#and lukas is polish

[batunatu]

so.. MCSM DRAWINGS FROM 2022!!ARGENTINA EDITION,, MONTHS BEFORE THE WORLD CUP bc yeah, when we won, too many things happened to me to celebrate with a drawing huff

PETRA GAUCHA PETRA PAISANA PETRA ARGENTO

guys do u want me to translate this or

ALSO BONUS, THERE'S MORE BUT I'M GOING TO POST MY FAVORITE ONES

WOO DOMINAMOS EL MUNDO, BRITISH HUMANS DNI /j

[wilkoakdraws]

have at ya an unholy pile of wildly chaotic and VERY serious magnus stuff from last 6 months. happy 2024

[yunyin]

When I realized the akumatized Couiffaine family had a theme, I had to draw it!

[lokomoqo]

II - The High Priests 🌓

UPRIGHT: Intuition, sacred knowledge, divine feminine, the subconscious mind

REVERSED: Secrets, disconnected from intuition, withdrawal and silence

The bastards hehe. This one took the longest (probably cause of Elias…), but now it’s done and I’m very happy with the result :o)

[cheesybunni]

king of the stage, living his endless glory days (lazy luka doodle)

[bom-bombon]

For @liverpool-enjoyer

Link to the fic

OMG FINALLY!!! I FINISHED THIS! ANYWAY THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON FOR THE PAST TWO MONTHS-ISH but i think i had the idea for more like 4 months so like,, i think I'm drawing faster! (lies)

So, like, here's the context bc i love yapping, and y'all should know me by now.

A while back (some of the qblrsmp members may remember this), I was following football (soccer) content again because of the euros and Copa América (and my reactions are always the best, ask Jinx). Since tumbIr had that "based on your likes" feature and gives you posts from random ppl you don't follow, it showed me this post (or at least,, i think it was that one ._.), and I thought it was the funniest thing ever. I read that it was part of a fanfic, and omg, i had to read it.

Anyway, as yall can see, it literally changed my brain chemistry; i had to draw like a poster or smth!! I felt it in my heart. I was gonna simply send an ask but i got caught up in the details of the polaroids that it'd be too much for an ask (also idk if an ask lets me send like 10 images) so here i am, making a post!

The full drawings of the polaroids are below the "keep reading" with context and showing who's who

Anyway, here are the actual drawings that make up the poster!! Some of these are straight up from the chapters, so l'Il go over them first.

Messi as a tree for the school play [Link]

Lewy, Pedri, and Ansu Fati all posing together without Gavi bc they forgot about him in the gift shop lol [Link] (i was actually gonna draw them being at the place but at a certain point my eyes burned 😭)

Trent and Robbo dressed as mustards for a Halloween party with Virgil [Link] (honestly, my fav, it's just so goofy)

Now to the non-chapter drawings...

Sergio and Luka slightly based off of this one selfie that the actual dude posted

Lewy and Marco

Finally, Thomas being gifted the Messiest Bitch Award by his bestie Manu, also based off of that one picture taken of him. (i wanted to include an academic award but for the life of me i forgot every single academic award i got so. this was the next best thing.)

And yes, placing Thomas' photo on Marco was on purpose and it HURTED when i had the idea

And that's it!

Thank you for writing this fic, Max 💙❤️and uhhhhhh.......

Visca el Barça :3

[shakingparadigm]

In a modern au I think the wagyein would be like one of those gaint ass crocodiles that Ivan gets away with keeping because its technically a service animal. As long as its on a leash its all good and not a threat to the public!!

Ivan being rewarded with a more expensive and unique kind pet like a whole fucking crocodile honestly seems pretty in line for him 😭 especially since it adds a new "chic" flair to his photoshoots and his general aesthetic. Imagine Ivan's new photoshoot drops and he's in a suit posing with a fucking crocodile. Insane.

I really like the imagery of this large, scaly and dangerous looking reptile being tamed as Ivan's pet, something that could help boost his image and push that luxurious, enigmatic vibe. You know, like how stereotypical evil lairs have sharks or other rare and dangerous animals guarding the entrance or simply acting as accessory. That kind of vibe. I also like the imagery of this sharp creature being forced into submission and captivity. Forced to become a good, obedient pet, holding in its urges and keeping its teeth hidden. A being taken from the ruthless, grimy darkness, cleaned and maintained to perfection, forced to perform for the cameras. Ivan can empathize, he knows what it's like.

"Technically a service animal" is fucking hysterical. Ivan going Hello, sir! Please excuse my emotional support 12ft crocodile. Don't worry, he's very well-behaved.

I actually think Ivan would get along very well with his hypothetical crocodile. Just like the wagyein, he'd feel connected to it in a very personal way. Also just like the wagyein I think Ivan would be the only person it would never harm. In my head I have the mental image of Ivan petting and cuddling it as if it were a puppy.

[yellowmanula]

Ziomy i ziomkinie, wpadajcie dziś do Lastriko wesprzeć Mike'a Del Saara w jego inicjatywie Rave Yourself (hasło nawiązuje do Release Yourself, starej raverskiej maksymy) ja też postaram się wam zapewnić wam fajną muzykę

[verfound]

FIC: "Mellie's New Friend" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

Read on Ao3

Prompt 64: Nail Polish

There wasn’t a lot to like about Gertie, the old woman who lived next door.  Gertie was, politely speaking, kind of a bitch.  She took offense to just about everything about the Couffaine household: the dyed hair of its owners, the loud music that cranked at all hours, the even louder children the owners let run around like little hooligans, the constant stream of strangers (family and friends all, not that she cared) always coming and going, the general Chaos that followed them around like an unlucky shadow.  She was loud and cantankerous herself, always quick to shoot a barb at Marinette or one of the kids when she spotted them outside of the house.

(She never bothered casting barbs towards Luka.  For Luka, she reserved her trademark silent scowl.  He had thought she’d actually growled at him one day, but looking back he was pretty sure that had been Poochie, not her.)

Marinette tried, bless her, to be kind and patient and all those good, wholesome things people like Marinette were with her.  She always did her best to greet the barbs with a smile.  She always reminded the kids that Gertie was alone, and lonely people tended to be…harder than people surrounded by friends and family.  And when that didn’t work, she slapped a tight smile on her face, wished her a good day, and scurried back inside.

None of the kids were old enough to remember her Grandpa Roland – he had passed well before Harmony was born – but she did.  His memory afforded her the grace the others sometimes lacked, when it came to their old neighbor.

It was a good two years of living next to Gertie’s hateful barbs before they realized Gertie had, at some point, apparently…had a heart?

Because there was a child in her backyard.

Melody was the first to notice, and Luka had to admit he had noticed her before he noticed the other kid.  Because she’d been sitting by the fence, acting like she was talking and playing with someone he couldn’t see – and she had long outgrown her last ‘imaginary’ friend.  And while it was possible one of the kwamis was out there with her, he was pretty sure he would have seen them zipping around.

“Mels?” he asked, poking his head out the back door.  “You ok?”

“I’m good, Papa!” she called.  “It’s just Milly!”

Her face scrunched up, and then she rolled her eyes in a perfect imitation of her aunt.

“Sorry.  Mildred,” she said, dragging out the name like it was distasteful.  “I don’t know why you don’t like Milly – it’s so much more fun than Mildred.”

Luka had walked across the garden to her by this point, and amused expression on his face.

“Mildred?” he asked, chuckling.  “And who’s Mildred, songbird?”

“My new friend,” Melody said, grinning at him.  She pointed at the fence.  “She lives over there.”

And that was when Luka actually looked at the old stockade fence, and while he couldn’t actually see through it…there was just enough of a gap beneath it that he could see the bottoms of folded legs and light-up trainers on the other side.

…huh.

There actually was a kid in Gertie’s yard.

He briefly entertained the thought of Gertie being a possible child snatcher and whether or not he needed to call Captain Roger, but that was ridiculous.

There was no way Gertie had the strength or dexterity in her old, arthritic body to kidnap a fully-grown child.  She barely had enough strength to wrangle her dog most days, and Poochie was smaller than even Dewey yet.

“Well, hello, Mil…dred,” he said, remembering the way she had obviously corrected Melody.

“Hi,” a quiet voice answered.  A tiny hand appeared beneath the fence, little fingers wiggling at them in a wave.  His lips quirked up in a smile, and he crouched down as the hand slipped back under a fence.  He glanced at Melody when she giggled, and they shared a grin as he reached his own fingers under the fence and waved.  Before he could say anything, there was a tiny gasp, and then little fingers were wrapping around his own.  “Oh my gosh!  Your nails are so pretty!”

“Not as pretty as Maman’s,” Melody huffed, and Luka stuck his tongue out at her when she pulled a face.  “But they’re nice.  I guess.”

“You’d like them more if I painted them pink, huh?” he teased.  Melody started to grin again, and he stuck his tongue back out.  He turned back to the fence and wiggled his fingers.  “Thank you, Mildred.”

“You paint them?” Mildred asked.  He felt her run a finger along one of his nails, and his smile softened.  “Like…on your own?”

“I do,” he said.  “I’ve been painting them since I was a little over Mellie’s age.”

“That’s so cool,” Mildred breathed.  There was another moment of hesitation, where she just held onto his fingers and tapped against the nails.  And then, after a bit, she asked: “Can…can you paint mine?”

Melody started to squeal, but Luka frowned.

“I…don’t know if your…if Mlle. Gertie would like that, Mildred,” he said.  “I can if you’d like, but maybe we should ask her first?”

“Granny Gertrude will say no,” Mildred sighed.  “I just wanted to be pretty, too…”

And that was, ultimately, what did it.

Because Luka Couffaine was nothing if not a softie, especially for sad little girls.  A bleeding heart, his wife would say.  And even if he couldn’t actually see Mildred through the fence, Melody was giving him the biggest puppy eyes she could manage, and that was enough to break his heart.  So, knowing full well that Granny Gertie was going to give him untold levels of hell for it later, he squeezed Mildred’s fingers before pulling his hand back.  He patted Melody’s knee, smiling sadly at her.

“What color would you like, Mildred?” he asked.  “We have the whole rainbow upstairs.”

“The sparkly pink one!” Melody cried.  “Oooh!  Oh, no!  The sparkly blue!  Or Auntie Jules’s witch one!  Or the stardust one!”

“I…I don’t know,” Mildred’s quiet voice said.  “They all sound nice.”

He chuckled and reached out, ruffling Melody’s hair.  She stuck her tongue out at him, and he tipped his head back towards the house.

“All right, then, Mels,” he said.  “Why don’t you go pick out a few favorites, and we’ll let Mildred see which one she likes best?”

“She’s gonna love the unicorn one Auntie Rose got me!” Melody screamed as she raced inside.  Luka shook his head and chuckled.  He looked back at the fence with a smile.

“So…Mlle. Gertie’s your grandmother?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mildred answered.

“I didn’t know she had any family,” Luka said.

“We live a really long way away,” Mildred said.  “We had to drive for hours before we took a plane.  Mama and Papa are doctors.”

“Really?” Luka asked, surprised.  Gertie had never said anything.

“In Africa,” she said.  “We travel a lot.”

“I travel a lot, too,” Luka said, “but not for half as good a reason.  I’m sure your parents help a lot of people, Mildred.”

“Mellie said you’re Luke Stone,” Mildred said, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.  “You help people, too.  We play your music in the clinic all the time.  It makes everyone happy.”

…well, shit.

“That…thank you, Mildred,” he said, smiling against the burn in his throat.  “I appreciate that.  I still think your parents have the harder job, though.”

“Are you really gonna paint my nails?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said.  “Anything for such a sweet fan.”

“Nuh-uh!” Melody’s voice said sharply beside him.  He looked up to see she had returned with an arm full of tiny bottles.  Just like he’d promised, there was every color of the rainbow there – and then some.  “I’m gonna do it!  Papa, Millie’s my new best friend.  You go get your own!”

…he had one, but the asshole wasn’t half as sweet as the little girl on the other side of the fence.  He shook his head, laughing as he shrugged.  What was he gonna do, though?  Melody’s word was almost law.

“Well, if you insist.  Are you ok with that, Mildred?  If Mellie paints your nails?” he asked.

“Sure,” Mildred said.  “I like Mellie.  Her nails are pretty, too.”

Melody grinned as she held up her thumb.  The sparkly pink paint was already chipped and half-off – she’d need a touchup soon.

“Well, ok, then,” he said, clapping his knees before he pushed himself up.  “I’ll leave you two to it.  It was nice meeting you, Mildred.”

“You too, M. Stone,” Mildred said.

“Couffaine,” Melody huffed, rolling her eyes.  “He’s only M. Stone for the cameras.”

“Be nice, Mellie,” he chided, but he was still smiling when she stuck her tongue out at him.  He leaned over to kiss the top of her head, and then he pushed himself up and turned back towards the house.  “Have fun, you two.”

Marinette found him by the backdoor a short while later, nursing a mug of tea as he watched the girls paint each other’s nails through the fence.  She wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her head on his shoulder, humming when he bent to kiss the top of it.

“What is she doing?” she asked, following his gaze to the fence.

“Making a friend,” he said.  He turned to her with a grin.  “Did you know Gertie has a kid?  A grandkid, for that matter?”

Marinette blinked up at him, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.

“…holy shit,” she said after a moment.  “Someone actually procreated with that miserable old –”

“Manners,” he chuckled, tilting her chin up to cut her off with a kiss.  “There’s probably a child present.  Somewhere.  We certainly have enough of them.”

“Don’t you start,” she huffed, squeezing him as she laid her head back down.  “I can’t believe she was ever able to connect with someone like that.”

“She might not have always been miserable,” he said with a shrug.  “Anyway, your nonna connected with Roland like that, and we all remember how miserable he was.”

“Shut up,” she giggled, bumping her head against his arm.  “You’re glad they did.  We never would have met if she hadn’t seen something in him.”

“And now Mellie has a new friend because someone saw something in Gertie,” he said.  She stuck her tongue out at him, then rolled her eyes when he kissed it.  He winked at her.  “…even if she is a miserable old bitch.”

She rolled her eyes and bumped her forehead against him.

(She was less amused a few days later, when she was walking the twins home from maternelle and Louis saw Gertie walking up her front steps, stopped to wave, and cried: “Hi, missable old bitch!”)

[fiddles-ifs]

ERINYS: FURY IN THE MACHINE: CAST

Romance options have a ❤︎ by their names

❤︎ LANE BLACK KETTLE | The Off-Gridder [they/them]

Age: 25 Ethnicity: Aamsskáápipikani [Montana Blackfoot] Height: 6'2/187 cm

Born outside of the so-called "last bastions of humanity," Lane has a unique and nuanced perspective on post-apocalyptia. They're in City 17 possibly illegally, definitely as a fugitive, and they're looking for something -- or someone. They'll stop at nothing, but will you help them? Adaptable, impulsive, hot-headed.

Flavor of romance: The Outsider, enemies to lovers, snark as a love language.

❤︎ MATTHEW "MATTIE" SORENSON | The Genius [he/him]

Age: 27 Ethnicity: White [USAmerican] Height: 5'10/177 cm

Having spent his entire life inside City 17, Mattie knows very little about the world outside the Walls. A computer genius and mathematician, Mattie is the world's foremost expert on Giants. Still, he isn't content to rest on his laurels. He wants to fix humanity's mistakes -- and you're going to help him. A case of tethered spinal cord syndrome requires him to use an electric wheelchair. Egotistical, charismatic, jovial.

Flavor of romance: The Insider, competing egos, saving the world (and each other).

LUKA MARIK | The Creator [he/him]

Age: 49 Ethnicity: White [Polish] Height: 5'11/180 cm

The greatest scientist in the world, co-founder of the Rider Initiative, your creator, the Alpha and Omega -- or so he'd have you believe. His complicated feelings for Rider have left him grief-riddled for ten years. Originally, he created the mechs that helped humanity -- now he develops the Rider clones that continue his life's work. Obsessive, melancholic, introverted.

Not a romanceable character.

[swampvoid]

New Donut Hole PV dropped, and it's cool! In terms of artistic direction, there is a story being told in visual clues, and honestly..it looks like an anime opening. I like how "Eastern European" the girls look, and it's certainly interesting how Miku, the poster character for Vocaloid, looks like a comic relief rather than a main character she is often.

[whspermy-name]

last night that VC was lit

[fazcinatingblog]

Remember when Brodie Grundy and Tim Broomhead were broommates

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 3)

You reunite with your crow friend! But it seems to need your help with… a man?

nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of blood and death, descriptions of a panic attack, bossman is here yay

“Congratulations! You’ve just won the loyal customer raffle at Linkon Supermarket!”

“But I shop at Bloomshore Mart.”

“Yup, congratulations!”

You furrow your brows, eyeing the paper the delivery driver is enthusiastically waving in your face. Sure enough, it announces the conclusion of the famous supermarket’s year-end raffle, and there it is: your full government name printed neatly under “winner.”

Beyond his shoulder, you notice the other worker unloading boxes from the delivery truck. He’s dressed in the same uniform, with identical dark curls and also sporting a black face mask. He catches your gaze and gives a lazy thumbs-up.

There must be something wrong with your memory, because you could swear you haven’t stepped foot in Linkon Supermarket in years—let alone registered for their raffle. That place isn’t exactly known for catering to the humbler economic classes.

And it’s still 5:30 a.m. Have supermarkets always done graveyard shift deliveries?

“Thanks…” You squint at the driver’s name tag. “…Lukas.”

“No problem!”

Once the two workers finish unloading and stacking boxes of who-knows-what in your living room, they wave cheerfully before speeding off down the street. Half-asleep, you manage only a bemused wave in return.

You think you might’ve been cursed. Or blessed. It’s hard to say. Because ever since your crow friend escaped a week ago, it feels like you’ve already blown through a lifetime’s worth of luck.

In the span of days, you’ve gotten a raise and better employee benefits (odd, considering you’re still just an assistant manager), won lifetime vouchers for three of your favorite food spots, and now, apparently, won a supermarket raffle—complete with at least three months’ worth of groceries.

Rummaging through the boxes, you find they’re stocked with all your usual brands. Snacks, non-perishables, beauty products, household items—everything. Even fresh produce.

For the first time in a while, you won’t have to worry about going hungry.

—

You’re not sure why you’ve come back to the park tonight.

It’s late, and you’ve already visited the crows earlier, spoiling them with extra bags of peanuts thanks to your recent streak of good fortune.

The crows seem to wonder the same thing. While they peck enthusiastically at the peanuts, their beady eyes occasionally flick toward you, as if to silently judge your lack of anything resembling a social life.

Admittedly, you’ve been hoping to see your crow friend again.

You think you’re starting to come to terms with its disappearance. Life goes on, right? It’s just an animal, after all. It probably doesn’t feel the same complex emotions humans do—the kind that have you so affected by its absence after only a few days of sharing a space. (Maybe it was a one-sided friendship all along...) It probably just followed its instincts, leaving to do whatever it is that lone crows do.

Still, a petulant part of you feels bitter. Sure, it left behind a hoard of treasures—trinkets, gems, and gold so polished they must be real (though you’re not ready to think about where it might have stolen them)—but it could’ve at least waited for you to come home before flying off.

In hindsight, maybe it’s a good thing you never had pets. Your apparent abandonment issues would be a nightmare to deal with if they got lost, ran away, or died.

Suddenly, a familiar series of shrill caws pierces the air. Before you can process what’s happening, something crashes into your lap, a blur of loose black feathers hitting your face.

Could it be…?

The unmistakable garnet glint in the midnight-feathered avian’s eyes confirms it. Without hesitation, you scoop the bird into your arms, pulling it tightly to your chest, and press a rough, enthusiastic kiss to its head.

“Where have you been?” you exclaim, laughing as you nuzzle the void-like creature against your cheek, smothering it in an embrace. “I’ve been so worried about you!”

Its muffled caws are drowned out by your babbling. “Oh gosh—your wing! How is it?” you say, quickly pulling back to inspect it.

Its feathers look good—healthy, even. In fact, they almost seem brand new, gleaming like a freshly unboxed gadget. Its once-injured left wing no longer looks broken—or as you’d thought before, no longer resembling a mechanical part with a loose screw.

Before you can start fussing over it again, the bird suddenly wriggles free from your grasp and lands steadily on your lap. It caws again, but something’s different. It’s louder, more piercing—frantic. It paces across your lap, continuing to practically scream at you, as if trying to tell you something.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, your heart squeezing at the sight of its feathers puffing up with each stressed caw.

You try to pat its head, hoping to calm it down, but it jumps off your lap and lands on the ground, still cawing. The other crows, clearly spooked by its urgent cries, start to scatter. Bewildered, you bend down, attempting to scoop it into your arms again, but it evades you by hopping a few feet away, still cawing—loudly.

“What is it?” you say, exasperated. I can’t speak crow!

You step closer, bending down once more, but it hops away—again.

You stare up at the heavens. This has to be some cosmic joke. You can’t believe you’re playing this strange version of tag with a bird.

You don’t even realize how far you’ve walked, now a good distance from the bench you were sitting on. You’ve reached the darker area of the park, still desperate to grab the cawing bird and figure out what’s wrong. Then, without warning, your foot catches on a tree root. You stumble, and before you can recover, you hit the cold, wet ground with an unceremonious thud.

“Well, there goes my good luck streak,” you mutter, trying to push yourself up. Good thing nobody’s around to witness your embarrassing lack of coordination.

“Tell me about it.”

The sudden presence of a deep, unfamiliar voice makes you freeze. Heart pounding wildly, you scramble to sit up, eyes darting toward the source.

It wasn’t a tree root you tripped over. It was a leg—a stretched-out leg attached to a man slumped against one of the park’s statues. A huge, beautiful man, with silver hair and a pair of breathtaking garnet eyes, half-lidded and filled with amusement. He’s clutching his abdomen, the fabric there soaked in dark, ominous red.

Blood.

A field of red datura blooms. A starry night sky with the clouds beneath you. Mountains of gold against jagged walls. A burning plaza. A bloodied claymore.

You don’t register the ringing in your ears or the flash of blurry, unfamiliar images racing through your mind. Your gaze remains locked on the man’s injury. Before you know it, you’re shrugging off your puffer jacket and sweater. Now clad in just your turtleneck, you drop to your knees and press your sweater firmly against his wound.

You, waiting for your turn to walk on stage to receive your diploma. A university staff member rushing toward you. You, running out of the graduation venue. Two totaled SUVs. Three dead bodies.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you work methodically. Stop the bleeding. Stop the blood. Apply pressure. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Just keep pressing. Don’t think about how much there is. Don’t panic. You fold the sweater tighter against the wound. Okay, stop the bleeding first. That’s all you know. Just keep the pressure steady. He’s losing too much. Is this enough? Should I tie it off? No, just keep pressing. Keep him alive.

The edges of your vision begin to blur. You have to save them. You have to save him. They can’t leave you. He can’t leave you. Not again.

“Sweetheart.”

The word, softly spoken, snaps you out of your trance. Your eyes lift to meet his, and the world seems to still. You’ve never met this man in your life, but the way he looks at you—it hurts. It feels like an ancient grief has surfaced from the depths of your soul.

You finally notice the state you’re in. You’re shaking. Badly. The cold winter air bites into your skin, sharp and unforgiving. Your palms are scraped from your earlier fall, but you hardly register the sting. The man’s hands—large and warm—enclose your trembling ones, grounding you.

And it’s like you’ve never known peace until this very moment.

note: can u tell the extent of my yearning to be spoiled with groceries LMAO

nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

[dingdawny]

Sorry for the paragraphs of tags but... I like pokemon.... smiles insanely

Drop your headcanons for MCSM partner Pokémon here!

Reblog or comment, do whatever you like! I want to see the variation of what people think characters’ partners should be. (This definitely isn’t because I’m considering doing a Pokémon Story Mode AU…)

Jesse - Pikachu (I know it’s basic) Olivia - Tinkaton Ivor - Malamar Gabriel - Charizard or Aegislash

[cremedensada]

I’m gonna need general hcs on interactions with the boy next door… like what if we just moved to town and we first meet him as we’re moving in… Also can they be in like highschool? I don’t know if that’s already the gist but yeah. She’s moving in with her mom and he’s there…

Yandere Boy Next Door

sorry anon i think i went way to far away from what you wanted shdhdh also theyre senior high school students (grade 11 - 12) which is like, two preparatory years for college. so theyre adults bc im much more comfortable with that :33

btw his name is lukas !! he's named now

male yandere + gender neutral darling/reader

lukas is easily approachable - he's got that warmth about him that just draws people in. it's all practiced to maintain his popularity though.

he's also a huge people-pleaser, despite the fact he easily gets burnt out and has his social battery drained.

so when his mom asked him to be a dear and help the new neighbor's kid on their way around the school + neighborhood, he just couldn't say no

sure he's tired, possibly close to having another breakdown just thinking about being pestered by fellow students for answers to homeworks and other menial stuff, but he still manages to say yes and give her another perfectly practiced smile

when he goes over to the house next to theirs - the ones you moved in to, you had no lasting impression on him

now, don't be mistaken, he does think you're good looking but at the end of the day he'd much rather curl up in bed and sleep

so he puts up that perfectly crafted persona and invites you to head to school with him. a new environment is much easier to deal with when you're not dealing with it by yourself! (or something like that)

he tries not to be overbearing, trying to get you to open up while also making sure he's respecting your boundaries and comfort as you made your way inside the school gates

you don't share the same classes, so he asks you for your time table so he knows your schedule

he hopes he's not being creepy or anything, he's just making sure your first day transferring here goes well

sure he's known for being a caring person in general but he does feel like it's his responsibility to make sure you're doing well you know? you're neighbors now, you guys should get along!

it's smooth sailing until it's time you guys finally went home

like that morning, he waits for you and invites you to walk home with him to familiarize with the shortcuts and local lounging spots for students

all the while he tries to get you to talk about your experience today

it must be due to the amount of stress piled up on his plate that lead him to feel... nervous.

his perfect persona cracking as his calm demeanour and collected way of talking slowly devolved into nervous tangents talking about anything at all

were you displeased? his perfection was practiced and polished since he was a kid, was it still not enough for you?

he could handle disappointing people a lot better now but paired with his currently leaning towards unstable, your displeasure is something that's slowly tearing him from the inside

he's jolted out of his thoughts when you suddenly speak up.

"thanks for showing me around. i thought i was going to struggle getting used to things all by myself."

you smiled up at him. "so... yeah. you're... okay."

his heart thumped.

everywhere all around him feels a ton of degrees warmer.

"...okay." lukas was tongue tied.

on the remainder of the journey back home, he walked you to your house, ensuring you got inside safely before making a beeline towards their house and into his room.

normally at this hour he'd be passed out in bed, tired after a whole day of pretending and smiling. today was perhaps the first time he didn't go to bed with his cheeks hurting and aching from smiling so much.

laying in bed, making an excuse as to why he's not going to be joining for dinner, just thinking about you and your words.

lukas grew up living to the standards of being perfect. a perfect son. a perfect student. a perfect friend.

anything less is... unacceptable to say the least. when you do or think of something so often in your day to day life, it becomes a habit. and lukas' habit is perfection.

but you thought he was okay.

okay.

suddenly 'okay' sounds much better than being perfect.

suddenly your opinion towards him becomes much more important than anyone else's.

lukas is a people pleaser, and onwards from that moment, the only 'people' he will ever want to please is you.

i hope this is sufficient? i'm actually v sleepy rn lol but thank you for the idea!