#Practical Analysis Assignment Help

[mejomonster]

the more i listen to behind the bastards podcast history stories, the more i'm like 'wow rich people really will do endless horrible stuff in pursuit of ever more wealth (even if they're already comfortable and could remain comfortable simply NOT doing more horrible stuff to others)' and also 'wow lack of empathy is a huge problem'

[feminist-space]

"Balaji’s death comes three months after he publicly accused OpenAI of violating U.S. copyright law while developing ChatGPT, a generative artificial intelligence program that has become a moneymaking sensation used by hundreds of millions of people across the world.

Its public release in late 2022 spurred a torrent of lawsuits against OpenAI from authors, computer programmers and journalists, who say the company illegally stole their copyrighted material to train its program and elevate its value past $150 billion.

The Mercury News and seven sister news outlets are among several newspapers, including the New York Times, to sue OpenAI in the past year.

In an interview with the New York Times published Oct. 23, Balaji argued OpenAI was harming businesses and entrepreneurs whose data were used to train ChatGPT.

“If you believe what I believe, you have to just leave the company,” he told the outlet, adding that “this is not a sustainable model for the internet ecosystem as a whole.”

Balaji grew up in Cupertino before attending UC Berkeley to study computer science. It was then he became a believer in the potential benefits that artificial intelligence could offer society, including its ability to cure diseases and stop aging, the Times reported. “I thought we could invent some kind of scientist that could help solve them,” he told the newspaper.

But his outlook began to sour in 2022, two years after joining OpenAI as a researcher. He grew particularly concerned about his assignment of gathering data from the internet for the company’s GPT-4 program, which analyzed text from nearly the entire internet to train its artificial intelligence program, the news outlet reported.

The practice, he told the Times, ran afoul of the country’s “fair use” laws governing how people can use previously published work. In late October, he posted an analysis on his personal website arguing that point.

No known factors “seem to weigh in favor of ChatGPT being a fair use of its training data,” Balaji wrote. “That being said, none of the arguments here are fundamentally specific to ChatGPT either, and similar arguments could be made for many generative AI products in a wide variety of domains.”

Reached by this news agency, Balaji’s mother requested privacy while grieving the death of her son.

In a Nov. 18 letter filed in federal court, attorneys for The New York Times named Balaji as someone who had “unique and relevant documents” that would support their case against OpenAI. He was among at least 12 people — many of them past or present OpenAI employees — the newspaper had named in court filings as having material helpful to their case, ahead of depositions."

[sunnwila]

dimples

high school best friend! sam winchester x f! hunter! reader

⋆༺♱༻⋆

summary: sam winchester transferred to your high school in your junior year. he lasted all of five months there but in that time, you grew close enough for sleepovers. you reunite on the hunt years later... closer to his brother than he likes honestly. it's shocking that you can hunt for all of two minutes before he sees you take down a vamp.

warnings: some very mild angst, some fluff. jealous sammy and dimpled sammy. nerdy sammy. LOTS of back story i got carried away, sorry. some shit head big brother dean too. brief j*hn winchester mentions... idiots in love!

i love sam's dimples, what can i say.

⋆༺♱༻⋆

The first time you met Sam you were freshly seventeen in your junior year of high school. Sam was just a year below you, despite being seventeen himself (he was forced to stay back a year because of moving around so much. This severely irked him).

No one had the nerve to go up to the new kid, he was lanky and had a mean resting face that dared people to mess with him. You didn't have it either honestly, but luckily for you, you didn't need to because Sam had beat you to it.

"Is that Frankenstein?" he asked, pointing to the book in your hand. His locker was a couple across from yours, but the hallway was nearly empty. He shut his with a click before striding over to you with his head tilted in curiosity. You looked down to the book you had taken out, it was the assigned reading for your Honors Lit class, and you gripped it at the realization that he was talking to you.

"Uh. Yes," you stumbled over your words which made him quirk a half smile, his dimple peeking out at you. Suddenly the giant kid with a size too small shirt and shaggy brown hair seemed completely harmless. You smiled back and from that moment on you'd been inseparable.

Dean had teased Sam endlessly about his "girlfriend" when he would pick him up from school and see you lingering by his side on the stairs.

"Girl and friend, Dean. She's my friend who happens to also be a girl," he would correct annoyed as he slid into the passenger seat, inconspicuously looking back out the window at you.

"Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night," he retorted with a chuckle and a glint in his eye.

Sam and you would pour over books, endlessly dissecting plot structure and sharing character analysis. He would geek out about whatever he was learning in history while you carefully listened and drew little cartoons of him while he babbled.

(His face would light up when he saw these drawings of himself, or sometimes it would be a panel of cartoon-him and cartoon-you doing something silly. Every time, he'd insist you sign them before carefully putting it in-between the pages in his book).

He'd purposely annoy you with arguments like who the best classic author was (he said Salinger, you said Steinbeck) and why Dally in the Outsiders was the best Greaser (you were quite fond of Ponyboy).

Sometimes you'd read in silence together, the white noise and the sound of his breathing enveloped you and you'd sometimes (a lot of times) get distracted peeking over your page to study his face and the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated.

Practically attached at the hip, you two would walk down the halls together, laughing about whatever stupid thing you could think of to get a peek at his dimples.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't harboring the teensiest crush on him.

What wasn't to love? His smile was the cutest. He was a full head taller than you, and then some. He loved to read all of the same books you did, and he was ever the gentleman, kind and reassuring. And he was funny! Most of the time you were in stitches when he would crack the rare joke (apart from his little sarcastic comments).

The only problem was that you didn't know a thing about him. All you knew was that he moved around a lot and had a brother. There was never a mention of his mother or father. The one time he had mentioned John was brief, and it was that he was kind of a hard ass because he was a Marine. The subject was quickly dropped in favor of Napolean and Napoleonic code, something he started reading about when he got bored in Pre-Calc the week prior.

You'd never gone to his house, but he would often come to yours, first to study, then to watch movies, then for dinner. Eventually he was spending weekends at your house. Your mother thought the two of you were dating. You had to shush her anytime she thought to bring it up with a sly smile at dinner. Sam wasn't stupid, he knew, but politely continued to eat with a faint blush on his cheeks, pretending he hadn't heard.

It irked you that you two could share so much of your time with each other, but you still knew so little about him. He knew everything there was to know about you. You'd only learned the little things, his favorite color (orange, the burnt siena kind), his favorite book (The Catcher in the Rye), how he liked his eggs in the morning (over medium, not too runny, but enough that he could dip his toast in it), and his favorite band (Alice in Chains). You took what you could get, and you never let it show, but it disappointed you that he didn't trust you to tell you. You were so vulnerable with him, did he think that you wouldn't understand?

One Friday he didn't come to school. You texted him a quick where r u??? before going into your shared chemistry class. You didn't hear from him the whole day and didn't see him again until that Tuesday. Worried sick, you pushed him for answers, especially for the black eye he was sporting. He dodged your questions and gave halfhearted attempts to change the subject until eventually he shut you out. He moved out of town a day later with no explanation. He had sent a goodbye text, but that was the last you heard from him.

For the next few years, you thought about Sam. All you'd had left of him was his Radiohead CD and an arbitrary green t shirt. You'd texted and texted but got no response.

When you'd graduated top of your class, you wished he was there. When you'd had no prom date, you wished he was there. When you were applying to schools you wished he was there.

When your mom got killed by a rugaru in your second semester of your freshman year of college, you'd wished he was there.

And like any hunter worth their salt, you dropped everything and began hunting the thing that killed her.

For a while you were chasing your own tail in circles. You came across other small hunters, but it wasn't until you'd met Bobby that you were finally able to track the thing down. All those years of your mom insisting on kick boxing and Jiu Jitsu classes were starting to make sense.

She'd been a retired hunter and a close friend of Bobby's. He told you that your father had been killed by a shifter a month before you were born, leaving your mother in ruins. Instead of aiming for revenge, she swore it off to keep you safe.

Fat load of good that did you.

Rugaru dead, you found yourself spending a lot of time with Bobby. You didn't go back to school, but you did start carrying your own weight around the scrapyard and helping with the hunter information hub.

That's how you met John Winchester. And evidently Dean.

When you first met them, you couldn't believe it. Were these the infamous Marine father and annoying brother Sam hardly spoke about back then? You couldn't believe it. You obviously hadn't known before that Sam's family were hunters, but things began shifting into place in your mind when you put two and two together.

He'd clam up when the subject of college was brought up, all the weekends he'd spend at your house, avoiding questions from your mother about where his family was and if he'd told them he was staying over. All the ominous talk about not wanting to go into the family business. Your heart swelled at the thought of seeing him again, only to deflate when Bobby had to explain that Sam wasn't in the life anymore. It was then you realized that all the time Sam spent with you, was to escape.

Pieces of you were glad Sam got out. His reluctance to mention his dad then made sense. But what stood out in your mind most often was his fiery blush when you told him that with the way he talked himself out of trouble all the time, he'd make a decent lawyer

Even three years later, you still thought about him. You missed him.

So you got to know the parts of Sam he hadn't shown you before.

Dean took to you almost immediately. He remembered you from that beat-down-town years ago and enjoyed annoying you just as much as his brother once had. When you got on your feet again and started hunting, you'd tagged along with John and Dean, eager to get out. When John got sick of lugging you around, calling you dead weight (not without a sneer and a scoff of disbelief from you) he sent you and Dean to small-fry jobs.

A month or two in, Dean and you found a rhythm. Find the monster of the week, do your homework, scramble to kill the thing, celebrate with a few beers and a night at a dive.

You hardly brought up Sam. It was a touchy subject. From the tidbits you'd gathered on drunk sappy nights with Dean, Sam had left without looking back. He'd run off to college and was determined to leave this life and his brother behind. Dean hadn't spoken to him in years. You weren't sure if you should tell him that it didn't sound like Sam to leave with no contact, but then again, he had done the same thing to you. You'd only been friends for five short months; you had no idea who he could've grown up to be.

John brought him up when he needed to point out how much better Sam was at research then you were, or really anything you did-- Sam was better. The pride in his voice mixed with the disappointed look in his eye encouraged you to keep your mouth shut. Usually, you'd just sit there and fume, you hadn't known the man long enough to spit something back, sufficing with muttered fuck you-s under your breath. You hadn't wanted to upset Dean, you knew how highly he thought of his father and had decided it wasn't worth it.

Fire would rise in your chest when you saw the pained look on Dean's face anytime his dad talked about Sam. In the months you'd gotten to know him, you became fiercely protective (something that made Dean wildly conflicted, he was the big brother/mama bear... having someone else dote on him was foreign, but strangely not unwelcome).

Usually, when John started on a tangent, you just removed yourself and lugged Dean with you. He kept the shouting up as you two stalked off to the Impala, or the Motel, or wherever he wasn't. It was around those times where he would send you two off on your own.

That's how you'd found yourselves in the Impala on the way back from a hunt in Raleigh. It took a week and a half to find a haunted doll hiding in someone's attic, but you'd managed to salt and burn it without much damage. Two years of hunting with Dean put you at a comfortable ease during a hunt and the two of you pretty much knew the ins and outs of each other, both as hunters and as friends.

On the way out of North Carolina, Dean decided to call John, to check in and see how his hunt in California was going. Fourteen missed calls later, Dean was worried. Bobby hadn't heard from him, and John wasn't necessarily a friendly hunter, so none of Bobby's hunter friends had seen or heard anything either.

The car was silent while he figured out what to do in his head. His resolve never faltered, his gaze trained on the road ahead.

"I think I should get Sam," he said.

"What?" The idea of seeing Sam for the first time in over five years almost made your heart stop. But you didn't want to be selfish. it wasn't fair to bring him back because of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Our dad's missing, Sam deserves to know," he had replied, knuckles tightening on the wheel.

"Dean, are you sure we should even bring him back in?" As much as you missed Sam, you respected him more.

"Our Dad is missing," he said with a tone of finality that shut you up. You'd have plenty of time to argue with him later, it wasn't worth it right now.

"I'll drop you off at Bobby's," he added.

"What?" you repeated, starting the fight you'd planned for later. There was no way you were sitting this out, you'd told him as much, but he wouldn't have anything of it. This was something he felt he didn't need to drag you into. You didn't even like his dad anyways, he had said. Which was true but hearing him say it felt like a slap in the face, as if you weren't allowed to want to help Dean, someone who had become family.

The car ride was silent after your argument. You'd gotten out of the Impala without a word, lingering to see if he might say something. When nothing followed, you stood there like an idiot for another second before a simple "Goodluck" fell from your mouth and you shut the passenger door on him. You'd turned and trudged into the ranch ahead, too stubborn to actually give a proper goodbye.

For days you wanted to cry. You hadn't heard anything from him, Bobby mentioned he had called when he got Sam, but nothing else. When you got over yourself, you realized that in Dean's stupid protective head he probably thought he was looking after you. Whatever he thought had made his dad disappear, he didn't want you to get hurt. That's what Bobby had said. You tried to not let it sting whenever you thought about him thinking you weren't capable or a good enough hunter.

A week passed when you heard about Jess. Still nothing from Dean or Sam. You hadn't known he was in a relationship, neither did Dean, by the way he spoke about him--at least, he had never mentioned anything. A twinge of regret pierced through your heart, and embarrassingly enough, disappointment. That stupid high school crush never really went away. But you'd only sort of gotten to know him, briefly, you had no claim on him.

You didn't call Dean to check on them. You didn't want to press, you were sure Sam didn't need that right now.

Another week passed with nothing from them, and you quickly got sick of sitting around all day and decided to go back out and hunt. Overthinking your relationship with the both of them wasn't doing you any good. Bobby was worried for you, but you'd amassed quite the skill since your mother died, your fighting skills far passed anything Dean could muster, and your aim was getting better as time went on.

You took a car from the yard--something you'd been tinkering with for the time you'd spent there--and packed a bag. Then the gear. And after a nice roast dinner you'd made for Bobby and yourself, you hit the road, following a lead on a djinn down in Tennesse.

And just like that, you had spent a year hunting on your own. Not necessarily with the same efficiency that you achieved when you were hunting with Dean, but you handled your own well enough. Hunts took a little longer, but then again, you were finally on your own, no crutch to fall back on. It was relieving as much as it was lonely. You missed sharing breakfast or lunch or dinner with Dean at a diner, laughing when he stuffed his face.

And the money thing was kinda hard. Dean handled the fake credit cards. You'd learned how to hustle pool and so instead of committing credit card fraud, you used good old-fashioned misogyny to win a couple hundred bucks from loser guys at bars.

It was one of these nights that you found yourself at the edge of a pool table, hustling a group of guys that had a little more to drink then they probably should've.

Five of them crowded around the other side of the table, four cheering on the fifth who was currently aiming for a striped ball in the corner pocket. You'd beat two of them already, but somehow the others couldn't believe that you, a woman, could not beat them. Let alone have the smarts to hustle them out of their money. It must be beginner's luck they chortled amongst each other.

The laughing stopped when you beat the fourth guy. And like clockwork, the fifth stood up to play. You had to roll your eyes. Did they even consider the fact that you were hustling them? You couldn't tell if they were more upset that they were losing their money or that it was a woman they were losing to.

Either way, pride got in their way. Another win, and you had over half a grand in your hand. You had to laugh.

"Good game, hon. You almost had me!" you shook your head in amusement.

"You bitch," the fifth man snarled. Two other men saddled up behind him, giving menacing stares.

They weren't so amused, apparently.

"Freaky, huh? I mean, are you sure you guys weren't going easy on me?" you couldn't help yourself as you pocketed the cash. You hoped the kitchen was still open, maybe you could get some mozzarella sticks to celebrate your win.

"You think you're funny?" One guy said.

"Oh no! A little girl like me? Funny? Can't be," you grinned. A small audience was forming as people began to take notice of the hostility radiating off of the men. You knew when to quit it, so you smiled extra sweet at them, an evil glint in your eye, before bending down to pick up your bag from the ground.

It was at this precise moment that a few things happened at once. First, the fifth guy (the ringleader if you will) stepped forward, no doubt, with the intent to scare you. You had anticipated this and popped up, ready to play dirty and kick his knees in, when another man from the audience stepped in with a deep "Hey!" You got a brief flash of leather, and, unable to stop what had already been put in motion, side swiped the fuck out of the man stepping up to your defense.

"Shit!" he cursed as he went down. Shocked and apologetic, you turned to help him up, barely catching a glimpse of your victim, when a heavy hand came crashing down on your shoulder and pulled you away roughly. Assuming it was one of the other pissed off guys, you turned and swung in the general direction of what you assumed to be your attacker's head.

A familiar "oof" came when you made contact with a cheekbone. Immediately your brows furrowed, your hand slackened and your heart dropped. It couldn't be.

Your mouth was too slow on the uptake and Dean beat you to it. Hauling himself up from the floor where you'd swiped him down and called your name in disbelief. Your eyes widened when you realized.

Your head whipped around to see Sam standing behind you holding his cheek, bewildered.

"Holy shit!" you looked between Dean and Sam, the angry men stood forgotten on the sidelines of the whole ordeal, unsure of what to do. You paid no mind as you looked back to Sam again, not convinced this wasn't a dream.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked as he pulled you in for a hug. You embraced him and shoved your face in his leather jacket.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you quipped, slapping his shoulder.

"Getting attacked by you, even though I was about to defend your ass!"

"My ass doesn't need any defending, thank you," you smiled.

"Right. You had it handled," he rolled his eyes. You slapped his shoulder again.

"Yeah, I did. I'm a way better fighter than you," you shrugged.

"You are not."

"Bobby thinks so."

"What?" That got him. Before you could unleash your witty reply, Sam cleared his throat behind you, turning both yours and Dean's attention to him. He wouldn't look at you at first, just made big expectant eyes at Dean.

"What?" he said, clueless. Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning back to you with a soft smile on his face.

"Hi," he said, all sheepish.

"Hi!" You beamed and immediately pulled him in for a hug. He was at least three inches taller than the last time you'd hugged him. He smelled the same, though. Just the feeling of his heart beating against your cheek pulled you back to seventeen, pining after him and laughing in the echoing hallways.

"What are you-"

"Why are y-" you both cut each other off with an awkward chuckle as you pulled away.

"Sorry, you go," you smiled.

"No, no. You first," he gestured with his hand, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity, dimples peeking out in amazement.

"Uh, before you two start, can we sit? I need a beer," Dean chimed in with a grimace. You rolled your eyes, Sam mirroring your expression before turning to the nearest booth.

When you guys settled, Sam across from you and Dean on your right, you ask your question again, "Why are you guys here?"

"Hunt, duh," Dean replied, taking a sip from his beer. You saw Sam's eyes widen in annoyance in Dean's direction.

"Oh. Right. Sammy, she's a hunter now," he explained. Your head spun back to face Sam.

"Wait, you didn't know?"

"How was I supposed to know?" he replied, half joking, half butthurt at being left out.

"Well, I assumed your brother told you," you shrugged, looking to your right and fixing Dean with a look.

"Sorry, but he would've gotten all worried and distracted. You know how he is," he busied himself with a ring on his finger, avoiding eye contact.

"You're an idiot," you said before turning back to Sam with a smile.

"So you're a hunter..." he trailed off.

"Yeah, have been for about... four and a half years now?" you sighed.

"Wow. And that's how you know my brother," he said, eyeing Dean.

"Yeah. Went hunting with him and John a few times. Then with Dean for like, what? Six months?" you turned to ask.

"Eight," he replied.

"Eight months I guess," you said turning back to Sam. He had an unreadable look on his face. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say it looked like jealousy, but that couldn't be. He'd tensed up when you brought up John too, and by the clear lack of him around, you understood that they still hadn't found him. You didn't push the subject.

Sam's hands rested on the table in front of you, his fingers woven together and fidgeting. He didn't say anything for a while, just looked at you like you could disappear any moment. He seemed like he wanted to say something but refrained. Maybe for Dean's sake, maybe for his own. You wished he'd just say it.

After a moment he smiled, "Man, I can't believe it's you. I thought for sure you'd be a professor or something," he shook his head.

"A professor? Why?"

"Well, I was gonna say doctor, but you hated chemistry so much back then..." he trailed off. You laughed.

"Yeah, you're right," you wanted to reach out and touch his hand just to feel him. You still didn't believe he was right there in front of you, after all the years of wishing you could see him, hear his voice.

Dean spoke up then, "We're here about some disappearances."

"Me too. It's a vamp nest," you said without turning your head. You couldn't stop staring at Sam. He was looking down at his hands, so you drank him in without freaking him out. His hair had gotten longer; he kept his bangs though. The urge to trace the moles on his face made your fingers twitch and you had to squeeze them to remind yourself of where you were. Of who you were to him. His girlfriend had only died just last year.

"You're quick," Dean replied, "when'd you get here?"

"Mmmm, last Friday?"

"Huh," Sam chimed in, studying your face. Though he tried to mask his surprise at your efficiency in finding the monster in a short few days, his mouth gave it away, twitching in disbelief.

"Right, well, y'know where it is?" Dean sipped the last of his beer and motioned for another.

"Oh yeah, couple buildings down from here, was gonna head over after I gambled for my lunch money for tomorrow," you grinned. Sam laughed at this.

"Alright lemme finish this and let's go," Dean motioned.

"Are you hijacking my hunt?"

"You don't want help?" he tutted.

"Yeah, yeah," you swatted him away as he poked your arm. Sam watched this interaction closely, his jaw clenched. You only caught a glimpse of it before he steeled himself and his face went back to neutral.

Dean finished his beer in two big gulps and you and Sam followed him out and to your car.

"You fixed this thing up?" Dean gestured to your mustang.

"Mhmm, this is Cherry," you puffed up your chest in pride as the boys looked onto your cherry red muscle car.

"Creative," Sam quipped with a teasing smile. He peeked into the car, eager to see what you had in there. He wanted to take in as much about your new life as possible. He felt like he missed so much.

You popped your trunk, grabbing a machete and a book from your duffle.

"Hey, you still like this book?" you called out to Sam whose head was almost fully in your passenger side window. He shot himself up so fast, you were surprised he didn't hit his head. Sheepishly, he walked around to you where you held out your beaten copy of Frankenstein that the two of you had gushed over all those years ago. A laugh bubbled out of him, and you warmed at the sound.

"You still have this?" he reached out to take it from you, his fingers brushing yours, butterflies erupted in your stomach.

"Well, yeah. It's in your hand, isn't it?"

"Still a smartass then," he shook his head with a fond smile.

"Says you," you nudged his shoulder. Dean had wandered off to the Impala to grab their gear, so it was just the two of you alone. "You can have it," you said pushing the book closer to his chest. More fluttering in your stomach at the contact with his warm hands.

"No," he tried to argue but you shushed him.

"Seriously. I've read it so many times, I can recite whole pages, word for word." He laughed again at this, and you beamed.

"Fine. But I'm giving it back when I'm done."

"Sure, you are."

"I missed you," he said after a moment of silence. You looked up at him.

"I missed you too."

"I wanted to call so many times," he said.

"That's okay," you looked down and kicked at a pebble with the toe of your boot.

Both of you weren't sure what to say next. The Impala started with a roar in the distance, filling the silence between you two.

"I'm sorry about Jessica," you whispered. You didn't want to bring her up. You didn't know how Sam was doing; you hadn't ever talked about anything so vulnerable regarding his life with him before, but you needed him to know.

Before he could reply, Dean rolled up, window down and head sticking out his driver's side window.

"Alright, let's dust these fuckers, you comin'?"

"Right, yeah" you said, swinging the machete in your hand. Sam cleared his throat, eyeing your swinging before rounding the car and entering the passenger side. You sidled up to the trunk, tossing the weapon in with the others and swung around to the back, sat comfortably behind the brothers.

"How long you been huntin' again? Last I heard from Bobby you were hangin' around there," Dean asked as he sped off.

"Eh, year or so? I go back to Bobby's every coupla months though," you cracked your knuckles in the silence. Sam's head turned ever so slightly in your direction, you wouldn't have caught the motion if you weren't staring. He didn't say anything for the whole ride, but Dean did a whole lot of talking for the both of them, asking how you've been, commenting on the new machete, but never bringing up John.

When you got there, Dean assigned roles. You took the back entrance; he and Sam would take the front. You had a mean swing, and weren't worried, but Sam's eyebrows furrowed when Dean announced that you would be alone. He looked about to speak up, but you interrupted before he could say anything.

"I'm good. There's only like three of them in there, last I checked. I could do this alone if I wanted," you couldn't help the boast. Dean laughed and clapped his brother on the back.

"She ain't a little girl anymore," he strutted off (because yes Dean Winchester struts). Sam followed but not without a look of reluctance to you, "Be careful," he urged.

"I always am," you smiled before jogging to the back. You peered through the windows but saw nothing but shadows. It was pitch black out and there were no lights on inside. The back door opened without any force and you made your way inside, eyes scanning what looked to be the kitchen. You heard muffled footsteps to your right, but turned to see it was just Sam.

"Anything?"

"No, there's gotta be a basement," you replied. The two of you began searching for a door until you heard a grunt come from the room next to yours. There were a few more and what sounded like a punch landing. You and Sam ran to aid Dean in whatever he was dealing with when another vamp descended on you. You swung your machete around and nailed it in the arm. It hissed and swung its other arm at you, grabbing your shoulder.

In the mess of fighting, you caught a brief glance at Sam fighting his own vamp, it getting dangerously close to his neck at points.

You ripped from the vamp's grasp and kicked it down, knocking the wind out of it before swinging your machete around and slicing its head clean off. When you turned to see how the boys were doing, you were met with less success than yourself. Dean had gotten his weapon wrestled from him and thrown to the side.

You charged up to the vamp attacking him from behind and swung, but he moved at the last second and you cut through the air, nearly missing Dean's nose. His eyes widened before turning his attention back to the vampire, turning its attention on you, pissed.

Dean grabbed for his machete on the ground and charged, nicking its shoulder. You turned back to Sam who was far too preoccupied with watching your back that he was losing his battle. His arm was bleeding as he tried to fight off with his other good arm. As you made your way to help, the vamp kicked him across the floor, Sam slammed his head on the cabinets in the fall, and you winced. You turned back to Dean, who had his vamp cornered and was talking smack (because he always has to use that smart mouth). Seeing he was perfectly fine; you turned your attention back to your vampire.

Pissed, you took one swing to the unassuming man and his head thudded to the ground, rolling as you rushed over to Sam.

"Jesus," you said as you helped him up. He groaned. "Why the hell were you watching me?" you remarked, annoyed.

"I wasn't!" he defended, propped up against the cabinets behind him. Footsteps echoed behind you.

"Sammy what the hell!" Dean said behind you.

"He didn't bite you, did he?" you asked, brows furrowed and eyes scanning his body. You looked closer at the wound on his arm, and he hissed.

"No."

"No need to be pissy about it, c'mere," you hoisted yourself up and held out a hand for him to take. He grabbed it and used the leverage to pull himself up as well, not meeting your eyes.

"You could've gotten yourself killed," you scolded.

"Yeah, well I didn't," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"I dunno why you were so worried about me. I told you; I was fine. I can handle myself."

"Yeah, I gathered that," he replied with a huff as he walked through the back door.

"That was it right?" you turned to Dean who had been silent for the time being.

"Yeah, those assholes came from the basement. I checked after I wasted the other vamp."

"Wasted?" you teased.

"Shut up," he rolled his eyes with a smile. You turned your attention ahead of you again and saw that Sam was much further ahead than before, so you jogged to keep up with him.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he grumbled.

"You have a huge gash on your arm, and you hit your head like a motherfucker," you deadpanned. Normally, this would crack at least a small smile from Sam, but he said nothing keeping his eyes trained ahead.

"Listen, I don't understand why you're upset with me," you tried again.

"I'm not upset with you," he reluctantly responded after a moment.

"Then what's up?" More silence. You saw him chewing on his cheek, contemplating what to say next. "C'mon, you're my best friend," you nudged his bad arm, and he winced. "Shit, sorry."

He turned to you with a look in his eye, scanning over your face before speaking, "I wasn't expecting you to be so close with Dean."

You almost laughed, but for Sam's sake you reeled it in. A smile creeps up on you, and you watch his face for a second before replying, "Are you jealous, Winchester?"

He shook his head in disbelief and a small laugh fell from his lips. You smiled, "I missed that laugh." Your cheeks flushed at the moment of vulnerability, and you hesitated to meet his gaze. He dipped his head, so you had no choice but to look up at the puppy dog look he was giving you as the two of you walked right up to the side of the Impala.

You both stopped, saying nothing. You weren't sure what to say. Sam didn't have anything to be jealous of. Dean was your family, sure, but Sam was this big, never ending, sense of warmth. You held on to that stupid crush for years. How could you explain that to him?

You looked at him and studied his face. His lips were pursed slightly and his eyes darted back and forth over your face. You wished so badly to reach out and touch him but refrained, reminding yourself for the umpteenth time that it wasn't your place. Sam still said nothing.

Dean finally reached the two of you, clearing his throat with raised eyebrows. Some sight the two of you must've been, Sam bloody and beaten, and you sheepish and wide eyed, turning from each other to look at Dean.

"Don't you two look cute," he remarked with a smirk, making Sam choke in surprise, his neck stiff with embarrassment. Your cheeks went red, and you squinted at Dean as if you could inflict physical pain through a look. He looked smug as he glanced between the two of you and the both of you took a step away from each other at the implication.

"I need a cigarette," you both said at the same time. Then, "You smoke?"

𖤐

not really proofread... sorry !

[orellazalonia]

hiii!! i love your writing and i was wondering if i could request bucky barnes with a reader that gets really anxious but hides it in public, and he notices? like he can tell if she’s overwhelmed even though she hides it and he helps her out and comforts her??

very specific ik lol but it can kind of be whatever dynamic you want (like avengers!reader)

have an amazing day!!

Hello, dear! Thank you for the kind words!! I enjoyed fulfilling your request, just the right amount of hurt/comfort I love. Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!

The Quiet Anchor

Summary: You’ve always been good at hiding your anxiety behind polite smiles and steady composure, even when the world around you feels like it’s pressing too close. Bucky Barnes notices what no one else does as his quiet presence becomes your anchor, a place where you don’t have to pretend and where being seen doesn’t feel like being exposed.

Word Count: 2.2k+

Main Masterlist

You were good at blending in. That was the first thing you mastered when you joined the Avengers, not hand-to-hand combat or tactical analysis, not flying the quinjet or syncing with the team mid-fight.

No, what you learned best was how to keep yourself small without seeming like you were disappearing. You smiled when you were supposed to. You laughed when it fit the rhythm of the room. You nodded along, asked the right questions, made eye contact just enough to pass as engaged.

You were fine.

That’s what everyone believed. That’s what you made sure they believed.

But underneath the surface, you were always tracking everything: the sound of chairs scraping on floors, the rise and fall of voices, the clatter of dishes in the kitchen down the hall. You knew the nearest exit in every room. You always stood where your back could brush a wall. And in moments when the compound grew too loud or the energy of your teammates turned sharp like when Tony’s voice climbed, or Steve’s intensity thickened the air in response, you focused on breathing slowly through your nose and exhaling through your mouth like you’d practiced in the privacy of your room.

No one noticed. No one was supposed to.

You hated the idea of being “the anxious one.” You didn’t want pity. Didn’t want anyone to walk on eggshells or treat you like you couldn’t hold your own. You could. You did. You went on missions. You completed your training. You held your posture straight and kept your tone steady, avoided breaking in half even when it felt like something invisible was digging fingers into your chest.

Every room full of people felt like a performance. And today, it was a full house. The entire team was back from separate assignments, a mission debrief scheduled in the conference room, chatter bouncing off the sleek compound walls. Natasha was already flipping through a file across the room. Sam and Tony were arguing about something that sounded like sports but somehow involved a drone. You gave a quick nod to Bruce as he passed you with a coffee and slid into your usual seat; one near the back, second from the door. Close enough to be present but fat enough to breathe.

You clasped your hands in your lap to keep them from twitching. Let your face settle into a neutral expression just shy of friendly. You knew this drill. You’d practiced it a hundred times.

But still, beneath the table, your foot tapped quietly. Your chest felt tight in that subtle, creeping way that always came before the full weight of it dropped. You ignored it and tried to focus on the folder in front of you. Tried to remember the fact that you were present. You were okay. You’d get through this.

You always did and no one had to know.

However…

Bucky was used to watching people. Long before the war, before Hydra and the Winter Soldier, he was the type to study a room before entering it. And afterward, after everything, watching became instinct. Survival. He noticed things no one else did, the kinds of things that gave people away: clenched jaws, shallow breaths, stiff shoulders, eyes that didn’t quite match the smile.

And he noticed you.

Not all at once. Not in some loud extravagant way. No, it started in slivers of small observations that added up slowly. At first, he thought it was just part of your personality. Quiet, measured, and always listening more than speaking. You weren’t shy exactly, but there was a tension in you like you were always ready to brace for something.

You laughed when the others laughed, made smart comments during meetings, and didn’t flinch in a fight. But Bucky saw the way your fingers fidgeted beneath the table, the way your gaze flicked toward the door when voices got loud, and the subtle tension in your posture when the room buzzed too much. It wasn’t fear, exactly. It wasn’t anything obvious. It was… overload. The kind you try to smother under a steady voice and practiced smile.

He could tell when it started to get to you, especially when the compound got too loud or when too many people spoke at once or stood too close. Your tells were quiet, but he picked up on them: the way you tucked your hands under your thighs to stop the movement, how you nodded more than you spoke, the slightly too-long pauses before you answered someone.

He never mentioned it. He didn’t want to put you on the spot or make it worse. But every time the team gathered, Bucky made sure to position himself where he could see you. Not to hover or intrude. It was just in case.

And today, something in your posture was different.

You came into the conference room late, already tense. You smiled when Nat greeted you, offered a polite reply to Steve. But your shoulders were tight, and you sat with your back a little too straight, as if you were forcing stillness. When Tony joked loudly about something Sam had done, you laughed, but your eyes were too focused. Not amused. Anchored. Like you were hanging onto the laugh to stay grounded.

No one else noticed. Everyone was caught up in their own rhythms, in plans and banter. But Bucky watched your foot tap under the table, the way your gaze flicked up every time someone raised their voice. You were unraveling quietly.

And he hated that no one saw it.

He didn’t say anything yet, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. Not when the meeting started, not when the debrief dragged on, not when Steve’s voice sharpened as he went over the mission’s failure points.

Bucky saw the moment you disconnected. You didn’t move, didn’t bolt. But your expression went a little blank. Your focus drifted. Not spaced out, pulled inward. Retreating.

His jaw tightened. He shifted his stance against the wall, watching you pretend everything was fine. He made a quiet decision then. If no one else was going to step in, he would.

As soon as the meeting ended, you were on your feet.

You didn’t rush, that would draw attention. But your movements were deliberate, efficient. You nodded at Steve, gave Nat a faint smile, and slipped out before anyone could stop you. The hallway outside was mercifully quiet, and the farther you walked, the easier it was to breathe again.

You made it to your room and closed the door, finally letting your shoulders fall.

Your hands trembled slightly as you tugged your jacket off and sat on the edge of your bed. The hum in your chest still hadn’t settled. You could still hear the echoes of Steve’s voice, Tony’s laughter, and the shuffle of people too close. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing you could shake the weight off your skin.

You didn’t cry. You never cried over this. It wasn’t sadness. It was exhaustion. The kind that crept in slow, coiled in your stomach, and left you feeling frayed at the edges for hours after the world went still.

And then there was a knock. It was soft and barely audible. A moment of silence passed and then there was another.

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t move to send whoever it was away, either.

The door opened. Not all the way, just enough for Bucky to poke his head in. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with that same calm, quiet understanding that never asked for anything you couldn’t give.

You didn’t speak. Just met his eyes for a moment, and that was enough.

He stepped in, closing the door behind him without a sound. He didn’t turn on the light, didn’t crowd you, didn’t even sit next to you on the bed. Instead, he lowered himself onto the floor in front of your bed, arms resting loosely over his knees, back to the wall like he planned to stay a while.

“I figured you might need a little quiet, but I wanted to make sure you were okay,” He said softly.

You let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh, but close. “I’m fine,” You murmured automatically.

He gave a faint smile, not unkind. “I know you are,” He said. “But even fine people get overwhelmed.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. You didn’t want to explain yourself, didn’t want to break the fragile silence with messy words or feelings you barely understood yourself. But he didn’t ask you to.

Instead, he just sat there. Still. Present.

And in a strange way, that helped more than any conversation might have. His presence wasn’t pressure, it was permission. To just be. To sit in the quiet without having to earn it. To not explain why your chest felt like it was holding back a flood.

Your fingers uncurled from the blanket as your breathing slowed.

“I hate that I get like this,” You whispered after a long pause, voice barely above the breeze drifting in through the window.

Bucky didn’t rush to disagree. He just tilted his head slightly, thoughtful. “It doesn’t make you weak,” He said. “It makes you aware. You notice everything. What’s going on, what people feel, what might happen. It’s not a flaw. It’s just… heavy sometimes.”

Your eyes stung. Not from sadness but from being seen. You didn’t reply right away, but he didn’t need you to. He just stayed there, quiet and steady, until your chest didn’t feel so tight anymore.

Until you finally let yourself move closer, just a little, and your hand found his.

And he held it like a promise.

From there on, he was there whenever the world became too much.

Like one time when the common room was too loud again.

There was a birthday, someone’s, maybe Clint’s, judging by the poorly frosted cake and the arrow shaped cookies stuck in the punch bowl. Everyone was back from a successful mission and in the mood to celebrate, which meant music through the speakers, food on every surface, and Avengers packed shoulder-to-shoulder like it was a bar on a Friday night.

You stood by the wall, a plate in hand you had no intention of eating from. You smiled when someone waved. Laughed when someone else made a joke. Nodded along to conversations you couldn’t focus on. It was second nature now; masking the crawl under your skin, the way your mind had already started to buzz like static.

You didn’t want to ruin anything. You didn’t want to look fragile or draw attention. So you stayed. Still, smiling, and swallowing the weight of it.

But you weren’t alone.

Bucky had clocked you the moment he walked in. He could read you from across a room now. The stiffness in your shoulders, the way you held your plate like a shield, the way your eyes darted: exit, exit, exit.

He didn’t call out to you. Didn’t wave or approach loud enough for anyone else to notice. He just started moving your way, weaving through the others with calm, unhurried ease. It wasn’t a rescue, more so a check-in.

When he reached you, he didn’t speak. Didn’t ask are you okay or do you want to leave. He just stood close enough for your arm to brush his. His presence dulled the noise somehow, like an anchor dropped silently between your ribs.

You looked up at him. He gave a small nod. A question.

Need out?

You hesitated. Then exhaled slowly, nodding back just enough for him to see.

Yes.

Without a word, he shifted his body slightly, enough to shield you from the room’s view. His metal hand brushed lightly against your forearm, a steady weight that grounded you, and then he leaned in just enough to murmur, “Come on.”

He led you through the edges of the crowd. It wasn’t rushed or awkward. Just two teammates slipping away, like you had somewhere else to be. No one asked questions. No one noticed. That was the quiet genius of Bucky Barnes. He could vanish without leaving a trace, and when he brought you with him, you vanished too.

You ended up in one of the unused hallways, dim and quiet. The door shut behind you, muffling the music until it was just background fuzz. You leaned against the wall and let your eyes close, chest rising slowly.

“You did good,” Bucky said softly, voice close. “You stayed in control.”

“I was barely holding on,” You murmured.

“Doesn’t matter,” He replied, and there was no doubt in his certainty. “You held on. That’s what counts.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. There was no judgment there. Just that calm understanding. That quiet kind of loyalty that said: I see you, even when you don’t want to be seen.

“…Thank you,” You whispered.

Bucky shrugged lightly. “We’ve all got something,” He said. “Some of us just get better at hiding it. But you don’t have to hide with me, alright?”

Your throat tightened again, but this time it didn’t scare you. You nodded. And when he offered his hand again, you took it with no hesitation.

You didn’t need rescuing. Just someone who knew when to stay, and Bucky always stayed.

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION IX.

(a/n: RAAAH 🔥 woke up to a congratulatory message for 1000 likes, you guys are amazing!! sending lots of love, I’m extremely grateful and thank you for the support ❤️)

Warning-none

wc: 1k

ALSO: @ttheggrimrreaper ❣️ (if you wanna join the taglist lemme know)

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…5, Yukimiya Kenyu.”

As soon as his name was announced, a group of girls squealed from excitement, immediately turning to you with curiosity perhaps jealousy in their eyes.

“Lucky!”

“Oh my gosh, if I knew he was here I would have trained harder!”

“Can you get me a signature, please?”

You were bombed with questions left and right, the room shrinking to the size of a football with barely enough space to breathe. Before you could suffocate, Ego’s voice harshly reminded everyone to back off, letting you make your way to Anri.

“I almost died for you Yukimiya”

Imagine being the 1v1 emperor, Yukimiya Kenyu’s manager.

——————

Yukimiya Kenyu whose tall frame, paired with glasses framing his face, made him easily recognizable among the others. You caught him in a rather intense 1 on 1 match—quickly recalling what you read from his profile sheet—convinced that he’s gonna win the duel. Patiently waiting for the match to finish, you then approached him with a smile, handing him his water bottle before introducing yourself to the boy. As expected, he returned the polite smile, shaking your hand while asking some questions. Talking with him made you realize, no wonder everyone was all over him, because damn was he handsome.

——————

•Yukimiya, who you form a strictly professional relationship with, sometimes curious about what he thinks of you. He’s just so polite to the point it’s almost scary, and not once has he offended you in any way. Super nice, but you can tell there’s this certain wall between the two of you.

•He’s easy to deal with, never complaining, always following instructions to the core and he’s really capable on his own as well. You notice how he likes to do things alone most of the time—dealing with exhaustion, injuries, and personal problems without discussing them with you.

•Very mature and loves to handle his own business, but after a certain incident where you prove yourself to be more than just an assigned manager, he lets you in his inner circle. No more distance between you and him—just his pure, unfiltered self.

•FINALLY, someone who shows up on time for events, matches etc. without needing a thousand reminders. Disciplined during practice and training, all while carefully listening to your guidance.

•Yukimiya, who will do some extra training, if he feels like it but you will have to practically force him to rest, otherwise he’s gonna overwork. Likes to help you with paperwork too, turning it into a fun bonding time.

•Always notices if you’re having a bad day and will gently ask how you are, or instruct you to go back to bed, saying he can manage himself for a day. Perfect at listening to you vent, and gives the best solutions for any problem.

•Yukimiya doesn’t tease you a lot since he’s such a gentleman, instead he will secretly trash talk and gossip to you. Also, he’s always silently judging someone with the nastiest side eyes known to mankind. (second to Chigiri) LOVES to roll his eyes as well.

•He doesn’t mention his job as a model, but due to his teammates’ teasing, he tells you some snippets of how they scouted him etc. At the same time you tell him about the little incident during the announcements, making him laugh and a glint of pride shines in his eyes.

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Yukimiya becomes more open to others, cooperating during matches and discussions. He also pays more attention to you during analysis sessions and pre-match talks, asking even more questions than before.

•You also have to change some things in his diet that could make a slight improvement in his vision, as well as ensuring he goes for monthly checkups, and searches for treatments on the Internet.

•He appreciates your support silently. Not really the emotional type, but when you’re sitting on a bench waiting for him to finish—it means a lot. Remembers your habits, and never fails to look out for you.

•Yukimiya is EXTREMELY photogenic since he’s a model. Super polite with interviewers and always gives clear answers. Really sweet to his fans as well, they swoon every time they see him. To your surprise, they also compliment how cute his manager is, some people even making ship edits about the two of you.

•Definition of unbothered in everyday life. Did he forget his own water bottle? Karasu’s will do. Oops, was this seat supposed to be Isagi’s? Guess he’ll have to sit somewhere else. You are scolding him? “Yes, yes manager-san.” He definitely DID NOT listen and was instead, counting how many eyelashes you have.

•You can’t read his emotions off of his face. He has this gentleman image that never seems to leave even if he is angry. Not towards you tho, it’s for his teammates—and the extremely pushy and rude paparazzi. It’s chilling how he smiles when he’s happy AND when he’s mad. You can hardly tell the difference.

•Yukimiya, who will drop random pick up lines out of nowhere without even realizing it—surprised every time when you’re flustered, thinking it’s the hot weather. (could be winter doesn’t matter)

•He will also unconsciously (or not) do the most boyfriend coded things ever like—looking over your shoulder with his face dangerously close to yours, or moving you by the waist with a “can you move a bit to the left” while his hands are on your sides.

•Big anime fan, but refuses to talk about it unless you bring it up first. After that he turns into a total fanboy, telling you some episodes by heart and he’s just so nerdy, it makes you smile.

•Nobody suspects him, but he has some UNHINGED photos of the boys on his phone. Otoya with a double chin? Check. Nagi drooling on his own pillow? Check. Bachira FULLY naked? Check, and don’t ask him how he got it.

•Yukimiya is the ideal player to get with his attentive nature, all while being perfectly media trained. Thanks to his skills, you don’t have to suffer that much, making your life stressful-free. That is until his very first scandal pops up and the topic is none other than—you and him being involved in a RELATIONSHIP?

[vixellaivy]

Things i did to make U.A better (Mha Dr)

Campus & Facilities Enhancements

24/7 Mega Library: (I'm a book lover also love the vibes of a library definitely will be more motivated to study)

A vast, open-all-hours campus library built specifically for students to study, do assignments, and conduct research.

▸Why? Work-life separation is encouraged — students rarely study at home. I did this because i hate studying at home. I want it so that when i get home i can relax and don't stress over school works.

Also, i scripted that all the assignments group project and stuff are done here. For example in my hero class we're required to do a report after a mock battle so i do that here. 24/7 because I'll definitely cram sometimes here.

▸ Research nooks, hero case archives, and group study rooms included.

Campus Shops & Cafés: (why not, also another study spots)

On-campus cafés, small restaurants, and snack kiosks cater to dorm students.

▸ Perfect for nighttime studying or relaxing after training.

▸ Business students can help run these as part of real-world practice.

Academic System

Grade-Based Subject Weighting:

Every subject has custom grade breakdowns (e.g., written work, simulations, group projects, final exams).

▸ Promotes time management and responsibility.

▸ Encourages teamwork, strategy, and self-reflection.

Replaced Traditional Subjects with Hero-Relevant Ones:

Replaced Subject New Subject

Home Economics Heroic Psychology & Mental Resilience

Art Hero Costume Fashion Club (Elective)

Literature (1 slot). Quirk Science & Evolution

P.E. Quirk Fitness Club (Elective)

OR: I'll definitely choose between these

Heroic Psychology & Mental Resilience:

Understanding trauma, mental health, and stress in both heroes and civilians.

Includes crisis support, therapy basics, and emotional stamina.

Law & Justice in Quirk Society:

Teaches quirk laws, arrest protocols, and rights in quirk society.

Includes guest lectures from hero-law enforcers.

Public Communication & Media Strategy:

Handling public image, press interviews, and crisis PR as a hero.

Prevents scandals and hones hero branding.

Quirk Science & Evolution:

Scientific look at quirk origins, mutations, limits, and technological enhancements.

Deepens understanding of personal and villain quirks.

Hero Ethics & Tactical Philosophy:

Explores moral dilemmas, the thin line between hero and villain, and the weight of saving lives.

Hero Analysis:

Strategic breakdowns of past battles, villain quirks, and rescue tactics.

Includes group simulations and villain scenario planning.

Student Government + Event Planning

U.A. Student Council – Structure & Power

Purpose:

The U.A. Student Council isn't just for events and clubs — it's a **student-led administrative body that works alongside faculty to:

Maintain order and morale

* Oversee major school-wide events (like Sports Fest, internships, interschool competitions)

* Represent student concerns to the staff

* Approve club funding and operations

* Handle conflict resolutions (like a disciplinary board)

Council Hierarchy:

Position

Student Council President- The face of the student body. Leads meetings, interfaces with the principal, handles inter-departmental coordination.

Vice President -Oversees internal affairs makes sure all year levels and courses are heard. Handles emergencies if the Pres is unavailable.

Secretary -Keeps track of minutes, schedules, announcements, and makes public bulletins. Tech-savvy.

Treasurer -Handles club budgets, event funds, and market simulations (works closely with Business Course).

Hero Course Representative -Represents hero class interests — training fairness, dorm safety, student requests for gear upgrades, etc.

Support Course Representative - Speaks for support students — lab access, invention rights, project resources.

Business Course Representative- Ensures fair profit share in student business events and tracks project grading impact.

General Affairs Officers -Rotating roles that include dorm reps, club ambassadors, or special projects.

What They Actually Do:

Daily Duties:

* Hold meetings (weekly)

* Inspect club logs and request forms

* Mediate dorm or student issues

* Monitor public board of student concerns

* Assist with emergency drills or visitor management

During Events:

* Help design the Sports Festival structure

* Organize booths, coordinate timing

* Approve hero performance demos

* Help broadcast or moderate matches (media course synergy!)

Disciplinary Roles

* Can call mini-tribunals for things like:

* Unauthorized use of quirks in public

* Vandalism or damage to dorms/school property

* Bullying or harassment reports

* Final punishment decisions still rest with teachers, but the council investigates.

Election Process:

usually happens in the first few weeks of school.

* Campaign Season is huge — includes speeches, public interviews, even mock debates.

* Quirk use is allowed *with regulation* during campaign videos.

* Voting is by year and course — winner must appeal across departments.

* Teachers *can veto* a candidate if they’re too disruptive, unsafe, or academically unstable.

Support & Business Course Integration

Business Course Final Project:

Students must market, manage, and profit from support-tech or hero-themed items.

▸ Collaborations with Support Course students are common.

▸ Graded based on creativity, sales, and public response.

Support Tech in Everyday Life Booths:

Students invent gadgets for civilian use and test them during on-campus events.

Sports Festival Expansion

Multi-Grade & All-Day Event:

All hero year levels compete in shifts.

Students not fighting/the ones who lose early can attend booths, relax, or support peers.

Business Booth Integration:

Business students run vendor stalls during the festival.

▸ Graded on earnings, pitch quality, and customer response (counts for 50% of final grade).

Evening Market Vibe:

After battles, hero students and visitors enjoy food stalls, games, merch — like a summer festival.

Group Work & Real-Life Hero Tasks

Regular Hero Reports:

Every hero training exercise comes with a written reflection or analysis — just like real pro paperwork.

Group Projects Across Subjects:

Promotes teamwork between departments (Hero × Support × Business).

Simulates agency collaboration in the pro world.

[auren-zagarra]

Hello! I've been trying to see if your requests are open, if it isn't please ignore this and I apologize.

First I just want to say that I appreciate your disclaimers on every post on your character analysis as someone struggling with my mental health and is seeking irl professional assistance.

That being said, may I please kindly request for a character analysis on Cater Diamond?

Thank you very much!

Cater Diamond: A Psychological Analysis

Disclaimer: Although this post is written by a professional psychologist, it is not intended to serve as a formal diagnosis. Rather, it is a character analysis of Cater Diamond, created out of personal interest and passion for world-building. In psychological practice, accurate assessment should never be based solely on external observation.

Author Notes: Aw, I’m so glad to hear you’re seeking professional help, Anon! I truly hope your overall well-being improves - struggling with mental health can have such a deeply negative impact on daily life. Everyone deserves access to therapy and the fact that you’re taking that step is genuinely amazing. Please keep staying strong - I’m rooting for you! Also, ignore this post is quite huge... I love Cater so much and this is basically a reformulated analysis - I had the base content already because he is my fav. <3

Cater Diamond is a third-year student of Heartslabyul Dorm. His profile describes him as “casual and carefree”, an “expert room-reader” and mediator between others, always abreast of the latest trends and deeply engaged in social media. In the narrative, Cater often plays the role of a social connector and peacemaker. Even when faced with potential conflict (such as when classmates challenged the dorm leader Riddle), he responds with pragmatic concern: “Did they even try to think this through? I'll just pray this doesn't end up causing more trouble”. This illustrates Cater’s tendency to de-escalate or avoid confrontation. Thematically, Cater functions as a bridge-builder and mood-lightener. Though a playful attitude pervades his scenes, his narrative role is that of the affable socialite: he lubricates group dynamics, diffuses tension, and embodies the “cool” connector in the Heartslabyul clique.

Personality Analysis

Cater’s behavior aligns with several established personality models. In the Big Five (Five-Factor) model, he scores very high on Extraversion – he is outgoing, social, and gains energy from interactions (at least, that’s what he shows on the surface… In his Personal Story from the SSR Halloween card, he hints that maintaining his cheerful persona is exhausting - and there are several other moments where he reveals just how tiring it truly is.). He loves parties and group events, and can be a bit of an attention-seeker in social media settings (e.g. taking pictures for clicks), all typical of a high-Extraversion individual. His Openness is also high: he eagerly embraces new experiences and frequently tries new cafés and trends. He is curious and perceptive (the wiki notes he’s “very perceptive with great communication skills”) - for example, he understands and applies knowledge of others’ backgrounds - as he did with Leona during his R School Uniform personal story.

In terms of Agreeableness, Cater is generally warm and cooperative: he empathizes with people and despite being manipulative, he seems also very forgiven in the surface. He tends to defuse conflict rather than escalate it. These traits suggest above-average agreeableness. Conversely, his Conscientiousness appears lower: he often avoids academic effort and seeks the easy route on assignments, enjoying life’s pleasures instead of discipline - shown again in the R card, during the moment when Cater admits he only tried to host a party for Rosaria because he wanted her to give him the answers of a history test. Finally, his Neuroticism is moderate to low outwardly – he rarely panics and maintains a relaxed façade. However, private moments hint at underlying anxiety or sadness (discussed below), so he may internally rate moderately on neuroticism.

Coping Mechanisms and Behavior Under Stress

When under stress or emotional strain, Cater tends to avoid direct confrontation and use humor or social engagement as coping. For instance, during the challenge between Riddle and Ace (Book 1, episode 21), Cater responds not with anger but concern for group harmony. He steps back rather than escalating the conflict, demonstrating a conflict-avoidant stance. This suggests Cater may have an avoidant coping style: he backs off from arguments and focuses on prevention of conflict.

Cater also frequently uses intellectualization and rationalization to handle emotional issues. In his Halloween story, he reflects on his friendship patterns: “If I left, they remained there. That’s why I’d rather have a casual and happy time with everyone than deepen a friendship”. This quote shows him rationalizing emotional detachment as logical self-preservation. By framing his avoidance of deep bonds as a deliberate choice, he shields himself from the pain of goodbyes. This cognitive reframing is a classic defense mechanism: by analyzing his loneliness philosophically, he buffers the sting of relationships ending.

Another coping strategy is sublimation. Rather than dwelling on his own sadness, Cater channels his emotions into positive actions for others - even when most of his good actions are actually orientended towards his own benefit. He sublimates any personal loneliness into external creativity. He also uses social media (Magicam) as an emotional outlet. In the Halloween story he proudly says, “Magicam is the best! People from my school from three years ago contacted me out of the blue… My social circle is expanding”. Here he transforms the pain of permanent farewells into a more controlled form of connection: staying in touch online. This is both an emotion-focused coping (maintaining connections to ease solitude) and a distraction (focusing on online popularity rather than past losses).

On a behavioral level, Cater often makes light of discomfort with humor. When discussing his secret dislike of sweets in his Birthday Boy card, he turns it into a joke and a social gambit: instead of eating desserts, he says he’ll have Yuu eat them and just post photos. This evasion of direct discomfort (force-feeding by family) shows he copes by deflection. During emotional moments, Cater rarely cries or shows visible distress; instead, he laughs things off or cracks jokes. This suggests a defense mechanism of humor and cheerfulness to mask pain.

In sum, Cater’s coping mechanisms are largely avoidant and adaptive: he avoids conflict, rationalizes his detachment, and distracts himself with social activity. Psychological models would classify these as avoidance, rationalization, sublimation, and use of humor. While these strategies prevent immediate pain, they also underscore that Cater might suppress his deeper emotions rather than fully process them.

Family Background: Dynamics with His Sisters

Canon reveals that Cater grew up with two older sisters who essentially ran the household. The sisters are described as unreasonable bosses who constantly scrutinized and controlled him. For example, they insisted he redo things until they deemed them cute enough. One personal story describes young Cater’s excitement at a household sweets binge, only for his sisters to fill his plate until he was sick, leaving him “the worst at dealing” with their disappointed faces. He admits he kept forcing himself to eat desserts to avoid hurting them, and as a result can’t stand any kind of dessert now.

This family dynamic likely had deep psychological effects on Cater. His sisters’ domination taught him that asserting his own preferences would disappoint them, which may have ingrained a conflict-averse attitude and difficulty saying no - a pattern seen in how he copes with others. Yet they also clearly cared for him, celebrating his birthdays with over-the-top gifts (dolls, perfumes, etc.) until they learned his tastes. The net result is a mix of affection and frustration. Psychologically, one could say Cater developed a form of passive-aggressive compliance: he outwardly obeyed (eating the sweets) to avoid family discord, but inwardly resented the coercion (now despising sweets). This may have sown early seeds of anxiety about pleasing others and contributed to his later use of avoidance as a coping strategy.

Additionally, his father’s banking career forced the entire family to relocate globally every two years. This constant upheaval meant Cater never had a stable home or long-term peer group. The wiki notes he hadn’t had any long-lasting friends because of this and that he considers himself “a pro at quickly packing things”. Psychologically, growing up rootless can foster attachment difficulties. In Cater’s case, the combination of moving and domineering siblings may have made his home life feel chaotic and restrictive. Indeed, during winter breaks the canon says Cater preferred to stay with friend Trey’s family rather than return to his own, indicating a desire for emotional respite from his home environment. Overall, the family context - frequent moves, an overbearing figure (the sisters), and high expectations - likely pressured Cater into pleasing roles and difficulty with intimacy.

No Bonds? Social Attachments and Their Absence

Despite his friendly façade, Cater’s background underscores an absence of deep friendships. Moving constantly, he never settled anywhere long enough to form lasting bonds. In essence, Cater admits he maintained only superficial relationships to avoid future heartache. This coping strategy - keeping things casual - means he seemingly has no true intimate friends.

In interactions, Cater often flits among peers but rarely reveals deep emotions to them. There is also a statement that he “can’t relate” to homesickness because his sisters would be waiting at home that implies an emotional distance even from his own family (sadly, I cannot remember the font, but I think it was his Halloween SSR). Psychologically, this pattern suggests an avoidant attachment style: he values independence and social fun but shies away from closeness. Cater’s lack of enduring bonds is therefore significant: it reinforces a self-protective isolation, where he stays superficially friendly yet emotionally insulated. As the Halloween story explicitly reasons, “the more precious a relationship is, the more lonely it becomes” - a philosophy Cater seems to live by, avoiding deep ties to prevent the ultimate loneliness of loss.

This absence of close attachments also has consequences. For one, it might leave Cater feeling fundamentally lonely despite always being surrounded by peers. And indeed, hints of underlying loneliness surface in his personal reflections. From a psychological standpoint, lacking close relationships can increase vulnerability to mood problems, and it suggests Cater may rely on imagined or future connections (like online friends) to fill the gap. He explicitly turns to Magicam (social media) to stay connected across distance, but those are broad, shallow ties. Ultimately, Cater’s profile paints him as a social butterfly who nevertheless “didn’t have any long-lasting friends”. This dissonance - popular yet alone - is key to understanding his inner life.

A Deeper Look into Depression and Mood

Although Cater usually appears cheerful, canon provides subtle hints of melancholy and introspection, suggesting possible depressive undercurrents. In particular, his personal Halloween story includes a striking line: “However, I think the more precious a relation is, the more lonely it becomes… Why does it feel that way? I have lived a long life but the reason is still unknown to me". This confession reveals genuine sadness and existential questioning. He observes that deep relationships paradoxically lead to loneliness - a poignant, somewhat pessimistic insight. Expressing this thought implies he has felt loneliness intensely in relation to someone he cared about (possibly friends from whom he parted) and that it troubles him. 

Outside this scene, Cater does not scream depression outright. He laughs, jokes, and even uses slang and memes, which suggests a positive façade. On the Big Five axis of Neuroticism, he doesn’t exhibit overt anxiety or mood swings in the story scenes (often he’s calm and composed). However, the Halloween quote shows he experiences internal sadness, which likely bumps up his personal neuroticism score. In psychological terms, he may have a sublimated dysphoria: outwardly stable but inwardly questioning relationships. It’s also interesting to note that Cater’s mandrake in his Labwear card appeared quite gloomy - likely reflecting his own suppressed sadness - and in his Ceremonial Robes card, he comes across as rather apathetic by the end of the story.

Comparing to DSM-5, Cater does not meet criteria for major depressive episodes (there’s no evidence of prolonged deep depression, suicidal ideation, or severe functional impairment). However, one might notice elements of a milder, persistent mood disturbance. The quote above resembles what we might call dysthymic thinking: a chronic sense of emptiness about relationships. He also sometimes seems fatigued by feelings (joking about being “already up” or accepting things). His humorous replies to serious questions might be a mask for underlying low mood. We should also note how quickly Cater moves on after rejections; this resilience could either mean he genuinely is unaffected or that he is suppressing hurt. The story gives room to interpret that he does feel pain, but buries it under a breezy personality.

In short, Cater’s canon behavior includes just enough evidence to suggest he experiences loneliness or mild depression, but it is largely hidden. His spontaneous wit and social life keep overt symptoms at bay. The psychological significance is that he might exemplify a “smiling mask” – a vibrant exterior that conceals a more troubled interior. His case underscores that cheerful behavior does not preclude inner sadness.

Possible Diagnoses

His chronic avoidance of deep relationships and introspective loneliness hint at features of Persistent Depressive Disorder (dysthymia): a long-term low mood and feelings of emptiness, without meeting full criteria for major depression. The hallmark of persistent depressive disorder is feeling down or hopeless for most of the day, for many days, across years. Cater often sounds weary of relationships and struggles with the idea of closeness. However, he does not display persistent fatigue, hopelessness, or dramatic mood swings in canon stories, so this would be a mild form.

Alternatively, aspects of Adjustment Disorder might be relevant. His background of frequent moves could cause chronic stress when forming new relationships, leading to anxiety and mood symptoms. He consciously adjusts by avoiding bonds (adaptive in his view) - an adaptive coping that suggests he made peace with change.

He may also exhibit signs consistent with Histrionic Personality Disorder (HPD), particularly when examining his deep-seated need for attention, his emotionally performative behavior and his avoidance of authentic, vulnerable connections. HPD is characterized by a pervasive pattern of excessive emotionality and attention-seeking behavior. Symptoms include discomfort when not the center of attention, rapidly shifting and shallow emotions, exaggerated expression of emotions and consistently using appearance or charm to gain approval.

Cater’s intense preoccupation with Magicam and social trends, coupled with his fear of becoming irrelevant reflects this need to remain in the spotlight. Despite his bubbly, extroverted demeanor, he deliberately avoids forming real bonds with others - often deflecting with humor or superficiality when things get serious. This emotional distancing aligns with HPD’s tendency toward relationships that are more theatrical than intimate. He is also quite flirty - as exemplified in the Japanese edition of Vil’s School Uniform card, in which he talks about taking him on a date - and straight up manipulative. The emotional performativity, fear of abandonment, and chronic reliance on external validation point toward a possible, subclinical expression of Histrionic Personality Disorder.

[ship-graveyard]

Traveling with P1Harmony 💕

🛫 - Air Travel Edition - 🛬

☁️ - fluff | 🌙 - gn!reader | 💞 - all members

note: occasional references to travel anxiety

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Keeho:

♡ - always makes it to the airport perfectly on time (no getting bored or stressing because he’s timed everything perfectly)

♡ - incredible at navigating crowds and fighting to keep your place in lines for security, boarding, and deplaning

♡ - idk how but the airline always loses his luggage

♡ - you need a break from the airport chaos? dw his arms are your safe haven and he’s got a hug already queued up for you

♡ - will take the middle seat for you if you’ve been assigned it BUT he will whine about it later (good news: you can just kiss his pout off his lips and he’ll forgive you)

♡ - want help lifting your luggage into an overhead bin? luckily your big strong boyfriend is here to help! (he will accidentally smack someone in the face with it when taking it back down but shhh he’s trying)

♡ - bothers you 24/7 on the plane, but he means well… he just can’t help it bc he wants to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible (ooh what are you watching?? are you hungry? thirsty?? he could definitely steal water from someone in first class, would that help?)

♡ - wants you to sleep on his shoulder SO bad. he’ll be slowly leaning into your space if you start to nod off until you get the hint

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Theo:

♡ - lets you completely melt into him if you want to sleep while waiting for boarding (just results in the sleepiest pile of limbs bc he’s probably out immediately too)

♡ - overpacks… why does he have 14 hats when he only ever wears one? why did he pack a toaster in his carry-on?? the world will never know

♡ - has 7 different beverages with him at all times

♡ - more likely to distract you and redirect your energy than directly comfort you if you get travel anxiety, but it still helps significantly just knowing he’s aware of it and by your side if you need anything at all

♡ - he’s going to fight you for claim of the armrest and not in a cute way

♡ - will smack you if you turn the overhead light on (if you really want to read/draw or do anything else that you need to see clearly, he MIGHT let you turn the light on if you ask nicely and/or sweet talk him)

♡ - spends half the flight judging the people who brought their children on the plane

♡ - will get hopelessly invested in whatever you’re doing/watching but pretends not to be whenever you catch him leaning over to see better

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Jiung:

♡ - brings an extra sweatshirt/jacket for you bc he knows you’ll forget your own, get cold, or need the comfort

♡ - takes care of everything that might be stressful for you. you’re nervous? dw he’s got your printed boarding passes ready and your luggage handled. you just need to show up and hold his hand

♡ - does a mental analysis of the best quality airport cuisine compared to affordability bc you deserve to be well-fed and pampered but he’s also really practical

♡ - surprise kisses as positive reinforcement when you remember to hydrate

♡ - zonks out on the plane. he’s been busy taking care of you, let the poor guy drool on your shoulder a bit

♡ - type of person to watch the flight tracker the entire way there

♡ - if you accidentally intrude on his foot space be prepared for the most intense high-stakes game of footsie you’ve ever been involved in (he’ll win but end up just pulling your legs onto his lap bc he feels a bit guilty and he loves you too much)

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Intak:

♡ - loses his boarding pass immediately (you better have backups)

♡ - will get lost in the airport if you let him out of your sight

♡ - lets you buy anything you want with his card (he just wants to trail along and hang off your arm and spend time with you)… puppyboy IM SORRY who said that

♡ - leans his entire weight on you when waiting to board bc he’s tired and he loves you and you’re right there

♡ - underpacks. it’s always “babe can i borrow your toothbrush? i forgot mine😔” and “one pair of pants is probably enough for the whole week, right?”

♡ - you’ll have to be the responsible one tbh but he’s always right there if you need anything and he’d step up in an instant if you asked him to. it’s only bc he feels so comfortable with you that he lets himself relax so much and truly be himself, so he’s eternally grateful that you look out for him when he needs it

♡ - asks to be involved in whatever you choose to do on the plane bc he wants to spend that time with you

♡ - if you have trouble speaking up, he’d happily do it for you. need accommodations?need to ask someone to move so you can go to the bathroom? he’s got you

———————————————————————

Soul:

♡ - gets pulled over at security for something really bizarre (a cool rock he found that makes it look like he’s smuggling drugs, a jar of loose coins of various types, the creepiest figurine imaginable that he decided was cute, etc, etc)

♡ - might need your help with translating some things depending on where you’re flying out of/to (he could probably figure it all out on his own, but he likes being able to rely on you so he doesn’t have to channel all of his energy into making himself understood)

♡ - traveling exhausts him tbh but hugs and spontaneous kisses help him recharge!

♡ - equally likely to distract you from nerves by starting fun conversations or reaching out and reassuring you with physical affection

♡ - hoards the little snacks they give out on the airplane and offers them to you as surprise gifts later

♡ - watches everyone else’s screen on the plane instead of his own lol (he’s invested in the movie two rows up leave him be)

♡ - wants to try to learn a few phrases of the local language on the plane if you’re traveling somewhere with a native language he doesn’t speak

♡ - if you fall asleep on the plane expect to have random braids in your hair when you wake up (it’s not his fault that he wanted something to do with his hands and in his defense he finds you absolutely adorable with them. esp finds it endearing if you leave them in bc that’s his handiwork you’re showcasing)

———————————————————————

Jongseob:

♡ - might share some of your travel anxiety, but instead of making him distant it just makes him more invested in getting you both there safely and being conscious of your needs. you can be certain that he’s done his research, and you’ll always be safe and taken care of when he’s by your side

♡ - the most difficult part of flying with him is getting him to wake up early tbh. he’ll be slumped against you in a half-successful back hug while you scan the departures board for your gate bc he’s still half asleep

♡ - effortlessly cool and fashionable even with messy hair and comfortable clothes

♡ - soft kisses to your temple and warm hands brushing against yours when he wants to get your attention

♡ - wants to switch off picking songs to listen to on the plane (or listen to a combined playlist of each of your interests) with shared earbuds bc he thinks it’s an important way to share your interests and emotions with each other

♡ - before you even ask he’s handing you a Nintendo switch controller and encouraging you to play something with him (dw he finds you adorable no matter if you’re terrible at it or if you kick his ass when it comes to gaming)

♡ - prefers pushing the armrest up so you can lean into each other and just be close (he isn’t super cuddly/touchy in public, but he enjoys the casual proximity. and sometimes the urge to dote on you is too strong to be contained)

♡ - not really the type of person to speak up and ask the flight crew if he needs something, but the second you need something he’s on his feet and advocating for you

[downbadace]

༊*·˚𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐃, 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃, 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍* - 𝐍𝐨. 𝟏-𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐑𝐞-𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 ೃ༄

Pairing: Megan Skiendiel/Sophia Laforteza

Attorneys, Megan Skiendiel and Sophia Laforteza, have been rivals ever since they met. Both are hard working individuals who want to one up each other. But when they're chose to help Ms.Gabriela from Gabriela Enterprises for a Lawsuit filed against her company, they have to learn to get along.

Content: Lawyer!AU, Mild Language, Secret Yearning, Slow-Burn

A/N: hi guys!!! thank you all so much for 300 followers it means sm to me that so mamy of you guys enjoy what i write :3 i'll try to post this series weekly but (as of writing this) i am hella busy cause imma be out of state next week so yeah 😭 anyways ily guys and i hope you enjoy this first chapter 🫶

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist • Unsolved Series Masterlist

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Sophia Laforteza. The name brings chills to anyone who's ever heard it before.

One of the most renowned lawyers to ever set foot on this planet, and for good reason. See, Laforteza was a part of one of the biggest law firms in New York, Katskon inc., known both famous and infamous for the cases they have and yet to have handled. Lawyers and aspiring attorneys from all across the nation climb mountains just to apply for a spot at Katskon. So it came as no surprise that Sophia Laforteza, a girl that came from a (in both senses) rich background of legal education, was able to secure a job at the company.

Most people assumed it was money or nepotism that got her where she is now. But in truth, it was her hard work, dedication, and passion for the field that moved her up the ranks—and that was clear in her performance. Sophia had worked on numerous lawsuits for multimillion-dollar companies and had never once failed a case. She was just that good.

And it wasn't just her success that got people talking—it was the way she carried herself. If she wanted something done, she’d use every ounce of power to make it happen. She was demanding, cunning, a bit overwhelming at times, but that’s what made her a strong leader. If she needed something, it was done before she’d have to lift a finger. But like in most situations, there was always some dirt that got under the nails. And Sophia’s dirt went by the name Megan Skiendiel.

Unlike Sophia, Megan came from practically nowhere, having no name or legacy to carry on. She was simply just a girl fascinated by the law. At an early age, the girl started reading a multitude of books about legal analysis and different court cases in history (Her dyslexia, for some reason, turned off when she read those specific books. She did have a hard time with Dr.Suess’s Green Eggs and Ham.)

While kids asked their parents for ponies or action figures, Megan asked for a pinboard and red string so she could connect dots to old unsolved cases. Her parents always said that Megan would grow up to be a lawyer and Megan proved them correct, as she was able to graduate early from high school with her remarkable grades and got accepted into Harvard Law at just 17. She was a prodigy among the eyes of her peers, so when she walked into Katskon, she had the realization that she had finally met her match.

The first time Sophia and Megan met was during the internship program Katskon held for graduating college students. The two were assigned to help with an ongoing case of a company threatening their rivals to sue for alleged damages, something standard for the two bright minds. But if you were to ask a witness, they would tell you that the two girls were not able to work together throughout the whole case. Though they were the first among the rest of the interns to find and give the information needed to close the case, the bickering and arguing that occurred made it the whole ordeal difficult.

Fortunately, it also showed their ambition for their work, and they were practically hired on the spot. On the condition that the two would get along. From then on, they were friendly. Bitter at times, but it wasn't like they were smashing glass on each other's heads. It became a rivalry—friendly competition between co-workers.

This friendly rivalry has lasted up to the present day, as they sit in their respective offices across from each other, filling out paperwork and checking emails. It had been slow for the last few days: a few vanilla lawsuits here and there all coming out to misunderstandings or unpaid bills. Nothing anyone really wants to take care of because of the boringness of it all.

Megan groans as she clicks through emails, expecting something exciting to come along only to be met with scheduled meetings and a company potluck happening at the end of the month. She groans and puts her head down, suddenly feeling like she wants to sink into a hole forever.

Meanwhile, in the office adjacent, Sophia finishes a phone call, sealing a deal with one of her newer clients while signing some documents on a recent court case she handled the other day.

“Yes, Mr. Gonzalez, and thank you again. I trust that our partnership with your company can only go smoother from here… mhm, goodbye now!” The cheery voice she lets out on call is quickly contradicted by the annoyed and tired face she puts on after hanging up. She drops her pen on her table as she finishes signing her name on the last of the messy papers scattered on her desk. She sits down on her office chair and takes 3 deep breaths, an attempt to get rid of the growing migraine in her head. Just as she was about to succumb to death, a knock on her door interrupts her and she looks up to see her fellow coworker, Lara Raj.

Like Sophia, Lara came from a wealthy family and an even wealthier family name, having a lineage of famous attorneys that worked in the same building they were standing in. She’s also Sophia’s best friend, so when the girl had gotten accepted into Katskon, they became an unstoppable duo.

“Don’t mean to interrupt your brooding but uhm… There’s a little surprise meeting going on. Something big this time so don't get too excited.”

“Why would I get excited over a meeting?” Sophia was actually exhilarated. She had been stuck filing through paperwork for too long, it was time for some kind of change.

“Alright, I’ll be there soon then, thanks Lara.” They give each other a warm smile before Lara walks off to Megan’s office to wake her up for the same reason. The Tamil woman stands in front of Megan’s desk waiting for the girl to lift her head up. After 2 minutes, she grew impatient and knocked hard on the mahogany table.

“Hey—what, I-I’m up…” She says, jolting awake and her chair rolling back a bit.

“Good, cause there’s a meeting and you’re in trouble.”

“What? Okay, I swear to god, that wasn’t me who stole the wooden stirrers in the breaker room… Maybe it was but god forbid a girl be bored and making little stick figures of—"

“What the hell are you talking about? Y’know what, never mind, just meet us in boardroom 3. Important meeting apparently.” Lara says before walking off to the affirmation boardroom. Megan sighs in her seat, looking up at Sophia who had just finished putting her paperwork in a neat manila folder. She slips in her desks before turning off the lights and walking out. Megan couldn't help but stare the whole time. Yes, she disliked the girl but anyone could see that she was gorgeous. Not just her appearance but her demeanor and they was she presented herself was full of class. As the two walked out their offices at the same time they shared eye contact and gave a polite smile.

“Skiendiel.”

“Laforteza.”

“I’m assuming you’re—”

“Yeah, the meeting… Uh, you don't happen to know what it’s about?” She asks as they both walk in the same direction. Sophia just gives her a nod and Megan nods back. The rest of the walk is awkward, to say the least. Something unspoken between the two followed their footsteps, like something big was about to come up but neither of them knew what. They eventually made it to the board room where their peers had all gathered, including a mysterious woman standing next to Katskon’s Managing Partner (and their boss) Matt Murdock.

“Murdock’s here, it has to be serious.” Megan says, opening the door for Sophia. The Filipina nods in agreement and walks in, Megan following after. The two take a seat on opposite sides of the long glass table. Matt looks at the two before clasping his hands together to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, I’ve got some news for you all. Ms.Gabriela of Gabriela enterprises has agreed to work with our Law firm with a case. I’ll let her explain in further detail while I start the presentation.” The room gives light claps to the happy news. Gabriela’s fashion empire had been one of the top performing brands of New York, and every law firm wanted a piece. The company had undergone many controversies from NYFW malfunctions to animal cruelty allegations, which, of course, always turned out to be false and ruses in rivalry companies' schemes to take down the empire. Katskon has had a taste of the company before back in a lawsuit against another fashion empire, Gnarly and Co., where the opposing company had alleged evidence that Gabriela was embezzling funds from the state that was supposed to go to them. This case, however, never got taken to court, as no solid evidence came to play… Until now.

“Thank you Mr.Murdock. First, I would like to say how much of an honor it is for me to be working with such bright—yet young—minds. I have full faith in all of you that you’d help me out here. Now, as many people know, I will be going into retirement next year. Building up the empire into what it is now has been the best 17 years of my life. But recently, something has been… brought to my attention.”

Everyone leaned in close as the lights turned on and the projector showcased the first slide of the presentation. On screen, it showed five pictures of employees that worked for Gabriela. It had their basic information like age, sex, and the department they worked in.

“That someone in my company will need to succeed me when I leave. These five have been my highest performing throughout their time with me and I trust that one of them will be able to fill in my very tall shoes.” People give light giggles at her hearty joke before it switches to another slide. On screen it showed, what seemed like, hidden footage of people surrounding documents. On the left side were a scanned image of one of them, a quick glance showed that it was from Gnarly and Co., threatening to file a lawsuit.

“However, while looking for a successor, I was met with this lovely piece of paper, telling me that someone out of the bunch that I chose has been embezzling money for our company. However, it didn't give any details on who.” The slide switches again to two scanned documents, one of the previous images and the other similar to the first, yet the year on paper was different.

“You may have remembered the lawsuit they filed against back in 2014 for the same reason. Only this time, they have evidence. And This is where you come into play.” The presentation goes back to the pictures of each of the five employees, yet now the images seem eerie with the new information. Gabriela looks across the room to everyone sitting down.

“I’d like you guys to help me find out if the information given was true and bring my company back to justice. It really breaks my heart hearing how people I have trusted stab me in the back in the name of greater good, especially so close to my retirement.” She pretends to wipe a fake tear off her cheek as she sits down at the end of the table. The attorneys look around the room, unsure what to say to fill in the awkward silence. Matt comes up next to Ms.Gabriela, setting his walking stick against the table.

“Now, Ms.Gabriela was going to interview you all separately to discuss who would be best suited for this case… but I told her I already had my eyes on two of your peers.” At that, everyone’s shoulders tensed up and suddenly posture mattered. They all awaited anxiously as Matt grew suspense on who were the two picked.

“Laforteza, Skiendiel, I trust you two would handle this very well and accordingly.” The two girls stand up at their names being called. They look at their boss before looking at each other, taking a unison breath in and out.

“Yes, sir,” Sophia says, locking eyes with Megan. “We’ll gladly work with Ms. Gabriela on this case.”

Megan nods silently in agreement.

Matt picks up a red folder from a drawer and hands Gabriela back her laptop. He slides the folder across the table toward the two. Both reach out. Their hands meet. Megan’s breath hitches—she pulls back, letting Sophia take the file.

“Good, then that’s settled. Everyone else can head back to their respective offices until needed. Don’t worry you all will have fun with this soon, for now we’ll start off easy with these two.” Murmurs of “Thank you” and “Really? That was it?” fill the room as everyone files out of the meeting. As Lara passes Sophia, she whispers in her ear,” Don’t bite her head off.”

“I’ll try…” She says before walking over to the end of the table, Megan mirrors her movements. Once everyone leaves, Gabriela give the two a kind look.

“Thank you, young ladies. I truly do appreciate it. Now in these files are the run downs of each of my employees, mainly on the ones I’ve shown on the slide but also of some minor employees I’ve had my eyes on. Look a little further and you’ll find the financial details of my company dating all the way back to 2008. I trust you guys could organize everything else from there.”

Just as Sophia opened her mouth to speak her gratitude, Megan beat her to it.

“Thank you, Ms.Gabriela, I promise that we'll sort things out to give your company justice.” The older woman smiled at her and relaxed her shoulders.

“No thank you… The both of you, I really do appreciate it. But I have to go now, I have a meeting in an hour across town so I better get moving. I left my contact information inside as well if you come up with anything.” And with that, she gathered her designer bag, slipping the computer in, and bid the two a farewell.

Just as Sophia was about to make a smart ass comment towards Megan, Matt cleared his throat to get the girl’s attention. They turn to their boss quickly as he pressed his lips together in a thin line.

“Now, I know what you guys are thinking, but I know that you both are very mature and responsible adults, and I hope that you can set your differences aside for this case. This is very important to us and to Ms.Gabriela. If something happens over a slight disagreement between you two, I won’t hesitate to let you guys go.” The words were calm, understandable. But to Megan and Sophia, they meant everything, setting a chill down their spines. They both nod in agreement and Matt smiles.

“Great. Now off you guys go, there’s another meeting happening here so I got to get the room ready for that. Like Ms.Gabriela said, report back as soon as you find something.” They nod again and turn their heels to exit out the door. The walk to the next boardroom, or the “conspiracy bunker” as some called it, was as awkward as it was before. Sophia wanting to get it out of the way (not even knowing what it was) spoke first.

“You heard him, one disagreement and it’s over.”

“...Yeah, I was there too. Dunno why you’re telling me this.” Megan says with a snap of attitude that Sophia immediately picked up. She sighed and turned to step in front of her.

“Okay, fine, I’ll bite. What the hell's up with you?”

“With me? I have no problems here, what’s up with you?”

Sophia scoffs, almost ready to laugh as she smiles in disbelief,” Okay, from the start, it always seems you had a problem with me. Like you’re framing me for something I didn't do with the clear knowledge that I didn't do it.”

“I have no problems with you, Laforteza. My fault for trying to prove my worth to people, you were just in my way sometimes, that’s all. Now let’s be civil already so we can get this shit outta the way.” She says pointing at the red folder in Sophia’s hands. The girl walks pasts her and enters the conspiracy chamber, leaving Sophia stunned, annoyed, and surprisingly frightened.

What the hell has she just dug herself into?

[msschemmenti]

fun police

eventual emily prentiss x reader / bau x reader

summary: reader is hired by hr to monitor morale and implement more self-care moments for agents. the unit she struggles most with is obviously the BAU

a/n: i often forget criminal minds is not a workplace comedy with a sprinkle of killers because i write stuff like this. at my core, i just wanna giggle. sue me ig :) [this is giving more prologue than anything— if y’all are into this idea i’ll post more of this]

emily groaned into the air of her empty office as yet another email rolled across her screen from hr. in theory, the new self-care initiative was definitely a good idea, but she knew her team. and she knew herself. with all the sicarios serial killers still lingering in their minds— a mindful monday break was not priority. they’d skirted around all the previous mandated attempts to unwind due to cases popping up and splitting the team up, but she knew they could only keep that up for so long.

she clicked into the email, the URGENT subject line keeping her from ignoring it. she skimmed the greeting and first paragraph of reprimands for the lack of participation. she got to the next paragraph and instantly paused in dread.

“starting monday morning, the behavioral analysis unit will be assigned a health and wellness agent who will join your team in the field to ensure that you and your team are balancing your work and health appropriately.”

a glorified babysitter? oh the team was going to hate this. it took a certain type of person to weather the storms they did and those types of people did not have healthy coping mechanisms. emily rolled her desk chair back enough to pull out the bottle of wine she hid in a drawer and the glass that accompanied it. if the fun police was coming to town she might as well enjoy this luxury before they arrived.

emily was the first in as always. all that first to arrive, last to leave stuff. but as she walked up the few stairs to her office, she quickly realized she may not have been first after all.

“uh hi? can i help you?” she asked as she stood in the doorway of her office. the woman sat across from her desk turned to look over her shoulder and smiled cheerily. far too cheery for the time of day.

“section chief prentiss, good morning! just the woman i’m here for.” the mystery woman smiled and moved over to extend her hand toward emily. “y/n y/ln, wellness consultant. i believe someone emailed you about my arrival?”

emily’s eyes traveled up the woman’s frame curiously. she was dressed smartly, on the business side of business casual and she looked far too young to be doing the work she was doing. remembering the welcoming part of the email she’d read last week, she plastered on her most practiced diplomatic smile and shook her hand. “nice to meet you miss y/ln. i wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon. please have a seat.”

emily rounded her desk and slid into her desk chair. she watched y/n do the same and subconsciously wondered how someone could look that good this early in the morning. she’d barely had her first cup of coffee and she felt like she was barely functioning. but here this wellness expert was, dressed to the nines and in the office before her.

y/n cleared her throat and slid a folder over to emily with a sheepish smile. “i figured we could touch base a bit on the team and my plans for the time being. and i thought that’d be easier with goals and objectives breakdown.”

goals and objectives breakdown? emily looked from the folder to the y/n and back in a bit of shock. she hadn’t exactly expected there to be folders of information or goals and objectives. she thought they do some meditation and call it a day… but as she opened the folder and saw the detailed breakdowns and plans she realized she was sorely mistaken.

“oh wow, forgive me for my ignorance. but i assumed this would be a sort of once a month morale boosting bonding sort of thing and you’d just sign off on whatever we decide to do.”

y/n didn’t even flinch at emily’s words, only smiled with a chuckle. “well that would’ve been the case a few months ago but based on your teams workload and concerns from outside of this office— the director is looking for something a bit more direct and focused.”

“direct and focused?” emily repeated.

“mmhm, you can see it all outlined there but simply put im here to help every member of your team identify healthy coping mechanisms to combat the work you’re doing. that’ll look different for every member but it’ll be personal. some teams have preferred check in meetings and others like to keep journals. each member can choose how they’d like to work with me.”

emily sighed as she read through the folder and listened to y/n, it was all sounding unnecessary at she was already trying to think of a way to get the team on board. getting rossi to participate was going to kill her. “as you can imagine, i’m not sure how receptive the team will be to these forced wellness sessions…”

“i anticipated that. and i’ve found most teams are far more receptive when their fearless leader is a willing participant. you know leading by example.” y/n spoke suggestively lifting her eyebrow in challenge.

“oh you mean me? you want me to participate in your little exercises so the others will be more willing?” emily asked in disbelief.

“well yes, as much as i believe that you’ve got your own mental health exercises in place— you could humor me with a few sessions.” y/n grinned.

emily eyed her suspiciously, “and if we refuse?”

“well i hope it doesn’t come to that, but after i’ve made my base analysis of the team i’ll have the digression to determine who is and is not fit for field work. and i have a feeling that wouldn’t go over to well.”

“yeah that’s a sure fire way to make some enemies around here.” emily grimaced with a huff.

“thought so.” y/n shrugged but pulled out a black planner and pen and looked at emily expectantly. “so chief, when do you wanna start? promise i’ll make it worth your while.”

[slt4kavanagh]

helloooo

could you maybe write something angsty(not about his addiction tho i cant take that) with joey that ends with fluff💌

none of it meant anything

pairing: joey lynch x fem!reader

tw: angst

a/n: angsty joey turns me on in a diff way and mb for taking this long to get back to you

masterlist !

it started small—like most things with joey lynch.

just a flicker of something in the background, quiet and simmering. barely there.

you were always soft. too soft, maybe. always too polite, too quick to smile, too unwilling to shut someone down outright. it wasn’t because you liked the attention—it just felt mean to ignore people. especially when they weren’t doing anything outright wrong.

joey noticed it long before he said anything. the way guys at school gravitated to you. harmless, at first—asking for help on assignments, offering you gum, lingering at your locker just a bit too long. he’d watch from the other side of the hallway, pretending not to care, earbuds in and hood up. pretending he was the type of boy who didn’t get jealous. pretending he wasn’t already in way too deep.

he hated it. hated how obvious he was starting to feel. hated how he couldn’t look away.

but you? you were clueless. not stupid—not by any means—but soft-hearted in a way that made it hard to see how close he was to coming undone over you.

and that week, it got worse. some new lad in your english class started sitting beside you, laughing a little too loud at your jokes, bumping your knee with his under the desk. you thought nothing of it. you were trying to focus on the poetry analysis.

joey was watching from two rows back, eyes flicking between his book and the way your head tilted when you smiled. he didn’t hear a single thing mr. daly said. he was too busy gripping his pen hard enough to snap it in two.

you didn’t see the storm brewing—not until after class, when you found joey at your locker. hoodie on, shoulders tense, not looking at you.

“hey,” you greeted carefully, sensing the shift in his energy. “you good?”

he shrugged. “brilliant.”

“…right.”

the silence stretched. students filtered out around you, laughing and shoving. and just when you were about to ask again, he snapped.

“what’s with the new lad?” he asked bluntly, eyes still not meeting yours.

you blinked. “what?”

“the guy who’s practically sitting in your lap every english class,” joey muttered, voice low and sharp. “you like him or something?”

“no,” you said, confused. “he’s just—he’s in my group for the assignment. he was asking about—”

“sure he was.” the words were bitter. “you always that friendly with every guy who smiles at you?”

your face fell. “joey, what the fuck?”

he finally looked at you then—and his expression gutted you. because underneath the sharpness, there was something else. something wounded.

“you think it’s funny?” he asked, quieter now. “watching them fall all over you like that? while i’m just—”

he stopped himself. jaw tight. fists clenched.

“while you’re just what?” you asked, voice trembling.

but he shook his head, stepping back. “never mind.”

and then he was gone. just like that. no explanation. no time to follow.

you stood there, heart pounding, breath catching. replaying his words over and over again. not knowing what you did wrong, only knowing that somehow, you’d hurt him.

and you couldn’t fix it. not yet.

—

the silence that followed was deafening.

joey didn’t show up to lunch. didn’t answer your texts. and when you passed him in the corridor, he barely spared you a glance—just kept walking, jaw tight, eyes forward, hoodie up like it was some kind of armour.

you hated it. hated how your chest ached when he didn’t look at you. hated how heavy your steps felt, like every hallway in school was a reminder that you’d lost him, and you didn’t even know what you’d done.

so when friday rolled around and you saw him posted up outside the school gates after class, cigarette hanging from his fingers, jaw working as he stared at the pavement, you didn’t hesitate. you walked straight up to him, heart in your throat.

“joey.”

he didn’t look at you. just pulled in a slow drag, then blew it out through his nose.

“you’ve been ignoring me,” you said gently.

he gave a humourless snort. “didn’t know you noticed. figured you were too busy with your new little boyfriend.”

you flinched. “stop.”

he finally looked at you—and his eyes were sharper than you’d ever seen. darker.

“why?” he asked, bitter. “am i not allowed to be pissed off anymore? can’t even say anything without you getting all innocent and confused.”

“because i am confused, joey,” you shot back, the frustration finally spilling over. “you’re acting like i did something wrong when i’ve done nothing.”

“that’s the problem,” he snapped, voice rising. “you never do anything. you just sit there and smile and let every guy in school crawl over you like it’s nothing.”

“you think i like that?” you asked, voice cracking. “you think i want to deal with that every day? i don’t even know how to say no without sounding like a bitch—”

“but you never say no, do you?” he muttered. “you let them talk to you like that. laugh with them. touch you.”

“i didn’t ask for it!” you snapped, eyes suddenly brimming. “and it’s not my fault they don’t know boundaries!”

joey opened his mouth—then closed it again. his throat bobbed.

“i didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t enough,” you whispered. “i didn’t even know you felt that way.”

he looked at you like you’d just smacked him across the face.

“…i didn’t think i did either,” he admitted finally, voice quiet. “not until i saw you laughing with someone else. and i know it’s not fair, alright? i know i’m being a dick. i just—” he trailed off, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“i just felt like i was losing you before i ever really had you.”

the silence between you stretched thin.

your voice was soft. “joey… you never told me you wanted me like that.”

his eyes met yours again. everything raw and exposed.

“because i didn’t think you’d want me back.”

you stepped closer. close enough that you could smell the faint smoke on his hoodie. close enough that he couldn’t look anywhere else.

“i do,” you whispered. “but you can’t take it out on me. i’m not the enemy.”

joey looked like he was about to cry or punch a wall—or both.

but he didn’t do either. he just breathed out, broken and shaky, and nodded.

“okay,” he whispered. “i’m sorry.”

—

you didn’t expect him to show up at your door that night.

but he did.

it was just after ten. your mam was watching telly in the front room, the house mostly dark except for the soft flicker of the screen. you were curled up in bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, still replaying the argument in your head when the knock came—quiet, unsure.

you opened your window first, just in case it was one of your brothers being an arsehole. but it was joey.

hood up, eyes red-rimmed, hands stuffed into the pockets of his windbreaker like he had no idea what to do with them.

“can i come in?” he asked softly, looking up at you from the garden.

you didn’t speak. just nodded, heart jumping, and slipped downstairs barefoot to let him in through the back door.

he looked smaller than usual somehow. like the weight of everything was finally catching up to him. like he hadn’t slept since the last time you talked.

you brought him up to your room without a word. closed the door. sat on the edge of the bed while he stood there, shifting from foot to foot like he didn’t know if he deserved to sit.

“i was such a prick,” he said eventually. voice quiet, but shaking.

you swallowed. “yeah.”

joey gave a soft, choked laugh. “deserved that.”

“why’d you come?”

“to say sorry. properly.”

you looked up at him. “okay.”

he sat down beside you, careful, like he was scared to get too close.

“i don’t get jealous,” he said. “not usually. but with you, it’s like—fuck, it’s like i’m not in control of it. and it scared the shit out of me.”

you stayed quiet, listening.

“i’ve never really had someone who made me feel like… home,” he added, eyes fixed on the floor. “but you do. and i think i panicked. thought i was gonna ruin it before it even started.”

you blinked, throat tight. “joey…”

“i’m sorry for everything i said,” he whispered. “you didn’t deserve that. none of it. i don’t want to be the reason you feel small.”

your hand brushed his. tentative.

“i want you,” you said, barely louder than a breath. “but you have to talkto me, not blow up at me.”

he nodded. fast, like he’d say yes to anything you asked. “i know. i promise.”

he looked at you then, really looked at you, and you could feel the shift. the soft ache in his chest radiating outward.

you leaned in. and he met you halfway.

the kiss was slow, different than any you’d ever shared. it wasn’t rushed or breathless—it was him saying thank you, and i’m sorry, and i’m yours if you’ll still have me.

when you pulled away, you tucked your head against his shoulder, breathing him in.

he held you like you were something precious. something fragile and irreplaceable.

and maybe you were.

because in that moment, joey lynch—guarded, reckless, deeply adored—looked at you like you were the safest place he’d ever known.

[rooksamoris]

Was going through the mangas and i just realized that when pomefiore is mentioned and described Grim tends to ignore the rest of the aspects of pomefiore and focus on the scary aspects, making comments on how scary The Beautiful Queen is, how scary the pomefiore practices are and similar sentiments. Now it could just be grim being grim, BUT grim tends to be used to highlight certain perspectives, facades or setting up later plotpoints (either with actions, falling for a setup or commenting on a facade/important perspective from earlier- usually cause his first impression of someone is what he runs with from then on even if others don't quite believe it from the get go). So i wonder if the various iterations of his comments on how scary and intimidating Pomefiore and the beautiful queen will be used to highlight how many tend to find Vil intimidating and tend to overlook other aspects of him like how grim tends to skim over the fact pomefiore focuses on alchemy, chemistry beauty and instead fixated on the poisons and seems to think Pomefiore is just scary. Especially considering the difference in his attitude towards other dorms of similar standing and even towards other dorm leaders he's met. Idk, just think it's interesting how Grimhelde the beautiful queen and pomefiore are the ones who actually intimidate Grim from initial impressions versus all the other dorms and their assigned Great Seven especially considering one Vil's main woes and worries.

Of course, i could be reaching and just fixating on in manga comments that won't be a set up for anything. On another note, Will say it's funny to see initial impressions, like Yuuken and grim looking over to see Silver and Sebek glaring from across the cafeteria after Lilia went over to talk (knowing silver he's just vibing with a deadpan face and wondering what Lilia is doing while Sebek might genuinely be glaring- which like he'd glare at a teacup or grass if he thought the dimensions were off so him glaring at stuff or others isn't necessarily personal and him trying to figure out if he should take note or be on guard or something). Adeuce and grim thinking they both hate their lil group.

grim is kind of like the paimon of twst to me, though i think adeuce are better at that job than he is. our/yuu's first impressions of the world come via grim, and i think that is a fair analysis. throughout book five we kind of get the worst of vil (not the whole time obvi) as the blot accumulates, the way we do with the other overblot gang, but we get glimpses into his generosity and his helpfulness. in a way we first meet vil as he is being poisoned and post book five we see him healed. he's still confident and strict, but sweet all the same. like that whole scene where he wants to give back to the sdc team, and reassures the first years that they don't need to donate to ramshackle because they feel pressured. (i also think its a great moment of kalim's emotional intelligence since he knows vil won't be able to rest well until he feels he's repaid everyone for all the trouble).

pomefiore's story felt like a lesson on perception, so grim perceiving the beautiful queen and vil for poison over the beauty, alchemy and so on, makes a lot of sense with that theme in mind. the original fairy tale shares that theme of beauty and perception too. ALSO vil overall feels like a character we learned about from everyone else first, before we actually got the pleasure of meeting him. he felt separate from the rest of the cast for a while.

you mentioned it in my vil post, but vil grew up with a very different form of socialization that puts him separate from his peers. its like in tapis rouge when his father is like "oh, so you guys are vil's friends" and vil corrects him. in the canonic storyline, he literally had a near death experience with jamil (twice), ace and azul, but he is quick to correct eric in calling them his friends. i think its obvious vil has issues when it comes to getting close to people, and over the course of the story he seems to open up more (esp after the events of books 5/6).

i also think its important to point out the big difference between eric and vil when it comes to their socialization. eric acts much more like someone who got into the entertainment industry as an adult, versus vil who has literally been watched by them since a child. of course, eric is a lot older and i do think vil will change as he gets older, but you can tell they're socialized differently. eric is more open to the point where vil calls him "out of touch" since he goes out of his way to see his baby over dealing with work.

where the fuck was i??? i feel like i rambled and don't know where i am anymore lmao so sorry

ALSO YES IT IS HILARIOUS. SILVER ALSO HAS SUCH AN RBF objectively i feel like he has a worse rbf than vil?? like why your brows so knitted bro

like vil looks to me mildly annoyed and silver just looks angry (resting sprites from wiki)

[kittwix]

Joestars and their Music Taste

i kinda wanted to do a bit of character analysis. i love music and one of my favorite things to do is assigning characters specific songs/genres/and musicians. it helps that jojo is already heavily inspired by music, but i kinda wanted to do a different approach.

will be covering both realistic depictions of their respective time periods (e.g 1880s, 1930s, 1980s, etc.) but just to also be really fun is a modernized version.. who would they love or listen to nowadays or in general?

THESE ARE MY HEADCANONS BTW!!

Jonathan Joestar

1880s

I actually had to do a bit of research and listen to some music. This era of romantic, classical and opera music was popular and prominent at the time. I can tell Jonathan is a fan of classical music specifically, he loves the orchestral compositions and I'm sure his father at some point disciplined him on learning a few chords on the piano. During his studies at school or maybe when he's practicing for his Rugby plays, he likes to listen to a few songs to get him inspired or motivated

Some examples:

Flute Concerto in G Major: I. Spiritoso - Giovanni Battista Pergolesi

Gymnopédie no. 1 - Erik Satie

"The Planets" Suite for Large Orchestra Op.32: IV. Jupiter, The Bringer Of Jollity - Gustav Holst

Modern Days

Oh Jonathan.. how you would've loved psychadelic rock and pop music. I think Jonathan would absolutely favor 60s-70s music, they have an old school feeling that would make him feel nostalgic and lively. If you're in the car and turn on 60s-70s radio he will keep repeatedly asking "Who's this?" "What's this called?" "This sounds really nice..". Now you'd catch him listening to the same songs or the same musicians in his own time while he's writing down something in his book or when he's working out.

Some of his favorite artists:

The Beatles

Fleetwood Mac

Simon & Garfunkel

Some of his favorite songs:

Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac

Something Stupid - Frank Sinatra

Maggie May - Rod Stewart

Joseph Joestar

1930s-1940s

This is a big jump from the 1800s and around this time there was a shift in music genres that were popular. Swing-jazz, Blues, Country, and even some Latin music were hits. I think Joseph in his prime would engage with lively and dancey music, it compliments his bold personality so well anyways that he'd be into that. The type to see any chick in the dance halls and would wanna dance with her.

Some of his favorites:

Pistol Packin' Mama - Bing Crosby

Sing, Sing, Sing - Benny Goodman

Good Rockin' Tonight - Roy Brown

Modern Days

It's already canonically implied that Joseph would listen to weird and quirky musicians from the 80s like "Weird Al" Yankovic. So to just piggyback on that, I'd say he would love equally or similarly unique and obscure music like that, especially at his old age where he allows himself to not be serious at times. But don't get me wrong, he loves his classic rock music as well.

Some of his favorite artists:

The B-52's

Oingo Boingo

The Buggles

Some of his favorite songs:

You Really Got Me - Oingo Boingo

Rock Lobster - The B-52's

The Safety Dance - Men Without Hats

Jotaro Kujo

1980s

Contrary to popular belief, I don't think Jotaro solemnly listen to grunge or metal music. If I remember correctly, it's canonically been confirmed by Araki that his favorite musician is Toshinobu Kubota. So, that leads me to believe that Jotaro likes to listen to soul and R&B music. Maybe it has to do with the smooth rhythm and emotional singing that calms Jotaro down and compliments his introverted exterior.

Some of his favorite artists:

Micheal Jackson

Tears for Fears

Luther Vandross

Some of his favorite songs:

Africa - TOTO

Everyone Wants to Rule the World - Tears for Fears

Never Too Much - Luther Vandross

Modern Days

Like I said, he likes a lot of soul and R&B music but instead of like heavy death metal I can see Jotaro listening to more gothic rock and what people call "divorced dad" music for a more alternative scene. After having Jolyne, he'll jot down reports for his Marine Bio job while listening to Foo Fighters or Alice in Chains.

Some of his favorite artists:

The Cure

Nirvana

Foo Fighters

Some of his favorite songs:

West End Girls - Pet Shop Boys

In Bloom - Nirvana

We Die Young - Alice in Chains

Josuke Higashikata

1990s

Possibly my favorite joestar to scroll through Spotify with because his music taste and vibes are so good and groovy. It's obvious that he's inspired and loves Prince, so with that in mind he would definitely be a 80s-90s funky pop kind of guy. I can also see him really love 90s Eurodance, the type of guy to dance alone in his room or sing in front of the mirror in the bathroom as he does his hair.

Some of his favorite musicians:

Prince

ABBA

George Micheal

Some of his favorite songs:

Everything She Wants - Wham!

Vibeology - Paula Abdul

Kiss - Prince

Modern Days

His music taste would still fall under the pop, dancey category and just something thats disgustingly catchy. Maybe he's a little older but its still the same old Josuke and he'd be a fan of a lot of things that are kinda trendy. I would say he likes songs that feel very summer like as well, something he can listen to that fits the mood as he drives with the windows down in a sunny day.

Some of favorite artists:

Lady Gaga

Justin Timberlake

Britney Spears

Some of his favorite songs:

Rock Your Body - Justin Timberlake

Judas - Lady Gaga

Bye Bye Bye - *NSYNC

Giorno Giovanna

2000s

Considering that his favorite musician is Jeff Beck, I'm under the assumption that Giorno likes a lot of progressive rock and jazzy rock. Something that'll make him feel heroic and badass but nothing extremely heavy either.

Some of his favorite artist:

Ozzy Osbourne

Black Sabbath

Steely Dan

Some of his favorite songs:

Do It Again - Steely Dan

Another Brick in the Wall, Pt.2 - Pink Floyd

Heaven and Hell - Black Sabbath

Modern Days

His music pretty much stays the same, not to say that he isn't interested in newer music but they don't stick long enough for him to remember. He kinda likes staying in the past kind of thing when it comes with songs he liked, but there happens to be a few songs that he likes that are much more newer generation. As long as its something easy to listen to, he'll typically enjoy it.

Some of his favorite artists:

Laufey

The White Stripes

The Cranberries

Some of his favorite songs:

Elephant - bôa

Linger - The Cranberries

Falling Behind - Laufey

Jolyne Cujoh

2010s

Jolyne seems like the type to like whatever is kinda trending at the moment. Kinda leans more into the pop-punk and dance music more than anything, matches her brash attitude and rebellious lifestyle. She likes to let loose, wants to jam out and dance stupidly, she could care less about how people react.

Some of her favorite artists:

Avril Lavigne

Paramore

X-Ray Spex

Some of her favorite songs:

Sk8er Boi - Avril Lavigne

Rebel Girl - Bikini Kill

Deceptacon - Le Tigre

Modern Days

Like I said before, she would also really be into the dance pop and club music, especially if she's out with friends. The kind of music she'd really dance to if she was drunk or high out of her mind.

Some of her favorite artists:

Kesha

Nicki Minaj

Olivia Rodrigo

Some of her favorite songs:

California Girls - Katy Perry

Roman Holiday - Nicki Minaj

We Found Love - Rihanna

Johnny Joestar

1890s

Unlike his alternate counterpart, Johnny was a lot more rebellious who sleezed around with girls and was just a bratty, spoiled kid. His kind of music for these times would be something along with ragtime and upbeat songs that he would bop his head to. Nothing orchestral, all band music.

Some of his favorite songs include:

The Entertainer - Scott Joplin

The Sycamore - Scott Joplin, Alessandro Simonetto

Sunflower Slow Drag - Scott Joplin, Scott Hayden, Alessandro Simonetto

Modern Days

Honestly, and maybe this is a bit basic and too obvious, but he would definitely be into country music. Hell, I bet he started listening to it and the Blue's later on in his life since these songs talk about the hardships of life and what not. Doesn't change here either. Thinking about him line dancing with Gyro.

Some of his favorite artists:

Johnny Cash

Chris Stapleton

Turnpike Troubadours

Some of his favorite songs:

That's My Kind of Night - Luke Bryan

Long Hot Summer Day - Turnpike Troubadours

9 to 5 - Dolly Parton

Josuke (Gappy) Higashikata

2010s

I don't believe Gappy has a favorite musician or an artist, honestly he only cares about recovering his memory at the moment and figuring out who he is. Honestly, he probably only ever listens to the music that Daiya or Yasuho would play and it's mostly girly pop music but not like he cares.

Some of his favorite artists(?):

Rihanna

Beyonce

Britney Spears

Some of his favorite songs(?):

Wannabe - Spice Girls

Barbie Girl - Aqua

Oops!... I Did It Again - Britney Spears

Modern Days

Well now that he's capable of discovering more music, he seems to really like classic rock and Eurodances. He likes it when the music is upbeat and fast, keeps him on his toes and he likes the rhythm that makes his body instinctively move with.

Some of his favorite artists:

Journey

Queen

KISS

Some of his favorite songs:

Who's Crying Now - Journey

Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love - Van Halen

Kiss From A Rose - Seal

Jodio Joestar

2020s

The most recent Jojo, with his story taking place in the recent times as of now, so pretty much most of the music that we know already exist and more. However, Jodio is appears to me as someone very free spirited. A lot of younger people, myself included, these days are into R&B and rap music and it seems to fit Jodio's situation at the moment. He likes music that are catchy, tell a story, and overall describes the stuff he goes through.

Some of his favorite artists:

2Pac

Kendrick Lamar

Nas

Some of his favorite songs:

Juicy - Biggie Smalls ("The Notorious B.I.G")

C.R.E.A.M (Cash Rules Everything Around Me) - Wu-Tang Clan

The World is Yours - Nas

More music

Considering he's still the most recent, despite listening to rap music, I can see him also ocassionally tuning in to whatever Dragona is playing in their car. They spend a lot of time together, 9/10, Dragona always the one in control of the music and again it's usually a lot of girly pop music and or R&B songs.

Some of his favorite artists:

SZA

Dua Lipa

Doja Cat

Some of his favorite songs:

Kill Bill - SZA

Espresso - Sabrina Carpenter

Attracted to You - PinkPantheress

this was fun! brb im gonna make a playlist for everyone now, maybe i should do jobros and or jofoes next lmaoo

masterlist!

[nayiana0]

Quiet Until You | 6

⋮ ⌗ ┆analysis : you had everything under control—your grades, your goals, your walls. but when Choi San, the school’s troublemaker, gets assigned the seat beside you .. control is the first thing to go. he talks too much. smirks too often. And somehow, when detention throws you two into each other’s orbit for real, the tension gets harder to ignore—and so do the feelings. she was quiet. until him.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ genre : slow burn, fluff/angst, romance, enemies to lovers.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ warnings : mentions of non-consensual video leaks, emotional manipulation , minor physical abuse, toxic romantic dynamics, explicit content, jealousy, betrayal.

wc : 11.1k.

a/n : this chapter got a lot messier than i expected. san? ... he’s still complicated. kai’s not perfect either, so things get a little difficult here. also this isnt proofread so if u see a diff name or something wrote in a different pov, those r jst placeholders frm the draft.

as always, take care of yourself & don’t romanticize red flags — this is fiction, not a guidebook. please, talk to someone if you need help. 🖤

══════════════════════ ✧. ┊⋆ ★

*Chapter 6: Eyes on Me**

It had been weeks since you felt a semblance of emotional stability again. You’d hadn’t seen San since last semester and things were starting to look up. The weather was nice, you’d been doing well in your classes, and your new boyfriend— Kai —had been sweet in the ways San wasn’t.

You try not to think about it when his hand was in yours walking across campus, or when he kisses you goodbye before class. But some days—like this one—it was harder to ignore.

“God,” you mutter as you climb the steep stairs of the packed lecture hall. “Why are these seats always so cramped? My legs are gonna fall asleep.”

You turn to Kai, hoping for a laugh or even a sarcastic comment back. Instead, you caught him blatantly looking at another girl a few rows down. A long stare. Bold. Practiced.

Your voice fell flat. “Alright..”

“Huh?” he mumbles, not meeting your eyes. “I’ll text you after. Love you.”

He gives you a distracted peck on the cheek and dips down into a row. You sighed, clutching your bag a little tighter, and made your way to the very back—your favorite hiding spot when you didn’t feel like being perceived.

---

You settled into the corner seat, pulling your hoodie up over your head, tugging your sleeves down. Alone. Good. That’s how you liked it lately.

Until you noticed movement beside you.

Someone plopped into the seat next to you. Big frame. Hoodie on. Head down. No eye contact.

Choi San.

You had to double take to make sure it was actually him you saw.

He looked… different.

His jawline was sharper, cheeks slightly more hollow, but his skin was clear, his lips pink, his hair fluffy and a little longer than before—soft waves falling messily over his forehead. 

He wore a silver chain around his neck, barely visible beneath a black shirt and an oversized hoodie, and his scent—God, his scent—hit you like a memory too vivid to suppress.

You stared. He caught you.

He looked at you. And then said it:

“Long time no see.”

You blinked, heart rattling in your chest.

“Y-yeah,” you reply, mouth dry. “Didn’t know you were coming back.”

“Didn’t plan on it,” he says with a lazy shrug. “But you know…” he sighs, “Life’s unpredictable.”

You clutch your notebook like it could protect you. He leaned toward you, elbow resting casually on the shared armrest, legs wide-spread in that familiar, cocky posture. You tried not to look, but he was impossible to ignore.

“So, I heard you moved on,” San says, voice low and teasing.

You turned to him sharply. “Mhm. What’s it to you?”

There was a pause. And then—

“Does he fuck you better than I do?”

You froze.

Your breath caught. Eyes wide. Your mouth opened—but only a scoff came out. You turned away, shaking your head, but the heat rushed to your face too fast to hide.

He leaned back in his seat slowly, that damn pencil twirling between his fingers as he looked ahead with that smug, taunting grin.

“Didn’t think so.”

Your jaw clenched. You turned back toward him, whispering harshly.

“What’s your problem, San?”

“Nothing,” he said, still not looking at you. “Just.. curious.”

You stared at him. Hard. Your chest tight, vision slightly blurry. His voice. His tone. His eyes. He was the same—and not.

For the rest of the lecture, you didn’t absorb a single word. You could feel him beside you—his presence loud. Like the ghost of something you weren’t ready to face. And it only got worse when the professor asked him a question.

“Choi San, can you answer question fourteen?”

You both looked up. The room went quiet.

San opened his mouth.

Closed it.

“Uhm…”

He looked completely caught off-guard. Not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he hadn’t heard the question. His jaw locked, his eyes flicked once toward you, and he let out an exhale through his nose.

“Sorry, I—I don’t know.”

You watched him with a swirl of conflicting feelings —part pity, part pride, part heartbreak. He wasn't untouchable. Not anymore.

But he was still him. And a part of you still ached at the sight.

As the professor moved on, San slouched a little further in his seat, still twirling that pencil in his fingers. You stared straight ahead, trying to focus, trying to ignore the heat rolling off of him beside you.

But he turned his head just slightly and muttered under his breath:

“That was your fault.”

You blinked, glancing at him quickly. “What, how?”

“That question,” he said, low and cool. “I literally couldn’t focus on answering it because you look…”

He paused, eyes scanning your face, slowly down to your mouth, your neck, your lap.

“…so beautiful today. More than normal. It's fucking distracting.”

Your throat went dry.

You opened your mouth to speak, but your eyes flickered across the hall, catching sight of him—your boyfriend, Kai. He was seated down below, turned completely around in his chair, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. He’d seen all of it.

Shit.

San noticed too. Of course he did.

“That’s him?” he asked, jerking his chin downward. “The guy sitting over there looking clueless? 

You sighed, exasperated. “Don’t start.”

“Nah, I’m not starting shit,” he said with a smirk. “Just saying — he looks like the type to ask ‘is it in yet?’ he said mockingly in a high pitched voice, while still poking around like the hole’s a–”

You let out a small gasp, whipping your head toward him.

“San,” you hissed. “Stop it.”

“Can’t believe you’re defending that,” he scoffed, sitting up straighter, eyes ahead now.

“But okay, princess. I’ll shut my mouth.”

And he did.

He didn’t say a single word for the rest of the lecture.

But you could feel him beside you the entire time—so aware of his silence, his clenched jaw, the way he tapped his foot just slightly, restless. It wasn't just what he said. It was the way he said it. Like it wasn’t just jealousy.

And you? You couldn’t focus either. Not on the board. Not on the professor.

All you could feel was the sting of heat behind your eyes, and the ache blooming in your chest.

As the lecture wraps up, the chatter around the room rises, and you gather your things slowly, trying to avoid eye contact with San.

You can still feel his intense gaze on you from the back of the room. Your heart beats a little faster, and the unease from the earlier exchange sits like a weight in your chest.

You walk out into the hallway with Kai, who’s still a bit tense after what just went down. He’s smiling, talking about his plans after class, but you can barely hear him over the thoughts that are rushing through your mind.

Suddenly, the air feels colder, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You glance over your shoulder.

And there he is. San. Standing a few steps away, staring at you like he’s about to walk right up to you.

Kai doesn't notice, still rambling away, but you feel the tension building. And before you can even register what's happening, San's striding towards you, cutting off any chance for you to escape.

"What the fuck," you mutter, the words slipping out before you can even control it.

He doesn’t acknowledge Kai, his eyes only locked on you, cold but intense. You can feel your breath catch in your throat as his figure towers in front of you.

Kai pauses, sensing the shift in the air. "You know him?" he asks, but San's attention is solely on you, his posture demanding that you pay attention.

San doesn't look at Kai. His gaze remains fixed on you, unwavering, almost challenging.

You open your mouth to speak, but before you can form a response, San cuts you off, stepping closer, closing the gap between you.

"Like I said, you look beautiful today," he continues, voice thick with unspoken emotion. "I couldn't even think straight. It’s your fault. You look better than I remember, y/n"

The words hit you like a punch in the chest. Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you feel conflicted. You want to tell him to leave, but the way his eyes linger on you has your heart racing, making your thoughts scatter.

Kai finally looks over at San, sensing the tension. "Who the fuck is this? What's this bullshit, y/n?" he asks, his voice rising a bit.

"He’s no one," you say, trying to brush it off, but Kai doesn’t seem convinced.

San chuckles under his breath, leaning in just a bit closer. “ 'No one,' huh?” His voice is filled with a mix of sarcasm and something darker, almost possessive.

Kai’s jaw tightens, and he glares at San. "Yo, back the fuck up man," he yells.

San glances briefly at Aiden, dismissing him like he’s nothing more than an inconvenience. His eyes flick back to you. “I can’t believe you’re with this,” he says, almost sneering. “Him?” “Out of ALL people?” he scoffs, his lips curling into something that’s both sad and amused at the same time.

 "You don’t know anything about him, San," you snap, your voice firmer than you feel.

San’s expression hardens. “So you’ve moved on from me? You’re really telling me that?” His voice softens, a dangerous edge threading through the words. “I don’t believe it… I really don't,” 

You stand your ground, refusing to let him get under your skin, but it’s harder than you want to admit. "Yes, I’ve moved on and… and I’m happy!" You barely recognize your own voice, filled with conviction you didn’t know you had.

San shakes his head, leaning back, crossing his arms. “Whatever,” he mutters, his tone dripping with annoyance. “But you know, I’ll never forget what we had. Don’t think for a second that I will.”

And just as quickly as the tension rose, he turns and walks away, shoulders stiff, leaving you standing there with your chest heaving slightly, unsure of what just happened.

Kai doesn’t say a word, but you can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not entirely happy with how things went down. 

You feel exhausted, emotionally drained from that brief exchange with San, but at the same time, there’s this lingering feeling that maybe, just maybe, you haven’t completely moved on from him.

---

“What was that?” Kai asks, his voice uncertain but laced with a hint of protectiveness.

You force a smile, but it’s not convincing. “It’s nothing. Just... an old acquaintance.”

“An acquaintance?” He looks over his shoulder, but San’s already disappeared down the hall. “The way he was looking at you... that didn’t seem like just an acquaintance,’” he says, his tone edging toward frustration. “Who was that, Y/N? What’s going on?”

“He... he’s just an ex,” you admit, not quite meeting Kai’s gaze.

An ex?” His voice falters, and the shock is evident on his face. “You’ve had a thing with him?”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to brace yourself for the fallout. The last thing you want is to hurt Kai, especially since you care about him.

Kai exhales sharply, rubbing a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know you had an ex. You never told me about him.”

“I know,” you say quietly, your throat tight. “I didn’t want to bring him up. It’s... complicated.” You hesitate before continuing, the words coming out in a rush. “San and I... it wasn’t just a casual thing. It was serious. We were—” 

“So... this guy’s an ex, but he’s still messing with your head?”

You nod, feeling guilty for not opening up sooner. “I guess. I didn’t expect to run into him today, especially not like that.”

“I didn’t know. And you didn’t tell me. It just felt... weird, you know? The way you two interacted. He didn’t seem like just an ex, Y/N. He acted like he still had a thing.. or something on you.”

 "I swear, Kai, it’s not like that," you say quickly, trying to reassure him. “I’m with you. I’m trying to move on.”

But Kai’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes flickering with unease. “I just don’t like the way he looked at you,” he says. “Like he wants something more.”

“I know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s just—he’s just like that.”

Kai seems to let out a long breath, trying to regain his composure. “It just makes me feel... like I’m in a competition, you know?”

You feel a pang of guilt, and you step closer to him, placing your hand on his arm. “You don’t have to compete with him, Kai. I’m not going back to him. I’m with you. I promise.”

 “Well, you know, if he does something like that again...”

You smile softly. “I promise, Kai.”

“Alright.” he says.

=====================================

But then, the jealousy started getting serious.

At first, it was subtle.

You’d come to school, and Kai wouldn’t kiss you hello. He’d look at you too long. His eyes too still.

“What took you so long? Thought you had a ride.”

“Class ran late, chill.”

“Chill?” His voice had that low edge now. “Don’t forget who picks you up. I don’t have to.”

You laughed it off. Until one day, you didn’t.

He started asking who you texted. Demanded screenshots. Checked your phone when you were asleep. Grew quiet when San’s name showed up even in old group chats.

The first time it happened physically was… stupid. So stupid.

You forgot to respond to one of his texts.

You were out shopping with a friend — a girl.

And when you went over to his house, like he’d asked you to, his voice was calm, scarily soft.

“You ignoring me now?”

“What? No, I just—my phone died.”

He took your wrist. Not hard, but not gentle. Just enough.

“I really don’t like being lied to, y/n.”

And you apologized. Because it was easier than fighting.

=====================================

A week later, you wore long sleeves. Even though it was hot out. Even though you were sweating.

In class, you couldn’t focus. Your wrist still ached. You winced when your pen dragged across the page.

San noticed. He always noticed.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not even holding your pen right.”

You tried to smile. Failed.

“Just tired.”

But San’s eyes drops to your wrist. The one you were clearly trying to hide.

He said nothing. Not yet.

But he was watching.

He was always watching.

=====================================

That day after class, you left early. Told your professor you felt sick.

You just didn’t want to run into San again. Because he looked at you like he knew.

But fate’s cruel.

Behind the gym, near the back parking lot— Kai was waiting.

He grabbed your bag, not even looking at you.

“Get in.”

“I have to stay for a club meeting—”

“I said get in.”

He slammed the car door after you and drove in silence.

“You still talking to him?”

“Who?”

“Choi San.”

You hesitated too long.

“Fucking knew it.”

He pulled over. Got out. Came around. Yanked your door open.

“I bet you’re fucking laughing at me, huh?” “Letting me touch you while you run to him—”

“Kai! Stop! I didn’t—”

And then he hit you.

His palm had connected with your cheek so fast, so sudden, that your breath caught in your throat. Not from the pain—but from the shock.

You didn’t cry.

You just… stood there. Hand lightly pressed to your cheek. Frozen.

Your eyes met his, wide, blinking. Like maybe if you looked long enough, the reality would unwrite itself.

“Why would you do that..?” you whispered.

Kai’s chest rose and fell hard.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that.”

You flinched.

“Like you’re innocent. Like I’m the bad guy. Don’t you dare.”

Still, you said nothing. Your mouth opened—but nothing came out.

He laughed. Cold and cruel.

“Fucking pathetic.”

He turned back toward the car, muttering under his breath.

“Go run to your little ex. He probably already had his dick in you.”

And just like that—he yanked open the driver’s door, climbed in, and slammed it shut.

“Kai—wait!”

You rushed forward, heart pounding now that reality hit. You reached for the passenger side—

He locked the doors.

Rolled down the window just enough.

“You make me fucking sick.”

Then he drove off. Tires screeching.

Left you. Alone. On the side of the road.

You stood there, stunned. Hands shaking. Face burning from the slap, from humiliation, from fear.

A car passed by. Slowed. Didn't stop.

And suddenly—

You couldn't breathe.

=====================================

You didn’t speak the next day. Or the next.

Not much. Not about anything that mattered.

You showed up to school, same clothes, same backpack, same dead look behind your eyes. If someone asked you if you were okay, you smiled. If someone asked you about Kai, you nodded.

But he noticed.

San always noticed when something was off. And you hated it.

He watched the way your posture had changed — smaller, more hesitant. 

How you kept rubbing your wrist, like it hurt. How you didn’t laugh when your friends joked around like usual. How your sleeve kept slipping down and you’d yank it back up like your life depended on it.

It was third period when San finally cornered you.

He slid into the seat beside you — didn’t ask.

You stared straight ahead, eyes on the whiteboard, even though nothing was written yet.

“Y/N,” he said low. “You good?”

You gave a tight smile.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You haven’t said a full sentence to anyone in two days.”

You shrugged.

“Maybe I don’t feel like talking.”

He leaned in closer, voice quieter now.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He reached for your hand — just to tap it.

And the moment he lifted his fingers—

You flinched.

Not dramatically. But enough for his entire body to stiffen.

San went still.

So still.

You cursed yourself under your breath. Looked away.

“Y/N,” he said slowly, carefully. “Why’d you just flinch like that?”

You shook your head.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. Please—”

But he wasn’t listening.

He gently reached for your wrist again — and this time, you didn’t stop him fast enough.

He rolled your sleeve up.

Saw the bruise.

Deep. Faint purple with yellow edges. The shape of a grip.

His jaw clenched.

“Did he do this..?”

“No,” you rushed, voice cracking. “No! Stop—stop, it’s not like that—”

“Y/N—he fucking hit you?”

Your breath hitched.

San looked up at you, and he looked like he was shaking. Like his rage had to hold itself down.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your voice was barely there.

“San— we’re not—.”

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back hard against the floor. People looked over, but he didn’t care.

“That son of a bitch—” 

“He put his fucking hands on you?”

You grabbed his hoodie sleeve to try to calm him.

“Please, just stop—”

“No. No, you don’t get to defend him right now.”

His voice was low. Furious.

“You flinched when I raised my hand. Me. That’s how scared you are now.”

You started crying.

“San, please—”

“I swear to fucking god, Y/N, I’ll break his jaw. I’ll break his whole face. He thinks he can touch you and walk away?”

His knuckles were white. His whole body rigid.

“He’s lucky I didn’t see him that night. I would’ve put him in the goddamn ground.”

You broke down harder, covering your face with your hands.

And San's voice softened — not calm, but broken.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want it to be real,” you whispered.

The room buzzed around you — chatter, pencils scratching, phones vibrating — but your world was silent except for him.

San leaned in again, voice trembling.

“You didn’t deserve that. Not a second of it. You hear me?”

You nodded, sniffling.

“I thought he loved me.”

“That’s not love,” “That’s control. That’s weak, insecure piece-of-shit behavior.”

You leaned into him before you could stop yourself. He let you. Let you sit there, forehead against his chest, even if people stared. He didn’t give a shit.

=====================================

Word spread.

Not because you told anyone.

But because bruises talk louder than secrets.

People whispered. They looked at you differently in the halls. Like you were a walking headline.

Like you were weak. Or worse… lying.

Even your closest friends didn’t know what to say. One of them asked if it was true. Another said she “never liked Kai anyway.” None of it helped.

You stopped talking again.

You avoided the lunchroom. Spent free periods in the nurse’s office or the bathroom stall. You kept your hoodie sleeves pulled low, even though the bruises were fading.

Three days later, something slid into your locker.

Folded paper. No name. No handwriting you recognized at first.

Your stomach dropped the second you read it.

"You think I’m done with you? I know you still love me"

Your knees nearly buckled.

You looked over your shoulder — but no one was there. No Kai. Just classmates. But it felt like the walls were closing in.

That night, you couldn’t sleep.

You couldn’t eat. Couldn’t think straight.

You kept hearing his voice in your head. The way he yelled. The crack of that slap. The sound of the car leaving you on the side of the road like garbage. You’d never seen him act like this.

You cried into your pillow.

Not the loud, messy kind.

The silent kind. Where you pressed your face into the sheets so no one would hear.

=====================================

The next morning, San spotted you outside the school before the first bell. You were sitting under the bleachers. Knees hugged to your chest.

“There you are,” he breathed, walking up slow.

You didn’t look at him.

“Why don’t you respond to my calls anymore?,” he added gently.

“He left me a note.”

San blinked.

“What?”

“In my locker,” you whispered. “He said I still owe him.”

San’s jaw locked so tight you thought he might snap a tooth.

“You’re kidding me.” “This sick fucking—”

He stood, pacing, fists clenched.

“I should’ve gone to his house that night. I should’ve—”

“San, stop—”

“No. I’m not stopping. This isn’t over. He thinks he can hit you, threaten you, and just what? Scare you into silence?”

“San.”

“What?”

“Why do you care so much all of a sudden?”

“Y/N–

“You cheated on me, San.”

He stopped.

Stared at you.

“Is this your way of trying to sneak back into my life?”

“I was just–”

“You’re out here ready to go to war for me and act like you’ve always been this good guy. But dont forget you fucked me up first.”

San swallowed. Hard

“You had me thinking I wasn’t enough, remember? You had girls texting you shit like ‘i miss you.. still thinking about last night.. cant wait to fu—”

“I told you it didn’t mean anything—”

“You didn’t tell me shit,” you snapped. “I found out. You were never going to tell me.”

“You don’t get to play the savior now, San. You don’t get to show up and be the knight in shining armor when you were the first person to tear me apart.”

San was quiet. The silence buzzed like static.

Finally, he said, low and broken,

“I know I don’t deserve to be here. But I can't allow myself to let you down. Not again.”

You got up and started walking back to the school. 

—

You were almost there when he showed up again.

As if the slap never happened. As if leaving you on the side of the road was just… nothing.

He didn’t text an apology.

He didn’t even say sorry.

Just showed up behind you like a shadow.

“Didn’t block me this time,” he whispered, voice too close to your ear. “Smart girl.”

You stepped back immediately, but your words caught in your throat.

He smiled like he knew.

Kai starts showing up everywhere again.

"You really think San would want you back if he knew everything?" "Tell me again how much better you are without me. C’mon, say it like you mean it.""You look tired, baby. He not keeping you up the way I did?"

Every word digs.

Every glance from him starts to make you feel like you’re losing it.

And San just had to be in the middle of all this.

One day he corners you after school in the hallway, everyone else already gone.

“I know he’s messing with you again,” he says quietly.

“You think I can’t tell when you’re falling apart?”

You shrug him off.

“I’m fine. I cut things off with him..  why does everyone keep saying I’m not—”

“Because you’re not,” he snaps. You freeze.

San softens. Steps forward.

“I’m not him,” he says. “But I swear to god, Y/N, if he tries anything again—”

“Then what?” she whispers. “You’ll hit him? You’ll save me? What if I don’t want to be saved?”

He looks stunned. Hurt.

You walk away before you break.

=====================================

And then just as you thought it couldn’t get any worse..

It starts with a phone buzz.

Then another.

Then another.

Your friend sends you a text with no words — just a link and a shaky “omg y/n.”

You click it.

And it’s you.

Your body. Your face. Your noises.

A video. From weeks ago. From before things with Kai turned ugly.

And a photo — from his camera roll, clearly not meant for anyone else’s eyes. You trusted him.

You trusted him.

You can’t breathe. You’re in the girls’ bathroom stall, crouched with your phone shaking in your hand, messages flooding in from people you haven’t spoken to in months:

“is this u?”“damn, girl...”“wtf did u do to him?? he’s leaking u like that??”“you okay?”

You want to throw up. You want to disappear.

And worst of all — you know Kai did it on purpose.

Because you told him last week you were done. And this is how he says goodbye.

=====================================

San’s sitting on his bed, scrolling TikTok.

He pauses when he sees a message pop up from an unknown number.

He clicks.

And what he sees makes him drop his phone.

He watches the video once.

And again.

Not because he wants to—but because he’s processing, not believing it’s real.

“What the fuck is this…”

“This is Kai??”

“That’s her—That’s Y/N... holy shit.”

His face goes pale. His heart’s racing. His jaw’s clenched. And then—

“She looks so good though...” he mutters, under his breath, before snapping back into himself and whispering: “No—no, what the fuck am I saying—this isn’t right.”

He texts you immediately:

“wya. u good? i need to see you. now.”

You leave him on read.

====================================

You see San the next day — in the courtyard, pacing. His face is red, fists clenched.

You try to walk past him.

“Y/N—hey, wait.”

“No. Don’t talk to me.”

“I saw it.”

You stop.

“I figured.”

“I didn’t mean to—I just—it popped up, I—” he’s rambling, like he’s trying to prove something to himself more than to you.

You face him. Dead serious. Emotionless.

“You watched it?”

“I—”

He hesitates. Doesn’t lie.

“Yeah.”

“How many times?”

He flinches.

“Uhh.. I mean you didn't look too terrible in it..”

You stare at him like you’re seeing someone else.

“Oh my gosh, this isn’t just embarrassing, San,” you whisper. “This is ruining me. I can’t look people in the eye. I can’t sleep.”

He softens.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry—this is my fault—”

“It’s not about your guilt,” you snap. “This is about my body being out there, being passed around like a joke, and you’re talking about how good I looked in it? Are you serious?”

San’s face drops.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I swear to God, Y/N. I’m just... I’m pissed. I’m disgusted. I want to kill him.”

“That’s not going to fix it,” you whisper. “Nothing’s going to fix it.”

You’re crying now, but the tears are silent. You wipe them fast, hoping no one sees.

==================================

Midway through the day, the announcement hits:

“Y/N Y/L/N please report to the principal’s office.”

Your chest tightens.

Inside the office, the principal doesn’t even look up when you sit down.

“Y/N,” he says. “We’re aware of the content that surfaced over the weekend. We take this seriously. But... we also have to consider the school’s image.”

You blink.

“I was leaked. I didn’t post anything. I was recorded without consent.”

“Of course. And we’re investigating that. But while we do, you’ll need to stay home for a few days. It’s for your safety — and to avoid ‘disruption.’”

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

“So I’m getting suspended… for being the victim.”

“It’s not a suspension,” he says too quickly. “It’s just a temporary hold.”

“Everyone’s seen me, but he gets to walk around like nothing happened?”

The principal sighs.

“We’ve spoken to Mr. K—he denies involvement. We can’t act until we have evidence.”

=====================================

And then it gets even worse. It starts with a screenshot.

Your name.

The video thumbnail blurred — but just enough for people to know it’s you. Someone from another school reposted it. Then a local gossip account picked it up. And then — boom.

500+ comments.

Most aren’t even from your school anymore.

“yooo who is this??” “is this fr that girl from tht skl??” “she kinda bad tho not gonna lie” “why would she let him record that??” “ain’t no way she didn’t know”

You’re trending in the worst way. Not because you're famous — but because your body, your pain, your humiliation has become content.

------------------------------------------------------------

You shouldn’t have come home.

You knew the moment your key turned in the lock and the living room was silent — not dark, not empty, just still. Like the calm before the storm.

Your parents’ car was in front of your house, both of them. That alone made your chest tighten.

They were never home, unless it was something super important.

“Y/N.”

Your mom’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade. She stood in the hallway. Her arms crossed. Her face unreadable. Behind her, your dad was pacing — not his usual tired shuffle, but angry, agitated, worried.

Your bag slipped off your shoulder. You tried to act normal.

“Hey.”

No smile. No hug. Just tension thick enough to drown in.

Your mom’s voice cracked.

“Please sit down.”

You blinked. “Why? What’s going on?”

She motioned to the couch. Your dad finally turned, arms locked across his chest.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

That’s when it hit.

They knew.

Your knees buckled slightly as you sat, suddenly ice cold. Your throat dried up. Every lie you could think of vanished the moment your mom pulled out her phone and held it up.

There it was. Paused. A screenshot.

“This… this is what you’ve been doing at college?” her voice trembled, not with rage, but something worse. Disappointment. Horror. “Is this why you didn’t want to come home for Thanksgiving?”

“Mom, I—”

“Who is this boy? Who took this video of you? Why is it online?”

You couldn’t speak.

Your dad spoke next — not yelling, but cold.

“Was it consensual?”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

“Did you agree to be filmed, Y/N?”

“No!” Your voice cracked. “No, I would never— He didn’t even tell me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know until everyone else—”

You broke down. You couldn’t finish the sentence. The couch swallowed your body as the sobs ripped through your chest, loud and uncontrollable.

Your mom sat beside you. Quietly. She touched your back, stiff at first, then softened.

“We’re pressing charges,” your dad said.

You wiped your face, trembling.

“He already threatened me. He said they’ll say I wanted it.”

“Then we’ll make sure they know the fucking truth,” he snapped. “And if that shitty school doesn’t back you up, I’ll bring them down with him.”

It was the first time in days that you felt something solid. Support. Anger, yes. But the right kind. The kind that pointed outward, not at you.

Your mom leaned her forehead to yours.

“Baby, you didn’t do anything wrong. You hear me?”

“I feel so—dirty. I can’t even go back there—”

“You’ll go back when you’re ready,” she said, voice steady. “But not until that boy faces what he’s done. We’ll take care of this. You’re not alone.”

And for the first time since the video leaked, you believed that.

=====================================

You barely made it up the stairs.

Your eyes were still red. Your chest still tight. The words from your parents still hanging in the air like fog.

The doorbell rings. 

You don’t move at first. Just stare up at the ceiling, the edges of your blanket bunched in your fists. The day still clings to you — raw, suffocating, like your skin’s too tight.

From downstairs, your mother calls.

“Y/N? You have a guest.”

Your heart drops.

No one knows you're home. No one should know — unless...

You sit up too fast, stomach already coiling. The second your feet hit the floor, your mind races through possibilities, excuses, defenses. Not him. Please, not right now.

But when you round the corner at the bottom of the stairs — you see him.

San.

Standing there, slightly hunched, like he knows he doesn’t belong in this moment. His hoodie’s wrinkled. His hands are jammed into the front pocket like he’s trying to disappear inside himself. And your parents? They're watching him like he's a threat.

Your dad's arms are crossed tight over his chest. Your mom doesn’t even try to hide her displeasure.

San’s eyes find yours the second you step down.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. Cautious.

You stop a few feet from him, trying to control the emotion on your face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to know if you were ok. I needed to see you.”

Your mom steps in before you can respond.

“Young man, could you give us just a minute with our daughter?”

He nods slowly, jaw twitching. Doesn’t say anything. Just backs away and pretends not to notice the heat rolling off your father’s stare.

You follow your parents into the kitchen, pulse hammering.

Your dad doesn’t sugarcoat it.

“Do you trust that boy?” he asks, looking you dead in the eye.

“Dad…”

“We’re asking seriously, Y/N. Is he someone who deserves to be in this house right now?”

“He didn’t do anything. He’s just—he’s checking in.”

“So are we,” your mom says. “And we don’t want you overwhelmed. Especially now.”

You breathe in, slow and shaky.

They’re right.

As much as your heart aches at the sight of him, as much as part of you wants to collapse into his arms and say help me, you know this isn’t the time.

So you walk back to the foyer, slowly.

He looks up again when he hears your steps.

“Y/N,” he starts, hopeful. “I just want to talk. I won’t stay long—”

“I know,” you interrupt gently, trying to keep your voice calm. “But… not right now.”

His face falls.

“You’re asking me to leave.”

You nod, trying not to cry. “I just… I need space. And my parents are already—this whole thing is a lot. I’m not saying never. Just not now.”

He swallows hard, shoulders tensing like he’s holding something back.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “Okay. I get it.”

He starts to turn, but hesitates.

“I meant it though. I’m here for you. Whenever you're ready.”

You nod again, but this time you can’t speak. You just stand there, hugging yourself as he walks out the door.

The door clicks shut behind him.

You don’t move.

Your arms stay wrapped around yourself, eyes locked on the door like maybe he’ll change his mind. Come back. Say screw your parents and pull you into a hug you definitely aren’t ready for but so desperately want.

But he doesn’t.

And then you hear her voice—low, a little amused.

“He’s… kinda cute.”

You blink.

Turn your head slowly.

“Mom—what?”

She shrugs, unbothered. Sips from her mug like she didn’t just say that after thirty seconds of death-glaring the guy at the door.

“What?” she repeats. “I’m just saying. The hoodie, the jawline, the sad puppy-dog eyes… I get it.”

Your dad groans audibly from the kitchen.

“Lisa, please. This is serious.”

“I am being serious. I’m saying I understand the appeal. Doesn’t mean I trust him yet.”

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. It’s the smallest flicker of light in your chest—momentary. But real.

“He used to be important,” you murmur.

Your mom’s eyes soften. She nods, gently.

“Still is, if the look on your face says anything.”

You don’t answer. You just walk back upstairs, each step slower than the last.

But for a second—just a second—you let yourself imagine what it might feel like if things weren’t so complicated.

And somewhere below you, your mom mutters to herself:

“Still kinda cute though…”

=====================================

It’s been a few weeks.

Three, maybe four. Long, grueling, silent weeks where your world slowly stopped spinning and started to stitch itself back together.

The court settled it. The school handled it.

Kai? Expelled. Gone.

The photos, the video — removed. Locked down. Tracked. And your name? Finally off everyone’s tongue. Mostly.

But the scars? Still there. The noise still lives somewhere behind your ribs.

And now… you're walking back into school.

Every hallway feels unfamiliar, even though you know them by heart. You clutch your bag tighter, ignoring the whispers — the people trying to make eye contact just to say “hey, I heard—”

You don’t care what they heard.

You’re here. You survived. That’s enough.

But the scars? Still there. The noise still lives somewhere behind your ribs.

And now… you're walking back into school.

Every hallway feels unfamiliar, even though you know them by heart. You clutch your bag tighter, ignoring the whispers — the people trying to make eye contact just to say “hey, I heard—”

You don’t care what they heard.

You’re here. You survived. That’s enough.

But then you see him.

San.

Leaning against your locker like he doesn’t know he’s the last person you were ready for.

Hoodie on. Hands in pockets. Eyes on you.

You stop a few feet away. “What are you doing here?”

He straightens slowly. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t joke. He’s serious — maybe for the first time in a long time.

“I heard you were coming back today,” he says. “I wanted to talk. But I won’t force it.”

You sigh. Exhausted.

“Now’s really not—”

“I never cheated on you.”

Your breath catches.

You blink. “What?”

“That text? From that girl?” He shakes his head. “It was from a hookup. Before us. She texted me out of nowhere, and I didn’t respond. I swear to God, Y/N — I was stupid, yeah. But I didn’t cheat.”

You stare at him, expression unreadable.

“Why didn’t you just tell me then?” you ask, low.

“Because I was scared you'd leave anyway,” he says. “And because I didn’t think I deserved to chase you after how I’d been treating you. After I saw what you went through with him—I realized I failed you too.”

A pause.

“Not in the same way,” he adds quickly. “But I still let you down. I wanted to fix it. I just didn’t know how.”

You don’t say anything for a long time.

He looks at you, like maybe this is his last chance.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he says. “But I needed you to know the truth. Finally.”

Your voice comes out soft.

“You should’ve told me sooner.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what I feel yet.”

“I know that too.”

He backs away, just enough to give you room.

“But I’m here,” he says. “If and when you ever want me to be.”

And just like that — he walks off.

And for once… he doesn’t look back.

=====================================

The morning comes easier than you expect.

Not fixed.

But thats okay.

You head to class, coffee in hand, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up, and slide into your usual seat. You half expect the awkward return of tension. But instead, when San walks in, he just gives you that subtle nod — the one that says “I see you. We’re good.”

You nod back.

Your professor claps her hands. “Okay, folks, listen up —  you guys get to choose your midterm presentation partners today.”

A few groans. You silently pray for literally anyone—

“I’ll do it with Y/N” San says, while holding your hand up.

You blink.

You feel him glance at you. But you don’t look.

Not until your professor adds, “You’ll be covering the 1970s case study. Check the syllabus for details. Presentations are due in three weeks.”

After class, you stand. You expect him to head straight out the door, maybe text you later.

But he’s already waiting.

You try to smirk. “Why'd you choose me?”

“Figured if I was gonna keep trying... might as well start by doing something useful.”

You shake your head, biting back a grin. “If you say so...”

“So… you wanna work on it today?” he asks, suddenly shy. “Library? Or we can grab coffee, or—”

“Library,” you interrupt gently.

He nods. “Okay.”

You start walking beside him, neither of you saying much.

It’s weird.

The air between you doesn’t hum with electricity. Not today.

It feels like silence you want to be in.

Like maybe, this is how something new begins — not with fireworks, but a quiet kind of honesty.

=====================================

The library is too quiet.

You don’t realize it until you’re ten minutes into the study session and San hasn’t said a word about the project. He’s been doodling on a receipt. Not even the right side of the paper.

You, meanwhile, have three Google Docs open, a notebook half-filled, and a color-coded outline he hasn’t even looked at.

“Okay,” you say, trying to stay calm. “We’ve got three weeks to put together a full historical analysis and a presentation. I broke it down by topic. You can do sections two and four. They're shorter—”

“Cool,” San says, flipping the receipt over and writing ‘Y/N is a nerd’ in stylized block letters. “I’ll freestyle it.”

You blink.

“No. No freestyling it.”

He looks up at you, lazy and amused. “Why not?”

“Because this is our grade, San. And I’m not about to tank over some half-assed—”

“Relax. I’ll figure it out.”

“You always say that and then you don’t. You just show up and charm your way through it, and people let you slide.”

“You sound pissed,” he says, still smiling like this is a game.

You glare. “You chose to be my partner, remember?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause I wanted to spend time with you. I didn’t sign up for a midterm breakdown.”

You stare at him. “Are you serious?”

He leans back in the chair, eyes tired now, voice lower. “You want everything to be perfect so bad, Y/N. Crack a little. It won’t kill you.”

That hits harder than you thought it would.

You feel your throat tighten.

“Just.. shut up,” you whisper.

He shrugs like he doesn’t care, but his gaze lingers on your face a beat too long.

“I’m not trying to be perfect. I’m just trying not to fall apart.”

Silence.

San looks away first.

“Yeah. Well. You’re exhausting.”

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t mean it. Or maybe he does.

Either way, it hurts.

“Then don’t pick me,” you say, standing up fast. “Next time you wanna play around in a group project, find someone else.”

You gather your things.

San doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t even look up.

And it stings all over again because you realize something:

He only wanted to be close to you.

Not help you.

Not meet you halfway.

Just be close.

Even if it meant dragging you down.

=====================================

It’s the next day. Noon sharp.

You’d texted him earlier:

library. 12. don’t be late this time.

No emojis. No softness. Just business. You meant it.

You even got there early — picked the table by the window, spread out your laptop, notebooks, colored tabs, all the signs of someone who cares.

At 12:03, he shows.

Hood up, headphones around his neck, the usual lazy look like time’s a suggestion and deadlines aren’t real. He drops into the chair across from you.

“You’re late,” you say flatly, not even looking up from your notes.

“I like to make an entrance,” he says, pulling off his hoodie and stretching like he just woke up from a nap he didn’t earn.

You hand him a packet — the one you spent your whole night putting together because somebody needs to pass this class.

“Section three is yours. No Wikepedia this time.”

“Damn. You really hold a grudge.”

“I hold standards.”

“Sexy.”

You roll your eyes, flipping through your annotated book.

“Okay, so if we split the content like we said yesterday, we can present it as a timeline. You talk through the third act and—”

Then he leans in.

No warning. No buildup.

He kisses you.

Not deep. Just… enough.

Just long enough to short-circuit your brain.

You blink.

“What the hell was that?”

He smirks. Shrugs.

“You just look so good.. couldn’t help myself.”

“We’re in the middle of the library.”

“Didn’t stop you from looking all good and professional,” he says, lazily dragging your highlighter across a random line in the textbook — absolutely not where it’s supposed to go. “All... assertive and focused. Kinda messed me up.”

“San.”

“What?”

“Focus.”

“On you?”

“On the project.”

“You’re not even trying.”

“I’m trying not to kiss you again.”

That stops you for a second. You glance away — cheeks warm, heartbeat uncomfortably fast.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you mutter, flipping your notebook back around to your own side.

“Still here though,” he says, settling in with that annoying-but-charming slouch, like the project is suddenly worth doing now that you’re next to him.

You try to refocus. Truly.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch him staring.

Still smiling.

And for a second — just a second — you smile too.

You’re both a little ridiculous.

But the work gets done.

Sort of.

Eventually.

You snatch the highlighter from his hand. He grins wider, like he's only fueling off your frustration.

====================================

The night’s dragged on longer than you thought. The library’s dim, half the lights off already. You stretch your arms, glancing at the clock. San closes the book he definitely hasn’t been reading.

“It’s getting late,” he says, sliding his phone into his hoodie pocket. “We should.. lowkey go back to my place.”

You raise a brow.

“We all know how that ends.”

He smirks — but it’s soft, not cocky. Like he’s waiting to see if you’ll shut the door or leave it cracked open.

“Doesn’t have to be like that,” he murmurs. “Just figured… it’s quieter. More space. I’ll even pretend to do the work this time.”

You don’t answer right away. But you don’t say no either.

His house smells the same.

Familiar.

Masculine.

A little like oak, cedar, worn-in cologne, and something else you can’t name but used to fall asleep next to. You hesitate in the doorway, eyes trailing over the things he still hasn’t changed — the hoodie you borrowed once still slung over the back of his desk chair, that dent in the couch from all the nights you collapsed there.

You turn — and he’s closer than he was a second ago.

His hands find your waist.

He spins you gently to face him, thumb brushing over your side like he’s making sure this is real.

“I missed this,” he says low, voice rough around the edges. “I missed you.”

And then he kisses you.

Not cautious. Not light.

Like he’s been holding his breath for months.

You kiss him back — for a moment.

Until your hand lifts to his chest, pressing lightly.

You pull back.

Breath unsteady.

“Is this… too much?” he asks, his forehead resting against yours, voice softer now.

“I—I don’t know,” you breathe, your words getting caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “Shouldn’t we be working on the project?”

He doesn’t answer right away. One hand still rests low on your back, the other ghosting just above your hip.

“You really wanna waste all this time on a project?” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, like it’s a secret.

His hand grazes the edge of your shirt, and you feel your whole body tense, heart climbing your ribs like it’s trying to escape your chest.

A soft noise escapes you —. And it breaks the spell.

One hand holds your lower back tight, the other trails down, fingertips brushing under the hem of your shirt — moving slow, unsure, testing. His palm finds your skin, warm against your stomach. Then… lower.

Fingers dip just beneath the waistband of your pants — not moving, not pushing, just there.

Waiting.

You freeze for a second — breath caught.

You step back.

Grab his hand.

Hold it — and then gently push it away.

“San… we should really work on this project,” you say, more breath than voice.

His jaw flexes — just a little. You can tell he’s not angry. Just… frustrated. The kind of frustration that comes from wanting too much, too soon.

He steps back. His eyes flick away for a beat before he gives a small, almost invisible nod.

“Okay,” he says flatly. “Let’s work on it.”

You sit.

Open your laptop.

Neither of you speaks for a long while — but the air in the room still feels electric, charged with everything that almost happened.

Everything that might still happen.

You’re sitting side by side at his desk, both staring at the shared Google Doc like it holds the answers to something deeper than a group assignment.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, pretending to focus.

San hasn’t said a word in fifteen minutes.

Every now and then, you feel his gaze flick toward you — not obvious, not lingering — just long enough for your skin to prickle. But you don’t dare meet his eyes.

Not after what almost happened.

You’re on a sentence about economic policy when he finally says something, low and not entirely related to the project.

“You didn’t stop me right away.”

You pause. Hands still on the keys.

“San,” you say, not looking at him. “We’re working.”

“I know,” he says. “I just… I’m not trying to start anything, I swear. I just… noticed.”

You turn to him slowly, guarded. He’s leaning back in the chair now, eyes on you — unreadable, but softer than they were earlier.

“It wasn’t the time,” you say quietly. “It still isn’t.”

“Wasn’t trying to push anything,” he replies. “Just... when you pulled back, I thought maybe I messed it all up again.”

That hits you harder than you want it to.

You exhale and refocus on the screen.

“I’m not saying that,” you murmur. “I just need… I don’t know what this is yet. And I can’t afford to get it wrong again.”

He nods — slowly — like he gets it. But there’s a flicker of something wounded in his expression. And guilt. Maybe even hope.

“Okay,” he says. Then quieter: “I’ll follow your lead.”

You glance at him. He’s already looking back at the screen now, but his shoulders are tense, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge of the desk.

You type another sentence. The tension doesn't go away — it just settles. Not gone, just waiting.

Waiting for one of you to crack.

The cursor blinks on your screen. You’re trying to finish a paragraph on economic downturns, but your brain short-circuits every time San leans a little closer. He’s barely doing anything. But that’s the problem.

He shifts in his chair beside you, his knee bumping yours — not hard. Just enough.

“You’re distracted,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.

You don’t look at him.

“I’m not.”

“Mhm.” He leans in a little more. “Then why haven’t you finished that sentence in six minutes?”

“Because you keep talking,” you snap, but your voice isn’t angry. It’s tight. Controlled. Barely.

He chuckles under his breath — that smug sound, the one you forgot you missed.

“I’m trying to help.”

“You’re trying to get in my head.”

“I'm already in your head,” he says, and your eyes finally meet.

He’s closer than you realized. Too close. And that look — the one you used to hate because it always made you want him more than you should — it’s right there, painted across his face like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“San,” you say, warning in your tone.

“What?” he shrugs. “I’m just sitting here. Respectfully.”

His knee brushes yours again, this time lingering. His hand is on the table — but the way his fingers slowly inch toward yours, like it’s a game, like he’s waiting for you to stop him — it makes your heart stutter.

“We’re supposed to be working,” you say, quieter now.

“We are,” he replies, voice smooth. “We’re working through things.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“But it’s what you want to mean.”

You stare at him.

And he stares right back, unblinking. That smirk dances on his lips, but his eyes? They’re serious. They’re watching you like you’re a puzzle he’s almost solved.

You should say something. You should push him away. You should shut this down.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

So you look away. You force yourself to focus on the screen again. You type another word, and then another — but it all feels meaningless with his gaze burning into the side of your face.

“You keep biting your lip when you concentrate,” San says suddenly.

You freeze for half a second. Then glance at him, confused.

“What?”

“That thing you do,” he repeats, slower. His voice is lower now. “You’ve done it for the past twenty minutes.”

He’s staring at your mouth.

You should ignore it. You should push him back to the project, to the timeline you were outlining, to anything safe.

Instead—

“Why are you watching me like that?” you whisper.

San leans forward, closer, chair scraping quietly across the linoleum.

“Because I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”

You can’t breathe. He’s right there now. That same cologne — the oak, the something smoky and familiar — it hits you all at once. His hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

“We shouldn’t,” you murmur, but your voice cracks. “This is a bad idea.”

“So bad,” he agrees, his thumb brushing your jaw. “But I can’t keep sitting here like this.”

And then—

He kisses you.

Not soft. Not tentative.

It’s hungry. All of the restraint he’s been holding onto finally snaps — and the desk trembles as his hand slips behind your neck, pulling you closer, deeper.

Your laptop nearly topples.

You gasp against him, and in one smooth motion, he rises, lifts you by the waist, and sets you on the desk like you weigh nothing. 

Papers flutter to the floor. Pens clatter. You feel your back arch slightly as he slots himself between your legs, hands splayed at your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“San—” you whisper against his mouth, dizzy.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, breathless. His forehead leans against yours. “Right now. Tell me and I will.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

Because your fingers are already gripping his hoodie, and your legs are hooked around him without you realizing. And it’s too late — you both already know.

But still, he waits.

Eyes locked with yours. Breathing hard. Shaking.

“Say it,” he says. “Or I’m not stopping.”

You didn't say anything.

The kiss grew more intense, your bodies gravitating towards each other as if pulled by an invisible force. 

San wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap. 

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. The sound of your breaths mingled with the whispers of the night, each gasp and moan a secret shared only between them.

With a swift movement, he lifted you, carrying you onto his bed.. 

The wood was rough against your back as he laid you down, the planks digging into your skin, but you didn't care. 

All you could focus on was the heat of his body pressing against yours, the desperation in his kisses. 

His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour, as if he was trying to memorize you. 

You shivered with desire, your breath hitching in your throat as his fingertips danced along her collarbone and down to the hem of your shirt.

His kisses grew more passionate, your bodies moving in sync with the pulse of the night. his hands found the zipper of your pants, and with trembling fingers, he slid it down, revealing your bare thighs to the cool evening air. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him closer as he kissed a trail down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You could feel the hardness of him through his jeans, and you knew you wanted him just as badly.

San's hands roamed up your thighs, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs before finding the edge of your panties. He hooked his thumbs under the fabric and began to slide them down, his eyes never leaving yours. 

When you both fully exposed, bare skin touching, the anticipation was almost too much to bear. San positioned himself above you, the tip of him teasing your entrance. Your breath hitched, body aching for more. 

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him closer, needing him to fill you. He didn't disappoint. With a slow, deliberate movement, he slid it into you, inch by inch, stretching you until you could feel every part of him.

Your eyes remained locked as he began to move, his hips setting a rhythm that matched the pulse of the ocean. You arched your back, nails digging into his shoulders, urging him deeper, faster. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps as San's movements grew more urgent. You could feel your climax building, a tight coil in her belly that grew tighter with every thrust. 

"San," you breathed, his name a desperate plea on your lips. He responded by increasing his pace, his hands gripping your hips as he drove into you with a desperation that left you trembling. 

You could feel every inch of him, each stroke hitting just the right spot, sending jolts of electricity through you. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him down for another kiss.

His teeth grazed your lower lip, bringing out a whimper from deep within your chest. You could feel his muscles tense as he held himself back, not wanting to lose control too quickly. But you didn't want him to hold back. You needed him to let go, to show you just how much he wants you.

"Harder.. please don’t stop," you whisper into his mouth, your voice a mix of need and want. San's eyes blazed with a new intensity, and he complied, his strokes becoming more forceful. You met him thrust for thrust, your body responding to his every move. 

"You feel so good," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with passion.

Your eyes rolled back as he hit just the right spot, sending you over the edge. San's own control slipped, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, the words ripped from his chest as he felt himself getting closer.

Your walls tightened around him, and he whispered encouragements, his breath hot against your ear. "Cum with me.. please" he begged, his voice a sweet symphony of need.

San's eyes squeezed shut, his teeth gritted as he felt the climax build within him. He didn't hold back anymore, his hips driving into yours with a primal force that sent both of you hurtling towards the edge. 

"Come on, y/n," he whispers, his breath warm and ragged against your cheek. "Let go with me."

San couldn't resist. With a final, powerful thrust, he reached his peak, releasing himself inside you. The warmth of his release filled you, and you clung to him, your body shaking with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. And you two lay there, panting and entwined, the only sound the steady beat of your hearts. 

San's kisses grew softer, more tender, as he nuzzled against your neck, his breaths evened out. You could feel the weight of his body pressing you into the wooden bed, but you didn't mind.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, his voice still hoarse.

Y/N nodded, her breaths coming in soft pants. "More than okay," you managed to say, a small smile playing on your lips.

He leaned over and kissed you again, slower this time, as if he was trying to convey something with his lips that words couldn't. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close, your legs still shaking from the intensity of your shared release.

“I've wanted to do that for so long," he said, his voice low and filled with emotion. 

“Same,” you say. “That was… yeah.”

You both start laughing — that breathless, relieved kind of laughter, like everything you’ve been holding in for weeks finally spilled over and now you can breathe.

“I mean,” you grin, pulling the blanket higher, “we really didn’t work on the project.”

San turns his head, resting it back against the pillow with a smug smile.

“We worked on something.”

You lightly swat his chest.

“You’re annoying.”

“You like it,” he mutters, smiling wider.

He reaches over to the nightstand, grabs a water bottle and hands it to you without a word. You take it gratefully, sipping in silence.

He watches you the whole time. Not like before — not hungry or teasing — just… quiet. Soft.

Present.

“I can get you a hoodie,” he says, suddenly sitting up. “Or sweats. Something comfier.”

“I’m okay,” you say, but he’s already halfway across the room, rummaging through a drawer.

He tosses you a worn hoodie — gray, oversized, definitely his.

“Put it on. I like seeing you in my stuff.”

You slide it over your head. It smells like him — warmth and home and trouble.

When you look up again, he’s watching you with that same unreadable expression.

“What?” you ask.

San just shrugs. Then lies down beside you again.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just… I missed this. Not just this, like— all of it. You. Us. Even the bickering.”

“You mean especially the bickering,” you correct.

“Maybe,” he smirks. “It’s our love language.”

You turn your face toward his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

It’s steady. Sure. Real.

And when he wraps his arms around you again, you let him. No tension. No hesitation.

Just two people, finally letting themselves fall.

=====================================

The next morning, you had barely made it through the first ten minutes of class.

Your notebook lay open in front of you, pen tapping absentmindedly on the blank page, but your mind? Somewhere else or — someone else.

The ghost of his hands still lingered on your skin. The weight of his stare, the way his breath had hit your neck, how he’d whispered your name like a secret he didn’t want to let go of — it all played in loops behind your eyes. 

You didn’t even realize you were smiling until a familiar voice pulled you back into the fluorescent-lit reality of the classroom.

“Didn’t think chemistry class was that funny,” San muttered beside you, voice low, teasing.

You jumped slightly in your seat. “What?”

He was already grinning, elbow propped on the desk, chin resting in his hand. His eyes raked over your expression — your flushed cheeks, your bitten lip — like he was reading every thought out of your head.

“You’ve been zoning out since class started,” he said, voice dipping. “And smiling like someone just told you the funniest joke ever.”

You tried to hide your face behind your hand. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh?” He leaned closer. “So you weren’t just thinking about last night?”

You blinked. “Wha—I—no.”

He smirked. “No?”

“I was thinking about…” You scrambled for anything. “The project.”

San chuckled under his breath. “Sure. The project. The one we absolutely didn’t touch last night because you were too busy moaning my na—”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, wide-eyed. “San! Shut up!”

He laughed, pulling back slightly but not before catching your wrist, thumb tracing over your pulse. “Relax. No one’s listening. Except maybe you, to your own dirty daydreams.”

You yanked your hand back, trying to focus on the board. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

You didn’t respond. Mostly because the heat in your chest, in your throat, said otherwise.

He leaned in again, closer this time. “You know, if you’re gonna spend all morning thinking about it, we might as well skip class next time.”

You glared at him, trying not to laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re easy to distract.”

His knee nudged yours under the desk, and you swore the temperature in the room spiked. You didn’t even hear the teacher call your name the first time.

“Y/N?”

You snapped your head up. “Yes! Sorry.”

San tried to hide his laugh beside you, biting his lip, not at all helpful.

This boy was going to drive you insane — and you knew he loved every second of it.

—

The second the bell rang, you bolted up from your seat, trying to make a clean getaway.

Unfortunately, San was faster.

“Y/N!” he called, effortlessly falling into step beside you. “You in a rush? Or just running from the truth?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m running from you.”

“That’s fair,” he said, that usual cocky tilt to his smile. “But kind of rude, considering how well I treated you last night.”

Your steps faltered. “Please don’t start again..”

“Oh, I’m not starting,” he grinned. “Just… reminiscing.”

You groaned. “San—”

“You know,” he continued, his voice dropping just enough to make your skin prick, “I really didn’t expect you to be that loud.”

You spun toward him, smacking his arm. “Shut up!”

He only laughed harder, rubbing the spot. “I’m serious! I thought we were still working on that whole ‘quiet in the library’ thing, but then you were out here sounding like—”

“San, please,” you hissed, glancing around. “We’re literally in the hallway.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, unbothered. “I just thought maybe you’d want a reminder."

"You sounded so sexy saying my name last night. Real breathy.” He leaned in, mock-whispering into your ear: “‘San—please—don’t stop—’”

You shoved him away, face burning hotter than the sun. “You’re so annoying.”

He smiled like he won. “You’re so into it.”

You covered your face with your hands and groaned. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I should.”

“But you don’t.”

You peeked at him between your fingers. “If you keep talking like that, I’m going to punch you.”

“Worth it,” he said easily. “Totally worth it.”

He nudged your shoulder with his. “Besides… you can’t be mad at me. You were literally daydreaming about it all morning.”

“I was not—”

“You were biting your pen,” he said. “The same way you bit my—”

You gasped. “SAN!”

“Okay, okay!” He held up his hands, laughing. “Too far. I’ll behave.”

“Promise?”

“Maybe..’” he smirked.

You groaned again — but you were smiling.

And he saw it.

He always saw it.

------------------------------------------------------------

Masterpost Next

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION XII.

(a/n: I DID NOT give this man justice, sorry guys, idk his character is just too complex for me, I think I need a lot of time help 😔 but try to enjoy it nonetheless, ty for ur support! ❤️)

Warning-none

wc: 0.9k

also: @ttheggrimrreaper @irethepotato @ohagiyo ❤️‍🩹

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

"Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number...

…9, Kunigami Rensuke.”

Your eyes scanned the little icon that was displayed on the screen, the name of the boy sounding oddly familiar before it finally clicked in.

He was the stranger who helped you carry some boxes to Ego’s office during your first week of being here. The memory of a friendly voice telling you to pass him the heavyweights, introducing himself along the way.

Smiling at the realization, you quickly bragged to your friend about how lucky you were to get someone like him before saying goodbye, and heading towards the managers’ room to get some papers.

Imagine being the manager of the hero, Kunigami Rensuke.

——————

Kunigami Rensuke who was the first to notice you, waving his hand while running over to greet you, asking about your well-being. He offered to talk outside, away from his teammates as they seemed to enjoy snickering about your friendship with him. You talked for a while as he occasionally brushed the top of your head like a child before you finally revealed how you got to be his personal manager.

His eyes immediately lit up with excitement, pulling you in for a hug, already thinking of plans for the future. He shared how he was kinda worried about the person he would get—secretly praying that someone as friendly as you would be assigned to him. Both of you giggled at his confession, ready to begin your journey of working together.

——————

•Kunigami who’s eager to have you as his manager, already sharing what could be improved on his performance and training routines overall, while making sure to introduce you to his newfound friends.

•Lowkey tries to hide it if he’s feeling sick or is injured, afraid to bother you even more—yet you always find out in the end, and harshly scold him while he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck with a soft smile.

•“Got myself caught, huh?”

•Disciplined and focused, he never gives you a reason to get angry. Takes the role of dad in every team he’s in, and it warms your heart to see how much he cares for the boys. You are a special case though—it goes unnoticed but he favors you just a tad bit more than everyone.

•Always grabs you a drink from the cafeteria, checks if you’ve eaten, and makes sure not to overwork himself—knowing it’d mean more work for you. He’s extremely thoughtful, and cares a lot about his precious manager.

•Has a habit of unintentionally flexing his muscles to you—like asking to watch his form during practice, or counting his pull ups. Don’t even get me started on post-matches where he immediately goes for a shower, later coming back with his pajama shirt sticking to his lower abdomen. (i’m a big simp no shame)

•Kunigami is one of the few to actually take notes during analysis, thinking it plays an important on training his mentality. He also finds it quite peaceful how the both of you could watch matches all night, sometimes dozing off on each other’s shoulders.

•The days go easy with him, preparing for matches as usual, his enthusiasm evident on his face until a certain encounter with another player gets him eliminated, separating the both of you.

——————

AFTER WILD CARD…

•You can hardly recognize your so called friend after being reassigned to him as his manager again. His whole demeanor, physique and way of words has changed drastically and it honestly scares you in a way—it’s clearly visible on Kunigami that he went through hell to come back.

•Since the two of you had to be separated from the others for a while, relying on each other seems to be the most logical way to survive in the program yet he doesn’t bother to be nice anymore.

•Your once admired hero is thrown out the window—even the longest conversation you had with him was solely about training and new playing techniques.

•He obviously doesn’t want to talk to you anymore, and when he does—it’s in a rude, unfriendly and hostile voice, leaving you frustrated every time he ignores you. You try to reconnect but seeing how he’s only focused on soccer makes you decide to back off for some time.

•Kunigami who keeps you at arm's length, refusing to elaborate on what happened to him, causing you to keep quiet about your experiences as well.

•The past of you two feels like a distant memory—your only shared goal now is to purely make him the best but it feels like the hardest task you’ve encountered in years.

•His aggressive play style, unnecessary comments towards the others and the coldness in his voice makes you try even harder to break the ice despite his lack of interest in your friendship.

•You still continue with your daily good mornings, and innocent questions that never get answered, a nasty glare being the best reaction you can get out of him. Even so, you don’t give up, believing that one day everything can turn back to how it was.

•Kunigami changes, but deep down no matter how much he tries to ignore it, he notices your struggles too. Late-night training sessions make him wonder on what they put you through, hoping that at least they didn’t torment you as much as they did him.

•The funny thing is he does care about you—knowing your habits and favorite things by heart. It’s sad how you two always sit in the corner of every room, distant from others but when he passes you your favorite drink? For a moment—you swear there’s something warm in his eyes—as if he also remembers the fact he was once your friend.

•Very protective. That habit never seems to fade, only growing stronger whenever another player tries to talk to you. He doesn’t even have to move—his stare instantly makes the others back off, or a simple “get away” is enough to send them running.

•You on the other hand don’t change that much, giving him compliments as usual just like the old times—causing him to look away, huffing before instructing you to stop. It breaks your heart a little but the red tip of his ears always betray him, earning a small giggle from you despite his attitude.

•Since he doesn’t talk with his teammates anymore, you make sure to keep him company, occasionally greeting the boys when you see them. Except for one person, whom you both silently agreed on keeping your distance from, making sure to ignore him whenever you crossed paths.

•Adjusting to the new Kunigami isn’t easy, but if you stick with him through thick and thin—with enough persistence and determination, maybe one day he’ll finally let you in and things will get better. Until then, good luck.

[room-surprise]

Shuro's Ninja Girl Squad: Why do they have code names? Does Toshiro have a code name????

(WARNING FOR GENERAL SPOILERS!) The culture of Wa Island appears to be inspired exclusively by historic Japan, since all of the characters that come from Wa have Japanese names, clothing, weapons, and magic, they eat Japanese food, imagine traditional Japanese-style artwork, and obey Japanese social norms.

THE NINJA GIRL SQUAD

Maizuru, Hein, Benichidori, Inutade and Izutsumi are servants that work for the Nakamoto family, and they have been assigned to travel with Toshiro, serve and protect him. In some translations they have been called retainers. I’m not sure what the original Japanese calls them, but most likely some form of servant or vassal, such as 家臣 or 家来.

A retainer is a part of a retinue, which is a group of people who are "retained" (employed) in the service of nobility, royalty or a dignitary.

Retainers can have many varied functions, such as domestic servants, personal attendants, bodyguards, porters, musicians, tutors, translators, guides, etc. Retainers often wear some kind of uniform, possibly bearing the colors or insignia of their lord. They serve their master, but they also expect to be protected and cared for by their master as a part of his household.

HISTORIC JAPANESE NAMING CONVENTIONS

Japanese personal names were fluid in the pre-modern era. Men changed their names for a variety of reasons: to signify that they had attained a higher social status, to demonstrate their allegiance to a house or clan, to show that they had succeeded to the headship of a family or company, to shed bad luck that was attached to an inauspicious name, or simply to avoid being mistaken for a neighbor with a similar name.

Changes in women's personal names were recorded less often, so they may not have changed their names as frequently as men did, but women who took jobs (such as maids or entertainers) frequently changed their names for the duration of their service. During their employment, their temporary names were treated as their legal names.

THE NAKAMOTO CLAN’S NAMING PRACTICES

All of Toshiro’s servants, Maizuru, Hien, Benichidori, Inutade and Izutsumi, have real names and work-issued code-names, similar to the Japanese practice I just described. Only Izutsumi seems to mind this, the rest of the characters use their aliases all the time.

All of the ninja code-names are plant-based, and Maizuru, Hein and Benichidori’s names also have a bird theme, something they do not share with Izutsumi and Inutade. All of the birds they are named after have been popular in Japan since ancient times and are considered lucky symbols. The plants Maizuru, Hein and Benichidori are named after are also all beautiful flowers, while Izutsumi’s is a toxic shrub and Inutade’s is a weed.

This may be meant to show how Izutsumi and Inutade’s status is separate and lower from the other three.

Interestingly, although Toshiro is their master, he also has a nickname, given to him by Laios, that sounds like a plant, which matches his subordinates!

Perhaps the way Toshiro endures this nickname and doesn't protest it, is a hint that Toshiro does not want to enforce his position as a superior to his subordinates, but wants to treat them with compassion and empathy, because he does not consider himself better than them. He demonstrates this when he gets down on his knees and begs Maizuru and the others to help him save Falin, since this is going outside of their standard duties.

This unusual humility and kindness is probably why the World Guide says Maizuru thinks Toshiro will be a better leader than his father.

If you want more details, and to read a full analysis of all of their names and code-names, be sure to check out Chapter 6 of my essay!

BONUS: TOSHIRO’S SECRET NICKNAME???

Laios, mishearing Toshiro’s name during their first meeting, started calling him シュロー (Shurow), and told everyone they met that his name was Shuro. Toshiro, too embarrassed to correct him, has allowed this to continue for the three years that they’ve known each other.

Shuro (棕櫚 or シュロ) is Trachycarpus fortunei, the Chinese windmill palm or Chusan palm. It is a species of evergreen palm tree in the family Arecaceae, native to parts of China, Japan, Myanmar and India.

Windmill palm is one of the hardiest palms. They tolerate cool, moist summers as well as cold winters. Trachycarpus fortunei has been cultivated in China and Japan for thousands of years, for its coarse but very strong leaf sheath fiber, used for making rope, sacks, and other coarse cloth where great strength is important.

This is very funny, since we know that Toshiro is one of the strongest characters in the story, due to his skill with the blade... But we also know he's insanely patient (tolerates everything, just like the palm!), because he puts up with Laios bothering him for years before finally snapping and asserting his boundaries.

Plus, a palm tree used to make humble but strong items such as rope, sacks and coarse cloth, really shows Toshiro's true nature (a strong but humble man) versus his aristocratic status.

THREE TYPES OF BROOM

A Shuro Houki (棕櫚箒) is a traditional Japanese hemp-palm broom made from the Trachycarpus fortunei palm.

There are three distinct subtypes of this broom, the first two of which are considered very durable and the last one which is considered expendable. The Hon-onike Houki will last for 1/3rd of a person’s life, a Onike Houki you’ll need to replace every 15 years, and a Kawa Houki can be thrown away after 2 years of use.

Toshiro is the oldest of three brothers, and they are competing for their father’s favor to see who will become the heir of the household… Their father is testing them to see which of them is disposable, and which of them is strong enough to lead the family. Which type of broom are they?

SHURO THE HUMAN NAME

It should also be noted that Shuro is a Japanese name, it just isn't a nickname for Toshiro. The correct nicknames for Toshiro would be Toshi, or Shiro. Shuro sounds similar to Shiro, but it would be like calling someone named Robert the nickname Bart instead of Bert, or calling Matthew Pat.

Depending on the kanji used Shuro can mean several things. I think the most appropriate kanji is 修郎.

修 means to make right, to be in shape, to become correct, to put things together, to learn, to acquire learning or skills, to decorate, to harmonize, to fix, to mend, to put together in a book, good, excellent, beautiful, splendid.

郎 means male, men, young men, boy.

While Toshiro’s actual name describes him very well, his nickname, given to him by Laios, is also extremely accurate. Laios’ name means “left” and “wrong”, so Toshiro’s name potentially meaning things like “right”, “correct” and “to fix” is extremely funny and appropriate!

They can fix their friendship!