#anybody remember the chapter/sketch?

[southsidestory]

Chapter 3: Model Behavior

“Ian? What are you doing here?”

He pushes his way into the Milkovich house and straight to Mickey’s bedroom. It looks the same as he remembers, apart from a couple new posters on the walls and more dirty clothes on the floor.

Ian digs through Mickey’s side table. Wrinkled porn mags, brass knuckles, a cracked pen that spilled red ink everywhere, a Polaroid of Mickey smashing Iggy’s face into the sidewalk. Junk on junk on junk. Ian rips out the drawers, scattering Mickey’s macho armor across the carpet in pieces.

“Ian! You can’t do this! Mickey will kill you for real this time.”

He turns to Mandy, and a shout sinks down his throat. Fear rings around her as loud as if she screamed it. A terrified girl is hard to stay angry at.

“You owe me,” Ian says. “You lied to your brothers, they kicked Lip’s ass and mine over it, and you never even apologized.”

Mandy crosses her arms over her chest, shoulders hunched. “Yeah, I lied, and I wish I hadn’t, but that doesn’t mean I should let you rip apart Mickey’s room.”

“Leave. If anybody asks afterward, pretend you didn’t run into me at all.”

“You don’t get it! Mickey will—”

“I get it.” Ian points at the brass knuckles. “I know what I’m doing, Mandy. If you feel even a little bit bad about telling everybody I’m a rapist, just go.”

Mandy backs out of the room, shaking her head. “It’s your funeral.”

“Promise to bring flowers, but not carnations. They smell like old people.”

When she smiles, she really is pretty. “I’ll bring, like, roses. Or lilies.”

“Roses and lilies. Works for me.”

“Not like you’d know, since you’ll be dead and all.”

After she leaves, Ian picks up a crumpled ball of notebook paper from the floor. He forces it open and finds exactly what he expects: a page of Mickey’s doodles. A football, a baseball, a woman’s torso with enormous tits.

Predictable, except for the drawing of a boy’s hand with a big palm and long, freckled fingers. It’s familiar right down to the shape of the nail beds. Ian glances between his own right hand and the sketch.

Perfect match.

Read all of Chapter 3 on AO3

Start If You Have a Problem from Chapter 1

***

AN: Maybe Michelangelo Milkovich shouldn't have left that sketch lying around...

As always, ty @bawlbrayker and @hamspamandjamsandwich, the best of betas, for all your support and guidance 💖

[yourboyfriendsbodyguard]

Commissions Are Open

I know I haven't posted a single chapter of All Of Your Colours yet, but I do have the next chapter finished. I just need to edit before I post it…

But for the time being, I would like to proudly announce that my commissions are open! I don't know if any of you guys remember my prices, but I do have an Artistree account if you guys want to go see my work and judge for yourselves. I'm currently opening up a cheaper option for anybody interested, and it will be mostly sketches. Let me know what you guys think, I’ll post my Artistree account right here and link it so that if you're interested and want to help me out, you can just come and leave a request with me. Around a good chunk of the commission money does go to me, the artist, with this site and I was going to use whatever money I make from the commissions to pay for my bus fare to and from work, as well as food. (And if I have extra I can finally pay to get the updated Your Boyfriend Game, I only have Day 1 and Day 2.)

I wanted to be honest with you guys and let you know what your money is going towards, I'm a little low on funds right now, especially with the way the economy is here in Canada, but any little bit helps. That's why I'm trying to make sure I have at least the cheapest option available to be able to help anybody who wants an art piece or an art Commission of anything they want.

Of course within limits…

I do have things that I morally cannot and will not bring myself to draw not even for all the money in the world.

So yeah there will be a special section though for those who want a specific commission for the Your Boyfriend fandom, so just let me know, send me a DM, send me a quick message if you need to, or you know share with your friends or anyone you know that wants a commission. I'm pretty fast with my art requests, especially since I have insomnia and haven't been able to sleep properly in weeks, again any help is welcomed, if not, just for blogging this is also really helpful for me. Thank you again for everything, and for reading this as well as the fanfic. Thank you for always supporting me, and for all your asks, Anonymous or not.

Sending you all my love, thank you for your support!

[plaguedoctorate]

Weathervane: Chapter 1

~| Tired Beginnings |~

It was a wonder that Vera Wilson Roberts had not had the shit beaten out of her yet.

In any American high school movie, she would already be locked into a toilet stall as several tall white boys laughed pretentiously as her shrieks got progressively higher.

Hell, she would’ve bullied herself.

Plenty of things to make fun of; her flat chest, her dark skin, her lack of right arm, her messy hair, the dark speckles of stubble clinging to her chin even after her best efforts with a razor.

But nobody seemed to really care at this school.

I guess there are weirder. She thought, walking past a group of young, greasy-looking students with redder eyes than white, staggering out of the bike shed and mumbling vague biblical teachings.

The walls of the school were bleak and grey, the boards that made up the floor scuffed and long without shine. Vera had no idea how people could ever exist in this place without being incredibly depressed, let alone learn.

This was the first time she had been in a school for five years. It was nothing like she remembered. Homeschooling had been fun, her mother was a good teacher, perhaps the best. If Vera was feeling off, because of oestrogen or any other reason, they would have a day off. Perhaps they would visit a forest, or the ocean, or go into a city. Or they wouldn’t do any of that and waste the day away with the back doors of the caravan open to the sky with a pile of books and a Hozier playlist.

Either way, she had enjoyed it. Schoolwork was easy, and she finished it fast. However, this new strict seven periods of pressure and anxiety, accompanied with homework, were not something she thought she’d take to so easily.

First period was alright. So was second, and third, and fourth, and fifth, and sixth, and seventh. It was all ‘alright’. Introduction were finished, no one had even given her a second glance, everyone seemed content to call her a girl and ignore her prosthetic.

And so that’s what she told her mother, washing the dishes as the sun pushed rosy rays through the windows of the caravan.

“Oh honey, don’t say that! I’m sure they’ll be something entertaining that happens in the future.”

“Nah.” Vera pulled her stuff out of her schoolbag, dumping it on the sofa and flipping open her notepad. “It’s gonna be like an endless loop. An endless purgatory of alright.”

Her mum smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that friendly way that always made Vera feel safe. “Tell you what. After this week is over, shall we go out of town for a bit? I saw that there’s this lovely forest a little north from here.”

Vera sighed. “Maybe. I’m not really sure we’ll be able to because of homework.”

She contorted her face in disgust. “Yeuch. Homework. I never liked it at all. What’s even the point of taking all that stress back to your home? It can’t help anyone.”

“I agree. But we can’t do much about it just now.” She pulled out her pencil and started to sketch.

There was no sound except the splashing of water and the clinking of plates.

“So…” Vera sighed. She knew what was coming. “Have you…talked to anyone? Got to get to know anybody?”

“No.”

Her mother winced. “Vera, love…now that we’re staying in one place, at least for the foreseeable future…you’ve got to make friends. Talk to people.”

“Mmhmm.”

Her mother splashed her with water from the sink. “Come on. You know what I’m talking about. I got the job at the local newspaper, and I’ve got my eye on a flat nearby. We’ll be here for a pretty long time. It’s important to make friends.”

Vera made a noncommittal gesture. “I get it. Let me settle in then I’ll start making friends.”

“Sounds good to me, love. And who knows.” She winked. “You might even get yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mum!”

She grinned. “You never know. I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re a lovely young lady.”

Vera withheld a snarky remark, reabsorbing herself in the pages of her sketchbook. This one was half full already, but there were another three completely stuffed ones in one of the drawers under her bed.

The evening wandered on, with Vera’s mother driving them to the car park next to the woods, opening the back to allow fresh air and birdsong to flow through their wheeled home. The soft chords of Cherry Wine mingled with the scent of curry and chicken, cooked over a low heat on a small stove.

Vera had sketched the figure of a fox below a sprawling oak, said tree not far from her perch on the top bed, but the fox a figment of her imagination, a splash of flame red amidst the browns and greens. In her mind, the fox was a lonely shapeshifter who lived deep in the woods, with wild ginger hair and a lanky frame when they were human.

They’re probably autistic. Yeah. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?

“Vera!”

She felt the bed dip as her mother crawled up next to her, her apron stained with a few smears of orange powder. She smiled as she handed Vera a steaming bowl of curry, tucking a piece of pitta alongside it.

Vera shifted to the side, leaving the notepad and pencil on her pillow, allowing her mother to carefully place a tray down, on which were balanced two glasses of water and her mother’s bowl.

As Vera moved her bowl back to the tray, her mother leaned across and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. Vera recoiled; dramatic disgust etched all over her face. Her mother laughed, long and loud.  

“Sorry, darling. You looked so gorgeous in the moonlight.”

Vera snorted. “Sure.” She paused, watching the steam from the curry fog up her mother’s glasses, resting among her dark curls. “What’s all this for?”

Her mother smiled gently. “The fireflies.” She pointed out toward the wood, the oak tree and the sequined skies beyond. “I saw about them in the local newspaper; ‘Fireflies Spotted In Halloway Woods: First In Over Twenty Years.’ Isn’t that amazing? Just in time for us.”

Her mouth twisted into a smile. “I doubt it’s us, but that does sound nice.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the clinking of bowls and last echoes of late-night birdsong, until specks on light flickered into fiery life deep in the woods. Her mother gasped quietly, as Vera sighed, retaining the quiet curling around them like fog.

The fireflies drifted through the woods, their light ever-thrumming like the beating of hearts. There was no purpose, no goal to the insects, just the lighting of the path and the journeys of tiny travellers.

Open hand or closed fist would be fine

The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.

[melodylandmouse]

Welcome to another installment of Mumble taking L's in age-old ways! Squashed & Stretched Too Far! ~ Page 6 Full Resolution Prev // FULL COMIC! // Next

Anybody else remember my cringe squeak nae nae comic?? Yeah me neither! (Get caught up with the excitable link above, but beware the 5+ year old art.)

I Cannot promise regular updates given the sheer number of curveballs life throws at me these days, but next page is already half-sketched and I Do plan to finish both this chapter and the next if it's the last thing I do so !! we'll see how that goes HGSDUILHGSD

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Thursday, January 11

Buffy: So what's the scuttlebutt? Anybody besides Larry fit our werewolf profile? Willow: There is one name that keeps getting spit out. Aggressive behavior, run-ins with authorities, about a screenful of violent incidents. Buffy: Okay, most of those were not my fault. Somebody else started 'em. I was just standing up for myself.

~~Phases~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

One Last Feast (Scoobies, K+) by Apache Firecat

Crossroads (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by VeroNyxK84

Daily Drabble #6: Magnetism (Angel/Spike, G) by MadeInGold

A Morning After (Buffy/Spike, M) by TwilightChild

Prowling the PleasureScapes (Spike/Oz, M) by teddyscott

[Chaptered Fiction]

Three Little Words, Chapter 6 (Buffy/Spike, AO) by Maxineeden

A Darkened Night of the Soul, Chapter 27 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by In Mortal

Bonds of Shadows, Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by Chewbacha

Pack My Box with Five Dozen Liquor Jugs, Chapter 11 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by honeygirl51885

A Waxy Gent Chuckled Over My Fab Jazzy Quips, Chapter 11 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13) by violettathepiratequeen

The Vision Quest, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by acb6293

What If Love Was Enough?, Chapter 9 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Spikelover4ever

Who's Pole?, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Desicat

To All We Guard, Chapter 14 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by simmony

Unforeseeable Paths, Chapter 14 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Axell

Crash and Burn, Chapter 29 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by NautiBitz

The Circle of Scooby, Chapter 13 (Crossover with Lazarus Long Books, FR15) by redjacobson

Healing After Heaven, Chapter 18 (Crossover with Highlander, FR13) by Kate

A Breath is But a Soundless Whisper, Chapter 13 (Buffy/Spike, 18+) by Blackoberst

What the Drabble?, Chapter 67 (Buffy/Spike, R) by VeroNyxK84

Overboard!, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by bookishy

Other, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Grief Counseling

Love Lives Here, Chapter 7 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Passion4Spike

Origins, Chapter 53 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Niamh

I Do!, Chapter 18 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Dusty

[Images, Audio & Video]

Manip:Ain’t no king, man, she’s my queen by satinsafe

Artwork:[Spike sketch] by isevery0nehereverystoned

Artwork:Spike Nouveau by riskpig

Artwork:[Buffy tarot cards] by genericaces

Artwork: 6.08 “Tabula Rasa” by whatisyourchildhoodtrauma

Icons: Cordelia Chase by slashericons

Gifset:I've hired myself out as an attraction. by thepunkmuppet

Gifset:season seven > dawn summers by starryeyesxx

Gifset:Post-Break Up Bangel Remembering by bangelgifs

Gifset:btvs movie posters: spuffy edition (part seven) by spuffygifs

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Gifset:Anthony Head in Buffy The Vampire Slayer S1.4 by 51kas81

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Video: Buffy, The Vampire Slayer - The Heart Never Learns by Boo Harder

Video: Buffy/Cordelia | Hero [BTVS] by Light

Video: normal again edit by d4untl3ss_c4k3

[Reviews & Recaps]

[Rewatch update] by coraniaid

Help your friends with their bad ideas... | Buffy the Vampire Slayer 5x17 "Forever" | Reaction! by The Normies

I'm traumatized 🫣 Buffy The Vampire Slayer S07E03 'Same Time, Same Place''♡Reaction & Review♡ by SoFieReacts

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Podcast: Effectively Priced - Angel S05E13 - Why We Fight by Pop Culture Role Call

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[Community Announcements]

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[serafiel-jacobs]

Lustful Jealousy (Fanfic)

New chapter from my main series 🩷

January 15th 18XX

Dorian was actually surprised at the fact that the puppet had artistic talent, he had given him a small canvas on which he had already sketched a simple forest, and Pinocchio was following his instructions perfectly well; although he made a few mistakes along the way he quickly picked up on them, Dorian felt an intense amount of jealousy, other artists were prodigies from a young age, yet it took him until his mid-teens to form his craft and yet this puppet that has only existed for a year manages to do what it took him years to do so, Geppetto must be proud of his invention skills.

How can he not be jealous? The puppet has talent in music and painting not to mention how extremely handsome he is, although with his mannerisms Pinocchio is more cute than anything. Dorian leans in closer as Pinocchio is painting, sliding his hand underneath his hair to play with it.

Pinocchio feels a shiver going down his spine, he doesn’t understand why, he likes it when others play with his hair, but something felt different this time.

“Tell me Pinocchio… how have you been told how beautiful you look before?” Dorian asks in a quiet voice, as he leans in closer to him.

“Um… my mother says I’m very handsome”

Dorian gave out a small laugh, he is so innocent, so naive, so stupid.

“Yes but, has anybody that isn’t part of your family told you that? With your looks, I’m sure others are flocking to be at your side”

Gemini also sensed something was wrong, he wanted to assume the best in others but it felt like Dorian’s questions weren’t as innocent as they seemed.

“Well sure he is pretty, but with how much of a brat he is it’s hard to stand him,” Gemini said to try to lighten up the mood.

“Gemini!” Pinocchio got up, making Dorian have to back away from him. Pinocchio shook Gemini’s cage, “I’m NOT a brat!”

“Are you sure about that?” Gemini was dizzy, but at least he saw that his friend felt calmer.

That stupid cricket, Dorian cursed him, he needs to think of a way to get rid of it, or to separate them. Dorian then gets an idea, and he gets closer again, “Mmm Gemini you are very beautiful yourself, why not try and have Pinocchio paint you?” Although he found Gemini extremely annoying, Dorian couldn’t deny that inside of the cage, the cricket looked lovely, while simple, the design had a lot of charm and care in it, Geppetto sure does love to add detail to all of his creations.

Pinocchio was so excited at the idea, and Dorian picked and made the sketch, his two guests were now completely distracted from talking to each other, now that they had lowered their guards, it was all a matter of them going along their talk, and forgetting that he is behind them.

“Who knew that you were such a fast learner? It’s impressive, although I still remember the first time you upgraded your body, you shaking like a leaf”

“I was just nervous because father wasn’t there but I totally knew how to do it by myself”

“Wait, really?” Now that Gemini thinks about Pinocchio tends to learn stuff rather easily, “By just watching him?”

“Yeah, I just had to see him touch my heart here and there, and I learned how to upgrade it and stuff, Plus you know, all that Ergo we collected made things easier”

Mmm Ergo, Dorian obviously knows about it, it’s best described as the essence of one’s soul, he should know as he likes to collect it as well. All those years ago when he made that deal with that demon in exchange for his beauty; he must give Ergo to the demon he once summoned, if he didn’t then his looks would be taken away from him, at first it was tedious to kill those people for their Ergo but he got used to it, and he began to experiment with it, he found that Ergo could give more life to his paintings, it made them even more special, so he has his own special tools to use the ergo he has collected for his paintings.

Well, this is just perfect, Dorian already knows what to do, take out his heart and find a way to make it his own, he would finally get what he wanted and get rid of the demands of that pesky demon. Although all of this ends up reminding Dorian that he hasn’t given the demon Ergo and his deadline is approaching, Dorian has been having a hard time killing since Jack the Ripper was active, any suspicious behavior and he was done for, and when he did manage to kill someone he took the Ergo for his paintings. But thankfully the killer was caught, how incompetent they must have been to get caught so easily.

“Hey, Pinocchio don’t say that!” Gemini chirped louder, and Pinocchio turned around to look at Dorian Gray who was looking outside from a window.

“Oh? I’m so sorry I wasn’t paying attention, my mind was somewhere else, how rude of me” Dorian Gray smiled, “I invited you here and I’m not being a proper host or teacher, let me see how your painting is doing”

It was going along well, and Dorian continued along with his lessons, when it was all done Pinocchio was excitedly talking about showing his work to his father, Dorian listened to him, as he grabbed the painting of Gemini with his hands.

“How wonderful, it looks just like him” The colors perfectly reflected the essence of Gemini, in the grand scheme of things, it wasnt as wonderful as he was praising it to be, but he couldn't deny the care and love that went into it, and it only made things easier for him.

“Now, your father will pick you up soon, why don’t we talk while we wait for him?” Dorian makes small talk with him, at first he finds Pinocchio extremely annoying but he is starting to like how cute he is, it’s such a shame how he would have to kill him, it would have been nice to at least keep him as a pet.

As they talked, Dorian grabbed his own brush and began to add details to the painting of Gemini, he made an excuse that he was just adding something to make it even better, the truth is, he was using Ergo to enchant it, once he was done, he had to see if it had worked, as he had never used it in nonhumans, and the flick of his hand, Gemini’s lamp was turned off, the mechanical bug finally being quiet.

“Gemini? Gemini what’s wrong?!” Pinocchio was panicking, he took a closer look at the lamp, Gemini wasn’t moving, he looked as if he was asleep and couldn’t wake him up.

“It could be that he had a malfunction, oh dear, I hope you didn’t shake him too hard”

Pinocchio started crying, he thought that he had hurt his friend, and Dorian was giving him reassuring words, saying that his father surely would fix him.

“Pinocchio you love your father a lot, don’t you? Why don’t we make a painting just for him?”

“I… would like that,” Pinocchio said in between a few sobs.

“The day after tomorrow you are going to come here and we are going to have our lesson just as planned, but at night, I want you to come here alone, without Gemini”

“But-“

“And you can’t tell your father about this, it would ruin the surprise, come on Pinocchio, that day is our last day together, just imagine the face your father will make when he sees the gift you made just for him”

Pinocchio still let out a few sobs but nodded, he did want to make his father happy, Gemini is right, he is a dumb brat and he needs to find a way to make it up to his father, and he has to apologize to Gemini.

Dorian grabbed Pinocchio’s face and wiped away a few of his tears, and he admired the boy’s pretty face, his eyes, and his strangely colored hair that just made him more unique, his eyes.

His lips…

Pinocchio felt how Dorian pushed him towards him, kissing him, it was so fast that he wasn’t able to process it, yet when he was done Pinocchio started shaking, something felt wrong, that didn’t feel right but Mr. Gray was probably just trying to cheer him up so it was probably all in his head, right, he is just trying to make him feel better because he is crying, that’s all.

“That’s our little secret” Dorian Gray whispered in his ear.

Thankfully for Pinocchio, his father had just arrived, he rushed towards him and hugged him, crying about how he accidentally broke Gemini, while the two of them were distracted Dorian used his power to turn on the cricket again.

Gemini was confused he didn’t understand what happened, he went into his rest mode but that didn’t make sense, he felt completely fine before. Pinocchio was profusely apologizing to him, but it didn’t make sense, his shaking his cage surely wouldn’t break it, he got tossed around a few times while battling with Pinocchio, small shakes like that were nothing, something weird was going on.

Geppetto was also confused, he examined Gemini and couldn’t find anything wrong with him, but he said that he would take a closer look back at the Hotel, he assured his son that everything would be fine, and to not be too hard on himself, Geppetto was sure that his son had nothing to do with the malfunction after all. To make him feel better he praised his paintings, after all, they were beautiful and he was impressed, he was proud of his son.

As they were leaving Pinocchio caught that Dorian had given him a small wink, he still felt guilty and he wanted to make his father happy and proud, that painting would be perfect, and his father could hang the painting next to Carlo’s portrait and everything will be even better.

He only needs to push away those feelings of anxiety, Mr. Gray is clearly his friend, he has done a lot for him even if they just met, he needs to stop getting anxious so easily.

If Mr, Gray is his friend then he wouldn’t hurt him, friends don’t hurt each other like that, so he has to trust him.

[imashoe69420]

Those Eyes: Rise! Leo x OC

Chapter 4

^^ A quick sketch of Lala and her “cabbage” hoodie lmfao

Warning ⚠️: mild language, parental manipulation

Recap:

He sighs, annoyed. “Fine. I will give you a reward if you complete this mission.” The man points at my neck where the metal ring around it glistens in the moonlight.

“If you complete this mission, I will take that thing off. For good.”

• • •

I try to remain stoic, but I can’t help but bug my eyes out.

Taking this thing off… for good? I’m not even sure what it does or why it’s there in the first place. Do I even want to know what happens? What if nothing happens at all?

“Wait, seriously?” I furrow my eyebrows.

The Lieutenant nods. “When you bug them, our mission will be nearly complete. We will have all the armor pieces and we will need you at your fullest potential.”

“What even is my ‘fullest potential’? I’ve had this thing on since I was little and no one has ever told me why it’s there.” I stare up at him, hoping to receive the answers I’ve been wanting for years.

Once again, I don’t get them.

“It’s the reason why you’re my best asset. You will know when you complete your mission. Will you do it?”

“I…” Is this really worth it…? Am I willing to be let down again? But maybe the Lieutenant is right and I do have some sort of power.

I hope he’s telling me the truth.

* * *

6:30AM

The next morning, I can barely keep my eyes open to turn off my alarm. I returned to my apartment at about 3AM with school being five (5) hours later.

I’m an idiot for that, but I don’t have anything big going on today anyways.

Crawling out of my bed, I take a step onto the floor and instantly recoil in pain. “God fuckin’…”

I look down at the floor and see the one thing I didn’t want to see first thing in the morning:

The Bug.

It must’ve fallen out of my jacket pocket when I threw it on the floor last night.

I pick it up and place it on my night stand before throwing off my sheets and getting ready for eight (8) hours of hell.

* * *

First and second period are blurs. I tried to brush it off this morning, but I can’t stop thinking about the Bug.

And Leo.

Everything about this feels so wrong. Like, I feel grimy like I haven’t showered in weeks. Why is this eating at me the way it is? Leo—and the other turtles—are supposed to be our enemies. But when I think of enemies, I think of my 5th grade class: pathetic people who can’t own their shit in fear of taking responsibility for their actions. Not Leo.

At least in our exchange last night, he was pleasant. When I punched him on accident, he wasn’t angry at me.

“God, you have a hellva right hook.”

Not even a groan or swearing. He was sarcastic, funny. Almost everything I said, he had a quip or joke or light tease for. I’ve never met anybody like that.

But I don’t know him. That was our only interaction, so why do I feel like I’ve known him forever? Like I’m betraying him?

“Lala,” my science teacher whom I haven’t bothered to remember the name of taps my shoulder, “class is dismissed.”

I look around to see an empty classroom and a few students trickle in for their third period class. I scoop up my backpack and speed-walk out of the classroom, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Third and fourth period fly by like I had wished they would. Now I can go to the library and finally focus on something other than Foot Clan bullshit. I’ve been reading a series about space lesbians. I wouldn’t characterize myself as such, but they are interesting to read about.

Soon, I feel myself begin to drift in and out of the middle place between being awake and sleep, barely able to keep my place. I cross my arms on the desk and rest my head against them prepared to just rest my eyes for a bit.

~~~~~

I walked down the street on my way home texting the Lieutenant of my location. My phone dings loudly, causing my ears to ring. I fumble the phone until it lands face down on the ground.

When I turn it over, it’s shattered, but somehow I already knew it was.

What shocked me was the caller ID had changed.

It was Leo.

I try to answer his call, but I have no bars.

“A mountain…” I said slowly before looking around and spotting a hill. I climbed on top of it and held my phone into the air.

Suddenly, the Leo’s caller ID popped up again.

I answered it. “Leo! I’ve been trying to call you but you—”

“Lala, don’t turn around.” A voice said, but it wasn’t Leo’s voice. “Don’t turn around!” He said this over and over again before the call dropped.

Despite his warning, I turned around and saw a future, but I didn’t know which.

It was me.

But it wasn’t… me.

I was in a Foot uniform with Foot soldiers by my side. I had a wide smirk on my face, and point towards the present me.

My heart began pounding as we stared at each other before the floor beneath me opened and I fell through into a dark pit of nothingness.

~~~~~~

I shoot awake, my heart still pounding.

What the hell was that…?

It’s been a while since I’ve had a dream like that in years, but it was different. The “future” me was lit by blue fire and my eyes radiated a light blue as well. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I wasn’t afraid of her like I was with the Foot one.

And why would Leo call me? I don’t even have his number or any sort of communication with him. Why is he even in my dreams?

I shake my head as the lunch bell rings and I head to the cafeteria.

* * *

Thank-fuckin’-god this day is over! I couldn’t stand those preppy kids their mocks toward me for being a freshman for much longer.

At my apartment, I enter my bedroom and crash onto my bed, sleep quickly overcoming me. I wake up about five (5) hours later and notice The Lieutenant had pinged me an hour or so ago, then thirty (30) minutes ago, and then fifteen (15) minutes.

He’s probably gonna make me patrol the city to look for the turtles as he had said he would last night, but for some reason, I feel hesitant about going for the first time in a while.

*Third Person POV*

Leo sat up and yawned loudly as he awoke from his twelve (12) hour slumber. He was hungry, so he sluggishly made his way to the kitchen.

As he was walking, he heard commotion going on in his destination and decided to ear-hustle.

“I mean, who would he even see? We don’t know anybody else besides April.” He heard his oldest brother, Raph, say.

“Yeah, but what if he knows someone we don’t? I mean, none of us have gone out alone for that long. What else could he be doing?” Mikey snitched Leo out.

“Mikey, I think you’re overthinking this.” Raph denied him. “If Leo was talking to someone else besides us or April, he would let his brothers know… right?”

Donnie sighed, exasperated by the conversation. “Why are we even talking about this? Whatever Leo is doing shouldn’t concern us. Besides, we should be worrying about this thing.” The purple clad turtle opened his hand to reveal the armor piece they’d stolen from The Foot two (2) days before. “It’s energy levels are impeccable; I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Leo retreated back to his bedroom after his brothers stopped talking about him. At least he knew that Raph and Donnie didn’t believe Mikey. The last thing he wanted was all his brothers interrogating him. What would he even say? “Hey, guys, you remember that girl I saved oh-so bravely two (2) days ago? Yeah, I went all over the city looking for her and talked to her for all of ten (10) seconds before she ran off.” Of course not, he’d look like a stalker. Or an idiot. Or an idiot-stalker. All of those he didn’t want to be.

“Leo!” Raph seemed to always yell for him at an unreasonably long distance. “We’re on the move. Come to the Turtle Tank.”

The blue clad turtle quickly made his way over to his brothers to go on another mission.

• • •

L͟a͟l͟a͟’̲s͟ P͟.̲O͟.̲V͟.̲

As I had originally thought, the Lieutenant wants me to patrol. Not for the turtles, though. He wants me to scout a building to make sure it’s closed and everybody has left. Is it for the armor or paper again? I have no clue. I didn’t have the energy to fight for an answer from him today.

I stay posted on a rooftop a couple buildings away after I had cleared the building in question. The street lights cast onto the empty street below, but the alleys stay as pitch black as the night. They remind me of my dream earlier today, and I swear I see the “future” me staring up at me in the corner of my eye. I focus onto the alley, but there’s no one there.

The dream has left me in my head all day. That and the Bug. I had looked up what my dream meant while coming over here. Apparently my communication is stunted and I haven’t been listening to myself. In my opinion, there isn’t any room for that.

I don’t remember my life before The Foot. As I’ve said before, I only remember the fifth (5th) grade incident. The Lieutenant had told me I’d been with them since I was a toddler, but nothing more than that. I often fantasized about what my parents would’ve been like. What if I had siblings? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins? I get the feeling that I will never know.

I say this to day that I’ve been under someone’s control for my whole life. I am only a child in the Lieutenant’s eyes, therefore I must listen to him and never trust my adolescent mind. The more I think about it, the more I realize just how much I sound like him sometimes. I’ve never seen the Lieutenant as my father or any sort of father figure, but he’s been the constant in my life. He taught me how to fight, steal, and manipulate others into getting what I wanted. I had briefly admired him… maybe I still kinda do…? But more than anything, he’s been scaring me lately.

I feel like I owe him my loyalty. If what he says is true, he could’ve left me to starve. Bad things could’ve happened to me if he and The Foot hadn’t taken me in. Not only that, but he constantly reminds me of it; constantly accusing me of trying to betray him. If I was bold enough I would, but where would I go? The Foot pays for my apartment, my schooling, they train me, they know everything I know and more. Where would I run and who would I run to?

These thoughts diminish when I hear a loud engine revving. I look towards the building and see a large round vehicle turn off it’s headlights as individuals hidden by the shadows exit through a hole in the top of it and sprint towards the building.

I leap from my post to the back entrance and quietly push the door open.

• • •

Another Lala centered chapter, but I swear this is the last one for a while! Stay safe!

-ℍ𝕒𝕟𝟟𝕒

[the-goblin-cat]

Wip game!!

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have wips. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!)  I have deemed that this isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? Dnd campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!!

thanks for the tag, @cinalilli

So I don’t actually have a wip folder, I have my wips sorted by series lmao

But I can look through the many folders and see if I remember what’s a wip and what’s not

1. The Water Maiden (Chapter 10)

2. Lamentations of a Red Stone

3. Gangs of San Francisco 199X

4. V’ryngle All the Way

5. The Long Sunday

6. Armor (version 2)

7. The House of Marigolds (Reversioned)

not tagging anybody but if you see this and the spirit moves you feel free to make your own and tag me in it so I can see it and ask about your wips <3

[souleaterpostanime]

SE-POST Reread part 1/4

Guess it's time for another update - still recovering and readjusting so nothing substantiual, but I decided it would be fun and usefull to reread my own stuff for the future so I don't just forget all the things I set-up and to see where I messed up the most and what I can improve. I leave small notes after reading a chapter and record them, maybe they will just be repetive and the same as the chapter notes, maybe not, but to make up for it, I'll include little rushed no-effort sketches with each one. Also you can catch up or remind yourself if you want to be ready for when this story finally continues.

If this still isn't satisfieng for everybody waiting for the hiatus to be finally over - yeah...sorry.

So anyways, here we go:

chapter 1:

not as bad as I remembered, even the dialog (besides the obvious countless typos, word repetition, sometimes unclear baloon order) wasn't too bad, I remembered it to be so emberassing that I wouldn't be able to reread it, but it actually even causes me a slight chuckle a few times and didn't sound much worse than some stuff (maybe cause I started watching the third season of mob psycho, a series I used to hold in high regard, and realised that it's dialog and exposition isn't as good as I remembered). But it could also just be to the anesthetics in my system still affecting my perception (Probably shouldnt after all this time, especially when I didn't take pain killers once they became voluntary)

Guess my most controversial opinion, which will make people think I truly lost it and became narcisistic and delusional, is that the art doesn't suck - no I mean it does suck, but in a way that often actually conveys things more clearly than probably some later chapters, and has a certain charm to it, even though I admit some panels are really rough Still dunno, maybe I can just pretend that it had more "soul" than even I realised. Alas.

chapter 2:

Weird, that even though I figured out how the speech bubble tool worked, this chapter actually had more instances were the layout of them was confusing and it wasn't clear which bubble to read first, probably ruining some jokes. Also I allways felt a bit that the woman that was the victim had a too quick of a turn of opinion, just to get her out of the scene, just showed my sloppy writting and use of convenienve, hope it wasn't too jaring anyways.

Still, I personally liked the whole intro scene, even if it may be simmilar to many cliche "saving someone from a monster in the last moment" depictions. Didn't use any reference for the flow of it and I think it worked, but as I mentioned, maybe it's just my megalomania speaking.

But another flaw I admit is the 3 time repeated "oh how was the mission? Great!, besides- anyways..." talk. Even though it happens in real life (as I experienced recently when 3 different old ladys asked me why I wasnt at a rehabilitation exercise when I felt bad) , it still feels clunky, unecessary and "fillery" in a story, maybe if I had done something with it like conveing something a bit different or showing some subtle change.. But eh, can't cry over spilled milk. Also I thought the lame reference/meta humor would make me wince from regrett but nah that shit still works, and if you "cringed" you just don't get the vision

(Also funny that Kurma and Zalte appearedncoe the first time, can't say I didn't build up the arc, even if it took a bit longer than expected, also did anybody catch the first hint of Ragnarok being "nice" to Tsubaki, wishing her goodbye and even Crona being comfused by such behaviour from him?)

chapter 3: Think the confusing speech bubble problem persists but is a bit less common. Some panels at the end were a bit unclear, especially at the end but others thing did the job. Still some typos and dialog sure sounds clumsy, should have chosen some other words. Also in the talk between Kid and Death, guess some "jokes", could be cut out to make it flow better. But on the other hand I quite liked the conversation between Ragnarok and Tsubaki, wasn't too schmalzy, atleast in my opinion. Still this chapter set up a few things even that early, even though no real "antagonist" appeared in it, guess I just have a preference for these silly slice of life chapters.

chapter 4: yeah think this one has just mostly bad art without any of the previously mentioned charm or "pizzaz", even though some panels were still quite dynamic in a good way. Still having Crona and Patty interact was probably a good idea, and something I should explore more in the future. Sadly this one still hasn't solved the problem of some text bubbles having a confusing reading order, ruining some jokes and emotional moments. Also it's were you can see the overstuffed unecesarry jokes and dialogs rear their ugly head. Also the scene trasitions were probably confusing, even if maybe I did it on purpose? Anyways interesting to see an early Zalte and Kurma, maybe one could arguee that Zalte's charachter was different at that moment but I guess I could try to pretend that I just didn't want to reveal to much. Still weird that in some ways on reread I didn't like the chapter but in others I enjoyed it quite a lot, but guess it is what it is

chapter 5 Weirdly I found this one a lot better than the previous one in a lot of aspects. Even if it just seems to be a few scenes jumping around without a larger important plot, the art seemed a lot more lively and even actually "readable". Even some jokes and scenes seemed to land better. Guess the cover is the worst part, cause the church building looks kinda lame, but in contrast the silent scene of the wedding itself seemed quite nice, atleast to my self-loving eyes. Also intersting that this is the first time when Medusas remnant snake showed up. Anyways, maybe I should write more on it, but I think it speaks for itself, ofcourse it still has some problems with the text bubbles being confusing and dialog containg typos or just confusing sentence structure and word choice (Im not even sure if "joker" can be used in the context, basically I ment "lifeline", like in a quiz show, guess things like that get mixed up when you speak 3 languages and are trying to learn more)

chapter6: even if the art takes a dive again, I enjoyed the content of it still, was suprised by how well I could switch from the c*** mother to caring mum without making it look to cartoonish. But yeah I admit the action was too confusing to read and even I can't even decipher a few panels of it Anyways this one shows what happens if.you dont make enough concept art and do new charachters mostly of the dome. Guess for the first two parter it set ups things well enough, but hard to say without a second opinion, maybe most people find it all weird. Still maybe I have more to say after rereading the second part

chapter 7: Just noticed that I was very sparing with the sound effects at first, maybe I thought it was bwtter to make them clear by context? Still liked the chapter, because it seemed a lot happened in it without it being too rushed and even the art, even if super basic and scratchy, still conveid the action mostly, with some exceptions. Atleast better than the previous one. Still think using Humpty Dumpty as a kishinegg was a creative choice, I mean why not, atleast its not as exploitative as using real life recent serial killers, which I did and probably will continue to do, even if I probably shouldnt... Anyways, I have less to say than I though, just felt engadge myself when reading it, so atleast one person is satisfied by it so thats good enough. Oh also, think the speech bubble order problem is mostly solved by this point.

chapter 8: Well, I still wonder if anybody quit just because of what kind of person the kishinegg was, that its a too serious topic to use for a stupid fancomic of a cartoon. But besides the question of tastefulness, I liked the whole intro of the chapter even after rereading it. The paralels with Crona and him trying to help the kid seemed not forced or anything, atleast to me. The only question I started to have while rereading was, if Maka was out of charachter or atleast if her charachter development got ignored. Wouldn't she too have seen a pathetic scared kid, who she would have tried to help after her experience with Crona? I guess I would justifie it that for one, the kid directly killed other student, which is such a terrible act that Maka wouldn't even think about any other "victims" besides the ones slayin. Also she did try to just kill Crona at their first confrontation and at the second only changed her mind once she saw the inside of his soul and realised Cronas situation. But here comes the question - should that have led her to reconsider other people before attacking like she did with Crona or do habbits like that not change so easily, especially if Crona was really "special" atleast in her eyes. Guess the fact that this kid seemed to be more mentally gone than even Crona at his worst could contribute, but at the end I have to admit that it would just be boring if Maka came to the same conclusions as Crona, and there wasn't a conflict or motor for Crona to develop his thought on his own. Anyways maybe I'm just overthinking a minor part of this comic, who knows But on the more technical side, I think even if some of the art looks better than the last chapter, the clarity got a lot worse, maybe it was just too dificult setting for my effort and skills at the time. The ocean especially looked like shit, and I hopefully would have done a much better job at this point. Still I liked the fight itself just for the stupid eye stabing gag and for showing how just arbitrary forgivness won't solve every problem. Anyways, at the end the chapter mostly set up things for the future while having a action set piece - so if it ever gets redrawn it wouldnt just be boring text like some other chapters comming up.

chapter 9: Yeah it looks even more obvious that I rushed this one out in a single day, the "quality" makes it obvious. Still I found a lot of it fun and the whole boardgame parody something lo-fi that gets uses rarely. But that also makes me see how it would all benefit from a redraw or something, even the dialog seems to have a lot more typos and repeating phrases than the last few, even with the edits I did when I reuploaded it on AO3. Anyways, in a story progression sense this "filler" chapter actually planted a lot of seeds, some that only started paying of recently, like Crona acting simmilar to his mother, so I hope it got apreciated for that

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

hi hello, pushing the chifuyu x senju agenda here.

THEY HAVE THE SAME HOODIE??? THE ONE WOTH THE THREE BUTTONS??? And can we talk about how senju means “thousand curses” and chifuyu means “thousand winters” and they both start with the same character ??? I need this pairing for good health

All I can imagine is Chifuyu freaking out that he's been wearing a "girls hoodie" all this time. Being overly dramatic with "how will I ever live this down!?" While Inui, Takemichi and Hakkai side eyes him because he was seriously happy to wear that uniform but freaks out over this??? Meanwhile Senju is just confused because she actually got that hoodie from the boys section. But hey at least it gives them something to bond over. Plus if they ever do date then Senju is 100% stealing all of Chifuyu's hoodies.

[wri0thesley]

A Well Rounded Education (5): Anti-Bullying Statement (Fem!Reader x Mahito, 11k)

series synopsis: you are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. gojo, unfortunately, does not make things easy for anybody.

chapter synopsis: you try and help a bullied student in your class, and catch the attention of said student’s big brother.

NSFW. MINORS DNI. afab reader with fem pronouns. bullying, violence (not at reader). mahito is . . . a little weird with his affection. smoking, fingering, public sex (kind of), piv sex.

(a well rounded education m.list and navigation)  

1.

Things have been quiet since your first ever undokai. You’re grateful for it, really; sometimes, when you’re trying to do things, or speaking to Maki and Mai, you have visions of their father and his sneering face underneath you, the cadence of his voice as he’d slurred out his particular breed of barbed-wire dirty talk.

(It’s just as bad when you speak to Yuji, and remember Nanami knelt between your thighs. Or Megumi – when you’re confronted with the memory of Toji’s lazy drawl and how strong his hands had felt on you. Or, God forbid, when you’re assisting Mimiko and Nanako and they look at you with knowing smiles and you wonder if Geto has shared with them any of those thoughts about what a good mother you’d be.)

What’s important, though, is that you’ve pushed all thoughts of men to the back of your mind in order to concentrate on doing your best by the children in your care.

Most men, anyway. It’s harder to ignore the one in charge of the class and the one technically in charge of you; the silver-haired man who walks into the classroom sucking on hard candy and coolly ignores any lesson plans that are thrust upon him. The one who waves his hand and grins when other teachers bring up the syllabus and exams, and somehow still manages to get every single student in his care through them whilst retaining their affections. Gojo is mystery wrapped in enigma wrapped in an unfairly handsome and frustrating package, and though at first he drove you to anger and distraction, you can’t help but realise you’re softening towards him a little.

Because he is annoying. He makes you grind your teeth and dig your nails into your palm and bite your tongue. But he is, too, you think . . . caring, beneath all of the bluster. You think back to his sympathetic tone after your encounter with Naoya (and how sweet he’d been, actually, in the end when he’d taken you for that ice cream – if you’d been a little revolted by how many scoops of varying flavours he’d ordered for himself). Yes, it’s safe to say that you feel just a little more affectionate towards Satoru Gojo than you did when you began this job.

The kids, too, have been in high spirits. Winning the undokai has made them bright and friendly to one another; fostered a sense of team spirit that makes your own heart thump in your chest with pride. They help each other more often; they chat excitedly, huddle in little groups, share themselves more openly with one another.

There is a small issue – a tiny one, miniscule really – on a school trip, that you’re left to deal with.

It’s a regular trip that you’re told is often taken; to a local temple, to sketch some architecture and talk a little about the history with one of the caretakers tasked with maintaining it. The incident – thankfully – doesn’t happen at the temple (you think even your patience might have worn thin had you had to witness your students being untoward on holy ground), but on the walk there.

Junpei is one of the quietest members of your class. He sits towards the back of the classroom with his hair falling over his eyes, his face nervous. He doesn’t have a particular friend, and you haven’t yet managed to find that thing that will make him come out of his shell and form connections.

(You’ve found, in the past, that children generally have some interest or another than will make them light up like fireworks with enthusiasm to be able to discuss it with someone else; you hear on the grapevine that Junpei is involved with a few clubs outside of school, but you haven’t yet managed to find out what they’re for. He doesn’t seem at all the kind who enjoys a sport, or martial arts, or things of that ilk.)

The other students can be . . . you don’t think it’s cruelty, exactly. But they can use Junpei as an easy target; toy with him a little. You try and nip this behaviour in the bud when you can (when you see it), but boys are smarter than one gives them credit for. Only, they’d been less smart during the walk to the field trip, and you’d seen Ito shove him hard into the prickly hedge lining the path, and you’d seen Ito’s two friends hold him there so the thorns dug into him even more whilst Junpei made an attempt to struggle out of it.

You’re the one to break it up. Gojo is practically bouncing along as he leads the trail of students behind him, and Junpei’s plight goes unnoticed – you now think highly enough of Gojo to realise that it’s not because he does not care, but simply because he does not see. You don’t think he’d let cruelty go unpunished, no matter how distracted and flighty he seems to be. So the responsibility falls on you, and you set your shoulders as you approach the group of boys and offer your hand to Junpei and tell the others that you’ll deal with them when you get back to the school.

You determinedly bring up the rear of the line yourself, slotting into the role of watch-person to ensure that no more mischief of this sort is enacted upon poor Junpei. There’s one particularly nasty scratch down his arm; you will have to log that one as an incident report.

Junpei, for his part, murmurs quiet thanks and stares at his shoes instead of at you. You know boys at this age can be rather proud, and you were all prepared for him to snap out at you about how you have embarrassed him before his peers and how he has handling himself (you even had a spiel prepared, for that eventuality) – but Junpei just seems grateful to be noticed. You hope that is not a sign of things you have missed leading up to now.

When back to the school proper, you pull Gojo aside to quietly tell him of what you have witnessed and to tell him, too, that you intend to have a meeting with those involved. There’s something on his face almost like relief when you tell him of the latter, palpable.

“You’re so much better at dealing with parents than I am!” He says. “People think you’re so responsible compared to me! I’m glad you’re taking it on—”

“There are people who don’t think I’m so responsible,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “I don’t know if Mr Zenin would agree with your assessment.”

Gojo waves an airy hand.

“He didn’t get a single thing that wasn’t coming to him!” Gojo practically chirps, and you laugh in response. Everything has been . . . so much easier with Gojo, since that undokai. Like he has unlocked a little part of him that finally allows you to get close, and see some of the real Gojo beneath the bluster – and you can’t help but think if he knew what you’d been getting up to that miniscule door – that chink in the armour that is Satoru Gojo - would be closed to you again forever.  

In the end, Gojo decides to stay for the meeting that you call with the boys and their parents and Junpei anyway. He seems concerned that all of these boys were able to pick on Junpei without him noticing; but you know as well as anyone that Gojo often tends to tunnel vision on the members of the class that he thinks are brighter or more able. Junpei has merely had the misfortune to slip beneath Gojo’s radar up until now.

Well, that won’t be happening for much longer.

You do try and make a call to Junpei’s mother (his file says it is just a mother at home; it is not your business to go prying into why exactly that is), but she is too busy with work, she says, regret obvious in her tone. For a single mother . . . you understand how hard that must be, and you don’t hold it against her. Junpei looks just a touch frustrated that you even bothered calling her. In private, before the boys and their own parents have been called in, he says quietly to you and not to Gojo;

“I wish you hadn’t worried her like that.”

You think the meeting goes well. The parents of the instigators are all too happy to fall over themselves apologising for their son’s misdeeds, and even the sons themselves look suitably chastised when you tell them how disappointed you are in them and how you know that they are better, kinder boys than they have so far shown themselves.

You remember what being bullied was like. You’re not sure Gojo does – you think that’s a man who came from the womb well-connected and clever and handsome. Junpei looks more often to you when things seem to be getting louder or more heated, and so you give Junpei reassuring looks and reassuring smiles and use your sternest teacher voice on everyone else. As you and Gojo stack chairs companionably after the last of the meeting’s occupants have left the room, the two of you talk about how you think things went well. You say you will make an especial attempt to keep an eye on Junpei for a little while, just to ensure that the lessons that you have taught remain in their minds – but you’re certain they must. The boys had looked so earnest!

Keeping an eye on all of those boys turns out to not be needed after all. You do, of course, because you’re a person who sticks to their word – but they are friendly to Junpei now! They include him in their games, their conversations, bigger hands reaching out to pull the smaller boy into their inner sanctum. You had not been so bold as to suggest they befriend Junpei yourself (you remember all too well the indignity of that being suggested between you and your own bullies), but the boys seem to take it upon themselves to do so anyway. You’re so proud of them.

A few weeks after the incident and subsequent meeting, you pull Junpei quietly to one side during a lunch break. Ito waves at him as he passes and mouths something that you think is ‘see you outside!’, and you beam at the other boy as the door swings closed behind him and you and Junpei are left alone.

Junpei, for his part, doesn’t look as thrilled as you would expect him to. You’d hoped that the friendship might make him perk up a little – smile more, talk more, now that he was finally being included as a member of a friendship group. Perhaps it is simply not in Junpei’s nature to be like that; he’d hardly be the first quiet, melancholic child you’d ever seen. Still. You can’t help but wish he’d show a little more enthusiasm.

With too much cheer in your voice, you ask him;

“Well, Junpei? How are things?”

The boy looks startled to be asked. His eyes dart from side to side. He shifts restlessly on his feet.

(You realise, later on, that this should have tipped you off to there being something rotten in the state of your little school classroom. But it is remarkable what the mind will overlook when it wants to convince itself that, actually, things are going well).

“They’re going fine,” he says, after a moment, his voice low and quiet and monotone. “I’m . . . I’m fine.”

“And there have been no more incidents?” You probe him, gently. “The other boys are including you now? Nothing you would like to tell me?”

Junpei’s brow furrows. He looks up at you, and then back down to the floor. He is battling with something, though you still don’t realise it.

“No,” he eventually says, though the words shake in his mouth and in his throat. His hands are trembling, too. “There’s nothing that I need to tell you about. Th-thank you for helping me.”

You smile at him and pat his back and congratulate him. He’s still just as withdrawn, but if he says he’s getting better . . . he must be, mustn’t he? He must be feeling better. He knows that you’re there to help him and you have not only made that abundantly clear, but shown that in the organisation of that meeting!

You’re sure everything is fine. You watch from the classroom window as Junpei hovers at the edges of the grounds, before Ito comes bounding over to him and wraps an arm about his shoulders and drags him to a scrum of boys who are embroiled in some complicated conversation that you can only guess at the subject of.

Your attention is needed for many things. The life of a trainee teacher is never simple; the life of one who works under Gojo Satoru is even less so. Any headway you have made on friendship and softening towards the white-haired true head of your class has not at all softened his desire to dump every piece of paperwork he is expected to do upon you so he doesn’t have to concern himself with such things.

Before you start on your current stack of paperwork, though, you make a small adjustment to some group project lists, ensuring that Junpei and Ito and some others of that group can work together.

If they’re all getting along, after all, you see no reason to not run with it!

2.

Junpei remains withdrawn and quiet and nervous, but you are beginning to suspect that this is simply the boy’s natural state of being. You even have a quick look at his reports, which for the past few years have had the same overall consensus – before then, it seems, he attended a different school and the knowledge of what he was like there has been lost in the shuffle. Communication within your own school is often a nightmare – you are not surprised to find out that it’s even worse when things come down to dealing with two different faculties and buildings.

Everything is swimming along, though. Ito and his friends grin at you and wave when they see you watching Junpei – and though they are perhaps a little rowdy for the quieter boy, it’s nice to see him being involved. A week or two pass in much the same way, and you are silently congratulating yourself and Gojo for a job well-done and a crisis well-handled when you notice the suspicious figure for the first time.

It’s a Friday afternoon. Junpei has stayed behind for some help with mathematics homework. Though it is not your subject of expertise, you have a basic grasp of it – your education is well-rounded, as is expected of so many general studies teachers. You’re bent over the desk with him, trying to explain the equations in simple terms that he might understand – his friends have all left for the day, filtering through the door with waves and goodbyes directed to both you and Junpei.

(“There!” You’d said, cheerfully, to Junpei. “Isn’t that nice of them?” Junpei’s face had remained as solid and impassive as stone, as he’d chewed on the end of his pencil with his brow furrowed at the sheet of equations beneath him.

“I guess,” he’d replied, though doubt had been evident in his tone.)

You catch sight of the suspicious figure only by chance. You take a break from your place by Junpei’s desk to grab your water bottle from your bag (and perhaps snaffle a little candy from Gojo’s desk, as a treat for both you and Junpei – what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and you’ll consider it payment for you once again remaining behind helping students whilst he insists he has somewhere important to be). The figure is leaning on the school gates, all leonine grace.

It’s clearly a masculine presence, you think, despite the silvery long hair that streams over broad shoulders. Said figure is smoking a cigarette within the school grounds, too, which is blatantly against the rules – but he doesn’t seem to care. Looking at this young man in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, you feel an awkward stirring of fear low in the pit of your stomach.

“Is something wrong?” Junpei’s quiet voice cuts through your fear. You turn your head to see that Junpei is peering towards the window, too, as if to get a glimpse at what it is that’s quietened you for so long and distracted you. Far from fear, though – the look that splits Junpei’s face is pleasure and happiness like you’ve never seen it. A smile that you only wish the boy could wear throughout his ordinary school days. “Oh! That’s my brother!”

You stare from Junpei to the strange silver-haired man, tapping his ash onto the immaculately maintained grass. There is nothing to suggest a brotherly bond in their faces, appearances or in the way they hold themselves – but perhaps, if you got a little closer . . .

“He’ll have come to pick me up,” Junpei says, quieting a little, depositing a pencil case and his workbooks into a black satchel.

“Do you mind if I come with you to see him?” You find yourself asking, against your will. That brief flare of disquiet in your stomach hasn’t left you for a moment.

You’ve heard of drug dealers who hang around junior highs, trying to convince kids to run their wares for them. You know very little about the drug trade, but this man with his leather jacket and cigarettes and easy stance seems to you exactly the type who might be involved. And there’s nothing to say, either, that he’s not convinced Junpei to say that he’s his brother! You’ve heard plenty of gangs refer to anyone below their ranks as ‘little bro’ and ‘big bro’. You simply want to look out for Junpei! You’ve tried so hard to help him so far, after all--

Junpei gives you a quizzical look, but he nods.

“He usually waits outside of the gates for me,” Junpei explains. You don’t understand why, exactly – most of the boys, at this age, are able to walk themselves home or catch their own buses. But it is not your place to pry into the private lives of your students, as your courses have drilled into your head more times than you can count. If they seem healthy and safe and cared for, all of the course literature says, that is all you should look out for in regards to their home lives. That is all that can be asked for.

“I’d like to have a word about smoking on school property,” you offer, by way of explanation. You do not tell Junpei that you intend to get the measure of this man and tell him to leave Junpei alone, if you for a moment suspect foul play on his side.

You follow Junpei out of the classroom, locking up beside you, your own bag and coat held tightly against your body. If this man is surprised to see that you are accompanying his ‘little brother’, not a single whit of that is betrayed in his eyes.

They’re curious eyes, by the by. Bicoloured; one grey, one bright blue. Tattoos bisect his face and, as you get closer and can see a little more of him, seem to bisect other joints too. The ones on his collarbone are visible, and so are ones on his wrist as he once more taps ash onto the ground below him. The tattoos look almost like some kind of barbed wire.

No. This man can’t be at all related to Junpei. There’s nothing of each other in their faces or in the way they carry themselves. Mahito greets Junpei, too, with a lazy, insouciant grin that sets your teeth on edge just as much as the fear of how he may be using Junpei for personal gain.

“That’s against our rules,” you say, gesturing to the cigarette. He faux widens his eyes in surprise, and then promptly drops the cigarette onto the floor, putting it out under his heel. That grin does not leave his face as he says;

“Ah, my apologies. Will that do? Anything else I should be aware of?” His voice is deliberately slow and carefully pronounced, as if he’s mocking your way of speaking.

“The school generally frowns upon people like you hanging around it,” you say, putting on that best stern prim-and-proper voice that you’ve practised with parents and guardians alike. The polish of this careful voice has not been dulled even by the fact that, many times when you’ve used it, you’ve ended up with your legs spread and your blouse in disarray. Certainly, this man won’t suspect anything of that kind has ever occurred, not if you’re playing the part correctly--

“Oh?” He grins at you again. His eyes flash with something that isn’t quite interest; it’s rather sharper and crueller, you think, and all it does is truly emphasise in your mind that this man is no brother to Junpei. At least, not in any biological sense. “And what kinda ‘people’ would you be meaning by that?”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Anyone who doesn’t have the best interests of our students at heart,” you say, quietly. “Surely you realise only parents, guardians and family members should be on the grounds? I mean, you ought not to be in the school at all, you could wait outside the gates, but to come here to try and use one of our students is just shameful--”

“Use?” He tilts his head to one side. “Jun’, do you think your big bro is using you?”

Junpei shoots you a look that’s almost betrayed. You’re not surprised; you’re sure this man has made Junpei feel special, heaped praise upon him and told him that he’s special and cool for taking on such errands as you’re certain he makes the younger boy run.

“I really must ask you to leave,” you say, though now you’re here you’re starting, too, to realise just how broad this man’s shoulders are beneath the leather jacket and how big his hands are. You’re beginning to wonder about the tattoos, and whether you may have bitten off more than you can chew. “I’ll be calling someone who I’m certain is related to Junpei to come and pick him up instead. It’s my duty to make sure my students are safe--”

Junpei looks utterly scandalised now.

“He’s Mahito, he’s my brother,” Junpei says, uncomfortably. “I’m not lying, I know he looks kinda--”

But the man’s eyes have suddenly been lit with a bright, angry light. He’s pulled himself up to his full height, a sneer on his face.

“Oh,” he says. “Very noble of you to pretend to care about my little brother now, isn’t it? I know exactly what happens to Jun’ here. I know exactly what kinda ‘best intentions’ and ‘safety’ you have in mind--”

“You can call my mom,” Junpei says, tugging on your sleeve miserably. “She’ll tell you, he’s my brother--”

“Lotta caring you’ve been doing,” Mahito continues. “Puttin’ him in groups with guys who push him around. Swanning around as if you’ve solved a bullying problem when all you’ve done is deliver him right into their hands.”

“I—” You stumble over the words. There’s no reason for Mahito to know about the bullying and your attempts to sort it out if he’s not really Junpei’s brother, is he? It’s certainly not the kind of thing a young boy wanting to impress a much older and cooler and more dangerous one would freely give up. And now you’re closer to them, you see that despite the lack of relation in their looks, they have an easiness about one another that does bely a sibling relationship. You’re still fumbling for words when Mahito rolls his eyes again.

“Little tip, cutie,” he says. “Y’should never gloat about anything until you’re absolutely certain that you’ve actually done good, or you’ll just look like a brainless self-congratulatory bit of fluff. There’s more evil in the world than there is good, and not noticing it’s just as bad as being part of the problem.”

It’s a surprisingly philosophical piece of conversation to be coming out of the man, and you’re once more trying to grasp for words to respond to it with, when Mahito groans and scuffs his shoe boredlym on the grass beneath him. Condescendingly, he says to you, one eyebrow raised;

“Don’t worry that pretty little head about it.” His eyes very slowly drag up and down the length of you, as if proving a point to himself. His lip curls at what he sees. “I’m sure you’re very popular with the dads, right?” That gaze lingers on your neat pencil skirt and the stockings and the immaculately pressed blouse, somehow not all that wrinkled despite a day spent leaning over desks and running around after the students. “That’s the kinda thing that’s important to someone like you, isn’t it?” He shakes his head in disgust, and you feel heat rush to your face.

I-it’s not that the approval of the fathers is important to you at all! The approval of all of the parents is important to you; them knowing that you can be entrusted with the malleable minds and the education of the children. It’s not your fault that the fathers of these children have all proved to be so damnably good-looking, and it’s certainly not your fault that all of this just keeps happening to you--

“You’re pathetic,” Mahito says to you, with real vehemence in his words. “I’m not surprised by it, but . . . y’know, when Jun’ said that you’d tried to do something about the bullying back during the field trip, maybe I had my world-view changed a little. I thought; ‘hey, maybe not everyone’s self-sufficing at the heart of it, maybe some people do genuinely want to do good--’”

“I do want to do good!” You protest, but your voice is weak. Mahito’s face is sharp. He’s kind of pretty, for all of the vitriol that’s spewing out from him every time he opens his mouth.

“I had hopes for a little bit,” he continues. “But you’re just like everyone else. In it for a recommendation or something, huh? Want to get a good report from the bastard teacher of Jun’s class who never even looks twice at him--”

“You’re being c-cruel!”

“But people are all exactly the same. I’m the only person looking out for Jun’, and I guess it’s gonna stay that way, huh?”

It does wound you; you do care about the children. The thought that you’ve unwittingly just made things worse for Junpei . . . you’re at a complete loss for a response to Mahito, and the man just rolls his eyes and turns his attention to his little brother.

“Jun’,” Mahito is saying, losing interest in you entirely now that you’ve lost any attempt to speak and snap back at him. “S’time to get going. Mom’ll be worried if we’re much later, especially after those bruises you came home with last week.” He chances a glance at you. “Y’know. The ones you told Mom that you got in a game of soccer, but that you and I know better about.”

Junpei looks at you. You can’t quite read his expression, and you really hope that just how flustered and confused Mahito has made you isn’t written as plainly on your face as you feel that it might be. You’ve tried to make yourself seem like an approachable friend to him, but you’re still his teacher – and a small air of authority is important to you. Junpei presses his lips together, flickers his gaze back to Mahito and shoots you a helpless look.

“Aww, don’t worry,” Mahito says, seeing where Junpei’s gaze has landed. “I’m sure your teacher’s got plenty of,” he coughs in a way that’s obviously meant to really push his double meaning, “things to do lined up.”

3.

Mahito’s words, alas, stick in your mind. Everything he’d said about being the only person looking out for Junpei – everything he hadn’t said, with those glances at you and the sneer in his voice as he’d mentioned Junpei coming home with bruises. Had you really been so obsessed with doing a good job – so self-congratulatory and pleased with yourself – that you hadn’t noticed something like that going on right in front of your nose?

You’d like to think that you do genuinely want to do good. You’d like to think of yourself as a good person – a good teacher, who cares about the children in their care and wants to do right by them. The thought that you could have missed something so obvious because you were too wrapped up in yourself . . . ugh. You can barely stand it. You can’t stop thinking about it for days.

You brood about it over the weekend. No matter what you try and do in your little apartment, on your own, you think about Junpei. You mark some of the classwork that Gojo really should have taken home to work on, and you come across his essay – in a nervous, cramped little scrawl – and you resolve to yourself that you’re going to fix this if it kills you.

Somehow, you don’t even consider that Mahito had been saying these things to get a rise out of you. There’s too much truth in them for you to believe that. So you draw up plans and you think and you do not get a wink of good sleep for the entire weekend, your mind entirely taken up by making sure that you do right by Junpei.

Gojo has never paid much attention to him; and you suddenly feel quite awful that you only started paying real attention to him once all of these problems came to light. You internally scold yourself for this oversight; you should have an equal affection for all of your students. You should care about all of them, even when no problems have fully made themselves known – it shouldn’t have taken an ‘incident’ for you to have seen all of this, dammit!

You hope your plan works better this time, as you corner Yuji as he comes into class this morning and take him into Gojo’s office to have a Serious Talk (capitals very much required) with him.

At first, he’s obviously concerned that he’s in trouble – all manner of things come bubbling up out of his mouth. Protestations of his innocence in crimes that you hadn’t even realised had been committed (it seems that you haven’t been the only one occasionally helping yourself to Gojo’s candy stash). Eventually, you manage to quiet the over-excited boy and explain to him.

His eyebrows draw in as he considers what you’re asking him.

“I don’t like Ito,” Yuji says, eventually. Though you can’t agree with him, you’re not surprised that Yuji’s noticed that the other boy isn’t exactly kind. Yuji is a surprisingly good judge of character for someone of his tender age who often appears as though he’s not all that book-smart. “I don’t really know Junpei, but . . . it’s not right, is it? When strong people use weaker people to make themselves feel better?”

He looks to you for your approval, and you smile encouragingly at him. Your heart is beating fast and practically leaping for joy within your chest, though – you’d thought Yuji would be a perfect match for this particular task, and it looks like you were right!

After all of the time you’ve spent second-guessing and hating yourself this weekend, it’s nice to feel vindicated in something.

“Okay!” Yuji decides, with all of the simple ease that young boys have. “I’ll help!”

Yuji agrees that he’ll do his best to try and include Junpei in everything; that he’ll make sure the boy isn’t cornered by Ito when you can’t see him – in general, that he’ll act as Junpei’s friend and protector.

You’re incredibly grateful for Yuji’s sweet nature. There are some boys in your class, you think, who wouldn’t ever have dreamed have including the strange, taciturn Junpei in their inner circle. In fact, up until the end of the day you’d been worried about one of Yuji’s friends in particular--

But Megumi takes Yuji dragging Junpei around with him like a stray dog surprisingly well. He catches you looking at the three of them nervously and gives you a small smile that suggests to you that perhaps Yuji has shared the details of this mission with him. Recalling that Megumi had doled out his own sense of justice on the boys who’d been bothering him . . . you don’t feel quite so worried about how he’ll treat Junpei any more.

You overhear Junpei and Yuji the next day talking about some horror film that they’re both definitely too young to have seen. But both of them are bright-eyed and enthusiastic – even Junpei. It’s the first time you’ve seen Junpei look so excited about anything, as he motions with ill-disguised glee, describing some brutal dispatch the villain of the piece had apparently taken part in.

Film, huh?

All of that time spent trying to work out what Junpei’s particular ‘thing’ was, and Yuji had cracked in less than a day. You smile to yourself as you organise your notes and cast an eye over the classroom to make sure all of the day’s worksheets are set out on the desks already. Gojo catches your eye and grins at you. He’s relaxing on his desk, his feet up on his desk clad in shoes that you’re not certain you could afford even with a month’s pay check.

“They look like they’re getting along,” he says. And although you haven’t confided in Gojo exactly what you’ve been doing (and although you certainly haven’t confided in him exactly what had transpired in that meeting with Junpei’s elder brother), he winks at you.

Three days after that, you even hear Yuji inviting Junpei over to dinner at his house as the two leave the classroom together.

“My dad’s a really good cook,” Yuji enthuses.

(You can believe that; you imagine Kento Nanami is exceedingly good with his hands. You’d had plenty of first-hand experience of what those hands could do –

You shut down the thought before it starts going too far into a direction you don’t want it to).

Things get better. Junpei begins to raise his hands to answer questions – his voice is brighter when he speaks, and you often see him sandwiched between Megumi and Yuji in the school grounds.

There’s only one blip in all of this happiness.

Unfortunately, it’s one you can’t fully involve yourself in.

Yuji gets into a fight with Ito on the grounds, when one of the other teachers is supervising the kids on their lunch break. You only find out the details later – find out that Ito was mocking Junpei for hiding behind Yuji, and calling him a weak coward who would never amount to anything and was good only for being a punching bag for stronger, better people. People like Ito himself--

Yuji gives him a black eye.

You can’t be seen publicly to endorse Yuji’s behaviour, of course. Fighting violence with violence is wrong – and it’s not your lecture to give, anyway. It’s Utahime’s, who was supervising out there at the time. But when you catch Utahime and ask her if you can talk to Yuji before she lets him go, she smiles at you in a way that makes it entirely clear that she knows what you’ve been up to.

(How do all of these people always seem to see through your plans and schemes? She’s just like Gojo. It’s like there’s sorcery or something afoot here, and you’re the only one who’s been left out here in the dark).

“I didn’t go too hard on him,” Utahime says. “But don’t go letting him think it’s fine to punch whenever he wants to!”

You reassure her that you won’t, and slip into the classroom that Yuji had been having his little lecture in. He smiles seeing you, all bright and perky – and then remembers why he’s there, and deflates again. He picks at a hoodie string as he mumbles;

“Are you gonna tell me off too?”

“I should,” you say to him. “But . . . Yuji, you know I’m not going to do that. Don’t tell anyone this, alright? But I wanted to let you know I was proud of you for standing up for Junpei.”

He’s dazzling again as the praise washes over him.

“You still have to do the detentions,” you say, before he can get too over-excited. “No matter how proud I am of you, I can’t get you out of that! But . . . Yuji. I just wanted to thank you, okay?”

You’re surprised as he stands up and flings his arms around you, squeezing you tightly – but as you relax into the younger boy’s hug, you can’t help the smile that alights on your face. You’ve done something right, finally. You’ve not only fixed your mistakes, but you’ve improved both the lives of Junpei and Yuji--

Yuji lets go of you and grins that bright, bold smile right up at you, his eyes crinkled.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Yuji tells you, and you take that little compliment and statement of trust and you lock it up right in the middle of your heart. These are the reasons you wanted to go into teaching. You smile down at Yuji.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” you tell him.

“My Dad keeps telling me to invite you over for dinner,” Yuji continues, and you have to dig your nails into your palm in surprise to stop your face giving you away. “Will you? I . . . don’t wanna tell him about the detentions myself.”

“I . . .” Your cheeks are hot. “I’ll talk to him, yes.”

(You will not be going to his house for dinner. That’s too close to tempting fate for you.)

( . . . You don’t know if you could resist Kento Nanami in his own house.)

4.

You’re getting ready to leave a few nights later; putting the classroom in some semblance of order after one of Gojo’s patented ‘I refuse to use the syllabus and will be doing this lesson my way’ afternoons. The chairs and tables have all been rearranged, and Gojo had hared out of the place throwing a wink and a “I knew you’d take care of it!” behind him.

A few months ago, this would have made you so angry you could barely breathe, and you’d have been muttering as you righted the furniture. Today, though . . . well. You’d seen how invested the students were in Gojo’s lessoning, and you’d realised that he very much just wanted to make the learning experience enjoyable. Nothing to do with wanting to be special.

His personality can be so annoying, you think, that it’s little wonder people just think he’s arrogant instead of realising that he’s brilliant. Even you don’t want to admit quite how brilliant you think Gojo is.

It’s whilst you’re thinking about this that the door of the classroom opens – and as you turn to view your new visitor with a smile, already unconsciously readjusting your skirt, you find yourself confronted with a very unexpected guest.

“I wanted to apologise,” Mahito says. He’s smiling, but there’s something distant about that smile – something that makes you shiver, even as he turns the full force of his mismatched eyes on you.

“How did you get in?” You ask, deliberately not panicking despite the fact that you don’t fully trust this man. You’ve been alone in classrooms with strange men too often, recently. Your skin feels strange and prickly as you make yourself smile.

Mahito’s . . . handsome. He’s not handsome in the way Toji or Nanami or even Naoya are – but there’s a kind of dangerous, leonine grace about him. He’s like a sleek panther, toying with you in his claws. Deciding whether he’s going to play a game with you or devour you whole. You wish that your body didn’t give an involuntary shiver when you think about the possibility of being devoured.

Mahito shrugs easily, leaning on the door-frame with a smile not leaving his mouth. He drags his eyes up and down you again, and you barely keep hold of yourself as you nervously shift your weight onto one foot.

“Easy enough,” he says, in that curious voice he has. There’s a musical but mocking quality to it, but he seems to mean no harm. “I told the woman at the front desk I had a meeting with you about Junpei.”

Ah. Junpei’s mother, notoriously busy with work and difficult to get to come in even though she quite clearly wants to be there for her son. They wouldn’t have found her sending his older brother in all that surprising, once Mahito managed to explain that he was indeed a brother.

“Is . . . is there a reason you wanted to see me?” You ask him, and Mahito chuckles low under his breath. You can’t help looking at those strange stitch tattoos and wonder why he got them. They . . . suit him, you think. The silvery hair and the leather jacket and the tattoos and the mismatched eyes. You realise, looking at him, that he’s about the same age as you.

Wistfully, you wonder when the last time you spent any time in the company of a man your own age was.

“I told you,” he takes a step towards you and you swallow and wet your lips instinctively. He’s tall, and broad; you hadn’t realised before just how well-muscled the torso beneath the jacket was. “I wanted to apologise for before. Junpei’s told me about . . . well, cutie. It seems I have to change my mind about you once again.”

Your face heats up at the pet name. Mahito barely notices. He simply keeps advancing upon you – and you don’t realise that you’ve been backed up into a corner until the edge of Gojo’s desk digs into your thigh. It appears your idea of Mahito as a big cat has been justified – and you’re the poor gazelle that he’s chosen to capture.

“I suppose I should apologise that I implied you were a slut,” Mahito breathes, very close to your ear. He smells like motorcycle oil and cigarettes and something else that you can’t quite place--

(A few moments later, you place it, and you feel very naive for not realising what it was sooner).

“You can’t blame me, can you?” He says, a smile quirking the corners of his lips. “You are very pretty. And some men . . . they circle like lions, don’t they?”

“I think you have a very skewed perception of what being a teacher is like,” you breathe to him, not wanting to admit how uncomfortably close to the truth he is. Mahito laughs, deliberately almost pinioning you against the desk. Your heart is beating double time in your chest.

“Don’t look so scared,” he says, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. The smile makes his eyes crinkle – he’s almost cute, smiling like that. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re being a little intimidating,” you reply, trying to keep a hold on your voice so you don’t sound quite as terrified as you really are. This seems to amuse him – he laughs out loud, like the noise of a gate creaking in the wind, and he backs up a little. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter and cigarette case. “Don’t. You’ll set off the fire alarms.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“You never set off a fire alarm for fun?” He asks, teasingly – but he obliges you by placing them back into the pocket. “Aww, you bookworms are all the same. Don’t you wanna have a little adventure?” The way that he emphasises the final word makes you shiver.

“I—”

“I know how they overwork teaching students,” he says, and he’s wheedling now. You feel quite overwhelmed by everything Mahito says and does; the way that he comes into your life and immediately stirs up feelings you don’t fully understand. “Have you even gotten a good look at the city you’re working in, cutie?”

“I’ve been very busy,” you say, but your throat is dry.

“Let me show you around,” he’s grinning, predatory, like a cat who has been given a full bowl of cream. “C’mon! I’ve got nothing better to do – not that I don’t think showing someone as cute as you around isn’t something worth doing . . .” He leans in again. “I’ll show you all of my favourite places. You’ll really start to see everything in a . . . new light.”

There’s that way of putting emphasis on strange words, again. Listening to Mahito . . . you can’t quite explain the pull that he has over you. There’s something almost hypnotic about the way he talks. You can’t help but feel as though this is a man who could convince you to walk off the edge of a cliff, if he were that way inclined.

And it really has been a while since you were alone with a man your own age.

“I shouldn’t,” you try and say, gently and carefully. But Mahito’s wheedling voice and his insistence that you deserve to have a little fun simply won’t take no for an answer – and before you really know what you’re doing, you’re walking beside Mahito in the drizzle.

“I’ll show you all my favourite places,” he says, with a grin. And then; “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?”

Thankfully, he doesn’t take you on his motorbike. He does look at it, longingly – but then he looks up at the sky, realises there’s no way you’re getting on the back or the front of the thing without a helmet, and puts his arm around your waist to lead you around on foot instead.

You don’t know where you’re expecting him to take you. A club, perhaps; he seems the type.

You’re certainly not expecting, first of all, to be taken to a sewer.

But Mahito is delighted by it, as he spreads his arms wide.

“It’s not really a sewer,” he explains, breathing in deep. “It’s where all of the purified water comes out; it’s perfectly clean, I promise. C’mere--” He grabs your wrist and pulls you against him, your front pressed right against his. He’s still smiling, his eyes startlingly bright and clear. “Breathe. Doesn’t it smell like springtime?”

You hesitantly take a deep breath. You’re finding it difficult to reconcile the idea of the ‘smell of springtime’ with your very real and true knowledge that you are stood on the side of a sewer. Mahito can tell you that the water running off is totally clear and purified, but . . . well. It’s easier to say these things than it is to believe them.

But to your utter amazement, Mahito is right. It does smell fresh, and clear, and clean – like grass on an early springtime morning, dew-dappled and peaceful.

“I like to come here to relax,” he tells you. “The concrete isn’t so uncomfortable, really. And nobody ever wants to disturb the man sat reading in the sewer.”

“Do you read a lot?” You ask him, seizing on the question. He grins down at you.

“Oh,” he says, “now and then.”

On the bridge with a fifty foot drop he takes you to next, he tells you that he has a double major degree in sculpture and philosophy. When you ask him what he does now, though, he simply waves his hand airily.

“A little of this, a little of that,” he says, mysterious. Before you can pursue the line of questioning any further, though, he’s grabbed you about the waist and pressed you in front of him, forcing your front to lean over the railing of the bridge.

“Isn’t it . . . stimulating?” He breathes into your ear. “Watching all of those cars, below? Thinking about how quickly you could just . . . cease to exist?”

Your spine prickles, but Mahito just laughs, and wraps his arms around your waist. His nose presses against your ear, breathing in deep – and your mouth goes dry. It’s very clear what Mahito wants--

And, honestly? You don’t think you’d mind. It’s nice, isn’t it? To be wanted by someone your own age without any kind of hidden agenda?

The cars race by, underneath the bridge. The drizzle is coming down in a fine mist, making everything look hazy and unfocused. The night is falling fast about you; street lights and headlights behind the drizzle, making you feel like you don’t really exist. Your heart is beating in your ears.

When he takes your chin in his hand and turns your face to kiss you, you let him.

5.

You don’t expect to be brought back to Mahito’s home for things to go any further. Mahito doesn’t seem traditional in any sense of the word.

But the abandoned house he does bring you to is pushing it a little far, even for you.

“Are you going to murder me?” You ask Mahito, staring around at the empty room. Mahito shoves his hands in his pockets and whistles, a grin bisecting his face. His eyes flash dangerously, and you immediately begin to plan an escape route.

“Do you think I look like a murderer?” He asks, which you tactfully do not answer. The stitch tattoos and the wide, manic grin and the bright eyes and the fact that his laugh sounds like a creaking gate with rusted hinges do not help matters. “Oh, I’m not a murderer, cutie! I promise! I’m a lot of things.” He places a hand to his heart. “A poet. A philosopher. An artist.” He winks at you. “A lover.”

These are all very interesting ways for him to say ‘a layabout’.

“Are you really going to seduce me in an abandoned building?” You ask Mahito, and he laughs at you. He captures your chin between two of his fingers and stares directly into your eyes.

“It’s working, isn’t it?” He says, very low and dark. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

You do not want to admit to him just how well it’s working. You’ve always felt like you’d have higher standards than this! Fucking the fathers of your charges in other people’s offices is one thing, but to be intimate with Mahito in a place you know nothing about--

He stops your train of thought entirely by kissing you again.

And you give in to the kiss, this time. Why not have fun? Why not embrace whatever Mahito is going to do? You like him, for all of his strangeness. And you certainly find him attractive.

He bites at your lower lip, sucking on it, and your eyelashes flutter closed as you sigh into his mouth. He does taste like cigarettes – but you find that you don’t mind it all that much, as your hands come hazily up to pull at his jacket.

“Oh?” He murmurs, pulling away from you just a touch. “I didn’t figure you as the kind to take initiative, cutie.”

“There’s a lot about me you probably didn’t figure,” you say to him, and Mahito grins sharp and dangerous again.

“Ah,” he says. “Well. Never let it be said that I don’t enjoy a good surprise.”

He helps you shrug off his jacket. He doesn’t have a second thought, either, about taking off the grid-patterned t-shirt he’s wearing beneath that – and it’s all you can do not to ogle him. Beneath what Mahito is wearing is a surprisingly broad, toned body – and there are two shining barbells through his nipples. When he sees you looking at them, he grins.

“I won’t undress you all the way,” he murmurs, grabbing you by your waist. “You don’t look like you’re as used to the cold as I am--”

“I don’t know how comfortable I feel being naked in an abandoned building,” you point out breathlessly. “What if somebody catches us?”

“No sense of adventure,” he chides you again – but then, his fingers are at least undoing the buttons with quick, practised motions. “Oh, this is pretty.”

You’re wearing a pale blue bra trimmed with ivory lace – Mahito takes a handful of the flesh and squeezes almost to the point of pain, making a gasp die in the back of your throat. The satin of the cups is thin enough that your nipples pebble beneath it, making the fabric stick out.

“You’d look pretty with some piercings too, I’d bet,” he says against your ear. And then; “You really are something else, aren’t you? I bet you’re fight off those dads--”

“I don’t want to talk about work,” you say, and you push gently on his shoulders. Mahito, grinning, lets himself be pushed down onto the floor, until he’s sat with his back against the wall. You’re straddling him, almost – and Mahito seems inordinately pleased to have found himself on the bottom. “I just want to--”

“You just want to fuck me,” he says, relishing the words. You look down at him – his mouth is open, his chest heaving, his mouth swollen, practically panting. “Good news! I want to fuck you too. Desperately.”

“Well,” you tell him, “we can’t have you getting desperate over me--”

One big hands lands on your thighs as he man-handles your skirt upwards, pushing it until all of the fabric is rucked around your waist. He hooks a thumb into the elastic waistband of your underwear (pale blue satin, matching the bra).

“You’ve gotten these cute panties all wet and messy,” he says, grinning. His other hand reaches for the seam between your thighs – long fingers rubbing over the damp spots. The silver rings he’s wearing glint in the faint moonlight coming in from the cracked, broken windows.

(Oh my God. The windows are cracked. Are you really doing this? Are you really doing this here?)

“Better take them off, then,” you say to him, your voice coming out surprisingly husky. Mahito’s grin doesn’t fade a whit.

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Mahito says, and then your underwear is being inches down your thighs. Mahito’s breath catches as he sees the strings of your arousal clinging to your sex, breaking as he parts it and the fabric. You lift yourself to allow him to fully manoeuvre you out of them – and then he drops them to one side, much more interested in what’s in front of him.

“I suppose I can’t convince you to lie on the floor,” he says, big hand sliding up your damp thigh. “I’d love to eat you out, cutie.”

You can’t believe that you actually consider it – letting your prim little outfit get all messy and even more rumpled as you lay flat on your back with Mahito’s pretty silver head buried between your thighs. You bet he’s good with his tongue. He’s too good with words to not be--

“No,” you say, but there’s real reluctance in your tone.

“Mm,” Mahito teases. “Guess that’ll have to wait for next time, huh?”

Whatever you were going to say next is cut off by the way that Mahito’s hands have found their way between your legs and parted the lips of your sex with expert practise. The pad of his thumb rubs against your clit slowly, circling it in order to begin to call up licks of flaming heat. One of his other fingers gently prods at your entrance, making sure you’re wet enough to take him.

“I’m good with my hands, too,” he says, grinning arrogantly. “A sculptor, remember?”

He sinks his index finger deep inside of you with one slick, smooth motion. You hear it as it goes in – the sound lewdly loud and wet in this utterly empty room. The shock of his cool rings as he almost fits the whole thing inside of you, cold against the places where you’re aflame entirely . . . you gasp out his name, and Mahito practically preens.

You have no choice but to cling to his shoulders, sinking to your knees as he begins to fuck into your with his finger in earnest. Your own breathing is heavy, now. His thumb keeps playing with your clit as he goes, murmuring something very low and soft that you can’t make out through the fog of pleasure that settles about you like a blanket.

Mahito won’t stop looking at you, though – his eyes utterly obsessed, drinking in every flutter of your lashes and every little shudder of your body. It’s like you’re the most fascinating thing that he’s ever seen and he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reactions. It’s hard not to be flattered, when he’s looking at you like that.

Two fingers. Oh, God. This time, as he fucks you with his fingers, as well as moving them in a thrust motion, he gently parts them just a little as if he’s trying to open you up wider. And . . . that feels even better than you could ever have imagined. A hot, tight ball of pleasure in your lower abdomen seems to get even hotter and even tighter.

“It’s like you’re trying to take my fingers off,” Mahito murmurs. “You just keep getting tighter--”

“I think--” Your voice is a choked out little whimper. Mahito’s thumb becomes more brazen with its touch on your clit; flicking back and forth with even more pressure.

“Oh, you’re definitely going to,” he says, hungrily – and, as if his words bring it forward, you find yourself coming hard around his fingers. You fall forwards just a little, your sweat-slicked forehead pressing against his shoulder, as everything inside of you comes apart like fireworks exploding inside of you.

His fingers are still buried inside of you, but they still as he lets you ride out the trembling aftershocks of your orgasm. You pant into his skin.

Wait.

What’s that sound?

He’s not thrusting his fingers into you any more, so what’s that strange slick noise, skin rubbing against skin? You become more and more aware of it as the final ebbs and tides of your orgasm begin to recede, and you lift your head to see where it’s coming from.

Oh.

Oh.

Mahito’s other hand is wrapped around a pretty, slender cock – teasing himself, shlicking back and forth in a rhythm not unlike the one that he was previously using on you.

You feel yourself tighten around the fingers still inside of you at the sight.

“Oh?” Mahito chuckles. “You like knowing what you do to me?”

His jeans have been pushed down far enough (when did he have the time?) that you can see the matching barbed wire tattoos around the tops of his thighs – and the band just above his pelvis, dangerously close to the pretty cock weeping clear fluid.

“I’d rather help,” you murmur to him. Mahito smirks.

“I can’t say I’d complain.”

His fingers come out of you with a little gush of your own slick, making a mess of your thighs. But you already have your new target in mind, and you can’t bring yourself to care about that when Mahito’s cock would fit so nicely inside of you.

Besides. He made you feel good – you want to repay the favour. You don’t want Mahito to leave this little encounter feeling superior to you. A part of you wants to show off.

“You’re gorgeous,” Mahito says – and the compliment is unexpectedly tender, unexpectedly open and truthful – you look at him in surprise, and one of his knuckles tenderly brushes over your cheeks. “You look so pretty there. Might have to take you home with me and keep you locked up forever so I can look at that pretty face whenever I want to.”

From anyone else, the words would be terrifying. He speaks them with a kind of frank openness that makes you think that he very much has the capability to do so – and then, he grins and his expression changes and the moment is lost as he takes your hips in his hands and pulls you so that you’re resting above his cock.

You don’t want to admit that what he just said made you wetter.

Mahito’s not the biggest you’ve taken, and you’re thankful for that as you sink onto him immediately with no more preamble. Mahito clearly wasn’t expecting it – he groans aloud, his hips tilting upwards, his mouth opening. His mouth is pretty, too – glinting wetly in the moonlight as you adjust to the feel of him inside of you.

He’s also a man of little shame, which you find as you experimentally lift yourself off of him and then drive back down. The moans that Mahito makes wouldn’t be out of place in a porn film; they’re filthy, but somehow still musical, as he looks at you hungrily and demands;

“Don’t go slow with me, cutie. I can take whatever pace you want to set--”

Any sensitivity after your earlier orgasm is forgotten – in fact, as you begin to set a surprisingly punishing pace, you realise that all that earlier orgasm has really done is made you hungrier. Like it knew it was just going to be a precursor to the main event. Your fingers tangle in his long, silvery hair, and his eyes practically roll back in his head.

“Pull it,” he demands, roughly – and why would you deny him that, when he sounds so certain of what he wants?

You use a combination of your knees and his hair for leverage, winning groans and whimpers and those pornographic moans with every thrust and every bounce of your body on his. You feel so close to Mahito like this. His arms wrap around your waist, giving you a little extra strength in riding him.

His hips come up to help, too. He lets you be in charge, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try and take a little bit of control back. Every so often, he gives a particularly sharp thrust that almost sets you off-balance and alters the pace. Said alteration is usually to make it faster, and rougher – and you can’t help thinking that you’re going to have bruised knees when you wake up tomorrow.

There’s the unmistakable sound of delicate fabric ripping, but that also falls to the wayside as yours and Mahito’s bodies continue to meet slickly and wetly and hard. You realise that you’re moaning just as much as he is, now – uncaring of anyone who might hear your very obvious noises through those cracked windows. There are far more important things to worry about than people outside thinking two squatters are getting busy inside of the abandoned house.

“Shit, cutie,” Mahito groans. “I’m not gonna last as long as I want to--”

“I don’t mind,” you say, gasping as your body continues to bounce on his. “I think-- I think I’d like to feel you come—”

Mahito laughs again, breathless and creaky and somehow still musical.

“Oh, you will,” he assures you. “I—I--”

His final statement is lost in his groan of pleasure. His thighs begin to tremble. His arms, where they’re wrapped around you, get tighter and more certain, until he’s holding you so close you fear he’s squeezing the breath out of you. And inside of you, you feel his cock twitch and spill and a hot flood as he comes inside of you.

He’s got just enough sense to put his hand between your thighs, to grind against your clit with his fingers so that your own (second) release comes not moments after his, your sex squeezing and clamping about him as he comes as if it’s trying to make sure he’s emptied himself as fully as possible inside of you.

You collapse against him for a moment, too drained and too hot and too flustered to do anything other than let his cock soften inside of you. And then, your senses slowly return to you.

You slide Mahito’s cock outside of you, leaning backwards.

“Mmm,” Mahito says, smiling at you, his eyes sated and satisfied. “Come back here, cutie. Don’t be like that.” You tug your underwear off the floor and up your sticky thighs, your skirt down – re-button your blouse as best you can. Your stocking has laddered from the rough unadorned floor – that must have been the tearing sound - but you suppose there’s nothing you can do about that. You crawl over to Mahito, propped up on his elbows. He grins as he runs a hand over your hair, over your cheek, brushes his thumb over your lips--

“Hey!” He’s unclipped your brooch whilst you aren’t paying attention. It’s not expensive – just a little enamelled flower you’d liked the look at in some second-hand shop or other – but still! “If you’re looking for value, you’re not going to find it in that.”

“Oh, I know that,” he says, pinning it to his jacket with a grin. The blue forget-me-not stands out against the black leather. It matches his blue eye. “I just like to take a trophy now and again.” He raises one eyebrow. “You’d rather me have this than your underwear, right?”

You go hot, but you nod nonetheless. If this is what pleases Mahito . . . well. You don’t really want to be walking home without your underwear. That would make you feel even worse than the fact you fucked him in a building he had to break into.

Gojo finds you the next morning. He’s smiling and grinning and asking you if maybe you’d like to get ice cream again – talking about how exams are coming up, and maybe the two of you should try and make some provisions to make sure that the kids don’t get overwhelmed. You’re stood beside him by his desk while he gestures emphatically and rocks on the balls of his feet, when Junpei walks into the classroom and walks over to the both of you.

You smile at him, tipping your head to one side. It’s the first time you’ve seen him so quiet since he became friends with Yuji.

“Is everything okay?” You ask him, and he’s clearly debating something in his mind. Evidently, whatever he’s deciding to do wins out, and he extracts his fist from his pocket and lays something down on Gojo’s desk.

“My brother wanted me to give this back to you,” he says, as you and Gojo look down at it. “He says he was worried you’d miss it. And he said . . .” Junpei hesitates. “He said he’ll take something more fitting as a trophy next time.”

You look down to see the little enamelled forget-me-not brooch.

[kakayamaweek2023]

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[mochegato]

Jasonette Protection Program

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Marinette pulled her coat closer around her as she made her way from the bus stop to her apartment.  She had made the brilliant decision when she moved here not to get a car because… Gotham.  The likelihood that it would get damaged or destroyed in some kind of attack was ridiculously high.  The likelihood the bus would get blown up or taken over, while definitely still present, was significantly lower.

But today she was regretting that decision.  It meant she couldn’t isolate herself like she wanted to.  It meant she was exposed to anybody and everybody at the bus stop and on the bus and on the sidewalk and any one of them could have been the one to drug her.  She eyed the people around her as she walked.  Okay, maybe not the woman who looked like she was in her 90’s and could barely walk… and dropped her knitting out of her bag.

Marinette rushed over to her and paused right before reaching her. She twirled around and scanned the faces around her.  She could feel somebody watching her.  She could feel their eyes scrutinizing her every move.  She studied the shadows and the windows, but couldn’t find anyone watching her.  She frowned slightly and shook her head.  She was getting paranoid.  She was seeing and feeling things that weren’t there.  

She sighed and turned back to the woman, crouching down to help her put her knitting back in her bag.  The woman smiled in appreciation, which Marinette returned with a shaky one of her own.  She walked the remaining few feet to her apartment building and took a cautious look up and down the dark street before turning into it.  She made sure she heard the click of the door latching before continuing up the stairs, not that it would do anything.  Logically she knew that, but her anxiety still demanded it.

She kept her eyes on the stairwell as she made her way up to her apartment on the top floor, eyes hyper vigilant for any movement, her ears hyper sensitive to any sounds from the stairs.  She got to her floor and paused for a few moments waiting to see if any sounds or movement indicated someone behind her.  She let out a relieved sigh when there was no noise and turned to her apartment before letting out a muffled screech.

Jason jumped, dropping his phone he had been scrolling on, in his rush to hold up his hands in a placating motion.  “Just me.  It’s okay. It’s just me.”  He watched her for a few seconds.  She was starting to breathe hard, her eyes were boring into him. “Although I just realized you may not remember me.  So this was actually an incredibly stupid plan.”  He took a few steps away from her door, his hands still held up to let her know he wasn’t a threat.

Marinette continued to stare at him for a few more seconds, forcing her breathing to slow.  “You… you’re Tim’s brother, right?  You… you were…” she squinted at him, “you were in my bedroom?”

Jason grimaced and looked down to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck.  “Yeah… that doesn’t make me sound too good, does it?”

She eyed him suspiciously.  “What are you doing here?”  

He perked up slightly and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing today.  It can hit a day or a few days later sometimes.  And I’m a security expert.  I consult on it for people and companies.  I wanted to offer to check your security for you so you’d feel safe, at least when you’re at home.”  He turned to her door and knocked on the doorframe.  “I can already tell that you need better locks.  I could have broken in easily, but I didn’t think you would appreciate finding me in your apartment.”

She raised an eyebrow at him but let out a quiet chuckle and looked away after a few seconds.  “You would be right.”  She looked back up at him and tentatively walked over closer to her door.  “But, I don’t think I can afford to hire you.”

Jason waved off her concern.  “I wouldn’t let you.  I’d charge Tim for it.  He can afford it and he’s worried enough that I’m actually kind of surprised he hasn’t contacted me already, but I suppose that has something to do with him not wanting you to meet me in the first place.”

Marinette quirked her lips to the side and studied him.  The longer she watched and talked to him the more memories came back and the clearer they became.  She was slowly starting to get bits and pieces of the night before, not enough to create a coherent picture, just incredibly short scenes, a word here, a smile there.  Regardless of what she could remember though, this was Tim’s brother and although Tim didn’t want them to meet, he trusted him, not that she would ever be allowed to say that out loud to either of them.  

She finally nodded and pulled out her keys.  “Well, I can at least offer you dinner while you’re here. If you’d like.”  She gave him a small smile as she passed him into the apartment taking off her coat and dropping her bag on the small dining room table.

Jason raised his eyebrows in surprise.  After the way she had reacted when she saw him, he honestly didn’t think she would talk to him let alone let him into her apartment.  He was starting to understand how she could have gotten drugged so easily if she was that trusting.  But then again, Tim had said they all were being careful. Her even more so than the others. So why was she so trusting now?  “I would never turn down free food,” he said slowly.

He closed the door behind him with a quick glance at the inside part of the lock, confirming his original suspicions.  Standard issue, not particularly secure.  He could have picked it in all of three minutes when he was only eight.  He didn’t have to lean down to study the doorknob to know it was in worse condition. One good kick and the door would be wide open.  He sighed. If anyone wanted to get into her apartment, it wouldn’t take them very much effort.

He turned back to the apartment, letting his frown morph into a smile.  Her apartment was cozy and lived in and very much her.  There were touches of her everywhere along with some touches that he wouldn’t have expected.  He shook his head at the condition of the apartment.  It wasn’t terribly messy but it also wouldn’t count as anything close to clean.  He could see why she and Tim got along so well.  Neither could clean up after themselves to save their lives.  

There were bits of fabric and half completed sewing projects scattered around along with random pages of scientific reports.  He raised an eyebrow at that.  Odd combination.  His eyes caught on men’s shoes by the door.  He scrunched his forehead in confusion.  If she lived with someone, where were they?  Where were they last night?  Why hadn’t Tim mentioned him?  “You live with someone?  A boyfriend?”

Marinette looked up from the refrigerator.  “No.  Well, yes, but no.  I live with my best friend,” she explained quickly, “but he’s visiting friends this week.”

Jason nodded.  That was good at least.  She wasn’t living alone.  There was someone else with her usually.  That makes it less likely someone could just break in and attack her.  He moved over to the window and sighed again, more deeply this time.  It was worse than the door.  “No curtains. You should probably get some, preferably lined ones.  This lock is ancient too.  It wouldn’t take much to jimmy it.  We’ll get you new locks for your windows and your door.”

Marinette looked at him wide eyed as she set a bunch of grapes and a jug of filtered water from the refrigerator on the counter.  She hadn’t been expecting the locks to be that bad.  She knew it wasn’t amazing, but then again, she hadn’t really been too concerned about being specifically targeted here.  Nobody really knew who she was, or rather used to be.  She was just an average citizen here.  

She stared at the window for a few seconds, her head cocking to the side and her eyes unfocusing as her mind wandered through the possibilities of what could have happened and what still could.  She was no longer safe, not even in her own home.  But then again, she never really had been had she?  She had just thought she was.  She thought she was safer after they’d defeated Hawkmoth, but she’d just traded one danger for another.

Jason watched as her face morphed from one expression to another, her eyes distant.  Her face clearly displaying each and every emotion she was going through, no matter how flitting.  Jason could guess where her head went.  When her eyes started shimmering, he opened his mouth to bring her out of it when her phone rang.  She jerked back violently, knocking over the jug of water.  

She cursed as she tried to stop the jug’s descent only to knock it further away, further spreading the water.  She gave a defeated groan and grabbed a towel from a nearby drawer to start sopping up the water.  Jason jumped to grab a few more towels to help.  It took a few minutes, but they were finally able to clean up the water with a minimum of damage to papers left on the counter.  Luckily, none of Marinette’s sketches were on the island anymore but Adrien was definitely going to have to reprint some of his papers for research.

Marinette gave Jason an appreciative smile and threw the papers in recycling and the towels in the sink.  She let out a deep frustrated sigh as she leaned against the counter.  After a few seconds, she ran her hands through her hair and laughed.  Jason frowned at the sound.  It was short and mirthless and sounded utterly wrong coming from her.  He could see her starting to spin but didn’t know her well enough to know how to help.  God, he really hadn’t thought this through.

Jason very slowly started reaching for her so she could see his hands coming.  Shen she didn’t shy away, he set a hand on her arm to ground her.  She looked up into his eyes, panicked eyes meeting concerned eyes. They both jumped when her phone started ringing again.  They both chuckled quietly at their reactions.  

“Sorry…” she started but was cut off by another ring.  She shook her head at herself.  She hadn’t even noticed the original call had dropped.  She checked the caller id and smiled at the phone. “Hey Tim.”  She paused to listen to him.  “No, I’m fine.  I just… I knocked something over and was cleaning it.  Sorry for scaring you.”

She gave Jason an apologetic smile as she listened to Tim.  “I’m doing okay, I guess.  I think I’m just jumpy… and getting paranoid.  I could have sworn someone was watching me walk home, but when I looked nobody was around or rather nobody was paying attention to me.” She missed the slight grimace Jason shot toward the floor.  “No, thank you though.  Actually, your brother is here already.”  She smiled at Jason again and put Tim on speaker.  

“…that so.  That’s very thoughtful of him,” Tim quipped in a clipped tone.

“Yeah, he’s checking my locks,” Marinette continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension in his voice, or attributing it to his concern.  “Apparently my door and window locks are pretty bad,” Marinette frowned at the thought.

“Uh huh.  Well it’s just so great that he came over then,” Tim gritted out.

Marinette did a double take when Jason’s phone dinged repeatedly with an extended series of text notifications.  She blinked at it a few times before looking questioningly at Jason. He rolled his eyes and turned his phone off.  He met her eyes with a shrug and a wink as he sat at her island.

“Tell him I say hi and remind him he has plans with Bruce soon,” Tim continued tightly.

Jason huffed.  “Tell him to tell B, I'm not going on patrol until Demon Spawn calms down.  And tell him I’m sending him the bill for this.”  He motioned vaguely around them.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tim conceded easily before his voice turned harsh again, “And tell him…”

“You two do realize you can hear each other and you two both know you can hear each other and I know you can hear each other and I’m not an owl!” Marinette admonished them sharply.

The room was silent for a few seconds before Tim started chuckling.  “Sorry, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Harry.”  She nodded at the phone even though he couldn’t see her.

“Hey!  That makes me Ron?  What the fuck?” Jason objected raising up from his seat in offense.

“Oh come on, you’d look good with red hair,” Marinette teased him lightly.

“You better fucking not be Ron,” Tim growled.   “You’re more like Draco anyway,” he continued flippantly.

“Fuck you, Pretender,” Jason growled.

“Yeah, this is making me feel better,” Marinette sighed, leaning against the counter.

There was a guilty pause as the men took in her words.  “Sorry,” Jason finally spoke up after a while.

“What?”  Marinette gave him a curious look until realization set in.  “Oh!  No, I was serious.  You two remind me of my friends.  It feels comforting, normal.”

Tim waited a second before speaking up cautiously. “So… you’re okay for tonight?  You feel safe?”

Marinette smiled at the phone again.  “Yeah, Tim.  I’m okay.  Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course.  Let me know if that changes.  I’ll be over in three minutes flat,” he promised.

Marinette grinned mischievously.  “Do I get a free pizza if you take longer?”

Tim huffed out a laugh.  “Absolutely.”

“Sweet.  I might test it just for that,” she teased him.  “Night, Tim.”

“Night.  And tell Jason to turn his phone back on before I do it for him.”

Marinette rolled her eyes.  “Still not an owl,” she singsonged before she hung up.  She looked over to Jason with a concerned smile. “Do you have to go?  It sounded like you already had plans?”

Jason waved her off and took the battery out of his phone before leaning against the counter near her.  “I have plenty of time.  Like I said, if I show up now De… Damian is going to attack me.” Marinette’s eyes widened in concern but Jason waved her off again.  “It’s fine. He isn’t as tough as he thinks he is. He wouldn’t be able to hurt me, but Bruce would yell at me for it and Dick would give me his disappointed in you lecture.  It’s better for everyone if I stay away for a few days.”  

He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tim just doesn’t want me stealing his friend away with my superior looks and charm.”

Marinette scowled lightly at him.  “Tim is very handsome and charming,” she insisted defensively.

Jason shot her a devilish smile.  “But not as much as me, right?”

Marinette scoffed at him and rolled her eyes.  “You certainly seem to think so.”  She rinsed some grapes and set them in a bowl between the two of them. “But he’s the only reason you’re here right now.  If you weren’t Tim’s brother and we hadn’t met last night when you were fairly respectful of me in my… state…”

“Fairly!?” Jason squawked.

“I’d have called, well, not the cops, but Tim, to take care of you,” she continued over him.  She grabbed a grape and chewed on it while she watched him appraisingly as she leaned back against the counter opposite him.  “Do you make a habit of stealing his friends?”

Jason shrugged and grabbed a few grapes.  “No, we generally move in different…” he searched for a nice way to phrase it, “circles.”

She hummed in response.  “And yet here you are, willingly entering in a circle with one of his friends.” She eyed him pointedly.  She quickly broke their eye contact to look down and cross her arms over her chest protectively.  “Thank you for breaking into this particular circle to help me out. Last night spooked me more than I want to admit.”

“Did you want to talk about it?  Or pretend like it never happened.  I can help with either,” Jason offered.

Marinette stared at the grapes for a while without talking. Jason was certain she was about to start spiraling again when she spoke up quietly.  “I was keeping an eye on my drinks.  I only took my eyes off of them when I was around people I trusted and we weren’t exactly close to other people for someone to just slip something in.”  She frowned and looked at nothing in particular. She poured herself a glass of water and held the rim of the glass against her lips without drinking it as she remembered the night before.  “I don’t know which scares me more, that someone was that good to get it in with all of us there or…”

“That one of the people you trust might be responsible,” Jason finished for her after a few seconds of silence.  When she looked up to meet her eyes, she looked so shaken and uncertain, he wanted to pull her into a tight, reassuring hug, but after the night before, he wasn’t sure a virtual stranger’s embrace would be the most reassuring.  He settled for moving to lean against the counter next to her so their arms were almost touching, but she still had her personal space.

“Yeah,” she said wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her arms.  

“You think you were the intended victim?” he asked curiously.  He and Tim had already discussed the night and decided that she had to be, but he was curious what her thoughts were.  “You don’t think it was just opportunistic.  You think whoever was with targeting you.”

She shook her head and looked down, frowning at the floor.  She gripped her arms tighter.  “I don’t know.  I was never alone and I only drank with my friends at our own table away from other people.  I mean someone at the bar could have drugged it before it was brought over when the waitress brought drinks but…”

“How would they know who it would go to,” Jason finished again.  “Seems unlikely they’d risk the drug like that if they didn’t know who it would go to. If they didn’t have a plan to get the person out.”

Marinette looked up at him anxiously and nodded.  She studied him for a few more seconds before she shook herself out of her daze.  She looked up at him with a fake smile.  “So what are you feeling for dinner?  I can make some pasta.  I can do stir fry.  I can whip up a casserole.  What do you want?”

“I’ll be happy with whatever you feel like having tonight,” he assured her with a smile.

“I don’t… really… feel like eating,” she mumbled, looking away again. “This is more something for me to focus on instead of last night.”

Jason gave her a gentle smile and lowered himself to her level, trying to gain her attention.  “Look, I know you don’t know me but why don’t we order take out and we can watch a movie, or if you want to be alone, I can leave.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she answered quickly, instantly looking over to him with a desperate look in her eyes.

Jason nodded slowly and gave her a gentle smile.  He rested his hands lightly on her arms to reassure her he was there and not going anywhere unless she wanted him to.  “That’s understandable.  I wouldn’t want to be either.  Do you want me to call Tim over?  I know you probably feel safer with him and when he can’t be here in three minutes, you get a pizza.”

She gave him a wan smile.  “No, I trust you.  And I’m not really feeling pizza right now.”

Jason smiled back.  “I want to joke and say that’s a terrible decision, but now doesn’t seem like the best time.” She gave him a deadpan look that made his grin widen.  “I’ll save that for later,” he finished with a wink. His expression quickly turned serious as he watched her.  “You should eat though.  What kind of food do you want to try?  There’s a good Indian restaurant around the corner.”

She looked away.  “I don’t want to order out.  I don’t want food that I…”

Jason nodded and moved closer again.  “Yeah, that’s reasonable.  Let’s make something together, yeah?  I saw some eggs and milk in your refrigerator and there’s bread on the counter.  How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?  French toast sound good?  I think you call it Lost Bread?  And how do you feel about Clueless?”

“The movie?” she asked confused.

“Yeah, adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma.”

“Fan of Alicia Silverstone or Jane Austen?” she teased weakly.

“Both,” Jason answered with a wink.

Marinette snickered and nodded.  “That all sounds amazing.”  She moved away to start getting the pan and bowls out, watching him while he got the ingredients prepared.  “Thank you, Jason.  You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“No problem.  We’ll get things figured out so you can feel safe, or at least as safe as you can feel in Gotham,” he assured her, and himself.  They were going to find who drugged her and make her feel safe again.  Whoever it was messed with one of Tim’s friends, one of the few he really trusted, that means whoever it was messed with his family and nobody messed with their family.

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @aespades @demonicbusiness @read-fantasy-to-escape-reality @jayjayspixiepop

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Tuesday, November 21

Tector: You afraid of the girl? Lyle: I'm just playin' it safe. We're just gonna follow her around a little while, find our time. 'Cause this ain't over. Tector: I think you *are* afraid of the Slayer. Lyle: All right. I'm gonna beat you like a redheaded stepchild. Throw your ass out in that sunlight. C'mon. Tector: You think you can? Lyle: Giddy-up, son.

~~Buffy Episode #24: "Bad Eggs"~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Changes (Buffy, Willow, T) by veronyxk84

Laundry Day (Spike, Giles, T) by veronyxk84

Angelus's Mercy: Part Two (Buffy/Angelus, M) by MCorey1317

[Chaptered Fiction]

Vamp for Rent 10/18 (Spike/Xander, M) by Forsaken2003

Hope is the thing with feathers Ch. 1 (Buffy/Spike, unrated) by wildflowerr_wildfire

With You CH. 8 (Jenny/Giles, M) by Bobbie23

hit rewind Ch. 19 (Buffy/Spike, M) by untiljanuary

A Call From Beyond Ch. 2/7 (Ensemble, G) by https://archiveofourown.org/works/51722902/chapters/130822738

Goodbye to Everything That I Knew CH. 8 (Buffy/Spike, M) by My_Barbaric_Yawp

New York Ch. 18/43 (Xander/Giles, M) by drsquidlove

Love Letters To Spike Ch. 2 (Buuffy/Spike, G) by CecyTheRomanticist

1632 Revello Drive Ch. 10 (Buffy/Faith, T) by A Most Sovereign Lady

A Darkened Night of the Soul, Chapter 4-20 (Buffy/Spike, E) by In Mortal

Surviving Together, Chapter 9 (Buffy/Spike, E) by ionlylikebadboys

Amara Time, Chapter 8 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Joan963z

I remember who you are , Chapter 13 (Buffy/Spike, T) by Desicat

What the Drabble?, Chapter 43 (Buffy/Spike, M) by VeroNyxK84

Fake Blood and Real Tears, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, T) by violettathepiratequeen

Icarus, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, E) by HappyWhenItRains

More than Crush , Chapter 1-36 (Buffy/Spike, E) by all_choseny

A Legacy of Chaos Ch. 26 (Willow, Xander, M) by ajw

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork:Gender Nonconforming Spuffy () by LivintheJungle

Artwork:"Two Sides Of The Same Coin" (Buffy) by CoffeeMilkLvr

Artwork:Cangel Sketches () by artsying-ifer

Manip:Banner for "Drive" by Holly () by MillennialCryBaby

[Reviews & Recaps]

an update from Angel After the Fall (Chapter 3, Volume 3) by absolutely-wretched

PODCAST: ATS 203 - First Impressions by Another Buffy Podcast

PODCAST: Episode 4 - A Cricket and Mayo Sandwich (Teacher‛s Pet) by The Sunnydale Diaries

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Joss' Self-Insert by [personal profile] itsnotmymind

I’m doing a season 7 rewrite and can’t get past the first episode by thepunkmuppet

a big reason as to why Giles is so harsh on Willow by jennys-calendar

buffy was always right about everything. by alewifed

I continue to make new Headcanons as I rewatch Buffy!! by smmagill

Anya Jenkins by cardassiangoodreads

Is there any reason to believe that Faith didn‛t go through the Cruciamentum with her former Watcher? by coraniaid

Did Buffy (or anybody else) tell Faith about the Cruciamentum? by coraniaid

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Spike and Angel were both good for Buffy by Ordinary_Pumpkin8110

You have ONE episode to get someone into Buffy… by llamacorn89

How come the cops didn't show up and when Buffy and Tara got shot by Warren? by serialllama

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Unpopular Opinions: Buffy Summers edition by jdpm1991

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[popsbridgerton]

Coming home again - Chapter One - A.B.

First of all, thanks to all the 116 people who liked the prolog and to those who sent a comment or a message or reblogged it. This means so much to me. Getting over 100 always feels amazing. So thanks to each and everyone. 💕

In this Chapter you get a little bit more of Benedict than of Anthony but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Feedback is always appreciated, doesn’t matter if it’s just a little note or even just one word I’d love to know what you think - even if it’s bad. Don’t hesitate and fire away. 😊

Words: 1300+ Note: Hadn’t proof read it yet, so sorry for any mistakes.

Summary: It’s the first morning after you arrived. Benedict who wasn’t there at the evening is extremely happy to see you and can’t let the opportunity to make his brother jealous slip away.

Prolog

The next morning arrived and your abigail helped you to get dressed and prepared you for breakfast. The day before were much more exhausted than you thought it would. You had an amazing dinner with the Bridgertons and then you all talked and enjoyed each other’s company while you remembered old stories. So, it came, that you were the last one to arrive at the room this morning, while all Bridgertons and your mother already sat on little sofas and chatted to each other or did some handwork or other stuff while they drunk tea and ate cookies.

“Good morning.” You half shouted when you arrived at the room and looked through it, smiling at everybody and when your gaze met your mothers you nodded shortly. “Y/N!” Benedict shouted and jumped up from his little sofa to come to you, arms wide open to hug you right when he would be close enough to you. “Ben!” You returned and looked at him, a big smile on your face, since it was to first time you saw him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, yesterday. But I had some plans I couldn’t cancel.” He said and pressed you softly against his chest. “I heard about that. Some kind of exhibition?” You asked when you moved back again. Benedict raised an eyebrow and tilted his head before he nodded. “Yeah, some kind of exhibition.” He said and turned half around to look at Anthony who sat in his sofa but looked down immediately when Benedict had moved and pretended not to know anything. His legs were crossed over each other and his upper foot was bobbing.

You and Benedict went back to the sofa he had jumped off, but he sat down next to Anthony and you sat down on the empty sofa at the opposite, he had sitting on before. Anthony looked up from his newspaper and smiled at you, which you returned and then he got back to reading, while Benedict looked excited at you. He couldn’t wait to hear what you were going to tell him. Indeed, you had been best friends with Anthony when you were small. But also, you and Benedict were at the same age, so he spent most of the with you two as well and you became somehow a gang of three. You always being closer and more personal with Anthony while making fun and enjoying things was always easier with Benedict.

You poured yourself some tee and took one of the cookies before you looked up at him and smiling and raising a brow as if you would like to ask what he would like to know. “Tell me everything!” He said and placed his arms on his tights. You looked at him in surprise and took a sip of your hot tea. “Everything?” You asked back and placed the cup back on the table. “That’s quite a lot, Benedict.” You finished with a small grin on your lips. “What if we start with you, telling me how the exhibition was and how your drawing is going?” You raised a brow again and smiled at him, moving back to lean against the pillows. Anthony looked up from his newspaper again to see Benedicts reaction, but his brother only leaned back as well and pursed his lips.

“Well,” he started, and Anthony looked back to his newspaper, but you were sure he was listening. “it was good. I had some very interesting talks. It was very inspiring as well. I could talk to some Artists and they gave me some to tips how I could work on my lines.” He stopped and thought about what else he could tell he. “So that’s how drawing is going. I have to improve on my lines.” He finished his words with a little nod while he still looked at you. You were about to bite into your cookie, but you stopped. “Can I see them?” You asked and moved the cookie back down. “He never shows anybody.” Anthony stated, still looking t the newspaper in his hands. “Well then,” you returned. “It might be a perfect opportunity to make your brother jealous.” You tilted your head looking from Anthony to Benedict with a look on your face that supported your words. A little “pha” escaped Anthony’s lips like he would like to say that Benedict could never made him jealous but all of you knew that he could and since Benedict loved to play little games on his older brother he smiled and tilted his head. “Seems like it is, indeed.” And with these words he grabbed a little sketch book that was laying on a table next to him and moved over to you to sit next to you. When Anthony realized that Benedict stood up, his look moved up as well, while his eyes became darker. Benedict would show you his drawings and it made him jealous indeed. It didn’t bother him, that you would see what Benedict drew and he would not. He didn’t care much about his brother’s drawings. It bothered him that Benedict did something for you, he never did for anybody else. As if you had wrapped him around you little finger and worse you enjoyed it.

You and Benedict instead got a little closer together so you could see the drawings in his sketch book, and you were starting to talk about his lines and the things he drew. Anthony stared at you for a little longer, his eyes getting darker and his features getting more furious but then he covered his face with the newspaper and read the lines without knowing what he was reading. His ears still tried to hear what you and his brother were talking.

“That’s it.” Benedict said after a little time and clapped the papers of his sketch book together. “So, Miss Winterbottom, what’s your passion?” He asked and turned his head to face you. “My passion?” You repeated the question again and titled your head while you were looking at him. A small smile started to play around your lips. “My passion is fashion.” You said like a little melody and Benedicts brows went up while he still smiled as well. “Your passion is fashion?” He asked and repeated the melody you were using before. “Indeed, my passion is fashion.” You repeated again with the same melody and giggled a little. This was always the two of you. Making fun of the smallest, tiniest things and enjoying them so long until everybody else is annoyed as hell. And indeed, you could hear Anthony groaning when Benedict again with the same melody said, “How interesting that your passion is fashion.”

The two of you turned your heads to look at the eldest Bridgerton sibling, you both know how he had rolled his eyes on you. “Oh, come on, Lord Bridgerton” you said, emphasizing the ‘Lord Bridgerton’ as if he was something better than you. “Had you ever had pleasure to have a passion.” You raised a brow while he continued to pretend reading the newspaper. Benedict shook his head for this brother. “No, Lord Bridgerton” and he emphasized his brothers title in the same way you did before. “had never had the pleasure to have a passion. He doesn’t even know what passion is. He’s always too busy and important to enjoy things.”

The newspaper was moved down in a quick move that it made a loud sound. Anthonys features were dark and almost frightening. “Enough!” He said and looked at Benedict, who you thought, leaned a little deeper into the sofa as if he wanted to disappear. Anthony folded the newspaper and laid it on the table next to the sofa, stood up and rushed out of the room. You and Benedict watched him go, both a little shocked because of what just happened.  You were making fun not more, not less. “Seems like Lord Bridgerton really doesn’t know how fun looks like.” You rolled your eyes and looked at Benedict who sighed. “He did never.”

_

Hope you liked it if you did so, leave some feedback or reblog, please. If you like to be tagged please head over to this post.  😊

Chapter two

[mahizli]

Still Learning (There Is No Ignorance, There Is Knowledge)

Art by tallterror and second chapter of Threading The Way (Jedi June).

32 BBY.

“Thank you, Anakin.”

Master Ti’s voice was gentle, and Ani met her warm, brown eyes before he bowed, like Padawans were supposed to, like Obi-Wan had taught him at the very beginning of his stay here, almost a month ago.

“It’s okay.”

His voice sounded strange. Like there was not enough air in is lungs. And his heart was beating all fast, too. It felt like… like the day he had left Mum, and Ani did not want to go there in his head. Instead, he followed the other Initiates out of the door and into the corridor.

“Hello, Master Obi-Wan…”

It sounded like a song, all his fellow-Initiates greeting his Master who stood there, leaning against the corridor walls, waiting for him. But Ani didn’t join in, didn’t say a thing: he knew just how eager they were to catch a glimpse of him, the one who lost his Master, the one who killed a Sith and was training him, him whom Qui-Gon had called the Chosen One. They were still wary of him, and he had not made any real friend, save Senior Padawan Quinlan who was going to become a Knight very soon and was actually Obi-Wan’s friend. And Master Luminara and Master Kit, who were also Obi-Wan’s friends.

Ani loved spending time with Master Quinlan, because he knew Tatooine and understood things even Obi-Wan didn’t know. And he loved Master Luminara because she had been there, with him, when Obi-Wan had started bleeding from his nose, talking funny, and had fallen down in the training grounds. She and Master Quinlan had taken Obi-Wan to the Halls of Healing, and there, Master Vokara Che had told them the bond between him and Master Qui-Gon was still bleeding, because it had been broken and not closed, and because Obi-Wan had pushed everything tight behind his shields.

Master Che, Master Yoda and Master Billaba had brought Obi-Wan back into the Force and had closed the injury in Obi-Wan’s mind. And Master Quinlan, Master Luminara and Master Kit had tried to help him with the sadness inside, even though Obi-Wan was still missing Qui-Gon fiercely and would still go very silent whenever he was thinking of him.  

Ani watched his fellow-Initiates swarm through the corridor, and checked out his Master, because it had only been a week since Obi-Wan came back from the Halls, all thin and still somewhat shaky. A week since they had cleaned and tidied up Master Qui-Gon’s stuff, and Ani still had a hard time to believe how much steadier Obi-Wan felt in the Force now.

He was no longer pale, no longer looking like he would be gone any minute, vanishing like the images people saw when they got sun-sickness on Tatooine. Obi-Wan was better now, Ani could feel it through their bond, but he still grabbed the hem of Obi-Wan’s robe, just in case, rubbing his thumb against the rough fabric.

Hello there, Padawan.

Ani didn’t smile, because people were still around, and because he still felt weird from what he had just managed to do, during Master Ti’s class. But inside, it felt like something opening up, and when Obi-Wan started to walk them back to their quarters, Ani quietly slid his hand into his and squeezed.

“How was class, Anakin?”, Obi-Wan asked, once their doors slid shut.

Ani took off his boots, shrugging out of his bag.

“Okay, Master.”

Obi-Wan never asked many questions. He never pried, like some Initiates did. He just let it go, waiting for Ani to find him. And Ani wanted to tell him, about the way he had listened to him and accepted to tell Master Ti and the other Initiates about Tatooine, about why he hadn’t been taught to read and write, about the way slaves were forbidden to do some things and to enter some places.

But Ani also knew it would make Obi-Wan sad to talk about such stuff, and he didn’t want him to be sad anymore, he just wanted to hear him talk and marvel about the way he felt so smart and quick and witty through their bond.

And he never seemed to be bothered, when Anakin asked him questions, not even while he cooked, chopping off tubers, and cutting odd orange stuff that was called pumpkin to mix them together in some kind of soup that had a nice, sugary flower.

And so Ani got to know all about Obi-Wan’s day. About the subjects he was still studying, despite no longer being a Padawan, about the way he had trained with Master Luminara because they were both specialising in a form called Soresu. About the people in the Temple Obi-Wan had talked to, and that Ani still struggled to remember.

“I like that soup, Master. It’s nice.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him.

“It’s the nutmeg. I think you have a weak spot for spices, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan knew so many things. Ani didn’t have a clue what a nutmeg was, but Obi-Wan showed him the small, brown nut, and let him grind a bit of it into his soup – and it was delicious.

They talked some more, and then Ani was sent into the fresher to shower. He knew how to use the taps and the pressure now – it wasn’t complicated, actually, much less complicated than the ventilation system on the back of Watto’s shop, or the ignition of his old speeder. But Ani still tried to be quick, because it was no sonic – no carefully harvested water from a moisturizer, but water flowing like springs from the very faucets, and it still felt like such a waste.

Obi-Wan loved showers, though. He wasn’t long about it, but sometimes, Ani heard him hum quietly through the fresher’s door, and he always felt relaxed in the Force afterwards.  

That evening, Obi-Wan didn’t shower, though. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, barefoot yet still wearing his leggings and tunics, and Ani crawled up next to him, looking at the green picture that hung across Obi-Wan’s desk. It was a landscape from Stewjon, Obi-Wan’s planet, and Obi-Wan had painted it some years ago, because his Master was very skilled at drawing, and had filled whole journals with his sketches.

“What are you doing, Master?”, he asked, his tooka-doll Spikes closely tucked to his chest.

Obi-Wan sighed, turning tired grey eyes towards him.

“I’m trying to make sense of an essay of a currently very famous yet completely unintelligible philosopher, Padawan.”

“Why?”

Ani lifted a very puzzled face towards his Master, and Obi-Wan smiled again, deftly carding his fingers through Ani’s loosened braid, undoing it before he started braiding it again for the night.

“Because he claims to be an expert about the topic I’m supposed to study, and write an essay about.”

“But why do they need you to write essays and to read boring stuff? You’re no Padawan anymore, Master. You’re one of the best Jedi ever – everybody keeps talking about you in the Temple.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes clouded for a moment, but when he lifted his face towards Anakin, his gaze was clear.

“Because the only thing I know, Padawan mine, is how little I do know and how much I have still to learn.”

Ani hung his head, letting Obi-Wan closing his braid, watching the way his Master’s knees melted with the rough fabric of the sheets.

“I know the feeling, Master”, he whispered.

I feel like that all the time.

Obi-Wan’s hand travelled from next to his cheek to his shoulder, and soon enough, Ani was pulled against his side, breathing in the smell of clean linen, of soap and Obi-Wan.

“I did it, Master. I told them. About the slaves, on Tatooine. About what it meant, to read ‘no slaves allowed’ or ‘keep out’. About the dangers out there. They didn’t ask any questions, though. I don’t think they understood much, anyway.”

Obi-Wan stayed silent, for a while, data-pad and reading forgotten.

“I am not sure one can truly understand, Padawan. I still struggle. And sometimes… sometimes I think about what you have been through, and I wish…”

His Master didn’t go on, words ending into something that was both a breath and a sigh. There was no need, though. Ani understood.

“But, Anakin… I think that the reason the Initiates stayed silent was… because they were in awe. Because they felt very ignorant, compared what you were forced to experience.”

Ani shrugged, face still buried into Obi-Wan’s side.

“I’m very proud of you, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was even softer, and Ani wrapped his arms around his waist, wordlessly. For a while, he listened to the quiet way Obi-Wan was breathing, focusing on the way Obi-Wan’s belly was meeting his forearms, whenever he was drawing in air or letting out a sigh.

His Master had resumed reading, and it didn’t seem to make him happy, because there was a thin crease between his eyes Ani had learned to recognize. What was more, Valentine, Qui-Gon’s old plant, was hissing quietly on the windowsill, flowers turning an electric form of blue and getting all spiky. Ani closed his eyes and sent a soft Force-tendril towards her, trying to stop her hissing.

Nervous-Pointless-Anxious-Enough.

Valentine’s projections in the Force were always really helpful with Obi-Wan, and Anakin sent back Okay-Got It-Thank You-Calm Down.

“Master… I think you should stop reading. I don’t think that feel-low-something is worth it.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned towards Ani.

“He’s making your head ache. And I think… I think anybody who writes stuff that is so hard to understand that even you don’t manage it, well… it’s not someone who cares about sharing what he knows.”

“Anakin, I’m not the standard by whom you should… I don’t think you… It’s not supposed to be difficult, it’s just that I…”

“Master, I don’t know much. I know I don’t. But… But I know you’re so smart that every teacher here loves you. There’s not one who’s hasn’t spoken about you, and I’ve only been here four weeks. So… I don’t think you should read that stuff. I think you should stick to those who want to share what they know, not just… show off or something.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for some seconds, and then his Master did something very unexpected. Ani watched Obi-Wan’s shoulders start to shake in silent laughter, until it broke out of Obi-Wan’s very signature, in quiet bubbles of amusement.

“Oh, I think that fellow really wanted to show off…”, his Master sighed. “I’m not sure I read anything that dense for… I don’t know, probably ever?”

Anakin started to giggle as well, watching Obi-Wan close the data-pad, leaning against his headboard, still laughing quietly.

“It was… I kept reading the same page over and over, wondering what in the Galaxy was wrong with me – it felt like… it felt like… Oh Anakin, you are so right – it is some incomprehensible, self-satisfied babble, and it is positively useless!”

Obi-Wan sounded both amused and amazed by his own defiance, and though Ani had no clue about what his Master truly meant, he could feel how relieved and lighter he felt through their bond.

“I’m not going to read that”, Obi-Wan whispered, eyes growing somewhat wide, and Ani couldn’t help hugging him again, because he looked like the way Kitster did, whenever Ani convinced him to do something he was afraid of yet kept dreaming about.

“I’m going to… I’m going to focus on ignorance and knowledge instead. About the way they are sometimes mistaken for the other. There are very knowledgeable people out there who still manage to stay very ignorant, Padawan. And there are others who think themselves ignorant and who are so wise they make the world a better place.”

His Master’s hands rubbed gentle circles into his back, and Ani hugged him tighter, feeling his heart swell because of Obi-Wan’s words.

“That’s wizard, Master”, he whispered – and then he lowered his head back on Obi-Wan’s chest, because it was warm and comfortable there, and because his Master was the best Master ever.

And on the windowsill, Valentine curled on herself, flowers in the hue of a soft, tender green, projecting soft contentment into the Force – and turning still once more.