#the good ones i would talk to the students and ask them if they had heard of a little sight called a03

[ms-demeanor]

In my college American poetry class we had to do memorized readings of three poems, one of the ones I chose was Langston Hughes' "Weary Blues" because I'd already built a dramatic performance of it in high school.

This was an interesting college class because it was tiny (16 students at the start of the quarter, 12 at the end) and because it was *poetry* a lot of people in the class fudged the readings and did them the day of class, which meant that they weren't really prepared to discuss them. After two excruciating classes in a row where I was the only person ready to discuss the readings (in the second class I literally had to sit on my hands to keep myself from trying to speak after the professor said "Alli cannot answer for the rest of the hour, somebody else say something" and then nobody did for another ten minutes of the most awkward silence I have ever encountered), the professor brought in lyric sheets for "Summertime" from Porgy and Bess.

He started the class with our normal written quiz, then asked who was ready to talk. I was, because of course I was, but nobody else raised their hands.

"If you're not going to talk, then you're going to sing," he said, and handed out lyrics to everyone. "We are all adults, and we have an adult agreement that you will read the assignments and be prepared to discuss them, and I will lead discussions and teach you about the readings. You are not holding up your end of the agreement like adults, so I'm treating you like children, and your participation for the last three classes will not be based on your quizzes - which is good news for a lot of you - but on doing a sing-along today. So I'm going to sing this first, then we're going to sing it five times together, and then we're going to talk about the song together, and you are going to do your readings before my next class or I am going to be handing out more lyrics and we'll sing another song together like kindergartens."

That class is why the four students who dropped did so, but everyone who stayed was prepared for discussions for the rest of the quarter.

Anyway, that was before our second poetry presentation so by that point I'd already sung with these people and had no shame, so i decided I was going to actually sing the singer's part in "Weary Blues."

I recorded it on my phone and asked my friend Lindsey, who was in the class and happened to be a choir director, to listen to it and tell me if it sounded terrible. She said that it did not and asked if I had any vocal training and I said no and she said "you should join a choir" and i felt very flattered and continued practicing and memorizing the poem.

We had to give critiques of each person's performance, and most people were generally polite like you normally would be when giving feedback, but apparently one young woman was still pissed at me for being a suck-up and doing the assigned readings.

"First of all i couldn't even pay attention to the rest of the poem because you sound like a man. I think singing was a weird choice and singing like a man made it impossible for me to take your reading seriously" and i was a bit surprised (so were other people) but simply said "thank you, that's good to know, i was trying to sound like a man because the speaker in the poem describes the singer as a man, it's good to know i hit that mark" and we moved on.

Lindsey and the professor both checked in on me at the end of class, Lindsey to say "practice made that sound really really really good you should join a choir" and the professor to say "i was leery when you asked to sing part of your poem, i don't usually allow that but I'm glad i did" and both to ask if I was upset by the other student's comments.

I was not upset. Mentally i was jumping up and down and doing backflips and was bummed because the other student was probably just being mean and didn't actually think my voice sounded masculine.

But now I'm finding videos with titles like "is that my mom or a dude? Learning about the contralto range" and I'm like haha wait yeah, gender euphoria is stored in the vocal cords.

[grison-in-space]

I keep thinking about this post in the context of my discipline, which is in the sciences. At this moment, I am in the process of applying to jobs in IT: I'm a postdoc, so my funding comes entirely and directly from federal funds. Which would end in May anyway. And the lab was low on its grant cycles to start, and its whole focus is on a number of topics that put us on a number of chopping blocks even if science as a whole starts getting funded again.

Fuck. I'm really sad. I have been avoiding talking about this decision because we're not telling the students or the lab as a whole for another month so they don't panic. I still intend to be available for them as a resource and if I'm very lucky, I'll land a position in the university IT and that will be part of my new job. I'm trying to get my core project into publication, too, before I go, and I don't have the time to soothe my students' emotions if I'm going to get that done. And I have to document the various things I have built the lab since I've been here so that it can go on using without them. That's gonna take time and work. If I stop to make anyone else feel good about it, I won't get it done. I am carrying a lot of grief right now.

So I'm looking at leaving science, at least for a while. I'm facing down the very real possibility that science, which has been funded far more aggressively than humanities for a very long time, might cease to exist outside of the private sector for some time to come. And I keep looking at myself internally, thinking what will I do now?

I find that my thoughts keep revolving around two things. One is the obvious: how do I make myself marketable enough to find a new job? I have some pretty terrifying giant data analysis skills, though, so that one isn't so frightening. The other one is really the one that keeps occupying my mind when I think about my immediate future: how am I going to Find Out without money for materials now? What's my next research project? What can I contribute to existing citizen science positions? What could I crowdfund a tiny budget for?

I don't know if that's what all the scholars facing down this gutting of our industry are thinking, but here's what I think: I think the National Endowments for Arts and Humanities have been shadows of themselves since 1996, and yet arts and history have not died. True, they're nothing like the flowering of knowledge we could have had with budgets that kept pace as a function of the (tiny) expenditures the Nation makes to fund generating new areas of human knowledge. Nevertheless, both yet live on, even under compromise.

I console myself by thinking: even if the current attempts to break the backs of knowledge workers and the university system succeed, there will still be questions to be asked and people working on answering them to the best of the resources available. Maybe it's just that I'm a cussed fucker who lost an entire chapter of my thesis once because my PI couldn't find me $2000, but I'm used to thinking about how to be rigorous about my work without the benefit of actual finances. I have... probably six scholarly projects I want to play with that could be accomplished without assistance from a university or significant startup funding. Sure, molecular techniques are out of reach right now and so are some of the toys I get at work. That doesn't mean I can't still collect data and build conclusions.

If we're going back to the days of the Victorian gentleman naturalists, goddammit, we could do worse than to learn from the likes of Mary Anning and Alfred Russell Wallace and George Washington Carver. Let's really lean into what we've learned from a decade of Citizen Science initiatives. If basic rather than applied science is going to become a hobby rather than a profession once more, let's make a really good hobby culture capable of turning out interesting data.

After all, there will always be science, just as there's always history. Let's stick around to see what kinds of things we find out next.

[lemuriasgoddess]

Choices

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Pairings: MC x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb

Summary: A/B/O AU in which the boys are roommates in uni - MC hides her Omega status until her heat is triggered one night during a party at the boys' house…

A/N: Please note that English isn't my first language therefore there might be some mistakes here and there - summary vague to avoid some spoilers - MC has a name

The stadium smelled of pop-corn… and Zayne. The Omega sighed as her childhood friend's scent invaded her nostrils. He had invited her to watch Caleb's game that night. It had come as a total surprise. Zayne, doctor-to-be, never left his bedroom in the house he shared with Caleb and their friends. She would never have imagined the Alpha would be interested in sports, especially college football. Even when it was Caleb's team playing. Zayne disliked the noise, the shouts, the crowd… he always had. He wasn't much of a socializer. He wasn't one for small talk. Unless it was with her. He would have small talks with her all day every day. Big talks, even, if he could. But Zayne was busy. Zayne was going to be a heart surgeon, and failure was not an option.

"Finished your homework already, Dr. Zayne?"

Zayne raised an eyebrow and almost rolled his eyes when he saw the teasing smirk on her face.

"Not quite."

"Did Caleb get you the tickets?" she finally asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"No?" Zayne replied with a frown. "I bought them myself, why?"

"Oh… just… didn't think this was your kind of thing… is all."

"It's a big game for Caleb, I knew you'd want to be here for him."

"You didn't have to come with me, I know you hate these things."

"I don't… hate it. And it's Caleb, we should be here for him."

Mina nodded. She was unconvinced, but she nodded. This wasn't Caleb's first big game. But it was the first time Zayne was in the audience.

Mina hadn't seen Zayne in some time, but she was certain something was different about him now. He had always been a serious person, not just a serious student. Sometimes, it was hard to know if he was enjoying the moment, as he always seemed to want to be anywhere but wherever he was. When Caleb told her he was moving into a house with his friends, she did not imagine Zayne was one of them. And she did not imagine Caleb would start behaving like the future doctor either. Ever since he left for university, two years before she graduated high school herself, he had become so distant. They barely saw each other anymore. When she was accepted at the same university, she hoped things would go back to how they used to be, back to normal. But it wasn't the case. He was avoiding her. He barely even responded to her texts anymore. It was a complete mystery, why her adoptive brother would start ignoring her all of a sudden. In truth, it was Mina's first heart break. And she had shed many tears over it.

Mina cheered for Caleb and his team, and perhaps her spirit had helped them win, though they didn't really need any help. Zayne had remained seated, only clapping whenever he found acceptable. As the stadium emptied, he caught Mina by the arm and spoke strange words to her.

"Do you want to come?"

"What?"

"To the party, do you want to come?"

"You're hosting a party?"

Zayne snorted as if the very idea was laughable. "No. Caleb is."

"Who- who will be there?"

"His teammates I'm assuming, the cheerleaders, the guys…"

"What guys?"

"Our roommates."

"Ah, right…" The guys.

Mina shook her head. "Does Caleb know you're inviting me?"

"I don't think he'd object."

"You'd be surprised…" she mumbled under her breath.

"So, are you coming?"

Mina thought about it. There was a very good reason she shouldn't go to a house full of drunken boys. Not boys. Alphas. And perhaps her being there might finally get Caleb's attention. His anger and disapproval also, but his attention.

"Yeah, okay, I'll come."

***

Anger, disapproval, attention… Mina got all of that. And more. When Caleb spotted her in the middle of his living room, a red cup of who knew what in hand, surrounded by Alphas… he saw red.

"Ow, you're hurting me!" Mina whined as her foster brother dragged her outside.

"What were you thinking coming here?!"

"Zayne brought me!"

"You should've said no!"

"I wanted to see you! I never see you anymore, this is what I have to do to see my brother now?"

"I am not your brother," Caleb hissed at her, startling her. He instantly regretted it when he saw the look on her face, the hurt in her eyes. "I-" he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"Why would you say that to me?" Mina's voiced cracked as tears filled her eyes.

"No, baby, that's not what I meant, I'm sorry," he said in a soft voice, his soft voice that he only used for her and that she had missed deeply. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders, but he was avoiding her eyes.

Frustrated, Mina tried to push him away from her, but he was like a rock, unmovable.

"I hate you," she whispered, tears running down her cheeks.

"That's okay," he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss in her hair.

"No, it's not okay!"

She was crying now, her face buried in his shirt. "You left me! You left me alone! Gran died and you weren't there!'

"I'm sorry, I couldn't… I had to…"

"What?" she shouted as she pushed herself away from him, from his embrace. "What did you have to do that was so important you weren't at Gran's funeral? You weren't there when I needed you the most!"

"I can't… I can't be there for you anymore, Mina…"

"Why not? Why do you hate me so much?"

"No, baby, you don't get it, I don't hate you," he assured her, taking her face in his hands, making her look at him. "I… I couldn't stay because… because I want something I can't have. And I don't want to hurt you."

"What doest that mean?" she frowned, and in her anger Caleb could see incomprehension.

"Does anyone know? Baby, tell me, does anyone know you're an Omega?"

"No, of course not."

"Good, that's good," he released a sigh of relief before embracing her once again. "No one can know."

Mina froze in his strong embrace. His strong Alpha scent surrounded her like a protective shield.

"Is that… is that why you left me… because I'm an Omega?"

Caleb sighed heavily. "I love you, you know that right?"

"… I love you too."

"One day your suppressants won't do the job anymore, and you'll need… someone. Promise me you'll find a good Alpha."

Silence invaded the backyard. The muffled sounds from the party raging inside was all that could be heard, but neither of them paid it any mind. Mina's hands gripped Caleb's shirt and she trembled slightly in his arms.

"I already have found a good Alpha…"

"Mina…"

"Is that why you left?" she asked, gripping his shirt tightly. He could hear the tears in her voice.

"I'm your brother…"

"No, you're not!"

Caleb chuckled quietly. "Do you see now why I had to go?"

"It's not fair!"

"One day, you'll have to make that decision. And I can't be your brother when you do."

Mina sobbed. "It's not fair…"

"I know… but in the end, no matter what happens, no matter who you choose… I'll always be there for you. Always."

***

Mina entered Zayne's room without knocking. It was unlike her to do such a thing, and Zayne would usually not appreciate it but when he saw her face, her wet cheeks, her red eyes… he chose to remain silent, even when she collapsed on his bed with her shoes on.

"I see you spoke to your brother."

"He's not my brother!"

"What happened?"

Mina sighed. "Don't worry about it, I know you're busy. Just pretend I'm not here."

"But you are here, and you are upset. I would be a bad friend to ignore it."

"Is Caleb my brother?" she mused. "Can he be something else or will he always be my brother…"

"Well, technically speaking, he is not your brother, you were never adopted as such."

"Technically speaking…" she repeated. Was that enough?

"Why? What else do you want him to be?"

What a question that was. The answer was not so simple.

"I'm just going to stay here for a little while… is that okay?"

"Of course."

Zayne eyed the teary girl on his bed for a moment before turning back to the books on his desk.

***

When Mina woke up, she didn't know where she was. That wasn't her bed or her bedroom, and she was still fully clothed, although, someone had removed her shoes.

"Zayne…"

She looked around but the room was empty. The clock on his bedside table showed it was the middle of the night, 3AM. At least the party was over, there was no music or laughter to be heard. She pushed the covers to the side and sat up. She didn't question how she got under the covers of Zayne's bed. She simply put on her shoes and exited the room.

"Hey, watch it!"

Mina gasped as a male voice reprimanded her.

"You're not Zayne," another voice said.

Mina found herself in the hallway with two strangers she could only assume to be Caleb and Zayne's roommates. Two Omegas looking right at her.

"Uh… no I'm… I'm Mina, I'm Caleb's… I'm Caleb's…"

"Sister, yeah we know of you," the one with the purple hair cut her off.

"What are you doing in Zayne's room?" the blonde one inquired.

"Oh, I was… I guess I must have fallen asleep earlier… he was with me before."

"He's in the kitchen making coffee. Hi, I'm Rafayel, this is Xavier."

Mina eyed the two men before her, two Omegas… two claimed Omegas. The bite marks weren't hidden behind a scarf or a ton of makeup. They were worn proudly, adorned on their throats.

"Yeah he's doing an all nighter again," Xavier sighed his disapproval.

"So uh… you and Zayne…" Rafayel said wiggling his eyebrows.

"No," Mina shook her head. "We're just friends."

The look of disappointment could not be missed on the Omega's face, but Xavier only seemed bored. Mina stood awkwardly in the hallway. It wasn't surprising they would think that, after all, she must reek of Zayne's scent now that she had slept in his bedsheets. She needed some fresh air, desperately. She had spent the night in the company of Alphas, had gotten Caleb's scent on her and now Zayne's scent was attacking her senses like a relentless assault against her suppressants.

"I should go," Mina said, awkwardly walking around them to reach the stairs. "It was nice to meet you!"

Rafayel and Xavier watched her leave quietly and once she had disappeared looked back at each other.

"Did you smell that?" Xavier asked.

"Yeah. She needs better suppressants."

Mina found Zayne and Caleb in the kitchen. Caleb was cleaning after his guests, Zayne was, as Rafayel had said, drinking a cup of coffee. Both Alphas smelled her before they heard her, which alarmed the captain of the football team. He dropped everything and rushed over to her.

"Mina, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she frowned, confused by the panicked look on his face. "Why?"

"You.."

The front door opened and didn't allow Caleb to respond. Mina smelled the Alpha as soon as he penetrated the house. He was huge. Not just in size but in height. Imposing, tall and strong. He was wearing a dark suit perfectly tailored to his muscular chest and arms. It made him even scarier. There was no doubt, with his white hair and red eyes, he wasn't just any Alpha. He was the Alpha to lead all Alphas. The leader of the pack.

"Sylus," Zayne greeted. "You're home late."

"I had business," the white haired Alpha said with a voice so deep it shook Mina to her core.

She swallowed heavily. That wasn't normal. The effect he had on her, just with his voice. She looked up at Caleb and saw concern in his eyes.

"Who's this?" Sylus asked as he turned towards her. "Finally found an Omega of your own, Caleb?"

"She's not an Omega."

Sylus raised an eyebrow at Caleb's words. "No?" he cocked his head slightly before he took a step forward.

Mina could feel Caleb tensing up next to her, or perhaps it was her own nervousness she was feeling. Sylus approached her slowly, then leaned over to her, his face coming close to hers, coming down to her neck. Mina felt paralyzed, caged by the Alpha who wasn't even touching her. Sylus breathed her in and hummed. His red eyes moved to find hers and he smirked at the fear he saw in them. He moved away slowly, as his fingers seized her chin and forced her to look up at him.

"Looks like your suppressants decided to quit on you, little Omega," Sylus tsked.

"She just forgot to take them," Caleb assumed.

"No, I didn't," Mina said quietly, knowing what this meant. And from the look on Caleb's face, so did he.

"A valiant effort," Sylus smiled, "to hide your little sister's secret."

"This does not come out of this house," Caleb ordered.

"Who am I going to tell?" Sylus shrugged. "But the suppressants have stopped working, taking them still will only damage her health."

"He's right," Zayne said from behind them. "Do you know who triggered your heat, Mina?"

"My… my heat? No, I'm not in heat," the Omega shook her head.

Sylus laughed. Caleb's heart sank. "Mina… your body has rejected the suppressants… you know what that means."

"But… I feel fine."

"For now," Rafayel said as he appeared in the living room with Xavier.

"You'll feel it soon. And it'll hurt."

"Shut up, Xavier," Caleb growled.

"Do not speak to my Omega that way," Sylus warned.

"Then tell your Omega not to scare m…" Caleb paused.

"Scare your…? You sister? Or your Omega, Caleb?" Sylus asked. "Figured that one out yet?"

"Shut up!"

"That's enough," Zayne called from behind them. "Mina is going into her first heat and she doesn't have an Alpha, now is not the time for us to argue. We need to figure out who triggered her heat as he's most likely her mate."

"Oh please," Rafayel sighed dramatically, "we all know it's you, Zayne, the girl slept in your bed for a few hours, your scent is all over her."

"You what?" Caleb turned towards Zayne, "you let her sleep in your bed, are you insane?" Did you do this on purpose?"

"A few minutes ago, I was still under the impression your sister was a beta, Caleb."

"Caleb," Mina called, her voice quiet and weak, but he heard her nonetheless. "Can we talk about this?"

On Caleb's face was a mixture of anger, uncertainty, panic… and fear.

"Caleb," she begged as tears filled her eyes.

Oh, how he hated to make her cry again, especially on this night.

"I'm sorry, baby," he said before stepping away. Mina's eyes grew bigger with each step he took and she watched him walk away from her. She watched her Alpha exit the house she was now trapped in.

Her heart was ripped apart at the loss of her chosen mate, as his scent vanished while two others invaded her senses. Her blood started to burn in her veins, her belly ached calling for an Alpha that was no longer there.

Her heat had started. It slammed into her with a vengeance, demanding an Alpha, demanding a knot, demanding to be claimed.

Mina collapsed under the weight of her triggered heat and all the pain and aches that came with it.

[seumyo]

DABI | TODOROKI TOUYA ✰ RESONANCE

SYNOPSIS. Todoroki Touya abandoned the bass years ago, unwilling to chase a passion that had only ever led to disappointment. Now a distant but undeniably skilled third-year, he’s pulled back into music when a persistent second-year recruits him for her struggling band. He tells himself it doesn’t matter—but the stage has a way of unraveling the lies he’s built around himself.

PAIRING. [Third Year] Todoroki Touya and [Second Year] Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT. 13k+

CONTENT. Slowburn, Strangers to Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, College AU, No Quirk!AU, Unhealthy Family (because Ende*vor), Angst with Happy Ending, Music as a Metaphor for Feelings, and so on.

AUTHOR’S NOTE. Haha (hides). This took SEVEN MONTHS, oh em gee. I’m never attempting to write long fics ever again (this was so fun). For my dearest, @seneon. Your long-overdue Bassist!Touya fic is finally here. And also @suksatoru, an absolute icon with who inspired me to write for Touya this way from her Carnations series <33 Special thank you to all my beta readers: Ali, Fio, Rinne, my brother—because without you guys, I would’ve just scrapped this whole idea and never let it see the light. I hope all Touya fans are fed with this !!

“Mr. Todoroki,” the professor began, leaning against his desk with arms crossed. “You’re intelligent. That much is clear from your written work. But intelligence without effort will only get you so far.”

Touya leaned against his chair, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “Didn’t realize effort was part of the grading system.”

“It is,” the professor replied. “That, and participation—which you’re both lacking. I suggest joining an organization—something to engage you beyond sitting in the back of a classroom and coasting through your courses.”

Touya let out a humorless laugh as if he just heard the funniest joke of his life, shaking his head.

“I’ll pass.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s just… not my thing, sir,” he muttered finally, his tone clipped. He didn’t need to say anything else to him.

The professor studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You’re only wasting your own potential, Mr. Todoroki. Though I do understand that you’re still adjusting from just having transferred two months ago. One day, you’ll realize that life isn’t going to wait for you to catch up.”

Touya didn’t respond. He just left the room once he was free to do so and didn’t bother letting his professor’s words linger too long with him.

Potential? What would his professor know about his own potential? As if the word hasn’t already been engraved in his mind from the moment he turned six, haunting him like a ghost out for revenge.

“Stupid professor,” he muttered under his breath. But even as he said it, he knew the real frustration wasn’t with the professor—or the thing that’s been holding him back, or anyone else. 

It was with him.

-

Lunchtime was always so chaotic in this university. Touya didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. But the food was good, surprisingly; he’ll give them that.

He settled into a routine. Sit on the farthest free table and have his earphones in, not because he was listening to anything, but because they were a convenient excuse to ignore anyone who tried to talk to him. He liked the solitude and how students here respected each other’s personal space.

So when a shadow fell over his table, he barely glanced up, assuming it was someone asking to join him at the table or grab the extra chair. You know, the usual stuff that happens in college—where everyone’s apparently too busy with their lives to meddle with others.

“Hey. You’re Todoroki, right?”

The voice wasn’t familiar. It was clear, a little raspy, and full of smugness that just screamed that this someone found the person they were looking for. Reluctantly, Touya looked up, locking eyes with the girl standing in front of him.

You weren’t anyone he recognized—definitely not from any of his classes. Your hands were behind your back, your posture casual yet still somewhat polite.

“And if I am?” he replied, his voice as flat and uninviting as he could manage.

You tilted your head slightly, offering him a smile. “Good. Saves me the trouble of asking around.” You bowed slightly in greeting, introducing your name and the department program you’re in. “Second year, I run the school band.”

He didn’t return the gesture, though he did raise an unimpressed eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “Congrats? Do you want a medal or something?”

“I heard you’re good at playing bass.”

The words caught him off guard. Touya’s nonchalant expression is replaced by a flicker of something sharper, something guarded. “Who told you that?”

You shrugged, the motion deliberately casual. “Word gets around. Especially when someone is as good as you supposedly are.”

“Well, whoever said that was wrong. I don’t play anymore.”

Touya clenched his jaw, looking past you toward the window. The question scraped against old wounds he thought he’d buried—memories of playing in his room, of pouring everything into the bass that he’s only ever known.

“It’s not my thing anymore,” he muttered, barely loud enough to hear. “Sorry, kid. You’re years too late to have met me in my prime.”

“Not a kid—we’re probably around the same age,” you quipped. “And I don’t buy that.”

Your bluntness made him pause. He blinked, his head snapping back toward you. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t quit something like that unless there’s a reason,” you answered simply, your tone light but unrelenting. “And honestly? Professor Hamasaki actually forwarded his concern to me, so I think you really need it.”

Of course his professor had to have come up with an intervention for him. He spoke too soon about this new university letting him mind his own business.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” you said, crossing your arms and straightening up, “you look like someone who’s got way too much going on up here”—you tapped your temple—“and has no idea where to put it. Trust me, I’ve seen it before.”

Your words hit closer than he wanted to admit, and the smug look on your face didn’t help. He shook his head. 

“You’re annoying—putting your nose in other people’s lives.”

“I—”

He scoffed, raising a hand as if to stop you. “I told you, I don’t play anymore. Find someone else.”

“Can’t.”

“You’re the only bassist worth tracking down. And I’m not just looking for anyone—I’m looking for you. You ever heard of this university’s motto?”

“No, and I don’t care. Leave.” His voice was curt, unwelcoming now.

“Ut Optimi Simus.” That we may be the best.

Touya stared at you, his expression unreadable. You just couldn’t take the hint, could you? That much was clear on his end.

And to drop the school motto? What is he getting himself into? 

What kind of self-obsessed students did this university have?

“Look,” you continued, “we’ve got a spot open in the band, and I think you’d kill it. Just come to one practice. One. If it sucks, you can walk out, and I’ll never bother you again. Deal?”

There was a challenge in your tone, one that sparked something dormant in him. He could have shut you down again, could have sent you packing with another snarky comment. But for some reason—maybe it was the way you spoke or the strange mix of stubbornness and sincerity in your expression—he hesitated.

Maybe you would just bother him again if he refused; who knows?

But Todoroki Touya was screwed before he realized it.

“One practice,” he muttered finally.

“Yes!” you cheered, a bit too loud, which had the other students’ heads turning toward your direction. Touya had to rub a hand over his face. Great. More unwanted attention.

“Whoops—but that’s all I need. Music room, next week, after your class. Building GENM. Don’t be late, Todoroki.”

He stared at the empty space where you’d been standing, then at the table in front of him, where his phone lay forgotten.

“What the hell did I just agree to?” he muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that, for the first time in a long while, he might be walking into something worth his time.

Then again, it might be.

-

The week had passed in a blur for Touya. He hadn’t thought about the band—or you—much since your brief, honestly impulsive encounter. He convinced himself it was just another passing distraction, something to shrug off and forget about, like he usually did with things that demanded more of him than he wanted to give.

And yet, there he was, standing in the dimly lit hallway outside the music room, staring at the door like it might open on its own and save him the trouble of deciding whether to walk in.

It wasn’t like he owed you anything. He’d said he’d come to one practice—only one—and even then, he hadn’t really promised he’d participate. If you had any sense, you’d take the hint that he wouldn’t touch the bass.

Still, something made him turn the doorknob and step inside.

The room smelled faintly of old wood and metal, a mix of familiarity and nostalgia that hit him square in the chest. His gaze flicked around, taking in the scattered instruments, the amplifiers, and the slightly worn drum set shoved into a corner.

At the center of it all was you.

You were perched on a stool, your hoodie hanging loose off one shoulder as you leaned forward over a notebook in your lap. Your hand moved in quick, messy strokes as you scribbled notes, humming softly to yourself. A keyboard sat in front of you, the occasional sound of a chord filling the space as you tinkered with the rhymes and chords.

Your voice was soft, pleasing to hear, the kind of voice that could wrap around someone and pull them in without asking. Sort of like a siren, enchanting—bewitching.

“Damn, still doesn’t feel right,” you muttered to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips before crossing out a line. 

Touya stood there for a moment, unnoticed, just… watching. There was an ease to the way you worked. Quiet and focused. He didn’t know if it was weird to just stand there and watch, but it took him a minute to compose himself.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

You jolted, nearly dropping your notebook. You glance around to face him, your eyes meeting him before recognition softens your expression into a joyful one.

“Would it kill you to knock? We should’ve really put a sign to knock first before entering around here,” you joked, closing the notebook and setting it aside. “Didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

Touya shrugged, slipping his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “Guess I had nothing better to do.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Your teasing tone was annoying, but it wasn’t enough to make him leave. Instead, he let his gaze wander to the instruments again.

“Is that for me?” he asked, nodding toward the bass leaning against the wall.

“Yup. Freshly tuned and everything. Had to get new strings because the last idiot who used it was just awful.” You stepped aside, gesturing toward it. “Figured you’d want something decent to work with.”

It had been a long time since he’d touched a bass. Too long. But he forced himself to walk over, crouching down to inspect it. His fingers brushed the strings lightly; it felt like meeting something familiar again.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

But before he could even pick up the bass, the door burst open with a loud thud.

“[Name]!”

The shout startled you both, and Touya turned to see a tall guy—not as tall as he is, probably—standing in the doorway, a guitar case slung over one shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. His face was flushed, and he looked like he’d sprinted all the way there.

“Kaito?” you said, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

This guy, Kaito, ignored your question, his gaze landing on Touya briefly before shifting back to you. “We’ve got a problem.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “Of course we do. When have we never? What now?”

“One of the judges for the festival just backed out,” Kaito explained, stepping fully into the room. “And the committee’s freaking out. They want all bands to perform a teaser set tomorrow to convince the others to stay on board.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head, the guitar case slipping slightly on his shoulder. “I wish I was. They’re saying it’s our only shot at keeping everything on track. Rikiyama said so herself.”

Touya raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. 

“Festival?” he asked, his tone flat.

You let out a long sigh, finally turning back to him. “School music festival. Big deal, lots of bands competing for sponsorships and a chance to compete nationally. We’re signed up, obviously, but now they want us to play tomorrow. Which is insane, by the way.”

Kaito finally seemed to register Touya’s presence, his head tilting to the side. “Is this the Todoroki you were talking about, [Name]?”

“Our new bassist,” you answered breezily, grinning as if the words were the most natural thing in the world.

Touya shot you a glare, his posture stiff. “Not yet. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Well,” you said, clapping your hands together, “looks like you’re about to. Lucky for us, huh?”

“Hold up,” Kaito said, stepping closer. “This guy’s the bassist? You’re bringing in someone new now? Do the others know?”

“Relax, they know,” you replied, waving him off. “Oh, and he’s good. Better than good.”

Kaito didn’t look convinced, but before he could argue, you turned back to Touya.

“Guess you’re jumping in sooner than expected.” Your statement was something that can’t be denied; even Kaito caught onto it.

Touya stared at you. He could feel the weight of the bass guitar in his hand, the pressure of the situation finally making itself known to him.

And yet, for some reason, he didn’t leave.

-

The day of the teaser set was supposed to be the day you reclaimed your band’s undefeated title. 

The kind of event that set the tone for the upcoming music festival. To keep spectators and sponsors engaged. Not… whatever was happening backstage.

Backstage was tense. You stood near the edge of the curtain, peeking out at the crowd as they settled into their seats. The band was set to go on in less than ten minutes, but your focus wasn’t on the audience—it was on the absence of one particular bass player.

“He’s not coming,” Kaito said from behind you, his voice flat. He leaned against a stack of amplifier cases, arms crossed, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced with thinly veiled irritation. “I called it the second he said he hasn’t agreed to anything yet.”

You didn’t answer immediately. You let the curtain fall back into place, turning to face the rest of the team. “We don’t know that yet. He might just be late.”

“True,” Haru sighed dejectedly. He’s the one who handles the keyboard and prefers to keep his opinion to himself most of the time rather than voicing it out loud—a second-year in your class.

Kaito scoffed. “Late is still bad. This isn’t some casual jam session, [Name]. This is our shot at keeping the sponsors happy. If they pull out, it’s over.”

One of the other band members, the usually energetic drummer named Yuuma, chimed in. “Kaito’s got a point. If he hasn’t shown up by now, he’s probably not coming.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Then we’ll do it without him,” you decided, trying to mask the knot of disappointment tightening in your chest.

Kaito shook his head, clearly exasperated. “This is why I said you shouldn’t go scouting random people at the last minute. You can’t trust someone who’s barely committed. Plus, we could’ve offered the slot to someone else.”

“Kaito,” you frowned, your tone sharper than usual. The entire band looked at you in surprise, and you softened slightly, your shoulders relaxing. “Look, I get it, okay? But we don’t have time for this. We’ve played without a bassist before, and we can do it again.”

He muttered something under his breath but didn’t push further.

The stage manager appeared a moment later, signaling that it was time for your set. You took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your guitar as the band moved into position.

As you stepped onto the stage, the audience greeted you with polite applause, and the blinding stage lights made it impossible to see the faces in the crowd clearly. You swore someone from the technical team really wanted to blind you and your team one of these days.

You approached the microphone, your voice steady as you introduced your band and the first song. “Thanks for being here, everyone! This is a little something we’ve been working on for a while now.”

Yuuma gave the count-off, and the music began.

The first song went smoothly. Kaito’s electric guitar filled in the gaps left by the missing bassline, and your vocals were working overtime to keep the audience engaged. The crowd seemed to enjoy it, clapping along during the choruses and cheering loudly by the end.

But something felt off.

The music was fine, technically speaking. You hit all the right notes and kept the rhythm tight, but it lacked the depth that a good bassline could bring. It was like there was a hollow space in the sound, a space that Touya’s presence could’ve filled.

It should’ve felt like a victory. To be able to perform without a bassist.

You also noticed the way the judges whispered among themselves, one even talking to the university’s president.

“Well, that wasn’t a complete disaster,” Kaito murmured, though his tone was less than enthusiastic as you all returned back to your practice room.

“Could’ve been better,” Yuuma muttered, packing up his drumsticks.

“I guess,” Haru pouted, flicking his wrist back and forth.

You didn’t say anything. You set your guitar down carefully, your movements slow and deliberate, as if everything wasn’t real just yet.

Kaito noticed your silence, obviously, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not seriously still thinking about him, are you?”

“I’m not thinking about him,” you replied quickly.

He hummed faintly, clearly unconvinced, but he let it drop.

As the rest of the band packed up their gear and got out of the room, you stayed for a minute. You found yourself staring at the bass leaning against the wall, untouched and waiting. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would’ve sounded like if Touya had been there, if his bassline had woven seamlessly into your music and added the missing piece to tie the whole performance together.

But then you shook your head, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered under your breath, the words more for yourself than anyone else.

“He already made his choice.” You did sound a little bummed out about it, though.

With one last glance at the bass, you left the room, making sure to lock it on your way out, determined to push Todoroki Touya out of your mind. This would be the last time you’ll ever think of him.

Or so you told yourself.

-

The aftermath was everything but light. It was merciless.

The following week wasn’t as pleasant as you thought it’d be; you couldn’t walk two steps without hearing the agitating murmurs.

“I thought she said they had a bassist?”

“What happened? Did the guy just dip?”

“Damn, imagine embarrassing yourself in front of the whole school like that.”

You clenched your jaw and kept walking, ignoring the sting that settled deep in your gut. You had been prepared for some backlash, sure, but you hadn’t expected the weight of it—the way the entire school seemed to know, the way the student council president looked at you with thinly veiled disappointment when the secretary and treasurer greeted you down the hall.

You had been so sure. You had told them, had promised them that you finally had a full band, that you were ready to compete. Just like once upon a time. And now, you had nothing to show for it.

Now you seem like a liar.

And Touya just… disappeared completely from your radar.

It was your fault; you knew that now. The man hasn’t even known you for longer than two weeks, and you expect him to do something as big as perform for a teaser set? You must have been so entitled to have thought of that.

So selfish to have only thought about what you want and never thought about what he wanted.

The meeting with the president later that afternoon only made it worse.

You sat stiffly in the office, your hands clenched into fists in your lap. Across from you, the president and a few teachers sat with unreadable expressions, while the event’s organizers and two members of the student council looked far less amused. Haru and Kaito flanked your sides—Yuuma called in sick on the second day of the week.

The president sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Ms. [Last Name], I’ll be honest with you. This situation has put us in a difficult position.”

You forced yourself to stay calm. 

“We do have a band,” you said evenly. “We just had an issue with our bassist showing up. But it’s temporary. We’ll fix it.”

One of the organizers, a woman in a navy blazer, exchanged a look with the student council members. “That may be, but you don’t have a bassist right now,” she pointed out. “And without one, your band does not meet the minimum requirements to represent our school in competition. The sponsors and judges of high authority weren’t too thrilled with your performance last week as well. We had to compromise some of them to stay for the music festival.”

Haru sighed softly. “Then what will happen to us?”

The president hesitated, as if reluctant to say it out loud. “We’re giving you until the end of the month,” he said finally. “If you can’t secure a bassist by then… I’m afraid we’ll have to dissolve your band.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Disband? Just like that?

Kaito shot up from his seat, palms flat on the table. “You can’t be serious. We’ve been working our as— very hard on this since last year, please.”

“We are very serious, Mr. Watanabe.” The president's voice was firm but not unkind. “The school’s music program is already under pressure for funding. With many bands making themselves known each year. If we can’t prove that your band is viable for competition, we can’t continue allocating resources to you.”

Haru exhaled sharply beside you, shifting in his seat.

You could feel the walls closing in, the weight of their situation pressing on your shoulders.

One month. That was all you had.

Your mind raced, going over every possible option, every potential bassist you could reach out to. But the truth was, other bands had already scouted most of the available musicians at school. If there were any other bassists capable of keeping up with you, you would have known.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part?

You already had the right person for the job.

You had found someone who could play at the level you needed—someone so good that even Kaito, with all his attitude, had begrudgingly acknowledged his skill.

But he was also the same person who didn’t want to play anymore. And you can’t force someone to do the things that make them unhappy.

You sucked in a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“We understand,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay calm. “We’ll find someone. Thank you for your kindness.”

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, but the weight of it didn’t leave you, even as you stepped out into the hallway. It felt like your heart was lodged in your throat, rendering you silent.

The moment the office door clicked shut, Kaito exploded.

“This is bullshit,” he snapped, running a hand through his hair. “All because some spoiled rich kid couldn’t be bothered to show up just for one gig?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable.”

You didn’t say anything.

Kaito turned to you, eyes sharp. “Tell me you’re not still thinking about him.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m thinking about where we’ll find a good bassist. That’s all.”

Kaito scoffed. “Right. And who exactly do you think is good enough to replace him on such short notice? The others combed through almost all musicians in school.”

“Easy, Kai,” Haru told his friend.

You had no answer.

Because no matter how much you hated to admit it, there wasn’t anyone else.

Kaito must have caught the hesitation in your silence because his expression finally relented. “No. Let’s not think about it anymore.”

You adjusted the strap of your bag. 

“We’ll figure it out,” you said, sidestepping the subject entirely.

Kaito sighed.

“She’s right,” Haru said. “We don’t have a choice.”

You nodded once, more to yourself than anyone else.

One month.

One month to fix this.

One month to… figure things out for better or worse.

And unfortunately, there was only one person who could.

And you were sure that he no longer wanted to see you.

But you had to talk to him one last time. For closure.

-

It was late. Touya’s classes usually stretched to 7 in the evening on Thursdays.

Touya was halfway down the stairs of the main building, hands shoved in his pockets, his steps unhurried. The night air was crisp, but he barely felt it. He had done what he always did—attended just enough classes to stay off his professors’ radar, killed time, and now, finally, he was going home.

But then he saw you.

You stood near the entrance, arms crossed, your bag slung over one shoulder. You weren’t blocking his way, but you didn’t move when he approached, your stance solid like you had been waiting for him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were the waiting type.”

You didn’t react to the teasing. Not even a glare.

“I get it,” you said instead, your voice unnervingly steady. “You don’t want to play.”

Touya slowed to a stop, tilting his head.

Something about the way you said it made his neutral expression turn to a simple frown—because there was no anger, no frustration, no accusations. Just a simple statement, like you had already accepted it.

Took her long enough.

He shrugged. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, and for the first time, he noticed how exhausted you looked. Not physically—no, you were still standing tall, still looking him in the eye—but there was something in your expression, something worn down at the edges.

“I know.”

Your hands are clenched at your sides, knuckles tight.

“You could’ve just said no. You could’ve told me in the practice room that you weren’t going to do it. That you actually didn’t care. That you were going to let me stand up there and make a fool of myself in front of the entire school—because at least I would’ve been prepared.”

Touya’s smirk twitched but didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never promised you anything.”

Your shoulders stiffened.

“Because you didn’t refuse that day, when Kaito asked who you were. You picked up the bass, played a few chords, and stayed an hour or less than you intended to. You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.”

Touya didn’t respond.

Didn’t shift, didn’t look away, but something in his posture went unnervingly still.

You let out a breath, closing your eyes for half a second before opening them again. “Do you have any idea what it was like?” you asked. “Standing up there, knowing everyone was laughing at us? Knowing the only reason we even got to play was because the judges were being polite?”

He had heard.

He hadn’t gone to the teaser set, but the rumors had found him anyway. Your band had been the first to perform to keep the judges on board—only to be the one band without a bassist.

A missing piece in an otherwise well-practiced performance.

A joke.

The sponsors and judges weren’t happy at all.

Your laugh was quiet, bitter. “We were supposed to set the standard, Todoroki. We were supposed to show them why the school backs us—that’s why we were the first to perform. And instead, we just… gave them every reason to doubt us.”

Touya’s jaw tightened just slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “That’s not my problem.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the city beyond the school gates filled the silence—the distant rumble of a passing car, the buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

Then, finally, you straightened.

“But I was happy,” you admitted. “To have seen you play in person. To have known that I was one of the first to approach you for your talent before anyone could even connect the dots with your name.”

Touya was quiet as you spoke, allowing you to tell him how you truly felt about the situation.

“Thank you for taking your time to visit our music room. And… I’m sorry, really sorry if you felt pressured to play because of my persistence. I know that now.”

Well, that took a turn, Touya thought to himself.

“I’m not going to bother you anymore,” you continued. “But I do really—genuinely appreciate you giving us your time.”

Touya felt something in his chest shift, but he ignored it.

You bowed for one last time and turned on your heel without another word.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t say anything as you walked away, disappearing into the dimly lit street.

Didn’t watch as you left him alone with the cold and the distant echoes of everything you had just said.

-

The house was silent when he got home.

It always was.

Touya kicked off his shoes in the entryway, not bothering to turn on the lights. Everything was still—too still.

His siblings wouldn’t be home for another hour.

The scent of old wood and polish lingered in the air, clean and sterile. The housekeeper must have been here earlier, tidying up everything that didn’t need tidying. It felt suffocating, the way nothing ever changed here.

His steps were slow as he made his way up the stairs, fingers dragging along the smooth railing. The portraits lining the walls were familiar, but he didn’t spare them a glance. Family pictures. Moments frozen in time. He knew what they looked like without having to see them—his siblings, perfect and poised; his mother, distant yet present; and his father, always standing in the center like an immovable force.

Touya wasn’t in most of them. 

Who knows what he must’ve been doing—or what he’s done for him to not be included?

His fingers curled against the wood before he withdrew his hand.

At the end of the hall, his bedroom door stood half-open, just as he had left it that morning. He pushed it open fully, stepping inside.

The room was clean, untouched, just like the rest of the house seemed to be every time he came back. Sometimes he questions if a family truly lives in this house. A house, because it never felt like home.

His gaze flickered across the shelves first. Medals hung from carefully arranged hooks, ribbons still tied neatly around them. Gold, silver, bronze—some gleaming, some dulled with time. A display case lined with trophies sat against the wall, their engraved plates catching the little light from his window.

They were proof of what he had once been.

A prodigy. A name whispered among teachers and musicians alike.

Someone who had been going somewhere.

But none of it had mattered.

His eyes landed on the bass guitar in the corner.

It rested against the wall, still in its worn case, the handle covered in faint scratches from when he used to carry it everywhere. He could almost feel the weight of it in his hands again, the familiar press of strings against his fingertips.

But it had been years since he actually played.

Years since he had felt anything when he looked at it.

Touya’s throat felt tight as he stepped further into the room.

At first, he had tried so hard. He had thrown himself into music with everything he had, drowning in it, desperate to carve out a space for himself in a family that never had room for him.

And for a while—just a little while—he had been good enough.

His teachers had praised him. His instructors had fought over who got to mentor him. People had noticed him.

But then his younger siblings had grown up.

And suddenly, his achievements weren’t enough anymore.

His father had never said it outright, but Touya had known. He had felt it in the way the encouragement faded, in the way the compliments grew fewer, in the way Enji barely looked at his trophies anymore.

You should focus on something more practical, his father had said once, as if music had been nothing more than a hobby. As if Touya had wasted all those years for nothing.

So he had stopped playing.

What was the point? What was the point of pouring himself into something that didn’t matter? What was the point of trying when no matter how good he got, it would never be enough?

Touya exhaled slowly, his gaze dragging back to his bass.

Even now, even after years of refusing to touch it, something in his chest twisted at the sight of it.

He told himself he didn’t care anymore. That it didn’t bother him.

But then your words came back to him, quiet but sharp.

You let me hope. And maybe that was entirely my fault.

His jaw clenched.

You looked so—tired. Not just angry, not just frustrated, but done. Like you had spent everything you had trying to reach him. 

To reach something that could never be reached.

And for what?

Because he couldn’t face his own ghosts?

Touya let out a quiet scoff, running a hand down his face.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He turned away from the bass, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You weren’t entitled to his skills.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that it used to mean everything to him. It didn’t matter that he used to love it. It didn’t matter that for a few years, music had been the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely.

None of it mattered.

Not anymore.

And yet—

Touya lingered in the doorway, staring at the bass for one second too long before finally walking away.

-

Dinner was quiet that night. 

Touya sat at the far end of the long table, arms crossed, eyes heavy-lidded with the kind of exhaustion that never seemed to leave him these days. The air in the house was the same as always—too clean, too cold, too silent. 

He propped his elbow against the table and rested his chin on his knuckles, watching his father from across the room. Enji Todoroki, a powerhouse of a businessman, always the center of everything, even here. He ate in silence, posture rigid, movements deliberate.

Touya barely touched his food.

Natsuo sat two seats away, quiet but visibly tense. Fuyumi kept sneaking glances at him, her fingers fidgeting against her utensils. Shouto sat at his usual place, unmoving, eating mechanically like he wasn’t aware of the thick tension hanging in the air.

Touya let his gaze drop to the table, to his own reflection faintly visible in the polished wood.

It was funny, in a twisted sort of way.

He used to sit here as a kid, hanging onto every word his father said, desperate for even the smallest ounce of approval. He used to listen to Enji talk about Shouto’s lessons, about the weight of responsibility, about greatness.

And for a while, he had been a part of that.

For a while, Touya had been someone his father actually looked at.

The kid who could play with instinct, who picked up the bass and made it sing like he had been born to do it.

And back then, Enji had actually acknowledged it.

Not praise, not exactly, but recognition. His father had seen the way Touya played, the way his sponsors praised his name, the way his name had spread through competitions like wildfire, and for a short while—Touya had mattered.

Until he didn’t.

Until his siblings started excelling at everything else. 

Natsuo was an academic. He soared through school with ease, outpacing everyone in his classes. His teachers raved about his intelligence, his potential.

Fuyumi was diligent and capable, always responsible, always steady, the one who excelled in sports. Swimming, volleyball, badminton—you name it, she could probably learn how to do it within two days maximum.

And Shouto—

Shouto was the golden child. The one their father had molded for years. The one meant for greatness, destined to surpass even Enji himself. He had a fragment of each of his siblings’ greatness.

And Touya?

Touya played music. And suddenly music wasn’t as great as academics, or sports, or arts.

One day, his father had simply stopped asking about his lessons. He had stopped attending his performances. Had stopped looking at the trophies he brought home, the medals he placed on his shelf.

And Touya knew then.

Knew that to Enji, he had already been left behind.

He swallowed down the bitterness clawing at his throat, his fingers curling against the table.

The silence in the room was unbearable.

So he broke it.

“You know,” Touya said suddenly, voice slow and deliberate, “I’ve been thinking.”

Enji didn’t look up. “About what?”

Touya tilted his head, watching him carefully. “About how pointless everything is.”

That got his father’s attention. Of course, it would. Enji finally met his gaze, brow furrowing slightly.

“Watch your tone,” he warned.

“Or what?” His voice was light, careless. “You gonna scold me? Ground me? Tell me that I’m throwing my life away in studying politics?”

Fuyumi’s lips parted slightly, like she wanted to interject. Natsuo tensed. Shouto kept eating, but Touya knew he was listening.

Enji exhaled slowly, setting his chopsticks down. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Touya dragged a hand through his hair, breathing in sharply. “Alright. Fine.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I spent years playing the bass. I was good at it. No—scratch that. I was the best at it. You know that. My teachers knew that. Everyone knew that.” His voice hardened. “And you let me. You let me believe that it mattered, that it was worth something. And then one day, just like that, you decided it wasn’t.”

Enji remained impassive. “I never told you to stop playing.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He could still remember it. The shift. The subtle, almost imperceptible way his father’s attention drifted. How the words of encouragement—rare as they were—had faded. How the pride that once flickered in his father’s expression whenever he won had dulled until it was nothing but disdain.

Because music wasn’t important. Because it wasn’t a legacy. Because Touya playing the bass isn’t important. Because music wouldn’t help him become a candidate to rise to the business world.

And that had killed something in him.

“Do you even get it?” Touya’s voice rose slightly, sharp and bitter. “Do you know what it feels like? To pour everything you have into something, to love something so much it becomes a part of you, only to have it tossed aside like it’s nothing?” His fingers clenched against the table. “What was the point? What was the point of me trying? What was the point of all the competitions, the trophies, the lessons? What was the point of any of it if you were just going to decide it wasn’t worth your time?”

Enji was silent.

Of course, he was.

Touya’s laugh was louder this time, almost incredulous. He shook his head, his grip tightening. “I should’ve known, huh?” His voice was quieter now, something bitter curling around the edges. “The moment my siblings started excelling, I should’ve known.”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t refute it. Didn’t deny it.

Because it was true.

Because Touya had spent years waiting—waiting for something, anything, that told him he still was important. That he wasn’t just something his father had already discarded.

But Enji was as quiet as ever.

And that told him everything he needed to know.

His fists slowly unclenched. His expression smoothed over into something colder. He exhaled, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape of wood against the tile.

“Forget it.”

He stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Fuyumi called out his name softly, but he ignored it. Natsuo watched him leave with something tight in his expression. Shouto didn’t move.

And Enji—

Enji didn’t stop him.

Touya didn’t look back.

Because what was the point in arguing with a wall?

But Touya knew the conversation was far from over.

-

“We need to talk.”

Touya let out a slow breath through his nose, already bracing himself. He didn’t stop to acknowledge him right away, just leaned down to untie his boots, drawing out the motion. He knew how this worked. Enji didn’t like raised voices, didn’t like drawn-out arguments, and didn’t like things disrupting his carefully maintained order. If Touya ignored him long enough, maybe he’d just drop it.

But, of course, Enji Todoroki never dropped anything. Especially not after the stunt he pulled earlier.

Touya sighed and finally straightened, rolling his shoulders as he turned. “Yeah?” He blinked lazily, voice laced with dry amusement. “What groundbreaking wisdom do you have for me this time?”

“You need to stop this,” Enji said, tone clipped.

“Stop what, exactly?” He tilted his head. “Speaking my mind?”

“Throwing a tantrum.”

“Ohhh. That’s what we’re calling it?” He let his voice drop into something almost conversational. “No, you see, I thought I was just telling the truth. You did say honesty is the best policy.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change. His silence pressed against Touya’s ribs like an iron weight.

Touya rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Lay it on me. What’s the lecture this time? That I’m being unreasonable?” He snorted. “That I should be grateful?”

Enji exhaled carefully. “I never told you to stop playing music.”

“Oh yeah? You sure about that?”

“I told you not to rely on it,” Enji clarified, tone flat.

Touya clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Keep it as a hobby. Something to do on the side. Something that wouldn’t distract me.” His voice dipped into something laced with mockery. “Because that’s what you always do, huh?”

Enji narrowed his eyes slightly. “Touya—”

“No, seriously.” Touya let out a sharp, humorless chuckle, stepping closer. “First, you push me into it. You tell me I’ve got talent, that I should hone it, that I should train.” His voice dropped into something razor-sharp. “And I did.”

His gaze burned, unrelenting.

“I played,” he continued. “I trained. I performed. And I was good, wasn’t I?” His voice was laced with something bitter. “I was great.”

Enji didn’t deny it.

“But then one day, you just…” He snapped his fingers. “Checked out. Like it didn’t matter anymore.” His jaw tightened. “As if playing music was the most disappointing thing any of your children could’ve done. Or maybe that case only applied to me?”

Silence.

Touya inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But, hey, that wasn’t enough, was it?” His lips curled into something sharp, his voice laced with venom. “No, because after making it real clear that music wasn’t worth your time, you decided to shove me into something else instead.”

His eyes burned.

“Business administration.”

Enji’s face hardened.

“You actually thought I’d be like you.” Touya laughed. It was a clear joke to him. “Like I gave a single shit about your business.”

Enji exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You’re intelligent, Touya. If you had stuck with it—”

“If I had stuck with it? Are you kidding me?” His voice rose, heated. “I never wanted that, old man! You wanted that!” He gestured wildly. “And you shoved me into it like you do with everything else because you thought it was better than me playing music!”

He took a slow, measured breath, voice lowering into something cold.

“And the worst part? I still tried.” His lips twisted. “I spent two years in that goddamn conservative, traditional university, forcing myself to study something I hated just because you thought it was acceptable.”

His fingers curled into fists. “And the second I transferred out, you had the audacity to act like it was my decision.”

He dropped his voice into a dead-on mimicry: “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? How could you waste two years?”

“Like you didn’t push me into it in the first place. You do that with everyone—Fuyumi would’ve still been competing today if you hadn’t discouraged her, Natsuo and Shouto as well.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Touya inhaled sharply through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less bitter.

“I didn’t even want to just play music,” he muttered. “I had a plan. I was gonna study law. Be a lawyer.” He scoffed. “Did you even know that?”

Enji’s brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Touya scoffed. “Yeah, I didn't think so.” He shook his head. “I wanted to help. I wanted to be something. And I still wanted to play, still wanted to keep music as a part of my life—because it was with me for almost all of my life. But you made me feel like that was stupid. A childish dream that I was bound to let go of.”

His throat tightened.

“You made me feel like it wasn’t worth it.”

“Touya, you needed direction.”

“No,” Touya snapped. “I needed a choice. I needed support. But you never gave me one.”

Silence.

“You forced me into music. Then you forced me into business. And when I walked away from both, you just acted like none of it ever mattered. Like I had humiliated everything that you had built for this family.”

Enji’s expression didn’t change.

“No surprise, though, huh?” He tilted his head, voice dropping into something dangerously quiet. “Because Shouto could finally fill in my shoes.”

Enji’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

“Yeah, that’s what it is, isn’t it? Did I hit a nerve there, Dad?” His voice wavered, barely perceptible. “You didn’t need to focus on me anymore, so you didn’t.”

Touya’s fists clenched.

“I should’ve known better.”

Enji remained silent.

“Forget it,” he muttered, stepping out. “I’m going back to my dorm.”

And so, it did.

-

What used to be a room full of noise was now uncomfortably quiet.

You stood in the middle of it, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over the half-empty space that had once been yours. It didn’t feel real. The shelves where you used to stack your equipment were bare. The walls, once lined with posters and setlists, were empty now—just blank, peeling paint and old tape residue. The air smelled like dust and memories you weren’t ready to let go of.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and forced yourself to keep moving.

Yuuma was coiling up the last of the cables, his usual easy grin nowhere to be seen. Kaito crouched near the amplifiers, wrapping them up carefully like they weren’t just equipment but something precious. Haru had already taken down the band’s old posters, stacking them in a neat pile like he couldn’t bring himself to crumple them up or throw them away.

It was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that came with the weight of finality, of something ending when you weren’t ready for it to.

You bent down and picked up a box of loose sheet music, flipping through old setlists and unfinished lyrics scrawled in fading ink. Some of these songs had never made it past rehearsals. Some of them had performed on your biggest nights, your loudest wins. And now?

Now they were just scraps of paper.

You exhaled softly and shoved them into the box.

A few feet away, Haru stacked another case onto the pile by the door and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think the next band’s gonna do anything with this place?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to answer.

Yuuma snorted softly. “They won’t be us.”

No one disagreed.

Because it was true.

You had been the best. The best. Your band was the one that had carried the university through every local competition, every festival for a year straight. You have been known for your energy, your chemistry, and your sound. You were the band that made people stay even after the headliners left. 

The absolute blueprint.

But now?

Now, you were just another band that fell apart because people moved on. Your former bassist chose to focus on his internship, which you respected. The others started quitting as well due to some other conflicts, and only Kaito, Yuuma, and Haru stayed. You were thankful for that.

Kaito let out a slow breath and leaned against the table. “We really thought we could hold out, huh?” He smiled, but he was tired, resigned. “Guess we were all kinda stupid.”

“Not stupid,” you corrected. “We just… we wanted it to last.”

And for a while, it had.

For a while, it had felt invincible.

Until it wasn’t.

Kaito didn’t argue. He just nodded, pushing another box toward the door.

You glanced around, taking in the room one last time. The cracked stool where Kaito used to sit when he got too tired standing. The corner of the room where Haru always left his water bottle. The space near the set of drums where Yuuma used to zone out between rehearsals. The spot where you had spent so many late nights rewriting lyrics, surrounded by the sound of your friends messing around, playing half-finished chords, and making stupid jokes.

It was hard to believe that by next week, another band would be standing in this same space.

That this room—your room—would belong to someone else.

“Alright.” You clapped your hands together, forcing a small smile. “Let’s finish up.”

No one argued.

Because there was nothing left to fight for.

So you worked.

Packing up the remnants of what used to be something grand.

-

Touya wasn’t used to asking for things. Not from other people. Not from institutions. Not even from himself.

But here he was, sitting in the suffocatingly sterile office of the university’s administrative staff, pushing down every instinct that told him to just walk out and let things be. He couldn’t let things be.

The chair was stiff. The air was too still. His leg bounced impatiently under the desk, but he forced himself to keep his voice even.

“I’m here about the band that oversees the music club.”

The staff member—a woman who looked about one budget cut away from quitting her job altogether—barely spared him a glance as she shuffled through a stack of papers. “The band that was dissolved?”

Touya clenched his jaw. Yeah. The one I fucked up.

“…Yeah,” he muttered.

The woman sighed, rubbing her temples. “If you’re here to file a complaint, I’ll stop you right now. The rules are clear—without a complete lineup, the band can’t maintain active status, but the club is still available for students who want to learn to play instruments.”

“No, no. I’m not here to join the club,” Touya exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans. “And I’m not filing a complaint about the band,” he said. “I’m fixing it.”

That got her attention. She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “You’re fixing it?”

“Yes.” His fingers dug into his palm. “Reinstate the band.”

The woman stared at him for a long moment, then let out a dry chuckle. “It’s not that simple, kid.”

Touya hated that. Hated how she dismissed him so easily, like he was just some desperate student throwing a last-minute plea.

But, to be fair, he was desperate. He’s never been this desperate before, but the moment he saw another band in your practice room, he couldn’t leave it as is.

He swallowed back the frustration rising in his throat. “Look, we need a full lineup, right?” He met her gaze evenly. “They’ve got one. I’m playing bass.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You?”

Touya nodded.

She tapped her fingers against the desk, considering. “…And this isn’t just some last-ditch effort to get back on a technicality?”

“No. I was just… a little late due to some… personal conflicts.”

She gave him another long look, then sighed, shaking her head. “If the band can prove they’re competition-ready by the end of the month, we’ll consider reinstatement on a probationary basis.”

Touya exhaled, relief flooding his chest. “I’ll take it.”

The woman slid a stack of papers toward him. “Then fill these out.”

-

The first thing Touya did after leaving the office was find you.

It wasn’t hard—because he asked a few students from your department where you usually stayed. The rooftop, they all said.

“What now, Todoroki?” you asked, not even bothering to look at him.

“I was going to play.”

The words were soft. Too soft for him.

Your hand stilled, pausing from rewriting your notes.

Touya let out a slow breath, stepping forward, leaning against the railing a few feet away from you. He didn’t look at you. Just stared out at the view below, where the campus stretched out in the afternoon light.

“I was ready,” he said. “That night. Before the music fest. I had my bass; I was going,” he admitted, shaking his head. “And then my old man showed up.”

Touya rarely talked about his father. Much less to anyone—especially you. You had heard things, of course—whispers, rumors, the kind of stories that floated around when a family name like his carried a reputation. But you never asked. It wasn’t your place.

And your priorities lie elsewhere.

You stayed silent, letting him speak.

“He told me to drop it. Said there was no point. That I was wasting my time.” Touya’s fingers curled slightly against the railing. “And I don’t know why it got to me. I thought I stopped giving a shit a long time ago. But right then, it was like I was a kid again, standing in that room full of trophies that didn’t mean anything to him.”

His voice was quiet. Not bitter, not angry—just honest.

“And I got scared.” His jaw tensed. “Because what if he was right?”

You blinked at him as he turned to face you, though you were quick to avert your gaze.

“What if I was wasting my time?” Touya said more than asked. “What if I walked into that music fest, got on stage, and realized I didn’t have it anymore? What if it wasn’t worth it?”

He got a bit closer to where you sat.

“So I didn’t go.” He glanced up at the sky. “I stayed home. Didn’t answer my phone. Figured it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

You stared at your notes, but the words were starting to blur.

“You were right,” Touya mused after a long pause. “Giving you hope was the worst thing I could’ve done.” He sighed. “You should’ve hit me for that one.”

You finally turned to look at him, and for the first time, he actually met your gaze. His eyes weren’t cold or distant, not laced with sarcasm or carelessness.

They were just… open.

You swallowed and looked back down.

“You used to love it,” you concluded. It wasn’t a question.

Touya gave a slow nod. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I did.”

The wind was the only thing that spoke for a while.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say to that. To him.

But…

You could hear it in his voice. The regret. The way he hated himself for it more than anyone else ever could.

That didn’t change much. Your band was still dissolved either way. And you’ve been drowning yourself in your studies to ignore the ache.

But maybe—

Maybe it meant something.

His hands were still in his pockets, his shoulders tense like he wasn’t used to saying things that actually mattered. Like he had already braced himself for whatever you were going to throw at him—anger, disappointment, indifference.

But instead of waiting for you to say anything else, he spoke first.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” His voice was steady, quieter than usual. “And I’m not asking you to.”

You blinked, fingers tightening slightly around the edges of your notebook.

He sighed, shifting his weight. “But I talked to the organizers, professors, and staff. The university president, too.” He glanced at you, searching for a reaction, but you just stared, waiting. “The band’s registered again.”

Your breath hitched, barely noticeable—but he caught it.

“As long as you want to have a band,” he continued, his tone more certain now, “it’s yours. I’ll play.” He tilted his head slightly, something almost pleading flickering in his gaze. “I should’ve played from the start. So if you’ll let me, I’ll do it now.”

He was serious.

There was no sarcasm, no deflection, no half-hearted attempt to make it seem like he wasn’t doing something that mattered. He wasn’t trying to be cool or detached.

For once, Todoroki Touya wasn’t running.

“And if I say no?”

Touya smiled slightly, but there was no arrogance in it—just something quiet, maybe even hopeful.

“Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to convince you.”

You looked at him, your knuckles white where they pressed against your closed notebook. The wind picked up, rustling the pages slightly, but you didn’t move. You barely breathed. Forgot to, maybe.

God, you hated him.

You hated how genuine he was being.

But more than anything—

You hated that you wanted to believe him.

“You really think it’s that simple?” you ask. It’s soft this time around.

“No.” Touya’s voice was level, calm. “But it’s a start.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me. I’ll listen.”

You couldn’t tell him.

Because the truth was, you believed him.

And that was the worst part. You’re too hopeful again, and what if this time around, the damage would be even more severe?

“You don’t have to do this.” Your voice was steady, but underneath it was something raw. “You don’t have to do all of this because you feel bad. Because you suddenly decided it mattered to you again.”

Touya didn’t flinch. He just listened.

You wanted to scream at him. Hit him. Something. Because how dare he stand there so calmly while you were unraveling all over again?

“I believed in you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t have. Even when everyone told me not to.” You had to clasp your hands together and take in a steady breath.

Touya was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly—

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” His voice was lower this time, more certain. “I know because I did the same damn thing to myself. To be scared of something inevitable, I chose to run.”

That stopped you cold.

This made you realize—

This wasn’t easy for him, either.

The exhaustion in his posture, the way his hands curled into fists in his pockets—

He wasn’t just standing there expecting you to forgive him.

He was waiting for you to tell him no.

Waiting for you to tell him he had lost his last chance. To tell him to stop bothering you.

To leave you alone.

And you should.

God, you should.

But then there was the way he looked at you—

Not with pity. Not with indifference.

But like you were the only person in the world whose opinion could ruin him.

And you had never seen anyone look at you like that before.

-

Practice ran late. Not that anyone was really complaining—well, except for Kaito, who kept muttering about how his fingers were cramping up, but nobody paid him much attention. You were all riding the high of a solid rehearsal, the kind where everything clicked, and even though Touya would never admit it out loud, it felt good.

Really good.

It had been so long since he played in a group like this, since he let himself enjoy it instead of overanalyzing every note.

And then Yuuma, with his usual lack of impulse control, had to break the comfortable silence.

“Okay, but seriously,” he said, spinning a drumstick between his fingers as he leaned against the wall. “How the hell did we get you?”

Touya, who had just been double-checking the tuning pegs on his bass, glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “Huh?”

Kaito grinned. “He’s got a point, man. You’re Todoroki Touya.”

Touya frowned. “Yeah. I know my own name.”

“No, but seriously,” Yuuma insisted, gesturing vaguely. “You’re like—this mysterious, untouchable figure on campus. The guy who doesn’t show up to class half the time but still somehow passes. The guy who sits in the back of the room and barely talks to anyone. And now, suddenly, you’re our bassist?”

Touya exhaled through his nose. “You make it sound like some divine intervention.”

“It is,” Yuuma said, completely serious. Then, without missing a beat—“Do you have a girlfriend?”

…

“What?”

“Yeah,” Kaito snickered. “That would actually explain so much.”

You, on the other hand, were completely distracted with your phone to even pay the boys any attention.

Haru, who had been silently observing the conversation like he was watching a wildlife documentary, finally chimed in. “Are you implying that Touya was bribed into joining the band?”

Yuuma nodded sagely. “Exactly. Like—imagine he’s secretly dating some hardcore musician chick who was like, ‘Touya, babe, you need to do this for me,’ and he just couldn’t say no.”

Touya gave him the flattest look imaginable. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?” Haru asked, adjusting his glasses.

Touya sighed, already regretting all of his life choices. “No.”

Yuuma snapped his fingers. “Damn. There goes that theory.” Then, after a beat, he turned to you. “By the way, do we have a budget for a talent fee?”

You glanced up. “Huh?”

Yuuma jerked a thumb at Touya. “I mean, we basically landed a celebrity. Should we be paying him or something?”

Touya scoffed. “You can’t afford me.”

Kaito snickered. “Damn, that’s bold.”

“What?” Yuuma grinned. “I’m just saying, we might as well treat him like a high-profile guest artist.”

Touya smirked. “You should be honored.”

“This is dumb,” you laughed.

Yuuma, still grinning, slung his bag over his shoulder. “But for real, you’re actually sticking around this time, right?”

Touya hesitated.

The question felt heavier than it should’ve. Because a few months ago, the answer would’ve been an easy no. Why would I waste my time? This wouldn’t matter.

But now?

He exhaled, shifting his bass case higher on his shoulder.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “All the way.”

Kaito whooped, slapping him on the back. “Hell yeah.”

Yuuma smirked. “Good. Because if you did bail again, I was fully prepared to start charging you a dropout fee.”

Touya snorted. “You wish.”

You, who had been watching him carefully, finally exhaled and gave him a slight nod. “Then don’t be late tomorrow. Same time.”

Touya smirked. “No promises.”

You gave him a knowing look.

Yuuma grinned. “Alright, then—welcome to the band, officially.”

And for the first time in years, standing there with his new bandmates, feeling the weight of his bass strap across his shoulder and the lingering buzz of rehearsal in his fingertips—

Touya actually felt like he was home.

-

With the recent turn of events, jealousy is an apparent feeling for those who aren’t as privileged to have snagged Todoroki Touya.

And it all started as whispers.

Small, snide comments whenever you walked past the other bands in the music hall. Barely-there smirks, little glances, and the occasional scoff from some second-rate bassist who thought they were so much better because they had never once lost a performance slot.

You ignored them.

You had better things to do. Your band was back, and with Touya as your bassist, things were better and stronger than before. You were making up for lost time, running setlists late into the night, writing new songs, fixing old ones. The fire was back in your chest, the thrill of the stage creeping closer.

But the whispers didn’t stop.

And eventually, they weren’t whispers anymore.

You were passing by the courtyard, Touya trailing half a step behind you, when a group of students—members of another well-known band—let their conversation just slip into earshot.

“She’s lucky, isn’t she?”

“Right? If we had a prodigy like Todoroki, we’d be unstoppable.”

“I mean, let’s be real, he’s the only reason they even got reinstated.”

“I wonder if she realizes how much she’s riding on his talent. Kind of embarrassing if you think about it.”

Your steps faltered, just for a second.

But you didn’t stop.

Didn’t give them the satisfaction of giving them your time.

Touya, though—he did stop.

You had taken another step before you realized he wasn’t beside you anymore. You turned, frowning, just as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head at the group, expression unreadable.

“Oh, sorry,” he drawled. “Didn’t realize I had groupies.”

The students stiffened. “What?”

“You’re talking about me like I’m not right here.” His tone was light, almost amused. “That desperate for attention?”

One of them scoffed, recovering quickly. “We’re just saying. It’s obvious [Last Name]’s band wouldn’t stand a chance without you.”

You clenched your fists, but Touya—he laughed.

It wasn’t a friendly laugh.

It was sharp and unimpressed.

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, amusement fading into something colder. “Then why is it that even before I joined, they were the best band on campus?”

The students shifted uncomfortably.

“I mean, that’s what pisses you off, right?” Touya continued, taking a slow step forward. His presence was overwhelming, gaze sharp as he looked them over. “They were already winning before me. [Name] built that band from the ground up, and everyone knew they were the ones to beat.”

No one said anything.

He smirked. “But if it makes you feel better to pretend it’s all me, go ahead. Must be easier than admitting you just suck.”

One of them clenched their jaws. “What’s your deal, man? You don’t even care about bands or competitions.”

Touya rolled his shoulders, casting a glance back at you.

You hadn’t said a word, but he could see it—the way your grip on your bag had tightened, the way your jaw was locked. You weren’t going to defend yourself. 

Which was fine.

Because he would.

“I didn’t care,” he admitted, looking back at them. “Didn’t give a fuck about any of this.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp. 

“But I do now. And you know what I found out?”

The weight of his words sank in, and no one had a response.

“I actually kind of like it,” he hummed. “So try to keep up. Because for the remaining two years, we’ll never lose as long as [Name] and I are onboard.”

With that, he turned back to you, nodding toward the path ahead. “Come on. We’ve got practice.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, then let out a slow breath and walked beside him, leaving the others behind.

They didn’t talk about it and didn't bring it up again.

But as you headed toward the music room, Touya nudged you lightly with his elbow.

“They’re just jealous,” he said, voice quieter now. “You know that, right?”

You exhaled, then, finally, nodded just a little.

“Obviously.”

-

“Alright,” Yuuma had said one afternoon, spinning a drumstick between his fingers, “hypothetically, if you were going to make it up to [Name]—properly, not just half-assed—what would you do?”

Touya, who had been tuning his bass, barely spared him a glance. 

“I already apologized.”

Kaito snorted. “Yeah, and she tolerated it. Barely.”

“Then what do you want me to do? Write her a sonnet?” Touya asked. 

Haru, from where he was perched on top of the amplifier, added, “Not a sonnet. A song.”

“Excuse me?”

Yuuma grinned. “Dude, it’s perfect. She’s all about the band, right? Music’s what she actually gives a damn about. So if you really want her to believe you’re in this for real, show her through music.”

Kaito nodded. “Exactly. Words don’t mean shit to [Name] unless there’s proof behind them.”

Touya frowned, fingers idly running along the strings of his bass.

Writing a song.

It had been years since he’d tried—since he let himself create rather than just play. Back then, his notebooks had been filled with half-finished compositions, lyrics scratched out and rewritten over and over again. He had loved it once.

He was conflicted.

Yuuma clapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You in?”

Touya exhaled sharply. “…Fine.”

Yuuma grinned. “Good answer. It’s sooner or later that you’ll learn that we actually can’t take no for an answer here.”

-

The first problem?

Touya had no idea where to start.

Sure, he knew how to write—he knew chord progressions, rhythms, and structure. But what the hell was he supposed to say?

It wasn’t like he was about to write some sappy, ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole.’

The actual writing process was a disaster in itself.

Yuuma wanted a fast tempo—something that hit hard and kept the energy high.

Kaito argued for something more melodic, something with room to breathe.

Haru, the only one thinking practically, kept reminding them that it had to fit your vocal range.

Touya, meanwhile, wanted to strangle all of them. It’s hard to believe that he and Yuuma were in the same year because the latter acted so childish—so energetic.

It took days of back-and-forth, of testing out different riffs, of scrapping entire verses because they weren’t good enough.

But eventually, they had something.

Something undeniably theirs.

Now all that was left was playing it for her.

-

Practice started like any other day.

You arrived on time, as usual, already flipping through your notebook and mumbling about setlists before anyone could even say a word.

Touya, despite knowing what was about to happen, stayed silent.

It wasn’t his place to introduce this.

It had to be them. All of them.

And, sure enough—

“Actually,” Kaito cut in, casually adjusting his guitar strap, “we’ve got something new to go over today.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What?”

Yuuma grinned. “Surprise.”

“If this is another one of your pranks—”

“It’s not,” Haru assured you. “Just listen.”

You sighed, clearly not in the mood for their antics, but you leaned back against the chair anyway, crossing your arms. “Fine. But if this sucks, we will proceed with the hardest entry as our warmup song.”

Touya smiled. “Noted.”

And then they started playing.

The first few notes were soft, subdued—a simple melody carried by Haru’s keys, the kind of sound that felt like waking up from a long dream. Then the bassline came in, low and steady, grounding everything. Touya’s fingers moved instinctively, muscle memory taking over, like the song had always existed in him, just waiting to be played.

Kaito’s guitar layered over it, bright and sharp, a contrast to the weight of the rhythm section. And then Yuuma’s drums kicked in—fast, insistent, alive.

The song had movement.

Had feeling.

It wasn’t an apology.

It was a promise.

By the time the last chord faded into silence, [Name] was staring.

Not in shock, not in disbelief—

But something Touya couldn’t quite name.

He adjusted the strap on his shoulder, avoiding your gaze. 

“Well?”

“…You wrote this?” you asked.

Touya nodded, feeling strangely exposed. “Yeah.”

There was a long pause, and for a second, he thought maybe this had been a mistake. That maybe you’d say too little, too late.

But then—

“…It’s good,” you told him, laughing quietly. “Is this our entry for the Music Mayhem Event?”

Yuuma grinned. “Hell yeah, it is.”

Touya smiled, nudging at you a little. “So. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“I… actually forgave you when you sought me out on the rooftop.”

“Wait, really?:

“Yeah, I— really don’t hold grudges for long.”

Yuuma clapped him on the back. “Dude, that’s so romantic.”

Kaito laughed. “Congrats, man. You got to apologize twice and wrote a song for the competition. Killed two birds with one stone.”

Haru just nodded, satisfied. “Saves us the trouble and time, then.”

Yeah.

Looked like it was.

-

The venue was packed. 

Touya rolled his shoulders, gripping his bass a little tighter than necessary. The strap dug into his shoulder, grounding him, reminding him that this was real. No running this time. No excuses.

You were beside him, your fingers tapping against your mic, an old nervous habit you refused to acknowledge. You exhaled through your nose, a slow, measured breath, but Touya could see it—you were excited. No, more than that—you were ready.

Kaito was tuning his guitar, barely holding back a cocky grin. Yuuma stretched his arms, rolling his neck, hyping himself up under his breath. Haru was calm, adjusting his keyboard settings with precise movements, unreadable as always.

“Make sure your voice doesn’t crack, Todoroki,” you commented.

Touya chuckled. “We’ll see.”

Then the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers:

“Next up—give it up for—”

The crowd erupted.

Lights flooded the stage, hot and blinding.

And then, it was just them.

-

If you told Todoroki Touya that he’d be playing the bass again after eight years, he would’ve laughed right in your face.

(Mm, yeah, I know how this goes…

You stand in the light, I fade in the smoke…)

He would’ve told you that he didn’t care how good he used to be. He’s lost interest, to put it into simpler terms.

(Didn’t ask you to chase me down—didn’t need another fight…

But there you were, reckless and loud, saying we could get it right…)

He would’ve told you that he had better things to do. 

But now, he did. Touya was playing the bass.

Touya didn’t just play—he felt it. His fingers moved on instinct against the strings, like they had a mind of their own, like he was carving out something raw, something familiar, something that had been trapped inside him for too long.

Then came the pre-chorus. The tension built.

And that’s when he came in.

(Yeah, I left you hanging, left you cold—swore I’d never play that role…

But damn, you still play me like a note…)

His voice was rougher, rasping with emotion, clashing with your smoother tone in a way that shouldn’t have worked—but it did. You turned toward him, stepping closer, your voices winding together like opposing forces caught in the same storm.

And then—

The chorus hit.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

You and Touya met in the middle of the stage, mic stands forgotten. 

You were fire; he was smoke.

Then came the second verse, and it was yours to claim as his voice faded into the background.

(You don’t beg, you don’t plead—

But I hear it in the way you breathe…

Sick of ghosts and dead-end dreams—

But somehow, you still look at me…)

Your gaze caught his. And Touya—he didn’t look away. He looked at you because you were the only one he could see—that he wanted to see.

The music dipped again, shifting into the bridge. Everything stripped back—just the bass and your voice.

(You don’t get to walk away, not this time…

Not after leaving me behind…

You play ghosts, I play fire…

But even flames need something to burn inside…)

The way you sang it—low, steady, sharp as a blade—it sent a shiver down his spine. It tugged at his heartstrings in a way that didn’t feel like him.

Then—

The build.

Drums creeping back in. Guitar humming under the surface. The energy climbing—

And then everything crashed into the final chorus.

(We’re smoke and starlight, burning too bright—

Falling too fast, getting lost in the night!

Say you don’t need me, say you don’t care—

But we both know I’m still hanging there!)

It was undeniable. It was everything.

As the last note hit, ringing through the venue, the whole place seemed to hold its breath.

And then—

The deafening eruption.

Viewers screamed. Hands shot up. The cheers were deafening. Even the judges looked impressed, their quiet conversation lost under the sheer force of the audience’s reaction.

You stood at the front, chest heaving, sweat beading at your temple, but your eyes—your eyes—burned with something victorious.

Touya, gripping his bass, let out a slow breath.

This was it.

For the first time in a long time, he felt it.

Not just the music. Not just the stage.

But the want.

The need.

The need to keep playing.

You had done it.

Done this to him.

And it was only the beginning.

-

Todoroki Touya never thought he’d come to this point.

His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, sweat dripping down his temple, his adrenaline spiking so hard that he could barely stand still. The entire band was high off the energy, voices overlapping as they half-shouted, half-laughed at each other, Yuuma swinging an arm around his shoulders while someone shoved a bottle of water into his hands.

“That was insane!” Your guitarist, Kaito, was saying, practically vibrating with excitement. “Holy shit, did you see how the crowd lost it when we hit that last chorus?”

“Dude, [Name] killed that bridge,” Yuuma added, shaking his head in disbelief. “And Touya? Bro, your bass solo? I felt that in my soul.”

Touya barely registered the words.

Because across the room, you were glowing.

To Touya, you had this look about you, the way you always did after a performance—flushed cheeks, the slight sheen of sweat on your skin making you radiate under the dim backstage lights. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing breathlessly, one hand gripping the back of your neck as you spoke with their events coordinator, your body still thrumming with the rush of the performance.

Touya swallowed.

There was something clawing up his ribs, something tight, something desperate, and before he even realized what he was doing—before he could stop himself—he moved.

His fingers curled around your wrist, firm but not rough, and you barely had time to react before he was pulling you with him, slipping past the others and into the dimly lit hallway behind the stage.

“Hey—Touya, what—?”

You didn’t finish.

Because the second you were out of sight, the second you two were alone, Touya turned, one hand still gripping your wrist, the other lifting without hesitation—

And he kissed you.

It was instinct, thoughtless and reckless, but it felt right.

You went rigid.

For a single, heart-stopping second, you didn’t move, didn’t react—so still that Touya almost panicked. Almost pulled away, almost started to stammer some kind of half-assed explanation, almost—

But then you inhaled sharply, and your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping him like you were trying to ground yourself.

And that was all it took.

Touya’s grip tightened, his palm cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing against your cheek. His lips moved against yours with the feeling of overflowing feelings that are just too good to put into words.

The music, the rush, the way your voice had wrapped around his on stage like you had been made for this, for each other.

Whatever this feeling was, it had been simmering beneath the surface, lingering in the way he always found himself seeking you out, the way he stayed just a little longer after practice, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

And now—now—it was spilling over, like an overfilled cup, impossible to ignore any longer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless; Touya didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours, his hand still cradling your face, fingers brushing along your skin.

You were staring at him, wide-eyed, your lips parted in shock, chest still rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.

“Huh..?”

Touya exhaled sharply, trying to steady his pulse, trying to make sense of the mess in his chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice rough, strained.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breath still mingling with yours, but one thing’s for sure.

“But I think I wanna do it again.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[howlett-dekarios]

𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝

▏Cage-fighter!Logan x Reader

▏Summary: Charles gave you a mission of recruiting a new mutant. Not everything went according to plan...

(Scott is an overprotective older brother)

▏Warnings: kinda mean!Logan | virgin!reader | NSFW | MDNI | riding | public sex | car sex | breast play | slight overstimulation | fingering | unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!) | squirting |

▏Word count: 6,5k

You were surprised when Charles called you into his office. Sure, you were considered as a part of x-men, but since Scott was known for his overprotective nature of an older brother, you barely have been sent on any missions. Stuck in the mansion as if you were still a freaking student. 

“You wanted to see me Professor?” 

“Oh yes, come in Y/n.” He smiled reassuringly, searching through some documents on his desk. When you sat down, he stopped his previous work and focused his attention fully on you. “How are you?” Always a polite and lovely older teacher. 

“Good if we don’t count how Scott has been a pain in the ass lately.” It was met with his little smirk and shake of head. “But you didn’t call me just to chat, am I right, professor?” 

“As perceiving as always, my dear. I wanted to see you because of a rather delicate case.” A light sigh left him, but the smile was still formed on his lips. “You see, at the conference I attended, I met an old friend. But it can’t be seen as a good type of meeting.” 

You got a slight idea about what he was possibly talking about. Magneto. All of you in the team knew how tumultuous the relationship was with these two. Old lovers who separated because of different perceptions of the world and humankind. Too divergent for them to make it work. 

“I have my reasons to believe he’s planning something special for the upcoming conference on which the mutant case will be discussed.” Special was clearly an understatement for the word bad. Really bad if Charles was willing to start his defense before Magneto would do even the first step. “That’s why I need to ask for your help. I believe that Eric wants to acquire a specific mutant for his own purpose.” 

“Why?” 

“That’s the main reason why we need to get to him first. I don’t know.” 

Not good. Even terrible if anyone would ask for your opinion. 

“Why me?” Usually it was Storm who recruited  new faces, shit even Scott sometimes, but never you. 

“Because of your mutation, my dear. The man I want you to find is rather… reluctant when it comes to people. Not very fond of anyone reaching out to him.” 

“You know this guy, professor?” 

“I’ve met him once, yes. That’s why I know he wouldn’t like to see my face again. But your  mutation will be very useful to get to him.” 

Though both of your brothers had mutations connected with energy blasting, yours developed in completely different ways. You were an empath. A very powerful if believing Charles words. Despite not fully understanding its full potential, even now you could read people's emotions. Influence them to your will. Search through the memories that were strong enough to leave a track. Empathize, share and resonate with others' pain, ecstasy or anger. Sometimes you also could see the past through objects that people had core feelings about but you couldn’t control that particular fragment of your ability. Usually it just happens without you having any power over it. Like a passive observer drawn into the vortex of events, forced to experience them in a few seconds, like a stop-motion movie. Professors promised you that at one point you will be able to control it, but so far you haven’t made any progress in it. 

“What you want me to do? Find him and?” 

“Understand and talk him into coming here. While being alone he’s an easy target for Magneto to come for, but here he will be safe and out of reach.” 

“That mutant… he has a name?” 

“Logan.” Another sigh left your former teacher, like he was trying to recall an old memory. “The Wolverine.” 

You were packing in your room when Scott came in and leaned over the door. 

“You have everything?” 

It was the first time for him to let you go on a solo mission. He had been trying to convince professor to let him go with you, but Charles stood his ground, persuading on you dealing with it on your own. Your brother didn’t like it in the slightest, but it was an old man who had the final word. 

“Yes, Scotty.” You sighed, knowing that he was simply worrying about you. 

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you there.” By drive you knew he meant the jet flight, so you only shook your head, dismissing his offer. 

“I’m a big girl, Scott. I can take care of myself.” 

“I know you can, sunshine.” His tone was less rigid than normally would’ve expected in such circumstances. Scott knew that the only thing he could do now was assure you about your abilities and his faith in you. Show his support and trust. “Just fulfilling my duty as an older brother.” His words made you chuckle. On a daily basis this type of attitude was rather irritating but now when you couldn’t really tell how long you're gonna be gone? It was sweet and you definitely will miss your little banters. “Remember though it’s only a recce. You find this guy, kick his ass if it’ll be necessary and call me so we can pick you up, okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m the best at kicking asses.” 

“Damn you are, N/n.” You both laughed at that, looking at each other. You could say a lot of stuff about him, but in times like that, you couldn’t imagine having anyone else as a brother. Especially after Alex's death. “Come here, you little monster.” You walked towards him and soon enough ended up in a tight hug. “Love you, you know it, right?” 

“Love you too, asshole.” You mouthed back, smirking, your head on his chest, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. 

After hours of traveling you finally got in an obscure bar in a small village in Canada. The spot where Charles told you the mutant had been last seen. The place was cramped, mostly drunk guys in their forties. To say that you weren’t a perfect fit here was a huge understatement. From the moment you entered and sat near the counter, a lot of those men were giving you curious and dirty glances. 

But you had to focus on the task. While ordering a drink you heard a loud explosion of roars and got curious about the source of them. Quickly you grabbed your glass and walked over to the crowd circled around the cage, some unconscious guy had been dragged out of. 

“Gentlemen! All my years I haven’t seen anything like that! Will you really allow this man to get away with your money?!” 

In the meantime when the announcer cheered the crowd, the guy who was still standing in the cage zeroed a whole glass of whiskey at one. Probably won’t be any advantage in the next fight, you thought. 

“I’ll fight him!” Some drunk dude yelled next to you and stormed into the cage. 

His posture was bigger than the other fighter which made you bet on him. The naked chest one wasn’t even looking at his opponent when the other had made his first move, punching and manhandling him to the fence. It wasn’t a fair action, but you supposed that nothing in this dirty place could be expected to be one. The situation changed completely in the next two seconds because the former champion kicked him off immediately, receiving another round of roars and applause from drunk men around you. 

“The Wolverine, everyone!” 

Bingo. 

You’ve waited another hour or so and the bar slowly emptied, most of the fans of amateur fights and illegal betting already gone or sleeping drunk in the corners. But the man you’ve been looking for nowhere to be seen even though he left the cage some time ago. 

“You lost, doll?” The rough hand came to the back of your neck and you felt that characteristic flow of emotions pass through you. A drunk idiot who just touched you had only one particular thing in mind and you didn’t like it. His head clouded by need of sticking his dick into something, in that case: you. “Need company? It would be such a shame for a beauty like you to get hurt. It’s not safe in the city by night, you know?” A dirty laugh left him, your skin feeling his hideous breath on your neck. 

“Not interested.” 

“Oh come on, doll, you can’t expect to sit here all alone and not make guys believe that you long for some funny time-“ 

You wanted to channel his thoughts on a completely different track which would give you time to get away from him, but before you could’ve done so, you felt how that guy was pulled away from you. 

“She said she’s not interested, bub. Get the fuck out of here, will ya? Night over, look for some whore to stick your dick into.” Your savior’s voice was threatening, almost wanting that asshole to try something. 

But even in his drunken state the guy knew better than that, evacuating from the place as fast as his wobbly legs allows him to. 

“Thanks.” You whispered relieved how it all worked out without getting messy. Wolverine only checked your posture with indifference and then sat a few stools away. 

Shit, Charles was right about one thing. That guy wasn’t the chatty type. 

“Gimme one bear and gonna head out, Ted.” 

“Some lucky girl waiting for you or what?” Bartender laughed, opening the bottle and setting it in front of the other man. He hasn’t received any answer though. Instead Wolverine lighten the cigar, looking at the small TV broadcasting news about the government conference. The same one that professor mentioned and the one which Magneto wanted to destroy. “Anything for you, sweetie?” 

“I’ll pass.” Logan retreated his eyes to you once again, taking a puff of his cigar. His judging sight drilling into your head, but then returned to the news. 

You really wanted to talk or touch him to discover  why he’s been like this, but before you got a chance to do so, two men approached him from the back. Judging by their facial expression it screamed trouble. 

Another day of the same fucking fate. Him walking in the bar, drinking some alcohol, knocking out some overconfident morons and then taking the money he gained by making this shit show entertaining. Logan wasn’t sure anymore why he even bothered with it. At first he wanted to understand his past: flashbacks of his memory which led him to a village in Canada. But for the last few weeks he got none of it. No information, no single clue which would make his mind clear about what the fuck had happened and who he truly was. The only good thing about him ending as a cage fighter was the owner not caring about him being mutant, even being overjoyed that Logan was being his an inexhaustible source of income from the illegal gambling. 

After the last fight of the day he was exhausted from all the screaming and shouting. Intoxicated assholes weren’t his problem or at least not until some dickhead would’ve decided to mess with him or kick in the balls like the last jerk who was quickly pacified not so long ago. 

Though the second he saw how some drunk perv tried his luck with the young girl near the counter, he only groaned deeply, heading to help her. A place like this wasn’t the right one for a night out especially if you’re a pretty, young and innocent looking girl who’s there all alone. He shouldn’t care, you’re not his problem, probably even wanting that sort of attention if you willingly chose to spend your night here, but sometimes his morals were taking over him. 

After scaring the freak away and you thanking him, he really fought with himself not to talk to you. Who knows, maybe you would propose to pay him some way. Not in money, preferably being a good laid for the night. Fuck, he really hasn’t had sex in a long time now and honestly if a sweet little thing like you would be okay with it… But he didn’t ask. That way he would’ve ended up being just another asshole. 

The cigar and beer that Ted opened for him had to be enough prize for being a decent guy. 

“You owe me some money.” Logan felt the scent of a man who tapped his back. The same dumbass who was so eager to kick balls in the fight. His more sane friend tried to pull him out of the idea of messing with Wolverine, but with no success. Too fucking bad. “No one man takes punches like that without the mark to show for it. I know what you are.”

“Listen, bub, you lost your money, you keep this up, you gonna lose something else.” Preferably his dick but the arm or teeth would work well enough. For most people Logan was intimidating enough not to try anything after the first and at the same time last warning. But this man obviously had to be another level of idiot. 

“Watch out!” You screamed not knowing that he could sense how that dickhead took a pocket knife from his pocket before you’ve even opened the mouth. It could be considered as a cute gesture, the way you cared and wanted to warn him. Really an innocent little thing you are. 

In no time Logan pinned the asshole who attacked him to the near wall, his two claws out, the middle slowly coming out, the animal anger clearly seen on his face. It was quite a shock that the guy who faced him didn't shit his pants. Well, maybe not yet. 

“Keep your horses, Wolvie.” Ted, said in a calm voice. Shit, Logan really craved to just cut that fool head off but he had a deal with the owner. No killing if he wanted to stay there and get his money. That’s why he slowly retracted his claws, nodding with murderous face at guy to get the fuck out of here before he would’ve changed his mind. His blood was still boiling in pure fury but instead of ripping this place apart, Logan took out another cigar and put it in his mouth, adjusting his jacket. “See you tomorrow?” Bartender asked, but knew the answer anyway. 

“Whatever.” Logan murmured under his breath and stormed out of the bar without giving you any second thought. 

You knew you shouldn’t have come here again. Scott texted you last night concerned why you haven’t reached out yet. Your only answer being that things got a bit complicated but you can handle this. Apparently only quick intervention of Storm and Jean made him sit his ass down and not storm here right away. 

So here you were, sitting by the same counter and drinking some coke mixed with vodka, waiting for your mission to finally come in.

“You really are looking for troubles, princess, aren’t ya?” He gave you a look full of judgment and hesitation. But something else was hidden behind it. The way he smirked, tone of his voice… almost teasingly pleasing to hear. 

“Maybe I am.” You smiled back, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. 

“Yesterday you got lucky, sweetheart. Tonight you may not have enough of it.” No knight on a white horse would save you. Not Logan. 

“I’ll take the risk.” 

It only made him smirk once again, not believing how naive you were to think you can survive in such a place. 

Seeing him getting ready, warming up in that cage shirtless… it made you feel things you didn’t think were possible in real life. In the mansion you haven’t had much choice in developing your social life. Most of the guys were students, younger than you and being afraid of Scott enough not to even approach you without a good reason: training or other school stuff. Of course your brother couldn’t fully control what you’ve been doing behind the closed doors. Fuck that was probably the reason why Storm gave you a vibrator for your last birthday to help yourself with your needs on your own. But here? With Logan’s naked sweaty chest and dogtags hanging on his neck. You squeezed your legs to get some friction because otherwise you were sure about going crazy. His hair made into little kitty ears weren’t helping your sanity either… 

The night had been going on very identical to the previous one. Him making a pulp out of his opponents who were stupid enough to walk into the cage. His movements were almost hypnotizing. The internal animal while fighting just to be gone a second he had a break for a sip of whiskey. Your attention was less and less focused on your main task, but you had still in mind how he had vanished yesterday. 

It was a freaking stupid idea. Probably one of the most foolish and ridiculous you ever had. So just in case you’ve sent the localization of your phone to Scott, texting him to start the engine. 

“Is there any person who is brave enough to stand this beast? Face him and return the money to you? Or you gonna-“ 

“I will do it.” Your voice echoed through the room, firstly met with silence just to make the crowd laugh. 

“You sure? This is no place for little ladies like you, pretty.” Announcer laughed, trying to disarm all the tension. 

“I’ll take the risk.” You repeated the same words you previously used in little chat with Logan, already walking into the ring. 

Shit, you were rather confident about your fighting skills, your training partner being Colosssus of all the people in the mansion who was a good two feet bigger than you… but you’ve never faced anyone with a healing factor. It definitely was a horrible idea. 

“You go easy on her, we clear?” The man with a mic whispered to Logan’s ear but you heard it anyway. “Don’t need some dumb chick’s blood on this floor and these drunk fucks to get involved.” Logan only nodded, zeroing his drink and turning around to face him. 

Your outfit definitely wasn’t helping your case in being more intimidating. Some washed out jeans and black top showing your thin arms. As if this man would’ve been even intimidated by you in the first place after rescuing you yesterday. 

“Listen princess, maybe it’s not about others, huh? Maybe it’s about lack of survival instincts. Or you’re just dumb. Nothing personal.” He hasn’t attacked yet, rather waiting for you to make a first move. “I’m not into playing with girls. Not like that.” Such a gentleman. “You still have time to-“ 

But you didn’t let him finish. Roundhouse kicked him back strong enough to make him move two steps backward. Your foot stung like hitting a fucking wall, but Logan just smiled. The grimace dark with a hint of surprise and determination. Like your move just made it all more interesting for him. His head still lowered, he run his tongue over his teeth and chuckled. You’ve tried to charge again, stroking blows and using your advantage of being more flexible and agile. Unfortunately with no success because he dodge them all. Just like he could have sensed your movement before the punch even hit. Quickly enough he had you in a headlock, standing behind you.

“You lost, princess.” He whispered, grinning proudly. 

Before you were able to answer you felt that familiar wave of power flowing through you. His dogtags were pressed against the back of your neck which activated the part of mutation you couldn’t control. 

Images from his life passed in front of your eyes. Him talking with some military officer, how he got his claws and all adamantium in his body. The following events: the farm and older marriage that helped him and got killed, discovering the truth about the whole intrigue he got involved into, the fight side by side with his brother and how he lost his memory. But more importantly, all his pain and anger. It all lasted only a couple of seconds but the intensity of it made you squirm, tears falling down your cheeks. Now you understood the reason why your foot hurt after kicking him. This guy had freaking metal instead of bones inside his body. 

The connection broke with him letting you go, stepping back like he just got burned. 

“I-I’m sorry…” You’ve coughed out, looking at him with glassy eyes. Pure fear on your face while apologizing for something you couldn’t even understand. But the only thing you’ve been met with was anger. The realization hit you instantly. You haven’t only relieved the memories from dogtags, but at the same time also linked with Logan himself. The emotions of a man whose mind had been invaded without any consent. You fucked up, because the man who stood in front of you wasn’t just a fighter anymore. It was so much more. 

The dark expression of a monster who’s been set free off the leash gave you enough reason to genuinely believe you not gonna get out of it alive. 

Logan’s head was on fire. Burning and stinging like he just got put a red metal inside of it. He felt like a part of his brain was cut out and squeezed into a really tight spot. For a few seconds his mind wasn’t his own. 

He didn’t give a fuck if you were a woman anymore. 

“Who the fuck are you?” His voice was a mere whisper. Warning of what to come clear. The next moment he pinned you down to the floor, knee securing that you won’t be able to move and his big hand on your neck suffocating you. If it was up to him, he would’ve ripped the truth out of you right there and then. But unfortunately he couldn’t. You two still had an audience. “That’s what gonna happen now, you hear me?” The small nod of your head was enough for him to continue. “You gonna pat out, leave the bar and wait for me outside. And you better pray for me to find you there, we clear?” He whispered through his teeth and you couldn’t have done anything else than to obey his orders. “Good bitch.” 

All things that happened after this were just a blur for him. How the guy cheered the crowd, you running out, him grabbing his bag and storming out of the place accompanied by the yells for him to come back. It didn’t matter, he didn’t give a single fuck. He will never come back here anyway. Not after what you’ve done. 

“At least you’re obedient or scared enough to listen orders. Get in the fucking car.” You were dragged to the truck. Logan opened the door for you to get in but you doubted it was an act of politeness. Probably he would’ve thrown you in if you would’ve fought him. After making sure you won’t try anything, he walked over and started the car. 

“Where are we going?” You’ve asked after some time in a way of complete silence. 

“Not your fucking problem.” It was his. He couldn’t stay there, not after what happened in the cage. Logan should’ve left a long time ago but your little show was the last push he needed. Now his only purpose being to get the hell out of this area as far as possible and press you enough to start talking. “What the hell was that, hm?” 

“What was what? I don’t know-“ 

“Stop with the bullshit now, princess, or I’m gonna make you.” Logan reached for the glove box to get his cigar but the movement was so sudden that you squirmed away. He gave you a glance and saw the fear in your pale face. Traces of tears still visible on the red cheeks from the cold as you’d waited for him. Fuck, maybe he was too harsh with you. You were still young and innocent, clearly not used to the angry and dark light of man who was yelling at you. “Listen, bub, you damn well know what I’m talking about. You’ve been inside of my head. How?” His tone more gentle but still demanding. 

“I don’t know…” 

“You don’t know or you don’t care?” He lightened the cigar. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Y/n.” You answered, less scared now he’d changed the tone. “I’m like you.” 

“Trust me, princess, you are nothing like me.” 

“You’re a mutant.” He gave you a quick side look but stayed silent. “The claws you’ve scared that guy with… the way you’ve won all your fights. When they come out… does it hurt?” 

“Every time.” 

“I’m a mutant too.” 

“And you can what? Fuck with people brains without asking?” Logan was still pissed but tried to somehow stay civil not to scare you again. Seeing how you shivered something in him broke a bit. Damn he ordered you to wait for him in the freezing cold temperature with no coat… He put the heating on. “Put your hands on the heater.” He tried to move them for you, but you once again retreated. “I’m not gonna hurt you, princess.” 

Not anymore. Not when he calmed down a bit. After a while when you felt warmth spread through, you decided to get back to your conversation. 

“I’m an empath. Can feel people's emotions by touching them. Sometimes influence them if I’m willing to.” Or at least that what you’ve already known you could do and more importantly, how. 

“So what, you can say when someone’s happy?” 

“More or less. Can say and feel it. Mirror the exact amount of it. Happiness, anger… pain.” It got you curious what he had said about the claws… living in constant pain…

Logan didn’t say anything back so you’ve stayed in silence again. 

“The Wolverine… you’ve chosen it.” You looked at his dogtags but he quickly hid them under his shirt. Then he realized how it wasn’t even a question. 

“How do you know?” Logan edged again. He couldn’t recall the exact situation himself, only shreds of it in his nightmares, so how the fuck would you know. 

“I-I…” 

“You what, princes?” The grip on a wheel tightened. 

“I’ve seen it… the moment you’ve asked to make them.” 

“What?” The car stopped immediately, he facing you as if he had misheard you. 

“Sometimes I can see the fragments of people’s past connected with objects… When we were close, I-“ 

“Have you seen anything else? Before it all happened?” 

“No…”

“Are you fucking sure?” Months of searching, praying for any sort of clue just to find nothing. And now he discovered that the one person who could bring it all together was sitting in his car. He couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let you go. 

“I swear, Logan!” You cried, tired of his questioning. 

“How do you know my name?” 

“I know a person who knows you. Who can help you.” Well Charles told you that this guy wasn’t very fond of him, but since Logan lost his memory then it was no harm to try. 

“How?” He was getting frustrated by how this was the only word he has been repeating since the beginning of it all. 

“He’s the principal of the school I’ve attended.” 

“A school?” 

“Place for people like us. Mutants. He’s a telepath and one of the smartest people I know. If anyone will be able to help you, it’s gonna be him. But you need to get with me there to let him try.” 

Logan was considering his options. It could easily be a trap. Not the first one he had stepped in. But your heartbeat and how genuine you’ve sounded… he doubted you were trying to fool him. 

“I’ve seen you checking me out today.” The sudden change of topic got you off guard. But he had to revert his mind to something else. Destress. And the fact he was sitting in one car with an innocent little thing like you who had been wet just because of his naked torso hours ago? He won’t give up his luck. “Never seen a man’s chest before, sweetheart?” His eyes were dark again, this time not because of rage but desire. “You had been clenching your goddamn legs like you could’ve come just by the sight of it.” 

He was able to smell you. The scent of your arousal hidden under these jeans of yours. He could bet that your panties had a wet patch on them. His hand moved to your thigh, thumb caressing small circles inside of it. 

“It’s okay, princess, I don’t blame you. A sweet innocent thing like you craves to be taken care of, is it right?” 

“L-Logan-“ Your quiet moan only proved him right. 

“Shh, it’s alright, darlin’ let me do it. Let me take care of you.” 

His skilled fingers opened your zipper and helped you get out of your pants, just to trail the pad of them on the wet spot. 

“Fuck, princess you’re soaking. Can I take them off?” Logan asked but your nod made him chuckle. “Words, Y/n.” 

“Y-yes.” 

He quickly got to work, showing your panties down and throwing them somewhere in the back of the car. When he brought his fingers back on your cunt, teasing your clit, you tried to close your legs but his big hands stopped you.

“None of that, doll. Keep them nice and open for me like a good girl.” He rubbed tight slow circles around it which made you squirm and close your eyes. “That’s it, relax for me, baby.” Next second his fingers found their way into his mouth and helped smiled teasingly. “So sweet. Best I’ve ever tasted.” And without any warning he put one of it in your cunt, making you scream. “So fucking tight. Can’t even take one. You’re a virgin, princess?” 

You tried to move your head, too shy to even look at him, but his other hand cupped your jaw, forcing you to face him. 

“Eyes on me and answer, Y/n.” 

“Y-yes.” 

“An innocent little girl you are. Saving yourself for me.” Another finger joined the first one, moving deep in and out of you, stretching your walls so you would be able to take him. Him being knuckle deep made you drool, eyes rolled to the back of your head, trembling because of too much pleasure. But then started an attack on your clit with his thumb and you were completely gone. 

“Logan!” You screamed, overstimulated already. “Too much!” 

A smug smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, eyes half-hooded. "Two fingers is too much?" he says, almost sounding surprised. "Come on, doll, be a big girl. You could fight me but can’t take two fucking fingers?” He mocked you. 

You're gasping for air, chest heaving. His thick fingers pump in and out of you, pussy frothing all over them. 

"T-They're so big," you whine. 

Hearing your raspy, lewd voice causes his cock to throb. He chuckles, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent. Shit, Logan was so sure that the second he will bury his dick in you, he will never get over you. Never let you go. 

"You know what I think? I think you can handle one more. Just to get you starched and nicely prepared for my dick, darlin’.” 

The thought of not one, not two, but three of his huge fingers has your pussy clench uncontrollably. That weird feeling in your stomach forming, the one that you so well know from all the lonely nights when you had your own hand deep in your panties. The second he forced the third one made you cum harder than ever before. You shudder, biting down on your lip as you feel the wetness all around your legs and Logan’s hand. Fuck, something was definitely wrong, you only hoped that he didn't catch that. Yet the warm liquid is coating his wrist and upper arm, all the way to his elbow. 

“Fuck, did you know you can make a little mess like this, love?” He says, gesturing with his head towards his arm. He pulls his fingers out and you groan audibly at the loss, your hold clenched around nothing. “Your virgin pussy already missing me like a cheap slut, Y/n.” Seeing your face all red and how shy you became, Logan opened his pants and loved them with his boxers, showing you his already fully hard length. He quickly brought you to sit on his laps, swinging your ass back and forth just to torture your puffy clit even more. “But it’s okay, princess. That’s what we want. I need you nice and wet, okay?” 

“Logan…” You choked out because of his actions and he kissed your lips just to shut you up. No matter how  much he loved your little cute whines, he needed you as aroused as possible to make you take his big size. 

“Shit, I hope I'm the first one who kissed you too. Too sweet and innocent to share.” His lips left the trail of kisses down your neck, sucking and biting. Wanting to mark you any way possible. 

“Shit, Logan, please…” You moaned, your mind fully clouded with need by this point. 

He took off your shirt, unhooking your bra and fuck him if it wasn’t the best sight he could’ve imagined. Big breasts that were perfect for his huge hands to play with as he wished. The vision of you bouncing on his dick with them in front of his face gonna be the image of what he will jerk off every time from now on. 

“You’re gorgeous, love. Can’t get enough of you.” His skilled tongue sucked and licked your nipple while one of his hands paid attention to the other one, which made you arch your back. 

You weren't sure anymore if you wanted him to stop or get closer. 

“You ready, princess?” 

Logan asked and it got you back to your right mind. You were naked in the car of a guy who you were supposed to take to the mansion as your mission. A man you’ve known for not even two freaking days and Scott could be here in any second. 

“Logan, wait!” He looked at you confused. Worried that he had done something wrong. “My brother gonna be furious-“ 

It only made him laugh. You are a damn innocent one truly. 

“I don’t fucking care.” 

And with that he lowered you slowly on his cock, your scream echoed all over the truck. You have no control of how vocal you became, pain mixing with the pleasure. The thought of how much effort he put into preparing you for it… you considered yourself lucky for him being so thoughtful. 

“It’s okay, princess, I got you. You are doing a good job. Such a good pussy for me. I got you, Y/n.” 

Logan gave you some time to adjust to his size, knowing that for most of his partners it was a lot to take, let alone for you. 

“Y-you can move.” You whimpered, putting your head on his shoulder. 

“You sure, darlin’?” Your nod was the last sign of consent he needed to move you up and down his length. He was doing all the work, gripping your ass but still he left some sort of control for you to take over in case of feeling any sort of discomfort. But fast enough your body forgot about the pain of sudden intrusion, instead sinking in the spiral of pure pleasure and ecstasy.  You being a moaning mess, squeezing him as a vice. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Never letting off this cunt ever again. Shit!” He groaned when you clenched uncontrollably. 

When you got more confident and started moving at your own pace, his hands move to your breast again, playing with them and paying attention as being hypnotized by them. His face deepened between them, earning you another low groan murmur.

You two were so focused on your pleasure that you didn't realize when the weather outside of the car changed. Instead of a clear sky, there was a little snow storm. Just the loud sound of falling tree on the mask got you out of your trans. 

“Fuck!” You screamed, frightened of what happened. 

And the moment you turned back to see what was wrong, your heart sank. Not so far from the car two people were standing and looking at the whole scene. As one of them started walking closer to your door, you quickly got off Logan’s member, looking for your underwear but it was nowhere to be found. You opted for putting on your jeans and when you’ve desperately searched for your top, the leather jacket was handed over. 

“Cover yourself, princess.” Logan’s tone has been definitely too calm considering how cooked you were. 

“Scott gonna kill us.” Though you weren’t sure who first, you because of loosing your virginity the second you got off his radar with a guy who you’ve meant to recruit, or Logan for fucking his little sister.

“Who’s Scott?” A confusion in his voice could be cute if not for your executioner being just two steps from the door. 

“He’s my-“ But then the door opened and you just sighed, pointing at Scott. “Him. Logan, this is my brother Scott.” You turned to face your sibling, forcing yourself to smile innocently. “Hi Scotty, how nice of you-“ 

“Out. Of. The fucking car. Now.” He ordered you, pure fury in his eyes, his voice dangerously heavy. “And you asshole… you better pray that Professor gets you before I will.” 

Well, this definitely will complicate the atmosphere in the team in the future… 

▏A/n: Okay, so this specific mutation and character's background (as Scott being her older brother) gonna be also part of the bigger fic that I'm currently working on. I don't know yet if this shot will be a part of their story (Logan and that oc) so that's why I'm posting it here now. Still I would be grateful if you guys wouldn't use that characters specifics in your stories <3

▏Also I just adore the thought of Scott being the protective older brother and it being the reason why his and Logan's relations are so tensed later.

▏If you wanna join my Logan's fics taglist check this post.

▏Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! Sof

@california-boys-and-sun @r-oseie

[marta-bee]

I'm thinking about this from the context of teacher pedagogy. My background is as a former philosophy grad student with seven years' experience teaching those freshman university history-of-philosophy courses. We had a lot of choice in what we taught, and with more thinkers than you could ever hope to fit into a semester, the big question became: what do you hope your students get out of that week? What's the goal in teaching this rather than that? (Tuition isn't cheap, and I really did want to give my students something that would help them live better, more reflective lives!)

So, with sex ed: why do we teach what we teach? The mechanics of contraception and human fertility is obvious: that's something that's going to affect anyone who chooses to have sex (which is most people at some point). I also like the idea of frank but respectful discusses around consent, different kinds of sexuality, and yes, that abstinence is a choice they can make. It helps to know not everyone's doing it and they don't have to either if they don't want to, either generally (meaning abstinence) or in some specific instance (consent). And I think having an adult in the room that's not judging them, that can help answer their questions and ask better ones is good! So is learning what other people their age actually think. Less shame and more real-talk is a good use of a class period IMO.

If that's what we mean by teaching abstinence, go for it. But most people who talk about abstinence sex-ed usually mean abstinence only sex ed, like Lori said. And I have to wonder: what do we hope kids get out of that, that they didn't know already? Helping them realize when they're ready for sex (or not), that they can say no, how to say no? Sure, but that involves a level of detail abstinence-only sex ed doesn't come near. It involves teaching abstinence as a choice, which almost requires you also teach the other choices. And they probably already know their parents would rather they wait, and they're not going to get pregnant or pick up an STD by not doing something. What do you really hope to accomplish out of that class-time, except to maybe domineer kids into making a decision they're not allowed to really understand?

I will never not be amazed by people saying that teaching abstinence does nothing to reduce unwanted pregnancy and abortion.

It absolutely does. It is intrinsically linked to the logic that you should not sleep with anyone you would be horrified to have a child with. All women should understand that she can get pregnant even when on birth control.

Not teaching abstinence is a big part of why people think there is such thing as safe sex. (Spoiler warning: that isn't a real thing.) And the idea of safe sex is why women engage in risky and reckless sexual behavior.

Also, you literally cannot get pregnant if you are not having sex. It has a 100% success rate.

[firstelevens]

23 + sambucky 💛

23. wearing someone's clothes

In spite of his phone buzzing for the sixth time in the space of two minutes, Sam doesn't bother to check it. He's not slacking on the job: he's flanked by other superheroes, all of whom would also be getting notifications if something world-threatening were happening, and he's got AJ and Cass and Sarah in his immediate field of view.

The frenetic buzzing of six--wait, no, make that seven--text messages in no time at all can only be the work of one person, and that person is safely ensconced at the palace in Birnin Zana, undoubtedly being as much of a nuisance to his friends there as he is to Sam.

There's not much of a question as to what the text messages say, so Sam lets them roll in undisturbed, and makes sure that all of the cameras catch him emphatically not checking his phone. Instead he brings his attention to the students in front of him, crouching down to get a better look at the device that they built in their environmental science club.

He points to the receptacle at the top--it's a water filtration system--and asks the group how it works. They're very excited to answer, and when Sam asks specific questions about the mechanisms and how hard the process was, he watches them light up. He talks to them for so long that one of the PR people has to gently nudge him along to another group. Sam's phone periodically keeps buzzing away in his pocket, but he ignores it in favor of talking to all the students, doing his best to ask relevant questions and toss around jokes to make the shy ones laugh.

The event ends with plenty of pictures and plenty of questions about his own wings and how they work, and when it's all over, he feels the same pleasant exhaustion that he feels after a good workout or a mission where things went to plan. In the car on the way back to the house, all AJ and Cass can talk about is how cool all the Stark prototypes were, and Sam promises to let them mess around in his workshop tomorrow so they can do some inventing of their own.

It's not until he's back home that he remembers to even check his phone, putting it on the charger and laughing when the screen lights up to reveal thirty-two text messages from Bucky. The last one came in just a minute ago, so Sam flops down on the cozy armchair in the corner, Bucky's favorite place to curl up on nights when sleep is hard to come by, and calls him back.

The phone barely rings once before Bucky answers, skipping a greeting entirely so he can say, "You stole my sweater!"

Sam laughs. "Hi to you, too, baby."

There's a huff on the other end of the line. "Hi, sweetheart. I miss you, and also, you stole my sweater."

"Did I?" asks Sam. "How do you know that it didn't just find its way into my side of the dresser? You're not very careful about keeping our things separate, you know."

"Yeah, I do know," says Bucky. "That's why when I was packing for Wakanda, I asked you, 'Sam, love of my overlong life, man I would do anything for, have you seen my favorite green sweater?' And when you said no, I asked if you checked your side and you said that it wasn't in your sweater drawer, either."

That's because it was strategically placed in a laundry basket under half a dozen polo shirts that Bucky would never touch, Sam doesn't explain. "Sounds like it just got misplaced, and maybe someone shouldn't wait to pack for their trips until half an hour before they leave."

"Yeah?" asks Bucky. "Is that what it sounds like, and not like someone had their eye on my sweater and waited until I was distracted to snipe it and wear it to a public event where he knew I'd see him on TV?"

"Well that's just silly, Buck. Who would do that?"

"It's impossible to say," replies Bucky, making Sam laugh. Then, after a moment of quiet, he adds, "It looks good on you."

"Thank you," says Sam, and it shouldn't still make warmth rush to his cheeks when Bucky compliments him, but here he is. "Does that mean I get to keep it?"

Bucky snorts. "Let's not get carried away, Wilson."

"That's hardly getting carried away; we just established that I wear it better than you do."

"When did we establish that?" sputters Bucky.

"Are you saying it's not true?"

"Of course not," replies Bucky, without hesitation. "I saw how your arms looked in that thing; it's a fucking revelation. That's not the point."

"Ooh, I've never been called a revelation before," teases Sam.

He expects another grouchy reply, but instead, Bucky just says, "Yes, you have."

Sam actually stops and pulls his phone away from his face to make sure he's still connected. "What was that?"

"Nothing," says Bucky. "Tell me about this science thing that was so important you had to steal my sweater for it."

"Uh-uh," says Sam. "Nope. You tell me who's going around calling me a revelation."

"Sam."

"Bucky."

"You know who it was."

And yeah, Sam's good enough at putting together evidence to get to that conclusion, but he wants to hear it from Bucky all the same. "Tell me anyway?"

"All those times when you crashed into my life in all those different cities, you brought something with you. Do you remember that?"

As if Sam could ever forget. "My folks raised me never to show up empty handed, you know that."

It had been more than that, of course. He hadn't known how else to get Bucky to trust him, sure he was still struggling to trust himself most days. The whole point had been to make sure that Bucky was safe and whole, so the first time Sam managed to cross paths with him, he'd brought a loaf of bread and some strawberries from a roadside stall. Another time, it had been flowers, other times cups of coffee or books.

"Every time you showed up and forced me to take the thing you were giving me, I had to figure out how to be a person about it. I'd forgotten what it was to be annoyed or impatient or to want someone to stay even when you knew they couldn't."

Sam's breath catches in his throat a little, but Bucky doesn't stop.

"And then you would just talk at me for a couple minutes, and then you'd get your stuff and be on your way, and I'd have to find a safe place where I could face up to the fact that you knocked me on my ass with some wilted daisies that you bought for five euros. What else do you call someone who brings you a part of you that you thought you'd never see again?"

"What the fuck, Barnes?" breathes Sam, rasping a little because of the sudden lump in his throat.

"It's the truth!" says Bucky, suddenly defensive.

"Yeah, well, you couldn't have waited to share that truth until I could hear it in person? So I could kiss the shit out of you the way you deserve?"

"Oh," Bucky says quietly. "You know, I could--"

"Absolutely not. Whatever you're thinking, absolutely not. You just managed to earn the Wakandans' trust again; you're not stealing a talon fighter for a booty call."

"It wouldn't be a booty call, Samuel."

"It would a little bit be a booty call, and Ayo would never let you hear the end of it."

Bucky huffs again. "Fine," he grouses. "But I'm coming home as soon as the last repair is done on my arm."

"Good," says Sam. "That'll give me time to steal the rest of your sweaters."

"Sam," Bucky all but whines, and Sam laughs in response.

"Fine. I'll only take most of your sweaters, and maybe one of your hoodies. Just one."

"If I say no, you're just gonna steal more, aren't you?"

"Probably," says Sam, shrugging even though Bucky can't see him.

Bucky sighs. "Fine," he says. "We'll work out a trade when I get home."

"Well, hurry back," says Sam. "I'm kind of curious about your negotiating tactics."

There's a loud laugh from Bucky's end, and Sam can still hear his smile when he speaks. "Back home as soon as possible, sweetheart," says Bucky.

"Gonna hold you to that, baby," says Sam. Then, just as Bucky's about to hang up, he tacks on, "I'm stealing your maroon sweater next!"

When he ends the call, Bucky's only halfway through indignantly crying his name.

[gearsandhammers]

HOMECOMING? : JAYCE X VIKTOR X M!READER

synopsis : jayce and viktor are in love. like, a lot. and it’s getting obnoxious, they’ll be messing around as you try to go to sleep. you were crushing on both of them for the longest time, but now they were together, and you couldn’t have either of them. right?

word count : 1.1k

pairing : jayce x viktor x male reader | m/m/m

author's notes : hiya! everyone’s happy in this au and no deaths, so that’s why jinx is powder! yes, everyone is healthy and well, including vander, silco, mylo, calggor, heimer, isha, even felicia, and others! i never really saw it, but in that one au scene claggor looked so in love with mylo 😭in this au, viktor is  healthy! all he’s got is really bad tendonitis, which is why he still uses a cane. also, like i said in my other jayce fic, i don’t speak spanish fluently, so most things in spanish are from google translate. anyways, have a great read and day/night!

Everyone knows Jayce and Viktor are together. How did that happen? No one really knows. Piltover Academy and Zaun University are the two biggest rival schools around. Both you and Viktor are transfer students from Zaun Uni, and you were roomed together, obviously. Somehow, Jayce found a natural pull on Viktor, and before long, they started dating. 

It was kind of tiring, always being the third wheel. You’re Viktor’s best friend, and so you’re always around. But then, suddenly, Jayce was there too. You were studying and Viktor came home? Jayce was right behind him. Did you go to a café to relax and draw with him? Jayce pulls up a third seat. It was sort of infuriating, you felt like you were losing your best friend to some random Piltie. 

To be honest, you had always had a crush on Viktor, but you never acted on it, scared you would lose your best friend. But turns out, you’re already losing him, slowly but surely. At least that’s what you think. And Jayce, oh, Jayce. He looked so good. Viktor had dragged you to a few of his games, against your free will. However, he did (kind of) look good, all sweaty like that. And him in his varsity jacket after games when his clothes would stick to his skin? Gods, you can’t think that. You’re not supposed to think any of this. They’re both taken, you can’t have them, no matter how much you daydream about it. 

With homecoming right around the corner, everyone was asking each other out left and right. Vi had somehow been able to sneak into Caitlyn’s room and surprise her with flowers. Ekko texted you, apparently, Powder had done a whole big show with glitter bombs and everything to ask him out. Mylo, surprisingly, didn’t make a huge deal about asking Claggor out. But apparently, it was kinda cringey according to Powder. Mel had even gotten some expensive chocolates to ask Elora. You didn’t expect anything to happen, and you had originally planned to just stay in that night. However, Jayce and Viktor had other plans. 

You’re lying in bed, the window open to the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves. You’re doomscrolling on your phone when you hear the faint sounds of footsteps. You pause the vido you’re watching and sit up. You can hear Viktor and Jayce’s voice follows close behind. You groan, flopping back onto your bed. As the door knob jingles and the door creaks open, they both come in, still talking as you grab your headphones and laptop, deciding to try to get some work done. 

You blast your music through your headphones and don’t notice when Viktor is practically yelling your name to get your attention. You don’t realize even he’s talking to you until he sits down on your bed next to you, and you pull one side of your headphones off.

“Hey, V. Did you need something?” 

“Wow, welcome back to the land of the living, dude.” Jayce laughs, and you roll your eyes at him.

“Yes, eh… Jayce and I have been meaning to talk to you about something.” Viktor says, and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Can you take your headphones off? You pull your headphones off, looing in between him and Jayce, searching their faces for any clue to what it is, but Jayce interrupts your thoughts. 

“You’re in love.” Jayce blurts out, and you almost choke on your own saliva. Your whole face immediately turns bright red, and you try to cover your face, only for Viktor to move your hands out of the way. 

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stutter as you shut your laptop. Jayce sits down on your other side, and suddenly you’re trapped. Your whole body feels warm, and your head is swimming. You pull your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs.

“Yes, you do. We’ve talked to Mel, you know. All that psychology stuff actually works, you know. But even without her, we can tell. You blush any time I touch you, and you don’t even try to hide it with Vik,” Jayce says. 

“So, are you just gonna make fun of me? If you are, you don’t need to, I’m already at war with myself,” you mumble, and Viktor cups your face, making you look at him. His touch is electric, and you feel like you’re going to pass out if he gets any closer. 

“Krásný, look at me. We’re not going to make fun of you. Quite the opposite, really. Jayce and I… we have talked about you.” You look up at him, slightly afraid of what he’s going to say. He rarely ever calls you krásný anymore. What is happening? Jayce takes your laptop off of your lap and replaces it with his hand. Yeah, you’re definitely gonna pass out.

“Cariño, will you go to homecoming with us? Nos encantaría llevarte.” As the words flow from Jayce’s mouth, you swear your heart stops for a second. What? What? WHAT? That is literally the last thing you thought he was going to say. Also, CARIÑO? Oh gods, they’ve won your heart. You’ve heard Jayce speak in Spanish to his mom, but by Janna does it feel different when he speaks to you. When Viktor speaks in Czech, you melt. And now Jayce is talking to you in Spanish? You stare, but at what, you have no idea. Your mind has just gone blank, and you have no idea how to respond.

“Wh- what?” Your voice cracks, and you clear your throat. Your head swivels back and forth between them, and there’s a part of you that fully expects this to be a joke. “Are you joking? I mean, what? Is that… like, something you can do?” 

“Of course it is. Who says we can’t? If we all love each other, then why not?” Viktor explains. It’s then that you realize that you’ve stopped breathing, and you shake your head, releasing your chin from Viktor’s grasp, and take a few deep breaths. 

“Is… is that a no?” Jayce asks, his tone hesitant and… scared? They both search your face for any indicator of refusal. 

“No! I mean, no, I-I’d love to. I’m just… in shock, I guess?” You lift your hands from your legs, your hands shaking. You wring them together, trying to stop them from quivering. “I… I’d love to. I’d love to go to homecoming with you two,” you smile, although your bottom lip trembles ever so slightly.

“Really? Oh my gods, thank you!” Viktor grabs your face, pressing soft kisses around your face. Jayce’s fingers intertwine with yours, and you swear your brain short circuits. 

“It’s going to be the best night of your life, we promise.”

© — @gearsandhammers 2025 - created and written by kaisen - do not steal my work or repost without my permission.

[whatsupmykentuckyfriedfuckers]

If I was a english teacher I would give excerises out to the kids where they would have to think of a media they like, and write their own story with the characters and inspired the story.

I would make them write their own fanfiction

[daily-hanamura]

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

sometimes i remember that gojo wanted to tell geto “we’ll meet again, right?” just before he died but forced himself not to knowing it would have cursed him and then i start thinking about how kind and thoughtful gojo is as a character and how he hasn’t been able to lean on another human being since geto defected and then i want to . Scream

[airenyah]

Hey so do you know where I could find this acting manifesto of yours?

I usually try and avoid publicly expressing my opinion on things like this but I recently saw some people commenting negatively on his acting again and I’m starting to doubt my own judgement.

I’ve truly never had a huge problem with his acting but I keep seeing people using really harsh words to describe his prior and current work. I genuinely think he’s doing a good job in THK but these comments sometimes make me think I’m missing something.

That conflicts with the fact I know at least three people he worked with on THK specifically had positive things to say about his acting too and I trust people who do this for a living to know what they’re talking about for the most part.

I guess I’m just looking for your post to have a more detailed perspective of the opposite viewpoint to “he’s a terrible actor” to help affirm some of my thinking so I’m more confident in my positive opinion of his acting.

Overall though I’m enjoying everyone in this show but for me I’m specifically enjoying the four mains the most. Kudos to them honestly.

(Disclaimer: Obviously everyone is entitled to their opinion but the harshness of some of the opinions took me off guard a little.)

fuck these people. they don't know shit.

(mind you. this manifesto was written based on his performance in just star in my mind and hidden agenda. his 2024 shows weren't even out at that point. in fact, thk hadn't even been publicly announced yet. you can see from the start there is talent in this boy if you actually know what to look out for)

bonus: i rant some more in the last reblog

[laurellala-comics]

there are two wolves inside of you. One of them is fretting that you went through all the effort of making a new art account just to pigeonhole yourself once more into a specific fandom, which holds you back from exploring original art concepts that you care about. The other one came up with three separate ace attorney comic ideas in the last hour alone and isn't stopping anytime soon

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Whumpers, what are your earliest memories?

Mine is from when I was about two or three. I was in a stroller, at my cousin’s Irish dancing recital. After the recital, my aunts were talking down to me in the stroller, and to each other. I was experiencing extreme anxiety because I couldn’t understand what they were saying, when I felt I should have been able to communicate with them like they were communicating with each other. I was also very tired and dazed. I did not cry though… I probably looked normal on the outside.

I also remember when I was about four or five, I went to the beach with my dad and one of his friends. I somehow found my way onto the dock, planted my little rear end on a jet ski, untethered it from the dock, and started floating into the sunset. There was an old lady lounging in a donut inflatable out some way; she said something to me, but I couldn’t understand what she said, despite trying really hard. I’m assuming it was something along the lines of “Oh my god get off that jet ski you’re going to fucking DIE, kid,” but again… couldn’t understand a word of what she said, and got frustrated because she was speaking English (without an accent) and I should know how to understand adults speaking English to me.

At this point, my dad is yelling at me from across the water, and a young lifeguard drags the jet ski back. On land, my dad lectured at me very harshly as he led me back to the car. I didn’t know I had done anything wrong, and was very confused. At some point this guy starts quoting the Bible at me, and the only thing I could pick out were the words (spoken very emphatically), “Your days are numbered.”

“My days are numbered?” cue a vivid mental image of a calendar, with dates listed for every day of the week, “What does that mean?” Later on I figured out this was the Bible’s way of referencing death at God’s hand which just made me even more confused as to what I did, until at age thirteen, I figured out, “Oh a baby who can’t swim floating on a jet ski is terrifying, actually.”

Tagging: @kaleidoscopr @redd956 @hereissomething @astudyinpanda @c0ldbrains @straight-to-the-pain

[spinoff-antithesis]

[@distinguished-turtle-enjoyer ]

i actually have not stopped thinkin bout your bb!edit like,,,, its so good and scratches my brain right

how long have you been doin edits for? do have any tips for someone, who hypothetically, wants to start doin edits too? what programs do you use? how did you do the cool animated bits?

im so sorry for all the qustions 😭😭 i just think youre very talented and inspirational and i hope you have a good day ^_^

hi firstly oh my gosh you're literally so sweet i am gently shaking you i love you so much /p. secondly, i apologize for the long answer! (it's all under the cut. this got away from me. i'm so sorry apparently i have a lot to say.) (also you're so good about the questions i would constantly be asking one of my professors questions during class to the point where she said i didn't have to go "i have a question" every time i approached her)

i've been editing since 2016! around march/april, i think? loved it so much i went into film & video production in college as a major so i could do editing for a living. (i have done more motion graphics for my classmates than i have done edits outside of class assignments, BUT!)

the program i use is after effects - i started learning it when covid first hit the united states because i had nothing better to do with my time (other than music theory but i failed that bc my professor focused more on the history aspects than the actual theory soooo) and my ipad kept giving me the "no more storage" whenever i tried to use videostar lmao. (vs has, apparently, gotten a LOT of good updates, so if you're looking to start editing and have an ios system, i'd look into it! only downside is you have to pay for some of the cool stuff).

also the program i use for masking (i think i explain this later dwdw) is superimpose. i've been using it since 2014 and it's SO nice bc i can use my fingers to erase backgrounds & stuff instead of hoping i can get it to work correctly in ae or photoshop (photoshop my DETESTED i'll use it but i'll complain the entire time).

for people who want to start editing: tutorials on how your program works and how to do specific transitions are gonna be your best friend when you're first figuring things out! i forced a friend to literally walk me through how after effects worked when i was first figuring it out, and when i had swapped to videostar back in 2017/2018(?) i had watched a Lot of tutorials. that and played around a lot and figured things out on my own - which is also always a good way to start!! it's also totally valid to look at other people's edits for inspiration - most editors don't really care, as long as you don't flat-out remake their edit (some people don't like that!). i have a style insp folder on instagram where i save edits that i like so if i need transition ideas or i'm doing a different style, i can look there for inspiration. at the end of the day, as long as you're having fun with it that's all that matters!

also, starting simple is always okay!! my edits for a year were just me slapping gifs & video segments together on a timeline in cute cut pro bc imovie didn't load them lol & it'd crash every time i breathed. ++ it never hurts to ask people for feedback/constructive(!!!) criticism/etc! (also not to sound like everyone else but practice? good. it's so good. if i showed my 14/15y/o self some of the edits i can make now they would've passed out on the spot bc i was still trying to figure out transitions back then. programs can also sometimes make a difference in edits, but usually it's not super noticeable until you start getting to the Complicated Shit.)

a lot of popular programs i've seen are ones like video star (ios only), alight motion (android only), after effects (i recommend 🏴‍☠️ing it tbh, i only use it legally bc i had to use adobe programs for school), capcut, and i think some people still use sony vegas pro & maybe cute cut pro (i've heard it may have actually gotten better since i last used it in 2018)? i have no idea. programs also depend on whatever device you're using to edit on! since i've been using my laptop, i'm able to use after effects (it's computer-only), but when i used my phone/ipad to edit i used ccp & vs.

for the animation - it's a lot of cutting up the image and masking! more complex animations, like the one i had of leo walking down that red 'hallway' have several different layers that have been masked. (i removed the background & filled in the spot where leo originally was in two different apps - superimpose (taking leo out) & photoshop (filling in the bg)) in after effects, the way i've done this was mask out the specific thing i wanted to move (like an eye) and then put that mask on what i've called a "base" (not animated), and then stick a solid behind the base to match the color of the object. (some of my layers are not named appropriately; base 2 is the left arm & the four "SIX_[...]" layers are the mask/bandana tails)

an example of this would be for any of the eye blink animations i did! this (above) is the same shot, with and without the eye - since it's masked out and i have the background solid behind it, it doesn't look too unnatural/have a black outline/mass where his eye should be.

what it looks like without the solid layer behind it ^ (the red lines are from the null layers - ignore that)

this is what my timeline looks like if it's a more simplistic animation - the only five things being animated here are leo & raph's eyes. (there's only this many layers bc it's two characters in one shot & i was also animating their pupils - typically, an eye-blink animation is about 4-6 layers for me (solid, base, mask, & null to animate with, 6 if i'm animating both eyes & 4 if just one))

in after effects, there's this really cool tool called the puppet pin that one of my friends (lovingly) yelled at me for not knowing about - which. yeah fair she wasn't wrong it's SUPER useful in animating, provided you chop up your image first. if you don't it's a mess.

(separated by layer vs i should've really put the mask tails & leo's head on separate layers and didn't bc that was the 2nd to last animation i had to do and i was losing my mind bc i wanted to be done with the edit lmao)

the way people animate depends all on their style (there's two common ways to do blinking animation - having the anchor point at the bottom of the eye, or the middle of it) and the program they use. it's been a while, but i could probably tell you how to do some basic animations on videostar still even though i've been doing them in after effects for about 2-3years now. ALSO the best way to have an animation be noticeable is to over-exaggerate it/make them Big - which, yes, can mean 'breaking bones' and having the limbs be a little wonky at the start. (if you want it to be realistic though go Just to the point where it looks uncomfortable lmao)

uhm. again i am so sorry that this is so long i THINK this is everything? if not: my inbox/dms are always open if you ever want to ask more questions, wanna follow up on something, etc etc!! (also if you ever start editing please send me your edits!!! i'd love to see them <3)

[dilfosaur]

well i haven't spilled my guts on tumblr since i was in college but it's the platform that's felt The Most Mine thru the years, so

let's talk!

i've had a huge chip on my shoulder that i wanted off before the year ends. very bad professional experience to follow

so firstly to get ahead of the speculating, i'm not naming names or anything. some of you will puzzle out who i'm talking about, but please don't bother anyone especially not on my behalf. i've worked hard to distance myself from them the past few months. shit happens, especially when you're a dumb bitch (that's me!)

but also this person was someone i considered a close friend and it makes me uneasy to possibly direct backlash at them. "then why post about it" bc i did intermittent work for them for over a year. this is just about that. so hear me out

basically it started off fine. i initially did some commission work for good pay, then was invited to become more involved with their team. unfortunately as i became more involved with their operation it became more disorganized over time. projects started then forgotten, constantly shifting schedules, lapsing communication between roles, confusing financials, and often inconsistent if not late payments. during mid 2023 i was doing colorist work, sometimes on a one day turnaround (all while also preparing drawfee's summer merch launch). the payroll wasn't set up correctly so i wasn't paid for that work for over a year (more on that later), tho to be fair that was largely my own fault at first as i just didnt realize the payments didn't go thru lol

i always consider myself decently capable of separating friendship and coworker-ship; i run a company with 4 wonderful friends, going strong for almost 5 years. that didn't really work out in this case. by early this year our friendship was on the rocks; work issues fed into personal issues and vice versa. so as the rest of this shit plays out, we had just had our first "big fight" which i felt very bad about and added to all the upcoming tension

a huge point of friction was the fact that i really wanted to work with them to make a music video for one of their songs. i've always wanted a chance to make a music video, was confident in a concept i came up with, and even did some concept art for the idea. everyone insisted they loved the concept and that we should do it, but we kept pushing it back for various reasons. it ended up becoming a huge sticking point for my frustrations, which i tried to express productively. TLDR, we eventually got around to discussing it seriously around april.

i planned to ask for $4000 with negotiable add-on for the whole project, which was my Friend Discount price. i was offered a contract for $1000 flat rate, as they insisted that was the only budget they had for it.

don't ask me why i signed it lol. i didn't even counter offer

there was some girlmath to it: i wanted an extra 1k for a student scholarship i provide every spring and well, there it was. but if i had to guess, i saw it as something i just couldn't back down from any more. i caused these folks- my friends- a lot of problems bc i dug my heels in so deep to chase this project, so fuck it we ball

i had about 4 months to solo a 3 minute music video. they wanted it done in august so they could release it before summer ended, bc "it was a summer song". to be fair i was asked if i needed them to pay for anything extra like assistants (which i would have to find and manage) but i was so immediately overwhelmed that i didn't wanna slow down to wait on that process lol. there was very minimal communication other than brief progress check-ins every few weeks. i did everything for that project myself: the original concept, character designs, storyboards, layouts, backgrounds. i even did the editing/compositing for the final cut of the MV. the only favor i did myself was limiting the amount of it that was actually animated to simple loops and motions. hardly my best work but it was work still done

i did it all in between my full time job. i ended up having to take nearly a month away from most of my drawfee duties (with the support of the others) to make the august deadline. i only ever asked for a 3 day extension (notice given about a week in advance, around the same time i was given the final song file lol). i finished the music video at 6am on the final deadline and recorded drawfee the next day on 2 hours of sleep

but it was done, coolies. the team was very happy with the final product. honestly, without getting into it, those were a very emotionally taxing 4 months. on the professional side, i regretted agreeing to the project and especially for the dogshit rate they offered. i felt like a hypocrite- as someone who always wanted to advocate for younger artists demanding their worth in a world that's getting increasingly hostile toward creatives, i failed myself

so when i met with the manager to discuss the release plan, i told them to do whatever worked best for them as i only had one request: i wanted my credit removed from the project

tbh... like... lmao this dramatic bitch right!! but really, i decided that bad practices only breed worse business. friends or not, it was unprofessional of me to accept such a low paying job so i just didn't want my name used in association. everything felt so muddled to me and i was just really tired at this point

the manager was very understanding and then offered that i could be paid more. they said that their team "was surprised" i accepted their low rate and they would be happy to up the amount. this confused me as the initial budget seemed pretty set and at no point between april and august was i offered a better rate. i knew these guys weren't made of money. so, i declined. i didn't want to put anyone out of their means over work that was already done and agreed upon. but more importantly, i was over the whole thing and didn't want to prolong the project with a contract renegotiation. i just insisted my name be removed

they decided to use a pseudonym (which i was fine with) so they could create a story about a character who made the MV (this sounds really convoluted but i don't know how better to put it without getting specific, sorry). that way if people asked about the credit, they could speak comfortably about it without signaling that something went wrong behind the scenes. ok, kind of a silly narrative imo but whatevs. and maybe this is where i finally went truly wrong but. yolo i guess

i gave the name "D. Smithee", D as in dilfosaur and Smithee as in Alan Smithee. look it up for fun film trivia ig! was it passive aggressive of me to reference that in this context? yeah, honestly. but i thought it was kinda funny and really not that deep. if it was a problem, i have other real, non-cheeky pseudonyms i regularly use. the manager accepted it and all i had to do was wait for them to post the video and i could leave the whole experience behind me

a week later i received a message from the manager that my pseudonym had been denied by the rest of the team bc one of them got the reference. fair enough lol. however, they decided that rather than ask for a different name, the were going to make one up for me that they liked and would "fit the [story]", without asking me

and that! is when i finally snapped!

i was so tired of giving them concessions at this point and having a credit made up for me without any input from me felt genuinely violating and unethical. i started to Panic bc of how stressed i was, and asked for my overdue payments (aka the $500 still owed on the MV, and the colorist rate from a year prior that was never paid even tho i reported it in january) to be scheduled ASAP as i was leaving the work discord immediately

i finally told them off for exploiting me throughout the months while i kept trying to just be nice and finish my contact cleanly. in return i was told that it was unfair to say that as i agreed to everything- i accepted their cheap rate and denied further payment so that was all settled, and it was ok to change my credit without my consent bc i "said they could do whatever with the release". i called bullshit, ended the convo as kindly as i could, and cried lol. they agreed to ditch the pseudonym and just give no credit. that night was the last i heard from anyone on that team

and the real kicker?

august came and went. then september, october... and they never released the music video

and i don't know why, because i was never contacted about it. i've been removed from the picture entirely i guess. 4 months and boatloads of stress. just. up in smoke. i don't know what i expected honestly

it's hard to not take everything that happened personally and as done in bad faith. i really do, honestly. i've had plenty of shitty deals in my almost 10 year art career, but it hits different from people you saw as friends. but to the point of "why not keep it private", i have never felt so disrespected as a professional as i did this past year. i can toy with money and credits and other formalities all i want, but my work- my ideas, my labor, my effort- is still so important to me. i felt like the biggest idiot for doing so much work, pouring so much of myself into a piece for someone's use, for what has amounted to nothing

but more importantly i hated myself for undervaluing my work, even if initially i thought this person was a trusted friend. money is not really an issue for me- drawfee is my main job and i am fine and comfortable. it's so important to pay artists appropriately but i often undersell my own work bc i value the collaboration and passion between creatives more than the reward. i think a lot of artists tend to feel the same, and it often makes us easy to take advantage of. it's so difficult to find the balance between passion and making a fair living, and i think there's some shame within ourselves when artists choose to prioritize that passion

i wanted to finally get all this off my chest bc i was ashamed of every choice i made. things like this happen all the time i'm sure and hiding these mistakes only make it easier for it to happen to other people

tldr always value your work and protect your passion from people who just see it as a product. and don't give cheeky pseudonyms i guess lol

(and again pls don't bother anyone involved about this. a lot of chaos has left my life as i moved past all this, and this is me closing a door without opening new ones hopefully lol)

this shit was truly

so ass.

but i'm moving past it now

but on a nicer note. outside of all of this nonsense, i made lots of good memories this year. i'm truly so grateful to the many wonderful people in my life who keep me going even when i fuck up big time!

and thank you to all of you strangers who, despite everything, give me the time of day. especially if you read this whole thing. you're a real one :')

happy new year!