#perspectives and experimentation here

[ominouspuff]

Night guard

[humanjarvis]

winterbreak

tags: professor/student, plot with porn, complete au but i stole the name akso, whirlwind romance, age gap (zayne is 30 and reader is 21), power imbalance, mentally ill reader, isolated reader, unreliable reader, references to self-harm, references to suicide attempts, zayne isn't a bad person this is just a bad pairing, if it looks like zayne and it talks like zayne is it zayne, alcohol use, ambiguous ending (there will be no part 2), unhappy ending, virginity loss, breakup (twice), breakup sex, boob sucking, fingering, slight cum eating, missionary, condoms, riding (failed), crying. there are lengthy flashbacks & time skips. this is the most experimental/abstract thing i've written so far. title & zayne's perspective inspired by "winterbreak" by muna, reader's perspective inspired by "somewhere" by charlotte lawrence

pairing: professor zayne x student reader

word count: 11.6k

a/n: this is so incredibly not what it originally was that i don't even know what to say

read on ao3

Warm lips ghosted over yours in a cautious caress. Soft, tender, as if you might have vanished at any moment. 

A hand, gentle yet eager, settled around your waist. Urging you closer. Another lay on your cheek, tender, parting you open for more. 

A pause. A pull. Whispered praise against heated skin. 

Four months ago, you kissed Zayne for the first time. One month ago, you last spoke to him.

And every day, his words replayed in your mind:

“It feels like fate that I met you.”

Becoming a nurse wouldn’t be easy.

You’d known as much the first time you stepped through Akso University's double doors, greeted by the gaunt, stricken faces of students who'd seen one too many scantrons. 

But after spending years in and out of hospital rooms, under the kind gaze of caretakers who never judged your sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, you thought that maybe, the world would give you the chance to do the same. To make a difference in someone’s life, even if they’d lost their smile and gotten a little reckless. To do something that mattered, to be someone who mattered.

After a childhood of nightmares, nursing was your first dream. 

And you did everything you could to make it a reality. Between trips to the emergency room, you spent high school hidden behind the yellowing pages of used textbooks, learning, absorbing, until your eyes surrendered. Even then, you spent the space between consciousness and dreams replaying what you’d learned.

You couldn’t risk forgetting. You couldn’t risk missing a step. You had to get out, get better, get useful, and it was completely up to you. Your parents had seen one too many close calls and paid one too many medical bills to offer you anything more than a resentful glare. As if telling you to just do it already. As if their lives would be better if you did. 

The day that scholarship letter hit your email inbox was the best of your life. Tuition paid in full, with more than enough left over for you to move into your own apartment. 

So yes, the towering walls and prestigious programs were more than a little daunting. Yes, the number of students trudging by with energy drinks in hand was concerning. But the time you’d spent battling bouts of depression and perturbed parents; the nights you’d stayed up studying and barely gotten to rest; the already fragile friendships dissolved by your determination—they were all worth it under Akso’s stained glass ceiling.

At least, that’s what you thought, at first. The first two years, you burned bright. Letting your luck and rose-colored lenses send you straight to the top of your class, pushing through the bad days that tried to dull your shine. 

But as you entered your third year, you felt your star begin to fizzle. Akso was a lonely place, full of students trying to one-up each other and faculty subtly encouraging it. It wasn’t like you’d had close relationships before, but even your parents’ quiet rejection was better than being utterly invisible. 

You were rootless here. It was hard to celebrate success when barely anyone knew your name. 

You started the fall with slashed motivation, having to bargain with yourself to get out of bed. You couldn’t see the point when your actions seemed so meaningless. 

And Dr. Li was certainly no help. 

With jet black hair and jade green eyes, sharp features between rounded cheeks, and a sculpted body underneath his sweaters, he was more of a menswear model than a medical ethics professor. 

You couldn’t guess how old he was. It felt wrong to try, knowing he couldn’t be too far off from you. It was like revealing the existence of a legendary creature, only for it to lose its mystique. Like a secret that, once exposed, would suddenly feel a lot more real.

And Dr. Li was anything but real. You didn’t know his exact age, sure, but you knew for certain that he was ridiculously young to have achieved all he had. To have authored so many papers, won so many awards, and be trusted with a position at such a prestigious school…he was wise beyond his years. 

And he was the reason you were failing.

Dr. Li was a good professor. Engaging, responsive, passionate about his work. 

But he was absolutely terrifying. His face was cold, his tests were hard, and his brisk, deliberate steps at the beginning of every class made you realize that dread and admiration could be felt simultaneously. 

Since you’d been in his class, you’d started your days mired in loneliness, only to wash it down with his prescribed daily dose of inadequacy. 

You were slipping again.

You couldn’t let that happen. 

But that hadn't made the dark panels of his office door any less daunting. 

His soft voice—almost soothing, if it didn’t hold so much weight—sounded from behind the wood. “Come in.”

The office was plain, barely lived in despite his five-year tenure. Filtered sunlight shined on neat stacks of papers, and colorful textbooks lined the shelves. There were no personal photos, from what you could tell—only a framed translation of the Hippocratic Oath on the wall. The room smelled lightly of jasmine. 

You hardly realized you were snooping until the man in front of you cleared his throat, and your curious eyes met icy green ones. “May I help you?”

Feeling your cheeks heat, you cleared your own throat and smoothed your hair. “H-hello. I’m in your medical ethics class. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had time to discuss the first exam with me?” God, talking to him felt like pleading your case before a court justice. You bounced on your heels. “I want to improve my grade before we get too deep into the semester.” 

The face has 43 muscles, you recalled from your anatomy class. 

Not a single one of his moved. 

“I have time—that’s what office hours are for. Take a seat.” 

***

For the entire two hours, he went through each and every exam question with you. Differentiating a good answer from the best answer, sharing new sources, creating new scenarios and letting you come up with solutions.

When time was up, he looked at you—plainly, openly, as if it were his right to do so, and something warm and unfamiliar fluttered in your belly. 

“You’re the first person bold enough to attend my office hours this semester.” 

“I wouldn’t call it bold,” you mumbled, suddenly fixated on your too-long sleeves. “I just want to do well.” 

“Why is that?” 

Your eyes widened, and before you could stop them, they were fixed on his face. “What do you mean?”

He quirked a brow. Dr. Li leaned closer, hands neatly clasped over his mahogany desk. “Why do you want to do well? What motivates you?”

You thought for a moment. And then, the words poured out of you before you could stop them. 

“I could never really imagine a future for myself growing up,” you began with an awkward cough. “I didn’t have a lot of goals, other than making it to the next sunrise. When people asked what I wanted to do…I never had an answer.” 

Piercing green eyes nearly nailed you to the floor, and you averted your gaze. 

“And then,” you paused, “I wound up in the hospital. A few different stays. But every time…I was so in awe of the nurses. My parents were upset with me. My classmates thought I was scary. But none of those nurses ever looked at me with anything but compassion—and I decided I wanted to be one. To give other people that comfort.”

At your admission, his cold expression finally started to thaw. 

“One of the better reasons I’ve heard. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Here. A double meaning in a simple word. 

A lump formed in your throat, and all you managed was a whisper. “Thank you, sir.” 

“There’s no need for that. Call me Zayne.”

Days passed, leaves changed, and it turned out that Zayne wasn’t so intimidating after all. 

He was nice to talk to, after that first day. He listened and taught and looked at you with all the support in the world, as if there was nothing you could do or say to turn him away. He made you want to be here. He made you meaningful. 

So you kept visiting him in his office—even when your GPA was no longer in need of a lifeboat. You just wanted to be near him. To hear his quiet chuckle when you said something unexpected, to watch his eyes crinkle when you went toe-to-toe in a philosophical debate, to wonder what his subtle frown meant when he bid you goodbye. 

He was habitually lonely and had been forced to grow up too fast. The youngest professor in his department, he was undermined and ostracized for his achievements and repute. For being dedicated. For being different. 

But in all his divergence, he was more than a little like you. You couldn’t convey the comfort you found in that. If there were words to describe it, you’d never had a reason to use them. 

You and Zayne were like two melting snowflakes—unique but of the same kind, and falling perilously from the safety of the sky. But when you crossed paths, you re-formed into something more complete. Delicate, but strong. Beautiful in its novelty. 

Day after day, week after week, you saw him. Until that fateful day of your first kiss. 

It wasn't intentional—you didn't know whose lips had gravitated toward the other's first. You only knew that they did, and you were happier than you’d ever known you could be. 

When you whispered your goodbye to him that day, the frown on his face was replaced by a gentle, almost anticipatory smile. To see him look at you like that, to be the cause of it…you couldn’t suppress one of your own. And when you burst through the doors and squealed to yourself, your warm cheeks met the cool autumn air. 

He couldn’t give you everything you deserved, he warned you. You’d be sneaking around in broad daylight, stealing kisses between classes. You wouldn’t—couldn’t—fully belong to each other. 

You’d agreed without hesitation. It wasn’t ideal, but it was everything. You could hardly imagine life without him now.

It was fast and intense and you’d be told it was wrong, but you were falling in love with Zayne. 

You loved the way he’d tease you with a straight face—the one that, looking back, you didn’t know how you were ever afraid of. The way he’d lend you his scarf on chillier days with the faintest of blushes coating his cheeks. The way he was the fairest bit biased: cold-calling on you, but only when he knew you knew the answer. Assigning group projects, but making sure you had a responsible classmate to rely on. Adding office hours before exams, just so he could tutor you. 

The way he made every effort to understand you. 

“Do you want to watch the sequel next time? The reviews are pretty bad, but I’m so hooked now! I have to know how it ends.” 

Afternoon sunlight streamed in through large windows, brightening the elegant furnishings in his living room. Your legs were laid atop his for the last act of the movie, and he’d gently massaged your calves while you’d watched with rapt attention. 

Noting his silence, you turned to face him. “Zayne?” 

He was looking at you—your body, rather—with a whirlpool of mourning in his eyes. “What are those?” 

Confused, you looked down. Only to feel a wave of nausea crash into you. 

Your sleeves had ridden up. 

The lines were faded, barely visible under normal circumstances. You hardly noticed them anymore when you stepped out of the shower. 

But today, they were betrayed by the sun. 

Panic pulsed inside you. “I’m sorry, I—You were never supposed to see. I was supposed to keep them covered, I’m so sorry.” Frantically tugging the fabric down, you swung your legs off his lap and raced across the room. Turning to mutter a hasty goodbye—the least you could do after ruining his weekend—you came face-to-face with a broad, heaving chest. You slowly lifted your gaze, and guilty hazel eyes—as if he were the one at fault—bore into yours. 

His voice trembled with an anxiety he never showed in the classroom. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for—no need to leave, either. Please, stay with me.”

Wary and ready to bolt, you allowed him to see your unease. “You don’t have to do this, you know—act like it’s normal. I know it’s not. I’ve been told it’s not, more times than I can count. So you don’t have to coddle me. Just let me go.” For the night or forever, you didn’t dare clarify. That was for him to decide. 

“May I show you something?”

Bristling slightly, you nodded. 

And slowly, as if trying not to spook you any further, Zayne rolled his own sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the raised, uneven scars on his arms. 

A lump formed in your throat. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. “You…?”

“No. Not that way, at least. I pulled someone from an accident when I was younger. Her windshield had completely shattered—nothing but broken shards in its place,” he said, running a finger over smoothed-over skin. “I hardly knew what I was doing back then. But they managed to save her, and suddenly these became a lesser matter.”

Swallowing thickly, you inched forward, raising a daring hand to hover over his left forearm. 

“If I hadn’t become a professor, I like to think I would’ve been a doctor. It feels meaningful to take care of people. I’d like to take care of you as well.”

His larger hand brought yours to his skin, and the jagged ridges of his purpose kissed your fingertips. 

Your agreement was automatic. 

Even taking care of you, Zayne made you bolder. He taught you not just in life, but in love as well. 

You kissed harder. For longer, too. And there were the strangest times when he looked at you like he was hungry. As if somewhere under that tender chivalry lay a deeper urge to devour. 

You’d never teased anyone before him. Never knew how, that you could, that it would even work. But you remembered in great detail how you'd splurged your savings on a short trip to the mall, possessed with the urge to surprise him with the shortest skirt you could find. The very next day, you’d worn it. And when you sauntered to your desk at the front of his class, spreading your legs just enough for him to see a wet patch darken the longer he lectured, he all but marched you to his office and stole your breath away against the door. 

Not long after, you gave him a gift: the title of being the first man inside you. A night of bitten lips and averted eyes and whispers of encouragement. His soft strokes, in and out, and dutiful pauses until the pain melted into pleasure. His patience as your tears of bliss and overwhelm dampened his cotton sheets. 

There were several repeat performances. But laid bare on his cool mahogany desktop, the muted chatter of your less fortunate peers drowning out your pleading moans, was your favorite. 

Every time, your only regret was the thin layer keeping him from claiming you fully. 

Despite it all, your brain still harshly reminded you that Zayne was the treatment, not the cure. You still had your fair share of rough patches—staying in bed, afraid to face the world, afraid to face the mirror—but with him only a secret message or clandestine phone call away, rough became manageable. Rough patches became yet another excuse to seek his attention and win his affection. 

Zayne was an ancient elixir coveted by warring factions, only to fall into your unsteady hands. He made bad days good and good days even better, and he’d made it his mission to give you some of your best.

Snow fell from his office window as you jittered in your seat. “What is it? What did you want to show me?”

“You always show remarkable restraint during our study sessions. I wonder where that went today,” he said, squinting at you from behind his desk. 

“Um, you called me onto campus the day grades are due. Either I’m a genius, or I’ve failed out of college entirely.”

His lips twitched. “The former is correct.” Tugging open a drawer, he brandished a mid-sized box stamped with the local bakery’s logo. “You scored the highest grade on my final exam, and in my class as a whole. I wanted to congratulate you.” 

Looking at you expectantly, he slid the box across the desk with a small smile. Grabbing it by its edges, you slowly raised the lid, and the warmth in your heart could have melted the ice outside. 

A colorful array of cupcakes, arranged to spell out Y-O-U D-I-D I-T, greeted you. The ninth was frosted with a big yellow smiley face. 

“Thank you,” you croaked. “For everything this semester, not just thi—”

“That’s not all,” he interrupted, a pink tinge spreading across his cheeks. 

While you were distracted, he’d pulled out a long velvet case. You barely had time to wonder before he cracked open the lid, revealing a delicate chain of intertwined snowflakes. 

“I truly meant what I said that day. It feels like fate that I met you.” He gently removed the bracelet from its box, and the crystals glinted in the overhead light. “You don’t have to accept it, but I hope you’ll consider it as a token of my feelings for you. Of how you make me feel.” 

Tears pricked the back of your eyes as you looked down and up again, as if this were all an intricate joke the world would reveal in an instant. 

You didn’t remember the last time you’d gotten a gift. 

And here you were, two in one day. 

Slowly, cautiously, you gave him your arm, not trusting yourself to speak until you’d swallowed down the lump in your throat. “I…It’s gorgeous. Where’d you get it?”

The clasp fit perfectly around your wrist. “I’m much more interested in its new owner.”

It was an admirably smooth evasion. But you pressed on. 

“Please?” you asked, lips settling into a pout. “It really is amazing.”

He gave in beautifully. “If you must know,” he sighed, reaching down and swiping a pad of frosting across your nose, “I ordered my 30th birthday cake from this bakery.”

Your frown deepened. “You know that’s not what I meant,” you grumbled, dotting his cheek in blue buttercream to return the favor. “But…you ordered the cake?”

He swallowed and nodded flatly. “Yes. The one faculty gift me every year doesn’t taste as good when there’s no sincerity behind it.”

Giggling softly, you took his hand. “Well, I would’ve gotten you one. Maybe I’ll order from there for my 22nd and give you half. I think I’m out of luck on the jewelry, though—this was probably half my scholarship payment,” you joked, dangling the bracelet with an awed gleam in your eye. “But maybe I can get you something too around graduation? A year and a half should be enough time to save the money, plus, my scholarship funds increase incrementally. By then, I should have some left over.” 

In your musings, you failed to notice the way his hand tensed. 

“Anyway, thank you, Zayne. I mean it—I don’t know where I’d be right now if it weren’t for you.” Grabbing two cupcakes, you circled around his desk and held one up to his lips. “To many more bakery orders,” you said, bending to kiss the frosting off his cheek. 

Chuckling, he leaned up to do the same to your nose. “To many more.” 

You should have noticed. It would have given you the chance to brace yourself. 

“Thank you for coming out with me today,” he said softly, his bicep brushing your shoulder as you strolled down the sidewalk. 

“What was I gonna do, say no?” You laughed. “Wasn’t exactly like I was going home for winter break.” 

Mounds of snow rose over the concrete, trapping your feet with each step. Your boots sloshed through sloping piles, and you held your arms out for balance.

“I suppose you have a point. But still, you accepted without hesitation. Thank you.”

You craned your neck to peek up at him. “I’ll never hesitate to spend the day with you.” 

The moment of distraction cost you. Slipping on a hard patch—ice disguised as snow, you realized all too late—you lost your footing and grabbed Zayne’s hand with a sudden squeal. He flinched, his rare inaction almost sending you tumbling to the ground, but tightened his grasp a second later. 

Sighing in relief, you shook your head fondly. He startled so easily.

Calming your racing heart, you pressed forward, continuing the familiar path to your favorite cafe. Once Zayne saw you were steady on your feet, he loosened his grip on your hand and returned his to his coat pocket. You bit your lip and shrugged. Your hands always were too cold. 

He held the pastel pink door for you as you stepped inside, and the homey scent of coffee put you at ease. 

“Order anything you like,” he said, his voice quiet behind your back. 

***

From the cozy nook Zayne had chosen at the back of the cafe, you sipped your drink and stared in wonder at the building storm. “It wasn’t supposed to do all this today.” You pouted. “It’ll be such a pain walking home.”

“Yes, it will.” His face was impassive—not in the usual way. It was somber, disengaged. As if he’d responded only out of pre-programmed courtesy. 

Deepening your frown, you set your cup on the table. “You seem a little off today—are you okay? If it’s because of the storm, we can leave early. I really don’t mind—”

“I’m not certain it’s in either of our best interests to keep seeing each other.”

In an instant, you felt like you’d stepped back outside.

Bitter cold consumed the warmth from the drink he’d bought you. 

“…What?”

“I said that it’s no longer in our best intere—”

“I heard what you said,” you snapped through the panic bubbling in your throat. “But…why? Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you?”

He shook his head. “You did nothing wrong, and you never upset me.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” Trembling, you laid your wrist on the table and gestured tearily to your bracelet, its chain warm from your body heat. The crystals were as lustrous as they’d been when he’d gifted it to you—even you couldn’t do that much damage in a week. “What was this for? If you were just…if you didn’t…”

Your lungs felt like they were imploding. 

“You can keep it, of course. I want you to—it’s yours. Nothing will change that,” he said, leaning forward to touch your outstretched hand.

It was your turn to flinch. 

He blinked at the movement and retreated tactfully, as if it hadn’t happened at all. “In my office last week, you simply said something that I,” he paused, searching for the right phrase, “hadn’t properly considered before. An oversight of my own fault.” He pursed his lips before continuing. “You’re a wonderful student. A pleasure to have in my class, and a privilege to know like I’ve known you. But with only a year and a half until you graduate, and such a major scholarship at stake…you mustn’t lose that. I couldn’t live with myself if I were the cause of it.”

Your lip wobbled as you chased coherence. “But no one knows! No one has even suspected anything! I need you, Zayne. You can’t just—please, don’t.” 

Finally, his face softened. “The first day you came into my office, you told me nursing was your goal. That making others comfortable was your motivation. Every moment you spend with me endangers those wishes.” 

Your body seemed to shrink in your chair. Curling in on itself. 

“Your time and resources while enrolled here are precious. I was selfish enough to take those from you. But now, I’m returning them to where they belong.” 

He stood up. You looked down. 

“Please don’t make this hard on yourself. I only want to see you succeed. You’ll no longer be in my class next semester, so it should be easier for both of us.” 

Measured footsteps faded into nothing. When you raised your head, his figure had already vanished into the snow. 

You’d argued once—a close call. 

You’d surprised him with lunch in his office, and a dean came bursting in. Luckily, you’d finished early and held an open textbook in your trembling hands. 

“Oh my gosh, that was so scary! Do people usually just come waltzing in like that?” 

His face darkened as he stared at the door. “Only the impolite ones.” 

You bit your lip. “Maybe you should keep it locked.” 

His murky gaze turned on you. “Maybe. But perhaps this is also a sign to be more careful. It might be best for you to limit your visits to office hours.” 

Limit…?

You tensed in your chair. “Exams are coming up. I thought it’d be nice to spend more time together.” 

“It would be. Just not here—not as often, at least.” 

Something dormant coiled deep inside you, eager for the chance to strike. “Are you ashamed of me?” Your voice raised a half-step. 

“No. But I also don’t want to get caught.” 

When green eyes challenged yours, you excused yourself and headed home through wind-chilled tears. He apologized the next day, and you tried to move on. 

The pain back then was nothing compared to this. 

You’d messaged him once the storm had stopped. And the morning after, and the night and morning after until you couldn’t keep count anymore. Tossing and turning at 2 a.m. one night, you even sent him an email pretending to have a question about your final grade. 

Not once did you receive a response. 

You rang in the new year surrounded by blankets and closed blinds. 

You felt small. You felt unchecked. You felt like you might pick up an old habit. 

Utterly alone, you drifted away until mid-January. Classes were starting back up, and you trudged across campus for only one reason: maybe you’d get a glimpse of him. 

Bile rose in your throat when you did. 

His impressive figure, familiar but not, sat on a bench outside the student center. Beside him was a woman around his age, doubled over in laughter. 

When he caught your gaze, he looked back toward her. 

Unshed tears mixed with the frigid air and stung your eyes until they shut. 

You couldn’t hide away in his office anymore—you weren’t welcome there anymore. The library would have to do. 

As you cried in your hands on the very top floor, you were thankful the start-of-semester traffic was light. 

“You’re very bright,” he’d told you once. 

As his lips moved, you wondered what they’d feel like against yours. “Thanks,” you mumbled, feeling heat rise to your face, “but I don’t think so. I just work really hard.” 

“That’s true. But the sun doesn’t shine from hard work alone. It has innate qualities as well—ones that make it the brightest star in our sky.” 

Your cheeks had hurt from how much you smiled at him that day. 

But as your nails bit into the skin of your wrists, you’d never felt so dim. 

“We just received our largest wine shipment of the year. Would you all like to sample tonight?” the sommelier asked, her all-black suit seeming to absorb all the light in the restaurant. 

Curious eyes shifted to you. “I won’t be drinking,” Zayne refused with a shake of his head. “You?” 

“Me either. Thank you, though.” You gave the woman a shy smile, and she nodded her departure.

He gazed at you intently. “We’ve never discussed this before, but I don’t handle alcohol well.”

“I don’t handle it at all.” You shrugged. “Never have. It scares me.” 

It was fleeting, but you could see the relief flicker across his face. “I’m glad this isn’t a deal-breaker.”

“It’d be pretty hypocritical of me to bed my professor then decide him refusing to drink was my deal-breaker. I lo—like everything about you. So you’re good. Unless you disappear on me one day,” you finished with a nervous laugh. 

Or at least, you thought you did. But stumbling through the streets like this, it was hard to recall the specifics.

You’d left the bar sometime after midnight, you guessed. You hadn’t thought to check your phone. When you left the library, you weren’t thinking much of anything, other than it hurts so much. 

A shivering stray dog, lip curled and ears flat, passed you, and you almost thought to provoke it further. Maybe it’d be better at getting the job done than you had been.

You’d been walking for…a while. Much longer than the 10-minute trip back to your car. Unfamiliar shops surrounded you on all sides. Streetlights became fewer and fewer. You thought you heard low voices laughing at you, but you couldn’t pinpoint where. 

You wouldn’t blame them. You must have looked silly right now, lurching around in disheveled clothes in the dead of night. 

Teeth chattering, you wrapped your flimsy jacket tighter around you. 

Maybe you should’ve been embarrassed. Self-conscious. At least the slightest bit interested in self-preservation.

But all you could feel was the buzz in your brain, getting louder and louder and louder. 

At least…you thought it was your brain? Brains weren’t supposed to buzz, were they? 

Brains don't buzz—bees do, silly. 

Let's call Zayne. Zayne would know. 

He was the reason you got into this mess, anyway. 

His number still sat at the top of your history. There was no one to take his place. 

One ring. Two more. A crackle, static. 

“Hello?”

You chuckled, raspy and untamed, into the speaker. “Can’t believe you actually picked up.”

“You never call without asking first. Is something the matter?”

You snorted, and a cackle bubbled out of you. The breath became mist in the crisp winter air. “You talk old.” 

“…I beg your pardon?” 

“You talk old. Like you’re old. I used to think it was cute. Used to…”

His sigh was audible over the late night traffic. “Is something wrong, then?”

“There we go,” you cheered sardonically. “Finally speaking my language. A lot’s wrong! It’s so dark out here I can barely see where I’m going.” Frustrated, you stopped your pacing and stood outside a dingy storefront. 

“You’re not answering me. Why did you call? Are you alright?”

“No. I called because my head hwurts.” Your words began to slur. “And ’s your fault…so you need to tell me what’s wrong with it. What’s wrong with me.” 

A beat of silence.

“…Are you drunk?” Something like betrayal crept into his voice. And in that one moment, it felt good to hurt him back. 

“How couldn’t I be?” Your own voice wobbled in angry desolation. A sickening heat emanated from the chain you couldn’t bring yourself to retire. “When you got me this bracelet, I was so happy,” you hiccuped. “You made me happy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten a gift. And now…di’you get her one, too? Did you fuck her? Have you fucked already? If you have, you might as well tell me now while there are still cars in the street.” 

A gray-haired woman hobbled by, looking at you like you were the strange one. You weren’t. It was him, it was all him, it was—

“I’m coming to get you. Share your location with me.”

You snapped back to the present. “No. No, I don’t need you to. I don't want you to. I parked…somewhere…around here, and I’ll keep going ‘til I find it. I don’t need you,” you huffed, staggering over the sloping sidewalk. 

“You’re endangering yourself. Don’t—”

“I’ll drive back on my own. Not like you care, anyway. I shouldn’t have called.”

A shuddering exhale came over the line. 

“Send me your location. Now.”

His tone was glacial, almost sobering. He’d never used it with you, not even on that first day in his office. Your steps faltered. 

“Now,” he repeated. 

For a moment, your right mind made its return from vacation. “…Fine.”

“Go to a well-lit area and wait for me there.” 

***

Twenty minutes later, a sleek black Audi screeched to a halt in front of you. The door was thrust open and closed with a foreboding slam, but you couldn’t be bothered to notice.

He came.

He stormed to your side with wild eyes and tousled hair, as if he’d run his fingers through it the whole way here. Wobbling on your feet, you reached out to fix it, but his firm hand clamped around your outstretched arm. 

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then get in the car.” 

Get in the car. All this because of him, and all he had was get in the car. 

Scowling, you whipped away from him and started back down the sidewalk, shuffling past the streetlight you’d only stood under because you thought he cared. 

You didn’t make it two steps before strong arms wrapped around your legs, swinging you up and hauling you over an achingly familiar body. 

Immediately, you beat on his back, your fists thudding against lean muscles. “Put me down! You think you can just—put me down!”

Wordlessly, he tightened his grip and forced his way back to his waiting car, depositing you with what ceremony he could into the passenger’s seat. “Put your seatbelt on. I won’t tell you twice.” 

You woke with a foreign headache in a familiar bed. 

You never thought you’d be here again.

Blackout curtains blocked the windows, but something in you knew it was morning. Pills and a full glass of water, no accompanying note, waited for you on Zayne’s gray nightstand. 

You closed your eyes in a grimace the second you sat up. You could feel your brain bouncing around like a pinball.

You’d taken more than enough pills in your lifetime, but you’d always hated swallowing them. The water helped. The glass was empty in less than a minute. 

Slipping out of bed, you tried to put the muddled pieces of yesterday together. Seeing Zayne. The library. The bar. Seeing Zayne again, both of you much angrier the second time. 

You winced. 

Padding down the stairs, you scanned the house on high alert, looking out for any signs of a confrontation you weren’t ready to finish. 

When you reached the bottom still in one piece, you almost darted out the front door. But the nagging voice in the back of your throbbing mind couldn’t end things like this.

You found him in the kitchen, sipping tea and grimly flipping through a stack of papers. 

Your voice caught in your throat, coming out a cracked whisper. “Good morning.”

Hazel eyes…stayed on the documents in his hand.

You shuffled forward. “I wanted to thank you. For last night. You didn’t have to do that.”

His jaw ticked. 

“And I wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called, I just…wasn’t thinking straight,” you mumbled. “I’ll get going now.”

Just as you turned, an incredulous scoff resounded. 

“Yesterday evening, I went home from an on-campus meeting with my married colleague, only to be woken up at one in the morning to rescue my spiraling former student.” Cold fury laced his voice.

Married colleague. Of course she was. 

Your mouth filled with bitterness, reminiscent of last night’s drinks. You shifted on your feet. “How was I supposed to know? What was I supposed to think?”

“You were supposed to think that who I speak with no longer concerns you. And then you were supposed to go on about your night, just as I would have.”

Recoiling at his frankness, you took a step back. “Zayne, I’m sorry—”

“You’re sorry,” he interrupted, swiping a hand down his tired face. “You keep saying that. But are you merely sorry for calling, or for anything else that happened last night? Do you have any recollection of what you said to me?” he continued, tone sharp and scathing.  

Silent and scrambling for memories, you stood before him. 

“I offered to come get you the moment I realized you were drunk and alone. And you refused me. You were adamant that you didn’t want or need me. And when I asked again, you said you would rather drive yourself home than accept my help. That I wouldn’t care if something happened to you on the way.” He was advancing on you now, his much larger shadow engulfing yours on the adjacent wall. 

“I was upset, Zayne. I am still upset, I have a right to be upset. You…you just left me, like it didn’t even matter, like I was never anything—”

“I tried to put your future first, and you threatened me with your life.” 

The words brought your frantic gestures to an abrupt halt. With just one sentence, he’d knocked the air out of you. And when he rolled his sleeves up, you knew he wasn’t done.

“I told you I got these when I pulled a woman from a wreck,” he started, twisting his arms to show the raised scars. “Would you like to guess what happened to her that night?”

Suddenly feeling small, you shook your head. 

“She was hit by a drunk driver.”

You vaguely remembered the way your heart soared when his car pulled up last night. Now, it plummeted to your feet. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your pounding head drooping all on its own. “I just wanted you to come.” 

“You got your wish. Congratulations.” 

“Zayne—”

“I thought many things of you the last several months,” he seethed, sharp eyes boring into you as if seeing you for the first time. “But I never took you for a child.” 

A whimper escaped before you could stop it. You reached out for him, but he had already pulled back. 

“Your things are by the door.” 

The holiday lights at the ice skating rink were overstaying their welcome. 

Alternating intermittently, they painted the ice in blues and reds, projecting dancing patterns of snowflakes under the frenzied feet of happy skaters. 

Couples and families glided by, their raucous laughter and shrieks of excitement echoing in the chilly air. They lost their balance, at times, but they always had someone to catch them before they toppled to the ground.

For a tranquil, transient period, so unrecoverable now that it seemed like another life, you’d had that, too. 

But tonight, from your place in the stands, their unbridled joy felt like salt in the wound. 

“I’d like to take you somewhere.” 

You knew him well enough by now to hear the breathy nervousness in his voice. You squinted at him, playfully quizzical, from the passenger’s seat. “‘Somewhere’ as in your office? Or is the ever-careful Dr. Li actually proposing we go out in…public?” you gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. 

He tapped two fingers on the steering wheel and shook his head, trying to suppress the smile threatening his composure. “It would be the latter. Unless you’re eager to stare at the same four walls and stacks of textbooks again, in which case I’m happy to oblige.”

Warm anticipation bloomed in your chest, and you beamed, draping your hand over his thigh. “Nope! Public is good. Public is great.” 

***

“Please, please, please don’t let go,” you begged, wobbling in your skates like a newborn foal. 

On the ice beside you, Zayne wasn’t doing too much better. His stronger legs kept him upright, at least, but he rarely moved more than a foot before freezing in place. 

His hand fell from your wrist to the small of your back, protectively tucking you into his side. “Why don’t we try it like this for a while? A few forward strokes might make us comfortable.”

You nodded resolutely.

And barely made it one before your legs slipped out from under you, sending you crashing into already outstretched arms. 

“…Why don’t we take a break,” you mumbled into his coat, clinging to him like your life depended on it. 

Laughing quietly, he tightened his grip and nuzzled your hair. “That works for me. The question is…how to make it back to the stands in one piece.” 

***

After 15 minutes and a collision with a maliciously uncooperative sheet of ice, you finally returned to the bleachers, sweating and giggling from the adventure. 

Cheeks flushed bright red, Zayne ushered you onto a bench at the top before turning to you. His eyes sparkled with mirth and uncharacteristic innocence. “It was much more eventful than my office,” he joked. 

“Not always,” you sang mischievously, and he cleared his throat as his blush deepened. “I have been wondering, though,” you continued, looking out into the sea of much more successful skaters, “you…are usually good at everything, Zayne. Why did you choose this tonight?”

His answer was immediate, as if it’d been sitting on the tip of his tongue. “You alleviate the pressure I feel to be good at everything. And you make me bolder, for better or worse,” he chuckled. “The years of my life that I missed due to my studies…I rediscover them when I’m with you.” 

You closed your eyes to try to stop them from watering and leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then, you lowered your head onto his shoulder. 

“My parents brought me here once,” he continued. “It was a happy memory. Perhaps I also wanted to extend it with you.”

Unable to suppress it, you tensed against him. “Are you close with them?”

“Fairly. We go out for dinner twice a month.” Caution crept into his tone. “And you?”

Somber notes shifted the atmosphere. 

“My parents don’t like me very much. Haven’t since I was in middle school. I think they got tired of paying to keep me alive,” you tried to joke, but it understandably fell flat. 

Grunting softly, Zayne tightened his arm around your waist. 

“I felt like an intruder in the house I was raised in. Always just there, but never welcome,” you mumbled, fiddling with one of his coat buttons. “It’s why I tried so hard to get here. I had to get out, but I knew they wouldn’t give me any more than they already had. So I did it myself.” 

Zayne had begun rubbing circles on your back. “How do you feel when you think about them?” 

“I used to feel guilty. And confused. Like it was my fault, like I wasn’t worth the energy. It only made things—me—worse, for a while. But then, once I found something to distract me, to keep me going…I just accepted it.” Rubbing at your sleeves, you sighed. “That’s only for them, though. I still get…sensitive when people leave. Decide to stop trying.” 

Pulling you close, he placed a gentle kiss on your hair. “I’ll always try for you.” 

Wet snow stained the streets outside. 

It'd been two weeks since he’d turned you away. Two weeks of skipping classes to sit here, staring, watching, but never doing. Two weeks of happy memories fading into forgotten dreams. 

You always looked through the windows when it got too much. That, and fiddled with the tennis bracelet it seemed like a curse to remove. If you did, it would all be too final. And you didn’t know when, if ever, you’d be able to accept that.

You felt silly, sometimes, being unable to let him go. Like a naive movie character, desperate and dramatic, that you would have ridiculed not even a year ago. But back then, all alone, you didn’t know how damning it could be to care for someone. To wake up in the morning, wondering what they’d do that day. How they’d make you mean something. 

You’d come to accept that Zayne’s interest meant worth to you. You hadn’t become reacquainted with worthlessness. 

You scratched and clawed at its advancing jaws, fighting with every breath to keep its venom from immobilizing you once more. To stay on the path you carved for yourself, undeterred by his hatred and your relapsing brain. 

But every day, you strayed farther and farther. 

Cold air swept behind and then beside you. You didn’t trust yourself to look. 

“I trust this isn’t a new hobby of yours.” 

Dry humor. You didn’t encourage it.

He tried again. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back here after your meet-and-greet with the ice.” 

This time, the jab was too hard to resist. “And I didn't think you'd remember where our first date was.” 

In the corner of your eye, he grimaced. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Maybe. But it’s honest. Since we’re being that, now.” Bracing your hands on your thighs, you stood up to leave. Before you could start down the stairs, he caught your arm. 

“I didn’t mean to say it so harshly.”

“But you still meant to say it.” 

His Adam’s apple bobbed in the silence. 

“Why are you even here, Zayne?”

He pulled you down with gentle strength. With a scowl, you obliged, putting distance between your estranged bodies. 

“I come here to think sometimes,” he murmured. “It helps to be surrounded by pleasant memories.” 

“It’s nice that that’s still what they are for you.”

He sighed and turned to face you fully. Dark circles outlined dull green eyes, but satisfaction took the place of concern. He had them, too. 

“Somehow, call it instinct, I was hoping I’d find you here. I wanted to apologize for that night.” The sound of a scraping skate was a welcome distraction from his intent stare. 

“When I tried to do that, you didn’t take it very well.”

His lips tugged downward. “I know. And I regret that, especially when you were vulnerable. But when you almost hung up, I just…I saw another version of that accident. But instead of that woman, it was you in the car. Because of me.”

Swallowing thickly, you fiddled with your fingers. Unfortunately, you’d long gotten used to the chain on your wrist, and it caught his gaze before you remembered to conceal it. His face softened. 

“I was very worried about you that night,” he whispered, hesitantly tracing the crystal snowflakes. “And as someone who’d never had anyone to worry for, I veered out of line.” 

You drew your knees up to your chest, placing the soles of your boots in the space between you. “You think I’m immature.” 

“I think you’re young. And I think I’d forgotten that, because you make me feel young, too.” 

“Except when you’re rescuing your former student.”

He winced. “Except then.”

“It isn’t just that night, you know,” you whispered, slotting your chin between raised knees. “You left. You knew what it would do to me, you knew I couldn’t handle it—and you left anyway.”

“I had your best interests at heart.”

“How do you think that turned out.” A statement, not a question.

Inching forward with a heavy sigh, he gently lowered your knees and took your hand. You let him. 

“It’d tear both of us apart if you lost everything because of me. You don’t deserve for that to happen. Not when you’re so close to your hard work paying off.” He rubbed soothing circles into your palm. “I care for you. Deeply. You’ve shown me so many things, given me so many firsts. But I won’t be the reason your goals become fantasies.”

His free hand lifted to cup your cheek, and you nuzzled it instinctively. 

“What happened that night…in the future, you must not do that again. You must not jeopardize your life again.” 

You stared, quiet. 

“Do you understand me?” 

You nodded. 

“May I kiss you?”

You nodded again. 

His lips were as warm and soft as the very first time. He captured yours tenderly, timidly, as if his touch were molten. 

You threaded trembling fingers in his hair, and Zayne pulled back. 

Your flinch was pronounced. Your heart was teetering. You were sure your eyes were glassy. 

Before you could speak or move or run, he surged forward once again. He spoke to you between urgent kisses. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s alright.” 

Glistening lips slid against yours, branding your mouth with their rising heat. He was firmer with you now. You liked it. It let you know he was still here. 

By the time you separated, the snow had stopped. Remnants of evening sunlight warmed the forest in his eyes. 

Things got better after the ice rink. 

You returned to your classes, apologizing for your absences and begging for extensions on missed assignments. All but one of your professors agreed. But you’d figure it out. Get back on track.

You had to, if Zayne’s encouragement was anything to go by. 

You got the briefest of texts and calls from him. Asking how you were doing, how classes were going, if he could share any resources with you. As if you really were just a former student. 

But every time, despite the apprehension and longing burning in your gut, you answered him. Returned his questions. Kept him talking for as long as he’d entertain you. Because the barest bit of him made all the difference in your day. 

It wasn’t the same—wasn’t anywhere close. But it gave you the will, the motivation, the purpose, to hold out a little longer. 

He’d said that he cared for you. That everything, even the worst of it, had been in your best interest. To give you a chance to grow without him. 

And it filled you with the most dangerous feeling, the most treacherous hope, that he’d come back to you if you could prove you could. 

You felt like life was a little more in your grasp. Like if he was okay with you, maybe you would be, too. 

Even the late winter cold wasn’t as bitter when you were in his orbit. 

You’d been walking lately. Something your doctors had always suggested, but you’d never taken them up on. It all came back to that night, incidentally. You remembered how freeing it’d been to choose your own direction, even when your brain wasn’t yours and your reins were held tight by an invisible hand. 

You’d just returned from an evening stroll around your neighborhood, freshly showered and in your nightclothes, when a curt knock sounded on your apartment door. 

Only one person you knew knocked like that. Only one person would be visiting you at all. 

Sure enough, that deceitfully detached expression greeted you when you opened the door, and you felt your stomach do a somersault. 

For everything you’d been through, for everything you’d done together, Zayne had never been to your apartment before. He always said it’d be crossing a line you could never fall back from—as if he hadn’t already crossed your lines and curves in all their entirety. 

What did it mean that he was here now? Did he miss you as much as you missed him? Need you as much as you needed him? Did he want to talk, or do something more? 

And how long would he stay? 

Stay. Stay. The word sprung you into action. 

“Um, hi,” you squeaked, voice startled and a little too loud. “Sorry, I just got back from a walk. I guess I should’ve put on something nicer.” 

“There was no need. I didn’t exactly give you notice.” His lips curled in an almost-smile. 

You swallowed. “Can I get you anything? A drink? It’s not much, but I have tea, and I think I have some leftover macarons, too. But they were out of the flavor you like,” you added quickly. “So maybe you don’t want them?” 

Zayne, usually amused by your nervous ramblings, only observed you quietly, his face a mask of stone. 

You knew that look. You’d seen it once before. 

Wordlessly, you stepped aside. 

He towered over your tiny space. 

You wrung your hands as your gaze dropped to the floor. As if by some miracle, you’d dissuade him from speaking, and the storm cloud he’d brought with him would pass over you harmlessly. The delicate chain on your wrist burned in warning. 

“I’ve been granted a transfer to another campus.”

His storm cloud doused you in ice water. In perfect contrast to the scalding metal against your skin. 

“I wanted to tell you in person. The university press is dropping the story tomorrow morning,” he continued quietly. “When I made the request, I listed the reason as a desire to explore new research opportunities. So you have nothing to worry about.” 

The ringing in your ears drowned out the tail end of his words. Your whole body pulsed with the need to escape it. 

Your brain spun with questions. Your heart ached, knowing he’d never fully answer them. 

“When did…” you tried to ask, voice failing to reach more than a whisper. “When did you make the request?”

“After I carried you to my bed that night. I signed the papers the morning after.”

“That was over a month ago. I…I thought we’d gotten better since then, I thought we were okay now. If it was all the way before…” You paused, trying to force the oxygen back into your lungs. “Do you at least regret it? Can you reverse it?”

The downward twitch of his lips betrayed only a hint of pity. He shook his head. “I don’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.” 

The whimper escaped before you could stop it, and your eyes stung as if pricked by thousands of needles. He took one hesitant step forward, but you could barely see it through your blurred vision. 

You shook your head, frantic, desperate, and pressed your hands to your mouth. “Why do you keep doing this to me? What’s wrong with me to make you keep—you kissed me. You kissed me and you told me you cared and I believed you, when you knew you would leave again.” Your voice was a garbled cry. “You made me promise when you knew you would leave again.” 

He was in front of you now, no more than a foot away. Troubled eyes roved over your figure, but flexing hands stayed at his sides. “I thought it would help you. That it might give you some peace, if I could offer you the last of myself.” 

You shook your head, stronger now, as if wishing this version of him away. “You can’t do this to me again—you can’t. I thought things were better—they were better, you made them better.” You grasped at words and memories, searching for something, anything, that might make him stay. Even if guilt was the only reason, it was reason enough. “You know what happened the last time.” 

You heard him approaching before you felt a cautious hand on your shoulder. “I understand that I hurt you—more than I ever had the right to. But when you risked yourself that night, I understood something else. Your safety and future are my highest priority. Those are uncertain as long as I’m near you.” 

His words held a nauseating finality, and you felt your lifeline slip out of your hands. 

A deep breath gave you the chance to respond. “So is that it, then? You come here to warn me and tell me goodbye, and then what? You just walk out, forget everything? If that’s a power you can learn, teach me one more thing before you go.” 

His hand shifted as he flinched. He swallowed. “I didn’t make this decision lightly. Nor have I ever overstated my affection for you. I could never forget you,” he murmured. Suddenly, he flushed soft pink. “But I wasn’t planning on leaving this way. Unless you’d like for me to.” 

You had no more energy to navigate the labyrinth of him. “What do you mean?” 

He looked to his feet. “I said that I wanted to offer you what I could of myself. I feel as though I owe it to you, to make your last experience with me a pleasurable one.” 

The implication made your heart stop. 

Was that how he saw himself? Was that what he thought of you? That he’d maxed his tab with the ways he’d hurt you, and now you’d charge him with interest? 

Was everything always so transactional?

Shame seared your insides. But even worse was the disgust that settled on you like a second skin—not at Zayne, but at yourself.

Because you knew your answer. 

You could never turn down a chance to be close to him. 

Your constricted throat opened enough for one single, damning word to escape.

“Okay.”

***

He’d been so gentle at the ice rink. Maybe that was the kind of restraint he showed when he was trying to keep a secret. 

But now, his lips claimed yours as if trying to atone for one. 

They were soft, slightly chapped from the dry air, and moving against you with the greed of a nation nearing famine. He suckled your bottom lip with an eager pull and a swipe of his tongue, letting it bounce briefly away before capturing it again. Each time you parted, he redoubled his efforts, meeting every corner of your lips with the hot suction of his mouth until they, too, were angry at him. 

You were no less urgent than he was. Where he pressed down, you surged up, trying to meld your mouth with his so he could see how well you fit together. You licked into him to savor his taste, sweet and floral, and caught his exploring tongue with yours when it got in your way. He surrendered immediately, let you invade him as you pleased, while he raked his fingers through your hair. 

As he hovered above you, frame almost too large for your full bed, he bent his legs to make himself smaller. Always compensating, always adjusting—in only the way he thought best. 

Sliding between your torsos, your hand stopped its journey at the center of his slacks, petting and cupping to make him come to life. His body obeyed when you left his lips to scatter hot, open-mouthed kisses on the side of his neck, biting down to threaten his quickening pulse. 

He grunted and bucked his thickening bulge while your lips soothed the sting, only to renew it again and again, trailing transient marks over transient skin. But he accepted his punishment with pleasure. 

His neck was adorned with purpling bruises that looked like they belonged there. Long past his departure, he’d think of you when he saw himself. A fitting curse, given the reverse was your normal. 

When you unlatched yourself to catch your breath, he took advantage of his newfound freedom, placating you with a brief peck before traveling his hand down your waist, squeezing at your hip and slipping underneath your shirt. He splayed his warm palm over your belly, rubbing up and down with unearned possession, and you mewled at the friction of his skin on yours. Diving forward to swallow the sound, he moved his hand up to cup your tender breast, completely bare under your oversized sweatshirt. 

A heavy breath escaped him at the contact, and before you knew it, he’d tugged off the fabric and returned his hands to the refuge of your chest. 

“I love these,” he’d whispered the first time he’d seen them, palming your rounded flesh with something like awe in his voice. “You’re absolutely breathtaking.” 

His eyes now held the same infatuation, and you could see the shared memory swirling within. 

Your chest heaved in mutinous anticipation, and the steady swells of your breasts drew him in like a lure. He bowed his head with the urgency of the night, and the hot lash of his tongue against your pebbled nipple made you anchor your fingers in his raven hair. What he couldn’t take in his mouth, he fondled with the same fervor, pinching and twisting your opposite peak with deliciously torturous movements. 

As his mouth opened and closed and switched from one to the other, he rolled his hips into the bed with barely bridled desperation. Each brush of his thigh made your core pulse with desire, and you matched his thrusts instinctually, slotting your clothed heat against his, quietly communicating your need. 

He released you with clear reluctance, pressing a kiss to the valley of your chest before obliging dutifully. You could almost feel his heartbeat in his hands as they inched back down your waist, lower and lower, until they brushed the waistband of your cotton panties. 

Breathing heavily, he hovered his fingers over the hem, the heavy weight of greedy hands replaced by a feather-light touch. 

He paused, eyes suddenly clouded with what you could only hope was guilt. “Are you sure?”

You weren’t sure of anything anymore. 

Faded lines on your forearms twisted as you moved. Wordlessly, you guided his hand down and under. 

You shared a gasp as two fingers traced your slick folds, and another when they pressed into your quivering heat. 

“I’m scared,” you confessed, clinging to him as you entrusted someone with your naked body for the first time. Arousal seeped out of you, coating the tops of your thighs, but you weren’t sure how the length of him would fit inside you without pain.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. “We’ll make sure you’re ready.”

Your belly clenched instinctively as his fingers pumped and curled inside you. As if they’d memorized your deepest parts, as if they belonged there. He spread and shut them, pushing and prodding your flexing walls, and your crooning moans filled the heated air. 

When your legs began to shake, he quickened his pace, twisting and bending his fingers like his pleasure was tied to yours. At the same time, he rubbed his thumb against your twitching bud, circling around and pressing down. The joint sensations had you unraveling around him, panting as your hips bucked against his continued pumps. 

He pulled his hand away once you began to mewl and watched his fingers glisten under the lamplight. “I never got the chance to do this,” he murmured. Casting a dazed glance at your trembling form, he slowly, sinfully, sucked his stained digits into his mouth. He moaned just as his eyes fluttered closed, and his cheeks swelled with gentle, savoring swirls of his tongue. 

A throb in your core sent your remaining release pooling onto the sheets. A pang rattled your heart, knowing someone so perfect wasn’t willing to wait for you.

Simmering with grief and outrage, you yanked his hand out of his mouth and stuffed it in yours, wanting to know everything he knew. To feel everything he felt. 

His eyes widened with shock and immediately narrowed. Looming over you, he ripped his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his lips, your clashing tongues exchanging your mixed taste. 

As he lowered himself on top of you, you slid your hands down his torso and fiddled wildly with his belt, your mind muddled from his searing kiss. 

Taking your lower lip between his teeth, he released it with a nip of admonishment and sat up over you, his knees placed on either side of your hips. His chest trembled with ragged breaths, and the collar of his sweater had sagged to reveal your marks tattooing his skin. He’d be beautiful, but beautiful things didn’t betray. 

His thighs flexed around you as he swiftly pulled his sweater off, his biceps rippling with the movement. Next came his belt, which he discarded on the carpet with a gentle thud. 

Slowly, deliberately, he eased off the bed, keeping dilated eyes on you throughout. 

You couldn’t keep his gaze. 

The first time, you’d avoided his careful, intent stare out of shyness. Now, it was shame that burned behind your eyelids.  

Fabric fell to the floor. Crinkling foil faded into silent concentration. The mattress dipped. 

“Do you want to continu—”

“Do it.” The words were muffled—your throat was closing up again. You gritted your teeth. “Do it.” 

“We can stop here if—”

You reached out wildly and caught his arm, forcing him flush against you. “Make me remember.” 

When his first stroke brushed your furthest depths, stars exploded across your vision. 

He pressed into you as if trying to leave an imprint, steady and powerful and pulsing with need. You wrapped your legs around him through shaky breaths, bringing him closer, relishing the feel of his hips against yours. 

Your breaths mingled as you forced yourself to look into his eyes, not quite sure what you were searching for, but bristling at what you found: composure. Control. Dominance. The traits you’d never had, but admired in him. 

The ones that let him leave you. 

Grunting in frustration—at him, at yourself, at the world you never asked to be in—you pushed at his chest, shifting your momentum to roll him onto his back. You clenched your core as you mounted him, refusing to let his twitching tip fall from your warmth. 

He let you take him with wobbly bounces, cooing up at you while you sneered down at him. “Take what you need from me. Whatever you need.” 

With every shaky rise and fall, every clench of your core on his swollen length, you tried to. But when you looked at him, calm and encouraging and so terribly not yours, teardrops clouded your vision. One by one, they splashed onto his red-tinged skin. 

Your movements slowed. You collapsed onto him, cradling his head in your hands, and sobbed into his chest. 

The raised lines of his scars branded your skin as he wrapped his arms around you, held you close, and took over from underneath. He raised his hips with slow, lasting thrusts, your tightening walls still responding to him despite it all. 

You were too focused on his heavy heartbeat to notice the way you clamped around him, trying to drain him for all he had. And when his hips stuttered and he spilled into something so cruelly not you, you grew too numb to care. 

Tears darkened the marks on his neck as he held you, turning reddish purple to indigo. 

The proof that you’d known him was the last thing you saw that night. His gentle whisper in your ear was the last thing you heard.

“You’ll be better off this way.” 

When you woke, the bed was cold.

"And you didn't tell anyone while this was going on?"

Your cheeks, sunken and hollow, lifted slightly as you answered. "No one to tell."

A muffled cough. Another approach. “It’s been…a while since we’ve seen you here. We hoped it would stop once you moved out of your parents’ house. Why did you try again?” 

“I thought he would come.” 

Silence. 

Your eyes settled on the far wall of the sparsely furnished room. 

"Well, it’s…remarkable that you're still on track to graduate on time—despite the circumstances, of course. You’ll make a wonderful nurse.” 

"He wanted me to."

Your gown fluttered in the late spring wind. 

You barely noticed. Your heart was heavy. 

A brilliant stage stood before you, balloons and streamers lining the wooden steps. 

To your left, rows and rows of filled seats. 

The girls behind you fretted over their faces, hoping their caps hadn’t smudged their makeup. 

You hadn’t looked in the mirror before you left. You’d been running late, and you weren’t sure you wanted to see what’d become of you, anyway. 

It was fine. You were alone here. 

A part of you thought he’d be here. That if you wished hard enough, if you tried hard enough, if you thought hard enough, he’d feel you. See you. Come back. 

But jet black hair and hazel eyes were missing in the crowd. 

Zayne had cradled your heart in his scarred hands and laid it to rest. 

He’d hoped you would make it here, and you’d give him that, at least. 

But it was what you’d do later, surrounded by the soft embrace of the bed he’d once taken you in, that made you feel at ease. 

You felt the chain around your wrist and smiled wistfully. Pharaohs were buried with their treasures, after all. 

The procession moved forward. Every step was a memory discarded by its co-creator.

A first kiss in a quiet room. Stairs creaking under your weight. 

Scars that looked like yours. Stinging behind your eyes. 

Teardrops splashing on heated skin. Your name, clear and monotone. 

An unwilling return to a hospital bed. Subdued, polite applause. 

It feels like fate that I met you.

The bestowal of a scroll, a brisk handshake. A tight, transactional smile. 

“Congratulations.” 

[northopalshore]

Moon in the

Juno Persona Chart

Juno asteroid (3) This post only applies to the Juno persona chart. The moon here tells you about how you connect with your future spouse or what emotional attachment you look for in an ideal relationship. It also tells you about how you feel & instinctively act throughout the progression of the relationship. This only applies when you are in the relationship.

୨୧ Please do not repost without consent ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠��⁠•⁠`⁠ʔฅ🔉

In the signs, houses & degrees

🍪Aries (°1,°13,°25) @ The first house (I)

You may be rather erratic around them once you do get into a relationship however, a lack of patience may be a reoccurring theme as well. You may act rather childishly in the relationship i.e acting jealous, petty or even irrational at times around your person. You may show a lot of your "primal" emotional state one that isn't filtered or seen through rose coloured lenses. Both of you may have trouble expressing love in a traditional way i.e not completely comfortable being all lovey dovey or touchy feely at times, but it's not like it's completely void of that type of affection. Bickering just comes easier ^^".

Ex: My parents both have their Juno moon in an Aries degree (°1 & °13). Boy when I tell you these two are always arguing about something ( it's not really serious) but it's more like they both do not have any patience dealing with each other. They do not work well under pressure lmao. It's like little kids disagreeing with each other at times. Always trying to prove who's right and who's wrong. They don't hate each other, they just have a somewhat tsundere way of expressing their emotions to each other. It's funny, but also annoying looking at it from the perspective of their child.

🍪Taurus (°2,°14,°26) @ The second house (II)

You will feel very relaxed around your partner. You may have a sibling like dynamic where you may bicker and tease each other often, but it's not anywhere as "intense" as Aries. You won't be quick to anger, but there is a tendency to get rather lazy around your partner i.e wanting to stay home and do nothing all day. You may feel like your partner is your property in a way, wanting them to be just for you. You may also be rather sensitive to your partner's actions or habits. You are loyal, reliable & get very romantic around your partner.

🍪Gemini (°3,°15,°27) @ The third house (III)

You will likely feel like you're always on your toes around your partner. You may be required to think critically a lot, your partner may come to you for advice often therefore it's important for you to be or at least feel aware/awake. There is also a tendency to overreact (especially if in Aries/cancer degrees/houses). You will feel and act rather childishly as well, although not as hot headed as our Aries friend lol. Your expressions become more animated, and you're liking going to be more experimental in the relationship i.e want to explore or try new things with your partner.

🍪Cancer (°4,°16,°28) @ The fourth house (IV)

You are very, emotional with your partner. Acting more clingy around them or seeing them as your primary source of comfort. You are very affectionate with them, and may also tend to be dependant on them on certain things. You also have a tendency to mother them at times i.e taking care of their basic needs, listening to them rant and soothe their hearts / egos. You are also very sensitive to their mood swings especially, perhaps blaming yourself for things that go wrong even if the source of the problem isn't you. You also enjoy ranting to your partner.

🍪 Leo (°5,°17,°29) @ The fifth house (V)

You have a lot of love and adoration for your partner. You may be very flirty, and playful with them in the relationship. In your eyes, your partner is your only lover, wanting to feel adored and in some ways worshipped by them. Your partner's attention means the world to you, so you may get quite jealous when that attention is taken off of you. You are very generous when it comes to complimenting your partner. You feel good when you know you've made them happy and important. You may be quite dramatic too, displaying much playful exaggeration on a daily basis.

🍪 Virgo (°6,°18) @ The sixth house (VI)

You are the dependable, slightly erratic partner. The problem solver, but at the same time your critical nature can sometimes start disagreements within the relationship. Especially if your partner has more a "carefree" moon placement in their JPC. That being said you are extremely loyal as well, and you show that you love your partner by expressing your concern towards them. Whether that'd be by asking them about their day, or finding the smallest way to get closer to them on a daily basis. Showing them you care through your advice and recommendations. Their opinion means the world to you, and their dissatisfactions can ruin your whole day.

🍪 Libra (°7,°19) @ The seventh house (VII)

You will feel very comfortable around them. Something about them may make you feel balanced or more composed, and easygoing. It's a pleasant feeling that grows lovelier with time. You may strive to keep a sense of equity in the relationship, not wanting your partner to be the only one carrying the burden in the relationship. For the most part, you will not engage in petty rivalry or disagreements when something hurtful does arise you are able to tackle it with a fair judgement. Though, there is a tendency to sweep certain things under the rug just so you do not hurt your partner. Very flirty, and you'll always have your partner in mind, no matter what you're doing.

🍪 Scorpio (°8,°20) @ The eighth house (VIII)

You are very, and I mean very protective of your partner. You may love keeping them close to you often, especially when you're out together. You get possessive, and jealousy very easily in the relationship. However, you also give your all to your partner. Giving them the time of day and all the attention they may need. You may develop a strong attachment to them almost as if they are your property lmao. Your connection will be anything but shallow, as you desire to melt into your partner, sharing everything you have i.e secrets, fears and promises. So you can sort of see why you'll be protective in the first place. Your person is your true safe space & that is something you never wish to share.

🍪 Sagittarius (°9,°21) @ The ninth house (IX)

This is also a sign that you'll feel comfortable around them. Conversations come naturally, although there may this feeling that you should be guiding them or something similar to Virgo/the 6th house, but here you're more of a mentor. Perhaps you will feel like your partner is very playful or supportive (or they may look like they need to lighten up). Perhaps their presence always has a way of lightening your mood. There's this friendly chemistry between you that will make you keeping want more of them. You are the mood maker of the household, wanting the energy to be bright and optimistic.

🍪 Capricorn (°10,°22) @The tenth house (X)

In this relationship, you will feel very stable. Your emotional state depends on whether you have your shit together, if your partner is well & if you're able to provide for them. Perhaps you feel like you have a sort of status to uphold as well. You want them to see you as someone mature & dependable. That you aren't looking to play around. You may have trouble expressing your emotions to them completely, as you'd rather be the person that they come to for support. You also display a lot of patience & restraint when met with turbulence or disagreements in the relationship. Though it may make you seem rather dry at times even if you aren't. Your partner is the only lover you see. However, there may be control issues that arise as well on your part.

🍪 Aquarius (°11,°23) @The eleventh house (XI)

You'll feel quite uninhibited in your relationship. Being able to express yourself however you want, whenever you want. You allow both yourself & your partner emotional independence, and jealousy is not really an issue when it comes to you (depends on the sign/house/degree it's in as well) as you do not feel the need to question your partner's loyalty. You may come to intellectualize your emotions to some degree in your relationship. Perhaps you will be more sentimental about your connections, and society as well. Somehow thinking of the effects your relationship may have to those around you. Being in this relationship may make you unconsciously think of others.

🍪 Pisces (°12,°24) @ The twelfth house (XII)

This placement can be tricky, there are two sides of this coin. On one side, you will feel extremely connected with your FS/SO you will be especially patient and forgiving of your person, spiritually you may feel like you are one in the same and that your love can triumph all that opposes. For the most part, it's fine. You are loving, kind and very attentive to your person's emotional well-being or state. However, there may be a tendency to act based on favoritism i.e how you want to interpret things. In reality, you may be quite disconnected with your person not being able to see their worries or concerns. Still, it does not diminish your affection for your person. There is this sense of longing for your partner even if they are right next to you. You partners feelings will feel like an extension of your own.

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Thank you for reading!

@northopalshore

@northopalshore Juno 2024 all rights reserved. Disclaimer

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Unfit for Containment

(Yandere Satosugu x Reader)

summary:

A young intern is sent to a remote mental health facility, where the walls hum with secrets and the patients are anything but ordinary. Bright-eyed and gentle, she quickly draws attention from the very individuals others fear to speak to. Her kindness becomes her greatest strength—and her most dangerous vulnerability. As she navigates carefully controlled sessions and unsettling smiles behind glass, it becomes clear: some attachments form quietly… and hold on far too tightly.

The sky was grey when she arrived. Not the kind of grey that promised a storm—just the kind that felt… blank. The kind that dulled everything it touched.

But she didn’t mind.

Her suitcase bumped against her ankle as she stepped onto the narrow road leading up to the institution gates, her shoes light and floral against the concrete. A soft pink cardigan clung to her shoulders, a little bow clipped in her hair just above her ear. She looked like she belonged in a university classroom, maybe a garden café. Not here. Not in front of the looming gates of Kuroioka Institute—tall, stark, and silent.

Still, she smiled to herself. This was it. Her first real placement.

She reached for the intercom.

“Hi! Um, this is (Y/N). I’m the new psychology intern? I think I’m a little early, sorry—”

“You’re on time.”

The voice was calm. Male.

The gate creaked.

And then a man in a beige coat stepped into view, his blonde hair neat, his expression unreadable. He held a clipboard in one hand and looked at her like he already regretted everything.

“Nanami Kento,” he said. “You’ll be reporting to me during your internship.”

“Oh! Okay—thank you!” She stuck out her hand politely. “It’s really nice to meet you, Nanami-san. I’ve heard so much about—”

He shook it, but barely. “Let’s not waste time.”

Inside, the halls were even colder than she expected. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. It didn’t feel like a hospital. It didn’t feel like anything.

“Your room is in the south wing,” Nanami explained. “Third floor. Shared kitchenette, communal laundry. You’ll be evaluated weekly, and you’ll submit your reports directly to me unless stated otherwise.”

She nodded enthusiastically, hugging her folder to her chest.

“Most of the patients here are transferred from state psychiatric containment,” he continued. “Classified cases. Experimental protocols. You’ll observe. Document. Never engage unless authorized.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but she kept smiling. “That sounds intense…”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“You’ll meet the head of the institute today. Brief introduction. Then Dr. Ieiri in diagnostics. She’ll explain the med distribution process.”

She nodded again, bouncing slightly on her toes. “Okay! I’ll do my best!”

He said nothing.

⸻

She didn’t understand why everyone looked so serious. The people in the meeting room barely acknowledged her, except for one man—an older, suited figure with dead eyes and a too-thin smile—who called her “a fresh perspective” and “delightful.” He didn’t look at her face when he said it.

Nanami stood to the side, stiff, unmoving.

When they dismissed her, he escorted her down the hall silently.

“You’re meeting with Dr. Ieiri next,” he said without looking at her. “East diagnostics.”

“Yes, sir!” she chirped, still smiling.

He frowned. “Don’t call me sir.”

She giggled softly. “Okay, Nanami-san.”

He stopped in front of the diagnostics door.

“Wait here. She’s just finishing up. I’ll come get you when she’s ready.”

She nodded and perched herself on the bench, legs crossed at the ankle, smoothing her skirt and humming under her breath. Everything was going well so far. The place was a little… clinical. And the people were intense. But she could handle that.

She was here to help. That’s what mattered.

⸻

Thirty minutes passed.

The hallway remained silent.

Then the door creaked open.

Nanami stepped out.

And his face was different.

His jaw was clenched. His grip on the clipboard white-knuckled. He wasn’t just annoyed—he looked angry.

She stood up quickly. “Is everything okay—?”

He didn’t answer right away. He looked down at her like she was a puzzle someone had forced him to solve.

“They’ve finalized your patient assignments,” he said flatly.

“Oh, great! Who will I be working with?”

A pause.

He looked away.

“Gojou Satoru and Getou Suguru.”

She blinked.

There was silence.

Then she smiled again. “Those are the ones from the level five wing, right?”

“Correct.”

Her head tilted. “That’s strange. Weren’t they… uh, sealed for behavioral instability? I thought only the senior psychiatrists handled—”

“They do,” Nanami cut in. “But the board made a decision.”

His voice was colder now. His eyes unreadable.

“No one else has managed to keep consistent observation time with them. Your assignment begins tomorrow.”

She hesitated. Her smile faltered—just slightly.

“Oh… I see.”

A hand landed on her shoulder. A different one.

“Don’t let him scare you,” said a smooth, amused voice.

She turned and found herself face to face with a woman in a half-wrinkled lab coat, dark circles under her eyes and a cigarette between two fingers. “Shoko Ieiri,” she said. “Diagnostics and sedation protocols. You’ll be seeing a lot of me if you’re going near them.”

She shook her hand firmly, studying her expression. “You’re either brave, stupid, or just incredibly soft. Let’s find out which.”

“W-We’re not even sure what their diagnoses are exactly,” the girl said, laughing awkwardly. “Just rumors, right?”

Neither of them answered.

Nanami crossed his arms. “I argued against it. They didn’t care. You were chosen for a reason.”

Shoko exhaled a long stream of smoke, her gaze sharpening.

“They think maybe if it’s someone pretty. Someone gentle. Someone that doesn’t look like they belong here.”

She smiled grimly.

“They’ll talk to you.”

The girl looked between them. Their expressions made her stomach twist.

“…I can handle it,” she said softly. “I mean… I came here to help people. That’s what I’m going to do.”

No one spoke.

But Nanami sighed, quietly. Almost inaudible.

Shoko glanced at him.

“Poor thing’s got no clue what she’s walking into,” she murmured.

And she didn’t.

Not yet.

But she would.

Tomorrow, the door would open.

And the voices in the white rooms would finally find her.

_________

The next morning, she woke up early.

The sky hadn’t changed—it was still that unremarkable grey, neither dark nor bright, just blank. But she didn’t mind. She took her time getting ready. A cream-colored cardigan, soft knit. A pleated skirt with little flowers. Pink clips on either side of her head to keep her hair in place. A tiny gold cross around her neck, mostly hidden beneath her collar. Just a small comfort.

Today was her first real assignment. Her first session. Her first patient.

She packed her notepad, folder, and pens in her small tote bag and clipped her name tag to her chest. She even added a strawberry sticker to her clipboard.

Because… why not?

Even scary places could be a little softer.

⸻

Nanami met her just outside the dorm wing. He was exactly the same as always: beige coat, tie straight, jaw tense. But something about the way his eyes landed on her—on her bow, her pastel cardigan, her matching pen—made her think he was trying not to say something.

“Good morning!” she beamed.

He gave a slow nod. “Come with me. I’ll brief you on the way.”

She followed beside him, her steps quick to match his.

“Today you’ll begin your patient observations,” he said, voice clipped. “You’re starting with Gojou Satoru.”

She blinked. “Oh—alright. He’s the one in level five, right? I read the preliminary files last night, but—”

“Good. Then you understand the level of risk.”

She hesitated. “They said… he’s highly unstable. Aggressive. Psychosis, possibly schizophrenia with delusional episodes…”

“Those are just words for what no one fully understands,” Nanami said. “You read about the Shinjuku Incident?”

Her stomach fluttered. “…Yes.”

“Then you understand why he’s the only patient housed in full suppression protocol. Physical restraints. Isolation. Anti-reinforcement architecture. Guards stationed at all times. No physical contact.”

She nodded. “Understood.”

He stopped outside a heavy steel door at the end of a long, windowless corridor. Two guards in matte black armor flanked either side.

Nanami turned toward her. And for the first time… his voice softened.

“You stay calm. If anything feels wrong, anything at all, you leave. Don’t try to understand him. Don’t try to reason with him. Just do your job, and come back out. I’ll be waiting.”

She blinked up at him, surprised.

“I will,” she said, and smiled. “Thank you, Nanami-san.”

He didn’t smile back. But he looked at her for a moment longer than usual. Then nodded to the guards.

The door opened.

⸻

She stepped inside the chamber and immediately felt it—something wrong in the air. Like walking into a room that had been filled with smoke hours ago. Nothing visible, nothing tangible, just a presence in the walls. A hum under the skin.

He was seated in the center of the room.

His wrists, ankles, and neck were bound by a web of blackened steel. The cuffs looked more like cursed tools than restraints—etched in runes, fused into the floor. His blindfold was still in place, but his head tilted the moment she stepped in, like he could see her anyway.

He smiled.

The kind of smile that didn’t belong in a place like this. Wide. Bright. Full of light that didn’t reach his bindings.

“You came,” he said.

She froze mid-step.

He tilted his head the other way, a slight giggle in his throat. “I knew you would. I could feel you right outside my door. You smelled like vanilla shampoo and cheap strawberry ink.”

She looked down, instinctively clutching her clipboard. Her Hello Kitty pen glinted pink in her hand.

“Aww,” he said. “That’s cute. You brought that just for me, didn’t you?”

“I…” She cleared her throat and tried to steady herself. “My name is (Y/N). I’ll be your assigned intern for the next few weeks. I’m here to observe your behavioral patterns and—”

“I know who you are.”

Her heart fluttered. He hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t look dangerous. He just… knew too much.

“(Y/N) (L/N), age twenty-three. Graduated two months ago. Internship transferred from Kyoto on emergency recommendation. You like lemon cake. You cried at the end of that movie, the one where the dog dies—what was it? Hachiko?”

Her fingers tightened around her clipboard.

“You should’ve been assigned to someone boring,” he said casually. “Someone who doesn’t even look at you. But instead…”

He smiled wider.

“You got me.”

She tried to keep her tone professional. “Your file says you’ve shown signs of hyperfixation. I’d like to begin our first session by asking a few baseline questions.”

“Sure.” He tilted his head again, grin still in place. “You can ask anything you want. I like your voice.”

She scribbled something down—his tone was playful but unsteady. The way he leaned forward in his restraints made the guards tense slightly, but she didn’t flinch.

“Why are you here, really?” he asked suddenly.

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re too soft for this place,” he murmured. “All sweetness and pastels. It’s adorable. Like sending a kitten into a tiger cage.”

She smiled gently, the way she had practiced. “I want to help people. I know some of the cases here are severe, but… that’s why I came. To make a difference.”

For a moment, something in his expression shifted.

“You really mean that.”

It wasn’t a question.

She nodded, pink pen tapping lightly against the edge of her clipboard.

“Would you say you experience emotional instability or violent impulses?” she asked, reading from the list.

He laughed. “Depends on who’s watching.”

She looked up, a little confused.

“I don’t want them in here,” he whispered. “The guards. They’re ruining the moment.”

She smiled again, softer this time. “I don’t think I can change that.”

His voice dropped. Darker. “You could, if you wanted to.”

There was a pause. The silence stretched. Something cold prickled against the back of her neck.

Then his head tilted again. His grin was back.

“You’re prettier up close,” he said warmly. “Your photos didn’t do you justice.”

Her pen slipped slightly. “Photos?”

“Oh, don’t worry.” He leaned forward just enough to pull the chains taut. They groaned. “They’re hidden. For me only.”

She took a careful breath, writing something down just to fill the space.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked.

She blinked. “No.”

“Liar.” He smiled like it was a compliment. “But that’s okay. You will be.”

The door hissed behind her.

Nanami stepped in, voice sharp. “Session’s over.”

Satoru didn’t flinch. He just turned his face slightly toward the sound, then looked back at her.

“You’ll be back,” he said with certainty. “You don’t belong to them. You’ll see that soon.”

She hesitated for just a second, then gave him a soft smile.

“Goodbye for now, Gojou-san.”

And then she waved—just a tiny wave of her fingers, like she would to a classmate at school.

His smile split wide, like sunlight through broken glass.

As the guards ushered her out, his voice followed—quiet, but clear.

“Next time, wear that blue skirt again. You looked so pretty in it.”

She stepped into the hall.

The door shut behind her with a deep, echoing clang.

Nanami’s jaw was tight. The guards looked unsettled.

But she just smiled, a little flustered, and glanced at her clipboard.

“I think it went okay,” she said brightly. “He was very… energetic.”

Nanami didn’t say a word as he walked her back.

But behind the steel door, Satoru sat very still. His chains groaned as he leaned his head back.

And smiled.

________

She thought she would feel more prepared this time.

The hall outside the East Containment wing looked the same—white, spotless, silent. Nanami’s posture was just as rigid beside her, clipboard in hand. But as she glanced up at him, she noticed the subtle difference.

He looked… tense. Not just alert, but concerned.

“Now you’ll meet Getou Suguru,” he said without preamble. “You’ve read the file.”

She nodded, holding her clipboard a little tighter. “Former cult leader. High intelligence. Mass casualty event. Manipulation through ideological influence and emotional targeting.”

Nanami gave a short nod.

“His ability to read others is unparalleled. Do not let him draw you in. Do not over-engage. Stick to your baseline questions and leave when I give the signal.”

She smiled a little, trying to keep the nerves down. “I understand. I’ll be careful.”

“I mean it,” Nanami said, looking at her fully now. “You’re not trained to resist his kind of persuasion. Don’t confuse politeness with safety.”

Her smile faltered. Just a little.

Still, she nodded again.

“I’ll be fine.”

The guards opened the door.

⸻

His room was similar to Satoru’s in structure—plain concrete walls, low lighting, not a trace of softness anywhere. But there were no chains.

Instead, a clear barrier of reinforced cursed glass split the room in half, and he sat behind it like a prince in a quiet chapel—long black hair tied neatly back, robes folded in precise layers, his expression unreadable.

He didn’t look up immediately. He was seated cross-legged on the floor, brush in hand, painting slow, deliberate strokes onto a fresh canvas.

She stepped in softly, the door closing behind her with a sealed click.

“Good morning,” she said gently, her tone still warm despite the chill. “My name is (Y/N). I’m the assigned intern working with you for the next few weeks.”

She smiled. A small, practiced thing that came naturally to her.

He didn’t look at her.

“I’ve been asked to monitor your behavior patterns and emotional responses during structured conversation sessions,” she continued, clipboard in hand. “My role is non-invasive. I’m only here to talk and observe.”

There was a pause.

Then his eyes lifted.

Dark. Sharp. Still.

He looked at her as if she were an old photograph brought to life. No surprise in his gaze. No curiosity. Just calm recognition.

“(Y/N),” he said, without inflection. “From Kyoto.”

Her breath caught. But she recovered quickly—she’d gotten used to strange familiarity after yesterday. Maybe the files were more widely circulated than she realized.

“You… have a strong memory,” she said, voice still sweet. “I guess everyone’s been reading about me, huh?”

“No,” he replied. “I just knew you would come.”

The words were soft. Smooth. Said like they were inevitable.

She blinked and moved to the small desk provided for interns on her side of the glass.

He watched her the whole time.

“You don’t belong in a place like this,” he said after a moment. “You’re too soft.”

Her cheeks warmed faintly, but she gave him a polite laugh.

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

“But I’ll be the last.”

She looked up, startled.

He didn’t explain.

Instead, he set the brush down, wiped his fingers with a white cloth, and finally leaned forward. Their eyes met through the glass. He didn’t smile—but something in his gaze curled around her, quiet and unrelenting.

“You smell like spring,” he said quietly.

She tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

“Like cherry blossom soap. I used to know someone who wore the same.” His gaze lingered on her hair clips. “You dress gently. Deliberately.”

She hesitated, then smiled again, as if to brush it off.

“I think it’s important to keep some color around here. It’s very… white.”

That made something in him twitch—a breath, a near-smile. Not mocking. Not kind. Just… something alive.

“I was told you paint,” she said, eyes flicking toward the small stack of canvases in the corner.

A change came over him. Subtle. But it was there.

He didn’t look. He didn’t move. But there was a stillness that wrapped around him now. A tension.

“It helps me remember,” he said.

“Remember what?”

“Things that belong to me.”

She blinked again, unsure how to respond.

“May I ask what you’re painting today?”

He turned the canvas slightly, so only a corner was visible—a pale blur of skin tone. A curve of a cheek. A delicate line of a smile.

“I’m still working on the eyes,” he murmured. “Yours are… complicated.”

She blinked. “I—I don’t think I understand.”

He didn’t clarify. But his gaze was locked on her now. Calm. Patient.

Like he could wait forever.

She wrote something down, her Hello Kitty pen tapping lightly at the edge of her clipboard. His eyes followed the pen.

“You really are exactly what I imagined,” he said.

“Imagination can be misleading,” she replied sweetly.

“Not mine.”

The door opened behind her. She turned instinctively—and saw Nanami’s silhouette in the doorway, watching.

Time was up.

She stood slowly, collecting her things. As she reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder.

“Thank you for your time, Getou-san,” she said politely, giving another small wave. “I’ll see you again soon.”

He didn’t move.

“You already do.”

⸻

Nanami said nothing as he walked her back to the dorm wing. But she noticed the way his jaw was tight, hands in his pockets.

“That one was… different,” she said after a moment.

Still no answer.

“I felt like he was trying to… see through me.”

“He was,” Nanami said flatly.

She looked at him. “Do you think I handled it okay?”

He slowed his pace just slightly. His eyes flicked toward her. Then forward again.

“You didn’t smile as much on your way out,” he muttered.

She gave a tiny laugh. “I guess I was concentrating.”

“Don’t let him in,” Nanami said. “Don’t try to understand him. You’re not ready.”

She didn’t argue. But she didn’t fully agree either.

She still believed she could help them.

Even if something in Suguru’s voice lingered like smoke in her lungs.

______

She didn’t expect him to be waiting for her.

But Satoru was already sitting up straight when she entered his room again—legs crossed, head tilted, chains tight against the floor. The blindfold was gone this time.

His eyes were ice-blue and glowing. Not metaphorically. Actually glowing. Pale and wrong. Like the light didn’t come from the room—but from inside him.

“You wore the cardigan again,” he grinned. “The white one with the little heart buttons. Are you trying to kill me?”

She blinked, quickly looking down at her notepad. “It’s just a cardigan.”

“Not to me.”

The guards barely moved in their corners, but she knew they were watching. Nanami stood just outside the window, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

She sat at the small metal desk, her clipboard already open. “Let’s begin today’s session. I’ll be asking a few questions for your file maintenance.”

“Ohh. So cold already? No hello for your favorite patient?”

She smiled gently, in that same practiced way. “Hello, Gojou-san. Are you ready to answer some questions?”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

“Please describe how you’ve been feeling this week. Any changes in mood or perception?”

“Well, I felt something… beautiful in the hallway earlier,” he said. “She had little hair clips and walked like a ballerina. You should’ve seen her.”

She gave him a look—caught between amusement and light disapproval.

“It was you, by the way,” he added, tapping a finger to his temple. “Didn’t want you to miss the metaphor.”

She jotted a few notes, trying not to smile too much.

“Have you experienced any auditory or visual hallucinations in the past seventy-two hours?”

“Only you. But you’re not a hallucination… yet.”

He leaned forward slightly, grin widening. “Although if you were in my head, I wouldn’t mind. You’d be the best thing in there.”

“I need a serious answer, please.”

He sighed dramatically. “No hallucinations. No visions. Just dreams.”

She paused. “Dreams of what?”

“Of you,” he said plainly. “Tied in a bow, standing in my doorway. Every time I wake up, I’m disappointed.”

There was a moment of silence.

She tried not to react.

Instead, she scribbled something—pen clicking softly against the clipboard.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked suddenly.

She looked up. “That’s not a relevant question—”

“Come on. I answer your questions. It’s only fair. Let me guess…” He narrowed his eyes. “Peach? Lavender? Baby blue?”

She hesitated. Just a second too long.

“…Pink,” she mumbled, before remembering herself. “But I’m not allowed to share personal details. It’s part of the—”

“You just did.” He beamed. “You trust me already. That’s adorable.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Shhh. Don’t ruin it.”

⸻

Suguru never smiled.

Not in the way Satoru did.

When she entered his room, his eyes were already waiting. Still. Patient. Watching the way her fingers curled around her clipboard. The way her shoes tapped lightly across the floor. The way she smoothed her skirt before sitting.

He was like a man sitting at the edge of a pond, waiting for a koi fish to surface. Silent. Unmoving. Focused.

She cleared her throat.

“Good afternoon, Getou-san. I’ll be continuing the behavioral assessment questionnaire today.”

“Your voice is calmer than usual,” he said softly.

She blinked. “I… I didn’t notice.”

“Rough morning?”

She shook her head. “It’s not relevant. Let’s begin the session.”

“Do you sleep well in your dorm room?”

Her pen hovered over the paper.

“…I’m not supposed to answer personal—”

“Just asking. You seem tired. I heard the walls make noise at night.”

Her heart gave a soft thump. She had heard something. But no one else mentioned it. Not even Shoko, when she’d asked casually over lunch.

“Don’t worry,” Suguru added. “They stop when you’re being watched.”

She tried to redirect. “How have you been feeling this week?”

“Content.”

A beat.

“I saw you yesterday. Walking past the medical ward. I thought you looked very graceful. Like someone not meant to be here.”

She wrote that down—eyes flicking toward him only briefly.

“Do you remember what I painted last week?”

She looked over at the stack of canvases in the far corner. They were always turned inward, away from the glass.

“No. You didn’t show me.”

“Would you like to?”

“I… that’s not part of the procedure.”

“But you want to. Don’t you?”

She paused. Just for a moment. Then looked back down.

“Please answer the next question. Have you experienced any emotional spikes or dissociation in the last seventy-two hours?”

He was quiet. Then:

“You said your favorite color is pink.”

Her eyes snapped up.

“…I never told you that.”

“You did,” he said gently. “To him.”

The silence pressed in. Thicker now.

“…You’re not supposed to know what happens in other sessions.”

“And yet here we are.”

She stood up just a little too quickly. “That concludes today’s session.”

⸻

Nanami didn’t speak as they walked down the hall again. But she felt it.

The tension was different this time. Not like the first day, when it was nerves. Not like the second, when it was curiosity.

This time it felt like being watched. Even after the door was closed. Even after the guards nodded her through.

Something had changed.

Not outside the glass. Not in the room.

In her.

She waved at Shoko in diagnostics, still wearing her little smile, still holding her clipboard close.

But as she walked back to her dorm, the silence in the hallway felt heavier.

And she couldn’t help but feel like somewhere—two pairs of eyes were memorizing her every step.

___

She woke up with her breath caught in her throat.

The sheets were damp. Her cotton nightshirt clung to her skin. Her little plush bear was nearly crushed in her arms. She didn’t remember grabbing it—just that it was there, between her arms like a fragile shield.

The nightmare still clung to her like static.

It hadn’t been the first. But it was the most vivid.

She was in the facility—but the halls had no lights. All the doors were gone. She was barefoot, walking on tile that felt wet, though there was no sound. No echo. The walls pulsed like flesh. The air buzzed like insects behind her ears.

She kept hearing her name. Not screamed. Not whispered.

Just said. Over and over.

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N)… you’re late.”

“(Y/N), we’re waiting…”

And then she had turned a corner and seen it.

A sketchbook—hundreds of pages, spilling open. All of them were her face. But wrong. Distorted. Smiling too wide. Eyes too big. Or crying. Or covered in something dark and red. And on every page, the words written beneath:

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Then hands—not touching her, but reaching.

A soft voice behind her ear, tender and delighted:

“I said you’d come to me.”

And then she’d woken up.

⸻

It took her nearly half an hour to calm down.

She curled up on the side of her narrow dorm bed, hugging the bear Shoko had gifted her during her first week: pink with a little bow. Her fingers curled into its fur like a child trying to ground herself. Her breathing was shallow. Slow. But eventually, the tremors faded.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t scream.

She just… held on.

⸻

By lunchtime, she had composed herself.

The cafeteria was as sterile as the rest of the facility—white walls, metal chairs, employees spread in quiet clusters. Some nurses talked over trays of curry and rice, a few junior staff members scrolling through their phones.

Shoko was already seated at the corner table, picking at a sandwich and nursing a lukewarm coffee. Nanami sat beside her, as stiff as ever, rice untouched in front of him.

“Sorry I’m late,” she chirped, sliding into the empty seat between them. “Diagnostics took longer than expected.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t sleep again, did you?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, giving a tiny smile. “Just a little tired. I’m used to it.”

Nanami stared at her plate. “You haven’t touched your food in three days.”

“I have!” she protested, opening her bento and poking at a few rice grains. “I’m just… not super hungry lately. That’s all.”

Shoko sighed through her nose and passed her a fruit cup. “Sugar. For your brain. You’re doing too much.”

“I’m okay,” she said again, more quietly. But she accepted the fruit cup anyway.

Nanami didn’t speak. But his jaw shifted slightly.

She glanced between the two of them and tried to steer the mood elsewhere.

“So…” she said, brightening her voice, “can I ask you something not work-related for once?”

Shoko leaned back, curious. “Since when do you break protocol?”

“Since I’m tired of hearing about my own sleep habits,” she grinned. “I was just wondering… what brought you two here? Like, to this facility? It’s not exactly close to anything.”

Shoko smiled slightly. “Got transferred. Long story. They needed someone who could handle higher-risk diagnostics. Plus, the pay’s decent and the cigarettes are tax-deductible.”

(Y/N) laughed gently. “And you, Nanami-san?”

He looked at her for a moment, then turned his gaze down.

“I trained under someone who was connected to the institute,” he said eventually. “Didn’t want the job. But someone had to take it.”

There was a pause.

Shoko gave him a sidelong glance.

“Still doesn’t like it,” she added dryly.

“I don’t like most things,” he muttered.

(Y/N) smiled again, softer this time. “Well, I’m glad you’re both here. You make this place feel a lot safer.”

They didn’t answer. But Nanami’s hand relaxed against the table slightly. And Shoko looked… amused.

After a few more bites, she tilted her head and looked toward the far window.

“I was just wondering something,” she said after a moment, voice light. “About containment, I mean.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow.

“Do any of the patients… interact? Like, between sessions? Or are they all completely isolated?”

There was a beat of silence.

Nanami’s eyes lifted from his tray, sharp.

“Why do you ask?”

She blinked innocently. “Oh—I just thought about it the other day. Some of them… say things that feel very informed. Like they’ve heard things they shouldn’t have.”

Shoko set her coffee down. “Level five inmates are isolated by default. Reinforced containment protocols, monitored 24/7. No shared interaction. Especially not between them.”

“Right. Of course.” She gave a tiny laugh. “Just curiosity. Probably just coincidences.”

But Nanami was still watching her.

Not questioning her. Not accusing.

Just watching.

As if he had wondered the same.

_____

had been nearly four weeks since her first day.

And she was starting to feel it.

The exhaustion had curled into her bones—quietly, like smoke—but it didn’t stop her. She still arrived early. Still smiled as she walked the sterile halls. Still wore her soft cardigans and skirt sets, her delicate perfume, her pink pen with the faded Hello Kitty cap.

But her steps were slower now. The shadows under her eyes a little deeper. Her wrists a little slimmer.

She didn’t notice it herself. Not really.

But Suguru did.

He was already seated when she entered.

Always in the same position—legs folded beneath him, dark robes like still water. His hair tied loosely at his neck today. The light from above cast long shadows across his collarbones. The canvas sat beside him, untouched.

He looked up the moment she stepped in. His gaze moved over her—calm, as always. But his fingers tapped once against his knee.

A tiny, silent reaction.

“You’re late,” he said gently.

“I’m two minutes early,” she said, glancing at her clipboard with a soft smile.

“You kept me waiting anyway.”

She sat down, smoothing her skirt under her legs, trying to ignore the slight tremor in her arms. She was always cold now. Even in layers.

He didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he just watched.

“I’ll begin with the baseline questions, if that’s alright,” she said, flipping the page. “This is for weekly emotional tracking.”

“Go on.”

“Have you experienced any intrusive thoughts, auditory hallucinations, or disassociative episodes in the past seventy-two hours?”

“Only when you leave.”

She blinked, smiled slightly, and wrote something down.

“Any emotional instability? Irritability, impulse behaviors?”

“Not when you’re here.”

She wrote slower this time.

“…Have you had recurring dreams or episodes of déjà vu?”

He paused for a beat.

“I keep dreaming of a hallway. White walls. No doors.”

His eyes didn’t leave her.

“Someone’s always walking down it. But I only ever see the back of her.”

She felt something twitch behind her ribs.

Still, she nodded. “Thank you.”

He tilted his head. “You’re shivering.”

“It’s a little cold in here,” she said lightly. “Nothing new.”

“You’re not sleeping well.”

She hesitated.

“And you’re not eating.”

Her stomach growled before she could deny it.

The sound was humiliating in the silence of the glass chamber.

She flushed and laughed softly, pressing her hand to her stomach.

“Oops. Guess you heard that, huh?”

His brows furrowed. The expression was subtle—but not like his usual calm. No serenity. Just… tension.

“Why?”

“I’m just not that hungry lately,” she said quickly. “Plus, the food here’s not exactly great—”

“That’s not a reason.”

She blinked at the firmness in his voice.

“I’m fine, really—”

“You’re not.”

She paused.

“…I said I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Her throat tightened a little. She tried to hold her smile, but her hands fidgeted with her pen.

“I’ve just been busy, that’s all. I’m probably burning more calories than I—”

“Are you dieting?”

The question hit like a stone.

She blinked. “What?”

“You said that yesterday. When you skipped lunch.”

“Oh, that was just a joke,” she said, laughing. “I was teasing Shoko.”

His eyes darkened—just slightly. Not in rage. But in something.

“You don’t need to diet.”

She looked down.

He stood slowly, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound between them. He walked toward the glass, standing just close enough that his breath fogged the surface slightly.

“Your body is not something that needs to be changed,” he said quietly. “Not trimmed. Not shrunk. Not punished.”

Her breath caught.

The tone wasn’t flirtatious. It wasn’t even warm.

It was sacred.

Like a man talking to a statue he prayed to. A devotion threaded through every syllable.

She shifted uncomfortably, shrinking in on herself.

He saw it.

And just like that—his expression softened. The coldness vanished. His voice smoothed back into silk.

“Forgive me,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

She nodded quickly, still not looking at him.

There was a pause.

Then:

“Will you eat dinner tonight?”

She glanced up. “I… I think so.”

“Will you sleep before midnight?”

“I’ll try…”

“No. Not try. I want your word.”

She blinked.

“Why?”

“Because I need you to,” he said simply. “And I will ask again tomorrow. And the day after. Until you learn to care for yourself properly.”

She couldn’t say anything to that.

The door hissed open behind her.

She stood slowly, still gripping her clipboard. Her hands shook slightly.

“Thank you for your time, Getou-san.”

“Rest, (Y/N),” he said.

His voice was so soft, so intimate—it nearly broke her.

As she stepped out, the door sealing behind her, she didn’t see him reach toward the wall behind the glass.

Didn’t see him trace her name—her full name—with the tip of his brush.

______

She tried to compose herself before stepping into the room.

Tried to smooth her skirt, fix her cardigan, reclip the hairpin that had slipped slightly out of place. She even smiled at one of the guards. He didn’t smile back.

Nanami was already in position near the reinforced observation wall, his expression hard. He glanced at her clipboard.

“You sure you’re steady enough for this?”

She nodded quickly.

“Just tired. I’m okay.”

He didn’t respond. But she could feel him watching her as the door unlocked with a low hiss.

Satoru was humming when she entered.

He was reclined in the center of the room, legs stretched out, chains slack but locked into the floor. His white hair looked messier than usual, and the blindfold was absent again, revealing his pale eyes—brilliant and unblinking.

“Strawberry Shortcake,” he sang. “Vanilla Cream. There she is, my sugar cube dream.”

She blinked. “…What?”

“You look like a walking pastry today,” he grinned. “All soft and pink and nervous. I’m obsessed with it.”

She laughed softly. “That’s a new one.”

“New day, new nickname,” he said proudly. “I’ve got a hundred of them for you. Let’s see… Peach Muffin. Cotton Candy. My little bunny on her way to a breakdown.”

He tilted his head. “That last one’s not so funny, huh?”

Her smile faltered a little, but she sat at her usual post, clipboard in hand.

“You’re in a mood today.”

“You’re not,” he said immediately.

She froze.

“You’re off, sweetheart.”

His tone was light, but his eyes didn’t move.

“Not in your usual fluffy way. Something’s pulling on you.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Nope.” He leaned forward. The chains tightened slightly. “Wrong answer.”

She exhaled slowly, keeping her pen still. “I’m here to check on you, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, but that’s stupid,” he said. “You’ve never been good at taking care of yourself. Not even when you were mine.”

She blinked. The words hit like cold water.

“…I don’t—what do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, stretching like a cat, “you’ve always been like this. Little cracks showing, smile still glued on. It’s adorable, and pathetic, and I love it. But it still worries me.”

He smiled wide.

“You really don’t remember yet?”

“…Yet?”

“Anyway!” he chirped suddenly. “Let’s talk about something else.”

She stared at him, brows drawing tight—but he was already off, bouncing from topic to topic in his own rhythm.

“Did you eat today?”

“I—”

“Be honest.”

She paused.

“Not really. I’ve been busy, and I didn’t feel—”

“Wrong answer again.”

She looked up. His tone had changed.

He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“You have one job, and it’s to stay healthy. I hate when you lie to me, bunny.”

Her throat tightened. She shifted in her seat.

“I’m not lying. I just…”

“I can see your ribs under that stupid little sweater.”

She flinched slightly. He didn’t say it cruelly—he said it like a fact. Like he should be the one noticing.

“You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating. You’re a mess. And I don’t like seeing what I love falling apart like this.”

The silence rang loud between them.

“…You… you love me?”

He grinned again. “Don’t change the subject.”

She stared down at her clipboard, overwhelmed. Her fingers trembled faintly against her pen.

“Tell you what,” he said, tone suddenly sweet again. “If you promise to eat dinner tonight—and sleep, like a good girl—I’ll only ask you cute questions next session. No more scary stuff.”

She blinked, uncertain.

“Cross your heart,” he sang. “Swear it. One little pinkie promise, and I’ll behave.”

“…Okay,” she said, smiling nervously. “I promise.”

He clapped his hands, giddy. “Yay~! You’re so good when you listen.”

She felt a little lightheaded. Like the air was thinner in this room.

He tilted his head again.

“Still sushi, right?”

Her heart skipped.

“…What?”

“Your favorite,” he said simply. “Sushi. Tuna. And that stupid egg omelet one you always get, even though you say it tastes weird.”

She stared at him, stunned. “…How do you—?”

“Mmm.” He gave a dramatic shrug. “Maybe you told me. Maybe I just know. Maybe we used to share it, and you just forgot.”

Before she could answer, the door hissed open.

Nanami stood there with a scowl like stone.

“Bye, Bun-Bun,” Satoru called cheerfully. “Don’t starve yourself, okay? I’ll cry.”

She left quickly, the clipboard clutched to her chest.

She didn’t look back.

⸻

That night, she returned to her dorm.

The lights were dim. The air cold. She was still shaking slightly from something she couldn’t name. Her hands went to her cardigan buttons, needing to change, needing to breathe—

And then she saw it.

On her bed.

A pristine, white box.

Wrapped with pale pink ribbon.

A soft chill raced down her spine.

She stepped closer, carefully.

Her name was written on the little card in perfectly neat handwriting. No return address. No signature.

She opened the lid with trembling fingers.

Inside: sushi.

Neatly arranged.

Tuna. Salmon. Tamago.

A little cup of dipping sauce in the corner. Pickled ginger. Even a side of strawberry mochi. Her favorite.

And beneath it all, tucked gently under the wrapping paper:

A small pink napkin.

Folded into a heart.

With a single word written in the center.

Mine.

[choochooboss]

Sketch dump! Vol. 5

September 2022 (Part 1/2)

The first piece on top summarised my cosplay rush for Tracon 2022! The second is an old idea for a charm.

"SURPRISE!!"

Back in 2022 I hosted an art raffle for reaching 777 followers on Twitter! The winner would get their submas themed idea realised (which was their friends throwing a surprise party for the twins!). I wanted to make a little comic and have the bosses walk in their office where depot agents, Elesa, Drayden, Skyla, Clay etc. would be waiting with decorations and treats and games.

Emmet is all smiles of course while Ingo gets so emotional he could only whisper a "super bravo".

Not really headcanons anymore but still funny ideas.

1. Emmet gets clumsy when off-rhythm! He starts walking in curves if there is nobody else around to match his rhythm with.

2. Emmet spaces out/forgets to say things aloud when someone speaks too long or when things go off-script! His thinking gets interrupted easily.

3. Ingo sometimes bumps into doors because he is too used to automatic doors!

4. When things go off-script Ingo speaks too much and rushes in straight lines"

Also my little inexpensive sketchbook & my trusty tools! Mechanical pencil and eraser pen are life when scribbling my skrimblos smaller than a postage stamp!

More Ingo~ I utilise a wide range of sources for references, including CSP's poseable 3D models, they can come really handy with perspectives and proportions!

The second piece is my very first attempt at cosplay in Tracon 2022: Blingo! I walked in with a sequin hat, leather jacket, leather pants and high heel patent leather boots.

The hardest part of cosplaying Ingo is remembering NOT to smile ahaha!

Some hairstyle tests

I drew these for a huge submas art collaboration over Twitter hosted by @/mimizukeii!! It was technically my first art collab before I started arranging them myself with Aggie/Magma.

While looking for train related songs I found this cute nursery rhyme to go with the marching:

"Over the mountains,

Over the plains,

Over the rivers,

Here come the trains.

Carrying passengers,

Carrying mail,

Bringing their precious loads In without fail"

I wanted to compare these silly twins, planning to do something more silly with them later. Also a sketch of @/fukurow's butler designs I never finished.. The capes compliment them so well, I love them!!

Prequel to this piece! Emmet is so confident in himself he thinks Pierce wants to learn from him but is invited for a duet on the stage instead!!

Emmet has really great voice actors in Pokemas! I especially love how his english VA gives him that bri'ish/posh/sophisticated vibe while also soft and melodic! I know for SURE this VA/Emmet can sing, I can show you later!

One of my favourite sketches!! I wanted to add a bunch of characters in the BG reacting to this sonic blast of emotion over a performance!

Heyyy it's the smile buddies comic!! I really hope Ingo gets to interact with Marnie in Pokemas one day!!

I feel Ingo's eyes in the mirror panel is a little off in the final comic, I meant to keep it softer like in the sketch!

It's Nimbasa trio!! Idea inspired by submas EX uniform colors. Might continue this later!

Some BG tests for this piece! Compositing is hard but absolutely worth the effort, it can make a huge difference in the appeal of your piece!!

Practise piece drawing over a photo I thought was cool! I want to get more experimental with lighting and perspective!

'How's it hanging bro?' Who hung him up there anyway??

Sketch for this arguing scene! Something REALLY BAD needs to happen for them to end up that tense! Even if I want to present them close to the canon material I still want to put them in really challenging situations to see how far I can push their emotions!

Thank you so much for coming all the way down here!! This set was pretty loaded, I hope you enjoyed scrolling through all this ahah!

Previous posts:

Sketch dump Vol. 1: April-June 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 2: July 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 3: August 2022

Sketch dump Vol. 4: July 2022 Part 2

[antiterf]

Its kind of ridiculous how difficult it is to find critical intersex literature if you don't know where to look.

That said, here are frequently cited things I've found. For the one's that are behind paywalls, I have a Google Drive folder set up to hold them for access. The only things I leave behind a paywall are books by individual authors. They are not organized at all, I'm sorry.

Intersex Variations Glossary by InterACT

Narrative Symposium: Intersex—Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics (NIB) Volume 5, Number 2, Summer 2015.— Trigger warning for intersex genital mutilation (IGM), sexual assault, and medical trauma—it's honestly a lot but incredibly important. (Drive)

A human rights investigation into the medical "normalization" of intersex people - A report of a public hearing by the Human Rights Commission of the City & County of San Francisco

Surgical Progress Is Not the Answer to Intersexuality - Cheryl Chase. - TW for IGM and images of genitalia (Drive)

The Intersex Roadshow, a blog of Dr. Cary Gabriel Costello - Costello is an intersex trans man and tries to bridge the gap between trans and intersex issues

Beyond Binary Sex and Gender Ideology - Cary Grabriel Costello - Chapter 12 of The Oxford Handbook of the Sociology of Body and Embodiment (Drive)

Transgender and intersex: theoretical, practical, and artistic perspectives (book/textbook) (Drive)

Intersex: Stories and Statistics from Australia (Book) (Open Access)

Fixing sex: intersex, medical authority, and lived experience (Book)

The harms of medicalisation: intersex, loneliness and abandonment (Open Access Article)

Intersex: cultural and social perspectives (Open Access Article)

Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) - Technical Note on the Human Rights of Intersex People. Basically, if you want an easy way to say that doctors are going against human rights by performing IGM.

An experimental philosophical bioethical study of how human rights are applied to clitorectomy on infants identified as female and as intersex (Open Access Article) - People were more likely to support the same surgery on infants labeled as intersex than they were on infants labeled as female.

Caught in the Gender Binary Blind Spot: Intersex Erasure in Cisgender Rhetoric by Hida Viloria - About how cisgender often doesn't accurately express the experiences intersex people have. Costello, mentioned earlier with Intersex Roadshow, coined Ipsogender for this reason.

Introduction for Intersex Activism - A guide for allies

Sex, Science, and Society: Reckonings and Responsibilities for Biologists (Open Access Article)

Contesting Intersex: The Dubious Diagnosis by Georgiann Davis - TW for medical trauma

Spectacles and Scholarship: Caster Semenya, Intersex Studies, and the Problem of Race in Feminist Theory by Zine Magubane (Drive)

Owning Endosex Privilege and Supporting the Intersex Community: WPATH, Intersex Genital Mutilation (IGM), and Sex Variant Bodies by Margo Schulter

The Spectrum of Sex by Hida Viloria and Dr. Maria Nieto

A long way to go for LGBTI equality from the European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights - Before the UK left the EU

If anyone wants to add, feel free! This was the non-medicalized stuff I had saved in Zotero, and definitely not all that's out there.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Help Save the World of TTRPGs and Their Creators.

Okay I’m being a little dramatic, but at the same time I’m pretty serious. This is a call to action, and the livelihoods of myself and lots of other people, many of them (like myself) disabled, are depending on it. This is a post about why, what you can do about it, and (perhaps least often answered) how.

This post is actually an accompaniment to another discussion by someone else. If you don’t want to listen to a 90-minute in-depth discussion of much of what I’m about to tell you, you can just keep reading. Otherwise, click here or here and listen to this either before or after you read this post. (They’re the same thing, just different sources.)

If you have ever made or reblogged posts urging people to switch from Google Chrome to Firefox, you should be willing to at least give a try to other TTRPGs besides D&D5e for much the same principle reasons. I’m not telling you you have to hate D&D5e, and I’m not telling you you have to quit D&D5e, I’m just asking you to try some other games. If you don’t like them, and you really want to go back to D&D5e, then go back to D&D5e. But how can you really know you won’t like other games if you have literally never tried them? This post is a post about why and how to try them. If you’re thinking right now that you don’t want to try them, I urge you to look below to see if any of your reasons for not wanting to try them are covered there. Because the monopoly that WotC’s D&D5e has on TTRPGs as a whole is bad for me as a game designer, and it’s bad for you as a game player. It’s even bad for you if you like D&D5e. A fuller discussion of the why and how this is the case can be found in the links above, but it isn’t fully necessary for understanding this post, it’ll just give you a better perspective on it.

If you’re a D&D5e player, I’m sure at some point or another, you’ve been told “play a different game”, and it must get frustrating without the context of why and how. This post is here to give you the why and how.

[The following paragraph has been edited because the original wording made it sound like we think all weird TTRPGs suck.]

Before that though, one more thing to get out of the way. I'm going to level with you. There’s a lot of weird games out there.

You are gonna see a lot of weird TTRPGs when you take the plunge. Many of them try to completely reinvent what a TTRPG even is, and some fail spectacularly, others really do even up doing something very interesting even if they don't end up being what a core TTRPG player wants. But not every indie RPG is a Bladefish, lots and lots of them are more 'traditional' and will feel very familiar to you, I promise. (And you might even find that you like the weird experimental bladefish type ones, these are usually ideal for one-session plays when your usual group can't play your usual game for any reason.)

You're also going to probably see a lot of very bad games, and man have I got some stories of very bad games, but for now I'm just saying to make sure you read the reviews, or go through curators (several of which will be listed below), before you buy.

Now that that is out of the way, I’m going to go down a list of concerns you may have for why not, and then explain the how.

“I don’t want to learn a whole new set of rules after I already spent so much time learning D&D5e.”

Learning a new set of rules is not going to be as hard as you think. Most other TTRPGs aren’t like that. D&D5e is far on the high end of the scale for TTRPGs being hard and time-consuming to learn and play. If you’ve only played D&D5e, it might trick you into thinking that learning any TTRPG is an overwhelmingly time-consuming task, but this is really mostly a D&D5e problem, not a TTRPG problem as a whole.

“D&D5e has all of these extra online tools to help you play it.”

So what? People have been playing TTRPGs without the help of computers for 50 years. To play a well-designed TTRPG you won’t need a computer. Yes, even if you're bad at math. There are some TTRPGs out there that barely even use math.

“I’m too invested in the narrative and characters of my group’s current ongoing D&D5e campaign to switch to something else.”

There are other games, with better design made by better people for less money, that are the same kind of game as D&D5e, that your current characters, lore, and plot will fit right into and do it better. And no, it's not just Pathfinder, there's others.

“I can’t afford to play another TTRPG.”

You probably can. If you’ve only played D&D5e, you might have been made to think that TTRPGs are a very expensive hobby. They aren’t. D&D5e is actually uniquely expensive, costing more than 3x more than the next most expensive TTRPG I can think of right now. Even on the more expensive end, other TTRPG books will cost you no more than $60, most will cost you less than $20, and a whole lot of them are just free. If you somehow still can’t afford another TTRPG, come to the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book club mentioned below, nominate the game, and if it wins the vote we will straight up buy it for you.

(By the way, if you had any of the above concerns about trying other games besides D&D5e, that really makes it sound like you are in a textbook abusive relationship with D&D5e. This is how abusers control their partners, and how empires control their citizens, by teaching you to think that nothing could ever get any better, and even though they treat you bad, the Other will treat you even worse.)

“If I don’t play D&D5e, which TTRPG should I play?”

That’s a pretty limited question to be asking, because there will be no one TTRPG for everything. And no, D&D5e is not the one TTRPG for everything, Hasbro’s marketing team is just lying to you. (Pathfinder and PbtA are not the one system for everything either!) Do you only play one video game or only watch one movie or only read one book? When you finish watching an action movie like Mad Max, and then you want to watch a horror movie, do you just rewind Mad Max and watch it over again but this time you act scared the whole time? No, you watch a different movie. I’m asking you to give the artistic medium of TTRPGs the same respect you would give movies.

“I want to play something besides D&D5e, but my friends won’t play anything else!”

I have several answers to this.

Try showing them this post.

If that doesn’t work: Make them. Put your foot down. This works especially well if you are the DM. Tell them you won’t run another session of D&D5e until they agree to give what you want to do at least one try instead of always doing only what they want to do. This is, like, playing 101. We learned this in kindergarten. If your friend really wants to play something else, you should give their game a try, or you’re not really being a very good friend.

If that doesn’t work, find another group. This doesn’t even mean that you have to leave your existing group. A good place to start would be the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club which will be mentioned and linked below. You can also go to the subreddit of any game you’re interested in and probably meet people there who have the same problem you do and want to put together a group to play something other than D&D5e. You might get along great with these people, you might not, but you won’t know until you try. Just make sure to have a robust “session zero” so everyone is on the same page. This is a good practice for any group but it is especially important for a group made of players you’ve just met.

“I only watch actual plays.”

Then watch actual plays of games that aren’t D&D5e. These podcasts struggle for the same reasons that indie RPGs struggle, because of the brand recognition and brand loyalty D&D5e has, despite their merit. I don’t watch actual plays, or else I would be able to list more of them. So, anyone who does watch actual plays, please help me out by commenting on this post with some non-D&D5e actual plays you like. And please do me a favor and don’t list actual plays that only play one non-D&D5e system, list ones that go through a variety of systems. The first one I can think of is Tiny Table.

“I can just homebrew away all the problems with D&D5e.”

Even though I want to, I’m not going to try and argue that you can’t actually homebrew away all the problems with D&D5e. Instead, I’m going to ask you why you’re buying two $50 rulebooks just to throw away half the pages. In most other good RPGs, you don’t need to change the rules to make them fun, they’re fun right out the box.

“But homebrewing D&D5e into any kind of game is fun! You can homebrew anything out of D&D5e!”

Firstly, I promise that this is not unique to D&D5e. Secondly, then you would probably have more fun homebrewing a system that gives you a better starting point for reaching your goal. Also, what if I told you that there are entire RPG systems out there that are made just for this? There are RPG systems that were designed for the purpose of being a toolbox and set of materials for you to work with to make exactly the game you want to make. Some examples are GURPS, Savage Worlds, Basic RolePlaying, Caltrop Core, and (as much as I loathe it) PbtA.

“I’m not supporting WotC’s monopoly because I pirate all the D&D5e books.”

Then you’re still not supporting the smaller developers that this monopoly is crushing, either.

Now, here’s the how. Because I promise you, there’s not just one, but probably a dozen other RPGs out there that will scratch your exact itch.

Here’s how to find them. This won’t be a comprehensive list because I’ve already been typing this for like 3 hours already. Those reading this, please go ahead and comment more to help fill out the list.

First, I’m gonna plug one of my own major projects, because it’s my post. The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club. It’s a discord server that treats playing TTRPGs like a book club, with the goal of introducing members to a wide variety of games other than D&D5e. RPGs are nominated by members, then we hold a vote to decide what to read and play for a short campaign, then we repeat. There is no financial, time, or schedule investment required to join this book club, I promise it is very schedule-friendly, because we assign people to different groups based of schedule compatibility. You don’t have to play each campaign, or any campaign, you can just read along and participate in discussion that way. And if you can’t afford to buy the rulebook we’re going to be reading, we will make sure you get a PDF of it for free. That is how committed we are to getting non-D&D5e RPGs into people’s hands. Here is an invite link.

Next, there are quite a few tumblr blogs you can follow to get recommendations shown to you frequently.

@indierpgnewsletter

@indie-ttrpg-of-the-day

@theresattrpgforthat

@haveyouplayedthisttrpg

@indiepressrevolution

Plenty of podcasts, journalists, and youtubers out there do in-depth discussions of different systems regularly, a couple I can think of off the top of my head are:

Storyteller Conclave (I’m actually going to be interviewed live on this show on April 10th!)

Seth Skorkowsky

Questing Beast

The Gaming Table

Rascal News

Lastly, you can just go looking. Browse r/rpg, drivethrurpg.com, indie press revolution, and itch.io.

Now, if you really want to support me and my team specifically Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, our debut TTRPG, is going to launch on Kickstarter on April 10th and we need all the help we can get. Set a reminder from the Kickstarter page through this link.

If you’re interested in a more updated and improved version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy than the free demo you got from our website, there’s plenty of ways to get one!

Subscribe to our Patreon where we frequently roll our new updates for the prerelease version!

Donate to our ko-fi and send us an email with proof that you did, and we’ll email you back with the full Eureka prerelease package with the most updated version at the time of responding! (The email address can be found if you scroll down to the bottom of our website.)

We also have merchanise.

[princessaffirms]

✨ DISCLAIMER: science, subjectivity & shifting

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

i acknowledge that not everyone reading my “science of shifting/law of assumption” posts comes from a scientific background — or even wants to dive deep into technical explanations of the topics discussed. that’s totally okay. the content here is intentionally simplified to make core ideas more accessible, while still staying true to the scientific literature and experimental evidence cited at the end of each post.

if you’re curious to explore further, i always encourage you to read the original papers yourself — the sources are there for a reason! 🫶 my posts blend scientific findings with spiritual and metaphysical interpretation, bridging quantum physics, neuroscience, and manifestation/shifting philosophy in a way that reflects how i’ve personally experienced and understood their connection.

additionally, this isn’t a replacement for formal science — it’s an interpretive lens, a lived perspective on how consciousness interacts with reality. i write to offer clarity and reassurance, but remember: you don’t need “proof” in the traditional sense (like experiments or data charts) to believe in shifting or to experience your own power.

you ARE the proof. your subjective experience of reality is the experiment.

furthermore, science, as powerful and essential as it is, has natural limits. it cannot fully access or measure the metaphysical, spiritual, or energetic realms (whatever name resonates with you), because they transcend the physical 3D. science can only measure the projection — not the source.

it cannot yet describe the quantum field in its full multidimensionality, and it absolutely cannot quantify your unique, lived experience of reality.

that’s why concepts like shifting and law of assumption are, in a way, eternally undebunkable in the traditional scientific sense. they exist in a space that science, as a way of knowing, can’t directly access, and that’s okay.

so if you’re here looking for conventional evidence to “prove” shifting or manifestation in a materialist, lab-confirmed sense — you won’t find it. and that’s not a flaw. that’s the nature of reality itself.

science and spirituality are not opposites. they are two sides of the same coin. two perspectives trying to describe the same infinitely complex field of potential we call reality.

you’re allowed to trust your experience of that, even when it defies measurement.

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

and finally — if concepts like shifting or the law of assumption don’t resonate with you, that’s okay! as i always emphasize: reality is subjective. you get to shape yours, just as i shape mine.

if this content doesn’t align with your beliefs, that’s totally valid! but it might also mean this page simply isn’t for you, and that’s okay too. i lovingly ask that you refrain from negative interactions or debate just for the sake of conflict.

i’m always open to clarifying or expanding on what i’ve written, sharing how i personally interpret the scientific + spiritual correlations i’ve come across. but i’m not here to entertain dismissiveness, arguments, or “gotcha!” energy from people who aren’t open to this perspective in the first place.

this is not a peer-reviewed scientific journal — it’s literally a blog about the law of assumption, reality shifting, and manifestation. if that’s not for you, that’s totally okay. that’s your reality — not mine.

i do my best to protect my peace and the energetic tone of this online space. this blog is about love, light, empowerment, and possibility — not convincing skeptics or debating people who’ve already decided they don’t believe in it.

so if you’re here with curiosity, openness, or the desire to expand your understanding of self + reality, you’re always welcome. if not, that’s okay too.

love and light either way! <3

　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖

🤍 p.s. i had a brief version of this disclaimer on my “science of shifting” series directory for a while, but thought i’d make a full post to go more in depth! i hope this brings more clarity and grounding! shifting/law of assumption is a personal, spiritual journey — so lovingly, your limiting beliefs or skepticism? not my business to entertain 🥹

[stonesense]

can i say something insane. here’s the foundational part: i have this ongoing idea that caterina, as a Move On The Board, gave her tacit approval to teia and viago’s relationship. in the tevinter nights story where teia and viago are introduced, two talons dedicate a significant amount of risk and energy trying to hide their engagement from caterina, because they’re consolidating their power and would look like too much of a threat together. teia & viago never have to do any of that, and in fact caterina casually tells one to accompany the other on tasks for no clear other reason than You Kids Have Fun!

and i think there’s a logical reason for this as a Move On The Board. from caterina’s perspective, viago is a bit of a wild card: he has his own ambitions and motivations and bitternesses, his skill set makes him unpredictable if he does decide to be a threat, and he holds himself quite distant from the other talons. whereas teia, by her own internal narration’s admission, loves and respects caterina and has considered her a mother for “the past twenty years”. (which would be since she was eight.) i can see why it would be useful to caterina to lightly encourage viago being under teia’s power, so to speak. it’s stabilising. caterina’s genuine fondness for teia is both an added benefit if it goes right and not enough to stop her using her for something like this.

here’s the more experimental part: it does make me wonder if caterina also lightly encouraged a previous attempt at gently bringing house de riva in line, which was, unfortunately for everyone involved, attempted via flirtatious dagger.

sorry this is probably nothing to anyone else it just kills me to imagine that lucanis has genuinely never successfully acted on wanting anything that wasn’t ultimately her call

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

In Regards To Your 2024 Summary:

Holy shit it’s been another year????? The hell?????

Also! Your art style is gorgeous and that being found in 2023 and then refined throughout late 2023 and the entirety of 2024 really shows, as does your growth in panel layouts, perspective, and — as you said — experimentation. If you ever post your animation or video game art I’m looking forward to it.

As cheesy as it sounds, being able to laugh at funny comics and look at all the details of your art really made my 2024 brighter, even when things were hard. Including looking at your older art— it doesn’t need to be new to be enjoyable! I’m glad your art is well loved and it’s a privilege to have been here since the (near) beginning. I hope you take care of yourself in 2025 and beyond!

You and your art bring a lot of people a lot of joy never forget that <3

Thank you so much for keeping up with my art journey throughout these last two years! Two years!!! I am baffled at how that feels both too long and too short!

Admittedly, my art summary didn't manage to capture the fact that I did a lot of comic layouts that I'm really proud of. I also drew more backgrounds and made some very detailed works (*Dungeon Meshi spoilers for these examples*).

The growth is lot more evident when comparing my 'best' comics of 2023 to 2024:

Sometimes the growth is vertical, sometimes it is horizontal - and damn, sometimes it goes out of sight into the Z-plane. But it is always happening!

[thewertsearch]

Ah, the Sylladex. Across the entirety of my long, long journey through this comic, you've remained my oldest and dearest friend.

I honestly thought you'd run out of ways to surprise me - but as usual, I underestimated just how far you can really go with punch-card alchemy.

You flip the card over and look at the back. The thing about this modus you think is really cool is that instead of showing a completely useless wobbly garbled code on the back, it itemizes the components which could be used to create it!

The comic has just given us a way to reverse-engineer item recipes, which was one of the only missing pieces left to slot into the alchemy system. Back in Act 4, John was convinced that this was impossible, but Sollux solved it off-panel, and now we know how he did it.

This is pretty crazy, isn't it? We can deconstruct items now, allowing us to disassemble any object, and take a peek at the concepts that it's synthesized from. The potential utility here is insane. If this modus works on ghost images, we could tear apart a Kernelsprite, and see what makes it tick. Hell, we could tear apart a Genesis Frog.

...we could tear apart Skaia.

Just another wonderful innovation by your favorite company. It releases many products of an experimental nature, often with applicability to other kinds of technology and products which haven't hit the market yet.

But, of course, this wonderful innovation comes with some serious strings attached. I'm sure it was given to Jane for a reason, and she'll undoubtedly end up using it in a way that causes problems for us, and solutions for Lord English.

Ayy, it's the Matriorb!

Granted, this doesn't really help Kanaya recreate the thing. The orb's code was never that hard to obtain - just draw it on Jade's Pictionary modus, or something. No, the real issue is that the Matriorb is virtually inimitable, and as a result, its Grist cost is astronomical. Plus, it requires a type of Grist that we've never even seen before.

Edit: Wait, hang on. That's not the cost of the Matriorb, that's how much it would cost to use the Matriorb to make the hat. Strange, that the same item can have multiple Grist costs - but nonetheless, my point still stands. The Matriorb is probably too expensive to alchemize casually.

I suppose there's nothing stopping us from editing the Matriorb's code to try and make it cheaper. Like, perhaps we could scale down the recipe somehow, and try to just synthesize a single troll's genome, rather than the genetic base of an entire race. That would be a lot more affordable, and still useful.

You captchalogue your FAVORITE HAT, which is also your ONLY HAT. You spent basically your ENTIRE CHILDHOOD in this hat, pretending to be hard boiled detectives and whatnot.

I guess it sort of makes sense that the Matriorb can be used to make Dad's hat. The orb represents Alternian parenthood, and the book of prophecies it was merged with could represent the future. Combine those two concepts, and you get the future of parenthood, from the perspective of Alternia - in other words, the parenthood of humanity. So, the merger yields an item representing a human parent: Dad Egbert's hat.

Don't ask me about the potted plant, though. I haven't the foggiest.

[waterlilyvioletfog]

So I like kind of mentioned this in a previous post but like. It’s weird?? Right?? That when Harrow re-constructs the bubble over and over again at the start of HtN Act V she does 1) role-reversal AU 2) Arranged marriage AU 3) Coffee shop AU. Because those are FANFIC TROPES. (The arranged marriage AU being especially unhinged to me because she doesn’t even know John is Gideon’s dad at that point!! Her brain had to come up with “what if Gideon were royalty omg??” ON ITS OWN.) And like the fanfic-ness always was insane bc of course yeah that makes sense from a Doylist perspective, ie, Taz Muir’s an author notable for her inclusion of internet humor and culture, and she has personal experience with fanfic. But it didn’t make sense on a Watsonian level because sure, Harrow’s clearly a Romantic, but this isn’t a genre language that I think Harrow naturally speaks. Harrow doesn’t read smutty romance novels!!! She’s a repressed little nunlet obsessed with bones, her only options of sexual interest in her adolescence being 1) GIDEON 2) a corpse she views as holy and sacred— no really safe options for exploratory crushes or sexual experimentation here. So how is she thinking in fic/romance tropes? Either A) Harrow is significantly less repressed than everything I’ve ever read about her would lead me to understand, B) fic tropes are so transcendental that the agonized, wounded, thrice-haunted mind of Harrowhark Nonagesimus could, in its death throes, find itself in this specific genre of text she has no personal reference for, or C) according to the Sex Pal Theory of Permeability, Harrow has gained an understanding of romance tropes via soul osmosis, from Gideon/Alecto/Wake/Palamedes during the bubble visit???, and that explains why she dreams in fanfiction. I’m going with option C. Thank you Unwanted Guest for solving this little mystery for me 🙏🙏🙏

[pinkanonwrites]

Hands-On Learning (Rodimus Perspective)

Read 'Hands-On Learning' Here!

art by @archie-sunshine

Rodimus/Human Reader, NSFW, First Contact AU, AFAB Reader, GN Pronouns, G/T, Experimental Sex, Fingering, Oral (Receiving)

I was asked many a time for Roddy's perspective in 'Hands-On Learning', so here it is!

NSFW Below The Cut!

“You're real eager, aren't you? Taking off all your little coverings so fast.~”

If Perceptor, or Megatron, or, Primus forbid, Ultra Magnus knew he was doing this, it could easily be a one-way ticket to the brig. Or Rung’s office. Whichever was closer. The first time had been an accident, sure. A misunderstanding. Something that, if it were to get out to the other mechs aboard, Rodimus could easily brush off as a miscommunication between different species. A miscommunication that wouldn't end with him being questioned about particular fetishes or slapped with a warning about ‘interface misconduct.’

But this? Cupping your soft, unarmored body between his massive digits? Teasing and squeezing your plush organic mass while you wriggled in his grip? This is something he could actually get in trouble for. This was something dangerous. 

And Rodimus loved ‘dangerous’.

Your soft skin yielded so easily beneath the press of his servos, each delicate touch bringing these tiny bumps rippling to the surface of your skin, microscopic hairs standing on end as he stroked you. Your thighs fell apart as he trailed a digit up the length of one, revealing your slick, uncovered valve. 

“Cute.” Instead of following your invitation, he instead poked you in the side of your squishy thigh, chuckling as your muscle shifted beneath his digit. There was far more yield than metal mesh usually gave, warmth molding into the crevices of his joints when he squeezed you again. You let out a soft whimpering noise, grabbing for the seam of his wrist and directing him up, up, until one of his digits was pressed flush against your valve. Once it was there you crooned, hips jerking at the faint rumble of his engines coursing through his frame.

“Yes? You like that? Must feel good pressing up on all your soft spots, huh?” His optics flickered between your face and valve, torn between watching the subtle twitches of your expressions trying to hold back your pleasure, and the slick you were now drooling all over his knuckle.

“Yes…” You cooed, along with another string of babble he didn't yet understand. But you kept rocking your hips up against him, huffing and whining with each ex-vent. He gave the slightest roll of his digit, and even that sensation was enough to have you gasping in his servos.

“So cute.” He reaffirmed, letting his other servo stroke and fondle you while you got yourself off on his digit. With his thumb resting on your chassis he could feel the thud, thud, thud of your fuel pump hammering away, seeming to rev up faster and faster the closer you came to overload. Your little pedes scrabbled uselessly against the surface of the table, pushing your hips up harder, more desperately against his digit as you moaned. Rodimus could feel your valve clenching around nothing as your overload hit you, helm lolling back against his palm with a soft thunk. 

“Careful.~” He teased, digit finally slowing to a stop as your moans began to pitch up into overstimulated whimpers. You blinked up at him with unfocused, glassy optics, slick and limp and looking utterly content in his servos.

“Rodimus…”

The heat pooling in his tanks and behind his modesty plate bellowed, a gush of steam venting through his parted dermas as his engine snarled.

“Slag… You’re so slaggin’ cute.” His digits slunk lower, prodding and massaging at the slick opening of your valve. Your soft skin gave way so easily, stretching far beyond what he could have possibly imagined until, with a wet pop and a sharp, staggering gasp from you, the tips of two of his digits were snug in your little valve.

“Rodimus!?” You yelped again, surrounded by a garble of unfamiliar language as you twitched and shivered in his servos. Your own little digits dug into the sensitive crevasses of his paneling, helm tossed back in ecstasy as he prodded further into your impossible warmth. Rodimus could swear that with each minute curve of his digits he could see the soft bulge of your tank from him prodding within, transfluid spilling out and dribbling down the curve of your aft and into his palm. Rodimus found himself transfixed by the milky substance, unable to tear his optics away from your valve as lubricant pooled beneath his glossa.

“Messy too… Don’t worry, sweetspark, I’ll clean you right up…”

The first lap of his glossa across your valve was electrifying. There was a heady, almost metallic tang to your transfluid, like the powder at the bottom of a box of rust sticks. And each time he teased your tiny node your hip struts would jump right off of his palm, practically humping his open intake. But the best of all had to be your noises. They were even more obvious now, hitched little in-vents and primal mewls as you writhed and gasped and shivered in his cupped servos. The urge to disengage the locks of his interface panels prickled at the back of his processor, drowned out and brushed aside by the mere euphoria of your organic taste. The cling and scrape of your tiny servos against his helm chevron was little more than a buzz in the back of his pleasure-fogged thoughts.

You sobbed out his name again, another spurt of organic fluid spilling from your valve and across his glossa as you clenched around his digits. He lapped at your sensitive node just a few more times before finally pulling away.

“That might have just made you more messy though. Hanging in there, bud? Good?”

Slippery with arousal and coolant and oral lubricant fluid, you lifted your servo weakly to offer him an exhausted thumbs up. Rodimus beamed, squishing your soft cheek beneath the prod of his digit tip.

“Ha! Good. Better get you cleaned up before you get all grimy though, huh? I wonder if you'd fit in one of Mags’s mugs…”

[truevedicastrology]

What Makes You Irresistible? 🌟

Ever wondered why people are drawn to you? Your Venus sign might hold the key! Here's what makes each Venus sign utterly captivating

♈ Aries Venus:

Your bold, fearless attitude 🔥

Being unapologetically yourself 💁‍♀️

Strength that turns heads 💪

"I'll try anything once" spirit 🚀

Refreshing straightforwardness 🗣️

Confidence that lights up a room ✨

Daring, experimental style 👗

Knowing exactly what you want 🎯

Carefree, infectious energy 🌈

♉ Taurus Venus:

Graceful, dancer-like movements 💃

Rock-solid reliability 🏔️

Fierce independence 🦁

Admirable work ethic 💼

Unwavering loyalty 🤝

Nurturing nature 🌱

Strong morals and values ⚖️

Sensual presence 🌹

Appreciation for life's pleasures 🍷

♊ Gemini Venus:

Quick wit and sharp intellect 🧠

Insatiable curiosity about everything 🔍

Laid-back, worry-free vibe 😎

Childlike sense of wonder 🌟

Humor that keeps everyone laughing 😂

Open-mindedness to new ideas 🌈

Eyes that sparkle when passionate 👀✨

Gift for teaching and active listening 🎓

Adaptability in any situation 🦎

♋ Cancer Venus:

Soft, nurturing presence 🤗

Deeply emotional nature 💖

Leading with your heart in all things ❤️

Touching vulnerability 🕊️

Fierce protection of loved ones 🛡️

Heart of pure gold 🌟

Genuine care for others' well-being 🤲

Unconditional love that knows no bounds 💞

♌ Leo Venus:

Show-stopping style and confidence 👑

Boundless creativity 🎨

Knowing your worth and owning it 💯

Passionate expression of love ❤️‍🔥

Loyalty that never wavers 🦁

Effortless authenticity 🌟

Ability to make others feel special ✨

Thoughtfulness in grand gestures 🎁

♍ Virgo Venus:

Selfless desire to help others 🤲

Intellectually stimulating conversations 🧠

Confidence in your knowledge 📚

Well-ordered priorities and life 📅

Generous spirit 🎁

Mature outlook on life and love 🧘

Effortlessly polished appearance 💅

Attention to detail in all you do 🔍

♎ Libra Venus:

Sweet and kind demeanor 🍯

Natural, effortless beauty ✨

Curated, aesthetic social media presence 📱

Hopeless romantic nature 💘

Self-love and self-care prioritization 🧘‍♀️

Go-to friend for relationship advice 💌

Childlike joy and wonder 🎈

Creative flair in all aspects of life 🎨

♏ Scorpio Venus:

Deep trustworthiness and devotion 🔒

Ability to discuss life's depths and shadows 🕯️

Authentic to the core 💯

Intriguing air of mystery 🕵️‍♀️

Unbreakable loyalty 🤝

Safe haven for others' secrets 🤫

Magnetic, almost hypnotic presence 🔮

Smoldering sensuality 🌹

♐ Sagittarius Venus:

Always up for the next adventure 🌍

Contagious humor and generosity 😂🎁

Life of every party 🎉

Laid-back approach to life 😎

Refreshing honesty and directness 🗣️

Surrounded by loving friends 👥❤️

Enthusiasm for trying new things 🆕

Optimistic outlook that inspires others 🌞

♑ Capricorn Venus:

Ambition that commands respect 🏆

Success-oriented mindset 📈

Polished, put-together image 💼

Mature beyond your years 🧓

Impeccable taste in all things 👌

Fierce independence 🦅

Clear, achievable goals 🎯

Self-investment and growth mindset 🌱

Deep sense of responsibility 📝

♒ Aquarius Venus:

Judgment-free zone 🚫👨‍⚖️

Fascinating intellect and chill attitude 🧠😎

Life of the party energy 🎉

Ability to converse on any topic 💬

Authentic to your core 💯

Embracing and celebrating uniqueness 🦄

Innovative perspective on life 🔭

Impressive, often unexpected talents 🎭

♓ Pisces Venus:

Boundless compassion for all 🤗

Deep love for animals and nature 🐾🌿

Ethereal, otherworldly beauty ✨

Kindness that touches hearts ❤️

Head always in the clouds, dreaming big ☁️

Hopeless romantic soul 💘

Craving for soulmate-level connections 🔗

Safe harbor for others 🏡

Wearing your heart on your sleeve 💖

Innocent spirit in a complex world 🕊️

[beaft]

HELLO. YOU APPEAR TO HAVE EXCELLENT TASTE. WOULD YOU PERCHANCE SHARE A FEW BOOKS OR STORIES OF THE FICTIONAL VARIETY THAT YOU HAVE ENJOYED? HAVE A SLAPPIN REST OF YOUR DAY

ah thank you sm - i would be very happy to!!! i don't know what your preferences are so here's a mix of books/stories/poems of various different genres that i have recently read (or reread):

"the swords" by robert aickman (short horror story)

"my sad dead" by mariana enriquez (another short horror story - link is paywalled, but you can bypass that by going to 12ft.io)

"wide sargasso sea" by jean rhys (novel. i reread this while waiting for a job interview because they had a copy in the staffroom and i was bored. glad i did because it made me remember how wonderful it is)

"bardskull" by martin shaw (this was marketed as a memoir but it's kind of unclassifiable. guy goes into the woods, experiences visions, and engages in dialogues with a variety of folkloric figures. definitely not for everyone but if you enjoy slightly oblique + experimental storytelling by an author who is Doing Stuff With Language you'll probably be into it)

"lizzie's tiger" by angela carter (short story - can't find a link to it online, sorry! but it's good i promise!)

"exhalation" by ted chiang (collection of short speculative fiction. kind of reads like an extended thought experiment. i loved nearly every story in this anthology which is really rare for me)

"ming" by patricia highsmith (short story from the perspective of a delightful cat)

"knots" by r d laing (poems. or dialogues. scenarios? logic puzzles? i don't really know how to describe these - you kind of just have to read them)

"the trees" by percival everett (crime novel… kind of. it's complicated.)

enjoy!!!

[cicadadust]

Secondary Cuphead oc done. Enough peeps thought I was referring to Porkrind in this post here that I had to give him an eyepatch haha.

🦡

Introducing Barnaby,

Barnaby might seem like a pretty unassuming badger at first glance, but truly he's an artist whose favorite canvas happens to be the body. After spending many years at sea, Barnaby eventually landed in the Inkwell Isles, where he set up what he proudly calls a "body shop for all." Situated in the sea side of the city, his shop usually sees the more object oriented folk. Barnaby specializes in paint jobs (often crafting his own paints), detailing, restoration, and touch-ups. He can handle minor fixes as well, but for the love of God, he is NOT a doctor. For those with hair, fur, or skin, Barnaby offers stylings and trimmings, always preferring more experimental designs. Despite the era, he’s also developed significant experience in tattooing and dyeing. He loves his work, taking pride in the small ways he helps others, even if it’s just a touch-up or a fresh coat of paint.

Background blip of you want to read:

Barnaby's background:

Barnaby wasn’t always the kind, grounded person he is today. As a child, he was a selfish, lazy, and cowardly bully. He regularly skimped out on his responsibilities on his family's farm, and his younger brother often bore the brunt of his attitude. While they didn’t hate each other and had the occasional good moment, Barnaby’s behavior often left much to be desired, something he would regret for the rest of his life as an older brother. One night, Barnaby tried to make up for his behavior to his brother. He helped him sneak out to the barn roof to watch a meteor shower, knowing how much the stars meant to him. Wanting to make the moment even better, Barnaby left and headed to the orchard to grab some fruit for then to share. But not wanting to be caught outside, he left the lantern by the ladder inside the barn. When he returned, the barn was ablaze. Paralyzed by fear, Barnaby hesitated. By the time he finally had the courage to act, it was too late, and he was dragged back to safety. Though others reassured him it was an accident, Barnaby couldn’t shake the guilt. To him, it was a reflection of his character, his carelessness, his cowardice, his selfishness. He saw the event as the culmination of his worst traits and loathed himself for it. He got a good look at who he was, and despised it. He spent years on the farm feeling trapped by who he was. By the time he was 17, staring into the mirror at a face he couldn’t stand any longer, Barnaby realized something had to change. In a moment of impulsive clarity, he began to shear off his fur, stripping it all away. When he saw his reflection afterward, it was as if he were looking at someone new, a blank slate, a chance to start over. It was a freeing moment that pushed him forwards. He knew he could never undo the past, but he believed it was better late than never to change. Transforming himself into someone better felt like the only way he could truly honor his brother’s memory. He left the farm behind, taking nothing with him, eventually finding work on a ship. Life at sea took him from port to port, introducing him to countless people and experiences that slowly reshaped his perspective. Over the years, he began to forgive himself and rediscover his sense of self. As he healed, he allowed his fur to grow back to its original length, he found love for himself. Always an artist at heart, Barnaby entertained his shipmates with his creative projects as they allowed him to experiment, honing the skills that would later become his career. After around 30 years at sea, he decided it was time to settle down and retun to land. He arrived in Inkwell City and opened his shop. He still stayed close to the sea, embracing fishing as a regular hobby. Afterall, he has a particular loyal client from the ports who is very keen on a certain type of paint that predates modern metal flake paint, made with fish scales.