#so I figured I’d at least talk about their quirks

[cyb-by-lang]

Cascade (part 8)

Wherein player [x+1] joins the battle.

“Don’t drown him, Gekkō-san.” 

Midoriya seemed less alarmed by Kei’s choices and more just resigned. She’d already demonstrated to his satisfaction that nobody died in her watery doom constructs unless she wanted them to. Else the USJ would’ve had a lot fewer arrested villains and a lot more body bags than just the big one.

At least it gave them data on how the Nōmu guys worked. Still, Kei nodded. “I won’t. Oh, and Iida-kun?” 

Iida couldn’t turn his face away to hide from her, thanks to whatever Stain’s Quirk was, but he did close his eyes. It was all he could do. 

Maybe it would help to hear this. Maybe it wouldn’t. But Kei could at least be honest this once. “You already know I’d kill him.” And that got Iida to look up. Just with his eyes. “If this man targeted my little brother, he’d be dead.” 

And her hold on Stain’s throat never changed, despite that. 

Iida’s expression was a terrible whirl of turmoil. Like he couldn’t believe Kei’s blatant hypocrisy any more than Stain’s fragmented philosophy. Whatever he’d been forced to listen to before Midoriya and Kei showed up, at least. “But—”

“I don’t pretend that’s a good thing. Just a human one.” And not something they should be discussing here. 

Even if Kei had no actual intention of letting Stain go free, she had to at least pretend to care about procedures. If Obito recovered from his Kamui overuse and returned to the greater Tokyo metropolitan area tonight, Kei figured shoving the problem off on him was a decent backup plan. After, say, the police or heroes. Obito would remember not to kill the guy, right?

And then there was someone running their way. It wasn’t until the blue shape in the dark got closer that Kei heard a familiar voice shout, “Midoriya!” 

While most of their group either couldn’t move on their own (Iida, Native) or had more immediate problems (Kei, Stain), Midoriya did jump to his feet and wave. “Todoroki-kun! You got my message?”

“For reference,” Todoroki continued as he arrived and took in the scene of moderate carnage and a lot of awkward standing around, “try to give more information than just a location next time.” 

Though there was fire trailing up his left side and frost coating his right sleeve, he didn’t look like he’d been hurt. Just like he’d had to run all the way here, fully anticipating a fight when he arrived. Instead, he got to see a bit of a clown show instead. 

Kei shrugged when Todoroki aimed a silent question her way. She still had the armed—yes, his knife and sword were still drawn—Hero Killer in a Water Prison, it was polite of Todoroki to notice.

At least, Todoroki asked, “Did all of this happen in just five minutes?”

“Oh, y-yeah. Sorry about only using a pin, but that was all the time we had.” Midoriya didn’t bow, but it looked like a close call. “Thanks for heading here so fast, though!” 

“Not fast enough,” said Todoroki, clearly taking note of the blood still present on the ground. Sure, Kei had gotten Native away from his original bloodstain, but Midoriya didn’t have enough bandages for him and for Iida, and one of Iida’s injuries was dangerously close to an artery. 

“I think showing up before the villain kills everyone is good enough,” Kei said, and rotated the Water Prison so Stain could breathe again. When Todoroki took a step closer, possibly to freeze the villain in place, Kei held up her free hand. “I’ve got him, Todoroki-kun. Help the others, please.” 

Todoroki sighed, and the result was an icy fog. “All right.”

While getting Iida bandaged was a trial without him being able to cooperate, Stain’s Quirk wore off while Todoroki and Midoriya were trying to figure out where the catches in his shoulder pauldron were. In short order, the three boys managed to get upright and talked mostly to each other in low, sharp tones. From what Kei overheard, Midoriya filled Todoroki in on everything he’d missed. Iida, meanwhile, got two lectures right over Native’s head once all the information laid bare between them. 

Iida may have been crying. Kei focused on Stain to give him plausible deniability if needed. 

Honestly, Kei would’ve left them to it. She didn’t have anything helpful to say that they couldn’t handle without her. No canned phrases or quaint sayings. All she had was a careful balance of truth shrouded by lies and omissions, neither of which relied solely on her. Staying standoffish for most of the school year so far—barring the 1-A girls’ friendship blitz—was a good stealth strategy on paper, but it retained some key flaws. Like her total inability to comfort any of these kids after a traumatic encounter. 

What I wouldn’t give for a shock blanket—

Do you hear that? Isobu interrupted, kicking Kei back into full alertness. Like the menagerie he was, half-a-dozen animal instincts all clamored for Kei’s attention at once. 

Iida shouted, “Gekkō—!” just as lightning descended from the sky. 

[mimikip4744]

Sigh I love my purple haired poison users

They don’t show up until way later in the story, but I felt like drawing them so I’ll talk a little about their quirks

Fun fact: He and Kokoro mitsume (from SDRA2) are the only ones to wear lab coats with their hero outfits. Also Charles’ goggles has a filter that changes the color of blood so that he doesn’t freak out whenever he sees it. Everyone found this out the hard way when he first saw Veronika’s quirk in action (her quirk is blood manipulation).

Idk if her hero outfit will stay the same, but I like it for now. Her hair is hard to draw though.

Also @trashrat420 here ya go!

You asked me to tag you the next time I posted something like this.

[steddieasitgoes]

not so dirty little secret

written for @steddie-week Day 1 prompt: Mystery/Secret Relationship Rating: T | wc: 2128 | no cw Read on ao3

Steve’s lounging on the Munson’s couch, right-hand wrist deep in a bowl of popcorn, when Eddie stalks into the room. He’s got two beers in hand and is mumbling about something, words muffled by the rim of the beer bottle as he takes aggressive sips. It’s not unusual to hear but not understand what his rumblings are — Steve’s become accustomed to his quiet but loud brainstorming sessions. What is unusual, however, is the pinch of his brows and the slight downturn of his lips as he does so. Curious, Steve perks up and leans forward.  

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Eddie gasps, scandalized. “My thoughts are worth at least a dime, Stevie!” 

Taking a more calculated, calming swig of his beer, he drapes himself on the couch beside Steve and sighs. “I think Wayne is knocking boots with someone.” 

The words leave Eddie’s mouth with a nonchalance, as if he’s giving Steve an update about the weather.  It’s something he does often with no explanation, at least not one Steve’s discovered yet, and it’s quickly becoming another quirk in a long list of ones he’s coming to love about Eddie.  

This though… this is a whole other monster. 

Steve's eyes widen and blink in confusion. His lips fall into a soft, confused pout as he tilts his head to the side — the tell-tale sign that he has no idea what Eddie is talking about. It’s a sign Eddie picks up on immediately, with — the both of them well-versed in their non-verbal body language as of now, so he clarifies. 

“You know, knocking boots? Doing the dirty? Bumping uglies? Hanky Pa—“ 

Well, over-clarifies. 

“I get it!” Steve shouts, face reddening.

It’s weird, feeling the heat spread across his cheeks and down his neck. He’s never been embarrassed by sex before. Kind of hard to be when his entire high school reputation revolved around who he was (or wasn’t) jumping into bed with. Never mind the fact that he actually only ever did it twice. He couldn’t go a week without it being brought up at least once, and each time, Steve had glided through the conversation with flying colors, hardly embarrassed. 

Back then was different, though. It was all talk at the end of the day. Mostly make-believe talk. This, though? Listening to Eddie talk about his uncle’s very real sex life? He’d be concerned if he didn’t find it mortally embarrassing. 

Clearing his throat, Steve shifts in his seat. 

“Does it matter if he is? Ya’ know, bumping boots or whatever?” 

Eddie cackles, throwing his entire body into it until the bowl of popcorn topples over onto the couch between them. So much for movie night Steve thinks as he tries to save as many of the kernels as he can before they fall into the couch cushion abyss. Not like he had been looking forward to eating or anything. 

“Does it matter if he is?” Eddie huffs, half-mocking Steve as he shakes his head. “Of course, it matters! It’s my uncle! What if we like, walked in on him or something because we don’t know what’s going on? That would scare me for life, Stevie. I’d need therapy!” 

“You’re already in therapy.” 

“Well, I’d need another therapist. One who specializes in the traumatic experience of walking in on your parental figure getting his di—“ 

“Let’s just rewind for a minute.” Steve shuts his eyes, willing his brain not to conjure up the image Eddie’s so keen on painting for him. His therapy bills are expensive enough, he doesn’t need to add another session just to talk about whatever the hell this conversation is. “If Wayne is in a relationship, which you don’t even know if he is, why would he keep it a secret?” 

“I don’t know. You’ve met him! He’s weird and secretive like that. I didn’t even  know his middle name until I was fourteen and swiped his license so I could buy cigarettes.” 

Steve remembers that story. It was one of the first of many never-ending cascades of embarrassing childhood stories Wayne shared with him that always turned Eddie scarlet. Eddie always gets upset when Wayne tells them, never failing to pout over not having someone on Steve’s side to badger for his own stories. Steve, happy to keep his past in the past, has grown used to shrugging him off and urging Wayne to tell him more.

“Not telling you his middle name is a lot different than hiding an entire person,” Steve continues to reason as he relocates the popcorn bowl to the table in front of them. “Why do you think he’s hiding someone anyway?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Eddie says, turning on the couch to better face Steve. He folds one leg under himself, the other hanging off the edge, foot planted and bouncing in an erratic rhythm Steve’s willing to bet is a new beat for a song. Eddie takes one more swig of his beer and then clears his throat as he claps his hands together. “Evidence número

 uno, he’s been smiling more lately.” 

“And I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re back home and on the mend.” 

“Hey! Don’t interrupt me to remind me that my uncle loves me. It ruins my street cred.” 

Steve shoots his hands up in defense, shaking his head at his boyfriend's antics. 

“Evidence numéro deux—“

“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin,” Steve mumbles, taking a swig from his own beer this time. All this language-switching is giving him a headache. 

“Evidence numéro deux!” Eddie repeats, louder this time as he holds up two fingers. He’s kneeling now, knees sinking into the well-loved fabric of the couch. “He’s been using a new mug.” 

“Someone call the police! Wayne’s using a new mug.” 

If looks could kill, Eddie would be a modern day Medusa and Steve would be stoned to the couch.

“Evidence number three — and this is the most damning of evidence — Wayne has had plans every Monday night for the last two months.” He jumps to his feet now and begins pacing around the living room. 

Wait, Monday nights? But that’s — 

Oh. 

Eddie is so off base. So, so, so far off base, he might as well be lost in space. Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The last thing he wants to do is upset him more than he already has with his interjections. 

But this is hilarious. Downright hysterical. 

And honestly, the truth might be a harder pill for Eddie to swallow than this mystery lover he’s dreamed up. Because that is way easier to explain than the truth, that Wayne has been spending every Monday night for two months with Steve… watching football. 

“Two months, Stevie!” Eddie shouts, pulling Steve from his thoughts. “He comes home from work, changes, and then he leaves and doesn’t come back home for hours! I mean, maybe I’m being a bit generous since he is gone for hours. I can’t imagine he’d have that kind of stamina, but maybe he—” 

The front door opens, interrupting whatever cursed thought was about to spill from Eddie’s lip to reveal the older man in question. Steve’s never been so grateful to see Wayne — even if he’s the reason this entire conversation is happening right now. 

“Eds. Steve.” Wayne nods at each of them before crossing into the kitchen to fetch his own beer. He returns a moment later, collapsing into his recliner with the same dramatics as Eddie. “What are ya boys talkin’ ‘bout?” 

It’s kind of hard to be a religious man when he’s witnessed hell on Earth and had to claw his way out of it, no sign of divine intervention in sight. And yet, Steve can’t help but shut his eyes and say a silent prayer to whoever may be listening that his boyfriend keeps his mouth shut for once in his life. 

The power of prayer isn’t on Steve’s side though apparently, as he watches Eddie’s eyes get that twinkle in them right then and there, a mischievous glint that he has a love-hate relationship with. Sure, it’s cute as hell, but god dammit, every time it happens, Steve ends up having to bail him out of trouble. He really doesn’t want to have to do that right now, not for this. 

“Funny you should ask, Wayne—“

The intro to the seven o’clock news cuts him off. Maybe Steve’s prayers have been answered. Maybe this is what people talk about when they say that God works in mysterious ways. Maybe— 

“We’re coming to you live from The Hoosier Dome to bring you breaking news about our Indianapolis Colts.” 

“Bet it’s got to do with that coach they got runnin’ the place. Still can’t believe he ran that damn childish play on Monday.” 

“Tell me about it,” Steve says, shaking his head. “You know how I feel about the Colts, but you should’ve won that game.” 

“Least we get a rematch later in the season,” Wayne says, sipping his beer. “We gotta go to Diana’s for that game. If we lose, I can drown my sorrows in a real whisky instead of that cheap shit Glen keeps selling us.” 

“Us?” Eddie balks.

Steve watches in real time as Eddie puts the pieces together. His eyes widen then narrow into judgemental slits. His lips purse, head swiveling between the two of them and the television like he does when he’s DMing an intense session for the kids. Eddie’s sharp, always has been, and he wears his emotions on his face, so it’s easy to know when everything clicks in that chaotic mind of his. He might as well have buzzers going off behind him. 

“You!” He shouts, pointing an accusatory finger in Steve’s direction. “You’re the one keeping my uncle out late! Making him happy!” 

“What’s he talkin’ ‘bout?” Wayne asks.

Steve bits his lip. “Eddie, uh, thought you had a secret lover that’s been keeping you out on Monday nights.” 

“A secret lover?” Wayne laughs. “On a Monday night? Boy if I was gettin’ handsy with someone it wouldn’t be on no Monday night. I’m a Friday night gentleman, you know that. Maybe even Saturday mornin’ if I’m lucky.” 

“I don’t know anything anymore!” Eddie shouts, really doubling down on his theatrics. There’s a moment of calm before his brain conjures up something sinister — at least, Steve thinks it must be really bad judging by the paleness in Eddie’s face and the anger in his eyes. Finally, he explodes. “You’re cheating on me with my Uncle!” 

“I am not!” 

“Maybe not physically — Jesus H. Christ, ew, please please tell me it’s not physical. I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

“Now hold your horses a minute, Eds.” Wayne stops Eddie in his tracks with an easy hand around his wrist. “Steve here ain’t do nothin’ wrong but offer me his company during the games. I’d watch them with you. Hell, we both would. But, we know you hate ‘em.” 

“So it’s my fault then?” 

“I ain’t say that.” 

“You implied it, old man!” Eddie says, jabbing his finger in Wayne’s direction now. “You better keep your blue-collar hands away from my debutant boyfriend.” 

“You two are both ridiculous,” Steve laughs, shaking his head. He turns to Eddie, giving his best attempt as his puppy dog apology eyes. “It wasn’t meant to be a secret. You’re just never home on Mondays anyway, so we never thought to mention it. But if it bothers you so much, come with us this week. You’ll see for yourself no one’s stealing my honor, or whatever and it’s going to be a good game.” 

“Not for the Colts,” Wayne grumbles. 

Eddie makes a big show of considering the offer before shuttering. “And spend the night at Glen’s sports bar? I think I’d rather you cheat on me with my uncle—“ 

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Steve runs a frustrated hand down his face. “It’s grossing me out. No offense, Wayne.” 

“I’d be offended if you weren’t grossed out, son.” 

“Hey! I was talking,” Eddie squawks. Steve gives him his undivided attention, Wayne’s not so graceful, offering him a grunt and a hand gesture telling him to stop blocking the television. “As I was saying, you two can have your little sports bromance thing, butI do expect you to buy me a new mug for all my troubles, Stevie. S’not fair you got one for Wayne and not me.” 

“I’ll take you to the store tomorrow, and you can pick it up yourself.” 

“Thank you.” After a moment, Eddie sinks back into his side of the couch cushion and reaches for the half-full bowl of popcorn on the table. “Now, let’s start this movie night.” 

[hajiberry]

3:56 am - Katsuki bakugou

domestic fluff + pregnancy

Bakugou would give anything right now to switch quirks with someone and be able to teleport home. He feared he might explode if he spent one more moment in this car.The thirty five minute drive from the airport was starting to feel like an eternity and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand it. He knew he was in for a headache when his connecting flight got delayed, getting him home hours after he had planned on arriving. Glancing out kirishimas passenger window he started counting down the seconds till he could see you. He hated when missions took him away from home but this one was extremely difficult, considering you could go into labor any day now. He had felt like a maniac the whole trip, constantly calling to make sure you weren’t at the hospital moments away from giving birth.

Opening his eyes he was about to ask how much fucking longer when the car pulled into the neighborhood and two seconds later Kirishima was pulling into y’all’s driveway. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been happier to see the home the two of you shared. “Fuck it’s good to be home”, he mumbled, stretching out his limbs before sitting up. “Thanks for picking me up”, leaning back he grabbed his luggage, hauling it over before opening the door.

“Yeah of course man tell y/n I said hi”

“Will do”, closing the passenger door he gave him a wave before heading up the driveway. Selfishly he was hoping you were still awake, so he could at least sneak in a kiss and an ‘I missed you’, before drifting off to sleep. But he also knew you’ve been struggling with sleeping lately so he was hoping you at least were getting some rest.

Opening the front door he smiled at all the packages littered in the foyer, boxes that he assumed were filled with baby stuff. He kicked his shoes off before making his way up the stairs to your bedroom. Opening the door he smiled when he saw your sleeping figure curled up in the bed. Setting his bag down he made his way over to you, kneeling down in front of you to press a kiss to your forehead before moving his attention to your belly. “I missed our little chats buddy”, he still was baffled at how much he missed talking to his unborn child. “I’m back though, I had to go out of town for work but that’s the last trip for a while so I definitely won’t miss you being born”

“Thank god”, you mumbled, slightly startling him.

“Fuck I didn’t know you were awake”

“I’ve been in and out of sleep for the past hour”, sitting up slightly you gave him a tired smile. “How was your flight?”

“Awful”, leaning forward he pressed his lips against yours, “just glad to be home”

“Glad to have you home”, wrapping your arms around his neck you littered a few kisses on his cheek. “It always sucks when you’re gone but this time just really fucking sucked”

“I’m sorry”, he mumbled as he started kissing you again, “not leaving on a mission like that again anytime soon”

“Good or I’d have to make a phone call”, you said with barely any bite in your words.

Chuckling, he stood up, pulling off his clothes to get ready to hop in the shower, “how terrifying”

“I know right”, standing up, you followed him into the bathroom, sitting on the toilet while he got in the shower.

“Go to sleep I’ll be in bed in a minute”, he said over his shoulder as he stepped under the hot water.

“I wanna hear about your trip”, the sleep that laced your voice caused him to smile.

“Well you’ll get a kick out of this but apparently icy hots dating someone”

Gasping, you pulled the shower curtain back a little bit, mouth wide open. “No way”

“Yup, deku was filling me in on the plane ride there”, he wasn’t sure when he started pocketing away stuff that was going on in his friends lives so that he could fill you in on the gossip but he wasn’t mad about it.

“So he’s keeping it quiet I’m assuming”

“Mhm only the nerd knows”

“Cause he snooped?”

“Yup”

“Well now I have to invite shouto over for dinner”

“What? Like he’s gonna tell you?”

“Everyone eventually caves and tells me”, he couldn’t even argue with that statement.

“But the trip itself was fine just standard shit”, turning the water off he stepped out, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist.

“Well I missed you”, smiling down at you he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I know I missed you too”, resting his hand on your belly he gave you a tired but genuine smile. “Let’s get you in bed though”

“Me? You’re the one that’s been traveling all day”, you said, standing up to follow him into your bedroom.

“But you’re growing a baby which I assume is a little more exhausting”

“Can’t argue with that but let’s just say we’re both tired”, you said with a yawn before laying down on your side of the bed.

After quickly throwing his boxers on he climbed into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you. “Wanna grab breakfast in the morning?”, he asked softly, a volume of his voice only you got to hear.

“Of course I do”, smiling you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “I’m so glad he waited till you got home”

“Me fucking too”

Letting out a sigh of contentment you closed your eyes, finally being able to let yourself sleep.

[disaster-writer]

A Sheep In Wolf’s Clothing

Shigaraki x Reader x Dabi

Summary: idk what this is, I just wanted write some more vile shit with these characters. This is also a college au

Word Count: 732

Warnings: Kinda smuttish I guess, they talk about it at least. Mentions of drugging and noncon stuff

Minors DNI

You were pathetic, trying to fit in with those girls the way you did.

The only thing you ever offered that group of mean girls were your nods and chirps of agreement, even when they treated you as their punching bag the only thing you could do was choke out a laugh. 

He bet you cried yourself to sleep.

The ice cream shop you sat in with your girl’s after class was cute, a nice little facade for the beasts you hung around as you all ate your ice cream cones covered in rainbow sprinkles within the bright neon and baby pink shop.

He hadn’t meant to follow you here after class but today you looked particularly down. Like a little kicked puppy, the image in his head was sold even more at the little licks you gave your vanilla ice cream in hand with those sad, pathetic eyes of yours.

He sucked in a breath, the image of your cute little pink tongue darting out to kitten lick the pre-cum off the fat tip of his cockhead all too vivid.

He shifted in his seat, cock already half hard.

The bell on the door rang above. Shigaraki hadn’t bothered to look, still distracted by that little pink tongue.

”You’re excited.”

Dabi.

Shigaraki huffed, slipping his hand down between his legs and readjusting himself as Dabi sat down beside him.

Dabi followed his line of sight, eyes landing on the obnoxiously loud college girls as they cackled about whatever the fuck they thought was so funny that the entire ice cream shop had to know about it. 

He knew who they were, the entire campus did. Those girls only went to every fucking party on campus, getting drunk and/or high out of their damn minds and wreaking havoc.

Dabi sighed, sinking into his seat with a grin.

”I love bitchy mean girls,” he murmured, eyeing one of the girls up, “They’re never that tough when they’re sobbing on your cock— not that you’d know anything about that,” he punctuated with a laugh.

Shigaraki said nothing, jaw tensing in response.

”Which one’s got you all chubbed up?” 

He sneered, “I thought you were hanging out with that asshole today.”

”Hawks is fucking his lab partner right now. Fucking bitch isn’t into spit roasting,” he shrugged, “Figured I’d see whatever shit you were getting up to instead.”

”Vanilla ice cream, rainbow sprinkles.”

Dabi’s eyes landed on you almost immediately, grin stretching wider on his pierced lips.

”Ah— the weak link. Not bad.” He nodded, “Guess you heard what happened last night?”

Shigaraki’s eyes widened a fraction, snapping his head towards Dabi.

”What happened?”

He quirked a brow, “Oh?” He said with a chuckle, “You didn’t see the videos? Little cock tease over there was slipped something last night at some party and started fingering herself in the middle of the fucking thing. There’s all these video’s going around.”

”Do you have any?”

“Someone‘s gotta crush~” he lilted, pulling his phone out, quickly opening his messages with Hawks then downloading and sending the video’s he had sent him last night.

Shigaraki was pulling his phone out before he even received the video’s, opening his messaging app and tapping on them as soon as they went through.

His breath hitched. You were on a couch, hand shoved under your skirt with your eyes all hazy and lidded, surrounded by ooing and aaing partygoers.

Your friends all stood around laughing in hysterics, doubled over, barely able to breathe as more people took their phones out.

His eyes snapped back to you.

Your sad puppy eyes made so much more sense now.

Shigaraki found himself swallowing his pride as the next words left his lips.

”You know how to talk to girls, right?”

”I know how to get them into bed,” he replied smugly.

”Then…” he trailed off, not knowing the right words, “Do you think—“

”Sure. But I want in,” he nodded.

”…You think she’d be into spit roasting?”

Dabi’s grin widened as he eyed you up now. You looked so sad and anxious as you sat with the friends that hadn’t protected you last night.

You were a little lamb, all alone, surrounded by wolves… being hunted by wolves.

”She doesn’t have to be.” He felt his cock throb, watching that little pink tongue dart out, licking that ice cream cone, “She’ll do it anyway.”

[dira333]

Hurting together - Aizawa x Reader

mentions of Chronic pain, requested by @alienaiver I hope this is in any way what you've imagined.

“Nervous?” Shouta asks after a full 120 seconds of your leg bouncing without stopping.

“Huh?! Oh, oh, I’m sorry!” You scramble to a halt, arm resting on your leg to keep it in place. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to stop now. But if you wanna talk about it, I heard that helps.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t wanna … I don’t wanna annoy anyone,” you mutter, eyes flickering from left to right.

“Do you wanna hear my story then?” He asks, not because it’s something he likes sharing, but you’re cute and what’s the alternative? Staring at the wall until he gets called in.

“Oh, if you… if you don’t mind?”

He huffs out a breath. “Well, apparently it’s not healthy to break a bone every single week.”

“Oh!” Your eyes grow huge. “Every single week? Wait, is it the same bone.”

“No,” he snorts softly, “At least then I’d have a better story. I’m a pro Hero, I just happen to get into fights.”

“And what’s your Hero Name? Fragile Bone?”

It takes him a second to recognize the joke, snorting loudly when he does. You’re snappy, now that the anxiety fades.

“No, it’s uh… Eraser Head.” He waits a second for you to recognize him, the star-struckness to hit. But it doesn’t. Instead, you cock your head to the side and eye him thoroughly. 

“Interesting,” you say, “I remember an Interview you were forced to give a few years back. Uh, I think there was a streaker at the Sports Festival?”

He laughs. “Good Memory. Yeah, that was one of our students. He didn’t have his Quirk under Control back then.”

“And you’ve got a broken bone now? Or is this just a check-up?”

“Bloodwork.”

“Yikes,” you pull a face, “me too. It’s the worst.”

“It is,” he agrees, dares to ask before he can lose his courage again. “Want me to hold your hand through the process?”

And it’s smooth, smoother than he’s ever been able to - maybe the absence of his friends does benefit his ability to flirt - and he might even get his hopes up for a second there - until your face falls.

“That’s really tempting, you know, but I… uh… my hands are hurting. That’s why I’m here, you know, to figure out why they’re hurting like this. So hand-holding is kinda a no-go.”

“Oh, I understand,” the dejection must be audible in his voice because you reach out for him, though you don’t take hold.

“But if you want,” you offer, voice a little breathless, “you could… uh… put your hand on my shoulder? It might look weird, but-”

“I’ve seen weirder things,” he offers and your smile lights up the room.

-

“Oh, I didn’t know you were coming in together,” Doc Oc greets him and for a moment he is paralyzed, frozen between two different emotions. Surprise, because Doc OC’s obviously familiar with you and he’s got the worst memory when it comes to names. Embarrassment, because it’s usually not the best thing if a Doctor remembers you by name, let alone this one.

“Ah,” you smile, “We met in the waiting room. Bloodwork, you now. It’s easier if it’s done together.”

“That I can agree with. Now, who wants to go first?”

-x-

“Now, I believe you owe me something,” Recovery Girl announces one afternoon, a big smile cutting into her wrinkly face. “What’s her name?”

“Huh?” Shouta had been busy reading through this week's assignment, deciphering the texts. Denki’s Handwriting almost requires a PHD in decoding.

“Doc Oc and I have been friends for quite some time. One would call us even… very close… if you know what I mean. He said you brought in lovely company.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess…” He can’t help but blush at her tone. Too much information.

“Well, are you going to ask her out? You cannot count this as your first date, surely? A fancy Dinner is a must.”

“A fancy Dinner is a must for whom?” Hizashi’s leaning around the door and Shouta groans. Of all people to overhear this.

“Shouta’s girlfriend.”

“Shouta has a girlfriend? Shouta, my man, why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you love me anymore? Your best friend?”

He crawls further into his sleeping bag, closing his eyes. Those assignments can wait, if he can fall in to a coma first, he-

-x-

“So?” Rumi leans against your Desk. “Did he call you?”

“Not yet,” you’re chewing on your lower lip, “But he’s probably busy.”

“Busy my ass,” she snorts angrily. “You’re a catch. If he doesn’t get a groove on you’re gone. He should know that.”

You level your friend - and boss - with a glare. “I’ve been single for a year.”

“Which he doesn’t know,” she sings. “But on another note, have you’ve gotten the results from your bloodwork? You know we only need that so we can get started on your hands-free Desktop.”

“Why do you sound more excited about this than I am?”

“Because you’re afraid of change and I am not. Just think, your hands will finally get to rest!”

“Yay,” you wave them around half-heartedly when your phone pings.

Rumi’s already grabbing it from your desk, always faster than you. “Oh, it’s your guy.” She hands it back. “Not looking.”

“Thank you for respecting my privacy,” you joke and open the short text only to gasp.

“He’s asking me out.”

“Great, so he’s not an idiot. Confirm.”

“No, no, he’s asking me out for a date tonight. You know how bad my legs have been today, I can’t show up with a cane.

“Why not?”

“Because,” you drag out, “the last time I did that there was no second date.”

“And you think he’s that shallow?”

“I just don’t want to jinx it.”

“Fine,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “Tell him you can’t tonight because you’re working late. Ask him if he’s able to reschedule for tomorrow or Friday.”

You hesitate, but do as you’re told.

“And now,” she grabs your bag as soon as you put your phone down, “you get your cute ass home and rest. I want you as fit as you can be tomorrow so you can enjoy that date.”

“But work-”

“Work is like my ex - it will always wait for you.”

-x-

“Fuck,” Shouta groans, head on his arms. The pain is strong today.

“You… uh… you good?” He hears a familiar voice from the door. Shit, he forgot about training with Hitoshi.

“Fantastic,” he grinds through his teeth though he does not dare to lift his head. Lunch was decent, but he doesn’t want to taste it again.

��Do you need Recovery Girl?”

“No, I’m going to be fine. Can you get me my painkillers from my bag? I would, but moving-”

“Sure, sure.” He can hear rustling and then a pill is dropped into his outstretched palm.

Slowly, carefully, he drags his arm back to pop it into his mouth, swallows it dry. He’s got loads of practice.

“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Uh, if you say so.”

-

He’s got a black eye.

He’s got a black eye and a date in about thirty minutes and the painkillers are making him particularly loopy today.

Hitoshi wouldn’t have been able to hit him in the face if his reaction time hadn’t been so slow. He’s lucky no bone is broken.

Something tells him that it would be better to reschedule, but wouldn’t that make him look disinterested when he’s not?

-

“Mew.” 

Shouta turns to the sound, surprised to see a black cat looking up at him. There’s a hedge there, and he bends down to pet the animal. 

“You’re loud, huh?” He comments on the purring, taking a seat on the ground when his knees turn a little wobbly. He really is getting older. 

The cat disappears into the hedge and he holds out a hand, making little sounds to lure her back out.

Just as he can spot the green eyes blinking back at him, a banknote is dropped into his hand.

“Here,” a voice says, “It’s cold out.”

Shouta freezes, only to look up into your face.

“Uh,” he makes, suddenly envious of Kaminari when he cooks his brain. 

“I didn’t mean-” you say just as he exclaims loudly: “There’s a cat.”

“Where?” You ask, peering into the hedge. “I love cats.”

-x-

“This was nice,” you tell him after Dinner, the episode with the Cat now something you can laugh about. “Would you like to do it again sometimes?”

“Yes,” he nods slowly, “I’m sorry if I was a little loopy today. I took… uh, I forgot to take a nap.”

“Ah,” you smile, “You’re getting old too? If I don’t get my usual lunch nap I’m not so nice to be around.”

Shouta laughs. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. You’re very nice to be around.”

“You think so?” You ask, heart skipping a beat when he nods.

“How are your hands?” He looks down at them, “Can I hold them? Or do they still hurt?”

“If you don’t squeeze them I should be fine,” you say, praying that it’s the truth.

It is a little uncomfortable, if you were to tell the truth, but he’s gentle and your heart blooms at the implications.

If only you could put this moment in a jar, keep it for all the days where it’s hard to get up.

 -

“So?” Rumi leans over your desk, grinning wide. “Gimme the scoop.”

“We went out, it was amazing, I don’t know when I’m going to see him again.”

“That’s not the scoop, that’s a short summary. I want every detail. Also, what does it mean you don’t know when you-”

The ringtone of your phone cuts her off. You take a peak only to gasp.

“It’s him. He’s calling.”

“Well, pick up. I’ll come back as soon as you’re finished. And I want all the details.”

-

It’s hard to find time for another date.

Shouta works two fulltime jobs and you’re overwhelmed with just one.

But he calls or texts every day, sending you pics of cats whenever he’s out on patrol.

It’s nice, but it could be nicer.

When he asks what you’re doing and you’re in bed, pain holding you down, you cannot tell him the truth. Because he doesn’t know the truth. And telling him over the phone seems insensitive.

Sometimes he sounds pretty loopy when he calls and you wonder if he’s getting enough sleep. But when you ask him about it he evades the question so masterfully, that you only remember it hours after the call.

“I think I have to come clean,” you tell Rumi one day during lunch, your hands in thick compression gloves to combat the pain. “This season is hitting me hard and I cannot postpone our next date again just because I cannot go anywhere without a cane.”

“I’m sure it’s going to go well. From what you’ve told me about him he seems very nice.”

“Yeah,” you sigh,”so nice I don’t want to lose him.”

-x-

Of all the moments for a migraine to hit, this has to be the worst. 

Okay, maybe the second worst, because he’s not currently fighting someone.

But he’s been pressing his temple against the fridge doors of this Konbini for half an hour now, clearly unsettling the other shoppers, and his painkillers are far, far away in his car’s glove compartment.

Every time he thinks he’s got it now, turning away from the coldness has his lunch rise up in his throat.

“Shouta?” A familiar voice asks and the ice seeps into his veins. It’s you.

“No, I’m not Shouta. You must mistake me for someone else.”

“You’re wearing a nametag. Backward, but you’re wearing it.”

He sighs. “Can you just pretend you’re not seeing me?”

“I could, but why?”

“This is embarrassing.”

“I mistook you for a homeless man, I think we’ve already reached top embarrassment.”

“I’m having a Migraine.”

“See,” he can hear the encouragement in your voice, knows exactly how your mouth curls at the words even if he cannot see it. “That’s very low on the embarrassment list. Do you need a painkiller?”

“Yeah, but they’re in my car.”

“What are you using.”

“I doubt you have that. You can only get it via prescription.”

Shouta names it, hears you chuckle.

“Oh, you bet I got that. One pill is enough, right?”

“Right.” He can hear rustling before a pill is pressed into his hands. He swallows it dry. 

“It will take me a minute to come to my senses.”

“No worry at all. I can stay here with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Oh, but I want to. By the way… the Bloodwork… was that about your Migraine?”

“Yeah,” he swallows around the lump in his throat. “And other stuff.”

“Mhm.” Some more rustling.

“How did you get those pills by the way? You don’t work in a pharmacy, right?”

“Oh, no, I don’t deal drugs if that’s what you’re asking.” You laugh, but it tapes off awkwardly. “I… I suffer from chronic pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

You laugh again, but you don’t sound amused. “Yeah, me too.”

Silence settles between them. Slowly, the pain in his head eases into something manageable and he peels himself away from the cool glass to look at you.

You’re staring at the ground, a cane in your hands. 

“I’m going to be pretty loopy for the rest of the day,” he tells you, lump in his throat, “But do you wanna grab a coffee after this?”

The surprise in your eyes tells you what he’d already assumed. You’re not used to people accepting your condition as something that just is. 

“Might ask you some questions as soon as my head works properly again,” he adds like a threat, “but for now I’d just like to look at you. You’re really pretty.”

“You’re really loopy,” you giggle.

“Mhm, it’s going to get even worse, sugardrop.” His hand finds your elbow, careful to avoid your hands and you knock your head lightly against his shoulder.

You’re probably a weird-looking couple to the outside world, but he’s never cared much about that anyway.

[a1ecmcdowell]

please please please — john b x kook!reader!

part of the short n' sweet x obx collection, found here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, kook!reader. john b in jail </3. it's cutesie though. sex mention, it's at the end so ... do w that what u will.

❛ please, please, please — don't prove i'm right! ❜

john b was so fucking stupid, turning himself in and letting himself be thrown in jail. who did that? you remember from growing up alongside them, throughout the years, both him and jj saying, and you quote, “never trust the fucking feds.” 

maybe it was just jj who said it — or at least meant it, with the way that john b scurried off and left. left. left you alone. 

the pogues had been to see him in jail already. you hadn’t. you didn’t want to. sitting in a dingy cell with a piece of glass separating them, having to talk through a phone like any of that was fair? no, you couldn’t do it. 

until you really, really started to miss him. his friends still hadn’t warmed up to you, so they weren’t very open to hearing your incessant rambling about what john b would be doing right now if he was here. what they thought he ate in jail that day ( jj said mush and mystery meat, and that was enough to halt your questioning for the day ). 

kie dragged you to the jailhouse that very next day. sit, she said, stay, like you were a dog. 

there was a buzz above the door on the other side of the glass, then the door pushed open, and there he was. face more stubbly than you’d ever seen it, hair a bit ratty, but god, his eyes were so bright, like seeing you was the best thing he’d experienced in a long while. 

you already have the phone to your ear. kie didn’t tell you to stay still, after all. 

“was waitin’ for you to show up,” he says into the receiver once he sits, lifts it. 

you lift your shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. he doesn’t have to know you were dragged here because you were annoying his friends. 

“so, what’s jail like?” and your voice sounds so damn chipper, as if seeing him behind a wall of glass was just the norm. 

john b stumbles on a laugh. “why, princess? wanna join me in here?” 

“no,” you choke out, and now you’re laughing too. his laugh is so pretty. it deepens the dimples in his cheeks. “i don’t look good in orange.” 

“darlin’, you look good in everything,” he argues, “y’just don’t want to fuck up your nails in these cells.” 

he’s always known how to read you like a book. how were you supposed to get through this? 

“how do i get you out of here?” you ask, your eyes bouncing between the both of his, as if they held the answer to the world in their irises. 

“mmm,” he hums, his smirk softening slightly, “the short answer is that you don’t.” 

your manicured fingers curl into a fist. his eyes drop to it resting on the table, and he softens even more. “don’t do somethin’ stupid,” he whispers, the sound of it so cruelly muffled through the phone. 

“that’s jj’s job,” you try to joke. neither of you laugh. “we’re working on it. you know? we’re trying to… i don’t know, figure out something.” 

“oh, are you? all of you?” 

your eyes roll. “okay. they are.” your nails tap on the stone table, looking for something to keep your hands occupied so you don’t turn into a gushy sap. “they wouldn’t let me offer to pay your bail.” 

“handout money,” he tsks, “yeah, they wouldn’t do that.” 

“i’d do it though. i would.” 

john b’s mouth quirks in the corner again. “‘course you would. you miss me so bad you probably feel sick, don’t you?” 

you scoff. “i don’t.” 

it’s a lie. the truth is that he’s right. he’s not often right in relation to you or him; you weren’t about to let him get an ego trip now. 

john b laughs again, hearty and crackly through the phone’s speaker against your ear. “who am i gonna tell in here, princess? don’t act so tough all of a sudden.” 

he didn’t know that acting tough was the only thing getting you through this. your boyfriend was in jail. the entire town thought he was a murderer. they looked at you like the crazy girl who’d gotten seduced by the criminal. 

the only thing keeping you from crumbling was the ( albeit wary ) support of the pogues. the entire rest of outer banks had turned its back to you. 

“please don’t prove i’m right, john b,” you say after a long few seconds. “please don’t let me have a reason to worry about you in here. please, just— just know what you’re doing, not letting me help—” 

john b was already nodding by the time you finished. he kept his eyes locked on you, his lips in that infuriatingly soft smile he always wore when you were rambling, or sad, or rambling and sad.

“i know what i’m doing.” 

he sounded sure enough of himself that you feel a flood of relieved warmth wash over all of your senses. 

it doesn’t last, though. not with the twinkling sparkle in his eyes as he watches you. “now… y’think we could get away with a little phone sex in here?”

support me on patreon!<3

[sparrowxlake]

Mind Your Manners - Lucy Maclean x Fem!Reader

*clanging pots and pans together* come get y'all smut

summary: lucy wakes in a strange mood. after ducking into an old gas station to hide from raiders, you quickly realize what that mood is all about.

warnings: 18+ content minors dni, vaginal fingering, soft dom!reader, bratty!lucy, dirty talk

From the moment she woke, Lucy’s had an awkward, nervous energy. You can practically feel her buzzing, the air around her prickling with an almost tangible static. 

“Oh, I’m fine! Just a weird dream,” She’d explained with a stilted laugh, eyes darting nervously. You didn’t push, shrugging your shoulders and returning to breaking down camp. All day, she’s distracted and twitchy. When you catch her looking at you, she turns away in apparent panic. It’s a bit alarming, but she doesn’t seem to acknowledge it, starting off on another story about Vault 33. You nod along, not really listening as you scan the horizon. Lucy yelps when you catch her by the arm. She follows your gaze, spotting the figures in the distance. Whoever they are, things seem to be going poorly. The figures are visibly arguing and the pop of a gunshot lets you know that you should probably not intervene. Rather than giving Lucy the opportunity to test her diplomacy, you clap a hand over her mouth and drag her off the road into a derelict gas station. It’s far too open to hide out in the front, so you end up in the restroom. “Are you completely crazy?!” Lucy demands when you finally release her. You scoff, looking her up and down. “I’d be crazy not to get you out of there. Last thing we need is a repeat of your last raider negotiation.” If she wasn’t already red, she is now. “Well, you could have at least said something? I don’t know, maybe: ‘Hey, Lucy, let’s get off the road to avoid whatever the heck that is?’ Maybe throw in a please and thank you?”

“Sure, how about this,” You begin, leaning in with a smirk. “I’m ever so sorry for saving your ass from those raiders. So sorry for making sure you keep your pretty mouth closed. Thank you for not biting my hand.”

“I’ve half a mind to do it now,” Lucy mutters, narrowing her eyes. 

“Go right ahead, sweetheart. Bite me.”

Your tone is challenging, eyes alight with mischief. You lean in further, boxing her in as you rest a hand against the wall by her head. You even tilt back your head in a mock offering, giving her easy access to the column of your neck. 

When her gaze sweeps up your neck and finally locks with yours, you begin to understand what she’s been feeling all morning. The tension in the air around her, the guilty looks, the nervous energy. You feel a little foolish for not having recognized it sooner.

Before you can say anything, she’s pulling you into a searing kiss. Her hands are in your hair, tugging you closer. You are stunned initially, but feel yourself smirk against her lips. She actually whines when you pull away, leaving her pouting. “Have you been thinking about this all day, Lucy?” You ask with a quirk of your brow. Her fingers trace the curve of your jaw as her hand comes to rest on your shoulder. “Not exactly this…” You snort and she shoves you lightly, feigning offense. You quickly close the distance again, pulling her close by the waist. When you lean in to kiss her again, she turns her head away. You make a low sound in your throat, a disapproving sound. Lucy seems quite pleased with herself, playing with the top of your shirt. She’s giving her best impression of innocence as your hand reaches up to take her chin, turning her face to make eye contact. Her skin is soft, unmarred by the cruelty of the wasteland. You can feel her breath coming in warm puffs over your hand. “Going to behave?” You question, voice low and velvety. Her composure breaks at this, eyes flicking down to your mouth. Her grip on your shirt tightens, the material pulling tight around your neck and shoulders. She tries to lean forward, but you don’t allow it, keeping her firmly in place with the hand on her chin. “I asked a question, Lucy. Are you gonna behave or not?” When she licks her lips, you feel your stomach lurch. It ignites a fire low in your belly, a want that is mirrored in Lucy’s hungry eyes. “Yes, fine. Now, please,” She responds, voice high and needy. When your mouths meet again, there’s no hesitation or teasing. It’s messy and desperate and hungry. She’s moaning into it, allowing your tongue to invade her mouth, allowing you to possess her. Your hand goes to her thick brown locks, fisting into her hair as you pull her head back. With her body pressed to hers, you feel her shift and roll her hips into you, desperate for some relief from the growing ache between her thighs.

“So pretty when you’re all needy. Should’ve said something this morning,” You taunt, leaning in to ghost your lips over her jaw and down her throat. The sounds coming out of her mouth spur you on, sucking an angry red mark into the hollow of her throat before continuing a path of open-mouthed kisses down to her collarbones. Your free hand, the one not currently tangled in her hair, finds the zipper of her blue jumpsuit. It’s already half open, loose around her shoulders. You pull the zipper the rest of the way down to her waist. Lucy’s hands find their way under your shirt, thumbs flicking over your nipples as you groan into her skin.

Your hand dips down into her jumpsuit, fingers pressing over her already soaked underwear. She whimpers desperately, rolling her hips into your touch. You pull back enough to take in the sight of her. 

Lucy’s a desperate mess; hair disheveled, mouth swollen, bruises already forming down her throat. It fills you with equal amounts pride and need. You’re the one who’s making her like this, the only one who can make such a mess of her. “I kinda like the idea of you walking around all day like this. Wanting me so bad that you can’t think straight,” You murmur as your fingers trace up and down her clothed slit, torturously slow. She looks at you like cornered prey, only she’s desperate to be devoured. Those big doe eyes burning into yours, hands practically clawing at your chest, hips bucking against your fingers. It’s cute, the way she presses her hips in and grinds against you, seeking more friction. “If you want something, you should ask for it,” You tell her as she whines. You’re just about to withdraw your hand completely when she relents. “I want you to stop teasing me and touch me.” You consider her request, putting on a show of looking contemplative. You’re going to give her the relief she’s looking for, but only when she remembers her manners. If she was going to taunt you with please and thank you, you were going to make Lucy pay for it now. 

When you give her an expectant look she looks bewildered, brows furrowing. Her hand goes to your wrist when you start to pull back. “Wait-I asked-” “And you said you were gonna behave. Here you are, forgetting your manners,” You scold, making a tsk sound to punctuate your words. She guides your hand back down to where she wants it, eyes pleading. “Please, touch me.” You let her guide your fingers. You push her underwear to the side, finally giving her what she wants. Lucy’s tension melts away as your fingers glide through her folds, head falling back against the wall with a light thud. Your hand is coated in her arousal as you stroke her, finger circling over her clit.

“Was that so hard?” You tease, mouth ghosting over her ear. You nip at her earlobe as she lets out a shaky breath, tilting her head to the side, offering up her neck again. You oblige, trailing licks and nips down the sensitive skin of her throat as your hand continues toying with her clit. She doesn’t forget her manners this time when she asks for more. You chuckle against her shoulder. “Mouth or fingers?” “Don’t care, just more.” You shift your hand down, finger pressed to her entrance. You can feel her muscles twitch as she lets out a frankly filthy moan. “Please.” One finger sinks into her heat and her hands find your waist, nails biting into your skin. She bucks her hips in a futile attempt to take you further. Your pace is torturous, shallow thrusts of a single digit. You know she needs more, but her begging is just too pretty to pass up. 

With your free hand, you pull up her tank top enough to expose her breasts, not hesitating to trace your tongue from underside to nipple. She’s so perfect, so beautiful. Her body stands in stark contrast to your own, a near flawless expanse of lightly tanned skin, freckled at the shoulders. Your own is covered in scars and imperfections, a result of a hard life in the wasteland. She’s whining again, begging for more, pleading for it. You press a second finger into her, earning a low groan. Your thumb rubs in earnest against her clit as your fingers pump, drawing her closer to the edge. 

Lucy’s tell-tale sign that she’s close is when she finally starts to quiet. It’s as if her whole body is focused on her pleasure, moans and whimpers barely more than sharp breaths or little whines as her body writhes. You can feel her thighs tremble as you fuck into her, breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. You pull back from her chest, taking a quick moment to assess the damage. You’ve left a smattering of red marks and saliva in the wake of your mouth. Satisfied, you look up at her face. She’s lost in her pleasure, eyes shut and mouth hanging open, brows knitted together.

“Need you to look at me, Lucy,” You tell her, nuzzling into her cheek. She does, lidded eyes locking with yours as you press your foreheads together. You love this, the erotism, the intimacy, the vulnerability. Those pretty eyes staring into yours while you fuck her senseless. “There’s my girl,” You murmur, a cocky smile flickering over your features. “Go ahead, I got you.” If the prelude is quiet, her orgasm is the opposite. She lets out a choked sound, more sob than moan, walls clenching around your fingers. Her nails are scraping down your back, hips rolling wildly as she rides out the waves of her pleasure. You keep fucking her through it, lazily thumbing over her clit until her hands push against your waist, touch too overwhelming for her to bear.

You pull your hand back, wiping them on the back of your pants. She presses her face into your shoulder, steadying herself and catching her breath. You wrap your arms around her shoulders in a grounding embrace.

“Thanks for that,” She finally says, voice muffled by your shirt. She nuzzles further into the crook of your neck affectionately.

“Finally remembering those manners, huh?” “Shut up.”

- - -

The danger of the raiders having long passed, you two return to your travels. Lucy’s decidedly peppier now, all tension having dissipated. As you walk, she occasionally looks your way, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

You’re sure she’s got some ideas on how she’s going to pay you back later.

[a-dragons-journal]

Shared Phantoms

One of the things systemhood has brought - indeed, in hindsight, one of the first signs of Viridian’s presence - is blendy phantom shifts that only happen with certain combinations of fronters. It’s an interesting phenomenon, especially when it’s not something that the fictives experienced before arriving here.

The most dramatic, I believe, is in fact the phantoms that Viridian and I co-fronting produces - which is to say, together we turn into a feathered dragon phantom-wise, something neither of us is on our own. We gain a feathered crest down the back of the skull and spine, similar to my webbed crest but with a different feel to it that’s hard to describe, and smaller, softer “body” feathers on the neck that we mostly notice when she-wei get flustered, embarrassed, or startled and the neck feathers rouse (ruffle and resettle) without our really meaning them to. We can intentionally move them as well.

I think I know why this happens, but it’s only a guess: before Viridian woke up fully, one of the AUs I’d played around with for her and her sourcemates was a dragon AU, in which Viridian is indeed a somewhat feathered dragon. Interestingly, that design doesn’t actually have the smaller body feathers, only the crest - but I suspect that’s what cemented “dragon!Viridian = feathers” in our brain, and thus when Viridian gets affected by my dragonbrain, it produces feathers. But it’s still a weird thing, especially since Viridian never had this in source - her brother-broodmate actually has phantom feathers, courtesy of being an anchiornis therian, but she never did. Caldwells is feathers, I guess. We have no data on whether she would still get these phantoms if she fronted without me, unfortunately, since it’s currently very difficult for me to leave front (and usually as soon as we realize I have I reflexively snap back into it anyway).

Viridian also gets one other phantom, one she actually does have in-source but never talks about - the sensation of retracting her fangs. Most Kindred can retract and extend their fangs at will, but Viridian has a quirk of the Blood (mechanically speaking, the Permanent Fangs Flaw) that prevents her from doing this and keeps her fangs permanently extended. She can try, however, and when she does she experiences a phantom sensation of the fangs retracting even though it doesn’t actually change anything.

…Here’s the funny thing about that. We learned only after she arrived here and off-handedly mentioned this to a sourcemate that that’s not how that works. It doesn’t feel like much of anything to most Kindred, apparently, at least in their universe. And after thinking about it, what we’re fairly sure happened is that shortly after her Embrace, when she was trying so hard to figure out how to make it work, she accidentally trained her brain into a phantom sensation that shouldn’t exist. Which is extremely funny (“if a little embarrassing,” she mutters from the back) in hindsight, but it’s also kind of interesting that it’s stuck around even after realizing this.

Another headmate who gets phantom shifts now even though she didn’t back in source is Loretta, the other resident dragon - though she has significantly more control over her shifts than I do mine, since transformation to and from human comes naturally to her kind of dragon, she usually chooses to let it happen anyway because we kind of enjoy them. Her tail is markedly different from mine - lighter, more flexible, and much more capable of curling upward to facilitate slashing with the single-edged blade her tailtip is equipped with - and occasionally the two fight for space; we can only have one at a time, it seems. Sometimes this leads to it flipping back and forth; usually Loretta’s tail wins out, I think because it’s more expressive and mobile than mine and thus attracts more of the brain’s conscious attention.

And while Loretta and I co-fronting doesn’t produce a unique set of phantom shifts (at least not so far), it does allow each of us to feel the other’s anatomy, which is… interesting sometimes, especially since any amount of focus on my headspace body leads to phantom shifts in the physical of whatever draconic body parts I may have in headspace at the time (it varies). It means that if she runs a hand along my wing in headspace, for example, we both feel both sides of the sensation - running “my” hand along “its” wing; “her” hand running along “my” wing. It’s… almost disorienting, but usually seems to work out okay? We haven’t played with it much, but what we have played with has been fun and interesting. It also means that I can often tell she’s come up closer to front by what feel like cameo shifts of her dragon shape, usually her ears and tail. (Interestingly, she doesn’t seem to pop wings as often as I do, maybe because in-source she can’t actually transform wings yet.)

So… yeah. I don’t really have a conclusion here, just making a set of notes.

[ellswritings]

Heart Monitor 1x06

Episode 7

To Fallon’s surprise, after her accident and spending pretty much all night in the hospital, when she returned home, Derek was still there. Pretty engrossed in his book to her delight. He was pretty concerned about her leg, which happened to be a clean break. He was furious when he found out what happened, but so was Stiles. It was interesting hearing them say pretty much the exact same thing without the other knowing. They both unknowingly agreed that Scott needs to step away from Allison to regain focus.

Stiles’ idea of getting Scott to understand his mistakes is by giving him the silent treatment. So sitting in their shared class, Fallon stares blankly at the white board, periodically writing down notes as Scott desperately tries to get them to talk to him. After a while she did start to feel bad. He has apologized incessantly since the accident and while Fallon did originally want to hit him with a car of her own, she slowly began to miss talking to him.

“Seriously?” Scott sighs upsetly. “You guys seriously are still not talking to me?” No response. “Fallon, you know how sorry I am. I mean, at least it was a clean break, right? My mom says they have a better chance at healing without complications.”

The girl looks down at the white cast covering her leg. He’s right, clean breaks do have a better chance at healing fully. She’s devastated though that she’ll have to sit out at lacrosse practice for the next couple of weeks, which is actually one of the main reasons she wanted to wring Scott’s neck. But knowing Coach, he’ll kill Scott before she does.

She reaches into her backpack, pulling out a small bottle of painkillers. She pops one into her mouth, chasing it with a sip of water. She didn’t do it as a way to make Scott feel bad, but seeing him hang his head in shame out of the corner of her eye did make her feel slightly vindicated.

“You know I feel really bad about it, right?” He tries once again. Fallon can hear the sadness in his voice. She glances at Stiles, seeing if he’s ready to give in yet. Freckles shakes his head, commanding her with his eyes to stand her ground. She huffs, dropping her head into her hand with a frown. Scott leans forward even further, tapping Fallon on the shoulder. “Okay. What if I told you that I'm trying to figure this whole thing out, and... that I went to Derek for help?”

Fallon’s head snaps towards Stiles faster than it ever has before. She makes a wild gesture with her hands, showing how desperately she wants to give her opinion on the matter. Stiles tries to stay strong, but the pleading look in her eyes causes him to groan. He exhales loudly out of his nose, “If I was talking to you, I'd say that you're an idiot for trusting im. But, obviously, I'm not talking to you…”

Fallon’s lip quirks up in a small smile. She lazily writes in her notebook, pretending not to care. “And if I was talking to you, I’d say that I’m proud of you for stepping up and getting help from someone who has more experience with this than you.” Stiles glares at her for complimenting him and she just shrugs. “It’s like the devil and angel on the shoulder thing,” she explains. “I’m the nice one.”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles narrows his eyes, “And I’ve kissed Taylor Swift.”

Scott smiles brightly as things seem to return to normal between the three for a moment. Her and Stiles make eye contact, faces going stoic for a split second. They wordlessly communicate, making Scott wonder how they learned to read each other’s facial expressions so well. Both of them turn around at the same time.

“What did Derek say?”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Walking out of their class together, Scott sticks to Fallon’s side which isn’t heavily unusual, but she’s used to him taking up Stiles’ side, not hers. Most of the time when they walk together, Stiles is in the middle while Fallon takes up his left and Scott his right. But now she’s in the middle. She doesn’t mind it, it’s clearly him feeling guilty over what happened. He even took her backpack from her before she could even grab her crutches. If this is the new treatment he’s giving her, she’s definitely not going to complain.

“Wh--? He wants you to tap into your animal side and get angry?” Stiles asks him incredulously after hearing what Derek said to Scott.

“Yeah…”

“All right, well, correct me if I'm wrong, but every time you do that, you try to kill someone, and that someone is usually us.” He gestures between Fallon and himself.

Scott sighs, “I know. That’s what he means when he says he doesn’t know if he can teach me. I have to be able to control it,” he explains.

Fallon tilts her head in thought, “I mean, it’s not impossible…” she admits. “I know it feels difficult right now, but Derek has control doesn’t he?” She points out with a shrug. “He obviously learned how to do it over time. I don’t think he came out knowing how to be a werewolf. While I do believe he came out with a leather jacket and angry cat face, I don’t think he came out being an expert on control.”

“How do you think he’s going to teach you?” Stiles asks, nodding along with Fallon’s statement.

“I don’t know,” Scott adjusts his backpack strap with an unsure expression. “I don’t think he does either…”

Stiles rolls his eyes at his friend's lack of knowledge, “Okay. When are you seeing him again?”

“He told me not to talk about it,” Scott answers. “Just act normal and get through the day.”

Fallon shoots him a pointed look, “When?” She asks, knowing there has to be a more specific time than that.

Scott looks at her, huffing as he knows he can’t keep anything from her after letting her get run over. “He’s picking me up at the animal clinic after work.”

Stiles nods, “After work. All right. Well, that gives us to the end of the school day then.”

Scott furrows his brows, “To do what?”

Stiles and Fallon make eye contact, smiling in unison, “To teach you ourselves.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

When lunch rolled around, Fallon was summoned by Lydia and Allison, the two girls wanting to see how she was doing after all that happened. Unfortunately, the conversation didn’t last long as Stiles strode by, grabbing her backpack and lunch tray and taking it over to their usual table. She watched after him, jaw agape while the other two girls just looked at her confused. He just stared at her, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for her to hobble over to him. Seeing as he wasn’t going to give up anytime soon, she bid her two friends goodbye before venturing over to him.

That brings them to the present moment, her smacking the back of his head for his rude behavior. “Y’know you could’ve just asked me to sit with you like a normal person,” she scolds, plopping down in her seat.

Stiles takes her crutches, putting them on his other side so they’re not in her way. “If I would’ve done that you would’ve just put your finger up and told me to wait,” he points out. “At least this way, you couldn’t tell me no,” he smiles innocently.

Fallon narrows her eyes but can’t prevent the grin that spreads across her face. She shoves him playfully, “Don’t look at me like that when I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“You’re not mad at me,” he rolls his eyes, popping a french fry from her plate into his mouth. “You can’t be mad at me. You love me too much. Your life would be so boring without me in it.”

“What you call boring most people would consider peaceful,” she shoots back sarcastically.

Stiles reaches over, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into him as he messes up her hair. The two of them roughhouse for a moment before Scott not-so-subtly slides into the seat across from them, clearly still avoiding Allison.

Fallon tilts her head, still stuck in Stiles’ lap. They stare at him as he hides his face behind one of his textbooks. The girl lifts an eyebrow, “I think using the book as a shield is making your intentions more obvious,�� she says. “Besides, she’s not even looking over here. She seems pretty engrossed in whatever that book is about.”

Scott peeks over the pages, noticing that his somewhat girlfriend isn’t looking in his direction. He exhales, lowering the book but not straightening his posture to full height. “So, did you guys come up with a plan yet?”

Stiles nods, silently checking with Fallon. “We think so.”

He stares at them hopefully, “Does that mean you guys don’t hate me now?”

“No,” Fallon takes a spoonful of yogurt.

“No,” Stiles scoffs in agreement. “But your crap has infiltrated Fallon and I’s life, so now we have to do something about it,” he answers sassily. “Plus, I’m definitely a better Yoda than Derek.”

“I choose to take on a more Haymitch Abernathy role in this situation,” Fallon shrugs. “Drunkenly making sure my pseudo children don’t kill themselves,” she points at the two boys.

“Okay,” Scott nods with a small smile. “Yeah, you guys can teach me.”

“Yeah, I’ll be your Yoda,” Stiles smiles.

“Yeah, you be my Yoda.”

“Your Yoda I will be,” Stiles says in a gruff voice, trying his best to mock the character from the films. Fallon chuckles, shaking her head at how horrible it was. “I said it backwards,” Stiles laughs.

“Yeah, I-I know,” Scott nods slowly, showing how he still has never watched the movies, despite how many times Stiles has begged.

“All right, you know what?” Stiles gets up angrily, grabbing Fallon’s bag and crutches before helping her up. “I definitely still hate you. Uh-huh. Oh, yeah.”

He storms off, Fallon huffing as she tries to keep pace. She shoots Scott an apologetic glance, but by the way Allison is approaching him, Stiles having a fit about Star Wars is the least of the werewolf’s worries.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon’s theatre class had ended up being rather active for the girl’s current predicament. They were introducing new stretches and class bonding exercises to get everyone ready for the Beauty and the Beast production. She was upset that she couldn’t participate, but her teacher, Ms. Potter was more than understanding. She gave Fallon the script early, granting her a free period to read over it since she can’t do any of the activities in class.

So now she sits with a highlighter dangling from her mouth on the lacrosse field, her legs sprawled out. Her eyes gaze over the pages, writing small notes in her notebook about each character and what makes them tick. She briefly glances up as Stiles throws the equipment for Scott on the floor, looking at her with curiosity.

“What are you reading?” He asks, tossing his lacrosse bag at her to hold.

She catches it with ease, setting it down beside her. “The script for the play.”

“Oh,” he comments, not knowing it was that time already. “When are auditions?”

“Next week,” she sighs, rubbing her face. “I don’t think I’m gonna audition though. There’s just too much going on.”

Stiles looks at her incredulously, “What?” He shakes his head. “No, absolutely not. You have to audition.”

“Stiles–”

“Fall, you are so good at singing,” he huffs. “You can’t just not audition. That would be like a crime to everyone’s ear holes.”

She playfully glares at him, “While I appreciate the compliment, there will be other shows for me to do. Right now, my priority is here with you and Scott.” She leans back on her arms, “Plus, I’m kind of stretched thin as it is with lacrosse and school,” she opens up honestly. “My counselor is already talking about enrolling me in a college English course next semester, so I just want to focus on getting through high school… and not getting ripped apart by a werewolf in the process.”

He looks at her with sympathy, but ultimately understands where she’s coming from. “All right. Well, you know that Scott and I would go see every show if you did decide to do it.”

“I know,” she smiles appreciatively.

At that moment, Scott comes running out of the school and over to his two friends. He stops in front of them, “Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes. “It took me a minute to convince Mr. Smith to give me a free period,” he sets his backpack on the floor next to Fallon as well.

“It’s fine,” Stiles waves off hurriedly, grabbing something and handing it to Scott. “Okay. Now, put this on,” he commands.

Scott takes it, inspecting it with a confused look, “Isn’t this one of the heart rate monitors for the track team?” He queries, unsure of how it would benefit them.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods. “I borrowed it.”

“Stole it,” Fallon corrects nonchalantly, still observing the script.

Stiles speaks defensively, “Temporarily misappropriated,” he counters before turning his attention back to Scott. “Coach uses it to monitor his heart rate with his phone while he jogs, and you're gonna wear it for the rest of the day.”

Fallon shakes her head as Stiles pulls out a cellphone that definitely doesn’t belong to him. Scott’s jaw goes slack, “Isn’t that Coach’s phone?” He asks warily.

Stiles nods slowly, “That… I stole.”

“Why?” Scott looks at his friend, not even knowing where to start on labeling his issues.

“Because Master Yoda over here doesn’t understand the concept of rules,” Fallon smirks as Stiles looks more than offended. “Or laws, or personal boundaries. A side effect of your father being the sheriff.”

“Okay, I don’t want to hear it,” he puts his hand up in her direction. “Last time I checked, that father got you out of a speeding ticket last week when you were practically flying through a residential area like Wolverine in X-Men Origins.”

“That was a very specific comparison,” Fallon snickers.

“Anyway…” he sends Fallon a look that says to stop interrupting unless she plans on being helpful. He points to the monitor on Scott’s wrist, “All right, well, your heart rate goes up when you go wolf, right? When you're playing lacrosse, when you're with Allison, whenever you get angry... Maybe learning to control it is tied to learning to control your heart rate,” he carefully explains the theory him and Fallon had been talking about.

“Like the Incredible Hulk?”

Fallon shrugs, “Kind of like the Incredible Hulk, yeah.” She figures letting him think he’s a superhero will get him to try harder. It’s like Stiles and his unnatural fixation with becoming Spiderman. She lets him believe it could happen. At this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if it did. He definitely wouldn’t look half bad in the suit.

Scott smiles widely, “No, I’m like the Incredible Hulk!”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Would you shut up and put the strap on?”

The spastic boy tosses Fallon the phone, assigning her to keep track of his heart rate. The two boys travel out to the center of the field, Stiles duct taping Scott’s arms behind his back. Freckles smiles mischievously at Fallon from behind Scott. She raises an amused eyebrow, knowing this is Stiles getting revenge for the brunette girl.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my free period!” Scott complains as Stiles walks a few feet away, bending down to pick up his own lacrosse stick.

He blatantly ignores Scott’s words, “All right. You ready?” He asks, scooping a ball into his net.

“No.”

“Remember– don’t get angry,” Stiles warns him, cocking his arm back to launch the ball.

Scott shifts on his feet, eyeing Stiles unsurely. “I’m starting to think this was a really bad idea,” he voices.

Without another words, Stiles chucks the ball at Scott’s body, pelting him roughly. Fallon winces from her spot besides Stiles, glancing at the heart rate monitor. Still steady for now, only moving up one point. Stiles readies another ball, throwing it as hard as he can, nailing Scott in the chest.

“Oh, man!” The boy cries out. “Okay, that one kind of hurt.”

Fallon watches as a small satisfied smile makes its way onto Stiles’ face. He wiggles his eyebrows at her, offering his stick, “Wanna give it a go? It’s pretty therapeutic actually.”

“No!” Scott shouts with wide eyes. “Do not give her that stick.”

Stiles shushes him like a child, “Quiet. Remember, you’re supposed to be thinking about your heart rate, all right? About staying calm.” He reminds before smirking as he helps Fallon to her feet. He hands her the stick, looking Scott directly in the eye. He pats her back, helping her stay upright. “Give it a go.”

Scott starts muttering encouraging words to himself under his breath as Fallon adjusts her grip on the stick. She smoothly scoops up a ball, licking her bottom lip. She lifts the stick, throwing it roughly at her best friend. The ball collides harshly with his gut, making him double over in pain. It sounds like the wind has been knocked out of him.

“AHHH! Son of a bitch!”

“Nice!” Stiles chuckles, high fiving her. Scott shoots them an incredulous look which makes Stiles clear his throat awkwardly. He dismisses Scott, “Heart rate,” he points stiffly.

“What do you think I’m doing?!” Scott screams at them with a heavily clenched jaw.

Fallon goes to sit back down, noticing his number climbing higher with every passing second. She shares a warning glance with Stiles before looking at Scott again. “Don't get angry.”

“I’m not getting angry!” He responds frustratedly.

Stiles continues his assault on Scott as Fallon carefully monitors Coach’s phone. She begins to get nervous as she watches the numbers climb higher and higher. 140. 141. 142. That’s when Stiles knocks him in the jaw, making Scott almost fall to the ground in pain. The boy tries to regain his footing, “Stop. Just wait– Wait, just hold on–” he groans, doubling over once again, but this time he actually collapses to the floor.

157. 158. 159. 160.

“Stiles!” Fallon gets his attention, a cautionary gaze in her eyes as she flashes him the phone. Scott continues groaning as Stiles places his stick on the floor. Suddenly the duct tape around his wrist flies off in different directions. Stiles and Fallon watch him with wide eyes. He’s shifting. The heart monitor starts beeping rapidly, his heart rate reaching high numbers that are nowhere near healthy for a normal person.

“Scott?” Stiles calls out warily, trying to find a way to calm him down.

His breathing gets heavier and deeper after a moment as he clenches and unclenches his fists. Fallon glances back at the phone to see the numbers slowly decreasing and returning to normal. She and Stiles let out a breath they didn’t even know they were holding.

“That could’ve gone in a seriously horrific direction,” she mumbles to him.

Stiles nods slowly, helping Fallon to her feet. The two of them travel over to the boy who is still folded over on the ground. “Scott, you started to change…” Stiles says softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Scott breathes heavily as his pulse is still returning to normal, “From anger,” he adds. “But it was more than just that– it was like, the angrier I got, the stronger I felt.”

“So Derek is right,” Fallon says thoughtfully. “It is anger that elicits a reaction.”

Scott shakes his head defeatedly, “I can’t be around Allison,” he says glumly.

“Just because she makes you happy?” Stiles questions.

“No…” he looks up at them sadly. “Because she makes me weak.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon walks alongside Stiles as they walk into Coach’s economics class. The two of them snicker at a joke Fallon told him on the way in, earning a confused glance from their teacher. For how funny that man is, he sure doesn’t seem to be a big fan of laughter. The two teens just giggle again at his look of confusion before finishing their journey to the middle of the class. Stiles sets Fallon’s stuff down in the chair next to Scott’s, the two boys not having let her carry anything of her own all day. It was endearing and annoying at the same time, but she let them do it.

Stiles goes to sit behind Fallon, but a quick panicked look from Scott gets his attention. “Stiles. Sit behind me!” He whisper yells.

Fallon looks up and sees Allison beelining it for the exact same seat. Stiles scrambles to the side, trying to get all of his belongings and himself into the chair before she can. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough. Allison smoothly slides into the seat, smiling at Scott as she completely ignores Stiles. Scott turns in his chair, a frown plastered on his face as his plan to avoid Allison is not going as well as he hoped.

Fallon shoots Scott a sympathetic smile before reaching in her backpack to bring out last night's homework assignment. It wasn’t anything too difficult. Just a few pages of reading and a couple of questions to help summarize the important parts.

The bell rings loudly, indicating the start of the period. Coach turns to start writing about today’s topic of discussion on the board. She watches out of her peripherals as Allison leans forward in her desk to get closer to Scott. The boy tenses, sensing her growing closer in proximity. Allison doesn’t seem to notice the awkward tension as she goes to talk to him.

“Hey,” she smiles happily. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

Scott barely looks back, “Uh, yeah. I’ve been, uh, super busy,” he looks at Stiles and Fallon for help.

His two friends shrug at his misfortune, Fallon sinking further into her chair to avoid watching this train wreck go down. Scott has a look of momentary desperation until he has to cover it up when Allison grows closer. “When are you gonna get your phone fixed? I feel like I’m totally disconnected from you.”

Yikes. Fallon’s phone buzzes with a text from Stiles.

She sneakily pulls it out, hiding it underneath her desk to respond. I don’t know if I should be embarrassed for her or for him.

She’s clueless and he’s awkward. Why can’t it be both?

True. She giggles at his reply. I feel bad. They’re both happy when they’re together. Sucks that they can’t be.

I mean, we don’t know that yet. Stiles counters.

He said she makes him weak. She reminds him.

Once he learns how to control it, it’ll be fine. He reassures her. We just gotta show him that he won’t hurt her. Or anyone else.

Yeah, ‘cause this gross couple-ey mutual pining crap is starting to get on my nerves. She rolls her eyes as Allison tells Scott she switched her lab partner to him. She loves them both together, she really does. But Fallon’s hopeless romanticism stops in the fictional worlds she reads about.

You’re such a romantic. Stiles smirks at her with sarcasm written on his face. It really is a shock that you’re still single.

Ditto.

Stiles kicks the back of her chair and she leans her head back, looking at him upside down. She smiles innocently, booping his nose before sitting upright again. He scoffs lowly, crossing his arms as he tries to act offended by her response.

A book slamming on a desk pulls everyone’s attention to the front. Coach Finstock has a menacing look on his face as he analyzes the class, “Let’s settle down,” he commands. “Let’s start with a quick summary of last night’s reading.” Only one individual raises their hand, causing Coach to roll his eyes. “Greenberg, put your hand down. Everybody knows you did the reading,” he dismisses the boy, more annoyed now than he was before class. “How about, uh…” Everyone avoids eye contact with their teacher like the plague, trying to avoid being the one he calls on. “McCall!”

Scott looks up at him like a deer in the headlights, “What?”

Coach moves to sit on his desk, the tension within the small classroom slowly growing. “The reading.”

Scott shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, “… Last night's reading?” He wonders, seemingly trying to stall so he doesn’t have to do it.

Coach grows irritated with the question, starting to realize that Scott didn’t do the assignment, “H-How about, uh, the reading of The Gettysburg Address?” He suggests sardonically making the rest of the class laugh. Fallon wiggles her own between her fingers nervously. Coach making fun of him like this is going to make him shift in front of everyone.

Scott looks even more confused, “What?”

“That’s sarcasm,” Coach reveals with a tilt of his head. “You familiar with the term sarcasm, McCall?”

He slowly turns to the two friends on his right, “Very,” he answers. Fallon simply glares at him while Stiles smiles proudly, patting Fallon’s back like it’s a team effort. Which, most of the time it is.

Coach huffs, looking at him expectantly, “Did you do the reading, or not?”

The boy plays with the pages of the book in front of him, his embarrassment increasing. “Um, I think I forgot…”

“Nice work, McCall,” his teacher praises fakely. “It’s not like you’re not averaging a D in this class.” He leans forward on Scott’s desk, his anger being replaced by concern. “Come on, buddy. You know I can’t keep you on the team if you have a D.”

Fallon’s attention is stolen when she hears the familiar beeping of Coach’s phone tracking the heart monitor. She pulls it out of her pocket, eyes widening when she sees Scott’s pulse rising. Stiles leans forward, watching along with her as the numbers start to increase with everything Coach says.

“How about you summarize, uh, the previous night’s reading?” He suggests. 98. 99. 100.

Scott silently shakes his head, hoping that he somehow finds a supernatural way to turn invisible. “No?” Finstock mocks. “How about, the uh, the night before that?” Scott fiddles with his fingers as he avoids eye contact. 122. 123. 124. “How about you summarize anything you’ve ever read in your entire life?!” 135. 136. 137.

“I-I… uh–”

“No? A blog?” Coach asks, looking for any sort of hope that Scott’s done something. “How about, uh, h-how about, uh, the back of a cereal box?” Scott tries to hide his face behind his hand as their teacher continues grilling him. Fallon is now bouncing her leg up and down, hoping that Scott gets some sort of reprieve from this. “No? How about the adults-only warning from your favorite website you visit every night? Anything?” When Scott doesn’t answer, Coach gives up and goes to retreat back to his desk. “Thank you, McCall, thank you. Thank. You. McCall.” He emphasizes with a slap to his desk. “Thank you for extinguishing any last flicker of hope I have for your generation.” 159. 160. 161.

Fallon looks at Scott, trying to comfort him with a sympathetic smile, but he doesn’t notice. His face simply grows redder and redder and his chest heaves up and down with angry breaths. “You just blew it for everybody,” Coach continues. “Thanks. Next practice, you can start with suicide runs. Unless that’s too much reading.”

Suddenly the monitor stops beeping as rapidly. Fallon glances at it surprised as she watches his heart rate start to go down. Despite all the laughter and snickers from their classmates, it’s actually going down. Fallon and Stiles visibly relax and when they look over to their friend, they see his arm reaching backwards. Allison is holding his hand tightly, rubbing her thumb across the top of it comfortingly. Fallon tilts her head. Maybe Scott was right in a way. Allison is his weakness, but in a way that gives him control. She keeps his anger at bay, keeps him grounded.

When the bell rings, they all could not be happier to get out of there. Scott still looks a bit mortified after everything that happened. Stiles once again grabs Fallon’s bag, carrying it on his shoulder. Allison bids her goodbyes to Scott, heading in the opposite direction the trio is. As soon as they are sure she’s out of ear shot, Fallon smacks his arm, “Dude, it’s her.”

“What do you mean?” He tilts his head, confused by the random statement.

“It’s Allison,” Fallon elaborates while Stiles nods along.

“Remember what you told me about the night of the full moon?” He brings up. “You were thinking about her, right? About protecting her.”

“Okay…” Scott says, still not understanding what they’re getting at.

“Remember the night of the first lacrosse game? You said you could hear her voice out on the field,” Stiles adds, trying to see if he can put it together.

Scott nods with a small smile, “Yeah, I did.”

“Well, that's what brought you back so you could pass the ball and we could score,” Fallon finishes explaining. “And then, after the game, in the locker room, you didn't kill her– at least, not like how you were trying to kill us.” Scott frowns, sending her a pointed look. Fallon huffs, “She’s like your anchor is what I’m saying. She brings you back. No need to get your werewolf panties in a bunch.”

Scott shakes his head at her statement, “No, no, no. But it's not always true, because literally every time I'm kissing her, or-or touching her–”

Fallon’s nose scrunched up in disgust as Stiles cuts him off, “No, that’s not the same. When you’re doing that, you’re just another hormonal teenager thinking about sex, y’know?”

“I really do not want to be having this conversation with you two,” Fallon grumbles uncomfortably, especially when she notices the smirk on Scott’s face. She groans, squeezing her eyes shut, “You’re thinking about it right now, aren’t you?”

He chuckles sheepishly, “Yeah,” he admits. “Sorry.”

“Just don’t ever give me any details on anything you guys do, okay?” Fallon says before shaking off her disgust. “Anyway, back in the classroom when she held your hand, that was different. She may be your weakness per say, but not in the way you originally thought. I think she actually gives you control. You might go feral if she gets hurt, but that’s besides the point. She’s what actually keeps you human.”

“You mean because I love her?”

“Exactly,” Stiles nods.

Fallon’s eyes widen slightly at the sudden admission. She wasn’t expecting Scott to just randomly admit that out loud. He apparently wasn’t expecting himself to say it either, “Did I just say that?” He asks them.

“Yeah,” Fallon smiles softly. “You did.”

Scott gets even more giddy than he already was, readjusting his straps as he continues to profess his love. “I love her.”

Stiles rolls his eyes impatiently, “That’s great! Now moving on–”

“No, no, no, really– I think I’m totally in love with her,” he insists.

“And that's beautiful. Now, before you go off and write a sonnet, can we figure this out, please?” Stiles gesticulates over dramatically. “Because you obviously can't be around her all the time.”

Scott snaps back, refocusing on the task at hand. He nods, “Yeah, yeah, yeah… Sorry. So, what do I do?”

“We don’t know,” the boy huffs, pausing for a moment. “Yet.”

Scott looks at him alarmed, “Oh, no. You’re getting an idea, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…” Stiles smirks.

“Is this idea going to get me in trouble?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Fallon nods, not knowing the specifics of the plan, but knowing Stiles well enough that it’s going to entail some more revenge.

Scott groans, “Is this idea gonna cause me physical pain?”

Stiles nods rapidly, “Yeah, definitely. Come on.”

Fallon crutches along behind the two boys, furrowing her eyebrows as they head out to the parking lot. Stiles looks back at her and she tilts her head, silently asking what his plan is. The boy simply shakes his head, mouthing “just wait.”

Scott looks just as lost as Fallon, “What are we doing?”

“You’ll see. Hold on,” Stiles looks into the distance as if he’s checking something before turning around to instruct Scott. “Okay, stand right there. Do you have your keys?” Scott pulls them out to show him. “Perfect. Hold ‘em up like so,” he demonstrates, lazily holding his arm up in the air. “Now, whatever happens, just think about Allison. Try to find her voice like you did at the game. Got it?”

“Okay…”

“Fallon, my partner in crime, come stand with me please,” Stiles requests and she moves over to him. “Just keep holding it right there…” He summons Fallon to follow him as he sneakily walks over to the black truck behind them. She narrows her eyes as she watches him pull out his own keys. Her jaw drops as Stiles nonchalantly keys the truck before sliding his keys back into his pocket. He taps her shoulder, telling her to call attention to it.

Fallon looks at Scott who’s silently begging her not to do what Stiles is saying. She glances back at Stiles who is just nodding menacingly. “Do it,” he whispers.

She sighs, sending Scott an apologetic look, “Dude! What the hell do you think you're doing to that truck?!” She yells fakely. Stiles has to hold back the mini celebration he wants to have as the owner of said truck turns around.

“What the hell?!” The student yells, approaching Scott who nervously fumbles with his keys. He tries to shake his head, saying it wasn’t him who did it, but the other student clearly isn’t buying it.

“Oh my God!” Fallon shouts, flinching backwards as the guy socks Scott in the face without hesitation.

Stiles grips onto her as Scott tries to fight the guy back, but he’s over powered when the other student’s friends decide to join in. Scott is thrown to the floor, giving the others the upper hand as they drag him backwards. They continue hitting him in the face and kicking his abdomen. Fallon hears the phone beeping once more and she sends Stiles a glare.

“This was your brilliant idea?” She snaps.

“If he just thinks of Allison, it should work!” He defends. His eyes travel back to Scott as Fallon pulls out the phone. His heart rate is spiking once again. “Ahh,” he taps his foot nervously. “Come on. Stay calm. Stay calm.”

Fallon looks over her shoulder, “Is there really no one here to stop this? No teachers? Nothing?” She asks with a scoff.

“Oh, that's not okay.” Stiles winces. 129. 130. 131. “Scott, come on, buddy…”

Fallon feels the need to interfere, but the way Stiles is clutching onto her prevents her from going anywhere. She holds her breath, waiting for this nightmare to be over. She knows Scott will heal from all of this, but it’s still hard for her to watch him get beat up like this.

Out of nowhere, Mr. Harris comes barreling through, barking at the assailants to stop. The brunette girl never thought she would be grateful to see Mr. Harris, but she stands corrected. The other boys run off, leaving Scott on the floor with a bloodied up nose and a decent amount of bruising. Something probably broke, but isn’t visible due to his supernatural healing.

“What do you idiots think you’re doing?” Harris asks harshly, glaring down at Scott through his glasses.

None of them could even bother responding to his insult, the only thing they’re focused on is the fact Scott managed to control his rage. Stiles and Fallon smile at each other.

“He did it.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Detention.

Fallon should’ve assumed that this is where they were going to end up after Mr. Harris caught them outside. She just wished she brought something more entertaining to school today so she could occupy her mind while being stuck here. She has a chair pulled up at the end of Scott and Stiles’ table. The three of them sitting rather dejectedly even though they technically just succeeded in teaching Scott control.

The brunette girl sketches in her notebook, drawing the Beacon Hills woods from memory. Stiles watches her interestedly, leaning forward to look at her work. He tries not to move too far forward as her broken leg rests on his lap for some form of elevation.

“That's really good,” he compliments.

She smiles, “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he nods with a scoff, like she’s stupid for even asking such a question. “Like I would frame that. Y’know, if I had the money to buy a frame… How about I hang it on my fridge?”

Fallon laughs softly, ripping the page out and handing it to him. “Do what makes you happy.”

He grins, carefully putting the drawing in his backpack. The two of them look at Scott who shifts around in his seat. He’s antsy to get out of here. After a moment, he finally speaks to Mr. Harris, “Excuse me, sir?” He gets their teacher’s attention. “Uh, I know it’s detention and all, but, uh… I’m supposed to be at work, and I don’t want to get fired.”

Despite Scott’s polite request, Mr. Harris just grins fakely at the boy, looking back down at the paper he is grading. Fallon shakes her head annoyed. She didn’t understand how someone who hates kids could choose a profession where they sit with them all day.

Scott tries to go back to working on his homework, but can’t stop himself from talking to his friends on the other side of him. “You knew I would heal,” he says, with an almost impressed tone of voice.

“Yep,” Stiles nods. “We both did.”

“So you did that to help me learn?”

“Yep,” he repeats, rubbing his hands together.

“…But partially to punish me.”

“Thought that one was obvious,” Fallon mutters, hitting her pen on the desk to a steady rhythm.

Scott sighs, looking at them sadly, “Guys, you’re my best friends,” he says, regret etched in his eyes. “And I can’t have you both being angry with me.”

Both her and Stiles pause for a moment. Fallon sucks in a deep breath, looking at Scott sincerely, “We’re not angry at you anymore.”

Stiles turns to him, “Look. You have something, Scott, okay? Whether you want it or not, you can do things that nobody else can do. So, that means you don't have a choice anymore– it means you have to do something.”

Scott nods his head, really taking in Stiles’ words. “I know,” he agrees. “And I will.”

“Just next time a car comes barreling at me and Allison, try to give me a five second warning so I can at least try to save myself,” Fallon says lightheartedly.

“There won’t be a next time,” Scott shakes his head. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again.”

Fallon smiles toothlessly, reaching across the table to grab his hand. Stiles places his on top of theirs, all of them coming to a truce. Mr. Harris watches from afar, his frozen heart slightly touched by the display. He rolls his eyes, “All right, all three of you– out of here,” he gestures towards the door with his head.

The three of them look at him with wide eyes, but nonetheless stand up and start collecting their stuff. For once the boys allow Fallon to carry her own backpack. She wings it over her shoulder and adjusts herself on her crutches before following after them.

“Miss Donovan,” Mr. Harris calls out. She internally screams, not wanting to speak to him more than she has to, especially after what her father said to him on parent-teacher conference night.

She turns, “Yes sir?”

“I hope this shows that I do not hate you, Mr. McCall, or Mr. Stilinski. I meant what I said. I see a potential in you that I… struggle to see within them. Or at least I did,” he concedes. “But if I keep witnessing displays like that,” he refers to their conversation, “then perhaps I can admit where I was wrong. They aren’t all bad.”

Fallon shuffles awkwardly, not knowing how to react to him being kind. “Thank you?” She says it more as a question than statement.

Mr. Harris nods, “And I hope your leg gets better. I’m sorry to hear that happened to you.”

“Yeah…” she nods. “I’m all right though.”

“Well, have a good rest of your day,” he says, suddenly reverting back to his cold demeanor as he looks back down at the worksheets in front of him.

She sighs, heading back towards the door, “You too.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Fallon didn’t even get a chance to get dropped off by Stiles before Scott called them, explaining that Derek showed up to the animal clinic and attacked Deaton. The older werewolf thinks that Scott’s boss may be the Alpha. Hearing that made the girl's blood run cold. She’s spoken to Deaton a couple of times and she never would have guessed him to be the murderous werewolf they’ve been looking for.

Scott requested them to come pick him up because he told Derek to meet them at the school. So Stiles and Fallon did a quick pit stop at his house to grab supplies they’ll need to break into the school and then they quickly go pick up their friend. When the arrive, Scott picks up Fallon, helping her out of the jeep.

They move to the trunk, Stiles glancing around worriedly, “This is a terrible idea.”

“Yeah, I know,” Scott admits.

Fallon furrows her eyebrows, “But we’re still gonna do it…?” She asks incredulously.

“Can you think of something better?” Scott questions a bit harshly.

Stiles shrugs, “Well, personally, I’m a fan of ignoring a problem until eventually it just goes away…”

Scott gives him a deadpan look, “Just make sure we can get inside.”

The headlights from Derek’s Camaro practically blind Fallon as he pulls up. She glances down at her watch. Ten-thirty. She hopes her dad believed her when she said she’d be sleeping over at Stiles’. Noah and him are working the overnight shift so as long as they choose to believe her and Stiles, they should be okay.

“He’s here,” she mumbles to Scott and Stiles.

Scott’s the first one to approach Derek as he smoothly slides out of the driver’s seat. Fallon crutches behind Scott, peeking out from behind his shoulder to look at Derek. “Where’s my boss?” Scott demands darkly.

“He’s in the back,” Derek replies shortly, nodding to the back window of his car.

Fallon glances through the window seeing Deaton tied up and knocked out. She feels bad for the man, even if he is the Alpha, there is no way he's waking up without a creak in his neck. Stiles scoffs, “Oh, well, he looks comfortable,” he comments sarcastically.

Derek shrugs, his suspect’s comfortability not a concern to him in the slightest. Stiles shakes his head in annoyance before waving at Scott to follow him towards the school. Fallon decided to stay outside as she didn’t feel like moving super far with her crutches if she didn’t have to. They tend to dig into her armpits when she walks around excessively. She removes them from under her arms and leans against the Camaro, figuring Derek wouldn’t mind.

“Wait–” Derek calls out, confused as to what they're doing. “Hey. What are you doing?”

Scott turns around, “You said I was linked with the Alpha– I’m gonna see if you’re right,” he replies before finishing his journey to the entrance of the school.

Fallon glances into the window and frowns when she looks at Deaton. She still can’t even fathom that he could be the Alpha. He’s so kind, gentle even. He takes care of animals, he wouldn’t hurt anyone. Not on purpose anyway.

Derek eyes her for a moment before slowly inching closer to her. He points to her leg, “How are you feeling?” His voice was low, gruff—almost like he was forcing himself to ask.

She looks up at him with a shrug, “Okay, I guess. Just a little sore. It’s also really hard to scratch when I have an itch,” she admits. “Not that you needed to know that last part.”

“It’s all right,” he replies, hands buried in his pockets. “Friends can share those details, can’t they?” He lifts an eyebrow, leaning against the car alongside her.

Fallon smiles at him, “Yeah, I guess they can.”

“Have you been taking your pain medication?” He questions curiously.

“Yeah,” she nods. “Actually… I may have forgotten tonight,” she says thoughtfully. “I left my backpack at Stiles’ house. Haven’t exactly had a minute of downtime today to think about it.” She tried to keep her tone light, but she couldn’t help the slight edge of frustration that crept in. She wasn’t used to being this vulnerable, this...weak.

He glowers at her for a moment, “You better take it when you get back there,” he says strictly. “If you’re in pain, it’s only going to slow you down.”

She met his gaze, surprised at the concern lacing his words. It wasn’t like Derek to show he cared—at least, not openly. “I’m not planning on going anywhere fast, Hale.”

Derek huffed, almost like he was amused. Almost. “Good. Because if you do, you’re going to fall flat on your face.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, despite herself. “Are you offering to catch me if I do?”

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes searching hers for a beat too long. “You wouldn’t need to be caught if you were more careful,” he said finally, his tone firm but lacking its usual bite.

Fallon let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re really bad at this whole comforting thing, you know that?”

“I’m not trying to be comforting,” Derek replied, his eyes flicking back to the school. But his posture had softened just a fraction, his stance less rigid than before.

They fell into silence again, the sounds of the night surrounding them. Fallon shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure on her leg. “So what exactly was your original plan when you were gonna pick up Scott?”

Derek’s jaw tightens, “Teach him control,” he answers.

“Okay, obviously,” she rolls her eyes. “But how?”

“Test him. See what he can handle. Try to help him find a way to ground himself,” he explains briefly. “And if he couldn’t figure it out…”

“Then you’d step in,” she finishes for him. She looks at him, “Would you hurt him?” She wonders softly. “Y’know… if he couldn’t do it.”

He glances at her again, his expression softening just a touch. “If he puts anyone else at risk, yes.”

She nods, appreciating his straightforwardness. It was something she’d come to value in Derek, even if he was rough around the edges. “I can handle myself, you know. A broken leg isn’t going to stop me.”

Derek’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her leg before meeting hers again. “You shouldn’t have to.”

The words hung between them, heavier than she expected. Fallon felt her chest tighten, the weight of everything they’d been through pressing down on her. But instead of feeling stifled, she felt… understood.

“Thanks, Derek,” she says quietly, her voice sincere.

He gave a short nod, his eyes lingering on hers for a moment before turning back to the school. “Just don’t make a habit of getting hurt,” he muttered, the gruffness back in his voice.

Fallon smiled to herself, leaning back against the car. “No promises.”

All of a sudden, out of nowhere the wimpiest howl Fallon has ever heard echoes over the PA system. Her jaw drops as she fights off the urge to laugh. She couldn’t even think of what to classify that as. It sounded like a cat having gas pains.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Derek winces as if listening to that was physically painful. Truthfully, it was. She normally tries to be an encouraging person, but that was awful. She’s pretty sure her ears would have bled if it had gone on any longer. She silently hopes that Stiles finds some way to inspire Scott to dig deep. Because at this rate, there’s no way the Alpha is coming.

When the second howl comes through, it actually makes the girl jump. This one is deep and powerful. It manages to cause the building to shake, making the doors vibrate with a loud jangle. A surge of fear fills Fallon’s veins as she realizes that this is it. There’s no way the Alpha could ignore that. She’ll have to face him again. Derek can sense the sudden shift in her demeanor. He can smell the chemo signals radiating off of her. Her face remains still, but her insides are twisting in ways they shouldn’t be.

“Hey,” Derek gets her attention. “You’re okay. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he reassures.

She nods, not having the ability to come up with a more witty response. She tries to shake off the overwhelming feeling that something bad is going to happen, but it continues to linger over her. Eventually Scott and Stiles make it out of the school, meeting a very pissed off Derek and a concerned Fallon. “I’m gonna kill both of you,” the elder of them threatens furiously. “What the hell was that? What are you trying to do, attract the entire state to the school?”

Scott tries to apologize genuinely, but anyone can see how proud of himself he is. “Sorry… I didn’t know it would be that loud.”

“Yeah,” Stiles scoffs excitedly, “it was loud… And it was awesome…” he finishes in a sing-song voice.

Fallon can’t help but smirk, pushing her growing worries aside. “Gotta admit Scotty, that was impressive.” She stiffens when noticing Derek’s glare, “I mean– not impressive. Not impressive at all,” she clears her throat awkwardly.

Derek looks at her incredulously, “Shut up.”

Her lips form a tight-line. So much for the moment they just shared. Stiles narrows his eyes, “Don’t be such a sour-wolf,” he mocks, pulling Fallon closer to him and Scott. She stumbles slightly, trying to get ahold of her crutches.

“Could you be a bit gentler, please?” She scoffs.

“What’d you do with him?” Scott asks snippily, pointing to Derek’s car which is now open.

“What?” The man’s eyes widen as he turns around. He looks baffled as he sees the backseat is empty. The nervous feeling fills Fallon’s gut again. Deaton was knocked out cold. There’s no way he could just get up and walk out without at least one of them hearing him. “I didn’t do anything,” he tells them.

“He didn’t,” Fallon confirms. “We’ve been talking the whole time.”

However, nothing else can be said as hot blood spurts out of Derek’s mouth and onto Fallon’s face. She stumbles back in shock before screaming loudly. Derek is being lifted in the air, claws belonging to the Alpha ripping straight through his back. His green eyes are wide as he chokes on his own bodily fluids.

Fallon tries to tell herself to move, but her body won’t listen. Staring into the bright red eyes of the creature that invaded her space, who made her feel unsafe, rendered her paralyzed. She can’t even blink as she watches the Alpha chuck Derek across the parking lot into the wall of the school. His body hits the ground with a loud crash. She makes eye contact with the monster as Scott and Stiles pick her up, carrying her into the school. She can’t seem to tear her eyes away from it. Again, the expression it wears is almost mocking. Like it’s silently telling her she’s existing on borrowed time.

She’s only brought back to earth when the doors to the school slam shut, both of the boys setting her on the ground before holding the doors closed. Her eyes still look distant, disturbed. Scott and Stiles share a concerned look, not just for their situation but for their friend who is once again covered in Derek’s blood.

[ddlcbrainrot]

Oh my god i love natsuki so muchhhh

I can’t wait to hear those natsuki thoughts once you can finally spill them

So, before i start i’d like to say this is going to be just me spewing my thoughts like word vomit. I highly doubt this is going to have any cohesion whatsoever so I apologise in advance lol

The perception of Natsuki as a character is one that i think is deeply rooted in the person’s personal headcanons. The main reason for this is the lack of canon info about her home life, all we know is that it’s definitely not a pretty one and that’s it. There’s also not any mention of her mother, so it’s fair to say that her main parental figure is her dad. Because the most information we get about this subject is in Act 2, it’s hard to know how much is accurate and how much is amplified. So, people usually have different takes about how bad her home life is, varying from just a very strict father to a physically abusive one and so on. There is also only one mention of Natsuki’s dad in the side stories, in which it mostly paints the picture of a strict parent, not the physically abusive one we saw in Act 2. Then again, just because Natsuki doesn’t mention it doesn’t mean it isn’t a possibility

Why am I saying all of this instead of just talking about Natsuki? As stated, this very much changes ever so slightly Natsuki’s character to each person. So, I think that before I continue talking about Natsuki I should make clear what my view on her relationship with her father is. Personally, I’m more of the “strict father” group. More specifically, Natsuki’s father in my mind is that kind of parent that wants to be close with their kid but is never willing to put in the effort and then making her feel bad that they aren’t as close as he would like. Basically expecting Natsuki herself to carry the responsibility of their relationship all on her own. I think this makes sense considering how she interacts with her “friend” group in the side stories. It’s a kind of similar situation in which Natsuki is expected to just put in all the work and let them treat her as crappy as they feel like. You could argue that her friendships and her relationship with her father aren’t necessarily interconnected, but like, many abuse victims unconsciously look for similar dynamics in their relationships in order to feel secure. So, I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch for her arc in the side stories to be sort of a mirror of her home life.

Natsuki at her core is a person that longs for closeness but is too afraid to accept it. It’s obvious that her flawed view on how relationships should be makes her act the way she does. It’s kind of weird, because she seems very much in denial about how toxic the relationships in her life are but she is also aware that the way they treat her is kind of shitty because she tries her best to make sure she doesn’t act that way herself. She contradicts herself quite a lot actually, but that just adds to the realism of her character since most people contradict themselves all the time. Natsuki’s character has always felt very human to me, despite being the personification of the tsundere trope, and I couldn’t understand why until recently. And I finally figured it out. The main difference between her and the other versions i’ve seen of the tsundere trope is that her behaviour is not painted as a cute little quirk, but as an unlikable flaw. As much as I love her, she can be quite unlikable from time to time and that just adds so much depth to her character, because she is allowed to be mean and wrong and contradictory. Natsuki is unapologetically flawed, and I love that because most characters (especially female ones) are almost never allowed to

Anyway, I hope some of this made at least somewhat sense lol

[makeste]

BnHA Volume 35 - A Brief Reaction Journey

hello! so as mentioned in my last post, I’ve started catching up with the BnHA manga again FINALLY after almost two years, and have made it through a fair number of chapters so far! and since I’m not sure how long it will take me to actually post the corresponding liveblogs, I figured I’d make a couple of posts in the meantime to sort of preview my reaction journey thus far with some good old-fashioned OUT-OF-CONTEXT BULLET POINTS taken from my ramblings. originally I was going to make a single post for all 25 chapters I’ve read so far (up to 367), but I quickly realized that was waaaaay too ambitious lol. so for now it’s just this one, and I’ll put up the vol. 36 post probably tomorrow afternoon.

spoiler warning: just fyi, this post will obviously feature spoilers for chapters 342-350*, BUT it will also include some stray spoilers from chapters 362 and 403 as well, so just a heads up for that if you aren’t fully caught up!

*chapters 340 and 341 are not included because I've already posted full reaction posts for each one here and here, respectively.

Chapter 342

Endeavor being taller than Jeanist just feels so WRONG to me regardless of whether or not it is factually accurate. does this mean All Might is also taller than Jeanist?? I don’t want to live in a world where Best Jeanist has secretly been a perfectly normal sized person this entire time. someone please lie to me and tell me that he is tall

many thanks to Kacchan for inserting this small bit of levity into this scene which was otherwise well on its way to sending me into a SPIRAL OF FEELINGS, and in fact still is whenever I look at that panel of Deku with Eri and Kouta, and also that GODDAMN HUG WHERE HE AND INKO ARE BOTH CLEARLY AND PAINFULLY AWARE THAT THEY MIGHT NEVER SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN, AND IN THAT MOMENT THEY’RE JUST TRYING TO HOLD THE OTHER AS TIGHTLY AS PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE, AND SHE’S PRAYING TO WHATEVER DEITY IS OUT THERE THAT HE’LL COME BACK SAFE AND WHOLE, AND HE’S PRAYING THAT HIS MOM WILL BE ALL RIGHT EVEN IF HE DOESN’T COME BACK, AND NOT ALLOWING HIMSELF TO THINK ABOUT HOW MUCH HE ALREADY MISSES HER, BECAUSE HE CAN’T THINK LIKE THAT ANY MORE, BECAUSE THIS BOY IS FULLY GROWN NOW BECAUSE HE HAD TO BE, BECAUSE HE HAD NO CHOICE, AND I’M BOTH SO PROUD AND SO FUCKING SAD ABOUT IT AND I JUST NEED A MINUTE HERE ACTUALLY, OKAY!! OR FIVE MINUTES!!

LMAO WHAT AN AUSPICIOUS AND NOT-AT-ALL OMINOUSLY FOREBODING NAME. “hmmm what should we name our new class 1-A fortress?” “hmm well I was thinking maybe Troy, after the legendary city with the famously impenetrable walls, which to the best of my knowledge were never breached, or at least that’s what I assume since I never finished reading The Iliad! :) :) :) ...wait, why are you all looking at me like that. they didn’t actually breach them, right? guys? what happened to Troy? GUYS?”

I’m actually so proud of Deku because he’s come such a long way from the days when the mere CONCEPT of even TALKING to a girl was enough to floor him lol. but also I’m legit cracking up at he way he tried to segue into random small talk in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse. gotta be smooth about it!! casual!! you can tell how casual they are because both of them are suddenly struck by the inexplicable urge to fuss with their hair!!

Horikoshi really said “FUCK YOUR SQUADS!! ...but if we had a Todosquad this is who would be in it I guess”

my god. between this and the OchaDeku conversation the villains truly do not stand a chance do they? and they don’t even know how screwed they are yet. REDEMPTION IS COMING!! IT’S KNOCKING ON THE DOOR, TRICK OR TREAT, Y’ALL READY FOR THIS

Chapter 343

so we’re opening with everyone’s favorite Guy With An Old Wad Of Chewing Gum For A Face, AFO!

did this son of a bitch kill Nao’s dad and steal his sexy lie-detector quirk??

sob AFO is all “can I have your son’s cell phone number please” and they’re all “SURE”

bonsoir little Yuuga

do. ...do you not actually know. was this meeting not prearranged. “why are you here Aoyama?” “why are you here, Deku?” truly, why are any of us here??

I’m sitting here trying to play the “guess which parts of this dialogue are real vs fake” game and coming up completely stumped on every single sentence

so Yuuga’s all “can you believe that even though the city of Musutafu is basically down to just U.A., a Dollar Tree, a couple of crumbling park benches, and one very determined Starbucks, we somehow still have functioning courts and lawyers?” I actually can’t believe that at all tbh. you’re telling me “it’s the fucking apocalypse” is still not a good enough excuse to get out of jury duty

damn, Aoyama out here with the trash talk and the ON YOUR LEFT?!

MONOMA??!?!?!?!

Chapter 344

“Eraser’s” plan, indeed. you dare say that right to Kaminari’s face

SHINSOU!!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!??!?!?

HEYA YOURSELF YOU HANDSOME KNAVE!! LOOK AT YOU!! fucking loving the costume my dude! pretty please tell us your hero name to go along with it. is it MindCraft. I think your hero name should be MindCraft. don’t look at me like that Shinsou we need more punny hero names in the world

“yes well you see, I couldn’t do it, so I learned how to do it.” great story Shinsou

the way he’s rubbing the back of his neck there. are we gonna get some real Monoma character development at long last. feels like it’s long overdue and I am thrilled. he’s such a great character and I feel like we’ve only barely scratched the surface of who he actually is as a person and as a hero

THE UNEXPECTED VLAD KING MENTORSHIP WITH THE ARM AROUND THE SHOULDERS?? he really needed that support. outwardly he’s always made a big show of wanting his turn in the spotlight and begrudging class A for stealing the scene at every turn. but how much of that is really just an act. some of it? most of it? maybe even close to all of it? because right now he suddenly seems so small and young here and really wishing he wasn’t in this unenviable position of being one of the many World’s Last Hopes who are all way too fucking young

did Mirko’s giant robot hand just grow into an EVEN GIANTER giant robot hand??

long beautiful flowing mermaid hair. sorry what was I saying I kind of spaced out there for a sec

YES, AFO, ALL OF THIS TO SPLIT YOU UP YOU STUPID MUSH HEAD. MAYBE IF YOU EVER ACTUALLY FINISHED A MANGA IN YOUR GODDAMN LIFE YOU’D KNOW HOW A FINAL BATTLE IS SUPPOSED TO BE CONSTRUCTED. YOU MOLDY AVOCADO

Chapter 345

“no you don’t understand, we have so many sixteen-year-olds whose coattails we’re all hanging onto. we have sixteen-year-olds who can take over people’s minds. sixteen-year-olds who can create portals to warp you halfway around the world in an instant. and let’s not forget the sixteen-year-olds who can act their damn asses off. we have the best sixteen-year-olds in the world. our sixteen-year-olds are so much better than yours you fucking losers”

Deku I swear. if I’m about to discover that the reason you weren’t there to stop Kacchan from being literally, actually, canonically murdered is because your distracted ass got yoinked into the void by some no-name villain chucklefuck, I’m gonna...

don’t listen to him Aoyama you were magnificent. you were my favorite in all of the stage plays

BUT IS PHASE TWO SUPPOSED TO INVOLVE DEKU IN ANY WAY THOUGH??? HELLO??? IS ANYONE LISTENING TO ME??? I’M FROM THE FUTURE AND THIS IS URGENT, PLEASE

“I fucked up Ochako, I fucked up so bad” omfg Deku

she doesn’t want to hurt you Deku she just wants to shower you in love. in her own special way. by stabbing you a lot

anyway have fun on this... tropical island??? I guess?? Kacchan will just have to hold down the fort in the meantime. which I’m sure will go absolutely fine

Chapter 346

“th-th-this is really bad, right?” yes Tamaki, yes it is. you’re stuck here on the Super Mega Ultra Radical Gnarly Cracked-Out Wonder Stage with Shigaraki Fucking Tomura and at least two of you are about to die and I’M NOT OKAY

so now we’re also getting this hilarious insight into the inner workings of the Mega Ultra Tremendous Stupendous Incredible Sky Coffin and it is truly, truly phenomenal

Horikoshi stop taking my sarcastic jibes and owning them completely challenge!! all the best sixteen-year-olds. all the finest greatest Hyper Ultra Sparkle Glimmer Wonder Battle Stages

this is genuinely one of the boldest lampshading efforts I have ever seen in fiction you guys

“yes, we acknowledge that this does indeed seem impossible to have pulled off, BUT have you considered that, fucking quirks though???? AND THAT THEY ARE, AS THE KIDS SAY, WILD??”

Chapter 347

lmao they’re shouting at Monoma accusingly and he’s all “I’M HAVEN’T BLINKED AT ALL YOU GUYS I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU”

don’t mind him, he’s just out here growing out his hideously malformed hands and fingers endlessly from every part of his body, normally, as one does. nothing quirk-related about it. anyone could do this if they simply exercise and maintain a balanced diet. this 100% is not a quirk y’all it’s just essential oils

SUDDEN MONOMA FEELS DELIVERED TO MY DOORSTEP???

awwww. the way he’s almost panicked, frantically wondering if he somehow fucked the quirk up and desperate for Aizawa to believe him that he’s trying his best. and Aizawa quick to reassure him. this kid is so desperate for approval. and unapologetically careening his way onto my top ten character list, welcome dear boy

so that’s that. see you in two years Deku. his last words spoken out loud to Kacchan were, and I quote, “wha --”

Aizawa is so hopelessly impossibly hot at all times and I don’t know how the universe can handle his existence. he’s even doing it without activating his quirk now. no ponytails or anything. just an eyepatch and a dream

don’t mind me, I’m just out here doing literal algebra to figure out how long it would take Deku to get back here if he traveled at the same speed as All Might did in chapter 90 (30 seconds per 5km, apparently). about 20 minutes, give or take. well shit. hopefully he’s a little faster than Kamino-era All Might was, especially since he can fly and has that Fa Jin shit too. or maybe Rody can fly him lmao. or S&S’s hot fighter pilot boyfriend

“what’d Sensei say, Deku?” “he said no, looks like I gotta uber. can I borrow your credit card, I promise I will venmo you back”

unfortunately for Deku he does not realize he’s accidentally gotten himself caught up in what will undoubtedly end up being the most erotic and bisexual of the various final battles

can’t believe Deku has like 6 love interests and out of all of them, Toga is the first one who actually asks him out. good for you girl. gotta shoot your shot

Chapter 348

FELLAS IS IT GAY TO BREAK OUT INTO TERRIFIED BEN DAY DOTS BECAUSE A GIRL EXPRESSED HER CARNAL INTEREST IN YOU????

anyway so since Deku apparently doesn’t understand how romance works either, he’s trying his best to give an actual response by recontextualizing all of this in terms of the one big thing he does understand: All Might

you’re telling me you never wanted to stab All Might to death and then turn into him?? wow I just can’t believe it

but also... okay lol. so I was thinking about this sarcastically, but was then struck by the very unironic thought that there sorta kinda is someone whom Deku does, both consciously and subconsciously, try to be like, and who he also kinda does apparently share the same heart and mind as. at least if chapter 403 is anything to go by lol. soooooooo. huh

god damn it Toga. absolutely none of what you’ve said or done here has been even the SLIGHTEST BIT reasonable. you can’t just tell someone you want to stab them and be their girlfriend. and if and when they try to let you down easy by responding with the MOST THOUGHTFUL AND GENTLE REJECTION ANYONE COULD EVER POSSIBLY MAKE UNDER THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, because they’re actually the WORLD’S NICEST MAN, you can’t just respond by doing whatever it is you’re presumably about to do, which I’m guessing is gonna be really violent and unhinged

so Ochako is all “ever since we fought last time I’ve been thinking about you a lot!” and Toga is all “are you serious, YOU broke up with ME bitch” and now she’s standing behind her with a knife

“she’s the least predictable of our opponents” YEAH NO KIDDING LOL

“everyone knows that Toga is actually Ochako’s villain, like ffs Deku you haven’t even interacted with her since the Provisional Exam arc.” Deku they’re 100% right and you’re looking more and more the fool with each passing second

well all right lol. twenty minutes to get back to Musutafu. let’s just hope he doesn’t run into any traffic on the way

Chapter 349

what the fuck is OFA Dos’s quirk exactly and are we ever gonna get to it before I literally die of old age. at this point there’s gotta be a reason why he’s not using it, right?? so what’s the deal there? does he still somehow not know how? is it too dangerous? and I really need to know why II has the Bakugou gauntlets. tell me this isn’t one of the things we’re still waiting on answers for two years down the line because I swear to god I will cry

anyway so Deku’s saying he’s doing his best but he’s still “too slow”. WELL THEN MAYBE IT’S THAT TIME?? DEKU?? WHAT DO YOU SAY

NO FUCKING WAY LOL, CAN IT REALLY BE THAT EASY??!

OH WHAT THE FUCK, FUCK YOU NOT!CCHAN LOL YOU’RE JUST HERE TO COCKBLOCK HIM?

fuck. so has he used it since then?? is he gonna use it finally now that Kacchan’s alive and well again?? oh my god I need to shut up and stop asking questions and just keep reading. fuck

wow so Dabi’s literally just burning the All Might statue while he stalls for time trying to figure out how to beat his OP little brother who was literally engineered to be better than him sob. out of all the villains he’s probably the most screwed right now isn’t he

starting to get an inkling Dabi’s not happy that he doesn’t actually get to fight Endeavor. getting some subtle hints here and there that he might actually be upset about that

apparently wanting to fight Dabi and stop him from helping to destroy the world makes Shouto a pawn. wake up Shouto. stop being such a sheep, Shouto. can’t you see that saving the world is exactly what Endeavor wants you to do???!

this is just going to be seventeen chapters of Dabi talking about nonsense while they both stand around progressively getting hotter both literally and metaphorically isn’t it

Chapter 350

OH SNAP. [SLAMS HAND ON TABLE] HERE WE GO. IT’S FINALLY THAT TIME

well, well, well. to the surprise of absolutely no one. the real one who was responsible for everything this whole time

but I just have to pause real quick before we continue. because it absolutely cannot be a coincidence that AFO just happened to be there once again. just waiting in the shadows to magically swoop in the minute disaster strikes. and so, just like with baby Tenko, this immediately makes me suspect that Touya burning himself alive was not in fact a training accident at all. which is something I did not expect, and which, just. fuck, fuck, FUCK AFO. fuck this guy.

looks like the children's ward of a hospital?? wait, what??

how the fuck is he still so adorable. when exactly did the transition take place between adorable and sexily unhinged. right now Todoroki Touya still looks to be the absolute most adorable child on the planet

I miscalculated. I was not emotionally prepared to handle this chapter right now. I should not have clicked

really love to see that Touya didn’t just cave right away. wouldn’t have felt right, ngl. just doesn’t fit in with what we know about his character

oh shit wait we’re cutting back to Dabi talking to Shouto and he says he did come back home??

fucking why. goddammit what the hell. why is this the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever read. LOVE HIM!! SOMEONE!! ANYONE!! just love him, please. literally all he has ever wanted!!

JESUS. I HATE THIS. I am so upset right now. out of all of the horrific and traumatic and terrible, awful things that have happened to BnHA characters in their flashbacks, the thing that hits me the most out of all of them is this one image of a sixteen-year-old boy standing before an altar, with his family very much alive and standing RIGHT FUCKING THERE IN THE NEXT ROOM, and yet somehow feeling more alone than he’s ever been. so alone he literally gives up all hope in this one moment. my god I feel all of it and it’s so fucking devastating I keep having to stop typing so I don’t completely break down sobbing

well damn. after a rush of 15 and 13-page chapters, which were all admittedly appreciated by me in my race to catch up to Light Fades to Rain before this coming Friday, Horikoshi finishes up the volume with one hell of a 17 page finale. once again the Tododrama delivers. this was fucking phenomenal

[marmie-noir]

Riding Practice

TW: Suggestive comments from Mitch, nothing crazy. I missed this man.

Prep as a server was one of the most important things to prepare for a busy Friday night. Nothing was more annoying than running around delivering beers and trays of food only for someone to tell you their ketchup was empty, or that half the tables didn’t have salt shakers. So here I sat early on Friday while Mitch cleaned out the keg system behind the bar, filling salt and pepper shakers while Dwight and Pops sat on either side of me ‘talking’ about something or another involving a sport I didn’t care to listen in on. They’d say talking, I’d say arguing, but men were stubborn so apparently I was wrong. I rested my elbow on the bar top and planted my chin on my palm, watching Mitch a moment with a bored expression on my face. I loved Pops, and had gotten a bit warmer to Dwight, but god were these two were putting me to sleep. Mitch, who was running water through the lines to flush out any of the gross stuff that apparently could grow in them, glanced up and caught my eye, flashing me a smile and a wink. I felt my cheeks warm slightly and rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. I glanced away from him, focusing on the pictures that were still on the mirrored backing of the bar. One of a young Mitch grinning at a rodeo caught my attention above the rest and I straightened, refocusing back on the man behind the bar. “Were you any good?” I asked. He quirked a brow at me, confused on what I meant before I gestured to the pictures. “Bull riding. Were you good at it?” That had him grinning. “Well I wasn’t bad, darlin’.” “He was great.” Pops interrupted, making both of us look over at him. “My boy was one of the best on the circuit. He stuck on them like glue, not even the meanest bull could throw him.” “Till one did.” Mitch said with a little smile, shaking his head at the fatherly pride practically glowing from Pops where he sat sipping his coffee. “I was pretty good, but once you get injured it’s kind of over. Couldn’t hold on as tight as I needed to while I healed, and well.” He trailed off because I knew what happened. Mitch had been put on painkillers, gotten addicted, and it eventually lead to him doing eight years inside. “I don’t understand the appeal.” Dwight said, lifting a broad shoulder as he looked at the pictures of young Mitch, sipping his own coffee. “Clinging to the back of one of those mean bastards while they try to throw you?” “I bet it’s a big hit of adrenaline.” I said, resting my folded arms on the bar and leaning on it as I looked at the other pictures and yellowed newspaper articles on the back wall. “I can see it though.” I could too. Mitch was tall with long legs, he probably slid on the back of the bulls like he belonged on one. Bet he looked really handsome in all that gear too. “Pretty sure there are some videos on youtube of it, if you are really curious darlin’.” He said, glancing back down at the job at hand. I still saw the little quirk of his lips though, clearly entertained by the subject at hand. 

I hadn’t even thought of that though. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket but per usual I had garbage service all the way out here. Pouting, I continued to fill the salt and pepper shakers, knowing I’d have to ask Ann if her phone could pull up the videos when she got in around lunch time.  

“Sunny, Julie’s gonna take your tables, we’ve got an errand to run.” Mitch’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts and I paused, glancing over my shoulder at him. I had been working on the schedule, trying to figure out when the new girl could get some training in because she was horrible. Yesterday she mixed up three tables of orders and set Ann and I back by at least twenty minutes in a rush. “What kind of errand?” I asked, wondering if this was bar business or something that Dwight might be more involved in. Mitch just gave me a look, pulling the knot on the back of my server’s apron to undo it before tossing it in the little cubby I had claimed as my own. 

“The kind that requires you be in the truck in five minutes.” He said, arm wrapping around my shoulders to pull me closer, pressing a kiss against my forehead before releasing me to head back out to the bar to wrap up. I watched him leave the office, a little confused about what was happening but it was a nice day out and the idea of getting out of the dimly lit bar for a few hours sounded like a good time so I went with it. 

What I hadn’t expected was us pulling up to a sale/rodeo yard. There were large buildings, multiple pens full of different animals or people training in one rodeo event or another. I was talking next to Mitch, looking around like a little kid in a candy store, taking in the pens of horses and the people milling around. He let out a chuckle, throwing an arm around my shoulders to steer me, his other hand tucking into his pocket as he lead me through the maze of pens and fenced off sections. It was warm and smelled of hay and animals, something I hadn’t experienced since I was a little kid and my neighbor had taken me to a livestock sale to get me out of the house. 

Past a large fenced off arena style room with bleachers on either side I leaned into Mitch a bit more, letting him basically lead as I looked around. I heard the horses before I saw them and grinned, pulling Mitch towards a pen of pretty paint horses. He let me lead him this time, reaching out with his hand not on me, offering pets that the horses seemed eager to get. Their fur was soft against my fingertips, rubbing at one’s forehead right on a white patch that stood out bright against the reds of the rest of it’s coat. “I always loved horses. Our neighbor had a bunch and I’d sneak out into the pasture and spend time with them, they were really sweet old trail girls.” I said, rubbing the horse’s noise and earning a nicker. “I did a bit of bronco riding when I was first starting out but fell into bull riding and never really looked back.” Mitch hummed, patting the horse’s neck before pulling back and taking me with him. He lead us around a few more turns and there I found Dwight and a man I’d never seen before. Mitch got right into it, stopping beside Dwight with me still firmly at his side, arm casually over my shoulders to make sure I was tucked close. Because he certainly knew that I was absolutely disappear into the mazes of fencing in search of more animals to pet. Ever since I found Scruff Mitch seemed less willing to let me go wandering, stating he didn’t want a zoo in his house. “Moss.” He said, nodding his head before glancing at Dwight. “Dwight, this is Moss Wheelwright. Moss, this is Dwight, the man I told you about. And this is Sunny.” 

I gave a little smile and wave, curious about the man who stood before me now. Moss looked like the average midwestern guy. Ball cap pulled low, a t- shirt and a pair of shorts with boots.It got pretty hot in here so I didn’t blame him, though Mitch had worn his usual attire of pants and a button up that was rolled to his elbows. “Moss is a bullfighter these days. Distracts the bull.” He continued on sounding almost affectionate, like he had some good memories of that very thing happening. “Wrangles him when the rider falls off.” It would make sense, if Mitch ever fell the bull could have very well turned and tried to get to him. Wranglers were in the pen to distract the animal long enough for the riders to get away, ensuring everyone left alive. It sounded like a terrifying job personally, but I had no experience with the bulls so just being near one sounded unpleasant to me. 

Another man walked up then with his hand extended. He shook Mitch’s hand, then Dwight, and then reached for mine. I shook his hand, pleased to not be ignored in these situations as some men would do. “Sorry I’m late brother, had to sneak out of work.” The new man said, looking at Mitch with a little nod of his head. “Howdy ya’ll. Ben Hutchins.” “Ben.” Dwight said, looking out of place in his suit but not looking the least bit bothered by that fact. “Dwight.” “Sunny.” I said, flashing him a smile. 

“Oh, don’t mind the blood.” Ben said, stepping back to stand next to Moss. He did have some blood on his jeans, his boots too. It was clear Moss, Ben, and Mitch all knew one another. These must be his buddies from the rodeo days he spoke about sometimes. “I work in a slaughterhouse.” 

Dwight let out a rumbling chuckle, looking amused. “You’re hired.” As Mitch, Dwight, and the two newcomers began to talk business I snuck away, feet silent in the dirt as I left Mitch’s side for the first time since we showed up. I wanted to explore a little bit while they talked business and had some experience in places like this so I had a general idea of what I was looking for. 

I spent some time wandering around the pens and stalls, petting the horses that allowed it and keeping my distance from the bulls and wilder looking animals that were caged up. I ended up at an odd looking contraption which I recognized was a mechanical bull, the material on the ground around it padded for when the riders would fall off. This must be the training that Mitch had mentioned…

“Spent hours on that thing.” Mitch interrupted my inspection and I looked over my shoulder, not really surprised to see him. Flashing him a smile he returned it, moving towards the metal contraption with a a contemplative hum, large hand smoothing over the back of the leather saddle it was equipped with. “We used to get a case of beer and spend our Friday nights on this thing, betting who could hold on longer.” “You win?” I teased, moving next to him. He let out a laugh. “Bet your ass I did.” Without another word Mitch reached down, grabbing me and placing me on the back of it. “C’mon, I’ll turn it on easy so you can get an idea of what it feels like. It’s not exactly like the real thing, but you’ll get the idea.” 

I blinked in surprise at finding myself in the saddle of the mechanical bull, one of my hands wrapping around the rope provided for just that purpose. “Okay, sure. But if I fall you aren’t allowed to laugh.” “Okay, honey.” He hummed, that low voice only making me narrow my eyes at him. “Now lift your other hand, gotta be authentic in it. Don’t halfass it now.” I did as he said as Mitch moved to the side where there was a box with numbers and switches, clearly a control panel. I trusted him to not crank it all the way up, I’d be tossed into space if that was the case, my legs didn’t go far around the thing and I couldn't really hold on well. 

The machine hummed to life at the flip of a switch and then began to slowly rock back and forth. I concentrated on moving with it as it began to gradually moved faster, letting my body remain more loose so I wasn’t a board on the back of it. “A natural. Move with it Sunny, don’t fight it. That’s my girl.” He called, cranking it up. The machine jerked and I let out a laugh, hair flying, nearly thrown but held on. I didn’t last much longer, tossed off the back into a mat where I landed on my back with a grin, a little dizzy with how fast it had spun, not even upset I’d already been tossed. 

The machine wound down and a hand appeared. I took it, Mitch easily pulling me up with a wide grin. “Not too bad for your first time. We’ll make you a rider after all.” “Hardly.” I said with a roll of my eyes. Mitch had this spark in his eyes as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer and starting to head back to the truck. “We’ll just have to practice at home, darlin’.” “Yeah, you got one of these hidden somewhere?” I sassed, looking up at him. “Nah, we’ll practice another way.” “Practice a- Mitch!” I laughed, slapping his chest lightly as he chuckled, his free hand adjusting his hat as he wove us through the maze of the large building. 

More Sunny and Mitch here

[cleavetheclover]

Clver, think about it...shadowire (platonic or romantic) domestic fluff,,, or just fluff,,, angsty fluff? ps this is just my sleep deprived ramblings

Like...

- Post Hourglass Omen being found by Cypher (probably willingly i don't see Cypher going to go see Omen if he'd rather not see Cypher) and just...a talk. Omen venting. Cypher comforting Omen and listening quietly. And then cuddles. A kiss when Cypher leaves Omen be again and an orange, "for luck," Cypher would say (knowing it had no such meaning)

- Pre Hourglass, Omen coming to see Cypher at night, cuddles and physical intimacy mixed with quietness, because if nothing else Over feels just a little more grounded when Cypher is holding him.

- Cypher noticing little quirks Omen has. Sometimes Cypher tells Omen about what he's noticed. Omen enjoys it because it at least means he's still human if nothing else. (I mean, what kind of monster has a preferred sitting position or a certain kind of wool they enjoy knitting the most?)

- Above, but roles exchanged. Omen notices things about Cypher that makes him Cypher and some that makes Amir. It's weird, Cypher thinks, I'd hate being known but it feels natural with Omen. (Inspired mostly by hermit card, which normally means like being known by no one but yourself)

ehh welp thas all i got in the brain goodnight I'm by no means asking you to draw any of these i just saw your ask thingy and went "bet lemme think"

Noooooo stop I stg every single member of the cyphmen community has the exact same headcannons please 😭😭😭

(Not that I’m complaining, that just means more food for all of us)

ANYWAY all of these are wonderful ideas and I definitely want to write all of them!!! Unfortunately I am rather swamped right now bc senior design is kicking my ass and job hunting is harder than ranking up in val, and my current hyperfixation is a game called Noita…

But I’ll definitely get back to writing as soon as my life stops being as volatile as a bucket of acetone.

Also I wrote a short thing for the hourglass thing I hope you like it! I’ll respond to the other prompts later

Post hourglass Omen:

I think he would shut himself in his room for a while and just sit there, completely overwhelmed and not sure where to go or what to do next.

Since it’s cannon that Omen can sense others emotions, I think pre-HG Omen would have already sensed a timid friendship and significant fear from Viper, but it wasn’t until post-HG that he knows why. He’s having this world-shattering realization that one of the few people he has trusted and befriended in this lifetime not only doesn’t return that friendship, but actively fears him, and for good reason.

Imagine learning that your best friend fears you, for an incident you would have never learned of—had you not hired a shady information broker to find it out for you.

Confirming that she sees you as a monster— something you never wanted to be.

Yeah, I’d be pretty lost and upset too.

So Omen is gonna be hiding in his room trying to figure out a path forward and simultaneously avoid thinking about said path forward.

Cypher, being the nosiest man alive, a friend of Omen’s, and also the guy who helped orchestrate the mission in the first place, is not gonna sit there and let Omen feel so alone.

He shows up and Omen really wants to just slam the door and tell him to fuck off, but he really doesn’t have the energy (and also can’t really afford to burn more bridges at the moment). So begrudgingly he lets him in.

Cypher softly says his name, “Omen,” but the shadow doesn’t dare look him in the eye. Instead he stares at the sentinel’s belt. Browth leather. Battle-worn. Probably replaced several times over, like Omen’s own combat gear.

The sentinel approaches, and Omen can feel a protective sentiment befitting his role as a Sentinel. It’s soothing, he’s felt it before, but he really wishes he weren’t the subject of such a keen emotion right now.

Cypher’s gloved hands come up to rest on the sides of his own shoulders. The intent is to be reassuring, but Omen doesn’t find it to be such. What is he supposed to do with his own hands, anyhow? Touch Cypher’s shoulders? His belt, or chest?? His waist???

Well, the chest option is gone, because the next thing he knows Cypher’s chest is pressed against his own. And his arms are wrapped around his back.

Omen always knew humans were warm, but for some reason, he had always imagined Cypher to be cold. Maybe it was the utter lack of skin showing. The minimal expressions in his mask. The way he never so much as brushed hands with anyone else in the Protocol, as if he were a robot like KAY/O. Hell, the literal killer-bot had a warmer attitude than Cypher most of the time. Maybe it was…

Whatever.

Cypher is warm. Like any other human. Embracing him without any reservations at all.

No fear. No pity. No grief.

It makes him feel like, for one moment, that maybe he isn’t a monster after all.

Omen responds in the only way he can think of: he ducks his head down and buries his face in Cypher’s collar, and lifts his hands up to Cypher’s back and pulls him as close as he can.

He smells like bar soap and leather. And something else more organic, musky almost like sweat, but that can only be described as subtle and pleasant.

Alas, their embrace cannot last forever. Poor Cypher is a man, not a scented candle or a stuffed animal that can be basked in or embraced forever. Omen releases him, already missing the warmth and the scents and the textures and the intimacy, but he would rather save face and keep Cypher comfortable than anything else.

Cypher seems… satisfied.

Omen isn’t sure how he feels.

There’s a long pause.

“I am not my past,” he blurts, immediately wishing he didn’t. He almost says something else to brush it away, but he knows that doing so will only dig a deeper hole for himself. He says nothing more and hopes Cypher will have the courtesy to do the same.

But the Sentinel, as always, has other plans.

“Neither am I.”

Omen’s gaze snaps up at that.

The Sentinel then reaches into a bag of items that he had discarded upon entering, and produces a ball of yarn and a small tin box.

“I have spent the last decade of my life paying for crimes too heinous to be named.” He comes to stand in front of Omen once again. “They called me everything from a villain to a monster to, well. ‘Villain’ and ‘monster’ in more callous terms.”

Cypher chuckled humorlessly. Omen dared not ask who ‘they’ was referring to, but got the feeling that he didn’t need to.

“I am not absolved from my past. I cannot fix the innumerable lives I have ruined or the things I have destroyed.”

Then he lifted the little tin up to his face. “But then again, what kind of monster has a favorite type of tea?”

In his other hand, outstretched to Omen, was the ball of yarn. “Or a favorite type of wool?”

Omen just stared at it. Cashmere imported from India, said the label.

“To the best of my ability— which admittedly isn’t much— I left it all behind.” Cypher somberly bushes the tips of gloved fingers across his masked cheek. “My name. My face. My skin, even.”

Omen tilted his head at that last one. It sounded painful. But then again, what about Cypher’s existence wasn’t?

“Like me, you might carry the legacy of a monster. But that does not mean you are one.”

The cashmere is soft in Omen’s hands. He runs his thumb along each strand, marveling in the gift. On its own, it didn’t feel deserved. But when he looks back sees the tin of tea being cradled in Cypher’s own hands, it does.

Former monsters sitting under a warm roof with their silly little domestic joys: the thought of it almost makes Omen laugh.

Cypher must have seen the way the tension eased from Omen’s shoulders, because now he is chuckling too.

Bastard.

“Omen,” the informant takes the revenant’s hand and says his name with that dratted melody of affection in his voice, “Would you like to knit while I brew us some tea?”

———————————————

Since you suggested an orange:

It’s a very cute idea— I think oranges are for luck and wealth in Chinese culture, not sure about other ones tho.

Unfortunately I’ve come to kind of associate them with mourning. My grandma passed away last summer, and my grandpa and I leave flowers and oranges on her gravestone when we visit. So I didn’t feel like writing that into this little story lol

And yeah I also incorporated your “what kind of monster has a favorite kind of wool?” Thing in here wahoo

[princess-of-the-corner]

Quirk Counsellor Things

Cause, like, it’s still pinging around in my brain, I have more ideas!

So like. I think I said before my headcanon is that Quirk Counsellors popped up in the wake of Quirks emerging as less a “let’s help you figure this shit out” and more of a way to identify an emerging threat. All the initial Quirk Counsellors were government agents, just writing down their findings and submitting them to the government. But they couldn’t really keep up with demand, so they started hiring whoever they could find. And because the goal here is registration, who cares about credentials? Can you write? Are you capable of basic observational skills? Congrats! You qualify for the job! And while society has changed in the three hundred something years since, the job really hasn’t, which is why so many Quirks are classed so weird. These people are still using a three century old classification system, that was put together in a hurry, not to classify people, but weapons.

So, here’s a fun thing I thought of! People with mutation Quirks? They don’t usually see Quirk Counsellors! Hear me out!

So, my basic idea is, it is a government mandate that, upon manifesting a Quirk, you are required by law to have at least six months worth of Quirk Counselling sessions, let’s say one a week. That’s roughly 32 sessions. Sometimes more are recommended, if your Quirk is particularly finicky or volatile, but it isn’t required beyond the initial sessions. These initial sessions are where they are supposed to test your Quirk, find its limits, figure out if it will impact your health, stuff like that. But one hour a week over six months isn’t all that long in the grand scheme of things. That’s about a day and a Half’s worth of time. And Even with however many Quirk Counsellors there are, the good ones are overworked, the bad ones just don’t care, and again, most are government workers. They just do not have the time. And remember, no matter how much things have changed, the goal hasn’t - this isn’t “help” it’s “identify a threat”. So, how does this connect? Well, what’s an easy way to decrease the work load? What Quirks don’t really need much help being identified? What about physical mutation Quirks, that people are born with?

Cause another head canon I have is that, a majority of Mutation Quirks? People are just born with them. 

Not all! But most, yeah, I’d think they were born that way! Ojiro, Tokoyami, Shouji, Spinner, Kouda, Mina - I see them all born looking that way. And so, when they’re born, their doctors would be the ones to write it down - part of their job would be to keep track of manifesting Quirks, so you can note on someone’s medical record when said Quirk emerged. You’re mandated to go for six months within a month or two of the manifestation, but who is going to Counsel a baby? Plus, The doctors would also do all the “how this affects their health” thing already. So they are already registered as having Quirks, and are not required to see a Quirk Counsellor unless they manifest a secondary Quirk later. It might also work into a prejudice against people with Mutation Quirks! Cause seeing a Quirk Counsellor, being a government mandate, is covered by said government! It’s a form of health care, probably comes with other resources! And by saying Mutation Quirks are already registered, unless they manifest a secondary Quirk, you are preventing a bunch of people from accessing resources they might need!

So, Ojiro and Tokoyami never went to a Counsellor! For Ojiro, with his family, he did alright! His grandad helped him figure out his tail for martial arts, his family as a whole had enough money to figure out clothes and such. But CC!Tokoyami would never have gone, cause he only has the bird-head thing, right? But he has a secondary Quirk that NO ONE knows about, because no one ever felt the need to test and see if he had one! Spinner probably never went to one either, would he be mad about that?

Also! I talked before about Quirk Counsellors naming your Quirk for you? That’s another part of the classification thing! Cause like. The names they give Quirks are the equivalent of naming a weapon, or a specific type of ammunition. It’s what they write down on the paperwork they submit. The names aren’t meant to be “cool” or whatever, they’re meant to be descriptive enough to a government stooge that they can guess at a glance what they do! Like, some Counsellors these days might let the people have input, but for the most part, they have all the power there, which can be bad! 

Like, Shinso? Somebody named his Quirk “Brainwashing”, when it’s actually closer to something like Hypnosis. But Brainwashing sounds much more impressive. What do you want to bet some idiot Counsellor wanted on his record that he identified a “powerful” Quirk, when he put down that name? Who cares that the negative connotations of the word “Brainwashing” mean you probably just painted a massive target on this kid? Not like he has rich parents to sue and have the name changed!

(thought?)

-

Honestly I can go either way on how mandatory Quirk Counseling is.

Because yeah personally I think that it’d be rare for kids to really be recommended more counseling outside of the base ‘let’s make sure you can control your ability to an extent so you don’t destroy the house’.

Especially when it’s government employees more looking into ‘will this child one day be a threat?’.

Though yeah Mutation Quirks would often get jack all in terms of counseling like. Okay yeah sure you have a bird head not much to do there. Take it up with your doctor, dentist, and/or vet.

And GOD like.

Yeah the ‘Counselor’ having near total control over how the Quirk is percieved! Shinso may have had an easier time if his Quirk was called something else!

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 336: A Saturday at Melissa's, p11 (9PM, Randi)

We were kinda sorta still watching the movie, another superhero thing that was in the theaters a couple years or so ago. Sushi had all been cleaned up, and we’d let him start to recover, dialing back on our, uh, whatever they called these things - pheromones. Missy was reclined, he was cuddled up into her and had been put back into some loose clothes after he’d complained a bit. Most of us were still in swimsuits, though I’d put a little tube top on over mine after our last spurt nearly burst me out of my bikini. Fuck, my tits were getting huge. We’d all grown. 

“Hey, has anyone heard from Marisela?” I asked, to no one in particular, stretching my jaw, “She was supposed to be here.”

I didn’t really get a response. I’d been here only a few hours but he’d came like a bunch of times today already. We were all just sort of lazily recovering, enjoying the new size and energy. Some of us handled it differently than others, and though nobody really talked about it too much some of us were beginning to change in different ways. I stretched out my jaw again, which tended to feel a little sore afterwards, and considered Marisela once more. “Should someone call her?”

“I already tried. Nothing,” Josie replied, casually rubbing J's bare foot. I thought I saw the ends of her long brown hair twitching. She’d gone back to watching Black Widow shrink Ant Man down for like the third time, Amelia was checking her nails.. 

Hm. Well, fuck it. If no one else cares I don’t either. These were odd chicks, for sure, this little friend group of ours. That I’d become the responsible one was a laugh, and I tried not to get too concerned about the weird shit that was going on. I figured I’d worry about whatever Marisela was doing later tonight. Maybe tomorrow. 

Scarlett was holding the guy in her hand and scowling down at him while he tried to joke his way out of something stupid he’d just done. I gererally thought superhero movies were fucking stupid but had to admit the effects in this one were pretty amazing. It was one of the first ones, along with the first She-Hulk movie, that really caught people’s attention, big girls and all that. 

“Haha I dunno..!” Missy laughed back, hugging his head back into her boobs, “Maybe! Would you like that, sweetie..?”

We all laughed as a few girls turned to watch him blush and stammer something we could barely hear. Missy, for her part, took it upon herself to gather him in a little closer, bundling him in the thin blanket he’d been given. I didn't even have to look. One of her hands was definitely under that blanket.

I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you people, but for all her quirks, we all adored Missy. Josie, Katie, Amelia and I have known her a long time, Shanette even longer. She’s a special friend to have. It’s been a trip, watching what’s happening to her in the middle of all the crazy shit that’s going down in the world and seeing how she’s drawn this hive of girls all around her. This job had been haha really good for her, to say the least, and it had given us all the opportunity to not only make bank, but to become more than what we were before. Some of us were worker bees, some were becoming more like warriors or soldiers, but everyone had their part. I like to think the boss girls were something even more special still. But Melissa, again for all her oddities, was definitely our queen bee…and she seemed blithely happy with this new little boyfriend of hers. It’s good, she deserves to be happy, especially with what her life story has been. And I have to admit he was pretty cute, so vulni and getting more so everyday. It made my mouth water, thinking of it, and my jaw flex remembering the couple times I had him in the car and in his apartment a few months back. Yummy... 

The guy was a hard-triggered mess unable to think with anything besides what was between his legs. Most of the time that didn't seem weird anymore. It certainly didn’t bother Melissa. In fact, I think she sorta loved it. She would've had trouble seeing anything odd or strange about it. Her view of men was certainly different than most people’s, with the way she was raised. That she even seemed to consider this guy as human, let alone someone to care about, was a big step for her. She’d had him tamed through his libido, which was sort of her go-to automatic thing and not a surprise seeing as how she’d treated boys before, but she honestly seemed to love him. 

Jesus Christ I sound like such an adult. The important thing was that she had him by the dick and that was that. Her new thing was that she wanted us all in on the deal. Well, okay, we could become his protectors, his guardian angels or whatever. It certainly felt good, this new kind of energy we were all getting since yesterday. I could feel it in my teeth and jaw.

Watching Black Widow zipping up her top, hiding away and trapping Ant Man in her bra and then having to fight off some robots got Melissa thinking. She and the rest of us sort of chatted about it, and it was obviously making him kinda nervous. I sensed it, and she certainly did too. She spoke up, finally, and sat him up a bit on her lap. It was weird, kinda. How her voice seemed to make the movie go quiet as all the lasers and punching noises faded into the background. We were all - all like, I dunno, dozen of us - turned to her. Attentive. 

”Jay, I want you to tell them what we talked about last night,” she said. Melissa was half-reclined on the couch, her long legs stretched out and taking up a good number of seats. Shanette sat alongside her on the other wing of the sectional.

He was turned on her lap a little awkwardly at the waist, so he could look back down at her. He nodded his head, like he knew exactly what she was talking about, what she wanted him to tell the crowd of us. “Melissa, uh…because of what’s going on with my, uh…health, thinks I need some…protecting.” 

As the words left him I watched Shanette whispering in Missy’s ear. As she pulled back, Melissa shook her head in the negative and spoke up again. “No,” she said to him, “That doesn’t sound right. Try again, sweetie.”

I saw his reaction - he was a little taken aback. But he paused, and rather than argue, he thought for a moment and reworded what he’d said. ”She believes it’d be in my best interest if you all helped her-“

Shanette was whispering in her ear again, and again Melissa stopped him. ”Uh uh uh,” She said, herself stopping to think now, “I know what’s wrong. Try saying it like this ‘I’m starting to have a hard time, and I need all your help. I need you all to become more protective of me.’” Melissa looked at him with those big, golden-green eyes of hers and I could see the gears turning between them. “Try that, honey,” she instructed, already expectant.

You could tell he felt awkward, all those female eyes on him, the center of attention. But, he was able to repeat her word for word: “I’m starting to have a hard time, and I need all your help. I need you all to become more protective of me.” 

When we all gave several half-claps and ‘good jobs’, you could see his face growing redder. He felt happy and self-conscious at the same time, surrounded by a bevy of bosomy bikini girls praising him like he was a shy schoolboy.

“Much better,” Melissa lauded, petting his shoulder and gracing him with that big dimpled smile of hers.

”Melissa, th-that was embarrassing,” he said, plainly, making us all purr in delight. The light of the TV screen silhouetted the shapely figures of Aubrey, Katie and the B-girls from behind, covering J with their shadow.

The room erupted with an “Awwwww..!” as I watched his vulni little eyes settle on his reflection in the glass pool doors. The TV gave off just enough light for him to see his shrunken little self - and I swear he was smaller now than he was this afternoon - surrounded by his big beautiful protectors on every side. He was seated in the middle, a little man on his girlfriend's lap, right where he belonged.

”Don´t think of it that way, sweetie,” Shanette giggled, “think of it as a lesson…”

“...and you just needed some help with it,” Josie chimed. 

“But I´m sure that, from now on, you will pay attention to what every woman says, right?” Melissa finished. She was sitting up straighter, now, and had pulled him slowly closer to her. I could see her eyes light up as he had moved closer to her right breast again. This whole exchange was so, like, enlightening. She obviously didn’t want him to feel as if he had no say in the matter. She wanted him to think that he had at least some power in this relationship of theirs, but she also needed him to know what’s what.

“We’re all excited to help you,” Lakshmi spoke, turning ever so slightly towards him on the couch, that big rear end of hers pivoting and causing something - springs in the sofa? - to groan.

“We want to keep you safe,” said Aubrey.

Melissa continued. ”Does that make you happy?” she asked, “Are you happy you have us, you have me to protect you?”

His voice cracked, adorably. ”s-SU-ure?” he answered, “Yes?” That caused the girls to titter and giggle excitedly, though I could tell he couldn’t make out what they were saying even as they were all - me included - drawing in closer to him. The whole place already looked like a big slumber party from some weird-ass porno.

”So tell me… why?” Melissa pressed. Their gazes were locked, intent on one another.

”Uhhh…” he began, searching for the right answer, “if someone tries to h-hurt me, you’d stop them?”

Melissa shook her head while her words came quickly. “Oh no no no,” she said, “If someone were to try to hurt you I wouldn’t just stop them. I’d absolutely murder them.”

When his smile changed we all felt the electricity. Her own excitement surged and we all began to warm slightly. He was picturing it, we could see, he was imagining what someone with the size and strength of Melissa could do to another human being, and it turned him on. Missy shivered, and needed to squirm her legs below him.

“We all would,” someone else said. I think it was Amelia, at first, but then the others joined in in chorus. 

“Yes, cutie…”

“You have us…”

“Your girl army…”

All our voices were echoing off the high ceilings, sounding louder and louder. I don’t know if the others were noticing it but I was watching him flinch.

“Your big pretty bodyguards…”

“We’d fucking kill them.”

Girls were laughing, and onscreen Black Widow was again arguing with Ant Man, who was complaining from deep inside her cleavage. The robots were crumpled and smoldering, beaten, but she still hadn’t unzipped. 

Melissa continued to smile, satisfied with the enthusiasm of her girls. ”What else?” she asked him, “What else are you happy about?” The smell of our perfumes, the chlorine in our wet hair, and the lingering tang of wasabi filled the room as we waited for him to answer.

”Uhhhh….” he began, struggling again under the attention of a dozen jigglebunnies. He knew there was a right answer, somewhere.

Josie spoke up to help. ”How about this, Dr. J…say this:” she began, “‘Now I don’t only have one girlfriend, I’ve got thirty…”

Lots of giggles.

”Th-thirty?” he stammered, looking over at Josie. 

”Haha yes!” Missy laughed, “Thirty girlfriends! You lucky little guy!”

“So lucky!”

“And soon we’re going to hire more,” Missy added.

“More girlfriends??” someone sang, “OOOOoooo YES!”

“Okay, Fifty!” Josie called.

“Sixty!” offered someone else.

“And the more of us there are..?” said Brittni.

“...the stronger we get?” finished Bobbi.

“A hundred!” called the redheaded Julia, who’d arrived an hour or so ago. She and a couple others were actually standing on the second-floor balcony above us, outside the bedrooms, watching from up there.

“A thousand!!” laughed Stephanie after her, also from the balcony. When’d she get here? I think there were three of our witchy friends up there, too.

Anyway, I felt it myself, for sure - this group of women swelling in strength, excited and energized. We were a unit, a hive, a family - and we were growing. So weird; three months ago you’d have never been able to convince me I’d be hanging out with some of these people. But now, look at all of us. Each one of us that joined the group just makes us bigger and better, makes her bigger and better. Is that what’s making Melissa so strong? I thought, The more of us there are, the more powerful she becomes? I’d seen her, in the parking lot just yesterday, casually pushing one of the construction guy’s pickup trucks out of the way. He’d parked it blocking in her beemer, and she moved the thing like it was nothing. 

“A million!”

Does she even realize it?

There was the patter of strong footsteps as several more girls came in from the kitchen, bare feet and high heels, both. Silvia, Nadia and Kori were here now, and had been swimming and looking for wine in the fridge. Bessie had also arrived, still in her BOOMfood uniform and pumps. Among everyone, the growing, giddy crowd, Missy seemed to draw all light and attention to herself. Look at her, I remember thinking, seeing her holding him so small on her lap, I fucking love her.

“A million girlfriends, Jay, how does that sound?” Missy laughed, “Could you handle all those kisses?”

The girls loved that, and we all smushed in closer. The movie still played, and with the doors out to the pool now left open you could hear the sound of the hot tub from outside the room. The floor was damp in places and there were warmly wet towels everywhere, left by the few who had not fully dried their hair. Some of us - oh yeah, me haha - had their towel around their waist.

“We need you, sweetie, to start getting used to having as much physical contact with the girls as possible,” Missy continued, as the pile of girls swarmed in closer still, some crawling onto the couch, across the ground, gathering towards him with the sofa pillows they had brought to sit on the floor, “It’ll help you bond.”

“Yes, bonding. Lots of bonding,” Shanette cooed, pressing her big breasts together in her overmatched blue bikini, causing his eyes to goggle.  

“I’m going to need my good morning hug every morning,” Josie offered, pushing a pillow up alongside him, between him and the back of the couch.

“Me too, and a good morning kiss,” said Katie, also adding a pillow to support him and leaning in to smooch him on the lips. 

“Bonding…” Shanette cooed again. 

“Everyone will need their good morning hug, and their good morning kiss when they come into the office, okay Jay?” Missy charged, watching his eyes follow Katie’s chest up and then rivet to her brilliant smile as she pushed back her thick blond hair.

“Yes lots of physical contact,” I said, moving in myself towards him seeing how hard he obviously was, with a tent pulling the thin blanket up off his hips, “Let’s try it out…” 

At that I scootched in for my own kiss, my mouth opening wide - though not nearly as wide as haha I could open it - to take his own. The girls were building pillows around him, attempting to make him even more comfortable as I could taste Katie’s cherry chapstick on his lips. I added my own lipstick to his face, my mauveness, smearing it on him. How do you like that flavor, boy? I then heard him grunt, feeling the surprise when he realized the size of my mouth. I chuckled thinking about how he’d react if he realized I could probably swallow his whole fucking head if I wanted. I grabbed his cock through the throw blanket, and we all heard him groan, everyone giggling as his body tensed into spasm.

“Who’s the best kisser, Dr. J?” I asked, giving him another quick peck, this time right between the eyes. Then I licked him up his face, chin-to-nose-to-forehead. “Me?”

“No no no you have to try us all!” Josie squealed, suddenly leaning in aside me to plant her own lips on his. His eyes had closed, so he couldn’t see how her hair, in the strange way it had started to do over the past week, began to swirl and curl, with a movement of its own. One strand reached out towards me, one towards him, caressed his face.

I sat back and Missy, for her part, just watched and smiled as the entire crowd of us moved in for kisses. His face, I could see, was quickly coated with smears of lipstick, the sheen of glosses, pink and red and shiny. Aubrey, Lakshmi, Brittni and Bobbi. Amelia and Katarina and Shanette. Even the new girls Silvia and Kori and Bessie and the rest got in there, everyone taking their turns on his lips, settling for his cheeks and neck and shoulders, back and belly when needed. He was a-glob with lipstick, all over his body, the girls sitting back to apply more to themselves, to each other, when others slid in to take their place on him and his skin. The blanket, which had been across his hips, was gone. If he’d had on shorts or anything underneath those were gone too, and now it was cock, all cock. Huge throbbing cock again, nearly ten inches of it rising from his weak-ass skeleton. As we kissed him - I’d gone in for seconds, thirds - hands were on him, now. The other girls were cooing and clucking, groaning and texting and taking selfies and group pics with him swimming in his harem, drowning in their lipstick, trying to stay afloat as our mouths sucked him into our depths. In all his glory he was now only weakly twitching and he would have long ago collapsed and flopped over were it not for us all, for the pillows around him, and for Missy’s strength holding him up from behind. She, in fact, finally eased us all away to allow him breath, while we all writhed alongside him, buzzing and squealing. She turned him, gently, pivoting him at the hips and - his chin in hand - took him in for a kiss of her own.

If you’ve never seen a man’s brain melt, it’s quite the fucking sight.

Missy drew him into the kiss, and I could see how his jaw stretched and his eyes widened as she was pushing her huge tongue into him. She moved it around his mouth, down towards his throat, claiming her territory and then, drawing breath herself, began pulling the air from within him. His eyes began to flutter closed. She wanted to take him deeper into herself to make him closer to her. Just as I’d felt the pull, the instinct to eat him, the want to suck him right into me, I could see Melissa was struggling with the same hunger. She wanted him. She wanted all of him. She wanted to suck out all his brains along with his come and all his manhood, leaving him a dribbling pathetic husk. She didn’t want to kill him, she wanted him alive to hug and cuddle and care for. But she would take his breath away. She would control his breathing, filling him with her own oxygen and keeping him alive at her whim. Haha she wanted to do more - I could see, I could fucking see how she wanted to just be able to open her mouth wider and wider and wider and just YOMP - but she wasn’t quite that big yet. What she could do is fucking suck the life out of him if she wasn’t careful, and so she released the kiss before he began to suffer any real discomfort.

“C’mon, Daddy,” she urged, “Come for us...”

The other girls, too, cooed their encouragements. I was chiming in myself, my lips the closest to his left ear. 

“Let’s go, you little shit,” I sneered into him, as my mouth all but ate up his ear, “come for us again.”

I was in his left ear, Lakshmi had moved into his right, both of us were purring and slurping and tonguing his brain. Others were between his knees, sliding lips up thighs and around his sac. Hands caressed arms, slid over chest and shoulders. Still Josie stroked him, as Melissa gazed into his failing eyes. 

“Go ahead, Jay, it’s okay,” she said, giving him permission. This was her boyfriend, her new man, the love of her life, and she haha was willing to share. We were all his, and he was all ours. “Give yourself to them, Jay, I want you to…”

“Come for us,” we hissed.

“Come for us now,” I said.

My smile grew so huge around his ear when, yes, finally, we all felt him shudder and collapse, like a dying fucking beast underneath us all, this pride of lionesses. When he finally came the girls - and me, and Melissa - all sang his name and Josie pumped and pumped and pumped. We watched him wither, we watched his jaw fall open and his head bob like a marionette on his neck. Though he’d climaxed countless times today, come still rocketed from his dick in gushes and fell onto his chest, into my hair and Lakshmi’s. And then, as she still pumped, Josie sat up straighter and drew his eyes to her tits. She pulled back her shoulders, thrust her big breasts out, straining straining straining at the top of her bikini and waiting waiting waiting for - oh god, there it was, there it fucking was - the warmth, the strength, the power that swelled and there it was she knew it, we all knew it - we were all just about to-

Josie’s top burst, her bikini snapping apart. Her tits ballooned outwards, and Missy began to laugh as he moaned an ‘oh my god’ in the weakest, most pathetically male voice you could imagine. She had  begun to grow, we had begun to grow, all around him, visibly. He was watching us and he was watching us fucking grow. Staring at Josie’s burgeoning tits and the swirls of her hair dancing about her shoulders, he was staring into his future and feeling his world close in all around him. “Get ready little man,” I whispered into his ear, “your girls are going to eat you alive…”

========================================

thanks in huge gobs to ResistanceIsFutile for his inspiration, contributions to atmosphere and editing on this one.  I’m also using brother Beetlebomb’s render of Dr J…again.