#I think some of these look better than others

[reysdriver]

Apple Of My Eye | E.M.

You and your coworker Eddie finally do something about your longtime mutual crush when he asks you out after a wild day at work — line cook!eddie x waitress!reader fluff

warnings: customer service nightmares, reader cries over it, I think that's it actually

words: 4.8k

The last thing you heard before shutting the walk-in freezer door behind you was a pan dropping to the floor and Eddie cursing loudly at no one in particular. You sat down with your back against a sack of potatoes beside the vegetable shelf. 

The tears that pricked at your eyes were free to run down your face now that you were in the privacy of the walk-in. It’s always been a good place to cry or scream if you were frustrated at work. 

You were slightly startled by the heavy door opening, but you knew you shouldn’t be; other people worked here too, of course. 

It was Eddie walking in, looking frustrated, though his expression softened when he locked eyes with you. 

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asked, letting the door close as he sat down next to you.

You scooted a bit to make more room for Eddie, but still brushed him off.

“I’m okay.” You sniffled, looking down at your feet. “Don’t you have a whole bunch of orders to fill?”

“You know I’m never too busy for you.” He replied, which earned a smile from you. 

It was a true thing, Eddie would always take the time, even in the busiest of rush hours, to compliment you, or make you a special plate of fries, or just let you know that your makeup had smudged in all the haste. 

He never did it with anyone else, not to the same level, at least. All your coworkers used that as proof that he had a thing for you in the same way that you did for him, but you never believed them. 

“So, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

There he goes, using that nickname that makes your heart soar. Now how could you not answer him after he asked as nicely as that?

“Some asshole got mad at me ‘cause I forgot he asked for no vegetables on his burger. He was calling me dumb and saying I’m a bad waitress and—”

“You’re not.” Eddie told you. “Don’t listen to him.”

 One look at Eddie’s pretty brown eyes told you he was being completely sincere, but you were still upset. 

“He was so mean, and he was kind of right.” You protested. 

Eddie shook his head. “Trust me, he’s not. You’re the only coworker I can stand, so you must be doing something right. Plus you just got your degree, so you’re not dumb.”

“It was community college, Eddie.”

“More than I have. Are you calling me dumb?” He nudged you slightly as he teased, and he was finally cheering you up. 

“No.” You shook your head, a bashful smile starting on your face. 

“Good.” He smiled too, happy that his mission of cheering you up was complete. “Now, I would wipe your tears, but my hands are probably covered in oil so I’m gonna need you to do it for me, okay?”

You nodded and used your index finger to wipe the tears under your eyes and on your cheeks. 

The line cook had his eyes trained on you when you looked up back at him, your eyes still glossy but your spirits higher. 

“How are you feeling now?”

“Better.” You admitted with a soft smile. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“Anytime, princess.” He attempted to stifle a groan as he stood up, then stopped before opening the metal door. “I’ll tell Robin to cover your tables for a bit, so don’t worry about getting back to work. You can stay here as long as you want.”

After thanking him again, he flashed you a smile before exiting the freezer room. 

You stayed sitting there, replaying the conversation you just had once over in your head. Once you felt you were composed, you dusted off your clothes and reentered the kitchen. 

Though, as soon as you left the freezer, you could hear shouting coming from the front of house and you knew exactly who it was. 

See, after Eddie left the freezer, when you were busy wiping your tears, Eddie rifled through the receipts to find exactly the guy who made you cry. Not that he needed it anyways, it was obvious who the asshole was when he walked out to the tables and saw some angry looking loser picking at his french fries. 

Now Eddie was in the middle of shaming the man in front of the whole diner. 

Customers had their heads turned to watch the public scolding, and all the staff had paused their duties to stare from the sides of the room as well. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you? You’re a grown man and you can’t even bear to pick some tomatoes off your burger? You need to whine about the lingering taste of fuckin’ lettuce and make your poor waitress feel like shit?!” Eddie shouted at the guy you were serving. “You better give her one hell of an apology, you hear me?!”

The man nodded pathetically, clearly shaken by the cook’s rant. He probably couldn’t muster up an agreement even if he tried. 

Robin, who you had stood next to while watching Eddie chew that customer out, turned to you. She hardly looked flustered at all, since she was used to the diner’s usual activities. 

“And you still doubt that he likes you back.” She whispered with a smugly raised eyebrow. 

Eddie looked around the room for a moment and noticed you were there. With an outstretched hand and a soft voice, he beckoned you towards him and the man at the booth. 

“Sweetheart, can you come over here for a second?” He asked, ever so politely. 

You obliged and walked over to him, holding your breath as the threat of crying again was still there. 

Standing at the end of the table, Eddie’s gaze panned from you to the slightly terrified man sitting down. 

“Now’s the time for that apology, dickwad.” Your coworker gritted. 

The man struggled to look you in the eyes as he stuttered out some words of regret. “I’m sorry— Er, I’m sorry for complaining about the burger and saying all that rude stuff, too. I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you.”

The line cook looked over at you, gauging your reaction. “How was that?”

You nodded and flashed him a tiny smile, then told the customer that you accepted his apology. 

“Good.” Eddie declared. “Now I’ll go make you a plain, boring burger. And if you’re really sorry then this pretty girl better see a damn good tip when you finish your meal, got it?”

The man nodded meekly once again, and Eddie seemed satisfied with that. He walked back on over to the kitchen while you made your way to your other tables, and the rest of the diner resumed eating and conversing—definitely discussing what just happened.

For the rest of his meal, the man was nice to you. Avoidant for sure, but nice nevertheless. And when he paid, he left a whopping twenty dollar tip and left in a hurry. 

Now that the lunch rush was over, you checked the kitchen for Eddie, then Jonathan informed you that he was out back taking a smoke break. 

You thanked him, and headed to the back exit of the building where you knew the cook spent a part of every shift. Sure enough, he was standing right next to the door with a cigarette in hand. 

“Hey, princess,” Eddie said, exhaling a cloud of smoke away from you. “what are you doing back here?”

You smiled at him and fished the twenty dollar bill out of your pocket to display it. “That guy you yelled at left me a pretty nice tip. Here, it’s yours.”

He shook his head and held out a hand to gesture that he couldn’t take it. “No way, you deserve it. Fuckin’ least you should get after having to deal with that asshole.”

You laughed at his dismissal and tried offering again. 

“Come on, you practically mugged that guy to get this money, you have to take it.”

He looked at you with a slight grin, but you couldn’t decide if his expression was that of smugness or entertainment. 

“You can hold out that cash until your wrist falls off, I won’t take your money.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, sincere but still purposefully overdramatic. You put the bill back in your apron and quickly counted out ten ones that you had earned from other tables, then held those out instead. 

“You should at least have half. I can’t let you leave with nothing. If you don’t take it now, I’ll follow you around all day, begging you to take it.” 

Eddie cocked his head to the side and smiled. “As tempting as that is, sweetheart, I can’t steal you away from your job like that. I’ll take that money, but I’ll be spending it on you.” 

Your heart fluttered at Eddie’s flirting, which was far less subtle than usual. You had to bite the tip of your tongue to prevent yourself from grinning ear-to-ear. 

He reached out to take the cash, but he was still grinning mischievously. 

“With my half of the cash, I wanna take you on a date, if you’ll let me.”

Holy shit. You never thought he’d ask. And you had expected even less that he would ask in such a gentlemanly manner. Eddie was the type of guy to accidentally tell his boss to fuck off after coming into work hungover, not use the phrase ‘if you’ll let me’. 

“I’d like that.” You responded, way more chill than you had expected your reaction to be. “Anything you have in mind?”

“You trying to expose the fact that I’ve thought about this before?” Eddie smirked, which in turn caused you to blush even more than before. “What time do you get off work tonight?”

“Seven, and you?”

“Same. We can rent a movie and I can make you dinner at my place?” 

Shit, Eddie thought, I don’t remember the state I left my trailer in. 

He tried recalling how messy he left his home, quickly so he could take back the offer if needed. 

“Yeah, sounds great.” 

Too late now. But as nervous as he was for you to walk into his trailer and see a bunch of dirty dishes and laundry piles, the feeling of glee he felt because you said yes was trumping that a hundred times over. 

“Perfect.” Eddie said, stamping out his burnt cigarette. He opened the door back to the restaurant and held it open so you could go first. “After you.”

“Thanks.” You said, barely able to hide your giddy grin. “I gotta get back to my tables, but I’ll see you at seven.”

You both parted ways with matching smiles, hoping the rest of your shifts fly by faster than usual. For the rest of the day, you seemed to have an extra pep in your step while you waited tables. 

As seven o’clock approached, you passed off all your tables to other coworkers, told Steve and Robin you wouldn’t need a ride home, and headed to the washroom to fix your hair and touch up your makeup. 

Once you were satisfied, you headed to the locker room, where Eddie was standing casually against his own locker. His bored expression morphed into a bright look when he saw you walk in. 

“Hey.” Eddie said as you opened your locker and put away your apron. “Ready to go?” 

You nodded, and he opened the door for you once again. Such a gentleman when he wants to be. 

“So, any movie ideas?” He asked as you both got into his van. 

“Something fun.” You told him. “Maybe something like Ferris Bueller's Day Off or Splash?” 

“Anything you want.”

For the ride over to the video store, you listened to the radio—a station with both pop and rock—and chatted about everything under the sun. 

Once you got to Family Video, you headed towards the comedy section whereas Eddie got distracted by a display of staff picks near the front. He called your name, and you turned around to see him holding up The Texas Chain Saw Massacre with a simper. 

“This can be fun, don’t you think?”

You shook your head. “Not if we’re eating tonight. I’ll throw up everywhere. And that’s not the kind of thing that earns a second date.”

He put it down and walked towards the aisle you were standing in. “So you’re already thinking about a second date, huh?” 

You rolled your eyes and went back to browsing the shelves. Your eyes landed on a familiar favourite, so you grabbed it and held it up to show Eddie. 

“Clue, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you couldn’t do murder movies?”

“No, I just said I couldn’t do that one. This one is hilarious and agreeable.”

“Alright. Hand it over, I already promised to pay for whatever you want.”

You give the tape to him like he asked and you both walk over to the cashier, a teenager who looked extremely disdainful about his job. Eddie pulled out some of the cash you had made him take earlier and placed it on the counter. 

Once the transaction was over, you thanked both Eddie and the bored worker, then you headed back out to Eddie’s car. 

“So, what meal are you going to spend the remaining five dollars and something cents on?” You asked him, buckling yourself as he rolled out of the parking lot. 

Eddie always hated his seatbelt, but he put it on after you—’cause of that damn new law they put in last year.

“I’ll put that in my pocket and save it for the next date. I already have all I need for dinner at home.”

You hummed, slightly surprised. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “I just wouldn’t have pegged you as a chef outside of the diner. You always seem like you’re done with cooking forever when you clock out.”

“You’ve got me there.” Eddie responds. “I only cook at home when it’s for someone else. When I’m alone, my meals are mostly toast and canned pasta.”

“So who else were you planning on cooking for? You said you have all those ingredients.” That was half teasing, half genuinely curious about Eddie’s personal life. 

“My uncle, actually. I cook him dinner once a week, mostly ‘cause it proves to him that I can eat healthy.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“What can I say?” Eddie shrugged dramatically. “I’m just a sweet guy.”

Once you arrived at Eddie’s trailer, he was relieved to open the door and see that his place hadn’t been left in shambles. The place wasn’t as neat as he would like for a first date—especially one with you—but it was good enough. 

“So, this is it.” Eddie said, arms outstretched like a real estate agent. “You want a tour or is that just for stuffy old people?”

“I’ll take a tour.”

Eddie was kind of hoping you didn’t say that. The trailer was small and he was a little embarrassed. But he supposed it was his own fault for asking in the first place. 

“Alright. Here’s the living room, it’s where I smoke and watch TV.” 

You let out a giggle at the bluntness of his tour. He was glad his joke (half-joke) didn’t fall flat. 

“And you can follow me three feet to the kitchen, which is where I make good meals for others and crap for myself.”

He opened a cupboard full of canned food and snacks for the realtor effect, then did the same with the fridge. He waved a hand near it like a magician showing off a box that no longer contains a woman in a sparkly leotard. 

“We can then move on to the bathroom. It’s got a shower with mediocre water pressure, a pretty average toilet, and a sink that’s covered in toothpaste—don’t look at that, actually.”

You kept walking to the only other real room in the trailer, his bedroom. It was about the size of the kitchen area, and it was very distinctly Eddie. All the walls were covered floor-to-ceiling in posters for metal bands and movies he likes, every surface was covered in snack boxes and ashtrays, and he had one incredibly cool guitar hanging in the middle of his wall. 

After staring at the room for so long that you probably had at least one wall memorised, you and Eddie both realised you hadn’t spoken in a while. 

“This is where the magic happens.” Eddie said, not quite as smoothly as he was going for. 

“The magic?” You teased. 

He thought for a second, then clarified. “Not that kind of magic. I just make music and write Dungeons & Dragons campaigns.”

“That can be pretty magical.” You shrugged. 

“Yeah, but not as magical as the dinner I’m about to make for you. If you’re not excited already, you should start.”

You both left his bedroom and Eddie instructed you to relax in the living room and turn on the TV to something you could use as a backdrop while Eddie cooked. 

While he made dinner, you sat comfortably on his couch and chatted with him from the other room. You got to know each other, more than you do at work. Eddie told you about his band and how they play at The Hideout, you told him about your time at community college and your friends outside of the diner. 

“Alright, soup’s on.” Eddie announced, setting two plates on his kitchen table and inviting you over. “Actually, it’s not soup, it’s chicken parm.”

“I appreciate the clarification.” You sat down in the seat closest to you. “It looks good. Smells amazing too.”

And it really was as amazing as it seemed. Although you were no stranger to Eddie’s cooking, all you’ve ever had made by him was diner food. Of course, the diner food was great, but this was another level. You weren’t sure what set it apart; maybe it was just the quality ingredients and lack of yelling while cooking. 

Once your plate was almost empty, Eddie asked if you wanted dessert too. You were slightly confused as you hadn’t seen him make any dessert to go along with the meal, but you agreed anyway. 

“Did you make dessert?” You asked after he stood up. 

“Nope, but I’ve got all the ingredients, so I can make it now.”

“Oh.” You suddenly felt bad, even though he already offered and went through with making you food. “Well, I don’t want to put you out. We can just watch—”

“It’s okay. I don’t have the ingredients for anything fancy. Just the simple stuff.”

That made you feel a little better. You were still curious, but for a different reason now. What could Eddie make quickly to pair with that fantastic dinner. 

You watched as he pulled out Oreos and gummy worms. Was he making a child’s favourite snack as your dessert?

“What are you planning there?” You asked him. 

Then you saw him open the fridge and pull out chocolate pudding cups, then it all clicked in your head. 

Holy shit. Worms and Dirt. 

That was absolutely not what you were expecting, but it was definitely a welcome surprise. 

“I was thinking about just serving up sliced apples and peanut butter along with some cheesy pick-up line like ‘you’re the apple of my eye’, but I figured that would scare you away.” 

“I don’t think that would scare me away.” You told him. “In fact, I would have found it cute. But I’m happy with the pudding.”

Eddie was quite flattered by that, though he tried hard to not let it show. You could definitely see a blush on his cheeks and the corners of his lips turning upwards, as much as he covered it up.

“You ever had Worms and Dirt?” He asked, opening up the Oreo pack. 

“Yeah.” You answered from your seat at the table while he scraped off the cookie filling. “My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid.”

Eddie stopped preparing the food for a second as he turned and gave you a genuine smile. 

“Me too.” 

After that, Eddie went back to making the dessert, the happy expression still lingering on his lips. 

“I’m almost done, do you want to pop the movie in while I’m finishing up?”

You nodded, then waltzed over to the living room to start up Clue. While the opening credits rolled, Eddie took a seat next to you on the couch and spread out a couple bowls and several pudding cups on his coffee table. 

He handed you a spoon and gestured to the setup in front of you two. 

“I figured we could do like a make-your-own thing, just ‘cause I always find one is never enough, and then you can choose your portions, you know?”

You hummed in agreement. “It’s a pretty good idea.”

Eddie then pointed to the bowl in between the cookie crumble and gummy worms. Inside that one was the creme filling he had just scraped out of the Oreos. 

“Oh, and that’s for you.” 

Just like Eddie earlier, you were super flattered but didn’t want to show your cards. You thanked him for saving you the best part, and then the two of you made your desserts and brought your attention to the movie. 

Somewhere along the way while watching it, you and Eddie had moved from your spots on opposite ends of the couch to meeting somewhere in the middle, wrapped up with each other. 

You were pressed against his side with a hand on his back and an arm around his abdomen. He had his arm slung around your shoulder, and you liked it. He liked it too. And truth be told, you had both pictured yourself before in this exact position—among others. 

As Wadsworth dramatically ran through each murder and event of the night, Eddie subtly looked down to see your entertained expression trained on the TV screen. 

Even though Eddie quite liked the movie you were watching, he liked you more. He was trying to think of a way to make a bigger move on you instead of actually paying attention. 

He was about to do it too. Just as his hands started to wander, there was a knock at his front door that caused you both to back off of each other and turn your heads that way. 

“It’s probably just some kid looking for weed. I’ll be back in a second, you don’t need to pause it.” Eddie told you as he stood up.

“Okay. Hurry up or you’ll miss the ending!” You told him. 

He opened the door and sure enough, it was a kid looking for weed. Some high schooler, maybe seventeen years old. In one hand, he had a couple crumpled bills, and the other one was in his pocket. 

“Someone told me to come here for… stuff.” The kid said to Eddie. 

“Okay, how much do you want?” Eddie replied. 

The boy looked confused, thinking it through. 

“I don’t know.” He finally answered. “I was just told to bring money.” 

“Okay, well I’ve got someone over and you’re wasting my time a little bit. How about you just hand me that money, and I’ll bring you whatever that’s worth?”

“Okay.” 

The kid handed over the cash and Eddie told him to stay at the door while he counted the money and walked over to his bedroom. 

He came out with a small baggie in his hand and flashed you a quick apologetic grin before facing the kid again. 

“There you go. Enjoy.” 

Eddie shut the door behind him and walked back to the couch to sit with you again, just as the movie was wrapping up. 

“I’m sorry about that. I was hoping tonight could go interrupted, but that’s never the case, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s alright. I didn’t know you still dealt.”

The staff at the diner was pretty close-knit, and you had heard lots about Eddie selling drugs in high school, but you had figured that was in the past. You weren’t judging, though. People do what they can to pay the bills—you were both working in a diner at the edge of your crappy town, you know all about that. 

“I don’t really. Just from time to time, I guess.” Eddie shrugged. “Does that bother you?”

“No. Everyone’s gotta do what they can in life. I don’t have a problem, as long as you’re okay with it.” 

“Cool.”

You both just looked at each other for a second, not sure what to say now. Eddie missed the perfect opportunity to make the move he wanted to make on you earlier, and now the movie was over. 

You both silently cursed yourself for not doing what you really wanted to do earlier, but the mood was interrupted by a kid at the door wanting to get high. 

Although you wanted to stay at Eddie’s place for longer, you knew the night was coming to a natural end. 

“I should probably get home soon. I have work in the morning.” 

Eddie was mentally kicking himself for not doing anything earlier, but he definitely wasn’t going to try and convince you to stay since he was aware how that could make him seem. 

“Yeah, okay. I can drive you home.” He stood up and grabbed his car keys from the counter. “You know, Steve’s probably already getting his beauty sleep or something.”

You thanked Eddie and strolled over to him, who was holding the door open for you. 

The two of you walked out to his van, and you slid into the same seat where you had begun the evening. Eddie sat down next to you and flashed you a quick smile before starting the car. 

The ride back to your place was, for the most part, quiet and awkward; it was a sad change from the chemistry you were feeling just an hour ago. 

When you arrived back home, Eddie stopped the car, but you spoke before you got out and the night would be officially over. 

“Thanks for tonight, Eddie. I think we should do this again.”

He looked flustered for a moment. It was no more than a second, but you caught it anyway.

“Well, thanks for saying yes, sweetheart. Are you doing anything Sunday?”

“I have a shift in the morning, but I’m done by the early afternoon.”

“Perfect.” Eddie smiled. “I’ll think of something for us to do then.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt as you badly masked a grin. 

“Okay. It’s a date.”

Eddie opened the door on his side, and so you followed suit. 

“You want me to walk you back?” Eddie offered. 

You stood a foot and a half away from Eddie beside his van and looked back to your apartment building. 

“Steve and Robin are probably pressed against the peephole right now, so I don’t know.”

Eddie ran his hand through his hair and shook his head amusedly. “Ah, I see. You’ve already got people looking out for you?”

You hummed, biting your lip softly. 

“So…” You trailed off. 

“So?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. 

That’s when you finally took your chance. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s cheek, just by the corner of his mouth. 

You backed away, and Eddie seemed flustered but happy, so you knew it went well. 

“Thanks again. I’ll see you at work, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie said quietly. “See you.”

It wasn’t often that Eddie flustered like that. Usually he was calm and collected, or at least yelling, if we’re talking about being in the kitchen at the diner. But very rarely did Eddie blush, and that’s exactly what he did after you kissed him. 

He guessed that it made a lot of sense that you could be the one to make him feel things that no one else can. 

Eddie watched as you walked over to the front of your building and gave him a wave before going inside. His thoughts were moving so fast, he can’t even remember if he waved back. Damn, he hopes he waved back. 

Then, as soon as you were inside and you were both out of each other’s sight, Eddie had to let out his excitement. He took a step out and threw his head forward, shouting at the top of his lungs. 

He stopped the moment he realised you might be able to hear him, and quickly went back into his van. Then he started shouting inside the privacy of those metal walls. 

Eddie was really excited about seeing you tomorrow. 

Little to Eddie’s knowledge, you were just as excited as him, if not even more.

[scaryscarecrows]

Some favorite 'older' media, for the Positivity:

Books

-The Shadow of the Wind. I don't know what it is. It's an experience. Just. Just trust me, go on the journey.

-Dracula. You know I gotta throw some love on Dracula.

-Jurassic Park. THE BOOK WAS BETTER. SO MUCH BETTER.

-Red Dragon. I'm sorry for any psychological trauma this may cause.

-The Gemma Doyle Trilogy. Still pissed about the ending, but a good series.

Movies

-Clue. Tim Curry's here, you cannot complain when Tim Curry is present.

-Father Goose. Haven't watched it since my dad passed, because he loved it and I'll probably cry like a little bitch the entire way through, but it's actually funny.

-Evil Under the Sun. Agatha Christie adaptation. With Maggie Smith. And others, but, well, Maggie Smith. C'mon now.

-The Silence of the Lambs. Just gonna leave that here.

-Jurassic Park. Just the first one. The book was better, but the film was admirable. Do both and you can form your own opinions! :D

Games

-Alien: Isolation. Top contender for Scariest Game I've ever played in my goddamn life.

-Bloodborne. It lives up to the hype.

-The Last of Us. Look, it's not a happy game. I'd hesitate to say it's a fun game, even. But it's a Good Game.

-Monument Valley. Very soothing, but still a bit of a brain teaser. Wonderful aesthetic.

-Kirby Air Ride. GOOD LUCK FINDING IT: Nintendo is run by killjoys. But if you can find this Gamecube game, you will have FUN. (I wish they'd remake this. I would pay full new-game price and not even gripe a little bit. I might even preorder.)

TV

-Okay, I know, I know, The Penguin just finished but it DID finish and you should watch that.

-Samurai Jack. Animation: flawless. Sound design: God's jealous. Just. Trust me. Trust me here.

-Get Smart. It's funny, it's aged better (in spots) than you might think, and there's a LOT OF IT.

-M*A*S*H*. Yeah. It's aged too well. Honestly, this one maybe should be a little mandatory.

-Are You Being Served? Funny as shit. Just. Funny as shit.

man cannot subsist on live service games and ongoing series alone you have to read or watch or play something that is complete and self-contained and ideally 5+ years old every now and then or you will die badly

[libraryofgage]

so i wrote this yesterday and now it's become a whole thing

basically: Steve is actually smart but nobody realized it until he just fixes their various STEM related problems

anyway this is Eddie's very first experience with how smart Steve Harrington actually is

also please don't call me out if my physics explanations are wrong. just suspend your disbelief, i'm begging you lmao

also also, if you see any typos, no you didn't

---

"You're going to fail my class, Munson."

"Gee, no need to sugarcoat it," Eddie mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and avoiding Miss Chester's gaze. His eyes land on one of the posters behind her desk, a cat hanging off a tree branch. Maybe it would like to trade places.

Miss Chester sighs, looking pointedly at the desk closest to hers. She waits until Eddie sits on it, legs hanging over the edge. "I'm serious," she says. "You're going to fail, Eddie. I don't want you to, but there's just some...disconnect happening here."

He appreciates that she's not totally blaming him. Most of Eddie's other teachers would've been berating him for his laziness by now. This, among other things, is why Eddie likes her class even if he can't wrap his head around physics at all. "I don't know, Miss. It just doesn't make sense."

"So I'm noticing." Miss Chester leans back in her chair, her finger tapping against her desk. Eddie immediately recognizes it as the drum beat from a KISS song. "You know you'll probably be held back if you fail, right?"

"Not the first time."

Miss Chester waves off his words, looking deep in thought. "What do you think about tutoring? I think you'll do better in a one-on-one setting. If you understand the concepts better, I can start grading you based on the work you do with the tutor."

"It wouldn't be you?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly. He's not sure he wants some random geek tutoring him. Not that he has anything against geeks, of course, but he's never known one to talk in a way he can understand. They get all...technical and Eddie's eyes glaze over whenever he overhears their conversations.

"No, I don't have the time. But don't worry," Miss Chester says, smiling reassuringly before pulling her roster close and looking down the list. "The student I have in mind probably knows more than me, if I'm being honest. He should be able to answer any question you have."

"What student?"

"His name is Steve."

Of course, Eddie immediately thinks of that Steve. King Steve. Steve "The Hair" Harrington with his blinding smile that's always looked a little strained in Eddie's opinion.

He then dismisses Steve Harrington as a possibility and reviews the other kids named Steve at Hawkins High. There's Steve Paulson, Steve Meyers, and Steve Barns. Maybe it's Barns? He's the only one that Eddie could imagine being somewhat good at physics.

"Are you open to tutoring?" Miss Chester asks. "For one session, at least?"

"Yeah, sure, one session. Won't help, though."

Miss Chester smiles like she knows something Eddie doesn't. Which, to be fair, she does. She knows a lot more than Eddie in terms of physics, at least. "I'll set it up. Just come by tomorrow after school."

--------

On his first day at Hawkins High, Steve realized two things.

One, his parents weren't kidding when they'd said public school would be vastly different from the private group tutoring he'd received up to that point.

Two, if he wanted to have a good high school experience, he needed to be cool. And being cool, it seemed, meant not being smart. He didn't need to be dumb, but he couldn't breeze through his classes, either.

He's done a good job of it so far. He's bored beyond reason in most of his classes, sure, but he's also popular. Nobody bothers him or tries to copy off of him, and it's great. He can even swallow down the weird surge of frustration and annoyance and guilt whenever his classmates assume he's too dumb to be a good project partner, or when his parents ask why he isn't enrolled in AP classes, or when his teachers give him confused looks after he aces tests for a unit he seemingly didn't pay attention to.

Anyway, he almost rejected Miss Chester's request to tutor a student from a different class period. He was just about to say he didn't have the time when she leveled him with a look so profoundly hopeful that he just couldn't. So, Steve said yes and now he's hesitating outside the physics classroom.

What if the student inside uses this against him? Steve thinks he could play it off, maybe convince his friends that the kid is lying, but he's not sure. Nothing dire would happen, but Steve would have to reorient himself to a new place on the social ladder, and that sounds exhausting.

"Just get it over with," he mumbles. Then, before he can chicken out and just leave the other student hanging, he opens the door and steps into the classroom.

Miss Chester isn't there. Steve knew she wouldn't be. She'd said something about a department meeting that would take her time but leave them with the classroom to themselves.

The only other person in the room is Eddie Munson, bent over a notebook and furiously scribbling on the page. He looks up when the door opens and freezes at the sight of Steve. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Eddie breaks the silence by asking, "What, get lost on your way to the locker room, Harrington?"

Steve blinks, frowns slightly, and takes a deep breath. Okay. Fine. Eddie Munson it is. "Nope. Miss Chester asked me to tutor you," he says, because that's the only reason another student would be in this room after school has let out.

Eddie laughs. He nearly falls out of his chair with how hard he laughs. He's wheezing and clutching the edges of the desk by the time Steve moves another desk to face him and sits down across from him. "Are you done, Munson?" he asks.

"Holy shit, you're serious," Eddie says, his voice slightly strained and his face red from laughing. "No fucking way Steve Harrington is here to tutor me in physics. You probably don't even know what two plus two is!"

"It's four. Do you know what 12 times 40 is?" Steve asks, watching as Eddie blinks.

"I'm not a fucking calculator, man."

"No, you're not. It's 480, by the way."

"You could've just memorized that."

Steve sighs and reaches into his bag, digging around some before pulling a calculator out. He places it on Eddie's desk and says, "Ask me something."

Eddie looks at him like he's grown a second head but still pulls the calculator closer. "1,239 plus 378."

"1,617."

He watches Eddie use the calculator, feeling smug when his face twists into confused disbelief. He then puts the calculator down and frowns at Steve. "So you can add, big whoop. Doesn't mean you can teach me shit about physics."

"Won't know until we try," Steve says, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his chin in his palm. "So, what don't you get?"

"...All of it. Just assume I don't know shit."

"You don't know Newton's laws?"

Eddie snorts, looking back down at his notebook. "There's that motion one and the reaction one," he says.

"Right. Newton's first law and his third. What about the second?"

"It's just...some equation or some shit."

Okay, Steve is starting to get an idea of where things stand. He thinks for a moment before asking, "What kind of stuff do you like?"

"What?"

"What do you like?"

Eddie looks so shocked by the question that he doesn't really think before answering, "Heavy metal. And, uh, D&D, too."

Steve knows heavy metal is music, and he could work with that but the D&D Eddie mentioned might be better. "What does it involve? The D&D?"

"It's a fantasy role playing game. Like, using your imagination to go on adventures with friends and stuff. Needs dice to work."

Oh. Perfect. "Do you have dice with you?" Steve asks. After another brief pause, Eddie nods and pulls one out of his pocket. He passes it over and watches as Steve turns it between his fingers. "Oh, an icosahedron. Cool."

"A what?"

"Icosahedron," Steve says, looking at Eddie. "It just means a twenty-sided polyhedron."

Eddie still looks confused, and Steve is about to explain it again when Eddie says, "Just call it a D20, dude."

"Oh. Sure. Anyway, let's use this," Steve says, rolling it between his fingers before letting it clatter to the desk. It bounces a few times before settling, a 17 facing up. "Do you know what made it stop moving?"

"The desk. I'm not an idiot, Harrington."

"I didn't say you were, Munson," Steve replies, leaning back slightly. "Just...yes, the desk stopped it. This is Newton's first law. If the desk wasn't there, it would have kept falling until it hit the floor. It stopped bouncing because it lost power each time it hit the desk. An object, the D20, will stay in motion, falling, unless acted upon by another force, the desk."

"That...kinda made sense," Eddie says, blinking a few times.

"Great!" Steve says, unable to help the bright smile at knowing Eddie understood him. "Okay, for the second law, the equation is mass times acceleration equals force. Basically, the movement of an object depends on how much it weighs and how much force you apply."

"Aaaand ya lost me," Eddie says.

"Okay, uh, you fight things in that game, right?"

"Yeah, kind of the whole point."

"Right, yeah, and the stuff you fight comes in different sizes, right?"

"Well, an orc isn't gonna be as big as a dragon, is it?"

Steve isn't really sure what an orc is, but he nods anyway. "Right. So if you want to move a dragon, you need to land a stronger hit than you would need for an orc."

"Duh. You're not gonna fell a dragon with a basic cantrip."

"Not sure what that is, but yeah. For this example, moving, or defeating, an object, or a dragon that weighs more than an orc, relies on how much force you apply, which is the strength you use."

"Oh. So, because an orc weighs less, I don't need as much force to defeat it," Eddie says, grinning as he fidgets with his pencil. "This doesn't really sound like math, though."

Steve shrugs. "We'll get to the math part later. Right now is basics. You need to understand those to do more complicated stuff. So, the third law, this is the action-reaction law. Music might be better for it. What happens when you strum a guitar?"

"It...makes a sound. Because it's an instrument."

"Well, yeah, but do you understand how the sound is being made."

"By...strumming it?"

"Yeah, that's part of it. Sounds are vibrations in the air that we can understand. If you touch your throat while talking, you'll feel your voice box, your larynx, vibrate to make the sound of you talking."

He waits as Eddie does exactly that. While holding his fingers to his throat, Eddie says, "Didn't know it was called a larynx. Oh, fuck, yeah, there are vibrations."

Steve nods, waiting patiently as Eddie hums for a few minutes before looking back at him. "So, vibrations. Instruments make sound because playing them causes vibrations. When you strum a guitar, the strings rapidly move back and forth, and that movement is translated into notes."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but yeah, I'm following you."

"So, the action of strumming a guitar creates the reaction of the strings vibrating. That action of the strings vibrating creates the reaction of air rippling, and those ripples create the reaction of audible noise. Did that make sense?"

"Yeah. It did," Eddie says, his voice soft as he stares at Steve like he's really seeing him for the first time.

Steve shifts uncomfortably, unused to this aspect of himself being known so well by someone at school. He's almost tempted to end things now and apologize to Miss Chester for walking out halfway through a tutoring session. Steve is practicing the apology in his head when Eddie says, "Hey, by the way, sorry for earlier."

"What?" Steve asks, trying to blink away his confusion and failing.

"You know, earlier, when I laughed at you? Pretty shitty of me to do. So, yeah, I'm sorry."

"Oh." Steve stares at Eddie for a few seconds before his shoulders relax. "It's fine. I'm not exactly known for being smart."

"Why not?"

"It's just...easier to let people think I'm dumb. Most of our classmates look at me and think I'm just, you know, a typical jock. They don't expect more from me than that, and I don't expect them to look any deeper."

"Does anyone else know, though?"

"My parents and the teachers. And you."

"Well, don't worry, big boy. Your secret's safe with me."

"Big boy?"

"Don't like it? Would you prefer Stevie?" Eddie asks, grinning as he leans in and exaggeratedly waggles his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve can't help snorting at the sight. "Whatever. Just call me what you want, Eddie," he says.

He tries to ignore the weird swooping in his stomach when Eddie's smile gets wider and he says, "You better not regret it, Stevie."

[fallenclan]

Pls ramble about Maplestar i didn't think much of him at all when he was around

:3

okay so imagine. You are born into Fallenclan as a fresh little kitten. You are told at a very young age that your mom isn't around anymore, but your dad loves you and your two siblings more than anything, and he will do everything in his power to make sure you all are happy and successful. Your siblings are louder than you, more outgoing than you, and arguably more likeable than you, but they look to you as the cat to follow when your dad isnt around, so it's your job to look after them. You're the oldest, after all.

Later into your kithood you are told that your mother died giving birth to the three of you. If you didnt exist, she would still be alive.

You become an apprentice. Your sister is mentored by the cool older cat that is also your friend's mom. Your brother is mentored by one of your dad's best friends, a cat you've known since birth. You are apprenticed to the deputy of Fallenclan--she cares about you, and the clan, but she's also strict, and tells you in no uncertain terms that she expects you to be great. Not good. Great. You think, "If I am not great, is it my fault?" You try your best. You wonder if it is enough.

You become a warrior. Your sister takes on a mate, your brother does, too. Both of them have kits. You never were interested in having a mate, but you can't help but wonder if that's what your clan, your father, wants you to do. Your father, in the meanwhile, takes over the job that your mentor had, and becomes deputy of Fallenclan. Then he becomes leader. He becomes legend. Cats at gatherings say to you, "You must be so proud!" You are. When your back is turned, they say "The son of Goldenstar, he'll be something special, I'm sure."

The deputy, a cat known for her strength, loyalty, and honor, retires, and chooses you out of everyone to take her place. Your father assures you that you'll do great. Your siblings cheer you on and offer their support. You refuse it, politely. You will be a great deputy if you have to pull out all of your fur to do it--and you will do it by yourself. Are you really great if some of your greatness is borrowed? The whole clan depends on you.

Under the cover of night, the clan is attacked. The former deputy dies. One of your best friends dies. Your brother dies. Four kits, six warriors, and one elder die. You are hardly wounded. For moons you keep the night guard and torture yourself thinking about what you could have done to change things. What you could have done better.

Time passes. You age, your sister ages, your father ages. As leader, he has nine lives, but they slowly dwindle. One evening, he's missing from camp longer than he said he would be, and you and your sister go looking for him. You find his body at the bottom of a cliff. You grieve until sundown, and then you travel to receive your nine lives. You see the faces of all the cats you outlived. All the cats you failed. Your niece and great-nephew, your brother, your mentor, your father, your mother. You wake up and it is only you and your medicine cat huddled together in a cave. Your skin hurts, you can feel each fur on your body. You walk home.

You discover that your former apprentice is a murderer. With no other options, you exile him from the clan and watch as he is escorted away. If you had been a better mentor, would he have lived a kinder life? Would he have forgiven his long-time enemy? You'll never find out.

A neighboring clan, which has had it out for Fallenclan since your father was an apprentice, declares war. You run yourself ragged making plans and trying to keep your warriors safe and alive. There are battles, there are scars, but there are no deaths, and the war ends only a few moons later. You congratulate yourself for this feat, and then wonder why it was only when you became leader that war was declared.

Every death that passes, you wonder if you could have prevented it. Every loss that your sister suffers, your nephews and nieces suffer, you contemplate how to fix. You are old now, and there are few Fallenclan cats that knew you before you were an apprentice, before you were a warrior, before you were deputy or leader. You're not a cat, anymore, you are a shelter; protecting your clan and paying little mind to your own needs.

You take a hunting patrol by yourself, late one night. In a dry riverbed, you feel the ground rumble, and look upstream to see a flash flood clawing its way towards you.

You wonder, "Am I fast enough to outrun it?"

You aren't.

[cuthechicane]

Full paywalled version of Lando's interview with The Race

Lando Norris recently sat down with The Race's Scott Mitchell-Malm for an exclusive in-depth interview about his 2024 Formula 1 title bid, taking on Max Verstappen and how fans perceive him.

You can read Scott's take on how Lando presented himself on The Race website today, but here's their conversation in full:

The Race: How do you look back on the year so far? Purely from a numbers point of view, you'd surely have taken that at the start of the year. But in terms of how it's played out, is there any kind of sense that there was a bit more on the table, missed opportunities?

Lando Norris: Err…for sure. I think that's quite obvious. Not as many as people think. And I think people in general think it's been a lot worse than what it's been. I think a lot of people think we've been a lot quicker than we have been. So I'm sure a lot of people will disagree with it. But I think those times, it’s a compliment that people think that, because it shows how far we've come. And I'm proud that in those days, whether Singapore or Zandvoort, I've still been the one that's there and making the most of those opportunities when we have a car that's quick enough. 

But there's clearly ones that we've definitely let things go away, which is Silverstone, Canada-ish – I wouldn't say completely. Maybe one or two others. But I think the other ones are the ones that people want to believe were bad for different reasons. Whether it was my starts, and those days when the starts have been ‘bad’ that everyone says, I've generally still been in the top three, four, five of starts. Even on those days. If you look at Barcelona, when I had a 'bad' start everyone says, the best starter in that race was Max. And I think I was like the third or fourth third best starter on the grid. It's just I happened to be next to the guy who got the best start.

The Race: Who wasn't the guy who ended up leading into Turn 1 anyway...

LN: He was the guy who had the seventh or eighth best start! The other one I’d say was a bit more unlucky was Budapest, where my initial start was very good, a tiny, tiny bit too much wheelspin and a downgraded upshift, and that kind of cost me that. So I think it's been better than people have thought. There's definitely been some missed opportunities, that's a fact. But I'm very happy with my whole season. I still feel like I've got a lot out of it. Things have not just gone to plan. Even if you go back to Austria and things like that, a race that I could have been first or second, whichever way around you want to look at it, I ended up with zero points. There's been certain races which have gone away from us. 

The fact that we're still there fighting, I'm pretty happy with the whole season that I had, because it's clear when things do go right, how amazing that they can be.  It's been still a big learning year, even though it's my sixth year and all of this nonsense, I still have to learn how to drive the car in a better way, because I still don't understand it at times. How we have to drive our car has changed a good amount, and I still have to adapt to that. Some days it doesn't suit me, some days it does. So I think it's still been a very good year, and from the outside, I understand why people think it hasn't been. And I completely almost agree with it! But once you know reasons why, of different things, I'm still pretty proud of the season it's been so far.

The Race: There's a difference between how you imagine it being when you get a car that's quick enough to fight every weekend, and then obviously what it's really like. You've learned some things the hard way, so what's that actually been like?

LN: It's been good for me. Whether I'm racing the likes of Lewis a bit more, or Max is probably the best example of all of them...Charles, Carlos, George, to be honest, all the drivers who are up the front because they deserve to be. Thing is suddenly, when I'm racing them, I'm fighting them for a win. So not coming out and doing a perfect job against these drivers, mainly Max in this case, means I win a race or I don't win a race, and therefore it hurts a bit more and it feels like there's a bigger effect to it all. 

There's more criticism or praise, whichever way around. You win, suddenly you have a lot more praise. You do one mistake, you suddenly have a lot more criticism. But I think both are good things, because people either want you to do well or they want to stand out because they want to be someone that criticises you even more. Both are compliments in ways, and I've enjoyed both of them. 

But I've paid the price, more so in terms of a championship point of view, when I’ve not done things to the correct level. And I think there's so many things that have been great, and have been completely up to the standard that it needs to be. A couple of things have not been. And I paid the price for those situations, because I'm going up against, whether it's Red Bull or Mercedes or Ferrari, on top of being strong teams, great drivers. You get punished more at the top when things don't go right than you do when you're more midfield.

The Race: There's a quote from a few years ago about Lewis Hamilton only having to beat his team-mate, in the context of a dominant team. That's exactly not the situation that you've had this year. But in terms of execution, finding out how hard it is to make sure that every single qualifying session, every start, every judgment in the race with the team – what's that been like? Because I can imagine that idea that 'once I get a car that's quick enough, I'll do it'. 

LN: First of all, I would never think that! For anyone who knows me, that's definitely not how I think. But I would say it's as tough as I've imagined because so many things can still easily go against you, even when you have the best car. Make one mistake in a Q3 lap, you're not on pole when you should have been. You don't have a perfect start when the guy who starts P2 does a perfect start, you’re P2 when you shouldn't have been. 

There's been a couple when we were so dominant – like Zandvoort – it doesn't matter if you made the mistakes at the beginning. You can come back through and you can still dominate and easily win a race. But for the majority, when people think we've had the most dominant car ever, those positions [lost] have just been costly positions. I’ve been on pole by three thousandths or five thousandths or two hundredths, and those positions are positions that just stay for the rest of the race. 

But I've always known that – it’s always just the harsh reality of when you're there, and actually you're living that situation, it’s tough to then always be positive for the next race and things like that, and know when things are going to get better. It's been a learning point, still for me, but even for the whole team, whether it's mechanics, because they feel a bit more pressure when we're leading a race compared to when we compared to when we were 10th, or the engineers because the last pole was split by three thousandths, or one hundredth of a second. Everyone wants to play a part in that, but also feels the pressure of it, including me. I think everyone's dealt with it very well.

The Race: We've seen with various drivers, whenever there's a clash with a popular driver, someone ends up getting pelted on social media. But I don't think I've seen a driver with such a negative narrative against them as I’ve seen with you this year...

LN: Yeah, I don’t know why.

The Race: You’ve noticed it as well. How do you feel about that?

LN: I find it…I find it's a little bit weird, because I read all those things. I wouldn't say I'm affected by them, but I do think of them. Do I think it affects me negatively? No. Because I've actually been used to doing that for a while. I've learned how to read things and choose what I want to affect me and almost help me be better or choose what I just want to let slip away, and I just read it for the fact of reading. 

Certain things I’d say I don't understand how people have gotten that perception. And that's when I always just have to come back to the people who know me, know that this isn't the case. And I'm very happy just knowing that as a fact. There’s certain things when I'm like, people think my ego is too big or something, it couldn't be further from the truth - especially when I'm driving. Maybe sometimes I choose wrong words or something, and people somehow use that against me.

But I think there's more and more people in the world just either don't want to listen to the truth and sometimes I think when I say the truth or facts, people just don't want to agree with them, or they want to disagree and kind of prove me wrong. But I find it odd as I feel like I haven't changed. Maybe I have, in certain things. Definitely some things have changed. I definitely don't go around and joke and laugh as much as I used to, and I think people loved that and maybe don't like it as much now I don't do such a thing. But I’ve definitely noticed it, for whatever reason. 

The Race: It's stuff as a driver, not just you as a person. You mentioned the idea you’ve got a dominant car stuff but it’s also your championship credentials and stuff like that. Maybe some people just want to just stick the knife sometimes, in a way that I personally don’t understand.

LN: Neither do I, but it's why like I always say, it doesn't affect me. I see it still as if I know I said something or I've done something wrong, I accept it. I've always been honest with when I've done a good job and done a bad job. So when I know I've done something wrong, or someone tells me I've done something wrong, I'll always accept it and acknowledge that in the right way. But when I know for a fact I haven't, and people kind of make things of it or turn it into something where I have, there’s some kind of stuff I don't understand. Especially the amount of negative stuff I get nowadays, I almost want to say for no reason. 

It puzzles me a little bit. Doesn't affect me in a good way or a bad way. People can have their own opinions. And I'm all up for people having their own opinions and supporting different drivers and not supporting me – I'm very happy about that. But turning things that are not true into what they think are facts is probably stuff that I don't understand as much. And it's confused me a little bit, but I don't think it affects me in a bad way. I do think of it because I'm an overthinker, and I think of all of those things, so I'll question myself about all of it. But I wouldn't say it affects how I go out and drive the next day all of a sudden, or anything like that, which is the main thing. 

I think it's turned into being a bit of a part of… I don’t have to read any of it, you know? So I can also not have social media, but I enjoy it still. It'll still affect me on days, but it's not like it affects how I go racing or anything else, so I don't mind. I just don't like when people have the wrong opinion about me. Because I don't mind people having different opinions, but stating incorrect things is probably the thing that I don't understand, and probably the thing that gets to me the most. But it doesn't affect my day to day life at all. And I'm very happy with the people I have around me, my group.

They're the people who are being more honest with me about when I'm doing well or when I'm not, or whether I'm being a dick, and when I'm not. I prefer people to tell me that, than not to tell me that. The reason I really don't care about what people say so much is because I know the people who actually most know me best and are most truthful about everything are just the people I have around me, and I’ll listen to them more than I'll ever listen to people on the outside.

The Race: One final thing as we sort of got side-tracked there: 18 months or so ago I interviewed you in Australia which basically turned into an opportunity to justify your new contract, because the team was in a bad place and there was a lot of noise. You always stuck to your guns. How vindicated do you feel by this season, and how excited are you for next year, because both titles have got to be the aim?

LN: That's very clear. We all as a team know that next year is the year, probably the first one since I've been in Formula 1, where I can go next year ‘We are challenging for the title’.  And we can say that now already. We've never been able to do it in the past. I'm very happy that I've stuck with the team that I believed in even when a lot of people didn't. I'm very happy that I just had that belief in the team. But also just for all of that to actually come true even when it was hard to believe at times. When we could take kind of two steps forward and then step back, and then catch up and then drop back. 

There were times when I did question it for sure, on what's the best for my future and what do I want to do and those kinds of things. But for me to always return to the belief that the team around me, whether it was Andreas [Seidl] a few years ago when we took a step forward, for sure – but then Andrea [Stella], for me, has been the key to everything. And the fact we've been able to go from where we were to beating Red Bull, when not even 12 months ago they had the most dominant season...the fact that we're now beating them, we've been beating them almost since Miami-ish, and we've been on par with them since Miami, that’s an incredible achievement. 

I'm very happy that I've been part of it all. I'm happy that I stuck through the harder times when I easily could have picked an easier route out of it, could have gone to different teams and done all this other stuff. I feel like I've rewarded myself nicely for having the belief in the team, and I think the team understands that too - the journey that we've been on together - and I think they appreciate that, which probably makes me the happiest out of all of it.

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 21/11✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hi! Would Macaque kidnap Wukong again? I read your comic, the last page, where Macaque is the kidnapping expert. And I'm very curious about it. Anyway, I love your comics! You are awesome.

Haha I don't think they really need it unless they want to do a "traditional wedding courtnapping" but it would be pretty odd since they kind of already live togehter.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I know this is definitely a LONG ways away, but, imagine: Wukong and Macaque playing the newlyweds game. What questions? What answers? Who’s asking the questions? Who’s getting the most right?

I wont list all the lesson but I think Macaque would get most of them right just because Wukong never really changed a lot during the years, while Macaque went through different stages of his life, and and he has new hobbies and tastes.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will mk have a nightmare about LBD? If yes Then we will have some angst with fluffy monkeys family moments!!!

Oh he has. He has many. Most of them he has while he is at pigsy's.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can you please shows up a flashback backstory on how MK/Wukong discovered/found out/came out as trans?? 🙏🙏🙏 Banana sundae with chocolate sauce, rainbow sprinkles, THREE cherries, and a super-deluxe one-and-only Monkie King™️ collectible spoon???

Anonimo ha chiesto: will we see any past Shadowpeach?? I’m interested to see how you frame their dynamic back 5en.

Hahah maybe in the future, I'll see

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can we get Wukong telling dad jokes? Please, I’m begging i want to see MK laughing and Macaque just being so disappointed with Wukong yet so smitten. I want to see more Monkey family domestic blissss. 🙏🙏🙏🙏

I don't have my dad jokes book here but man give Macaque an award for the patience he has with these two children

@goofybearclown ha chiesto: Hi :3 Just wanted to say I love your shadowpeach and cotl AU!!! I didn't notice you made both at first but when I did I was like "waow :0". Tbh your works are in my top 3 series on Tumblr! @fenikzia ha chiesto: I love your LMK comic so much, I look forward to reading the new additions to it when they come out every other day,and reading your comic just makes my day better. Even if it hasn't updated a particular day, I make sure to go back and reread the newest part.Keep doing what you're doing and make sure to take breaks! @skye-minecraftyt-blog ha chiesto: You! I like you! Your Bio parents Lmk au always makes me extremely happy and I regularly reread it. ((o(^∇^)o)) Just wanted to say it @blazeandsilver ha chiesto: Hello, I just wanted to say your artwork is absolutely stunning, it makes my day whenever I see that you posted something new to the BioParents comic. Please keep up the good work and be sure to take some time for yourself, you’re important too.

AWWWWWW THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hihi shadowpeach au question: You mentioned in the latest comic that Mac is more lean and skinny than Wukong. Will we ever see the full extent of that?? ALSO I ADORE YOUR ART OMG ❤️❤️

A fully naked Macaque you say? Maybe.... who knows....

Anonimo ha chiesto: I come to defend Wukong acting like a man looking at a victorian lady ankles, he hasn’t seen his (ex) husband’s fur in centuries. And he probably hasn’t socialize in years either besides MK and the gang. Romantically he is stunned right? I doubt he has even looked at anyone besides Macaque anyways…

Honestly I like to think that Macaque was the only being in all the universe that was eer able to make him flustered

@mochalikesdrawing ha chiesto: So I got a question, will we ever get to see kaiju MK again?

I have a scene post AU I would like to draw. Maybe.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ignoring all the angst because it is crushing my soul /pos, I'm lowkey convinced that Macaque knows Wukong feels some kind of way about him because he can hear his heartbeat go crazy at certain moments and isn't dumb, but just isn't calling Wukong on it because he's still trying to sort his own feelings first. BUT ONCE HE DOES OH BOY-

Hahah Macaque knows perfectly well Wukong is down for him. In the meantime Wukong is alwasy afraid he's just imagining things bc he's dense af.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you think Wukong and macaque would be cuddling and macaque would be watching something scary and Wukong would be trying to not pay attention to it because he hates scary stuff or would it be the other way around?

yess

@ep2nd ha chiesto: In your shadowpeach bio parents au, if MK and Wukong were created by Nuwa, with Nuwa using Macaque and Wukong as a base, has anyone wondered who created Macaque? And does Macaque himself knows?

Wait Nuwa created Wukong? If that's so I think then all the 5 monkeys were made by her, for some reason.

@boonalina ha chiesto: Sooo what exactly is the courtnapping process like? Is it just a simple "I'm gonna pick you up and carry you away" or is it an entire ceremony? Does someone have to lure the person into place? For example, Mei bringing Redson over to a secluded spot so that Mk can "courtnap" him? (Side note: I've been in this fandom for around two years now, and this comic is what made me find out about courtnapping lol)

I "think" anything that can be counted as like a sneak attack that takes them out of guard and brings them to the designated courtnapped room can be considered as courtnapping technically.

Anonimo ha chiesto: ... Hey so your shadow peach bio parent AU is better way better than season five. WOAH, WHO SAID THAT!! (no but seriously it is like a sitcom I tune on ever so often. Much love 🫶)

Haha thank you! That's a HUGE statement!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I wonder if MK has any unique attributes/abilities as a living mass of celestial material?

He's such a cocktail ofdifferent energies I wouldn't be surprised he is able to glow in the dark.

@cjtuy ha chiesto: I do have a question it's mainly about pigsy and tang when and how long have they been together as a couple and did both of them find mk are they married ?

They have been together for almost a year, but I don't think they are married, but maybe that could happen in the future??? But yeah MK found out a little after season 5 that they are together, that was also the same time he started calling Tang "Papa"

Anonimo ha chiesto: Has macaque added any personal items to the house? Like is he moved in? Have Wukong and macaque improved or changed anything else besides making the bed bigger?

Yes he did! Half of his belongins are in FFM, althought he's a little more minimalistic than Wukong. He also have been bothering Wukong to death so that he can finally organize his stuff (and they were roomates

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like if they were to play Minecraft or something macaque would be the base mom. He would be the only one to remember to farm food to not starve. The others would probably forget all the time that hunger is a thing in game. Wukong or Mk: oh dang does anyone have food I'm starving Macaque: (always brings extra for this reason) "sighs" yes

AH!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Remember the Minor Scale episode, from season 2? Where MK learn how to shrink himself? And there’s also the final episode of that season where MK just grow very big to try to fight LBD. I just love that part of his power and I have seen very little people showing it. Like, sometimes that power can show up when the poor boy is experiencing overwhelming emotions that can’t be contained anymore, or pure exhaustion. For example, Having many responsibility can lead to a lot of stress and exhaustion and at some point MK just can’t do more and just become tiny, not able to do more. On the opposite, maybe he experience trauma again through a nightmare (like about azure for example) and the emotional burden is to much and he just becomes big because of that. You see my vision? I love sizeshifting base on emotions :)

Aww and i love emotion-based powers, they are just so easy to play around.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Tbh the show should let macaque have a motorcycle. Wukong gets to be passenger princess

Yesss

Anonimo ha chiesto: as we get into the colder months i like to imagine MK’s first winter coat and he’s all super fluffy and warm

Cool for the monkey parents, bad for pigsy and all the hair in the restaurant from sheeding.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I think it would be so funny if MKs rock hadn't been cracked and he'd been raised on FFM by wukong. If the same thing happens in the show macaque planning to take mks powers thinking he's just Wukongs student but then while macaque and MK are training. Since macaque is so close he notices his ears. (Being raised by a monkey he gets his form sooner) suddenly putting everything on hold busting into FFM and is like WUKONG WTF

There's a fic on AO3 about it it's A Son of Two Dads

@cheese-hommo ha chiesto: Hii, fiesta I want to say I love how you draw and everything, it just looks so cool and beautiful. Now, with the last chapter of Monkey parents Au and so, with the acknowledgement of the demon etiquette and else, DBK and Wukong really misunderstand the comfort scene for a confession? Or something more? It was just so funny seeing the two of them getting so embarrassed at the end 🙂‍↕️

Ah, 2 young demons in their true forms so close to each other, blushing? Scandalous.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I've seen Mk is his Lego merch- he gots a tooth gap- so does this MK have one or did he get it filled?

Wait that was a tooth gap??? I though it was like, a detail of the smile

Anonimo ha chiesto: 🎤 what is your official (if any) opinion on Ink MK? (as a character, plot device, literary parallel, what have you)

It's ok. I personally believe "shadow" version of one character with their own fears and doubts is a clique a little bit too much used. But they give a lot of angst.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Thoughts on Macaque knowing either Japanese or Korean due to him liking anime.

I'll give you one better. Macaque always traveled to Japan pretty frequently during the centuries. Then became a weeb

Anonimo ha chiesto: Maybe it's just me but Wukong looks a bit thicker each time, is it because his fur's thickening or is he getting chubbier ??????? Anyway luv ur art

Both.

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[munsonsmixtapes]

hii! i love your writing and i had an idea for an eddie x reader - so maybe the reader buys him a ring as a present and they weren’t sure if he’d like it but they see him wearing it all the time and he never takes it off sort of thing (kind of got the idea from gilmore girls with lorelai and luke with the baseball cap)! :)

First of all, I love Gilmore Girls, it's one of my favorite shows! And second, this is such a cute idea, thank you for the request!

You stand outside Eddie's trailer with the ring box in your pocket. You're nervous to give it to him, because one, you have no actual reason to give it to him besides the fact that you thought of him when you saw it when you went to the mall with Robin. And second, even though it's exactly something he would like.

It's a thick, silver band with a bunch of little designs on the side that are hard to make out and a black crystal is in the middle. You think it will go great with his other rings and even though Robin assured you more than once that Eddie would love it, you're still not sure.

The door opens and Eddie is on the other side, a wide smile on his face as he lets you into the trailer. You're too nervous to say anything so you just hold the box out to him and he takes is gratefully.

"What's this, baby?" He asks as he opens the box. "Baby," he gasps. "This is fucking amazing." He sets the box on the couch that's next to him and puts the ring on his left hand because his right is so cluttered. He holds his hand out to admire his new piece of jewelry and puts on a grin as he looks up at you, holding his arms out.

"You like it?" You ask, stepping over to him to accept his embrace, your arms wrapping around his waist.

"Love it. Now give me some sugar, sweetheart," he puckers his lips and you oblige, giving him a quick kiss.

As the days go by, you notice that Eddie never takes the ring off, not even when the two of you go to bed, even though he's removed the others and put them on his bedside table. He's thanking you for it every chance he gets and you start to realize that he really does love it and he's not just saying that to make you feel better.

It's the best gift he's ever received and it warms his heart that it reminded you of him and that's the reason why you bought it for him. He's never had anyone in his life that has done anything like that for him except for Wayne.

It's only when he takes the ring off to clean it that he notices that your name is engraved on the inside and that makes him love it even more.

"So you always have me close," you tell him and he feels like he might cry.

"God, babe, you're so cheesy," he laughs as he pulls you in for a hug.

"And you love it," you reply as you rest your head on his shoulder.

"I do," he says with a sigh as he pulls you in for a kiss, knowing that he's only going to take the ring off to look at your name every time he misses you.

[n0vazsq]

Pretty Boy | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x gf!artist!reader

summary . . . While you're sketching a drawing of Lando, you notice that something's off with him. Then, you remind him that he's much more than what people think of him

request . . . no!

word count . . . 759

warnings . . . none! just one use of 'damn'

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . first lando fic!!! a bit short but i hope you guys like it <33

. . . The room smelled like salted caramel and the leather of the couch you were currently sitting on. Lando sat across from you, sat on the arm of the chair, one leg bouncing restlessly. The glow from his phone lit up his face every few seconds, softening the sharpness of his jawline, but it didn’t hold his attention for long. He set it down after scrolling aimlessly, leaning back with a sigh.

"You know," you started, stretching out your legs, "you really need to learn how to sit still. You’re stressing me out."

He flashed you that damn grin, the one he knew you hated for how effortlessly it made you forgive him for everything. "You sound like my engineer," he laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Maybe I should be," you shot back, holding up the sketchpad in your lap. "You’re not exactly making this easy for me."

His eyes flicked to the page, and he tilted his head, squinting slightly. "That’s me?"

"Who else do you think I’ve been sketching this whole time? Your mum?"

Lando grinned, leaning in closer to get a better look. His hair was slightly messy, still damp from the shower he’d taken earlier, and you could smell the faint trace of his shampoo as he hovered over your shoulder. "Not bad," he said with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. "You almost got my nose right."

You turned your head, glaring playfully. "Almost? You’re lucky I even attempted that ski slope you call a nose."

He pretended to be offended, leaning back dramatically, a hand on his chest. "Ski slope? That’s rich coming from someone who-" He cut himself off, laughing at your raised eyebrow.

"Go on," you urged, smirking now.

"Nah," he said, still laughing as he settled back into the chair. "You’re not worth the fight."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Lando had this way of lighting up a room without even trying, of making you feel like the only person who mattered when he turned that adorable charm your way. It was infuriating, really.

But tonight, something about him seemed quieter. The usual spark in his eyes was dimmer, and the edges of his grin didn’t reach as far.

"What’s going on with you?" you asked, setting the sketchpad aside.

He shrugged, looking down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About....?"

He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally meeting your gaze. "You ever feel like… I don’t know. Like people only see what they want to see when they look at you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Where’s this coming from?"

He shrugged again, more defensively this time. "It’s just… I don’t know. Everyone’s always saying stuff, you know? About me. Pretty boy this, golden boy that. Like that’s all I am."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "You know that’s not true, right?"

"Isn’t it?" he countered, his voice softer now, more uncertain.

"My beloved Lando." You said his name like it was the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. "You’re so much more than what people say. You’re brilliant, and kind, and funny, annoyingly so, actuall. You care about the people around you more than you probably should."

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you with this look that made your chest tighten.

"I don’t see some ‘pretty boy,’" you continued. "I see you. The real you. And if other people don’t, that’s their loss. But just saying, you are pretty."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re too good at this whole therapy talk thing, you know that?"

You smirked, leaning back against the couch again. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep your ego contained."

He laughed then, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through a cloud. And when he looked back at you, the spark in his eyes was there again, faint but unmistakable.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"For what?"

"For being here. For being… ," He took a deep breath, arms raising and falling, like he was trying to cut the air. "You.”

Your smile softened, and you shrugged. "Someone’s gotta put up with you."

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Lucky me, huh?"

And in the glow of the room, with the soft hum of the music in the background, you thought maybe you were the lucky one.

[drewsephrry]

hiii congrats on 2k!!! you deserve it so much <33

💋 prompt list a: "i need space" + "you can't leave me"

tyyy

thank you so much lovie!! 🤍🤍

2k celberation!!!

warnings: cuss words, blood

The knock on your door wakes you up from your deep slumber. You look at your phone screen, showing it's 2am. You get up and pull on your slippers as you cautiously walk downstairs. As you reach the front door, you check through the peephole, finding Rafe, your boyfriend outside your door, blood dripping from his nose. You immediately open the door, worried expression on your face.

“Rafe…oh my god!” You exclaim in shock. He wipes the blood from his nose.

“Hey baby…” he smiles wide as he enters the house. You grab his face and pull him with you to the bathroom. You close the cover of the toilet seat and make him sit down on it. You rummage through the cabinet for your first aid kit.

“On the left.” he whispers, familiar with the first aid kit now. Rafe's temper had always been a problem. He got into a lot of fights often, because he couldn't control his anger. You had scolded him multiple times about it but he never seemed to listen.

You grab the first aid kit and stand between his legs as you examine his face. A cut on his cheek, a bruise starting to form on his jaw, a busted lip and a bloody nose adorning his face. You try and successfully stop the nosebleed, before applying some alcohol disinfectant on a cotton pad to clean the cut. When the alcohol makes contact with the cut, he hisses as it stings and holds your hips in response.

“Sorry.” You groan, your guilt evident on your face. He shakes his head as you continue cleaning up the cut.

“It's not your fault.” He whispers. He lets you do your work quietly. Bandaging up the cut and putting some ointment on the bruise on his jaw. When you're done, you clean up the kit and wash your hands, your back in front of him and he looks at you waiting for a reaction. He knew you didn't like when he got into fights and he knew he was gonna get a lecture again. You turn around and lean on the counter, crossing your arms expectantly.

“So..? What happened?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“You're not gonna like the answer…” Rafe exclaims jokingly and he looks up at you, expecting something. Even the smallest smile from you would make him feel a lot better than the worried expression you had. He sighs, when he notices the absence of anything.

“I-I got into a fight…with some stupid guy at the club.” He reveals and you nod.

“Why, this time?” You ask, jabbing at him for all the other fights he has been in. He rolls his eyes.

“Doesn't matter.” He replies, but knowing you and how stubborn you get, he knew you'd push.

“Please, tell me.” You beg and when he sees the concern in your eyes as you do, he nods.

“He…he said some stuff about you. And I-I couldn't…control myself. I couldn't let him talk shit about you.” Your eyebrows furrow even more. The sight of him battered and bruised, because he tried to defend you, doesn't make you feel good as he expected it to. You sigh and look up to the ceiling.

“We've talked about this, Rafe. You can't keep getting into stupid fights. Losing your temper like that…” You begin.

“It's not stupid…I was trying to defend you. I wasn't gonna let him or anyone talk like that about you.” He interrupts you, frustrated that you cannot understand him. I shake my head, looking away from him.

“What? Huh? You're gonna get upset again and-and start fucking lecturing me again? Can you not see that I did this for you?” His face filled with frustration and some anger.

“I didn't ask you to do any of this!” You snap. “Do you think it's easy for me to see you hurt? To have to clean you up? Think again…”

Rafe sighs, suddenly feeling some guilt for making you feel this way, but doesn't have any remorse about what he did.

“I am not gonna apologize for fighting that guy. Or anyone disrespecting you. I don't care that I got, what? A bruise…and a busted lip? I've gotten worse before, sweetheart. You shouldn't worry about me. I can handle it.”

You sigh at his words, knowing that if you reply, the fighting cycle will just keep going.

“You know what…I can't do this. I'm tired.” You look down fidgeting with one of your rings. The promise one, Rafe got you not too long ago. He notices that bad habit of yours and gets up from the toilet seat.

“Yeah, me too.” He sighs too, pulling your hand away from your ring. “We can sleep it off. Or talk about it later.”

“No, Rafe..” You start “I mean, I'm tired of this.” You close your eyes and his eyebrows furrow in worry, his chest filling with pain as he tries to understand what you mean. And hoping it doesn't mean what he thinks.

“What?” He asks, anxiety taking over. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean…fuck, aren't you tired? Of us. Arguing all the time. And for stupid things.” You reveal, but his mind is stuck. Of us. That little phrase meant everything he feared. You were gonna leave him.

When he doesn't say anything, you sigh again, closing your eyes.

“I…I need some space.” His heart aches and he shakes his head.

“No, baby…we can talk. We…I…please..”

You look up, your eyes glossy, as your lips tremble trying to contain your emotions. His eyes widen and he reaches for you.

“Baby. Hey, hey. No, we can fix this. I-I can fix this. Just…please. Don't…” he sighs “Please, don't leave me. You can't leave me. I…I need you, baby. Sweetheart, please” He exclaims. Rafe is not one who expresses his feelings in words often. Usually he shows it to you by getting you gifts, taking you to expensive trips and dates, making you dinner and treating you to a nice bath or something. Being vulnerable is not something he is used to, but when it comes to you he doesn't care.

He touches your shoulder gently, reaching for the back of your neck to pull you to look up at him.

“Please…” You wrap your arms around him before you start sobbing. His heart aches at the sound and wraps his arms around you immediately.

“Hey…shh. I got you. I am here.” He kept repeating.

After a few minutes, your sobs subside into quiet sniffles. You pull back to look at him.

“I don't wanna…I didn't…mean it.” You try to explain but he cuts you off with a shake of his head.

“No, don't. You don't need to explain anything. I am an idiot. I keep getting into fights and I know how much that bothers you. I will stop. If that's what you want me to do, I will stop. I don't care.” He says determined to fix this mess he created. “Just please. Don't leave me.” He whispers and you nod.

“I won't. I can't. Ever.” He smiles at your words and leans down to kiss your forehead.

“I love you, my sweet girl. I love how you take care of me. And I love that you're worrying about me. I really fucking appreciate you. Okay? I know…I don't say it enough. But I do!” He exclaims and you smile slightly.

“I love you too.” You whisper. He leans down and captures your lips into his.

“I will fix this. I swear. I will make it better. I will do better. Just…don't go.” You nod at his words and he wraps his arms around you.

You might fight often, but Rafe will do whatever it takes to fix it. To never lose you.

A/N: this might just been my fav blurb i have written so far. i did get a little carried away with it. i hope you enjoy this and is somewhat what you expected!!🤍

[biscuityskies]

Fortunately, I don’t think this quite means what you might think it does. While it looks bad on the surface, it’s mostly because we’re primed for thinking that everything is already going to shit in this very moment.

To sum it up, AO3 uses this information primarily for legal purposes; if you don’t get into legal trouble with AO3, the likelihood of AO3 needing your personal data goes way down. This post does a better job explaining it than I could.

Let’s still remember that rollouts of Project 2025 are likely going to happen slowly, and we still have two full months before the Trump administration even takes the White House. They can start priming things, but fortunately I think AO3 will be lower on their list than some of the other directives they’ve mentioned.

I still encourage preparedness, and I still recommend starting to move bookmarks into downloads. For people who are anything like me, tasks that are daunting take forever to get around to, so it’s good to at least start thinking about it now.

With the impending implementation of Project 2025, I suspect that AO3 will come under fire as well. And given that it’s a US based organisation, and the US has wedged itself somehow into every possible thing, I would also suspect that this will have global impacts. I cannot be certain of it - I’m certainly not an expert on political things and Trump remains, frankly, unpredictable - but I have personally found it’s more helpful to prepare beforehand than to scramble to keep myself afloat in the midst of a crisis. Knowing how important our favourite stories are to so many of us, here’s what I suggest:

Readers, I recommend you find your favourite stories again. Go all the way back in your bookmarks. Tell the authors you appreciate them, and you love their work. I think we could all use some nice words right now. If you want to keep the story, I recommend downloading it: here’s a guide on how to do so from the AO3 FAQ. I personally have wanted to take up bookbinding for a hot second; I might print off my favourite fics for myself and figure out how to bind them. The OTW also recommends downloading your favourites - see link below.

Authors, I recommend you keep your manuscripts. Download them onto an external flash drive and save them for a rainy day four or so years from now. Even the ones you don’t like are worth keeping - I guarantee you somebody else likes them even if you don’t. (I’m speaking to myself here, too.) Project 2025 has blatantly laid out a ban of pornography, and they will take that to mean whatever they want it to; I suggest you don’t even keep your fics on a Google drive if possible it’s definitely easier to keep them all online, trust me, I know, but so does the government. Corporations do not care about you: they will sell you out to whoever is willing to pay. Remember also to turn off AI scraping wherever possible, or better yet use sites that don’t engage in that behaviour.

For further reading from people more qualified than I, here’s the OTW’s statement on what their plans are so far.

I hope I’m wrong. I honestly would love nothing more. But more importantly, we will get through this. Humanity has told stories and put blorbos in situations for literal millennia. We’ll see the other side of this.

[moonstruckme]

And since you're such an angel, I would love some:

snow angels with doctor!remus

Thank you and please hydrate 💧

Awee you're too sweet to me, thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood (not a lot? if that helps), dizziness/lightheadedness

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 686 words

Remus cups your face in his hand, brows woven together in concern. “Did you eat lunch?” he asks you. 

“Yeah.” 

“What’d you have?” He swipes his thumb gently over your cheek before leaving you, going into the nearby bathroom. 

“A sandwich.” You sound a bit defensive, which isn’t strictly fair. You know you gave Remus a bit of a fright when he came home to find you lying on the rug between the living room and the kitchen, too scared to get up. It was perhaps a tad dramatic—you could’ve walked over to the couch if you’d really wanted to, you’re sure—but you didn’t see any point in pushing yourself when you felt so dizzy and shaky on your feet. Remus has taken it as more cause for alarm than you have. 

He comes back with a blood pressure monitor and a couple of other things, setting them on the kitchen table in front of you. “That sounds fine,” he murmurs, taking your arm to slide the cuff up it. You have the sensation of swaying in your seat, but you’re not sure if it’s really happening or only in your head. “And it’s been going on for how long?” 

“Since maybe two.” You lean sideways so your head rests on his chest. Remus’ free hand comes up to hold it there gently, pinkie stroking the baby hairs by your temple as the cuff inflates around your arm. 

“You should have called me, sweetheart.” 

“I was okay,” you tell him. “I didn’t really think I was gonna pass out or anything, I just thought it’d be safer to sit down.” 

Remus’ hum conveys some disapproval, but he doesn’t seem to think it’s worthwhile to continue arguing with you. The blood pressure monitor beeps, and he leans forward to read it. 

“Hm, that’s normal.” He takes the cuff off you with a satisfying ripping sound. You curl and flex your fingers against the odd feeling. 

Remus holds your head to his chest with his free hand while he leans forward, grabbing something else off the counter. He takes your hand, but you pull it from his grasp when you see what he’s holding, sitting up. 

“Remus,” you whine. 

He chuckles at your tone. “Dove, it’ll be quick.” 

You let him take your hand again, but don’t allow him to pull it near that clicker thing. “Is it going to hurt?” you worry. 

“No.” 

You make a low, petulant sound in the back of your throat. Ordinarily you might be embarrassed for it, but you’re feeling rather self-pitying right now and entitled to some sulking. “Really?” 

“Yes, love. Relax.” 

Still feeling mistrustful, you allow him to pull your hand closer. He pricks the pad of your finger. 

“Ow—Rem!” 

“It’s okay,” Remus shushes you. “All done.” 

“That hurt,” you complain, vindicated, as he collects the bead of blood on a reader. 

“I know,” he admits. “It does, a little. But only for a second, yeah?” 

You make your displeasure known through your silence. 

“Look.” Remus takes your finger, kissing the back. “It’s better now, see?” He brings your head to his chest again, and it’s difficult to keep from softening when he kisses that, too. “Sorry, dovey.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, begrudging, only because he really does seem to feel a bit bad. 

“Mm.” He reads your blood sugar. “You’re at ninety two.” 

“Is that good?” 

“It’s normal.” Remus holds your cheek again, looking down at you and stroking pensively with his thumb. You’re not sure if he’s feeling for something or just touching you; you’re happy either way. 

He hums softly. “Do you feel tired as well?” 

“A little, yeah.” 

“Headache?” 

You tilt your head back to see him. “What’s it mean?” 

“I’ll take that for a yes, then.” His lips curve softly. “I’m not completely sure what it means yet, but I’ve got a couple of theories.” 

“Can you fix it?” you ask, though really you have complete faith. Remus always fixes it. 

He kisses your head again like he knows what you’re thinking. His lips make a soft landing just short of your hairline. “We’ll see.” 

[redr0sewrites]

❤️‍🩹A/n: i love him. again, more shameless, filthy filthy smut. he must suffer the wrath of my period hormones.

❤️‍🩹Cw: smut, sub!inexperienced!shigaraki, fem!dom!reader, fluff, riding, overstim, praise, humiliation kink, very mild voyeurism

pretty.

all Shigaraki could think about as you bounced up and down on his cock was just how pretty you look. your cheeks were flushed and your pupils blown out like a dog in heat, and yet somehow you still held control over him like he was some precious mutt you'd managed to tame- and fuck did he enjoy it. and by the looks of it, so did you.

"you having fun down there pretty boy? wonder what the others would think, seeing their mighty leader mewling like a bitch in heat over getting to fuck a real pussy for the first time," theres a teasing lilt to your voice that makes him shiver, yet he presses into the hand that cups his face regardless. he nods, and you coo, babying him like he's some sort of exotic pet. his cock twitches at the thought- he'll unpack that later.

"aw, you enjoying yourself? bet the real thing's ssso much better than some cheap replica, hm? were you that desperate to fuck me, tomura?" you nod your head in the direction of the sex toy, long since discarded in favor of you riding him.

his head is far too fuzzy to reply, so he settles for nodding desperately, too lost in the pleasure to even form a cohesive sentence.

"answer me, Tomura."

your voice rings out commanding and cold as the hand that had been cupping his face so gently grips his hair harshly, wrenching his head back to expose his neck.

"or do you want me to stop?"

"mmngh,, no! nno ma'am," he slurs, whimpering as you press sloppy kisses to his now exposed neck.

"aw, good boy Tomura. and you- ffuck, used your manners too! guess that calls for a reward, don't you think?"

you nibble at the junction of his collarbone, testing to see how much he reacts before biting down hard. Shigaraki lets out an uncharacteristic whimper, tugging at the restraints holding his hands to the bedposts above him. he made it clear that this was a definite condition of sleeping with him- he wanted there to be absolutely no chance that he could accidentally hurt you with his quirk, especially since he's so inexperienced. it was both sad, and a little cute, how much he cared about your safety when he was the one being fucked absolutely senseless!

a sharp role of his hips causes a stuttered whine to slip past your lips, quickly swallowed by Shigaraki in a deep kiss. teeth and tongue clash together as you finally kiss him on the lips, and he strains to meet you halfway.

"please," he gasps into your mouth, and you take the opportunity to brush away the pale hair sticking to his forehead from sweat so that you can see his eyes. "please, i've been so good.." he trails off , looking up at you pleadingly.

you smile before pulling him in to another kiss, while your hands slam down on his chest, forcing him into the mattress. Tomura mewls beneath you, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as you ride him with newfound fury. you fondle his chest as you kiss him dizzy, one hand pinches a nipple between two fingers while the other trails down to feel each twitch of his stomach as you ride him.

"you have been good, baby. i said i would reward you, didn't i? you wanna cum, don't you?" if Tomura had a tail, you were quite sure it would be wagging right now. he stares up at you with glazed, lust filled eyes and nods fervently. Shigaraki's back arches as you begin to pick up your pace, and he's nearly drooling as he watches your chest bounce witn each roll of your hips. his thighs shudder as you rise up until your nearly hovering over him, before slamming back down onto his cock. his mushroom tip reaches your g spot with ease, and you can feel your own orgasm building up as well.

"you close, honey?" you rasp, cupping his face and slowing down so that you can savor each roll of your hips. you practically have each ridge and vein of his cock memorized, and he twitches inside you as his tip ever so lightly nudges your cervix.

"mngh- mhm!" he responds eagerly, throwing his head back into the soft pillows and once again giving you access to his neck. you happily oblige, sucking a few more dark marks into his skin. your teeth against his flesh makes him tremble, and he lets out a sharp gasp as his orgasm approaches without warning.

"o-oh ffuck, gonna!" Shigaraki moans, and his cock twitches once, twice, three times inside you. "gonna cum pretty boy? c'mon, doing so good f'me," you whisper in his ear before pressing a wet kiss to his neck. yojr praise sends him tumbling over the edge, and Tomura lets out a string of fumbling curses before cumming inside. for a few seconds he continues rolling his hips, fucking his release deeper inside of you, and its the feeling of him filling you up that makes the coil in your stomach snap. you gush around him, clenching and moaning wantonly as your orgasm washes over you.

you continue rutting against him for a few more seconds, prolonging your high before collapsing against his chest in a heap of sweat and exhaustion. Shigaraki whines beneath you as he pulls out, and you roll to the side before removing his restraints. he rubs his sore wrists, and you take the opportunity to nuzzle in close, burying your head into his neck.

"that was... really nice," you mumble, and he hums in response, embarrassment preventing him from replying.

"maybe.. we could do it again sometime?" you ask, and Shigaraki pulls away to look at you. for a split second, he looks almost... hopeful, before his usual facade returns.

"if that's what you want," he grumbles, but returns to holding you regardless.

"definitely." you reply, before slotting yourself against is bare body.

"do you mind if i stay the night, Tomura?"

"..no, i guess not."

CRYING SCREAMING I NEED HIM SO BAD HES SOOOOO. second to touya he's the loml fr 😭😭😭

[animeyanderelover]

The way of an aggressive yet very loving househusband

Tw: Yandere themes, obsession, possessive behavior, overprotective behavior, aggression but not in the way you may think, darling has periods, abduction, this is no poly relationship by the way

Can I just say that Bakugou and Barou are basically the same type of a Yandere almost down to the tee? A type which I have decided to call the aggressive househusband.

Think about it. Both are really intimidating and scary and I wouldn't hold it against you if you would be very scared of them the first time. You see how Bakugou constantly yells at people and glares at them with his red eyes. You see how Barou completely annihilates people on the field as if this was more than just a sport and notice how he towers over anyone who annoys him off whilst glaring at them with his red eyes.

So you when you are abducted you genuinely believe the worst is going to happen. That you'll be stuck with a violent and aggressive man obsessed with you who will physically harm you and beat you up.

Only for none of that to happen.

Obviously he isn't happy to see you being so scared of him. Yes, he isn't going to deny that he is maybe a tad bit scary but you're acting like he's going to undo his belt at any moment and give you a goddamn whipping.

However, despite him being quite offended that you would put him in the same category as a fucking abuser he knows that he has to give you his patience right now. Acting right into any stereotypes you have already out him into would only harm his reputation more.

He speaks quieter and tries to sound less harsh when he's talking to you. He bends down so that both of you are on the same height or he sits down somewhere so that he is actually looking up at you whilst you are looking down on him. He gives you your space. Yes, he still checks in on you because he is considerate and not fucking stupid but he doesn't invade your privacy.

His aggressive side resurfaces as soon as chores are involved but in a way you would have never expected. He is a bloody perfectionist and no matter how you clean your room, wipe the tables or vacuum-clean the floor, you somehow never do it right. There is always something that he has to criticise. There is a spot on the mirror left from when you brushed your teeth. You forgot to clean under that little gap of your wardrobe. You didn't fold your shirts right.

The list goes on.

He doesn't hit you though and yells at you that you never do stuff right and that you're useless. No, instead he guides you promptly to the bedroom, pushes you into the mattress and just bluntly tells you that you can just watch one of the 10+ Streaming Sides he pays for whilst he is going to properly clean the goddamn house. And whilst you are sitting in bed, slightly perplexed by what just happened, he is mopping the floor and mutters occasionally about how he can't believe that you can't even clean properly. That's fine though. He can do that for you.

He cooks for you. Every day. Without fail. He hates when you go out and eat some junk food. Sure, he is guilty of eating it once in a while too but it is different when it comes to you. You shouldn't enjoy greasy and unhealthy food unless it is his greasy and unhealthy food that he has prepared for you. Don't expect him to cook you that stuff every day though. He will cook nutritious and healthy food for you and you better eat what he serves or he will be very mad and grumble about it for the entire rest of the day.

You want to go an a diet? Don't even dare to attempt any bullshit diet a beauty influencer on Instagram, YouTube or other social platforms has recommended. He happens to know the one or other thing about a diet that is actually healthy and still tastes good.

You want to try a new dish? Write him down the groceries he needs and he's the next evening in the kitchen, all ingredients tidily placed in front of him as he reads the recipe through before he starts to prepare the dish.

If you want juice he is not buying the bottles but the fruits themselves and prepares fresh juice for you. If it's orange juice you want he just squeezes every last drop out with his bare fists before he serves it in a glass to you. He generally keeps a lot of fruits and vegetables in his fridge because he likes to prepare randomly a small bowl for you so that you consume your vitamins and minerals.

You, who has lived a humble life the first twenty-something years of your life, always look at price tags when something catches your eye and as soon as you notice a number far too high with what you're comfortable to spend you just turn around.

Case closed.

Or maybe not.

Because in the next moment your lover is dragging you into the store with him, grabs whatever it is that caught your eye and then asks you with a scowl on his face if there is anything else that you would like since the two of you are already in here. Do not let yourself be mislead by that scowl on his face. What he really means to say to you is "if there is anything else you want just fucking grab it because I have the money". Honestly, who do you think is he earning all his money for nowadays?

Taxes and all other paperwork is something he mainly does. You are free to help if you insist but be aware that he is most likely going to complain about something again because there is always something he can nag about.

You never have to worry about running out of pads or tampons because he always keeps those shelves filled. As soon as you're down one package a new one magically appears the next day. He's not one of those guys who feels embarrassed about buying this stuff for you. I mean, who is going to make fun of him? Most people are in general far too scared to comment about it when they see him standing in line with packages of pads in his basket.

He ensures that you have all your needed doctor appointments. A general health check. A visit at your gynaecologist. A visit at the dentist. All of that at least twice a year so that he can see it through that something is treated the moment it is spotted.

When you're sick he is the best person to take care of you. He doesn't judge you for your terrible mood, the coughs, the sneezes or other symptoms you may experience. However, he is going to bully the spoon of medicine in your mouth, is going to monitor you to see it through that you consume your tablet and will carry you right back to bed and wrap you up as soon as you attempt to do something when you should rest instead.

Scary dog privilege is real with him just as much as the saying "my girl can wear whatever the fuck she wants because I can fight". It doesn't matter at which time in which location you are at, absolutely no one is getting to you with him by your side.

As soon as he notices someone giving you a weird look or oogling at you suggestively? Then it's up to you to cling to his torso as he drags you with him, red eyes promising a burial. Luckily you manage to be a voice of reason and stop him from potentially committing a crime in public.

You realise that you have severely misjudged him. Apparently you really shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

[tehkusogaki]

I'm seeing a lot of people in the comments disparaging this remake, but I do want to go into a few reasons why it doesn't look as strong as the original.

Now of course no one is immune to nostalgia goggles and it's very easy to have that "they changed it, now it sucks!" instinctive reaction, so I am going to try to critique specific things and go into why I think they don't work as well.

First, I want to point out the composition of these two shots and specifically where the focus is.

In our original Hiccup and Toothless literally meet in the middle. With both Toothless and Hiccup pushed off the edge of the screen.

In this version they kept Hiccup fully in scene, but look how the focus of the action is now off to the side. We aren't focusing on either character-- they're both still pushed off to the edges of the screen-- but it's no longer both of them coming together in the middle, but rather Hiccup taking up the scene with Toothless starting to invade it.

Now this bit may be a little nit-picky, but look how perfectly the curve of Hiccup's hand matches Toothless's snout in the original in a way they don't in second image. They are so close, running parallel to each other. That's a very powerful image, and the remake doesn't quite match it.

I see a lot of people in the notes saying the lighting sucks, but no one explaining why. Looking at the bottom pic, you can see it actually has a greater value scale. There are a lot more midtones. Why is this bad? Because the action disappears into the background.

In the first pic there is a clear line of action going from Hiccup's arm to Toothless. By having these the lightest areas in the shot your eye is drawn to them. Then the darkest parts are Toothless's body and Hiccup's vest and hair which make them pop from the background. The most visible part of Toothless is his eye. There's a little bit of highlight on his scales and there's lighter midtones around his body to help clarify his silhouette, but we are drawn to his eye because of the light on dark contrast.

In the lower pic there is some highlight on toothless's scales (look at all that Texture! Wowee! We sure can put our computers to good use adding in details), but why is that the part on Toothless that stands out? Why is that important? Hiccup's arm kind of disappears into the background, and I can see more detail in the background than in our main character. The light sandy beach wants to draw my eye down, but there's nothing important there.

Now I put these in black and white to better see the contrast, but back to the color version, the background is mostly cool tones with warm light settling on our characters: another way in which the first one makes the characters stand out.

The only thing really catching my eye in the second one is that the greens are maybe too green? I'm not getting the same delineation of foreground and background.

There are a few other things to be picky about.

Like Hiccup's costume. Now I don't know enough about costumes to confidently pick it apart detail by detail (and honestly can't make out enough details to do so anyway) but what is one of Hiccup's defining traits? His scrawniness, right?

Look at that skinny little arm reaching out for that dragon. Look how that thin strip of lighter colored fabric visible from under his vest accentuates how slender his trunk is. Look how clearly you can see how he leans away from Toothless even as he reaches out for him. You can see the hesitation in his arm through his slightly bent elbow.

I feel like the bulky, loose costume on the actor makes him look bigger than he should and obscures body language.

Now here's the part where I want to remind y'all that art is subjective. These are some of my thoughts on this, but are by no means the only way view this. Also, please be nice to this kid. He got a chance to play a favorite childhood character. I'm sure he thought it was pretty cool to be given the opportunity and is trying really hard to live up to the role. None of the things I've pointed out here are his fault. Don't be a dick! Actors are people too.

I don't like that this is a thing. But I'm sure many people really tried to put in their best effort into this. Don't let your ire with Universal/DreamWorks for making a cash grab of your childhood nostalgia turn into harassment of artists and actors. I've seen that happen too frequently.

And remember: animation isn't an inferior art form, sometimes it really is the best medium to tell a story in.

httyd got live actioned. trailer just dropped and its uh. hm

idk what i was expecting but what looks like a shot-for-shot remake except with ugly ass high definition cgi that detracts from rather than enhances the cinematography really is. well it's a choice.

[killerelysia]

Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader!

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don't interact!

Words:10004

Genre: Yandere-(Self aware yandere won the poll)

Summary: You’ve become consumed by your obsession with Solivan Brugmansia. What started as innocent curiosity quickly spiraled into a fixation. He started it and you began to stalk him, learning every detail about his life. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction in making Sol’s world safer while growing increasingly delusional about your connection with him. Your love for him deepens as you fantasize about the future, convinced that you are the one who truly understands him—better than anyone else. Despite the line between reality and obsession blurring, you remain certain: Sol is yours, even if he doesn’t know it yet.. You're his and he's yours...

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, mental instability, and delusional thinking, Drugging, Yandere?, Hopeless in love for attention Please read with caution.

Obsessive behavior: The reader becomes dangerously fixated on someone, bordering on stalking and delusion.

Manipulation: The reader engages in schemes to control or harm others, often through deception.

Mental illness: Delusional thinking, possible dissociation from reality, and unhealthy fixation on someone.

Violence: There are references to bullying, physical harm, and emotional manipulation.

Emotional abuse: Both in terms of how the protagonist manipulates others and how they might internalize toxic behaviors.

Stalking: The reader watches and follows the person they are obsessed with.

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, The relationship presented here between sol and reader is extremely toxic!! In no way, Just because I'm writing doesn't mean I support this kind of toxicity. Note, It's okay to like sol if you know the flaws and don't be a blind eye on them! Again, I don't support his actions etc! If you hate sol ignore this.

You always knew something was off within the labyrinth of your mind, an ache that whispered solitude in every corner. Perhaps it was loneliness, so profound that you yearned for someone to notice you—anything to shift the weight of your gaze from them to you. Some flicker of curiosity, a moment that lingered in the eyes of another.

Love? No, it wasn't something you believed you deserved. That thought had long been etched into your consciousness like a brand. But if, by some twist of fate, someone were to fall for you, you’d ensnare them with relentless support until they admitted it, an inexplicable, almost desperate logic born from the shadowed corners of your heart.

The end of the first semester brought the storm. It wasn’t just another rough day; it was the day you became a target for the school’s cruelest crew. Fists flew, words cut, and everything seemed to blend into one terrifying blur until Crowe stepped in, his eyes dark with determination.

"Thank goodness you're unharmed," he gasped, breathing heavily, each word a raw mix of relief and pain.

"You’re worried about me? Look at you, you're the one who’s hurt!" Your voice quivered, the disbelief clashing with gratitude.

He stood there, battle-worn and steady, blood trickling from a split lip, the bruises stark against his pale skin. Those who had cornered you were finally satisfied, leaving with the empty laughter of the bored and cruel. Crowe looked at you and shrugged, the glint in his eyes softening.

"As long as you’re safe, this doesn’t matter."

A warmth spread through your chest, alien and consuming. Someone cared. Someone defended you, unyielding in their resolve.

"What's your name, crazy prince?"

He managed a tired, almost mischievous smile. "Jericho. Jericho Ichabod. But just call me Crowe."

You exhaled a shaky breath. "Nice to meet you, Crowe. Call me Y/N."

That moment in the clinic, under the unforgiving fluorescent lights and the sterile scent of antiseptic, became the silent contract that bonded you two. You shared conversations, silent glances, and a strange understanding that made the world seem a little less harsh. For a while, you even harbored a crush, tender and tentative.

But then it hit you, as sudden as that fateful day. Crowe would have done the same for anyone—he was simply good. He was kind. The realization struck with an ache so deep it nearly broke you. Love, you learned, was an unrequited script in your story. But you respected him too much to let it taint what was there.

You laughed at the absurdity of your own heart, wondering how it had come to this: delusional, hopeful, but still grateful for the fleeting feeling of being someone’s concern.

There was always that gnawing thought, like a shadow, lurking at the back of your mind. You tried to shake it off, but it whispered relentlessly: There’s something wrong with the way you love. Maybe it was the way you sought attention, not in small doses but in that raw, hungry kind of way. The way you craved someone’s gaze not as a fleeting glance but as an unwavering fixation.

Too much, you thought, turning the phrase over and over like a bitter pill on your tongue. You wanted to be loved so desperately that it bordered on obsession, a gnawing, insatiable need. It wasn’t the soft, gentle kind of love you read about or saw in movies—it was something darker, almost suffocating. It made your chest tighten with both longing and dread.

You swallowed hard, a dry laugh slipping past your lips as the thought settled in: That’s just you, isn’t it? Creepy Y/N, always wanting more, always needing to be consumed by the flame of someone’s attention. A shiver traced down your spine, and you hugged your arms close, seeking comfort in the cold truth.

Now, you’ve perfected the act. You've slipped so far into delusion that reality feels like it’s cracking at the edges, and your mind might not make it back intact. But you only have one task: work relentlessly and pay off the debt, save the farm that’s been the lifeblood of your family.

Your obsession with love, you remind yourself, is nothing but a sickness—a distraction, unhealthy and unneeded. Focus, you think. Study. Keep your head down. Your father believes in you, doesn’t he? He trusts you with this responsibility. But would anyone love a mess like you anyway? The question loops bitterly in your mind, self-loathing taking hold before you even have the chance.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?” You tell yourself.

Something felt off for a few weeks now, like an odd tension building in the corners of your life. It was... something. It wasn’t anything you could pinpoint, but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

A pair of eyes, always there, always watching. At first, it was subtle—just a flicker of awareness when you turned a corner or sat down. But it was more than that. It was almost a presence, an invisible force that seemed to follow your every move. It wasn’t a simple glance. No, it was far more intense, almost stalking.

And yet, a strange part of you... liked it. It sent a thrill through you, a kind of adrenaline rush you couldn’t explain. You’d find yourself sitting in class, pretending to study, but the sensation of being watched made your heart race. It wasn’t discomfort—it was excitement, a twisted thrill, something you couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t just at University. No, it followed you home too. As you entered your room, you couldn’t help but feel the familiar weight of someone’s gaze on you, lingering in the dark corners, watching through the crack in your door. Your mind spun with a chaotic mix of fear and anticipation. Who was it? Why were they watching you?

There was no reason for it—at least, none you could rationalize. And yet, you found yourself... hoping to meet them. Wanting to meet them. A part of you longed to finally see the one who’d been following you in the shadows. Because somehow, you knew they were close. You knew they were waiting for the right moment to step out from the

The next morning, something was off. The usual routine of brushing off your paranoia seemed heavier, more tangible. Your bedroom window, which you always locked at night, was ajar. Not just unlocked—it had slid open slightly, exposing a crack wide enough to send shivers down your spine. You tried to push it closed, but the latch was broken, the mechanism jammed beyond repair. Had it always been like this?

You stared at it for a moment, the realization sinking in: someone could have come in. Someone might have been inside.

You tried to shake it off, but as the day went on, more pieces fell into place. A gnawing sense of violation crept up your spine when you went to grab your laundry and noticed... something was missing. Not just something—specific clothes. Shirts you’d worn recently, soft hoodies you curled up in, a pair of socks that didn’t match but had sentimental value. Gone.

Your chest tightened, panic flooding your veins, but it wasn’t just fear. A part of you—some sick, pathetic part—felt thrilled. Someone is watching me.

The thought settled in, heavy and dark, but the sharp edges of logic began to dull. Who would stalk you? You’re not even pretty. You weren’t special. Not worth the effort. And yet, here you were, clothes missing, your window breached, the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze following you through every step of your day.

“Normal people would think this isn’t fine,” you muttered aloud to yourself, trying to anchor yourself in rationality. This isn’t fine. This isn’t okay.

But the words fell flat. Somewhere in your mind, reality started to bend. Yes, it was wrong—stalking was wrong. It was invasive, dangerous, terrifying. And yet, the pounding in your chest wasn’t just fear. It was curiosity. It was longing.

The thought twisted in your mind, dark and intrusive: What kind of person would go this far just for me? They must care. They must want to know you in a way no one else ever had. What do they see when they watch? What do they think about?

You couldn’t help yourself. The idea of being desired so intensely that someone would break into your life, leave pieces of themselves hidden in the cracks of your existence—it sent a thrill through you. Wrong. So wrong. But intoxicating.

You paced your room that evening, staring at the broken latch on the window. The moonlight spilled across the floor in sharp lines, almost like it was pointing at the scene of the crime. A part of you wondered if they were watching now. Standing somewhere in the dark, just out of reach, their breath fogging up the glass.

Who even are you? Why me?

The questions spun in your mind, each one pulling you deeper into a strange obsession of your own. You should be scared. You should be scared. But instead, you were intrigued. Drawn in. You wanted to know this person, to see the face that lingered in the shadows.

You sat down at your desk, your reflection catching in the window’s glass. “This isn’t normal,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly. “I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t want this.”

But you did. You couldn’t deny it any longer. The thought of someone dedicating their time, their energy, their every waking moment to you—it filled a hole you didn’t know existed. You craved that kind of devotion, twisted as it was.

You caught yourself smiling, a wry, self-deprecating grin. “God, I’m a mess,” you whispered. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. Why do I feel this way?

The truth settled in, stark and undeniable: you’d never felt wanted before. Not like this. And now, even if it was wrong, even if it was dangerous, you couldn’t help but feel... excited. Like something in your life was finally happening, shaking you out of the monotony of existence.

You wanted to meet them. To see them. To understand the face behind the gaze that followed you everywhere you went. You told yourself it wasn’t love—not yet. But it was something. Something raw and electric, and you weren’t sure you could resist it.

Your fixation deepened, evolving from a vague thrill to deliberate action. The missing items didn’t alarm you anymore—they exhilarated you. At first, it was small things: a pen left behind on a desk or the bench outside class. Accidental, you told yourself. But you knew better. You weren’t careless. You’d started leaving things on purpose, wondering, hoping, knowing they would take them.

And they did.

The pen was gone when you returned, replaced by nothing but the faintest hint of satisfaction in your chest. You tested it again, leaving behind a notebook with a stray doodle inside—gone by the next day. It became a game. A secret dance between you and this unknown figure lurking in your shadow.

The knowledge that someone wanted these pieces of you made your heart race. Pathetic, you thought, but the warmth in your chest told a different story. You were addicted to the idea, to them. And soon, you weren’t just leaving things behind. You were creating a world where they could exist freely.

You didn’t fix the window. Why would you? You liked to imagine them climbing through it, their hands brushing against the sill, their breath in your room. Fixing it would shut them out, make their life harder. You couldn’t do that—not to them. You told yourself it wasn’t because you wanted them inside, because you were inviting them in. No, it was just… considerate. Thoughtful.

The laugh that bubbled up from your throat at the thought startled you. Soft, at first, then louder. “I’m losing it,” you murmured, but the giggles didn’t stop. They spilled out of you, an almost giddy sound as you turned the idea over and over in your head.

If they were coming in, why not make it easier for both of you? Why not see them, finally see them?

That night, you slipped a tiny camera into the corner of your room, hidden carefully in the folds of an old, dusty bookend. It was subtle, unassuming—nothing that would stand out to anyone who didn’t know it was there.

The thrill of it sent a shiver down your spine. Soon, you’d have answers. Soon, you’d see their face, their expressions, their intent. Ah, what would they look like? You’d imagined it before, of course—soft features, a piercing gaze, maybe even a shy smile. Someone who would look at you with the intensity that had kept you up at night, that had followed you for weeks.

You sat in the middle of your room that night, staring at the blinking light on the camera, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “You’ll come, won’t you?” you whispered to no one. The silence answered back, but you weren’t disheartened. You knew they’d come.

You could feel the laughter building up in your chest again, giddy and uncontrollable. The corners of your lips curled upward as you muttered, “I’m going to see you. Heheh… Soon.” The giggle turned into full-blown laughter, sharp and manic as it filled the room.

This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. But God, it was intoxicating.

The thought of finally meeting them, of knowing them, sent your thoughts spiraling. Your hands trembled as you checked the camera one last time before heading to bed. It was all set. Everything was perfect. All that was left was to wait.

As you lay in bed, staring at the broken window, your mind swirled with fantasies of what was to come. Maybe they’d speak to you, confess their reasons for watching, for taking your things. Maybe they’d admit their feelings—feelings you were sure existed, even if you couldn’t yet see them.

And if they didn’t? Well, you’d find out soon enough.

“Come on,” you whispered to the empty room, your voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and desperation. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

And with that, you closed your eyes, letting the thrill of anticipation lull you into restless sleep.

You wake up, drowsy and groggy, blinking as you register the faint glow of your camera's recording light. Your heart skips—not from fear but from a jittery excitement. Did it catch something? Your hands move faster than your thoughts, fumbling to pull up the footage.

Last night had been a blur. You’d tried so hard to stay awake, but the meal you’d eaten earlier had lulled you into a deep, undisturbed sleep. As you scroll through the recording, skipping the mundane moments of you tossing and turning, the feed jumps to him.

The man.

His hair, black with vivid green streaks, is loose, falling in soft waves around his face. The mask he wears obscures most of his features, but his eyes—crimson red on the outer ring with fiery orange at their centers—gleam, focused solely on you. His attire is dark and layered: a black t-shirt over a green-striped long-sleeve, necklaces clinking softly with each of his movements. You even catch a glint of the metallic piercings decorating his ears, the upside-down cross swaying slightly as he leans closer.

And then, he speaks.

“Finally found you, pumpkin,” his voice is soft, smooth, almost reverent. You freeze, your pulse hammering against your ribs. Pumpkin?

“I’m sorry about the window,” he continues, running gloved fingers along the edge of your desk. “But it’s a good thing you didn’t fix it, still.” His tone is teasing, like he’s scolding and praising you all at once.

Your hands hover over the keyboard as he approaches your sleeping form on the screen. He kneels beside you, brushing back a strand of hair from your face with deliberate care. “Hyugo’s pills do work,” he murmurs to himself, chuckling faintly. “They make you sleep so peacefully. I can finally see you at night…”

Then, he leans down. His masked face inches closer to your cheek. You watch, your breath caught, as he plants the softest kiss on your skin.

That explains it. The faint pressure you’d felt in your sleep—the fleeting warmth. Your hand instinctively touches the spot on your cheek, even now, feeling its ghost.

Yet instead of terror, instead of the dread that should’ve consumed you, your heart flutters. A warmth blooms in your chest, spreading, suffocating. You press your clasped hands to your lips, trembling not in fear, but in something else entirely.

The stalker. The man. He…he likes you? Watches you every night, praises you even in your most unguarded moments? It’s wrong. It’s so obviously wrong. The rational part of your mind screams at you to call for help, to fix the window, to run far away.

But instead, you giggle.

The sound bubbles out of you uncontrollably, and you quickly clamp a hand over your mouth. You know this isn’t normal. You know something is terribly broken inside of you. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the twisted elation coursing through your veins.

He’s here. He sees you. He wants you.

You rewind the footage, watching it again. This time, you focus on his words, on the reverent way he speaks to your unconscious self. You note the details: the shine of his hair, the small buckle on his collar-like choker, the way his spider-bite piercings catch the moonlight when he tilts his head. He’s beautiful, like something plucked out of your dreams—or maybe your nightmares.

And now, he’s real.

Your hands shake as you stop the playback, staring blankly at the paused image of him by your bedside. The mask hides so much, but his eyes—they burn into you, even through the screen. You imagine what it would be like to see him without it, to hear his voice unfiltered, to—

You slap your cheeks, shaking your head. Focus, Y/N.

But the truth clings to you, suffocating and intoxicating all at once. You know he’s a stalker. You know this situation is dangerous. Yet the thought of fixing the window, of locking him out for good, feels unbearable. The idea of never seeing him again—of never hearing his voice, his praises—sends a pang of despair through you.

“Delusional,” you whisper to yourself, laughing softly. You curl into yourself, gripping the camera tightly. “I’m so delusional.”

But even as you say it, even as you acknowledge the depths of your spiraling thoughts, you can’t stop the lovesick smile creeping across your face.

You couldn’t shake the image of him—the stalker who had taken such a twisted interest in you. His voice, his praise, the way he watched you with that obsessive focus—it haunted your waking thoughts and danced through your dreams.

You needed to know more about him.

At first, you tried to find clues, anything that could lead you to his identity. You scoured your campus, paying close attention to anyone with black and green-streaked hair, those fiery orange-crimson eyes, or piercings that matched the ones you’d seen on the footage. But nothing. He was a ghost, blending seamlessly into the crowd or watching from somewhere beyond your grasp.

Still, you didn’t give up. Each day, you upped your game. You adjusted your routine to appear natural, but always left subtle traces behind—a scarf forgotten on a bench, a pen dropped intentionally in class. When you circled back, the items were always gone, confirming he was following you even during the day. Good, you thought with a lovesick smile.

Then there was the matter of the food.

You began preparing two batches of every meal—one real and one fake. The fake was the key to your plan. You seasoned it as usual but spiked it with just enough sleeping pills to incapacitate. You made sure to label it with your name, store it visibly in your fridge, and place a half-finished glass of juice beside it. You wanted it to look lived-in, convincing, a perfect trap should he decide to raid your kitchen while you left so he can do be fooled with the fake, food.

Your window remained unfixed, and you started leaving the back door slightly unlocked, just in case. You didn’t want to inconvenience him. He might notice and think you were trying to keep him out, and you couldn’t have that.

Meanwhile, your eyes darted constantly across the campus, scanning crowds for any hint of him. You noted everyone’s schedules, mapped out their movements, even engaged in small talk to see if anyone slipped or seemed overly interested in you. But you were careful, never letting on that you were actively looking for someone.

The high alert you maintained made your classmates think you were just unusually focused. Nobody questioned you, and you made sure to keep up appearances: smiling, laughing when appropriate, pretending you didn’t feel eyes on you during every step you took.

Your awareness sharpened to the point where you could feel even the subtlest shifts in your environment. A shadow lingering a little too long, footsteps trailing you just far enough to seem coincidental, and the faint brush of something in your periphery. It thrilled you.

That night, everything was in place. You prepared your fake dinner, complete with a side of drugged juice, and left it in the kitchen. The back door was left unlocked, the window slightly ajar. You dimmed the lights in your room, slipped into bed, and forced yourself to feign sleep.

Your heart raced as you waited. Will he come tonight?

Time passed, but you stayed still, fighting the urge to peek at the camera feed. If this worked, you would finally get what you wanted—a glimpse of him unguarded, vulnerable.

The plan worked almost too perfectly. The camera, discreetly tucked in a shadowy corner, confirmed what you already suspected—he was breaking in nightly. Sol fell for the fake food every time, drugging it to keep you in a deeper sleep. You couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. He's trying so hard for me.

That night, you left everything in place as usual. The drugged fake food was strategically left out, the door slightly ajar, and your performance as a deep sleeper rehearsed to perfection. You even regulated your breathing to mimic the rise and fall of slumber, fully aware he was watching. The excitement bubbled under your skin, but you held it in check. Be still. He can’t suspect.

You felt him enter, the faintest whisper of air as the door creaked open. He moved quietly, though not silently. Every step he took was deliberate, careful not to wake you. You heard the faint sound of him checking the food, his soft hum of satisfaction as he saw it gone!. Good. He thinks I ate it.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat down beside you. Your pulse quickened, but you kept your breathing steady, your body relaxed. He leaned close, his breath warm against your neck.

“Pumpkin...” he whispered, the word barely audible, yet it sent a shiver down your spine. His voice was soft, tender, laced with a devotion that felt almost holy in its intensity. “You’re so perfect, you know that? Even when you sleep, you’re beautiful.”

You felt his hand brush against your hair, a soft caress like you were something precious, fragile. He moved closer, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you. Then, he did something you didn’t expect—he lay down beside you. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you close as though you belonged there, as though this was his right.

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell like heaven,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. “I’ve waited so long for this. To hold you. To be close to you.”

Your heart clenched. Not in fear or disgust—no, it was something else entirely. He’s... cute? The thought struck you like a lightning bolt, absurd and yet undeniable. There was something endearing about the way he clung to you, his touches reverent, his voice filled with genuine emotion. This is wrong. He’s a stalker. He drugs my food. He breaks into my house... but... You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile.

He continued to whisper sweet nothings, his words blurring into a hazy mix of praise and adoration. “You’re everything to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His hand slid up to brush your hair back, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “You’re mine, pumpkin. You’ll always be mine.”

A part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Mine? You were the one trapping him, leading him into this elaborate game of cat and mouse. And yet, his words made your heart flutter. What is wrong with me? you thought, though the answer was glaringly obvious. You were broken, disturbed, a sick and twisted mirror of his obsession.

But you were self-aware, at least. That counted for something, didn’t it? No. No, it doesn’t, you admitted silently, feeling a pang of guilt.

Still, you played your part perfectly. You didn’t stir as he shifted, wrapping his arms around you more tightly. You felt the weight of his head resting against yours, his breath warm and steady.

“You make me feel alive,” he whispered. “Even if you don’t know it, even if you’d hate me if you did... I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. But instead of fear, you felt a sick sense of satisfaction. He needs me.

You clasped your hands together under the blanket, holding them to your mouth as though in prayer. Your lips curved into a soft smile, hidden from his view. This was real. Someone wanted you, needed you, loved you so obsessively it consumed them.

It didn’t matter that it was wrong, that it was dangerous. You weren’t afraid. If anything, you felt secure, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. How ironic, you thought, giggling softly in your mind. The stalker makes me feel safe.

The hours dragged on, but he didn’t move. He stayed there, holding you as though he was afraid you’d vanish. When his breathing finally evened out, signaling he’d fallen asleep, you dared to open your eyes just a sliver.

You caught a glimpse of his face, partially obscured by the strands of his black-and-green hair. Even in sleep, there was a softness to his features, a vulnerability that made your chest ache.

He’s beautiful.

You closed your eyes again, biting your lip to stifle another giggle. You were a good actor, yes, but deep down, you knew the truth. You weren’t pretending for his sake. You were pretending for yours, to keep up the illusion that you still had control.

Because the reality was, you didn’t.

He had you just as much as you had him.

Each night, you lay in bed, pretending to be under the spell of the fake food laced with sleeping pills. Each night, he came to you, a shadow in the moonlight, and you reveled in his presence.

Your adoration for him grew like an uncontrollable fire, consuming every rational thought. The notebook you'd started was your secret shrine to him. Sketches filled the pages—his face, his hair cascading like a dark waterfall, his intense eyes, the way his lips curled into the faintest smile when he whispered sweet things to your sleeping form. You had to capture it all. Your pencil scratched furiously, your mind replaying his words, his touch, the way he’d caress your face and murmur promises as if you were his most precious treasure.

That night, you prepared everything as usual. The fake food sat on the counter, the door left just barely ajar, your blankets pulled up to mimic serene sleep. You curled into the mattress, feigning slumber, though your heart raced with anticipation.

The familiar sound of the door creaking open sent a thrill down your spine. His footsteps were soft but unmistakable, and you felt the mattress shift as he sat down beside you. Here we go.

“Pumpkin,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His hand brushed your hair back from your face, and you fought the urge to smile. “Why don’t you ever turn back to look at me? I saw you at class today...”

Your breath hitched ever so slightly. What?! Your mind raced, but you maintained your facade. His voice was soft, almost pleading, and it tugged at something deep inside you.

He sighed, lying down beside you and draping an arm over your waist. His grip was possessive, but his touch was gentle, warm. “I wish you would,” he whispered. “I wish you’d look at me, smile at me, talk to me… God, I’d do anything to make you happy.”

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. Is this real? His words, his touch, the way he held you—it all felt surreal, like a dream you didn’t want to wake from.

“If anyone bullies you…” he began, his voice low and serious. “They’re done for. I’ll make sure of it.”

Bullies? Your mind latched onto the word. Did he know about the snide remarks, the subtle glances from classmates? Wait… Your heart skipped a beat as realization dawned. Same school?!

You wanted to scream, laugh, cry—every emotion hit you at once. He was there, so close, within reach even during the day. The idea sent a jolt of giddy energy through you. He's been watching me even then.

He shifted, his lips brushing dangerously close to yours. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you fully, and your heart practically stopped. Instead, he kissed the corner of your lips, lingering just enough to make your stomach churn with a dizzying mix of emotions.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered. “Good night, pumpkin.”

You waited, your body tense, until you heard the faint click of the door closing behind him. Only then did you sit up, your breaths coming fast and shallow. Same school, your mind repeated, looping the thought like a mantra.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, your fingers trembling as you opened your notebook. The sketch of him was already half-finished, but now you added the details you hadn’t dared before—the soft smile he wore when he looked at you, the way his hair framed his face like ink spilled on paper. You scribbled furiously, giggling to yourself as your mind replayed his words.

“He’s mine,” you whispered, clutching the notebook to your chest. The idea felt like a delicious secret, one only the two of you shared.

You fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, your laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. It was manic, unhinged, and you couldn’t stop. You covered your mouth with your hands, trying to stifle the sound, but it burst out anyway.

He’s at my school. He’s watching me. He wants me.

The thought spiraled in your mind, sending shivers of excitement down your spine. You hugged yourself, the ghost of his embrace still lingering on your skin.

“Ahahaha…” Your laughter echoed in the room, a twisted symphony of delight and madness. This is love, you thought, your smile widening. “He loves me. He loves me so much.”

Dark circles framed your eyes, your energy depleted from balancing your nightly "acting" with day-to-day university life. Every night, after he left, your mind raced with fantasies of him, spinning scenarios that left you restless, yet alive.

Crowe noticed, of course. He always did. His concern showed in the way he glanced at you during lectures, and eventually, he leaned over, whispering, “You look like death. Go to sleep in the next class. I’ll get the notes for you.”

You flashed him a polite smile, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine, really. I was going to head to the library anyway.”

Crowe’s friend Brittney was hard to miss. Tall, striking, and effortlessly commanding, she was the kind of person who drew attention whether she wanted to or not. Her gyaru style made her stand out even more: bold streaks of color in her hair, immaculate nails, and an outfit that balanced daring and chic. Crowe had asked you to at least try to get along with her, but the truth was, you didn’t see yourself fitting into their world. Too weird, too… you.

Still, you played your part well, smiling sweetly when Brittney asked for help organizing papers. “Of course! Thank you for asking,” you replied, your voice the picture of politeness.

As she walked away, Crowe chuckled. “She’s like that. Rough edges, but she means well.”

You tilted your head, smiling faintly. “Everyone hides something under their skin, Crowe.”

The library was a quieter battlefield until one of the bullies decided to play a cruel joke. A mean girl "accidentally" knocked over a shelf Brittney had been working on. Papers and books scattered everywhere, and you could see Brittney’s jaw tighten, her polished exterior cracking.

“F***ing bitch!” Brittney snarled, tackling the girl with surprising ferocity.

It escalated quickly. Books flew, chairs screeched, and the air buzzed with tension. You tried to step in, hands raised in a gesture of peace, but chaos had already broken loose. When one of the girls attempted to strike Brittney from behind, you didn’t hesitate—you shoved her hard, pushing her back into a table.

Pain shot through your wrist as you deflected her, and you realized she’d managed to scratch you with something sharp. Blood welled up, staining your sleeve, but adrenaline drowned out the pain. Brittney’s punches found their target while you held the attacker off.

The fight fizzled when a few bystanders yelled for order, and the bullies slinked away under the librarian’s furious glare. Brittney brushed herself off, her hair askew but her fiery defiance intact. Jess, another of Brittney’s friends, rushed to her side, fretting quietly as she checked her for injuries.

You stood off to the side, cradling your wrist. Jess glanced at you briefly, hesitant, before returning her focus to Brittney. You caught the faintest flicker of concern in her expression. She does care, you thought, but you let it go.

Crowe appeared moments later, taking in the scene with wide eyes. “What the hell happened? You’re hurt—let me take you to the nurse.”

You shook your head, offering him a tired smile. “I’m fine. I can go on my own.”

Crowe didn’t look convinced, but you turned away before he could argue, clutching your injured wrist as you made your way out. It’s nothing, you told yourself. Just another day in your fractured reality, another crack in the mask you wore so well.

The nurse’s office was a quiet reprieve from the chaos of the library. You slipped into the restroom nearby first, taking a moment to breathe and inspect your injured wrist under the fluorescent lights. The skin was raw and red, the gash deeper than you initially thought, but the pain was dulled by the adrenaline still coursing through you. You splashed water on your face, smoothing your features back into a neutral mask before heading into the nurse's domain.

The hallway seemed endless as you walked, with lingering eyes on you from passing students. Whispers buzzed faintly, but no one dared approach. Good, you thought. You preferred it that way. Once inside, the nurse noticed your bruised state immediately.

“Another bully victim?” she sighed, her tone exasperated but kind. “This school, honestly... I need to file a formal complaint with the principal.” She gestured for you to sit, but you stayed standing, pretending to be fascinated by the various medical supplies lined up on the counter. You didn’t want to stay still. It made you too vulnerable.

As you idly picked at a box of bandages, a voice sliced through the quiet atmosphere.

“Did you have to punch that girl’s boyfriend that hard, Sunny?”

“Yes,” came a familiar, firm reply. “They hurt them. So I did.”

Your heart stopped. That voice—it was him. The one who watched, who whispered. The voice that curled around your mind every night like smoke.

Without thinking, you stumbled backward, finding a corner to hide behind as your gaze sought him out. And there he was.

There was something almost surreal about seeing him in the light of day, his presence no longer confined to the shadowy cocoon of your nights. "Sunny," as his companion called him—was perched on the nurse’s bed, his plum hair catching the light in a way that made it seem alive, streaked with vibrant green like ivy climbing through ruins. His heterochromatic eyes burned like embers: orange at their core, ringed with a deep crimson that seemed to pulse with restrained intensity. They were a contradiction, much like him—fiery yet haunting, sharp yet soft.

His features were angular, carved with precision, yet softened by the slight pout of his lips and the faint curve of his nose. He radiated a raw, magnetic energy that felt both predatory and tender, like the kind of beauty that ruins you, and yet you crave it. The piercings that adorned his ears gleamed faintly, tiny markers of rebellion etched into his skin. The hoops on his lower lip caught the light every time he spoke, adding a glint of silver to the vibrant palette of his face.

His striped shirt clung to him, black and green lines stretching across his lean frame. The black t-shirt layered beneath was slightly oversized, softening the edge of his appearance, while his necklace dangled lightly with each of his movements—a two-pronged key, dangling with an air of mystery. His jewelry matched his aesthetic perfectly: the buckled choker hugging his throat, the key necklace swaying with each breath, the metal glinting like secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Even seated, he had a presence that demanded attention, though he seemed to wield it effortlessly, unaware of the effect he had on the room.

The blue-haired boy standing next to him was smaller in stature, and despite his exasperated expression, there was a gentle authority in the way he interacted with Sol.

“Isn’t it time to go, Sunny?” he asked, clearly used to Sunny's antics.

“Nope,” Sunny replied lazily, crossing his arms. “Not until Y/N gets bandaged.”

Your breath hitched. Your name falling from his lips sent a jolt through your chest, like an electric wire connecting directly to your heartbeat. You pressed further into the corner, praying they wouldn’t notice you, but you couldn’t stop watching.

The blue-haired boy—Hyugo, as Sol addressed him—sighed, dragging Sunny off the bed with surprising strength despite their size difference. “Sunny,” he chided, like a parent scolding their child. Sol resisted briefly, pouting, before reluctantly letting himself be led away. His footsteps echoed faintly as they left, and you waited until you were sure the coast was clear before emerging from your hiding spot.

You managed to snap a few discreet photos of Sol. You told yourself it was just for memory’s sake, but when you looked at them again, your stomach fluttered.

Sol, with his chaos and beauty, was so striking, so utterly unique. And he was yours to admire, even if only from a distance.

The nurse’s hurried return interrupted your spiraling thoughts. Her voice pulled you back to reality as she gestured for you to sit on the bed she had prepared. "And what about the other two students?" she asked, glancing toward the hallway.

“They left,” you muttered, your voice neutral as you fought to keep your heart rate under control. The nurse bustled around, grabbing supplies while she filled the silence with small talk.

“They’re such interesting boys,” she said, her voice warm with familiarity. “Hyugo is such a helpful young man. Always looking out for that friend of his. You know, despite his height, Sol is surprisingly sweet—like a friendly giant."

Your hands tightened around the edge of the bed, nails pressing into the vinyl. Hyugo. That was the blue-haired boy’s name. The nurse’s description of him as Sol’s protector matched perfectly with what you had seen. You forced out a soft giggle, though it escaped as a hiccup, drawing the nurse’s attention. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied quickly, masking your excitement. “It’s just… they seem close. It’s kind of nice.”

“Oh, they are,” she continued, dabbing antiseptic on your wound. “Hyugo’s always been like that. And Solivan…” She paused, as though thinking of the right words. “He’s a bit of a sad case, really. He’s been through a lot, poor thing. But he’s strong—so much stronger than he realizes.”

Your breath hitched. Solivan. Your world tilted as the name settled in your chest like a brand. Solivan Brugmansia. It echoed in your head, sweet and perfect, like a melody only you were meant to hear.

The nurse’s voice faded into a murmur as she continued her work, oblivious to the storm brewing within you. Your heart raced, your mind spinning as you turned the name over and over in your head. When she finished bandaging your hand, you thanked her in a daze and stumbled out of the office.

The hallway was empty, but you didn’t care. You ducked into the restroom, slamming the door shut behind you. The sterile walls seemed to close in as your emotions surged. A giggle bubbled up, spilling out in shaky bursts before escalating into full-blown laughter.

“Solivan Brugmansia,” you whispered, your voice reverent, almost trembling. You repeated it, louder this time, your reflection in the mirror smiling back at you. “Solivan Brugmansia. Solivan. Brugmansia. Sol. Solivan.”

The name felt like magic, a key unlocking something wild and unhinged within you. You chanted it like a prayer, each repetition filling you with a twisted joy. “Solivan Brugmansia, Solivan Brugmansia, Solivan Brugmansia—”

Your giggles turned to shrill laughter, a sound that echoed eerily in the small restroom. You clutched the sink for support, your bandaged hand trembling as your thoughts spiraled further. I know his name. I know his name! The realization was intoxicating, overwhelming, consuming every rational thought you had left.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered to yourself, tears of manic delight prickling at your eyes. “I’ll meet him. I’ll be normal. I’ll be normal. I’ll—”

A sudden knock on the door shattered your reverie, the sound loud and jarring against your fragile composure.

“Could you keep it down in there?” a muffled voice called, annoyance dripping from the tone.

Your laughter cut off abruptly, replaced by a cold, seething anger. Slowly, you turned toward the door, your reflection in the mirror now a twisted, distorted version of yourself.

They dared to interrupt.

You opened the door slowly, your movements deliberate, controlled. The person on the other side—a student, their face vaguely familiar—took a step back, their irritation fading into nervousness as they met your gaze.

“Is there a problem?” you asked, your voice low and dangerous. The edges of your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, and your tilted head made you look like a predator sizing up its prey.

“N-No, just…” they stammered, their confidence crumbling under your cold stare. “You were, um, being kind of loud—”

Before they could finish, you took a single step forward, and they flinched. The hallway seemed darker now, your presence casting a shadow that felt far too large for one person.

“I’ll keep it down,” you said softly, the sweetness in your tone laced with venom. Then, leaning in just enough for them to catch the glint of something unhinged in your eyes, you whispered, “But you should watch where you stick your nose next time.”

They stumbled back, their mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before muttering a hurried apology and retreating down the hall.

The sound of their footsteps faded, you turned back into the restroom, closing the door with a quiet click. Your reflection in the mirror greeted you, your smile widening as you touched your lips, imagining them shaping his name again.

“Solivan Brugmansia,” you whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

The encounter had done nothing to dim your obsession. If anything, it only fed it. Soon, you thought, your heart pounding with anticipation.

You started stalking Sol and Hyugo like clockwork. Every day on campus, you trailed after them, your movements as careful as a predator circling its prey. They were always together—Hyugo acting like a makeshift guardian while Sol seemed lost in his own world. Their favorite spot quickly became apparent: the rooftop. It wasn’t technically allowed for students to hang out there, but that didn’t stop them. Sol seemed to loathe the cafeteria, his disdain for its noise and chaos written all over his face whenever someone suggested it.

You made it a habit to reach the rooftop before them, ensuring you’d have the perfect vantage point to watch them. Not creepy at all, you thought with a twisted grin. There was something ethereal about Solivan under the open sky, the sunlight catching on the green streaks in his hair and making his mismatched eyes gleam like fire and blood. He’s so pretty, you sighed internally. Every movement, every glance felt deliberate and perfect, like he was crafted by your own imagination.

Hyugo, the blue-haired “parent” of the duo, was Sol’s grounding force. You watched as he subtly steered Sol’s chaotic thoughts back to reality, his calm voice carrying through the breeze. Sometimes, their conversations drifted your way. One particular exchange made your heart race.

“Have you been taking your sleeping pills, Sol?” Hyugo asked, his tone laced with concern.

Sol nodded, but you knew better. Oh, sweetheart, you’re feeding them to me instead, you thought, biting back a giggle. The very idea thrilled you. He’s lying to his best friend for me—just like I’d lie for him. We’re so alike, Sol. Matchy-matchy. You giggled softly to yourself, clutching your bag as though it held every secret you’d gathered about him.

The rooftop had become your sacred ground. Each day, you made sure to get there first, blending into the background as best you could while Sol and Hyugo came to unwind. It was their haven, where Sol could escape the cafeteria—his disdain for the crowded, noisy space evident in every eye roll and sharp comment he made about it.

You hid yourself carefully, peering around corners or crouching behind vents as the duo talked. It wasn’t hard to piece together their dynamic: Hyugo, the loud and teasing one, always nudging Sol toward some semblance of normalcy, and Sol, the quiet, brooding artist, who seemed eternally annoyed yet tethered to his friend’s chaotic energy.

“Sunny boy, I swear, one day you’re going to crack from all this stalking,” Hyugo teased, leaning against the edge of the rooftop railing. His blue hair caught the sunlight, but your eyes were locked on Sol.

“I’m not stalking anyone,” Sol muttered, his voice as flat and disinterested as ever. He didn’t look up from his sketchbook, where his pencil moved in quick, fluid strokes.

“Uh-huh. And I’m the Pope. Come on, Sunny, you’re practically vibrating whenever Y/N’s around. It’s cute, actually.”

Sol shot him a glare so sharp it could cut glass. “I don’t vibrate.”

“Sure, sure,” Hyugo said with a grin, leaning closer to peek at the sketchbook. “Hey, is that—oh my God, are you drawing them again? Sunny, you’re obsessed!”

“Shut up, Hyugo,” Sol snapped, snapping the book shut with a satisfying thud. A faint flush dusted his cheeks, and you almost swooned at the sight.

Through your relentless watching, you pieced together more and more about Sol’s world. He liked plushies—tiny glimpses of them in his bag or on his desk betrayed a softness he tried to hide. Horses fascinated him, though you’d never seen him near one. The ocean, however, was an object of pure hatred. Even the thought of it seemed to unsettle him. And his neck—oh, how he hated when people noticed it. You didn’t know why, but the way he’d pull his collar up or hide behind his scarf whenever someone’s gaze lingered too long sent shivers of fascination down your spine.

Crowe, though? Sol hated Crowe. Why? You weren’t sure. Did Sol think you liked Crowe? That thought made you laugh—a loud, manic sound that echoed in your mind. No, silly Sol. Crowe’s just a friend. You’re the only one who matters. You giggled to yourself, making a mental note to friendzone Crowe at the next opportunity. No one has to die, right?

Your stalking wasn’t all selfish indulgence, though. You made it your mission to protect Sol from his bullies in secret. Every time someone dared to mess with him, you found ways to make their lives miserable. Pranks, carefully crafted rumors, even well-placed traps—it was your way of showing love, even if he’d never know it was you.

You couldn't stop yourself, could you? Each time your mind drifted back to Sol, it felt like you were drowning in an ocean of thoughts you couldn’t escape. There was no rational explanation for it, just a need, a yearning to see him, to be close to him. You didn’t know why you liked Sol, and the more you thought about it, the more you felt like something inside you was broken. Messy. Rotten. Ugly. Stupid. The words echoed in your mind like a relentless drumbeat, each one sinking deeper into your consciousness.

But you couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t you stop?

Maybe you were just messed up—maybe this was just who you were now. The idea of obsession wasn’t new to you, but this? This feeling for Sol was different. You were feeding into his own obsession, subtly manipulating his thoughts and actions, just as he unknowingly tugged on your every string. I’m a fucking mess, you thought, crumpling the pages of your journal before tossing it aside. I’m messed up for liking him. I shouldn’t be doing this. Why do I care so much?

Yet, as you thought about it, a darker voice inside your head whispered: But you don’t care. You just want him. You want to keep him. Don’t you?

You looked at your reflection in the glass, disgust rising up in your throat. The self-loathing was overwhelming. You wanted to leave. Run away. Escape from this sick obsession gnawing at you, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. What would I even do without him? you thought, the sick realization that he was the only thing that made sense in your otherwise chaotic world.

And then your gaze shifted. Your scrapbook—your treasure trove of Sol. You’d been filling it for weeks, months, maybe. Pictures of him, scribbled notes, little drawings of his face, and the countless things you learned about him. Things you knew he would never notice, things that were yours and yours alone. You smiled, a dark, twisted grin spreading across your face as you flipped through the pages, relishing in the thought that no one else had this.

You reached for your favorite pen, the one that always felt so good in your hand, and began writing. The words flowed out like a twisted confession, something that felt raw and vulnerable, but at the same time, empowering. You wrote:

O, thou shadowed soul whose crimson eyes do stare, Through twilight’s veil, seeking me with ceaseless care. How I know thy step, thy breath, thy tender scheme, The hunter’s heart, woven deep within this dream.

I, Annabel, with whispers darkly sweet, Stand here entranced, ready for the cruel heat, Of trial and gaze, a feverish, whispered jest, To test thy fervor, O stalker, my unrest.

Art thou true, or doth the mask crack wide, When confronted with love that seeks to chide? O Sol, thou art regal, a lost marquis, A figure grander than court's rich pleas.

Why dost thou flinch at this jeweled yoke, Collared like Marie Antoinette, when spoke Of necks adorned in fate’s decree, Tell me, pretty man, dost thou flee or plea?

Yet, I love thee, this strange, begotten chase, A danse macabre within thy haunted embrace. O, prove thyself, meet the midnight’s dare, For ‘tis love I hold, should thy soul lay bare.

His Annabel...

You laughed quietly to yourself, the sound almost hollow. Oh god, this is so cringy, you thought. The poetry, the confession—it was ridiculous. But it’s what I feel, isn't it?

You paused, looking at the mess of words you had written, and smiled. It’s okay. I don’t care. You couldn’t help but smile. I’m not normal. I’m not like everyone else. But Sol... Sol gets it, doesn’t he?

The laugh bubbled up again, darker this time, a little more manic. You hugged the scrapbook to your chest, clutching it tightly as though it were a lifeline. The obsession that had once felt foreign was now becoming a part of you, weaving itself into your identity like the very air you breathed.

You were hopeless. But, in a twisted way, you were happy. Because in this world of chaos, Sol was your constant. The only one who could save you.

And so you wrote more. “Fix me, Sol. Fix me, and I’ll love you forever.”

You looked at the words..

Everything was perfect until!

THUD!

Geo had always been a bit of a mystery to everyone, even to those who were close to Crowe. His tall, imposing presence, the sharp eyes that seemed to look straight through you, and his effortless grace with a weapon made him someone no one dared cross. He wasn't known for being sociable or for revealing much about himself, and despite his wealth, people respected his silence more than they feared his power.

But now, you had been caught.

The way he stood in front of you, arms crossed with that knowing, intimidating gaze locked on you—shit. You hadn't expected anyone to figure it out. You thought you'd covered your tracks well enough, staying in the shadows, sneaking around just before the rooftop sessions, watching Sol and Hyugo like an obsessive, lovesick ghost. But now, Geo—Geo—was standing in front of you, calling you out.

You forced a smile, a casual, almost innocent grin. "Why do you care?" You giggled, trying to make light of the situation, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. The amusement didn't reach your eyes. He knows, doesn't he?

Geo raised an eyebrow, his aquamarine eyes never leaving yours, sharp and assessing. His posture was relaxed, but the air around him crackled with the intensity of someone who didn’t need to do much to make people feel uncomfortable. "Stalking people isn't exactly a good look," he said, his voice low and steady. "Especially not those close to Crowe." His eyes flickered briefly to your hands, as if he knew you were clutching something—your scrapbook, maybe, the evidence of your obsession. Shit.

You scoffed, trying to push down the anxiety creeping up your spine. "Oh, come on. I’m just… observing." You laughed, as though it were a joke, hoping that Geo would take it lightly. But you knew he wouldn’t. Geo wasn’t someone who took anything lightly.

"You think I'm stupid?" Geo's tone hardened, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He stepped forward, the movement smooth and deliberate, closing the distance between you. "I know you’re not just observing. You’re obsessing, and you’re messing with them. Do you think I don't notice? Do you think you’re the only one who sees things?" His words were like daggers, each one hitting harder than the last.

The room felt smaller now, as if the walls were closing in on you. Your heart raced, a mix of fear and excitement. He was onto you. But did he know the extent of it? Did he know you weren’t just watching from afar? Did he understand how deep this fixation went?

Geo's expression shifted, growing more serious. "You’re playing a dangerous game, you know." He stepped even closer, his face inches from yours. "And I don’t like people who play games with people I care about. So, if you have something on them… or if you think you can manipulate them into something they don't want… I’d suggest you think twice."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. The image of Sol, of Hyugo, both so wrapped up in their own worlds, their quiet, innocent lives. You didn't want to hurt them, not really. But the obsession—the way Sol's face haunted your thoughts, how he was everything you wanted and more—it made your decisions blur. It made you do things you didn’t even fully understand.

Geo seemed to sense the shift in your demeanor. "Look," he said, a trace of pity in his voice now, "I don’t want to make things difficult. I just want to make sure you understand the consequences of your actions." His eyes bored into yours, almost reading your thoughts. "Whatever it is you think you're doing with them… just stop. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt."

The way he looked at you now, with a strange mix of concern and cold detachment, made you feel small, exposed. You weren’t used to this. You weren’t used to being vulnerable. He knows. He knows everything.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you whispered, but it was clear Geo didn’t believe you.

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little. "You’re lucky I don’t want to make this worse. Just… stay away from them, okay?" His voice softened just a fraction. "You don’t want to mess with someone like Sol. And you definitely don’t want to get on Hyugo’s bad side. Trust me and mess with him, you will see me."

Geo took a step back, eyes still on you, as if waiting for your response. You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything you could say. He’s right, isn’t he?

Geo turned and walked away, you felt your chest tighten.

You watch Geo from a distance, your heart pounding with excitement and a dash of madness. It wasn’t enough to just observe them anymore. No, you needed more.

With a quick step, you approach Geo, your grin growing wider. His dark eyes flicker with annoyance, and he halts, looking over at you as if you're a pest he wishes would just disappear. The tension is thick, and you're only getting more thrilled by it. You call out his full name, “Subaru Oogami,” knowing the effect it would have.

He stops. His expression hardens, and you can almost feel the wave of annoyance radiating off him. “What do you want?” he spits, his voice low, almost like a growl. It’s a response you expected. A warning, a challenge. You savor it.

“Isn’t Hyugo Sugimoto your older brother?” you ask, a playful note lacing your voice. The words are casual, but your eyes glint with mischief. His gaze sharpens even more. You can see the tension rising in his posture.

You giggle, unable to hide the amusement. "Such a bad boy, Subaru, ignoring your own brother like that. It’s so embarrassing, though... all that emo energy for what?" The words spill out of you in a rush, the laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. You know it’s getting under his skin. You can tell by the tightening of his jaw, the slight twitch of his hands.

You step closer, your eyes glinting with something dangerous, something predatory. “You know, I’ve gotten a lot of info from watching you and your brother... but don’t worry. I’m not interested in Hyugo,” you say, voice low and smooth, almost a whisper. You lean in just a bit, the space between you two narrowing. “But... I am interested in Sol.”

His glare feels like it could slice through steel, but you hold his stare, smiling evilly. His eyes narrow into daggers, but you don't flinch. No one gets in your way. Not anymore.

“Don’t disturb me, and I won’t be after your ass, Subaru,” you say, your voice sweet but laced with the cold bite of a threat.

He looks at you, eyes flashing with fury. There’s a moment of silence where he contemplates your words, the weight of your threat hanging between you two. He looks ready to strike, to put you in your place, but he simply lets out a harsh “tch” and shakes his head.

“You keep quiet, stay out of trouble with me or Hyugo, and we won’t have a problem,” he says, his voice sharp, his glare never leaving you.

You tilt your head, a sly smile still tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Promises,” you murmur, watching as he turns, clearly done with the conversation. You let out a quiet laugh as you watch him walk away, knowing that you’ve made your point.

Geo, Subaru Oogami—whatever you call him—wouldn’t be such a threat anymore.

He left, looking that same death glare at you smiled like a angel who did nothing wrong!

Part 1 over! Pls tell me if I should make part 2...