#I have no idea if any of this makes sense

[shorthaltsjester]

endlessly thinking thoughts about cr characters, morality, and selfishness (likely place for me to be, given that my day job includes endlessly researching ethics and meaning of life) but in light of bell’s hells most recent illustration of their insularity and individualism, I’ve been really like. Trying to unpack why I find it particularly egregious in this party when obviously mighty nein were notoriously self-interested, especially at the beginning, and when vox machina had quite a few moments where their horses were far higher than they had any reason to be. And again, I really want to make it clear her that I don’t hold self-interest or selfishness to be some abhorrent and unforgivable thing, in fact I think its incredibly normal especially given the context of main characters in a story told through game mechanics that flourish on the interest of the individuals making the choices. I’ve written before about how one of the throughlines that I’ve seen in laura’s pcs (since I’m someone who particularly enjoys looking at the moral outlooks characters develop) is a common thread of morality that’s highly dependent on their own interests. And like, this is a positive throughline to me! Without getting into my own views on morality, it is particularly compelling to me for characters with isolated upbringing (which applies to vex, jester, and imogen, each in different ways) to develop a moral code informed by that isolation, and in vex we see her moral code is ‘anything goes if it protects those I hold dear’, in jester we see a moral code that doesn’t care about morality as much as it cares about the chance to care and be cared for, and in imogen we see a moral code developed in response to her very unique experience of hearing the darkest parts of people and judging them on those (which to be clear, i am not judging her for that fact, I think it makes extreme sense for someone who hears the thoughts the people have to be horrified by those things, but it does mean her moral system is almost completely backwards, where intention holds more weight than action, which perhaps makes sense of the popularity of defending all of her ideas and choices and the Right Ones by certain parts of the fandom that insist leftism is hidden in the dnd real play). And that’s all to say that, out of the cr parties we’ve seen, I don’t think any single member of bell’s hells is uniquely more or less selfish or more or less of an asshole than previous characters. And in fact, I tend to be quite fond of selfish characters, I have a well documented history of cherishing them well beyond the cr fandom. But the point is that my calling something or someone self-interested is not a value judgement in this context, it's a descriptive claim about the traits a character exhibited.

Imogen, who has insisted time and time again re: the values of the accord that she would not be swayed by the temptation of predathos because she recognizes the importance of this fight, only to turn around and pretty immediately open herself up to predathos to fulfil the most threatening part of ludinus’ plan is self-interested. I cannot conceive of any other way to describe her choices. And her being self-interested doesn’t mean she can’t also be altruistic at times, but I will be clear that I don’t think her risking killing herself as she attempts to bring down the god-eater that she released is particularly selfless. In my best faith interpretation I’d say she’s pretty middle of the road in that choice. But I bring all this up because a comparison I’ve been seeing is that bell’s hells aren’t as mean as the mighty nein or even vox machina in certain moments and that it doesn’t make sense for the fandom to view bell’s hells as likely to be villains when the same wasn’t true of the previous two campaigns, and I think I have to pretty emphatically disagree, and not because I don’t think there aren’t moments in both campaigns that feature extremely high levels of assholery and villainry from pcs – I mean, some of my favourite cr characters are percy and jester, both of whom i’d say are ‘good guys’ due to the pure luck of the found familys they fell in with and both of whom often suggested plans that were. Not okay. To say the least. But ignoring the difference between suggesting fucked up plans and walking your god-eater infused bestie back towards the troops sent to support you in keeping that entity contained, the other big difference I’ve noticed in my own introspection on how I react to bh vs mn and vm, as well as which things i cherish about previous campaigns that were really missing from c3 to what I think is the story and the character’s detriment (staying away from the shape of the narrative, just because others have made posts that put words together better about that than I can) is that while members of vm and mn remained self-interest to the end of their campaigns and have reasserted those habits in appearances since, the parties as entities working in exandria had both, to echo ashton’s apt suggestion to ludinus, grown up.

Like one moment I think of is beau and fjord’s convo in the nein hells episode, because beau is being her asshole self and fjord is being his ‘I care about My People and I’ll think about the rest later’ self (i say affectionately but certain parts of the fandom I recognize would view derogatorily) – clearly they’re not the kindest people as they discuss bell’s hells, but two notable things are (a) they still treat the hells with the respect and use their means to help them prepare for the battle coming, even when they hear the horrifying thought that the hells aren’t certain they’ll choose to save the gods, all the nein request is that they choose the kind option (b) they say none of their doubts to the hells themselves – likely because they have the empathy to realizes that its a high stress situation that won’t be made better by a reminding the hells how small and likely ineffectual in the universe they are – and their comments about cannon fodder are ones made in jest to each other. Even taking that in the worst faith interpretation, the jokes that beau and fjord make in a private conversation has absolutely zero influence on bh. This is quite different than bells hells, after like. as clearly betraying the accord they promised to assist (even if their intentions are ‘good’) as is possible, belittling the religious armies sent to support their endeavor to keep predathos sealed as they all feel the weight of an irrevocable change occurring in exandria, one bells hells has first account knowledge now that it IS incredibly willing to eat mortals, and laudna and ashton, the members of bells hells most often cited by certain fandom spaces as characters who have gone through so much and it only made them kind and strong, look into the faces of people facing literally existential threat and laugh and mock them. That is, mighty nein as individuals is comprised of some of the, perhaps, most asshole pcs, but The Mighty Nein as a party is committed to treating others the best they can, to leaving things better than they found them (a quote that I think is particularly exemplary of the dynamics of self-interest at play in the mighty nein, since it originated as a blatant illustration of molly’s notion of self-importance but developed to become a kind of commandment that the nein became committed to fulfilling). The opposite is true of bell’s hells, where orym and dorian at least both seem to have motivation beyond themselves, imogen’s changes but has shown she is capable of letting go of her ‘intention reigns’ requisitely individualistic perspective, and chetney plays up his selfishness but has shown himself to care quite a bit for people beyond their party but bell’s hells as an entity is uh, pretty self-interested.

To clarify some of my thoughts here in the spirit of the wicked renaissance happening rn, I’ve always felt that for good was an incredibly apt song for the mighty nein, because it really nails that feeling that perhaps they didn’t change each other as individuals to become better people on the grand scale, maybe they’ve just changed each other permanently, but they (and I would agree with this) view each other as having changed each other for the better (e.g., I don’t know if I could say whether jester is a morally better Individual at the end of the campaign, but I can say with certainty that she fulfils and makes moral choices in her work as a member of the mighty nein). And I don’t know if this can be said about bell’s hells – I think they have certainly influenced each other and changed how alone many of those characters felt, and that is not a slight on the story, it can be a great centre for a story to focus on how a relinquishment of the feeling that one is alone in the world can change them. But for the most part, that hasn’t been bh’s story, their story instead has been about validating their refusal to become anything beyond what they insist was out of their control. And not to get to annoying philosophy student about it but bell’s hells are maybe some of the most explicit examples of sartrian bad faith I’ve seen in fiction in a hot minute, because their insistence that they treat their wounds as incurable and entirely out of their hands has led to them limiting their own potential because many of them ignore their responsibility as people to make choices in their own lives. In contrast, at the end of the campaign, mighty nein are still assholes as we all like to refer to them as, but in the context of an apocalypse, I think I’d prefer the assholes like fjord – who is certainly being truthful when he says he doesn’t care about what harm comes to 200 people when jester is at risk but who also, as they traverse into aeor, is insistent that their group won’t be running away from whatever apocalyptic threat awaits them, even if that means dying in the fight – than I would an asshole like ashton – who promises to fight for the little guys but who then turns around and acts upon a philosophy that says the strongest will survive. When you look at the mighty nein, it is incredibly easy to see the fingerprints of change they’ve left upon one another, and even to see the boundaries they place on one another’s asocial behaviours through their presence in one another’s lives (more recently the group chastising jester’s fond words about ludinus is a good example, but others are yasha’s pressuring caleb and essek to move on from their wizard talks as they collect paper in aeor instead of venturing further toward the battle they have to fight, or fjord and jester’s frustrated conversation in the ukotoa reunion about how fjord made a stupid decision and he doesn’t regret but he feels dejected and jester checking him on the fact that they still need to figure out a solution). It takes some extrapolation to see how bells hells have changed each other in more than aesthetic ways, if they have at all. Because the catalyst for change is pressure to do so, and aside from moments where it was truly change or be left behind, bh doesn’t challenge each other unless forced to by morri’s trials or delilah’s interruption and on the very odd occasion an interesting game of rollies-spin-the-bottle. 

And it’s interesting because the asshole behaviour of the mighty nein, like bell’s hells, stems from being left on the outskirts of society and the mistreatment that comes with that, so seemingly the change from being alone to being with others is one that actually insists upon being challenged to grow and change. I mean, just looking at the starting points of the characters, there’s an intriguing amount of stark similarities between their pasts; jester and fearne were both people loved dearly by the family they grew up with but who were loved within the confines of a gilded cage, ashton and beau both have an glaring self awareness that their anger at the world has a very particular source (their parents) but use that as justification rather than a means of self reflection, yasha and orym are trying to navigate a world in the wake of an incomprehensible loss and a sense of duty, fjord and imogen are both seeking out knowledge of their own powers and unknowingly retreading the paths of their missing and presumed dead parental figures. The idea that bell’s hells are uniquely mistreated by society in the history of cr player characters is, politely, laughable. Absolutely they’re mistreated, and I think it could be fair to say these characters are more defined by their isolation than others but I think that has more to do with the lack of downtime rp than it has to do with the context of their suffering.

What I have loved about the mighty nein is that in their realization that the bonds they forge with each other are undermining the truths most of them had taken to be true – that they were alone and without a place in the world – they are also forced to realize that no longer being alone and isolated comes with the weight of social responsibility. And this was born out of a willingness the mighty nein had to call each other out and that the players had to allow their characters to be wrong and get called on it. Because that’s the friction of living with other people on the small party scale and the large world scale – in the mighty nein’s ability to survive as a people who cared for each other even when they didn’t agree or when they made decisions that they couldn’t understand, they were constantly developing their ability to care for the very same world that left them alone. Because in campaign two, the world as a whole had the role that the gods have in campaign 3 – why should a party of nobodies, treated like shit by the world and the people in it go through the effort of saving it?

And the mighty nein answered, in their own imperfection and assholery, that nothing is ever just one thing – one of the things I cherish most about campaign 2 is its commitment to ambiguity, allowing the complexity of the world to go unsolved because there is no solution to the fact that life is immense and sometimes incoherent. I don’t think its a coincidence that I’ve seen some of the people lamenting the idiocy of fandom members like me who think that it actually isnt a leftist win to destroy the world in the hopes of spontaneous justice arising in c3 are the same people who criticised c2’s conclusion with the cerberus assembly for not being leftist (a word which for them means . the aesthetic image of a rebellion sparked and not the unending commitment to doing what you practically can to make life more just for those around you – whether they’re particularly kind to you or not) enough. The conclusion of c2 emphasizes that the choice to make the world a better place isn’t something that can be achieved in one single sweeping action that will wipe the boards clean – there is no murder of all the members of the cerberus assembly that would’ve solved the problems that caused the assembly’s power. There is no forcing of the god’s out of exandria that will deal with the actual issue undergirding both bh and their blorbo-moralized fans' criticism of the gods, which is that mortals are cursed with the burden of free will, and being mistreated by other mortals means constantly having to try and make sense of the fact that someone chose to do something cruel to you (and, sometimes, that you made a choice that allowed that cruelty to occur) – a burden made much heavier when the person who hurt you is your cult-indoctrinated mother, or your cult leader father, or the person in the mirror. The mighty nein take up this fight, and the complexities of their individual identities begin to heal in the light of a commitment in their relationship as friends and as a team to improve the world, even on the small scale. Bell’s hells remain gridlocked and stagnant and unwilling to change in an unspoken turf war of self-interest because they’ve insisted (influenced in part by the context of the campaign 3 narrative but, as others have aptly pointed out, that narrative was much more influenced by bh’s lack of curiosity regarding anything except their own minds) upon finding a solution to a problem they’ve decided is earth-shatteringly (quite literally, to the people of ruidus) unjust based on, aside from encounters where fellow mortals were the primary oppressors, their own testimony of the god’s not listening to them and the obvious villain’s parallel testimony. Something I’ve really been chewing on lately is caduceus words to fjord about his role as a paladin of the wildmother – that maybe it just means that someday, someone will pray for a miracle, and there fjord’ll be and the weight that has given that fjord’s bond to ukotoa came from his desperation not to die and his willingness to accept whatever help would be offered, that fjord could now be the person that reaches out to someone in need, and that the hand he offers won’t come with a curse.  And I think that’s really the poignant difference between bh and mn for me, that for bh, their experiences of injustice, though did make them personally bitter, did not make them morally misanthropic.

Comparatively, Bell’s Hells chose to ensure that, because the gods never answered their prayers, they shouldn’t be permitted to answer anyone else’s. Is this an understandable position? Sure, for the walls of a preschool, not really for a group of characters that I will ever be in any way inclined to view as something close to heroes. While it’s true that there are parts of life that are beyond our control – somethings happen to us that we have no say in, and they cause injuries both physical and mental that we are left to heal without any rhyme or reason, it is still our responsibility to heal them. And if you choose not to, well, then you’ve chosen not to, and are responsible for the consequences and judgements that choice might amount to.

Anyway, sorry this is all over the place but TLDR: calling bell’s hells as a party self-interested is actually just descriptively correct – they can save members of the party made up of their close friends and still be self-interested – and while the individual members of bell’s hells actually aren’t all that uniquely self-interested in the history of cr pcs, the party is uniquely self-interested in how they’ve chosen to navigate the world an their responsibility to the people in it.

[mtcloudsworld]

𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | none, just future brother-in-law! dick grayson reassuring your boyfriend!JasonTodd that it's the perfect time to ask you that special question. Edited but please ignore any errors. Enjoy!!

"What if she says no?"

"Pfft, I doubt it."

"What if she's not ready, though? You think it's too soon?"

"You've been dating for five years now, Jay, I think you're both more than ready for this." Dick says resting his forearms on his thighs. He leans forward to observe his little brother's nervous behavior. Pondering deeply and silently, he stared at the red velvet box held in his hand. Eager to ask the question he's been anticipating for a while now.

Marriage was never on his bucket list. It was never something he looked into doing but damn did he love you, you were his only exception. It took time for him to get used to the romantic stage in his life.

It took him at least a good 3 months for him to trust you before he felt comfortable opening up to you, dates were consistent, your schedules were aligned perfectly!... unless he had a long distance mission to take care of then it'd be awhile before you heard from him, but you weren't too worried about it. You understood from the very beginning his job wasn't anything to be taken lightly, he worked under intense, dangerous conditions. And though you were curious to know, you never pushed him to tell you. Which he was grateful for, your patience with him was everything to him.

It took a year...or two to fully tell you about his past and who he really was. It all made sense now why this mysterious "red hood" randomly came out of nowhere. The vigilante would frequently make sure you made it home safely. It was him, making sure his babygirl wasn't in any danger. I love you's were shared, the intimacy between you two was different, it changed drastically and it felt amazing. You knew how to calm him down when his mind was out of touch with reality. You both knew how to communicate with each other, knew when to give each other space, and acknowledged that you both were present whenever the other was feeling down.

A year later, you two had moved in together in a condo and bought two pets. You finally meet his family and vice versa. And now, coming up on five almost six years? It felt like marriage was the next step. He decided a long time ago, married or not, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. You were the only reason he was living day by day so it would only make sense to have you by his side permanently right?

Life would be meaningless without you.

Rejection wasn't something he could handle and just the idea of you... possibly...

Dick sighs, scooting closer to him.

"Look, she loves you, you love her. She knows...you would live and die for her, Jason. Get on your hands and knees to worship the ground she walks on. She knows damn well... you would drop everything just to come for her rescue. She balances you out, Jay. You two are meant to be and I believe as your supportive brother and hopefully your best man, this is the perfect time to do this."

Jason looks at him with heartfelt eyes, watching as a small smile of reassurance curls into the corner of Dick's lips as he holds onto his shoulder with a tender grip.

Jason sighs, closing his eyes for a moment and nods in understanding. Feeling a little bit confident with his decision.

"Yeah...you're right."

"Heh, I know I am." He states cockily, leaning back into the couch with a smirk and his hands behind his head and leg crossed over the other, rested on the coffee table.

Jason rolls his eyes in amusment, taking the small box in his hand, he placed it in the pocket of his camo pants, standing to his feet.

His movements were slow as he approached the open window. Placing his helmet back on, he had one foot out and the other in, contemplating on his next words, he looks over to his brother and says, "thanks, Dick...for everything." Before leaving out into the moon lit city to return to you.

And with a content sigh, Dick smiles, mumbling, "You're welcome, brother."

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[evilwickedme]

NATIVE language of many who choose to "settle" in Israel is fucking comical. I thought we were all white Europeans who used the Holocaust as an excuse to take Arab land? No, wait, the Holocaust ended 80 years ago, the people being born here wouldn't speak European languages. But I thought we were supposed to go back to Poland? No, wait, we're actually all American dual citizens with second homes in Florida (because that definitely makes sense, just fucking numerically). Of course - don't forget there are Palestinian Jews! So all the Middle Eastern Jews in Israel proper would just merge with the Palestinian population with no issues whatsoever. But wait, ME Jews... Native English speakers...

Mmm. Nah, you don't have to think about this any further. Certainly the dual loyalty trope is the correct idea to hold.

Reminder that you are not immune to propoganda

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Spring (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Slightly less unreliable narrator (Cregan has come to his senses, reader is on the way) Mature language.

A/N: I really thought these two would get their mess sorted out in nine scenes, but I was far too optimistic. Lucky me, I had one season as backup! Also, thank you so, so much for continuing to read this series and your kind comments!

IT IS FUNNY, how wrong can Cregan be about people. He is no longer afraid to admit it. He had been mistaken about you. 

The utter viciousness you had displayed, bringing up his dead wife, had only been a source of anger for him at first. He had thought you an evil little bitch, unafraid of exploiting weak spots to hurt him. 

Then, he had seen you with Rickon. And his world had just… Shifted. As if every piece of furniture in Winterfell had been moved exactly one inch to the left, and no one had told him, leaving him stumbling around in his own home.

You weren’t evil or jealous. Or, more likely, you were, but not because of some petty reason, it was because you were insecure. The mere idea was laughable, why would a Princess of the Realm be insecure? But it made too much sense for him to ignore. 

Each time Cregan had cracked a joke that compared you to Arra, like commenting on the number of packages and dresses you had brought from the South, you had taken it as a personal criticism. You felt unappreciated, so you lashed out and avoided him at every turn. 

You were kind, smart, and capable. Just not in the way Cregan was used to women being capable. The northern women were considered capable because they were physically strong, able to wield bows, ride hard and long or withstand the terrible weather. 

You, instead, shared Prince Jacaerys’ strength. You were honorable, unable to leave a child in need, and kind, enough that you would comfort them until their parents reached them. But most of all, you had a brain suited for politics. 

Cregan had never noticed before because he had never bothered to truly look at what you were doing, but your charities were to make your mother’s cause more popular with the smallfolk. He had heard your mother was doing a similar thing in the capital, delivering food to the starved population due to a blockade of the own Blacks’ making. Not that the commoners cared about the last part. They only cared about those who put food on their bellies. 

And perhaps the Queen dowager and Princess Helaena were popular in the South because of their involvement in the Septs, but you were exploiting the lack of those here. Without Septs, there were no Septas or Septons tending to the sick and poor. You were. And the North would remember, when it came time to march for your mother’s banners. 

Cregan would bet Ice that you were having tea with the northern ladies not to gain friends. The Old Gods knew you were an introverted creature, painfully awkward at niceties, much like he was. It explained why the two of you were so uncomfortable with each other. You were probably entertaining the northerns to win their loyalties, knowing the combined pressure of Cregan’s oath and their wives would make his lords more eager to drop coin and men for your war. 

Oh, if Cregan got you on his side, the two of you would be a force to be reckoned with. He could already see how much security you could bring to the North, how well fed you could be during winter, if you decided to work with him and not behind him. 

You were a wonderful woman. Kind and tender to his son, smart as a whip, utterly terrifying when crossed. You would make a fine wife to any lord, and Cregan couldn’t believe how stupid he had been not to see it. You just needed to be encouraged, and Cregan, dumb as a rock, had been doing the exact opposite. 

While you hadn’t exactly been trying, Cregan was man enough to admit that part of the blame laid on him. He had been pushing you away without even realizing it, comparing you to Arra at every turn, without considering how that might come across to you. 

That ended today. He would prove himself worthy of your love and loyalty, and win you over. Cregan wasn’t a man of half measures. He would woo you or spend the rest of his life trying. 

Set in his decision, Cregan walked to your chambers. He waved off the guard’s attempt to announce him, casually strolling in. 

You were seated next to the fire, the leather-bound book you usually carried around spread over your lap. It was a heavy tome, bound in brown leather with golden engravings. It was written in High Valyrian, a language for which Cregan had little use, so he had never learned it beyond recognizing the alphabet. 

There was a striking beauty to your expression when you were at ease, the peaceful expression you wore becoming you much more than the usual frown you directed at him. Cregan found himself wondering how beautiful you must look smiling, if you looked this radiant when at peace. 

You had the sort of face to be lit up with happiness, he could already tell. His heart ached to be the one that finally coaxed it out of you.

“Princess,” Cregan calls, softly. You set your book aside, ready to get up and curtsy, but he halts you. “No need for that, wife. My ego is not so fragile I need my woman to bow to me.” 

“Lord Husband.” You reply, for once not frowning. Your face remains carefully neutral, which Cregan considers a victory. He would attribute it to his remark about his ego, but it is more likely due to guilt. He will take it regardless. 

“No need for that either, much less today.” Cregan smiles at you. “You may call me Cregan, if you wish. I am here to thank you for caring for my Rickon while I was away.” 

You look far more confused than you did before. You look like you want to approach him and run at the same time, your wool gown fluttering as you squirm in place, undecided if you are approaching or not. 

“I simply did my duty, my lord.”

Cregan’s smile widens, amused by you. 

“Singing him was part of it? By the Gods, I thought I had a wife and not a minstrel?” And the dry, northern humor doesn’t seem to suit you because you frown slightly. Cregan fights the urge to curse, instead making a mental note. You dislike being mocked, even in jest. He wonders what sharp words you had to endure in the South to be like this, and feels a wave of pity. Dark of hair and no dragon to shield you? Perhaps that was why you were far kinder to Sara than to him. He gives a tasteful cough. Or at least, his attempt at it. 

“I only meant to say you went beyond your duties, and I thank you for it. You didn’t have to, but it meant the world to him.” Cregan tries again, and you blink at him, as if he were unable to understand anything at all. 

“He is a child.” You say, slowly.  “No person would leave a child in need.” 

“You would be surprised.” Cregan thinks of how his own mother had treated Sara when she had arrived at Winterfell, treatment that hadn’t improved when his aunt took on as the Lady of the household. His sister had only known freedom after Cregan had taken over his seat, and she was still judged by the rest of the North, even though in a much subtle manner. 

“Mmm.” Your reply is noncommittal. 

“He has been asking me lately why he doesn't have a lady mother.” Cregan attempts again. He is not above using Rickon to have an excuse to spend time with you. And to his amusement, it does work. You pity his son more than him, it seems because you begin to pay him more attention.  

“What did you tell him?” You tilt your head to the side, curious. It’s a surprisingly cute gesture for the unshakable princess that you are. 

“I do not know. I have not answered him.” Cregan searches for somewhere to sit, but apart from the loveseat in which you are soaking up the warmth of the fireplace, there is none. He grabs the stool by your writing area, and brings it over. 

He sits on the stool across from you, wiggling a bit with how uncomfortable it is. It feels like his knees are on his chest, by the Gods. It’s clearly meant for a shorter person. Your rooms are not made for receiving visitors, he should have thought of that earlier. You need a space to receive people that isn’t the sitting room. What if you wish to have more private conversations?

“Surely he knows she is dead?” You are too caught up in your disbelief to protest that he is rearranging your furniture. Good. 

“He does, but doesn’t quite grasp what dead means.”  Cregan is being honest. Whoever has the heart to explain to a child of two namedays what death is, is a braver man than him. 

“Perhaps you could say she is in the Seven Heavens?” Your frown comes back, but this time it isn’t angry. Instead, it’s puzzled. You are trying to help him, and it makes him fight the urge to smile. He doesn’t want you to think that he is mocking your suggestion. 

“We do not believe that here.” 

“Neither do I.” And this time, there is the barest beginning of a playful smile on your lips. Oh, you minx! Cregan smiles to himself, charmed. It emboldens him to continue. 

“Just, I would like it if you saw him more often. With me. Perhaps… He has asked about you, and I am not asking you to replace her but I… He sometimes needs a more feminine touch.” 

“Of course.” You agree. And he can see in your eyes you think he might be trying to use you as a stand in for Arra, not truly believing his words, but that is alright. Cregan will show you. Or at least, he is going to do his very best attempt. 

YOU MAKE SURE there are enough pastries and hot water available before you stand up.

“I am afraid I must leave you, my ladies. But you are welcome to continue enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell.” The sitting room is filled with northern women. You have begun inviting them for tea twice a moon, trying to ensure your mother will have all the support she needs when she takes King’s Landing. 

It has proven to be quite the difficult task. Northerns are often suspicious of outsiders, and from what you have learned through these gossip sessions, they rarely marry southrons. The only ones who do are the most important Houses, like the Starks or the Boltons. It means that most of your ladies are northern by birth, and not through marriage as you are. 

“This early?” Lady Mormont asks, bluntly. Her bluntness had discomfited you during your first meetings, but you have come to find it refreshing. “Princess?” She tacks on, remembering she is supposed to mind her courtesies with you. 

“This early.” You confirm, with a smile. You have planned the time of this tea with precision for this same motive, knowing it will appeal to their loyalty, but also allow you to escape the socializing. “I have a play date with my Lord Husband and little Rickon.” 

One of the ladies coos. Lady Mormont barks out a laughter. 

“Ah, to be a young woman with that many suitors.” 

“Only the very best.” You smile, and leave them to feast on the pastries. 

You make your way to Cregan’s solar at a leisure pace. The crushed velvet gown you are wearing is in a blue so pale it almost looks like the gray of House Stark. It is one of your old ones, meant to evoke House Velaryon’s colors. It fits you again, having gained a bit of weight during your time in the North. You hope it is a gown suitable for playing with a toddler. 

As you enter, you notice Rickon is arriving as well, tugged along by a maid. He chirps a greeting to you, a mix of your name and title that sounds more like gibberish. Yet, you are helpless to him.

“Rickon!” You kneel by him, as he runs to be picked up. You indulge him, smelling his hair as you lift him. He smells of sweet innocence, and a bit like Cregan. You hate that you cannot hate him or be indifferent any longer. The little boy has stolen your heart. 

Rickon gives you a toothy smile, his hands clumsily going to cup your face. Who can resist him? Not you. 

“I see you found each other.” Cregan leans against the door, smirking. He holds two cups. “Warm milk with honey. For the cold.”

You cannot help but smile a little. 

“Our knight in shining armor!” You tease, more for Rickon’s benefit than him. “Let us in, good Ser. So I can place my little wildling down and he can drink it.” 

Cregan laughs and moves aside to let the two of you pass. As you do so, you cannot help but notice how much space he takes up, tall and wide. Your eyes linger on his shoulders. You have not seen him wield Ice yet, but you have seen the sword. He has to have considerable strength to do so. 

The thought is strangely thrilling. Your stomach does a somersault, but before you have time to analyze it, Rickon begins to squirm in your arms. 

“Down! Down! Doggie!” He pleads. You look to see what has caught his attention and notice that Cregan has moved the rug so it lays by the fireplace, and placed some of Rickon’s toys there, including his more favored one: A soft cotton white wolf. 

You set Rickon down and take one of the cups from Cregan. Both of you sit down on the rug as well, and watch Rickon play with his wolf, ignoring his cup of milk. You have come to learn that playing with an only child is much different than playing with your younger siblings, Rickon mostly plays alone and wants you there to show you things. 

It forces you to keep conversations with your husband, if only because the silence would be too awkward otherwise. 

“I have arranged for us to have tea when Rickon tires.” Cregan informs you, a bit stiff.

“Oh, I already had tea with the…” You start, before Cregan interrupts you. 

“You are far too thin still. Besides, I know your tea spreads are made of mostly northern sweets. I asked the cooks to make one of your favorites, Prince Jacaerys was kind enough to set up correspondence for me with the cooks of Dragonstone.” 

It’s awfully thoughtful of him, and you will examine it later because your mind is still stuck on one tiny detail. One that infuriates you. 

“You are corresponding with Jace?” You ask, trying hard not to sound violent. After all, he has been very kind to you as of late, and guilt has begun to creep in for your careless words about his late wife. Not that you will apologize or anything. You intend to pretend nothing happened and be extra nice to Cregan, indulging Rickon and him on all the tea and play dates in the world. 

“I am. He would be very pleased if you stopped burning his letters.” His tone is chiding, though gentle. You take a deep breath in. Jace, the traitor. Cregan keeps his tone kind. “He still grieves your brother, Princess. Do not make him mourn a sister in life.” 

“Does he think I shall never forgive him?” You ask him, baffled. Rickon begins building a tower with blocks on the rug, insisting that the two of you aid him in building Winterfell, so Cregan’s answer is delayed. As you place some blocks to make the entrance, you have time to think over his words. 

All alone in Dragonstone, Jace must be feeling as lonely as you are. Only more because he has no Cregan and Rickon to stand with him. 

What he had done was a deep betrayal in your eyes, but was it truly? You had known you would have to marry eventually, and it probably wouldn’t be a love match. Jace had done the best he could in the terrible circumstances you were in. Moved by his fear of losing another sibling, he had entrusted you to Cregan because he thought you could be happy here. Safe. 

And you were. There was no fiercest protector for you apart from your husband. After marrying him, no one had dared even to breathe the rumors of your bastardy, and he even worried about what you ate, by the Gods’ sake!

“You can hold a grudge.” Cregan says, cautiously, when Rickon is distracted by his cup of milk and begins to attempt drinking it. Usually, drinking his milk is followed by passing out, so he is careful to support him in his lap. The sight makes your chest feel oddly warm. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

This was bad. 

You were falling in love with Cregan. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to any longer.” You say, looking into his eyes. You are no longer speaking of Jace. 

Cregan seems to catch on your meaning because he reaches forward and takes your hand in his. Fixated on how big and warm his hand feels against yours, you almost miss his soft words. 

“Neither do I.”

SARA’S EYES, GREY and so much like his father’s, are fixed on him. Cregan tries to ignore her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of appearing uncomfortable. But before the hour passes, he is squirming in his chair, unnerved by her silent stare. 

Sara continues to stare. Cregan refuses to speak to her. After a while, she sets down the book she has taken from his shelves, a dreadfully boring account of the battles fought by the Kings of Winter, and perches her chin in her hands. 

That way, her staring is much more obvious. She is comfortably laid back in one of the armchairs he has in his solar. Cregan likes company when he works, and it’s easier to ask for her opinion if she is right there. Unfortunately, it also means she can stare at him for hours on end if she so wished.

“What?” Cregan asks, when he can’t take it any longer. He pushes away the reports about the safety of Wintertown and how prepared they are for winter, and looks up at her. She still doesn’t speak. “Sara!” 

“Apologies, brother.” By her smile, she is anything but sorry. “I just find it fascinating.” 

Cregan sighs. He doesn’t really want to bite, but if he doesn’t, Sara’s teasing will get worse and worse.

“What is fascinating?” 

“How you have managed to turn into a spineless southron in less than two moons.” Cregan can only gape at her. What is she going on about? “Not only have you turned timid, you are also a moron. And cunt struck. Well, are you? I know you are not getting any, does one need to actually be bedding the woman to be cunt…” She doesn’t even finish her words, cackling with laughter.

His face grows hot, burning with embarrassment. 

“I should have married you to an Umber and be done with it.” He mutters, under his breath, which only makes her cackle further. Both of them know that Sara would never be married off as if she were some cattle. Cregan loves her too much for it, and she is a deeply independent woman. 

“Who would advise you, then?” She asks him, brazenly. “Your sweet little wife? While she is great at wrangling lords and ladies, I doubt she has the stomach for warfare.” 

“There is a certain innocence to these Velaryons, yes.” At his words, Sara glares. She hates to be reminded she had not been as immune as she liked to think she was to Prince Jacaerys’ charms. “But if the worst comes to pass, I actually intend to have her hold Winterfell alongside you and Rickon.” 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Sara approves. “Shall you march south, Rickon and I will suffice.” 

“I wish to begin teaching her, when she no longer seems willing to murder me.” 

“I think she isn’t willing to murder you any longer.” And it is as good of an endorsement he will get from Sara. 

“She still seems to think I do not love her.” Cregan whines. 

“Because you mention Arra all the time. I have heard it’s in bad taste, but what would I know?” Sara rolls her eyes. “I am just some bastard girl.” 

“Are you simply going to complain or will you help me?” Cregan looks at her and tries giving her his best pleading look. Then, he decides to stroke her pride. “You know I always seek your council, even above other lords.” 

“Even above Lord Cerwyn?” Her mouth purses in a dubious pout. Fuck. His sister or his best friend? In the end, the choice is easy. Sara is here now, after all. 

“Of course.”

Sara positively beams. 

“You should tell him so.” Her rivalry with him had never made any sense to him, they had known each other since childhood, too. The man didn’t even care about who her mother had been and never took insult with her… Well, insults. Plural. Always thrown at him by Sara. Now that he thought of it, his friend always sought excuses to see Sara. Odd. “Loudly. But I am feeling generous and not demand that you do so immediately. I shall gloat in my victory, and it will be even sweeter if he doesn’t know.” 

“Your advice?” Cregan asks, tiredly. The Gods knew that she would talk circles around him if he let her. She was honest, but she also had a gift for courtly speech that Cregan despised. 

“Women like gifts. Or I do. And I am a woman.” Sara shrugs. “She is a Princess, of course she does too. And don’t just gift her anything.” 

“I would never be…” That stupid, Cregan wishes to add, but Sara is still speaking. 

“Gift her something special. Something unique, tailored to her. And especially, something that you wouldn’t gift practical Arra.” 

Cregan stares at Sara. Sara stares back. Then, very pointedly, she picks up her book and continues to read. The message is clear. He will not get any further help. 

Still, her advice lingers. In the coming days, Cregan cannot shake the thought, regardless of what he is doing. As he inspects his men, as he reads during his spare time, even as he bathes. All Cregan thinks of is you, and a gift that would please you. 

He even dares ask Rickon. His suggestion of a direwolf isn’t exactly bad. It’s just difficult on its execution, and not something Cregan would choose when thinking of a gift for you. 

He discards many more ideas, from rolls of myrish lace to donations to your charities. You ran far too cold to wear the former, and the latter wouldn’t truly be a gift to you. He wastes nearly a week coming up with a suitable idea, and two more corresponding with the Prince, the Maester at Dragonstone, and securing the goods he needs. 

It’s all worth it, when he takes a look at the finished present and can know that you will love it. 

[sanakiras]

PICTURE ME LIKE I PICTURE YOU

PAIRING — kim mingyu x fem!reader

WORD COUNT — 1.2k

SYNOPSIS — mingyu is hopelessly in love with someone who doesn’t love him back, and all that lies ahead is acceptance.

TAGS — unrequited love, fwb!gyu, explicit sexual content

NOTE — just a short drabble i felt like putting out. came up w this while listening to picture you by chappell roan, such a beautiful song, give it a listen !! <3

it’s been dark outside for several hours when mingyu’s kissing every inch of your body. he pushes himself into you with ease, but his touch is light as a feather. gentle.

the pace he keeps is slow, and fuck, you don’t think it’s ever felt this intimate before.

normally he’s relatively talkative during sex — this might be the quietest he’s been in bed so far, save for the grunts and moans working their way out of his throat.

“feels so good, gyu—” you’re half-slurring your words, not missing how his big hand interwines his fingers with yours as he ruts into you, a gesture that breaks your heart.

how can something feel so right yet so wrong at the same time?

of course mingyu didn’t go into this little friends-with-benefits thing with the idea of falling in love with you. hell, it’s the last thing he expected. he wanted something without strings attached but with consistency, a sense of easiness; you turned out to be looking for the same.

but he fell in love with you in a way he didn’t think was possible. to him, it felt like the kind of love you only find in the movies; the kind you can only dream of encountering in real life. it hit him sudden and hard — he didn’t confess to you, out of fear he’d lose whatever bond you have with him.

or perhaps that’s not all there is to it. perhaps he never confessed his true feelings because he knew, deep down, that you’d never reciprocate them.

because you don’t really fall for guys like him. you much prefer guys like wonwoo.

his best friend. his roommate.

the day he first saw it, he was horrified. what was a simple interaction to anyone else, was his worst nightmare. his heart sank in his chest the second he watched you and wonwoo meet from afar — that look the two of you shared was enough.

you’d never looked at him that way.

all that’s been on his mind is your look of brutally honest disappointment when he opened the door to his dorm and told you wonwoo was out. if you’d stood any closer to him, you could probably hear his confidence plummeting to his feet, as well as his heart ripping in two.

the whole ordeal should’ve made him put an end to the agreement you had with him, but he couldn’t do it.

because it’s all he had left of you. the realization hit him like a truck; the moment he’d put a stop to it, you’d no longer be his in any way.

not that you ever really were to begin with.

he’s clinging onto this last piece of you so selfishly, he knows that, but he so much as looks at you and everything he wants to say gets stuck in his throat, his thoughts never seeing the light of day.

an unsettling feeling slowly brews in his ribcage. all he wants is to understand. why don’t you love him? what does his best friend have that he doesn’t?

he might just break on top of you here — would you even care?

maybe you would. or maybe you’d just pity him.

the sound of your whimpering underneath him makes a strange, achingly good combination of heartbreak and lust. he wants nothing more than to dig his teeth into your soft skin, but forces himself not to.

your legs wrap tighter around his hips, pulling him closer to you. it’s you who puts your hands on the back of his neck, kissing him so sweetly that it almost makes him believe you want him as much as he wants you.

what makes everything worse is that he knows you tried. for a little while, you tried to see if you could give him a shred of the love he so desperately wanted to give you.

but you couldn’t.

“i want to love you like that, y’know. i want it so bad, and i tried, but…” you told him last week while slow dancing at a friend’s birthday party, “i just can’t.”

while your head was resting between his neck and shoulder, your bodies rocking side to side to the music together, he looked up at the ceiling to hold back his tears, the corners of his mouth curling downwards. it was admirable, how he held his head high that night.

truthfully, you didn’t expect him to come knocking on your door again after that. you broke his heart — even though you never wanted to — so you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to see you anymore.

but to your surprise, he did come back. he was less cheerful, sure, but it’s as if part of him chose to ignore what you said to him, for reasons you didn’t understand at first.

he needs to accept that you and him aren’t meant to be. perhaps that’s the sole reason he wanted to fuck you tonight.

it almost sickens him how much he wants to beg for you to try again. maybe if you saw him more often, or spent more time together doing whatever you wanted, or if he kissed you even more than he already has — maybe you’d grow to love him in the end.

he buries his head in the crook of your neck, hiding how shitty he feels.

‘cause he knows you won’t love him, no matter what he does or how hard he fights for it.

“i’m close,” he mutters, only momentarily lost in the chasing of his high, “fuck—”

you clench around him with shaky legs, and he shivers at the feel of your nails digging into his skin, hitting his climax right after you.

and it’s then that he breaks. as he lays his head down on your chest, staring at the wall, his lips trembling — he can’t hide how hurt he is anymore.

“i’m sorry,” he chokes out with his face turned away from you, a few silent tears slipping from his eyes in defeat.

with a sad attempt for a smile, you stroke his naked back with your fingertips, your eyes welling up once you feel his teardrops landing onto the skin of your chest.

he’s so dear to you, as loving as a person could possibly be, yet you can’t love him back. a part you hates yourself for it, “i’m sorry, too.”

the sobs are fighting to escape his mouth, but he keeps them quiet, making you almost just as emotional as he is.

“i’ll get over it tomorrow, i promise. i’m sorry.” he whispers, his way of asking if you can stay together like this for just a little while longer.

you just let your tears go with a numb face and strained voice.

“i know.”

eventually, he has no more tears left, and his whole body shudders, feeling himself drift off into sleep with burning, tired eyelids.

he’ll be okay — it’s better like this.

it’s something he’ll come to terms with when he wakes up in the morning.

thank u for reading. please let me know if u enjoyed it x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[sabertoothwalrus]

heyy i adore your art! do you have any advce for a small artist trying to get out there?

I guess it depends what you mean by “get out there”!

I’d say number one is to ignore the numbers. Unless you’re intentionally trying to sell yourself to some app’s algorithm, obsessing over the numbers will not help you.

The thing is, it is ok to care about other feedback you get on your art. I often hear social media treated like a dichotomy, to either “ignore it completely and draw for yourself” or to “strive to be a famous viral artist”. And I’m saying it’s not that simple.

It all boils down to why you’re making art. For some people, art is a much more personal expression, and it’s not meant to be seen by others. It’s more about the process and the catharsis than the outcome. This kind of art doesn’t need to be shared with other people.

For others, it’s a living. These people don’t mind that their art becomes “marketable”, if it becomes generic with a mass-appeal. This kind of art isn’t here to send a message, it’s here to look pretty. And that’s ok.

For me, art is communication. I’m telling stories. This is why I’m most drawn to comics and animation. I don’t pay attention to numbers, but I pay a lot of attention to comments because they help me gauge how successful I was at communicating an idea, an action, a joke, etc. It’s still important you develop thick skin. You have to detach yourself emotionally from them, and use them as a tool to help you learn.

This is why clarity is one of my biggest priorities in art. Clarity has less to do with skill and more to with “can you understand what this is you’re looking at”. There are some artists out there who are very good at what they do, but they still struggle with clarity. And the inverse is true; even beginner artists can have clear, easy to follow art.

Some things I actively try to do in my art to improve clarity:

Is the pose clear? Is the figure overlapping themself too much, or is the action still readable from the silhouette?

If there’s text, is it clear? Is the direction of speech bubbles confusing? Is my handwriting/font easy to read?

Would a background or prop help clarify the setting better? (What’s the least amount of effort I can put into this that will give the necessary information?)

Are my lines too loose? Sometimes it’s fine, but if they’re too unconnected, the form gets lost. Should I close my lines better, or maybe add a tone to separate the positive and negative space?

Does the “punchline” make sense? What AM I saying? What could communicate it stronger?

If your art is clear, people will find it and share it! Just keep telling the stories you wanna tell, make the art YOU want to see, and your audience will build around you!

[concerningwolves]

Not only is this allowed but it's something i encourage all writers of any kind to play with! :D

The idea that all writers know what to say all the time and just splash fully-formed drafts out one word after the other is false. There are some who can do it, but i think most of us... can't. Which is why we need tricks like square bracket notes! They're not cheats or lazy writing or some other flavour of Not Allowed, but instead really really important tools that we should use as much as we need to.

Some of the most helpful tricks I've collected over the years are:

make some notes in square brackets – e.g., I had to write a scene on a sailboat, but I know nothing about sailing so i literally just had notes like [boat part] and [how to do X thing?]. If you use square brackets as punctuation anyway, use something else like [[double square brackets]] or a unique letter combination like XY at the start of the note; the point is to pick something you can search for easily later on.

(You can also style inline comments in a different font/colour. Scrivener has an inline annotation feature; if you use Word, you can make a specific Style to make notes stand out at a glance, etc.)

bullet-point your way through any tricky parts – this can be pure stream-of-consciousness vague ideas. it only needs to make sense to me later. much more helpful than just leaving big blank gaps that Future Me has to work out how to fill, but also better than dwelling on a piece of writing forever.

use comment tools – mostly do this if I have ideas for alternate events and/or phrasing, or if I want to check something for continuity purposes.

write out of order – Best advice i ever got for academic writing is to know or even write your conclusion first and your introduction last, which your main argument in between. Similar principles apply in fiction, or any kind of creative writing. If there's a part of the essay that I can visualise clearly or a part of the story that is particularly exciting or important, I might write that first, then figure out how it fits/how everything fits around it.

keep a loose scenes and/or "outtakes" folder – anything that i write out of order goes here, along with any notes for how I think I want to incorporate it into the full text. In the same vein, if I delete something but don't know for sure it will never be relevent ever again, it gets cut and pasted into an outtakes folder.

Basic rule though is that you do not have to get your writing perfect on the first try. This is where drafts come in. The way I see it is to treat each draft as a fresh start – I create/open a new document (well, new Scrivener file) and start over as if from scratch. Each draft gets a narrower focus than the last. This is my process, as an example:

first draft is the word vomit. You do whatever you need to do to get it onto the page, and it can be terrible. In fact, it probably should be terrible. You can fix everything later. it's fine.

The second draft is a half-hearted cleanup attempt. I'll re-type everything because everything is subject to change, from the characters' personalities to the pacing to the order of events. It's all primordial goop, basically. i'm just poking and prodding and making a few adjustments, but mostly trying to create a more stable version of the first draft. All shortcut tricks continue to be my best friend.

By draft three I'll let myself copy-paste between documents if I'm particularly happy with a passage, but try not to get hung up on anything specific. I'll still make liberal use of square brackets etc. as I need to, but try to address as many from the previous draft as I can. This is where I get more brutal with making decisions and trying to fix parts of the story in place.

Draft four is usually my final draft, but there's literally no rules about how many drafts you're allowed to write. It's at this point that I try to keep square brackets etc. to a minimum (unless i've diverged significantly from the plot of a previous draft and having to rewrite large chunks), and make sure to address all the notes and problems encountered in previous drafts.

This is when I move on to revisions. Revisions are the "final do-overs", for me. I start them when I'm satisfied with all the large-scale aspects: plot and chronology; characters' personalities, motivations and arcs; large-scale pacing (so the over-arcing pace, rather than the pacing in individual scenes); backstories; and worldbuilding. I'll copy the last draft's document instead of starting with a blank one. First I run through those large scale things one more time and tweak until I'm happy, not just satisfied. Then I shrink my focus to in-scene pacing, dialogue, and the quality of the writing itself.

I'll also rewrite my plot outline between each draft, too. The act of actually re-writing stuff is very helpful for making your brain think about it.

Drafting like this isn't for everyone, but realising that you can just bullshit your way through chunks of text was a massive game-changer for me. Some people will do a draft, then work on something else, then come back and do another draft, work on something else, etc. Some people's drafting process will look more like what I consider to be revisions. Do whatever works for you. Just remember that from the moment you first decide you Want to Write a Thing to the moment you hit "post" or "publish" or give your manuscript over to a publisher, you can keep making as many changes as you like in any way you like. (And if you go the querying to traditional publishing route, you'll probably get suggestions for, and have space/time to make, changes to the manuscript quite far into the process).

favourite things about first drafts:

square brackets with notes to self mid-line like [does this make sense with worldbuilding?]

ah yes, Main Character and their closest friends, Unnamed Character A and Unnamed Character B.

bullshitting your way through something that you probably definitely need to research later

also square brackets to link up scenes. [scene transition idk] my beloved

the total freedom of word vomits

"I'll fix that later"

the moment when the world and characters start to gain a life of their own

pieces falling into place as you write that you were uncertain about before you started

the accomplishment of Made A Thing

[muletia]

So. I just read the whole ‘optimus gets minified’ and I have to ask...

May I request one for Pedraking?🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇🙇

— 🩷

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐥. 𝟐 ༘⋆✿

predaking, ratchet, smokescreen ↳ all are obsessed with you btw

word count: 1300

you used the word “request” and I am currently not accepting them, but!! I love this concept and couldn’t resist adding two other characters…

Oh, no, he absolutely hates it

Predaking has no idea how this even happened. He went into recharge curled protectively around you, shielding you from the world and sharing his warmth, only to wake up small, confused, and utterly incapable of performing the one task his entire existence revolves around: protecting you

So how is he supposed to stay calm? How is he supposed to keep his cool when he’s defenseless? His strength, height, and power — all his greatest assets — have been stripped away. Without them, he can’t be a worthy mate for you. He wouldn’t dare even call himself that anymore. You don’t need a plushie; you need a strong partner, ready to push away any intruder and eliminate anyone who so much as approaches your love nest. In this form, he can’t offer you any of that. He can’t fulfill a single promise he made to you, which leaves him caught between fury and a crushing sense of inadequacy

But why aren’t you panicking? You look surprised, sure, but not terrified, even though you should be! You’re currently defenseless! What if someone decides to steal you away from him? And why are you cooing like he’s a sparkling and reaching out toward him? Oh, you want to pet him...

He won’t make it easy. Startled by your actions, he’ll jump away from you, insisting he doesn’t need your affection right now and that you should hold off until you figure out a solution to this mess.

But he has to stay by your side. He has to protect you, even in this form. He has to be braver, fiercer, compensating for his lost size with sheer determination. No, he won’t leave you for even a second. He’ll protect you with his entire body if necessary

So he returns to you and tries to block the entrance to your love nest, though at his current size, it’s far from impressive. Standing with his back to you, hawk-eyed and focused on the doorway, he doesn’t notice your hand snaking toward his helm. When it rests there and starts stroking, he freezes

Predaking will still try to resist. He’ll growl and brush off your affections, but with every stroke of your hand, his defiance melts away. Boldness gives way to an overwhelming need to be close to you, and soon there’s nothing left of it as he wags his tail, eagerly demanding more pets

It’ll take a long time before he remembers that he’s supposed to protect you 24/7, fully content to bask in your attention and curl up on your lap. Even your constant comments about how sweet and adorable he is stop bothering him surprisingly fast

Still, he will never accept being miniature. Being spoiled by you is undeniably delightful, but Predaking needs absolute certainty that he can defend you from hostile bots. He’ll keep searching for a way to undo this, but until then, you can enjoy your giant, adorable lap dog <3

If Predaking hates his situation, Ratchet downright loathes it

You’ve never heard so much grumpy complaining as during the size-change incident

How can humans live like this? It’s uncomfortable, impractical, weak. You can’t reach anything, the world feels so enormous. Anyone could step on you (payback for his own words, I guess), and you’re so fragile and delicate

And then there’s your behavior toward him. He doesn’t want to be treated like a sparkling. He doesn’t want your cooing and constant repetition of how adorable he is and how much you want to smother his entire faceplate with kisses (although, deep down in his spark, that’s the one thing he truly craves, as betrayed by a subtle blue blush)

He doesn’t know when you got it into your head that he needs your constant care. He can handle himself and intends to work tirelessly until he finds a way to undo this farce. Sure, he’s five times smaller, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost all his competence. He doesn’t need a nanny — especially one who keeps interrupting his work with comments about how adorable he is

But Ratchet is also a hypocrite because, truthfully, he does need you. The sudden shift in perspective is terrifying. Giants become behemoths; they loom over him, threatening to crush him. It’s easy to feel microscopic and overwhelmed, not hard to spiral into panic and uncertainty as wild thoughts conjure up visions of being stepped on. In those moments, Ratchet needs you by his side. He needs to grab onto the hem of your shirt, to feel that you’re there, that everything is okay. You won’t leave him or let anything harm him

Of course, once the fear subsides and Ratchet feels comfortable again, he reverts to his independent and grumpy self, but he’ll stop trying to push you away. He’ll appreciate your presence, even if he never really wanted you to leave him in the first place

The constant work will exhaust him quickly, especially in such a small and frail form, and then he’ll instinctively seek you out. He’ll choose the perfect moment when no one else is in the base, find you on the couch, and climb onto you, ignoring all your questions and comments. He’s tired, doesn’t know how to fix this, and needs you. Let him at least have a few kliks of napping in arms that surround him with safety

You can even kiss his forehead. After all, it’s only fair to repay all the kisses you’ve received from him, so he can feel for himself just how wonderful they are <3

Oh, and imagine a mini jealous Ratchet. He doesn’t like that you’re spending so much time talking to some young bot when you were supposed to be helping him, so he feels the need to take action and drag you away. But he’s so tiny and not at all intimidating that his “rival” can’t take him seriously... especially when he tugs at your clothes like a grumpy sparkling

Oh, so now he can be with you 24/7? Fantastic!

This entire situation is incredibly convenient for him. Sure, at first, he was a bit terrified and downcast that he couldn’t be the perfect partner for you, but he quickly discovered countless benefits to being minified

First and foremost, he gets to accompany you everywhere. He doesn’t leave your side, becoming your shadow. Even at his normal height, he tried to spend every free moment with you, but as a mini version, he’s with you always

Bathroom breaks? Smokescreen follows you, clutching onto the hem of your shirt (you’ll need to explain to him that just because he can fit in there with you doesn’t mean he should)

Feeling like stretching your legs after sitting too long and showering him with affection? He toddles after you, mimicking your every move

Taking a stroll around the base? Definitely not alone.

He’ll drain your energy before evening comes. Since he’s shrunk down to the size of a sparkling, why not act like one to get what he wants?

Need a break from his constant presence and his unique talent for never shutting up? Well, you’re going to have a huge problem because simply interrupting a cuddling session already spells trouble. Trying to untangle yourself from his limbs while avoiding sharp edges of his armor, Smokescreen sprawls across your torso, pinning you to the couch. And even when small, he’s shockingly heavy, effectively trapping you in place. Now you can continue your cuddling and smooching session

He won’t feel a shred of shame or hesitation in using his charm, either. He knows perfectly well that you find him adorable, so he’ll use his big, puppy-like optics to manipulate you to his advantage — for example, to get another round of being carried in your arms

But the most affectionately unbearable he gets is when you need to leave the base. You can’t leave him alone! What if someone steps on him? Or he gets lost in the hangar? You have to stay by his side (forever) at least until Ratchet can fix him. Smokescreen has no qualms about clinging to your leg if it means keeping you near. And no force will pry him off until you say you’ll stay the night <3

[lostatsea-blog]

Bringing Home the Gold (Part 2)

Alexia Putellas x England Reader

Alexia starts to understand the mistake she had made

(Take two on this one as it was pointed out to me that the way I had written it was a little confusing to keep up with. If you have already read the first edit that I have deleted, please read this edit and see what you think)

Part 2

Alexia stared at her phone screen reading the message over and over again as though she could somehow force the words to change. She felt her chest tighten as the meaning set in, you were not going to return to Spain tomorrow but had said nothing else in the message. Alexia did not know where you were or where you were going to be staying and that caused an unnerving sense of panic to rise inside of her. Without thinking, Alexia hit the call button waiting anxiously but the phone did not ring and she was met with a robotic voice telling her the phone she had called was switched off. Barely waiting a second, she hit the call button again and again the same message blared through the phone. By this point, Alexia was desperate to speak to you and desperate to make things right.

The Spanish captain had been confused at first, not understanding why you had reacted the way you had. In her mind, surely you knew that it meant nothing and that it was just a friendly thing – Solidarity between two people in a difficult time and situation. She quickly realised that the rest of the world saw it differently when the first thing Alba did was tear into her. Alexia’s sister had pointed out that Alexia and Jenni had been the only two people on the team to swap shirts the way they had so it wasn’t a team thing it was a her and Jenni thing. Alexia had been disappointed when you declined her offer to go and celebrate as you were the only person she really wanted to celebrate with but she knew that she needed to give you time so did not push it further. When she had seen the papers the next morning, Alexia knew that she had fucked up. The internet, social media and newspapers were rife with speculation about what the shirt swap had meant. Some were speculating that she had split with you and resumed her relationship with Jenni or worse that she had cheated on you. Some of the comments had left her feeling sick. There were people celebrating the idea that the two of you were no longer together implying that you were punching above your weight and that Alexia and Jenni were soulmates. Alexia knew that she had to try and fix this but she did not know where to start and worst of all she had no idea where you were.

Sleep did not come easily to Alexia that night. She spent the whole night attempting to make contact with you. Every half an hour she would hit the call button on your number and every time she would be greeted by the same phone switched off message. Somewhere around 6AM she felt the tears start. Wave after wave hit as she realised that she might have just ruined the best relationship that she had ever had. When Alexia woke to a loud thumping on her door, she realised that she must have cried herself to sleep. Her head felt fuzzy and her face puffy as she pulled herself off the bed and stumbled across the room to the door. When she pulled it open her mother stood on the other side and again tears started to stream down her face as she allowed herself to fall into the safe, familiar arms.

Alexia’s mother had been shocked by her appearance and demanded to know what was going on. Alexia explained about your message and explained that she had been unable to make contact.

“Mami, I messed up” Alexia cried, wiping furiously at the tears that continued to fall. She was amazed that she had any left at all. “Now, I have no idea where she is because her phone is off”

Eli, as ever, tried to be the voice of reason and asked if you had mentioned when you were coming back but Alexia showed her the message and Eli knew that wasn’t good. When Eli suggested to Alexia that she go to Ibiza as planned to give you space, Alexia felt a rage build up inside her but knew that she could not take her frustrations out on her Mami, so she just shook her head explaining that she couldn’t and that she had to try and fix things with you and show you how much she loved you.

Alexia could not bare the uncertainty anymore. All people kept saying was to give you time but that wasn’t an option to her. She knew that you had gotten on the flight back to England with the rest of the team and so her decision was made. She could not fix anything from the other side of the world and the thought of waiting in Spain for the next few weeks, hoping that you would return tore at her heart; she would catch a flight to England and try to track you down.

Alexia quickly began throwing all of her things into a case, with little regard for her usual tidiness. Elia had tried to show Alexia that her decision was somewhat impulsive but before she had even spoken, she knew that it was a battle she would lose. Her daughter was nothing if not stubborn and determined (it was how she had achieved so much in football). Alexia had reasoned that England was a small island once there, she could figure out where you were. Within ten minutes of making the rash decision, she had booked an outbound flight to Manchester.

When the rest of the Spanish team saw Alexia with her bag checking out they were stunned. After the incident with Jenni and Rubiales the team had rallied. They all felt that Alexia (as the captain) needed to be seen supporting Jenni and while she did fully support and stand with Jenni, she knew, in her heart, that going to England and trying to find you was what she needed to do.

At 1:30PM, two days after winning The World Cup, Alexia took her seat on the 12 hour flight destined for England. She had no real plan except find you and convince you to give her another chance so that she could show you how important you were to her…

[mareastrorum]

Hello! I’ve been looking at your blog after Critical Role episodes for a couple of weeks now and I have to agree with you wholeheartedly about pretty much all of it. I wanted to ask you your opinion on the idea that a majority of us are calling Bells Hells the bad guys because all they’re doing is ‘wanting to dismantle the oppressive force that aims to destroy an entire established society of innocent people’. I’m having trouble understanding what oppressive force that is?

Thanks for the ask! There's two parts to this, so I'm going to address them separately.

First, there is no "oppressive force that aims to destroy an entire established society of innocent people." Like, the only group that came close to that in this campaign was the Weave Mind and the Imperium, which intended to take over Exandria in its entirety and subject the entire population to hivemind slavery--but Bell's Hells did little to oppose them. Vox Machina (backed up by an army) demolished the Imperium's main forces at the Exandrian base of the bloody bridge. The Mighty Nein killed the Weave Mind and then started mopping up their allies that remained on Ruidus. Bell's Hells did nothing to support that rebellion other than assist on a scouting/sabotage mission and then flee.

Otherwise, there is no force aiming to destroy society. Ludinus wanted Predathos out so it could eat the gods, and there was no intent about anything other than that. He did not care one way or the other about collateral damage. Predathos doesn't either, but it wants to eat, and we do not know what level of divinity is too small for it to prioritize. And let's be serious, unless a god flees and lures it away, there's no reason for Predathos not to look at a planet full of life and think, "Hmmm, it might not taste good, but I am so fucking hungry."

A good while ago, when the Hells had initially reached Vasselheim, I saw discussion of whether Vasselheim and other Exandrian forces intended to wipe out all Reilorans and other Ruidus-based species. I think Evoroa's plea and assistance made directly to the leadership of Vasselheim has already prevented that potential result. Of course, the Exandrians are working together as a collective of dozens of factions, and each of those has untold numbers of individuals working for them. It's possible some of them will insist on war anyway, but given the actions of the three campaign parties, I don't see that happening on an organized scale. Regardless, Bell's Hells aren't focusing on that right now, and nothing they could/would do with Predathos would affect that either.

The only other faction that comes close to that idea is the Betrayer Gods, but they don't care about society. They want genocide. They want to murder every single mortal in existence, and then torment their immortal souls for all eternity. I literally cannot overstate the disdain the Betrayers have for mortals. They are Exandrians' ultimate enemy. The Divine Gate is the only thing protecting mortals from the Betrayers, and it requires every god to unanimously agree to drop it. That is phenomenal protection. There's been no serious threat to it since its creation.

In particular, I want to highlight that "the gods" as a category of entity are not a united faction. The gods don't rule anything on Exandria--not even Vasselheim. That's a purely mortal project! Mortals decided to build a city dedicated to the gods, and given that it's filled with their followers, the gods have historically spent particular attention to protecting it. That makes perfect sense, and it doesn't mean the gods are in charge of it.

Obviously, there will be other factions across Exandria that could fit that bill, but Bell's Hells hasn't had to deal with them in this campaign. Like, chaotic evil factions exist, they're just not in this story right now.

Next, whether Bell's Hells are villains, bad guys, etc.

I've written up how I assess villains in my pinned post. That's my general approach to any type of story, whether it's interactive, written, oral, etc. It's a very broad overview of when is a villain an effective narrative device? I am rather harsh in my criticism of villains: if they didn't improve the story, they should not have been included at all.

We could cherrypick through the various episodes to come up with an argument that Bell's Hells are the bad guys, but my problem with them is that they aren't effective villains. A villain's primary purpose is to highlight a theme in the negative: what is the wrong thing to do in these circumstances, and why is that? The reason they aren't effective is that they don't have a motivating purpose.

Bell's Hells are a chaotic faction that consistently deviates from whatever is requested of them. They claim to be for the people, then denigrate and oppose every faction they've encountered. They claim to have changed their minds about some of the gods (the Matron and the Arch Heart in particular), then repeatedly ignore or contradict the plain statements told to them, but they still seek out the gods' instructions regardless. This carelessness or apathy makes it impossible to map a philosophy onto the PCs other than "I felt like doing it in the moment."

None of them have been able to articulate a reason that they chose this path. Maybe the players will come up with some hamfisted excuse next episode, but it's still going to be unsatisfying from a narrative viewpoint. This stream had hundreds of hours to show that and instead needs someone to say it in the last episode. It's terrible storytelling, and none of them could claim that it was impossible to see this confrontation coming. We've known it was coming since Ludinus successfully bridged Exandria and Ruidus. There was time, and it was not spent wisely.

Going beyond dialogue, there's no consistency to Bell's Hells's actions except the desire to kill Ludinus. That muddled any potential message that could be conveyed about them as villains in a story except "kill Ludinus in particular." We can't even say they oppose any existing hegemony because none has been established in Exandria. There's no racial, economic, social, religious, etc. group dominating the world. Again, as said above, the gods don't rule anything, and they're stuck behind the gate.

Any potential to build Bell's Hells into worthwhile villains was squandered. Everyone but Orym had an explicit, tailor-made opportunity to lean into their darker personality traits, and every one of them chickened out--except Ashton, who gave into his desire to be special and have power to lash out at people standing over him. Unfortunately, Ashton's attempt to absorb another shard of a primordial would have also broken the game on a D&D level, so that got reversed and reworked into a character moment that also had no lasting impact on his character arc. Ashton hasn't bothered exploring it since. That's really the core problem: every time the PCs had the option to pursue a villainous path, they ran the fuck in the opposite direction, then dithered about what to do.

Without conviction, villains are merely bullies. They're just here to be mean, stop other people from getting what they want, and jeer at others when they get their way. We saw that in this latest episode. There's nothing Bell's Hells wants. They don't even want to be involved. They're just doing it because they can't even commit to going home--because they're player characters in a D&D game, and the players didn't want to switch to new characters.

That makes for a terrible villain story. Like, once we see the final episode and all the PCs have had an opportunity to take action and speak on their own behalf, we'd be able to revisit this with more definitive statements. Unfortunately, I can't think of a single way this could go that would correct the flaws I've already listed. It's far too late to correct the characters' lack of direction to develop a coherent villain arc for any of Bell's Hells.

[red-doll-face]

Heeyyy! Soooo I have a fun request idea that I totally came up with on my own with no help from anybody else, from my own mind and not some super creative person that answered my question about Arthur proposing to reader 🤣 it goes something like this:

-takes three months to work up the nerve and like another one to pick out one ring.

-chickens out at least two times bc the moment isn't right

-asks Hosea for advice 19 times (Hosea is tired)

-he's the trope where reader starts crying and he's like ohh goddd i fucked up of course you don't wanna marry my ass

-the way he would ride around for a week looking for the perfect spot to do it

-marks it on his map with a heart

-the essays he would write in his journal about this situation

-he's so cute i love him pls marry me Arthur Morgan

-awww once you say yes??

Hehehehe no pressure though!!!!! I just looooovvvveeeee this idea so much!

Yes !!! Yes of course I’ll write this!!! ❤️❤️💕💕🥰🥰😵‍💫😵‍💫😩😩As always it ended up running really long even though I didn’t even really flesh out a back story. 🥲 I’m glad you enjoyed my response ☺️☺️ I definitely had high honor Arthur Morgan in mind for this when I read it, I hope it’s ok and that you like it!!! I was so happy to see you in my inbox !!! @zae-heeyyy 💓💓💓💓💓 writing this was so cathartic and I loved the rdr1 setting so much so that I made this pre black water heist or whatever 😭🫶 from Arthur’s pov hope you like the characterization 🥹

Tags: established relationship, marriage proposals?? Arthur being a major weenie. Like huge weenie. He is soooo sooo sweet it’s almost like too much and I love love love sweet Arthur so very fluffy!!!! Pre black water !! Dutch being a jerk 😒 but cute dad Hosea moments ☺️

Arthur wants things to be perfect for you.

(High honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur knows he’s made up his mind when he’s in the tailor’s shop in Blackwater, looking like a lowdown cattle rustler among all of the fancy fabrics on the wall. He and his spurs, his boots scuffed to hell and a leather satchel slung over his chest. He’s out of place and he knows it. But he’s here to buy a new shirt.

Yesterday, he had nearly driven himself insane looking for a shirt of his that wasn’t ruined, ripped and mended, dirty, stained irreparably. None of them were good enough for what he wanted, something nice to get down on one knee and ask his girl to marry him. And so he kissed you goodbye and rode into town in search of something better. He makes an effort at pretending to be interested in any of the fancy stuff, silk and linen suits that he sure will never be fitted for him. He clears his throat as the attendant drags his eyes away from the sunday paper.

A tight lipped smile consumes the man's face. Arthur already can sense the assumptions he’s getting but he pays little mind to it. He’s getting this shirt and that's that.

“How can I help you, sir?” Obnoxious and nasally, the thin and short man's voice already gives away his air of superiority. Arthur's eyes narrow but he isn’t too irritated yet.

“Here to get a shirt.” His words are simple. The attendant raises a brow.

“Just a shirt, not… pants or shoes?” the attendant lowers the paper to scan over the rest of Arthur’s clothes. Arthur can hardly ignore the burn of insecurity.

He gives a look that conveys how quickly he is losing his patience. “Excuse me?” He can only tell his posture changed when he observes the man's attitude change, clinging to the counter between them like it would make any difference.

“No, well sir, perhaps I’ve overstepped, I apologize. What kind of-of shirts were you thinking?”

“Listen, I ain’t here to cause no trouble, just show me what you’ve got,” The attendant hurries to show him some options, tries to sell him a vest but that isn’t happening with his budget.

In the end, he picks a blue french dress shirt. Costs a real pretty penny but he wants it to be special. Because you’re special. He stuffs it away in a saddlebag after thanking the attendant, who no doubt heaves a sigh of relief after he leaves.

-

He’s been collecting rings. In a special bag is a collection. A few plain gold bands, some with stones set in them. They’re pretty blue and red gems, some have filigree detailing. But he still can’t find the right one.

Worse then, is that they’re rings of all different sizes which he gets from his more sordid activities. Debt collecting or train robberies. It’s all stolen goods. It feels wrong to give you something like that but when he told Dutch his intentions, he clapped him on the back and told him to look in the collection box for more rings. He nodded then but it was half hearted. Somehow that was more souring. Did he really want to give you something he took from someone else? That someone else bought for their loved one with the express purpose of giving them something to symbolize how they loved each other? His own thoughts swirl circles in his head, why he had these scruples about it, he didn’t know.

It’s riding with Hosea that he asks for advice. They’ve been working on a job in Tumbleweed, trying to con some poor fool into giving money he shouldn’t by pretending to sell land deeds. They ride all the way from the yellow grasses of Hennigan’s Stead and it’s been mostly quiet over the stretch of passing though Armadillo. Arthur decides to speak up after they pass through town. The sun is beginning to dip a bit lower in the sky but they’ll be in Tumbleweed before then.

“I been-”

“This about you n’ the girl?” Hosea already has a knowing smile and Arthur rubs the back of his neck. “I think you should do it! You two would make quite the couple, she’s a sweetheart, that girl,”

“Yeah, she-she’s… I’ve been lookin’ at rings to give ‘er,” He grips the reins before going lax, riding easily along the path. Hosea murmurs, letting Arthur continue. He guides Boadicea down the dusty road. “I don’t think I wanna give her something I got robbin’, don’t seem right,”

“Then get her something new, I don’t think she’ll mind at all. But you do what you think you should. You could probably fence all the other rings you thought about and get her something quite nice with the cash,”

“Yeah, I could do that,” why hadn't he thought of that?

“That’s a wonderful thing, getting married. Don’t be afraid to, y’know, go through with it. If you’re thinkin’ about it. Maybe, once Dutch and I find the perfect spot for the gang to settle down, we’ll build you two your own little thing on the land,”

“You that confident she’ll say yes?” Arthur has an awkward and disbelieving laugh but Hosea keeps his earnest smile.

“Why wouldn’t she? Arthur, somehow, she has gone for a man like you, you should be over the moon, you should be whistling tunes everywhere you go,”

“Like me? What's that supposed to mean?” He knows what he means. A man like him had very little to offer you, a young woman who could easily charm some other well established man into giving you a home. Leagues away from his cot and the weathered canvas he put up to give you some small amount of privacy.

“You remember what happened with that Mary woman. This time, things oughta turn out better. This one’s got no old man to chase you around with a shotgun,” Hosea figures himself very funny and laughs, ending it with a shallow cough. Arthur furrows his brows.

Of course he reminded him of his disaster with Mary. He could never escape that woman, even when he severed ties with her. But how he had wanted to, especially with you. Yes, it was true, he had loved Mary. But now he loves you. He needs you. His idea of the rest of his life always includes you, laying in bed with him, gently stroking his chest, leaving him love notes in his satchel, telling him what happened in the camp while he was gone. He always listens, always wakes up smiling with you tucked under his arm.

“I remember just fine,” he grunts,

“Good, because you’ll forget about her soon enough. Month from now, I suppose. Where are you going to tell her?”

“Where? I didn’t think we was gonna go nowhere, just tell her when I was ready to…” he hadn’t even imagined a place when he first set out to do this.

“So you wanna propose; with Uncle standing behind her, drunk off his ass in just his soiled union suit?”

“I-”

“Take her somewhere special, somewhere to make her feel special! Women like to feel special, Arthur, you know that,”

“I do?” He says, with a sarcastic edge to his voice, though he tries on his attempt at sounding uninvested.

“You should. I didn’t do that enough. I should have before, well…” Arthur nods, bowing his head a little as if in remembrance. He hopes to always have you by his side. Otherwise he would be much like Hosea: carrying a torch for a woman who passed through his life too quickly.

-

He starts his journey looking for something special. Special like you are. Keeps his eye out, marking potential things in his map, and makes a list in his journal. Aurora Basin maybe, a pretty lake deep in the forest but getting attacked by bears doesn’t sound romantic in any way. There are some sweeping vistas overlooking the San Luis River in Rio Bravo. He isn’t quite sure about anything though, thinking it over deeply. He just wants things to be perfect.

He’s still thinking about it when he comes back to camp, close to Lake Don Julio, sighing. Thinking much too hard obviously, he doesn’t notice that you’re sitting on his bed, biting your nail nervously until you see him first. You look worried, happy to see him but worried. You stand, hugging your arms around yourself and then placing them on your hips to make you seem more upset but you just drop them when he’s close enough.

“Hey, darlin’,” He utters, opening his arms to give you a hug but you just look up at him. He drops them, mentally kicking himself before taking his hat off and sitting down on his bed.

“Arthur, you’ve been gone three days,”

“I know,” you’re disappointed in his answer. You take a breath and a pause, looking off to the right. He stares down at his scuffed and weather worn boots. He hates to disappoint you, hates when you’re upset. It takes a lot to get you there, too. You’re a forgiving soul when he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He looks away, like a dog who knew he shouldn’t have chewed those leather boots up to bits.

“You know. I asked everyone where you were and they didn’t know,”

“Honey, I ain’t gonna leave you, I’m not-”

“You leave other men out of this, Arthur,” you already predicted he’d bring another man’s failings to make up for his own. Maybe bringing up John’s shortcomings while you’re upset is a little below the belt but it worked better in his head. He puffs some air out in a laugh. God, he just can’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Is something funny? Is how much-how much I worry funny to you?” You look like you’re gonna cry, squeezing your arms tight around yourself. Your eyes flick around, thinking of all the people watching, never any goddamn privacy in this place. You start to back up, looking for a place to hide your tears.

“No, no, I- I’m sorry, don’t go walkin’ away,” You let him pull you back. Let him tug you into his lap. You sniff and tuck into his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says at least 5 more times. His hands pet down your hair, holding you. He hadn’t wanted to come back to such a harrowing fear in the pit of his stomach, the thought of you walking off without him. He thinks himself lucky that you haven’t had enough of him and decided to leave already.

Arthur pulls you in real tight, doesn’t let up til’ you start to calm down a little. “Shouldn’t cry for me, sweet girl, bastard like me ain’t worth them tears,” he wipes a few away. Seeing you like this could make him cry if he thought about it too much, how he had let you down. His nerves almost make him tremble, the slightest shake in his fingers when he brushes them under your eyes, shiny with tears. If anyone else made you cry, he’d knock their teeth out. But what is he supposed to do when it’s him? Sickness roils around his abdomen.

“Where were you, anyway?” You shake your head at his words. “Mac and Davey said…” he perks up at that. Those boys are a terror. His face screws up in an anticipated anger. He’d be angrier with them, they’re the ones who need to see it, not you.

“What’d they say?”

“No, they were just messing with me. I don’t think it’s true,” You look away. But he knows exactly how nasty those boys can be. He gives you a look and you give him a defeated one in return. An embarrassment leaks into your words. You can’t meet his eyes, twiddling your fingers.

“They said you were at the saloon in town. They said things that aren’t true and I know it but it isn’t nice to leave me here with nothing to say about it,”

“I know, darlin’, next time, you’ll be the first to know where I’m goin’,” You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulder while he pats your back, grabs your thigh so he can pull you to sit across his lap fully.

“Are you gonna answer my question or should I take their word?” you tease and he reassures you about those boys. They’ll be hearing from him soon enough.

“I’m gonna have a word with them, don’t worry about it,” he scratches his beard. How is he supposed to say that he went riding around looking for a place to take you so he can ask you to take his sorry hand in marriage? He had already disappointed you and saying it’s a secret is a laughable idea.

“Well, I was out, uhh- huntin’?” You frown and lean away.

“Arthur, you’re an awful hunter and an awful liar,” you look really hurt. You almost stand but he pulls you back. He needs something to tell you and fast.

“I was out lookin’ for somethin’ real special to give you. It’s supposed to be a surprise…but well, I can’t keep no secrets from you, sweetheart,” You fuss a little, a wariness in your posture. You study his expression. It isn’t a complete lie, makes it a bit easier to pull off. He really does have a surprise for you. He tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch up when yours do to, a small smile shining through the clouds of your emotional turmoil.

“What surprise?”

“I didn’t find it, guess a surprise, it’s gonna have to stay,” You pout and wiggle, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Ok, but once you find it, you better take me to see it right away,” You kiss him, soft and sweet, holding his prickly jaw in one hand. He can feel how your pout gives way to a smile. The feeling of your soft lips on his is one of those things he’ll never get sick of, never get over.

“I will, promise,”

-

He’s found the perfect ring, really, by chance. It’s a little thing but it’s the right color, goes well with you. The rock on it isn’t very big but he saw it in a window while in town. Some big fancy jewelry store, showing off all the finer things that he never paid any mind to. Unless it was to steal it of course. But he had bought it. With money that may have been also robbed but it was from hitting a Del Lobo stash. A good deed, probably in a backwards sense.

The girls had ‘oohed’ at it, Mary-Beth had an excited tiny clap and Tilly rejoiced. Jenny nodded with a small smile.

“We’re happy for you Arthur! Oh my god, Arthur Morgan, gettin’ married…” Tilly giggles, putting her hands to her cheeks and clasping her hands in front of the skirt of her yellow dress.

Karen laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day,”

“Don’t listen to her, I mean we was hoping when we saw you two huddled up all the time,” Mary-Beth takes the ring from him, holding it closer, so that Jenny and Tilly can get a closer look.

“Hey, be careful with that,” he murmured, trying not to sound too desperate. He scratches his neck instead of snatching it back like his instinct wants him to. Evening is coming soon, purple dusk and soft coyote yipping and howling far in the distance marks the sun's descent. Meaning you’re probably finishing up whatever it is you’re doing. He hopes you don’t come around the corner at an inopportune time. Arthur turns his head this way and that.

“Where’d you get it? Looks new, ain’t scuffed to high heaven like everything else around here,” Jenny points out and the girls nod.

“Bought it in town,” playing it off doesn’t work so well.

They ‘ooh’ some more. “Fancy. Only the best for Arthur’s sweetheart,” Karen coos teasingly.

“Gimme that,” grumbling, he takes the ring back, bowing his head so they can’t see the embarrassment plain on his face. He meanders off after asking how things have been. Of course, they only give him updates about you, Karen jokes that that’s all he wants to hear about anyway. He scoffs and wishes them a good evening.

But the perfect spot is yet to be discovered. Evades him like just about nothing else. He almost gives up on the idea. He’s been taking you out, trying to get you in the almost perfect moments. Taking you out on the town in Blackwater was a good time, he bought you dinner and took you on a stroll down the cobbled streets, watching your face light up when you saw something pretty in a window, clutching his hand and pulling him in more. He almost proposed on the veranda at the Blackwater saloon. Only for a fight to break out at the poker table to interrupt.

Then he took you out to see the poppy fields in Great Plains. But he had let his anxiousness and his nerves overtake him. He had tucked the ring away. You had looked so beautiful standing among the flowers, it was perfect but he just…couldn’t. Instead, he wrote in his journal about his own cowardice. Wrote about if he should lock you to him for the rest of your life. If he’d end up leaving you a widow. Or if you were to be taken from him like Annabelle and Bessie. Leaving behind lonely men who longed for a woman gone from this world. Then he scribbled pictures of you, trying to draw the motion in your hair and in your dress and the beaming most enchanting smile he had ever seen.

Boadicea munched on the long wheat grass, waving in the wind while he kept a watchful eye on you, picking flowers in your pretty dress fluttering against the bright blue of the sky. You have a bunch of candy orange poppy flowers held together by your palms, a bright smile on your face. You walk to where he sits, leaning against the tree, next to a small broken down stone fence. Your smile falters when you see his pensive expression. You come close enough to touch. You dangle one flower above him before you tuck it into the frayed ropes banded around the crown of his hat. He lowers his head while you fuss. Smiling like a fool. You smile again too, sitting beside him. You both listen to the sound of the quiet plains, breeze in the branches above him. The shade is cool, light filters beautifully over your features, speckled like the back of a doe.

“Something has been going on with you, Arthur,” you state as pure fact, knowing him all too well. You had only really known each other a year and have only been together as a couple for six months but you knew him better than anyone else. You had let him be himself, let him just…be. He didn't need to say anything for you to understand him.

“I’ve just been… thinkin’ bout some things,”

“Really? I thought you said you weren’t very good at that,” you smile a little, nudging his shoulder. Hoping to lift his spirits with his similar brand of humor but when he hardly huffs a laugh, you frown. “Is it about you and me?”

“Yeah, in a way,” he says, unable to hide anything from you. Why should he bother? Saying no would make you more suspicious. Arthur closes his eyes and can feel the panic rising in you. He could have been better about saying it but he’s quick to deflect it away from his secret. “You happy with me?” low and grumbled, the severity makes his tone go way down.

“I don’t understand. Do I not seem happy? Arthur, I’ve never…I’ve never been happier than I am with you. You’re the kind of man any girl would be lucky to have,” You smile, leaning to face him. Softening up, your eyes track over his face.

He wanted to ask you right then and there. Tell you just how much you complete him. How lucky he was to have you, how there never was a happier time in his life. He doesn’t believe in that sentiment you have, he had failed the women in his life. But he had wanted to make a vow, to never leave you alone. It’s his own nerves that wrap tight around his hands, don’t let him reach in his satchel for the little treasure that will be your wedding ring.

“No, I just know I been gone, I don’t wanna ignore you. I just been busy,”

“You have things to do,” You sigh heavily. “I wish the other men would be as helpful as you. Sometimes, I watch Sean, Uncle, and Bill lay around all day while you’re out working. It doesn’t seem fair,” Your brows pinch in a small dissatisfaction with the idea. He smirks.

“I don’t know how much I trust Sean to get things done right. We’d probably eat nothin’ but leaded rabbit meat and whiskey if we left it up to that boy,” You giggle and nod. Happy to see him back in his joking mood.

“Arthur… You know I love you, don’t you?” God, those words make him shiver. Make his heart rattle in his chest. Could swear his insides turn about 3 times. So sweet, you look at him, hands on his thighs, leaning into his side. He opens his arm for you to tuck into, grabbing your waist to pull you close.

“Yeah, I do. Love you more,” he can feel heat flush up his neck and cheeks but he doesn’t care if he looks like a lovesick idiot. Your joy is worth it. The wind blows your hair over your shoulder, you let him sweep it back some more. Your pretty laugh when he bows over to lay you down on the grass makes him chuckle.

-

He’s finally found it. Montana Ford. A shallow spot in the river he discovered, looking for a short cut trying to cross from New Austin into West Elizabeth. He hated riding through the Del Lobo populated Thieves Landing, especially after they were catching on that it was Dutch and his boys robbed their stash two weeks ago. He sighed and then he veered off the road, looking for somewhere to cross. And the shaded river was perfect.

He stays there a moment, looking at the pretty grass growing alongside the water, the light glittering over the surface. The sound of the river rushing by fills his head pleasantly. You’d love it, you’d toss your boots aside and wade into the river, lifting your skirts high enough to hopefully not get wet. But you’d be wet anyway. He’d do it too, you made him feel like he was twenty despite his thirty some years on this earth.

He decides to sit and sketch it and write about you. Just how excited he was at how everything was coming together. He feels like a kid, sappy but too devoted to care very much at the small heart he puts on his map. He’s almost embarrassed of himself. Even with no one to see. He folds his map up and stuffs his journal away, whistling his horse over. With a soft word or two, he mounts up and continues on to his destination.

-

It's been three days since he found the spot he would take you to and he’s had a ring in his satchel that glares up at him every time he opens it to pull out a cigarette. Of course, just as everything comes together, Dutch insists he go scouting for some new venture, looking to follow a treasure hunter so they could rob him. It ends up being a whole lot of nothing from a bad tip but Dutch has a ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ speech to try and lick his own wounds at Arthur’s expense. Arthur rolls his eyes. Feels his hands knot into fists.

“Maybe next time, it’ll be you runnin’ all over New Austin on some wild goose chase! And I’ll give you this bullshit. Wouldn’t that be just fine, wasting your goddamn time-”

“Arthur, calm down! I don’t have time for your complaining. Where is that girl of yours? Why don’t you blow some of that steam off with her? It’s obvious to me-”

“Dutch…stop pushing the boy,” Hosea remarks from where he’s reading a book nearby. Arthur postures to continue arguing and Dutch shoots a glare before waving him off. He looks to Hosea and backs away, huffing. But before he can go for a smoke to hopefully calm himself down so he could be with you, Hosea calls him over.

“So… have you popped the question?”

“No, I ain’t got time most days,” He sighs in defeat, dropping his weight on the seat next to him, resting on his knees, leaned over. He takes his hat off to adjust his hair before putting it back on. He hadn’t seen you in another two days on account of this stupid ploy to rob a treasure hunter who didn’t know left from right and east from west. What an idiot. But not nearly as foolish as he.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell Dutch to leave you out of these plots of his. I’ll even tell Miss Grimshaw that she’ll be gone. Take her and ride away for a couple of days. I hope to see a ring on her finger when you get back. In fact, I’ll be expecting it!” Hosea has a smile on his face, the excitement is genuine. Arthur nods.

“And what if she says no?”

“Well you keep at it. Perhaps a little persistence is all you need but why do you insist on imagining the worst?” It’s as if after asking, he considers why Arthur might not want to change things irreparably, might have already put his heart on the line and had it thrown away before.

“Arthur, the sting of rejection must be pretty…pretty lamentable. But you wouldn’t be trying this hard if you really thought you didn’t have a good chance,” Hosea sets his book down. “Go get some rest… leave first thing in the morning,” Hosea pats Arthur lightly on his shoulder. Arthur looks up as Hosea wanders in the direction of his tent.

His heart does yearn to see you at his side, wearing his ring on your finger. To hear you referred to as Mrs. Morgan. But all he can see is an incredulous look on your face. ‘Marry? Me? Arthur, you must be joking,’ you laugh and laugh. You’d never be so cruel but whatever part of him hates his own guts imagines the scenarios with great fervor. The anger from the rest of his day and the anger at himself grit against each other. He growls low before marching off to his tent.

You’re already inside, looking very lovely, one of his mended shirts serving as something of a robe to wear over your underthings. You look up and smile. He could forget the whole world just by looking at you. You hum, scooting over in bed.

“Arthur…” the way you call his name, you hardly need to give him any pet names, just Arthur will do.

“Come out with me tomorrow. First thing in the morning,” He states. More like a command, the residual anger drips off his words. You look at him strangely.

“Alright but I’d like to know what all of this is about first,” You set whatever you were working on, perhaps brushing your hair as you set a horsehair brush aside. You give him a concerned look.

“Found that surprise,” he grumbles, sitting down and tugging his boots off. “Hope you’ll like it but…” he stops to tug his gun belt off, his suspenders too. Arthur rests his hat gently on the side table. “Can’t be too sure til I show it to ya,” You smile softly.

“I think if you think I like it, I’ll love it,” God, he hopes so. Anticipation bounces around in his head and in his lungs. He’s practically short of breath. How he’s going to sleep, he has no idea.

“Yeah?” you hum in agreement. Looking sleepy, he’s endeared by how your eyes blink slowly, how you wiggle onto his chest the second he lays down. Your hands rub down his chest and belly. You’re asleep in a matter of minutes. He almost wishes he had you for company still but he’d never wake you for something so selfish. Instead, he pets down your hair and listens to your breathing, the natural hush that covers the camp once it’s too late for much of anything but small chatter.

-

Like clockwork, he wakes early. He can’t remember falling asleep but you're softly murmuring, you won’t wake unless he expressly wakes you. He gives himself time to put on that shirt he bought and rub his hand over his face at how nervous and silly he feels buttoning it up. He pulls a jacket over it to hopefully hide how ridiculous he looks. The morning is a pale blue when he steps out, thinking to bring you coffee to wake you.

You dress, half asleep, when he comes back to you, humming into the cup he brought you. You wear something nice but not overstated. You put kisses on him to wish him a good morning after you’ve decided you’re cleaned up enough.

He helps you up on his horse, Boadicea already very used to you. The ride isn’t too bad and you certainly make it better, he’s quiet with nerves, responding as much as he can without getting lost in his thoughts. The sun has climbed up and blazed down on you for a while by the time you get there. But your face when you see his surprise is too precious, eager to slip off the back of his horse.

“Arthur, it’s so beautiful!” The summer sun is high in the sky, perfect for your plans as you tug your boots off. He ambles after you, hitching his horse to a tree. You’re already sighing and knee deep in the center of the river. Your stockings lay haphazardly tossed over your boots. You’re some fabled creature, come from somewhere else. He could see it. No woman shined like you did, at least not how he saw things.

Just like he imagined, he rolls his pants up and tosses his boots aside, the spurs jingle when they hit the ground. The light catches the river’s surface, shades of yellow and green, the earth's gentle brown. You’re excited to see him join you, taking his hand that he holds out to you, pressed to his belly and chest, just where you belong.

“You like it, sweetheart?” He mumbles, really fishing for compliments. He knows you do but he’d love to hear you say it.

“I love it, Arthur, how could you say I wouldn’t? Sometimes, you’re a silly man,” you laugh, sway with him in the river. Birds sing, the water is cool, it’s perfect. He pulls you up to a shallower part of the ford, the sun forms a halo around you, reminds him you’re pure heaven and he couldn’t let you go.

“I have something else for you,” his voice is shaky instead of the easy confidence he likes to portray himself as. You look up excitedly but the dazzling smile slips off your face, you're shocked as he pulls a ring from his satchel and kneels down in the river.

“I-uhhh…I-“ he had really planned all of this and didn’t think of a single word to say. He can't bear to look up, he’s sure he’ll lose his nerve. “I haven’t loved…anyone like I love you,” the ring looks tiny and pathetic in his fingers. They’re also calloused to hell but he continues anyway. “There ain’t anyone else for me in this world but you. I just wish I was a better man, you deserve more than I can give but… if you would have me,” he looks up and your hands cover your mouth and tears leak over your fingers.

He really had ruined everything, hadn’t he? How was he supposed to go on living with you? What would he tell Hosea? His face falls and his heart cracks but he’d be glad to take you back home and disappear for a few days.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, don’t know what I thought,”

“Arthur, just please…” you hold out your left hand. You wipe your tears, trying to compose yourself and when he sees your smile, your hand over your right cheek, he lets himself ease. “Nothing would make me happier than to be- to be your wife, Arthur, you are…you’re the best man I know,” you wiggle your fingers excitedly and he slips the ring over your ring finger. He stays stunned, kneeled in the water, his pants soaking it all up but he couldn’t care less.

The ring looks so perfect on you. He holds your hand, kissing it like a knight of old, looking at him down on his knee, still crying but that brightness in your eyes is all he needs. Your giggle makes him smile at you too. And you drop to embrace him, tucking into his chest, arms around his neck. You murmur his name, rub his back. Tangle your fingers in his hair. He settles with you, surrounded by your unmistakable presence, basking in it. Holds you tighter, trying to not squeeze the air out of you. He breathes you in, holding you through your overwhelmed clinging, wiping your tears on his shoulder.

You pull back a little, enough to kiss him, his relief is groaned into your mouth. He loses track of himself and slips, sitting in a river with you in his arms, giggling more into his kiss.

You sit with him on the banks, trying to dry out after he tipped over. So much for his fancy shirt. He thinks the both of you will look half drowned by the time he brings you back to camp but he isn’t sure he wants to go back. Just you and him for a few days sounds rather enticing. You keep looking at your ring, leaned into his shoulder. A pleased little smile blooms over your face. How can he not smile at how beautiful you look, hair wet at the ends, warm light casting its glow over you.

You look up at him, with a look that says you’re gonna cry again but you just give him a teary smile.

“I’m a lucky bastard, get to call you mine,” You wrap one tiny hand over his neck when you kiss him slow and deep, letting him consume the very air in your lungs, grip over your body to feel it. You moan just softly enough to pull on his need for you. But you part ways for you to continue.

“Did you really think I’d say no?” you give him a sad frown. As if upset that he would think such a thing of you. You brush your fingers against his skin. He looks away.

“You wouldn’t have been the first,” you sigh.

“Who could say no to Arthur Morgan?” You ask no one in particular but he huffs a small laugh.

“Many people,” a joking tone tinges his words. But then he dips towards the sentimental. “Don’t even remember, really, all I think about is you, darlin’…” You laugh before coming closer, unable and unwilling to part from him. He knows he’s a hundred and one percent sap but he lets himself melt in your presence.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me,” you wiggle your left hand in his face. He chuckles a little at your cute little fingers. “I’m glad…it means I get you all to myself,” The joy is boundless in his chest, he could light the night like a lightning bug with the flame in his heart.

“Arthur, I… I… sometimes I don’t have the words to tell you how much I love you,” you lean onto him. He shakes his head with what he’s sure looks like a stupid grin on his face. He wasn’t sure this would be in the cards for him but here he is, with you.

“Every part of me loves you, honey,” is all he has to say, paling in comparison to the pure power of your own words over him. They tumble clumsily from his mouth but you pull him down for kisses anyway. Your teasing ‘do you?’ has him nodding between your giggles and wet kisses.

-

Thank you so much for leaving me this request, I loved writing it!! It was so much fun and I really had fun including some parts of rdr1 map that were really special to me and brought me back to when I was a kid playing that game 🥹🥹🥹🥲🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️ any feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading 🥰🫶

[wormtoxin]

"And one specific iteration of this is that during the 60s and 70s, among certain feminist thinkers, the idea arose that before Judaism brought monotheism to the world, the patriarchy didn't exist. This is absolute historical hogwash."

"And it's only within this framework, this conspiratorial antisemitic framework, that the idea that the Jews are lying about a figure from Jewish folklore, for whom that folklore is the only source, makes any sense at all, and it's only within this framework that Gentiles taking that figure, divorcing her completely from her folkloric roots, and then worshiping her as a goddess, would even be appealing."

I found this to be really disingenuous, and went and read some of those original texts. During the 60s and 70s, these "certain feminist thinkers" were, themselves, Jewish.

I found, in no particular order:

Lilly Rivlin's 1972 article "Lilith" for Ms. magazine.

The Jewish feminist magazine Lilith, founded in the fall of 1976

jewish feminist theologian Judith Plaskow's "The Coming of Lilith", a feminist "contemporary midrash" published in 2005.

American poet and professor Enid Dame's poems titled "Lilith", "Lilith's New Career" and "Lilith and Her Demons"

Rabbi Lynn Gottlieb's theatre piece, "About Lilith", discussed here in an interview with Judy Waxman from Veteran Feminists of America in 2022. I really like this quote about the piece's use in her community work, so I'm going to post it in its entirety:

"I created a theatre piece called, About Lilith. It’s a very funny piece, and I performed it thousands of times. And in this piece, Lilith, as the old story goes, as we learn from Judith Plaskow in particular, Lilith refuses to be on the bottom. And rather than put up with her domineering mate Adam, who wants her to be on the bottom, she flies off. And I had a lot of fun with this story, and I used to create workshops. What would happen if Lilith met Eve?

I did that hundreds of times, and I tried to create a safe space for women to explore issues of agency. Because issues of domestic violence and sexual abuse on the preventative side can happen if women feel more agency. That’s one aspect. Especially young girls, if they have the language to feel like they can resist and they know how to keep themselves safe.

Another component is the question, “What resources does the community have that can assist women?” So, in Albuquerque, where I was a rabbi for 25 years, I’m still rabbi emeritus there – Albuquerque, New Mexico, where I founded my own community. That’s something else I learned from feminism. It’s a lot harder to reform…it’s almost impossible to reform, actually. I realized I needed always to start with a clean slate, and I could build an infrastructure from the foundation that was equitable. That was really the only way for me, and I believe for many people, to not spend years banging your head against the wall, but rather just from the beginning to create that space."

Jacqueline Lapidus' poem "Eden", which "imagines a lesbian encounter between Lilith and Eve. Using the Lilith legend, Lapidus invents an origin story for love between women."

"Scholar and author Ohad Ezrachi frequently writes about Lilith as a split-off sexual component of women, an image created by men fearful of a full relationship. He encourages men and women to see Lilith and Eve as the same person."

Rabbi Jill Hammer's article for myjewishlearning.org's "Women & Feminism" section, titled "Lilith: Lady Flying in Darkness". This is the article I've been quoting above. I like this article's final few lines, which I'll quote here:

"While some disapprove of this widespread embrace of a former demon, Lilith’s rehabilitation makes sense. The frightening character of Lilith grew, in part, out of repression: repression of sexuality, repression of the free impulse in women, repression of the question “what if I left it all behind?” As modern Jews begin to ask questions about sex, freedom, and choice more directly, Lilith becomes a complex representation of our own desires."

Both of the articles I read (which I'll link to below) acknowledge Lilith's place in contemporary folk Judaism as a demon, with references to the practices sometimes employed to keep her away. This confirms the second paragraph written in the post above.

To respond to specific parts I disagreed with:

Gentile feminists are not responsible for the so-called "feminist reclamation" of Lilith. Being actively Jewish themselves, these authors, poets, and academics, theologians, and rabbi probably did not, in fact, give rise to the idea that "before Judaism brought monotheism to the world, the patriarchy didn't exist."

I agree with you on the whole that it is disingenuous and antisemitic to claim that "jews are lying" about the figure lilith, or in most any context. I also think it's academical disingenuous to claim that "Jewish folklore is the only source" for Lilith. The article and encyclopedia I discuss above and link below show that, outside of folklore, Lilith is also interpreted and conceptualized through the lenses of Jewish feminism, Jewish poetry, Jewish theology, Jewish history, and Jewish literature.

Works Cited:

“Lilith is part of a closed religious practice” except it’s not appropriation to worship her as that is not practice what is within the closed practices of judaism :) Lilith is not an exclusive figure! Lilith is open

So according to your logic, it's okay to worship Lilith because she isn't worshiped in Judaism so therefore worshiping her isn't cultural appropriation. So if I a completely non-Native American/First Nations person were to start worshiping the W*ndigo, that would be completely fine, and not at all cultural appropriation, and not deeply fucked up, because W*ndigos are not worshiped in any of the cultures that have them as part of their cosmology and traditions. And I'm sure that the people from the various cultual groups that originated the W*ndigo, who tell me that doing that would be deeply deeply fucked up, and culturally appropriative, are just wrong and harshing my squee.

Don't incorperate Lilith into your practice if you aren't Jewish, and worshiping the demons from other cultures is no less culturally appropriative because they aren't worshiped in their home cultures. Hope that clarifies things! :)

[poetic-vulgarity]

ᎮᎥᏖᎩ ᎮᏗᏒᏖᎩ - Kim Minjeong x Reader

Word count: ~5K

Prompt: When Minjeong transferred to an elite school, she didn't expect to catch the attention of Y/N, the golden girl. Then again, she also didn't expect Y/N to be the root of all her misery.

Tags: slow burn; angst; drama; high school! AU; richgirl!Y/N; happy ending (?)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Ask any student out there how they feel about school, and you'll get the same answer.

It's shit.

There was no way around it, especially not for someone like Minjeong.

Shy, quiet, reserved.

She was a walking billboard that practically screamed "bully me."

And bullied she was. Ever since high school began, she'd been their favorite target. They scrawled insults on her desk, threw food at her, and even stuffed her into a locker once.

Minjeong thought it was just the way life worked. Some people were born unlucky.

Then Taeyu came along. Messy, reckless, the kind of girl who could (and would) fight anyone. For reasons Minjeong never fully understood, Taeyu liked her. And the bullying stopped.

They became best friends. Two years passed, and things weren't perfect, but Minjeong started to believe she could survive.

She wished Taeyu was there now.

If she had Taeyu by her side, all the stupid kids wouldn't be staring at her as she made her way through the doors of her new school. 

The towering entrance of Elite Open School Korea loomed before her. The glossy floors, the spotless hallways, the sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows—it was the kind of school where the rich ate up success like it was their birthright.

Minjeong didn’t belong there.

But she didn’t need to belong. She just needed to graduate. The full scholarship had been her ticket there, and she wasn’t planning to waste it. Screw fitting in. She’d keep her head down, study hard, and get the diploma.

Still, as she stepped inside, her confidence wavered. The air was heavy and she could feel the weight of all the judgmental eyes on her. She held her bag tighter and pulled out her crumpled schedule, her eyebrows knitting together as she tried to make sense of it.

The school was massive. Minjeong had no idea where to start.

"You’re with me."

Startled, Minjeong looked up and found herself face-to-face with a stunning girl who radiated confidence.

"I’m Jimin, student president. I’m supposed to take you to your class," the girl said, her tone light and warm.

Relief washed over Minjeong. She nodded, exhaling a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Jimin didn’t wait for a response before turning and heading down the hallway, her polished shoes clicking softly against the floor.

Minjeong hurried to follow, her school bag thumping awkwardly against her back. "I'm Minjeong." 

Jimin looked over her shoulder, a few loose strands of hair brushing her face as she smiled. "I know who you are; I was the one who made your schedule." Jimin replied with a soft chuckle. "Had to fit you and the other new students into the system."

Minjeong blinked, processing her words. "That... explains a lot, actually."

Her schedule was a mess: classes from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m., a long break, and then another class that ran until 10 p.m. She wasn’t sure if it was legal to keep students in school that long but they were all rich there. Who cared if they were breaking rules?

Jimin grimaced. "Yeah, sorry about that. In my defense, though, you signed up for a lot of extracurriculars."

Minjeong’s lips twitched into a small smile. "Don’t apologize. It’s fine."

"It’ll be cool; we have a few classes together," Jimin added with a grin.

When they reached the classroom, Jimin stopped and turned to her. "Here we are. All your classes today are on this floor, so you shouldn't get too lost. But if you do, text me. My number's on the schedule I sent you."

Minjeong nodded, her cheeks flushing faintly. "Thank you, Jimin."

"Of course. Have a good first day, okay?" With a wave, Jimin disappeared down the hall, leaving Minjeong standing at the door, alone.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared.

Sure, a few students glanced her way as she walked in, their gazes sharp and appraising. Most of them didn’t bother hiding their curiosity—or their judgment. The guys wore designer shoes and watches, while the girls carried handbags that probably cost more than her family’s car.

Minjeong ignored them and scanned the room for a seat. She spotted one near the back and made her way over.

"That seat’s taken."

The voice was cold and cutting, and Minjeong froze mid-sit.

The girl who spoke was staring at her, eyes narrowed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Minjeong swallowed and stood up, looking around for another desk. She wasn’t there to make a scene.

"That one’s taken too," the girl said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

"Why don’t you show her to her seat, Lee?"

The new voice came from the front of the room. Minjeong turned and saw another girl leaning back lazily in her chair.

She was stunning, easily the prettiest girl in the room, with an air of casual arrogance that made her seem untouchable. Her uniform was pristine, not a single hair out of place, and her expression was unreadable.

Lee, the first girl, faltered. "I—uh..."

"Go on," the pretty girl said, her tone light but commanding. "Since every seat is taken, show her one that isn’t."

Lee clenched her jaw but got up with a huff, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. "Fine. Follow me."

Minjeong glanced at the pretty girl again before trailing behind Lee, her head bowed.

"This one," Lee said, motioning to an empty desk.

"No," the other girl called out, her voice calm. "Not that one. She won’t be able to see the board properly."

Minjeong’s grip on her bag tightened. The room felt suffocating, every set of eyes burning into her as Lee led her to another seat.

"Here?"

"Still not good," the girl said, her tone almost playful.

Minjeong clenched her jaw, frustrated at the situation. This was all a game, and she was the entertainment.

Finally, the pretty girl tilted her head. "Tell you what. She’ll just take your seat, Lee."

Lee stiffened but didn’t argue. Her eyes flashed with anger as she grabbed her bag and stomped off.

Minjeong hesitated. She didn’t want to take Lee’s spot, didn’t want to make things worse. But when the girl raised an eyebrow and her eyes darted from her to her new assigned seat, Minjeong sighed and sat down.

She kept her head down, rummaging through her pencil case, her eyes fixed on the desk in front of her.

An awkward silence loomed over the classroom, broken only by the sound of students chatting and the occasional burst of laughter.

Minjeong’s eyes shifted to Lee, noticing the way she kept a sharp eye on her former seat. A part of her felt bad for taking it, but it was already done.

She took out her notebook, pen, and highlighter from her bag and placed them on the desk. Her hands went up to brush her short hair back behind her ears.

Minjeong’s eyes darted up to the front, looking for the teacher. Instead, she noticed the pretty girl from before standing in front of her.

Minjeong tilted her head up, keeping her shock and awkwardness from showing on her face. The girl was stunning—her features soft, her lashes long, and her lips plump.

The girl gave her a small smile. "The view okay?"

Minjeong’s head spun at the words. Her cheeks instantly flared up with embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to stare. She didn’t even realize she was staring in the first place.

"Sorry," she responded hastily. Her eyes darted around the room, desperate to look anywhere but at the stranger.

The girl chuckled lightly. "I meant the board."

"Oh."

Minjeong felt like her soul left her body out of sheer embarrassment. She couldn’t stop staring at the stranger earlier, and now she’d somehow made it worse for herself.

"Yes, it’s a great view," she mumbled, her voice small. She forced a smile, hoping to salvage the situation.

Minjeong tried to focus elsewhere, her eyes shifting to the window and the students outside, chatting with their friends and enjoying lunch—blissfully unaware of her predicament.

The girl smiled wider, clearly amused.

She extended her hand, drawing it towards Minjeong. "I’m Y/N."

Minjeong hesitated for a moment before reaching out her own hand to shake Y/N’s. "Minjeong," she replied, the handshake lasting a beat longer than necessary before she quickly pulled away.

Y/N was… a lot. Minjeong wasn’t sure what her intentions were. Was she just messing with her, or did she genuinely want to be friends?

"Pleasure to meet you," Y/N said with a nod.

Minjeong blinked. What high schooler said "pleasure to meet you"?

"You too," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

A tense silence stretched between them as the two of them stared at each other. Minjeong wanted to look away, to dig into her bag for something to distract herself, but her eyes kept finding their way back to Y/N.

"Welcome to the school. I’m sure you’ll fit in well." With that final comment, Y/N turned on her heel and walked back to her seat.

Minjeong let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Y/N was intimidating. She was too pretty and confident for her own good, and Minjeong didn’t know what to make of her.

All she wanted was to get through the day without any more trouble.

And, for the most part, she did.

During lunch hour, Minjeong hid in the library. Her other classes went by without much ruckus.

Throughout her first week, she realized that she shared a lot of classes with Y/N. She saw the popular girl almost every day. Correction: she noticed the small smiles Y/N sent her between classes—almost every day.

It was… weird.

Y/N had a cool friend group and a perfect reputation around the school. She had no reason to even notice Minjeong.

“You need to leave the newbie alone. Her friends died. Have a little compassion.”

Y/N turned to glare at Yeonjun. It was Friday, and the group was eating lunch together. Since Monday, Y/N hadn’t seen Minjeong set foot in the cafeteria.

“You could be a bit more respectful about it, no?”

Yeonjun pouted dramatically. “Chill, I was joking.”

“Our Y/N is protective over the newbie,” Aeri teased, nudging Y/N’s side playfully, trying to get a reaction out of her.

“Why would I be protective over anyone?” Y/N huffed, picking at her food as if it were playdough. Her eyes lingered on the unopened sandwich she’d bought that morning.

“Well, you keep looking for her,” Chaewon pointed out, raising an eyebrow as she sat down beside Yeonjun with a knowing smile. “In class and now here.”

Y/N felt cornered. She usually didn’t show this much interest in anyone, and her friends had noticed. It was irritating.

Before she could mutter an excuse for her behavior, her phone rang. Her friends immediately knew who was calling by the look on her face.

“I’ll see you guys later.” She grabbed her belongings and stood up, phone already raised to her ear. “Yes, Dad?”

The call only lasted a minute or two, but it gave Y/N the perfect excuse to slip away. She wandered into the library, her curious eyes scanning the room for one person in particular.

“Lunch is important, you know?”

Minjeong jumped at the sudden voice, her wide eyes snapping up to see Y/N standing in front of her, hands on her hips.

“Are you stalking me?” The words slipped from Minjeong’s mouth before she could stop herself.

Her heart pounded, anxiety clawing at her throat. She had no idea why Y/N was taking an interest in her—why she kept showing up, insisting on toying with her.

Y/N was surprised, to say the least.

Minjeong had some bite. It wasn’t what Y/N expected from the shy girl she’d met on the first day.

“I guess,” Y/N said with a soft hum, casually pulling a chair out and sitting beside her. She reached into her bag, pulling out the sandwich she hadn’t eaten earlier, and handed it to Minjeong. “Eat.”

Minjeong stared at the sandwich, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I already ate,” she said flatly, not reaching for it.

Y/N’s eyes flicked down to Minjeong’s half-open bag. An apple and a small carton of orange juice sat inside—it was all Minjeong ever brought, and she usually saved it for her late 10 PM class.

“No, you haven’t.”

Minjeong’s shoulders slumped slightly. Y/N was far more observant than she had anticipated.

Minjeong looked down at the sandwich again, conflicted. She wasn’t a fan of being told what to do, but Y/N had clearly gone out of her way to give it to her. Refusing would make her feel bad.

Slowly, she reached out and took the sandwich, giving a small nod.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said casually.

It didn’t take long for Minjeong to finish it.

“So, what are you reading?” Y/N was usually good at making conversation, but with Minjeong, she couldn’t help feeling a little nervous.

Minjeong blinked, snapping out of her food-induced daze. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she finished the sandwich. Now that it was gone, her body slumped back in the chair, heavy with fatigue.

Her gaze shifted to the half-read book on the table, her fingers brushing over the cover. She avoided looking at Y/N, knowing how easily she got flustered.

“A book,” she responded plainly, hoping Y/N would get the hint.

Y/N nodded, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Very informative.”

Minjeong sighed, unable to come up with a retort. The silence between them grew, awkward and heavy. She wasn’t used to this—having someone like Y/N hover around her. They were opposites in almost every way, and Minjeong couldn’t fathom why Y/N was even there.

Her eyes lifted briefly from the book, just to check if Y/N was still looking. Their gazes met, and Minjeong’s breath caught. Her cheeks burned, and she quickly looked away quickly.

Y/N cleared her throat, the confidence in her voice softening. She fiddled with her fingers, her usual ease replaced with hesitation. “I’m... sorry about what happened. At your last school.”

Minjeong froze, her eyes widening. A lump formed in her throat as she tried to think of something to say.

She hadn’t expected an apology—least of all from Y/N. But even if she had, she wouldn’t have known how to respond.

Her body tensed, her knee bouncing beneath the table. “I’m sure it hasn’t been easy,” Y/N continued, her voice gentle. “Especially with all the idiots making fun of it.”

‘Cancer school.’

The cruel nickname flashed through Minjeong’s mind.

It wasn’t far from the truth.

Several students had suddenly passed away at her old school and it didn't take long for investigators to find out that the building materials used for the school were highly toxic—cancerous, in fact. Minjeong was one of the lucky ones, spared from any trouble. She had survived unscathed, physically at least, and had been granted a scholarship to transfer elsewhere—a quiet bribe to keep her mouth shut. 

Taeyu hadn’t been so lucky.

Minjeong’s hands trembled as the memories clawed their way to the surface. She had buried them so deeply, refusing to confront them, but they always left a bitter taste when they resurfaced.

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting around the library. Despite knowing Y/N’s words came from a place of kindness, Minjeong felt a pang of irritation.

“Thank you.” Her voice was hollow, mouth dry. She wanted to be anywhere but there. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment, emotions she couldn’t quite control.

She stuffed her jacket into her bag, voice shaky as she muttered, “I appreciate it.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, alarm flashing across her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep—”

“Save it.” Minjeong snapped, cutting her off. She didn’t meet Y/N’s gaze as she shoved her things into her bag and walked away.

She wasn’t sure who she was angry at—Y/N, for bringing it up, or herself, for not being able to let it go.

The wound still felt raw. She wasn’t ready to face it, and all she wanted was to forget.

But after a few days, the sting of her reaction dulled and guilt creped in. 

Y/N had only been trying to be kind, and Minjeong had been rude.

After debating with herself for days, Minjeong decided to swallow her pride and apologise. 

Before one of their shared classes, Minjeong watched as Y/N walked into the room, making her way to her usual seat.

Now or never.

Her heart pounded as she stood, each step toward Y/N feeling heavier than the last. Minjeong didn’t want to be there, she didn’t want to apologize. Admitting she felt bad was almost worse than snapping in the first place.

But the guilt wouldn’t leave her alone, and she knew it wouldn’t until she said something.

“Y/N?”

Y/N looked up from her notebook, her face lighting up when she saw Minjeong. “There you are,” she said, rummaging through her bag. She pulled out a neatly wrapped sandwich—the same kind she’d given Minjeong in the library. “I’ve been eating these all week, and I hate cheese.”

Without hesitation, Y/N extended the sandwich toward Minjeong.

Minjeong stared at it, swallowing hard. She didn’t need pity or charity. That wasn’t why she’d come over.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you the other day,” she said, ignoring the food.

Y/N’s eyes softened, her expression gentle.

Minjeong forced herself to turn away, eager to retreat to her seat. Her conscience was clear now, and she didn’t owe Y/N anything more.

But before she could take another step, a hand caught her wrist.

Y/N’s touch was firm yet delicate, her grip just enough to stop Minjeong without making her feel trapped.

Minjeong turned slowly, pulse quickening as her eyes met Y/N’s.

Y/N smiled, her voice warm and sincere. “I’m the charity act here, not you.” She nodded toward the sandwich still in her hand. “I genuinely hate these sandwiches.”

Minjeong froze for a second... was she that easy to read?

"Why do you keep buying them then?" Minjeong asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Y/N shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm allergic to salmon, and they like to serve it at the cafeteria, so I bring it just in case."

A little white lie never hurt anyone, right?

But Minjeong was insistent, "I don't see how that's my problem."

"It's your problem because I want to get to know you," Y/N admitted without hesitation. "And the sandwich was just the perfect excuse for it."

Minjeong wanted to ask why Y/N didn't just buy something she actually liked, but she had a feeling Y/N would have an excuse for that too.

So, she sighed and finally took the food, giving a small nod.

"You're eating this if I ever see salmon being served at the cafeteria," Minjeong added.

Y/N smiled, her eyes lingering on Minjeong. "Deal."

Minjeong could feel her face heating up at how casually Y/N agreed to her request.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Even though she was still uncomfortable with how Y/N was so interested in her, she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to understand why everyone talked about her.

Y/N was kind, sweet, and charming. It was almost impossible to resist her, but Minjeong knew she had to keep her distance.

She kept her distance.

For a few hours.

Later that day, when Y/N asked her to go out for coffee, Minjeong found herself accepting the offer.

Just like she accepted Y/N’s offer to give her her number a few days later.

Minjeong had no control over it. She was just pulled in.

For a while, she tried to fight it, but in the end, she couldn’t.

It felt nice to be liked. Y/N would take her out for lunch and dinner whenever Minjeong was free, always doing whatever it took to make her feel special.

Minjeong hated how addictive it was, getting attention from someone like Y/N. It made it that much harder to ignore her growing attraction.

"We could go to your house, if you'd like?" Y/N asked, leaning against Minjeong’s desk, her eyes carefully gauging Minjeong’s reaction.

They had a group project to do, and thankfully, the teacher let them choose their own partners.

Minjeong shrugged, her eyes drawn to her notebook as she finished her exercise. "I don't know, honestly."

Y/N nodded, her eyes intense. "My house?"

Minjeong paused for a moment to consider the proposition. They’d gone out together before, hung out during breaks, and after school. But being in Y/N’s house felt somehow more personal.

She nodded slowly, “Yeah, sure.”

Y/N's eyes brightened up as a smile took over her face.

It still felt like a double-edged sword. Like Minjeong had a price to pay to be hanging out with Y/N.

"Cool, I'll wait for you by your locker at the end of the day."

Y/N started to walk away, but Minjeong reached out for her hand. "I only finish classes at 10 today."

They had been hanging out four two months by then, Y/N knew Minjeong's schedule by heart.

Y/N couldn’t stop herself. Before she knew what she was doing, she reached out and brushed a strand of Minjeong's hair behind her ear. "Don't worry about it."

By the time she reached her table, Y/N had already cursed herself out at least twenty times.

She needed to get a hold of herself.

Still, she couldn't help the excitement that took over her body. She was getting there. Slowly but surely, she was winning over Minjeong.

Y/N's classes ended at 5 PM that day, so she hung out around school while she waited. She went to the library, finished her homework, and even started on the group project. Who knows? Maybe if Minjeong saw that the project was well advanced, she'd agree to watch a movie. Or just talk.

By the time 10 PM came around, Y/N was wrapped up in her long coat, hands stuck in her pockets as she waited for Minjeong.

Minjeong arrived at 10:10, accompanied by a figure that had Y/N freezing up.

Jimin.

The student council president.

Her ex-girlfriend.

An ex-girlfriend that also seemed surprised at seeing Y/N.

"Oh, hi." Jimin tried to smile, turning to Minjeong with a gulp. "You didn't tell me your friend was her."

Minjeong stood there, hands in her hoodie pocket as she looked between Y/N and Jimin in confusion. "You two know each other?"

Jimin and Y/N's history was complicated, and Y/N hated thinking or talking about it. But it happened. She was her first love.

"Yeah," Jimin responded, her eyes glued on Y/N. "We were toge-"

"-It's a small school." Y/N barely looked back at Jimin. "Should we get going? It's a little late already."

Minjeong wasn't oblivious to the way Jimin and Y/N looked at each other. The air was thick with tension, and Y/N seemed oddly uncomfortable the whole time, her body language closed off.

Something was definitely going on, Minjeong couldn’t shake that feeling all the way to Y/N's house.

Once they reached their destination, Minjeong looked around curiously. Y/N didn’t mention that she was well off, but it was almost expected of her.

Popular girl at an elite school.

Minjeong wasn't surprised to be led to a mansion in Gangnam-gu.

It was lavish and spacious. Minjeong felt like she had to pay a tax just to look at the furniture.

"Your parents already sleeping?"

Y/N shook her head, leading the way upstairs to her room.

"My parents live in Dobong. I live with a few employees."

"Oh," Minjeong was surprised, but it seemed normal for Y/N. Was that a normal thing for rich people? "Why is that?"

Minjeong caught the way Y/N's shoulders tensed up for just a second. "For work."

She decided to not touch the subject again as they finally arrived at Y/N's room.

It was a tidy space. The bedroom was nice, cozy, and chic. Minjeong couldn’t help but wonder if it was even a room made for a teenager, though. It looked like the rooms Minjeong had seen at IKEA.

"I didn't know you were friends with Jimin," Y/N let out quietly, taking off her blazer and loosening her tie. She looked at Minjeong with soft but darker eyes than usual.

Minjeong was caught off guard, to say the least.

Her eyes followed Y/N's figure—she had never seen her without the blazer.

Y/N undid the top of her button-up shirt, and suddenly, Minjeong felt the need to look away.

"I- yeah. I eat and have a few classes with her sometimes. Met her on my first day at school."

Y/N nodded slowly, eyes following Minjeong as the short-haired girl looked around her room. 

She sat on her bed almost unmoving, back tensely upright. "Do you like her?"

Minjeong blinked at the question, her brain processing the words.

Did she like Jimin? She supposed she did. The other girl was nice and always helpful, plus she didn’t tease Minjeong about her past either.

She wasn't sure what prompted Y/N to ask, but Minjeong answered honestly.

"Yeah, she's nice. Why?"

"Nice in a way that makes you want to date her?"

The question had Minjeong's head snapping to Y/N, eyes wide.

"I- uh-" Minjeong swallowed hard, her cheeks heating up at the insinuation.

"We're just friends," she blurted out. "Why do you ask?"

Y/N let out a hum, eyes fixed on Minjeong, "Because I like you."

Minjeong's breath hitched when Y/N said those words. That was not what she’d been expecting to hear.

Her heart pounded in her ears, so loud it almost drowned out every other sound. She just stood there staring at Y/N, eyes wide.

After a few painfully silent moments, Minjeong found the voice to ask, "You what?"

Y/N looked down at her hands, fingers playing with each other as she gathered her words.

"I know we've only known each other for a few months, but I like you. I was wondering if you'd let me get to know you even better. Maybe get closer?"

"You...you want to date me?"

The words were barely a whisper, the disbelief evident in Minjeong's face and the way she looked at Y/N.

She was torn on what to say. Minjeong didn't want to get her hopes up again, but Y/N made her feel something.

Her body was screaming at her to say yes, but her mind was telling her to refuse.

Things had been awkward with Jimin. Minjeong was sure Y/N was hiding something from her. She was Y/N. No one like Y/N would ever want anything to do with Minjeong. There had to be another reason for all this.

Y/N smiled, "Well, yes, eventually. I'm not very traditional, but I would like to court you first, if you'd let me."

Minjeong's eyes dropped back down to her hands, her mind whirling with a multitude of possible outcomes.

What if it didn't work out? What if things exploded in their face and they couldn't even be friends anymore?

Did it matter?

It was just dating. It wasn't like Minjeong was agreeing to marry Y/N. If things went sideways, they could always break up and go back to being friends.

"I- could you give me a little time to think about it?"

Minjeong inwardly chastised herself as soon as the words escaped her mouth.

She had just rejected the most popular girl in school.

She had just rejected Y/N.

Well, sort of rejected, right?

Things weren't over. Minjeong just needed to think things over.

Y/N smiled as gently as always, "Of course. You have all the time in the world, Minjeong. I don't want to rush anything."

Minjeong felt like she could breathe so much easier after Y/N said that, as if a boulder had been lifted from her chest. She'd half expected Y/N to be mad or angry at her, but she was still smiling softly.

Not that Minjeong would know how to handle Y/N when she was angry. She couldn't even imagine it.

"Thank you," Minjeong whispered, her voice barely audible in Y/N's room but still loud enough to be heard. "I promise to get back to you soon."

It was Y/N's turn to feel her chest lightening up.

Things weren't ruined.

She hadn't ruined anything.

Minjeong just needed her time, and Y/N would give it to her.

She had been patient from the start, why wouldn't she be now?

"I appreciate that," Y/N patted the bed at her side. "Come here, let me show you the ideas I had for our project."

Minjeong didn't hesitate to indeed go sit by Y/N's side.

She still felt a little tense but it didn't take long for her to fully relax again.

After a good two hours of work, Minjeong turned around in Y/N's bed, eyes falling on a framed picture on the bedside table. It was Friday so they had all the time in the world to be lazy. Didn't matter how late it was. 

"You looked cute as a baby, you know?"

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced at the direction Minjeong was staring.

There was a picture of her as a toddler, grinning at the camera with a cute and wide smile that showed off the four teeth she had at the time.

"Oh," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper and a soft smile on her face as she looked at the picture. "Did I?"

She was feeling embarrassed that Minjeong was looking at it. "I don't have many pictures with them, so I keep that one there."

Minjeong nodded quietly, her eyes never leaving Y/N's framed picture. She looked a lot different now, but Minjeong supposed that was true for everyone.

"You looked adorable," she added softly, her eyes glued to the toddler in the photo. It was a little strange to think how much had changed in Y/N's life since then, but Minjeong didn't dwell on it much.

"Do you miss them?" She finally asked, tilting her head to the side slightly as her eyes turned to Y/N.

"Sometimes," Y/N shrugged. It's not like they were dead, she just didn't see them a lot. "It gets harder during the holidays. I was close to my mother, but she's been very... involved in my father's work, so yeah."

"That must be hard..." Minjeong sighed, her eyebrows furrowing in thought.

She couldn't fathom the idea of being away from her own parents.

Withdrawing her eyes from the picture frame, Minjeong scooted a little closer to Y/N. "You know," she spoke softly, "You can always come hang out at my house during the holidays."

"I couldn't possibly bother you... or your family," Y/N shook her head, a small smile rising to her face.

The truth was that Y/N didn't really have a family, and as cold and impersonal as her parents were, they had always given her everything she would need or ask for.

She couldn't complain about anything, but at the same time, she couldn't help but wonder sometimes what it would feel like to have a cozy, warm house instead of a huge empty mansion. Not having to eat alone during Christmas morning.

The idea of Y/N spending the holidays with her was a strange one. Minjeong was just starting to get used to the idea of dating. Her heart beat faster at the mere thought of bringing Y/N around her family.

She'd just have to talk to them first. It wouldn't be too hard, her mother had been asking about Y/N ever since Minjeong first brought her up.

But Minjeong didn't want to get ahead of herself. She was still trying to decide how to respond to Y/N's confession.

Still, she did feel good about the idea of having Y/N around.

"Are you kidding me? My parents would love you more than they love me. I can already picture them serving you first and leaving my siblings and I for last."

Y/N rolled her eyes softly, knowing that Minjeong was just teasing her.

"We'll see where things go and maybe I'll drop by to bring your parents a Christmas gift."

Christmas wasn't that far away, but Minjeong hadn't expected Y/N to even think about buying her family anything. She didn't even know them.

"Oh wow, you're getting my parents a gift but not me?"

A teasing smile appeared on Y/N's face, "They're the ones I want to impress."

Minjeong gasped at Y/N's teasing. She playfully hit the other girl, her own teasing smile on her face. "Are you saying my opinion doesn't matter?" she asked in mock hurt.

Minjeong couldn't deny that it did make her happy.

Y/N didn't have to like her family, but she was still going out of her way to do something nice. Minjeong appreciated it a lot, even if Y/N had a tendency to make her flustered.

"I'm saying their opinion matters more."

Minjeong laughed at that, her eyes crinkling up as she did. "I'm sure they'll like you as much as I do," she said sincerely without thinking about the words.

A beat after the words left her mouth, Minjeong froze. "I just mean..." She cleared her throat. "That you're cool and nice."

"Oh..." Y/N pretended to be flattered. "I'm cool and nice. Who would've thought?"

"I didn't realize you could make jokes," Minjeong shot back teasingly.

"Hilarious."

She liked this, the playful back and forth. She felt comfortable, talking about anything and everything with Y/N.

But there was always the hint in the back of her mind, telling her that there was more to it.

So, she decided to get to the end of the story and brought the topic up during lunch with Jimin, only a few days later. 

"So, what really happened between you and Y/N?"

That caught everyone's attention.

Ning was quick to gulp, eyes drawn on Jimin, and Yunjin almost spat her food out.

Minjeong wasn't expecting that reaction. 

Was the question that bad?

She hesitated, turning to Jimin with a look that screamed 'you don't have to answer if you don't want to'. 

After recollecting her thoughts, Jimin cleared her throat and spoke up. "We dated for two years. Broke up four months ago."

"They were like- the IT couple of the school. It was kind of funny." Ning shook her head, eyes soft and sad as she looked down at the table. 

The group missed Y/N, Aeri, and Chaewon. They had separated from each other after the breakup. Sides were taken. Mistakes were made.

Minjeong wasn’t sure what answer she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

Two years. That was a long time, longer than she had imagined. And the fact that they’d only broken up four months ago? It seemed...recent.

Minjeong felt her heart tighten as she listened intently to Jimin. She had a lot of questions, and now that the topic was brought up, might as well ask. "Why'd you two break up?"

The curiosity was getting the better of her. Minjeong had no intention whatsoever of being involved in a love triangle drama. That was the last thing she needed to be associated with.

"Well, I realised I just couldn't associate myself with people like her or her family. It was a moral thing." Jimin spoke about it in a light way, but something about her expression told Minjeong she was still grieving her relationship.

Minjeong nodded at the answer, unsure of how to respond. She glanced over at her friends seated around her, her gaze falling back on Jimin with an uneasy smile. "What's wrong with Y/N and her family?"

"You know, I didn't want to be the one telling you this, but I think it's only fair to you." Jimin sighed. She knew Minjeong went to Y/N's house the other day- being honest was the right thing to do. "Y/N's father is the mayor of Seoul. Those rumors about him being in charge of building your last school are true. Him and his family are just doing their very best to bury the scandal since he's going to run for presidency next year."

"My last school?" Minjeong's voice was soft, throat suddenly dry.

The cheaper but toxic materials used to build the school. The deaths of her friends. Taeyu.

That was all because of Y/N's father.

...and Y/N knew.

Y/N knew all along, didn't she?

All the attention.

All the gifts.

The stupid sandwiches Y/N gave her.

Y/N being nice to her when she didn’t really need to.

It all played back in her mind, over and over again.

Minjeong felt like the biggest fool in the world.

What was she?

Some sort of pity project to Y/N? Was she just being made fun of all along?

Her chest tightened painfully, and she felt the overwhelming need to get away.

Minjeong cleared her throat and stood up from her seat, her chair scraping against the floor. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. 

She didn’t wait for a response.

[aroaceleovaldez]

Wait, did Rick actually say that demigods can't have PTSD?

Because of what? Their godly side? Their ADHD?

There are so many people with ADHD who have PTSD. How much research did he do?

Rick implied at some point more recently (sometime during HoO or soon after, while discussing Percabeth post-Tartarus) that demigods either don't get PTSD (specifically that Percabeth and/or Nico wouldn't have PTSD from Tartarus - which was later retconned) or it's much more difficult for them to get PTSD. While he didn't entirely say that demigods fully can't get PTSD, moreso that Percy and Annabeth just didn't get PTSD specifically from Tartarus, most people took it as "demigods can't get PTSD at all for demigod reasons."

In actuality, this already conflicts with The Lightning Thief, because Percy literally starts the series with PTSD or cPTSD from Gabe. It's not even a subtle or small detail - it's a major detail that totally informs how Percy navigates the world, particularly his dynamic with a lot of authority figures; Mr. D in particular explicitly, entirely because Percy says that he reminds him of Gabe. It takes literally the entire first series for Percy to be able to move past his PTSD response to actually form a friendship with Mr. D, and even into SoN we get references to Percy's PTSD from Gabe.

And like you said - a ton of folks with ADHD (and autism and all across the neurodivergent spectrum) commonly have PTSD. cPTSD particularly relating to schooling systems is EXTREMELY common. Like, almost guaranteed common at least in America. There is actual research about how the current American school system is set up is inherently traumatizing to neurodivergent students.

I have no idea why Rick temporarily decided to try and claim that demigods didn't get PTSD? It is true that PTSD is kind of random - you can absolutely go through an extremely traumatizing event and not develop PTSD, and/or go through a "less" traumatizing event and get PTSD from that but not the other - so claiming just that Percy and Annabeth didn't get PTSD specifically from Tartarus for ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ reasons isn't unfair to say. But saying that they just can't full-stop, especially when the series already confirmed that's not true, is extremely bizarre. It kind of reminds me of how in Un Natale Mezzosangue, Rick says that demigods can't get covid for some reason? Even though demigods can get sick from other general illnesses? He just randomly decided covid was a "mortals-only illness" which has very bad undertones. Meanwhile in TOA and TSATS immortals can get hayfever. Go figure.

There is also an aspect, particularly relating to the retcons about this, with how the fandom interacts with it. The question asked to Rick to begin with implied that Percy did not already have PTSD in any form, or that Nico wasn't exhibiting PTSD from Tartarus at all. Neither of those things were true - Nico does appear to have some amount of trauma response from Tartarus in HoO and Percy VERY explicitly has PTSD in the first series and further references to it in SoN. But neither get acknowledged by readers much if at all because it doesn't look like stereotypical PTSD - it looks like real PTSD. It also never gets called PTSD by name (because it doesn't make sense to do that! You don't do that in writing most of the time). Their PTSD (and Annabeth's) only gets acknowledged by readers when it uses explicit exact terminology (like Nico in TOA) or stereotypical depictions (TSATS). Which is really a shame! Because Percy's first series PTSD is honestly a really fantastic depiction of PTSD in my opinion! It's subtle and consistent and it highlights a lot of aspects of PTSD that get overlooked beyond "actively having a full-blown panic attack" or the stereotypical "waking up screaming and crying." Particularly for a neurodiverse audience that's more likely to have cPTSD themselves, Percy having those subtler symptoms being highlighted is way more relatable because that's more likely to be the most common symptoms for those readers! And i do very much wish that was touched upon more!

[urmum-lovesme]

Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P13

pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader

summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's ever been is his best friend?

a/n: Hey my Angel Babies! It's been a while since I've written this series and in all honesty I needed a few days to really decide on the next bits of the plot. Any who, here we are. Poor Y/n is dealing with the aftermath of the case, we get some of the group back together which is so cute, and then we have an unexpected crashout.... AND a little moment between two people whatever could that mean hmmm???

warnings: alcohol, drinking, mentions of s/a, vomiting, mentions of community service, crying, emotional turmoil, violent behaviour, injuries, blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The country club buzzed softly with the muted sounds of conversation and clinking glasses, but for Y/N, the world felt oddly distant. She sat with Topper at a small table on the patio, nursing a drink she didn’t particularly want but felt compelled to hold. The ice had melted, condensation pooling around the base of the glass, but she hadn’t taken more than a few sips. Topper, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully as though she might snap at any moment.

“I just can’t believe he won” 

Y/N muttered, her voice low but sharp. She traced the rim of her glass with a trembling finger, her frustration palpable. 

“It doesn’t make sense, Topper. I told the truth- I did everything right.”

Topper leaned forward slightly closer to the table. He studied her, his chest tightening at the sight before him. There was something different about Y/N these days, like the light she carried- the spark that used to make her shine in every room- had been dimmed. He’d seen it start to slip away even now, months later, it was like it was draining out of her completely. He knew what had happened was something impossible to just “get over,” but a part of him had hoped time would start to heal her wounds, that she’d slowly begin to rebuild herself. Instead, he’d watched her retreat inward, her laughter growing quieter, her eyes a little emptier. And it killed him to see someone so full of life now struggling under the weight of something so cruel. Still, he forced a calmness into his voice, 

“I know you did, Y/N,”

Topper exhaled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “You can’t keep going over it like this, it’s not good for you.” 

She shot him a glare, “That’s not helpful.”

“I’m not trying to be helpful,” he shot back as he took a swing of his drink, “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking okay?”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she leant forward speaking to him pointing to herself,  “Oh, so now you’re all thinking I should just get over it? Move on like nothing happe-”

“-that’s not what I’m saying-” Topper began firmly shooting her a stern look, but she cut him off, her voice rising as she crossed her arms, head tilting slightly.

“Then what are you saying, Topper? Because it sure sounds like you’re all tired of me talking about it!”

He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a groan. “No one’s tired of you, Y/N. That’s not what this is about. We’re just—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. 

“We’re worried about you.”

Y/N shook her head, as she lifted her glass to her lips, swallowing some of the cold liquid in the glass, her grip on the glass tight, sitting in silence for a moment, looking at the mint flattened against the side of her glass. 

“Well I’m sorry that I don't know how to sit here and pretend I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” Topper said gently. “You’re allowed to be angry, Y/N.”

You have no idea how I feel

“I am angry.” she said, her voice bitter, her fingers running over the arch of her brow as she spoke.

“I’m so fucking angry I don’t know what to do with it...”

As if on cue, the sound of soft laughter drifted over from a nearby table. Y/N glanced to her left and caught sight of where it came from; a trio seated a few metres away, two girls and a guy. They were whispering to each other, their eyes darting towards her every few seconds. One of the girls leaned in to say something, and the guy snickered, not even bothering to hide his glance in her direction. Y/N’s jaw tightened. Topper’s brow furrowed as he noticed the sudden change in her body language. His gaze shifted to where hers had been moments earlier, landing on the trio and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. She turned back to Topper, but her mind was already elsewhere. The whispers, the glances- they crawled under her skin like insects, itching and burning until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“What?”

She called out suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the patio where they sat. The trio froze, their laughter dying instantly as the girl’s voice rang out. 

“You’ve got something to say? Then say it.”

“Y/N…” Topper spoke out to her, but she ignored him, turning in her seat to face them completely, the group now looking at her in surprise. Her gaze locked on the three of them, and she raised her voice again.

 “No? Nothing? Just gonna sit there and whisper like cunts?”

The two girls exchanged a glance, their cheeks flushing red eyes wide. One of them grabbed her bag, and the other quickly followed suit, not looking back. The guy hesitated, taking a sip of his whiskey, looking like he wanted to say something, but a single glare from Y/N sent him scrambling to his feet. Within moments, the three of them had disappeared inside the club, their table left empty. Y/N rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair with a huff.

Get the fuck out of here

Topper sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “You know they’re probably just bored, right? Gossip’s their only hobby.”

“I don’t care,” Y/N sighed out, “I’m not going to sit here and let them stare at me like I’m some kind of freak show.”

“You kind of just gave them one,” 

He pointed out, grinning slightly. Her lips twitched, a small smile tugging on her lips as her hand came over the table to playfully shove his shoulder. Topper was mid-rant about the absurd price of Malibu boats when Kelce appeared at their table, holding another drink for Y/N. He set it down in front of her on the table, eyeing the girl with a teasing grin. 

“You haven’t even finished that one yet,” he said, nodding toward the mostly untouched glass at her elbow. Y/N barely glanced at it, pushing it to the side with a small smile. 

“I’m not that thirsty Kels.”

Kelce raised a brow, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated groan. “Not thirsty? What happened to you? You used to throw back five of these in, like, an hour.”

Her lips twitched in an almost-smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes as she forced a shrug. 

“Okay well maybe I used to be an alcoholic-”

Kelce cut her off with a loud laugh tumbling past his lips, Topper snorted at her statement, shaking his head. “Right.”

“Uhuh, laugh it up,” 

She muttered, not meeting their eyes. Her gaze flickered briefly to the untouched drink Kelce had brought, but the sight of it sent an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. She hadn’t been drunk since that night. Not once. Even the thought of losing control, of putting herself in a vulnerable state again, made her skin crawl. She’d never let herself feel that powerless again; but she didn’t say any of this to the guys. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest like it might hold her swirling thoughts at bay. Kelce rolled his eyes, 

“Whatever you say”

Y/N ignored him, pulling out her phone and unlocking the screen. She swiped idly through a few notifications, but her thoughts were elsewhere, caught on the gnawing disappointment she didn’t want to admit to herself. Topper noticed the shift immediately, once again; he seemed to have become awfully observant with the girl. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a knowing look, 

“He’s not coming.”

“Huh?”

“Rafe,” Topper said, placing his bottle down onto the table, “He’s not coming, he messaged me earlier.”

Oh

Her stomach dropped, but she forced her expression to stay neutral, brushing it off with a shrug, “That's fine- I didn’t expect him to come.”

Topper’s gaze softened, his voice dipping lower. “He didn’t want to upset you, Y/N. That’s why he didn't tel-.”

“I said it’s fine seriously” 

She said again, this time a little sharper. She flicked her eyes back to her phone, scrolling aimlessly as though she had better things to focus on. But the truth was, she did care. She cared more than she wanted to admit. She hadn’t seen much of Rafe recently, not since everything had gone down in court. He’d been tied up with his community service, his probation, and God knows what else. And she… she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go out as much. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the whispers, the stares, or the fact that there was a possibility she might bump into Cooper, the world outside felt heavier now.

And Rafe not being there- it made it worse.

Kelce and Topper were talking again, their voices buzzing around her like background noise, but Y/N barely registered it. She stared at the drink Kelce had brought her, her reflection rippling faintly on the surface of the amber liquid. It wasn’t just about the alcohol. As Y/N took a sip from her drink, trying to get some semblance of normalcy back, Kelce’s phone buzzed yet again. He glanced at it, his lips curling into a knowing grin. Topper raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Seriously? Another message?”

Kelce rolled his eyes, tapping a quick reply. “Yeah, yeah. What do you want me to do?”

Y/N smirked and bumped her shoulder into the boys sitting next to her playfully. “You want that cookie so bad Kels- you’re whipped.”

“Whipped?!”

 Kelce scoffed, looking up from his phone. “I’m not whipped. I’m... dedicated. You guys wouldn’t understand.”

Topper chuckled, crossing his arms. “Dedicated? You're in deep, man.”

“Oh, come on,” Kelce shot back, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation laughing at the two. “What, you two jealous because I’ve got a steady girl?”

Topper leaned in, grinning. “Jealous? Me? Nah. I’m just shocked you’re getting tied down. I’m living my best life.”

“Best life?” Kelce raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling. “Yeah, right Topper, it’s called avoiding commitment.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “You’re both hopeless if I’m being honest.” As if on cue, both Kelce and Topper turned to her with identical looks of mock offence, and the girl looked momentarily surprised at their unplanned co-ordination.

“Right, because you’re such a relationship guru.” 

Kelce quipped, narrowing his eyes playfully. Topper smirked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the arm rests of his chair, “Okay Ms. Expert, you’ve been dodging relationships like it’s a full-time job.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing despite herself, “Please, I’m just selective. There’s a difference.”

“Selective, huh?” 

Kelce teased, leaning closer. “Is that what we’re calling it?” He exchanged a look with Topper before adding, “because if we’re being honest, you’re not all that selective when it comes to a certain someone.”

Y/N froze for a fraction of a second, her lip pressing together to avoid a smile from breaking out on her lips. She asked, feigning innocence, but her tone lacked conviction,

“I have no idea what you’re you talking about-”

“-Oh, come on, Y/N. We’re not blind, we see the way he looks at you.” Topper grinned at her as he teased her.

“And the way you look at him-” 

Kelce added, smirking as he wiggled his eyes, he cut off his words with a wolf whistle directed at the girl. Y/N groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. 

“You’re both ridiculous. There’s nothing going on. Besides, it's- ... complicated…”

“Complicated?” Kelce raised an eyebrow as he mimed air quotes around the word, shooting her an exaggeratedly sceptical look, “Sounds a lot like you’re avoiding the question.”

“Rafe practically worships the ground you walk on, and you’re out here calling it ‘complicated.’ ”

Topper agreed, he couldn't stop himself from pressing the subject further, his grin softening into something more genuine.

 “Come on, Y/N. You’ve known each other for years. What are you so afraid of?”

Stop

Y/N froze, his words hitting her like a freight train. For once, she didn’t have a quick comeback or a sarcastic quip. Instead, she sat there, fingers lightly drumming against the table as her mind wandered. In this moment she realised he'd never told them- not Topper, not Kelce. They didn’t know about what happened in the hut. About the way he’d pulled away at the last second, leaving her reeling, confused, and- if she were being honest- extremely hurt. She assumed he would’ve told the boys, they were his best friends after all, yet now she was wondering if maybe he didn't tell them because he felt bad for her… did he not want to embarrass her poor judgement? The memory lingered, an ache she couldn’t quite shake. She realised she’d been silent too long when Topper raised an eyebrow at her.

“Y/N?” 

He prompted, his tone softer now, curious. She forced a shrug, reaching for her drink to busy herself. 

“I don’t know, Top,” she said finally, her voice quieter than she intended. “It’s just... complicated.”

Kelce groaned dramatically, throwing his hands down onto the table. “There it is again!” Topper’s eyes stayed on Y/N as he spoke. He wasn’t laughing anymore.

 “I mean, Y/N, Rafe’s not some random guy. It’s Rafe. He’d never hurt you-”

“Okay, enough,” 

Y/N said quickly, waving her hand at them. Her cheeks felt hot, burning, she swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. Topper’s words were meant to reassure her, but they only made her chest tighten.

“This conversation is over.”

Well there goes keeping your cool

The two boys quietened down at the girl’s sudden change in mood, realising thwy may have pushed her too far, but the tension was suddenly cut by Kelce’s phone intensely buzzing against the table again. Kelce laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat. “Phoebe’s coming to join us”

Y/N grabbed her drink, muttering under her breath, “You two are not real.”

The two boys just laughed, as Topper spoke up,“if you start bringing her every time we meet, we’re going to have to start charging a fee.”

Y/N smiled, placing her glass down, “If she can keep you in line, that’s a service I’d pay for.”

Kelce shot her a wink. “Well, don’t worry, Y/N. You’ll always be my number one girl- even if Phoebe’s around.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N teased. “You keep telling yourself that, Kelce.”

The banter continued, easing the tension that had built up over the past few days. It wasn’t a fix-all, but it was a damn good distraction. Kelce cleared his throat, all their glasses now standing empty, his playful grin slipping away as the tone in the air shifted. He leaned forward slightly, his arms resting on the table. Topper and Y/N exchanged a quick glance, both sensing the change in his demeanor.

"Alright, jokes aside," Kelce began, his voice quieter now. "We need to talk."

Topper snorted, raising an eyebrow. "Don’t tell me you’re cheating on her, man."

Kelce shot him a sharp glare. “Shut the fuck up, Topper.”

Y/N raised her brows, her curiosity piqued. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, Kelce hesitated. He sighed, his eyes drifting over the tables around them, before focusing back on Y/N. His usual easygoing nature had completely vanished, replaced by something more solemn, more deliberate.

“I was talking to some guys down at the beach yesterday,” he started slowly, his voice lowering as if he was about to share something important. Y/N leaned in instinctively, feeling the weight of the moment.

“They were saying things… I mean I didn’t believe it at first, but you need to know.” 

He continued, looking down at the table for a second before lifting his gaze to meet hers. Y/N frowned, sensing the heaviness in his words. She could tell it was something serious, “Okay, and what does this have to do with me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral, though her insides churned. Kelce bit the inside of his cheek, clearly uncomfortable, but he pushed on. 

“They were talking about why Cooper left New York last year…”

Y/N’s brow furrowed, her instincts screaming for him to stop, to not go down this road, to just leave it and go home, not to ruin a good night. But she couldn’t stop now. Not when he’d already begun, 

“What do you mean? He said it was family business, didn’t he?”

“Well," Kelce hesitated, his voice lowering further. "Apparently, there were two other girls—different ones, from New York—who accused him of… well, you know.” He paused, searching for the right words. 

“Sexual assault.”

What?

The words hit her like a brick to the chest, knocking the air from her lungs. Y/N’s breath caught, her mind struggling to process what she’d just heard. 

“...what?” 

She questioned, her voice a little shaky as she sucked a breath in, sharper than she intended.Kelce took a deep breath as he continued in a hushed voice. 

“People are saying he left because of it, that he tried to cover it up. His family... they got involved, trying to make it all go away. They left for a while, layed low, and let the whole thing blow over.” He looked at Y/N, gauging her reaction carefully, 

“...I’m just telling you what I heard.”

Y/N sat back in her chair, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if to steady herself. Her pulse quickened, and she could feel her mind reeling. She didn’t want to hear any of this- especially not now, not after everything Cooper had already done. She felt queasy but she couldn't tell if it was from the alcohol or the new found uneasiness. She sat in stunned silence, the words Kelce had just said still reverberating in her mind. How was she supposed to react- what was she supposed to say? The room felt like it was closing in on her, the quiet pressing in on her chest.

“Is it true?”

She finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with disbelief. She met Kelce’s eyes, waiting for an answer she wasn’t sure she could even handle. Kelce didn’t look away. He simply nodded, his expression grim, heavy with the weight of what he was about to confirm. 

“Yeah. I think it is- but I'm not sure.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart racing as she tried to digest the words, but they didn’t sit right with her. It didn’t make sense, yet it did. Everything was starting to fall into place, the way he avoided talking about New York, how he never introduced her to any of his old friends. Her mind was whirling, but there were no words for the storm inside her.

“Look,” Kelce began again, his voice softer now, “I wanted to tell you before you heard it from someone else. You deserve to know.”

. . .

“Yeah, um, thanks,” 

Y/N shook her head, trying to dispel the swirling thoughts that were clouding her mind,  she muttered, the words coming out stiff. She wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for the information, or for simply being the one to say it instead of randomly overhearing it, which would have made her feel even worse. She pushed back her chair, the scrape of it against the floor startling her in the sudden stillness of the moment. 

“I think I’m going to head back-” she said, her voice faltering slightly as she fumbled for an excuse, “-I just remembered I promised my mom I’d help her with the flower arrangements for her charity event this Sunday,” she added, half to herself.

Topper and Kelce exchanged a look, both of them knowing full well she was lying, but neither of them called her out on it. They could see she wasn’t okay-  she wasn’t even close to being okay, not for a while- but this wasn’t something they could push her on.

“Come on, I’ll drop you home,” 

Topper said gently, standing up and offering her a small, understanding smile. Y/N shook her head, though the invitation was warm. 

“You don’t have to-”

“Nah, c’mon. I don’t want to be the third wheel with Kelce and Phoebe anyways.”

He was already moving toward her, a playful grin now taking over his features as he cut her off teasingly. Y/N gave him a half-smile, nodding her head as she stood up. 

“Thanks, Top.” 

She turned toward Kelce, who was watching her quietly, his expression serious. She walked over and pulled him into a brief hug, trying to convey something unspoken through the gesture. When she pulled away, he looked at her, his expression softening with concern. He spoke, his voice much quieter now.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you-” 

“-No, no, you didn’t upset me. I’m glad you told me.”

Y/N shook her head quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Kelce nodded, but he still looked worried. She nodded, back at him as she continued,

 “Don’t worry about me, Kels. Enjoy the evening with your girl. Tell her I said hi.”

He gave her a small, understanding smile, then shot a glance at Topper. “Alright. Well, if you need anything.”

Y/N managed a faint smile before turning to Topper, who had his arm outstretched for her, a silent offer of support. She slipped her arm through his, feeling the weight of the evening starting to take its toll. Topper wrapped a friendly arm around her waist, giving her a gentle pat on the back. 

“Let’s get you home.”

She gave him a faint nod, her heart heavy with everything she had just learned, everything she had yet to process. The thought of Cooper, of what he’d done not only to her- but to other women? It made the world around her feel dizzy. As they left the country club, Y/N’s mind was miles away, Topper’s soft rambling blurring in her ears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N sat on the cold bathroom floor, her back pressed against the wall, her head buried in her hands. She hadn’t even realised how fast the tears had started to fall until they were dripping down her face, mixing with the bitter taste of the vomit she had just expelled. Her stomach twisted in knots, the disgust still gnawing at her insides, even after everything had settled.

Fuck

She knew it was stupid to let a rumour, a whisper in the wind, make her feel so fucking broken. She wasn’t even sure if it was true. Yet somehow, it amplified everything that had been building up in her since the trial. The emptiness. The uncertainty. Cooper’s smirk still etched into her mind after the verdict was announced, and the weight of his actions felt like a suffocating fog that wouldn’t lift, no matter how many breaths she took.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to scrub away the aftertaste of bile and despair. Her phone buzzed on the floor beside her, sending a shiver through her. The sound was piercing in the stillness of the bathroom, and for a moment, she just stared at it, willing it to stop. It buzzed again, the screen lighting up with a name she hadn't expected to see,

Rafey

Her stomach tightened at the thought of him. She hadn’t seen him in days, not properly- only in fleeting moments between his community service shifts, or anger management classes. He’d been keeping his distance, but she couldn’t deny how much she missed him. It was... complicated. Everything was so fucking complicated.

She eyed the phone cautiously, her thumb hovering over the screen as she debated whether or not to open the message. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hear from him. She did. But with everything that had happened, with the weight of what she was processing, she wasn’t sure she could handle one more thing on her plate right now.

Rafey  :  You okay? 

Rafey  :  You haven't replied to my texts.

The message was simple enough, but the way he asked, so direct and concerned, sent a ripple of warmth through her chest. But she hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to drag him further into this mess. What would he even say if he knew what was really going on in her head? She almost didn’t respond. But something about his message kept her glued to the screen.The phone buzzed again, snapping her from her thoughts.

Rafey  :  Just want to know you’re okay?

Y/N stared at her phone, her fingers hovering over the screen, unsure of what to type next. It felt like everything had been so difficult lately, and Rafe's message was the first real connection she'd had in days.

Angel  :  I’m good. 

Angel  :  Helping mom organise some stuff

She read the message, pressing her lips together as she waited for him to reply. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a small bridge between them.

Rafey  :  That’s good

Angel  :  How was your service?

Rafey  :  Don’t wanna talk about it 

Rafey  :  Tired of that shit.

Y/N sat back against the toilet seat, her heart heavy with guilt. If he’d never gotten involved in what happened between her and Cooper, he wouldn’t be stuck with this sentence. He wouldn’t have to endure the endless hours of community service, the stress, the constant reminders of his worthlessness from his father. The mess she'd dragged him into. She felt a sting in her chest.

Angel  :  I’m sorry

Rafey  :  Don’t be

Y/N sat there, her chest tight, as the seconds ticked by. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard again, and without thinking, her fingers moved on their own, typing out the words she’d been holding back for so long.

Angel  : I miss you

Angel  :  I miss you so much

She stared at the message after sending it, her heart pounding in panic after she hit the send button. The little dots showed he was typing something.

Then they stopped.

She frowned, feeling the conversation slip back into that tense silence again, her eyes were stuck to the lit up screen of her phone, begging him to respond but nothing came. She could feel the lump slowly rising in her throat again.

No, no, no, no-

But a beat passed, and then suddenly his reply came.

Rafey  :  I miss you too angel

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She smiled, a small, sad smile, as she read his words. There was something so simple and yet so meaningful in them. Her fingers hovered again, wanting to say something else but unsure.

Then the phone buzzed again.

Rafey  :  Miss you every day

Y/N stared at the screen, she could feel the weight of the unspoken between them. She wanted to respond, to keep the conversation going, but for now, all she could do was sit there and stare at the screen, her smile turning sad as her mind drew her back to what Kelce had told her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was starting to set, casting a soft golden hue over the apartment as Y/N moved around the kitchen. The scent of garlic and herbs filled the air as she arranged plates and silverware on the table, her hands moving with a kind of routine that helped calm her racing thoughts. She wasn’t sure why she’d decided to invite the guys over. Maybe it was the tension of the past week- maybe she just wanted something normal, something that felt like a distraction from the storm in her head.

She placed the last glass on the table and stepped back to survey the scene. The table was set simply- nothing extravagant, just a warm and inviting arrangement. Y/N ran a hand through her hair, sighing lightly as she wiped her hands on her pink apron. She could hear the faint hum of the oven in the background, the dinner nearly ready. 

As she adjusted the napkins, her phone buzzed from the counter. She glanced over at it, catching the name flashing across the screen. 

Young Rich & Sexy 

T-man  :  You’re not gonna believe it Y/N

Kels  :  We’re already on our way

T-man  :  Left 10 minutes ago

Angel  :  What? 

Angel  :  You guys are early???

Angel  :  Now that’s a miracle

T-man  :  We decided to give you a surprise

 Rafey  :  I'm 10 minutes away too

Angel  :  Rafe don’t text and drive, please

Rafey  :  I’m a professional

Kels  :  and me

Angel  :  …

Kels  :  fr?

Angel  :  boy idgaf

Kels  :  right 

T-man  :  he’s literally swerving as we speak 

Kels  :  anyway

Kels  :  HELL YEAH GIMME SOME FOOD

Angel  :  FATTYYYY

T-man  :  You two need to stop spending all your time on TikTok

T-man  : You’re losing brain cells

Y/N couldn’t help but smile. She set the phone down, looking at the table once more. There was something almost surreal about it—this dinner, this small moment of peace amid the chaos. She hadn’t seen Rafe much lately with his community service, and there were still so many unspoken things between them, but having him here tonight felt like a small step forward. She checked the oven one more time and then hurried to tidy up a bit more- just a few stray dishes, a stray fork here and there. She didn’t want to be caught off-guard when the guys arrived.

Y/N heard the doorbell ring and quickly wiped her hands on her apron, making her way to the front door with a small smile. She hadn’t realised how much she needed the company until now. The sound of laughter and chatter from the group of friends outside was already enough to ease some of the tension that had been lingering in her chest for days. When she swung open the door, there was Kelce, grinning like an idiot. He immediately leaned in with a playful wink and said, his voice smooth as ever,

“What’s cooking, good looking?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, her head tilting back slightly as she placed her hands on her hips, giving him an unimpressed look. Before she could respond, Topper walked in right behind him, his smirk matching the playful tone in the room. 

“He’s been practicing that for the past ten minutes.”

Kelce playfully punched Topper in the arm, “Not cool, man, that was supposed to stay between us!”

Y/N shook her head, still smiling, as she stepped aside to let them in. They all trooped inside, Kelce and Topper bickering lightheartedly, but Y/N’s attention flickered past them to Rafe, who had been trailing behind the others. He was standing in the doorway now, his eyes meeting hers in that brief, still moment.

. . .

. . .

The space between them felt charged, like everything was suddenly up in the air, neither of them sure how to step back into this dynamic they’d shared before everything had gone wrong. But Rafe was the first to break the silence, his voice quiet but warm.

“Hey.”

“Hey” Y/N replied, her voice soft, a little unsure. She stepped aside to let him in, the faintest flutter in her chest at the sight of him.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

Rafe’s gaze softened, and he nodded, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand as they stood close together. “Yeah. Just... been a long week. Glad to be here.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten at the sight of him. She didn’t know why but without thinking, she stepped forward, and before either of them could second-guess it, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

Oh-

Rafe hesitated for a second before his arms enveloped her, pulling her in close.

For a long, quiet moment, neither of them said anything. It was just the two of them, standing there in the doorway, holding each other. She could feel his breath on her hair, his arms a little tighter around her than usual. Neither of them was in a rush to let go, neither wanted to break this simple connection they’d been craving for so long.

“Cmon Y/n, a man's gotta eat!” 

Seriously?

Kelces voice rang out with an exasperated sigh. Reluctantly, Y/N pulled away slightly, looking up at Rafe with a smile as they walked through the house to the guys in the kitchen . Y/N rolled her eyes, smirking at Kelce. 

“I’m not making anyone wait. Go sit down your ungrateful ass down and I’ll bring everything out in a sec.”

Kelce immediately walked off from the kitchen into the connected dining room causing the girl to let out an amused scoff as he dropped into one of the chairs, his movements as if he’d just arrived at the world’s greatest feast. Topper spoke,

“Alright well, I’m ready to eat my weight in whatever you’ve got cooking.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at his words, the boy carrying off some plates with him as he left. She headed to the stove to check on the food one last time, feeling a little lighter with each passing moment. As she adjusted the heat, she heard Rafe’s footsteps behind her. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the counter, watching her.

“You did all this yourself?” 

He asked, his voice almost low, as if the question was both casual and somehow loaded at the same time. Y/N shrugged, trying to play it off cool. 

“It’s no big deal. I like cooking.”

Rafe smiled, his eyes scanning the spread she’d prepared. There was something about the way he looked at her—an appreciation, a recognition that she was doing this for them, for him. She wasn’t sure if it was the tiredness from the day or the sheer comfort of their usual rapport, but her heart seemed to settle a little.

“Well, it smells amazing…” 

He said, his voice steady. Y/N caught the way his gaze lingered on the dishes, eyes narrowing slightly. It wasn’t just the usual appreciation. No, this was different. Rafe’s eyes flicked from one pan to the other and then back to the food with a subtle sense of recognition, like he was trying to place the scent.

“Wait-”

Is that. . . ?

 He trailed off, unsure whether to finish the question. Y/N gave a small nod of her head, trying to remain casual, though she could see the look of disbelief creeping into his expression. 

“Um, yeah... I thought you could use some right now.” 

She shrugged. Rafe stared at her for a moment, lips slightly parted, as though he couldn’t quite understand how she’d known. The dish- a comforting, aromatic smell with a richness that he hadn’t realised he missed- was something his mom used to make all the time. Something familiar and warm, a little taste of home he hadn’t realised he'd been longing for. It had always been the kind of meal she’d cook when he needed grounding, when everything else in his life felt too unpredictable.

“How- how did you remember that?” 

I remember everything you've ever told me about you

He asked, his voice almost incredulous, his gaze locking onto hers as though she’d just hung the stars in the sky.

Y/N smiled softly, a touch of warmth spreading through her chest. “When you’d talk about your mum sometimes, you mentioned it. I don't know... it felt like the right thing to do.”

Rafe blinked, clearly moved by the simplicity of her gesture. It wasn’t just the food- it was the thought behind it. The fact that she’d listened, that she’d paid attention, and remembered the small things about him, things he hadn’t even realised he still held dear. They brushed against each other lightly, his hand grazing hers where it rested on the counter, the contact innocent enough, but it lingered in a way that made her pulse quicken. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Their shoulders brushed again, a small touch that felt intimate  Before she could think too much about it, Y/N gestured towards the table. 

“Let’s get them fed before Kelce blows up.”

Rafe chuckled, his gaze softening as he gave her a nod, “Lead the way.”

As the others settled into the dining room, the atmosphere lightened, the earlier tension of the week drifting away. Yet, for Y/N and Rafe, there was something more, something unspoken. It was the way they looked at each other when no one else was paying attention, the way their hands nearly brushed again, but neither of them reached out.

The plates were empty now, save for a few crumbs and remnants of sauce, the table was littered with empty glasses that had once held wine and water. The soft clink of ice in glasses and the occasional burst of laughter filled the room, creating an atmosphere that felt warm and easy, like the kind of evening that could stretch on forever. Y/N leaned back in her chair, a satisfied hum slipping from her lips as she glanced around the table. The food had been a success, and the company even more so. Rafe sat across from her, his usual intense, guarded expression softened by the easy chatter that had flowed between them throughout the night. He was laughing now, his head tipped back, eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine amusement. Topper, ever the troublemaker, had just finished cracking a joke, and they all burst into laughter. Once the laughter died down, Rafe, grinning, sat back with his drink, his eyes on Y/N, a playful glint in his eyes.

"You know, I still remember when you tried to make that lasagna when we were kids," Rafe said, a smirk forming on his lips. Y/N furrowed her brows, not sure where he was going with this. She blinked at him, 

“What are you talking about?"

"Come on, you were like... what, 11? And you insisted you could cook for everyone," Rafe teased, leaning forward slightly. "You were so proud of it. You said you were going to make a ‘real’ lasagna like the ones your mom made."

Y/N’s eyes widened in realisation. "Oh my god, don’t remind me. That thing was so bad" she laughed, rubbing her forehead at the memory. "It was burnt on the edges and gooey in the middle, and I made everyone eat it anyway."

"I can’t believe made us eat it" 

Topper chimed in, grinning wickedly. "And I’m pretty sure you cried when I said it was... well... an acquired taste." He burst into laughter, and Y/N shot him a playful glare. Kelce spoke up placing his glass back down onto the table, 

“Man you said it was shit” The guys laughed at Y/n as she shook her head at them, a wide smile on her lips. She protested, her voice light-hearted,

"I was trying to impress you guys!" 

Well you impressed me

Rafe spoke up, tone softening. "And I’ve never seen you so determined about anything in my life. Even if it did end up looking like-."

"-Hey! I was 11," she said, throwing her hands up in mock defence as she rolled her eyes. "Give me a break."

"Honestly, I don’t know how you thought that burnt mess was a ‘proper’ lasagna," Topper said, still chuckling. "But you were all in so, points for effort."

Rafe grinned, then added, "But the funniest part was that we all ate it because you asked so nicely. Even when we were pretty sure we’d end up with food poisoning."

Y/N laughed, her cheeks slightly flushed from the embarrassment of the memory, but there was something comforting about the way they reminisced, as though they were all back in that childhood space, where nothing mattered more than getting through the day with each other.

"You guys are lucky I never tried cooking again after that," she said with a smirk, crossing her arms. "It was years before I attempted to make anything again."

"Well, thank God," Kelce teased, "or we’d be stuck with another shitty lasagna."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face didn’t fade. "Yeah, yeah," she said, her voice warm, almost fond. She looked at the empty plates on the table and started thinking about how she should start clearing the table when Rafe suddenly stood up, grabbing his empty plate.

"No, no, leave it," 

Y/N called out, quickly protesting against his actions. "I’ll do them later. Seriously, you’re my guest, Rafe. Let me do it."

But Rafe wasn’t having it. He grabbed another plate, shaking his head as he stacked them up, lifting them in his hands. "I’m not letting you do it by yourself" he said, voice firm.

"Rafael Alexander Cameron, sit down right now." 

That was hot...

Shut up

Y/N’s words were sharp, and she stood up from where she sat opposite him, hands on her hips as she stared at him with a small frown on her brow. For a second, Rafe just stared at her, clearly amused. But before he could argue back, Topper and Kelce burst out laughing from the living room.

"Oooohhh, full government name, man!" 

Topper cackled, leaning back in her chair. Rafe shot him a glare, his mouth twitching into a grin despite himself. "Seriously?" he muttered, but he was clearly trying not to laugh too. Kelce, still snickering, raised his glass and chimed in, 

"She’s not messing around Rafe."

Y/N shot a playful smile over to Kelce, before turning back to Rafe, arms folded. "Sit. Down. You’re my guest, and I’m doing the dishes. End of story."

Rafe rolled his eyes, but there was no arguing with her. He slowly sank back down into his seat with a small sigh, his eyes never leaving hers. "Fine," he muttered. 

"But next time, I’m taking the plates."

Y/N grinned, victorious. "Next time, I’ll make sure we have pizza, just so you can put the boxes in the trash."

Topper and Kelce both groaned. "That’s cheating!" Kelce said with a laugh, dramatically throwing his hands up.

"I don’t care," Y/N shrugged, grinning at them. Rafe leaned back in his chair, watching her as she turned back to the sink. "You’re lucky I like you," he said quietly, though there was a teasing edge to his voice. Y/N glanced over her shoulder at him, shaking her head.

"Don’t make me regret letting you eat my food."

"Too late for that," Rafe teased, catching her eye with a smile that made her heart skip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time had slipped by in comfortable conversation, the laughter still lingering in the air as Topper and Kelce made their way to the front door, grabbing their jackets. Y/N lingered in the hallway, watching them, feeling contentment. The night had been easy, almost like old times, but now that it was winding down, there was a small sense of unease creeping in.

Did I shut the window in my room. . . ?

"Thanks again for dinner, Y/N," Kelce said with a grin, his hand already on the door handle. 

"You’ve been promoted to best cook I know- well, next to my mom, of course."

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing. "Uh-huh, sure. It was pretty simple, but I’ll take the compliment."

"Don’t be modest," Topper added, giving her a playful wink. "That was a five-star meal, seriously if you ever invest in a restaurant, let me know. I’ll be your first customer."

Y/N laughed again, but she felt something tugging in her chest. The house was starting to feel a bit quieter, emptier now that her parents had gone on a business trip and the boys were getting ready to leave. She shifted on her feet, eyes flicking to Rafe, who was standing by the couch, casually leaning against the wall, arms folded. As Kelce and Topper said their goodbyes, Y/N hesitated for a moment, then turned to Rafe. She could feel her pulse quicken, though she wasn’t sure why.

Ask him-

"Hey, uh…" she started, trying to sound casual. "D’you wanna stay a little longer? It’s just I- don’t really like being home alone…"

Rafe’s expression softened immediately, his eyes flicking from her face to the door, then back to her. "Yeah, if you want me to, Angel." He sent her a small smile, Y/N’s chest warmed at the words. She offered him a small, grateful smile. 

"Yes please."

Kelce and Topper exchanged a quick look as they made their way to the door, and then they both turned back to her with their signature playful energy.

"Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, yeah?" Topper grinned, giving Rafe a wink before he turned over to Y/n. 

Dick

"Catch you later, Y/N."

Kelce followed suit, pulling her into a quick, friendly hug patting Rafe on the back with a suggestive look, flashing him a teasing grin as he pulled away. As the door closed behind them, the silence settled in. The atmosphere shifted a little, the weight of the quiet filling the space, but it felt different with Rafe still there. She turned to him, her voice softer now. 

"Thanks for staying Rafey."

Rafe just gave her a warm, easy smile, the house felt quieter now, but not in a bad way. She glanced over at Rafe, who was already heading towards the kitchen, his casual stance making him look right at home.

"Come on," she said, "Let’s get these dishes out of the way before I lose my motivation."

Rafe smirked, following her into the kitchen, his hands already moving to gather up the empty plates. "You’re just trying to avoid doing the hard part by getting me to do it,. Is that why you asked me to stay hmm?"

Y/N chuckled as she began rinsing the plates, the sound of water running filling the space. "Maybe. I’ve never been great with dishes. But you know what? I think I deserve a break after cooking for you guys."

"Fair point." 

He set to work drying the plates with a towel, his movements efficient but relaxed. It was strange- this kind of peaceful, mundane domesticity- something she hadn’t realised she missed. They were just two people, doing something as simple as washing dishes, but in a way it felt comforting, grounding.

"So, how’s your week been?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him as she wiped down a plate. "Any trouble with the um... community service?"

Rafe sighed, lifting a plate to dry it with exaggerated care. "It’s shit," he muttered, half-smiling. "I’d rather be anywhere else."

"... it’s better than sitting in jail?"

That was the worse thing you could've said

She smiled softly at that, her gaze lingering on him. There was something about his frustration, the way it came out in small bursts like this, that made her realise how much he had to give up—how much he was changing, just to make things right. Rafe looked up from his work, his eyes meeting hers for a moment, softening. 

"Yeah. I guess. I mean, you know, it helps that I have a good... um, a good reason to push through."

Why did you say that!?

Y/N’s stomach fluttered slightly at his words, her scrubbing at the dishes slowing down. She wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion from the night but there was something about the way he looked at her, like maybe they were on the same page for the first time in a while.

The quiet continued, comfortable, with the soft sounds of clinking dishes and the low hum of the kitchen light. She was focusing on the task at hand, but she couldn’t help stealing glances at Rafe. He was standing so close, just in his own element, drying plates and listening to her talk. 

"Thanks for sticking around," she said suddenly, her voice quieter now. "I know this is probably the last thing you wanted to do… stay at my place and help me with dishes."

Rafe met her gaze, his smile softening, and he shook his head. "No- it’s... nice. I like being here, with you. You make it... feel normal again, you know?"

I wish it was normal again

I wish it was normal again

Y/N paused, his words settling between them. She wasn’t sure why, but the simplicity of them hit her harder than she expected and she turned her back to him for a moment, pretending to scrub a dish a little harder than necessary.

"Yeah," she murmured, "I get that."

The rhythm of washing and drying dishes continued, the sounds of water running and plates clinking blending into the background. But Y/N couldn’t shake the thought that had been swirling in her mind for hours now. She couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine, like Rafe was just... okay with all of this. 

With her.

She placed the plate in her hands down a little harder than necessary, her breath catching for a second before she spoke up, her voice small.

“Rafe, I... I’m sorry I pulled you into all of this.” 

She glanced over at him, her chest tight as she tried to gather the right words. 

“I mean, this whole thing with Cooper and then taking him to court. And now you’re stuck doing this shitty community service because of me. I—" She shook her head, feeling that familiar weight of guilt press on her shoulders. "If I could go back, I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have made you a part of any of this.”

There was a beat of silence, and her heart hammered in her chest. It felt like she had to say it, though. To get it out there, to finally apologise for everything she felt responsible for. But before she could continue, Rafe cut her off, his voice firm, but full of that comfort he always seemed to give her without even trying.

“Hey, c'mon- don’t do this” 

He said, looking at her with a soft but serious expression. He set the plate he was drying back down and stepped a little closer to her, reaching out gently to touch her arm. 

“It’s not your fault Y/n. None of this is on you.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her voice catching as she looked up at him, feeling the weight of the emotions she couldn’t quite keep in check. 

“But-”

“-No” 

Rafe interrupted, his eyes steady as he held her gaze. “Listen to me. This? It’s not on you. I’m doing this because I have to, yeah, it's a little shitty but I’m not doing it because of you, or because of some mess you dragged me into. I’m doing it because I want to make things right.”

She could feel her throat tighten, the words she had wanted to say now trapped. “I just feel like-"

“Y/N,” Rafe said her name softly, stepping even closer now, his voice lower and more intense. 

“Stop blaming yourself. I don’t want you to carry this weight. It’s not yours to carry.”

I know

She felt a lump form in her throat, the reassurance she’d been needing finally coming from him. She wanted to protest, but she knew, deep down, that he was right. “I’m sorry,” she whispered after a pause, trying to blink away the tears that had gathered at the edges of her eyes. 

“I just... I don’t want you to hate me for this.”

Hate you- ?

Rafe shook his head, his hand coming up to her face, thumb brushing lightly over the tear that had dropped down her cheek. 

"I could never hate you." 

His voice was low, steady, and certain, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Y/N allowed herself to let go of that constant worry gnawing at her.

“You don’t have to apologise for anything, okay? I’m here for you. And I always will be.”

The sincerity in his voice hit her harder than she expected, and for a moment, she just stood there, letting his words sink in. The quiet between them was heavy with emotion, and all Y/N could do was nod, fighting the urge to bury her face in his chest, but holding herself back for fear of overwhelming him. Rafe took a slow step back, giving her a little space, but his eyes never left hers. 

“I’m serious, you don’t owe me an apology. We’re in this together, yeah?”

Y/N managed a small smile, her chest loosening just a fraction. “Yeah... together.”

“Good,” Rafe said, offering her that same soft smile. “Now cut out the distractions and finish those dishes”

She rolled her eyes, smile tugging at her lips. The last of the dishes were finally put away, and Y/N let out a small sigh of relief, wiping her hands on the dish towel. She turned to the table, where the remnants of their meal still sat- half-empty glasses, scattered napkins, a few crumbs left behind from the bread.

"Okay," she said, glancing at Rafe. "I'm going to move onto the table now."

Rafe, who had already started wiping his hands on a towel, nodded, shooting her a small, knowing smile. "Alright. I’ll be back in a minute. I need to use the bathroom."

Y/N gave him a quick nod, watching him as he turned to head out of the kitchen. She heard his footsteps retreating down the hall, the sound of the bathroom door closing gently behind him. For a moment, she stood there, looking at the table, unsure of where to start. It was always the little tasks that seemed the most mundane but were oddly soothing to her.

She grabbed the dishes one by one, stacking them up on the table, looking around at the surface deciding what to do next. The quiet of the house wrapped around her, but it didn’t feel heavy this time. Rafe’s presence lingered like a quiet warmth, and she found herself smiling softly, letting her thoughts drift. Y/N’s fingers paused in their movements as her phone buzzed from the edge of the table. She glanced over at it, instinctively reaching for it, her eyes immediately narrowing at the name flashing across the screen. 

Hale. 

Huh?

The lawyer who had represented her in the case against Cooper. She picked up the phone, her heart already starting to race as she unlocked it and opened the message. Her thumb hovered over the screen, reading the text in the dim light.

Y/N,  

I hope this message finds you well, though I wish I were writing under better circumstances. After careful consideration and discussions with your parents, they’ve expressed that it’s best I’m the one to share this news with you directly.  

Following a thorough review of the case and new information that has recently come to light, it’s become clear there were significant irregularities during the trial. Most notably, we’ve discovered that a considerable number of the jurors were brought in from New York- where the Miller family has influence. This raises serious concerns about the impartiality of the verdict, as it suggests the process may have been compromised.  

Additionally, two individuals from New York have come forward with allegations against Cooper, detailing experiences eerily similar to what you endured. Their testimony, along with authenticating evidence, suggests a pattern of behaviour that casts further doubt on the fairness of the original trial.  

With this in mind, we are formally requesting the reopening of your case. While this decision is not one I take lightly, I strongly believe that these new developments deserve the full weight of legal examination.  

I understand how overwhelming and painful this must be to hear, and I want to assure you that I will do everything I can to assure we get a verdict that is right. I will be in touch with updates as soon as I have them. In the meantime, please don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything, whether it’s clarity on the process or just someone to talk to.  

You’ve already shown so much strength, Y/N, and I deeply regret that you’re being asked to find it once more.  

Warm regards,  

Charlotte Hale

Her heart pounded in her chest, a bitter mix of confusion and a deep-seated frustration swirling together. Y/N’s fingers trembled as she placed the phone back on the table, her gaze lingering on the screen as if she couldn’t fully process what she had just read. The words felt like a slap, a reminder of everything that had been taken from her. The case that she had fought so hard for, the justice she had convinced herself was possible, was now wrapped up in layers of corruption and bias she couldn’t ignore.

The case reopened? 

Her heart hammered in her chest as the anger began to rise. It wasn’t just disbelief now. It was fury- sharp and biting, gnawing at her insides. She had poured everything into this, had trusted the system, trusted the people she thought wanted to do right. And now this.

The verdict wasn’t fair?

She had been so close. So close to getting the closure she needed. And now… now, she didn’t even know if she could trust anything anymore.

This isn’t fair 

Her mind kept replaying the way Cooper had walked out of that courtroom, free, smug, like it had all been a game to him. And now, this. The truth. It felt like a cruel joke- one that she had been too naïve to see through. The weight of the phone on the table seemed to mock her now, a symbol of how little control she had in this whole mess. Y/N’s chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, her mind a storm of thoughts she couldn’t process fast enough. Anger burned through her veins, a fire that had been simmering for so long, and now it was finally exploding. She could feel it- hot, blistering rage, every part of her body trembling with it.

She stared at the phone, her vision blurring, anger twisting in her chest like a fist. It was all a setup. All of it. She had been the fool, who thought she would win the case because he was being truthful. Without thinking, her hand shot out, grabbing the glass in front of her. The crystal was cold and smooth in her grip. She squeezed it so hard her fingers burned, knuckles white. 

In one furious motion, she hurled it across the room.

The glass shattered against the wall with a sickening crack, fragments scattering like sharp confetti. The sound of it felt almost like a release. 

But it wasn’t enough.

Her breath hitched as she turned, her gaze wild, she grabbed the next thing within reach- a plate, its ceramic cold and fragile under her fingertips. With a force she didn’t know she had, she threw it, sending it hurtling toward the floor where it shattered in a loud, jarring explosion. The sound echoed through the room like the breaking of everything she had worked for, everything she had trusted.

The anger surged again, unstoppable. Her hand shot out once more, knocking over her wine glass, sending the red liquid splashing across the table, staining the cloth beneath. She didn’t care. She was shaking, tears hot and angry as they rolled down her face, mixing with the fury that refused to dissipate. She knocked over another plate, hearing it shatter on impact. She felt no relief. She was beyond that now. 

More glass. 

More plates. 

Her hands were raw from the force with which she threw each object, but it didn’t matter. She could hear the cracks and shattering as the world she thought she knew disintegrated in front of her, and the only thing she could do was rage against it.

“WHAT THE FUCK-” 

She screamed out as she sent another glass flying, this one hitting the wall with such force it burst into tiny, jagged pieces, some of the hitting against her clothing.

She could hardly breathe anymore. Her heart pounded, a wild drumbeat in her chest, she wiped at the tears blurring her vision, angry that she was even crying. But the weight of it, the crushing feeling of being tricked, being lied to, was too much.

The table and the floor surrounding it was now a mess of broken glass and scattered debris. Her hands trembled, her pulse racing, but she was still moving- throwing, smashing, letting it all spill out in the only way she knew how.

Her breathing was frantic, her chest tightening as her body shook with the force of the emotions that had been building up. This wasn’t just about Cooper. This wasn’t just about the case. It was about feeling small, helpless, like nothing she did could ever change the outcome. She was drowning in it.

The sound of crashing glass echoed through the house, a juxtaposition to the tranquility that lingered moments before. Rafe’s head snapped up from the bathroom doorway as the sharp noises rang in his ears. His heartbeat quickened, and before he could even process it, his feet were carrying him down the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The sight that greeted him when he reached the dining room made him stop dead in his tracks.

Shit

Y/N stood in the middle near the table, surrounded by the wreckage of shattered glass, ceramic and scattered debris. Her breathing was ragged, each intake of air coming in harsh, shallow bursts. She was shaking, her hands trembling at her sides, the furious anger that had consumed her only moments before now replaced with a hollow, devastated kind of exhaustion.

For a long moment, Rafe stood frozen in the doorway, his heart racing. He had never seen her like this- there was nothing left of the composed girl he’d seen all night. He stepped forward cautiously, his footsteps tentative as he moved through the mess of broken glass and spilled wine. 

“Y/N…” 

Talk to me please

He called softly, but she didn’t react, her gaze fixed on the floor as she stood amidst the destruction, the room echoing with the remnants of her rage. She didn’t even seem to register him at first, her body trembling uncontrollably, her face a mask of anger and pain. Rafe’s stomach clenched at the sight, his instincts kicking in. He didn’t even think about it as he moved forward to her. Slowly, her gaze lifted to meet his, her tear-filled eyes searching his face as if she were seeing him for the first time. 

“Everything was a set up” 

She choked out, the words broken and uneven as she sobbed. Rafe’s breath caught,

 “What do you mean… what’s going on?”

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she took a shaky step forward, stumbling slightly before she collapsed into him. His arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her to his chest, and she melted against him, the sobs wracking her frame.

“Y/N, talk to me” 

Rafe urged, his voice tight with confusion and concern. He could feel the shaking in her body, the way her entire being seemed to tremble with everything she was holding in. 

“What do you mean it was a set up angel?”

“The case… The jury… It was all rigged, Rafe… They knew Cooper’s family… It wasn’t fair…” 

She tried to speak but could barely get the words out. Her voice cracked, and her tears soaked into the fabric of his clothing, her body trembling violently as if the weight of it all was too much to hold. As Y/N continued to cling to him, Rafe’s gaze dropped to her hands. The sight made his stomach turn- her palms were covered in small, jagged cuts, blood trickling from the shards of glass that had embedded themselves in her skin.

“Shit” 

He muttered, his voice low with urgency but he didn’t react to his words. Rafe didn’t hesitate. Slowly, carefully, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her body against his chest, her shaky form against him. She didn’t fight it; she just let him move her, her head resting against his shoulder, her sniffles filling the otherwise quiet air.

“C’mon” 

He mumbled, gently guiding them to the kitchen. He sat her down on the counter, his hands on her waist as he steadied her. She looked at him, eyes still red and puffy, but she didn’t say anything. There were no words left in her, just the quiet sound of her sobs and the air between them. Rafe turned on the tap, running water over his hands, the cool stream contrasting sharply with the heat in the room. He grabbed a rag, wringing it out before gently dabbing it against her hands. The wet cloth was soothing against the cuts, and he could tell by the way she flinched slightly that it hurt, but she didn’t protest.

The silence between them was heavy, only broken by the soft sound of her sniffling as he carefully wiped the blood from her skin. He worked in silence, his focus entirely on her, on making sure she was okay, even though he didn’t have the answers to the mess she was feeling.

He stood between her open legs, his body close enough that he could hear every hitch in her breath, every tremble that ran through her limbs. His hands were gentle but firm as he continued to clean the cuts on her palms, brushing away the remaining chips of glass with careful fingers.

“I’m sorry” 

Why are you sorry?

She whispered suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was raw, cracked, and her eyes were glazed over, lost in something he couldn’t reach, and they were locked on his hands, orking against her sore palms. Rafe shook his head, not looking up at her. 

“It’s okay.”

No its not there's something wrong with me

She didn’t respond, just continued to sniffle quietly, the tears still slipping down her cheeks. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the unease swirling in his chest. He focused on her hands, on the delicate, small movements of his fingers as he finished cleaning them, his thumb gently brushing against the skin of her wrist. Y/N’s eyes met his gaze filled with so many emotions- grief, anger, exhaustion.

When he finished, he put the rag down, his hands resting lightly on her knees, his fingers gently brushing over her skin. For a moment, they just stayed like that- silent, still- before he lifted his eyes to hers, his expression soft. 

“Better?”

She nodded slowly, her gaze shifting away from him, though her hands were still in her lap, the cuts visible, but the bleeding stopped for now.

“Thank you.”

She said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. Rafe gave her a small nod, he wanted to say more, wanted to tell her everything would be okay, but he knew those words wouldn’t be enough, it wasn’t a promise he could make. Instead, he let the silence hang between them, letting her breathe, letting her process everything that had happened.

Yet deep down, he promised himself that no matter what, he’d be there for her- just like before. 

Rafe set the damp cloth down on the counter, his fingers brushing against her knee as he took a step back. He looked at her, still perched on the counter, her hands now bandaged but trembling slightly in her lap. Her eyes were downcast, the weight of the evening still pulling her shoulders down like she was carrying it all alone.

“Let’s get you upstairs- you need to rest…”

He said gently, his voice soft but firm. Y/N shook her head weakly, her gaze flickering toward the mess in the dining room. 

“I need to… to clean up. I can’t—”

I can't believe I did that. . .

“-hey,” Rafe cut her off, stepping closer again, his voice low but steady.

“No, you don’t. I’ll take care of it, but you need to stop Y/N. Let me take care of you.”

Her lips parted, like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out. She was too tired, too drained to fight him, even if the guilt of leaving the mess weighed on her. She barely had time to process before his hands were under her thighs, effortlessly lifting her off the counter. A small, surprised breath escaped her, but she didn’t resist, her body instinctively curling into his, her legs subconsciously wrapping around his hips. Her head rested against his shoulder, tucked into the crook of his neck, and she felt the soft scratch of his shirt against her cheek. One arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders while the other rested against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric for support.

“I’ve got you” 

Rafe murmured, his voice steady and reassuring as he adjusted his grip on her. The warmth of his voice and the solidness of his hold made something in her chest ease, just a fraction. She pushed her face slightly further against his neck, her breath warm and shallow against his skin. Rafe carried her up the stairs like she weighed nothing, each step slow and measured, his arms secure around her. The house was quiet, save for the soft creak of the stairs beneath his feet and the faint rustle of her hair against his shoulder.

When they reached her bedroom, Rafe pushed the door open with his foot and stepped inside, careful not to jostle her. He gently set her down onto the bed, her head sinking into the plush pillow as she let out a small hum. He moved carefully, as though afraid he might shatter the fragile calm that had settled over the room. Leaning down, he grabbed the edge of the duvet and pulled it over her, tucking it around her slightly with care.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes flickering over her face. She looked worn out, her cheeks flushed from the tears she’d shed, but there was something softer about her now. Her gaze lifted to meet his, and he felt himself freeze under the weight of it.

“You okay?” 

No

He asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. She hummed softly in response, her eyelids heavy but still watching him. Rafe swallowed hard, forcing himself to straighten. His hand, which had been resting on her arm over the covers, lingered for a second too long before he pulled it back.

“Alright, I’ll, uh…” He stepped back, clearing his throat as he tried to give her space. “I’ll let you rest. Just—” Before he could move further, her fingers reached out, gently wrapping around his hand. Her voice was soft, hesitant, but it stopped him in his tracks.

“Can you stay…?”

Please don't say no

Rafe blinked, caught off guard by her request. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he nodded slowly, his voice tentative, 

“Yeah… yeah, I can sit here.”

He gestured toward the floor next to the bed, already moving to lower himself, but her voice stopped him again.

“No, can you…” She trailed off, her gaze darting away briefly before returning to his. 

“Can you sit on the bed?”

On the bed?

Rafe stilled, unsure for a moment. He hesitated, his mind racing- he didn’t want to overstep, didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. But the look in her eyes was enough to convince him.

“Okay” 

He responded softly, nodding again. He moved around to the other side of the bed and sat down cautiously on the edge, leaving space between them. His weight shifted the mattress slightly as, but he kept his distance, his back pressed against the headboard, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She nestled deeper into the pillow, her breathing evening out just a little as the tension began to drain from her frame. Y/n was on her side, her back to him, her figure curled slightly beneath the duvet. Her breathing was slow and even now, and for a moment, he thought she might’ve fallen asleep. He let himself relax just a little, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. But then her soft voice broke the silence.

“Rafe?”

His head tilted forward immediately, his focus snapping back to her. 

“Yeah?” 

His voice was quiet, laced with concern. There was a pause, and he watched the subtle rise and fall of her back as she inhaled shakily. 

“Can you come a little closer?” 

She asked, her voice quiet. Rafe froze. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard her right.  He blinked, his heart picking up speed in his chest.

Move closer?

“Are you sure?” 

He asked softly, cautious. He didn’t want to move if she wasn’t completely comfortable. She nodded, her head shifting slightly against the pillow. 

“Please…” 

She whispered, her voice cracking just a little. That single word unraveled him. Swallowing hard, he shifted carefully, inching closer to her, he slid fully onto the bed now, sitting up with his back against the headboard, a few inches away from her.

She didn’t move right away, her back still turned to him. But he could see her shoulders rising and falling, her breaths uneven, like she was fighting to hold herself together. He hesitated, staying on top of the covers. His eyes lingered on her back, on the way her figure seemed so small, so fragile in the dim light of the room. 

He cared for her so deeply it almost hurt.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, save for her soft breaths and the occasional rustle of fabric as she shuffled slightly. He didn’t move any closer, didn’t touch her, but his presence was steady, grounding. And even with her back to him, he didn’t look away, his heart aching for her in ways he couldn’t quite put into words. Y/N lay still, her back to Rafe, but her mind raced. She wanted to say something- needed to- but the words felt caught in her throat, tangled with her fears and doubts. She shifted slightly, her fingers clutching the edge of the duvet, and took a shallow breath. 

“Rafe” 

She mumbled again. He frowned slightly, leaning his head toward her. 

“What is it, Angel?” 

His voice was soft, concerned at the sudden sound of her voice again. She hesitated, her chest tightening as her thoughts swirled. 

What if it is too much? 

What if I scare him away? 

But the ache for comfort, for safety, outweighed her fears. She tried again, her voice trembling. “Can you—” She stopped, clamping her lips shut.

“Can I what?” 

Rafe prompted gently, his brow furrowing as he tried to meet her eyes, even though her back was still turned. Her heart pounded in her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut, taking a shaky breath, she forced the words out, barely audible. 

“Could you… can you hold me - please?”

Oh

Rafe stiffened, his chest tightening as her words hung in the air. He looked down at her, the tension in her voice cutting straight through him. “Y/N…” he started, his voice trailing off as his mind churned.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…I don’t want to-”

“I trust you.” 

She responded to his cautious response, her voice breaking slightly as she cut him off. 

“Please. I just… I just really need this right now.”

The crack in her voice, the vulnerability in her words; it caused his jaw to clench as he wrestled with his thoughts. He didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to risk pushing her too far, what if he triggered a bad memory, what if he reminded her of what had happened. But then again, how could he say no to her when she needed him like this? Finally, he exhaled, shifting slightly on the bed. 

“Alright. . .” 

He moved slowly, deliberately, as though afraid to startle her. Sliding down beside her, he positioned himself carefully, his chest lightly brushing her back. His arm hovered above her for a moment, his heart thudding loudly in his chest, before he gently draped it around her waist.

“Is this okay?” 

He asked, his voice barely audible. She nodded against the pillow, her breaths still shaky but steadying slightly as his warmth enveloped her. She whispered back to him,

“It’s perfect.”

Please don't let go

His heart panged in his chest as he felt her relax ever so slightly in his hold. He adjusted his arm, pulling her just a little closer, his hand resting lightly on her side. The curve of her back pressed into him, and he could feel the tension in her frame begin to ease. They stayed like that in silence, the soft rhythm of their breathing syncing. Rafe pressed his cheek against the pillow, his eyes fixed on the back of her head, her hair brushing his face slightly, the scent of her shampoo familiar, comforting.

He didn’t say a word, didn’t dare move, afraid to disrupt this newfound sense of intimacy between them. All he could do was hold her and hope that it was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[basilthesnakingthing]

Yeah, I saw that definition on plurlpedia and it didn’t make much sense to me.

But . . thinking of myself like what I described might solve everything that’s wrong with me, actually.

Cause before I would think “I can’t control when I’m able to be productive, I just have to take advantage of it when doing something feels doable. But even then, I can’t control what sort of things I can be productive about. Art? Better than nothing, but it does ultimately feel selfish and self destructive of me at once when I haven’t seemed to be able to do almost any homework this whole semester and that job application is still blank. Why am I so helpless about what I can do, when? Even other ADHD people manage, like. There are things they can do to make it work. But there aren’t for me, not besides someone being in the room, interested in what I’m doing. And that’s not practical enough to be a real solution, nobody who cares has time to do that with me.”

But now that I’ve realized what I did in my last reblog, it’s more like “there are different versions of me, and each one has things they’re really good at, and things they want and some things they just can’t do. One of them can do art! And write, and work on ideas I thought of! It really likes explaining things and theoretical stuff and talking to friends. But in order to work on anything out of obligation, anything that I would be doing because I know I should, like cleaning my room or taking care of myself physically, doing nice things for other people or my homework, I have to switch and become this other version of me who doesn’t seem to suffer from executive dysfunction for some reason, and can do any of those tasks happily. That version finds that sort of thing very satisfying. But it’s the only version who can do things like that.”

I what feels like “me” is the sum of all four versions and their behaviors. But if I only think of it like that, my abilities are priorities seem so inconsistent and broken. I wonder if cultivating more separation would help. If it’s different entities with different abilities and priorities, than it won’t be inconsistent, and know I just have to be deliberate about switching. (Which, intuitively, seems like it would be easier to do if there was more separation)

Made a plural version of that one meme