#most of these are made just because i figured it could be possible

[rhettrosunsets]

Sweater Weather - Robert Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Robert Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: Bob's lost his hoodie and he has no clue where he left it, so he figures his next best option is to find you. What he didn't expect to see was you curled up on the couch wearing it.

Or: The one where Bob find's reader in his hoodie.

Masterlist

Warnings: Reader is wearing Bob's hoodie and it is described as being oversized. Bob calls reader pet names like baby. No description of reader. No use of Y/N.

Notes: I have been getting smacked with the most horrendous writers block recently as well as being super busy this entire week, so I apologize for all these being so short recently ❤️

Bob walked through the tower halls as his brain scrambled for answers. He’d just finished his shower when he realized his favorite navy blue hoodie was nowhere to be found in his room, which is where he swore he left it. 

He rubbed the back of his neck as he squinted down the hallway like his hoodie would magically appear. Maybe it got caught up in the laundry? Or maybe he left it in the living room last night after he had a movie night with you. He decided that the next best thing would be to ask you if you had seen it

You two had recently started dating, and you were absolutely his favorite person in this world.

You always complimented his hoodie saying that it smelt like him, and that it felt so soft when you’d curl up next to him. So he figured if anyone may know where this hoodie is, it’d be his girl.

He turned the corner into the tower’s living room to ask if you’d seen it, ruffling his damp hair as he walked. As he neared the open doorway, he called out “Hey, baby? Have you seen my-?

Only to stop dead in his tracks, because there you were. You were curled up in a blanket with your legs tucked beneath you on the couch. You were completely absorbed in your book as you leaned against the couch and your face contorted into a soft focused expression, one he adored getting to see on you.

But what really made him pause? You were wearing his hoodie. The exact one he was looking for. The sleeves were too long and bunched up on your arms so you could read your book freely. And the hood was bunched up behind your neck like you’d been cuddling into it.

Bob’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He thought that you’ve looked beautiful since the day he met you, and that’s only intensified since you’ve started dating.

But there’s something so special about this moment of seeing you wearing his clothes while you do something as simple as just reading a book. Bob knew one thing, and that’s that he wanted to see you in more of his clothes as soon as humanly possible.

He muttered a soft “God I'm lucky” to himself before walking closer to where you were sitting and cleared his throat lightly, a soft smile sitting on his face.

You startled a little as you looked up to see your boyfriends grinning face, heat quickly rushing to your face. “Hi.” you muttered out softly, a bit embarrassed at being caught wearing his hoodie. “I hope you don’t mind, it was really cold in here and it was just sitting on the edge of the couch.”

Bob smiled even wider as he shook his head, “I don’t mind at all. You look adorable in it, Baby.” he murmured his voice full of fondness as he walked over. “Wouldn’t mind getting to see you in more of these either.” he said softly tugging at the sleeve of the hoodie as he sat down next to you.

You ducked your head with a shy laugh hitting his arm quickly. “You’re so sappy sometimes.” 

Bob chuckled before kissing the top of your head, one arm looping around your shoulders as he pulled you into his side. “Seriously baby, you can steal them anytime, I like seeing them on you.” You nudged him playfully but melted into his side, letting his arm tighten around you as you focused back on your book.

Bob exhaled softly, a smile still on his face as you read. He found his hoodie and fell even more in love with you, what more could he ask for out of a cold winter day?

[maddragonfruit]

Everyone has their own theories about why Virgil dislikes Janus and vice versa, but something I've been thinking about is, maybe Virgil 'hates' Janus and Remus because they didn't show up while he was ducking out.

Now think about it. We don't know what ducking out actually is a real-life equivalent for, but it's pretty fandom wide accepted I think that it was either Virgil quitting his job, or a suicide attempt. Either way it's very clear it's a serious thing to the sides and Thomas regardless.

So when Virgil ducked out, its made pretty clear he didn't expect any of the sides to come looking for him, especially not the ones who have been directly contributing to how he's been feeling, even if on accident. So he's pretty surprised when they do show up, and talk about how much he is needed for Thomas and how they all don't hate him. Which convinces him to duck out and the series continues. Yadda yadda, but the interesting thing to talk about is that Virgil never expected Thomas and probably the other sides to figure out he'd ducked out, so he probably thought that if anyone was coming to tell him this wasn't worth it, it was Janus and Remus.

And then, the guys who have consistently been mean to him and told him Thomas didn't need him, show up, apologize for the way he's been treated and tell him Thomas does need him. But Janus and Remus don't. The people he's lived with for most of his life, aren't there to tell him he's important or needed.

I'm not saying Janus and Remus didn't/don't care about Virgil. I think that when he ducked out it was very possible they couldn't get into his room, or since Roman, Patton, and Logan only realized what was wrong when they directly interacted with Thomas, maybe they didn't realize what Virgil had done in time to stop him, or maybe they simply thought Virgil was sulking and didn't realize the severity of how bad he'd been feeling.

So if I was Virgil, I'd be pretty upset that Logan, Roman, Patton, and Thomas made and effort and managed to find me, but they didn't. I don't think that's the only reason they don't have a good relationship, but I feel like it could have significantly added to why Virgil dislikes them.

Just a theory though

[rayshippouuchiha]

so is now a good time to ask about that dark!minato who wants an arranged marriage btw kakashi and Naruto (bc who could take better care of his princess other than his prize student ofc) that u had a while back bc I feel like that au has been haunting me for literal years and I need to know more pls ray I beg please I'm on my knees please please ple—

I have heard the people sing and plead and so:

Kushina's throw away comment is what really sets it all in motion.

Although, if pressed, Minato cannot say he wouldn't have reached the same conclusion eventually anyway.

Because love has always been a complicated subject for Minato.

Minato has always been a creature of calculation instead of love at his core, a trait that has served him well across his shinobi career.

As an orphan, just another stray leaf on Konoha's great bough, Minato had known affection as a child but never love.

The closest Minato had come to love as a child had been with Jiraiya-sensei. Minato would easily classify his genin team as friends but it was always Jiraiya-sensei, the only parental figure Minato has ever known, who he had valued most from the lot.

Even now as an adult, Jiraiya-sensei, much like the village itself and all of his comrades, has Minato's affection, has his regard and his loyalty.

But not his love.

No.

Only Kushina, only Minato's red-hot heartbeat, has ever had that.

Still, it is fair to say that Minato does care for Kakashi.

The boy possesses all of the traits that Minato finds appealing in people, all of the characteristics of those he allows close enough to be truly considered his.

Plus, Minato had always appreciated Sakumo. Minato had even mourned Sakumo in his own way when he had killed himself. Had mourned the loss of the shinobi and the man.

So of course Minato has always found Kakashi, with all of his ticks and rigid beliefs, to be delightful.

Like a wolf cub gnawing on his fingertips. Something to play with, to train, to care for and then eventually release back into the wild, a predator full grown.

Minato had grown even fonder of him when he was placed alongside Obito and Rin, his little pack of genin who had, somewhere along the way, became his.

But now?

After all that had befallen his team? After the loses had piled up so very high?

Of course Minato had pulled the boy closer, had tucked Kakashi further into the protection of his shadow in an effort to keep the boy from dying as quickly as Minato was sure he would have if left unattended.

Because now more than ever before, Kakashi is brilliant and broken and too much of one to reach the full potential provided by the other.

Minato had intended to stitch him back together, to take the time to personally recraft Kakashi into something not destined to shatter at the next hard blow.

It's just ,,,

Well.

Minato's priorities have recently shifted.

Because Kushina, Minato's wild fire-lily, is pregnant.

Minato is going to be a father.

Soon, in a little under a year, there is going to be someone in this world who is the perfect mix of him and his precious wife.

Minato already loves them deeply, desperately.

Obsessively.

It was only Kushina's willingness to allow Minato to place a monitoring seal on her that had convinced him to leave her side once he'd found out.

This child, this windborn, ocean touched miracle, already owns Minato in a way he had not thought it was possible to be owned.

He knows now that there is nothing he would not do, no one he would not destroy, in order to protect his child.

Kushina, Minato knows, feels much the same.

Kushina, an orphan both familially and culturally in so many ways, would rend any and everything who threatened their child to pieces with her teeth if necessary.

And Minato would only love every blood drenched inch of her all the harder for it.

They do, after all, match each other so very well on so many different levels.

So when Kushina, a hand resting protectively over the still flat plane of her stomach, had made a passing comment about aquiring a ninken or some other companion for extra protection for their little bud or blossom?

It was hardly Minato's fault that his mind instantly made the connection to Kakashi and his cobbled together pack of summons.

But it was Minato's own mind that had taken that associatin a step further.

Had moved the thought from "a ninken like Kakashi's" to something along the lines of "a ninken like Kakashi".

Now it is all Minato can think about.

That (in)famous Hatake loyalty turned from the village and even Minato himself and instead pared down to a single brilliant focus point.

Kakashi, skilled and brilliant and broken Kakashi, properly trained and then leashed to Minato and Kushina's precious child.

The appeal, the temptation, is indescribable.

Minato could take Kakashi further in hand, could mold him, carve him, and train him properly.

With the right programing, the right guidance, Kakashi is still young enough that he could become everything Minato's child might ever need or want.

Protector and weapon and all things in between.

Minato could craft the perfect protection for his child.

Could ensure their safety and happiness in all ways.

Kakashi would benefit as well. He would no longer be drifting aimlessly, not with Minato's steady guiding hand on the back of his neck.

Not with a new goal, a new drive, placed directly in front of him.

And one day, if he progresses correctly, if he remains as true and focused as Minato is sure that he will, Kakashi could even be rewarded by making him a part of Minato's family in truth.

Because who else would be worthy of marrying Minato's precious child than the boy, the man, he hand picked and hand trained for them?

The ultimate gift and proof of Minato's love and devotion as a father.

Minato twirls his kunai around his finger, half of his mind touching against the reassuring hum of Kushina's monitoring seal while the other half click click clicks away.

[haroun31]

Hii what do you think about mitsuya with a s/o that looks and is really sweet but has sooo many tattoos under her cloths that are usually covered by cardigans and long skirts

And you can only see the tattoos when she is with a shirt.

So when they are at his home with luna and mana and maybe his friends they see the tattoos.

Up to you how they are gonna react but i picture luna and mana drawing on her tattoos hahahah

Have a good day

My Canvas Is My Body

Warning: MC is female | Tattoos | Japan's prejudice against tattoos | Fluff |

Mitsuya is such a good kid, despite being a founding member of the Tokyo Manji Gang and partaking in the typical activities of gangsters. He is a diligent student, grades not at the top but definitely above average. Mutual respect for older figures such as his teacher, the cleaners and parents. And he is even a beloved president of the sewing club! So you would expect his girlfriend to also be a person who can match his good boy persona. A stereotypical cute girl, who maybe is average in school and definitely away from any type of dangerous activity that could be related to gang stuff. Mitsuya feels like a guy who wants to keep his personal life and the gang as separate as possible.

So it was always a surprise when people find out that you weren't exactly the type of girl that they would imagine.

Not that you weren't a good person, not at all! You were still respectful and did good at school, there was nothing wrong with your personality or behavior. . .it was just that they totally didn't expected you to be so full of tattoos. We are talking about from head to toe here–too be frank it was actually baffling how you were able to hide all of them to the point of making people believe you didn't have any.

The first time Mitsuya saw your tattoos it was during a date at his sewing club. School hours had ended along with club hours and you had decided to join your boyfriend to keep him company while he worked on a project. You watched as the pencil moved across the paper, your head resting on his shoulder and your eyes fixed on the drawing of a jacket. Nothing but comfortable silence and eachothers presence filled the room.

"Done" he said softly, looking at the final sketch he ended up choosing in the midst of discarded ideas with a massive cross above them "Now I need a model to take the measurements. . ." He mumbled, placing the sketchbook on the table and letting his violet eyes shift on the side were you stood. He really wanted to start making clothes for you but he was never able to take your measurements without sounding awkward. So this is gonna be the perfect excuse to finally be able to.

"Do you want to be my model?"

At first you were a little hesitant to accept. Taking your measurements meant you would have to at least take off your shirt, and despite your relationship blooming quite recently, you still hadn't revealed to him the myriad of tattoos painted on your skin. And you were scared of his reaction to knowing about them. But in the end you gave in, especially after that smile of his that made your stomach flipping into itself and fold like a sheet of paper.

Damn him and his charming personality.

When Mitsuya first saw the tattoos littering your arms he remained silent as his violent eyes slightly widened. Not because he was shocked or disgusted with what he was seeing, but because those were one of the most beautiful designs he ever laid his eyes on. And trust me, he saw a LOT of tattoos in his life, especially since being in a gang usually lead to that. Plus he was a man of art, he knows beauty when he see it.

You had immediately mistaken his surprise for regret at having entered into the relationship. After all, a girl covered in tattoos was certainly not the ideal type of an average Japanese man. On the contrary, Japan shunned tattoos and you had not been allowed to enter several buildings if you did not cover them. Seeing your nervousness, Mitsuya immediately reassured you that he wasn’t disgusted by your tattoos and instead he found them so beautiful that at first sight inspired him already some works that would compliment them.

"Is that why you still use the long skirts even when it's summer"

"The school doesn't accept tattoos, especially on girls, so I'm forced to wear and cover them up if I want to keep being allowed to follow the lessons"

With this new discovery Mitsuya finally made up his mind. He will design you clothes which not only will be good looking on your figure but also functional in a society full of prejudices and harmful stereotypes. Jackets with sleeves that can be removed whenever you wanted, light skirts that would not make you dying in the heat of the summer, trousers with the design of your tattoos patterns to emulate the one in your legs.

"You know, I also have a tattoo. It's on the side of my head, a dragon. I will have to show it to you one day"

"I swear Mitsuya, if you dare to cut your beautiful hair just to show me that, I'm gonna lose my mind"

When you started going to Mitsuya's house it was during the winter time, which meant that both his little sisters, Mana and Luna, actually never knew that you had tattoos and you never really mentioned it to them. They just saw you as the cool big sister who made their brother's cheek all red and start to ramble off about you with them. And if Mana and Luna haven't been able to see your tattoos, Mitsuya’s friends even less.

But everything came crashing down a particular morning of summer. You had spent the night at your boyfriend's house, sleeping with him in his bed while cuddling and enjoy his presence. However, when your usual alarm started ringing, Mitsuya actually stretched his arm over your body to turn it off before you could wake up. You had a long day yesterday and he felt like you deserve a bit more of sleep.

He kissed your forehead before quietly freeing himself from your grip and getting out of bed to start his day. It took you three more hours to finally wake up on your own. You immediately felt confused when your ears didn't catch on the usual sound of your alarm, which made you believe to have woken up before it. Though your confusion deepened when you didn't see your boyfriend in the bed.

Without thinking you left his room, putting on one of his shirts along with the shorts you were already wearing. Though your path was soon cut off when you realized a tiny, tiny detail. Several head snapped in your direction, your hand still in front of your mouth mid yawn and hair more messy than the Mexican you ate yesterday with Mitsuya. You accidentally walked into his living room full of his friends.

Some Toman's member stopped at his house to talk about the new changes they wanted to apply to their uniforms and you chose the perfect memory to just waltz in looking like a bear out of hibernation. It wasn't their first time meeting you, but. . .well. . .it was their first time seeing you with a T-shirt and shorts. Though, their reactions hasn't been exactly what you expected.

"SHE HAS TATTOOS?!"

Your face exploded in red, especially with the fact that your sleeping brain was just now processing the fact that you weren't exactly at your best display. Mitsuya immediately came to your aid, placing his uniform jacket around your shoulders before guiding you back into his room to get properly changed, while behind everyone were losing their minds (AKA just Mikey)

But at the end they still accepted you. Of course they did! How could they not!? Especially when your tattoos looks so badass. Draken actually showed you the tattoos that also Mitsuya has on the side of his head since they basically did the same damn design. The origin of the twin dragons. Mikey went on and on asking you about the meaning behind your tattoos or if they even had one. At the end he almost considered doing one too, probably about a Dorayaki.

Kazutora showed to you his tiger tattoo as Baji joked around about you 'looking so innocent while hiding this rebel side of yours' while Pah-chin was trying to process the fact that a girl had more tattoos than any guy he ever met. Especially since he knew how painful getting one could be. . .your pain tolerance must be pretty fucking high.

Meanwhile Mana and Luna. . .they started using you as their personal coloring book. The majority of your tattoos were black and they had fun filling in the empty spot with their colors and markers.

"Big brother! Big brother! Can we also get a tattoo??"

"When you two are gonna be older all four of us can get a matching tattoo if you want"

You are so glad you found people who loves you despite what society might consider about your way of expressing yourself.

[alaskan-wallflower]

the way i kinda see the dynamic between steve and the curtis brothers goes as follows

ponyboy and steve don’t actually hate each other. i see way too many people depicting steve as some heartless bully or something while forgetting that ponyboy still considers the gang—and by proxy, steve—to be his best friends. i also don’t think steve goes around bullying middle school aged children for sport. his and pony’s rivalry is extremely one sided. steve probably thinks pony can be annoying at times while pony’s an angsty teenager who’s under the assumption that everyone’s out to get him (nobody’s fault in this regard—that’s kinda just what happens, especially between a 17 year old senior in high school and someone who should be in middle school). i think steve does have some insecurities about pony coming along on a lot of his and soda’s hangouts, and he doesn’t want to babysit, while pony’s jealous of steve for taking a lot of soda’s attention. i think steve is pretty chill with ponyboy, he just thinks it’s annoying when soda lets him tag along. he doesn’t hate pony and deep down, while pony finds steve annoying, he doesn’t hate him either. they’re very rodrick heffley/greg heffley coded if im being honest. steve sometimes helps check in ponyboy when he’s sick and darry/soda can’t be home and pony always leaves some leftovers out in case steve decides to come by that night. they don’t hate each other at all and the beef is mostly one sided. i doubt steve goes out of his way to bully middle schoolers.

soda and steve are obviously best friends. soda is steve’s safe haven. steve tells soda everything because he doesn’t want to vent too much around ponyboy since the age gap is a bit too much, and he doesn’t feel very comfortable around darry—at least not enough to the point he would feel comfortable being vulnerable around him. steve and soda had been best friends since they were maybe seven years old. they do everything together—from after school activities to double dates with their girlfriends. however, i’ve kinda talked about how i think steve used to bully soda for a bit since steve was really only ever taught that lashing out was the correct way to verbalize his emotions, and he was going through a lot. they eventually became friends after they both lost their recess and they’ve been unseeable since. steve feels horrible for how he used to treat sodapop, but soda has long since forgiven him. he understands that steve was in a lot of mental pain and wasn’t taught how to properly express himself. i feel like this is maybe an extreme term but they could possibly even be considered soulmates. to some extent, at least.

darry’s relationship with steve is the most complex to me. steve, in my head, has an extremely warped perception of masculinity as a whole, both when it comes to himself and, though less intensely, others. he takes issue with a majority of older, male figures of authority. steve was never really taught how to give respect to people with higher authority, nor was he received it from his dad. steve takes issue with darry sometimes because he feels that darry can be too overbearing. steve doesn’t like having his life laid out for everyone to see. and he gets very very annoyed when anyone—especially darry—asks if he’s “okay”. i think it’s more of an internal conflict and maybe an irrational, maybe unwarranted distaste, but it’s still there. steve’s also extremely intimidated by darry, which only serves to fuel his disdain for darry because nobody ever really made him feel that skittish, and steve takes that feeling of nervousness around darry to heart and considers it a blight on his ego. he hates it. nonetheless though, he’ll still hang out with him. i think darry and steve work out together sometimes. steve’s darry’s first choice when it comes to who’s going to take care of pony if something bad were to happen because darry can acknowledge that steve’s responsible. if you guys have seen the pixie and brutus comics, i kinda sssiciate darry and steve’s relationship to be like dexter and brutus’. steve always wants to one up darry and show that he’s the strongest, he’s the fastest, he’s the most capable, and darry’s kinda unfazed, maybe even a little bored of it? it’s complex for sure.

the dynamics between steve and all three curtis brothers is beyond interesting to me.

[mixelation]

As my local scientist who also likes transmigration if you were transported to a semi medieval setting how would you make penicillin as quickly as possible I always read these si-oc fics and the first thing they try to do is make penicillin and it always seems a bit too easy but I’m not a scientist so that’s why I’m asking you.

so "make penicillin" is indeed my usual go-to answer for what i would do because on paper it seems easy and most people understand that would be a game changer, but lbr what intervention is easiest and most effective depends on where you are, what the problems are, and what you have access to. john snow (the english epidemiologist, not the game of thrones character) was able to track a cholera outbreak back to a drinking pump just by mapping out where cases were and where those family's water was coming from, and then he was able to intervene in it by taking the handle of the pump. edward jenner, the so-called "father of immunology," invented the smallpox vaccine after observations from others that being infected with cowpox prevented subsequent infections by smallpox. so TBH depending on your circumstances, the best/fastest thing to do might not be to make penicillin at all!

however i did do i deep dive into how to make penicillin years ago, so here's a game plan (i guess some minor plasticity spoilers):

your first barrier is to find fungi in the wild that make penicillin. the fungus that makes penicillin, those in the genus Penicillium, is quite common BUT not every strain makes penicillin. i actually started my deep dive in attempt to figure out how common penicillin-producing fungi are, and I couldn't find anything trying to quantify how common they are in nature. i DID find a bunch of papers that test if penicillin is ever present in foods made with Penicillium fungi (some cheese and sausages), which is a concern for people with penicillin allergies. This is why in Plasticity, Tori asks Deidara to screen for cultures that have given people allergies.

the GOOD NEWS there ^ is that you might get lucky and end up in a society where growing fungi for food is a normal practice. the wikipedia page for roquefort cheese says people used to leave bread loaves in caves to cultivate Penicillium fungi, and then use that to make their cheese. so you might be able to draw on people's own fungus-growing practices, OR such a society might be more supportive of you collecting fungus.

the other piece of good news is that penicillium fungi have a hallmark blue-green color and are therefore easy to identify. they also really readily grow on old food (bread, fruit, whatever), so finding sample shouldn't be hard, especially if you can convince other people to help you.

your second barrier is to grow large amounts of your fungus while you screen for penicillium production. there's a popular naruto SI-OC where the OC stresses a lot about making agar in petri dishes, but TBH this shouldn't be a problem for growing fungi. it grows pretty easily and, in all honesty, for just the growing part, you could probably get away with something like wiping orange peels down with strong alcohol (to kill contaminants as best you can) and then growing fungi on those, ideally keeping the collected fungi separate so you don't mix up your strains. industry also grew the penicillium in liquid culture, which is why I had Orochimaru suggest this in Plasticity -- liquid culture means you can have a smaller opening for air the get in (and decrease contamination risk), AND the fungi will secrete whatever compounds into the liquid medium, which is easier to then extract.

further note on this: you WILL have to provide some sort of nutrient to feed your fungus. the popular one for lab fungi is PDA (potato dextrose agarose), which you can make at home using potatoes and agar (or gelatin). you can also skip the agar and make a liquid medium. but i also want to point out that whatever you're doing to culture fungi, it's got to be something you will continue to have easy access to, so if you're in pre-potato europe, you need to just figure out something else. i would personally try those weird bread broth recipes.

the third barrier is establishing that your fungus makes penicillin. this is the trickiest step so far. for this one, you're going to want to intentionally culture bacteria AND fungi in the same environment, AND you have the complication of: not all bacteria will be susceptible to penicillin, and unless your character is a well-trained microbiologist, you might not be able to tell the difference. this is also the part where an scientist is going to want a petri dish, but again, with creativity and determination, you don't really need one.

so, barrier 3a: get some appropriate bacteria to test out against your fungi. the good news here is that bacteria are also easy to isolate and grow on various substrates. unless you're said trained microbiologist (which I am not, I'm just a bitch who grows a lot of bacteria), you'll probably need to isolate and culture multiple strains because, again, you don't know what's going to be susceptible to penicillin or not! oh, also, you need the bacteria to easily grow across your medium of choice because penicillin disrupts cell proliferation and you might not see an effect on a bacteria lawn that's not actively growing.

barrier 3b: figure out how your assays for penicillin will work. this is the part where I meant you might need/want a petri dish. what i usually see in fiction is basically mimicking what flemming accidentally did, which is culture both a fungus AND bacteria on a dish and see if there's a little bacteria-free zone around the fungus. such a zone of impaired bacterial growth would imply antimicrobial compounds, such as penicillin. HOWEVER, there's other ways to do this! you can, for example, just take a sample of your liquid medium and add it to whatever you're growing bacteria on.

all of these steps will require you having various types of containers for your samples and places to store them that don't get especially hot/cold or a lot of direct sunlight, as well as at least the ability to easily sanitize your container/space. working next to an open flame should help with airborne stuff, and so should boiling/baking tools and items. you might also have access to cleaning chemicals like lye and alcohol, and tools made from metals with antimicrobial properties. i don't think you'll get much in the way of single-use plastic, lmao. a microscope (invented in the 1590s!) will be helpful but not necessary.

OH, also, if you're targeting a specific disease (or diseases) -- ideally you'd be able to assay your penicillium against that. but getting a sample and not infecting yourself is likely to cause all sorts of problems. ;)

okay, so. you go through all that and you find a fungal strain that kills bacteria. now what will you do? if it's too weak, you might just turn patients into human petri dishes that grow resistant infections. so that brings us to barrier 4: establishing if your penicillin is good enough as-is (and if it's not, doing something to fix it).

TBH unless you're growing your fungi in harmful substances or have other reasons to think some of the compounds (or a contaminant) might be worse for your patient's health than dying of a bacterial infection, i would only be hyper concerned about isolating the penicillin if you thought of some way to concentrate it. i'm not a biochemist though, so i can't give feedback on how someone might do that, or otherwise do things to control dose size.

ideally at this point you'd move on to animal testing. however i'm not sure you'd be able to do that, so you might end up going "hello your child is dying, do you want to try my highly experimental medicine?" i'm not a doctor, so i'm not sure how you'd go about assessing if/when your patient has cleared an infection.

what do you do if your fungal strain's penicillin isn't producing a strong enough compound? you can screen more strains, but MY preferred approach would be to artificially select for your strain that's ALREADY making penicillin to just make more. to do this you'd need genetic variation in penicillin production/strength. your isolated strain might already contain multiple genotypes (the definition of an "individual" for fungi is... controversial?), and your character could maybe play around with various mutagenic compounds/techniques, depending on what's available. then it would just be breaking your sample into small pieces (to get closer to "individuals") and keeping the chunk that makes the most potent penicillin, then break THAT into smaller pieces (and maybe re-mutagenizing), and so on.

again, if you have a biochemist on hand, finding a way to isolate and concentrate the compound you want might also help! but i'm just an experimental biologist lol

the next barrier is mass production, yikes. the biggest take-away from my reading on this is: grow it in a big vat. is there a brewery in your universe? try talking to them.

and then the final barrier is getting people to take it correctly. well, you might have to work to get people to take it at all, depending on your character's reputation. and then we can't even get modern day people to take antibiotics correctly, so. good luck?

anyway so this is probably years of work and definitely requires help from many different types of people lmao

[emblemxeno]

About the Engage Reddit sales clowning, I want to bring up that you see from those people acting like Fates being the second-best selling game in the entire franchise was because it was "cheating" for having the route split chicanery, but my brothers in Christ, the official sales figure only accounts for physical copies. The routes were DLC. The DLC likely made even more money than that, and yet you see these people trying to downplay that success!

It's so weird, because the reason why Fates and 3H did so well and Engage didn't IMHO is due to two factors; a.) the lack of any clear dating sim-like mechanic (at least one that wasn't botched to hell and back by the localization, because much as Reddit FE wants to deny it, waifuism hard carries games like FE), and b.) the fact the visual designs fucking slapped in both games. Visual designs are like the factor whether your game about romanceable waifus and husbandos sells well, and Engage, much as I like it, didn't really have a design that basically anyone in the fandom truly liked (Mika Pikazo is a great artist, but they're a very ill-conceived fit for an FE game IMHO). There were memes for months up to the lead-up of Engage's release that Alear was "Toothpaste-chan," that the characters "looked like Vtubers," that there was even a lot of skepticism it was an FE game due to the leaks looking nothing like FE... well, it led to a lot of the group that bought the games for the waifuism not going out to buy the game. People on Reddit FE like to act like marketing is the reason why games like Awakening saved the franchise and Fates sold well, but if that were true, Concord would've been the billion dollar hit Sony wanted it to be given how intensely they marketed it. Engage just didn't have a visual style people liked, while 3H and Fates were what people liked.

I guess it just annoys me because people have this weird double standard that 3H's success was "deserved" unlike Fates's, but both games succeeded for the same reason: because they were waifuist games. Regardless of whether Reddit FE wanted to admit it or not. You'd believe that Echoes was everything fans wanted it to be unlike Fates, but it sold even less than Engage! (This is at least partially due to the fact Echoes released after the Switch released, but given how good Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon did and the fact the 3DS was profitable enough to continue making games for it until 2019, I don't think this excuse exactly holds water).

People in the FE fandom are extremely averse to the idea that social sim/dating and romance mechanics could have anything to do with games being popular or doing well, and it makes me laugh.

Like, 3H, the game in this series with an utterly disproportional amount of ship fanfic and art? Yeah, it's not because the game is actually remarkable in a way wholly unique to it. Most FE plots are better than it has, be it in execution, subject matter or premise. And the gameplay is also really sloggish and time consuming.

It's because of its quantifiable amount of dialogue and characters yapping about their personal lives. It is the most relationship based FE in the series, ripe for ship content, even if it's not possible in the game itself (hence the copious amount of crack ships). The game has longevity because people keep talking and writing about it, rather than actually playing it.

And the devs know it, it's basically FE-Persona rip-off that people wanted from TMS. Including sunk-cost fallacy and time consumption.

Fates also had a bit of this too, though I'd argue that the game has designs that are more attractive (I really can't stand school-to-adulthood character designs and premises, it kind of gives me the ick lol). And also has a surface level design, aesthetic and premise that is tantalizing and appealing to people, across multiple mediums.

So... what I mean to say is, I get it. Engage stripped away the hardcore social mechanics and had more eclectic character designs. People will deflect and deny and say "well it's because the story and writing is BAD!!!" but this is the same fandom that can't even fucking agree that the series has well written stories in ANY of its entries in the first place. What 3H did was appeal to normies who had nothing better to do during covid except play a bloated game and argue.

Suffice to say, I don't think the next original FE game that will have a "~Well Written Story~" by FE Fandom standards will actually do well (or as well at least as the 3DS games and 3H) because normies won't fucking care this time since the lightning in a bottle, parasocial sim stuff won't happen twice. That'll be a shocker for the fandom to take, but it should be a good indicator that no one should actually equivocate sales to quality when the quality itself is dependent on public opinion, which has no consistency.

Also thank you for bringing up the physical vs DLC sales for Fates, because people often do forget that and it tickles me lol. Like, were you to actually total that up, the fact that 3H has passed Fates sales most likely has been more recent than anyone thinks simply because of the DLC aspect. Fates itself also has a more rich DLC spread to take part in (whereas 3H just has costumes, Cindered Shadows and the worst playable character in the game in Anna)

[offdxty]

As much as what the other says makes sense, as much as Kane understands it - can take it all in, consume the information offered - he cannot help to feel something else pop up upon processing what has been given to him; There's an emotion there again, and it feels very similar to what Kane had felt about a day ago - tugging on his insides, creating a certain kind of weight around his heart, on top of his shoulders, that cannot be explained with any physical change that might be happening to him.

Because there is none happening in the first place. Nothing's there that could possibly add that weight to him, or pull on what exists behind the shape of ribs and muscle. Therefore it has to be an emotion, a sensation, that much Kane is pretty sure about by now. So he inhales, takes that emotion, claims and thinks about it as his gaze flicks down to where Dr. Harrow's fingers continue to place another piece of wood on top of what's already there, adding to the circle.

That means this isn’t a conversation, not one that anything can be discovered from - it makes me more of a teacher. You can’t be converted if you don’t understand all of your options before making a choice. Not truly.

Perhaps this man hasn't converted Kane then. It makes sense, and he doesn't feel said emotion inside his chest because of that fact - but rather becuse of the other claiming this to not be a conversation, the situation that's happening between them: An exchange of words, of possible opinions.

---Kane, not-Kane, it, tries to understand what it means. Tries to get why this isn't a conversation. It confuses him, causes a bottom lip to be pulled between teeth again as he chews on it, then picks up another piece of that puzzle, weighs it between his fingers... trying to judge whether it could fit on top of their created construction or if he should choose another one...

Unsure what to say, Kane decides to keep silent about the whole issue at first; He inhales and places said wooden piece on top of the other with care, having added two in a row now. The not-completed circle remains intact, nothing breaks and falls, to which that inhaled air is slowly exhaled through a pair of nostrils.

He wants this to be a conversation, Kane thinks. But... how is he supposed to turn it into one, if this isn't what a conversation is made of, apparently? ---At least not one that allows something to be discovered from, as the other man had described it as.

A blink, a gaze that flicks back up to meet Harrow's own, expression returning to something more blank, less lightearted. Maybe there's a bit of disappointment there, showing through his internal thoughts... but Kane does not mention it, keeps everything to himself.

"...I enjoyed the vegetables, most of the time." An answer given to the question that has been offered to him. "Mostly the ones that were prepared without... anything else. No added liquids, less sodium. ---I had green beans for dinner yesterday evening, I think. I was told they were green beans. I liked them, because there was less sodium on them, nothing else added; It was easy for me to separate them from the rest."

Kane, not-Kane, it, isn't aware of it, but those green beans would definitely be considered bland by most human beings - just boiled in salt water, and apparently not even in very well-salted water to begin with. No added sauces, no added spices, nothing.

... A sudden return to the previous topic, with Kane frowning briefly as he shifts a bit where he's sitting, hands folding on top of his lap, head tilting.

"You try to figure out what I am, the way I function. Yet you say that, because of me only being exposed to you - and therefore making a decision based on the little information I'm given - it does not turn any of this into a conversation anything can be discovered from." ---At least if Kane understood it the correct way, what Dr. Harrow had said to him mere minutes ago. Perhaps he's mistaken, but he's sure that the other will tell him should it be the case.

"But I do wonder: How am I supposed to show what I am, how I function, when what you offer to me isn't enough in the first place? When it isn't going to prove anything, isn't going to let either of us discover anything; I ate meat, I disliked it, you explained the concept of veganism, it sounded pleasing to me, yet my decision to perhaps take on a similar route is dismissed as 'there not being enough information present for me to even make that decision in the first place'. ---Isn't my aversion for meat a good enough reason? My approval to the concept of preserving nature? What else needs to be there, for my answer to be taken as something to be discovered, to be seen?"

Is Kane currently criticizing this, the conversation - which apparently is none - they're having? Perhaps. ---It might be the first time for him to question something.

Something in Arthur’s posture shifted gently, his breathing still in a way that suggested approval. Not of the answer, perhaps, but again because of everything behind it. The subject had answered him because he’d wanted to. Nothing had been to please him, nothing had been to fill silence - it was just because he wanted to. 

That mattered so much more than content. Arthur had already said that it did - and it always would. 

The subject’s articulation was more than language. It was philosophy in the earliest stages, like holding a newborn. Reflection, internalization, a budding moral framework built neither on coding nor command; no, it was intellectual resonance. And Arthur, who had spent most of his life parsing the gap between instinct and intention, was aware of the significance. 

He leaned forward slightly, placing another puzzle piece into the circle; careful not to disrupt the subject’s careful structure. 

“You’re not wrong,” he agreed, his voice low but precise. “Society typically does operate through the exchange of ideas. Conversational inheritance. Culture itself is just a vast network of thoughts that have been passed down, built from collective reflection. We influence each other all the time - but influence isn’t the same thing as indoctrination. It’s not the same as manipulation, either.” 

He didn’t know if that made sense. He hoped it did; it was strong in his mind, that there wasn’t much going on here in the sense of communication. Not enough to be where they’d need to be, in order to suggest that the subject was making his own ideas. 

“When you listen, reflect, and then make a value-based decision - especially one that aligns with your own emerging preferences - that is what I call autonomy. That’s the foundation of personhood. Not because someone told you that it was right, but because you encountered a concept and it felt correct to you. But the only thing you’re coming in contact with, here, is what I tell you - and you accept it as it is. You ask questions, but you don’t fight me, and you rarely disagree. That means this isn’t a conversation, not one that anything can be discovered from - it makes me more of a teacher. You can’t be converted if you don’t understand all of your options before making a choice. Not truly.” 

He shifted again, his body language still relaxed despite the formality of his speech. The subject could ‘decide’ to be vegan, sure - but it wasn’t much of a decision. It was just him doing something when Arthur opened a path.

“As for your question, yes. You can ask not to be served meat. That’s the kind of thing you don’t have to justify - it’s a preference. If you wanted it warmer or colder in here, you can have it. If you wanted different clothes, you could have it. But even if it wasn’t something that we would honor, you can always still ask. You have that power. You can say or do anything you want - as long as your body and mind permit you.” 

Arthur had only been teasing, of course, about ‘converting’ the subject. Obviously, no converting had happened - only recognition. The subject had heard something that aligned better to himself, and he adopted the label because it meant he had a word for a feeling he already knew. He hadn’t been converted, because he hadn’t changed - something that Arthur found just as concerning as it was fascinating. 

“Do you enjoy any parts of your meal, when you’re eating?” Arthur asked gently. “Do you have any foods you like?” 

[wackywatchdotcom]

woke up like 40 mins ago at like 4:30 unable to fall back alseep so im once again thinking about ragatha and pomni as The Ocd Havers. its everything to me. oh whoops i ran out of tags on this post

[mathildeaquisexta]

Recap of the play about Toussaint Louverture :

(as @theorahsart asked for a review !)

Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to take any pictures, so the ones I'm showing you here are from the promotional images.

Tony Harrisson (nothing to do with the American boxer, even if they have the same name and look very much alike, here we're talking about a French actor) is very convincing in this role: he resembles the historical figure whose part he's playing, and he's extremely tall and stately, which makes the character's helplessness and profound distress all the more touching.

The action takes place in 1802. Here, Toussaint Louverture is living out the last months of his life. At the start of the play, he is locked up in the prison of the fortified castle of Joux, and his only social interactions are limited to the jailer, who is sympathetic and does his utmost to make his stay in prison as bearable as possible, and with one of Napoleon's aide-de-camp generals, who gives him little news from the outside and questions him a lot about his actions as Governor of Saint-Domingue. His motives are unclear, but Louverture thinks he's trying to trick him into saying something that will be used against him to hurt his family or make his time in prison worse.

Hope fades and despair grows as Louverture spends more time locked up and realizes the magnitude of what is happening. At first, he believes deeply in justice, convinced that his detention is only temporary, that there must be a mistake and that he will soon be granted a trial to explain himself. He talks a lot about his pride in being a Republican and repeats the saying “Vivre libre ou mourir” with a hopeful smile and tears of joy in his eyes (yeah, the acting was THAT good). He waits for news from his family, which never comes despite the numerous letters he writes to them, and soon realizes that no one will tell him why he's even locked up in the first place. Most of the time he's alone with his memories, thoughts and nightmares, and his health worsens. He suffers several humiliations (he is forced to take off his military uniform and put on prison clothes) and the General, who refuses to give him any news of his family, simply tells him that Jean-Jacques Dessalines betrayed him and took part in his arrest, to break him psychologically. In the end, he dies of cold and illness, just as a letter from his son finally reaches him, informing him that his family is still under house arrest, but that they are finally reunited and awaiting his return.

I really enjoyed this play. Everything about it was deeply sad and upsetting, but for the right reasons. The theater was small and the resources quite limited (the costumes were rather poorly made, for example) but the actors were extremely good, they know History, they obviously love and respect their characters and they managed to tell a complete story despite the limited time (1h15) and to retrace the course of the history of the Saint-Domingue expedition. In particular, we see Louverture's confusion and then his anger at having been tricked when he says it was his duty to defend his island and that he attacked Charles Leclerc because no one warned him of his arrival, whereas the General blames him for having attacked Leclerc voluntarily and acting as an outlaw tyrant, for example. When he's accused, it's as if he committed crimes, and when he explains himself, it's clear that his words and actions are constantly being manipulated and turned against him.

Small note : While on Saint Helena, Napoleon expressed regrets for the way Louverture was treated, and acknowledged that it was a mistake to have tried to subjugate Saint-Domingue by force, when he could have simply come to an agreement with Louverture, trusted him and let him govern on his behalf. But it was too late for regrets.

The French Revolution-related theatre plays of the Festival d'Avignon

I cannot wait to see them !

[specsthesecond]

🃏👑🃏

You were married off to the king as a young noble woman. The arrangement was rather rushed in your opinion, not that anyone asked for it. The king only needed a show queen, a quiet but present symbol for the kingdom and you suited well enough for that.

He didn’t need a wife for pleasure, he had plenty mistresses for that and he seemed to be in no rush for a successor. You suspected it was because he had no intent to hand over power to anyone else anytime soon. Although, that's just what you assumed, others never blamed him for it. You were always the target of the hushed whispers and silent accusations of infertility, unruliness or even infidelity when it came to the subject of an heir.

The people's gossip aside, it was an easy marriage. You didn’t have to share a bed with a man you didn’t love and you didn’t have to raise his children. Many more deserving women would kill for such a life, which only made you feel worse about the utter discontent you felt. It was the loneliness, mostly. Such a privileged life and yet not a single companion in the world to share it with.

The king and his advisers only speak to you when they need you to make an appearance as queen. Their orders always dripping with condescension and near mockery. They’ve made you smile and wave for hours, waltz until your feet blister and recite a holy text’s worth of pompous poetry, but this most recent ploy was particularly concerning.

You sit on your throne next to your husband, hands in your lap, staring at the colourful figure in front of you. The bells on his ridiculous hat jingle as he bows his head so low they almost touch the marble floor. Quiet chuckles emit from the nobility crowding the massive ballroom and the unease in your stomach only builds.

When the jester picks his head back up, you can’t help fiddling even more with your dress, just like your husband's advisers have scolded you not to. The jester silently stares with his sheet white face, big red grin painted across his mouth. You want to shrink under the jesters stare, the blue diamonds painted over his eyes make his gaze feel piercing.

The king grins when he catches your nervous gaze.

“Do you like your surprise, my love? I thought you could use some cheering up lately. As did my advisers.”

He chuckles, looking over at the old men in the corner of the room. They smile back, amusing in a joke you're not a part of.

You just nod your head as politely as possible. You don’t know what's happening, but whatever they have planned can’t be good.

The jester skips up to where you and the king sit. He gives an exaggerated curtsy to the king, earning a laugh from him and the various nobility.

The bells jingle as he springs back up and steps closer to you. He stretches his hand out, you stare at it and then back to your husband.

“The fool wants a dance, my dear. Give him a dance.”

You try to hide the apprehension on your face and reach for the jesters white glove-covered hand. He doesn’t squeeze or pull you up like you expected, instead he holds it gently, waiting for your next move. You rise from your throne and cast one more glance at your husband, who only offers a self-satisfied grin in return. This whole time all they've wanted from you is a perfect queen and now they want you to dance with a fool?

The jester walks you to the middle of the room, encircled by leering nobility. He places your hand on his waist before dramatically correcting the mistake and placing it on his shoulder instead, looking bashfully to the audience who snicker at the joke. He takes your other hand in his and gives you a little nod before the musicians starts playing and he guides you into step.

Now obviously you know very well how to dance, you enjoyed it quite a bit when you were little although, now it’s just become another part of your queenly duties. Did any of that even matter now? Now that it’s clear the king and his peers see you as just as much of a joke as the man you’re waltzing with.

Your deep thoughts are broken when said man unexpectedly twirls you in a dizzying circle. You flail slightly in your surprise but you’re brought back into his arms just as quickly to continue your steps. You fully focus on him now and you wonder what his features look like under that gaudy clown makeup. Even in the bright chandelier lights of the ball room, you can’t make out the colour of his irises. Earlier, you thought they were hazel but now it seems they're an impossibly dark brown.

The dark pools look as if they could swallow all the colour from his face and your own. Actually, has he blinked even once during this dance, or at all for that matter?

You’re not sure if it was your mistake or the jester’s but you step on his foot and he suddenly pulls away from you. He clutches his foot and jumps up and down in theatrical pain. The room bursts into laughter, bellows and cackles. These elite men and women delight in the humiliating performance you’re both putting on for them. It takes everything in you not to cave right there in the middle of it.

While the jeering continues, you try your best to steel yourself, replacing the need to cry with spiteful compliance. If they want a dance, they can have a dance.

You curtsy at the jester, offering an apology and hold your hand out to him. He looks around and then points to himself. You can’t help but smile and nod your head.

He takes your hand and when the music starts back up again, you step in time to the beautiful melody. You try and put your full attention on the jester, not anyone else in the large room, which proves to be quite easy as he is by far the most interesting person present. You can just make out the small smile under the red painted grin, his relaxed eyebrows under the bright blue diamonds, the crook of his pointy nose.

While moving in sync, you become almost lost in trying to map out his face under the make-up. You look for imperfections in the face paint but can’t seem to find a single smudge or brush streak, in fact the paint looks impressively even, like it’s a second skin.

It truly does feel like its only you two and the music, for the first time in a long time you feel wanted by someone else.

But when the king grows bored he demands new entertainment.

He motions for the musicians to stop their music and you’re brought back to reality. The jester bows for the crowd, he gestures to you and you offer a little curtsy before being escorted back to your throne. Form there, you watch the rest of the strange performers routine. He juggles an impressive amount of miscellaneous items, he folds himself into ridiculous positions, walks on his hands and generally makes a fool of himself for the crowd.

You watch in delight, though your husband doesn't seem as interested as he was before your little dance.

You think about the jester all the way back to your courters that night. You think about him as you slip on your night dress and slide into bed, and you think of him as you stare up at the ceiling for possibly hours. There is too much on your mind, the fun of watching the jesters performance has subsided and thoughts of what this means for your reputation and position in the court remain constant. A sigh leaves you as you lift yourself up and open the doors to your balcony.

You lean on the balcony ledge and stare out at the starry night sky, not even the strange jester can distract from the humiliation ritual you were just a part of. He could have been in on it for all you know and you're just naive enough to think he was being kind to you during the whole thing.

A shuffling sound from behind you makes you turn your head and it takes you just a split second to register the very colourful jester standing in the corner of your balcony.

The screech you let out is smothered by your own hand. You clutch the edge of the balcony, staring at the slender man who puts his hands up, waving apologies while moving his chest as if laughing, nothing comes out of his mouth. You clutch your heart, breathing quite heavily as you stare at him bewildered. You look around trying to discern where he could have come from, and how you only now hear his bells jingle as he waves his hands, still apologising.

He steps closer and stands tall in front of you, he’s much more imposing than you remember him being. He holds up one finger and then mimics a waltz. His head bows low and he holds his hand out for you to take. He’s asking for another dance but is there really much of a choice at all? Has this also been planned? If you say no, will he just leave? Do you want him to leave? The dance you shared was the most delightful time you've had in so, so long

You stare at him for a good while, he stays with his hand outstretched, bent over at a near 90 degree angle, not straining even a little. The longer you wait, the more uncomfortable you feel in his unwavering presence.

Against your better judgement, you reach out and touch his gloved hand. He curls his fingers around yours and stands upright. You let him bring your hand to his shoulder, place his hand on your waist and step closer. This time is different from the last time. Now it really does feel like his attention is only on you, not with the other guests, not with the performance. It should be frightening, but you find no malice in his eyes, no ridicule in his demeanor.

As he steps into motion, you begin a slow waltz in the small space of your balcony. It's slower than in the ballroom, it's more intimate. While you dance with this complete stranger, your thoughts run rampant, you second guess your judgement again and again. Maybe the kindness you sense from him is a ruse. Maybe he is here on behalf of the king, setting up another degrading show. He could even be an assassin, come to rid you quietly in the middle of the night.

You would deserve such a fate for giving in so easily. You slowly spin in his arms and this time you don't hear the snide laughs of the nobility, just the sounds of the night. Both of you step in time and you let him guide you to the edge of your balcony. You hold your breath as he dips you over the ledge. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out what could be your last breath ready for him to let go and let you fall.

But he doesn't let go, your grip on his shoulders never slips. You open your eyes, a bit blurry from wetness but you can make out his face, because it's right in front of you even though you're bent over the balcony far enough that your feet have left the ground. You stare back at his unrelenting gaze. In the dim light of the moon his eyes look even darker than before and something new swims in the deep black of his pupils, something sad.

They are lidded as they examine your face, your entire being. His hand on your back presses your chest further into his until you're sure he can feel your rapid heartbeat through your very flesh.

He lifts you upright again, turning you away from the ledge and out of harms way. You’re still chest to chest, he’s so close but you can’t feel him breathe. Your wide eyes stare up at him, trying to discern his expression. Your breaths are short and your grip on him hasn’t let up a bit.

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, the warm fabric of his gloves on your cold cheeks has you easing into them far too easily. His eyes examine every inch of your face while his thumbs stroke your cheeks, you can just barely see the frown on his lips behind the painted smile. He brings your face closer to his, slow and methodical, making it very clear what his next move is. You’re not sure if this was due to his own hesitation or to give you time to pull away, regardless you let him inch closer and closer until his lips grazed yours and you finally feel him breathe out one long breath.

The kiss is deep. Despite being slow and gentle, it still forces a struggled breath from you. You would’ve thought he tasted like paint but he doesn’t, he’s warm and inviting. It’s nice.

Your eyes close, surrendering all hesitation to the stranger in your arms. Fingers dig into the fabric of his puffy striped sleeves as your body melts further into his. You quickly learn to breathe through your nose, out of necessity and unwillingness to part from his affections.

You let him work your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. The feeling is so foreign, you can’t help but whine. The backs of his fingers flutter over your throat and you shiver.

His tongue fills your mouth, sliding along yours and savouring your taste. The wet muscle reaches far into your mouth, farther than you thought normal but your experience is slim and you don’t have the awareness to fully question it. It’s overwhelming. Your knees tremble and he lowers you both to the cold stone floor. His tongue reaches into your throat, a feat you know is impossible.

You’re too lost to even think of the implications of this, as you gag and convulse around the thick muscle in your throat that no longer feels like a normal tongue. He reaches so far, your eyes roll back, your lower region warms uncomfortably and you forget how to breathe. You tap his shoulders quickly, a plea for air, and he retreats from your throat. He holds you as you cough and heave, wiping the spit from your chin.

You look at him with the an expression full of shock and fear and bewilderment and every other emotion shooting through your fuzzy mind. His expression is hard to discern but he seems both amused and sad.

He stands and brings you up on shaky legs. When he starts to back away, you panic and clutch his hands tighter. You don’t know what you were hoping for. That he would stay? That he would spend the night with you?

His face is full of what you hope is longing and not pity, you know what pity looks like. He holds you close in what you know is a goodbye embrace. He presses his forehead to yours and he places one last short kiss on your lips. Its playfull and very much not what you’d consider a proper good bye kiss. You search his gaze and you’re met with rather boyish mirth, lifting your spirits slightly. Maybe this isn't goodbye then?

He winks at you and takes your hand, spinning you around once, twice and three times before he lets go. When you rebalance yourself and look around the balcony, there is no sight of the jester. It's just the pitying sounds of the night and your only other witness, the moon. Like he was never there at all.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ask Around in the Morgue

Most times, Tim is not a fan of social interaction. If he can acquire the necessary data from literally anything written in text, without the need to actually talk to people, he does that. It's the logical thing to do, come on! People lie, or, even if they don't, they take ages to get to the point, and you can't put them on pause or set aside to return later. Some written resources lie as well, but that is, at least, way easier to prove by relying on several of them instead of a single one.

That saying, he can work in a team — Young Justice is great proof of that. Batfamily, not so much, but then, none of the Bats like working together. Because they are all hypercontrolling, manipulative, and paranoid.

And yet, keeping all that in mind, right now Tim is about to go and speak — using his mouth and words — to a GCPD mortician whom he's never seen or met before in his life.

All because of this report.

More precisely, because of the line 'pls come talk to me if u r a bat' that was inserted right into the file, just between the description of contents of the victim's stomach and the rather unappealing photo of the same thing. Tim supposes the placement was intentional — most people skip over that kind of information, jumping straight to the cause of death. Which is a homicide, by the way.

Not that it's anything unusual in Gotham.

Tim walks through the hallway, keeping his steps silent. Daniel Nightingale, the mortician, more accurately a pathologist, works graveyard shifts — very ironic and no less convenient — and most days, he does so all alone, so Tim is not expecting company. He is just keeping quiet out of habit.

And yet, as he gets closer to the autopsy room, he hears it. The chipper, amused voice from inside.

"You can't just make that shit up, I swear," it laughs, "Oh, Minerva. You were way too old to pull it off." There's a pause, and then it starts speaking again, filled with hidden laughter, "You don't say?"

The door is, thankfully, already half-open. Tim takes a quick look inside, hoping to figure out who's the other part of the alleged conversation, but the only person there — erm, the only alive person — is a guy in a gray uniform and a lab coat. Supposedly, Mr. Nightingale. There's also a corpse of an old lady on the table in front of him, of course, but Tim doubts she can hold up the conversation. A phone call? Or maybe he's just talking to himself?..

The guy raises his head briefly, turning to the door.

"Come on in, lurking in the shadows doesn't suit you," he calls, almost cheerful, and Tim pauses.

He's pretty sure he hasn't made a single noise.

Oh, well. Maybe he did. Maybe the pathologist has an alarm system in case of a zombie apocalypse. Maybe he sees the future. The possibilities are endless.

Tim steps inside.

"I'm here about your note," he says, cutting the greetings and niceties. The pathologist hums, his eyes still on the bare, skinless ribcage of the woman before him.

"Cool. Which one?" He asks without missing a beat. Tim stares; the guy looks entirely too nonchalant, given the circumstances, but that's not the only reason. Daniel Nightingale is way younger than Tim expected — twenty, at most — and he is... well, if Tim had a type, which he doesn't, he would definitely check all the boxes. Most of the boxes. A lot of boxes.

Okay, he's just good-looking, what is he even thinking about, this is getting sidetracked.

"There was more than one?" He asks because that's the logical, reasonable thing to ask. Daniel glances up at him. A tiny strand of hair escapes his pinned down bangs, and the guy huffs, shaking it away from his face. Shouldn't he be wearing a hat?

"Yeah, I put the bat alert in at least five reports I've written. Only two recently, though, so, if you could specify?" He asks. The loose strand of his hair moves all on its own, brushing itself up over Daniel's head. Then, one of the bobby pins comes out, hanging in the air briefly, and goes back into Daniel's hair, securing it from falling again. "Thank you, Minerva," the guy smiles politely, casting a glance to the side.

Tim is not sure what's going on but he has a hunch.

"I'm speaking about John Doe from last week?" He attempts, but Daniel only hums.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow it down," he turns back to the table, looking down into the old lady's open abdomen with a critical eye. "Darling, do you think you'll be fine here all on your own while I speak with our dear guest?" He asks, almost demurely, and Tim is not dumb. Minerva is definitely the name of the lady on the autopsy table. The question is, has the GCPD hired a schizophrenic man during such dire times, or is the guy really some kind of ghost-whisperer?

The chances are, honestly speaking, 50/50. It's Gotham.

There's no response that Tim can hear, but Daniel straightens back up and takes off his gloves before turning to the other side, still away from Tim. "Mind cleaning up?" He asks again and then throws his gloves into the nearest bin. They don't land, but just as Daniel huffs and goes to retrieve them, the gloves float up from the floor like someone invisible picked them up and dropped them into the bin.

"Ah, thank you, Minerva," the pathologist smiles.

Tim feels an uncomfortable chill run down his spine.

"How many ghosts are in here?" He tries for casual, but fails spectacularly, judging by Daniel's chuckle.

"Five," he answers without any pause, "Six, if you count the nonverbal kid that's hiding in Page's cold locker. Anyway, John Doe?.."

A few of the instruments Daniel has used float up from the table and start moving towards the nearest sink.

Tim takes a deep breath.

Either he's gotten himself a new contact in GCPD forensics or a very alarming new meta. 50/50.

But Daniel's smile is 100 percent going to be a pain in his ass.

[shockjawtrainer]

you are 100% correct, and i nearly forgot about that part with stoick. Grimmel absolutely did not earn most of what he had himself. A parasite of the worst kind.

and, i completely agree with you about how they treated the characters as stupid idiots. I watched that movie and they hardly even register as the same characters. Ruff is NOT an idiot. Tuff isnt an ass. Astrid isnt an empty husk of moral support. I could go on. The dragon riders literally have so, so many seasons of shows that are there almost expressly to showcase their teamwork. Its like they completely erased all of their backstory and character development. All the growth they over went throughout the movies and series was gone and practically turned back in on itself. It was almost like they were replaced by mirrors. To cement my point- not only would Viggo have crushed Grimmel, I firmly believe that, had he shown up as a villain in rtte, Hiccup wouldnt have needed two episodes to put his ass in the ground. And, short of that, either Stoick wouldve come with a vengeance, or Viggo would kick him out for some reason like hunting your product to extinction is bad for business.

Hiccup is smart enough to go toe-to-toe with Viggo, Krogan, Johan, Drago, but has to abandon his entire island, (doesnt even try to win it back like in rtte!), and then his bond with his DRAGON, just because of this weasel? I dont buy it

and thats not even getting into your point about how the rules he made up about nightfuries are bullshit. Which, they most certainly are! Like, Berk is literally introduced to us in the first movie as being cold and wintery most of the year. Toothless lived there for years, not including time spent in the great beyond, and had no problems. Plus, in rtte, when they visited glacier island to get a snow wraith tooth, Toothless was no more bothered by the cold than the other dragons. Also, bro was literally encapsulated in a huge spike of ice in the second movie and survived. And you mean to tell me that, the nightfury who flew all the way out to the great beyond, with hiccup on his back, who was quite possibly the least tired of the other dragons by the end of it, cant fly long distance? I smell "the writers couldnt figure out a way for this dude to beat hiccup, so they had to change the rules".

Anyway the third movie wouldve been a GREAT time for Viggo to suddenly come out of hiding (he needed time to think) with his fully trained, loyal-to-the-end skrill, and send Grimmel running with his tail between his legs. Yay! Reunion! The Vigcup fans go crazy! And Berk continues on its merry way.

Viggo would squish Grimmel under his pinkie finger. He would Look in Grimmel's general direction and bro would crumble. That sob story failure of a villain wouldn't stand a chance

Actually, headcannon- the reason Grimmel didn't dare show his face sooner in the franchise was because the other vaillains/antagonists kept scaring him off, like spraying a cat with water every time he tried to come close

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° and he keeps a picture of you

( bllk boys x gn! reader )

♡ a/n — been MIA for so long i wanted to write something small ans cute :)

♡ word count — 1k

♡ content — yukimiya kenyu x gn! reader, sae itoshi x gn! reader, alexis ness x gn! reader, rin itoshi x gn! reader, all characters are 18+, just cutieness , engagement (yukimiya), childhood lovers (sae), nickname 'love' used (ness),

♡ synopsis — some bllk boys (yukimiya, sae, ness, rin) and what their phone lock screen is :)

⊹｡° yukimiya kenyu

out of all the boys, yukimiya kenyu is the one most likely to have the cutest picture of the two of you as his background.

everyone gets sick of him bragging about your relationship, just how perfect you are, how sickly sweet you are to him.

yukimiya changes his lock screen every week, and of course he has to show them off to his team.

most of the time, it's a picture of you two holding hands- or you two in matching outfits that yuki had chosen himself.

everyone on his team had gotten tired of him showing off his perfect life and amazing relationship.

while, if you held down long enough, yukimiya's options for a lock screen weren't limited.

one was of you sitting across from him at dinner- a win glass in front of you as you gave him a smile. 'because you look like a dream in this' he'd told you when you asked why that one was his new lock screen of the week.

another of you asleep on his shoulder, a clear patch of drool showing in the picture. 'i wanna wake up to this every morning' he'd justified.

and this weeks lock screen, hm? well, it's his personal favorite.

a photo of you jumping on yukimiya while the two of you are dressed in another set of matching outfits. to anyone else, this may just look like his average screen saver.

but to him, and anyone who looks hard enough, the shiny new ring on your left hand ring finger is a clear sign; yukimiya finally asked you to marry him.

this one wouldn't be changed for a while.

not until he saw you in your wedding outfit.

⊹｡° sae itoshi

everyone of his nosey fans always wonders...what is sae itoshi's lock screen? flashes of it had been shown at press interviews, but no one could figure out what it was.

for a week on social media, fangirls (and guys) were stopping interviews for the tiniest glimpse at his phone. eventually, after coming to the assumption that he was a bland man who simply left it on the default lock screen, the internet calmed down.

and was sae a calm man who usually didn't change things that were fine as is? yes.

but what no one knew, what no one would ever find out, is that sae itoshi had a secret life- one secret from the press and internet- only for him to have and hold.

you.

you had been his girlfriend since he was 14, yet he refused to let the world and its nosiness ruin a perfect thing.

he was careless during the singular press interview, his phone in view- he was just lucky that the quality wasn't the best because then everyone in the world would know; sae itoshi was utterly whipped.

his lock screen, you ask? it's the only one he has set- and he'll never change it.

it's a simple picture of you on the balcony of your shared home, the sunset illuminating you perfectly as you looked over your shoulder at him with the most stunning smile on your face.

sae itoshi wouldn't let the world ruin that smile.

ever.

⊹｡° alexis ness

for the first year you were dating ness, his lock screen was a picture of him and kaiser in their uniforms- their last names stretched across their backs.

was this insane to you? yes. but you knew how much kaiser had changed ness' passion and love for soccer, and that's all you could be grateful for.

so when you grabbed ness' phone one morning to change the playlist while the two of you made breakfast and saw that he changed the background? you almost cried.

was it silly to be so emotional over? sure. but you knew how much kaiser meant to ness- he possibly loved him more than you (joking) (no i'm not)

the picture was so cute and innocent- the lock screen now a picture of you in a magicians get-up with cards in your hand.

you'd done it for ness' birthday, for his love of magic- you'd learned to do a few card tricks and he laughed at you as you tried ( and failed ) to shuffle- the cards flying everywhere.

when he realized the music hadn't changed , ness looked back at you - his pink apron wrapped around him, "everything okay, love?"

yeah.

everything was perfect.

⊹｡° rin itoshi

refused to change his lock screen when you started dating.

he was perfectly fine with the default one, why should be have to change his phone set-up just to prove his love?

in his mind, that was silly.

he loved you more than (almost) anything, except soccer.

let's be serious soccer was a very close second when it came to you, but rin would never admit that- his dream of becoming the best striker and his ego too high to say that.

he didn't understand why people needed their significant other on their lock screen. they'd see them everyday, was one picture really that important?

he thought that until he walked into your shared bedroom one day after a long day and a hard fought win against Manshine City.

all he wanted to do was take a shower, eat dinner, and lay down with you.

then he saw you, curled up on the bed wearing his jersey.

he told you not to wait up for him. you couldn't attend the game in person due to work, but he didn't mind. you were with him always.

but seeing you, fast asleep with his last name on your back- he finally understood.

he could look at this scene for hours.

he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and quickly snapped a picture before he slipped into bed next to you.

he suddenly didn't need a shower and he wasn't hungry.

he just wanted to be near you.

when you woke up the next morning while rin was on his morning run, you grabbed his phone to check the time

your sleeping face met your gaze, and a smile that probably looked so goofy spread across your face.

rin had never seen the point of changing his lock screen

until he saw you with his name on your figure.

suddenly he wanted to give you that last name for the two of you to share.

may make a part 2 , be on the look out :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[fushitoru]

trouble a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bully!satoru gojo x reader

summary ⸺ an unexpected tutoring session with your bully satoru gojo leads to somewhere...unexpected

warnings ⸺ SMUT (MDNI), fluff, slight angst, college au, porn with really mid plot, bullying, humiliation, PANTY INSPECTION, p i v sex, unprotected sex, aftercare, creampie, he whimpers a lot but also degrades you a lot, gojo satoru king of dirty talk it might not make sense lolz, this is not edited in the slightest, didn't even do it a once over, implied that reader is a virgin but not really art by the goat 3-aem

a/n sorry for being so ia. will be answering asks after the ao3 author ahh events that went on this past week T-T as a result this is kind of mid, might delete later, based on this req

general masterlist

This could not be happening to you. NO, no, no. You must be dreaming, right?

Because Satoru Gojo was sitting right across from you in your math professor’s office, looking akin to a kicked puppy, ears drooping as your professor continued ranting about his late assignments, his efforts to cover his grades up, lost potential, laziness, how he should learn from you—but you were only dreading the aftermath of this conversation, when you were left alone with Gojo. 

Because he was your college bully.

It didn’t get as violent as in those Asian dramas, but you were often left humiliated from the nuisance he was. For example, take the instance when you both first met. 

Head deep in the textbooks you just bought, you were scanning the formulas in an effort to get ahead; after all, for someone like you—dependent on a scholarship to attend university—slacking off was not an option. Only for the nepo trust fund babies—which you were not. There, in the prestigious university you had fought tooth and nail to get into, you were at peace. 

But it all went out the window as someone moved to tap you on your shoulder, making you turn your head towards possibly the most handsomest boy you’ve ever seen but undeniably a spoiled kid. Because what came out of his words were definitely grounds for sexual harassment.

“Are Asian people your type? Because I’m China get in your japanties.”

If crickets could make their way into the study room you were sitting in, their chirps would be LOUD. You blinked, heat creeping up your face as he leaned closer to your face, eyes flirtingly honing in on yours and your lips. Abruptly—-flustered—you stood up, gathering your belongings and apologizing profusely. “I”m so—sorry—I don’t—-you might be talking to the wrong per—” because there was no way in hell he was addressing you. From what you could see, he looked like a rich kid, the kind with a lot of money—something that could land you in trouble. You booked it the hell out of there, ignoring the confused look on his face and missing the disappointment flicker across it as he saw your retreating figure leave his sight.

And thus, your love story with Satoru Gojo—who you soon found out was the most popular boy on campus—started. 

Small encounters with Gojo kept plaguing your first semester. They would be chance encounters, where Gojo would catch your eye in the middle of a crowd and make his way towards you, a snarky grin creeping up his face as he cornered you into a hallway with less traffic. Sometimes even in a closet.

It wouldn’t be anything grave, to say. All he would ask is how your day was, all sweet nothings and cute smiles made to woo you. And they definitely did—but you couldn’t let it show, couldn’t let him woo you.

“What’s your next class, baby?” The both of you were in a janitor’s closet, him having cornered you in the room and locked  the door. You kept biting your lip nervously, the edge of it red and swollen as you peered at him somewhat nervously.

“Uh—I don’t know,” you whispered, darting your eyes somewhere on the floor, so he wouldn’t see the avoidant look on your face.

Let’s get the record straight: you weren’t scared of Gojo. Sure, at 6’ 3’’ with piercing, glow-in-the-dark sapphire eyes, he made you nervous, but you knew you could pine for him at best. Because god knows what would happen if you ever cross him or his dozens of fan girls, some with considerably more power than you on campus. Putting a target on your back while you were trying to graduate wasn’t one of your goals, but trying to pass your math classes with honors was.

And you hated the fact Gojo could read you like a book. Because in the cramped, dark space, his eyes were almost..soft as he put his forearm across the wall on top of your head, effectively caging you in as he steps toward you. You hug your big and heavy books closer to your chest, the squish of your breasts over your top not lost to Gojo who eyes them with lidded eyes. Then, they make their way to meet yours, and it’s like he can see the pining in your eyes. The fact that he’s a carrot dangled in front of your head, something you want but if you ran, you would never have him. A perpetual race to make him yours.

He smiles, gives a soft chuckle. “You don’t know?” he teases you and your blatant lie. “C’mon, let me walk you there.”

But you blurt out an immediate “No!” and then regret it, because hurt flashes across his face. “I mean–” you falter, “please don’t. You’ll be seen publicly with me.”

A quizzical look, one that is so innocent that it makes you want to cry, because how could Gojo ever understand your problems? “What’s the problem?” And then he pouts. “You embarrassed of me?”

“No–no—” you shake your head, squirming slightly from where you were both standing. “It won’t be good for you, for me.” Then, you swallowed, waiting and screening for his reaction.

Praying to whatever gods that were listening to you that he would understand, it seemed that they were answered because an emotion you couldn’t place etched its way on his face until he nodded. A resolute one, yet something that made you a bit…uneasy was in his eyes. Because it meant nothing but trouble.

Then on went your days. Seven days, in fact, because it only took a week for you to be walking across the hallway, daydreaming about a boy without a face cuddling you in the winter, eating cookies in Christmas. You hated being single and hated the fact you were confined to your academic responsibilities; quickly, your professors caught onto your potential, assigning you to tutor your peers during recitations. You preened at the attention and validation but felt lonely because it occupied all your time to catch up on others’ expectations. In your rumination of your upcoming responsibilities, you didn’t notice the hand shoot out and firmly grab your arm until you were in a janitor’s closet. Yet again.

Shocked, you resisted the unknown person who had led you in here, instincts flaring up until said person turned on the light. 

Gojo.

“Gojo, what are you—” You didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence, as Gojo had covered your mouth with his arm, one to avoid causing too much commotion before you were discovered there.

“You said no one could see us, right?” A mischievous—yet yearning—look flashed across his face and it was then you realized his play. “So this is okay?”

No, this stubborn man wasn’t going to let you go—he was going to torment you. In secret.

The only response you could conjure your brain was a whimper because a tentative hand was creeping its way up your thigh, softy caressing the insides of it. All you could feel was pleasure and how it was so right despite it being so wrong that Satoru Gojo, the campus sweetheart, had cornered you into the janitor’s closet to give you the most dizzying touches, some you couldn’t deny.

So when he moved his other hand that was at your mouth to grab at your pink skirt, he lifted the hem with both his hands and then paused. Looked at you with darkened eyes. “Let me do this.”

You could only close your eyes in your flustered state, pinching them shut as you gave him a slight nod. It only took him a millisecond to move, using both of his hands to uncover what was between your thighs, eyes focused and widening as he inspected your panties.

“Pink with hearts, huh?” You could hear the chuckle in his voice, the cockiness basically oozing out and you could only continue to heat up deeper. “I like it, baby.” Jumping as you felt his hands roam and trace the edges of your panties, he hooked his finger in the crotch, your thighs tightening slightly as his index just oh so grazed your bare folds as he pulled and pulled, until he let go of the tension and it snapped back in its place. “Look at me.”

As per his instruction, you opened your eyes, only to be taken aback by the intensity in his. Then, his lips moved. “Be my girlfriend.”

The moment broke as clarity hit you. This shouldn’t have happened. “I’m sorry, Gojo, but—”

“Don’t call me that,” he groaned, stepping back and raking an arm through his hair. “What’s even your problem? Did I do something wrong?”

Incredulous, you utter out a “Something wro—you don’t think you did something wrong?”

He looked at you for a bit, made to say something, but you cut him off. “You know what Gojo? Get this through your head. We can’t do this. I don’t know how many girls fall for this, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” With that, you made to move, but he quickly reached out, pleading for you to stay. You wrenched his hand out of your grip and said, in the most serious voice you could muster, “Don’t ever talk to me again.” And you walked out, pretending you weren’t scared of what would happen after you retaliated against the Satoru Gojo.

Surprising, all went well for the rest of the semester. You did get some whispers and stares because of the stray rumor or two passing around about you and the mysterious instances when the campus king stared at your figure for a flicker too long. But it wasn’t nothing but passing because you didn’t share any classes with Gojo, and he respected your wishes. You didn’t miss the bitterness in his stare when you passed by his friend group in the hallway, speeding up to shake off the weight of his eyes on you.

So, you were at peace. Until second semester’s Calc III.

You soon realize that with gradients and vectors comes an additional burden, one specifically sporting white hair. Because as you’re pulled into your math professor’s office and see him, you oh so desperately want to book it. 

“And this, Satoru,” your professor pauses and looks at him sternly while gesturing towards you, “is your ticket out of failing. Miss Y/N here,” he gives you a comforting smile, one that does nothing to ease the stiffness flooding your body at the thought of Gojo right next to you, “has the highest grade in the class. She’s a seasoned teaching assistant too, helping a lot of people in her classes next year.” You silently curse, your smile growing more strained as you realize Gojo’s looking at you. “I trust that you’ll be in good care.”

Once the professor finally dismissed you both, you braced yourself, shoving your notebook back into your bag with far more force than necessary. The prospect of *actually* tutoring Satoru Gojo—the one person who seemed hell-bent on making college a gauntlet for you—was absurd.

You didn't look up as you pushed past him, but Gojo kept pace, following you out of the office and down the hall with that easy, unbothered stride of his. "So," he drawled, “how's this tutoring thing going to work? Are you coming to my place, or am I coming to yours?”

You stopped, turning to face him. "My place," you said firmly. The thought of seeing him lounging in some flashy, high-end apartment was insufferable. Besides, at least in your dorm, you could set some ground rules.

He blinked, looking surprised. "Your place? Bold move, Miss Perfect," he teased, that trademark smirk flickering onto his face. “Didn’t think you’d be so eager to have me over.”

"Trust me, Gojo, I'm only doing this because I have to. And there will be rules," you said, crossing your arms. "No messing around, no games—just math."

“*Just math,*" he repeated, his tone playful as his eyes glinted with mischief. “Got it.”

You swallowed, hoping he meant it. "Fine," you said briskly. "I’ll see you tomorrow at six. Don’t be late."

“Oh, wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, and with a little salute, he strolled off, leaving you with a sense of impending doom.

The knock came precisely at six.

You opened the door, and there stood Satoru Gojo, surprisingly punctual, hands shoved into his pockets and a playful grin on his face. You gestured to the small study area you’d set up by your desk, filled with neatly organized notes and textbooks.

“Take a seat,” you said shortly. “We’ll start with the basics.”

He slid into the chair, his gaze flitting from the textbooks to you, an amused glint in his eye. “You weren’t kidding about tutoring. You’re all set up like a professional.”

You ignored the remark and opened the textbook to the chapter on derivatives. “Alright. Let’s go through this. If you understand derivatives, the rest of Calc III will start making sense.”

For a while, he seemed to actually pay attention. He followed along, asking a few questions, which you answered as patiently as possible. But as the explanations went on, his attention started to drift. After one too many halfhearted nods, you frowned, putting your pencil down.

“You’re not even trying, are you?”

He leaned back in his chair, that smirk resurfacing. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to spend time with you.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting off the blush creeping up your cheeks. “You needed my help. I didn’t force you to come here. If you don’t want to do this, then—”

He held up a hand, the teasing gone from his face. “Alright, alright. I’ll focus.” He paused, then added, “In fact, to show you I mean it, I’ll do you a favor. Whatever you want. My way of saying thanks.”

You eyed him warily. “A favor?”

“Anything,” he said, leaning in with a grin that spelled trouble. “What’ll it be? An escort to class? Carrying your books around? Name it.”

 “I’ll let you know when I think of something.” You’re dismissive, knowing he’s not that serious about this, playful about this like he is everything else. 

He chuckled, nodding. “Looking forward to it.”

And with that, he finally settled into his chair, this time with genuine focus, leaving you both in the kind of quiet that held a new, unspoken promise—a favor, an IOU hanging in the air between you.

You don’t know how you ended up under Gojo on your bed. 

Satoru sat close—closer than you’d expected. His knee brushed yours as he leaned forward to study your notes, and every few minutes, his arm would brush against your hand as he reached for the pencil you were using to write equations. Each little touch sent a jolt through you, and judging by the lingering glances he kept giving you, he didn’t mind it either.

“Okay, so the derivative here is...?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you pointed at the next problem.

Satoru leaned even closer, squinting at your notebook. “I think I get it,” he murmured, his face inches from yours, his breath warm as it brushed your cheek. But instead of looking at the math, his eyes flicked to yours, lingering just a second too long.

Your heart hammered as you forced yourself to focus. “Right. So you should get… uh… that answer,” you managed, feeling his gaze still trained on you.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, not breaking eye contact. His hand shifted on the table, the back of his fingers grazing yours.

You didn’t move. Neither did he. Your fingers stayed where they were, brushing against each other, the soft, deliberate touch making the silence between you feel louder. Finally, you broke the tension by clearing your throat, quickly pulling your hand away to grab a different textbook.

“So—um, yeah, you’re almost there,” you stammered. “But you missed a step here.” You pointed to another section, hoping he wouldn’t notice the slight shake in your voice.

He noticed, of course. You could see his smirk in the corner of your eye.

“Is that all I missed?” he asked, leaning so close that his shoulder pressed against yours. His voice was lower now, more intimate.

You nodded, trying to focus on the page but finding it impossible with him so close. “Yeah. Just… that,” you said softly.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice dropping even more as he shifted his hand, his knuckles brushing against your knee now. It wasn’t intentional—at least, you thought it wasn’t—but neither of you moved. You felt frozen, caught in a quiet, charged moment, where all you could hear was your own heartbeat.

You swallowed, forcing your gaze back to the problem on the page. “Maybe, um… maybe we should take a break?” you suggested, needing a second to breathe.

He tilted his head, an amused, knowing, intense glint in his eye. “A break sounds nice.” 

Your breath caught as he looked at you like that, his hand still warm where it lingered just a little too close. And in that brief moment, you wondered just what kind of favor you’d end up asking of him—or what he might ask of you in return.

And it seemed like he knew what you were thinking. “Hey,” he said oh so breathlessly, in the way that made you want to throw yourself at him yet simultaneously bludgeon his head in, “wanna fuck?”

You reeled back, incredulous, but he quickly grabbed your head with both his hands, gently drawing you in. “What?”  

“I mean,” and he giggled, “what better use of a favor for than me to rid you of your virginity?”

You gasp, struggling in his hold to no avail. “Why would you assume I’m a virgin? I have plenty of experience, thank you very much—”

All the man does is snigger, despite your glare at him and looks at you, peering at you through his eyelashes with an oh-so-adoring smile. “It was clear how much you soaked through your panties that last time you’re a virgin, baby.” And you can’t help but whimper, reduced to a melting mess because of his sweet words. 

He laughs meanly. “If you’re not a virgin, you better not be soaked right now, baby. I’m kind of excited to see what panties you’re wearing this time” He moves his hand between your thighs, and you pliantly spread your legs for him, clenching as his hands rove over your panties in between your skirt. And he’s right, because it’s almost like you’ve wet your panties with the way your slick was flooding out of you because of your proximity with Satoru. “Look at that,” he coos and he pulls his hand away, much to your dismay, to examine his fingers. They glisten vulgarly in the fairy lights in your dorm, and Satoru turns his head to look at you. “So you gonna let me fuck you?”

And that, dear reader, is how you find yourself face down in your plushies on your dorm room bed, clutching them for dear life as Satoru spews dirty talk as if he was born doing it. “Satoru, faster!” you sob, having gone past the initial discomfort of having something in your pussy. 

“Satoru, faster,” he mocks you, grabbing your hips and drilling into your heat, groaning at how you’re just so tight. The tears flowing down your face make you even more beautiful as you succumb to your pleasure, one that no one other than Satoru has ever made you feel. ��Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to fuck you?” You don’t answer past your moaning, and that annoys the fuck out of Gojo. He slaps your ass consecutively and can’t help but be more aroused looking at the red handprints he leaves. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you moaned, anything to stop his assault on your ass, “I wanted this is sooo bad.” At that—rather than being satiated—Satoru sped up, hitting your spot with the accuracy of a sharpshooter.

“Yea, baby?” He laughs, meanly, leaning down to grab you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. His fingers squished your cheeks, thereby pursuing your lips as he tried not to cum from the sight of your eyes rolling back with each stroke into you. From the way you were clenching and pulsing more regularly around him, he could tell you were close. “Gonna cum?”

You whined, nodding while sobbing into his hands, trying to focus on the feeling of orgasming. It was so close, you could feel it coiling in your belly—

Just for him to rip out of your cavern, leaving you in shambles due to the emptiness you were feeling. “What—”

He tutted, his hand now slowly stroking his cock while he was sitting on his knees, looking down at you. “I’m only letting you come if you agree to be my girlfriend.”

“Gojo, what—”

“It’s Satoru,” his eyes flared, looking at you with an intensity you hadn’t noticed before. “And say it. Say you’ll be mine.”

For a moment, you searched his eyes for any signs. Signs of insincerity, of humor. But all you could find was desperation and yearning. Ever since you kept having your chance encounters with Gojo, you couldn’t help but deny the fluttering in your heart; the way his eyes unconsciously looked for you, a mere stranger he had taken interest in, in every crowd made you feel seen in a world where you were otherwise invisible.

And you couldn’t help but want to continue being in that world, in his world.

“Fine,” you whispered. “I’ll be your girlfr—”

Before you could finish, he smashed his lips into yours, joining them in a messy, wet embrace. His tongue explored your mouth in a way that made you leak even more while he aggressively laid back down on the mattress, effortlessly lifting you onto his crotch and onto his dick. As he thrusted into you, desperately, he couldn’t help but continue blabbing sweet nothings.

“I’ll treat you so well—haah—take you out on dates,” he heaved, eyes watering as he thrusted slowly into you in long, deep strokes. His eyes never left you as he made love to you, his face going up to nuzzle in between your breasts, peering at you through lidded eyes lovingly. “Fuck you well every night, show you off to the world.”

You could only sob Satoru as you looked at his face through your tears, him doing all the talking for you. “Every day,” he groaned, his cock pulsing and twitching in your walls, “I’ll love you like you’re my wife and fuck you like you’re my slut. So—” and he took a sharp intake of breath, one that you could interpret as him getting close with the way his hips were continually getting more and more sloppy, “so proud of you, baby. Gonna take care of you.” Then, he meets his eyes with yours as he starts to speed up, hand moving to gently rub at your clit in circles, with such prowess that you know you’re not going to last long. “Pull you—haah—pull you aside and see what panties you wore for me that day. Coming inside—coming inside and making you walk around with my cum leakin’ out of your panties.”

And then he whimpers as he loses control. “Gonna—” he utters in between short breaths, “gonna come baby. Come with me.”

“I will, Satoru,” you whine. “Please, I wanna—I wanna kiss!” That’s when Satoru can’t hold himself back anymore, his cum shooting in ropes inside of you at the innocent gesture you wanted him to do while he was doing such filthy things to you. You come alongside with him, everything so overwhelming as you ride out your orgasm on top of him. 

As you’re both settling down from your orgasm, he pulls you off—the both of you wincing at the sudden emptiness—as he lays you down next to him. Without a word, he nuzzles in between your breasts, giving a content sigh as he literally melts like a cat, relaxed in your embrace. You can’t help but giggle at his antics, and he takes his face out of your cleavage to give you a boyish grin. “What’re you laughing at?” “Nothing,” you shake your head. “Just the fact I’m chained to you now.”

“Hey!” he pouts, moving his arms so he’s embracing you tightly, effectively trapping you in. “Say that again and I’m going to sleep on top of you and never leave.”

“Can’t believe I’m chained to y—”

Satoru plops on top of you, making a show of tickling your ribs and stomach as you gasp and laugh in surprise. “Satoru!” He doesn’t relent, until you feel a familiar liquid ooze and leak out of your pussy.

This time, your shriek of Satoru’s name doesn’t go unnoticed. At the murderous look on your face–as well as the sheer messiness in between your thighs—he gets up. Smiles sweetly. “Should just leave you like this, leaking my cum. It’s only fair for how you ignored me!”

At that, he gets a pillow to his face, reminiscent of a kicked puppy as he trudges to your bathroom to clean you up. 

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[slutoru1207]

Varient!Invincible x reader

cc: I've been wanting to wrote this for weeks but intil I saw @tokoyamisstuff post their version of it I haddd to do it ! i hope you all like it ! let me know if you would like a part 2.

Imagine: Multiple versions of Mark Grayson from different dimensions find the reader, each desperate to keep her because they lost their version of her. Now, they refuse to let her go.

Something was wrong.

You’d been feeling it for weeks—shadows flickering just out of sight, the sensation of being watched even when you were alone. Your gut told you something was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for this.

Ellis Tower was in ruins. Glass and steel littered the streets, alarms wailed uselessly in the distance, and the air smelled like burning metal. The Guardians of the Globe were still reeling, struggling to figure out what the hell had just happened.

But you knew.

Because standing in front of you—blocking every possible escape route—were three Marks.

Not just one. Three.

Each of them was slightly different, but they all looked at you the same way—like you were something fragile, precious, irreplaceable. Their eyes held a deep, almost haunted longing that made your stomach twist.

The one closest to you had a fresh gash along his cheek, his suit darker than Mark’s usual colors. His golden eyes burned with something desperate as he took a step forward.

“You’re alive.” His voice cracked, like he didn’t believe his own words.

You staggered back. “No—no, this isn’t—what the hell is going on?”

Another Mark—this one’s suit looking more like battle-worn armor, bloodstained and torn—exhaled shakily. “We lost you.” His voice was hollow. “In every world, in every fight, we lost you.”

You swallowed, hands shaking. “I—I don’t understand—”

The third Mark, the one with the most familiar uniform, tilted his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “But not in this one.” His fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to reach for you. “We finally found one where you made it.”

Your blood ran cold.

They weren’t your Mark.

Not the Mark who held your hand when you were nervous. Not the Mark who kissed your temple when he thought you were asleep. Not the Mark who fought beside you, loved you, chose you.

But they looked at you like they had. Like they had lost you a thousand times and wouldn’t let it happen again.

A shuddering breath left you. “Where’s… my Mark?”

The first one—scarred, desperate—let out a bitter chuckle. “That’s the thing, sweetheart.” His golden eyes gleamed.

“You don’t need him anymore.”