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prettylilyanime · 1 month ago

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Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 02

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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“Alright, Y/n, you have a five-minute head start. You ready?” Aizawa asks, his tone as monotone as ever.

Your classmates stand around, watching with interest, some already whispering amongst themselves. It’s not just anticipation for their own upcoming matches—it’s curiosity about yours. After all, you and Bakugou couldn’t be more different, and it’s the first time you’ve ever been directly paired up like this. Naturally, that means everyone has something to say.

"Careful not to feel her up too much, you'll get her costume glitter all over you!" Mineta cackles from the sidelines, that little purple shit clearly thinking he’s hilarious.

Before you or anybody else can even react, you catch the satisfying sight of Momo stomping the little creep into the ground, hard enough to make Mineta scream out in pain. Mina and Ochako join with a mean glare, saying something to the little perv that you can't really hear, but has Mineta begging with tears in his eyes.

The sheer relief that washes over you is almost comical. God, maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

Still, you quickly snap back to attention. Aizawa is watching you, and you don’t want to look any more anxious than you already feel. So, you nod quietly, keeping your mouth shut. You don’t trust yourself to speak—not when your voice would probably betray you by cracking like glass.

It’s ridiculous, really. You shouldn’t be this nervous. You’ve faced real villains before. Life-threatening, terrifying opponents who didn’t care whether you lived or died. You’ve fought them and survived. All of you have. And yet, the thought of Bakugou—Bakugou Katsuki—chasing you down in this exercise like a predator hunting prey is somehow infinitely more nerve-wracking.

Because this isn’t just about surviving—it’s about surviving while being watched. While he watches. And something about that makes your heart race in ways it definitely shouldn’t.

Well...your grade surviving, really.

Aizawa watches you for a moment, then blows a small whistle—where did he even get that?

“Begin.”

You waste no time. The second the sound pierces the air, you bolt, sprinting as fast as you can into the maze-like cityscape before you.

UA’s training grounds are nothing short of insane, complete with entire faux cities built just for exercises like this. Lucky you—it’s a cityscape today. Mina had to face Tokoyami in a dense forest in the previous round, which looked like a total nightmare!

Your legs are already starting to burn by the time you decide to veer off and head up the stairs of a mid-sized building.

The plan is simple: climb high enough to stay out of immediate sight and buy some time to think. You hope—no, pray—that out of the hundreds of buildings making up this simulated city, Bakugou won’t be able to pinpoint the exact one you’ve chosen.

But who are you kidding? He’s Bakugou Katsuki. Not to inflate his already massive ego, but the guy’s a total force of nature. And a miracle of nature, ugh what an incredible face!

You reach a decent height and finally stop to catch your breath, chest heaving as you glance around the dimly lit room. It’s mostly empty, save for a few scattered crates and broken-down props designed to mimic an old, abandoned office.

Perfect! It’s not much, but it might just be enough to give you a fighting chance to regroup and strategize.

Crouching low behind one of the larger crates, you steady your breath, though the pounding in your chest doesn’t seem to let up. You strain your ears, listening carefully for any signs of movement below. The silence feels deafening, broken only by the distant hum of the cityscape simulation around you.

This is fine. You’ve got this. All you need to do is stay hidden and outlast him for the time limit. Easy… right?

You try to convince yourself, gaslighting your mind into thinking everything’s going smoothly, but then—

BOOM!

A distant explosion rattles the floor beneath you, reverberating through the walls like a low thunderclap. The sheer force of it sends chills racing up your spine, and for a split second, you freeze. You know that sound all too well—Bakugou’s quirk, crackling with relentless, destructive energy.

Oh god. You swallow hard, palms starting to sweat as your nerves ramp up. His quirk is terrifying, and he’s absolutely relentless when it comes to winning. You’ve seen it before—during training, during actual fights—and every time, you found yourself in awe of how powerful and unstoppable it made him. You even rooted for him on occasion, impressed by his sheer force.

But knowing he’s coming for you? Yeah… that changes everything!

Another explosion echoes through the building, this one louder, sharper. You swear you can feel the heat even from several floors up. He’s getting closer. Too close. The tension winds tighter in your chest, adrenaline flooding your veins as your mind races to make a decision. Stay hidden or run?

Neither option feels particularly great right now. Both seem like they end in you getting caught.

Before you can decide, a loud crack echoes from the hallway outside, and then—he’s in the room.

You shriek in surprise, instinctively scrambling back. Bakugou freezes, clearly more caught off guard by your reaction than by the fact that he’s actually found you. His crimson eyes widen slightly, and for a split second, you both just… stare.

It feels like one of those moments where a rabbit locks eyes with a wolf, frozen in place by fear and instinct. You know how this story ends if you don’t act fast. And oh, do your instincts kick in.

Without a second thought, you bolt—pushing off the floor and dashing out of the room. Your boots click loudly against the tile with every frantic step as you run for your life, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest. You hear Bakugou let out a low, frustrated “shit” under his breath, and a second later, the unmistakable sound of his heavy boots stomping after you.

But you’re smaller. You’re lighter. And somehow—just somehow—you manage to stay ahead of him, at least for now. Every breath burns in your lungs as you push yourself harder, rounding a sharp corner and sprinting down an empty hallway.

Don’t look back. Just keep running.

You don’t have time to think, only react—until you realize with growing dread that the hallway leads to a dead end. A large glass windowpane stretches across the wall in front of you, sunlight filtering through it, mocking you with its promise of freedom.

Your brain short-circuits under the pressure of Bakugou’s boots thundering closer behind you. Without a second thought—and maybe entirely out of panic—you do something completely mental.

Sharp, glowing pink petals swirl from your hands and shoot forward, shattering the glass into a cascade of shimmering shards. You barely have time to smile at your quick thinking, forcing your legs to make one final push toward escape—but then—

“EEK!” you shriek as something grabs your ankle, yanking you backward with enough force to slam you into the ground. The wind rushes out of your lungs, and for a moment, all you can do is gasp, eyes wide as your heart races in your chest.

Before you can even process what just happened, Bakugou is on top of you, pinning you down with one large hand still wrapped tightly around your ankle. He’s breathing heavily too, damn you pushed him into some heavy cardio, but his grin? It’s pure victory.

Not amused, not playful—just smug satisfaction from having won.

You lay there, completely frozen, and for a terrifying moment, you wonder if you might actually suffer from heart failure.

Not because you lost the exercise—that’s a given, and you’ll deal with the embarrassment later—but because this man—this giant (and unfairly gorgeous) behemoth of a man, who dwarfs you in both size and sheer presence—is sitting right on top of you.

He’s not pressing down hard enough to actually constrict your chest, so why, oh why can’t you breathe right now?

“Not even gonna fight back?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his voice low and rough. And to your utter disbelief, you realize—this is probably the first time he’s spoken directly to you.

You quickly avert your gaze, unable to keep staring up at him in this position. “I... I don’t see the point, really,” you mutter, though your voice comes out more like a pout. You’re too embarrassed to look at him again, especially when you hear him snort in response.

“Don’t act like a baby. You’re a quick little thing.” His tone is teasing, but there’s a strange kind of respect laced into it.

Oh no. Oh no no no. This is where you die—right here, pinned beneath Bakugou Katsuki, heart racing uncontrollably while he casually throws out words that make your brain short-circuit.

“You ever notice that you bring up flowers wherever you go?” he says suddenly, loosening his grip just slightly as he nods toward the shattered windowpane.

“What?” you blurt out, blinking in confusion. You follow his line of sight and freeze.

Outside, in what should have been a lifeless, gray landscape, is a single, glaringly obvious path of vibrant pink blossoms, trailing directly toward the building. Everything else looks dead—withered and dry—but the path you took is marked by glowing sakura petals, mocking you in all their vivid glory.

You gape, horrified. Your quirk betrayed you. Of course, it did.

And to make things worse… you know exactly why.

None of your classmates—not even Aizawa—know that your quirk reacts whenever you lose control of your emotions. Fear, happiness, sadness, excitement… whenever any strong feeling overwhelms you, the pink sakura blossoms bloom uncontrollably around you.

Oh god. Were those flowers sprouting because you were scared? Or… excited? Please don’t be from excitement. Please don’t be from excitement.

Before you can spiral any further into your thoughts, you feel a tug at your waist. Startled, you glance down, only to see Bakugou holding up the yellow flag he’s snatched from your costume.

A shrill whistle echoes across the training grounds, signaling the end of the exercise—and Bakugou’s win.

You sigh heavily, slumping against the ground in defeat. Of course, he got the flag. Of course.

Bakugou stands, towering over you as he holds the flag lazily between his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips. “Gotta be faster next time princess.”

As if you hadn’t already felt your heart medically stop—this time, you freeze. Did he just call you… princess?

Your brain short-circuits. There’s no way you heard that right. No way.

Mina is raccoon eyes, and she's stunning. Ochako is cheeks, Momo is ponytail girl and you really can't get more gorgeous than her,

And you're princess?!

A heart attack doesn't begin to explain the medically concerning things happening to your body right now.

You blink up at him, mouth opening slightly as if to say something, but no words come out. What could you even say? Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears it drowns out any coherent thought.

Meanwhile, Bakugou doesn’t seem phased at all. He twirls the flag once more, looking way too relaxed for someone who just rendered you a mess. “You gonna sit there all day or what?” he asks, his voice rough. “C’mon, get up.”

You’re still frozen in place, cheeks burning as you try to gather yourself.

Why did he have to say it like that?

You’ve always known Bakugou was intense—loud, brash, a force of nature—but you didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect him to pin you down in a sparring match, call you princess, and leave you feeling like your heart might actually explode.

“Oi.” His voice snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts, and you glance up at him again, only to find him staring down at you with an arched brow. “Did you hit your head that hard? Do we need to call recovery girl over here?"

It's enough to wake you up, the tips of your ears burning as you push yourself up and off the ground, body tense with lingering nerves. "I'm okay...I think" You mumble, again, that natural pouty look that has the blonde raising a brow.

The rest of the walk back to Aizawa is silent, and you can't help but mentally relive the moment in your head a million times. Princess?!

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#katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #my hero academia #bnha x reader #bnha #bakugo katsuki #x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x fem!reader #blooming hearts #bakugo x y/n #bakugo fluff #bakugo x reader #my hero academia x reader

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whoopsyeahokay · 2 months ago

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October Sun

summary: Simon had wondered what any of it had meant. Maddie's death, why he'd been the only one who could see her. And then he'd learned that, perhaps, everything that had happened...it hadn't been about him or Maddie at all.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.25

A roaring white noise erupted in the theater, smothering all other sounds. A TV static howl that seemed to come from within your own head, building and building until it was unbearable. You slapped your hands over your ears, gritted your teeth, pulse thundering almost as loud as the unnatural noise in your ears.

Muffled as if through cotton fluff, you heard someone yell, "What's happening!?" but no more than that, the voice swept away by the bellow. You lifted your head away from Xavier's shoulder and turned your body as much as you could within the tight band of his arms. Where the trapdoor should be, rising like a nightmare from its grave, the farmhouse door materialized in the middle of the stage. Your eyes widened in horror as the familiar screams from behind it began to gnash at the edges of the noise like teeth, "LET. ME. OUT! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE! YOU'RE DEAD, YOU HEAR ME!? DEAD!!"

You cast around, saw Maddie and Wally huddled together, Charlie tucked between two rows of seats, Ajay shielding Mina with his body, and Rhonda with her arms crossed in front of her face as the noise crashed through the theater like a physical force; a tempest of rage and violence that pierced the veil. The ground and walls shook, windows rattled, a stage light fell and smashed on the stage. The quake vibrated through your bones, motivated you to act, but you couldn't move. Xavier clung to you both protectively and in terror, his eyes pleading as he seemed to figure out what you planned to do. He trembled, fingertips bruising into your flesh through your sweater.

You'd never seen him so scared. Not once. Not ever.

Driven by adrenaline, "I'm sorry," you shoved Xavier off you, spun and rose in one fluid motion, and charged at speed down the center aisle toward the stage. The wind was sharp and stinging, pieces of glass and metal from the shattered stage light picked up and whipped about, but you didn't stop. Hurdled into it. Leapt onto the stage. Close, so close. Hand extended, fingers brushing the knob, about to brace against it to keep the monsters from escaping.

The door ruptured at its center, fragments of wood bursting outward and immediately captured by the storm. The force of the sudden explosion sent you sailing backward, followed by a tsunami of blinding, iridescent light that fell from the breach in the door and reached toward you. Cold. Clutching. You barely made out your name being shouted in varying degrees of desperate concern and fear. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter. Because as soon as you landed, hard—enough to knock the air from your lungs into your throat and choke you—the world shifted on its axis and went black.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question 1.

Why did Frankenstein create the Monster?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon lay in bed and stared at the ceiling above him, cracked and pillowed, a yellow-brown rash bloomed in patterns that he tracked in meditative circles with his eyes. He needed to shower, he thought dully. He hadn't had time that morning before being chauffeured to the station for another damning interrogation by Deputies Hayes and Stewart.

"Where is she, Elroy? Where's Maddie?"

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to us, kid, it'll only make things worse for you."

"I'm not lying, I don't kn—"

"God dammit, quit playing dumb!"

"That's enough," Mrs. Grace had snapped before Stewart's jaw had shut with an audible click. "Without substantiated evidence, this is all hearsay. Simon has given you everything he knows in his statement. Unless you intend to further make fools of yourselves, we're leaving."

Simon needed to get up. Get up. Get up. Get. Up.

He didn't move. Couldn't; his limbs grafted to his sheets, muscles like stone, bones elastic. His back was sore, his skin ached and he wanted to move around, stretch the discomfort out of his body, but...he didn't. Instead, he kept staring at the ceiling as the morning looped in his mind. Questions and suppositions, two manilla folders, one map, and then a tense drive home where he'd felt little-boy scared of his parents—his father—for the first time in years, their disappointment and anger palpable in the tight confines of the car.

Simon had been shown Maddie's file. A couple of graphic photographs that looked staged for a prime-time procedural drama. His best friend's blood splattered on the boiler room wall, evidence of the pain and torture she'd incurred when she'd been killed. Murdered in the bowels of the school while Simon had been three floors up in homeroom, bored and bleary-eyed, dozing on his backpack, mentally preparing for a night at the APEX with a group he felt a little on the outskirts of.

"Fuck." He choked, eyes stinging, rubbing over them with his wrist.

The photographs were seared into his retinas; there even when he tried to distract himself or ignore them or pretend that Maddie was still within reach and not one resolution away from vanishing forever.

Blood. Her blood. From a swing so violent that it'd projected onto the wall when the weapon had been hitched for another strike. How many blows had been delivered before Maddie's eyes had dimmed and her breath had stopped? His stomach lurched, but still, Simon didn't move.

The deputies thought Maddie was out there. Not enough blood on the scene to warrant a murder investigation, Stewart had informed Simon as if suggesting that Simon and Maddie might've tried to fake her death so no one would look for her. It was half-assed and ridiculous. Even Hayes seemed to think so, though she wouldn't have admitted it aloud.

Desperate to repress the images, Simon tried to remember the other file he'd been shown. The deputies insisted the cases were linked: Maddie's "escape" and a string of break-ins that spanned two neighborhoods that would've been one if it weren't for a railway track splitting it down the middle like a stapled wound. Simon had recognized the first immediately. Riverden Heights. A low-income area that had been chosen by the town council for regentrification, spearheaded by none other than Claire Zomer's stepfather.

The other, Warren Meadow, had taken him a moment to recognize, but when he did, it'd been a feat to conceal his surprise. He'd been there the night he'd found Mr. Anderson's stash, sat on a swing in the play park behind the house you called home.

What did it mean?

As he pondered the possibilities, a crisp gust of wind coasted over him, disturbing the curtains and ruffling the posters on his walls. At last, he moved, prompted to investigate because he was sure— He swallowed thickly, tense, heartbeat ratcheting up a notch. Propped on a hand, he looked in confusion and dread at his closed window.

A slow, eerie creak snapped his attention toward his closet, the door open a sliver when he knew it'd been closed. The darkness within seemed even blacker than was natural. Inexplicable. Otherworldly. A shiver ran down his spine. Similar to the feeling he'd had when he'd caught Maddie's reflection in the classroom window on Monday.

The floorboards squeaked when he stood. Simon took one cautious step after another, muscles flexed, not prepared at all for an attack but willing to be brave. Two. Three. Four. Five steps. His chest was tight. Hands shaking. Breathing shallow. As he hooked his fingers on the door to open it further, it started. The sound was faint and he had to strain to hear it, but it was unmistakable. Wet and rattled, punctuated by thick sniffles.

Someone was crying.

Someone was crying in Simon's closet.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Rhonda remained couched, braced against the wild, unholy wind until, bit by bit, she realized it'd stopped. When she opened her eyes, she gasped in shock, collapsing forward onto her hands. The world around her had changed; the theater was replaced by a span of paved ground enclosed by a chain-link fence, painted games bright against the black asphalt. A tingle crept down from her scalp to her nape, goosebumps pebbled her arms, and she panned her head to glance over her shoulder.

Panicked, she spun, landed on her ass, shoving herself backward with her feet to put distance between herself and the eerily suspended door. The void at its center flickered. It felt like a black hole trying to drag her into oblivion.

Rhonda flipped over and pushed herself up. Ran. Ran harder and faster than she'd ever done in life or death. Down the side of the building she'd found herself behind to skid around the corner and come to an abrupt, stuttered stop.

She turned this way and that, disoriented, chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to suck in enough air to keep her upright.

"What the hell is happening?" She wheezed, every alarm in her brain going off at once as she began to process her surroundings: Outdoors. Too dark for how early she felt it should be, the air thin and cold, biting, and the sky obscured by a dense layer of gunmetal grey clouds. It was raining in heavy sheets so thick Rhonda could barely make out the line of British inspired maisonettes on the opposite side of the street. "Where—?"

She cut herself off when the wide, double-door entrance to the building opened, releasing a soft glow from within that illuminated the pathway ahead of it. Children in raincoats and rubber boots bounced down the front steps, giggling as they jumped and splashed through puddles on their way to join clusters of adults who waited under umbrellas on the sidewalk.

"No. Fucking. Way." Rhonda walked toward the pathway, jaw slack, gaze fixed on the words etched into the stonework. She nearly tripped over her own feet, only just managing to correct herself as she turned fully toward the building.

Anabelle Meheive Schoolhouse for Boys.

The brick and mortar was as old as Split River itself, named after one of the town founders' wives. The school had been reestablished as Anabelle Meheive Elementary in the early '40s, ten years before Rhonda's family had moved from rural town Romania to Wisconsin. Rhonda had still been curious then, unjaded and excited and eager to learn. Her fourth grade desk had been right there, beside that window. Where she'd daydreamed as she'd stared at the houses across the street and had wondered what it'd been like to live somewhere so unlike her own home in the shanty district that bordered the factories.

Pressure stuffed her nose, her vision blurred, and suddenly she was overwhelmed by the memory, instantly missing her parents, her sisters, her grandmother in a way she hadn't in countless years. Unfortunately, she didn't have more than a moment to grapple with it before her attention was forced back to the school's entrance.

Two figures emerged, one was small, obviously a child. A little boy, Rhonda discerned, with a Spiderman backpack and rainboots to match. The second was taller, slender, the hood of their sweater up so it concealed their face. They hauled the little boy by the hand as they complained, "Come on, stop messing around, I want to go home," as the little boy kept trying to gleefully splash his way through every puddle on his way to the front gate.

A spike of foreboding shot through Rhonda as she watched the pair. Swiftly, she found herself trailing after them as they turned onto the sidewalk. That sense of unease continued to worsen, churning in her stomach like a premonition of ill tides. Although it felt like every other bad gut feeling she'd experienced in her young life, it was somehow distinguished. And when the taller figure got so frustrated by the little boy that they pushed their hood off and threatened, "I'm so serious right now, I will leave you here and tell mom you ran away," Rhonda was once again stunned into stillness.

The taller figure was a girl, no older than eleven or twelve with features identical to ones Rhonda had seen mere moments before the theater had turned into a category 5 hurricane zone. Your hair was longer and your face was rounder, softer, yet simultaneously you looked exactly as you had when Rhonda had joked about getting Wally a new wardrobe.

You began to tug the little boy along again, your foul temper tween-girl extreme to the extent Rhonda questioned whether or not it was really you. Regardless of whether or not it was, Rhonda decided, she needed help, needed an explanation. Where the fuck was she? When the fuck was she? How did she get here?

"Hey!" Rhonda yelled after you, "Wait!"

You didn't notice Rhonda. In fact, she was entirely nonexistent to you as you yanked and heaved your brother every single step forward. He enjoyed being a pain in your ass, always elbowing his way into every sleepover, usurping attention, whining until you gave in and put on movies for babies because he didn't like what you and Xavier and Hana wanted to watch.

You'd already been grumpy when your mom had called to ask that you collect Aiden from school on your way home, consumed by thoughts of Xavier and Hana ditching you to hang out with another couple because, apparently, that's what boyfriends and girlfriends did.

Your face twisted in displeasure, jealousy seeping into your veins like toxic sludge as you barked again, "Aiden, come. on. Stop it!"

Xavier and Hana hadn't even kissed on the mouth yet, you grouched internally. Plus, they were still going to Dave & Buster's with Mrs. Baxter like all three of you did. As a group. Every Friday since first grade. It wasn't fair that just because you didn't want to be kissed or have some gross boy who smelled like B.O. and gym bag hold your hand like that, you weren't allowed to go too.

The rain came down harder, thunder rumbled overhead and lightning cracked across the sky. Aiden continued to resist, stomping in and out of the stream that flowed along the curb. Stupid mom being held up at work. Stupid Aurora being at university. And stupid, stupid Aiden, not listening to you when you were obviously in a bad mood.

"Aiden!" You yelled, tugging him back onto the sidewalk, "I said stop it!"

Your clothes were drenched, your limbs were frozen, and all you wanted to do was go home, rant to Nanna, and have her comfort you and tell you to forget Xavier and Hana and their dumb relationship had ever happened. Just as you were contemplating how upset your mom would be if you abandoned Aiden right then and there, you heard a car pull up behind you and a male voice call, "Hey, can I give you a ride?"

Rhonda stopped when she saw the car stop. More specifically, when she saw the face of the man behind the wheel. She didn't recognize him and he looked normal enough. Buzzed, military brown hair and a friendly smile and eyes that crinkled charmingly at the corners. Rhonda moved to peek into the open passenger window, squinting at him. Despite how NPC-normal he appeared, there was something inside her soul, a niggling feeling that made her gums itch, that told her that the man's aura was several shades of wrong.

Clumsily, she reared back and turned to urge you, "Don't go with him," as that prickly sense of unease increased, blaring like an air raid siren in her brain. Rhonda couldn't tell if you were familiar with the man and decided quickly that it didn't matter, "I know we aren't exactly besties," She said, standing directly in front of you now, "But you have to listen to me."

You looked right through her.

Leaning across the console was a man wearing a uniform like your dad's, his face familiar though you couldn't quite place it. Your grip tightened around Aiden's hand and you narrowed your eyes at him. A thousand and one speeches had been delivered throughout your life on the subject of which strangers are good and which are bad. And random men in cars were at the top of the "who to avoid" list.

"You don't remember me?" The man chuckled and then explained, "We met at the barbeque on base. I'm Christopher." He raised an amused eyebrow, "You got me with your water gun a few times."

Rhonda's gaze ricocheted between you and Christopher as you hesitated, tilted your head, and chewed your lip, studying Christopher like a Wanted poster. That nagging feeling in Rhonda's gut swelled into a sick panic when the tension bled out of your shoulders, showing signs of finally recalling who Christopher was.

"Oh yeah," You grinned and stepped closer. Christopher was in the same unit as your dad. He'd been at the barbeque with his wife and daughter, the latter having hung out with you and Xavier all afternoon while the adults drank beer and got rowdy. "Xavier pushed you in the pool."

Christopher snorted and hung his head in mock shame, "That's me."

Rhonda shook her head, her mind screaming at her to stop you from going with him. That if you did, all the happiness and joy and pure, unconditional love in the world would be snuffed out as easily as the flame of a candle. Rhonda had felt similarly when Mr. Manfredo's demeanor had shifted in the split second before he'd revealed his true intentions for her.

"Don't go with him," She repeated, trying and failing to grab your hand, shoulder, face, anything. But her hands kept missing, sliding away, your energy and hers two like poles that would never connect. "You need to believe me!"

You smiled down at Aiden, "A ride would be great, right Aid?"

Aiden wasn't paying attention, staring off into space. He did that whenever you asked him to stop being annoying. Acted like he hadn't heard you or that you weren't there. Glaring at him, you repeated the question, only for Aiden to tug your hand so you had to bend to his level to hear him.

"What?" You demanded under your breath.

Aiden whispered, "I don't think we should go with him."

Relief flooded through Rhonda, however, it was short-lived.

You rolled your eyes, "Seriously, Aiden?" God, could he just not? For once, one time, could he be on your side instead of making everything difficult? You knew he was complaining just so he could keep splashing in the puddles, but you were over the wet and the rain and the cold.

Aiden stubbornly stared into space again, refusing to budge until you poked him in the cheek. He reluctantly dragged his eyes to yours, looking up at you with a pout, "I don't want to, Sissy." Lip wobbly, brow furrowed. The same expression he pinched his face into when you refused to let him use your Switch.

You heaved a careworn sigh and put your hands on your knees as you spoke to him, forcing your voice to a sensitive register, "How about this: If you get in the car, I'll make you mac 'n' cheese with chicken nuggets when we get home. Alright?"

Rhonda lurched forward, "No no no!" She begged you to change your mind, to hear what Aiden was trying to tell you, her voice strangled, throat closing. "Don't!"

Aiden chewed his lip as he considered your proposal, eyes on the ground. At last, with one last glance into the middle distance, he nodded. It was a small gesture, almost disappointed, and he mumbled, "Okay."

You grinned and hugged him, praising him for listening to you as you opened the car door and helped him into the backseat. Once he scooched over, you climbed in after him, thanked Christopher for his kindness, and made Aiden do the same.

"Thanks," Aiden muttered, staring at his lap, looking for all the world like he'd just been told he wasn't allowed dessert ever again.

Though she knew it was useless, Rhonda bodily flung herself at the car when you closed the door, banging and slapping the window with her palms until they stung bright red. "Don't! You have to get out! GET. OUT!"

You buckled your seatbelt, then Aiden's, and the car pulled away.

Rhonda stumbled into the street, shouting after you. Her hands gripped her head in panic, pulse racing. She watched the car stop at the corner and saw Aiden rise to peer out of the back window, chubby hand up as if he was waving goodbye. The emotion in his big, green eyes— She inhaled sharply. Without any doubt, Rhonda understood that she'd just witnessed a child's future turn to ash. And she felt in her bones that Aiden knew it, too.

"Come back." She begged, tight and weak. "Please, come back."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, an ominous creak drew her attention behind her. The farmhouse door. The deep, black void at its center. Eyes wide in fright, she shifted to run after the car but didn't get even a step before the blackness shot out, wrapped around her arms and legs, and wrenched her into its depths. The door slammed closed and disappeared.

In the backseat of the car, you asked Aiden, "What're you looking at?" when he continued to stare out of the rear window. You peeked over the seat in confusion, not seeing anything worth that much scrutiny.

Aiden slowly slid his gaze to meet yours and what you saw in them made your stomach twist, the look in them far too old for a six-year-old boy. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to brush it off, fixing Aiden in his seat after he'd lowered himself to sit properly.

"Nothing," Aiden responded, tone solemn. He began to draw a little stick figure in the condensation on the window, and then an upright rectangle with curly cues coming out of it.

You watched him for a moment, suddenly feeling uneasy. "You sure?"

Aiden nodded.

You wouldn't have believed him anyway.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question Two.

Does Frankenstein learn from his mistake in creating the Monster?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You roused in pained stages, groaning as you hoisted yourself onto your hands and knees. The world was spinning, vision cloudy for a moment before the room settled around you. The damp and dark didn't feel right against you, pushing in from all corners like pressure in the depths of the ocean. Heaving a breath, you wobbled to your feet, blinking rapidly as your eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Even in the thin light filtering through the high windows, you recognized that, wherever you were, it wasn't the theater.

"Wally?!" You called out, "Maddie!?"

No answer.

"...anyone?"

It took a minute for your eyes to adjust. The space was wide and empty, the ceiling low, walls exposed slabs of thick stone. A cellar, you realized, stepping carefully across the packed dirt floor. Faded Persian carpets had been placed down in the center; thinner, longer ones like runners led from the base of the polished wood steps to the back wall, the tail end of the last carpet disappearing beneath the stone.

"Where am I?" You wondered, glancing about.

A few items of furniture stood against the wall directly opposite the staircase. A tall, fat cabinet with glass windows that displayed a variety of trinkets that reminded you of curiosities Victorian nobles had collected to be admired by their unworldly peers. Beside it was a sarcophagus, Egyptian-inspired but certainly not original. It was far too dark, menacing, the face demonic with ruby eyes that seemed to burn from within.

You kept a wide berth around it, its aura unsettling. Like walking into a forest after nightfall with no flashlight.

On the other side of the cabinet were wrought iron hooks nailed into the stone, neat rows of ten across, seven down. Most of them were bare, though a few still held gruesomely painted masks in the Venetian style. Some with long, pointed noses; others without, more feminine. The eyes in all of them were netted.

"What the hell is this place?" You murmured to yourself as you reached out to run your fingers delicately down the smooth nose of one of the masks.

It felt familiar. The exposed beams, the packed dirt floor, the draft that chilled you to the bone. You followed the runners to the back wall, turned, looked out the window above you. Twisty, naked branches speared the sky, a large gap in the middle where...where the road... Oh, God.

Your breath caught and you began to feel queasy, bile burning the back of your throat. This wasn't just any cellar. It was the farmhouse cellar. The place you'd been when you learned exactly how many minutes it took for a human body to die.

The room swam as your vision blurred and all at once, you doubled over, retching into the dirt, swaying on weak legs when it was over. Breath after breath felt like ice as you tried to get air into your lungs, your heart to calm down, your head to stop spinning.

"It's not possible," You choked, collapsing against the wall, "I shouldn't be here, this isn't right." You sank to the floor, completely devoid of energy in the wake of your realization. As if the darkness had sucked it all out. You sat there for minutes that dragged into each other, hitched little inhales and drawn, stuttered exhales. "I want to go home," You whimpered, but there was no one around to hear you.

In that instant, voices rose and the floorboards above creaked under the weight of several people. Panicked, you shot to your feet, casting about for something to protect yourself. Nothing good had ever happened in this farmhouse, you knew, and you doubted that now would be any different.

There was nothing. And when you tried to open the cabinet, a taser-like shock jolted through your arm and knocked you backward onto the floor. However, you didn't have time to question it, the door above opening—that door, the door, the one that had haunted you for six years—and the voices getting closer.

"Surely, Lord Althan, you jest. A stablehand!" A woman's voice spoke, sounding giddy as much as disturbed. "How on earth did that happen?"

A deep, male voice answered, that of Lord Althan assumedly, "I haven't a clue, Marjorie." He sounded dismayed, "He took off with all the money and my daughter, the wretched bastard." A pause before he growled, "I tell you, never trust a Clark."

"Certainly not." Marjorie agreed. "I had two in my employ, sisters. Irish though they weren't Catholic, and I wish I had known such an important detail before I had Beaty hire the little rats. They stole the diamonds right off one of my necklaces. Had they the fear of God in them, they wouldn't have done so."

"And they were Clarks?" A new voice asked, another male, though thick with an accent you could only describe as South Asian.

Marjorie answered, "Indeed. You'll have to be careful during your visit, Your Excellency. The poor have become a problem in recent years, I'm afraid."

You listened with half an ear as you scouted for a place to tuck yourself into. The sarcophagus was latched and the effort it would take to break the lock off would be both too loud and too obvious. You searched along the walls, in the shadowy corners. The best place would've been under the stairs but a large cord of chopped wood had been piled in front of the space.

The footsteps got closer as the group descended, talking amongst themselves. Swallowing thickly, you pressed yourself against the side of the cabinet, crouched beneath the rows of hooks, hands over your mouth to muffle your harried breathing.

A strange sensation passed through the cellar as the group stepped one by one onto the carpet at the bottom of the stairs. The air stilled and the shadows seemed to part for the group as they moved across the space. A man held out his hand to help a woman down her final few steps and then escorted her with her arm through his. The next man did the same for the next woman, and then the third man for the third woman.

All were dressed elegantly, the men in tuxedos with white ties and polished boots, and the women in beaded dresses that fell past their knees, gloves to above their elbows, and furs around their shoulders.

"It's truly wonderful that you were able to attend at last, Your Excellency," A new voice said, female, heavily accented. Eastern European, you believed, "My husband and I have been eager to introduce you to the leader of tonight's gathering."

"I appreciate it immensely, Lady Botezatu," His Excellency replied, "I was delighted to have received the invitation."

If you'd had the presence of mind to be curious, you would've noted the name, turned it over in your head, snapped the piece into place where it belonged. Because you knew that name. However, the sound of the men and women nearing made your pulse rush like a roar in your ears. You squeezed your eyes shut, turned to tuck yourself as close as you could to the wall, back against the cabinet, pleading that you wouldn't be found.

Closer. Closer. The footsteps and voices were right above you now.

"Here you are, Raj" Lord Althan said pleasantly as he claimed one of the nosed masks and handed it to His Excellency. "Your lovely bride can help you attach it, I'm sure."

With big, terrified eyes, you watched Lord Althan remove another mask, one without a nose, and hand it to the woman beside His Excellency. And no one—your brow furrowed—seemed to notice you. Not even the slightest acknowledgment that you existed. You didn't want to push your luck, staying put with your hand remaining clapped across your mouth. However, you couldn't stop yourself from glancing up at the faces of the group gathered in front of you, helping each other tie the ribbons of the masks at the backs of their heads.

His Excellency turned around after helping his bride with her mask and you almost collapsed in shock.

"Ajay!?" You said before thinking about the consequences. You rose quickly and stumbled forward, attempting to clasp your hands around his forearms as he fiddled with the ribbon on the nosed mask he held. "Ajay, where are we? What's happening?" But...your hands passed right through him, his image distorting, coming apart like whisps of smoke before letting in again. "A-Ajay?"

With a strained whine, you studied his face and the longer you stared, the less he looked like Ajay. The resemblance, as uncanny as it was, was only that. A resemblance. And, furthermore, Not-Ajay, it appeared, couldn't see you. Couldn't hear you. In fact, none of the men and women paid you any mind whatsoever. To them, you were as real as a ghost.

"Fuck." The word punched out of you as you staggered back. The faces that hadn't been covered were eerily identical to ones you knew until you stared too long. Rhonda. Wally. Ajay. Maddie. And then the resemblances faded and left behind just the most subtle of like features. "What's happening?"

You were going crazy. Trapped in a nightmare of your own making after you couldn't keep the farmhouse door closed. God only knew where the others were. If the light that had ripped out from behind the farmhouse door had trapped them too. If they were experiencing the same thing. Or worse.

"Come along, Marjorie dear, we're already behind schedule." Lord Althan remarked, holding out his arm for her to take. He led the group to the back of the cellar, following the line of carpets before he paused at the wall. Not knowing what else to do, you trailed after them, observant though feeling faint as you tried to accept that you might never make it out of whatever coma or conjuring the farmhouse door had unleashed.

If this was a nightmare, you thought, there was only one way out. You had to see it through to the end.

You saw Lord Althan produce a pen-shaped piece of silver from his pocket. Sleek, smooth, nondescript, and rather unremarkable until Lord Althan pushed it tip-first into a tiny hole in the mortar that you never would've noticed on your own. When it was halfway in, you heard a heavy clank of metal and stone scraped against stone. Your jaw dropped as part of the wall sunk inward and then moved aside, revealing a steep rock stairwell lit by a line of low-burning torches.

The group herded into the stairwell, continuing their conversation, the men attentive to the women as they descended down down down into whatever was below the farmhouse cellar. The stairs were uneven, some tall, some short, and you briefly marveled at the ease the men and women ahead of you exhibited as they gracefully carried themselves to the bottom of the staircase.

You openly gaped at what lay beyond the staircase, taken aback by the sheer extravagance, so out of place for where you were. The narrow walls on either side of the staircase opened into a massive cavern that had been built and decorated to mimic a European palace. Italian marble floors, a grand fireplace with detailed carvings in the wood of the mantle, portraits of dour, aristocratic men and women kitted in ceremonial costume.

Your attention lingered on the portraits, particularly what the figures in them wore. Yes, the clothes were ceremonial as was usually the case when the rich were painted, but they were also...religious. In a way you had a difficult time putting your finger on. Not typical of the Abrahamic religions or Dharmic or Taoic. More Pagan. Celtic or Nordic, you weren't sure, but definitely Pagan. The figures in the portraits wore cloaks and were ornamented with etched daggers and wooden laurels bent and shapen into antlers. The one thing they all shared were the broaches pinned under the notches of their collars. Large, silver things with a symbol you'd seen in the pages of a book housed in your family's library. Three interlocking spirals. A triskele.

A tinkling sound, fine metal tapped on hollow crystal, echoed through the cavern, a man's voice calling out to announce, "Welcome all!"

You turned, gaze searching the crowd of what you guessed was about fifty or sixty people. Masked and in fine dress, all of them. They stood in a semi-circle facing you though their focus was on the man who spoke. You couldn't see much of him since he had his back to you, poised proudly in front of his flock. He was tall, broad-shouldered yet lithe, and had hair that had clearly once been blond though was turning grey.

"I am overjoyed that so many of you could join us on such an important and exciting night."

"Hear, hear!" The crowd exclaimed, lifting in unison their champagne coupes.

"My only regret is that my lovely wife seems to have gotten lost."

The crowd tittered at what you figured was meant to be a joke. Stepping closer, you tried to get a better look at the man, wanted to see if, like the men and women who you'd followed down here, he held any resemblance to someone you knew. Together, the crowd's focus shifted to something behind the man. He turned, a wide smile spreading across the part of his face that wasn't covered by his mask.

You went completely still as his eyes, unobscured unlike the others, settled on you. They were striking; bright seafoam green that within them held a wisdom and respect that transcended time. You shivered as those eyes, far too old for the face they belonged to, burned through you, heart hammering behind your ribs.

Slowly, the man reached out his free hand, smile softening, and said, "Ah, there you are," in a quiet tone. Private.

Just for you.

"We've been waiting."

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-FOUR - PART TWENTY-SIX

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Kristian Ventura #Simon Elroy #Spencer MacPhearson #Xavier Baxter #Rhonda Botezatu #Sarah Yarkin #Charlie Morino #Nick Pugliese #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #zed necrodopolis #Disney Zombies #October Sun

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rvp32 · 3 months ago

Note

Thanks for accepting the IVE headcanon request! Would be amazing if you do one for TWICE! Big fan of your fluffy fics <3

I hope you guys are loving these headcanons just as much as I am.

Nayeon

Yeah, she would be livid if she ever saw another woman trying to flirt or even touch you. She will drag you away from the public and tell you exactly why she's mad and kiss you multiple times going as far as biting your lip. The pain from your lip remains a reminder to you and also is a sign to other women that you belong to Nayeon

Jeongyeon

Probably the most mature one and wouldn't be super possessive, she really loves and trusts you but if it does go overboard just expect a simple message. She is very open with communication and wouldn't keep things to herself if it upset her.

Momo

Weirdly enough she would hate it. She loved you more than anything in the world and is loyal to you to the bone. So she expects the same from you which you give. But there are times when women don't take the hint of you being uncomfortable with their touches and this pisses Momo off because you are clearly uncomfortable. She would interrupt your conversation and introduce herself holding her hand out, "Hi, I am Momo, his girlfriend. If you keep making my man uncomfortable you better know how to fight because I'm going to beat your ass till you realize how stupid you are ."

Sana

There is quite literally no chance of women even coming to you and being touchy with you because Sana is always by your side hugging your hand like a Koala bear. But if a dense woman tries to come toward you with a flirty smile, expect a tonne of kinship. Kisses, handholding, fixing your shirt, or fixing your hair. She will very clearly make it known that you are taken.

Jihyo

Any woman would be stupid to try to go toward Jihyo's man. There is quite literally no reason for you to choose any other girl especially when you have a Goddess like Jihyo always right next to you. If someone dares to flirt with you when Jihyo leaves for a few minutes, then expect to get a passionate kiss but what you don't know is that she has her middle finger showing to the girl. After pulling away from the kiss all Jihyo says is "Leave," in her commanding tone and with eyes that could kill.

Mina

She's probably the most possessive one in the entire Twice. You don't usually run into a lot of women given your profession but it does tend to happen at professional parties which Mina always attends with you. Your suit for the Night will include a ring with M carved on it, cufflinks with Mina's name, a tie clip with her name, and finally a custom-made Audemars Piguet Royal Oak with Mina's name carved into the bezel. Everything on you clearly screams that you belong to Mina. But if some stupid woman thought she still had a chance and tried to flirt with you, Mina wouldn't let that slide. She would have her secretary look into that person and make them pay.

Dahyun

She would be too shy to outright come out and express her possessiveness or jealousy. Dahyun really loves her privacy so she doesn't like to attend high-profile events because of all the press coverage it gets. Sometimes she stumbles onto pictures of you with other women who are slyly touching you. She wouldn't say anything but there would be signs, like the increased touching, biting and her basically throwing herself onto you. After you are done all she whispers is"You are mine"

Chaeyoung

Very vocal about it, the minute a woman tries to act flirty with you Chaeyeong will let her know clearly and that if she does it again there will be consequences ones that are going to be extremely hard to deal with. "Touch My boyfriend another time and you can say goodbye to life." Unknowingly to you, the reason all your exes broke up with you or ghosted you was because of Chaeyoung. She was scaring them away.

Tzuyu

Will elegantly make the woman realize how stupid she is to try and flirt with her boyfriend especially when she is in the same room. by saying things like "I can see you have a taste for the finer things; unfortunately, he’s already taken by the finest" or "Oh, I admire your optimism! Though I’m afraid he's a bit out of your league."

"Thank you! I didn't know how to tell her to leave, it was getting uncomfortable,"

"That's what I am here for baby, those sly bitches won't bother you as long as I am here

#kpop smut #asks #ask me anything #twice smut #twice x reader #mina smut #nayeon smut #twice jihyo #jeongyeon #momo #sana smut #minatozaki sana #tzuyu

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saturnsorbits · 2 years ago

Text

Don't Ask, Don't Get

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Talk of Losing Virginity, Virgin!Reader, FuckBoy!Kirishima-ish, Suggestive, Teasing, Word Count: 1.1k.

Summary: Kirishima has a reputation. You still have your virginity. How about that, huh?

A/N: Did I finally write something after all this time? Yes. Is it also mostly unfinished and very short? Also, yes. Will there be a part two? Maybe.

The clock on the wall ticks. It's an ugly thing, gimmicky, with thick, oddly carved arms poking out from either side. For a moment you just watch it, listening to the rhythmic beat of its arms as they shift counting down one minute, then two. You squint. It's ten minutes early, like someone has deliberately set the time to induce a constant state of minor panic.

Which is, from where you're sitting, pretty damn unneeded.

Perched on the edge of the bed, you feel pretty out of place amongst the scattered dumbbell weights and hanging medals. It's to be expected, of course. After all, this isn't your room and it's certainly not your bed.

No.

It's the bed of a boy.

And, not just any boy...

Kirishima Eijirou leaves the bathroom encased in a thick layer of steam. His hair is wet, having just showered, and down, it's ends tickling the tanned skin of his shoulders. The towel around his waist is tied poorly, dipping so low on his hips that the start of his dense thicket of pubic hair is clearly visible. He rakes a hand through his hair causing the muscle of his bicep to tense and the meat of his pec to stretch and jiggle.

It makes your stomach feel funny.

'So...' Flashing his signature bright smile, he digs a hand into the curve of his hip drawing your eye to the defined dips there. 'What did you want to talk about?'

I…’ You clear the dryness from your throat. ‘I was talking to Mina.’

‘Oh no.’ Kirishima grins. His eyebrows arc playfully on his forehead.

His mood is infectious and you find yourself sharing his smile; you’re not sure you’d be able to resist it if you tried. There’s something about him that makes you feel at ease, allowing you to sink deeper into his mattress as a girlish chuckle slips from your lips. ‘She…’ You swallow. ‘Well, we were talking and -.’

Kirishima rolls his shoulders, causing his still wet skin to shine softly in the light.

The motion steals your thoughts and ruins your confidence. ‘She said she knew you in middle school…’ You cringe. It’s not a lie. That was how the conversation had started after all. How it had ended, however and the reason you’d found yourself in Kirishima’s room at almost midnight on a Tuesday in your only pair of fancy, matching underwear… Was a different matter entirely.

If he notices the sudden, awkward detour in the conversation, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he laughs. A full bodied rumble vibrates through his chest, eliciting a chuckle that is half-kitten, half-avalanche. ‘Yeah. I was - uh - I was pretty different back then.’

You know. You’ve seen pictures on Mina’s phone. Back then, Kirishima had been small, with a mop of black hair and a smile that never saw the light. It’s a far cry from who he is now… Big, bright and boisterous. 'Yeah...'

'Did you and Mina talk about anything else?' He cocks an eyebrow, his large palms digging into the flesh of his hips.

'Yeah, we... We -.' You can feel his gaze on you, gentle and piercing all at once, but he doesn't force you to talk. Instead, he waits, patient, with that smile on his face that makes you want to know what it would be like to sit on it.

There's a sparkle in his eyes when he licks over his lower lip and rumbles. 'C'mon, you know you can just ask, right?'

All of the embarrassment in your body flames in your face. You can feel it bubbling there, threatening to make you do something stupid as you look up at the boy with a too bright smile and a cock that you've been promised will ruin you. 'I -.'

Taking a measured step forward, Kirishima leaves barely an inch between your knees. His smile is still blinding, but now, there's something new wedged in-between his teeth. 'You know...' Nudging at your knee with his, he encourages open your legs and steps between them. 'Mina and I have known each other forever.' Reaching down, he hooks a finger underneath your chin and presses his thumb to the bump of your lower lip. 'We talk too.'

A shiver breaks out down your spine making you feel too hot and too cold all at once. The hold he has on your face, although gentle, feels like a choke hold. The pads of his fingers calloused, keeping you easily at his mercy. 'I -.'

'So, just ask.'

His new proximity makes you dizzy as one million and on thoughts are sent speeding through your head at once. It's hard to think, hard to comprehend anything that isn't the rough of Kirishima's hand and the purr of his voice as he looks down on you sweetly, waiting with a patience you'd thought impossible. Swallowing, you loosen your tongue, but what leaps from your mouth is far from the question you'd wanted to ask. 'I'm a virgin.'

'Yeah?'

The bright sparkling you'd mistaken for curiosity has returned to his eyes, but now, there's something else laced within their red seas. It makes your chest tight and your pulse sink, migrating lower than you've ever felt it before. Instead of answering, you nod.

'Do you think that bothers me, sweetheart?' He coos. The hand curled under your chin tips, forcing your face further up. From this position, there's no avoiding his eye, forcing you to gaze right at him as he smirks.

A whine breaks through the seam of your lips, surprising even you as you feel yourself beginning to slip. You've never felt like this, both helpless and secure at the same time, but the way his eyes seem to glow when he looks at you has you treading air. He hasn't even touched you yet.

His eyes burn dark, hungry, as he lets his gaze slip down your body. A cool smirk itches at the side of his mouth, pulling his lip just enough to expose the ends of sharp teeth. As if reading your thoughts, Kirishima taps his thumb against your lip. Leaning down, he closes in until he can feel the soft pants of your breath fan against his cheeks.

'Because it doesn't.'

You squeak. His cheeks have warmed, giving his boyish charm an added highlight as the vulgarity slips easily from his tongue. It contrasts with the sweetness still lingering in his smile, promising so much more than his boyish charm.

'Use your words... C'mon, tell me what you want.'

'I...' You swallow. Between the heat already building in your stomach and the embarrassment coiled low, you're tongue tied, but you know you're not going to get what you want without asking for it – he's made that more than clear. 'I... I - want you to fuck me...'

He chuckles, tilting his head. 'Yeah?..'

You fidget in the space he leaves. 'Please?'

'Oh.' Kirishima's eyes blow wide, a wicked smile pulling at the edge of his lip. 'Look at you using your manners...' He licks at his teeth. 'I think we're going to have a lot of fun, Sweetheart.'

-> Masterlist

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #mha x reader #kiri x reader #saturnsorbits #saturnscribbles

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workersolidarity · 1 year ago

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🇮🇱🇵🇸 💥ISRAELI MILITARY REPEATEDLY USING WHITE PHOSPHORUS ON DENSELY POPULATED GAZA AND LEBANON

Israel's use of White Phosphorus in military operations in densely populated Gaza and Lebanon puts civilians at risk of serious and long-term injuries according to a new Human Rights Watch report on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

White Phosphorus is a munition that uses an allotrope of the chemical element phosphorus to create a smoke, illumination or incindiary effect. White Phosphorus burns upon contact with air and reaches temperatures of 800°C [1'472°F].

White Phosphorus can often cause severe burns and injuries which can than absorb the phosphorus, leading to organ failure.

White Phosphorus can be used for marking, signaling, obscuring, or as an incindiary weapon to set fires that burn incredibly hot, devouring soldiers, equipment, and civilians alike.

"Any time that white phosphorus is used in crowded civilian areas, it poses a high risk of excruciating burns and lifelong suffering,” said Lama Fakih, Middle East and North Africa director at Human Rights Watch. “White phosphorous is unlawfully indiscriminate when airburst in populated urban areas, where it can burn down houses and cause egregious harm to civilians.”

Human Rights Watch verified videos taken in Lebanon and Gaza on October 10 and 11, 2023, respectively, showing multiple airbursts of artillery-fired white phosphorus over the Gaza City port and two rural locations along the Israel-Lebanon border, and interviewed two people who described an attack in Gaza.

Human Rights Watch spoke to the people who were from the Al-Mina sector of Gaza City who described "observing strikes consistent with the use of white phosphorus."

Both witnesses, who were in the street and an office building at the time, described seeing air strikes with explosions in the sky, followed by white lines falling to the Earth. The attacks took place some time between 11:30pm and 1am local time.

Both witnesses told Human Rights Watch the smell was strong and stifling and led one of the witnesses to approach a nearby window and record the incident from his phone.

"Human Rights Watch reviewed the video and verified that it was taken in Gaza City’s port and identified that the munitions used in the strike were airburst 155mm white phosphorus artillery projectiles," says the Human Rights Watch report.

"The use of white phosphorus in densely populated areas of Gaza violates the requirement under international humanitarian law to take all feasible precautions to avoid civilian injury and loss of life."

Israeli authorities refuse to confirm or deny the use of White Phosphorus despite the testimony of witnesses and video recordings.

Attacks using air-delivered incendiary weapons in civilian areas are prohibited under Protocol III of the Convention on Conventional Weapons (CCW). Though weaker restrictions exist for ground launched incindiary weapons.

Protocol III applies only to weapons that are “primarily designed” to set fires or cause burns, and thus some countries believe it excludes certain multipurpose munitions with incendiary effects, notably those containing white phosphorus.

#source

@WorkerSolidarityNews

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whatswrongwithblue · 7 months ago

Text

The Fire in the Sin

Chapter 16 - Possessed

Word count: 7,613. Read on AO3. Series Masterlist. <- Previous Chapter.

Summary: The consequences of Alastor being bested are felt by more than just himself. Trigger Warnings: Canon typical violence, possession, mentions of masturbation, alcohol and tobacco use, and self-harm/self-mutilation.

Series Summary:

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

Chapter 16 - Possessed

1984

It only took Rosie’s people a couple hours to gather up their resources and investigate just what had happened to Mina and who was involved. They reported their findings to her and Rosie used the information to quickly come up with a plan; one that would be very fortuitous for herself.

That is how, come midafternoon that very same day, Rosie walked through the same door Mina had that morning and heard the same bell chime its welcome to her.

“Good afternoon,” she said to the same two assistants that were still manning the register.

Another shopper had peaked around one of the stacks, spotted Rosie, and scurried past her and out the front door.

“And where would the owner of this fine establishment be?”

The boy was staring at her open mouthed, but the girl seemed to have a little bit more wits about her, so she wordlessly leaned forward and banged on the little bell in front of her.

“What is it?!” Theodore shouted from somewhere in the back.

Without taking her eyes off Rosie, the girl hit the bell again.

“Oh for fucks sake, if those two have run off again-“ Theodore stopped his rant as he walked up front, freezing in place when he saw Rosie.

“Children,” Rosie said, turning to the desk attendants. “Theodore will no longer be needing your assistance. See yourselves out.”

“Hey, now wait a minute, I own their souls. You can’t just-“

“Oh, and a word of advice, my dears,” Rosie said, ignoring his protests. “Once you get out those front doors . . .” She flashed them her toothiest smile. “Run.”

The assistants made haste and left the store, moving quicker than Theodore had ever seen them move before.

“I didn’t do anything,” he began once the door had swung shut.

Rosie laughed. “A liar and a coward. And Mina always spoke of you with such regard to your character.”

He swallowed nervously with an audible gulp.

Rosie made a show of looking around the place. She peaked through the curtain of the front window, inspecting the neighboring buildings, and then turned towards the small spiral staircase, looking up at the landing above that housed more books.

“You know, this neighborhood is really only a few minutes away from Cannibal Town. And I’ve been thinking for a while that I should expand my boarders. Getting a bit too dense in there, if you know what I mean. But I’m backed up against so many other sections of the city, there’s really nowhere to go. I’m a reasonable woman after all, and no one has given me a reason to take over what’s theirs. Until now, that is.”

“What-you can’t! It was just me! You can’t just take over several other businesses because of what I did to one girl!”

Rosie tsked at him, disapprovingly.

“They let those ghouls into their neighborhood. They watched as Mina was dragged from your shop. I can’t have simpletons like that so close to my boarders. But don’t worry about them. The other businesses around here will have a choice. Join me, and learn how a real Overlord runs things, or . . . be on the menu.”

Theodore began to back away, trying to put the front desk between himself and Rosie.

She just smiled at him, allowing him to make his small retreat.

“How did you find out?” he asked as he sidestepped behind the desk.

“I have my ways,” she answered with a delicate shrug.

“And just to be clear, you’re implying you won’t be giving me the same choice as you’ll give the others?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Like I said, lots of people in Cannibal Town these days. Gotta give them fresh meat sometimes.”

Behind her, the door opened again, and half a dozen cannibals filtered into the shop.

Theodore reached for the shelving hidden behind the desk and pulled out a gun. Rather than pull it on Rosie or the Cannibals, he lifted it to his own head and pulled the trigger with no hesitation.

The trigger clicked a tiny, useless sound and Theodore stared at the gun.

“Like I said,” Rosie smiled, “I have my ways. Did you think I was going to leave you with an easy way out? Let you respawn and hide somewhere else? The chase could be fun . . .”

Her cannibals were circling the desk, two on either open ends and two standing at the front, completely caging him in.

“But I’m a busy woman,” Rosie stated, “and I don’t have time for that kind of nonsense.”

The two Cannibals at the front of the desk leaped over the barrier as the four at each side closed the distance as well.

Outside the building, several demons passing by stopped as the screaming began and then quickly headed in the opposite direction when they saw the large mass of Cannibals walking down the middle of the street, breaking into smaller groups and entering several neighboring businesses at once.

_____

The rest of that first day was the hardest for Mina.

Once she came to, it became evident that while she was no longer in physical pain and had longer bouts of clarity than just the couple of seconds she had shown at Rosie’s, the mental attack she was fighting was far from over.

Alastor hadn’t chained her to the wall at first. He couldn’t bring himself to. She was still sound asleep and peaceful looking. He had only kept the shackles around her neck as a precaution against her morphing into her larger form, but he hadn’t really believed it would be an issue anymore.

He laid her down on the sofa in the main room of the radio tower, careful to move the links of the large chain so that they were more comfortable for her. More of her hair had fallen in her eyes so he brushed the strands away and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered to her, and she made a soft, sweet whine in her sleep in response. His strained grin lifted at the corners just a bit, his hope growing that she would be okay now.

He dressed her using his magic, her usual orange sundress appearing first as a wrapping of shadows around her sleeping form, before solidifying as clothing, zipped up and fitting her body perfectly.

Alastor sat on the couch beside her, watching her sleep for several minutes. He was just barely keeping his rage at bay. So much of him wanted to go find Kassandra right then and there and rip her soul apart in the streets for everyone to see. But he made himself sit there, quietly, and keep guard over Mina until she was well again. He had been speaking the truth when he told Abaddon he knew Mina would want her revenge. As hard as it was for him to imagine his love being beaten, undressed, and her mind assaulted, it had to be all the more difficult for her. The best thing he could do for her was force himself to settle now so they could seek their vengeance together later.

It wasn’t long before she began to stir. First her eyes opened and blinked, then she sat up, feeling the shackle around her neck, and Alastor could see the moment when Mina recalled what had happened that day.

“It’s just a precaution,” he said, feeling ashamed he had left her in them. “I’ll remove them the second we’re sure your alright.”

Mina’s hands dropped from her neck to her lap. “You should have chained me to the wall.”

“I would never,” he insisted.

“Rosie’s going to kill me.”

“She will do no such thing, believe me.”

“If I were anyone else, she would have.”

“But you’re not anyone else. You're mine.”

Mina looked at him then, and Alastor tried to force his smile into something softer and more reassuring but as tears began to gather in her eyes, he felt his anger returning. She was not a woman who cried easily. It took a great amount of emotional distress to bring her to tears and watching her break like this was pulling at every last shred of Alastor’s sanity.

He was not a good or tender man. Alastor didn’t necessarily view himself as evil, he possessed some kind of moral compass, however broken and twisted it was. But he was well aware of the reasons as to why he was in Hell. And his first instincts when he saw the woman he loved hurt and crying, was not to comfort her, but to lash out at the thing that had done this to her. It was a great mental effort for him to remind himself that one had to come before the other, and he reached his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest, letting her sob out her frustrations.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried into his jacket, “I’m so sorry. I tried. I tried. I tried to fight them off. I tried to get her out of my head. But she’s so strong Al’. I didn’t mean to do the things I did. I didn’t want to. The whole time, I was trying to stop, I really was-“

“Mina,” he said sternly, cutting her off. “None of this was your fault.”

“But I was weak. That’s what Kassandra wanted to show everyone. That you had given yourself to someone weak. And she’s right-“

“Stop it,” he said and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away enough to make her look at him. “That’s just her in your head. You and I are going to kill them all for what they did to you, so that’s enough talk of weakness, my dear.”

Mina seemed to relax a little then. Her tears were still falling but she wasn’t sobbing in earnest anymore, and she sank back into him, seeking comfort in his embrace.

Alastor sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the couch, trying to ignore the rush of hormones in his body as Mina’s figure pressed against his but his thoughts began to wander.

She was crying, and soft, and warm against his body, she needed him to show her that she was his, that she was safe in his possession, that no one but him would ever again be allowed to touch her like this.

He was snapped from his rut-induced train of thought when she suddenly tensed against him and shame coursed through him, thinking she had somehow caught on to the fantasy emerging in his mind.

But then Mina began to growl and her hands shot up, clutching the sides of her head. She screamed a guttural, desperate sound as she struggled against another mental onslaught.

Alastor sat up with her, taking hold of her forearms.

“Mina,” he said, unsure of what to do or say.

“I CAN’T GET HER OUT!” she screamed. Her face was turning red with effort, her cheeks wet with fresh tears, and Alastor saw a trickle of blood running down her wrist and realized too late she was clawing at herself.

He made the mistake of trying to force her hands away from her, just to keep her from hurting herself further, and she lashed out at him with another feral shriek, and bit into his shoulder.

Her teeth tore through jacket and shirt and sank into the meat of his shoulder and his survival instincts kicked in. Shadows forced themselves around her, pushing her off him and wrapping themselves around her, holding her down on the couch. His real shadow appeared on the wall, spreading itself up and out, hissing down at her as she continued to struggle and scream, once again completely out of her mind.

Alastor sucked in a breath of air and pressed his hand to his bleeding shoulder, looking at Mina with pity and concern. He had underestimated by a long shot just how much she would continue to struggle for command over her body and mind.

“I’m so sorry, Mina,” he said, though he was sure she couldn’t comprehend his words, and stood, grabbing the ends of the chains.

His shadows forced her along behind him so she wasn’t dragged, and he chained her to the wall on the opposite side of the room, keeping tentacles of shadow around her wrists so that she couldn’t do any further damage to herself.

She looked like so many of the souls he had brought misery to in his time in Hell. With a chain around her neck, his shadows forcing her down, her screams of desperation and rage against him filling up the room.

Alastor turned away, unable to watch.

Had there really been a time when this is what he had wanted to do to her? To own her soul and keep her in chains, completely at the whim of his own will and power? He had done it to thousands of others easily; joyfully even. And he would do it again a thousand times over. But to Mina? It seemed abhorrent and unnatural to see her like this.

Several long minutes went by with her in that state until she eventually collapsed to the floor, crying quietly but when he said her name, she didn’t respond. She was still out of it, unaware of her surroundings, it was just that her body was too exhausted to struggle.

He summoned a mattress beneath her and once she had fallen truly asleep, he let his shadows dissipate from around her.

It was going to be a very long 48 hours for him.

Looking down with disgust at the tent in his pants, he realized he wouldn’t be able to care for her alone like he wanted to. Not when he would have to keep leaving her side to take care of that.

He left her briefly for a few minutes, chaperoned by his shadow, and transported himself to the bathroom to clean up the blood from his shoulder and relieve his other problem, before heading back upstairs and summoning Niffty.

She got to quick work, cleaning up the discarded mess he had left around his workstation, and then the blood that had splattered on the floor and couch from Mina’s attack, before making tea with honey to sooth Mina’s throat once she woke up.

Alastor would never have even thought about her throat being hurt from all her screaming and allowed himself to relax a little once Niffty had considered it, knowing for sure he had made the right decision by bringing her into this.

“Thank you, Niffty,” he said as she placed the tray down on the small dining table in the room where he and Mina had shared their first meal together. She even had a tea cozy around the pot and a little candle burning beneath it to keep it warm until Mina woke again. Alastor wasn’t sure where she had gotten such a thing, but Niffty was often as mysterious in her abilities as Alastor himself was.

“It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?” she asked, watching Mina sleep from across the room.

Alastor nodded, accepting a cup of the tea as Niffty handed it to him, unsweetened like he preferred it. “It is, my dear. Unfortunately, it is. But it won’t be for much longer, I’m sure of it.”

Niffty wandered around the room, restless as usual for something to do, now that she had cleaned the place from top to bottom. She stopped at one of the large windows, peering down at the street below.

“Oh no,” she said, wringing her small hands nervously.

“What is it?” Alastor asked and strode over to see what she was looking at.

A large crowd of demons, Sinners and Hellborns alike, were gathered around the radio tower. Most were keeping a safe distance, but many were standing directly beneath them, gawking up at the tower as if they could catch a glimpse of something through the one-way windows.

“I guess word has gotten out about what happened today, huh?” she asked, peeling her eyes away from the scene below to look up at Alastor.

The teacup shattered in his grip as his smile widened to an unnatural width across his features.

“’Eat shit and die,’ that was the supposed message for me. What do you think, Niffty?”

She climbed up on his shoulder, looking down at the crowd from her improved vantage point.

“I think you should burn them, sir,” she said with a smile that matched his own.

They shared a knowing look and laughed together, and then in unison turned their gaze back on the demons below.

A shadow grew at the base of the tower, spreading like flowing water across the street, reaching out to the furthest members of the crowd.

Alastor tilted his head, enjoying how many of them began to nervously lift one foot and then the other, pathetically trying to avoid the shadow’s reach.

With a squint of his eyes and a snap of his fingers, the shadow ignited, and green flames devoured the entire crowd as one. Dozens, maybe even a hundred, demons screaming in unison as their souls were devoured and then added to his collection.

It was his turn to leave a message to all of Pentagram City. The Radio Demon didn’t have to step a foot out of his tower to be a threat, regardless of the slight against his own hours before.

“Alastor?” Mina’s rough voice called for him, and both he and Niffty turned away from the window, the green glow of the blaze reflecting behind them.

Niffty jumped from his shoulder and ran over to the teapot, pouring out a cup and began to walk towards her.

Mina pulled away as Niffty approached her, pressing herself against the wall.

“Stay back,” she warned, and Niffty stopped, glancing over at Alastor with a questioning look.

“She’s just trying to help,” Alastor told Mina.

Mina’s ears went flat against her head and she looked away, ashamed and submissive. “I don’t want to hurt her,” she said in a small voice.

Alastor sent a tendril of shadow from his back that stretched across the room and carefully took the handle of the teacup before carrying it over to Mina.

The tentacle held it in front of her face and she reached out, taking it in both hands and then meeting Alastor’s eyes again.

“For your throat,” he explained.

Mina sipped at it for a few minutes and then laid back down on the mattress, turning her back to the other two occupants, and remaining silent.

Niffty stayed a while longer, cooking them all a meal while Alastor watched over Mina, excusing himself for a few moments of privacy every once in a while to deal with the affects of his rut.

Mina didn’t touch her food that was left in a bowl beside her, too upset to eat, or perhaps to repulsed by food because of Kassandr’a presence in her head. It was hard to say.

She fell to her insanity a couple more times before twilight officially fell over the city.

Alastor and Niffty watched her as she struggled against her bonds, her body attempting to morph even with the chains on. Mina was on all fours, pulling backwards against the chain on her neck, her body long and barely human anymore as it strained with all its might against the angelic power forcing it to stay small. Her spine protruded out from between her shoulder blades, her ribs stretching the fabric of her dress nearly to the point of tearing it with every heaving breath she took, and her claws tore into the mattress below her, desperate to gain leverage in her struggle against her chains. Alastor kept his shadows hovering over her, ready to force her still should she turn those claws on herself again.

All the while, she screamed and cried, her face contorted in misery as she fought for control over her body.

“You can go now, Niffty. I’ll call on you sometime tomorrow. Go and get some rest now,” Alastor said to her.

Mina’s struggles were only getting more intense and though he probably could still use Niffty’s help, it was getting to the point where he wanted Mina to keep what was left of her dignity and not have anyone else witness the worst of what she was going through.

Niffty nodded dutifully as shadows engulfed her, sending her back to wherever she had been when he had summoned her.

Mina continued with her battles throughout the night, off and on, nearly until morning when she finally collapsed for several hours on the mattress.

Before she had truly fallen to sleep, trusting in that longer moment of lucidity, Alastor had risked undoing the chains from the wall and had his shadow escort her to the restroom so she could at least take care of that one bodily need in private. He had sighed in relief when she had returned, quickly and peacefully, though she laid down and again turned away from him when he hooked her back to the wall.

He took off his jacket and laid down beside her, reaching an arm around her to her spoon her from behind, but she tensed and pulled away.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, and then said softy, “please. I’ll hurt you.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” he said, and reached his arm around her again, succeeding that time in pulling her against him.

“I bit you,” she protested, still tense but no longer trying to put distance between them.

“Oh, it’s nothing worse than what you’ve done in moments of passion, my dear,” he said lightly, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, right in the middle of one of his particularly favorite leopard spots.

“It’s different,” she mumbled.

She was right, of course. Her love bites were always painful, but pleasant. Enough to break the skin and draw blood, but the pain during intercourse was thrilling. What she had done in her moment of madness had truly hurt and had been a much deeper wound. But still, it had healed within the hour and he was confident in being able to read the warning signs of an attack now, as well as his ability to hold her back even if she did manage to get another bite or scratch in.

Right now he just wanted to comfort her, to hold her after everything she had been through that day. And, he couldn’t deny, his own body was desperate to touch her.

Her breathing began to slow and he knew that she had fallen asleep. He stayed there, exhausted as well, and closed his eyes as he tried to drift off to sleep.

Dozing off, and half asleep, his hand wandered over her body. The smooth backside of his clawed nails trailing up and down her arm, a soothing rhythm for both of them. Then the smell of her overtook his senses and his hand left her arm, now following the curve of her hip and upper thigh over the fabric of her dress.

His eyes snapped open, the dim red glow of them illuminating her silhouette, as his hand found the bunched up skirt near her upper thigh.

He imagined that hand slipping beneath the dress, following her smooth skin up, exposing the soft round flesh of her ass. She had it pressed against him just right and he could feel himself growing hard against her. It would take so little effort to adjust her body, pull aside her panties, and take her right there. He thought of Kassandra in her mind and it only made him harder, made him want to at least claim her body, remind that bitch that Mina was untouchable, that she was his, and her warm little body would always be his, and no one else’s, for the taking. Mina would likely even stay asleep through the act, he could just quickly slip himself inside and-

Alastor yanked his hand away from her and stood up.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

His rut was no excuse. Even in her heat, even while drunk, Mina had better control of herself than he did. It was embarrassing. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself at even entertaining the thought of using her body that way, when she was in no state to consent.

Even with his mind shouting at him for what he had nearly done, his body still sought what it was after.

In a rage, Alastor disappeared from the room, turning to shadow and leaving Mina sleeping as he did what he had to do in the bathroom below.

Afterwards, as he washed his hands, Alastor looked up, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror.

That stupid fucking smile.

He had never hated it so much. Never hated himself so much as he did in that moment. He wanted to cut it off his face like he had his tail so many times in the past.

Alastor punched the mirror, watching it shatter, only to have the broken glass reveal a dozen more smaller reflections of the same damnable smile back at him.

With a shout, he ripped the mirror off the wall and threw it across the room. It hit the edge of the claw-footed tub and settled on the floor, completely broken, with his reflection finally hidden from him.

He gripped the edges of the sink, breathing hard, and looked down into the basin of the sink.

Alastor watched as droplets of water hit the porcelain and after a moment, realized he was crying.

Everything caught up to him in that moment. What had been done to Mina. How horrifically her body and mind had been violated. He had failed her. He had let a threat build under his very watch and it had come for her. And now he was helpless as she fought for herself. He couldn’t even heal her; he had needed Abaddon for that. And now he had to just watch as she fought off that demon in her mind and in her moment of weakness, as she fell asleep in his arms, still trusting him to watch over and protect her, he had nearly raped her. All because he couldn’t control himself during his rut.

Alastor dropped to his knees, still clutching the edges of the sink, and broke down into sobs.

He hadn’t felt this horrid in a very long time. It was like being surrounded by a dark cloud, that pressed against his mind and ate up every emotion except pain. No longer anything as clear as anger or guilt, just pain. Just an endless dense fog that kept him from thinking or feeling anything coherent.

As an adult, he had found a release from these moods. By embracing another kind of darkness, he had dispelled this blackness from his heart and aimed it towards others. That was when he discovered the glory of murder, how beautiful his wrath could be when targeted towards those who deserved it.

But as a child and as a teen, there had been no other outlet but the one tugging at his subconscious now.

It was a method he hadn’t relied on since well before he had died, unless one considered what he had done to his tail. He reflected on those nights now, his mind clinging to the release he had felt watching that band of red fur fall to the floor after spending agonizing minutes sawing through flesh and bone and cartilage to be free of the assaulting appendage he had hated so much. But through the physical pain and agony, there had been a kind of clarity. A release from the feeling of self-hatred, from the helpless way his anger overpowered him during his first few years in Hell.

But Mina loved his tail . . . he couldn’t risk her finding out about this pathetic and empty habit of his. It would break her heart and worse, she would pity him.

Something simpler then, like what he had indulged in as a juvenile.

Before he had time to consider his next actions, the knife was in his hand. Serrated and sharp, with a well-balanced handle that fit perfectly in his grip.

Then he was on the floor, leaning against the wall by the sink, amidst the plants and the humidity and cool, soothing tile, with his jacket off and one sleeve rolled up.

One . . . two . . . three . . .

The knife drew long, shallow lines of red, one after the other, down his forearm and with every cut, he felt a little more clear headed.

. . . four . . . five . . . six . . . seven . . .

The first slice was already beginning to heal and Alastor watched, fascinated as the blood trickled down his arm from a wound that was no longer there.

His breathing stilled, his sobs subsiding then.

And then he thought of Mina; his dear, sweet, strong Mina, alone upstairs, getting no reprieve from the monsters in her mind, and he began cutting again, starting once more from the top.

One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . seven . . .

Pause. Another tilt of his head as he considered the flesh stitching itself back together.

One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . seven . . .

He continued this pattern, over and over again, never bothering to keep count of how many times he had to start over before his powerful, undead body healed itself. He just continued on, waiting for the cloud in his mind to dissipate, for the pain to end, so that he could return to where he knew he needed to be.

Alastor sat there, alone in the bathroom, waiting for that blessed composure and control he had wielded for decades to finally return to him, while Mina slept upstairs, unaware.

____

He didn’t sleep at all the rest of the night, though that wasn’t unusual for him.

What was unusual was that he normally kept himself busy to force himself awake; but that night and into the early morning, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he wanted to. His body was too on fire, raging with hormones, and his mind was too emotionally wrecked.

Alastor was exhausted but he didn’t deserve rest.

Once he was sure Mina would sleep until morning, he added a comforter and a large, comfortable pillow for her, and tucked her in, whispering to her sleeping form once more that he loved her.

Then he kept his distance, afraid of losing control again.

So he sat in the chair he kept by his main workstation and spent the night looking out over the city, occasionally smoking his pipe and going through several glasses of whiskey.

It took a lot for him to get drunk, at least to the point of blacking out, but he did find that it helped dull his senses enough to tame the urges brought on by his rut and it kept a certain organ of his body from acting up quite as often.

By sunrise, he was still fuming, barely keeping his rage below the surface, and feeling more restless than he could recall since ending up in Hell. But he was too exhausted, and a sore combination of hung over and still a bit tipsy, to really be feeling any kind of sexual desire. It was quite the accomplishment, given how deep into his rut he was.

Mina shifted under the covers and when he turned to look at her, she was sitting up, clutching at her head.

At first he was concerned that another bought of possession was taking hold of her but then she groaned and it was just a normal, headache induced moan.

“God my head is killin’ me,” she said, her accent extra thick in her sleepy state.

Alastor summoned a glass of water and brought it over to her, sitting down on the edge of the mattress next to her.

She took it gratefully, taking several large sips before setting it back down.

“I apologize for making you sleep out here. Truly, I would have preferred to let you rest in our bed but . . .”

“No, it’s fine, I was plenty comfortable,” she said, brushing off his apology. “Thank you, for keeping me safe yesterday. I still don’t feel . . . alone in here,” she said, tapping her temple, “but her voice is quieter now. It’s a bit easier to resist the urge to tear at your throat, at least.”

“May I take these off then?” he asked, reaching for the shackle around her neck.

She slapped his hand away. “Don’t you dare.”

“Mina . . .” he said, frowning. “I hate to see you in such things.”

“They help. Really, I think they do.” She sniffed at him. “Have you been drinking?”

“I-“ he started, feeling heat come to his face. “It was a rough night.”

Mina tilted her head, confused for a moment, then her eyes widened as she realized what he meant. “Your rut! Oh God, Alastor, I’m so sorry. Ugh, this is all my fault,” she said, burying her face in her hands.

Alastor put a hand around one of her wrists and gently pulled her hand away from her face.

“Mina, listen to me,” he said, and he was relieved to see no tears in her eyes, only a bit of shame. “I may be incredibly angry about all of this, but I am neither angry at you, nor do I place any of the blame on you. I only wish I could help you more.”

“Oh, Al’,” she said, twisting her wrist out of his grasp so that she could hold his hand properly, and placed a kiss across the black skin of his knuckles. “You are everything I need you to be. You were strong enough to do what needed to be done to keep me from hurting myself or you.”

“I wish I could be more . . .comforting,” he said, unconsciously wrinkling his nose at his distaste for the word.

Mina laughed softly at him and squeezed his hand. “Why, so I could bite you again?”

Her smile suddenly turned to a frown, and she dropped his hand, scooting backwards across the mattress.

“What? What is it?” he asked.

She held her head again and took several long, steadying breaths. “Just give me a moment.”

After a minute she relaxed a bit and met his eyes sheepishly.

“Troubles not over then, is it?” he asked.

“No,” she sighed, “I’m afraid not. But I can handle it.” After another moment went by, she returned to her train of thought. “Alastor, I love everything that you are. Please, don’t ever try to be anything less or more than your natural self for my sake. I do not want the kind of man that will wallow in pity for me when I am hurt. I want you angry, so be fucking angry, okay? Because I want that bloody bitch dead by the end of tomorrow. You want to show me how much you love me? Let me watch while you tear her to pieces.”

Alastor smiled and for the first time since Mina’s capture, it was a genuine expression. He reached in and pulled her close, kissing her softly on the lips.

It was a small mistake. The intimate moment fueled his rut and Mina’s body tensed, almost losing control of her senses because of the distraction, and they pulled away at the same time, though regretfully.

“Best to save that for afterwards as well then?” Alastor said, irritated at the reminder.

Mina nodded, looking as sad about it as he felt, and again moved herself until she was on the far end of the mattress.

The rest of the day went by a little better.

Alastor had been moved by her words, her appreciation for his character more evident than ever. It soothed his guilty conscience over the night before now that he knew for sure he had behaved the way Mina had wanted him to, even when she couldn’t communicate that to him.

She had several episodes where she nearly lost herself again, but she was able to fend off the mental attacks before they escalated to the point of her screaming and lashing out.

Alastor summoned Nifty again, who was happy to cook and clean, and even helped sooth Mina during some of the more difficult spells. Eventually, it became evident that between the help of Nifty and the presence of his shadow, he would be able to leave Mina’s side long enough to take a shower. He knew he smelled of booze and the shower would give him the opportunity to linger on caring for his physical needs, leaving him more satisfied and calmer than before.

As evening fell and it had been a few hours since Mina’s last episode, Alastor sent Nifty away, and he unhooked Mina from the wall. With his shadow in tow, but her chain still around her neck, Mina disappeared from the control room, daring to use the restroom and take a shower for herself.

Alastor paced around the main room of the radio tower, more nervous than he had let on for Mina’s well-being. He knew it was a risky move but at some point they had to start testing the limits of her sanity and his shadow would alert him if she slipped again into madness.

That was when Abaddon decided to show up.

They stepped through the portal and into the Radio Tower as if they had done it before. Alastor bristled at the audacity.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with no pleasantness in his tone or expression despite his smile.

“Oh, calm down, I’m here for Mina, not you. I have a gift for her,” they replied with a dismissive wave of their hand and began walking around the room, staring openly at the décor. “Where is she?”

“Taking a shower. How did you get in here?” Alastor was in no mood for the angel’s games.

“Really?” they asked, turning around and looking at Alastor with surprise. “She’s already well enough for that? I have to say, I wasn’t expecting her to recover that quickly. But the constitution on that woman has always been impressive, to say the least.”

“How did you get in here?” Alastor repeated.

Abaddon chuckled and then turned back to the small display case of antiques and artwork.

“You may be in a relationship of sorts with her, but Mina is still under my protection. If you didn’t realize I had come here to make sure she would be safe here well before she moved in, then that’s your problem, not mine.”

Alastor snorted. “And you would have been able to stop her if you decided I wasn’t good enough for her?”

“You aren’t good enough,” Abaddon said simply, “but you are safe enough. For now. Are these real shrunken heads?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Alastor asked, ignoring Abaddon’s last question.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” they challenged. “That one day you’ll choose something else over Mina and it will either break her heart or get her killed.”

Alastor laughed in their face. “That. Is. Ridiculous. What preposterous scenario does your holiness foresee in which I would ever do that to her? Please, enlighten me.”

“Oh wow, you really believe it, don’t you?” Abaddon said, looking at Alastor as if this was a sudden and fascinating realization. “Cuz I feel like I’m going insane, watching you two. I seem to be the only one around here who knows you are the kind of man to always choose power over everything else. Men like you, demons like you, can never hold onto anything good. One day, you’ll make a move for more power and you’ll leave Mina behind. And I’ll be sure to be there for her when you do.”

“Get out,” Alastor said.

Abaddon had struck a deep and tender nerve, and Alastor could feel his antlers growing already. He couldn’t win a fight against Abaddon, he knew that. He also knew if Abaddon pushed him any further, he wouldn’t be able to help himself in starting one.

“No,” Abaddon said, turning their back on him, unthreatened by the display, and smiled sweetly over their shoulder at him.

Alastor snapped. The room shrunk around him as he increased his height and he felt a number of tentacles begin growing out his back.

“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE BEFORE I-“

Alastor stopped in his tracks as his shadow darted into the room, attaching itself at his feet. Within the blink of an eye, he returned back to his normal form, a microsecond before Mina appeared in the room.

He was still breathing hard, his fury held in check by a hair, and he was sure his eyes were betraying him, having either turned to radio dials, or green, or black, or some combination of the three. The blasted things always gave him away.

Mina paused for a moment, looking at Alastor and then at Abaddon, and then rolled her eyes.

She may not know the extent of how much those two hated each other, but she wasn’t blind to the fact that they didn’t care for each other. Alastor being at the peak of his rut didn’t help, so she held no surprise that they had clearly been arguing.

She had dressed thankfully, even adding her usual light sweater that she normally forewent when they were home alone together. Alastor assumed the increased modesty was more to help with the symptoms of his rut rather than any precognition that Abaddon had arrived.

And she still had the shackle around her neck.

“Mina, good to see you feeling more yourself. And so quickly. I’m impressed,” Abaddon said, striding over to her and pulling her in for a hug.

Mina hugged them back but looked over their shoulder at Alastor, her eyes looking concerned as they met his.

He hadn’t moved a muscle, remaining stiff as a board as he watched Abaddon.

“What can I say?” she shrugged as she pulled away. “I’m impressive.”

“Are you really okay?” Abaddon asked, more sincere and serious.

“Not out of the woods yet, apparently,” she said and Alastor’s eyebrows rose up, catching the implication that she had nearly lost control while alone in the shower. “I’m okay,” Mina continued, looking at him, and then gestured at his shadow, “that helped me get through it just fine.”

She then turned to Abaddon. “I’m sure your healing me helped tremendously. And Alastor as been nothing short of wonderful. It was a hard night, for both of us.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t heal you completely,” Abaddon said, and Alastor suppressed the urge to make an audible, disgusted noise at the display of concern from them. “But even direct angelic interference is only an aid when it comes to possession. The fight is ultimately up to you. But, as we can all see, you’re one hell of a fighter. Here,” they said as they held out their hand and a small vial of golden liquid appeared hovering above their open palm, “this should help you win the final round.”

Mina took it, looking at it skeptically.

“This is . . . blood?” she guessed, turning the vial and studying the viscosity of the liquid.

Abaddon nodded. “I was inspired by Kassandra’s power. Now, I’m really not supposed to get involved in the politics of Overlords. It’s frowned upon, as you know. But we’ll just keep this one between the three of us and no one will know.”

“It’ll help me get rid of her?” Mina asked.

“Not exactly. Once you feel like you’re ready to take her on in person, drink this. It’ll increase your powers enough to take on even the strongest Overlords. Just temporarily though. Don’t go taking over the city once your done with Kassandra.”

“You won’t be in my head like she is?”

Abaddon frowned, looking a little insulted. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t do that to you, Mina. Especially not after what you just went through.”

“I know,” Mina said, pressing her palm to her forehead and shaking her head. “I know, I’m sorry. There’s just . . . lots of noise up here right now.”

“Of course,” they said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “No need to be sorry. Anyway, I should get going. Alastor,” they said with a polite nod, “Always good seeing you.”

A portal opened behind them and then turned to walk through it.

“Oh, and Mina?” they said, before they had stepped through. “Kick her ass.”

Then they were gone, the portal closing behind them.

Mina turned to Alastor as soon as they were alone.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“No,” Alastor answered truthfully, his voice deeper and more warped than usual. “I could use a few minutes alone.”

Mina gave a nearly imperceptible nod and Alastor disappeared, leaving her alone with his shadow.

Next Chapter ->

Tag list: @inuhalfdemon @saccharine-nectarine @whoknowswhoiamtoday

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel fanfiction #the radio demon #alastor #alastor x reader #fanfiction #alastor hazbin #radio demon

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 9 months ago

Note

Heyo! Do you have a personal ranking of all TWST (JP) events?

Though another random thing I want to say is about the events, do you think some events are more forgotten about than others??? I say this because I think the Sunset Savana Tamashina, Endless Halloween, Wish upon a star and Beans Day are usually not talked about as much as other events like the Ghost Marriage and Fairy Gala events.

Unless this is all just the TWST stuff I'm usually fed...

I haven't ranked all of the events myself since a lot of them fall into a "they're okay" middle ground category. (Besides, my rankings would be outdated and I’d have to come back and edit my list every month when new events come out.)

What I will say is that my favorite events right now are the following (in no particular order): Glorious Masquerade, Fairy Gala: If, Wish Upon a Star, Ghost Marriage, Beans Day (I + II), and White Rabbit Fest. I give more in-depth thoughts about my favorite events here!

I personally have not noticed a significant skew towards certain events over the others, though of course this could vary a lot depending on the smaller TWST circles you run in and/or what your social media algorithms feed you. The general trend tends to be a huge burst of discussion or related fan content during or around the time of the event's run or rerun, then the hype dies down once the event ends. Most of the event-specific content you'll see after the events (at least in my experience) are theories/analyses calling back to details mentioned in the events. TWST itself certainly doesn't discriminate against certain events; to this day, they still sometimes come out with merch for their earliest event, Beans Day. There's probably going to be another wave of event-themed merch to coincide with the later events.

To explain maybe why you may perceive certain events as more popular than others: not all events are created equal, and not all events drop interesting lore that people find worth discussing. The endings for Tamashina Mina and Endless Halloween Night were, as I recall, contentious or not well-received by pockets of the fandom. This could explain why they're not talked about much. Wish Upon a Star was notable for being the first time ever we saw the boys' individual rooms, but other than that... there wasn't anything that exciting to most. A lot of their wishes were self-explanatory or expected, and Idia's conflict is also one that is explored or otherwise mentioned many times over, which could result in a lack of fandom interest.

Beans Day has its age to consider. As the oldest event, it has maybe just eroded in memory due to the passage of time. Additionally, it's one of the few events (outside of Halloween ones) to prominently feature the entire cast, meaning everyone is fighting for the spotlight and thus makes it harder for specific events or interactions to stick out in people's minds.

And as to why Ghost Marriage and Fairy Gala are popular? I'll be 100% honest, I'm pretty sure it's because of the aesthetics. FG does not have a fantastic story, but man, do those outfits look good. GM is in a similar situation (who doesn't love a cute guy in a suit?), and it has the distinction of being the one and only TWST event with an overt "romance" theme (which appeals to the dense population of yumes and/or shippers in the fandom).

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #question #notes from the writing raven #jp spoilers

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bibibbon · 7 months ago

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Hi again! So when it comes to friendships in MHA, I tend to notice that most of Class 1-A antics usually centre around mineta and bakugo's behaviour to the class, (Violence and Seggsual Harassment) like they just react to it, but never bother correcting them (Mineta being an exception, but not enough to completely change him).

Like the whole class as whole feels... Empty and stale when it comes to forming new friendships, since they're already established ones, but we never get to see them hanging out with the others. And some of them have potentials like Momo and Deku due to their self esteem issues or Ojiro and Uraraka training together to perfect each other's martial arts.

There's a scene where Momo agrees to tutor the other failing students thats cute as heck and it showcases Momo's willingness to help them improve to become better heroes, and I want more of that.

But with the series ending, I don't think this is even possible to have more that, and it almost comes off as fake to the audience that these are found family, where in reality we barely see them acting as friends. (Teasing has a limit, and making fun of Kaminari's dumb moments when he overcharges his Quirk doesn't count.)

What do you think? Again I don't watch the series full episodes, but I get these impressions from watching cut out moments.

Welcome back anon! Iam guessing that you're the anon who asked for writing advice and honestly Iam hoping that you found the post and the reblogs with advice useful as well. Good luck on your first project and make sure to have fun and take your time with it!

Now getting on to the ask you're somewhat right. Class 1A doesn't have a strong found family dynamic at all and I chalk this up to two main reasons.

The lack of "filler" academic arcs meaning that we don't get a proper focus on what they do as regular teenagers.

There are too many people within class 1A. 20 characters are a lot of characters to develop and make sure that they're all unique with different dynamics.

Due to these two reasons hori's attempts at making 1A seem like a big found family that would do anything for eachother fails and it's also why the the whole "we are all the greatest hero" thing fails and why the vigilante izuku arc feels so underwhelming.

When it comes to class 1A's dynamic they somehow always try to incorporate bakugo into whatever they're doing and sometimes even make him the center of attention which personally seems very weird to me since if someone is being aggressive and doesn't want to join I (and most people) would probably leave them out and let them be by themselves.

Mineta on the other hand is someone that's behaviour (like bk) continually goes unchecked by both students and teachers until mina tortures him into stopping. I get that this is supposed to be a gag scene but it honestly irks me out and shows 1) how neglectful aizawa is as a teacher to see this and only momentarily stop mineta while not putting a permeant stop to it and 2) how dense and persistent mineta is. Throughout certain arcs like the campfire arc mineta is literally tied up when the boys are sleeping so he doesn't do anything to the girls or we literally have a panel of mina staying close by to shoji's side to avoid mineta and his creepy behaviour.

This brings up the question of why does no one complain? It's at this point become a problem for both the boys and girls who have to deal with mineta. The boys are continually on his side, basically man handling him to stop him from doing stupid disgusting stuff to the girls and the girls are in constant fear/irritation around mineta. Do they not trust UA? Do they not trust aizawa or any teacher to properly deal with the issue?

We have established friendships in 1A but the lack of content of them hanging out and enjoying eachother company. Now you can find this in side mangas or light novels but not many read that and it's better to have it in main manga in the first place. Usually the opening or endings of MHA show us some scenes of the kids hanging out together but it's not much at all.

I remember reading a post that horikoshi wanted to include a karaoke scene with 1A after they finished their final exam but that sadly didn't make it into the final cut and Iam so disappointed because things like that could of helped us see the cute class bond they had and the found family thing that horikoshi tries to use later on.

Honestly momo and izuku interacting and becoming besties is a need and I know that @sapphic-agent has tried to prioritise that in her rewrite which is why in the battle trials it's Izuku and momo together instead of izuku and ochako.

The kaminari teasing is something that's a bit meh to me. I wish we could maybe see a duality in it that yes his friends would tease him but they would also worry and care for him. We could of seen this with ojirou who lets denki play with his tail whenever but that's only small little moments.

Horikoshi please make class 1A interact more in the main manga although it's now too late to ask for such things 😭

#mha critical #bnha critical #mha #horikoshi critical #hori is a bad writer #bhna critical #bnha #thanks for the ask #thanks for the ask!#thanks anon!#thanks anon #class 1A deserves better #we needed more breather arcs #iam hoping i have the right anon #if this isnt the same anon iam going to be so embarrassed but please correct me if iam wrong #bakugo critical #ua critical #aizawa critical

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bythepen98 · 2 years ago

Text

Sry if it looks a bit dark bc I also used it as a lighting study. Plus I finished this while exhausted and stressed out of my mind bc fck caffeine and anxiety

Tododeku 💚❤️

Another dancer!Izuku au (although there isn't any actual dancing drawn here)

The context:

In this scene, Izuku is watching a choreography video that he's about to work on (could be casual or he's doing a solo for an event/comp outside of school). Shouto's there to help him practice: in charge of keeping him steady when he's doing his spins and other maneuvers, turning on/off the music, bringing him a towel or water bottle during breaks, cooling him down when everything's finished.

He's an idiot in love who'll do anything Izuku asks of him, their classmates would say.

And they're absolutely right.

Even if Izuku technically doesn't need any help bc he's practiced on his own many times before, there's nothing wrong with having someone so willing to lessen the load AND keeping him company. He's still rly dense though and never wonders why when, at the corner of his eye, he'd notice Shoto staring at him with that dazed [fond] look on his face but flinch away when he looks back.

And the fleeting touches on his waist or back? Lmao he's gotten so used to physical touches over his years dancing with other people that he doesn't think anything of it. Shoto could probably lift him up (making Izuku instinctively wrap his legs around his waist) or dip him down in a suave move -Mina or Kaminari or good ol youtube taught him that one idk- practically touching nose to nose with the guy with the most obvious, besotted look ever and Izuku would just laugh and pat his head indulgently, completely unfazed.

Shoto isn't too disappointed bc he's just happy to be there and support Izuku in his hobbies. However, Class 1-A continues to give him pitying looks anyway the rest of the day/semester/school year while the teachers, excluding a sleeping Aizawa, are amused and constantly take bets on how things are progressing bc they clearly have nothing better to do than watch over student's love lives like it's a particularly long kdrama. All might is ofc ever supportive and rest assured he's always in the front row with Inko and Shoto in every event Izuku performs in. Katsuki, his platonic soulmate/rival at life also makes it a point to attend as many shows as he can but WILL deny when asked even if you can clearly see his deeply impressed scowl all the way from the stage.

Anyway, that's the limit of my imagination at the moment. I tried my best with this one but looking at it again..... yeah definitely needs more improvement. I'll just have to keep practicing then by drawing more Tododeku and my other loved ships :D

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mechazushi · 5 months ago

Text

God, you're dense [Affectionate].

{a Kn8 short story}

Hoshina wasn't one to play games. Sure, he liked to have fun, but playing with people's emotions and perceptions wasn't something he could get into. He raised himself on the belief that being straight forward on something was the best course of action. If someone couldn't get on the same page as him, that was on them. He worked in a position where the best moves forward and anyone else that can't keep up with him were best left behind. Of course, much like most rules in life, there were exceptions to the rule. His biggest fault to everything he stood for was a tall, jolly, brute of a beast named Kafka. Kafka would be an exception to most everything he would die on a hill for. On the opposite end of the spectrum, however, was one person that he held to the highest accordance of his standards. His brother.

Hoshina made a point not to talk to his brother after he got accepted into the defense force. The restrictions on that got tighter after he got accepted as Mina's Vice Captain. Since before, he still showed up to family gatherings at the least to entertain his mother's concerns about his livelihood in the Third Division. Still, just because he didn't make attempts to contact his family, doesn't mean his family doesn't make attempts to contact him. It was always inevitable (because they don't tell him ahead of time) always with the supposed best of intentions (Because what quality road to hell isn't paved with them) and always at the most inconvenient times (an ability that seemed to be an inbred skill in every other family member). Between catching up on chores that should have been done yesterday, decaf in the communal coffee machine, and his third favorite pen breaking, Hoshina found he wasn't in the mood to talk. So obviously it was a perfect time to be visited by his least favorite person.

Walking down the hallway with a mountain of signed paperwork, his pace was intended to be brisk, but felt sluggish all the same. As he passed an intersection in hallways, he noticed the large frame of a burly friend catching up behind him. As Kafka slowed his pace to match his commander's, Hoshina tilted his face in his direction and flashed what was hoped to be a casual and respectful smile.

"Had a feeling you'd feel like that once I heard about the incident at the coffee machine. Here. Brought this for ya." Kafka said as he handed over a steaming mug of dark tan coffee.

"Oh, I already had coffee today." Hoshina tried to politely decline. he guessed his smile wasn't as bright as it should have been if Kafka could see he was feeling off.

"Yeah, but that was decaf." he insisted as he held the mug by its rim and pointed its handle temptingly toward its intended recipient.

Hoshina stiffed its steam heavily as it wafted under his nose. The smell of a caffeinated brew being much more rejuvenating than the bland swill he choked down this morning. He didn't think twice as he shifted the paper load more securely under his arm and took the offered mug greedily. There was a low, grateful moan as the hot, searing, and just lightly sweetened liquid burned pleasantly down the back of his throat.

'You might've just saved my mental state yet again, Kafka." Hoshina finally muttered after nearly downing half of the mug.

Kafka just chuckled as he walked in time with him, and after a while, held out a hand in an offer to carry the paperwork. Hoshina politely refused again, feeling genuinely better now that he had something more stimulating coursing throughout his system. Walking side by side, they engaged in pleasant idle chatter as they continued down the hallway. Without checking how far they had walked, they neared an area that had a lobby that was sparsely populated. As they got closer, an irritatingly familiar voice rang clear in the partially echoey room.

"Brother Dearest!" Soichiro Hoshina, Soshiro's older brother, was leaning against the desk in the back center of the lobby, relaxing like he deserved the space he was taking up.

"Oh God, why aren't I being delivered from evil like I ask every Shrine visit?" Soshiro muttered as soon as he realized who was occupying the open room with them.

"That's your brother?" Kafka asked as he laid eyes on the visitor.

"Unfortunately." Soshiro said with every letter somehow overflowing with distain and loudly enough to be heard by the other person.

"Come on, brother! You had to have known that one of these visits was to have to happen soon? It's been, what, months since you've even sent at minimum a hello to Mother." Soichino's words were playful, a clear difference in demeanor to the attitude his younger brother was radiating. A second had passed as he clearly gave the plus one an interested once-over after he lifted his sunglasses off his face.

"Well, hello soldier. And who might you be?" A salacious smile slithered coolly over Soichiro's glossy, thin lips. His tongue flicked out and over his teeth teasingly as he continued to stare down Kafka with a darkened sense of interest. Kafka bowed deeply in greeting before he introduced himself.

"Kafka Hibino. Officer of the Third Division." was his militantly clipped response.

"Kafka... Kafka... Where have I heard that name before?" Soichiro drawled out as he shifted over to Kafka's side, poking his shoulder with the arm of his sunglasses with playful emphases.

"He's our Kaiju Number Eight, you salacious cur. Now what are you doing here?" Soshiro snarked as he took another sip of his coffee. His brother made no move to acknowledge the comment as he continued to speak directly to Kafka.

"Kaiju Number Eight, huh! So you're the beast on the battlefield. Is it too much for me to ask if you're a beast anywhere else?" That Cheshire smile never left his face as his eyes turned into a more evaluating gaze.

"Well, I'm the Division's only on call Kaiju. It's pretty safe to say that I'm always the beast when it's needed." Kafka smiled bashfully as a hand came up to scratch the back of his neck. Soichiro practically giggled as a hand came up to mischievously smack the other shoulder.

"Look at you! Making out to be something that strong and powerful as a humble brag!" the older brother seemed to slide in closer to Kafka's personal space, with Kafka playing it off as business as usual. Soshiro could feel the handle of the mug creaking under his tightened grip as he looked on at his brother's shameless display.

"Ya know, I had originally cleared out my schedule to take my brother out on a lunch date, but I've just realized he's been a horrible brother and hasn't shown me around the Third Division's main facilities not once!", Soichiro saddled up impossibly closer and even had the audacity to slip a hand around the back of Kafka's forearm, "Why don't I be a good Captain and help clear yours so you can show me around? I'm sure any tour by you would be far more interesting than what he could provide." Soshiro watched as he saw the offer being sealed with an obviously flirty wink.

"Well, I'd be happy to! That is, if it's alright with my Vice Captain?" Kafka asked as he looked innocently toward the younger brother, seemingly unaware or unaffected by the attention he was currently being given.

"No Kafka, that won't be necessary, If my brother is going to come out all this way to see me, then he's just going to have to settle for my company alone." Soshiro said as he placed his paperwork and his coffee mug on the abandoned reception desk.

"Yeah, that makes sense. Maybe some other time?" Kafka asked as he looked at the older Hoshina brother.

"Such a shame. Don't be surprised if I take you up on that offer." Soichiro tittered as he patted the other side of the forearm he was still holding onto. The two brothers watched intently as Kafka turned around and walked down the hallway. Soshiro waited until he was out of every possible hearing range before he decided to speak.

"Alright, you bottle-platinum harlot. What the hell was that display all about?" Soshiro made no attempts to restrain his irritation at his brother's expense. He had no idea what game his brother was trying to play with him, but he wouldn't stand for it since it seemed to involve a very close and personal friend of his.

"I don't know what you mean." Soichiro said as he kept tittering. His posture and demeanor revealing to his younger brother that there was a plan brewing behind those evil eyes.

"I will not have you seducing my strongest man over to your division while I'm here." Soshiro commanded as he leveled a piercing gaze at the other person.

"Excuse me, 'Your man'? I'm sorry, but I didn't see a ring on his finger." Soichiro teased as he turned to face his brother.

"That's not what I meant and you know it, you vile rake." Soshiro spat the words out in an attempt to dissuade any further conversation on the topic.

"So catty today, are we brother? I was simply taking in the local selection. I'm not surprised you're interested in him." Soichiro chatted as he teasingly bit on the arm of his sunglasses.

"I also see you've decided to take up slander as a hobby since last we met." Soshiro grumbled as he found himself forced into a position where he had to talk to his brother in person for more than a minute.

"Oh, please! You know our family has a history of liking them sweet and dumb. How do you think Mother's marriage has lasted this long?" Soichiro continued as he leveled a knowing stare at him.

"If you're going to keep insinuating things that don't exist, I'm going to order you to cancel the lunch date and leave." the younger brother retorted as he turned around to drink the last sips from the coffee mug.

"What do you think I'm insinuating?" Soichiro purred as his sight never left his brother.

"Don't toy with me today, you troglodytic trollup. I am in no mood to bat around this string of yarn you're trying to spin here." Soshina kept snapping back as he took the opportunity to avoid eye contact as he shuffled around the stack of papers.

"Why all the denial, Brother Dearest? Especially since we're so far from Egypt. Besides, it's not slander saying you like a coworker as if your interactions weren't displayed all over the news two weeks ago." The grin broke into a full blown, toothy smile of superiority as the Captain of the Sixth Division draped himself over the desk's top next to Soshiro.

"What... interactions?" the Vice Captain hissed as he slowly turned his head to side-eye his brother

"Should I reenact it for you?" Soichiro giggled before flopping onto his back and dramatically fainting, "Oh! I seem to have taken a terrible fall and broken both of my legs! Oh, is there some dark, handsome, Knight in living armour that can princess-carry my oh so fragile body to the farthest fucking ambulance on scene and completely bypass three others that were unoccupied and were going to take me to the same fucking hospital!" It was clear that he was taking a massive amount of joy retelling his version of events that he saw on the news as his voice raised in volume with every reveal.

"I didn't break my legs, I dislocated my ankles! What would you have me do, walk?" Soshiro started to match his brother's volume and had now fully turned to him to confront this problem of point-of-views head on.

"The cameras clearly show you two having a conversation where it shows you convincing him to carry you!" The two of them were so close to each other's faces now their noses could touch.

"I was trying to convince him not to!" Soshiro returned.

"Because the cameras were rolling?" Soichiro asked.

"Yes!" his brother answered.

"AND BECAUSE YOU TWO ARE IN LOVE! Why else be camera shy about being carried around in public?" The eldest returned triumphantly as he poked him in the chest.

"NO." Soshiro shouted back as he shoved his brother backwards, "We are not in love! What part of this do you think it's okay to date someone like him?"

"Oh don't act like you can't because he's under your position. He makes his own precedent as he breathes! And you are the right type of rebellious, attention craving, delinquent punk that would absolutely fall for someone that is perfect for you in all the right ways, while also him being a human anomaly in every sense of the word! He turns into something our family has been training it's young to kill for centuries so of course you're going to deviate from the norm and be practically head over heels for him!" The Captain couldn't stop himself from cackling as his lungs quaked from talking for so long without breath.

There wasn't anything left on the matter that Soshiro could say to make his brother change his mind, so he decided to let his fists do the talking for him as he sent a vicious right hook. His fist connected to his brother's left eye and caught him off guard for a second. Before he could speak out against the assault, the younger brother wasted no time in jumping onto his brother and throwing his fists left and right. The two soon became a mass of tangled limbs and colorful curse words on the floor. It wasn't like this for long as two other people came across the fight and helped break up the fray.

"Alright, alright! Break it UP!" You two are grown up men, and Defense Force officers at that! ACT LIKE IT!" Okonogi reprimanded them as Aoi held them off the ground by their jacket collars.

"Yes, Okonogi." The brothers said in unison. As they were set back on the ground, they straightened their outfits and waited to see if their new company would leave. When they didn't, Soichiro decided to speak what was left on his mind anyway.

"The lunch date is still on, by the way. Mother's orders. How about I give us an hour to cool down and we try this whole 'conversation' thing again?" he tried to say with as much possible conviction in his smile. Soshiro just glared violently as he picked up the stack of papers from the desk.

"I do what I damn well please, you leporid bunk bunny." he said as he stormed off. Everyone watched as he walked away before his older brother spoke up again.

"He'll be fine."

𓈒 𑁍 𓈒

It was a little after seven thirty before Hoshina felt fine enough to interact with anyone. Spending some time in the gym helped him feel better after dealing with the Lunch Date From Hell. It also helped that he got to meet his favorite punching bag for sparring.

"Look -huff- I get you -huff- don't like your brother -huff-, but did you really -huff- need to literally -huff- kick my ass?" Kafka's lungs heaved after spending what felt like hours defending himself from his Vice Captain's volley of blows.

"Ya snooze, ya loose Kafka. Intense training is for your own good." Hoshina quipped back as he walked over to his duffle for water bottles. Kafka shambled behind him slowly and sat down on the bench the bag was next to.

"Intense training, my entire bruised ass. That last chokehold felt personal." Kafka began to regulate his breathing by the time Hoshina made it over with the water bottles.

As Hoshina drank from his, he subtly tried to look at Kafka as he poured some of the bottle's contents onto himself. He watched as the water made his partner's bangs stick to his forehead at odd angles and made a swift attempt to cool his fiery red cheeks. Hoshina didn't let his imagination run too far away from him as he thought about Kafka looking worn out and sweaty for a different reason. Of course he denied everything that was said earlier that was concerning the situation between him and Kafka. Mainly because it all implied that Kafka felt the same way he did. Had it been a complete stranger talking to him this morning, it would have shocked everyone that knew him once they heard how different his answers would have been.

As Kafka finished rubbing the cool water into his face and straightened his back and arms out into an intense looking stretch, Hoshina forced himself to look away from the rippling of muscle and the straining of his tank top around said muscles. In moments like this, when he was sure no one would be looking or they were alone, Hoshina liked to play a little game with Kafka. It wasn't one that you could win with points or anything. Hell, some days it made Hoshina feel like all he did was lose by playing, but he couldn't deny that conniving little twitch that begged for him to play over and over again. All so he could see that dumb little smile.

"Still improving as slow as always." Hoshina said after a minute of relaxing on the bench.

"Hey, at least I am still improving, right?" Kafka returned as he looked back at his Vice Captain.

There was a smile, sure, but it wan't big. He could do better.

"Can't say I don't find you to be consistent at least 1% of the time." Hoshina offered as a response, deciding to bring up a well used joke between them. He turned back to look out at the empty gym in front of them.

"God, I still haven't gotten higher than that, haven't I?" Kafka chuckled out of the side of his mouth.

"It was a good thing we found out you were a kaiju when we did. Could you imagine what would have happened if you couldn't raise that percentage up high enough in three months?" Hoshina thought the comment sounded funnier in his head, but once he heard it out loud he wanted to smack himself for it. Everyone knew that it was a horrible thought, thinking about Kafka not being around anymore. Even that was something Hoshina couldn't bring himself to deny or joke about.

"I do every day." Kafka sighed heavily, "Everyday I wake up here." He closed his eyes for a second as he smiled softly, his head coming to rest against the back wall the bench was against.

Hoshina turned back to look at him, taking Kafka's moment of vulnerability to look at him fully this time. He thought about it too. A life in the Defense Force where he didn't get to see Kafka everyday. A life where he didn't bring him coffee or hear his laugh or have drinks with him after work hours. Hoshina could feel his heart squeeze at the thought of Kafka not being in the Defense Force, or worse, suddenly living at a different Division. Being close by technicality, but feeling oh so very far.

"Did you notice my brother was flirting with you at all?" Hoshina felt himself ask before he could take the words back. He felt himself brace for the answer in the brief moments in between his heartbeats.

"Wait... really?" Kafka asked with genuine interest. Hoshina could feel his face twist into something between curiosity and mild disgust. Kafka couldn't tell he was being flirted with? And was okay with it coming from his brother?

"Ye-yeah?" Hoshina returned hesitantly.

"You sure? 'Cuz I mean... wow. He's... actually interested? In me?" Kafka's smile grew bigger and more wonky as he processed what he was told.

"You're okay with this?" Hoshina questioned incredulously. He could not believe what he was seeing, and was actively praying that this wasn't the case.

"Are you kidding? Of course! You're brother is frickin' hot!" Kafka replied with joy, "Is he, like, still around? I mean, I know he's not here kinda around, but I mean, is he like, nearby? Like in a hotel or something? Nah, that would be creepy. Oh! Could you let me have his number?" Kafka prattled on as Hoshina continued to become more and more disgusted. Sure, he was a little happy to hear that Kafka was cool with being hit on by guys, (and clearly reciprocated the sentiment) but felt absolutely horrified at hearing Kafka wanting his brother's number. So much so that he immediately stood on the bench seat so he could get a good enough vantage to stomp on Kafka to stop his train of thought.

"You! Will! NOT! Be! Dating! My! BROTHER!" Hoshina shouted out between the stomping.

"Jesus! And here I thought you wouldn't be having a problem with me liking guys! Yah know, since you told me about it!" Kafka shouted back as he tried to defend himself from the onslaught.

"I don't have a problem with you dating guys! I have a problem with you dating my brother!" Hoshina said as he pressed his foot down firmly onto Kafka's hands that were protecting his head.

'Well then, who would you rather have me date?" Kafka returned rhetorically.

"Me for starters!" Hoshina finally admitted. Once he did, he let the pressure off of his foot and just stayed in the position for a hot minute, feeling as awkward as a school girl admitting to her first crush. Kafka just held onto the foot as he looked up at his commander with wide, unbelieving eyes. All Hoshina could bring himself to do was look away, his cheeks flushing hot and bright. Kafka helped lower the foot down as he got up from his seat to face him from the front.

"Have... have you been flirting with me too?" Kafka asked. Hoshina still couldn't look at him or answer, so his cheeks answered for him.

"How long have you been flirting with me?" Kafka asked again.

"Two... two years." Hoshina answered quietly.

"We've known each other for two years." Kafka responded. Hoshina still hadn't made a move, only crossed his arms defensively.

"YOU'VE BEEN FLIRTING WITH ME SINCE WE MET?" Kafka shouted as he made the realization.

"To be fair, I don't flirt like a normal person and you clearly can't read context clues." Hoshina said as he finally regained some control over his mouth. He just wished he had better control over what it said.

"Why didn't you say anything before now?" Kafka sounded incredulous at the thought of how he could have been dating the most amazing person on base before now, had be been able to read between the lines.

" I kept thinking it was funny?" Hoshina responded in a shy, quivering voice as more blood rushed to his face and made it redder.

"Okay, now I have to ask. What about me do you like? Do you think I'm handsome, or do you really just like to think I'm funny?" Kafka questioned as he waved his hands around animatedly.

"Honestly? I just really like that you're funny." Hoshina said as he relaxed and playfully shrugged. Now feeling better about having all of this out in the open.

" So, just, fuck my face then." Kafka said in a sarcastically irritated manner while turning around and waving his arms.

"I would if you'd stop talking." Hoshina accidentally let slip.

He wasn't ashamed of saying it, but probably should have found a better time to say it. It didn't seem to matter anyway as Kafka took a second to stop his flailing and slowly turned around to face his commander again. A sly smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his eyes darkened at the play on words they stumbled into.

"Well alright then." Kafka chuckled darkly as he strode over to where Hoshina was still standing. He grabbed his legs and threw him over his shoulder, holding onto Hoshina's calves for dear life as he carried his thrashing lover out of the gym.

"Wha-what do you think you're doing?" Hoshina cried as he tried to look back at his kidnapper. Kafka returned the most intensely flirtatious side-eye back at him as they walked out of the gym.

"Moving training to your place, so you can properly shut me up."

"Wha-what, no dinner first?" Hoshina stuttered nervously as he continued to be paraded down the hall on Kafka's shoulder. He got even more nervous as Okonogi slid past his line of sight and watched them walk away.

"You've been flirting with me for two years. Dinner can wait." Kafka growled as the other hand came up and audibly smacked Hoshina on the ass.

#I consider myself impressed that I managed to come up with four different words to substitute wh*re..#I like to think that both Soichiro and their mother are fluent in “Fighting as a Love Language terminology”#i.e. Fighting back to back against each other means you two are fated soul mates #and carrying someone off the battlefield means you're married #so when the two of them saw the news footage of Hoshina being carried to the ambulance they FREAKED.#Their mother immediately commissioned Soichiro to visit his brother and instigate the two of them getting together.#Soichiro did it without hesitation and was the one to put decaf in the coffee machine as a ploy.#I was going to write an after credit scene Of Soichiro talking to their mother where that was revealed #but I thought this was going to get done in a day like my last one and it didn't #so now I feel like I've worked on this longer than I should have.#their argument feels so British coded when I read it in my head for some reason.#it doesn't help that Hoshina starts off by calling his brother a “Salacious Cur”#It f*cking sucked writing the argument too because I can't not call Soshiro by his last name (It feel wrong to me for some reason)#But he's talking to his brother that has his last name so now I HAVE to use their first name #and what the f*ck is the name SOICHIRO anyway?!?!!?#I still had way too much fun finding subtle ways of making him come across as flirty.#Long post #short story #fanfiction #kaiju 8 #kaiju no. 8 #kaiju number 8 #kafka hibino #soshiro hoshina #Kafhoshi #hoshikaf #kaijuu number 8 #kaiju no.8 #kaiju no 8 #kaijuu 8 gou

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anghraine · 7 months ago

Text

Just thinking about Gondor, as usual, and how wild it is that the (supposedly minority!) population of Gondorians who speak Sindarin and/or know Quenya at the end of the Third Age is likely higher than the combined number of all Elves still remaining in Middle-earth who can speak either.

Tolkien's specific statement is that more Men speak Sindarin or know Quenya than Elves do either, but while this group of Men would encompass people like the Northern Dúnedain, Théoden, etc, the letter directly links this to Gondorian usage of Sindarin and Quenya. That does make sense given the extreme population disparities involved; the vast majority of the Men in question would pretty much have to come from Gondor. Certainly, the only place where we actually see widespread, casual, local Sindarin usage among Men is Minas Tirith (though we know the linguistic patterns of MT are also characteristic of Dol Amroth and likely throughout much of Belfalas).

In addition, Tolkien tried to make sense of the limited evolution of Gondorian Sindarin by saying it's an acquired polite language among Númenórean aristocratic elites and scholars. In the actual process of writing LOTR there were various explanations (in one draft Faramir explains that Westron is a Gondorian conlang invented for dealings with other peoples, for instance). But Tolkien's standard justification for Gondorian Sindarin being so recognizable soon settled on an idea that Gondorian Sindarin is a language of the elites taught to them in childhood and used as a courtesy or mark of high status rather than evolving naturally.

I've always found this explanation a bit odd given that in the main narrative of LOTR, the Gondorian groups we see using Sindarin in full sentences/conversations rather than for specific names like Mithrandir or isolated words are mainly Gondorian soldiers outside of leadership roles. Faramir's men in Ithilien switch to "another language of their own" that turns out to be Sindarin. In the streets of Minas Tirith, "many" random soldiers call out to each other in Sindarin to gossip about Pippin. The almost entirely Gondorian armies following Aragorn praise the hobbits in Sindarin and Quenya.

But if we take Tolkien's statement at face value, the implication is that Númenórean elites in Gondor (i.e. a small fraction of the overall Gondorian population) outnumber the combined populations of all Sindarin- or Quenya-speaking Elves remaining in Middle-earth.

Many Elves have left or died, yes, but we're still talking about the Elves of Rivendell and of Lothlórien and all the ones scattered throughout Lindon, combined. If they really are outnumbered by Gondor's ruling aristocracy alone, I think the usual estimates of Gondor's overall population must be far too low. Tolkien simply noted that the population of Minas Tirith and its fiefs (presumably referring to Lossarnach, Anórien etc), while declined from the past, must have still been "much greater" than the combined Elvish populations of Rivendell, Lothlórien, and Lindon. That's not even getting into the more outlying fiefs of Gondor like densely-populated Belfalas.

(Alternatively, you could fanwank that Sindarin/Quenya are more widely spoken in Gondor than this and thus the population disparities, while certainly present, are not quite so extreme as this suggests. But that interpretation does require ignoring explicit statements from Tolkien in a way that something like theorizing population based on vague canonical suggestions is typically going to avoid doing.)

#why do so many people insist on using western medieval european militarization or population ratios for gondor though...#i mean. i know why but it's still a very strange choice imo #even setting aside the fact that gondor was not remotely based on medieval france or england or whatever #middle-earth c. lotr is a sometimes medieval-ish-flavored prehistorical setting which is often demographically very distinct #from actual medieval western europe #it's an ancient setting with many preternaturally strong 6-8' tall people who regularly live into their 90s and beyond #tolkien pointed out that faramir/éowyn is not happening in a 'courtly' setting à la medieval courtly romance but something older and nobler #any given place could have way more or way less people than medieval france bc it's not medieval france #(sorry to bully the medieval french but tolkien would)#anghraine babbles #long post #ondonórë blogging #legendarium blogging #lord of the rings #jrr tolkien #legendarium fanwank #sindarin #quenya #anghraine's meta #linguistic stuff

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frickingnerd · 2 years ago

Text

Class 1A Masterlist

Izuku Midoriya

↳ Masterlist

Katsuki Bakugou

↳ Masterlist

Shoto Todoroki

↳ Masterlist

Tenya Iida

dating tenya iida - headcanons

fake dating tenya iida - headcanons

tenya with a sweet but protective s/o - headcanons

tenya with a s/o who has a healing quirk - headcanons

Eijirou Kirishima

fixing what's been broken by others - oneshot

dating eijirou kirishima - headcanons

kirishima bullying his crush - headcannons

kirishima with a s/o who has a healing quirk - headcanons

dating kirishima & tetsutetsu - headcanons

Denki Kaminari

dating denki kaminari - headcanons

denki lending you his jacket - headcanons

yandere denki kaminari - headcanons

denki with a s/o who has a healing quirk - headcanons

denki kaminari with a girlfriend - headcanons

things denki does, that make you fall in love with him even more - headcanons

Hanta Sero

(accidentally) holding hands - drabble

dating hanta sero - headcanons

your friends teasing sero & you about your crush on each other - headcanons

Fumikage Tokoyami

tokoyami with a hyperfeminine girlfriend - headcanons

dating tsuyu & tokoyami - headcanons

dating fumikage tokoyami - headcanons

dating shoji & tokoyami - headcanons

Yuga Aoyama

dating yuga aoyama - headcanons

aoyama with a quirkless s/o - headcanons

aoyama breaking up with his s/o - headcanons

aoyama with a s/o who has a healing quirk - headcanons

Mashirao Ojiro

dating mashirao ojiro - headcanons

ojiro taking care of his s/o - headcanons

Rikidou Sato

dating rikido sato - headcanons

working at a maid cafe with sato - headcanons

Mezou Shouji

i'm a mess without your love - oneshot

dating mezo shoji - headcanons

shouji confessing to you - headcanons

dating shouji & tokoyami - headcanons

Kouji Kouda

dating kouji kouda - headcanons

Ochako Uraraka

two is better than one - oneshot feat. nejire

dating ochako uraraka - headcanons

roommates to lovers with ochako - headcanons

watching a horror movie with ochako - headcanons

ochako with a s/o who constantly gets into fights - headcanons

dating izuku & ochako - headcanons

Tsuyu Asui

cuddling with tsuyu asui - headcanons

tsuyu crushing on a dense reader - headcanons

dating tsuyu & tokoyami - headcanons

Momo Yaoyorozu

i couldn't stand to lose you - oneshot

Kyoka Jirou

holding hands with jirou - headcanons

jirou with a s/o who has a computer quirk - headcanons

Mina Ashido

yandere mina ashido - headcanons

Toru Hagakure

happy little accidents - oneshot

flirting gone wrong! - oneshot, feat camie

dating toru hagakure - headcanons

hagakure with a s/o who can see her - headcanons

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whoopsyeahokay · 10 months ago

Text

October Sun

summary: the ability had manifested after your first semester of 7th grade. after the farmhouse cellar and the trail through the woods. after the EMTs and the policemen and Then Deputy Baxter. it was something you kept to yourself although you knew your mother had her suspicions. it made you more vulnerable to the things that go bump in the night, which was why you never used it. or so you thought.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.9

The pulse between you and Wally flared to a fever pitch, swirling and cresting around you, into you, through you. One hand in your hair, fingers kneading; the other secure on your hip, supporting you firmly in his arms.

You wanted to bask in it forever, an intoxicating maelstrom of sensation, and all at once every pop ballad you'd heard growing up made sense. The kiss deepened and shallowed; a swipe of his tongue, twin gasps, a moan, then back in, hungry and untethered.

Wally placed you on the edge of the stage, careful, like a totem at an altar, his lips never leaving yours for more than a breath. He stood between your thighs, big hands roaming down your arms to your waist, hips, up again, fingers teasing under the hem of your t-shirt.

Gradually, the feeling of hot need now lessened, though didn't dissipate completely. Rather, it softened into something contented, manageable. Satisfied now that you and Wally were tangled in each other's space.

Thoughts filtered in through the thinning cloud; questions you had to ask; admissions you had to give, so you put a stalling hand on Wally's chest and nudged gently.

"Wait," You said, and now you knew what you sounded like after being ravished to oblivion, wow. "We need to talk."

Wally blinked his eyes open, sweet brown almost entirely eclipsed by arousal. His lips, kiss-plumped and red, turned up in a smile you couldn't help but mirror.

Even though you'd shunned reason and responsibility—had gone against a lifetime of rules and shared yourself with a ghost—you felt at peace for the first time in days.

"What's up, baby?" Wally asked, pressing his forehead to yours. He took your hands in his, fingers laced, and waited for you to speak. But as you were about to, a lightbulb seemed to blink on in his head and he straightened. "Hold up," his voice dropped to a panicked whisper. "If you don't want anyone else to know, we should get out of here or Mina—"

"Is on lunch—" you air quoted, "—for another thirty minutes. She goes twice a day, sits outside the door, eats the same ham and cheese her mom packed her, and smokes the same cigarette she stole off Miranda Paterson before rehearsal."

Wally gaped, "I~ did not know that." Then he frowned cutely, "How do you know that?"

"My mom." You admitted, "She graduated the same year Mina died and warned me about it before I started here. She actually witnessed Mina's first loop." You grimaced, "The benefits of a residual haunting, I guess."

"Residual haunting?"

As you spoke, you crossed your ankles at the small of Wally's back and guided him back to you, "Basically, the worst kind of loop the dead can get stuck in." A peck to his lips, "At least, in my opinion."

"You know a lot about this stuff, huh?" He asked through quick, dry kisses of his own, grinning smugly when you chased his mouth as he leaned away.

You blushed and licked your lips, watched in fascination as Wally tracked the movement before doing the same. He squeezed the curve of your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh, pulled you roughly against him, and nipped your lower lip.

"Tease," He said, rolling his hips against you so you could feel how worked up he was.

You moaned, the pulse flaring again, brief and bright, and oh hell no, you had to talk. Hoping to temper the connection back to a simmering second thought, you decided to answer Wally's question.

"My family has a long and unique history with the paranormal. According to my Nanna, we can trace it all the way back to the Arthurian Age." You punctuated your statement with a lingering kiss, separating on a sigh. "You make it really hard to concentrate."

You felt kind of dumb admitting that aloud and were relieved when Wally snickered, "Back at you, baby."

He stroked the back of his pointer finger down your cheek, gazing at you as if in worship. It was heady being on the receiving end of such a look, and you hoped he saw in your eyes equal awe and appreciation.

"How about we just—" He took a step backward, out of your space, and instantly the connection between you protested.

You whimpered, a grouchy kitten of a sound, and he reinserted himself between your legs, hands smoothing up your thighs to your hips where they rested.

"Or not." He said. After a lengthy pause, he asked, "Do you have any idea what this is?"

"Nope. And we have a pretty specific collection of books at home. I couldn't find anything that talks about what this—" You indicated between you and him, "—might be. I'm praying that there'll at least be something there about why I can't see Maddie." You hadn't meant to divulge that tidbit so casually, but there it was.

Wally was visibly shocked, "Hold up, you can't see Maddie?" You shook your head, "So. At the bus stop yesterday, you really had no idea she was there?"

Holy shit, "Maddie was there?!"

Not all ghosts were visible, true, but every ghost had an assortment of ways to signal their presence. And you hadn't received any of them. No niggling thoughts in the back of your mind or strange prickles up your spine or high-pitched ringing in your ears. Zero, zip, zilch, nada.

"Yeah, she followed you and, uh, What's His Name—"

"Simon." You supplied, distracted.

"Him, yeah. She followed you guys out there. Wanted to see if you knew something about what happened to her."

Casting your mind back to yesterday's conversation, you tried to recall if Simon mentioned anything worthwhile. Except, he hadn't wanted to talk about Maddie. Not initially, not until you brought her up. Simon had wanted to talk about, "Whether or not I can see ghosts..." You glanced up at Wally. "That can't be coincidence. What if Simon's like me and he just can't see Maddie, either?"

Wally gave you a sympathetic look, "Trust me, that guy can't see ghosts."

"And how would you know that?" You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I've been here for a while, pretty girl." For some reason, that fact made your heart ache, "You're the second person with a pulse I've seen who I ever thought might be able to see me back."

"Second?"

Wally stared at you, long and hard, as if anticipating the pieces would slot into place. When they didn't, he helped you along, "You don't really look like her, you know?"

"Ah, yeah, obviously." Your mother, who had been a freshman at Wally's final Homecoming game. Your eyes narrowed, "How do you know it was my mom?"

"Back then, I didn't. But, after what you mentioned, it doesn't take a genius." Wally chuckled. "She never talked to me. And I never felt like this with her." He emphasized his point by delivering a bruising, heated kiss, parting with a wet-sticky smack.

Dazed, "Yeah, pretty sure that's something she'd lecture me about if it happened before. At least we can rule out that it's a 'you thing'."

"Cool, so it's not me. What about you?" Wally said, expression calculating, "What's changed?"

You cocked your head, "What do you mean?"

This time, Wally kissed you softly before he said, "Babe, you've managed to ignore me for three years because neither of us felt desperate to climb into each other's skin. So...why now?"

He was right.

You were a little impressed and a lot turned on. Wally had always come across to you as a bit of a stereotypical jock: somewhat slow on the uptake, but well-meaning and full of heart. And muscle. And you shut that thought down right there before your mind wandered again.

It made you consider that, while there was this intense, driving connection between you both, you didn't really know Wally Clark that well at all. Yes, you'd observed Wally from afar for the duration of your high school career, but up until yesterday, you'd never spoken, never revealed personal secrets or interests or anything.

As far as you were aware, he liked football and football-related things, and you were pretty sure he had an equally shallow idea of what made you tick aside from being able to see dead people.

Saddened by the realization, you blurted, "What's your favorite color?"

Wally seemed adorably rightly confused, "What?"

You repeated, "Your favorite color, what is it?"

"Um, red. What's yours?"

"Purple." Some days. "Or dark orange." Sounded more accurate, but actually, "Mostly green, but not, like, neon or anything."

Wally pressed his lips together, suppressing a goofy smile for a couple of seconds before surrendering it. "That answer totally suits you." He bussed you on the nose, making you go cross-eyed for a moment, "Do colors mean something?"

"No," You shook your head lightly, twinkling, "I just thought we should probably get to know each other better if we're gonna be under the influence of random hedonist ghost energy."

"Do you think that's what's making your powers go on the fritz?" Wally wondered, his phrasing punching a laugh out of you.

"Nah, it's not as simple as a glitch in the Matrix. This shit doesn't get glitchy."

Taking him by the wrists, you led his hands behind you so that you were more fully encased in his arms, tucking your head under his chin and circling your arms loosely around his waist. You felt safe, wrapped up in him like that. Like nothing bad could or would ever happen to you again.

"Okay..." He said, picking through what information you'd given him so far. "If your ghost powers are working and it's not because of whatever's going on with us, maybe it's Maddie? Maybe you can't see her because she's new? She hasn't been dead as long as the rest of us, only since last Friday..."

"Uhm, yeah, also not how this works." You replied playfully, bumping the tip of your nose to his, "Trust me, it takes four minutes before a person goes from attached to their earthen vessel to haunting the science lab."

A wicked, ruthless moment for everyone involved.

The scar on your left hand itched, reminding you of the nightmare that had hauled you in and coughed you out of that farmhouse cellar. Where you'd discovered—down to the second—how long it takes a soul to disconnect from the living world and cross over.

You groaned, "Maddie can't be dead." A hill you would proudly die on because that was the only explanation that made any kind of sense.

Wally wasn't convinced, "She seems pretty dead to me. I can see her. Rhonda, and Charley, and the others can see her. No one else can."

Feeling like a parrot, you repeated, "And I can't. What if...What if she isn't dead? What if she's trapped?"

"You mean more trapped than the rest of us?"

The statement inspired a whole host of questions that you forced yourself to ignore for the time being.

"This is gonna sound insane—"

"You're literally talking to a ghost."

"Insane-er," You amended, "But Maddie could've slipped into an In Between somehow." You barely had an argument, the list of hypotheticals dismal against what knowledge you'd collected from various factual sources, but you weren't willing to let it go. "Look, death is a very direct journey from one plane to the next, no detours. But if she isn't dead, then it could be possible."

Wally's eyes seemed to be trailing an onslaught of thoughts as they traveled across his mind. "Okay, yeah, you're right, that sounds insane. What the hell is an In Between?"

"It's—" A distant metallic snap-shudder pierced the otherwise quiet theater, interrupting you. Before you were able to discern where it had come from, you felt a hand grab your shoulder from behind.

You gasped, knocked back into yourself, and when you looked up, you saw Wally in a state of bewilderment, standing with his mouth agape and eyes the size of dinner plates, at the end of the center aisle that's length now divided you.

A familiar, though markedly less friendly, voice demanded, "What are you doing in here?" and when you glanced over your shoulder, Mr. Anderson stared, hard and haggard, awaiting your explanation.

💀___________________________

PART EIGHT - PART TEN

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #October Sun

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