#happy birthday teacher

[isolabellz]

in another life

[merakiui]

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer. 

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely, 

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions. 

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all. 

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune. 

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I�� I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

���I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup. 

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses. 

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled. 

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

[hychlorions]

I think it was his eye! yes, it was this!

[stephstars08]

🎂Happy Birthday Ralph Macchio!🎂

Happiest Birthday to one of the most talented actors in the world!

Pretty much every character Ralph has played I immediately fall in love with them and they become one of my comfort characters!

Make sure you all go wish Ralph a special Happy Birthday!!!

(How he’s turning 63 I have no idea because he for sure does not look like a guy in his 60’s!!)

[youkaigakkou-tl]

Happy birthday Sano!! 🌌🎋

[writing-in-the-impala]

Secret Smokes (Part 14)

Pairing: Teacher! Remus Lupin x Reader

Series Summary: When the reader bumps into the new DADA professor on the bridge in Hogwarts she begins to build a friendship with him all thanks to their shared feeling of not belonging and love for muggle cigarettes. Their friendship blooms while they both fight internal battles deciding what is wrong and what is right leading to a lot of fluff, angst, flirting and a rollercoaster of emotions.

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, drinking, teacher-student relationship, angst, jealousy, fluff, smut.

Word Count: 2400

A/N: I haven't had time to proofread this one but I wanted to get it out in celebration of it being Remus's birthday today. Happy Birthday Moony.

 | SERIES MASTER LIST (All chapters) |

Previous Chapter, Part 14, Next Chapter

The trees outside were becoming greener, and the air a bit warmer. Remus and you would even sometimes take walks outside together to enjoy the sunshine, obviously distanced and acting appropriately. Acting appropriately was beginning to drain you as the honeymoon stages of being with Remus began to wear off.

January was filled with the thrill of being together and sneaking around, you got comfortable in February and now it was March. You were entering your third month of being exclusive, but not being anything, spending evenings together but barely ever sleeping in the same bed. No matter how much you enjoyed it you couldn't hide it was all becoming slightly draining. You longed for a date, to go the theatre like Remus once promised, to go for a walk and hold hands. To kiss in a public space.

"Any plans for the weekend?" You asked Remus as you strolled through the grass in the morning on Friday, you asked in the hope of finally going on a date again.

"I have a meeting with some members of the order, apparently there's rumours of activity between death eaters" He kept his hands firmly in his pockets. "What's your plans?" He looked at you with a gentle look of admiration as he spoke.

"I was thinking you could take me around London?" You asked slightly nervously.

"I'm sorry, not this weekend. There's too many people from the order around right now. Besides we shouldn't speak about this in public." His body was closed off as he looked around and spoke in a hush tone, it used to thrill you the secrecy, but it was beginning to hurt.

"When can we? You promised me the theatre." You said and he smiled gently.

"As soon as possible."

"When's that?" You pushed and Remus shook his head. "When it's less risky."

"Fine can I at least come officially meet Sirius?" You asked.

"I would like nothing more,"

"But?" You interrupted

"But, the order operates out of his house, and there's been more meetings recently, it's not safe for us to be hanging out there." He explained.

"What about your cottage? Or is that too risky too?" You tried your luck.

"That's actually a good idea, but," You rolled your eyes at Remus again. "I need time to make it habitable, it's a mess there. I'll go this weekend and depending on the progress soon we can go together." He explained and you nodded satisfied with getting at least somewhere. He looked around before continuing. "Tomorrow, after my meeting I'd love to see you. If that's okay? Although I don't know what time I will be back it would mean a lot to me if you were free." He almost whispered.

"Of course, if you won't take me out on a date at least we can have one here." You said and he offered a weak smile.

"Now tell me, how's your preparation for exams going?" He changed the subject now speaking in a louder tone and it felt more like spending time with Lupin than Remus. You enjoyed all sides of Remus J Lupin. You enjoyed learning his habits and quirks, you would sit in your DADA lesson and watch him intensely as he would tap his fingers on his wand when he was nervous. You could quite define what was going on between you both, on one hand he was very reserved, he wanted for you to come over to spend time together and then for you to leave, like you were a way for him to have company. On the other hand he was passionate, he talked about his dreams of showing you the world, about how he saw the future it made you feel like maybe you were special to him. You spent the day alone waiting for Remus to come back, every few hours you would walk past his office to find out if he was back yet no sign of him. It was getting late and you were begging to believe he won't come back today and you wasted your evening waiting for him.

Finally around nine pm as you walked back to your dorm from his office you saw him walking in your direction towards his office, you smiled at the sight of him. He was very dressed up in a nice shirt and blazer, he looked like he really cared about his appearance today as he went to the meeting. You didn't really understand why he got so dressed up to see the order or why his "meeting" lasted all Saturday. He greeted you in the corridor with a nod and you turned around walking side by side to his office. "Hello Professor." You said with a playful tone.

"Hi Y/N, I know it's Saturday but do you mind coming to have a quick discussion with me in the office?" He asked with a smirk on his face.

"My pleasure." You said as he held the door open for you and you stepped inside.

"Hello my dear." He said as soon as the door closed and he leaned in to kiss you. "Sorry for running so late, everyone couldn't stop talking I left as soon as I could." He explained as you walked up the stairs to his office.

"You look really nice." You pointed out.

"I've got to impress you, how else would I keep you interested in boring old me." He said, at this moment you clicked the thing you could smell was fire whiskey, he had been drinking.

"Do you often drink at important meetings?" You asked, a sting of jealousy on your tongue.

"Only when they run late," He explained as he poured two drinks and you sat down.

"I waited for you like an idiot all evening." You explained feeling upset by how you ruined your day waiting while he was drinking and dressing up for a meeting.

"I'm sorry, dear, I tried to leave as soon as the meeting finished but everyone wanted to talk, they wanted to talk to me, which rarely happens, you know how I talk and people lose interest well this one time when I wanted them to not listed they did listen. But I wanted to come back to you this whole evening. Anyway we're here now and I can bore you instead of them." He gave you a soft kiss on your cheek as he sat down next to you.

"So tell me about your cottage." You said making yourself comfortable on the couch, with your legs crossed and your drink in hand.

"What do you want to know?" He re-adjusted himself to face you as he sat on the opposite end of the sofa and music played in the background, he had his favourite vinyl on which filled the room with positivity even if your conversations didn't start on a good note.

"I don't know, we always just talk about music and me, I feel like I barely know you."

"I'm an open book."

"That's a lie."

"What do you want to know?" He said gently ignoring your remark.

"Did you grow up there?" You snapped.

"In the cottage? No, god, no." He snapped back instantly looking down at his glass with the last three words.

"So where did you grow up?"

"Everywhere, we moved around a lot because of my condition. Listen Y/N I would rather not talk about this today. Ask me any other day and I'll tell you, today I want to listen to some records, hold you in my arms and sip some expensive whiskey." He said putting an arm around you and pulling you closer.

"So you'll speak to others all night but all you want is to sit next to me and listen to music?"

"I also want to kiss you." He said planting a light kiss on your lips making you blush.

"Remus, I feel like you don't want to let me into your life."

"You are in my life, dear. I spend more time with you than anyone else. The last time I was around someone so much it was Sirius and I was your age."

"Yet you won't even let me meet Sirius." You left his embrace sitting on the opposite side of the sofa.

"Y/N, we spoke about this..." he said sitting up himself.

"What are we?"

"I don't know." He said slightly defeated.

"Are we dating?"

"No." He replied calmly but instantly without time to even process the question .

"But we're exclusive?" You asked after a moment of thinking

"Yes." Once again instantly.

"Why?"

"Because I can't bear the thought of anyone else kissing you."

"Why won't you date me?"

"Because I'm your teacher." He didn't break eye contact.

"Bullshit. You've crossed that line too many times for it to matter, why?"

"Because it's me. Y/N, I wouldn't want to curse anyone with me, especially not you. You don't understand what I am..."

"I do Remus, and I don't care so drop this self destructive attitude and let yourself feel happy."

"I want you to feel happy!" He almost shouted but controlled himself. "I am sacrificing my job for you to be happy-"

"Yes because you don't get any enjoyment out of it, you're just having sex with me and inviting me over for my enjoyment." You snarked back and he rested his head in his hand as he massaged his temple trying to find the right words to say.

"Y/N, you know what I mean. I care about you, I am smitten by you. But it would be selfish of me to decide to date you to call you mine. You're a young witch, you have so much potential. I have to change jobs before people realise my condition, I am always moving, I'm not safe, and I'm not safe to be around. I want to keep you safe and happy, I don't want to ruin your future by people finding out you're dating not only your teacher but a werwolf."

"Selfish is you not giving me a chance. Do you know what would make me happy? If you held my hand. The day you took me to the British Museum was one of the best days I've ever had, I was so happy, you can offer me happiness but you decide not to. You would know all this if you weren't too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice." You now raised your voice a little bit too much.

"This isn't how I wanted this evening to go." He simply said looking down at his feet almost defeated.

"I'm sorry but you can't keep running from this conversation Lupin it's March, am I just your plaything or do you hate yourself so much that you truly won't allow yourself to feel okay for a moment?"

"Dear, can we just come back to this tomorrow when you're more calm and I'm more sober?" He asked with a soft tone that contrasted your own.

"Maybe I should go." You said standing up and gathering your belongings.

"Dear-" he began as he stood up and followed you towards the door.

"No Remus, I'm not going to allow you to hurt me with your mistaken nobility, the worst part is you truly think you're doting the right thing." You said emotions getting the best of you.

"Y/N. Please stay." He placed his hand on the door to stop you from opening it.

"Why? Why are you so desperate for me to stay when you won't talk to me about anything real."

"Because it's my birthday..." he said and it hit you like a wall of bricks.

"Remus I'm so sorry-" you began but he seemed dismissive.

"Actually I believe it may be best if you do leave," Remus said letting go of the wall and walking to sit back down, downing the rest of his drink and closing his eyes as he sat there not looking your way.

"Yes I should go, we should go. Let's go to London."

"What?" He shot a confused look at you.

"Let's go, what are we doing wasting away here? Do you really want to spend your birthday sitting here like every other evening? Or do you want to celebrate?"

"I don't celebrate my birthday, I just don't want to be alone this year."

"Why isn't Sirius here?"

"Because I already saw him, they bought out a cake and sang me happy birthday at the meeting. I didn't like the attention but it was nice if Sirius to organise it, but I told them I just want to sit at home today."

"No let's celebrate!" You insisted sitting down next to him and putting hands on his knee.

"I told you I don't want to I just want to sit here and have a nice, normal, evening with you." He said sternly, his body stiff.

"Remus, why didn't you tell me it's your birthday?"

"Because I didn't want you to react like this, it's not important, I didn't want a cake, I didn't want people singing happy birthday, I just wanted to sit with you here and feel normal and happy." He explained it felt like he was lecturing you.

"I don't understand..."

"No you wouldn't would you?" He stood up moving your hand off his knee and walking away to go top up his glass before he continued speaking. "I didn't want to be reminded another year has passed, another year where there no cure, another year where each month is a curse, another year my mother is dead, my friends are dead. Another year closer to loosing my father, to loosing Sirius and another job. What is so fun about celebrating this?"

"Because it's about celebrating the person you are." You emphasised walking over to him, you stood in front of him looking up at him hoping he would kiss you as you moved up your him standing on your toes.

"There's nothing to celebrate about me." He said walking past you to sit on his office chair. You followed right behind him.

"Yes there is Remus. You're amazing, do you really think I'd be waiting for you all evening if you weren't worth celebrating." You moved in closer invading his personal space and straddling him on his desk chair. His body shifted below you as he cleared your throat, you could feel his penis twitch as he was begging to get hard. "I'm sorry Y/N, I think you should leave." He said almost whispering. You looked into his eyes for a moment before storming out. "Self destructive asshole" you murmured as you slammed his office door behind you.

NEXT CHAPTER | More stuff I wrote

A/N: sorry for the angst I had to do it.

Tags (if you aren't here but want to be leave a reply and I'll add you or DM me to get removed):

@thesoundresoundsecho @ahoyyharrington @merleisapartygod @sting-0f-ennui @starchaser-lily @ashisabitgay @livingordeadwhoknows @v0relino @evie-beanie @whotfskai @admiringyou @lily-mylove @kirubi @ghostbandghostcodghostface @rockymiles @99tech99 @almizz1

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[g3othermal3scapism]

its ayo edebiris birthdayyy 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳 have another sad angry syd edit

[deathshallbethelastenemy]

i'm crazier for you (4)

TEEN!gojo x FEM!reader (soulmate AU)

No warnings just fluff, unless bad words and a little tussle is worthy of TW⚠️!

1. what you see, i see

2. where you go, i go

3. you know i adore

She knew she should've asked him before he left yesterday, if he wanted to go to the school festival with her today. Now, she was looking at an unsent text massage she typed in the morning.

_____._: if you're not busy do you want to come to the school festival with me? It's okay if you can't I know you're busy with training and missions and curses, so if you have time, i'd love it if you stop by.

She couldn't send it. Everytime she read it, it sounded more awkward. Worse, she sounded desperate and she was not desperate. No matter how pretty Gojo Satoru was. Instead, she texted Geto Suguru, surely his best friend knew if he was busy.

_____._: Hello! I just wanted to ask if you knew if Satoru's busy today? I wanted to invite him to the festival. If you're not busy too I'd be great if you'd come. Shoko too!

This turned out to be another unsent message. Texting his best friend somehow reeked of more desperation, not to mention, he would no doubt show Satoru the messages. The thought alone made her want to drown in embarrassment.

There'd be other festivals for her to invite him to. Festivals where she would ask him to go with her with ample time.

No, yes, no - she should just ask him. The worst thing he could say was no, right?

Just as she was going to press send, someone tapped her shoulder from behind.

Ito Haruki, student council treasurer.

She flipped her phone closed, "What's up?"

Haruki smiled nervously, "I wanted to know if you wanted to go to the festival with me. I mean you're not dating that guy, right?"

Her heart leapt to her throat. She wasn't dating Satoru. She and him were just friends - friends who cuddled and held hands and kissed each others cheeks and foreheads. Friends who had consistent midnight rendezvous of him teleporting into her room just to see her - it was easier than sneaking him.

She remembered when her mom almost caught her sneaking him into the bakery, she had to push him under a table. The grin that was plastered on his face that whole night as they snuck in pastries from downstairs into her room. Their hushed whispers as they ate until their sweet tooth was satisfied, which for her soulmate, was never ending. She had to stop him before he ate the entire store up and started bouncing off the walls. Satoru teleporting in her room was efficient as well as an efficient way to sneak out of her room without her mother noticing.

The coffee nights were the best. His was always far too sweet and looked more like milk with the amount of creamer he put on his coffee. Their midnight walks where he would give her his jacket because she got too cold. Those same walks, he would sneak his hands under her sweatshirt to keep warm, until finally, they would warp back into her room and fall asleep in each other's arms.

But they weren't dating - Oh, who was she kidding, they were practically dating.

"You mean Satoru?" Still, she shouldn't lie and it was her decision to go slow, "He's my friend," but she didn't want to see anyone else, so she quickly added, "but we are talking about being something more."

Haruki's smile dropped, "So it's like that."

Her phone buzzed in her hand:

1 TEXT MESSAGE from Gojo Satoru

Gojo.S: something more huh? ;)

How long has he been watching what she was doing? Had he seen that embarrassing text message? She hoped not. She quickly backspaced her old text message and typed:

____._: stalker :/

"Is that him?" Haruki said behind her.

She flipped her phone closed again, "Uh, yeah."

"You smile alot around him," he said, "why aren't you dating him already?"

Her phone buzzed again.

"Well," she said, "we're taking things slow, you know, starting as friends."

Another buzz.

Haruki's gaze was full of disappointment but he left her alone and moved on to another girl.

Buzz- She looked at her phone.

3 TEXT MESSAGES from Gojo Satoru

Gojo.S: :'(

Gojo.S: when are you gonna send me that text???

So he had seen it.

Gojo.S: tell that guy that I'm not afraid to fight >:(

She giggled and typed:

____._: stop stalking me :|

____._: soooooo are you free?

She waited in baited breath for his next text.

Gojo.S: free for what :)

He was the absolute worst.

____._: do you want to come to the festival with me?

Two seconds...

Gojo.S: idk i mean it is pretty last minute

She smirked.

____._: that's okay. i'm sure Geto, Nanami and Haibara are free :)

Gojo.S: >:O

Gojo.S: so that's how it is now

She didn't answer and she flipped her phone close. Now, she was hoping he was watching.

Buzz. Ignored.

Buzz. Ignored.

Buzz. Ignored.

Buzz. Ignored.

Satoru opened his eyes and stared at his phone in shock. He sent another text- nothing. He poked his best friend's cheek annoyingly.

Suguru poked his cheek back harshly, "What," poke, "do" poke, "you", poke, "want?"

Satoru shoved his phone in Suguru's face.

Suguru laughed. He actually laughed at him as buzz came from his phone. He slid it open:

____._: wanna come to my school's festival today? i already texted Shoko, she said yes. I don't have Nanami's # or Haibara's # can you invite them for me?

Suguru grinned, "Guess who just texted me?"

Satoru whirled his head to him and lunged for him, "Give it to me!"

Suguru narrowly evaded his tackle as he typed:

Geto.S: sure, we'll be there

It was only a matter of time before Satoru tackled him to the ground and ripped the phone off his hands. He tumbled to the ground as Satoru's infinity keeping him safe from Suguru's curses.

"I can't believe she actually asked you!" Satoru flipped his phone and started to press the buttons furiously.

Suguru chuckled underneath him, "You should've just said yes when she asked you." He got his hands free from Satoru's hold and landed a double hit on his torso making him double over in pain, "and that's what you get for letting your infinity down."

He picked up his phone from the ground.

1 TEXT MESSAGE from ____ ______

____._: see you later :D

Satoru grabbed him by his pant leg, "Tell her to invite me!"

Suguru smiled in the way that he always had - one that seemed soft and genuine, "No," and slid the door shut on Satoru's hand. The door stopped right before it crushed his hand- Satoru had just turned on his infinity at the knick of time.

Satoru reached for his phone on the floor and stared at the small screen willing his soulmate to text him back.

He closed his eyes and focused. It didn't take much for him to be able to see everything she saw or hear her surroundings. Seeing through her eyes doesn't stop his six eyes from working. It was suppressed to a point where he could and couldn't see curses like he was seeing through two different lenses. It was jarring at first, but he was used to it now.

She was taking notes from her textbook.

He frowned. Suguru was right he should've just said yes.

Satoru doubted Suguru would do anything but he wanted to spend time with her alone in front of her classmates like a real boyfriend. That's where they were headed he knew that but he'd very much like their relationship to be official. He supposed she was making him work for it. He had said some pretty awful things before they met knowing she was watching. Then he died-ish and while he was up in the clouds feeling like he could take on the world - she was alone and full of sorrow. Fear and pride were keeping her from taking the plunge. All he had to do was keep at it and not fuck up.

He flipped his phone closed. He fucked up. Not too badly, though. It was a minor fuck up, nothing, he couldn't fix.

He fixed his sunglasses to cover his eyes completely. Not being invited to events has never stopped him before and it won't stop him now. He had an hour to think of a game plan, but just in case, he called her.

Her phone rang as she walked to the library to ensure that it was locked before people started showing up. She hadn't meant to ignore it. She was going to answer it, truly. She was only teasing him before, but one of her underclassmen needed her help. How could she possibly refuse? And she had meant to call him back but with the last minute preparations and the teachers not wanting to oversee anything meant it was all on her. By the time, she got around to calling him people were already rolling in and she had to greet them.

All she could do was hope that Satoru would show up today, even if she didn't explicitly invite him.

She smiled and waved at classmates and other guests. She smiled brightly when she saw Shoko and Suguru arrive with Nanami and Haibara, only for her smile to slip a little when she didn't see a fluff of white hair towering over them.

Suguru lagged behind to talk to her, "You seem a little disappointed." A soft smile played on his lips, "Upset Satoru didn't show up?"

Pink dusted her cheeks, "No- I mean, yes." She sighed, "It's my fault. I had meant to call him right after, but all of this," she gestured to the school, "got in the way and I forgot."

More people shook her hand and waved.

"Do you have to do this the whole time?" Suguru asked.

She looked at her watch, "Just for twenty more minutes."

Another handshake from a stranger.

From the corner of her eyes she saw Suguru grab a male student from the scruff of his neck and took off his school blazer from him. The student looked at him and seemed like he was about to say something to him, but one daring look from Suguru and he had left without a word.

He quickly replaced his jujutsu tech jacket with the school uniform blazer, "Go, call him." Suguru whispered in her ear, "I've got it from here."

"Are you sure?" She said, "This is my responsibility and-"

"It's fine," he smiled, "I didn't steal this blazer for nothing."

Smiling, she hugged him. "Thank you, Geto. You're the best." She squeezed his arm gently before leaving to call Satoru.

With her phone pressed to ear she waited for him to answer. What if he didn't answer? What if he was angry with her? Seven rings later and the phone went to voicemail. Her heart sank a little but she called again.

No answer.

Satoru usually answered at the first call, even when he was on missions. He must be angry with her. Calling again would probably only annoy him further, or get him to be more upset with her. She thought about texting him but what would her message say: I'm sorry I invited all your friends and not you because of a teasing comment you made.

She went too far this time. She shouldn't have invited everyone and excluded him. She should start the text message with that, so she started typing.

A hearty laugh snapped her out of her message. Suguru's laugh.

She paled. Oh God, he was laughing at someone. She would get in trouble for sure. She quickly moved to apologize for his rudeness (despite what Geto Suguru claimed, him and Satoru were best friends for a reason), and saw a mountain of an oversized pokemon Eevee plushie locked in someone's both arms overcrowding the school entrance.

She pinched Suguru as she helped the poor person get inside the school, "I apologize for my friend's lack of manners." She smiled nervously, "He didn't mean to laugh." She shot him a pointed look, "Right, Geto?"

"Yes, I did." Suguru chuckled, "Satoru looks ridiculous."

Satoru poked his head on the side of the large Eevee and flashed her a wide grin. Extending the plushie in his arms and with a teasing tilt in his voice, he asked, "Aren't you glad I'm here?"

She took the pokemon plushie from him. She loved Eevee.

She leapt his arms, "I really am glad you're here," she grinned up at him, "and not just because of Eevee."

Satoru's grin widened, "I know, I know, I know, I'm great."

She tip-toed and kissed his cheek. He let out a satisfied hum as he rested his head on top of hers to look at his best friend.

"Suguru," Satoru said, "what are you doing?"

"Greeting," Suguru gently smiled at passersby's and gave them warm soft-spoken welcomes.

Shit, she forgot he was there.

She handed Eevee back to Satoru, "Geto, I can do the rest." She said as she took his place at the entrance, "Thank you again for helping me." She waved to them both, "I'll catch up in a few more minutes. Have fun!"

Satoru's smile faded, "How many minutes?"

"Welcome," she told one of her classmates and then turned to Satoru, "Just a few."

"But-"

Suguru yanked him by his collar.

"Ow!"

She couldn't help but laugh.

The festival was looking to be a great day.

Gojo: *bullying a teacher*

Shoko: *smoking*

Geto: *trying to hide the smoke coming from the classroom Shoko's in*

Nanami: why are we here?

Haibara: bc it's fun :D *pops balloons in a dart game*

Let me know if I missed anyone!!

Part 5: baby, you're the life of the party

Part 6: something's made your eyes go cold

@phoenix666stuff @96jnie @mr-underhills-things @whatamidoing89 @wbad-world @ancientimes @whippedbyikemen @sammyiguess @pumpkindudeishere @witchofthecoffee @arminswifee (there was a problem with this one it would not let me tag you 😭)

Part 5 will probably be the aftermath of the KFC break up scene, if not then Gojo's birthday when he turns 17 in December

[jumjum-crafts]

The one that started it all!

[starlitabyss14]

[whatsaudreythinkingabout]

went to the international market the other day to get some sparkling orange j hey WAIT A MINUTE—

she’s in her natural environment now…

wait

by talos, it can’t be—

THEY FUCKIGN JUICED HER

[thelastwalkingsoul]

Birthday post for my beloved B @stevesbipanic Eddie will never forget the day he found out Steve could sing.

He'd gone over to Steve's house to surprise him, using the key his boyfriend had given him not long after they officially started dating. Eddie had opened the door to music, loud and so very Steve. He'd walked into the kitchen to find Steve in the middle of cooking dinner, hips swaying. It wasn't an unusual sight. What caught Eddie off guard was the voice he could only describe as angelic. Something about it sounded so unlike Steve and it caused Eddie to stand still in the doorway, watching his boyfriend.

When Steve finally turned around, he jumped, face turning that pretty pink Eddie liked so much. He'd laughed awkwardly, clearly embarrassed. Eddie had simply walked over and pulled Steve in, complementing his voice between kisses. Steve later admitted that he never sang in front of anyone, too self-conscious of his voice. Eddie had stumbled across the magic of Steve's singing, meant for no one, but a gift he had all to himself.

Years later, he and Steve are happily living together in their cozy little house. Steve's a teacher at a local middle school and Eddie is riding the success Corroded Coffin has made for themselves. Their both content with where they are in life and sometimes Eddie can't believe he made it this far.

Steve is still just as gorgeous as the day Eddie fell for him. Robin constantly teases them for how grossly in love they are. And ever since Eddie found out Steve could sing he has treasured every little musical sound his boyfriend has made. Steve has a frankly adorable habit of subconsciously humming or singing whatever song Eddie's been working on recently and it makes Eddie positively melt. He tries his best to memorise the lyrics to all of Corroded Coffin's music and listens to every demo Eddie produces.

Eventually, Eddie manages to convince Steve to come and record himself singing in their at-home studio. Steve's still apprehensive about it, but Eddie promises it's for fun and drags him inside. They fuck around for hours, losing track of time as Steve sings through his favourite songs, then parts of Eddie's favourite songs, and then some of Corroded Coffin's songs. Eddie listens with a grin on his face the whole time, reassuring Steve when he needs it. Right at the end, Steve starts singing Eddie's newest work in progress. It's quiet and slightly slower than the original but it's sweet and Eddie eats it up. He sits, pretending to fiddle as he listens. It's his favourite sound in the world.

A month later, with an idea that's been brewing in his mind for several weeks, Eddie nonchalantly asks Steve how he'd feel if he could share his musical talent with the world, without anyone knowing it was him. Steve seems suspicious but answers anyway. It's all Eddie needs.

He secretly adds the small audio clips of Steve singing his newest work in progress, due to come out in the next few months. His bandmates pick it out, knowing it doesn't sound like Eddie or any of them but, despite knowing Steve well, can't pick that it's him. It's perfect and Eddie publishes the song like that. Steve's vocals are there, soft and airy in the background. Not too noticeable but loud enough that they add a little something extra to the song.

Now, Eddie knows Corroded Coffin fans are a little rabid. They're scarily observant, especially when it comes to picking hidden shit out of their songs. But Eddie didn't expect the insane reaction Steve's vocals have on the fanbase. People lose their shit. They love it. Love the tone and airy quality of it. They demand more. The best part is the mystery it creates around who it is. The fans argue over whether or not it's Eddie or the other band members. Some believe it's none of them, a secret 5th person left uncredited. Eddie stays silent on the discourse, absolutely loving the chaos it's creating amongst their fans.

Steve himself is confused. A small group of his students who he knows are fans of Corroded Coffin have been debating for days. He can't help but listen in, always interested in the little gossip he can gleam about Eddie's band. They turn to him one day as he's listening in and ask for his opinion, getting him to listen to the new song for the first time. He's sure he gasps when he hears his own goddamn voice singing back at him. It's quiet, sure, but Steve's surprised his students haven't figured out it's him yet. They seem to like it though, and while Steve's a little mad that Eddie put them in there without asking, he feels more than a little warm when he realises how much care Eddie put into including Steve in something he loved whilst making sure it wasn't too obvious. Still, though, Steve feels like he wants to simultaneously punch Eddie and kiss him till they’re both gasping for air.

Nobody can blame him if he goes home later that day and does both.

[ribcagebonemeal]

JUST IN CASE i dont get a rendered drawing done.. i have small gift

[solchle]

redesigns ive done! (damn sorry about the tags)

[afterlife-2004]

Happy 60th Birthday to the one and only, KEANU REEVES! Who’ll be voicing Shadow The Hedgehog in Sonic The Hedgehog 3 (Sonic Movie 3) this December! Hope you enjoy your special day with family and friends! YOU’RE BREATHTAKING!🎂🎊🎉🥳🎈

I just wanna say that all of us Sonic fans are very excited and overwhelmingly ecstatic to see your take on this character that millions of people have adored and cherished ever since his first debut appearance in SA2 (Sonic Adventure 2) all the way back in 2001! I’m sure you’ll blow us all away with your performance! And I can tell just from the first official trailer we’ve just gotten! You got this! 🦔🖤❤️

In celebration? Here’s some artwork I’ve done of Movie Shadow in the past! Who we’ll finally get to see on the big screen this Christmas! 👀

[hexedrosel-arts]

Birthday, very nice

Not pictured, Buggs smashing Ozzy's face in the cake(they have a back up it's okay)

Silly kids, silly kids the lot of them