#dash and i are in every book ever <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[balkanlila]

the flower people are mean so you are getting your room openers when i get there or you get here<3

we march on every day, stand strong in our knowledge and keep only the stars our limit

my Audrey Hepburn happy women's day<33333

DASHHHHHH!!!!! Every day is Dash/Jo day, but today is our official day in the eyes of the civilization so we get to brag about it. To celebrate, I finished our book this morning in one breath as soon as I opened my eyes and it was perfect (because it was about us)!!! <3 <3 <3 <3🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

I LOVE YOUUUUUU!!!!!!!

[heartemis-real]

(unfortunate reality: nobody makes blogs exclusively to liveblog their entire experience of consuming the media i like) (wgat if i want to know...)

[frogwen]

-_-

[shoeistars]

no photos ! pt 2

incl. reo, barou, rin, sae, shidou

ʚଓ outline. where the boys keep their slutty polas of you <3

ʚଓ w. pro!players, 18+ content, minors dni, photos/polas, fem!reader, read at your own discretion as I don’t do individual tagging for element of surprise <3

ʚଓ pt 1 (isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, nagi)

reo : car dash

When Reo got his hands on his first hypercar, his main priority was keeping the thing clean. No trash, no eating inside of the vehicle, you weren’t even allowed to do your makeup when you’re playing your role of passenger princess. He just wanted to keep the interior spotless, despite the fact that he could buy as many overpriced vehicles as he fucking desired

So, when you hopped into the car one day and noticed the pola of you that he had resting against the dash of his brand new Bugatti, you were stunned. He hadn’t even put a goddamn air freshener on the rearview yet

Whenever you got around to questioning him, all he did was shrug, a smug grin on his face as he drove you to your nail appointment. After all, he got bored when he was sitting in traffic. The picture of you, perched on his California king with the prettiest bra and panty set hugging your body juuust right was worth bending a few rules over

barou : wallet

The polaroid itself was your idea in the first place. He didn’t really understand what the hell the hype was about, but he’d bend over backwards to see that pretty smile you’d give him when you got your way. Whenever he saw the photo, however, his perspective was changed immediately

You’d been hiked up onto a bathroom sink, always getting way too horny for your own good at events where attendance mattered. He’d sneak you away when you’d start touching on him and whispering dirty shit in his ear, never able to say no to his queen

Thus the birth of the pola nestled in his wallet, right beside his bank card. The view of his thick dick stretching your tightness out was too good to pass up, milky ring of cream wrapped around his base and spilling out of your hole. He just had to have it with him at all times

rin : under his pillow

Pushing the pussy whipped loser boy agenda for Rin because you’re most definitely his first love, the first girl he’s ever touched, fingered, fucked. Having popped his cherry, he can’t help but be completely enamored by you. The mere thought of you gets him hard and he hates that factor to his core

Which plays into why exactly he has a nasty polaroid of you tucked under his navy-clad pillow, right where he rests his head to sleep for the night. It’s safe there, it’s within easy reach for him to fuck his fist to when you’re too far away, which is too often for his own liking thanks to away games

The photo itself is his treasure, a simple one where you’re on your bruised knees, showing him what exactly a facial is. Although he loves you most barefaced, he can’t even lie and deny that your face dripping wet and sticky with his seed isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on

sae : checkbook

Weird place, sure, but there is nothing normal about Sae as a whole. In his eyes, there are three prizes in the world: wins, money, and you. The polaroid fits perfectly right where he has it

There’s nothing more rewarding to him than whipping out his checkbook to buy something big, just to be greeted with your cunt on full display, the photo clipped front and center onto the leather book cover

It’s a real looker of a photo too, his thumb spreading your glossy folds to show off the stream of his cum dripping out of your hole, coating your asshole in thick nut. All he can ever think about is how you whimpered when he licked it up after snapping the shot

shidou : pola wall

The consequences of dating a shameless, unhinged individual consists of your nudes being shown off any and every possible chance presented to him. He’s sick, sometimes unreasonable, but you’re too goddamn pretty for him to just hide away

Hence why he’s got a nice slab of white wall in his bedroom, fully dedicated to you. He calls it romantic, of course. All sorts of polas are taped up as decoration, different positions and scenarios

Maybe it’s awkward for guests that just so happen to step into his bedroom for whatever reason, but you like being shown off, don’t you? He figured a slut like you would wanna be put on display, considering you’re just like him

[checkeredflagggs]

Febuwhump Day 1: Vocal Cords

pairings: gen

summary: a story about y/n, Redbull’s new second driver, told in non-sequential order

a/n: I love febuwhump and have participated before for other fandoms but this is a first for me — attempting to compete it via smau only. Hopefully I can write a complete story eventually and I will be posting it on its own masterlist in the correct order to read but it’ll be written based on the febuwhump prompt list! @febuwhump

a/n2: based on the 2024 year; sorry checo but you got replaced earlier!

y/n_rb

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, and 1,183,932 others

y/n_rb: Bahrain here we come! This is gonna be our season!

view all comments

user1: you’ve got this girl!

↳user2: represent! So incredibly proud to be able to support a woman in f1!

↳user1: it’s been so long…

oscarpiastri: glad to have you here!

↳logansargeant: not sure I’d go so far…

↳y/n_rb: wow logie just say you hate women then!

↳oscarpiastri: yeah that’s not very feminist of you

↳logansargeant: I’ve been cursed by the universe

↳logansargeant: LET ME BE CLEAR — I DO NOT HATE WOMEN

↳logansargeant: it’s just y/n_rb is every intrusive thought you’ve ever had with a dash of no impulse control or thought-to-mouth filter

↳y/n_rb: hey!

↳oscarpiastri: no that sounds about right — just add a dash of no media training too

↳redbullracing: oh no…

↳y/n_rb: I have a contract! You ain’t getting rid of me so easily!

↳redbullracing: we’re scheduling media training sessions right away

↳logansargeant: good luck!

maxverstappen1: it’s great to have you on the team!

↳y/n_rb: oh my god it’s Max Verstappen!!

↳maxverstappen1: …we’ve met before?

↳y/n_rb: still!

↳user3: it’s not even the start of the season and she’s already bullying both her old F2 competitors and her teammate 😆😆

user4: proud y/n fan here! Having followed her since her F3 days I can say with full confidence that I’m so glad we’re gonna have a new grid terrorist again!

↳fernandoalo_oficial: 🤨🤨🤨

↳user4: besides you of course Mr Rookie sir

fernandoalo_oficial: ¡Hola! ¡Me alegro de verte finalmente aquí! hello! glad to finally see you here!

↳y/n_rb: Mr Fernando sir I’m a big fan! Do you have a couple of minutes to answer a few questions?

↳fernandoalo_oficial: Sí?

↳y/n_rb: score!

↳maxverstappen1: oh no

↳logansargeant: no no no

↳oscarpiastri: please don’t

↳redbullracing: the training book doesn’t have a chapter on what to do now…

↳y/n_rb: smile and wave boys. Just smile and wave

f1

liked by logansargeant, maxverstappen1, liamlawson30, and 2,197,284 others

tagged: y/n_rb, redbullracing, pierregasly, alpinef1team

f1: contact between redbullracing’s y/n_rb and alpinef1team’s pierregasly turned dangerous when y/n flipped! She was quickly freed from her car and airlifted to the nearest hospital. Still conscious during the crash and waving to the fans while taken to the helicopter, no further information is known on her injuries.

view all comments

user5: oh my god that was so awful

user6: I’m still sat in shock

maxverstappen1: Based on the text messages I’ve received in the last 10 minutes, she’s fine.

↳logansargeant: how many did you get? Cause I’ve gotten 82 in the last 3

↳maxverstappen1: 187 in 10 minutes

↳oscarpiastri: 23 in the last minute

↳liamlawson30: too many for the group chat. It broke my phone

↳user7: not even on the grid and still terrorizing them 😂 liked by y/n_rb

user8: why did they have to play her radio though…

↳user9: no that was fucking awful

↳user10: I don’t think I’ll be able to forget her screams

↳y/n_rb: skk food bsny!!

↳logansargeant: and that’s the concussion typing 😆

logansargeant

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, pierregasly, oscarpiastri, 2,284,469 others

logansargeant: “Tell that frenchie that I lived bitch!”

view all comments

user11: oh thank god

↳user12: that was one of the most harrowing crashes I’ve seen

user13: if that’s not a Gen-z response I don’t know what is

↳user14: I’m just glad she’s ok

pierregasly: 😑😑

↳pierregasly: well I guess I’m glad she’s ok

↳logansargeant: “JUST SAY YOU DONT LIKE WOMEN FRENCHIE!”

↳pierregasly: I LIKE WOMEN

↳y/n_rb: qe kniw TROPID$$$ SHIILS CSKL TJE PILICE ON U

↳logansargeant: I’ve taken her phone again but she meant “we know TRIPOD!!! SHOULD CALL THE POLICE ON YOU”

↳pierregasly: oh so she’s good

↳logansargeant: as good as she’s ever been

oscarpiastri: glad to see she’s ok!

↳logansargeant: some pretty shredded vocal cords and a nasty concussion but yeah she’s fine

↳oscarpiastri: ouch! Sending a gift basket!

↳logansargeant: “if that thing has a stupid apple in it I’m gonna save it and stuff it down your throat you stupid Aussie!”

↳oscarpiastri:…🫣🫣

↳maxverstappen1: apples?

↳oscarpiastri: don’t ask

↳logansargeant: don’t

↳liamlawson30: do not bring up that trauma again

↳logansargeant: “🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻”

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @nichmeddar @mxm47max @angelluv16 @voidvannie @justaf1girl

[the-ancient-dragons]

Welcome back to Overcomplicating the Pyrrhian Tribes! This week: the beloved RainWings!!

You know what's up. Joy Ang and Tui are so cool and I am just me.

Details and explanation below!

Otherwise, next week are the chilly IceWings! See you then!!!

More overcomplicated dragons.

I knew the RainWings would be really important, and I think they turned out the best of all the ones I've done. I think they're my favourite because they are basically the perfect mix of extra realism spice without altering Joy's design too much. The SkyWing design is awesome and I love it to bits, but it is one of the two that are the farthest from canon.

As for the RainWing.... I had. So. Much. FUN. I heavily used chameleons and snakes - they're basically the two main species on my research board - but there is a dash of cuttlefish and frilled lizard in there. Where, you ask? Well if you look closely, all over the RainWing are little tiny flecks of darker colour. I found a beautiful reference of a close-up on a cuttlefish eye. Its skin is dotted in thousands of little marks and I thought that would be perfect for the RainWing, who can camouflage just as well as them. I don't know if it's been discussed in canon but I bet they could animate their scales more than just colour shifting - cuttlefish are known for using their rapidly shifting patterns to hypnotize prey. RainWings could do it too, sort of like Ka from Disney's 2D animated Jungle Book.

Speaking of Ka - snakes. I love snakes. The head structure of the RainWing here is very smooth and rounded with muscles based on snakes like the python. I was even going to originally draw them in a venom striking pose and got as far as completing the lineart, but ultimately decided it wouldn't fit the calm portraits of the other tribes.

Will you see it in the future? Hell yeah! Pure, unhinged, magical death spit. Looking at it now I might try to alter it to be a full piece of Glory attacking Scarlet or Crocodile.

In the striking pose you can see the frills much better, but I still took my time on this serene pose (this is where the frilled lizard influence comes in). If you notice that I've drawn every scale (every single scale) then, yes, I am insane. If you didn't know that yet, you know it now. You have to draw guide lines and follow them meticulously while you wonder why you don't make a scale brush, and then cry because you know the randomness and imperfections that come from drawing a thousand circles is how it looks natural. The eye area is actually my favourite part, since drawing dragon eyelids was the original inspiration for doing this. Did I mention that? I wanted to draw eyelids.

EYELIDS.

I digress. Besides the eyelids, I like the frills on the action pose, but this pose is where I like the body scales more. When zooming in on my chameleon colour refs, I noticed the very rhythmical distribution of their scales and figured I would give it a try. They actually do have extra large circular scales along their bodies, which is where I guess the canon RainWing design gets it from. Very clever, Joy!

Anyway, on this version, those small circular scales appear on the face. Not only that, but I added a bit of influence from the snouts of my ref chameleons by extending the nose bridges to wrap around the nose horn. They blend in so seamlessly and that's the reason why I love this design - it's subtle, barely there, mostly Joy but a little extra.

Wow, I talk too much. If you're here, thank you! It's not mandatory to read, but very appreciated. I heard once that visitors at an art gallery look at each piece an average of 2-3 seconds. Or was it 3-6? Idk, but it was shockingly short, and ever since then I've tried to encourage myself to pay more respect to other artists and glean their work for little details I skip after that quick glance. I could talk so much more about these designs but that would be like an hour long video, each, lol. If you have questions about anything, ask away!

[galamalion]

𐕣. 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋, 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

summary. time inevitably approaches all, but an otherworldly suitor has other plans for you.

⤷ contents. yandere!vampire!chrollo lucilfer x fem!reader, yandere themes, imprisonment, unhealthy relationships, blood // wc. 2.0k

⤷ notes. a very happy birthday to @ddarker-dreams! i wanted to write something cute and evil as a thanks for all the chrollo treats she's given out! hope you enjoy! <3

Dusk began to creep in across the horizon, dimly counting down the few hours before night would fall, allowing the silver moon to take its place among the stars. Golden rays began to dim, passing through the extravagant window in the room you’d been staying in, casting a faint glow across furniture and floor alike. 

Perhaps ‘staying’ wasn’t the correct word to use, though. It made you sound like a visitor, which you certainly were not. The metal lock on the door, the same shade as the setting sun, sealed you into a plush and comfortable tomb, only allowed to wander beneath illuminating moonlight. 

It was the only time he was allowed out too, after all.

You remembered the first time you met that man—Chrollo, as he called himself, though perhaps he had gone by a different name in years past. He called you glorious, a singular rose in a field of boring dandelions, waiting to be plucked and worshiped by a kindred soul. As the daughter of a farmer, his honeyed words made you feel warm inside. Night after night you would meet with him in the woods beside your village, listening to him speak about poetry, books, and the world outside your own quiet one. He made you feel alive—like setting a helpless dove free from a poorly made cage of twigs.

If only he told you the dove was just flying into a golden prison. Maybe you would have run then, told your mother and father about the wicked and beautiful stranger in the woods. But his stories and words wove you into a web too tight to escape, and too alluring to even want to.

You sighed, both out of boredom and out of anguish. Your sleeping habits had changed since you’d been brought to this ancient castle. Now you would wake up just before sunset, giving you time to prepare yourself for Chrollo’s bothersome speeches. Back when you were younger you would have found them poetic—dashing, even. But now, all you wanted was for him to leave you alone. Return you back to your family, your friends, and your village.

The first time you’d ever begged him for that he just smiled, wiping tears off your lashes and running his hand gently through your hair.

“They’re gone,” he had cooed, coaxing your back. “There is nothing for you to return to, my dear.”

His words only brought more tears, and broken sobs along with it. A cacophony of anguished screams and hopeless crying continued night after night, and Chrollo had left you alone for them. He returned on the third night, comforting you through your discordant howling and tears, not saying a single word. Only gently stroking your hair and humming a lullaby ever so softly, bringing your wailing to a whimper as you dozed off to sleep, tears still running down your face.

You should have hated him after those words, hated him until the sun and the moon and every last star in the sky burnt out. Until your bones turned to dust and that dust turned to nothing, as all good things should. But instead, you let him comfort you, as he had done before. You let him hold you and sing to you and your hatred dissipated almost as quickly as it came. Now, the only person you can hate is yourself.

The resounding chime of a bell echoed throughout the castle, finding its way under the door and into your ears, and one look outside confirmed what the bell had just screamed to you. The moon, illustrious and horrid—a grim reminder of your fate, stood proudly amongst its brothers and sisters in the inky sky.

Oh, how you preferred the sun.

A loud knock on the door—one you’d grown to expect—caused you to stretch out of bed and to the middle of the room, throwing the closet open.

Dresses in onyx and sangria were all you had, each only slightly different in design. Some had lace trims, intricately made and without flaws. Others had slits so high you were certain your mother would have chased you out of the village herself. All chosen by Chrollo, of course. You didn’t even know what sangria was before you’d met him, a drink too rich for you to ever experience on your own.

“I’m not decent,” you called out, scanning your limited options. A faint chuckle was barely discernible through the thick wooden door, a sign that Chrollo would wait, though not for long.

You shuffled out of the loose nightgown and tossed it into a basket. With Chrollo breathing down the door you had almost no time to carefully choose your dress of the day—not that it particularly mattered to you. But it was better than letting Chrollo have control over another aspect of your life.

A simple black gown, without lace or an indecent alteration, was your choice. The neckline was plunging—far more than anything you wore—but you had learned to push your own feelings down.

“Modesty only matters when around others,” Chrollo had told you. “But here, it is just you and I. There is nothing to fear, my treasure. I am no beast.”

The fangs that creeped out from his smile warned you otherwise.

With a resigned sigh, you walked over to the door, gently rapping your fist against the thick wood. The door slid open with a loud creak—just like every other antique in the ancient palace. Your gaoler smiled upon seeing you, taking the time to look at your body.

“You resemble an ancient tome of poetry, appreciated only by its author,” Chrollo said, stepping into the room.

“Are you calling me old?”

“I apologize if you took it that way,” he chuckled, brushing a stray hair out of your face. “I merely mean to say that you are a sumptuous artifact, deserving of being remembered by history for all time.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and ignoring the shiver that never failed to arise when Chrollo was with you.  “I prefer a simpler life, thank you.”

“I believe this one suits you far better. If you gave it a chance, I’m sure you’d come to realize the same.”

“I liked my old one.”

“Come now, my dear,” he sighed, moving a cold hand across your shoulder blades. “You always insist on speaking of the past. Why not look towards the future? It has so much to offer you.”

“Have you grown bored of comforting me?” you spat, pulling away from his touch. “Where are your soothing words, your golden gifts? Have you found a new game to play?”

Chrollo frowned, not bothering to reach for you again. Instead his arms rested at his sides, peacefully. Lifelessly.

“I have grown tired,” he emphasized, “of your refusal to move on. I have given you so much, only for it all to be rejected. I thought time would sway your choice, but it appears that I have failed to consider your…stubbornness.”

His expression had changed in the blink of an eye, now sporting his usual disconcerting smile.

“Walk with me,” he commanded, already stepping out of the room.

Your feet moved against your will, gliding across the floor and after Chrollo. It was something you hated, even more than his smug attitude and unneeded grandiose vocabulary. You could always reject him with your words, but in the end he had the power to cut your actions short. An obnoxious monster, as always.

“I have been thinking,” Chrollo began, trailing the dark halls, “about us. And my offer. I believe that I have been…entertaining your behaviors for too long. Time is a fickle thing for beings like you, and I fear you may not have much left.”

“I’m not dying,” you snorted. “Or are you just worried that I might start wrinkling early?”

Chrollo laughed at your words, “I am not afraid of fine wine, my dear. Just that your behavior will soon spiral out of control. If something were to happen, I would hate to have to chase you down. That is all.”

Your walk ended in the garden, bushes towers high above you and Chrollo. It was a place that, despite its beauty, you weren’t too fond of. It was a maze of Chrollo’s making—intentional, knowing him. If something were to enter through the garden, they would never make it to the castle before Chrollo got to them. And more importantly, you would never make it out.

A clearing stood before you, a wooden pavilion with a dozen chairs surrounding a table. Where fancy ladies would meet for fancy tea and gossip about the fancy going-ons in the palace. Like in storybooks you would read as a child.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Chrollo said, approaching the table. Upon it laid a goblet, and, despite the distance separating you, you could make out the sharp gleam of a knife.

“Choices must be made my dear, and I’m afraid that this is one I must make myself. I cannot bear the thought of being without you, and I seek to make our union permanent.”

Chrollo raised a hand in your direction, willing you to stand right before him.

“I could sink my teeth into your throat,” he chuckled. “We would become closer, that way. But you are wearing a 12th century royal Gorteauan gown, and I’d simply hate to ruin it.”

Your blood ran cold as he grabbed the knife, bringing it between you. It was almost as sharp as his fangs, but just as dangerous.

You knew what it was for, undoubtedly. Chrollo had talked about it plenty—about turning you into what he was. About stripping your mortality and bringing you a step closer to eternity. To paradise, to Eden, he claimed. You always pushed against his wishes, though. Insisting you had more life to live, that you were too scared, anything to halt the inevitable. But Chrollo was inevitable, and at the end of the day, his wishes all came true. Never yours.

The knife made purchase with the palm of Chrollo’s hand, causing droplets of crimson blood to spill out from the wound. He brought his hand up to your face, close enough for you to smell the iron from the cut.

“You only need to ingest a little bit. More than a lick, of course. But I’m quite potent,” he smirked.

If you weren’t so terrified, you maybe would have chuckled. Maybe you would have ran.

Chrollo’s smile slowly fell as you continued to do nothing, “Go on. I would hate to force you to do this as well.”

You took a shuddering breath and looked at the pool of blood, “Will…will it hurt?”

“Not a bit,” Chrollo assured you, his smile returning. “It will be painless. You’ll fall asleep afterwards, and your old life will feel like a dream. A rebirth, if you will.”

He continued, “Just think of what you will be now. No longer and Eve, now a Lilith. You will have power, permanence among the living, and me."

“...And it won’t hurt?”

“Not a bit,” he smiled.

You slowly lifted his hand, still freezing cold, closer to your mouth. You let the blood touch your quivering lips, staining them crimson. Perhaps you looked alluring, shaking like a deer with your reddened lips. Especially to a beast like Chrollo. A beast you would soon become. 

With one final anguished cry, you drank of his blood. It was as cold as his body, perhaps even colder. It did nothing to freeze your nerves, nor stop the tears that rolled down your cheeks. Those, too, began to feel colder and colder.

Chrollo held you close, running his free hand along your shoulder, whispering sweet comforts in your ear. Already the world seemed to be getting darker as each touch felt more dull.

“Now, now, my dearest angel. Imagine what new heights we can reach,” he chuckled, wiping stray blood from your face.

“We have all of eternity to see them. Together.”

[kingkaisen]

HISTORICAL || LEVI A.

you & levi are historical figures.

OVER ONE HUNDRED YEARS AFTER THE BATTLE OF HEAVEN AND EARTH . . .

Eliza Harper was not particularly interested in history.

In fact, she often dozed off in the middle of class, right at her desk, listening to her teacher explain what exactly a titan was.

“Ugly monsters that have been extinct for like a hundred years now, I know, I know!” She would think, resting her chin in her palm as she watched the clock tick.

Every second that passed by was one second closer to being able to go home and hang out with her friends.

But, today, she learned about a group of heroes. A group of rather dashing heroes.

Her best friend, Anna, rambled on and on about being the descendant of an Eldian hero named F/N L/N, who — according to paragraph 3, section A — married another hero named Levi Ackerman.

And, well, that led to Eliza and her friends all hovering over a history book in the middle of their lunch period.

“This guy right here is really cute,” One redheaded girl said, pointing to a photograph of a blonde-haired man.

Eliza scanned her eyes over the tiny paragraph below his photo, squinting as she read his name aloud, “Armin Arlert . . . fifteenth commander of the Survey Corps . . . blah blah blah . . . oh! He’s the one who killed Eren Yee-gar!”

“It’s Yeager, idiot,” Anna said, playfully rolling her eyes. “But that’s not what really happened. This woman right here,” Anna leaned over, flipping two pages ahead. “This woman right here is named Mikasa Ackerman. The story in my family goes that she’s the one who really killed Eren! Such a shame, too. Eren was pretty handsome.”

“Okay,” the redheaded girl scoffed, “you did not just call that mass murderer cute.”

“How would you even know that?” Eliza blinked up at Anna, who took a bite of her sandwich, getting crumbs all over the history book. “There aren’t any real pictures of him. Just drawings. How can you say whether or not they’re accurate?”

“Have you been listening?” Anna took another bite of her sandwich. “I’m pretty much related to these people! I know everything. Did you know Levi Ackerman and F/N L/N were the strongest titan killers ever? And I’m related to them, so you guys should be a little nicer to me.”

The other two girls giggled.

Truth be told, Anna had often brought evidence to school regarding her family status in the form of old letters and pictures. But, even without the evidence, no one would dare question her story, as it meant that not only did she have some Eldian blood running through her veins, but she was related to former Island Devils as well. And peace was a funny thing. Not everyone in Marley had picked peace over hatred, and they raised their families to have the same poisonous mindset.

Things were better, certainly, but they weren’t perfect.

Even so, Anna was undeniably proud of her ancestors; she flipped through the history book eagerly with glistening eyes that shined bright with admiration.

“Tell us something else about these people,” Eliza smiled at Anna, who leaned in instantly with a wide grin of her own.

“Okay, so,” flipping a couple of pages, Anna paused as she spoke, “F/N L/N and Levi Ackerman didn’t get married and have children until after the great battle, but they were in love with each other for years before then! Both of them were in the Scout regiment together, fighting titans and saving each other’s lives — it’s so cute! And-And decades later, Y/N died of old age, and Levi died of a broken heart right after.”

“Well,” the redhead darted her eyes between her two friends, “that’s depressing.”

“Can you imagine someone loving you so much that when you pass away, they die soon after because they’re so heartbroken? I hope I can love someone that much someday,” Eliza sighed softly.

“Me too,” Anna said.

The three girls continued to flip through the history book together, even bothering to plan out who they’d want to dress up as for their school’s upcoming Dress Up Day.

As Eliza looked down at your photograph on page 57, she so desperately wanted to dress up as you, her favorite historical figure.

And, as she flipped the page to take a look at your deceased husband, she so desperately wanted to experience an adventurous love story as great as yours as well.

[eternal-sunshine-222]

Oie, Sunshine

If you're not too busy, could you write something about Patrick Hockstetter? The idea would be to show him in a relationship with a girl who is completely the opposite of him, but still keeping his personality true to the character.

I was thinking of something where she truly loves Patrick and cares about him, despite him being... well, him. She would be a kind and affectionate person most of the time, someone who tries to take care of him both emotionally and physically, doing her best to please him and win a little of his attention and affection. She would be emotionally fragile, passionate about animals (never ask Patrick what’s in the fridge 💀), and she would have a black bunny as a pet (yes, a very specific detail, kkkkk).

Please. :3

I love detailed requests, thank you so muchhh!!! Book acurate Patrick is one of my favorites by far. And him with a girl completely opposite of him??? I love it!!!

INFATUATED - PATRICK HOCKSTETTER X READER

Characters: Patrick Hockstetter, fem!reader, Henry Bowers, Victor Criss, Belch Huggins, The Losers Club

Warnings: cursing, mentions of dead animals, mentions of death, mentions of decay, mentions of gore

She was new in Derry, which meant she was also ignorant. Ignorant to all things bad and evil, ignorant to all things Patrick Hockstetter. But being new also meant that she was the sole focus of everyone in the small town.

She had gorgeous eyes, resembling the brightest jewels there ever was or will be. Her clothes were of the most fashionable and pristine fabrics you could find, coming in multiple variations of her favorite colors. You could tell just by looking at her that she had a bright and caring demeanor about her, and an even brighter future.

Patrick Hockstetter, in this sense only, also had his entire attention on this new girl, this new conquest, this new...infatuation. Yes, that's what it grew to. An infatuation.

He watched her for hours, days, weeks, and eventually months. Peeking into her classes while skipping his own. Skipping out on hanging out with Henry Bowers and the others, though he didn't make any excuses to them all. He didn't need to. Henry knew not to come in between Patrick and his "interests" as he liked to call them. Because once Pat had his eyes set on something he did not stop until it was his. And boy were his eyes set.

At first, Patrick's thoughts were only about how he could corrupt her innocence, how he could ruin her. Maybe he'd show her his pencil case, full of flies and beetles with their wings and legs torn off ruthlessly. Or maybe his refrigerator in the middle of the woods, filled with dead and decaying animals, many of which he'd killed himself.

'No,' he thought. 'Can't do that.'

Overtime as he watched her he saw how much she cared for those around her, and not just people either. She cared for the birds that sang in the trees, whistling out to them every morning as she left her house. She cared for the ants in their hills, careful not to step on them and crush their home. She even cared for the slugs in the rain, moving them off of the sidewalk and into the cool wet grass so they didn't get squished by someone's shoe or tire. It was during one of these occurrences of him watching her leave her house for school that he decided to approach her finally, ready to conquer.

This lovely girl, filled with nothing but love and life, had exited her house in a rush, school books gathered in her arms and slightly scuffed up loafers on her feet. She was late for school. Patrick knew of course, wondering himself if she would even be leaving her house today, though he knew she would be going at least somewhere if not school. He'd seen her getting dressed in her room, peaking inside from between her open blinds.

It was while she was exiting her front door that she tripped, dropping everything while her legs kicked backwards knocking the front door open wide with a bang. Out dashed a small black void, faster than The Flash himself. It ran towards Patrick who had just rounded the corner of her house in his dirty jeans and destroyed boots. He stumbled back as the now seen rabbit tried to scale his leg. If he hadn't have known that it was hers he would've punted the furry little thing right then and there. Instead, he picked it up carefully and walked it over to her where she was on her knees on the slightly wet concrete from the rain the night before, stacking her books back up in her arms.

She hadn't even noticed her furry little friend had escaped until she had reclosed her front door and turned around, coming face to face with her. A small yelp left her mouth and she almost dropped her books again, not expecting to come into contact with her now eye level pet. She looked up at Patrick with wide eyes.

'She startles easily,' he thought to himself, a small smirk making its way onto his chiseled features. His smile only widens when he sees her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.

"He yours?"

She doesn't answer back for a few seconds, entranced with this boy she'd never seen before holding her dear rabbit. When her eyes refocus she sees Patrick still standing there, an eyebrow now cocked upwards the slightest bit.

"Oh! She, but yes." She leans over carefully and sets her textbooks down on the step to her front door. When she turns back around he's already handing the sweet fuzzy creature back to its owner.

Patrick waits outside for her as she takes her back inside. When she reemerges she's got colorful bandages on her scraped up knees from her fall, the dirt and pebbles cleaned out of them. He makes a scoff noise at the sight of the Tom and Jerry figures on them, though she doesn't hear him.

'Of course she'd have band-aids like that.'

He's so caught up in staring at her that he hasn't realized that she's already walking down the sidewalk towards Derry High School, only noticing when she calls back to him. Now it's his turn for his cheeks to turn pink. Involuntarily of course.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, only the soft clunking of Patrick's boots on the concrete heard, until she speaks up.

"Thank you for catching her. She's so fast, I would have never been able to catch her without your help." She peeks up at him from her spot beside him, arms clutching her books a tad bit closer to her chest.

Patrick just nods and puts his hands in his pockets, glancing down at her quickly, though in his mind he's practically jumping with joy.

'She's practically at my feet already.'

She's quiet the rest of the way to the school, the only sounds leaving her being her soft breathing and the few short whistles she gives to the birds like always. Even though she's late she still takes her time doing what she usually does.

Before the two of them can enter the school Patrick reaches out and grabs her arm harshly. She doesn't flinch like he expects her to from the tight grip he has on her. Instead she just looks up at him curiously.

"Patrick." He only says his name.

She smiles at him with her lip gloss coated lips and she gives him her name though he already knows it. They then travel indoors and he walks her to her class, leaving only when he can see that she's seated.

~~~

Being a member of The Bowers Gang has its perks. People leave you alone, they're scared of you. Even the teachers won't bother to do anything but give out detentions and lower their grades. But of course it also has its lows, one of which being the shit talking that happens about you to the new students. Patrick is no exception.

The end of the school day arrived fairly slowly for Patrick's new obsession. She had wanted eagerly to see if she could catch up with him again after school, maybe walk back home with him since he seemed to live out that way (he definitely did not, the complete opposite actually). But just like this morning nothing went how it was supposed to.

She hadn't even stepped one foot outside of her last class of the day when someone grabbed her arm. She knew it wasn't Patrick. His grip was rougher as were his hands, covered in callouses from who knows what. Maybe he did yard work or was an artist or maybe he even played guitar or something. All she knew was that she liked the feeling of his hands on her. They felt...new.

These hands were a lot softer and when she looked down she saw clean cut nails and pale skin with small freckles dotted around the knuckles. Following the freckled skin upwards she was met with the sweet face of a girl maybe a couple years her junior. Her eyes were a bright yet simultaneously cloudy blue, a flaming piece of hair dangling down over one.

Before Derry's newest resident could utter a word to this strange little girl she spoke quiet and fast, urgency in her voice.

"Stay away from Patrick."

She frowned in confusion. What was so bad about Patrick? He was so sweet to her this morning. Sure, he was quiet but who didn't love a little mystery? She voiced these thoughts to the mystery girl with the red hair.

"He's not who he seems. It's all an act. Trust me, he's evil." The girl lets go of her arm and leaves without another word, no name or anything.

She watched the younger girl walk down the hallway and get lost in the crowd of others before turning and walking the opposite way herself, looking back only one with a frown still on her face. But it seems that luck actually is on her side today unlike what she had previously thought. Standing by a blue Trans Am parked down by the road is Patrick with three others, though he looms over them all as the tallest. His back is to her and he can't hear her soft steps in the grass as she approaches but the others see her and signal to each other.

The softness of her fingertips graze Patrick's arm and he's quick to react, turning around quickly and pushing her up against the tree by her throat. When he recognized her face he's hesitant to let her go. Her reaction isn't what he expected at all. Her eyes are calm and a small smile plays along her lips, books still clutched against her test though just a tad bit tighter than usual. Patrick furrows his thick brows and lets her go easily.

She doesn't react at all really, as if the action hadn't even happened. She just stands and looks up at Patrick with wide eyes and a small kind smile on her face.

"Hello, Patrick."

He hates to admit it but he loves the sound of his name on her lips.

"I figured, well, since you walked with me here today that maybe you'd want to walk back with me? Maybe come inside for a little bit?" She digs the tip of her shoe into the damp grass, not too caring of the wet mud smudging over it.

Henry, Belch, and Vic can all be heard sniggering at her invitation, wondering who this chick is and why she seems to be inviting Patrick fucking Hockstetter to a tea party. They're even more surprised when Patrick accepts with a smirk pulling at his lips.

It soon became a normal occurrence for Patrick and her to venture to and from school together. He did it so much in fact that he had barely seen any of his friends aside from during what was supposed to be their classes. Hell, he spent so much time with her that he actually started to develop a somewhat friendly relationship with her rabbit.

The first couple times he had come into contact with the small furry creature he had grimaced anytime it came near him. These were the kind of animals he kept in his fridge in the woods, decayed and slaughtered. Animals - alive animals, that is - were never his forte. He couldn't stand the furry ones. If he had to choose he'd definitely prefer something scaly and badass looking. But over time he grew to actually care for the fuzzy little bastard - he never called it by its name, referring to it as only that.

~~~

It has been a few weeks since her and Patrick have started their routine and she couldn't have been happier. He was so sweet to her in her mind, and he was although it had all been an act at first. But just like with her rabbit he had slowly gained feelings for her just as she had with him. The moment he realized was a rough one for them both.

Both teens were relaxing in her living room, her little black rabbit darting all over the room. She was down on her haunches playing with her furry little companion, loud laughs erupting from her perfect lips. Patrick stared at her, a large smile on his own face. She looked amazing, so perfect and precious. These thoughts pushed themselves into his brain and once they did his smile faltered before dropping completely.

'Fuck.'

Patrick stood up suddenly, startling both her and her rabbit who darted under the sofa. She stood up from the floor and looked into his darting eyes with worry.

"Pat? Is everything okay?"

She reaches forward with short, pink manicured nails to gently touch his arm as if to comfort him but he jerks out of her reach wildly, almost stumbling from the force of his own actions.

"Don't touch me," he says lowly. "I gotta go."

With those last words he stomps toward her front door and slams it behind him, rattling the frame. She stands, confused at Patrick's behavior. Her rabbit crawls out from under the sofa and the two girls make eye contact.

"What do you think that was all about?"

It's days before her and Patrick talk again. She walks to school by herself for those days, almost late on the first because she was waiting for him to show up. Her mood sours over the course of these few days, especially because of the attention she's attracting now that Patrick isn't with her. Normally these people would leave her alone or at least act nicer to her because of her association with him alone. But now they all seem to be making fun of her, calling her daft for believing that he actually liked her and all sorts of other nasty things.

It's during one of these confrontations that Patrick shows up. She's almost in tears from the words these kids are saying to her. They're obviously younger, Freshmen maybe. And, boy, do they have the audacity. They aren't necessarily saying anything bad, just making her extremely uncomfortable.

Her back is against the lockers. She's caged in in the empty hallway with two boys surrounding her, laughing at her reaction to their words. The loud clunking of boots can be heard from around the corner. She thinks at first that maybe it's a teacher but once they get closer she recognizes the pattern and her heart rate speeds up. Her suspicions are confirmed when she sees Patrick's tall lanky figure appear.

The two make eye contact and his jaw clenches at her teary eyes. If anyone was going to make her cry it would be him. Only him.

Patrick stalks over to the boys and yanks them away by their shoulders, one of them stumbling to the floor and another into a set of lockers. He says nothing, just sending them a look that sends them scurrying off in opposite directions. Once they're gone he turns back to look at her, a softer look upon his face (as soft as he can get anyway). She sniffles and rubs her nose and cheeks with the back of her sweater covered hand, the other hand holding her books close to her chest as always.

They stare at one another for a moment before he takes ahold of her hand and roughly pulls her into his chest, resting his head on top of hers. She releases a heavy breath that she didn't know she was holding and relaxes into him.

"Thank you," she mumbles into the fabric of his shirt.

He says nothing, only pulling away and leaning down so they're eye level. And then he kisses her as gently as he can. Patrick has never done this, kissed someone without plans to fuck them. And he had to admit it was one of the most pleasant feelings in the world, kissing her.

She stands there in shock with flushed cheeks after, to which he smirks at her.

"Okay?"

She nods wordlessly, still staring up at him, before swallowing thickly and finally speaking.

"Does this mean we're dating now? Like, boyfriend-girlfriend?"

Her head cocks to the side as she asks this question and he laughs at her but nods nonetheless.

~~~

Once the students in the school find out that she and Patrick are dating she's treated nicer than she ever was before. While they never approach her themselves they do play nice if she does. She doesn't quite notice their behavioral change. Instead she's focused solely on Patrick and showing him exactly how much she loves him. She thinks it's obvious that he never got the love he needed when he was younger and what better time to start giving it to him than now?

Gosh, this took me so long! Writers block is horrible and paired with many other wips, my goodness! I hope you like it. I'm thinking of making this a two parter. Let me know what you guys think <3

[the-quaint-quail]

jade leech -

-likes to think he’s found a kindred spirit.

you both playing this little, game every time you grace the monstro lounge with your presence.

the tea game, he muses to himself one day.

sitting you down in a cicular booth facing the giant aquarium, jade would hand you a small, black leather menu and the monstro’s signature plum leather menu. both having gold dipped edged you’d use to peel them open and look at their insides.

the smaller menu, the one you would only get and your friends would crowd around you once it was in your hands, trying to peer inside at it’s secrets- was a special menu.

a secret one.

only jade and azul had the authority to give out these menus- floyd showing time and time again that he’d hand them out just to screw with the two, had his privileges revoked.

it always made jade smile when he’d set down your special meal, your friends eyes lighting up the cool, dim lighting of the resturant. their eyes hubgrily eating up every detail of the dish.

honeyed ham

seasoned sea food boil

shrimp ala- whatever.

while your two friends from heartslabyul were stuck with the ‘surf ‘n turf,’ you were out here eating like a king.

jade’s quick, gloved hands ready to slap away any sticky fingers- paws that tried eating from your plate. his plate.

jade could care less about the roasted lamb, or the fish heads packed with flavors.

your relationship blossomed from tea. the leaves that jade would expertly mix and seep into a perfect blend for each customer. his own inventions being placed on the secret menu, or promotions for a monstro event that had the customers vying for more.

jade would watch with a baited breath as you took a sip, lashes fluttering closed so you could focus on your taste buds.

a scrunched face meant you didn’t like it, lifted brows meant you were pleasantly surprised, and when you would swoosh it around your mouth like mouth wash? well, that meant jade had won.

the first few tomes you were at the lounge you would order a different tea and a light snack- sometimes a salad and other times 3 whole crabs for you and grim. jade remembers that day, when it was you 5 in a booth, very clearly.

have you heard about the joke where you, grim, and 3 crabs walked into a bar?

besides the point-

jade was watching you scan the menu, a stink on your face as you were stuck on the teas.

he remembers floyd calling you ‘weird’ when jade brought the order to the kitchen. ‘who orders tea with crab?’ his face contorted in disgust as a minnow swims around floyd. he always had a way of bending his environments to his will.

but jade just stares at the ticket, “yes,” he says, “how weird indeed”

“oi get that creepy smile off yer face. yer creep’n me out”

as usual jade seeps your tea and you drink it. he knows you. your tea.

there’s something so intimate about knowing exactly how someone likes their tea that gives jade satisfaction.

you put your trust in his hands. his cynical, conniving hands.

he could spit in your tea ya know. he’s done it before to especially annoying customers. who think they’re in control because he’s serving them. mix up with a pinch of salt, or a dash of sriracha sauce and he’s grinning ear to ear as they down it.

oh lovely.

—

but he’d never do that to you.. he hopes he doesn’t have to anyways.

it takes you 3 more visits and a menu change to finally convince azul to let you in on the monstro’s little secret.

jade, as he brags, harassed azul to put more teas on the menu. when he did add 2 more jade deemed it, ‘not good enough.’ azul buying into it (for profit) added teas to the daily specials.

“not good enough. i have an audience to apease and you are stifling my creative endeavors. i will not tolerate such a-“

“just give her the menu jade! sevens above!-“

if jade leech ever did skip, he’d be on his way over with a hop in his step and a click of his heel.

so you can obviously imagine his grin as he places the leather book in your mitts, your friends asking where theirs is- only to get ignored.

“please do not share the contents inside with other parties. this is strictly for our monstro vip’s and will be confiscated if you cannot follow our rules.” he bows in thanks as you voice your agreement.

turning his heel he can practically hear the chaos ensuing as your friends try reaching and peeking.

“tropical darljeeng, wonder how’ll it’ll work” you grin as jade jots down your order. you had told him to give you whatever he wanted to give you. ‘dealers choice�� to be more specific.

…what jade won’t ever tell anyone is that he made that tea thinking of you.

it was a black tea, infused with an opposing flavor. tropical against a woodiness

, you and him. a child of the sea and child of the land. never meant to work and mix yet has a unique addicting flavor to it.

non tea enjoyers would know that darjeeling is more… robust.

it can turn off people just from the description- tropical tea with a black tea?? are you nuts?!

yes. yes he is.

and so were you it seems

so jade is pleasantly surprised when you ask him for another cup the moment you took a sip…

he leaves his number under the tea mug, and gets a text an hour later.

how amusing

[strawbairicake]

hear me out

jing yuan~ cat cafe owner au ? (he is the owner yk) do what you wish with it, go wild 🎤

the cutest café owner!- jing yuan x reader (cat café owner au!)

synopsis: in which you slowly realize you’re in love with the smooth-talking café owner, but you don’t know he’s the owner.

warnings: none! this is very fluffy and wholesome because i said so! except maybe the last couple of lines hehe (the implications of them anyway) >:3

word count: 384

author’s note: Zoie! thank you so much for participating, i had a lot of fun making this and hope you enjoy it! <3

book n’ dash event 

tagging: @zoieru

cat cafés have become your happy place after work. when work was too rough on you, you’d head to the café for that much needed serotonin boost; and as much as it shouldn’t work, it did. and life would be okay because the cat person in you was happy. every time you went in the café, you wouldn’t fail to notice the very nice (and very attractive) man who always stood behind the counter. it made you wonder if he was the only one running the café. the stress on that poor man must be immeasurable. so when you come in, one Friday after a particularly stressful day of work, Jing Yuan sees you enter and greets you with a soft smile. 

“(Name), right?” 

“the one and only,” you joke. he chuckles. you’ve gone through this charade for almost a year, now, and it’s funny how the same joke hits the same every single time. you order your usual before sitting down and petting a few kittens. Five minutes later, Jing Yuan places your typical drink and a bonus treat, your favorite pastry, on your table.

“what’s this?” 

“on the house. one of those days?” 

“thank you. you have no idea.” and you both chat about everything and nothing all at once. you’re mid-sentence when a cute almost white kitten comes up to you, jumping on the table and headbutting your hand. you look at this particular kitten in shock since a) you have never seen this particular kitten before and b) this was the cutest kitten you have ever seen in your life. 

“ah that’s Mimi, she’s actually my kitten who I bring in with me from time to time. I own the café, actually.” Jing Yuan explained as you pet her some more. the shocked look on your face as he revealed he owned the shop was nothing short of priceless to him, it made him laugh quite a bit. 

“She actually dislikes most people but you seem to be different. She likes you quite a lot.” 

and in your heart of hearts, you knew you were falling for the adorable kitten and owner duo. whether he knew it or not was something to be determined later. but for now, basking in this sweet moment seems like the right thing to do…

©2025 strawbairicake. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.

[h2llish]

⁀➷ ˖ tough love

notes ─── we love rollo <3 so this is my contribution to @cloudcountry 's event!

ROLLO FLAMME ─── if you don't care, you're not sure anyone will.

warnings ☆ fluff, some comfort, can be read platonic or romantic, gender neutral, reader is not yuu, playful teasing, lowercase intended, takes place after the event btw

the sky had become dashed with yellows and pinks as the sun began to set, and many of your peers began to retire from the rush of class. you would've liked to join them, but like clockwork, your routine left you climbing the belltower as the time on your watch struck six, with your books abandoned at the bottom for you to come back to. (if anyone stumbled across your belongings, they knew to leave it be, far too used to the routine of you and their president.)

you believe you had come to recognize every miniscule difference in the planks with how often you'd climb them, navigating the corners like your body had memorized every turn. and perhaps it has, since you've been climbing the belltower for more than a year every day to meet him at the top.

"there they are!"

you smiled and tilted your head respectfully as you reached the top of the tower, greeting the gargoyles that lived with the bell. they'd come to recognize your face, knowing you by name, and always waiting for you to reach the top at the same time, every day. ─ you'd only ever been late once, when you hadn't been aware of the quicker passage to the top. but since then, you'd always be there, even when you fell ill with a cold, or found it difficult to walk after a bad bout of food poisoning (specific, perhaps, but it did happen, and yet you still came at the exact time in which you promised you would. even if that did lead you to receiving a long scolding).

one of the gargoyles, who had always been more talkative, and seemed much older compared to the rest, waited to gesture over to the bell, where you could just barely see someone sitting on the other side. "we're especially quiet today."

"is that so." you sighed, gripping the bag on your shoulder with a lazy shrug, nodding at the gargoyle in your thanks.

rollo hardly batted an eye when you took up spot beside him, setting the bag down safely, and leaning back on your hands with an exaggerated sigh. "you know, having to climb all these stairs every day, gets exhausting." you said ─ a jab, you always made sure to poke at him. it was a test, something you've done since you were kids. you'd learned that his reactions to your jokes always told you how he was feeling, how open he was to talk to you.

"then stop climbing every day." he replied, rolling his eyes but not giving you the satisfaction of a glance your way.

you gasped, as dramatic as he'd known you to be, "but this is my time where i have you all to myself! i'm offended you'd say such a thing!"

"you're ridiculous."

"says the guy who is brooding all alone here in a tower." you snickered, and he finally looked at you, sending you a glare. but you hardly felt any anger behind it; at least not at you. ─ the anger you were used to seeing since the incident was always directed elsewhere, stewing, grieving.

"i'm not brooding." he scowled, and you raised your eyebrows, as if challenging that claim.

"sure you're not." you clicked your tongue and grinned.

he was talkative today, expressive ─ a rare occurrence with him. you'd consider it your lucky day if you didn't know he's only ever like this when his guard is down because he's simply too tired to keep it up. he's known you since you were small, you'd been there since the start of it all, and yet he still found it so difficult to relax. ─ you knew why, and you grieved for him when he could not.

he went silent, a scoff his final jab at your teasing, turning his head back out to the city that the bell overlooked, watching over it like a knight to its queen. the same city you can still vividly remember being covered in flickering flowers that drained you of the magic you built up if only to be at his side when he got into the college. ─ you remember being in the dorms, attending to any students who might need your help. and you remember when they started to fall unconscious. you remember looking outside as the flowers spread, until you too, went dark, only to wake sometime later with the mission of finding rollo to make sure he was okay. (he was, and you think you know why.)

"are you hungry?" you asked, crossing your legs and leaning forward.

"no."

"liar." you quickly rebutted, turning your head to him with narrowed eyes, "you didn't eat lunch."

"and how do you know that?"

"i know everything, my dear rollo." ─ you always made sure he was taking care of himself, always there to support even when he remained oblivious to it. you remember making that promise to yourself as a kid, to look out for him when no one else would, when he didn't know how to grieve, and he scowled and cursed at every mage that crossed your sight.

you grabbed the bag at your side and reached into it, pulling out sandwiches and bottles of water, "i brought you something to eat." you held it out to him with a look that told him he had to take it. he did, and he didn't need to say thank you because you knew that when tomorrow comes, he'll have your favorite pastry waiting for you, like he always did when you make sure to care of him where he lacked. "i would've cooked for you, but alas, i simply had no time."

"thank the stars." he sassed, and you would've gasped in surprise if you hadn't been expecting. ─ he really was so talkative today, lucky you.

"we are still sitting at the top of the tower."

"your threats have no effect on me." he scoffed, before taking a bite of the unwrapped sandwich.

you snorted and glared at him with faux annoyance, "see if i ever come back here."

a side glance as he chewed, before he jabbed back, "what happened to having me all to yourself?"

"i can manage."

"you're much too terrible at lying."

he's right, but you think that applies only when it came to your care for him.

and you know it will be the same tomorrow. ─ just as your watch strikes six, when the sky is painted with yellows and pinks as the sun begins to set, and many of your peers begin to retire from the rush of class. and although you would like to join them, you'd still find yourself at the belltower, like clockwork, with your books waiting for you to return to them, and a bag on your shoulder with sandwiches inside because you'd know he'd probably forget to eat lunch. and you'd find something else to jab at him about, to see how he's feeling, and know what he needs you to be.

because you made a promise to care for him, because you're not sure anyone else will.

do not repost, translate, copy, or run my writing through an ai

[lovedivers]

Hii! 🌟

So..i want ask for request about CEO ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

What if one day reader is caught sketching the CEO in some fancy clothes? Would he like to wear this for reader?

(Thank you in advance! Hope u have really good day 👁️〰️👁️)

/// sorry for my English kinda bad at grammar (ง’̀-‘́)ง

He'll wear anything you make.

💌 ⤻ THE CEO, Adrian Houde

—> he's your muse, you're his obsession.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader has a crush on Adrian, obsessive behaviour, posessive thoughts, snooping, fluff, red flags but they aren't so apparent.

notes: i altered the prompt a bit, i hope you don't mind but thank you for the ask! i'm glad you like adrian as much as i do. feel free to send in more asks! love the cute emoticons btw <3 did not proofread, we die like men.

Adrian strolled about the fashion department, his hands raking across the abandoned tables now that everyone had headed home. He rolled up his sleeves to check the time as he walked past the messy and cluttered desks, the heels of his shoes clacking against the floor.

One might ask, what was the CEO of the company doing so late at the fashion department? Everyone had gone home, clocking off early for the holidays — even the ever-busy fashion team — except him. His blue eyes raked across the table as he searched for your table, and finally, he came across it and smiled.

You didn't have a table before, you cramped alongside the lower level employees but well, Adrian pulled some strings here and there for you to get your own table.

It also made it easier for him to look through your belongings.

"Hm?" He hummed when he saw an unfamiliar book on the table. He had memorised every detail of your table, to the point where he knew where you put your emergency snacks — sometimes even refilling them for you anonymously — but this sketchbook was new.

He knew it was wrong to sneak into someone's belongings, and his grandmother would no doubt absolutely pulverise him for such ungentlemanly actions but you already belonged to him. You didn't, but you would soon.

He was slowly cracking you down, he knew. Adrian could still see the blush on your face when you were caught staring at him for too long.

His nimble hands reached for the book and flipped through them. The pages crinkling in his hands as he gazed at all of the different designs. His eyes slowly widened as he recognised the dimples on the model's face, the tousled blonde hair, the dashing pale blue eyes, and the silhouettes you had crafted just for him. The suits, some dresses, some eccentric, some more subdued, and multiple designs made with styles he had a penchant for.

He smiled, knowing that you had to have been observing him rather closely to be able to craft such flattering outfits for him.

"Hah," he breathed out, feeling his cheeks heat up. "You're driving me crazy." He whispered to himself as he felt his entire body grow hot.

He continued to flip through the pages, taking in the sight of him as your muse. He almost wanted to hop in his car and drive off to your house now just to kiss you but he had to restrain himself.

He was a gentleman; even if he snuck into your belongings. He would wait for a while more. His grandmother had always said that a prolonged courting period was needed, filled with flowers, chocolates, gifts, and, of course, polite flirting.

He placed the book on the floor and snapped a few pictures, making sure to make it look accidental, like he had just stumbled across it and sent it to you.

Adrian. H: Stumbled across a cute little thing on the way to a late-night meeting. Mind if I get it privately made? I'd love to wear something you made.

He smirked, knowing that you would fluster. He just wished you were here just so he could see colour fill your face. He made a note to visit the fashion department during lunchtime just to tease you further. Maybe he'd even wear something akin to your designs tomorrow.

He just wanted to get this courting phase over so he could wrap you in his arms like a snake and never let go.

Your sketchbook was practically an invitation for him to do so.

[1920sladydectective]

Romans V Elephants - Professors AU 2.9K

Here it is my loves, part one of my modern Professor x Student AU.

I hope you like it, hoping for it to be around 3/4 parts.

No smut in part one as its just the set up, but boy oh boy is it coming.

Let me know!!

tag list: @nikaachuuuu @shinyshayminflower @chocolate-quotes @fruitfulfashion @wolfessa @lia-winther @ivorydevil @borderline-fixated

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61817521/chapters/158064463

She's Got A Wicked Smile, Angel Eyes:

Gentle summer sun lingered on the autumn winds as you slipped through the ancient cobbled halls with a steady thwack thwack thwack. 

Cambridge was as imposing and beautiful as you’d hoped. It spoke for itself, history resting tenderly in every crack and crevice. You didn’t belong yet, but you were determined to pretend. You deserved your place here and each morning waking up in a tiny, poorly insulated room you reminded yourself of that. 

There was an odd balance here of knowing you were privileged to learn in such hallowed halls and rolling your eyes at the insensitivity of your comfortable, rich classmates. Each night out at a fancy pub had to be budgeted, beans instead of mince in your dinner, as they racked up tabs higher than your monthly food budget in an hour and then failed to turn up to their lectures. Still you smiled and nursed a cider, nodding as you discussed your latest charity shop find. That was cool here, trendy and sustainable, just as long as you pretended to have a Barbour coat and signet ring to wear with your £2.50 jumper. 

One such evening had drained you of all energy and thus you had overslept, curled obviously under a thick gingham duvet set. Now, as penance, you were dashing as fast as you could to your first lecture at half nine. It was naturally with your most important Professor. 

Professor Medarda was a legend. Her presence lingered around the Humanities buildings as some kind of God. A Professor of History, with a specialisation in Ancient Rome, she had seen more of the world and knew more of its jaded growth than you could ever hope to. She was precise, exacting and unforgiving. That’s to say, lateness to her was as much a sin as murder. 

You knew this theoretically, but feeling her amber eyes cut into you as you slipped into the room at 9:03 was entirely different. 

“You’re late,” Her gruff voice froze you in place, halfway to your seat. 

“I-Im sorry, I”

“And now you’re being disruptive, sit down and be quiet,” It was a command, wrapped in a sardonic smile. 

You sat, hands trembling in your lap, trying to absorb literally anything she said. 

Her classroom, distinct in its opulent furnishings and softer lighting, offered little comfort. Matters were made worse by your jittery, illegible notes and her closing statement. 

“Now, as I’m sure you know, I only accept two thesis proposals a year, and the other nine of you will have to work with the other Professors in the department,” Professor Medarda spoke plainly, deft fingers slamming a book on her desk shut, “I expect to have all of your proposals in my inbox by four o’clock on Friday,” 

It was Wednesday, and you had somehow missed this memo. You needed her as your thesis advisor. She was the best and you hadn’t fought this far just to settle for less than at the final hurdle. So the whole being late thing was great, you’d really put yourself on the map, really pissed her off. Your body grew tenser, as you mutely packed up and left the room amidst the throng of perfume and dark academia pinterest. 

Hours slipped by meaninglessly as you stared at your battered Dell laptop. You had direction, you had purpose and you had a boulder of anxiety blocking the flow of anything else. 

Romans V War Elephants. 

That’s all you’d written so far. You knew it was a good idea, with a rich pool of resources to rely on, and yet. There was always a yet with you. A crumbling Nature Valley bar made a sandy blanket on your lap. Your tea was cold and your mind was empty. 

Friday morning came and you had poured your soul into a Thesis proposal you were certain was not going to earn you a spot with your dream Professor. Her lecture was eleven am, and at no point did she even acknowledge the prospect of making a choice. You would know when you knew, it seemed. 

Tuesday, bleak as summer recessed into the fickle British memory and autumn summoned brutal winds. You were halfway through a disappointing panini, essay mostly written, when a gmail ding made you jump. Sriracha spilled down your front, clumsy hands mopping it with a tea towel. Onto Mount Laundry it went, as your eyes darted over this new email. 

Three times and still the words would not compute. 

‘..consideration, I am pleased to extend an offer to be your Thesis advisor,

Blah blah blah scheduling hours blah blah resource allowance blah

Professor Medarda’ 

Lukewarm ham and cheese forgotten, sharp and unsure breaths rattled against your laptop screen. Somehow, fuelled by Lidl energy drinks, you’d done it. She was yours and that almost guaranteed major success. 

Your email was redrafted nine times, as you sought to teeter on the edge between ass kissing and nonchalant. Three times a week you would spend time with her, learning as much as you could, crafting a paper you could be proud of. You needed to invest in a better alarm clock immediately. 

Cambridge was well and truly orange now, leaves and litter scattered everywhere as you fought to keep your hat on your head. Your next lecture was with Professor Medarda, and after that came your first supervision session. New stationary, thick ringed notebooks from your sister back home and a lipsticked smile, you could almost pretend that you were confident and prepared. Almost. Pale skin and twitching limbs gave it away. Quarter past twelve, and your wobbly knees lingered. 

She gathered her things silently, tucking them under a muscular arm and strolling into her adjourning office. A pause, rustling and the bounce of curls reappearing. 

“Do you wish to use your time or not?” 

Shit. “Yes, of course,” You fell over yourself to follow her, the elusive space suddenly enveloping you. 

Walls filled with aged wood shelves, perfectly varnished and housing more books than you could hope to own. Leather Bound tomes, first editions, signed copies. All amazing, all pretentious, all very Cambridge. A spiced scent lingered in the air, oaky and deep, as your gaze flicked to a dancing flame. 

“I thought you weren’t allowed candles in these buildings, just in case,” You regretted it before you’d even finished speaking. 

She snorted, her gaze set on yours, “Going to tell on me, child?” 

“Course not,” 

“Can be our secret then,” She passed you a small, china cup of tea, “Sugar?”

You shook your head, taking the black murky tea and adding a drop of milk.

It was like a warm blanket, soft and tender. Oh. So she could be nice. You nodded your thanks, and took a scalding sip. The heavy door clicked shut at her bidding, sealing you away into a little pocket world with her.  

“So,” Her strong voice commanded the room, “Show me why you’re worth it, Dear,” 

Not why the topic mattered or how sound your research was, why you were worth it. The room narrowed, as did your windpipe. Selling yourself was part and parcel of the academia world, but to her? You’d already used that energy for a babbled report. 

Still, smooth and confident words left your mouth, a dance and proposition in one. Your eyes had cleared, a dissociation sailing you through the initial conversation. Your charm bled through, thick and false, as the need to succeed overtook the doubt. As it always did. You were here after all. 

“Well, I suppose  this will be of use then,” She grinned, a haphazard throw landing a gilded book in your lap, relishing in your gasp. 

“This is impossible to source,” It was a book you’d seen snippets of, and nothing more, “I didn’t realise the University had one,” 

“It doesn’t,” The clink of a cup on a saucer, “I do,”

“T-That’s amazing,”

“Read it, make notes and write me a list of other resources you need but cannot find,” a thick stack of papers, essays presumably, “Whilst you do, I shall mark these,”

“Now?”

“Do you suggest some other time?” Her eyebrow raised, “This is rather the point of this time,” 

A laugh, high and choked, as you nodded. “Yes, I’ll get on it,”

Professor Medarda cleared a part of her desk for you to rest your possessions and you tugged the heavy chair forward against the patterned carpet so that you could read and type at the same time. You worked silently, as she laughed and rolled her eyes at the papers that red pen seemed to reduce to shreds. She seemed totally used to you, as if you were another little trinket in her space, and though she was still stern, eyes focused, her charismatic nature was potent here. Constant tea, biscuits and an apple when you wrinkled at the fourth bourbon cream. 

You tilted your head, taking the royal gala from her grasp. 

“First piece of fruit you’ve had since moving here?” 

“Well,” A slight giggle, “I had dried mango yesterday,”

“Big spender, expensive stuff,” 

“Not at Lidl,” A slight cringe in your soul. She was Waitrose through and through. You idiot. 

“Not at Lidl,” She repeated, smirk on her face, “Thanks for the tip,”

When your allotted time finished, you folded yourself away back into your satchel and thrust the book towards, with a slip of paper on top, “That’s the list, only managed to read half today,”

She crossed her arms, jewellery twinkling prettily, as she snatched one and handed back the other, “Finish it for Monday, we can discuss where it will fit in your thesis then,”

“You’d let me take it?”

“Is this your way of saying I shouldn’t trust you?”

“Of course not, Professor,” A gulp, “It’s just so precious,”

She was ushering you out with a smile, hand on your shoulder,”Then treat it as such, see you on Monday,”

The door shut. Pop. The bubble of her pocket world shattered around you, leaving a magic book and a grumbling stomach. 

When you’d told your mother that at Cambridge you wouldn’t be allowed to work, that it was against policy because of the shortened terms and immense workload, she had laughed in your face. No help from me, she had reminded you again and again. You’re on your own. Laughable, as if you hadn’t been fending for yourself for years. Now, as you bundled in your bed with a packet of crisps, you wished she was somebody she was not, somebody with endless money and kind words. You had your waitressing job, which had worked you into the ground, and now you lived off the pittance you had been able to save and a maintenance loan that left your account for rent before you’d even noticed it. 

In short, it was lunch OR dinner, and this time lunch had won out. Dinner was aforementioned crisps and a good helping of tap water, mixed with the nurturing words of your newest book. 

Weeks slipped by under the iron thumb of Ambessa Medarda, your workload heavier than ever as she steered you as if you were a little remote control sailboat. It was a wonder she managed to see any other students, you seemed forever in her office listening to her dulcet tones or cataloguing research papers. Sometimes, on less busy days, she lets you hang around to study rather than forcing you to go to the library. She seemed to read you as easily as her books, amber eyes welcoming and dangerous. 

“Some of the best places in the world to study,” Her voice started one wednesday, “and yet here you stay,”

“Bit too much noise for me,” You muttered half into a textbook, “Too many of Daddy’s credit cards,”

Her barked laugh brought you back, “Well, feel free then,”

You hadn’t meant to say that, not at all. You resembled a tomato, “Just prefer the quiet,”

A knock at the door saved you. Her Chinese food had arrived. It smelt divine, and you let out a little sigh. 

She sat eating, composed and methodical. Several times she had prompted you to eat your own lunch, until you meekly admitted you had none. Narrowed eyes pinned you in place. 

“Why?”

“More of a dinner perso-” A loud, unavoidable grumble from your torso. 

“Your stomach doesn’t seem to be,” Her chair creaked as she chucked you a small bag, gaze straight back at her things. 

It was a hot, slightly greased bag. Spring rolls. Twelve of them, warm and crunchy, begging to be eaten, “Are you sure, Professor?”

“Eat,” was the only word she gave you. 

Winter crept up on you, frozen air a shock as you walked back with groceries. Somehow you’d been in Cambridge for nearly two months and spent most of that time with Professor Medarda or curled on your plastic desk chair. Still, the magic of Christmas began to loom in the early November air. It came sooner and sooner, as did the expenses. That’s why you sat once again in the pub, this time with mulled wine and a mince pie, chattering away with your tiny circle of friends. 

“So,” Matilda asked, focusing directly on you,“Any developments? Any new friends? Cheap dinner deals?”

Fabulous, an audience to make you feel like a lifeless loser, “Not really, just been work work-”

“Work,” Nat interrupted with a giggle, “We know babe,” 

“At least you’ve got that sexy Professor to while away the days, I could climb her” Matilda continued, sipping her beer. 

You were a tableau, brows crinkled in confusion. “Climb who?”

“Professor Medarda, you tit,” Her eyes rolled, “Who else? Professor Daniels, the seventy-six year old?”

“I-I don’t, I mean she’s pretty I guess,” You stammered, “I don’t really see her like that,”

“Then you’re fucking blind,”

You laughed. Forced. Was Professor Medarda hot? You guessed her face was nice, all angular and sharp, with soft edges that made her seem inviting. She did have that towering frame, honeyed voice, plush curves. You were warm. It was not because of the wine. You pushed that confusing train of thought into a distant, long since abandoned station.

Something about that night had set you off balance, mind muddling over old interactions with a new rosy hue. She was nothing but professional, considerate and gentle, a guiding hand to your education. But her words, her voice, were they suggestive? Fuck. You hated your friends, they made everything confusing. That was why you were cold, that was why you were suffering. They had made you forget your scarf and gloves. It had nothing to do with finding your Professor attractive. 

She was late which was unusual. You were anxious, which was not. When she wandered in, a small bag in hand, your eyes met and you felt a jolt that had not been there a few days before. Was the golden glimmer brighter now? More alluring? You couldn’t tell. 

“Come on in then,” She muttered, key clicking pleasantly to unlock the office, “I grabbed us some pastries,” 

You beamed, taking the brown paper bag she offered, as you situated yourself in your chair. 

There was nothing majorly different and yet everything had changed. 

She was a beautiful, majestic thing and you felt like a lump of neglected, sprouting potatoes. If she noticed your repetitive glances she did not comment on them, merely continuing to offer feedback on your work and provide advice on what to explore next. You had a lot more than Romans V War Elephants written down now. 

The croissant was perfect, its flakiness distracting you for mere moments, before you fixated on a tiny bit of pastry attached to her red lips. A practiced tongue darted out to steal the offender, wetting her lips as she scrawled down words. Your stomach clenched. This nonsense was not going to end well. 

Finally, mercifully, the day’s session ended, and with it did the proximity that made your mind fuzzy.

It was bitter now, as she walked with you out of the Humanities building, colder than perhaps any other day yet. You murmured nonsense, distracted replies to her conversation and all at once she stopped you, abrupt and calculating. 

“You forgot your scarf today,” It wasn’t a question. 

“Y-yes,” You nodded, cheeks already red from wind burn, “Was in a rush,” 

“You have a twenty minute walk ahead of you,” She frowned, a ghost of concern and something else in her eyes, “Whereas my car is a few steps ahead,”

“I don’t-” Heated cashmere fabric collided with you, as her hands deftly wound her own scarf into a knot on your neck. 

“There you are,” She cooed, tucking it into your coat, “Can’t have you getting cold, Sweet Pea,”

“Thank you, Professor,” You almost slurred, mind fixated on something else, “I’ll give it back when I next see you,”

“No rush,” With that, she was climbing into her car with a wave. 

It was all you could think, smell, understand. Honey, loose leaf Earl Grey and the woodiness from the office candle.

Numb, dazed feet dragged you home, where you curled into sheets, scarf still on.

You were drowning in the smell of her. You wanted to bottle it, choke on it forever. 

Proper crush on your thesis advisor? Tick. 

Professor Ambessa Medarda was the most gorgeous woman you had ever met, and you were the shittiest, stupidest cliche. 

[munsonthings86]

scattered lilies

eddie doesn't have enough money for flowers before your date so he improvises by picking the prettiest flowers he sees on the way to your house.

warnings: cursing, fluff, soft!eddie, kinda shy!eddie, shy!reader, 0.6k

"shit," he curses in a whispered tone, desperately slapping at his pockets. he rushes over to his neglected, mountainous laundry pile, digging at every pocket he can find, praying to find a bill, a quarter, shit he'd be relieved to even spot a nickel. but the strewn out clothes with their pockets all turned out to reveal nothing but crumpled tissue and lint, eventually rendered useless.

eddie was becoming hopeless, running his boisterous silver ringed fingers through his curly hair that was growing unruly by the minute. pacing in his room, he nearly toppled over the picnic basket that he'd packed with food, drinks, books, and sweet mary jane for the two of you, which was where all of his money had gone, of course. glancing at the analog clock on his end table, the daunting red numbers blared 4:37.

from what he could see out of his small window, he spied ivory flowers growing out of mrs. hafers front yard of her trailer, and a cunning idea sneaks its way into his conscience. he tried to talk himself out of it as it was mrs. hafer who’d offered to put him to work at her cafe when no other employer in hawkins wanted to hire him after the incident in '86.

he figured he could ask his uncle to spot him so he could head down to the florist to legally obtain flowers instead, but he made the promise to pick you up by 5:00 and he was out of options. he couldn't not show up with flowers. what kind of a gentleman would he be?

he shrugged on his trusty leather jacket, tucking a bandana into his back pocket and scoops up the picnic basket that he hoped you'd love. he nearly knocked his uncle wayne over as he dashed out the door but soon changed his pace, creeping up to the bush of lilies. he plucked as many as he could without leaving the yard looking so obviously tampered with, and made a beeline for the main road.

on the trek to your house, eddie couldn't stop staring at the thrifted bouquet. he knew you loved flowers as you always had one threaded in the strands of your hair and wore pretty little dresses with floral patterns, but he had no clue what your favorite flowers actually were.

what if you hated lilies? what if you were more of a tulip or a dahlia kinda girl? eddie only knew those names because you talked about flowers so often.

he spent the rest of the walk picking any and every flower he saw whether it was red, pink, or white, big or small, tying the stems with a scrunchie you'd given him some time ago, when the bouquet grew too abundant.

his fist shook a little as he knocked on your door, nerves poking fiery needles across his skin, coloring him red. his cheeks and lips pulled into a toothy smile when you answered the door with a grin of your own, doing your best to hide your face with your hair. you wore a blush pink crewneck, styled with a white collar, a skirt of the same hue and sneakers that were almost identical to eddies. you looked nothing short of perfect to him.

"hi, angel," he waved to you the best he could, what with the basket and bouquet occupying his hands, and all.

"hi, eddie," you giggled, closing the door behind you, stepping closer to him. eddie's breath hitched as a gust of wind blew, allowing his senses to be overrun by your sweet, fruity perfume. "got these for ya," he gently rested the flowers into your cradling arms.

"thank you, they're gorgeous," you giggled at the wild assortment of flowers, recognizing some of them from your neighbors yard a few houses down. you decided to not question him about it. no one’s ever gotten you flowers before.

eddie took your hand in his, leading you to the park where he hoped to have a date that was as perfect as you were <3

💌 1 new message from jojo: if you made it down here i love you :) lemme know if i should make this into a full fic, cuz im thinking abt it…inbox is open!

[tsams-and-co-memes]

TSAMS Lunar Cosmo(s) Canon Info

Updated - 3/7/25

Note: Just like the info post for Earth/Terra, I'm leaving everything here as is. "Lunar" has been used so many times here, and I don't feel like going through everything and changing it to "Cosmo" or "Cosmos"

Lunar's likes:

Sour skittles, Smarty’s, and chewy chips ahoy

Beanbags

Things that glow in the dark

Metal music, as long as it’s still intelligible

Peaches and bananas

Comic books

Spider lily flowers

Space and astrology related things

Making an entrance

Spigot

Uncrustables

Kingdom Hearts

Anything sugary

Chainsaw Man

Sushi

Making himself smaller for other people (<- being small is a comfort thing for him)

Coffee (it's implied that he rarely, if ever, gets it though)

Tekken 8

Penguins

Friday Night Funkin

Bowser

My Chemical Romance

Wildberry poptarts

MLP (his favorite is Rainbow Dash)

Lunala and Pinchurchin (his favorite Pokémon)

His favorite expression of love is words of affirmation

Lunar's dislikes:

The ocean

Putting ice in his drinks

The color red

History. In his words, history sucks and is like the worst subject in school

The color yellow

Football

Eclipse (<- he's more indifferent to Eclipse now, more than anything else)

Bloodmoon

The creator

Jack (subject to change) (Lunar's cool with Jack now)

Peanut butter

Miscellaneous:

If Lunar gets too scared, he WILL cry

Unlike his brothers, he can eat food (<- retconned. They can all eat now)

When he is upset, anxious, tense, or getting scared, he makes a high pitched squeak sound that’s almost the equivalent of a whimper, but it sounds like a creaky door

His voice box has a concert hall sort of effect, in which a lot of reverb is added to whatever he says. There’s also another special function that lets him sound like he’s talking on an old radio station

He’s very sassy

He was originally made of nanomachines, before he was blown up by Eclipse

His birthday is August 11th

If he could have a pet, it’d be a chinchilla

He prefers showers over baths

He likes to act more childlike, although he himself is actually an adult

He has a habit of saying things that are very out of pocket

Lunar is slightly colorblind

He has weather based powers– namely wind and lightning (<- his powers are actually based on nature in general)

One of Lunar’s favorite games is Bloons TD6

His memory isn’t very good

Lunar doesn't wake up immediately and is groggy for a bit in the morning. He also screams every morning to help himself wake up more. His "wake up scream" also helps motivate him, too

It's implied that he watches Phineas and Ferb

He cleans himself via taking a sponge and scrubbing the metal parts of himself

Monty did design Lunar with the capability to change his clothes

Lunar's a sleep talker

Lunar can't read cursive, while Earth can

Lunar gets into a lot of trouble with small animals

When Lunar gets angry enough, he sounds more like Moon

He's good at math

He occasionally eavesdrops on Earth’s therapy sessions with people if he finds the person attending interesting at all

Lunar doesn't know how to read Morse code

Lunar's comfort food is chips, and he eats them when stressed

When Lunar had a tail, his tail apparently was sensitive

Lunar's not good at rhythm games

Lunar has a stomach hatch that opens sideways like a cabinet door

Lunar sometimes makes the kids dance in the daycare. He even dances with them

Lunar thinks Bowser "can get it"

Lunar could eat an entire crate of Nutella in 3 days, and his body would convert it into star power

Lunar doesn't watch R-rated movies

Lunar doesn't eat very much healthy food

Lunar is possibly Monty's smoking buddy

Lunar has a bedroom in Sun and Moon’s basement, then he has a separate room for napping

Lunar has a borderline addiction (?) to Nutella and even has a room he uses for the sole purpose of storing it

Lunar is pansexual, but doesn't currently know if he's polyamorous or not

If he could wear other clothes, Lunar would want sweatpants, baggy t-shirts, and at least one suit (for Earth's amusement, mostly. So she can pick him up and pretend he's her son or something). No matter what he wears though, he'd always have his hat

Lunar has a little private getaway in the woods that he goes to sometimes. Monty helped him build it

Lunar is non-binary and omniromantic

Lunar eats rice with his hands

Lunar doesn't clean up after himself

Lunar sometimes draws with his Nutella

Lunar's a lightweight drinker

Lunar's awful at scheduling things