#but also i didn't want to do my art homework (which has nothing to do with art but ya know)

[darqx]

Some BP/HH/General asks

That mood when you want to share all the things but also want to keep it under wraps for the actual thing haha! Thanks very much anon!

As for your questions, I can't actually be specific cos there's no definitive number I have in mind for either. Basically there are a number of sectors (you can consider them their equivalent of countries - they have less than what we do though), and a number of species of demon of which I've designed about seven of. The ones I've shown before are these guys (and do you think I could find this pic again? No, I had to recreate it cos for the life of me I couldn't remember what ask I'd previously stuck it in lol):

One day when i have enough species and stuff out there I want to make a proper field guide \o/

Thank you very much for the interest! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ I would actually love to for BP, but before I jump the gun there I have to get the comic out first lol. That being said I have made mini-games before featuring the HH versions and some other characs alas they are all lost at the moment to the sands of Flash becoming obsolete 😩

Me and Gato do still collab sometimes (and send each other Xmas presents)! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

I have been working on one off and on for a while actually! Hopefully I'll have some pages to post next year or so*, I've been doing a bit of thumbnailing recently :D

*that is the plan but i also don't know where people find the time to do anything with a full time job lol.

Hullo! Glad you are enjoying the snippets of BP I've got here and there :D Here is an older ref on Izm back when i first got the idea (at that time i didn't really plan to do anything with it, it was just an AU. Now it's my main project haha. Anyway the ref is a little bit out of date in that regard.)

I used to have a "field guide" which was also made quite a while ago, unfortunately the death of Flash kinda killed it. Here's a screenshot of some relevant info from it though.

That's an interesting one as it's questionable how sentient souls are after removal 🤔 In my mind its only form is the smoke light, it can "see" to some degree and MIGHT be able to talk (but in a very no one can hear them sort of way, a la i have no mouth and i must scream. So i guess it can think "aloud"). The more time passes the less sentience it has.

It could try, though it wouldn't really get anywhere if it's in Rire's collection. He might just eat it lol.

.D: Good with kids, will be fine in all aspects.

Izm: The fun dad however needs a partner that knows what they're doing to ensure the child safety during shenanigans.

Marcus and Zeke: Also would be good parents though might be more helicopter out of protectiveness/worry when first starting out.

Ren: Geek parent very good for homework help. Some Asian parent tendencies eg "ah see, i told you not to do that right? Now you see what happened."

They are similar to our known society for this! So basically, there are some good families out there (eg Zeke - who is a demon - is from a pretty average loving family), and there are some bad families out there who only care about power or having an heir or whatever.

HH Rire is a human. I differentiate between him and Demon Rire because they are two different characters...even though they are also technically the same character lol. You can consider them as alternate universe iterations of a base "Rire" concept.

I actually half jested this in an old comic lol

I am sorry to inform you that a HH webcomic doesn't actually exist 😅 I did a lot of art, animations and one shots (such as the HHJ comics) with them, but nothing actually planned or serialised or anything. Whatever's currently on my DA or here is basically what exists.

Bringing this image back cos it's relevant lol.

You spelled it correct there though! XD

[vera-deville]

Hi! Could you please write Luka Couffaine x fem. reader who has trouble talking about their feelings? Writes him letters, love poems or plays the drums for him because it's easier for her to show her feelings like that? Sorry for my English it is not my first language.

02/28/2023 - 03/29/2023

Pairing: Luka Couffaine x Reader

Word Count: 867

Warnings: Nothing that I can think of!

Gender: AFAB

In which Luka has a significant other who has a hard time expressing her feelings.

Luka Couffaine absolutely adored Y/N. The girl had captured his heart, mind, and soul, and he had no trouble expressing it. However, the same could not be said the other way around.

Other people labeled Y/N as someone cold and uncaring, but only a select few knew of her true nature - she simply could not express herself in the ways others would. And Luka understood completely.

Y/N had a small group of friends (most of whom had never even met each other, but knew the existence of). She wasn't one to stick to one particular friend group after all. A good friend was a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

And two of her very good friends were Juleka and Rose. Originally, Y/N had only Juleka (since she went to the same school as Luka), but quickly became acquainted with Rose as well. And for that, Y/N thanked whatever lucky stars she had.

The whole process of confessing to Luka was already gut-wrenchingly terrifying, seeing as she had no idea how to go about it, whether Luka would return her affections (even though Juleka said he would), and if she was actually dateable material.

But after the confession, a lot of her worries were put to rest. Luka was the sweetest boyfriend she could have asked for, and she was extremely grateful for having met him.

Luka was someone who was fairly affectionate (not like some of the couples she's seen walking in Paris being overly lovey-dovey), but he also never shied away from letting her know what was on his mind.

If there was a particular moment where Y/N was caught up doing something and was quite focused on it (such as homework), Luka would find himself simply staring at the girl, absolutely in awe of the work of art he had the honor of calling his girlfriend. (Yes, he's tried sneaking some photos of her when she wasn't looking).

And when he was caught, Y/N would ask, "what're you staring at?"

Only to be met with, "just caught up in the ethereal masterpiece in front me."

To which Y/N would feel her face heat up and a warm sort of buzz envelope her whole being. She'd become a little flustered and brush off his oh so charming and teasing self, but looking at him once more, she realizes every time that Luka wasn't teasing at that moment. He meant every word.

So when others meet her and find out she's in a relationship with Luka, they wonder how on Earth the relationship works. Luka was pretty well known and well-liked. But Y/N wasn't like that. She stayed to herself for the most part, and she'd never initiate any sort of PDA with her boyfriend.

And some of these people would take to whispering about this behind (or so they thought) Y/N's back.

She'd feel bad about it, but not to the point where she'd find herself spiraling down a rabbit hole of self-hate and whatnot. But that didn't stop her from wanting to improve. And what better way to improve than by asking two of her best friends?

"Aww, it's so cute that you want to be more lovey-dovey with Luka!" Rose gushed. Juleka had a slight smile on her face, finding the situation slightly humorous. The involved parties were her brother and one of her closest friends. How could she not be entertained? Especially when said close friend was going on a tirade vaguely reminiscent of Marinette's tirades about Adrien.

Rose suggested making a perfume for Luka, and Y/N thought that it was such a good idea that she'd probably do that for his birthday. "What if you write him a letter?" Juleka asked. Pondering over the idea, Y/N decided that it indeed was a good idea.

But what to write?

And so some amount of days passed, and Y/N finally ended up finishing her letter to Luka. It wasn't anything elegant or pretty or anything of the sort. It was goofy, filled with her typical sarcasm, and most importantly, it was heartfelt. Now, the only thing left was to actually give the letter to Luka.

Which was still quite hard surprisingly.

Y/N assumed that once the letter was finished, she'd just hand it over to the turquoise-haired boy and bada-bing bada-boom, romance!

Apparently it doesn't work like that.

Apparently you pour your heart out into the letter, but then you feel nervous to actually give the letter to your oh so accepting boyfriend.

But somehow Y/N pushed down her anxiety and gave the letter to Luka when they sat down after getting their ice cream. Opening it, Luka's face gradually morphed into one of extreme joy (and if Y/N didn't know any better, smugness), before he pressed a chaste kiss onto Y/N's cheek.

And from that day onwards, Y/N would (every once in a while) gift Luka letters, love poems, and even play the drums for him as means of physically showing her affection for him. It was their own little dynamic and some may have found it odd, but to them, it was perfect.

Author's Note: Once again, I'm really sorry for taking so long to complete this fic. I hope you enjoy it (if not, feel free to request again, since I honestly don't feel like I did my very best with this one).

I'm still in the middle of trying to find a specific fic format to stick to. I've tried looking at a bunch of other fanfic writers' profiles and the format they use to write their fics, but I'm still not 100% sure if what I'm doing right now is what I want to continue doing.

[curtisberzattos]

the small detail in the book that darry checks ponys math hw every night because he's really good at math always makes me emo bc even in their personalities it makes sense that darry is analytical/math and ponyboy is really good at english/ writing. and even that darry was waiting next to his bedside when pony was unconscious in bed like ahhghgd luckily all the bway actors totally embody the characters or i would rly miss those details in the musical. what are ur hc about paul and darrys friendship? bc any "which could mean nothing" relationship is sacred to me!!

WHICH COULD MEAN NOTHING!!!! god paul and darry where do i even begin. all of my thoughts for them can be summed up by this:

anyways.

•clear path- the front bottoms core friendship

•they are very art donaldson/patrick zweig coded to Me. in the sense that their shared interest (a sport) brought them together and they never really examined their relationship outside of that context. "we're not talking about tennis" "what the fuck else do i have to talk to you about?" but make it football

•their friendship was never very emotionally deep. toxic masculinity and all, discussions of feelings/worries/anything too personal were super rare

•paul’s love language is gift giving but he plays it off like he has too much junk and doesn't need it so darry doesn't feel bad about taking it. darry's love language is quality time- practice, studying, lounging around, anything.

•^ the one exception is the madras shirt. that was originally given out of pity because paul noticed that darry acted like a soc, but his style gave him away as a greaser and paul didn't really wanna be seen with him like that (he got over it tho because darry cant just wear that one shirt every day)

•darry had a crush on him. he didn't know it and always interpreted those feelings as being irrationally jealous of paul. do i wanna be him or be with him stuff. was it reciprocated? 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

•that being said, they are chronically envious of each other. darry is jealous of paul economically (he hates being poor) and paul is jealous of darry socially (he want to be as well liked as darry is)

•they begin falling out of touch after graduating. when paul goes to college he pretty much gets a whole new friend group, all but cutting darry out and replacing him

•nail on the coffin (no pun intended) is when he doesn't come to the curtis parents' funeral. that's when darry decides to hate paul because being angry at him is easier than mourning his best friend alongside everything else he's lost

•paul, who is kinda oblivious does not recognize this as the consequences of his own actions, resents darry for unilaterally deciding their friendship is over

• all that being said, i think an eventual reconciliation is possible. it'd definitely take many years post canon, but maybe one day when they're older and wiser they can work it out in the remix <3

(also that detail of darry checking pony’s homework is one of my favorite things EVER i've written about it at length: shameless plug)

[hazmatazz]

speedrunning byler soulmate au ideas (long post)

au where you're able to see where your soulmate is hurt physically as it's marked on your body.

miwi + lonnie. when will is in the upside down. mike or will immediately going to the other when they know they're hurt. mike or will being sad they can't help the other when will is in lenora.

half of a quote on eachother.

mike having "together" tatted on him and thinking it's a different phrase while will has "crazy" and knows what's up. "it's not my fault" can apply to mike with how he's sometimes at fault for things he didn't do + "that you don't like girls" little will struggling with that

There's a marker on your skin the first time you touch your soulmate

Mike and Will have matching prints on their palm from where they met (hc they shook hands). or, mike gave will a hug so he's always surrounded by his love

your soulmark is the most recent drawing your soulmate has made for you

will loves making grand drawings because then he can see his dragon trailing up mike's back or a bouquet of flowers covering his forearm (he always looks so pretty). will with little doodled hearts littering his skin because mike stole his homework and drew hearts all over it (imagine one lands on his mole and mike traces it amused). miwi...mike always getting excited... mike always loves his art and it's even better seeing will's love on his skin. them not getting new drawings because will is in lenora or mike getting a heart shield randomly with no context (him kicking his feet knowing will is still drawing for him)

sharing a dream space

miwi playing like kids there. sharing kisses and moments there because it's where they're the safest (hidden. also imagine miwi first kisses there). maybe when will is in lenora and mike is in hawkins and they're not talking they avoid eachother in their dreams

soulmate's birthday is tatted on you

hurts will more that mike has forgotten his birthday. maybe, birthdaygate, the tattoo has disappeared (maybe...mike forgets will is his soulmate like birthdaygate)

everytime your soulmate lies it's written on you

mike assumes because he has like literally nothing on him that his soulmate is el. when it comes out that el lied while in lenora he's surprised to find nothing on him. the entire monolog will gave him is tattooed on his back (he's super distressed about that. maybe eventually he gets a tattoo done that changes the wording so it's what will wanted to say instead)

first words your soulmate say to you appears on your 15th (?) birthday

will knows that his soulmate is mike immediately "do you want to be friends". mike gets a simple "yes" on his wrist which doesn't help him at. all. will keeps from mike his words

the music your soulmate is listening to/singing in stuck in your head

mike only hears should i stay or should i go when will is missing (while he likes knowing will is alive hearing his shakily recite the song haunts him). will being excited his soulmate is listening to smalltown boy, the gayest song ever, on repeat.

if your soulmate loses something it ends up in your possession

will/mike returning the items in school. mike/will cherishing the iteams they get when will is in lenora/mike is in hawkins. will painting the items mike loses (making mike try to purposefully lose things)

you feel warmer when you're close to your soulmate and colder when far away

mike knows something is wrong in s1 ep1 when he suddenly feels frigid. mike and will being constantly cold when will is in lenora. will and mike meeting up in winter and being soooo warm <3

they share a book/can write on eachother's skin

i think they should be both in love with their soulmates but also in love with eachother outside of knowing the other is their soulmate. like jealous of the other's soulmates and shit <3. also domestic byler writing shopping lists or love notes <3<3

[harvey-guillen]

We took our Carol trip!

December 10, 2023, my good friend Sarah and I piled in my small Kia and made the 1 hr 40 min trip from Indianapolis, IN to see Cincinnati and Chevoit, Ohio shooting locations from 2015's "Carol." It's the only winter movie that matters to me. Here are some of the key locations we visited.

Tagging: @belivet, @pacinos, @lesbin

Shillito Center and art deco exteriors in Cincinnati.

Shillito Center was a department store with art deco features including the beautiful clock pictured above. This was the exterior of Frankenberg's in the film. The Shillito's department store has closed but the beautiful building has been turned into luxury loft apartments!

The other buildings of note were the Bell Telephone Company's "Cincinnati Bell" building--my friend noticed that the decorative border on the building is comprised of a stone pattern of old rotary telephones! The exterior of the now-Hilton Cincinnati is another Carol shooting site, which doubled as New York City's Drake hotel.

This is the exquisite Hilton Cincinnati at Netherland Plaza. As you can see, the art deco influence is strong and the rooms are gorgeous and grand. We were hungry and wanted to have lunch but the only available menu was the Dickens breakfast buffet, priced at a formidable $89! So we enjoyed a drink and a bowl of peanuts at the bar. A quartet of professional singers in Victorian costumes sang Christmas Carols beautifully in the background. The bartender was dressed like they used to dress, in a beautiful tailored slacks, shirt, and vest uniform. He did not work at the Hilton in 2014-2015 but was delighted by our quest. The entryway to the hotel is known as the "Hall of Mirrors," inspired by Versailles.

This is the stone bathroom structure at Eden Park, which was the setting for the Christmas tree farm impromptu photography session. My friend watched Carol to prepare (she called it "fun homework") and I prepared by finding a tam o shanter hat at a thrift store. My parents had the scarf, blonde fur coat, faux fur hat, as part of their repository of items from doing over 25 years of community theater together. The rest of my clothing items are a regular part of my wardrobe. I vacillate between eras but I love 40s, 50s, and 60s best of all. I also think it's likely they filmed the scene of Therese and Richard on bicycle going through a park at Eden Park as well, but can't be totally sure.

Finally, Maury's Tiny Cove Restaurant in Chevoit, Cincinnati is the setting of the first lunch between Carol and Therese. The booth they used for shooting has been preserved and I reserved it ahead of time, although surrounding booths also have pictures from filming hanging over them. It's been long enough that the server didn't know much about the film but told us that a group of excited college students ate there once and requested the same meal Carol and Therese ordered in the movie. I had lasagna as we had not eaten much all day, and a Santa Cosmopolitan from their holiday menu. The food was wonderful and it was obvious a lot of people are regulars. We noted that there are glass windows over the booths now, unlike in the movie, probably added during the height of Covid.

Bonus, but a disappointment:

Carol & Rindy's beautiful house at Grandin Rd has been completely re-done and now looks nothing like in the movie:

And, "that's that"! A truly special and memorable experience.

Here is a link to a Google Drive with all of the unedited photos and videos we took if you want to see anything in original quality/detail. We shot video of the photography scene but it was mostly goofy and unusable haha.

We talked about the movie some and Sarah asked me which character was the best fit for my personality. Hands down, Abby. I was wide-eyed Therese once, never glam enough for Carol, but Abby will tell you the truth and not blush from it. My hero!

[thequeenoffishburrito]

MEME REDRAW OF RED AND BLUE FROM THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE THE TIME WAR!

SO! We're reading it in my English class, which is great since I've been wanting to read it since bigolas dickolas reccomended it, and for the essay on it my teacher is letting us include a meme at the end of it! SO OBVIOUSLY I need to put my art skills to work and redraw that yugioh meme with these two.

I did struggle a bit when drawing this, but I made the mistake of doing the lienart on photoshop at school since I dont have a 1 to 1 perfect brush equivalent at home so I didn't do any other features on red to look like a cyborg (also cuz idk how. But hey, maybe I'll go back in and eidt it!!). Though I also tried to give them both dysntinct styles (blue softer and red more bold (which is funny, since while yeah blue is from garden and she has a lot of intrest in old poetry, old literature, etc., she's still just as cold/brutal/violent as red. Idk. Just a funny thought!

I also made sure the bg was a sunset and that the blue and red of the sky doesnt touch at all! :'D I even hue shifted red's tears to be less blue and blue's mouth to fall more on a purplish end of pink. (I shouldve probably done it more though... If I go back and edit it I'll def change that (will be hard since I basically duplicated then grouped the layers so I could shrink it and not have 2 groups full of layers (I have a layer hoarding problem) but I can try!)

ANYWAYS YEAH AHHHHHHHHH

I probably shouldn't have put this much effort into this since I have a lot of homework I need to do but rn nothing else matters.

[mintacle]

I generally hold that we should let teenagers just be melodramatic and I detest the word 'cringe' because teenagers are just discovering, just beginning, that experience of artistic expression. Being unexperienced in expressing the genuine does not mean that they are in fact ingenuine. But beyond the fact that teenagers should have the freedom to not be embarrassed out of sheer human dignity and respect, I also look back at my own younger self and think about how I used to be embarrassed for them, but now think that I should have been far, far more expressive.

Now I realize that the pain my 12-year-old self was expressing was because I was being abused and neglected by my parents. And only now do I know that the abuse was real and not just an exageration on my part. Now I'm listening to songs I forgot I had listened to. I think about my early sleep disorders and remember being awake at 2AM listening to these horribly sad songs. I listen to them again as an adult who has long since moved out and I understand the pain my old self was going through clearer. This child I used to be was not being cringe or exagerating and if that wasn't such a popular narrative on teenage hurt, then maybe I would have actually gone to child protection services when I wanted to. Or been honest to my teachers when they asked me if everything was alright at home. Maybe I wouldn't have felt fucking embarrassed like it was my fault when my teacher came to me about my homework I handed in, in which I wrote something about destructive love and lack of love of parents for their children and how their children loved them still but they weren't being loved back. And I lied and said it was nothing, but that I had just seen a movie recently with something like that. And I laughed and said that I would just come up and say it if something bad was actually happening. And my teacher said that it can be very hard to do that. And I shrugged, feeling guilty for having made fun of those children who actually have it hard, because I didn't think I have the right to say that I was one of those kids.

Because, my god, is it jarring and gut-wrenching to be re-discovering the songs you used to listen to and remembering exactly how alone and how hurt and desperate you were. And then to realize you were right all along. To think that so much of this is being ignored and degraded to mere teenage-melodrama; both the internalized narrative some adults have of themselves and the things some teenagers are going through again, right now, because we can't think of emotion as anything other than immature (for teens and kids) or entertainment and art (for adults).

Art.

Artistic expression of my PTSD is something I revel in, but there is no need for people to learn first how to weave poetry or paint into their pain before we deem it valid. Being unexperienced in self-expression of the emotions deeply ingrained in the human condition, does not mean that teenagers feel these emotions any less intensely or truly.

[faun-fauna]

i hate highschool

Ughuyuh

I had to wake up at 4 fucking 30

For once I didn't wear a mask.. it was interesting. Usually I wear it for the feeling of security. I felt fine (someone said I looked weird ;w;)

I really liked my outfit though

There's only two freshmen in my geometry class. A kid I hate and me. I don't really like it like that.

My Spanish class is super full. We need more desks. Only one junior, rest are freshmen. I have 3rd lunch cause Spanish is my 5th period (B317)

I'm fine with my lunch period cause I have a decent amount of friends.

Honors history also has too many people. He specifically said he only wants to be called Thor. He also told us to research his religion for homework TwT

I got to Eng H seven minutes before class ended. I accidentally walked into the SPED class because it had the same number- a teacher told me to go there

I had the basement first (Eng) which sucked going up to history (3rd floor)

Biology was fine. Though a kid who somehow got into honors (IDFK HOW) called the teacher a slur T_T

The biology teacher was sweet. I like her. She was telling us about how she burned her hand in biology.

Don't really wanna do the science fair but it's required for honors. I also don't wanna cut open a frog, I think I'd cry. I really like frogs.

My art teacher touched me which was kinda weird ("I see we already have some artists in this class!") she was my favorite art teacher's art teacher. Art was fine though. I didn't particularly enjoy the assignment, but it's fine. I drew a bit in my school sketchbook.

I enjoy my Spanish teacher. She reminds me of señora. She said most people barely pass her class (eihhihhhgh) she used to live in Puerto Rico. We have her class for an hour and she said we can never leave the class ;w; and it's very specific- she will not let us touch the door.

We headed over to the middle school after highschool. Saw our teachers. Funn. I saw 2 of my favorites. Gr8 social studies and art. I miss them lol. Señora wasn't there, sad.

My sweater was fucking hot as HELLLL and my backpack is so fucking heavy for no reason I'm gonna break my FUCKING BACK. I DON'T EVEN HAVE A LOT OF STUFF

I'm a bit jealous of other kids. Even though they have honors, they have so many friends. Every class, everyone is friends with each other, everyone has their close friends. I don't understand why I couldn't have that too? I feel like it always happens to me. I never get anyone to be with. It's been like this for so long. I got lucky for 8th, I really did, but it just sucks. I really hate it. Because, already, I know I'll be that ONE kid that no one wants to work with. The one who always just stands awkwardly, waiting for everyone to pick their partners so I'm put with the last person who obviously doesn't want to fucking work with me. It's not like I'm a loner. I HAVE friends. A lot of them. Why can't I just have them for some? My BEST FRIEND got more classes with my friends than me, and he's not really friends with them. It's just upsetting, I guess. I feel isolated, almost? I have one class with a friend. Yay, I guess. But it's like. I'd feel so much better if it was at least 2 or 3. T-T

This is really complainy, I know, but I hate feeling like I'm being backed into that lonely corner like always. It's happened a lot, I guess I'm just kinda sick of it.

Today was really tiring. Maybe because I had to get up early, or maybe it was just mentally tiring. I don't know??????????????

I don't really wanna do my homework. It's nothing much but I just don't want to in general.

A while later we had a picnic. That was really fun. Chaotic, too. That part was fun. I recorded it a lot on my friend's phone - like a rap battle and hide and seek. Also, throwing cupcakes .. we cleaned it up. Yay.

I'll do my homework later .w. ughhugu

[fiftytwotwentytwo]

Closing the Book on 52 Books

I saw a YouTube video not too long ago where a person talked about how they also read 52 books in one year and how it changed their life.

So, is my life changed?

No.

But I will say a weight has been lifted.

I initially started this challenge because I could not remember the last time I read a book (It had been at minimum 2 years since I read a book) and I wanted to fall in love with reading - I wanted to make it a lifelong habit.

Well - it certainly could have been my book choices but most of the time I felt like I was doing homework. I also thought by reading almost everyday that my reading speed and comprehension would increase - to be honest I never measured it AND don't know how to measure it, but I feel like I am about the same as I was.

What will happen after this?:

With my personality - I have recognized that I can drop things pretty easily without remorse. I could (and most likely) easily slide back into not reading books again.

A reverse addiction....

A Reverse Addiction is coy way of me saying that laziness is my real addiction.

Man-Oh-Man, I absolutely love doing nothing. I could do nothing for weeks if I could afford to or didn't have obligations (my internet persona is going from self appointed "Person Amongst Saints" (big JK right there) to a real Piece of Shit - no JKs there) AND I recognize that about myself.

And since laziness is an obvious realization for myself I started creating grand, yet arbitrary, goals for myself each year.

Back in college an acquaintance stated the "challenges" I set for myself were just punishements to keep me living in misery and I would have to disagree - yes - sometimes the goal I can set for myself can be tedious, exhausting, and eat away at my social engagements - but at the same time I like having something to look forward to - something to break me of my laziness - and it wouldn't be too far fetched to say that I don't at least least learn something new (either in knowledge or internalized retrospection).

Anywhosel, back to the books - Will I continue reading?

Well, I not going to worry about - I not going to set goals - so I do forsee I will probably not read much. In a perfect world What would be nice is if read about 1 to 1.5 books per month... 12-18 books per year... but no promises to myself.

.

.

If I do seek out some books - Here are some author's on my "booklist":

V.E. Schwab: I love their writing style - read two books already by Schwab. I have a third book of theirs already collecting dust that I am somewhat excited to read.

.

Taylor Jenkins Reid: Read two of her books - Thought they were good. Enjoyed a small discovery that her stories/characters live in the same universe - I wouldn't mind reading more of her stuff.

.

Stephen King: Only read one of his books, but I was thoroughly impressed and of course he has a reputation to stand up too.

.

Agatha Christie: I was a bit skeptical - but her mystery books are legit and I could use more mystery in my life.

.

Lee Child: This one I think I was most shocked by - Killing Floor (first installment to the Jack Reacher series) was sooo good. I think I wouldn't mind following Ol' Jack Reacher around.

.

Kurt Vonnegut: This dude has some effing style when it comes to his work - dark humor and a bit absurdist - kind of elevated punk.

.

.

And Now - Here is the list of books from my self described Worst Reads to my Favorites:

The Love Hypothesis (Wasted Potential - BS premise)

Ready Player Two (An absolute fall from grace - Made me Hate fictional versions of John Hughes and Prince which in turn made me non-fictional despise the author)

The Hating Game (IMO - Hot Garbage)

Interview with a Vampire (Depressing)

American Psycho (No Charm - Boring)

One Hundred Years of Solitude (Artful, Poetic, Repetitive, Dull)

Midnight Sun (An unreadable cash grab)

Brave New World

Last of the Breed

The Fuck-Up

Eat, Pray, Love

All About Me

The Midnight Library

Tuesdays with Morrie

Feed

Murder at the Vicarage

The Paris Apartment

Snow Crash

Carry On

Cinder

Leviathan Wakes

Grey

Crushing It

The Unhoneymooners

No Memes of Escape

Where The Crawdads Sing

Silver Screen Fiend

Yearbook

Mexican Gothic

Survivor

Invisible Monsters

Malibu Rising

Vengeful

Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone

The Maidens

Breakfast of Champions

Coma

The Storyteller

The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

Death on the Nile

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

Verity

The 100 Year Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared

Circe

Song of Achilles

Jurassic Park

Pulp

11/22/63

Killing Floor

The Confederacy of Dunces

Slaughterhouse-Five

Vicious (Read Vicious in late January and I still think about to this day -Could not put it down - Fun, Exciting, Dark, Read like a Movie)

RED = Cannot Stand / Unbearable

BLUE = Highly Recommend / Keepers / Will Re-Read

GREEN = A New Favorite - Top 5 for Life

[jaderimehardt]

Opened my Etsy Shop!

Hello! o/ I mentioned in last night's blog post that THIS post was coming today, so here we are!

It took a while to gain the courage for me to do this, but I finally opened my Etsy shop!

With my Etsy shop open, the path is open for me to place Resin pieces in it whenever I desire to. All my products will be in one place. And like before when my shop was on RedBubble, all items in my Etsy are still using my own self-created art/graphics with no use of AI.

I use a completely outdated freebie version of Photoshop CS2 for my art. I show some of my layer work here on my Tumblr if anyone is ever curious enough to browse through my posts or follow. I might make it a habit to show more of that in the future because the world is becoming more accustomed to using AI and society is becoming split on the matter.

But enough on this controversial topic, I just wanted to make it clear that I do NOT use AI and I'm not a fan of it in the art world.

I knew I wanted a Print-to-Order on-Demand "Partner" and that was something I was looking heavily into for the longest time. Actually I think this was causing me the most anxiety, because this is important! This is where quality of products comes in. I do my homework guys. I research thoroughly.

I found one I'm very pleased with, and it's Printful. Look forward to future blog posts similar to my "RedBubble Product Review Posts", because I've ordered items from Printful with my graphics and I'll be doing reviews on their items. I'll try to do them more often too 👍🏻 (assuming life doesn't get in the way and I have funds to do so, lol)

So far I've added 38 listings to my shop. I don't want to overcrowd it. I feel for the amount of designs I have and the amount of products Printful has available for me to utilize, this is balanced. From here I'll work on new designs.

If there is something OLD that you may have liked (in my RB shop) and is no longer available (in my Etsy shop), I apologize, but I have to put the past behind me and move forward.

There is a fear of "Will this work for me, or not?" on Etsy, because I need to pull in traffic and their rating requirement system is harsh- basically need 5-stars otherwise you drop out of their search engines entirely. But "nothing risked, nothing gained".

I'm putting this at the bottom of the post because it's more on the ranting side, but RedBubble upped their tier fees again which also inspired much of this change.

I mentioned this in a Tumblr post a couple days ago, but to break it down and put it in perspective:

An Artist in "Redbubble Standard" tier who earned a 25$ paycheck in a month used to get charged an 11$ fee. That's 43%. Couldn't change their tier. It progressively scales worse, and all us RB sellers thought that was bad.

Now with their new system, that they tried to play off as "This will include a fee increase of less than $1 for most artists.", is significantly worse. (That's literally how they phrased it in the e-mail)

If you make 25$ a month in "Redbubble Standard" tier, you get charged a 17$ fee. That's 67%. And it continues to rise at an insane rate- in the 70%+ range.

They have a form you can attempt to submit, trying to "get a real person to reevaluate your shop to be placed in a different tier"- but that doesn't work. I tried it. Pretty sure that inspires false hope and it's bogus. I didn't even get an automated basic reply back. Not a "you submitted a form!" or "you've been denied." or "your evaluation is in progress.", nothing.

RedBubble products were okay quality. At times the quality wasn't that great in my opinion but people liked the items I felt that way about and economics is all about supply & demand 🤷🏻‍♀️. I was fine selling their items because the pricing was on par with the quality. The saying "You get what you pay for." comes to mind. But would I go out of the way to buy their items? No.

And I'm going to apologize again if any or all of this sounds negative or sarcastic or moody... I'm just saying things like I see it 😅🫠

Thank you everyone who has been supporting me all this time! 💖 And to anyone new! 💖

(I know the point of posting on this website is to tag all the things, but I feel bad and weird about tagging all the things 😖)

[soyforramen]

Blame @sullypants for this one since weird dreams are a common theme lately:

“Hey, Jug.”

Shaken by some unknown force, Jughead groaned and nestled further into his arms.  

“C’mon, wake up,” Archie said, his voice coming from a universe away.  

Sleep was a dense fog that settled in behind Jughead’s eyelids and he couldn’t muster the energy to push it away.  He’d fallen asleep in school again, that much he could discern from the hard table beneath him.  But at least the desk was a lot more comfortable than the janitor’s closet had been.

“Dude, let’s go,” Reggie said.  

With a hard tug, Jughead was snapped awake.  With a wide yawn he stretched out, his back giving a satisfyingly loud crack.

“What’s up?”

“School’s over, Rip Van Jones,” Reggie said.  With a roll of his eyes, he ran a hand through his already slicked back hair.  “The girls are waiting for us at Pop’s.  Apparently we have to have a set list for Sunday and they wanted to go over it after school.  Or at least we were supposed to before this knucklehead got us detention from Grundy again.”

Jughead blinked, convinced he’d heard Reggie wrong.  Grundy was dead, murdered by the Black Hood.  Even if she had come back to life, what was she doing around high schoolers?

“How was I supposed to know she meant a rhyme scheme from Donna Sweet and not Saweetie,” Archie muttered.  “Besides, if we leave right now we still might make it before they ditch us.”

Wait, sweater vest.  Why was Archie wearing a sweater vest?  And was was Reggie acting so cordial?  

Certain that this was another weird dream, Jughead reached for his Serpent’s jacket and found that the back of his chair was empty.  Serpent’s jacket?  

“I still think that we should ditch Jingle Jangle,” Reggie said as he headed out the door.

“What?  It’s my best work,” Archie said as he followed him out.  

With another yawn, Jughead picked up his books and followed them out into the cool autumn air.  With a start, he realized that it was just a dream, a really weird dream to be exact.  There was no biker gang that gave out jackets to kids like candy.  He and Archie and Reggie had always been a strange sort of friends; and Grundy was never anything more than a septuagenarian determined to drive herself into an early grade by teaching high brow literature to idiot high schoolers.

On the way to Pop’s, Jughead ignored Archie and Reggie’s argument over some girl the next town over and worked to piece together the dream.  It had all been so real that it wasn’t a wonder he’d been confused.  Everything in Riverdale had been the same as it was now, except it was all off just enough to cast a dark shadow across their sleepy little town.  

Hiram Lodge, a well known philanthropist and entrepreneur who tolerated his daughter’s friends was not a corrupt Wall-Street con-man looking to rule the world.  The Coopers, an All American family, was not rife with dark secrets that would eventually tear them apart.  The Blossom’s, while certainly devious and conniving in their own ways, were not ripped from the pages of a gothic horror novel.

And the Jones…

Jughead shuddered at the thought.  Sure, they weren’t the perfect family.  But they loved each other, took care of each other, and were as normal as they could be.  That image of his family brought up a wave of guilt about how his subconscious had portrayed his parents.

(He couldn’t help but grin, however, at the idea that baby Jellybean could not only hold her own, but was a fan of Led Zeppelin.  It was a nice touch.  Maybe he’d roundup his mother’s old records tonight and he’d teach her to appreciate the finer things in life.)

But it wasn’t until they’d walked into Pop’s to find the girls seated at their regular booth that the realization that this Betty - sweet, caring, lovely Betty - wasn’t his that he felt a pang of longing for his dream world.  Despite how horrific that dream had been, Betty was the golden lining in that dark world, a comfort meant only for him.

The feeling passed quickly when Betty’s eyes locked on Archie.  Jughead couldn’t help but wonder, though, what if things had been different?

For the rest of the afternoon, the members of The Archie’s debated and argued over the set list, while Jughead did what he did best.  While Archie was arguing for the merits of Sugar, Sugar, Jughead polished off three baskets of fries and a milkshake.  When Veronica demanded to sing Bang-Shang-A-Lang solo, Jughead ate two and a half cheeseburgers and drank half a pot of coffee.  As Reggie was arguing for… well, whatever it was he wanted, Jughead nursed a chocolate milkshake and a basket of fries (extra chili cheese, heavy on the onions and cheese, add bacon).

Occasionally he inserted his own opinion - no he would not let Reggie ruin another drum set just so he could show off to Ginger Lopez, nor was it feasible for Veronica to burst out, and ruin, his kick drum at the start of the show.  But even as he played at normalcy, his mind kept coming back to that dream.  Detention with Grundy could never be long enough to contain an entirely parallel universe, and yet it was the most realistic dream he’d ever had.

“Earth to Juggie,” Betty said as she waved her hand in front of his face.  He blinked, his gaze centering on her, and she giggled.   “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

He glanced around and found that despite his attempts to stay present, he and Betty were the only two left.

“Veronica roped Archie into installing shelves for her,” Betty explained with an over exaggerated pout.  She then pointed over to where Reggie was chatting a short, dark haired teen.  “And Midge came in without Moose, so you know Reggie’s not going to miss that opportunity.”

Midge.

The world around Jughead spun and he felt lightheaded when he stood.  He walked over to where the pair stood at the counter, and when Midge turned to him Jughead wrapped her in a tight hug, tears threatening to pour from his eyes.

“You alright there, needle nose?” Reggie asked, his eyes filled with concern.  

Apparently Jughead hadn’t been able to play as normal as he’d thought.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, loosening his hold.  He stared at Midge, still trying to comprehend why he felt so relieved that it was all just a dream. “I’m just… happy to see you is all.”

“I’m always happy to see you, Jughead,” Midge said.  She placed the back of her hand across his forehead, the corners of her lips pinched.  “But maybe you should let Betty take you home?”

Jughead nodded as the surreal threatened to overwhelm him.  When he turned, he found Betty behind him, her arms full of their schoolbooks.  She set a hand on his arm and gave an encouraging, if worried, smile.  It was easy enough to let her lead him out of the diner.  That way he could remind himself that the world where Midge had been slaughtered wasn’t real.

“Penny for your thoughts?  Or maybe I should offer a nickel?” Betty asked.  When he didn’t respond, she bumped her hip into his.

The contact, friendly, playing, concerned, burned his side.  It brought up just how touchy they were in his dream world, along with false memories of things he’d never paid any attention to before (especially not about her).  He shivered and quickened his step.  Betty, ever the Teflon personality, matched his stride and slipped her arm through his.  

“Just a strange dream,” he muttered, far too distracted by how much heat she gave out to come up with a good lie.

“Sounds like a pretty intense dream if you’re still thinking about it this much.”

And with that simple statement, the entire thing tumbled out of him.  Nothing was left out, though Jughead did edit some of the more intimate moments they’d spent together in his dream.  He was so wrapped up in making sure to include all the details - the corruption, the ever-burning ember of hope, the rocket - that he almost missed the fact that Betty had guided them through the town square three times as he divulged the dirty laundry about the underground boxing rings and Maple Club.

By the time they’d reached his house it was twilight and he was telling her about the prep school murders and fake FBI stings.  His mother (his real mother, thankfully, and not the drug running mom that had run out on him) brought them out dinner just as he got to his own faked death.  

And for the first time in his life, Jughead’s entire focus wasn’t on getting seconds (and thirds).

When he was finally done with his tale, Betty let out a long whistle.  She pushed around the remaining bits of pie on her plate, lost in thought.  Now that his head was empty of that bizarre dream, Jughead’s appetite came back with a vengeance. He leaned over and snatched the rest of her pie crust and popped it into his mouth.

“Well?” he prompted, curious to get her take on his dream.  

“Do you think the fish Ms. Beezley served today was off?”

He rolled his eyes and grinned at her ability to lighten the mood.   Jughead leaned back and set his elbows against the porch step behind him to look up at the sky.  Betty set her plate down and sat down next to him, primly smoothing out her skirt before she spoke.

“Do you really think we …” she paused.  “My mother?  And your dad?”

Jughead groaned and ran a hand down his face.  “I’d hate to think what Freud would say.”

“Well, he’d definitely agree it wasn’t a pipe,” she snickered.  “Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something?”

“Convince Archie that Jingle-Jangle is a terrible song to play to middle schoolers?”

She shrugged.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.”

As the world turned around them, they sat in companionable silence.  As curious as Jughead was to know what Betty really thought, it was these quiet moments with her that he felt truly at peace.  Perhaps that’s what the dream had signified.  With all the clamor and turmoil over senior year and applying for colleges, maybe his brain was trying to tell him to slow down and enjoy these little moments more.

Or maybe it was just a sign he shouldn’t shotgun a whole liter of soda before Grundy’s lecture on Dashiell Hammet.

“Walk me home?” Betty asked suddenly.

Without waiting for an answer, she hopped up and pulled Jughead to his feet, the same as they’d done a million times before.  Only this time Betty tugged a little too hard and Jughead stumbled into her.  He was about to apologize when he noticed the twinkle of mischief in her eyes.  To hide his smile, he bent over and tucked his shoulder into her stomach.  Betty shrieked as he lifted her up over her shoulder, precariously balancing the two of them as he picked up her books.

“Put me down Jones,” she said through her laughter, “or I’m telling Ethyl that you’d love to play D&D with her.”

“Dirty pool, Cooper,” he shot back as he casually sauntered down the block to her house.  He ignored the faint whisper of the peaches and cream lotion she used on her skin and the breathless lilt of her voice.  Because no matter how right it felt in the dream, they were only friends here. “And it’s G&G, remember?”

Once back on solid ground, Betty slipped her arm through his and they strolled along under the streetlights.  Just another night in the neighborhood without a care in the world.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad,” she said almost absentmindedly.  When she didn’t elaborate, Jughead’s heart gave a heavy, painful thump.  “I could always use more help with the B&G.”

He snorted and reached up to scratch his forehead to ignore the sudden disappointment.  “Toni does have some strong opinions about the gym’s new paint job.”

Betty stuck her tongue out at him, her face scrunched.  Jughead almost tripped trying not to kiss the tip of her nose.

His mood darkened when they reached her house.  Archie was on the front porch, napping, and the small seed of possibility withered into dust.  But instead of running towards Archie, Betty paused next to him.  Her teeth worked across her lip and she stared, unfocused at him.  Her hand on Jughead’s arm tightened and she shifted almost imperceptibly towards him.

With a small nod, Betty stood up on her toes and kissed Jughead on the cheek.  He flushed as the sun exploded in his chest.  

“Meet me at Pop’s tomorrow after school.  There’s a new French movie at the Bijou, and I’d hate it if Veronica saw it before me.”

He knew the smile on his face was just as goofy as the one’s he made fun of Archie for, but Jughead couldn’t help but wonder at this strange new turn.  For once, he was excited to spend time alone with a girl.  (He was always excited to spend time with Betty Cooper, but this time she wasn’t just Betty.)

His smile lasted all the way home and continued until he settled into bed.  Just as he was falling asleep, his phone rang with a text from Betty.

‘Some of your dream sounded nice enough to try out in real life, don’t you think?’

To say that Jughead had trouble falling asleep for the first time was an understatement.

[delopsia]

To Build A Home | Nathan Prescott X Reader

The only reason you ever attended Blackwell Academy was to gain an edge on the art world, to improve your Photography, and make something of yourself. When you shared your umbrella with Nathan Prescott that fateful night, you didn't expect to start seeing him everywhere, captivating you with his mere presence. He's nothing like the man you were warned of. Perhaps that's what draws you in, keeps you there until you're hopelessly falling in love with him. You wouldn't have it any other way.

"What the fuck are you giving me that doe-eyed look for, huh? Get the fuck away from me." Ah. You recognize who that is now.

Nathan Prescott.

Word Count: 23,000 :') Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings: Swearing, slight (implied) NSFW, brief gun usage. Mainly a lot of pointless fluff~

Tiny note here; in no way am I excusing Nathan's behavior in the original game, this is just my take on how I wanted his story to turn out :)

Primarily gender-neutral! reader, but the reader does reside in the girl's dorm. Just pretend that the dormitory was over capacity and you got shoved in there.

Sneaking out has never really been your thing. You had no urge to do it while living with your parents, and when you arrived at Blackwell, you were confident that you were not going to be one of those students who snuck out of the dorms every night.

Yet here you are, crouched behind a shrub, heart hammering in your chest as you wait for the Blackwell security officer to continue on his merry way. You hadn't planned this out. Despite it being the first week of class, you were loaded with homework. Initially, you had planned to spread it out over the weekend, a little science here, a little photography there.

What you hadn't been expecting was just how quiet the dorms would become after the Vortex Club Party began, and naturally, you had taken advantage of it and crammed all of your homework into one night. But, unfortunately, that also meant that you wouldn't finish until two in the morning, and you were desperate to stretch your legs.

For what feels like years, the security officer stands there. Shines his flashlight back and forth. Pauses. Shines again. Your heart stops every time he does it. Finally, his radio beeps, and then he's on his way out. As soon as he's out of sight, you feel a frigid drop of water hit your cheek.

Well, shit.

You're not ready to go back inside, not after what you went through to get out in the first place. There's an umbrella in the back of your car. You didn't plan to go that far, but you're already beginning the trek to the parking lot.

You get to your car just as the rain becomes coming down in sheets,  and it's barely been a few minutes, but it feels as if the temperature has dropped a couple of degrees already. Resting the open umbrella against your shoulder, you take your time walking around, feet slow, eyes glazed, as you find yourself lost in whimsical thoughts about romantic sneak-outs with an imaginary man.

Under the old Oak tree, you make eye contact with someone. You jump, barely stifling a yelp of fear from escaping your mouth.

"What the fuck are you giving me that doe-eyed look for, huh? Get the fuck away from me." Ah. You recognize who that is now.

Nathan Prescott.

Drawing closer, you can see him haphazardly leaning against the tree, his shoulders and hair wet with rainwater, unruly strands already beginning to stick out every which way. He reminds you of a wet cat, sulking in a corner and hissing threats at anyone who dared look in his direction.

"Are you just gonna keep staring at me, nerd?" He stands up straight, takes a few steps towards you, forcing you to tilt your head to meet his eye. If you didn't know any better, you would think that he's doing this to look bigger, more intimidating.

It's not working.

"I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you through the rain," the words tumble off your lips too casually, too friendly to be your first words to the infamous Prescott. "Are you waiting for the rain to slow down? I can share my umbrella if you'd like."

You've been warned by your new friends to stay away from him. They told you that he's dangerous, unhinged, but you would like to make that judgment for yourself.

To no surprise, he scoffs, striding out from under the tree and into the pouring rain, "I don't need your charity, whore."

The timing is almost comedic. Nathan doesn't make it more than a few steps ahead of you before chunks of hail begin pelting down from the sky, one nailing him right on the top of the head. You can't help but laugh as a string of curses leave his mouth, arms bracing themselves above his head to protect himself from another hit.

You take the opportunity to sidle up next to him, extending the umbrella out to protect him from the unruly balls of ice. Nathan glares at you, but he doesn't make a move to step out from under it.

"Holy shit, what the fuck do you want from me?" He snips, and while he sounds livid, he follows along as you begin walking. Odd.

"Nothing," you say, honestly.

Nathan is quiet for a few strides, shaking the water out of his wet hair and grumbling something incoherent. "That's what they all say when they first show up," the remark falls off of his lips so casually that it stings a little bit.

The storm around you picks up, the wind blowing hard against your umbrella, quite nearly ripping it from your grip. You struggle to hold onto it. It's your only umbrella, and you're fucked if you lose it this fast. "Prescott or not, I'm just trying to be nice." You're not sure why you're telling him this, but you are, "Nobody likes to walk alone in the freezing rain."

Nathan doesn't say anything else, and you're okay with that. However, you're quick to notice that he's making an effort to match your stride, a little bit ahead of you but not far enough to get out from under the umbrella. You're near the entrance to the dorms when a strong gust of wind picks up, and with a loud pop, the upper portion of your umbrella breaks off.

What the fuck.

"What the fuck." You're so stunned that you've quit walking, the umbrella handle still clenched tightly in your hands.

Beside you, Nathan has stopped, watching as your umbrella flies up and becomes lodged in a tree. "That's what you get for getting an umbrella at Walmart," he chides, and with that said, he jogs up the stairs and disappears into the dorms.

So much for that.

Defeated, you shuffle back inside, ready for a warm shower and some new, much dryer clothes. Small pieces of hail pelt you as you walk up the front steps, and you vaguely hope that your poor car won't receive any dents from it. One would think that an Academy as prestigious as Blackwell would have a parking garage for its small student body. But, alas, you share a lot with the Blackwell staff.

It rains doesn't cease, encasing Blackwell in a non-stop drizzle of freezing rain. Unless you're paying a visit to the showers or the vending machines, you don't leave your dorm. You check your social media a couple of times, half expecting to find some petty remark regarding what happened, but you find nothing.

Through your window, you can see your umbrella still lodged in the tree, taunting you. If objects could speak, there is no doubt in your mind that it would be making crude remarks and giving you hell. You find yourself watching it, glaring at it, wishing for it to disappear so that you can finally forget your encounter with the Prescott. But it stays.

Out of spite, you draw an umbrella on your whiteboard.

By Monday, the rain still has not let up, and you're creeping out of the dorm, wishing you owned a backup umbrella and cursing the one that is still sitting in the tree. Your jacket hood is pulled up, headphones nestled on your ears, playing a soft tune that still allows you to hear the rain around you.

You don't realize Nathan is around until he brushes past you, umbrella casually tossed over his shoulder as he heads towards the main building. Then, briefly, he meets eyes with you, and he pauses for just a second. There's a look in his eye that you can't quite place, his face carries no expression, but his eyes are a little too wide, a little frightened.

"Nathan!" You could have sworn that you saw Victoria leave already, but she comes jogging past you, joining him under his umbrella. "You and your umbrella couldn't have waited one minute?"

Whatever that look was, it's gone in an instant, replaced with the neutral expression that you usually see on him. You're not looking to get any better by eavesdropping, so you continue on your path to class, pushing the pretty-faced man out of your thoughts the best you can.

Nathan comes creeping back into your thoughts later that night. That expression. Why did he look at you like that?

In the safety of your dorm, you indulge in your nosiness. From your laptop, you look Nathan up in utter awe of how much power his family has over Arcadia Bay. As a non-native to the area, you didn't know who held power in this town. You'd genuinely believed your friends were exaggerating when they told you about Nathan and his family.

It takes you a while to find Nathan's social media. It wasn't easy to find the guy despite being tied to such a prominent family and running the Vortex Club. His Instagram is small, comprised of black and white photography that you don't doubt he took himself. Strangely, he has no tagged photos either.

Thunk_

Something has just fallen against your door, hard.

Startled, you jump to your feet and open your door, seeking the source of the noise. The doors to the stairwell are just beginning to fall shut. It's already too late to catch a glimpse of who it could have been.

By your feet is a long, thin cardboard box. As you pick it up, you find that it has a decent weight.

"What in the world?" You look towards the doors once more as if they can give you an answer.

Carefully, you open the box, and it all comes falling together.

It's an umbrella, the nicest one you've ever seen—the handle made from polished wood, fitting into your hand comfortably. You can already tell that it's an expensive one, you don't need the "Made In England" written on the box to know that one.

Using the brand name printed on the box, you run a short Google search to determine the mystery umbrella's actual price.

"Two hundred and ninety-five dollars?" You exclaim a little too loudly. "Who spends that much on an umbrella?"

The door diagonal from yours creeps open, Taylor's head poking out. "Y/N? Was that you who was yelling?"

"Sorry about that," your cheeks feel warm, "just a little confused, is all."

She slips out of her dorm, crouching down to look at what you're holding. "Over an...umbrella?"

You flip your phone around, letting her see its listing, "a three hundred dollar umbrella just randomly showed up outside of my room."

"Wow, okay, weird," she plucks the umbrella out of your lap, pushes it open. The umbrella is enormous. "It looks like you have yourself a pretty wealthy secret admirer, Y/N," she teases, twirling the umbrella in her hand, "do you know who could have left it?"

You have a good idea of who could have left it.

"Not a clue," you lie, "who the hell spends this much on an umbrella?"

"You would be surprised," she stands back up, her hand falling onto her door handle, "I have to go back to my homework. But, I'll keep an eye out and let you know if I spot anyone leaving anything else."

"Thank you, Taylor," she offers you a small wave and then disappears back into her dorm.

The umbrella is beautiful, but you cant keep it. It's so expensive.

As you slide the umbrella back into its box, your mind starts to wonder. Is that why Nathan gave you that look this morning? Did he assume you were expecting for him to replace your poor little Dollar General umbrella?

Again, who spends that much on a fucking umbrella?

You retreat inside of your dorm to retrieve a sticky note and a pen, writing a little message to go along with your return.

I genuinely appreciate the gesture, but I can't accept this. You don't have to get me a fancy umbrella just because my five-dollar umbrella decided to break. Thank you, though. :)

For extra measure, you reach for the bag of stickers you were gifted during your orientation to Blackwell, fishing out a little polaroid camera sticker to place at the bottom of the note.

With your note written, you head out of your dorm, umbrella in hand, and head downstairs to the boy's dorms. You expect Nathans dorm to be challenging to find, but the whiteboard stating "Prescotts own you" give it away. Easy enough.

Sticking the note to the box, you drop it from a decent height, letting it thud and smack against Nathan's door, much as he had done to you. From inside, you hear him swear, and you high tail it out of there before he can catch you.

On Tuesday, you return to that goddamn umbrella by your door again. There's a note on it.

Tke the godamn umbrella whore.

You return it with another note.

No <3

The rain has finally let up, and you decide to take a long, winding drive around Arcadia, making sure to not so accidentally pass by the Prescott Household. The house is every bit as regal as it had looked on your laptop. You cant imagine what it must be like living in that place.

For dinner, you stop by The Two Whales. You've heard a lot about it; it's about time you've given it a shot. A sweet woman named Joyce feeds you bacon and eggs with a large mug of coffee. It's like a homey version of Waffle House. You're so engrossed in your food that you don't realize who is in the booth behind you.

"The boy behind you paid for your meal," Joyce says, taking the empty plates from your table. She replaces it with a receipt and a to-go cup of more coffee, "but here's your receipt. Have a good evening, love."

Wide-eyed, you peer over your shoulder, immediately recognizing the mess of brown hair. Seriously? The bill was only ten dollars.

Digging into your wallet, you find two Hamiltons. You leave one for Joyce, and the other you toss onto Nathan's table as you walk past.

You really shouldn't have let Joyce give you an extra cup of coffee at 5 pm because it keeps you up late into the night. You find yourself checking your door aimlessly, hoping to find that damn umbrella outside of your room again, just so that you have something to do.

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

By midnight, no such thing has occurred. No umbrella. Not even a peep in the dorm. Faintly, you recall Dana saying that the door to the roof is unlocked. You put on your headphones and head up to the roof, considering you have nothing better to do.

The view is impressive; you can see everything from up there. In the corner, you sit next to the ledge, leaning against the barrier and simply resting your head. You're not daring enough to sit on top and dangle your legs off. You cant imagine that you'll survive if you accidentally fall off.

The summer air is still warm, the gentle breeze starkly different from the one that broke your umbrella. You peek your eye open. Yep, the umbrella is still lodged in the tree. At some point, you manage to nod off, lost in the music playing from your headphones.

Bam_

The door behind you slams shut with such force that it jars you awake. Your heart almost stops as your headphones fall off your head, tumbling onto the ledge. You grab them, slipping them around your neck as you turn to see who has so pleasantly joined you on the roof.

You can't quite make out who it is right away. They're moving too fast, pacing back and forth, muttering something you cant understand.

Oh.

Nathan looks about as awake as you do, his face pale and sweaty as he begins to wear a hole into the rooftop. He's panting, heavy breaths escaping between words. The only thing you can make out is something about a storm.

He manages a good dozen paces before he notices you, stopping dead in his tracks. "What the fuck are you doing up here?"

"Mourning my umbrella," your voice is deeper than it was before you fell asleep. How long had you been out?

He scoffs at that. He looks annoyed, but you don't miss how his shoulders drop.

"Nightmare?" You ask, moving to lean against the ledge, facing him fully. You're tempted to offer to leave, but you were here first. "Have a dream where you couldn't get rid of that umbrella?"

He smiles a bit at that. Then, ever so slowly, he comes to sit across from you, feet brushing against yours. "How do you know I didn't break into your room and hide it in there?"

"I've been waiting to find it sticking out of my car's windshield," you check your phone. 5 am.

He reaches into his jacket pocket, digs around a bit, and tosses something green at you. Your ten-dollar bill, albeit a bit more crumpled than it was when you'd given it to him.

"Nice try, " you toss it back, it lands on his lap, "I'm not taking it."

"I have more money in my wallet than your parents make in a month, keep it," he's trying to hide it, but there's an amused tone in his voice as he wads the bill into a ball and throws it at you. It hits you square in the nose, and the bastard laughs.

"And I don't need your charity," you throw it back. It hits him in the chest. "You seriously spent three hundred bucks on a fucking umbrella for some bitch you don't know?"

He shrugs. "So? Your five-dollar one couldn't take the heat."

You groan, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, "you're not letting up on this, are you?"

A period of silence washes over you. Nathan leans against the ledge, staring up into the night sky with such a thoughtful yet troubled expression. You wonder what's going on behind those eyes that seem to cut right through you.

"It's different," he says, finally. His eyes flick from the stars to look you over. "People don't usually reject things that come from the rich kid."

You want to say something witty, joke that the reason your new friends warned you about him was because he would force you to accept a gift. He seems too sincere to make that joke right now.

"I was serious in that note," you sit up, stretching your tired arms above your head. "I do appreciate it, but I don't need an expensive umbrella just because mine broke."

Nathan's eyes meet yours, searching, expecting. You do your best to maintain your firm gaze, afraid that even the slightest deviation may lead him to believe you're lying. Of course, you don't know who he's met in the past if this is a normal thing for new Blackwell residents, but you'll be damned if you let yourself come off as desperate for his money.

You're tempted to let the silence settle, but you have something else to say. "Although..." Nathan's eye twitches, "it has been fun playing tag with the umbrella."

That's the first time you see him smile. A big, lopsided grin sprawls across his face, and he laughs. Head tipped back, unbothered as he bumps his head against the rough concrete, chest heaving with laughter. "This is so fucking ridiculous," he snickers. "I can't believe I've been playing tag with some bitch I don't know the name of."

"What is umbrella tag not a thing you make a habit of?" You twist to the side, folding your arms over the ledge, resting your chin on them. The roof wasn't exactly the best place to sleep; you were still tired.

Nathan stares at you, long and hard. You don't need to look over at him to feel his eyes drilling into your frame. He shuffles, scoots away. "Don't move."

You can't quite tell what he's doing. He's fumbling in his pockets, pulling out a square object and—oh.

He's got his camera.

"Look down," he says dryly, "like you were before."

You're not in the mood to question it, eyes falling back to where they previously had. You can see Nathan taking pictures in your peripheral, shuffling around to change angles, going up, down, left, right, and sideways. Sometimes he uses flash, and you struggle to keep your eyes open.

Vaguely, you wonder if this will appear on his Instagram page. Would he post pictures of students from Blackwell? Will you get to see the outcome of these pictures? Is he just taking photos for fun, or is this for an assignment?

He quits moving, and you flick your eyes back to him, assuming he's done, but he's still taking photos.

"You're giving me that doe-eyed look again, loser," he sets his camera in his lap, finger tapping on the screen. He sounds irritated, but he doesn't look it.

"What doe-eyed look?" To that, he flips his camera around.

Okay, so maybe you were looking at him a little funny. You hadn't realized you'd been doing that.

"I think that's just my half-assed way of being confused," you admit,  Nathan glances up at you. You don't need him to speak to know what he's asking. "Ever since I've gotten here, I've been warned that you'll bite my head off. But here I am, still with my head."

"You haven't pissed me off yet," he mirrors your position, resting on his knees and leaning against the roof ledge. His eyes don't leave his camera. Maybe that means your photos aren't half bad.

Somehow, you manage to nod off again. The wind whirling around you and the soft, rhythmic clicking of Nathan's camera is strangely soothing. You hear the click of his camera again, feel him moving around you. A part of you is annoyed that he didn't ask, but then again, you didn't object to his earlier photos. You let it go.

You're woken by a shoe kicking yours, jarring but not hard enough to hurt. You catch a glimpse of Nathan disappearing into the stairwell; the sun is already over the horizon. There's an ache in your neck and your knees that makes you regret falling asleep again.

"Strange," you mutter. Class starts soon, but you manage to get to class on time, a heavy sensation pooling in your stomach. You can't quite place it. It's not dread, but it's not precisely excitement either.

You choose to keep the encounter to yourself. When Dana asks why you look so tired, you lie and tell her you couldn't sleep. There seems to be a big gossip circle around the Prescott—you're not eager to add to it.

You knock out the moment your head hits your pillow. The dorm bed is so much more comfortable than the roof.

To your dismay, you're awoken by a series of frantic, heavy knocks on your door. Although, you don't know what time it is; you don't make an effort to lift your head to check the clock.

"It's open!" You assume it's Dana or Taylor; hell maybe it's Alyssa. Whoever it is, your uninvited visitor is in your room in an instant. Then, in the hallway, you hear a man's voice. Security?

Your eyes are open now. The room is impossibly dark, and you have to turn on the lamp to see who's in your room.

"Nathan?" You blink harder, looking up at him. He's panting; cheeks flushed red. There's a camera around his neck.

"Fucking power-hungry pigs caught me out after curfew and chased me into the dorms," his teeth are gritted as he speaks, making it harder to understand what he's saying.

There's a heavy pounding on the door across from yours. Hell, they're checking the rooms.

In unison, you and Nathan look at the window, then back to each other. There's no way you can get him out the window. You sit up, scanning your room for a place to hide the guy. Nothing. The only site you can think of is your bed, but there are drawers under it. He can't fit under.

"Help me pull the bed out," you leap to your feet, grabbing ahold of the headboard and pulling it from the wall.

Nathan grabs the foot of it and tugs. He's stronger than he looks, at least, stronger than you because he manages to pull it out more than you did. Your soul just about leaves you and ascends into the high heavens when a heavy fist strikes your door.

"Security check! Open up!" God, fuck David Madsen.

Nathan seems to have gotten the gist of what you're trying to do. He's already crawling across your bed, slipping into the gap between mattress and wall. For extra measure, you toss your blankets over him, throwing a stuffed animal on top, just to be sure.

There's banging on your door again. Holy shit. This is happening.

With shaking hands, you grab the door and open it. David practically barges in, shoving you to the side as he enters. "Do you have any stowaways in here?" He barks, flashlight shining in your eyes. "Answer me!"

You flinch away, jarred by his presence. "I just woke up."

"Answer the damn question." He taps the foot of your bed, pushes on it until it slides a little. You assume he only stops going because it hit the "wall."

He looks around again, nods his head, and walks out of your dorm. "Sorry for the interruption. Carry on."

The moment he's gone, you're jumping for the handle, locking the door behind him.

Faintly, you hear Nathan groan. He says something, but you can't understand what he's speaking from under the blankets. Quickly, you grab the foot of the bed and pull it away from him—another groan.

"God, what the actual fuck," his head pops up from under the blankets, red as a beet. He can't see it, but the stuffed animal is right on top of his head.

"You're welcome," you bend down to plug in your string lights, bathing the room in a gentle, golden glow."I'm surprised you're hiding out in my room and not Victoria's."

"Victoria could sleep through a tornado," grumbling, he crawls out of the corner, settling on the edge of your bed. He tilts his head, scanning and taking in your room decor. The globe string lights and some fake ivy are the only things you've set up so far. A lonely plant sits in the left corner, next to your desk. You're not sure what it is, other than it's green, and it's tall.

"I can see what you were going for," he says, staring hard at the lights above him.

You sit back on your bed, not sure what to do now. "Really? Because I still don't."

He hums, "A couple of pictures on the wall, a few more plants, you're set."

Huh.

"Noted," you catch him looking at you through your peripheral, meet his eye. He looks away. "How long am I harboring a fugitive for?"

"Until Deputy Donut quits looking for me," he shrugs, "he's new. He hasn't figured out who owns this shithole yet."

You fall back against the bed, tension already beginning to leave your tired shoulders. "Do you pay them off or something?" You freeze the moment the words leave your mouth. Nathan looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. "I hope that isn't a touchy topic."

"You can stop walking on eggshells around me," he forces a meager smile, kicks back onto his elbows, "but that's...sort of, how it works. My dad shows up every once in a while to make a 'donation' to the school. So long as the administration agrees to a few terms regarding yours truly."

"Sounds like the dream," you sigh. "The question is, can Madsen be tamed?"

"People are afraid of me for a reason, doe-eyes."

"I'm sure they are," you daringly nudge his knee with yours, "but I have no reason to fear you, rich boy."

To your surprise, he nudges your knee in return, knocking your knee into the other. "Really? You have no fear whatsoever?"

"Nope," you desperately need to change clothes, so you get up, walking over to your wardrobe to fish out some pj's. "However, I do fear Madsen is lurking outside, so I'm going out to change as an excuse to check."

"And leave me in your dorm like some sort of house cat?"

You settle on a baggy red t-shirt and some black shorts, on the border of casual and sleepwear. "Would you like me to change in here and never find out of Madsen is in the hallway or not?"

Nathan flushes at that, cheeks and ears pink as he looks down at his lap. "Uh...right. Yeah, you go out and check for Asshat."

God, you just want to squish his cheeks. He looks so soft. Not to mention the fact that he's just laying there on your bed?

Ugh. You can't keep thinking about this. Your mind is already wandering too far.

"You know..." you start to say, grabbing your toothbrush as you head for the door. "Dana told me you were a prick, but you're pretty cute."

You don't wait to hear his response, slipping out the door and leaving him to his own devices. Probably not the best idea to say such a thing when you're leaving the guy alone in your bedroom, but hindsight is 20/20.

Sure enough, Madsen is posted at the end of the hallway. He eyes you questioningly but doesn't push you to explain why you're up. In the shower, you crumple to the floor and quietly screech.

Holy shit. Did you just say that to Nathan Prescott? Why did you say that?

Oh, fuck what if he's dating Victoria, and you didn't catch on.

Your shower is plagued with panicked thoughts that don't get better by the time you get out. Your toothbrushing session is a little extra violent compared to normal. By the time you're heading back to your dorm, your heartbeat is so loud you can hear it in your ears.

"So your name is y/n, huh?"

You freeze in your tracks; the door barely shut behind you. "Huh?"

Nathan's sitting on your desk chair backward, resting his chin on the back of it. Your laptop is on, the welcome screen proudly displaying 'Hello Y/N!'

"Got bored, figured your name had to be on something in here," he spins the chair back and forth, eyeing you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "So, is Porky out there or not?"

You toss your clothes into the hamper. "Posted at the end of the hallway like a soldier."

"Blargh," he yawns, shakes his head. "If only you had a couch."

"Haven't been able to settle on what I want," you fall onto your bed for the umpteenth time since he'd so unceremoniously joined you, "I've just got a bed and a chair for now."

"And a Prescott," said man quips. Then, he points at your laptop, "do you have any movies on this thing?"

You have to think long and hard about that one. Warren Graham's face appears at the forefront of your thoughts. Ah, right.

"I think Warren gave me a red flash drive full of movies last week. Should be over there."

Nathan is quick to find it under a homework sheet, carrying it and your laptop over to the bed. You type the password in and let him do his thing.

He settles on a movie called Christine. You think you've seen it before; the bone-chilling Plymouth Fury certainly feels familiar, at the very least. Spooky, but not enough to keep you up at night. An excellent middle ground.

The movie ends almost too fast. You've almost forgotten that Nathan is sitting there. The time reads 1:54 AM. Classes don't start until 10, but you can barely keep your eyes open. Nathan looks about the same.

A quick trip to the bathroom reveals that Madsen is still posted outside. Nathan is stuck with you for the night. The two of you bicker about sleeping arrangements. He insists he take the floor, but you persist, explaining that you're okay sharing your bed and that it's not that big of a deal. You're surprised Madsen doesn't overhear the not-so-quiet argument. Nathan relents, and you soon find yourself back to back, with Nathan on the side closest to the door.

You sleep just as you would any other night. But, hell, you couldn't even tell he was there, aside from his occasional shuffle.

The sound of Dana and Juliet arguing is what wakes you up, much to your sleepy dismay. You're tempted to get up to ask them to pipe down, but your blankets are so warm and heavy around you that you can't bring yourself to move. You don't recall your bed ever being this warm before.

Wait a second.

Your eyes flash open, wide as saucers. There's an arm wrapped around you, hot puffs of air gently hitting the back of your neck.

Nathan Prescott is in your bed.

Slowly, you roll over, trying not to jostle him awake. You have to see his face, just to be sure it's...God, he's cute while he's asleep. He's so close that you're sure his nose would bump against yours if he moved even an inch. He looks so peaceful like this, not a problem in a world to plague that pretty head of his.

You could stay like this forever if not for your lovely neighbor slamming her door so hard that it sounded like the damn frame broke.

Nathan stirs at that, stretching and tightening his hold on you. You have to put a hand on his chest to stop him from dragging you any closer. His eyes open.

"What the hell," he mutters, letting you go. He doesn't seem to grasp what just happened fully.

But then he does.

His eyes go wide, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he jumps away from you as if burned. Then, before you can get a word out, he's gone, out the door and slamming it behind him.

You don't see him for the rest of the day. Not even in class. Maybe sleeping with you was so traumatizing that he dropped out. You catch a glimpse of him after class, slinking into the dorms like a feral cat in a crowded room.

For one reason or another, you spend your afternoon in the parking lot. Sitting in front of your car and pondering about where you should drive. Like clockwork, Nathan eventually shows up.

"You know, I'm starting to think that you're intentionally showing up wherever I am," you laugh, watching as he makes his way over to you.

"Got a problem with that?" He remarks, pulling his keys out of his pocket. You shake your head. "Good, follow me."

'Follow me' apparently meant, 'Get in my truck, we're going for a drive,' but it's not like you have anything better to do. Before you know it, you're bouncing around in his truck as he drives through town, taking turns a little faster than he needs to. It's mortifying every time you expect the car to tip on its side, but it never does.

He takes you to a lighthouse, which sits on top of a steep, winding hill that never seems to end. He doesn't speak through the entire walk. You don't push for conversation.

"You have a key to the lighthouse?" You squawk when he produces a singular key from his pocket.

He rolls his eyes at your exclamation, "My dad owns it. Duh." You've never heard him use such a light tone before; it suits him.

The lighthouse door opens with a heavy creak, dust sprinkling down from the old door. Nathan holds it open, lets you inside first. The inside of the lighthouse is just as dusty as you expected, the air stale, stairs looking as if they haven't been used in months. They groan under the weight of your foot, but they seem sturdy enough.

"I come here when I'm bored," Nathan elaborates, hand running along a remarkably clean handrail. "It gets better once you get to the top."

He isn't lying. The view is breathtaking. The open waters below you sparkle in the sunlight, brilliant blue gradually fading to gold with the slowly setting sun. A bird is chirping incessantly above your head, you can't see it, but you can only assume there's a nest on top of the lighthouse.

"When you said 'it gets better,' I didn't think you meant this," you can't tear your eyes away from it. And here you thought that the view from the dorm rooftop was beautiful.

"I've spent way too much time up here," Nathan leans against the railing, peering straight down at the cliff below. "Jefferson has pretty much banned me from taking any more photos of the view here."

"He must know you pretty well, then," curious, you peer over the edge as well. Your stomach churns at how high up you are.

A choked noise escapes the man next to you. "Yeah. Something like that."

He reaches into a box on the ground, plucks out a sleek camera that probably costs more than your car did.

"Pictures?" You cock your head to the side, looking at the camera intently.

"I had an idea earlier," he mutters, kicking his foot at the ground. "Do you..."

He doesn't manage to finish his sentence, but you're already nodding in agreement. He demonstrates a pose for you, has you staring out at the open sea with the most forlorn look you can muster. He puts you on the floor against the railing, asks you to cross your arms over your knees and hide your face in them.

You lose track of the pictures, falling into whatever pose he asks of you. You learn that he mutters when he takes pictures, that his hands tremble when he focuses, his touch is feather-light, and he likes to guide your gaze with his middle finger.

He makes you feel like a runway model, snapping your picture so fast that you cannot compute how many he's taken. It isn't hard to understand the emotion he's trying to translate into his photo, every pose, and expression reflecting the dark atmosphere his images always seem to contain. You suppose it will look much better once the pictures get translated to black and white.

The last photo you take is on the stairs. Its outcome isn't what he was going for, but Nathan tells you it's his favorite. As he's taking the photo, you hear a rat squeaking from below, and according to Nathan, the expression you made was so perfect that you couldn't replicate it if you tried.

He excuses himself to return the camera to its box, muttering something about "if I take it home, I'll forget to bring it back and miss out on some good shots," and you take the time to explore the base of the lighthouse.

There's graffiti everywhere the eye can see, reaching far into places that make you wonder just how it managed to get up there. There's an old corkboard near the door, covered in old flyers and posters. One of them, the Rachel Amber poster, is quite familiar.

You haven't quite been able to escape her flyer; it was the first thing you saw when you arrived, having fallen from where it's posted and landing in front of you. Carefully, you reach out so smooth out its crumpled corner, staring at her photo as you do so. Poor girl, you hope she's alright.

"Did you know Rachel?" You ask, hearing Nathan coming down the stairs.

He stiffens at your words, "Huh?"

You tilt your head to the poster. You're not sure why you even asked; it didn't matter either way.

"We were friends," Nathan's right up behind you now; you can feel his breath hitting the back of your head. "She partied with the Vortex club a lot, was fun to hang around. Everywhere I went, there she was." His voice is strained, quieter than it usually is.

"I suppose it's fitting, considering her posters are everywhere," you reach up, grabbing a spare thumbtack from the corkboard. You use it to pin the crumpled corner back into place, properly putting her poster on display.

Nathan's hand falls upon the base of your spine, gently pushes you to the door. It's a touch that sends heat rippling up your spine, blossoming into butterflies in your belly. You get the sense that he doesn't want to look at her poster anymore.

"This place reminds me of one of those fancy wedding venues," you mumble, primarily to yourself. It could use a lot of fixing, maybe some new paint, but you can picture it almost perfectly. A small, homey wedding on the cliff, a faceless couple sharing their kiss amidst the golden hour.

The keychain in Nathan's hand jingles as he locks the lighthouse door. "You know, my sister said the same thing when our dad bought this shithole."

"She must have good taste," the wind blows against your skin, gentle and warm, as you meet eyes with him. There's a light in his eye that you've never noticed before, a fond twinkle that makes you internally hope that he genuinely does like you, isn't putting up with you out of a sick sense of pity. The moment lasts for just a few fleeting seconds, feels like a scene plucked right out of a movie.

"You remind me of Rachel." Nathan's words startle you out of your dreamy trance.

"Huh?" You're not sure what to say to that.

He starts walking, and you have no choice but to follow him. He was your ride, after all. "Ever since you showed up, I've been running into you," he says, halfway down the trail. You get the feeling that he had been thinking about that one for a while. "I noticed it before the umbrella incident even happened."

"Maybe it's fate," you say, whimsically.

"Fate is for pussies," he says it so bluntly that you can't help but snicker a little, "so is that zodiac shit, Aristotle and virgins or whatever."

"Aries and Virgo?" You roll your eyes at his glare. "So where are we off to now? Blackwell?"

His truck beeps as you approach, which is odd, considering Nathan never reached into his pocket to unlock it. It must be one of those rich guy gadgets.

Or maybe it's alive, like the car in the movie was. They do share the same color...

"Something like that."

Something like that apparently was code for I'm going to give you a heart attack. Because the first thing Nathan did, was floor it out of the parking lot. You yelp as the truck fishtails, grabbing onto the door handle and clutching it in an iron fist. Nathan cackles, floors it at the next stop sign he stops at.

"Are you trying to kill us?" You squeak, your heart sitting high in your throat.

"You haven't seen anything yet!" He has to yell over the music as he turns it up higher, some shitty pop song playing on the radio.

It's when he hits an open, straight road that your fear leaves you, replaced with a strange sense of excitement as Nathan's truck flies down the road. The windows are down, wind violently whipping past you. Nathan has the biggest grin you've ever seen on him, one hand on the steering wheel, the other lying across the top of the seats.

"Hold on!" He tells you, and you listen, grabbing onto whatever feels sturdy. And then he's slamming on the brakes, jolting you nearly out of your seat as the truck roars to a hard stop. The seat belt is probably the only thing keeping you from flying out the window.

"What the fuck was that?" You cry, weakly clutching at your pounding chest. Nathan just laughs, lets the truck start going at an average, much more legal speed.

He takes you around town and shows you the landmarks you haven't gotten to see yet. He tells you what he knows about Arcadia Bay, its history, how his family came into power, gives you an official introduction to the town. He asks about where you came from in the drive between spots, and you tell him everything, the town, your parents, your favorite place to get food.

His arm rests against the door, hand in his hair as he listens to you ramble. At times you wonder if he's getting tired of hearing you talk, yet every time you go silent, he comes up with another question to ask you. When he eventually returns to Blackwell, he puts his number in your phone, playfully threatens to tamper with the seat belts if you share his number with anyone.

Drives like these become a habit. Nearly every afternoon, you find each other in the parking lot. Sometimes you drive, on others, he drives; he even lets you drive his truck on occasion, gripes when you tell him he's not allowed to drive yours. The drives last for hours; sometimes you're going to an actual destination, others you're driving aimlessly through Arcadia backroads.

Nathan takes a little bit to open up about his personal life, but he tells you everything when he does. He tells you about his therapist, how poorly his father treats him. You learn that he loves to travel and that he's been lying about planning to go to Stanford. Instead, he wants to make a living out of art, to travel until he finds a place that feels like home, far, far away from his father's reign.

"I want to be my own man, pave my way," he grumbles from the comfort of your passenger seat. He's laying in the seat sideways, facing you. "Change my last name to Fuckwad and become mayor, or...something like that."

If you're not going on a drive, you're curled up in each other's rooms, watching movies and poking fun at its plotlines. You mostly spend time in Nathan's room; his fancy projector is much easier to look at than your tiny laptop.

The umbrella continues to appear in your life, in unique places. Once you found it in your trunk, another it was under your bed, witty note always attached. Out of Nathan's request, you keep your friendship a secret, choosing to hide in the shadows, away from prying eyes. You ask him about it once, and he begrudgingly admits that he's afraid that others may begin to treat you negatively.

He shows up at your door drunk later that night, tearfully mumbles a story about a girl he liked named Samantha. In his own words, his father didn't approve of him having feelings for a person of lower status and paid her family an unknown sum of money to move out of Arcadia and stay away from his son.

"I don't want him running you off," he slurs into your pillow, eyes wet with tears that he refuses to shed. You learn that he's a sad drunk, a kicked puppy wanting someone to pat its head and tell it that everything is okay. He falls asleep in your dorm, is gone by the time you wake up.

August fades into September, you learn that he lied about his birthday, that it was August 29th, not April 29th, and make it a point to find him a fitting birthday present.

"I can buy anything I want; you don't need to get me anything," he tells you, taps on his brakes a little too hard, just to get a reaction out of you.

He has therapy sessions on Saturdays, and that's the only time you can escape Blackwell without him realizing you're up to something without him. Unfortunately, it's raining, and you're really not sure what you'll get him, but you stumble across a little retro shop in a neighboring town anyway. You find a vintage Polaroid camera. It exclusively takes photos in black and white, and it feels so perfect that you buy it on the spot.

Nathan acts like it's no big deal, but the slight upturn in the corner of his lips doesn't escape you. The first picture he takes with it is a picture of the both of you, slips into your room while you're in class, and clips it to your hanging lights with a tiny clothespin. You suppose that's his way of saying thank you.

In October, Nathan starts acting a little strange.

He wakes you up late Saturday night, forgoing the knocking and entering with the key he has to your room. You don't realize until he's sitting on the foot of your bed, fingers drumming on your leg as he mumbles incoherently to himself.

"Nathan?" You yawn, lifting your heavy head to look at the figure on your bed.

"Y/N?" His voice cracks, doesn't manage to finish saying your name.

You sit up, sleepy eyes squinting to make out the expression on his face. His eyes are wide, watery, jaw tense. He inhales at the hand you place on his shoulder.

"What happened?" You ask, fingers gently rubbing at the tense muscle they've settled upon.

Nathan won't meet your eye for a long time, stares at the floor like it's the most interesting thing he's seen in a while. You're worried, but sleep refuses to let you out of its sticky grasp, and you find yourself resting your cheek on his shoulder, sleepily waiting on him to speak. He will, eventually.

That's something you've figured out about him. Sometimes he's afraid to hear his voice out loud.

"I keep having the same fucking nightmare," he blurts; for the first time, you see tears spill over his cheeks.

You hum but otherwise remain quiet.

"I keep seeing a freak tornado tear apart Arcadia," he hiccups, squirms when you wrap your arm around his shoulders, "it always happens on October seventh."

Dimly, you recall that it's the first of the month. "The seventh should be this coming Friday," you say quietly.

"I'm aware of that, dipshit," even with tears in his eyes, he's still Nathan Prescott. You offer him a small smile, glad he hasn't lost his usual sharp tongue. "The nightmares started on the same night you found me in the rain, and it hasn't stopped since. I'm even having them when I'm awake now. One minute I'm awake, the next I'm in that fucked up nightmare."

"Have you talked to your therapist about it?" Your fingers find his ribs, lightly drumming against them.

He stares down at your wandering hand, does nothing to stop it. "They stuck me on anti-psychotics, told me I might be schizophrenic, but it's not fucking working."

"Do the dreams feel real?"

"It feels just like this. I can't tell the fucking difference."

You aren't sure what to do with him. Taking him for a drive might settle him down, but you aren't sure you're capable of driving without falling asleep right now. Against better judgment, you wrap your free arm around him, snuggling into his shoulder fully now.

"You'll be alright," you tell him, bumping his foot with yours, "if it comes to it, I'll buy a service dog vest and follow you around campus."

You're sure that you hear him call you a moron.

It feels like there's more he wants to tell you because he's quiet for another period. You wonder what it could be, what dark secret he's hiding behind those pale blue eyes that never fail to give you butterflies.

Gradually, his arm moves out from under you, slips around your waist, and pulls you into his chest. His heartbeat is loud in your ear, but it fails to hide the shaky breath that falls from his lips.

"Everything will be alright," you repeat, voice a ghost of a whisper, "I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

You stay that way until your neck starts to hurt, which probably isn't very long, but it feels like you've been cuddled there for hours. Nathan looks much more composed when you pull away, but you can see in his eyes that his dreams still haunt him. Wordlessly, you pat the side of your bed, scooting into the corner to make room for him.

He hesitates, eyes flickering between the door and the bed. You're about to offer some more words of comfort, your chosen phrase heavy on the tip of your tongue when he crawls over and slips under the covers. He lays with his back to you; more than likely, there's still a hot "do I leave or stay" debate going on in his head.

Your hand wanders out on its own accord, snaking its way up to his waist. His body stiffens, halting your movements. You startle when a cold hand finds yours, guides it down until your arm is locked around him, fingers tucked between him and the mattress. You scoot a little closer, nose resting against a sharp shoulder blade.

He smells like a cozy campfire that's been set up in the middle of a bakery. There's a faint, woodsy musk laced with the ethereal white ambers of his cologne, sweet, but not overpoweringly so. It's not what you expected, yet it feels so uniquely him.

You fall asleep long before he does, not intentionally, but you're sure that he'll wake you up if he needs you again. He doesn't, though. Soon, you're waking up in a cozy bundle of blankets and a heavy arm wrapped around you. Your nose is crushed into a white t-shirt, all too familiar to you.

How Nathan scooted so high up and how you ended up on the edge of your pillow is beyond you, but it's so comfortable that you can't bring yourself to scoot back up.

"Are you some sort of dream catcher?" Nathan's voice is so deep and gravelly that you barely recognize it. His hand runs over the back of your neck, toying with the shorter hairs there.

You tilt your head up, taking in his sleepy face. "No nightmares?"

"None."

Huh.

He takes you out to a late breakfast at Two Whales, bickers with you about who's paying the whole way there. Eventually, he wins, he always does, but you like to argue with him over it.

"Isn't that your third can of soda?" You say around a mouthful of toast, widening your eyes to put on that doe-eyed look he always bitched about you having. Of course, at this point, you do it just to bug him.

"Too early for booze," he supplies, setting the mug down a little too hard. "God, these pills make me feel loopy."

"Is that why you didn't shoot out of my room like I'd burned you this time?" You can't help yourself from bringing it up. You would have done it earlier, but he has a habit of choking on his drink that you don't want to contribute to any more than you already have.

Nathan rests his chin in his palms, furrows his eyebrows at your statement. "What? You think I'm appalled by you?"

"Are you?"

"No. Now quit thinking shit like that," he steals a piece of your bacon. "If I had a problem with you, I'd tell you."

That's the end of the conversation.

Joyce brings back the bill, and you, as per usual, sneak her a tip on your way to the restroom. After breakfast, Nathan drops you off at the dorms. He mentions that he has some "Vortex club bullshit" to attend to with Victoria, which usually implies that you won't see him for the rest of the day. For a split second, you consider kissing him on the cheek. Then think against it.

To hell with it.

In one swift move, you lean over the console and plant the softest kiss you can muster on his cheek. His eyes flicker towards you. For a second, you're concerned he may be pissed.

Then a big, goofy smile breaks out onto his face. "Get the hell out of here, nerd. I'll catch you to beat you up in the locker room later."

That giddy tone on him is new—you kind of like it.

"See you around, school bully," you chirp, hopping out of the truck. He's gone the moment you're on the sidewalk, off to terrorize Frank for school supplies, more than likely.

"Y/N? Did I just see you get out of Nathan Prescott's car?" God, how long had Dana been standing there?

"Nope," you lie, striding past her. You have to bite your cheek to hide your smile.

"No, that was his license plate!" But, of course, Juliet is there too.

God, you're not getting out of this one easy. "He'll kill me if I tell anyone about it," you explain to the two girls who have now joined you on your not-so-graceful return to the dorms. "Just talked me into letting him copy my chemistry homework, is all."

"Really?" Juliet pipes, "I always thought those rumors were false."

"Where there's smoke, there's fire," there's a sign in the English room that says that exact quote. So you suppose that's where you learned it from.

The girls press you for details and give up quickly when you don't provide many. In your dorm, you send a warning text to Nathan that they'd caught on to you. He doesn't respond. It strikes you as a little odd when you overhear Victoria bitching in the hallway. Isn't she supposed to be the one helping Nathan plan?

Strange.

You wake up to Nathan sitting on your bed again. He must have entered your room a little quieter this time. He tells you he had the nightmare again, and, just like last night, you let him crawl under the covers and cuddle up to him. You pet his hair as he tells you every detail, the newspaper with the date, the inability to escape as he's forced to watch the town be destroyed.

This time, he includes what he's told his father. To no ones surprise, Sean Prescott isn't taking him seriously, made Nathan take double the amount of prescribed medicine, and told him to keep quiet while he attended to his business ventures. You suppose that's why Nathan is extra twitchy, a little more distant. You fall asleep with his head on your chest, tucked under your chin.

Monday is as typical as it can get. Nathan takes off an hour before class starts, and lectures consume the day. You're overcome with an overwhelming sense of dread in your final class. There's something nasty looming in the distance, wrapping around your lungs and squeezing until it's hard to breathe. You cant put your finger on it.

It only worsens when the fire alarm goes off, and you catch Nathan flying out of the women's bathroom like a bat out of hell. You're tempted to go after him, but God, can Nathan be a prick when he's in a mood.

You settle down in the courtyard, trying and failing to stop your pounding heart from breaking out of your chest. Drinking water doesn't help.

There's yelling from the parking lot. God, that sounds like Nathan.

A cold hand reaches up from your churning stomach, grabs onto your heart, and squeezes so hard your heart feels as if it may burst.

You're on your feet in an instant, halfway across the courtyard, before you can even realize it. Worried eyes watch as Nathan headbutts Warren hard enough to knock the poor science kid onto his ass. It's almost impressive, but then he's grabbing Max Caulfield by the neck, and oh God Nathan, please stop.

"Nathan!" Your voice is high, strained as you sprint across the parking lot.

It's a little too late to be stepping in, Max is already scratching his cheek, and he's gasping, shoving her away to cradle the scratches on his cheek. A rust bucket of a truck comes flying around the corner, almost hits the poor brunette girl who's fallen on the ground.

You're not sure what you're doing here. You can't fight, not yet, at least, but you're throwing yourself in front of Nathan the moment you catch sight of Warren lunging for him. Warren slams into you like a freight train knocks the breath right out of your lungs with the force of his tackle.

"Seriously?" Nathan's above you in an instant, kicking Warren off of you with his foot. "What the actual fuck, nerd?"

He's seething; jaw gritted so tightly that you briefly worry his teeth may shatter under the force of it. Yet he's holding a hand out, pulling you up to your feet like he's been your partner in crime for years. The rust bucket roars to life. Tires squeal as it takes off.

Everything in your right eye goes black, something solid, striking your face so hard that it sends you reeling. Nathan's grabbing you, sputtering words you can't comprehend.

Then you feel it. Searing, white-hot pain blossoming in your right eye, a warm liquid trickling down your sensitive skin. You struggle to open it, don't even recall shutting it. You groan, clasping a hand over your newfound injury.

"What's going on over here?" A heavy voice barks. You recognize it, you can't put a name on the owner.

You regain control over your eye, blinking rapidly as your retinas struggle to readjust. By your feet, you notice a rock about the size of your fist.

"That truck must have kicked it up," you register Warren's voice first.

A heavy hand snakes under your jaw, roughly lifting your head to meet familiar blue eyes. They flicker across your face; a finger taps your sensitive cheek.

"Ow," you recoil, fighting the grip Nathan has on your jaw. He holds you steady, grabs your waist to prevent you from stumbling too far away.

"Which of these fools hit you?" David's there, pushing you away from Nathan a little too harshly. You cower under the security guard's glare, taking one step back for every step he takes forward. "Answer me!"

"Nobody!" You yelp, your back is bumping against Nathan's chest.

Nathan pushes in front of you, creating distance between you and David. "That decrepit shitbox kicked up a rock, and it hit them in the face," his voice has a shake to it; so far, you've only heard it when his father has pissed him off beyond belief. "Don't you have better things to do, Madsen?"

Against your will, Ms. Grant appears and separates you from Nathan, hushing your complaints before you can even get them out of your mouth. "We need to get you looked at," she tells you as she guides you into the school.

The nurse has been out on maternity leave all month, but Ms. Grant is a good substitute nurse. You find yourself stumbling over your words, telling her about the strange feeling that had overcome you and brought you to the parking lot in the first place. Your hands are trembling, have been for quite some time now.

"It sounds like you just have a good intuition, Y/N," she concludes, wiping blood from your cheek with an alcohol wipe. "I take it you've befriended Nathan Prescott, then."

You wince at the sting the alcohol wipe leaves you with. "I'm just as surprised about it as you are," you joke.

"I've been wondering why Nathan is so subdued this year," she chuckles, producing a bag of ice. "Just...try not to let him get you into trouble, okay?"

You welcome the ice with open arms, pressing it to your bruised eye the moment she gives it to you. "I'll try not to," you promise.

"I hope you're not talking about me," Nathan's appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. Sounds annoyed, doesn't look it.

"I'm just glad that you've found a new friend," Ms. Grant chuckles, "try to stay out of trouble, you two."

You take that as your queue to leave, jogging to catch up with the Prescott, who has already started walking. Nathan remains quiet as you walk out to the courtyard, and it hits you that you left your backpack under the tree. You mindlessly head towards it, but you're stopped by a hand on your wrist.

"Huh?" You flick your gaze back to your friend.

He says nothing, at a loss for words as he tugs you closer to him. That twinkle in his eye is back, brighter than before. Two fingers hook under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. The corner of his lips turns up into a half-smile as he takes in a shaky breath.

"Stupid."

And before you can process what he just said, he's leaning in and pressing his lips onto yours. His lips are so soft against yours, so absurdly gentle that you can't help but melt into it, arms snaking around his neck to pull him impossibly closer.

Just as quickly as he leaned in, he's pulling away, pushing your noses together, cheeks pink.

"So fucking stupid," the hand holding your chin wanders to your cheek. "Out here saving Nathan Prescott from a rock."

"I think I got a pretty nice bruise out of the encounter," you brush your fingers against the scratches on his cheek, fighting a frown. "At least we match."

Nathan's eyes flicker down to your lips. You don't need any more encouragement, placing a hand on the back of his head and pulling him down to kiss you again. He sighs into it, lips gently caressing your own in such a tender fashion that makes you question if this is even real.

"I thought we were supposed to be hiding, whatever this is," you giggle, breaking the kiss. It earns you a dramatic eye roll.

"Yeah, well," his thumb smooths over your injured cheek, "maybe I've changed my mind."

"Damn Nathan, get it!"

Nathan grumbles, pulls away from you, "Can you not, Hayden?" You're genuinely surprised at his half-assed reaction. Maybe he's used up all of his anger for the day.

Hayden cackles claps his hand in mock applause. Nathan flips the bird. That's the end of their interaction.

"Will you wait for me in my dorm?" Nathan produces a key from his pocket, holds it out for you to take. "I...there's something I need to show you."

The key trembles in his hand, and you get the feeling that the shakiness has nothing to do with what just happened. Regardless, you hold out an open palm, letting it drop into your hand. "Eye eye cap'n."

"Go walk the plank, nerd," he quips, reaching out to lightly shove your shoulder.

You part ways, Nathan heading back to the parking lot while you gather your things and head back to the dormitory. You wonder what it is he wants to show you. His list of crimes committed at Blackwell? Another horror movie that has a tragic ending? A photo of his bank account?

The rapidly forming bruise on your cheek earns you a lot of stares, but nobody says anything. You're somewhat thankful for that, not ready to start feeding into rumors on a Monday afternoon. Maybe you'll entertain the idea on Thursday.

After dropping off your stuff, you fish the umbrella out from under your bed and head off to Nathan's dorm. Of course, when you open the door, you don't expect to walk in on Mr. Jefferson, standing and staring at the projector.

"Y/N!" He startles, setting a camera down on Nathan's bed. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"I uh..." you're too stunned to speak. Mr. Jefferson? In Nathan's room? Huh?

"I was...just dropping off this umbrella!" You squeak, setting the box next to the door. "I'm running errands for Victoria."

"Interesting. I didn't know you and Victoria were that close," Mr. Jefferson says slowly. There's something different here. He seems off. Predatory. He is the eagle, and you are the tiny, helpless mouse. Instinctively, you back out of the room, lingering in the safety of the hallway.

"What are you doing?" Nathan's fast approaching. "Who are you? Get out of my dorm!" Nathan's hands are on your shoulders, shoving you back.

"W-huh?" You're even more confused, stumbling away.

"Get out!" Nathan bellows.

Something's wrong here. If you didn't know any better, you would think he's terrified. But what does Mr. Jefferson have to do with it? He steps toward you, towering above you like he did when you first met. Then, his eyes change, softening for a split second.

You turn on your heels and run.

Nathan chases you around the corner, half-assedly, granting the illusion of rage. You know damn well that he could have caught you if he wanted to. But, why?

Shaken, you leave the dorms entirely, making a b-line for the parking lot. You don't know where you're going; you'd rather be anywhere but here. You drive around Arcadia, taking old back roads that do nothing but remind you of the times you and Nathan went over them. You grab a coffee from Two Whales, sipping on it as you drive.

The strangest fucking thing happens just then.

Is it snowing?

You pull over in the lighthouse parking lot, and of-fucking-course that rust bucket truck has to be parked there too. Stepping out of your car, you reach up to catch the snowflakes in your hand. The tiny flakes melt the moment they hit your skin. It's too warm for snow. Your phone tells you that it's sixty degrees out. This cant be real.

The cold flakes hitting your skin tell you otherwise.

Your parking lot mate leaves not soon after the snow begins. Max chases after a blue-haired punk, who she affectionately calls Chloe. They seem to be good friends. You want to be angry at them for causing your injury, but you can't bring yourself to ruin their playful banter. You put your headphones on when they leave and head up to the lighthouse.

From your pocket, your phone rings, blasting a familiar tune that startles the wildlife around you. You don't answer.

The bench is another familiar place to you. It's still warm from its previous occupants. You've spent countless hours on this bench with Nathan, bitching about life together while he smokes a joint. Those are the days that you find yourself behind the wheel of Nathan's truck the most. Nathan is a lot of things, but if there's one thing he won't do, it's driving under the influence.

Golden hues of sunlight fade into shades of purple and blue. The music playing from your headphones transports you into a world of wonder as the stars come out, one by one. One time, Nathan had told you that his father paid to have a star named after him when he was small. He still has the certificate in his room. You wonder which star could be his.

In your lap, your phone lights up with a message.

'Trn ar0und nrd'

Nathan stands behind you, kicking at the dirt below his foot.

"How did you know I was here?" You slip your headphones off your head, letting them hang on the back of the bench. Music still plays softly from them.

"Checked in the usual places," he rounds the bench, hesitates before sitting down. A red backpack drops at his feet. "I..."

You so desperately want to be mad at him, to raise hell and demand an answer out of him. The shaky kiss he places on your sore cheek dissipates all of that. Nathan produces a tattered yellow binder from the backpack, opens it to a picture. You have to scoot closer to get a better look.

The picture is of Nathan and a blond-haired girl sprawled out on the ground. Nathan's eyes are open, with that uncanny lifeless look that taxidermied animals have. Surely he couldn't have taken this himself? That girl, though, she looks like...

"Is that Rachel Amber?" You finish your thought aloud.

Slowly, Nathan nods his head. "There's something that I need to tell you, Y/N," he says after a moment. "Just, promise me you won't freak out."

It takes you a minute to find your words. You don't know what you agree to here; you don't know how you manage to stutter out a small yes.

"When Mr. Jefferson first came to Blackwell, he was more or less my favorite person in the world," his voice wavers as he speaks, but he pushes through it. "He treated me like I was his son. My dad...he never did that. And like a complete and utter moron, I started spending all my free time in Mr. Jefferson's classroom and doing extra work to get his approval."

His hand wanders down, grabs ahold of yours. "Whatever he wanted, I got for him. And then one day, he asked for access to the bunker my dad built for me."

Nathan keeps talking, for once, he talks, and he talks, and he talks. He tells you about how Mr. Jefferson started acting strange, showing him photos of female classmates who didn't look all that sober. Then, one day in early April, Nathan walked into the private bunker and caught Mr. Jefferson photographing an unconscious girl.

Nathan tells you that he wanted to go to the police, but Jefferson shot a gun at him and threatened to use Nathan's handing over of the bunker access code to convince the police that he was in on the whole thing. When he learned that Rachel was next, he tried to warn her. Unfortunately, she didn't believe him, and foolishly he took her to the darkroom to prove it.

Jefferson was already there, though, and dosed Nathan with a syringe to the neck. According to Nathan, the next thing he recalled was waking up in Jefferson's back seat, being presented with a photo of himself and Rachel posed together. If Nathan ever snitched to the police, Mr. Jefferson would use the image as hard evidence that Nathan was the one at fault. He hasn't seen Rachel since.

That photo was what Mr. Jefferson used to coerce Nathan into doing his dirty work.

"I didn't want to hurt them," Nathan whimpers, hot tears streaming down his face like a waterfall, "Rachel, Kate, I didn't want to hurt anybody."

You don't even know what to say. All of this is too much. You want to get up and run and never look back, but Nathan has an iron grip on your hand.

"Nathan," your voice is hoarse, "why are you telling me all of this?"

He only cries harder, holds your hand with both of his now. "You're next on his list."

The pieces are all falling into place now.

You find yourself putting your free hand on top of his, clenching it as tightly as you comfortably can manage. "Is this why you chased me out of your dorm?"

"He can't know about you," Nathan sobs, "I can't let him hurt you." His voice breaks as he speaks. He won't look at you.

You bring your hand up to his jaw, tilting his head towards you. He trembles under your hand, hiccuping. Your thumb fruitlessly attempts to wipe his tears away. "Nathan..."

He makes this noise; you can't quite describe it. It's this heartbreaking whine that escapes the back of his throat as he tries to bite back his tears. Your body moves on its own accord, reaching for his shoulders. He crumbles, hot tears falling on your neck. Your eyes sting with tears of your own.

You sit there, on the old bench, crying until you physically can't shed another tear. Somehow, you end up sitting in his lap, hugging each other while music still plays from your abandoned headphones. When he's calm, Nathan pushes your noses together, rubs them together just to make you smile.

"If you don't want to see my ugly mug ever again, I completely understand," he whispers, squeezing your hips.

You kiss him. That's when you hear it, a small, hitching gasp that leaves Nathan's throat that makes you feel so warm inside, despite everything that has just been told to you. It hits you then that you've completely and utterly fallen in love with this hot-headed man, and you wholeheartedly believe everything he's told you.

"Thank you for telling me," you mumble against his lips. "What do we do now?"

The first order of business is dropping Nathan's truck off at David Madsen's house. Somehow, his dad has finally gotten David on your side. You park in front of the house, right behind Nathan's truck. To your dismay, your eyes settle upon that fucking truck again. Your cheek stings just at the sight of it.

There's a knock on your window, startles you right to your core.

"The fuck do you want?" You chirp, rolling down the window.

"Black or green?" Nathan inquires. You hear his fingers drumming on the roof of your car.

You're not sure why he's asking you this. Green sounds nice, though. "Green."

"Green it is."

David comes out just then; you watch intently as Nathan walks across the yard to meet him. There's an exchange of words and keys; a few Benjamin's are in there too.

"What just happened?" You ask when Nathan hops into your passenger seat. He seems to have forgotten that he left it all the way reclined because he clumsily falls backward with a grunt.

"Paintin' the truck green," he says, "the hope is that Mr. Jefferson won't recognize my truck once it has a new paint job."

"Is that why you just asked me to pick between two colors?"

"Congrats! Do you want a gold star?"

Blargh.

Nathan sleeps in your room that night. He strides into your room with a bubblegum flavored lollipop in his mouth, an umbrella box in one hand, a small cactus in the other. You find yourself staring at the prickly plant a little too hard.

"What, you afraid of cacti?" He says around the lollipop.

"Why do you have a cactus?" It's a cute cactus. It would be prettier if it weren't so phallic. That's how you know he picked it all by himself.

"Because you're a prick."

God, you hate him.

Against your will, the offending cactus finds a home on your desk, next to a lucky bamboo plant that mysteriously appeared there last week. You're starting to think that he has a stash of plants, which are slowly being transported to your room.

"Where are you hiding the umbrella this time?" You don't bother to raise your head to see where he's rummaging around. You'll find the umbrella eventually.

"Somewhere, you'll never find it," he takes his usual place on your bed, snaking an arm around your hips to pull you into him.

You don't remember falling asleep, but you wake up facing the wall. A warm arm is looped around your tummy, a firm chest pressing against your shoulders as soft lips place feather-light kisses along the back of your neck. Nathan's gone so incredibly soft for you. The thought makes your heart flutter.

In the early hours of Tuesday morning, you come up with a plan to keep each other in check. You send texts in a pattern. Every few hours, you send each other an emoji of a green caterpillar to signify that you're alright. If something is wrong, you send an emoji of a red ladybug.

Your evening class is interrupted by a guy running in and saying something is going down at the dorms. Naturally, you don't intend to follow your classmates as they rush out of Ms. Grant's classroom, but at the mere sight of Mr. Jefferson entering the room, you're gone.

You don't know Kate Marsh very well; she's the last person you expect to see standing on the roof. Thank God for Max appearing on the roof when she did, although you could have sworn that she was behind you just a few seconds prior.

Nathan goes MIA in Principal Wells' office, but he sends you a caterpillar, so you suppose everything is okay. He appears shortly before the second strange weather event occurs—an eclipse.

"Maybe your vision of a tornado wasn't that far off," you're unable to tear your eyes from it. That's just not possible. You don't just suddenly have a surprise eclipse one day.

"I'm starting to genuinely consider getting a hotel for Friday," Nathan's hand laces with yours, squeezing in intervals.

That night, you curl together in bed, bickering over hotels and what you'll do if a tornado doesn't happen at all. You settle on a moderately priced one, thirty minutes away from Arcadia. Just talking about the storm makes Nathan's nerves spike. In the darkness of your room, you kiss him until your lips are bruised, and you can't catch your breath, and then some.

Class is canceled for the rest of the week.

You spend all of Wednesday texting back and forth about what you should take, who should drive. Nathan's truck comes back late that day, dawning a sparkling shade of emerald green. You're genuinely surprised at how well David painted it in such a short amount of time. In his excitement, Nathan takes you on a joy ride.

The feeling dies when you drive past the beached whales.

"Those poor whales," you gasp, moving in your seat to get a better look at them. Nathan pulls over in the beach parking lot to better look at the dead animals.

You can't even begin to fathom how the massive creatures got so far up on the beach. It's a morbid sight, and you can't even begin to think of how Nathan must feel. But, if there's one thing you know about him, it's that his favorite animals are whales.

"I'm going to pay Frank a visit," Nathan says abruptly, hopping out of the truck. You hadn't noticed the old RV parked down on the beach until now.

"I'll stay here and guard the truck," you tell him. The moment the door is shut, your hand is reaching down to the radio dial, turning it until you can find a station you're sure he'll loathe. It's sort of the new running gag that if Nathan leaves you alone in his truck, you mess with the radio.

This is the first time he's ever brought you along to get something from Frank. There have been numerous occasions when he's kicked you out at the Two Whales so that he can go by himself.

"I get the feeling I'm going to be driving," you say to yourself.

Nathan takes a little bit to come back, which is good because it takes a while to find a station that isn't playing advertisements. By the time he makes his appearance, you've situated yourself in his seat, leaned out the open window as you wait.

"I didn't tell you that you could drive," he bites, but there's no venom in his words.

A joint settles between his plush lips as he clambers into his passenger seat. There's usually a lighter in his glove box, except it isn't in there today. You have a funny feeling that it's in Nathan's laundry, tucked into a pocket. He's constantly losing it, and it's always turning up in the laundry.

"Whatevathefuck happened to my lighter?" He gripes, slamming the glove box shut.

Putting the truck into gear, you back Nathan's truck out from the parking lot. You don't need to be told where to drive. The lighter Nathan owns is the only one he'll use. It's not hard to guess that he will want to visit his dorm and retrieve it.

As you drive, Nathan reaches into the backseat, produces a small bottle from the mini cooler that sits back there. He tilts it back, drinks the entire thing in one go. You recognize that drink from anywhere, the golden tint to the liquid, the red cap, the face Nathan makes once it's down. "I thought you hated Fireball?"

Nathan drops the empty bottle into his lap. "I do."

In the blink of an eye, you're at Blackwell and find yourself pulling into Nathan's usual parking space. The alcohol must already be working its way into Nathan's system because he takes a little longer getting out than usual. He takes his time, for once. Usually, he's out before the truck is even parked.

"Did you eat anything before you drank that?" You question him once you're out of the vehicle.

"Nope." He drags out the n for longer than he has to, gives you a nudge with his shoulder.

You drop his car keys into his waiting palm. Your following words are on your tongue, ready to tell him that you plan to wait for him in the parking lot because you don't want to walk to the dorms and back. A calloused hand seizes yours, laces your fingers together, and Nathan's cat-like grin is so cute that you can't get the words out of your mouth.

Your hands swing back and forth as the two of you make your way across the courtyard. It's a slight swing, not overly dramatic, but you can feel Nathan is putting a little effort into moving your hands.

"This is new," the words that fall of your tongue aren't the ones you planned on using, but they still ring true.

"Isn't all of this new?" A smile laces his words. He has a point.

"No shit, Sherlock," eyeroll. "Is this your secret sensitive side talking, or is it the alcohol?"

It dawns on you that neither of you have spoken about what in the world you are now. Are you an item? Or are you just fucking around?

"I think it's both."

Right on queue, there go the butterflies fluttering away in your stomach with purpose.

You expect your hands to fall apart once you begin to encounter your peers; you even start to let go of Nathan's hand. Whether it's the alcohol or if it's just him, you're not sure, but he maintains a firm grip on your hand, squeezes when he notices your slack.

He only let's go when you hit the entrance to the dorms. Technically, you're not allowed in his dorm corridor. Usually, neither if you give a fuck, but Principal Wells is lingering just inside, and neither of you are in the mood to deal with him. Conveniently, he leaves once Nathan has ventured inside. You're no bloodhound, but you know you can smell booze as he walks by.

Another day drinker, it seems.

For a few minutes, you rest on the stairs in peace while worry overcrowds your grey cells. Thoughts of Kate Marsh, Mark Jefferson, and those poor beached whales float around your head, clashing together to make a horrifying jumble of noise in your head. You worry about Nathan, the strange weather events, and the storm plaguing him. It's hard not to wonder if there's some truth to his visions.

"So you're the bloodsucker that's gone after the Prescott kid." Hwa.

You don't recognize the man standing in front of you. You don't share any classes with this guy as far as you are aware. "Pardon?" You chirp. It's the only word you can spit out in your stupor.

"The punk you were just holding hands with," the guy repeats. "Don't play coy with me."

The jacket he's wearing is a letterman, proudly displaying Blackwell's name. He must be a football player. The guy puts his foot on the stairs; it lands right between yours. Uncomfortable, you scoot back a stair. Where is Nathan when you need him?

"How much does he pay you to open your legs for him, hm?" You don't like where this is going. Your voice has become lost in your throat. It barely makes a sound when you try to tell him to fuck off. God, not now. Anytime but now.

"Leave me the fuck alone," the words tumble out of your mouth, louder than intended, but God does it feel good to get them out there.

"You're getting defensive," the offending foot goes up another stair, and fuck is it infuriating. "He must be paying you then. Tell me how much, and I'll get off your case."

There's something about the way he leans down to look you in the eye that sets you off. You have 99 problems that you can't fix right now, but God fuck can you fix this one. In one swift motion, you're surging onto your feet, hands find the unnamed man's shoulders, and you shove him away with everything you've got.

The force of it is enough to knock you off your feet; you slip and hit the bottom stair hard. But the guy in front of you falls harder, and the pain of your landing isn't enough to qualm the satisfaction you feel when the guy smacks his head against the concrete.

"Are you fucking serious?" He howls, in no time at all; he's sitting up, glaring daggers that pierce straight into your soul.

Around you, your classmates do nothing but stare. You're rather annoyed that even Taylor is just standing there. And here you thought you had allied with her.

You watch helplessly as the man stands back up, towers above you with his hulking frame. You may be stronger than you look, but you're smart and know that you stand no chance against this guy.

"No way," when had Nathan come back out? "You, again?"

He's in between you two in a second, slams the much larger guy back with a considerable amount of force. "Don't you know how to mind your own goddamn business?" Nathan's hand wanders down to the edge of his open jacket, flicks it open for a brief second.

That singular motion changes the atmosphere completely. All you can see is the whites of the guy's eyes grow larger. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, bobs his head. "Alright."

The glares continue, but he backs down.

What just happened?

Blue eyes peer at you over a familiar shoulder. Nathan's mouth doesn't move, but his eyes ask you a million and one questions. It takes you a moment to collect yourself, all too confused about what just happened. The walk back to the truck is dead silent. If you squint, you think you can see steam coming out of Nathan's ears.

He tosses you the keys, getting into his truck without a word.

You only speak because you don't know where he wants to go now. One can only push off the question for so long; you break five minutes into the drive. "Where to Cap'n?"

Nathan takes a long drag of his joint, blows the smoke out the window. At least he's kind enough not to hotbox while you're driving. "Do you remember how to get to my place?"

"I can try to find my way there?" You offer.

"Amuse me." Another drag.

You've only ever driven past Nathan's home a handful of times; the search for it isn't the easiest. The signs make for a dead giveaway, though. You'll be damned if his house isn't on Prescott Drive.

The driveway is long and winding, on a gentle incline that gradually flattens the longer you go. You stop the truck just before the road opens up. Where do you park?

As if he's read your mind, Nathan reaches above your head to press a button clipped onto the sun visor. The light flashes green, and a door opens on the far end of the garage.

"Welcome to The Prescott Estate," he lazily announces, tosses his joint out onto the grass.

You're thankful that you manage to park the truck without fucking anything up. You get the feeling that the drywall in the garage costs more than your tuition. On the bright side, Nathan's truck is the only one in the garage. Nobody is home, as far as you can tell.

"My old bastard is out on some business venture," he explains to you as you follow him into his home like a lost puppy.

You find yourself in utter awe at how beautiful the house is once you're inside. It's not massive like you'd imagined it might be, but it's elegantly decorated. A charming mix of gold and white make up the house's color palette, hand-painted patterns adorning the walls. Nathan's family doesn't eat in the kitchen; they eat in a grand dining room, complete with a sparkling chandelier that you don't want to know the price of.

"I'm too poor to be standing in this house," your comment earn a snicker from your richer companion.

Nathan turns to face you all of a sudden. "Kiss me."

"Huh?" You feel your eyes go wide.

"Kiss me," he repeats.

He makes no effort to meet you halfway, forcing you to take matters into your own hands. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips. He hums into it, warm hands coming down to hold your wist. You intend it to be a little peck. Nathan intends to make it more, though, chases your lips when you pull away, never once lets you get away.

Nathan's lips mold into yours so perfectly; it's like you were made to do nothing but kiss each other. There's a comfortable warmth blossoming in your belly, roaring to life when those big hands push you back against the table, hoists you up until you're sitting on the edge.

Your legs fall open, and he's in between them in an instant, firm hand coming down to grip your thigh as he does. Teasing, you nip at his bottom lip. You barely catch it, a little 'hmph' of amusement, and then his tongue is caressing your lips so gently that it makes your head spin. His tongue is hot, tangling with yours the moment you part your lips. He tastes like cinnamon.

The need for air overcomes your desire to keep kissing him; the feeling must be mutual because you pull away at the same time, pink-cheeked and panting. A thin trail of saliva connects your lips until Nathan's tongue swipes out and breaks it away.

"Not that I'm complaining because I'm certainly not," you murmur, fingertips winding into his hair, "but what triggered this now?"

"You have no idea how long I've dreamed about defacing my father's precious dining room like that," his wet lips press a small peck against yours.

You can't help the giggle that leaves you. "You're high."

You get the feeling that he wants more, to go further, but his flickering gaze tells you that he isn't ready for that yet. You're not sure if you're prepared for that either, never mind for it to be in the damn dining room.

If whatever this is continues, you get the feeling that day will come eventually.

Gently, he lets go of your thigh and guides you off of the table. Faintly, you hear the garage door opening. Someones home. Nathan grabs your hand, and like a couple of idiots, you run up the stairs. His room is on the farthest end of the house; a golden plaque proudly displays his name on the door. You two disappear behind it, falling in a clumsy heap on his massive bed.

"Who could be home?" You laugh, pushing him off of you.

"Probably my father, world's biggest killjoy," Nathan gets up to lock the bedroom door, giving you the chance to look around.

It doesn't match the rest of the house. The walls are a pale gray, blackout curtains hang in front of two massive windows, pulled apart to let a little sunshine in. Framed photos elegantly decorate the walls, a mix of Nathan's photography and abstract paintings that highly resemble the emotion you find in his pictures.

"Did you paint these?"

"All of 'em," he climbs back onto the bed, hovering over you with a smirk that sends a shiver down your back.

Nathan settles onto his forearms, lips brushing against yours but not entirely closing the gap. You don't recall shutting your eyes, but you find yourself peeling them open, blurrily catching a playful gaze.

"Quit teasing," you grumble. Then, when Nathan doesn't comply right away, your hand finds its way back into his hair, guiding him down to meet your lips.

He gasps against your mouth, smiles into your kiss. Teeth clack together with a soft noise; your free hand is gliding over his shoulder blades, fingertips pressing into his back. Nathan groans cups your face with one hand as his lips gently caress your own, properly now.

It's so much softer than the one you shared in the dining room, but your breath is already running ragged, the heat in your belly surging into a wildfire. It's you who decides to raise a knee, you who knocks it against his hip until he's comfortably settling between your legs. The kiss grows dark, leaves you no room to catch up as a hot tongue delves into your mouth, explores you until he knows every crevice of you.

Your back arches as you lean up, chasing his tongue into his mouth as you decide you're tired of being explored. It's your turn to gasp as teeth nip at your sensitive tongue, reminding you of who it is you're with. You lean into it greedily, head spinning as your tongues tangle together in the messiest of ways.

Nathan pulls away first, panting heavily as he gazes down at you with sparkling blue eyes. "Fuck." His voice has got that deep, gravelly tone to it again, making you shiver.

With his guard down, you're able to push him over and flip your positions, straddling his hips. There's a delicious ache blooming in your thighs, just from the way his hips force them apart. Nathan grunts in surprise but otherwise does not attempt to protest.

You meet his quivering lips briefly, but kissing them isn't your main priority right now. Warm hands grip your hips as you kiss down his jaw, pausing to suck at the sensitive skin just behind his ear. The noise that leaves him is beautiful, low in his throat as he throws his head back against the pillow. His most sensitive area, you find, is where his collarbone meets his throat.

"Fuck, Y/N," he whines, gripping the back of your head tightly. For a man so uptight, he sure is expressive like this. There's an overwhelming sense of pride, knowing you're the one who made him like this.

Knock_

Knock_

The two of you freeze.

"Nathan!" You don't recognize the voice, but it's a man's voice. So it must be his father.

"The closet," he whispers to you, sitting up, "hide in the closet."

Shaky feet carry you to his closet; Nathan follows close behind you, shuts the door once you're inside. You find yourself in a pile of stuffed whales tucked into the corner closest to the bedroom door.

Nathan's opening his door on the third knock. Through the wooden shades of the closet door, you can see almost everything. Hopefully, the same is not true for the Prescott's on the other side.

The conversation Sean Prescott has with his son is not pleasant. Sean berates him for coming home unannounced, bitches about Nathan receiving a C on an exam. It isn't hard to see where Nathan's anger comes from.

When Nathan opens the closet door, he doesn't look too pleased, eyes downcast as he looks for you in the closet. You assume you must look like a bit of a kid, wide-eyed, curled into his mass of whale plushies, holding the biggest one to your chest. He smiles when he sees you.

"And the world's most pleasant dad award goes to..." you whisper.

Nathan rolls his eyes at your antics. You carry the stuffed whale back to his bed, eagerly curling into his chest when he motions for you to do so.

"Every holiday, my mom symbolically adopts a whale for me, and they send her a stuffed animal," he explains, without provocation. "They've gotten out of hand."

Words are few and far between. Nathan's neck is still wet from your handiwork, a tiny red mark has formed on his collarbone, but that's all you can see. At some point, you're lulled to sleep by the sound of his breathing and the fingers tapping along your spine.

It's late when Nathan wakes you up. His father is gone again, and he looks much soberer than he was when you knocked out. He drives you back to Blackwell to the shitty tunes you put on his radio, holds your hand on the way into the dorms. You don't know how he does it, but a tiny whale, the size of your fist, appears in your room.

In the heat of everything, it completely slips your mind that there's going to be a Vortex Club party on Thursday. Nathan seems to have forgotten too.

"Victoria can handle it," he sleepily grumbles into the back of your neck. He's just woken up, but you get the feeling he barely slept. "We'll leave tonight."

To your dismay, Principal Wells comes looking for you. He takes you back to his office to grill you about what happened to you on Monday. He asks you if Nathan is at fault for your injury.

"A truck kicked up a rock, and it decked me in the face," it's the truth, but it sounds silly now that you say it out loud. Principal Wells takes hours to let you go. Analyzing over security footage frame by frame, calling Ms. Grant in after her class ends. Nathan texts you on and off, occasionally asking what's happening, others sending you green caterpillars.

Principal Wells keeps you there for over three hours.

The campus is still just as alive as it was when Principal Wells dragged you into that stuffy office. The resident skater boys are out and about, using slang that goes right over your head. A football is being passed back and forth. Elyssa is sitting on a bench with her nose deep in a novel. She's been carrying that book around a lot; you might just have to check it out for yourself.

It's hard not to miss the sound of Nathan yelling at someone for entering his dorm. You don't intend to go and check out the fight, not initially anyway. There's a heavy thump, a female gasps.

"What in the world?" You're changing courses immediately, jogging towards the boys' dorms.

You walk in on Warren on top of Nathan, Max, and her blue-haired friend, Chloe, you think her name is, stand off to the side like a pair of deer in headlights.

"You are so fucking dead!" Nathan howls, cradling his head in his hands. He reaches into his pocket, produces a silver pistol. Warren's kicking it out of his hands before Nathan can even begin to raise it.

Okay, he might have deserved that.

Warren keeps going, though. Nathan's already down. He's disarmed; there's no point in continuing. But Warren does, kicks Nathan as hard as he can. You expect Nathan to get up to defend himself, but he does no such thing, he lies there, and he takes it. It's hard to watch.

"Warren, back off," on their own, your feet begin to move. Warren doesn't back off, and much like you did with the unnamed man yesterday, you plant your palms on his shoulders and shove him off of Nathan. Warren dares to look shocked.

"He's down already. Knock it off," you bark, pushing to create distance between the two men. Blue-haired punk girl goes for the gun. Using your foot, you nudge the pistol towards you, away from her, and scoop it up. It's cold in your hand, has the weight of one of your textbooks.

The mere act of holding the weapon has your blood pressure spiking. In the back of your head, your conscience reminds you the gun itself is not dangerous; it's the person holding it. Right now, you're the only person you trust with it.

Max, your lord, and savior, steps in before Warren can find room to argue. "Hey...come on." It's not much, but Warren backs down rather quickly.

The metal of the gun is cold against the sensitive skin of your hip as you tuck it into your waistband, concealing it from prying eyes. This must be what Nathan used to scare your favorite heckler off yesterday.

Below you, Nathan tearfully mumbles words you can't quite make out. When had he started crying?

"Nathan..." your knees hit the ground a little too hard, your concern for the brunette easily overrides the pain.

"Stop..." he rolls away from you, bruised face hidden in trembling hands, "sorry..."

The Chloe girl makes a comment you don't hear, don't care to give any attention to. With gentle hands, you take Nathan by his shoulders and pull him up off of the ground. It takes everything in you to haul his weight off the ground, but you manage. Getting him down the hallway is a little easier. Never once does he lift his head.

In the safety of Nathan's bed, you bring his shivering body into your arms and just hold him. Whatever just happened seems to have struck a nerve. Hot tears land in the patch of skin where your collarbone meets your shoulder. His arms make their way around you, squeezing tight, making it just a little difficult to breathe.

"You're okay," the words are murmured into soft hair, freehand carding through the long strands.

It's faint, hidden under his breath, but the quiet chant of "one, two, three" pricks your ears.

"How fucked up do I look?" Watery blue eyes peer up at you from where his head rests on your chest.

You have to lift his head a little to get a better look.  A cherry red bruise has formed on his right eye and cheek; there's a similar, lighter one under the left eye as well. His bottom lip is split open, leaving an angry red mark on the soft flesh that you've come to love. There's no telling how bad his ribs are.

"Your face has certainly seen better days," your thumb swipes at his busted lip. "Do your ribs hurt?"

"Like hell."

"Will you let me look at them?" There's genuine concern laced in your voice. A few well-placed kicks can easily break a rib or two.

He hesitates, stares hard at you from under long eyelashes. "Fine." He moves at a snail's pace, signature jacket dropping from his shoulders. The white vest comes next, long fingers working extra slow to pop each button out. Below the vest is just a plain black shirt. It dawns on you that you've never seen him without the vest.

Nathan practically rips the shirt off his body, abruptly revealing the slender, milky white frame that hides underneath. Eye contact is near impossible to make.

"You don't have to be nervous around me, you know," this is such a new side of him; you wonder if anyone else has ever seen him like this. If you're the first.

He turns his head away, facing the couch. "Shut up." Still Nathan Prescott, though.

His skin is impossibly soft under your touch, almost distracting you from the concern at hand. Dark, plum-colored bruises have already formed along his upper ribs; there's a clear shoe imprint on the left side. Nathan's stomach is much better than the rest of his body, discolored by a few pale red marks.

Nathan watches your every move, speaking only with his eyes and the occasional disgruntled noise. The way your nails drag against his skin makes him twitch under your touch, squirming when your fingers fall into the gaps of his prominent ribs.

"Does it hurt?" He shakes his head at your words.

You move to stand, drawing the forgotten pistol from your pocket. It's left a visible imprint on your skin. You're not too eager to keep it on you, choosing to place it just inside of Nathan's bedside drawer.

A warm hand slips under your shirt, thumb swiping over the imprint on your hip. Nathan's got that look in his eye.

"Don't tell me you're into gunplay," you groan, shaking your head.

The corners of Nathan's lips quirk up. "What if I am?" His hand travels up, nails dragging up and against your spine. Your back arches, squirming away from the touch.

Resistance is futile when firm hands grab your hips, drag you into his lap. You don't need to be told to kiss him, dipping your head down to meet soft, waiting lips. It's is the first kiss you've shared since yesterday. Yet Nathan's breath is already running ragged, hands already running up the back of your shirt.

You've got him by the back of the neck, keeping him in place as your tongue dips into his mouth. His lips fall open, hot tongue dancing with yours in the wettest of kisses. You catch yourself kissing him harder, deeper, hungry for everything he has to give you. His hips roll up into yours, something hard, unfamiliar, pressing into your core, and you gasp into his mouth, nails raking down his unclothed back.

"Meow," he teases, "bring out the claws, baby."

He shifts under you, and then your back is hitting the mattress. The room is impossibly cold without him there; you're reaching out for him before you've even registered that he's moving. And then he's there, hips slotted between yours as his lips claim yours, and every one of your senses are clouded with Nathan, Nathan, Nathan.

He presses into you again, groans when your nails properly bite into his shoulders. Like a thread, you unravel underneath of him, gasping when his lips briefly find the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping when he's done toying with the spot.

"Fuck, the things you do to me," he murmurs.

Experimentally, you roll your hips up into his, and he moans, high in his throat, eyelids fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.

"Don't dish out what you can't take," he warns, but his hips are already beginning to grind into yours.

"I should be saying the same to you," you gasp. God grinding like this shouldn't feel as good as it does; it's not fair. "I don't even know what we are right now."

Nathan scoffs, his nose bumping into yours. "I'm literally between your legs, and you want to have this conversation now?"

"My timing is impeccable, isn't it?"

"Well," he pecks your lips, "I can be anything you want me to be."

"So what if I want you to be my boyfriend?"

"Then I'll be your boyfriend," another kiss, "and I'll be the luckiest Prescott who ever graced the Earth."

In your wildest of dreams, you had never expected to find yourself here, with Nathan Prescott settled between your legs as he whispers sappy phrases against your lips.

"Boyfriend," you repeat, primarily to yourself.

Nathan smiles against your lips, "boyfriend."

He rolls his hips against yours one last time. "As much as I want to fuck you senseless," his words bring heat into your cheeks, you can see his reddening as well, "I want to wait."

"Waiting to find a private yacht?" You joke, settling further into his bed as he lays down on top of you. It's a comforting weight.

"I wanna take my time with you," his hand rubs idly at your waist, "I don't want to mess this up."

"You're full of surprises, Prescott," he's so warm, so comfortable against you. It's like you were made for each other, perfectly sculpted to fit like puzzle pieces.

"What I'm not going to take my time with is making sure everyone knows you're mine."

"Not if I do it first."

"Is that a challenge?"

Before you know it, your eyes are fluttering open. The room is dark. Nathan is still nestled on top of you, lightly snoring into your neck. The party must have already started because you can hear a rhythmic thumping in the distance. There's something else, though.

A rattling just outside the door. It's faint, but you can hear it.

"Nathan," you whisper, gently shaking the sleeping boy.

"Hm?" he readjusts, curls further into you like a needy cat.

"Do you hear that?"

His head is up surprisingly fast, barely open eyes squint at the door. The noise occurs again. Nathan stiffens in your arms. You're not too sure what it could be, but based on his reaction, you can't imagine that it's good.

"I want you to take my gun," he tells you, sitting up straight. "And I want you to hop out my window and hide." He's already beginning to throw his clothes on, his bruised and battered body disappearing under a black shirt.

You fail to move. Unsure. "What's wrong?"

"I think Mr. Jefferson is outside of my room," he whispers, "and he's not happy with me."

You don't need to be told again. Sleep leaves your body in an instant; your hands are already finding the gun. The cold metal burns your warm skin, and you can't bite back the hiss that leaves your lips.

"There's already one in the chamber, fifteen in the magazine." You don't want to know why he's suggesting you take his gun. The thought of having to use it chills you to the bone.

Words leave you. You say nothing as you push his blinds away and open the window. God, when had it gotten so cold outside? You regret wearing a t-shirt today. A gust of wind enters the room, wrapping chilly fingers around your already stinging skin.

One last glance at Nathan reveals all of your thoughts to him.

He produces a duplicate of his jacket, drapes it around your shoulders like a cape. The jacket is oversized on you, the sleeves reach down to your fingertips, but it's warm, and that's all you need.

"What about you?" You ask. The door shakes.

"I'll be fine," he pushes you to the window, "go."

You land behind one of the many bushes in front of the dorms, heart high in your throat as it pounds away. There's a sense of deja vu; this is the same bush you hid behind on the night you first met Nathan.

There isn't anywhere for you to go. You can't leave campus, not without Nathan, but you can't exactly go back into the dorms either. Nathan's jacket dangles from your sides, threatens to fall off your shoulder as you walk onto the central part of campus. You have to pop the middle button in to keep it secure.

Ultimately, you settle down next to the water fountain, the running water a soothing lullaby.

"'I'm just helping with chemistry homework'" you recognize that voice.

"Hi Dana," you suppose the jacket is a dead giveaway.

"Oh my god, that's Nathan's jacket." Ah, there's Juliet.

"Surprise," you mumble, cheeks heating up under their curious gaze.

Juliet sits down on the fountain next to you. "So, is he your boyfriend now?" She gives you a playful shove.

"Maybe," you crack. "Okay, yes, he is."

Dana squeals. "I knew it!"

Juliet looks less thrilled, already beginning to open her purse. She produces a twenty, which is quickly snatched up by her more excited counterpart.

"Did you two have a bet on us?" You squeak, eyes wide.

"It was hard not to make one," Dana batts her eyelashes at you. "You should see the way he looks at you in class."

Huh. Hadn't noticed that.

A shoe scuffs the ground behind you, off in the distance. It's Nathan, head down, walking in front of Mark Jefferson. He looks at you as he passes; you can't make out what expression he's wearing. Anger. Defeat. And something else. Fear?

Mr. Jefferson doesn't notice your trio. He's got his hand shoved in his oversized pocket, holding something large in there. Something solid.

Your hand is reaching for the keys in your pocket. "Do me a favor," you begin to say, transfixed on the two men walking into the parking lot, "if I suddenly disappear, tell them Mark Jefferson did it."

You're moving before the girls can protest, a one-person army with a mission you don't know the details of. You haven't a clue what you're going to do, just that you need to do something.

Your heart slams against your ribcage like an animal, threatening to burst out at any moment. You get to your car right as Mr. Jefferson pulls out of the parking lot. It's hard, catching up to the vehicle without appearing as if you're following them. You have to let several cars get between you, squinting to keep track of the vehicle.

On an old back road, it starts to rain, a torrential downpour that turns your entire windshield white. In the fleeting moments that it takes you to turn on your windshield wipers, Mr. Jefferson's car has disappeared.

You hit your breaks, stopping in the middle of the road. "Where did they go?"

They were just here. Where could they have gone? They couldn't have kept going down the road. You would still be able to see the taillights.

The storm rapidly worsens as you drive up and down the road. You can't see. No matter how slow you drive, you can't figure out where they could have gone. The windshield wipers are on their highest setting, but they're no match for the rain. Lightning strikes a tree in front of your car, illuminating everything around you for just a few seconds.

You see it.

An old, battered barn that has undoubtedly seen better days resides off in the distance. There is no road leading to it, except for a few tire-like patches of mud in the grass. There's no way your little car will go up that without getting stuck, but it's the only place they could have gone. So you guide your vehicle over onto the side of the road, just before the ditch begins, and put it in park.

Reaching into the back seat, you feel around blindly for a blanket, anything to protect you from the freezing rain. Your hand brushes against a smooth, curved handle. It's impossible to tell what it is without light, so you reach up to turn on the interior lights.

It's the umbrella.

"Nathan, you fucker," you pull it into the front seat, pulling off the velcro which holds it shut. There's no telling how he managed to sneak it in here.

As you turn off the car and get out, you become painfully aware of the gun in your waistband. Nathan didn't warn you of any safety; you can only assume that it's ready to fire at any time. You don't appreciate that thought.

The wind blows hard against your umbrella, getting underneath and tugging with a relentless force. The umbrella is worth its weight in gold; it doesn't so much as budge. Your shoes quickly become caked with mud as you walk towards the barn; your tires wouldn't have fared well here.

Around you, the storm cackles. A furious fist of thunder strikes the ground, shakes you back into reality. Right. Mr. Jefferson just took your boyfriend into an old barn, and your boyfriend was scared that he gave you his weapon.

This should be a walk in the park.

The doors to the barn are wide open, revealing a familiar car parked inside. It's Jefferson's. Inside, there's a faint white light coming from the ground. An entrance to a bunker, you realize.

You place the umbrella off to the side, freeing up your hands to hold the gun instead. Your palms tremble as you hold it, dominant index finger dances near the trigger, settling next to it but never curling around it. Not ready for that commitment yet.

One step at a time, you enter the underground bunker. Mr. Jefferson is talking, repeating the same phrase over and over. You can't make out what it is. At the bottom, the door sits ajar, even brighter light seeping through.

Your breath echoes against the concrete walls; every footstep is too loud, like a scream in the quietest of rooms. The blood in your face has long since drained, leaving you numb and lightheaded. Outside, the wind howls like a hungry wolf.

"Leave me out of this, Mark!" Nathan shouts from inside. "I don't want anything to do with this fucked up shit!"

A sharp smack of skin against skin follows. "Do not disobey me, Nathan," Jefferson seethes, "how do you think your father would feel if this got out, hm? How would y/n feel, knowing they're whoring out to a monster?"

Wow. You're almost insulted yourself.

Using your free hand, you push the door open, and of course, it has to squeak. You freeze.

"What more do you want from me?" Nathan cries, breathing hard and heavy. "Is it money? Is it drugs? What the fuck is it?"

With Nathan's yelling as a mask, you push the door open just enough to slip inside. The bunker is entirely black and white. Charcoal walls, white tiled floors. Pictures of women litter the walls, frightened women who don't look entirely conscious, mentally not there at the taking of their photos. The hair on your arms stands straight up.

Creeping down the hallway, you curl your finger around the trigger.

"Oh, Nathan," Jefferson's voice is so calm that it's condescending, "it's too late to back out now, buddy."

Oh.

It seems you are not the only armed person. Jefferson bears a gun identical to yours; the barrel pointed down at a cowering Nathan Prescott.

You don't know what to do. You can't distract him. No, he'll turn the gun on you and turn it into a standoff. Terrified, you raise the weapon, directing it towards your photography teacher.

"I'm not helping you anymore," Nathan spits. "I'm fucking done. Do you hear me?"

Jefferson's pistol whips him across the face. "Do not disobey me!"

His finger is wrapped around the trigger.

That's enough.

Without a second thought, you squeeze the trigger, and the gun fires with a loud bang. Your first shot misses.

The second and third do not.

Ears ringing, you emerge from the corner, both hands pointing the gun towards the ground. Jefferson is howling from the floor, clutching a hip that you can only imagine is shattered. Next to him, Nathan appears out of it, staring distantly at you and his weapon.

"Whores can shoot, apparently." Is the only words that can come out of your mouth. Your brain is fried.

Nathan's moving, rushing you like a football player.

White-hot flames explode in the side of your forearm, but it's not from Nathan tackling you. The sound of a bullet leaving the chamber hits your ears. You don't feel the way your head smacks the tile, the pain of Nathan landing on top of you. The gun slips from your fingers, landing next to you with a clatter.

"Don't even think about it," Jefferson threatens, weapon aimed at the both of you.

Everything goes black.

It takes you a second to realize the power has just gone out, that you're not dead. Cold hands are grabbing you, fingers dig into your fresh wound, and you can't hold back the shriek that forces its way out of your mouth. A hand clamps down over your mouth, the other hauls you back, dragging you. You're helpless, squirming and kicking as your body is hauled away.

A door slams just as you're able to bite down on the offending hand.

"Ow!"

"Nathan?" You can't see shit, but you know that voice.

"Come on," he whisper-shouts. "We only have a few seconds."

Hobbling to your feet, you hold onto him as he leads you up a set of stairs. Oh. He's dragged you out.

The umbrella is just where you left it. It's tossed over your shoulder haphazardly as you begin to run, Nathan acting as your only guide. Your head is spinning. Blood pours down your arm like a waterfall.

"My keys are in my back pocket," you tell him, approaching your car on the street. "I don't think I can drive."

His hand is in your pocket in an instant. Not exactly how you pictured him grabbing your ass for the first time.

The two of you pile into the car, Nathan's sliding the key into the ignition and turning it before you've even shut the door.  Obedient, your car starts. The roads have already grown even worse. That tornado vision Nathan's been having, you're beginning to realize, has some truth behind it.

"I don't think we're going to be able to get out of town." It feels strange to be in the passenger seat.

"Not with that arm; we're not." Nathan's flooring it, tires squeal as the car takes off.

Neither of you can find any more words. Your arm is throbbing; it's impossible to think of anything else. In the dim light of the car, you can tell that it's just a graze. Still, it burns like a bitch.

"Ready?"

God, when had you and Nathan already gotten to Blackwell?

You pick up the forgotten umbrella from the floorboard with your uninjured arm. "It took us a literal life and death situation to use this."

Around you, the storm is rapidly growing worse. A tornado siren cries in the distance and that spiral in the distance certainly appears to be the offending twister.

You count to three and open the door.

Together, you and Nathan flee the car, holding onto one another for dear life as you all but fly to the dormitory. It's the only building at Blackwell with a basement. The only place you stand a chance at surviving. The wind has other ideas, blowing against you so hard that you fear you may fly away—the umbrella groans under the pressure.

The entire student body of Blackwell is down in the basement, as you quickly learn. The power has long since gone out, the only light in the basement provided by flashlights and cellphones.

"What in the world are you two doing?" Hayden all but yells upon your rather unceremonious entry.

"I don't want to talk about it," Nathan snarls. There's a space in the back corner, and he takes it. You're too exhausted to argue about where you'll sit, following after him like a shadow. You huddle into his side, shivering from the cold rain. You hate it, but it's the only thing reminding you that you're both alive.

A warm, heavy blanket drops over the both of you.

"Just when I think this day can't get any stranger." You recognize that voice.

"Hello to you too, Victoria," Nathan groans.

Under the privacy of the blanket, his arm snakes around you. You sink into him fully, injured arm cradled in your chest.

He and Victoria speak some, Nathan catches her up to speed on what happened. He leaves out the part about being blackmailed and what happened to Rachel. You figure that he hasn't told her about who Jefferson truly is, not yet, anyway. She does find you a medkit when she sees the torn flesh of your arm. It's not much, but she and Nathan make quick work temporarily dressing your wound.

Outside, the storm roars as it tears Arcadia Bay apart bit by bit. The three of you huddle close into the corner as Blackwell Academy trembles under the tornado's wrath. The sound is so eerie. You always imagined tornadoes would sound like a loud roar, and it does, but once it gets close enough, it sounds like a demented freight train.

The storm lasts long into the night and the early hours of the morning. When it does subside, Arcadia Bay is gone.

The sun is up, warm sunlight bathing the path of destruction left upon the bay. Buildings that once stood tall and proud lay in crumpled heaps, trees who have stood for longer than Arcadia has existed are uprooted, lying across roads, roofs of cars, and on buildings. Debris reaches as far as the eye can see.

Blackwell Academy is one of the few buildings left standing. The roof is essentially destroyed, a tattered mess that will take days, if not weeks to repair. The water fountain is gone, as is the gymnasium. A large, heavy branch lays on top of Nathan's truck, denting the roof with its weight. Your little car, albeit muddy, seems to be one of the lucky few who were unharmed.

"Have any more visions, cap'n?" You say, bewildered by the sight in front of you.

Nathan shakes his head, reaches out to hold your hand. "Not yet."

Clean-up begins immediately. There isn't much of the town left, you'll never truly know how many lives were lost, but so many more have miraculously survived beneath the rubble. Blackwell Academy temporarily converts into a makeshift cleanup crew, offering class credit and free tuition for all able-bodied students who help clean up the Bay.

The last thing you expect is for Nathan to join in, but on the first full day of cleanup, he makes an appearance. It quickly becomes clear that Arcadia is going to need more than just a high school of students to clean it up. As a collective, the students of Blackwell begin an online campaign, asking for volunteers to help recover Arcadia Bay. The campaign doesn't do well, not at first.

Two weeks in, Nathan is waking you up with a smug grin playing across his lips. "I have something to show you," he grins, tugging your sleepy frame to the window.

Outside, a mass of people has gathered in front of Blackwell, bringing with them trucks and supplies. You're still not sure how he did it, but he broke into the Prescott social media accounts and used them to boost the campaign into the public light.

Recovering Arcadia is a grueling process. The weather is quickly becoming colder as Winter approaches. The ache in your neck has become a permanent affliction, nights you once spent sneaking out with Nathan are now spent curled into a king-sized bed watching movies that you fail to stay awake for.

You often find yourself questioning how long you can continue this. How long you can keep running yourself into the ground for the sake of a town you barely know. But then you see the community that has formed around you, how hard Nathan is working to use his family name to repair the town, and you realize you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Is your dad still upset with you for breaking into his Twitter?" You find yourself asking one evening, arms full of splintered wood as you carry it to the truck.

Nathan hoists a heavy chunk of metal from the ground, forearms flexing with the weight as he follows you. He's put on some muscle since the cleanup started. It looks good on him. "He's pissed off about everything."

"Isn't he always pissed?" Victoria's standing in the truck bed, pushing the junk back as far as she can to create some more room there. She's been one of the key organizers for this whole debacle, you really appreciate that she made the call to put you three in a team together.

"He's starting his own campaign to buy all the land he can and turn it into real estate," Nathan grumbles, chucking the metal into the truck with a heavy bang that makes Victoria swear at him. "It's Prescott v Prescott right now."

He's told you about this a few times. Sean wants to take advantage of the destruction by forcing out help and buy up the land from frustrated owners. Nathan wants to rebuild Arcadia Bay and restore it to its former glory and then some. The presence of the campaign has directly put a hole in Sean's plan.

"I'm sure the media will listen, if you open up to them," Victoria suggests as you unload your armful of wood onto the bed.

"Can't buy land if you piss off its current owners," you giggle.

He does it, the next day. Appearing in an interview with the local news station that's been giving him over an interview hell for months. The media takes the story by storm, slamming Sean Prescott for his attempts at thwarting the recovery of the town. It garners your campaign more attention, volunteers flood in from all corners of the state.

By the time Christmas has come around, there is not a speck of debris in Arcadia. Principal Wells practically chases all of you out of the dorms, insisting that each and every one of you go home for the holidays and rest with your families. You go home immediately, thrilled to finally see your family after all that has happened. after Christmas, Nathan makes it a point to show up and meet the people who raised you. He's a total suck-up, an angel.

It's terrifying.

On a foggy January morning, you're awoken by police knocking at your door, and Nathan is taken in for questioning. Mr. Jefferson, whom you assumed had passed in the storm, was alive and well, seeking to press charges against Nathan.

The media is nasty, chasing you and Victoria around and demanding answers out of the both of you. Nathan tells the truth of what happened, you back him up wholeheartedly, bearing the scar to prove it. Your scarred forearm is a prominent part of the case, it's hard to lie when you have the proof of an injury like that.

Maybe it's just luck, the influence of the Prescott name, or divine intervention. Or maybe it's because the community rallied behind Nathan, having caught sight of the man Nathan has become, knows how much he has done to help the town. Somehow, Nathan avoids all charges, and Mr. Jefferson receives 25 years to life for the murder of Rachel Amber and the violation of so many other students.

The court does order that Nathan begins attending therapy once a week, for the next two years. He doesn't like to admit it, but you can tell that it does help him in the end. He gets proper medication, the right tools for coping with his anger issues. Who would have thought? After the trial comes to a close, Nathan's estranged Grand Father reaches out to aid in your campaign to save Arcadia. It's a small act that warms your heart.

For Spring Break, he takes you to meet his sister, and she's every bit as lovely as you imagined her to be. Nathan brings his polaroid camera, takes so many photos that your dorm walls are surely going to be covered in them when you get back home.

"Hey, doe-eyes?"

You're curled together in a plush hotel bed, taking in your last full day of vacation before you have to return to Arcadia Bay. It's been a long day of doing absolutely fucking nothing. A movie plays on the television, some Netflix fantasy Nathan found whilst surfing channels. It looks like a good movie, but you're more interested in tracing the veins of Nathan's hand.

"Hm?" You can't be bothered to lift your head. Whatever it is he wants to tell you, will have to be mumbled into your scalp.

"I love you."

Three little words that you'd never expected Nathan to say.

Flames burst in your cheeks. Bashful, you kiss his hand. "I love you too."

Before you know it, you're up on a stage, and Principal Wells is handing you a diploma. A photo of you displays on the projector, the one Nathan took of you on the rooftop that night.  You don't expect to receive any applause, but the entire room erupts into it. Your heart is soaring.

This is it; this is really it.

There's a final Vortex club party after the last student walks the stage. It was originally outdoors, but some unplanned rain led to the party being held in the same unfamiliar church you graduated in. Proper security has been instilled into the parties now, drink covers handed out to everyone who attends.

You and Victoria share a drink together. You've earned the right to a little alcohol.

"I'm looking forward to having you as a next-door neighbor," she smiles, around a cherry that came with her drink. "You're nice to have around, Y/N."

"I can't believe we're staying in Arcadia," your own drink is bitter in your mouth, making you cringe. Blargh. "And to think we were dreaming of ditching this town over Spring Break."

Victoria shakes her head, smiling at something behind you. "Sometimes home is in the place you least expect."

"Care to ditch this shitty party, nerd?" You don't need to turn around to know who's hands are on your hips, whose lips are ghosting the shell of your ear.

"But of course," you say, in the poshest accent you can muster. "Take me away, good sir."

"You hang out with my sister for three days, and suddenly you act just like her," Nathan gripes. Victoria's waving you off, already turning to Taylor as Nathan guides you away with a gentle tug of the hand.

By the coats, Nathan produces an all too familiar umbrella. He opens it when you're ready and guides you out into the chilly May air. You can see all of Arcadia from up here. It's far from rebuilt, but Nathan is confident that it will be repaired one day.

"Thank you."

"Hm?" You're leaning against his warm shoulder, dreamily staring off into town. Construction has already begun, you can't wait to see what Arcadia Bay becomes.

Nathan's arm wraps around your waist, drawing you into a familiar chest. "Thank you for putting up with my stubborn ass," he nuzzles a cold nose into your scalp, "you're the best thing to ever happen to me, y'know?"

"Look who's gone sappy."

"I hate you."

"Love you too, Nate," you peer up at him, meeting with a fond gaze. "I'm glad I kept running into you."

He grins at your words, breaking out into a big, goofy smile that is triggered by more than just your words. Nathan doesn't tell you right away, but you can see the gears turning in his head, formulating something.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're planning something devious?" You chirp as the two of you begin walking to your car.

"How do you feel about joining me for a secret rendezvous in my father's precious dining room?"

[ellebakers]

✭・. Dumb | Part two

Draco Malfoy x reader.

✩✧✼✽ @starslibrary this is the part two you were asking for <3

Warnings : Language ; mention of jealousy ; a bit of angst and mention smut

Summary : After the disaster at the yulle ball, y/n got closer to cedric. the two wizards started hanging out more and more together, everyone thinks they are a couple, draco doesn't like at all and he is ready to do anything to get the girl of his dreams back.

first of all, i want to clarify that i am french so excuse me for the mistakes. i also want to ask you not to steal my work, you can repost it of course.

weeks have passed since the events of the yule ball, the night the boy who has haunted your thoughts and desires for years, your brother's enemy, draco malfoy, broke your heart in front of the whole school. indeed, draco had bet that he would invite you to the ball, and when you were waiting for him, he would arrive on the arm of another girl, to make fun of you and humiliate you, and he had succeeded, you had finished the evening is crying, sitting by the lake, but cedric, a friend of your brother had come to comfort you, which did not have more has a certain platinum blond.

you're sitting at the table eating your lunch when ginny approaches you with a big smile.

"hello darling, what are you planning to do today ?" she asks you, while pouring herself a glass of orange juice.

you put your index finger on your mouth, signaling to her that your mouth is full, once your piece of toast has been swallowed, you answer her.

“cedric asked me to accompany him to the library.”

ginny stops drinking and looks at you, eyebrows raised. "a date ?" you glare at her. "no, he needs help with homework, and i already told you, there's nothing between us."

"sure."

you are about to answer her when someone sits next to you, you turn your head to see cedric, a smile on his lips.

"hello beauty, sleep well ?" you smile at him and get ready to answer but he slips his thumb over the corner of your mouth, you look at him with wide eyes, surprised. seeing your reaction he laughed.

"you had some jam."

"oh thank you."

he winked before continuing. "so this afternoon is still ok ?" you nod. "sure." he smiles at you. "great, i have to go get ready for practice, but see you later." he gets up, but before leaving he kisses you on the head. once cedric is out of reach, you turn back to ginny, cheeks flushed, but your best friend isn't focused on you, she's looking at something behind you.

"y/n, don't turn around but, malfoy hasn't taken his eyes off you since cedric arrived, and when he cleaned the jam from your mouth, i saw him clench his fist and jaw. elsewhere, speaking of jam.." she throws you a piece of bread "you moron."

you giggle, but stop when you realize what ginny just said, why is draco staring at you, and why is he having these reactions ? you decide not to pay attention to it. "i don't care, now, excuse me but I'll get to class before i’m late."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you are leaving the defense against the dark arts room and are about to go to history of magic class, when you hear footsteps behind you, then a voice is heard. "potter." you freeze in place, you don't have to turn around to know who it is. "get out, malfoy."

you decide to speed up your movements to get to class as quickly as possible, but draco is faster than you, he grabs your arm and drags you into an empty classroom.

"what the fuck is your problem ?" you yell at him but he don't care. "you're my fucking problem y/n, since you came to hogwarts i can't stop thinking about you, at first i thought it was because of your brother, but over time you continued to occupy my thoughts. i made this bet because i was pissed at your brother, but also because i didn't want to admit my feelings for you, but seeing you with this diggory, it pisses me off, i want you to be mine y/n." while finishing his sentence, he approaches you, and before you understand the situation, his lips are pressed against yours, you don't know why but you kiss him in return, the kiss is needy, and soon draco's hands have slipped from your hair to your hips, and you feel them trying to push their way up your skirt, and fucking with the boy of your dreams in a classroom turns you on, but you push it away when flashbacks of the yulle ball come flooding back to you. draco looks at you, surprised. "y/n i-"

"no, you humiliated me and i can't forgive you."

"i opened my heart to you and you can't forgive me ?" he looks at you with rage. "draco, you mentioned my father and-"

"just like you !"

"your father is still alive at least, that's what you told me, remember ? do you have any idea how much you hurt me ?" draco looks down, ashamed of having mentioned your father. "I could never trust you, sorry but I'm going to be late." and with that, you're leave to your next class.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you're sitting at one of the tables in the library with cedric. "i don't understand." for the thousandth time, you explain to cedric how a computer works. he has to do an essay on the most relevant muggle inventions. "cedric !" you turn your head to the person who called the boy. "cho. hey, how are you ?"

"fine, thank you. um... can we talk ?"

"oh, i forgot that fred and george need me. i’ll leave you." you get up and take your things, cedric doesn't understand why you're leaving, but he doesn't prefer to ask you, he just greet. once in the hallway, you head towards the common room, but your gaze lands on something, rather on two people, your brother harry and draco malfoy are sitting side by side, they are talking as if they were friends, and that annoy you.

"what are you doing ?"

the two boys look at you, amazed to see you, your brother looks between you and malfoy and begins. "y/n, um draco-"

"so you call each other by your first names now ? harry, why are you talking to him ? you saw what he did !"

"y/n..." draco tries to grab your wrists but you push away. "are you best friends now ?"harry opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head and walk away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a party was organized by the ravenclaw students and all the houses were invited, at first you didn't want to go, but ginny managed to persuade you. that's why you find yourself leaning against one of the walls of the ravenclaw common room, a glass of beer in your hand, watching the students having fun. hermione is dancing with viktor krum, ron is sitting next to seamus and neville. ginny is laughing with dean and cedric is on one of the sofa with cho on his lap. you're looking for a place to sit because your feet hurt, you've decided to wear waders with heels, with a dress that reaches mid-thigh, a leather jacket and you've straightened your hair, you feel beautiful but also depressed and you don't know why. you spot a small armchair in a corner and go sit on it. the minutes pass, your glass is empty and you start to get bored, you look around to find something to do when you see cedric approaching you, with his usual smile.

"hey y/n."

"hey cedric."

you force yourself to smile at him and he notices it. "are you mad at me?" you frown, caught off guard by his question. "what? no no, i just have a lot on my mind." cedric breathes lightly, visibly relieved by your response. "um.. cho and i are.." you smile at him, this time for real. "i know, and i’m really happy for you cedric." the boy looks at you with a huge smile.

"thank you. "

minutes pass and you continue to discuss everything and nothing, but your conversation is interrupted by your brother. "y/n, can we talk ?" you're a little reluctant, but you miss your brother, so you agree. you walk away from the party and harry scratches his head anxiously. "i want you to listen to me without interrupting me, promise. "

you nod and Harry takes a deep breath before telling you. "look, i know malfoy and i aren't really friends, i can't forgive him for what he said on the yulle ball night, but he talked to me, and i really think he cares about you. i know it's hard to believe, but he loves you very much y/n, give him a second chance."

you don't say anything, speechless at your brother's words. after a few minutes you decide to speak. "i don't really know harry, he made me suffer and i don't know if i could trust him." harry puts his hand on your arm and smiles at you. "try for me."

you don't answer, you just smile at him. "i saw him go to the astronomy tower." your brother tells you with a wink before leaving in the direction of the party.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

harry was right, draco was in the astronomy tower, sitting in a chair with his head bowed, playing with his ring. the silence is pleasant but after a few minutes of watching draco, you decide to speak.

"i like your ring."

draco turned to you, surprised to see you there, then his gaze fell on your outfit, you saw him stare intently at your exposed thighs, then he cleared his throat.

"y/n-"

you raised your index finger, asking him to shut up, which he did.

"listen to me carefully, it's for my brother that i'm here, he thinks you deserve a second chance. as far as i'm concerned, i'm torn, part of me tells me to trust you, but another tells me to run away from you. and i'd like to run away from you draco, but i can't, because i've loved you since i came here, for years i've been hoping you'll even say something nice to me. that's why i was so excited about going to ball with you." you take a deep breath before continuing "here, now that you know how i feel, you can use it to humiliate me."

draco quickly got up from the chair and approached you, he cupped your face in his hands. "y/n, i'm so sorry for all the hurt i've caused you and i know it's going to be hard to gain your trust, but i’m ready to do anything to win your heart."

he rested his forehead against yours and you stay like this for minutes, listening to the other's breathing, but you don't care because for a moment you're fine.

"i promise to improve, all i want in return is a second chance."

in response you kissed him, draco deepened the kiss, his hands wandered all over your sides, he took his lips from your mouth to place them in your neck and began to suck, leaving a mark, the feeling is so good that you let out a moan. draco stopped and looked at you with a dark look.

"shit y/n, i like this sound."

he continued to kiss you and suck on your neck, which made you moan several times, you knew what you wanted and draco knew it too, he picked you up and put you gently on a desk, you continued to kiss and to leaving visible marks on each other for a few minutes then draco stopped and knelt down in front of you, he spread your legs and placed a delicate kiss up and down your inner thigh, you slid your hand in his hair to guide him where you wanted him most, when someone yelled. "get your dirty paw off my sister malfoy."

you both turn around to see a more than pissed off harry. "seriously, hands off, i'm coming to see if you guys are killing each other and here's what i find... it'll teach me how to play matchmaker."

draco and you burst into laughter. "harry, leave us alone." once your brother left mumbling swear words, you turned back to Draco. "where were we?"

[yemilnisu]

The Moon and The Sun

Chapter 1: Good to know.

Synopsis: After finding out that your online friend has a crush on someone that he met online and has an idea who she is. You got curious and wanted to know more. Unfortunately, your online friend deactivated his twitter account and gaming account. Will the answer to your curiosity left unknown?

A/N: If you would like to be on the taglist, feel free to send me an ask or leave a comment! I hope you enjoy my first smau/written work! Also feel free to chat me, I would love to interact with everyone!😊

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

We were laughing about what the topic of our conversation was. About how we ended up in here instead of attending 7th period. We were seating down at the sand while the sunsets. He we’re holding my hand while telling sweet things to me. Then he stops and stares at my eyes.

 "Hello? Earth to Y/N? Are you having a stroke or something?" Hitoka said while waving her hand in front of my face.

 I pushed her hand away from my face. "Yeah I'm fine." I said with a bit of annoyance in my tone.

 "You were daydreaming weren't you?" She said while getting something from her bag.

 "I was at the middle of daydreaming but you suddenly interrupted my moment." I rolled my eyes at her. "Why did you interrupted my daydreaming huh?" I accused her like she just committed a crime.

 "Well while you were at the middle of your daydreaming half of our classmates is already eating their lunch." She pointed out. Now holding her wallet in her left hand.

 "Oh" I replied. I also reach for my wallet in my bag. "The teacher didn't give any homework right? She just said that there's going to be a new lesson tomorrow." I asked her just to be sure. I wasn't entirely zoning out of course. I care about my grades. That's the only thing I can try my best about something. Knowing I don't have talents, gifts or passion. I really admire people with talents and passions they do their best about something they truly want.

 "Let's go" We started walking out of our classroom and straight to the cafeteria. I just ordered a sandwich since I have a water bottle in my bag and I don't really like drinking soda and coffee. Yeah I guess I'm weird. I was looking for Hitoka and I can't see her anywhere. I waited for 5 more minutes for her but I still can’t see where she's at. So I went back to our classroom.

 "Where were you?" I asked after seeing her sitting at her desk already eating her lunch. I sat down at my desk which is beside hers.

 "Have you thought of a club to join yet?" She asked me before biting down at her sandwich. I removed the plastic that is covering my sandwich while I think about her question.

 "A club? No I haven't what about you?" I actually have two in mind but I'm not that good in neither one. It was either the Arts Club or Dance Club. I love designing especially painting and I also love to dance but again I'm not great at neither of them. I wasn't great at sports either but I do love playing badminton and volleyball. If you were to compare me to players, dancers or painters I'm nothing.

 "I wasn't really thinking of one yet until this beautiful and sexy girl came up to me asking if I want to be the manager of a volleyball team. I think she's a 3rd year." She explained. So that was why I couldn't find her anywhere earlier. A 3rd year were asking if she wants to be a manager of a volleyball club.

 "Woah a beautiful girl I want to be friends with her. Wait, manager of a volleyball team? What do they do? I didn't know volleyball teams have managers." I replied after I swallowed my sandwich.

 "Yeah neither did I." She said before taking a sip from her soda drink.

 "Are you thinking of trying it out?" I asked her. She could join the Arts Club too since she's great at drawings and digital arts.

 "I don't know since it's a boys’ volleyball team." She said.

 "Boys’ volleyball team? You're going to be a manager of a boys’ volleyball team?" I asked totally surprise that it was a boys’ volleyball team.

 "Yeah" She mumbled.

 "I'm not against it or anything I mean, that's your life you can do whatever you want with it but If you decided to accept being a manager of a boys’ volleyball club and they turned out to be jerks. I'm telling your mom and pulling you out of that club, I swear." I proclaimed, dead serious.

 "Woah chill." She laughed awkwardly. "I'm still thinking about it. Of course before I agree I'll check out the people in that club first." She added.

 "Okay good." I replied. After that the teacher entered the classroom and started discussing the lesson.

  ****

We're walking home from school when my phone buzzed.

"Is that the guy you met on a discord server?" Hitoka asked trying to look at my phone.

 "Yeah, why?" I answered. Putting my phone back in my pockets. I just suddenly got invited into a server and I accepted it, it’s not like I have something better to do. We played together for hours he was really fun to play with though he's a little quiet but when the game starts that’s when he starts shouting nonsense.

 After a couple of weeks playing with him. He asked if I have a twitter account. I gave it to him but of course it’s not my main. I think the account he gave me is also not his main maybe a dump account or something because I don't see any photos of him posted in that account. We’re both playing it safe.

 "Nothing. You don't really feel comfortable with having online friends." She replied. Eyes looking straight ahead.

 "Yeah that’s why I gave him my dump account. We both don't know the appearance of each other." She's right I don't like making friends online. I don't like the idea of being friends with someone I don't know. That someone might be a 40 years old dude trying to sell my organs at the black market we may never know.

 "That's good but you know each other's voices right?" She questioned, looking at me waiting for my response.

 "Of course, how else would we communicate while playing a game." I said avoiding her gaze. I can see from my peripheral vision that she's looking at me while raising her eyebrows. "I may or may not know that were both living in Japan."

 "Y/N!" She yelled while looking at me with disbelief. She now stopped walking and is waiting for my explanation.

 "What? He told me that he's living in Tokyo that was it!" I explained defending myself. I also stopped walking and looked at her.

 "You didn't tell him that you live in Miyagi?" She said interrogating me.

 "Duh, of course not! I changed the topic after that." I answered. "I'm not that dumb." I rolled my eyes and started walking again.

 "Good to know." Hitoka said in relief and catch up to my pace.

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

Fun Facts!

Y/N and Hitoka has been classmates since they were in middle school up until now.

Y/N’s mom and Hitoka’s mom were close friends.

Y/N’s mom trust and treats Hitoka as her own daughter and same with Hitoka’s mom with Y/N.

If one of them have trouble in understanding a subject the other one will help and teach the lesson.

Both of them are very protective of one another.

Sometimes they would have sleepovers with one of their house and they would just gossip, watch a movie or play video games.

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

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Taglist: (open)

[fureliselost]

I posted 797 times in 2021

355 posts created (45%)

442 posts reblogged (55%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 1.2 posts.

I added 1.169 tags in 2021

#danny phantom - 280 posts

#danny fenton - 236 posts

#dp - 139 posts

#art - 96 posts

#eli art - 86 posts

#eli fics - 76 posts

#sam manson - 68 posts

#vlad masters - 64 posts

#eli rants - 63 posts

#fanart - 61 posts

Longest Tag: 125 characters

#danny: *remembering that dash shoved him inside lockers three times today and pushed him down tbe stairs on the way to class*

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

The biggest irony in Danny Phantom is that it's a show about death but never once is death actually spoken about closely nor is the main character ever indicated to have dealt with death/loss (not even his own).

572 notes • Posted 2021-07-23 23:25:59 GMT

#4

Yo, I've been thinking about Danny's grades. Because, like, most of the DP fandom writes ff with Danny being one bad grade from flunking out 'cause he can't fight ghosts and keep up with the school work.

But, like, is that really accurate tho? (And let me make it clear that I've only watched DP once and that was in Feb, so I could have some information missing here)

Cuz on the very first ep Lancer tells Danny he has basically nothing bad on his record (whereas Tucker had some transgressions).

And I can only remember Danny's grades being mentioned 5 times in the entire show (on One Of A Kind, Teacher Of The Year, What You Want (?), TUE, and, obviously, Mystery Meat — there is Vlad's mentions of Danny's grades and Danny's dream in Frightmare, but I'm not considering those).

On One of a Kind, he gets a D in his biology — which, from the way he said it, it sounded like he never got a grade that low — but he managed to raise his grade.

On Teacher of the Year, he fails his English (?) exam — not because he was occupied with a ghost, but because he was obsessed with playing Doom (let's also remember that, on One of a Kind, Tucker literally says Danny's problem was time management) — but then he was able to retake the test and got a 91%.

On What You Want, he mentions he's a C student.

And, well, everyone knows what happened in TUE: Danny says he isn't prepared for the CAT 'cuz he didn't get to study throughout the year because of ghost fighting (which IG is where the whole fanfic thing comes from).

But, like, was Danny actually not able to study because of ghosts? Because I can't actually think of a time where he was actually stopped from getting his homework done by a ghost fight.

But you know what does come up in my mind when I think of all of that? "Poor time management skills"... Oh, wait, that's already Canon!

Before I get into the time management skills, lemme bring up again Vlad's comments, Danny's A grade on his dream on Frightmare, and Danny's comment on What You Want (as well as what he said in TUE).

Guys, the educational system sucks. In 2004 it was worse. Teachers also suck in that respect (do I need to explain that I don't hate all teachers, only the sucky ones?).

There are teachers who humiliate you in front of the class for having a question they believe you shouldn't have, I'm pretty sure everyone has been in that situation or knows someone who has. Some teachers shame you every time you get a bad grade instead of offering solutions — that affects people, it doesn't even have to be that explicit.

I spent 'till my senior year of highschool thinking I was a terrible student (because teachers told me I was every time I got a bad grade). That only changed when I was calculating my GPA to see which colleges I had a shot at: my GPA was 3.6/4

Now, take Mr Daniel Fenton. Youngest son of a family of geniuses. His older sister got the highest ever CAT grade and writes Theses for funsies. His parents not only where accepted to appear on genius magazine (Jazz may have done the application for Maddie, but she wouldn't lie on it knowing that they would do at least some fact chacking — meaning that she probably picked accomplishments of Maddie's and used only the ones she approved of, meaning that they had accomplishments other than the ghost related ones) but they also built a freaking portal to another dimension.

Not to mention that Tucker is a top notch hacker and doesn't get good grades because he doesn't want to (which doesn't matter because he changes them anyway) and that Sam never shows any concern towards her grades and, being from a rich family, she probably has to get good grades.

Take Danny, who wants to be an astronaut — the literal hardest job to get on the face of the Earth, which also requires a degree in the STEM area (which Danny is admittedly not the best at). Now put him in a place where his grades dropped a little — Maddie, his mother, literally told him he had to get good grades because "Fentons get As" or whatever.

Is it that hard to think that a lot of Danny saying his grades are so terrible and he's not prepared for the tests is because that's just how low he thinks of himself academically?

Lemme get back to the time management skills.

So I've already established that the educational system sucks and it wasn't any better in 2004.

It was even worse at recognizing and dealing with neurodivergent kids.

And I'm pretty sure that, like, 70% of the fandom sees Danny as Neurodivergent-coded — autism, ADHD, anxiety, depression, etc.

The thing with being neurodivergent is that sometimes ND people suck at some executive functions/have executive dysfunctions.

Do you know what is an executive function? Time management skills.

When it comes to studying, I personally have a lot of trouble with distractions and getting myself to start the assignment. That problem is usually solved if I have someone to do it with me — and by that I mean that the person usually just sits nearby and sometimes helps me with processing an information, which tends to consist in just me talking.

Which is basically what Lancer did with Danny in Teacher of the Year. Which,,, Lancer, my beloved, yes! When he found the problem, he tried to find a solution and his frickin solution worked!

Anyway, this is all I wanted to say: the educational system sucks, Danny has a warped view of himself, Danny is neurodivergent, and Lancer should've been portrayed as an awesome teacher since the start because he was awesome.

700 notes • Posted 2021-06-11 09:10:12 GMT

#3

Mr Lancer: Where is your homework?

Danny, absolutely exhausted out of his mind after an all-nighter chasing a ghost and had no time to do said homework: A ghost ate it.

Lancer, realizing that's a plausible excuse: *sighs*

The rest of Casper High's student body, also realizing it's a plausible excuse: It's free real estate.

837 notes • Posted 2021-11-23 02:47:00 GMT

#2

Someone explain to me why Wes' immediate reaction to finding out the truth about Danny is "imma expose that mf".

Like, 1) not only is that a jerk move (and none of Wes' fucking business), but it's also basically outing him; 2) is he stupid? 'cause Danny can literally lift a bus and he could, like, kill Wes v easy; 3) if he's really so adamant about posting it online because he's an amateur reporter or "the truth must be heard" or whatever other shit, why does he never think about talking to Danny to get the whole truth? Like, is he that incompetent?

1067 notes • Posted 2021-04-28 07:06:39 GMT

#1

Valerie: Where is Danny?

Sam: Not that it's any of your business, Valerie, but he's busy.

*Danny crashes on their table as Phantom*

1068 notes • Posted 2021-06-23 03:02:09 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[theepost]

My Video Game Journey | Discovering Games & Game Play

When COVID-19 hit and the whole world went into quarantine, it felt like almost every single young adult was playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons. People who never normally played video games were buying gaming consoles just to play. Personally, I have never found a game that I enjoy and want to continue playing until my fiancé suggested this game. 

I am probably speaking for a lot of people here, but New Horizons is addicting. Don’t get me wrong I definitely had times where I felt very burnt out, but I still played every single day with only a few days missed between now and when I started playing in May 2020. That is pretty consistent, especially for someone who has never really played video games on a regular basis.

Growing up with parents who are against video games.

When I was younger, my parents did not allow us to play video games. Don’t get me wrong we were allowed to take turns playing games on our family computer, but we were never allowed to have a gaming console. My parents felt it would be a distraction from school and homework.

I'm not a parent, but I know there is a lot of back and forth about this topic between parents. Some think it's completely fine and helps kids learn how to manage their time between school, homework, and their personal lives. Other parents allow it, but are very strict about when their kids can use it. Then their are parents who are completely against it.

The way I look at it, however you want to raise your kids and teach them life lessons and life skills is completely up to you. Obviously don't abuse your kids, but whether they are able to play video games or not is completely fine either way. It's the parents choice and no one should be giving them a hard time about it. Well, unless you are the kid who wants to play video games and your parents tell you that you can't. I think at that point there is no avoiding the tantrums.

Getting my first handheld gaming console.

When I was in middle school or when I just starting high school, I asked my parents for the Nintendo Game Boy Advance SP for Christmas. I remember thinking they were never going to get it for me because they were so against my sisters and I playing video games. To my surprise, "Santa" left me a Nintendo Game Boy Advance SP under the tree that year.

The games that came with the Game Boy was Crash Bandicoot: The Huge Adventure and Need for Speed: Porsche Unleashed. Since I had never really played any video games before I wasn't on top of what games were new and trendy at the time, however I absolutely LOVED Crash Bandicoot: The Huge Adventure. I remember when I finished all the levels, I played them all again so I could have a perfect score.

I purchased a few other games after getting my Game Boy and The Simpsons: Road Rage was another game I enjoyed. If anyone ever reads this they are probably going to be completely surprised by what I am about to say, but I never really watched The Simpsons growing up. I know a lot of people did, but I never really got into it. For some reason though, I wanted to get The Simpsons: Road Rage. I played that game a lot, but I do not think I played it nearly as much as Crash Bandicoot: The Huge Adventure.

Around my senior year of high school I slowly stopped playing on my Game Boy. I was either at school, doing homework, working, or hanging out with my friends. There wasn't as much free time to play anymore. I am now 25 years old and to this day I still have my Game Boy. Cannot remember the last time I played on it, but I do not think I will every get rid of it. It was my first handheld gaming console, there are a lot of good memories with it, and it still works! I see no reason why I should or need to get rid of it.

Discovering Animal Crossing.

After I stopped playing on my Game Boy, I never really found a game that I consistently played. Usually when I found a game I would play it for a couple weeks to a couple months then would grow very bored of it and eventually uninterested. However my fiancé was big into playing video games and was mainly playing them on his Xbox One. If he was growing tired of a game, he usually had another one lined up.

At one point the Nintendo 2DS was very popular and was sold out everywhere. My fiancé really wanted one so he could play Pokémon Moon. Somehow, I managed to get my hands on them and surprised him for Christmas. He played that game for a few months to a year then he slowly stopped playing. One day I asked him why he stopped playing and he explained that he just grew tired of it. I completely understood because I have also been in that situation before with the games I played on my Game Boy.

To avoid having the 2DS sit and collect dust, I asked if he wanted to get another game for it. He didn't seem interested in any of the 2DS games they had to offer at the time, but he suggested a game to me that he thought I would enjoy. That is when he told me about Animal Crossing: New Leaf and Animal Crossing: New Horizons.

At the time, there was only Animal Crossing: New Leaf and Animal Crossing: New Horizons was scheduled to be released in the next few months. I believe this was around the end of 2019 and New Horizons was scheduled to release in early 2020.

After doing some research on the game, I was VERY excited. I purchased Animal Crossing: New Leaf for the Nintendo 2DS and I played all the time. Any downtime I had, I was playing. I LOVED this game! After playing for awhile, Animal Crossing: New Horizons was released and I wanted it so bad.

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At the time, Nintendo was completely sold out of the Nintendo Switch everywhere. They were insanely popular because of the new game release and since everyone was forced to quarantine due to COVID-19 everyone was stuck inside with nothing to do but play video games. The only console that was available was the Nintendo Switch Lite.

What is the difference between the Nintendo Switch and the Nintendo Switch Lite? The Switch can used when connected to a TV in the docking station provided, as a handheld, or as a tabletop display by using the kickstand on the back of the switch. The Switch Lite can only be used as a handheld.

Since I was so excited for the game and wanted to play so badly, my fiancé got me the Switch Lite as an early birthday gift. I really wanted the Switch, but since I am so impatient and Nintendo was not clear on when they would restock I decided that the Switch Lite would be perfect because I was use to using a handheld anyway.

Playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons.

When I finally started playing the game I played nonstop for hours a day. Collecting supplies, catching bugs, digging up fossils, popping balloons, catching fish, planting trees, planting flowers, designing the island, inviting new villagers, expanding my home... You name it, I was doing it. Anything to get a five star “aesthetic” island that is considered Pinterest worthy.

Like a lot of other people, I have completely redesigned my island countless times. There is nothing better than completely changing everything up to design a newly styled island. I have also completely restarted my island two times. Which I mainly did this because I did not want to go through the whole island and tare everything down, I didn't really like the villagers I had, and I also just wanted to experience the game again from square one. I have always enjoyed designing spaces and have always been really into art, so it feels like this game was made for me.

My future with video games.

When COVID-19 hit and the whole world went into quarantine, it felt like almost every single young adult was playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons. People who never normally played video games were buying gaming consoles just to play. Personally, I have never found a game that I enjoy and want to continue playing until my fiancé suggested this game.

I am probably speaking for a lot of people here, but New Horizons is addicting. Don’t get me wrong I definitely had times where I felt very burnt out, but I still played every single day with only a few days missed between now and when I started playing in May 2020. That is pretty consistent, especially for someone who has never really played video games on a regular basis.

Now that I have been playing New Horizons for about a year now, I feel like I am going to continue to play it for awhile. I will admit when I first got the game, I was playing it way too much. Recently I have been so much better about it and only play for about an hour a day. On days I feel very lazy and do not really want to do anything, I'll play for longer than an hour, but it also depends on what I am doing in the game at that time. I'm just glad I'm not spending all day playing anymore.

For me, I think video games are fun and good to play in moderation and I am not planning on cutting video games out of my life anytime soon. I know there are people who play video games hours daily or do it for a living. After that, on completely the other side of things, there are people who have never played video games and completely hate the idea of video games. Then there are people out there that say that they have tried playing video games and never enjoyed it, but I personally think they just haven't found their game yet. If you happen to be one of those people and you are reading this, do not give up on finding your game! Once you find it, you will be so happy you kept looking.

At the end of the day, do whatever makes you happy. I am just another person on the internet telling their story. If anyone ends up reading this, I hope you enjoyed and continue to read my future posts. There isn't really a plan on when I will be posting or what I will be posting about, but I do know I will be posting regularly.

- E