thinking of a yandere! who used to be your old crush.
you never noticed it. far too smitten with the small interactions that he'd give you, the way that his lips would quirk up into a smile upon seeing you, the little sparkle in his eyes he'd give you when you asked him for a pencil. something about the softness of his voice entranced you, the way he blended into the background and yet spoke to you with so much ease... it was comforting in a way. to be the one able see the leak of sincerity in his tone.
he adored it. the feeling you gave him, knowing that you were out there obsessing over him. you only saw the quiet nice guy that he presented himself as, you didn't see the total loser who'd pant your name in his bed, screaming out for you as his toes curled at the thought of your earlier interactions.
but there was another girl. sofia. with cheeks rosy and painted with red, freckles kissing her face, and a smile so lovely that told you that you couldn't compete.
she understood why you were so charmed with him, and it was never in your nature to compete. you were all to happy to be the hand that nudged her towards him, that encouraged her advances, but you were also the one who's heart ached in jealousy.
and so you told yourself to move on.
the tiny moments that you used to seek with him, the daily interactions you'd work towards achieving with each day halted. you fixated on other things, and drowned in your school work, anything to take your mind away from him. he wouldn't notice. he'd love her, and to you he'd blend into the shadows like a celebrity long forgotten.
and you were able to.
you were so enamoured with the feeling of freedom that grasped you once you'd abandoned your obsession that you were too naive to pick up on the little things that would have sent you crazy in the past.
the way his eyebrows would furrow once you didn't linger your hand on his a moment more than needed. the stare he'd drill into the back of his head as he wondered, why weren't you looking back?
most of all, you failed to acknowledge the betrayal that he felt.
sofia stopped attending school. so did he. and there was a moment of peace, were your friends wouldn't give you teasing nudges each time you walked past him, and you wouldn't need to endure the facade of friendship that the two of you held. you had no problems with her, yet she stood as a painful reminder, one that disappeared without a trace.
to this day you still don't understand how. the way that she was able to vanish, the mystery behind her departure. that faithful night that she had walked away from her house without looking back had spread through the news, with no leads and no more than a cold case.
he came into school a few weeks later, his body thinner with a sleeves that hugged his arms.
and once again, you were in the dark.
about the involvement he held in her disappearance, the intricate carvings of your name on his wrist that he kissed each night before bed. he was a total freak, with pictures he'd taken of you covering a corner of his room, paired with offerings of crystals and ribbons that he tied into a bow to look nice.
— who knew attempting to bond with your co workers would lead to a fucked up love triangle?
next >>
prologue; quit your job!
If dying was an option right now, Y/N would take it with a gleeful smile.
Sprinting through the woods, her ears ringing, she slams her grimy, broken hand against her head over and over. Her knees, bruised to a swollen pulp of purple, threaten to buckle beneath her. A deep, unprotected gash dressed painfully across her back, its edges rotting, every movement tearing at the poorly dressed wound.
Ignoring the piercing whine in her ears, her heart froze at the sound of shuffling drawing closer. Her legs wobbled, threatening to give out, but the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins kept her moving forward.
An ear striking screech bursts from the girl’s throat, desperate to catch the attention of any passing drivers or hikers.
How could she be so foolish? It’s four in the morning, and she’s in the middle of nowhere, with two freaks relentlessly chasing her.
Her scream was a terrible mistake. It brought her no closer to freedom instead only closer to her pursuers. Their shouts echo behind her, filled with words she can’t—and doesn’t want to comprehend.
Pleas, threats, and bursts of anger escape from their mouths but the only thing that Y/N had her mind on was getting her brother and leaving this shithole.
Y/N ran and ran, but to her dismay and an almost comical cruel sense of bad luck , Her vision was slammed with a wall ruined with graffiti that was now taunting her from her inescapable future. Her breathing slows as she stumbled back, desperately praying for anything that could save her. Surely they weren't close, she put in all this effort, they cannot be close!
With trembling caution, she moved backward, her steps deliberate and silent. She avoided every brittle branch and insect littering the forest floor, straining to make as little noise as
possible.
Her back pressed into something soft yet unyielding, carrying the earthy scent of firewood mixed with the sharp tang of blood that she’ll always loathe. Y/N’s breath hitched, frozen in her chest as the sound of heavy breathing enveloped her ears from just behind.
‘Fuck.'
“You can’t run from us. It’s two against one, cutie.”
Even with her back turned, she could picture his smug, shit-eating smirk. A chill ran down her spine as his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, trapping her. God, she wished she had a bat so she could beat him till he was a lifeless piece of flesh that she could point and laugh at. Too bad that would never be possible, even if she had a weapon to begin with.
Deep down, Y/N knew there was no escaping this. But with every ounce of strength her battered body could summon, she let out the loudest scream she could muster; a semblance of hope in her body that somebody could save her. It tore through the cold night air before everything turned black. The last thing she heard was another man's footsteps approaching them, and two voices she made an oath to never hear, conversing.
All she wanted was a fucking pay raise.
-
-
-
Y/N buttoned her blouse with a giddy smile, rushing around her room in search of the shoes she’d bought just for this day.
"I can't believe I got the job! I'm so excited, this still feels so surreal." she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm as she grabbed her phone, waiting for her friend’s response.
"Girl, I'm happy for you!” her friend shouted over the line, her voice barely cutting through the loud music and chatter in the background. “Just work hard, and you’ll be promoted to detective in no time! My little Sherlock Holmes~” Y/N scoffs out a laugh before she shakes her head at the chaos on the other end. Normally, she’d lecture her friend about hosting a party at seven in the morning, but today, she was too nervous and way too excited about her first day to care.
"Ahaha, Yeah I don't know about that... I'm still in shock that I got the job to be the assistant, let alone be the main thing. I just hope the person in charge of me is nice." The E/C-eyed girl replied looking at the ceiling , nervously biting her nails whilst walking back and forth in her room.
"Don't stress about it! I'm sure they'll be nice, babes. And you should ju-" Y/N’s friend was abruptly cut off by a guy shouting in the background, his voice carrying over the music: “Ayra! Get back to the party already!”
"Hold on a sec Noel! Im talking to Y/N" she yells back with an obvious scowl on her face… Well, Y/N was almost positive that she displayed one based on the tone of her voice.
"It's fine! You go do your shit, I gotta’ finish getting ready."
"Okay Okay, message me after your shift ends. I wanna know everything~!" The bubbly girl says as she mimics a kiss sound.
Despite Ayra not being able to see Y/N, she smiles with a soft gaze at the phone before hanging up.
Staring into the mirror, she carefully assessed her outfit. A sleek black blouse layered over a white undershirt paired perfectly with a matching black pencil skirt. Light makeup enhanced her features, and her neatly styled hair framed her face just right. She smoothed her clothes with her hands, beaming widely as she twirled in front of the mirror.
Y/N gathered all her essentials, carefully packing them into her bag before stepping out of her apartment. She locked the door with a quick twist of the key, then paused to double-check it twice…just to be sure; it was a habit she had done ever since she lived in her parents home.
Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the button for the ground floor. Knowing the ride would take a while, she lived on the second-highest floor, after all, she pulled out her phone to check the time. It was 7:15 a.m. Perfect. With the bus journey to the department taking only 30 minutes, she was right on schedule (which was always a struggle for her.)
A grin spread across her face as she opened her email app and tapped on the message from the 'Warrens Department.' Her heart fluttered nervously as she re-read the letter, scanning each line to ensure she hadn’t missed anything important. As she scrolled to the bottom, her brows furrowed. There, tucked away, was a link she hadn’t noticed before.
'Shit I must've missed this' She thought with worry before quickly clicking the link, silently thanking her instincts for prompting her to double-check the message.
The link was a profile of the detective that she would be working with. Looking at the picture, she notices that he was a very conventionally attractive male. The formally dressed girl squints her eyes before assessing the man that her eyes laid upon.
Xavier Allette, it read. Twenty-five years old, with five years of experience as a detective.
‘Holy shit, he became a detective at 20? I was still in university then.’ Y/N’s thoughts wandered briefly as she reminisced about her own journey, a flicker of envy stirring as she compared herself to her boss.
Letting out a breath of relief that she didn't know she had; The assistant was expecting an old cruel man as her boss, but to her luck, it was someone of a similar age to her. And, as a bonus, he wasn’t bad to look at either.
Y/N knew better than to judge someone based on their appearance, but as her cheeks warmed, she couldn’t help but blush at the handsome face staring back at her from the screen.
A straight pale face, with a clean-shaven look. His hair was a wavy deep black, tussled formally. Eyes sharp and matched with his extremely dark hair. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the absence of a glint or any sign of life in his pupils. ‘I’m overthinking it,’ she told herself. ‘He’s just posing for the picture’. It had to be her psychology degree kicking in, making her analyze every feature of his face like a subject in a case study. Xavier’s nose was strikingly defined, and his lips were full, holding a slightly warm tint that gave his serious expression a subtle softness. Though he was wearing a suit, anyone could tell the detective worked out as his jaw was sharp and his shoulders were broad. It was clear that he took good care of himself.
The only other information displayed on his profile was a list of the cases he had worked on and details about his educational background.
'Maketa Academy?!' That was the most prestigious high school that Y/N had ever heard of. You could either get in with a scholarship or a lot of money. Unfortunately for her, she had been neither crazy smart nor crazy rich, so attending a place like that had never been an option.
Y/N couldn’t tell whether Xavier had gotten in through wealth or intellect, but either way, it was impressive.
Her train of thought abruptly halted as the elevator chimed, signaling her arrival on the first floor.
Turning off her phone, She exits the building before walking a short distance to the bus so she could arrive at the destination where she was going to be working.
'Please be nice to me, Warrens Department.'
-
-
-
Y/N rushed out of the bus, the clock read 8:00 am. The bus kept on delaying because of the traffic that the driver faced. The 15 minutes that she was hoping she had left to spare, disappeared all because of not getting a driver's licence! Cursing at herself, she ran to the building that was two minutes away. She could get there in ten seconds, her stubbornness is saving her life today.
The girl stared in awe at the building for a second. It was massive and incredibly modern. A large sign labelled Warrens Department was placed right in the middle of the building. Shaking her head, she scans the key card that came into the mail a week ago and fixes any loose hairs before walking into the building.
8:01 am, Already a minute late, though not much of a difference, she didn't want to disappoint her boss on the first day.
Power walking to the reception she sighs shyly before speaking up.
"Hi!" Her voice cracks.
'Oh my god, first I'm late, now my voice cracks, I should just quit my job and leave this e-'
"Hello! Who’re you? I've never seen you before?" The ginger girl behind the desk questioned loudly. Her light southern accent peeked through. The red-haired was incredibly short, her face caked with pink-themed makeup matching her formal pink outfit. Y/N thought the receptionist was cute and seemed nice too! If she wasn't too busy stressing about being late, she'd love to be her friend.
"I'm the detective's new assistant— Xaviers Allette's assistant." Y/N rambles, hands shaking with nerves.
"Y/N L/N?" The receptionist questioned with eyebrows raised, Y/N nods quickly and shows her key card to the lady.
"I'm Abigail!" her smile drops, "Also, you should probably head over to his office quickly, Mr Allette hates tardiness.. a lot."
It was now Y/N's turn for her face to drop, she mumbles a quick thank you before running off.She stops in her tracks as she realised her stupid mistake.
"Hey Abigail, what's his room number?" Y/N spoke rushing back to the desk. Reaching halfway, the red-haired girl puts her hand out, ordering her to stop running back.
"It's on the second floor, room 11, hurry!" She yells, shaking her hand. The late assistant puts a thumbs up as a way of saying thank you before completely ignoring the elevator and rushing up the stairs.
Turning left she finds the room that is the lead detective. On the door, a silver plate is shown with 'Room 11' and 'Xavier Allette' engraved onto them in a fancy font.. It was clear that his room was the biggest on the floor.
Wiping the sweat off her hands and re-checking herself on the reflection of the plate, she checks the time.
8:05 am.
Y/N knocks on her boss's door. The door opens automatically, she notices the man that was just on her screen almost an hour ago, sitting down with his eyes furrowed and lips pulled into a frown. His eyes were fixated on his computer screen, fist propped against his chin. The assistant looks around while patiently waiting for him to say something.
20 seconds passed and all that she could hear were the sounds of him typing. the h/c hair-coloured girl clears her throat.
"Good morning, sir. My name is Y/N L/N, and Im p-"
"You're late." A deep, harsh voice cuts her off.
A/N : New story :p !! i really like the plot for this one and will have a masterlist out for it soon!
Eddie Munson doesn't believe in love at first sight. It's hopeless romanticism, childish fantasy, another way the straights just aren't okay. He's not wrong--look how love at first sight worked out for Romeo and Juliet, both dead by the final act. Couldn't be him.
This makes him strong, he thinks. Smart.
He won't end up like his parents, infatuated for six months, and then years of his mom's sleepless nights as his dad came home less and less.
He's never been sold on the whole white picket fence thing. The world's let him know that it's not meant for him, no matter how many millions of records sold and dollars earned. Plus, he's seen the most beautiful men in the world, slept with many of them, and none of them enticed him for more than a good time.
The band's on a break--after a hit record, a sold out world tour, a couple of Grammy's, they deserve it--plus, the other Corroded guys, they have serious relationships, families, the aforementioned white picket fence. It's been him and Wayne for as long as he cares to remember, and he loves his uncle more than anything, but when the offer comes in to solo headline a festival in Australia, he doesn't hesitate.
He has songs, plenty of them, that don't quite fit Corroded Coffin's sound. There's never going to be an Eddie Munson solo album, at least he's never really considered it, so why not play this stuff in a 'one night only' kind of deal? Plus, he loves festivals, the atmosphere, the music, the delirious rush of it all.
He gets a lot of flack in industry rags for being a music snob, and sure he has strong opinions about metal, but he listens to and loves a wide range of artists across all genres. It's why he's so good at his job. At any festival, he considers it a professional duty to check out as many of the acts as he can, especially the ones he doesn't know yet.
He's waiting for a performance right now, pushed up against the barricade, hoodie on, tattoos obscured, piercings removed, hair in a tight bun, dark glasses his hiding eyes. He hadn't recognized this name in the line- up, the stylized SH, and the only stage decoration is a black backdrop, white letters spelling out, "Shhh," the outline of a finger over cherry red lips. It's cute, Eddie thinks.
He checks his phone, just for a second, and in the space of that moment, the crowd begins to cheer. He looks up, eager for his first glimpse of SH.
A man crosses the stage towards the mic, guitar slung across his chest. He's wearing a yellow polo and a pair of Levi's so tight Eddie's already about to get down on his knees and repent. He's got this coiffed shock of brown hair, a face dotted with freckles, perfectly kissable pink lips. Eddie's seen the hottest men in the world, slept with most of them, but this guy, this guy, is the prettiest one, and somehow he'd never considered pretty.
SH lifts his arms to wave to the crowd, and his polo is short, right, maybe cropped, so the move exposes a large expanse of his stomach. And Eddie, he knows abs, but never before have they been this perfect for biting, can already imagining the give beneath his teeth.
Eddie is transfixed, mesmerized, totally enamored, and he doesn't realize at first that the noise of the crowd, of SH's banter, has blanked into nothingness. It's only the shape of him, the awareness of his existence, that bleeds through.
He watches the stage, mouth wide, as the man's fingers find their places on the strings, as he begins to play music Eddie can't hear over the electric sizzle of his blood, the fuzzed out distortion of his heartbeat.
He has a moment to think, no, this isn't supposed to happen to me before SH begins to sing. The crisp tone of his voice is the only thing Eddie hears, hits him like the sharp buzz of an amplifier, reverberates through him like a plucked guitar string.
Oh no, he thinks. Not this. But there's no outrunning it.
He watches the performance in awe, eyes never leaving SH, immovable for the entire set, slack-jawed with wonder and sensory overload. Too soon SH is introducing the band, names Eddie can't decipher, says, "I'm Steve Harrington, thank you!"
Steve. Steve Harrington. Steve dances in a circle around his brain.
Even once Steve leaves the stage, Eddie doesn't move. He stands at the barricade, knuckles gone white where they clutch the metal, mind whirling. He's done for, a goner, how could this happen, how could this happen, how could this happen.
He stays as the crowd drifts away, as crew pack up instruments and cords, and different crew brings out new equipment. He stays as people trickle up for the next scheduled act, until he's surrounded, and only then does reality click back into focus.
Shoving his way out of the crowd, he rushes backstage, hastily presenting his VIP badge to security. He's too late, he's sure. He spent too much time processing, and surely Steve is gone now, back to an RV or a hotel or boarding an airplane. And maybe that's for the best, Eddie isn't meant for this, Eddie isn't--
Voices stop him in his tracks, a gaggle of children shouting over each other, blending into a cacophony, and in the middle of it all is Steve.
"All I said was that your set starts in five minutes. Why are you yelling at me?"
A girl with long red hair puts a straw to her lips, a spitball hitting Steve square in the forehead.
"Who says we're mad?" She asks, as the wet paper unsticks from his skin, plopping to the floor.
With that, the whole crew of them bop towards the stage, leaving Steve with an annoyed smile on his face.
"Those fucking kids," he says to someone out of Eddie's line of sight. The undertone is alarmingly fond given the sentiment.
Suddenly, the distance between them is too much, and his feet are moving, bringing him closer.
Steve is still talking, but Eddie's movement catches his attention, has him throwing a glance down the hall. He stops mid-sentence, sitting straighter in his chair, a bemused little smile spreading across his mouth.
It's too much, stops Eddie in his tracks, takes his breath. It doesn't stop Steve, though. He's standing and crossing the distance between them before Eddie so much as blinks.
"Hi," he says, when they're toe to toe, when he can see every green speck in Steve's shining hazel eyes. He takes off his sunglasses.
"Hi," Steve answers in a half-whisper, awestruck.
They stare at each other, both smiling.
"Can I kiss you?" Eddie asks.
"Might die if you didn't."
He wraps his hand around the back of Steve's neck, draws him in, holds their lips a hairsbreadth apart. With a sigh, Steve closes the distance, slotting their mouths together.
Eddie Munson doesn't believe in love at first sight, but as Steve's lips part for him, he has to admit this might be one of the rare occasions where he's wrong. After that first taste, there's no doubt that his happiness begins and ends with Steve Harrington. Irrevocably, forever.
They part, gently, noses still touching. Steve's smile is like the sunrise, bright, breathtaking.
"I've been waiting for you," Steve says.
"You have?"
"My whole life."
"Sorry I made you wait, sweetheart. It won't happen again."
I swear that I saw a post with a pic from Djo's first Coachella set with a premise that it was Eddie's first glimpse of Steve and he falls hopelessly in love with him, which obviously inspired this fic, and I can't find that post at all to give credit. So, if anyone knows remembers a post like this, let me know so I can credit for the inspo!
╰┈➤ summary: You were once a Bio-Organic Weapon, a killing machine, until the divine comedy of fate made you meet your angel, Carlos, who now teaches you how to live instead of existing to survive in pain and bloodshed.
╰┈➤ match: Carlos Oliveira x GN!reader (no pronouns mentioned)
╰┈➤ content: fluffy imagine of scenes of Carlos and you in the winter. Slight unconscious self harming habits from reader (❓) nothing too explicit like cutting and blood will be mentioned.
╰┈➤ A/N: My brain just decided that I HAVE to write something about this man
Divider by @chrisssiren
Insp by ‘Snowed In’ by @annchantedd
You could feel and the see the faint light hidden by your eyelids before you could open then fully, the skin of your face was also a victim to the biting cold air, it doesn't bother you, but strangely, the rest of your body feels warm, like it was comfortably wrapped by a large blanket, well, it kind of is.
The next thing you process, is a soft breath hitting the back of your ear and neck, you like it. You like feeling the environment around you and your body before opening your eyes.
And when you do, it's no mistake. His strong arms hold you like a life line, you huff lightly, a small smile forms on your lips, unaccustomed to the action in your muscles, until you met him, that is.
Your vision detects that the light is barely coming from the sun, as it was being blocked by the clouds. You can see the snowflakes, It's a beautiful scene.
You finally move your limbs, trying to leave the bed. His hold on you just tightens, practically unconsciously, turning you to the other side of the bed like he's moving a feather, “Não...” [No], he mumbles in disagreement, his eyes still shut, voice husky and low.
“Hm, Carlos...” You stared the ceiling as you feel him gently rubbing his face on your cheek, his beard almost tickling you. “C'mon, why would you want to leave bed in this cold?” His whining is muffled as he keep his face on your hair now, “You know I don't feel cold. At least not as much as others.” You remind, you know it's very cold when he wears a shirt to sleep, something he rarely does.
He only mumbles gibberish, probably avoiding answering by the lack of argument, you turn your face back to the window, watching the snowflakes fall with such grace, as if their path were traced before they even left the clouds.
The words leave you before you can think properly.
“It's our first winter together.”
You step bare foot in the kitchen room, the sensation of the cold ground almost making your feet numb. You're dressed in his dark hoodie, it has his smell.
“Don't walk like that, you're gonna catch a cold.” He warns, briefly looking at you before going back to strain the tea, the hot smoke of the liquid perfuming the room, “I—” — “Can't catch a cold?” He finishes your phrase with a knowing small smile, you don't argue back, taking the cup of hot tea from the sink instead, with your hands wrapped in the glass, you can feel your skin burn, but the temperature is not unfamiliar, you're fire proof, anyway.
Carlos looks at you wide eyed, but before he can help you, you press the corner of the glass on your lips and taste the boiling liquid, you feel the sting on your tongue first, then the taste.
“Hey, you alright?” His voice is lower, unusual for him, he notices your lack of concern for yourself, of course he does. You just nod, lowering the cup while you look out the window, “I think it's too sweet.” He sighs to himself, blowing softly his own cup of tea while mumbling a small “I knew two tablespoons were too much.”
You give a small content huff to yourself. “It's not too much. You just fill the spoon until it overflows.”
It's white everywhere, soft and cold, too.
The sole of your feet touch the white layer under and around you, this time, your feet do feel numb. But you don't mind.
You're in the backyard, looking up at the sky. You can barely understand it's colors, as the clouds still cover most of it. The fall of the snowflakes are currently weak, one falls on the tip of your nose, and it melts just as quickly as it made contact with your beautiful skin.
Snow.
You like it.
You remember frequent visits to Antarctica, the Umbrella Corporation would request you as your resistance to temperature was efficient. Shipments of weapons, vaccines, pests, parts, materials, living creatures. All while wearing the stupid black coat and hat of your uniform, with the large corporate symbol as identification of ownership.
Despite it all, you like the snow.
Because the place was quieter than a gigantic laboratory with the scream of sentient creations and slaughter of malfunctioned ones.
You walked across hectares of snow searching for adventurers who shouldn't be there, eliminating them and discovering more about humankind, with the little information you had.
To you, humankind meant evil.
Your breath hitched for a second as you feel a warm touch on the shin of your leg, your first instinct is to kick whatever is touching you, but you look down instead.
You see his dark, fluffy and messy hair, a contrast to the snow itself, the man crouched next to you as he's gently raising your leg while he... Places a slipper under your foot, for you to wear.
You just watch, silently cooperating while he does the same to your other leg.
“And don't tell me you don't need it, you know I don't care.” He adds before you can even say anything while he stands up, looking at you with that bright smile of his.
But maybe humankind can mean love, too.
“Snow is cool, huh? I have never seen it until a few years ago. Tropical countries suck in the winter, I'll tell you.” He says as he takes small steps on the ground, as if to listen the small squeaky noise it makes. It's a bit funny.
You show interest, “I want to know what it's like.” He barely lets you finish the sentence before he grabs your hand, causing you both to fall backward into the soft snow.
It surprises you, not only his action but... The feeling. You've never lain on the snow; that thought has never crossed your mind.
“Well, we can go when we have the time, but definitely not in the summer.” He shares, looking at the sky as his legs start moving in the snow, moving from one side to the other.
“What are you doing?” Your eyes are on him.
“Half a snow angel, too lazy to move my arms.” He chuckles at himself.
“Snow angel...?”
Your curiosity and uncertainty about it makes his brows furrow slightly, it pains him that you know about the most professional things about war and weapons, but not the bare minimum about the mundane.
He tries to teach you, stumbling upon some words and laughter as you take a bit to fully understand, he even has to explain why it's called ‘snow angel’. His back is soaked and he's sure he's getting a headache from the cold, but he truly doesn't mind.
Your smile is all the warmth he needs.
Then he turns to the other side, covering his face with his arm as he sneezes, “Nem fudendo...” [No fucking way], you hear him cursing.
You sit immediately in alert, but your expression softens again, he's not in danger, you suppose.
“Let's get inside. It seems like you're the one who caught a cold after all.”
First of many ideas from you fellas! This one’s from @redly25! If you want to submit ideas for me to draw comment on this post or just ask into my inbox!
