#and certain ways i want the characters to interact

[killerelysia]

Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader! (Part 2!)

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

Words:9000

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.

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee.

DAY 1: The Beloved

“I will not accept one paragraph! I need two whole pages filled with words. Everyone got that?”

The teacher’s voice grated on your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Not that the assignment was hard—you could churn out two pages in your sleep if you wanted to. Writing wasn’t the issue. No, the real problem was the waste.

Two pages of meaningless drivel on some boring topic when you could be filling those pages with him. Words dedicated to Sol, the way his green-streaked hair falls just so, the sharpness of his jawline, the way he speaks as if he’s barely trying and yet every word hooks you like a line to the heart. Two pages about Sol? Easy. Two pages about anything else? Insulting.

You shift in your seat, feeling the familiar burn in your chest. It’s not anger exactly—it’s this gnawing, this aching thing that starts deep inside you every time someone pulls your focus away from him.

And your journal. Oh, your journal. You’d filled its pages with his name, over and over again. Sketches of him, even ones of the two of you together—his hand in yours, his lips grazing your cheek. Perfect. You flip it closed quickly, sliding it under your textbook as a passing student glances your way. No one gets to see those. They wouldn’t understand.

You glance at the clock. The rooftop. You’re running out of time. You bite your lip and glance at the book again. Just one more sketch… no, focus!

The doodle of you and Sol holding hands stares back at you. It’s so cute, you can’t help the small giggle bubbling in your throat. What would he think if he saw this? Would he call it pathetic or perfect? Would he notice the details? The way I drew him smiling?

The smile falters. No.

Not yet. He doesn’t get to see this yet—not until it’s perfect. Not until you are perfect.

With a deep breath, you slam the book shut and stand, forcing the manic swirl of thoughts into a neat little box in the back of your mind. Control. Stay calm. Don’t let anyone see.

There’s plenty of time to admire him later. For now, you’ll play along, just like always.

But inside, your thoughts swirled, chaotic and relentless. You could feel the edges of your obsession creeping in, clawing at your composure.

Why Sol? Why does he get to me like this? Is it his smile? The way his voice sounds like music when he talks to Hyugo about me? Maybe it’s his obesseion Or maybe it’s because I’m just...

You paused, staring blankly at the paper in front of you. Messed up. Rotten. Broken. No wonder I’m drawn to him. He’s the only one who makes me feel like I could be fixed.

You shook your head, banishing the thought. No time for self-pity. You had to get to the rooftop soon, and you couldn’t go up there acting like some lovesick fool.

Standing up from your seat, you were about to grab your bag when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning around, you saw Brittney—the Chipette—no, Crowe’s friend. Her. You pause, giving her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s trying to talk to you, pretend to be friendly. It must be Crowe’s idea. Of course, it is. Brittney doesn’t do anything without some ulterior motive, right? Sharp tongue wrapped in hard words. But… maybe she’s different. she’s kind. Sometimes, she actually tries. It's just she's bad at talking.

A fallen angel in disguise.

You tilt your head slightly, watching her fumble. She doesn’t know how to approach you. Does she think I’m some kid who needs to be scolded? Her nervous glance tell you that. She’s probably going to say something about how wrong it is to obsess over Sol. Does she know? She doesn't know. No one knows.

And Sol isn’t a “kid.” He’s perfect. He’s 6’ of celestial art, every inch of him carved like he was meant to be worshipped, adored. He’s everything. You feel your pulse quicken just thinking about him.

“Hey, you’re going to lunch with us, right?” Brittney starts, pulling you back. “I mean, you should. I don’t usually see you in the cafeteria nowadays, so you must not be eating properly…”

You blink at her. Lunch? The cafeteria? You don’t go there anymore. Not since Sol.

Because Sol hates it. He hates the noise.

He didn’t say it outright, of course. He doesn’t have to. You know it. You feel it in the way he moves, in the small looks he gives the space, in the way he brushes off people there. It’s loud. It’s annoying. He doesn’t like it. So you don’t like it either.

It’s one of the small ways you show your love for him, even if he doesn’t know. Even if no one knows. You don’t need their approval. You don’t need their judgment. You learned to cook, after all! Sol likes to cook too. Isn’t that just fate? It’s like the universe tying you together, thread by thread.

You learned to decorate your food everyday so when he sees he can smile. You made sure to change your wallpaper to a pumpkin so when he might try to check, he will think you like them..

Its all for him..

You always come early, leave your food on your spot on the rooftop so you can watch him later. Just watch. When he’s with Hyugo, you catch glimpses of their meals. Sol always seems to cook for him.

Sol cooks for Hyugo…

Your chest twists. Your grip tightens on your bag.

You wonder when it’ll be you. When will it be you he cooks for? When will you be the one he eats with, laughs with, looks at? Domestic, happy, married—together, forever.

"We will be a happy family together, right Sol? Don't we be together forever...?"

The thought makes your stomach flutter, your lips twitch into an almost-smile. You’re almost dizzy with it. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Wouldn’t that be just right? Sol and you, a home, no one else, just the two of you…

Your breath catches. Stop. Not here. Not in front of her. Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it—

“Hello? You okay?” Brittney’s voice pulls you back.

You blink. Smile. Tilt your head like nothing’s wrong. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you can still feel that wild, spiraling need thrumming in your chest.

Sol would be proud of how well you can hide it. Don’t you think?

You were about to refuse politely, maybe even brush her off, but then Brittney added something that made your blood freeze.

"How can you keep up with classes looking like that? You look like you haven't slept in months. You almost look like a crazed person."

Excuse me?

The words hit like a slap, a harsh reminder of how others saw you. You felt your skin flush, the urge to lash out simmering beneath the surface. No one, no one, was supposed to notice that. Not her. Not anyone. She didn’t know what you were really up to—how could she?

But you caught yourself, staring at her without blinking, trying to suppress the bitter taste in your mouth. You had to hold it together. She was just… clueless. Clueless in the same way everyone else was. She didn't know what you did, how you spent your nights, how you fed your obsession, how you kept everything in line. To her, you were just the weird, sleep-deprived kid who could barely hold it together in class.

You blinked slowly, trying to keep your expression neutral. Don’t let her see how much her words hurt. No one was supposed to see that. You felt a little… off, but you didn’t let it show. You were in control, at least, on the outside.

She realized, too late, that she'd crossed a line. The awkwardness in the air was thick, and you could almost see the regret flicker behind her eyes. Maybe she felt sorry for you? But no, it wasn’t pity. It was something else. Something… less clean.

In truth, you felt a small pang of something almost like guilt. It was strange. You felt… bad for her? You knew Brittney had no idea what she was stepping into. How could she? She wasn’t part of this world you had so carefully constructed, a world that only you understood. She was just someone who thought she was being kind, trying to make conversation.

You sighed softly, resisting the urge to show any emotion. She didn’t deserve to feel bad about it. No, she didn’t deserve that.

"That's really insensitive of you! Imagine if someone else told you about how you look," Crowe’s voice cuts through, a protector once again.

You glance at Brittney. Ugh, such a showoff, trying to play the hero. You barely let it phase you, though. You’re above this.

"Brittney’s just trying, Crowe, I don’t really take offense,” you say, smiling sweetly, but it’s more for your own benefit than anyone else’s.

Crowe looks at you, clearly taken aback. Oh, poor Crowe, so clueless. He thought you’d be hurt? You almost giggle at his innocence.

“Well, you’re the one who insisted on me initiating talk. If you really want to rescue them, there are better ways to be their prince charming, Crowe.” You throw a playful smirk his way. This game’s so easy. He’s trying so hard… for what?

You snicker, watching his face twist in confusion. God, he’s like a lost child when their momma takes away their candy. It’s almost adorable…

"You could’ve done it more nicely, you know. A simple invite would’ve sufficed,” he murmur, you still have the sweet smile plastered across your face. He’s pushing so hard for attention. What’s he trying to prove? You don’t need more friends. Friends are just competition… people getting in the way of your Sol. It's a distraction.

You glance over at the three people you know in the circle—one of them, Subaru. The thought of him nearly makes your stomach churn. Such a fool. You shake your head.

Love is what makes a Subaru a Subaru

You choke on your own thoughts, trying to push the smile from your face. Shut up, Y/n. Just shut up for a second. That quote doesn't deserve Geo

“Damn Brit, you sure are bad at socializing! Hey, Geo! Looks like you’ve got competition!” Deryl’s voice cuts in, a stupid grin spreading across his face.

Brittney’s face turns red. You feel your lips curl into a soft, dangerous smile. Time to save the poor thing.

"At least she tries something," you say, cutting into the moment. "Unlike Mr. Scaramoose over here… Mister Deryl Helianth. It’s okay…"

Deryl’s eyes widen. "You know my full government name?!?" The jock is practically bouncing with excitement. How cute. He thinks it matters.

You smile sweetly. "No, not at all." You really didn’t need to know anything about him. You’ve just been collecting information on everyone. Your eyes flick over to the name data you’ve carefully pulled from the class roster. But Sol’s name isn’t on there… why isn’t his name listed? The thought itches at the back of your mind. I’ll check the Art class today.

Sigh…

"They must have gotten it from the student council. You helped me a lot that day, Y/n. Thanks," Crowe says with a soft smile. Oh, how genuine. How sweet.

But you did it for yourself, didn’t you? You did it to make sure you knew everything about him. To see if Sol was in the same room. Same class..

Any class...

Crowe’s obliviousness is almost painful, but you don’t let it show.

You shake the thought away. Sol, Sol, Sol. There you go again, thinking about him. You feel a silly, wild smile threatening to take over your face. Great job, Y/n. You almost look like a crazy person again.

“Shut the fuck up, Deryl!” Brittney screeches, saving you from your own spiraling thoughts.

You sigh in relief. Finally, a distraction.

While they bicker, you look at Geo, sticking your tongue out. You know it’ll annoy him, and that’s just too fun to pass up. His angry gaze snaps to you. You flash him your sweetest, most angelic smile in return.

Oh, Geo… you think, enjoying his discomfort just a little too much. You turn your gaze to the meek girl beside Brittney, Jess, who’s been silent the whole time. Poor thing. Probably doesn’t even realize how much you hate her existence.

“Sorry,” He says putting on a sympathetic voice. “They’re kind of a rowdy bunch, huh?”

Crowe laughs, scratching the back of his head. “You’re the most normal person I know, Y/n.”

Normal? Oh, if only you knew. If only he could see the things you hide. The way your mind swirls with dark thoughts. The plans you’ve already made.

"Normal?" You smile sweetly again. "Yeah, sure!"

Normal? Sure, if that’s what they want to think. But behind those eyes of yours, it's a whole different story. Behind those closed doors, in the stillness of your room, you sit there, mapping out every move Sol makes. Watching. Waiting. Planning.

You’ve got this figured out. It’s mutual craziness, isn’t it? Stalking is just a step closer to true love, right? After all, Sol’s already there, watching you too.

Crowe introduces Jess to you, and you can’t help but pinch her cheek. Just like Sol would. Your heart skips a beat at the thought, the way you’d touch Sol the same way, so tenderly, so possessively.

You smile, your eyes glazing over, lost in the fantasy.

"Thank Beyonce," you think, when Brittney screams again, snapping you out of your daydream.

"Are you coming with us or what?" Brittney asks, her voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts.

Geo and Deryl exchange whispers. You don’t hear the words, but the feeling between them is thick, charged. Geo glances at you, his eyes narrowing, an intensity behind them that makes your stomach twist in knots.

You just smile and shrug. “I’m not coming. I’ve got to do something about the assignment.”

Crowe furrows his brows, unsure. “Are you sure?”

Geo pushes him out of the way, throwing a glance at you. His eyes are cold, pissed off. But why? Why would he be mad?

You don’t care. “Yeah, I’m sure. I want to see how the show plays out today, just like yesterday. Like the day before. And so on.”

You giggle, the insanity behind your eyes barely concealed. “Thanks, George of the Jungle!”

Geo hisses under his breath, storming off. Good riddance.

Finally, you’re alone, the game once again in your hands.

You approached the usual vent that led to the rooftop, your thoughts on the familiar, quiet solitude awaiting you there. You needed it more than ever. But as you got closer, your heart sank. The vent… it was blocked. A large metal panel, freshly installed, covered the usual opening.

You froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief, your mind racing. No, no, no… This was your only escape. Your only way to break free from the suffocating weight of everything. You reached forward, pressing your hand against the cool metal, but it didn’t budge. It felt like the world itself was closing in around you.

Your gaze shot over to the construction worker nearby, the one handling some tools by the wall. You quickly approached him, a sense of urgency bubbling in your chest. "Hey, what's going on with the vent?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He looked up, wiping his brow before answering. “Oh, that? A tall student, Subaru, complained about the vents being damaged. The university decided to get it fixed right away. They’re installing some new system to keep people from sneaking up through there. Too many people have been climbing in and out, I guess. They said it needed to be blocked off.”

Your blood ran cold as the realization hit you like a sledgehammer. Subaru. That tall, irritating… Scaramouche wannabe.

Damn it.

You almost couldn't breathe, the frustration building inside you so quickly it hurt. You clenched your fists so tightly, your nails dug into your palm. It was him. That bastard had complained about the vents just to block your access. He knew! He knew how much you relied on that small escape, that bit of freedom. And now it was gone—ruined because of his petty complaint.

“Wait," you snapped, your voice dangerously low, "Can you fix it? Please. I need to get through." You could feel the heat rising to your face, a mix of anger and panic. You had to get up there. You had to see Sol. There was no other way.

The construction worker shook his head. “Sorry, kid. They’ve already decided to seal it up. The system’s being locked down. No going through there anymore. If it's rooftop just use the damned stairs. Even then, kids are not gonna listen. Even grownups like you are idiotic."

But you use it for...Rooftop so they can't see

Your world tilted, your vision narrowing. No… no! You could feel your chest tightening, the walls closing in. You were so close. You were this close to seeing him, to feeling something again, but now it was slipping through your fingers.

Geo, that fucking prick! Your heart raced with frustration, your mind spinning. Why did he have to ruin everything?

You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, the urge to scream rising inside you. It wasn’t fair. You couldn’t even reach Sol now, because that damn fool had gotten in the way. You paced in front of the blocked vent, your mind unraveling. You tried to breathe, tried to think of something—anything—but all that came to mind was the surge of anger that made your head spin.

You turned away abruptly, fist clenched tightly at your side, barely holding back the raw frustration that threatened to burst out of you. "Fucking bitch," you muttered under your breath. You didn’t even realize the words had escaped until they echoed through the air.

You cursed under your breath again, letting the anger rage inside you like a storm, unable to quell it. All that rage, all that tension was boiling over, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

You stood there, Your fingers trembled as you tried to think of another way. The stairs, you thought. The staircase that led to the rooftop—it was a long shot, but maybe you could get up there without anyone noticing.

You glanced around, hoping no one was watching. The stairway to the other side of the rooftop was a bit more hidden, so if you were careful, maybe—just maybe—you could sneak your way up without anyone spotting you. Your mind raced, trying to calculate the risks. There was a chance they’d notice you going up, but you didn’t care. You had to see him today. It wasn’t a choice anymore—it was an obsession, a need, a desperate craving.

You made your way toward the stairwell, a strange mix of hope and anxiety flooding your chest. Just be quiet, don’t get spotted… you repeated to yourself like a mantra.

But the moment you stepped into the stairwell, you felt something shift inside of you. What if they catch you? What if they find out? The thought of someone seeing you make your way to the rooftop, of someone witnessing you sneak away like this, made your stomach churn. The fear crawled up your spine, but you couldn’t stop now. You had to do this for yourself.

You tried to silence the little voice that whispered doubts in your ear. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about being caught.

But the stairs—the stairs were the wrong ones. You turned the corner too fast, your heart pounding louder with every step. You’d entered the wrong pair of stairs, a different exit leading to an entirely different side of the building. A side where the students could see you—where he could see you. The panic rose in your throat. No, no, no… You cursed under your breath.

The walls felt like they were closing in around you. Your hands gripped the railing tightly, trying to steady yourself as your chest tightened with dread. It’s too much. It’s too risky. You’ll be caught.

The weight of it all hit you then, the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. Sol… you can’t even see him anymore. You’re losing everything.

A soft sob escaped your lips, quickly smothered by the desperate need to control yourself. You wiped your eyes, but they wouldn’t stop, your tears betraying you. Why was it so hard? Why did everything feel like it was slipping through your fingers?

You felt small, insignificant, lost in a world that was spinning too fast. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t you just have a simple moment with him? To see his face, to be near him, to exist in his world for just a little while.

Your breath hitched again, sobbing softly to yourself, trying to stifle the noise. You hated how weak you felt, how exposed you were. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be crying over something so ridiculous, over something you couldn’t control. But in that moment, you didn’t care. You just wanted to see him.

You needed him.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? you thought bitterly, wiping your nose as you swallowed the lump in your throat. Why did it have to be so complicated? Every day felt like a fight—a fight against yourself, against your own cravings, against everything pulling you toward him.

The sobs were quiet, but they felt so loud in the silence of the stairwell. You felt pathetic—helpless, even. But there was no turning back now. You had to get to the roof. You had to see him.

You blinked hard, forcing your tears to stop. It was time to take action. Be sneaky, be careful. You can do this.

You wiped your face, sucked in a breath, and kept climbing the stairs, hoping that just one more turn would lead you to him.

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling as you reached the rooftop, your breath shaky and uneven. The cool breeze barely brushed your face, but the overwhelming sense of sadness flooded your chest, crushing it under its weight.

Sol… Sol… where are you? Your heart hammered painfully in your chest as you looked around, searching desperately. But the rooftop was empty. No sign of him. Not a shadow, not a glimpse.

You felt a sob tear through your chest, the tears flowing freely as your eyes glazed over with an almost feverish kind of longing. Why isn't he here? you thought with a sort of irrational desperation. But deep down, you knew. It wasn’t about finding him here on the rooftop. It was about needing him so badly that it felt like your insides were turning to ash.

Your vision blurred with the endless cascade of tears, and your head dropped, defeated. A few soft sobs escaped you, echoing in the emptiness. Why did it hurt so much? You didn’t care that the tears were endless, that the ache in your heart was growing. It felt both agonizing and strangely satisfying.

Your eyes were wide, lovesick and sad, the desperation leaking out of every pore. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from spinning. I need him… I need him so badly… It hurt, but the hurt was like some sick form of comfort. Every pang of longing, every tear that slipped from your eyes only added to the twisted ache that thrummed in your chest.

You wiped your face, but it didn’t matter. The tears kept coming, flowing out like some uncontrollable river.

Sol… you whispered softly to yourself, your voice trembling.

You felt so small, so lost in this need for him, yet at the same time, you felt alive. Alive in a way that only came with this kind of madness. This kind of longing.

And it felt so good.

A high, sick laugh that made your stomach churn. You couldn’t even believe it yourself, but there it was—uncontrollable and desperate.

"Ha…ha…haha…" you whispered to yourself, almost crazed with it, your tears mixing with your laughter in a strange, disorienting way. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. But it felt right. It felt like it made sense in some deranged, twisted way.

And still, you looked around, trying to get a glimpse, even just a hint of him. But there was nothing. The emptiness was deafening.

.

You felt a sob tear through your chest, the tears flowing freely as your eyes glazed over with an almost feverish kind of longing. Why isn't he here? you thought with a sort of irrational desperation. But deep down, you knew. It wasn’t about finding him here on the rooftop. It was about needing him so badly that it felt like your insides were turning to ash.

Your vision blurred with the endless cascade of tears, and your head dropped, defeated. A few soft sobs escaped you, echoing in the emptiness. Why did it hurt so much? You didn’t care that the tears were endless, that the ache in your heart was growing. It felt both agonizing and strangely satisfying.

Your eyes were wide, lovesick and sad, the desperation leaking out of every pore. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from spinning. I need him… I need him so badly… It hurt, but the hurt was like some sick form of comfort. Every pang of longing, every tear that slipped from your eyes only added to the twisted ache that thrummed in your chest.

You wiped your face, but it didn’t matter. The tears kept coming, flowing out like some uncontrollable river.

Sol… you whispered softly to yourself, your voice trembling.

You felt so small, so lost in this need for him, yet at the same time, you felt alive. Alive in a way that only came with this kind of madness. This kind of longing.

And it felt so good.

The rooftop’s chill stung your tear-soaked cheeks, and you were ready to leave with a heavy heart when an unfamiliar voice caught your attention. It wasn’t Sol’s—no, you’d know his voice anywhere—but someone else entirely. You walked fo the sound of the voice cautiously, you spotted Hyugo.

He stood a few steps away, holding a phone to his ear, speaking in a language you couldn’t quite identify. His tone was firm, measured, but whatever he was saying wasn’t your concern. You were only focused on how this wasn’t Sol.

Still, you watched for a moment longer, curiosity briefly flickering through your sadness. You took a step back, intending to leave unnoticed. But just as you turned, a hand clamped down on your shoulder, freezing you in place. Your heart jumped to your throat as you felt his breath near your neck and something cold—too cold—pressed against your skin.

A knife.

"Who are you? Speak, unless you want to get yourself into big trouble," Hyugo said lowly, his voice sharp and unforgiving.

"I’m—uh, Y/n L/n of class 4-B! Please don’t kill me!" you stammered, panic slipping through every word. You couldn’t help but hope—no, pray—that he’d recognize your name as someone Sol would vouch for, even if it was just in your own delusional mind.

The grip on your shoulder slackened slightly. Relief bloomed in your chest, though it was short-lived as Hyugo shifted, striking a pose that reminded you of Sherlock Holmes—a pose you knew he adored. You’d overheard him ranting about it to Sol once, and that memory made you laugh internally. Sol’s pained expression had been adorable.

But now wasn’t the time for that. You were trapped here, and Hyugo seemed more amused than threatening at this point. His eyes narrowed as he muttered, “Y/n L/n… Why does that sound familiar? Class 4-B too…”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Probably because you won’t stop teasing Sol about me.”

Foolishly, you threw a punch in frustration, aiming for his smug face. Hyugo caught your fist with ease, still holding that ridiculous Sherlock pose. The corner of his lips twitched in amusement as he tightened his grip on your hand, making you wince.

"Sol, save me from this bitch," your thoughts screamed as you glared at Hyugo, who seemed all too entertained by your antics.

Hyugo clapped his hands together in mock prayer, bowing with theatrical flourish. “I remember now! What impeccable timing, Y/n!” he said, his voice dripping with faux gratitude.

You stared blankly. What was he doing?

“I need your help,” he continued, straightening up dramatically. “You see, I have a familial emergency and can’t attend my next class. I promised my partner I’d be there, though, and since you’re from the same class… could you take over for me?”

You blinked, incredulous. “What kind of person are you? You just threatened me with a knife, and now you’re asking for favors? What are you, some yakuza kid?”

Hyugo’s smug smile faltered for a moment before his eyes widened in realization. “Oh,” he muttered, fixing his posture. Then, as if nothing happened, he threw you a wink and a thumbs up. “The name’s Hyugo Sugimoto! From class 4-A!” he declared proudly. “But I take mixed classes with Mister Allan to catch up on some, uh… subjects I missed last year.”

You folded your arms, unimpressed. His attempt at charm wasn’t working, especially when he pulled out his knife again, dangling it casually. “It’s for self-defense,” he explained, launching into an unnecessary monologue. You stopped listening entirely, your mind already halfway to its breaking point.

But then, something in his tone shifted. The goofy grin fell from his face, replaced by a much more serious expression.

“Do you have friends, Y/n?”

You recoiled slightly, the question catching you off guard. “Yes, I do,” you shot back defensively.

Hyugo tilted his head. “Yeah, but don’t you ever feel like… you’re doing too much for them?”

The words struck a chord, silencing you. Was he talking about Sol? Your chest tightened, but you refused to let it show.

“He’s not the best guy out there,” Hyugo said, and you winced. You knew Sol wasn’t perfect. His methods were unconventional, his actions borderline obsessive—but that was fine. You loved him. You understood him. Your relationship thrived on the kind of chaos no one else could grasp.

“But you…” Hyugo continued, his gaze unwavering. “Maybe you’ll be the one who understands him.”

Your breath hitched. “I do,” you murmured, so quietly you weren’t sure he even heard.

You smiled faintly, a flicker of something almost kind crossing his face. “I’m sure Solivan Brugmansia appreciates what you do.”

The mention of Sol’s full name sent your heart racing. You froze, staring at Hyugo, trying to process the weight of his words.

Hyugo clapped his hands suddenly, breaking the tension. “So please, be his partner in Art Appreciation!” he pleaded, his dramatic energy returning full force. “He needs someone who gets him! He needs someone like you!"

Your mind spiraled. Was the next class Sol’s? Could it really be? Your lips parted in shock, but before you could speak, Hyugo’s expression darkened. “Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Did you just say his name?”

You blinked, regaining some composure. “What? No. You misheard me,” you said, feigning calmness. Manipulation came naturally to you, and you knew how to keep your face unreadable. “I never opened my mouth."

It was weird.

Hyugo dropped to his knees in a dramatic, pleading pose, resembling a pitiful clown more than the dangerous man who had just threatened you moments ago. His serious tone dissolved into a mess of blubbering theatrics.

“Please! I’m begging you! Be his partner!” he wailed, hands clasped as if in prayer.

“Alright, alright! I’ll do it! Just get the hell up already!” you snapped, exasperated.

Hyugo’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “You mean it? Thank you, Y/n! I knew you were the right person for this!” He shot up, nearly knocking you over in his enthusiasm.

“His name is Sol! Solivan Brugmansia! Don’t worry, you won’t miss him!” he said brightly, grinning ear to ear.

Your heart stopped. Sol. It was Sol. A jolt of electricity shot through you like the world had just revealed a cosmic secret. This was how you were going to meet him for the first time? Your head spun, and you couldn’t decide if you wanted to scream, laugh, or cry.

Without waiting for a reaction, Hyugo gave you a firm pat on the shoulder, his demeanor softening just enough to catch you off guard. “Crying doesn’t suit people like you, Y/n,” he said, his voice oddly sincere. Then, just as suddenly, he turned on his heel and sprinted off, leaving you stunned in the middle of the rooftop.

Your thoughts swirled, tangled in emotions you couldn’t even name.

You felt the tears still clinging to your cheeks, but instead of sadness, an uncontrollable smile spread across your face. The weight of earlier despair evaporated as Hyugo's words echoed in your mind. Solivan Brugmansia… you’ll be his partner…

Your heart leaped as you imagined him, the way his name rolled off your tongue like a song written just for you. “Ahhh… Sol!” you squealed softly, bouncing in place like an overjoyed child. You hugged yourself, spinning in a circle with daydreams overtaking reality.

This was better than any rooftop sighting—this was fate pulling the strings of your love story! Your knees wobbled as you imagined what it would be like sitting beside him, sharing notes, the way his hand might brush yours while pointing at something in a textbook. Your daydreams spiraled into a symphony of possibilities, each one sweeter than the last.

You clutched your chest dramatically, the hopeless romantic in you fully awakened. “He’s perfect,” you murmured, giggling as your face burned with a lovesick blush. You jumped again, unable to stop yourself from squealing, “I love him!”

Lost in your swirling thoughts, you didn’t even notice the bell ringing in the distance.

There's still. Time. I'll head to Library...For.. Maybe assignment.

You stepped into the library, the comforting mix of coffee and aged books wrapping around you like a soft blanket. Normally, this was your safe haven—a place to sketch and dream without interruption. Your perfect little corner, tucked away from prying eyes, was waiting.

But today… everything shattered the moment you saw him.

Your heart came to a screeching halt, and your lungs forgot how to breathe. There, sitting at one of the tables, completely absorbed in his book, was him. Solivan Brugmansia.

Your legs locked in place, and every gear in your brain shifted into overdrive. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think—just stare. His long fingers lightly turned the page, the soft motion oddly captivating. His sharp jawline framed his face, leading up to cheekbones so defined they looked like they were carved from marble. His dark, slightly wavy hair fell messily over his forehead, catching the faint sunlight streaming through the window.

His lashes were long, casting delicate shadows over his cheeks as his eyes—those intense, unique hues you couldn't forget—traveled across the words in his book. The air around him felt magnetic, an invisible force pulling you closer, drowning you in admiration. His lips moved faintly as if he were silently mouthing the words, and you almost melted on the spot.

It hit you all over again. This is him. This is Sol.

You felt like a mess—your clothes felt wrong, your hair felt wrong, you felt wrong. Why now?! Why does he have to look like an angel when I look like this? You were so close to running out, but your feet stayed planted, refusing to move.

You drank in every detail, heart hammering like a lovesick fool. The way his shoulders leaned slightly forward as he read, his posture casual but refined. The faint scuff on the corner of his book as if he had been reading it everywhere. Even the small crease in his brow hinted at his concentration.

Your fingers itched for your sketchbook. You wanted to draw him again, every line and curve, as if your pencil could capture even a fraction of what made him so perfect. But then your gaze shifted—there were other students around, eyes occasionally darting toward him. Of course, you thought bitterly. How could they not?

The idea of pulling out your sketchbook felt risky, almost too obvious. And yet the urge to immortalize this moment, this sight of him, was clawing at your chest.

You swallowed hard, stepping back toward the corner, hoping he wouldn’t notice your frantic gaze. But even as you moved, your eyes refused to leave him. So close, yet so far... you thought, feeling every bit the love-drunk, hopeless fool you were.

Oh, how my heart shivers, lovesick and wild, Caught in your gaze, like a star-struck child. Your eyes, deep constellations, chart the skies, Pulling me closer with each soft sunrise. Your hair, dark rivers where the moonlight dips, Your name a melody upon my lips. I see you in whispers, in shadows, in dreams, A presence that wraps me in love’s silent screams.

You took a steadying breath, willing yourself to act composed, to not let your trembling hands or lovesick expression give you away. Solivan Brugmansia—your Sol—was sitting in your seat. That sacred corner, your little world, now graced by his presence. The thought made your pulse race, equal parts thrill and terror.

You couldn’t help it; your eyes roamed over him, absorbing every detail like a parched soul drinking in the rain. His hair caught the faint library light, the strands gleaming like silk. His posture was casual but poised, one hand flipping through a book while the other rested lazily on the table—oh, that hand, the one you’d heard was hurt recently. He punched a guy for you.

You bit your lip, an involuntary whimper catching in your throat at the thought of his pain.

He hadn’t noticed you at first, but your dazed stare must have drawn him in. Slowly, his gaze lifted, those striking heterochromatic eyes locking onto yours. The air felt electric, your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

“...?” His expression was unreadable, but the subtle furrow of his brows suggested mild curiosity—or was that amusement? You couldn’t tell. Either way, it made your knees weak.

“You’re, um... in my seat,” you managed, the words stumbling over each other like a desperate escape. “Can I have it back, Mr. Solivan Brugmansia...? Also, I, uh, heard about your hand. Are you okay? I hope you’re not overdoing it. And, uh, your partner—”

You froze mid-ramble as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He looked surprised for a brief second—had you actually caught him off guard? But just as quickly, his expression smoothed into that same cold, enigmatic mask. It was like looking at a wall of ice with flames just barely flickering underneath.

“You... know my name?” he asked, his voice a soft drawl, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. Control, maybe? Suspicion? Whatever it was, it sent a shiver down your spine.

You exhaled, trying to suppress the ridiculous giddiness that threatened to bubble over. Stay cool, stay cool, you reminded yourself, even as your heartbeat rivaled a drumline.

“I know your name because Hyugo told me. He said you needed a partner in art class,” you began, keeping your tone casual, though you were certain your cheeks were giving you away. “And one time, when I went to the nurse, she mentioned feeling bad about a student named Solivan who’d been injured. That’s you, isn’t it?”

His eyes widened for the briefest moment, and then he averted them, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of his book. Was that... a blush? You almost squealed internally, but you swallowed it down like a pro. He didn’t respond, clearly not used to being read so easily.

You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to something soft and steady. “I was worried when she said that,” you admitted. “But hey, a student is a student. Don’t overthink it. Now... can I please have my seat back?”

For a second, you thought he might actually listen. His eyes flicked to yours, a rare vulnerability peeking through before it was swallowed up by his usual mask. But instead of moving, he arched an eyebrow, glanced under the desk, and then back at you.

“I don’t see your name on it,” he said flatly, his expression neutral as he turned back to his book like you weren’t standing there, brimming with barely-contained exasperation.

You blinked. Oh, hell no.

Your jaw clenched, and a vein in your forehead might’ve popped. What was this guy’s deal?! Soulmate or not, your seat was sacred. You puffed your cheeks in frustration, unintentionally looking like the most adorably indignant person in the room. Not that Sol noticed—he was already back to reading.

Unbelievable, you thought, your inner monologue screaming .

"So cute..." It was silent but you heard it/\.

Your whole system short-circuited. Did you just hear that? Did he really say that? If it were possible to combust on the spot, you'd already be a pile of ashes.

HE CALLED YOU CUTE?!!?

Your brain spiraled into chaos. Your inner monologue devolved into nothing but incomprehensible shrieks: "IDIOEYDOWEOHCOWEODHEHUFEWFE8FR80EG8YE!!!!" Words were officially out of service, leaving you stranded in a whirlpool of overwhelming emotions.

He was blushing too, barely visible but undeniably there. His cheeks held a faint dusting of pink, and his lips curled into a barely-there smile—just enough to devastate your heart completely. How could someone be so effortlessly adorable and infuriating at the same time? Someone save you from this man, please!

But wait—did he notice your cheeks puffing up in anger? Was that why he smiled? No, no, no. If being an angry little cutie made him smile, then you’d be doomed to accidentally fuel his amusement for eternity. Yet the thought of making him smile set off a whole new wave of screaming in your head. Wahhh, he's so cute! Why does he have to be like this?

You couldn’t decide if you were furious or lovesick. One thing was certain—you were absolutely doomed.

Sol tilted his head, a sly smirk playing at his lips. "Tell you what," he drawled, looking entirely too smug for his own good, "you get me a cup of coffee, and I'll give you your seat back."

You froze. Was he serious? Coffee? For a seat? You locked eyes with him, giving him your best unimpressed glare. So what?!?! You don’t just barter seating arrangements with caffeine!

But before you could even voice your protest, your brain betrayed you.

He’ll drink it... That means he’ll touch the cup... Oh no, oh no, OH NO.

Your inner monologue kicked into overdrive, spiraling faster than you could keep up. "AN EMPTY CUP HE TOUCHES WILL BE MY SHRINE!!! I’LL FRAME IT. PUT IT IN A GLASS CASE. AHHHH!!!" You were practically vibrating with joy.

And then it hit you. Wait. Wait. I know his favorite drink. Latte. You knew it because you may or may not have totally-not-suspiciously stalked him during lunch breaks, one time even spying on him while he hung out on the rooftop. It’s fine. It’s research. You’re not weird at all.

Your face lit up with an almost chipmunk-like grin, your mood swinging like a pendulum.

It’s okay. You’re buying him his favorite coffee. Totally normal. Not because you’re secretly losing your mind over his cute smirk or planning to preserve the cup for eternity or anything. Yep. Totally normal.

Sol's silence was maddening, and you were done with his smug attitude. Crossing your arms, you let out a huff, glaring down at him as he coolly flipped another page in his book, pretending you weren’t there.

"Do I look like a servant to you!? Just move already!" you snapped, trying to keep your frustration in check. He barely glanced at you, letting out a tired sigh before returning to his novel.

Oh, no. That was not the reaction you wanted. You wanted him to look at you—to really see you.

Fine. Two could play this game.

Without a second thought, you stomped around to his side, his gaze flickering up just slightly to follow your movements. He was clearly unimpressed. That was fine; you had something planned. Gripping the back of the chair he was sitting on, you gave it a firm pull, causing him to wobble precariously.

“Whoa, what the hell—” His voice cut off as you smirked, satisfied with his startled reaction.

Before he could reprimand you for your actions, you cut him off, effectively shocking him into silence. By settling yourself on top of his lap.

He froze instantly, his book forgotten, his breath catching in his throat. He swore to whatever god looking down on him right now to take him. His ears were burning red, his entire body tensed under you, and yet… he didn’t move to push you off.

You, on the other hand, acted as if nothing was amiss, casually pulling your bag onto the desk as if this was just another day. But inside, your thoughts were spiraling out of control. Your love-struck gaze lingered on him as you rested comfortably, your heart pounding in time with the storm of emotions threatening to spill out.

What are you, Solivan...? you wanted to ask, your fingers itching to reach out and touch him. Why does everything feel so good when you’re near me? Is this how you feel when I’m around? Why are you making me feel like this?

You bit back a grin, feigning indifference even as your cheeks warmed. Sitting on him like this… felt normal, almost natural. You weren’t even processing the fact that you were quite literally perched on the lap of the boy you’d been stalking—er, admiring—for weeks now.

Sol, on the other hand, looked like he was about to combust. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure where to go. His mind raced with a mix of flustered panic and something darker—something possessive. His beloved was teasing him, and every ounce of self-control he had was being tested.

For now, he stayed silent, his face flushed and his heart hammering so loudly that he was sure you could hear it. But the way your smug expression softened with the barest hint of affection made his resolve waver.

You had no idea what you were doing to him.

Sol’s heartbeat quickened, a low curse escaping his lips as he tried—and failed—to compose himself. Meanwhile, you continued your work as if nothing had happened, utterly unfazed by the situation. Or at least, that’s what you wanted him to believe.

Oh, sweet, naive you—you couldn’t help yourself. With a small tilt of your head, you gave him a quick glance, the corners of your lips curving into a subtle, teasing smile.

It was driving him insane.

Inside, though, you were a chaotic mess. YOUR ASS IS ON HIS LAP?! HOLY SHET! You could barely hold back the urge to laugh or scream—or maybe both. What’s worse, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that a few students were starting to notice. Some rolled their eyes at the scene, while others moved away entirely. Sol must look like a total pervert with his flushed face and the way he seemed frozen in place.

His cheeks burned an even deeper red. The sheer embarrassment almost had him wishing for the ground to swallow him whole. But despite it all, his gaze lingered on you, his chest tightening at how adorably unbothered you looked, simply focusing on your work. He couldn’t see the lovestruck expression on your face, though—thank god. You were practically drooling as you scribbled away, overwhelmed by the proximity and the faint scent of his cologne.

Sol inhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. It was no use fighting it. It’s my lucky day, he thought with a bitter sweetness. My pumpkin— No, no, that sounded weird. My beloved—better—is sitting on me. This is fine.

Gathering what was left of his composure, he hesitated before placing his arm next to yours on the desk, trying to act like this was completely normal. He stared down at the pages of his book, though none of the words made sense anymore. You had completely fried his brain.

You, meanwhile, decided to make yourself more comfortable. A subtle shift in your seat elicited a low groan from him, one that sent a shiver up your spine. It was clear you were doing this on purpose, and the realization made his jaw clench. You bit your lip to suppress a grin, your thoughts wandering to the way his lips looked. Soft, kissable, and so, so tempting.

Your heart thudded at the thought.

A minute passed, the tension slowly dissipating, but your heart was still racing. You could almost taste the calm, but it wasn't the peaceful kind. Not when Sol was so close.

He muttered something under his breath, and you perked up, curious. “Seldom we find,” he quoted. You tilted your head, watching him closely. Was he really interested? His voice sounded serious, focused.

You gave him space to read the rest of the stanza, allowing the silence to linger, but inside, you were buzzing.

"Half an idea in the Profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once..."

You couldn’t help but lean in a little closer, your eyes flicking to him as he was so absorbed in his book. Could you feed him this poem, like feeding him words? No. You were supposed to focus, act normal. But it didn’t matter because he was so... charming. And it wasn’t just the poem—it was him. The way his voice softened when he read, the intensity in his eyes. God, you wanted to be the one to impress him.

His eyes didn’t stray from the page as he continued. “As easily as through as Naples bonnet—An Enigma by Edgar Allan Poe, huh? Not a bad choice."

A small smile tugged at your lips. Does he like poems too, or is it just him?

You could practically feel his presence wrapping around you, the air thickening as you tried to focus on the text. But the more you looked at him, the more the words blurred. You felt drawn to him, closer and closer...

"Do you know this poem has a puzzle?" he asked suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts.

"What...?" You blinked, unsure at first.

He smiled—God, that smile—and pointed at the first line, then the second. "Yes, a puzzle. This is one of the few works of his that I find quite charming..."

Charming? He's the one who's charming, you thought as you looked at him. You could barely keep your thoughts in check, wanting to record everything about him. This was... this was it. He was it.

You stared at the poem again, pretending to think. The truth was, you were just trying to keep yourself from throwing yourself into him completely. You needed a reason to stay calm. But his finger was still so close, his breath just slightly grazing your ear as he leaned in to guide you.

“Is it Sarah Anna Lewis?” you whispered, not wanting to say the wrong answer.

The shock on his face was enough to send a thrill down your spine, but he recovered quickly, sighing in defeat. “You got it right,” he whispered back, the words almost sinking into your skin.

Your heart fluttered wildly, as if you'd just won a game... his game.

You were... so happy. You couldn't hold back the soft giggle that bubbled up, your pride shining through. Your smile grew, unable to hide how pleased you were.

"I deserve another pat!" you exclaimed, pride spilling from you. "I got it right, yeah?"

Sol chuckled, but it was a hesitant sound—something almost shy. His hand brushed against your head again, giving you another gentle pat. And fuck, you couldn't help but close your eyes and savor the moment. You were addicted to the way he touched you. You’d never get enough.

"Just happy to see someone likes his poems, or at least deciphers them," he murmured.

I like you, you wanted to say. I like you so much...

But you couldn’t. Instead, your body betrayed you. As you leaned forward in excitement, you accidentally pressed your front against his chest, causing him to freeze.

Shit.

Before you could even process it, his hand shot out to grab your waist, holding you in place. Your heart skipped a beat as the room felt too small, as if everything around you was fading except for the pressure of your bodies being too close. You didn’t even care that it looked like two lovers in a moment.

Two lovers... just like in the novels.

You looked up, ready to joke about the situation, but his relaxed posture had vanished. Sol was tense, his face flushed a shade of red you had never seen before. He was literally trembling now, his eyes wide as dinner plates. His breath quickened, and before you knew it, he was leaning forward and gently—gently—placing you back down on the table.

"I’m sorry! I forgot I was sitting on you!" You scrambled to get off him, your hands shaky from the sudden shift in the situation.

But the truth was—you loved it.

You giggled, a deep, warm feeling spreading in your chest as you realized how easy it was to fluster him. But as soon as your feet hit the ground, you saw it—Sol was already up, clutching his book like it was his lifeline.

Without a word, he hurried to the exit, his pace like that of a speed walker, trying to escape from what you both just created.

And you, standing there with a blush on your face and your heart still racing, knew one thing for sure:

You trudged down the hall, your footsteps slow and reluctant. Sol was just ahead, but there was a slight distraction—Crowe. Damn it, you thought. You didn’t need this right now. Sol was slipping away, and you needed to be with him.

But then, you saw Brittney—her uniform a disaster. It was a mess of ketchup, mustard, and oil, a perfect blend of clumsy chaos. Jess was trying to help, but nothing seemed to work. What did happen? You were so relieved you hadn’t been involved in that mess. The last thing you wanted was to be caught up in that.

"Y/n! I was about to check up on you, how are you feeling?" Crowe’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you tried to keep your frustration in check.

"Good, better..." you muttered, though your mind was still on Sol. You couldn’t care less about the unfolding drama; it sounded ridiculous, but you had to admit—it was probably fun. Geo wasn’t around, thank God.

Then there was Brittney’s confused face, looking at you as you handed her the key to your locker.

“I have some fresh button-down shirts. You can wear one of them—or just keep it. I didn’t even get them properly, but I got both male and female sizes... You can have the female one. Just give the key to Crowe. I’m heading somewhere.”

She looked at you quizzically, but you didn’t have the patience. “Move, Ichabod...” You practically hissed the words, a tone of warning in your voice. You didn’t have time to explain further.

Crowe seemed taken aback, his expression faltering. “Where...?”

You didn’t answer directly. You just felt this desperate need to be elsewhere, away from everything, toward Sol.

And then you were gone.

Crowe stood there, confused, staring after you as you ran. “What am I doing wrong...?” he murmured to himself, probably wondering why you were so distant.

You didn’t care about that, though. Sol was what mattered.

And there he was, rushing toward the restroom. Your heart skipped a beat—Oh no. You couldn’t follow him there. That restroom? It was infamous. You'd heard the rumors. It wasn’t the place to go if you wanted to avoid strange giggling. But the pull to be close to him was strong, almost overwhelming.

You had no choice but to head to your next class. You could still feel the electricity in the air as you walked, a tight knot in your chest. You took your usual seat and pulled out your journal, your fingers grazing the pages. But then—Stop. You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t draw. You wanted to, but everything felt... alive in a different way.

You stepped into the classroom once again, your eyes scanning the room. There, at the back, was the tuft of black hair with striking green highlights—Solivan Brugmansia. It was him. But... was he always there? How had you missed him before? You’d never noticed his presence in the past. Was it always this obvious? Had you really been so blind to his existence?

The realization hit you like a wave. You couldn't believe you'd overlooked him all this time. Solivan... Sol... He was always there, sitting at the back, focused on his own world. You had never seen him, and yet now, it felt like you were noticing everything about him. How had you been so unaware?

Your heart raced. Thank gods you were here now. You could hardly keep your eyes off him. You moved to the seat directly in front of him, pulling the chair close and sitting down. Your gaze was fixed on him. There was a grace to the way he drew, a certain elegance in the movement of his hand. His pencil glided across the page effortlessly, each stroke precise, as if it was second nature. You couldn’t help but lean closer, your curiosity getting the better of you.

You had to know—what was he drawing? You craned your neck just enough to catch a glimpse of the paper.

you leaned over to get a closer look at his drawing, you suddenly caught Sol’s attention. His pencil froze mid-motion, and his wide, startled eyes snapped up to meet yours. His face turned an instant shade of red, and before you could even react, he quickly slammed the book shut with a soft thud. He glanced away, clearly flustered, his cheeks burning from the unexpected attention.

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, but you quickly tried to smooth over the awkwardness. “I’m sorry, it’s me from the library... I hope we can get along,” you said, your voice softer than usual, almost a little nervous. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted not sounding more casual about it.

He kept his gaze down, still blushing furiously, and didn’t say anything for a moment. He just turned away slightly, his fingers gripping his book tighter as if trying to hide behind it. You could almost feel the heat radiating from his face.

Not wanting to make it more awkward, you hurried back to your seat, but you could feel his eyes following you. As you settled in, you risked a glance at him, only to find that he was already staring at you. Both of you yelped in surprise, quickly turning your heads in the opposite direction, your faces burning in sync. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, neither of you daring to meet the other’s gaze for more than a split second. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach and the heat of embarrassment prickling your skin.

This... was going to be interesting.

This is rushed im sorrry! Its a small fic so! dw ill update it!

[anyaskalliope]

Mel and Jayce Deserved Much Better

After experiencing horrors and walking through valleys and shadows, I truly hoped Mel would break down this season and unleash her emotions. Especially since she spent the entire season unlearning hardness with Jayce being so openly affectionate and emotional. This final act was honestly a slap in the face.

The one person she hoped would offer her that safety net to do this completely shuts her down. Mel was always cognizant of his feelings, constantly looking out for him, advising him, and teaching him. She shared with him her deepest insecurities and vulnerabilities. I can understand if Mel and Jayce are both going their separate ways because of the Noxus plot but to have him be this cold, and distant, and show a lack of understanding toward her plight is bizarre.

Mel comes back with a changed appearance and a different demeanor, and he doesn't even ask what happened. He seems to not care. Jayce isn't even giving her a chance to explain herself and just keeps coming at her and you can see the moment when Mel puts all her walls back up. Don't even get me started on the fact that he held the hammer in his hand for most of the time.

Their interactions during this act paint Jayce as one large hypocrite. He benefitted from all of Mel's teachings, from her providing comfort and affection, to her investments in Hextech. Asking her why she didn't save Viktor like she had something against him was wild.

This is the same Mel who offered comfort to Jayce when Viktor was severely injured during the explosion. The same Mel who immediately understood why Jayce left after their night together, recognized the importance of Viktor to Jayce.

If Mel could protect everybody in that room, she would. When she explains her lack of awareness of her abilities to him, he just keeps going on and on.

And the apology with the "passenger" line was just bad. It lacked a certain level of remorse that I would expect from Jayce of all people. Where is that good-hearted man who could tell when people aren't feeling their best, that person who always wanted to help people and make their lives better?

I think the Survivor Jayce is not the Jayce that Mel fell in love with, this is another man. The Jayce she fell in love with died at the bottom of that cave. The survivor Jayce is Viktor's passenger.

Jayce abandoned not just Mel but also his mother who protected him many times to be with Viktor in the afterlife?? In what universe is Jayce pulling that shit?

Now Mel's heading off to Noxus. A nation that doesn't align with her values and morals and would most likely have to harden herself to rule or have influence there. I hate it all. I hate that Black women always have to be strong. We actually had an opportunity to see a Black woman who grew up in that environment slowly shed those walls with a man who actually loved her and was openly affectionate and vulnerable. I'm so sad that it was taken from us. I'm sick and tired of the strong Black woman trope.

With how mischaracterized her motives and actions towards Jayce are, I for one cannot say that I'm excited for a spin-off series with Mel as a main character. Not with this writing team and this fandom.

To me, this show ended in season 1 with Zaun becoming independent, Jinx not firing the rocket, and Mel and Jayce growing together as individuals and as a couple.

[dykedvonte]

I hate the stretch lines in the front of Curly's uniform because that means the devs rushed to make a model in like a month or so and thought "They gotta at least know he has huge knockers, gotta know he's got back pain." Cause like what is the thematic importance of his tits having overhang?

What responsibility is that representing? Breast reduction? It shows an inherent greed in his character due to the excess and heshouldletmeholdone and that he clearly is blinded cause if he tries to look down his damn ladder all he's seeing is his own cleavage.

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 08

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Your eyes seemed to burn from the intensity of the light streaming through the window as your eyelids slowly peeled apart. The sound of a beeping monitor, a white room, and unfamiliar blue bedding came into focus, along with the IV lines running from your arm, causing discomfort whenever your body moved.

The sides of your head throbbed with such unbearable pain that your fingers pressed against your temples, as if fearing they might detach from your neck at any moment. Everything in your mind was a dark blur, with no identifiable cuts of clarity.

Yet the one certainty you had was why you’d ended up here—your body’s reactions made that abundantly clear. Your mouth was so dry that your lips stuck together, and your heart threatened to pound out of your chest with its relentless rhythm. Taking a sip of water seemed like a good way to silence the gnawing pain in your stomach, but as soon as you stretched your arm toward the bottle on the nearby table, it slipped through your fingers as a wave of dizziness clouded your vision.

“Shit,” you murmured, barely audible.

A sequence of claps drew your attention to the door, and your body instinctively straightened in the bed, despite the lingering pain in your left arm. Each clap synchronized with a step, and the expressions on his age-marked face clearly conveyed his lack of enthusiasm to be there, along with a palpable sense of disdain.

“Congratulations!” Gerard ceased his clapping as he stopped beside your bed. “It’s astonishing how you continue to surprise me with your incompetence.”

His eyes scanned your state with the air of someone examining something detestable, and when they met your face again, he shook his head in a theatrical display of disappointment.

“As if it weren’t enough for your face to be plastered all over the internet because you lost it and attacked a fan, now I have to endure the media interrogating me about why one of my vocalists overdosed at a party in my house!” he hissed through gritted teeth, raking his fingers aggressively through his hair. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

“I’d answer if I could remember anything,” you sighed in exhaustion, laying your head back against the pillow, wishing only for the throbbing, miserable pain to subside.

“Right now, we were supposed to be at the photoshoot for the band’s new winter clothing line, and guess what?” he emphasized. “They all refused to go because of you!”

“Want me to feel sorry?” you retorted with a scoff. “We’ve never even seen a dólar from those clothes. Looks like I did them a favor.”

Arguing at this point required more effort than your body seemed capable of mustering. Each word exchanged only amplified the pounding in your head, made worse by the grating irritation of his voice drilling into your brain.

“Noah’s decided it’s time for you to step back from the band and focus on getting help. He’s compiled a list of specific places for that,” Gerard gestured animatedly with his hands. “Isn’t that lovely?”

Amid the chaotic jumble of your thoughts, you forced yourself to recall flashes from the previous night. You couldn’t be certain whether it was your mind fabricating memories or if you truly heard Noah’s desperate voice, even though it sounded distant in your ears.

If it had happened, and he still cared enough about your recovery to suggest stepping away, it meant that, in some small way, he still cared. But why did this realization prick at the fabric beneath your skin? You couldn’t find an answer.

“I accept.” You agreed, snapping out of your thoughts, raising your eyes to Gerard, who stood with arms crossed, leaning against the bed. “I want to go to rehab.”

“No, that’s not how this works.”

Your brow furrowed at the sly tone in his voice as he stepped closer. Instinctively, you leaned back, trying to distance yourself from him, but the edge of the bed stopped you.

“We have two festivals in the next two weeks and a tour starting next month, and I’m not letting you ruin them like you did today’s shoot. In our last conversation, I gave you incentives to endure the routine, just like we’ve always done since you proved to be weak. It’s your obligation to learn to moderate!”

“Get out of my room! Stay away from me!” Your voice cracked, the edge of its firmness faltering. Keeping composure was no longer possible when all you felt was exhaustion, and even that wretched emotion he insisted on suppressing.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Slowly, he leaned over you, gripping the curve of your elbow where the IV was attached, pressing the needle into your skin. Your body flinched at the sharp sting tearing through your senses, and you found yourself forced to meet his expressionless eyes.

“But when Noah walks through that door, you’re going to be a good girl and convince him you don’t need help. It’s not like you’ve never lied to him before, right? You’ll return to work and fulfill your schedule without letting that idiot interfere with my plans to keep the band together! I’m not losing money!” He enunciated every word, never breaking eye contact. “And do you know why you’re going to do this?”

“You’re hurting me.”

“Because you don’t want me giving a statement that your overdose was caused by your ex-boyfriend, who just happened to be in the same place where the emergency team found your body,” Gerard said, pressing his thumb harder into your skin. “It won’t be hard to make them believe me when they find what I’ve planted in his room.”

A warm trickle of blood seeped from the IV site as he pressed on it, the same pace at which it began to sting.

“You’re contradicting yourself when you claim to prioritize the band’s integrity, yet your first ‘mature’ decision is to destroy it entirely. You know my absence won’t affect Bad Omens’ performance, but doing this to Noah would tear it all apart. It makes no sense.”

Actually, a realization struck you faster than you anticipated. Gerard knew that when it came to the band, you and Noah had always been as one, and any disturbance to one pillar would inevitably shake the other.

As had happened before.

“I met someone who helped me with this dirty work, and I found it fascinatingly ironic when I discovered he’s a mutual acquaintance of ours: Seth Reigh,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your tone. “There aren’t many guys with that name in that city, especially one with an identical name in your history. Seth is one of Richmond’s best suppliers. But, to my surprise, it took me less than half an hour of digging to learn everything about him, including that he’s your stepfather. The same one who’s been hunting you like an animal for years since you ran away from home.”

How far could someone go when determined to own another at any cost? This was the dirtiest move you’d ever witnessed in your life, hitting you like a slap to the face. Hearing Seth’s name after nine years still made your body react the same way it had years ago. As if nothing had changed.

“All this time, you’ve been safe, with my men guarding each and every one of you. He could never reach you, couldn’t even come near you. But with just one call…”

“You’re the filthiest creature I’ve ever met!” you snapped, your jaw aching from holding back tears of rage.

“And you’ll learn to honor contractual clauses. If not for yourself—which I doubt since you don’t care about your own life—then for Noah’s. He’ll be terribly upset when he gets reported for illegal drug possession after his ex-girlfriend hid them among his things...” Gerard feigned a pitiful tone, as if thoroughly enjoying himself. “No love can withstand that, right?”

You already felt guilty for wrecking the life of the man you’d loved since the day your paths first crossed. Burdened by the mess of your cursed history, you couldn’t forgive yourself for dimming the light in his eyes over the years. You couldn’t be responsible for another.

As though he had managed to plant what he wanted in your mind, Gerard released your arm, the dried blood trailing faint marks where it had flowed. Your head still refused to process the moment, and like a shadow swept away by a lapse in time, he vanished from the room. But unfortunately, this time, it wasn’t a fabricated memory.

That conversation had actually happened.

The nurse brought your meal; everything looked anemic, tasteless, impossible to digest. You weren’t sure if the food was truly bad or if you just weren’t hungry, feeding on hate instead. Your fingers absentmindedly nudged the chicken piece back and forth on the plate, letting it roll alongside a green jelly that smelled like plastic.

“Hey.” A male voice whistled from the doorway, tapping twice before stepping in.

Your smile came unbidden, and he returned it as he walked toward you, hands tucked into his pockets. As always, a cap paired with the hood of his sweatshirt, he was dressed entirely in black and smelled so good you dared to think it was the first scent you’d noticed since waking up. Noah wore the same clothes as yesterday—he hadn’t gone home, hadn’t left you alone.

A restless kind of peace came with him, and he had no idea that it was exactly what you needed.

“As always, I’m giving you trouble…” you began, a little embarrassed, but his soft chuckle cut you off as he gently moved your leg aside to sit on the edge of the bed.

“That doesn’t matter, but I’d like to know how you’re feeling.” He sighed, glancing at the tray beside you. “Why haven’t you eaten yet?”

You just wrinkled your nose with a grimace that made him smile.

“Come on, at least a little, okay?” he coaxed, adjusting the tray in front of him. With infinite patience, he cut and gathered the food onto the utensil, then brought it toward you. “Watch out for the airplane!”

Stifling a laugh, you accepted the food and closed your mouth to chew. Determined not to upset him, you ate two more bites before he moved the tray aside again.

“I don’t know if you’re well enough for this, but I can’t think of a better time to have this conversation with you.” Noah hesitated, running his hands over his thighs and biting his lips before looking back at your face. “I promise that the person sitting here in front of you right now isn’t your work partner. It’s Noah. I don’t know if you even remember him, but he used to be yours.”

“Please…”

A warm sensation ran through your skin when he placed his hand over yours, his thumb tracing over the exposed bones.

“I know what it feels like to lose you, and I swear to God, it doesn’t compare to how I felt yesterday when I found you in that place.” Slowly, he raised his face, his dull, lifeless eyes brimming with emotion. His lips trembled, but his touch didn’t falter. “That was one of the most selfish things you’ve ever done, and believe me, you’re the most selfish person I know.”

As though it were an involuntary command from your body, a single tear fell from your left eye just after one rolled down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry for that.”

“I can’t take this torture anymore—being forced to watch you die. Every part of me rots along with you every time you choose to hate yourself this way because I’d never do that to you. I’d never treat you like that.” He looked up, gasping for air, before continuing. “So, if you still hate yourself too much to want help, do it for me. I’m still your biggest fan.”

Your chest felt like invisible strings were being pulled tighter and tighter, suffocating you. But you couldn’t expect much from yourself. Closing your eyes, you prayed for this moment not to be real, for it not to demand that you say the things that would break him again. But when you opened your eyes, he was still there, as vulnerable as the night you first kissed.

“Noah…”

“I’ve found good contacts. It’s not too far, the treatment would be short, and I’ve already planned to visit regularly and…”

He was talking so fast that he could barely hear himself.

“Noah, I don’t need help,” you blurted, closing your eyes again to avoid seeing the moment the words hit him.

“What?” he asked in disbelief, adjusting his position on the bed. “Do you have any idea what happened yesterday, or are you going to ignore it like you’ve been doing all these years?”

No one warns us that struggles with addiction are destructive not only to the user but to everyone around them, reducing their world to a single life—yours. No matter how much you try not to make it about you, they relentlessly, almost obsessively, pursue your cure, forgetting they’re deteriorating along the way. But who catches the strong one when they can no longer hold themselves up?

“I know I crossed a line yesterday, and that’s enough for me not to repeat it, but not enough to accept being admitted as if I’m some addict!” You didn’t even believe your own words, but you needed to hold your ground. “If you really cared about me like you say, you’d never suggest something like that!”

“You’re acting like you didn’t hear anything I said!” Noah pressed his hand against his thigh, preparing to stand, but you grabbed his wrist just in time to stop him.

Gently, you got to your knees on the bed and crawled toward him, feeling the wind from the window brush against your back, exposed by the hospital gown. Noah was breathing heavily, his face damp, his red, irritated eyes framed by strands of hair tucked behind his ears. He didn’t resist your touch as your hand cupped his cheek. Shutting his eyes, he moved slightly when you tilted his face, shaking his head as though the scene was something he had lived through before.

And in truth, he had.

"Hey, I'm still here, look at me!" you whispered, and after he refused once again, you opened your eyes, anguish etched into your face as your foreheads collided, breaths clashing. "There’s no one else in this world who knows me as well as you do, so give me one more chance when I say I’ll get it right this time. I want to be better. I want to be good again, but I can’t do that unless you believe in me. Unless, just once more, you believe in me, Noah."

Your voice held steady, resisting the urge to falter, and for a second, in his silence, you thought he was considering your words. The way he listened so intently, down to the rhythm of his breathing, made you hope. You couldn’t resist the subtle way your skin brushed against his, even though desperation lingered in the air.

But something shifted in his eyes. They darkened, fixing on you with an expression you had never seen before. Noah seemed to take every ounce of his accumulated weight—exhaustion, fury, repression—and throw it all down at once. Gripping the hand still resting on his face, he let it out.

"I. DO. NOT. BELIEVE. YOU." His voice was strong, firm, rough, and left no room for argument. He pronounced each word deliberately, not once breaking his gaze.

Noah shoved your hand away from his face as if it carried a contagious disease, and in the next moment, he stood up from the bed in a hurry. He turned back toward you, eyes scanning your frozen figure, still on your knees. It seemed to hurt him as much as it hurt you—evident in the way his breathing hitched, his chest visibly weighed down.

"If you really want another chance to fix things, then accept my help. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me and all the time I stood by your side, even when you least deserved it, even when I forgot the way back home." Noah insisted. "But if you don’t, I want you to forget I exist outside of the stage. I want to be dead to you, just as you will be dead to me the moment I walk through that door."

Though his words wavered with hesitation, they struck like a promise. Avoiding his gaze long enough to keep him from noticing your cracks, you lowered your head, offering him only silence in response.

But he would never understand.

"Hey..." Three heads peeked around the doorway, and both of you turned to see Folio, Jolly, and Ruffilo entering, pretending they hadn’t been eavesdropping just outside.

"Didn’t know we’d be walking into a funeral. We can come back later," Folio said with a flat smile, gesturing his thumb toward the hall.

"No need, boys. Noah was just leaving," you said with a friendly smile in their direction. From the corner of your eye, you saw him nod and storm out of the room like a furious bolt of lightning.

The trio exchanged glances, silently communicating in their own cryptic way before each of them found a spot on the bed, squishing together to keep you company. As the conversation flowed, you tried to distract yourself, even laughed at the absurdities spilling from their mouths, but your mind kept drifting back to the same place.

This was the first time you’d truly kept a promise to him.

You had finally broken his heart.

Once again.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ;

[dadrielle]

I am going to treat this as being in good faith even though I know you have copy pasted this same response on multiple posts.

It's fair enough to see this post and roll your eyes about it. I am being a sarcastic lil bitch about implications that really aren't meant to be there! Liam absolutely didn't mean to do this as an "Orym doesn't trust them" or "Orym doesn't respect their boundaries" thing, and I know that. And I know no one in game is gonna read it that way, either. I didn't tag this Orym specifically because I was picking at a small thing irritably and I fully acknowledge that.

But! There are 3 things I want to say to this on a more serious note.

First, I think we must acknowledge that the implications of listening in on one's friends over listening in on one's enemies are quite different. People have different reactions to different applications of Observant because the social stakes and boundaries are situational. It means something much different to punch an enemy combatant in the face than it does to do the same to your best friend, you know? And Orym is not omnipotent; he does not just automatically know everything that happens, despite how we all joke that he can see god with his high perception. When he chooses to listen in should matter, as should the implications. That's actually my main issue with this whole thing, but I'll get to that in a moment.

Second, I would just like to say while I'm sure you believe it's true I and others critical of Orym don't talk about any of Orym's actual flaws, the fact of the matter is there are many fans who do most of our character discussion privately with our friends instead of tumblr or god, even worse, twitter. And my Orym feelings aren't identical to every other person who is critical of him. As I said in the initial tags for this, I don't think this was the worst thing in the world, it just bugged me! That was just an emotional response, and those often pass. There are lots of moments in stories where my initial reaction is a strong negative emotion, because I am feeling the feelings of the moment, but then I love the full picture it creates. Imogen and Laudna's "did we break up" phase is a great example of that, especially Laudna's ongoing insistence that she was a dead end. It hurt to watch! It made me sad! But it really enriched the narrative! My actual, continuing issues with this Orym moment have nothing to do with Imodna, or the meanings of this moment in particular. It's just another expression of something I've been grousing about among friends for ages. I actually WISH it was Orym being fucked up, that it was something that would come up again later, something he might get push back on. I wish the implication that he feels the need to monitor Imogen and Laudna, that he isn't thinking about how they might feel about it, was a flaw that would be explored with the other characters. Instead it was just kinda there and I imagine no one else will ever have a reaction to it one way or another.

And that leads to the final thing: my biggest issue with Orym listening in is that it DOESN'T matter. It feels like at some point, Liam stopped having Orym engage with other characters and the narrative as actively. It's started to feel very repetitive, and I am deeply frustrated with it. I know he is a reserved, PTSD-laden soldier who uses his hard line morality and sense of duty to hold himself together, who refuses to tell his friends how he feels because he doesn't want to be a burden. I know this! And I think it makes for an interesting character and I want to love Orym as much as I used to. But this is an interactive game, an ongoing narrative, and after a certain point, choosing to have your scenes be solo and keeping your character from changing any of their stances starts to feel like refusing to give other people room to react and challenge your character, and refusing to engage with how others' narratives have changed. What Imogen expressed about not running in this episode isn't a revelation. She has, at this point, been saying some variation of it for about half the campaign. And he has told her he is proud, before. It was nice, then! But listening in to their conversation here and feeling proud in isolation didn't add anything new to the narrative. It could have, if it was a conversation, if he had talked to Imogen directly. But instead it feels so empty to me. Disconnected. It even sort of re-framed the moment as if it was about Imogen Finally Choosing To Not Run, instead of being about Laudna trying to reaffirm a future that keeps slipping from their grasp, one she only just started to believe in again on the precipice of Imogen possibly sacrificing herself for the world. It makes it seem like Orym has barely moved on from the solstice, like he hasn't registered how Imogen's narrative has developed since then.

There are so many things I would love to see from Orym that require acknowledging that things have changed. I wanted him to talk to Dorian instead of chasing after Dorian's dad to say he should be proud of Dorian, especially since Dorian had already had his big cathartic conversation. I wanted him to ask why Dorian has come to hate the gods so much, to ask him why it wasn't just the Spider Queen he was mad at. I wanted him to talk to Fearne about the fact that people outside the party have treated her with the same anti-Ruidusborn suspicion as Imogen, particularly in light of their conversation about taking Imogen out pre-solstice. I wanted him to actually internalize that he was wrong about there being nothing beautiful in Exandria before the gods, and to talk to Ashton about it in a way that starts with him actively listening to Ashton instead of just repeating the same arguments, even if he came out the other side still disagreeing. I wanted him to realize that there hasn't been any danger of Imogen running and that the core of her struggle now is with the fact that she's being asked to sacrifice herself. I wanted him to talk to someone about his guilt over killing Zathuda. I wanted him to acknowledge the hardness he put on when he tossed the locket on Bor'dor's corpse and declared this was war and what that hardness did to him. I wanted him to work on his flaws and talk to people! But instead, he listened and reacted in isolation. The fact that his reaction to Fearne asking him if he was ok as late as episode 95 was just "then why ask? You know the answer" instead of opening up is narratively a problem for me. The few times he has opened up a little have been wonderful but he's still holding most of it to the chest. So many emotional Orym scenes are people talking to him about his emotions and him not responding. We're in too deep, man! "If not now, when?" doesn't just apply to kissing Dorian, you know? He is running out of time to open up.

So. Do I still think listening in on that moment was sucky of him, even beyond the hyperbole? Sure. I think generally purposefully eavesdropping on something like that is sucky. It's a small kind of sucky, though. A blip. Because this is a story, the big sucky thing is that it didn't mean anything for any other character and felt just narratively disconnected. And I find that so frustrating because there are so many potentially meaty, interesting things possible in Orym's story, and I desperately want that richer narrative for him and for Dorian and for all of them.

You might not agree and that's fine. To paraphrase Orym's own words, every one of us forms our own interpretations with the lenses or prisms we see life through. Of course I'm gonna get more het up when this ongoing, general Orym frustration touches on something Imogen or Laudna related - they're my favorites! Of course that influences how I see things. I know they aren't everyone's favorites, so something like this moment won't be a domino-kick on tangentially related, piling frustrations for everyone. But it is for me. I'm not really trying to convince anyone I'm right, here, just to explain why I feel this way about it.

Sure would be fucked up if Imogen and Laudna, until only recently, had every single one of their private moments observed against their will, and then their friend decided to observe possibly their last private moment against their will, huh? :)

[russeliarat]

So I've encountered some WILD vague posting about the CCCC fandom and it's arguments about gore fics. I haven't directly interacted with this fandom for over a year - not because of anything bad, I just moved on to other interests to be clear, however the fact that this issue that I encountered a full YEAR ago is still a prominent issue in the fandom is crazy. And according to my boyfriend, who still actively engages with the main section of the fandom and their fanfictions, it's apparently gotten a LOT worse.

So I'm gonna be clear, I still engage with CCCC and CJ's media. I still listen to his music, I still engage with art on tumblr, as well as headcanons, I still draw HMSW (plus two of my system's cohosts are directly sourced from the media). I just haven't read the fanfiction or gone on CJFS for a while. Hearing that this has been so bad, it's come to vague posting back and forth on tumblr makes me so fuckin fed up with this shit.

Read to the end of my post before you form an opinion on this, I have nuance, okay?

Hi people, maybe it doesn't take a genius to take a step back and figure out that saying that you should be allowed to make reasonless and intense gore, abuse, and torture fics about a REAL GUY'S personification of his own personal struggles with mental health and suicide is insanely entitled /neg.

Heart, Mind, Soul, and Whole are not just independent characters from Chonny Jash. They are his (self-admitted) personifications of his mental health struggles, thusly, they are him. CJ has said that Whole is just him.

Excusing making fanfiction about intense abuse and gore and torture and cannibalism and god knows what else about HMSW on 'they're AUs' or 'they're interpretations' is not okay. Usually, I'd agree that you should be allowed to make fanfiction freely without people telling you what to do. HOWEVER! This is a real man's struggle with his mental health so I think that there are certain lines and boundaries that should be placed out of respect for CJ. Reasonless gore isn't necessarily bad, but reasonless gore about a real person's struggles is above and beyond disgusting. I've seen someone argue that saying that is government state censorship...

Guys, there is a distinctive difference between 'reasonless fluff' and 'reasonless gore'. One is wanting them to get along and be nice. The other is wanting them to torture each other. I don't think it takes a genius to understand there's a huge difference between 'I want them to snuggle' and 'I want violence to be done upon them'.

I think over the past year, I've kept this idea to myself because I wasn't directly involved and I didn't want to face the backlash at the time. Then my boyfriend got slammed in dms by someone who had these views, so now I'm pissed. I have personal shit in the game now and I cannot hold myself at bay anymore because I'm at my wits fucking end.

I think a lot of writers who delve into these intense topics should keep in mind 'what would CJ think if he saw that I was making fics about gore/abuse/torture with characters that personify himself?' Not because all gore or abuse is bad, they can be used for some wonderful symbolism or tension when pulled off with meaning and though and tact - rather, it's because some people take it way too far, sometimes without realising. I've seen a lot of people I was close to get stuck in an echo-chamber and not realise they spiraled from the headcanon that The Juno Incident was a violent blinding to something as intense as frequent abuse or gore between HMS.

I want the people on the opposing side to realise that I'm not going after gore or violence or intense themes. Some of my favourite pieces of media contain very violent, gory, abusive, intensely triggering themes, and sometimes, they are reasonless and because the developer or writer wanted to explore different forms of horror and fear. I don't personally believe that those kinds of themes should carry over to CCCC because (for the fifth time I'm mentioning it but I feel like I really need to drill it into some people's heads) the album is about a real person's struggle with suicide and his own mental health.

I'm not trying to censor anyone's views, it's just that I think sometimes there's just general common sense boundaries surrounding fandoms that are about someone's mental health.

An additional point is how often these fics tend to be quite ableist and I do see these writers project their internalised ableism onto HMS, which is a much bigger issue in the fandom since about 90% of people headcanon Heart as being somewhere on the blind spectrum and Mind as having some sort of issue with his voice that means he needs to use a vocal implant/Mind being a robot (which can very quickly spiral into ableism depending on how it's used).

Frequently, I see people portray Heart's blindness as making him weak or helpless and the same with Mind and Soul if people headcanon them as having implants or prosthetics or some form of disability and use it in their gore fics. Due to a lot of gore/torture fics using helplessness from injury as horror, it can very easily become quite ableist. I've been in fandoms with a whole month dedicated to harming their faves, and this can be an issue with them as well, not just the CCCC fandom. It can be done without ableism, but more often than not (especially in the CCCC fandom) people aren't looking for it when they write and can create ableist fics about a helpless character because their new/old disabilities.

I also saw someone talking about mischaracterisation and how that ties into this whole thing, but that's for another time because it's partially a separate topic that I could do a full length thesis essay on, so I'll do it another time.

TLDR; Don't make gore/torture/abuse fics about a real person's personifications of himself and his mental health/suicide struggle. That's fucked???

[that-left-turn]

I really feel quite problematic about watching this show. With the way norman has done all of these things that have stripped back and insulted melissa's work, I feel like I'm watching an abusive relationship. She loves him - and he treats her appallingly. And now we're even seeing that energy come through into the narrative they're playing on screen in their characters.

I'm getting increasingly certain that norman is a narcissist. And melissa is an extremely empathetic person. Those two types of people are often drawn to each other, and it always results in the narcissist mistreating the empathetic person.

I accept that I don't know them. But I don't know how else to respond to what I'm seeing. He treats her awfully, and everyone is just sitting back and letting it happen. It just makes me feel really uneasy.

It’s easy to see that there’s a problematic power dynamic at play even if you've never had any (professional or social) interaction with any of these people and it’s not something which is dismissible as “Melissa chose to be there,” because if she wants work, what’s she going to do? She's stuck in this situation with these toxic men.

Norman's actions are self-centered and inconsiderate of how any/all of this affects Melissa. It’s not a state secret that he could use some therapy, but unfortunately for the rest of us, his reps don't seem to be steering him towards good career decisions and that's their job. None of what he's doing in regard to the show is good for his future employment prospects: a difficult star who can't pull an audience and tanks a show with his 'creative input' doesn't get offers.

The showrunner should keep things balanced on set, that's part of Zabel's job, but it's a show called Daryl Dixon. Norman has top billing, is first on the callsheet and he got the showrunner his job, so fair treatment won't happen under Zabel. Even though Melissa is the person who gets universal praise by everyone who's ever worked with her and despite being the show's saving grace, she gets treated like she showed up to ruin the fun for these chipmunks who can't manage to make a show anybody wants to watch.

This resentment is why the audience is stuck watching a slo-mo car crash, feeling helpless.

[cybbr-bb-angel]

Can you give transplural tips?

First, you should definitely check out this post we made. It may be labeled as transplural, but it helps with any trans ids. It is kind of general, though, so here are some things that we've done to aid our transition!

The first step we took was taking the existing personality Cybbr had and splitting it into chunks. (As seen here) We tried splitting the host's old personality into as few chunks as possible so we didn't have any undeveloped alters that quietly disappeared after a week or so, which was a common thing that happened with our past attempts to transition. It will be easier to split fictives than brainmade alters for most, but since we don't attach to characters that way, it was easier to "make new ocs" as alters instead.

If you're going for a more realistic system, create interesting dynamics between alters that signify a system forming since childhood. Also, try to think back to your childhood and think up things that you thought would have protected you if something very, very bad happened. I found it helpful to watch videos about cis-traumagenic-systems to see what alters they've formed.

Now that you've taken your existing personality and split it up, I'd suggest making a Simply Plural account and making detailed profiles for each alter. Face claims, voice claims, personalities, roles, likes, dislikes, triggers (pos or neg), habits, tendencies, how an alter affects the body, the brain, what mindsets they have.... all that stuff! Then, start having alters front with the host. The more the alter fronts, the more they (and you) will understand how they interact with the world. Be flexible and willing to change roles, personalities, or anything on their account if both you and the alter agree that it isn't correct. Let fictives naturally evolve away from their sources too, that will make the system feel more real.

Talk about your system to others as you slowly discover things. Telling others about how certain alters act or how your system works will solidify certain details so your system isn't inconsistent.

Once your alters start to feel consistent, start training yourself to randomly disassociate or zone out to switch. This is where you can start planting amnesia barriers and a headspace. I'm not really sure about how to implement a headspace because Z just kinda... found one? But I do know that real places are easier to visualize and create into a headspace!

I think that's it. If there are any other specific details you want, please send in another ask! ♡♡

[aruanimess]

Once again, I make my grand return.. somewhat? Anyway - hi, again! I've got more to ramble about silly concepts for the Reverse AU. (I have multiple random points, which are more or less just.. cool segments that I have painted into my head, but hard to describe properly.) ALSO THIS IS GOING TO BE LONGER THAN USUAL, SO I AM SO SORRY!

Firstly, I wanted to discuss how during S4 of AOT, we see the previous Titan Shifters watching the Warriors train, talking with them and participating in some battles. Which made me ponder on the possibility of the current Marley Shifters that we know, if they possibly had interactions, discussions, (or even went to war) - with the previous inheritors? I say this, because I really do like the thought of Armin talking to one of these Warriors - (Let's call her, Nadia), and she walks with Armin on certain days around the port, to observe the ocean peacefully, despite the horrific world they both live in. (Could also be another reason while he enjoys viewing the ocean and misses the sight of it once stuck behind those Walls. Plus, I also see Nadia being a big part of his life, taking the role of a Guardian, assuming if his Family had been sent to Paradis). So, once he inherits the Titan within Evangeline, he'll visit the ocean on small occasions, holding onto the hope that Evangeline is still somehow with him, guiding him.

Next, is to do with Armin & Reiner's friendship, because it'll get somewhat wild! If we lean into the concept of the Warriors in wars before they got the chance to list who'd inherit what Titan, then I do believe their trust and friendship would blossom from there, despite Reiner being a nuisance at times to Armin. Throughout the story, we can say that Reiner does really care about Armin, helping him throughout training on Paradis, protecting him from the dangers and so on. Some may not quite agree with me on this, but I stand with the idea that I can totally see Armin taking multiple thunder-spears to the face, protecting Reiner in S3. (It's the same way of how Eren couldn't bring himself to turn into a Titan and fight Annie, because they were friends, etc.) Armin cares so much about Reiner, no matter what side they may stand on now, he wants Reiner to stand down and join them, seeing the possibility of change and freedom, seeing with how much had now changed once they arrived here, seeing how much Reiner himself, had changed. Though, what I think might seal the deal that there is no more between them, is with Reiner letting go off Armin. (For a more visual look, I strongly recommend watching Transformers One - But, here's the scene which stuck to me personally and I see both of them in it >> Video >> 1:25 - 2:25)

Now, to finally end it off, with some AruAni! (Only if it is some small crumbs of it.) In S1-EP2 of the show, with how citizens are getting food handed to the people who had to evacuate. I can see Armin sitting up against a wall, all alone, curled up and shaking from what he had just done. He doesn't want to look at the people who's home he had stolen from to serve Marley. During this, he hears footsteps of people coming and going, the murmurs and yelling of others whilst he hugs himself tighter, before hearing quiet footsteps stop beside him. Then a small tap to his shoulder, to which he raises his head to see Annie, for the first time, holding two pieces of bread in her hands. He's unable to speak, admiring the person in front of him through watered eyes, as she crouches down with a blank expression, handing him a piece of bread to which he hesitantly takes it. No words are spoken, only action. As Annie stands up, making her way away from Armin, to which he is still very confused, yet appreciative of the small gesture of kindness of someone who he had most likely ruined the life of.

AND I AM DONE!

All of these rambles, exploring more dynamics, stories and diving deeper into the character's REALLY tempts me to pick up the document with most drafts and finally start writing. But, aha.. what is free time?

Anyway, thank you for sitting down and reading through these long piles of text that I spat out. That's all, for now! - Have a lovely day!

Hello, Rux!! And welcome back!

1. Okay, first of all, I LOVE THIS! Previous titan shifters, and Female Titans in particular, are in general one of my favorite topics ever since I watched s4. 

Now, for Armin specifically, I think it would be very interesting if his relationship with the previous shifter was part of the reason he was chosen. Much like Zeke and Tom Ksaver, maybe they had a bit of a surrogate mother/son dynamic. Only, unlike with Zeke and Ksaver, Armin had no idea he was being groomed for the FT, because it’s usually given to women, so after he gets the titan he has all these conflicting feelings like: “Did you really appreciate me as a person or was it all because I’d be the next in line?” 

Too dramatic? Maybe… but well I’m a drama gremlin so…

2. Haha, I haven’t watched this movie, but I agree that Armin and Reiner would be good friends in this AU. Starting from their years as the “underdog” titan shifters, I think they’d sort of get used to protecting and supporting each other, which is a hard habit to break even if your former bestie is currently your enemy. 

The Reiner/Bertolt/Armin dynamic would probably look like a very different version of RBA than the one in canon. Which really makes me wonder if Bert and Reiner’s feelings for each other could be realized more quickly now that Annie isn’t in the mix. Also, where would Armin be in all this? Would these three have a weird homoerotic codependent friendship?

I’m inclined to say… probably, and it wouldn’t be healthy at all.

3. Damn, this last bit was fire! I honestly have no notes. This is exactly what would have happened! 

Ugh, I love the idea of an Annie, who has known friendship and support in this universe, taking care of her community through direct action 🥹

You should do it!!! Write that thang!!! 

I know how a packed schedule can impact your writing time, but hey no one says write a novel or write it fast, if you actually open this document then you do it for yourself and your enjoyment. There’s no pressure in fun! 

It’s been an absolute joy as always! Have a wonderful [timezone], Rux!!

[aiieera]

*the subconscious had awakened oooohhh*

*the subconscious approves of making Inumaki wait for his smooches but is also clenching their fist bc that's CUTE*

*subconscious anon is currently getting sunshine 🌞 and taking their meds. Reminder to take any meds you gotta take!*

i am BACK

[puppyeared]

learning abt friendship decay and "not reaching out to your friends for months at a time unprompted is not neurotypical behaviour" has me feeling a certain way

[shittyjakeenglish]

Day 301

i get a lot of asks saying things along the lines of "everyone is so mean to jake," so i checked and im here to set the record straight. most people are kind to jake: its just that *I* am very mean to jake. thank you and goodnight

[sonknuxadow]

just got a blazed sonadow post on my dash that was actually such a jumpscare

[bijoumikhawal]

I think if Ziyal was more obviously a little fucked up a lot of people would go from low key ignoring her to hating her but she should've been more obviously fucked up

[daz4i]

ik that elation emanator sampo is a known (possibly confirmed??) theory but why did we all move on so quickly from remembrance emanator march

[silencingspellsongs]

begging people to adopt the idgaf mindset i think if we all just developed a lil idgaf energy it would lead us to nirvana