↬ summary, he was never strong enough, not even when he needed to be.
↬ tags, angst, fluff, shigaraki is ooc but i do not care, grooming mentions, lwk a character study? fuck afo
↬ author's note, another bnha fic when its not even on my list? shocking. this is another short one, idk what kinda writing stump im in but i am trying, trust. title from not strong enough by boygenius.
↬ other, reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated! you wouldn't steal a chicken so don't steal my fic.
shimura tenko was born knowing he was never going to be much to the world. he wanted to be a hero, to save others, to inspire but his father flat out refused to even hear the thought of it.
he still remembers those hands beating him from time to time when he let's his thoughts get too loud. he always thought in some sick way he deserved it, even to this day he still thinks that.
he was never particularly special, not at any subject or hobby. not even as a person.
shimura tenko was born to fit the very meaning of failure even before he knew what it even meant. the only time he felt happiness was in his mothers arms and even then, he'd be ripped from them too before he got too comfortable.
he remembers feeling scared. he remembers even a wrong breath would get him beat and even though he's an adult, he still watches his tone on pure instinct. that kind of thing sticks with you like that.
then his quirk came in and if this life wasn't already terrible, it was just about to get worse.
he remembers everything and nothing about that event. he remembers them screaming, he remembers them disappearing into nothing while they tried to run and comfort him. he remembers his father glaring at him for yet another fuck up just to go down on his record.
that was the last time he'd ever seen his fathers face and he never quite knew if he should feel glee or sadness about his death in particular.
sensei was always kind, in his own way. he never tried to lead tomura wrong, at least that's what tomura believed his whole life.
he'd met you during this time and you made him realise a lot more than he thought he could.
you were what true kindness looked like, that's what he liked to believe. you listened to him, calmed him down, made him feel like an actual person instead of just an unfinished project that just so happened to breathe.
he was always too terrified to touch you. if he did you'd be gone in a second and he didn't know if he wanted you to go anywhere, not yet, perhaps not ever. he remembers you getting him a pair of gloves and the cool feeling of the fabric against his skin felt so foreign at first. it made him sad that he could never touch you with his bare hands but he could settle for touching you like this. for touching you like this was million times better than never touching you at all.
he remembers feeling your flesh for the first time, regardless of it being through gloves, it was better than anything he'd ever touched before. you were angelic, spiritual even.
he hated it but the only thing he could compare you too was something religious. and he was addicted to praying at your alter.
the smart thing to do would be to let you go but he was never strong enough for that. he hated at how it made sense to free you from him but he just couldn't.
sensei had told him time and time again to let you go, that you weren't good for his mission and what he had to do, that you were holding him back, but how could you be?
he'd sit by you and complain and complain that sensei wanted him to stay away from you, it was ridiculous. you were his, weren't you? you loved him, more than sensei ever could.
he loved sensei, he'd taken him in, cared for him in a way no one else had ever done before. he cared for sensei above all else. he should. he'd be nothing without him.
sensei saved his life but you made it worth living.
tomura always struggled to figure out who he'd put atop the other. he owed sensei his loyalty and he loved you amongst all else.
your hands would run through his hair and hold him close, you'd whisper soft words in his ears and make him feel warm, not in the same way sensei would.
he was never strong enough for sensei. there was always something he was missing with him, his quirk was never right, his movements were never quite where they needed to be.
with you, he didn't have to be anyone but shigaraki tomura. . . shimura tenko even.
so when he's sitting next to you, holding and hoping that you'll squeeze it back. he keeps watching your face, trying to see if your features twitch even once and give him something more than a body laying in a bed.
he missed you smiling at him, he missed you walking around and jumping on his back randomly, even when he'd grumble about it.
sensei had put you in a coma so tomura could focus on his true work, he'd taken his gloves and all he had left of you was your body laying in a bed.
he hated that he wasn't even strong enough to stop him. always strong but never strong enough to stop him.
I just love the super realistic historical shows where they show how filthy and disease ridden the era is by having every nameless peasant look like they rolled in mud right before filming while every noble has three layers of painstaking makeup on to create the illusion that they’re just naturally flawless. Sure we know what it was really like, but clearly only the filthy poors ever had to deal with that kind of thing while the elites of society have always been pictures of beauty and health. No one ever used urine in beauty treatments or got the pox or had a particularly unflattering jaw from years of inbreeding cause everyone would rather fuck their cousins than anyone even slightly below their “station”. Because hey, being realistic is great, praise us for our gritty realism in showing how disgusting the poor are- I mean were, but it’s just too much to ask our viewers to consider them actual people. That’s why we focus on nobles, who definitely all fit into modern beauty standards at all times and in all places.
