#cutthroat pass trail

[orofeaiel]

Self portrait on the Cutthroat Pass trail

[cerastes]

What's your take on MumuDoc in Lonetrail?

Muelsyse in Lone Trail felt, in many ways, like seeing someone diving in a pool, and at first, you're not alarmed. They know how to swim. You don't really think much of it. But then a minute passes, and they are still underwater. Concern sinks in, and you make your way to the pool, and as you're about to jump in, their head surfaces, they are back up. They cough, they tough it out, and are a bit nervous about diving again, but you're going in the pool with them now, and they feel more at ease.

Take this, intensify it a hundredfold, stretch it a hundredfold, and scrutinize it a hundredfold, and you end up with Muelsyse, in her barest form, like a diamond born from a chunk of charcoal that had too much pressure put on it.

I can see Muelsyse's dynamic with Doctor being romantic. I can see Muelsyse's dynamic with Doctor not being romantic. Both are fine interpretations, if you ask me, I mean, her theme song is very much a love song, and at the same time, she feels desperate to find anyone who can just... Empathize in even the slightest of ways to her. Either read is fine, outright discounting either feels a tad disingenuous.

Alienation. Complete and utter alienation, an edge sharper and more injurious than isolation. This is, if you ask me, the main theme surrounding the Rhine Lab arc and cast.

Saria is alienated. She cannot find common ground with anyone else around her for the longest time. She used to have a shared dream with Kristen, but that bridge has burned and frozen and turned to ash all over. Kristen is alienated. She simply cannot see a point to anything except that obsessive doggedly persistent dream of hers, and it has been weighted more important than her humanity. Joyce is alienated. Forever a partial prisoner in her own head, there are few and far between that will ever put up with the unique intricacies of having to deal with someone that talks like her, has sudden Oripathy attacks like her, and falls asleep on the spot seemingly at random like her, fully cognizant of how high maintenance she can be on others. Ho'olheyak is alienated. On borrowed time, without kin or friend to call her own, living for a transcending mission far bigger than her and so, so small in the overarching beats of a world that can't be bothered to stop for her. Silence. Ifrit. Dorothy. Tin Man. I could go on. Alienated, all of them. Not isolated, because isolation would imply the lack of physical company. This is far colder, far darker. It's alienation. It's seeing the other side of the cliff, and no possibility of a bridge to connect it to your end of the cliff. Isolation stings, it's a pain you know is there. Alienation drowns, because you can see the surface, but you are convinced you'll never make it there, and it's a hundredfold worse.

Muelsyse is no different. Muelsyse is alienated, and goodness she has tried and tried and tried, she swims so, so hard to reach the surface, but she can't reach it. Being in Rhine Labs necessarily means you need to resort to some cutthroat cloak and dagger, it becomes routine, all for an ultimate goal, but is that ultimate goal even possible? With every step taken by Muelsyse, it seems two new steps materialized at the end of the staircase. Everyone she's met, for years now, has either been someone looking to use her, or someone she can use for her own advantage. Usually simultaneously. And it's in this context, when the 9 to 5 becomes tricking, blackmailing, snuffing and silencing that by chance, she comes across someone, possibly the sole person, that can actually understand the sheer weight on her shoulders: Doctor, someone who doesn't own their own past, but is shackled by it, someone who has no one to relate to, someone surrounded by sufficiently similar but ultimately infinitely different people to themselves, someone who by all means should be drowning in the same pool as her, but somehow, this person reached the surface. It's very easy to see why she'd become so utterly fascinated by this person, who shares many similarities with her, and yet, who seemingly has it so good, has it so sweet. It could have easily been jealousy, but end of the day, Muelsyse IS a sweet person. Yeah, she plays it up, always so cheerful and whimsical, but end of the day, Muelsyse is playing up something that is already there in the first place. Instead of jealousy, it brought her happiness, because maybe, just maybe, she could enjoy a bit of that je ne sais quoi that Doctor seems to have in spades and she is completely bankrupt of.

The first interactions between Muelsyse and Doctor are telling of this overwhelming rush of emotion: Muelsyse less talks with Doctor and more talks at them. She vomits words, emotion, whimsy, as if trying to put these emotions into words and actions after so long, emotions that was ready to never need to put into words in the first place. It eventually becomes a dialogue between two parties, but Muelsyse's interactions with Doctor are initially extremely one-sided, and they remain one-sided to some degree even moving forward. It was heartwrenching to me, honestly, to see the sheer joy Muelsyse radiated while around Doctor, because that is an almost manic amount of joy simply from possibly finding someone that gets it. Muelsyse has not had a bridge in so, so long, and suddenly, the finds someone that not only resembles her a lot, but also seems to have bridges in spades. Muelsyse and Doctor's dynamic should never be considered in a vacuum just between the two of them: One of the first things Muelsyse saw with her own eyes was that Doctor had a pretty friendly relationship, mutual respect included, with Saria. That, is immediately very telling of Doctor, given that Muelsyse understands exactly how difficult that is. We also know Muelsyse sneaks around Rhodes Island and chats with Ifrit now and then, and Ifrit also expressly has a very high opinion of Doctor. It simply makes sense that Muelsyse would feel as enthusiastic about her Dorothy's Vision brush with Doc, and all that Lone Trail entailed: It's terribly sad, because they don't even know each other, and even then, it's the shiniest ray of hope for herself that Muelsyse has had the chance to bask in: Doctor's essence, Doctor's existence, in and of itself, is a massive beacon of hope for Muelsyse.

And it's so damn sad, that this perfect stranger is the most familiar comrade she'll ever find.

Is this romantic love? Hell, the molotov cocktail of emotions involved might as well be, either now or in potentially in the future. Is it something unhealthily dependent? Yeah... Yeah. It might just be the euphoria of knowing that she can reach the surface, after all, that bridges, too, are possible for her to have, with not underlying motive, with no ulterior motive, without needing to offer something or to extract something. To put in the most basic of terms, Doctor, to Muelsyse, might as well represent the very first person in who knows how long that she can relate to at all. It is an immensely sad emotional starvation, and she finally found something to sink her teeth onto.

This is personal, but the way Muelsyse struck me, it felt to me that when she had even the barest of handles on Doctor, she related to someone for the first time in forever, and it shook her to her very core. It may have been the first time she saw, in someone else, a potentially happy Muelsyse.

It's extremely bittersweet. If you've ever dealt with alienation, think back on the first time you found someone who truly "got you". Add to that the fact that her routine of interacting with people had become to see others as tools, and to always be on the lookout for those wishing to use and expend you as a tool. Then, add to that that there are definitely more Elves, but Muelsyse is so fundamentally different to them that the sheer differences in temperament and culture make it so it's impossible for her to relate to them anyway. What could be lonelier than that? It's called Lone Trail for a reason, because alienation is a main theme for all of these people.

In finding the sole person that could possibly relate to her in circumstance and temperament, it's easy to see where Muelsyse's interest in Doctor comes from. Whether you interpret it as romantic or otherwise, it can't be denied that this immensely strong interest exists. It comes from finally seeing a way to reach the surface after the world told her for decades that she simply could only drown. Because Doctor is the only other person that could understand her in being the last of their race and in having no past and maybe even no future, and yet, Doctor having so many bridges, while she has none. I think Muelsyse craves companionship, not necessarily romantic, from Doctor, and, this is important, also wants to have what they have, and be part of it, of so many bridges built without ulterior motives.

[madamechrissy]

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is 28-29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. Fingering, cumming, dirty talk, teasing this chap

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 8,191

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name.

Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right?

That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right?

Lawyer AU (If you wanna be tagged in updates let me know 💓)

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

The next morning you are sitting in the large courtroom, with its muted gray walls and long wooden benches, polished and reflecting the light above you. You are sitting at the front of the room, where the defense bench was, right next to Satoru Gojo, your notebook and pen ready to take notes.

Satoru looked fucking gorgeous, as always, but even more professional, in a black suit with a skinny tie, his white hair was slicked back just so, and his watch on his wrist was some fancy fucking silver thing that glinted bright. He peeked at it then, jotting more notes down himself, then looking over at you, giving you a little smile.

“You nervous, Miss Brat?” He murmurs, you flush at the use of that name in something like a courtroom, fidgeting a little with your pen, clicking it relentlessly, he smirks at the movement.

“A little? Honestly…” You whisper, looking around, to the Prosecution table, which had two very cutthroat lawyers sitting there, along with the lady’s family, you feel a twinge sitting close to the accused young man.

He was very, very young, eighteen years old, he sat next to his dad, one of the state Reps, both ooze old money. Satoru oozed money, sure, but these two? It was different. They seemed very quiet and worried, and were very polite, but to think you may be sitting next to a murderer…

“This is how it will go, baby girl.” He says softly, bringing your attention back to his light blue eyes.

“Don’t say stuff like that…” You trail off, and he gently rests his hand on your thigh under the table. No one could see it, and he wasn’t pushing it, but it felt so fucking… 

Good.

Fuck.

“You just pay attention, remember you’re here to observe and take notes only, let daddy work his magic.” He says with a grin, and you snort a bit, rolling your eyes at him, making him glare. “Something funny, brat?”

“Who refers to themself as Daddy?” You whisper, he grins again.

“Me, Daddy Gojo, baby.” He wiggles his brows and you cover your laugh with a hand, trying not to be inappropriate.

“All rise, for the Honorable Miss Takeuchi!” The bailiff announced, everyone in the room stood up, even Satoru, his hand sliding away from your thigh as he stands up, you do as well, until everyone is seated again.

You watch Satoru grow more serious, less playful, as he focuses intently, the judge was a stern looking woman with a sleek bun pulled tight, making her sharp features stand out more. She comes to sit on the large seat, slamming the gavel down on the table.

“Court is in session.” She says, commanding, and the prosecution begins then, one of the two lawyers standing up, making their opening statements.

“Your honor, this… monster here, has destroyed a family’s life. Even if it was a mere prostitute-” You cringe at that. “She was still a human being. It’s well known that Mr. Elrod’s son is a public nuisance. Drinking, partying, gallivanting around, and no consequences. Now, we certainly will make sure you see who this family really is.” The lawyer looks to the jury, a group of sixteen people.

"Watch the jury's faces. That's where the real battle is." His breath was warm and tickled the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, as he leans in to whisper.

“Got it.” You say softly with a nod.

“Now, the defense may make their opening statement.” Judge Takeuichi declares, and Satoru stood, unbuttoning his jacket casually, revealing the crisp white dress shirt underneath as he approached the podium.

Even his damn dress shoes were fucking gleaming, his posture was relaxed yet commanding, and every eye in the fucking room is on him. He smiles up at the judge, and even her, this stern woman, smiles a bit back at him for just a moment, before clearing her throat.

“Mr. Gojo, please commence.” She says, a little softer somehow.

“Thank you so much, truly, your reputation precedes you.” He says with a wink, and you smirk a bit. Fucking Gojo. “So… dear jury. Thank you all, for taking time out of your lives, first off. Second off, I promise, by the end of this, you’ll see that this young man is innocent.”

“Objection your Honor!”

“It’s my opening statement, your Honor.” Satoru counters, with a little pout, how did he look like some cute little boy then? The fuck.

“Overruled. Continue, Mr Gojo.”

Gojo grins. “Thank you, your honor.” He gives her a little half bow, then continues on. “Accused of killing someone? So what if he drinks, parties, what the fuck does that matter, excuse my vulgar language.”

“No worries, Mr. Gojo, please continue.” The judge damn near is swooning, at this point this is better than anything you have seen in your life, you lean forward, eagerly, jotting down notes that ended up being doodles of Gojo.

Damn it.

“Being a bit of a bad boy…” He stops, brushing a hand through his hair and damn near posing, you hear gasps behind you and see several girls swooning. “Well, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad guy. Make sense?”

The jury is nodding eagerly.

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

Gojo puts his hands together, bowing just a bit, gratefully to the judge then, and continues with his statement. You look next to you for a moment, at the accused young man who looked small and lost in his expensive suit, his eyes just a little hopeful then. His father, the state rep, sat rigidly beside him, his jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving his son.

Satoru finishes, and then comes back to sit next to you, so casual, like he didn’t just own the whole courtroom, giving you a little half turn of his pretty lips, lips so glossy and full it wasn’t fair. His long white lashes lower just as he peers at your notebook, then he’s full on fucking grinning.

Shit!

You look down in horror, since you had literally drawn a super rough little sketch of Gojo, he looked like a little chibi character, a la Hello Kitty. You even gave him a whole tail and had hearts. How did you do that, you wonder, it was like some school girl possessed you.

“I’m… sorry…” You manage, as the defense asks for the first witness, but Satoru snatches the notebook up.

“I kinda love it. Can I keep it?” You are bright red, covering your face.

“Oh please don’t… I’ll be more professional, promise.”

“It’s cute.” He says softly, but he hands it back to you, focusing on the matter at hand, listening to the Prosecution as they call up their witness.

“You’re amazing. Ugh.” He pops a candy in his mouth from the tray, a little lifesaver it looks like, handing you one too, discreetly, like it was some secret. You feel your heart flutter. Why is he so cute?

“Of course I’m amazing. Take one, keep you focused.” He puts it in your palm, and you pop it in your mouth, sucking on it, humming a bit.

“It’s yummy thank you, Professor Gojo.” You say, he just inclines his head, biting hard on the candy with a crack. How were his teeth so perfect when he did that?

How was Satoru so perfect?

What had even interested him in you that night, you wonder… but then, you stop wondering, because the last thing you need to be is soaking wet in court, you needed to focus. As you suck on the candy, it does help a bit you realize, the sugar necessary for you to calm down the jitters.

“Holy… it works.” You muse, and he just grins, pretty white teeth glinting with those damn fangs.

Soon, it’s time for Gojo to question the prosecution’s witness, and things grow tense, as the prosecution was surely well aware of Gojo’s reputation. He was one of the best cross examiners there was, hands down. You’d watched countless hours of him, you’d never admit it though, but something about seeing it in person is just different, you realize.

Gojo casually decimates everything the witness said, finding hole after hole in their story, until they’re stuttering. It’s brutal how he goes about it, as he casually struts back and forth, hands in his pockets, long legs walking about the courtroom, possessing it, while stressing the prosecution the fuck out to say the least. They were bright red, yelling objection so often it was insane.

Soon, it was time for Gojo’s witness.

"Your honor, if it pleases the court, I'd like to call Miss Haruka Itsuki to the stand," Satoru Gojo announced, his deep voice resonating through the hushed courtroom.

The bailiff nodded curtly and called out. "Miss Itsuki, would you please approach the stand."

As the young woman made her way through the little gate of the courtroom, the tension grew. You watch from your seat, right next to Gojo’s, which still boggles your mind, entranced as he peers at you for a moment, with those bright eyes and that smirk, it was just like he was Gojo… just in lawyer mode? And it was amazing.

The woman looked nervously around, her eyes fell on you for a brief moment, then to Gojo, and you saw a spark of trust in them. Haruka was a key witness for the defense, and her testimony could either make or break the case. You watched as she took the oath, her trembling hand resting on the worn leather-bound bible.

Gojo approached the stand and leaned in, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "Miss Itsuki, how are you?”

The courtroom giggles. Satoru is known for being a little different with how he approaches things. She flushes, fiddling with her hands. “I’ve been better, Sir.”

“I’ll try to get to the point, okay?” She nods, gratefully, and you hear the care and softness in Satoru’s voice, it surprises you a bit. “Can you tell us what you saw the night of the incident?"

Hesitant at first, Haruka began to recount the events of that evening. Her voice grew stronger with each sentence, her story a stark contrast to the prosecution's narrative, much to Gojo’s obvious pleasure. His smirk was seen clear across the room, and you peek around to notice the fan club he’s accrued, the women in the seats that hang on his every word, ones that gathered in the morning when you all walked in.

Is Gojo even hotter like this?

As if you needed it to be more of a desire…

Satoru catches your attention as he comes back to the little brown bench you sit at, picking up a big binder and winking down at you. You flush, biting your lip, his bright blue eyes fucking dart to it for a moment. Then he pulls himself together and slinks back over like a damn cat.

“So could you please give me a general run down of the night? I know it’s scary…” He takes a tissue box, handing it to her. The fan club is beyond swooning now, you hear them behind you. She dabs her eyes, nodding.

"I was walking home from the library," Haruka began, her voice clear and steady, "when I saw the accused and the victim arguing. They didn't notice me at first, but then..." She paused, swallowing hard. "They did, and the woman ran off, the accused was just standing there, looking confused.”

“So, not violent at all?”

“Objection, hearsay!”

“Sustained, please reword that Mr. Gojo.”

Gojo nods. “Did it appear as if he were violent to you?”

“No. It didn’t.”

“Could you continue if you’re ready?”

"He tried to calm her down, but the victim just kept walking…" She said, her eyes never leaving Gojo's. "Then, suddenly, someone else came out of the alley. A man in a hoodie. He had a knife." The room collectively gasped as she described the violent struggle that ensued.

As the final piece of her account fell into place, Gojo stepped back, his hands folded behind his back. "Thank you, Miss Itsuki. No further questions."

The prosecutor rose, his face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief. “Objection!” Gojo rolls his eyes.

“To what? The truth? My questioning is over. Your turn, buddy.” He blows him a kiss, and then all hell breaks loose, with the judge banging her gavel.

“Your honor! May we approach the bench?” The calmer lawyer asks, and they all go up, and you watch as Gojo’s annoyance grows, and their panic sets in. Soon, Gojo is back, sitting next to you, and they cross examine her.

The cross-examination was brutal, a verbal dance of accusations and denials. But Haruka held firm, her story unwavering, and Gojo is looking over at the prosecution.

You watched the jury members exchange glances, their expressions morphing from skepticism to doubt. The accused's family leaned in, hopeful as they talked to Satoru, thanking him.

“Don’t thank me yet. But, I’ll win, don’t worry. I always win.” He says, utterly condescending and cocky, loud enough for the fans. He turns to them, brushing his hair back and winking, and they all lose it.

“Ladies, you’ll have to leave if you can’t calm down.” The judge admonishes, and they instantly quiet.

“Satoru, you’re like famous?” You say softly, he laughs a bit, as if you weren’t at a fucking murder trial. Like this is another day.

“I know. I don’t take many cases anymore, not with teaching, just some high profile ones.” You tilt your head curiously at that, but then your attention was brought back to court.

The courtroom clock ticked away the minutes, the hours, and it became a little uncomfortable, warm, fucking tense. The air was tense, charged with the anticipation of a verdict that could hinge on the words of a single witness. You notice everyone is tired, uncomfortable…

Prosecution brings out another witness, and you study carefully, curious about the things he is saying, it’s as if he seems to be following someone’s script almost. You nervously click that pen, wondering if you should suggest something to Satoru, but you don’t want to overstep.

“Let’s adjourn for recess,” Comes the voice of the judge now. “We will meet back in an hour and a half. Get some food, and ladies, maybe get some air.” She teases the girls, and then when Gojo stands he helps you up, earning you the ire of them.

“Don’t, they’ll kill me.” You whisper, he just whistles a bit, grabbing his things, and nodding his head.

“Let’s go grab something to eat, hmm?” You nod, feeling your tummy growling quietly. You follow him through the aisles, and giggle into your hand as he waves at his fans as he walks by.

“Can we get a picture of you!” A few girls ask, and he comes and takes selfies with them, throwing up the peace sign. You just watch on in amusement, as everyone walks by you all now.

“Is this your girlfriend, Mr. Gojo!” A particular girl asks. You flush. He just throws his head back in laughter.

“Nah, she wishes.” He winks, you glare.

“Don’t we all!”

“Let’s go.” You shove past him, walking through the throngs of people, as you all step out of the room, taking a breath and leaning on the wall when you get far enough away.

Girlfriend.

You were a student.

You were just…

A one night stand.

“Everything all right? Too intense?” Satoru’s voice shakes you out of your reverie then, you sigh, nodding with a little smile. He leans on the wall next to you, casually, popping down his briefcase and crossing his arms.

“I’m fine, promise. It is a little… insane I guess. I’ve never been so close to something like that.” You don’t mention the fact that there was a stupid thrill in thinking of being his girlfriend. A stupid thrill.

You couldn’t stand him right?

“What do you wanna eat? My treat.” You look hungrily at him, and you hate it, hate what would be on the tip of your tongue if you weren’t…

“Anything is good with me. Sushi?”

“I know the perfect place, just across the street. Come on.” He hitches his head, and you follow him to his car, he holds the door open which he seems to do, something that surprises you.

Gojo surprises you.

He slides in, and you both seatbelt, he casually throws his arm over the back of your seat as he looks in the rearview to back up, far too fucking close. You tense a bit just at that, and being alone with him in this car, remembering the last time… when he’d had his hand up your skirt.

You shift your thighs, then tense when you notice his eyes dart to the motion, nothing got past him. “Aching, Miss Brat?” He purrs the words in that deep voice, as you all sit at the light.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Such a bad liar. Work on that.”

“Don’t start, Professor Dickhead.” You huff, crossing your arms, and he just smirks over at you.

“Did you not remember to masturbate last night? I told you to.”

“I did.”

Fuck.

The car is insanely tense now, his eyes wide on your face, which is bright red, your eyes catch his, and then a honk happens, and you realize Gojo is just sitting at a green light now. He sighs, shaking himself out of it, and zipping through the traffic, weaving in and out, hands tense.

“How do you?” He murmurs, as you all come to park at the restaurant, you tremble then, when he unsnaps your seatbelt, looking at you with that lustful, sexy fucking gaze.

“How do I, what?” Your voice squeaks, pathetic you muse.

Gojo leans forward a bit, brushing your hair behind your ear, doing wild things to your psyche. “How do you get off, Miss Brat?”

That whisper fucks you mentally, and you shift again, cunt throbbing from just his mere words, from that clean scent of him in his tiny sports car, mixing with the leather of his fancy damn seats. Impeccable damn seats, and you’re like to just fucking soak them if you move wrong, forcing you to press your thighs together, and he sure fucking notices that too.

“Too nervous to tell me?” He’s murmuring the words, way too close now, and you struggle to hold your composure.

“It’s none of your business, is all.” You say haughty, but you shiver as his breath is hot against your ear now.

“You’re not hitting it good enough, you’re so fucking ready I smell how turned on you are.” You gasp then, lips parted, as his hand’s back on your thigh, fucking burning you.

“Smell what?!”

“It smells good as fuck… I remember it. Vividly.” You moan then, hating what he’s doing to you.

“There’s no way. I keep it very fucking squeaky, Professor Gojo.”

He laughs at that, nipping your earlobe with sharp teeth. “You sure do, but I just can tell. It's intoxicating.”

“Whatever, so full of shit. And I just… used my fingers, mmkay? It’s no mystery to solve.” He moans a bit in your ear, and you wonder, how does he sound when he is cumming?

Ugh.

“Fingers inside or on the clit?” He’s trailing light fingers up and down your thigh, right above your knee, thank god, you’re soaking another pair of panties. You just look at him as he pulls away a bit, lost in his gaze.

“I tried inside but… it sucked.” You look away, and he laughs a bit then. “What is so funny?”

“They’re so tiny.” He picks up one of your hands then, and you see it next to his, his long fingers positively dwarfing your little ones. Your hand is swallowed in his grip, his big hand wrapping around it now. “Of course they don’t hit like mine. I’d argue not many men have hmm?”

“I haven’t been with…” You trail off, eyes wide then, freaking the fuck out, and he looks at you with confusion.

“Haven’t been with many men?” He finishes and you don’t even answer, how can you answer? That you’d not gotten off with either of the two guys you'd fucked, you hadn’t even liked sex.

What did it say about you?

You’d had chances to do more than two damn times, but you preferred to study, to read silly little books, alone, fuck you barely hung out with your only friends. It wasn’t like you hadn’t gone on dates, you had, but you never went on second dates really. And if you did, you definitely didn’t do third ones. Because you couldn’t fit them into your life, they couldn’t understand you’re just a fucking nerd honestly.

A law nerd.

“Cat got your tongue, Miss Brat?” Gojo again has interrupted your internal monologue, it’s something he’s very good at. Your eyes meet his stupidly pretty face, and you sigh.

“I guess you could say that.” Is all you manage, and his lawyer-like gaze hits hard now, then his brows raise.

“Oh fuck… you…”

“Shut it.” You glare at him.

“You’re a virgin are you fucking kidding?” He seems more upset about the thought than you, you just look away, feeling trapped now in this fancy damn car.

“No, not a virgin. Relax. Just… only a couple….” 

“Only a couple of times?” You just nod. “A couple means two, you know that yeah?”

“Like two times. Yeah. Freshman year so its been a while.”

Gojo just blinks. “Are these young college guys that shit at it?”

You snort at that. “It was uncomfortable. I just didn't really like it.”

“You’re really small so yeah it would hurt if you weren’t ready.”

“It didn't hurt, it just felt off when i fucked. I can't explain it.”

His eyes narrow. “Like off how?”

“Didn't feel right. I wondered if something was wrong with me? Like they tried I think? And… no.”

“So you have done some things, then yeah? I wasn’t your first…” You refuse to look at him, and it gets oddly quiet in the car now. You look down at your thighs, and feel his tension, as if it’s your own. “Really?!”

“Don’t worry about it, please, it’s not like it…”

“Meant something?” You blink back stupid emotion, shaking your head. “So it was just physical? Like you just… wanted to get off with someone?”

“No.” You can’t all out lie, unfortunately, you’re shit at it. You hear him sigh next to you now. “I never was very curious before. I just… studied a lot? And didn’t care to try again. Until you."

“Why do it so randomly though?”

You laugh a bit, harshly, looking at him again. “Are you judging me, Satoru? It was your idea that night.”

“Yeah but like…” He runs his hand through his hair, and you watch as his brows draw low together, and he damn near glares at you. “Like if I knew you had damn near no experience…”

You pause, and your breath catches. “Fuck, you regret it?” Your voice is hoarse, and you feel the tears coming now, as you hug yourself. He curses, softly, taking your arms down, but you lean away now.

“Fuck no. I loved pleasing you.” His grip on your wrists tighten, and you feel too many emotions at once overflowing. “But like, if I knew I wouldn’t have just sprung that the fuck on you?”

You look up at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

He curses, looking down at your lips, which you nervously lick. “Like I would have maybe just kissed you, asked you out, I-”

“Asked me out?” You whisper, and he sighs again, running a hand through his perfect hair.

“Well I was going to after before I lost sight of you... But I’d have done that first, like gone on dates… not just drank you up on a bathroom door. Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.” You whisper back, then you put one of your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, speeding up under your palm. “I'm not a virgin please relax.”

“Close enough. I wasn’t your first orgasm right?”

“I cum on my own just fine.” You’re bright red now.

“I’m the first… orgasm someone else gave you?” You nod, a bit jerky, and he leans his head back in the car, covering his face.

“Is it that weird?”

“Yes it’s weird! It’s really weird.” You feel tears fall now and he curses, waving his hands. “No, no, it's not bad. Shit… Weird, not bad.”

“It’s embarrassing as fuck, and…. I don’t want anyone to know, I thought like I couldn't get off unless I masturbated? I don't know.”

“Not your fault, they just were trash.” You exhale, realizing how sweet he was, deep in there, under the layers of cockiness.

“You did really fucking good at it.” You whisper, looking down, burning with embarrassment, and he gently takes your shoulders, lightly brushing his hands down them. “It was a lot of fun for me, okay?”

“Yeah… I could tell that.” He smirks when you smack at him, shoving his shoulder a bit, then your hand just stops, resting there, and you look at his chest, so broad in the suit… “So I’m so attractive I make virgins go wild?”

“Shut up! Not a virgin. Just picky now.” You giggle though, and he does too, and it feels oddly comfortable, despite the ridiculous conversation.

“Oh… tips on masturbation…”

“Really, still?”

“I don’t wanna make you feel awkward being a virgin, so I will just shit talk you the same way.”

“You’re so generous, Satoru.”

“I know right? Wait… you’re being sarcastic!” You giggle again, and he just pouts at you now, with those puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t need tips. Maybe I’ll… I don’t know, go play again now that I know I can. Who knows.” You outright lie now, and earn his scowl, looking you up and down.

“No, you won’t.” He says, so self assured, your mouth drops open. “You’re not the type, at least, not unless it’s me.”

“Whatever, what would it matter? We can’t…”

“Yeah, I fucking know. But that doesn’t mean you can go fuck with someone else…”

“What?”

“Yeah, fuck that.”

You blink a bit, laughing more, and he’s really mad at you now. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

“You’re a whole fucking brat. You know that? And full of shit, because I know the only action you’re getting is getting off to the thought of me.”

Your eyes narrow. “Fuck you, Professor Dickhead.”

“You’d like to. Hmm… am I who you’ve been saving it for?” He grins even more deviously.

“I literally have fucked twice! That's not… nothing!”

“I've fucked eight times in one day casually.” You pause, inhaling, images flooding through you.

“What?! How… anatomically?”

He's fucking grinning now, as your head whirls. “Need a demonstration?”

“God!” You open the door, needing to get out of the confined little fucking car, you couldn’t breathe.

He is the only man you want… 

“Can we go eat? I'm so hungry!” He sighs, getting out of the car as well, then he’s right next to you, too close.

“Yeah, come on.” You two walk into the restaurant together, his hand at the small of your back, a gentle pressure, and your heart is racing, thundering in your chest, you notice how sleek and pretty the restaurant is.

“Mr. Gojo!” The hostess comes running, and so do a couple waitresses, and they all eagerly talk to him as you all get seated.

You struggle to cool down after you all eat, nibbling on yummy sushi, Gojo gets a fuck ton of food, and keeps shoving different things in your mouth. It oddly feels like a whole date, but it’s not, right? And would you want that?

***

“You’re quiet.” Gojo muses later on, when you all are back in the courthouse, there are still about twenty minutes before you all can go back in. You two are sitting in the little room Satoru has to go over his case, and you’re mulling over something you’d thought of earlier. “Still thinking of fucking me?”

“Oh god, Satoru.” You roll your eyes. “No, actually, it was something about that witness they brought in… it really gave me an idea. Is it okay to share? I know I’m not supposed to-”

“Nah, go for it.” He leans back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk and entwining his hands on his chest, looking far too good. You shift a bit in your seat, and hate that damn smirk when he notices.

“God, stop analyzing me all the time! Please…” You look down, cheeks bright pink, as they always were around him.

“Nah, it’s just what I do. Study people. Now, focus, and tell me what you’re thinking about it, I’m curious now.”

“Okay… Well, listen, the last witness went on about how they saw that person Haruka is accusing of having a knife on the phone, and that she was seeing shit, right?” He nods, steepling his fingers and looking at you intently. “Where are the phone records?”

Gojo sits up and tosses over a binder. “Right there, and they did make a call right before that time…”

“Yes but what about the time in between?”

“Hmm?”

“Like…” You sit on his desk, crossing your legs and scanning through the records of each message and call. “Look… it’s a ten second call. Then nothing?”

“What?” You nod, showing him, leaning forward.

“Something’s deleted, I could bet on it.”

“Bets don’t fly baby girl. We could get a warrant for their records, but I’d have to call and get one, they’re not a suspect yet, just a person of interest.” He sits up a bit, and you lean further.

You bite your lip, thinking hard. “What if we subpoena the phone records from the service provider? We could argue that we need them to corroborate the witness’s statement about the accused’s whereabouts during the call. If we can show that there was and then a suspicious deletion, it’s a strong argument for relevance.”

Gojo nods, his gaze sharp and focused. “It’s a risk, but it’s a good one. And if we play it right, we might just get what we need… it’s actually super fucking smart.”

You can’t help but beam at the compliment. “You really think so?”

“Fuck yes it is… let me see what I can do.”

He pulls out his cell phone then, and starts making calls, his voice sharp and commanding as he speaks to whoever is on the other end, different from the ease in which he talks to you. You can’t help but feel a mix of pride and anxiety. This is real, and you’re in the thick of it. You’ve never felt so alive, so important.

The possibility of uncovering the truth is tantalizing, and you want it so badly you can almost taste it…

As the time for the court to resume nears ever closer, Gojo hangs up the phone with a smirk. “Looks like we’re getting a warrant. We’re going to nail this fucker to the wall. Are you ready for this Miss Brat?”

You nod, feeling a determination you’ve never felt before. The air between you is charged with excitement and anticipation. You stand up, smoothing out your skirt, and he offers you his hand, and suddenly you all are too close, alone in that little room, and your adrenaline is running through your fucking veins, and you can see it clearly is for him too.

“It’s a fucking thrill, huh?” He whispers, his pretty blue eyes are just glittering with excitement, and you grin, nodding, hands gently gripping his strong forearms.

“It really is, fuck. I can’t believe I might actually help you?” He pulls you closer, damn near in a hug, and you realize how bad you yearn for it, for his touch, for an embrace… fuck, for one more damn kiss.

“We can’t say you helped officially, but I think I can talk to Dean Yaga and get you continued on this case, it’s not just gonna be one day you know. What ya think?” You nod, fucking thrilled at the idea.

“You think so, Satoru?”

“I do. You’re such a brilliant, bratty little thing. But I kinda already fucking knew that.” You flush under his praise, it felt so good, so well earned. When he cups your cheek so gently, you moan softly, then bite your lip hard, stopping it.

“Thank you, Satoru, really. That means a lot.” You both stand there, and then the five minute alarm goes off on both of your phones, you reach down to swipe yours off but he stops you then, grabbing your shoulders in a tight grip. “What is it?”

“Five minutes… think I could make you cum?” His eyes have gone fucking insane, you blink rapidly, lips parting.

“Wh-what!?” Your voice squeaks, and he just grins now, looking completely psycho.

And hot as fuck.

“Remember we had twenty minutes? Well… it didn’t take that long. Not for that needy little cunt of yours.” He reaches down, cupping you, pressing your skirt fabric against your throbbing pussy. You gasp, then your head falls back, and you unwillingly grind on his hand.

“Fuck what’s wrong with me?” You whisper out loud, thinking it was in your head, he laughs softly, pressing you against the door. “We can’t!”

“Just a little orgasm, baby girl. Now we have four minutes…” He slides your skirt up, finding you with his fingers, rubbing on your dripping wet panties. You shove a hand on your mouth to muffle the cry of pleasure. “Do you think I can do it?”

“You’re fucking crazy, Satoru… ugh…” Your eyes shoot up to his, locking, intense as fuck.

“You want it?” He murmurs softly, sliding down the waistband of your panties now, finding you with his long fingers, sliding up and down your slit. You shiver, clinging to his jacket tightly.

“You know I do, jerk. But we… ah!” You bury your head against his chest when he slides a finger in, so deep, you’re already pulsing around him.

“You’re soaked, baby girl. Don't you deserve some good treatment after that master fucking idea?”

“Mnh… why do you… wanna get me off? Not… you…”

“I wanna see that look in those fucking eyes again.” His voice is husky, and you fall back against the wall he's pressed you against. “Let me use my fingers at least. That's all. Yes or no?”

You just arch a leg up, wrapping it around his hip, giving the smallest little nod as your answer, and he moans, pressing deeper, sliding two fingers up inside your walls, massaging that spot he hits, the one that has you dizzy, makes your mind fuzzy. He watches you, his other hand holding your thigh up, gripping it tight so that your thigh squishes in his hold

“Satoru…” You moan his name, so quiet, biting your lip hard as you hang on to his shoulders, as he angles his arm to press up deeper.

“Shh, baby girl. Can’t get caught.” You nod, swallowing all your moans, hips arching up for more. “Good girl.”

“Fuck…” It comes out a breathy little sigh, as he’s pumping his long, thick fingers deep inside your aching cunt now, so deep, that you feel that pressure build in your tummy, feel your walls clenching his fingers, as he fucking stares at you. With those goddamn eyes.

“You’re so stupid tight.” He whispers, spreading your wetness around your clit now, rubbing it for just a moment, making your hips jerk, then he’s back fucking you with them again. “So fucking wet…”

“Mmnh… please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, but he seems to know, when he’s got you sitting against the desk now, and he leans down and fucking spreads you wide, spitting on your cunt. You gasp at it, at how lewd it sounds and looks, as he grins, spreading his saliva all over your puffy clit now. “Ah!”

“Pretty, perfect little cunt.” He muses, flicking two of his fingers up to your G spot, while the other hand uses a thumb to circle your clit, surrounded with his spit and your desire, and you’re starting to fall the fuck apart, hands clutching the edge of the desk for dear life, knuckles white.

“Close… close…” You cry out the words, covering your mouth when he flicks faster, working hands in perfect sync, muffling your screams, and he’s just watching you, watching your face, working your hole and your clit perfectly.

“Cum for me, pretty.” He orders silkenly, leaning closer, looming over you so fucking tall. “Now.”

You literally obey, there’s no other word for it, as you feel yourself gushing cum all over his hands, hot and sticky, and he’s moaning himself, just watching as you fall apart at his touch. You jerk and then tremble as you scream your orgasm into your hands, as you lean your head back, hips lifting off the desk with the force of it, and then you’re soaking everything.

“Oh my god…” He whispers, easing out of your little cunt, but stroking your sensitive slit, between your lips, you cry out, tears pricking your eyes, feeling how slippery you are.

“S-Satoru! Mmm! Stop, I’ll cum again. Please.” He laughs a bit, softly, looking down at your glistening pussy, dripping out wetness. “It’s so messy, stop.”

“Fuck yes it’s messy… and it’s sexy as fuck.” He whispers, as if in amazement, pulling his hand back to reveal your sticky cum, oozing off his fingers. “You’re a whole goddamn waterfall.”

“Shush… it sucks!” You hiss, struggling to breathe, but he shakes his head at you, flicking your clit one more time, before licking you off his fingers, making you damn near cum again.

“Is this just for me?” He asks softly, and you hear it, the cockiness, but also a vulnerability. You just nod, looking down.

“Yeah, it doesn’t happen like that… alone. And never with… I mean I…” The phones go off again, and you tense, he stops you before you jump up, your eyes lock.

“Feel better, Miss Brat?” You sigh, nodding.

“What’s this mean?” You ask softly, he pauses, easing your skirt down now, and you realize, you all haven’t kissed, and you ache for it now, as he leans forward, fixing up your hair that had come loose.

“It means I got my new star pupil off. Probably some kind of academic blasphemy, but…” Someone knocks then. Gojo sighs, helping you down on wobbly knees, smirking at you. “Don’t walk like a deer now, we have work.”

“Ugh… give me a minute. Fuck I’m…” You’re soaked, and Gojo looks around, then goes to the bathroom, coming back with wipes in a little pack, you go to grab it but he cleans you up, quick. You’re mortified. “I’m so sorry…”

“For being Niagra Falls?” You giggle at that. “Don’t apologize for that, maybe apologize to my stupidly hard dick.”

You peer down, mind going wild.

What did Satoru Gojo look like naked? His body felt so strong, you could only imagine that body, those muscles… and his cock? You’d felt it against you, but how thick… how long…

“Stop staring at it, making it worse, brat.” He huffs, and you feel even more embarrassed, like were you some fiend? Fucking hell.

“Sorry, Satoru… let’s go?”

“Hmm, don’t I get a thank you?” He raises a brow, and you sigh, rolling your eyes as he taps his cheek. “Plant one on me.”

You lean up, kissing one of his stupidly high cheekbones, then he turns, and your lips brush, you fucking gasp, and he exhales, grabbing you, yanking you against him, lips pressing on yours. You grip his hair, moaning into his mouth, and you’re all over each other, it’s just like that goddamn night, something just tingles, burns through your lips, through your body.

“Fuck, let’s go. Now. Shit.” He whispers, yanking back. You nod.

“Yes, yes, let’s go. Now.” You gulp, as you two hurry to the door, hands both on each others, you’re both just staring at each other, the energy in the room damn near unbearable.

What the fuck was that?

What is this?

You all manage to make it in time, and the trial goes on for a few more hours, and with each passing moment, you can feel the jury leaning more and more towards Gojo's argument. His confidence is infectious, and you can't help but be drawn in by it, just the same as everyone in the room.

“We have to wait till tomorrow for the phone deletion records.” Gojo murmurs over to you, hand on your thigh again, discreet but it feels so wrong… so deliciously fucking wrong.

“And I’ll come tomorrow?” You ask, softly, as the Prosecution wraps up for the day, Gojo grins at you.

“If you’re a good girl.” He cooes, and you roll your eyes, sighing.

“Court is adjourned for the day, we will all meet tomorrow. Get some rest, everyone.” The judge gets up, as do all of you, standing and watching her walk out, and soon you all are gathering your things, and Satoru talks to the Representative and his son, as well as his team. You wait patiently, and then you all head out.

It’s night time already, the sky is all pinks and purples, the sun has set below the horizon now, and there’s a little bit of a chill with the breeze. Satoru notices you shivering, and frowns, taking off his jacket, slinging it around your arms as you all stand on the steps of the outside of the courthouse.

“Satoru, I’m fine, you parked close.” You say, but you snuggle into the jacket, inhaling his scent, and he just shakes his head, hands in his pockets as he walks his lanky self down the steps.

“No worries, cold doesn’t bother me. Oooh, I’m like Elsa!” He shouts, spreading his arms wide and running down the steps. You burst out laughing, clutching your notebooks tightly, slowly following him. He turns and grins at you, eyes lit up like some little kid.

“How many times have you ‘Rocky’ ran up these?” You tease, as the steps were steep and long. He laughs with you.

“God, so many times!” He takes you by the shoulders, and you tense just a bit. “No one is around, Miss Brat. Relax.”

“I wouldn’t ever wanna get you in trouble…” You whisper, and you all pause at the end of the steps, the breeze blowing your hair around. Satoru sighs, brushing it with his fingers. It feels way too good.

“We haven’t fucked… yet. But, we can be careful, can’t we?”

“No, I almost fucked you yesterday in front of my dorm.” He just grins at that, pulling you to walk along with him.

“I’m the best fucking lawyer ever, do you know, I never lost a fucking case?”

“It doesn’t surprise me. You’re pretty amazing.”

“See!” You all get to his car, and he opens your door, taking his jacket that you hand him, you slide in the car, buckling in.

“I just… it’s really intense.”

Satoru revs up the engine, nodding. “Yeah, it is. But I damn sure am not having you go fuck someone because I have you all horny. I’ll just get you off.”

You blink at that. “What? That’s insane. Why do you care?”

He glares over at you. “I don’t share.”

“But… we’re not… together?”

“Not yet.” He just shrugs, and you watch the way his forearm muscles flex as he grips that steering wheel, as he turns it, driving through the evening, everything is getting darker, his words eat you alive.

Not yet?!

“You’re really insane, Satoru.”

“I know. It’s why I’m a good lawyer. You really shined today… I think you’ll do really well.”

“Really?” He nods, and you can’t stop the smile, the warmth, and you come just a little closer, holding his arm. “Can I… rest a bit? On your shoulder?” You ask so softly, he looks down at you as he hits a light. “Fuck, that’s weird huh?”

“Shut up and come here.” He unbuckles your seat belt, putting up the arm rest, and you’re against him, on the side of his chest, sliding his arm around you, and you exhale, snuggling, wrapping your arm around his waist. He continues to drive with one hand, and you kiss his neck. “Fuck…”

“You always smell so good.” You murmur, eyes heavy, because for once you just feel so damn comfortable, held by him…

It makes you ache to think about.

“You smell good too. Like… blossoms? I can’t believe I’m saying this stupid shit, wow.” You just giggle, and shut your eyes, the sounds of the car driving is oddly soothing.

“Thank you for today.”

“For making you cum?”

“For bringing me, and for listening to me. It means alot.” He sighs again. “And yeah, for making me cum.”

“Knew it!” You just snort at that, then you feel sleep lulling you. “Take a nap, Miss Brat, it’s a good hour drive.”

“Mmkay, that sounds nice.”

***

Before you know it, you’re gently being shaken awake, you blink a bit, looking up at Satoru, positively glowing in the night. You brush your fingertips along his jaw before you think better, and then you freeze, realizing what you were doing, and you ease off of him.

“Sorry, I must have dozed hard.”

“It was the orgasm.” He winks, and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever. How are you so sweet but such an ass?”

“It’s a talent, baby girl. Let me get the door.” He is opening your side, and you stand up and yawn, stretching, in front of your dorm building now. It’s gone pitch black, just a sliver of the moon and the stars now, and the wind is gently blowing Satoru’s formerly perfect hair around.

“See you tomorrow, ‘Toru?” You mumble, yawning, and he pauses you as you turn to leave, touching the small of your back. You turn, looking.

“ ‘Toru’ huh? Not Professor Dickhead tonight?” He’s got his hands on your waist, gently pressing his thumbs under your breasts. You feel desire shoot through you, arching your head back against him.

“No, not tonight.” You look back at him, as he takes your chin in his hand. “We shouldn’t act like this here.”

“I’d like to spread these thighs wide on my hood right now.” He whispers in your ear, you bite back a moan, arching your ass against him, he hisses at it. “When you masturbate thinking of me, picture that, your legs spread on my hood while I eat this pretty pussy.”

“Satoru you’re fucking evil. Ugh!” You pull away, turning and looking at him, cheeks flushed and rosy, but he’s not joking, he’s dead serious, staring at you with hooded lids.

“And when you cum next time, you’ll say ‘Toru.”

“Will I?” You back away a bit, hand still in his clutches, until his arm is stretched between you both.

“You will.”

“Why?” You look up at him.

“Because I like how it sounds from that pretty mouth.” He lifts your hand to his lips, and you tremble as they brush your knuckles, as he looks more handsome than any disney prince ever could, fucking being a gentleman? When he did the most ungentlemanly things in your mind.

“I should get some sleep.” You manage, and he smirks.

“Drink lots of water, you gotta be dehydrated from all that cumming, Niagra.”

“Oh my god!” You yank your hand away, glaring, and he’s leaning on his fancy sports car, crossing his legs and arms. “Night, Professor Dickhead.”

“Night, Miss fucking Brat.” You run off, and when you’re in your dorm you strip quickly, once again peeling sticky panties off your thighs.

Fucking hell.

It’s worse now.

You flop into your bed after a shower later, and there he is, texting you.

Professor Dickhead : I'll be there at eight am sharp.

You: I’ll be ready.

Professor Dickhead: Get some sleep, Miss Brat.

You flip on your back, holding the phone up, tired eyes making the letters on the screen jumble and go fuzzy a bit. The memory of his fingers, of his goddamn lips on yours, you’d do anything to feel it again, and that terrifies you. You can’t fuck up his life, can’t fuck up yours, but you just can’t help it. You crave him, Satoru Gojo, insane, goofy, conceited…

Bad ass fucking hot lawyer.

Shit.

You: Good night, ‘Toru.

You don’t know why, but you say that, and he texts three bubbles for a while, over and over, as you’re dozing off further. You errantly wonder what sort of reply he’s gonna come up with, something snarky? Or-

Professor Dickhead: Sweet dreams, pretty.

Fuck.

You heart the message, before hiding the phone from yourself, burying your face in your pillow, heart fucking racing.

You were screwed, huh?

Chapter 4

Chapter on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/145653715#workskin

[delta-pavonis]

OKAY. OKAY.

HEAR ME OUT.

Hellknight!Hob wearing this. Chest hair and tiddies out, full happy trail, all of it...

Of course, I think about that, and that inspires a ficlet. And then that ficlet turns dark. So... *shrug* *shoves new baby out in the world*

Rated T

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time Hob sees Dream is when the latter has the audacity to enter the Morningstar's realm. He watches as the Dream King intimidates Squatterbloat into bringing him to the Palace. The demon is stupid and gullible, easily swayed, and Hob has a mind to bury his morningstar in the moron's fleshy head, but he would rather observe the visitor and his raven from the shadows.

Hob trails them, the straps of his armor expanding and morphing to cover his body with the mottled charcoals and midnights that are the palette of Hell. Squatterbloat leads the King in a circuitous route to their destination, passing a cell whose occupant not only commands the attention of the sovereign of the Dreaming, but whose pleading pains him. Curious.

He follows the pair of black figures beyond their guided tour, all the way into Lucifer's Hall, sliding unnoticed through the crack in the main doors. Hob is good at his job. He hadn't been successful at being a bandit and cutthroat in life for nothing.

Hob takes a place in the long shadows of one of the pillars and observes.

Apparently the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares is here in Hell to retrieve his helm, one of his important symbols of office. And of course it is some overly ripe idiot like Choronzon who has it. Sometimes Hob just wants to kill them all and promote new individuals to the positions of power, sometimes the house can't be cleaned, it needs to be razed and rebuilt.

But what is truly awe-inspiring is watching the battle between Dream and the Morningstar themself. The Dream King wins, although not handily. It makes the victory even more impressive. Hope. Of fucking course. Hob is quite sure that he has never seen the Lord of Hell so visibly angry in all his 600 plus years in the underworld.

Helm secured and confidence restored, the Lord of the Dreaming is proud and... well, he is incredibly beautiful. He is sharp angles in soft greys and blacks, luminous white skin draped in flowing ink, spikes of hair wafting against gravity.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Hob follows Lord Morpheus and his raven back outside. They walk slowly through the barren, twisted landscape, calculated and careful. Imperious.

Hunger ripples down Hob's spine. He wants.

The Lord stops, body going more still than death. "I am here in my official capacity as King of Dreams and Nightmares. You have followed me for long enough. Show yourself, fiend."

The Dream King's voice is so much deeper and darker than Hob expected and now it is directed at him and it goes directly to his cock. He decides to drop any pretense all at once.

Hob has no shame as he steps out from hiding, the shadow-plates sliding back and leaving him in what really amounts to a series of leather straps and a loincloth, buckled to accentuate the triangle of his torso and the strength in his chest, with sleeves from biceps to palms. The Knights of Hell need no metal protection - they shield themselves in darkness and guile - and so Lucifer Morningstar gives them intangible weapons: the ability to inspire lust and envy as much as wrath. He drops his physical weapon and holds his hands out to his sides.

"Dream King," Hob inclines his head. "I am not here to harm, nor am I here at the behest of my Lord, the Lightbringer." He meets the King's piercing blue eyes and has to grit his teeth to hold in a gasp at how sharply they cut into his breast.

That look trails from Hob's head to his toes slowly, then back up. Judging. Assessing. "So why do you dog my steps, Hellknight?"

He shrugs and takes a step forward. There is no reason for Hob to not be bold. He has long been dead. He has been a resident of Hell and served the Devil themself, has lived that fate worse than death, for almost seven centuries. He has, quite literally, nothing to lose.

So Hob nudges a the magic at his disposal into the cant of his hips, the tilt of his head, the purse of his lips. He lowers his eyelids and takes another step towards the luminous being of black and white before him. "I merely wish to look my fill before I can no longer."

"Bossss..." The raven flies a nervously tight circle above them. He is summarily ignored.

"You wish to more than look, Hellknight, for I can taste your dreams." The Lord of Nightmares snarls as he takes multiple steps to get into Hob's personal space. "You dare-"

Hob laughs loud enough to interrupt him and those ice shards widen in shock. "Oh, yes. I dare." He steps up once more and now their faces are within inches of each other. "How do you think the Morningstar trains their knights? Do you think there is anything you could do to me that would be worse than 700 years of this?"

The resonant chuckle that curls across Hob's skin should probably worry him, but he cannot muster such sense when he is watching the pupils of the Dream King's eyes bleed black outwards, eclipsing his eyes entirely, and wholly captivating Hob. "Lucifer Morningstar's sins often get in the way of their... creativity."

A pale hand shoots towards him and Hob braces for impact, for pain.

He gets nothing of the sort.

Fingers that are the coolness of a lake in summer skate with hedonistic gentleness across Hob's cheek. The palm cups Hob's jaw sweetly. Honeyed breath caresses Hobs lips before they are pressed together. Then he is being kissed with the fondness and warmth of a dear lover.

And that is when Hob realizes that he has vastly miscalculated.

Against his better judgement, Hob is lost to the tide of it. The softest touch of tongues morphs into lazy familiar licks, mapping Hob's mouth as if to memorize, immortalize.

The King of Dreams pulls away and Hob is left panting and hazy.

"I touch you, I kiss you, as I would a lover, as I would my beloved." The King whispers it like a benediction. Hob gasps at the horror that settles into the marrow of his bones. "And never will you feel it again."

And then he is gone.

Hob watches, frozen, as each stride the King takes covers miles. It is only when they have disappeared over the horizon, both Lord and Raven, that Hob realizes tears are streaming down his face.

[mosneakers]

The moonlight guides Selene and Lou through their tumultuous history, delicately weaving through the painful thorns of their past. Selene's eyes glisten, and Lou's apologies foam from his mouth as he confesses his constant thoughts of her since that fateful ordeal. The hope in his voice is palpable, he pleads to her forgive him. The moon provides Selene a gust of wind to throw caution to, and before Lou can even finish his sentiment, Selene wonders to herself, "what if I just kissed him right now?"

Selene: [Breaks from kiss, breathless]

Lou: Selene...... I never stopped thinking about you. Selene: I thought I lost you forever...

Lou: No! I'm here now. [Picks her up off her feet] Forever. My Fated Mate...

Further along the same woodland path where Lou and Selene rediscover their connection, Wolfegang and Janie meander the trail for hours, their conversation weaving effortlessly between conversation and flirtatious laughter. As the influence of the moon intensifies, the two of them lose pieces of their armor: a helmet, a wig, and finally, their inhibitions.

Janie finds herself charmed by Wolfegang's quick wit and extensive vocabulary; Ironically, Enthralled by her intellect and radiant smile, Wolfegang must restrain the urge to reveal the overwhelming notion of "FATED MATE," the only thought loudly ringing through his mind.

And the sunrise creeps in, threatening to steal away their precious time together, Wolfegang seizes the moment to invite Janie to his library, cementing her realization that she's found the man of her dreams.

About a half an hour later ~

Hazy and disoriented, Brick awakens near a pile of passed out wildfang members, surrounded by trash and empty bottles scattered about.

Brick: [Begins transforming back to "normal" form] ...The FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK happened last night?

Rebel: You got a taste of your full potential, bro... Brick: Oh, it's you. Rebel: My Beta was off getting all cozy and fate-forging with his fated mate, so we had room for one more last night. The pack agreed to let you party with us. Must not remember any of it. You had a lot to drink!

With unintentionally synchronized movements, Rebel and Brick plopped onto the ground simultaneously, sending a flurry of crisp autumn leaves swirling into the air. Brick: Yeah well... It ain't happenin' again. Everyone had someone to leave the party with but me. This don't usually happen. This fated mates shit is screwin' with my head. Rebel: ...Who said you didn't leave with someone? Brick: Bro, what?! Rebel: [Laughter] Chill, I'm fucking with you. Who cares about all that right now? You're still new to this wolf thing. Focus on honing your skills, serving your pack, having your fun! You helped Lou and Wolfegang find their fated mates last night; that's what earns respect around here.

Brick: Psh. Old ass Montgomery don't care about that. He doesn't see when I do nothing good, just when I mess up. Rebel: Try growing up with him. Brick: Nah dude, I would have laid his ass out by now. He's gonna get so pissy when he finds out about last night. [Frustrated grumbles] UGH FUCK DUDE I'm so done with his ass and his stupid lectures.

Rebel: Come join the wildfangs. Lou—that's my baby boy, but honestly, with him being all starry eyed and in love, it's only a matter of time before he loses his rank as beta now that he found his fated mate. It's cutthroat, but true. I need someone tougher. Brick: Ha, I don't wanna be no damn beta. 'Specially yours. Rebel: I bet you rank lower over there with the old man. Brick: [Long, contemplative sigh]... You know what? Fuck it, fine. Let's go.

[Heavy rock music plays from seemingly nowhere]

Rebel: Welcome to the Wildfangs, Bro...

[wolf-saint]

The Curse of the Moriyama Family

In another novel, our protagonist is a young woman. Married off to the Moriyama clan, she lives a solitary life, trapped before she could run away. Her husband Kengo does not kiss her; he does not have dinner with her. Her only company are her bodyguards... Until she has her first son: Ichirou Moriyama.

Part of her wishes that he was never born. For when he is birthed, it is Kengo who holds him. It is Kengo who does not give him back. Her heart screams when she realises. Ichirou's last embrace from his mother was in the womb. Even his name has no trace of her. He is branded as what he is: Kengo's first son. Kengo's heir. He never sees her again.

Her loneliness prevails; every day seems meaningless. The sliver of intimacy she gets is when Kengo is tired and has to rest in their apartment. Knowing he is in the building is more warmth than she gets from him in a year. It cannot be said what changed if it is Kengo's pale complexion, the dullness of the season, the tension in the main branch... Except that one evening, her husband joins her in her room, a chessboard set up in front of the fire and an empty chair.

It's a small stroke of fire; it burns slowly. When Kengo is not home, she resigns herself to watching television. Her brother-in-law has amassed a following for a new sport; they call it Exy. Her husband laughs at it but she sees the stubborn glint in the Tetsuji's friend's eye. Kayleigh Day says that Exy is the future; she believes it.

It is a mistake, in retrospect, for her to forget the cruelty of the Moriyamas. But she has become so cold. Kengo is the only sun she gets, the warmth that makes her days bearable. He kisses her sweetly and for a night she believes he is just a man. A man who cares for her. She forgets the unkindness of Moriyama men; she wakes up alone.

Many moons later, her hands drip blood onto the ivory tile, her mirror smashed into thousands of pieces - morning sickness. She knows where this is going.

It isn't worth screaming over: Kengo tells her that she cannot have her baby. His empire does not need a second son. Her tears trail down her face; her lip quivers at how he says the words. Cutthroat. Like her baby can be discarded. As if she won't feel the pain of him being taken away. Flashes of her first birth stab her heart over and over again. Her knees buckle to the floor and all she can do is beg. His face remains unchanged.

It is the night of her surgery, she sits in her bathroom, hugging her wrists and staring down the blade. She cannot lose another child; she feels like she may die. Her hands shake as she tries to psych herself up to the task, to pick up the sharp knife. The fluorescent lights drown her vision, tears flood her face... It reminds her of her wedding night, when she tried to escape through the venue's back window, crawl out the bathroom and run to god knows where-

-Her hand stills.

Motels are hard to come by, her racing heart hates the lack of exits in hotels, and nobody seems trustworthy... She finds it easier to sleep in back alleys. The lack of rest and food makes it so she has not grown too big and a kind stranger lent her a large duffel coat to keep away the cold (it swallows the signs of her belly). Money has been hard to come by and she cannot get on another bus. She hopes not to give birth soon.

Having a fever is not the worst part of giving birth, but it does not make it any less unbearable. It is a laborious process, and after it is done, she passes out, but not before sneaking a glance at her new baby. Wrapped in her old clothes and flushed with winter's cold, he lets out a soft cry. She hugs him tight, shielding him from the harsh winds, before her vision bleeds black at the edges and she hears the gasps of crowding strangers.

When her eyes burst open, the sterile walls of the hospital and a hand on her arm made her realise that it was not death who was speaking to her. Kengo was stroking her skin, muttering a prayer above her before his eyes met hers. Wet with tears. Wet because he was mourning. Later, the nurse hands her son, and her husband gives her that same remorseful gaze. Straight through her. Like a ghost.

"Jiro sleeps well," he whispers. He has an eerie smile on his skin, one that she wishes she could claw. Jiro. Second son. Her heart burns; her fingers clench.

"His name is not Jiro."

It is the first time she sees Kengo's mask slip from his face. It makes her death almost worth it.

Kengo's right-hand man is a hideous beast: Nathan Wesninski. Many men have been tortured by his knife, squealing like pigs. Under the Baltimore Butcher, death is welcomed eagerly. She peers up at him, and she can't help but shudder under his pale blue eyes.

From the beginning, she never expected a good life. Death always loomed over her. But in this moment, she waits, finally ready to accept it. Her husband sits in the chair furthest from the crime scene, cigarette puffing grey clouds from his lips as he avoids her hardened stare.

"You never told me what our son is to be called, Riko," he calls out, "I will give you that... before your death."

There is not much time to research baby names while on the run from the mafia. Her baby's health and survival always seemed to be the bigger priority. Now, she is at the guillotine. It is time for her baby to be taken from her once again.

Riko knows that it is a small price to pay- her life in exchange for her baby's. Unlike her firstborn, he will never be held by Kengo. Her husband has told her that he is to be discarded - left to his brother. Tetsuji will raise her son in Castle Evermore, the nest for tomorrow's Exy prodigies. Kayleigh Day's smile flickers in her mind. It is news that lets Riko be at peace.

Yet, here, she has unfinished business. The chance to do what she could never do before. Her baby will always hold a trace of her.

Riko can finally run away.

(A:N: This is me trying to avoid working on my WIP,,, Just straight up writing then posting,,, less structured than I'd like but GOD the idea of this unnamed character was so intriguing!!! The mafia side of AFTG ....)

[still-not-over-transformers]

Hi,

I saw you were taking transformers requests and uhm... If you don't mind?

Transformers Earthspark or Animated Megatron reunited with their Conjunx (fem) after the war? Headcanon or one shot you pick...

Thank you 🙏

This request was a lot of fun to write! Also check out my gloriously kind requester's Tumblr page please!

*Original Character featured in this oneshot, "Huntress" belongs to the-reddish-muse*

Be Still My Beating Spark

TFE Megatron x Cybertronian Fem OC

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1600+

Hunger… The overwhelming sensation that drove her through the forest. It felt like she had been hungry for a long, long time now. She had been on the trail of an energon scent for some time now, having traversed many miles of terrain in pursuit. Her senses were powerful, and she salivated at the thought of finally reaching her quarry. Long claws moved gracefully across the dirt before she came to a stop, bending down to smell a drop of vibrant magenta liquid. So close… 

There was a sudden loud metal creak from up ahead, and our mysterious beast stalked closer to find an old hangar bay, and a Cybertronian mech prying open the large rusted metal doors. The mech was clutching his left shoulder, which was leaking energon, most likely from a fresh wound. The drive to satiate her hunger drove her into a frenzy, emitting a ferocious roar before charging out from the brush, briefly locking optics with her surprised prey. 

*Meanwhile…..*

It had been a relatively uneventful day for Megatron, and the mech was resting in his alt-mode in one of G.H.O.S.T’s air fields. It was a quiet day, until the ever-familiar alarm went off, only meaning that he was being called into action.He sighed, Another Decepticon for the humans to lock away… Megatron was disliking this human alliance with each passing day. Begrudgingly, he responded to the alert and soon received coordinates, before activating his engine and taking flight. As Megatron approached the coordinates, from above he could see an old aircraft hangar bay in the middle of a rural field. He recognized the bright firetruck red and cobalt blue paint job and internally rolled his optics, Of course he got here first. Optimus Prime, G.H.O.S.T’s lap dog. 

As Megatron began his descent, he transformed mid-air and landed with one knee and fist meeting the ground first. It was a superhero-pose landing for sure. Along with Optimus, they were joined by Elita-One and various G.H.O.S.T agents. “So where is this dangerous Decepticon we are to neutralize? Or did you ask me here for a social visit?” Megatron said, clearly not wanting to be here. “Well, oddly that’s not the issue, Megatron.” Optimus stepped forward and gestured towards an unconscious Decepticon laying prone on his back right outside of the hangar bay doors, “It appears that Cutthroat was ambushed. He’s alive, but he had a significant amount of energon drained from him.” Megatron knelt down, getting closer to the unconscious Decepticon before him, “Mandroid’s work?” Optimus shrugged, “At first, that’s what we surmised, but this attack doesn’t share Mandroid’s usual signature.” Upon closer inspection, Megatron could see clear puncture marks on Cutthroat’s… well… throat. 

Megatron froze as a wave of memories came flooding back to him, How? After all this time? Optimus studied the expression hanging on Megatron’s face, “What is it, Megatron? Do you have any idea who or what might have done this?” Megatron cleared his throat, “...Perhaps.” Suddenly there was a loud rustle in the thick underbrush in the forest to the right. Two armed G.H.O.S.T agents activated their weapons and went to investigate. The sound of screaming soon followed, along with the sight of those two G.H.O.S.T agents being launched out of the woods, hitting the ground with a resounding thud. Fearsome growls and roars were heard from the thicket, and a pair of glowing red optics peered from the shadows. Of course the first action G.H.O.S.T took was to start firing their weapons  in that direction. The roars became angrier and a slender tail with a bladed spade at the end whipped around furiously, before the mystery bot darted from its cover and bolted deeper into the forest. 

Megatron saw a flash of distinctive yet familiar blue armor and freezes. It couldn’t be…

His thoughts rushed through his processor, wondering if it could really be… her. Turning towards Optimus, Megatron bellows “Stay behind and secure Cutthroat! I will deal with the second one!” And with that, Megatron sprints into the thick forest ahead. His optics dart around at every tree and shadow, determined to locate this mystery bot. Before his next step could reach the ground, the wind is knocked out of him as he is tackled by a massive blue bestial Cybertronian. Megatron’s frame falls onto the ground, however he is unable to get his bearings as he is forcefully pressed down upon by his attacker. As he looks up, he sees a large lion-like predacon with vivid azure armor, and a helm akin to a wolf. The beast’s scarlet optics stare down at him, and a golden tail flicks aggressively. Pinned down, Megatron locks optics with his assailant and freezes, recognizing this bot, “…Huntress?” 

The hybrid bot before him stopped in its tracks, before transforming into a Cybertronian femme with pointed ears, scarlet optics, and a vibrant blue side part on her helm, “…Megatron? …What are you doing here?” It felt as if time had gone still for Megatron, his optics open wide as they lock onto the azure femme before him. The last time he had seen her was just before the end of the war. The Autobots needed someone to take-on an important mission and Huntress had volunteered. Megatron was strongly opposed as he deemed the mission too risky and dangerous. 

But she made her point, and Megatron respected her decision and off she went. That would be the last time he would see her, until now. “I looked for you when you didn’t return. I tried everything I could to contact you but… you never replied. I wanted to search every piece of this planet but Optimus… he feared that would risk revealing our kind to the world and that protecting our cover was imperative. …I wish I hadn’t had listened.” The prior gladiator could still hardly believe this wasn’t a dream, “…Where have you been all this time?”

That was an interesting question, and Huntress wished the answer was simple. Well it was simple, but not to explain. She stepped backwards, allowing Megatron room to get up, her face full of shame. “…I.. I’m sorry. How.. how long has it been?” Megatron stared at his conjunx, his sparkmate, realizing she must’ve been through a harrowing ordeal, “…It’s been many years, Huntress. The war is over and we have new human allies. …For better or for worse.” She turned to look at the ground before placing a servo on her chest, her spark sinking at Megatron’s words, “….that long?” Her mind swirled and she panicked No… how could I have allowed this to happen again?

Huntress had been forged with a specific quirk, one which she was able to run on both energon, as all Cybertronians did, but with a twist. Additionally, she could also gain sustenance from the energon running through the veins of Cybertronians themselves. If her energon levels were to become too low and close to critical, her survival instincts would override her programming and she would become locked in her beast mode, starving for fresh energon. 

“M-Megatron… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disappear or leave you and the others. The last thing I remember clearly before today was being on the mission. I remember feeling weak… starving, then everything went black. Like I was there but not? My next memory was from today… the smell of Cybertronian energon and the taste of it running down my throat. I remember hearing shouting and then I was shot at and then you…” She shuts her optics and sucks in a deep intake and she begins to shake slightly, struggling to keep her emotions in check. “I��I’m ashamed. I should’ve prepared better. I should’ve listened to you—“ The femme stopped as she felt a gentle touch on her chin, feeling her faceplate being lifted upwards. 

She opened her optics to see Megatron’s soft gaze staring back at her, his digits on her chin as he had lifted it to meet his gaze. “How I have missed gazing into your beautiful optics…” his voice was soft, but pained with deep yearning. Huntress struggled not to break down as she stared into his optics. How could he forgive her so easily? After so many years of being apart, Megatron still looked at her as if nothing had changed. She messed up astronomically. She had forgotten her mission, her comrades, her friends, …and worst of all, Megatron. Her emotions overpowered her, and tears rolled down her cheeks, “...Megatron, you can’t mean to tell me that you aren’t angry with me at all? After all this time you’ve been searching for me, and still you look at me the same as if nothing happened?” 

Huntress was taken aback as she felt the sudden embrace of Megatron’s arms, and the sensation of his warm lips upon hers as he pulled her close. It felt as if time stood still as she took in his warmth, feeling his pure adoration and love through their bond. After what felt to be an eternity, Megatron slowly pulled his lips from hers, staring down at her with an intense longing, “There is no distance that could separate us. No amount of time that could make me forget your love. Nothing in this universe could ever make me stop cherishing every nanosecond I am able to be yours.” 

And with that, he pulled her closer to his chest and kissed her with the warmth of a thousand suns…

*END*

I hope everyone enjoyed this!

[dooberific]

kaveh x afab!reader

wc: 2.2k

genre: fluff <3

summary: just a self-indulgent tale of a semi-tumultuous relationship between you and the birthday boy himself

The “Light of Kshahrewar”

Surely in the many years since the establishment of the Akademiya there had been another, some highly honored scholar whose exploits had shone brilliantly, yet there was only one who burned ever brightly in your mind. He was your senior, a spring overflowing with his passion for architecture. He was an open book to be read, much too kind for a world as cutthroat as that that existed within the walls of the Akademiya.

It was hard to fathom why he took such a liking to you, your own academic achievements were far below anything resembling that of the “Light”. You were middle of the ground in nearly all aspects, but he seemed to be more stubbornly pushing for your greatness than even you were. Extra hours studying, discussing plans, early morning lectures survived only by an outrageous dose of coffee and the furious motion of your pens across notebooks making more changes to things already perfected.

You had questioned if he was making you into a project, always seeming a little miffed at your refusal to add your own dramatic flair to any designs you created, and your suspicions had been confirmed when he brought you in to collaborate on a final project. Just as quickly as you had agreed he had a slung an arm over your shoulders and pushed a blueprint into your hands.

“Alright my precious Junior, I want you to make this project yours.” Kaveh explained, passing another smaller paper into your hands. It was the details of the clients requesting the design, a newly married couple with the bride having to leave her homeland of Liyue to move to Sumeru.

You immediately understood why he had chosen you to help, shooting the blond and accusatory look. You, who had been ever resistant, were born to a traveling band of traders that bounced between the two nations. If anyone could fuse the two styles of architecture and design it would be you.

So you put aside your own hesitations of standing out too dramatically, and created a design so surprising that even your instructors had began to wonder if they had become so lucky that they may have produced two excellent students back to back. The centerpiece of your design had been the point of your pride, a traditionally woven cut-silk tapestry presented to the wife as a reminder of her old home and the promise of a new one. Kaveh graduated out feeling pleased that he had worn you down and cracked your shell of hesitancy, pushing you on your own path to success, and you?

Well you— who had been the only underclassman to receive his praise and personal support—had dropped out.

There was no devastating story behind it, no villainous plot. There was just you, chasing something you were told to chase until you realized that maybe such a high level of education was not suited for you. Your family had traveled the mountains between Sumeru and Liyue for many years. It wasn’t a cushy life but it had freedom. Living a life behind a desk seemed more and more like a death sentence than an opportunity for greatness, and just as easily as you had integrated into your Darshan you slipped back out and disappeared into the jungles surrounding Sumeru City.

It had been years since you turned your back on the Akademiya, years since you had seen Kaveh, and yet his visage seemed imprinted on your brain. The warm look in his eyes, that dramatic lilt so trademark of his voice. He was a blinding light, and you were content with living in his shadow.

It felt like some act of fate that crossed your paths again. You were traveling back towards Sumeru City and passed along the one of the trails bordering the building site for what was said to be the Palace of Alcazarzaray. Even half-built it was shaping up to be magnificent, and maybe you shouldn’t have been so surprised to find your former senior overlooking the site with a critical eye.

He seemed stressed, hair tousled from anxious hands running through it. You could see the sweat beading on his fair skin, the humidity of the day slowly boiling everything beneath the cover of the foliage.

“Kaveh?”

He seemed startled by your voice, locked so deeply in his own concentration that he had failed to notice your approach. His head turned quickly towards you, not fully prepared to see a vision of years passed. The look of shock in his eyes couldn’t hide that flash of sadness and guilt. It was like looking in the eyes of a kicked puppy. You felt your stomach twist uncomfortably, shying away as you turned quickly to leave.

“You seem busy, we can catch up another time—,”

“(y/n), hold on!”

Ink-stained fingers encircled your wrist, halting your movement. His hands felt warm and sticky from the humidity, and he seemed aware of this himself as he released your wrist and wiped his hands off on his pants as well as he could.

A silence had fallen between the two of you, unsure of what to say. Where do you even begin, talking about the weather, why you left, what you are doing back in the area? He seemed to be floundering as well, the great social butterfly reduced to a heap of uncertainty as he opened his mouth once, twice to speak before quickly closing it back being unable to form the right words.

“Listen, (y/n), I’m sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable place. I—didn’t mean to push you so hard to stand out, I just knew you could do something big and thought you needed the extra push—“

So that was why his eyes had looked at you so sadly, he had overthought your leaving of the Akademiya. You cut him off before he could finish.

“I didn’t leave because of you, you dolt.”

You could almost see the gears turning in his head as he processed your words. Multiple times in his past people had pushed him aside and left without another word, abandonment breeding self contempt as a cause for why it kept happening.

“What? Why else would you—?”

“I just didn’t like school that much.” You replied with a shrug, as if it was the most natural response in the world. “I do feel a little bad that you thought it was something you did though. Had we been in the same year I may have stayed because of you.” You sheepishly added, feeling your own guilt bubbling up that you had left without giving him even the semblance of a proper goodbye.

You thought little of the implications of your words, failing to notice the tinge of pink that flushed his cheeks. Time and close contact did much to bring people closer together, and all the time you had spent side by side in school had certainly left a mark of fondness on his heart just for you. But that you would have stayed?

Just as he opened his mouth to begin a barrage of inevitable questions, the distant call of his name floated up from the jobsite. You took a step back, readjusting the pack over your shoulders. “You better go find out what they need, Mr. Master Architect.” You said with a grin.

Torn between pursuing something once lost and maintaining his duty, Kaveh let out a defeated sigh as he nodded. “(y/n), please, wait for me. Wait for me at Lambad’s at, er, say seven tonight?” His tone was pleading, not prepared to have found you again and just let you slip through his fingers like the desert sands.

You smiled warmly. “I’ll wait.”

That was how you had reconnected, a bond reinforced by a night of catching up over drinks and the inevitable shedding of tears from the blond who wore his heart so freely on his sleeve. You had half carried him home and promised once more that you wouldn’t vanish off into the night like you had in the past, a promise that you had kept in the months since.

Fall shifted to Winter, giving way to Spring before the burning face of Summer settled over the Land of Wisdom once more. You had been kept busy with your travels, with tending to your relationship with Kaveh which had slowly shifted from simply platonic to more of the realm of “it’s complicated”. Oh, and the fact that you had been working diligently to keep a certain someone’s birthday gift under wraps.

You had been working on it for nearly a year now, not having the time to properly devote to a project of the caliber you decided was worth the effort for him. The loom stood well above your head, a weaving of colorful knots slowly descending its height as a pattern only you had envisioned began to take shape. In spite of all your refusals that your work was worth any weight, even you had to admit that the mohtasham pattern now completed before your eyes was magnificent.

And apparently Kaveh agreed if the low whistle of impressment that met your ears meant anything.

“I didn’t know you were still hand looming. Guess that explains why your fingers have felt a little rougher than usual.” He said, admiring your work as you rose to greet him.

“I’m not really back into it, this one is more of a personal project.” You countered, hands raising to lightly pinch his cheeks. “And I will have you know my hands aren’t rough.”

He hummed, rose colored eyes sparkling as he caught one of your hands before it pulled away. He pressed a kiss to your palm, his warm breath tickling your skin. “As smooth as sandpaper.” He grinned as your nose wrinkled.

“Well since you are here I guess I have no choice but to put you to work, yeah? Come help me get this rug down so I can finish it.” You pulled a short stool to aid your work, cutting away the warps and allowing it to fall away from the loom into the waiting hands of your companion who watched with great curiosity.

It wasn’t too surprising that he was taking his assistance very seriously. He was an appreciator of the arts, holding an eye for quality and the finest details of construction. You were a craftsman easy on the eyes, lithe fingers dancing across neatly knotted silk patterns and stitching up loose ends with the slightest quirk of your lips and furrow to your brow of concentration. You could feel the shift of his eyes both from your fingers to your face as you worked, a slight burn building in your ears from the attention that you tried to push through as you finished your work.

With a pleased hum you lifted the final hem, examining your work. “Yes, I think this will do.” Giving a half turn and a flourish of your arms the material of the rug snapped out and floated to the floor, quickly rolled up and secured in your hands. You plucked it from the floor, holding it gingerly to your chest.

“I had a plan of how I was going to do this but I suppose that was out the window when you got here earlier than I had anticipated.” You began, extending your arms and the freshly finished rug out to him.

“Happy birthday, Kaveh.”

He looked dumbfounded for a moment, rose colored eyes darting quickly between the gift in your hands and your face before he slowly pointed at the rug.

“You made that for me?”

You nodded. “Yup, took me a few months to do it but for you I think it was time well spent.”

Stricken with the importance of the gift he was now on the receiving end of, he seemed to short circuit for a moment before he accepted the rug into his own hands. “I’ve never been given something like this. (y/n), this is too much—,”

You let out a dramatic sigh, propping a hand on your hip. “Weren’t you the one pestering me to use my gift and make my designs stand out? Here I am doing that now and you are going to tell me it’s too much? I think that ‘light’ burning in your brain has cooked it a bit too long, you are supposed to say “Wow (y/n), thank you I love it so much!’” You teased, enjoying the slight contortion of his face at the attitude you were giving so playfully.

He raised a defensive hand. “Easy tiger, coming after me rather hard on my birthday now aren’t you?” He beckoned you closer, effectively snatching you into a tight hug squished somewhere between his warm body at the rug cradled in his other arm.

He pressed a short kiss to the crown of your head, your stomach flipping as the snort of a giggle escaped your throat. “Thank you (y/n),” he began, mocking the tone you had previously used against him, “I love your gift and I love you.”

He winced as you gave his side a firm slap with the flat of your hand, wrestling out from his grip. “I think I’m going to need dinner before you start in on the ‘I love you’ business.” You said with a grin, drawing him up and out the door behind you.

Rey, 2023

[ghostaholics]

ᴄᴀᴛᴀʟʏsᴛ ( ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ )

SUMMARY: (au only mildly inspire by the original tv/game timeline since I started writing this before ep. 2 came out; honestly not very canon-compliant) After reaching Colorado – the Fireflies' former backdrop for failed vaccine trials – you and Joel get ambushed in the science lab by people who have since then, made their new home at the abandoned university; during the scuffle, one of the attackers stabs you with a syringe containing unknown contents. PAIRING: Joel Miller x fem!Reader WARNING(S) FOR LATER: pining (mutual) sex pollen; dub-con; p-in-v unprotected sex; use of a mouth gag and a rope during sex but it's for safety assurances not because Joel's a dark guy; still angst even though I left in 50% of it; religious references and lots of metaphors that don't make sense; unbeta'd - expect mistakes; characterization is based on second half of the game and I may have accidentally made him too soft oops idc, ooc for sure WORD COUNT: 2 k A/N: PT. 1; this is already over 10k words in my drafts and I still don't even have like half of it done yet but I'll put out this small part for now I guess

IT'S A GODDAMN SICKNESS – THIS FEELING, festering, like skin stripped raw and every nerve lit on fire. There’s nothing left of you – only flesh and bone knitted together by gnawing hunger.

He should put you out of your misery.

You would welcome death over this: it would be faster, easier, not each excruciating second prolonging your suffering as time bleeds, drawn-out, stretching at an unbearably sluggish pace. This won't pass over. It's only been getting worse the longer you try to ignore it, to let it snuff out on its own. The craving is bad. It surges through your veins, leaves your blood boiling as if it’s burning you alive from the inside-out. Insatiable need devours your body like an all-consuming disease; your mind is scrambled, thoughts as good as ash at this point aside from the surviving idea that you know that this will swallow you whole.

Here's how it happened.

HE'S A KILLER; The leftover carnage is a gut-wrenching testament to that – a breadcrumb trail of carcasses deserted along the westbound, beaten track to Colorado that’s rivaled only by the number of skeletons in his closet.

Not that he's had much choice. It's this very concept that every single media outlet had kept pushing, what had plagued the top headlines, breaking news, and morning segments leading up to Outbreak Day in a concerted effort to capitalize on a little something called sensationalism. The public had wolfed it down, too – had gorged themselves on the idea of it even after all the grocery stores had been raided bare and there'd been zero food left on the shelves; TVs as their place settings with radios emerging as their proxies not long after the power had gone out – because the drama of it all had been more satisfying than the shitty scraps they'd been getting by on: survival of the fittest, who'd get wiped out by the infection first? And Joel Miller is a living legacy that continues to push the limits of natural selection with every poor bastard that he manages to sink a shiny fucking bullet into.

Adaptation. The end of the world has chewed him up, teeth gnashing – razor-sharp incisors; no leftover bones, no remains like the majority of the people who’ve met a collective demise, but a man spit out in one intact piece (physically, anyways – mentally, that’s probably another story). Now, he’s a stone-cold terror. Cutthroat – all jagged edges and mistrust leaching into his pores. Someone who’s had to acclimatize, because the way he sees it, there’s a million different choices to make that only ever lead to two outcomes. And Joel always picks whichever option affords him the best opportunity to stay alive, but it’s the reason he’s got a ledger drowning in red.

Before, that had meant late mortgage payments and loan sharks hunting him down, risky wagers with shady figures to get Sarah new clothes in time for the upcoming school because she’d been outgrowing them every damn year, and also don’t forget the shady business ventures he’d invested in until he’d learnt his lesson the hard way and had decided to throw himself headfirst into work – day in and day out to save up for his own construction company, something stable and honest; maybe then he wouldn’t have to lie about forgetting to pick up the milk or the pancake mix because the reality had been that he was struggling to put food on the table, and maybe he’d get to spend more time with his daughter and pay the soccer club fees that he couldn’t afford so she could make more friends outside of him and the Adlers, and maybe his blood pressure would level out so his pockets wouldn’t dry up with the cost of his medicine because his insurance had been shit, and maybe he wouldn’t have to go to bed every night crunching numbers behind his eyelids to figure out if he had enough to get through the next month’s round of bills, and fuck, maybe things would finally start to look up for once in his life.

Then it had all stopped mattering in an instant.

So now, it means shooting someone dead without a second thought – a past full of necessary evils: ruthlessness, cynicism, and a death toll second to none. Anybody coming up against him? Shit out of luck. He’s never had a problem with having to pull the trigger, and being caught on the wrong end of his gun always promises a grim fate.

Except Columbus, Ohio.

It would’ve been another blight, another wicked deed buried underneath the growing mountain of awfulness that he's responsible for. There are a lot of things that keep Joel up at night, but as bad as it is to say, this definitely wouldn’t have been one of them.

And then, the impossible – first person to break the cycle: a scavenger combing through the tipped over stands of North Market, kneeling under the dusty Penny's Meats cleaver sign at a basket filled with plastic bags of twenty-year-old beef jerky. And Joel would kill (quite literally) for that if it meant securing his next meal; hell, the next week's worth of them. The only thing standing in between him and food security could be taken care of with an easy shot to the back of your skull at point blank range.

A target.

An inconvenience.

— but that's another story.

Since then, it’s been a road paved with affliction. Ohio. Indiana. Illinois. Iowa. (Nebraska's a sensitive topic.) Wyoming.

Joel grasps your hand firmly in his: dried blood over split knuckles and calluses that have stayed around forever because now he wields a gun 24/7 instead of a carpentry tool from his blue-collar days; he helps you navigate the terrain so you don't misstep – a sprained ankle can slow us down in more ways than one, he always says. Cautious, trigger-sensitive, because he needs to be. The action is meant to be practical, shepherding you over the terrain. So you opt to neglect how his fingers slotted between yours shoos the bitter cold from making a home out of your body and thaws the ice from the crevices chiseled in your bones.

The feeling is nice.

The thought is dangerous.

Because, Nebraska: a hellish nightmare in the flesh.

(Let's not talk about it).

(But circling around the topic doesn’t help. You don't bring it up, and yet it still takes center stage, occupying your mind. Always. How could it not?)

Hordes of cordyceps-ridden pieces-of-shit on your heels until you'd been driven into a corner, back against the wall – odds in the negative as infected after infected had zeroed in on your position and converged like a putrid swarm, a writhing mass of rotten bodies, all of them clambering over each other for their own share of pulpy, human meat to tear into; it'd reminded you of the same way people had been after the outbreak had reached critical mass.

Ravenous.

(This is what had been a difficult pill for you to swallow in the beginning – before you'd started sleeping with a machete along the edge of your bedroll, before the sound of a person choking on their own blood had gone from something that had cursed your hands with a 'round-the-clock tremor to nothing but fucking white noise, and before you'd learned everything there is to know about how to survive amongst societal collapse where 'every man for himself' has never been a more true statement than it is now: the hunger doesn't stop when you turn into one of them.)

As the two of you weave through dense foliage overrunning anything in its path and past man-sized slabs of concrete that form a serrated pattern of the very ground you're currently forced to scale, Joel rumbles a low, "Easy, now,"; you can see how in the dead of winter a plume of air leaves his mouth whenever he talks. He's nice to look at, better than your surroundings by a long shot. Boulder is just another wasteland that offers nothing new in your trek across the country because underneath the whalebone-white quilt of snow smothering everything, it's the same old shit that you saw when you'd cut through the never-ending stretch of land that used to be the Bible Belt to get out of the Atlanta Q.Z. It'd been ghost towns dotting the map between miles and miles of infestation: the walking dead had been piloted by the impulse to tear you apart alongside their living counterparts – the survivors with rootless hearts that stalked in the shadows like vultures waiting to pick your corpse clean of supplies.

But, for as on guard as you have to be, you'd rather focus your attention on Joel, because the snowflakes burying themselves in his beard are far more interesting than the decaying buildings and jigsaw-puzzled pavement that paint Colorado with an apocalyptic finish. He's a welcome distraction. Maybe, too good. The toe of your boot catches on the uneven landscape while you're lost in thought so you brace yourself to strike the ground as it gives out from under you, hands flying out in reflex. Instead, sturdy arms secure themselves around your waist before you can fall. You’re hauled flat against the solid wall of Joel's chest, something akin to an embrace that shouldn’t feel as nice as he is to look at. Even through layers of clothes, even through the frigid temperatures during this time of the year, his heat manages to bleed into you.

"Told you to watch your step there'," he murmurs in that long Texan drawl. Whiskey on his breath. Caramel. Ethanol. Burning alcohol-sweet, it greets you alongside the usual smoky and metallic smell of gunpowder and blood; the kind he'd pilfered from a liquor store back in Omaha – makin' sure it's good enough to the Molotov cocktails with, he'll comment before taking a swig. Brings it up like clockwork, as if it gets funnier the longer he keeps trying to wear the joke out even worse than the soles of his boots. It doesn’t. Just short of being a jack of all trades. Certainly no comedian.

Not a drunk, either – isn't stupid enough to put himself in jeopardy around these parts. You'd seen it before, once: cheeks flushed red and eyes glazed over; couldn't walk a straight line for five feet, much less aim a gun (September 26th, you remember). This isn't that. The whiskey's stronger now, though. You can tell when he stands nearby, face inches away.

(He's been drinking more lately. Not a lot, but the right amount to drown out the memory of... well, ever since—)

He's the closest thing to home that you know.

(—he almost lost you.)

You find yourself latched onto the sleeves of his jacket for stability, and even though you should push Joel away – a voice in your head that warns you to put distance between you and him – your fingers curl tighter into the coarse fabric to keep yourself upright as you regain your footing. “You see that thing? Swear it came outta nowhere."

He huffs out a small laugh, not one of those full-bodied ones that you’ve only heard probably twice since you met him (both of them at your expense and God, do you miss his smile), but it’s still a rich, little sound that comes off as something pleasant to your ears all the same – breaks up the monotony of the snow crunching under your heels and teeth chattering during the occasional bouts when you shiver. "Sure," he says, because he knows you can't lie for shit.

You untangle yourself from him with some reluctance. Homesick – a feeling that you attempt to shake off with more mindless conversation to make the time slip by faster. "Out of every place we've been to, Colorado definitely makes bottom three."

There's faint amusement coloring Joel's face. It makes him look years younger. "We haven't even gotten to UEC yet." He tilts his chin in the general direction that the two of you had already been heading towards. "Over there. Just across the way."

Skepticism stains your voice. "You know, something tells me that I won't have a change of heart."

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ - ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ

[hinatastinygiant]

7 | Lunar Gold

WARNING! SEXUAL CONTENT

Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Pirate's Treasure Masterlist

You can hear his splashing behind you as he wades deeper into the water. He's so quiet that it's hard to believe he's there.

You finish washing yourself before you turn back around. When you do, he's already staring at you, a serious expression on his face.

"What?"

"I was going to ask you..." he trails off

"What?"

He stops, as if struggling with himself. "How old are you?"

"Twenty five," you reply, "but usually girls don't like it when guys ask them their age. Makes us feel old or something. I can't really explain it. It's just one of those things."

"I wasn't asking because of that," he says, shaking his head. "It's just... we're the same age."

"I know," you shrug. "We look about the same age, and I'd guess you're twenty five too. That's not so weird, is it?"

"It's not that. It's just that..."

"What?"

"You're pretty. I mean, I don't meet a lot of people, and... you're the first woman I've talked to in a long time."

You're not sure how to respond, so you just smile.

"Well, thank you," you say. "That's sweet of you."

After that, there's an awkward silence, and the two of you stand in the water, not saying a word. However, you slowly begin to wade back towards him.

"Um, Y/N," he finally says. "Do you like being an adventurer?"

"I do," you nod, surprised he wants to know. "It's not easy, and it's dangerous. But it's what I love doing. And I'm lucky to have a career that lets me do what I love."

"That's good," he says, smiling slightly.

"Do you like being a pirate?" you then ask him.

He pauses. "Sometimes," he admits.

"Oh."

"I like sailing. But I'm not really a fan of killing people."

"Really? But, aren't pirates supposed to be bloodthirsty, murderous, cutthroat scum of the sea," you smile, half joking.

"Ha, ha," he rolls his eyes, though the smirk on his face suggests he isn't really mad. "But yeah, I guess so. I mean, I'm not a good guy."

"Oh really?" you grin. "Cause from where I'm standing, you're kind of a badass. You saved my life, remember? And you seem like a decent guy."

"Not as much as you think," he says, looking away.

"I don't know," you shrug. "I'm not usually the type of person who judges people quickly. I like to give everyone a chance, you know? So, maybe I'm wrong about you, but I don't think so."

"Well, thanks," he mutters, blushing slightly.

"Besides, you gave me my freedom back, for the most part, and you didn't have to," you remind him, getting a bit closer still.

"I couldn't just leave you to die," he answers, stiffening up as you wander up beside him, still up to your shoulders in water.

A flicker of something unspoken passes between you. You find yourself drawn to his eyes, and you can't stop staring. He's so handsome, and yet, he doesn't seem to know it.

"Still, thanks," you say softly, a smile on your lips.

He just nods, looking a bit nervous. As you gaze at each other, the lines between prisoner and captor blur, and for a moment, it seems as if the world has stopped turning.

"Hey," he then calls out.

"Yeah?"

"This...this is probably a bad idea," he murmurs, "but I've been trapped here for so long... And you're so..."

"So, what?" you ask.

"Beautiful," he finishes, his voice barely a whisper.

Your heart skips a beat.

"I..."

Before either of you can say anything more, he closes the distance between the two of you and kisses you. The feeling of his soft lips on yours is enough to make your knees weak, and you instinctively kiss him back, your hands moving to his hair.

The kiss is deep and passionate, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away. There's nothing except the two of you. It's a kiss full of desire and longing, and it makes you dizzy.

When the two of you finally pull away, the world comes rushing back in, and the realization of what just happened hits you.

"Shit," Bakugou says, backing away from you.

"What's wrong?"

"This... I mean, I'm sorry," he mutters, his cheeks a bright shade of red.

"Bakugou," you call out, trying to get his attention. "It's okay."

Bakugou, not needing to be told twice, kisses you again. This time, the kiss is softer, and more gentle.

It's not long before his hands move to your hips, and his touch sends shivers down your spine. You let out a small moan as his lips travel from your lips to your neck, and his fingers slide up your bare skin, tracing the curve of your body.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers against your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

You can't help but smile. You've never had anyone make you feel this way before.

As his lips explore every inch of your body, your hands move across his chest, your fingertips dancing over his skin.

You're not sure how long the two of you spend exploring each other's bodies, but it's enough for you to forget about the heat, the sun, and everything else in the world. All that matters is him and his touch.

You're lost in the sensation of his touch, his kiss, and his body pressed against yours. It's unlike anything you've ever experienced, and you never want it to end.

However, as soon as his hands wander lower, he pauses.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

You nod.

He hesitates.

"Bakugou," you groan. "Don't stop."

With a low growl, he kisses you once more, and the two of you sink deeper into the water.

As his hand moves between your thighs, you let out a small whimper, and your back arches in pleasure. You grip onto his back, pulling him closer, and you can feel him pressing against you.

"God, Bakugou," you gasp.

"Do you like that?" he growls, his voice thick with lust.

You can only nod.

His fingers work their magic on your clit, pumping in and out of you.

You moan and writhe beneath him, your hands clutching his hair, his back, his arms, anything you can reach.

"Bakugou," you moan. "Don't stop."

He leans down and captures your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. You moan into his mouth, and your hips buck against his hand, desperate for release.

"Bakugou," you breathe.

"What is it, Y/N?"

"Please," you beg.

"Please, what?" he teases.

"Make me come," you say, your voice a desperate whine.

He smirks. "As you wish."

And with that, his fingers push deeper into you, finding the spot that drives you crazy.

You gasp and arch your back, and your eyes roll back as the waves of pleasure wash over you. You clutch his back and cry out, the feeling overwhelming you.

After a few moments, your body relaxes, and the world slowly comes back into focus.

"Bakugou," you whisper, gazing up at him with a dazed expression.

"Yeah?" he replies as he pulls away from you.

"Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?" you ask, a playful smirk on your lips.

"I told you. Those rich pricks come to the island. What the hell do you think they do with their time?" he rolls his eyes.

"And you watch them?!"

"Fuck, Y/N, what the hell am I supposed to do? I've been stranded here alone for years. They're the closest thing to entertainment I've got."

"Well, you definitely learned a few tricks," you chuckle.

Although Bakugou tries his best not to smile slip, it does.

"So, what now?" you ask.

"Time to get out of the water," he sighs. "We've got to keep looking for that damn spot on the map before that solstice day passes."

You sigh, disappointed. You thought he'd at least want to stay a little longer.

"I'm not complaining, though. I had fun," you say as you wade towards the shore. "But alright, let's get back to work."

Pirate's Treasure Masterlist

Taglist: @nemisimp @boopjuice @stevenknightmarc

[demaparbat-hp]

Are you writing Cutthroat? I’m curious about more. Are you making a fandom wiki or family trees?

Hello!

I am currently working on refining some aspects of Cutthroat before beginning to write the actual beast. To be honest, I hadn't thought of making a Fandom wiki for it. The blood relations between some of the characters are quite complicated, and building Family Trees might help me out a lot, so thanks for the suggestion!

I'll include a summary of the AU under the cut, so you can get a general idea of what it's about.

Cutthroat AU:

Harrison Silas Sayre doesn't hate Wool's Orphanage—that is Tom's, his brother's, job. Tom Marvolo Riddle hates Wool's as much as he hates his dead mother, which is saying a lot. Unfortunately for them, they seem to gravitate around the Orphanage. Though that might have something to do with the ritual they performed there fifty years ago.

Exactly seven months after Tom Riddle's birth, a baby arrived at Wool's Orphanage with a single letter stating his full name and date of birth: Harrison Silas Sayre, July 31st, 1927. The two boys were different from other children—special, as Tom often said, so it was no wonder they found solace in each other while growing up as brothers.

The Wizarding World had no idea what it signed up for the day the twins' Hogwarts letters arrived.

During their seven years at Hogwarts, they became close with the Black sisters: Dorea, a Slytherin like Tom, and Cassiopeia, who was in Ravenclaw with Harry, though in different years.

Cassiopeia was creepy. She worshipped Tom, though that might have something to do with the rumors about her weird Visions... Tom was a natural, charismatic leader, though he only had a meaningful relationship with his brother. Harry, instead, formed a close friendship with Dorea right from the start. They were always seen with each other, much in the same way Cassiopeia could always be found trailing Tom.

I could say a lot of things about them, but I think the most important event is the ritual Tom performed at 18—a ritual Harry was forced to participate in. Ideally, the ritual would allow them to live forever, an anchor of one another, until the end of times... But vital blood was needed.

Fifty years later, Lily Evans' and Regulus Black's research took them to a set of Caves near an abandoned Orphanage. They had spent years after James' death looking for any clue about the mysterious dark lord who was steadily taking hold of the Wizarding World from behind the stage. Only few were aware of his existence, except for his followers (Peter and the Mark in his scalp was a somber reminder of that fact), but nobody knew a single thing about the actual person.

In the Caves, behind a blood protection that Lily was surprisingly able to pass through, there was a black crystal coffin. Within, a sleeping young man had a snake resting on his chest. The snake watched as Lily and Regulus got close and, slowly, began to eat its own tail.

Ouroboros, they recognised, and the boy woke up.

His green eyes were exactly like Lily's, and there was a gruesome scar decorating his throat, as if it was sliced open once upon a time...

Like I said before, I could talk about Cutthroat all evening. It's very, very extensive and writing a summary for it is a difficult task for me. You can, however, ask questions, in case you're curious about something specific. Or if you want to know more about some characters, or their family trees or the plot...

Anyways, hope this was not too boring to read, and not too long of an answer. Thank you for asking! Knowing there's someone interested in this AU makes me motivated to do my best and keep working on it. Hope you have a good day!

[orofeaiel]

Autumn colors on the Cutthroat Pass trail

[miserycorde]

"Should be it." Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, where the rain falls so hard you can't see your hand in front of your face and the ground's so soft your footsteps is forever hushed, Crow peddles his wares to another of the Luminary's toadies. Across the table is a truly cutthroat spread: jars of blood grease huddle together in an ordely pile, a few bloodboil aromatics simmer in their fragile glasses, two fans of razor-sharp knifes gleam in the faint lanternlight illuminating the ramshackle cabin... all the implements that someone eager to spill blood could desire, and even a few more for good measure. Across from her, Crow's eyes are wary and the set of his shoulders is as tense as they were at the start of this exchange... though that hasn't stopped the ragged man from giving this new white mask an odd glance or two whilst going down the usual order for Bloody Fingers. Could be what inspires his next words, carefully offered though they are. "... got somethin' else for ya." Carefully, carefully, Crow slips a stained hand into the pouch at his waist and produces a small, yet pleasant smelling bundle. He slides it across the table and pointedly away from the other messy goods, flipping it open to reveal several bars of... soap? "Case ya want to..." He makes a vague gesture to the myriad stains and remnants of her demigod-given tasks that dot her garb. His eyes remain wary, flitting between herself and the soap.

A trail of muddied footprints lead to the aforementioned White Mask that Crow was doing business with, her clothing sodden with rainwater in a way that implied that she had taken quite the trek to get to this agreed-upon meeting place ... and, of course, she would have to take quite the trek back. Waterlogged shoes squelched unpleasantly as she adjusted her weight from one foot to the other, carefully observing the items laid out before her. All nasty, all brutal, all exactly what she expected.

This was the first time Nepenthe had been tasked with picking things up from this peddler in particular, her stature and lack of conversation perhaps keying Crow in to the fact that he wasn't dealing with the other White Mask that was so keen on vocalizing whatever thought came to mind. Lingering within her stern silence, Nepenthe picked up one of the fan-knives and tested its sharpness against the thick leather of her glove. Apparently she was pleased, as she let out a quiet 'hm' and gently put it back down without further comment. How relieving it was to see that she was dealing with somebody true to their word. Nepenthe had honestly lost count of the amount of merchants who, upon realizing that they were dealing with a new courier, decided to try their luck at being shrewd. For a brief moment, she resigned herself to believing that Crow was about to do just that as he reached into one of the pouches at his waist, her lips pinching into a thin line behind the mask as she prepared to bluntly decline.

... But then she saw what he had on offer. Visibly, it seemed to give her pause. She then reached out to pluck one of the soaps from Crow's hand like a starving hound would impolitely snag a treat. She turned, lifted up her mask slightly, gave it a sniff. Lowered her mask. Promptly turned back. "I lack extra payment for you -- I was given only what would cover everything here," Nepenthe began, "However. I am interested in these. Perhaps we can barter?" There was a hopeful edge to her voice. Soap was hard enough to come across at the best of times, and she wasn't about to let this opportunity pass her by.

[pcttrailsidereader]

Just a Little Bit

As the seasons begin to change and thoughts of getting outside start to bubble up into our hopes, dreams, and memories it seems appropriate to consider options. Generally when the topic of the Pacific Crest Trail comes up in conversation or reading, or in film it is framed around thru hiking. Beginning to end, start to finish. "Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!" or something like that. Thru hikes are stories mostly full of success. Participants overcome adversity and find their way forward. Thru hikes get the glory it seems.

A short snowy early fall day hike on the PCT with a friend.

To day hike on the PCT is easier for some than others mostly given where you live. Living in Kansas for example, you are not going to call your friends up and say, "Hey, how about we day hike from Rainy Pass to Cutthroat Pass this weekend?" or " Let's meet at Kennedy Meadows and do a day hike...what do you say?" The day hike option in the immediate sense is challenging for a lot of us. Less so when people have some time but not a lot of time to do a more challenging or ambitious undertaking like in the summer months.

I met a fellow once who was driving to PCT trailheads on the weekends and day hiking out and back to his car. He didn't have the luxury to take extended time off of work and other responsibilities so this worked for him. To be honest the PCT is not exactly easy to move from trail head to trail head everywhere. He happened to live where it was more possible.

In my case I can easily consider various day hikes on the PCT from where I live. They might be longish days or require sleeping in my vehicle or a nearby accommodation but still doable. If you are dreaming of a PCT experience here is your opportunity to get a taste.

Jack Haskel at the PCTA wrote a really honest and informative essay in the organizations magazine 'The Communicator' last spring. He writes," The decision around what to pack for a day hike also became easier when I stopped overthinking it. I embraced the 10 essentials, added a couple of extras, and now all the necessary items live in my day pack permanently." Here's the list:

Navigation- paper maps and/or phone app maps

Headlamp-sometimes the best laid plans just take longer than your think.

Sun protection

First aid- maybe not for you but for someone else...

Knife plus gear repair kit

Fire (matches, lighter, tinder and/or stove)

Shelter (ultralight mylar emergency shelter that fits two people)

Extra food

Extra water

Extra clothes

In addition tell someone where you are going and when you plan to get back. This is critically important for staying safe. Jack also carries a knife, compass, energy bar, and some spare batteries. His view, and I agree, better to be safe than sorry.

If you don't have the time, energy, desire, opportunity, or some other good reason for a lengthy PCT hike consider a day hike. Just walking a short distance with friends on the PCT has been rewarding for them as much as it has been for me. They got a taste of what my experience was and it sprouted some great conversations and experiences of their own. These experiences bring up so many memories flooding my brain from past hikes when I have done this.

[nerosdayinanime]

ok wait i realized i can just use my gallery's text & draw thing this is great

this is what i mean by 'the clan au doesnt have a set story'. theres all these places that it can branch off of and the possibilities r endless and i have *counting* ..14 scenarios/storylines so far and every time i think of a new scenerio another gets added<3

[slight bit more info for all the branches so far]

i havent done much with the kny-canon leaning ones they're more just like if i did follow canon thats how it'd be done ykno? im thinking they get raided by the shinazugawas for control of the trade routes and either they both survive like that one post or only giyu survives, either way Sakonji takes in the living tomioka(s)

------

most of the stories arent tied down to canon theyre more whatever worldbuilding i have and stories pop up from them- one of the first ones was the shina-tomi failed peacetalks bc i wanted to draw sanemi & giyuu fighting (i just realized i placed the branches perfectly bc thats closer to canon than the others lol)

if the peacetalks worked(wouldve been later/after sanemi took over) then it kinda snowballed into a few nearby/allied clans forming a village, then from that theres the Tomi-Daki diplomat/trade envoy w the fox trio(giyu makomo & sabito)

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the rescues are like. little to no formal interactions between any of the three clans(shina-kumeno is always allied), in the first one its winter and giyu's on his way home when he catches the trail of bloodline hunters and saves Genya & Masachika.

in the other one giyu's pinned by a rogue shinobi and sanemi & sabito both find him at the same time and they make a lil truce bc giyu has severe chakra exhastion and cant make it home

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undercover mission has one thats purely sanegiyu; sanemi is disguised as Kazura & giyu as Gikuro and actually i looked back at my notes and this ones like. in the past before the village branch. so it connects to that one but it can also be a standalone. the other undercover mission is sabisanegiyu where sabito & giyuu went undercover as a master/servant thing and sanemi was disgusted by it and didnt know that it wasnt Real so he tried to 'save' giyuu and got invited to the polycule<3

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the lil unnamed branches inbetween is that one where giyu got chased out the clan by tsutako for killing their mom, there was a spy who had taken her place and giyu noticed and killed the spy but tsutako only saw him killing their mom and she lost her shit in dispair & heartbreak. theres a branch for Giyu staying alone, Sabito ditching the urokodakis for his packmate while makomo stays behind to fix things with tsutako, and both Sabito & Makomo ditching the urokodakis for their packmate

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the arranged marriages are sanegiyu with the first branch being after sanemi takes over and giyu asking for it ot of goodwill & he likes him(his pack gets to stay w him). other two Kyogo requested(demanded) it for trade routes, he doesnt allow the urokodakis to go with bc theyre Not Tomiokas and these routes more heavily portray the different biology of the southerners/mountain-pass(a/b/o)

ones angsty bc sanemi is like. CRUSHED that he cant find love on his own. his father takes literally everything away from him. while sanemi is kind & respects giyu he doesnt really care for him. and for giyu to go from a very close-knit family-oriented culture to the stone cold-cutthroat/conservative/severely traumatized/individualist culture of the shinazigawas with literally No One there for him he gets pretty fucked up w the emotional neglect

the other ones less angsty bc sanemi actually Tries in their relationship and finds that he actually enjoys giyu's company- and cuddles. the cuddles r fuckin great. but kyogo's still a cunt and a massive hindrance to emotional and mental healing of everyone around him. but sanemi's not alone now so its Better

[mykollege]

Medical college admission in india

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Clinical School Affirmation in India: An Outline

Medical college admission in india is a thorough and cutthroat cycle that requires an exhaustive comprehension of the different advances included. The pathway to turning into a clinical expert in India ordinarily starts with getting entrance into a perceived clinical school, which offers undergrad (MBBS) and postgraduate (MD/MS) courses. The confirmation cycle is fundamentally represented by the Public Qualification cum Entry Test (NEET), a unified assessment directed by the Public Testing Office (NTA).

NEET: The Doorway to Clinical Instruction

NEET is the single placement test for all clinical schools in India, including government, private, and considered colleges. The test evaluates the information on competitors in subjects like Physical science, Science, and Science, with an accentuation on the last option. Led yearly, NEET guarantees a normalized assessment cycle and plans to keep an exclusive requirement of clinical schooling in the country.

Qualification Measures

To be qualified for NEET, applicants should satisfy the accompanying standards:

Age Breaking point: The base age is 17 years, and the greatest age is 25 years for general classification understudies, with an unwinding of 5 years for held classes.

Instructive Capability: Applicants probably finished their 10+2 schooling with Physical science, Science, Science/Biotechnology, and English as center subjects. They probably got something like half checks (40% for saved classes) in the passing assessment.

Identity: Indian residents, Non-Inhabitant Indians (NRIs), Abroad Residents of India (OCI), People of Indian Beginning (PIO), and outside nationals are qualified to show up for NEET.

Affirmation Cycle

The affirmation cycle starts with the arrival of the NEET application structure, trailed by the assessment and the ensuing guiding meetings. Here is a breakdown, bit by bit.:

Application: Competitors should finish up the NEET application structure web based, giving individual and scholarly subtleties, transferring required reports, and paying the application expense.

Assessment: NEET is normally led in May, with the test comprising of 180 different decision questions. The test takes three hours to complete.

Results: The outcomes are pronounced half a month after the assessment, with a scorecard demonstrating the competitor's imprints and rank.

Guiding: In light of the NEET scores, applicants are called for directing meetings. There are three principal advising specialists:

All India Share (AIQ) Advising: Led by the Directorate General of Wellbeing Administrations (DGHS) for 15% of the all out seats in government universities.

State Portion Advising: Led by particular state experts for 85% of the seats in government schools and seats in confidential universities inside the state.

Considered/Focal Colleges Directing: Led by DGHS for admission to considered and focal colleges.

Reservation Strategy

India follows a booking strategy to guarantee evenhanded admittance to instruction. The booking rates are as per the following:

Planned Stations (SC): 15%

Planned Clans (ST): 7.5%

Other In reverse Classes (OBC): 27%

Financially More vulnerable Areas (EWS): 10%

People with Handicaps (PwD): 5%

Difficulties and Amazing open doors

The confirmation cycle to Medical college admission in india is serious, with a huge number of competitors competing for restricted seats. This extreme contest can be unpleasant for understudies, requiring broad arrangement and commitment. Be that as it may, the presentation of NEET has smoothed out the confirmation interaction, lessening the intricacies related with numerous placement tests.

Furthermore, the Indian government is doing whatever it may take to build the quantity of clinical universities and seats to oblige the developing interest for clinical training. New drives and strategies are being carried out to work on the nature of schooling and medical care framework, giving better chances to hopeful clinical experts.

End

Tying down Medical college admission in india is a difficult yet remunerating venture. With a reasonable comprehension of the NEET assessment and the resulting confirmation process, up-and-comers can explore this way effectively. The vital lies in steady arrangement, remaining informed about the most recent updates, and going with key choices during the advising meetings.