#and ever since I first read about Wildings I been OBSESSED

[pinkyjulien]

▶ Wilding

One of the most common "rituals" in the nomad community is called (by the anti-nomad media) "wilding". Wilding is when a group of nomads, usually all youths, venture into static society to "see what it's all about." It is a fairly new occurence in the nomad community, but has gained an increasing interest among the youth. Despite the name and media portrayal, most wildings are peaceful and boring. ━ NeoTribes, page 21

Valentin & Mitch | 670/??

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝓍 𝑔𝓃! 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: They say poison is dangerous—yes, a substance that is capable of causing illness or death by taste, by touch, it should never be taken under any circumstances.

You’re a belladonna—a beautiful, deadly kind of poison.

Geo has always been a mystery wrapped in thorns—bitter to the touch, beautiful in a way that promised pain. A slow-acting poison with no antidote, the kind you’re warned to avoid. But warnings are wasted when the danger is exactly what you crave… and your body keeps reaching for the burn. You're not soft, and neither is he.

One’s poison—potent, addicting. The other? perhaps immune?

The question is... Does your venom suit his craving?

Or will you be the sweetest thing to ever ruin him—beautifully, completely, irreversibly?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: For my dearest mutuals, @mint0hhh artist of the [ header picture ] fun fact this was first geo art I saw on tumblr, and @lu-dao-writes who gave me the setting and plot—plus a few add-ons from anons who asked for angst (you know who you are).

This one's personal—a self-insert with a QPR dynamic between Aroace!Geo and Aroace!Reader (since I'm Ace, still figuring out if I'm Aro—read and let me know). Inspired by the recent announcement, I kept it gender-neutral with they/them pronouns. It's been a while since I wrote something just for me, and I missed that.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: geo x gn and self insert!, angst (like. hella angst. cried while writing it.), slow burn, in vino veritas, mutual pining, enemies and lovers (kinda), queerplatonic relationship, aroace rep, mentions of OCD, hyperawareness anxiety, emotional damage, (i really hurt my own damn feelings with this one.)

Halloween.

Though it is just one evening where the entire world resonates with your energy—for wildness, wickedness, just the edge of something fun. Crisp air un-soak sober, the wind carries the scent of burning leaves, cheap whiskey, and whatever questionable punch someone dumped into a cauldron. Shadows stretch long, neon lights flash in the distance, and for once—just once—you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

Now Halloween in college?

 Oh, it’s so much more than just an excuse to party across the world. It’s a whole ass experience. While some people come for the horror—the haunted houses, wacky dares, and fake blood sprayed all over bathroom mirrors—some seek an excuse to just simply go out of their minds for the night with cheap booze and transient and rash decisions. 

You have come here for all of it. 

The parties, the madness, the whole campus feels like it vibrates with energy and begs the night to get you a little too drunk or too bold or to leave you in a state of being a little too gone to care about anything at all except the moment. 

You can already see the Campus alive at night; jack-lanterns are flickering, far away, screaming from haunted houses on Greek row, music blasting so much that you feel it in your ribs. 

Someone's already passing with devil horns and all smeared lipstick and laughter trailing behind them. The streets are packed, bodies pressed together, and slurred conversations and this night is only beginning. 

You take a deep breath, imagining the hits, everything from alcohol, throbbing adrenaline under the skin, and absolute certainty that this night will only be a blur with poor decisions and even worse ideas. 

And really? Wouldn't want it any other way. 

“Why are you so obsessed with Halloween?” Crowe’s voice carried that usual mix of amusement and curiosity—light, teasing, but just sharp enough to let you know he actually wanted an answer.

The vice president of the student council—polished, poised, untouchable—sat beside you outside during lunch, mirroring your posture with his legs crossed like it was second nature.

You glanced at him briefly before shifting your gaze away, eyes trailing the glow of streetlights and the flickering jack-o’-lanterns scattered around campus then you took sip of your drink in front of you.

“Because Halloween is cool.” 

Simple. Honest. Direct.

Exactly what anyone should expect from you.  

But Crowe? Yeah, he wasn’t buying that for a damn second. 

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head before dragging his gaze over your outfit—the kind of once-over that wasn’t just looking, however analyzing the living hell out of you. The knowing glint in his eyes said everything his words didn’t. “Right,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “Somehow, I’m inclined to think you’re a little more than just ‘excited-going.’”

Of course, he would say something like that.

Out of everyone, Crowe had probably the best read on you—not that you ever made it easy for him.

You’d met him about, what? You place your hand under your chin, like two years ago..? His dumbass had thrown himself between you and a group of bullies like some martyr, despite having the fighting skills of a wet paper bag. The whole thing had been pitiful to watch, honestly. You’d barely broken a sweat handling it yourself, and yet, there he was, trying to be your knight in shining armor.

You weren’t sure if it was bravery or sheer stupidity, but something about him stuck. Maybe it was how he kept trying to befriend you, even when you ignored him outright. Maybe it was because you saw the way he needed to be needed, even when you didn’t.

Either way, you let him stick around. Vice versa. 

And now? You were here—hanging out with his actual friend group. A group he’d tried—and kinda almost failed to properly integrate you into.

You remember their names clearly.

Brittany and Jess were currently locked in some very passionate debate over future costumes. Deryl was talking Geo’s ear off—though, from the way Geo was sitting, arms crossed and eyes closed, perhaps asleep or ignoring him? It was safe to say he was not invested in the conversation. 

And then there was you. Caught up in your own little world with Crowe, as usual. Even then, he knew. Knew that Halloween wasn’t just some holiday to you—it was a part of you, something that slipped through the cracks even when you didn’t mean for it to.

It was in the way you dressed. The way the flowing fabric of your outfit moved with you, catching the light just right, embroidered with intricate patterns that shimmered like something out of a dream. The layers you wore weren’t just for the cool air—they were intentional, a mix of comfort, just for you. Your platform boots added weight to your steps, grounding you, making each movement feel purposeful—like you didn’t just walk, you arrived. 

Silver rings caught the dim light, a mix of old and new, each one with a story. Skulls, amethysts, gothic designs—they weren’t just accessories, they were pieces of you, woven through your hair, your fingers, the very air around you.

It wasn’t a costume. It wasn’t dress-up. It was you.

You exhaled, watching your breath curl into the autumn air before finally meeting Crowe’s gaze. A small, knowing sigh pulled at your lips.

“In other words… this is the only time I feel alive.”

Crowe hummed, a thoughtful look settling on his face. Oh no—you knew that look. He was about to suggest something. “You know,” he started, way too casually, “you should host a Halloween party. At my place.” …Oh. 

Well, you definitely weren’t expecting that.

You thought he was gonna ask about your classes again—because who actually wants to talk about that unless they’re in class? Or maybe try, once again, to convince you to befriend his actual friends. But this? You blinked, tilting your head like you must’ve misheard him. “At your place?”

He nodded. Completely serious. Wow.

You scoffed, glancing away. “Okay, and how exactly am I supposed to host a party at your place? Am I just supposed to roll up, kick down your front door, and start handing out invitations?”

Crowe smirked, completely unfazed. “I’d give you permission, of course. You and me? We could throw the best damn Halloween party this school has ever seen.” He nudged your shoulder, “I got the council on board for this party,” he continued, undeterred. 

“We all think it’s a solid idea.” His eyes narrowed slightly like he was trying to figure out how to sell it to you. Even flashed that smile—the one he usually aimed at the hopelessly charmed, the ones who practically melted under his attention.

You, however, were not impressed. Not even a little. 

Your face scrunched up in pure disinterest as you leveled him with a deadpan stare, “This is such rich, high-class boy energy. ‘Oh, let me just hand you a key to my estate so you can throw a party, where it’s just a bunch of young adults making bad decisions—like we’re in some kind of horror movie.’” 

You mimicked his smooth, confident tone with just enough exaggeration to make him roll his eyes. “What’s next, Crowe? You gonna have a killer show up to really set the mood?”

He lifted a brow, clearly about to laugh but held it back. “First of all,” he started, completely ignoring your impression, “I think it would be good. You have the vibe, you know how to make things fun, and—” He gestured vaguely at you. 

“Look at you. You are Halloween. If anyone should throw the biggest party of the season, it’s you.” Then he added, “With my help, of course.”

You squinted at him, unimpressed, before casually checking your phone. “Uh-huh. And what’s in it for you, prince?”

Crowe shrugged, before flashing that infuriating smirk. “I enjoy a good party.”

“Right,” you said flatly, giving him a knowing look. “And definitely not because you get to sit back and watch the crazy shit unfold.”

Because if there was one thing you knew about Crowe, it was that he loved a little bit of drama. Sure, he had the prince act down to a science—student council vice president, responsible, mature—but deep down? 

He lowkey lived for the drama. As long as it didn’t involve him directly, of course. Eventually, he’d have to step in and be the voice of reason, but you knew he liked to watch the mess build first. 

“I mean,” he mused, smirking, “that is a bonus.”

You shook your head, though a grin threatened to break through. “All right, fine, golden boy. I’ll help plan your exclusive, high-class Halloween bash. But—” you held up a finger—“on one condition.”

Crowe tilted his head, amusement showing in his eyes. “And that is?”

“You,” you said, jabbing a finger at his chest like a judge delivering a sentence, “are going to be the main host. I’ll be your party-planning partner, but no way in hell am I letting you dump this whole thing on me while you kick back with some overpriced whiskey, watching drunk idiots puke in the potted plants.” You gestured vaguely. “Plus, this isn’t my house. You get to be responsible for the aftermath.”

Crowe’s smirk stretched wider, something downright sneaky about the glint in his eyes. “Oh, now that—” he exhaled a soft laugh, “that is actually a fantastic idea.” Then he suddenly added, “Yeah. By looking at you, I need the best of the best from you.” 

You tilted your head, a little confused. “You want psychological horror at a uni party?" Then questioned, "You do realize half these people are gonna be too drunk to appreciate subtle fear, right? Or they might just straight-up shit themselves, actually…” you trailed off, looking somewhat away, suddenly picturing someone sobbing in a corner after a jumpscare gone wrong.

Crowe, ever the dramatist, flicked a fallen leaf off your shoulder to catch your attention again. “Exactly why we have to make it inescapable.” His voice dipped lower, conspiratorial. “Something interactive. Something that makes them question what’s real and what’s just part of the game.”

You become quiet, allowing a ton of ideas to unravel in your mind like a quick-burning flame. Crowe watched you, expectant, because he knew you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity for pure, chaotic entertainment.

You let out a soft, resigned sigh. "All right, host," you agreed, flashing a slow, devilish grin. "Let’s make this the best damn Halloween this campus has ever seen." Your voice dropped, laced with mischief. "Let’s make them suffer."

Crowe’s grin stretched wider, victorious.

"Now that’s the spirit."

Without missing a second, he quickly turned away from you to address the group. "All right, listen up!" he announced, voice cutting through the conversations. "We’ve decided—we’re throwing a Halloween party. But not just any party. It’s going to be the party of the year. No, of the decade."

Everyone’s conversations paused. 

Heads turned toward him… and then toward you, who sat coolly with your head tilted, watching them carefully. You didn’t care how they reacted—but it was always so entertaining to see how easily people got excited or rattled when you got involved.

Predictably, Brittany—the self-proclaimed fashion gyaru queen—gasped dramatically. "Oh my god, finally! Someone who actually knows how to plan something fun. I’m all in! I’m planning everyone’s costumes!"

Next to her, Jess, who you thought of as Brittany’s bookworm assistant—even though you knew their relationship ran way deeper than that—clasped her hands together as if she’d just been handed the keys to her dream. "I can handle decorations if you need" She softly said.

Across the table, Deryl—still half-distracted, ranting about something to Geo—ears perked up immediately. "Sick! I’ll bring the food and drinks!" he shouted, ever the bundle of chaotic energy.

And then… there was Geo.

Without even lifting his head, flatly, "I’m not going."

The entire table fell silent, as the air itself paused.

You weren’t surprised. Not really. But still, damn, Geo had a way of shutting things down so fast it was almost impressive. 

What did bother you—no, annoy you—was the fact that you could never really read him the way you did everyone else. It wasn’t just about his words or his expression; it was his entire existence. 

Every single person in this group had something—some defining action that made them them.

Brittany had her dramatics, Jess had her quiet enthusiasm, Deryl was loud and chaotic, and Crowe? Well, Crowe is the group leader, he kinda born and lived to be the center of attention. 

All these moments when you knew exactly what everyone was feeling just by those simple actions. All except for Geo…

Geo was an fucking enigma. 

No ticks, no habits that stood out, no tells—nothing. You had spent enough time observing people to know that everyone had had something. Some little unconscious action that gave them away. A twitch of the fingers, a glance to the side, a shift in posture.

He gave nothing. 

Like ‘go-girl-gives-us-nothing’ type way. It was like he had perfected the art of being unreadable, and you hated that. Not because you wanted to know his secrets, but because it made him the only person in the damn circle you couldn’t get a solid read on. 

And that was just frustrating. 

Crowe, of course, was the first to break the silence, eyes gleaming with mischief and a hint of desperation. “Aww, come on. Live a little. It won’t kill you.”

Geo barely glanced up from whatever deep void of thought he was drowning in, his expression as flat as ever. “Debatable.”

Crowe gasped, clutching his chest like he’d just been personally betrayed. “You wound me.”

Deryl snorted. “Dude, we all know you never get tired of that kind of rejection.”

"True, but that doesn’t mean I like it," Crowe shot back, before turning to you. And there it was—that look. That smug, expectant smirk like he already decided you’d be the one to fix this for him.

“What do you think, fearless party planner?” he mused, tilting his head. "Think we can convince our dear, beloved Geo to make an appearance?"

You barely spared Crowe a glance before shifting your gaze to Geo, who was already looking at you. Same unreadable, sharp stare.

God, you hated that.

You folded your arms. “Convince him for what?” you deadpanned before flicking your gaze back to Crowe. “He’s a grown-ass man. If he doesn’t wanna come, he doesn’t have to.” Then, with a casual shrug, you added, “Like he just said—he’s not going. Guessing he has better things to do.”

Crowe raised a brow. “Like what?”

Geo, without hesitation: “Staying home.”

You scoffed. "Wow. Never mind. That’s not ‘better things.’ That’s just you being anti-social."

"Exactly."

Crowe, ever the instigator, leaned in with a wicked smirk. “C’mon, Geo. Can’t let your favorite person down.”

Geo didn’t even blink. “You’ll be fine.”

Crowe clicked his tongue. “I meant them.”

Geo did blink then, his head tilting slightly toward you. His expression, as always, unreadable.

You sighed dramatically, rubbing your temple. "Oh, don’t look at me. I’m not in the business of dragging unwilling hermits to social gatherings." Then, with a knowing smirk, you added, “Besides, I figured you’d wanna avoid watching people flirt all night. You do hate that.”

Geo exhaled through his nose. “Hate’s a strong word.”

“You called Deryl insufferable for existing in the same room as a couple making out.”

Deryl, meanwhile, was still processing. He gestured vaguely between you and Geo. “Hold on—I’m insufferable now?”

“You are insufferable,” Geo replied then looked back at you, “And?”

“And nothing,” you sighed, pushing yourself to your feet and striding toward Geo without hesitation. You stood up in front of him, arms crossed, meeting his gaze head-on. No flinching. No backing down.

Crowe stiffened. “Uh, wait a sec—”

Deryl raised a hand, almost like he was trying to stop a collision in real-time. “Hold on, they’re really not the type to—” He cut himself off, realizing too late that nothing was going to stop you once you were on a roll.

“I just think it’s funny that you’d rather sit in your room and rot than tolerate a few hours of other people’s bad decisions.” You leaned in slightly, tone casual but laced with challenge. “Not saying I disagree—hell, I’d do the same—but your friends are trying to plan something for once. It’s not like this happens every day. When was the last time you had fun?”

The question hung in the air.

Geo didn’t answer right away. He just stared at you, expression flat, eyes sharp, like he was analyzing the situation—breaking it down piece by piece, deciding whether this was even worth his time.

You weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. Shifting your weight to one side, arms still crossed, you waited.

The silence stretched. The tension was almost comical.

Crowe let out a low whistle. “Damn. He’s actually engaging.”

Deryl nudged him. “And not in his usual ‘leave me alone before I ruin your entire existence’ way. That’s new.”

Despite being the center of attention, Geo didn’t seem fazed. He just kept his gaze locked onto you—steady, unreadable. But something was missing, something that made everyone else exchange glances. 

The usual disinterest wasn’t there. If anything… 

He actually looked like he was considering what you’d said. Almost.

Because this conversation had already drained his will to live, he dragged a hand down his face. “Define your version of ‘fun’.”

You rolled your eyes. “Geo.” You shot him a pointed look. “See, that’s the problem. You shouldn’t have to think that hard. Fun is just… doing things. No overanalyzing. No brooding. Just existing and actually enjoying something. Not everything has to be a damn chess game. Trust me, I’d know.”

He shrugged, as effortlessly indifferent as ever. “I have fun.”

“Oh yeah?” You tilted your head, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Name one thing you’ve done in the past month that qualifies as fun.” 

Silence. Geo just looked at you.

Brittney, who had been watching from the sidelines, leaned in with growing amusement. “Ooh, this is good. Two rounds in a row. That’s a new record.”

Crowe grinned. “Yeah, ‘cause he’s thinking way too hard about it.”

You pressed on, relentless. “Exactly. Fun isn’t something you have to dig through your mental archives for. It’s not a research paper. It just happens. But no, not you. You have to break it down like it’s some kind of military operation.”

Geo finally broke eye contact, glancing at his friends—who were all watching with barely contained smirks. He exhaled sharply, somewhere between a sigh and the world’s most unamused laugh.

“I don’t overanalyze everything,” he muttered.

Crowe snorted. “Oh, you so do.”

Deryl crossed his arms. “And yet, instead of shutting this down, you’re still letting them roast you.”

Everyone went quiet, exchanging looks.

Geo never entertained conversations like this. He shut people down fast—disinterest, sarcasm, a flat-out refusal to engage. And yet, here he was. Still sitting there. 

Still responding to you.

Crowe lit up like he’d just uncovered some grand secret. “Damn. You’re like the Geo Whisperer.”

You shot him a glare. “Oh, shut up.” Though, admittedly, you were still a little annoyed. Someone had to put the smug bastard in his place. Why did everyone just let him get away with being so rude?

Geo, predictably, ignored the remark entirely. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, meeting your gaze once more. “So what? You expect me to go to this party just to prove I know how to have fun?” He clicked his tongue, glancing away for a brief moment before looking back at you. “Sounds exhausting.”

You threw your hands up. “You are exhausting!”

Deryl barked out a laugh, slinging an arm around Crowe. “I love this. We should do this more often.”

Crowe nodded sagely. “This feels like an intervention.”

Geo remained entirely unbothered, stretching out lazily. “I don’t need an intervention.”

“You do if your idea of fun is staring,” you shot back.

Geo raised a brow. “It’s peaceful.”

“I don’t have time for this.” You reached for your bag, which Crowe handed over without a word, already anticipating your next move. “I’m gonna be late for class.”

But before leaving, you turned back, stepping closer until you were face-to-face with Geo. “Are you coming or not?”

Geo tapped his fingers idly against his knee, pretending to give it deep thought. “…To that sorry excuse of a Halloween party, or the lame-ass Art gen ed you’re being forced to take?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You know exactly which one I’m talking about. Don’t start with me.”

“…No,” he said flatly, without hesitation.

Deryl let out a low snort. “Damn. Shot down eventually.”

You huffed. “Look, all I’m saying is you should show up so people don’t turn you into some urban legend—the guy who never left his cave.” Then, with a smirk, you added, “But hey, if you wanna keep the mystery alive, be my guest. I’m sure your fans would love it. Hell, I can see them behind you right now.”

Geo frowned before glancing back—and sure enough, there they were. The usual group that trailed after him like lost puppies, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Subaru!” one called out.

“Please, we have better gifts this time!” another pleaded.

“Who’s that talking to him? They need to back off,” someone whispered, loud enough to be heard.

You sighed, utterly done. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. People here are so clouded.” The way they obsessed over Geo, over the idea of him—like he was some puzzle they could solve or a prize they could win.

It was simply exhausting. Turning, you walked up to Crowe and gave him a simple pat on his head. "I’m off, see you later everyone." He let out a small gasp, briefly catching your hand in his before releasing it, eyes wide with exaggerated surprise. 

Then, just as quickly, he beamed. “Hhm, okay.”  

Without another word, you turned and walked away, shaking off the lingering irritation as you headed to class.

He knew that look on your face—annoyance, exasperation, but not the kind people had when they wanted something from him. You weren’t like the others, not circling him like vultures, not clouded by whatever ridiculous infatuation everyone else seemed to have.

That’s what made it odd. 

You talked to him, called him out, and never once looked at him with expectation. No attempt to impress, no ulterior motive. Just blunt honesty, the same way he was with everyone else. 

And yet, unlike most, you weren’t scared off by it.

Geo stayed quiet, standing up as well. “I’m heading to class too.” He exhaled sharply, covering his mouth with his hand—but not fast enough to hide the small, amused scoff that slipped out.

Crowe gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. Was that a laugh?”

Deryl shook his head, grinning. “Nah. Impossible. Geo doesn’t laugh.”

“Please shut up,” Geo muttered, his expression quickly settling back into its usual blank indifference. But even as he turned away, his gaze flickered—just for a second—focused somewhere else.

Somewhere else on campus, a quiet spot near the hall pillar, half-hidden in its shadow, Sol watched as you walked away—your irritation still evident in the way your shoulders tensed and the way you didn’t bother looking back.

But instead of heading straight to class, you took your usual detour.

Sol knew your routine well enough by now. Instead of the direct path, you veered toward the student center, the familiar rhythm of your movements unchanging. The market upstairs—probably grabbing a snack before heading off to whatever class had you rushing. You always did this. Always made time for small comforts, even when you were annoyed.

He exhaled softly, his red-orange eyes following you even after you disappeared into the building.

You didn’t see him. Maybe you never did. 

The way the autumn wind caught in your hair, tugging at it like it wanted to keep you there. The way the faint glint of silver jewelry flickered under the weak sunlight. The way you moved, deliberate yet unhurried, like the world wasn’t something to be conquered but something to be entertained by.

Sol had never cared much for people’s routines. Never cared to notice them.

But yours?

Yours was different. And that was the problem.

Sol shifted his weight against the pillar, the cool stone grounding him as he watched from a distance, his expression unreadable. The crisp autumn air did little to cool the heat crawling up his spine as his thoughts replayed that small moment: you patting Crowe’s head, and Crowe, as always, taking the opportunity to pull you closer with that smug, almost playful smile. 

The effortless way he grabbed your hand had Sol’s jaw tightening, a flicker of irritation sparking deep inside him. It wasn’t anything obvious—Crowe did that with everyone, after all. 

But still, Sol couldn’t shake it.

He wasn’t sure why he was even standing here, loitering like some background character in a movie where he didn’t belong. You barely knew each other—a handful of passing conversations, one awkward art class where you’d been paired together because his only friend had stopped showing up—that was it.

And yet...

That day in art class, when he first met you… something had changed.

You were late, nearly crashing into the tables as you hurried in, breathless but laughing, as if your own disarray amused you. You spotted the empty seat beside him, and without hesitation, asked to be his partner. 

No hesitation. No judgment. Just... acceptance.

Sol had agreed with a nonchalant shrug, but at that moment, something unfamiliar had curled inside him.

Again, you were different. Not like the usual people he tolerated. 

You weren’t just there for the grade, despite not being an art major—you genuinely cared about the work. The way you got lost in it, when something caught your eye, and you couldn’t stop talking about it—no matter how trivial it might’ve seemed to others. You’d explain your thoughts, your logic, about every detail, about how each stroke of the pencil had a purpose, how every line and shade carried intention.

Sol barely spoke, but he didn’t need to. He watched. He watched the way your hands moved with purpose, the way you’d trace the contours of your sketchbook with such precision, smudging graphite into shadows as if it came naturally to you. The way you furrowed your brow in concentration, completely lost in the work, and how, for just a moment, the world seemed to fade away for you. It was mesmerizing, the way you brought an image to life was like it was second nature.

It was captivating. You were… captivating. Stalker

Sol exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake off whatever this was. But somehow, that one class, that single moment, had spiraled into something far more complicated.

Now, he always noticed you before anyone else did. In short, the way your voice carried a subtle lilt, full of amusement when you spoke about the things that made you light up. Again, the way your hands moved as you explained your thoughts, and the fluid gestures made everything you said seem deliberate and meaningful. The way you laughed when you thought no one was watching—soft, hidden under your hand, as though you were trying to keep it contained, but it slipped out anyway.

But then, there was the part Sol hated—the part he couldn’t escape. 

You with Crowe and his friends. It was always the same. You were normally alone, but Crowe—fucking Crowe—always seemed to be the one to invite you first. Sol would watch from a distance, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tight, as Crowe casually touched you—your hands, your arm, always in that effortless, easy way that made it seem like it meant nothing. 

Like you were just another part of his world. Sol hated it. Not that he had any right to. Because, in the end, he barely knew you.

Yet, here he was, wanting—no, needing—you to see him. 

“Sol!” No response.

You squinted, tilting your head as you watched him from across the table. You both were supposed to be working on your art gen ed project, but there he was—sitting next to you, physically present, yet his mind was miles away.

You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, but they weren’t turning toward the project. No, they were off somewhere in his personal, brooding universe.

“Sol!” you called again, dragging out his name, waving a hand in front of his face like you were trying to snap a possessed doll out of its trance. 

Still nothing. Your eyes narrowed. Oh, hell no.

You grabbed the nearest object—an innocent pencil—and flicked the back of it, hitting his forehead with just enough force to yank him out of whatever deep, spiraling thought he’d fallen into. Sol blinked, his red-orange eyes sharpening, the look of someone just rudely pulled back to reality. He stared at you, mildly startled, brows furrowed in confusion.

You crossed your arms. “I’ve been calling your name for like five minutes now—are you okay or something?”

He blinked again, seemingly processing. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I am not exaggerating,” you shot back. “I called your name like, at least four times. That’s practically an hour in ‘I’m-talking-to-a-wall’ time.”

Sol rubbed the spot where the pencil hit him, exhaling through his nose as he tried to reset his brain. Damn it. He’d gotten stuck in his thoughts again—thoughts about you, no less. Not on purpose, of course. It just… happened. 

Against his will. Completely unfair.

Meanwhile, you were already talking again, hands gesturing as you rambled. “Listen, I need your full, undivided attention because I have very important news.” You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice like you were about to drop some life-altering information.

Sol, still mildly annoyed but intrigued despite himself, gave you a blank stare. “…What.”

You grinned. “I’m now a party planner with one of my closest friends. He’s the host of this upcoming Halloween party, wanted my insight since, you know…”

Sol’s face remained impressively neutral. “...Okay?”

You gasped, like he had just insulted your entire existence. “Okay?! That’s all you have to say?! Do you even know what this means?”

“It means I should probably prepare for a disaster,” he deadpanned.

“Excuse you,” you huffed. “This is going to be legendary. The Halloween party of the century.” You sighed, “Spooky. Chaotic. Unforgettable. I will be designing an experience that will haunt everyone for therest of their lives.”

Sol raised an eyebrow. “...So, a disaster.”

You crossed your arms, “Good parties always lead to disaster that’s how you have fun—oh I’m sorry, you never got invited to parties, Mr. Lonely. Says the one-that-only-has-one fucking-friend in their life.” You added, playfully teasing.No personally, I meant that.

Sol rolled his eyes and sighed, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan. “Okay and? Tell me how did this ‘friend’ of yours manage to rope you into this mess, exactly?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Like I said, he needed my Halloween expertise, you know since Halloween is like my whole vibe.” You gestured vaguely at yourself like it was obvious.

Sol gave you a once-over, his eyes lingering a bit longer than necessary. Then he shook his head with that typical, bemused look. “Yeah, no kidding. You dress like a witch all year round, it only makes sense.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Excuse you. And what about you, Mr. Basement Dweller? You’re practically one mood away from turning into a permanent shadow, always sitting in the back of the class as per usual.” You mentioned that you and he are currently sitting at the back of the class.

His lips twitched in an almost smile, but he shot you a deadpan glare. “Basement dweller? That’s your go-to insult?”

“Oh, am I wrong?” you teased, leaning back with a smirk.

Sol let out another theatrical sigh, shaking his head like he was somehow disappointed in you. “And here I thought we were building a solid foundation of mutual respect.”

“You thought wrong,” you said smoothly, resting your chin on your hand, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “But seriously, you should come to the party. I’ll even let you sulk in the darkest corner like the brooding emo you are.”

He gave you a look that could only be described as deadpan, followed by a dismissive click of his tongue. “I’ll think about it.”

You grinned, leaning forward just a bit. “That’s the closest thing to a ‘yes’ I’m ever gonna get from you, huh?”

Sol muttered something under his breath, clearly trying to pretend he wasn’t intrigued, but the faintest ghost of a smirk betrayed him. 

Yeah, he was definitely thinking about it.

Later, the soft hum of students murmuring over their own art projects faded into the background as your attention snapped back to your half-finished piece. The assignment was straightforward—create something abstract that conveyed either movement or emotion. Simple enough.

Sol, however, was lost in his own world. Beside you, his sleeves pushed up, charcoal smudges marking his fingers, working with that same detached intensity that had defined your first partnered project.

The only sounds between you were the occasional scratch of his pencil against paper. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an odd, unspoken feeling hanging in the air. A quiet tension that you couldn’t quite place.

He paused for a moment, fingers hovering in mid-air, and despite yourself, you glanced up. He wasn’t focused on the work anymore.

“…How much to get in?”

You blinked, taking a few seconds to process the question before finally looking up, caught off guard. “For what?”

Sol didn’t look up, his hand moving slowly and deliberately over the paper as he continued sketching. "For the Halloween party." His tone was neutral, like it didn’t really matter, but the way his fingers tightened around the pencil suggested otherwise.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you actually interested in going?”

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing just a fraction before he finally glanced at you. "Just asking," he muttered, quickly diverting his gaze back to the paper.

Then amusement flickering across your face. “You don’t seem like the type to care about university parties.”

“I don’t,” he admitted, finally setting his pencil down and meeting your gaze fully. “But you’re helping plan it…”

That stopped you in your tracks. Someone was actually interested in your party, unlike a certain someone. The way Sol said it so plainly, without teasing or deflecting, was strange—like it was simply a fact. No hidden meaning.

Sol looked away for a second, rubbing at the back of his neck, fingers smudging charcoal on his skin. You noticed the faint bruises there, ones that lingered around his neck and lower waist, the kind that showed when his shirt lifted just slightly, only for him to quickly pull it back down.

You never questioned it, though. 

You had a feeling those marks weren’t from accidents, they were from bullies of course. You’d seen him at the infirmary too many times to think otherwise. The school always offered help and therapy, but it felt like nothing ever came of it. University Olympus didn’t really care about anyone who wasn’t rich or connected.

"You look like someone who actually knows horror," he muttered, still not meeting your eyes. "Not just cheap jump scares and plastic skeletons." His fingers twitched slightly before dropping back to the table. "If you're the one making it, then it might actually be... worth going."

A small sigh escaped your lips before you could stop it—nothing mocking, just amused, warm, maybe even a little surprised. 

"So that’s why you’re asking."

Sol stiffened, and for the first time since you'd met him, you noticed the flush of red creeping up his neck, dusting his cheeks. He huffed, quickly turning back to his drawing like it would shield him from your reaction. 

"Forget it."

But you didn’t. You could never. "No, no. I’ll make sure to send you a free ticket." You waved your hand nonchalantly before pulling out your phone.

Sol didn’t say anything back, but you caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

He definitely appreciated it, especially when it came from you.

As the art class ended, the usual shuffle of students packing up their supplies filled the room. Others rushed out the door to either get home or catch the last few minutes of the dining hall's late hours.

The sounds of chairs scraping against the floor and muted conversations about upcoming deadlines echoed in the background. The sky outside had begun its slow descent into dusk, streaks of orange and purple bleeding into the horizon. You and Sol stepped out of the art building, the cool autumn air settling against your skin.

You pulled out your phone to check the time, and a thought crossed your mind. "Sol," you called.

He quickly turned his head, and you noticed how he always did that whenever you called his name. "Yes?"

"I won’t be able to walk with you to class, or from it, for the next few days," you mentioned, feeling a slight pang of regret. "This party planning's eating up my time. I’ll finish my part of the project later this week so I won’t forget."

Sol didn’t respond right away, shoving his hands into his pants pockets as he walked beside you, the gravel crunching underfoot. After a beat, he said, “I can finish it for you.”

You blinked, glancing at him. “What?”

He shrugged, his gaze fixed ahead as though the offer wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. “Your part. I can finish it for you.”

That threw you off. Again. You weren't the type to leave someone hanging like that, especially not on a project that was worth a significant chunk of your grade. While you trusted your own skills, handing it off to someone else—even someone as skilled as Sol—felt... odd.

“I don’t know…” You frowned slightly, adjusting the strap of your bag. “It’s not that I don’t think you can do it, but I usually handle my own work. I don’t like slacking off, even if it’s something small.”

Sol exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m not saying you’re slacking. You already did most of it.” He glanced at you then, his eyes sharper than before. “I just get it.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly as you tried to process his words. “Get what?”

Sol's response was almost automatic. "You," he said simply, his tone flat, like it was an obvious thing. Then, just as quickly, a faint flush of red crept up his neck, and he looked away, clearly a little caught off guard. 

“I-I meant, your style." You noticed the shift in his demeanor, the way he hesitated before continuing. “The way you layer shadows, the details you focus on—it’s something I can learn from. Won’t take me more than an hour, maybe a day at most.”

His voice, though still steady, held a quiet certainty that you couldn’t quite place. There was no arrogance this time, no challenge. It wasn’t about proving he could do it better. It was just… different. 

He wanted to learn from you, wanted to understand your approach.

And that, for some reason, felt strange.

You studied him for a moment, the words lingering between you like a question. There was an odd intimacy in the idea of someone else taking over your work—something about it felt too personal, too close. The thought of it made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t fully explain.

But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just the offer. You had sensed something else before—how his gaze always seemed to follow you, how his attention lingered longer than it should. There was an intensity to it, something beneath the surface that you couldn’t ignore. You always kept it at the back of your mind, locked away and left unspoken, but it was there.

You shook it off, focusing back on his offer, trying to suppress that tight feeling in your chest. “Nah, I can complete it,” you said, brushing off the unease as best as you could.

Sol shrugged nonchalantly, though his gaze flicked back to you, a quiet understanding settling between you. “Suit yourself.”

You both started walking, the cool air tugging at the strands of your hair, and the quiet hum of the campus seemed to pulse with life in the stillness between you. As you walked, Sol’s pace slowed, and his gaze flickered briefly to the ground, a subtle shift that made you catch it—something in him had changed. You barely noticed, but you did.

“Are you heading home?” he asked, his voice casual, but there was something sharp beneath it, like a blade wrapped in velvet.

You shook your head, feeling that familiar prickling unease at the back of your neck. “No. Crowe still needs help with the party planning. There’s a ton to do, and he’s counting on me.”

Sol’s expression faltered for a split second. His lips tightened, his jaw clenching slightly as if something inside him had shifted. “So this friend of yours is Crowe, huh?” he asked, his voice more strained than you expected. His eyes narrowed just enough for you to catch it, but not enough to make it obvious.

You noticed the tension in his voice, and it made the air between you feel thicker. “Yeah… He’s my friend. I’m helping him out. The party’s important to him, so I promised I’d help,” you said, trying to keep things light, but the back of your mind nagged at you. There was something in his tone, something that hinted at more than just casual curiosity.

For a moment, Sol didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on the ground, and you could almost see the thoughts churning behind his eyes. The silence between you stretched longer than it should have, until Sol finally muttered, quieter now, as if he was sorting through his thoughts.

“Right,” he said, his voice almost hesitant.

His shoulders slumped slightly, as if trying to make himself smaller, more distant. “I’ll… I’ll take you home afterward, then.”

You blinked, surprised by the offer. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ll figure it out. Also, I was thinking… I might send you a ticket or two for the party, in case you’ve got someone to bring along—maybe a date?” You teased lightly, the smile on your lips almost automatic, but the flutter in your chest lingered, a feeling you couldn’t shake.

For a moment, Sol’s gaze shifted to you, his brow furrowing, lips pressing into a tight line. In that fleeting second, you caught a flash of irritation before he masked it again. “I’ll go. But a date is out of the question for someone like me. Hyugo will come with me,” he said, his tone calm, clipped.

He glanced at you then, his gaze softer, almost uncertain, and the shift didn’t go unnoticed. It was like he was wrestling with something internally, and it made you uneasy, though you couldn't quite place why.

The silence stretched between you as you both continued walking, the hum of campus fading into the background. Sol seemed lost in thought, distant, until he spoke again, his voice breaking the quiet like a sudden ripple in calm water.

“Hey,” Sol called out, his tone casual, but now there was something unsteady in it. You stopped, turning back to face him, an eyebrow raised in curiosity at the shift in his voice.

“Do you, uh, like him?”

Sol asked, his words almost hesitant, like they slipped out before he could stop them. His gaze was steady, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a slight tension that made your pulse quicken just a little. It was almost as if he was fishing for something, but you couldn't quite place what.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze—the sounds of the campus, the distant chatter of students, the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The world fell away as you processed his question, a weight settling in the pit of your stomach. “What now?" you asked, trying to keep your voice level as low as possible. "Who are you referring to?"

Sol shifted, his eyes not quite meeting yours as he said, "Your friend, Crowe..." His voice dropped lower, the words hanging between you like an unanswered question. The air around you seemed to hum with an unspoken tension, and you could feel it in your chest—a tightening you couldn’t ignore.

You side-eyed him, trying to process what was happening, and why his question seemed to carry more weight than it should. "Why are you asking such a question?" you asked, crossing your arms defensively, trying to push back against the uncomfortable feeling creeping in.

Sol hesitated for a beat, his fingers curling into fists before he forced himself to relax them. "Just cause," he muttered, his eyes avoiding yours just a moment too long. Then, he looked at you again, his gaze almost sad now, like he was waiting for something. 

"What do you think of him?"

You blinked, feeling an unfamiliar heat rush to your skin. "I mean... shit, he's my friend," you said slowly, trying to make sense of why he was asking this, why it felt so strange. 

Sol's jaw tightened visibly, but he quickly masked it with a shrug, his usual cool demeanor slipping back into place. "Do you like him or not?” His voice held an edge like he was pushing for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

You didn’t answer immediately, unsure of how to even begin. 

The question felt... invasive, almost too personal like he was probing into something that wasn’t his business. Instead, you looked away, crossing your arms as if that could shield you from whatever he was looking for.

"Okay," you said, almost dismissively. 

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as the words hung between you. “Since you want my answer so badly…” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “I don’t really feel... anything for Crowe. He’s just a close friend, that’s all I’ll say.”

It felt strange to say it out loud, but the truth was simple—your relationships with people weren’t complicated in the way most people seemed to be. You didn’t get the rush of excitement, the butterflies, the desire to be close to someone in that way. 

That wasn’t something you’d ever felt. 

Crowe was just someone you gave pity to be friends with, like now, someone who needed help with the party planning. Nothing more. And it wasn’t like you didn’t appreciate him as a friend—he’s trusting and reliable—but your feelings didn’t go beyond that.

There was a flicker in Sol’s eyes as he processed your words, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he just gave you a small nod, as if satisfied with your answer. The silence between you stretched, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t look back at him.

And then, almost as if on cue, Sol spoke again, his voice a little too casual, like he was trying to mask whatever it was he was really thinking. 

“So… do you like anyone else, then?”

What the fuck. You paused, taken aback. Another question seemed so out of left field. You weren’t someone who spent time thinking about relationships or feelings, and honestly, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind in ages. You shrugged nonchalantly, the weight of his question still lingering like an itch you couldn’t scratch. “I don’t know,” you said, the answer rolling off your tongue with little care. 

"It’s not something I really think about, honestly."

It wasn’t a lie. You’d never really put much thought into who you were supposed to like, who you were supposed to want, or any of that typical nonsense people obsessed over. You had a type, theoretically, sure. You knew what attributes you were ‘supposed’ to like. But, you never actually fell for someone with those qualities. Maybe it was just the concept of attraction that you understood, but the actual feeling? 

That was still foreign to you.

Oh my god, thinking about it made your brain spiral. What did attract you? You could only pinpoint superficial stuff, like how someone looked, or how clean and put-together they were. That sounded so shallow, but it was the damn truth.

You liked people you got along with. That was it. That was all.

The idea of attraction—how people acted on it—wasn’t just distant. It hurt to think about. The obsessive thoughts started crawling into your brain, uninvited, picking apart every little thing. The more you thought, the more it didn’t make sense. The more your head started to pound, the more everything became a blur of unrealistic expectations that didn’t fit you, didn’t interest you. It had never made sense, not the way it seemed to for everyone else.

You clenched your jaw, trying to push the thoughts away, but it was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands. Ugh, this was too much. Just thinking about it made your head hurt too much. So much unwanted noise.

You frowned deeply, shaking off the thoughts, but the irritation still lingered. 

For Sol to be thinking about you… liking someone… well, that was a different story entirely. 

The more you dwelled on it, the more uncomfortable it felt. 

Like he was pressing you into a space that wasn’t yours to occupy. Why was he asking you these questions? What did it matter to him who you liked or didn’t like? The thoughts didn’t stop, though. They lingered.

You couldn’t help but notice the way Sol’s gaze shifted when you gave your answer. The way he seemed almost... invested in your response. It left a bad taste in your mouth like there was something you were missing, something obvious he wasn’t saying, but the longer you thought about it, the stranger it felt.

Sol didn’t press further after that. Instead, he fell into silence, his expression unreadable as he stared ahead, lost in his thoughts.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about who Sol meant, Crowe. You couldn’t stop thinking about how easily you and Crowe interacted, how natural it was for you two to fall into a rhythm. He was one of the few people who didn’t overwhelm your brain. 

Sol had been watching that dynamic, hadn’t he? 

And it irked him. That much was clear. The way Crowe smiled—effortless, easy. The way his eyes always seemed to be calculating something, like he was always two steps ahead of everyone else. That cool, confident air Crowe carried around—it grated on Sol in ways he couldn’t fully explain.

He wasn’t jealous—It wasn’t about that. But something about the way you and Crowe meshed... it made something inside of Sol twist, in a way he couldn’t control, couldn’t understand.

But he kept all of that to himself, kept the thoughts buried deep.

You were your own person. Whatever dynamic you had with Crowe, it wasn’t his place to question. He tried to remind himself of that, even if it didn’t sit quite right.

But damn, watching you and Crowe together—how effortless it seemed, how naturally you both slipped into your own little world—it gnawed at Sol in a way he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t immediate, but over time, every time he saw the two of you together, something dark twisted in his gut. He wasn’t sure when it started, but he could feel it now, creeping under his skin like a slow-burning ache.

It wasn’t about Crowe—not really.

It was you. 

How much of your attention he commanded, how easily you gave it to him, how little was left for anyone else. For Sol. It made him want to pull you back, to demand that you notice him the way you noticed Crowe.

The frustration burned in his chest, a familiar acid, but he buried it. He told himself it was nothing, just a fleeting feeling. Yet, every time you laughed with Crowe, every time he saw the two of you deep in conversation, Sol couldn’t help but feel a sharp pang of something ugly stir inside him.

Fuck it. Sol was jealous.

Lost in the clamor of his thoughts, Sol barely registered the sudden force that knocked you off balance, halting your steps beside him. His body tensed, irritation flaring instantly as his eyes snapped to the figure responsible.

Geo. That smug, silent bastard.

Geo’s grip on your arm was firm—possessive, yet controlled, his fingers pressing just enough to make it clear you weren’t slipping away from him so easily. His gaze locked onto yours, sharp and unreadable.

“I was calling your name.” His voice was steady, but there was something unmistakably demanding beneath it.

You exhaled sharply, yanked out of your thoughts by the sudden tug. His hold wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either—it was the kind of grip that left no room for argument.

“Well, damn. Hello to you too, Geo,” you muttered, irritation flickering in your voice as you glanced at where his hand still held you.

Sol stood still, his eyes narrowed as he followed Geo’s actions, though he seemed completely oblivious to the stir he caused. What made Sol’s blood boil, however, was the way Geo’s gaze flicked down at you, lingering just a fraction too long.

Sol’s jaw tightened, in frustration. He wanted to close the gap between you and Geo, wanted to do something, anything, to put some distance between you two, but he forced himself to remain still, the pressure of his feelings simmering just beneath the surface. He took a half-step forward, his voice cool but edged with an unmistakable hint of concern. 

“You okay?” His eyes scanned you, looking for any sign of discomfort, something that would give him a reason to intervene.

Before you could respond, Geo’s hand landed on your head, ruffling your hair in a slow, almost patronizing motion, pushing it back and forth like you were some distracted kid. “You need to stop letting your thoughts take over. It’s all over your damn face.”

Sol’s muscles tensed, irritation prickling under his skin. The sight of Geo touching you—so casually, so familiar—sent a sharp surge of frustration through him. His fingers twitched at his side, the urge to shove Geo’s hand away clawing at his chest.

But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t even react.

Instead, you reached up, fingers curling around Geo’s wrist in a quiet but firm grip, stopping him from shaking you any further. There was no aggression in your touch, just a steady, silent plea for him to quit it. “I’m aware,” you muttered, exhaling through your nose. “Shit, did something happen?”

Geo didn’t move, his hand still resting in yours, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. His sharp gaze locked onto yours, unwavering—as if Sol wasn’t even there.

“Jericho says you’re late,” Geo stated flatly, his voice carrying its usual indifference. “He needs your help with the party. Told me to pick you up after class.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing. “Really? Why you?”

Geo shrugged, unconcerned. “Be grateful I agreed, or you’d be walking.” His hand slipped from yours as he took a step back, already turning to leave. He didn’t bother with another word—just a glance over his shoulder at Sol, a brief, knowing look that said more than words ever could. “I’ll be waiting ahead when you’re done talking to your…” His eyes flickered to Sol, annoyance barely concealed in his expression before he continued on his way.

You let out a frustrated sigh, irritated by the lack of help from Geo, but knowing there was little you could do to change it. As Geo walked off, you turned back to Sol, trying to piece together what had just happened.

"Right, just so you know, that’s Subaru Oogami. AKA Geo, Crowe’s supposed best friend," you explained, your tone casual, as if what he’d just done was nothing out of the ordinary. 

You could tell from the look on Sol’s face that he was confused—probably wondering how you could treat that behavior as if it meant nothing. To be honest, you knew Geo well enough to know he wasn’t the type to hurt you, and as long as someone was friends with Crowe, you figured you could trust them. 

But that was unnecessary to mention, so you didn’t.

Sol’s eyes narrowed, still tracking Geo’s retreating figure. Something was simmering beneath the surface, a flicker of something uncomfortably possessive in the way his jaw clenched. “Him, huh?” he muttered, trying to mask the chill in his voice, but it was obvious he was unsettled.

“Ah, right, I’ve heard of him. A strict rich guy from that high society, right?”

You scoff softly, though it comes out strained as you look away. The awkward tension between you two was building, and you shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. “You could say that. But he’s harmless. Just…” You trailed off, unsure how to explain without defending Geo too much. It wasn’t like you had to explain yourself to Sol, anyway.

“He’s like that with everyone. Don’t read too much into it.”

Sol wasn’t convinced. 

His eyes didn’t leave the spot where Geo had stood ahead, his focus still locked on him, like he was trying to figure out something deeper he couldn’t grasp. His voice dropped, taking on a more measured tone, but there was still a sharpness to it. “I see,” he muttered, but it felt loaded with something unspoken. Like he was holding back, processing more than he was letting on.

You sensed it, too—the odd moment hanging between you. You tried to defuse it, rolling your eyes, “Soo, anyway, I really have to go. Or Crowe will get my ass again.” You shrugged and gave him a teasing smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “See you later. Don’t get too caught up in your art thing.”

Just as you turned to walk away, Sol’s voice rang out, “Wait.”

You froze, his tone pulling you back. Before you could fully react, Sol had taken a step closer, his hand reaching out, about to grip your shoulder. The motion was quick, but you pulled back instinctively, creating space between you two. 

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze with an arched brow, silently asking, “What is it?”

Sol’s eyes somewhat widened, something almost reluctant, before he pulled his hand back, looking at you with a mix of frustration and pity. “Uh, Nothing,” Sol said, his voice tight, the moment of tension hanging in the air between you both. “Just... take care.”

With that, he stepped back, his expression unreadable. You gave him a nod, flashing another teasing smile, hoping to ease the tension still lingering in the air. “Okay, I’ll expect to see you at the party.” Your tone was light, casual—like nothing had shifted between you.

But as you turned on your heel and started walking away, Sol didn’t move. He stayed rooted in place, his gaze locked onto your back, watching the way you made your way toward Geo without hesitation.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides, a quiet frustration settling deep in his chest. He watched the way Geo barely had to say anything before you fell into step beside him, the way the space between you felt so natural—so practiced.

Sol exhaled sharply, jaw tightening.

You didn’t even glance back.

His mind raced with thoughts of what had just happened. 

You didn’t let him touch you… but you let Crowe—Mr. perfect hold your hands all the time. Hell, even that smug asshole Geo had touched your head and your hands, yet you didn’t let Sol so much as touch your shoulder?

Fuck… He pushed his chance too early. 

Then Sol’s eyes widen suddenly locked with Geo’s. When Geo glanced back at him, it was subtle, but Sol caught it—a quick sweep of his eyes, sharp and knowing.

A warning.

Sol had heard a bit about Geo from Hyugo, though Hyugo barely talked about him. When he did, it was always cryptic, like there was more going on with Geo than anyone realized.

The one thing Sol knew for sure was that those two were brothers.

As you walked beside Geo, Sol couldn’t help but notice how Geo’s sharp eyes never stopped scanning, constantly absorbing everything around him while you spoke, not really looking at him—more like explaining yourself, knowing he could hear you from that distance. 

“I need to be careful around him,” Sol thought to himself, his pulse quickening with frustration.

It gnawed at him, the feeling that Geo knew exactly what he was doing—keeping your attention locked firmly on Crowe. 

It was maddening.

The way Geo so effortlessly positioned himself between you and Sol, like a silent, immovable wall, made his blood boil. It was too perfect, too deliberate, and worst of all...

You didn’t seem to mind. Not one bit.

"Seriously, Geo," you started, your voice cutting through the quiet as the two of you walked side by side. The only sound between you was the faint rustling of leaves underfoot, the crisp evening air settling around you. 

You shot him an exasperated look, brows furrowed. "Did you have to be that rude to Sol back there? You could’ve at least said hi instead of… whatever that was."

Geo, unsurprisingly, didn’t even glance your way. His posture remained as indifferent as ever, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders relaxed, exuding that same effortless disinterest. He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion, the very picture of unbothered.

"Why would I bother?" His tone was flat, dismissive. "It’s not like he’s important. Just some emo lame-ass."

You let out a sharp sigh, resisting the growing urge to shove him. "Geo," you warned, irritation creeping into your voice. "You don’t have to like him, but could you at least try to be civil?"

Geo, as expected, didn’t dignify that with a response. His expression remained unreadable, gaze fixed ahead like he had all the time in the world. His silence only made your frustration simmer more—how effortlessly detached he always was, how little anything seemed to faze him.

The two of you stepped into the campus parking lot, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes. The night air carried a sharp chill, but Geo, as always, seemed completely unfazed—so much so that you almost entertained the funny idea that he must be cold-blooded. Heh. Wouldn’t be surprising.

The dim glow of the flickering streetlights reflected off his car’s sleek, freshly painted black exterior, its polished surface gleaming under the occasional passing headlights. A perfect match for the man leaning against it—unapproachable, unreadable, and utterly composed.

Without a word, Geo moved ahead of you, his steps fluid and deliberate as he reached the passenger side door. There was nothing particularly chivalrous about the way he opened it—no warmth, no grand gesture—just a smooth, effortless motion as if it was more out of habit than kindness.

Still, before stepping aside, he glanced over his shoulder, sharp gaze scanning the lot, the street beyond—checking for something. Or someone. His expression remained inscrutable, his piercing eyes flickering toward the empty road for only a fraction of a second before he moved back, allowing you to slide in.

Geo shut the door behind you with quiet finality. Again, no words. 

No unnecessary pleasantries.

You observed as he strolled around the front of the car, his hands in his pockets, his stride leisurely. The detached, cool confidence in his gait was something that never changed, regardless of the circumstances. As he made it to the driver's side, he slipped in without delay, the subtle aroma of cologne hanging on the interior.

Geo didn't say anything as he started the engine, the low rumble breaking the silence between you. The dashboard lights cast a pale blue glow over his face, highlighting the angularity of his jaw and the perpetual distance in his eyes.

With one hand on the steering wheel, he shifted the car into gear, his other hand resting casually against the window. The streets blurred past as he drove, his gaze fixed ahead, entirely focused on the road—or maybe lost in thought?

Again, you had always been good at reading people—effortlessly picking up on emotions, the subtle shifts in their expressions, the way their body language betrayed thoughts they hadn’t even voiced yet.

It was something you had learned young, a skill sharpened by necessity, whether to stay on someone’s good side or simply to understand them before they understood you. 

Most people were easy. Predictable. 

Their emotions—fear, joy, anger, love—bled through no matter how much they tried to suppress them.

Geo was different. He was like a book with half its pages torn out, again, an enigma wrapped in cold stares and dismissive words. No tells, no cracks, nothing to latch onto. He existed in a space just out of reach, like a shadow cast by something unseen.

And yet, when it was just the two of you, something is… different.

He wasn’t easier to read, not exactly, but there were moments—fleeting, barely noticeable—where you caught glimpses of something beneath the indifference. It was subtle, but it was there. 

A blessing and a curse.

Because it almost always made you overthink.

It was something you had done for as long as you could remember—analyzing, dissecting, obsessing over details most people wouldn’t even notice. Not because you wanted to, but because your mind wouldn’t let you stop. A cycle of over-awareness that had long since bled into something deeper, something you couldn’t quite turn off.

Your parents never noticed. They were too busy working to make sure you lived comfortably, too preoccupied to catch the way your thoughts spiraled, looping endlessly in a pattern you couldn’t break. 

You weren’t high-class, but you weren’t lower-class either—just somewhere in between, comfortable, stable.

Geo, on the other hand, had been high society. Until he wasn’t.

Crowe had mentioned it once, in passing. How Geo had struggled after being kicked out. How he had to help him adjust to a life outside of luxury, outside of the world he had once belonged to.

You never asked Geo about it.

Now, sitting beside him in his car, you didn’t need to.

You could see it.

Not visibly—Geo never made things obvious—but in the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly, in the sharpness of his eyes despite the tiredness behind them, in the way his back pressed against the seat like he was holding something in.

His grip on the steering wheel was tight. Too tight.

You shifted, turning your body slightly toward the passenger-side window, pretending to focus on something outside. In reality, you were watching him. Studying him.

Should you say something?

Should you ask him what’s wrong?

Or would he shut you out before you even had the chance?

The silence stretched between you, thick and weighted, the only sound filling the space was the low hum of the car’s engine. Your eyes remained on the window, you could feel Geo’s presence beside you—his controlled breathing, the tension in his posture, the way his fingers flexed just slightly against the wheel.

Then, his voice broke the quiet. Low, rough, but steady.

“You keep looking at me like that.”

You didn’t move right away. Just blinked. The words were casual, but his tone wasn’t. It wasn’t annoyed, wasn’t mocking—it was something else. Something unreadable, yet laced with that same quiet intensity he always carried.

Finally, you turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "Like what?" you asked, feigning indifference.

Geo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slowed to a stop just a little way down from Crowe’s place, the car idling. His fingers tapped against the leather steering wheel—a slow, deliberate rhythm—before he exhaled, controlled as always. 

“You’ve been glancing at me for the past twenty minutes,” he muttered, voice as flat as ever. “Are you trying to pick me apart?”

You almost smirked. Almost. “Maybe I am.”

His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—something brief, something you couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Annoyance? Maybe both. Geo scoffed quietly, tilting his head just a little, like he was debating whether or not to humor you. One hand stayed on the wheel, the other resting lazily on his thigh, completely at ease.

“For someone who calls me out for overanalyzing,” he said, voice flat, “you’re the biggest overthinker I know.”

Your brows furrowed, a small flicker of something sharp twisting in your chest. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing him say it—so plainly, so certain—made your stomach tighten.

You shifted in your seat, crossing your arms. "And you’re avoiding the question."

This time, he actually smirked. Just a little. The kind of expression that barely counted, but for Geo, it was practically a full reaction.

"Maybe I am." Your own words are thrown back at you. Fuck.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, but before you could respond, Geo turned to face you completely. His gaze wasn’t distant anymore—wasn’t cold—it was sharp, focused, and something about it made your skin prickle.

He studied you for a moment, his eyes like a scalpel, then, almost as an afterthought, he spoke.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, but before you could respond, Geo turned, fully looking at you now. His gaze wasn’t distant anymore, wasn’t cold—it was sharp, focused, and something about it made your skin prickle.

Geo studied you for a moment longer, then, almost as an afterthought, he spoke.

"You never shut your brain off, do you?"

You raised an eyebrow, already on edge. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Geo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he veered the car toward the curb, the tires rolling over gravel before he threw it in park on the side of the street. The sudden stop made the silence louder—thick and heavy.

His lips curled into a sharp, almost condescending smirk.

"It means you’re too caught up in your head." His tone was flat but laced with irritation. "You’ve got that party planned with Jericho, all the shit you’ve stacked on your plate—and yet you can’t see the problem. You’re blind."

A bitter chuckle escaped him as he leaned back slightly, arms crossed like he was preparing for a fight. "You really think it’s fine to just go—like everything’s normal? Like you can control everything around you?"

His voice sharpened, and when he looked at you again, it was with that signature, cold-eyed disdain.

“You’re delusional.”

Your stomach flipped, and you clenched your jaw, again completely thrown off by his words. You had no idea what the hell made him say that, is this what he was thinking about while driving? Anyway, something in you couldn’t just let it slide? Right? Impossible. 

You pushed back, curiosity getting the best of you. “I’m not delusional,” you muttered, voice tight.

"You are." His voice was low, and steady, like he was explaining something painfully obvious. 

"You don’t see what’s right in front of your face. Which is crazy for an overthinker, you should’ve seen it.” He sighed, the space between you suddenly feeling too small. "You’ve got all these people circling you, and you can’t even tell that one of them is obsessed with you."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, heart pounding in your chest.

"Stay home. Stay with me, or just stay the hell out of that mess. Just don’t go to that damn party. Tell Jericho you’re sick or—"

"No," you interrupted, voice steadier than you felt. "I’m going."

Geo’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. For a split second, frustration flickered across his face, but then it twisted into something darker, more bitter. He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, his eyes cold.

“You’re a fucking waste of brain matter, you know that?”

Your stomach dropped, but you didn’t back down.

“All this damn time, I thought you were different. I thought you actually had some fucking potential. But no. You’re just like every other idiot who always comes up to me, the same ones who think they have a damn chance with me.”

His words hit like a punch to the gut, cutting more profound than anything you’d ever expected. You froze, unable to hide the hurt as it twisted inside you.

“You don’t have a clue what you’re getting into,” Geo went on, his voice thick with disdain. “You’re so wrapped up in your stupid head and pride that you can’t even see what’s right in front of you. This whole ‘I’ve got it all figured out’ act? It’s pathetic.”

He scoffed, his lips curling in disdain as he finished.

“You’re fucking pathetic.”

You stayed quiet, your chest heavy with the weight of his words. They echoed in your mind, louder than anything else. Shit—you shouldn’t push anything… like damn. The sting, the sharpness of it, burned deep. You tried to breathe, but it felt like something was stuck in your chest, choking you.

You wanted to snap back. You wanted to tell him to shut up, throw something back at him like you always did—but no words came. 

There was nothing.

Who would’ve thought that he saw it too? The weakness… 

The parts of you that you worked so hard to hide. It hurt more than you cared to admit. You thought you could handle it—hell, you always handled things—but this... again, this was different. This was Geo everyone that talked about, someone you never imagined would rip through your walls like that. His words weren’t just rude—they were calculated like he wanted to see how much he could break you.

Geo watched you, waiting for you to speak, but you couldn’t. Not yet. Not when you felt like you were on the verge of cracking. The silence dragged on, thick, suffocating. Finally, you forced the words out, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I’m still going to that party. No matter what you say." You could feel his frustration building before he even spoke, his jaw tight and his fists gripping the wheel as if holding himself back.

“Fine, be a damn idiot,” he sneered, “Don’t say no one—”

"Fuck you, Geo." The words shot out like a bullet, sharp and bitter, and you didn’t even try to stop them. 

"I’m not staying home or with you. I’m going," you spat, your voice steadier now, but your chest felt tight from the sting of his words, still burning through you like acid.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. You turned your head just enough to throw one last cutting glance his way, your words coming faster now, "I don’t need your pity, Geo. Don’t bother showing up to the damn party. That’s all you could’ve said, but no—you had to go full-on asshole, like always."

You saw the flicker of something cross his face, something you couldn’t quite name. It felt damn good—like for once, you were finally getting under his skin.

You sighed, your voice growing heavier. "You’re such damn pessimistic all the time. Don’t be mad at me because I actually want to have a little optimism. We only get one shot at this life, you know? Sure, we might be seen as lower class, but that doesn’t mean we can’t live it out and make something of it.”

You let that flicker grow into a sharp, mocking smirk.  

"Everyone’s right about you… You’re just some smug asshole to everyone. Anyone but Crowe." You snorted, shaking your head. "Like you won’t show respect to anyone unless they’re bending over backward just to earn a sliver of your attention." 

You took a breath, steadying your voice even as the weight in your chest tightened.

"I listened to Crowe, you know. When everyone else told me to leave you the hell alone, that you weren’t worth the trouble—I didn’t. He told me you were worth trying for. That under all the sharp edges and venom, there was something real." 

You looked at Geo, jaw clenched. 

"So I pushed past your rudeness, your walls, your cold, condescending bullshit. I held myself strong to talk to you sometimes—because I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand why those simpering idiots were always swooning over you like you were some prize to be won." 

Your voice lowered, bitter.

"They never even knew you. They never gave a damn about how you actually think or feel. They just loved the image, the fantasy. But I—I actually made the effort. I learned who you were. I tried to be your friend, even when you made it nearly impossible."

You paused, your gaze hard and unwavering.

"And you still lumped me in with them. You really think I ever saw you the way they did? That I ever put you on some pedestal like you’re some untouchable god?"

You shook your head slowly.

"You must be out of your damn mind."

You turned your head just enough to look at him one last time. You refused to let him see how much it was hurting you—how his words had gotten under your skin, how they twisted everything you thought you knew about him.

The silence that followed was thick with everything you weren’t saying. Geo’s posture was rigid, his jaw set, but you could see the shift in him—the moment his walls snapped shut. 

He didn’t say anything. 

And that was good enough for you. 

You threw the passenger door open and stepped out without hesitation. The slam of the door behind you echoed with finality—loud, sharp, and unapologetic. You didn’t look back.

Screw it. Screw his expensive car, his cold stares, his bullshit attitude. You didn’t care what he felt anymore—if he even felt anything at all. You were sick of trying to guess, sick of trying to prove yourself to someone who refused to see you.

He wasn’t going to control you. 

Not your plans, not your night, not your damn heart.

Your footsteps hit the pavement hard as you headed up toward Crowe’s house. There was weight in every step, but also something else—a kind of clarity, a sharpness cutting through the fog. The ache in your chest didn’t vanish, but it settled. 

Became something you could carry without breaking.

You were done. Truly done.

You spent the last few weeks of October wrapped in party planning with Crowe and his far more tolerable, socially functional friends. Between costume designs, playlists, and coordinating food runs, you stayed busy—meticulously so. 

Obsessively, if you were honest with yourself. Every little detail had to be perfect. Every task had to be just right. It kept your hands full, your mind somewhat quiet.

But no matter how much you tried to bury yourself in logistics and glitter, Geo still haunted the back of your thoughts like a splinter you couldn’t tweeze out.

Why him?

Why was he so compelling to you?

It wasn’t attraction, not in the way others meant it. You knew yourself too well for that. You weren’t yearning for some romantic happily-ever-after or anything as messily complicated as sex. No, it was something deeper and much harder to name—something primal and cerebral all at once.

You didn’t really know Geo. Not personally.

Not in the way that counted. And maybe that was part of the reason you couldn’t stop circling back to him like your mind was caught in a loop it couldn’t break. That sense of tension, of unresolved something between you both—it lingered, heavy and unfinished.

You told yourself it was just curiosity. You’d studied him like a puzzle, tried to map out the jagged edges of his personality, chipped away at the walls he kept so deliberately high. You thought if you pushed hard enough, and reached far enough, you might finally understand what it was that pulled you to him despite everything telling you to turn away.

Maybe, just maybe, you had hoped there was something mutual buried underneath all that cold, arrogant silence.

But then again… maybe not.

Geo was an enigma—emotionally locked down, guarded in a way that felt almost strategic. Maybe even cruel. You weren’t even sure he understood himself, let alone whatever this weird, intangible bond between you two was. And it was never about fear of rejection. 

That would have been easier. Cleaner.

No, what terrified you more was the ambiguity.

Was it just one-sided intensity on your part? Was it some projection, some need to feel seen by the one person who refused to be easily figured out?

You hated not knowing.

Not being able to label it, define it, solve it.

And like clockwork, the quiet moments became the most unbearable.

Your thoughts didn’t settle—they spiraled. Repeating, rearranging, recalculating. You’d catch yourself organizing the same party checklist over and over again, rewriting the guest list, recounting the plates, double—no, triple—checking the labels like it was the only thing holding your world in place. The tiniest details suddenly felt urgent, like if you didn’t get them exactly right, something worse might slip through the cracks.

Because if you control that maybe you could drown out the ache.

The ache of not knowing what the hell Geo meant to you anymore.

Ever since the argument—sharp words exchanged like knives behind closed car doors—you hadn’t spoken to each other beyond the bare minimum. A few clipped greetings. One-word replies. Careful silences. You weren’t even sure anyone else in the group knew what had happened between you two. 

At least, you hoped not.

You told yourself, even now, that all you ever wanted was to be his friend. That was safer. Simpler. Honest enough.

But being around Geo always felt like walking a tightrope strung across a minefield—one wrong step, one wrong look, and you were done. Every conversation felt like holding your breath, waiting for the inevitable shutdown. Waiting for him to pull away again.

And then there was the weight of everything that came with him.

Lunchtime on campus made it worse—sitting on the cracked stone benches in the courtyard, the sun catching on chrome thermoses and gossip-laced grins. Geo never said much, barely touched his food, just sat there with his arms crossed while the world leaned in around him.

People watched him like he was something more than human—untouchable, unknowable. They hung off his every word even when he looked too tired to speak. And God, he was tired. You could see it in the way he pinched the bridge of his nose, the subtle twitch of annoyance when someone got too close.

Still, they hovered—those simpering idiots who trailed behind him like moths to a cold flame. Smiling too hard. Laughing too loud. Guarding the fantasy they’d built of him with something that felt close to reverence. They worshipped from a distance and tore into anyone who got too close.

You weren’t one of them. You never had been. You didn’t want to be.

But something inside you still reached—aching, grasping, quietly, stubbornly.

You knew better. Always had.

And yet here you were… pretending it didn’t matter. Pretending that raw thing you felt—that hollow, sharp, impossible thing in your chest—wasn’t real. Just a trick of proximity. Just curiosity.

But you knew it wasn’t curiosity.

It wasn’t love, not in the traditional sense. Not romantic, not sexual. Just something real. Something you couldn't name but couldn't ignore. 

Something yours.

And maybe it was easier to keep pushing it down.

But how much longer could you do that?

How much longer before it started to swallow you whole?

You didn’t have an answer. All you had was the countdown in your chest—and it hit zero faster than you expected.

The Halloween party had arrived.

What once felt like some distant event, a plan scrawled in notebooks and smoothed over in too many group chats, was suddenly real. Immediate. Inevitable.

The university buzzed with anticipation—half-baked costume decisions, whispered hookups, people making last-minute runs for glitter, masks, and fake blood. The energy in the air clung to everything like static, sharp, and waiting to snap.

And at the center of it all… was you.

You and Crowe hadn’t just thrown a party—you’d curated an experience. A spectacle. And it showed. His family’s house, already intimidating in its quiet wealth, had been reimagined under your hands as something cinematic. Unsettling. The kind of place that made people stop at the gate and take a breath before stepping in.

The lawn was a stage: flickering jack-o'-lanterns casting shifting light across the path, ghostly projections stitched into the siding, and fog machines hissing slow tendrils across the cobblestone-like creeping fingers. It looked haunted, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from.

Inside, it was worse in the best way—an exquisite kind of chaos, curated down to the last unnerving detail. Every corner was scrubbed, styled, and sharpened into something eerie and cinematic, like a fever dream with a guest list.

Cobwebs draped from antique chandeliers, casting spider-silk shadows across the vaulted ceilings. The rooms glowed with an otherworldly wash of sickly green and violet light, highlighting skeletal decorations curled around stair railings as they belonged there. 

Animatronics were spaced just far enough apart to lull people into a false sense of safety before jerking to life with mechanical shrieks and hollow eyes, making even the boldest students jump.

A fog machine hissed from some hidden corner, spilling thick mist across the hardwood floors and blurring everything into a surreal haze—nothing quite solid, nothing quite real.

Music throbbed through concealed speakers in every room. A mix of haunted remixes and high-energy basslines created a strange harmony—half rave, half séance. The sound wrapped around the crowd like a spell, pulling them deeper into the night.

The house was alive—choked with bodies and breath and artificial blood. Students pressed shoulder to shoulder in the crush of celebration, faces half-hidden behind masks, makeup, and shadows. Laughter rose like smoke. Screams echoed from the haunted hallway setups you’d helped build.

 And still, the night was just beginning.

You stood beside Crowe at the entrance, watching it all unfold. People lined up outside in the cold, either flashing last-minute tickets or raising phones with QR codes shimmering under flickering porch lights. You scanned them in, mechanical and composed, your mask in place.

Crowe was in his element—smiling that easy pretty prince smile, and talking easily with each individual who passed through. He worked the crowd like he owned it—which, in a way, he did, turning what could have been a chaotic check-in nightmare and making it smooth, almost seamless.

Sometimes, a person would fumble with their phone, attempting to pull up their ticket, and Crowe—charmer that he was—would lightly tease them before waving them in regardless. "Come on, don't make me regret this," he'd say, laughing in return.

It was effortless for him. Natural. And yet, as the line snaked down the driveway, the buzz of conversation and the pounding bass of the music lingering in the air, your mind started to drift.

You, though, weren't quite as swept up in the moment. Sure, you'd been a part of the planning, and on paper and as line, the night was supposed to be perfect.

But tonight?

Your mind was elsewhere. Not perfect. 

Somewhere far away.

You barely registered Crowe’s voice when he asked about your costume. Something about whether it was too tight, or if you were still comfortable. 

You didn’t really answer. But you thought about it.

Brittany had planned everyone’s costumes weeks ago, assigning them out like she was the director of a twisted stage play. She’d made Crowe dress as a prince—of course she did. 

It was almost too fitting with his deep blue eyes, long brown hair braided down his shoulder, and that easy confidence that made him look like royalty even without the costume. The dark velvet jacket, silver-stitched and regal, only cemented the image. He didn’t protest. He wore it like it was made for him.

Then you spotted them by the punch bowl—Jess and Brittany, standing close but radiating entirely different energies.

Brittany was already the center of attention, surrounded by people hanging on her every exaggerated laugh. She thrived there, in the thick of it, her voice sugary and slick, like honey laced with venom.

Her devil costume was unapologetically dramatic: a red corset dress that shimmered like sin, fishnet tights, thigh-high boots, and glittery horns that caught the light every time she turned her head. The tail? Real. Not literally—but it flicked behind her with every step like it had a mind of its own.

She moved like she owned the party like the floor should part for her heels. The way she looked at people—like they were either pawns or competition—fit the role a little too well.

Jess, in contrast, looked like she'd been dragged there by divine obligation. She stood just behind Brittany, an angel in soft white. Her dress was simple, flowy, ethereal in that gentle, untouched kind of way. White feathery wings sat neatly between her shoulder blades, a delicate halo perched above her head like it didn’t quite belong to her.

Very much Heaven and hell, playing nice—for now.

Naturally, Deryl had been shoved into a werewolf costume—if you could even call it that. He was half-shirtless, with fake fur strapped across his shoulders like an afterthought, plastic fangs barely clinging to his teeth, and clawed gloves that he kept using to dramatically rake through his hair. 

Honestly? It suited him way more than it should’ve.

He was mid-keg stand when you caught sight of him, legs flailing while two guys held him up and a crowd screamed like it was a full moon. His howl—somewhere between a frat bro and a dying animal—rattled through the house with zero shame.

Deryl didn’t need alcohol to act feral… but it definitely helped.

And then there was you.

Brittany had all but bullied you into dressing as what she lovingly dubbed a “sexy fine-ass cat”—in her words, “You already dress like a damn witch every day, babe. Spice it up. Be a mystical slut.”

You weren't sure what part of you gave off sexy feline energy, but apparently, your everyday vibe screamed witchy recluse turned seductive alley cat, and she was ready to roll with it.

Somehow, against all logic and reason, you had agreed. 

Possibly in a moment of sleep deprivation. Possibly under threat. Possibly because Brittany said if you didn’t wear the cat ears, she’d cry—and she looked dead serious about it. So now you stood at the glass front door, staring at your reflection like you were seeing a cursed mirror in a haunted house.

The dress wasn’t… bad. Honestly, it was hot. It was just… a lot.

It clung to you like it had plans and didn’t believe in boundaries. Black lace, party chic, dipped just enough in the front to remind you that bending over was not on the agenda tonight. The asymmetrical ruffled hem flirted with your thighs in a way that felt downright criminal.

Every few steps you had to subtly yank it down so it didn’t transform into a glorified napkin. And the sleeves—long, flared by your hands, and vaguely witchy—made you feel like you were one minor inconvenience away from casting a petty hex. You kinda loved them. But they didn’t distract from the very intentional peek of your bralette and matching boyshorts through the lace.

Because of course, Brittany insisted. “Just a hint of slut,” she said. “Like you accidentally seduced someone on your way to hex their ex. Tasteful thot.”

You bargained for a silver chain belt—your last shred of sanity—and she allowed it only after you swore on your grave and hers that you’d wear the damn cat ears.

Whiskers, though? Absolutely not. She tried. Oh, she tried. 

Came at you with eyeliner and the audacity. Tried to draw a little nose and whiskers like you were a children’s cartoon. You almost left. She had to physically block the door and swear on all her overpriced brushes that she wouldn’t touch your face again. 

She kept her word. Technically.

Because of the makeup she was allowed to do? Dangerously good.

Smoky eyeshadow with a silver shimmer so subtle it made your eyelids look like enchanted moon dust. A razor-sharp winged liner that made your eyes look exhausted, dangerous, and vaguely mythological. “Your tired-ass eyes need drama,” she muttered like a war general.

“You're mysterious. Like a cat that’s also seen some shit.” Your lips? Just a clear gloss. Deceptively simple. Pure bait. And don’t even bring up the eyebrows. Brittany shaped them like she was designing the arches of a cursed cathedral. You weren’t allowed to leave until they were “even, spiritual, and slightly threatening.”

So now, here you were. A seductive black cat from some weird fever dream. Tail not included—but dignity? Also missing. 

You looked too hot. It felt illegal. 

Just as you were adjusting to the new, foreign sensation of being seen in a way you usually avoided, Crowe paused the ticket check-in. His usual composure faltered just enough for him to take a step back, and then he motioned for one of the other student council members to take over. 

Without a word, he gently guided you to the side, away from the loudness of the party. His touch was light but steady as if he instinctively knew you needed a moment away from all the noise. 

The music and laughter seemed to fade as he led you toward a quieter corner, his gaze softening like he could sense that the night was taking its toll on you in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and reassuring, "You okay?" His words were careful as if he was treading lightly, always aware of your boundaries.

“Hm?” You looked up at him, your mind still lost in the haze of the party and your own thoughts.

“At the front door, I told you how beautiful you are, and you didn’t say a word back. You out of touch," Crowe said with a teasing smile, but there was an edge of concern beneath it.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. "It’s nothing," you murmured, your gaze flickering back toward the crowd. "Just... stuff. You know.”

Crowe’s easy smile faltered for just a second, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes. He was used to seeing you sharp, in control, untouchable. But tonight? You felt anything but. Like you were drifting just out of reach, your skin felt foreign and too tight.

He stepped a little closer, his tone shifting, softer. "Is it about the party?" he asked, the confidence he usually wore so easily now mixed with a rare hint of concern. "I know it’s a lot, overwhelming, but we pulled it off, right?"

You hesitated, fighting the urge to tell him what was really gnawing at you. Because it wasn’t the party—like the party is perfectly fine.

It was Geo, fucking asshole himself.

But telling Crowe that? You already knew how it would go.

And as much as he acted like he had it all together, Crowe wasn’t a prince in shining armor—he was more like a mother goose, ready to swoop in and take care of everyone. The last thing you needed tonight was for him to start hovering over you like he always did when things got too messy.

“The party’s going great,” you said, forcing a smile that you knew didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s turning out exactly how we planned.”

Crowe studied you with that sharp, perceptive gaze of his. He didn’t speak right away, but the way his eyes softened told you everything you needed to know—he was about fifty percent convinced. 

“I see,” he murmured. Fuck. 

The unspoken understanding hung in the air between you two, silent but enough to acknowledge what was unsaid. For now, it was enough. But then, true to form, Crowe shifted gears—his grin slipping back into place like a well-worn mask, the kind that made everything feel just a little bit easier.

“Well, since you're not planning to entertain the guests, at least make sure you have a little fun. I've got surprises lined up for tonight—keep your eyes peeled, all right?”

A small, light laugh escaped you, despite yourself. Classic fucking Crowe. Always ready with a distraction, always able to steer the ship when it felt like it might veer off course. And while it didn’t entirely loosen the tight knot twisting in your stomach, it was something. 

A welcome break, even if just for a moment.

The music shifted, bass-heavy and pulsing through the floor, as another wave of guests arrived, their costumes ranging from carefully curated masterpieces to last-minute, half-assed efforts. Crowe turned his attention to them, smoothly slipping into host mode, greeting people with his usual charisma.

And you? You turned toward the bar table where one of the student council members was mixing drinks like they were auditioning for a bartending competition.

Because let’s be real, if you spent too much time listening to the thoughts running in your head, you might as well just call it a night. And after everything you’d put into this party? No way in hell. 

You weren’t going to let your overthinking ruin the only night you’d had the time to enjoy. You deserved one damn night of fun, and you were going to get it, even if it meant hitting the booze a little harder than usual.

So, what did you do? 

You grabbed a Blackberry Margarita, obviously.

It was fruity. It was sweet. And deceptively strong. The kind of drink that burned just enough to remind you it wasn’t juice but still tasted like candy—dangerous, but perfect. 

One glass turned into two, then three, and before you knew it, you were feeling warm in places that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Your thoughts started to blur a little, edges softening, and suddenly, this night was looking a lot better.

This was fun. It had to be. It’s Halloween. 

This is your chance to have fun. Like Crowe had it all under control. Safe to drink. So, for now, you could pretend the world was fine and focus on the music that thumped through the room, pulling you into a nostalgic vibe you didn’t know you were missing. Four drinks in, and yeah, you were starting to think maybe you were finally having fun.

You made your way to the nearly packed dance floor, the chaos of the living room fading into the background. A familiar song—one you used to play on repeat back when you were younger—boomed from the speakers, its nostalgic pulse tugging at you like an old memory resurfacing.

You didn’t blend into the crowd. You never did. Instead, your movements took on their own rhythm—less about the usual grind and more about the flow. With the flick of your wrist, you spun, your body twisting in fluid, whimsical arcs. 

Your hands sliced through the air like they were painting shapes, each motion deliberate and graceful, your goth-whimsy style putting a contrast against the more traditional dance moves around you. You leaned, arms sweeping low, letting the music guide you like it was all a dream.

The crowd melted away, the music pulling you deeper, blending the present and past into each graceful twist. You felt like the only person moving in the world, wrapped in the rhythm, lost in the melody that had stuck with you through the years.

Then, through the haze of the dance, you heard it. “Hey!”

A voice. Familiar. Light-hearted, cutting through the noise like it was meant for you alone. 

You froze mid-spin, the music suddenly too loud in your ears, and the flow of your movements interrupted. Your feet stumbled slightly as you pulled yourself out of the crowd, suddenly aware of everything again.

You turned, startled, and found Sol standing there, his arms crossed with a slight, almost imperceptible blush coloring his face. His zombie costume clung to him with the perfect amount of eerie charm, as if it had been tailored for his usual emo energy. 

Next to Sol was Hyugo, looking like he’d stepped straight out of an old-school horror flick, his tattered mummy costume hanging off him in the most charmingly out-of-place way.

But it wasn’t the costumes that caught your attention—it was Sol. His gaze was locked on the crowd, intense and calculating, like he was reading each person in the room. When his eyes found you, they didn’t just skim over you like they usually did. They locked.

It wasn’t casual this time.

“You made it after all,” you said, trying to find your footing again, though your voice sounded a little distant like you were still processing everything around you. Your eyes held his for a moment, and you forgot the usual back-and-forth banter. “And I see you brought your date,” you added, trying to keep it light. “Hi, Hyugo.” You offered a soft smile.

“Hey! You look so pretty!” Hyugo chimed in, his grin infectious.

Sol shifted a little closer, subtly nodding in your direction. “Yeah, well, someone told me you were going all out for this. Figured I’d see for myself if it lived up to the hype.” His voice was playful, but there was something in it that didn’t quite match his usual tone—like he was holding back.

Hyugo, grinning mischievously, rolled his eyes. “You should’ve heard him,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. “‘Gotta go to this party. Gotta go.’ Like it was some kind of mission or something.”

Sol’s posture stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line at the jab, but the flicker of something else in his eyes passed so quickly that you almost missed it. He turned back to you, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

It wasn’t just a look anymore.

“You know,” Hyugo cut in, nudging Sol with an exaggerated grin, “I always thought zombies went after brains, but I think this one’s hunting for someone’s heart tonight.”

Sol’s head snapped toward him, caught completely off guard for a split second. His face didn’t betray much, but the sharp glare he threw Hyugo could’ve sliced through steel. And yet… he didn’t deny it. Didn’t joke it off either. He just kept staring—at Hyugo first, then at you.

And when his gaze landed on you again, something shifted.

Your stomach knotted.

Whether it was the margaritas or the way Sol was looking at you—like he knew something you didn’t—you weren’t sure. Either way, the air felt heavier now, thick with something that made your pulse stutter.

Hyugo, blissfully unaware or maybe choosing chaos on purpose, clapped Sol on the back with a wink. “Good luck, dude,” he muttered before strolling off into the crowd like it was nothing.

And just like that, it was just the two of you.

Alone. Oh, fuck.

It was like time hiccuped.

Everything slowed—just enough to feel off-kilter, like you were suddenly too aware of your own breathing, your posture, the way your fingertips itched with nervous energy. The music thumped in the background, but it felt distant now, muffled by the whirlwind in your own head. You stood still, rooted, not quite sure what to do with your hands or your face or your damn heartbeat.

Then Sol shifted slightly, just enough to close the space between you. His voice dropped—low, quiet, private—and the sound of it jolted something in your chest.

“You look... different tonight.”

You blinked, startled by the way the words landed—unexpected and heavy. “What do you mean?” you asked a bit too fast, your voice edged with something sharper than you intended, a reflex defense. Your tongue felt clumsy in your mouth like you couldn’t quite keep up with yourself.

You felt off, and it wasn’t just the alcohol. It was him. 

The way he was watching you.

Sol didn’t flinch at your tone. He studied you for a beat longer than felt casual, eyes dragging across your features with an unsettling kind of precision. Not in a creepy way, but like he was measuring something. As if you were a puzzle he was still trying to solve.

You shifted your weight, arms folding like a subconscious shield. His gaze made your skin feel warm, but not in a flattering way—more like being under a spotlight when you hadn’t asked for one.

“I-I mean you just look really pretty, I just…” Sol’s voice faltered like it had tripped over itself. “I didn’t think you’d wear… this.” He gestured vaguely at your outfit, and though his tone tried to stay casual, it didn’t land that way. Not even close.

There was no teasing. No smugness. Just something sharp beneath it—something edged in disbelief, frustration, and something dangerously close to yearning.

Maybe even a little bitter.

You forced a smile, lopsided and tight. “It’s Halloween. My friend Brittany made me be a black cat,” you said, your voice dry. “Meow.”

A laugh slipped out—awkward, half-hearted, and absolutely doomed from the start.

Sol didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. 

His eyes flicked briefly toward the crowd, watching nothing. Like he needed to recalibrate. People moved past, shouting, dancing, laughing—utter chaos—and yet here he was, still.

Frozen. Staring at you like you broke something in him just by existing.

And then, finally, his eyes returned to yours. The look he gave you wasn’t neutral. It was heated, heavy, and dark in a way that made the cat ears on your head feel ten times worse. Like they were personally attacking him.

This time, Sol’s voice was gentler, quieter than before. Like he was picking through each word carefully, testing them on his tongue before releasing them. “Anyway… I came because I wanted to talk to you.”

You let out a soft sigh, eyes still on Sol. “About what…?”

But your attention was already splintering—slipping through the cracks of the moment. Like your body was still here, anchored in front of him, but your mind had quietly drifted elsewhere, tugged by something faint… familiar. You weren’t sure why you looked, just that you had to.

And then you saw him.

Geo.

Wait. Wait—wait a damn minute. He came??

He actually showed up?

Your pulse tripped. There he was, just past the wavering edge of the living room crowd, stiff and statuesque near the kitchen archway. A cheap plastic skeleton hung limply in front of him, swaying as someone brushed past it. Two partygoers beside him were reenacting a ridiculous slasher-movie death scene, laughing too loud, too close. 

And Deryl—because of course it was Deryl—had one arm slung over Geo’s shoulder like they were best bros in a buddy cop film. Geo did not look thrilled about this. Actually, Geo looked like he was being held hostage by social interaction itself.

By the way… No costume. No effort. 

Just Geo, in his normal clothes, standing in the middle of Halloween chaos like he was silently calculating how to disappear through the nearest wall.

Your brain did a somersault. 

Your eyes locked with his for just a second. A blink. But it was enough. You saw it—the flicker. Not annoyance. Not boredom. But something softer. Tighter. Concern, maybe. Worry, definitely. 

You blinked rapidly and turned your head, forcing your eyes away before Sol could follow your gaze. With a subtle shift, you angled your body just enough to block his line of sight—like the literal black cat slipping through the sight before anything was exposed.

Your hand brushed lightly against Sol’s arm, a casual, grounding touch that seemed to anchor his attention. “Wait—what were you saying again?” you asked, voice slightly too upbeat, your tone wearing a thin coat of distraction.

Sol’s head tilted, eyes widen just slightly. He wasn’t oblivious—never was. There was a flicker of suspicion behind his gaze, the kind that made your spine tighten.

But before he could say anything—

“Can I steal you for a second?”

Crowe’s voice slipped in from behind, smooth and quiet, like he’d been waiting for the exact moment. No warning. No preamble. Just presence.

You turned instinctively.

Crowe stood there, composed as ever, the picture of casual control—drink in hand, the other already half-extended toward you like this moment had been planned down to the second. His eyes flicked to Sol briefly—acknowledging, not inviting—and then settled on you with a look too polished to be anything but intentional. 

“Sorry to cut in,” he said smoothly, flashing an apologetic smile so polished it barely masked the calculation underneath. “Just need a quick word with our feline coordinator. Party logistics.”

The air beside you changed.

You didn’t have to look to feel the way Sol tensed—his body stiffening like he’d been struck. His jaw ticked, a single muscle shifting under his skin. He didn’t speak, but his silence screamed. Like he had something to say, something sharp and burning, but kept it behind gritted teeth.

You didn’t give him the chance.

“Yeah, of course,” you said lightly, already turning toward Crowe. Your hand brushed his, barely there, and his touch answered at the small of your back—guiding, light, but firm enough to steer.

You felt the heat of Sol’s stare follow you as you left him behind. Crowe led you toward the stairs like nothing had happened, taking a sip from his cup, cool and unbothered. Like he hadn’t just intercepted a moment teetering on the edge of something volatile.

“What’s this about?” you asked, side-eying him.

“Well,” he started, tone smooth as ever, an arm draping over your shoulders like it belonged there, “Some people are getting danced out—figured I’d switch things up.”

You squinted, suspicious. “Switch things up how?”

Crowe’s grin curved gentle and easy. “Games.”

You blinked at him. “You wanna bring out games? At a college party.”

“Yes.” He didn’t even flinch. You stared harder. “Like... Connect Four? Uno? You’re telling me drunk twenty-somethings want to sit on the floor and relive kindergarten?”

Crowe shrugged, maddeningly smug. “You’d be surprised. People crave childhood nostalgia when they’re buzzed and existential. Give them enough alcohol and suddenly Jenga’s the most intense thing they’ve done all year.”

You blinked again. Damn it… he had a point.

Still, something in his tone felt a little too casual. “The games are in the big closet upstairs,” he added like that wasn’t the most suspicious sentence in existence. “You know the one.” 

You blinked at him. Yeah, you knew the one. That oversized, borderline-abandoned linen closet that felt like a junk drawer for the entire house. The one people only opened when they were desperate or nosy. Or both. “Right,” you muttered, nodding slowly, distracted already as you ran through the mental gymnastics of reaching whatever “games” Crowe had buried in there.

You started up the stairs, heels clicking against the hardwood, the thump of bass fading behind you the higher you climbed. The hallway was quieter, shadows stretched long under dim lights—like the party forgot this part of the house existed.

You reached the closet and popped it open without a second thought, flipping the light on and stepping inside like it was just another errand. The air inside was cool, faintly dusty, and the whole space had that weird too-still vibe.

Your eyes immediately found the box of games—of course—perched on the very top shelf.

You stared up at it. “Great.”

Because of course Crowe wouldn’t make it easy. Why leave them somewhere normal when he could turn it into a damn climbing expedition? You stepped in further, squinting around for anything resembling a stool—fucking nothing. 

Just dusty boxes, tangled holiday lights, and some ancient-looking trunk shoved in the corner like a dead body in a bad mystery movie. Whatever. 

You stretched up, fingers brushing the edge of the game box, willing it to just fall into your hands. Hoping, the tip of your fingers nudged the box… and then—

“Why are you in here?”

You nearly fucking screamed. 

Your body jerked, your spine going stiff as your eyes snapped wide. You twisted just enough to glance behind you—Close. No—too close.

Geo was right there.

You were practically pressed against him, your back meeting the solid wall of his chest. Broad. Warm. Unyielding. His presence filled the already-cramped closet like he belonged there like he’d been standing behind you this whole time, watching. Waiting.

Your breath hitched. You tilted your head back on instinct—eyes dragging up the line of his throat, to his jaw, to the calm, unreadable look in his face.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

Instead, he just reached past you, arm brushing your shoulder as he casually plucked the game box off the top shelf—cool as ever, like this wasn’t one of the most intimate positions two people could be in without making it weird.

Stupid tall guy with freakish long arm reach. He glanced around the room, finally shifting just a little so you could breathe again.

You blinked up at him, deadpan. “Seriously?”

He glanced down at you, then looked around the room like he wasn’t the one who’d just appeared out of the void. “Could ask you the same,” he said.

You squinted at him. “Crowe sent me up here. Said people were tired of dancing and wanted something else to do.”

Geo let out a quiet breath, almost like a scoff, somewhat a little lost. “Deryl asked me to come grab the games too.”

Your brows furrowed. “Huh.”

Before either of you could say more—SLAM.

The closet door slammed. Hard. You spun around mid-what the hell just as the knob jiggled—once, twice—and then stopped. Click. 

You stared at it like it had personally betrayed you. 

Geo stepped up beside you, calm as hell, and gave the handle a test twist. A polite little shake. Then the verdict: “…Locked.”

You blinked slowly, mentally buffering while your heart caught up to the situation. “Oh my god.” You said it like a prayer and a curse all rolled into one. “Those sons of bitches.”

And right on cue, came laughter—low, amused, 100% guilty.

Crowe’s voice floated through the door like this was just another Thursday. “Whoops.”

Then Deryl, chipper as ever: “Don’t worry! We’ll let you out in like… twenty minutes! Or whenever you emotionally bond! Whichever comes first!”

You slapped your hand against the door with the force of a goddamn anime character powering up. “Crowe!”

“Love you too~!” he sang back, way too cheerfully.

“See you!” Deryl added before he and Crowe walked away from the door, heading back to the party downstairs.

Geo let out the most exhausted sigh known to mankind, shook his head, and leaned back against the wall like this was mildly inconvenient at best. 

Like he was above it all. Like always.

“Ugh. You’ve got fucking to be kidding me…” he muttered, his tone dangerously deadpan. He looked down at you again, not with anger—more like straight judgment. Like you were the wild animal in this cage and he was the zookeeper trying to guess if you’d bite.

Didn’t say anything mean, but his silence was definitely loud. You groaned dramatically and stomped over to the old wooden trunk in the corner, plopping down with a huff. “If I die in here, tell everyone I went out bitter and vengeful.” 

Geo crossed his arms. “You’ll die of being over-dramatic before the air runs out.”

This was it. 

You were going to die here. At a Halloween party. Locked in a closet. With him.

Out of everyone—you had to get trapped in here with Geo. Tall, grumpy, impossible, judgmental, annoying Geo.

You glared at him from your seat on the trunk like your sheer rage could burn a hole through his stupid, emotionally constipated face.

He stared right back, arms crossed, completely unfazed. “You know, I didn’t realize Halloween was code for desperate cosplay.”

Your jaw hit the floor. “Excuse me?”

He gestured vaguely in your direction, the way someone might motion toward a car crash. “The ears. The makeup. The Dress. The whole…” His eyes scanned you once, slow and unimpressed, “situation.”

You stared at him, incredulous. You were this close to hurling the Monopoly box at his smug face.

“First of all, I didn’t choose this costume. Second, it’s Halloween—the one night where wearing cat ears is legal. Third?” You gestured back to him dramatically. “You’re wearing the same damn bluish purple hoodie you always wear. White turtleneck underneath. And those tight-ass ripped black jeans. What, exactly, are you supposed to be?”

Geo didn’t even blink. “I’m not dressed as anything.”

“Exactly!” You threw your hands up. “You’ve literally made ‘casual apathy’ your costume. Well congrats, you nailed it.”

The energy in the closet shifted, sharp and crackling. Like the two of you were circling each other in a very polite cage match. You hated how nonchalant he looked even when he was being a smug jerk. 

And worse—you hated that he always acted like he didn’t even want to be here. Like he had more important things to do. So you pitted the thought that you figure you said out loud.

“You didn’t even want to come tonight, did you?”

That movement. A slight shift in his shoulders, a pause before he responded,  “I wasn’t going to,” he admitted. “I didn’t plan on it.”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “Then why show up at all? Thought this whole thing was beneath you.”

Geo sighed, but it wasn’t at you—it was at himself. His eyes flicked to the door, like maybe he was second-guessing this whole situation, and then finally, he met your eyes.

For real this time. “…Crowe said something along the lines of you wanting to leave, and asked me to pick you up,” Geo muttered, his voice quieter than usual.

“What?” You blinked, a little thrown off. “I had no plans on leaving.” You raised an eyebrow then scoffed, “What, you didn’t trust me to survive a university party without you babysitting me? Came here so fast without thinking? Is that a first? Crowe definitely tricked you…”

He looked unamused, his eyes narrowing at your jab, and then he huffed, crossing his arms again. “Shut up. I just thought of how stupid you might be.”

You snickered, even though it came out a little sharper than you meant. “Rich, coming from you.”

A few seconds of silence passed, like something was almost ready to spill, however Geo the one that hesitated. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he muttered, “I didn’t like the idea of something happening and me not being there. That’s all.”

You blinked. Oh. Wow.

There it was. 

The thing that no one ever really said out loud but everyone could feel—the tiny sliver of overprotectiveness buried beneath his sarcastic armor. 

The reason he always stood too close in crowded rooms. The reason he was always a little too aware when you were quiet or too distant. The reason he’d shown up to this godforsaken Halloween party when it was clear he hated every single second of it… just in case. Just in case something went wrong, and he had to be the one to fix it. 

You stared at him, really looked at him for the first time in forever. He was standing there, arms crossed, but his eyes? They were looking away, avoiding yours like they were trying to bury every little soft thing he didn’t want to admit. And God, that was the thing with Geo: He wore that sarcasm like a shield but underneath it?

He was a goddamn mess. 

And you were so tired. 

Tired of the whole damn situation.

Tired of pretending you didn’t see through him. Tired of all these pointless, exhausting words you both keep throwing at each other. 

You started laughing. And—you mean, laughing.

At first, it was just a snicker—a short burst of air escaping because, well, it was ridiculous. Geo, standing there like he was the world’s biggest conundrum, thinking that all his careful control over his feelings somehow hid it all. 

But it didn’t. It was obvious. Then it got louder.

You couldn’t stop yourself. You laughed until it was more of a giggle, the kind that felt borderline manic as you realized how utterly absurd this whole situation was. 

This party. Him. You. The closet. Everything.

Geo’s eyes narrowed as he watched you, clearly unamused. There was a display of pure disgust on his face, followed by a confusion that only he could pull off. He took a step toward you, brows furrowing deeper. “…Why the hell are you laughing?" His voice was disbelief, and you could hear the irritation bubbling up—he had no idea how to handle you when you were this far gone.

You wiped your eyes, still laughing through the cracks in your voice, and it was starting to sound borderline hysterical now. You couldn’t even breathe properly, but it didn’t matter. This was all just so stupid, and the laughter spilled out like a flood.

The noise from the party downstairs felt miles away like it was all part of some different universe. All that mattered was the absurdity of the situation. You had no idea how long you'd been stuck in this mess with Geo, trying to keep your sanity, trying to pretend like you were okay.

But that was it. 

You weren’t okay.

And the more you thought about it, the funnier it seemed. You laughed harder, the sound echoing in the cramped space like you were losing your mind—shit maybe you were.

Geo’s eyes filed with confusion, frustration, and something else you couldn’t quite place as he stood there, arms crossed, trying to figure you out. It was clear he was torn—torn between being angry, concerned, or just disgusted. But all he managed to do was scowl harder and cross his arms tighter, his posture so stiff it could have been carved from stone.

“Seriously, this is what you’re doing right now?” he muttered, voice low, but it wasn’t sharp with the usual edge. No, this time, there was no anger in it—just confusion, like he didn’t know what the hell was going on inside your head.

And God, you didn’t even know yourself anymore.

You could barely get the words out between the gasps that hitched in your chest, but you finally managed to gasp, your voice thick and strangled, “I… I’m just… I’m so tired.”

You looked at him—really looked at him. He was still standing there, his arms tightly crossed, his face unreadable but somehow more human than you'd ever let him seem. And the reality of it all crashed down on you with a weight so heavy, that your breath faltered as you kept going, unable to stop yourself.

“I’m a college student, Geo. A fucking genius in madness, might I add,” you continued, your voice shaking now with frustration. “A psych major with a future ahead of me, you know? I’m perceptive as hell—meticulous. I notice everything.” You wave your hands around, trying to get your point across.

“I can catch the tiniest details—like the way someone shifts when they’re lying or how they suddenly change their tone when they’re uncomfortable. Facial expressions, body language, and even the tiniest flickers of thought cross their mind. I’m accurate almost all the time when it comes to reading people, picking up on the shit they try to hide. I can tell when someone’s gaslighting me, or projecting their trauma, or hiding something behind their words."

Your words rushed out now, and the more you spoke, the more frenzied you became. “I can read people! I can catch a lie from a mile away and see through all the bullshit! I—" 

You choked out a bitter laugh. “I’m supposed to be living my life. I’m supposed to be enjoying the hell out of my time, being free at this Halloween party. You know, but instead—” You stopped yourself, cutting off the rest of the words. You wiped your face, eyes fixed on the floor for a moment, before meeting Geo’s gaze with a look so filled with pity that it almost hurt to hold.

Your throat was tight, but the laugh that escaped you was hollow, desperate. “Here I am,” you muttered softly, almost to yourself with a little laugh, “locked in a closet... losing it over a guy.” And then the laugh came again, louder this time—again, hysterical, almost unhinged—as you took in a shaky breath and closed your eyes for a second to try and collect yourself.

When you looked up at Geo, the weight of everything finally hit you. Like you couldn’t stop it. 

It just spilled out, a jagged mess of emotions you couldn’t keep inside any longer.

“God, I’m so tired,” you said again, voice cracking. You wiped at your face, “Tired of my own mind. Tired of trying to make sense of everything. Tired of you, and honestly, tired of me for putting myself in these stupid situations. Tired of this goddamn universe for locking me in a closet at a Halloween party with the last person I ever wanted to be stuck with.”

Your eyes never leave Geo’s face, searching for something in him that would make this make sense. 

But you didn’t find anything. 

Just the same fucking unreadable expression, the same armor he wore so carefully. His eyes were fixed on you, scanning you with a look that was impossible to read. And you hated it—because you wanted him to say something, anything that would take the sting out of everything that had just spilled out of you. 

But again, he didn’t. 

The laugh died in your throat, leaving only an oppressive silence in its wake. And yet, it still felt louder than anything you could’ve said. 

You were still here. He was still here. 

And the universe? 

Well, it was still a cruel joke, one you couldn’t stop laughing at, even though it was suffocating you.

"You know," you started, your voice barely audible at first, the weight of your thoughts pulling at you "I always had this one thought, something that just... randomly pops into my head."

You paused for a moment, swallowing the tightness in your throat, trying to organize the mess of emotions in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if the space beneath you could somehow make sense of all the chaos swirling in your mind.

“I think, if I were to be alone…” You lead off, “…like, for the rest of my life... I’d be okay." The words came out soft, almost like you were saying them to yourself, testing their truth. Your voice trembled slightly, but you pushed through. 

“It’s not ideal, sure. But at least I wouldn’t have to be in something I don’t want. I wouldn’t have to deal with all the shit that comes with friendships, fuck even relationships, or with people who only care because of how I look or what they can get from me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, a hollow sound that felt more like a cry than anything remotely close to humor. You shook your head as if trying to push the weight of your thoughts out of your mind, but they clung to you, suffocating. 

“It’s not that I hate people. It’s not even about self-esteem,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “it’s just... I don’t think anyone will ever truly understand me. Hell, you definitely don’t.”

The words hung in the air like an accusation, and for a moment, the silence between you two felt like a physical thing pressing down on your chest. You had already cracked, the floodgates opened, and now there was no going back. 

No stopping it. You let your eyes drop to the floor, trying to steady your breath, but the words were coming faster than you could control. 

“I mean... I look at people, how they act around me, how they pretend to know me, and I just... I can’t connect with any of it. I can’t understand why everyone keeps talking about falling in love like it’s.. filling, something everyone’s supposed to want. It feels... unreal. And I don’t know if I’ll ever believe in it.”

The words tumbled out of you, and for once, you didn’t try to stop them. For once, there was no filter, no distance between you and the truth of releasing the unwanted thoughts. “It’s hard for me to even believe in love.” You admitted.

“The kind of love everyone talks about—real love, I mean. Not the bullshit kind where someone’s just looking for something from you. Because you and I know that feeling all too well.” 

You sighed, “I know—like I knew the real reason you didn’t want me to go to this Halloween party, why you acted like a damn child over it." You sighed, narrowing your eyes.

"You were worried about Sol, weren’t you?”

You looked at him then, eyes raw with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. For the first time in what felt like forever, the words you spoke seemed to land with him. 

His expression flickered, his plush lips pressing into a thin, tense line. His body stiffened just a little like he didn’t know how to handle the storm you were unleashing.

“You didn’t think I knew, did you?” you continued, your voice breaking just a bit. “You didn’t think I knew that Sol’s been obsessing over me, that he claims he likes me? If it weren’t for Crowe, he would’ve confessed right there on that damn dance floor, and you know what I had to do?”

You let out a bitter laugh, but it felt more like a breath you were holding in for too long. The tears you’d been fighting started to spill, but you didn’t bother wiping them away.

They were the only thing that felt real anymore. 

"I had to reject him. Not just because he's a horrible guy, but because I don't see him like that. It's hard enough being friends with guys who can’t stay friends without suddenly deciding they like you.” You let out a frustrated sigh, shaking your head.

"And then I have to deal with this shit, all because of you,”

You pointed at him then standing up, walking back and forth to track your thoughts better, “Geo. Fucking Subaru Oogami. The rich kid who can’t stand anyone, all he wants to be is fucking alone with his bow and arrow, no friends or anyone.” Your voice cut through the silence, and before Geo could respond, you stopped him cold. 

"Tell me what you’re gonna say now. Go ahead, say it. Tell me again that I’m wrong. You could’ve just told me the truth. You could’ve been honest with me, but instead, you lashed out at me. Made me feel like shit. Called me pathetic. Told me I’m a waste of brain matter.” You shook your head, eyes narrowed. "

You didn’t trust me to handle it. You didn’t even try to make it better. You just... made everything worse by showing up here. Forcing me to look at your pathetic ass face.”

Your chest tightened, a deep ache settling in your heart. The tears streaked down your face, ruining the makeup that had taken so much time to perfect. You didn’t care about the mess you were making anymore. It was all so pointless. 

“And don’t take this personally, but... you're the worst. You know what you’ve done to me, and as much as it hurts, I can’t keep running away from it. I can't keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

You took a shaky breath, your throat constricting as you wiped your face again, but the tears didn’t stop. You didn’t bother to fight them anymore. 

“I don’t understand, Subaru. What do you want from me?” 

Your voice cracked, calling him by his first real name, and you felt the weight of your own emotions pressing down on you, suffocating you.

“Do you know how foreign it is to even think about someone choosing to love me? I can’t... I can’t even wrap my mind around it. If someone loved me... I wouldn’t know what to do with that. It’s so unreal to me. It’s like... it doesn’t even make sense." 

You paused, your chest tight, struggling for breath. “And all of this... all this mess... it makes me wonder if I’m just meant to be alone. If I’m just going to spend the rest of my life alone because I can’t do this. I can’t keep pretending to feel something I don’t. I just... I don’t know if it’s even possible for me to feel that.”

You swallowed hard, the knot of frustration and confusion tightening in your throat. Slowly, you spoke again, quieter this time, like you were trying to make sense of everything you couldn’t understand.

“God, I’m so fucking lame. I’m never normal.” You said, mostly to yourself, the words leaving your lips, “I never have been. I guess I have to accept that at this point. I’ve spent my whole life alone... but even still... I still want something real.” 

The tears continued to burn down your cheeks, but you didn’t bother wiping them away this time. 

“No romantic love, no sexual love... just... someone—someone for once that understands me. You know? Like, someone actually gives a damn about me. Not because they want something from me, like my body, or the idea of me. Not because they want to possess me, control me... just because they care.”

Your voice cracked, and faltered, like the very words you spoke were sharp stones tearing you apart. You could feel the tears threatening again, but you pushed them back. 

You couldn’t let him see. You couldn’t be weak.

“At the same time… I don’t feel comfortable being anyone’s significant. I don’t feel comfortable being anyone’s anything. And I know that. I know I’m messed up. I know I don’t fit into whatever you or anyone else thinks I should be. But... I’m so... tired of it all. Tired of pretending. Tired of being who everyone expects me to be. Tired of being seen as something I’m not.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, your chest tightening, suffocating under the weight of your own feelings. The closet felt like it was closing in than it already was, the anxiety smothering you, until there was nothing but the thudding of your heart in your ears. 

Your eyes met his, pain and frustration mirrored in them, and for a brief moment, everything seemed to stand still.

“I should’ve never listened to Crowe,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Everyone said you were a fucking asshole. That you didn’t have time for anyone. That relationship wasn’t worth your time. I should’ve listened. I should’ve kept my distance…”

The words spilled out, jagged and desperate, like you’d been suffocating under them for too long and had no choice but to let them crash. “…I hate this. I hate how everything feels so twisted, how it’s all messed up. I don’t need you. But…” 

You paused, the words caught in your throat, a bitter mix of frustration and confusion rising up. 

“Shit, I care about you so fucking much.” 

You took a sharp breath, trying to steady yourself. 

“And I fucking hate that I do.” You scoffed at yourself, the sound bitter. “I don’t even know why it matters so much. Why does it hurt when I’ve always been so sure I shouldn’t feel like this? I never wanted any of this. It’s ridiculous. I always stick to what makes sense, and what’s practical. I don’t get tangled in this shit. But then... you came out of nowhere, flipped everything upside down, and now…” You signed.

Your chest tightened, your mind spiraling into chaos.

“I’m so lost, confused” you whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t make sense of any of it. What is this... damn feeling?”

It was all-consuming, suffocating, a weight you couldn’t escape.

Your heart hammered, each beat echoing like a drum in your chest, pounding harder with every breath. The pressure in your chest, like something cold and suffocating, grew with it—a belladonna, so beautiful and poisonous, that no one could handle it. 

Your thoughts twisted into each other, darkening with every turn, spiraling deeper, suffocating you. The panic surged, a flood that filled your chest, tightening your lungs and making every breath feel like a struggle. You could feel the pulse hammering in your throat, frantic and uneven. 

Your hands shook so violently, that you pressed them to your chest, trying to steady the feeling, but it only made the poison inside feel stronger, more suffocating.

What was wrong with you?

Why couldn’t you just be… normal?

Everything about you, your body, your voice—everything felt tainted. 

Poisonous. [ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝓌𝑜 ]

it’s ‘cause I went over the 1,000 block limit per post—my bad T-T

[mosaickiwi]

Home Away From

I love hopeless agony almost as much as tooth rotting fluff??

Post-kidnapping Angel adjusting (badly) to the new normal.

might do a part 2 where it gets even worse idk ← my last words before i get thrown out of the plane

Kidnapping, imprisonment, codependency, etc.

proceed with caution

Eyes straight forward, you had to keep yourself occupied fiddling with the edge of a couch cushion. Every single one had a few loose threads from how often you worried away at them. 

Twelve… thirteen… fourteen neatly aligned book spines on the lowest shelf behind the dark haired man kneeling in front of you. A full, hardcover collection of your favorite webcomic, each book signed and dedicated to you. Maybe you'd force yourself to read them all again. For the third time since your arrival.

"Angel."

It was hard to keep track of how long you'd been here—in this house far removed from Corland Bay, with everything you ever wanted in a forever home. All those wild, fantasy-ridden dreams you joked about with Ren, and then [REDACTED], were true now.

And yet your supposed fiancé carried you over the threshold of that forever home kicking and screaming. 

"Still not talking?"

His hand reached for yours, fingers gently lacing between your own before you eventually pulled away. You saw their real reaction in the corner of your vision. By now, you knew him as obsessively as he knew you—there wasn't much he could hide anymore. The pain in his blue eyes lingered for too long this time.

It hurt. You hated to see that look on his face. But you hated being trapped here so much more than that. Why couldn't he understand?

Realistically, a silent treatment would get you nowhere. A few hours had turned to days, then weeks, and he was still soft-spoken and doting towards you. There was hardly a difference in the man you proposed to, and the one that bolted the front door shut from the outside on the few occasions they left for supplies.

You were too used to domestic life, too docile compared to that first day—sometimes you'd lose yourself and forget you were a prisoner. All your old hobbies still occupied your days while he sat nearby, and it just felt natural to include the only person you ever saw. To call his name and read a passage from a book aloud for him to laugh, or casually scoot closer to him for warmth during a movie.

Those moments when you forgot felt like they could slot in between all your old memories with ease.

"I'm sorry, love. I only wanted t'keep you safe," he whispered.

His breath almost tickled your legs, followed by the feel of his forehead resting against them. The urge to brush a hand through their hair—an innocent gesture you did at least daily back home—hurt just as much to ignore.

Were it not for their words of apology, even now could've been another memory. Who could fault you for falling into habits of comfort with the one who lived for you, and you alone?

The silent treatment was the best you could do.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Tired and disoriented, you woke up alone in your bedroom. The pink haired plushie you normally cuddled had disappeared somewhere, probably tossed to a corner of the room in your fitful sleep. Your usual replacement for a space heater was nowhere to be found, either.

Had he stayed up late? You called their name. "Ren?"

A muted commotion in the hallway outside, then the door creaked open. "Angel?" your beloved hacker answered back cautiously.

"Are you coming to bed?"

There was no response for a long moment. But soon enough, his familiar footsteps sounded against the floor.

You sat up and pulled the blanket to the side for them. As he settled in, you cuddled close, resting one arm over their chest while your head laid in its rightful place atop his shoulder. You managed to lean up and find their lips for a quick kiss before closing your eyes.

Though you couldn't see his face, you imagined the blush that painted his cheeks at every piece of affection you gave. With the thought fresh in your mind, you drifted off.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Hours later you woke again, your rest this time far more peaceful in their embrace. A pitiful, lazy groan left you as you stretched, then opened your eyes to greet your partner.

[REDACTED] was silently looking down at you, propped up on one arm. 

You reached up to cup his cheek and smiled at him. He leaned into your touch like always, but their usual loving gaze was laced with hesitation. As if waiting for something. Anxious of what could bother him, your hand followed the line of his jaw down to their neck, past the tattooed heart of your name, and settled on a piece of jewelry. 

Was that correct? It felt off. A long moment passed as you fiddled with it, trying to figure out what was so out of place about that silver chain, until it hit you.

The golden ring was back on his necklace, instead of on your finger where it belonged. Where it used to belong.

Weeks, or maybe even months ago, when they kept you in a careful hold while locking the bedroom door behind them—you'd thrown that ring in his face the second he let you go. 

For all the scratches and bite marks you'd put on his arm, tearing at skin that was already long scarred, he hadn't shown a hint of worry. Not until they bent down to get the ring that hit their chest and clattered to the floor.

It was the same worried face you saw now.

Your hand stilled, and before you could even whisper the words you wanted to yell, he slipped from the bed to give you space. The door clicked shut behind them to trap you in with your thoughts.

How could you be so stupid? Weak? They didn't have to try at all to wear you down; you did it all on your own. He tore you away from friends and family, yet here you were, forgetting yourself to play house with him. Then you took it a step further and let him sleep in your bed.

Nails dug into the pillow under your head, but instead of throwing it you squeezed it tight to your chest. You bit your lip to hold back the tears, glaring down at the empty spot on your ring finger that had only now begun to match the skin around it.

Another foolish dream to pile with all the others.

As much as you wanted to hope they would see reason one day and bring you back home to make things right—a thought far past irrational by now—you had to mourn the life taken from you.

You knew them, you knew them. Always seeking your favor so quickly that any argument quelled before it had a chance to begin, but stubborn when he felt it necessary.

If the first answer was a no… the next one and the next one wouldn't change. You should've accepted it the second he locked the door.

Ren was the only person you'd ever see again.

[thejolteonmastertj]

The plot bunnies be hopping

Y’know how Link’s uncle is brought back to life at the end of alttp—but doesn’t seem to be living with Legend in Linked Universe? 🤔

What if Legend’s refusal to carry on the family’s knighthood as the sole surviving heir of his generation is part of why he’s grown distant from his uncle? I’m not saying his uncle had to have tried to force it or been an outright asshole about it—but maybe there’s some sort of tension, guilt or some other sort of melancholy there.

Y’know something else conveniently similar that’s been living in my head rent-free since I first played botw? That one memory where we learn literally the only detail about Wild’s family we ever learn in-game: His father was a knight of the Royal Guard. Also of/c that Link followed in his footsteps. But like—the whole theme of that memory was, “but what if…”

Specifically, here’s Zelda’s dialogue in the memory:

Your path seems to mirror your father's. You've dedicated yourself to becoming a knight, as well. Your commitment to the training necessary to fulfill your goal is really quite admirable… I see now why you would be the chosen one…

What if... one day... You realized that you just weren't meant to be a fighter. Yet the only thing people ever said... was that you were born into a family of the royal guard, and so no matter what you thought, you had to become a knight. If that was the only thing that you were ever told... I wonder, then... would you have chosen a different path?

We don’t see any response from Link of/c, but… the implications, from the mere fact that he remembers this specific conversation at all—especially in the context of LU, where Wild has already admitted he has a hard time believing the prim & proper soldier in his memories was even ever him.

Which is not even to mention anything else on whether he’d choose to be a knight if given the choice now. We know Wild carries around Roam’s diary, so he’s almost certainly read Zelda’s as well & would therefore know that even the him from before wasn’t doing too hot under all the pressure…

So like, hoo boy, Wild would get it. Legend may or may not initially expect it, but I think Wild would 100% back up Legend’s choice to stay out of knighthood... after a bit more development of his own that seems to be incoming of course. 👀

Hell, Legend might even step in on Wild’s behalf first if things happen to escalate—which would be neat. A lot of things would be neat between these two tbh (Y’all know me I’m obsessed with them. 🤣)

They’re the only two Links with a father mentioned or even implied in-game, (well, them & Twilight perhaps, but that’s off-topic) & both of them got complicated & juicy relationships with their inherited knighthood. 👀 There’s convenient parallels & I just think they’re neat. 🤭

[mortalityplays]

Run Ragged - a short, wolfish comic

Back the comic on Kickstarter until October 11th!

A gothic 24-page comic with four bonus pages of diary comics on COVID and cartooning. Have you ever tried to balance your tough day-to-day life training as a ballet dancer with your secret night life, tearing through the ragged woods as a werewolf? No?  This short fantasy comic, obsessively illustrated, is the perfect preparation for that eventuality. 

“Marnie tells a story of the lacerations left by the choke chain of an ableist society, a story they carve from sinew and suspend in negative space. A urgent, vital and brilliant work by an urgent, vital and brilliant artist.” - Erika Price

Run Ragged is the best comic my younger sibling has ever made. And they've made a lot of comics, they've won prizes. They've been making comics since we were teenagers drawing together at the kitchen table in the stolen small hours of the morning while everyone else in the house was asleep.

Run Ragged made me cry when I read it, on my sibling's ipad, at a café table, with them sitting right opposite me. Embarrassing! But it's beautiful, in word and in thought, and in image.

Run Ragged is about dance, and about changing relationships with the only body you have when that body gets sick. When that body no longer wants to obey. It's about disability, about frustration and beauty, and about tearing off into the woods.

This comic really was a labour of love. I watched Axe develop it and agonise over it for more than a year, picking it up and putting it down and ripping it apart and sewing it back together. They drew most of it in bed, physically unable to get up. Every stitch in its hide is meticulous and I want you to read it, so much.

But let's look at some pages:

I told you, it's beautiful! Axe has a knack for poetics that I've never grasped. The comic comes with additional diary comics, too - the personal behind what is already a deeply personal work.

Like me, Axe is a full-time artist. Like me, that means they are terrible with money. Their goals for this kickstarter are so low - their first stretch goal is only £600, and I had to argue them into it. They have all kinds of little additional bonuses planned for future goals, and I desperately want to see them come to fruition. But more than that, I really, really, really want people to read this comic.

You can back Run Ragged on Kickstarter until October 11th, and snag yourself everything from an original sticker or linoprint to a full archive of Axe's digital comics or a personal portrait of your pet escaped into the wild woods.

>>> Please don't miss it! <<<

[constantcrying]

Ersatz, baby

m!shape-shifter!yandere x gn!reader. 4k words. yes. I'm so sorry.

TW: Obsession, possessive thoughts and behaviors, mentions of violence, gore, consumption of humans, idk how to tag it but the shape-shifter eats humans and has considered eating the reader so like heads up about that

Heeeeey

Somebody PLEASE tell me if the length of this piece is detrimental to the experience of reading it it’s like 4k words. Here’s something I’ve been kicking around for ages. Frankly I am shocked I have something at all after a year

“Odd couple” is the best way to describe the friendship between you and Sasha. You’re awkward and responsible and outwardly boring. He’s highly social, wild, and intriguing. You’re genuine to a fault. He’s an expert in facades; he is a facade. You’re human and he’s something utterly not.

The freak accident of affection between you two is...still hard for him to wrap his head around. It seems to be your fault. If you weren’t so pitifully earnest toward him he would have just gotten rid of you. You were aware of his true nature, and definitely scared of it, but you kept going out of your way to be the Good Roommate™, to play friends. He had to let you live, just to see what the fuck your deal is. Now it’s too late. Now he wants you around.

You are the only person in the world that he has shown his real body to.

Some of his victims have seen it, but you’re the first person he intended to see it. The decision was quiet, perhaps a little impulsive. A simple exchange of “What are you, Sasha?” and “I don’t know. Wanna see?” had you both going to your bedroom and locking the door.

For the first time in his life, his heart pounded as he shed his clothes. He almost didn’t want you to turn around and look. It might be better if you only knew the carefully curated version of him, the handsome appearance he painstakingly crafted for the easiest social life. Even though you already knew he wasn’t human and pretended it didn’t matter, what if you saw him now and knew with absolute certainty that you didn’t want to look at him ever again? He would have to swallow you whole. He wasn’t sure if he could do it.

Regardless he said, “turn around.”

He showed you the unvarnished form that he had inherited from his mother. To be frank: It’s a predator’s body. Worse that that, it’s a monster’s. There are features and junctures of him so uncanny it must hurt the logical mind to observe them. If you were ever looking for the perfect rebuttal to the existence of a loving God, look no further than his cruel mouth.

He crept onto you bed looking like this, towering over you, your bed-frame screaming to protest the weight. He’d have to cut you off at the source, if you were to scream. And though he could smell the fear wafting from your skin, could practically feel the constricting blood vessels and tightening muscles in you, you still asked him, “Hey, is it more comfortable? Do you prefer being like this?”

Honestly? He isn’t sure there’s a body that’s comfortable and natural to him anymore. He’s so used to a human state that anything else feels awkward, even when it’s easier to shift to. As you took his massive claws into your hands and examined them with gentle curiosity, though, he was struck by the warmth of you. It was a long time since anyone had really touched him. It might’ve been even longer for you, loner that you are. Which meant you were the only person who could understand the way he felt in that moment.

He flopped over next to you, letting out an embarrassing dog-like whine, but you just laughed sweetly, and shifted pillows around to accommodate his bigger size. His feet and tail still dangled awkwardly off the bed. “You can relax in here,” you said. “You’re always welcome, since you’re my friend.”

You rambled about your classes and professors until all the adrenaline had left your system. He didn’t say much in response, but you didn’t mind. After a while, you could almost meet his preternatural gaze. You even dozed off like this, with a monster beside you, you utter weirdo. He put his head closer to your chest and felt your sleeping breaths for hours, thinking that your throat would be butter-soft under his teeth.

Sasha knows very little about what he really wants. He’s not sure if he’ll stay in his major, or in school, or even in human society. He knows for certain, though, that he wants more time to study you. He wants just your quiet voice and humble body heat and the understanding that, whatever he is, it isn’t going to chase you away.

So you two keep doing this. Every few days he’ll skulk over to where you are and make room for himself, and the two of you will talk for hours. Sometimes he shifts. He doesn’t always want to, but you get more comfortable with him that way. You...seem more keen to pet him when he looks and acts like an animal, and he wants you to touch him so bad he’s worried he’ll start asking for it. Could he ever live it down, if he started asking to be coddled? No. So he wags his tail and butts his head against you like that isn’t it’s own special brand of pathetic.

It’s not like you’re one to judge, though. You’re just so happy to have a friend that comes to hang out with you. You’ve never had very many of those, but of course Sasha knows he’s extra special. There’s much he’s learned about the world from his strange perspective, and you’re always excited to listen to his stories.

You do understand that he needs to eat a lot. You see him clear out four bacon cheeseburgers as a snack once, and he cracks jokes about how breakfast was red bull and adderall, but you know that it’s just a part of his biology that works against him. So you go out of your way to cook more meat, and give him bigger portions than anyone else, ignoring the way your blatant favoritism must look to the other roommates and occasional visitors. He doesn’t bother explaining that your idea of a big meal is like his idea of an appetizer, and he never will.

He doesn’t talk about the people he eats, either. He’s starting to think you don’t realize he does that.

(If you really don’t know, if this is the way you treat him when you don’t know, there’s no fucking way he can tell you.)

As for you, you talk about your courses and your classmates. From the way you talk around it, he’s mostly figured out the sad shape of your childhood and he decides that’s why you’re so weird and naive.

Mostly, you tell him about your hobbies, and your taste in TV shows. That’s when something in you is unlocked, revealing you to be more witty and giggly than your initial impression. It’s gratifying to know most other people don’t discover that side of you, like being the only prospector who knows where gold is. You tell him about everything you used to watch and play with your best friend, back when she had time for you. He’s a little confused by just how fervently you love things, how you start to care one day and then never, ever stop.

He never did it before, but now the two of you watch garbage TV together. (You tried to invite your best friend to join you, but to Sasha’s satisfaction, she gave you that cringing sort of smile and told you she didn’t have time.) Every Friday comes a new episode of Crater County, this schlocky supernatural police procedural, so every Thursday night you ask him to watch it with you. He’s a busy man, of course, but he’ll fit it into his schedule since he knows you so look forward to it.

This Thursday you must have forgot.

Somehow, in the early morning on Friday, you slip away without Sasha noticing. He wakes up to the honks of geese and distant cars, and the ever-present hum of electricity. As he thinks of pestering you to make ham and eggs, just to watch you get annoyed, he notices the conspicuous lack of your heartbeat.

He knows better than to doubt his hearing. But he still goes into your room across the hall to find the bed unmade and unoccupied. He almost goes to check your pillow for warmth, only stopping when he realizes it’s...stupid, to do that. He stays in the doorway for a long moment, overly-conscious of your scent. Then he goes to pace in the empty kitchen.

It hadn’t occurred to you to say goodbye to him, or leave him a portion of breakfast as you usually do, so you must have been in a hurry. Distantly, he remembers your fast food job. You probably got called to cover for someone at the last minute. Even so, shouldn’t you have said something to him? So that he wouldn’t wonder? Because he’s—

—well, you called him your friend.

It bothers him the more he thinks about it, while he showers and gets coffee and goes to class. The two of you haven’t talked since Monday and it feels weird. You always tell him when you’re going out, so what happened? Where can he even find you?

Not that he would need to find you. Sasha isn’t clingy. Clingy is his ex making alt account after alt account to pester him on instagram with stupid questions like, “are you seriously trying to ghost me you asshole?” And Sasha isn’t doing that. He hasn’t even texted you yet, because you haven’t texted him, and you always text first. If you don’t go through with the trouble of asking for him, he absolutely will not bother coming.

You haven’t sent so much as a “hey!” in the last seventeen times that he’s checked, so. Guess you guys aren’t hanging out. Whatever. It’s not like he doesn’t have stuff to do. He’s behind on several classes, a habitual skipper, and there are four other people begging him to come out tonight. He hasn’t hunted in a while so he should probably do that too.

He should go and talk to other humans, re-acquire their speech patterns and body language. He should catch himself when he makes gestures you would make, stop himself from making them. That’s why he goes to lunch with a friend group he met last month, and fits in with them seamlessly—or, almost seamlessly. No one can say he isn’t a good talker, slick as oil and quick with comebacks, but he’s a little more sensitive than usual today. While he’s in the middle of charming them he slips up and says something you would say.

“Isn’t that a Crater County reference you just made?” One girl says to him, stopping the conversation cold. “I thought you hated nerdy stuff like that.”

Sasha laughs shortly. “What? Says who?”

“Says you. You laughed at someone’s Supernatural tattoo at the party, remember?”

“It was a fucking horrendous tattoo. And I don’t like Crater Country or whatever, either, I just know some lines because my,” his throat feels like a desert, but he continues, “my roommate is obsessed with that shit.”

They brush over that thought soon enough, shifting focus to upcoming concerts, but Sasha can’t get comfortable again. He feels like he forgot how eyes work, and his are going to slip and turn reptilian in the middle of this well-populated restaurant. He’s scared his hands are going to morph into paws. In the end, he excuses himself before he can finish his meal.

Since he’s still quite hungry, Sasha decides he’ll drop by the butcher and get a few pounds of beef chuck to tide him over until dark. He’ll go to that fancy shop with all the grass-fed cruelty-free organic stuff, because he’s passionate about the well-fare of livestock, and definitely not because it’s just down the street from your job.

But since he’s there, anyway, he’ll pass by and peek through the windows to see what’s happening there.

Your restaurant is packed. A sports team, or special event or something, has filled every table in sight, and more people queue up at the register. You’re boxing fries and passing them over to waiting customers’ trays. Even though you’ve got mountains of food to work through, you’re smiling. It takes only a few seconds to find out why, following the arc of your eye up to a man in the same uniform as you.

The guy is tall and average-looking, and he keeps leaning toward you to talk like he doesn’t know how to speak loudly even though he works in a goddamn kitchen. Sasha doesn’t know him by face, or by word of mouth, since you’ve never told him about a co-worker that can make you giggle so much.

Why hadn’t you told Sasha about the funniest man of the century, huh?

More importantly, why hadn’t you noticed the way this asshole was looking at you? Staring so intently, exaggerating his expressions, mirroring you. All the same tricks Sasha has used before but with none of the grace, and yet somehow you liked it from this guy when Sasha had seemed scary to you.

He just can’t understand. That wouldn’t be such a problem if he hadn’t believed that he did understand you, and the way your mind worked. You had said Sasha was your friend and you had sat in the truth with him, relieved to see him for what he truly was, and you had been asking after his health and his happiness, wasting nights with him, cooking for him, cuddling up with him, and now here you were forgetting about his existence with another friend that he didn’t know about.

Sasha has been cheated on by a partner in the past. They left him one night and came back in the wee hours smelling like a fresh shower, with traces of someone else’s odor still clinging to them. It hadn’t felt like anything, to know that they were sneaking behind his back. Not a betrayal, no sting or ache in the heart he supposedly had. He broke up with them a week after, and that, like all his other breakups, was simply annoying. Sasha had always felt like he wasn’t with any of the people he was with. He was watching them, and touching them, and living among them, but there was some kind of invisible barrier between him and all the world. So when they broke a connection, well, what was there to even break? How could he care?

And why did being cheated on come to mind when he saw you happy with some other guy?

Sasha would later find out that you pulled a twelve hour shift that day, and, pushover that you were, you didn’t take a break long enough to check your phone. But he doesn’t stay to watch you, he really couldn’t. A pit had formed in his stomach, some void, some black hole that he had to attend to.

He leaves you there in your job and your apparent fun, none the wiser, and goes to the butcher. He gets himself a rack of ribs, and a few pounds of steak, and a heart just because the shop had one on hand and they were happy to serve a customer with such deep pockets as him. He gets a couple of cheeseburgers for the ride home and finishes them in a few bites.

As soon as he knows your other roommates aren’t home, he tears into the paper packaging of the prepared meats and gorges himself over the kitchen sink, soiling his shirt with myoglobin. It all tastes like ash, disappearing into him the way so many things do. When he’s done, when every last shred of flesh and sliver of bone has been swallowed, his stomach growls.

He’s always been this empty. Maybe that was the thing you saw that made you so afraid upon first meeting him—the bottomless trench that he actually was.

You said he was your friend. You knew what he was and didn’t back away. But you have so little else in your life. If you gained anything more, real friends, real family, a lover, wouldn’t someone as hollow and alien as Sasha be easily discarded?

There’s nothing for it. He has to go and hunt now.

Your co-worker is pitifully easy to discover. By checking the likes on your posts, he finds the creep has been hounding you for three weeks now. His unmitigated social media addiction leaves the entirety of his existence splatter across the internet. Sasha learns and forgets his name. He knows exactly what place he’ll be at tonight, with whom, for how long. He shifts to look exactly like you, heads out and stops at the right street corner with a bulky gym bag, waiting.

It’s so easy. Sasha can play You, but this guy hardly deserves all that effort. It’s enough to show up magically with your face, even if your clothes and piercings seem out of place. All Sasha has to do is bat lashes and flash a smile that he has already memorized—your stupid sincere grin that had made you, like the sun, difficult to look at directly—and this idiot thinks the person in front of him is really you, out on the same night by coincidence. He’s happy to see you, and happier still that you want to go somewhere together. He lets Sasha take him by the hand, convinced that the two of you are going out for drinks through innocuously empty backstreets. It doesn’t strike him as weird that you’re so energetic and flirty all of a sudden. Asshole.

He at least has the decency to carry the bag, no doubt hoping to come off as a gentleman.

“Why a duffel bag, anyway?” He marvels.

“To change clothes before I go home, silly,” Sasha tells him, leading him further into the night.

It turns out the co-worker is deeply uncomfortable with silence. He cracks jokes that aren’t funny, to which Sasha politely chuckles for what is only ten minutes but feels like an hour.

“When you kept turning me down,” he says, predictably, “I was worried you had a boyfriend or something.”

“Why would I not tell you if I had a boyfriend?” Sasha croons in your voice, fighting with all his will-power to not crush your co-worker’s hand. They’re finally on a quiet street, between two condemned houses, where there are no cameras and no pedestrians.

“Haha, I don’t know. You’re like, really private. That roommate you talk about all the time? The one going to the same school? I honestly feel like I know more about her than I know about you.”

“You mean, ‘him’? Sasha?” Sasha blinks owlishly with your eyes, his heart melting a little when he imagines you gushing about him to other people.

The guy laughs nervously. “No, I mean Maya. Is Sasha another roommate? Have you mentioned her before?”

Really. Maya. That “best friend” who basically pretends you don’t exist, who takes up valuable real estate in your mind when some people who have spent months getting to know you don’t even get a text.

Sasha gives up on looking friendly.

Your co-worker has finally sensed something is off, wincing as he tugs his hand out of Sasha’s vice-grip. Stretching out his fingers, he asks, “Hey, how much farther ‘til we get there? I swear we’ve passed like, three bars already...”

He doesn’t get to say more because Sasha lets out his teeth and goes for the throat.

It must be said that a warm meal always beats a cold one, but other that that it’s a shitty fare, gristly and lacking in flavor. This guy’s blood, fresh from the veins, is flat and forgettable. Even the marrow of his bones disappoints. At least he didn’t put up a fight...though maybe some enrichment could have saved this boring dinner.

Sasha feels more bloated than full when it’s all over. He wipes down and changes into fresh clothes, stuffing all the bloody garments into the duffel bag. He still feels kinda gross, and considers a long, hot shower while picking muscle fibers from between his teeth.

Are you going to worry about your co-worker? Are you going to miss him? Will you cry if they identify his blood on clothes found in the dump? Will you even tell Sasha why you’re crying?

Sasha snaps out of his deep thoughts when his phone buzzes. The text from you reads:

hey! i forgot to ask, are you on for crater county tonight?

What the fuck. Renewed frustration flushes through his system. What is he, your backup plan? He has a life—actually, many more lives than you! You should know better than to screw around with his time. He shouldn’t even dignify your bullshit with a response, but he does anyway—

At a party

And your answer is,

oh ok

we’ll watch it some other time

have fun!

…

Stay safe ok! Call me if you need something

It’s such a low blow he has to wonder if you’re doing it on purpose: you’re telling him all the same things he’s heard you tell Maya when she blows you off. He can hear the disappointment and embarrassment in your voice, the way you assure her of your eternal affection and concern while she practically dismisses you. Once he’s imagining your face, then, all he wants in the world is to look at it.

He’s a good runner. He’s barely out of breath when he arrives home, tossing aside his sweaty hoodie and kicking off his shoes while he quietly closes the door behind him. The dishwasher is running. He can just make out the low moan of the central air system, and one lazy heart thumping in the living room.

For a moment you don’t notice that Sasha is there. He gets to watch you quietly. You’re languishing on the couch in your bedclothes, staring blankly at the No Signal screen on the TV with a bowl of popcorn untouched on the coffee table. It surprises him. He hasn’t seen you with an expression this dull in a while.

But it disappears in an instant.

“Sasha!” You bolt upright, your face brightening like the sky at dawn when you find him standing in the doorway. “Did the party end already?”

He doesn’t know what to say.

You glance back at the TV. “Um, I swear I wasn’t going to watch without you! I was just…”

“Were you waiting for me?” He asks.

Your expression flickers, betraying the anxiety in your eyes before you have the chance to look away. Why did he even bother to ask? You’re here for him, like a puppy waiting for their owner, and suddenly he’s flushed and queasy—no, it’s not sickness that he feels, it’s butterflies. He’s so delighted he feels dumb, all of his frustration and embarrassing angst vanishing in an instant because all he can think of is how sweet you are.

“Ah,” he laughs dryly. “I’m screwed.”

Before you even know to cry out, he’s thrown himself at you, arms coiling around your waist. The two of you fall back on the couch.

When you get your bearings, you scold him. “Sasha, don’t just do that! You scared me!”

He mumbles, “I had a bad day.”

“...you did?” Your left hand cups his head, almost protectively, and your right strokes his back. “What happened? You’re not hurt, right? Are you hungry? I have some stuff in the fridge—”

“Can we just stay like this?” He asks.

“U-um. Well...” You must be thinking of your other roommates, who could walk in on this scene and “misunderstand” the relationship you have with him. You don’t want to cause weird rumors or tension. But he wants you so much he can’t pretend to be above it anymore. He squeezes you just a little bit, betraying his own desperation, so you say tenderly, “Of course we can.”

It’s scary to be honest. Sasha considers it contrary to his nature. However, he has never in his life avoided adapting or transforming to get what he wants. If he has to bare himself again to endear himself to you, he’ll do it.

“You’re the best friend I have,” he admits, “and I didn’t see you all day, and I missed you.”

Your heart quickens. “Sasha…”

“I know I’m being clingy. I just can’t help it. Say you missed me too. Say I matter to you.”

“I did miss you,” you murmur, your smile bleeding into your voice. You pull him closer. “It feels wrong when we don’t talk all day. And I worry about you, you know. I never see you make a proper meal.”

“I like it better when you make it. So keep cooking for me. Please.”

“I was going to do that anyway,” you say.

His whole body thrums with satisfaction. You care about him so much he can feel it all the way through. He’s soaking up your warmth and savoring your smell, face pressed into your neck. Twisting his hands into your shirt, he finds that he resents your clothes. He even resents your flesh and bones for barring direct access to your heart. Right now, though, he’s almost content with a body in his grasp, a pulse fluttering under his lips.

God help him, he’s been starving for this.

[taesansbeloved]

Whispers Among the Trees.

| Han Taesan X Reader

| Genre: high school, field trip au, introverted x extroverted

| warnings: I don't think there are any except for a cheesy confession. The use of 'my girl'.

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Han Taesan and Lee Y/n. Best friends ever since they were 10. Taesan being the shy introverted kid, and you being the sunshine, happy pill child. You both met on a school field trip. Even though you both were in the same grade, you never noticed each other. To put it better, you never noticed Taesan as he was always quiet, and you can barely ever feel his presence. Taesan though have always been watching from afar. Watching how easygoing you were and how people were always attracted to you. How could you make friends in a span of 5 minutes after meeting them. He was mesmerized but never had the courage to speak to you.

When on that field trip, you noticed a quiet kid sitting under a tree, away from all the chaos and shielded from the blazing hot sun. Being the extroverted 10 year old you are, skipped your way to him and plopped yourself down next to him. Startled and shocked, Taesan looked at you with wide eyes and a confused frown. Ever since then, you have been Taesan's only friend who made him feel content and at peace.

"Boo!" You exclaimed, sneaking your way behind Taesan, who was putting away his things in his plain, non decorated locker. Now, you both were seniors in high school and still as closer as ever.

"Ah." Taesan said sarcastically, acting as if he's scared. After putting away the last thing, he turned to you with a raised eyebrow and a smirk that made your stomach twist. "You don't scare me, Y/n." He said, still having that annoying, stomach twisting smirk.

"Eh, worth a try." You said, adjusting your bag. "Why are you putting your things away? We haven't even started first period." You asked as it just clicked in your mind that you literally just arrived to school, and he's already putting his things away.

"I have biology for first period, and you know how heavy the biology books are." He answered simply as he showed you the inside of his bag that contains one thick biology textbook and a 500-page practice book.

"Biology? I thought you always had history for the first periods on Wednesdays." You said with a frown as you both started doing your daily ritual of Taesan walking you to your first period, which for today is english.

"I got it changed. I now have history as the period after lunch." He answered nonchalantly.

"Really?! We finally have a class together!" You exclaimed excitedly as Taesan watched with a small smile.

"For real? Never knew." He said, unconvince-ly. Taesan did infact know that you had history after lunch. That's the only reason why he changed it. Now look, he's not obsessed... he just simply wants to spend more time with his best friend. Also, it's all worth it for that contagious smile of yours.

"Oh, did you hear about that senior trip the school is doing?" You asked as you eyed Taesan's perfect side profile.

"Senior trip already?" He said with a groan. Taesan isn't the type for field trips or trips in general. He would rather stay home reading a book or listening to music preferably with you. Just the thought of having to see people other than you makes him grimace.

"Mhm. They're saying it's in the forest, which is not ideal as it's November. You know, wild animals and stuff. But, I bet it's gonna be so much fun. We can share a tent, roast marshmallows, and stay up till sunrise as you play that calming playlist of yours. Omg! It's gonna be so much fun! You have to go, I already planned our activities together. Pleasee." You ramble, already having the entire trip planned out.

Taesan turned his head away from you as a wide smile started making its way on his face. He loved hearing you talk, even if it's nonsense. Your voice is like music to him he could listen to it without ever getting bored. You rambling about the trip and all the plans you've already decided are gonna come true with him makes his heart flutter.

"I'll think about it." He said, the sound of him smiling still clear in his voice.

"Nuh-uh! You're not 'thinking about it'. You're GONNA come with me, alright? I don't take no as an answer. I'll see you at lunch! Bye, Sannie. Good luck!" You said, escaping quickly to the door of your english class that you two have reached.

Taesan let's out a quiet chuckle as he turned away and left for his biology class with you on his mind.

__

A few weeks have passed, and you and Taesan are on the bus to go to the woods.

"Bug spray?" You asked with raised eyebrows as you were rummaging through Taesan's bag. "Taesan, it's winter." You said, looking at the boy who sacrificed the window seat for you.

"You never know. Bugs are everywhere in the forest. You should thank me." He said, taking the bug spray out of your hands and hugs it close to him.

You shake your head as you continue looking through his bag. You pulled out a CD player that was lying at the bottom of his bag with bubble wrap around it.

"You said you wanted to listen to 'that calming playlist of mine' a few weeks ago, so I turned into a CD so we can listen to it together." He said, noticing your confused frown.

"Really? Omg, it better have that one Nirvana song!" You exclaimed.

"Yes, Y/n. It has 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' by Nirvana." He said with a soft smile. Taesan introduced you to that song during your sophomore year. It was the first time Taesan had opened up about his love for music, and eversince it has been your guys' song.

You nodded in content as you continued your rummaging.

After a few minutes on the road, you noticed Taesan's eyes kept getting heavier by the second. Without muttering a word, you guide his head to your shoulder as his body stiffens. "Sleep. We still have a long way to go." You said as you fixed his hair softly, moving it away from his face. Taesan grins as he snuggles deeper to your side, falling asleep with butterflies swarming his stomach.

__

"Hey, emo kid. We're here. Wake up! Hurry. I wanna get out." You said impatiently as you poked the crown of his head. He groaned as he removed his head from your shoulder and rubbed his eyes sleepily. You jump in your seat as the forest comes in sight.

"You can't be that excited. It's literally the forest. We can die here." Taesan said, sleep still clear in his tone.

"Stop being a buzz kill. This is gonna be fun, just like the old days." You said, a wide smile etched on your face.

Taesan tries to stop his smile from stretching more as he sees that beautiful, beautiful smile of yours.

"Come on." You said as you see people filing out of the bus. You squeezed your way through Taesan's legs as you were too excited to wait.

Taesan sighs with a smile as he picks up your and his bag that you left behind. 'Gosh. Lee Y/n, what are you doing to me?' He sighs deeply as he follows your steps out of the bus.

"Taesan! Do you want the yellow tent or the red tent?" You asked as soon as you saw the figure of Taesan in sight.

"Wait, we're building them our selves?" He asked, finally reaching you as he put both your bags down. He sees two tents with the colors you mentioned lying on the ground, waiting for somebody to assemble them.

"Yes, you diva. Of course, we're assembling them. That's the whole point of camping. So, which one?" You asked again, that gorgeous smile that makes his stomach do flips, still plastered on your face.

"I guess we can do red." He says as you both get to work.

"That doesn't make any sense!" You say, frustrated at the paper of instructions in your hands. You were now assembling the tent together, and while Taesan is doing a great job doing his part, you're stuck on the third step.

"Okay, there. What's going on?" Taesan asked, circling the tent to the side you were working on seeing it half not done.

"The stupid instructions say that I have to tie that part to that part, but if i tie that part to that part, then this part is just gonna collapse!" You say with pure frustration.

"Oh, sweetie. You did it wrong." You didn't like what that word did to you.

Taesan began fixing the parts you did wrong and explaining while doing so. You couldn't hear a word he's saying as you were just admiring him the entire time. You don't know when you started feeling like that, but the more time you spent with Taesan, the more you felt something deeper about him. You started getting nervous every time you were near him. You began studying his features more than your physics book. You.. like... Taesan.

"Hey, shorty. Are you there?" His sweet honey voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You look at him only to see him standing up straight, already finished with your side.

"Why did you do my side?" You asked, voice quiet as thoughts about him kept roaming through your head.

"Y/n, you messed up on the third step, and I'm tired. It's a win-win." He said as both of you looked around to see that it's dark and everybody has assembled their tents.

"Okay, everyone. In their tents! Take a rest cause we've got a long day tomorrow." Your home room teacher yelled as everyone got inside their tents.

"Come on." Taesan said, ushering you inside.

"Are you really gonna sleep?" You ask with a smirk, knowing Taesan's sleeping time is 4 in the morning.

"Absolutely not. You're also staying up. I need some company." He said with a fake scowl.

You chuckle as you both sit on top of your sleeping bags. Quietness taking over. Unlike most nights where the silence was comfortable and serene. This one carries tension, something unsaid looming in the air.

You glance at Taesan seeing him fiddling with his fingers, a habit he has whenever he's nervous. You both can tell how different the other has been. How rather than comfortably lying in each other's bed, it's been tense.

The atmosphere surrounding the tent was uncomfortable, which is uncommon for both of you. You decide that you've had enough. You're gonna say everything.

"Hey, Taesan," you began, already regretting speaking, "Can I speak to you about something?" You said, whispering unconsciously because of the quietness surrounding you.

Taesan's head shot up at the sound of your voice, shifting his attention away from his fingers. He nodded, telling you to go on, afraid to speak and reveal his feelings on accident.

"Okay, umm. You see. So.. I wanted to say that.. How do I put this into words?" You mutter, nervousness taking over completely.

Taesan's eyes softened as he watched your nervous figure try to come up with words. He shifts closer to you and gently puts his hand over yours. "Tell me." He whispered as the sound of trees and bushes being pushed by the wind surrounding you two.

"Okay, um. You see, I've been feeling weird lately. Not weird, like, um, confused. It's.." You sigh im defeat as you look down at Taesan's hand on top of yours. "You know what? I like you, Taesan, okay? And, I don't know when it started and how and why, even. But, I like it, and you've been on my mind every single second of the day. I go to sleep thinking about you. I wake up thinking about you. You're all I think about lately. And, look, if you don't like me back, that's completely fine. Oh god, you probably think I'm weird now. Oh no, I've ruined our friendship, haven't I?" You pull your hands away from Taesan's and cover your face, embarrassed.

Taesan was shocked, to say the least. His crush, best friend.. liked him back? He stayed silent, taking in all your words, which really didn't help your situation. His posture still, trying to come up with words that will describe the immense feeling of love he has for you.

"Can you say something?" You say, desperately, voice muffled against your palms.

Pulling Taesan out of his head, he looks at you again. Your tiny figure curled up with your face hidden in your hands. He slowly and gently pulls your hands away from your face to see that gorgeous face of yours. The frown on your face as clear as ever, showing your distraught state. "I.. don't know what to say... I don't think words will ever describe how much I love you, Y/n." He whispered as the confession hung itself in the air.

Your head shot up in his direction, searching his eyes for the word 'sike!" But, no. All you can see is genuine emotion. His eyes bore into yours with an intense and loveable gaze.

"Say sike right now." You whisper back, not believing.

Taesan lets out a chuckle as he shakes his head and scoots closer to you. "How can I when all I'm saying is true?" He whispered as the sound of the whooshing trees hung around you.

"For real?" You ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

Taesan nods, not able to bring words out of his mouth from the feeling of relief and euphoria.

"So..like.. are we a thing now?" You whispered, your normal self coming back but even happier.

"If you want to." He says, taking hold of your hand again, interlocking it with his.

"Well, of course I want to." You say, tightening your hold on Taesan's hand.

"My pretty girl." Taesan whispers, mostly to himself as he can't believe he's finally yours, and you're finally his.

"Omg, stopp" You say as you jokingly push his shoulder.

Taesan chuckles as he looks at you with heart eyes. Finally, after 8 years of admiring you from afar, you're finally his girl, his pretty girl.

___________________________________________________________________

AHHHHHHHH! First post! Hope you guys like it :>

[shouldhavestayedawayfromhere]

I think today was the first time I ever felt truly exhausted after divination. Divination has always been a part of my craft that I really love and enjoy to do, partly alone because it came to me quite easily after adapting it to my needs. I never felt particularly tired from it. But then I read a post by @windvexer about making up methods for tarot readings. I loved it and it made me realize I can literally do anything I want and decided to use my free will today.

So I spread out all of my cards and sorted them by what subgender archetype I would assign them if they lived in the omegaverse. Because I'm a bit obsessed with the omegaverse and possibly feel connected to the miscecanis-community. I assigned every card a subgender and defined the meaning and symbolism of every archetype plus three cards who didn't fit any of the three.

Then I used my new divination system to ask a few questions and it was so fucking amazing y'all. I need you to get wild with your cards. Ask yourself — if everything was allowed, how would you read your cards? Then go and do just that. The new insights I got were so different from what I usually get and I made some cool discoveries along the way. I can now use my card deck to find out people's archetype and the tendencies that define their personalities. I feel like a WITCH!

I was exhausted afterwards and wondered why, since I slept well last night (for fucking once). Then I remembered that I've heard from some people that they feel tired after practicing divination and figured that, yeah, working with your deck for two hours non-stop is probably draining 😅

[chasedeys]

Oh thank you for that thorough response!! Are there any other Joemarr lore moments I should know about as a new fan? Any sources you recommend I look through?

oh sure no problem!!! 🥰🫶 not that thorough really akdjfjfk BUT yeah pretty crazy articles to drop lmao

um not to like self-promote (???? is it) lmao but may i direct you to my first ever insane ass long answer to an innocent joemarr ask of my fav joemarr moment that definitely need to be updated with the 2024 season 😮‍💨 you can definitely scroll through my joemarr meta tag too which is like where i store all my bullshit joemarr long answers! you can skip reading the long-winded analysis if you’d rather like form your own thoughts on them but there are dozens of linked moments there you can scroll through so i’d recommend that for sure 😊 oh and maybe my fav tag too! not necessarily joemarr but i usually keep my fav posts there that really catch my interest!

and heavilyyyyyy recommend scrolling through @cementcornfield's joemarr (joe’marr) tag toooo she says her organization's a mess but ive literally learned all there is about joemarr the first few weeks through her blog so 😔🫶 a staple tbh lol and you can branch out all the other blogs that post bengals content too!! soooo many now really it’s kind of wild i can’t keep up at times 😭 here is her post on it if you'd like to see more recommended blogs!

oh and some essential lore mention!! lets see several big ass mentions um

the clothes saga and the entire post-sb loss coaxing out of bed for like a vegas date maybe

kc game shove

lakers date

their pinky shake

lsu natty game ball and ja’marrs bratty ass bragging of it

joe wearing ja'marr's game-worn jersey (top 3 moments btw)

the refusal to play without each other

the ufc fights

that’s my qb not theirs (yeah...)

them being neighborssssss this is truly insane read through carmen's tags no really it’ll drive you insane. what the fuck. no really the fuck.

the whole article is kind of crazy but like the boat thing in particular. 'we did a lot but not on a boat'. okay ja'marr. it also birthed my favorite delusional babble of like. ja’marr choosing to stay in ohio for joe in the future but not being sure of verbalizing it.

DONUT INCIDENTTT with a little handsy moment beforehand (so many angles of the donut incident i cannot possibly link them all sorry)

oh this helmet slam celly vs this helmet slam celly when you take in account how these were their first long touchdowns since joe's wrist injury and like compare it to their first nfl touchdown celly Thoughts truly Thoughtssssssssss 😮‍💨 (the first td celly loooook at joe grippinggg at his waistttt holy shittttttt)

joe on ja'marr's rookie preseason drops (the first link is another angle and longer clip of the first td celly btw where you can see joe finally pushing ja'marr away god the fuck is wrong with them i adore that clip truly top 10 moments and alsoooo the presser with the pinky shake of all times as a fuck you to all those reporters and haters top 5 pinky shakes moment btw)

the lsu staring saga

the lsu warm skin recount

joe's first griddy where their account was nearly the same word for word and ja’marr was severely biased and joe was all ‘i just saw you and i got to’ okay.....

also id link like the whole qb1 pat who thing but i cant be assed to search chiefs anything anywhere else rn sorry 😭 but ja'marr's thing with the chiefs is honestly ripe with joemarr and like joe as his qb1 etc etc

etc etccccccc im sure im missing a lot lmao but like. truly if you do a deep dive of their lore it's crazy they've got 6-7 years of this shit (real quote btw: ja'marr has said so. i've been with him what. 6-7 years? i've lost count.) so like. if you have the time and vigorous enough obsession you can definitely catch up with their entire thing 😔🤚 i wish you the best lol.

anyways hope you enjoy scrolling watching reading through all these moments!! (if anyone else wants to rb and add moments go right aheaddd btwwww please do!!)

[allbluemin]

Sorry if something doesn't make sense, english is not my first language.

Ever since I watched the new movie in the Planet of the Apes franchise two weeks ago, it has been living in my thoughts rent-free and completely dominating my cell phone history. I've read so many reviews, theories, watched behind-the-scenes videos and interviews (I'm the obsessive type who can't JUST like something and has to make it an addiction, a necessity in my daily life) and of course I haven't stopped researching here on tumblr either. And it was researching here that I discovered:

The ship noa x mae.... tan tan tan!!!🥁 (I couldn't resist, sorry)

Anyway, that's not specifically what I want to talk about. But I've also discovered the discussions you're having about the ship, and I come here to humbly ask you: please don't stop, it's been my greatest entertainment over the last few days😅😂😂

Joking aside, it's been very interesting for me to follow this, because I've been using tumblr for 2 years and it's the first time I've seen a debate about it, and let's face it, in 2 years you discover A LOT here, especially if you consume diverse subjects, like me. You always end up stumbling and falling into a hole... maybe a dark one... maybe a strange one... and maybe you'll never get out of it 💀💀

The point is, my curiosity has led me to start a survey focused mainly on exposing opinions about this ship, focusing on people who consume monster/human-related content and people who don't.

I have no intention of starting wild fights with insults and all, I'm just looking for numbers and statistics. I'll be posting a poll with these same tags so that you can vote and talk civilly, and attached to the post there will be a Google form with some more information to fill in and make it easier to analyze the data (all done anonymously of course).

If you can help me it would be super interesting, thank you in advance!!! <3

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

every breath you take

Paring: fem!reader × stalker!Nat

Warnings: SMUT, DUB-CON, stalking, drugging, dom!Nat, sub!reader, somnophilia, oral, fingering, pervy Nat, dark Nat, implied age gap (it’s me what did you expect)

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional!

Masterlist- kinktober

ꕀꕀ ─── ⋆⋅ ✨🌞✨ ⋅⋆─── ꕀꕀ

Natasha considered herself a great people watcher. Working in her own bookshop she never failed to give the best recommendations that somehow were always right. But her life was empty. Having had a rough childhood having healthy relationships was impossible for her. What even is a healthy relationship? The redhead thought to herself. Maria had called her obsessive and possessive and Wanda called her a creep when she found out about her photographing hobby. It was just her love language. Natasha loved her partners to death. If she could have them no one should.

The bell of the door rang announcing another customer and pulling Natasha out of her thoughts as she glanced around the bookshelf looking at the customer who had just found their way in her shop.

You were looking for something new to read and had found the old bookshop as a insider tip on instagram. You made your way through the halls between the bookshelves paying attention to the books instead of your way until you ran into another woman. “Oh lord I’m so sorry” You immediately excused as you looked at the redhead in front of you. The moment you crashed into Natasha you knew you were meant to be. “No problem” she smiled at you “You’re first time here. I’d remember a face like yours” her voice was husky, attractive in your ears. Natashas thoughts were running wild. Was this meant to be? A young drop dead gorgeous girl randomly running into her arm in her bookstore; this was fate she decided. “Correct, I’ve heard so much ever since I moved here I just got to check it out” you smiled back at her not knowing how dangerous the red head in front of you really had been.

How could you had been so careless, Natasha thought to herself as she let herself in through your widely opened window. Someone with bad intentions could’ve broken in not her of course she was only here to give you the protection you needed. She creeped through the shadows her steps barely audible. The door of your bedroom making a quiet creak as she slipped through the opening she had created. Her breath hitched as soon as your sleeping form was falling into her gaze. She could barely contain herself as she reached for her camera.

The shutter made awfully loud sounds but luckily Natasha prepared for that a few sleeping pills in your favorite wine and you were sleeping like a baby. She moved around your body taking more and more pictures. You always wore your panties and some oversized T-shirt to sleep making it an easy game for Natasha. Her hands found their way to the hem of your slowly pushing it over your chest. The older woman couldn’t help but groan as she took a look at your perky nipples slowly getting hard as the cold air caressed over it. She took another picture before setting the camera aside. Her thumbs rolling over the soft skin making you stir in your sleep. She smirked gently kissing your neck. Her touch seemed to have a big affect on you as you started to release small whimpers in your sleep.

Your hips seemed to a mind on its own as they buckled up in search of a form of release. Natashas eyes widen as she heard a moan of her name coming from your sweet lips. Had she gone completely mad? But her ears didn’t play a trick on her you moaned her name out yet again. You wanted his too, you needed this too she concluded. In a swift motion your panties were on the ground with Natasha making a mental note to put them again later. Your creamy thighs were over the read heads shoulders as she licked over your wet pussy. She hummed at the delicious taste of your juices on her pinkish tongue. She licked between your folds leaving nothing untouched as she speared her stick saliva over your core.

Her long fingers found your entrance as she slowly inserted a finger. You were tight maybe even too tight for a second finger and definitely too tight for her cock but that didn’t stop her in anyway. You just had to be stretched out properly and in Natashas mind she was just Her curvy nose nudged under the hood of your clit giving just the right stimulation.

Your hips buckled against her face as you slowly awoke from your slumber. Natasha was fast to respond leaving the spot between your thighs to press her cheek against yours comforting you to not wake further. Natasha wasn’t planning on going to jail anytime soon so she had to play this right. Her finger still curling inside of you. “W-what” you mumbled still in a sleepy state. “It’s just a dream bunny… just a dream” she shushed you in a soft voice “Natasha?” You whisper her face hovering over yours “just go back to sleep” you nodded closing your eyes again before falling back into your slumber. Natasha kissed her way back down her as she pushed a second finger in making you moan. It didn’t take her long until you were on the clenching around her delicate fingers. A few more strokes against your G- Spot until you released.

She took her time licking your sweet release from your thighs and cunt. She placed your discarded panties on your body again before tugging you in again kissing your forehead. “Until next time bunny” she whisper before disappearing into the shadows again.

The next morning you woke up to a strange dream. Natasha your bookstore crush how you referred to her to your friends screwing you into the mattress. You almost felt dirty for having such a detailed wet dream about a random bookstore owner who probably wasn’t even interested in you. But you’re body craved it. So you made your way towards her store a bit nervous but with a goal in mind.

“How can I help you Y/N” the red head said smirking like always. ”Well” you started stepping to the counter “It’s not about a book it’s a little more personal” you see Natashas eyes widen. Did you remember anything? She asked herself. “Go ahead” You took a deep breath preparing yourself for a rejection “Do you want to go on a date with me”

“Of course”

If you had only known.

:)

I do not own these characters all rights go to Marvel

[witch-and-her-witcher]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going! Thank you to everyone who tagged me and have had me in their inspo sections, I adore each and every one of you!

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

518,691 (hoping to add another 3-4k to this before midnight hehe)

I CANNOT drop that number without thanking the fucking dream team who has read EVERY SINGLE PUBLISHED WORD of mine: @popjunkie42 and @climbthemountain2020. From cheerleading, to pumping the breaks when my run ons be running, I appreciate the ever-loving hell out of both of you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Honorable mention betas who hold up that number: @cauldronblssd, @wilde-knight, @thesistersarcheron, and @rosanna-writer. I truly appreciate every one of you babes and your critical, brilliant eyes on my self indulgent streams of thought.

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

21! 13 of those were one shots.

If I can be real, I have two multi-chapter WIPs sitting in my docs, but it felt too irresponsible to post those once I started getting buried in grad school.

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

Heading into the new year, I have 2 in progress fics: Ruin Me for the Fourth Wing fandom and Who's Gonna Know You Like Me? for ACOTAR.

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

Any of my poly fics! I really have to thank @acourtofladydeath for her beautiful brain child @polyacotarweek for getting me into the poly mind set. Although I only wrote throuples for that week (and since aside from the background Nesta/Eris/Azriel/Cassian in Who's Gonna Know You Like Me?), I am interested in writing more complex poly pairings in 2025.

I also can't leave out @yanny-77, @copperfirebird and @hockeyspiral23 for supporting the violaiden obsession! I adore writing the three of them together so so much and it's so fun to have others to share the brain rot with!

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

I had never done a true canon rewrite before dripping in gold! It was so so fun taking an in text scene and making it queer as hell.

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

It's undeniable that A Court of Chaos and Darkness's reception took me by surprise. From the moment I couldn't shake the concept of the fic to the over one hundred kudos it received before I took it off of anon. But even more so, the absolute comfort blanket this fic was as I wrote it was shocking. Something in the healing occurring, in the recognition of the complexity of parenting and the messiness of the parent/child relationship really struck me.

The fic @revenge??? I love you filthy azris lovers. This was an outlet for some of my dating app blunders and shenanigans and you all really said "serve."

And then there's my first omegaverse fic and the first of it's kind in the Fourth Wing ao3 tag (when it was posted, I believe there's several more now!): so what now? The Fourth Wing fandom has been warm as hell and so inviting to me, but you have all really embraced me bringing weird into the tags and I just can't thank you enough as I gape at the stats.

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

Either of my sapphic fics: dripping in gold (genderbent feysand) and lunch. (morlain ft the mommy kink tag!)

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

There are so, so many talented artists that inspire me! @thrumugnyr, @copypastus , @queercontrarian and @lucychanart have been my muses for all things Tamlin. @climbthemountain2020 and @wilde-knight are triple threats and their art brings me such joy! There's also @dustjacketdraws that always has primo Cassian and Nesta vibes!

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

There are SO many. First and foremost, my babe @popjunkie42. I love you, my muse. Something about reading your writing and just chatting with you inspires all of my ideas to flow. @asnowfern is another muse and writer I can always turn to for inspiration, we were just recalling her Turning Darkness Into Light elucien spooktober fic that tickles my imagination so much among her other works!

I'm inspired and impressed endlessly by @climbthemountain2020 ability to flawlessly produce well developed, gorgeously vivid stories.

@highlordofkrypton, @missfckingfortune and @beesays inspire me constantly with their raw talent and skill and for the first two, the hot and steamy smut they can turn out. @jules-writes-stories inspires me with her OC work and beautifully layered plots (Mithras, my toxic love.) @c-e-d-dreamer inspires me with her fun AU worlds, but also with her fearlessness to tackle toxic relationships - @secret-third-thing is in this same boat as well as @iftheshoef1tz, @foundress0fnothing, and of course the OGs @thesistersarcheron, @whisperingmidnights, @separatist-apologist and @the-lonelybarricade.

There are so many more of you. I love this community and the inspiration that flows all around your creative, galaxy brained minds.

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

SO many, but those I haven't mentioned yet who are so so talented (but not limited to this list): @dusk-muse, @chairofchaos, @shadowsandlint, @xxvalkyriesxx, @fourteentrout, and @littedidyouknow.

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

None this year, but the idea is fun!

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

Could You Love Me While I Hate Myself is my proudest accomplishment this year by far. I always told myself I couldn't: write OCs, write a longfic, or write a fic that would ever break the UNBELIEVABLE stats this fic has done. I proved myself wrong on every front.

Thank you so much to @asnowfern, @popjunkie42 and @wilde-knight for seeing me through this capstone fic and for believing in me and helping me see myself in a totally different light.

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

Be as silly and self-indulgent as possible.

If you have a killer idea/dialogue line/etc - WRITE IT DOWN. YOU WILL NOT REMEMBER IT LATER.

14. What is your advice?

Surround yourself with people who make you feel like you can accomplish anything and you will never fail because there they will be, gassing you up flop or not.

I love you, harem. Writing is so fun BECAUSE of you. <3

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

Continuing to eat, serve and let the haters drown in it.

[thatswhatsushesaid]

i have been obsessing over this extremely short moment post-sunshot campaign for weeks now trying to put together a lengthier post about it, but i think the screenshots themselves arranged chronologically speak for themselves. so i will just post them and then talk about the framing, because i’m insane about it.

just about everyone else on this side of the banquet hall within the scorching sun palace is looking towards jin guangshan as he speaks—everyone except for:

1) jin guangyao, who is staring straight ahead with a startlingly flat and resigned expression on his face, despite being seated in a position of honour beside his brother, and

2) nie huaisang, who is obviously TRYING to pay attention, but his attention keeps wandering between looking at nie mingjue, and looking at jin guangyao

(also he gets no further commentary/acknowledgement from me but look at jin zixun back there just lounging in his seat like a smug spoiled brat. ugh. step on legos forever jin zixun.)

the camera shifts its focus while jgs keeps talking to zero in on jgy’s expression. this deliberately highlights and provides us the chance to see his expression in more detail. and it is so hard to discern what he is feeling specifically beyond “not great,” but what stands out for me is: he isn’t wearing his usual polite, customer service mask, the one he managed to keep in place both during the introductory sequence at the cloud recesses in the face of so much mockery from the jiang sect disciples.

so what is that expression? what is going on in his head that he can’t play the part that he’s perfect for years now, when he has supposedly almost achieved everything he ever dreamed of accomplishing for himself and his mother? i mean, i have my suspicions of course, because we know what is going to happen very soon.

and then—

—the focus of this scene changes, drawing our attention away from jin guangyao towards nie huaisang where he’s seated just behind nie mingjue. because nie huaisang is not paying attention to jgs’s speech or watching his da-ge. unlike everyone else in this banquet hall in this moment, nie huaisang is looking at jin guangyao, observing him in this moment where his polite mien has failed him, and god what i wouldn’t give to know what is going through his head!! because:

1) i don’t for a moment believe nmj told nhs the details of what transpired between him and jgy during their confrontation in the scorching sun palace. i don’t think he did this as a favour to jgy or to lxc, either. imo this decision would be consistent with nmj shutting down any discussion of what caused him to exile meng yao from the unclean realm back in… uhhh, episode 10?? when nhs, wwx and jc all converge in the unclean realm throne room to ask about meng yao’s fate. (yeah it was episode 10.) anyway for all we know this is the first time nhs has seen his old body guard/babysitter since he watched meng yao totter feebly into the wild blue yonder all those months ago, and now here he is seated in a place of honour between jin zixuan and his da-ge, looking perhaps even more miserable than he did while bleeding from a giant sword wound in his chest. it is entirely consistent with nhs’s character to be like ‘???? what is up with this??’ but not even he is bold enough to ask jgy what is up in the middle of this banquet, not with da-ge right there.

2) his expression is ALSO harder to read than it would have been when they were last together!! but there are clearly gears and cogs shifting and ticking and whirring behind his eyes, and the fact that the framing calls attention to nhs noticing jgy in this moment when it’s quite clear no one else does is one of many hints the show is dropping for us that nhs is more than just a lackadaisical and absent-minded second son. he notices things that no one else does—but, as with jgy, we are left to guessing as to what he is thinking, and what conclusions he is drawing.

well okay it looks like i managed to write a lot of words down about this after all!! go me.

[yuri-wan-shi-tong]

Let's talk about S2 Arcane Jayce and Viktor.

SEASON SPOILERS FOR S2 OF ARCANE, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. (stop reading this Rain <3) I fucking love these two in this season, I loved them in the last season, but it feels like the story is wrapping itself around them and their hextech dilemma. The themes of love and acceptance from the first season that wrapped itself around the main sisters is now given to us in a new context. Same problem, different people. (the sisters still have it happening to them in this season, but I feel like Jayce and Viktor represent the Piltover/Zaun rift better than the other characters in this season.) Viktor represents Zaun's desire to change, to grow. Jayce represents Piltover's refusal to change, a love for the status quo. In the first season they were partners, pushing for the same goal of progressing Hextech, but that changed after the bridge scene.

I love this scene. Whereas Vander or now Jinx might be Zaun's idea of the perfect Zaunite, Viktor is what Piltover believes to be the perfect Zaunite. Viktor is literally the model minority. Kept his head down, worked hard, became a success story that Piltover can use to further oppress other Zaunites who did not achieve his level of brilliance. Viktor however, never realized this. Until the bridge. He thought Jayce loved him and respected him for being who he was. His identity as a kid from Zaun is completely tied to who he is now, and his life's work is to literally rid himself of a condition he got in the streets of Zaun. He thought Jayce took that into account and was supporting him. Then on the bridge he heard Jayce call his people dangerous, he saw that Jayce ordered the blockades. Jayce himself hesitated and recoiled when Viktor said "I'm from Zaun." Jayce LITERALLY FORGOT one of Viktor's key aspects of his identity. He either forgot or is going to say the phrase, "you're not like them." Which is a goddamn slap in the face either way.

At this moment, Viktor has been betrayed by his body, by the people around him, by the institution he's helping. No one respects or supports the human individual he is, only his title. The only one who cared for his individuality was Skye, and he fucking killed her because he was so obsessed with his work. He has wanted his entire life to change, to become different, to grow. In his own words, "To evolve."

Jayce on the other hand has only found success. He's the Protector of Tomorrow, the Golden Boy, the academy's best, a seat on the council, he has speeches and rallies, the entirety of Piltover loves him. He literally cannot see passed his adoration to notice what's actually wrong. He doesn't want himself to change, he wants to stay the same, he wants Piltover to stay the same. There's a whole disturbance in Zaun, but overcoming that problem to him means that Piltover will stay the same. Enter the Hexcore and the Wild Rune.

The Arcane literally gives the two men what they were searching for. Magic. You wanted to find this? To harness it for yourself using technology? Sure bud, here ya go. Just so you know everything after this moment changes. You will no longer be you, you'll be someone else after this. The power is yours, take it. Your concerns right now will be in the past, they won't be important to you anymore. Viktor, dead from Jinx's rocket at the end of S1, lying in a tub of eldritch bathwater, is shown this. He's shown the Arcane, the secrets that they've been chasing, and he accepts. He takes the power, he embraces change. After all, it's what he's been trying to do to his body ever since he was a kid. He has no love in Piltover anymore, nothing holding him back from walking a different road. He arises like fucking Jesus from his tomb into the hottest goddamn character design I've seen so far. I love me a sickly looking twink.

He leaves Piltover. There's nothing for him there. He wanders Zaun, trailing after the remnants of Skye still in his mind and heart and Hexcore. He finds those in Zaun just like him, suffering afflictions and disease, and he realizes he's past that. He's no longer that man. There's so much more to the world and life and experience than that. "So much needless suffering." He says. He takes those shimmer afflicted and "cures" them. Bringing them out of their humanity and into something new. He, and his followers, don't need their humanity anymore, it wasn't doing anything for them. They progress and continue down this "glorious final evolution." Jayce on the other hand rejects this.

He's shown the Arcane. He's given the same option to change or keep things the same, and unlike Viktor, he quite likes how things are. They worked out for him. He doesn't want to change, he doesn't want Piltover to change, and this new power threatens it. He turns against it, smashing Salo/Viktor when he wakes up, because he can see the evolved humans behind their shining eyes, the husks of creatures beyond humanity. He's scared of it.

These two men started this Hextech project with different goals and perspectives, and they managed to not get in the way of the other until now, and what a way to highlight again in a different lens the oppression of Piltover and the desire for freedom of Zaun. Arcane has always been about love and acceptance, and the lengths those without it will go for it, and the lengths those with it will go to protect it. There was always going to be a dividing rift between the man who has it all and the man who has nothing, and so far it's ending in the exact way it only can, with a hole in someone's chest. I cannot wait for Act 3.

[letteredlettered]

Hi Im sure you answered this already but i sadly cant find it: how did end up shipping or rather writing drarry fics?

I've actually been asked quite a few times why I ship H/D. I never answer, because it's complicated and long and I have an essay on the subject, so I'll answer the 'how' question without addressing the 'why'.

Once upon a time, the internet was becoming a thing that people used regularly. The news kept talking about how the youths of the day were "surfing the 'net" and this was going to be the new normal. As usual, I could not identify with the 'youths of the day,' even though I was one. What could possibly be of interest to me on the internet? Reading books was far better than talking to other people. Then one day in my senior year of high school it dawned on me that you could possibly talk to other people about books, something I had never done before, as I didn't know anyone but my parents and brothers who ever read for fun, and my parents and brothers did not like to read things like Jane Austen. What if there were people on the 'net who liked Jane Austen??? Seemed fake, but I gave it a try.

The first Jane Austen website I found was Republic of Pemberley, which hosted something they called "Bits of Ivory." Through the "Ramble" board on Republic of Pemberley, I found out that there were "Bits of Ivory" elsewhere. It was called fanfic and hosted on fanfic.net.

Almost all of it that I was introduced to was Harry Potter fic, as HP was the megafandom of the time, and my Sense and Sensibility friend was obsessed with Snape, mainly because of Alan Rickman. I was also obsessed with Snape, though I must say that even though I had been obsessed with Alan Rickman since 1995, I never did like his casting as Snape and still don't. Anyway, I ended up getting interested in Snape/Hermione fic, and continued to be interested on and off for over the next five years.

I should pause at this moment to say that I had been writing fanfic since the fourth grade. I didn't know it was called fic. I didn't know other people did it. It never occurred to me to share it. When I found "Bits of Ivory" it actually took me a while to process that the stories there were in a similar vein to the stories I had been writing all my life, stories based on fiction by other people. It was just so wild to me that anyone would share that stuff, as though other people would want to read the different endings that they came up with, the self-inserts and the cross-overs they came up with.

I should also take this moment to say that I didn't really have slash ships. I was aware that slash existed, and I thought it was great. Sirius/Remus was a background ship everywhere at the time, and even though I didn't really see it in canon and wasn't terribly interested in it, I thought it was a nice thing. And when I started getting into X-Men through Wolverine/Rogue, it seemed obvious to me that Professor X and Magneto had a past sexual relationship. I, in fact, had an original story that I'd started writing in eleventh grade that had similar tension between two male characters, and the idea that they were in love and unable to have sex about it explained so much. And I wrote more original stories in college that were gay.

I think my problem was that the canons I was consuming were quite straight, and while I wasn't obsessed with writing canon-compliant fics, I was (and still am, to some extent) obsessed with writing characters who were true to canon. At the time sexuality seemed some kind of immutable thing to me that was deeply a part of who a character was. Also, sex to me was very Other; it meant something really deep and serious about you that obliterated other things you were. For instance, I was frustrated with all the Frodo/Sam porn, because I felt it obliterated their beautiful friendship and made their relationship about sex and being gay rather than the deep pure bond of friendship. So I was maybe kind of homophobic and confused.

Then I fell in love with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and while that canon has a lot of heteronormativity, it not only has a character who thought she was straight who realizes she's gay, it also has vampires who have lived for centuries and who have broken every kind of social norm that exists. It seemed silly to me to assume that Spike or Angel were straight, which is how I began shipping Spike/Angel, which is how I got absolutely obsessed with slash. It was so liberating to write porn where the power dynamic wasn't influenced by centuries of patriarchy! It was so liberating to write porn where I didn't have to think about my own anatomy or gender or position in a sexual dynamic! It was so liberating to write porn with a bunch of dicks!

Having discovered slash, I turned back to ye olde faithful fandom, which had ten billion fics about everything. I'm not sure I even tried Sirius/Remus, because I was still so uninterested in it, but now I read all the Snape slash, the majority of which seemed to be Harry/Snape. The thing is, I don't ship Harry/Snape. It can be very hot! But while the porn is fine and some of the stories are fun, these are not two people that I want to live happily ever after. I just think that the power dynamic between them, the history they have, and the personalities they are do not make me want to imagine them as a couple with a happy marriage who occasionally have the friends over for games of Quidditch and Exploding Snap. And while I like queer complicated, angsty stories, I also like a happy ending in a semi-heteronormative sense, especially for Harry Potter, who really seems to want one. So, I started looking for other Harry Potter slash.

I knew that Harry/Draco was a juggernaut pairing, but I just hated Draco Malfoy so much. I honestly could not stand him. I used to go about saying that I hated him not only as a person (like, I also hated Snape as a person; he's a dick, and he's cruel to children! But he's a great character) but as a character. I just didn't like the function he played in the narrative. I like big, dramatic rivalries and evil vs good; meanwhile, Draco Malfoy is a little worm. So I kept thinking about reading HP slash, but resisting.

Then, one day, I was sleeping on the couch, and woke up suddenly with the idea that Draco Malfoy could be reformed. He could be sorry for all the shitty things he's done! He could be really apologetic! He could be really trying to make up for his past, and Harry could find this truly beautiful, and they could have sex about it!

Surprisingly, it was hard to find fic about this. For some reason, in most of the fic, it was Harry having to earn Malfoy's approval, instead of the other way around, which I found absolutely bonkers. But I eventually found Eclipse, by Mijan, which was just what I wanted. Then I was obsessed and was reading every Harry/Draco fic I could find.

Eventually, I even read the ones in which Harry was a cad and Draco Malfoy was a perfect snowflake who never did anything wrong. And then I started finding fics that really emphasized that Draco had a very different point of view of what happened, which showed that he really had no way to understand who Harry was, or what Harry had been through. In these fics, Harry had to do some work to understand Draco, which is what really sold me on the pairing. I still want fics in which Draco has to do a lot of heavy lifting to address his past and deal with the hurt he has caused and the violence of his previously genocidal outlook, but I love it when Harry, too, has to adjust. After saving the world and losing most people he loves and protecting the innocent and doing his exhausted little best to be honest and righteous and true, Harry Potter still has to do work, again, to overcome his past and find a peaceful life. And that's what made me start writing Harry/Draco, the end.

[bechaerriezlvr]

flash!

inspired by teamies’ illumination and samidare and ofc another poetry prompt xoxo 💋💋

i missed out on ditto era so i’m basking in it a season too late

i tried to make it ot9 but you can tell who i bias LMAO. this is the first time i’ve ever written in second(?) person. i got carried away with this i fear

warnings (?): angst, rambling, death, SAD SAD SAD, suicidal, suggestive, this is super all over the place. so i might take this down and edit this. i don’t know where i was going…. this is so unusually dramatic i feel like i should’ve made it a bigger deal idk. can you tell im a “spur in the moment” writer?

I NEVER WRITE ONESHOTS HELP ME

word count: 2.6k

OK LETS START

in english we say: everywhere i look, i see you.

in my head i say: i see you in the aisles i pass by in the book store. i find you in the crumpled photos that used to be pinned in my middle school locker. i hear your voice in the words of the novels i read. i imagine your laughter when i crack open a carbonated drink by the train station on a humid summer day. i see you when the cherry blossoms begin to fall in the spring. but is it all in my memories or just my imagination?

you’ve been living in you small-ish town for years. although you spent your first couple years in a different place, you managed to make this one feel like home. despite being a quiet soul, people know you by name due to your bright smiles or kind demeanor. you were always labeled to be hardworking and smart. although you sported some cons, like sucking at physical ed, (which everyone does, they just make you feel like an asshole for not being an athlete) you still had your own little fun facts that made you unique. but entering middle school became hell. friends you created during childhood drifted away, girls became obsessed with being popular, and boys did nothing smart while making you feel stupid. it felt like you wanted a hole to swallow you up and bring you somewhere else, wherever that may be.

as years passed by and seasons went, the air of your now hometown became suffocating. some would call it seasonal depression, but is it seasonal if it lingers? you’d lie in your bed with your earbuds disregarded next to your ears with volume loud enough you could still hear the music. skies would be grey while your body would ache. you weren’t sure if it was the toll of being “smart” or being lazy, as your mother would say. this feeling had never left your body. maybe it came with growing up or just being a girl (🎀)

every now and then while doing a simple activity you couldn’t help but wonder if people would notice your if your presence was gone. chopping vegetables? you have a knife, cut- no. cleaning the railing? jump- no. soaking in a bath? drow- no. intrusive thoughts entered your brain exponentially. but luckily, you were hoping to change that.

as the birds chirp in the sky and the sun blares through the windows, you lay your head down on the cold desk. the classroom is close to empty as people spend time running the track or soaking in the sun amidst the month of may. the wind from the open window brushes past your back, sweeping through the wrinkles of your uniform. you feel a cold drink press against your neck as you jolt from the condensation dripping down your back. he sits there behind you with his head thrown back in laughter.

“i thought you would’ve heard my footsteps since you always complain how loud they are.”

“you’re not prominent enough for me to pay attention to, ej,” you say, sticking your tongue out.

his wild laughter calms to a soft, toothy smile. he twists open the lid of the pocari sweat, knowing you can never open it yourself. maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself from the sweat that coats his forearms, but something about ej had sparked your eye that day. from his gentlemanly actions to this shy playful nature, it’d be a lie to say you weren’t attracted to him. you take the drink and thank him silently as he watches you doodle on the bottle while taking sips of the drink.

“are you coming after school?” he questions. “we can get food.”

you were always hard to convince when it comes to after school hangouts. your head was buried in the academic team and the endless studies that you’d put off till 9 pm even though you cancelled to be “productive.” every time you’d promise the boys that you’d hang out next time, but it was never fulfilled. at the times you would meet, your mind would clear but the heaviness of your commitments and assignments would proceed to pile on your shoulders, giving you invisible weight that you didn’t know if you could bare with it any longer.

“maybe,” you reply.

“oh come on, it’s near the end of the school year, talk might move, nicho’s going to another school, k’s gonna be graduating. who knows when you’d hang out again.”

“we’re gonna see k after he graduates, he’s still staying near by, you know the city isn’t too far. besides, he can cry about it.” you snicker. “and we still have time with everyone else, juju.”

“wow, you’re such a buzzkill.” he rolls his eyes.

“oh, but you love it.”

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you ended up giving in. your glasses and flipped notebooks were abandoned on your desk at home as you grabbed your phone and your tiny backpack and flew out the house, slamming the front door shut. your loosely tied converse threatened to slip off your feet as you biked the basketball court next to the town square. the poorly typed message you sent informing the group chat you were coming left your inbox blowing up in seconds.

“i’m here!” you huff, out of breath with sweat trickling down your temple. you’re enveloped in a back hug as maki’s scent blankets your senses. your hand is over his as he keeps his arms resting on your shoulders.

“about damn time, i can’t believe we actually still expect you to come.” he laughs.

“you’re making me sweat, maki,” you complain, swatting him away playfully while he presses closer out of spite.

fuma throws you a wave from the benches with his button down slung around his neck, leaving him in his white tank. nicholas and k are too engrossed in the game; the basketball thumping against the green court. harua puts a hand above his eyes to shade the sun before calling your name, beckoning you over. you speed walk over, avoiding the ball and jump by the rest of them, sitting on the bleachers. jo silently cheers the other members on as he eats the lunch he never finishes. yuma lies next to harua yelling at taki to quit distracting him from the game.

nicho calls your name. “this one’s for you watch! watch!” he throws the ball, his shirt lifting slightly as he jumps, making it in the basket. you can hear k cheer as nicholas dances in victory and ej claps his hands in amusement. they all circle around near the benches and the bleachers for a break. you lean your head against maki’s shoulder as he sits behind you.

“i thought i was making you sweat?” he teases.

“shut up.” you retort. in retrospect, you’d say you were closest to ej, but that would only apply because you shared classes. you were evidently closer to maki due to the brainrot you shared as he mindlessly scrolled through the internet as you studied next to him your freshman year. you never got the chance to get close with them the same way you were with certain members of the group but you knew that you all loved each other. you can’t truly recall when this friend group started. maybe it was when you ran into fuma on the first day of school like a cliché romance novel. or when nicholas would whisper in your ear for answers during tests. or maybe even when yuma approached you every gym class to make sure you weren’t alone. they were always a clique of their own; popular amongst girls in the school. despite all the talk, they never made themselves involved in romance. it was indeed unusual that you joined but they never made you feel like you didn���t belong. as you pondered deeply, nicholas could see your eyes wander into space, looking into the distance.

he finished his last sip of water before saying, “do you remember that one time when we were on omegle when we had a field trip to jeju island?” he laughs comically.

“oh my god, we got yelled at the administrator for being so loud!” maki adds.

“hey, it didn’t help when k and rua were making ramen, the smoke alarm almost went off!”

“wow, ok, you guys can’t say anything when you screamed at a guy showing his dick on video!!” harua yells, pointing a finger

“you guys didn’t even skip, fuma had to do it for you!” i say.

“i still have the photo!!” yuma laughs.

“wait, i wanna see,” taki pokes yuma by his sides. k shakes his head disapprovingly.

“oh, does someone still have the group photo?” jo says. ej shuffles in his bag before finding the crumpled polaroid of the ten of you, sat in a circle around the ramen with the computer screen in the back blaring white.

“omg, isn’t that kai?” fuma points out, looking at you.

“the guy that you liked??” k says, wiggling his eyebrows i your direction. your face flushes.

“okay, can we shut up?? im pretty sure he thinks i’m weird anyways.”

“that’s such a lie,” ej mutters. “there’s nothing wrong with being weird.”

“hey you snuck into our dorm that night because you wanted to see him, stalker!” fuma teases. you shake your head as a smile cracks on your face. a flash appears in front of your face as taki giggles with the camera in front of him.

“hey! take that back!” you scream, running after taki

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night comes faster than you expect, fireflies begin to come out in the field. the boys have discarded discomfort of their school jackets and run across the field as you sit in the grass. the feeling of fireflies crawling on your skin creeps you out a little, but the cool air kisses your arms and brushes your baby hairs.

“what’s wrong?” k whispers, taking a seat next to you.

“nothing,” you fib, biting your lip.

“liar,” he pulls the lip between your teeth with his pointer finger to stop your hurting habits.

“truly, it’s nothing. i just.. i don’t know.”

“you don’t have to know, just voice it out, i’ll listen.”

“i don’t want all of this to be over.” it was like a light bulb clicked in your head. with them, your thoughts were no longer flooded with sadness or pain or heaving commitments. instead, you felt the love you lacked. always claiming to be fine, they’d know you were lying through your teeth. you appreciated them for distracting you but they appreciated you for caring for them like a mother when you couldn’t even do it for yourself.

“why, you gonna miss me?” he jokes. before you could reply he circles an arm around you, knowing that whatever you’d say, the realization of everyone leaving is sinking in. you’d miss him. all of them. all of this.

nicholas offers a ride home, but you decline, not wanting to leave your bike behind. they all hug you goodbye and goodnight, joking about how they might never hang out with you again. you scoff playfully before hopping on your bike.

the night air is crisp and your legs begin to burn from the ride. you’re still in their sight as you leave. wind cards through your hair as you listen to the rhythm of your heartbeat. laughter and memories echos in your mind. maybe for the first time in years you feel fulfillment and happiness. your breath curls in the wind as the street lights flicker. little droplets of rain begin to come down from the dark sky. the rain begins to pick up, your tires sliding against the wet pavement. you look down for a moment, hearing the slight hiss of your tire before catching a bright glow in the corner of your eye and a large roar of an engine. your head snaps up. everything is too close, too fast. your bike’s mechanics fail on you. the headlights get brighter as you fail to break or bike away. before you know it, your limbs feel heavy. everything is burning hot. you’re unfamiliar with the feeling but it heaves down on you, crushing you. you lay there as the pocari sweat bottle from your bag rolls away on the road, collecting dirt in the crevices before popping open near your weak hand. maybe ej would be proud you opened it yourself this time. thoughts ran through your head as the tinnitus worsened along with the blur in your eyes. you were no longer sure if you were crying or if it was just the impact of your head hitting the pavement. you also weren’t sure if you felt pain or numbness. but you did know that the voices of people panicking lightened. a hand moves your head. your eyes meet ej’s as you make out the familiar faces beside him. nicholas rips off his beanie as long bottled up tears roll down his eyes. ej caresses your face while fuma lays a hand under your head, attempting to keep you comfortable and conscious. you can’t hear it but you know the words that leaves maki’s mouth tells you to listen to him and to stay alive. he holds your hand. you can’t imagine how weird it must look to be surrounded by them. hell, you can’t even think. your breath quickens but all you inhale is the fall of the rain. flickering streetlights and cloudy skies fill your vision. you recall past summers of spending time with the group. holding hands with ej, coffee dates with maki, arcade games with yuma, movie nights with nicholas, jumping in unknown lakes with taki, board games with harua, late night snacks with jo, shopping with fuma, and late night conversations with k. all of a sudden you yearn for their eyes that sparkled like the stars at night. your voice is muffled as you mutter a name. your body jolts as those same headlights and the sounding horn run through your mind before closing your eyes, chest shuddering.

you ended up getting what you wished for, right?

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that moment passed like a haze. rain fell heavy and the mood shifted. they hear the crash of the mechanics and a familiar silhouette discarded on the ground. the image burned in their minds. with no hesitation, k ran to you first. the scene unraveled strangely fast yet slow. disbelief knocked the wind out their bodies. it wasn’t a horror that lived in their minds, but a terror they now experienced. that night of shared laughter shifted to punches thrown out of unresolved anger and unhealable sobs rolling down their faces. taki crumpled the photo of you close to his heart, hiding from the punches they all threw. the only photo he had that captured the candid moment that now became a moment of nostalgia. nicholas blamed himself for not insisting on a ride home. ej picked up the drink by your hand, cherishing your drawings on the bottle. may had never felt the same since then. after that, the town fell silent.

k dropped out mid way his freshman year in college. taki refused to go back. nicholas visited every year, even after graduating. maki stopped going to school. ej spent nights away. they all fell apart, coping in their own ways, but never together.

when they said goodbye, they knew there wouldn’t be a next time to hang out; they just didn’t expect it to be in that way.

unfortunately, you were no longer there to wipe the same may rain that dampens their faces each year.

authors note: i might’ve deleted a paragraph on accident idk