#i was really hoping to get at least one done

[monstersflashlight]

Thinking about your take on (any) monster eating an aphrodisiac candy on accident or like an accidental aphrodisiac pollen ingestion (from like just sniffing around scavenging/hunting) - if that makes sense? Just imagine them losing a bit of control, being so needy, and only wanting “it” to go away yet it feels too good to not be inside the reader… yea I’m totally normal about this.

I can’t wait to see what you come up with this and take your the time, make sure you are well rested and taking care of yourself! 💙

Hi anon! Thank you so much for your kind words, I'm trying to be kinder to myself and it's always nice to have a reminder. That said, I hope you like his little story I came up with. I went overboard with this. I don’t know where this came from but dang if it wasn’t fun. Hope you enjoy! <3

Wrong candy, right hole

Werewolf x fem!witch || dub-con, accidental drug ingestion, size kink, oral sex, knotting, breeding, squirting, lowkey somnophilia || tw: there’s mentions of anxiety and a panic attack

“I’m so fucking hungry, are you done?” He pushed his face against the side of your head, almost bent in half to do so, looking over your shoulder. When he pressed against your space so closely, you felt so tiny. Fucking werewolves being as big as a refrigerator.

“Wait a lil bit, dude. I need to finish this so I can send it today.” You told him, pushing his snot away from you. You were trying to pack the last products of the day before going for dinner. You told him that at least three times already, but he was so damn impatient. You kinda loved him for it, he was always so eager for everything you did together, it was charming in a way.

“But I’m hungry…” He whined, making you bite your lip to hide a smile. Your best friend was so cute when he was acting all puppy like. You though werewolves would be more dominant or something, but he was just a big furry himbo. And you had a bit of a crush on him, but you weren’t going to sexualize him that way. You knew part of the reason you had a crush was because of how big and imposing he was, how furry his body was… You had a bit of a monster kink, and well, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable so you didn’t say anything about it.

You pointed at the counter and told him: “Eat some candy, they are over the counter.” He let out a happy sound as he marched to get them. You turned around in time to see him eating some of your last shipping products. Oh fuck.

“Uh, oh,” you mustered. This was bad, really bad.

“What?” He asked, opening his mouth wide, candy crumbs falling off. Gross.

You look at him with what you hoped was a sorry face. “You shouldn’t have taken that.” He didn’t eat the candies you were pointing to, he ate the ones your client specially asked for.

His face fell instantly, the worry in your tone not as hidden as you thought. “What? Why not?” You could see the gears in his brain turning, thinking about all the bad possibilities.

“It’s not candy,” you mustered, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but calculating how much time you had before it started to make an effect on him. Fuck, you didn’t know if it was going to be enough, it should be fast. Fuck.

“What?! You said I could take one.” He yelled at you, his voice growly and sexy, you tried not to think about that last part. Your lady parts would have to wait.

“The other ones, damn it. Now I have to make a new batch.” You tried not to sound annoyed about it, but those took so much effort to make… Damn it.

He looked at you like you were dumb and asked: “What were those, then?”

“Aphrodisiac candies,” you confessed slowly. The clock was ticking and you didn’t know how he would react, you normally provided them for other species, never for wolves.

“What?! WHY DID YOU HAVE THEM THERE?” He asked, starting to panic. You tried to calm him down by touching his chest, making him match your breathing. He complied, but with great effort. The clock was still ticking.

“It was an order. I was gonna pack them! But you ate them.” You kept breathing slowly, his big furry paw now on your chest, trying to breathe together. You learned about that when he had a panic attack the second time you two meet, and it had been helpful so many other times.

“What do I do? Give me the antidote,” he asked. You looked up at him with what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I- There’s none.” You tried to stop him from getting away, but he pushed you lightly and stepped back, his paws going through his head, frustration and anxiety very present on his features.

“What?!” He exclaimed. “I need to go. I need to get home, get my fleshlight. I don’t know. What do I do?” He sounded more panicked by the minute. You felt very sorry for him and even worse because it was technically your fault.

And then a light bulb turned on your head. “Or I could… I could help you,” you told him, looking to the ground, suddenly shy. You just offered your best friend to have sex with him to ride out the aphrodisiac he accidentally ate. Your brain wasn’t in the best place, but you couldn’t avoid the wetness between your thighs thinking about fucking him.

He turned to face you completely, his eyes so big it looked comical. “What?”

“Just… Just if you want to,” you muttered. Each second that passed it seemed like a bad idea. He was your best friend, he didn’t see you like that.

And then he deadpanned: “Are you saying you want me to knot you?” You blushed from your toes to your hair, hearing him talk about knotting made your pussy twitch and juices flow, you could feel the wetness on your panties growing uncomfortable.

“Dude when you say it like that.” You looked at him intently expecting him to say something else, but when he didn’t, you answered truthfully: “Yes, okay. Yes! I want you to knot me.”

“Am I taking advantage of you if we do this?” He asked, his tone worried. That made you confirm your choices. Of course you would do that for him, he was your best friend and the best werewolf you knew. He was better than any man, human, warlock or any other species you knew. He was just… him.

“No, I want this. I… I might have a bit of a monster kink…” You blushed again, and he smiled at you smugly. “Am I taking advantage of you?” You asked, matching his worried tone.

“No. I… I’ve had a crush on you since forever.” You looked at him perplexed, completely shook, what the fuck? “Your fucking candy also has some truth serum or what?” He asked and you remembered that yes, it did, fuck.

“Maybe… It’s to make the communication between partners better,” you explained. It sounded bad to your own ears, like a silly excuse for what was just happening, but you didn’t care. He had a crush on you. On you!

“Good lord, I’m never eating anything you give me ever again.” You chuckled at that, and he followed. But it was short lived. His laugh broke with a whine: “Fuck, it hurts.” He was palming his cock through the fabric of his pants and you could feel saliva pooling at your mouth. Dang you wanted to suck him off badly.

“Shit. Yeah, it should be starting to make effect.” He looked back at you with full on puppy eyes, making your heart constrict and your pussy get wetter. You pushed him backwards, and he let you guide him to the back room. You had a mattress there for when your long potions had to be made, so you could take a nap. You thanked the Goddess and pushed him on it. “Does this work?” You asked, sitting on his lap, you could see the outline of his dick and you wanted to explore every inch of him. He nodded eagerly, his paws grabbing your hips to grind your covered pussy against his dick. He whined and let out a long groan, a wet patch forming in his pants. “Did you just come?” The smile on your face was so big it hurt your cheeks.

He looked at you embarrassed. “Yes, fuck. What did you give me?” His hands kept moving your hips to grind against his dick and you were starting to lose your mind. The friction was so good you were close yourself.

You groaned and told him: “You ate it yourself. It’s… It’s supposed to make your sex experiences extremely pleasurable. And maybe… Maybe improve your stamina?” It wasn’t a question, it did improve stamina greatly, that’s why you never gave it to wolves or other species with already good stamina, their partners couldn’t hold that much time.

“I’m a werewolf, I already had enough stamina!” His words agreed with your inner turmoil. Fuck, his clothed dick against your wet panties felt wonderful. “Take off your clothes or I’ll rip them.” His low growl made you groan and more juices pooled on your panties. “Fuck, I can smell you. I can smell how wet you are.” You got up from his lap and started to get your clothes off. You were being too slow because he growled and tried to grab you. You stepped back and took care of the rest rapidly.

The second your clothes were off you, he was launching himself at you, his face going directly for your pussy. You felt his long tongue inside of you, so long and so inhuman that it was hitting every single place inside of you that made your toes curl. You kept cursing as your hands found his fur, you pulled and groaned as he ate you out like a desperate animal. You could see his hips grinding against the bed, he was probably making a mess. In your foggy brain, the pleasure hit a max level and you exploded, coming against his face as he licked every single inch of you.

He pulled back, his face contorted in what you only could describe as feral grin. He ripped off his own clothes, the sound of tearing fabric excited you. And then you saw his dick, and you twitched. He was so fucking big, his tip was red and big, leaking so much it looked shiny. But what scared you the most was the knot at the base, so big it was almost like your whole fist. Dang. You weren’t sure that was going to fit inside of you.

“I’m not sure that’s….” You tried to push away on the bed, but he grabbed your legs and pulled, positioning yourself perfectly for him. Your pussy on display and your legs over his shoulders.

“It will fit. I’ll make it fit.” His voice had an edge of danger and you shivered.

Your pussy was sensitive after the orgasm he just gave you, so when he pushed inside of you in one hard thrust you almost lost it. You arched your back and screamed at the top of your lungs. His mouth found yours, and he started kissing you, more teeth than lips. He didn’t wait, he didn’t let you warm up, he started fucking you hard and fast, your whole body moving when he pushed inside. When he bottomed out, you could feel his knot against your entrance, trying to slip inside, an insistent pressure driving you wild. He grabbed your hips and pulled them up, the perfect angle to hit your G-spot with every thrust. You were seeing stars as he grunted and growled against your open mouth. You weren’t kissing anymore, he was just licking the inside of your open mouth as you lost your body to pleasure.

He came inside you. Once. Twice. Three times. Maybe even four, you stopped feeling it when it started to be too much. You could feel his cum moving inside of you with each thrust. But he kept fucking you, using you like a toy for his pleasure, and you couldn’t even blame him for being rough because you were enjoying it a lot more than you should. You did that to him, but good lord if it didn’t feel like paradise. You lost count of how many orgasms you had as he pounded you, your body at his mercy.

When you thought it was impossible to feel more pleasure, you felt him slow down, pressing and pressing, and pushing and trying to stretch you impossibly wide. You thrashed under him, there was no way, but he didn’t mind your struggling as he forced his knot inside of you. You let out a cry as it fitted inside, you felt like he was breaking you apart in the best possible way. You didn’t know it could feel like that, you didn’t know it could feel so good. Your voice gave out before your body did, your scream turned silent as he bit and licked your neck, probably leaving a line of hickeys there. You didn’t care. It felt so good. Too good.

And then he pushed on your lower abdomen, making you feel so full and so weird, but it was so hot. You had so much cum in you, a bump in your lower abdomen indicating he came so many times you were knocked up for sure. You would need to make contraceptive potions tomorrow, but for now you could enjoy the feel of his cum inside of you. So much, so hot. It felt like molten lava was melting your insides as you came and came. And he came and came.

He moved his knot against your G-spot over and over, making you want to cry because of the pleasure. And then you felt the telltale sign that you were going to squirt. It only happened a couple times before, never with somebody else, but when you tried to alert him, your arms and legs wouldn’t respond. You could just lay there in silence as he took his pleasure on you, off you. You squirted, soaking his fur and making him stop for a second, surprised. His answering growl was so feral you felt it in your whole body. He came again. And again. And again.

At some point you passed out. Your body gave out. But you guessed he kept fucking you, the candy was supposed to last for hours. Well… You trusted him, he could fuck your asleep body as much as he wanted.

[coffee-and-geto]

“I THINK HE DID IT BUT I JUST CAN'T PROVE IT (HE DID IT)”

“Tell me something… You really like to put yourself in danger wherever you go, don't you, troublemaker?”

❦ pairing: professor!toji x f!reader

❦ summary: you are a student of criminal studies at a prestigious university with one goal in mind: get your father out of prison one day. but how will you react when your new professor in the subject, as attractive as he is odious, comes to replace your old teacher who has deserted the post? especially when that new teacher is keeping a secret that will jeopardize your plans. one thing's for sure, your life will never be the same again...

❦ content: reader has daddy/abandonment issues, her age isn't clearly specified, toji is a fairly young teacher (late 20s/early 30s), student/teacher relationship (fictional, not real!), depiction of the life of a hitman/appearance of yakuzas, enemies to lovers, but not a real slow burn, dark academia vibe, Keiô University in Japan is used in this fic but nothing that happens here is related to it!!, also the reader has no particular look or ethnicity so don't trust the moodboard on the reader side! (i just couldn't find enough diverse images), art by @/521jie.

❦ warnings: dead dove: do not eat!!, toxic parental relationship, yakuzas, mention of violence, vulgar language/insults/alcohol/bullying/suicide, use/mention of weapons and drugs, murder, MDNI (+18 only) because themes may offend the sensibilities of younger readers, and there may be some smut in the future.

❦ wc: 19,055 (sorry for all this length. next parts will be less long—at least I hope so...)

“No way…” 

“Is it true?”

Whispers of gossip rippled through the crowd of students packed like sardines in the Keio University courtyard under a grayish sky, crying its fine April rain. A back-to-school gathering announced straight away upon the opening of the doors of the prestigious school spared no curiosity.

Not even yours.

It’s was as if the news uttered has echoed like a clap of thunder in your ears.

Amid this gathering, you have a direct view of the main rostrum of the university, which usually serves as a stage for annual events. Mr. Yaga, the principal, stands, the handle of a microphone wrapped in his fingers, patiently waiting for a silence that you think takes an eternity to muzzle all those voices.

“Your attention, please.” Mr. Yaga’s voice resonates throughout the courtyard and cuts off the chattering. “As I just mentioned, Mr. Kiyotaka Ijichi, the professor of criminological theory, has submitted his letter of resignation at the beginning of this semester.”

He lets a silence permeate the consciousness of his students before continuing in a solemn voice, “He didn’t wish to give any justification for this sudden decision, and I doubt that this news will please the master’s students in criminal sciences. We have sent an express request to the Tokyo Academy to find a new professor worthy of teaching in this school. Temporary schedules will be sent by email this weekend pending a new professor for this position. Please be patient. Our staff is well aware of the concern you may feel. But we can assure you that we are doing everything possible to enable you all to excel in your studies.”

It’s done.

The image of your former professor of criminological theory—the man who previously handled your dominant subject—begins to fade from your mind. The subject for which you usually strive has just slipped from your hands like a wet bar of soap. 

No matter Yaga’s words.

The chances of a qualified and worthy professor walking through the doors of Keio University is like ‘looking for a needle in a haystack’.

You stop listening to the rest of the principal’s back-to-school speech and understand that it has ended when the crowd of students disperses under the squeaking of their shoes trotting on the wet grass of the courtyard.

“Don’t you find it strange?”

A mischievous voice whispered in your ear making you jump. You glance in your peripheral vision and the fresh breeze finally blowing on you making you catch a glimpse of blue hair.

“Miwa,” you mumble without turning around.

A discreet chuckle follows. You begin to leave the courtyard without lingering, and Miwa theatrically sighs your name before slipping to your side in your attempt to quicken your pace. You’re one of those people who avoided Miwa Kasumi.

Alias the university gossip girl. The one to whom you can never hide any of your secrets.

Miwa’s gaze follows you as you hurry towards the exit gate. She has a smug smile on her lips. A smile that screams ’you know what I’m talking about’.

“So, your teacher resigned without giving any explanation?” Miwa says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How strange...” A second laugh escapes her lips, and a shiver runs down your spine.

You quicken your pace, not wanting to further prolong the conversation, already too long for your liking.You don’t respond to Miwa’s remarks—unsure if it’s because you have nothing to say or because you already know the reason for her approach.

Miwa finally sighs in annoyance. “Why are you in such a hurry? Don’t you want to listen to me? Don’t you want to discuss Mr. Ijichi?” she asks.

But you already know what she wants to talk to you about.

The light rain from earlier is now heavier, and drops crash down on the top of your head. You anticipated it, which is why—still immersed in silence—you take out your umbrella from your bag and unfold it over you.

“C’mon... Talk to me a little...” Miwa insists with her teasing tone. She gives you a pout, pretending to be hurt by your indifference.

You sigh and stop walking, standing at the edge of the university gate. “What do you want?” you finally give in. You check the time on your phone, pretending to be in a hurry.

“I’ve got an exciting article lined up for this week.” Miwa locks her blue eyes on you, and for a moment, you feel naked. It’s as if her eyes exist only to probe people’s minds. “And guess who will be in the spotlight?”

You swallow the bile rising in your throat. “I don’t know,” you mutter uncertainly, your eyes fixed on her with uncertainty.

Miwa raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your lie. “It’ll be a weekend surprise, I advise you to stay active on the blog.” Her icy-sweet tone makes you want to run away, but you remain silent.

She winks at you before slipping away.

If the students of Keio University couldn’t bring themselves to continue living their student lives—with the apprehension of seeing their names displayed in bold on Miwa’s blog every Sunday, revealing the juiciest secrets of their private lives—this year, she subtly gave you a new piece of information about the extent of her new targets.

This year, even the teachers won’t be spared.

°°°°

“I think... Well... Let’s say next Friday? Would that work for you?” The secretary’s voice and the clicks of a computer mouse reach your ears.

You stand in front of your fridge, looking at your calendar fixed with decorative magnets. After a few seconds of thought, you nod before replying, “Yes, that would be perfect,” momentarily forgetting that the secretary at the penitentiary you’re contacting can’t see you.

“Very well. I’ve scheduled your appointment, and we’ll contact you by email to confirm your visit. Your father will be informed, of course.” You can feel the secretary’s pleasant smile in her voice. She seems to be waiting for your confirmation.

To which you quickly respond before ending the call.

Your mind has been distracted since you left the university this morning. The news of Mr. Ijichi’s unexpected (or almost) resignation and Miwa’s announcement about her next article this Sunday had you overthinking. However, setting up the visit with your father in prison, sweeps away some of the weight on your shoulders.

Yet, in the darkness that settles in your apartment as evening begins, you sincerely hope that no other news will distract you so from the goals you’ve set for yourself.

°°°°

One skill that sets you apart is your undeniable sixth sense.

Just two days ago, you feared more or less unpleasant news, but this Sunday, two caught your attention when your phone emitted notification sounds from two different sources—but nonetheless related in some way.

The first comes from a blog you reluctantly follow titled “Keio’s gossip.” Although the author of the articles posted remains anonymous, every student on the Keio University campus knows their true identity, without having the necessary evidence to do anything against him—or rather her.

Miwa Kasumi is indeed the author of the articles that publicly displayed the slightest gossip concerning each student. A majority has already tasted it, and the flavor was far from the sweet mochi sold as dessert culinary specialties in the heart of Tokyo—according to the faces that the ’pointing fingers’ made on Monday after the weekly publication of an article every Sunday afternoon.

With your eyes glued to your phone screen, you discover the article that was posted a few minutes ago on the blog. The light from your phone is the only source illuminating your room as you sit cross-legged on your bed. Your mouth opens slightly, and you resign yourself to reading the article, the title of which tightens your heart:

’Kiyotaka Ijichi: voluntary or forced resignation?’

Your eyes begin to move back and forth from line to line, and a vise grips your chest as you continue to swallow the horrifying words recounted in the article.

“It was true that Professor Ijichi was subjected to certain remarks from his students,” confides a second-year master’s male student in criminal sciences. “Jabs, sometimes even inappropriate remarks. But no one really reacted... We all thought it would stop at some point...”

“Last year, we all thought he would eventually commit suicide,” adds a history female student. “He was the type to just take it and wouldn’t dare respond or discipline his students for fear that their parents would put his position at stake at the university. Spoiled brats with excessive power, you know.”

“Yet, he was a very good teacher. He was very kind, attentive, and always spoke with humility, no matter who was in front of him,” affirms another female student, on the verge of tears. “He really didn’t deserve this...”

“It was after several other testimonies like these...”

“So, we concluded that...”

“...Kiyotaka Ijichi, former professor of criminological theory at Keiô University, therefore decided to resign from his position as a professor, which would also imply that suicide, could have been a very different departure option that he left behind at this prestigious school. The constant harassment of students, mostly from children of parents with high financial means, would thus be the real reason for Mr. Ijichi’s departure.”

“Keiô private university regularly proclaims its impeccable professionalism through numerous awards, the excellent teaching of its professors, and the discipline of its students. Here is a fact that calls all of this into question—particularly regarding the treatment of teachers. Does Keiô University really admit students for their promising futures? Or is it swayed by the big checks provided by parents from the upper bourgeoisie?”

You finish reading the article, and your brain is bombarded with thoughts racing at over a hundred kilometers per hour, but no words can break through the barrier of your lips.

Even after his departure, Mr. Ijichi couldn’t leave in peace.

A sense of injustice runs through your veins, but you can’t do anything about it.

Why did Miwa feel the need to write this article?

Was it really necessary?

You leave the article page, which is starting to receive comments as you watch the numbers increase below the end-of-page bar, and you redirect yourself to your email inbox.

It’s always the weakest who suffer the worst treatment from society. Whether it’s in the family, at work, with friends, or even at school.

You bite your lip and check the second notification in your inbox. As you expected, Keiô University has sent you your schedule for the coming week. You even expect to find empty slots in your schedule. But strangely, your major subject—criminological theory—fills its place on the colorful digital file with different colors according to the subject indicated. You think there’s an error or something. Until you read the name of the professor in charge of your courses.

T. Fushiguro.

You hastily exit the downloaded file on your phone and open the email sent by the university. After a second reading, your eyes widen like saucers.

“Regarding the replacement of the former criminological theory professor, a request has been submitted to the university. The director’s decision has been finalized. The new professor, Mr. Toji Fushiguro, will therefore lead the courses in this branch for master’s students in criminal sciences from the beginning of the semester.”

Two contradictory feelings finally want to burst in your chest.

The first is relief. You can finally resume your goals serenely without having to worry about the delay you might have experienced in the case of a prolonged wait for Mr. Ijichi’s replacement. What other good news can offset the frustration you felt less than two days earlier?

But the second taints this joy that you should feel: doubt. Keiô University is known for its excellent teaching, which includes rare, highly qualified, and renowned professors. It goes without saying that each of them has at least one doctorate mentioned on their CV. So how, over the course of a single weekend, could your former professor of criminological theory have been replaced so quickly? That’s where Miwa’s article strikes you.

“Is the university being swayed by big checks?”

You need a teacher. And not just any teacher. A teacher who would help you get a degree that would help get your father out of prison. So the fact that the university found a new professor so quickly leaves you skeptical, and your sixth sense wandering behind you like a ghost does not bode well.

So you pray that, for once, your sixth sense is wrong.

°°°°

“How’s he called, again?”

You bite your lip, your gaze lost in the rainy landscape of the courtyard outside the window. “Toji Fushiguro.”

Shoko takes a drag of her cigarette and exhales through the window opening next to which she’s leaning against a shelf. She glances at your absent expression with a slight smile on her lips, and then flicks her finished cigarette butt over the window ledge, making sure it’s extinguished by the damp grass outside. She sighs and stands up. “Let’s go. The bell is about to ring.”

You grimace but obey her words, pushing your back off the wall of the university library and following her along the rows of books stacked so high on wooden shelves that ladders are provided for students invested enough in their studies.

It’s already Monday, and you dread your very first class in criminology theory with your new professor Toji Fushiguro. Is it necessary to mention that, for the first time since your entry into the university a few short years ago, you don’t feel well? But in a normal way, like any average student? No, you have a bad feeling. Something’s off. And you can’t put your finger on it, the only thing you found to do is lament to Shoko, your trusted friend.

“Stay strong. You’ll brief me afterward, won’t you?” Shoko encourages you with a friendly elbow nudge to the arm followed by a wink from one of her eyes marked by violet circles.

You respond with a nervous laugh, and she waves before leaving you in front of the library doors as she heads towards the wing dedicated to medical sciences. With a knot in your stomach and a desire to go home and bury yourself under your blanket, you head towards your classroom in the building reserved for law students.

When you arrive at the amphitheater door, a small herd of students begins to gather in front of the swinging doors, clustering together like a school of fish. The most eager are female students who, dressed in their university’s pine green uniforms, make the most noise with their conversations, the subject of which soon pierces your ears.

“Did you see him this morning?”

“Yes! He’s so hot!”

Giggles echo until you notice that the class line-up is oddly divided. The girls are glued to the closed doors and the boys are standing back, lined up along the corridor walls. Most of them pay no attention to the girls’ chatter and pass the time on their screens—laptops and phones alike.

When the bell rings throughout the university, you enter behind your peers and sit at the end of a central table in the amphitheater. Your eyes scan the stage reserved for the professor after the last steps at the bottom of the room, and your eyes finally settle on a singular silhouette.

Your breath catches, and you almost feel your pupils dilate as Professor Fushiguro leans over his desk, with his open laptop in front of his eyes.

With your mouth slightly open, it’s as if you’ve been robbed of the ability to speak, think, and soon, to breathe.

You don’t know which details unsettle you the most—from his tall silhouette and broad musculature adorned by the beautiful navy blue shirt so deep that from further away you would have mistaken it for black; to his hair, the jet-black locks similar to stalagmites that brush his ears and neck, to his sturdy and prominent jawline.

Everything about him is so grand.

And so beautiful...

You catch yourself looking at him for too long, and your thoughts drift too far. Heat floods your face. Fortunately for you, you weren’t the only one staring at him so much—and with interest—which you use as an advantage to mask your embarrassment when you take out your belongings.

Professor Fushiguro has a beauty that you don’t consider fair for just a simple professor.

As the amphitheater falls into a heavy silence, Professor Fushiguro raises his head towards his students, and the class begins as soon as his voice is heard by all ears.

It’s—

Deep, profound, calm, composed, and above all...

...magnetic.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t need to ask for silence for the class to hang onto his every word. Nobody seems to react as he doesn’t mention his previous colleague—Mr. Ijichi—not even once.

With furrowed brows, you rest your elbow on your polished wooden desk space and don’t take your eyes off your professor. Under your mask of attentive student, the screen of your laptop hides your chest, where your heart buried inside beats to the rhythm of cannonballs launched at full speed.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t have the visual demeanor of a professor.

That’s the sentence you keep repeating as Professor Fushiguro continues his class, unaware that three-quarters of his class have stopped listening to what he’s saying since the first word crossed his thin lips—and prefer to admire his only physiognomy built by God himself.

Fuck.

You knew it.

You knew this replacement couldn’t be normal. The way things concluded with such a quick replacement couldn’t help but hide something.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t have the visual demeanor of a professor.

You force yourself to tear your eyes away from your teacher and start taking notes on the course introduced on ’The Evolution of Crime and Detection Methods Throughout History’. He provides an appendix with a manual to be obtained by the end of the next two weeks, and you try to type its title into your schedule for the coming days in the Notion app on your phone without being distracted by how well your ears welcome the timbre of his voice.

You swallow and close your eyelids for a few seconds, analyzing each word in an attempt to understand the course he almost entirely reads from his printed sheets held in one of his hands just below his nose.

“...legal reforms have also shaped our understanding and treatment of crime. For example, the abolition of the death penalty in many countries reflects a change in our values and conception of justice. These reforms reflect our evolution as a society and our commitment to principles of justice and humanity.”

You open your eyelids after a minute in hopes of refocusing. Unfortunately for you, your eyes fall directly onto emerald orbs that stare at you for a moment.

With a lower lip curled up in a sign of noticeable annoyance, Professor Fushiguro doesn’t say a word and eventually averts his gaze from you, resuming his magnetic monologue.

You bite the inside of your cheek and hide behind the screen of your laptop, your cheeks probably flushed. Perhaps he thought you were dozing off in his class... You curse yourself internally despite the fact that he made no remarks.

At the end of what seems like an eternity, the bell rings, signaling the end of the class. The entire class stands up simultaneously, and you expect to have to wait for the exit door to be unblocked by the herd of students eager to leave the amphitheater.

But to your great surprise—which ultimately wasn’t so unexpected—a part of the group of girls whose conversation you overheard just before the start of class descends the room’s steps towards Professor Fushiguro.

You purse your lips and leave the class with a nonchalant step, your bag hanging from your shoulder.

You feel how long this semester is going to be...

°°°°

“And how are the classes?” your father asks through the window that separates you from him.

Your index finger traces distracted patterns on the metallic surface of the side of your table where your forearms rest, supporting your slightly hunched shoulders. You are still haunted by the image of your new professor.

“It’s okay. We have a new professor in criminology theory,” you reply, looking up at him.

Your father raises an eyebrow. “For what reason?” he asks suspiciously before wrinkling his nose. You notice he has a three-day beard and that his wrinkles appear more pronounced than usual—or at least, since the last time you visited him.

“Actually, the old one resigned, and the university found a new one.”

This time, your father’s eyebrows furrow. “So fast... Is he any good? I hope they didn’t hire some nobody who—“

“No,” you quickly cut him off, shaking your head, “he’s good.” You refrain from adding ’why don’t you take an interest in me?’ And your heart twinges every time you see your father show more interest in your studies than in yourself. Your avoiding eyes wander over the contours of the window that separates you from him, sitting across from you in a somewhat tense position—shoulders slightly hunched inward, and hands clasped on the table.

He seems to notice it and clears his throat before sitting up straighter on his plastic chair. “You... remember my friend Miguel?” your father starts, changing the subject. He speaks in a more concerned tone. “The one who went to Kenya.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you focus your gaze back on him before blinking. “The one who was with you?” you ask with a bitter taste in your mouth. Miguel was your father’s ex-business associate, who, unlike your father, wasn’t imprisoned when the police arrested him.

“Yes. He wrote me a letter earlier this week,” he replies, “to ask how I’m doing and to let me know that he’s coming back to Japan next week. He said he’s inviting you to dinner with his wife and daughter.”

You process the information at the same pace as your swallowing. Your father slides an envelope—no doubt already opened by the prison administration before him—through the communication slot between you under the window. You take the envelope and read the letter inside.

“Why?” you murmur.

“He’s not a bad guy, you know.”

This simple sentence reminds you of something he’s told you before.

’Miguel hasn’t done anything. Nobody has anything against him. They wrongly accused me. I did it for you. I’m not like the others.’

And by ’the others,’ he referred to other associates who were arrested along with your father a few years ago, for the same reason—embezzlement.

To the tune of a considerable sum of just over a hundred billion yen.

Your father assured you that he wasn’t involved in any of it and that former acquaintances he thought were trustworthy led him to be involved against his will in a whole story that ended behind bars.

You believe him, of course.

Your father—with whom you’ve had a rather difficult relationship since your mother’s death when you were in middle school—seemed to want to rebuild a healthy father-daughter relationship with you. And who were you to refuse? You wanted your father to give you the affection you dream of every night after seeing a father and his daughter eating ice cream in a square, or a father and his daughter shopping at the mall.

Everything you’ve never had.

And when your father opened his arms to you at the end of your high school studies—still undecided about your direction for further studies—your father let you know that studying criminology could be ideal. And with that, maybe you could help him get out of the unjust prison that prevents you from being fully happy.

You love your father.

So it didn’t take long for you to become one of the top students in your university class in criminal science studies. You want to excel, and that in all areas. It makes your father proud. It stretches his lips into a smile that warms your heart. Who calls you ’my angel’ and admits wanting to hug you.

Things he would never have told you before.

“Yes,” you reply, lifting your chin. “I’ll visit him. Don’t worry. I promise.” Your voice softens, and you refrain from letting tears fill your eyes as a faint smile stretches across your father’s lips.

“Thank you.”

°°°°

“Don’t tell me he’s that handsome?” Shoko lets out a giggle that resonates through the speaker of your phone.

“Want to bet that most girls drool over him every night, imagining him in their beds?” You mutter with a hint of aggression aimed at the pot whose sushi rice you ate for lunch has stuck to the bottom. You scrub the leftover rice with your metal sponge in the kitchen sink and let out a sigh.

You glance at the screen of your phone leaning against the tiled ledge, giving you a FaceTime view of Shoko sitting at her desk in her bedroom. She giggles and brings a pen to her mouth to nibble on its end—a tic she has to replace the cigarette usually in that spot. “Just like you, for example?” she teases.

Your cheeks warm up. “Excuse me? You know that’s not true.”

“Nuh-uh…”

You purse your lips as your heartbeats accelerate at Shoko’s words and her sarcastic tone. No, you didn’t have wet dreams about Professor Fushiguro. But that doesn’t stop most female students from gossiping about the entirety of Professor Fushiguro’s physique—aka Hercules’ twin body. And from what you’ve already heard during the first week of classes, they don’t mince their words.

But you can’t say you were indifferent to him. The rest of the week flew by so quickly that you find yourself on a Wednesday afternoon discussing your life on FaceTime with Shoko. She has to study for her medical exams, and you didn’t have time to see her during the first weekend due to the workload your friend endured.

You toss the metal sponge into a corner of your sink and grab a classic, foamy sponge to scrub the surface of your pot, now smooth and immaculate.

“Oh, by the way. Are you free this weekend?” Shoko asks, looking up from her books.

You rinse your pot, turning on the faucet, and sniffle mournfully. “Nope. A friend of my father invited me to dinner with his wife and daughter. I spoke to him on the phone this morning.”

“Damn. We need to meet up so you can show me this professor too. I feel like everyone has seen him except me.”

“Even Satoru,” you chuckle as you dry your hands. “Have you heard him curse about him? He has a beautiful rival, I must say.” You continue to smile at the memory of your friend with albinos hair and cerulean eyes who was shocked to see his popularity among the female gender decline in less than a week. You shake your head, still shaking with laughter. “The look on his face…”

Shoko giggles in turn. “I guess you’ll also be studying on Sunday?” Her smile fades, and she rests her cheek against her palm a bit bored.

“Unfortunately.”

She snorts after seeing your apologetic smile.

“But don’t worry. I’ll find time for us to meet. And also to show you—”

“Yes, the man of your dreams,” Shoko cuts in with a laugh, “literally!” 

You gasp at her words. "Shoko!”

°°°°

“And on this one, we were visiting Paris. We were so young…” You lean in slightly to observe the photo that Miguel, your father’s friend, is showing you.

“Oh, he never told me he traveled so much. I remember him mentioning taking my mother to Spain once, but he never talked about his trips with you.” You smile politely, sweeping away the twinge in your heart that makes you want to wince.

Miguel adjusts his beret and tilts his head to the side. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you reply, rocking back and forth on your feet, “but I suppose he didn’t think about it. He was often tired when he came home from work when I was younger.” You force your smile even more at Miguel’s surprised reaction, which stretches the features of his smooth, dark skin.

Unlike your father, Miguel is clean-shaven, and you have no doubt that his well-groomed appearance—from his navy blue suit and charming tie with silver stripes—speaks of the comfortable life he enjoys and shares with his family. This simple fact rekindles the cuts in your heart that you’ve tried to mend over the years. But is it enough?

“And otherwise, is he doing well? Will he soon have served his sentence?”

“No, he still has a few years left,” you reply with a hint of intentional bitterness that wipes the smile off your face. “When I think that he was wrongly accused while he’s innocent…” Your fists clench, and you notice Miguel freezing. You furrow your brow, curiosity piqued by his behavior.

“Yes,” he says with a embarrassed throat clearing and a nod. “Yes, of course. The justice system is really too manipulable. I didn’t know he told you he was... innocent.”

You note Miguel’s tone. He doesn’t seem certain of what he’s saying, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that he didn’t have a sentence to serve unlike your father, of whose innocence you’re convinced.

“Yes, he is,” you repeat firmly. Your gaze wanders around Miguel’s main living-room, which is decorated very chicly, in beige and black tones—warmed by the soft light of the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the fireplace in the background. It’s the epitome of a luxurious and cozy home. Yet again, something you don’t have.

You swallow back the bile rising in your throat, and as Miguel is about to continue the conversation, his wife, dressed in a stunning red velvet evening gown, enters the living room, a smile on her lips and a large plastic spoon in her hand. “Are you staying for dinner, dear?”

You’re taken aback for a moment and glance at the time on your phone then at the bay window in the living room, which offers a view of the already darkening sky. “I have to pick up a package from a nearby store before it closes... So, I’m not sure. Do you mind if I go and come back? I’ll be quick.” You offer her the same polite and forced smile you gave Miguel a few minutes ago.

“No, not at all. You’re welcome, my dear.”

And you purse your lips at the nickname but don’t let anything show. Miguel’s wife walks you to the front door, and before you have a chance to turn the handle, you hear small footsteps behind you. You turn around and see Miguel’s nine-year-old daughter, holding her Barbie doll close. Her brown pigtails sway slightly with each step, and she offers you a shy look.

“You’re leaving? Already? I haven’t shown you all my dolls yet…” she murmurs in a small voice. Her mother giggles, and you do the same. You take a few steps toward the little girl and bend your knees to her height.

“No, sweetie. I’m just going to get something outside, and I’ll be right back for dinner. We’ll even have time to play, if you want.”

“Yippee!” she exclaims, throwing herself into your arms and threatening to knock you over.

You burst into a genuine, light laugh. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Miguel’s daughter pulls away from you, a huge smile on her face, and her mother opens the door for you, apparently pleased to see her daughter showing affection for you.

Without lingering, you quickly leave the Oduol’s huge luxurious house and head to the tobacco shop a few hundred meters away. You ordered the manual that Professor Fushiguro requested for the coming weeks, and your order needs to be picked up from a store where the package was deposited. The air outside is icy and sharp for an April evening. It has been raining every day, and strangely enough, the sky has decided to hold back its tears this evening—just like you.

Arriving at the store, you ask to pick up your package, and once you have it under your arm, you almost immediately regret it. The warmth of the shop contrasts too much with the icy cold of this evening. In the deserted streets, not even a cat dares to show its nose. The neighborhood where Miguel lives is usually quiet because it’s reserved for the wealthiest. You clearly don’t live as luxuriously, and that’s somewhat reassuring. It’s as if anything and nothing can happen here.

As you turn the corner of the street where Miguel lives, bursts of orange light catch your attention. You barely have to look up before your package slips from your hands and collides with the pavement.

Miguel’s pavilion, as beautiful and luxurious as you saw it earlier, is on fire.

Despite this, silence reigns in the street. It’s as if no one sees what you see—huge flames licking at walls now darkened by the heat, and beams giving way and crashing onto the gradually shrinking lawn, also consumed by the fire. You want to scream and call for help—anything. But a silhouette emerging from the front door of the house seals your lips shut. You would have hoped it was Miguel, but you don’t live in paradise.

It’s indeed a masculine figure with an imposing muscular build, tall stature, and a black compression shirt, walking towards a motorcycle casually parked near Miguel’s fence. A large sports bag hangs from his hand by the handle. He effortlessly loads it onto the back of his bike despite its obvious weight. You’re afraid the man will notice you—though he hasn’t yet—but the paralysis freezing your limbs prevents you from making any move. While there’s no outward sign of activity, your heart rebels. It thumps so loudly in your chest that you almost fear the man might hear it from where he stands.

He straddles his bike and puts on his helmet before you have a chance to identify his face. The evening’s darkness obscures any chance of recognizing the arsonist. Once his motorcycle helmet is securely fastened, the man starts his bike and glances back one last time.

Familiar emerald eyes fall upon you.

And as the man turns away without a hint of reaction, he lifts his foot from the ground and rides off into the night’s silence.

A silence that persists even as you rush to the front of Miguel’s house and scream with all the strength of your lungs for help, calling out the names of his wife and daughter. But only the crackling of flames burning your hopes for their survival answers you.

°°°°

You can’t breathe.

The air escapes you.

Emerald irises glare at you from the corner of your room where you’re paralyzed by sleep. Thin lips stretch into a smile that haunts you like a cursed spirit. You blink, and the silhouette is now leaning over you on your bed, hands clasping around your neck with a powerful grip.

It suffocates you.

And its irises stare at you impassively.

Choking you in a deadly silence.

DING DONG.

DING DONG.

DING DONG...

You wake with a start. Your forearm rests on the polished wooden table of the university library, a small patch of saliva staining the fabric of your white shirt from your sleep. Still bleary-eyed, you look around and notice the ghostly silence of the library. You retrieve your phone from your pocket, and the displayed time tells you three things.

The first is that the bell that just rang was the second warning for the start of classes.

The second is that you’re late.

And the third—the worst—is that you have class with your current nightmare: Professor Fushiguro.

You hastily grab your bag and dash through the corridors towards the law studies building. Of course, your classroom had to be the farthest one, and of course, you’re running late. Your lack of sleep, caused by the multiple nightmares you’ve been having lately, only serves to increase your stress, which is clearly not what you need.

What you witnessed last weekend.

Breathless, you gently push open the swinging doors of the amphitheater, praying with all your heart that the class is still chatting as they settle in.

But as if your poor heart wasn’t exhausted enough, as soon as you step through the swinging doors, a familiar and magnetic voice interrupts, and a heavy silence greets you, with all the students’ heads turning towards you. Heat climbs up your neck, and you dread a fainting spell.

“You’re late.” Professor Fushiguro’s icy voice is as cutting as the iceberg that split the Titanic and resonates throughout the lecture hall. You struggle to swallow, nearly choking.

Mumbling apologies, you lower your gaze, not wanting to meet eyes that has haunted you recently. After sighing, Professor Fushiguro completely ignores you, and you take a seat on the nearest chair, still red with embarrassment as he resumes his lecture. Two male students whisper to each other, their voices audible enough for you to hear as you take out your trembling laptop.

“What’s up with him today?”

“I don’t know. He seems to be in a murderous mood today, according to the other classes.”

You clear your throat softly. Your hands shake so much that you can’t type a word on your keyboard without making multiple spelling mistakes. Your already empty stomach twists, and you suppress the nausea lingering in your chest.

“The time is up. You will submit your essays on my desk,” Professor Fushiguro orders in his deep voice.

Your pen continues to scratch your paper with its blue ink as you lift your head abruptly, panic flooding your face. “No, no, no…” you murmur, looking over your sheets, knowing that the work is insufficient.

Professor Fushiguro had given an in-class essay assignment on the recent topics introduced on criminality. Unable to write a single word during the first forty-five minutes, the limited time left had triggered a realization that made you forget about Professor Fushiguro and recall that your grades affect the relationship you’re trying to build with your father. The mere image of his disappointed face is enough to bring back the nausea you felt earlier.

Most students rise almost immediately and descend the lecture hall steps to submit their work. Yours, which must contain half of what the others have provided, will not secure an average grade. You are already certain of it. While you are usually one of the top students in your class, this year is off to a rough start, especially given your delicate situation with Professor Fushiguro.

Resigned, you abandon your pen and pack your belongings into your bag. You’ll start your first grade of the year with an F – and, more importantly, with a professor/student relationship whose outcome you don’t even know. Is Professor Fushiguro plotting something against you?

As you drop your papers on his desk surrounded by girls who you often see gossiping about his beauty—which you no longer appreciate— you intentionally meet his gaze. Your breath catches.

Behind his statue-like mask, Professor Fushiguro’s emerald irises pin you in place. With a hatred you sense is more intense than the incident involving Miguel that led to his death and that of his wife and daughter.

Turning your head away, you spin on your heels and climb the amphitheater steps. But you distinctly hear Professor Fushiguro dismiss the group of admirers sharply. “Leave the room if you have no questions about the class.”

Regardless of his lack of comment.

You will do the same—hoping he won’t touch anything directly related to your life.

And you push aside yet another bad feeling that you hope is wrong.

°°°°

But you are wrong, even years later, to doubt your sixth sense.

With shaking hands, you hold your corrected essay paper returned by Professor Fushiguro. Covered in red pen marks, a large F – circled in the corner of your sheet is the only thing that catches your attention despite the background chatter of the class. In a situation like this, you would have gone to see your professor and asked for clarification on what you did wrong and to understand what went awry. But you can’t.

A sigh escapes the barrier of your lips as you shove your paper into your bag, trying to forget how it’s not even the mediocre quality of your work that cost you this grade, but rather that every paragraph you wrote had been aggressively attacked with crimson ink. This means that Professor Fushiguro probably didn’t grade you so poorly out of some revenge.

At least, that’s what you hope.

Until the next classes resume, and each of your assignments submitted to Professor Fushiguro ends with an F – or F + (the latter when he seems to be in a good mood). You can’t count how many times you’ve run your hand over your face to sweep away the frustration that overtakes you—especially when you see other students getting results you should have. Assignments for which you put in maximum effort. Yet, nothing seems to change.

“It’s true that no other article has been posted since…”

“Do you think she has another scoop?” a frustrated voice says from behind a bookshelf.

“According to some students in her class, she no longer shows up for lectures.”

“Weird…”

“Good riddance, I say! It’s been paradise since we stopped reading anything on her damn blog!” curses a student, storming away from the aisle followed by his friends.

You lift your face from where it’s buried in the crook of your folded arm on the table. Only the faint sound of Shoko’s keyboard tapping reaches your ears. You exchange a glance with her to see if she caught what you just overheard.

Shoko takes a small breath that she releases in a small sigh. Stretching, she yawns before pulling out a bottle of your favorite drink. “Here. Keep sleeping instead of listening to such crappy gossip about Miwa. At this rate, you’ll end up just like me.”

You offer her a tired smile and take the bottle, eagerly gulping down its contents. You eat much less at home, sleep less, and spend most of your time dozing with your arms crossed on one of the tables in the university library, soothed by a sense of security reinforced by the fact that you’re not alone and the sound of the rain beating against the windows is one of the most relaxing sounds to fall asleep to.

You’re constantly on the alert at home. You startle at the slightest noise and constantly feel like danger is lurking overhead. You have no one to confide in.

You haven’t revealed anything to Shoko either.

Omitting from the police and your friend that you know the identity of the murderer of the Oduol family, you lied by saying that fear and shock caused memory issues. A policewoman took note of your statement after escorting you to the police station following the fire you urgently reported. You bluntly responded that you saw a vague figure leaving the house but don’t know more. The policewoman, sympathetic, brought you back safely home and kindly offered for you to provide any details regarding the ongoing investigation in the coming days. She then left and you haven’t contacted her since.

You’re exhausted.

Tired of studying for courses where you end up with a poor grade every time, of having insomnia that prevents you from sleeping with the constant fear of being killed in your own home.

And the worst part is your grades.

You dismissed the excuse of the mediocre quality of your first assignment. But as for those that followed, you almost gave your soul. You don’t understand the mistakes you make in each assignment. And you don’t dare to talk to the source either.

You’re too afraid.

Especially of opening your mouth during his classes.

But the next one might be even harder—because the next session will focus on a themed debate.

°°°°

“The nature of redemption for criminals.”

The debate opens for your next few hours, and you’re trapped in the amphitheater room that’s become your nightmare. For the first time, you see Professor Fushiguro questioning students and engaging in conversation with them on a topic you never thought he would address. He responds with the perfect image of a teacher. And it unsettles you.

For a criminal, he’s surprisingly good at it.

Snide remarks keep blooming in your head with each student’s intervention that receives a response from your professor. You’re so frustrated that your clenched teeth start to hurt your jaw. But you say nothing. You know you mustn’t open your mouth. But still, you burn with the desire to participate. To respond with your arguments, to shut Professor Fushiguro up, and to spit out all the hatred and frustration you have against him. But nothing can break your forged silence.

Nothing except—

“...even the most ruthless criminals may have the opportunity to redeem themselves and find redemption, provided they sincerely express remorse and commit to changing their behavior. Malcom X, Shaka Senghor, or even Piper Kerman are excellent examples of individuals who have committed reprehensible acts but have managed to reintegrate into society after serving their sentence and showing real change,” asserts Professor Fushiguro, standing with his lower back leaning against the edge of his desk and facing the class.

His calm and composed voice makes you want to scream what you’re holding back from replying.

Redemption my ass!

Your eyes burn into Professor Fushiguro’s figure, and when his gaze lingers on you, you notice the small smirk forming on his lips.

A smug and discreet smile but one that openly mocks you—because you can’t say anything about it.

And that’s the last straw.

You rise from your seat in front of the entire amphitheater, chin held high. “I disagree,” you say in a loud, clear voice that resonates in everyone’s ears.

Professor Fushiguro loses his smug smirk and turns it into a mask of ice. He raises his eyebrows—probably surprised that you’re speaking up. “You disagree?” he repeats your words slowly and doesn’t blink once. For the first time since the beginning of the year, you have his full attention publicly.

“Yes,” you affirm with conviction. You maintain a steady voice that threatens to tremble under the rapid beats of your heart.

Your last name rolls off Professor Fushiguro’s tongue like venom. “Well, then, enlighten us with your objection,” he says sarcastically and provocatively but in the silence of the room, you dare not cross any line.

Not yet.

You take a tiny breath of courage. “I have doubts regarding the possibility for some criminals to truly find redemption, especially when they have committed particularly heinous or repeated acts,” you retort. “Don’t you think that raises some neglect towards the personal responsibility of criminals? I believe it’s necessary to also consider the interests of the victims in the rehabilitation process.”

Throughout, the class as well as Professor Fushiguro haven’t taken their eyes off your bold mouth. Your teacher’s neutral face doesn’t change, but you sense a hint of irritation in his voice when he speaks up.

“I understand your concerns, but we cannot afford to condemn individuals outright without giving them a chance to redeem themselves. Even those who have committed unforgivable acts deserve a chance at redemption, for that’s how we, as a society, progress towards a better future.”

You hold back a sarcastic laugh.

You don’t care about the consequences now. You release all the frustration you’ve been holding back, crossing your arms over your chest to reply, “Allow me to doubt the nature of redemption for those involved in clandestine criminal activities. Some individuals may claim to seek redemption while continuing to commit reprehensible acts in secret,” you emphasize, raising your eyebrows and curling your lips. “Perhaps it would be useful to question the sincerity of their repentance.”

It’s as if the breath of the entire class is held.

Professor Fushiguro remains silent, but you feel him freeze at your words.

“On what examples are you basing this, exactly?” he asks in a sickly sweet tone before pursing his lips.

His response makes you let out a scoff.

Seeing Professor Fushiguro’s game, you cross the forged line. He’s testing you to see if you’ll dare to speak up. And that’s exactly what you do.

“Is this a joke? Well, let’s see…” You pretend to think, and release all your frustration accumulated over so many days. “What about hitmen?”

Never have you shown such insolence to a teacher. You realize you’ve gotten yourself into serious trouble when right at that moment, the bell rings to signal the end of classes and Professor Fushiguro utters words that sign your death sentence.

“You’ll come see me.”

As the entire class rushes to pack up their belongings, you ignore the whispers behind you and stuff your laptop into your bag with slow, feverish movements. Your heart is pumping rapidly, and your tongue, burning just a minute ago, now feels numb.

You descend the emptying amphitheater stairs and wait for the double doors to let the last student pass before approaching Professor Fushiguro’s desk. He hasn’t moved from his position, partly leaning against the edge of the desk. You leave a safe distance between the two of you, ready to sprint if he tries anything against you. But will he dare to do it within the university premises?

“You displayed a certain insolence during the debate,” he begins in a low voice. His eyes scrutinize yours, but this time, you don’t look away.

“It was a glimpse of my frustration,” you reply with coldness.

“Oh? Your frustration?” He tilts his head to the side, a sarcastically surprised expression on his face.

“I suppose you know the cause.” You leave a silence for a response he doesn’t give you. So, you continue, “Stop giving me unjust bad grades. I know you’re doing it with the intention of ruining my academic record.” Your voice is as low as Professor Fushiguro’s, who sneers at you.

“I could easily inform on you to the police, you know. I haven’t said anything until now, but they assured me they’re keeping an eye on my voice,” your courage loosens your tongue but raises the heavy, fast beats of your heart in your ears. Blood pounds in your ears.

Toji purses his lips but doesn’t falter in the face of your threats. “And I could sue you for defamation. You have no proof, my lovely.” A smug smile stretches his thin lips, and you notice the hint of a scar drawing in their corner. He leans slightly forward so that his low voice can only reach your ears. “By nosing around into things that don’t concern you, maybe the absence of your colleague Kasumi, which worries the principal so much, will eventually affect you too." He grins as he sees your eyes widen in horror.

“...Are you involved in that?” you whisper in a hoarse voice, to which he responds with a shrug.

You’ve put yourself in a situation that may be worse than it already is, but you value your life. You take a step towards him and speak with less confidence. “Fine. I’ll keep quiet. But change my grades in return. Or at least, give me a better grade next—”

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head. “You’re not in a position to negotiate. And what makes you think I trust you?” His smile turns into outright mockery. “Your word means nothing to me.”

The noise of students’ conversations waiting behind the amphitheater doors grabs your attention. You don’t have time to argue any longer.

As you prepare to respond one last time, your face contorted by Professor Fushiguro’s blunt refusal, he interrupts you by raising his index finger to impose silence. “A word of advice. Don’t risk playing with the devil when you don’t know what hell looks like. Don’t venture into a game where you’re not ready to risk your neck.”

°°°°

“In a delicate yet profitable context, I’ve organized, with the help of the principal, a collaboration with the police to put you through a real investigation exercise. The main subject of the investigation revolves around the worrying disappearance of a student from this university. As you’ve probably heard from leaked rumors, Miwa Kasumi’s disappearance was reported a few days ago by her family to the police station. We’ll take advantage of the investigation’s opening to help the police find Miwa with your assistance and to use this situation to your advantage by putting you in the field. Professor Fushiguro will supervise this exercise with me.”

The words of your criminal justice professor—Professor Higuruma—come back to you as a distant voice seems to call you.

“Hey, are you listening to me?”

A snap of fingers brings you back to reality.

You raise your head to your father, who watches you with concern from behind the glass that separates you from him. “Yes, yes. Sorry.” You rub your eyes, burning with tiredness and reddened with burst blood vessels.

You’re back in prison for another visit to your father, who has been informed of Miguel’s death. You told him everything in detail—naturally omitting the perpetrator of the fatal fire. After over an hour of questioning you, your father changed the subject to discuss your studies.

As usually.

“And the classes?” he says, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Usually, at this point in the semester, you give me updates on your grades.”

You swallow hard. “Uh... Well, the workload is a bit heavier and—”

“You got bad grades?” your father interrupts, raising an eyebrow.

His conclusion catches you off guard.

“No... Well, my grades aren’t as excellent as they used to be but—”

“Answer my question.”

You blink. “I... Yes.” You take a deep breath. “But wait, Dad, I can explain—”

“And do you think this is how I’m going to get out of this rathole? I thought you wanted us to reconnect,” your father retorts, shooting you a sharp, annoyed, and disappointed look. He crosses his arms over his chest before standing up. “Don’t visit me again until your grades improve.”

“No, wait! Dad!” You exclaim, standing up abruptly and pressing your hands against the glass that separates you as your father’s back leaves the inmate visitation room. “DAD! DAD!”

Your voice breaks under the punches you give to the glass to hold him back—in vain.

°°°°

Toji enters a sushi restaurant and glances around to analyze each customer, looking for a particular person. His eyes settle on a man tattooed up to his neck, and he joins him at his table, taking a seat across from him.

The man looks up at Toji, his face lighting up as he recognizes him. “Ah! Here’s my guest. Please, order whatever you want.”

Toji nods in greeting. "Oyabun."

An elderly waitress approaches their table and smiles kindly at them. “Have you already ordered, gentlemen?”

The oyabun nods and turns to Toji. “Place his order. I’ve already eaten. You’ll put it on this account.” He takes a business card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to the old lady.

“Takoyakis,” Toji orders without a glance at her.

The lady takes note of the dish and leaves. Toji leans his elbows on the table and leans just enough to inform him, “I handed the bag to a kaikei. You didn’t tell me it contained so much money. I remind you that you still haven’t paid me.”

The oyabun puts on a serious expression and takes out a joint from his jacket. Toji lets his eyes wander vaguely over the pockets and wonders what else he could pull out.

“Do you remember the issue concerning the clan? Well, this money you recovered from Oduol belongs to me and is partly what I’m reclaiming.” He takes on a paternal tone and lights a lighter to scorch his spliff. “The rest of the sum still eludes me. I can’t pay you yet. But you know I’m not a scammer, Toji. I’ve always paid you, haven’t I?” The smell of cannabis reaches Toji’s nostrils, and he wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“And you can’t pay me with the money I recovered?” Toji asks, almost... urgently. “I’m sure the bag already has enough to cover all my other unpaid missions.”

The oyabun shakes his head and inhales the smoke from his spliff. “This money is mine,” he replies before exhaling, “and that means you should be paid with the money that’s rightfully yours. You still don’t realize the astronomical sum one of those bastards owes me.”

“So I have to keep playing the good teacher? Where are you sending poor Shiu to look for work, seriously? I’m already struggling to pay my rent, you know? I want to get back to my real full-time job,” Toji retorts bitterly.

The waitress approaches their table and sets the plate of takoyakis in front of Toji, wishing him bon appétit before slipping away. He loosens his chopsticks and crosses them to pick up a sauced ball between them.

“I know, I know. Listen, Toji. I already have some issues to sort out, but you have my word that as soon as I’m done, you’ll be paid in one go. It’s this problem that’s preventing me from paying you. I need you, and you’re already helping me a lot. Oduol had a part of the money that belongs to me, and I recovered it. Thanks to you,” the oyabun smiles wide—revealing gold canines. “You’re my best man. You’re the only one I truly rely on. You’re under my protection as long as you stay with me.”

"I need nothing but my dough," Toji answers back with less pronounced bitterness but still irritate, and the oyabun knows his words have managed to appease him somewhat. Toji swallows his takoyaki balls one by one and casually adjusts the loosely unbuttoned collar of his black shirt.

The oyabun leans back in his chair and pours himself a glass of sake. His fingers adorned with silver rings grasp the glass, and he drinks its contents in one go. “While you’re waiting for your next target, you can take it easy.”

°°°°

Toji’s calloused hand tidies his course papers on his desk as the students in his class hurry to leave the lecture hall in the usual cacophony. He hears giggles behind him and sighs in annoyance before rolling his eyes.

Those pissy girls in uniform again.

The lecture hall grows quieter, and a quick glance over his shoulder informs him that you are still packing up your belongings. The group of girls approaches him, and he turns halfway, exasperated.

“Professor Fushiguro,” one of them begins before cackling like a hen, followed by her peers, “we wanted to ask you—”

“No, I haven’t changed my cologne. No, I’m not a former national boxing champion, and no, my shirt isn’t from a luxury brand, but from a thrift store. Now, go away,” he cuts them off sharply.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again, hoping not to have to fend them off any longer.

Since his first day here, Toji has been the constant subject of discussion among both professors and students alike. And he knows it perfectly well. But he didn’t expect to have a fan club of ‘pissy girls in pine green uniform’—as he calls them—during his very first class.

The girls stop giggling and freeze. They look at each other and give up. The group wishes him a good day and finally leaves the lecture hall, leaving Toji in peace. But Toji knows he’s not alone. You are already descending the stairs with measured steps.

He sits at his desk, waiting—and even praying—that the bell rings earlier than expected so that you don’t have to talk to him. But Toji has never been lucky. If that day were to come, it would be because God has shown him mercy.

“Professor,” you murmur cautiously once you’re at his desk.

Toji ignores you, feigning to focus on his laptop. He knows he has nothing to do on it, but he prefers to keep his eyes absentmindedly on the screen rather than having to talk to you.

“Can you explain to me what my mistakes were in this assignment?” you continue with a fragile sweetness that almost prompts Toji to lift his gaze from his PowerPoint to check if you’re crying or not. “I don’t understand my errors despite your corrections…” You hand him your paper marked in red ink.

Toji doesn’t respond and pretends to turn a deaf ear while correcting elements of his slideshow. His peripheral vision notes that you have approached him, reducing the distance to about one inch.

You are crossing a boundary that is forbidden to you.

“Please,” you insist with a hint of impatience.

Toji is about to continue ignoring you when he freezes in place as you place a hand on his forearm resting on the polished mahogany desk and gently squeeze it with your fingers. The contact of your hand sends an unusual shiver down his spine, and the warmth emanating from your palm on his skin is as scorching as the fires of hell awaiting him in exchange for his sins. He regrets rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing forearms defined with muscles and a few raised veins running across the surface of his pale, almost translucent skin.

Turning his neck slightly to look at you, Toji squints and murmurs in a threatening tone, “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Your eyes meet his, and he almost feels the dilation in his pupils as he realizes the mirroring effect of yours.

You were on the verge of tears.

“Please…” you murmur as your eyes speak for you in a unspoken plea. “I swear I won’t say anything. It’s my grades that matter to me. I have secrets to keep too, and I don’t want to get involved in yours.” But seeing that he offers no response and merely stares at you without any further reaction, you continue, “Professor, please—”

“Enough!” he snaps in a half-annoyed, half-angry whisper. With a sudden movement, he pulls his arm away from the weak grasp of your hand. “Go away.”

“But—”

Once again, you’re unable to continue your pleas because of the bell ringing for the next classes, along with the voices of the next class with Professor Fushiguro behind the doors.

Swallowing back your tears, you turn on your heels and crumple your umpteenth paper, marked with an additional F –, adding to the frustrated sob that escapes your mouth as you leave the lecture hall in long strides.

All under Toji’s eyes, who, for the first time, has a heart still pounding from a confrontation he would have preferred to avoid.

°°°°

The rain pounding against the windows of the lecture hall is so loud that it drowns out the voices of the police officers. A policewoman, annoyed at having to raise her voice, borrows a lapel microphone from Professor Higuruma and stands in the center of the small platform reserved for the professors.

“Testing. Can you hear me? Perfect,” she says with a smile. “So, as we’re trying to tell you, this amphitheater has been reserved specifically for us, the police, as speakers.” She gestures toward Professors Fushiguro and Higuruma, who stand in a corner of the platform with their hands in their pockets. “Thanks to your professors,” she continues, “we can now officially open the investigation into the disappearance of student Miwa Kasumi, reported missing by her parents a few days ago. Your professors have deemed the situation, while concerning, suitable to put you in a real investigative situation. No report has been filed yet. Kasumi’s parents have provided us with some information about the last time they saw her.”

She clasps her hands behind her back to replace her smile with a serious and professional demeanor. “So I’m counting on you to help us write this report. You’ll give us all your information, and vice versa. We’ll sort it all out, and we’ll print it out for you. Over the next few days, you’ll be tasked with gathering information by visiting the last places Kasumi went before disappearing and gathering testimonies. Your invaluable help, combined with our own research, will constitute key elements. As soon as we feel we have enough and your professors have enough to grade you, the investigation will no longer concern you and will be entirely our responsibility. If you have no questions, I think we can begin.”

The policewoman joins one of her coworker sitting at the desk assigned to a professor and starts typing on her laptop.

Sitting at the back of the room, you stare at Professor Fushiguro. He stands nonchalantly leaning against a wall next to Higuruma. You notice that he has his lips pinched and his eyes alternate between the police officers. A thin, sinister smile curls your lips.

Of course, a hitman isn’tt comfortable in front of those who could send him to prison on the spot.

You rub your eyes with the palms of your hands and yawn.

The police’s questions begin.

Your insomnia from the previous night has left you in a murderous mood. Your reddened and burning eyes from crying all night don’t help you keep your eyes completely open under the aggressive lights of the amphitheater.

But you don’t take your eyes off Professor Fushiguro for a moment. You’re not going to let a fool like him ruin your life for grades. If you have to resort to extreme measures, you will. And that’s what you’ve been trying to do since your last desperate altercation with him. You gave up your dignity at that moment. This time, you’re already looking for something—a threat, anything—to make him change his mind. The police right now must be making him very uncomfortable—because a word from you, and he could end up in handcuffs. But you can’t.

At least not yet.

As the session nears its end, a police officer sends the report to each student’s university email and also sends it to be printed at the university library. So as you come to pick up your copy at the bottom of the amphitheater, you pass by Professor Fushiguro without a glance. As you turn on your heels, your eyes rise to meet his. He doesn’t break eye contact, but you know he can’t have failed to notice your bloodshot eyes and your silence in front of the familiar policewoman—the one who escorted you home after the fire at the Oduols’.

Despite her inquiries about your memories, you claimed that you don’t really remember who the man was.

°°°°

At the end of the week, your research has finally paid off. And there’s no way this time that Professor Fushiguro will give you yet another F –. You’re prepared to go to great lengths to force him to stop his blackmail.

Your knuckles rap three times on the door of Professor Fushiguro’s office. A muffled “come in” reaches your ears, and you enter the room. You immediately close the door behind you and observe the surroundings. Contrary to what you might have imagined, the space is decorated in a traditional academic aesthetic—large bookshelves filled with books of all sizes adorn the walls, floral wallpaper, or even a Persian rug with complex blood-red patterns sleeping at the feet of a burgundy sofa.

You clearly doubt that the aesthetic taste of the office comes from him.

“I’ve come to bring you my report,” you say after clearing your throat.

Professor Fushiguro, seated at his ebony wood desk, pays no attention to you and keeps his eyes glued to his computer. The only response is the clacking of the keyboard keys.

You take a few steps and reach the desk. You carefully place your report down and sit in one of the armchairs facing your teacher.

With your heart pounding, you take a small breath and waste no time. “Professor? Can we get back to what I was trying to tell you last week?”

Professor Fushiguro continues to royally ignore you, and you close your eyelids for a second.

This can’t go on any longer.

“Stop ignoring me.” You suddenly stand up and close Professor Fushiguro’s computer with the tips of your fingers. He barely has time to remove his fingers from the keyboard and looks up at you.

His eyes narrow like those of a cobra, and he’s about to respond—undoubtedly about your insolence—but you raise your hand in the same way he has done with you before to impose silence and hiss a “no!”

The professor’s thin lips part in surprise at your boldness. He doesn’t say a word and waits for what your audacity has in store for him. For the first time, you leave him speechless.

“Now, you’re going to listen to me until the end.” You lean dangerously toward him across the desk and place a hand on its surface. A determined gleam shines in your eyes, and your tongue loosens immediately. “You seemed particularly nervous during the first intervention with the police, or am I mistaken? You were very tense despite your facade of a relaxed man. And you saw me. I didn’t say anything.” You grit your teeth and hold back the urge to strike him in the face with his silence. Your throat is already painfully tight. You really hope he’ll listen to you until the end.

“I know you were bluffing about Miwa because you would never have dared anything directly with the police. Nothing will happen to me. So if you decide to do nothing about my grades thinking you can relax, you’re sorely mistaken. You underestimate me far too much. If I won’t speak about your crime, I’m ready to create one against myself. I’ve been kind enough so far,” you declare in a strained voice. The accumulation of silence over these weeks is too much today. 

You’re exhausted. You take a breath that has shortened.

But after all the reactions you could have hoped for from Professor Fushiguro, the one he offers you catches you off guard. At first, a slow smile stretches across his lips, then a chuckle escapes him, and finally, he bursts out laughing. The heat rising to your cheeks spreads all over your face, and the blood pounds in your ears.

“Let me laugh a little more. Who’s talking about bluffing here, again? Do you think I’m going to swallow that?” He leans his elbows on the desk with both arms to rest his chin on the back of his intertwined hands and looks at you with his emerald irises. “I don’t believe you, pretty girl. You’re capable of nothing. And I’ve already told you. Your word means nothing to me,” he murmurs with a mocking smile that curls his lips.

“Oh really?” you murmur under your breath. “That’s what I thought. You know you’re the subject of almost every conversation in this university, Professor Fushiguro. Wouldn’t it be detrimental to your already dubious reputation if a professor like you—who looks more like a model working for Calvin Klein than anything else—gets involved in an unpleasant affair with a student? You underestimate the cunning of women. Knowing that three-quarters of the female students have already had wet dreams about you. And believe me, it’s certainly not the stress of student life that stains their underwear every night. Nothing is indifferent to anyone in this university.”

The image of your father walking away from the inmate visitation room comes to mind. Your eyes sting, but you try to hold on and not break down in front of him.

Caught up in the momentum of emotion, you lean so close to him across the desk that the distance between your two heads is only about eleven inches. “I stand by what I said. I won’t let my academic record rot for a man like you. I also have secrets to keep. And I’m ready to do anything to protect them. Even if it means committing immorality.”

With these final words, you can’t hold back a tear escaping from one of your eyes and letting it roll down your cheek.

You don’t give him time to respond and turn on your heel to leave the office, wiping away the other tears that finally streak your cheeks.

°°°°

“And another loss, my friend.”

Shiu Kong chuckles beneath his neatly trimmed mustache. He shuffles the blackjack cards and picks them up one by one. He glances at Toji’s indifferent expression. “What? Is that all it does to you?”

Toji shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey. “Nothing new. I never have any luck.” The liquid burns his throat for a moment, but the sounds of the casino machines distract him, and his thoughts keep drifting to your face he encountered the previous day.

Shiu takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up. With a nod of his head, he offers one to Toji, who declines with a shake of his head. “It’s a shame you lose at games that could earn you a little cash—of course—but which can quickly accumulate thanks to many rounds. Must be better than your teacher job, right?”

“I also have secrets to keep. And I’m ready to do anything to protect them.”

Toji leans back in his chair, sighs, and runs a hand over his tired face, trying to rid himself of your voice in his head. He hasn’t forgotten the sound of your sobbing or your sniffles every time you left after trying to change your grades.

Toji has never felt the slightest guilt.

And he doesn’t want it to start now.

Especially when it involves you.

“Yeah. It really is a shitty job.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but he has the right to refuse visitors.” The voice of the penitentiary secretary sounds slightly irritated.

“But—”

“I’m sorry to insist, but even if you come in person, it won’t matter. He’ll probably remain in his cell,” she interrupts hastily.

You purse your lips and sit on your bed in the dim light of your room. “I see... Thank you,” you murmur softly, your voice breaking.

“Have a nice day, miss.”

The line disconnects, and you let your back sink into the mattress.

Your father requested to refuse your visit if you try to contact him in any way. Your throat knots horribly, and it feels like the knot is laced with thorns.

It’s all his fault.

Professor Fushiguro is your tormentor.

You hate him so much.

He ruins your life in every way—without you being able to do anything about it.

All you ask for is your father’s love, as you dream of every time.

Were you asking for too much?

Or perhaps you simply don’t deserve it.

°°°°

C +.

“C +.”

You blink several times.

No...

You must be dreaming.

From your seat at the back, you watch Professor Fushiguro finish distributing the corrected reports made by the students in the class. When he returns to his desk, the rest of the students quickly pack up their things, following suit. With Professor Higuruma present, the rest of the class will continue in a different amphitheater to update the police, who will collect all the information provided by each student.

But you still can’t believe that Professor Fushiguro, the man who has been threatening you and making your life difficult from the start, is starting to give you better grades. A “C +” isn’t the best grade you’ve ever had, but in theoretical criminology, it’s worth celebrating.

A bubble of hope swells in your chest.

Throughout the continued class, you’ve been trying to catch Professor Fushiguro’s gaze, but to no avail. Without even knowing why you’re doing it.

“Very well. Excellent, I would even say,” the same policewoman declares during the first intervention. Her voice projected through the microphone is clear and captures everyone’s attention. “Thank you, dear students. According to the overall assessments and reports from your professors, Miwa was seen in some very undesirable places just before her disappearance. Other information has been taken into account, and I ask those who know of such... prohibited areas, not to disclose their locations. Please. This part of the investigation is for the police only. We plan to involve you in real investigation work with the agreement of your professors, but for now, do not attempt anything dangerous to find your missing classmate.”

The entire class exchanges sarcastic looks.

It’s true, after all. Miwa ins’t the favorite student of most students at Keio University. She has always posted articles against any student who has a secret that could draw attention to her blog.

“But I want to emphasize that if you obtain any further necessary information before our next meeting, you are welcome to share it. Your help is greatly appreciated. Thank you for your hard work.”

Applause erupts from the group of police officers alongside Professors Higuruma and Fushiguro. The class joins in, and whistles echo through the room.

Your eyes continue to search for Professor Fushiguro’s, but not once has his head turned in your direction. A pang of disappointment pricks at you without understanding why. If he has finally decided to listen to you and stop his threats, you should be happy about it. Not that you’re not pleased, but you want him to pay attention to you.

And in a good way.

°°°°

The coffin lids finally close, plunging the Oduol family into the sleep that death offers them.

You can’t help but bite your lower lip.

The committee attending the funeral is much smaller than you thought. The morgue is filled with just over half a dozen people—including you. The majority consists of a few men in suits, one of whom, presumably their leader, is tattooed all the way up to his neck.

Without exception, they all prayed.

You’ve wondered many times who they are. Especially when, in your somber attire, a glance from you is enough to meet the gaze of the tattooed man. His indifferent eyes glanced at your silhouette, perhaps wondering who you are, but you didn’t speak to each other—because the men didn’t linger at the morgue either.

If you sideline that, on the way back to your apartment, you constantly wonder why Professor Fushiguro had to kill Miguel. And the image of the huge gym bag he carried with him twists your stomach into a bad omen.

It contained money, you have no doubt.

And then, Miguel was wealthy.

He was also your father’s friend.

But unlike him, Miguel didn’t end up in prison for embezzlement. You begin to wonder if Miguel’s wealth came from the infamous sum for which your father is behind bars. Is the money being pursued by other people?

If this deduction is true, Miguel had been a target while free, while your father has not been for years.

If Professor Fushiguro decided to target Miguel, it must also be related to why your father is imprisoned. But one last deduction lights up your brain, and suddenly nausea grips you.

Is Professor Fushiguro also after your father?

°°°°

Your fist knocks three times on Professor Fushiguro’s office door.

A muffled “come in” allows you to enter the room with a steady step. For some reason or another, you are no longer afraid to speak with your teacher—despite the fact that you haven’t said a word to him since the first time you came to talk to him in his office like today.

You’re not afraid anymore.

And only when it concerns your father.

You carefully close the door before sitting down on one of the armchairs opposite him as he doesn’t deign to look at you. Professor Fushiguro is buried in a small stack of students’ papers to correct mercilessly as he did for you.

“Hello, Professor.”

Silence.

Undeterred in the slightest, you continue, “I would like some explanations about the report you corrected. I don’t understand my grade.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, and his pen scratches a sentence on the paper he’s working on. You take the opportunity to take out your own report handed in a few days ago in class. You remain perfectly silent, waiting for an answer that you’ll force out of him if necessary.

Several minutes pass, and you wonder for a moment if he will open his mouth at any point.

Your request seems to have been heard when he sighs in annoyance and sets aside one assignment to move on to another before glancing at you and your report. “Can’t you read?” he says sarcastically. He shifts his attention back to another assignment to correct.

“So you’re still giving me bad grades on purpose?” you ask, furrowing your brows, a feeling of revolt swelling in your chest and encouraging your tongue to say what you’ve been holding back. “I thought you had changed your mind about—”

“Can you stop chattering like a magpie for two minutes?” he cuts in, looking up at you with a stern expression. “How do you expect me to do anything if you never shut up?”

Silence.

“...So,” you blink, “do you agree?”

“One more word, and I change my mind.” He adjusts his dark tie over his black shirt, and your gaze follows the movements of his hand holding the pen.

A few minutes later, Professor Fushiguro pushes his papers aside and sighs. You wait for him to focus his attention on you, and when he does, his deep voice snaps like a whip in your ears, “What’s wrong this time?”. He’s annoyed. And he doesn’t hide it.

You show him the red marks streaking your paper with careful words you endeavored to put on. “I didn’t understand why I got this grade. I took it seriously. I think you’re grading me too harshly.” You tilt your head slightly to the side and squint. “And I don’t understand your correction.”

“So you can’t read.” He leans his elbow on the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, then straightens up.

“I said I didn’t understand,” you insist. You purse your lips.

Professor Fushiguro seems to relent, because for the next ten minutes, he turns the paper towards him to re-explain the notes framing the margins of the pages.

When he finishes his oral correction, a question gnaws at you, and you scrunch your nose.

“I have a question.” You pause. “Are you grading me this way because you’re being harder on me or because you’re really grading me?” Your expression of indifference hides an analysis of your teacher’s facial expressions.

“I thought I made myself clear. I’m not threatening you anymore. But that doesn’t stop me from grading you as you should be.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Your old teacher was unbelievably mediocre. No wonder you’re surprised by such poor results when reality hits you.” He raises his eyebrows as if what he just said was such a mundane fact that you seem stupid for not understanding it earlier.

You purse your lips in an indignant pout. “Says the professor who bought his degree,” you reply almost venomously.

Professor Fushiguro raises an amused eyebrow. “So you think I faked my degree?” A smirk curls his lips.

“Coming from someone…” you murmur, searching for your words, “...like you, it’s obvious.”

“Sometimes, what seems most obvious to us is very far from reality.”

“So are we making peace?” you ask, resting your hands on your thighs, a hint of suspicion.

Under his gulp, Professor Fushiguro’s Adam’s apple oscillates. “I suppose so. But that doesn’t mean other threats can’t come your way, and for real this time.” His tone, sickly sweet, sends a shiver down your spine.

“I see. So, I’m not exactly your bosom buddy?” you say sarcastically. You cross your legs and fidget with your fingers. “So, my grade is deserved?” The corners of your lips twitch in a murmur of frosty disappointment.

An imperceptible nod from the professor is his response. “Since I’m not a ‘real teacher,’ as you put it, I might as well do my job properly to avoid arousing suspicion. If you have no further questions, the door is open.” His hand vaguely gestures to the door behind you with a sign. But you notice that he looks up insolently.

He looks like a teenager.

He pulls his laptop towards him, but you speak up again, your heart pounding. “No, I still have questions.” He rolls his eyes and pushes your report back towards you, probably hoping to silence your questions.

“I attended the funeral of the man you—” He gives you wide eyes and suddenly turns his face towards the closed door of his office. You lower your gaze to your intertwined fingers and freeze. “Anyway. I know it’s the last thing you want to talk about but…” You lean forward slightly. “Do your targets have any connection with Miguel?”

Professor Fushiguro purses his thin lips and glares at you. “No,” he murmurs reluctantly. He squints suspiciously and speaks in a voice so low that you have to lean in even more to hear him and not miss a word of his response. “I work under orders, period. I have no connection or relation with anyone. And you should stop sticking your nose into business that doesn't concern you. Or there will be consequences.”

The vise gripping your chest loosens, and you sigh with relief.

“Oh, one last thing.” You take your corrected paper and put it back in your bag. “Do you have, um, any textbooks to recommend to improve my grades? I won’t ask you anything else after this,” you add hastily, seeing his expression about to give you a flat no.

He sighs again and thumbs over his shoulder to the library behind him. “First shelf from the top on the right.”

You quickly get up and start looking at the books with dark bindings. Some vases with green plants adorn the wooden shelves, and you stand on tiptoe to try to grab two books that you can only touch the bindings with the tips of your fingers.

“I can’t reach them,” you say without turning around, breathless from the effort.

You reach higher, while the size of Professor Fushiguro looms behind you. He mutters to himself, and when your nails finally grip a leather-bound book, you pull on it and lose your balance. Your hand clutching the book sweeps the vase nearby, and in the momentum, you expect it to fall on you.

But it doesn’t.

A powerful hand pulls your forearm, and your nose hits something flat and hard. A second later, a crashing sound is emitted at your feet.

Your eyes, closed in fear, open, and you immediately look behind you.

The potted plant decorating the bookshelf has just shattered right where you were seconds ago. Your breath catches, and your heart races against another heart. The scent of masculine cologne fills your nostrils, and a single movement of your head puts you face to face with Professor Fushiguro.

Who just saved you from a trip to the hospital.

His strong arms encircle your waist in a firm and secure hold against him. Silence weighs in the room as your eyes get lost in the emerald ones of Professor Fushiguro—whose dilated pupils, alert from his movements, probe you. You swallow imperceptibly, and his warm breath brushes your face.

It’s as if time has stopped.

But the bursting of a storm outside breaks the moment, and you let go of the book you’re holding with the tips of your fingers.

Immediately, and in a synchronized movement, you both pull away from each other and avert your gaze. With flushed cheeks, you lean down to pick up one of the books, and as soon as you straighten your torso, two other books hit your chest.

Professor Fushiguro holds out the books to you and doesn’t wait any longer to lean towards the broken vase where soil has scattered on the floor. Neither of you speaks a word, and the sounds of rain beating against the window replace the silence of a few seconds ago.

You clear your throat and approach the pieces of pottery vase to pick them up, your cheeks crimson. But the same hand that just saved you pushes you away with a sharp gesture.

You raise your eyes to Professor Fushiguro who gazes back at you with...

…uncertainty? Embarrassment? You’re not sure. His eyes are too clouded.

“Leave it. You have your books,” his voice mutters before he turns around to pick up the pottery shards. You don’t see his face because by the time you perceive the expression he wears, he’s already turned his back to you.

Not wanting to push further under his tone indicating you should leave quickly, you nod anyway despite the fact that he can’t see it.

With your books and bag over your shoulder, you stride quickly towards the exit of the office, almost having legs like jelly. The areas of your body that came into contact with him burn, and you open the door before stepping halfway through and freezing.

You glance over your shoulder. Professor Fushiguro turns around at the same moment. Seized by some unknown impulse, you regain the use of your voice to whisper three words, “Professor Fushiguro... thank you.” Before swiftly disappearing without giving him a chance to react.

And your tone indicates that you’re not just thanking him for the books.

°°°°

Back in his apartment that evening, Toji slumps onto his couch, exhausted. He rubs his eyes with one hand and turns on the TV, a habit of his to avoid overthinking when sleep calls but his mind won’t rest. Unfortunately for him tonight, his heavy eyelids flutter open every time he tries to drift off. So he eventually gives up on dozing off, sleep eluding him. A shadow catches his attention in the dim light cast by the TV in his otherwise darkened living room.

He recognizes your silhouette.

He’s speechless by your sweet, angelic smile. Your shining eyes caress him with their gaze, and your lips are delicately parted. Paralyzed, Toji swallows hard but doesn’t move an inch, his eyes almost bulging in shock at seeing you here—while you, you lean towards him with a slowness that he thinks might be an eternity.

“Professor Fushiguro... thank you.”

His heart skips a beat.

His lips feel dry as if sewn shut, while you draw back and glance at the TV broadcasting the day’s news. You shift your focus back to Toji and grace him with the most angelic smile for the second time.

Angelic.

That’s the only word that registers in his brain, unable to think.

But he knows he’s never seen that smile on your lips in reality.

It’s the first thing he thinks about as he blinks his tired eyes, which soon squint as the harsh light from his living room TV makes him realize that it’s all just a dream.

°°°°

“Where did you get this?”

You swallow thick.

The policewoman’s question echoes in your head.

You purse your lips and reply in a barely audible whisper, audible only to her. “In a bar…” you lie. The sharp, piercing gaze of the policewoman silences your voice, and suddenly, you feel intimidated.

“Really? And when? In such a short amount of time?” She bombards you with questions while raising her thin eyebrows. She briskly takes the report folder from your hands and begins to flip through it without really reading your findings.

Your heart pounds in your chest like crazy, and your body temperature rises a notch. Lying has always made you anxious. And lying about where you actually went—a casino—will be no exception for you today. You sneak a discreet glance towards Professor Fushiguro, who approaches his desk in the lecture hall, the very place where you are confronted by the policewoman.

Your eyes lock onto his with insistence as the suspicious policewoman continues to grumble while flipping through your report. “Did you do your research all by yourself?” the policewoman insists, squinting her eyes.

You nod and turn your attention back to her. “Professor Fushiguro is aware,” you add a bit too quickly, blood pounding in your ears. “He has read my report and is aware of the situation.” You turn to him. “Isn’t that right, Professor?” This is your moment to send a distress signal to the only person who might save you at this moment.

The policewoman clicks her tongue against her palate and looks at the concerned Professor Fushiguro with annoyance, tacitly asking him to confirm your words.

Please, please, please...

Professor Fushiguro brings his hand to his chin and rubs his jaw. Now standing next to you facing the policewoman, his imposing physique towers over both you and the policewoman. During the split second of your silent eye contact exchange, you pray that he will cover for you and support your lie.

You dread that your heart will stop beating when he slightly parts his lips and declares in his deep, grave voice, “Yes, she came to see me.”

“You see?” you immediately insist with a forced smile. The heat on your face must be apparent now, but you choose to be in denial when neither of the two interlocutors makes any remarks. “I found a witness in a bar who told me they saw Miwa there. Professor Fushiguro tried to call her using the contact information she provided, but she didn’t answer.”

You cough, and your foot brushes against his.

Professor Fushiguro lifts his head a little and sighs, playing along with your game. “I had already decided to call her back as soon as possible, but I see that Miss has been a little more impatient than expected.” He tucks his lower lip and gives you a sidelong glance. His expression is icy and nonchalant—almost grumpy—as usual. “I understand your suspicion when we see that a student is the only one submitting a report, knowing that no other student has done so. And that the information she seems to... provide has escaped the police.”

You feel your armpits becoming slightly damp with sweat under your white shirt. You clear your throat. “Yes. I apologize for not being clearer from the start.”

The policewoman hums and sets your report aside on the table, visibly irritated. “It will be reviewed as soon as possible.”

You sigh as your steps lead you to your seat in the lecture hall and thank God that the noise of the students has helped to conceal your discussion. Perched on your chair, you lock eyes with Professor Fushiguro for the umpteenth time. And a gleam in his emerald eyes reminds you of the clear message he has already indirectly conveyed to you.

Clear explanations will be necessary.

°°°°

“Wait. I know—”

“What the hell is this now?” Professor Fushiguro cuts off sharply, carefully closing the door to his office. He returns to his seat and drops heavily into it. Rubbing his eyelids with one hand, he lets out a sigh.

Taking advantage of his momentary silence, you continue, “Listen to me, at least. I didn’t go to a bar. I lied.” You nervously fidget with your fingers on your thighs. “Actually, I went to... a casino.”

Professor Fushiguro’s eyes widen, and he tilts his chin up to your face, wrinkled with your confession. “Excuse me? And the police warnings?” He exhales irritably through his nostrils, and you could swear you see smoke coming out like a bull.

“Listen, you just have to call the woman and tell her to simply overlook the fact that I met her in a casino rather than a bar.” You force a smile, hands now sweaty. “She’ll agree, I’m sure. I’ve already saved her contact details on my phone. We just need to do it before—”

“And why didn’t you do that at the time? You knew you weren’t allowed to go there for the investigation.” Professor Fushiguro’s jaw tightens, and this time he tugs at his indigo tie—a perfect match for his black shirt, you can’t help but think—to loosen it a bit. “I can’t believe I defended you…” He sighs, dismayed.

You notice his under-eye circles are a bit more pronounced than usual but refrain from commenting.

You bite your lower lip and dare to speak up nonetheless. “She gave me informations because she also owns a bar. And... she has quite a few contacts who—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cuts off abruptly. “I don’t even have the energy to reprimand you properly.” Leaning on his desk, he clasps his hands to address you. “Stop pursuing the investigation outside of class. You’ve done enough.” It’s an order, you notice.

Determined, with your eyes narrowed in frustration that is starting to hit you like a shockwave, you assert, “To make progress, ongoing work is not enough.” You straighten your back a little to show him your determination. “I’ll find Miwa.”

Professor Fushiguro’s incredulous face is presented to you. But he doesn’t seek to ask you why you are so attached to a student with a reputation more than unfavorable.

Perhaps it’s the strange, subtle attachment you have to her? Just because she never pointed fingers or denounced your situation with your father, which could have shattered the reputation of your school record? For that alone, you thank her by searching for her.

“And... it’s also kind of you to have covered for me.” Your voice softens. “I promise you that if the woman listens to us, there will be no more problems.” Your lips twist into a slight, embarrassed smile against your will. “So, thank you.”

Professor Fushiguro’s Adam’s apple oscillate as he swallows. His lips part for a moment then close again, and he hums in response before averting his gaze.

Your smile widens, and all the nervousness you felt evaporates. You gain a bit of confidence, and when he rolls his eyes, you can’t help but let out, in a whisper, “I don’t see why you’re being grumpy when everything is under control.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a real troublemaker, you know? A trouble magnet, I would even say.” He stands up, a sign that the conversation between the two of you is over.

But you remain seated.

The unpleasant remark pinches your heart, but you don’t lose your smile. “Perhaps... you’re precisely the one who’s supposed to protect me and save me from these problems—even in your role as a teacher.” You lower your gaze to his large, calloused hands. “Despite your hands stained with the blood of your sins,” you hold back a broad smile and add, looking up at him, “and your grumpy bear behavior.”

Hands in his pockets, he takes a step towards you—one that would require two for you—and his stature looms over you despite his stooped spine to meet your eyes squarely. “Unfortunately for you, a sinner cannot afford to protect the wings of an angel. He might dirty them.” He pauses to tilt his head slightly to the side. “Or worse, burn them in trying to help.”

His words hit your heart and make it skip a beat.

Palpitations seize you, but you brush them off with a blink of an eye. Your eyes get lost in the emerald of Professor Fushiguro’s eyes. The parting of your lips is the only thing that allows air into your lungs. You also ignore the strand of hair that has escaped from your hair and refrain from blowing it away.

It serves no purpose.

Especially when it’s him who tucks it back behind your ear without a word.

°°°°

Under the usual hubbub of the lecture hall, where students discuss yet another assignment given by Professor Fushiguro, your fingers shake under the featherweight of your corrected paper. But instead of dreading to see the grade marked on it, your breath catches as you discover it.

You can’t believe it.

Or maybe you don’t want to believe it.

It’s unreal.

“A +.”

You lift your gaze from your corrected paper, which bears barely traces of ink from your professor’s pen. Your heart leaps in your chest as you meet his eyes.

Professor Fushiguro has his hands buried in his pockets, as always, and he looks at you with a neutral expression—perhaps omitting the obvious glint in his eyes. You try to guess his expression, and a faint smirk gives you the answer before he looks away.

°°°°

At the end of class, when the amphitheater is empty, you decide to descend the steps to speak with your professor, your heart strangely drumming in your ears.

“What did I do to deserve such a nice grade?” you start with the beginnings of a smile. You adjust the strap of your bag and absentmindedly play with the dangling end of the compression strap.

Professor Fushiguro responds without stopping to organize his lecture notes. “My hand slipped,” he replies sarcastically.

You curl your lips into a smile. “We can say it slipped at the right moment on the right paper.” A gentle warmth rises to your cheeks.

He doesn’t respond and closes his laptop.

“Also, were you able to contact the woman from the casino?” you ask in a low voice.

He hum in response, and as he doesn’t seem willing to continue the conversation, you purse your lips together into a tight pout.

“Has your opinion of me changed, at least? Do you no longer see me as a danger?” you insist in a whisper.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t speak right away. He carefully packs his belongings into his own bag, avoiding looking at you with care. When he finishes, he finally lifts his eyes to yours, and his tone towards you is so peculiar that it catches you off guard. “Your mere existence is a danger. You sow trouble wherever you go.” Yet, his tone is neither dry nor hurtful.

But unbeknownst to you, in Toji’s eyes, you are simply the embodiment of danger.

“I shouldn’t be so lenient with you. Especially when you are the only person who knows a truth that risks my life.”

You furrow your brows. Your tongue burns, a sign that you’re dying to ask him what he’s implying. Professor Fushiguro is a part-time hitman, and that’s no secret to both of you. So why is he saying such... mysterious things?

“I will restore justice,” you assert with conviction. “I will find Miwa.”

As you exit the room with determined and confident steps, your brain still simmers about your professor and his strange remark.

But one thing is sure in your mind amidst all your doubts.

You will get your father out of prison. And you will prove his innocence.

That he was unjustly imprisoned.

°°°°

“Lost again,” Shiu scoffs, a smirk on his face and a cigarette dangling between his teeth.

Toji grunts before scowling. He exhales in annoyance and rubs his eyes, burning with tiredness and bloodshot. Sounds of disappointment from the pachinko machine he faces taunt him before displaying his mediocre score on the screen. Once again, Toji has lost at a game where he hoped to earn some extra money alongside his poorly paid teaching job.

“Anyway, I’ve got a new mission from the oyabun,” Shiu announces.

Toji suddenly perks up, awakened by the mention of his true job, which was enough for him before the problems his boss faced. “Spill it out.”

“Oh? Awake now?” Shiu chuckles. He raises an eyebrow before continuing, “And let me tell you, buddy, this ain’t just any target.” He takes out a lighter from his suit jacket pocket and lights the cigarette between his teeth. “According to oyabun, it’s a former associate who used to work for him before deserting the clan. And that son of a bitch stole some of the money he had. It represents a significant portion of what belongs to the clan. Get it?”

Toji stares into space, though his ear is still attentive to Shiu’s explanations. His muscular arms hang halfway between and against his negligently spread thighs on the chair he’s sitting on. Veins bulge along his forearms, exposed by his black t-shirt—he can thank his long gym sessions for the gift.

“But the man isn’t alone,” Shiu adds. “He has an associate from the same hole, but oyabun doesn’t want you dealing with him. He asked me you to focus on the associate currently at large. The rest of the kyodai will fill you in on the other details.”

Toji nods and is about to respond when a security guard with eyes concealed behind black sunglasses approaches them. “If you’ve lost and don’t have any more money, free up the seat,” he orders coldly, feigning a certain authority by crossing his arms, which only serves to annoy Toji.

The latter stands up. And even a blind person could sense how tall Toji is. He towers over the guard by two heads, who, despite his broad, stocky shoulders, pales in comparison to Toji’s stature.

“Hmm?” Toji’s face is filled with nonchalance and scowls, having lost his game, and especially with a cold anger that constantly boils within him but never explodes. His almond-shaped eyes narrow, and he tucks his hands into his pockets.

The guard’s lips part slightly, and he swallows, unable to utter a word—mesmerized by the figure of the man in front of him.

Toji shrugs and walks past Shiu, who’s been waiting for him. “Let’s go,” he says.

°°°°

Camouflaged in dark clothing and a hood of the same color, Toji sits at a small, discreet round table in the corner of a seedy bar. His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the back of a man seated on a stool at the counter. His new target.

His gun is fully loaded and strategically placed at his waist so that a single movement would allow him to eliminate the target as quickly as he would leave this place where the various scents of mixed alcohols sting his nostrils. There aren’t as many people as Toji had expected—which suits him just fine. His target sips from a sake glass and reads one of the newspapers provided for patrons.

A single shot, and a new sum will be added to the one awaiting him.

Toji prepares to reach for his weapon when the bar’s doorbell tinkles softly.

And there, Toji realizes he’s truly cursed from birth.

With your usual gait, you take a seat on a stool three spaces away from his initial target.

God fucking damn it.

You grip a small notepad and pen between your fingers and place an order. From where he’s seated, Toji can barely hear your voice. Fragments reach him, and he just wants to set fire to this bar as he did to the man’s house weeks earlier.

Of course, you haven’t seen Toji.

From his ‘hideout’, you may not even notice him at all.

And, thrown off by the situation—for the first time on a mission—he doesn’t know what to do. Should he kill his target as planned, despite your disturbing presence? What if he accidentally harms you due to another unforeseen circumstance? Toji swallows thick. He could, but something within him prevents it.

Especially when he hears snippets of your voice conversing with the bartender. And Toji just wants to smack you for disobeying him.

“...gone missing for a few weeks now…” Your voice reaches his ears in snippets. “It’s worrying, and…”

The bartender, eyebrows furrowed, shakes his head. He continues to wipe pristine glasses. Toji grits his teeth when a group of men—mostly tattooed and wearing piercings—takes seats on the stools beside you. Even from his vantage point, Toji sees you flinch. But you don’t falter. You continue your questioning.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices two men from the group engaging you in conversation. For a moment, he restrains himself from getting up and breaking their bones. Toji suppresses his impulses. His eyes never leave your form. From your nervous tic of biting your lip to your foot tapping gently on the stool’s lower bar.

But you’re not the only one who notices, especially as you alternate between your interrogation with the bartender—who’s starting to grow suspicious—and the multiple evil glances thrown your way by other patrons.

Why did you have to be here on the same night as his mission?

But your inquiry goes largely unnoticed when a distinct voice from one of the tattooed men is heard all the way to Toji’s table, even drawing some attention from his target, who slightly turns his head toward you. “You sent by the cops?”

You freeze in your chair.

A bead of sweat rolls down Toji’s neck.

You quickly shake your head, your lips mouthing a stuttered no. The pressure on you intensifies when Toji discreetly listens and hears the bartender slamming a clean glass onto the counter, angrily cutting you off, “I don’t want to be associated with anything or anyone. Especially not with the cops.”

Toji’s heart races, and he abruptly stands from his table to slip away to the restroom when he notices the glinting blade of a knife slowly emerging from the pocket of one of the men sitting at the counter. Toji discards his stifling hood and adjusts a few details to avoid being noticed as ‘the hooded man in the corner of the bar’.

He rushes out of the dingy men’s restroom and adopts a casual stride as he heads toward you. The men along the counter turn toward him as you’re almost in a panic.

Toji positions himself just behind you, towering over the entire group surrounding you—including the bartender. From his peripheral vision, Toji’s heart stills as he sees the blade of the knife from one of the men slide back into his pocket.

He still places his hands on your waist, exerting a slight pressure on the flesh. The warmth of your body sends waves to Toji’s cold hands. He leans dangerously to the side of your neck and peeks a small kiss there, causing you to slightly startle and turn around.

Toji offers you a reassuring smile despite the turmoil in his mind at this very moment. His alert eyes try to capture your attention, and you seem to understand.

“How long have you been waiting for me, angel?” Toji asks softly.

You look up at him—your pupils dilating in surprise at his unexpected presence—and you blink twice. Your lips part, and you weakly blow out, “A while already.”

“Forgive me. Can we go now?” Toji gently squeezes your waist, a clear sign of refusal for a no.

You nod in the silence of the bar, and Toji takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He leads you to the exit where no one dares to utter a word. His mere stature was enough to deter the group of men who are—without a doubt—members of enemy yakuza clans that Toji’s oyabun explicitly forbade him from contacting.

Too bad for the mission.

°°°°

The cool night air whips against your face. You try to pull your sweaty hand away from Toji’s much larger one, but his firm grip keeps your fingers intertwined in silence, and you refrain from throwing a tantrum like the children in supermarkets.

He leads you to the back of the grassy courtyard of the bar. A single beech tree planted near a wooden fence prevents you from slipping and falling when suddenly, Toji’s muscular arm sends your back colliding with the trunk. The pain from the impact brings tears to your eyes.

With anger etched on his features, Toji opens his mouth to say something. But the bell on the bar’s door chimes the very next second, letting out the group of men from earlier along with some new faces. The group is much larger than before.

From your position, you can’t see them, but nothing escapes your notice, and you understand. Toji senses that attention is directed towards the two of you, and under an impulse that escapes him, he leans towards you and presses his lips against yours.

Caught off guard, you freeze and widen your eyes. You run a hand over his chest to push him away. You can’t comprehend what’s really happening and push against his chest, but it’s futile.

In the end, you find yourself awkwardly returning his kiss to cut it short. Toji’s lips are cold but so soft against yours. They steal your breath away, and you almost get lost in them.

Until a male voice laughs and declares cheerfully, “Are the whores out here too?”

Coarse laughter erupts from the group of men. Your blood boils in your veins, and you prepare to push Toji away for good and defend your dignity. But Toji runs his hands along your sides and slips them under your shirt to access your bare skin, drawing slow and pleasurable circles with his thumbs on your stomach. He deepens the kiss, and you can’t help but let out a small moan that cuts short your desire to revolt. Toji’s tongue brushes against your lips to request access to yours, and your palm pressed against his chest gives you a glimpse of his racing heartbeat.

You part your lips, and your tongue meets his in a warm, wet kiss. You lose your breath, and the sound of the footsteps of the group of men fades into the silence of the night. Toji freezes his lips and gently pulls away from you. His lips are glossy from the shared kiss, but no smile lights up his features. A dark gleam animates his irises.

Your chest simply rises and falls with the rhythm of a breath you seek to regain. A warmth rises in your neck to the roots of your hair. Toji’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes you, and his hands withdraw from under your shirt.

“Tell me something… You really like to put yourself in danger wherever you go, don’t you, troublemaker?”

❦ a/n: so there we go! i hope you all enjoyed this first part ;) english isn’t my first language, so be gentle. @gojonanami this incredible girl who one day restored my taste for writing and kindly let me know to feel free to tag her if I post my fic. thank you Sab!

[raayllum]

Once again I am so completely in my Janaya feelings because they're just so well done as a ship and so refreshing as a canon queer ship in particular??

Like they're rival generals who are uniquely matched in skill! We see how good of a fighter Amaya is in S1 (she's the top General of the Standing Battalion for crying out loud) so having someone who has her even somewhat on the run in S2 immediately catches our notice, as well as just how striking Janai is, even before we know she's the Golden Knight of Lux Aurea and sister to the queen.

Then we get some fun games of cat and mouse with the two circling and outsmarting each other; Janai luring Amaya's troops into an ambush and then having Amaya outsmart her way through anyway, and Janai ruining Amaya's plan to sever the Breach as a connective point between their lands (at least temporarily). It's small, but it shows that they're not just physically matched in battle, but intellectually too, and it makes their connection / rivalry feel more personal.

But of course this starts to shift when Amaya is stranded on Janai's side of the Breach, and spares her life because there's been enough unnecessary violence, having to literally Drop her shield to do so (mm, the symbolism).

We then get a new stage of their dynamic, as Amaya is very good bad at being interrogated ("She may have told you a rather unusual way in which your body might accommodate your sword") even if Kazi tries to minimize the ruder signs along the way as an interpreter. And even when Amaya could just look at Kazi for translation, her gaze continually strays to Janai. Then, Janai vouches for Amaya to her sister and Amaya has to trust Janai in the Light trial, which is also why she asks Janai to trust her when Viren shows up and starts causing trouble.

What follows is a fire forged friendship (literally) where Janai experiences Amaya's greatest grief -- the loss of a sister -- and they support each other through the battle to come, especially now that they have a common enemy. There's even blushing, battle gazing smiles, being protective, and paralleled hand holds.

Then, when we pick up after the two year timeskip, it's quickly apparent they're in a relationship — "But there are some things you shouldn't keep secret, especially from me" — and hints at exactly what kind of traditional ceremony this is, as Janai proposes and the two embrace and kiss.

And the show always, consistently, constantly, discusses their love for each other frankly and in terms no one can mistake.

"I know [she's a fearsome fighter], that is what I love about her," "The only message is that I've chosen this amazing woman to be my wife," "I love you and I'm ready to marry you," "I only really know one thing: Amaya, I want a life with you, I want to marry you," "Our queen and her bride to be just left on a romantic picnic in broad daylight!" "I just need a distraction—that's right, wedding planning." "Is someone getting married?" "Now I know how wrong I was about elves: I'm in love with one [...] Meeting Janai, falling in love" etc etc. Even down to the little details like Amaya's sign name for Janai being a J over her heart.

I also really appreciate that they're able to be so physically affectionate, particularly Amaya towards Janai in her tenderness as well.

At the same time, they don't always entirely see eye to eye. Amaya is adjusting to a culture that's not her own; Janai is still finding her footing and more importantly her confidence in being queen, even without internal usurpation coups going on and an evil blood drinking lesbian Moonshadow elf on the loose.

They trade and gift each other's another swords so they can be by one another's side in spirit when they do have to part. They're happily planning their wedding and giving each other hope throughout the encroaching madness of their lives. They get cute little callbacks to things like "She thinks I'm cute but won't admit it yet," exchange loving looks when their tribulations are done, and love each other with their whole hearts, allowing them to provide allegorical commentary on some of the societal pushback LBGTQ+ couples receive while also never having it dominate their shared plotline(s) or arcs with one another.

I just love them a lot, and these are some of the reasons why! I can't wait for more of their relationship development in S6 and S7!

[sweetbans29]

Mascot - KM

Pairing: Kate Martin x Reader

Summary: Kate had is down bad for the school mascot (based on THIS request)

Warnings: complete fluff

Word Count: 2.3k

Sweetbans Masterlist

Your love for being the school mascot began in high school. It was junior year when you were asked to cover for one of your best friends - who was actually the school mascot at the time. At first, you were nervous but once you were in the suit, you were a natural. You became your high school's mascot senior year and went out for it when you started college.

It was almost like having an alter ego. Outside of the suit, no one would ever picture you as the school mascot. You kept to yourself and really focused on your academics. Most of your time was spent in the library or on your favorite lawn on campus doing schoolwork or reading. If you were ever on the lawn - some of the cheer girls would come up and study with you, but never enough to seem suspicious as to why they were hanging out with you.

When you were in the suit though - your confidence soared (I mean you were a Hawkeye). It was like you could do anything and interact with anyone and that is what you did. The whole school loved you - at least the masked version of you and that was more than enough.

What was nice about how the school did Herky the Hawk was that if you were chosen to be the school mascot you would be one of many. Even though it was all under one character, the person in the suit varied depending on the sport. When you went out for the position, they chose you for all home basketball games. Basketball was your first choice and volleyball would have been your second - you had no desire to be the football mascot.

It took your freshman year to really adjust to working and being a student. But now in your junior year, you had become a pro. Not one person, aside from your boss and the cheer squad, knew you were the mascot for the basketball games and you fully intended on keeping it that way. At least that was your goal until a certain dirty blonde-haired girl started interacting with you a little more.

It started with little asks every once in a while. Kate from the women's team would pull you aside right before games and have you hide somewhere in the tunnel exit to scare her teammate Jada. You had never spoken to her - not able to reveal any part of your identity but would never fight her excitement of scaring her teammate.

The first time she had asked you will always be your favorite.

You were already dressed up and ready for the night when Kate made her way to you. You were by a group of cheer girls when you felt someone grab your arm.

"Hi, I have a favor to ask," Kate says.

You cock your head to the side to signal your curiosity. Kate takes that as your interest and continues.

"I was hoping you could help me scare one of my teammates. She got me kind of good the other day and not that I am keen on revenge, I want revenge." She says with a smile.

You nod and point your finger down, asking if this is something she wants to do now.

"Ya, now would actually be perfect. She is getting ready to come out and do her shoot-around." Kate says and you move your hands as to gesture 'Show me the way'.

She leads you to a spot she had scoped out earlier in the day, it is the perfect little nook for you to hide in. She tells you to wait there and you do.

A few minutes pass and you hear Kate walking out with Jada. Once you see Kate pass you jump out and scare Jada - causing her to scream and freak out.

You and Kate are laughing uncontrollably as Jada comes back to her senses, hitting Kate telling her she is going to pay. She then turns to you and you put your hands up as if to show innocence and she just points a finger at you. You bring her into a hug and pat the top of her head - the best 'apology' you could think of.

Jada runs out to the court, leaving you and Kate in the tunnel.

"Well done, I think that did the trick," Kate says with a little laugh.

You nod.

"Oh! I am Kate by the way. I don't think I have ever introduced myself," she says with a shy smile.

You wish you could tell her your name but that's not an option. You settle for extending your hand to shake hers which she reciprocates. Before letting her hand go, you bring it up and act as if you are kissing it which causes her to blush.

Then with a wave, you head back out to the cheer squad.

Since then, you have become the basketball team's go-to for pranking each other. Kate had unintentionally started a war. Kate had roped you into scaring Jada several times after the initial scare. Other girls from the team also enrolled you to help them. You had helped Jada get Gabby a few times. Hannah had asked for your help getting Jada. Caitlin even came over once asking you to help her get Kate. It had become somewhat of a home game staple.

About halfway through the season, you roped one of your girls in to help you figure out how to ask Kate out. The only reason you had felt so bold to do so is because Kate made it a point to come up and see you before and after every game. Since you couldn't talk to her - the two of you came up with a pre-game handshake as your way of telling her good luck. Then she would always find you after telling you how great of a job you did pumping up the crowd.

One of the cheer girls had come up with the idea of getting Kate your number. It wasn't anything crazy but it opened the door to actually getting to talk to her. You weren't ready to fully come out and expose yourself yet but you loved the idea of getting to text the girl.

It was right after a home win that one of the cheer girls went up to Kate and started talking to her. You tried to busy yourself with taking photos with students and high-fiving the players but you couldn't help but keep an eye on the interaction. You watched how your friend talked to Kate and passed her the little piece of paper that contained your number. The smile on Kate's face was contagious and you could have sworn you saw her cheeks grow a pink tint. Kate looked over at you and you gave an awkward wave. She waved back and thanked the cheerleader.

She texted you that night and the two of you have been texting for the last few weeks. You still had not revealed who you are to her and it was driving her crazy.

"This girl has me falling head over heels for her and I still have no idea who she is," Kate tells Caitlin as they are driving to practice.

"Well, have you asked her?" Caitlin says as if it was that simple.

Kate turns over to her best friend with a 'you can't be serious' look.

"Oh, that's a good idea! I haven't thought of that," Kate says sarcastically as she hits Caitlin's arm.

"Hey! I am driving!" Caitlin says seriously then breaks out into a laugh.

"Well, what do you know about her?" Cailin asks, turning into the parking structure outside of Carver.

"This is her third year as the mascot, she spends a lot of time studying, and she likes the outdoors - she says she goes on walks a lot. She grew up in Iowa, born and raised. Her parents since then have moved out of state. She is huge on cooking." Kate says.

"Well, that last one is a huge plus considering you can't cook for shit," Caitlin says.

"Okay, okay, this isn't about me, this is about her," Kate says.

"Did she at least tell you her name?" Caitlin asks grabbing her practice bag from the back seat.

Kate shakes her head no, "When she is ready she will. Until then, I will just have to wait." Kate also reaches back and grabs her stuff. "She is worth the wait."

The two of them walk into Carver.

"The last thing I will say is that she has the most beautiful laugh. I have heard it a few times now and it is one of the best things I have ever heard. I don't think she knows I have heard it but I have and I try to get it out of her every chance I get. That's how I know she is worth the wait." Kate says as Caitlin pats her friend on the back.

Over the next few days, you can Kate continue to text nonstop. It is almost too distracting to you at this point as you are starting to head into finals. You told Kate you were going to need some uninterrupted time to study and she respected that.

You were in the library with a few of the cheer girls when you needed to take a break. You decided to go on a little walk to clear your head and stumbled across a mama duck and her babies. You stood there and watched them swim around, seeing the ducklings get in little fights with one another causing you to laugh.

Your laugh didn't go unnoticed as Kate was walking to the library to get some of her own studying done before practice. When she heard the sound, it stopped her dead in her tracks. Her head turned to find the source of her favorite sound.

She saw you standing there looking at the ducks and immediately felt her hands clam. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She walks up to you and gives you a little tap on your shoulder. Your head turns around and you look up at her. Your eyes widen and you stand there speechless.

"Hi," Kate says, all confidence lost the second her eyes met yours.

"Hi," you say back. The two of you stand there just taking in one another.

"It's you," Kate says. A blush creeps into your cheeks as you feel completely exposed without the suit on.

You nod and extend your hand to introduce yourself, captivating Kate even more than she already is.

"How did you know...how did you know it was me?" You ask stunned.

Kate looks down, rubbing the back of her neck.

"Well, your laugh kind of gave it away," she says. "It has become one of my favorite sounds."

Now it was your turn to looks down or really anywhere but her eyes.

You ask her if she wants to join your study group and she does. As you sit there and do work, you glance up at her often to admire her. She is adorable when she is focused. You have seen it time and time again on the court but sitting up close and personal with her now - you are able to see just how cute she is. You look at her and admire how she didn't run when she found out you were the one behind the mask. How she took a step closer to you and looked at you with such loving eyes.

Kate looks up when she feels eyes on her and catches you looking. She gives you a soft smile and you return it. Usually, you would be embarrassed about getting caught staring at someone but with her it is different.

The two of you spend the summer getting to know each other more. Kate would take you on dates and want to spend as much time as she can with you. The two of you would work out together and read at your favorite park (usually resulting in a nap). The summer ended with a week trip to the lake before your guy's senior year. It was the best summer you have ever had.

As school began and basketball games resumed, you went above and beyond to show your love and support for the team. Dating Kate had sort of opened the can of worms of the team learning you're the mascot. They were super hype about it and that caused you to go even harder during games. They all kept your confidentiality out of respect for you and Kate.

In one of the games, you went a little overboard when Kate hit the buzzard-beater shot to win the game. You came up and picked up your girl, running her around the court. She couldn't stop laughing and held onto you for dear life. When you finally put her down you give her a hug, whispering in her ear how proud of her you are.

The rest of the season was no different. You continued to support Kate on the court and would love her even more off of it. Her love for you never ceased to grow as she would catch snippets of you cheering her team on.

Kate looked over at you getting the crowd hyped for their game and just stood in awe. She thought back to when she asked you to help scare Jada in the tunnel that one time - the first time she heard you laugh. Never in a million years did she think that she fall in love with the girl in the suit but is beyond grateful that she did.

AN: CUTE! I hope this was a nice little fluffy one for you. Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 💛

[kari-sims]

A sim for every aspiration (1/?): The Computer Whiz

☆ name: Willow Widget Webb (she/her)

☆ traits: geek, goofball, socially awkward

Oi! I'm starting a CAS series where i create a sim for every aspiration in the game, at least the ones i have for now. It's not really a challenge, but more of a way for me to have some kind of project to do. We'll see how it goes (hope i don't get bored with it!). Since it's a lot of sims, i'm not sure if i'll be able to link every cc, but you're welcome to send me a wcif!

Also, i know there's this gameplay challenge, but other than that i couldn't find if anyone has done this before. In case i missed something let me know, i'd be happy to credit if someone came up with this already!

〰・🍄🌿・〰

☆ cc links

hair + hair acc & streak | top | skirt | tights | socks | shoes | sunglasses (simsfinds warning) | necklace

Thanks to all the cc creators ♡

[fieldofdaisiies]

In canon. Azriel finds himself utterly bored as he is lounging on the couch in Eris' office, waiting for his mate to finally be done with High Lord's business and so he comes up with an idea... for @azrisweek | azrisweek masterlist | read on ao3 | no warnings

“Eriiiiiiiiis,” Azriel whines. The High Lord ignores him.

With a loud and dramatic sigh, Azriel then throws his head back. “Eris….” he moans a little louder, hoping to somehow catch his mate‘s attention, but the High Lord has the audacity to only grumble a few incomprehensible words, not even deigning the shadowsinger with a look.

Is he truly ignoring me? Azriel thinks and furrows his brow The shadowsinger exhales another loud sigh, letting his head fall back, now hanging over the side of the couch he is lounging on.

He intensely stares at his mate’s back, hoping that Eris can somehow feel it. But still no reaction from the High Lord. Not even when Azriel tugs at the bond. Not even when he tugs many times, and hard. Not even when he lets Eris feel how deeply the absolute agony of the other's betrayal affects him he is going through (namely getting ignored and desperately wanting his mate) through the bond.

The High Lord of Autumn continues to scribble something down on a piece of paper, one hand holding the pen, the other braced atop at least ten books and pieces of parchment.

“Eris, I am bored and I want you!” 

“You‘ll have me later,” Eris answers matter-of-factly, not turning to look over his shoulder. He keeps staring at the paper in front of him. 

Azriel’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he throws his arms up in exasperation, shadows shifting with the movement.

“I want you now!” Azriel grumbles and once again receives no answer. He isn’t really mad about Eris and his indifference — he is the new High Lord, has a lot to do and Azriel didn’t announce his visit. He is just there and needs his mate, but Eris is busy. He had spent a little time with his mate in the morning, they ate together, went for a walk and made love in the forest, when they returned Azriel fell asleep in Eris arms but woke up to find an empty bed. And since this morning —it’s now late afternoon— Eris has been working nonstop and has had no time for his mate.

Azriel rather starts to worry about Eris. He is working so much – too much probably, and Azriel is afraid that it might become overwhelming for his mate.

“And you are working too much.” Azriel shifts his gaze to one shadow curling and swirling around his stretched out arm, quickly glancing sideways to his mate and then back at his hand.

“I have a lot of work, my love.”

A silly grin appears on Azriel’s face at the nickname. He wants to wipe it off his face, trying so hard right now to be angry at his mate. But he can’t. He just can’t be mad at him. Not when Eris says things like my love.

Azriel folds a hand over his mouth, hoping for the grin to disappear so he can glower at his mate again. “When will you be done?”

“If you stopped distracting me, I would be done much faster.” Eris’ tone edges on annoyance and it hurts Azriel a little. It also disappoints him. He doesn’t like it when Eris threatens to fall back into old patterns and talks to him like this. But instead of confronting Eris, the shadowsinger decides to really shut his mouth and keep calm.

He flips onto his side, careful of his wings of course, and his eyes land on Ares, Eris‘ youngest greyhound, casually stretched out on the luxurious carpet in front of the couch. The animal‘s gaze is fully focused on him and Azriel smiles, but then realises—

The hound is not looking at him, or at least not directly. Ares is ogling the shadow that is curled around his arm, and that with a predatory gaze.

The corner of Azriel’s mouth quirks up, and an idea sparks in his mind. His lips form a happy, and slightly mischievous grin, and he pushes up on his elbow, resting his chin in his palm.

“You want to play?” This draws Ares‘ attention to his face, and the hound meets his gaze, ears twitching. His tongue pokes out and he begins to pant, looking like he is about to jump up and dart into Azriel’s direction.

A big grin spreads over the shadowsinger’s face, and a devilish idea forms in his mind. He allows the shadow to slide down his arm, down his hand until it is only connected to the tips of his fingers, and then he says, or rather commands, “Go!”

The shadow darts ahead, swirling over the ground and Ares after it. The shadow is fast and so is Ares, but whenever his paw reaches for it, it is nothing more than black mist he touches, not able to catch it. 

Azriel loves this, laughing from the bottom of his heart while he directs his shadow and allows his precious hound to run after it. Ares is relentless, and fast, blazing through the entire office, and somehow Eris still manages to ignore them. 

Azriel’s annoyance grows, and his brows bunch. He allows Ares to chase the shadow for a few more rounds and then he gets another idea. An idea that sounds absolutely brilliant in his mind and one that he knows will make his mate finally focus on something else than work. 

He commands the shadow to change course, now slithering over the ground, right into the direction of the chair Eris is sitting atop. Ares follows, his paws padding loudly on the floor. His snout is pressed against the cool stones, his tail wiggling excitedly. 

The shadow reaches Eris' chair, climbing upwards until curls around his arm and slides onto the parchments he is currently reading through. 

“What–Ares!?”

The large hound lands on top of Eris‘ desk and work and half on top of Eris who yelps in shock. Ares' weight almost makes Eris fall backwards and he now has to hold onto the hound and the desk, hoping to not tumble and really fall to the ground. “AZRIEL!”

The shadowsinger has to laugh so hard, he is bending over, eventually tumbling onto the floor, after seeing how the large greyhound jumped onto its owner and hearing his mate shriek in horror.

“Azriel!” Eris shouts, his voice sounding furious. He knows exactly whose doing it was. Who the culprit was! It must have been his mate. Ares wouldn’t do something just like that, Eris knows this, so it had to be his mate’s brilliant idea.

He somehow manages to help Ares back to the ground, staring at him for a moment before his gaze returns to the crumbled papers in front of him. Rolling his eyes, he smooths his hand over the paper, and then has to crack a smile.

He wishes he could be mad at his mate for what he has done, but damn, does he fail miserably. Azriel is just…he is a menace, but he loves him just too much and maybe he has truly been a little inattentive. 

“Ares,” Eris lifts a hand. “Be a good boy and play outside.” Waving his hand, Eris magically opens the door, allowing the greyhound to blaze outside, following his owner’s command. With another flick of his wrist, the door closes after him.

Slowly, Eris shoves the pieces of paper, now crumbled and messy, back on the table, placing a pile of books atop them.

“Now to you!” Slowly, the High Lord rises and then turns to his mate, a frown on his face. “You are impossible.” He approaches Azriel with long and slow steps, staring down at him from above.

“And yet you love me.” Azriel beams, his cheeks rosy, his grin reaching from one ear to the other.

“I guess I‘ll have to reconsider…I had important business to do.”

Azriel shrugs a casual shoulder, allowing one of his shadows to curl around Eris‘ leg, slowly climbing upwards until it reaches his head, softly brushing his ear and the side of his face.

“Well, I think you‘ll have important business to do with me as well.”

This elicits a low and breathy chuckle from Eris, and slowly he steps into his mate, crouching down so they are on eye-level. “Is that so, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel straightens his posture which allows him to almost touch Eris mouth with his lips. “I need you.”

Eris leans in as well, gaze dropping to his mate’s lips. He can feel Azriel’s desire through the bond, the raw carnal need, and has been feeling it for the past hours. 

“Yes, you do,” Eris breathes. “I guess the letters can wait a little.”

general Azris tag list (please let me know if you want to be added/removed): @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams @acourtofladydeath @secret-third-thing @born-to-riot @chunkypossum

thank you so much for beta reading @queercontrarian and @born-to-riot 💛

[in1-nutshell]

Hello, hope you’re doing well!!

I actually sent this in the last time you opened your inbox but I’m guessing it got drowned out by the other requests lol(it’s okay tho dw about it) so hopefully this stray request can make it even tho it’s a little late😓

I have a request with a cybertronian reader (Gender neutral) + swerve

-

Little info about reader, they were a performer but more specifically a singer who performed in bars.

Reader and swerve met at a bar when they were performing and he immediately was smitten, so after they were done swerve approached reader to tell them how amazing they were but he was a nervous WRECK. Not only did they have an amazing voice but they were drop dead gorgeous(Basically whatever the cybertronian equivalent for a model is).

Both joined the lost light and when swerve opened his bar, the reader would help him run it, sometimes even perform on the occasion.

Eventually some bots become curious about readers and swerves relationship since they looked very close, the reader always listening to swerves rambles, never shutting him up and sometimes seeing them crack a smile or even laugh at his jokes. Only ever really showing him any type of affection/emotion since they come of aloof and stoic when talking to others. So they ask the question to him (or reader)and he breaks the bombshell that they are conjuxes and the bots go crazy💀💀

No one would’ve expect swerve to be able to bag a baddie like reader but it happened

-

The whole dynamic is basically just Jessica rabbit and Roger rabbit, the bots in question can be of any of your choosing!

Remember to take breaks when needed and take care of yourself!!

Hi! Sorry to here about the request. Some request do get lost (thanks for understanding!)

Now I can finally get this written!

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the singer and being Swerve's Conjunx

SFW, Platonic, Romance, Cybertronain reader

MTMTE

The Lost Light had many duos and partners on board.

Some that made sense like Rewind and Chromedome.

Another duo’s that came as a pleasant surprise like Tailgate and Cyclonus.

But one of the more unlikely duos on the ship was Buddy and Swerve.

Swerve had told the patrons many times about the story of how they met.

Many are still trying to figure out how truthful the story really is.

They would ask Buddy… but they kind of intimidate many of the patrons at the bar.

According to the bartender, Swerve had been looking around the local bars for ideas on how to design his own bar.

It was one night he decided to stick around one of the bars for the entertainment section.

That’s when he saw them.

Swerve nursing a cube of engex.

“Hey, what’s for the entertainment tonight? Trivia? Drunk lobbing?”--Swerve

“Nah, Buddy’s singing tonight.”—Random Mech

“Buddy?”--Swerve

The bot sighs.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna miss this. Their performance… well you’ll see.”—Random Mech

Swerve shrugs it off but starts to notice the bar quiet down significantly and many bots looking at the stage with a look he could only describe as lovestruck.

“Please welcome once again to the stage, our wonderful singer, Buddy.”—Random Mech

Buddy’s tall frame walks slowly out of the curtains.

Their frame lighting up with the spotlight as the other lights had dimmed.

Swerve could defiantly see why everyone was excited.

They had a frame of a super model!

And that voice!

Swerve was certain that he too had a lovestruck look on his faceplate when the first verse spilled from their lips.

Swerve tells the patrons that he had admired Buddy’s talent and ended up asking them their com line, so when he did have his own bar, he would contact them.

Not many are convinced that this is true, or at least the whole truth.

Thanks to a certain minibot with a camera bolted to his helm, he had the story on what happened after the show.

Swerve had been a nervous wreck the entire performance.

Buddy had noticed him in the crowd looking like he was going to short circuit at any moment.

Honestly, if they could, they would have stopped singing to go check up on the minibot.

After their performance they personally went to the minibot to see if he was okay.

Swerve stumbling out of the bar only to bump into someone’s leg.

“Oh! Sorry about that! Didn’t watch where I was going and—”--Swerve

His voice stops as he looks up at the beauty that was on stage a mere second ago.

“Are you okay? You looked like you needed help back there.”--Buddy

“N-nope! I mean Nah, I’m good. I’m fine! Everything’s fine!”--Swerve

Buddy smiles at him.

“I’m Buddy. What’s your name?”--Buddy

“Swerve…”--Swerve

“Well Swerve, I’ve been singing at this bar for a while now to know most of the regulars, yet, I’ve never seen you around.”--Buddy

“Yeah, Kind of looking around seeing how bars go and all. I wanna make a place of my own one day with a friend of mine and, well, I wanted to see what gets the bots coming back, besides the engex of course.”--Swerve

Buddy chuckles a bit looking at the flustered minibot.

They look over at the slightly less crowded booth at one corner of the bar.

“There’s an empty booth over there and I sure could go for a drink… do you mind accompanying me? Maybe talk a bit more about that bar of yours.”--Buddy

Swerve thinks for a second before agreeing to the drink.

He did end up giving them his private comline that night and Buddy ended up having a nice night with a cute minibot.

The rest was history.

No one had yet figured out how Buddy could stand to be with Swerve and his rambling.

They were quiet and had a neutral look on their faceplate when they weren’t performing. Yet here they were listening to Swerve’s chatter before and after their performances without any complaint.

If anything, few bots have seen smiles, chuckles and bits of laughter from the taller bot.

“What’s between you and Buddy anyways?”--Brainstorm

“Well it all started—”--Swerve

“Yes, I get that part, but what are you two exactly? Surely, Amica Endura or maybe you haven’t worked up to that point yet.”

Swerve gives the bot a confused look.

“They’re my Conjunx?”—Swerve

Brainstorm feels his optic twitch.

“What?”--Brainstorm

“They’re my—”--Swerve

“I heard that! But how?! Your you and Buddy is… Just how?!”--Brainstorm

Swerve shrugs as Buddy takes the stage.

Brainstorm walks back to his table with Chromedome and Rewind pouting.

“I still don’t believe what he said.”—Brainstorm

Chromedome looks up from his engex.

“What did Swerve say?”--Chromedome

“He said he and Buddy are Conjunx Endura.”—Brainstorm

Chromedome nearly spits out his drink.

Rewind seems unfazed by this news.

“Really?!”--Chromedome

“Knew it.”—Rewind

Both bots look at the minibot curiously.

“And how did you know?”--Chromedome

Rewind points to the stage.

“Watch the optics.”--Rewind

The group looks at Buddy’s optics.

They are firmly planted at the bartender pouring their voice into the love song in the mic.

“… Maybe he’s right…”--Brainstorm

That's them!

[scoobydoodean]

CASTIEL I'm sorry, Dean, but I warned you not to put that thing back inside him. DEAN What was I supposed to do? Let T-1000 walk around, hope he doesn't open fire? CASTIEL Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it. Like it had been skinned alive, Dean. If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright.

Another scene people use to villainize Dean for putting Sam's soul back in his body—a kind of meta I have already criticized several times. The context of this scene gets really lost in the weeds when it gets giffed. Most obviously when you actually watch the scene, it's part of a larger conversation about whether or not Sam (who's been unconscious for 10 days) is even going to wake up. Immediately prior to this bit of dialogue that always gets giffed:

DEAN Is he ever gonna wake up? CASTIEL I'm not a human doctor, Dean. DEAN Could you take a guess? CASTIEL Okay. Probably not. DEAN Oh, well, don't sugarcoat it.

Dean asking Cas questions ("Will he wake up?") that Cas doesn't have the answers to is also a thing Cas hates. He likes to avoid questions he doesn't have the answers to by flying off when he can (ex: 5.01, 6.03) or not showing up in the first place (ex: 6.03, 6.06). And all those moments this season have been in regards to questions about Sam's soul... because it's a sore subject in a way we can only realize retroactively after finishing 6.20 "The Man Who Would Be King" where we find out Cas is the reason Sam came back wrong to begin with.

In this scene, Cas thinks Sam isn't going to wake up, and he just felt his soul and saw what a terrible state it's in, and secretly, he sees this as his fault. If Cas hadn't fucked up, Sam's soul, just like his body, would have been back to the earthly realm within a week of Sam going to hell. Because he fucked up and missed something that probably feels painfully obvious in hindsight, Sam's soul spent a year in hell being "skinned alive" as Cas describes, while his body walked around fucking everyone around him over—including Dean who this was supposed to be for. It's his fault that Sam came back soulless. It's his fault that while soulless, Sam hurt people and used Dean and nearly killed Bobby. It's his fault that Dean got so desperate he put Sam's soul back in. It's his fault that Sam's soul is damaged like this because he's the one who accidentally left it behind (and making what in hindsight must feel like such an obvious mistake must be infuriating).

Cas was able to avoid the soulless Sam problem as long as Cas wasn't around. From afar, he could just say "good enough" to have Sam's body around even though he knew Sam was off and was secretly bothered by his behavior (6.06, 6.10). By putting Sam's soul back in his body, Dean unwittingly made the reminder of Cas's mistake unavoidable.

Cas wanted to bring Sam back to make Dean happy, but he fucked it up, and Dean faced the fallout and (tried to) clean up the mess, which probably stings. In the process, Dean was in danger and (by bargaining with Death) put himself in further danger—the number one thing Cas has been trying to avoid since watching Dean rake leaves— which probably stings. Dean asked Cas to touch Sam's soul and then Cas had to directly feel what his careless mistake meant Sam suffered through which definitely stings. And there isn't even a consolation prize here of "well at least I got his body out" anymore because (unwittingly) Dean is telling him “well your fuck up consolation prize wasn’t good enough”. Cas wants to convince himself soulless Sam could have been enough and HE isn’t the one that created Frankenstein’s Monster—Dean did—but Cas knows that isn’t true deep down. In his head, he ultimately created this situation and this incongruous Sam and all the fallout is on him. Sam wakes up and prays to him and Cas immediately shows up with no ulterior motives like an ancient weapons (such as in 6.03 or 6.06 or 6.10). He shows up purely because Sam is awake and alive and his soul is in his body and he's OKAY despite all the damage resulting from Cas's major fuck up and it's such a relief Cas forgets all the awkward interactions they had in season 5 and tries to hug him.

[rawcherrycake]

As promised, a render tutorial!! (Featuring Donnie as our model, because of course)

Reminding the process can vary from piece to piece and it's usually really messy, but this is just the general workflow.

Let's start with the sketch: it's an absolute mess, but it's just to get the idea down. There isn't any real science or pressure in it tbh, but i'd recommend looking for references either for poses or inspo (palettes, styles, aesthetics etc.) REMEMBER TO FLIP THE SKETCH BEFORE JUMPING TO LINEART! If you use liquify or transform afterwards it can look blurry and weird.

Once you got that done, it's lineart time: I tend to keep my linearts raw and crisp, meaning i don't usually erase lines that stick out. Note that i use a medium/big sized brush + high pressure sensibility, making the lines very variable

Add a base: A solid color will do, it's just so we don't go out of line!

Colorful tint: On a clipping layer on top of the base we'll put some colors (1-3) that match the theme/environment, this will give the actual colors some variation and depth

Painting down: The color picker will be your best friend in this process. In the same layer with a soft blending brush you'll gently add your character's colors, trying to avoid using small brushes. If you need to fix something grab the color in that specific area with the color picker, since most probably it's a different color than the one in the ref. Make a mess, basically

Shadow makes a big difference: On a different layer you'll block down the shading, the color will vary on your environment/style but i'd recommend not using pure black or just purple on all drawings. Put layer in multiply and lower opacity to liking.

If there's shadow there's light: Same as shadow, the color will vary depending on enviroment/style. I went the easy way and picked a light yellow in a lower opacity.

Bounce light: Basically the same thing, just this time it isn't a single color. You'll pick the nearest color for bounce light on a lower opacity.

My favorite part, texture: I love this because i can experiment with different brushes! I put all the color layers together into a single one, but that's optional. I'd just say go nuts, see what seems right. Usually i don't add much texture to skin, but did for Donnie's goggles, plastron and bandages! (+ changed the lineart to an off-black color)

Finishing touches: I'll go with some warm/light color with an airbrush and highlight some important parts like the face and chest, overlay and lower opacity.

I'll also add random noise, overlay and a really low opacity.

Now, since i use Krita and it doesn't have the color aberration option i do it manually, but if your program does have it then go ahead and use it on the lineart!

The way i do it is cloning the lineart three times and paint them in red, blue and green, moving them just a little to different sides, overlay and lower opacity

In the end i suffer my way through the background and crop the drawing! And done!

Hope anything of this is at least a tiny bit coherent xD like i said, my process is a mess and i just do what feels right

[forest-hashira]

Noble Blood - Chapter Nine

…i really have no explanation for this. i would apologize for the long wait again, but this chapter really got away from me so i had to find a place to split it. again. because the events of chs 8, 9, & now 10 were all supposed to be one chapter. but it's already 14k between chs 8 & 9 so that just means more content for you guys! i make no promises for when ch10 will be done & posted, but i hope you guys enjoy this in the meantime! 💜

fic masterlist | read on ao3 | wc: ~6.9k | cw: gender neutral reader, part 2 of reader finding their dragon, satoru's dad being a dick, minor mentions of injury & blood, satoru being a bit of a brat

The demanding voice snapped you out of your near trance, and you stiffened, holding your new dragon a bit closer to your chest and looking over your shoulder at your friends, trying to gauge their levels of concern about all this. You watched as the boys shared a look, then glanced over at you. They didn’t say anything, but neither of them seemed particularly optimistic; Suguru watched the hallway anxiously as the hurried footsteps drew nearer, while Satoru looked around the stall you were all currently in, as if looking for some sort of escape route to miraculously get everyone out of the situation.

“I think if we hurry, we could climb out that window,” he suggested in a whisper, looking back down at you, his eyes wide.

“Toru, I can’t,” you whispered back, glancing down at the hatchling in your arms and then back up at him. 

He followed your gaze, and his expression fell instantly. “Shit, yeah, that’s right. Uh, maybe we can—”

“You’re really saying a lot of swear words tonight.”

“First of all, I’ve only said ‘shit’ twice—”

“Three times now.”

“And second of all, that’s really not our biggest issue right now!”

“Guys, please,” Suguru hissed, but before any of you had a chance to say anything else, the light from the lanterns reached the stall you were all in; you were well and truly cornered now.

You clutched your hatchling closer to your chest, and you could feel your heart begin to pound harder against your ribs; you had no idea what was going to happen to all of you now, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to be good. 

“Who goes there?” a voice boomed again, and you recognized the head guard when he stepped into view. The man blinked in surprise when he saw your friends in the stall, clearly having expected intruders, but he didn’t send his men away. “Ah, Gojo-dono, Geto-san. What are you both doing here so late?”

The boys exchanged a look, not really sure what to say; apparently you still hadn’t been spotted, but it wasn’t likely that that would last long whether you willingly showed yourself or not.

“We came to see the hatchlings,” Suguru said after a beat; it wasn’t technically a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. 

The head guard’s expression pinched in confusion. “Could you not have waited until morning?” he asked. “One of my men thought you were intruders breaking in to steal the hatchlings. Surely it would have been better to be escorted here in the daylight?”

“I don’t need to be escorted anywhere on my own property,” Satoru bit out, and you blinked in shock at his tone; he’d certainly had his fair share of spoiled or bratty moments over the years, but he sounded genuinely angry as he spoke. “And no, it couldn’t have waited until morning, because we have company.”

He looked over his shoulder at you then, offering a small, encouraging nod when you hesitated. You offered a small nod in return, then carefully pushed yourself onto your feet. It took you a few moments, and it was wobbly and awkward trying to stand without using your hands, but thankfully both boys reached out to help you before you could fall and cause yourself any sort of embarrassment in front of the guards. 

Once you stood and were finally in view of the guards that had come storming in, you saw some of them exchange looks; at least some of them certainly knew who you were and knew you weren’t supposed to be there. The head guard looked especially displeased, though when he noticed the hatchling in your hands – a metallic hatchling, nonetheless – he turned bright red, then slightly purple, then some other color you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to describe.

“Put that back where you found it,” he told you, anger apparent in his tone. All you could do in response was shake your head, too scared to speak aloud.

“They will be doing no such thing,” Satoru answered for you, his own anger also clear. “That is their dragon. Suguru and I watched the bond form.”

The guard began to tremble with anger at the words, but instead of saying anything else to you, he turned to his men. “You!” he barked, gesturing to two men in the back, both of whom stood up straighter upon being addressed. “Go and fetch Gojo-sama. Tell him it’s urgent, and has to do with an intruder and the hatchlings!”

“They are not an intruder!” Satoru practically shouted, and even Suguru was beginning to look angry as the men ran off to complete their task. “They are my friend, I invited them here to meet the hatchlings. They didn’t break into the estate.”

“Gojo-sama made it very clear—”

“I don’t care what my father said!” Your friend was actually shouting now, and you could hear dragons waking up in stalls all around you because of the noise. “And besides, the incident that my father is still so upset about was over three years ago, all three of us have grown up a lot since then. So if I want to invite my friend to my home, I’m going to do that, and you aren’t going to stop me.”

Every person in the building went dead silent after that, Satoru’s words and behavior hanging heavy in the air. You stared at him in slight disbelief; you couldn’t remember ever hearing him speak to anyone that way before, even when you were much younger and he was much brattier. You glanced over at Suguru after a moment, trying to gauge his reaction to Satoru’s outburst, but he looked just as shocked as you did when he met your gaze.

The head guard looked like he wanted to argue, insist that his job was to listen to Satoru’s father, not Satoru himself, but before he could say anything that might have escalated the confrontation with your friend, you could hear three sets of footsteps making their way towards you.

“What’s going on here?”

Gojo-sama’s voice was unmistakable, and you felt your blood run cold at the sound of it. He didn’t seem to like you under the best of circumstances, so you were certain he was going to be furious when he saw you.

“Gojo-dono and Geto-san came to see the hatchlings, Gojo-sama,” the head guard explained, giving the older man a slight bow. “And they brought their friend.”

The man arched a brow slightly at the statement as he came into view, and when he turned to peer into the stall, you felt as if you might be sick. You could tell the exact moment he saw you, because his expression tightened, as if he’d bitten into something sour. “Ah,” he sighed. “That friend.”

You wished with everything you had that the floor would open up and swallow you whole right then and there. That feeling only intensified when you saw Gojo-sama’s gaze drop to the hatchling in your hands, his eyes burning with anger at the sight. 

“Put that hatchling back at once,” he commanded, glaring at you so hard you wondered if he were trying to incinerate you on the spot.

Despite your fear, you shook your head at him the same way you had the guard. The rage you saw simmering just below the surface of his face sent your whole body trembling, and your friends were quick to step fully in front of you. 

“That’s their dragon, father,” Satoru said, calmer than the way he’d shouted just a few moments before. “We were standing here the whole time watching. We saw the bond form.”

Your friend’s father narrowed his eyes at his son, then briefly turned his attention to Suguru, as if expecting him to fold and say it was a lie. Suguru did no such thing, though you knew he was always careful to keep from upsetting the clan patriarch in any way.

“It’s true, Gojo-sama,” he said quietly. 

Having clearly not gotten the response he wanted, the man turned to face the head guard. “Confiscate the hatchling and escort the child off my property. Restrain the boys if you have to.”

There were shouts of protest from your friends as the guards pushed forward to follow the order they’d just received, and you clutched your hatchling closer to your chest as the boys were pulled away from you, no match for the strength of the guards that held them even as they struggled to fight them off. Your hatchling let out a high, distressed cry as a guard grabbed your arm, and you swore you could feel her distress amplified a hundredfold in your chest, the feeling so intense it nearly sent you to your knees and drawing a cry from your own lips.

At almost the same moment, the mother dragon behind you roared, standing to her full height and stepping forward until you were beneath her, kneeling on the floor between her front legs. She snapped at the guard who had grabbed you, the man barely scrambling back in time to avoid being bitten, letting out a cry of fear as he retreated. She then set her sights on the four guards restraining your friends, growling at them angrily. You could feel her chest grow warmer above you, and you realized that she was preparing to breathe fire at them. The realization horrified you, yet it also brought you an odd sense of relief; even if it was only because you held her baby in your arms, she wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you.

Gojo-sama, who had turned away and begun to leave before the commotion started, stopped, taking in the scene curiously. He waved off the remaining guards in the stall, taking a few steps closer once they had released the boys. “How interesting…” he said, almost to himself.

As soon as they were free, your friends raced over to you, the mother dragon not even giving them a second glance as they came to kneel on either side of you, looking you over to make sure you were alright. You assured them you were fine, though you were still trembling slightly in your spot on the floor. 

“All three of you, on your feet.”

You, Satoru, and Suguru all looked up at Gojo-sama as he spoke; he was clearly speaking to all of you, but somehow it didn’t quite seem like he was.

“Come with me,” he commanded, turning and beginning to walk away again, clearly expecting all of you to follow at his heels. “There is much to be discussed.”

After exchanging uncertain looks, the boys once again helped you from the floor, and the three of you rushed to catch up. With every step, you felt your anxiety grow in the pit of your stomach; you still had your dragon in your arms, which seemed promising, but there was no telling where the Gojo clan head was taking you, or what he would do when you got there. 

Despite the late hour, there were still a fair amount of the staff up and about, and you could feel their eyes on you as you walked through the halls, doing your best to keep up with Gojo-sama’s long legs. Their gazes weighed heavily on you, and you could tell when each of them saw the hatchling you carried, their gasps of surprise and whispers between each other unmistakable; it was almost a relief when you were ushered into a private room with your friends, the door clicking shut behind you.

You stood as still as possible, barely daring to breathe as Gojo-sama circled around to stand in front of the three of you. You avoided his gaze, partially out of respect for his high rank of authority in the settlement, partially because the man terrified you more than anything else had up to this point in your life. When he said your name, you flinched, but lifted your head anyways, meeting his gaze with no small amount of anxiety.

“Yes, Gojo-sama?”

“Did you come to my estate tonight on your own?”

You shook your head, unable to find your voice again just yet.

“Who did you come here with, then?”

“S-Satoru and… and Suguru, Gojo-sama.”

“I see. Why did they bring you here?”

“To see the hatchlings, Gojo-sama.”

“Why?”

You could feel yourself beginning to tremble once again, and you burned with embarrassment at his question. “Because my twelfth birthday is in a few weeks and I still hadn’t met my dragon, Gojo-sama.”

“And what makes you think that hatchling in your hands is your dragon?”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, and you blinked dumbly at him as you tried to come up with an acceptable answer. “Because… I felt it, Gojo-sama, in my chest. I know this dragon is mine.”

His expression was displeased as he looked down at you. “You think this dragon is yours just because you feel in your heart that it should be?” The tone he used dripped with condescension, and it sharpened your fear into anger.

“No, not in my heart,” you corrected. “In my chest, exactly as I was told I would when I met and bonded with my dragon. I’m not a baby trying to live out some silly daydream. I don’t want my dragon to be special. If I was going to lie and try to steal a hatchling from you, I would have chosen one that didn’t draw so much attention.” By the time you had finished speaking, your expression had darkened until you were glaring up at the man, still trembling but feeling more defiant than scared.

“Remember who you’re speaking to,” he warned, which only made you angrier.

“I couldn’t possibly forget who I’m speaking to, Gojo-sama. I know that you dislike me, that you think I’m a bad influence on Satoru, but that doesn’t mean you get to bully me into giving you something that isn’t yours just because you want it.”

When the man arched a brow, the words you’d just said fully sank in for you, but you knew there was no taking them back now. Besides that, though, you meant them, even if you were mildly horrified that you’d actually said them out loud. “Why would I need to bully you, a child, into giving me anything when I can just take it from you?” he asked.

Before you fully comprehended what was happening, Gojo-sama reached out and made to grab for your dragon, clearly meaning to take her from you for good. Thankfully, despite not even being twenty-four hours old, she was quick to realize the situation. She hissed at the man, and when that didn’t stop him, she bit down hard on the side of his hand, breaking through the skin and sending blood dripping onto the floor in seconds.

He swore loudly, tearing his hand away and glaring at the hatchling. It was silent for a moment, and you clutched your dragon closer to your chest as you stared at Gojo-sama’s hand, blood dripping slowly from the wound and onto the floor. You could feel how tense your friends were on either side of you, but none of you dared to move or speak.

“Very well then.” By the time you dared to look at Gojo-sama’s face again, he had schooled his features into as neutral of an expression as he could. “It seems you are not, in fact, lying about your bond with this hatchling, as loath as I may be to admit it.” He let out a long sigh, looking you up and down for a moment, before silently making his mind up about something. “All three of you off to bed at once. You’ll remain here for the bonding period, after that we can discuss the possibility of sending you home.”

Not daring to argue, you nodded, bowing to him and chorusing a “Yes, Gojo-sama” with Suguru, Satoru mumbling a “Yes, father,” on your right. The three of you hurried out of the room then, eager to be away from the intimidating aura of the clan head as quickly as possible.

Once the door shut behind you, you let out a long, shaky sigh. “I can’t believe he’s letting me keep her.”

“I can’t believe he’s not letting you go home,” Satoru replied, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the three of you made your way back to the quarters he shared with Suguru.

You couldn’t help but lean into him, all your energy seemingly left in the room with your friend’s father. “My mom’s gonna kill me,” you said quietly. Almost instantly, tears blurred your vision, and you rushed to blink them away; as much as both you and Satoru had insisted that you weren’t a little kid anymore, you certainly felt like one, wanting nothing more than to run to your mother and have her hold you until you fell asleep.

“No she won’t,” Suguru assured quietly, reaching over and gently wiping away a few of your tears as you walked. “You’d be going home right now if you could. We’ll explain that to her, okay? She won’t be mad if it’s not your fault you couldn’t go back home.”

He had his soft, reassuring smile on his face when you turned to look at him, and despite everything that had happened since you’d gotten to the estate, it did make you feel a bit better. You offered a slight nod in return, which seemed to ease some of the tension in his shoulders. 

The rest of the walk to the boys’ chambers was quiet, though eventually it occurred to you that something was missing. “Wait, where did—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Suguru opened the door to the room, and you were nearly bowled over by Kenji and Niji. Thankfully Satoru steadied you before you could fall, and both boys quickly called off their companions. The dragons reluctantly obeyed the command, but they sniffed the air around you and stared intently at your hands.

After realizing they wanted to see your hatchling, you hesitated a moment, not entirely sure how they would react to another dragon in their space. You glanced at your friends, trying to see how they wanted to handle this.

“We’ll hold them,” Satoru told you, already stepping away from you a bit and calling Kenji to his side.

“It’s better if we introduce them now, anyways, before we all go to bed,” Suguru agreed, summoning Niji to him. 

“If they can’t behave, we’ll send them out for the night.”

With a silent nod, you waited until the boys had a hold on their dragons before adjusting the hatchling in your hands. She made some sort of whine at you, but when Kenji and Niji were within view, she seemed to perk up a bit, her green eyes wide as she stared.

Kenji and Niji froze as they stared at your hatchling, not even their tails twitching for several long moments. Then, completely in sync despite not even looking at each other, they slowly lowered themselves to lay on their stomachs, resting their chins on their outstretched legs, bright eyes never leaving your hatchling.

Once the display of apparent submission was done, you and the boys all exchanged bewildered looks. “That was…”

“Weird,” Satoru supplied, and you nodded in agreement.

“Do you think it’s because she’s metallic?” Suguru asked curiously.

You shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe? I’m too tired to think.”

“You’re right, it’s late,” he agreed softly. “You can sleep in my bed, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor tonight.”

“Suguru, I can’t—”

“Well I’m not letting you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. “And we both know Satoru’s not going to volunteer to sleep on the floor.”

“Yeah, because none of us need to sleep on the floor,” Satoru cut in, turning his attention to you. “You take Suguru’s bed, he can share mine with me. It’s big enough for both of us.”

Suguru whipped his head around to look at Satoru, his dark eyes wide and… was he blushing? “It’s not a big deal, really, I don’t mind—”

Satoru rolled his eyes at his friend’s stammered protests, stepping over their dragons and nudging him in the direction of the actual bedroom. “You’re right, it’s not a big deal. You’ll be more comfortable in the bed and you know it, so stop trying to be all noble and selfless.” He pauses for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at you again. “Do you want something to change into for bed?”

It took you a moment to process his question, but when you looked down and saw the clothes you were wearing – comfortable enough to wear during the day, but now a bit dirty with straw stuck all over them, and definitely not something you wanted to drag into bed with you – you nodded. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

The smile he offered you was so warm you felt your face heat slightly with embarrassment, and all you could do was follow as he beckoned you into the bedroom with them. He dug through his dresser for a moment, then pulled out a long shirt and handed it to you. “Do you want pants or anything? I have some but you don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to.”

“Uh…” you weren’t really sure how to respond to the question; it felt a bit odd to sleep in someone else’s bed without any pants on, regardless of what you usually wore to bed. “Do you have any shorts?”

“I think so.” Once you accepted the shirt from him, he went back to digging through his dresser, eventually presenting you with a pair of what looked like silk shorts – something your family would never be able to afford, but you were too tired to think about arguing about wearing them.

“Thanks. I’ll, uh…” you trailed off as you looked around, trying to find somewhere to change into the borrowed clothes, somewhere you could put your hatchling down without having to worry about her too much. 

Noticing your dilemma, Suguru stepped a little closer, his arm brushing yours lightly as he spoke. “My bed is behind that divider screen,” he said quietly. “There’s space for you to get changed, and you can put her on the bed where she’ll be safe.”

“Thank you, Suguru.” Though you weren’t entirely sure what expression you had on your face when you turned to look at him, it was apparently more intense than you thought, because the slight pink tint to his cheeks you thought you’d noticed earlier deepened, and there was no mistaking it now: Suguru was definitely blushing.

The desire for sleep was ultimately what pulled you away from your friend’s side, carefully carrying the clothes Satoru had leant you and your hatchling around the divider screen that separated Suguru’s bed from the rest of the room. Once you were fully hidden from the boys, you set everything down on the bed, letting your hatchling curl up on the pillow while you got changed. Your clothes got left in a haphazard pile on the floor, exhaustion eating at you too much to figure out what to do with them in that moment. A quiet gasp escaped you as you pulled on Satoru’s clothes, for some reason not having expected them to be as soft and comfortable as they were.

Before you allowed yourself to collapse into bed for the rest of the night, you peeked around the edge of the screen just in time to see your friends pulling on their own sleep shirts. “Thank you,” you called softly to them. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Their heads shot up at the sound of your voice, both of them offering you gentle smiles. “You don't have to thank us,” Satoru assured you, Suguru nodding his assent. “We’ve got your back.”

“Goodnight,” Suguru said, his voice muffled around a yawn, hesitantly climbing into bed next to Satoru.

“Goodnight,” you hummed, turning to crawl into Suguru’s bed for the night.

Your hatchling was still curled up on the pillow waiting for you, her copper scales and emerald eyes shining even in the small amount of moonlight that filtered in through the window. You smiled tiredly at her, resting your head on the pillow beside her. 

Even as you began to drift off, you knew your new companion needed a name. You stroked the top of her head with one finger, eyes heavy as you tried to think. “Hmm,” you hummed, more to yourself than anyone else. “Emerald?”

The hatchling stared at you, unblinking.

“Guess not. What about… Lucky?”

Again, nothing but a blank stare.

“Be nice to me,” you yawned, voice heavy with exhaustion.  “I’ve never done this before, and I stopped thinking of names over a year ago.”

This time, the hatchling made a tiny little mumbling sound, though whether she was supposed to be agreeing or making fun of you, you couldn’t tell.

You fell silent for a few moments longer, still very lightly stroking the top of her head with one of your fingers. “Oh, I got it,” you murmured. “Takara.”

You weren’t expecting the little chirp your hatchling let out at the name, but it brought a grin to your tired face nonetheless, especially when she shuffled closer and bumped her nose against your forehead, right between your eyebrows.

“Takara it is, then.” You let out a small sigh of relief, finally allowing your eyes to close, sleep quickly taking over. “Goodnight, little treasure…”

The next morning you were awoken by sunlight coming through the window and landing directly in your eyes. You grumbled a small protest, rolling over in hope of going back to sleep for just a little bit longer, but in the brief second you opened your eyes, you saw two familiar shapes – one white, one black – hovering at your bedside. In your half-waking state, you were beyond confused – why were your best friends’ dragons in your bedroom? – before the events of the previous night came flooding back, and you sat up with a gasp, turning to see if Takara was still on your pillow.

She was, and she seemed rather displeased at having been woken up. She lifted her head, staring up at you with narrowed eyes and making a little displeased grumbling sound.

“Sorry,” you told her, reaching out and stroking the top of her head lightly. “Last night was just… well. It was a lot. Wasn’t sure if it was all just a dream.”

Seemingly appeased by your apology, Takara pushed herself to her feet, wobbling her way into your lap and curling up once again, as if preparing to go back to sleep. Before she fully settled down, though, Kenji chuffed quietly from his spot beside the bed. When you looked over at him, he was shifting on his feet, practically vibrating, and you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him so worked up before. Niji also seemed a little on edge beside him, but he was sitting, watching Takara intently as if he were waiting for something. 

Takara, apparently in no mood for so much attention so early in the morning, flicked her tail in the direction of the other two dragons, chittering out a noise that sounded suspiciously like “go away” before turning her back on them and laying down. 

Kenji whined loudly at the greeting from your hatchling, pacing back and forth as he continued to stare at her, clearly eager for her attention. Niji, more willing to take a hint than his friend, stood from his spot and flicked his tail at Kenji to get his attention. When that didn’t work, he huffed, leaning in and nipping at the white dragon’s flank. Though it didn’t come even close to breaking the skin, Kenji was clearly unhappy about being snapped at like that. He growled, whirling around and pouncing on Niji in revenge.

In seconds, the two dragons were practically in full-on brawl, rolling around on the floor, crashing into the wall and the bed multiple times, snarling at each other all the while. All you could think to do was sit completely still, watching them with wide eyes and hoping they would stop soon, or that someone else would come and intervene; Sparrow and Spark would tussle at home sometimes, but both Kenji and Niji were about the size of Spark, possibly even bigger now, and you didn’t think you were capable of separating them on your own, and especially not without injury.

Thankfully, though, the commotion was enough to rouse Satoru and Suguru, the sound of muffled curses and hurried footsteps across the wooden floor giving you a couple of seconds’ head’s up before the boys themselves hurried around the privacy screen.

Ever the impulsive one, Satoru almost instantly threw himself into the thick of the scuffle, grabbing Kenji by the fluff on his shoulders and using all of his body weight to pull him away. At nearly the same moment, Suguru hurried over to Niji, wrapping his arms around the dragon’s scaly midsection and pulling in the opposite direction of Satoru. The dragons still growled and snapped at each other as they were pulled apart, but they didn’t fight against the boys’ holds on them as much as you might have expected. 

After a moment, as everyone caught their breath, you realized that some of the fluff that was growing in so thick around Kenji’s shoulders and neck was stuck between Niji’s teeth; it shouldn’t have been a shock, considering how hard they’d been going at each other, but it still caught you off guard, somehow. 

“Sorry,” Suguru said, looking up at you guiltily from his spot on the floor. “We didn’t mean for them to wake you up.”

“They don’t usually fight like that in the mornings, either,” Satoru chimed in, scowling down at Kenji, who was now on his back between his master’s legs, tail thumping lightly on the floor as if in apology. 

“It wasn’t the fighting that woke me up,” you told them, hoping that fact at least would reassure them a bit. “They were by the bed waiting for me to wake up. They wanted to see Takara, I think.”

“Takara?” Satoru asked, a bit confused, though his eyes lit up with realization as he looked down at the little hatchling in your lap. “Hey, I like it! Very fancy.”

“It suits her,” Suguru agreed, offering you a warm smile. “You made a good choice.”

You felt your cheeks begin to burn at the attention and praise you received from your friends, and by some miracle you were saved from having to say anything else by a knock at the door.

“I got it,” Satoru sighed, pushing himself off the floor and gesturing for Kenji to follow him.

“Did you sleep alright?” Suguru asked, releasing his hold on Niji once Kenji was out of sight. 

You nodded, still feeling a bit sheepish about having taken Suguru’s bed from him for the night. “I did,” you said quietly. “Did you sleep alright? I’m sorry you had to share Satoru’s bed with him because of me.”

A soft laugh tumbled from his lips at your words, and that faint hint of a blush you’d noticed the night before returned to his face. “It’s okay,” he assured you. “It wasn’t so bad. He was right, his bed is pretty big, so we weren’t squished together all night.”

“He didn’t kick you or anything?” you asked, partially teasing. “He seems like he squirms a lot in his sleep and takes up a bunch of space.”

“I do not kick in my sleep!” Satoru interjected, walking back around the privacy screen and holding a box out to you. “The servant at the door said to give this to you. From my mother.”

You blinked up at him in shock; you hadn’t seen Satoru’s mother outside of her appearances at the new year’s festivals since you and Satoru were about five years old, so you were more than a little surprised that she had apparently sent something to you. “What is it?” you asked, carefully taking the box from your friend and setting it on the bed in front of you.

Satoru just shrugged. “Not sure. Probably clothes, though. My parents won’t want you wearing your dirty stuff from last night, that much I’m sure of.”

“We’ll let you get dressed,” Suguru added, seeing how hard you were staring at the box in front of you.

You nodded without looking up from the box, only seeing the boys and their dragons step to the other side of the privacy screen out of the corner of your eye. Once you were alone again, you looked down at Takara, curled up contentedly in your lap. “Sorry friend,” you told her, carefully lifting her up and placing her back on the pillow behind you.

When she was settled again, you stood from the bed, lifting the lid from the box as if the box itself was breakable, though it was just an ordinary box. Your eyes widened a bit at the clothes that sat waiting for you, having expected maybe something of Satoru’s he had recently outgrown, but the outfit looked much nicer – and much newer – than some hand-me-downs.

The shirt was soft, made of a slightly more lightweight fabric than the shirt you’d worn to sleep, and was probably the prettiest shade of dark green you’d ever seen. The only actual color you’d ever seen Satoru wear was blue, everything else he wore was black, white, or grey, so this was certainly never his, and you couldn’t recall seeing Suguru ever wear anything that wasn’t black, so you couldn’t imagine this had ever been intended to be his. You guessed it didn’t really matter who it was for in the first place, because now it was yours, even if only for a time.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you were quick to pull your sleep shirt over your head, laying it carefully on the bed, quickly followed by the shorts you’d been allowed to borrow, wanting to make sure they were both still in good condition when you returned them to your friend. You then pulled the green shirt over your head, the fabric so light and soft that it barely felt like you were wearing anything at all, which was a pleasant surprise. Once you had the shirt on, you reached for the pants, a simple black pair that, while clearly expensive, were also made from a soft material.

As you picked up the pants, though, you noticed a pair of underwear at the bottom of the box, and it brought such an odd sense of relief you nearly laughed. You changed into those quickly, too, putting your old pair with the rest of your clothes from the previous night. You weren’t entirely sure what to do with them, so for the time being you left them tucked in the corner, not wanting to put your dirty clothes on Suguru’s bed.

You pulled the pants on quickly after that and, now fully dressed for the day, grabbed the clothes Satoru had lent you and turned to step around the privacy screen to return them. Something caught your eye about the screen, though, and you paused to give it a closer look. It was the first time you were really seeing the screen, you realized, and upon further inspection, you saw that there were dragons and rainbows hand painted around the edges of each frame, with a mountain scene spanning across all of them together. You thought you remembered Suguru saying something about his home village being near the mountains, and it made your heart clench to know he had something like this to remind him of home, even after being away for three years without being able to go back.

You were drawn back to the present when you heard Satoru call your name. “Is it okay if I come around?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

The snowy haired boy stepped around the privacy screen, his hands over his face despite your invitation. He peeked through his fingers in a very unsubtle way, then let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Oh, good, you’re dressed.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but laughed despite yourself. “You really think I would have said you could come around if I was naked?”

“...I guess not,” he admitted after a moment, and he at least had the decency to look a little sheepish about it. You just shook your head at him and handed him back the clothes you’d slept in.

“Thanks for letting me borrow those,” you said. “They’re really comfy.” 

“I know they are,” he agreed with a grin. “Now, grab your little friend and come on, it’s time for breakfast.”

As if on cue, your stomach let out the most embarrassing gurgling sound you’d ever heard it make, and Satoru couldn’t help but laugh. You scowled at him, but you said nothing, instead turning back to the bed and lifting Takara into your arms.

You followed your friend as he led you out to the rest of the bedroom, tossing the clothes you’d worn to bed on the pile of his own dirty clothes off in one corner. Then you followed after the boys as they made their way to the dining room. Kenji and Niji kept pace with you, one on either side, neither of them watching where they were going, eyes trained on where Takara laid in your arms.

The dining room wasn’t too far from the boys’ bedroom, thankfully, but even still you could feel the way the members of the staff stared at you and Takara. You took your seat between your friends and, after a moment of hesitation, set Takara in your lap. She seemed more interested in sleeping than anything else, but that was pretty normal; most hatchlings spent the majority of the bonding week asleep with their new masters nearby.

Not long after the three of you sat down at the table, you were being served plates nearly overflowing with food, steaming bowls of miso soup and rice placed on either side of your plates. You stared at the spread wide-eyed for a moment, not quite believing all that food was for you, but you quickly got over that when your stomach growled loudly again. You started shoveling food into your mouth then, bites of eggs and rice interspersed with spoonfuls of soup and sips of the tea you were served, then followed by slices of fruit. You startled slightly when you heard a chuckle from off to your left, and you looked over at Satoru, suddenly embarrassed by your behavior.

“Are, uh… are your parents going to be joining us?” you asked quietly, after swallowing your mouthful of rice. You and your friends were the only ones currently at the dining table, but there was space for several more people to join you.

“Doubt it,” Satoru replied softly, taking a sip of his tea before he continued. “Mom joins us sometimes, but mostly she takes her meals in her room because of her headaches. My father just… doesn’t eat breakfast.”

You blinked in surprise. “Never?”

“Not as far as I can remember.” He shrugged then, using his chopsticks to get another bite of eggs.

Opting not to push the subject, you just nodded, turning back to your plate. His words about his mother seemed to fully register with you after a moment, and it made you feel a bit sad. You knew Satoru sometimes got struck with debilitating headaches, so if his mother’s were anything like his, you couldn’t imagine she spent a lot of time out and about, even on the grounds of the estate. 

Breakfast passed in a companionable silence after that, with Satoru and Suguru occasionally offering pieces of egg to Kenji and Niji, who were pointedly ignoring their own breakfasts in favor of hovering as close to you as they could, still completely entranced by Takara. You did your best to ignore them, not because you found the behavior annoying, but because the boys thought it would be the best way to get them to leave you alone. 

Occasionally you tried to offer Takara bites of your own breakfast, but she didn’t seem interested in anything except the small piece or nori you offered her, though when you offered a second she turned away and tucked her nose under her tail. You shrugged it off, not particularly worried about it; she would let you know when she was hungry, you were certain of that.

Just as the three of you were finishing up your meal, you heard what sounded like a heavy door slam a ways down the hall. That on its own would have been enough to draw your attention, but it was quickly followed by a familiar voice shouting at the staff.

“Where is he?” your mother demanded, and your eyes widened when you heard how angry she was. “I demand to know what that man has done with my child!”

sorry not sorry to leave you guys on a lil cliffhanger again AHAHA. in my defense Plot Things are happening now so the chapters will probably consistently be a little longer than the first several were and the endings will be more like cliffhangers most of the time. if you hate me for it i'll cry and send kenji to steal your shoes.

taglist: @ghost-1-y @sugurei @whatthefucksatan @mitsuristoleme @lu-dao-writes 

@peachdues @here-for-the-tea-baby @staryukis @roselleviennesstuff @witchbybirth 

@marinnnnnnnnn @dr-runs-with-scissors @entirelysein-e

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[pugh-bug]

No.42 Chapter 4

Art Donaldson x reader slow burn friends to lovers

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list 💕 thank you so much for the love on this series so far I’m really grateful !

Part 3

——————————————————————

‘You should see him after a few games, it’s a lot.’

With a mouth full of burrito, you still managed to laugh at the image Liam and Art were conjuring of Patrick’s sunburn turning him beetroot. The three of you were sat at a cute little place you’d somehow never seen before, probably because you didn’t know the area that well. Art’s choice.

‘So how’s living with this one?’ Liam asked, spitting hummus everywhere as he spoke. Neither you or Art had known who his question was for so you both yelped

‘Good!’

A little too enthusiastically for Liam.

Art’s hair had dried perfectly in the piercing sun rays and the smell of his mint shampoo kept wafting in your direction whenever the breeze turned. Shit. You were supposed to be listening to Liam. What was he saying?’

‘Fridays good.’ Art nodded at his friend, not looking at you for conformation. Clearly someone had been listening. You waited until Liam was texting his girlfriend to hiss at Art what he’d just agreed to - the answer ? - a party at Liam’s.

‘Are you sure it’s okay … if I come?’ Neither boy missed the slight sadness in your question. Your search for validation and fear of the wrong outcome. As Liam beamed at you, reassuring your brain that you were indeed very much wanted at his party and that ‘it won’t be the same without you’ Art’s eyes were locked on your face. You failed to notice.

‘So don’t worry about it okay? It’s not a tennis people thing, just a Liam friends thing.’ He smiled, very genuinely, and you smiled back. When Liam went to the bathroom he noticed Art was picking aggressively at the table, something he’d never seen him do before.

Without looking up from his task of picking through wood one mm at a time, Art asked coldly. ‘When did Patrick say he’d be back?’ Oh fuck it was Sunday! Better check your phone.

2 missed messages.

12:03pm - Text from Patrick

It’s not going well at all. She keeps starting shit with me for no reason she’s a lot to deal with if I’m being honest. Hope your day is better than mine so far

1:26pm - Text from Patrick

You’ve gotta pick me up Y/N I can’t stay here with these people until 9 I’ll catch arsehole disease

Just as you thought of a reply that was both supportive and concerned your phone lit up. Patrick was calling.

‘Pat hey! I didn’t expect to hear fro-‘

‘Pick me up.’

‘Jesus okay-‘

‘Pretty please Y/N I’ll send you my location right now just get here.’

He had a tendency to overreact to uncomfortable situations but you could hear the genuine panic and defeat in his voice. You had to help him.

‘Okay okay but … what’s wrong with Uber?’

‘I can’t afford it.’

You took a deep breath, gesturing to Art to stop mouthing ‘what’s happening?’ so you could concentrate.

‘Okay let me just tell Art-‘

‘Art’s there? Get him to come, he knows the way.’

‘Okay.’

Whilst you explained to Liam the rough situation, Art ran to your flat to fetch his car. With how little time it took him to return you wondered why he hadn’t become a runner instead? He must have done track, at-least.

——————————————————————

It was an hour drive to Patrick’s girls place. 45 minutes on Sundays. You waited until Art had gotten to the motorway before you asked the million dollar question.

‘So… Patrick said you knew the way. How? This is nowhere near anyone’s house that we know.’

Art chuckled, his delicate hand barely touching the wheel when he casually changed lanes at 70mph. His car smelt like him, you tried not to breathe heavier to encase yourself in his scent more intensely. It was growing difficult.

‘Well, I actually … dated Hannah before he did.’

He adjusted his mirror to watch the arsehole behind drive up his ass, for a moment you noticed him looking at the window. If Art ‘his mother could have knitted him’ Donaldson was about to roll the window down to flip someone off you were in for a treat.

‘How long for? Did Patrick even ask bef-‘

‘Does Patrick ever ask you for permission to do something?’

No. Not once.

‘It doesn’t bother me. We weren’t serious and it was a few years before he asked her out.’

You both envied and pitied this Hannah girl who Art seemed to care so little for.

‘Is it not a bit weird though? I wouldn’t want my exes fucking my friends.’

Art glanced over to you, he was driving at 60 again so you weren’t as inclined to grasp the door handle. He looked a little puzzled at your remarks or maybe it was amusement. ‘You thought we’d have different types?’

‘Yes, one hundred percent.’

‘We usually do. Hannah is probably more Patrick’s type.’

Your pity for Hannah grew once again.

‘But clearly, not more compatible.’

When you looked at Art he was frowning. He might have been looking at the road but you knew he was remembering something, something bitter.

You reread Patrick’s text: ‘She’s a lot to deal with.’ but that could mean anything from she takes too long getting ready to she needs to be kept away from others. Once Art said you were close you felt a little uneasy, like you needed to mentally prepare to deal with this girl. If she’d frightened Patrick she had to have something very wrong with her.

‘Art?’

He looked out of it.

‘Is there anything I should know, anything I should maybe avoid saying or doing with this… Hannah? Patrick sounded - I don’t wanna say scared bu-‘

‘Oh he’ll be scared,’ you felt genuine dread for a moment until you saw Art looked solemn not worried. He hid it behind a forced chuckle, as if what he was about to say was a funny anecdote he whipped out at parties to break the ice. ‘She can be a lot.’ There goes that word again. ‘She’s probably the only person I’ve ever met who puts tennis above - well - breathing and she thinks if you’re not playing tennis twelve hours a day everyday you’re letting yourself and her down.’

‘Sounds obsessive.’

‘I did warn him.’

As you pulled up to Hannah’s house you felt a twinge, or an aggressive increase, of guilt for your comment the night before. You should have saved your judgement for Hannah, clearly tennis was her entire life and Art had disagreed with her. Patrick certainly would.

He was sat on her doorstep, like a lost puppy waiting for its owner, but he still gave a quick wave before walking over.

‘Thank you!’ Patrick exclaimed once he was in the car. ‘You two just saved me, I was about to let her coach me just so she’d stop fucking yelling.’ He was sweating and slightly out of breath, poor thing.

‘Art, don’t you wanna go say hi?’

‘Funny…’

Taglist: @gatorgirl007 @imblushingrn

[polaris-stuff]

Okay, this is the fourth time of me rewriting this comment.

And i am gonna try and keep it short ( I failed I am so sorry) . As this is about the Heart to Heart with earth.

Feel free to ignore this if you don't wanna talk about it anymore. If you said something about , I've been trying to put my feelings on this out for a while and it's just not working. (it's also now 4 am, )

I came away from the episode feeling like it was a good episode. Where the characters talked about why they were deciding not to help moon for different reasons.

I thought for most of them it was in character, even if I don't fully agree. I could see what the show was trying to do.

And then i see a lot of people agreeing and being really hurt by the episode. Because they feel like everyone is aboning moon. And leaving him in this vulnerable space.

I feel like i missed something. As to me. the celestial family isn't fully aware as to truly how bad Moon's mental state has gotten.

I have a feeling that (Sun and Lunar, more so then earth) Are taking moon's last words as face value ( wanting to bring solar back for ego/selfish reasons, and not because he truly breaking down)

(I also think monty still hasn't fully filled them in either that moon seems to be thinking he isn't real but I could be wrong!)

I think they'd be behaving otherwise if they know the true depts. they wouldn't wich is why this sucks so much. Moon is driving people away, actively sabotaging his own help.

I sit here wishing i would understand that hurt. I honestly truly do. Maybe because i have the feeling that they will help even if they say now they won't

maybe because i really hope sun isn't gonna make the same mistake as moon.

Maybe i am i giving sun, lunar and earth to much credit, and to many excuses.

I think...in the end. I don't think them refusing to help moon. Is them trying to hurt moon (even if that is the outcome) . But is taking care of themselves as they are all also still not in a good place?

And maybe because i genuinely can't see what they can do for moon to help him. As they offered him help but he refused or actively lied on how he was doing. So I don't get what help people want them to provide for moon at this moment. ( besides not leaving, but can you be there for someone that doesn't want you there?)

I dunno if i am making sense. trying to talk my feelings out is always hard. And I think for the first time I am on the other side of most of the people I usually agree with and respect a lot ( you being one of them ) . So I feel a bit lost and weird about it as to why my view is so different.

( I am honestly hoping Sun will see Moon having hallucinations, and at least will set something up so moon is never alone in that cell like he was. I feel like he thinks, he first needs to stop moon. And then when that is done. He can actively think on what to do next cause offering help first ain't gonna do it)

I am sorry for leaving this long ass comment in your inbox. I truly hope It didn't come off as attacking. AS it wasn't meant to be. Just a fellow TSAMS fan. who was in their own way very confused and hurt i guess and feels a bit alone in their reading of the story?

And trying to understand why people see this a an attack from the celestial family on moon. Or a active decision...instead of .. a series of what is gonna be a slew of bad decisions from everyone involved.

-Noffy.

Alright, I understand your point of view, don't worry about it, and actually, this is a YT series on VRchat so I shouldn't be so mad about this either yk JAJA

Ok, the thing is, the family doesn't know what's happening to Moon, that's right, they have no way of knowing what's happening to him because Moon pushed them all away and lied to them, now, the thing is that Earth knows. Monty told Earth that Moon had a psychosis episode and found him hitting the ground, that Moon could no longer tell what was real from what wasn't, so Earth knows that Moon is in a HORRIBLE mental state. And idk, but if you know that a person is in a state where they can no longer perceive reality correctly, I don't think the best response is not to help them.

Also, I'll highlight Lunar going from "I really don't care" (although he should care, we're talking about Moon, one of his brothers) to "fuck him" which is just weird?? The whole family was with Lunar and supported him when the thing with Eclipse happened but Lunar just does not care when something happens to another family member ??

I'm 100% sure that Sun will help Moon, it's more than obvious that Moon will get out of this situation, but the way the family is handling it is so strange to me. Lunar, Earth and Sun have every right to not want to continue dealing with problems but this is also partly their fault.

Since Solar died no one was with Moon because "Moon was busy", so Moon was alone in P&S with Ruin whispering in his ear and only Lunar went to see him a couple of times. Sun began to hang out more with Earth and Lunar, and Moon was left completely alone. "Oh, but Moon never said he wanted them to come with him! They can't read minds!" Yes, and that's true, but If everyone was aware that Moon and Solar were basically running around together every day, and everyone was aware that Moon was the one who had the worst reaction to Solar's death, the logical thing to do is to spend at least a couple of hours with him, right?

And yes, Moon lied about how he felt so this is also partly his fault for wanting to hide what was happening to him. But Monty is also to blame because he also hide it.

We are at a point where we have been shown that all the hallucinations that Moon has had are created by her consciousness out of guilt (in the same way as Sun when the BM thing happened), Moon regrets the things he said to Earth, Moon wants to stop, Moon wants to go home and apologize, but he can't. He thinks his whole family hates him, that no one wants him in daycare.

Also, I understand that Earth is hurt but she also isn't trying to understand Moon's feelings now that she knows everything Moon has been going through. Now she knows that Moon is going through the worst time of her life and she just decides not to do anything about it because "Moon said a couple of hurtful things to her." (things Sun warned Moon would say to push her away and things that worked).

I feel like of all the people, the only one who has a little more reason here is Sun, and, interestingly, Jack and the computer, who have done more than Earth and Lunar.

I think that now that he is locked up and unable to teleport it is a good opportunity for everyone to talk to him, a really serious and good intervention.

Sorry for the long text! And thanks for the ask and support! It really helped me let off some steam, hehe

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Jealous

Summary: You are dating William secretly due to reasons, even though he has already shown you his scar under his mask. But... once he sees you chatting with a man in town, he has to swoop in and take you by the hand Pairing: William x gn!reader (reader is describes as a "beauty") Length: ~0.7k Fanfic type: Oneshot Contains: Themes of jealousy

William Vangeance, the oldest and only child of the House of Vangeance who was raised in the Forsaken Realm as he shunned by his birth parents, was not a possessive man. He wasn’t a jealous man. But instead he was a kind man. Someone who wanted to hold and be held in return.

But… his scar had made it very difficult for himself. To the point where he didn’t believe that anyone would love him, due to his looks. That each and everyone would think that he, despite all of his accomplishments or the good that he had done, would shun him for all the wrong he was or did commit. That he could never find someone who’d love him truly and deeply, with all that he was.

And… when you walked into his life, he could barely believe it.

For a good while, no matter how good it felt to talk to you, just to be around you…he was scared to his core about showing you his scar, because he was convinced that you’d leave him once he did. But nevertheless… he did show you. He couldn’t keep hiding it forever. Especially not someone he was… hoping to have and to hold as a partner. So… he had had to.

And.. much to his surprise, you hadn’t thought much about it. That he must’ve hidden something under the mask. Now he just got to see what it was.

Nevertheless, now that you had seen him without a mask, there was no not-noticing William when he was out on the town. And, more often than not, be surrounded by fans or knights or some noble, and he… He is just burdened by it all.

Which was why he asked if it’d be alright to keep the relationship secret. Plus, it’d allow them to have dates where he could be without his mask. So that it’d be just the two of you. To which you had agreed. At least for the time being.

Naturally it couldn’t stay that way forever, but… through the turbulent early stages of the relationship where you were still getting to know each other? That was very doable.

Or so William thought, until… Until that one day he saw you in the city, chatting with some guy. You were laughing at his jokes. Smiling and swaying and… Though he loved to see you enjoying your time, he couldn’t help but feel a lump in his throat. His senses became clouded to the way he was clenching his fists. His jaw was tense, and he was grinding his teeth, because… Because, there was no way this guy was trying to sweettalk you. The one person who had accepted, and loved, him for who he really was; scar and all.

There was no way. No way! He was just going to sit by idly and let this happen.

So he straightened his posture, grabbed a single flower from a nearby flower bush, and swooped in.

“Hello gorgeous,” he stated while taking you by the hand, spinning you to the side and presenting you the flower. “May I present to you an artwork of nature, which fails to hold a candle to your beauty?”

You stood there, looking at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to reply.

“Or perhaps you might allow me to escort you to acquire a more fitting bouquet?” He pulled you by the hand, beckoning you to follow him.

Which you did. Without a word, but you did.

It wasn’t until a good distance away when you noticed the blush on his cheeks, and the tension of his body, which spoke of his uneasiness. Or perhaps racing heart.

“Soo…” you uttered. “Why exactly did you come swooping in with the flower and the kind-a-poem?”

“Am I not allowed to spoil you?” He asked, with a smile, while trying to hide his emotions.

“Well no, but if we want to keep this thing secret for a little while longer…” you uttered with a kind of a tease, “unless you’re jealous…” Your voice harbored a grin that made his blush grow even more intense.

And it was in that blush that you found your reply.

[jeonstellate]

flashpoint: forward

junhui’s post-9 pm overthinking led him to you, ten years into the future.

๑༄ wen junhui x gender neutral!reader

๑༄ time travel!au — little fluff(?), mostly neutral

๑༄ bulleted list format — 3K words

masterlist | flashpoint: backward

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑༄ wrote this almost a year ago && decided to wait until i made significant progress on the second part, but i kinda— anw. long story short, here’s the first part even tho the second one isn’t done yet *insert dancer emoji here*

๑༄ personally loved this, if you can’t tell by the word count lol, so i sincerely hope y’all do too <3

for this specific universe, the world lives in whichever time they wish

however, the ability to jump through time isn’t a common ability

nor it is a well-studied area of science

it isn’t necessarily a regulated movement(?), either — time travelers don’t carry passports or any documents that record their movement from one time to another

to top if off, no one knows exactly how one gets the ability to jump through time as well; it just appears randomly once the blessed individual comes of age

what people do know, however, is the fact that there is a set of rules every time traveler is strongly advised to abide by

first & foremost, every time traveler mustn’t mess with the flow of events — specifically those that concern an entire population

which means they can’t prevent any public figure from crossing onto the other side of veil — political or otherwise

they can’t introduce a current technology to the people of the past, either — especially since inventions have the power to drive social advancement

basically everything that can impact how history is told is forbidden

saving endangered animals through time travel is included in that btw

tragically

&& also bringing forward obsolete stuff to the present

[that means no bringing forward quality web-based flash games or the psp. sigh]

second, every time traveler cannot reveal to the people of time periods prior to time travel becoming "common" knowledge that they are, in fact, time travelers

that sounds like a trippy sentence to comprehend completely, so let’s paraphrase

time travelers can’t change when time traveling became something that people just know to exist

if they travel to some time in the BCE, they can’t mention anything abt time traveling to the ppl there — bc time travel isn’t heard of yet during that time period

same thing if they travel to any CE period when time travel is basically "non-existent" still

truth be told, no one can exactly pin point when time travel became a common knowledge

so it’s a little tricky

that’s why it’s advisable to keep quiet abt it when going to the past

unless it’s recent past, then that should be fine

but not so much when going forward in time

since yk, they fs already know that time travel exist if people of the present already know abt it

the third advice for time travelers is to not stay too long in the past or the future

the unofficial handbook for time travelers didn’t really specify how long is too long, so everyone interprets it differently

some think it means a few days max, while some think it’s a few weeks

some even think it means a few years

but anw

the point is, according to the handbook, if one stays too long in the time they don’t belong in, changes will occur in their present

which will domino effect

to not only their future, but potentially to everyone else’s lives as well

[write that down—]

in a way, that connects advice three to advice one

thankfully, you aren’t blessed to be a time traveler

sure, you don’t get to experience the perks that comes w time traveling

but at least you don’t have to remember all those rules

&& wtv unmentioned precautionary tales there are abt time traveling

unfortunately for wen junhui, though, he is a time traveler

which means he has to keep all those rules in mind whenever he enjoys the perks of time traveling

sigh

.

.

.

.

.

junhui doesn’t have a favorite era to travel to

he, quite honestly, just travels on a whim

remember that "end of the world" talk bc of the mayan calendar?

yea

junhui didn’t believe in it either

but, nevertheless, he still time traveled to the day after the supposed end date just to prove to himself that he was right not to believe it

&& that there was definitely still tomorrow after the so-called "end of the world" day

ngl that extremely brief stay in that particular date was for his post-9 pm self — the one that worries abt every little thing that has ever happened in his life & that he has ever heard of in passing

basically his post-9 pm self has some sort of heightened anxiety or smth, that’s why he never trusts anything he thinks of from 9 pm onwards

[i personally believe this btw. this belief has saved me multiple times. i highly recommend :D]

still, whenever his post-9 pm self gets too worked up worrying abt nothing, it’s difficult for him to sleep

so it’s best to quell anything that can be a source of anxiety asap

esp since he needs — wants — all the sleep he can get

junhui has also traveled into the year 3000

solely bc he heard his friend hansol play a song abt it

&& the lyrics mentioned smth abt ppl in that year living underwater

now, that lyric could’ve been entirely fictional, a result of merely observing the trend of global climate change

but, considering the world they all live in, it’s also plausible that at least one of the songwriters for that song is a time traveler

so, naturally, junhui wants to confirm it for himself

to his surprise (not really), they do live underwater by then

&& remember the flying cars ppl of the past collectively envisioned for the future?

they’re apparently floating vehicles instead, like submarines, which can give the impression that they’re flying

it’s actually pretty cool to see

almost like the future in meet the robinsons, but like . . . underwater

anw

junhui doesn’t just fact-checks the future or any future-related things, he also has a similar habit for the past

aside from making sure wtv he read abt in books are accurate, he also fancies seeing tourist spots in their young state — before the effect of time & tourists took a toll

just to name a few . . .

he went to see the great wall at its peak condition: complete & still intact

he had admired the taj mahal as a recently completed building

same goes for the eiffel tower & the entirety of intramuros

not to mention the not-yet-green statue of liberty

& disneyland, back when there were merely 20 attractions in the entire park

suffice to say, junhui enjoys his time traveling abilities to the fullest

despite not actually using it often

in fact, by this point in time, he hasn’t time traveled in a while: his last time jump being more than half a year ago

it was, if he remembers correctly, to visit the cats in ancient egypt

sure, he could’ve looked around for the pyramids too & the other wonders of ancient egypt, but he was literally just there for the cats

cause, yk, he just thought of them & how dissimilar they might be to modern-day cats

to no one’s surprise, there wasn’t any notable differences

so, yea

no other escapades followed after that trip

that is, until his post-9 pm self got better of him

wen junhui, like any other night prior, just wants to sleep

well, at least his body does

his mind, though . . . it seems like it has other plans

bc it just . . . wouldn’t . . . shut off

[i fcking hate it when that happens]

his brain, for wtv reason, just decided that it was the best time to think abt the future

not just any future, though: his future, specifically

sure, he has traveled to the future countless of times, but those trips were never to catch a glimpse of his own future life

partly bc he was never actually interested in knowing beforehand

but mostly bc he knew that the future isn’t exactly set in stone

sure, the near future might not change drastically when he decides not to eat his usual breakfast, but there’s no telling how much each choice dominos into the distant future

thus, it’s reasonable to assume that, just bc he sees it when he time travels, it doesn’t automatically mean that that’s how his future will play out exactly

really, a part of him just wants to stay cautious abt accidentally changing his future

‘cause he can totally see that happening:

after seeing how his life is in the future, he might potentially develop a conscious preference towards things that he thinks will build into the future he saw

not knowing that the decisions he made due to his hyperawareness actually altered how his future will eventually play out

wen junhui doesn’t want to experience that

like, at all

bc it’s def a recipe for disappointment & heartbreak

but, apparently, his brain begs to differ

bc it’s still trying to convince him that it wouldn’t hurt

to know how his life will going exactly 10 years from now

if anything, it might even provide some comfort . . . to know that, yk, he’ll be just fine 10 years from now

but at the same time,

what if he gets so obsessed w making sure he doesn’t change his future after he goes back to the present??

he would be so stressed for the next 10 years until his present finally catches up to the moment he time traveled to

oh heavens

junhui of the present just — quite literally — want to fcking sleep

so he tossed

and turned

blanket off

blanket on

one foot out

foot back in bc he remembered abt the monsters that might try to pull him by his leg

lie down on his stomach

lie down on his back

put one arm under his pillow

and—

nothing

absolutely nothing

he’s still wide awake

tragically

once he sees a semblance of sun rays through the window curtain, he defeatedly decided to compromise

and finally time traveled 10 years forward

truthfully, time traveling for wen junhui is v easy

at least after he mastered it

which took a bit ngl

he just has to think of time & place he wants to travel to, mean them, close his eyes, & let the magic do its thing

normally, he would open his eyes as soon as he feels like it was safe to do so

just to confirm that he did end up in the time & place he intended

but for this one specifically, he didn’t even want to bother confirming that he arrived at his destination

instead, he settled for accepting the different feeling of the sheets under him as such

contrast to how uncomfortable & hot his own bedsheets and blanket felt to him tonight,

the ones currently touching his skin felt comfortable & cool

aka literally the perfect recipe for sleep

junhui personally has been begging his body to sleep for hours now at this point

so after processing the sweet relief of comfortability, he basically knocked out cold almost instantly

[he was getting so frustrated—]

[i’m so happy for him *wipes tear*]

now, don’t get him wrong

he’s normally cautious whenever he time travels, esp if it’s within his lifetime

given that it’s a "special" circumstance of sorts

that shall be explained later . . . after he wakes up

he’s just really tired, okay?

let him be

let him discover how much he fcked up once he wakes up

from a deep sleep he so deserved

.

.

.

once junhui finally wakes up from his slumber, it took him a moment to remember what he did before he slept

still unaware of his night shenanigans & barely awake, he makes a beeline to the bathroom

except the path that normally takes him to the bathroom didn’t actually take him there

but rather to a closet that he doesn’t even recognize

undeterred, he turns & tries the second doorknob he grasps

thankfully, that door opens to reveal what he’s looking for: a bathroom

the harsh lighting essentially forces him to fully open his eyes

and he finally notices that there are two toothbrushes by the sink

he could’ve sworn he only has one toothbrush out of the box

so he absolutely has no idea which one he should use

much less why there are suddenly two in the first place

junhui decides to not think too much of it

and just takes the safest option: only using a mouthwash & moving onto the rest of his morning routine

he’s not abt to take a risk abt that yk

who knows what he uses the other toothbrush for that he just can’t remember atm

now refreshed & completely awake, he finally finally remembers what he did last night before he drifted off to sleep

he has time traveled 10 years forward

which means he’s currently in his body 10 years into the future

alright, guess this is the right second for a quick rundown of how time traveling works in this universe

if the time he wants to travel to is within his lifetime, his consciousness will enter his body during that time

which means he’s inside the time flow & whatever he does may impact the succeeding events

which also means he has to be extremely mindful

if the time he wants to travel to is outside his lifetime, may that be before or after, then he’s just . . . an entity with no actual form

like an invisible ghost

which means he’s outside the time flow & he’s free to say wtv & move whichever way he wants without bothering ppl

or even worrying abt accidentally altering the timeline

however, if he’s not skilled enough, he might accidentally manifest as a person that didn’t/doesn’t rlly exist during that particular time

which means that, once again, he’ll be inside the time flow when he shouldn’t be

actually, if he’s a seasoned enough traveler, anything is possible: he may still touch things without necessarily being inside the time flow, he may potentially alter the timeline without having a vessel, etc.

but anw

now, with all that knowledge in mind, wen junhui looks around with purpose

first he turns to the mirror to intently observe how he physically changed over the years

then, once satisfied, turns his attention to the bathroom itself: how he recognizes some of the brands but not exactly the packaging

and how painfully obvious it is that his future self shares the place with one other person

has inflation gotten so bad that he had to share his apartment w someone?

truthfully, he doesn’t rlly mind that

but it means his chances of getting caught are higher

esp if his flatmate happens to be home atm & he has no idea who they are

junhui takes it upon himself to explore his bedroom too

& look for clues abt who he might be living w

assuming that they are close enough, that is

it doesn’t take him that long to find what he’s seeking, thankfully

bc there are two framed decorations on his bedroom walls that basically answered all his current questions

one of which is an intimate wedding photograph of him and someone else

which means . . .

wen junhui of the future is fcking married

and his flatmate can only be his spouse

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

alright

now

it’d be a complete lie to say that wen junhui of the past anticipated that

bc he totally didn’t

and honestly, who can blame him?

dude doesn’t even have a significant other in his present

and, judging who he ends up marrying,

he hasn’t even met the person he ends up w yet

nor has he heard of them

bc he has yet to hear the name that he can only assume is theirs next to his on the other framed decoration

which has his name & [first name] in large print — surrounded by small handwritten messages

all of a sudden, junhui has more questions than what he started w prior to discovering the identity of his flatmate

how did they meet?

how long were they a couple before they wed?

how long have they been married at this point?

when did they marry?

when did they me—

and as if on cue, a soft knock resonated from the door,

instantly freezing junhui in place

followed by a: "jun, are you awake yet?"

thinking on his feet, junhui quickly busied himself w making the bed

so when the person who knocked inevitably opens the door, he can use it as an excuse

"oh, good. you’re up."

junhui immediately thought the picture has done you no justice as soon as you appeared by the doorway

he swears he even stops breathing for a sec after seeing you

"yea . . . i was just fixing the bed . . ."

he has no idea how he’s able to act like he didn’t just fall in love at first sight

but perhaps his fear of giving himself away is the one to thank

hopefully, his acting was convincing enough to foul you

not that he wants to lie to you or anything

he’s just being cautious bc he doesn’t know if his future self has let you onto his secret

and he certainly don’t wanna be the one responsible for that talk

"once you’re done, come join me for breakfast, yea?"

phew

it seems like you’re none the wiser

that’s good for him

now, all he has to do is to play along & not blow his cover

sounds easy enough

right?

right?

"ofc. lemme just grab my phone & we can head out tgt"

.

.

.

wrong!

bc, for one, he has no idea who you are

besides being his spouse, and your name,

and perhaps also how you physically look like,

junhui doesn’t know you

and what kind of husband doesn’t know anything abt his spouse???

not a good one, for starters

sigh

all of a sudden, he was so glad he bothered to take acting classes when he was younger

to be fair, he did take them to help him blend in whenever he wants to travel w a body rather than as a ghost

which is exactly what this situation is

except this one’s a bit different . . . in a way

‘cause now he gets to use it to keep his marriage intact

and for the sake of his future, he needs to not mess it up

no pressure at all ammirite

[pumpkinbxtch]

𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗰𝘃𝘀! ᯓᡣ𐭩

— leo valdez x f!reader

radiostar is playing… cvs by winnetka bowling league!

warnings: none a/n: based on a song that is one of my all-time favorites. This is because our Leo won the poll!

𝐋eo's hair fluttered in the wind as he urged Festus with kicks to go faster, all because he was running late, like really freaking late. The brunette bit his lip as he saw the time on the clock at the back of his bronze dragon's head, and sensing his owner's urgency, Festus let out a huff mixed with a metallic whine.

— She's gonna kill me — he exclaimed, and the mechanical beast growled, steering in an unexpected direction. Apparently, Festus wanted to stop, which Leo thought was the worst timing. — Buddy, not now!

Ignoring him, they ended up right in front of a CVS. What would the parking lot folks think? With any luck, they’d assume Leo had just hopped out of a monster truck, as the dragon's height was the only thing that might make sense to normal mortals.

— What? Is your paw hurting, man? This isn't even for you!

But that wasn't Festus's aim. Now, the dragon felt like the only intelligent being around, though there was no way to tell Leo, no time. He nudged him towards the automatic doors, hoping the son of Hephaestus would be smart enough to figure it out like he always did with Festus’s unspoken needs.

— But... — Leo started to turn around, and the dragon growled, puffing out a bit of hot smoke that made Leo close his eyes in resignation. All he got from that was something like, "Get going, man, hurry up!" So not knowing exactly what for, he went in anyway.

And, oh, god bless CVS.

Right at the entrance was a display with last-minute items. Leo grabbed a heart-shaped box of chocolates and some flowers and the boy ended up clutching them tightly to his chest as Festus managed the speed.

— Thanks, bro – ah! Slow down a bit, I want to get there alive!

Once again, the dragon ignored him, but at least Leo wasn't even later. He hopped off half a block away and walked with the gifts still pressed to his chest. His heart raced even more when he saw you sitting under a tree, reading with headphones on, noticing how you furrowed your brow from a distance.

— Oh, holy Hephaestus — Leo muttered a few meters from you, hiding the chocolates and flowers behind his back, trying to pull off a casual smile.

It wasn’t until his Converse shoes peeked out from under your book that you looked up. He was a mess, his hair all over the place, and you could tell he had taken the fast route, with leaves and trash stuck in his curly hair.

— Hey, babe — he said with a wide smile, trying to keep it casual. You shook your head with puffed cheeks, and he slumped his shoulders, knowing you were mad. But his despair didn't last long as he remembered his ace up his sleeve (or Festus’s paw).

Your boyfriend revealed the gifts and knelt to offer them as if they were the world’s greatest treasures. He had never done something like this, and it seemed fitting since you had just talked about something similar in front of the bronze dragon with a friend of yours. Of course, Festus had been in luggage mode at the time, so no one suspected anything.

— From me, to you, my sweet angel — Leo said with a radiant smile, his cheeks starting to blush. You smiled, took off your headphones, and accepted the gifts, smelled the roses and looked at the box of chocolates. Your boyfriend thought he was in the clear when you gave him a small kiss on the lips. But then, while stroking his hair and giving him another one on the cheek, you whispered in his ear.

— Tell Festus thanks, love. I forgive him. But not you.

[synergysilhouette]

Changes I'd make to Tim Drake (Warning: may be controversial)

As my favorite Robin, I've needed to make this post for a long time. I know my opinions may not be agreed upon, but I hope my dedication is still appreciated, nonetheless.

He isn't dragged for his superhero goals--Any poor mistake that DC makes, they decide to pin it on him having poor judgement, which is really unfair. As many things that get ignored/retconned (even if they arguably shouldn't be, depending on the subject), it feels bizarre to drag Tim for things like his ill-fated "Drake" costume and era, especially when it was walked back on so quickly. On top of this, people seem to look down on him for genuinely enjoying being Robin. Robin wasn't always a move on position, per se; Dick had been Robin for consecutive decades before deciding he wanted something different, while Jason was murdered and became someone else as a reflection of this. Tim became Robin because he saw that Batman NEEDED him, and deduced Batman and the previous Robin's identities on his own. If he wants to do stop being Batman's partner (or sidekick, depending on perspective), it should be his own choice, not everyone else saying "this was a temp job and you're out."

He has his own unique color, costume, and maybe even codename--Even if he remains by Batman's side, Tim deserves to be distinct; his codename and color scheme are shared with all his brothers, and it doesn't do much for him. I'd definitely prefer a cowless take on his Savior costume (unsure about the codename; it feels a bit too on-the-nose, but it also feels like it represents his need to help others) or bring back his N52 Red Robin suit WITH the wings as well as making him the brother in purple, which goes well with the Batfamily's aesthetic as well as signifying his romance with Stephanie and friendship with Bunker.

He's going for a psyche major--I feel like this fits so well with his motivations. It's weird that the Batfamily doesn't put more stock in studying psychology outside of Harley (who rarely uses this skill, much to my chagrin). Tim wants what's best for everyone, and became a hero in order to help people. He isn't simply trying to stop problems, but prevent them and make Gotham a better place for everyone. While he can still go for a cyber-related degree (I don't remember his exact major), I'd prefer he also go for a degree that furthers his desire to understand and improve others, plus it's good to help him better understand himself as well.

He isn't bi--Hate me if you must. I'm a gay guy, and I just didn't vibe with this reveal. During the mid-2000s, it was stated by one of his artists that he and the writers kind of already saw Tim as bi, though DC never made this canon until 2021. As far as I know (as a 2010s comic person), it never seemed like DC was keen to lean into LGBT sexuality for Tim, and given that they've been treating him poorly post-N52, it feels like this was a random "let's find a way to make Tim as popular as his brothers" by making him stand out in a way that they didn't. I know this is a bold claim, but this is a feeling I've had for a while now, especially since his personal life now mainly revolves around Bernard (personal bias, but I'm usually not a fan of heroes dating non-heroes; I'd prefer him with Bunker--or Connor, if he's romantically into guys). And they haven't done him many favors since; DC infamously described him as the "always-online bisexual" in a now deleted tweet embodies my concern that they're just defining him by his sexuality now, as well as a solo comic with horrendous art for most of the run. If Jason or Damian were depicted as bi (with the latter being the least controversial choice, imo, given his younger tenure in comics and romantic life not as fleshed out), I'm almost sure they'd be better handled, probably because they've been better handled as characters in recent years. Overall, I found Tim's retcon of sexuality unnecessary (yet when we have bi characters such as Ghostmaker who were LGBT from the get-go and don't get nearly as much attention) and overall used as a metaphor for his "indecisiveness" at making decisions that DC forced onto him.

He still has a (biological) family and life--A big problem with writers and artists is that they sometimes have a problem with trying to make the 4 Robins identical in appearence and lives. Unlike Jason and Dick, Tim wasn't an orphan adopted by Bruce, not originally anyway. He had his own life and chose to be part of Bruce's world, and the need to make him an orphan with pretty much nothing going on in his civilian life (is he still an Olympic-level gymnast? Kinda love the idea that he takes time off for "me time" here and there and that's when Damian or another Batfam member jumps in). Let him have friends and family as Tim Drake, not just as Robin. Let Bruce be his dad without killing off his biological one. Let Tim have autonomy and individuality!

More A-list connections--This is being petty, but most of his friends are next-gen people with no major stuff going on for themselves, just like him. Surrounding yourself with important people can help you become important, too. I'm not telling friends to drop his friend groups (him and Conner have one of the best male homosocial relationships in comics and it sucks how it got overshadowed by Damian and Jon), but giving him more relationships with well-known characters could help his status. I have similar feelings for Starfire (we need more of her friendship and Superman).

Never lose sight of who he is--The idea with Tim (at least from what I've absorbed) is that he's the most optimistic, maybe even naive, version of Dick, committed to wanting to help people and support them, and not one to brush them off of devalue them. He's got a heart, not just a brain, and I like to consider him one of the glue sticks that holds the family together. He doesn't need to be edgy or cool in the way that Damian and Jason are, nor should he be reduced to a sex object like Dick (which is another post entirely).