd of march that you have completed all of the days using the provided form
if you have questions, consult the faq before asking
hard rules:
to be a completionist, you must complete all 28 prompts, in order, in whatever medium you want, before the end of the event
(specifically for being featured on the blog)
when uploading febuwhump content to tumblr, please use the tags:
febuwhump (or febuwhump2025)
the relevant day's tag e.g. febuwhumpday1, febuwhumpday2...
nsfw (if relevant)
any important trigger warnings
you can also tag the blog: @febuwhump
I cannot guarantee your work will be archived on the blog. a random selection of properly tagged works will be reblogged every day of february.
As the holidays choke me out I always get reminded that area hysteria is a very accidental mix of It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol. With Dimple being a weird amalgamation of all supernatural beings. And....all the children being tiny Tim and…Zuzu? What does that make Serizawa?😭
anywayz new chapter soon hang in there fellas love you all
It seems I have contracted the ao3 writer’s curse and have taken a nice little reigen-style hospital trip of my own. So while there will be a bit of an area hysteria update delay until I'm no longer sickly victorian, it also means hospital recovery details will be extra fresh and extra delicious
