#custom printed table throws

[printpapausa]

The effectiveness of step and repeat backdrops makes them ideal for corporate events. It plays a significant role. Click to learn about the benefits it offers.

[irisintheafterglow]

the long-awaited part 2 to this drabble

"can i get an extra large of the black shirt?"

"of course, give me one moment. i'll be right with you," you reply with robotic politeness over your shoulder as you shove a cardboard box of collectible hats behind the tablecloth. foot traffic has significantly slowed, allowing you to take care of some inventory tasks that were hard to complete when you were bombarded with requests for the limited-edition holographic poster boasting the olympics' host city. you stand from your crouching position, grab an extra-large from the crumpled pile, and finally turn to face your customer.

the customer wearing a surgical mask with two black moles above his eyebrow. you suspect his jacket is the same one that stopped everyone in their tracks earlier in the day, when you obliviously asked him to walk you past a creep.

men's volleyball team - sakusa kiyoomi.

"well?" sakusa asks after a long moment of awkward silence, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice at your shock. "are you gonna hand me the shirt or do i need to grab it myself?"

"you...you!" your senses come slamming back into you like a freight train and you're suddenly overcome with a mix of embarrassment and indignance. "why didn't you tell me who you were?"

"you never asked," he says with a shrug and a teasing glint in his eyes. the shirt stays tight in your grasp, if only because the feel of the fabric is the one thing reassuring you that this interaction was truly happening. "plus, you seemed a little preoccupied with other things." you nod dumbly in lieu of answering and fish a paper bag from below the table.

"my boss just about had a heart attack over your damn back," you inform him while you drop the shirt into the bag. you don't bother charging him for it, seeing as he's one of the athletes and all, and you'd prefer for him to forget you exist as quickly as possible.

"i don't know what the big deal is. it's just a jacket."

"'just a jacket,' sure," you scoff, "and you're just some guy throwing a ball around." the small printer next to the register makes a whirring noise as it attempts to dispense a receipt, only for it to jam and print incomprehensible blots of ink. you curse your shitty luck under your breath.

"everything okay?"

"apparently my brain isn't the only thing that's broken right now," you mutter, and you're surprised when he breathes a quiet laugh. "don't bask in my suffering."

"i'll bask in whatever i find funny, thanks," he shoots back and you glare in spite of your furiously warm face. "what happened?"

"the printer broke. it's been on its last legs all day," you frown. you're too busy trying to remember how to replace the paper roll to notice how he glances around before deciding to remove his mask and tuck it into his pocket. when you look up next, your face goes from warm to burning. who knew your one-time bodyguard was also the prettiest man you'd ever laid eyes upon? "you know what? you can just take the bag, i wasn't going to charge you anyway."

"why would i do that? you're not doing your job very well if you just let me steal a shirt." oh, so he thinks he's funny. from what you'd watched in brief clips of his interviews, sakusa seemed too stoic to have any ounce of humor in his body; yet, here you were, getting teased by a god-tier athlete about breaking the register at your summer job.

"it's not stealing, it's...gifting," you correct slowly. "i made you a promise, remember? you made sure i didn't get kidnapped in broad daylight, and i give you a shirt in return. simple."

"but i need a receipt," he retorts dryly.

"why? just take the bag, please," you say a little forcefully, expecting him to take the hint and leave. your first mistake, however, was challenging an olympic volleyball player to a competition of wits and patience.

"no, i don't think i will," he replies, pushing the bag back across the table to you. "a receipt, one more thing, and i'll go."

"well, you're gonna be here for a little bit because i don't know how i'm supposed to get you a receipt when the printer is broken," you surrender with no idea what he was trying to do. "i won't apologize, though, because you could just take the bag and go."

"allowing me to steal and refusing to apologize. gold star customer service." his sarcasm pulls a sudden, ugly bark of laughter that seems to increase the temperature of your face even more. "hmm. cute."

"what?"

"nothing. no receipt, then?"

"like i said, unless you wanna wait until my manager comes down from the balcony level merch stand and fixes the printer, you can just take the shirt and go. i appreciate you walking me earlier, really, so it's no hassle for me if one measly shirt goes missing."

sakusa opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but suddenly snaps his head to the side in the direction of a bright camera flash. one flash turns to four, and he hastily pulls his mask back over his face, cursing under his breath. you watch, perplexed, as his cocky bravado retreats just in time for a half-dozen journalists to cut around the nearest security guard and surround him. in a blink, microphones and cameras are forced into his face and questions in six different languages are hurriedly spewed at him. if you weren't already reaching across to put some distance between him and the tabloid writers, you wouldn't hear him mutter---

please get them away.

"alright, we're done here," you announce to no one in particular. your voice is more commanding than you expected it to be, enough to make the reporters pause and give you an opening to grab the crook of sakusa's elbow, beelining for the staff-only door. the guard posted there is quick to open the door for you and shut it, effectively cutting off the growing horde of journalists. "are you okay?" you ask as you continue to lead him toward what you remember as the nearest quiet break room. you don't have time to think about the flex of his arm under your hand or how he follows you with absolute trust.

"yeah," he answers curtly, his irritation obvious but seeming to diminish the longer you're holding his arm. you reach the empty linoleum-lined room and unlatch your fingers from him to shut the door, feeling a void-like sensation that you can't figure out. "sorry about that," he says to fill the tense silence after you're no longer shoulder-to-shoulder.

"don't worry about it. we're even now," you reassure him and that makes his shoulders relax a little bit. "you need water? a snack? day-old coffee that could probably burn through metal?"

"no, just some peace," he sighs, exasperatedly collapsing into the nearest uncomfortable chair.

"i see." you blink and suddenly feel like you're intruding on his space, fitting in like an elephant in a shoebox. "uh, i'll leave you here and make sure no one else comes--"

"i'd prefer if you stayed," he cuts in and you pause, your hand hovering above the door handle. "if you're able."

"are you sure?"

"only if you can," he says too quickly to be normal, avoiding your eyes. "you don't need to if you don't want to." you want to laugh at your situation, being stuck in an empty room with the hottest man you've ever laid eyes upon, and your nerves are more heightened than a deer in headlights. (you don't know that he's ridiculously embarrassed that the one time he talks to someone he's interested in, it's interrupted by cameras)

"i can stay, yeah," you manage and he's visibly relieved at your answer, at ease enough to again peel off his mask. his annoyance seemed to dissipate in the course of your short conversation, and an odd expression of contentment is its replacement. "you'll have to explain to my manager why i had to take off early, though."

"breaking the printer, refusing to apologize, and abandoning your shift. you cause a lot of problems, evidently," he teases when you settle into a metal chair beside him.

"only around you, evidently," you quip and are rewarded by the tiniest pull at the corner of his mouth. "i'm sorry i wasn't able to get you that shirt, though...and your precious receipt." he shrugs.

"don't really need either anymore."

"how so?"

"hunting down the shirt was just a way to talk to you again," he declares like he didn't even notice how his statement made your face heat once more. he notices, just like he noticed how you stuttered every time he started a conversation with you, how you smile and laugh like an idiot when he says something that catches you off guard, how your fingers felt electric at every point where you held his elbow. "and the receipt was to ask you to write your number, but i guess i can just ask now if you wanna grab dinner."

when you say yes, he hopes you can't tell just how much he already likes you.

[simonbrain]

No idea if this has been asked yet, but ever thought of something fluffy between Simon and Reader? I've been on a roll with Biker!Simon lately and thought of this moment where Biker!Simon fell in love first sight, seeing a pretty little thing trying to win a carnival game wanting a big plushie 😭💖 to take home, Biker!simon showing off maybe, give a little flex here and there while smoothly winning the game and giving her the plush with his number 😩 or Biker!Simon x Baker!reader. Hallmark movie moment.

ohhhh biker!simon is so tasty, and i love baker!reader even more.

something about this big man squeezing through the door of your lovely little bakery every morning, dressed head to toe in all black with the addition of skeleton details printed on his clothing—his mask, his gloves, even his helmet. he's your first customer without fail, always nodding politely and grumbling mornin' at you before he goes ahead and orders.

i like to think he gets the same thing every single time. it doesn't matter which bakery, or which city, or which damn country he's in; he's ordering a hefty piece of banoffee pie (he pretends not to notice the vast difference in size between the usual servings and the ones you hand him) and sitting his ass down at a table to eat. i also see him grabbing anything caramel-flavoured if there isn't any banoffee. although there's something about your baking that hits his sweet spot, so fluffy and creamy and perfect when it runs down his tongue.

he always looks so content, hunched protectively over his plate as if someone would even think to yank it from him. eyes soft and downcast as he appreciates the dessert in front of him, and if you were close enough, you'd be able to hear the very quiet hums of enjoyment rumbling from his throat.

you glow with pride whenever he drops by the counter to thank you. your eyes always twinkle and your lips stretch into a pleased smile as you chirp out, see ya, grim! while he squeezes back out the door. you never fail to throw him a little motorcycle wave, and hearing the purr of his bike as he rides off has you cheesing, cheeks warm and slightly sore.

he calls you silly pet names, most of them related to food (muffin, chip, peanut), and in return you call him grim, short for the grim reaper, even though you're already aware his name's simon. you're dressed the part, might as well play it, you teased, and he griped at you to get lost, sounding far less annoyed than he was going for.

thinking about how long it would take for the two of you to stop dancing around each other and actually go out until simon makes the mistake of bringing johnny along with him one morning. growls at his sergeant to "leave it, don't say anythin' else about 'er" when the other casually mentions that he didn't see a ring on your finger. ignores the but ye 'aven't even taken tha lass oot! that's fired his way and gives johnny the bird.

(he will, okay? soon. he just has to stop freezing up every time you smile at him. and stop getting dizzy whenever he inhales the heavenly smells of pastries and sweets and you. and maybe find a clean shirt suitable for a date.)

imagine coaxing him to try other treats and now you're packing like five different things for him every morning </3

[dacrystalsim]

The Sims 3 Teen Style Stuff

The Sims 2 Teen Style Stuff converted to The Sims 3! This pack includes 43 items, 7 wallpapers, 4 floors and a collection file with a custom icon. This pack is base game compatible, please let me know if you're having any issues with it.

How to download:

There are 2 versions, please download only one!

Teen Style Stuff-Merged: Merged version.

Teen Style Stuff-Unmerged: Unmerged version, mix and match to your liking.

Download links:

[SFS] | [MTS]

Credits: EA / Maxis for the original meshes and textures. Special thanks: TS3CreatorCave discord server for all the help and tips and @virtual-hugs for testing the wardrobes and vanity table for me ❤ @xto3conversionsfinds @pis3update Polycount and CASTable channels under the cut.

Polycount: Surfer Racka H 1024 / M 716 Anthony Roc Board Hanger H 1119 / M 807 The It Poster H 216 / M 56 Pear ShinyStation XTR H 974 / M 775 Curves Music Manager H 1118 / M 782 EDUKATE Shelf H 1216 / M 910 Pompadour Dresser H 1161 / M 1021 Roll On H 1480 / M 1110 The Television Television H 1430 / M 1132 Light Waves Ceilling Lamp H 1566 / M 1096 Dirty Clothes Pile H 2 Swervy Curvy Desk H 1226 / M 1140 Curves and Swerves End Table H 411 / M 367 Simple Single H 2256 / M 1578 Simple Double H 3054 / M 2110 Fluffy Rocker H 1098 / M 768 Higher Education H 1340 / M 966 Nova Table Lamp H 692 / M 558 Wall Flare Lamp H 518 / M 414 Lumosity Candle Holder H 601 / M 417 Seat of High-Backed Terror H 1412 / M 1059 Four Star Ceilling Lamp H 1532 / M 1232 Tall and Terrible Armoire H 2766 / M 2274 Mirror on the Wall H 884 / M 621 Patchwork Desk H 1460 / M 1460 Patchwork End Table H 1276 / M 892 Side by Side H 4492 / M 3270 Coture Clothing Chest H 3320 / M 2438 Ahead of the Table H 1610 / M 1126 The Better Bookshelf H 1302 / M 946 Cork It Over Memory Board H 144 / M 100 Princess Collection Coat Rack H 1520 / M 1103 Fine Finish Desk H 2264 / M 1848 You're So Vanity H 2073 / M 1451 Subtle Touch End Table H 1392 / M 974 Fit for Royalty H 2904 / M 2134 Fit for Royalty V2 H 2112 / M 1492 You're So Vanity Chair H 664 / M 464 Stay Out! Poster H 10 Hollywood Print H 48 Bullseye Throw Rug H 20 TuneJammy Blammer Boombox H 1450 / M 1014 Create a Collage Poster Set H 4

[luvvrgl]

Magically Attached (Please Help)

Pairing: Dante x GN!Reader

Summary: You are a grumpy apothecary who hates loud, flashy hunters like Dante—until he becomes your most frequent (and irritating) customer, constantly busting through your door with injuries.

Authors Notes: This is my first attempt writing, so please bear with me 💔 Please give me some tips and feel free to give some criticism

The apothecary preferred silence. The kind that hummed between glass bottles and bloomed in the scent of crushed sage. So when the front door slammed open with all the grace of a hurricane—nearly snapping off for the third time that week—and a bleeding man staggered in with a shit-eating grin, you were tempted to throw an entire jar of ghost pepper salve at him.

“You again,” you spoke up flatly, not bothering to look up to see who just came in. You already knew who it was with how they opened the damn door.

“Miss me?” Said the injured devil hunter, Dante. His voice rang out through the room, sounding far too casual for someone whose arm was currently bleeding.

You looked up from the potion you were working on, eyes slightly narrowing as your gaze landed on Dante. “That’s the fourth door this week, and I just reinforced it. You owe me a new hinge.”

Dante swaggered in, leaving muddy boot prints all over the carefully swept floor. “I’ll add it to my tab.”

You held your tongue when you saw Dante leave foot prints on the floor that you had just cleaned minutes ago. “You mean the one you haven’t paid in three months?”

He grinned. “That’s the one.”

With a sigh, you motioned him to sit on the exam stool—well, it was originally meant for calm tea-sipping clients, not devil hunters bleeding onto the rug..but this was your life now.

You watched as Dante settled onto the stool with a wince as he dramatically groaned, shrugging his tattered coat off and letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. You winced as the dirty fabric hit the floorboards, unfortunately giving you more to clean up later.

“Bleeding on the rug and shredding like a stray mutt.. You’re really out to test me these days, aren’t you?”

Dante leaned back as he casually rested one boot on the edge of your carefully organized desk with arranged healing salves and herbs, earning a silent death glare from you.

“Come on, Doc.. Don’t act like you never miss me when I’m gone. I bet this place gets real boring without me.

You rolled your eyes as you grabbed a rag and tossed it at Dante’s head, “I make sure to cherish every moment of silence when you’re not here to visit.”

Dante swiftly caught the rag before it could hit his head and pressed the fabric over his wound, letting out a small chuckle at your words. You watched as the white rag got stained red with the hunter’s blood before you went to get some medicine to heal his wounds.

You put on some latex gloves before you walked over to the cabinet from across the room, carefully grabbing a vial there with some sort of magic purple liquid in it. You went to go behind your desk and grab some moonflower dust from the drawer beneath there, sprinkling some of that into the vial.

You then came over to Dante who was still wiping his blood off him and held your hand out. “Give me your arm.”

Dante blinked at you for a moment before he held out his uninjured arm.

“Other arm.”

His lips formed into a small “O” in realization before he held out his injured arm.

Your grip on Dante’s wrist was gentle but firm as you put the vial down onto the table and inspected the wound, “You know, if you didn’t leap face-first into every demon that blinked at you funny, you might actually stay in one piece.”

Dante winced as you prodded at his arm, smirk slightly faltering. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You raised an eyebrow as you reached for the vial. “You call this fun?”

Dante winked, “I call you fun.”

You poured the liquid from the vial into the wound with no warning as you glared down at him.

“Ack— You damn sadist!” Dante hissed, though there was no clear hate in his tone.

“Brat.” You murmured, more to yourself..

The potion fizzed on contact with Dante’s wound, glowing faintly with violet light. It smelled faintly of crushed herbs and something sweet, like sugar. You didn’t flinch at the sound of his pained groan, continuing to pour the liquid onto the wound until the vial was empty.

“You know,” Dante muttered through clenched teeth, “normal doctors use bandages.”

“I am not a doctor,” you replied dryly. “Now stop squirming or I’ll pour some more straight into your mouth.”

Dante dramatically sighed at your words, head falling back as if you had just stabbed him. “You wound me, Y/N. More than a demon does, honestly.”

You rolled your eyes again—it was starting to feel like they’d fall out of your skull if Dante kept this up. “Then maybe next time I’ll just let you bleed out in the alley.”

“Now that’s the grumpy bastard I know and love.” Dante smirked.

You paused, just for a second, before brushing it off like a speck of dust on your apron. “You’re lucky I have a professional obligation to keep you alive..”

“Ah, so it’s just business, then?”

You stayed quiet as usual. You just wrapped a bandage around Dante’s arm a bit too snugly for comfort.

“Ah, there’s the affection.” Dante said as he flexed his fingers. “Tight wrap. You trying to cut my arm off or get me to stay longer?”

“Neither. I’m trying to keep you from bleeding all over my floorboards.”

Dante settled back against the stool as if he owned it. “Y’know, I come here for the customer service.”

“And I keep wondering why you don’t stay dead.” You muttered.

“Maybe I like the company.” Dante spoke, his voice quieter now. Still teasing, but the edges had dulled.

You stepped back, peeling your gloves off. “There. Don’t use that arm for the next two days. Which means no fights, no lifting anything heavy, and absolutely no breaking down any more of my doors.”

“Awh, come on! I just got invited to a big nest-clearing near the city walls. Easy job. Two hours tops.”

You shot him a look sharp enough to curdle blood.

“Okay, okay. No fighting. Just resting.. got it.” Dante said, reaching for his coat, wincing a bit.

“You’re pushing harder than usual.” You suddenly spoke up.

Dante raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, pretending not to understand. “Demons don’t kill themselves, Y/N.”

You paused, not looking up just yet. “They don’t need to. Not when you’re this damn determined to do their job for them.”

For once, Dante didn’t have a snappy comeback.

Silence lingered between them, rare and strangely heavy.

You walked over to a small wooden shelf in the corner. You grabbed a small glass jar with blue powder inside and returned to Dante’s side, unscrewing the lid carefully.

“This will numb the pain and speed up the healing,” you explained, more quietly this time. “It’ll sting like hell for a second.”

“Already stinging, Doc.”

“Not a doctor.” You muttered again, then gently smeared the powder across the wound. A sizzling hiss filled the air, followed by Dante swearing under his breath.

“Yup. Definitely a sadist.”

“Keep talking and I’ll stitch your loudmouth shut with your shoelaces.”

Dante let out a breathless laugh, the tension in his frame easing slightly. “Bet you say that to all your favorite patients.”

“I say that to all the idiots who won’t stop wrecking my door every damn week and staining my floorboards with their blood everyday.” You corrected.

A beat passed.

“Same thing,” Dante said with a half smile, watching you work. “You just don’t wanna admit that you’d miss me if I just suddenly stopped showing up one day.”

You didn’t look at him, sprinkling the last of the powder onto the wound.

“Maybe I would,” you said softly. “But not for the reasons you think.”

Dante blinked.

Then you stood up straight and turned away swiftly, already reaching for your broom to deal with the mess Dante made on the floor. “Now get off my stool before you bleed on something else. And fix the damn door on your way out.”

“..Sure thing, Y/N.” Dante said, a little more quietly this time, his eyes lingering on your back before he slowly pushed himself up.

Dante paused at the threshold of the store, stopping in the middle of the doorway, watching you clean up the remains of yet another chaotic visit. The broom swished rhythmically against the wood, as if you were trying to sweep him out too, like he was some persistent pest who kept bothering you.

“Y’know,” Dante leaned against the doorframe, “for someone who pretends to hate me, you patch me up with a lot of care.”

You didn’t even look up. “That’s because if you die in here, I’ll have to clean that mess too.”

Dante smirked. “You sure it’s not because you like me?”

You paused at the hunter’s words, stopping your sweeping.

You stood there for a moment, broom in one hand, gaze stuck on a spot on the floor like it held the secrets of the universe. Then, very slowly, you looked up until your gaze landed on Dante.

“I like quiet.” You slowly spoke, “I like organized shelves. I like not getting half of my store covered with some guy’s blood mixed with chunks of demon ichor.”

You set the broom aside.

“But..” You crossed your arms and leaned against the counter, tilting your head at Dante, “I don’t hate the way this place doesn’t feel… dead anymore.”

Dante blinked.

“Not dead, huh?”

You shrugged, eyes narrowing just slightly. “It used to be quiet because no one really came in everyday, until you came..”

Dante blinked yet again, watching you like he wasn’t sure if he really heard that last line or if he had imagined it. You, as usual, didn’t wait for him to catch up, you just turned back towards the cabinet, rummaging through a drawer for something as glass and wood gently clattered against each other.

“What about now?” Dante prompted, stepping in again, a hint of curiosity in his usual smirk.

“Now it’s quiet between the noise,” You muttered. You pulled out a wrapped bundle of dried herbs and set them down on the counter, keeping your back turned. “That’s different.”

Dante folded his arms, his teasing grin widening. “Y/N…is that your poetic way of saying you enjoy my company?”

“It’s my very restrained way of saying I’ve gotten used to your stupid face showing up at random times,” You muttered, gently biting your tongue before you spoke any further. There wasn’t any heat in your voice—just that tired fondness that slipped in when you forgot to watch your tone.

Dante chuckled, taking another step inside and letting the door creak shut behind him, gentle this time. “Careful, Y/N. If you get any softer, I might actually think you care.”

You turned around to finally face Dante, gave him a deadpan stare, and shoved a small paper pouch into his chest. “Here, this will help for the fever you’re definitely going to pretend you don’t have in about two hours.”

Dante blinked in surprise.

“Boil them in water. Drink it. Go sleep, maybe somewhere that isn’t my shop.”

Dante looked down at the pouch in surprise, then back up at you. “..You made this already, didn’t you?” His smirk grew.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Of course I did. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re about to be a stubborn idiot.”

Dante held the pouch against his chest like it was something rare and unobtainable. Maybe it was.

“Y/N,” his voice was quieter now, “you’re kind of a miracle, you know that?”

Your mouth stayed shut.

But the tips of your ears turned the faintest shade of red as you grabbed your broom again and muttered, “Get out of my shop, Dante.”

“You’ll miss me tomorrow.”

“I’ll miss the peace.”

Dante opened the door carefully this time, leaning against the frame before leaving. “Try not to miss me too much, Y/N.”

You huffed and turned back to the counter. “Don’t make me to lock you out next time.”

“Like that would stop me.”

You muttered something unintelligible under your breath—but waited until the door shut (gently, for once) before you allowed the faintest smile to pull at your lips.

“Idiot..” you murmured,

“Don’t die out there.”

[bunnycvnts]

need you to write me some perv rafe 😌

pairing: perv!rafe x unaware!reader

summary: rafe has a small obsession with you and finds himself with the perfect opportunity to get closer to you.

warnings: pervy rafe, sexual themes, sorta??dark content, male masturbation, panty stealing (is this a warning LMFAO?)

rafe knew you. well. he knew of you. from glances in the hallway when you passed his room, headed towards sarah’s, small conversations when you joined family dinners, and the occasional interaction during parties when you wanted to score some coke on the low.

he knew you from the image he formed in his head. the one that told him your short passing glances were longing, filled with desire. that your hand brushing his at the dinner table was a sign to spread you open on the wooden table and fuck you. that you buying coke from him when there were many dealers in figure eight was because you needed an excuse to talk to him, not just because he was sarah’s older brother and would give you it a little cheaper than most.

you took up far more space in his brain than any of his little sisters friends should. more than any normal girl should. he’d never been so hell-bent on creating and imagining interactions, forcing them to happen, and putting himself in the right places at the right time if it meant he’d see you. countless nights he’d stay awake, hearing your giggles from across the hall while his hand was wrapped around his cock, jerking it to the sound of your voice that would slip between the cracks in the doorframe. rafe couldn’t be by the pool when you’d swim, his length creating an obvious print in the wet swim shorts that clung to his skin at the sight of your body in a small bikini, soaking wet with water dripping down your soft skin. he couldn’t look at you for too long at parties, his focus being solely on you rather than paying customers, even if you were halfway across the room in your own world.

it was safe to say he was obsessed, but it was okay, right? because you totally wanted him too. at least, that’s what he told himself.

for you, he’d always been sarah’s scary older brother that would sometimes stand a little too close, but offered you free coke at parties and would drive you home late at night, even though you only lived a block away and could definitely walk home.

rafe saw the perfect opportunity to get a little closer to you one afternoon after he’d been spending the day by the pool with you and sarah. you’d wrapped your towel around you, saying you were gonna go shower before dinner. sarah waved you off, determined to soak up every bit of sun she could. rafe watched you walk inside, water droplets leaking off of you with each step and the fat of your ass bouncing lightly, visible even through the towel.

he’d quickly sat up, throwing out an excuse of a phone call to his sister before following you inside. his steps were faster than yours, catching up to you quickly.

“hey, yo-you can use my shower if you want? that way, you don’t have to worry about wheezie or sarah trying to walk in.” he tried to sound casual, despite stumbling over his first words. you thought about it for a second before agreeing, having grown tired of trying to split sarah’s bathroom after pool days. rafe guided you upstairs, relishing in the fact that you were now standing in his room in only a small bikini and were about to be showering in his shower. you’d smell like him afterwards; his body wash would linger on your skin, and your sweet vanilla scent would linger in his bathroom. just the way he thought it should.

playing a nice host, he grabbed you a bath towel and turned the shower on for you before closing the door with a small smirk on his lips. you were quick in the shower, only washing your body and vaguely browsing through his products. when you hopped out, you realized you didn’t have your actual clothes. with a towel wrapped around your naked body and a frown on your face, you peeked through the cracked door and asked rafe to grab you your pink beach bag from sarah’s room as it held your clothes.

his eyes widened at the sight of you, but he nodded and left the room, pushing into sarah’s where he spotted your baby pink bag, your name clearly embroidered on the side. he checked over his shoulder quickly, ensuring he was alone, and opened the bag. he shuffled through it before coming across a little white thong that had a small bow on the front. rafe groaned as he shoved it in his pocket, grabbed the bag, and headed back to his room. he watched as you closed the bathroom door again and came out moments later in a sundress that showed off your tanlines from the bikini top, saying a small thank you and leaving the room entirely.

rafe took a moment to breathe, listening to your footsteps pad down the stairs. when he was sure you were gone, he rushed into the bathroom and stripped, your panties clenched in his fist. once he was under the warm shower water, your sweet scent filled the room, making him groan. his cock was throbbing, and his balls were aching for release. the fist clutching your white thong soon wrapped around his aching cock, now soaked and sudsy with his body wash. his grip was tight as he got himself off, your name spilling from his lips with every thrust of his hand. seeing something that once was worn by you wrapped around his length, your panties nonetheless, was surely enough to push him right to the edge. all he could think of was your sweet cunt dripping wetness into the soft cotton, him spreading your folds open and exploring every inch with his tongue, his cock lined with your tight entrance before pushing inside you and experiencing your warm wet cunt for the first time. what really sent him soaring over the edge, hot spurts of cum shooting from his thick cock and onto the shower wall, was your voice on the other side of the door, accompanied by a light knock. “rafe, are you sure you grabbed all the clothes that were in the bag? some things are missing.”

taglist: @sunkissedrafe @cxsmiclore @mousie101

[stellar-constellations]

Heart on the Market (ONGOING SERIES) Chapter 1

WARNING: This series will include; NSFW, dead dove, reader is a serial killer, black market possible inaccurate historical slang and fashion, gore, alcohol, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, implications of misandry (male misogyny), perversive thoughts, possibly more to add.

Inaccurate canon-timeline and setting (Ashley doesn't exist).

Incest is not Wincest.

Andrew Graves x Old school! Serial killer! Fem! Reader

Wordcount: 3,000+ words

Chapters: Current chapter, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

        It’s 12 in the morning at the 24 hour diner. Despite it being midnight, the diner was bustling with people eating pancakes and drinking spiked milkshakes; a classic 50’s diner. 

        The floor had black and white checkered tiles had fallen pieces of bacon. One of the tables had spilled milk after a baby knocked their bottle of milk over (why the family is here at this time, she doesn’t know nor does she care). The chairs had chewed gum under them matching the table bottoms too. The red and white counter had drunk men watching an episode of I Love Lucy.

        “Do you need anymore coffee?” (Y/N) smiled, holding a piping hot coffee pitcher, steam escaping from the top of the lid.

        “Thank you, dear.” A little old lady smiled, probably thinking it was 5 AM in winter when the sun wasn’t up instead of it being 12 o’ clock in the summer.

        “Need anymore hash browns?” (Y/N) smiled, grabbing her notepad and pen from her white apron tied around her waist, the tight strings accentuating her figure.

        “No, but I’ll take a cookie for the road.” The lady smiled.

        “Coming right up, ma’am.” (Y/N) smiled, her black flats walking against the sticky tiled floor as her light blue skirt twirled around her knees.

        She walked behind the counter to the display of cookies resting there since yesterday, grabbing a cookie and throwing it in a small, white paper bag. She stapled the bag closed and walked back to her customer, handing her the cookie.

        “There you go, ma’am. Is that all for you tonight?” (Y/N) smiled.

        “Yes, that’ll be it.” The lady smiled, her sunken cheeks turning up to show her dentures.

        “I’ll get the check.” (Y/N) hummed, walking back to the counter and printing out the check for table 26. 

        She walked back to the old lady, grabbing the printed receipt and handing it to the lady.

        “Careful, the ink’s fresh.” (Y/N) smiled. 

        “Thank you.” The lady smiled, placing 30 bucks on the counter.

        “Oh, ma’am. You dropped a few bucks.” (Y/N) spoke, counting the cash. “Your meal was 13 bucks.”

        “Keep the change as a tip.” The lady smiled, before leaving the diner.

        “Fool…” (Y/N) snickered to herself, placing the tip in her tip pouch on her hip as she took the meal’s money to the cash register. 

        Old people are so easy to butter up. She thought, smiling. All it takes is a few nice words to make them smile a million bucks. Not to mention their retirement money.

        If she keeps it up earning these tips, maybe she can buy a new dress. She’s been meaning to get another poodle skirt anyways.

        (Y/N) sorted out the money in the cash register before closing it, walking into the back. There were tablets there on the walls for her to clock out of.

        Unnecessary screens in unnecessary places… (Y/N) thought, annoyed. These new generations and their technology!

        (Y/N) clocked herself out on time, heading to her work locker and inserting her combination. She grabbed her work bag and took it with her into the bathroom, changing into her regular clothes. 

        She put on a black and red fit-and-flare dress with her nude stockings and black gloves. She grabbed her black hand-purse, throwing her work clothes into her work bag. She undid her hair’s bun and brushed her hair out, letting it hang off her shoulders as she put on a black headband with a bow on top in her hair. 

        She exited the bathroom, putting her work bag back into her locker and shutting it, then exiting the diner out back, walking down the streets.

        The streets had an occasional stranger walking down, giving her a weird look at her old 1950’s outfits, but others have seen her enough to know it was her style by now. 

        She held her purse and walked down the streets, before taking a turn down a dark alley. 

        It stunk of trash and the air was humid, but that was normal in every overpopulated city. Thank god this city wasn’t a night-life one at least, how troublesome it would be for her work.

        A stumbling man appeared in view, leaning on the brick walls of a building, taking a few wary steps before stopping again. He looked absolutely shit-faced, with a fire red face and dilated pupils; drunk and lethargic. 

        “Do you need any help, sir?” (Y/N) questioned, her transatlantic accent she gained from growing up watching too many movies of the 1930’s shined through.

        “I-I need… "urgh…” the male groaned, tipsy before collapsing to his feet, trying to hold his stomach in.

        “Oh, pardon me.” (Y/N) smiled, walking closer without fear as her black Mary Jane’s hit the ground.

        He probably thought he traveled back in time as he looked at her, confused at the blurry figure approaching.

        “Now, sir. Public intoxication is very bad, you know? You can be charged!” (Y/N) scolded, a playful tone in her voice as she crept closer, before coming up behind him.

        She fished a black lipstick container out of her purse, popping open the lid to show a black tube with a small green and red button.

        “Allow me to help you.” She smiled, pressing the tube to the back of his neck, before holding down the red button, allowing blue sparks to buzz through the air, shocking him.

        He convulsed, drool flooding out of his mouth as he yelped, before a flood of vomit followed.

        “There you go!” (Y/N) cheered supportingly as he kept the stun gun to his neck.

        She removed the tube, watching him fall to the ground, disoriented and confused.

        “See, sir. The problem there is your stomach was empty. You don’t ever drink on a empty stomach, no wonder you’re ill!” (Y/N) smiled. “A proper man could hold their liquor at the very least.”  

        Then again, this modern day and age doesn't know a thing about chivalry unless it's to get under a woman's dress... (Y/N) thought, frowning.

        "Now, let's see." (Y/N) hummed, crouching down beside the drunken male lying in his own vomit. 

        She picked his head up by his hair, yanking it back roughly. "A 4 o' clock shadow that's stubbly. Dilated pupils. Nauseating scent. You must not take good care of your liver considering your performance of drinking tonight..." She frowned, sighing. "It must not hold much value, but something is better than nothing..."

        She threw his head back into his bile, reaching into her gloved hand into purse and putting away her lipstick stun gun, replacing it with a 1930's Remington Rh36 hunting knife. She picked the disoriented man's head up, placing the knife under his throat, before making a jagged line around his neck.

        "It's a good thing I wore my black pair today!" (Y/N) chirped, referring to her gloves as she dropped the man's head, sitting down on his back so he couldn't get up and fight.

        She watched him squirm under her, warm crimson puddling under her as she counted, "99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall." She smiled, looking down at him. "Oh, good sir. Where is your spirit? Sing with me!"

        She grabbed his chin, pressing her thumb on his bottom lip and pressing down as blood spurted out of his mouth. "98 bottles of beer on the wall, 98 bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around——how many do we have?" (Y/N) smiled, pressing down on the now dead man's lips. "97!" she chirped, putting on a high-pitched voice. "Good job! 97!" she smiled, letting go of his chin. 

        She stood up, smoothing down her dress and stepping off the man's back. She grabbed her dirty knife, wiping the blade on the man's clothes. 

        She placed the knife down into her purse, pulling out a neatly folded black trash bag. She unfolded the bag and opened it, shoving the man's head in first (careful to avoid the pile of vomit), before bending his body awkwardly, a crack playing out somewhere in his legs as she forced him into the bag, tying it up.

        "Citizen's trash duty: completed." She smiled, picking up the trash bag handles and pulling it down the alley with her. 

        (Y/N) dragged it with her, taking a shortcut down the alleyway and walking a few blocks until she got to the back of her apartment complex.

        (Y/N) dragged the body bag up the fire escape stairs, careful not to tip backwards as the dead man’s head ‘thunked’ against the metal stairs over and over. 

        Upon reaching the top of the stairwell, she grabbed a spare key she copied stealing the owner’s once, grabbing the copy from her purse and unlocked the door. 

        She dragged the body inside the halls, taking the body up the stairs since every lazy piece of modern trash around here used the elevators.

        She took the body with her down her hallway, fishing for her front door’s key inside of her purse, before pausing as the neighbor’s door next to her opened.

        A man stepped out, pale skin akin to snow and eyes fresh like the Iceland hills. There were bags under his eyes, tired as he yawned, wearing a red shirt as his uniform for his job as a gas station attendant. 

        Andrew Graves; a recluse of a man, if even a person. Andrew doesn’t talk with (Y/N), not unless she corners him by the mailboxes and blabbers with him. 

        For some reason, the boy couldn’t fall for her charisma or even her appearance. She didn’t understand it; everyone likes her, why doesn’t he?

        Perhaps he was just one of those people with a good sixth sense, but whatever it was, it infuriated (Y/N). How was she supposed to maintain a good social image if her next door neighbor didn’t have any good words to say about her?

        How could he have any good words to say now that his eyes were widened with surprise and fear, looking down at her feet, where she looked and saw a leg hanging out of the bag, a trail of blood down the hallways.

        The bag must’ve ripped upon climbing the stairs somewhere.

        (Y/N) stared at the leg, both of them frozen in place as the complex’s AC kicked in. 

        (Y/N) quickly lunged at Andrew, shoving him back into his apartment. She drug the bag with her, entering his apartment and closing the door behind her.

        Andrew’s apartment was completely dark, an unfamiliar terrain as she felt the walls for a light switch before switching it on, illuminating the room. 

        Andrew was on the ground, silently crawling backwards, making sure to look in her direction before he froze as the light came on. 

        “Ah!” (Y/N) sighed, happy as she quickly dropped onto her knees, crawling after him like a child.

        She caught up to him quickly, especially since he hit the back of his couch, her hands pressing down on his chest as she leaned in, pushing her nose against his.

        “I found you~” she smirked.

        “What the fuck was that?” Andrew questioned, his eyes shooting behind her at the body bag.

        “A Halloween prop.” (Y/N) responded quickly.

        “It’s December.” Andrew retorted.

        “A prop for Krampus, dummy! He’s a Halloween-Christmas guy!” she smiled.

        “It’s an apartment complex! We don’t do decorations!” Andrew spoke, still scared but a bit annoyed that she took him as dumb enough to believe that.

        “Well we do now.” (Y/N) smiled.

        “I’m not dumb!” Andrew snapped. “So you’re the Manson Murderer, huh?” 

        Ah, the Manson Murderer, what a name she’s built for herself! "Manson Murderer Multilates Again!" and "Who is the Man of Manson?"

        How funny they even think it’s a man. The only reason why so many men are trialed for murder, is because nobody believes a dainty flower of a woman could stabbed a man 41 times in his chest.

        “Oh, my! What an accusation!” (Y/N) giggled, staring into his eyes as their faces were mere centimeters apart.

        “Don’t you even try lying to me…” Andrew growled, his eyes hardened as he toughened himself up in front of her.

        “Oh, have no fear, darling! I would never lie to you, you’re much too smart!” (Y/N) giggles, although she knew it was true.

        Could it be possible he never liked her because he knew something was up with her? Is this his proof to having a reason to dislike her, not just because he was an introverted loser?

        “Andrew, Andrew, Andrew…” (Y/N) muttered, clicking her tongue as her hand came up to his cheek, caressing it as he flinched at the sudden affection. “My love, why are you so scared? Don’t you know I would never hurt you? Not a man as handsome as yourself at least.” She purred.

        “See, Andrew. There are certain duties people like I must fulfill. Someone has to clean the streets up after all.” She hummed.

        “Why’d you do it?” Andrew questioned.

        “Why didn’t I?” she smiled.

        “That isn’t an answer—“ Andrew muttered, but was cut off by her.

        “Now, Andrew. You’ll keep your mouth shut, yes?” she smiled. “I would certainly hate… for you to become scum at the bottom of a dumpster after all…

        Andrew knew was she was implying. Trash for her to take out like it was a normal Monday.

        “Yes…” Andrew seethed through his teeth, not too happy about it.

        “Good!” (Y/N) smiled, taking her purse and flipping out her pocket knife.

        “W-woah, hey! Hey! I said I won’t tell!” Andrew panicked, squirming but had nowhere to run as he was still pressed against the couch. 

        “Don’t worry, darling. I’m only sealing our promise.” (Y/N) smiled, pulling up his shirt.

        Andrew froze as she placed the knife onto his right side, before a hiss escaped his lips as she impaled the skin, carving into it like leather.

        “Pardon my handwriting; mother always said I was messy.” (Y/N) smirked, smiling as the pretty blood ran down his side, matching his red shirt.

        “F-fuck!” Andrew gasped, biting down onto his lips.

        “When this mark heals, you can tell people it’s me who is the Manson Murderer.” (Y/N) smiled. “But for now, you’re mine to keep, so be a good boy and be quiet.”

        (Y/N) smiled, admiring her craftsmanship before wiping the excess blood from the knife off on Andrew’s shirt. 

        She placed her pocketknife back into her purse, before looking at her words. She stuck out a gloved finger, scooping up some of the red liquid and wiping it on her bottom lip, closing her lips and smearing it like lipstick.

        “Mwah! Red looks good on me, don’t you think?” (Y/N) smiled, looking at Andrew as his head was thrown back against the couch’s back, panting as he endured the pain.

        “F-fuck… fucking bitch.” He hissed, his eyes sharp as he looked down at her. “Gonna fucking kill you…”

        “Mm… keep talking like that…” (Y/N) purred, sitting down on her knees in between his legs, resting both her hands on his cheeks. “I like it.”

        She leaned in, kissing his lips with her bloodied ones.

        Andrew froze, shocked and helpless on what to do as he bled from his side. His neighbor, his neighbor who was a murderer, was kissing him right now.

        One of her hands traveled down to his jaw, before guiding down to his chest sensually, reaching his stomach. Her lips moved against his closed ones, enjoying the power she had over him.

        Her hand went to his side, her thumb pressing down onto his wound, causing him to yelp and open his mouth. She quickly dove her tongue into Andrew’s mouth, his cheeks puffing out as her tongue hit them, exploring the taste of his mouth and blood.

        “Ah, you taste good…” (Y/N) muttered against his lips. “It’s too bad your heart isn’t on the market, I’d love to own it…” (Y/N) smiled.

        Andrew couldn’t look further into her words as she kissed him again. He couldn’t taste anything except rust, and was that a hint of strawberry? Strawberry lipgloss perhaps? She did wear red lipgloss just like every other 1950’s girl did, just like her preferred timeline. Lipgloss so it wasn’t too showy, but still shined and was appropriate for every outfit.

        Her tongue parted from his mouth, leaving him breathless (from her lips or from his wound, he wasn’t sure) as a string of saliva connected the two.

        “I’ll teach you how to reciprocate later on. It makes it far more enjoyable, you know?” (Y/N) giggles, watching as Andrew’s face went pink.

        It felt hot in here even though the AC was on, signaling to (Y/N) that she had to go and take care of this body before it started decomposing faster due to this heat.

        “I’ll see you real soon, Andrew… You’ll keep our promise, right?” (Y/N) spoke, tilting her head and purposely puffing out her lips in a show of innocence and seduction.

        “Mm… y-yeah. Yeah, I will…” Andrew muttered, laser-focused on her lips.

        “Be good for me now.” (Y/N) smiled, getting up off the floor. 

        Andrew watched from the floor as she walked to his front door, dragging the body bag with her as she shut the door behind her, going back to her apartment.

        He couldn’t believe this. His cute neighbor was a murderer, and he kissed her. And he liked it.

        His face was burning up, along with his body, but he didn’t know if that was his pain receptors responding to the pain or not. He was hot and sweaty, it suddenly felt too hot for his shirt and everything else, especially under his belt.

        Why the fuck did her lips have an impact on him like that? Why was it just her lips? Why did she kiss him in the first place? 

        Andrew groaned, looking down at the marking she made on him, carving him like a piece of property.

        “Mine.” The carving read.

        Fuck. He can’t go to work like this. He needs to go to the bathroom, clean up this wound and jerk one (or maybe a few) off.

        Oh, he’ll get her back for doing this to him.

Chapters: Current chapter, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5 (in the works)

I'm sorry for the short chapter, the first chapters are always short to get the reader's attention. I don't want to add too much information that'll draw you guys away! This story is gonna be a spicy one featuring NSFW, so beware.

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

[nanamis-baker]

Unexpected Blooms

Chapter 1 | Whisper of the Petals

Pairing: philosophy student Geto x art student f!reader (College AU)

Summary: A mystery blooms on your doorstep. A breathtaking bouquet of white flowers, a silent whisper of apology… but it's not for you. Delivered under the name of a man so handsome he takes your breath away, the mix-up sets your heart racing.

Fate seems determined to keep throwing you together, and soon you're caught in a whirlwind of chance encounters and undeniable chemistry. It was almost as if it was trying to bring you together.

Content: Fluff, slow burn, Reader falling for Geto (Kinda), Geto being a gentleman but also an idiot.

Status: Ongoing

Word Count: 10.6k

a/n: Big big thanks to my love @whereflowerswenttodie for putting up with me and beta-reading this. Seriously can't thank her enough!🌷

Series mlist | Next Chapter →

A frown creased your brow as you spotted a bouquet of white roses outside your apartment door. The fresh blooms whispered apologies, but the sentiment felt misplaced. There was no reason anyone would apologise to you, right?

Unlocking the door, you carried the bouquet inside, its beauty undeniable. White, velvety roses, their centres a pale blush in the fading light, stood proudly in the centre. Delicate baby's breath, like a cloud of tiny white stars, surrounded them. A few sprigs of eucalyptus peeked out from the arrangement, their fresh, invigorating scent filling the air with a clean aroma.

The flowers were surrounded with brown paper arranged in a vase, and tied at the base of the clear glass vase was a simple white ribbon, its frayed edges hinting at a vintage charm. The entire bouquet held a quiet elegance that felt at odds with the confusing message of the flowers themselves.

Whoever sent it clearly had an eye for aesthetics. You placed it on the coffee table and searched for a card. Surely, there'd be an explanation nestled among the petals, right? You looked through the delicate flowers, and finally found it! A small white card that was tucked discreetly among the flowers.

Pulling it out, you read it as your frown deepened. The message written across it felt like a riddle:

"I apologise for not being there for you enough. Forgive me, please? -Suguru Geto"

Suguru Geto? The name brushed against the edges of your memory, yet you couldn't quite grasp where you'd heard it. This stranger's apology left you bewildered.

It seemed like there was a mix-up; these flowers weren’t meant for you. So you decided to call the flower company responsible for the delivery- their contact details were printed behind the card- hoping for some clarity.

You dialled the flower company, the phone balanced between your ear and shoulder, as your fingers traced the elegant script of the note. The words were written in cursive, each letter precise and controlled. As you pondered the identity of this apologetic stranger, the line connected.

The call confirmed your suspicions. The flowers were originally meant for Suguru Geto's girlfriend, not you, but because of some mistake, they were delivered to your address. You asked them how to return the flowers, but unfortunately, the company policy prevented them from retrieving the delivered flowers, leaving them in your possession.

The expensive blooms sat accusingly on the table- You had to return then, right? You politely requested Geto's contact information to return them, but their policy prohibited sharing customer details.

Their policy - or lack thereof - felt absurd. First, they deliver the flowers to the wrong address, then leave you holding the beautiful (and expensive) bouquet?

You were about to hang up, feeling disappointed when the person on the other end inquired about your university. You raised an eyebrow at the question. Apparently, this company provides exclusive student discounts to the students of your university, and Suguru Geto also used it for these flowers.

So he was a student at your university.

Disconnecting the call, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You opened Instagram and typed the name into the search bar. A quick search yielded several profiles, and the third one seemed to hold the key as your college name was in the bio. Though the profile was private, a sliver of hope remained. You crafted a message and sent it off:

"Hey! I received some flowers with your name as the sender - I think they were meant for someone else. Please let me know if we can meet so I can return them!"

Without waiting for a reply, you kept your phone aside, your eyes lingering on the growing pile of dishes in the sink. With a sigh, you decided to tackle the growing problem.

The sound of water running and the rhythmic clinking of dishes filled the air as you cleaned them.

Minutes ticked by, measured by the steady rhythm of your cleaning and the nervous flutter in your stomach. Just as you were about to rinse the last plate, your phone vibrated on the counter, a welcome interruption.

A message. It was from Geto. Relief washed over you, quickly followed by a jolt of anticipation. After drying your hands hastily on a dish towel, you grabbed your phone. The message itself was short and to the point:

"Hi. Yes, those flowers were meant for my girlfriend. We can meet here if it’s okay with you."

A small map icon accompanied the text, and you recognised the cafe he was referring to instantly. It was a cosy little place a few blocks from your apartment, with mismatched furniture and a perpetually overflowing basket of croissants and muffins - a familiar and safe space.

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Yeah, you were okay with the place. You typed a quick reply, sending it off with a silent hope.

Moments later, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was a confirmation. You were meeting Suguru Geto.

And here you were, seated across from Suguru Geto at a small, round table bathed in the warm glow of a nearby lamp.

He was, undeniably, handsome. But it wasn't a flashy, in-your-face kind of handsomeness. It was subtle, a carefully curated blend of features that somehow managed to be both sharp and approachable. His hair, raven black, was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to curl around his forehead.

A pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, framing eyes the colour of polished obsidian. They were intelligent eyes, you noted, with a hint of something deeper lurking beneath the surface. He wore a simple outfit – a crisp white button-down shirt peeked out from under a light grey sweater, the sleeves pushed up slightly, revealing strong forearms, marked by a network of bluish-purple veins that ran up like delicate maps.

"I would like to apologise for the flowers," Geto began after the two of you had exchanged some pleasantries. His voice was kind. "I hope they didn't cause you any trouble." A hint of nervousness flickered in his dark eyes.

"Flowers can't cause trouble," you said, a playful lilt in your voice, "but it seems as if apologies are becoming a habit for you." He had apologised on the note accompanying the flowers, he had apologised when you saw him at the cafe first- for causing you the trouble of coming all the way here - and now he was apologising again.

Geto's cheeks flushed a delicate pink, spreading upwards to touch the tips of his ears. His hand flew up to rub the back of his neck, a gesture that seemed endearingly awkward.

"Ah, right. My girlfriend... Well, she was upset that I haven't been around much lately. The flowers were supposed to be an apology, but..." He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the table for a moment. "Things didn't work out. We broke up this morning, actually." He gestured towards the bouquet with a wry smile. "So, these are a bit… redundant now."

A pang of sympathy stabbed at you, but you masked it with a playful shrug. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as a bustling group entered the cafe, momentarily distracting you.

"Actually," Geto started, bringing your attention back, then hesitated. He leaned forward slightly, the proximity sending shivers down your spine. His voice dropped to a low murmur as he said, "You should keep them. Consider them an apology for the trouble?" His dark eyes held yours for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before he quickly looked away.

There you sat, as a stranger offered you flowers that were meant for his girlfriend, while simultaneously detailing his recent heartbreak. It was undeniably weird, but a strange curiosity gnawed at you. What kind of dynamic existed between him and his ex?

As if sensing your unspoken question, Geto spoke up, his voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness. "We weren't together for long, just a couple of months," he explained. "My best friend... well, he's been struggling with health issues lately. I had to be there for him, you see. But my girlfriend took it the wrong way – felt like I was avoiding her. I tried to explain, but..." his voice trailed off, a flicker of frustration crossing his features, as his brows furrowed slightly.

He seemed to catch himself, a touch of self-consciousness creeping into his tone as he looked at you. "I apologise for unloading all this. You probably don't want to hear a stranger rant about his breakup."

"No, no, it's alright," you interjected quickly, wanting to ease the tension that had settled between you. Just then, the waiter approached your table, balancing two steaming cups of coffee- your cappuccino and his espresso- the arrival provided a welcome interruption.

A comfortable silence settled between you as you both reached for your drinks. You stole a glance at Geto as you lifted your coffee mug to your lips.

There was an aura of composure about him, a quiet confidence that drew you in. He sat with his back straight, his gaze fixed on his cup. Perhaps it was the way he held himself, or the faint hint of a smile playing on his lips, but he seemed completely at ease, radiating a sense of being ‘collected’.

Curiosity tugged at you, battling with the comfortable rhythm of the moment. You decided to break the silence, leaning forward slightly.

"So, what are you studying?" you asked, eager to learn more about the man sitting across from you.

Geto met your gaze, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. "I'm majoring in philosophy," he replied. "It's always fascinated me – the questions, the search for meaning..." he trailed off.

"Philosophy, huh?" you said, raising an eyebrow in question. "Interesting choice. What drew you to it?"

Geto offered a grateful smile. The conversation flowed easily from there, bouncing between his major and yours – philosophy and art, a surprising but intriguing combination. Time seemed to melt away as you delved deeper into each other's worlds, the awkward initial encounter fading into a pleasant exchange.

As he spoke, you found yourself captivated not just by his words, but by the way his eyes seemed to flicker with an unspoken curiosity, a constant need to look beyond the surface, to delve deeper.

You noted the intensity in his gaze, a spark that hinted at a mind housing complex ideas and theories. He spoke with a quiet passion, dissecting concepts and questioning assumptions in a way that both challenged and enthralled you. The more he spoke, the more you realised the philosophy major wasn't just an academic pursuit for him; it was a reflection of his very being. It was the key that unlocked his perspective on the world, a perspective that strangely resonated with your own artistic desire to peel back the layers and expose the hidden truths beneath.

You found yourself listening intently to Geto's passionate words. So, when the insistent chirping of your phone sliced through the comfortable bubble of conversation, you were startled. Glancing at the screen, you groaned. "Shoot," you muttered, scrambling to gather your things and finish your coffee- the liquid, once steaming, was almost cold now. With a sigh, you set down the cup and looked up at Geto.

Geto looked back with concern in his eyes, his dark brow furrowing slightly. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just… remembered I have a meeting I absolutely can't miss," you explained apologetically. "This completely slipped my mind…" It was your club meeting, and today you were supposed to propose the club budget for the upcoming semester.

Geto nodded in understanding, although there was something akin to disappointment in his eyes. He was quick to hide it before you could completely decipher it and signalled for the waiter for the check. Just as you reached for your wallet, he held up a hand. "Uh, this is on me. Consider it another apology." He flashed you a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he handed the waiter his metallic card.

You blinked at him, torn between amusement and a touch of bewilderment. Flowers (though originally meant for someone else), coffee, and now even the bill? "Geto, you're apologising a lot," you pointed out, though a teasing smile playing on your lips.

He chuckled, "There just seems to be a lot to apologise for today," he replied, a faint blush creeping up his neck again.

His bashfulness was oddly endearing, and you couldn't help but return his smile. "Maybe save it for the next time, huh?"

Geto held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he chuckled softly. "Next time, huh?" he echoed, mirroring your smile.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you couldn't help but interpret his lingering gaze and repeated ‘next time’ as a hint of… interest, maybe? As you exchanged contact information, a warmth bloomed in your chest. Geto was undeniably intriguing, with his quiet intensity and flashes of awkwardness. Perhaps there will be a next time - a chance to get to know him better. You waved goodbye, a silent hope for a future encounter hanging in the air as you both exited the cafe and stepped into the golden glow of the late afternoon sun.

The rest of the week was a whirlwind. Assignments piled up, deadlines loomed ominously, and sleep became a luxury you barely afforded. The weekend was something you needed badly.

Finally done with your last class for the week, a sigh escaped your lips as you exited the building with Yuta. You waited for Maki to join you as you adjusted the strap of your backpack, feeling the familiar weight of your textbooks pressing down.

Yuta, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder, spotted Maki approaching in the distance. His smile faded as quickly as it appeared, and he nudged you with his elbow. "Uh-oh, looks like someone's not happy.”

You followed his gaze and couldn't help but chuckle. Maki was indeed sporting a scowl that could curdle milk.

As she approached, you noticed a glint of something akin to fury in her eyes. "What are you laughing about?" she demanded, her voice clipped.

"Nothing, nothing," you reassured her, shaking your head. "How were your classes?" you asked, hoping to distract her from the anger, but it turns out the classes were the reason for her displeasure.

Maki crossed her arms, her scowl deepening. "Don't even ask," she muttered. "That idiot professor should be thanking his lucky stars murder is illegal. The man doesn't teach – he rambles! And then expects us to decipher enough from his incoherent ramblings to do well on the assignments."

This piqued your curiosity. Maki wasn't one to get flustered easily. In fact, you'd always admired her calm demeanour, even under pressure. But this professor, whoever it was, had pushed her buttons. You opened your mouth to ask more about it, but Maki abruptly turned to Yuta, her anger seemingly forgotten.

"We're still on for today, right?" she asked, a hint of hope peeking through the remnants of her scowl.

"Absolutely," Yuta confirmed, a small smile playing on his lips.

Maki's scowl vanished completely, replaced by a playful grin. "Can't wait to crush you at bowling again, Yuta."

Honestly? You wouldn't be surprised. Maki was undoubtedly skilled, but you had a sneaking suspicion that Yuta might be throwing off his game a little – just to see that smile light up Maki's face whenever she scored. It was sweet- an unspoken dynamic that warmed your heart.

The afternoon melted away in a flurry of strikes and the sound of the bowling ball hitting the pins. Your shoulders strained with each successful strike, and the dim lighting pulsed a little brighter with each frame completed. You watched with a grin as Maki demolished her final set, securing first place with triumph. Yuta, the gracious competitor, conceded second place with a playful jab at her skills.

By the time Inumaki joined your group mid-game, the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting fiery streaks of orange and purple across the sky. Laughter and friendly banter filled the air as you exited the bowling alley, the aroma of french fries and soda pops clinging to your clothes. The four of you stood by the intersection, ready to leave for home.

"Aren't you going home?" Maki called out, noticing you lingering at the intersection.

You shook your head, "No, I was thinking of going to the library. Got an assignment due soon."

"Want some company?" Yuta offered, Inumaki nodded his agreement behind him. Appreciation warmed your chest, but you knew you needed to focus.

"Thanks, but I think I'll be alright. Shouldn't take long anyway."

Finally waving goodbye to your friends, you made your way towards the library, your backpack slung over your shoulder. The semester was about to end, and the weight of the assignments and upcoming exams pressed down on you, but you were determined to conquer those deadlines and do well in your exams.

As you crossed a familiar cafe, a fleeting thought of Geto flickered across your mind. Despite exchanging numbers, there had been no message, no follow-up. A small pang of... what was it exactly? Disappointment? Sadness…?

You shook your head as you entered the elevator, focusing on making it to the library. There was no room for distractions, not right now.

So, you pushed the thought away with a mental shove, a futile attempt to silence the unexpected flutter in your chest. The joy of spending time with your friends had evaporated, replaced by a low hum of disappointment that gnawed at your usual optimism.

Stepping out of the elevator and into the library, you were met with the comforting hush of turning pages, the smell of books and the rhythmic tick-tock of the grandfather clock. You scanned the room, heading straight for your usual table, a worn wooden sanctuary nestled in a quiet corner.

But your sanctuary was no longer yours. Sprawled across the surface were textbooks, and occupying your usual chair was a familiar face. Surprise shot through you- you were thinking about him just moments ago, and here he was, in all his glory.

Geto sat there, his hair styled in a slightly messy half-up, half-down that sent a smile tugging at your lips. His glasses perched low on his nose, and a part of you wanted to reach out and push them back up a little for him. The familiar glint in his dark eyes, a glint that held a hint of something you couldn't quite decipher, sent a wave of unexpected comfort through you. He seemed completely engrossed in his book, oblivious to your presence.

For a moment, you hesitated. You didn't want to disturb him - he seemed so peaceful, lost in the world of his book. But perhaps you were staring for a little too long because Geto looked up as if sensing your presence. Recognition flashed on his face as he raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You smiled at him as a way of greeting. "You seem to be very comfortable in my seat," you said, a hint of amusement dancing in your voice.

His eyes met yours, a mischievous glint mirroring your own. "Your seat? I thought this was a public library," he replied, his long, slender…pretty fingers pushing his glasses up his nose with a smile as he took you in. Did you just find his hands attractive? Internally, you scolded yourself for getting flustered.

“Uh-huh, but I usually sit there,” you said, trying to sound firm, but your smile betrayed you. Seeing Geto here, unexpected as it was, eased a tension you hadn't realised you were carrying.

"Well, too bad I'm here today," he chuckled, gesturing to the seat next to him while efficiently removing some of his belongings. "But you're welcome to take this one." You shook your head in defeat, but a small smile played on your lips. Taking the offered seat, a sigh left your lips at the familiar comfort the wooden chain provided.

"What's so special about this seat, anyway?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"It's like my little corner," you explained, gesturing towards the window. "The view is amazing – a perfect distraction when my studies get overwhelming. Plus, with my back to the rest of the library, it's easier to ignore the world and just… focus."

The city lights shined below, a tapestry of twinkling points gradually emerging against the fading hues of orange and purple that lingered from the recently set sun. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional wail of sirens created a low hum that was strangely comforting. A sense of peace settled over you, the world outside softening into a gentle blur compared to the focused intensity in Geto's eyes as he looked out the window.

"All the reasons why I love this spot," he said with a knowing smile. Something flickered in his dark eyes as he turned to you, but it was gone before you could even name it. His voice softened as he leaned back in his chair. "Assignment due soon?" he asked.

You nodded as you reached into your bag, pulling out a stack of blank sheets and a handful of pencils. "It's for my elective," you explained. "Graphic Designing. I was just hoping to brainstorm a basic structure before diving into the project."

"And you prefer paper for it...?" Geto asked, a hint of curiosity lacing his voice as his brows furrowed, a small ‘v’ forming between his eyebrows. You couldn't blame him, most people preferred using their tablet for such things.

"I prefer planning on sheets of paper," you explained, tapping one pencil against the table in a thoughtful rhythm. "Somehow, it feels less restricting and allows the ideas to flow more freely. There's something about the immediacy of sketching, the scratch of lead on paper, that feels more personal. It's like the idea goes straight from my mind to my hand.”

Geto nodded in understanding. His expression turned thoughtful as he said, "Maybe that's why I prefer physical books over e-readers. There's a different kind of connection you form with the material, wouldn't you agree?” There was a sincerity in his voice that resonated with you, and you nodded in reply, beaming at him.

Maybe you were imagining things, but it felt as if Geto shifted a little towards you, leaning in slightly.

You took in the books in front of him- most of the titles were related to philosophy and ethics, but one particular book caught your eye. You raised an eyebrow, as you looked towards the man beside you. "Business, huh? Unexpected choice, Geto.” You teased him lightly.

Something changed in Geto's expression the moment you mentioned the business book. It became guarded - distant - a mask falling into place. "Yeah, I am expected to join my family's business- a pharmaceutical company, so I was just doing a little reading," he said, his voice clipped.

You wanted to ask more, but something in his tone told you not to do so - that he would tell you when the time was right. So, you didn't push further, instead focusing on creating a structure for your assignment

You grabbed your pencil, and in the corner of your eye, you saw Geto push his AirPods case towards you. You lifted an eyebrow, a silent question. He gave a small smile, a hint of his previous ease returning. "It's just some music," he explained, popping one of the earbuds in his ear. "Might help you concentrate."

"Thanks, Geto," you said, a genuine smile spreading across your face. You took the other earbud, a warm feeling blossoming in your chest at the unexpected gesture.

Every now and then, as you reached for a different pencil or adjusted your sheets, your elbow would brush against Geto's. The contact was brief, just a feather-light graze, yet it sent a little spark through you that you quickly dismissed as waves of concentration.

The soft touches, fleeting as they were, felt strangely intimate in the quiet library. They were a subtle reminder of the presence beside you, a grounding force that anchored you in the moment.

Soon, you found yourself completely absorbed in your design. Ideas flowed from your mind onto the paper, fueled by the calming music and the quiet hum of the library. You lost track of time, the world shrinking to just you, the paper, and the pencil in your hand. Before you knew it, you had created a framework, something that satisfied you with its potential.

You stole a glance at Geto, his brow furrowed in concentration as he took down some notes from his book. Feeling your gaze, he lifted his head, a gentle smile gracing his lips. The soft melody playing through the AirPods had faded out without you noticing, leaving a hush that descended upon the library. You could now hear the faint tick of the clock with each passing second and the distant hum of fluorescent lights.

"You done?" He asked softly, his voice barely a murmur. you nodded, afraid to break the comfortable quietness of the library.

"Can I see?" His question held a genuine curiosity that tugged at a corner of your heart. A wave of self-consciousness washed over you, your cheeks burning as you looked down at your creation. The jumbled mess of lines and shapes sprawled across the page – a chaotic storm of ideas only you could decipher... yet.

"Honestly," you blurted out, your voice barely audible, "it's a bit of a mess right now. Just a tangle of ideas only I can understand. But I promise, once it's finished, I'd love to show it to you."

The flicker of disappointment that crossed Geto's features at your refusal was quickly replaced by a spark of anticipation. His brows lifted slightly, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Sure, I would love that too," Geto said, his eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. It felt like he was searching for something – solving a puzzle you didn't understand.

Soon enough, he looked away, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by a familiar guardedness as he started packing his things. "Are you ready to leave? It's getting late," he began, but then he added, "We could stay if you have something else to do."

You shook your head, a wave of accomplishment washing over you. You could feel a satisfied smile tugging at your lips - the day had gone well. You stretched a little, "No, no, I'm done - we can leave now," you said, gathering your things. When you were done, you met Geto's gaze, facing him completely as you stood up.

A flicker of concern marred his expression as he leaned in slightly. "You got something..." His eyes narrowed, fixated on the side of your cheek. Before you could react, his fingers reached up with unexpected tenderness, brushing away something invisible. His touch was light as a feather, his thumb strangely comforting as it grazed your cheek, sending a spark dancing across your skin – a feeling entirely separate from the cool night air that drifted in through the library window.

You froze, surprised by the sudden intimacy of the gesture. It wasn't just the touch – the silence in the library, broken only by the faint ticks of the clock, and the cool night air whispering secrets through the window, all conspired to amplify the feel of his fingers on your face. A stand of his hair fluttered slightly, as his gaze was fixed on the side of your face. He seemed utterly focused, almost like he was performing a delicate operation requiring his full attention.

A warmth bloomed on your cheek, spreading like wildfire as Geto smirked, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. His thumb lingered for a beat longer than necessary, almost as if he was afraid to let go – scared this moment wouldn't come back again.

Finally, with a slow reluctance, he pulled away, glancing down at the dark smudge on his thumb. "Graphite," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. You nodded, still a little dazed by the touch.

"Come on, it's getting late. I'll walk you home," Geto said, his voice soothing.

A mixture of surprise and a secret thrill fluttered through you. "You don't have to do that, Geto," you mumbled, as you grabbed your backpack. You were about to sling it over your shoulder, but Geto gently took it from your hand, carrying it for you.

"But I want to," he said firmly, "Unless you don't want me to – then that's a different story." He added with a playful glint in his eyes.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I mean," you said, trying to sound casual, "I wouldn't mind having a bodyguard for a while." Your gaze, perhaps a little bolder than intended, flickered down his form. The way his loose shirt stretched hinted at the lean muscle beneath. You could tell he had a strong body, despite the baggy clothes he wore.

A throat cleared, snapping your attention back to his face. Heat rose to your cheeks as you realised you'd been caught staring. "Shall we leave now?" He asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze for a moment longer. The walk home promised to be interesting, filled with unspoken words and a newfound awareness simmering between you.

You let out a sigh of relief as you pulled on a pair of comfy jeans and your favourite oversized sweater. The mountain of assignments was conquered, the exams aced (well, mostly aced), and ten glorious days of freedom stretched before you. Sure, you might have unintentionally sacrificed three of those days to blissful hibernation in bed, recovering from the mental marathon, but that was neither here nor there. Today, fueled by a renewed sense of purpose, you were determined to visit one of your favourite places – the little library tucked away about fifteen minutes from your house.

The bus ride was filled with the rhythmic rumble of the engine and the quiet murmur of fellow passengers. As you disembarked at the nearest stop, a wave of cool autumn air washed over you, washing away the warmth of the bus. The crispness hinted at the changing season, with the shadows of clouds lengthening across the sky and a gentle rumble promising a possible afternoon shower. The five-minute walk to the library was a familiar one, your feet almost on autopilot as they navigated the well-worn path.

A smile crept onto your face as the quaint building came into view. You'd stumbled upon it quite by accident one rainy afternoon, seeking refuge from the downpour. Back then, the sight of the small, unassuming structure – shrouded in the twilight and slick with rain – had caused a flicker of hesitation. Who in their right mind would just enter such a place? But then, an inexplicable pull had drawn you closer, urging you to push open the weathered wooden door.

Stepping inside that day had been one of the best decisions of your life. The library, if you could even call it that, was an explosion for the senses. The warm aroma of aged paper and leather books mingled with the earthy scent of potted plants that lined the shelves and window sills. The entire place was a symphony of wood – the floorboards creaked softly under your weight, the bookshelves stretched high towards the ceiling, and carved wooden beams crisscrossed overhead. But the most captivating feature was the large, floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the bustling street outside.

Here's the twist: the window wasn't quite what it seemed. From the outside, it appeared opaque, a carefully crafted illusion that shielded the library's interior from prying eyes. It offered a sense of sanctuary, a hidden haven for true lovers of literature. But step inside, and the window transformed into a crystal-clear portal, offering a glimpse of the outside world while preserving the library's atmosphere.

But there was something else entirely about the place. It felt as if the library itself possessed a subtle sentience. It exuded a quiet, welcoming aura for those it deemed worthy – a gentle tug on the heartstrings, a barely-there whisper that beckoned you closer. Yet, for those who weren't meant to enter, the library remained stubbornly opaque. To them, it was just another unremarkable building on the bustling street, easily overlooked and forgotten. The library held its secrets close, revealing them only to those who held a genuine love for literature.

The real secret of the library, however, wasn't its charming ambience or clever window. Nestled amongst the shelves were rare copies of forgotten texts, first editions of literary masterpieces, and obscure volumes on a variety of topics. Here, within these walls, resided stories waiting to be rediscovered, knowledge waiting to be unearthed.

The library, you mused, operated on an unspoken trust system. Another twist about this hidden place? Everyone returned the books they borrowed, or so the whispers went. No matter how rare and valuable the books were, people always returned them.

You flashed a smile to the small, old man sitting behind the desk by the door. His hair was the colour of moonlight. Age had etched a map of wrinkles across his face, each line seeming to hold a story waiting to be told. You assumed he was the owner – a collector with a love for written words twinkling in his old, experienced eyes. Perhaps he was a custodian of knowledge, eager to share it with those who held a similar reverence.

You made your way through the different sections. Your fingers trailed across the spines of the books, each title a whispered promise of adventure, knowledge, or escape. You paused at a shelf labelled "Forgotten Tales," drawn in by the faded lettering and the air of mystery it exuded. All the titles sparked your imagination- whispering promises of something great - an escape.

One particular book with a faded green leather cover and gold filigree snagged your attention. The title and the description hinted at a fantastical world you yearned to explore. With a satisfied smile, you flipped it open, the scent of aged paper and forgotten stories filled your senses.

As you neared the end of the book, you felt a brush against your fingers. A library card, tucked snugly in the back pocket, threatened to fall out. Curiosity bubbled up, and you carefully retrieved the card, smoothing out the worn edges. Your gaze scanned down the list of previous borrowers.

Then, there it was, nestled at the bottom, the latest entry – the name of the man who occupied a significant space in your thoughts, the name that had been a part of almost all your thoughts lately.

Suguru Geto.

When you first found the bouquet with the apology card, you thought the name sounded familiar. Now, as you held the library card, you realised why. Geto's name had been a recurring presence, etched onto the library card of almost every book you'd borrowed from this place.

Intrigued and a touch bewildered, you clutched the book tighter. Surely, it couldn't be your Suguru. But the name wasn't common, and given the conversations you'd shared and the connection you felt with him, you wouldn't be surprised if this Suguru and your Suguru were the same.

You tried to imagine him reading the book, and the image flowed into your mind with startling clarity. You saw Suguru, brows furrowed in a familiar crease of concentration, his glasses perched low on his nose as he leaned into the text. Completely absorbed, his long, slender fingers would trace the words on the page, lingering on a line that particularly intrigued him before carefully turning the page. A picture of meticulousness, he might even reach for a pen, but you knew it wouldn't be to mar the book itself. Instead, he'd jot down notes on a separate sheet, preserving the book for its future readers.

Yeah, you wouldn't be surprised if this Suguru and your Suguru were the same.

You approached the desk, the book clutched in your hand. The old man looked up from his ledger. His gaze was kind, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling further as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

You placed the book on the counter, the worn leather cover whispering its secrets. He asked for your name, picked up a well-inked pen and with practised ease, began inscribing your name on the library card of the book. As he finished, you couldn't help but steal a glance at the list of previous borrowers. Suguru Geto's name still held its prominent place.

The old man met your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, a knowing glint flickered in his pale eyes. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, so you almost dismissed it, attributing it to the play of light filtering through the window. Yet, a shiver danced down your spine, leaving goosebumps prickling your skin.

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely a whisper. The old man simply smiled, a hint of something deeper lurking in his expression. He handed you the book, his fingers accidentally brushing against yours- the touch cold, but not strange.

Leaving the library felt different this time. The autumn air held a sharper tang, the world outside more vibrant. A shy smile played on your lips, a secret bloom hidden amongst the vibrant tapestry of the world. This wasn't just about the book, the library, or even Suguru himself. It was about a feeling, a nascent awareness that had blossomed within you, painting the world in shades you never knew existed. The book in your arms felt like a bridge, another connection to Suguru Geto.

The post-semester break was gone, and a new semester had begun, but the usual thrill of diving into his course was muted. That didn’t mean Geto wasn’t looking forward to it- He had never been this excited about college.

Geto found himself fidgeting in his seat in the class, his mind wandering to the corner table of the cafe where he'd met you just weeks ago. The thirty minutes of conversation with you felt like a lifetime compared to the two, frustrating months he had spent with his ex-girlfriend. There was electricity in your presence, a spark, and Geto felt like a moth, drawn to it. And here he was- checking his phone every few minutes, hoping for a message.

His professor’s words faded into the background as he found himself thinking about your spot in the library, where he last met you. He had a book propped open in front of him then, but the words blurred before his eyes. How could he concentrate anyways, when you were right next to him, offering the best distraction?

There you were, sitting on the chair, brow furrowed in concentration as you drew. The rhythmic scratching of your pencil against the paper accompanied the music flowing in his ear. Your hair cascaded down one side of your face, momentarily obscuring your features.

You were completely absorbed in your work, and Geto was completely mesmerised by you- a captivating scene he couldn't tear his gaze from. He felt as if you were a world away from him, but at the same time, he felt an inexplicable closeness, as if he were witnessing something intimate- a glimpse into your soul.

He dared a few stolen glances at your drawing. The network of lines and shapes didn't quite make sense to him. But a strange sense of contentment washed over him. It was alright- he was willing to wait - wait till he understood you enough to understand those drawings - to unravel the mysteries you presented, one conversation, one shared moment at a time.

The semester break brought a flurry of messages, a stream of random thoughts and experiences. It began with you sending your finished assignment, the same one where you'd been sketching in the library. The framework that had initially puzzled him now held a glimmer of meaning.

Your designs were bold and innovative, and a surge of pride, unexpected and unfamiliar, filled him. You thanked him for his "help," but the sentiment felt misplaced. He hadn't truly helped. However, the thought of being there for you, in whatever way he could, fueled a new kind of excitement, a yearning to be a part of your world, a world that seemed to hold a secret melody waiting to be played.

The shrill bell jerked Geto from his thoughts, marking the end of the period. He shoved his books into his bag with a sigh, enduring the usual barrage of small talk from his classmates, smiling at them and trying to be polite, before making his escape. A familiar mop of white hair came into view just outside the classroom, a grin stretched wide across Satoru's face.

"Seriously, how are you already here?" Geto asked, trying to muster irritation, though he was happy at the sight of his best friend.

The blue-eyed man just shrugged. "Shoko has some extra work, so she won’t be there for lunch today," he said.

Satoru leaned in conspiratorially, his elbow finding Geto's shoulder, resting on them. "Now, tell me, Suguru. Anything exciting happened during your break besides missing your charming best friend?"

Geto couldn't help but chuckle as they made their way towards the cafeteria, the sound of chatter and occasional bursts of laughter filling their ears. The sweet aroma of the campus bakery greeted them, and Geto had to restrain Satoru before he could make his way towards the bakery. He pulled on Satoru's collar, steering him away from the bakery.

The dark-haired man pinched the bridge of his nose, a concerned sigh escaping his lips. "Hold on there, Satoru," Geto said, his voice firm. "You are not buying sweets right now- not before having a proper meal or something."

Satoru hasn’t been well for the past couple of months, which was far different from his usual boundless energy. Geto knew the culprit: Satoru's diet, which, well, consisted of desserts and sweets rather than a balanced meal plan. His best friend treated sugary treats like they were sustenance, and the lack of proper nutrients was taking its toll.

Satoru's eyes widened in mock protest, and he pouted, but a playful glint hinted at his underlying acceptance of Geto's nagging.

After making sure his best friend wouldn’t buy sweets, Geto left Satoru to get them some food, as the blue-eyed man looked for an empty table. He balanced the lunch tray in his hands as he navigated through the bustling cafeteria, spotting Satoru sitting on a corner table. Setting down his and Satoru's lunch on the table, Geto collapsed into the faded plastic seat. As he passed the sandwich to his friend, his head lifted on autopilot, his gaze drawn magnetically towards the cafeteria doors.

There you were, a burst of sunshine amidst the sea of faces. You were laughing, the sound of a melody that washed over him, light and infectious. He couldn't quite catch the joke - something the guy with the black hair or the girl with the green hair said. But it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was you, head tilted back, the carefree joy radiating from every inch of you.

Suguru couldn't help but smile as he watched you. A lightness, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a while, bubbled up within him. Just then, a voice cut through his thoughts.

"That's her, huh?" Satoru asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Geto's head snapped back so fast it almost gave him whiplash. He hadn't confided in Satoru about you yet, the whirlwind of emotions still swirling within him. Satoru must have seen the shocked expression plastered on his face because he leaned back with a smirk.

"Come on, Suguru," he chuckled. "We've been friends since diapers. I don't need a crystal ball to know what's going on."

Geto flushed, realising he was indeed an open book to his best friend. "Great," he muttered, more to himself than Satoru. He was going to be teased endlessly now.

Satoru's grin widened, his dimples deepening. "Oh, and Shoko knows too, I am twenty bucks richer thanks to you. We made a little bet, you know." Satoru winked.

Geto groaned, burying his face in his hands for a dramatic beat. He wasn't hiding anything, not intentionally. He just needed some time to untangle the jumble of emotions you ignited within him. His friends, however, seemed to be a few steps ahead. Stealing a peek through his fingers, he saw you settling down at a table nearby. Relief washed over him – at least he could still admire you from a safe distance.

Across from you sat a girl with vibrant green hair, and next to you was a guy with hair the colour of faded snow, similar to Satoru's. The black-haired guy occupied the seat next to the girl. Geto watched you interact with your friends, a warmth spreading through him as you effortlessly weaved between jokes and stories. Then, you reached into your bag, pulling out something.

It was a book.

A very familiar book.

He could practically feel the worn green leather cover beneath his fingers, and smell the faint scent of aged paper, even though you were the one holding it. This specific edition, with its unique gold filigree and slightly chipped spine, was only available from one library – a place he'd stumbled upon quite by accident.

His gaze darted to Satoru, gauging his friend's reaction. Sure enough, Satoru sported a smug grin, the traitor muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Whipped already." Geto rolled his eyes. College student, whipped? Please.

He turned his gaze back to you, but a jolt of surprise shot through him. Dark pairs of eyes stared back at him - they weren’t your eyes, though.

The girl with the green hair peeled her eyes away from Geto and turned them back to you to say something, her eyebrows raised in amusement. A frown marred your face at your friend’s words before you turned your head enough to face Geto. The frown melted into a surprised smile as your eyes met his. And then, you waved. A small wave, but a wave nonetheless.

Suguru felt his cheeks heat up, a warmth spreading from his neck to his hairline as he waved back. He might be in college, for crying out loud, but at that moment, he felt like a middle schooler again, his stomach churning with a mix of nervousness and exhilaration.

You held his gaze for a moment – or maybe it was a lifetime – before the guy with the greyish-white hair gently nudged your arm, and the four of you got up to leave.

He looked back at Satoru, whose smug grin stretched from ear to ear. "Not now, Satoru," Geto groaned, holding up a hand. "Let me process this first." He knew he wouldn't hear the end of it, but a tiny spark of hope flickered within him.

It hasn’t even been a week into the new semester, and you were already burdened with a new assignment. So, for this perplexing task, one person sprang to mind: the guy with the ebony hair and charcoal eyes. You'd texted him earlier about the assignment, and now, with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, you approached your usual corner of the library.

There he was, perched in your chair, a relaxed vibe emanating from him. A white t-shirt peeked out from under a black zip-up hoodie, paired with comfortable-looking baggy jeans. The absence of his glasses softened his features, likely replaced with a pair of contacts. He was, unsurprisingly, nose-deep in a book, completely absorbed in its world, just like you'd pictured him reading the book tucked away in your bag.

A hesitant smile tugged at your lips as you approached the table. This time, unlike your first encounter, he seemed to sense your arrival, glancing up with a smile that lit up his face and instantly ignited a warmth in your chest.

Your heart did a little skip-a-beat before your mind intervened with a voice of reason. Maybe that smile was a default setting, a friendly courtesy he extended to everyone. Yes, you two had shared conversations before, and there was a connection you had felt building. But was it enough to break through the barrier of a polite smile?

Before you could drown in such thoughts, Geto's voice cut through them. "Hey," he greeted, a smile playing on his lips. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he added, "Planning to do your assignment standing up?"

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. "It's a little hard to sit when someone else is occupying my chair," you teased playfully, nudging him gently as you attempted to squeeze into the space beside him.

Geto chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "I thought we talked about this whole 'your chair' thing?" he said, the smile still lingering on his face. You shook your head playfully.

Reaching into your bag, you retrieved your laptop and pencil case, the familiar weight grounding you slightly.

Geto followed your movements with his gaze. "So," he asked, leaning back slightly, "what's this assignment all about?" He seemed genuinely interested, and your heart again did that little thing.

"The assignment is to analyse two artworks through an ethical lens," you explained, laying out the details for Suguru. "We pick any two and dissect them based on moral implications, the artist's intent, and how they might affect the viewer."

It was an important assignment, worth 30 percent marks for the subject - it consisted of a report submission and a presentation. You were willing to work hard for it and complete it.

Geto nodded along, his brows furrowed in concentration. "Sounds intriguing," he murmured. Internally, a spark of excitement ignited. Maybe you could get a glimpse into Geto’s mind - see how it works.

"Actually, I had a couple of ideas in mind," you said, a hopeful note creeping into your voice. "What about 'Guernica' by Picasso and '12 Angry Men' by Sidney Lumet?" You stole a glance at Suguru, gauging his reaction. "But of course, we can discuss other options if you have any preferences." There was no sense of going with these topics if Suguru wasn’t aware of them.

Suguru surprised you. "Oh, no need," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, "I'm familiar with both." Without further ado, the two of you dove into ‘Guernica’.

You took the lead, dissecting the painting's raw portrayal of suffering. You pointed out the distorted figures, the bleak colour palette, and how it all coalesced to evoke a sense of overwhelming despair. Geto readily agreed, analysing the artwork through a utilitarian lens. "Picasso," he observed, "forces us to confront the immense human cost of war."

"But it's not just the humans, is it?" you countered, your gaze lingering on the image of a horse in the centre, its body contorted in agony. "The way Picasso depicts the animals – the terrified horse, the dead dove – broadens the impact of war's devastation. It forces us to consider the suffering inflicted on innocent creatures caught in the crossfire."

Suguru's brows furrowed in thought. "Excellent point," he conceded, a hint of awe colouring his voice. "The horse can be interpreted in several ways – it can be viewed as a symbol of Spain itself, ravaged by war. The dove, traditionally a symbol of peace, lies lifeless, highlighting the destruction of hope brought about by conflict."

The discussion flowed easily, weaving between the artistic elements of the painting and the deeper philosophical questions it raised. The two of you explored the symbolism, the historical context, and how each element contributed to the overall message of the artwork. The more you delved into "Guernica," the more you realised it wasn't just a depiction of war; it was a powerful indictment of its inhumanity, a plea for peace, and a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

Next, you shifted gears, tackling Sidney Lumet's "12 Angry Men." You highlighted the film's claustrophobic setting of the jury room, emphasising how it served to intensify the ethical debate and forced character development within the confined space. Suguru built upon your point, drawing a parallel between the jury room and a microcosm of societal justice. He explained how the film, through its close-ups and shifting camera angles, explored the characters' internal struggles with prejudice, reasonable doubt, and the crucial importance of open-mindedness during the deliberation process.

"Lumet's masterful use of camerawork is particularly noteworthy," You elaborated, remembering the lessons from your class. "Notice how he employs wide shots at the beginning, establishing the initial hostility and division within the jury. But as the discussion progresses, the camera zooms in on individual faces, capturing the emotional shifts and the gradual erosion of preconceived notions."

As the discussion flowed, a surprising synergy emerged between you and Suguru. Your artistic background provided a vivid understanding of the emotional core of the works, painting a picture with words that resonated deeply with Suguru's philosophical analysis. He, in turn, added depth to your interpretations, weaving a tapestry of ethical considerations that transcended the canvas and resonated with the complexities of the real world.

The afternoon melted away, fueling discussions about the artworks. Your hands brushed against Geto a few times, as you tried to point at something on the screen or as he reached for a pencil to help with your notes. Warmth crept through you every time, but you ignored the feeling, choosing to focus on your assignment.

Suguru's insights provided a fresh perspective, a new lens through which to view the artworks, and a thrill of discovery shot through you. Gazing at your notes, filled with your combined observations, a contented smile played on your lips. The satisfaction wasn't just from a job well done- you were mesmerised to see how Suguru’s mind worked, and the depth of his knowledge.

The sun dipped below the library windows, casting long shadows across the tables, filling the space in shades of peaches and amethyst. Gathering your notes and laptop, you realised how much time had flown by. "Wow," you remarked, surprised by the lateness of the hour. "This was... a lot of fun."

Suguru mirrored your smile, a hint of amusement sparkling in his dark eyes. "Why, you expected something else?" he countered, a playful lilt to his voice, but beneath it, you detected a flicker of concern. Was he worried you hadn't enjoyed yourselves?

"Of course not," you teased, returning his smile. "It’s hard to be disappointed when it comes to you" A light blush crept up his cheeks at your honesty.

He began stacking his books, a thoughtful pause settling between you. "So," he continued, casually slinging his bag over his shoulder, "how about we grab some coffee before heading back?" His voice held a hint of nervousness.

"Sure, I'd love that," you replied, a genuine smile warming your face. Suguru's smile widened in response, and then, in a move that surprised you both, he extended a hand towards you.

Your gaze flickered up to meet his, the surprise you felt mirroring in his dark eyes. It was as if his hand had acted on its own accord. But the surprise quickly melted away, replaced by a flicker of confidence – and perhaps even a spark of hope.

You accepted his gesture, your hand slipping into his. The touch sent a wave of comfort through you. His skin was warm, a stark contrast to the coolness of the library air. There was a comforting solidity to it, a silent invitation that extended beyond the confines of the assignment. For a blissful moment, you wished you could hold onto that feeling forever.

Together, you exited the library, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. By unspoken agreement, you found yourselves heading towards the familiar cafe where you'd first met. Suguru pulled out the chair for you and helped you settle into the chair before making his way towards his chair. After you placed the order, Suguru surprised you by bringing up the presentation format.

"You still have to work on that, right?" he inquired casually.

"Yeah," you confirmed, "but I think it'll be pretty straightforward after all our work."

"Absolutely," Suguru agreed, offering a reassuring smile. "Still, if you need help finalising it, don't hesitate to let me know." His words were laced with a genuine concern that warmed your heart. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done enough- as if he didn’t just spend his entire afternoon with you to help with your assignment.

"But Geto," you protested, "you've already done so much. The analysis itself was practically a seminar, thanks to you."

Suguru chuckled- a soft sound that sent shivers down your spine. "No worries about that," he reassured you, his dark eyes holding a sincerity that left you speechless. "Honestly, I had a great time too."

The waiter arrived with your order, setting it before the two of you, the smell of coffee and choco-chip muffin filling your nostrils. You grabbed your cup, sipping the warm liquid, when Suguru started, his cup in his hand, “I am curious,” he began, “Why didn’t you choose that book for the assignment?”

He didn’t need to elaborate further - You knew which book he was talking about. “Oh, it didn’t make sense to select that book, though I wanted to.” You took another sip of your coffee as you continued, “Honestly, I don’t think people would be familiar with the work, my professor included, and I didn’t want to risk losing marks,” you explained.

Suguru nodded in reply. Curiosity gnawed at you. “How did you find that library, Geto?”

Suguru met your gaze, and a genuine smile softened his features. "By mistake, of course," he chuckled. "I was supposed to be at a different place near the building, but I ended up wandering into the library instead; I had read the address wrong." He paused, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. "Spent hours there before I even realised it. When I finally came out, it was dark."

The memory seemed to bring him amusement, and he let out a light laugh. "What about you?" he asked, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

You recounted your own experience of that rainy evening. Suguru listened intently as you painted a picture with your words.

Soon, the coffee was gone and the muffins had disappeared, victims of your lively conversation. Suguru reached into his pocket to settle the bill, but this time you were quicker. With a playful smile, you beat him to it, placing some bills on the table before he could protest.

He chuckled, his features softening. "Looks like the roles are reversed today," he conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender, causing you to laugh.

Finally, as the two of you made your way out of the cafe, Suguru surprised you again. "I'd like to walk you home," he offered, his voice sincere. The offer was tempting - it was a chance to prolong the time spent by his side, even if it was just for a moment.

But a part of you hesitated. He'd already done so much, dedicating a significant portion of his afternoon to helping you out.

As if sensing your internal conflict, Suguru spoke again, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I want to," he reiterated, his gaze holding a warmth that sent a shiver down your spine. "Besides, I live nearby."

A slow smile spread across your face as you gave in, not that you opposed it, to begin with. "Alright," you agreed, "Let's go."

The walk home was filled with unspoken emotions, the comfortable silence punctuated only by the rhythmic tap of your shoes against the pavement. With each step, the streetlights seemed to blur, the world shrinking to the space you shared with Suguru. Every brush of your hands, accidental or not, sent warmth coursing through you, a delicious tingle that left you breathless. His touch, when it happened, was a revelation.

Soon, too soon, you were facing the entrance of your apartment, Suguru standing beside you. You wanted to extend this moment, to make time slow down somehow. You turned to face him, to look into his eyes, hoping to see a glimmer of what you felt in his eyes too.

Before you could meet his eyes, a sudden gust of wind whipped around you, a playful villain stealing your breath and tossing your hair into a frenzy. Instinctively, you reached up to tame the strands, but Suguru's hand appeared beside yours before your fingers could graze a single lock.

Time seemed to slow as his fingers brushed your cheekbone, moving the hair and tucking it behind your ear, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air.

But that wasn't all. His touch lingered a feather-light caress that sent goosebumps cascading across your skin. Slowly, oh so slowly, his hand travelled down the length of your hair, his fingers gently combing through the stray strand. The sensation was electric, a current that arced from the point of contact, igniting every nerve ending in its path.

His touch lingered at the ends of your hair, a whisper of a promise against your skin. Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs, a drumbeat echoing the turmoil within you. You wanted to pull away, to retreat from the dangerous territory his touch had ignited. But a stronger force, a current far more powerful than reason, held you rooted to the spot.

You met his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. His dark eyes were pools of molten dark chocolate, swirling with unspoken emotions that mirrored your own. A hunger flickered in their depths, a hunger that both terrified and exhilarated you.

The unforgiving wind blew again, causing Suguru to blink, and the moment was gone. The hunger you saw in his eyes was no longer there, and you were questioning yourself- maybe you were imagining it. But then you saw the way his chest rose and fell, the slight flush on top of his cheeks and the way his hands were touching you. 

No, it wasn’t your imagination.

Suguru carefully retracted his hand, “Here we are,” he said, his voice hoarse. He was affected as much as you were.

“Here we are,” you echoed, too lost to think of anything else.

Finally, Suguru cleared his throat, the sound breaking the spell. "Well," he began, his voice hesitant, "I guess I should…"

He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. His gaze flickered to your lips for a fleeting moment, a spark of desire igniting within its depths before it was quickly extinguished.

"Yeah," you whispered, the word catching in your throat. Neither of you wanted the night to end, yet neither of you dared to suggest otherwise.

Suguru offered a ghost of a smile, a bittersweet farewell that mirrored the emotions swirling within you. "See you in college, then?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

See you in college? That’s it? Come on Suguru, say something more than that. Offer something more than that. But you didn’t say what you wanted to say, just repeated his words.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice barely audible. "See you in college."

“Please let me know whenever you start on the presentation format. I would love to help you with that - whenever that is” he said, voice still low, but it was dripping with sincerity - honesty - as if he wanted it more than you did.

You could only nod, but that was enough for him, it seemed.

With a final, lingering look, Suguru turned and walked away, his retreating figure swallowed by the darkness. As you watched him go, an ache settled in your chest.

Series mlist | Next Chapter →

a/n: Okay so it's here! The first chapter for my first series! Honestly this idea has been brewing in my head for over a month now and I am so glad to finally share it.

I hope you liked it, please let me know what you thought about it, feedbacks are always welcome! xo

@shiin-ye @whereflowerswenttodie @nakariabnrb

Dividers: @/benkeibear @/cafekitsune @/saradika-graphics

[erosetta-sims]

[Modular Bespoke Study - Part A]

Sims4 CC

✨Here comes the double study room, please check it out~

The first part is equivalent to the main framework of the study, which includes various large and small furniture pieces for combined customization, totaling 30 items. However… does it look a bit empty? There are also some decorative ornaments that I plan to create as content for next month. Let me strive to fill it up!!

Hope you like it : )

🤎Total items: 30

The number of colors ranges from a dozen to thirty or forty. The colors of wooden furniture are all matched. In addition to solid colors, curtains and throw pillows also have checkered and printed options. For specifics, you can check them out in the game by yourselves.

Sheer curtains and cloth curtains can be stacked in two layers. Slightly staggering their positions can prevent any texture clipping.

The lighting effect of the shelf is built-in.

Holes on the pegboard can be used to place items on the storage board. Next month, some matching decorations that can be hung or pasted will also be made.

The curtain box is independent and can be paired with other curtains to hide the curtain rod.

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MaxisMatch - New Meshes and textures.

🤎Release version: 1.115

🤎HighSchoolYears & HomeChefHustle

🤎Public release in July

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1 set of desk and chair

1 under-desk drawer cabinet

5 basic bay window seats (left, middle, right, coffee table, chaise lounge)

3 bay window seats with backrest (left, middle, right)

2 pillow combinations

2 desks (2x1, corner)

2 shelving units with built-in lighting (straight panel, cabinet style)

3 pegboards

1 window (4x1)

3 curtain boxes (left, middle, right)

3 curtains (half-wall, low-wall, mid-wall)

3 sheer curtains (half-wall, low-wall, mid-wall)

1 floor (color-customizable)

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🔗Early Access

★ For personal use only. It cannot be re-uploaded anywhere, with or without charge. Please post the original link instead of packaging.

(Google Translate, Please forgive me if there is any inappropriate expression.)

[techav]

On Celebrating Errors

Isn't it beautiful? The lovely formatted tables of register and stack contents, the trace of function addresses and parameters, the error message ... it's the most beautiful kernel panic I have ever seen.

Why on earth would I be so excited to see a computer crash? What could possibly be beautiful about a kernel panic?

This kernel panic is well-earned. I fought hard to get it.

This kernel panic came from a current NetBSD kernel, freshly compiled and running on Wrap030, my 68030 homebrew computer. It is the result of hours upon hours of work reading through existing code, scattered documentation and notes, writing and rewriting, and endless compiling.

And it's just the start.

As I've said before, a goal of this project has always been to build something capable of running some kind of Unix-like operating system. Now that I finally have all the necessary pieces of hardware, plus a good bootloader in ROM, it's time to give it a shot. I'm not that great with this type of programming, but I have been getting better. I might just be able to brute force my way through hacking together something functional.

It is hard.

There is some documentation available. The man(9) pages are useful, and NetBSD has a great guide to setting up the build environment for cross-compiling the kernel. There are some published papers on what some people went through to port NetBSD to this system or that. But there's nothing that really explains what all these source code files are, and which parts really need to be modified to run on a different system.

I had a few false starts, but ultimately found an existing 68k architecture, cesfic, which was a bare minimum configuration that could serve well as a foundation for my purposes. I copied the cesfic source directory, changed all instances of the name to wrap030, made sure it still compiled, then set about removing everything that I didn't need. It still compiled, so now it's was time to add in what I did need.

... how ... do I ... ?

This is where things get overwhelming very quickly. There is documentation on the core functions required for a new driver, there's documentation on the autoconf system that attaches drivers to devices in the tree, and there's plenty of drivers already to reference. But where to start?

I started by trying to add the com driver for the 16550 UARTs I'm using. It doesn't compile because I'm missing dependencies. The missing functions are missing because of a breaking change to bus.h at some point; the com driver expects the new format but the cesfic port still uses the old. So I needed to pull in the missing functions from another m68k arch. Which then required more missing functions and headers to be pulled in. Eventually it compiled without error again, but that doesn't mean it will actually run. I still needed to add support for my new programmable timer, customize the startup process, update hardware addresses, make sure it was targeting 68030 instead of 68040 ...

So many parts and pieces that need to be updated. Each one requiring searching for the original function or variable declaration to confirm expected types or implementation, then searching for existing usages to figure out what it needs ... which then requires searching for more functions and variable types.

But I got something that at least appeared to have all the right parts and compiled without error. It was time to throw it on a disk, load it up, and see what happened.

Nothing happened, of course. It crashed immediately.

I have no debugging workflow I can rely on here, and at this stage there isn't even a kernel console yet. All I could do was add little print macros to the locore startup code and see where it failed. Guess, test, and revise.

I spent a week debugging the MMU initialization. If the MMU isn't properly configured, everything comes to an abrupt halt. Ultimately, I replaced the cesfic machine-specific initialization code and pmap bootstrapping code with functions from yet another m68k arch. And spent another day debugging before realizing I had missed a section that had comments suggesting it wasn't for the 68030 CPU, but turned out to be critical for operation of kernel memory allocation.

Until this point, I was able to rely on the low-level exception handling built into my bootloader if my code caused a CPU exception. But with the MMU working, that code was no longer mapped.

So then came another few hours learning how to create a minimal early console driver. An early console is used by the kernel prior to the real console getting initialized. In this case, I'm using the MC6850 on my mainboard for the early console, since that's what my bootloader uses. And finally the kernel was able to speak for itself.

It printed its own panic.

The first thing the kernel does is initialize the console. Which requires that com driver and all the machine-specific code I had to write. The kernel is failing at its step #1.

But at least it can tell me that now. And given all the work necessary to get to this point, that kernel panic data printing to the terminal is absolutely beautiful.

[cherrys-muses]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY SECOND; side b — it’s been awhile - staind | rockstar!e. munson x r

w; insinuation of cheating & choosing career over relationship, drunk eddie, i say ‘rockstar!eddie’ but pls take that loosely, nooo happy ending, angst only! an; i hope yall enjoy this angsty piece :ppp

mixtape here!

There’s an unhealthy amount of cigarettes that had been dropped into the ashtray — some overflowing and dropping onto the table. There’s some ends that have a red lipstick print around it. 

Those were barely smoked and wasted, yet Eddie didn’t feel like asking her to finish the cigarette, even if she was wasting a dozen of them — not that he was counting. 

His fingers are sore, almost bleeding, from how many times he goes over the same verse of the song. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to start over from the beginning, and when he does it again, he feels his face flushing in anger. 

He curses under his breath and reaches for the pack on the table. His eyes peek in, his teeth clenching together as he tosses the empty carton back into the table. His fingers press into his eyes and he rubs — hard. So hard he can see spots dance around in his vision. 

He flinches when he feels arms wrap around his neck, lips pressing to his shoulder blade before her chin hooks over the same shoulder. His hands drop and he keeps his eyes locked on the television that shows the two of them in the reflection. 

“You okay, baby?” His jaw clenches once more from just her voice alone, yet he nods and stands from the couch. She leans back, throwing her legs over the couch. “Where are you goin’?” Her hair flows over her shoulder when she moves it towards the edge of the couch. 

Eddie glances over at her, before looking away as he picks a shirt up from a chair. He slips it over his head before pulling his hair from the collar. “Just out to the store. Gotta get a pack of smokes.” 

She hums. “Can you get me a pack?” 

“Gladly.” He grabs his jacket and wallet before heading towards the door. 

“Hey!” He stops when he’s halfway out the door, rolling his eyes to himself before turning and watching as she sits up and hangs over the back of the couch. “Hurry back, please. I wanna hear your new song.” 

“Yeah.” He nods, slamming the door behind himself. He’s quick to jog down the steps, finally feeling as if he could breathe, a small bit of air circles around as he exhales. 

He’s quick to get into his van and start it up, driving out of the trailer park as quick as he could. He didn’t lie — he’s going to the gas station to get a pack of cigarettes, but not right now. 

He needed to get out of that small box and take a break from suffocating in the life that chokes him until he can’t breathe. 

He thinks the worst part is, he can’t blame anyone besides himself for digging himself into that hole. He doesn’t want it to be his fault, yet, he only digs deeper. 

He thinks the hole is now closing up with the dirt. 

It’s lightly sprinkling now and the red lights, that flicker every so often, distort in the droplets on his window. His fingers tap against the wheel when he realizes where he is once again. 

Man, he wishes he had a cigarette. 

Reaching over to his glove box, he hits it and watches as it drops open. He reaches in and grabs a pack of gum. Quickly putting a piece into his mouth, he slips out of his van and walks towards the bar. 

It’s the same — obviously — not much has changed. He makes his way slowly towards the bar, sitting down on stool and waits. 

“Hi! What can I—” He knows that voice from anywhere. 

He glances at you, looking slightly ashamed. Your jaw clenches and you wish it wasn’t only you tonight working, or you would’ve gotten someone else to serve him. 

“What can I get you?” Your voice runs flat, no more fake, customer service voice. 

He smirks a bit. “What, you aren’t playing nice now?” He tilts his head. 

“Not with you — no way,” You scoff. “Either you order or leave. I have a right to refuse to give you anything.” 

“A beer.” 

Giving him one last stare, you turn away and grab a bottle, popping it open before walking back. You place it in front of him without another word, turning away and speaking to some other men who sit at a table on the other side of the room. 

He listens closely and he can hear your laugh again, his own lips pulling into a smile as his eyes remain on the bar. There’s a song playing on the old jukebox in the back at a low volume.

He doesn’t realize how fast he had actually finished off his beer, asking for another, then another plus a little something extra. You’re getting irritated with him but he can’t find it in himself to care. 

“Do you need us to help you out with that one?” You glance up, pausing the wipe down you were doing on the counter. It’s almost closing time, Randy and Joe leaving after finishing off the last bit of beer. 

Your eyes drift towards Eddie who’s curls are spread out on the counter you have yet to clean, his forehead resting on his arm as he sways a bit in his seat. 

Shaking your head, you look at them. “No. It’s okay,” You give the two men a smile. “He doesn’t live far from here. I can take care of him.” 

They’re hesitant, sharing a quick glance with one another. “If you’re sure—”

“I’m positive,” You nod. “He’s harmless.” Harmless in the physical way anyway. Joe nods once, sighing a bit as he slides over two twenties, Randy doing the same after slipping on his coat. 

“Alright. We’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks!” Their boots scrape across the wooden floor, eyes fixed on Eddie as they pass. 

“Alright! See ya, thank you!” You call out. They finally disappear and your smile finally drops as well as your eyes, staring at Eddie. “What are you even doing here? Isn’t Angel waiting for you?” 

He mumbles something in response and it takes everything in you to not scream at him to just leave. Yet, no matter what he’s put you through and how much you want him to hurt just as bad as you did, you would not allow him to drive in the state he’s in. 

“I can’t understand you. Get up,” You snap your fingers impatiently, making your way over. His head lifts and you start to clean down the counter of where he had his head. You glance up slightly before looking down once again. 

Wait. 

Your arm stops and your eyes lift to look at him once again. He’d been crying — you don’t know when he had even started. 

“Why are you crying?” Your brows furrow together. 

His breathing shudders and you can’t help but frown. Even under all the anger you have for him, you love Eddie. Truly, deeply, and always. Your hand pulls away from the cloth and you make your way around the counter slowly. 

Your ears pick up on the small, broken sob that leaves his mouth. His head drops and his curls curtain his face. You stop next to him, watching as his fingers dig into his face, leaving imprints. 

“Eddie,” Your hand reaches out to grasp his wrist. You startle slightly when he lets out another sob, this time louder. “Eds, what’s going—” 

Your words are effectively cut short when his arms wrap around you. Your hands lift quickly as you blink, feeling his curls tickle against your collarbone and the grip he has on both of your sides. 

Your heart skips a beat as you hesitantly look down at him as your arms remain held out to the side, careful not to touch him anymore than what you were already allowing. 

“I’m sorry,” His warm breath brushes over your skin as he speaks, his warm tears rolling down and dropping into your skin as well. Your eyes close and you let out a small exhale as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. Please…” He whimpers as he shakes his head, readjusting his grip. 

“Eddie, please, let go—” 

“I’m so sorry,” He repeats. “Please forgive me. I didn’t…I can’t let you go. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t breathe. It hurts,” His voice cracks and you feel your own tears prick at your eyes and suddenly, your heart picks up. 

“Hey. Eddie, let go of me. I can’t…” You shake your head when you feel as his hands grip at your back now, only this time, with his fingernails. “Eddie, you’re suffocating me, let go!” 

Your hands meet his shoulders, pushing his grip away as you quickly pull back from him. He blinks owlishly as he stared at you with parted lips and soaked cheeks. He notices the tears that had finally fell free. 

“Oh, God,” He stands quickly, shaking his head as he quickly reaches out to wipe away the tears. You pull away from him, your eyes squinted at him. “I just…I’m trying to—”

“Trying to what? Wipe my tears away like you always did, then turn away from me again like you always do,” You let out a scoff as you shake your head. “No. I’m not letting you touch me. You have no right,” You point at him. 

“You lost those privileges when you decided to keep messing around after I had given you so many chances, and you broke my heart over and over again. You only care about yourself,” You poke at his chest and watch as his chin quivers. “You never once cared about me because if you did, you’d let me heal from what pain you caused me. Not increase it by tenfold,” 

“I love you, Eddie, I really do. But, you make me so angry at you,” You stare at him. “You decided what life you wanted when you left after I asked you not to. And now look at you,” 

You motion towards him. You don’t mean to word vomit, but again, you’re angry that he doesn’t seem to take your feelings into consideration. Only his. 

“You come in here and drink whatever you can and get drunk. And don’t think I don’t know you’re doing it during the day as well,” You walk around the counter to grab your purse. “I’m taking you home. Let’s go.” 

Eddie wordlessly follows behind you, glancing over at his van as you lock up the doors. “What about my van?” 

“You’re just gonna come back tomorrow, aren’t you?” You snap, looking over at him. “You can get it then.” 

You pass by him and make your way towards your car, getting in and starting it up. Eddie sighs and follows after you, getting in and buckling up. 

It’s silent now, all besides the bit of rain that hits the top of your car and the low volume of the radio playing Staind. Your nose flares as your fingers grip the steering wheel tightly as you finally turn into the rocky path. 

You stop in front of his trailer, putting the car in park but making no move to get out. Your eyes glance over, noticing the sheer black curtains move slightly before the door opens. 

You clench your jaw and feel the inevitable tears begin once again. “Get out,” Eddie tries reaching for you, but you yank your arm away once again, shaking your head. “Get out of my car, Eddie. If you love me just….” Your voice breaks and you look out your window and place your hand over your mouth as you try to blink the tears away. 

Eddie stares at the back of  your head for a moment, before nodding to himself and opening the car door. “I…I do still love you,” He says. “I hope you can…I hope we can fix things one day but I also understand if you never want to.” 

He waits for you to say something, anything, yet you stay silent. He sniffs and gets out, shutting the door. He watches as you drive away, not wasting a second. 

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @sstar-ggirl — @love-quinn

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, & feedback are welcome & greatly appreciated!

[printpapausa]

Are you looking for the perfect marketing material for your next event? Print custom step and repeat backdrops. Here is how you can benefit from them. 

[irisintheafterglow]

a snowball collides with the glass doors leading to the backyard of the rental house, a dull thunk the only disturbance to your afternoon peace. you hear an apologetic sorry, babe! from a familiar figure bundled in a black coat, gloves, and red hat.

"was that a snowball or a bear?" tsukki grumbles from the other side of the huge L-shaped couch. his forearm is thrown over his eyes, glasses abandoned on the nearest side table. until a minute ago, he was actually able to get a little bit of rest after the boys in his room were talking nonsense until three in the morning.

"snowball, though it might as well been thrown by a bear. volleyball players and your arms and such," you reply without looking up from your book. tsukki grunts in assent and you fall back into a comfortable silence.

besides the occasional screams of triumph from the boys brawling with snowballs outside, your surroundings are serenely calm. since you woke up, a continuous powdering of snow fell on the trees, the roof, and the outside deck. with the more energetic boys declaring war on each other via snowballs, you and the calmer holiday-goers decided to make hot chocolate and watch the time creep by.

"i finally found it," akaashi announces as he returns to the living room, holding up the book he'd been digging around his bag for. "it was buried under bokuto's ungodly amount of socks."

"you sure it wasn't a few of your socks as well, considering how you've begun sharing clothing?" your eyebrows raise in amusement at the hoodie that was definitely not his, loudly printed with a huge owl with glowing yellow eyes. akaashi tended to wear more subdued clothing (and never such a large print), so there was only one other inhabitant of the house that could own the sweater...

"look at the pot calling the kettle black. at least mine doesn't have his name labeled on the sleeve," he fires back teasingly. you concede the battle with a defeated shake of your head. you're indeed wearing a crewneck that isn't yours, curled up in your cushioned corner and surrounded by a heinous amount of throw pillows. the sweatshirt is a washed out crimson, adorned with a single silhouette of a black cat and a label on the back that reads 'property of nekoma volleyball club.' the captain's name and number is embroidered on the right sleeve, a customized early christmas present that ended up being a gift for yourself. "it even says you're nekoma property on the back."

"i am no one's property, and he'll be the first to tell you that," you correct and akaashi shrugs before settling next to you on the couch. "trade me that when you're done with it?" you ask, nodding to the book in his hands, a stray fast food receipt barely marking a tenth of the way in.

"if i get done with it," he scowls. "the main characters are burning so slow, i'm gonna be fifty by the time they hold hands."

"and i will be decaying in a casket by the time i achieve peace and quiet." tsukki's voice comes out as a deadpanned grumble and you share a guilty look with akaashi, poorly hiding your smiles. "finally some quiet..."

his declaration of serenity is cut short by the sliding door abruptly being thrown open, and the participants in the snowball war piling back inside.

"guess who won the greatest fight since the trash battle!" the third year setter from karasuno, sugawara, stomps into the cabin while the rest of his teammates cheer and boast of their victory. they overrun the kitchen and fight over the last mugs of hot chocolate, scavenging for fistfuls of mini marshmallows.

"totally unfair, bokuto kept switching sides," lev grumbled while shaking the snow from his boots. "he was playing for us and then jumped ship."

"it's not my fault they were getting beaten so badly in the beginning," bokuto shrugs with his palms up in surrender. "i consider my presence an attempt to fix the playing field, not an advantage." you scooch closer to the armrest as bokuto joins akaashi on the couch, draping an arm around his shoulders with practiced ease.

"it's barely an advantage when you and hinata alone could have been your own team," konoha points out. you tune out the rest of the boys' bickering, a grin growing on your face once the very last volleyball player re-enters the cabin. he tosses his hair from side to side and particles of snow fly off like cat hair before finding you.

"hey beautiful," tetsurou murmurs, leaning over the side of the couch to plant a kiss on your cheek. his face is freezing in stark contrast to the warmth radiating from the fire. "miss me?"

"terribly," you reply, nudging your nose against his. there were still tiny snowflakes on his nose bridge and you brush them off with your sleeve. "heard you got your ass kicked in a snowball fight."

"it was a draw," he dodges and you chuckle. "i like that sweater on you."

"yeah, my boyfriend's a captain," you not-so-humbly brag and his smile grows wider. you'd never seen someone's eyes sparkle before you met him. "he's pretty hot, too. even after spending an hour in the snow."

"he sounds like a pretty great guy." he leans in to kiss you properly but is suddenly yanked away by another resident of the house.

"stop being cute, i wanna play uno!" bokuto booms, dragging your boyfriend to the game cabinet so he can reach the top-most shelf.

"can we put stakes on it? makes it more fun." noya practically bounces off the leather couch ottoman, a mug of hot chocolate steaming in his hand.

"losers have to cold-plunge in the lake," tsukki suggests, unblinking, with an evil glint in his eye.

"shoyo would probably die, i think," a mortified yamaguchi responds. that's the point, tsukki's face explains wordlessly.

"what about losers have to make dinner?"

"well that's not fair, because crows would be making dinner two nights in a row," akaashi innocently points out, but the jab is not lost on any of you. "yeah, i do think i can beat daichi--"

"this game seems a little too aggressive for me," asahi mutters. "can i team with the other third-years?"

"that's not how uno works, my friend. no mercy for anyone," sugawara says, patting his fellow crow sympathetically on the shoulder. "not even kageyama, who i don't think has ever played this game."

"who the hell said i needed mercy?"

"winning players get the master suite," your boyfriend decides with an expression that the others didn't dare contest. "for the rest of the trip." that sends a noticeable ripple of excitement through the players, the raised stakes pinning the bullseye on their competitive natures. you raise your eyebrows in amusement and tetsurou's eyes darken in a look that you know all too well.

he desired total victory, and he didn't play when it came to you.

[kittyplushy]

🧸No, That's Not An Excuse🧸

A shorter, fluffier fic. Sam is always submissive to her cat's whims.

Julianne's apartment doesn't speak well to her age. It's soft, round, erased of any edge decorated with a warm coat and decoration. It's uniquely colored and lit, relying on lamps and natural light to illuminate the tiny diorama home. At night the tv glows white as Julianme eats dinner on the short coffee table. She's accompanied by a few guests. On her couch in place of throw pillows are stuffed versions of fish. A mackarel, a salmon, and a swordfish fight for space on the sofa. Julianne eats spicy tuna and eggs on themed bowls decorated with faces of cartoon princesses and fairies. In front of her is a new teddy bear bought on impulse. A Japanese mascot plush she found at a thrift shop that looked particularly charming is added to her ever-growing hoard of strange treasures. The bedroom is already overflowing with soft animals and strange objects on legs and tonight a new one joins them.

The teddy bear had more cartoonish proportions. It was fuzzy but it was sewn with a felt-like cloth of a single, unchanging color. It had a white round belly, yellow paws, and a white, short snout. The bear's cartoon eyes were closed, looking dissatisfied or annoyed. It was just too funny to pass up on. She endeariny looks at it and pretends to share her food with the toy. It reminded her of...somebody. Somebody who did notice the mountain of dolls in the bedroom's floor and lounge chair.

Click.

"Doughface, I'm home."

Julianne walks to the doorway and greets her partner with a hug. She stays in the embrace for a little longer then painfully lets go.

"Sorry I'm late. Had to do inventory tonight."

"It's okay. Sam, there's spicy tuna and eggs on the counter if you'd like. I'll clear up space on the coffee table for you." Julianne hums. She suddenly realizes that she forgot to hide the bew teddy bear. She shuffles around quickly so Sam wouldn't notice. She gathers her dirty bowl on a tray she towed under the table and hides the bear under in its place.

Sam has grown to accept such an odd quirk in their apartment. Julianne revered her passion and direction as much as she could leaving the paint unaltered and letting the wood shine through with the right colored rugs and garnishes. She never painted over any of the prime trademarks of her carpenter's design but customization was a priority to the maximalist artist. A Spartan to her Athenian, their preferences clashed harshly but the fluff was growing on Sam like moss. It's nothing she could change. It's in Julianne's nature.

But she notices. Sam picks up the plush mirror while Julianne prepares her her dinner. She grimaces, then smirks; This is such a funny plush. Too bad it's the FIFTH funny plush this week. She doesn't know of there's more. Sam expected herself to become desensitized to her antics but annoyance is a masked concern, and her partner needs a bit of reminding to be careful with her adult money.

"Hey, I got some flavored beer in the minifridge. Do you want anyth...hing...?"

Julianne's ears fold as she's frozen in place. She grins. Oh no.

"Julianne..."

"Yes, Honey?"

"How much is rent this month?" Sam squints her eyes as she smiles- provoking the poor cat.

"...Four Hundred and Seventy...point-twenty..?"

Julianne stiffly sets down a bowl of hot rice and tuna served in floral dishes. She places a glass with strawberry prints on them next to it, filling it with lemon-honey beer. She watches as the bear eats, her soul wanting to leave its body. She squeezes her plush as the minutes pass.

"Julianne." Sam finally breaks the tension. She turns to her, repositioning herself to appear less tense.

"Yeah. I know...it's just-!!"

"What? You have to give me a very good reason."

Julianne's cheeks turn red. She puts the plush up next to Sam's face.

"He looks just like you when you're mad!" The cat laughs.

"Is that it!"

"Yes! Yes! Look! The resemblance is too uncanny!" Julianne falls back on the ground and laughs. She drowns out her guilt with the sound as she reaches for another breath. But it is true- her apartment now looks like a little girl's bedroom. So colorful. So soft. So immature. But it's just the way she likes it. Nice and cozy; Surrounded by trinkets that remind her of her favorite people.

"Julianne, that's not a very good excuse."

Her reaction isn't as explosive as she anticipated. Just annoyed. Sam thinks these impulsive buys are unreasonable but the felt wraps around her now. It's simply..funny now...She'll humor her as long as she has the patience to. She can't bring herself to really scold the younger woman. Maybe she wishes she had that same innocence at 25, but times were different. Julianne is soft and she needs soft things to survive her edged world. The cat has only proven she could melt her down to her sensitivity, so, she's forgiving her again. For Now.

"And just so you know, I won't be buying you any more plushies from now on. Got that?"

Julianne pouts but obediently nods.

"My money, my choiceee..." She hisses.

.

.

Julianne's interests still follow her around. Suddenly from the corner of her eye, she spots a Hello Kitty sticker sheet by a bookstore window. Then as she drives past a boulevard, she notices balloons in the shape of the bear mascot she bought. There are cute, sugary donuts molded as characters at a chain donut shop. Then after her monthly reset, a flea market takes place on an empty parking lot. The bear curiously walks in, windowshopping through people's trunkload of clothes, appliances, and memorabilia. There was a coat that would have been too big for Julianne but perfect for her in all kinds of colors, but who dresses that way? There's a lamp that's got a mosaic of a swan near lily pads. The bulbs smell rotten. Children fight shoulder to shoulder by this mountain of small toys near a spread of stuffed animals. She was going to ignore the spread until the seller brought out a medium-sized plush of a cat wearing a strawberry hat. It was in great condition with big doe eyes, a peach nose, and orange patches. It wasn't exactly like Julianne but it was close. Before she could resist, she already met eyes with the woman displaying it. There seemed to be women in the same age group as Julianne closeby. There literally was no time to waste now.

Sam could not forgive herself for spending $15 on such a funny thing.

.

.

But then again, this wouldn't be just silly to Julianne. She'll promise her life to you if you gifted her something so big. She's going to brag about it. Julianne loves these small surprises and the stoic seems to still fall victim to the whims of a childlike artist. Inside a white plastic bag is a cat doll wearing her favorite fruit. Sam reassures herself: she's the best girlfriend ever, if that will mean anything to her now.

Instead of bringing out her copy of the apartment keys, Sam knocks on Julianne's door and holds her breath. Now it seems like the tables have turned.

"Wait, I'm here now..." Julianne peeks the door open, hiding half of herself from the hallway, "Heya, forgot your keys?"

"Damnit, yeah. Left them in my truck."

Her arms are folded behind her back. Julianne curiously tries to take a peek. She giggles.

"Hey, do you want me to hold it for you?"

"Just sit on the couch. I just want to tell you something important."

The cat obeys, leaning on the left side while cuddling a salmon doll. She smiles politely as her patience is running thin.

"I think..you want this. Can you close your eyes please?"

Julianne hums and shuts them quickly. Her feet patter on the rug, drumming in anticipation and mystery. She's always receptive to a nice treat, whatever it is. Something soft is laid on her thighs and her hands feel to confirm what it is. It is!

"Uh..open your eyes now..so..what do you think..?"

The cats eyes expand with excitement and adoration staring back at the toy cat in her hands. She's immediately enamoured by the details and the pattern of the doll, feeling its high quality fabric and faux fur, tight beautiful embroidery, and small prints. Then her big eyes look up to her girlfriend who looks similarly bashful and red.

"Didn't you say.."

"Julianne I'm not buying you any more, but that thing almost spoke to me and I'd lose sleep over not getting to get it, so don't expect more."

"Don't get so defensive." Julianne purrs. She gives Sam a tight, warm hug again. Her tail curls around the both of them as she prolongs it. She brings the cat plush next to her own face.

"Does it look like me?"

"No brown patches...But it's wearing a strawberry hat."

"But it does..?"

The bear nods with a warm small smile. She pets the plush's strawberry hat.

"Do..you have a name in mind yet?"

She can't resist making Julianne happy however she emotionally can.

"Harper!"

[pyro-hairedguy]

Train Post

I recently had to take both of the Crescent City Branch RDCs out for repair for electrical issues. SP 10 had a broken motor wire on one of the motors, and SV 11 had problems with the pickups.

I fixed the broken joint on SP 10, then checked over SV 11's pickups and found there was some issues with contact between the axles and the pickup plates. All I could think of for now was adding a piece of Tichy wire like a spring through each sideframe to add some tension to the axles. It tested out fine so far, but if it doesn't work long term, I have a few solutions to throw at it that should more than cover the issue.

I also compared the speed tables on these to a friend's identical RDC. The previous locomotive guy had cut the speed table in half, and was using the, while admittedly prototypically accurate, much worse speed curve. These are run with people who are expecting everything to behave roughly the same, so I upped the speed table to normal and set it to use 3-step. They behave much more predictably and run a lot more smoothly.

SV 11 is slightly faster than SP 10.

SP 10 is a catalog option from one of Rapido's runs of RDCs. SV 11 is a custom painted undecorated kit from another of Rapido's RDC runs. The paint and decal work was done by me, with the decal art and printing done by Circus City Decals. Rapido also saved my ass on this project, as my dog had gotten ahold of the original shell while it was covered in masking tape (he liked to eat tape do not ask me why) and wrecked it. Rapido was able to find another RDC-3 shell spare and send it over.

[violetlunette]

My Yuu's relationship with NRC Facility as requested by this ask;

Crowley: Dire Crowley is an irresponsible father figure who encourages Yuu’s “creativity” as long as he doesn’t get caught, and it can’t be blamed on him. The reason is that often Yuu's inventions benefit Crowley, such as the private bathroom until the ol’ faithful incident. He has Yuu handle any problems the school has.

Yuu—surprisingly—looks up to the guy despite knowing he’s a bit irresponsible due to Daddy issues. Also, he lets Yuu do whatever he wants, which is a bonus. Personality-wise, they get along great; however, Yuu tends to act like the straight man to him. (Ironic considering how gay Yuu is for Silver.)

Trien: The responsible uncle Yuu never listens to. He likes that Yuu is one of the few eager to learn in his class, as he sees it as a book club. (Yuu tends to critique history like it’s a book.)

“Yuu, you cannot critique history!” “I can if it’s stupid!"

He hates Lucifer on a primal level. (Other than Grim, Yuu doesn’t like cats. [Monster.])

Crewel: Often a disciplinarian to train the sick puppy that is Yuu. Yuu often gets smacked because he can’t hold back the sex jokes. (To be fair, when you carry a whip—ow!) He believes Yuu is determined to turn the rest of his hair white due to his antics in the lab. As of late, most of his lectures come with an intermission of, “Yuu no! Bad boy!”

Yuu likes his coat and thinks he should look into Dalmatian prints.

Vargas: Vargas thinks Yuu is in great shape, but he’s not; Yuu just often throws himself into situations that make his body go “shit!” and activates his adrenaline in hopes of survival. As such, Vargas pushes Yuu during gym, thinking the other’s holding back when he’s genuinely out of shape.

Yuu tries to avoid him and fails.

Sam: Sam values Yuu as a customer and has even offered the boy a tarot reading on his love life. (Yuu decides to pass this up, so he always has hope things may work.) Yuu finds all his items fascinating.

They do business under the table so often that Sam would own Yuu’s soul if either of them could find it. Trien is extremely annoyed by this. “You’re a fatality member! Stop getting our students involved in the black market!

They share a commonality with their ghost pals. (Though Sam’s are cooler.)