#there's way too much to delve into with this series

[ajlockwood]

one of the most powerful things about arcane in my opinion is that it managed to capture so many forms of love, so please bear with me while we delve into this analysis.

[SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 OF ARCANE!]

vander’s love for vi and jinx was the one of a good father; he raised them like he promised their mother, and for as long as his consciousness lived, he was determined to protect them. silco also grew to love jinx like a daughter, in his own way. she wasn’t just one of his most prized assets: while he was ruthless to most, he had a tendency of going “softer” on her, and was desperate to save her when he thought she was gone. singed loved his daughter so much that he was willing to go to unspeakable lengths to bring her back. and despite everything, ambessa and mel were still mother and daughter, and in the moment of death, they recognised how much they meant to each other. a mother stabbed by her own daughter, and yet, with her final breath, she expressed how proud she was of who mel had became — quite similar to silco’s death.

caitlyn and vi have always been romantic, this third act showing the passionate kind of love they had. ekko loved jinx in a most pure way, a love he carried with him since childhood and somehow persisted. mel and jayce had their troubles in the beginning, but they grew to trust each other and became very significant to one another with time.

vi and jinx were one of the most important of all, because they clashed and fell apart, and even through it all, even with so much hatred and hurt and grief, they never let go. they loved each other beyond words. their love was powerful enough to bring forgiveness. with isha, jinx showed all this love that was still inside her, the love for a sister she thought she had lost. silco and vander too clashed and nearly killed each other (silco succeeded) and yet their love persisted.

and then it concluded with jayce and viktor. their love was transcendental, beyond simply romantic or platonic bonds even. ever since they first met, without their knowledge, their lives had always been intertwined. it all started with them, and it ended with them. they clashed to near death, but jayce didn’t let go, and viktor couldn’t either. “it was affection that held us together”, viktor said. they were both alive because of each other. they owed each other so much. it was their love’s power that saved the universe of its collapse. again, a love powerful enough to forgive and leave everything behind.

so yes, I am very emotional and may have many conflicting thoughts about some aspects of these last acts, but the portrayal of love was something that I felt deeply throughout the entire series and can’t go unnoticed. all in all, the message of the show can be summarized in silco’s line: “the greatest thing you can do in life is find the power to forgive”.

[celestie0]

hi my friends! hope you're all doing well. just wanted to come on here and share a little updates w you guys (if you're still here lol)

i guess it's been like a month n a half since i formally went on hiatus, and it's been nice! i got kinda sick for a little bit lmfaooo which was tough to manage w school, but i'm better now

although i took time away from my blog, i still delved in writing here n there. i haven't written anything for kickoff since tbh i'm in such a slump w it. but i still have big plans for stuff that happens after ch13, so hopefully i can just push through this next chapter and get to a better place. thanks so much to anyone that is still interested in the story, it means a lot to me. i know i'm so slow w updates and the story has been going on for almost a year now, but the continued support is so sweet! even though i didn't work on writing it these past one n a half months, i still really love it and plan to finish it.

i'm not sure if many people remember that i had this sort of "apocalypse" gojo x reader au about an asteroid being set to hit the earth in three days, and reader n gojo are ex lovers n the impending end of the world makes them break no-contact...yeah i finished writing the first chapter for it and i really love it so far! it's like set in new york which is really fun haha i love stories where new york is kind of its own "character" if that makes sense...it will definitely be a limited series w only 4 chapters or so, but i kinda wanna finish all 4 chapters before i start posting it bc i don't want it to be a drawn out series in terms of posting since i think it'd be best enjoyed in frequent succession if that makes sense

as for ihm, i think i wrote the most for ihm during my hiatus. i finished three chapters for it, but they are shorter chapters (around 3-4k words). i kinda realized one of my biggest reasons for burnout w my fics were the reaaaaallly long chapters...like didn't i have a 22k chapter for kickoff or sumn lol. idk i can't remember. but anyways, yeah the mindset behind the longer chapters was bc i liked each chapter to kinda have its own conflict, build up, tension then resolution in a sense. but it was exhausting to write that way tbh lol. so i think moving forward, for ihm, i will have shorter chapters. i just don't wanna think to much about things anymore, and write from my heart, bc i have a lot of things planned for ihm, and among the criticism i've received for my writing choices vs my own vision for the story, i've realized during my hiatus that the only way i can finish ihm, or any of my storeis for that matter, is if i just.........stop giving a fuck about it. lol idk if that sounds strange to say, but like, i don't want to over-edit anything. i don't want to think too much about redundancy. i don't want to flower things up or cut stuff out. i'm at the point where imma just write a first draft, check for grammarly errors, and then post it. i guess the reason i'm sharing this is because idk if this means that people may enjoy my writing less since i will admittedly be spending much less time on it than i did before, but tbh i realized i find the most joy while i'm writing, and not while i'm editing. so i want to spend as little time on the latter as possible, and if that changes the quality of my work, then so be it.

anyways, hmm as for hiatus. i guess i'm off hiatus now? i really enjoyed being off of tumblr tbh this app has a lot of questionable content at times (esp in jjk community) and it also did wonders for my studying bc i wasn't spending time doomscrolling or shit posting anymore lmfaooo. but as for writing in particular, i think i will start to post ihm again exclusively. i can't say anything about kickoff or my other projects, but i feel comfortable to start posting ihm again.

sorry, i know that i have kept my replies and ask box off for a long time. but i will open them again once i start posting chapters because i really miss interacting with you guys.

anywho, these are my updates lol i'm like not sure how many of my readers are still here or which ones have moved on but that's ok, i'm grateful to anyone n everyone. hope to see you all soon again!

[cr4zy-cycl0n3]

Yo! I'm doing a Heroes of Olympus rewrite!

I'm not a huge fan of how some scenes go in canon and how the characters esp the gods are handled in Hoo, and after reading one too many rewrite/AU fics, I've decided fuck it, imma make my own.

I'm changing quite a few things, like:

- making Piper's memories not be tampered with and as a result be way closer to Leo (credit to Heroes of Juno by @queenjunothegreat for this idea!)

- MOTHERLY HERA/JUNO WHO PSEUDO-ADOPTS JASON FTW also parental Lupa but that'll be more apparent in a Jason prequel/sequel(depends on how I wanna format it) I’ll write after TLH is done

- slowburn valgrace instead of comphet jiper

- Leo and Piper QPR(+Jason when Piper stops being his #1 opp). Jasipereo ftw babyyy

- the whole series is just gonna have a good deal of focus on the Lost Trio. I'm not gonna shaft anyone ofc but my favorite punching bags characters are just gonna get extra love :3

- Jason's gonna be considerably more feral cuz CMON MAN WAS RAISED BY WOLVES(this is more prominent in the later books cuz in TLH he was alr feral, going at 2 giants with his BARE ASS HANDS)

- Jason has more bite cuz DAMMIT HE DESERVES TO BE ANGRY/BITTER AND CLAP BACK. HIS LIFE IS SHIT, LET MY BRO BE MAD

- more exploration into Jason's character cuz man was shafted so hard :(

- exploration of characters' powers in general, def buffing the Big Three kids to be as strong as Percy cuz holy cow he's OP. I love Percy and his OP-ness, but the other Big Three kids should be just as OP

- Zeus is the God of Justice, which we don't see much of in PJO's characterization of him, but Jupiter is Roman and hence is much more strict in the RRverse, so consequently I think his domain of law and order is more central to Jupiter than his greek counterpart, so I'd like to explore Jason having powers related to that and being an absolute powerhouse when it comes to debates and politics despite hating them

- characterizing the Gods differently from canon as I'm a Hellenist and writing them as they are in canon makes me like. Kinda uncomfortable. I will be using mythic literalism as that is what PJO/HoO's based on and I'm not rewriting the very foundations of the series, so they will still have committed the things they did in mythology, though I'm keeping them largely unaltered from the Og greek mythos and unsanitized as this isn't intended for a young audience like PJO is. Their behavior won't be exactly like their depictions in myths nor how they actually are irl, it's a mix of both(Ex: Zeus has still done heinous shit so he won't be as great as he is irl, but he isn't supremely petty and bitchy like he is in PJO.). This uhh. Will probably mean that PJO events would go differently which would influence HOO but if I think about that too much I'm gonna wanna do a PJO rewrite too and akbhdhd so just imagine that everything that goes on in PJO goes as canon (for now at least) for some reason or another.

- Octavian and Jason are were best friends cuz I said so. This change is inspired by To Storm and Fire(a Heroes of Olympus rewrite) which I am in LOVE with. The antagonistic side characters(like Drew and Octavian) got very little development or character exploration so l'm definitely giving them that in my rewrite!

- The Seven feel and are much closer together

- delving more into the sevens' trauma pre-camp, might also do a one/two shot for each of them. Jason’s a given cuz I’m writing a whole ass fic or even series dedicated to his past, Leo and Piper definitely, probably also Hazel and Annabeth, not sure on Percy and Frank cuz for Frank I’m def going into the trauma that comes with growing up in an Asian household but don’t have too many ideas on how to execute that, and for Percy I don’t have all that many ideas in general outside of the little we know in PJO(I used to think we knew a lot but honestly, we really don’t? Like we know Poseidon left, Sally had to work a lot, Gabe sucks, and he got kicked out of 6 six schools in 6 years and the reasons, but we don’t have any concrete details. There might be more in HoH, I haven’t read it yet so lmk if there is). Open to any ideas for this!

- camp is. Tense. It's been only a few months since the war, grief is still fresh, and Jason being tall, blonde, and blue-eyed with a scar ain't helping 💀 some people think Silena was a hero, others think she was a villain, some people sympathized with Luke, others despised him, there's a lotta differing views.

I have loads more ideas that I won't get into here cuz the post'll get way too long, but l'd love to hear what you guys think! What scenes/characterizations should I change? What topics would you like to see handled differently? What should I add? I'm open to any and all suggestions!

Currently outlining TLH, will start posting it on my ao3 once I have the first chapter and 4-5 buffer ones written so I'll prolly start posting it in a month or two? Idk, depends on my workload irl and if I get hit by writer’s block. Maybe less, maybe more, who knows. I'll be writing a bunch of shorter stories for specific moments, time between books, and namely a prequel/tih sequel focusing on Jason's past and who he was before Hera wiped his memory. Open to any suggestions for additional works too. Feel free to drop any questions and suggestions bout the rewrite here or in my ask box!

[ebenelephant]

Look, I think you're misconstruing some of my points and since this is reaching way farther than I wanted I would like to clarify for a second. This was kind of a bit of a rant post which I didn't expect people other than like 4 mutuals to... see? So as you can imagine I wasn't exactly my best articulated. Some of my points have definitely come across wrong, so to try and explain what I mean a little better:

I'm not saying we should see more flashbacks to Tom's life. This is a criticism I have of this plot point not being thought through, more than anything. It tells us something other that what was probably intended because you get the impression that Rowling didn't really consider the wider implications of what she was saying in the time period it was set. I'm not suggesting this should be delved deeper into, I'm just suggesting that it wasnt the best thought through.

With the Weasleys I just messed up the timeline on this one. I do genuinely have issues with some of the portrayal of the Weasleys which I won't get into, but this one is my mistake.

The Snape one is more of a personal gripe. My tongue in cheek remark about being "surprised you caught onto that" is in reference to the fact that I have heard/seen multiple people just glossing over that context to his life entirely - either because they missed it of because it was too minor for them to care.

My issue with the Hermione thing isn't actually that she obliviated her parents – as you say, this makes sense with her character – but rather how underutilised they are. We meet the parents and guardians of other, less important characters when they're thematically and narratively relevant, and given how important Hermione's status as a muggleborn is in the books you would think they would be both. It always seemed a weird choice to me that her parents are practically non-entities, spoken of occasionally but never seen. It's the show-don't-tell thing: we are told that Hermione loves her parent a lot, and of course we know this to be true, but the biggest time they are really relevant is when she obliviates them. Even if Harry had just seen them once, maybe sending Hermione to platform 9¾, and had seen them in contrast to the Dursleys this would have given them more weight. Hermione is distraught, but we as the reader are much less emotionally involved because we have no idea who these people are.

The Lily point honestly feels like a bad faith arguement, because she was never just 'the main character's long dead mum', she was the person who saved him, who made him the chosen one, who is referenced throughout the series, and who is directly related to the actions of multiple characters. I would literally just like consistent characterisation for her, because the way she is spoken about doesn't align with the ways we see her acting in the few scenes she has, and even in those scenes she is somewhat contradictory. This is never addressed by Harry the way it's addressed when he learns the negative qualities of his father – though in a book targeted at a 9-12 audience you would certainly expect it to be. This makes me think, again: oversight. Kids books have to guide the reader somewhat, and this aspect doesn't really do that. Could've been a great addition to that "nobody's perfect" theme JKR had going, but wasn't executed in a way properly accessible to a nine year old as opposed to other points in the series.

thinking again about jk rowling being a bad writer. like, we all know about the massive flaws in her worldbuilding and i hope by now it's clear she's a bigot on basically every front. (hello, regular reminder that she doesn't even actually like women.) but like. she's especially good at dropping bits of lore and then those not being relevant in the fucking slightest. riddle was told to go home to his orphanage in london during what would have very much been the blitz? whatever. the weasley's are so strapped for cash that they're sending their son to school with a potentially dangerous broken wand? of course they're spending their lottery winnings on visiting their adult son in egypt, what else would they do. snape grew up in what was likely a dying northern industrial town with abusive/neglectful parents, largely cut off from the magical world? almost impressed you caught on to that, with how little it's expanded on. yes hermione has a supposedly good relationship with both her parents, no we're not going to show you it at all, yes she's going to wipe they're memories like it's nothing. lily evans is the moral compass of james and basically the most important person in the series but fuck you if you want to actually know anything about her lmao. even what little we see is wildly inconsistent.

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter II

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 1.8k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), More tags to be added (!)

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter. we delve a little bit into their backstory now (gladiator II is set around 211 AD). feel free to let me know if you are interested in reading how these two get to where we picked up before <3 i also have a little acacius playlist that fits the vibe of this fic very well. feel free to check it out here!

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame (details will be explained later in the story) dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) domus - a roman house palla - a traditional mantle for women paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials

Chapter II

209 AD

The domus sits just on the edge of Palatine Hill, on the side opening towards the Forum Romanum and Via Nova. You have passed below it more times than you can count, though you have rarely walked the small street that weaves up the hill and leads to the edge of the property.

Many of the neighboring houses are too harsh for your taste, with columns twice as wide as your body and barely a shrub of greenery in front of them. A supposed sign of strength, no doubt. But when passing the house with the large garden, you like to take as much time as you dare, occasionally catching a whiff of the lavender that grows all around it.

It reminds you of the shadowy figure you often saw walking those same gardens after dark, many years past. A bereaved woman, shrouded in dark cloth, keeping her head down as she tended to the plants with dainty fingers, decorated with a thick gold ring that framed a green stone. You remember lingering too long on your way past the iron fence once, fascinated by the way her dress flowed in the wind. She had called out to you, beckoning you towards her.

Lucilla was not a terrifying woman but you knew that every misstep could cost you, especially in your position as a vestal. She had knelt down in front of your trembling form, brushed your hair out of your face and looked at you with an expression you did not understand. But she had whispered words that you did. Asked you not to collect the water after dark, to stay with the older vestals. Then she had offered you a small bundle of lavender.

You stuffed it under the linen of your bed later that night, breathing in a scent that felt like a world where a woman could freely roam her garden and the city beyond, who did not have to be afraid.

The guard at the gate gives a small bow of courtesy when you reach him and moves to the side, allowing you to tread the stone path that leads up to the house. “The General is inside. Please, knock.”

A gentle “Thank you” escapes your lips as you reach to lift your stola just enough to not step on it. The torches lining the way are extinguished, not needed during the day. A short glance down the hill allows you to spot your own home, right beside the rounded building that is the Temple of Vesta.

When you reach the wooden door, you raise your hand and will yourself to knock with enough force to make it heard.

You can hear someone calling out from inside and a few seconds later, a man with broad shoulders opens the door. His gaze flies over you briefly–taking in your white tunic and the palla wrapped around your shoulders. The thin veil attached to your headdress and all the linen of your clothes tucked neatly into place are usually enough indication for whoever is stood in front of you to understand your status.

“General Acacius?” You ask softly, your eyes taking in his brown eyes and the curve of his nose, one that looks like it belongs on a statue rather than a living man.

“Vero, that is me. Please, come inside.” He gives a small bow, gesturing past himself and you nod at the invitation, gracefully stepping into the house and finding yourself in an atrium that renders you speechless. The columns that line its sides are slightly worn, flowers stretching along them towards the upper floor. Stone basins and pots holding a variety of plants stand at almost every corner of the open space, making it feel more like a garden than the stuck-up room you would have expected in a Generals home.

Acacius’s hand hovers behind you, guiding you past the fountain that holds a few orange fish and to the opposite end of the open room, though he never actually touches you. “Please. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” you repeat your earlier words, lowering yourself onto the chair he indicated.

“Would you like some wine? Perhaps some grapes too?” He waves to one of the servants, who promptly places two glasses on the table, though Acacius takes the carafe and dismisses him with a small nod as he begins to pour you some of the dark red liquid. You make to reach for your glass to hold it steady but he shakes his head quickly. “Allow me. Please.”

You nod at that, leaning back and waiting politely while he pours himself a drink as well. It allows you a moment to take in his form up close, the white tunic and his red paludamentum wrapped around his body. A cloak fastened with a gold brooch, one that–similar to your headwear–makes him a respected man no matter where he goes. You wonder if he feels the same about it, that some days it's more like a heavy curse weighing one down. Then again, he is a General of Rome. You are a priestess of Vesta. Your paths may cross today but you are certain they look very different from one another.

He sits down across from you, a small sigh leaving his lips as he toasts in your direction and takes a sip of his wine. Then, he leans to the side and produces two rolls of parchment. “I had to make some adjustments to my will. It was kept by one of your sisters, but I believe she has finished her service with the Vestals since I last saw her.”

You give him a small smile as you take the parchment from him, nodding. “Yes, she left the year before last. But of course I will be just as happy to keep the will for you.”

His eyes fly over your face briefly and he gestures to the rolls on your lap. “I crossed out the old version. I married, you see.”

You stare at him for a moment before nodding a little too quickly. “Of course. Yes, I–The lady of this house I presume–” You break off, realizing your mistake. If he indeed married Lucilla, he is now the head of this house. “What I meant–” you add hastily. “–is that it is your house now. And the house is beautiful, I mean–” It’s the second time you stop in the middle of the sentence. But this time, it is because you have dared to look back over at the General. And he is not even trying to conceal his amusement.

You bow your head in another silent apology and he tuts softly. “You are quite right, you know. As far as I am concerned, she is the woman of this house.” A smile plays around his lips. “And I would not have it any other way.”

It’s clearly not his atrium that surprises you. He is not what you would expect a General to be. Especially not one that is about to entrust you with his will. “I give my word that I will see it is stored safely,” you reassure him, carefully taking another small sip of the wine.

Acacius nods. “I appreciate that. You have my thanks.” He pauses briefly, his gaze darting around the atrium for a split second before landing back on you. “You seem uneasy. Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No. No, of course not, General.” It is not a lie, per se. But you are all too aware that it sounds like one.

“Is it your first time taking a will?”

You do not know how he does it. He seems to have read you so easily–or he is just very well connected to know such a thing. “Yes. It is, but I promise–”

“I trust you,” he states almost casually while reaching for the grapes and offering you some as well. You politely decline.

“Forgive me but … you met me mere moments ago. How can you know I am trustworthy?” Your eyes catch his and this time you hold his gaze, not missing the small glint in them.

“All of Rome trusts the Vestals. If not you, who would we put our faith into?”

“The gods. You should put your faith in the gods,” you say quietly.

“I prefer to put my faith in people,” Acacius responds, though his voice is slightly lowered as well. “The gods do not fight our wars.”

You stand up so abruptly that you almost drop the scrolls. “I should go.”

He seems perplexed for a moment but quickly catches himself and nods, standing up before leading you back the same way you came. You allow yourself a quick sideward glance at his face and are met with a professionally neutral expression. At the door, you turn towards him, giving a last, small bow. “My General.” His title falls off your lips like the silk they sell at the market, flowing effortlessly. His brown eyes lingering on you as you address him–even if normal custom–as yours, make your stomach clench slightly.

Acacius lets his hand hover beside you again, never quite touching you. Yet you almost seem to be able to feel his touch. “I did not mean offense.” His voice is much softer than it was when he greeted you.

“Of course.” You force yourself to smile and step away, shaking your head at the brief moment of confusion you allowed yourself. He is a General, you are a Vestal. He has sworn his vows and you have sworn yours. And both include promises that are enough to keep you at a few feets distance for several lifetimes. “Please, call for me if you ever need to make adjustments to the will. And–” You force yourself to smile a little wider. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

You turn around before he can speak again, suddenly wanting to put some distance between yourself and the house you so longed to see from inside–until you did.

***

211 AD

“You have to go, dulcissima.”

Acacius' voice is quiet, the back of his head resting against the stone pillar as he watches you drag the chaise lounge across the atrium, muttering under your breath when you have to maneuver it around the small fountain in the middle of the space.

“Please.”

You shake your head just as you reach him, gesturing for him to sit down. His begging breaks your heart–it always has. But the thought of leaving him here with open wounds is worse.

“Let me see your arm.” He doesn't move, forcing you to become a bit more stern. “Acacius. Let me see the arm. I am not leaving until you do.”

A curse slips out under his breath but he does as told, sitting down and allowing you to inspect his wound. The rustle of the chain on his ankle breaks the quiet as he moves and you pointedly ignore it as you crouch down in front of him.

You let your hand hover above his skin for a moment, taking a small breath. It is still difficult to break the rules you have been taught for so long sometimes. You tell yourself that this is not even a sin, that you are merely caring for a wounded Gladiator. It tricks your brain enough to lower your hand onto his skin. You do not believe it tricks Vesta.

“He should not have fought you,” you mumble quietly, thinking back to how Lucius was swinging away the moment he entered the arena.

“He did not understand. And it is how the Colosseum works, you know this.” Acacius mutters back, tensing slightly when you run your finger over the cut the sword left on his arm. It doesn't seem too deep but you know Acacius must be in much more pain than he lets on.

“I hate that place,” you whisper, surprising yourself with the force of your words. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you stiffen when you feel a calloused hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before brushing over your cheek.

“Oh, sweet,” he mutters, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “I am fine. I made it out, see? I promised I would.”

“They were going to shoot you,” you choke out, trying and failing to hold back the tears now slipping down your cheeks. You feel his lips touch the crown of your head briefly.

“But they didn't. Now, please, I will take care of this. But you have to leave.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and shake your head again, blinking a few times to clear your vision and shift your attention back to his wound. “How would you take care of this? They have sentenced you to death. The Emperors have called for it, in front of the whole empire.”

“I can talk to them. I have things to offer, even now. They do not know how to lead an army. But they need someone who does. And–”

“You would sell your soul to stay alive,” you whisper as you reach for a piece of cloth and begin to wipe down the crusted blood.

Acacius sighs. “No. But I would sell my soul to stay with you.”

! when commenting or reblogging, please make sure to hide spoilers from others !

[bee-turtle-kind]

watching FMA for the first time ever and man. Man. Why did no one tell me this has all my favorite tropes and horrors <3

[acid-ixx]

They aren't finished but I wanted to give you these! They're all WIPS so so far. Some are a bit older and you can tell what the newer ones are that I just made right now.

Thank you for posting a new chapter. It was an amazing read and I just loved it so much! Still trying to find those song references 😂

chapter spoilers and drafts (again &. again)

— masterlist ! ; chapter 4 ; ash's commisions

OH MY GOD THIS IS SUCH A BLESSING??? BANGER AFTER BANGER AFTER BANGER I SWEAR 💞

ash, you have always provided my little fanbase for my series so much food for thought, this is absolutely beautiful in every way. i literally don't care if they're wips or unfinished because either way you always make do with what i write, descriptive or not. i love your artstyle and how soft you draw the mc and how handsome conner is (i literally showed your art off to all my friends). you're so talented and i wish to reciprocate all the efforts you've done for this series 😭

i'm serious. from your portrayal of the mc, to them flying with conner, you never once disappoint anyone.

because of this, i'd like to leak some parts of my story from chapter five and beyond 💕! thank you so much for this, and i hope my yapping below suffices.

major spoilers below the cut!

the graduation photo! i have something planned with that, and i'd delve so much deeper (soon) with just how much a single photo can influence bruce's line of thought once he discovers that picture frame. love how happy mc is in the photo because, for me, it symbolizes them growing up (quite literally) and acknowledging a new path in life, alongside only finding alfred as their only father figure compared to bruce.

you consider yourself reserved, and prefer your life living within the confines of privacy and protection from media exposure. your mother always told you: better safe than sorry once; right after you've asked her about why you can't seem to find personal information about your father when she helped you search him up occasionally.

all the questions you ask her about the lack of your father's preferences — because you merely wanted to know more about him beyond the stories she told you! — she rebutted with a soft smile, a kiss on your head, and an explanation.

she'd warn you about the dangers of media exposure, about how your father and her prefer to keep their relationship a secret, and how too much cameras and paparazzi flashes can blind you.

she said that someone's perception of another person could be ruined once their deepest secrets are revealed. that's why your papa isn't seen beyond the doors of the manor he resides in; because people are attracted to mystery and allure.

hence why she'd restricted you from the usage of any devices within your household during your childhood, other than the excuse of having no money to afford it.

and you always abide by that principle of secrecy; especially right after alfred had saved you from... whatever happened years ago in elementary. from when that man... no, those men knew about your identity...

so, safe to say you were an introvert, at least when it comes to social media. the concept of the fear of missing out never once rattled your brain, no matter how anxious you are whenever you're with your friends; scared that you wouldn't fit in. but they never cared and accepted you with open arms, so it doesn't really matter, no?

you're safe now that you're at metropolis.

and like she always said, better safe than sorry! keep it within you and never out!

so why?

why is it just right after you've opened your twitter app— why is it that your face is plastered all across news accounts?

anyways, the second and third images are so romantic!!! and cute, and cured my depression i swear. i showed this to my one friend and she told me that conner's hand size compared to mc's is straight up hot, and i agree! i love the hand placement, and the way conner holds the mc so softly! yes, i too, would love to touch his man-tits beyond his impeccably tight shirt and play with his hands!

and the cute little panel with him squishing their face and desire their confirmation that, they do, in fact, think they're hot. he's a very insecure man after all, and his self-worth would revolve around your perception of him. he doesn't see you as god, but he doesnt see you as his everything. every opinion matters from you, and that's what makes the green flag part about him.

fun fact about him in the series! he loves to moisturize his hands with lots of skin care products because he read from an article once that some people prefer the feel of soft or moisturized hands. he definitely did not wait for the moment for you to touch him for the first time in forever since he first saw you! yeah, he's a bit more freaky than i let him out to be. the more you're exposed to him, the more you'll learn just how obsessed he is.

as for all the people asking if i'd write more about him: the answer is yes! he's a vital character, so don't worry because he'll appear in many scenes either way. for those concerned about why he didn't save the mc— well, chapter five will explain soon 🩷

and this art perfectly portrays it! it's seen from an outside perspective and they look very pretty, yet from what they see with their eyes is a different thing. the longer you stare at yourself, the more your image is distorted. i intentionally added the flower analogy because flowers are portrayed as pretty, no matter the size and shape. even as they wilt or sag, they still retain some color and a semblance of what was once a history of their prime.

then lastly! the mirror scene. it all returns to chapter three, chapter four was a sequel of their breakdown containing mirrors. reflections and the perception of one self is an important aspect of my series because it reminds me of myself, so them nit-picking each and every insecurity whilst staring at the mirror; that's a scene i wrote based off of a real life experience of mine. having both attractive parents, or those acknowledged as conventionally pretty, whilst being in an environment filled with as equally smart or attractive people, comparing yourself to them all the time, is a struggle.

the only way to make flowers 'ugly' is by destroying them, by stepping on them, ripping them apart, never once caring for them. i think that's very crucial because people do see anything destroyed or stripped away from its foundation a mess, or so. but there's always beauty in everything and i abide by that thought!

again, thank you so much ash for drawing this and bringing my story to life! you, alongside many other users who send in their fanarts, are always such an inspiration for me to write! you guys are the backbone of my series and i stand by my sentence!!! may you get plenty of commissions and plenty of money to support you <333

also, the FLOWER BOTTLE AND THE CAT PAW REFERENCE! i love how everyone accepts that we have a canon cat now based solely off of this. i think that's precious, and having a feline pet is a great little choice for my own plot (just to lessen the pain of the angst).

i hope you enjoyed this little mess rant!

(as for the songs, don't worry, the lyrics become more prevalent for chapter five! chapter four doesn't have any explicit lyrics contained in them, only implications.)

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 15

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

summary — he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart — and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

word count — 10.9 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, dark and mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, moral ambiguity, borderline insane behavior by all involved, heavy angst, panic attacks, (family) trauma, anger issues, fire incident, mentions of death, illness, abuse, and blood, graphic injuries and medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

author's note — hey people, a new chapter yay !! i dont have much to say this time, other than enjoy and thank you for your support and patience. & turn up the music for the second half of the chapter :)

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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Satoru's hands skimmed over your thighs.

His touch was feather-light as he made his way up to your hips. He gripped them gently, his fingers tracing the faint outlines of the red marks on your skin, making you shiver.

His hands continued their lazy exploration, wandering upwards, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your stomach, before ghosting over the bandages around your waist. Each touch was a whisper against the burns beneath his fingertips.

He pulled you closer, your back arching into him as he wrapped a hand around your throat. His grip was gentle but firm, his thumb tracing the line of your carotid artery as he tilted your head back against his shoulder. 

The early morning was quiet, the only sounds were the rustle of the sheets beneath you and the soft, shared breaths that filled the room as Satoru thrust into you. Slowly, lazily. As if he had all the time in the world to savor the feeling of your body against his.

Your hands were still tangled in the sheets, but you managed to free one, reaching up to wrap it around Satoru's neck. You pulled him closer, his lips finding the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your throat as he moaned against your skin.

You could feel his body straining, his muscles tense as he fought to maintain the slow, lazy pace. His grip on your throat tightened as he pulled you closer still. His moans grew louder, his body stiffening behind you. 

Then, he suddenly rolled over, pulling you with him. It took your sleepy mind a second to catch up, but your body adjusted quickly, your legs wrapping around his hips as you settled on top of him.

Satoru's eyes were still half-lidded, the drowsy haze clinging to his gaze as it met yours. His hands found your hips and guided you into a slow rhythm. He couldn't seem to look away, his eyes locked with yours as he let out a soft, weary moan.

"God, you look so beautiful like this," he breathed.

His hands slid up your body to cradle your face. You leaned down, your hair falling around his face like a curtain. Satoru's fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer for a kiss. It was sloppy and messy, your lips sliding against each other in a lazy, wet tangle. 

You began to move faster, your hips rolling in a more insistent rhythm, chasing the high that was building between you.

Satoru's eyes drew together, a moan escaping his lips as he broke the kiss for a second. You pulled back from his lips, a thread of saliva stretching between you before breaking. His head tilted back, his neck arching as he let out a throaty moan.

His hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging deeper into your skin as he tried to pull you closer. "Ah, fuck," he whispered. "You're so... ah, god." His words were lost in a moan as you picked up speed. 

Satoru's hands slid up to your waist, his fingers tracing the curve of your ribs beneath the soft cloth as he arched into you, his hips meeting yours. His half-lidded eyes never left yours, his gaze smoldering as he watched you move above him.

He then shifted, one hand behind his head, elbow bent as he looked up at you with a languid, sleepy gaze. His pupils were dilated, his mouth slightly parted as his moans filled the air, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths.

You could feel his body begin to tense, his muscles tightening as he thrust into you, his hips meeting yours. His moans grew louder, more urgent, his head falling back again, his neck straining as he surrendered to the pleasure. 

You felt yourself getting closer, too. 

You leaned back, dragging his cock along your inner wall, your head falling back as you let out a soft moan, your body moving in perfect harmony with his. Your hair cascaded down your back like a waterfall, and Satoru's eyes lazily opened, his gaze locking onto yours as he watched you.

"Fuck, I need you to come on me, love," Satoru breathed, his hand drifting down, fingers brushing against his mouth. He wet them with a quick flick of his tongue before bringing them to your body, finding that sensitive spot. "I need to feel you come on me."

His fingers circled your clit, the touch sending shivers through you. He teased the spot just above where your bodies were joined.

A rush of heat hit you as his fingers worked their magic. "Fuck, Satoru," you moaned, head thrown back, as he continued to circle and tease. His touch was gentle, but it was more than enough to send you spiraling.

You rode him harder, your body moving faster as Satoru's fingers drove you closer to the edge. His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze burning as he watched you. His mouth was slightly open, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath.

"Ah, god," he whispered, his voice barely there. "You're so close. I can feel it. Come for me, love. Come all over me."

His words sent you flying over the edge. 

Heat crashed over you, your body tensing as you came. Your breath caught, a low, keening sound escaping you, echoing through the room. Satoru's fingers kept circling, slower now, his thumb moving just slightly when you twitched, prolonging your high.

As the final waves of your orgasm faded, your head fell forward, your hair cascading around your face. Your hands came to rest on Satoru's chest, fingers splayed out as you tried to catch your breath. You sat like that for a moment, your body trembling.

Satoru slowly sat up, his body shifting beneath you as he pulled you into his lap. You felt him twitch inside you. "You did so good for me," he whispered, his voice husky. "So good and so fucking beautiful when you come."

He leaned in to kiss you, his lips warm and gentle as they brushed against yours. But as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slid into your mouth, hot and wet, sending shivers down your spine as he explored your mouth.

A rush of need hit you once more as Satoru's tongue tangled with yours, his kiss growing deeper and more intense. His hands cradled your face, his fingers gentle as he held you in place. You felt like you were melting into him, your body yielding to his as he kissed you.

Suddenly, he moved. He brought you down to lay on your back, and you let yourself be guided, like water in his hands as he gently lay you down against the sheets.

As you settled into the mattress, Satoru's body followed, his chest pressing against yours as he continued to kiss you. You felt his hands move, his fingers tracing the curve of your body. His touch was gentle, soothing, before he gripped your thighs tightly to push them wide.

And then, he pushed inside you again, his hips pressing against yours as he filled you once more. His one hand was on your thigh, the other coming up near your head to steady himself.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned. "I could fuck you like this all day."

He started to move, his moans growing louder once more, husky and needy, seeming to vibrate through every cell in your body. His eyes were closed, his face contorted in pleasure and concentration as he focused on the feeling of being inside you.

His body was tense, muscles flexed as he moved, his hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm that seemed to build with every passing second.

He leaned back on his knees, his body shifting as he draped one of your legs over his shoulder. The other leg was spread wide, your body open and exposed to him.

He looked down at you, his eyes glued to where your bodies were connected. You could see the heat in his gaze, the pleasure of watching himself disappear inside you as he slowly pushed himself deeper and deeper, his eyes never leaving the sight of his cock disappearing inside your body. "Fuck, you're so beautiful."

He reached out with one hand and pressed onto your lower stomach, his fingers splayed out as he felt the low bulge of his cock inside you. He savored the sensation, his eyes fluttering shut as he thrust into you.

And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he came. His body tensed, muscles straining as he came. But instead of the usual quick, intense release, Satoru's orgasm seemed to be slow and drawn out.

He seemed to savor the sensation, drawing it out as he slowly thrust into you again and again. Satoru's head fell back, eyes closed, brows drawn together, his Adam's apple bobbing as his mouth hung open. 

A bit of sweat ran down his neck and chest, glistening in the dim light of the room as he seemed to milk his high for all it was worth, broken moans spilling from his lips.

You could feel his body trembling, his muscles twitching as he released his load inside you. You moaned, your voice barely audible as you felt his hot cum fill you.

As Satoru slowly came back down from his high, he caught his breath and pushed back his damp hair from his forehead. He looked at you with a lazy, satisfied grin. "Good morning, first-year."

You smiled back at him. "Good morning, professor."

Satoru chuckled, the sound husky. "Mm, I could get used to waking up like this." He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. "Next to you, getting to fuck you like this."

His smile grew wider, eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached down and grasped his dick, fingers wrapping around his shaft as he slowly pulled out of you. His cum dripped out of you and onto the sheets as he pulled back.

Satoru watched for a second before his hand reached down and lazily let his fingers slide up and down your core, gathering his cum before pushing his fingers inside you. You moaned, the feeling on your still sensitive core almost too much.

He leaned down between your parted legs, his mouth lowering to your sex. His tongue flickered out, tasting you. Your thighs immediately clamped around his head, holding him in place as his tongue danced across your sensitive flesh. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping it tightly as you pulled him closer.

Satoru moaned, his breath hot against you as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers pumping lazily into you. You felt yourself getting wet all over again, your body responding to Satoru's touch like it was made for him.

You felt your body begin to tense again. You were going to come, and you knew it. Satoru's tongue was too skilled, too insistent, and you were too sensitive.

You tried to hold back, but it was no use. Your body betrayed you, releasing a flood of heat as you came again. Satoru's mouth was still on you, drinking in your juices as you rode out the waves of your orgasm.

As you came down from your high, Satoru slowly pulled back, his mouth leaving your sex with a soft pop. He looked up at you, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, as he licked his lips and smiled.

Just then the alarm clock went off. 

Satoru's eyes snapped towards the clock, his face contorting in annoyance and frustration. "Ah, damn it." He quickly reached over to silence the alarm. "No round two then." He groaned, his body flopping back onto the bed as he covered his face with his hands. 

"I don't want to get up," he said, his voice muffled by his palms.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, still trying to catch your breath. A playful smile tugged at your lips as you gently ran your hand up and down his still heavily rising chest. "Come on, professor. You have a class to teach, remember?"

"Don't remind me." Satoru's hands dropped away from his face, revealing a pair of bleary, sleep-deprived eyes. "And you have a class to attend, by the way." He looked at you. "And it's not gonna be easy."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? And why's that?"

"Let's just say I'm planning a little surprise exam in neurology today."

"You can't scare me with neurology," you retorted, a playful challenge in your voice. "There's nothing I don't know."

Satoru's grin widened. "Oh really? Then it'll be fun to test your limits."

"Bring it on, professor. I'm not afraid of a little challenge."

"Oh really?" He leaned closer. With a swift movement, he pushed you back onto the bed, his hands reaching for your wrists, pinning them above your head. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "Good. Because I plan on pushing you."

"I'm ready."

"Let's see about that. Just so you know, fucking the professor of this course is not going to get you extra credit."

"I wouldn't dream of."

He leaned in once more, capturing your lips in a final, lingering kiss. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he pulled away. "We should probably get going," he said. "Or we'll both be late."

─── ·✧· ───

You both scrambled to get ready. 

A quick shower, and then you found yourself in the kitchen, the tangy and bitter scent of coffee filling the air. You stood by the counter, your shirt tucked up under your arm, cradling a steaming mug in one hand while scrolling through the news on your phone with the other.

Satoru stood before you, his touch gentle as he carefully began to unwrap the bandage from your waist. You winced slightly, the fabric peeling away to reveal the tender skin beneath.

"Anything good in the news?" he asked, his attention focused on your injury.

You sipped your coffee, the bold flavor waking you up. "Let's see." You glanced at the headlines. "Some new study about gut bacteria and mental health, updates on solar panel rules..." You paused, a grin tugging at your lips. "Oh, and apparently there's a cucumber shortage in Iceland."

Satoru snorted. "A cucumber shortage? Now that's a real crisis."

"Yeah, something about some TikTok guy promoting cucumber salads," you explained, still scrolling. "Seems it got a bit out of hand."

"People sure find ways to keep themselves busy, don't they?" He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours, a softness in his gaze. "Your burns are looking way better, healing faster than I thought."

You smiled. "Well, they were in good hands."

"Wow, a compliment from you? I'm honored." Satoru grinned, snatching your coffee mug and taking a sip before handing it back. You rolled your eyes playfully as he continued tending to your burns. "So, how's the stock market looking today?" he asked casually.

"Wait." Switching to a financial news app, you scanned the headlines and charts. "Hmm, looks like the tech sector is taking a hit. Everyone's still nervous about the election and whether the Fed's gonna lower the interest rates. Are you invested in anything?"

"Yeah, a little bit of everything, Nvidia, AMD, Apple," Satoru mused, his fingers gentle on your skin.

"Looks like Nvidia's down again," you noted, holding up your phone for him to see. "Even after surpassing their quarterly goals."

"Huh." Satoru looked at the screen. "People always want more. The company's already overperforming, but apparently not enough to satisfy the market."

You took another sip from your coffee. "Maybe you should diversify your portfolio more, branch out from tech a bit."

"Ah, it's not really important. It's play money anyway," he shrugged, securing the bandage with a final touch. "It's more for fun."

"You're really the only person who would invest in the stock market just for fun." You eyed him wearily. "Do I even want to know how much money we're talking about?"

Satoru flashed a grin. "Probably best if you don't." He reached for his pill bottle, shaking out a single pill. 

One. 

Not two. 

Stable dose. No sedatives. You talked about it. He popped it into his mouth before leaning in to kiss you, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue as it met yours, letting you taste it.

You gave Dog a quick belly rub and a reassuring pat on the head before grabbing your bag and heading out the door with Satoru.

In the car, you donned a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap, hoping to blend in. Satoru raised an eyebrow. "You know, it's not really sunny today."

You glanced at him over your sunglasses. "It's not about the sun, stupid. Wouldn't want to be caught with my professor right before class, would I?

"Fair enough. But maybe ditch the cap with the giant logo of the university I went to, complete with my graduation year on the back. It's a bit of a giveaway." He paused, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Although, I have to admit, you look rather adorable in it."

You rolled your eyes. "Just focus on the road, Professor. Oh, and can we stop by my apartment later today? I need to get my car."

"Sure," he said easily.

A few blocks away from the university, you asked Satoru to pull over. "I'll walk the rest of the way," you said, stepping out of the car. "Wouldn't want anyone seeing us arrive together."

"Alright," he said, leaning over to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good luck with the exam, first-year."

You smiled, your hand resting on the car door. "Don't be too hard on me, Professor."

"I remember times you liked me being very hard with—"

Before he could finish his sentence, you closed the car door, leaving him with a final wave before turning and heading towards the university building, the morning sun warm on your face. 

─── ·✧· ───

You were already out of breath, when the familiar brick facade of the university building loomed ahead. You'd underestimated the distance from where Satoru had dropped you off. You looked quickly at your phone. Shit. You were so late.

Bursting through the auditorium doors, you scanned the room, your breath hitching in your throat. Relief washed over you as you spotted Maki, Yuta, and Toge huddled together in their usual spot near the back. Yuta waved you over.

You tiptoed down the aisle, your heart pounding. Just as you were about to slide into the empty seat beside Yuta, a smooth voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

"You're late."

You turned to see Satoru standing at the whiteboard, his back to you as he scribbled something with a pen. His other hand was casually tucked into his pocket, the picture of nonchalance.

"Sorry, Professor Gojo," you said.

You tried to continue your journey to the back row, but he turned around, his gaze pinning you in place. "I hope it was something important."

"Huh?" 

The whole auditorium now looked at you.

"The reason you're late," he fucker said, as if he didn't know exactly why you were late, as if he hadn't just cum in you not 30 minutes ago.

"Really important, yeah."

"Don't make this a habit." He turned back to the whiteboard, leaving you to navigate the gauntlet of curious stares as you finally reached your friends.

That fucker will never get morning sex again.

You slid into the seat next to Yuta, who helpfully pointed to the relevant page in his open textbook. Maki leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. "Someone's a little late for class," she teased, a sly grin on her face.

"I got held up."

"By a certain handsome professor, perhaps?" Yuta chimed in.

You shot him a glare. "No comment."

Maki and Yuta exchanged a knowing look. "Oh, come on," Maki prodded, nudging your arm playfully. "You're living with him now, what did you expect?"

Toge leaned over too. "Hickey."

"Huh?" You blinked, confused, then all three of them suddenly stared at your neck. Your hand flew to your neck, and you quickly pulled out your phone, using the screen as a mirror. Shit. "It's not what you think."

Maki chuckled. "Oh, we know exactly what we think." Just then, a small package of gummy bears landed with a soft thump on her head.

Startled, the three of you snapped towards the front of the lecture hall. There stood Satoru, a wicked gleam in his eyes and more gummy bear packages in his hand.

"Zenin," Satoru's voice boomed through the lecture hall, "perhaps you'd like to enlighten us on the role of the locus coeruleus in the modulation of arousal and attention, and how its dysfunction contributes to the pathophysiology of neuropsychiatric disorders."

All eyes in the auditorium darted to Maki. 

She cleared her throat, a bit flustered but game. "Well, the locus coeruleus is the primary source of norepinephrine in the brain, which is a key neurotransmitter involved in regulating arousal and attention..." She continued to explain, but stumbled slightly when detailing the specific mechanisms of dysfunction.

Another student eagerly raised her hand. "Professor, if I may add..." She proceeded to fill in the gaps Maki had left in her answer.

Satoru nodded, tossing a gummy bear package in her direction. Then he turned back to Maki with a raised eyebrow. "Zenin, it seems your attention might be better focused on the lecture than on extracurricular gossip."

Maki's cheeks flushed a bright pink, and Yuta couldn't help but burst into laughter. She elbowed him in the ribs, but his amusement was short-lived. A split second later, a gummy bear package bounced off his own head.

It seemed Satoru was on a roll, and no one was safe from his gummy bear inquisition. How unfortunate that he was a former basketball player and really good at aiming.

Satoru's voice boomed once again, "Okkotsu, since you seem to find this so entertaining, perhaps you'd care to explain the role of the hippocampus in memory consolidation and retrieval, with a specific focus on the distinction between declarative and procedural memory?"

Yuta's laughter died in his throat as he scrambled to gather his thoughts. 

"The, uh... the hippocampus is crucial for... for memory formation, right?" he began hesitantly. "It helps convert short-term memories into long-term ones..." He stumbled over a few technical terms, but to everyone's surprise, he managed to piece together a coherent, if somewhat rambling, answer.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. "Not bad, Okkotsu." With a flick of his wrist, another gummy bear package soared through the air, landing perfectly in Yuta's outstretched hand.

Maki, rubbing her head where the sweets had landed, muttered under her breath, "He's conditioning us, like we're Pavlov's dogs or something."

"You're med students," Satoru suddenly announced to the entire class, his voice laced with amusement. "You're all puppies until you can stand on your own two feet. Until then, I'm conditioning you, yes." His grin widened. "Shall we continue?"

And with that, the relentless questioning resumed. 

Satoru fired off complex questions about neuroanatomy, pharmacology, and clinical cases, keeping the entire class on their toes. Each correct answer was rewarded with a tossed gummy bear package.

You couldn't help but notice he'd been going a bit easy on you. Or maybe he was just saving his hardest for later. You had a feeling it was the latter.

Satoru's gaze swept across the room. "Alright, let's kick things up a notch. Who can explain the potential role of biomimetic nanovesicles in the treatment of brain diseases?"

A hush fell over the auditorium as students frantically flipped through their notes. A few hands tentatively rose, then quickly retreated as the complexity of the question sank in.

Satoru's smile faded slightly. "No one knows this? Come on, people, this is basic neurology."

"Basic neurology my ass," Maki muttered under her breath. "Who the hell knows this stuff?"

His eyes landed on you. You knew that look. He knew that you knew the answer. You met his gaze for a moment before looking up at the ceiling, pretending to contemplate the intricate patterns of the light fixtures.

A grin tugged at Satoru's lips as he tossed a gummy bear package your way. It bounced off your head with a soft thump. Of course.

"You've been awfully quiet today," Satoru's voice boomed through the lecture hall. "First, you're late, and now you're keeping your wisdom to yourself. Care to share your insights?"

You sighed, straightening up in your chair. "Biomimetic nanovesicles, or BNVs, offer a promising avenue for addressing the challenges of drug delivery and diagnosis in brain diseases."

Yuta groaned beside you, dramatically dropping his forehead onto the desk. "Why do you always know this stuff?"

You half-expected another gummy bear package to come flying your way, but instead, Satoru nodded, perching on the edge of his desk. "Go on."

Of course, you thought with a wry smile. "Well, due to the blood-brain barrier, getting therapeutics into the brain is notoriously difficult. But BNVs, particularly endogenous extracellular vesicles derived from cells, have shown an ability to cross this barrier."

"And how exactly do these BNVs accomplish that?"

"They possess unique surface properties," you explained, "that allow them to interact with and even fuse with the cells of the blood-brain barrier, effectively smuggling their cargo across."

Satoru raised an eyebrow. "Their cargo? You mean drugs?"

"Not just drugs," you countered. "They can also carry diagnostic agents, allowing for targeted imaging and disease monitoring. Plus, they can even carry genetic material for potential gene therapy applications."

"Impressive," Satoru said. "And what are some of the specific brain diseases that they could potentially target?"

You launched into a detailed explanation, covering everything from brain tumors and neurodegenerative diseases to cerebrovascular diseases and brain injuries. You laid out the complex ways these diseases affect the brain, and how BNVs could be tailored to fight them.

Your classmates were hanging on your every word, eyes wide. Well, most of them. Yuta was lightly banging his head against the desk in mock frustration, Maki had long since tuned out and was scrolling through her phone, and Toge was probably asleep.

And Satoru? He was watching you with an intensity that either was fascination or he wanted to undress you. Perhaps both. 

When you finished, there was a moment of silence. 

Then Satoru laughed, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "I see someone did their homework." He pushed off the desk, reaching for a gummy bear package, but then paused. "One last question. How can we ensure the safety and efficacy of these BNVs in clinical applications?"

"The usual. Preclinical testing in animal models. Understanding their biodistribution, how they're broken down, and any potential toxicity. Careful patient selection and monitoring," you said curtly.

Satoru's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "The usual? You're not considering more specific approaches? You know that BNVs can interact with unintended targets in the brain and cause unforeseen complications?"

"That's a valid concern, Professor. But sometimes, taking risks is necessary. People are dying from these brain diseases every day. Shouldn't we be willing to explore every option, even if it involves some uncertainty?"

Satoru's expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "And who gets to decide what level of risk is acceptable? You?"

You flinched back. "No, I mean—"

He stood up straighter, his voice echoing through the lecture hall. "While your passion is admirable, we must never forget the ethical implications of our actions. It is not our place to play with human lives in the pursuit of progress. Every medical intervention carries risks, and we must always weigh those risks against the potential benefits."

His gaze swept across the room, his words carrying a weight that silenced the entire class. Then his eyes landed on you once more. "We are scientists, not gods. Patients die, no matter how hard we try. The sooner you accept that, the better a doctor you will be." 

The silence that followed was heavy.

The bell rang.

No gummy bear package came your way.

You sat back in your seat. Oh he was clearly never getting morning sex ever again.

─── ·✧· ───

After class, you told your friends to go ahead, saying you needed a quick word with Professor Gojo. They waved, promising to save you a seat at your usual spot. You waited until the last student shuffled out, the lecture hall falling quiet.

Turning back, you approached Satoru, who was still behind his desk, shuffling through notes. You stood across from him, arms crossed, your gaze unwavering.

"You were brilliant today," he said, not looking up. "Not that I expected anything less."

"What was that about?" you asked, your voice sharp.

He finally looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"The whole 'playing god' lecture."

"It's something I cover every year with my students."

"And you had to use me as an example?"

A hint of a smile played on his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're the only one who wouldn't burst into tears if the great Dr. Gojo called them out."

"So I was just a teaching tool?"

"Should I have picked on Maki instead?" He rounded the desk, perching on the edge. "You know she takes everything to heart. She'd be agonizing over it for days." He twirled a pen between his fingers, the movement smooth. "Or Yuta? He's got potential, but he's still a bit green. I wouldn't want to shake his confidence. Or Mina? That girl's so eager to please, she'd probably start crying on the spot."

You watched him, the anger slowly fading. It was hard to stay mad when he looked at you with that knowing smirk. He knew you understood his point. He set the pen down, his gaze holding yours.

"Come here," he said softly, extending his hand.

You hesitated for a moment, but the warmth in his eyes drew you in. You stepped closer, placing your hand in his. His fingers intertwined with yours, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. "I'm sorry if I put you on the spot," he said. "But you handled it beautifully, as always."

"You're lucky I'm thick-skinned."

"That you are," he agreed. "How else could you keep up with my antics?" His lips twitched into a smile then. "Besides, someone needs to keep you in check, you know. I think your ego might rival mine by now."

"Oh, please. My ego is nowhere near as inflated as you—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he tugged your wrist, pulling you close until your chest pressed against his. His eyes, now serious, searched yours. "What was that?"

"I said my ego is nowhere—"

He cut you off, swiftly turning you around and lifting you onto the edge of his desk. You gasped as he leaned over you, forcing you to lie back, his hands framing your hips, caging you in. One hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher.

He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his voice a husky whisper. "That's not how a student should talk to her professor."

"And how should a student talk to her professor?" you challenged, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

His gaze dropped to your neck, lingering on the hickey. A smirk played on his lips. "With respect. And perhaps a bit of...admiration."

"And what if I don't feel particularly respectful or admiring at the moment?"

Satoru leaned closer, his lips brushing yours, his fingers tracing the hickey mark gently. "Then perhaps," he whispered, "I'll have to teach you a lesson."

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. With a sigh he pulled away slightly, fishing out his phone. "Hold that thought," he said. He answered the call, his tone shifting to a professional one.

"Hey, Higurama, what is it?"

You remained perched on the desk, beneath his muscular chest, his loosened tie dangling above you. You couldn't resist playing with the fabric, twisting it absently between your fingers.

"Yeah, fine with me... Listen, can I call you back later?" He glanced down at you. "I'm in a bit of a... difficult position right now." You heard a muffled sigh from the other end of the line before Satoru hung up.

"What was that about?" you asked.

"It's about the ethics committee," he said, his voice slightly strained. "The meeting's been moved up to three weeks from now."

You propped yourself up on your elbows. "What did he say?"

"It's fine. Higurama just wants to go over things, make sure we're prepared... in case something goes wrong."

You reached up, cupping his cheek gently. "Nothing will go wrong."

He leaned into your touch, then turned his head to bite playfully into your palm. "With you by my side, of course not." He straightened up, releasing you and adjusting his clothes. "God, I can't wait for this to be over. I miss surgeries." He stepped back and adjusted his pants. "And fuck, I'm hard again, too."

You sat up on the edge of the desk, watching him struggle to rearrange himself. "Are you good?"

He met your gaze, knowing you didn't mean the mess in his pants. "Yeah, I'm good. Just this stupid trial, and then it's over, right?"

"We stick to the plan, right?" you reminded him, your voice firm. "We've been together since the project started, nothing strange happened, we were together before that. And then we split. Nothing's happening anymore."

"Something's definitely happening," he muttered, still fighting with his belt.

"Satoru, I'm serious."

He stopped, his gaze locking with yours. "And so am I."

"We can do this," you said. "And it will be fine. Nothing will happen."

"Just this last fight?"

"Just this last fight," you echoed, even as guilt stabbed at your heart.

His eyes searched your face. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because you seem like there's something on your mind."

"No," you lied, "it's nothing."

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"What is it?" you asked.

"I can't wait to get hurt by you again," he said. "Best fix I can get."

"You're imagining things."

"And you're lying."

"It's nothing important."

"Like your bruises?" His voice was sharp now, cutting through the pretense.

You paused for a beat. "Trust me on this."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "One last time?"

"One last time," you echoed.

─── ·✧· ───

The afternoon sun, a pale imitation of its summer glory, cast long shadows across the campus courtyard. A crisp autumn breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and the promise of colder days to come. 

You lay sprawled on your back atop the familiar half-wall, your head resting on Maki's lap. The worn stone was cool against your skin, contrasting with the warmth of Maki's thighs. She stroked your hair absently, her other hand holding her phone, eyes glued to the screen.

Toge sat beside Maki, his eyes also glued to his phone screen as he played some video game on it. Yuta perched on the wall's edge, his legs swinging idly as he munched on the gummy bears Satoru had bestowed upon him during the lecture.

"Honestly," you groaned, "how many more of those do you have?"

Yuta shrugged, the crinkling of the candy wrapper punctuating his nonchalance. "Plenty. Want one?"

You groaned again. Maybe you were a tad salty about being Satoru's example during the lecture. You didn't even get any gummy bear reward in the end.

Maki chuckled, her fingers threading through your hair. "Someone's a little grumpy today. Didn't you have a great start to your morning?" 

"I'm not grumpy," you protested. "Just... annoyed."

"Same difference," Maki said.

"Gojo was on fire today," Yuta said, offering you a gummy bear. You took it, even though you swore you wouldn't. "Please don't sleep with him anymore if this is what comes out of it."

"Don't worry, not gonna happen again."

"Speaking of Gojo," Maki said, pausing her hair-petting for a second, "what's the plan for Naoya exactly? His party is this weekend, right?"

You slowly sat up, bracing your hands on the wall. "The plan is... we go in, find something, and get out without Naoya noticing."

"That's not a plan at all," Yuta said, deadpan.

"Yeah," Toge mumbled, eyes glued to his video game.

"Well," you sighed, snagging another gummy bear from Yuta's open hands, "the plan is more of a...rough sketch at this point."

Yuta raised an eyebrow. "That's reassuring."

"We know Naoya's hiding something," Maki said. "We just need to find it. And something tells me it'll be fun."

"Easier said than done," Yuta pointed out. "His parties are always packed. How are we supposed to snoop around without getting caught?"

Toge finally looked up from his game. "Split up."

"Yeah," you agreed. "Maybe we can create a distraction, or split up and cover more ground."

Maki's eyes narrowed. "Are you going to tell Gojo?"

You hesitated for a second. "No, I can't tell him. It would hurt him too much."

"You know it's not right to lie to him," Maki said softly.

"I know. But I have to."

Yuta sighed, reaching for another gummy bear and shoving it into your mouth. "I'm sure it will turn out alright. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

─── ·✧· ───

Saturday arrived earlier than you expected.

And Satoru, surprisingly, offered little resistance to your movie plans with Maki. He'd raised a curious eyebrow at first, but the sight of the actual movie tickets (for a movie you had no intention of watching) seemed to satisfy him. You mentioned the possibility of hitting up a small bar afterward, adding that he shouldn't wait up.

Before he went for his daily run with Dog (he still doesn't have a name), he pulled you close, his hand settling on the small of your back. He kissed you. Innocently enough, but quickly escalated because, well, it's Satoru.

"Do you have to look so damn good when you're going out without me?"

"You can help me get out of this dress later," you replied.

The day before, you'd retrieved your car from the charred remains of your apartment. Now, you were on your way to pick up Maki and the others. As you pulled up to Naoya's ridiculously pretentious mansion, a wave of nervousness washed over you.

It was time to put your master plan into action. The only problem was that there was no master plan. Not really. More like a vague idea and a whole lot of hope.

The car rolled to a stop a not-so-discreet distance from Naoya's house, which looked like it belonged to a celebrity. You all leaned forward, half your bodies practically draped over the dashboard, staring at the monstrosity.

"Remind me again why this fucker is suing Dr. Handsome for so much cash when he's got a house like this?" Maki asked, her nose practically pressed against the window.

Yuta snorted. "Because he's a rich, whiny kid with too much time on his hands?"

"Probably," Toge and you said in unison.

"Anyway," Maki said, waving off the question. She reached into her bag and produced four tiny, colorful liquor bottles, shoving one into each of your hands. "Bottoms up, bitches. We're about to have a very interesting night."

You eyed the bottle suspiciously. "Maki, this looks like something you'd find in a gas station bathroom."

She grinned. "That's because it probably is. Now shut up and drink. We've got a rich kid to expose."

You unscrewed the cap, bracing yourself, and downed the mystery liquid in one gulp. It burned all the way down, leaving a questionable aftertaste.

Yeah. 

What could possibly go wrong?

─── ·✧· ───

Moments later, you stepped into Naoya's mansion, and it was like walking into a scene from a twisted fever dream. The place was heaving with bodies, packed so tightly you could barely move, and the music was so loud you could feel it vibrating in your bones.

It was like a frat party on steroids, no, acid, with a heavy dose of rich kid debauchery thrown in for good measure. The air was thick with the pungent scent of sweat, alcohol, weed, and God knows what else.

Everywhere you looked, there was something wild and depraved going on. Partygoers swarmed every available surface, grinding against each other like they were trying to merge into one sweaty, writhing mass. A couple was making out so intensely, you were pretty sure they were going to need a room soon. 

In one corner, a group of guys were doing keg stands, the crowd chanting and screaming as they chugged beer like their lives depended on it. 

In another, a gaggle of scantily-clad girls were snorting lines of something off a polished marble table you didn’t want to question further. And was that a fucking live band playing on a stage in the living room?

"Holy shit," Yuta said, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. "This is insane."

"Insane," Toge agreed.

Maki grinned, already bobbing her head to the music. "This is exactly the kind of chaos we needed. Let's go find Naoya's room and see what dirt we can dig up."

You weaved through the throngs of people, dodging flailing limbs and trying not to slip on the spilled drinks that coated the floor. As you pushed deeper into the house, the chaos only grew more intense and surreal. 

You squeezed through the dance floor between bodies writhing and undulating, the strobe lights casting jagged shadows across their faces.

"Okay, if I were a spoiled rich asshole, where would I hide my deepest, darkest secrets?" Maki mused as you climbed the stairs, stepping over a couple making out on the steps.

Yuta snorted. "Probably in a safe hidden behind a tacky portrait of himself."

You couldn't help but laugh at the mental image. "Let's just start with his bedroom and see what we can find."

But before you could even reach the top of the stairs, a familiar face appeared in front of you, blocking your path. It was Aoi, a classmate from your university who somehow seemed to materialize at every party.

"Yooooo, what's good, fam?" he slurred, his eyes glazed and his grin sloppy. "Where y'all sneaking off to? The party's just getting started!"

You exchanged a panicked look with your friends, trying to come up with an excuse on the spot. "We were just looking for the bathroom," you stammered, wincing at how lame it sounded.

Aoi's grin widened. "All of you at the same time?”

Yuta laughed awkwardly, trying to play it off. "Yeah, we're like super close friends.”

You shot him a look, one eyebrow raised.

Aoi laughed. "Forget the bathroom, come get a drink with me first!" He grabbed your arm and Maki's, his grip strong, and started dragging you back down the stairs. Yuta and Toge had no choice but to follow, exchanging helpless looks behind Aoi's back.

Before you knew it, you were in the kitchen, surrounded by even more drunk partygoers. The place looked like a war zone, every surface cluttered with empty bottles, sticky solo cups, and liquids you didn’t want to question.

A group of girls were clustered around the island, doing shots and shrieking with laughter at some unheard joke, their voices shrill and grating.

It was chaos, pure and simple.

Aoi grabbed a half-empty bottle of something dark and potent-looking, sloshing it around with a grin. "What's your poison?" he shouted over the deafening music.

“Anything will do," you said.

"Oh damn, we got a badass over here," he smirked. He uncapped the bottle, which you now saw was rum, and splashed a generous amount into a red solo cup, topping it off with a splash of cola. 

He shoved the cup into your hand, then quickly filled three more for Maki, Toge, and Yuta, the noxious mixture sloshing over the sides. "Drink up!" he said, raising his own cup in a sloppy toast.

You all eyed the hideous mixture, each of you thinking the same thing: this mission was going to be tougher than you thought. But before you could take a sip, a voice cut through the noise of the party. 

"Oh, look who decided to crash my party."

You turned to see Naoya standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and a sneer twisting his scarred face.

Maki took a defiant swig of her drink, barely suppressing a gag at the burn of the alcohol. "We weren't crashing. We were invited."

Naoya raised an eyebrow. "Really? By whom, exactly?"

Yuta stepped forward. "Does it matter? We're here now, so deal with it."

Naoya stalked towards you, his eyes locked on yours with predatory intensity. "Oh, it matters," he said. "Because I don't recall inviting a bunch of wannabe doctors to my party."

You met his gaze unflinchingly. "At least I've actually been inside an OR as part of the surgical team, unlike you," you fired back, your eyes raking over his scarred face. "I mean, the only time you've seen the inside of an operating room was when you were lying on the table, getting all that plastic surgery to try and fix that mangled mug of yours. Too bad it didn't take, huh?"

Naoya's eyes flashed with rage, the scars on his face, remnants from Satoru's brutal assault, twisting into an ugly sneer. For a moment, the tension was so thick you could've cut it with a scalpel, and you thought he might actually take a swing at you. 

But then he laughed, the sound harsh and humorless.

"You've got quite the mouth on you, don't you?" he said, his tone dripping with venom. "But you're in way over your head here, little girl. I suggest you and your little playmates finish your drinks and fuck off before you start something you can't finish."

You stepped forward. "What, you're not gonna try to roofie me this time, asshole?” 

Naoya's lip curled in disgust, his scarred face contorting into a mask. "Please, I would never fuck you, not even for money."

"Big talk from a guy who has to drug women just to get laid," you said. "I guess when you look like that, you take what you can get, huh?"

Naoya's face flushed an ugly shade of red. "You fucking bitch—"

But before he could finish his sentence, a football came hurtling out of nowhere, spiraling through the air. Naoya's eyes widened in surprise and he instinctively threw up his hands, snatching the ball out of the air just inches from his scarred face.

Then, as if on cue, a rowdy pack of meatheads in letterman jackets came barreling through the crowd, whooping and hollering like a bunch of drunken douchebags.

"Yo, Naoya!" one of them yelled, his words slurred together in a barely intelligible mess. "Nice fuckin' catch, bro!"

Naoya's face split into a cocky grin, his anger momentarily forgotten as he tossed the ball back with a casual flick of his wrist. "You know me. Ain't nothing gets past me."

The jocks guffawed, jostling each other and pounding Naoya on the back with meaty fists. "Yo, we need our boy for the next round of beer pong!" one of them yelled, already dragging Naoya towards the crowded backyard. "Can't have a fuckin' tournament without you!"

Naoya hesitated for a split second, glancing back at you and your friends. For a moment, you thought he might shrug off his pals and continue his interrogation. But then his signature smirk slid back into place, as greasy and insincere as ever.

"Duty calls," he said with an exaggerated wink that made your skin crawl. "But don't think for a second that this shit is over. I'll be keepin' my eye on you little wannabe doctors, so y'all best behave yourselves, feel me?"

With that, he allowed himself to be dragged away by his posse of howling primates, disappearing into the seething mass of sweat-soaked bodies. You let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing.

"Well, that was intense," Yuta said, running a hand through his hair. "I thought for sure he was going to punch you or something."

You shrugged. "Naoya's all talk. He's not going to risk messing up his plastic surgery any more than he already has.”

Maki snorted, downing the rest of her toxic cocktail in one long pull. "Yeah, well, I still wouldn't put anything past that psycho.”

Suddenly, the eardrum-shattering music cut out, replaced by the DJ's over-hyped voice booming through the speakers.

"Alright, alright, alright!" he screamed. "Y'all motherfuckers ready to crank this shit up to the next level or what?"

The crowd roared back in drunken approval, a seething mass of hormones and bad decisions just waiting to be unleashed. The DJ cackled, his gold fronts glinting in the strobing lights. 

"Then let's fuckin' gooooooo!" he howled. "I wanna see every single one of you beautiful people on the dance floor!”

The music kicked back in, the bass thumping so hard you could feel it in your bones like a second heartbeat. The party, already chaotic, descended into pure madness. 

People clambered up onto every available surface, dancing on tables, hanging from chandeliers, even hurling themselves off the balcony into the roiling mosh pit below. Others guzzled booze straight from the bottle, vomiting in corners and grinding against each other.

"We need to get out of here," Maki yelled over the din. "This is getting out of control!"

You nodded, grabbing Yuta and Toge and shoving your way through the sea of flailing limbs and spilled drinks, fighting the current of chaos like salmon swimming upstream. Somehow you managed to break free from the worst of the insanity, stumbling up the stairs on shaky legs.

The second floor was marginally quieter, but that wasn't saying much. 

The dull thud of the bass still pulsed through the floorboards, and the occasional plastered couple would come tumbling out of a room in a mess of tangled limbs and smeared makeup, heedless of your presence.

You started trying doors at random, peeking into darkened rooms, in order to find Naoya’s room. Most were either empty or occupied by people in varying states of undress, too focused on each other to even notice your intrusion. 

But as you reached the end of the hall, you came to a door that refused to budge, the handle rattling uselessly in your grip.

"Check this out," you said, waving the others over with an urgent gesture. "Why would Naoya have a locked door in his own house?"

Maki frowned, crouching down to examine the keyhole. "I don't know, but I bet whatever that scarred freak is hiding in there is something big. Something he doesn't want anyone else to see."

Yuta glanced around nervously, his eyes darting back and forth. "Okay, but how are we supposed to get in there? It's not like any of us have a key to Naoya's secret lair."

Maki's lips curled into a smirk as she fished a bobby pin out of her tousled hair. "Leave it to me.”

Yuta raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you know how to do that?"

“I watched a YouTube tutorial on lock picking once. Figured it might come in handy for situations like this."

"Right, because we frequently find ourselves needing to break into locked rooms,” Yuta said.

Maki bent the pin into a crude shape and started fiddling with the lock, her tongue poking out in concentration. But after several long, tense moments, she let out a frustrated huff and sat back on her heels. "No dice. We're not getting in there with just a bobby pin and a prayer."

Yuta raised an eyebrow. "Wow, really? I'm shocked that your extensive YouTube education didn't prepare you for this moment."

Maki shot him a glare. "You got a better idea? Because I'm all ears."

Toge, who had been quietly contemplating the door with a pensive expression, suddenly spoke up. "Break it down," he suggested mildly, as if proposing they order a pizza.

"Are you insane? We can't just go around smashing doors in,” Yuta said. “That's destruction of property. We could get arrested."

Maki just shrugged. "I mean, with all the noise from the party, who's gonna hear a little splintered wood? We could probably get away with it."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a migraine throbbing behind your eyes. "We are not breaking down the door. We need to be smarter than that."

"Ooh, I know!" Yuta said, snapping his fingers. "We could climb out the window, shimmy along the ledge, and then break in through Naoya's window!"

You stared at him, wondering if he was joking. But from the eager, puppy-dog expression on his face, it was clear he was dead serious.

"Yuta, we're on the second floor of a mansion," you said. "If we tried that, we'd probably fall and break our necks."

"Not if we used bed sheets as a rope. We could tie them together and—"

"No," you cut him off firmly. "No climbing, no breaking and entering, no property damage. We need to think of a plan that won't get us arrested or killed."

Maki sighed dramatically, tucking her mangled bobby pin back into her hair with a huff. "Well, there goes all my ideas."

Defeated and frustrated, you made your way back down to the main floor, the thumping bass growing louder with each heavy step. As you emerged into the chaos of the party once more, you were immediately engulfed in the crush of sweaty bodies, the pulsing heat and deafening noise.

You pushed your way through the throng, scanning the room for any sign of Naoya or his goons. But everywhere you looked, all you saw were drunk people.

In the living room, a group of guys were taking turns leaping off the couch, trying to outdo each other with increasingly reckless flips and stunts. One of them went crashing into a side table, sending a lamp and several picture frames flying. The crowd cheered, seemingly unconcerned about the destruction.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the din.

"Ahh, there you are!” Aoi crowed, materializing out of the crowd. "I was starting to think you'd gone and ditched me!"

Please. Not him again.

But before you could make a break for it, Aoi had already slung his arm around your shoulders once more. He navigated the madness of the party with infuriating ease, dodging flying elbows and sloshing drinks as he dragged you deeper into the house.

"Where are you taking us?" you yelled over the din of the music, your voice barely audible even to your own ears.

Aoi just flashed you a grin. "To the real party, of course! You haven't seen anything yet!"

He dragged you through the kitchen, where a group of girls were doing body shots off a shirtless guy sprawled across the island. But Aoi didn't even slow down, shouldering his way through the crowd until he reached the sliding glass doors leading to the backyard. 

With a dramatic flourish, he flung them open.

The backyard was equally chaotic. In the center of it all was an enormous pool. Everywhere you looked, people were shouting, laughing, splashing. 

A group of girls were engaged in a vicious chicken fight, shrieking as they grappled and shoved atop their boyfriends' shoulders, sending great gouts of water spraying across the deck.

"Now this is what I'm talking about!" Aoi crowed, snagging a half-empty bottle of tequila from a passing tray and chugging deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing obscenely. "So what do you say?"

“I want to go home,” Yuta said, deadpan.

"Thanks for showing us around Aoi, really," you interjected, trying to disentangle yourself from his grip. "But I think we can take it from here—"

But before you could slip free, a loud splash and a chorus of cheers drew your attention back to the pool. Someone had just done a cannonball off the diving board, sending up a tremendous splash that drenched half the deck and the crowd was going wild.

Aoi shook his head with a chuckle, finally releasing you from his clutches. "Duty calls. Can't let these idiots have all the fun. Stick around, yeah? The night's just getting started."

With that, he dove into the pool, disappearing under the churning water. 

You stood there for a moment, trying to massage some feeling back into your bruised shoulder.

“He seriously needs to learn about personal space.” Maki scoffed, picking bits of confetti out of her hair. "What's the plan now? We need to get into that room. And if it's locked, Naoya must have the key, right?"

Yuta nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd. "He's got to keep it on him. Maybe in his pocket or something."

"So, one of us needs to get close enough to him to retrieve it," Maki mused, her gaze settling on Toge. "I nominate Toge for the job."

"No," Toge replied firmly.

"Come on, Toge," Maki urged, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Take one for the team. We're all counting on you."

"We need a distraction,” you said. “Something to draw his attention away so one of us could sneak up and grab the key?"

"Like what?" Maki asked, raising an eyebrow. "A fire? A fight? In this crowd, it would have to be something pretty major to get noticed."

You bit your lip, your mind racing as you searched for a solution. There had to be a way to obtain the key. But what?

Just then, a commotion near the pool caught your attention. A group of guys were chanting, their voices rising above the music. "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

You craned your neck to see what was happening and your eyes widened. There, in the center of the group, was Naoya. And he was guzzling from a massive beer bong, the liquid flowing straight down his throat.

The crowd cheered as he finished, slamming the cup down and raising his arms in victory. He was clearly wasted, his eyes glazed and his movements sloppy.

An idea started to form in your mind. A risky, possibly stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless.

You turned to your friends, your expression grave. "I think I know how we can get that key. But you're not going to like it."

Maki, Yuta, and Toge exchanged wary glances, clearly bracing themselves for the worst. "Why do I get the feeling I'm gonna regret asking?" Yuta sighed.

"We're going to challenge Naoya to a drinking contest. And we're going to win."

For a long, uncomfortable moment, your friends stared at you in stunned silence. Maki was the first to break it, "Wait, are you seriously suggesting we try to out-drink Naoya? The same guy who just chugged that beer like it was water?"

"Hear me out," you pressed on. "He's already pretty wasted. If we can keep him drinking, keep him distracted, one of us can grab the key while he's not paying attention."

Yuta shook his head. "I don't know about this. Naoya can really hold his liquor. And even if we do manage to get the key, we'll be too drunk to do anything with it."

"He's not the only one who can handle their alcohol," you countered.

“Why does that sound like a threat,” Yuta said.

"Girl, for someone who's supposed to be the smartest one here, you come up with some really questionable ideas sometimes,” Maki said.

You met her gaze, giving her a long look. After a long moment, Maki sighed, throwing up her hands in resignation. "Fine. Let's give it a shot."

With determined strides, you and your friends pushed through the crowd, your eyes locked on Naoya. He was at the beer pong table, laughing and joking with his buddies as he lined up his shot. This was your chance.

But just as you reached the table, a shout rang out over the music, cutting through the din like a knife. "The professors are here! The professors are here!"

Maki frowned. "Huh? What's going on?"

A guy came rushing up to Naoya, his face ashen and his eyes wide. "Dude, you gotta hide the drugs! One of our professors from university is here and he brought other professors with him!"

Naoya's eyes widened, the color draining from his face. "What? How the hell did they find out about the party?"

The guy shook his head. "I don't know, man. But they're here, and they don't look like they're planning to leave anytime soon."

Naoya swore under his breath, then started barking orders. "Hide everything! The booze, the weed, all of it! And someone turn off the damn music!"

The backyard erupted into chaos. 

People were scrambling in every direction, shoving bottles and bags under couches, into planters, anywhere they could find. The music outside cut off abruptly, but the heavy bass from inside the house continued to throb through the walls.

You turned to your friends, panic written all over your face. "We know who that might be," Yuta said.

You were pushing your way back into the house, your heart pounding in your chest. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath, trying to navigate the sea of dancing bodies. The news of the professors' arrival had spread like wildfire, but most of the partygoers were too drunk or too oblivious to care.

As you weaved your way towards the front entrance, you collided with a girl, sending her drink splashing up her shirt. She gasped, looking down at her drenched top in shock.

"I'm so so sorry," you quickly apologized, your hands hovering uselessly as you tried to figure out how to help. The girl looked up at you, her initial surprise giving way to a faint smile. "It's okay—" she began, but you were already moving past her, your focus solely on getting to the door.

And then you saw him.

Satoru was strolling inside, looking completely at ease as he greeted students with casual handshakes and claps on the back. His smile was genuine, his demeanor relaxed. He looked like he belonged here, like he was just another guest ready to enjoy the party.

Behind him, you spotted Suguru, Nanami, and a handful of other professors from your faculty. They were all dressed casually, blending in with the crowd.

You stood there, frozen, as Satoru's gaze locked onto yours, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity that seemed to strip you bare. 

He was disappointed, you could tell.

As he approached, your mind raced, desperately searching for an explanation, an excuse, anything to justify your presence here. But the words caught in your throat, choked by the lump of guilt and fear in your throat that grew with each step he took towards you. 

His smile was warm, but it did little to mask the tension simmering beneath the surface, the unspoken accusations hanging heavy in the air between you.

"I'm sorry, I must be in the wrong place. I was looking for my wife, but she told me she'd be at the movies tonight. You wouldn't happen to have seen her, would you?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." Satoru quirked an eyebrow as he leaned in closer, his arm coming up to rest on the wall beside you, trapping you in place. The heat of his body seeped into yours, making your skin prickle. "Isn't this supposed to be a university party?"

You frowned. "For students!"

"Well, I was a student once." Satoru's grin widened. "But I must say, I'm a little hurt you didn't invite me to be your plus one. I thought we were closer than that."

Just then, another student appeared from behind you, giving Satoru a high five and a drunken grin, completely oblivious to the tension between you. "Yo, Prof! What's good? Didn't expect to see you here!"

Satoru returned the high five with an easy smile, his eyes never leaving yours. "You know me, always full of surprises. Just thought I'd drop by and see how my favorite students are spending their weekend."

His tone was light, almost cheerful, but you could hear the underlying current of displeasure, the unspoken accusation in his gaze. The student, however, remained blissfully unaware, laughing and patting Satoru on the back before stumbling off into the crowd.

You watched the exchange, the knot of guilt in your stomach tightening with each passing second, your palms growing clammy as you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

"You should leave.”

His expression sobered, his eyes locking with yours. "And leave you here alone with Naoya? I don't think so."

"Satoru, just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't protect myself."

He shook his head, leaning in even closer. You could feel his breath on your skin, the heat of his body. "I'm not protecting you because you're a woman," he said, his voice low. "I'm protecting you because you’re my woman. And my woman has a real fucking problem with lying to me and putting herself in stupid, reckless situations."

Your breath caught in your throat at his serious tone. 

Satoru held your gaze for a long, tense moment, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. Then he pulled back. "We'll talk about this later.” 

Then, as quickly as it had come, the intensity was gone. His signature smile was back on his lips, charming and carefree. He straightened up, looking around the room. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."

With that, he pushed past you, leaving you standing there in the entrance.

Fuck.

This was bad. 

This was so, so bad. 

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: hello again, still don't have much to say, other than don't only invest in tech okay, diversify your portfolio, don't do what dr. handsome does (he's stupid). also, i'm pretty busy these days, so sorry for the sparse updates, but i appreciate all your friendly interactions, they really brighten my day whenever i see them <3

i know that this story is getting quite long and i have noticed a decline in interactions with it, which i totally understand with the spare updates i can provide, so thank you a thousand times to everyone still sticking around and patiently waiting for updates. i try to do my best to somehow crave out the time to continue this story. have a nice day y'all :)

pls consider subscribing to the story on AO3, if you'd like to stay updated on future chapters. also, please note that i'll be kicking inactive readers off the taglist so that i can tag more people who genuinely interact with the story.

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© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[hypnagogics]

SUPERBLOOD WOLFMOON | teaser + summary

♡: spider!ellie williams x reader

FULL SYNOPSIS: in a city shrouded with mystery, lovable loser ellie williams leads a double life. by day, she's an ordinary young adult. she juggles her studies, a boring job at a run-down record store for a few extra bucks, playing guitar in her free time, and ignoring your texts, the usual. but by night, she transforms into a famed superhero, beloved by the country. she's there when any problems arise, whenever she is needed to sort a squabble out. however, maintaining anonymity as arachnelle is of utmost importance to her. she vowed to take that to her grave, it was just easier this way, keeping her life split in two.

as her most dear friend since the earliest days of childhood, you've always sensed there was a lot more to her than meets the eye, and in recent times your suspicions have reached an all-time high, with her being even more strange and avoidant than usual. your patience is running thin, as well as your curiosity rising, and you cannot help but pry into her affairs. but as you delve deeper into her secrets, you uncover a horrifying web of intrigue, crime, and danger, with a shadowy figure known only as the "claw" pulling the strings from behind the scenes, and potentially being the very source for any and all peril occurring in the city. amidst the whirlwind of chaos, blossoming romantic feelings begin to accumulate for your best friend, only complicating the already bizarre relationship between the two of you more. as you become entangled in this whole ordeal which all started with a few simple peculiarities—a fiasco you never grasped the true severity of before diving headfirst in—you'll traverse the labyrinth of hidden truths and city-wide corruption, all while grappling with your own personal emotions and doubts at the core. you'll be forced to face the daunting question of how much risk you're willing to endure in pursuit of the complete truth, and whether the sacrifices made along the way were truly worthwhile in the end.

read this first! ▪︎ daily click ▪︎ series playlist ▪︎ series masterlist

☆: yeah i can't keep a single thing to myself like ever i'm wayyyy too impatient and excited to share new things. new series!! i'm sososo hyped for this one :) lmk if you'd like to be added to the series taglist whichever way! the formatting of this is nicer on desktop trust me...

[mediumgayitalian]

“Piper?”

“Here.”

“Damien?”

“Here.”

“Clovis?”

No answer. Nico reaches over and pokes him, hard, and the son of Hypnos startles awake long enough to manage a garbled, “Present!” before nodding off again. At Chiron’s nodded permission, Connor procures an airhorn from what appears to be thin air, grins, and blares it right next to Clovis’ face. He shrieks, flailing off the chair, and would have slammed his face in the ground if Nico hadn’t caught him by the back of the shirt.

“Thanks, man,” he says, yawning.

Nico hauls him back upright, patting him on the shoulder. “No problem. I’m gonna let you fall next time.”

Clovis eyes him warily, shifting at Nico’s too-wide, sharklike grin.

“Noted,” he mutters, sitting straight to try and stay awake. “Jerk.”

Nico pats him on the shoulder again. “There, there.”

Chiron continues with the attendance.

“Butch?”

“Here.”

“Miranda?”

“Yep.”

“And…” Chiron sighs, peering through his reading glasses. “Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…” He glances down at his clipboard, slowly tapping his pen on the edge of it. “Where is Will?”

A groan ripples through the gathered campers.

“Just start without him!” someone shouts, sinking into their chair.

“He always takes forever!” another person agrees.

“Almost like he’s busy running the infirmary that keeps us all alive,” Lou Ellen says drily, but her one vote of confidence is drowned out by several dozen other voices, all complaining.

Before Chiron has to deal with too much of a coup d’état, the rec room door creaks open, and Will comes strolling in after it, ignoring the heaps of boos and launched ping-pong balls at his tardiness. The beam of sunlight from the one dusty window seems, suddenly, to become a great deal stronger, highlighting the blonde of Will’s hair and strengthening the gleam of his easy grin.

“Perforated artery,” he explains cheerfully, settling down in the one empty chair. “Rogue Ares cabin mine went off. Had to do emergency surgery.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth does he kick off his flip-flops, curl up in the rickety wooden chair, place his head on the nearest shoulder — Pollux, this time, who rolls his eyes affectionately and shifts to be more comfortable — and immediately starts snoring.

“Well,” says Chiron after a moment. “Let’s begin.”

“Wait,” Clovis complains, “how come he gets to sleep?”

Instead of answering, because there is no delicate way to say because he’s my favourite and I am a giant hypocrite, the centaur moves on. He gracefully avoids the various mutterings and calls for mutiny, instead running through the usual cabin check-ins at the speed of light to delve into the more interesting — and therefore distracting — things, such as Personal Grievances. This portion of monthly head counsellor meetings is Nico’s favourite, because he gets to sit back, be silent, and watch a bunch of teenagers yell at each other for his own personal amusement. On especially great days, he communicates with Connor through a series of complicated hand gestures to coordinate betting pools. Today, he is up seventy-two dollars. (Did he throw the pool by betting against himself and then inventing a fight with Chiara? Yeah. Did he cut her a deal for halfsies beforehand, making this technically fraud on two counts? Yeah. Can anyone prove it? Absolutely not. Suck on that, Stoll. You wanna be beat at your own game any day of the week? Nico’ll beat you at your own game any day of the week.)

As he’s accepting three dollars from a huffy Nysa (obviously the physical altercation count was going to reach six, c’mon, doesn’t she pay attention to these things), a hoof stamping the ground makes Nico jump.

“Boys,” Chiron says tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that’s quite enough.”

Both campers immediately burst into louder arguments, continuing to flail and smack at each other as their voices get more and more raised and illegible.

“Boys!” Chiron stamps his hoof again. This time, they fall silent, staring at the old centaur with flushed, guilty faces. “Sherman, get Malcom out of that headlock. Malcolm, we are not building a pig pen in the dining pavilion so the Ares cabin can ‘eat in an environment more suited to their mannerisms’.” He pauses, nodding in acknowledgement. “As funny as that was, it was entirely inappropriate to say. Apologise at once.”

“My throat is too bruised to do so,” Malcom grumbles.

“My throat is too bruised to do so,” Sherman repeats, mockingly. “Gods, it’s like you’re asking for me to jump you.” At the immediate catcalls and jeers that follow, he reddens, hastily shouting, “Like mug! Jump like mug him, guys, like beat him up! Shut up! Shut up, or I swear I’ll —”

“Sit down, boys,” Chiron says, banging his hoof again. “For Hera’s sake. It’s like you want to embarrass yourselves further.”

Nico snickers with the rest of the counsellors as Sherman and Malcolm return to their seats. In their desperate attempt to separate from each other to assure their status as Heterosexual, Guys, Please, they manage to bump into each other, losing their balance and collapsing on a heap on the floor, more tangled than before. Predictably, this makes the flailing worse, which is unfortunate for them and their misery but a source of great entertainment for everyone else. Among the hooting and hollering and camera flashes, Chiron sighs, putting his head in his hands and muttering something about teenagers and being too old for this shit. Or something.

“If everyone’s quite done,” he says finally, ignoring Connor’s quip about how he could watch a few more minutes, actually, “I would love for this meeting to end. I have to do something that doesn’t involve teenagers for several hours. All of you exhaust me.”

“Except Will,” Sherman says petulantly, scowling at the still-sleeping medic. Pollux, who by close proximity has become endeared to the human disaster (Nico knows the feeling; he’s still convinced Will has weird powers that mess with one’s oxytocin levels by virtue of smiling as there is no way that someone so annoying can be so simultaneously endearing), glares somewhat protectively.

“Sh,” he hisses, at the same time Chiron says, “If the rest of you spent less time trying to kill each other and more time trying to fix the consequences of said attempted murder, I would be more lenient.”

Lou Ellen speaks up. “Also, Will has that whole cute, can’t-stay-mad-at-me thing.”

Various campers nod and mutter in agreement.

(Nico knew he wasn’t the only one.)

Nyssa clears her throat. “If we’re ready to return back to the actual meeting, I have a point of discussion.”

Chiron nods, gesturing for her to continue.

“The vans are breaking down,” she says bluntly. “Again. Because they’re, you know, older than everyone in the room.” She glances at Nico, frowning. “Well, except for him.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “Youngin’s, these days,” he says, shaking his head disdainfully. “No respect for their elders.”

Chiron raises a bemused eyebrow. “…Indeed. Nyssa?”

“I need parts again. Preferably from that place in Virginia? They don’t ask questions and price fairly. That would be best. Only I need the van to go get the parts, so. You can see the conundrum I’m in.”

“Easy fix with the chariot,” Chiron decides. “Can someone wake Will?”

“Gladly.”

“Without the airhorn, Connor.”

“Aw. I’m not doing it, then.”

“How tragic. Pollux?”

Gently, the son of Dionysus taps Will’s cheek, shaking him until he blinks awake.

“I was totally paying attention and I think we should go with the second option,” he says, yawning.

“Not asking you to settle a debate, but nice try,” Pollux says.

“Well, shit. That one usually works.” He flicks still-tired eyes around the room, smiling when his gaze rests on Nico. Nico rolls his eyes, willing down the heat to his cheeks. Judging by the teasing edge Will’s grin takes, it does not work. “Whattaya need, then?

“The chariot,” Nyssa says. “Vans are breaking down again. I need a part from a shop in Roanoke.”

Will straightens. “Like, now?”

“In the next day or so, yeah.”

“There’s a strawberry delivery on Saturday,” Miranda pipes up. “So sooner rather than later.”

Will nods. “Yeah, that works. Hell, I can probably be back by —” he checks his watch — “late tonight, honestly. Just gimme the part number and —”

“I kind of meant that I could go,” Nyssa interrupts, looking at him strangely. “I know what the part looks like. I just need to borrow the chariot.”

Will presses his clasped hands to his face, inhaling deeply.

“I would absolutely love to lend you the chariot blessed by my father who has gone totally silent,” he begins, in a tone that makes Nico think that he would not, actually, absolutely love to lend out the chariot blessed by his father who has gone totally silent, “only that the last time I lent someone this super important chariot it came back in pieces.”

“I remember.” Nyssa levels him with a look. “I fixed it.”

“Exactly! So you appreciate how much I would like it to not be broken. In fact —”

“Alright,” Chiron interrupts, holding up a hand. “You’ve made your point, Will, the errand is yours. Choose a buddy to lower the chances of you dying and check in before you leave.”

Predictably, this choice is not well-recieved. Because why would things be easy?

“Totally not fair,” Sherman protests, the loudest of all complainers. “Will’s no less likely to break it just because his cabin thinks they own it —”

“Finish that thought and I will curse you in twelve different ways for the next eight months, Sherman.”

The Ares counsellor snaps his mouth shut, sensing the new, hardened edge in Will’s voice. “Noted.”

“He’s got a point, though,” Damien hedges. At Will’s glare — boy, is that chariot a sensitive topic, Nico is noticing — he holds his hands up, shrugging his shoulders. “We draw straws for small errand-quests, Will, you know that. It’s not fair that you just get to call dibs.”

Will takes a long, slow breath, fingers pressed to his temples. When he looks back up, his expression is flatter than the entirety of the Midwest, jaw set and eyebrow raised. He narrows his eyes, contemplating, then clearly comes to a decision, nodding to himself. Everyone watches with bated breath as he climbs up to stand on his chair, folds his hands together, clears his throat, and says, voice carefully controlled, “Who can guess how many surgeries I’ve done in the last week?”

For a long moment it’s so silent that Nico can hear every rustled shirt as people fidget, every aborted cough and uncomfortable swallow. Will’s eyes are piercing, and he takes the time to stare at every individual counsellor until they meet his eyes, squirming, and look immediately away.

Nico’s impressed. Sometimes he forgets how godsdamn rigid Will’s backbone is.

Finally, someone offers a guess.

“One?”

“Try four,” Will corrects, smile more like a bare of teeth. “I have not had a circadian rhythm since I was thirteen years old. I sleep when I can. And yet, somehow, you clumsy fucks manage to near kill yourself at the exact moment my subconscious even considers approaching REM sleep, every single time, and then I get to spend my next several hours piecing your sorry ass back together by hand, since hymns barely work right now. If I have to see another surgical pin I am going to stab it through someone’s eye. Am I making a point?”

No one answers.

“‘Cause I can make it clearer,” Will drawls.

“No need,” Chiron says hastily. “The quest remains yours, so long as there are no further objections.”

Wisely, no one speaks up.

“Perfect. Nyssa, if you’ll stay behind with me to iron out some details, everyone else — dismissed.”

The tense air immediately evaporates as people practically spring out of their seats, sprinting for the door. Nico is among the last to leave, having to stay and stop several fleeing demigods to collect his wares. On his way out, a heavy arm slings over his shoulders, and he’s suddenly enveloped by the intoxicating scent of lavender body wash and pure sunshine.

“Get off me, Solace,” he complains immediately, coming up to wrap his hand around Will’s forearm in the guise of shoving him off. Will is entirely unfazed, holding him tighter.

“But I have a proposal.”

“Take it elsewhere.” He ducks out of Will’s hold and sweeps his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling with an oof. Unfortunately, he doesn’t look any less sunny and smiley from the ground, somehow making it work for him, actually. He settles against the soft grass, sighing, hair fanning out like a golden halo. He pats the spot next to him, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in the late morning sun, and Nico swallows roughly, joining him.

“You wanna come with me to Roanoke?”

“Yes,” Nico says automatically. Will grins, and he flushes. “I mean, I guess if I have to. Loser.”

“Ever so grateful, Neeks.”

“You should be.”

He keeps his voice prim and superior, attempting to uphold his image, and since he is delusional he convinces himself he’s successful. Will, though, is entirely undeterred, lazy smile still on his face and arms stretched above his head, the picture of unbothered. A sliver of skin shows where the hem of his shirt rises and Nico ignores it. He doesn’t even glance at it, or the glint of Will’s belly-button piercing, at all. Nor is he aware of Will’s shorts riding up, or the curve of his calves as he crosses his legs. All of these things go unnoticed. Obviously.

“I have a proposal for you, if you’re done checking me out.”

Nico shoves his flaming face in his knees. “Did you know that in all the corners of the Earth I have been to, I’ve only encountered three things uglier than you?”

Will’s grin only gets wider. His eyes, even, start to get squinty as the force of his smile squishes his cheeks. Entirely unsubtly, because Will is the least subtle person alive, he reaches out and sends a wave of calming energy into Nico’s body, slowing his rapid heart rate.

“…Right.”

“Three things, Solace.”

“Of course, of course.” He removes his hand, graciously allowing Nico the space to breathe and remind his lungs that their job is not voluntary. “I’ll come pick you up in a half hour? Wear a jacket.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Nico pauses. “Yes.”

“Stellar.”

“God, you say such nerdy things unironically. How do you have friends?”

“I dunno.” He gets to his feet, brushing the dirt and grass from his shorts. “You tell me.” He leans down and presses a smacking kiss to Nico’s hair. Nico presses his fingers into his eyeballs until they hurt, screaming silently into his palms.

He waits until the smacking sounds of Will’s stupid flip-flops retreat before braving the world outside his little ball of misery, squinting at his retreating form.

“I think I should get a lobotomy,” he says out loud to himself, because, realistically, if his braincells are already spilling out of his ears like loose quarters every time Solace so much as smiles at him then there’s not much to lose, is there? and stomps off to his own cabin.

Out of spite, he chooses the New York Giants jacket he got from Percy, just because he knows Will hates it.

That’ll show him who’s bossing who around.

Totally.

———

next

[miabebe]

Masterlist

| Seventeen | Monsta X |

Series

Reverse Tropes - One Shot Series of popular tropes turned upside down (rated m)

Seungcheol - Too many beds

Jeonghan - Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

Joshua - Really nice guy who hates only you

Jun - Fake amnesia

Hoshi - Bet to make someone fall out of love

Wonwoo - Academic rivals who are fighting to rank last in class

Woozi - Soulmates fated to kill each other

Seokmin - Everyone thinks you're fake dating when you really are dating

Mingyu - Too much communication

Minghao - Divorce of convenience

Seungkwan - True hate's kiss

Vernon - Your mom bought a seventeen member

Dino - Dating your enemies sibling

Camp Seventeen - Series with Seventeen as Greek Demigods (rated m)

| Prologue | Character Profiles | (Taglist)

(Ch. 1) Dildo of Dionysus It's been a week since you stepped foot in Camp Seventeen - as you navigated the days trying to wrap your head around the 13 boys, one's touch and another's voice start to become a bit too bothersome….

(Ch. 2) Aphrodisiacs of Aphrodite As you delve deeper into the world of the demigods, a party throws you spiralling down a road less taken. While it seems there's one member who may be able to help you, there's another you want to lend a hand to. And more.

(Ch.3) Apollo's Anthem As the days in camp seventeen unfold the many burdens you had tucked away in your heart, you dive into the sorrows you had presumably left behind. Thankfully (or not) a musical moment and a menacing monster serve as unforeseen distractions.

Tales of Time - Series of age old tales with a twist (rated m)

Choi Seungcheol - The Legend of the Sea | Epilogue |

"You're crying? You must be turning Human, the Merfolk don't cry" "Of course we do. Why do you think the Sea is nothing but salt?"

| Yoon Jeonghan | Hong Jisoo | Wen Junhui | Kwon Soonyoung | Jeon Wonwoo | Lee Jihoon | Xu Minghao | Lee Seokmin | Kim Mingyu | Boo Seungkwan | Chwe Hansol | Lee Chan |

Halloween Hearsay - mini series of thrillers for Spooky Season (rated m)

Choi Seungcheol - The Intruder's Eye

Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it didn't make one want to keep an eye at all times?

Yoon Jeonghan - Anything and Always

Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it wasn't regardless of anything and longer than always?

Hong Jisoo - Coming Soon

Scenarios

Where you belong (3k) One who showed everyone who you belonged to, one who showed you that you couldn't possibly belong to anyone else. Fiancé! Seungcheol × reader, Fiancé! Jeonghan x reader

Where you return (7k) One who you fell in love with, one who fell in love with you. Fuckbuddy! Mingyu x reader, Fuckbuddy! Wonwoo x reader

Where you're convenient One who you married because of a mutual deal, one who you married because of an accident and one who you married because of a promise. Husband! Jisoo × reader pt 1 (6.5k) Husband! Seokmin × reader pt 2 (11k) Husband! Jihoon x reader pt 3 (coming soon)

Imagines

Christmas with Seventeen Seventeen and their little ways of celebrating Christmas with you!

[griffonsgrove]

Hi I saw your request for Hazbin Hotel I watched it and I'm simping for Alastor and was wondering if you could do Alastor x fem or gn reader where Alastor uses his radio static like white noise to calm down the reader when they have sensitivity overload or a panic attack or just to destress sorry if this is worded bad

Radio Static || Alastor x GN!Reader

a/n: Hiya!! This was a super sweet request to make! I myself get easily overwhelmed, especially with big groups of people, and it's comforting to finally get away from all the noise and interactions! Please enjoy this cute little oneshot! Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Wordcount: 691 Cw: minor hazbin spoilers

It had nearly been a week since Sir Pentious was welcomed into the Hazbin Hotel, by none other than the princess of hell, Charlie. She had decided to throw a small little get-together to celebrate. The princess had such an eccentric, bubbly personality, it was hard to ever say no to her. You were never one for parties, your sensitivity to the constant noise, the vibrant colors, and the chaotic atmosphere sometimes became too much to bear. It was during one of these moments that Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, noticed your distress.

You had retreated to a quiet corner, trying to find solace in the midst of the infernal commotion. Alastor, ever perceptive to the emotions swirling around him, followed you with a keen interest. Seeing the subtle signs of your discomfort, he decided to offer an unconventional remedy.

Alastor approaches you with his trademark grin, his red eyes gleaming with an unusual warmth. "Why, what seems to be the matter, my dear?" he inquired, his voice holding that dazzling charm he always seems to have. You struggled to find the words, but the overwhelmed expression on your face spoke volumes. Sensing your need for relief, Alastor's grin widened, with the wave of his hand, he quietly motions for you to follow him. "Come now, don't you worry. I have just the thing for such occasions." He abruptly turns on his heel, delving deeper into the depths of the hotel.

You’re skeptical at first, but willing to try anything at this point, you decide to follow him. He leads you down a series of hallways, the sounds of the other patrons begin to slowly fade away as you walk. He stops in front of an intricately carved door; you didn't have much time to admire the craftsmanship before he opens it. You tilt your head to the side to peer over his shoulder. It seemed to be his private den. There's a little sitting area, in front of a small fireplace, which was adorned with all sorts of knickknacks, the most notable being a large rack of antlers mounted on the wall above, but what caught you off guard completely was the other entire half of his room, it was a swamp! Literally, the wood flooring splintered off into lush grass, and numerous cypress trees can be seen looming in the distance, the trunks covered in a thick moss. 

Alastor steps to the side, politely gesturing for you to enter first. With slight hesitancy, you step inside quietly, taking note of all the framed pictures that hung on the wall.

His voice cuts through the silence "Sit, my dear. Allow me to ease your troubled mind," he motions to one of the empty padded chairs. You oblige, sitting down on the plush cushion. With the snap of his fingers, He conjures up his vintage radio, the static already emitting a soothing white noise. For a moment he fiddles with the dial, adjusting the frequency. Soft static filled the air, drowning out the overwhelming sounds from earlier. At first, it seemed odd, but as the white noise enveloped you, a surprising sense of calm washed over.

Alastor sat across from you, his eyes never leaving your face as he observed the way you slowly sank back into the padded chair. The radio static acted as a protective cocoon, shielding you from the sensory onslaught. His presence was oddly comforting, and you found yourself relaxing under the influence of the unusual but effective remedy.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence. You weren't entirely sure how much time had passed, minutes? hours?, the static acting as a barrier between you and the chaotic world. Alastor broke the silence with a soft chuckle. "Remarkable, isn't it? The power of a little radio magic."

You managed a grateful smile, genuinely appreciating the respite he provided. It was an unexpected yet strangely effective solution to your sensitivity overload. As the static continued its comforting hum, you felt a sense of gratitude toward the Radio Demon who, in his own peculiar way, had offered you a moment of peace in the midst of the Hotel’s pandemonium. You remind yourself to apologize to Charlie later for leaving the party so abruptly.

[justrustandstardust]

i’ve touched on it briefly, but i’d like to delve further into kenjaku’s purpose as a literary device because it’s genuinely really fucking interesting. what gege did with kenjaku was actually genius, because kenjaku is a physical manifestation of gojo's love for geto in the form of geto himself.

the love between gojo and geto is both explicitly and implicitly demonstrated throughout the series. we see it in open declarations (he was my best friend, the only one i had) and in subtler ways (how they never fight each other directly, how geto is careful not to kill gojo’s students in combat). these, however, are from gojo and geto’s perspectives. we only see what they want us to see; much of the beauty of their relationship is in how so much of it is meant for the two of them alone.

as an outsider, kenjaku overrides them and drags their intimacy into the limelight, providing unobjectionable evidence of the love between them. he supersedes their carefully curated impressions to point at the undeniable truth in the most violent, grotesque way imaginable, making their love clear for all to see through hijacking geto’s body— which he could only do because gojo loved him.

not only does kenjaku’s plan require geto’s body to work (because gojo couldn’t throw him away) kenjaku literally only exists in geto’s body for the same reason (because gojo couldn’t throw him away). gojo’s sentiment and his weakness come back to haunt him; shibuya happens because kenjaku knew the only surefire way to disarm gojo was through the body of geto himself.

from a literary perspective, gojo’s love for geto is not implicit— it literally arises from the dead to serve as walking, talking proof that gojo loved geto too much to let him go. kenjaku functions to mechanize gojo’s love through the body of the person he loved so dearly and in doing so creates a living representation of the explicit, blatant and undeniable love between them. it’s not subtext; it’s just text.

as a literary device, kenjaku exists as material evidence that they loved each other. it’s not speculative, it’s not conjecture, it’s not reaching— it is right there. we’re not meant to trust gojo’s word; he is not a reliable narrator of his own nature. gojo never had to say he loved geto because kenjaku says it for him. it’s analogous to vehemently denying your guilt in court only for someone to turn up with the body and your handprint around its neck.

and kenjaku delivers a guilty verdict, sentencing gojo to the prison realm and dooming everyone else because being the strongest wasn’t enough to save gojo from love himself.

[sodapopwrites]

a ballad of flame and shadow part one

images are not mine! all artwork credits go to termesart for their beautiful drawings!

pairings - lucien vanserra x rhysands sister!reader, azriel x rhysand's sister!reader.

series summary - what's easier to love? a crackling flame or a spiraling shadow? rhysand's sister, emissary of the night court, finds herself delving into her feelings for the seventh son of the high lord of the autumn court while pushing aside something possibly deeper she feels for the night courts infamous spymaster.

chapter summary - before amarantha's party, the emissary of the night court, rhysand's sister, seeks out her lover in the spring court in an attempt to issue a warning of what's to come. she finds a small comfort in his warmth much to the disapproval of her family back home, especially a certain shadowsinger.

word count - 1.6k

read the rest of the series here!

Music floated through the air around her. Fae danced around her in whooshes of color and laughter. She observed the festivities raging around her with a cool separation. 

Her black dress a sharp contrast to the bursts of color covering every person and every inch of her surroundings. The bottom of her dress swished around her ankles with every warm spring breeze. The glittering blue embroidery is a sharp contrast to the sweet pastels adoring the clothes of the revelers.  

Every inch of her out of place. 

She heard her name wrapped in an all too familiar voice. 

Cinnamon and crackling flames. The smell wafted towards her like ember red leaves falling to the ground. She straightened her spine, a small show of composure. She felt him before she saw him. At her back, his breath fanning across the side of her neck as he leant down to whisper in her ear. 

“I never knew shadows celebrated the summer solstice.” 

She turned slowly, facing him at last. 

Lucien Vanserra. 

Small braids weaved their way through the fiery river of hair flowing over his shoulders. His eyes glitter with something roguish as he watches her eyes flit from his hair, across the planes of his chest, and down the tall expanse of him, before coming back up to meet his gaze. 

“I’m here on business.” 

“So you came to spoil the fun.” 

She let her eyes roll before her hand came up to pull on one of his carefully woven braids. She twirled it between her fingers. 

“Who said emissary business can’t be fun?”  

He leaned down, closer to her now than he should be. The tip of his nose just brushed hers. His lips mere millimeters away from her own. It was like they shared one breath. 

≻──────────────⋆✩⋆ ──────────────≺

The music of the celebrations outside were muted against the windows. An easy quiet flowed through the room as he watched her dress. Slowly pulling the straps of her dress back over her shoulders. She flipped her hair away from her face and he let himself be mesmerized by the way the curls, black like shadow, tumbled down her back. He stretched his arms over his head and let them settle there. Content to watch her flit around his room trying to find her shoes. A small smile snaked its way across his face as he watched her grow more frustrated in her search. 

He leaned down and picked a silver slipper from the ground next to his bed. He let it dangle from one finger. 

“Looking for this?” 

She turned to him and let out a huff of irritation. She grabbed for her lost shoe but missed as he moved his hand a little further. Losing her balance she fell across his chest and he used his free arm to pin her. 

“So what was the business you came to discuss with me?” 

She glared at him, still reaching for her shoe. Realizing it was a losing battle she gave up and slumped against him, maybe even letting herself savor the feel of his skin against hers, the warmth of it. 

“My brother wishes to meet with Tamlin” 

Lie. 

Lucien raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for explanation. 

“Is he going to try to kill him again?” 

She scoffed and pushed away from him, “You really do know nothing Lucien Vanserra”

He winced at the name, the harshness with which she said it. 

“Don’t” 

A small warning. Don’t inflict his family name on him. The reminder of it a petty way to rip him from the sanctuary of the moment. A flicker of guilt lit behind her rib cage and she let the haughty draw of her shoulders fall. 

“Rhysand just wishes to issue a…warning.” 

Lie. She had come of her own volition. Wanting to warn Lucien and only Lucien about what her brother thought was to come. 

“A warning?” 

She looked at him. Tight lipped. A small crease in her brow. And he just couldn’t help himself. He reached up and smoothed that crease with his thumb. A feather light touch that seared its way into her skin. 

“The war may be over, but there are still enemies to be dealt with. People who we shouldn’t be so willing to put our trust in.” 

“You sound just like him,” Lucien sighed, “Always telling me not to put trust in anyone.” 

The crease returned. The comparison to Tamlin sending a spark of rage down her spine. The knowledge that Tamlin knew exactly what Lucien got up to every time she visited sent a churning to her gut that she couldn’t bring herself to calm. 

“So why trust me?” 

Her words came out softer than she’d intended. Like she was asking some unspoken question. He smiled, brushing an inky strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I’ve always had a bad habit of letting myself get distracted by beautiful things.” 

The playful glimmer in his eye contrasted sharply with her serious expression. He sighed and handed her the shoe still dangling between his finger tips. 

≻──────────────⋆✩⋆ ──────────────≺

Her family was scattered around the lower level of Rhysand’s townhouse. Mor and Amren sitting in the dining room pouring over some books and whispering to each other. Cassian, Azriel, and the high lord himself lounging in the living room. 

She tried her best to slide into the room unnoticed. 

Late. 

She had missed dinner and she had no good alibi. 

She prayed no questions would be flung her way as she slid onto the couch, tucking herself under Cassian’s arm. The shadowsinger found her eyes first. They flitted over her form, studying it for anything even slightly out of place. His eyes narrowed as he took her in and his shadows curled tighter around his forearms. 

Rhysand didn’t bother to look up from his stack of papers and sent a bored question her way, 

“Where have you been?” 

She shrugged and watched Azriel shift in his seat in what could have been discomfort. Cassian saw it too, the way his friend tried to hide his annoyance at her absence. He wore a wicked grin as he turned towards her, leaning into her, and mumbling, 

“New perfume?” 

She looked up at him confused for a second, “Excuse me?” 

“You smell faintly of…” Cassian rolled the word around on his tongue, “autumn”. 

Rhys looked up at this and studied his sister. Cassian’s insinuation rippled through the room. 

“Again?” Rhys kept that bored tone, something else behind it now though. 

“I was working,” She said, clipped and stern. Not wanting the conversation to continue. But Rhysand pushed forward, 

“I didn’t send you anywhere.” 

“And since when am I not allowed to do things of my own volition?” 

Azriel let out what could only be described as a snort. When she whipped her head towards him there was no humor in his eyes. The small laugh disapproving more than anything else. 

“What?” 

She was getting defensive now that the shadowsinger deigned to be involved in this discussion. He shook his head at her, 

“What exactly were you working on?” His question came out cold and quiet. His shadows creeped towards her as if they could pry the information from her. Cassian laughed. A real laugh. 

“She was working Lucien Vanserra.” 

She cast an annoyed glare at his crude statement.

“I’m sorry when did my personal affairs become the business of this court?” 

Amren’s voice floated from the dining room now, “More like the entertainment of this family.” 

She rolled her eyes and looked at the males in front of her. Challenging. 

“It’s unprofessional is it not?” Azriel pointed the question more towards Rhysand than to her. “Emotional entanglements.” 

“And who are you to say it’s an emotional entanglement? Maybe it’s just someone to get tangled in.” 

He winced at the sharpness of her words. The innuendo behind them. She tried not to note how it bothered him, how deeply it seemed to bother him. He shook it off fast though. 

“Because I know you.” 

Rhysand strained his neck, trying to make eye contact with Mor, trying to get her to come interrupt this conversation. She would not look at him, choosing this time to not get involved. 

His friend and his sister glared at each other still. Azriel using his face of stone cold disinterest as a weapon against her. Waiting for her to push at some unspoken boundary. She broke the silence first. Her tone withering. 

“Since when do you care who I fuck?” 

Rhysand grimaced. Not particularly caring to hear about this aspect of his sisters life. Not particularly happy with whom she chose to share this aspect of her life with. His disdain for Lucien was made evident to her since this whole affair started many years ago. As unsavory as this conversation was he couldn’t stop himself from looking at Azriel, waiting for his friend’s response, waiting to see how far the spymaster was willing to push his sister. 

“I don’t” 

Azriel’s answer was quiet and laced with some sort of simmering contempt. He leaned back in his chair, signalling and end to his involvement in this semi pointless discussion. His response washed over her exactly the way he had intended. A wave of cold. Triggering a pounding dissapointment in her. She hadn’t really realized how she had leaned closer to him while they sparred. The embarrassment of it hit her as she let herself fall back into Cassian, let his arm snake its way around her shoulders again. She didn’t look back at Azriel as she said, 

“Good. Cassian is next.” 

The warrior beside her pumped his fist in mock victory and exclaimed with teasing tone, “FINALLY”

Before putting his fist down at the first glower from his shadowy brother. Cass shot him a smirk before leaning down to her to very audibly whisper, 

“I’m free anytime little star. Just give me a shout.” 

She pushed her elbow into his ribcage and Cassian laughed through the cough the blow sent through him. Rhys studied Azriel’s features. Noting the jealousy etched across them.

“Enough.” 

The one word from Rhysand was enough to quiet his friends.

[maidenvault]

Okay so, Crosshair’s hand.

Has anyone pointed this out? When Crosshair kills Nolan, he doesn't use his shooting hand.

He uses his left. Just as he very significantly has to in the series finale.

I don't know if the writers knew as far back as "The Outpost" that Crosshair was going to lose the use of his shooting hand and by extension everything he believed made him strong, a "superior" clone, and safe from being discarded when he was kind of fascism-pilled. But it feels extra significant in retrospect that his first action taken against the Empire is not done with the hand associated with the terrible things he did as an Imperial sniper. And it's after he just got a difficult lesson about how his own personal strength and skills aren't enough to protect him - he was saved twice by Mayday, then possibly only survived through the night because he wouldn't leave him behind and could share his body heat. He may be using his left hand when he shoots Nolan because his other arm is tired from supporting Mayday all the way back, which only adds to the symbolic touch I love that Mayday is using his rifle as a crutch to help him walk as well (and of course, he's at close range so quite meaningfully Crosshair doesn't use the rifle to shoot here either). It all supports the idea of this as the first huge moment of transformation for Crosshair when he's finally turning his fire on the real enemy out of a desire to protect others, however futile and too late it is in this particular situation.

Going back and noticing this really reinforced for me that Crosshair's hand injury probably isn't just meant as a manifestation of his trauma related to Tantiss. It would make sense considering it's his shooting hand that it also has something to do with his inner conflict regarding his changed relationship with violence and killing.

The Batch were introduced as these stereotypically macho soldier characters, an impression that's softened a little as early as the pilot of TBB but still distinguishes them a little from other clones. In a kind of funny way you can look at the whole series as being about these guys who were only brought up to fight gradually discovering and finding peace with their more traditionally feminine sides - literally because of Omega, a female version of themselves who shows them the possibilities of being a family and living for others instead of for violence.

For Crosshair this journey is much more difficult and like a painful rebirth than it is for anyone else because being a soldier was so much of his identity. He's always been the one to most pointedly distinguish his squad from regs because of their "superior" traits that he thinks will make the Empire value them, and he clearly internalized the way the Kaminoans only care about clones as weapons to be used in war. And it all betrays how little value Crosshair actually believes he has deep down. It was easy to go into S3 being especially worried about his fate because he's believed so long that he's not good for anything but fighting and he's the character it was the hardest to imagine adjusting to a different life.

But in retrospect, it was stupid to think they'd let him off that easy and of course the whole point is that it takes a lot to get him there. What exactly he went through on Tantiss beyond the electroshock torture we've seen is never delved into but personally, I think being a soldier is something that's poisoned for Crosshair after he becomes a victim of the Empire himself and subject to their attempts at reconditioning. He's not psychologically able to be that person anymore, but for a long time is still trying to largely rely on himself and his own strength. He tries to sacrifice himself for others because he's still holding onto that part of himself in a way.

But for once in Star Wars we've gotten a fully realized redemption arc showing that sometimes what's harder than giving your life in a redemptive way is to actually have to figure out how to live with the bad things you've done and be better. Some of the people Crosshair hurt were his family, and he has to learn he can only make things better by being there for them. He has to learn that he actually can survive and figure out a way forward from his life as a soldier if he lets himself rely on them, just like he only survived Barton IV with help from Mayday. As @moonstrider9904 explains so well in this post, that is what's so important about Crosshair losing the hand and making that final shot to save Omega with Hunter's support. Symbolically he's had that toxic part of himself actually cut off and it's the final, most painful part of his rebirth. But because of that he's forced to find that he can live on without it, that he's surrounded by people who love and believe in him anyway, and that having superhuman skills as a killer was never what gave him worth.

No, having his shooting hand cut off doesn't "fix" anything or mean that Crosshair is healed. He's probably only begun to recover from everything he's been through. But all we really need to see is that he's firmly found his place as part of a family instead of a squad, and he's not going to be alone as he deals with all of that.

[moonlight-prose]

PICK YOUR POISON

➻ 01. ATROPA BELLADONNA

a/n: the october season calls for me to delve into the grotesque and gothic story ideas i save up year round. so that's what this is! i love the idea of logan howlett stuck with an immortal reader. but there's a twist. our lovely reader isn't a mutant, but someone cursed to live life in the worst way possible. i hope you enjoy the small journey these two go on and happy spooky season!

summary: life as a lumberjack gives him the freedom to pretend he's human. that he hasn't lived enough lives to leave him withered and weary. ready for the grave that will never come. until he happens upon an unmarked grave in the middle of the forest and his life changes forever.

word count: 4.2k+

pairing: lumberjack!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: NOT EXPLICIT BUT DARK THEMES AHEAD, gothic themes, horror, necrophilia (kind of!), death, graves, vomiting, tw: blood, feral reader, poison, immortal!reader, curses, witchcraft of some kind, chance encounters, they're both a little unhinged in this one.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

The forest is silent save for the rhythmic thump of an axe against wood. Life doesn't exist in the small sphere of dead branches and fallen leaves. No bugs, no birds. The wolves hunt elsewhere; the prey have all but abandoned a place where death permeates the air.

What was nature to do when someone so unnatural had been laid to rest?

He knew he was too far from the predetermined area. The yellow tape was marked for trees ready to be chopped down. But the sound of the men laughing about some bar they found had set his teeth on edge—a rush of anger from deep in his chest now resurfacing quicker than he liked.

Some days were better than others. Some days he could join in on the laughter, make simple conversation, and pretend to be normal.

Other days he felt the clawing urge to bite and snap and dig his claws into flesh rear in his head. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore that unhinged sensation. Even if he wanted to. On those days he preferred to be alone. Away from humanity, separate from what they wanted from him.

They saw him as a man.

Not an animal.

That should be enough to appease his restless spirit; give him some peace after so much chaos.

His teeth ground together in his clenched mouth, sweat sticking to the back of his neck despite the cold weather. The axe felt like an extension of his arms. Hacking away at the base of a tree he knew would make enough noise to draw attention once it tipped. That didn't deter him from repeating his swing. From baring his teeth and growling through it in order to dig out what calm he could.

The blade wedged itself halfway into the bark before he heard it. The stifled scream of a woman. His body went stiff, head whipping around to see if someone had followed him. The instincts from before—days spent as a soldier still burned into his nerves—began to overtake his senses as another muffled scream pierced his eardrums.

He left the axe behind, heart thumping an unsteady beat in his chest as he made for the forest. Trees blocked what little sunlight poured through dense clouds; the air a murky fog that chilled his lungs with each breath. He could taste the sap dripping off tree bark on the tip of his tongue—his mind clinging to the edge of sanity as he moved.

Twigs snapped beneath his boots, leaves cracked with the weight of his body, but Logan couldn't think about moving silently. Someone was getting hurt. He could practically smell their fear. The heady coagulated tang of blood spilled over the forest floor.

"Hello?" he called out, emerging through the thicket of branches.

A small clearing gave way to what little light remained in the afternoon. Petrichor lingered in the pockets of clear air, familiar enough to set his earlier anxieties aside. Fall in Canada shepherded rain forward with a heavy hand.

He knew the woods would be soaked come morning. Any signs of life lost to the pelting drops of rain that dragged hail right alongside it.

His feet stopped at the edge of freshly packed dirt, a shovel tossed to the side with a dent in the metal large enough to resemble the size of a skull. Sucking in air, the hair rose on the back of his neck when the shriek sounded again. Pained. Anguished. As if someone was fighting to claw their way to the surface.

"Fuck," he gasped, dropping to one knee—fingers burrowing in the moist soil and heaving it over to the side. "I'm here. I've got ya!"

Another muffled cry filtered through the layers of dirt as he dug with heaving breaths. Sweat prickled along his forehead, dripping down his temple. The brine of salt dripping onto the already muddy area. What hope he could grasp onto began to slip through his fingers; now dragged beneath the surface of an already haunted forest.

Logan stumbled back when a hand shot through the dirt, piercing the ground by his foot. He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide as an arm appeared, fingers grasping for leverage in the loose topsoil. He'd never experienced terror before. True fear that lingered in the bottom of his chest, echoing a solemn tune he wanted to rip from his flesh. But the sight of someone clinging to life filled his lungs with water.

You could feel it. The dirt and stones that packed themselves beneath your nails, slicing open what remained of the once pretty nail bed. It happened later this time. Took longer than you expected. Crimson blood mixed with the black soil as you vomited what stuffed itself into your lungs; the impacted earth was too heavy for your body to hold onto and thus the result remained the same.

Somehow it felt worse each time.

A cry of agony pierced the brume—splitting open the silence that could no longer exist. And with another heave, you managed to free yourself from a shitty dug grave with barely enough dirt to cover.

Sucking in a lungful of air, you collapsed to the ground. Body nude and streaked with mud. You couldn't tell which parts of you were sliced open this time around, could barely make out the color of the trees through the thick layer of fog. But the leather brown boots two feet away caught your attention instantly.

With a whimper, you lifted your head—eyes latched onto the broad man above you who looked ready to lose his breakfast, or join you on the ground. Perhaps both with the way his paled face stilled at the sight of you.

Of course, the time it took to return would fuck up your plans for solitude. Of course, you would have company at the worst possible moment.

This part was never easy.

"Hi," you meekly rasped, voice entirely gone from how many times you screamed.

Harrowing silence became the space that hung between your body and his. You curled your toes to force the blood back down through your veins. Hands holding an unsteady shake that would take a good hour to dissipate. You began to notice the color of his flannel—a deep umber with lines of brown. The scent of cedar permeating the air; sap a thick sweetness you could practically taste in the back of your throat.

Senses took a few moments to return back to their original vigor. Yet you couldn't allow yourself to slip into the you from twelve hours ago.

Not when the man still watched you, eyes overflowing with dread. You wondered if he was real. Would he flinch if you swung a fist at his shin? Or was your dilapidated mind conjuring him in a hallucinatory haze you'd eventually break free from.

Pushing yourself up on trembling limbs, you managed to contort your half paralyzed body into a sitting position. The feeling would return to your numb core; the steady drip of life slowly seeping back into your veins the longer you remained still.

Movement seemed to puncture a hole in his stupefied mind—yanking him back to reality. He dropped to one knee with a heavy exhale. "Who the fuck did this to you?"

You wanted to laugh. You nearly did laugh.

How were you meant to tell this complete stranger that you in fact...did this to yourself?

"Are you cold?" he asked as if you still held the capability to speak.

When it became clear you had no intention of offering him any sort of explanation, he promptly cussed under his breath. Hands stripping off the brown leather jacket that hung over his clearly muscled form. You tried to shake your head, hoping he'd get the hint and simply leave you alone.

The cold didn't harm your already frozen skin. Not when a rush of blood coursed through you—pumping an unhealthy amount of adrenaline back to your now racing heart.

He draped the heavy fabric over you anyways, securing it to cover what skin he could. His eyes fixed on the side of your face. What a goddamn gentleman. Hilarity of this entire situation flickered brightly in your mind, forcing a jolt through your body that had him rearing back a few inches.

He must not be used to the sight of someone coming back from the dead.

No one would be. Unless they understood your current predicament.

"Do you have someone I can call?"

Again...silence became all that lingered in your mirrored confusion. You pleasantly discovered that you liked the sound of his voice. He felt his stomach churn with the eggs he scarfed down an hour and a half ago. Oh what a hapless pair you made. Two strangers bound in this tight knit bond of befuddlement.

"Can you speak?" He pushed for you to give him something.

You nodded, trailing the curve of his jaw with your gaze. If you had to guess his profession, you'd pick lumberjack. That made the most sense as to why he found himself standing at the foot of your grave trying to help you escape it.

Although you supposed he might have just been on a stroll through the woods; seeking time to himself. An escape from the busy world above ground. You peered into his clouded hazel eyes - plucking what you could from her expressions alone. This was a man who didn't seem drastically horrified by the sight of you coming back to life. Rather lost in murky thoughts of how.

Again the aforementioned question you loathed answering left his plush lips.

"Who did this to you?"

Sighing, you felt the blood begin to rush to your legs, a tingle of awareness entering your system. You were coming back from the state of rigor mortis. Which meant that stick around here would no longer be an option. As much as you were inclined to entertain the idea of getting to know him, the reality was far too bleak for him to accept.

He was a mere human, you were something else. It would never work.

“What’s your name?”

Agitation clearly lined his nerves the longer he crouched beside you. He’d never receive the knowledge he wanted, never get to the bottom of this otherwise grueling mystery. The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to leave. Putting him out of his misery now was the only option you had.

The only one that might guarantee his safety.

“Please. Let me help you.” His sincerity struck your heart, causing it to twist until the jagged edge of pain spread through your entire body.

They always sounded this way.

Hopeful. Intrigued.

Too many people, too many broken souls.

The path of your existence was littered with unsalvageable pieces of those you allowed to wander into your life. You refused to say goodbye to someone who clutched your love too tightly. Who never understood what this meant—the horrid depth of what you were forced to endure. You’d never be able to find freedom in love, never find hope that things might one day be different.

Eventually your curse would kill them in the end. And you—the sole survivor—would be left to pick up the fragmented shards of your armored walls.

With a pained groan you stumbled to your feet—legs shaking like a fucking fawn right after birth. He shot up beside you, hands outstretched in case you collapsed. But after so many years, you’d grown used to the sensations of a body that fought against you. The sight of him made you grin; a man so large, so imposing, somehow looked small compared to your mangled body.

Oh, how you’d remember him.

Tucking his kindness into the depths of your heart—fondly looking at it more often than you’d ever admit.

Dragging the leather jacket off your shoulders—much to his dismay—you tucked it back into his grasp. For a brief moment, you traced the shape of his eyes with your gaze. Solidifying the hazel in your mind, the hints of dark umber speckled through the iris. Eyes that would haunt you for years to come.

You wanted to ask what caused him such anguish—what had he been through—to hold an unfathomable amount of grief in eyes so tender.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the unbearable scratch in your throat dissipating the longer you were alive.

“Wait–”

With surprising quickness, you walked past him, trembling with each step. Your stomach gnawed at your insides—the vacant sensation in your body determined your next course of action. Where you were heading with no need for direction.

This wasn’t unusual. Hours spent in the ground was bound to force your body to find its sustenance one way or another. Even if you weren’t technically alive. The adrenaline would wane, leaving you rattled—in a panic about the way your soul plunged into an infinite expanse of darkness. A place with no path.

Over the decades you managed to get a handle on your body;s tells. The routine it formulated to deal with the ancient magic coursing through your veins. Sparks of a past self never to be touched again; no matter how much you bargained.

Heavy footsteps trailed after you, entirely unaware that silence wasn’t his forte. He still clutched the jacket aimlessly, unaware that the temperature dropped rapidly the longer he remained outside. You’d grown used to the behaviors of men who found you. Their incessant need to follow, to see if they could get away with what they wanted.

The same fucking song and dance; a battle you learned to evade swiftly and without mercy.

You stuck to the carved pathway created by your own footsteps trekking the same ground over the span of many years. Those who worked this deep in the forest rarely stuck around to find out who dared to live this far away from humanity. Many assumed an old psychotic woman, man, or spirit, resided in the run-down cabin.

Others whispered of a witch cursed to roam in darkness for all eternity.

Though both were merely myths spread by bored townsfolk.

You often wondered what they would do if they found out that neither strayed far from the actual truth.

Each year that came and went people dared themselves to check—to see for themselves if the stories held a bit of authenticity to them. They more often than not, left scared out of their wits at the sight of a naked woman trailing dirt in across the threshold of an archaic home.

Your shadow persisted in his personal mission—five feet away, lumbering through the silent forest like a bear with no real direction. Scaring him off should have been your first priority. You knew the longer you sanctioned this behavior the harder it’d be to get him to fuck off.

Although you couldn’t deny the instantaneous attachment you felt for a man with such a tortured soul.

Perhaps some part of yourself could see the fragments that went missing harbored in his heart.

Like a fool, you continued on the familiar trail—giving yet another aimless person leeway in your life. Regret hung heavy in your heart—a promise of what would inevitably come to pass screaming in the icy air.

Your breath forms a cloud with each puff; the exertion far too much for your freshly revived body to handle. Later when you were adjusted once more, the remorse would return within each stiff joint that pleaded for an ounce of rest. Whether you wanted to partake in the act never remained up to you—rather an inescapable future that awaited you with open arms.

The cabin stood on the remnants of an old cemetery. Bits of cracked stones that once housed names were scattered around the front. Moss clung to walls built of worn in bricks that had seen better days. You liked each part of your home. The haunting beauty that kept others out, gave you the solace you needed on days like this. Here you could pretend you were a normal person, not someone stuck with the scars of wounds that never remained.

Of pain you held no proof of.

The path was lined with plants of varying species. None of them should have survived the weather in Canada, yet like you they persisted.

Just as fucking stubborn and determined to remain alive.

Kicking a loose stone over, you reached for the rusting iron key lodged into damp dirt. The man stopped speaking long before he followed you here. Probably coming to the same conclusion they all did. You were not going to listen to a single thing that came out of his mouth.

You had to hand it to him. He knew where he stood in a situation like this—given your relatively calm exterior.

The door creaked with a weathered groan as you pushed it open. A bag of grave dirt hung on a nail in the wall to your left, an old shovel stood propped against the entryway, and a trail of dried herbs were suspended from the ceiling. You inhaled the scent of home with a grin; finally at ease within the place you knew well. A line of hooks held blankets for this very situation—heavy wool lined coats beside them.

Instead of grabbing one, you reached for what was still tucked in the pocket. The thud of his boots against the front step echoed loud in your ear. That seemed to be all you needed to hear the warning bells signal in the back of your mind. Allowing him to shadow you had been fun, but the truth still glared in your direction.

You didn’t know this man—you never would.

Better safe than sorry.

Spinning your heel, you jammed the silver dagger against his throat, forcing him to stumble back. His hands clutched at your wrists, eyes wide with the shock of what just happened. You didn’t want to admit that a small part of you liked seeing him this way. Yet no fear could be found in the darkened hazel. Merely a hint of concern—pity.

That only served to piss you off. He dared to follow you home, thinking he could enter your house without permission. In such a case as this you faced him with the fire that fueled your inhumane rage. The match struck against your heart, igniting sparks that existed long before he was ever born.

“You’re not welcome here,” you spit, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a snarl.

He held every right to look at you as if you were a feral animal he accidentally cornered. You knew you resembled one. Right down to your hackles being raised—bloodlust burning in your glare. If he wasn’t careful, he would wind up with a split open throat and you’d have one hell of a mess to clean.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he murmured.

“You followed me home.”

Swallowing thickly, Logan felt an old familiar ache rise in his chest at the sight of you. He’d been where you stood once. Desperate to be left alone; angry at a world who abandoned him. The thought of you believing the worst in him left bile climbing the back of his throat, shame burning hot in his stomach.

“Just wanted to see if you were okay.”

You grinned yet a dullness remained at the center of your eyes. “I’m alive. You can go.”

“You crawled out of a grave,” he growled.

Only to be met with one of your own. “No shit.”

“You live alone.” The knife pressed down against his skin, red welling to the surface in an instant. “Who put you there?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

You held no reservations against cutting him open. You’d done it before and would do it again in a heartbeat. Logan could see that clear as day. This wasn’t about him attempting to help. He’d surpassed that half a mile ago when you began to walk it off like you knew what was happening. And perhaps he was stupid to keep standing there in a pathetic attempt to tame you.

But he needed to know what happened.

Simply for the sake of his own sanity.

“I won’t hurt you bub,” he echoed, releasing your wrists with a soft exhale. “That’s not why I came.”

The anger dulled like the blade of your knife at the sound of his voice. Putting your faith in someone to uphold their words wasn’t something you excelled at. In fact, you found it was easier to bite first before you even bothered to bark at them. A feral animal who held no sense of safety—who thrived in bitter chaos and would until the very end.

But for the first time…you found yourself unable to fight against someone who stood before you like a mirror from a past life. The anguish in his eyes resembled your own. A fractured window that spilled light along the darkness, even if it didn’t belong. Even if you were born to exist in the vacant nothingness they put you in.

“Help me out here,” he murmured.

Before you could silence it, you laughed. Short and stunted and still layered in the gritty rasp from earlier.

“Fuck you.”

He sighed, stepping forward—his throat opening even further. You expected him to flinch, cuss loud enough to scare the varying corvid that often perched in the trees, but all that remained was that damn sincerity. The echo of a man who you somehow understood exactly what ran through your mind even before you let him in on the secret.

Logan kept his eyes locked on yours, even when his body screamed for something else. He wasn’t a stranger to having a blade to his throat, nor to violence in general. But even with the intent of killing him clear in your gaze, he knew something else stirred beneath the surface of your mind. He latched onto the quick pace of your heart, clamoring for a deeper look behind the walls of your impenetrable armor.

“I know what it’s like.” Your eyes went wide for a brief second before you resumed your previous stance. That remained enough for Logan to feel he touched on exactly the right thing.

“You don’t know anything.”

“Believe me bub,” he retorted, lips curling into a half-hearted grin. “I know what not dying feels like. Even if you want to.”

The breath was punched from your lungs, body going still as the waves of disbelief washed over you. He grasped your wrist gently, prying the knife from his throat, and you watched his skin stitch itself back together. The only remnants of your violent act was left in a stain of red he promptly wiped off.

You had half a mind to try again. Test the proof he so blatantly showed you without an ounce of shame. He seemed to catch onto your interest quicker than you expected—his palm spreading wide beneath yours and hand forcing the blade along his skin. A gasp fell past your lips at the sight of his body healing rapidly—the cut nonexistent within seconds.

Logan felt pride pierce his chest. Unfamiliar and yet entirely welcome.

“How…”

“I’ll explain it bub,” he uttered, drawing your attention back to him. “If you tell me the truth.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

He huffed, moving close enough to feel the warmth emanate from your bare skin. “I’m pretty good at spottin’ bullshit. Someone put you in that grave.”

“Yes.” Blindly you reached for a jacket behind you, slipping it on as his eyes took in the small bits of your home he could see. “I did.”

His head snapped back to you, lips set in a firm line. “What do you mean you did?”

“It’s a long story.” You waved your hand as you tied the jacket’s belt around your waist.

“I got enough time to hear it.”

Turning back towards the entryway of your home, you didn’t bother to bite back the smile that bloomed across your face. Somewhere in the back of your mind the voices of years past shrieked in horror at the choices made in the past hour.

How could you drag another soul into the darkness? Torture them with the duress of your life—of what you were forced to endure. Was it merely to appease the growing ache of loneliness that gnawed at your heart. A constant hunger you could never satiate.

He didn’t deserve what came next.

No one did.

But you were a selfish person who had tolerated far too much—who gave up every piece of your heart to keep others safe. For years you claimed you were better off alone. Only for the sight of his ability to fracture that part of yourself in two, burying it in a shallow grave with the hopes of no resurrection.

One day you’d come to regret your choice. You always did.

Tonight however you would give yourself this. Time spent in the company of another, even if it might end in a tragic disaster.

“Would you like some dinner?” you asked over your shoulder, too afraid of what his response might be.

His lips pulled into a grin as he crossed the threshold of your home—placing his jacket on the now vacant hook. “I’d love some.”

note: i handwrote a giant portion of this & proceeded to type it on my brother's laptop. so if there's mistakes forgive that. i don't have a laptop rn and i'm working with literal scraps.