#HEHEHEHEHEHE I HAD FUN

[thebrandywine]

Hey ! That may be weird, but would you want to say a little more about “The New woman in the city during the 20th century and her intersection with a rise in immigration ” ? I never heard of it before (I’m not from America), but it’s seems quite interesting from the few things I just read (Wikipedia).

NOT WEIRD I LOVE THIS SHIT

This is going to be fast and dirty because I don't have any of my sources with me BUT the turn of the 20th century in America saw a LOT of social and cultural change in part due to the growing prominence of metropolitan areas/cities. Industrialization had firmly settled in and that meant factories and THAT meant more jobs which led to an increase in immigration (mostly because factory owners/foremen could pay immigrants less which meant a better cut for them). So you have the 'melting pot' of the American city starting to get a lot more complex culturally at the same time as a growing movement of young women wanting more independence-- they might want to live on their own or they might want to support themselves on their own without a husband or any number of things. A good way to do that is to move to the city and get a job!

This IMMEDIATELY led to a cultural panic because for the first time a large number of America's young women were on their own and away from the protection of their family. Who would make sure that they conformed to societal values? Who would keep them safe? This was especially exacerbated BECAUSE of immigration-- pure, young, virginal white women (America's pride, blah blah, other weird sexual and racist stuff) coming into contact with stupid, brutish, predatory immigrant men (NOTE: I AM REPEATING THINGS HERE lol). A MASSIVE moral panic ensued.

One of the most interesting things to come out of this, I think, is the resurgence of captivity narratives. Media is an incredible way to measure the values/fears of the populace at the time of publishing which is why you can follow the rise and fall of captivity narratives in American history and really easily find points of conflict. Captivity narratives have a long history in general but in American history they're mostly present at three points: colonization/westward expansion, the Civil War/Reconstruction era, and the turn of the 20th century.

I keep saying 'captivity narratives' but what I mean are stories about women (again, The Pure, Virginal White Woman who represents white America) being captured and sexually defiled by The Other, who represents a larger threat to American society and culture. During colonization/westward expansion, that Other was Native Americans. During the Civil War and Reconstruction (which immediately followed the Civil War), it was slaves/recently freed black men. And then, at the turn of the 20th century, it was immigrants!

This is a whole other ramble, but the 'immigrant' in question really, really depended. There was an idea of an 'acceptable' immigrant-- white (though 'white' had yet to be more specifically defined and the concept of it varied from person to person), well-spoken, deferential, and fully converted to the cult of the flag. The unacceptable immigrants were largely from Eastern Europe-- Italians, Polish people, some Russians, and, of course, Jewish people (because this is America-- who else is the most common scapegoat of all fucking time?). If you read captivity narratives from the turn of the century, you can ALWAYS tell who The Bad Guy is: he'll have a heavy accent, he'll be described as 'swarthy,' and the author will A L W A Y S make a point to mention his race.

A different ramble I could go on is the idea of the 'white slave trade' which is wholly connected to the moral panic and captivity narratives, but I've rambled enough lmao. If you'd like to read some captivity narratives (don't worry, the authors are long dead) or do more research about any of the stuff I mentioned above, here are some sources:

White on Arrival by Thomas A. Guglielmo [looks at the idea/evolution of whiteness for Chicago Italians at the turn of the century. secondary source]

Behind the Mask of Innocence: Sex, Violence, Prejudice, Crime: Films of Social Conscience in the Silent Era by Kevin Brownlow [SUPER interesting read about a bunch of the stuff i talked about above! secondary source]

The White Slave Trade and the Immigrants by Cordasco and Pitkin [what it says on the tin. secondary source]

The House of Bondage by Reginald Wright Kauffman [the captivity narrative of the time- very racist and extremely critical of/incorrect about sex work. primary source]

The Social Menace of the Orient by Jean Turner Zimmerman [VERY RACIST and I do notnotnot like the word 'Orient,' which is no longer used by anyone in scholarship that's hip with the times. primary source]

Tiger by Witter Bynner [short play about a white slave- notice the language used for the antagonist!! primary source]

Traffic in Souls or While New York Sleeps, dir. George Loane Tucker. can be watched here!

i will be very strong and limit myself to those sources-- thank you for asking so i could infodump about history. if you've read this far... sorry lmao

[siffrinsometimes]

The Fear of Forgetting

[luna-loveboop]

Linktober day three- Zelda

Skyward sword Zelda my baby <3 I carved her riding her loftwing and didn't like it too much, so I did her playing her harp on the egg as well.

The top two lines of music have the notes for the Ballad of the Goddess, and the bottom three are Zelda's lullaby. The Ballad of the Goddess is Zelda's lullaby backwards so I wanted to have both :)

@hero-of-the-wolf @la-sera

[itslilacokay]

@potato-doodles-stuff HI sorry for pinging but i drew up your green-callie idea from community!!

[c0rruptzie]

I LOVE THIS GUY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[insertsomthinawesome]

CYNO IS COMPLEEEEETE!!!! Only Wolfwood left to go before I can working revealing all the full pieces >:D >:D Heheheheheehe, I'm excited to share it with ya'll!!!

[razzle-zazzle]

How to Ruin a Guy's Life in Three Easy Steps

5666 Words; Prologue - Tweek Tweak Did Nothing Wrong

TW for murder mention

AO3 ver

“You might as well go jump in a dumpster, it’ll accomplish just as much!”

“Maybe I will!” Tweek shrieks back, letting go of Craig’s collar to shove at him instead. “And maybe I’ll find a—ngh—a better boyfriend in there, too!” He’s not even entirely sure what he’s saying, at this point, white-hot rage clouding his vision and words. His finger jabs mercilessly at Craig’s chest with every word, lips drawn back in a snarl that wouldn’t be out of place on a rabid dog. Tweek can’t remember how the argument even started, really, or how it got going—all he knows is that Craig is being a bitch about everything and everything is fucked. Like always!

Craig’s arms finally uncross, eyes wide and lips twitching. Were it not for the fury coursing through his veins, the unbridled rage in Craig’s expression would have given Tweek pause. Almost.

“If you think I’m trash,” Craig’s voice is soft, low, then suddenly: “WHY DON’T WE JUST BREAK UP?” His shout echoes across the cafeteria, but neither of them are paying any mind to their surroundings.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t be crawling back within the week!” They don’t usually fight like this, if at all. But talking it out wasn’t working, and one thing had led to another, and—well. Now Tweek can hardly think past the fact that he wants to strangle his idiot boyfriend.

“Wh—bold words coming from you!” Craig sputters, incredulous in the face of Tweek’s rage. It’s infuriating. It has Tweek twitching even worse, now, especially when Craig leans in close, dull green eyes like two algae-clogged pools. Is Tweek choking? He feels like he’s choking, drowning in all the too much it’s too much crashing around in his chest.

“AGH, just—FUCK OFF!” Tweek shoves Craig back. He can’t do this. Is his heart still beating? It’s too much. It’s all just too much pressure. “You don’t care, so why don’t you just leave?!”

“Maybe I will!” Craig’s already walking off, middle fingers extended. He sounds like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Good!” Tweek shouts back, nails digging into his palms, “And stay away!” He doesn’t feel much better.

“I will!” And then Craig’s out the door, and Tweek is left standing alone in the middle of the cafeteria, shaking and angry. He pants, slowly coming back into awareness of his surroundings. The rest of the cafeteria is quiet.

Ohhhhhhhhh god oh FUCK, what the hell did I just do—

The show’s over; one by one, the tables return to whatever they were talking about. Tweek can still feel so many eyes on him, from the underclassmen he barely knows to the cafeteria staff shamelessly watching from behind the counter. It’s too much. He wants to run—instead, he trudges over to their usual table, to the thermos he left on the table. Craig didn’t take his bag; it’s still sitting next to Tweek’s. Tweek yanks his own bag to his shoulder, away from Craig’s.

“Trouble in paradise, huh?” Clyde tries, voice wavering between sympathy and joviality, like he’s not sure if he should be making jokes about this.

“Save it.” Tweek grits out, gripping his thermos like a lifeline. He sits down; all at once, it crashes into him, and his forehead meets the table with a resounding thunk. “I can’t believe he—I—aeraughaghhhh.” Jesus fucking christ.

Jimmy and Tolkien don’t share a lunch hour with them, so it’s just Clyde and Tweek. Craig’s bag continues to occupy the empty seat at their favored little round table in the corner—no, wait, Clyde’s grabbing it. “Want me to go check on Craig?” He asks, the unspoken since you won’t stabbing directly into Tweek’s chest.

“I don’t care.” Tweek groans into his hands. “Do what you want, I’m—ckh—going home.” He can’t take this. The cafeteria is alive with conversation once again, but Tweek can still feel so many judging eyes on his back. He slings his bag over his shoulder, uncaps his thermos and takes a drink, and then heads straight for the door. He needs to not be here—his parents won’t be home, and nobody’s gonna give him shit for skipping if he’s at the coffee shop. So Tweek leaves, feeling wretched as he makes his retreat back home.

He feels eyes on his back the whole way there.

+=+=+=+=+

“I’ll take a tall caramel frappuccino with two pumps of vanilla.”

“Tall caramel frappe with two pumps vanilla.” Tweek nods, putting the order into the register. “Would you like anything else?”

The customer shakes her head. “That’ll be $6.39.” They put their card in, and Tweek grabs the cup he’ll be using. “Name?”

“Lesley with a y.” She says. “That’s L-E-S-L-E-Y.” The card reader dings.

“Right, thanks.” Tweek writes down her name and order on the cup while Lesley makes her way over to one of the tables to wait. He passes the cup off to Ron, who gets to putting it together while the next customer comes up.

It’s just after the morning rush, so not too busy, but still plenty to do. Which is just what Tweek needed, so he’s not complaining. He can’t handle school today, nor does he want to. Craig will be there, and Tweek can barely even think about him without feeling like he’s going to throw up. For all the… turbulence associated with the shop, there’s comfort in the familiar scents and sounds of the coffee and machinery—comfort that only comes from years of familiarity. Better to be annoyed by benign things like customers than to throw another shitfit at school. Probably.

The day goes by about as smoothly as it ever does in this place, order after order and customer after customer coming through for their daily or weekly fix. Ron takes his break right in the middle of the lunch rush, as usual, but it’s fine. Tweek can deal. He always does. It helps that his mother takes the register to talk to the customers.

It’s during the afternoon lull that Tweek takes the opportunity to slip into the back to grab another bag of coffee beans for the incoming after school rush. There’s an axe hanging on a peg in the back room, in case of emergencies. Tweek pays it no mind; it’s been there for years and it hasn’t seen much use. It’s really more the principle of the thing: the man who sleeps with a machete is a fool all nights but one, as the saying goes.

The day continues. The afterschool rush hits just after Ron clocks out and Tim clocks in. Tweek’s mother takes the register, and even Richard comes out of the office to keep things moving; it’s all hands on deck until all the high schoolers with money to spend get their fix of pastries and trendy drinks—it’s pumpkin spice season, with gingerbread right around the corner. It’s nowhere near as bad as the morning rush, but so many of his peers show up that Tweek has to fight the urge to go hide in the back.

Craig doesn’t show—not that Tweek expected him to. Maybe some part of him had hoped, but—no. Craig’s stubborn. And Tweek doesn’t want to see him right now anyway—he doesn’t have the wherewithal to clean up whatever complicated snarl of emotions he’ll vomit out the next time he sees that asshole.

Things wind down. Richard goes to the drive through. Tweek’s mother steps out to attend her weekly book club meeting. Tim goes on break, and Tweek grabs a rag to wipe down the counter with. At this hour, the shop is a ghost town.

…or maybe not. A customer comes in, coming to a stop in front of the register, sneaker tap-tap-tapping on the tile. He looks to be about Tweek’s age, though Tweek can’t remember his name—do they share any classes? Tweek doesn’t think so. Though, the guy is kinda plain-looking, shaggy brown hair not that different from a hundred other guys Tweek sees at school.

“Hi, welcome to Tweak Bros’ Coffee!” Tweek greets, setting the rag down to take his place behind the register. He flashes the best smile he can manage—ah, he must still be off from the whole thing, because now the customer’s frowning. “What can I get for you today?”

“A white caramel mocha.” He says, eyes fixed on Tweek. Tweek goes to input the order—

“And what size will that be?” He keeps his eyes on the screen. Something about the guy’s stare is unnerving him.

“I dunno, a medium?” The guy shrugs, scuffing his shoe on the floor.

Tweek inputs the order. “Will that be all for you today?” A nervous grin crawls onto his face. Is his face twitching? It better not be.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” The guy shoves a twenty at Tweek’s chest, and Tweek pops open the register to give the guy his change.

“Name?” Tweek asks, grabbing a cup and marker.

The guy glares harder. Tweek’s eye is definitely twitching. What is wrong with this guy? Whatever bad day he’s having, Tweek did not ask to bear the brunt of it!

“Adam.” He sneers, then continues to stand there.

“Okay, thanks.” Tweek gets to work. He passes the mocha over to Adam, who slouches over to one of the tables. Ha! Successful interaction! Tweek grabs the rag to get back to wiping down the counter—

Adam’s cup slams against the counter. He’s leaning forwards, mouth pulled back in a sneer as he stares Tweek down. “This isn’t white.”

Um… what? “You ordered a medium caramel mocha?” Tweek’s pretty sure he made it right—and the order’s still on the register, so Tweek at least knows what Adam paid for. “Do you want me to remake it?” The last time Tweek made a drink wrong was two years ago—he’d been panicking over upcoming finals, and Richard had had to send him to break to calm down. Maybe the fight with Craig had affected Tweek worse that he thought—but he’d been doing so well today—

“No, see, that’s—” Adam gestures, “There’s coffee in it. I wanted white.”

Tweek flounders. As patiently as he can manage, he explains, “Mochas come with—tch—espresso.” Shit, no, he’s ticcing, now Adam’s gonna think he’s some kind of freak—

Adam crosses his arms. “Well, I don’t want any fancy espresso. I want white.”

Then why did you order a mocha?!

No, no, Tweek can do this. “That’s just a hot chocolate.” He points out, totally not twisting the rag in his hands. “Look, man, do you want me to refund the mocha and charge you a hot chocolate instead? It’ll be cheaper.” He’s pretty sure he’s never seen Adam here before, so chances are the guy just didn’t know. Yeah. Tweek can be civil, he’s great at civil! The best!

“I’m not asking for a hot chocolate.” Adam smacks his hand against the counter. “I want a white caramel mocha.”

“With no espresso?” Tweek asks, just to clarify. “And you don’t want to be charged for a hot chocolate?” It’s cheaper!

“Ugh, just get me a manager.” Adam grouses. “You clearly don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Sure!” Tweek’s going to burst. He’s going to burst into a nervous explosion and they’ll be cleaning up bits of him for days. First the fight with Craig, and now this? What does the world have against him all of a sudden?! Would it kill the universe to be nice for once?

Richard’s already come over, curious about the commotion. At Adam’s demand, he steps forwards, smoothly laying down reassurances and platitudes while Tweek slips into the back.

“Bad customer?” Tim asks, looking up from his phone just long enough to acknowledge Tweek’s presence.

“HnnnnnnhrnnrghrghnghnnghraaAAAAAGHHHHH.” Is all Tweek can manage in response. His whole body feels alight, his chest twisting in on itself. His hands drift to his hair; he starts tugging the straps of his apron instead. The worst part is that that’s not even the worst customer interaction he’s had! And he’ll probably have even worse in the future! So why now is he struggling not to fall apart between bags of coffee beans?

If anything else goes wrong today—Tweek doesn’t know what he’ll do. Something drastic, he’s sure. A part of him wants to grab the axe, like always—and just like always, the rest of him knows it wouldn’t be worth it. The mess alone would give him fits, not to mention the hit the shop would take to its reputation, and the trouble Tweek would be in, and he’d have hurt someone who really didn’t deserve it over something so small and stupid and he would never be able to live with that—

So yeah. Tweek ignores the part of him crooning to just burn the whole place down and keeps tugging at his apron. It’s like Craig always says: they’re just thoughts, honey, they can’t hurt you if you don’t let them.

At the thought of Craig, Tweek frowns. Maybe he was too mean during their argument, too willing to let his emotions run him over. Maybe he should apologize, now that he’s cooled off.

Tweek scowls. Or maybe Craig should stop being such a shithead. Because, actually, Tweek hasn’t cooled off, and he doubts Craig has, either. Just because Craig can look up good advice for Tweek doesn’t mean he knows everything, self-righteous prick—

“Ah, go on home, son.” Richard says, hand landing on Tweek’s shoulder despite the innumerous times Tweek’s told him not to do that. “You’re no use to anyone like this.”

Tweek jerks, stepping away from Richard’s hand. “But the shop—”

“I’ve got it.” Richard says. “Helen will be back from her book club. We’ll handle closing up.”

Tweek twitches, suspicion skittering around in his stomach. “What’s with the—ngh—sudden generosity?” If it was coming from his mother, he could understand—but Richard? Something’s definitely up. It’s only 5:45; Richard never sends Tweek home this early.

Richard shrugs. “You’re no use if you’re just going to keep spazzing out like this.” He waves his hand dismissively, but there’s something in his eyes—excitement? Tweek can’t tell. “So until you’ve resolved,” he gestures loosely at Tweek, “this, you’re off the schedule.”

“Off the—!” Okay, there’s definitely an ulterior motive to this. Tweek has never been barred from working at—wait.

Oh. Oh. Tweek groans, tugging at his apron. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Of course. His nametag is a fucking gay pride pin—that he didn’t ask for—so what else does he expect? There might be something well-meaning hidden under all of Richard’s calculation, but it all boils down to marketability in the end. Can’t get all jazzed about having a gay son if that son doesn’t have a boyfriend! Tweek tugs the apron off with more force than necessary, tossing it vaguely towards the employee cubbies. Whatever. Richard can clean it up, since he’s so insistent on closing.

Tweek passes by Adam on the way out; the guy’s seated in a booth with a donut and—yep, that’s a caramel hot chocolate. Tweek’s eyes roll; at least he won’t have to deal with that anymore.

The sun’s already set by now; of course, in a place like South Park, sunset always comes early—especially at this time of year. Most of the way home is cast into shadow, lit only by sparse streetlamps, but it’s barely a two minute walk—Tweek makes it home with minimal fuss, keys between his knuckles just in case.

There’s nobody else home when Tweek steps inside, locking the door behind him. Not that he expected there to be anyone. His relationship with his parents is… complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it. He knows Richard wants him to take over the shop, and he knows that that’s never gonna happen. He just has to make it to graduation—less than six months away. He can do it.

But man, it sure doesn’t feel like it right now.

+=+=+=+=+

There’s an essay due tomorrow.

There’s an essay due tomorrow on the economic impact of the civil war and Tweek completely forgot—

Well. There’s only one solution. Tweek cracks open the minifridge by his desk he bought sophomore year and grabs the first red bull he can reach. The coffee pot downstairs is full, of course, but Tweek can’t afford to waste time going back and forth up and down the stairs. He needs to get this done, and get it done tonight. He needs to lock in.

His phone buzzes. Tweek glances at it, sees the notification atop the screen—nope. He’s not in the mood. Glowering, Tweek tosses the phone onto his bed, and goes back to pouring through the internet for good sources. Another empty red bull joins the growing pile on his desk; he keeps his fridge well-stocked for exactly this reason.

He measures his productivity in the growing number of energy drinks scattered across his desk rather than in hours; time loses all meaning past ten, anyway. It’s on the seventh and a half that Tweek has something he might be able to call halfway decent—what time is it. Shit, where the fuck did he put his clock—wait, there’s a clock on his computer. Tweek squints blearily at the numbers… 3:31 AM? Wait, but that means—

A soft tune slowly comes into Tweek’s awareness. A soft and familiar tune.

“…Time to go to work, work all night! Search for underpants, yay! We won’t stop until we have—”

“No no nonono no!” Tweek’s chair wobbles precariously as he spins around, eyes tracking across the room—there! “Stop that! Stop that right now!” Fucking gnomes! How did they even get in? Tweek blocked all the mouse holes!

The gnomes slowly grind to a halt under Tweek’s glare, underwear in hand. They stare up at him from their little tower by the dresser, though Tweek can’t read their tiny expressions from across the room.

Tweek glares harder. “I’m not—ngh—in the mood!” He brandishes the first thing he grabs—a notebook—in their general direction, shaking it as though he might swat them with it. “Drop it!” Just leave him alone!

“Up yours!” One of the gnomes declares. With a cry, Tweek tumbles out of his chair in what might be called a lunge by someone far more generous, notebook swinging wildly in an attempt to swat that stupid little tower—

The gnomes scatter, underwear briefly forgotten on the floor. Tweek manages to smack one of them, sending it flying into the wall while the others scatter.

“GAH! Why do you always—ack!—have to torment ME?!” He needs them out, out, out of his room! Away from his underwear! He only has so much! How’s he supposed to escape this town if he has to keep spending his money on more fucking underwear!

Most of the gnomes have already hoofed it out the door, and Tweek sweeps his notebook in an effort to force the rest of them out. He grabs the abandoned underpants so that they can’t, and stands in the center of his room once they’re gone, panting.

Fuuuuuuck. Tweek whines. Why is everything in his life going to shit all of a sudden? Craig would probably say something about the late hour messing with Tweek’s head—but Craig’s not here right now, and Tweek doesn’t want to see him!

“Hey, you!” A tiny voice snaps Tweek out of his breakdown. Shit, one of them hid under his bed! Tweek squats down, notebook ready to swat the offender in the direction of the door. It’s the warlock, so he’ll probably live if Tweek scores a direct hit.

A wave of the warlock’s hand, a splash of glittering dust right in Tweek’s face—

.

.

.

+=+=+=+=+

.

.

.

Tweek wakes up to the beeping of his alarm. His eyes blink open slowly, head pounding—wait.

Since when has he woken up to his alarm instead of before it? And he’s not even in his bed, instead lying awkwardly on the floor—which, ow, his neck—

What happened?

Tweek groans, slowly pushing himself up. He’s still in yesterday’s clothes, too. What—

All at once, recollection hits him like a truck. “GoddAMMIT.” Since when did the gnomes put people to sleep instead of just shrinking them?! At least Tweek would be able to get a week’s worth of gnome dust out of the warlock if they had just shrunken him. But here he is, sore and tired and gross because he passed out on his fucking floor. “Nhnnnngh.” Christ.

Tweek peels himself up off the floor, reaching for his alarm to shut it off. He doesn’t want to go back to school today, but he’s not allowed to go skulk at the shop for the time being. And it’s not like he can sleep in, either—now that he’s actually awake, Tweek knows he’s not getting back to sleep. Nor does he want to. Goddamn gnomes.

Wait. Tweek nearly yanks out his dresser’s top drawer, and—no! His underwear! Tweek’s forehead thuds against the dresser. “I hate.” Thud. “This stupid.” Thud. “Town!” He wouldn’t be dealing with this shit if he lived anywhere else—even North Park has way less bullshit than Tweek sees daily here.

His phone starts to ring from where it’s still on the bed. Tweek glares at it, not in the mood for whatever asshole has decided to bother him n—oh wait that’s Laura’s number. Tweek likes Laura—she’s like a second mother, but way more… sincere. Yeah, that’s the word Tweek’s looking for. Craig doesn’t know how good he has it when it comes to parents.

Tweek answers the call, holding the phone against his ear as he sits down by his bed. “Laura?”

“Can you and Craig stop by before school? His backpack’s still here, and I packed lunches for the both of you.” Laura says, straight and to the point. Already, Tweek’s relaxing to the familiar cadence of her voice—wait.

“Why would I tell Craig anything?” Tweek asks, staring blearily at the floor. “We’re not—ngh—we’re not talking right now.” He hasn’t even seen Craig since their fight—nor does he want to see him. Not at all. Nope.

“But I thought…” Laura’s voice trails off—okay, that’s weird. Then, “Didn’t he spend the night?”

Okay, something’s up. “nnnNo.” Tweek sits up, stomach already churning, “I haven’t seen him since our fight! I’m still—ack—so mad at him!” He really is. It’s hard not to be, when Craig can so effortlessly slide under his skin and curl up around his heart like he belongs there. It riles Tweek up to no end, and has for years. But it’s that same grasp on his heart that always gets Tweek coming back around for more, gripping onto Craig with just as much intensity. He loves him, he really does—just… fuck, he’s still angry.

“He left to go make things up with you.” Laura explains, and Tweek’s chest twists in tandem with his stomach. He doesn’t doubt it took some coaxing from Laura—a lot of coaxing from Laura—but this is Craig, so it would have been sincere nonetheless. “When he didn’t come back we all figured he must be spending the night.” Tweek wants to hate how plausible that sounds, but—if Craig showed up to apologize, they probably would have spent last night gaming, shittalking, slotting back into their normal with minimal fuss. In the same way that Craig riles him up like nobody else, few things can calm Tweek down as fast as Craig can. At least part of him wants to keep avoiding Craig just to avoid the inevitable reconciliation—he’s just not ready.

An itch Tweek will never be able to reach crawls down his spine. “Well, he never showed.” Shit, fuck, goddammit, this isn’t good. At all. This is so not good. “And he never came home?” Tweek won’t be able to stomach breakfast or lunch, at this rate.

“No, he didn’t.” Laura’s voice is taut, her words stabbing directly into Tweek’s chest. The call ends. Tweek’s hand slowly falls, phone slipping onto the floor.

Craig never made it home.

Craig never made it here.

Craig is missing—

“Oh god.” Tweek pitches forwards, grasping at his pant legs, nails digging into the denim. “Oh, jesus christ.” What if Craig never turns up? What if something really horrible happened?

And the last thing Tweek said to him was to fuck off—

“Nnnno no no nonono nghhaAAGH!” This is bad. This is so stupidly bad. Tweek’s feet kick against the ground, the back of his head smacking into the bed. One of his hands makes its way to his hair, tugging sharply, while the other grasps at his shirt. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this isn’t good this is bad this is so bad what if something happened something definitely happened Tweek’s sure of it and the last thing he ever said to Craig was that he didn’t care but he does care he’s sorry he’s sorry oh god oh jesus oh fuck fuck fuck—

“Tweek.” And there’s his mother, holding his shoulders tight enough to hurt, staring him down until he starts to come back down to earth.

“Tweek, it’s time for school.” She squeezes his shoulders, then pries his hand away from his hair. “Go take a shower, sweetie.” With that, she withdraws, walking away as though everything’s normal. Tweek exhales shakily, standing on unsteady legs.

“Ack! Craig is missing.” He blurts out, and his mother stops in the doorway.

“Is that why he never showed?” She frowns. “Well, I hope he turns up soon. He’s such a nice boy.” And then she’s gone, down the hall before Tweek can even begin to formulate a response.

Tweek tosses his head back and groans. A moment longer, and then he’s standing up. He does need that shower…

“Ack!” Shit, his essay!

+=+=+=+=+

Tweek can’t do this.

He’s standing in front of the school, backpack slung over his shoulder, thermos in hand. By some miracle, he’s arrived five minutes before first period is due to start, freshly showered and dressed, essay printed out in his backpack. There’s a few other people milling about outside the building, or slowly making their way in—and here Tweek stands, rooted in place with every stare he feels.

He can’t do this. He should have just stayed home, or seen if his mother would let him work in the shop despite Richard’s ultimatum. He can’t do this, can’t walk through those halls while everyone stares at him and Craig’s not even there—

“Tweek!” And there’s Clyde’s heavy arm across Tweek’s shoulders, broad grin taking up Tweek’s peripheral. “Gah!” Tweek startles, elbowing Clyde sharply on reflex.

Clyde shrugs the action off, used to sharp elbows in his side from a childhood spent being best friends with Craig. “Glad to see you back, buddy!”

“Ack! I’ve told you to stop doing that!” Tweek shoves Clyde away, more harshly than usual. It’s unfortunately Clyde’s nature to be as obnoxious and friendly as possible, but Tweek can’t handle that right now. He’s still not sure why he even came to school—the mere thought of how many people will be in the halls is making Tweek break out in hives.

Clyde frowns. “You okay?” He moves to the side, putting himself between Tweek and the building. The sound of crutches heralds Jimmy’s arrival—Tolkien’s probably already inside, always the early bird.

“Tweek!” It only takes a moment for Jimmy to register—Tweek doesn’t even know. Is it something on his face? Something in the way he’s twitching? Whatever it is, Jimmy notices it immediately, “Whoa, who p—who pissed in your coffee?”

“Ggnnnnnnrgh.” Tweek’s shoulders hike up. He can’t do this. He turns around, intent on leaving before something even worse happens—

A hand on his arm stops him. “Still mad at Craig?” Clyde asks, and it’s so painfully sincere that Tweek wants to vomit. He can’t do this. He can’t!

“I don’t know! Maybe!” Tweek wails, glad that there’s so few people out this close to the first bell. “I just—hhhhhnnnnn—Laura called me this morning because she thought Craig—ack—was staying over but I haven’t seeeeeen him since Monday at allllllllllll—gaaAAAAAGH!” The words spill out, Tweek burying his face in his free hand. “Which means he’s—gah—missing and—”

“Hey.” And there’s Clyde up in Tweek’s personal space, sweaty hand patting Tweek’s shoulder. “Tweek, buddy, breathe. C’mon, in, out, innn, ouuut.” He’s no Craig, but there’s comfort in familiarity, and Tweek’s known Clyde for almost ten years at this point. Somehow, Tweek manages to calm down enough to think.

“You know Craig,” Jimmy points out. “He’s probably still sulking somewhere like a little b—like a little bitch.” Tweek wants to believe it. He really does. But he’s not blind to the glances Clyde and Jimmy are giving each other, and—well, if Craig were to sulk and mope, he’d do it somewhere familiar. It just doesn’t bode well at all.

“Yeah!” Clyde agrees, gently herding Tweek towards the building. “He’ll turn up.” He doesn’t sound as certain as Tweek wants him to.

They part ways at the door—Jimmy heads off to the ramp and his first period science class, Clyde has algebra, and Tweek has to hoof it to make it to AP English before the bell. Tolkien’s already there, of course, and Tweek takes his usual seat next to him.

“You’re not working today?” Tolkien asks, in the few minutes it takes the teacher to get her lesson plans in order.

“Richard said I was off the schedule.” Tweek grouses, fishing through his backpack for his notebook—fuck, he left it in his room after trying to swat gnomes with it. Goddammit. With a grumble, Tweek grabs some loose notebook paper and a pencil.

Tolkien’s eyes widen in surprise—he doesn’t get the chance to say anything, though, because class is starting. Tweek keeps his head down and tries to focus on the lesson, but his stomach is still trying to find new knots to tie itself in. Tweek drinks from his thermos frequently, doodling on his paper in an effort to keep his hands busy.

Class ends, and Tweek retreats through the hall before Tolkien can say another word. He wants to go home. He’d explode from his nerves alone if he tried—it’d be too quiet. He slips into one of the less-used bathrooms, splashing water on his face to try and calm himself down. It only helps a little. He ends up skipping second period chemistry entirely, hovering nervously in the bathroom and unintentionally scaring off the underclassmen that come in to vape.

Third period comes—home ec. Another class that Craig wouldn’t even be in; the only classes Tweek shares with Craig are after lunch; fifth period theatre and seventh period study hall. Tweek trudges into class, unable to bear just standing around in the bathroom any longer, but he can’t focus on his cross stitch project, absently twirling the thread in his hands instead.

Fourth period. Calculus. Most of his classmates are used to his twitching, but Tweek swears more people are staring at him than usual. The bell rings for lunch, and Tweek makes it two steps into the hall before wanting to turn back around and go home. He can’t do this. Why did he think he could do this?

“Yo, Tweek, c’mon!” And there’s Clyde, gently herding Tweek to the cafeteria—did he plan this? His class this time of day is nowhere near here, so he must have come all this way knowing that Tweek would be frozen in the hallway like a loser.

“I stopped by Craig’s place earlier.” Clyde says, guiding Tweek to their usual table. Craig’s seat is empty, and will probably stay that way— “And I made sure to grab this!” He sets a bag on the table—Tweek’s heart lurches. The lunch that Laura made for him. Clyde wouldn’t have known about it, so she must have told him, must have given it to him to give to Tweek even though her actual son is missing and it’s probably Tweek’s fault somehow—

Clyde sits down right next to Tweek, blocking his attempt to run for the bathroom. “Hey, it’s all gonna be okay, okay?” He nudges Tweek, then pulls out his own lunch. “We’re just gonna sit here and have a totally normal lunch.”

Tweek grips his thermos. He hasn’t had breakfast—and he doubts he’ll be able to stomach lunch, either. He can already hear Kyle screaming at Cartman across the cafeteria; though that’s normal, and Tweek quickly drowns out the sound. The feeling of eyes on his back feels much more pressing—but when he looks, he can’t see anyone looking at him.

Clyde nudges him. “C’mon man, you gotta eat something.” He urges. Tweek grumbles, picking up his sandwich—toasted peanut butter and jelly with the crusts cut off, fuck Tweek is definitely going to start crying—but doesn’t take a bite.

Clyde’s mouth opens to say something, probably another admonishment—

The cafeteria has gone quiet. Clyde’s eyes widen, and he leans to look around Tweek at the doors. Tweek turns around to look—oh, cops.

Wait. Cops?! Did Cartman do something stupid again?! No, wait, Cartman almost never gets in trouble like that these days. Did someone finally get sick of all the bathroom vaping—no, the cops never bother with that shi—why are they coming this way. What the fuck?

“Tweek Tweak.” There’s two officers, and they march right over to where Tweek and Clyde are sitting. Tweek barely has a moment to consider running for it—a stupid idea—before his head is suddenly slammed against the table, his hands wrenched behind his body.

“Gah—what?!” Oh god, did they find out about the meth? Are his parents being arrested right now? Oh jesus christ, this is it, isn’t it? Even though Tweek never had anything to do with that part of the family business, he’s guilty by association and now his life is over—

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Clyde’s standing, hands on the table as he leans forwards. “The fuck are you doing? Tweek did nothing wrong!”

“Stand aside.” The second officer intones, as cold metal pinches Tweek’s wrists. What the fuck is going on? Clyde’s shouting, phones are out and flashing—

“Tweek Tweak, you are hereby under arrest for the murder of Craig Tucker.”

[twistedappletree]

lmao i’m surprised my approval rating with astarion is even at medium, he literally hates everything i do 😭

[lychniis]

aine hiii 4 + 5 + 17 + 22 for the hsr oc asks pls c:

PULLING OUT THE WHOLE ROSTER FOR THIS ONEEE-

what is your character’s path?

engel - preservation ( despite being a galaxy ranger, this guy is more worried about keeping his daughter alive. tired dad fr ).

elke - destruction ( but magical girl style, y'know. )

aastha - abundance ( my self insert calls for her to be a tired medically aligned hermit like me ).

what element type is your character?

engel - imaginary ( like his sleep schedule ).

elke - quantum.

aastha - wind ( the bird motif returns guyssss ).

what are the best team comps for your character? which characters do they synergize well with?

engel - with elke since they are a pair. that and considering he's a shielder? anyone except blade XD. but i'd imagine he'd pair well certain hunt characters since he does provide either bounce or aoe follow up attacks when his shields are hit. so if there are multiple enemies, he does compensate for the hunt's singular hit base.

elke - the brawler. i thought of something like...a reverse blade kit for her XD. the less hurt she is / the more hp she has, the more damage she deals. so yes, any team that is shielder heavy. team comps with aventurine, gepard or engel would do, that or a decent healer.

aastha - as a healer? with any team, tbh. but she works better with erudition characters or burst reliant characters since she does add in in an additional boost of energy and that healing rate reliant on damage dealt on individual enemies. so like...the more targets you hit, the more you heal ( also the hilarity because she'd be...okay with hunt characters. given the hunt and abundance have beef ).

is there an event or story quest associated with your character’s debut? if yes, tell us about it!

engel and elke - depending on how it goes, they will be heavily influencing boothill's storyline ( they're partners, read : gay ) and penacony. engel is mute so he's...not talking that much. so you have elke translating him and boothill with the signature seven year old sass.

aastha - she strikes me more as a recurring gag character because her entire shctick is how she may be considered so normal ( as a medic in the ipc ) but has the craziest shit happening to and around her. i would not take hsr's events well. that stuff would fuck with my sanity XD.

ask game !!

[sanddusted-wisteria]

i THINK i've finally locked down the outline for the rewrite of earth and sky now, drafting's well on its way too

final chapter count: 44

estimated word count: > 70K? (hard to tell)

fluff? ✅

angst? ✅

a hint of cosmic horror? ✅

more organic symbolism? ✅

themes? ✅

percentage of the human emotional spectrum to be yeeted directly at qi: ~75-80%

percentage he's prepared for: 0%

[hunysckle]

bweeeeee

[gibbearish]

god theres no better feeling than when a joke lands great. today i was helping a friend move and her brother was helping out too, at one point we were waiting for the person w the housekeys to get there and i asked if there were any bathrooms close by, answer was no but then friends brother goes "i mean you could find a nice private bush probably" and im like ahahaha yeaaaaaaah unfortunately not really an option, he's like "ahh we're all adults we won't be weird about it" and i just. stage whisper back "yeah but you see my rifle doesnt have a scope. so aiming is kinda, yknow..." and this man. looked like he was about to piss himself laughing for like a solid five minutes. i will run off of this high for months

[clegfly]

OUGH AH PLEASE DO!!!!!!!!!1 Favourite show ever 10/10 would brainwash all my mutuals into watching again

SHSHFBHS i actually really appreciate this reblog because I was working on basil and a lot of his concept designs have MAJOR spoilers so now I will know to add warnings!!! <3

I had a vision…

[jinwoosungs]

7/30/24: 11:15am

yandere!sung jinwoo x fem.reader

{ request - oneshot }

- the academy arc -

@nyashykyunnie asked: KYUNNIE COMING IN CLUTCH AND SHALL DO A REQ BECAUSE BLESS UR SOUL FOR LETTING ME DO A REQ!!! MWAHHHHH!!! Hmo... Childhood friend reader x Jinwoo who went back in time >;3. He was always the chill typea boy best friend but ever since bby had puberty and became tall n hot he suddenly became... A little more posessive hehehehehehe. And what Jinwoo doesnt know is reader is secretly transmigrated and was his biggest fangirl for a long time and instead of being scared of Yandere!Woo they giggle at his murderous spree when she discovers that woowoo is going yandere over her heheheh Otherwise, go crazy bby>:3

warnings: unedited; petty bullying; violence; blood mention; gore; body horror; possessive and obsessive behavior

disclaimers: i do not condone such behaviors in real life; since this is purely a work of fiction, anything goes and i am willing to portray this creatively in the best way possible.

you are 5 years old, and your parents just moved into a quaint apartment complex. they were excited to be able to live in a space that they could call their own while surrounded by friendly neighbors.

as you busied yourself with your sketchbook, drawing ocean waves with colorful fishes swimming in them with your crayons, you heard a knock at the door. your ears perk up at the sound, and just as you were about to answer it, your father stops you with a stern expression. he calls out your name before gently reminding you, “what did papa tell you about opening doors? you should always let your mama or papa answer first, okay?”

you twist at the strands of your hair while pouting at him, giving your father a hesitant nod before following him to the front door. you hid your face behind the back of your father’s legs, eyes peeking curiously forward the moment he unlocks the door.

settled directly before you was a family that seemed to tower over you. you saw what looked like a tall young man and woman greeting your dad with kind smiles. in the woman’s arms was a baby wrapped in blankets, but what perhaps caught your attention was a little boy that hid himself behind his mother’s legs.

with your fascination growing with each second that passes, you slowly move away from your father’s legs while the little boy does the same. his grey eyes seemed to take you in, the blush dyeing his pale cheeks a rosier hue as the woman gently calls out to him, “jinwoo, go on and talk to her. she’s the same age as you, and i’m sure you’ll have fun.”

with his mother’s permission, the boy (jinwoo, it’s such a nice name), gives her a nod before standing before you, taking a hold of your hand. “wanna play together?”

you give him an eager nod, leading him to the floor of your living room as you showed him your sketchpad and the various drawings you had. as you turned the pad to a fresh page, you shyly offer your crayons to jinwoo, asking him if he’d like to draw anything. he gives you a smile while eagerly nodding at you.

and just a few moments later, when your father and jinwoo’s parents enter your home, they would see two giggling kids drawing while laying flat on their stomachs, basking in their imaginations all while knowing that this was a friendship that would last a lifetime-

you and jinwoo would become inseparable ever since that fateful day.

{ … }

days go by, quickly turning into weeks as the weeks slowly morphed into months while the months carried the ever changing seasons leading up to the new year-

and you found yourself here, 10 years later, ready to begin your first year of high school. you look at your reflection, adjusting the ribbon settled on your collar while brushing back your hair. you had plans of leaving your apartment 15 minutes ago-

however, jinwoo specifically told you to wait for him; that he was the one that would walk you to and from school as an extra means of protection (whatever that meant.) as you look at your clock settled on your desk, seeing how close it was to being 8am, you let out a huff and began marching out of your room-

only for your face to come into contact with a hard wall of muscle, earning a gasp from you. massaging at the slight ache felt against your nose, you look up to see jinwoo smiling down at you, already standing at nearly 6 feet despite only being 15 years old. a smirk graces his features when you feel him playfully flick at your nose, “ready to head to school?”

you grumble when he teases you, ready to walk ahead of him when he wraps his arms around your waist. he keeps you close to him, making your eyes go wide when he walks out of the apartment with you. he sees your mother doing the dishes and announces your departure, earning a knowing smile from her, “have a good day at school you two!”

before you could answer, jinwoo closes the door, a strange, dark look crossing over his expression as you trembled a bit in response. he shoves a hand in his pocket, using his other hand to hold onto yours as he interlocks them together. you take note of his expression and ask, “are you okay? you seem… upset.”

his expression immediately changes, eyes going back to its normal hue of grey when he looks back at you all while playfully ruffling your hair. “i’m fine, no need to worry your pretty little head over me.”

jinwoo then proceeds to annoy you, making kissy faces at you as he tries to get closer to you. you end up laughing while struggling to maintain your balance on the sidewalk, noticing how he still kept his gloved hand hidden within the pockets of his coat. admittedly, you had some anxiety pertaining to your first day of high school, yet with jinwoo’s constant teasing and jokes, you felt yourself becoming more comfortable as time passed.

arriving at your high school, jinwoo remains close to you, standing in the midst of a crowd of student while interlocking his fingertips with yours. as you stood together, ready to enter the school and start your day, you became achingly aware of several girls excited whispers. from your periphery, you notice the way they point their perfectly manicured nails at him.

“hey, he’s cute…”

“and so tall too…”

“ugh, why is he with such a plain girl though? don’t tell me they’re dating?!”

“no way! i’m sure she’s his pathetic best friend or something! hehe, i bet she gets friendzoned by him all the time.”

you purse your lips at the sounds of their giggles and harsh words, yet jinwoo squeezes your hand in yet another reassuring manner, moving slightly forward to block your view of them. you give him a grateful smile, seeing jinwoo meet your gaze before giving you a wink.

when the bell rings, you and jinwoo both enter the school together, ready to begin your first day. despite being in different classes, jinwoo was adamant in walking you to your class, frowning all the way. as you stand in front of the classroom, jinwoo places a hand on your shoulders, eyes seemingly glowing when he tells you, “if anyone dares give you any trouble at all, you tell me, okay?”

you giggle and awkwardly shuffle your feet from side to side, “i think i’ll be alright, jinwoo… but, thank you for your concern.”

he returns your smile with a strained one, ready to head back to his own class as he never once looked away from you. only when he disappears into the corner of the hallway did you let out a shaky breath.

surely, you had nothing to worry about, right?

you were bound to have a completely normal day at school, right…?

{ … }

and oh, how wrong your assumptions were!

you had barely finished the day, ready to meet jinwoo for lunch when your exit was blocked off by another student. she was a haughty girl that wore an expensive, ruby pendant that was shaped in a delicate rose while hanging by a thin, golden chain. it was clear that her family had money, as she was dressed in all the accessories and clothes that seemed to accentuate the beauty of her silvery blonde hair and startling green eyes-

a beauty that was used to getting what she wanted-

and a girl that shared your class.

you didn’t bother to know or even recall her name, since all she did was increase your anxieties with her mere presence alone.

“i see you walk into school today with what has to be the hottest guy in our class. so what’s a mousy little thing like you doing with a gorgeous guy like him?”

bile was felt rising up the confines of your throat as you held your sketchbook closer to your chest. the girl sneers at you, already reaching out a hand to snatch away at your sketchbook. you gasp, trying to get it back from her as you felt the tears dot your vision. “please, give that back! that sketchbook means a lot to me!”

buried within those pages were various sketches and stories that you and jinwoo shared, and if she were to ruin them, then all would be lost to you. you watch as her green eyes flash with malicious intent, already opening up your sketchbook as she idly flipped through the pages with a bored expression on her face.

it was when she flips to a random page that she sees the various sketches of jinwoo you had kept, her smile suddenly widening as she tore off the page and folded it, placing it within the confines of her pocket. “now this i can keep. as for the rest…”

her feign sigh of reluctance was all you could hear when she began ripping the rest of the pages out of your sketchbook, tearing up the pages into as many tiny shreds her hands could handle before tossing them up into the air, allowing the torn pages to fall like flower petals in the wind.

by now, your tears blinded you, making you fall to your knees as your heart broke with each torn page that lands on the ground. your breathing became uneven as the girl lets out a tiny “oops!” in response, finally walking away from you while tossing aside her silky hair.

you had no idea how much time you spent gathering the pages in the empty hallway, already knowing that lunch was nearing its end. as you were so focused on picking up the torn pieces of your sketchbook, you were unaware of heavy footsteps approaching you, calling out your name.

“hey, what are you doing? lunch is almost over-“

upon recognizing jinwoo’s voice, you allow your teary eyes to meet with his gaze, seeing them darken before flashing purple. “who did this to you?”

he ignores the ruined sketchbook and focuses his attention on you. picking up your shivering form, jinwoo places your face against his chest, allowing the front of his jacket to soak up all of your tears. several seconds pass when you were finally able to tell him what had happened. “it’s just… i-i wanted to meet you, b-but a girl in my class stopped me from going to you. s-she was mad that i was with you this morning and… she… she tore up my sketchbook while keeping my sketch of you.”

jinwoo’s hands stopped threading through your hair when he lowly asks, “who is she? what’s her name?”

you tremble upon hearing the dark tone of his voice and admit with a shaky sigh, “i don’t know her name… i just know that she’s pretty, with silvery hair and green eyes.”

jinwoo hums at this new information, keeping your face pressed against his chest to hide his expression of sheer rage from you.

soon, you wouldn’t have to deal with such trash like this ever again.

{ … }

you had filled 240 total pages inside of your precious sketchbook-

(jinwoo knew this since he was the one who religiously asked to see each drawing, read each story, painted within those pages)

and for all those 240 pages that had been so callously ripped out from your sketchbook, he had cut park yeon a total of 240 times with his daggers.

it was easy to lure her to him after school. jinwoo had made up an excuse to you about needing to talk to the coach and sign up for track, reassuring you to go home first and that he’ll text you later. with you out of sight and in the safety of your home, he then works on luring yeon to him.

her green eyes were blazing with a possessive hunger for him, following him with little question to the back of the school. he recalls the way yeon fuels his rage by telling him how she was made for him; how she was all he could ever need.

needless to say, she didn’t get a chance to speak further the moment jinwoo slices through her throat, cutting off her vocal cords as he began his revenge on her.

the night air was thick with the scent of blood when he looks down at the girl’s now lifeless body. his glowing eyes manages to dim down, his anger and fury now dying down to a simmer of annoyance as he now had a body to deal with. before he calls upon his soldiers to take care of the evidence, jinwoo’s eyes take sight of the glittering, rose pendant hanging loosely from the girl’s neck, a smirk gracing his features when he leans down to carefully release its clasps from her neck as he held the gorgeously crafted necklace within the palm of his hand.

{ … }

park yeon was not in class this morning, and you briefly wondered what had happened to her-

yet perhaps more-so than that was jinwoo’s sudden absence as well. feeling more concerned about your best friend, you recall how this morning, jinwoo’s mother had told you he had already gone to class, having an early meeting with the track team-

yet when you tried searching for him, he was nowhere to be found.

you check back on your phone when you ultimately decided to make your trek back to class, seeing no reply from jinwoo. letting out a sigh, you enter class and sit at your desk. as you worked on getting out your notebook from your desk was when you felt something cold against the palm of your hand.

your eyebrows were furrowed when you manage to pull out whatever lay deep within the confines of your desk-

only to see a ruby rose pendant covered in dried flecks of blood.

your mouth goes dry at the sight, making you swallow thickly before a wide grin paints your features.

sheer giggles of delight were heard coming from your parted lips as you held in your hand the same pendant that bitch had flaunted when she tore apart your sketchbook. grateful that no one was around, you continued to laugh, never once stopping as you cradled the necklace close to your chest.

jinwoo had done something about it after all!

and you couldn’t have been happier.

of course, you knew about him and his deepest secret.

you knew that he was the shadow monarch and had somehow reversed time to save the world-

you knew of how the two years he went missing was to take on the monarchs by himself-

and you knew that you had his heart within the very palms of your hand, for he had held yours since the very beginning.

back when you were a mere civilian and he had saved you from beasts that escaped the gates-

back when all you could see was himhimhimhim!

and now, that same man was all yours; with fate somehow placing you within his life the moment your parents had moved into the same apartment complex he had lived in all those years ago…

and now, he would never leave your side so long as you played your cards right.

forcing yourself to calm down, you adjust your blouse and put on the necklace, allowing the blood stained rose to settle against your collarbone as you hid the pendant with the fabric of your blouse. once it was all buttoned up, you adjust your blazer and smiled innocently at your classmates that started to walk in while your phone was felt vibrating against your desk. sliding open the screen, you smile when you saw a text from him:

[ my monarch 👑: sorry i wasn’t able to walk you to school today, i wanted my gift to you to be perfect. let’s meet up for lunch later, and i’ll give you a brand new, leather bound sketchbook to make up for the one you lost :) ]

[ you: that’s okay, my love! i look forward to seeing you again. thank you for the gift, i love you ♡ ]

[ my monarch 👑: i love you, too. always. ]

smiling at your phone’s screen, you give jinwoo’s profile picture a light kiss, all too eager to see him again when you dutifully turned your gaze forward and began taking notes, doing your best to hide your smirk when your teacher questions park yeon’s absence.

end notes: this feels like the most, true to genre yandere story i have ever written and i am so sorry for this, especially if it’s not my best work 😭🙏🏻

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[disneyprincemuke]

driver’s parade * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic fem!driver

notes: HEHEHEHEHEHE

| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |

“hey, florida man!” you call out, jogging to catch up to the taller man ahead of you. “heading to the driver’s parade?”

“aren’t we all?” logan answers, turning around to glance at you. “hi.”

“hi,” you greet back with a proud smile. lunch had gone great with alex and george the day prior. though, it was still a little awkward from the obvious disconnect between you and the american driver.

he was slightly more withdrawn and only talked to alex and george when he needed to. he only ever spoke to you when you spoke to him. alas, you are still very committed to make a best friend out of the younger man.

admittedly, his tendency to be quiet and a little shy is very reminiscent of when you attempted to make a friend out of lewis a couple of years ago. and kimi, when he was still around.

though, kimi was a lot different from lewis and logan. he still had his moments.

“how’d you enjoy your first race weekend?” you ask, glancing at him as you take a sip from your water bottle. “have fun?”

“it’s okay so far,” he shrugs, dropping his head slightly. “have you seen alex anywhere?”

“you don’t like hanging out with me?” you frown jokingly. a smile stretches your lips when his head shoots up, eyes wide as strings of apologies start to spew from his lips.

“no, i didn’t mean it like that. i’m sorry. it’s just-“

“i’m kidding!” you laugh, patting his shoulder. “i’ve only seen you with alex anyway, so it’s probably just a preference.” you turn and scan the pitlane, lips pressed together. “he should be around here with george.”

“how come you aren’t with them?” logan hums hesitantly, glancing at you shyly with his hands in his pockets. “i always saw you guys together last year.”

you laugh. you’re typically sighted with george and alex by default: george is your teammate and alex is his best friend. it’s just a natural thought that george and alex come together as a package deal to you.

“yeah, but i try not to intrude when they’re out dating,” you wave off his concerns, “makes me feel like a third wheel.”

“they do kinda have that effect, don’t they,” logan mutters, shaking his head. “so, um…”

“oi, you’re late!” you look ahead, finding your teammate with his hands on his hips. behind him in the truck that’s supposed to take everyone around the track collectively. “come on, we’re waiting for you guys! and max. where is max? have you seen max?”

“why are you asking us like we’ve seen him?” you scoff, watching george hop onto the back effortlessly. “i haven’t seen him. ask checo.”

“you don’t suppose he’s ditching,” george whispers, bewildered at the though.

“is he allowed to do that?” logan asks softly, glancing at you.

“no, but he’s max,” you point out. you rest your water bottle on the surface of the truck and hold your arm up to george. “he can do whatever the hell he wants.”

“yeah, we’ve stopped asking questions,” george giggles. he grabs your extended arm, yanking you up easily to the elevated surface of the truck.

somehow, in the past year of being teammates, you and george have perfected the art of lifting you onto the back of the truck effortlessly.

you pick up your water bottle before you turn around to face logan. you extend a helping hand towards him and smile. “come on.”

george watches you with his eyebrows furrowed, also yanking the rookie up to stand between you. “aw, that’s kinda sweet,” george teases as logan walks past them after alex calls for him to walk further in. “you reckon you guys are friends now?”

you huff, shaking your arms. “he’s a tough nut to crack. he’s very shy.”

“now you know what it’s like trying to be your friend.”

[ouaw-facts-i-just-made-up]

Kremy, Gricko, and Frost are all left handed and all had significantly different experiences surrounding it.

Gricko just straight up never noticed he was a leftie in a right handed world. But when he was learning to write in common he fucked up a tad and writes all his letters upside-down. (Allegedly I do that but it's not like I've ever noticed.).

Frost was punished for being left handed and was smacked on the hand with a textbook whenever he went to use his left hand. Jokes on them though cause he would do his "home" work using his left hand and practice his penmanship in his right hand so no one could tell the difference. Now that he's free from the Order he just uses whichever hand is available, even if that is a mage hand.

Kremy has no weird quirks about his writing but he doesn't like people watching him write. He was yelled at a lot as a child for being "demonic" or "evil" because his left handedness. His memaw always said they were full of horseshit but those words still stuck with him.

Torbek cannot write legibly, no matter which hand he uses.

Gideon doesn't understand how the fuck he's the only rightie in this group. The math isn't mathing and it drives him insane.

This is a true fact.

Gideon listen. It's cause you're Kremy's Right Hand Man. Heheheheheh

Well jokes aside, shout out lefties, including myself. Yeah that's right, free fun fact about the silly blog included today.

Im also handing Frost my experience of going "i wonder if I could train myself to write letters in a weird way, for science" and then doing that for the rest of my life cause I could, in fact, do so. Experiment success.