Writing Fanfiction Is Just. I’m Being So Creative And Original. I’m Plagiarizing Everyone By Accident.

Sure, Aizawa. "UA" is taking her in.

When a fic doesn’t fit my head canons but it’s well-written

Know It Like the Back of Your Hand

Adashino x reader x Ginko

Their hands. You've memorized every facet of it.

For someone like you, tactile touches came easily, hugs, and grazes of skin against skin like second nature to you. Whether it be because of the loving environment you’d grown up in so, so long ago, or a desperate burning need to recreate it, you’d never know. But what you knew was that you relied on it like a drug, stealing touches from Adashino and Ginko like a drug.

It wasn’t uncommon for the villagers to see you hanging off of either one’s shoulders or arms, each time received with chuckles and knowing looks, any sense of impropriety long gone with how closely you all stuck to the other. Times where you jumped out to wrap around them were attributed to the spirit half of your heritage.

But more than the actions disguised as joking hugs and your mischievous Yokai nature, was the handholding.

Something you cherished viciously, a dragon hoarding its treasure. It was almost second nature, for yours to seek out theirs whenever the moment arose. For such a simple, nondescript act, it satiated that hungry, hollowed-out part of you. And it was like the men knew, offering their own hands for you to latch on, gorging and gorging yourself on the delicacy that was their love. You knew you were being greedy, but neither of them ever pulled away from your monstrous hands, even when your claws pricked and scratched at them.

Adashino’s hands held the smoothness that stemmed from a value of those limbs. Fingers long and nails well-trimmed, with a writing callous from the records he kept on his patients’ health. He was more prone to getting cold, and you always liked reaching for him on hot summer days.

Ginko’s hands were more calloused, though both bearing almost similar, parallel trades—doctor of the mundane, doctor of the arcane—he was out in far more fields in far more environments, so he gained callouses almost as fast as he did experience. The work-roughened palms made you feel soothed by your own not-quite-genteel hands, made you happy to be close to someone so intimately intertwined in another world like you were.

Sometimes, when Adashino’s work would get the best of him, you would take an ink or herb-stained hand into yours, cold and stiff from overworking, and worked away the aches and pains you knew would be there.

Sometimes, after a particularly harsh case, a minutely trembling hand would seek yours out, fingers entangling with yours in lieu of a cigarette that Ginko so badly wanted to smoke. During particularly bad cases where he sought you out, you would hold his hands, and squeeze, silently offering him your support.

Sometimes, when nightmares kept you half-ensnared in their grips, refusing to let you fully wake, hands slipped into yours from the men sleeping on either side of you. One calloused and broad, the other warm and soothing.

And when blinded and deafened, hands were the only things you could identify, touches from them were usually the first thing that hit.

It was those very same hands now, that tipped your head back, fingers beneath your chin. You struggled a bit, shaking your head and dislodging them from your face as you hissed and swiped blindly at the assailant. Your eyes were clenched shut, unable to be used due to the explosive that burned at your retinas and for fear of the blood from your head wound trickling in.

A groan vibrated out from someone and after a moment, you realized it was coming from you, everything sounding like they were underwater. Buzzes of voices echoed in your ears, but you couldn’t tell who exactly surrounded you. Animal instincts flared up, sharp and hot terror as you bared your teeth blindly, hands and feet scrambling to push yourself back on the dirt, too weak from the explosive light trap to stand up.

A faint call, something like your name. You brought a shaking up, claws extended, only to find it seized by warmer, broader hands. Ready to jolt away, it wasn’t until your fingers grazed across a rougher patch of skin by the meat of the thumb that you froze. It was Ginko’s hand, that callous you knew from him using a chipped pestle that he refused to replace to grind his remedies.

“Ginko?” The vibrations of your own voice followed by its familiar sound was barely heard beneath the ringing of your ears, and you hoped your voice didn’t garble up his name. 

The hands squeezed, responding to your words, and you knew it was him.

Then that meant the other hands…

Your head swung around, the less blood-covered eye peeking open to try and catch sight of the good doctor. Only for you to slam it shut again as bright light pierced it painfully.

Once more, cool, smooth fingers tipped your face up. Only this time, you didn’t resist, lips pulling up into an unrepentant grin in an effort to stave off the scolding you knew you’d face soon.

Slowly, as Adashino and Ginko worked on your injuries, the fear turned into sedation, your body, and senses going lax as you put your trust into their hands, content to allow them to take stock while your senses were scrambled.

You flinched when the hand abruptly left, a noise of fear bubbling up in your throat. But there wasn’t a need to worry as two warm presences sat on either side of you. Their weight pressed into either side of you, and you relaxed, a sigh escaping your nose.

Eyes were the windows to the soul, and furthermore, hands were their vessels, tasked with putting the will to the world, the way in which their identity formed and in which the world knew them. For you, it was the marker in which you’d identify friend or foe, it was your connection to the world.

And, despite both Adashino’s and Ginko’s lesser proclivities to physical touch, you were infinitely grateful that they never denied you when you slipped your hands into theirs.

Ah this series is totally cute if anybody wants more familial/platonic works!!!! The author’s other works are equally as good as well

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 10)

"Did you make the water too hot?" Kyle asked as soon as you stepped out of the bathroom, clean and dressed in fresh clothes after sweating all over yourself and Johnny. His eyes dilated briefly as he took in your softened appearance after the shower, his wings and talons twitching subtly, but he remained still.

"No...? I think... just warm...?" You mumble, shruging quietly.

"Okay, okay, good... can't be turning the water on too hot when you have a fever now, can we?" He rumbles, rounding your smaller body for a bit.

"It's not... it's really not that high of a fever..." You mumble shyly, keeping your eyes anywhere but on the Harpy.

"Nonsense." He croons quietly, his wing gently pushing you forward. "Are you still hungry, baby?"

"N-No..., no, thanks, I'm full...."

Which, you actually were. Sure, you didn't eat barely enough for hybrid standards, but you're human, and you're small... it was enough for you. Besides, John's bean and bacon soup was really good. You're pretty sure you ate even more than usual (even if it was mostly liquid).

"Good. But really, if you need anything, just tell us, yeah?" He smiles with that gentle tone of voice, like he couldn't hurt a fly, and....

Yeah, this guy was weird. Not that you would call Kyle outright fake, but... the wolf in sheep's clothing thing is very real.

You heard how he talks to his mates when you're 'not around'. But with you? It's just those weird, bird-like, cooey noises mixed with his gentle voice.

"Kyle, come 'ere." Simon's gruff tone came from behind you, the Wraith approaching you both with a raised brow and analytical eyes. "What's up with your wings?"

Kyle's face immediatly dropped, eyes squinting in annoyance as he turned to stare at his mate. That gave you the opportunity to see his wings for yourself, and... yeah, they looked a little messy, kinda.

"Nothing, hun. Why do you ask?"

Oh... oh, this sarcastic and sassy tone, accompanied by this fake, sweet smile, was definetly more up to Kyle's alley. So much, in fact, that Simon barely reacted besides a small impavient grunt.

"All unkept. Not like ya, bird." Then, his eyes fall on you, making you tense up a little in attetion. "Sick chick causing you stress?"

"Ugh, Si..." Kyle grumbles, frowning in displeasure. "I'm busy right now, so-"

"No, none of that." The wraith interrupts, walking over to the two of you before easily picking you up on his arms, a small squeak leaving your lips in surprise. "Go take care of them. Some nice an' good preaning, yeah? Call Price to help. Can't have you like this now, can we, bird?"

He drawls his words so slowly and paciently, it makes you think this man really have experience with children. It makes you want to do anything he says too, but this is probably just your feelings since Kyle's expression was pretty much one of displeasure, uncertainty and annoyance.

"The chick-"

"The chick's with me. And she's going to stay with me the whole time. No need to worry. I'll keep 'er safe an' healthy."

You flush slightly as he press your cheek against his, the slight stubble on his cheek scratching against your smooth one. Tho, you do calm down a bit as you feel his cool skin against your warm face.

"Hmm.... it's not worse. Actually, it feels like it has gone down a bit. You can go, Kyle."

It's not the tone, but his words seem almost... harsh. Not that Kyle seemed to mind. He just sighed in defeat with a small nod of his head as he retreated to the bathroom.

You watched as he went, eyes fixed on his wings. It was mostly curiosity that made you want to know more about Harpies, but you can't deny they were so freaking impressive. Big and beautiful wings, a tail that matched the pretty feathers on the wings. The shiny, black talons were just as pretty as they were intimidating.

"His wings are pretty, ain' they?"

You startle a little at Simon's voice, turning to stare at him properly as he carried you through the hallway.

"Harpies pride themselves in having those pretty and polished feathers.... Actually, their lives are their wings, really. They are always making sure they are in perfect state, both in health and in apperance..." He sides eye you carefully before speaking again. "Unless, something more important is taking their time."

"I-important...??" You question immediatly, flustered and surprised. "I... no..."

"Yes, kid. You're important to him. To us. You're our kid now, you know that."

"I'm... I'm just a foster... not really a..." You struggled to say more, not quite brave enough to outright disagree with your foster parent, but not really agreeing with his exaggerated words.

"But you're part of our pack now, kid. Even if you're a foster for now."

You just sigh slightly at his words, seeing this is taking you no where. Maybe that's just how it is with hybrids...

Wait, what did he say?

"W-wha... what do you mean, for no-"

"The point is, Harpies are a very parental species." He says easily, ignoring your small, indignated words as he keeps talking. You, of course, immediatly shut up despite your surprise. "So Kyle can get pretty stressed when there's a new addition to the nest."

He stops to analyze you for a second before ressuming his walk once again.

"Such a small, defenseless little thing too..." He grunts, his buff arms tightening around you a little more. "No wonder it's messin' with everyone's intincts. You're sleepin' in the pack's nest tonight."

Your eyes widen immediatly, caught off guard. Simon has managed to throw you for a loop at least four times since this conversation began.

"Pack's nest...?" You try to question quietly, clearly alarmed, but not wanting to sound disrespectful or rude.

God knows sounding or looking rude to your foster parents never end up in good things. Even your small act of not unpacking your backpack has caused comotion in an old foster house you used to stay at.

"Yes, kid. Pack's nest. Gonna be sleepin' with us, where we can keep an eye on ya and be there if you need help."

"B-because I'm sick...?"

He nods calmly, finally reaching the door to his room and pushing it open for you to look inside. It’s the room closest to yours—the master bedroom. You remember thinking it should have been where your room was. After all, what kind of house puts the children’s bedroom at the very end of the hallway?

Still, their bedroom was stunning. Spacious, with a massive nest carved into the ground at its center. The mattress inside looked both sturdy and soft, layered with neatly arranged blankets and pillows. Unlike your pastel-toned room, it wasn’t bursting with color, but it wasn’t dull either. The decor featured earthy and beige tones mingled with blacks and reds, visible in the furniture.

Very... modern and stylish.

"This is where ya'll sleep."

You nodded a little, brows still slightly furred. Maybe in worry, maybe a bit in fear. You weren't used to all of this.

"Right..., sleep... with you four...?"

"Yeah, kid." He nods, rubbing your back carefully to try and confort you. "What do you take us for? Neglectful parents? To leave our baby away from us when they're sick and weak?"

Okay, now he sounded more offended than calm.

"It's... normal, isn't it...?" You mumble, a little confused. "Otherwise... you could get sick too... sometimes..."

He scoffed at your words, shaking his head.

"Us? Getting sick from a human virus? If our immune system was that weak, we’d have died long ago eating those mystery rations during the Outpost Beta mission."

You raise a brow at his deadpan words, expression pinching in confusion and worry as the silence stretches between you two for a few heavy seconds.

"That was a joke."

"Uhum..." You hummed lightly, expression not changing much.

"What I mean is, we’re not getting sick, don’t worry, kid. And maybe it’s normal in human households to leave their children on their own when they’re sick, but that’s not how we do things here."

You quickly notice faint wisps of shadow curling from his gloved hands and masked face, the white of his eyes darkening to an ominous shade. A literal chill runs down your spine as the temperature around you drops. It makes you freeze in uncertainty in his arms, eyes wide as you stare into those shadowy, unrecognizable eyes.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for him to recompose himself. You’re not sure what triggered this, but he seems to calm down relatively quickly. The shadowy wisps started to dissipate, and his eyes gradually returned to their normal color too.

"Well, come on now. John wants to check on your condition." He says calmly, like he didn't just lose control for a few seconds there, turning to walk all the way back and down the stairs with you still on his arms.

You really should learn more about them. Like, quickly, cuz all these surprises are making you light-headed.

this hit me like a truck

(Absolutely don’t do this if you aren’t comfortable) ENA (Dream bbq) getting drunk with reader?

•☽────✧˖°˖ FIZZY VALLEY ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Drunk Salesperson Ena X Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (Ena: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): Mentions And Descriptions Of Alcohol

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You should’ve known something was off when Ena invited you to what she called “a high-stakes engagement strategy brainstorm over beverages.” You were picturing coffee. Not tequila. Not her slamming two shot glasses on the bar and declaring, “Let’s reframe the concept of reality, darling.” She drinks like it’s a performance review—firm eye contact, exaggerated praise, and PowerPoint levels of misplaced confidence.

☆ Once Ena’s a few drinks in, her Salesperson side becomes so aggressively charming it’s like being smothered in coupon codes. “If you subscribe to this partnership now, I’ll offer you unlimited emotional support and complimentary hand-holding,” she hums, voice like cherry soda and half-suppressed giggles. You try to hide your flustered expression. She sees it. She logs it as “high conversion potential.”

☆ Her Meanie side doesn’t come out often at first—until she tries to order fries, but the kitchen’s closed. Suddenly she’s slamming her forehead on the bar, sobbing, “I AM THE TRAGIC EMBODIMENT OF CORPORATE WASTE—WHERE’S MY SALTED PRODUCTIVITY?!” You offer her a peanut. She throws the bowl at a breathing taxidermy moose.

☆ “Here’s your performance feedback,” she slurs, twirling a swizzle stick like a laser pointer, “You’re hot. You show initiative. You opened a door for me once. I will die for you.” You tell her that’s not how feedback works. She pulls out a clipboard from her suspenders and tries to make you sign a form titled “Love Contract (Beta).”

☆ She draws gimmicks on napkins. Terrible ones. Drunk ideas like “emotionally sentient office chairs” and “a pyramid scheme where everyone sells little hats.” You try to say “maybe we shouldn’t do this.” She claps a hand on your back like a frat bro and shouts, “WRONG ATTITUDE, PARTNER. THINK BIGGER.” Then she draws a diagram that’s just the word “VIBES” in a circle.

☆ She stares at you for a full minute, eyes glassy, voice flat: “Are you in the mood for shared assets and mutual annihilation, or should I put on my mask again and pretend not to like you?” You blink. She blinks. Her red side winks. You are either about to get kissed or yelled at. Or both. Probably both.

☆ The bar has one of those ancient karaoke machines. She picks a glitchy jazz remix of the Windows 95 startup sound. Halfway through she forgets the words (there are no words) and starts yelling improvised business jargon in rhythm. “Synergize my dividends, baby! Let’s OUTSOURCE THE PAIN!” Someone in the back cheers. You cry.

☆ Her Salesperson side leans over the counter, cheeks flushed, voice soft and too sincere: “Do you think people like me more when I smile? I’ve been smiling all night. It hurts now. But I—I want to be liked. I want you to like me. For me. Even if I mess up the pitch.” And her Meanie side chimes in: “GØD, I hate being real.”

☆ You’re not sure what triggered it—maybe someone said “quarterly”—but suddenly she’s sobbing into your shoulder like a malfunctioning LinkedIn ad. “I DIDN’T ASK TO BE A PRODUCT OF CAPITALISM! I just wanted to sell fruit. Or stickers! Or happiness! But now I’m selling ME!” You rub her back. She hiccups and asks if you’d still like her if she was “just a weird triangle girl with debt.”

☆ The bar’s quiet now. Her hat’s fallen off. You’re holding her upright and she’s murmuring nonsense like, “Let’s invest in each other’s feelings… diversify the pain into smaller dividends… I’ll build a company out of your laugh…” Then, barely audible: “You’re my best client. Don’t ever unsubscribe.” You smile. You don’t say anything. You just let her rest.

Watching natsuyuu again after a while and i forgot how utterly beautiful some of the art was lmao

beach mode Killer kun 🔪🏖️

it was snowing pretty hard last night while i was sketching