#daffy duck reader

[k-nayee]

Duck...Duck...GOO-BEASTARS! Beastars ii

wc: 3.7k

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

You don’t remember the walk back to the dorm so much as the way Louis clamped around your arm.

He hadn’t let go the moment he yanked you out of the cafeteria through the gawking herd of students.

“Can you at leasht try to be gentle?” you squawk as he continues to march toward your room. “I am a lady after all.”

“You are a menace,” Louis corrects flatly, just in time to reach your door and shoulder it open as he hauls you inside.

Your webbed feet skimmed the tile for a second before you found traction, tray jostling to your chest like a life raft. One of the last mini lettuce wraps you’d managed to salvage from the battlefield slid dangerously close to the edge.

“Thish ish evidence you know.” you stumble as he lets go. “Of neglect....No! Duck abuzh. Quick shomeone call animal protective shervicesh—”

“Sit,” Louis snapped.

You make a beeline for the bed and plop down out of pure spite. The springs squeaked under the sudden weight causing one of the peas to make a break for it and fall onto the floor.

Louis paced (of course he is). His polished shoes clicked in tight angry patterns; back and forth between desk and door.

“You cannot,” he says, one hand slicing through the air, “just walk into the middle of a carnivore altercation like that and turn it into some comedy routine. On your first day no less.”

You tore off a bite of the lettuce wrap and chewed as you watched him with half-lidded eyes. “No greeting after all that? Well good morning to you too Shunshine.”

He ignores that.

“This isn’t your father’s office,” he gesture sharply as he turns. “The entire campus is one spark away from collapsing, and you decide to pour gasoline on it."

You swing your feet, watching his antlers carve sharp lines in the air as he moves. “Gasholine?” you repeat. “Pleashe. I wazh more like...the foam thing they uzhe on firesh.”

You raise a hand and waggle your fingers like jazz hands. “Plush the crowd? Loved it. Shtanding ovation in their heartsh. I could feel it.”

Louis stops dead. Slowly, very slowly, he turns to stare at you. “You humiliated two carnivores...”

“They were about to go for round two anyway,” you give a loose shrug. “From what I shaw, fox boy was presshed and cloudy-day-wolf looked like he wazh about to have a breakdown. Then here I come, crackin a few jokesh and boom—the lovebirdsh retreated. You’re welcome.”

“Do not call them lovebirds,” Louis mumbles.

“Aww look at you,” you coo, letting your voice pitch up into mocking sweetness. “Cherryton’sh little Golden Boy™ trying to protect the shcool image. How noble. Very mush on brand.”

His eye twitches. “Do not call me that either.”

“You right. How about Future Beashtar? Shavior of coexishtence. And Me? I’m just helping your campaign babe. The more incidentsh you shtop, the better you look. I’m like…your emotional shupport gremlin.”

Louis pinches the bridge of his muzzle hard for a long silent second.

“I am not a Beastar. Yet,” he says through gritted teeth. “And I don’t need your help turning the cafeteria into a circus.”

“Ouch,” you say, wing to your chest. “That’sh rude to the circush.”

He gives you a look that says he is absolutely calculating how much trouble it would cause if he threw you out the window.

You rolled onto your back with a groan at this point, tray balanced on your stomach as you stare up at the dorm ceiling. “Look, did anyone elshe get bit after I walked in?”

He hesitates. “...No but—”

“Shee?” You spread your free wing in a ta-da fashion. “No fatalitiesh. Ten outta ten conflict resholushion.”

Louis made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, something halfway between a scoff and a laugh.

“This isn’t a game,” he insists. “Do you have any idea what it’s like here right now? Tem was murdered ____. In this school...on these grounds—”

“Tem,” you repeated softly, the name slotting itself into place from the secondhand gossip you’d overheard on move-in. “The alpaca right?”

Louis’ eyes flicked to you, assessing whether you were actually listening or just repeating. You placed your tray securely beside you on the bed as you sat up.

You knew how to recognize the shift when Louis went from annoyed to serious. This was the latter.

“An herbivore dying violently on campus,” he began, voice flattening into that calm reasoned tone he used on his fellow peers. “Everyone knows what that implies—even if they won’t say devoured out loud. The administration is terrified...parents are terrified. And herbivores are...they’re looking at every carnivore like an attack waiting to happen.”

“Harsh,” you murmur.

“No, accurate,” he shot back. “Do you know how many safety meetings we've held since it happened? How many times they’ve said ‘coexistence program’ in the last month? They’re clinging to their image by the whiskers, and you—” he jabs toward you “—waltz in and shine a spotlight right on a fox and a dog trying to rip each other’s throats out in front of the entire school.”

“Firsht of all no one’sh throat got ripped,” you said. “Shecond of all, I took that shpotlight and rotated it to clownery. Very different vibe.”

“And Legoshi,” Louis continued over you, practically vibrating with the need to get his point out. “You drew even more attention to his teeth.”

You snorted at that. “Hish teeth drew attention to themshelvesh. I just mentioned the elephant tooth in the room.”

“He is a wolf,” Louis said sharply. “One with very little control over how he’s perceived. And now you’ve got half the cafeteria muttering chompers under their breath when he walks by.”

You thought back to the wolf’s face—stretched somewhere between guilty and dazed—and felt a little flicker of something that wasn’t quite guilt.

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “But nobody wazh shcreaming by that point. I’ll take 'wow that guy hash teeth' over 'oh no hesh gonna eat me’ any day.”

Louis could only shake his head, exhaling hard through his teeth.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered. “You never had to. All your father does it just throw money at the problems until they go away. But the thing is? It won't work at this school. Not right now. Any public scene that involves aggression and carnivores is dangerous. Even if you turn it into a...a bit.”

You perked up immediately at that.

“A bit?” you echoed. “Sho you admit it wazh a good bit.”

“I did not—”

“You called it a bit, that’sh legally binding!” you haughtily declared. “You acknowledge my craft.”

You pop a pea into your beak as a mini-reward.

“Look,” you said around it, “I get it. Tem’sh dead. But what do you want me to do Louish? Walk in, shee shome animals playin’ tug-of-war with each other’sh limbs and go ‘oh dear, I shall mind my own businesh’? That’sh borin’.”

“Yes!” he snapped.

You blinked at him.

“Yes,” he repeated, more controlled this time. “Or at the very least don’t insert yourself right in the middle of it. You’ve only been here half a day and already made yourself the most talked-about herbivore on campus.”

You fluffed a little at that, feathers preening at his words. “Awww. Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Well you shouldn’t have phrashed it like one,” you said primly.

For a moment Louis was too stunned to respond. Then his brows knit, and you can practically hear his blood pressure spike.

Before he can decide whether to lecture you about responsibility or nepotism first, the familiar vibration of your phone buzzed against your thigh.

You fished it out from the pocket of your blazer without looking and glanced at the screen.

BIG POPPA 🤑🦆🥰 [Incoming call]

You smile despite yourself.

“Oop. Timeout,” you said, already swiping to accept. “Dad’sh calling.”

“Of course he is,” Louis muttered under his breath. “You probably set off some psychic rich-person alarm when you said ‘fight’ in a fifty-meter radius.”

You hit speaker and set the phone on the bed between you and your tray.

“Pumpkin!”

Your father’s voice bursts out of the tiny speaker like it’s too big for it; rich, warm, and booming warm in a way that always, always hits the same spot under your sternum.

“Oh listen to that echo—is that your room? Tell me that’s your room. Does it have a window? Are there bars? Do tell me if the accommodations are insufficient, I’ll buy the whole building and knock out a wall myself.”

“Hi Daddy~” you sing-songed as you tried not to laugh, glancing around at the bland furniture and suspiciously thin mattress.

“Cherryton treating you right?” he barrels on before you can answer. “You call me if anyone so much as looks at you sideways ya hear? I’ll have their job by Tuesday.”

Louis quietly sinks into the desk chair, elbows on his knees, listening with the grim resignation of someone who has been through this before.

“It'sh only been like five hoursh Dad,” you say, kicking your feet lazily in the air. “At leasht give it a day.”

“A day is plenty of time for incompetence,” your father declares. “You’re surrounded by teenagers after all. And do you know what teenagers are? They’re lawsuits waiting to happen.”

You snort. “I’m a teenager.”

“No. You’re an angel,” he corrects immediately. “There's a difference.”

That earns a involuntary huff from Louis. You glance over in time to catch him looking like he just bit his own tongue.

'Oh...he hates that,' you realize.

A little spark of mischief lights up in your chest.

“Weeeeeell,” your eyes linger on Louis just long enough to make sure he sees the smirk forming on your beak, “now that you menshion it...”

There was a pause on the other end.

Just long enough for the hairs on the back of your neck to prick.

“What happened,” is all your father says. It wasn’t a shout, but all the air seemed to still for a moment.

You popped a piece of corn into your beak to buy time.

“Oh you know,” you finally speak. “Jusht a fox bein’ a fox. He tried to threaten me on the way outta the cafeteria with the ‘watch my back’ schtick. Very creative, I know.”

“....Threatened you?” your father repeats, voice suddenly quiet.

You toy with a loose thread on your blazer sleeve with a shrug.

“Yeah,” you admit lightly. “But like...how threatening could he really be? Orange mangey thing—no bigger than the dog that bit hish assh on the arm five minutsh before. Hell, everyone in the cafeteria thaw it. Exshept me of courshe.” You sigh dramatically. “Shame too. Got there too late, it sheemth.”

There’s another beat of silence.

“So he’s injured...Good. That’s enough for me to identify him.” You could already picture your father’s eyes narrowing, gaze turning cold in a way you’ve seen directed at board members and those who disagreed with him.

Louis’ head swiveled so fast you heard something in his neck pop. “Is he—”

“Tell me something Pumpkin!” Your father cuts over him, voice snapping back to its usual cheery cadence. “Is it getting chilly over there yet? I saw on the forecast it might be.”

“Uh....I mean, I guesh? Why?”

“Just because. My baby duck would do very well with a nice warm fox-fur neck warmer. Don’t you think?”

Louis stares at the phone like he’s hearing a crime in progress. “Is he serious?” he hissed at you.

You shrugged one shoulder. “Hesh just talkin’ big...probably.”

“To be clear,” your father continued, “that was a joke for legal purposes—alleged if you may. Now if some little red-furred punk with a bite on his arm happens to disappear from the class roster?” You can hear the shrug in his tone. “Who knows.”

“Dad,” you roll your eyes even as warmth curls in your chest. “You can’t just threaten to make people into clothing every time they’re mean to me. It’sh tacky.”

“I’m not threatening,” he says, affronted. “I’m planning. There’s a difference.”

Louis press into his eyelids as if trying to hold back a migraine.

“This is exactly what we need,” he mutters under his breath. “An overprotective rich parent casually talking about making students disappear.”

Your father hums on the other end. “...is that Louis in the background?”

Louis straightens instinctively, shoulders going stiff. “Good afternoon sir,” his tone slips into that careful politeness reserved for adults who had the power to ruin his day.

“Ah my favorite stag,” your father speaks cheerfully. “How’s my little staff member doing?”

Louis’ eye twitched.

“I’m...a student,” he said with strained patience. “Same as your daughter.”

“Mhm,” your father hummed. “And yet who’s the one keeping her from ruining the cafeteria completely? Feels like staff-level responsibility to me. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they give you a raise.”

You snickered. “He already actsh like he run the place. The Future Beashtar they call him.”

“That’s good,” your father said. “Aim high son. Just remember: my girl is management. You are support.”

Louis says nothing else—just a simple, long controlled breath through his nose.

Your father’s theatrics may have rattled other people. But to you? It was just the sound of home.

“Anyways! Now more about your room Pumpkin. Is the mattress okay? I told them I’d send a truck if it’s not....”

As he launched into another rambling mini-lecture on your well-being, you found your mind slipping into memory.

Your mother had died before you were old enough to store more than scattered flashes of her in your mind. And so, your father had become everything: protector, provider, the duck-shaped sun your little world revolved around.

He worked too much, worried too loudly, and absolutely refused to accept that you should ever bend in order to fit into someone else’s expectations.

"You didn’t do anything wrong Pumpkin," he'd say. "People just can’t handle greatness."

When regular schools decided you were too much—too loud, too talkative, too easily distracted, too unwilling to sit still and quiet—he’d taken you out to be homeschooled.

And that you did.

You learned math and literature and how to file a complaint.

How to watch adults across big mahogany tables, how they flinched at your father’s voice, how they folded when he leaned back and smiled with all his teeth.

It didn't take long for you to figure out that the world was a place where people either shrank you or you expanded until they were the ones scrambling to accommodate.

That puffing up, hissing, and throwing your weight around like the male ducks was right if that’s what it took to keep anyone from pushing you around first.

Somewhere in the middle of all that Louis had arrived.

You can still remember the first time you saw him: too skinny, ears too big for his small head, antlers just starting to push through skin as he stood like he was waiting to be put back where he came from.

He’d moved in next door after that whole underground mess your father had never told you the full details of. The only knowledge you've gotten was hearing words like rescued and sold for meat whispered between adults during dinner, or when your father’s feathers would puff up every time he said the word black market.

Your father had looked at you, at Louis, and then clapped his wings together like he’d just been given the world’s easiest project. “Perfect! ____ will help him socialize.” he’d declared.

Across endless arranged playdates you’d dragged Louis everywhere you went like he was a prop and you were the showrunner. When he’d go quiet, you filled the gaps with your own voice. When he stumbled over words, you bulldozed ahead for both of you.

Now here you are years later—sprawled on a dorm bed while that same boy paces your room, caught between wanting to strangle you and wanting to shield you from the consequences of your own mouth.

“...Pumpkin? You still there?”

Your father’s voice snaps you back to the present.

“Yesh,” you say. “Shorry. Got losht in thought. You were shaying...mattressh?”

“I was saying if the bed is bad, I will burn that school to the ground and rebuild it,” he says as if it was a perfectly normal solution. “But never mind that now. I want you to make sure and email me if any administrator gives you a look. Even if a janitor breathes crooked in your direction—”

“Dad,” you cut in with a smile despite yourself. “I can handle a crooked breath.”

“Of course you can Pumpkin,” he immediately rearranges his words around your interruption with practiced ease. “You shouldn’t have to. That’s the point.”

Louis watched your face as your father went on. You could see it in his eyes; the understanding, the faint pinch of something like envy, the resignation of someone who’d long ago accepted your father as a permanent environmental factor.

“Anyways!” your father's voice dropped into that syrupy warmth he reserved only for you. “Don’t worry your pretty feathers about any of this. Let the adults handle it. You just eat, sleep, and have fun okay? And listen to me sweetie—don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re too much. There is nothing wrong with you.”

The words slid into that familiar empty space in your chest and settled there warm and heavily. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I know.”

“Say it back,” he prompted like he always did.

You rolled your eyes, but your beak quirked. “There’sh nothing wrong with me,” you recited.

“Exactly,” he said. “Now I have a meeting in ten minutes where I’m going to pretend to be a reasonable man. Make sure to text me a photo of your room later so I can judge the curtains. Call me if you need anything and I’ll send a lawyer...or cake.”

“Preferably cake,” you said. “Love you Dad.”

“Love you more,” he shot back. “My perfect girl.”

The line clicked off.

For a second, there was just the hum of the light and the fading echo of your father’s voice in your ears.

Louis leaned back heavily in the desk chair as if someone had taken a weight off his antlers and set it on his shoulders instead.

“You know he’s going to email the headmaster now,” he stared at your phone like it might explode.

You shrugged. “And?” Picking up the cup of orange gelatin, you poke it to watch it wobble. “They’re lucky. Do you know how much money he dropped on preservashionsh to get me in here?”

“Do not call them that,” Louis groaned. “They’re donations to the coexistence program.”

“Either way it we all win,” you chirped. “Cherryton got a brand new language lab and I got a front-row sheat to Wolf v. Fox smackdown.”

“There are easier ways to attend this school,” he says dryly.

“Not for me~”

He didn’t argue.

Lunch forgotten, you hop off the bed in a burst of energy, nearly tipping your tray as you make your way over to your suitcase and start rummaging through the clothes, humming some nonsense tune under your breath.

Louis watched you for a moment then narrowed his eyes. “...what are you doing now?” he asked warily.

“You’ll shee.” You dig until your feathers close around a folded tote bag; yanking it out with a triumphant noise and stuffing things into it.

Behind you Louis sounds like every molecule of his being is bracing for impact. “____” he says slowly.

"Okay...I'm ready!" You sling the tote’s strap over your shoulder and turn to him with your brightest smile.

He blinks. “Ready for what.”

“Your Drama club of courshe,” you clarify, beak curling. “The fact you have a whole little theatre cult going on and you didn’t invite me? I feel betrayed.”

“Definitely not,” Louis immediately stands up as if he can physically block the door by will alone. “You are not stepping foot into the drama club.”

You unwaveringly saunter over and pat his arm like you’re soothing a nervous child. “Relax babesh. I just wanna shee you in your natural habitat. You know, watchin you yell at people productively and shtuff.”

He bristles. “It’s not yelling, it’s directing,” he snaps. “The drama club is the one stable place left on this campus. And I refuse to let you turn it into whatever it is you turn things into.”

“Fun?” you suggest.

“Chaos.”

“Tomato tomahto.”

You can see the gears turning in his gaze—the arguments he could throw at you, the appeals to for you to listen, the subtle reminders that your father’s money won’t protect him if his beloved club implodes.

You also see the moment he realizes none of that matters.

Because you’ve already decided.

He scrubs a hand over his face, looking toward the ceiling as if praying for a meteor.

You rock back on your webbed feet with hands clasped behind your back.

“I’ll come by later beshtfriend,” you say softly, holding his gaze, eyes wide and guileless. “I promishe I’ll be on my besht behavior.”

You both know you are undeniably lying.

Louis’ jaw works. He looks like he wants to argue more, but the fight’s gone out of his shoulders a little.

“....Rehearsal starts at four,” he finally mutters. “If you’re going to show up, at least don’t be late.”

Your grin is blinding. “Yesshir Director!”

“Don’t call me that either.”

Moving to the bedroom door, he pauses before looking back once more. “Just....try not to make any more enemies today, all right?”

“Oh no promisesh,” you say cheerfully. “But I’ll try not to make any boring onesh.”

Shaking his head, Louis says nothing else and simply leaves.

The room is quite now that your main source of entertainment was gone.

You take the chance to wander over to the window. From here you can see a slice of campus: manicured lawns, the path leading toward the main buildings, a glimpse of the auditorium’s peaked roof in the distance.

Somewhere over there, a tall gray wolf is probably still sitting in the cafeteria, picking at his cold bean steak and wondering what hit him.

His face pops in your head again—those big anxious eyes, the way his ears had flattened when you called out his teeth, the stunned look when you told him he looked like a cloudy day.

A little spark fizzes in your chest. Maybe its Interest. Maybe its mischief. Or maybe its something else you don’t bother naming.

“Yeah,” you murmur to yourself, watching a group of students cross the quad. “Definitely gotta go shee him again.”

[k-nayee]

Duck...Duck...GOO-BEASTARS! Beastars i

wc: 3.8k a/n: I don't know why but i feel like Daffy Duck would fit in beautifully in Beastars 🙂‍↕️

Traveler M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The cafeteria always felt too bright now.

Too many lights...too much white tile...too many eyes pretending not to stare.

Legoshi shuffled forward in the carnivore line; his ears was angled back, shoulders curved in that practiced hunch he'd mastered as his tail stayed tucked—all in attempt to take up as little space as a six-foot-something gray wolf possibly could.

'Don’t stare at anyone. Don’t loom. Don’t breathe too loud.' Was a mantra he kept in a loop in his head ever since he could remember, a way to lessen the attention.

And yet he could feel the prickle of eyes anyway. Or maybe he was imagining it. It was hard to tell nowadays, especially after what happened to Tem.

“Next!” the lunch lady barked.

The wolf inched his tray along the metal rail, watching with inappropriate focus as gloved hands ladled out his nutritious and balanced carnivore option: scrambled eggs, a roll of bread, and a fortified bean steak.

“Oh wow” Jack's cheerful voice cuts through Legoshi's murky thoughts in a way that felt almost defiant. “Today’s carnivore breakfast looks great! Hella stoked right now.”

He really was. The golden Labrador tail wagged in a content rhythm as he held his tray, craning his neck over the counter to peer at the metal pans.

All students were required to eat in the cafeteria at Cherryton—an expectation when it comes to its herbivore–carnivore coexistence program. The rules here were clear: no meat.

Not that it would be a problem since butcher shops didn’t exist. Hell even restaurants beyond the campus lines refused to serve meat.

“Whoa—sorry! Go ahead.”

Legoshi’s gaze flicked down in time to see Miguno suddenly lean back as the trio made their way to the rest of the 701 pack.

The spotted hyena's right foot was lifted in shock revealing a mouse girl clutching one of her paws to her chest.

“Th-thank you,” her tiny voice squeaked out before hurrying past their feet, clutching her tray like a shield.

“That was close,” Miguno exhaled, ears pinning as they finally arrived to their seats. “I almost flattened her. Man I seriously need glasses. One more step and that would’ve been it.”

“That’s why they tell them to walk along the wall,” Durham says, nudging him with his elbow. “Smaller species follow the edge.”

“Yeah yeah I know,” Miguno grumbled at the young coyote, then puffed out his cheeks. “Still. I think I’d look good with glasses, right? Legoshi? Didn’t you say I would?”

Legoshi blinked. For a second he didn't even realized Miguno was talking to him. “Oh...uh yeah you’d...look fine,” he said, ears drooping slightly. “They’d suit you.”

Miguno grinned in satisfaction. “See? Knew it. I’ve got the face for it. So what kind of you think though? Like those square ones? Or round? Maybe the thick frames that—"

Legoshi wasn’t listening anymore.

His gaze had slid back down to the bland colors of his breakfast...the bread roll specifically.

His hand hovered over it, claws twitching, remembering the give of flesh under his claws. The hum of the cafeteria faded into a muffled buzz around him.

'I’d...better not eat this one. Not after last night' The thought coldly crept up his spine in guilt. 'I don't want to touch anything soft.'

"You bastard! What’s your deal man?" The shout cut through the cafeteria like a knife.

A beat later came the harsh scrape of chairs legs against tile—one, then another, as surrounding animals jumped back from the sudden commotion.

“You realize you've been stepping my tail this whole time right?!”

Legoshi’s ears snapped toward the sound before the rest of him followed. He turned in his seat, gaze cutting past rows of tables and trays until he found the source.

At the far end of the carnivore section stood a fox and a small mutt.

The fox’s fur bristled along his spine, his orange coat all sharp angles and raised hackles as the dog held his shoulders in a firm grip, his own lips curled back over sharp teeth.

"I said I was sorry, what more do you want from me?" the fox snapped, his voice high and mocking.

“Don’t laugh while you apologize!” the wild dog barked back, stepping closer into the fox’s space. “You think this is funny ya damn fox?”

The fox seemed to actually consider that for a second. Then his gaze flicked over the dog’s face and something mean settled in his eyes.

“Woah calm down man, already have all those lines on your face as it is. Is it because of stress?” he drawled slyly. “Look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

The dog’s expression snapped at that. “You know what? Fuck this,” he hissed.

Then he lunged.

Screams echoed around the cafeteria as students yelped and scrambled out of the way.

Legoshi could only watch stunned as the fox and the dog collided and went down in a tangle of limbs on the hard floor.

The dog’s jaws had clamped down on the fox’s arm, teeth sunk into the sleeve of his uniform. Even from where Legoshi sat he could see the spot where the first smear of red seeped through the darkening white fabric.

It wasn’t even a deep bite—not yet—but it was enough to cause a rippling panic.

Herbivores flinched back from the scene, some covering their mouths, others clutching their trays like lifelines. Voices pitched high with fear as the word bite slipped through the noise like something forbidden.

But Legoshi barely heard any of it.

His gaze tunneled in on that arm—on the way dog’s teeth locked around the sleeve, on the gleam of saliva and the beginning swell of blood beneath.

"You...you JACKASS! Did you just bite me?!" the fox snarled, struggling to wrench his arm free. "Do you know what’s going to happen now? Hey! Let GO!"

“Shut up!” the dog growled around the mouthful of fabric and flesh in a muffled voice.

Legoshi’s heart started to race.

'I’ll eat you...' The thought slithered up from somewhere deep, uninvited, unrestrained. 'I’ll eat you...I’ll eat you...'

His chest felt tight, like something inside was pounding against his ribs, begging to be let out. Watching those teeth, watching that grip, that struggle—it sparked something raw and hungry at the base of his spine.

'You feel the joy...from the bottom of your heart'

His claws sank deep into his arms. He felt the warmth of his own blood spill under his nails, but even that metallic tang in the air only made it worse.

Legoshi’s vision blurred at the edges.

“ENOUGH!”

His voice tore through the air in a half shout, half guttural growl. It bounced off the high ceiling, ripped across tables, and slammed into the knot of bodies around the fight.

Everything stopped as dozens of eyes swung toward him.

Legoshi blinked realizing only then that he was on his feet. He straightened up as if yanked by a string, ears drooping as he brought a hand up to cover his snout, shame washing over him.

'What am I doing? What am I doing?'

"What the heck is wrong with you Legoshi? First this morning, now this?" Jack’s voice hissed low at his side. Though it sounded more worried than angry.

Legoshi didn't meet his gaze, instead he stared straight ahead, trying to pretend he hadn’t just sounded like that.

The cafeteria stayed quiet, no one moving—that is until the fox finally pushed himself up from the floor. His lips curled as he shook off the dog like a bad memory.

“Now who the fuck do you think you’re yelling at?” He started toward Legoshi, shoulders rolling, tail lashing behind him. “What? You think you can beat me just 'cause you’re bigger?”

Legoshi’s throat went dry.

“N-No way...n-not at all!” The grey-wolf stammered, instinctively bowing his head to make himself appear smaller. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

Even as he said it his brain had already kicked into something awful then—awful because he’d never trained it nor never wanted to, and yet it responded like it had been waiting for a moment like this.

Numbers slid into place like stat cards from a game he didn’t remember signing up for.

Legoshi: 660-pound bite, 2.5-inch claws, 157 pounds, 6.1 feet tall.​​​ Fox: 330-ish bite, 1.2-inch claws, around 120 pounds, significantly smaller

If he lunged, the fox wouldn’t stand a chance. Brutal even if he tried not to be.

And that's exactly the problem.

“Oh I’ve got it all wrong?” the fox echoed into a nasty purr. He stopped right in front of Legoshi, close enough the wolf could smell the fresh bite of blood. “Gimme your neck then.”

Legoshi stiffened.

“I’ll bite into it nice and gentle,” the fox murmured, his teeth bared into something that wasn’t a smile at all. “Promise I won’t break the skin too much.”

The room seemed to shrink around them as the fox waited for him to flinch.

'What can I do to make myself lose on purpose?' Legoshi's mind ran through options with grim efficiency.

He pictured himself fumbling, letting the fox tackle him, maybe taking a punch and dropping hard. That way the fox could walk away feeling like he’d won and the dog would get to say he’d been defended.

The crowd would relax and everything would be fin—

"Oh c'mon."

Louis’ voice sliced through the air like a perfectly aimed arrow.

Legoshi’s head turned toward the herbivore tables in time to see him rise from his chair in one smooth motion, adjusting his red tie with a precise flick of his fingers.

Even from here he looked composed—his expression somewhere between stern and faintly bored, like this whole scene was an inconvenience he’d reluctantly decided to handle personally.

The Future Beastar

Louis took one step forward, then another, weaving around chairs in a straight sharp line toward the conflict.

"Being a carnivore at a time like this? Isn't so easy it seems." The stag lifts his chin, ready to continue his speech with an actor’s cadence that seemed to cut through static and panic like a blade. "I mean, they're not always lucky enough to have bo—"

BAM

The cafeteria doors slammed open so hard they bounced off the stopper making everyone in the room jump.

"Oopshie~ Did I do that?"

Every head in the room snapped toward the entrance in time to see you waddle in.

The tray in your wing was absolutely loaded over the legal limit: mountain of buttered corn and rice, peas threatening to roll off the edge, three mini lettuce wraps, and one wobbling cup of orange gelatin that has clearly been through some things.

You’d clearly been mid-bite as you pushed your way through the double doors. A chunk of one of the lettuce wraps sits in your beak, chewed with lazy commitment, your eyes half-lidded as you took in the room.

You took two more steps in before a wall of tension hit causing you to stop so abruptly your tray gave a little hop.

You blinked once. Twice.

Then your head cocked to the side, dark feathers along your cheeks fluffing up with intrigue.

“Oh?” Your voice rang out bright and clear as if you’d walked into a surprise party and not a near-mauling. “Whatsh goin’ on here? We fighting or shomething?”

You take another bite of the lettuce, staring at the carnivores like they were a mildly confusing piece of modern art.

“Firsh fight of the shemeshter?” you went on conversationally. “Or am I late? I hate being late. All the good drama happensh before I get here.”

The lisp on your tongue wrapped around the sound, softening it in a way that made everyone’s ears twitch. It should have made you sound young or silly. It didn’t. If anything it just made the words stick sharper.

Adjusting the grip on your tray—as if just now remembering you were holding it—you casually started moving.

You didn’t creep around like you were scared of stepping too close. Nor did you hesitate when brushing past a lion who instinctively tucked his paws to his chest to give you room.

Instead you push your way into the circle before anyone could decide to stop you, shoulder-bumping a startled goat out of the way with a absentminded, “Shorry, front row sheatsh only,” over your shoulder.

You came to a halt a little off-center from the fight.

Up close you were...small. At least smaller than Legoshi had expected from your voice.

Your uniform was in Cherryton's regulation—blazer, skirt, tie. And yet, there was something about the way you wore it made it look like a costume you’d been forced into. The sleeves were rolled slightly, your tie made just enough to scream I tried and I refuse at the same time.

You looked up at the smaller carnivore first and gave him an unimpressed once-over. Then your gaze slid past and landed on Legoshi.

When most herbivores saw the grey wolf, they would skitter away from his eyes like they were something that might burn them. Their gazes would bounce off his muzzle, his chest, his paws in the name of avoiding his.

Not you.

You took him in the way you’d taken in the rest of the scene: unflinching and openly assessing.

For a moment Legoshi forgot what he’d been thinking about—about the numbers he’d been juggling, the way the smell of blood dulled his sense of food.

You lifted your tray slightly as if to politely announce yourself.

“Sho,” you began loudly with wicked curiosity, dragging your attention back to the fox. “whatsh the plan exactly?”

The fox blinked at you. “What?”

“You gonna jump the big guy or...?” you nod toward Legoshi without even glancing at him. “Becaush either way, you’re gonna get your assh beat.”

A scandalized gasp came from somewhere in the herbivore ranks.

You ignored it.

Taking two small steps closer to Legoshi, you craning your neck back to peer up at him properly.

Up close your eyes were wide and sharp, a rich shade of [eye color]. There was no flinch, no dart away from his face, no subtle recoil at his height.

You just looked at him like you were confirming some data point.

“I mean...look at the chompersh man,” you said, leaning sideways as if trying to get a better angle on his teeth.

Legoshi’s ears burned.

Nobody ever talked about his teeth out loud. They pretended not to notice. Or they noticed silently with their bodies; with the way they moved away from him, with the way they held their breath when he yawned.

You apparently had no such filter.

“Thoshe are at leasht...what?” you mused aloud as if you were speaking more to yourself than the room. “Grade A chomp. You bite down wonsh and hesh just—” You snapped your wing. “D. E. D. Dead.”

“But...dead is spelled with an ‘A,’” someone whispers weakly.

You give a dismissive wave in their general direction without bothering to look. “Not when I’m shpelling it.”

A laugh escapes from somewhere in the crowd. One of the carnivores cover his mouth too late, shoulders shaking.

“He’s not going to bite me,” the fox snapped, though his eyes had drifted back to Legoshi’s teeth all the same.

“I dunno bub,” you said thoughtfully with a tilt of your head. “If shomeone told me I had chompersh like that, I’d be doing premium damage.”

That pulled another laugh from somewhere off to your right. Then another. Soon the surrounding herbivores, still jittery from the fight, suddenly sounded a lot braver now that nobody was actively biting anyone.

“Yeah—just go already!” a horse yelled from the back.

“Take your drama outside!” someone else called.

“Get out of here we’re eating!”

The fox’s ears flattened. His eyes snapped away from Legoshi and sliced across the room, catching the smirks that vanish the second he looks at them.

Color creeps under his fur—humiliation burning hotter than anger. “Oh now you all got something to say?” he growls.

Before he can whip back around and restart the whole thing, the mutt steps in, putting a paw on his uninjured arm and tugging firmly.

“Forget it man,” the dog mutters. “It’s not worth it. Let’s just go.”

The jeers kept coming, low and nervous and mean around the edges. “Yeah listen to your boyfriend!” a rabbit snickered.

That did it.

The fox’s jaw clenched so hard you could practically hear it, but instead of lunging again, he sucks in a sharp breath through his snout.

“Tch.” He yanks his arm out of the dog’s grip and turn toward the exit. “Whatever. This school’s full of fucking idiots anyway.”

On his way past you, he slowed just enough to give you a once–over, his sneer sharpening as his lips curl further.

He sneered.

“Better watch your back duck,” he quietly spats. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

You blink up at him before a slow sickening sweet grin creep across your beak. “Uh oh—ish that a threat? Could’ve sworn duck sheashon didn’t shtart until next week.”

A few nearby students choked on their laughter at that causing the dog to pull him harder this time with a hiss. “Come on. Just drop it.”

With one last glare—lingering on you then flicking to Legoshi—the fox finally turned away.

The two of them pushed through the crowd, swallowed up by students eager to pretend they hadn’t been staring the whole time. Conversations sparked up again in pockets; now colored with giggles and quick animated retellings.

“Did you hear what she said about his teeth—”

“Who even is that? Did she just transfer—”

“She’s gonna get in trouble for talking like that to carnivores, watch—”

You rock back on your webbed feet, very pleased with yourself. It’s only when a long shadow falls over your tray did your internal celebratory preening pause, forcing you to look look up.

The tall wolf is still there.

Up close, he looks like somebody wrung him out and forgot to hang him up properly. Shoulders slightly hunched, ears unsure whether to stand or fold, expression stuck somewhere between guilty and confused.

Your haughty smile soften for a moment. “You know, now that I think about it: you kinda got a whole gentle giant thing going on.”

Legoshi could only stare, unsure how to respond. “I...huh?”

“Like...” You squint, searching for the right comparison, then nod to yourself. “If a cloudy day wazh a pershon.”

The grey wolf had no idea what that meant. And yet somehow it didn’t feel like an insult.

Before he could think of anything to say; thank you, sorry, or some other fumbling attempt at introducing himself—

“Of course it’s you.”

You turned, your face brightening immediately once realizing who was speaking.

“Heeey beshfriend—!”

Louis didn’t let you finish.

He reached out and grabbed your arm, yanking you away from the center of the circle with more urgency than grace.

Your tray wobbled. A lettuce wrap launched itself off the edge before landing face-down on the floor with a splat.

“Hey!” you yelped, webbed feet scrambling to keep up as he started hauling you toward the door. “Now hold on, wait a minute! I ain’t even get a chance to eat—!”

To Legoshi, Louis’ expression was the same one he wore with underclassmen and administration alike: cool, controlled, faintly exasperated.

To you though? It seemed to signal something else entirely.

“Uh oh you big mad~” you chirped, even as you scrambled to keep up with his long strides. “And I didn’t even get to the part where I wazh gonna rate hish fighting shtyle—”

“We are leaving,” Louis said through gritted. “Now.”

The slight waddle of your gait made your attempt at matching his pace into something comically frantic. Your tray wobbled alarmingly; you shifted it to your other hand and clutched it to your chest.

“At leasht let me finish my meal!!” you yelped dramatically as he dragged you past Legoshi’s table.

Louis did not slow down.

“Stop making a scene,” he hissed, dragging you the last few meters to the doors. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one morning.”

“Oh I cauzhed trouble?” you protested, twisting around in his grip enough to wave accusingly at the room you were leaving behind. “They were the onesh playing lunch-time WWE, I wazh shimply providing comic relief—”

The doors swallowed the rest of your sentence as they swung shut behind you with a thud.

For a heartbeat, the cafeteria stayed oddly quiet, as if everyone was processing the same sequence of events and trying to decide what emotional label to slap on it.

“Did Louis just...drag her out? Do they know each other?”

“You tellin me the Future Beastar knows that unhinged duck?”

“Maybe she's his girlfriend?”

“Shut up he’d never—”

The budding speculation that spun up around Legoshi washed over him as he remained standing where he’d stopped, hands slowly lowering to his sides as the reality of what had just happened sank in.

He hadn’t broken up the fight...Louis hadn’t given a speech...nobody had run out screaming.

And the reason for it all? You: a duck with a lisp and the too-loud voice and absolutely no sense of self-preservation.

You called his fangs out.

He replayed the words in his head, the casual way you’d said it like it was just another fact. “I mean...look at the chompersh man”

There was no flinch in your stance, no edge behind your voice, no 'don’t look at him he’s dangerous'.

His ears felt hot.

“Legoshi?”

He jolted, turning to find Jack standing a few feet away, concern written all over the golden retriever's face.

“You uh...you okay? You kinda froze there.”

Legoshi opened his mouth then closed it, awkwardly rubbing his nape as if that could erase the ghosts of tension.

“I’m fine,” he finally said. “I’m just...glad it’s over.”

The wolf's gaze slid toward the cafeteria doors you’d vanished through, like he half-expected you to burst back in just to complain one more time about your lunch.

You didn’t.

All that remained of you was the lettuce wrap on the floor.

'She wasn’t scared of me at all.' The thought settled in the apex predator's chest strangely.

He sank back into his seat, picking up his fork again out of pure habit. The food had cooled on his tray, the bean steak glistening unappetizingly.

Legoshi should have been relieved the fight hadn’t gotten worse. But beneath that was another feeling he couldn’t quite shake—something like anticipation.

Anticipation in if he’d ever see you again.

Anticipation in what would happen to the quiet routines of his monotonous life if you kept barging in like that.