#this is how I believe a lot of their interactions go

[81pastrys]

Jealousy

Summary— Her ex starts becoming more prominent, along with her harmless interactions- until Lando notices.

Warnings— smut ; serious talk ; rough sex ; aftercare ; overstimulation

A/N— short ik ik

Lando One Shots

Request— Hii, I love your works sooo much!! Can you please do one where Lando saw reader talking to her ex, then he gets so jealous that they end up having rough s*x???

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

It was an accident- the first few times. Now that it’s happened a lot more recently, Lando is starting to believe it’s not an accident. Her ex, who worked for SkySports F1 and seemed to find her at every race recently and they would end the conversation as soon as Lando or a current hookup of his came into their sight. It was suspicious and Lando didn’t like the guy to begin with.

“So if my ex worked for SkySports would you be okay with me talking to her?” He asked, he was annoyed, pissed, above and beyond the point of caring. He was all for her being independent and confident but with her ex? That’s different.

“What?” She asked confused. It was innocent talks, reminiscing on past things. Lando didn’t seem to believe that was it but he had no proof to hold against that it wasn’t so he just never brought it up.

“Well you seem to catch him in conversation every race, so I’m just asking if the table were turned how would you feel?” His insecurities were showing, vulnerability in his annoyed state.

“Oh baby, your jealousy is showing.” She said mockingly. Not that she was taking him for a joke but he sure saw it like that.

“Jealousy? I feel like all you do is talk with him at races, like I’m not one garage over.” She’s now realizing Lando was in fact not kidding and seriously was questioning it.

“Lan, baby, I love you. I would never go back to him, let alone ever cheat on you.” She furrowed her brows at him. “I can stop talking to him if it’ll make you feel better, seriously I don’t mean to hurt you.”

That eased his worries, not that he thought otherwise, but that she understood what he was trying to say without saying it. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to him as much as you do, but I won’t stop you. It’s your decision, your ex.” He shrugged still a bit annoyed they’re even having this conversation even though he brought it up.

“Lando, seriously if it bothers you I’ll stop.” Her words did no justice in changing his mood. “I want you to know that I wasn’t trying to be sneaky or suspicious- I honestly got excited to stop talking to him when I saw you.” She admitted.

Lando left it alone, there was break upcoming and he knew they would go back to just them. Well, that’s what he had thought. She begged to take her car out to the bar one night and Lando was confused. Usually they would take his car, his beautiful sports car. He obliged and they left however.

It was only when she became severely clingy to him at the bar- only two drinks in- that he noticed her ex standing with another girl on the dance floor. He sighed heavily and pushed her to a corner where he couldn’t see. His arm outstretched above her head and the other wrapping around her hips.

She felt small, the way he held her like this. His eyes said ‘spill’ and so she did. “I didn’t know he was in town.” She lied.

“Oh, so we took your car for fun? Not because he would be able to see that mine was in its place?” Lando teased with a knowing look. “Then all of a sudden decided you needed to be all over me as if he didn’t just get here? Hm?” The added hum got her to blush and bite her lip.

He kissed her forehead and tapped her ass. If she wanted to out on a show, he would put on a show. He dragged her to the dance floor, forgetting any drinks they had. He danced behind her but held her hips close, purposefully grinding her hips to his. “Lan..” She whined.

“Move with the music baby, isn’t this what you wanted?” He said into her ear. His strong arms helped her sway to the music as his hard dick was very much noticeable while grinding on her party dress. She whined and he decided that was enough for the night. “Home. Now.” He commanded.

The ride home was quiet, the low murmur of music playing and the street sounds echoed. Lando’s hand was planted firmly on her bare thigh as she looked out the window. His thumb lightly caressed her outer thigh the entire ride.

Inside was no different, shuffling to the room and getting undressed while haphazardly throwing clothes around. He was on her within seconds of them being naked.

He had her hands pinned up by her head with his and the other held her hip still as she tried to wriggle. She was giggling to no end. “So jealous.” She mumbled. He tightened his grip and she groaned.

“Wouldn’t need to be if you didn’t flirt around with exes.” He said low and teasing in her ear. He kissed her rough, teeth clashing as she tried to pull away from the rough handling. “Don’t go anywhere this is what you wanted, no?”

She panted and nodded, her eyes looking up at him like a lost puppy. He smirked at her and lined himself up, letting her hands free although she kept them in place. With a swift thrust he was inside her. A punched out moan spilled from her throat.

He watched her as he wrecked her in every way. Hands running down her body, kisses on her collar bone and neck, whispering the occasional, “Yeah, baby?” At her involuntary moans.

He noticed she was getting close and kept the pace and angle just right, watching her crumble. Her body twisted and contorted as her orgasm took over. “Fuck! Lando!” She screamed out. Her body shakily lowered back to the bed and his thrusts turned teasingly slow.

“Scream my name again.” He whispered warningly. The slow thrusts hurdling her into another orgasm quickly. Her hands finally moved to push at his hips, which was no use— he had the strength against them. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.” He reminded.

“Lando! God- fuck!” She whimpered as he kept the slow, teasingly, languid pace. It felt good, but overstimulating her over the edge again.

“That’s it baby, give me another.” He teased, looking between their bodies where they connected. He leaned back to settle himself upright, only to grab her hips and find that perfect angle.

She yelped at the overstimulating pleasure as her body shook with the intensity of her fourth orgasm. “Okay, okay, I won’t- fuck! I won’t flirt with him please!!” She begged. He smiled and set her hips down.

“I’ll take your word.” He compromised. “How many was that baby?” He was kissing her upper body while stilling his hips and her breathing calmed the slightest bit.

“Four.” She panted. “Four Lando, your number.” She connected the dots in her wrecked state.

“That’s right, my number for my girl.” The kisses subsided and he pulled away, returning with a wet washcloth to clean up the mess he made of her. “Quit flirting with him like you aren’t screaming my name in bed after.” He whispered before they fell into sleep.

I’ll have a lot of free time soon and I will put it to use- trust.

@il0vereadingstuff @kallanfiona @itznotsophia @justaf1girl @pandabiiissh @angelluv16

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (7/20)

Fuck!!! Uggggh, I love this chapter!!! We are getting close to the kiss...

Enjoy!!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Carol's participation, smooth, a jealous and very annoying Agatha

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: You present your idea, and you don't expect Agatha to like it so much.

Bishop

It's a long-range piece, but can only move along diagonals and cannot jump over other pieces. Each player starts the game with two bishops.

You were surrounded by notebooks, loose notes, post-its stuck to the carpet, the tablet, and even your own arm. 

The living room floor looked like an open mind. A chaotic map of ideas, arrows, keywords, and small nighttime obsessions scribbled in black ink.

The sky outside was starting to lighten. The cold dawn light filtered through the blinds, bathing your skin in that pale tone that only exists between the end of the night and the beginning of the day.

You were still in your sweatshirt and the dark circles under your eyes gave away what the clock no longer needed to prove: you hadn’t slept.

The sound of the door creaking pulled you out of your immersion. Carol appeared with slow steps, hair flattened on one side like she had fought with her pillow.

She stopped at the entrance to the room, blinking her sleep-swollen eyes, and she sighed.

 “I can’t believe you didn’t sleep.”

You looked up, a pen still held between your teeth. 

“Neither can I.” You murmured, pulling the pen out and stretching your neck until it cracked.

Carol went straight to the kitchen, withholding further judgment. The sound of the coffee machine filled the silence, along with the quiet thrum of your own heart, which sped up every time your eyes landed again on the top of the page.

But deep down, you knew. 

This wasn’t just about young voters.

It was about her, about proving that you deserved to be there—at her side.

That you were good.

Good for her.

Carol came back with two mugs, handed you one without a word and sat on the couch with the other, observing the organized chaos in front of her.

“This looks like NASA’s bunker.” She took a sip. “You need to chill. How about going out on Saturday?”

You sipped a bit of the liquid, thinking. Going out with Carol wasn’t exactly relaxing but maybe she had a point.

“As long as you’re paying. Fine.” You shrugged.

“Excuse me?! You should be paying! Spend your first paycheck!”

“A deal’s a deal!”

“Ugh, whatever…”

You knew Carol hated spending money, and you hoped she would forget about you.

[…]

You arrived earlier again, with the plan printed on paper and digitized on the tablet. You had put on lipstick. Nothing excessive, just a red touch, and chosen a button-down shirt that made you look smart, and a short skirt that made you seem younger and more effortless. Like someone who thinks fast and well, but doesn’t care about taking credit.

You opened the office door with a racing heart and froze.

She was already there.

Agatha Harkness. 

Sitting behind the desk, brown hair parted to the side, a gray blazer draped over her shoulders, those square glasses that were so her and a lot of papers everywhere.

Two advisors were speaking at once, and she was ignoring them masterfully. One hand held a pen; the other, a black coffee cup—the third one, judging by the stack of empty mugs on the counter.

You lit up, just like a needy puppy seeing its owner come home. And then you cursed yourself for it.

Pathetic, you thought. Pathetic and needy, she hasn’t even noticed you.

But she had—by the way her eyes found yours and the way she looked you over, head to toe, assessing your outfit, she liked what she saw.

Agatha didn’t smile, didn’t say good morning. Just… looked at you. But the look was enough. It was recognition, validation.

You walked up to the desk trying to appear professional, even though your legs were still a bit shaky. 

“I… I created a plan for the youth voters.” You said, your voice almost steady.

She extended her hand without looking, and you placed the tablet into it carefully. Agatha skimmed the first few lines, then quickly scrolled to the middle and you watched every microexpression of hers like you were reading vital signs.

 A jaw muscle, a slight wrinkle in the brow, eyes lingering just a second longer on a suggestion you had written at three in the morning.

“An Instagram profile called… ‘MotherHark?’” She looked at you over her glasses.

Laughter broke out into the room, and you shrank a little. You hadn’t realized how stupid it might sound out loud.

“Well…” you began, swallowing your insecurity, “based on the comments on social media… Young people like your strong, assertive demeanor. The body language, the firmness. I… ran a test last night, just to see the reception…”

You swiped on the tablet and played a short video.

Fifteen seconds of a clip of her putting the host in his place during last night’s interview.

In the background, the cheeky, punchy beat of Breakin’ Dishes by Rihanna. And right when Agatha said: “In that case… let me know and I’ll change the channel,” the beat dropped. The wink, the lethal little smirk—timed perfectly to the rhythm. 

An edit worthy of going viral.

She watched in silence, but you saw it. 

The almost smile at the corner of her lips. As light as a secret. As warm as a sunbeam on a cold day.

Goddamn.

She was hot.

“I posted this anonymously on TikTok. It’s been less than 24 hours. It’s already hit a hundred thousand views, twenty thousand likes… ten thousand comments.” You said, swiping to the next screen and mirroring it to the TV.

The comments popped like silent applause:

“Who is she?”

“She’s SERVING.”

“Slayyy”

“Mother is MOTHERING.”

Now everyone in the room was reacting, surprised. Finally understanding what this could mean.

Agatha read silently, slowly repeating. 

“Mother is… mothering?”

Each syllable came out as a mix of mockery and wonder. Like she was discovering a new language and maybe liking it a little too much.

Shit.

She was so cute!!!

“Yes.” You chuckled softly, now that you had proven your point. “Young people want someone who commands respect… and at the same time, makes them feel like things are under control. Someone who’ll protect them, but without mercy. They want to be taken care of by someone strong.”

You looked at her, steady.

 “And that’s who you are. A great mother. The powerful kind, it seems.”

Silence.

Her gaze met yours. Intense, indecipherable. And she smiled. A sly smile, no teeth—just for you.

You knew she liked it.

“And how do we make this work?” She asked, voice low but firm. A challenge disguised as curiosity.

You almost sighed, but you straightened your shoulders and lifted your chin. 

“We can start by building the visual universe. Layout, fashion forward color palettes, narratives. Then connect it with behind-the-scenes content, well edited, of course. TikToks from backstage, her reactions during debates, spontaneous interactions with the team. Show the Agatha no one sees. The human one. The ‘Mother.’”

She crossed her arms, intrigued.

You continued, increasingly excited.

“After that… impactful Instagram reels, iconic quotes. Strategic merch. Like mugs that say ‘change the channel’. And the cherry on top: the hashtag. We already have organic engagement with #MotherHark. We can capitalize on it without losing elegance or sounding forced.”

“And how does this help us against the opposition?” One of the advisors asked.

Her eyes never left you, of course.

“Right. No videos tearing down other candidates. I believe this works better if we convince people that candidate Harkness is the best. Show the reason she’s leading the campaign.”

The man jotted down notes, nodding.

She watched you like she was watching a storm take shape.

“And the TikTok?” She asked, still testing the edges of the idea.

“It’s already in beta. We’ll launch an official profile with a special video: your first direct address to the camera. Natural and intimate. Like you’re speaking to… well, your digital babies.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“My�� digital babies?”

You laughed.

“It’s just a metaphor. I promise I won’t make you dance.”

“Better not,” she replied, dry. But the smile was still there. “And this first video… who writes the script?”

You hesitated for a second. 

“I can write. I can draft something and you tweak it. Or… if you’d rather, we can write it together.”

God, yes… you really did want to be alone with her a little longer.

A comfortable silence lingered in the air for a moment. She looked over at her assistants again, whispered something to them. Then, back at you.

“I like that.” She said simply.

It was like a bell rang inside your chest.

She likes it.

You nodded slowly, trying not to blush. Trying not to look so happy. So needy. So obvious.

But inside, you were bursting.

You were good.

Even if she never said it out loud.

[...]

You were alone.

 In your improvised office, as Billy liked to call it, “the idea closet” wrapped in a delicious quiet, filled only with the sound of laptop notifications, scribbles on post-its, and the soft hum of the AC.

The glass wall reflected your silhouette sitting on the floor, surrounded by graphic materials, slogan prototypes, and open folders. A sea of chaotic creativity.

You were so focused on reorganizing an engagement spreadsheet that you didn’t hear the door open.

“Are you working or plotting my murder?” Said a deep voice, laced with elegant irony.

The air thinned. Again.

You turned your head slowly.

She was there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, the blazer draped over her shoulders, and that gaze that seemed to cut right through you. As if she could read your thoughts or worse.

“The first one,” you said, swallowing hard. “I need the algorithm to love you as much as the public does.”

She stepped into the room slowly, eyes scanning the scattered papers. The faint rustle of her tailored pants as she moved.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About image and setting trends.”

She stopped beside you, crouching down with feline control.

“How would that work, exactly?”

It took you a second to remember how to breathe.

“Well… sometimes what sticks isn’t what’s said, but what’s seen,” you spun your laptop toward her, opening a slide deck. “It can be something as simple as a color. An accessory, a recurring detail. Something that sticks in the public’s mind. Like Ocasio-Cortez’s lipstick. Merkel’s blazer. Or Michelle’s bun.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, her face was too close to yours now.

“And what did you imagine for me?”

You tried to look calm, professional. But your knee brushed hers and you had to pretend you didn’t feel it.

“Purple,” you said. “Powerful, noble. Feminine, but not romantic or tacky like pink. If we included a purple piece every time you appeared publicly, it would create a visual pattern. Something people recognize without realizing. A symbol. An emotional visual identity.”

She didn’t respond right away. She picked up a random post-it from your pile, read something you’d scribbled at 3 a.m.

 Strong enough to lead. Real enough to feel.

And then, she placed it back down without a word. Her eyes returned to yours.

“And who decides what’s emotional?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question.

She was looking into you now. The kind of look that doesn’t just ask about colors and hashtags. The kind that wants to know who you are and why, exactly, you’re breathless.

“Whoever feels it.” You answered quietly.

She nodded once, slowly.

“You really had to be good, huh?” She said, looking at you with a mysterious smile.

Your cheeks flushed red, and it was funny how after just one night, you didn’t hate her with such intensity anymore and had stayed up all night just for her recognition.

 “What? You saying that just because you can’t get rid of me?” You joked, nervously. But luckily, she didn’t seem to notice.

“Exactly,” she said, eyes drifting to a fixed point above your shoulder, lost in thought. Then, coming back to herself. “Stick with the purple,” she stood up. “And send me some wardrobe ideas. Nothing obvious or theatrical. Just… inevitable.”

She turned to leave, but paused at the door. Without looking back, she said:

“And wear a lighter perfume when you work with me. Yours… is too much.”

The door closed.

And you were alone again.

Except for the sound of your heart hammering too loudly in your chest.

Too much?

What the fuck??

Right. You couldn’t afford to dwell on that now. You had to finish your work and head back to class. 

Your academic life wasn’t going to wait.

So you closed the laptop, took a deep breath, and got up like someone tucking a secret into their pocket.

Two hours later, you were sitting on the steps of Building H, with a coffee in hand and a Indigenous rights article open on your tablet. Trying to concentrate. Trying to pretend the world hadn’t shifted in the past few days.

But of course, someone had to notice.

“Well, look who’s back from Olympus,” Billy said, dropping his bag next to you with his usual flair. “The goddess of chaos’s favorite.”

You let out a dry laugh.

“She’s not a goddess.”

“But definitely chaos,” he grinned, sitting down. “Come on, spill it. What’s it like working with the chosen one?”

You pretended not to get it.

“Chosen?”

“Hurricane Harkness, duh,” he said, like it was obvious. “She’s everywhere, every timeline, every interview clip, every meme. ‘Mother is mothering’ is trending on my TikTok, by the way. Congrats, personal image assistant.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding a smile.

“I just gave her an idea. She’s the one who put on the show.”

“Oh, and what a show.” Sharon joined in, lounging on the step above you. “That video of her with the Rihanna song? Iconic. I didn’t know she was that… hot.”

You sat up straighter, a little uncomfortable with the comment. Something bubbling in your stomach.

You pretended to keep reading, but it was pointless. They were looking at you like you were… different, like you’d crossed some kind of portal.

Billy nudged your arm.

“Tell me something. Is she really that cold in person?”

You hesitated.

Your mind flashed back to the emergency exit. Her intense stare. The ever present tension. The precise words. The heated kisses. Her hot, pulsing pussy.

Fuck.

Definitely not cold.

“She’s… focused,” you answered carefully. “And very demanding.”

They both looked at you with a sly grin.

“You know, Sharon and I have a bet going about how long it’ll take for you to develop some kind of twisted crush on your boss.”

Oh.

If only they knew.

“Are you guys insane?” You looked up from your tablet at last. “She’s my boss. Older. Way older.” You tried to sound firm.

Billy’s face was serious now, like he was listening intently.

“Okay. Now say it like you hate that.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Billy… come on.”

Then it was Sharon’s turn. 

“Seriously, wipe here.” She pointed to the corner of your mouth and you did it automatically. “You’re drooling, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes again as the two of them high-fived in front of you.

“What is this? A setup?”

“I just want my twenty bucks.” Sharon said, backing off.

“And I want mine,” added Billy.

“Wait, I didn’t bet anything…” you protested.

“You heard it!” Billy shot back.

Shit.

You owed them forty dollars.

Definitely owed them.

By the end of your classes, you were already at the café across from campus. After the chaos of the past few days, you deserved a break. 

The café was the kind that had a small library in the back. Quiet. Perfect for chilly days. You loved it there because… you were invisible.

You read your book carefully. The hot chocolate was like a kiss on your tongue.

Until…

“Well, well, well… what a coincidence.”

That voice…

Agatha.

She wore a wine-colored trench coat, dark sunglasses and a casual tone that felt rehearsed when she approached your table.

Coincidence, my ass.

She sat down without asking. You slowly closed your book, pulse quickening.

“Do you frequent this place?” You asked, disbelief laced with irony.

“You don’t have to say everything that pops into your head. You know that, don’t you, sweetheart?” She smirked, watching your cheeks flush.

“Sorry,” you looked away, even though her eyes were hidden. You knew she was watching, and that alone was enough. “I just wouldn’t have pictured you here. Especially right now… Shouldn’t you be with your aides in some boring meeting?”

She laughed. Really laughed, and the sound warmed your chest.

“I should… but…” she shrugged, like it couldn’t be helped. “I felt like reading.”

Reading… sure.

That usual firm, no-nonsense tone was still there, leaving no room for questions, but you always, always pushed past it.

“And what are you reading?” You asked, like someone with no survival instinct.

Agatha studied you for a moment, and you immediately regretted wearing your Care Bears sweatshirt as your emergency coat.

“Haven’t decided yet,” good old Harkness, always quick with a comeback. “Any suggestions?”

“Have you tried a classic, Governor? What about Pride and Prejudice?” You squinted playfully, earning a laugh—half amused, half incredulous.

She drew a breath before starting:

“‘I have many flaws, but not in understanding, I hope. As for my temper, I can’t guarantee it’s very good. I believe it’s a little too harsh for the world’s conveniences. I can’t forget the madness and vices of others as quickly as I should. Nor the offenses they make against me. My feelings don’t flare up with the slightest effort or attempt. My temperament could be called resentful. Once the good opinion I have of a person is lost, it’s lost forever.’”

You were impressed. She recited Mr. Darcy without blinking. So fucking charming! She must’ve read it dozens of times.

“I was studying Jane Austen before you were even a thought, girl.” She said, challengingly.

And you liked that… How she never shied away from emphasizing her age, her experience.

“‘This is truly a flaw,’” you began theatrically, setting your own book aside. “‘Relentless resentment is a trait that marks a character. You’ve chosen your flaw well. In fact, I can’t laugh at it. There’s no need to be afraid of me.’”

She looked at you and her eyes are smiling. You've never seen her like this and Agatha seemed to glow.

“‘Oh. I believe that in every temperament, there’s a tendency toward a particular form of evil, a natural vice that even the best education can’t extinguish.’” Agatha raised her eyebrows, amused by your scowling expression.

“And I’m supposed to believe your flaw is revealing your questionable character during emergency exits?” You muttered, sarcastic.

“You love playing that card, don’t you, sweetheart? It’s getting boring.” She sighed dramatically.

You clicked your tongue, leaning in a little.

“You know… Mr. Darcy was a bit insufferable at first. But you’re more like Katherine from The Taming of the Shrew.” Your tone was teasing, but your voice had dropped, almost intimate.

Funny how naturally your verbal sparring morphed into shared literary references. Classics always hit during the worst moments and by the look she shot you, Agatha definitely knew who Katherine was.

She let out a short, nervous laugh, removing her sunglasses with defiance. “And who would you be? The stubborn brute Petruchio?”

You smirked, wickedly.

“Well, I don’t usually cast myself in the male role, but since you brought it up… Katherine ends up tamed and married to Petruchio.”

Your implication made Agatha lick her lips, an obvious attempt to restrain her growing irritation.

“Are you implying I can be tamed? Like I’m some wild animal?” Agatha growled, low and bitter. She looked like she regretted coming.

You watched her closely, every feature. Her furrowed brow, her clenched jaw. She was stunning, furious and magnetic. Your gaze dropped to her mouth. Your heart raced, the desire to kiss her almost unbearable.

“Not a wild animal, but you can definitely be tamed.”

The provocation was clear, but your eyes betrayed something deeper.

“You’re so fucking insufferable.”

She closed her eyes, searching for something. Patience, maybe Self-control?

“Did I win?” You whispered, referring to your battle of wits.

“Oh, give me a break!” She rolled her eyes, exasperated and you laughed softly.

A silence settled between you. Not as heated now, but no less intense. Your eyes kept meeting.

“And what are you reading?” She asked suddenly. You turned the cover toward her, and she squinted before picking it up. “Fingersmith?” She asked, flipping through the pages. “What is this, lesbian self-help?”

You let out a breathy laugh, incredulous, and snatched the book from her hands.

“Something like that.”

She smiled.

“By the way, your idea got approved by Barkley’s board.” She said casually.

You blinked.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “They’re positively enchanted by the idea of having such a progressive young woman on their side.”

She made a grand gesture with her hands.

She seemed…

Uncomfortable.

She placed something on the table. A small, perfectly wrapped box.

“What’s this?” you blinked.

She stood up, putting on her sunglasses and tying the belt of her coat.

“It’s appropriate.”

And walked away.

“Wait, but the book…”

She was already gone.

Only then did you really notice it was perfume.

Cuir Béluga by Guerlain.

You smiled.

Unbelievable.

It didn’t take long before you searched up the price of that tiny bottle and your jaw dropped when you saw it cost $500.

God.

She spent her money on that, her time.

Inside the box, there was a card. Elegant handwriting on fine paper.

“If you’re going to be by my side, don’t smell like cheap chocolate.”

Ouch.

You liked your perfume…

But there was something about smelling like whatever Agatha Harkness had chosen for you that made you feel special.

Not a nothing.

[...]

The next day, the atmosphere in the office was… strange. As if someone had sprayed optimism into the air vents. People were smiling more. Even the interns seemed less tense. 

You frowned when a coworker, whose name you didn’t even know, showed up with a cup of hot coffee with your name scribbled on the lid.

“Well, well, look who’s the star of the hour!” He grinned, holding up his hand for a high five, way too excited for a Tuesday morning.

You hesitated, but gave his hand a light tap, already scanning the room behind him, looking for Billy.

Billy was staring back at you from across the floor, arms crossed. His expression mirrored yours. 

What the hell is going on?

“Oh, and Barkley wants to see you.” The guy added before bouncing off with his headphones on.

You glanced at Billy again and he just shrugged.

With a sigh, you headed to Barkley’s office.

The door opened to reveal a room buzzing with cheerful voices, clinking glasses, and an absurd bouquet of flowers on the center of the conference table.

Everyone was there. Directors, coordinators, people too important for you to remember their names. But your gaze froze the second she came into view.

Agatha.

She wore a deep purple dress, tailored to perfection. Her hair fell like perfect waves, makeup subtle, and a brooch pinned to her dress.

Your heart stuttered, like something inside your chest had clenched. She looked like a walking spell.

And unlike the others, she didn’t smile when she saw you.

“There she is!” Barkley exclaimed with that typical energy of someone who loves to pour gasoline on fires. She gestured grandly like she was unveiling a relic. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the mind behind the candidate’s new communication strategy. A true rising star. A fresh perspective. And only… how old are you, darling?”

You gave a small, awkward smile, feeling the heat climb your neck.

Agatha crossed her arms.

“Twenty,” you answered stiffly.

“Twenty!” Barkley repeated, clapping like she’d just discovered the cure for cancer and was saying hallelujah. “And already redefining political discourse for a new generation. We’re in good hands, people.”

Applause followed. And you saw Agatha looking away, tense, her jaw tight.

After several minutes of speeches, toasts, and clapping you weren’t sure you deserved, the meeting ended with more promises than decisions. People began filing out, laughing and chatting. You turned to leave as well, until…

“You.” Agatha’s voice. Low and sharp like a blade.

You turned.

She walked toward you slowly, her eyes cold.

Right.

Agatha.

Your boss.

Not the woman who was with you last afternoon in the library.

Should you thank her? For the perfume? For the note?

“I’d like to know why you’re wasting time at social meetings instead of reviewing the speech for Friday night’s event.”

It hit like a slap.

You blinked, confused.

“But… I… Barkley invited me. She said…”

“Oh, of course! Show your face. Smile for the investors. Win allies with that charming college student act…” her voice was low, controlled, but the venom was unmistakable.

Something in it unsettled you.

You frowned.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Agatha sighed, like your question was childish. She ran a hand across her forehead. Elegant, but impatient.

“Don’t you see you’re being used as bait? Barkley loves doing that. Picks someone young, attractive, well-spoken… sells them as a symbol of politically engaged youth. But deep down, she doesn’t care what you think. She only wants what you represent.”

You knew that. You’d read all about Jennifer before stepping into this mess.

Was she… defending you?

Or attacking you?

“So you think I’m not good enough? That I’m just a pretty face for the boardroom?” Your voice came out louder than intended.

Agatha stepped back, straightened her posture, chin lifting.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, girl,” her tone was glacial. “But if you want to stay on my team, stop playing the backstage star. You have a job, a very specific one. Stay focused.”

She sounded logical, rational. But she wasn’t. You knew she wasn’t. Her team? Of course you were on her team. She was paying you. Everyone here was on Agatha’s team.

“You’re mad because of this?” Your voice softened, now genuinely confused. “Because I got attention? Because people liked my proposal? Because…”

You paused.

Her eyes sparked.

Silence.

You continued, barely breathing.

“Because I was smiling at other people?”

She took a moment.

One beat, two.

“I don’t have the time or age for this,” that was all she said before turning away. “And I expect all speeches I’m delivering this month, plus the merchandising plan for the marketing team, on my desk by Thursday.”

“But that’s impossible…” It was impossible, it was unethical. It was so many things…

She turned to you, studying your desperate expression.

Then smiled.

“I thought nothing was impossible for Barkley’s golden girl.” She said, the title dripped like poison.

And just like that, she left.

You stood frozen in the middle of the room, trying to make sense of it all.

How could one woman be so complicated and so hot at the same time? You were definitely going to lose your mind.

[...]

Time passed, and you got home with your head spinning, already pulling out your notebook and trusty tablet to keep working. Hours went by, and you didn’t even notice when Carol walked in.

“Hey, Bear!” She shouted, waving her hand in front of you.

“Carol! Hi!”

“What world were you in? Working from home?”

“Sorry, too much on my mind!”

“Look, I brought Chinese food.” She said, pointing to the takeout bags on the counter. You sighed in relief.

“You’re an angel. I’m starving…”

And as you both ate in silence, she dropped it.

“You’ve been really distracted lately. Like… your head’s somewhere else,” she said, using her chopsticks to poke at her noodles. “Is something going on?”

You chewed slowly, processing the question.

“It’s nothing serious. Just the internship, college…”

“Bear, you’ve always been a terrible liar,” she chuckled, her eyes finally locking with yours. “Seriously, what’s going on? You can tell me.”

“I’m fine, Carol. Just tired.”

“Is this about America’s favorite candidate, isn't?” She asked, tone laced with quiet sarcasm, like the name left a bad taste.

“Candidate Harkness?” You replied, almost in panic. God, were you really that obvious? Or did Carol just know you too well?

“No, of course not.”

“Bear, come on,” she set the chopsticks down and leaned across the table. “You’ve been different ever since you started that internship. Like… you don’t laugh the same. You seem obsessed with this job. That's not healthy, you know, right?”

“Carol, I—”

But she was already too close, leaning over the table. Your breaths mingling.

“You know I hate being ignored, right, Bear?” Her voice was soft, teasing. And her eyes—so different from Agatha’s—held that old familiar spark of desire.

“Carol…” You whispered, feeling her come closer, her face inches from yours.

You didn’t want to kiss her again. No matter how safe it felt, no matter how comfortable.

Because it wasn’t her kiss you wanted.

And that’s when someone knocked at the door.

Short, sharp and impatient.

You jerked back as if burned.

“Who the hell knocks at this hour?” Carol muttered, annoyed.

You peeked through the peephole and your heart stopped for a full second.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Agatha Harkness.

Wearing informal clothes. No makeup, with that unreadable look as always in her eyes.

You opened the door.

“What are you doing here?”

She looked at you for a moment that lasted too long, as if the question didn’t matter.

Or as if the answer would set you on fire.

~*~

MotherHark huh? I bet you would fall in this marketing smiling lmao (me too)

It's not cool to have sex with your boss for that reason, you know Lol instead of a hate office sex you'll receive more and more demands

Can this be considered a cliffhanger?? If yes, I'm sorry loll

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqlz @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @milfovers4 @jaylie-bee @holystrangersalad @chlondykebar @natashashill @harknessshi @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @ahintofchaos @lowlyjelly

[7-deadly-cats]

GIRL YOU BE WRITING WHOLE ASS CHAPTERS YOURSELF LMFAO 🤣🫶 (love you for that)

i think he was surprised as well about the fact he got to have lunch with her parents bc he genuinely just wanted to drop off her purse (and have a little chit chat with her) and that’s it and then her dad straight up looked after him and i guess rafe just loved the attention and the way he was cared for and ahcjsjd

LMAOO yes i def see barry and reader as a very cool duo with both being chill with each other. like they probably wouldn’t hang out alone just to chill bc i guess they are not that close but i believe whenever reader visits him with cara, they just chit chat or let cara ramble about stuff and i just liked the idea that he feels protective over her bc idk guess he values her kindness and the way she’s not fake or such, so he just decided yep adopting that little alley cat. and LMAO maybe if i find the time i could come up with an extra 🤣

um, yeah, making their car convo long af and extremely unnerving was absolutely and definitely intentional to mirror rafe’s pov and the way she drives him to the brink of insanity and definitely NOT bc i’m horrible at keeping things short and bc i got lost in their little discussion hahahah 😅😅😅 👍👍

and i def had a hard time deciding whether i should write the convo from rafe’s pov or reader’s but i felt like rafe’s was more interesting. and i was also really unsure about what i wanted rafe to admit or confess but i guess for one he wanted to test if she may actually want a hookup too and two he was so frustrated with her the truth just spilled out 🤣

YESS him coming to the conclusion that he wants to have her around even after the project is prob my fav part of this scene (and him joking about making her a friendship bracelet lmao)

i def understand. i, for example, flirt with my male friends bc it’s fun but it def can get confusing sometimes 🤣💀 it can feel a lot like mixed signals and i guess that’s how it was for poor reader. and also, rafe is such a complicated person i don’t think he knows WHAT he wants either. plus he’s only got two options on his mind: short-time fun in form of hookups or (now) a friendship. this stupid boy doesn’t even consider a romantic relationship (yet)

AND THATS THE FUNNIEST PART OF THEIR WHOLE DYNAMIC LIKE HE DOESNT FUCKING GET THAT SHE'S HEAD OVER HEELS FOR HIM LIKE MY BOY. like HE thinks she's all nervous and anxious and always deflecting his flirt attempts bc she feels uncomfortable around him or doesn't like him. which is also sad af bc he subconsciously thinks a girl would never like him for who he is AHHHHH THIS BOY

about rafe and kie: this series in general is based a lot around canon stuff or takes inspo from it just with my own twist and i kinda picked up on the kie and rafe tension they have going on in the show (i know it's not explicitly stated what went on with them) and MY personal headcanon is that bc kms!kie and sarah have been besties as children, kie hung around a lot at tannyhill so she also automatically interacted with rafe and guess kie was the first girl teen!rafe would joke around with and such, so she kinda felt like a third little sister, but they eventually fell apart (for reasons i've yet to explain) and yeah. but it was def platonic (mainly bc i'm not a fan of riara oops)

ANYWAY HERE I AM WRITING A LONG-ASS REPLY TO YOUR LONG-ASS REBLOG WHEW

thx for always putting sm effort in your comments and thoughts and thx for sticking around <3

killing me softly | 16

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, rafe ovulating, angsty and overthinking reader, some verbal tension, some very long-ass conversation starting in the second half, reader having some intense episode of spiraling and need for reassurance, rafe being very dramatic at the end aka him jumping to the craziest conclusion known to man aka he's actually going insane (monologue only), also rafe being possessive and if you look closely also some unresolved trauma of abandonment, some hints at past platonic kiara x rafe

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ waking up with a hangover, the first thing you saw when opening your phone was the drunk texts you’d sent to rafe after getting home last night. the two of you had exchanged blurry selfies, and rafe had made some very suggestive comments. cringing at yourself, you texted cara to meet up later. after your shower, you found rafe in the living room bc he wanted bring you your forgotten bag. his bruise getting looked at by your dad (rafe later claimed he told your dad the bruise was an accident with a golf club). your mom invited rafe for lunch and they seemed to like him. afterward, you and rafe are left alone with him suggesting to continue your project. you being too hungover declined. rafe decided to drag you outside so you could properly sober up. in his car, rafe gave you his phone to shut kelce's spamming up. however, opening the chat, an upper body pic of kelce greeted you. after replying to kelce in rafe's name, you got a little too curious scrolling through the chat and finding thirst trap of rafe (the boys seemingly update each other with their gym progress). rafe caught you staring but he shrugged it off with a cocky remark. you finally arrived at the health store rafe claimed had magical anti-hangover smoothies. and somewhere between the car ride and the smoothies, you started to get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, rafe actually liked you more than you originally thought.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 10.4k+ (reader's fault)

✿ A / N ✿ getting to add some barry action into KMS? don't mind if i do hihihii;; also literally so anxious about this part (i know i say this with every new chapter help) bc the second half took me a while to figure out or rather i had a hard time debating how i wanted their convo to go AND which pov i wanted it to be in and ngl i actually had to keep my own patience in check with reader 🤣 and well, i’m always scared some stuff might feel forced or rushed, especially bc i’m aiming for a natural development BUT ANYWAY, it is what it is and i hope you guys enjoy. as always, lmk what you think <3

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"That looks like the stuff that came out of me this morning," you said with scrunched-up brows as you crouched in front of the smoothies' fridge at Bulk & Bloom (shit, yeah, that was the actual shitty-ass name, and no, Kelce was not a co-founder).

And somehow, seeing you in that position there beside him, lips slightly parted in a way that could be viewed suggestive in a different setting, Rafe had no fucking clue why, but the sight did something to him. Suddenly, there was an urgent need to think of wrinkly old grandmas and dead puppies.

Rafe let out a chuckle. "Which end?"

You blinked at him, deadpan. “Your sense of humor is horrible.”

Fucking hell. And now you were looking up at him with that bratty gaze. Rafe tried to think about literally anything other than how badly he wanted to—

Fuck, what.

"Shit, still better than expressing my feelings through some fucked-up images that look like they came straight out of a crackhead’s brain," he shot back with a crooked smile.

Because yeah, your weird-ass reaction pictures? Only Wheezie seemed to understand what the hell those pictures were supposed to mean, or how to use them (not that he'd shown them to anyone else anyway). And Rafe still questioned his own sanity for actually asking his little sister to explain them to him.

Not because he cared, of course. He just didn’t want you to think he was beneath you when it came to that crap.

You turned your gaze back to the line-up of smoothies. "Should be easy enough for you to understand, considering you and the crackhead share similar hobbies."

Oh, how badly Rafe wanted to shut you up and teach you some respect in a way that made his blood rush faster and adrenaline shoot higher.

He had skipped the fucking coke this morning on purpose, and he was still having these insane thoughts. Worsening by the minute.

"Real funny," he muttered.

You chuckled. "Who says I’m joking?"

Rafe scoffed. You were definitely doing this on purpose—acting all bratty, just to get a rise out of him. And he seriously questioned how the fuck you had the confidence to act like that when just earlier in his car, you’d been a stuttering, awkward mess after he'd caught you staring at his post-gym pic like you’d just pulled a legendary FIFA card.

“Feeling bold now, huh?” he said. “Funny, considering you were damn near drooling on my phone a few minutes ago.”

And the little side-eye you threw him? Brows furrowed, lips pressed together? Rafe drank that shit up like ice-cold water.

He raised his eyebrows in anticipation as you looked at him. Yeah, how were you gonna talk your way out of that one? With another I-I didn’t mean to, sorry, I just—

"I'm not ashamed to admit that Kelce has a nice build."

what.

Rafe didn’t even feel his smile drop or his brows furrow because the sudden rush of anger hit so fast, it short-circuited everything else.

Like, what the fuck.

Obviously, he hadn’t been talking about fucking Kelce. It had been his pic. Him your nosy little ass had been staring at.

Shit. No fucking way.

Had he been right to suspect something during that project session at Kelce’s? Did you actually have a thing for that fucker? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Couldn’t fucking understand how—

You little shit.

The second that sly smile crept onto your lips, the tension in Rafe’s jaw eased.

Shit, how badly he wanted to shut your mouth. And you still crouching next to him only fueled the flashing images in his head.

"Hilarious," Rafe muttered with a scowl, gesturing toward the fridge. "Now have you finally picked one? They all taste the fucking same anyway."

And you had the audacity to chuckle in response.

God, you were eating away at Rafe’s last nerve, which somehow just worsened the pressure building in his chest. And the crazy part? It was the kind of pressure he usually only got rid of when he was knee-deep in some random girl.

And that thought triggered more images. Of you. Sounds you’d make. The way you’d get all flustered and—

Fuck this shit.

No way he needed to get off that badly that you ended up being the one his brain fixated on.

It was just pent-up tension. Yeah, that was it. Just because he hadn’t gotten the chance to take care of it last night—thanks to fucking Topper crashing in the guest room with him—and you just happened to be the nearest girl around for his brain to throw into those kinds of scenarios.

It’s fine, he told himself. Gonna take care of that shit later at home.

"Well, you claimed one of them helps with hangovers," you said, eyeing him with an amused smile. "How am I supposed to know which one to pick when they're called..." You leaned forward (Rafe took that as a green light to check out your ass) and squinted at the name tags on the dumbass smoothies. "Maxx Mass Mango, Triceps Tropic Thunder, or," you let out an embarrassed laugh, "The Triple Load."

Rafe let out a low chuckle because the way you'd said it—so innocent, so awkward—was fucking priceless. You getting flustered over anything even remotely suggestive? Stupidly hilarious.

"I think one load will be enough for you today," he said with a lopsided grin, relishing the way you immediately looked away with a frown, all awkward again. Then he reached into the fridge for the Thirst Aid bottle and held it out to you. "Now let’s get the fuck out of here before the first wave of lunchtime joggers comes crashing in."

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Rafe unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbed his wallet from the center console, and reached for a backpack in the back seat.

Okay. Three funny things: One, he had clearly lied to you earlier at home because this definitely meant he was about to do something sketchy. Two, you still hadn’t recovered from those ridiculously named smoothies. And three… guess where you were?

Barry’s pawn shop.

Like yeah, you'd kinda figured he and Rafe knew each other with Rafe selling fucking coke to his classmates. And sure, Barry probably wasn’t the only plug in the Cut but still, funny coincidence that it was him.

Aka the same guy Cara got her weed from.

Aka the guy she lowkey tried setting you up with since you'd first met him.

Barry was chill and cool, and okay, objectively speaking, he had a pretty face if you ignored the tangled hair and commitment-issues beard. And yeah, okay, you did like him, but in a completely platonic way.

More like two bros. Except for that one very steamy dream you'd had about him once that we’re never, ever talking about again from this point on.

Okayyyyy, hahaha, moving on.

But since you were already here, you kinda wanted to say hi.

"The fuck are you doing?" Rafe snapped as he saw you unbuckle your seatbelt just as he was about to get out of the car.

You eyed him dryly. "Getting out?"

"No. I told you to wait here." Oh, this dude was DEFINITELY picking up drugs with that sudden change in tone.

"Yeah, I have ears," you said with a scoff, slinging your bag over your shoulder and reaching for the car's door.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. "I’m fucking serious. Stay here."

You chuckled at how ridiculous he sounded, your gaze flicking to the backpack on his lap. "Why? Because you’re about to do some sketchy shit in there?"

"Because I don’t need some girl clinging to my ass everywhere I go," he snapped.

Braincells = 0.

You blinked. "Correct me if I'm wrong but weren't you the one asking me to come along?"

He looked so dumb with his lips pressed tight, brows drawn, and hugging his backpack like a pissed-off schoolboy running out of patience.

Eyeing you with an irritated smile, he said, “You don’t actually think—”

“Okay, no,” you cut him off, body shifting back toward him. “Which part of what I've said offended you now?”

Rafe’s brows twitched. His brain was probably running a marathon trying to figure out why he was actually pissed off.

“I don’t have the fucking patience to argue right now,” he muttered, voice strained. “Just fucking stay here. I’ll be back in five minutes, okay?”

Considering his usual reactions, that was almost a polite reassurance.

“Well, maybe I’ve got business in there too,” you said, brows raised.

Oh, this idiot found that hilarious. His face lit up like a kid watching a clown trip over its own shoes. “Yeah, nah, I doubt that.”

You held his gaze without saying a word. He didn’t want a discussion? Fine. Let him stew in the awkward silence and realize how dumb he was acting.

National Geographic should honestly study this dude because the silent treatment riled him up more than anything else, and you were this close to snapping a photo of his dumb little expression.

He ran a hand over his face and nodded dramatically. “Fine, then come along, for fuck’s sake. Don’t piss me off. But don’t start whining if some crackhead in there gives you a dirty look.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to suppress a smile. He sounded mad, but: “So you were trying to keep me away from shady people. How heroic."

“If it helps the voices in your head,” he muttered, the most dramatic scowl painted across his face. “Now get your ass moving, don't wanna get stabbed out here.”

“I’ll be damned,” Barry said with a lazy grin as you and Rafe stepped into the little shop. “Country Club and Little Alley Cat showing up together? What is it—my birthday?”

You chuckled, heart skipping a beat for… WHATEVER REASON. OKAY, MOVING ON.

The shop was completely empty, aside from grumpy Larna who sat in the back room behind a desk, glancing up with a death glare before going back to whatever she was doing.

Fucking dumbass Rafe just blinked, flabbergasted and visibly disoriented. Apparently, he hadn’t expected you to know his plug, and for some reason, that made the whole thing feel like home turf.

“You two fucking know each other?” he asked, face scrunched like he’d just bitten into a lemon.

Barry chuckled, leaning on the counter. “You can bet your spoiled little ass on it.” Then he turned to you with a smirk. “And I see Little Kitty has finally gotten herself a guard dog.” He nodded toward Rafe. “Hoping you got him checked for rabies with that temper of his.”

Why did everyone just assume you and Rafe had something going on? You two weren’t exactly radiating happy couple energy. Then again, Rafe wasn’t known for having female friends (which you also weren't), so... yeah.

Rafe tilted his head toward you, ignoring Barry completely. “How the fuck do you know this fucker?”

You had to bite your lip not to smirk at the way he immediately got so worked up.

“Easy, pretty boy,” Barry cut in before you could even respond, clearly amused. “You better be nice to that lady or I’ll beat your rich ass.” He tapped his own cheek. “That bruise of yours? Don’t wanna end up with a matching one on the other side.”

OH. MY. GOD.

The butterflies in your stomach that usually went berserk for Rafe? Yeah, a few of them were dancing for Barry now. Because Dealer Barry stepping up for you in front of Dumbass Rafe? That was… kinda sweet, not gonna lie.

Rafe furrowed his brows, clutching the strap of his backpack like a schoolboy on his first day, about to throw a tantrum because he didn’t wanna go.

He squinted at you. “So what—you're secretly a fucking crackhead now, or what am I supposed to take from this?”

Seriously. Did this guy ever think before he spoke? Like, he literally dealt coke and snorted it himself, but you’re the crazy one?

At this point, you should question your own sanity for even crushing on this guy.

But the funny part wasn’t how hypocritical he was being, no, it was the fact that he chose to go after you instead of Barry despite him basically threatening Rafe. And there was no way Rafe would let a chance pass to put another guy in his place.

Which made the whole thing even more entertaining because, for once, he clearly didn’t have the upper hand. Usually, he carried this presence, this aura, that screamed “look at me wrong and I’ll beat your ass.”

But here? He seemed small.

Like a hyena baring its teeth at a lion.

Rafe Cameron, proud Kook and official Pogue-hater, actually keeping his mouth shut in front of little pawn shop owner Barry? Fucking hilarious.

“No. Sometimes I'm just tagging along when Cara's picking up her weed,” you said amused, watching the gears in Rafe’s brain grind themselves into dust.

“Miss Fancy Boots actually dropped by earlier,” Barry said. “Had her little mutt with her too.” He made a cupping motion in front of his chest, smiling all big. “Top barely holding on for dear life. Wouldn’t even tell me which backwood shack she was visiting.”

Oh, she was really trying to bag JJ Maybank this time. Best of luck, bestie.

You chuckled, but Rafe beat you to a response with a scowl, stepping forward and dropping his backpack on the counter. “Okay, fuck this. I’m not here to fucking chit-chat.”

Barry gave him a look, something sharp flashing in his eyes, but then he just laughed and peeked into the backpack. “Keep running that mouth and I’ll tell Lil’ Alley Cat who was whining on my couch just a few days ago.” He pushed the backpack back toward Rafe and nodded to the right. “Now move your ass to Larna. She's gonna take care of the rest.”

Rafe smiled bitterly, shaking his head. “Nah, that's not what—”

“I’m in a good mood today, Country Club,” Barry cut in, tapping the counter. “Don’t make me introduce you to the girl hiding under here.”

And somehow… you really didn’t think he was joking and you hoped Rafe knew how to behave.

Thankfully, he did.

With a scoff, he grabbed the backpack, threw you an unreadable look, and disappeared into the backroom where grumpy Larna was waiting.

"So, you and Country Club, huh?" Barry stepped around the counter, leaning against it with a lazy smile on his face. "Didn’t think you’d fall for a Kook prince."

After seeing his idiot side, I hadn’t thought so either.

You smiled sheepishly and adjusted the strap of your bag. “He’s not—I mean, there’s nothing going on between us.”

Barry let out an amused chuckle. “Was already wondering how he managed to get you to stick around, ‘cause that stupid boy?” He pointed his thumb toward the backroom. “Nothing but daddy issues and anger problems. Ain’t worth one look from an Alley Cat.”

Shit, that stupid nickname? Only Barry could make it sound right.

“Yeah, he’s an idiot,” you said with a soft smile, sounding like a widow reminiscing about her dead husband. “But he’s actually kinda fun to be around once you figure out how to deal with him.”

Were you seriously defending Rafe’s stupidity right now?

Barry raised his brows, eyes lighting up with the biggest grin. “Cat’s all smiley and dreamy over a boy. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

“What? No, I just—” Heat crept up your neck and you shook your head with an embarrassed smile. “We were paired for a school project. That’s how I got to know him better.”

“Ain't seeing you doing school work right now,” Barry replied, his grin widening. “Must be serious if he’s letting you tag along to this stuff here.”

I actually annoyed him so much he just gave in.

You shook your head again, feeling like you were digging your grave deeper with every word. “No, I’m serious. This is just—”

“I’m just messing with you, Lil Kitty Cat. No need to puff your tail,” Barry said, raising his hands with a lazy chuckle. “But you should watch out. Wouldn’t call that fancy-looking boy my friend, but I know his type well enough to say—if he’s keeping you around, there’s a reason.” His tone shifted ever so slightly. “Don’t want my Alley Cat getting bitten by some spoiled hound dog.”

You eyed Barry quietly for a moment. Him warning you about Rafe stirred something strange in your gut, and part of you knew better than to ignore it.

But right now, you were too scared to question it, so all you did was offer a soft smile. “He’s more of a wired Doberman anyway. Big attitude, but pull the leash once and he gets all dramatic.”

To your surprise, Barry didn’t laugh. “A dog’s a dog. They bite if you’re not careful. And for a sweet kitty like you? That shit can turn bad real fast.” He nodded toward the backroom. “And Dobermans? You don’t wanna pull their leash too hard. Loyal and shit until they start thinking they own you. Then it ain’t cute no more. Had an uncle—couldn’t be around people without his mutt flipping out. Damn thing almost took my hand off once."

Your brows furrowed in irritation. It had been funny when Cara had joked about Rafe being possessive and jealous and all, but hearing Barry say it like a genuine warning... yeah, that hit differently.

And suddenly, Rafe’s weird behavior since yesterday started making sense.

Him getting mad when Topper asked you to come along. Him nearly beating the crap out of Rob for no reason. Him now suddenly wanting to spend time with you, being all flirty and suggestive and—oh god, please no.

Maybe this wasn’t about him liking you. Maybe he just hated the idea of someone else playing with a toy he’d throw away the moment he got bored, found another, or worse, shredded it to pieces. And until then, he'd bark at anyone reaching out for it.

The smoothie you'd drank earlier threatened to come back up. You didn’t want to be someone's toy.

“Aww, no. Didn’t mean to wipe that smile off your face, Kitty Cat,” Barry said, his lazy smile returning. “I’m just saying—be careful around a boy like that. Though, I trust you’ll know when to pull your claws out.” He knocked on the counter and chuckled. “Otherwise, just say the word, and I’ll introduce his fancy ass to my girl.”

Barry probably meant well, but your brain had already soaked up his words like a sponge, throwing them into a spiral, dragging them into the most anxious corners of your mind.

Still, you managed a smile. “No worries, Barry. I don’t think he even—”

You didn’t dare finish that sentence as Rafe came out of the backroom, a deep scowl on his face. He didn’t even look at you as he passed between you and Barry, only muttering, “Let’s go.”

“Nah, nah, nah, Country Club,” Barry said, raising his brows and pushing off the counter with a grin. “We ain’t done yet.”

Rafe stopped, turning back with a glare that practically screamed he was done with everyone. He towered over Barry, but somehow still looked small. “I got your shit. What fucking else do you wanna piss me off with?”

Barry ignored him, smiling softly at you. “Was nice seeing you again, Alley Cat. Don’t go running off too far.” He nodded toward the door. “Now get those little paws outta here, I still got some business with this boy.”

An uneasy feeling spread in your stomach, but you knew better than to argue, so you just smiled with a nod. “Yeah, see you around, Barry,” you said, trying to ignore Rafe’s burning stare on you.

You passed him quietly, trying to suppress the sudden thoughts threatening to tear open a pit you thought you’d buried not even a few days ago.

And while you’d entered Barry’s little pawn shop with a smile and warmth in your chest, you left it now with uncertainty in your eyes and a deep heavy feeling in your gut.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“Okay, what the fuck is going on between you and Barry?” Rafe asked after the two of you had gotten back into the car.

And the reason for that question? Such a funny fucking story. And it started with you even knowing this fucker in the first place. You two apparently getting along—and oh, fun fact—apparently getting along really well, because guess what? Barry hadn’t kept Rafe in the shop to talk business. Oh no, he hadn’t just talked.

He had fucking threatened him.

Said stupid shit like he’d show Rafe how people in the Cut handled things when no one was looking if Rafe didn’t behave. If he dared to hurt or play with you or whatever fucking else Barry had preached like some back-alley saint.

Rafe couldn’t even wrap his head around what that fucking Pogue thought he was doing. Like if Rafe actually wanted to, he could send every cop in town straight to Barry’s crusty little pawn shop and have him write his bullshit threats on the damn cell wall.

Fuck. Like seriously, what the hell was that shit?!

You just shook your head, a weird smile on your lips that didn’t even come close to your eyes. “What? Nothing. Like I said, he’s Cara’s dealer. That’s how I got to know him.”

And now you had the audacity to lie straight to Rafe’s face in his car? Nah.

“He literally threatened to blow my brains out if I looked at you the wrong way,” Rafe said, tapping his temple with a confused laugh. “Like—what kind of crazy-ass psycho bullshit is that? And that weird-ass nickname? No way in hell he isn't your fucking boyfriend or some shit.”

The idea that you belonged to someone—Barry, of all people? That messed with Rafe’s head in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain. It filled him with such rage and confusion, he was so close to grabbing that damn backpack on the backseat, taking out a bundle of coke that stupid grandma had handed him, and snorting a line right off his Mercedes' hood.

But he was so thrown off by your sudden change of demeanor, your whole vibe completely off since Rafe had come back from the shop—strange, distant, almost... bitter—that he decided he'd rather demand some fucking answers.

And when you just smiled weakly instead of snapping back like usual, pushing his buttons, he knew something was up.

“No, that’s just how he is,” you said while buckling your seatbelt, the weird tone in your voice not sounding like you at all. “He only means well.”

Rafe blinked at you, his chest tightening as your eyes finally met his, but something was missing.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?” he asked, his voice sharper than he meant it to be.

Your brows twitched, and there was a flicker in your gaze he couldn’t place. Again, that strange smile that didn’t fit your face. “What? Nothing,” you replied, shaking your head slightly.

Just nothing. Normally you’d say some shit like, ‘Why are you getting all worked up, I don’t owe you any explanation, blah blah’—but this? It confused Rafe. And it pissed him off that he couldn’t figure it out.

“Barry said some shit to you?” Rafe raised his brows.

That was the only logical explanation. You went in all cocky and smiley, and now you looked like someone had shot a puppy in front of you.

You shook your head again, and Rafe felt a sharp stab of disappointment from how empty you sounded. “No, I’m just tired. Guess the lack of sleep’s finally catching up,” you said with a soft smile.

Rafe clenched his jaw, fingers tapping against the console. He was this close to snapping, but he didn’t want to yell. You’d probably shut down completely. Wheezie did the same thing when Dad started raising his voice and Rafe hated witnessing that.

“Okay, something’s clearly bothering you,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “You’re always on about how important it is to talk shit out, and now you’re the one being all weird.”

Seriously, why did your behavior even bother him in the first place? Normally when some chick was trynna act sulky he’d drop her off at her place or kick her out immediately because he didn’t care about that shit.

But with you, he somehow couldn’t and that irritated the fuck out of him. Probably because I deserve some fucking answers.

“There’s nothing to solve because there’s no issue,” you finally said softly, clearly bullshitting.

Rafe clenched his jaw, running through every possible reason why you were suddenly acting like this. “Fuck that. There’s obviously an issue.” He tapped his chest with his fingers. “Did I say something that got the minions in your head running again? Shit, I was just pissed earlier because—”

“No, really. Everything's—”

“Fine? Don’t bullshit me. You were all bold and mouthy earlier and now?” Rafe furrowed his brows, trying to understand what the fuck was going on in your head. “Now you’re acting all wilted and melancholic like Topper after some chick rejects him.”

That got a chuckle out of you, and Rafe felt his features soften.

“I’m not acting wilted,” you said, a little amusement finally slipping back into your voice.

Rafe nodded. “You are. I’m guessing Barry ran his stupid mouth while I was gone.” He narrowed his eyes, another thought hitting him. “Or did that fucker creep on you?”

“What? Oh my god, no,” you replied, shaking your head, puzzled. “No, it’s just…” You held his gaze like you were the one with questions. After a second, you looked down at your fidgeting hands, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess you’re right. I’m probably just creating a problem in my head that doesn’t even exist.”

Rafe frowned. “What the fuck did he say?”

You looked up, pretty eyes somehow carrying that sad little shine again, and Rafe had to fight the sudden urge to storm back into Barry’s shitty shop and drag the guy’s face across the counter.

“I...He didn’t exactly say it… I mean, I’d already been wondering...,” you started, clearly struggling to continue.

Rafe was so fucking close to losing it. He shook his head and gestured to his chest again. “What, huh? Me dealing coke? Is that what suddenly has you all scared? Shit, I’m not some criminal like Barry, okay? I just—”

"No, that's not it", you cut in, voice lacking your usual attitude. "I mean, sure, it's—"

"Holy fucking shit, just spit it out." Rafe couldn't bear you dancing around the answer any longer. Aggressively he gestured toward the pawn shop. "If Barry didn't fucking harass you then I seriously can't fucking imagine what's got you acting like this."

You pressed your lips together, eyes wide, brows raised like some deer about to get shot. "I don't know how to phrase it without it sounding like I'm ... delusional or crazy."

Rafe scoffed amused, both hands gesturing toward you. "Shit, you are crazy. Now fucking spit it out or I'm driving the car into the next fucking tree."

"Okay," you replied with a laugh, the smile quickly fading as your gaze drifted to the fidgeting fingers in your lap. "Okay, I just—" You seemed to take a deep breath in. "What's your business with me?"

Rafe blinked. “What?”

“I…” You pressed your lips together, clutching your bag tighter. “I’m not saying there is any business," you said, a nervous chuckle escaping. "I’m just… confused. I mean, I know we’ve had this conversation before. I know it’s stupid, I’m just…”

You furrowed your brows, meeting his eyes again. “You need to understand, I’m not trying to piss you off. I mean, you're probably right. It’s just my brain spiraling over nothing again. It's just… shit, I know this here is completely casual, I mean we aren't even friends, I just..."

You let out a strained breath, voice unsteady. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. I really don’t wanna come across like I’m assuming something’s going on in the first place. I mean, you already think I’m crazy,” you said, a distant smile tugging at your lips. “But obviously it’s totally fine if you’re only looking for a chance at some temporary fun. It’s just… in the hypothetical case you actually do expect something to happen...”

Another awkward laugh slipped out, and you sank into your seat, brows furrowed as you smiled nervously, “God, this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry, I probably sound—”

“Holy fucking shit, you need to chill the fuck out,” Rafe cut in, staring at you like you’d lost your damn mind. Because this? How much fucking longer did you wanna go on?

This was absolutely insane. The way your brain made up all this shit. How the fuck did you even function at all?

He pointed to his temples, eyes wide. “Seriously, this is not just borderline crazy. This is straight-up insane. I mean I am going insane just by listening to this."

“Well yeah, that’s actually what I was trying to say,” you muttered, hands fiddling in your lap. “I just don't understand why you'd wanna hang out with me if I'm getting on your nerves—unless there's some other motive.”

Jesus Christ. Rafe didn’t know anyone with this level of anxiety and overthinking. Not even Wheezie came close.

But that wasn’t what really pissed him off.

Sure, if you were a little nuts, fine. It was even kind of amusing, honestly. At least you had the brains to think about shit.

No, what really pissed him off was that you were questioning him, even after he’d already told you the answer to this topic in school just a few days ago. He'd just tried to help you by suggesting to work at Tannyhill for the next project session but you fucking declined because you'd thought he was just trying to hook up with you.

Okay, yeah, maybe at this point the idea of sleeping with you wasn't exactly unwelcome—though with your nerves, you'd both probably have a mental breakdown halfway through—but it wasn’t about that.

It was about the fucking principle.

You were acting like his word meant nothing. Like he was just some lying, sleazy, piece-of-shit Pogue.

Rafe clenched his jaw, using every ounce of self-control not to snap. “There's no fucking other motive. You make it sound like I'm plotting some crazy-ass shit.”

Your brows twitched, lips pressing together. Somehow, you still didn’t look satisfied.

For a moment, you just stared at him, hesitation flickering in your eyes, but then your voice came out soft, so soft it made Rafe's chest tighten in a way he didn’t like. “I’m not trying to be annoying or—”

“You are,” Rafe interrupted, surprised by the lack of bite in his tone. His face twisted and he raised his shoulders, gesturing at his chest. “Like, I don’t fucking get why you’re questioning me when I already told you—”

“I know.” You nodded, frustration leaking into your voice. “I know and I really appreciate it, but I just… it’s my brain, okay?” You tapped your finger against your temple. “It talks shit and I start believing it and I just can’t stop it. And then I get anxious—especially when someone gives it something to chew on—and it’s just so frustrating because I'm definitely not trying to piss you off, I don’t wanna ruin—I mean, I’m just asking for some reassurance, that’s all.”

Your brows knit together. “But then again, I don’t want some fake reassurance either if you actually—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I like hanging out with you, okay?” Rafe pressed his lips together as the words left his mouth, not even sure why the fuck he’d said them. Why he even cared enough to listen to all this bullshit. But right now, all he wanted was to shut you the fuck up, so he didn’t bother filtering.

“I’m not trying to get in your pants, alright?” he added, wearing an irritated, almost amused smile. “I’d have to be fucking desperate to put up with all your messed-up crazy shit just for the chance to hook up with you. That's... fuck, I’m not that needy.”

He gestured to you, frustration seeping through his voice. “You piss me off, but I can deal with it. Shit, I think I even like it. You’re not some boring-ass gossip bitch like Ruthie.” He furrowed his brows, refusing to unpack what the hell that meant, now tapping his chest with his fingertips, voice strained. “But what I can’t fucking stand is not being taken seriously.”

Judging by your face, he hadn’t just shut your brain off, he’d completely nuked it. Your eyes were wide, lips pressed tight, and even your fidgeting had stopped.

He half expected you to start crying for whatever reason, but thank fuck you didn’t. You just frowned, that softness still in your expression. “I do take you seriously. That’s why I'm so confused. All these… I don’t know, suggestive comments and stuff. You say you don’t mean anything by it, but then you’re all teasing the next second. It’s confusing.”

Seriously, had you ever even interacted with a boy before Rafe?

He let out a frustrated smile, nodding. “Shit, yeah, ever heard of fucking flirting? That’s the thing people do because it’s fun. It doesn’t fucking have to lead to anything.” Rafe raised his brows. “Unless you want it to.”

And there it was again—that shift in you. Your whole vibe changed, whenever he said shit like this. And he couldn’t fucking tell if you were flustered, uncomfortable, or just weirded out.

You shook your head, a nervous laugh bubbling up like he’d asked you to strip in the backseat. “Of course, I know what flirting is. It’s just—In my head, this feels like… I don’t know mixed signals or whatever and—“

“Okay, fuck. Stop.” Rafe had hit his limit. He ran a hand over his face, voice tight with frustration. “I’m only saying this once, so fucking listen, alright?” He gestured to you again. “I fuck with you. You’re somehow fun to be around, even though you’re literally the least chill person I know.”

His brows twitched, a moment of hesitation flickering across his face, but he pushed through. He wasn’t gonna overthink—he wasn’t you. “And shit, yeah, of course, I’m flirting with you. You’re a cute chick. If you said the word, I’d be down to bend you over in the backseat right now, but why the fuck would I waste my energy on someone who’s clearly not into casual shit.”

Fuck. Now that he’d said it, he felt just as stunned as you looked.

Saying these words out loud ... it angered him. He'd basically just given in to you. But the thing that actually riled him up? The fact he'd just acknowledged out loud that he knew you weren't interested in him. That he couldn't get you into bed with some charm and a little flirting. That you were out of reach.

And fuck, this just made hanging out with you all the more confusing because why the fuck did he enjoy this shit if he was well aware that he wouldn't take you home later for some quick fun.

But worse than all of that was the way he found himself waiting.

Desperate for your response. Hoping you’d push back. Hoping you’d say something—anything—to let him know he'd just interpreted your signals wrong, that, yes, you did indeed find him attractive, that you actually enjoyed his presence, his flirts, and teasing. That you'd love to be his new friends-with-benefits-chick.

Jesus fucking Christ, he should go back inside Barry’s store and beat the shit out of that fucker for whatever the fuck he'd said to you that made you spiral this hard, and now Rafe was out here saying and thinking shit like this.

"Okay, now I'm even more confused," you said, smiling awkwardly. "You say you like spending time with me but at the same time, you also feel like you're wasting your time here."

Rafe was so close to smashing his head against the steering wheel. He raised his hands in exasperation. "And you say you're not trying to piss me off but right now I'm so close to losing my shit."

He aggressively tapped his finger on the middle console. "I just tried telling you that I'm not here because I'm looking for a chance at a fucking hookup, okay? Seriously, how much clearer do I need to be?"

“Okay. Just to clarify, for my own sanity,” you started slowly, voice soaked in nervous energy (Rafe was literally one second away from having a fucking stroke). “You like hanging out with me but according to your logic, you're not someone who's wasting his time with a girl if you're not gaining something from it."

With a pained expression, Rafe closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and nodded with a distressed "Uh-huh".

Maybe if he just continued agreeing with you, then you'd finally shut up, because clearly snapping back only seemed to continue dragging on this horrible limbo of yours.

Some strained chuckle escaped your lips. "And considering you're still asking me to chill with you even though you seem to be aware that I don't wanna be someone's pastime, does that mean… I mean, is what you're hoping to gain from spending time with me… a friendship?"

Rafe's head snapped up.

That was your fucking conclusion to all of this?

Fucking hell. Did he look like someone in need of more clingy idiots crowding his life? Topper and Kelce were already enough and he didn’t even receive anything in return for dealing with their bullshit.

And having a female friend without getting to bend her over once in a while? He'd never even considered it. The only girls Rafe had ever privately hung out with were the ones he'd benefit from.

And all of them either got so fucking annoying, he'd dropped them, or worse—they'd wanted more. Dates, gifts, PDA. A label. The title of Rafe Cameron's girlfriend.

They all wanted the benefits that came of being with him but none of them had actually wanted him.

But you? Well, he had to admit you were different. You didn’t do hookups. You didn’t chase him because of his last name and the benefits that came with it.

And the crazy part? That just fucking pissed him off more.

Because for some fucked-up reason he'd actually learned to tolerate your presence enough that he could deal with your crazy-ass brain outside of the project despite him not receiving some fun time in return. And now you assumed he wanted this to actually result in some permanent shit.

But for whatever reason, the idea that this might be over after handing in your project next week? That actually stirred something weird in his chest.

Right now, Rafe could still claim the project was the reason for you two spending time together (if you ignored the fact you weren't doing school shit at the moment). Sure, he’d admitted he liked you—but everything about the way you two had been hanging out this past week could still be chalked up to the assignment. But once that was over… then what?

Fuck, all of this was giving him a headache. And now you were pressuring him to define whatever the fuck was going on between the two of you.

Rafe shook his head in irritation. "Why do you even need a fucking label for some casual hangout? Can't we just fucking chill?"

You gestured to your chest, a distressed smile on your face. "Yeah, of course. I just… my brain needs to make sense of this somehow, so I can place this in either ‘okay, this ends when the project’s over’ or ‘alright, get ready to make space for this person, they’re gonna stick around.’ It’s fucking stupid, I know, but it helps me adjust to new people."

This right here was the biggest fucking test of patience in Rafe's entire life and he was so fucking sick of you demanding him to clarify shit when you were the one that made him question his sanity.

"Shit, I don't fucking know, alright?" Rafe raised his shoulders with an irritated smile. "I mean what the fuck do you want? You’re calling me confusing, but I don’t even fucking know if you actually like me or if you’re just tagging along because you’re too scared to decline because of some people-pleasing bullshit or whatever.”

Like he'd admitted all this fucking shit just now, but why didn't you? Why didn't you offer him some reassurance?

Your gaze softened, and that only irritated him more.

“I'm actually very capable of saying 'No',” you replied.

“Yeah, the fuck do I know.” Rafe threw his hands up. And then, a disgusting thought crossed his mind. “Or are you just tagging along because you're hoping for some attention of being seen with me?”

Finally, your frown returned—thank god. That little bit of fire he was used to.

“What? No!” You shook your head, clearly confused. “Aside from the fact that I couldn’t care less about shit like that, I’d rather jump off a cliff than draw unnecessary attention to myself.” Your expression softened again, lips quirking into a crooked smile. “I came along because I wanted to. Not because I’m trying to get some pics snapped of me being seen with an A-List celebrity.”

Just say it, Rafe thought, not even caring about your stupid comment. You were so fucking close to saying it. Tiptoeing on the edge of it. So damn close to saying what he needed to hear.

But you didn’t. And it pissed him off. Fucked with his head. Just—

Fuck all of that.

Maybe it sounded pathetic, maybe it was, but he didn’t care. He had to know. “So you actually do like hanging out with me?”

A soft laugh left your lips and your brows knit slightly. “Yes? I’m not spending my time with people I can’t stand.”

And just like that, something in Rafe finally let go. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. It felt like a win—even though he hadn’t actually won anything. Actually, he’d probably lost some fucking braincells discussing that shit.

He sank back into his seat, staring through the windshield, running a hand through his hair, no fucking energy left after this marathon of a discussion.

He tilted his head toward you with furrowed brows, motioning between the two of you. “So where’s the fucking problem, huh? We both like hanging out and neither of us is hiding some secret agenda or some shit.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Except you literally said—”

“Yeah, I know what I fucking said,” Rafe cut in, already regretting having voiced that he'd be down to bend you over. But whatever. It was out there now, so who the fuck cared.

“I’m not some horny perv who's unable to be in a room with a chick without trying to get in her pants,” he added, a lopsided smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna pass up on a little flirting and teasing.”

You raised your brows slightly, chin tilting downward. "So—"

"YES, for fuck’s sake!" Rafe raised his hands, shifting up in his seat, absolutely at the end of his rope. "If that helps to end this fucking stupid discussion, then yes please, go ahead and tell your crazy-ass brain it can open a new fucking folder titled ‘I made Rafe Cameron lose his fucking mind to the point where I force-befriended him’. And put some big-ass lock on it because that shit stays closed from now on."

He let out a strained breath, an exasperated smile twitching on his lips. "There. Does this shut you up or do I need to craft you a fucking friendship bracelet with my name on it?”

The worst part: The image of you wearing his name around your wrist sparked fucking JOY in his fucking chest for some fucked-up reason.

SEE. YOU'RE MAKING HIM GO THIS FUCKING CRAZY, HE WAS GETTING EXCITED ABOUT STUPID FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS.

You just stared at him, lips parted slightly like your brain was still spiraling over the obvious. Rafe almost thought he’d have to go back into the pawn shop and ask Barry to blow his fucking brains out, but you simply shook your head, a gentle smile forming.

“I don’t think that’s necessary", you replied with a soft smile.

Rafe eyed you impatiently, waiting for you to go on and spiral into another damn monologue about how you had to figure out the right color for this mental folder, and which fucking font would best match the content—because god forbid you’d use some bullshit like Papyrus or—WHAT THE FUCK DID HE KNOW, JESUS CHRIST YOU MADE HIM THINK ABOUT THIS FUCKING BULLSHIT.

To top it all off, you had the audacity to stay quiet and Rafe could physically feel his nerves blow up. “That’s it?”

No fucking way that actually resolved this fucking discussion.

You eyed him amused like he’d just hallucinated this whole fuckass conversation. “Well, yeah.”

Rafe’s brows dropped to a scowl. “You're fucking kidding me, right?”

“No.” A small laugh left you, and that familiar glimmer was back in your eyes. “I just needed some clarity to calm my nerves. That’s just how my brain works. I’m okay as long as things make sense. But the second a thought enters my mind that could mess with that—even if it’s ridiculous—it sticks. And then it ruins the whole logic. And until the thought can be ruled out, it stays, and my head chews it up until it gets worse.”

That's it. You were officially the reason Rafe considered therapy just so someone could tell him why the fuck he even put up with your shit.

Like, seriously, Rafe had some fucked-up shit going on in his head, but you? Holy shit, if he had to deal with the crap your brain pulled every day, he’d fucking lose it.

Your head sounded like a fucking prison.

Rafe let out a distressed breath. "Now, care to tell me, what was the actual fucking reason for you spiraling this hard in the first place?" He gestured toward the pawn shop. "And don't fucking think about lying. Either you tell me or I'm gonna go back inside and beat the answer out of that fucker."

He wouldn’t, though. Barry might’ve looked like a little bum, but Rafe had seen it enough times—his threats didn’t usually stay just threats. And sure, Rafe might’ve had the upper hand physically, but Barry didn’t do fights.

He'd pull out a gun and even Rafe's fists had no chance against that.

You pressed your lips together, hesitating for a second. “He just told me to be careful around you. It wasn’t even really what he said, it was more the way he said it.” You shook your head, puzzled. “And I guess my brain just filled in the worst-case scenario because… well…” A flicker of uncertainty in your pretty eyes. “I mean, not to sound like a dick, but it’s just a fact that you don’t really hang out with girls. And when you do it’s like... you know.”

Yeah, that was true. Rafe didn’t deny it. But still, why the fuck did you have this fucking player image of him?

Sure, he did hookups once in a while—every few weeks maybe at some random party. And yeah, he’d had friends with benefits, but like four or five times at most in his whole damn life. But the way you made it sound? Like he was out here fucking someone new every night.

“So instead of just asking me straight up what’s going on, you’d rather fucking… what? Sulk and act weird as hell? What kind of childish reaction is that?” Rafe asked, face twisting in frustration.

You let out a short laugh. “I didn’t wanna piss you off by bringing this up. Which, clearly, I did.”

“Well, yeah, because I practically had to beat the answer out of you,” Rafe said with a scowl, motioning to his chest. “What actually pisses me off is when people won’t just say what the fuck they're trying to say.”

You nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m sorry for making this so messy.” A soft chuckle slipped out. “I guess we both value clear answers… just on different scales.”

Yeah, except Rafe didn’t have a mental breakdown when he didn’t get one.

“I just don’t fucking understand why you can’t just ignore these fucking thoughts,” he said, oddly calm for some reason. "When some shit starts bothering me, I just fucking ignore it. If I need to make a decision, I just do it. If some asshole pisses me off? I put him in his fucking place.”

He scoffed. “And your brain sounds like one big asshole. You just gotta show it who's boss.”

Surprisingly, you laughed—soft, genuine—and Rafe blinked, confused.

“What?” he asked. “I’m serious. It’s absolutely insane that your own mind is your worst enemy. That’s fucking fucked-up.”

He gestured to himself. “I mean that dude pisses me off so badly, I wanna smash his face into a wall just to get him to shut the fuck up. How the fuck do you let him pull this shit on you?”

“That’s—” You laughed again, and something weird flipped in Rafe’s stomach. “I appreciate the energy,” you said, “but honestly, I’m already good when people just have a little patience with me.”

Your expression grew distant. “When I bring stuff like this up, I’m not trying to be annoying. I’m just genuinely trying to find clarity in the chaos up here.” You tapped your temple, smiling gently again. “That’s why I really appreciate that you actually talked with me this time—even though I’m sure you wanted to smash my head through the window.”

He'd rather have your head pressed against some sheets to let go of this fucking pressure inside him but Rafe forced this thought down (see? easy).

So he just shook his head. “I did but I’d rather not have your dad on my ass because of that. That dude’s got some crazy aura.”

Another laugh slipped from your lips, and Rafe felt his features soften. “I guess. He served as a combat medic in the military, so I think some of that still lingers beneath the surface.”

Shit, that made sense. Rafe knew there was a reason that guy had given him the creeps the first time he'd looked at him. He seemed nice, sure—kind even—but deep down Rafe was certain that man could knock someone out cold with a single punch.

The weird thing was: Rafe actually felt less tense around him than around his own dad.

“Shit, another reason to keep my hands off you,” Rafe muttered with a low chuckle. “Don’t need Liam Neeson in Taken chasing me down.”

Another laugh. And damn, that made Rafe feel like some kind of winner.

“I doubt you have to worry", you said. "He actually seemed to like—”

Your phone started buzzing inside your bag.

"Cara," you said when you pulled it out with an apologetic smile. “I should take this.”

Rafe gave a reluctant nod, even though the sudden interruption annoyed the fuck out of him.

“What’s up?” you said, holding the phone to your ear. After a beat, you added, “I’m with Rafe.”

His head snapped up like he’d been struck by lightning.

That was... he couldn’t remember you ever saying his name out loud before. And now that he’d heard it—coming from your sweet voice—fuck.

It did something to him. A weird kind of something. Buzzing in his stomach, warmth blooming in his chest, and this deep, unfamiliar ache for something he couldn’t quite name.

“Really?” You laughed. “We’re actually close by—Yeah, at Barry’s—Girl, no—Yeah, I know he told me—Yeah, I know I was the one who asked you—Okay, yeah, sure—So I assume you're with—yep, thought so—Okay—Seriously?—Alright—Yeah, nah, let’s not.” You laughed again. “Okay—Yeah, see you in a bit.”

You hung up, your whole presence lighting back up.

“Sorry,” you said with a soft smile, slipping the phone back into your bag. “She’s at the beach nearby and asked me to join her. Or well... I kinda asked her earlier if we could hang out, so....”

Rafe felt a frown creeping in, disappointment taking over his entire body. You were about to fucking ditch him.

He raised his brows. “Now?”

You nodded, toying with your bag strap. “Well... yeah. She needs some backup.”

“What, her boots got stuck in the sand or some shit?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “No, she’s with some people and… well, she needs help with a boy.”

“Her?” Rafe scoffed, disbelieving. “She’s the most upfront and confrontational person I’ve ever met. What the fuck does she need help with?” He tilted his head. “And didn’t she have some thing going on with Topper?”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” you said, holding your hands up in amusement. “She’s super complicated when it comes to that stuff.”

Girls. Rafe didn’t fucking get them.

“So what, you want me to drop you off now?” He didn't even try to hide his disappointment.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Well, yeah, that’d be nice.”

Rafe clenched his jaw. You were actually going to leave him now—after he'd helped you get rid of your hangover, after he’d actually shown patience and calmed the voices in your head, after all his nerves were fried beyond repair.

You were scared he might play you? Nah, he was the one who felt toyed with right now.

But as much as Rafe wanted to call you out for it, snap at you for being all anxious and now daring to pull this shit, he just didn’t have it in him. No strength left. He really didn’t have the fucking energy or patience for another long-ass conversation with you monologuing about shit.

Sure, he could just decide to tag along, because when did Rafe ever ask for permission, but his gut told him that was a weird fucking move. He wasn't your fucking dog to accompany you everywhere.

Fuck, he didn't fucking know how to handle shit with a girl like you.

So he just nodded, buckled up, and started the engine. Letting out a tight breath as he pulled out of the parking lot, he asked, “Where to?”

You hesitated for a second. “Do you know where the western beach of the Cut is?”

Rafe scoffed and nearly stopped the car. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Of course, he knew where that fucking beach was. Sarah always went there after school to hang out with her stupid little Pogue friends.

So yeah, he could already guess exactly what kind of people Cara was hanging out with: those annoying-ass rats.

The thing that pissed him off the most wasn’t even you ditching him. It wasn’t driving you around like a damn chauffeur. It wasn’t even that you were trading him for a group of Pogue losers.

Nah. It was the fact that Sarah had once again managed to stick her nose into shit that didn’t fucking concern her. Because somehow this reeked of her meddling.

And the worst part? It felt like she was winning again. Like she’d won over their dad, like she'd won over Kie during her time at Kildare Academy by turning her against Rafe just for them to end up having some bitchy fallout shortly after.

Like she’d get to win you over too with some fake-ass bullshit.

And you, being prone to falling for shit like that with that brain of yours, would probably believe her too. Not because you were naive, nah, but because your head would probably soak Sarah's sweet words up, falling back into a spiral over Rafe's intention or some bullshit.

Fuck.

Rafe actually liked this weird acquaintanceship with you (THERE, THAT'S THE LABEL THAT FIT THIS SHIT). He didn’t need Sarah to ruin that—or worse—take you from him. Pull you into her little shitty-ass, feel-good Pogue bullshit friend group.

And the most fucked up thing? You weren’t even his. But the very thought of Sarah turning you against him anyway?

Nah. He wouldn't let that happen.

You said Rafe was hoping to gain some shitty-ass friendship from this? Fine. If that’s what it took for your brain to hold on to Rafe, he’d gladly be your fucking friend.

He’d throw every goddamn principle he had out the window before he let Sarah take something else from him before he even had a chance to claim it for himself.

Because for the first time in years, Rafe actually felt like he didn't wanna let go of a girl. Nah, he actually wanted to keep you around. Not as some warm body in his bed—it fucked with his head that you weren’t into hookups but he could accept that—but because somehow, you were the first girl who didn't hang on his ass to brag to her friends later about getting to ride his dick.

Shit, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were either a lesbian or just completely uninterested in sex altogether. Which only messed with his head even more, because if both of you were here willingly, what the fuck was the point if no one was gaining anything from it?

Like, why the fuck did Rafe feel this pull toward you? Not just sexually… more like—fuck, he didn’t even know. He also couldn't compare it to the short-lived whatever-thing he'd had with Kie either because he'd only ever seen her as some extension of Sarah that he tolerated. Thinking of her even remotely sexual had just felt fucking weird.

But you? Being around you came close to landing a hole-in-one during golfing, the feeling after being praised by his dad, the way his body buzzed after a line of coke. Which honestly made him wonder if the perfume you were wearing was laced with chemicals or some shit that messed with his head like that.

Fuck, this? Him thinking about this shit at all—that was your fucking fault.

Rafe just knew he liked having you around so there was no need to let you go.

For now.

So as much as he hated, despised, and loathed the idea of you ditching him for some beach party with dirty-ass Pogues and Princess Sarah, by now, he'd learned that if he kept his temper in check, his patience with you would pay off.

Shit, he'd even add a little bonus.

So, when you'd asked if he knew the way, he shot you a raised brow and a casual side-eye, and in the most unbothered tone he said, “Yeah, it’s just down the road. Assuming your friend's succeeding with that guy, I’m guessing you’re gonna need someone to pick you up later.”

And when your brows twitched and your eyes lit up, Rafe knew he was one step closer to keeping you around for real.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee @sttaejoon-blog @vogueprincess @princesspeaxhh @wtfisastiles @wefelldowntherabbithole13 @rafes4 @kathryn-maraudersversion @wuluhwuhmaster @torturedtypewritersdept @sfotiegiuls @ltristessedureratoujours @stoned-writer @lunaleah @akobx @cokewithcameron @b00klvrs @rafesdrew @mattyskies @yktayy9669 @beabafreakbee @c1gsafterwhat @drewstarkeyswife-7 @wtfdudesblog @akobx @wintercrows @miaaaoa @setmefreemyg @pogueprincesa @chimchimjiminie16 @drewstarkeysrightarm @wtfdudesblog @wolfstarsimpxx @emmiesummers @brycesfav @ayy1234567 @rgeraldg @stanseventeen @louvrgirl @chaoticromantic @drewstarkeysrealwife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @psychicnatural @mysticbby2009 @oreocheescake-12 @miniiminie @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewstarkeyywife

[s-4pphics]

CRAVING ANGST SO I WROTE IT RIGHT QUICK OK BYE

CW: EXES TO ENEMIES FT UNASSUMING FAMILY MEMBERS

Home-cooked meals are always served colder with love lost.

Your parents never mean harm(assuming), but sometimes, they don’t think. They miss. They don’t take absence as a clue, they see it as open space, a place where loose ties can finally be knotted. Unified. Time, distance—it all ensues longing. A fond heart and all the bullshit.

They love you endlessly—their one and only after all is said and done, but tonight—this is payback. For your bratty teenage years, totaled cars, backtalk: they’ve plotted, all built up for this moment.

Tonight, your parents despise your very existence, and it shows through your ex sitting across from you.

This is the outcome you wanted though. Peace for your family, your household, you. You already despise questioning, but from family, there’s always an underlying attack, a setup for them to pounce on weakness. So, you never told them about your heartbreak. You didn’t need to.

She disappeared—six months of absence, of open space, any evidence of her presence whisked away in her rusty pick-up truck, never to be seen or heard from again.

Until right fucking now, right in front of your little cousins.

She looks the same, boots dusted and leather wearing on the shoulder blades where it dangles from her seat, but much calmer since your last interaction. Her face is peaceful.

She looks better. It makes you fucking sick.

While the dining room booms with chatter and pitchy laughter from ten year olds, your mind uncovers a hundred different ways to use a steak knife, particularly on green-eyed victims.

It’s laughable how excited your family was to see her. Oh, Ellie, we’re just so glad you could make it! It’s been so long! Engulfed in warmth and hugs and appreciation for visiting after what felt like centuries. For closing the vacancy she left behind.

It has, hasn’t it? Why wasn’t that a sign?

Her sips of wine go down with a strain. Why so nervous? She’s often a spectacle, the life of the party.

“I’m just… honored I gotta call. Everything’s delicious as always.”

She always loved your mother’s cooking, one of the main reasons why she was always buttered up during her visits. Your mom was willing to give your ex her last functioning limb if it meant she’d walk again.

And she gushes on and on: please keep in touch this time, we’d love to have you again, you’re such a doll! So sweet, so kind, so fucking incredible! They never fail to wash her in praise, to congratulate her for making it so far with you, their greatest disappointment.

Might as well sink the knife a bit deeper: it’s a curse suffering alone.

“I couldn’t believe how beautiful Alaska was, honestly.”

“Ellie broke up with me.”

Frost. The table goes ice cold. Even as an adult, your destructive habits linger deep in your darkness.

Ellie is the only one that doesn’t dwell, fork clattering onto her plate, sends you a look kin to knives. As if you’re wrong for being upset. No, she definitely isn’t angered by you stirring the pot in front of children.

Your father calls out to you, but this is funny. You can’t help yourself.

“Wanna tell ‘em what happened, dear?”

Your dad hisses now. Always forced to shut up, bite your tongue. What about Ellie? She had a lot to say the night she abandoned you.

“It’s always on me, right?” You spit at her before following the trail of dread onto your front porch, door slamming shut behind you. You need a fucking cig. And a first class trip outta here. You knew coming home would suck.

It isn’t long before Ellie’s towering over you, smelling like cinnamon.

“Does it look like I want company?” You state from the porch bench.

“What the hell was that?”

Your scoff is guttural. “I should be asking what the hell you’re doing here. It’s been so long, thought about sending a postcard out to the fucking North Pole—“

“If I knew you were gonna act like this I wouldn't have come.”

There it fucking is. “It’s my fault! Again! Everything always falls back on me and what I say and do, doesn’t it! What about everyone the hell else! What about you?” You shout, “I wasn’t the one that left in the middle of the fucking night without a text. Didn’t even bother to leave a fucking note!”

“Leave a note that said what! Thanks for making me feel like I’m always beneath you? Is that what you wanted? That’s all you ever want, actually. Somebody to kiss your ass.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Ellie, you’re not a victim. Stop putting on this front like everyone is out to get you—“

“Are you fucking kidding me! Maybe not everyone, but you for sure were! You make everything about you. You’re selfish and inconsiderate and you don’t fucking listen,” she spits the last bit, “you never fucking listened to anything I had to say! What was I supposed to do! I felt like I was drowning in that house!”

“In the house that I bought.”

Ellie flinches then. The knife’s already in her gut. Might as well twist a bit.

“Yeah. Remember? The jewelry, the cars, the parties, the shit that got you high in the middle of the night—“

“You’re fucked up—“

“No, you are,” you relinquish the spite that’s been building for half a year, “you’re selfish and inconsiderate. Why would I listen to you when you couldn’t give me shit? I did everything. I held you together when the world beat you down, and now look at you. Desperate. That’s why you came back, right?”

If only she could see the way your heart shatters in your chest while you point, accuse, riddled and wracked with the open wounds she refused to heal. She was meant to heal you. How’d you get to this point.

It’s silent for so long, the porch lights flickering like ghosts that haunt your past, yellow and white flashes meant as warnings to return inside and never come back out.

“I’m sure this will be the last time we see each other, so I’ll get this off my chest now, and hopefully that’ll… this’ll be it.”

“I fell in love the second I met you,” she whispers, “in that fucking taxi. No one could tell me you weren’t the most gorgeous being I’d ever seen. And I got to know you, and… And I never forgot. Any of it. I saw so much light through you whenever you spoke about your family, your friends, art. All of it, it’s all I would think about, and I wanted to know more.”

“You were everything I wanted for so long, through all the shit we went through, I still came out on the other side craving you…”

“And now I see you, I really see you…”

Your heart pounds in your ears, palms clammy as you watch emotions pour out of her, finally—after being stifled for all these years. You’re not sure what to think.

“… and all I feel is hate.”

There it is. All over again, she leaves you void of a spirit.

“You’re a cold, dead soul. I… despise you. You came into my life and ruined all that I built for myself,” her tears flow like the falls you two would visit every year. “Everything’s burnt because of you, because you carry all your bullshit around for everyone else to take care of,” vehemently said, “but I said no, I’m not doing that. So I left you by yourself. And I don’t regret it.”

Through your own tears, you choke a laugh.

“Did you love me when you cheated?”

She never answers. Just eyes you with mutual disdain.

“Fuck you, Ellie. Go home. If you even have that.”

You don’t wait to hear her damn you, to watch her leave, the door slamming in her face like it did all these years ago.

[desceros]

Hey there!! I just wanted to say i absolutely LOVE your writing style and found you a little bit ago and I just like- your stuff is absolutely AMAZING!!!

I don’t know if this is improper to ask, but I’ve been thinking about writing rottmnt fics as well, but don’t really know the best way to start and I wanted to ask if you had any specific tips for either character studies or writing tips! Thank you so much and it’s so nice to see an update (IT WAS SO GOOD!!!!)

-🪻💕

hello hello!! thank you so much!!

it's not improper at all! i get a good number of asks where people ask questions like that and i'm always happy to give my personal opinion on things like that. it's how creative communities grow after all! sharing tips and techniques!

anywho, here are some tips for you:

consume the source material. the more you can hear the show in your head, the more you can hear the way the characters speak and interact with one another, the more you can manipulate those voices into believable dialogue and actions. donnie sounds different from leo who sounds different from mikey, etc. that should be reflected in your writing!

write character blurbs. when i'm first learning how to write a character, i'll write a few little drabbles or the like to pin them down. it can be something like. "their crush walks in the room." then you write that. how would leo react? how would donnie react? raph? splinter? do that lots and lots and lots, and you start to build your confidence with scenarios and stuff.

read. this one is one i tend to do more when i'm first learning a character, since i often get too wrapped up in writing to read as much, but it's super useful in the beginning. read what other people are writing, but not as a reader--as a writer. deconstruct things. what do you like? why? what didn't you like? why? what would you have done differently? if given that same premise, how would you handle it? this can help you find the tropes you like (and thus can gravitate towards writing) and those you don't like (and thus the ones you don't want to lean into). for example, i don't like fics where there's a love triangle, so i very rarely write that. i'm a sucker for that "true love" kind of romance where "this is the only one i have eyes for," so that's what i write. not to say that those fics are bad, i just don't like them as much. find your tropes you like!

practice practice practice. this one is probably the most important. my number one advice to you is WRITE! open up a blank page and just go. don't worry about finding the perfect plot, the right words, if people are going to like it, if you're going to be popular, or how to get the right characterization. none of that!! just write. start. get the words out. use a random word generator to find your first word if you're stuck. use a prompt starter. whatever it takes! start writing and then don't stop until you finish it. then do that again, again, again, over and over and over. eventually you'll be much, much more comfortable with writing in general. get this down, and literally everything else will come with time.

those are just a couple tips. i hope you find them helpful, and good luck and have fun!!

[starly-amazing]

Cover art by @mothacabra as a donation commission for Palestine. Commission them here!

A Star From the Multiverse - Ch 6 is OUT!

Fic summary: After FINALLY beating the King after thousands of tries, Siffrin is STILL sent back to Dormont. They. Just. Can't. Do. It. Anymore. They drag themself through the day and to the Favor Tree in the dead of night, begging, wishing for help...and they get it in the form of a strange creature with talons and feathers and fangs.

Chapter summary: Back in the blinding building again (again)! Can they kill the King this time?

Rating: Mature | Graphic depictions of violence & all the canon-typical warnings. Chemical burns.

[Read on Ao3]

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

The void again.

The sensations seem to glow before him.

Floor two's safe room taunts them, brighter than the others.

If he just made it a little further...

Just to floor three.

...

Everything is dampened.

It's almost peaceful.

Maybe you can use this to get some rest.

Without the constant reminder of how blinding stupid you are.

Ah.

Never mind.

They feel their burning thoughts rage behind a thick curtain of fog.

Whatever.

Maybe you can stay here for a while.

Time doesn't move here, so you're not wasting anyone's life.

Maybe.

...

...

...

Just enjoy feeling

N o t h i—

Siffrin wakes up in Dormont.

The grass pokes at his face.

...

Ah.

Of course.

Of course, you can't rest!

Not even a little bit!

Why would you expect anything else?

Oh! Here come the thoughts again!

Here we go!

Tee hee~!

Ohh!

That was awful!

And stupid!

You're stupid!

They JUST warned you about that, and you went and got yourself melted into a Frin puddle! Burning spicy Frin soup! Cooked from the inside and out, sliced and diced into fine pieces, pulverized until tender! Serve with a tall glass of tears!

Taa hee~!

Just like that!

Frin puddle!

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHhA

Hahahah hahhhaha

...

Welp.

...

...

...

Mirabelle will be here soon.

....

...

...

Back to it, Siffrin. You have a... something to do...

Or whatever.

>>>

He stands before the Favor Tree. Their interactions with the Housemaiden and Fighter went smoothly for once—or maybe he was just too numb to notice anything different aside from the weird hand thing Isabeau did again.

Taking a breath, they step into the darkness.

Loop time.

At least there's still memories to recover.

For now.

He blinks a few times to adjust his eye and looks up. Loop sits in their spot in the Favor Tree, peering down at them with that same confused expression.

Siffrin clambers up to their own seat and plops down with a sigh.

Already a routine.

He looks at Loop. They blink and tilt their head.

He waits.

"Hmm, stardust, I believe. I have a feeling I should—"

"Yes, yes, you should know me, we met before. You're a rukemi. You call yourself Loop. I'm a human. I call myself Siffrin. I'm stuck in a time loop, and you forget like ninety-nine percent of what I say. We're trying to kill the King. We keep dying. Can't even blinding get back to fight him again."

"Ah. Well. Okay. Uhm." Their ears fold back, and feathers on their face puff out fully. They look around wildly and wince, paw flying to their face, over their destroyed eye. "Well. Yes. Okay. Yes, the time loops make a lot more sense now, but I still can't say I'm one hundred percent convinced I'm not just a brain in a jar or in a video game or something.”

"A what?" Their eyebrow twitches upward.

"Never mind. Anyway! I said I would help you, didn't I? I think?"

He grumbles and nods.

"Well, I seem to be failing pretty terribly at that, aren't I?" They let out a nervous chuckle and dig their claw into the bark. The feathers on their face seem to deflate, and they look off beyond the leaves.

Siffrin sighs and lowers their head.

"Well, the uh... 'chemical warfare' idea you had is pretty good if I could blinding get to the King without getting myself killed horribly."

"Chemical warfare??? Did I really suggest war crimes?" Their head seems to sink into their shoulders as their ears flatten. "Well... he is a King, so I guess it cancels out." They shrug and ruffle the feathers on their shoulders.

"He deserves so much worse."

"Right," Loop says. "So."

Siffrin sighs and hits his head on the trunk. He digs his fingers into his arm; they can almost feel their skin still burning under their glove.

"Sooo," Loop repeats. "This is where you tell me your life story, isn't it?"

"Hrm."

"Ooor we can just sit here in silence while you admire my beautiful plumage."

"Just...give me a minute." They close their eye and sigh.

They can't help themself again; they can feel the manic desperation bubble up from within them as they start to recount their time in the loops. It seems to take a bit longer for them to pick up steam, but as soon as they catch a whiff of a buried memory, they take off on their wild tangents once again.

If only Loop could remember.

If only he could just skip talking about the loops entirely.

Just have a little more time, not thinking about them.

Ugh.

As the memories taper off once again, and Siffrin slumps breathlessly in his seat, Loop simply blinks and coughs.

"Hm, well, I see now how I might have suggested spraying him with drain cleaner."

"Yes, so what other suggestions do you have?" he rasps, massaging his throat.

"Well," they open their mouth. They close it and put a paw to their head, grimacing. "More drain cleaner?"

He slams his head against the tree, harder this time. "What if it's not enough? What if nothing's enough? None of the books I found have anything useful! What if I'm just walking us all back to our deaths another thousand times? I can't keep doing this, do you know how to feels to die?" He runs his nails down the bark again and again until his nails chip and fingers bleed.

"Well...not physically," Loop mutters, poking at a beetle. "But! You said you haven't faced him again since we've met. So it's too early to give up hope, don't you think?"

"I gave up hope a long time ago. I don't even know why I'm bothering with this." Their body slumps against the trunk, and they slide down.

"Wow. Grim. And I thought I was bad."

"Huh."

"Nothing, nothing! Just keep chipping away, stardust! You can't fuck it up every time!"

"Wow, thanks."

Loop sighs. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be here any more than you do." Their voice is low, defeated, but they immediately perk up and curve their eye upward in a smile. "But I guess we're both stuck now!"

Siffrin grumbles.

Another sigh. "I'm sure your party will be more useful than I am with this. Maybe try talking to them this time. Just the once?"

"No," they say flatly. "I can do this on my own."

"You say that, yet you just said you gave up hope."

Siffrin grumbles again while ripping a piece of bark off and tossing it.

"It's getting late. I should get back." They slide off the branch and hop to the ground. Loop says nothing, but he can see them waving from the corner of their eye.

>>>

Dinner time.

Tastes like ash.

The Hous—Mirabelle says her speech. Agree to follow her to the end of time. Keep smiling.

Group hug.

Without you.

>>>

Isabeau tries to tell them that thing again. The thing he chickens out of saying every time.

At least they're acting normal enough, he's bringing it up again.

>>>

House time.

Second pillar on the right.

Crash!

Keys. Doors. Spike trap. Go around. Get poison. More traps. Keep smiling.

Safe room. Sit and rest while friends talk about—

"BECAUSE IT'S SNACKS TIME, BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!"

Huh?

Siffrin blinks away their stupor and sees Bonnie rush off to the corner of the room. He rubs his eye as they pull out a massive amount of snacks from their bag.

He tilts his head.

Okay, this is definitely new.

Everyone else is sitting in their usual spot. But Bonnie never made snacks before. Right? There was just the candy and snack they had on the only loop they defeated the King... Oh, and those fruit slices they insisted Siffrin try whenever he caught them eating in the classroom.

The ones that killed him.

Several times.

What were they again? Apples? No. Pineapples.

He scratches his throat.

"...Oh, I remembered something." Odile reaches into her pocket. "Isabeau, heads or tails?"

"Huh?" He pauses, wiping a small scuff on his shoe. "Um... Tails!"

Odile flips a coin high in the air; everyone but Bonnie watches it spin an impressive number of times before she catches it and slaps it down on the back of her hand.

"...Huh. I lost," she shrugs and gives the coin a quick spin before pocketing it.

"Yay!" He cheers and claps for himself. "What do I win?"

"The sweet taste of victory and nothing else."

"I don't even get congrats? Wow m'dame... I thought we were friends..."

"We're not friends," she huffs and rolls her eyes with a smirk.

What?

Siffrin raises their head.

"We're associates."

His blood runs cold. They lock on to Odile, eye wide.

"Not companions?" Isabeau pouts, fluttering his eyelids.

"Colleagues. Allies, at best."

Allies?

"Not even..." Isabeau and Odile's voices fade into background noise. Siffrin freezes. His breath stutters. He—

Allies?

They think of you as just allies?

This whole time?

Not friends.

Just allies.

Just.

Allies.

Allies!

ALLIES!?

...

...

...

They take in a sharp breath. His lungs burn. He can't—he can't—

Of course.

Of course!

Why would they think of you as more than an ally?

You should be grateful they even think of you as that!

If they knew—if they KNEW how many times you failed them. How many times you brought them to their deaths!

If they knew!

They wouldn't even think of you as that!!!

Failure!

Useless!

Selfish!

Manipulative!

'Allies' is more than you deserve.

But still...

He digs his nails into his chest.

Still!

You actually thought!

This whole time, you still thought you all were friends!

Allies!

Just!

Just allies!!!

...

...

...

"SIF!"

"HUH!?" Siffrin nearly jumps out of his skin as he's torn from his mind. Catching himself with hands slamming hard on the tile, he focuses back in to see Isabeau, Bonnie, and Mirabelle crowding around them with Odile close behind.

Isabeau holds his hands up and backs away. "Ah! Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you like that but you were breathing really hard and not responding to any of us." He pauses to catch his breath. "Are you okay?"

Siffrin blinks.

What? Where are you now?

Oh, right, first floor safe room.

...

Allies.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" they smile. "Is everybody done with their snacks? We should probably move on."

"Uh, Bonbon hasn't handed them out yet." Isabeau exchanges glances with the others. "Sif, are you—"

"Yep! I was just thinking!"

"About?"

They open their mouth...

...

"I forgot!"

Everyone frowns. Isabeau clenches and relaxes his hands.

"Anyway! Let's eat! I feel good about this fight!"

At the very least, you'll get to burn his blinding eyes out.

Odile sighs. "Okay, Boniface, what snacks have you prepared for us?"

"LOTS! I HAVE LOTS OF SNACKS!!!! Guaranteed to make you full and boost moral!"

"Morale, Boniface."

Allies.

"That's what I said! Anyway! Today, I have..."

They dig into their bag and produce...

"Some PLANTAIN CHIPS!!!!"

"Oooh, did you use the last of those not-bananas to make them?"

"Yes. Yes, I did." They nod proudly. "Crunchy. Delicious. And full of potassium.” The snacks rattle in their hands. “That's plantain chips!!!"

Everyone begins to clap. Siffrin joins in absentmindedly.

Just allies.

"Second snack is..." They dig into their bag again. "Some boring but delicious cookies!!!

"Cookies!!!"

Their allies ' voices start to fade into nothing.

"Great sales pitch, Bonbon. 'Boring but delicious. Cookies, the taste of home.'"

>>>

"FRIN!"

"HWAH???

"YOU BLANKED OUT AGAIN! WHAT SNACK DO YOU WANT?"

"Oh! Uh!"

Stars, what was the third one? Or the second, or first?

Boring but delicious.

"Cookies, please!" They smile.

"Okay! Here! You! Go! Get your moraaaaaaaaale up! Up! Up!"

"Thank you!" They take a small bite of the cookie. It doesn't taste like nothing, at least. In fact, it tastes halfway decent!

"Siffrin, are you sure you're okay?" Mirabelle leans a bit closer to them and bites at a bit of dead skin on her lip.

"Yep!" he says while spraying cookie crumbs everywhere. "Just hungry! Feeling better already with Bonnie's amazing cooking!"

"Really!? It's that good? I mean of course it's that good! If it can cheer Frin up when they're feeling like crab, you know it's good!" They cross their arms and give a triumphant nod.

"It is good, Bonbon!" Isabeau takes a big bite of his rice triangle thing. He jumps. "Are these apple slices?"

"Yep! I saw Dile put plum in some a while ago, so I figured I'd try putting another fruit in there!"

They turn to Odile, who had just taken a tiny bite from hers.

She stares at the rice triangle.

Just...allies.

"It's okay, Dile. I know you're old and don't like change, so I have one with a plum if you want."

"Thank... You."

Just...

>>>

They're at the door to the third floor.

Siffrin removes the key from his pocket without dropping any of the caustic chemicals.

But...

There's still that sadness up ahead. Even if they don't get ambushed like a blind idiot, he still could break some of the bottles in the scuffle.

They should hand them off to Bonnie, but...

"Wait here."

"Huh?"

Siffrin dashes back to the nearest room.

Nope.

Next.

Nope.

Next.

Ah!

He spots a few coats hanging by the door. They swipe them all and rush back.

"What was that all about, Siffrin?" Odile narrows her gaze.

They start pulling bottle after bottle out of their pockets and line them up on the bench.

"What."

"Uhm, I was thinking. We should probably use any boost we can get in our fight."

"And you thought of using caustic chemicals?" She taps her book. "That's actually not a bad idea, Siffrin."

Bonnie squints at one of the labels. "You're gonna put soaps and stuff on the King? That's so funny! But why?"

Odile pulls out her notebook and scans the bottles. "Some of these, when mixed, can be incredibly caustic and can potentially blind him or cause respiratory distress."

Bonnie gasps and scoots closer to the bench. "Whoa. That's so cool!"

Isabeau already begins rearranging the bottles. "Yeah, some of these can burn! Great thinking, Sif!" He smiles at Siffrin for a brief moment before quickly turning back when they notice his darkening cheeks.

"Just want our fight to go as smoothly as possible!" They smile wider.

Mirabelle picks at her fingernail. "I don't know, that seems a bit cowardly to fight him like that."

"Mirabelle." Odile looks over her book. "This is The King we're talking about. The one who froze your home and country in time. The one who locked himself away at the top of the House that had to be opened with orbs spread across the entirety of Vaugarde?" She readjusts her glasses. "

"Yeah...yeah! You're right!" Her expression hardens with determination. "Let's burn his gross face right off!"

"That's the spirit, Mira!" Isabeau pats her on the back. She seems to relax and let her hands fall to her side.

"Yeah! Burn it right off!" Bonnie cheers with their fists raised high.

Odile chuckles. "Let's be careful not to influence our gentle Mirabelle too much. We don't want her entering her villain era just yet."

"Hee hee!" Mirabelle covers her mouth with a hand and bats her eyes cutely.

"Evil Belle! What evil things will she do!?"

"Haha, yeah Mira! What are your plans for world domination?"

"Uhm..." She looks a little unsure again. With a little gasp, she looks at Isabeau and Bonnie with a smirk. "Secret~!"

"Aw boo!" Isabeau and Bonnie say in unison.

"Okay, okay, reigning this back in, children. We still have a ways to go." She ignores everyone's pouts and nods at the coats Siffrin gathered. "I'm assuming you grabbed those to prevent any accidents?"

He shrugs and nods. "Wouldn't want to turn into a Siffrin puddle if a sadness hits us out of nowhere!"

Bonnie scrunches their nose. "Hahha, eww, Frin puddle!"

"It would probably be best if Boniface were to carry the bottles. We can make a makeshift bag with this coat here so they can easily drop it and run if need be."

"Yes! I get to hold the poison!"

>>>

Huh?

Oh!

Okay!

They're moving, finally!

Through the door.

Don't zone out!

There's the sadnesses nearby!

Don't! You! Forget!

They slow down as they near the hall they were ambushed in last time.

As expected, they hear faint shuffling from ahead.

Holding their hand out, they pull out their dagger. The others catch on and prepare.

And there they are. Not even looking at them!

They look weird, though, like two halves of a person.

Siffrin locks onto the paper type and just attacks.

It wails and thrashes around—the other one, a rock type, whips around and barrels forward, but Odile is ready with her Paper Craft.

The shorthaired one lashes out and hits Isabeau square in the chest. He stumbles back with a wheeze but manages to stay on his feet.

They're strong.

The long-haired one hits Odile with a rock move. It still sends her flying against the wall despite her resistance.

Bonnie darts in and out with tonics, bag of poison tucked safely behind a pillar.

Stronger than any other sadness they've faced in the House.

By the time they've finished, they're all shaking and out of breath and down half of their tonics.

"Please tell me there's no more of these before the King."

Well, if the House is what you remember, then...

"I hope not," Mirabelle mumbles while healing a big scrape on Isabeau's arm. "We should move forward and collect ourselves. I feel like there's a safe place to rest up ahead."

They all nod and hobble on forward. Bonnie nearly forgets the bag.

Just as Mirabelle assumed (and as Siffrin remembered!), they arrive at the same room that's been etched into his mind after every single time they died to the King.

The four of them lean against the wall and sink to the floor.

They all take turns tending to one another, Mirabelle with her healing Craft and the others with wash cloths, medicine, and bandages.

He starts to...

>>>

"Okay! ARE WE READY FOR SNACKS TIME!?"

Again?!

They blink to awareness as Bonnie once again runs off to the corner of the room. He forces himself to focus as their allies talk about their (forever impermanent) deaths, as Bonnie hands out their selection of snacks, as he nibbles on a madeline, which doesn't taste completely like ash, still.

It's new. It's new. They know there weren't snacks here or in the last safe room. But why???

Ugh. Why does it matter? Snacks! Enrichment!

What else are they supposed to be expecting from now on?

They brush off all the crumbs and head out.

Okay. Nothing too weird yet.

Just...

THE ROOM WITH THE WINE IS GONE!

Ughhhhhh.

Whatever. It's not like you remember to drink it half the time anyway.

Okay, sadness again. A little easier to kill after the experience from that last fight.

Kitchen looks different.

She didn't get upset over the plates. That's a plus.

Even more sadnesses.

Ah, the torch, at least this room didn't vanish, too.

Okay. Hair time.

Fwoosh!

>>>

Siffrin is ripped back into consciousness at the sounds of clinking glass.

They're in the final safe room.

Odile takes inventory of the bag of tonics. "I'm more convinced Siffrin's idea was the right call after the sadnesses we've encountered."

Nobody's asking—demanding to know what's wrong with him.

"Yeah! Brutal but effective!"

They envision Isabeau holding onto his hands, warm grip like steel, sweat soaking through their gloves in a weirdly comforting way.

"Hopefully," Mirabelle adds.

Isabeau pats her on the back. "It'll be okay, Mira. We've got this!"

Siffrin nods automatically.

They imagine her hands cupping their cheeks, her fingers brushing just below his scarred eye.

"Yes. I am feeling optimistic about this battle, despite our roadblocks on the way up."

He thinks about her ruffling his hair and struggling to comfort him in her own way.

"Yeah! And I've got SNACKS for one last SNACK TIME! WOO!"

Well...at least there's that. Though it's not exactly personal anymore.

They smile and nod through Bonnie's spiel and—

His nose twitches.

"And, um, the last snack..."

Bonnie cautiously collects the next option.

Another aromatic wave hits Siffrin and he salivates for the first time in Universe knows how long.

"Okay, I've never tried it before, but—"

"Ma—!" He... can't remember their name but can't forget that smell!

"Malanga fritters!" Bonnie says.

"!!!" Siffrin reaches out, and without another word, Bonnie hands him a napkin wrapped around a large helping of them.

They stare.

So crispy and greasy! Just like they were back—

There's a twinge behind their missing eye.

<<<

So crispy and greasy. They look so good!

He fishes out the biggest one and brings it to his mouth.

He takes another long sniff.

And pauses.

They're going to taste like ash, aren't they?

No. Not completely, the other snacks didn't!

But...

Bonnie is watching them intently.

You can't disappoint them!

Just pretend you dropped them in the dirt, but still are going to eat them because they're so good!

"What's wrong, Frin? Are you worried I messed them up? Because I promise I worked really hard on them! So they'll have to be good!"

"What? No! No, I know they're good, it's just..." Think, Siffrin. "It's been a while."

A long, long, long while.

Bonnie's head tilts.

Siffrin shoves an entire fritter in his mouth and bites down with a nice crunch.

Ignore the ash. Ignore the ash. Ignore the ash!

It's good. It's good. It's good!

"Well!?" Bonnie leans forward.

"Mmmmpphfhfh." Siffrin nods.

Malanga fritters.

It's been so long.

They chew slowly and focus on the surviving flavor.

They feel like they're going to cry.

Something new—something...

Not at all like the previous time in that room. Nothing like the time that led to them finally killing him.

Everything's different! There's no way you could have replicated last time anyway!

But it's fine! It's not like you have to when you won't ever be close enough to get hit with that one attack tee hee~!

They look at their hands to see nothing but crumbs and a thin shine of grease.

The lingering flavor slowly sours into an aftertaste.

They're still hungry.

>>>

"Okay. Do you all remember the plan?" Odile taps on the largest bottle.

Bonnie furiously nods. "Yeah! We go up to him and pretend we're going to have a fair fight, then BOOM! ACID IN THE FACE!"

"Technically, most of these are bases, but yes, essentially."

"You're a bases."

"Boniface ." Odile pinches the bridge of her nose. "Anyway, yes, aim for the face or anything exposed, throw, and run. Isabeau and I will be waiting right behind this door as backup if things go sour. Do not taunt the King. Do not converse with him. Do not give him any chance to turn it back in his favor."

Bonnie is nearly bouncing on their feet. "We’re gonna crab him up so bad he won’t know what hit him!!!"

Both Siffrin and Mirabelle take a deep, slow breath and nod.

He pats the bottles under their cloak, picks his head up high, and walks through the door.

As always, the King kneels before a nest of his own darkless hair.

Don't forget. Don't forget. Don't forget. MIRA has to deal the final hit. SHE'S the chosen one, not you.

You just have to make sure there's a first hit.

The walk to the King is long and tedious, as always.

Breathe in, and out.

Don't get your hopes up.

But.

It has to be.

It has to be it.

But.

Don't get your hopes up.

It is hopeless, after all.

But it has to be it!

It has—

"Ah...... ah......"

They stop before the King and glare. Their fingers twitch.

"Oh...... Young ones......"

He lowers his fists to scan the party.

"Are you...... here to kill me......? With just two of you............? And a child........?"

"Yep." Siffrin whips the bottles from his pockets with zero fanfare and chucks them directly into the King's face. They both make contact with a satisfying shatter. Bonnie's hits immediately after—before he even has a chance to cover his face.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH WHAT IS THIS?"

He doubles over as Mirabelle's bottles shatter at his feet. He takes one step before crashing to the floor with a resounding slam. The sounds of his rattling armor echo throughout the room almost as loud as his wails

"Run!"

The three of them take off as the King screams and flounders like a newborn fawn on ice. He hurls curse after curse at them, fumbling to regain his footing, remove a gauntlet, and wipe the chemicals from his eyes.

Closer, closer. Odile and Isabeau wave them on and slam the door behind them.

Everyone stands there, panting heavily for a moment. Even Isabeau seems winded.

Bonnie runs in place and waves their arms. "Hahah, oh crab! That was awesome! And scary! Scary awesome!"

"I can't believe that worked!" Isabeau peeks through the door. "He's still thrashing around out there. I don't even think he can follow us if he tried; his hair's tangled in everything!"

"And he keeps slipping!" Bonnie points and laughs.

"Oh, I hope he doesn't collapse the floor." Mirabelle worries.

"It is possible, but..." Odile glances out. "He's sitting back down trying to wipe it off now."

Siffrin's back hits the wall, and they slide down with a slow exhale.

It worked?

They take another breath.

It worked!

Hahaha! Was it really that simple?

No. No. Don't get your hopes up, Siffrin. That's when everything falls apart.

But...

He scoots closer to the door and peeks out.

Just like Isabeau said, the King is on his knees, furiously wiping his face with a massive hand. One gauntlet is discarded by his side.

The smile that creeps on their face is not forced, for once.

Even if they don't kill him this time...

At least there's some joy they can glean from making him suffer just a fraction of what he's put them all through.

Hahah! Burn till you're nothing more than a pile of regolith dust!

They want to watch him melt into a King puddle, but Odile closes the door and clears her throat.

"If the curse wasn't only a few hours away, I would have suggested waiting it out and letting him succumb to infection. But as it stands, I wouldn't want to gamble on us being frozen and leaving Mirabelle on her own if he does manage to recover."

"Right." Mirabelle clasps her hands to her chest and nods.

"It'll be okay!" Isabeau smiles. "It'll be an easy peasy fight."

"Lemon squeezy?" Bonnie's eyes seem to sparkle with hope.

"Lemon squeezy!" He gives them a thumbs up.

"Then we got this!" They cheer with their fists in the air.

"Don't get too brash," Odile chastizes. "He's still dangerous even blinded and burned."

Bonnie grumbles, but the others nod slowly.

"You okay, Sif?"

"Huh?" They blink a few times and see Isabeau hovering over him.

"You okay?" He tilts his head.

"Yeah!" They realize they have their cloak bunched up in their fists. He lets go.

The others have stopped talking and are now looking at them.

They smile wider. "Really! Hey, he's not thrashing so much, we should probably head out now before it gets too quiet."

Odile narrows her gaze. "Right," she sighs. "Everyone caught their breath?"

The party nods, Siffrin a little too forcefully.

Odile, Mirabelle, and Bonnie slowly creep out the door. Isabeau puts his hand on it and turns back to Siffrin, voice low.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Of course! A-okay and ready Freddy!" They whisper-yell.

Isabeau's smile wavers. He studies them. Scrutinizes him. But then he exhales, nods, and heads out the door.

Siffrin gives his aching cheeks a quick massage and follows.

The King is up ahead, looking like a mess. They can hear his ragged breathing from halfway across the room. Every few moments, he lets out a set of wheezing coughs. He's still sobbing like a child, like he didn't freeze an entire country and kill Siffrin and their friends allies a thousand times.

Closer. Closer.

The King doesn't seem to notice them. They hold their weapons at the ready.

Closer.

The party reaches the border of his trembling shadow and line themselves up along it. They silently power each other up, mouthing the words in order to channel some of the Craft energy out.

Odile raises a hand.

Three.

Siffrin grips their dagger.

Two.

Isabeau clenches his fists.

One.

Mirabelle raises her rapier.

GO!

With a practiced synchrony, the four of them let off their strongest attacks all at once. They all connect with his mottled face and hands, tearing into his skin and splashing blood in every direction.

He wails again and thrashes out at them, but the party dodges back with ease.

"Saviors!" He bellows. "DO YOU REALLY BELIEVE YOUR COWARDLY TACTICS ARE ENOUGH TO DEFY THE UNIVERSE’S WILL?”

Siffrin attacks again before anyone else is close to ready with theirs.

"Ohhhh... ohhhhh............... You know........." He stops to cough and cough.

He's still not attacking.

"It still won't be enough..."

Wait.

He raises both hands, dark splotches etch his fingers and palms, raw and weeping.

Of course.

Siffrin lowers their dagger.

It's never enough.

The King snaps his fingers.

[ Y o u   s e e   a   v i s i o n   o f   t h e   f u t u r e ]

Every cell in their body alights in fire as their mind is smashed in from every direction.

Everyone hits the tiles with nothing more than a grunt.

Why, why, why?

Siffrin can't move—can't even make a sound.

We're so close!

We—

Of course, he could still use that attack! It hits everything! He doesn't need to aim!

Stupid stupid!

"Ohhhhhh ohhhhh Saviors........... You thought it was enough." He flexes his gauntlet. "All you have done was prevent me from viewing my perfect ending. I will still rest easy knowing Vaugarde will be frozen in eternal perfection............... even if I can no longer see it.............."

The others lay there silently. Isabeau and Odile both hold their finger to their lips.

Oh.

There's still a chance.

Mirabelle's fingers twitch.

If Mira can just recover enough to...

Yes. Yes, you just have to hold on long enough.

Isabeau is smiling at them. His eyes are hazy, and blood slowly trickles from a gash on his brow.

Siffrin blinks slowly, his lips twitch upward just a fraction. It's all they can do.

Just wait. Just wait.

Breathe in. And out.

The sound of heavy footsteps makes their blood run cold.

Shit!

"Boniface stay back!" Odile screams.

SLAM.

The wet sound of shattering bones echoes through the cavernous room. They can't see her body over Isabeau, but they can picture the scene perfectly.

No! No, no, no!

No!

Stars. Stars blind it all!

Even if we win this time...

Bonnie skids to a halt and freezes. A tonic tumbles from their grasp and shatters in front of them. Their hands slam over their mouth, nails digging into their skin.

"Dile?" they squeak.

Odile can only manage a single wheeze before she goes silent. The King's fist drips a trail of blood as he pulls back.

Bonnie! They're still out of range. Please, please don't move, don't move, don't move.

"Ohhhh............... Saviors.............. Some of you are still breathing........? Ohhhhhh... What a pity for you all.........”

Isabeau squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip. Blood trickles from his mouth as he breathes deeply. Opening them once more, slowly, he pulls a despairing smile back on and mouths something Siffrin can't quite make out.

There's no point now.

He has to end it... Start again.

But they can't. Blinding. Move.

Mirabelle is facing the King, glaring right through him. Just like every time before her. Yet this time there's no satisfaction of angering him in her final moments if he can't see the look of brave defiance in her eyes.

She clenches a fist.

Gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut, she rolls to her side.

Siffrin's eye pleads with her to stay still. If she understood his message, she chooses to ignore it.

Mira, please no.

Not without Odile.

She takes another breath and slowly slides her arm under her.

A small flash catches Siffrin's eye.

On her chest is—

No.

No, no, no!

Siffrin tries to take in a deep breath.

Mirabelle pushes up and rolls to a crouch.

Ding ding!

SLAM.

...

Ha! Ha h hahahahha hahahah!

HAhahaa!

Hahahah!

This is what you get for being hopeful!

More of the same!

At least it's quicker than it could have been.

Isabeau grimaces again, teeth grinding on each other. He chokes back a sob the King might have heard were he not shaking viscera from his gauntlet.

But his smile is back. Even with tears in his eyes. Even with his body trembling.

He always does this.

Every time.

No matter how hurt he is or how scared.

As long as he can see them, as long as he can move, he gives them his full attention and smiles. He hides so much fear and pain behind his eyes, but thousands of loops have Siffrin seeing right through the mask.

They thought they were numb to the death by now, but of course, that one sliver of hope rips the wound wide open again and sprays it with the same chemicals burning through the King's skull.

"Ohhh............ ohhh............ Saviors......... That was the Housemaiden, was it not..........? Your healer............ I see now you were waiting for her to recover, were you not...........? Even though you so violently defied My Will, I will offer you a quick and merciful end if you speak up now........."

Go blind yourself, King.

Oh, wait!

Hahha!

We did that for you!

They almost don't want to bring attention to themself now; that would give him what he wants.

And yet...

They can't let Isabeau's smile fade. They can't let their last memory of him in this loop be as a pile of viscera and bones. His body still blocks the majority of the gore behind him.

Of what used to be their friends allies.

Stars. Why can't you even make one blinding sound!? Scream! Hit the floor! Throw your dagger!

The unsteady drip drip of Mirabelle and Odile's blood is the only sound in the room outside of their weak breathing. Bonnie continues to stand, trembling, in the corner of their vision. Even then, it's hard to miss the tears pouring down their face. Hard to miss them fighting every urge to sob and scream and curse the King and say sorry, sorry, sorry and beg the gruesome remains of Odile and Mirabelle to reform.

“Ohhhhh....... Ohhhhhhhhhh..... It does not matter in the end....... You will be frozen in time soon enough..... Child.............”

Bonnie flinches and gives the King the most piercing glare they can muster through the tears.

It twists something inside Siffrin. He still can't make a sound.

“If you care for your fellow Saviors........... You will grant them mercy and allow me to give them a quick end.......”

Their whole body shakes, and they seem to fight the urge to scream.

Stars. Stars!

Why now? He' always had enough energy to taunt him one last time.

Bonnie turns their gaze to Siffrin. Slowly, slowly, they begin to sneak toward him. Their hand carefully reaches into their bag.

No, no, no. Bonnie please!

Please just let me die! I can do it again!

Closer.

Closer.

Their eyes flash between Siffrin and the King. They can't stop blinking away the tears. They refuse to look at what remains of Odile and Mirabelle. Siffrin can see them wringing their hands on the bottle, fighting the urge to look.

Please. Don't look. Don't look.

Just make a sound, Siffrin!

One sound.

One move.

Massive tears spill forth from the King's eyes as he continually wipes at his face.

Bonnie squeezes their eyes shut and bites their lip, pausing for a moment.

"Ohhhh............... Child.......... please........... I would rather not have to reduce myself to blindly slamming my hands on this floor to finish the job.............."

They're on them, sinking to their knees and taking his head in their hands. They take great care to pop off the cork, cup his face, and hold the opening to his lips.

Squeezing his eye shut, he swallows the thick, sour liquid.

The warmth radiates out from their stomach to the tip of every limb. Their fingers twitch. Breath hitches. Everything begins to tingle as their body slowly, slowly, starts to stitch itself back together.

They—they think they can move again.

Bonnie tilts the bottle just a little higher, arm shaking even harder. Tears and snot cover almost every inch of their face. Siffrin can almost hear their teeth groaning from the strain of their jaw.

The tonic spills faster into their mouth, too fast to swallow.

It slips into his lungs.

He coughs.

The King's head snaps toward him.

Finally.

He raises his fist.

They smile at Bonnie—at Isabeau. With the hint of strength they regained, they shove Bonnie away.

Just allies.

SLAM!

[cerastes]

so what is your diagnostic on nightreign?

Okay, so,

It's fun! I like it, in fact, I can't wait to play more. But, it is flawed: It has both fundamental flaws and untapped potential.

I am fortunate enough to have a lot of friends to play with, but it's in fact a pretty big flaw that you NEED two other people to play: It is certainly possible to win as a single player, but it's also incredibly difficult, and requires some pretty deep knowledge of Elden Ring, like poise breakpoints, when the boss is going to have their posture broken, and a lot of fundamentals, in addition to the Luck needed in a roguelike. Thing is, consistent wins as a single player do demand, on average, far more than even base Elden Ring asks for you to even get on the ride. On the other hand, I've actually had a pretty good time with randos, most everyone seems to believe in teamwork, pinning on the map, and following as a group to pins.

Now, the things is, the roguelike upgrades part is pretty underwhelming: I shouldn't be jumping of joy when I see Max HP +15% and cringe in disgust when I see I can obtain the mystic ability to conjure a rain of magic projectiles on my wake. It should be an exciting prospect to get the ability to cause thunderstorms and frostgales. Point is, all the fun upgrades suck ass, and all the boring, utilitarian Number Go Up upgrades are by far the best. Which is such missed opportunity because a roguelike should by all means let you go goofy goober on your upgrade combos and synergies. I shouldn't feel disappointed when I get offered the mystic ability to conjure arcane rains with but a mere footstep, you know?

Another thing is that the Nightlords are... All over the place. Some Nightlords are pretty cool, like Gladius and The Two Bugs. Some Nightlords are pure god damn cancer, like The Water Boy and the Darkdrift Knight, the former moreso than the latter, in terms of just how much the developers seem to hate melee as a concept.

Nightlords move. Nightlords move a LOT. The Water Boy especially is Elden Beast 2.0 where the entire thing is running after it for 5 mins to land one or two hits. It makes me wonder if they actually beta tested this. When I think about Fromsoft Hard, I think about a well designed boss that needs you to engage with the mechanics of the game to a high level of skill, when I think about Fromsoft Hard, I don't think about "you get one hit in every 5 minutes and those 5 minutes are spent dodging 1 or 2-shot attacks". So, once more: You Guys Fucking Suck At Designing Bosses. As much as I love Elden Ring and Nightreign, they have their weakest soldiers designing some of these bosses, and it shows. For every Midra (godlike boss fight) there are eight Elden Beasts or Black Blade Kindreds (dogshit bosses that have you spend half or more of the fight chasing after the boss rather than doing anything remotely fun). Nightreign mainly brings Elden Beasts instead of Midras.

Mind you, it's still the tight and fun combat of ER, the fun weapons of ER, and many fun enemies and bosses of ER, it's a great time, I'm loving it, but whenever we get close to the end of the run, I can't help but think "ok now here comes dogshit" half of the time and I shouldn't. I shouldn't think that. I should be excited that I'm about to fight a strong dude, not disappointed I'm about to Run Forever To Land One Hit.

Connection is buttery smooth, at least in my experience. I've played with eurofriends and it holds up fantastic. The new movesets of the characters are fun, I love the Remembrance system and their interactions with one another, their concepts as characters are also really good.

A 7 or 8 out of 10 kinda game as it stands, which is low for a FromSoft title, but still a great game. I hope it only gets better the more content they add.

[sanriobuny]

In His Mind

Pairings: Reader x JJ, Reader x dark!Rafe

warnings: talks about killing/murder, swearing

Summary:

Rafe wasn't one to share—especially not with JJ Maybank. So when his best friend starts hanging around with the Pogues more often, he feels he has no choice but to do something drastic.

The doors to the Wreck swung open, the bell chimed, and the chill of the night breeze swirled into the restaurant. JJ didn’t pay much attention—he was leaning against the counter talking to Kie—but when she made a disgusted face and turned back toward the kitchen, he turned around only to find himself face to face with none other than Rafe.

You were sitting at a table with Sarah and her boyfriend, John B, lost in thought as you noticed two of your best friends in closer proximity than you would have liked. They’d never gotten along. No matter how many times you tried, you could never get them to be civil with one another.

“That’s a disaster waiting to happen,” Sarah said. You heard John B mutter something under his breath, but you weren’t paying much attention. You just watched the interaction between the two, hoping the night wouldn’t end with them being pulled off each other.

Rafe strolled over to the counter where JJ was now eyeing him suspiciously. He leaned against it, casually glancing between you and JJ.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Rafe?” JJ said, his voice laced with sarcasm. He looked over his shoulder to see you watching them and flashed you a quick wink before turning his attention back to Rafe.

“Y’know, JJ, I have something that might interest you.” Rafe folded his arms casually, continuing before JJ had a chance to reply. “I guess you could call it a generous offer—one you shouldn’t refuse.”

JJ studied Rafe’s face, unsure of what he was implying. “Enlighten me, Rafe. Not because I’m interested—just because I want to know why the hell you’re coming to me.”

Rafe smirked. “You see, you’ve been spending quite a lot of time with Y/N. I’ve been hearing a lot of people talking about her—saying she’s slumming it with Pogues.” He laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “You and your friends are messing with her image, always being around. I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

“I’m sure if Y/N had a problem with her ‘image,’ she wouldn’t be sitting here with us—now would she, Rafe?” JJ shot back. Rafe’s jaw tensed as JJ continued. “Maybe you’re just too worried about your image of her. Maybe you just don’t like the fact that she’d rather be—”

“Stay away from her,” Rafe snapped, his voice low enough that the small audience watching wouldn’t hear. He scoffed. “I was going to be nice about this... offer you some money, but now I don’t feel so generous. Stay away from Y/N, or I will kill you myself.”

JJ laughed, shaking his head. “You’re not serious. You were going to bribe me with money to stay away from her because you can’t handle the fact that she has friends other than you?” He straightened up, ready to walk away, done with the conversation.

“I’m serious, you know,” Rafe said darkly. “If you go near her again... I could just kill her.”

JJ froze. “What the hell did you just say?” He turned to face Rafe, who wore a smug smirk. JJ’s fists clenched, ready to punch him square in the face.

“You know damn well I’d get away with it. Because, you know what? I’d rather her be dead than be anywhere near you.”

Before JJ could even begin to register what he’d just heard, Rafe was already out the door.

JJ stood there, fists clenched, until he felt a familiar warmth wrap around his hand.

“Hey, are you okay? What did Rafe want?” you asked, concern written all over your face. He knew you hadn’t heard what Rafe had said.

He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “C’mon, let’s just go sit down.” He placed a hand on your lower back, guiding you back to the table. He didn’t miss the way your eyes studied him, clearly not satisfied with his answer.

He contemplated whether you’d even believe him if he told you. His jaw tensed, feeling conflicted.

Should he even risk telling you?

Should he stay away?

Was Rafe really capable of that?

He already knew the answer.

Authors note - bit nervy my first fic, hope you like! 😣

[aggressively-polite]

You are so right about Cassian's transition from S1 Cassian to R1 Cassian not being there at all. Did the writers somehow forget the significance of Narkina 5? Maarva's Rebel funeral? Nemik's manifesto?

A HUGE part of 'kill me or take me in' was because of the PORD act and what Cassian and Melshi knew what was happening in at least the four or so prisons prisoners were sent from Niamos. There were probably so many more.

It was a significant turning point for Cassian. It was traumatic. Did he not truly learn teamwork, conspire with Kino to free thousands of men and overthrow their oppressors? Surely a turning point for a once lone wolf turned one time mercenary who was only really out for himself?

During the four years that followed Narkina 5, tens or even hundreds of thousands of innocent people, enemies of the Empire, and criminals who are meant to do their time and get their freedom eventually are living that dystopian hell that Cassian was and it began long before the day Cassian was arrested. With every day the Empire ruled the galaxy, those people would never see freedom.

CASSIAN KNEW THIS, yet they largely chose to regress and not progress his character and focus on a romantic relationship that should have been cut after the show went from 5 to 2 seasons, and use that as a reason to not to commit. That's what they did with the limited screen time they had?

People needed to know about Narkina 5 and the other prisons. Cassian and Melshi agreed on this. Cassian didn't get to say goodbye to Maarva because he was in prison, and then what did his last remaining parent do with her death?

Incited a riot and resistance against the Empire. Cassian heard her entire speech and it was clear that the wheels were turning for Luthen as he watched her speech and what she accomplished with it, as though he was putting together that aside from his interactions with Cassian, the reluctant but immensely capable man raised by that woman could really be the guy.

Taking Cassian off the board because he knows too much could be the biggest mistake Luthen might make in his life. And then lo and behold, Cassian is waiting for him on his ship, ready to die if Luthen won't bring him in. He was ready to go ALL the way.

WHAT HAPPENED TO ANY OF THAT?

You could have left his story off there and continued to Rogue One and it would have worked as a prequel, which is such a shame when other characters had such compelling stories.

Yes!!!!!!! You've articulated what I feel perfectly!

Andor season 1 works as a great prequel to Rogue One because it gets Cassian to where he needs to be emotionally (fully ready to dedicate himself to fighting the empire), and then leaves enough of a gap for us to fill in his development to captain.

When I finished season 1, I was so happy that it felt like a complete arc for the character and I could leave it there and let imagination/fanfic fill in the rest.

Even though I did like a lot of season 2 (the whole build up of Ghorman I really enjoyed), it felt like such a regression for Cassian, and makes it impossible to connect his character back to Rogue One.

I really think the Ferrix characters should have been left in season 1, or have a separate plot line that doesn't intersect (much or at all) with Cassian's.

Bix didn't get to feel like a character to me in season 2, just as a plot device to make Cassian feel conflicted. She was given no agency or drive of her own - she leaves the rebellion (something she says she believes in) just so that Cassian will be fully in the rebellion (even though he should've been from episode 1). Why couldn't she just break up with him to go on her own missions? Why did they make her talk about how strongly she believes in the fight, just to make her a widowed mother on a farm?

Actually now that I think about it - I think Wil and Cassian's relationship works much better in comparison - they care about each other but it doesn't come before the cause (at least not for Wil).

I think the writers should've just picked one Ferrix character to live (either Bix or Wil) and give them Wil's plotline. Cassian's plot could then focus a lot more on actual missions for the Rebellion, how Yavin builds as a base (hated that we saw none of this in the timeskip), and setting him up for Rogue One.

[universe-friday]

EXCERPT #85:

Hello. I hope somebody is listening.

[…]

Unbelievable… Solus…! They’re unbelievable!

Thalia’s file said she had been caught by cyborgs.

I know that’s not true. You know that’s not true, old sport… Unless this file really was abandoned after they broke up, and this is referring to something else…

But surely… Surely, Thalia would have shared that with me… Being caught by cyborgs? That’s a story she would have told me ten times over had she come out alive from it!

I digress. The file said cyborgs, so I had to find the file for the cyborgs.

And… Old sport… My God, you wouldn’t believe the size of it.

The cyborg document is essentially its own pile.

The last document in the ‘C’ area.

I could lie to you, old sport, and say it hasn’t taken me much time at all to go through it, but…

Well, other than the vow I made to you oh so long ago to be honest… It’s the furthest thing from the truth. I couldn’t lie about it if I tried.

I’m still at Solus’ place… Still reading through this absolute monster.

Once you get past the hundreds of front pages detailing each individual cyborg Solus has come in contact with, you then get onto the many… Many more pages of cyborg acts Solus has witnessed.

Of course, a lot of the time this includes Solus realising a lot of them are retreating to a similar place… That’s how they knew where their HQ was when we confronted them concerning the sinkholes.

Sometimes it’s random stories of cyborgs putting up campaign posters or trampling residents.

There was even a story of a cyborg following a rat into Solus’ place. Luckily for me, I had already heard of “Cyborg#1105” and their run-in with Solus from the first section.

[Sigh, a page turns]

It’s just… [page turns] Surely, if Thalia was ‘caught by cyborgs’, [page turns] you’d have something about that interaction here.

[Page turns]

It’s just getting tiring reading… Oh? Finally, a new section… Huh? “Human Cyborgs”...?

What does this even mean…? [Page turns]

Oh… My God.

[...]

<- prev excerpt / next excerpt ->

[ishgard]

Hello and welcome, I'm Crow/Yumé (she/any), and this here's my sparkly new (under construction) pinned post!

about ✧ characters ✧ screenshots ✧ writing ✧ tags ✧ sideblogs

Ahru Hiraeth ✧ Warrior of Light ✧ Multiple Verses ✧ Multiship

✧ I have a lot of characters, who get varying amounts of attention, but Ahru is XIV Blorbo #1.

✧ I love NPCs and shipping with NPCs and you will find a lot of that here.

✧ You'll find a gratuitous amount of my gposes here. I'm just here to have fun and put my blorbos in situations.

✧ I also occasionally write fic, and expel ranting word walls about my characters if prompted. Sometimes even if I'm not. Beware.

✧ I reblog a lot. It's probably 99% strictly Final Fantasy XIV, with occasional memes that I relate to XIV or characters, and very occasional world news signal boosts. Most everything else goes to my sideblogs.

Heads up: I have a dedicated AU for Alphinaud that includes major spoilers for the latter half of 7.0. I mostly tag anything with blatant spoilers accordingly, but it's highly likely for something to slip through the cracks so please take that into account if you're not current on MSQ. If you're curious about it, you can find more information here.

General:

✧ 18+ - I'm an adult and I don't shy away from adult topics or subject matter, but more than that between all of the ship-squealing and keysmashing enthusiasm, I do appreciate a degree of maturity about fictional topics and won't engage with drama.

✧ NOT spoiler-free, but I do tag the latest expansion or patch spoilers

✧ I usually have an unmarked queue going when I'm asleep.

✧ Tags in general are pretty messy, it's a 10+ y/o old blog. I'm kind of working on it, but my sideblog @dravania is a lot more organized. However if you'd like something in particular tagged, please let me know and I would be happy to do that for you!

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✧ I won't tolerate racism, misogyny, TERFs, or any other queerphobia. That said, I don't believe discussions around these topics fall under the scope of "drama", and that they need to be addressed within fandom when and where they arise.

✧ Fuck Generative AI. If you ever see me reblogging anything made by genAI please give me a gentle nudge!

✧ I don't strictly follow4follow, and I don't solely follow FFXIV-only blogs either

✧ WCIF-friendly, to the best of my abilities. If you see something I'm using, feel free to ask!

Interaction:

✧ Generally speaking, I don't RP, but I do love to interact and spitball ideas/scenarios for how our characters could be connected. That said, I don't typically lean towards romantic interests. Co-WoL's/Adventurers/etc. though is all fun!

✧ I don't use Mare, but if you want my characters .chara file to pose with (SFW) feel free to ask!!

✧ If you ever want to draw any of my characters just know I will compose ballads in your honor. It will add years to my life, and I will use them all in your service.

✧ I can be slow to respond at times, but feel free to toss me an ask or hit me up in DMs for... whatever! (Not you, solicitors!)

[cheateddeath]

A SMALL MAX JAGERMAN ANALYSIS

NPMD SPOILERS + MENTIONS OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT

— IT'S FAIRLY OBVIOUS THAT MAX WAS A BULLY. I am in no way trying to excuse his actions, but I think there are definitely reasons for why he acts like this.

It's no secret that his home life isn't the best. While he doesn't outwardly say it, certain lines point to his father not being the best man.

Right before he dies, he mentions his dad, and while I don't remember exactly what he said, he does bring up the fact that if he went home scared, his father would call him a "cuck" again.

After the prank he has a rare moment of calmness, stating that the prank was the "nicest thing anyone's ever done for him." That's pretty sad considering that prank was meant to teach him a lesson.

I don't exactly think he'd be close friends with the losers right away, even if he didn't die. The most realistic we could without him completely forgetting about their "kindness" is him leaving them alone, but still terrorizing the rest of the school.

I feel like if he didn't die, that would've been the start to a long road to redemption, but his opportunity at making things better died with him.

He died angry, and I don't think this anger is misplaced at all. Even though they didn't kill him, Pete did mention that the house wasn't structurally sound. That isn't something you just ignore. I don't blame them fully for not remembering until it was too late, though.

Them using this house specifically is what led to Max dying, so they are at fault. Even if they didn't mean for it to end up like this, it shouldn't be crazy that he blamed them anyway. He took the prank surprisingly well, even congratulating them on how much they managed to actually scare him. When the wood finally gave out, they all just crowded around him. While there wasn't much they could do, Richie going "mission accomplished?" definitely didn't make him think this was an accident.

— HE ISN'T COMPLETELY SELFISH. Yes, he's an asshole to mostly everyone, but he's seen genuinely trying to protect Steph in the house, making her get behind him. He was horrible, but with the right guidance and a lot of therapy and counseling, he could have been better.

— HE THINKS OF HIGH SCHOOL AS HIS PEAK. He says this in the song Literal Monster, and further confirms it after he dies, saying he thought his life was over after high school. This definitely does not excuse his horrible bullying, but it offers a different perspective, his perspective. He acts this way because it's the only control he has, and will ever have in his life. He has nothing waiting for him at home, no hope for his future. It definitely sucks. Once again, maybe with proper help he could get out of this way of thinking.

All of the power he has in the school has boiled into some sort of god complex, he refers to himself as a god twice, I believe. He thinks he is above everything, a very harmful way of thinking for such a young person. Going to Hatchetfield High only fuels that. Everyone blindly listens to him, people hide and run out of fear the moment he enters a hallway, and his unprecedented amount of control weighs on them all. He gets to control who walks through what hall, who gets to date who. I feel like only a therapist and counseling could possibly help rehabilitate him at this point.

— HIS INTERACTIONS WITH GRACE ARE INTERESTING. At least, to me. I can't tell if he genuinely likes her at first, or if he just wants her because she is "forbidden fruit," as he calls it. His personality switches when she's around, and he even offers to carry her books, an action that seems innocent enough at first. This innocence quickly fades into horror as he begins to harass her, calling her a "dirty girl" and continuing even after she tells him to stop.

Grace is very blatantly not into this, and just a bit later she's seen struggling with these unwanted feelings of physical attraction. They're purely physical, I don't believe she likes Max romantically. He might have a genuine crush on her and not know how to articulate it without being a total creep, but she very clearly doesn't feel the same.

When she has to sacrifice what she cherishes the most, Max jumps at the opportunity, something that once again I can't tell is out of lust, or genuine attraction. Either way, she doesn't feel the same way. Some interpret this as non-consensual, since she agreed, but didn't exactly want it. I sort of see it that way. But yeah, I don't exactly know if he genuinely likes her. It's a bit hard to tell, at least for me.

These scenes are mostly played off as comedic, especially the scene where the two have sex. If you look at it and ignore the comedy for a moment, it's actually really, really sad. Grace didn't deserve to have to give herself up for Pete and Steph, especially since nobody ever thanks her for it? She quite literally gave up her virginity so they wouldn't have to suffer. I know some people love this ship, but I don't exactly see it. Holyghost could be very one sided on Max's end, but I doubt the two of them genuinely liking each other. Grace has rejected his advancements before, and although he is in a fantasy she has, she could just be attracted to the idea of him physically, not any other way.

If you read this far, i'm sorry if this is poorly written. I just woke up a bit ago, so I hope this makes sense.

[sailorsoons]

Hi I'm a new baby carat and I wanted to ask if I should stop stanning seventeen? Like all of this boycott going on. Does this mean I should hate on them? I genuinely don't understand. English is not my first language. Can you please clarify because people are saying they are 'stepping back from seventeen' what does this mean? And your post about jeonghan enlisting and carats losing all the plot. I didn't understand that. This is my first time stanning a kpop group so I don't know what to do. I'm genuinely asking please don't think I'm mocking you or anything!

Hi, I think the most important thing to takeaway from all of the discourse going on is that you should participate in fandom and interact with Seventeen's content however you want to and however you're comfortable doing. There is no right or wrong answer. It is okay to be upset with them and still consume or read content about them. Two things can be true at once: you can be really upset with someone and not like something they're doing, and you can still like their music and listen to it because it's a source of joy for you. This isn't hypocrisy, this is cognitive dissonance and we need to be comfortable living in it.

None of the conversations right now mean you should hate Seventeen at all. No one who is upset with them hates them. I think that, unfortunately - and this applies really specifically to Western online discourse because I don't know if it's the same everywhere else - society is now unable to separate criticism from sending hate. We have reached a point where feedback, criticism, discussion and voiced opinions are considered 'being a hater' or 'sending hate' or 'unstanning' and that's really not the case at all. Providing feedback, input and criticism has always been a part of media, fandom and other industries in general, but we have really lost our way in that functionality of how communication works and it's turned into people accusing those giving feedback as 'hating' something when that is not, in fact, the case.

When people say they're stepping back from Seventeen, they just mean they need a bit of a mental break or some clarity. For a lot of us, it's an uncomfortable situation to write/produce stories about Seventeen when they are actively doing things in real life that go against 1) what you believe in 2) probably how you portray them in fanfic 3) the standards you would hold your friends to. So it puts a bit of pressure on content creators to keep writing for people who are essentially not aligning with their ethics and beliefs, on top of the fact that most of the people I know who are in fandom right now have been having a really hard year or have been really busy with life and work. So rather than try to be active in a space that is tiring them out while Seventeen is also creating some discourse, it's easier to step back and I fully support them.

My comment about Jeonghan enlisting and us losing the plot was totally a joke. It was more of me poking fun at the fact that Jeonghan enlisted and now we have a whole bunch of problems with the way Seventeen is promoting themselves and some of the people they're doing business with. I do not actually believe Jeonghan not being enlisted would have stopped that, I was just being silly!

I hope this helps give a little bit of clarity to some of your questions. Being in fandom is hard sometimes because we have a sort of pseudo-symbiotic relationship with the people we're fans of because a lot of us consume/create content made based on them, and when stuff like this happens, it causes causes because people don't know how they should respond, react, or what the right course of action is.

My advice is to take the course of action that feels right to you. The only person you have to answer to at the end of the day is you, so please do not feel pressured to do anything except what you want!

Please let me know if there's any other way I can help clarify! I know it's kind of scary to ask or figure out what the hell is going on but I am always happy to try and shed light.

[brazenautomaton]

I don't initiate the discussions. I admit I don't get out much due to crippling depression and crippling personality disorder, but it's not zero. By law of averages I know I have to be interacting with some Trump supporters based on the demographics of the state I'm in, but they don't bring it up, whereas the people who do go off on political tears unprompted are always on the left.

Whatever party is in control of the government doesn't really change people's willingness to complain because Trump was still in the news in the Biden administration and the deep state and the RINOs stopping Trump's agenda in the first Trump administration; Trump has been in office five months and it's not like I am only drawing my assessment based on that time.

"Blaming the voters" is a thing only the left does. Republicans do not ever do this because they do not believe themselves to be entitled to votes. They most notably believed they did win the votes, and the tantrum over having the election "stolen" was legendarily stupid, should have ruined far more careers than it did, and was the actual threat to democracy and not Jan. 6, but it did not involve blaming the voters. The point is not "Democrats are bad and Republicans are good," just that this is an error particular to them and we are talking about that error.

"Those are just a few crazies, they don't matter, they just give us a bad name and the rest of us are reasonable" can be true sometimes, but it's also a belief held by every group of crazy people, sometimes with added "and our enemies are lying about how crazy we are in order to hurt us." 2020 election-theft conspiracists believed "there are just a few crazies who give us a bad name and are pushed forward to discredit the rest of our reasonable arguments that have all the evidence," when literally none of the arguments were reasonable and had evidence. Like every other group, what determined who was just a powerless fringe wacko was just "who was noticed by people outside the group." General conspiracy theorists claim that the stupidest conspiracy theories are put forth by CIA plants who are trying to cover up the truth of their conspiracy theory so that people only look at the marginalized wackos; every single conspiracy theory has said this about some other conspiracy theory that said the same about them.

In the age of social media compulsion, we can see what the group opinions and assessments are, and we can know who is a fringe crazy nobody cares about and who is a serious voice taken seriously. The group enforces its consensus against dissidents by abusing them into line or casting them out and magnifies people saying what the group believes. We can see the group consensus of the people who back the Democrats is "the voters are to blame for this" because when you say that, you get a lot of Democrats agreeing with you and telling you you're right. When you say "the voters are not to blame for this," you get Democrats yelling at you and saying you're wrong and you voted for Trump and should be punished for it. The people who say "The voters are not at fault and we should change our behavior to earn their votes" are the marginal fringe wackos. Even when Democrats talk about getting more votes, it is exclusively about "repeat our same message to more people" (I read they were about to spend a bunch of money on appealing to men this way with things like "putting up ads in video games men play"), and never about "learn what it is they want from us so we can provide it," much less "change our behavior and positions because we have alienated people with our bad behavior and positions." Because saying that gets you attacked. If you talk about how the Democratic party needs to change its behavior and positions, the best you can hope for is that other Democrats don't hear it. Since the subject is what other Democrats do, this is a bad situation.

The Gender Fandom are the people who make gender politics their entire identity, the people who invent neogenders and use "gender" as a substitution for "personality" as an excuse for "Cluster B personality disorder," who go to organizations meant for helping LGBT people in crisis and demand their resources be spent on making nonbinary people feel "centered" and "seen" and then get their demands met (like "this LGBT organization looked at where its resources were being spent, found that nonbinary people used less because they did not need the resources provided for what they were there for, and concluded THIS WAS A FAILING ON THEIR PART and had to do more to make nonbinaries centered and seen" level of demands met), and in general the reason why queer housing groups are places you meet people you would never, ever want to live with. My girlfriend's ex was a horribly toxic human miasma of the Gender Fandom and brought members of the Gender Fandom with them, which meant I had a lot of interaction with it.

brazenautomaton said: [...chopped for brevity...] was the entire post and all of its conclusions supposed to be a mocking joke? because you still concluded that the left was no worse at cognitive empathy than the right, that it wasn’t important to understand your opponents, and that you can “do a good job explaining your ideas” without knowing what their opponents think.

we've all been around this merry go round a thousand times over and I think we know how it goes at this point.

firstly it's always a bit of a waste of time to talk about "the left" and "the right" when it's hard enough to get consistent answers out of one person let alone a completely undefined random subset of historically contingent internet commenters, we know that.

secondly one "side" being better or worse at cognitive empathy makes little difference in practice to issues where interests are opposed: understanding where someone is coming from does not unlock a magic sequence of words that changes their mind (if anything it might reveal how difficult it is to shift their opinion).

it is obviously tempting to paint our favoured faction as being the ones who are sensitive and understanding while their opponents are blockheaded fools who just can't listen because if they just had some empathy they would immediately realise the rightness of our position just as we can so clearly see the wrongness of theirs but we can forgo that exercise I think.

framing the appeal to empathy in terms like "Trump would not have been elected if his opponents just understood what the people wanted" is facile because if you oppose Trump's policies then enacting those same policies to prevent his election would achieve nothing, in fact it would normalise the very ideas you don't want to spread, and even if you did attempt to out-Trump Trump he might still win on charisma anyway.

now you could say that people were upset about prices going up and that contributed to Trump's victory and so more decisive action on controlling inflation could have helped, but that is less about ideological empathy and more about basic polling and economic observation, I think.

ultimately this discussion would be a lot more interesting if someone, anyone, had an example of an ideological principle that people fail to understand, and that failure of understanding is an actual mistake that leads to genuine negative consequences that could have been corrected by improved cognitive empathy, because a lot of the time it reads like the standard evangelical approach where it's assumed that if someone just explains Jesus one more time they'll GET IT.

[violent138]

Damian: "My grandfather drives faster than this, and he's dead!"

Jason and Steph, leaning forward from the backseat: "Ra's died?!"

Tim: "He's still alive. He literally never--"

Dick, rolling his eyes, hands clenched on the wheel: "Guys he means Thomas."

Steph, slumping back: "Wow, I legitimately forgot about that."

Damian: "Every word that comes out of your mouth is a reminder--"

Dick: *cranks up the radio loudly*

[clumsypuppy]

learning abt friendship decay and "not reaching out to your friends for months at a time unprompted is not neurotypical behaviour" has me feeling a certain way