#*this was all off research that could be flawed

[cookie-nom-nom]

If I had a nickel for every time I had an insect OC who lost their legs, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

Based off the Massospora cicadina fungi, which parasitizes cicadas, forcing them to sing until they die in order to lure in cicada mates, which spreads the fungi's spores. The cicada is also pumped full of psychedelics and amphetamines. I thought this gave a fun angle, as the cicada is having a swell time as their lower half rots away and they lure others to their death. This nameless cicada OC is an enthusiastic participant, wanting to share their 'enlightenment' with others. Sort of a mixture between a siren and a cult leader.

[ultrafangirlishness]

The Barbie Movie.

A small, non-comprehensive list of things that stood out to me (spoilers? Kind of?)

The soundtrack

All the jokes that played off of what it was actually like to play with barbies (the pool & ocean being flat, the cups having no drinks in them, the shower having no water, etc.

TRANS BARBIE

The choreography

The "I Am Kenough" tie-dye sweater

Barbies of many shapes and sizes! All very beautiful!

THE ENDING, OH MA LORD. Both the way the story concluded really beautifully, but also the ending joke that no one was prepared for—

Just... everything about Ryan Gosling's performance

Kate McKinnon playing the deranged, "ugly" Barbie

In the same vein, that movie would NOT have been complete without representing the kids who played with their dolls "too hard" (cutting their hair, bending them in weird ways, etc.)

Acknowledging that Barbie did in fact mean a lot to some girls. This movie was geared towards everyone, whether you grew up loving Barbie or hating her.

The mom and her daughter

The fact that when Barbie was starting to become "defective" and/or when she was in the real world, you could start to see her ""flaws"". Like I noticed in some scenes her eyebrows were unplucked and no longer perfectly sculpted, or her skin no longer perfectly smooth with foundation.

It was clear that SO much thought and research was put into this. I couldn't believe how many references there were to specific clothing items, certain playsets, etc.

The fact that Barbie and Ken DIDN'T end up together, and that Barbie DIDN'T indulge Ken in his flirtations (is that a word?) even once

THE FACT THAT I WAS SO CLOSE TO ACTUAL TEARS LIKE SEVEN TIMES???? LIKE WHAT????

The weird dark humor coming out of nowhere

The fact that Barbie never once looked at the human women (who were "imperfect" in comparison to her) with disgust

......the moment between her and the woman on the bench 😭😭😭

The mom's rant about how hard it is being a woman (esp a mother) and how you can never win 🙌🙏

The misogyny in the Real World was so well done. It wasn't overexaggated or over the top it was just NORMAL EVERYDAY LIFE

THE JOKE ABOUT HAVING A MAN SIT YOU DOWN TO TALK ABOUT THE GODFATHER ASDJGKDLW

The moment where I went "OH so THAT'S where the mugshot memes came from"

Ruth Handler <3

The fact that everyone came to the theater dressed either in pink or Barbie-like attire :)

[kingghoost]

Quickly analyzing a one-off line from The Optiratch Argument™ because I'm bored

We all know that The Argument™ was mainly about Ratchet's frustrations with Optimus' "cowardice" (BIG quotation marks) but one of Ratchet's lines really stuck with me:

"Oh- and let me guess, I'm just the medic." (TFP S1E22)

Typically when people are angry, they don't vent about just one thing. Though he was talking back to what Optimus said about the Vehicon being a miner and not a warrior, that comment seemed completely irrelevant to the argument's main topic (at least in my point of view)

One big (yet hidden) flaw in Ratchet is his lack of self confidence. His job is to cure the sick and injured, yet he never really seems to realize the value he has on his team. He truly is great at what he does - and he goes above and beyond to be of service (medic, scientist, sort of engineer... that's impressive!) Despite all this, the fact that he is the only non-fighter really seems to eat at him. His main whereabouts most of the time being in the base makes it worse paired with the fact that he seems to be the most eager to jump and "get things done." Their numbers are already small, so he feels that anything he could do isn't enough to overthrow an entire military.

By saying "Just the medic," it implies that he determines his self worth by his rank. In his eyes, he is "just" the medic. Not a great warrior that overpowers the enemy and saves his comrades, but a doctor forced to sit by and wait for his teammates to return with fresh new injuries, dead or alive.

"-Help us, we know. But you nearly caused the loss of something.. Irreplaceable. Our medic, and our most trusted friend." (TFP S1E22)

Now Optimus, on the other hand, does acknowledge what Ratchet has to give to the team, most importantly Ratchet's worth as an individual. He knows what lengths Ratchet goes to save his comrades (and, most of the time, himself) from the brink of death, he knows what a genius his old friend is for being able to conduct such intricate research with limited supplies - Hell, he knows that Ratchet built some of those supplies himself.

Learning about how Ratchet thinks so lowly of himself must've been shocking, to witness the one closest to you feel the need to experiment on himself with untested material in the hopes of being "useful" ... I think it broke Optimus' heart a little, not to mention how he was already hurt by Ratchet's rant.

Though the episode ended with things working out in the end, I really like the idea of The Argument™ making a huge mess out of both of them. At that moment they were fine and made up, but what they said/learned about each other that day will never quite leave them.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to Write a Character

For creative writing to have as deep an impact as possible, you need to give the reader strong characters they can relate to on a personal level.

By borrowing from tried-and-true character archetypes and giving them your personal spin, you can create heroes, villains, and sidekicks that will affect your readers as if they were real people they knew.

Come up with a backstory

Crafting a backstory can help you flesh out an interesting character profile.

“When I’m dealing with characters,” says legal thriller author David Baldacci, “and I’m trying to explain somebody's situation and motivations, you have to look into their past, because [the] past always drives motivations.”

Ask what experiences your character had in elementary school or high school that shaped who they are today. Your character’s backstory can greatly inform your plot.

Develop a character arc

A character must evolve throughout a story.

“The character has to change,” insists crime fiction writer Walter Mosley. “The character doesn’t have to become better. The character doesn’t have to become good. It could be the opposite. He could start good and become bad. He could start off hopeful and end up a pessimist. But he has to be impacted by this world that we’re reading about.”

Plan out your storyline based on your character's goals and how achieving or not achieving them will change them as people. This sort of template can help anchor your narrative.

Do research

If you plan to set your story in a specific locale or period, do enough research to make your characters seem true to life and believable.

“What does it mean, for instance, in the Tudor era to be a male person?” asks Margaret Atwood, author of The Handmaid’s Tale. “What does it mean to be a female person? What do those things mean when they’re at different social levels?”

Empathize with your characters

No matter what the type of character you’re developing, try to find some reason you and your reader can relate to their internal conflict.

“You’re living with these people every single day for months at a time—in some cases, years at a time,” says acclaimed children’s author Judy Blume. “You had better feel for them. So, for me, yes, I have great empathy for them.”

When people can empathize with characters, they’re more likely to find them compelling.

Experiment with different approaches

If you usually write characters from a particular point of view (or POV), change things up to challenge yourself.

“Write about someone entirely through the eyes of their friends and family,” suggests journalist Malcolm Gladwell. “So do a profile of someone where you deliberately never talk to the person that you’re profiling.”

There are plenty of ways to craft compelling character descriptions—free yourself up to try new alternatives.

Give your characters flaws

To craft believable characters, you need to give them flaws.

“One, it makes the characters human, just by default, because everybody recognizes that we all have flaws and mistakes,” David says. “But two, it gives you plot elements and plot opportunities because somebody makes a mistake. Why? Because they’re flawed.”

Learn from real people

Pay attention to real people’s mannerisms, personality traits, body language, and physical appearances.

Do research, and be respectful, when you want to write characters with backgrounds that you are not familiar with. Become familiar with different people's cultures, sexual orientations etc.

Talking to people about their experiences will help form your character’s personality.

Let your characters surprise you

Character development can proceed down a host of different avenues.

“Spend a lot of time with your characters and getting to know them,” Judy suggests. “And the way that you get to know them can be different from the way I get to know them. But my way is: They don’t come alive until I write about them, until I put them down on paper.”

As you write, your character’s motivation or perspective might change from what you originally planned.

Play characters off each other

Ask yourself how a secondary character’s personality might thwart the main character’s motivation.

“One of the best ways, as I said, to develop a character is to put that character in relationship to another person,” Walter says. “So as they talk, as they fight, as they work together, we find out more about who they are and what they are.”

The character’s close friends, adversaries, and acquaintances might all have different effects on their behavior.

Take an organic approach

Over the course of the story, be ready for your characters to surprise you as much as the people you know in real life might, too.

Your characters may take on a life of their own.

Avoid static characters by letting yours have their own lives and personalities. Let their stories take you where they lead.

Writing Notes & References

[grabattheseballsss]

Ass or tits post but they barely answer the question

NSFW text !!!

Btw if yawll have any headcannon ideas do send them in pls !!! Smooches !!

John price

this is absurd, to think you would ask him such a disrespectful question, I mean if you weren’t dating this is a huge HR violation, plus he won’t just pick like you’re some object he gets to use to his pleasure (thighs and fupas)

Simon Riley

Ass…. No wait he likes tits

Actually he likes ass… but maybe more so the thighs… nah nah it’s just ass … actually here, go wear these outfits and come back to me, I need to make my mind up for sure, you know, for research purposes.

John McTavish

Couldn’t choose, had to go run a few laps to clear his brain

Came back and just held your shoulders and said

“Yes”

You’d be confused and ask him the question again and he’d just look at you with sad eyes and whimper out

“Please don’t make me chose”

Kyle Garrick

Tits, absolutely tits, this man has a thing for milfs, my darlings with big or small tits, if he sees you in a blouse or a tank top that shows your cleavage, he’s running the nearest bathroom to relieve himself.

You had to go undercover on a mission once, having to dress up as a server at a strip club, you needed to have ears on the inside, and he had to save all the footage he was watching… for safety purposes of course, what if he didn’t notice a very illegal bad thing happen to you on his 89th rewatch ?!

Rodolfo parra

Tits, but also into necks, he also loves your back, and the curve of your hips, and how your rolls show when he has you in a weird position, and he loves watching you change or slip into your everyday clothes, how some tights fabrics tug at your pretty plush skin, he loves it when you lay your feet on his lap, silently asking him to rub them for you, watching you stretch, watching you walk, how you interact with others …

Wait sorry what was the question ?

Alejandro Vargas

This whore…. Ass.

He’d slap your ass ever time you’re walking by, if you’re leaning on a counter, on your phone, he would stand behind you and slap your ass bongos, laughing and kissing your temple as you try to smack him.

If he sees you sleeping on your side he will crawl lower and cuddle your ass, it’s just such a nice cushion  :(

One time the team all went out for drinks after a successful mission, and you changed into a white tank top, low cut bell bottom jeans and Rudy handed you a cowboy hat as a joke, but all Alejandro could think about is which bathroom is the closest for him to take you.

Also steals your panties after every quickie

Valeria

See….. here’s the thing, Valeria loves one thing, and that thing is seeing you all submissive and ready for her to take, she loves sitting in a meeting with some dealers, her legs spread, you by her feet, hugging onto the lower part of her legs, humping on her dirty boot, your tits pressed against her knee as your clothed pussy rubs in messy motions as you try to get some sort of release, she loves holding a gun to your head, asking you to only make eye contact with her, in a room filled with judging eyes.

She needs everyone to know what’s hers, and what would happen if they even dared to speak of what’s hers.

König

Listen, I see könig as a little weirdo, a lil freaky boy. When he’s infatuated with someone, he won’t be able to find a single flaw in them, seeing your skirt riding up at bit too high that shows your ass that’s covered in opaque stockings, and if there’s a little rip in those stockings, even if the rip is like, down near your ankle, he’s gonna pop a boner.

If you’re a fashion girly that likes to show their body off oh baby he’s buying you anything you want if you just give him a show, tops that barely hide your nipples, about 90% of your tits out on display, one slip and you’ll be flashing him.

Seeing you in his clothes, seeing his hoodie bunched up around around waist as you hold it up a bit, fixing your pants, oh he’s going to jump that hoodie later.

Horangi

Tits, or so he thought, he’s always found your chest gorgeous, what he wouldn’t give to be able to suck on your nipples day and night, that is until you were sparring one time, you had him in a chokehold… with your thoughts pressed against his neck, his head resting on your lap as you look down at him, animalistic fire in them as you grin down at him, all he could think about was how your eyes gazed down on his, how the pressure of your thick thighs pressed against his neck felt like heaven, like the pain in his neck was cured (it wasn’t)

After the sparring match he just had to collect his thoughts, he needed you to be on top of him, preferably with your crotch right on top of his face with your soft sweaty thighs caging him in .

Laswell

This lady……… she’s the hard dom price wishes he was.

She’s so calm and collected on the outside, at her work everyone sees her as this no nonsense lady who refuses to listen to some old fart tell her what she can and can’t do, she’ll always do what’s right

And so when her pretty girl, in a gorgeous dress she got for you, comes to her job, holding a tiny bag filled with her lunch, hair done, makeup looking flawless, and a bright smile that makes her coworkers envy her.

She loves her sweet girl that’s too innocent to notice how promiscuous she looks in that form fitting dress, how her tits press together when she hands her the bag, Kate would simply thank you, kissing you briefly before giving your bum a smack as she tells you to get back home and get ready for her tonight

What? The woman is stressed at work and her girl comes in looking like a goddess in a tight dress, plus it’s not like any of her coworkers blame her.

[galedekarios]

i need to get this off my chest. this is a personal vent post so please don't jump down my throat, but a thing that makes me feel some kind of ways is just how much bg3 is being viewed now through rose-tinted glasses in order to dunk on veilguard. i've seen this happening on most platforms tbh.

and sometimes i remember for a brief moment what larian did before the release (much of this in the last few weeks before release no less) and after the release of the game:

-lied abt the your race having consequences throughout the story (saying that drow being feared in act 1 and persecuted in act 3 and it then... just not happening at all. drow walking around on the surface is just fine now ig. again it still boggles my mind how drow are allowed to roam around in baldur's gate without consequences considering that they are known to be responsible for kidnapping duke ravengard but i won't get on that soapbox again.)

-lied abt the upper city being available in act 3

-lied abt romance progression & how romances would play out in general prior to release (pfh + release trailers and promo)

-game-breaking bugs

-romance-breaking bugs for months (gale and wyll)

-one companion who has a third to half more content than any of the other companions and who was heavily favoured and focused on during development to the detriment of others (with the narrative design lead even admitting to this)

-was missing an actual ending that they only added months after release

-was missing the evil path that they actually promised prior to release

-offers quite little in the way consequences even now (not giving karlach upgrades for example has zero bearing on her and she still survives to make her sacrifice on the pier, ethel coming back no matter what you did, downgrading gale's need for actual artefacts of power bc ppl can't part with their loot even for narrative reasons, etc.)

-lore-breaks + poor research on established lore (the whole timeline with mystra, minthara using an eilistraeen endearment, etc)

-massacring returning characters like viconia and sarevok

-constantly changing dialogue around / scrapping old ones / adding new ones depending on fan demand

i could go on, but it's... a lot already.

i obviously love the game despite its many flaws and it's done some other things wonderfully - just like veilguard. the unique body language of the companions, the animation and creativity, the voice acting, the music, act 1 overall and parts of act 2, etc. it's one of my most played games and one of my most beloveds (mostly bc of gale, my ocs and friends' oc).

all these game have flaws. the one difference i see is that bg3 has been given the benefit of the doubt and overall an abundance of good will (generally speaking) and veilguard hasn't been.

[artemis32]

yandere Tim Drake i

this man has the sluttiest undercut I've ever seen - also, this is shit, but you pretend to love it, okay? Okay.

dc masterlist

Thinking about Tim Drake, who, in all his time as Red Robin, has never once caught a break.

He's always busy, always out on patrol, busting drug rings or trafficking schemes, always locked up in a dark, soulless room doing research for Bruce, always doing something.

So, one day, when he finds a small slice of heaven, a refuge from the never ending list of responsibilities he has to see to, he's sure to grab it with both hands and keep it close to his chest.

He, somewhat guiltily, doesn't tell anyone about it. It feels like something just for him - a space for him to relax, where he doesn't have to pretend he has his whole life together.

Maybe it's a dusty old library hidden between the high-rises of Gotham Central, maybe it's a dingy cybercafe he stumbled upon after a long night of patrol. Or perhaps it's not even a physical place - maybe it's an online forum or group chat of some kind.

No matter what it might've been, it had grown to be a safe haven. And it only becomes better when, one stupidly sweltering summer afternoon, you slip in.

Sweet, oblivious you.

God, he loved you. You were everything he wanted to be. Free of all worry and hardship, at least in his eyes. You were innocent and so sickly sweet. He loved everything about you. From the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, and the animated way you spoke, using your hands to make wide, sweeping gestures, to the tired scowl that pinched your mouth and brow after a long day.

The clothes you wore, the way you smelled, the beautiful, soft glow of your skin, he loved it all.

****

He loved you.

Only, you didn't exactly know he existed. And he never actually, you know, spoke to you. But that didn't matter! No, not at all, not when he had enough love for the both of you.

He knew everything about you.

Where you lived, how old you were, your likes and dislikes, every dirty little secret you thought you could hide away, things you thought were kept concealed in the corners of your mind.

He knew, and he loved you regardless. Not in spite of them, but rather, because of them. He loved that you were so flawed, so imperfect, and yet still so innocent to your core. He felt the deep seated need to keep you that way, to maintain that innocence and shield it from the horrors of Gotham, of the world.

That was why he watched over you, every hour of every day.

Did he think it was wrong, or creepy? Yeah, a bit, but he didn't really care to change. How bad could his actions really be, if they were keeping you safe?

So what if hacking all your devices and bugging your house wasn't legal? He was a vigilante, he was just doing his job. So what if he put a tracker in every pair of shoes you owned? He just needed to keep track of your movements, make sure you weren't wandering off anywhere too dangerous.

More than a few times, he'd followed you at night, watching from above as you ambled through the streets of Gotham, completely oblivious to how vulnerable you were. Really, how did you manage to survive this long without him watching over you? Do you even know how many robberies and assaults he'd saved you from before they'd happened?

He held off on actually speaking to you, as Tim Drake or Red Robin. Maybe it was nerves, or fear, or something beyond the words he had to communicate what he felt for you. Regardless, he was content watching you from the side lines.

For now.

****

After a while of watching from a distance, he'd decided he needed a bit more than just the sight of you. That's how he ended up donning his Red Robin costume and letting himself into your apartment one night to watch over you as you slept.

It had quickly become an admittedly bad habit, one that he didn't bother trying to correct.

Watching you calmed something within him, something he hadn't even known was there. He'd started including your small apartment on his patrols, at least three times a week, and it's become the highlight of his day.

Then, one day, months after this little song and game of his started, he decided enough was enough. Why was he being so weird and pathetic about it? He was a hero. He was smart, and attractive (or at least, that's what his mother used to say), and he was rich. He was the whole package. What more could someone ask for?

So, he bit the bullet and talked to you. Or, he would have, if you'd actually, you know, shown up. But you didn't. And that was fine! Totally, 100% fine! It wasn't like he felt disappointed or angry or anything. He'd just try again another time.

Only... in the months that he'd known you, his patience had dwindled to a near trickle, and he realised he couldn't wait. And so, he made probably the dumbest, most rookie mistake of his vigilante career.

He snuck into your apartment and, naturally, as one does, revealed himself to you. In full costume, mask and all. Well, the mask had come off about ten minutes into his fanatical rant, but-

Wait, why were you looking at him like that?

No, no, don't- don't back away. Hey, why were you reaching for your phone? Who were you calling?

The police? No, no, no, no, no- This isn't how it was supposed to go, damnit!

****

Now, watching you sleep in his bed, so cosy and soft, as if you belonged there (you did belong there), he chides himself for not doing this sooner.

What was he so scared of? Sure, you'd seemed a bit overwhelmed when he'd dropped onto your balcony and stepped into your apartment, but it was probably just sheer joy that had you screaming like that.

And, well, sure, you'd rambled on about him watching you for months prior - which he had - but for you to call it 'stalking' seemed like a bit of an over exaggeration.

Despite all that, he knew - knew - that you'd be so happy when you woke up. As happy as you made him. Because despite everything going on in his life - his struggles as Robin, with Batman and Damian, with Stephanie and Connor, and leading the Young Justice team - despite all that, he had you.

And just the thought of you alone brightened his day.

Now? Having you here, with him, for the foreseeable future?

That alone made whatever anger or fear you may have towards him worth it.

And, you know, they did say love blinds people. So maybe you were right about all that (Doubtful. He was smart. He was also right about all this).

But it didn't really matter. Not now, not when you were finally his.

[voidcat]

comparing hand-sizes to hold their hand against the other's and then just holding hands + Laios 😭😭😭💞💞💞💞

I can never write Laios like you king but hope you like this Oxy ilyy<33🫶🫶

wc: 703 ; gn!reader

“Hey, so…” a voice interrupts the silence. “What if all those physical differences we displayed weren’t just an effect of changeling spores, more like revealed by them?” Laios asks, looking at his hand deep in thought.

Few groans and hums raise in their air, Chilchuck for one isn’t happy in the slightest for having his sleep interrupted. At least Marcille seems a little interested, or maybe just trying to end the conversation before Laios’ mind can spiral to depths no one wishes to know about.

“You mean the body shaping accordingly to your life style?”

“Yes! But not exactly.” some faces drop as his voice raises a tone higher, whatever remnants of exhaustion wiped off his body. “What if the occupations we would take and the lives we would live were already predetermined by the bodies we were going to inhabit?”

He sounds excited, the heart in the right place but probably not explaining what’s on his mind as he wished.

“You mean like ‘nature vs nurture’?” your voice rings in the air and immediately you can see Marcille’s face dropping. Probably an option she thought of as well, but chose not to voice for the moment.

Meanwhile Laios, more than happy to have someone else join in on his brainstorming, rushes to your side like a giddy puppy, hands up, palms facing you.

“Like Senshi–” “Hmm, he looked quite slender and fragile, even for elven standards when he was an elf himself…” “And and–”he counts every small detail he has noticed and saved into his memory without taking a breath. Happy and in his element, he looks fascinating.

“Despite all that, I’ve noticed hand sizes to not have gone through a drastic change.”

“Oh, really?” you ask, now a little curious. Has he really paid individual attention to each and everyone’s hands? “Yes! I even compared them with mine for good measure.” he says matter-of-factly, earning a snort from you.

“Well, then in this case,” you draw in, “your research is flawed I’m afraid.” Unfazed by your close proximity, he only looks confused at your claim. The ‘how so’ waits on his tongue but you beat him to it.

“I don’t think you ever compared with mine.” he seems relieved, as if letting out the breath he was holding. Taking your words as an invitation, Laios grabs your hands and brings them up, facing his palms against yours.

First thing he notes is how close they are to his in size. Sure, for a tall-man, he is not exactly the tallest but he was told he has big hands. Your fingertips passing his distal interphalangeals barely, his brows furrow without noticing. At his reaction, you stick your tongue out at him victoriously. Unfazed by your reaction he continues to inspect. Staring at your hands against his with fascination, he moves each finger, grazing against your skin as if to test some sort of parameter only he knows of.

What feels like forever passes.the two of you, enthralled in your own bubble now, everyone else busy with something, their attentions diverted.

Laios realizes then, that he has been staring for a while. With this first moment kicks back in his senses; the world suddenly isn’t drowned out, everything but you isn’t covered by a dark curtain– and how painfully warm, and so nice to the touch your hands are.

As if sensing him snapping back into reality, you let your fingers slide across the gaps between his, clasping his hands in a demeanor that mimicked his observant self a while ago.

“See?” you break the silence for the two of you. “Told ya you were missing out on data.” you say with a grin. Finding himself at ease with you, he brings his right hand to scratch his head reluctantly.

He couldn’t possibly be blushing now, could he?

Laios tries to return the smile and still feels his shyness taking over. A breath let out and he allows himself to sit down more properly, letting his muscles relax. Taking out his little notebook to read, he stays, and his left hand drops to the ground, between the two of you, hand still clasped to yours, not letting go until you do.

[stsgluver]

𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐓.𝟒 — gojo satoru

synopsis. nobara can’t find the dvd anywhere and gojo has a decision to make

wc. 4k

tags. fluff, angst (kinda), reader is described as fem, possibly ooc gojo (my bad), cliffhanger-ish, any spelling mistakes blame on my cats, possible plotholes

a/n. several things to address: firstly my description of dvds and how they work ARE SO FLAWED IK DON'T JUDGE. secondly, look I get how rct works so not everything I say is accurate but like this is also about 2d men so who's to judge. finally I'm not too sure about this chapter so if its shit lmk BUT I HOPE YOU ALL LOVE IT THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT <333 ily all but I do have upcoming exams so the ending(s), won't be posted till possibly early February as I have to get back to studying :(

previous part / final part / series masterlist

“guys we’ve lost it.” nobara pushed up her mattress, phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder as she peered beneath the wooden slats. all there was was her suitcase and a bag from an expensive shop she’d convinced gojo to buy for her. “it’s gone. poof. here once and now it’s not.” the ‘it’ in question being the dvd they’d treasured for the last few weeks (well, yuuji and nobara anyways).

after gojo had taken the dvd – unbeknownst to the first years – nobara had ended up sleeping for the next fourty eight hours, and then afterwards spending several days catching up on the classwork she’d missed. she hadn’t had the time or energy to force her classmates into another movie night so now here they were, almost a week since it was last touched, finally realising its disappearance.

“do you want me and megumi to come help?” yuuji asked tentatively as he heard her curse as she dropped the mattress back down. nobara sighed, glancing around at the chaos she’d created. her room was a mess – drawers half open and half her clothes and books on the floor in case the dvd had slipped into a pile by accident. 

“it’s not in my room,” she said adamantly, pushing her hair back from her face in frustration as she struggled to piece together the final moments she had with the dvd. she could remember sending megumi away, beginning her little day of research and even some of the videos she watched (the arcade and the christmas reunion), but then she fell asleep and everything was hazy from there.

“when was the last time you had it?” megumi asked and nobara felt her eye twitch like she hadn't retraced her steps a million times already.

“the first day i was off sick. i was watching a few–”

“without us?” the pink haired sorcerer cut in with a gasp.

“what else was there to do?” nobara argued back with no bite but he quietened down nonetheless. 

a moment of silence settled between the three as each tried to figure out where it could have been misplaced or who could’ve accidentally picked it up. if nobara had dropped it somewhere outside of her dorm, could one of the older years taken it?

nobara was brought out of deep thought by yuuji flippantly asking: “did you watch any after sensei came to see you?” she froze at the implication of his words. at no point could she recall their teacher ever coming in to check on her – it had always been either yuuji, megumi or maki. 

“what?” 

several hours later, the three first years found themselves huddled on the benches, nobara in the middle and the boys either side of her. in front of them were the second years and gojo – the latter having said something to annoy maki as yuuta held her back from making a swing at their laughing teacher. the second year teacher was off ill today so the larger class meant that the three had a distraction as they tried to figure out what their next step was – if they even had one at this point.

the assumed facts were as such: the first years were no longer in possession of the dvd, and gojo had it. though there was little doubt that this was true, it didn’t stop them questioning the possibility – after all, megumi had pointed out, there’d been no alter in his behaviour whatsoever since the minute he’d checked on nobara. surely, even the strongest would be noticeably affected by a disk that immortalised a happiness and innocence he’d never be able to return to.

but then again, maybe this was just another thing that separated gojo from the rest of society. being the strongest came before all else, he didn’t have the time to mourn resurfaced memories.

“maybe he just doesn’t have it,” yuuji suggested.

“he has to,” nobara reaffirmed. at this point they’d exhausted all other options about where it could possibly be and surely they would have heard if one of the older years found what they had. “would he tell you if he had it?” she asked megumi.

“no,” megumi said quickly, shaking his head and leaning back on the bench as he looked over at gojo, “we… he wouldn’t talk to me about that. about them.”

“could we steal it back?” yuuji offered and nobara debated duct taping his mouth closed.

megumi scoffed, shaking his head, “he has six eyes. even if we tried, he’d know for sure it was us.”

“he already knows it was us,” nobara countered, not that she agreed with yuuji’s solution by any means. “which is why i don’t get why he hasn’t said anyth–”

“oi, you three!” the first years jumped apart from their circle, hearts pounding as gojo appeared before them with a smirk toying at the corner of his lips and his hands clasped behind his back. “whoever beats maki in hand to hand combat gets the day off tomorrow!”

“yuuji if you win, i’m taking your day off,” nobara called out as she trailed behind the aforementioned boy running to the centre of the field. 

“okay!”

unsurprisingly, all three first years lost against the second year. megumi came closest to winning but when he tried to use his cursed technique, gojo countered it, catching him off guard and giving maki the opportunity to sweep him off his feet with her staff.

gojo found himself still laughing over megumi’s shocked expression as he fell flat on his back as he stepped past the threshold of his office. even after all he’d taught the boy in combat, with no cursed technique it was hard to overcome the zenin girl’s strength and skill she’d mastered to take on her own clan.

he let out a small sigh as the door locked shut and, for the first time that day, he was alone with his own thoughts.

dropping down into his office chair, gojo crossed one leg over the other as he pulled open a drawer. on the top of a pile of unread paperwork for the higher ups was the dvd the first years were so fixated on. 

he wasn’t stupid; he knew eventually they would figure out he had it and, unlike himself, they’d been way less subtle once they’d put two and two together. yuuji’s speech had tripled in speed, nobara was way too keen on being anywhere but where he was and megumi… gojo couldn’t forget the guilt and hurt in the teenage boy’s eyes after telling him you were gone. it was here again, had been for several weeks, and it was only after stumbling upon the disk in nobara’s room that he’d understood why.

gojo gritted his teeth together as he held the disk up between shaky fingers. it was pathetic, he scolded himself, it was just a bit of plastic with memories lasered into divots in a never ending spiral. it wasn’t worth the heartache.

if he looked closely enough, he could see shoko’s name written on the centrepiece in faded black sharpie. after gojo had stumbled upon the old camera several years after graduating from jujutsu high, shoko had taken back the camera to transfer all of the old clips onto dvds and given him, herself, nanami and you your own copies. he couldn’t even remember where his and yours were anymore, in fact he’d pretty much forgotten about their existence until a week ago.

he wasn’t sure where shoko had lost the dvd for the first years to get their hands on it but he hadn’t worked up the courage to speak to her about it. he hadn’t worked up the courage to do anything more than just spin the disk between his fingers, cry about it for a bit, and go back to pretending he didn’t have the last remnants of his youth in his drawer.

gojo glanced between the disk and the laptop on his desk. it was the last step he needed to take to hear your voice again. it had been on repeat for the last week in his mind; you uttering his name and that innocent question, would you last beyond your teenage years?

he missed it, missed you so bad.

raising megumi was a lot harder without you there; you were his favourite after all, bridging the gap between the two when they bumped heads with their contrasting personalities. gojo was all rainbows and giggles and megumi was everything but. you were a happy medium, creating a balance that maintained order in the home you shared. it was a peace that megumi deserved after losing his parents.

gojo clicked his tongue, reaching across to press a button that opened up a space for the disk. slotting it in place, he clicked the device shut and held his breath as he waited. it took several seconds for the files to load and then there he was again, back in those fields under the large weeping willow that was your spot.

the video was paused, exactly where it had been left, except this time gojo could actually see the screen.

your face wasn’t in it, just his. his glasses were off – balanced on your head if he remembered correctly – as he used your lap as a pillow. one of your hands was holding the camera while the other was held over his eyes to block any sort of light. the only thing he could make out was your cursed energy.

you were nearing the end of your first year and whilst gojo was growing more powerful, he was also growing more and more reliant on his glasses to stop himself from becoming so overwhelmed with the constant information he received with his six eyes. he’d overworked himself that day, as he so often did, hence why you’d dragged him away from the school to the seclusion of the tree. 

your questions about the longevity of your relationship weren’t meant to hold deep meaning, you just wanted to take his mind off of the headaches. gojo would choose thinking about you over the searing pain in the back of his head any day. yaga said that once he had a better understanding of his reversed curse technique it wouldn’t be so bad but until then it was just about riding it out.

gojo snorted at the notion. his reversed curse technique only marginally helped. you were what got him through the days when he’d lock himself in his bedroom with blackout blinds pulled down, hiding under his covers till he felt like he could function in society again.

he didn’t unpause the video, however, instead clicking onto the main tab with all of the files stored. 

lifting up his blindfold and dropping it down onto the desk, gojo took a deep breath before he began scrolling. unlike when the first years were simply searching for the ones with their favourite thumbnail, gojo was specifically searching for the ones he knew focused on you.

he needed to hear your voice again, to play it on repeat until it became so ingrained into his skin he could feel your touch.

gojo halted the cursor over the familiar date of your birthday, clicking on it without a second thought as the video filled the screen. it buffered for a moment, giving him a view of the dorm he’d practically spent three years in (despite yaga’s constant complaints and reminders that dorms were segregated on gender).

in the corner of your room was a stack of plushies that he’d won for you at arcades, and your walls were covered in photobooth photos and polaroids of your group of friends. his personal favourite was the polaroid you had pinned just above your desk. it was the two of you on new years eve sharing your first kiss of the year, sparklers in hand and the faint pink of a firework in the background. on the bottom of the polaroid was haibara’s handwriting as he’d scribbled on the date and a small smiley face.

“happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!” seventeen year old gojo sung in the video, swaying the camera side to side above a pile of duvet and pillows. you were somewhere in the middle, half asleep and trying to push yourself deeper into the comfort of your bed and further from whatever the screeching was in your room.

you’d never been a morning person whereas he, on the other hand, had a reserve of energy that never depleted. it was what made getting up at the crack of dawn on your birthday so much more entertaining for him. even as an adult, when the two of you lived together in the comfort of your own apartment, he would either force you to stay up until midnight or gently nudge you awake at 4am to tell you he loved you.

“satoru,” you whispered groggily when you gave up trying to ignore his awful singing, lifting your head up just enough to meet his eyes. he would have done anything to see you physically before him instead of watching you through the lens of a camera. to be looked at with love as you did and not a mix of fear and respect. “if yaga catches you–”

“i’m just singing happy birthday to my girl,” his younger self dismissed, plopping down onto the bed next to you. he preferred your bed over his, a softer mattress he used to argue when shoko would complain about him showing up at your shared dorm several nights in a row. that particular birthday, he was pretty sure she’d been sent on a training mission over in kyoto. gojo’s hand came into frame as he ran a gentle hand through your hair, giving it a little pat when you quietly hummed at the contact. “he can’t hate on me for that.”

“yes he can,” you retorted, rolling your eyes with a tired smile. gojo felt his chest tighten – two years without waking up by that very same smile after almost a decade of having it everyday.

“i’ll blame shoko,” gojo shrugged with a grin, kicking his legs up onto your bed, despite your small protest that he was taking up all of your space. like you weren’t just as clingy as he was.

you huffed out a quiet laugh, your elbow digging into your pillow as you rested your head in your hand to stare incredulously at your boyfriend. “shoko forced the strongest sorcerer of the modern day to enter the girls’ dorms? uh huh.”

“woah woah, i’m the strongest of all time baby, i don’t do second best,” he corrected, leaning down to give you a peck on the forehead. you scrunched your nose up at the contact, but even through the viewpoint of the camera, he can see how your eyes dropped down to his lips.

“i know you don’t,” you smiled and gojo dropped the camera down as he moved to give you your first real kiss of seventeen. present day gojo sucked in a breath, willing for himself to get through at least one several minute video of you until he started crying.

the kiss ended all too quickly as gojo shoved the camera back into your face, the flash causing you to squint and squeeze your eyes closed. “now smile and say cheese, you’re seventeen!”

“woo!” you cheered half heartedly, giving in to his infectious excitement. blowing the camera a tired kiss, you shuffled yourself back deep beneath your duvet. “now can i go back to sleep?”

“as long as i can stay.”

“fine,” you dragged out, though you both knew you wanted him to just as much. yaga be damned. the video ended several seconds later and an odd silence filled his office. 

he’d only ever watched several of these videos once or twice – back when he still had you to curl up into his side and reminisce with him and laugh at nanami’s old haircut. if he was being honest, he didn’t even remember he’d recorded that (though he was glad he did).

gojo was more confident this time when he scrolled, his hands no longer shaking as much as they had been as he smiled at the life he once had. a life with you and geto.

this time he stopped at a thumbnail with the three of you; gojo holding up the camera high as the three of you posed like it was a photo. it was at one of only a handful clan events you had attended together, with both you and geto as gojo’s plus ones. he and geto were in matching suits and you were in a floor length dress that he’d spent way too much money on (but you looked so pretty when you tried it on he couldn’t not get it for you).

“hi this is mtv,” you clapped your hands together, “and welcome to my crib.” his younger self waved his hands around in the background (geto was recording), showing off the spiralling architecture that cost more money than fathomable. 

gojo quietly laughed in his office. the politics of clans and these events were the last reason he’d ever chosen to attend them. seeing you all dressed up and running around buildings with a million rooms were right at the top. his favourite had to be when both the first years, shoko and utahime had also been in attendance, but after haibara’s death, hanging around with the clans that upheld the institution that killed their friend seemed distasteful.

“this is my in house art museum collection.” you led geto along one of the vast corridors, pointing into a room with dozens of framed canvases of art from all across the globe. “this is where i come in for inspiration and to truly just feel art you know?”

“i wasn’t aware you had skills beyond stickmen,” geto interjected and you raised both your middle fingers at him.

“art is subjective, di–”

“woah, i have standards to uphold here,” gojo cupped a hand over your mouth, stopping any expletive leaving you. you hummed in annoyance and the white haired sorcerer grinned, nodding his head over to a partially opened door. “we don’t need to argue when we have a whole cinema room to ourselves.” gojo remembered the stain of red lipstick you’d left on his hand when he let you go (you’d refused to kiss him all evening because of your makeup).

the cinema room was massive: rows and rows of sleek leather seats that looked out of place when compared to the aesthetic of the building. this was someone’s home, though it looked like anything but.

“this is my cinema room,” geto held onto the back of one of the chairs as he loosened his tie. he lowered his voice as he leant closer to the camera gojo was now holding. “we used to have two but daddy converted the smaller one into a sauna so now we only have this one,” he said with an upturned nose, and you could be heard giggling in the background at his faux disgust.

you nor geto were from the same wealthy background as gojo was and loved to poke fun at his high status background.

“oi!” an official that was supposed to be watching for any curses or curse users that tried to sneak into the event pointed a light into the cinema room. “you kids shouldn’t be back here!”

gojo laughed, throwing the camera to geto as he grabbed your hand and led you quickly down the stairs to another exit at the bottom of the stairs. geto turned off the recording once he’d grabbed a hold of the device in favour of focusing on not being caught. it wasn’t like there would be any real consequence – they were with gojo satoru after all.

the white hair sorcerer smiled as he thought back to the rest of the night. obviously, you’d all managed to get away – though he had suffered your wrath at the fact your legs weren’t as long as their’s were and you were running in heels. two strikes, but he’d made it up to you by taking you out for ice cream instead of going back to hear the speeches.

it wasn’t an exaggeration to say gojo would have done anything for you then. 

gojo swallowed a lump in his throat as your last interaction came to mind. you were arguing, as you had been in the weeks up until megumi’s birthday as he inched closer and closer to being old enough to enrol in jujutsu high.

the only wish he’d ever refused to fulfil: keeping megumi away from jujutsu.

“he’s our responsibility.” you were yelling at him, desperate for him to understand your point of view and he was walking away. dodging your anger by going wherever his legs took him – anywhere but where you were. “we need to protect him. we can’t protect him if he becomes a sorcerer too.” 

“i can,” he insisted, halting in his place to turn and look down at you. his cursed technique was activated, though there was no need for it to be, and all it did was frustrate you further.

“i nearly died today!” you countered, pointing to your neck with a faint scar. shoko’s reversed cursed technique was almost perfect, but not even that could fully erase the deep lacerations that had almost taken your life. “where were you? you can’t be everywhere and help everyone at the same time. it’s just not possible.”

“i can try.” his jaw was tight as he responded through gritted teeth.

“and if that’s not enough?” you didn’t need to see his eyes to know his were locked directly onto yours, daring you to continue. he wouldn’t hurt you, would never dream of it, angry or not, but how could you of all people doubt him? “what then gojo satoru?” you uttered his full name like it was an insult, “you may be the strongest but he’s not. i’m not. we’re mortals compared to you.”

“you’re my family,” his voice broke.

“yu and suguru were family once too.”

gojo clenched his fists at the memory, at the reminder he walked out after that. you were trying to get him to see your concerns, and he’d taken that as you blaming him for the outcome of your close friends. that was the last time he ever saw you; tears welling up in the corner of your eyes at his insensitivity, at his inability to admit that maybe, just maybe, he too was just a mortal. 

everything you said was logical and made sense – he had almost lost you that day, having not initially received the message that you had needed backup as he was preoccupied with his own mission. by the time he had arrived, the curse had its claws dug deep into your skin and it had taken everything in him not to use hollow purple and bring the entire infrastructure down in seconds.

despite all he’d done to save you that day, he’d still lost you. he’d only delayed the seemingly inevitable by mere hours.

megumi sat up in bed at the sound of two knocks on the door. he highly doubted it would be yuuji since the pink haired sorcerer had only left several minutes prior, saying something about needing to meet panda. 

to his surprise, gojo stood before him, hands in the pockets of his pants as he half smiled at the younger boy. 

“is itadori here?” megumi hesitated before shaking his head. “good,” gojo held up the missing dvd, “we need to talk.”

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if ive missed anyone im so sorry send me a little reminder &lt;3

[cherubimcore]

phantom of the opera ! au

pairing: logan x reader

author's notes: i have been writing this since last month, i still don't think is really that good but i'm happy with it, i did re-read the phantom of the opera and did my research to write this fic (still i could have made some mistakes) so after saying all that happy halloween! 🎃

“the phantom of the opera really existed, but he wasn’t a cold translucent body that resembles a person nor a floating sheet with holes for eyes, the phantom of the opera was a broken man with such a guilt on his shoulders that made him feel like a monster, everyone thought of him as a monster but every time i looked at him i only saw a man that suffered his entire life, that needed someone to love and cherish him despite his flaws and i love i love i love him and he loves me back with the same passion”

- (l/n), (y/n). diary of (y/n), 1870

your day ended with whispers amid young dancers and singers in the dressing room.

“i saw the phantom today while we performed!”

“you saw him?”

“as plainly as i see you!”

“what does he look like? please tell us!”

while taking off your corset you started to pay attention to their words when you heard the mention of this phantom, everyone was uneasy (to say the least) in the opera house because of the rumors of a ghost wandering around, especially after the death of the stagehand after a performance not long ago.

“well… he was in one of the boxes, box five you know, the box on the grand tier, next to the stage-box, on the left”

“this is ridiculous!” you said, a hand on the hip and furrowed brows “you wouldn’t be able to see anything in box five from the stage, let alone a person!”

“it wasn’t a person!” the girl you still haven’t learned the name snapped as if she couldn’t believe someone was doubting her testimony, she then sat down again with a terrified expression “it was him, i’m sure of it, the phantom! it was the monster that killed mr. buquet!”

“mr. buquet was found hanged” you clarified trying to put some sense in the girl’s head, as much as you were also scared of the thought of working in a haunted opera with a killer ghost, you also tries to use logic in every aspect of your life, and everything related to this rumor was not logic “he killed himself, that had nothing to do with this phantom of your because he simply isn’t real”

another one of the girls who hadn’t been talking all that much clenched her fists.

“i want to hear you say that when he comes after you!” she hissed “let’s go, girls”

the other dancers gathered their belongings and left the room.

in a blink of an eye you were alone.

it was already difficult enough being the new girl, but now you were the new girl everybody hated.

with a sigh you plop down on a chair in the corner of the room and start to think.

there were things concerning you more than this stupid rumor, worries that came before you got hired in the opera.

you always loved to sing, with both your parents being musicians, you were surrounded by music since you were born and throughout your life the only thing that made you keep going was your dream of becoming a lead soprano, the lead soprano, someone who’s voice would be remembered for the rest of eternity, so you practiced and practiced and practiced to one day perform on stage and hear the praises of the public, infatuated with your voice.

but after the death of your parents you stopped singing completely, not feeling the joy you once felt only the grief consuming your soul, it took years for you to start singing again and by the time you started once again, you were already a bit rusty, but you couldn’t give up, even if your parents weren’t here anymore you would make them proud.

but doubts always lingered in your mind ever since you got hired in the palais garnier: what if you couldn’t make your parents proud? what if you weren’t good enough? what if even if you practiced 24/7, 7 days a week you still wouldn’t get the lead soprano role like you always wanted?

what if you simply were a failure?

your took a deep breath feeling tears running down your cheeks and quickly dried them with the sleeve of your costume.

you get up determined to bury those thoughts so deep inside you they wouldn’t be able to claw their way back and ruin you.

you were going to be the lead soprano.

people will love your voice.

your parents will be proud.

whatever it takes.

a couple days later after making that promise you were in your dressing room after another performance still breathing heavily from the intensity of the spectacle, behind your door you could hear whispers and footsteps meaning people were already leaving the opera for the night, you knew you needed to leave sooner or later but your mistakes on stage kept plaguing your mind, it had been days since you had a proper night of sleep and some of your co-workers started to take notice of the heavy bags under your eyes but you simply couldn’t sleep knowing your goal was so far away, especially when you caught the other singers saying you were “singing like a crock”after practice, questioning how someone like you has been hired in the infamous palais garnier.

so you wouldn’t sleep, if you wanted to be better than all of them you needed to practice twice as hard.

you took a deep breath while locking the door to make sure no one would interrupt you and started to undress from your cherubino costume, you still didn’t know why the directors made you play a breeches role even if it your voice wasn’t the right tone for this character, and put some actual comfortable clothes before taking off your make-up.

with one more look at the mirror you started to sing.

your sweet yet insecure voice filled your dressing room, it was a promising voice, but it lacked control and you knew it, your voice faltered at some point making you sigh, frustrated. you couldn’t reach the higher notes and it tormented you, with a groan you opened your mouth to start again.

but before any sound could come out of your throat you felt a presence in the room.

suddenly a deep and seductive voice echoed off the walls, as if coming from every corner at once “you are forcing it”

your breath was caught in your chest as you looked around, but saw no one.

“who’s there?” you asked with a trembling voice.

“someone who can help you, if you trust me”

a shiver ran down your spine.

it was him.

you just knew it.

the phantom.

somehow he passed through your locked door, now you were the one locked inside with him.

“why should i trust you?” you replied with more courage than you actually felt.

“because i can make you into what you wish to be and more, everything you dream can be yours… if you accept me as your mentor.”

you hesitated, torn between fear and a strange attraction, feeling a shiver run down your spine. you knew you should fear this man, you knew you should get out of the room screaming for your life, but the promise he made, to reach the greatness you so desired, was irresistible.

“yes” you whispered, sealing your fate.

from that night on, the phantom became your shadow, guiding you through every note, shaping your voice until perfection, but his presence was overwhelming. you felt his gaze at all times, as if he could see through you, knowing every thought, every emotion, you even questioned at one point if he could actually read your mind.

your classes first started in your own dressing room, you remembered the first time you actually saw him, after countless times asking him to show himself, you lost your breath, the man was breathtaking, he had a strong built body beneath dress-clothes that hugged his body perfectly even with those clothes you could tell he had a hirsute physique especially because of his mutton chop sideburns, he also had a unique hairstyle that reminded you of cat ears for some reason.

“you…” you looked at him puzzled “you are the phantom of the opera?”

the man chuckles while looking around the room lit by a soft light, the only thing he could think about was how he never had seen it so close.

“that’s what they call me?” he smiled at you, you noticed he had animal-like canine teeth, a small detail that, alongside his other features, made your knees weak.

you smiled at him.

“what should i call you?” you asked “since you are my mentor now, how do you want me to call you?”

he looked a little shocked when you make that question, as if no one had asked him that in a long time.

“logan” the man you once called phantom answered, a little out of breath “you can call me logan…”

overtime, something strange began to happen, it wasn’t just your voice that was changing, your heart raced every time you heard his voice. you longed for his teaching, for his presence.

logan also started to change, instead of coaching you as far away as possible he started to get closer and closer to you, slowly he would open up about his past but nothing that would indicate how logan ended up in the opera house and you were scared to ask questions and end up pushing him away, what had started as mere admiration on both parts grew into something deeper and darker.

you began to seek him out, even when he didn’t call you, the thing you most wanted was to see who the man behind the grumpy face was, why was he living in the opera? where were his family? what was he hiding?

your heart races with an inexplicable pull towards logan, a fascination you can no longer deny, with all those feelings and questions in your mind you decided to follow him deeper into the shadows.

it was difficult to put your plan into action, you started to understand why logan laughed when you said people called him “phantom”.

logan really had the gift of appearing and disappearing to his heart’s content as if he didn’t have a physical body.

but you knew better.

after failing multiple times to follow him you started to watch the man even more closely every time when you were together, and when you weren’t you wandered around the opera trying to understand the architecture and looking for secret passages and hiding places that would allow logan to pass unseen amongst opera workers and yourself.

to be honest you felt a little bit ridiculous doing this but you knew, even if it would sound ridiculous to someone else, it was the only possible explanation you had at the moment.

and it didn’t take long for you to find out what you were looking for.

and it took even less time for you to find yourself in the underground catacombs of the paris opera house.

“what am i doing? what am i doing? what am i doing?” you chanted to yourself while looking at the damp walls and flickering lights in what felt like a haunted place at the time, but then you started to actually think about what were you doing and who are you doing it for.

you were doing this for the man who found potential in your voice at a time you were unsure if you actually had any talent for singing.

you were doing this for the man that held you so delicately when you were crying your eyes out when you didn’t get the role of eurydice, a role where you practiced so hard with him and you felt you were letting him down because of your failure.

you were doing this for the man that, when you mentioned that to him, he held your face still wet from your tears and made you look into his eyes, instead of finding him looking at you with an angry expression and telling you he really was disappointed with you, questioning why he decided to be your mentor actually you were met with the kindest eyes you had ever seen in your life while logan whispered “you will never let me down”

you were doing this for the man that never let you touch his hands saying they had done more harm than good, that they are dangerous but you always notice the longing expression, showing a desire for you to ignore his words and look past his facade and love him besides his faults.

and you do.

you do love him besides his faults.

you are doing this for logan, the man that also loves you besides your own faults.

a lost soul, yearning, just like yours.

your thoughts were interrupted when you heard his voice.

“you shouldn’t have come, (y/n). these halls, this life… it’s not meant for you.”

ahead of you, logan’s form is barely visible, his black clothes blending with the darkness.

the man speaks without turning, his voice both haunting and tender.

“but i must understand” your voice wavers, not from hesitation “you… you’re more than a phantom, more than the stories they tell, i’ve felt it since the first time you sang to me.”

you took a few more steps closer.

“you say this is not my world, but i feel like i belong here with you, in the music, in the dark”

“what about your dream?” logan finally turned to face you, even in the badly lit room you were in, the pain in his eyes was unmistakable “your dream to be a lead soprano? your dream to make the world know your voice?”

you giggled.

“i can still do all those things, i never said i wanted to be famous,” you confessed “i want to be a legend, the lead soprano who made people reach nirvana once in their life to never be seen again.”

logan looked puzzled, he couldn’t understand how someone like you would prefer a life in darkness with him instead of the glory of being in the spotlight where you could have everything you wanted.

“you don’t know what you are saying” logan’s voice trembles as he gestures around him, to the cavernous, endless maze of catacombs “this is not beauty, it is madness, a prison. my past, what i truly am… are not things you would wish to see.

you stepped closer to him, your hand outstretched but not quite touching the man in front of you.

“then show me. show me your past. show me your pain” your breath catches in your throat as you speak “i want to know, logan. i want to see what makes you… you.”

logan inhales sharply at hearing his name on your lips, as if you had unraveled a sacred secret. he looks away, conflicted, his shoulders tense. but you move even closer, your fingers brushing the edge of his suit.

“if you follow me any further, (y/n), there will be no turning back." logan's voice softens, filled with sorrow. "my world, my heart - it will consume you."

he looks into your eyes, pleading with you to turn away, pleading with you to think again and leave him in the darkness and live a better life.

but seeing the determination in your face, he sighs defeated.

"very well... follow me"

logan continues deeper into the labyrinth, and you, unwavering follows. the air grows colder, the walls narrower making you feel as if the weight of the earth is pressing down on you, it didn't take long for you both to reach a hidden chamber. inside, candlelight flickers over rows of old mirrors, sheets of music, and a grand organ, half-covered in dust. the remnants of a tortures life, a man that forgot the world above.

your breath catches as you step into the room, your eyes scanning the relics of his past.

"this..." your voice is soft, filled with wonder and sadness. "this is where you've been all these years?"

you turn around to face him, logan watches you as if waiting for you to recoil in horror, but when you don't, when instead you step closer and places your hand gently on his, something breaks inside of him.

"this is all i am" logan's voice, rough but tender, breaks the silence "a creature of the dark, of pain. nothing more."

your eyes fill with tears, but still you don't look away.

"no. you are more than that. you are music, you are passion, you are love. logan, i see you and i love what i see."

gently you took his hands and place in on your cheeks, logan's eyes are filled with disbelief and emotion, met your.

"you don't know what i have done, you don't know what these hands are capable of"

"then show me and let me love you anyway"

in that moment, something shifts. the darkness no longer feels suffocating but intimate, a shared space where two souls, both broken in their own way, find solace in each other.

[drdemonprince]

By now, a majority of Autism researchers and clinicians are aware that the existing assessments for Autism are profoundly flawed. 

They know the standard evaluation of Autism is sexist, with assessors excluding women for reasons like wearing makeup, having a boyfriend, being superficially polite, or not being fixated on suitably ‘masculine’ topics like ancient Roman history or barometric pressure. 

They know Autism evaluations are racist, deeming Black Autistics “oppositionally defiant” or even “borderline” rather than acknowledging any social alienation or sensory pain they’re experiencing, and believing they must be overstating the difficulty they face in moving through the world.

And they certainly know that conventional Autism measures weren’t designed with adult Autistics in mind. Many of us are still asked to make up stories based on paintings of frogs in a toddler’s picture book, when we sit down for assessments at age 20, or 30, or 45 — because all the evaluation methods were written for young kids. 

The data has already proven the far-reaching consequences of using such shoddy measures of Autism. People of color, gender minorities, older adults, and women are diagnosed at later ages, and also go undiagnosed at massive rates. 

A growing population of scientists are admittedly interested in fostering a new literature of what they call “patient-driven” Autism research, but they never stop thinking of us as mere patients, the passive receivers of care rather than the leaders of communities and political movements who are the ought to be the primary authors of the studies about us, and the sole determinants of what our desired outcomes should be. Even when they observe that their work could benefit from a greater Autistic perspective, researchers do so from closed rooms, filled with other professionals who are largely not Autistic, wondering amongst themselves what it is that we want instead of learning to quiet their voices and follow our lead. 

Though many basically well-intentioned Autism researchers believe that Autism assessments need reform, what neurodiversity really needs is to abandon the diagnostic process altogether. If Autism is a benign, neutral, naturally occurring form of human difference that requires acceptance rather than a cure, then there’s no need to diagnose it as if it were a sickness. And if hundreds of thousands of Autistic women, people of color, queer people, and older people have been able to give a voice to ourselves and find one another without having ever been given a label by a professional, then improved professional labeling is not what we need. 

Autistic self-realization is the future of Autism assessment. We hold the collective wisdom, organizing ability, insight, and political power to define who we are. No authority figure should have to sign off on our identities. 

Because psychiatrists fail to diagnose such a large percentage of the Autistic population, many Autism researchers now accept self-identified Autistic adults within their subject pool. Within the peer-reviewed journal Autism in Adulthood, self-realized Autistics often make up the bulk of the participant sample, and they have repeatedly been found to be indistinguishable from their formally diagnosed peers. 

A growing body of research now also considers the presence of Autism-spectrum traits as qualifying for inclusion in many Autism studies. The data makes it quite obvious that Autistic people exist within all human groups, spread all throughout the world, and that a great many people have experiences in common with us who have not been formally diagnosed. This itself reveals that a formal diagnosis is hardly necessary, and that a psychiatric paradigm of accepting self-identification is inevitable. The researchers are increasingly already doing it.

You can read the full essay for free (or have it narrated to you!) at this link.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hiking Trip (1) | Yandere Diasomnia

Imagine you’ve finally gotten to the next step in your relationship

“Hey me and the boys were going hiking up to the cottage, wanna come?”

“I’d love to!”

Yes you were dating an older man

So many times had you looked at others and thought you’d never find yourself with someone so well into their life

But Lilia was different

He was cool

A handsome-let’s be real cute face, fashionable style, and he played riveting ballads on his electric guitar

Not to mention he was oh so flexible

You loved your boyfriend even though people would keel when they heard his age

Or that he had kids just as old as you

But you didn’t mind

It didn’t matter what they thought

Because you loved him

And he loved you

Apparently enough to bring you along to the annual hiking trip he took with his kids

You’d done your research before then, scrolled through forums, read through step-kid threads

You’re prepared to have a purely amicable relationship with your boyfriend’s kids

Or prepare to be cussed out for simply dating him

“(Y/n) this is Silver, Malleus, and Sebek’s coming up with us too.”

“Hi”

“Hello.” “Nice to meet you, I’m excited to get to know you on this trip.” 

“Thanks me too!”

“So you’re the young leech that’s attached themselves to Master Lilia?”

When you expected to be chewed out and insulted you were certain the ones he directly raised would be the culprit

You were wrong 

Terribly wrong 

Turns out the boy who was a close-friend and self-proclaimed student of his was the one to do it

Left at the back of the group to be stuck with Sebek’s loud lecturing 

Going strong for 3 miles until he decides he’s been neglecting helping Malleus 

“Sorry we all left you to him like that. Lilia said it’s practically a right of passage for whoever's behind to have to deal with him.”

“Oh…well if it’s a right of passage it’s okay.”

You appreciate Silver 

And he seems to enjoy your company

Besides nearly falling asleep while walking he’s nice to talk to 

And he has no problem giggling with you about Sebek’s many laughable quirks

When you guys set up for camp you take right up on his offer to go search for wood

Even though Lilia could use your help starting the fire

You assure yourself that your just bonding with his kids

Which you’ll continue to tell yourself when Silver get’s unusually close to teach you how to activate the fire-safe torch 

Silver’s beside himself

He could no longer question if he was in love with his father’s partner

It was a definite positive now that he’d met you and spoke with you and could pick out your breathing pattern from the tent over

He was sure after hearing his father gush that he’d like you but in a way he was supposed to 

meeting you in person made him realize just how wrong he was

He refrained from doing a background check—especially since Sebek already did that

But he certainly paid attention to what his father had to say

Watching as he listed off your flaws and qualities that he so adored

Perhaps it was his fault that Silver was already so interested

Hearing the jokes you’d make, the excitement you had, the gifts you gave all to his father

It all too easily made it feel acceptable that he imagined it was he you were dating

Only to be pained by the way his father led you to his tent when the night came to a close

Maybe he was a bad son for deciding to sleep even though he saw Sebek wildly using the oil lamp to swat off fireflies 

Somehow dreaming about the future where you’d need his incredibly large sleeping bag to stay warm enough in the night

[evilminji]

DP X BNHA Idea!!!!!

Izuku goes missing during the USJ. He falls through a green portal!

I mean? Kurogiri IS there. And we don't know that ALL that neck piece does is support his body. Could be Support Tech too. Portals made by an artificial Quirk are finicky? Why the FUCK would a Nomu, no matter how intelligent, have any control over his portals?

That requires a clear visualization and conscious PREMEDITATED set of decisions.

Something he is no longer capable off. It's one of the major flaws in their shitty, shitty "research". The see only the end results of people working with their Quirks. Mentally processing information and MAKING DECISIONS as INDIVIDUALS WITH FREE WILL and? Reduce it all down to the Quirk itself.

It's bias.

They never saw PEOPLE as anything of worth, after all.

That's why Best Jeanist can have such a "weak quirk" and still kick so much ass. Miriko can be a terrifying war god of a battle rabbit. It was never the Quirk. It was the PERSON weilding it.

The Strongest Quirks in existence, in the hands of weak willed men, could be defeated by one determined quirkless man with a heavy rock or a gun. They would die like insects, cowering in the mud. And All for One never understood that. It's why he underestimated his brother. It's why he was always doomed to fail.

It's WHY... Izuku has no idea where he is.

And there are like... seven? No wait, more. Ghosts. Arguing over what to do.

They CAME OUT OF HIS CHEST!!! ( T^T)

At least Grandma Midoriya is here. She like Aunty Mitsuki and... oh hey! That's Aunty Mitsuki's uncle! At least he has family... sorta... dead family? He's gonna go with family. At least he has people he KNOWS with him, here to yell at the weird chest ghosts.

And Grandma hugs.

As they float in a... void a green. Ha ha... ohgodwherearethey...

There is a crowd forming. Apparently that portal guy is a NOMU? And Mr.? Cloud? Wants his body back. Has been following the portals the Nomu creates to try and tear his way in from the OTHER side.

.....TERRIFYING.

What side?! What side are WE ON? Please EXPLAIN.

And?? Now someone is shouting to break it up. There are skeletons gently shoving people and doing crowd control. And.... wait. WAIT! :O

Is that a HERO UNIFORM!!! That IS! And a crown! Is that part of his outfit? Or is this place RULED by a DEAD HERO?! *vibrates in hero nerd*

[ryiju-muunie]

Pray to the lord. Baby I'm Yours.

18+ viewer discretion is advised

Omega!Prince!Satoru Gojo/Alpha!Servant!Suguru Geto Warning: omega verse, bottom gojo, top geto, royalty au, omega heats, pillow humping, frotting, 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 frotters, accidental voyeurism, technically handjobs, naked cuddling Word count: 2871 DESC: Suguru was the servant of the Gojo family, mainly Satoru's personal servant. What happens when he, the alpha he is, goes to check on the prince [very big omega] while he's suffering an extremely bad heat? Not to mention, he has no idea what actually happens during a heat.

I originally wanted to do this with Zosan but satosugu's been on my mind

NOTES: this is my first omegaverse fic so yes obviously geto would've heard about heat but I think he didn't have good access to sex education as a kid. so he most likely only knew what his classmates said and since he had probably only been with alphas (if he grew up in an alpha dominated area) it would've been mainly alpha stuff.

and lets just say.. he's probably just recently joined the staff, so he has yet to see gojos insanely intense heats.

Suguru Geto was an alpha by all accords. The way he acted and especially the way he smelt. It was intensely intoxicating for anyone who walked past, and he was none the wiser. Yes, he was smart, but he didn’t entirely understand how omegas functioned. He never bothered to truly research how a heat affected them, or how his presence could make it worse. He was handsome, it was obvious, and his scent was strong. So that mixture could send any omega in heat over the edge. But that never interested him. He liked omegas, sure, but the only omega he had on his mind was the Prince. That prince was his best friend, his everything [no homo], so he was always thinking about him. Even on the days he had off from being his indentured servant, his mind always wandered back to the crown. 

He found himself on this fine day washing dishes in the kitchen. It was nothing out of the ordinary for him aside from the fact he hadn’t been summoned all morning. It was bridging on noon and the prince hadn’t even called for him through one of his maids. Any other day he wouldn’t think too much about it and sit around until he was useful, but today he was more concerned. The servant had heard from a maid who heard from another maid that Prince Satoru Gojo was set to start his heat any moment. Typically he would just block it with his hormone blockers but the king wanted him to mate at some point to provide an heir. 

How could you have an heir if the Prince wasn’t going to have sex with anyone? He thought, with a slight roll of his eyes. Satoru wasn’t interested in anyone, he knew that. Especially, since his prince would tell him that. He could recite every suitor and what was wrong with them. Every flaw, every freckle out of place. It was trivial things that made the prince say no, and he couldn't care less. As long as he got to serve his prince that was all that mattered to him. But- but not in a weird way. 

Suguru looked down at the running water, as it splashed against the plate he had been scrubbing incessantly for five minutes straight. At some point, he’d have to bite the bullet and just walk in there. Don’t heats make the omegas sick or something? He wasn’t sure. He knew it had to do with fertility and babies, and slick, whatever that was. One of the maids had talked about slick before and he found himself looking away and pretending he wasn’t there. Setting the plate down, the servant strode to the fridge and opened it. What do sick people like to eat? Well, there was soup… But did Satoru even like soup? No, he liked… The man stood there for a few minutes as he debated what the prince would like before a voice cut through his thoughts.

“You know,” he turned to see it was Ms. Shoko Ieri, “I think his heats pretty bad this time. Postponing it and all.” Oh right, he had been blocking it for several months before this. Did it cause some kind of intense explosion of sickness? 

Suguru nodded, turning his body and acting as if he had a clue what she meant by bad, “I was going to bring him some food. But I’m just not sure what he’d like…” A small and unsure smile pulled at his lips. He wasn’t sure if the prince was awake! Don’t sick people sleep a lot? Maybe it would do him some good to just walk in there and assess how sick he was before he made him some broth. After his conversation with Shoko ended, where he stated he would be checking in on the prince, she made a comment that utterly perplexed him. 

“Careful, your scent might send him into shock.” 

His scent? Do alphas smell somehow make omegas even more sick during their heats? Or perhaps their mere presence? As the man walked down the silent hallway, he looked around before bringing his wrist to his nose. One of his scent glands was there, aside from his neck or his face. He didn’t smell more pungent than normal, although everyone always commented on his musk. He didn’t really notice all of that. Satoru had a smell, but it was faint enough that he never took notice of it. It was sweet, just like his taste in food. He always thought it had fit him, smelling like pure sugar and cookies. Like a freshly baked batch of cookies left to cool on a window sill in his memories. 

He pressed to fingers to the scent gland on his neck, pressing down a bit to pick up more of his scent. Apparently, he smelt the most there. But when he brought it to his nose to take a whiff, he got just barely anything. Was he nose blind? Was nose blind-ness to your own scent a thing? Suguru was lost in thought as he approached the door he didn’t hear any of the very obvious noises from it. Well, he didn’t for a moment until he heard the first sob. Was the prince … crying? Oh no, he must have been very sick. He never cried unless he was in absolute pain. Geto pressed his ear up against the door and listened for a minute, hearing nothing but muffled sobs and sniffles. Maybe a few words but it was hard to make out through the door.

The servant let out a breath, at some point, he’d have to open that door and face a very sick Satoru. His mind was going on and on about how he could make the prince feel better, that he wasn’t prepared for the sight his eyes found waiting for him. It had slipped his mind that earlier that week, he had misplaced one of his more casual jackets for when he was on his days off. It was dark blue with very soft cotton lining the inside. Well, now he knew where it had gone. Before him, Satoru was lying on his bed, with the jacket around him. At first, the sight was just, a man crying with a jacket around his shoulders. Until he took a closer look to see that he was A) bottomless and B) rocking his hips around a pillow enclosed in between his legs, while sobbing into the jacket. It was hard for him to make out exactly what it was, but once he saw it he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He just walked in on his sick princess masturbating while wearing his very own jacket. 

Then it clicked once he smelt it. It was raging and emitting solely from Satoru and Satoru alone. Sweet and sickly at that was what Suguru would describe it as. Pungent and making his ears begin to throb. Was this what omegas emitted during their heats? It was … intoxicating. Almost better than cookies, it smelt like heaven. But… was it supposed to be arousing? That was what was truly bothering him. For how good it smelt, it made the alpha feel a certain way. The throbbing in his ears subsided, and another area started to twitch. Maybe it was the fact he was watching a man who didn’t know he was there jerk off, but it was hard to keep away. It was almost instinctual and purely uncontrollable as he closed the door behind himself and cleared his throat. 

Satoru sat up almost instantly, but his hips didn’t stop. The jacket fell around him, revealing a shirtless chest and eyes welled with pleasurable tears. He didn’t look sick, he just looked flushed. He eyed the servant and choked out a few words, “I.. I’m sorry.” 

Suguru raised an eyebrow; His grinding was as uncontrollable as his own urges being splayed before him. Was this what a heat was, not sickness but rather an unattainable thirst he couldn’t quite quench? Then the man realized he was utterly stupid. It had to be similar to his own ruts. He didn’t even know there was such a thing as an omega rut! My god, this guy was clueless! Had he been living under a rock? He knew he would’ve remembered if Omegas went into rut. Maybe it slipped his mind. But, he knew how it felt when he was in rut, how he acted, so it must be the same. Peak fertility right? He just needed to get off, and the servant could help with that. He devoted his life to Satoru, of course, he’d do anything to help him. 

“Don’t apologize, you can’t help it,” his voice outright purred against his own volition. God, even the way Satoru looked at him was enough to turn him on beyond belief. That poor, helpless look, desperate to relieve his tension. All that smugness he typically carried was gone and left was a submissive little slut who was continuously grinding his cock against the pillow despite the shame he so obviously felt.

“Su-Suguru…” He mewled, hiccuping as he did so, “Come here…” Satoru looked away, a hazy blush burning across his cheeks. It was adorable, white hairs falling into his face as he let out a guttural moan. His cock looked swollen as the servant approached him, loosening his tie by rocking it back and forth with one hand. Was this from the prince trying to cum, or was this from his last orgasms? He bet that his hands would feel much better than that pillow, and his scent would be nicer too. 

Suguru tossed his tie to the ground, kicked off his shoes, and started to unbutton his shirt, “I’m going to make it all better, okay Satoru? You won’t have to lift a finger. I’m here.” His eyes were half-lidded as his white shirt slid down his chest to reveal pectorals he had worked so hard at building. Then came his underwear. He wasn’t going to be shy if his prince was already on full display. Just eyeing his cock made a whimper escape the other man's lips, his hips swiveling side to side to scratch that itch. 

The bed dipped down with his weight and he sat in front of Satoru, lightly picking up the pillow and promptly tossing it. The prince sat on his knees, hovering slightly above the bed as his slick covered his inner thighs and dripped onto the mattress. How pitiful. He just needed to release and that made the servant throb at the sight. Seeing their dicks, as he looked down, it was a bit of a turn-on and a bit of an ego boost. Suguru was hung, sorry it’s canon. He watched as his cock twitched and begged for some kind of stimulation. He glanced at Satoru’s smaller cock, spasming more than his own. 

Well, he had to think about this carefully. Satoru was at peak fertility, right? If he came inside him, there was a guarantee he’d become pregnant, which would be the worst possible scenario. On any day, he’d love to breed him. But… if he was at least on birth control. The prince couldn’t get pregnant from a commoner whose education was so poor he didn’t know what a damn heat entailed. So what else could they do? The obvious was a blowjob or a handjob, but he didn’t want the other man to have to lift a finger for him in return. He wanted to give him the most pleasure without Gojo needing to return it. He didn’t even care if he came, as long as his prince was satisfied. 

“Lay down,” was what Suguru ended up saying. Without hesitation, the princess fell to his back and awkwardly stretched his legs out around his servant. How submissive. If he wanted to take his time and relish in this, he would’ve. But they had business to attend to! The first orgasm was always the most intense, in his experience. And heats and ruts were basically the same thing, right? Probably! Geto sat himself below Satoru’s lap, so their dicks were touching. It was sensitive, as they pressed against each other in a perfect curve. Almost like his cock was made for him. The man rolled his hips, just once, to see how the other liked it. 

The white-haired male brought a hand to his mouth and bit down on his fingertips to stop a wail from escaping. Oh, so he definitely liked it. “H..hold it.. Mm.. hold- hold them.. T-to.. together hah…” Satoru whined, bucking his hips up uncontrollably. The servant did exactly as he was told, cupping both of their cock-heads together then running his down the middle, so his palm graced his cock and his fingertips touched the others. It felt, so good. The warmth of Gojo’s cock mixed with his firm hand was enough to get bouts of precum to leak from his tip. The prince was past the point of leaking, he was practically gushing pre through his swollen tip. It was cute, he thought as he rubbed his thumb across the slit. 

“H-ha.. you’re g-gonna m..make me..,” Satoru chuckled, a hazy expression taking hold of his features as he squeezed the bed beneath him. His eyes were blown out, blue taken over by a black pupil. It was strange to look at as he ground his hips back and forth while using his hand to jack the two of them off. It was slow and methodical, and god was it hot. Pleasure built at the base of his cock, slowly building until it shot up almost instantaneously. It was jarring, going from a pleasurable buzz to an intense eruption. 

He didn’t stop his movements, even when the heat was rising too hot in his lower stomach. Suguru focused his other hand on the male's tip, making sure to toy with it in the way he, himself, liked. Surely when you’re that horny any stimulation is good stimulation, right? He was already close, but to see Satoru squirming at the brink of a slow orgasm was too much to see. He bucked his hips every time it got too much, and the other would slow, just to draw out the pleasure. The more Geto teased, the more he knew it would pay off for the other.

“Are you ready?” He cooed, leaning forward to press their dicks closer together. Satoru moaned in response, head bobbing back and forth as if his neck had been broken. Oh, he wanted it so bad. To get sent over the edge and shudder until he could barely take it anymore. He wanted to cry until he passed out. 

Suguru nodded, a bit of determination filling his face. He was going to try at the very most to fill the prince's expectations as much as he could. His thrusting sped, and his hand jerked them off with more vigor. Just even applying more pressure was too much for Satoru, and he came within seconds. His moans were a flurry in the air, filling the servant's senses as he found himself spilling over too. It was a rush of heat from his length up to the tip, where it exploded in sensual bliss. Wave after wave washed over his cock and through his lower half, and he assumed it was more intense for the other since his breathing was quickening with every stroke. His cum splattered onto his stomach, dribbling out in a desperately slow manner. He could tell it felt like heaven as Satoru’s eyes rolled back and his back arched to the orgasm. That’s all the man wanted, was his prince to feel good. 

Suguru got off of him, eliciting a small whine from his other half’s lips, “I’m just getting you a tissue.” A small smile played on his lips as he did so, focusing his energy on cleaning up Satoru more so than himself. Most of his cum had landed on Satoru anyways. Once he set the tissues on the side table, he slumped down beside the prince and pulled him close. He didn’t smell as potent as he did before, this must’ve meant the first big wave was over. Of course, he’d have a flare-up again, but the majority of it had to be out of the way. However, he’d have to ask another omega maid and clarify all his questions since he was still going off of his own rut experiences. 

Satoru wrapped his arms around his servant and buried his head in Geto’s scent gland, reveling in the fact it was his scent. Sure, alphas scents helped [at least Suguru assumed that] but he didn’t realize that it was his scent only that was the most comforting to Satoru. I mean, why do you think he stole his jacket in preparation? They had gotten so close in the months of him working there, that it was only fair he’d want to be with someone he loved during this time. 

“Satoru…” he whispered, running big hands through tufts of white hair, “I’m so glad I could serve you. Now and forever… I’m yours.”

[innerfare]

Law Leaving - Part 1

Summary: Law is leaving for Punk Hazard/Dressrosa. Reader is a Heart Pirate and marine biologist. Features mutual pining and unrequited love. This thing I wrote here could be considered a prequel if you want to read it.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff

CW: SFW // None

Word Count: 978

———

You entered Law’s cabin and closed the door behind you, leaning up against the wall with your arms folded over your aching chest. You wore his hoodie, the yellow one with black sleeves, the smell of your captain lingering on the soft fabric the most comfort you could find as he packed his things for his trip. 

His clothes were folded meticulously, his blade in mint condition. He looked as prepared as ever, completely put together. And yet, he lingered, refolding the same few shirts several times over and inspecting his blade for flaws you both knew were not there. 

You knew to expect this sort of opaque communication with him. Everything with Law at the moment was a gray area, your relationship included. 

Were you captain and crew mate, operating on a strict hierarchy? Were you colleagues conducting research together in the laboratory aboard the Polar Tang? Were you friends brought together by a shared love of adventure? Were you victims of isolation and long nights alone, the few chaste kisses you’d shared in the shadows of the lab nothing more than a mistake, something you’d done because you were lonely and tired? Were you on your way to becoming lovers, with deeper kisses soon to come? Was there something more permanent, more serious, to be eked out, or was it purely physical? 

You made him snacks when you were up late working together, and he always brought you matcha without asking. He borrowed your books and returned them with an origami swan or flower in the pages, and you kept wearing the hoodie he’d given you when you got too cold one night. The two of you discussed what books and papers you’d been reading as of late, shared song recommendations, and even offered each other the parts of your meals you didn’t want. 

Whatever your relationship was, it was a relationship. 

And he was leaving. 

“It’s for your own good,” he said, pushing the last of his things into his bag and drawing it shut, an unreadable expression on his face. 

You swallowed your scoff but couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes. “Bullshit.” You looked up from the floor and met his gaze head on. “What’s the point of having a crew if you can’t trust them to have your back?” 

“I do trust you. That’s why I’m leaving you in charge.” 

You rolled your eyes again. “I didn’t join your crew to babysit a bunch of nurses. Sure, I love them, but I joined for you, Law.” 

“I’m glad to hear it, y/n-ah. I really am.” He turned away from you. “We can talk about it more when I get back.” 

“I joined for you.” You pushed off the wall and took a step forward, clenching your jaw at the sight of his turned back. He couldn’t even look at you while he relegated you to the sidelines. “And now you’re leaving.” 

“I can’t lose you!” He snapped. When he turned around, there was a fire in his eyes you’d never seen before, a desperation that terrified you. He looked as if he was hanging off the side of a cliff, his fingers barely curled around the edge. He looked as if he was about to lose everything. But in typical Law fashion, he recovered quickly, guarded expression returning. “I can’t lose any of you.” He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but your face. “I won’t risk it.” 

You wanted to reach out and grab him. You weren’t sure what you would do after that, if you would pull him in for a hug and try to cradle him in your arms despite his superior size, or if you would place one of those chaste kisses on his lips, perhaps another on his cheek. Maybe you would run your fingers through his hair. But that uncertainty kept you from touching him at all. 

You stepped out of his way, wrapping your arms tighter around your body. You stared at the ground, eyes burning. You refused to shed any tears, though. You’d never been so angry at Law, and you didn’t want to let him see just how deep he’d cut you by not even asking for your help. And after all those times he’d told you he trusted you. 

Despite you no longer standing in his path, he didn’t leave. He remained glued to his spot by the bed, sword and bag in hand. 

“Tell me you’ll still be here when I get back,” he said without looking at you. “I need…” When he trailed off, he seemed unusually vulnerable, and you thought he might offer you some kind words. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I need to know Bepo will be safe. He buckles under pressure.” 

You wanted to push him, to give him some sort of ultimatum, to force him to come clean and say what he meant rather than leaving you wondering, but you knew that was selfish considering the position he was in; he had more important things to deal with. 

So, you clenched your jaw and assured him, “Bepo will be safe.” Putting your feelings aside was worth it when you saw a little bit of tension leave his body. 

“Thank you, y/n-ah.” He brushed past you, and that should’ve been the end of it. 

But just as he reached the door, you whirled around and stated, “You’d better be safe too, Law. You have people waiting for you, people who care about you. You know that, don’t you? We all care about you.” Your voice cracked painfully toward the end. 

Law stopped in the doorway. Again, you couldn’t see his face, but you saw how he lowered his head, and you thought perhaps your words had landed. 

“When I get back,” he promised once more, and with that, he was gone. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! Parts 1.5 and 2 will be up tomorrow and the next day! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[charliemwrites]

Obsessed with the mental image of Gaz just being followed out of the room by a row of lil ducklings who happen to be Scientists!!! Incredible handling strategies towards Big Scientist!! I know it's all been super wholesome so far but I wonder about Gaz's less wholesome (aka horny) handling strategies 👀

(In any case this AU made my day, it's so sweet and delightful!!!!!)

Thank you so much!!! I’m glad you’re enjoying it.

Gaz is the unofficial Scientist Handler, and other soldiers assigned to labs def come to him for tips on how to wrangle their own scientists.

As far as his…. Advanced Techniques✨ a few thoughts come to mind.

Firstly, his researcher discovers for themselves that any amount of intimate contact with him makes for a GREAT mental reset. They’re stuck on a problem? Make out. Trying to remember something? Fingers in mouth. They can’t solve a design flaw? Cockwarming.

Kyle is HAPPY to provide that service, though he has to make peace with the possibility that they figure something out mid-way through and have to pull away to write it down.

My other thought, Kyle is a soft dom with them through and through. Gentle and coaxing, heavy on rewards. A bit like a cat - they resent punishment and discipline but they’re happy to work for treats. Even better when he can get self-care actions throughout the day to translate to bedroom activities.

Once they’re more established and comfortable, he also makes a habit of scooping them up and taking them off to bed when they’ve been working too long. Kisses them when they whine, even though they’re planted in his lap and could run off if they really wanted to. They admit, though, that an orgasm or three makes it MUCH easier to settle in for sleep.