#no hate to science kids its not your fault

[hissterical-nyaan]

What do you hate about desiblr, sorry I got lost

Many many things

I understand that most people on desiblr are still school going teenagers or at least have never been in college and participated in discourse and debate, but you have to realise when you're talking about sensitive topics you have to be open to criticism and you also have to realise there are a lot of impressionable minds around who are reading what you post. What I have seen recently is a very big surge of right-wingers and conservative rhetoric that too coming from these 16-17yr old kids who are encouraged by other adults here. It's wild how people are literally romanticising casteism and communalism 💀 I don't think you guys realise what kind of posts you are reblogging. This is the case with many of my mutuals too and it's worrying because they're kids and they're eating up RW content

I think many parts of desiblr are just not ready to talk about serious issues and discourses cause they have 0 knowledge of the actual world or even theory. They're just saying whatever they *feel* is right. This is not how debates work. I understand most of us grow in a conservative environment but it's on you to read up stuff before opening your mouth

Apart from that it's just annoying because people keep fighting and sending hate on petty things 💀 maybe I've just outgrown desiblr

It's definitely nice having more Indian friends who can understand me but the whole desiblr? No thanks

[fernlessbastard]

ok hot take. we all hate capitalists. I know. I do too. I really, REALLY hate capitalists.

that being said C!Quackity is the definition of a capitalist. like in a fully "I made the money, I deserve it because I took the risks." "its not my fault that some people dont work as hard as I do." "las nevadas is a company, the only government is the corporation which Quackity owns." way.

he is sat RIGHT at the bottom right corner on the political compass, and he is not budging. obviously, thats not to say hes a homophobe or a racist or generally a bigot, but hes very much a land hoarding, greedy, individualistic, profiteer type guy.

him and wilbur have gotten into several arguments about this, as with pretty much all of the ways Quackity runs his goverment, and shots have been FIRED.

I think the main argument from wilbur would be: "was it your fault that you were homeless after you ran from schlatt? do you really belive that youre the only person who has ever needed to run from financial abuse?" and "if it hadn't been for my policies about taking in all we can feed, then you would have starved to death in the woods. according to your philosophy I should have told you to piss off because you wernt profitable."

and then quackity responding with: "you change your ideology like youre a kid playing dressup, dont act like youre better than me because you woke up and decided that being a marxist suited your situation best, you just want something to argue about." and "you only took me in BECAUSE I was profitable. maybe not through labour but you would have used me as a bargaining chip any day of the week."

anyways, they've both been heads of state and both of them are well versed in political science and economics, which leads to both some very fun conversations and some less fun arguments. (wilbur might enjoy it a little)

ok so yes I agree with that take in the context of the smp, but it's also important to point out that minecraft "capitalism" is what those capitalists who want to convince you it's good claim capitalism to be. Food is abundant, shelter has little requirements to be functional, you can literally just dig a little into a hill and you're set, and then make a farm from things you can find anywhere. Anyone can mine, anyone has access to anywhere that isn't already someone's exact base, food is easily accessible and renewable, etc etc.

What Quackity's doing is he's actually providing a luxury service which isn't at all necessary. And Las Nevadas deserves to earn a profit from people using its facilities, cause they've been carefully and deliberately made to provide entertainment. Quackity doesn't have monopoly on food, shelter, land, resources, etc. Anyone could make their own small version of LN if they had the want and time to. So it isn't fair putting cQuackity in the same box as idfk bezos or musk, cause in cQ's case it's deserved, earned, and not a monopoly that causes everyone but him to suffer. Translating that into real life is just simply much more difficult than taking it at face value

As a sidenote I think that while Quackity is like that on the outside, he still wouldn't ignore someone needing help. Like, he's definitely got that built up resentment of "I had to work for all of this so hard, I've gotten through so many hardships. Why should someone else have it easier??" but then when the push comes to shove he's still end up helping, even if just a little bit.

[kfruityouth]

ok soooo

i’m thinking about jeddie and the clocks

when the green one is given in his telling of the story his father is dead upon his return home

so that leaves two possibilities

he was lying about this while telling sydney

he had already told his father about his plans for the necromancy

i find both so fuckintbfascinating

also the sydney’s death being his fault guilt feels like more than typical self loathing, it looks like sydney was ill, and maybe even before the coma jeddie was trying to “fix” him

as the occult is mentioned as sydney’s specialty i’m wondering specifically about how he and jeddie interacted on basis of sydney’s illness/disability with his practicality and science based wish to fix everyone and sydney’s care for others health above himself

the idea of the architect also

jeddie seems to have taken on the role of the architect before resurrecting sydney

that is important

the memories of the sky being blue

i think as sydney lived with him and lucille is when the “building” of this world to suit sydney began

is this only in effect at the camp?

the compulsive return of the counselors each summer is fascinating along with junipers weird british antiquity leading to an idea that there’s definitely influence of jeddie’s meddling outside of camp, if we are still unsure of how much it is normal to us

the counselors seem to remember life before sydney’s death done, which once again leads me to thinking the meddling started long before then

and the elephant man existed theoretically before the coma i think because of lucille’s testimony

but i may be wrong there

nowwwwwww the magic that existed in the pre meddling world is interesting because i think there was either some interest or actual influence on sydney’s part based on what we’ve heard of jeddie’s journals

and the timeline is obviously confusing but i really want to know more about sydney’s mother

his mother feels like an important piece we haven’t really touched upon the motivations of atorywide and i think the centipede symbolism is her domain

but i’m rambling….

youre so right omg...

so necromancy is highly "illegal" and i assume its a punishable offence, likely by a harsh incarceration or even death (ironic innit), and "did [they] mention impossible?" which has got to be some sort of propaganda or something. necromancy does exist, its just extremely difficult and dangerous--what soren does is chasing necromancy i believe, but he only ends up with reanimation (which is stated to be possible in universe). i just think they push the "necromancy is impossible" line way too much for it not to be, y'know?

also, it seems that necromancy, even discussing real happenings of it can kill someone. if jeddie discussed his necromancy of sydney with his father and killed him, it lines up with how elijah reading the journals to the kids was physically hurting him. but this would also mean his father read the journals himself, and not jeddie reading it to him (bc it would have hurt jeddie otherwise) if this is correct.

im honestly not too sure about the architect thing, i think it might be something to do with like building something (sydney) from the ground up? like turn it off and on again? even the word 'muse' implies that jeddies 'architect' is referencing sydney for, like, blueprints or whatever. metaphorically.

also what you said about the world being built for sydney is insanely interesting!

like, for starters:

juniper doesn't want his father to know he's coming to the camp (which makes me think the properties of the camp are actually known outside of camp)

rowan comes back to camp despite his co-counsellor from the previous year literally being destroyed

soren is paying an absurd amount of money to be at camp (which also makes me think the properties of the camp are known outside of camp--there's obviously something he's there for)

joshua remains despite being widely hated (except by yvonne)

and of course the big one: sydney can't leave camp without feeling physically sick. he says he can't be away from lucille specifically, but i think it's really camp he can't be away from.

and then good lord dont even get me started on the penguins. why are they at camp specifically? is there something there they're trying to achieve?

also, elijah would've existed before the coma according to the file notes and dialogue implications, but iirc according to the timeline, he was only obsessed with sydney post-necromancing (i might try to make a comprehensive timeline one day...)

agh sydney's mother is so interesting... the gravedigress apparently reminds sydney of his mother, so that might. um. come up/have relevance at some point? centipedes are carnivores, too, so... hmmm... anyway

and omg please ramble to your hearts content, your takes are so interesting!!

[calico-in-the-forest]

Tw: slight academic vent, swearing

i fucking hate it when people discriminate based on age, rather than pure ability. Like sure, i'm not an adult yet, but im a fucking qualified voluntary archaeologist and I deserve the option to pursue my hobby and future career just as much as anyone else. Just because my hobby is more niche and academic, rather than a sport or an instrument, doesn't make me any less worthy of oppertunities to continue learning than someone older.

Sure, I'm a young person, but i've also had more than half a fucking decade of experience in the area that i'm aiming to formally study in, including many small practical qualifications. I've done everything else i can in the subject: tonnes of voluntary work; citizen science projects; i've been interviewed, recorded in articles and papers, delivered speeches; ive done tonnes of work experience; ive done informal courses; ive engaged in academic debates, even read the oxford archaeological handbook cover to cover; i've fucking worked with human remains.

So sorry if you have decided that I am not worthy of doing an academic qualification, but honestly its not your choice. I was called a gifted kid when i was younger, so why am i suddenly incapable of pushing myself and making my own fucking decisions on my career? Why has my work - that you hardly know about or understand - suddenly been reduced to "but your a child" and "i don't think you're capable enough"? I'm a fucking expert at this subject, and its not your job to tell me that I can't achieve what I want in life. And so what if i don't get in? At least i fucking tried. at least i got the fucking experience from giving it a go. But you're going to try stop me from even doing that. And that's your fault. I'll still apply regardless, you just made it a whole lot more difficult. [this is aimed at my referee for a part-time academic course i am applying to. Ageism doesn't just affect old people, it affects us too. I should be encouraged to achieve and grow as much as possible in a subject that brings me joy, not dissuaded from trying in the first place]

[xotrashratxo]

Nerdy Prudes Must Die: Thoughts During the Premier last night Part 2: Everything Else

⚠️SPOILERS FOR NERDY PRUDES MUST DIE UNDER THE CUT!!!!⚠️

AND THERES OUR BACKSTORY YALL! 

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER

She’s so evil I love her. 

OMG MINOR KEY

FORESHADOWING??? 

THE HATCHETFIELD ACTION NEWSSSSS

Kyle and Brenda are so adorableeeeee

AWEEEE EVERYONE’S ADORABLE!!! they’re gonna die. 

Mariah’s extensions kinda ate. 

THEY ARE SO ADORABLE IM GONNA CRY!!!! 

Jason and Kyle are so in love lol. 

N-IG-HT-AWE AWE- ks! 

FUCK clivesdale. 

FUCK YOU CLIVESDALE WE’LL KILL YOU! 

AWEEEEE

I LOVE FORGIVENESS!!! 

oh no he’s gonna die. 

Here comes the horror bro. 

OMG ITS THE INTRO!

Get this shit a Kill Count. 

OH MY GOD THE GHOST MAKEUP I LIVEEEEEEEE unlike Richie. 

RIP Richie. He was just starting to live. 

I hate theatre kids /j

HE’S EATING

THE SMOKE CLUB OMGGGG

OMGGGG ITS THE NAME OF THE SHOWWWW

HE’S RUNNING AROUND THE AUDITORIUM!!! 

It’s giving 80s I love it. 

REPEAT AFTER MEEEE I LIVEEEE

WHO WILL PRAY FOR ME WHEN I’M GONEEEEEEE

OMG THE BACKGROUND GIRLIESSS

THAT SHIT HIT SO HARD OMGGGG

THE NIGHTMARE TIME THEMEEEE

THE LIGHTNING!!!!  

FUCK CLIVESDALE. 

RUTH FLEMMING OMG

And we’re all caught up. 

GASP THE COOL BEANS WERE SPILT

THE HATCHETFIELD ACTION NEWS WITH DAN AND DONNA!!!! 

Fucking Clivesdale. 

oh I love fear mongering. 

YESSSS REPORTER JOEYYYYY DAN REYNOLDS I LOVEEEEE

OMG THEY’RE EATINGGGGG

OMG HATCHET SOMG EATS

NOT DONNA

“DAN!” 

Ziggy cameo!!!!! 

MAN IN A HURRY!!!!! 

I love a cameo song!!!! 

CHARLIE

THE LOCKDOWN OMG- 

She ATE HOLY SHIT!!!! 

GERALD

LINDA

THIS EATS I LIVEEEE 

JAZZ HANDS

“Suddenly the show is real upsetting!” 

HOLY SHIT THAT ATEEEE

Slaaaay miming Joey

The barbecue monologueessssss

What accent is that. Southern, New York, slightly British???

YESSS MIMING

PUNSSS

Oh Barbecue monologues is gonna fucking EAT. 

Fucking TREVOR. 

Thank you 10! 

Uh oh. 

OH she’s a theatre kid. Aw I’m gonna cry at her death. 

no the lighting is red. 

*Ruthy EATS* 

She just wants to be loved ☹️

YESSSS LAURENNNNNN 

Im gonna cryyyyy

NO THE RED LIGHTTTT

HER ANXIETYYY NOOO

NOOOO

Stop I’m cryingggggg

*Pets dead Ruthy’s head* 

That ATE omgggg

*Drinks hot water instead of coffee.*

Fuck Clivesdale. 

oh shit at the old Wayland place. Next to the body. Fuck. 

GOD’S PLAN 

OMG SHE SWORE

OMG SHE DREW A GUN ON A COP

OMG GRACE IS EVIL

OMG THE COP THEMEEEEEE

DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN

PAUL AND EMMA HOLY SHIT

HOLY SHIT

HOLY SHIT

CUP OF BLACK COFFEE THEME

IM GONNA DIE

HE’S ON  NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH

PETER IS HOT CHOCOLATE BOY CONFIRMED

If they start singing Your Fault I’m gonna scream.

Speaking of, “HWHAT???” 

OMG THEY’RE BREAKING UP. 

Love a good angry breakup sexual tension song

OH MY GOD HE CALLED HER A MEAN GIRL GET IT CAUSE MARIAH WAS REGINA GEORGE OH MY GOD

They’re gonna kiss. 

Grace swearing is hilarious

LOOK OUT SHE’S GOT A GUN

*whips out a Canadian accent* 

THE COPS THEME

INTO THE ALLEY OMG

*screams* 

Omg she’s crazy

ALL TOO WELL MAYOR??? 

COREY OMG

why is the mayor…. Kinda fineee??? 

HE KNOWS. HE KNOWSSSSSS. 

Why is mayor lauter….. kinda fine????

THE STARRY CHILDREN FUCK

AXES. 

It’s the lords fuck. 

Bro said fuck science. 

GASP. He’s killing his daughter. 

GASP X2! He foreshadowed this! HE SAID HE DIDNT CARE IF SHE DIED OMG I OMG OMG. 

Her dad is a cultist omg

THE NIGHTMARE TIME THEME OMGGGG

THE BLACK BOOK OMGGGGG

THE FUCKING- THE FUCKING DARK GODS!!! WIGGLY AND HIS FUCKERS

THE LORDS IN BLACK OMGGGGG

He already performed a ritual didn’t he

OMG HEAD IN THE CAR OMG GET IT

well shit there’s red lighting. 

shucks. nothing like traumatizing Corey and Mariah by killing their kid/parent

THE STARLIGHT THEATER (TGWDLM), THE MALL (Wiggly), OMG

Officer Shapiro eats. But NOT. Ben. 

Couldn’t avoid the tide pods huh? 

RIP Officer Shapiro, she was a bad bitch. 

bring about the apocalypse. The apotheosis is upon us. 

OH THAT HIT. 

ATEEE

HELLO FWENDY WENDSSSSS

I love them omggggg

OH GET IT CAUSE PETER IS RELATED TO TED AND THE TIME ONE. 

PALLY WALS!!!! 

OH MY GOD EVERYONE WHO’S A LORD HAS DIED. 

DROWSIE TOWNNNN

NO NEVER WHATEVER THEY WANT

why do I get Oompa Loompa vibes tho. 

WHAT DO YOU WANT STEPH!!!

Nooooooooo my boyyyyyyy

They’re fucking EATINGGGG. 

Oooooh they ate. 

Noooooooo my boyyyyyyy

IM CRYINGGGGGG. 

NOT A FUCKING REPRISE IM GONNA DIE

IM GONNA CRYYYY

I think I own that flannel. 

ANYWAY I’M BAWLING MY EYES OUT. 

OH MY GODDDDD

NOOOOOOOOO

OH MY GOD

IM FUCKING CRYING

IM CRYING

NOOOOOOOOOOOO

Grace! Distraction! Yay! oh no. 

I hate this. 

Grace is so evil I love her. 

Sexxxx with a ghostttt-

ANGELA ATE THAT UP. 

Grace, you fucking queen. *Smokes a cigarette after sex.* 

LMAO HER CHASTITY GET IT. 

THAT ATE OMG MY BOY IS ALIVE OMG MY FAVORITE STRAIGHT COUPLE IS ALIVE!!! 

Rip Mayor Lauter, you were kinda hot. 

FUCK Clivesdale. 

OFFICER SHAPIROOOOO MY QUEEEN

OH MY GOD THE FIRST SPANKOVSKI MAN TO KNOW HOW TO DANCEEEEE

OH MY GOD ITS A POP PUNK REPRISE OMGGGG

oh this makes me smileeeeee

but the cliffhangers that come from Hatchetverse. What’s the twist. 

This homecoming flash mob is too good. I’m terrified. 

this is too good what’s happening. 

What’s the twist here. What is it. WHY IS THERE A BLACKOUT. 

THATS WHAT I THOUGHT. THATS WHAT I THOUGHT. 

aweeeeee this is gonna be bad. Yeah, get tricked Jason. 

She’s gonna kill him. 

Yup. the sequel: Horny Pervs Must Die. 

OH she’s a reverse succubus? 

YESSSSS TWIST ENDINGGGGG

DIRTY DUDES MUST DIE LMAOOOOO

Grace is psycho and I love her. 

Angela, my chaos hamster. 

WHO WILL PRAY FOR YOUUUUUU-

Darkness will spare my soul! 

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS

ATEEEEEEE

THE FUCKING HATCHET SONG FOR THE CREDITS I LIIIIIVE!!!  

[toinfinitywinning]

How it Began? As a kid, until something bad happens all you know is innocence. Bounce back. Resilience. Words and thoughts your growing mind can’t get its synapses matured yet. And by bad, I mean it rocks you. You’re crying. You’re asking why for the first time poor thing it’s forever; you’re confused. You cannot process the magnitude of the incident and sometimes may even require Counseling to help guide you through it…NVR goes away.

And then.

I mean it’s sad, Right? Being born isn’t your introduction “hey!” realization and rationality Day, it’s your Birth Day. Period. Everyone’s glad you’re here. But you’re not going to know anything for a Long time. Everyone’s with me. Hopefully, b/c I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no babies. And Well, most people R glad you’ve come unless you’re..ok no not that rn.

BUT

First time you are hurt and are able to process and internalize that new feeling it’s like welcome to the jungle we got fun and games! And I remember that moment for me. It wasn’t when I smacked my head and got hit with bats and sliced my fingers open trying to whittle (Dad’s fault) to make a teepee which now I’m not sure should be a thing. Also tried to make a tornado bottle like those science fair ppl had. The ones that won. B/c they actually figured out how to puncture a hole in a plastic 2 liter top without stitches and having to explain what in the Hell you were doing (Heather u said you might be here so I know you’re with the gear Shift trauma rn). For me until now it’s never been me physically hurt or incapable that’s defeating me—defeating—adjective : defeated—also adjective but untrue. This is different and I hate it b/c of that. I was born with vampire senses at least that’s what vampire diaries says. I feel everything so intensely that often it has trickled over to affecting me physically. I suppose a Good example is a panic attack but I’ve moved onto bigger things. I’ll be one of those ppl on ppl magazine whose ღ ended hearing bad News. This could get dark so I’ll Stop at bad News. It’s funny -I have all this time. And most of the time I don’t enjoy the time but I’ve thought a lot of that time some about when I was a kid. Just free fallin’. Before I got the anxious bug again I was fine being serendipitous and sporadic. One time I put a Friends name in my calendar even tho I knew I knew the time. That stuff. So back to the carefree kid. Like, 8+ I have to clearest memories. I want to take a sec to say how sad that is!! There is no question that I was the kid with the most bandaids. There are pictures and I Love them. Pain didn’t really bother me. Not like this. And I’ve had a lot of very serious injuries and surgeries. Why can’t I be her? It’s all about control.Sometimes staying in a State of any negative, sad emotion or trying time becomes comfortable so it becomes routine. Safe. This can Go downhill quickly. But I promise something from my psych minor talks about this my sister would know. Anyways you gotta get out and can’t.

I was in this State Right before I got sick but I pulled myself out of that creepy Ass Edgar Allen poem pit and swing thing b/c I didn’t like it anymore. But this is a Choice promise. And there’s not statute of limitations on how Long it takes you or if you even get to make a Choice time which is already a Mountain.I tend to be really open and candid. I would be a horrible Celebrity. First of all they’d only have pictures of me in sweatpants. But the openness isn’t for me or really anybody unless someone does see it and be seen. I never had that. And that’s no one’s fault. We didn’t have Smart phones which ironically give us cancer and often stupidity from the crap you read due to that algorithm. A few people reached out in my DM’s and on posts to just do this I guess and throw in a Basketball time to time.I was stuck. And I had well…a very eye opening bad experience. I don’t think I’ll ever share that publicly. But I was terrified. Something came over me when I got to my car and it wasn’t a Voice it was a direction. To home. Safety. Familiar. Routine. I knew sooner than immediately that I was done. That’s it. There’s a pattern in this pattern. You see?So all that is taken care of and now we will work on my eating Disorder. Anorexia, restrictive ED/exercise bulimia and body dysmorphia. You get it. Add this in with Addiction. Talk about stuck. All I can think of to compare it to is that scary book w/ a wizard and a whirlpool and IDEK how it ends but that was always enough for me to be done w/ that story. So, You’re bound to have one after losing 150 lbs over two and a half years and now can see your bones and muscles. Hey you’re confident again Good for you. This will not sustain. You lost weight probably all the wrong ways anyway but it worked. And you’re still in control. Things have changed and u know what to do to keep your skeleton up. One gust of wind or fainting and head stitches again having to hurry and tell your Apple Watch not to call the rescue’s and you’re an inch closer to hospitalization. Doin’ fine.All I had Left was my eating Disorder to work on and I’d made so much progress. I’ll expand on this but you actually have to eat when you’re sick. I won’t thank COVID-19 for that tho. Sometimes u can follow all the rules and still get *BEEP, explicative!* sooner or later it would have risen. So that infamous Day I’d just finished my hour walk and like had been doing about to eat w/ my Parents. I remember it like it wasn’t a 26 month old toddler Day away. One sniff. Mom -please get COVID tested. I remember being annoyed. B/c I have taken all the precautions. Well so do a lot of people and things still happen OUT of our control. This became the problem. Two saddest things about that next few days is I made my Dad say Shit when I came up positive then gave it to my Mom. I cannot tell you the guilt I would be carrying had this been the other Way around.I had lived my Addiction free Life and started to heal my ED rest of my Life. For 3 weeks. I felt so light. Felt so free. Brave and proud. More authentic. B/c being stuck and not being able to fix things yourself takes a lot of deleted Pride and bad bad bad experiences apparently. Wakey wakey. Why’s it gotta be that Way? At least it’s the Gentry way. I’d rather not keep that up.Crushed. Pre healing I couldn’t Exercise for 2-4 hours daily. Wake up at 5 am still kinda dazed and do 100 push-up’s then 10lb weights, several sets. Not one thing from a video or trainer but i can see everything chiseled so gotta be doing something right. Then walk a mile and a half or 10000 steps before you even answer a call at work. All this to have your evening free. To see your ribs and sometimes ✔ the camera Cloud to make sure that 10 pound added weight doesn’t happen. Showering at lunch break. Oh it was a machine. And ppl knew. I’m very aware. I lean toward empathy as well.

I was very very sick. Different sick. And TBH as much of Hell this is and might forever be I’d rather this. Even a broken ღ that was your stupidity and blinders anyway. Although I cannot control this it’s not an intensity of emotion in those skinny Ass bones I can’t turn off anymore. Need size zero and xs. Ghastly. I can answer a question of would you rather in this Case. My ღ literally aches. It’s all of the omnipresent and then some. So intense and relentless. I could change my mind tomorrow. Right now.

This Pain is Physical. Not my fault. Wasn’t abused. Can’t control this either and I’d never wish it on all but one person but idk. I feel things that intensely. I’d be the X-Ray Report that says torn or damaged in about nine places after my ACL tear. The Report was an entire page LOL. That is not common I don’t think. Should’ve just said everything is bad take your 2nd of now Four ambulance trips with your Dad to the ER.

Let me be clear. This is very hard to put into words. It’s less I guess that I wouldn’t barter but sometimes you’re just like please give me that Pain instead, just for a while.

Right now I am comfortable in Pain. Isn’t that pathetic yet tragic? I meannn. Whole body Pain. It’s emotional too trust me but this it takes first. Imagine…the control freak. This is not acute. Feeling without Pain even temporarily is kinda scary and better word unsettling. You want to get better of course but your body has done such a 180 that it becomes what you’re worried about and what makes you nervous. It’s an evil Domino set mouse wheel. Let me also add that long-haul Covid and dysautonomia and pots all of them happened because my body had gotten so healthy again it went in overdrive to try to help me and then couldn’t stop. How nice. Kindly. I’ve learned things about my body and about what people can experience and I didn’t want to. I will never again scoff at someone for saying that they are debilitated because, they are in constant pain or too “tired”... They can’t be safely aware. I’m ashamed I ever thought that about people because there is no take a Tylenol and lay down. There is no taking a nap and you’ll wake up refreshed. That’s all bullshit at this point, and it hurts if you have to ever explain it because you can’t, like so many other things until it happens to you you don’t really know how you feel like a lot of things you can swear that you’ll react one way or the other but when something happens to your kid or someone you love (dare i say abortion as a topic) all the sudden it’s personal and you’re thinking something you never thought you would. Or not. The struggle is actually real.



There is a lot of trauma or some type of PTSD with being this sick for this long as well because you sit comfortably, you know exactly what’s going to happen. If then, then that some of which are terrifying I shake I can’t believe anyone has to deal with this and yet I’m not even one of the most serious cases if you can believe that. Then there’s the Gaslighting. Go to stone ridge and admit yourself for anxiety. NAH. Thankfully all of my docs have been first class with no doors blown off.

I want to say I’ve learned a lesson.. karma. I deserve this. I should’ve seen it coming. Let me be clear again. No one deserves this and yet we’re human and stuff still happens to good and bad people. losing control has been difficult, but I feel like I’ve learned so much about, literal heartache and pain that only someone who was going through the same thing can identify with. there aren’t words. I’m not trying to paint a picture of someone who is on oxygen and dying or taking chemo, but I think that you can hold sadness in several different ways without feeling guilty. you can own What you’re going through. it’s OK to be angry at God at anything and I’ve had to realize that and it’s taken a long time and I think I still am working on it because I think I’m over here. not famished. not taken hostage. not bombed. I have a bed to lay in when I feel bad. U can’t compare things like this and you shouldn’t anyway. I think in doing that it’s never productive anyway. I don’t like being helped which is ironic because I have some co dependencies still and yearning to stay close to what is familiar and home and safe I’ve had to put my or whatever aside and my confidence out the window because yes, you will gain weight not exercising that much but you literally can’t do things at first. I was using a cane to get to the bathroom. I would pant no exaggeration like a dog for at least an hour sometimes after walking 10 feet, ask my mom she was on the couch across from me and we’re both thinking what just happened. or you have to use spoons because you’re shaking so much. Don’t even try a fork w/ rice. or you’re so confused that you always have to have what I would say and interpreter at this point, and praise God that there r doctors surrounding me. I have needed so much help and I think part of accepting help is also allowing someone else to practice stewardship and I think somewhere possibly the Bible at some point you can’t continue to deny someone’s help because they have to have the experience of helping and we both know each feeling. Frankly need it sometimes there are things that not even Gentry will speak of that I’ve gone through but somehow I’m thinking wow Pooh bear was correct. I really am stronger than I seem and I thought that the last time I was in a bad place life is nuts except help, if you don’t have the hope or faith let your family hold it for you. It’s still there. You just can’t get it yet and I cringe to say it, but I have learned so much and whether I heal completely or not writing all this again is therapeutic one, but two when people can identify with someone else, it is a very intimate experience the kind of intensity I feel with everything. I tell people I don’t want to hear ‘you’re going to get better’ because you don’t know that. we can pray for it, but I’ve given prayer a hard time as I’m able to complain, not going to church routinely. Then again going to church is just the building. Sadly tru 4 2 many. a reflection of your yearning for community and a place of hope and routine. we know from the current state in this world that going in a church and coming back out there’s nothing Christian about it, but I’m thankful that I have been held. I’ve even asked. Dad has even had to hang onto me. I’ve been in a wheelchair. I’ve had a bed pan. things that would normally humiliate you. You get humbled immediately. You may have your arms and legs, but there will be times you will need to be pried off the floor, there will be times that your head stays on a cold marble kitchen counter for hours because you don’t have the strength to walk 20 steps to your bed. Covid sucks. it has ruined lives, marriages, people have gone bankrupt. People have died. Mistreated. People have had experiences much worse than mine, and they didn’t deserve it either even if they didn’t take precaution like I did which is part of why I was so frustrated with getting sick. and again i was at that point I had gotten healthy. So ofc, the more prone your body go into hyperdrive. Trying to heal you. and that’s still where I’m at.

[technicalknockout]

i think a big fucking reason why ko and tko cant really be friends is how concerned ko is with how others think of him. and how others treat tko is a major contributer to ko's own inability to accept himself OR tko. because hes afraid of what the consequences will be.

and like. tko is generally violent a LOT of the time, but its in reaction rather than him just being like That.

there is ONE instance of him being violent of his own accord (his debut) which i find somewhat wrong, and hes still reacting in that instance to other peoples actions! hes reacting to people refusing to see him as his own person (which for tko, is one of the Worse things ever) and disregarding his autonomy (another thing tko regards as one of the worst things ever). and lets mention the fact that up to this point he was literally fucking stuck in a cage (WHICH AGAIN IS ONE OF THE WORST THINGS EVER TO HIM) and not ever allowed out. along with the fact that he probably didnt even Intend for things to go as out of hand as they did. (by reference of OTHER power battles)

and NONE of his actions cause permanent damage to anyone. violence in ok ko is not treated that seriously.

now i could analyze every other situation in as much detail but im going to keep up to season 3 short. in mystery science fair 201x he was once again responding to awful terrible treatment AND TRYING TO FUCKING PROTECT KO! someone at this point who he fucking hates. and in youre in control he straight up does nothing wrong. he doesnt attack anyone who isnt the boxbaby and enid & rad CHOSE TO FOLLOW HIM. thats their own damn fault. also rad can literally fly using his telekinesis he wouldve been fine. dark plaza he was literally just fucking defending himself. he didnt show any real signs that he was going to mess with the plan.

now season 3 is like. tko rules for one IS VERY MINOR even without the context. and with the context its like. tko is a traumatized kid who lacks any real support and is hated by practically everyone around him. AND WHAT HE DID WAS ABLE TO BE CLEANED UP IN *LESS* THAN AN HOUR.

now the other things. its again. tko is a abused and traumatized kid who LACKS ANY FUCKING SUPPORT and is hated by so many people. of course he took shadowys deal. shadowy actually called him by his name (something that SHOULDNT BE SPECIAL) and offered him actual understanding and support. so of course he did that. THAT AND HOW HES EXPERIENCED A BETRAYAL THAT IS THE WORST THING EVER !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so its like. without context his actions do look bad but within context (and how, up until season 3, they cause zero permanent damage to anyone) its like. hes a traumatized kid with zero real support system. how he acts should not be treated as something that isnt in reaction to other things. im the number 1 tko defender. he did nothing wrong to me <3 (he did do things wrong but i understand him and if you blame him for anything ill fucking get you /j about the fucking getting you part)

YES. not saying the stuff tko did was FINE but it wasnt out of nowhere, he literally could not do any better, and i completely understand why he is the way he is. one thing about tko is that he sees his actions as justified, he's just reacting to how others treat him or ko and tbh he should. and even the entire murder thing in lftte was a result of shadowy being the awful person he is, leaving tko feeling betrayed and abandoned by the only person he thought actually cared about him. Conclusion drag tko to therapy

[magickfromscratch]

The Faces of Truth.

The thing I like best about the tradition I’m practicing is the discussion of virtue it engenders. There are no things to worship. It’s not forbidden, it’s simply not a part of the magic at all. Atheists have practiced this magic, not expecting much, but loving the pageantry, and it has worked for them quite nicely.

The virtues are, generally, descriptive, rather than prescriptive. They describe, at least initially, what you value. Not what you’re good at, or how you act in the world. Just what’s important. Of eight, most people have between one and three. Deepening your connection to what you value is the name of the game.

My sweetie is a very Truth-oriented person, as is the person who I might describe as my oldest friend, both of whom practice this tradition.

I am a Creativity-oriented person, as should come as zero surprise to anyone with even a passing familiarity with me. However, I do value Truth, it being instrumental to the pursuit of philosophy and science, which are both very dear to me.

It is also the season of Truth, presently, as each virtue has its time.

Thus, we were discussing Truth. What follows is an exploration of the concepts we covered. Usual caveats blah blah blah, you don't have to do or believe something just because a post on the internet said. I would be the last person to suggest that this tradition is for everyone (it is most decidedly not), and even within this tradition, not everyone is obligated to value Truth.

Onward, then.

Many things called truth are the exact opposite of Truth.

No part of Truth, as a virtue, is about having your own personal version of it that comforts you. That sort of attitude leads to very bad places very quickly. That’s “Daughters of the Confederacy” kind of "truth," where other people’s narratives that you hurt them make you uncomfortable, so you make banning critical race theory a number one priority because of your imagined right to never feel cognitive dissonance.

No part of truth is feeling compelled to say something cruel to another person just because “everyone knows it.” Half the stuff “everyone knows” is naked, unexamined falsehood, or an oversimplification that is far enough from any fact as to be functionally damaging instead of useful. Like that there’s xx and xy, and those are the genders, and no other combinations exist.

Nor is it blathering on about everything you notice, and trying to, and I quote, “connect the dots” without any scientific or historical context.

Each virtue has facets. Truth straddles the transition between Summer and Autumn, and so its Summer facet is colored by Honor, which is the virtue which precedes it, and its Autumn facet is colored by Prudence, which comes after it.

Summer’s Truth is about honesty, a much hated and misunderstood characteristic these days. Not lying would be the bare minimum. Not making promises if you don't know that you can keep them. Owning up to your own faults, and speaking truth to actual power. Like, to be clear, telling off Debbie at the HOA about being a King Sized Bastard is not what honesty demands. But if there are Nazis taking over the schools and burning books, it does mean saying, "this is not right." It does mean not backing down when Todd the Alpha Male starts barking about his right to not vaccinate his kids, if what he wants from you is to tell him that what he's doing is OK in the middle of a plague. Moreover, to perceive the truth about oneself with grace and without shame is important to master of Truth as Summer understands it.

Autumn's Truth has much to do with curiosity, I think. The transition from Truth into prudence is about not only knowing something, but putting that information to good use. To me, it feels like the transition from science to technology, from knowing about lithium ions to building a battery with it. A genuine desire to search out the truth, to untangle mysteries, to solve puzzles in that sense, is what distinguishes Autumn's Truth from Summer's.

"How can we know if this is true?" is an important question. It is the mark of an adept of the virtue that hearing a statement that feels off, or which creates cognitive dissonance, does not provoke anger, but rather, provokes an honest investigation. The capacity to entertain an idea, evaluate it, and then to make a flexible judgment about whether it is true of false based on the available facts, and also to re-evaluate old ideas when new facts come to light is key to its essence.

[natstuart]

“This was the summer of my de-extinction, of life streaming back to its source.” or: self-hating emo lesbian yearning

001. NAVY BLUE- MUNA

Don't know what to say, so leave it blank like silence Go back home and wait for some new change that's coming I'm just trying to keep my head above water

002.THAT'S PHYSICS, BABY - POOL KIDS

I never know if I'm getting straight answers Swallow 'em whole with an extra grain of salt I won't get by if I'm minding my manners Only in time, and if you're admitting fault

003. CUT YR TEETH - KISSISSIPPI

Dimples that cut through eyelids Oh, heartlessness is burden High lows, for you're uncertain Of eagerness or fear that you'll lose it

004. PAPER BAG - FIONA APPLE

Hunger hurts, but starving works When it costs too much to love

005. WHEN YOU KNOW YOU KNOW - THE BETHS

It takes all of my restraint Not climbing in your cranium To observe the way the furniture's arranged Scratching at the door They're gonna call security So I can't creep around here anymore

006. STAGGER - POPPY

A crisis without a cause Faith put in a false God A misstep of emoting I'm trying to get to where I'm going

007. I GUESS THIS IS LIFE - JORDANA

The burn of a cigarette with a good, good friend It made me forget That all of the time I spent tryna make amends Was an accident

008. TELLING STORIES - TRACY CHAPMAN

There's a science fiction in the space between you and me A fabrication of a grand scheme Where I am the scary monster I eat the city and as I leave the scene In my spaceship I am laughing In your remembrance of your bad dream There's no one but you standing

[ang-paborito]

The Talk

I wanted to talk about my own assault but I never talk about it to anyone. Not just anyone. But I always talk about sexual assaults--the dynamics, the effects, the system.

I grew up learning about it through my dad. I know his work but he never tell me in details because I'm a kid but I observed it. He lets me play with the victims usually.

My mother insensitively pointed out that it's like playing with broken dolls.

Is someone really broken because someone broke them? Am I broken because I was forcibly touched?

I don't feel broken at all. In fact, I felt all these years I built up again.

In science, welewen that every cell of our bodies die and replaced and every 7 years we become different person.

I felt like I have an obligation as a survivor with forced resilience to help girls stand up again and be unbroken.

I mentioned that I survived through privilege not through resilience. Without familial connections, money-- I would have killed myself.

The proceedings finished when I turned 14 in and my attackers are now behind bars.

Do you notice how I choose my words?

Instead of saying "r***" I say attack or assault or r***** I say attackers. I would say pigs but pigs are way too cute to be equated in such derogatory placement.

I couldn't say "I was r-d." I would say I was attacked. Or in TAGALOG terms, "Napagtripan" "Nakursunadahan."

My sister, Julie, told me to never cover my words. Just say the direct words. But I can't and it's not the shame. My family told me not to be ashamed but it's not the shame. It's because my body rejects it. I'm in denial that things can happen to me.

I felt up all those feelings--disgust, anger, and pity. There is shame, self blame

My father couldn't even look at me but I saw him cry. When the judge declared their verdict, he cried in tears. He didn't hug me but he said sorry.

He was so sorry and he repeated it over and over again. He said is his fault.

He was very disappointed in himself. What greater insult to a man is that the monsters he is fighting would ruin his own home.

Imagine being a firefighter and your family dies in a fire.

He kept blaming himself because he is supposed to drive me back to Baguio. He didn't like the drive because its tiring him already.

He took me in front of the church where we waited for a bus. My mother hated those colorum buses or any other b class buses that are not GL or Victory.

She always told me GL is the safest. (I thought she was biased becaue the Lizardos and her has history).

So dad spotted the first bus and made me took it and I had to commute instead. The commute was easy. Hope in the bus going to Villasis, then wait for another bus bound to Baguio.

I should have missed the bus. You know how you said before that if you missed the bus, you are meant to miss it.

Am I meant to have caught the bus in time? Or was the people who missed are just lucky?

I had a classmate who is older slightly older but she has to drop out to help her mother in Mindoro.

I told my mom about this and she thinks it's a good idea to practically adopt another girl. She's Evelyn

[lostinatrainofthoughts]

Girlies im here to update on my tinder adventures. i had my 2nd call with another tinder dude. It lasted two hours 😃

Hes okay! But maybe i am picky dear Allah please so help me but theres just something about him that gives me the ick. Well not ick but like eh... he might not be the one.

heavy smoker: wont smoke in front of me out of courtesy but doesnt believe the science that inhaling toxin can legit kill you all bcause his grandma whos also a heavy smoker died of something else and not cancer. Like he doesnt care about the consequences at all.

2. privileged af and so ignorant about it: hes travelled once for a month last dec and will be traveling again THRICE this yr and he thinks that going for umrah is not a vacation/“travelling” bc its a spiritual journey like do you hear yourself and how in your bubble you are. Anything thats going out of the country for something thats not work AND going for a peace of mind is VACATION. his mom shops for branded stuff and he gets bored waiting around and sitting inside the store. Like some of us wouldnt even dream of stepping in. and i told him honestly, do you know how privileged you sound (entitled actually) and he said what do you mean?? and I'm like most people don't get to experience going out like that. and he was like yeah I'm thankful, grateful. mmm......

3. mansplainer (biggest ICK): he said hed bring me outdoors and i told him i cant and i dont like it and he said that he will force me but will bring an umbrella. Then i told him i have eczema and he gaslit me saying IT CANT BE THAT BAD. HIS EX HAD IT WORSE IT WAS SEVERE And i was so pissed. And so i said. Well. I had been admitted three fucking times for it and was on 4 different medications for it and going to biweekly appointments and blood tests and so i said im SURE. CERTAIN that i have it MUCH WORSE than your ex. he did not spare me a breath and came up with his own conclusion. also he says that eczema HAS A CURE. HES CERTAIN OF IT. bc he's saw it in his ex. and I'm like ............................ i had it since i was a baby. the fuck you mean there's a cure. there are treatments for it okay but not cure. i hate when people who don't have eczema say nonsense like that.

Which brings me to point no. 3: religious. Nothing nothing NOTHING wrong with someone who’s religious, i am a practicing muslim. I pray 5 times a day and i value my relationship with god too. But what i dont like is how he pushes his personal religious values or agenda onto me like i dont know shit. Your relationship with god, and my relationship with god is no ones business, its your own so dont try to police how i do it with god. Like i told him i “had” to quickly pray before calling him. And he stopped me saying i shouldnt say “had to” bc that would mean being forced/its an obligation so i have to change that bc “context is everything”. Like its something to fix. i really HAD to make it quick or else i wouldnt know what time i'd be praying.

4. With that being said, he is also homo/phobic..................... well yes and no? i don't know. he said he doesn't want to talk about it bc its controversial and he is against t/rans ppl and its changing the essence of what god has created for you. i just don't like that argument because . if there's one thing you cant change about me, it's my morals.

5. hes so into himself that he was basically pitching himself like a project. but ok, its my fault, i asked. but was there any reciprocation? did he ask me back about me? not really. i found myself having to jump in and add in what i had to say. he would say things like, I've been through a lot, you have no idea. and I'm like don't we all??? you arent the only one whos experienced the lows of life. you arent the only one who had a hard time.

6. his approaching his 30s and he treats me like I'm a kid bc I'm 26? "oh huwaina you still so young. when the pandemic hit, it was like 3 fucking years of my youth taken away from me now I'm almost 30" and i jumped in and said like "yeah me too" and he was like "no, I've already reached 30, there's no more 20s for me but you do. you still have time to experience things and enjoy life. i was 21, 22, 23 when covid happened i felt like i didn't experience the life i was supposed to at my early 20s. also does life end at 30 ladies and gents? he keeps telling me how gen z i am, and I'm like okay????????????

7. HES NOT GOOD LOOKING IM SORRY I SWIPED BC HE SEEMED LIKE HE HAD PERSONALITY 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

[itsbearyall]

why is our generation blamed for so much...when it's the ones before us who are trying to carve us wrong? they're the one saying we're sensitive when we speak against racism, homophobia, classism, colorism, inequality, hate crimes...but they get mad at the sight of a box of pads/tampons, men in makeup, and woman breastfeeding because "what if there are kids around?" -> no kid is grossed out about something unless you make them grossed out, kids have been brought up playing with paint and art and only want the worls to be more beautiful, and a child would see a woman feeding her baby -because kids don't sexualize basic science and survival.

we have a group of old, white men in ugly-ass ties telling little, innocent girls that if they were raped, it's their fault for looking like that. Because My Little Pony frocks and flip-flops are just so sexual, especially if she's barely 12. they like em youthful apparently.

if your guy friend wears a skirt, the school won't care. in fact people -even you- might praise them for "breaking gender norms" as if men havent been in kilts and loincloths forever. anyway. he'll be fine. but the second you wear one it's all "are they staring at me?" "oh god I knew this was a bad idea" "shitshitshit those stairs are glass-" and you think you're {or actually will be} getting stares from male teachers, classmates, female administrators who'll mentally write you up thinking they need a uniform -when the uniform would involves us wearing skirts???

why is it that when i search up 'school boy', we get kids, actually studying, but when its 'school girl' you get sex costumes?

they say "why dont you go out enough, you're always on that screen" when they're the ones who don't let us outside the front porch, and they don't trust our friends. when its their generation that has all the killers, rapists, and kidnappers hiding and waiting to grab us whilst we're on our way home from school.

"back in my day we didn't have these phones, we got along just fine"

times change...back in your day you didn't believe people were equal just because their melanin was stronger than yours

"back in my day we actually went out to the movies, shopping, eating, fairs"

back in your day, you didn't have to worry about the outside world

"back in my day we didn't have these gays and trans deformities and whatnot"

oh no, you did, you just had it illegal

"you're just gay/scared/depressed/angry/wantingfreedom/canttakeajoke because all your friends are"

you're just a fucking coward, a judgy fuckpot who's just as bad -if not worse- than how you see us, because all your friends our

we use the internet to an adavntage. they use it to pass the time, and more than us...but why are we shamed for it?

PTSD: if someone was sexually harrased, two years ago, they're told "it happened a while ago, she/he can be forgiven, get over it". if someone served in a war 20 years ago, they're never remotely asked to 'move on?'

anyone can get sexually harrased. Men. Women. Children. Stop drilling it into our heads that's only those who asked for it.

we pledge to shape a future that doesn't resent their pasts. why couldnt you?

[ask-the-almighty-google]

Tbh I actually have a PJO AU fic I’m doing (not a crossover, just an AU), where all Librarians and Guardians that work for the Library - whose patron deity is Thoth - are demigods.

And my headcanons are as follows:

Greek:

Cassandra —> Athena (math, tactics)

Ezekiel —> Hermes (thieves, mischief, etc)

Roman:

Jake —> Apollo (music, art, poetry, etc)

Jenkins —> Justicia (Justice)

Egyptian:

Flynn —> Thoth (math, science, writing, magic)

Eve —> Bastet (warrior, protector, nurturer)

So, an equal mix of Greek, Roman, and Egyptian Gods… and also mechanics about pantheon rarity and other such things as well as what powers (or lack thereof) can be given to their demigod children.

I like the idea that being a demigod does not put a limit on your talents or abilities; for instance, Jake’s love of architecture or Ezekiel’s gift for technological invention, or Cassandra’s wide range of expertise.

I then chose the godly parents based on core talents and traits, and then factored that into what we know of the team’s family lives.

Cassandra would have been the perfect poster child for an Athena kid, with her stepmom seeing her as an affair baby and her dad not wanting any children nor having done anything to warrant the arrival of one on his doorstep. This fits with the parental neglect she describes every so often but never elaborates on.

Jake would be perfect as an Apollo kid, in the idea that his mom had an affair with a handsome singer at the local bar and that’s why his dad hates him so much too. Resulting in his talents and interests and serving as a reminder of his mother’s affair.

Ezekiel? Hermes. Has to be. But especially in the context of being orphaned at a very young age, because despite all of Hermes’ faults the guy claims all his kids and is also shown to be a bit more invested in their very early lives. It would make sense that he would give Ezekiel to Lenore, a thief, to watch over and raise.

Jenkins was a bit harder but once I found a match it made sense. Justicia, drawn to those of chivalrous quality, the illegitimate son of the most noble of knights (before his villain arc). And during a time when Rome was withdrawing from England, but its presence was still felt in the ruins and forts and defenses.

Eve was Bastet, immediately, to me. Partly because I wanted an excuse to give her pet lions. A warrior goddess, protector of Egypt, nurturer. Perhaps the result of an old flame on her father’s part before he met her stepmother, born into a military home and then chosen as the Library’s Guardian.

Flynn was trickier for me, but given his wide range of skills as a polymath when I did some digging Thoth made the most sense. I had him given as a gift to his parents because of his father being a Solomonic Mason, and other reasons that delve a bit too deeply into the fic’s plot, and of course he has four degrees in Egypt alone, so the connotation made the most sense.

All in all I had a lot of fun theorizing godly parents for the main six in the series and just wanted to be excited with you a little bit, especially because - given the above context - I laughed so hard when you talked about Jake being an academic affair for Athena.

I was picturing Cassandra shooing her mother off with a broom because “that’s my big brother, mom! Stop that!”

Librarians fans, anyone a Percy Jackson and the Olympians fan? Do you know how Athena - a virgin goddess - has demigod children? (In PJO). Her children are concieved through the melding Athena's divine thoughts and the ingenuity of her chosen mortal partner. Athena's children are born from the head like she was. They are literally brain children.

This thought crossed my mind. Jacob "genius IQ, has several honary degrees from universities in four continents, historian, art expert, architecture expert, martial artist, speaks 9 languages and can read 12 more including Greek, mechanicallyminded" Stone, is actually the type of partner that would catch Athena's eye.

Imagine if the librarians came into work one day a there was a baby??? Just there?? In the Annex??

[pigeonpeach]

Yandere academy Childe x Onee-san reader

A/n please read: hello! This is fanwork of another writers au aka @yestrday ‘s yandere genshin academy au. I heavily recommend binging their stuff its really good. In particular this piece takes on the sort of onee-san (big sister) route where basically y/n /reader spends most of their time taking care of the first years and overall just being a big ol sweetheart. I just LOVED how the author depicts the older students reacting and getting all jealous over not having y/n’s full attention so i had to write something. Of course i did put some of my own traits into y/n. My favs were Childe and Zhongli so i might write a version with Zhongli instead if i get the inspo.

Cn: not much really, childe is a lil creepy and touchy but y/n is kinda into it lowkey. I cant write make out scenes but theres still alot of it. Also minor mentions of hurt with bennett.

Who could possibly hate l/n y/n. A third year student with a great reputation and grades. Lots of friends, and lots and lots of admirers. But their kindness was their most beloved trait. Y/n always packed extra food for lunch in case a dear friend had forgotten or lost theirs. Y/n often helped out at the nurses office and seemed to have the most soothing voice as they’d patch up students who could be sobbing and shaking. In general they were a well liked and somewhat popular student so it was no surprise they had plenty of admirers. If only they had as much time as Y/n’s biggest flaw was also their kindness. It never felt good to turn people down. Especially when they themselves would love to spend time with their fellow seniors. However they knew Bennett would be sulking if he didn’t see them at lunch today. It honestly left a poor taste in their mouth having to turn down Venti’s offer of a picnic at lunch today. But they didn’t want to pass by the nurses office again and see him in there. Y/n’s heart was solid gold but gold itself is a weak metal that can easily bend.

What was supposed to be a picnic with Childe ended up getting canceled last minute as you held a bruised Bennett in their arms. Wrapping the bandages around tightly but not too tight. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to knock over all those chemicals in the science room!” No matter how exhausted you were though, you never seemed to get tired of Bennett, he was such a lovable little kid, you couldn’t help it. Taking care of people was just a natural instinct within you, which made you get along splendidly with Bennett who more often than not needed taking care of. “Its not your fault Benny I know. I don’t blame you one bit, I’m just glad none of those chemicals were dangerous.” You were finally finished with the last of the bandages and gave Bennett a little kiss on the cheek. “Now you’ll probably be in the nurses office for awhile, I’ll go bring you back some lunch okay? Just wait here”Bennett, his face turned a delicate pink as he eagerly shook his head.

You smiled as you exited out the door. Your tranquility was soon interrupted as you made your by a sudden tug backwards. You could barely blink before feeling your back pinned up against the lockers.

“You’re really messing with me aren’t you~ I hardly get to have any time with you nowadays and you go off to play nanny with that first year!” Childe’s fist was clenched tightly next to your head resting against the cold metal. “I was looking forward to our little date today, you had me thinking I could finally have a second of your oh so precious time and then you run off to comfort him!” He pressed himself into you trapping you against the locker.

“Okay I’m sorry about forgetting but you’re acting psychotic! What on earth are you trying to pull here huh? We’re still at school you dumb-aAH!” You barely got to cover your mouth as Childe eagerly bit into your neck. You bit your lip out of shock, you could barely focus on anything, you hadn’t exactly ever done this before. To witness Childe in such a primal and instinctual mood felt so intimate. You were almost flattered that simply forgetting a lunch hangout had been enough to get him so worked up over you... The sensation of Childe possessively biting into your neck,You could feel your resolve and hesitation melt as you try one last time to pry him off. Finally with a wet smack of his lips he gleefully pulled back revealing a big bruise right on your jugular, out in the open, unable to be hidden with the collar of your uniform. He grinned with a smile you could only describe as manic. Why was it kind of hot though-

“Y-you… You IDIOT! What am I going to do if the staff see this! Gosh I knew you were careless but i didn’t think you would be downright stupid!” Childe basked in pride at your reddened face. As you quickly opened your locker trying to find a jacket of something to cover with.

“Oh please, this wasn’t careless at all. I made sure no body was coming around these parts at this time. And besides, I have a scarf you could borrow if you’re really that insecure about it~” He pressed his mouth right against their ear. You practically died inside then.

“You better! I could get expelled if the school thought I was doing something indecent! I’m not wasting my scholarship just because you’re a little pent up you know?” You practically tugged the scarf off of his and lazily wrapped it around yourself. You were ready to chew him out again when he fixed the scarf to look more presentable. Your cheeks were warm and pink then. He chuckled.

“See? you really have been depriving yourself haven’t you, all this work just to keep that first year alive, you keep rejecting and rejecting my offers,saying you’re ‘just too busy today or maybe tomorrow’ when deep down I can tell you want nothing more than to let me take advantage of you~” He sneaked a quick peck at your cheek making you blush even more.

“Y-you’re wrong! Ah! Stop trapping me against the locker I’m trying to use it! Besides its super inappropriate!” Although, it did feel kind of nice being in his grasp. You spent practically your whole week helping Razor and Bennett prepare for some big tests in Chemistry, and your whole year so far was practically baby sitting the first years which as much as you enjoyed, wasnt always so... rewarding, it could get draining at times to be relied on too much, there was something about just pressing your back against the warm embrace of Childe that made those worries melt. You felt so… so.. desirable. You knew alot of your male peers sought after you romantically but you had no idea he was so desperate just to be with you, who wouldn’t be flattered to be so utterly wanted.

“My my, I didn’t think you would be this easy to wind up girlie, I thought you would have alot more fight in you but aside from your mouth you’re practically just begging for me. I can just tell you’re enjoying this. So why don’t you cut the talk, just let me spoil you for today hm? I’ll forgive you then for forgetting our picnic?” Childe’s hands ran up your curves leaving you to hiss in shock. His pelvis pressed oh so tightly as he pinned you to the locker infront of you.

“You..you’re really not giving up are you?” You turned your head around to weakly scowl at the smug ginger. Which he then proceeded to take the opportunity to kiss you on the lips, the last of your resistance practically melted then, worst case scenario the bell goes off and he HAS to leave then surely. He couldn’t be that dense as to continue past lunch surely! You hear his muffled chuckles as he deepened the kiss and tighten his grip on your waist. His other hand slamming against the locker keeping you from sliding out. You couldn’t help but just wrap your hands around his neck which caused him to jolt in surprise. He pulled away briefly just to look into your embarrassed face.

“I didn’t think you were that touch-starved! Don’t tell me those first years don’t know a thing or two about romance! You devote so much to them and they dont even know how to hold you right?”He laughed. You scowled.

“I-i don’t see them that way! Besides I just like taking care of people its just… I haven’t.. really.. had the chance to… be taken care of like this…you’re.. fuck just shut up and kiss me or I’ll find someone else to!” You practically dragged him back into the kiss much to his delight. He eagerly continued with the session as you let him devour you. However he pulled away a bit too soon for your liking.

“You’re perfect for me you know? Every little thing about you just enamors me sometimes. I know you feel the same too, I can tell you want this, you want me to pick you up in my arms and take you away from all thi-MPHHHff.” You pulled him by his tie back into the kiss. You didn’t have the patience to listen to his rambles. You’ve been deprived of affection for so long and if Childe was going to bother you then you might as well drain him for all he’s got to offer right? At least he seemed all the more willing. He pressed himself so tightly against you that you were convinced he was trying to absorb you. Your hands wrapped around his neck. It felt so… so

RING!!!!!!! Snapping you out of your touch starved craze was the lunch bell signaling the end of lunch and your little.. session with Childe. Catching Childe off guard, you pushed him off finally separating yourself from him as you got your lunch box and ran off to give it to Bennett. Leaving Childe a sweaty and riled up mess. Leaning against the opposite locker he grinned like a cheshire cat.

After dropping your lunch off to Bennett who luckily did not recognize your scarf, you raced to your class and made it just in time. You very shamefully sat down in your seat knowing at least a good chunk of the people here recognized who’s scarf you were wearing, but it was better than them seeing that bruise he left. You could practically feel Scaramouche’s gaze burrowing a hole in your head. You only hoped this class would be over before he decided to strangle you with the darn scarf.

[anime-grimmy-art]

What do you do when there’s not much to an AU? You make up your own stuff, ofc. And as is per usual when I make Character Designs, I make up a shit ton of lore too.

The ramblings under the cut, but what I’m really interested in, is what you guys think. Do you guys have any headcanons/ideas for this AU? Let me hear them! Also, if you don’t wanna read on tumblr, here’s the Google Docs link: https://drive.google.com/file/d/151yshHxnb_--P6eMKkwkI2dee9xC_Llb/view?usp=sharing

Before I get into the characters’ roles, here’s some general facts and backstory of their town:

- Basically, it’s Undertale meets Harvest Moon / Stardew Valley. Well, kinda. I at least used that approach for coming up for the jobs for the characters. You know, how there’s always a general store, a doctor, a smithy, etc.

- The usual story of a HM game is that you come to a town that’s way past its glory days and you, as the player/farmer, help them get back to that. The “backstory” of the town is that that already kinda happened. I’ll get into it more in the character description, but basically when Asgore was still mayor, the town got really popular. Then yadda yadda, a certain tragedy happened, two kids died, and the town suddenly got very bad publicity. There was a lot of stuff going on back then, bad reputation being spread and also a lot of law stuff, cos, you know, supposed child murder ‘n all, so Asgore made the decision to shut off the town to ppl from outside. This was in the interest of most monsters living there, because as fun as it is to have a lot of people coming there, most just wanted to live a quiet life. Not everyone was happy with that though, so many moved away from town and some others are trying to get the town back on its feet. But more on that later.

On to the characters:

I’m just gonna start with the skelebros, cos it’s their fault in the first place I got so invested.

Basically, they are what the player is in hm/sdv. They just showed up one day, took over the abandoned farmhouse and began their life there. The two came to town way after it was “closed” and since then a new mayor has opened the possibility for new residents to move in. Their farm helps the economy of the town a lot and the mayor, like usually in hm games, is trying to use that to make the town more known again. The skelebros aren’t really working towards that goal however.

So, now a bit more detail on them individually.

Papyrus:

- The design is mostly based on what’s “canon” in this au.

- He works mostly on the fields and is in charge of the crops. Their fields aren’t spectacularly big, but still big enough to plant a few dozen rows of veggies. 

- Paps also helps out a lot in town when he has the time. He helps Asgore with his plants, he goes fishing with Undyne, helps Toriel carry crates around and so on. This is inspired by the part-time job mechanic in HM ToT.

- Unbelievably, in this AU Pap is not an absolutely awful cook. Since he helps out at Muffet’s and Grillby’s a lot, they tend to show him some tricks to cooking. Even though Pap’s not a big fan of the greasy or overly sweet cooking those two do, he picks up a lot.

Sans:

- Again, design mostly based on the “canon” look. Maybe a bit more baggy.

- This is finally an AU this dude gets to rest. Since there are no resets and he doesn’t have to see his bro die again and again, for once in his life, he’s not a sad ball of depression. He’s just a chill and lazy dude that loves to make puns. Though, since he’s not too experienced with the feelings of loss, helplessness or grieving, he still tends to hide behind puns and fakes smiles if he does feel bad.

- Sans is in charge of the animals on the farm. Papyrus begrudgingly gave him that role since Pap’s loud demeanour and hectic movements usually scare the animals. Sans’ relaxed attitude draws the animals to him naturally and even if Pap mostly finds him sleep against a tree, in a stack of hay or on one of the sheep, the animals are always fed, healthy and relaxed, so Sans seems to be doing his job.

- Sans always has a small chic sit inside his hoodie or hat. Is it always the same one? Who knows, maybe.

- Sans also, somehow, can produce eggs out of thin air. Grab into his hoodie pocket, in his pants pocket, in his hat, in his slipper, there’s suddenly always an egg there. On good days he can even make butter or cheese appear. 

Gaster:

- He’s literally just a scarecrow in this. Though, if you ask any of the bros why they designed their scarecrow that way, they won’t have an answer.

Frisk&Toriel:

- Frisk is mostly based on what I wore myself as a kid in summer. Just a loose shirt with a cappy. Toriel basically has her ut gown, just with an apron on top.

- Frisk just appeared outside the “magical” forest one day. Napstablook and his cousin found them and brought them to Toriel, who has been taking care of them since.

- Toriel runs the general store in town, but also often takes care of the few kids that still live there.

- Frisk usually helps out in Toriels store, plays with the other kids or sits around at Asgore’s. They’re notorious for nabbing small snacks, mostly from Asgore’s plants. You’ll always find them munching on something. 

- Frisk was in town before the skelebros. Since they’d moved in, Frisk often went to spy on their farm. After a small incident with angry chicken, Frisk got to know the two better and now they see them as something between brothers and uncles.

- But Frisk honestly gets along with everyone. Just like in UT, they’ve not only been adopted by Toriel but literally everyone.

- Toriel and Asgore’s relationship is not as bad as in the main game, since, you know, Asgore didn’t kill literal children, but there’s still tension between them. Back when Asriel and Chara died and the whole thing with the bad rep for the town began, Toriel felt betrayed by Asgore focusing more on the town than giving their deceased kids the grieving they deserved. They’re not divorced, but Toriel still moved out and said needed space to think. Now that Frisk is in the picture though, the both of them are slowly coming to even ground and may even be able to talk things out and clear up the uncertainty of their decisions.

Asgore:

-Asgore has his UT Ending / Deltarune clothes, just with a gardener’s belt.

- He’s the previous mayor of the town, but after all the crap that happened, he stepped down from the position. Now he has his own little shop and sells seeds, saplings, homegrown veggies and fertilizer. So, basically what e.g. the Marimba Farm is in HM AP

- His main customer is Papyrus and they’re on friendly terms. Asgore is worried about how much and how hard Pap works, so he often gives him a discount. 

- Since his family’s past tragedy, Asgore is kind of nervous around kids. So, when he first met Frisk, he hoped they’d not visit him too often. But to his chagrin, Frisk took an instant liking to him and spends a lot of time at his shop (and steals eats the fresh grown veggies). Now, he’s really grateful for that, because for one, he loves Frisk as dearly as he had his own children, and also because now the tension and mistrust between him and Toriel seem to grow smaller day by day.

Undyne&Alphys:

- I gave Undyne a pretty basic fisher’s outfit. Alphys basically has Elli from HM’s outfit, just a bit more doctory stuff added. She still has her canon lab coat too.

- In essence, Undyne and Alphys have 2 completely different jobs. Alphys is the resident doctor and Undyne runs the fish market.

Two things. Yes, I know Alphys is more a mechanic than a doctor, she fits the aesthetic though, so she’s the doc now. And no, Undyne being a fisherwoman is not cannibalism, think of it more as a shark hunting smaller fish.

- The reason I lump them together is because they act as the local “smithy”. Alphys is still really tech savvy in this (I mean, Mettaton is still part of this AU), so she takes on most problems with electronics and stuff. For Undyne, I didn’t want to lose her Royal Guard’s Captain image, so she’s really good at handling tools (and weapons, but Al doesn’t let her make them anymore). So basically, if there’s a broken tool, you can be sure that either Undyne or Alphys can fix it.

- As for relationships, those two are still an item. Alphys is still really shy and a shut-off, but since Undyne and Pap become best friends, she gets to know the skelebros better. She and Sans especially get along well, since most of the time Undyne and Papyrus are let loose, they sit back and talk about science-y stuff. (no, Sans doesn’t have a background in science but he’s still into sci-fi)

- Alphys has a bit of a strained relationship with both Asgore and Mettaton.

Back when Chara and Asriel died, it was because of “illness” (maybe poisoning?). Alphys feels awful because with her back then limited knowledge on medicine she couldn’t help the two. Asgore doesn’t hold anything against her but Alphys can’t help but feel guilty.

Alphys still built Mettaton’s body in this one. The two had a really big disagreement, because Mettaton hated the fact the town was going to close, and he couldn’t understand how Alphys could feel otherwise, even more so endorse the idea.

Mettaton, Napstablook, Mad Dummy/Mew Mew:

- Napsta and Dummy are pretty self-explanatory, they got straw hats. Mettaton’s outfit is a bit of a joke cos it’s a play on “work at the top and party at the bottom”. The tie has two different sides, one with the yellow red pattern, the other completely red. His “top part” is the business part, because when he’s on tv or in the mayors’ office, you don’t usually see his feet. The bottom is his party/dance part, cos his dancing/entertainment channels mostly feature his legs. 

- Mettaton, still a robot, Napstablook and Mad Dummy are all still cousins in this AU.

- Originally, they all lived and worked at the Blook Farm, the Animal Farm of this AU. Mettaton, however, despised that simple live and after befriending Alphys and her building him a body, he left the Farm to pursue bigger things. 

- Mettaton runs the local tv network. From weather to game shows, he does it all. He also runs the tailor shop in town that sells his designer clothes and merchandise. After Asgore stepped down, Mettaton also took over the role of town’s mayor and now works towards making the place more known again. Not everybody is happy with him doing that though.

- One of those people is the Mad Dummy. He can’t stand people anyways and he always claims that history would just repeat itself.

- Since the whole family is made of ghosts, they have different dummies and scarecrows they can use to take care of the animals. To mock Mettaton and kinda get back at Alphys for giving MTT such an opportunity, Mad Dummy found the blueprints for the Mew Mew robot and now modelled one of their scarecrows after it. 

- Napstablook isn’t fond of taking over obejcts like his cousins do, so he mostly takes care of the snails. Somehow, he can interact with them even when incorporeal. 

Muffet&Grillby:

- The two of them run the Inn together. Muffet cooks in the daytime and makes desserts, Grillby manages the bar in the evening. 

- The two still can’t really stand each other but working together like this benefits them both because their rivalry just spurs them on more.

- Even though Grillby is a patient person, somehow Muffet is the only person who riles him up enough to retaliate. (Well, maybe except for Sans, he’s a strong second).

So, basically everything between those two is a challenge in some way. Even if Papyrus doesn’t notice, even his cooking lessons are a challenge for them. 

- Even though they’re constantly bickering, after working together for so many years, there’s a strange level of respect and trust between them. Even if back when they first started this business, they’d pour salt into an already open wound, nowadays they’d know better and just take a step back from the other or even comfort the other (on very rare occasions only). 

Asriel&Chara:

- They be dead. Kinda.

Some Characters that’d live in that town too but that I haven’t made designs for:

- Gerson is the original smithy of the town. He’d grown up in a family of smiths, but he’d always had an appreciation for the sea. That’s why, when the town became more deserted and Undyne had a good enough skill level as smith, he took up the Captains hat and now mostly spends his days out on sea. He also ferries people to places if they need him to. Oh, and just like in canon, Undyne learned most of her skills from him.

- Burgerpants is a poor dude Mettaton basically kidnapped when he was trying to get fame in the city. Now Burgerpants works wherever MTT needs him to, be that as cameraman for the tv shows, cashier in his tailor shop or his slave secretary in the mayor’s office.

- MK is Frisk’s best kid friend. MK’s parents are in charge of shipping the goods out of town and paying the individual people. MK’s the one that usually collects the goods at the end of the day.

- Other than that, there are only a few people in town. I’d imagine the older folks or the really young families stayed in town after it was closed. I think the librarby dude would still run the library. Some Snowdin residents like the stone family or the dogs also might still live there. 

[palbabor-writes]

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, student/teacher sex, tw.dubcon, tw.sub/dom dynamics, brat taming, fingering, masturbation, a table is pretty roughed up in this, so pls hold a brief moment of silence for it    

Words: 12,857

“So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Notes: the title was selected because it’s got the word cum in it. ahhh, the things that crack me up. anyhow. 

this is part of the BNHA Degeneracy server’s 9 to 5 collaboration! i had a ton of fun participating in this and thank you guys for making this so freaking awesome! special shoutout & thanks to @albinoburrito​ & @kugutsuu​ for their beta edits! this was a departure from what i usually write about and i appreciate all of your notes and help!  

Practicum prac·ti·cum /ˈpraktəkəm/ noun a practical section of a course of study

It’s your senior year, they said. Live a little, they advised. Stop and take a breather, you’re practically home free! Take some easier classes. Focus on what’s in front of you, it’ll be over before you know it! On and on and on. 

Spring semester is almost here. You’ve applied for graduation, the cap and gown ordered, and you have a shiny class ring sitting on your pinky. It’s in the bag. Just breeze through four more classes and you’re out. Well, it would be an easy shot, if you hadn’t put off this one class. 

It always popped up, so it’s not like you could plead ignorance. Your advisor warned you, each quarterly meeting, that you needed to get it out of the way. Take it seriously, he cautioned, clacking out his notes, typing down that you’d failed to heed his sage advice, again. If you wait too long, you’re not going to get the professor that you want.

That was the other problem. You’re a procrastination superstar. If there was some kinda award for putting off assignments, you’d have won it ten times over. You liked the heart pounding race to the deadline, the sleepy boasts that you’d tackled the project within hours of its due date. 

It’s a stupid habit. Every semester you promise yourself that you’ll do better. You won’t wait, you’ll tackle things one assignment at a time and turn them before the hard cut off at 11:59 pm. Who the fuck did you think you were kidding? Certainly not your friends, or your advisor. He could read you like a book. Hell, he’d even sent warnings. 

‘Don’t forget about the deadline for senior registration!’

‘You don’t want to be on a waitlist. You especially don’t want to take one of the harder professors. These are freshman level classes, they’re designed to flunk undergrads. Don’t forget (Y/N), chew them up and spit them out tactics are employed.’ 

But you had. You’d set an alarm on your phone, then neglected to give it a title, so you’d only chuckled and smacked the chirping into silence that morning, snoozing the all important deadline away. 

Fuck. 

Most of the classes for biology are wait-listed. No, scratch that, all the classes for Intro to Genetic Biology are wait-listed. You opt into the waitlist for all of them, just in case, and a week later your phone alerts you that one has an open seat. Actually, it has several open seats, too many open seats to be natural. However, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so for now, you’re enrolled in BIO 1208: Principles of Cell and Organismal Physiology - For Non-Science majors. 

Perfect.

Yeah, no. You’d looked up the professor, since the whole open seat thing was still giving you the heebie-jeebies, and your heart dropped. You’ve heard of him, most of the student body has. His classes are notoriously small. Not because the university limited them, or planned for smaller class sizes. No, his classes are tiny because he is infamous for failing students. 

Most, when they realize they’re scheduled for his bio classes, frantically drop, taking the withdrawal and praying for better luck next semester. Others, brave souls who think they can come out unscathed, attempt to grit their teeth and push through. But, by midterms, they’re war torn and haggard, shaking their heads and praying for a ‘C’, at best. Fewer still, pass.

This pedagogy isn’t a sign of good teaching; quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t want your student body failing. Yet, year after year, Professor Tomura Shigaraki keeps teaching the same Intro to Bio class. It boggles the mind, but you’ve never had to worry about it. Well, until now. 

When you’d received the notification that you’re enrolled in the B section and spied the name Shigaraki under the professor listing, you’d scarfed down your suddenly flavorless lunch and dashed up the steps to the student advising hall, praying there was some way you could wiggle your way out of this growing disaster.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to take it earlier and to take it in the fall when there are more freshman level classes available. I swear I said that to you. And, AND, I even sent you emails, several times if my sent inbox is to be believed, to NOT forget when senior registration ends.” 

Your advisor is peeved. You don’t blame him. He’s right, this is your fault, but there’s gotta be some kinda loophole. Something, fuck, anything, that can pull you from this mess. 

“I know, I know! I’m so sorry. You’re right. But, I mean, can’t I just hold off for another week? See if the waitlist clears?”

The man that you’ve known for four years, that’s seen you progress from freshman to senior, steeples his long fingers and purses his lips, likely debating on a tactful scolding, or a firm rebuttal. He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, your nose wrinkled and brow furrowed, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

“Do you know how many students we require to take BIO 1208?”

“No,” you gulp, nibbling on your lower lip nervously. 

“Over 7,000. Do you want to hear the statistics that would need to shake out in your favor for you to miraculously avoid taking this specific class? Nothing is going to open for you, it is this class, or no class.”

You sigh, and your advisor nods, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well then, I suggest you brush up on your study skills. Find a classmate that you can compare notes with, join a study group, go to the student union and ask for a tutor. I would hate to see you back here for the summer semester. You’re scheduled to walk the stage this spring and you’ve worked hard for this, so don’t fuck it up, okay?”

You’ve attended this university for four years, but the first day of term always gives you the jitters. It doesn’t matter that you know your way around, or that you know ten professors by name, and bump into several friends on the way to your next building, you’re always buried in your phone, checking and double checking the next class’ room number. 

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

In your defense, it’s your first time stepping foot in the Graduate & Research building and the whole concrete block is a fucking maze. There must be a basement because the numbers don’t match up with the floors and they seem to jumble further every time you round a corner. Like what the hell? How can this next room be GR 3.03.05 when this is clearly only the second floor and GR 2.03.11 was right down that other hallway?

Exasperated, you lean against the nearest wall and tug your phone out again. Shit. Class started ten minutes ago. 

Part of you wants to call it a day, end the search here and try again on Wednesday. Maybe take a few extra minutes to scout out the building next time and have some idea of where you’re going before the start of class. 

Ugh, why is this so stressful? 

It’s the first day of classes. Surely Professor Shigaraki won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late; besides, if you’re lost, others must be too. 

You tuck your phone back into your pocket and resume the hunt. Two hallway turns later, you find your mark.

Your hand pauses beside the heavy wood, and you take a steadying breath. Again, why are you so nervous? Just go in and take a seat, it’s easy, stop freaking out over nothing. 

The door groans open, hinges protesting the sharp push, and you stumble into a darkened room. The low glow of the projector doesn’t help your blurry vision. Ah, shit, it’s one of those older rooms, so it’s built like a bad movie theater. Oh well, better get to a seat before he spots you. 

Swiftly, you make your way toward the raised steps of the aisle and the second row of chairs, plopping into the first one you reach that’s empty. You’re too busy fiddling with the zipper of your backpack to notice that the speaker has stopped his rasping preamble, but as you pull your laptop out the ominous weight of that heavy silence hits you and you toss a hooded stare toward the front of the lecture hall. 

Immediately, your eyes land on the professor’s and you feel a low shiver shake up your spine. 

He’s watching you. 

The gleam of the overhead projector makes his red eyes flash, and he openly scowls at your gaping expression, his lips curling into a dark sneer.

“Well, thank you for joining us, Miss…?”

He’s waiting for your response and you squeak out your last name, mindlessly rubbing your moistening palms against your thin skirt. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N). Now that you’ve graced the class with your belated presence, may I continue?”

“Uh,” you gasp out, your mouth dry, tongue sticking to your teeth, “I’m sorry. I got–”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation, or in your case, an excuse. Or are you now attempting to disrupt this class purposefully?”

“Wha– I-I’m–” your words stumble to a halt, voice failing under the intense glare that he’s giving you. “No,” you finish lamely, ducking your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms. 

“Thank you. Do me a favor, stay after class.” His voice is gravel, threatening and low. You don’t like the edge in his tone. It makes your skin prickle and your knees knock. He sounds like the kind of guy that you don’t want to run into in a dark alleyway, or a classroom, for that matter. Even so, it’s not your fault, and despite your feelings of unease, you can’t tamp down your need to protest his unreasonableness. 

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

“If I need to repeat my insistence for silence, I’ll make things easier on both of us and fail you now.”

Stunned and fuming, you bite your tongue and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and blinking back mounting tears of frustration. Great, just great. It’s the first fucking day of class and it looks like you’re already on his shit list. And for what? For being late on fucking syllabus day! What an ass. 

You look over at him as you defiantly finish setting up your computer, hoping each pull of a zipper or screen reboot will grate under his stuck up skin. He’s not inordinately tall, or old. In fact, he looks like he might only be in early 30s. He has long white hair that’s pulled back into a low ponytail and, from what you can make out in the dim lighting, some kinda skin condition on his forehead. That, or he’s prematurely wrinkled, and let’s be honest, if he’s gone through life with that big of a stick up his ass, he deserves each and every pull on that mottled skin of his. 

You linger in your seat when class is over, lips pulled into a thin line and legs crossed. Finally, when the last student has left the room, professor Shigaraki flips a switch beside his elevated podium, filling the lecture hall with a sharp, fluorescent light. He pauses by his raised computer system and clicks off the overhead projector, blanketing the massive room in an uncomfortable silence. 

“Since you missed the part of class where I go over the syllabus, I’ll give you a brief rundown. Under no circumstances will I tolerate tardiness. If you do it once more I’ll mark you absent and three absences knock you down a full letter grade.”

Glumly, you cross your arms and peer up at him, finally able to get a good look at his face. Your first observation was correct. His skin is sharper around his forehead, but his wavy white hair does a pretty decent job of covering up the imperfections. He has two scars: one nicks across his right eye and the other splits down his rough lips, parting the skin and granting him an even more foreboding appearance than his already gruff demeanor does. He’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans and he’s wearing a low slung v neck shirt. It’s a brilliant red and it brings out that otherworldly glint of his red eyes. Shit, you think bitterly, while he’s not conventionally handsome, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes either. 

You shake your head against these unproductive musings and curtly snap out a clipped, ok.

“What was that?” Shigaraki scoffs, tilting his head at your sullen figure. “Speak up.”

“I said,” you bristle, eyes narrowing and chin lifting, “Okay, I apologize for interrupting your lecture, it won’t happen again. But, in my defense, if I’m allowed to do that in this class, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s not like–”

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then you’ve had four years to figure out the layout of this university. The excuse of ‘being lost,’ isn’t an option for you. You know the buildings and you’re fully capable of turning up early to sort out the rooms.”

You let out a long sigh and look away, mumbling vague protests. This guy is ridiculous. You’re not a science major and it’s not your job to know the ins and outs of each building. How fucking stupid. Who does he think he–

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

You bite your lip and look back at him but he’s moved in that distracted moment, silently stepping down from his raised platform and is now leaning over the first row of chairs, looming over you. You can’t help your sudden flinch as you sink further into your chair, away from him.

“If you’re gonna complain, Ms. (L/N), I’d much rather hear it. Don’t you think It’s rude for you to mutter under your breath about me? You don’t see me doing that to you.”

“Fine,” you blurt out, turning away from his insistent, and all too close, gaze. “I was saying that I’m not a science major. I get that I’m a senior, but you can’t seriously expect me to know every nook and cranny of this campus.”

“No, but I can ask for you to be a little more thoughtful. I put time and effort into my lessons and I won’t have you undermining them by bouncing in here with those legs and that flouncy little skirt.”

You’re about to counter his little haughty speech on politeness when you finally process that final comment he’d breathed out. Flabbergasted, you raise your head back to his, but he’s already moving away, snatching up his shoulder bag and waving you a curt goodbye as he presses open the squeaky door. “Next class is at 10 am sharp, so be on time Ms. (L/N).”

You’re still slumped in your seat when the door glides shut again, your eyes wide and jaw no doubt comically unhinged. 

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

Obviously, for the next class, you’re early. You’re so early that you’re the first one in the lecture hall. You select a seat toward the back and fiddle with your computer, checking your messages, adjusting your brightness, replying to old emails, anything to keep your head down and attention occupied. 

The door opens and, despite your best efforts, your head flies up, expectant and tense, ready to meet those red eyes of his head on, to show him you’re here and he better… oh. It’s not him. It’s two chattering freshmen. One of them gives you a quick smile, but they both quickly take their seats, a few rows over, and continue their soft conversation, leaving you to fall back onto your earlier distraction tactics. You twiddle with your phone and shoot off a few texts, change your wallpaper, accidentally close an app you meant to leave open, and then the lecture hall door reopens.

He steps in slowly, completely ignoring you and the other scattered students, opting to sort out a few papers and set up his login on the school computer. The minutes tick by and you can’t seem to jerk your eyes away from him, suddenly fascinated by his languid movements. He looks more relaxed than he did on Monday, looser and fluid, completely in his element. True to his word, at ten am on the dot he begins class. 

Professor Shigaraki has an interesting voice. It’s low, calculated, bordering on a rasp. It’s one of those tones that makes you want to lean forward and listen up, even though he’s only discussing cellular biology. Which isn’t exactly the sexiest topic for that shockingly dulcet timbre of his. 

Wait. Sexy? 

Your pen falters against your notebook, and your eyes drift up to his frame. He’s switched the lights off again and the shine of the overhead projector is the only illumination in the hall. His white hair gleams in the dim lighting and his long hands animatedly illustrate his points, elegant fingers opening and closing, gesticulating about the intricate nature of the human genome. You’re so focused on watching his movements that your elbow partner has to push the slip of paper onto your collapsible desktop. You blink at the sheet, your pen nearly clattering from your hand, and you twist to peer at the unfamiliar student beside you. 

“It’s the attendance sheet and, um, I think you’re the last one,” they whisper, careful to lean away after they finish their explanation, not wanting to draw professor Shigaraki’s ire. You maneuver the paper under your pen and scribble down your name, biting your lip and silently berating yourself for your poor selection in seating. Great, now you’ll have to take the paper down to him after class. What if he talks with you again? Shit. 

At 11:25, class ends. You collect your things and plod down the steps, the attendance sheet clutched between your fingers. He’s just snapping the projector light off when you reach his podium. 

“I, uhh, have the attendance. You want me to just leave it here, or…”

“I’ll take it,” his hand is extended toward you and those red eyes are fixed on you now. It’s not the same disgruntled stare he’d given you on Monday. No, this look is a little more curious. Again, you’re taken aback by your reaction to him. He’s not even saying anything, just patiently waiting for you to deposit the sheet into his open palm, but there’s something about him that’s making your heart race. 

Maybe it’s those eyes of his. 

They are an unusual color and they have a strange intensity to them. Right as they narrow, the vermillion shining under the sharp lights; you press the paper to him and he pulls it from you, studying the names that are listed. 

You want to say something. Maybe toss him a quick, friendly, goodbye. Or apologize for the other day? Ugh. What can you even say? ‘Gosh, so glad I was on time today! All that fascinating information about the genetic code! So glad to be here!’ No, that sounds stupid and a little patronizing. Besides, why do you want to talk with him at all? He’s an ass, remember?

“Did you need something?”

His question snaps you out of your stupor and you numbly shake your head at him, already lowering your gaze, but his exhaled chuckle makes you pause, your fingers curling around your backpack straps.  

“I know I upset you the other day, but I appreciate you taking the effort to correct your mistake.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes finding their way back to his. “Yeah, well, like you said, I’m a senior. Gotta take responsibility for myself someday.”

“Ah,” he smirks, that long scar on his lip quirking upward. “Seems like you’ve got some determination after all. You might be more interesting than I gave you credit for.”

“God,” you scoff, popping out a hip and crossing your arms at the bemused leer on his face. “Just come right out and say you think I’m a bad student, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he amends, tucking the attendance sheet into his shoulder bag and snapping the clasps closed. “There’s plenty of time for you to end up right back at square one with me.”

He’s already halfway out the door by the time you right yourself from the shock of his last comment and you follow him, a string of low curses falling from your lips. 

The spring semester always flies by, and before you realize it, a full month has bled away. You’ve kept that same seat in Shigaraki’s class and at the end of each session you head down to his little platform, attendance sheet outstretched. Each day of class has a different ebb and flow. Sometimes he chats with you and it’s gotten easier to talk with him, both of your eyes holding and lingering, lips raised into calculating smiles. Sometimes it almost feels like he’s flirting with you. Other days he only spares you a curt nod, his white hair curtaining his expression from your curious gaze. You’re not bothered by these silences, not when you’ve got your secret weapon. 

The days that you like best, the ones that you plan, sorting through your closet until you’ve found the perfect choice, are the days when you wear one of your skirts. You’d even gone on some skirt shopping sprees as of late. On those days he doesn’t just make some sort of fleeting eye contact with you, no, on those days he stares. 

At first, you’d tested out your theory, staggering your outfits, careful to not screw up your suspicions with a hasty miscalculation, but as they say, the third time’s the charm. How did he expect you not to notice? He never bothers to hide those sharp ogles and recently you’ve made a point of dramatically gathering your things when you wear these cute little ensembles, bopping down the steps so his eyes have to work to follow the line of your hips and the long paths of your bare legs. One rainy afternoon you’d worn over the knee stockings, that came to an abrupt halt over the plush skin of your upper thigh, under your mini skirt and he’d practically leapt over the podium to grab the sheet from you, his eyes hooded and dark, almost wild.

“Test, on Friday,” he warns, eyes finally rising to meet your bemused expression. “Don’t stay out too late tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, brushing at a rogue fold in your skirt, luring him back to your legs. 

He scoffs at you, that jagged scar arching into a smirk. “Humph. You’re dressed up. Most of the students just wear the sweats, or pjs, and call it a day.” 

“I like to put a little effort in all that I do,” you retort, grinning up at his vermillion stare. 

“Yes, so I’ve noticed. You certainly look the part…and you’re keeping up with the workload of this course.”

“Ahhh,” you crow, clapping your hands excitedly. “Are you saying I might get an ‘A’ in this class? Be the first time someone’s done that in a while, from what I’ve heard around campus.”

Shigaraki sneers and tuts out an inaudible reply, leaning a little closer to you, making you inadvertently fall back a step. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Awe,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m doing ok on all the quizzes and the classwork.”

“So far,” he taunts, his pearlescent hair falling over his broad shoulder.

“Tch. Don’t be like that. I’ve been studying.”

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

“Oh?” you smile, raising your chin. “What else should I be doing, professor?”

“We’ll know that after Friday, won’t we?”

God. 

You’d felt so confident when you’d turned in your test and that stupid, horrible, sexy little quirk of his lip scar that he sends you, when you’d handed him your papers, carries you on some strange, half aroused cloud all weekend. Maybe, just maybe, this class won’t be so bad after all.

The tests are handed back the following Friday, passed from row to row so everyone can fish out their papers and marked Scantrons. Yours, since you still occupy that final seat on the back row, is the last. Biting back a grin, you flip it over, so ready to see that A, that grade that you worked so fucking hard for, that… wait.

The gross flash of red across the top of your paper leaves you reeling, your breath catching against the back of your throat. It’s not a terrible grade, well, it wouldn’t be, but there are only three tests in this class, so it’s going to plummet you down to a B. One more fuck up will leave you with a C, or worse, an automatic failing grade. 

No. No, no, no, no. 

You can’t afford a bad grade, you honestly can’t even let yourself slip to a B. Your fucking cap and gown have just come in and with them that cord that you can wear around your neck at graduation. The one that marks you as honors cum laude. Fuck. You’re already pulling one B, in one of your other classes, because you’ve been focusing so much time and effort on this one. Another B will strip that cord from you, leaving you barren, with a less than ideal GPA. 

God fucking damn it.

You glare up at Shigaraki, who’s busy taking the rest of the class through a review of genetic mutations, but you can’t hear him anymore, too incensed, too overwhelmed to even care about what he’s saying. The test crumples under your fingertips, the paper shaking in your hands, and you seethe, your teeth biting your lower lip to pieces. 

It’s not fair. You’d paid attention. You’ve taken all the notes. Read all the chapters. Drilled and studied till your eyes had drooped, heavy with exhaustion. You’ve done it all right. Plus, he’d been so fucking flirty, so open with you. You’ve never chatted with a professor this way, never gone out of your way to wear clothes they like, that make them watch you, their eyes hungry pinpricks as you walk to them, mindful of the luscious sway of your hips. 

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

Before your elbow classmate can leave, you ask for them to hand in the attendance sheet. You barely hear their response, too busy slamming your laptop into your backpack. As you storm past the podium, you can feel his eyes on you. The distant sensation of his gaze makes your flesh prickle, but you ignore your involuntary reaction and shove your way out the door. 

“(Y/N), you can’t switch classes this late. It’s almost midterms. Besides, I don’t think anything has opened up and if you’re going to drop it, you’ve gotta get the signature of the professor,” your advisor tells you, blinking at your stony expression over his thick glasses. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to drop it? Your grades are alright and it’s just one test. You can always try–”

“Gimme the paperwork.”

Shigaraki’s office is on the top floor of the research building, tucked away down another winding and weaving hallway that once again requires your careful inspection to navigate. When you finally hit the right set of doors, you slowly make your way forward, counting the numbers up as you pass. His door is wide open, a yawning cavern that’s filled with the distant light of a lamp. You brush a hand down your skirt, smoothing away any wrinkles and steadying your nerves. 

You’d tossed on the skirt this morning, before you’d gotten the grade, and you hadn’t thought to go home and change, too consumed by that simmering rage bubbling within you. And now, like this fucking class, this skirt felt like a mistake, something stupid and vapid that you wished you had time to change out of. He’d told you he liked your attire, liked that you put effort into your outfits. At the time, you’d been so thrilled and excited that he’d complimented you, but now you wish you were confronting him in baggy jeans or lazy sweats, anything that would turn that avid gaze of his away from you. 

Lost in thought, you waver beside his open door, nibbling on your lips and tugging at your clothes. It’s now or never. No point in putting it off. What’s the worst that can happen? What can he do now? Or, a darker side of you whispers, what do you want him to do to you? What? That’s a stupid thought, you scold yourself, lifting a hand to the wall and rapping against the beige paint, announcing your presence. 

When the sound fades away, swallowed up by the empty and darkened hallway, you poke your head around the corner, searching for him. His head is tilted quizzically, and he blinks twice when he spots you, that all too familiar smirk lifting his lips. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N), what can I do for you?”

His voice is softer than usual and your name sounds like honey, his tone resting on the syllables and consonants for a beat, almost as if he’s savoring their lift, their sound. You can’t help but swallow heavily at his appraisal. Suddenly this may be a terrible idea. 

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N). 

“I-I need you to sign this withdrawal paperwork,” you finally reply, digging in your bag and tugging out the thin leaflet, holding it out to him. He’s silent after your demand, meditatively threading his fingers and peering up at you, his red eyes bright. 

“Step inside and shut the door behind you,” he instructs, his gaze never falling from yours. Despite the simplicity of his request, you can’t help but bristle at his imperious tone. Why does he always have to sound like that? Like he’s seconds away from taking control of the situation, or of you? He’s always one stupid step ahead, and no doubt he’s going to try and talk you down. Or, he’ll sign it and say that he always knew you were a screw up, someone who only did things halfway, who could never match up to his lofty expectations. Humph, the sooner you’re outta here and out of his class, the better. So, you obey, closing the door and petulantly flopping into the unsteady chair that sits in front of his low desk. 

He maintains that uneasy quiet, his red eyes whisking over your disgruntled face, waiting, watching. Unable to take this strange standoff, you push the university paperwork toward him, sliding it as close as you dare to his bent elbows. “I would like to withdraw from your class,” you repeat, lips setting into a thin line. 

“Why?” he asks, cocking his head so his loose white hair falls a little further down his rough brow. 

“Something came up.”

“Hmm, I can try to work with a new schedule, if it’s your job, or home life,” he counters, eyes narrowing as he sharpens his observations of your brittle expression. 

“It’s not that,” you smart, crossing your arms. Great, he’s going to make this difficult. 

“Then I suggest you tell me what’s on your mind,” Shigaraki replies, mirroring your movements and leaning back in his chair. 

“I don’t think this class is working out for me.”

He exhales a soft laugh at your lie, and you watch that tiny mole at the edge of his chin lift in his quiet mirth. “This is a freshman level course and you’re a senior. You’re in my class because it’s likely the last pre-rec that you need to take before you graduate.”

“Um, yeah. But–”

“And now, you’re wanting to drop it because of one poor grade.”

You grind your teeth and fix him with a stark glower. “I–”

“There will be two other tests. If you read your syllabus, you’d know this.”

“I read the syllabus. Your tests are worth a stupid amount of points and it only takes one of them to tank my grade.”

“Frankly, you did better than most of the class. You only need to work on practical application. I said that the written portion would be a major component of the exam. I also provided you with a review and a rubric. So I’m not sure–”

“Your grade drops me to a ‘B’, and that ‘B’ pulls me from the honors list. And… well… I thought that…”

“Oh? What did you think?” he presses, his voice suddenly dropping to that lower octave it had drifted into when he said your last name. 

“I thought I’d get a better grade,” you spit out, turning your head and biting at your lip again. 

“Why?” he counters simply. His obtuseness is making your blood boil.

“What do you mean, why?” It takes all of your will to not slip a ‘jackass’ into that question. 

“It’s not a hard thing to answer. I graded you fairly and according to my rubric. Why exactly do you feel you merit a different grade than the one you earned?”

You fall into a frustrated silence. You can hear your heart pounding against your ribs and you want to scream at him, to leap over his desk and shake him until his teeth fucking rattle. Your shoulders are rising and lowering disjointedly and his vermillion eyes are honed in on your face, shifting over your pinched expression with a distant interest. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes and you hastily rub a fist over them, brushing away any rogue drops of moisture.

“How can you ask me that? You think I didn’t notice you staring at my legs? Or that you always had something to say to me when I was wearing a skirt? What was I supposed to think, huh? I fucking thought shit like that was gonna help, ok? God, I’m so stupid. I can’t… fuck.” 

Shigaraki arches forward when you finish, a deep sigh leaching through his parted lips. His teeth snap together when you look up at him, your eyes gaining back some of that earlier defiance, and he gives you a quick grin, clearly pleased by your shift in attitude and pushes your paper aside, fixing you with a dark look. “Here’s a thought, since you feel you’re so different, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a chance to make up the score.”

“I don’t care about the score anymore. I wanna drop your class,” you snap, but it’s a halfhearted barb. Something has changed in his demeanor. He’s dropped the concerned professor act and is leaning so close you can hear his steady intakes of air. He’s only a few inches away; if you want, you could touch him.

“I doubt you want to attend a class in the summer. Besides, they won’t let you walk if you haven’t finished your freshman level courses. And you can’t tell me you don’t want to graduate, to earn that cord that lets you into the honor cum laude. So stop pouting and hear me out. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like anything about you,” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be, but the challenge makes Shigaraki smile. As it crosses his cracked lips, it pulls that scar up and it makes those eyes of his glow. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream and you’re not sure how to respond, so you cross your legs and wait for him to make the next move. 

“You sure about that? Well, I’ll have to change your tune then, won’t I? But that can wait, lemme tell you what my requirements are. I’ve got a copy of the textbook in here. I’ll have you review some of the major concepts, you’ll read the passages aloud so I’m sure you’re on the right track, you’ll hand the book back to me, and then I’ll verbally quiz you over the material. If you answer them correctly, I’ll bump you to an ‘A’ on your test.”

You have to actively work to keep your mouth closed. “So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands. 

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin. 

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Your eyes boggle and you have to clench your thighs tighter, your stomach churning, you feel light-headed and you can feel your core fluttering with your sudden arousal. “Wh-what did you just say?”

“Stop gaping at me like that, you’ll make me blush. Now come on.”

Your jaw snaps closed and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind from your whirling emotions. He takes this reaction as a surrender and stands, stepping toward a marred table that rests a little ways away from his desk. He licks his thumb pad and flips through a few pages before finally settling on an appealing section. Once he places it on the table, he twists back to you and crooks a finger your way. “Come here,” he orders, his voice deep and languid. Obediently, you rise on unsteady feet, hands tugging at the length of your skirt, careful to keep it pressed down as you walk toward him. 

He makes space for you to stand in front of the book and shifts back, one hand resting on the table, propping him close to your bent figure. You look up at him, but he only nods his head toward the table, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips. Blink a few times but finally, the words clear and you can see the block of text that’s in front of you. It’s passages on DNA encodes and RNA proteins, hefty stuff, things that you had to make flash cards for. This isn’t going to be easy. If anything, he’s picked some of the harder concepts, the ones that take steady knowledge in the foundations. Flustered, you look back to him, but he’s moved. He’s leaning against the wide window beside the table, a dark mark against the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his tone.

“There’s no way…” you stammer, shaking your head at him. 

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

“I should ask what kinda curve, but knowing you, it’s likely gonna be something terrible.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he rumbles, stepping away from the window and leaning close to your stiff form. “It just takes an open mind and some enthusiasm on your part.”

“Enthusiasm?” you question, trying your best to withstand his closeness. You can feel the heat radiating off of his broad shoulder and if you tilt a little nearer, you could graze against him, or feel his breath on your skin. 

“You’re right,” he amends, his forearm contacting your side. You startle at the touch, a gasp falling from your lips, but you don’t pull away and you can’t stop staring up at him, your eyes wide. “Obedience is a better word. From here on out, whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey it, although it’s not exactly, ah, school approved.”

“You want me to suck you off or something?” you sneer, hoping to stumble him off his guard, even if it’s only for an instant. Too bad he’s always one step ahead. 

“Don’t be vulgar. Think outside of the box, (Y/N). Do you think I’m going to go for something so short sighted when I could have you bending to my will? Obeying every little demand that I make? I’d much rather see if that skin of yours tastes as good as it looks, then simply have you on your knees. No, I want you to fucking scream for me while I stuff you full of my cock. But first, you need to put in some work. You should know that by now.”

Oxygen is suddenly very hard to come by and you can feel your mind hazing over as you stammer up at him, your mind flitting from word to word disjointedly. Shigaraki grants you a wolfish grin, and he dips his lips beside your ear, whispering over those tiny hairs that rest against your tender skin. “I’ll make this part easy. Nod and I’ll give you the first set of instructions.” 

What did he say? Nod? What happens when you nod? Fuck, why are you letting him do this? Is your grade really worth it? Are you that desperate that… that… 

Shigaraki is whispering other promises over you as you war with yourself, speaking his words gently, slowly, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. It’s like you’ve fallen under some kinda spell and before you realize it, your traitorous head is bobbing up and down, letting him know you want him to keep going.

“Perfect,” he sighs, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear, jerking a shiver from you. “Now, lean forward and put your hands against the table.” 

You do as he says, but he’s not satisfied with your positioning, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and yanking you forward, jutting your ass out and pressing your chest down, maneuvering you until your nose is right above the pages of the textbook. “There we go,” he rasps, pulling away so he can admire your splayed form. “Hmm, your legs are too close together. Spread them.” Knees trembling, you obey, gasping when he runs a palm against the curve of your thighs.

“You’ve got such nice legs (Y/N), so let’s put them on display, shall we?” His fingers search against the top of your skirt and they still when he reaches his prize: the zipper. When he pulls it down, you let out a sharp squeak of protestation but he silences you with a swift pinch to your side. 

“Now, now, don’t be like that. You nodded, remember? Besides, you could have left when I told you I’d give you a curve but you couldn’t help yourself could you? You want me to keep going and to do that, I need you to take this skirt off. No, don’t move. I’ll get rid of it for you. Why don’t you focus on the task at hand, hmm? Aren’t you supposed to be reading for me?”

You arch away from his fingers and he chuckles at your impudence, one large hand hooking under your chin and pulling you toward his face. His red eyes blaze as they find yours, the dark pupils threatening to swallow up that deep vermillion. “Let’s start with the second paragraph. If you do well, I might grant you a reprieve.” 

Jerking your face from his grip, you twist back to the text, trying, and failing, to ignore his inquisitive fingers, unable to resist sighing as he works one up your inner thigh. He pauses when no words fall from your lips and you grumble out a few low curses before acquiescing to his silent demand. 

“The flow of genetic information in cells from DNA to mRNA to protein is described by the Central Dogma, which states that genes specify the sequence of mRNAs, which specify the sequence of proteins. The decoding of one molecule… the… the… molecule… by spec-specific…”

He’s slipped your skirt down over the swell of your ass, but he’s taking his time, flexing out the front of the material and dipping his fingers over the bump of your lower stomach, kneading into the delicate flesh that’s stretched out for him. You can’t help the twitch of your spine and you involuntarily wiggle, palms slipping forward, dragging you further along the tabletop. Shigaraki chuckles above you, running his rough lips over the back of your neck.

“You’re so sensitive. I’ve barely touched you.” 

He circles his hands back to your skirt and edges it along, lowering it sharply on one side and then giving the same treatment to the other. You’re doing your best to keep up with your stammering readings, but it’s difficult when he keeps sighing and running his long nails across your newly bared skin. Finally, he works the skirt down and it thumps against your bare ankles; the fabric tickling your skin. 

Meanwhile, his other fingers skitter against the elastic band of your rapidly dampening panties. Once he hooks the lace under his hand, he yanks them along your legs, trailing them sinfully slowly, ensuring that they glide down the billow of your thighs. His teeth nip at your ear when you stumble to a halt in your recitation and your hands tense over the grains of wood beneath them, your nails pinching into your palms. “If you stop, I stop,” he warns, his head bumping against yours, his sharp nose pressing against your pulse.

“You’re not exactly making this easy,” you grumble, doing your best to ignore his renewed pets and strokes. 

“Stop complaining,” he smirks, leaning away from your head to peer at your newly exposed flesh. “You better pay attention to what you’re reading or you’re not going to pass the questions I’ll be asking you.”

“Yeah, yeah, ow!” you squawk, whipping your head around to glare up at him. He fucking pinched you again! This time, he’d slipped his hand between your spread legs and tweaked your inner thigh, painfully. 

“Read,” he repeats, running those guilty fingers upward, lingering beside the heat of your cunt, careful to not get too close. When you start on the next sentence, one of his hands tugs up the fabric of your shirt, snaking upward until he’s thumbing against the wire of your bra. Once again, you falter to a halt and exhale a wavering breath. 

Goddamn it. This review is no review. You’ll be lucky if you can even recall what a cell is if he keeps this up. You hear his ominous intake of air and quickly resume your recitation, mumbling something about RNA and mRNA differences. 

Wait. Didn’t you just…  

“Looks like you’re having trouble listening to me. I told you to read aloud, not to repeat the same passages over and over.”

“Hey, at least I’ll have a firm grasp on those. You should ask me something about that s-section… ah–”

The hand that was resting under the cup of your bra has made its way underneath the lightly padded material, and his thumb and index fingers have trapped your peaked nipple between them. As soon as your snarky comment left your mouth, he’d twisted the bud, squeezing it until it throbbed. 

“Pay attention,” he commands, shoving your bra upward, freeing the globes of your breasts and cupping both of his broad hands under them. Your abused nipple stings and the mixture of sharp pain and jarring arousal goes right through you, stoking that coil that pulsed within your core, and sending a tacky flush of your essence down your spread thighs.

The next few words are a struggle. The text keeps blurring and your breaths are coming in fast and heavy. Shigaraki is still feeling you up, keeping his lips close to your ears, rasping sharp commands to you and dealing out lightning fast rounds of pinches and squeezes each time you falter. 

“I–I can’t… I don’t even know what I’m reading anymore,” you bemoan, your hips pressing against the edge of the table, legs trembling as you attempt to keep them apart. He’s deliberately ignoring your throbbing clit and a desperate edge is creeping into your voice. 

“Are you always this whiny? Fine. I’ll give you a moment to read without any distractions.”

Thank God.

True to his word, he slips away from your back and you’re left shivering against his sudden absence. Despite your quaking, you’re determined to make the most of this chance and you quickly read out the paragraphs that are on the second page. As you ramble down to the last bit of text, you realize you can’t hear him anymore and when you finish the last sentence; you start to really wonder where he’s drifted off to. A tense silence follows your completion of the material and you arch up on the tips of your toes, jutting your ass out and stretching the stiffened muscles of your lower back. 

“Didn’t say you could stop reading, and judging from all of your complaints, I don’t think you got some of those earlier concepts, so I’d suggest doing a quick review,” he taunts, the sudden rasp of his voice startling a low gasp from your lips. 

He’s close; somewhere behind you and to the left from the sound of it. You try to twist around, your chest lifting from the table, and when he notices, his hands return, creating a rough pressure against your neck as he forces your body back down. His weight plasters you to the surface, scraping your partially exposed stomach and tender breasts over the nicked wood. Shigaraki is merciless in his swift correction, his breath puffing out angrily behind you. “Didn’t say you could move, either.”

Stunned, you freeze. Your arms are arched awkwardly, but he keeps his weight against you, flattening your breasts and forcing your back to arch into an awkward bend. Fuck, you think, how are you supposed to stay like this? Your legs are already aching and if he shifts away again, he’s likely going to expect you to maintain this absurd pose.  

“Yes,” he groans, his voice catching against the word, “Good girl. Now, stay just like that.”

Damn it.

“Go on, read the first part again,” he instructs. 

“The entire genetic content of a cell is known as its genome and the study of genomes is gen-genomics. In eukaryotic cells, but… but not in p-prokaryotes, DNA forms a complex with histone proteins… with histone proteins… sub-substance… of…”

His teeth have latched onto your neck, and he’s sucking bruises into your tender skin. He’s still pinning you to the table, but his hands are widening their explorations. He’s started dragging a fingernail across the puffy folds of your cunt, teasing against the dripping and swollen flesh, chuckling when you buck against his hold. 

“You always seem to lose it when you get to cellular modulations.”  

“I–I–It’s not… I can’t help that you keep…” you whimper, your fingers curling under your palms, head shaking back and forth. You can’t think. He’s not being fucking fair, and you can’t even string your goddamn words together. Shit. “Y-you’re not being fair,” you accuse, falling on the only thing that keeps running through your mind, your splayed feet shifting uncomfortably under you.

“Not fair? Not once did I say fairness would come into this arrangement,” he lifts himself off of your back and leans beside you, one arm planted beside your crooked elbow. His fingers trace over the curve of your ass, cupping at the thickest part of you and squeezing. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a little satisfaction out of this arrangement. I bet you look good when you cum. And you’ve been working so hard to get my attention these last few months. So careful to do what I tell you. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, all wide eyed every time I catch you looking at me. And don’t even get me started on your lips. You’re lucky I didn’t fucking bend you over after class, especially when you started wearing all of those cute little skirts for me. Ahhh, don’t moan like that, I won’t be able to help myself if you do. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?” 

Without warning, he slips his longest digit into your cunt, groaning loudly when he’s sucked into your welcoming heat. Your pussy, hungry for any kind of scrap, ripples around his intrusion, clamping and pulling, desperate for more. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless. 

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you. 

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–” 

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements. 

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.  

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis. 

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N). 

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet. 

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright. 

“What is the cell membrane?” 

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain. 

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance. 

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer. 

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you. 

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin. 

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.” 

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.  

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips. 

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior. 

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.   

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine. 

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus. 

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision. 

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather. 

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait… 

There’s a faint clicking sound. 

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper. 

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.  

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade. 

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise. 

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts? 

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit. 

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.  

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg. 

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by. 

“Hold still,” he commands. 

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit. 

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form. 

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?” 

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face. 

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you. 

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance. 

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think. 

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–” 

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips. 

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass. 

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need. 

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness. 

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice. 

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head. 

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again. 

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms. 

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good. 

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face. 

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting. 

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips. 

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release. 

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs. 

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release. 

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders. 

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you. 

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy. 

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @yixxes​, @ghstmthr​, @rekoii​, @diaouranask​, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love​, @libiraki​ <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here. 

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu