#I have such an unfortunate attachment to him

[trenchcoatofisopds]

People are so gentle with babies. They're gentle with the things they love. Why wasn't I worth that?

Yogurtbird gave me the idea to draw a flowerbed piece in water when they were talking about drawing wada as that one painting of Ophelia in artside…. and I really wanted to do it…

I also really like flower language so I wanted to spend a little time looking up some flowers and their meanings for this piece :D

The zinnias (the big orange flowers) can mean remembrance or “I mourn your absence.”

Meadow saffron or autumn crocus (tiny purple ones) represent “my best days are past.”

The mourning brides (dark red flowers) represent unfortunate attachment or unfortunate love. They can also mean “I have lost all.”

Adonis (the little red flowers) symbolize sorrowful remembrance.

The field anemone (the red and purple flowers with the dark centers) can represent sickness.

And finally the chrysanthemums (the big pink flowers) represent comfort in sorrow.

was going to include the flower asphodel bc their meaning is “my regrets will follow you to the grave” or “remembered beyond the tomb” but they were too small and I didn’t want to draw a million of them

I also included sashiko stitching on wadas shirt to reference some of the people who cared about and tried to help him during the killing game. There’s stitching for hama, tsuno, isono, ojima, hiroaki, and yanagi :)

[selfproclaimed-moviecritic]

From Across the Hall- Doctor Robby x Reader: Part Two

Part One is here !

Summary: You have a little movie date at his apartment a week after he patched you up (ya'll get freaky on the couch.)

Warnings: AU. PWP. Smut in the following forms; Fingering, Robby has a dirty mouth, Daddy kink >:), one singular pussy spank, lots of grinding on each other, pussy pronouns, your wrists get tied up with his belt (idk how to tag that), teasing, darker version of Robby, degradation, reader gets called a slut, Robby is a GIVER, Reader does have hair that can be pulled, idk there's probably more but I'm not all that concerned about it.

Authors notes: *Reader can be any size, race, ethnicity, etc. Reader does have tattoos, but they are not mentioned in this chapter.* Once again this is a darker version of Dr. Robby that I think is interesting. My man has demons ok??? So what if they come out in a sexual manner he has NEEDS. Anyways, I wrote this part when I was sick in bed so hopefully its good idk. It ends on a bit of cliffhanger, enjoy!!

Unfortunately for you, the next few days were devoid of any encounters with Dr. Robby. You both were working different hours at your jobs. You were pulling extra shifts at yours and you knew that the shifts at the hospital would be sometimes 16 hrs to 24 hrs long. About a week after he had patched you up, you were leaving your apartment and noticed a note attached to your door. 

"Birdie, I haven't forgotten about you. Been busy at the hospital as you can imagine. Tomorrow I'm off. If you're not busy, come over around 7:30pm. Let's watch a horror movie if you're up for it." -R 

You smiled widely. You fish a pen out of your purse and flip the note over to write a reply. 

"Lucky for you I'm off tomorrow evening. I'll be over. Horror movies are my favorite, how did you know? ;) I'll bring the popcorn!" 

You signed the note with a little tiny drawing of a bird, and taped it on to his door. 

You made your way down the stairs with an extra skip in your step. You had honestly been worried he had forgotten about you. He had been taking up space in your late night fantasies. 

The way his cock felt against you when he pulled you close. His large hands moving all down your body. His deep, gravely voice in your ear. The way he manhandled you over to him. It was turning you on now just thinking about it. You take a deep breath as you head out of your apartment building to try and reset yourself before work. 

The next day and a half you spent in eager anticipation. When you got home from work the day you were going over to Robbys, you spent extra time in the shower, making sure you were nice and smooth and smelling absolutely delicious for him. You lathered on your favorite lotion afterwards.

After putting on a bit of makeup, you decided to wear a Jason Voorhees crop top and some tight black cloth shorts over to his house. You made some popcorn, tossed it into a bowl, and grabbed two bottles of some cheap beer, and headed over to his house at around 7:35pm. 

You knocked on the door, and he quickly answers. He opens the door and gives you a smile. "Hey there Birdie." You look up at him through your eyelashes and give him a flirty smile. "Hey Doctor Robby. Are you ready for our date?" You wink at him. He gives you a smirk and opens the door wider for you. You slink past him and he watches your ass sway as you walk past. 

You set the popcorn and beer on the kitchen counter. He follows you over. You peer around his place, taking note of everything. You hadn't been in there before but it was cozy. Across from the kitchen was the living room. He had a large TV with a nice speaker system. A dark brown, L shaped leather couch adorned with some pillows. A black table was placed in between the TV and couch. Various medical books and magazines were strewn across it. 

The walls in the living room were decorated with various concert and movies posters. Most notebly, a large vintage poster of 'the Silence of the Lambs'. You squint at it. "Holy shit, is that signed?"  You point over at it.

Robby leans against the counter next to you and laughs. "Yeah I got that signed years ago. I was in Chicago for a medical conference. A local theatre nearby  was playing the movie for its 10 year anniversary and the director-" You grab his forearm and gasp. "You got to meet Jonathan Demme!?" "Yeah, he was really cool and was signing posters. Figured I would snag one. It's one of my favorite movies." You let go of his arm and give him a little playful push of his shoulder. 

"Can't believe you got to meet him. That's one of my favorites too! I would have asked him a million questions." He smiles then moves to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. "I bet you would." He says a little quietly, but his voice is deep and rough. A small shudder runs down your spine. You need him. Bad. 

His fingers move from your ear down past your jaw and slowly move down to your lip. They stop there and his thumb grazes over your lip. "Your lip healed pretty nicely. Sorry I didn't get to check in on you last week. Work was hell." You peered into his eyes and saw a quiet pain he held there after mentioning work. You bring your hand up to his wrist, and move your chin further into his hand so now his thumb and index fingers gripped your chin.  

"Let's forget about work. What movie are we watching?" He gives you a small smile. "Let's go look at our options." He brought his hand away from your chin and took you by the arm. 

You both settle on to the couch. It was extremely comfortable, and you could picture Robby falling asleep here after a long shift, the blue glow of the TV filling the room late into the night. 

He turns the TV on, and you both make casual conversation about which horror movies you like.  Which ones are actually scary, which are overrated, and ones you think should have more popularity. You both decide on Halloween (1978). 

The movie starts and you both focus on watching it for the first 30 minutes. Robby slides his hand behind you on the couch and spreads his legs a bit wide to get comfortable. You can't help but take occasional side glances at his bulge. It's so prominent in those cargo pants he always wears. You're so horny and it doesn't help that you picked Halloween. The thought of Michael Myers man handling you always gets you aroused. 

After about another 15 minutes, you decide to scoot a bit closer to him, and fold your legs up underneath yourself and to the side. Your body is facing towards him but your head remains facing the screen. Robbys arm leaves the side of the couch it was on, and it falls to your outward facing thigh. It's so large and warm. You bite your lip, hoping he wouldn't notice. 

A few more minutes go by when you hear him clear his throat. "It's kinda cold in here, why don't you come a little closer?" You turn your head and he pats beside him, with his eyebrow raised. You give a small smirk and slide further over. Although before you stop, he grabs you by your bicep and hauls you into his lap. 

He brings you in close to his chest, your foreheads within a few inches of each other. Staring into his eyes, you see they're almost pitch black. Gone are his soft, kind brown eyes. This is a side you've never seen but got a small glance of the other night when you felt his hard cock against you. But you like this side too. A lot. 

"Now I know you didn't come over here dressed like this to just watch a movie. These shorts are something else." He pinches the bottom hem and snaps them against your skin. You whimper and move your legs around his waist so you're straddling him now. 

You grind yourself softly down on his bulge while you place your hands on his broad shoulders. "I figured I owed you one after you patched me up." His hands travel up your body, one makes it up and into your hair. He gives it a tug, exposing your neck. "That's right, don't want to forget to pay your doctor bill." You smile and continue to rock your hips against his increasingly hardening cock. 

He begins to kiss and nip at your neck, all while his one hand grips at your hair to hold you in place. His other hand makes his way underneath and up your shirt. 

He growls a little in your ear at the feeling of you being braless. "Oh Birdie.....no bra? Such a dirty girl." "Didn't see the point in putting one on when I knew you were going to take it off anyways." You whimper.

He flips up your shirt to expose your tits to him. You continue to slowly rock your hips, grinding up and down his clothed cock. You were getting increasingly more desperate for him.

He leans forward while looking into your eyes, and brings his hand down from your hair to your lower back. You arch into it and moan as he brings his mouth to one of your tits. His other hand leaves your hip and gropes at your other tit. He swirls his tongue around your nipple, as he pinches the other one. The sting of the pain feels so good. He knows exactly the right amount of pressure to apply. With the hand on your back, he helps guide you on rocking back and forth against his cock in his lap.

His mouth leaves your tit and goes back to your neck. Giving you sloppy, wet kisses. "Goddamn baby, fuckin perfect tits. Every inch of you is so fuckin incredible." He mumbles into your neck. His beard against your skin causes a shiver down your spine. You lift your hips and he slides your shorts down your thighs, along with your thong. You stand up for a second to fully take them off. You step out of them, then go back to straddling him. You peel your shirt off and toss it aside. You were getting so worked up, so you decide to work one of your hands into his waistband.

"Uh uh Birdie, give me those hands." He says roughly. He grabs your wrists and tugs you forward. He lifts his hips and with his other hand, rips his belt off in one motion. He wraps the belt around your wrists and hands, securely it tightly. "You don't get to use them anymore." He says sternly.

He flips you over so your back is now against his chest. Robby settles down into the couch with you snug in between his spread legs. His hard cock against your lower back. You swear you can feel it occasionally twitch against you. His nose pokes the side of your ear as he leans in and whispers. "Spread those legs for me, nice and wide." You whimper and spread them for him, the leather underneath you is a little cool on your skin but it feels good. You feel like you're burning up with how worked up you are. 

He positions your tied up hands right above your naked mound. Teasing you with how in proximity you are to where you needed touched the most. He settles his hands on your thighs, spreading his fingers out to squeeze the tops of them tight. He settles his head on top of your shoulder so he can see the view in front of him. He takes a deep inhale, and then lets out a big sigh. 

"Fuckkk look at you. Ever since you moved in I always wondered what you would look like all spread out for me." The thumbs of both his hands start to graze back and forth on the inner parts of your thighs. You arch your back a little and whimper. "Really?" you ponder. You wiggle your fingers a bit, desperate to try and touch yourself. Craving even the slightest bit of pleasure. He may have tied your wrists together but you can still move some of your fingers.

"Oh Birdie....The things I've been wanting to do to you...." He begins to kiss your neck again, leaving a few hickeys in his path. You let out another small whine. You find you are able to move your middle finger down a few inches from where your hands rest. But right as you're about to circle your finger over your clit, your arms are jerked back. A sudden swat to your cunt has you seeing stars. You initially gasp but it turns into a moan towards the tail end of it. 

"Now that's not being much of a good girl is it?" He growls deeply into your ear. "That's real fuckin bad girl behavior. Touching yourself before I even can. Fuckin greedy if you ask me." You lean your head back against his chest and whine a little. "I'm sorry I'm just-" You bite your lip in frustration. "Just want you so badly" you voice is breathy and full of desperation. 

He pushes his cock against your lower back. "Aw, that desperate for me huh? So needy Birdie my goodness." Your eyes flutter at the feeling of his hard bulge pressing into you. "Gonna need you to apologize again for getting ahead of yourself there." He's purposely taunting you, making you crave and desire him even more. You nod your head and try to look up at him from where you rested against him. You decide to take a chance with what you say next. "I'm sorry Daddy, it won't happen again." 

A gutteral moan leaves his throat as the word "daddy" leaves your lips. You feel his cock twitch and his grip tightens on your thighs. Enough to leave marks. "Fuck you're filthy. Calling me Daddy while you're sitting in my lap like this. It's taking everything in me not to just hold you down and fuck you senseless." His right hand moves up from your thigh to your mouth. "Open your mouth for daddy". You obey and he sticks his index and middle inside. You twirl your tongue around them, getting them coated in spit. Drool leaving your mouth. You moan around him. This isn't your first rodeo that's for sure. 

He rips them out of your mouth and places them immediately on your clit, with more pressure than you were expecting. It causes you to arch you back and moan loudly. "Let me hear those pretty little noises I know you can make baby. Don't be shy now. I know a cockslut when I see one." He rumbles in your ear. His fingers are circling your clit in such an expert manner that your mind is devoid of any thoughts, just focused on the immense pleasure you're experiencing. "Didn't even really need you to wet my fingers. Your pussys already dripping all over my fucking couch." 

You try your best not to move too much but the way his fingers work your clit has got you practically writhing in his lap. You rest your head on his shoulder and are almost panting from how good everything feels. You're already on the cusp of an orgasm from how worked up you've been since you got here. His hand that was on your thigh moves to your slit. 

While his one hand works your clit, the other teases your wet slit, back and forth. Back and forth, painfully slow. "Mhmm Birdie. Bet you're desperate to be filled right now huh?" He whispers in your ear. All you can do is moan in response. "That's what I thought. Little slut like yourself just wants her holes filled any way she can." 

The degrading nature of his words is not something you ever expected from him. You had other people degrade you before but something about it coming from him felt different than all the others. 

"Let's give your little pussy what she needs." He then takes two fingers and slowly, achingly inserts them inside you. "Oh fuckkk" you groan, and draw out your words, then twist your lower half a little. The feeling is incredible. 

"Goddamn you're tight." He mutters to himself, starting to pump his fingers in and out of you, all while still circling your clit. "Feeling full yet Birdie? Wasn't sure if a slut like yourself can be satiated by just my fingers but I'm now I'm not so sure with that look on your face." 

Your eyes are shut and your mouth is hanging open. "I'm...I'm close..." You whine. He laughs cruelly in your ear. "Already? But I've got so much more planned for you." He starts to move his fingers in out of you faster, the sounds filling the apartment are absolutely obscene. 

He then curls his fingers hitting that particular spot inside you that makes you see edges of white around your eyes. "Fuck!" You shout and writhe against him. Your arms still confined against you. Unable to grip anything, you dig your fingers into your palm. 

"You better ask for permission before you come Birdie." He is so commanding with his voice, even thought it's just a deep whisper in your ear. You shake your head. "Can I come for you daddy?" You breath out. You feel him grin then groan against your ear.

"Come for daddy, wanna feel this tight cunt squeezing my fingers." Your eyes widen and your orgasm hits you like a freight train. 

"Holy fuck!" your eyes flutter and your body shakes with pleasure. Your orgasm rolls through you, and Robby whispers in your ear, talking you through it. "Goddamn you look so good coming undone. This tight little hole clenching around me, your pretty moans. Your beautiful body." He slowly slips his fingers out of you, and brings them up to his mouth for a taste. 

"Jesus Christ you taste so sweet." He licks them clean.  You're still ruminating in the afterglow of your orgasm, and he undo's the belt around your wrists. You move your hands, rotating your wrists in circles. 

You both don't say anything for a moment. You move out of his lap to rest your head on a pillow that's at the opposite end of the couch. You just need to catch your breath for a moment. 

"That was....fuck that was insane." You let out a little huff of a laugh, and move some hair out of your face. He cocks his head to the side. "Ready for more?" You shake your head up and down and he grins. 

He moves from where he was sitting, to now being on top of you. He lines up his face with yours and he kisses you, more tenderly than before. Not as rough, more gentle and soft. You once again rock your hips a little against him, his stiff cock rutting up against you. He's still fully clothed. 

He breaks the kiss, and looks into your eyes. "Time to get another taste of ya." You grin, and he kisses you again, then slowly makes his way down your body. His hand traveling down and across your torso, feeling every inch. Squeezing every part. His beard is rough against your body but it tickles your skin in the most delicious way.

Just as he's about to settle in between your thighs, you hear a vibrating noise. 

You both look over to the table beside the couch. It's his cellphone, the caller ID says 'Jack Abbot'. He sighs and sits up. "I'm sorry Birdie I gotta take this."

To be continued in Part 3! <3

[starkeyvhs]

things we never got over

PAIRING: rafe cameron x ex-bsf!reader

SUMMARY: you were rafe’s best friend since kindergarten, but the inevitable friendship breakup was bound to come. after years of friendship and unrequited pining, 21 year old rafe believes the only way he can rid himself of the emotional turmoil he still feels, is therapy. 

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

WARNINGS: kindergartner rafe and reader content; small mention of blood and wounds

EDITH TALKS: so!!! this was actually the first chapter of this rafe series I was working on and it has been pre written for the longest time 🤧 but! I had another idea for a series, so I ended up integrating parts of both of them to come up with my ultimate plot :) I am actually super attached to this chapter and I wanted everyone to see it 🥹 I hope you all enjoy reading!! feedback and reblogs are always highly appreciated! 🌟

masterlist / join my taglist / requests

“Cherry or green apple?”

You plop down next to Rafe’s figure hunched over the table, a box of crayons opened next to him as he keeps himself busy with a coloring page, his color strokes going often out of the lines, but even then, you still believe he’s one of the best at art. 

His ears perk up at your little voice as you sit down next to him, his eyes falling onto the two lollipops in your hand: one wrapped in a dark red wrapper, and the other in a bright green. He pouts at the choices in your hand, and you are fully aware of the reason for the little pout on his small lips.

“They did not have strawberry,” you mumble. “Only these two,”

He lets out a short sigh, and then with his little finger he gestures to the cherry one. You unwrap the cherry flavored lollipop and hand it to Rafe, who takes it and instantly puts it in his mouth, going back to his coloring task. 

You sit silently next to him with the green apple lollipop in your mouth as you watch him color. Your gaze drifts from Rafe over to the classroom window, out of which you can see all of the other kids running around, laughing, playing, or sitting on the sides to eat their food on the small field. All the swings are occupied, the sand pit is occupied, and there are multiple children at once sliding down the only slide in the field. 

Rafe is different. 

He never spends his lunch breaks outside. He stays in the classroom, finishes his lunchbox, and then always gets  a coloring sheet to keep himself busy. You, on the other hand, always have your lunch outside with a few of your girl friends, but as soon as you’re done, you leave the girls and come to Rafe in the classroom; always sitting in the same seat of his with his sheet and his expensive box of crayons. From the little shop across from your house, you bring a strawberry lollipop for him each day and give it to him as a little after lunch sweet treat. 

The first time you had offered him the lollipop, he was surprised. “What’s that for?” He had asked you. 

“You told me you like strawberries,” you had replied, already unwrapping the lollipop. “So I got this for you,” you finished with a smile, holding out the candy for him. 

A soft blush had started spreading on his cheeks at your words and the offer of the delectable candy. “Thank you,” he had murmured ever so quietly, and he took it from you and put it in his mouth.

Since then, it has become a routine for you. You love to keep him company and watch him in silence as you both eat your candies and he colors in the pages. He doesn’t talk much, just likes to keep to himself most of the time. You never know why he’s like this; so different from the other boys in your class, who just choose to be all rowdy and noisy, but what you do know is that you like to spend these few minutes with him, before your lunch break comes to an end and you get back to go on with your day. 

“You like it?” You ask softly in your slightly muffled voice, gesturing to the cherry lollipop he unfortunately has to have today, instead of his usual sweet strawberry. 

Rafe shrugs in response, quietly sucking on the candy as he carefully inspects his crayon box and picks a color, resuming the coloring. It’s a navy blue, you notice. Hm. He really seems to like that one, you think as you glance at the sheet on the table, most of it colored in the same navy blue. 

The same silence falls on you two again and you just resume watching him color.

The next day though, your luck comes through. 

You get a strawberry lollipop for him, and have been ecstatic to hand it over to him the moment the young woman running the store gave it to you, your small hand securing around it carefully. 

When you are having lunch with all your friends in the playground, you are practically itching to leave and just run to the empty classroom where Rafe, as always, must be hunched over his table, coloring a different sheet than yesterday. After you’re finished with your food, you say goodbye to your girls and begin to make your way across the playground towards the main building.

As you’re walking, you don’t know exactly how it happened; maybe you were way too lost in your own world, or maybe, it was exactly what the boy intended; but you end up tripping over a boy’s foot, falling face first on the ground. A loud yelp leaves your lips as you fall, feeling a shooting pain through your nose. 

Tears are immediately stinging your eyes as a small crowd forms around you, and one of the teachers helps you up. The tears are fully flowing now, and they only increase the moment you feel blood flowing from your nose. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the teacher tries to calm you down as she helps you up on your feet. Taking your small hand in hers, she carefully leads you to the main building of the school, and enters the first classroom. 

Rafe’s ears perk up the moment he hears the door opening. He watches you enter, your face bloody and tear stained, and just the next second, he’s over to where you’re next to the teacher. 

“She fell down,” the teacher mumbles as she carefully wipes the blood from your face when Rafe reaches you both, a look of pure worry on his face. 

Rafe is silent, but fully worried as he watches you get your face wiped, your eyes red rimmed and tears still welling at your waterline. 

The teacher says something about going to get the nurse, something which neither you in your condition or Rafe really pay attention to, but the next moment, you two are left alone. You’re quietly sniffling, moving your hand to wipe off the remnant tears. 

You look up at Rafe through your blurry vision, wiping at your eyes again. “Oh,” you mumble softly, moving your free hand to your pocket and pulling something out. Rafe watches you curiously as you fish into your pocket, and the next moment you open your fist to show him a candy with its stick cracked, and the wrapper crinkled. 

It’s a strawberry lollipop. 

“I got it for you today,” You mumble quietly, looking at the broken lollipop. “But it got crushed when… I fell down,”

Rafe furrows his brows as he gently takes the lollipop in his hand. He sees the candy is completely cracked beneath the crinkled paper. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly, looking at the broken candy in his hand. 

He quietly shakes his head and fists his hand around the candy, holding it safely. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “I love it.” 

You feel bad about giving him a broken lollipop, and he can see that. Before he can say anything else, the teacher’s coming back with the nurse, and they both are quick to take you from the classroom to the nurse’s office. 

Rafe watches you being taken away quietly, the candy safe in his hands. 

Later on, when he goes back to his coloring, he carefully unwraps the candy on the table and looks at the broken pieces. He picks them one by one to eat them, quietly chewing on them as he goes back to coloring. He can’t help but glance at the empty seat next to him, feeling your cold absence deeply, the way you’d just quietly sit next to him, watching him color and you both would eat your lollipops. 

He can feel his interest slowly degrading in the coloring without you sitting next to him. Quietly, he keeps the crayon aside and gazes at the half colored sheet in front of him, eating a small broken bit of the pink candy. 

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

“So it was as if you basically started realizing how important she is to you, but you couldn’t really understand those feelings at that time because of how young you were?”

Vera’s gentle sound echoes in his ear, his gaze fixed on his shoes, suddenly the dark brown of his converse being the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. 

“Yeah,” Rafe mumbles quietly, his fingers gently fiddling with the hem of his shirt. 

He can hear Vera sighing softly, the soft sound of a page of her notebook being turned and the scratching of the pen following suit. 

God, how much do these therapists have to write? Rafe thinks to himself. 

“So, there’s no contact between you two anymore? None?” Vera asks. 

Rafe sighs softly, leaning back against the couch. He tilts his head up, looking up at the ceiling. He’s tired of this question. 

At this point, he can’t even count how many times he’s been asked this question in his life. 

“None.” He mutters quietly.

Another silence falls over the both of them and the sound of writing fills the room once again, as Rafe opts to simply close his eyes, his head still leaning back and his arms crossed over his chest. 

But closing his eyes seems like the worst option, because there you are again, the warmest orange aura surrounding you, radiating complete comfort. You raise your hand, almost touching him but never really doing it, always falling a few inches short. 

“We’re gonna be here a long time.” 

Vera’s sound is a mere background noise, but it’s there, anchoring him back to reality, far away from his dreams. 

Yeah, we are.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @inthelibrarybtw / @mccaffreyswifey / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @kaileashiftz / @weirdowithnobeardo / @chimchimjiminie16 / @ursovaine / @mariamadison6-blog / @snowtargaryen / @htlkira / @acidfeens / @cherrys-muses

tagging a few moots: @runningfrom2am / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @nemesyaaa / @ladyinbl00d / @jjsbank444 / @b1mb0slvt / @maddsxfall / @congratsloserr

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Chapter 13 | Viral

✨ Catch up on Hide if you’re new here! ✨ 🌟 Check out the masterlist if you want to see more by me! 🌟

pairing: joe burrow x riley carter (oc) word count: 12.7k requested: no

📝 this story is only posted on wattpad and tumblr under miss_delaney. if you see it anywhere else, it’s been stolen. 🚫 do not repost, translate, or share my work without permission. 🌻 requests: closed! 💌 want to be added to the taglist? drop a comment or message me.

📝 author’s note: dropping this chapter a little early because some stories won’t let you sleep until you get them out of your head. viral was tough to write. i kept coming back to that ache of public mess, silence, and what it feels like when everyone has an opinion except the person you need most. ⚠️ just a small heads up: this chapter contains a confrontation between riley and her ex, ethan, involving unwanted physical contact and public escalation. nothing graphic, but if that’s tough for you, take care reading. this chapter is about fallout—the kind that happens out loud and in private. it’s about what it feels like to watch strangers build a narrative out of your worst moment, and the heartbreak of missing someone you can’t quite reach. it’s about phones in pieces and the spiral of “what if.” but it’s also about the people who show up—the ones who bring snacks, coffee, comfort, and quiet company when you need it most. riley’s hurting. joe’s panicking. nobody has the right words, but the love is real. thank you for sticking with me and these messy, stubborn characters. this one’s raw and a little uncomfortable, but sometimes that’s just how life goes. i hope you find something honest in here, and maybe even a little comfort. 🌙

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508 @throwaway12356123 @lilfreakjez @destinyg237

Riley's text comes through with the video attached: Missing you. Only two more weeks?

Joe clicks play and watches David Byrne performing "This Must Be the Place" in what looks like an old TV studio, standing next to a tall floor lamp. Byrne lets the lamp tip toward him, catches it gently, and sets it upright. Then does it again. And again. A simple dance with an inanimate object, but there's something mesmerizing about his careful attention to it.

Joe watches it again immediately. There's something about the way Byrne never lets the lamp actually fall, the deliberate care he gives to this one fragile thing. By the third time through, watching Byrne perform their song with such tenderness, Joe understands exactly why Riley sent it and calls her back.

"Hey lovey, did you get my text?" Riley says when she picks up.

"Just watched it three times. The way he catches it every time it tips—like he's protecting something fragile and beautiful. That's what this feels like with you."

There's a soft laugh in her voice. "You know what's crazy? Byrne said he wrote it as 'a real honest kind of love song' without all the usual clichés. No grand gestures, just... this quiet certainty."

"Dad's Sunday morning song is hitting different now. Like it means what it was always supposed to mean."

"Pancakes and vinyl and feeling at home?"

"Yeah. Except now I know what home actually feels like."

The silence stretches between them, heavy with everything they're not saying, everything they miss about being in the same room.

"God, I miss you," Riley finally says.

"Two weeks feels like forever right now."

"After this weekend, I'm all yours. Well, as much as I can be with tour prep being insane, but—"

Joe's looking at Riley's chaotic calendar on his phone while they talk. "I see you have something scheduled Saturday the 19th, but..." He squints at the screen. "Your calendar just says 'IMPORTANT DINNER - DON'T FUCK THIS UP' in all caps. So I'm guessing that's mandatory?"

Riley's laughing. "That's my very professional scheduling system, thank you very much. And, yes, unfortunately, it is very mandatory. Why?"

"A friend from college is getting married. I kind of decided last minute to go, and I wanted to see if you could break away."

There's a pause, and when Riley speaks again, her tone has shifted. "You want me to come with you? To a wedding?"

"Yeah. I know it's short notice, but... yeah. I want you there."

Riley's voice gets quieter, clearly torn. "Joe, I... God, I wish I could. We finally got this meeting with Ticketmaster. We've been trying to get in the room with them for months to talk about pricing structures, making sure our fans can actually afford tickets. It's me, the guys, Gwen, Haley, our whole team, everyone's been preparing for weeks."

Joe's understanding is immediate. "Right. No, I get it. That's huge. You can't bail on your whole team."

"I really wish I could, though. I want to meet your friends, I want to be your plus-one at things like this..."

"It's okay, Birdie. Really. This matters."

"The next wedding. Or whatever. I'll make sure I'm free."

"Deal."

"How are you feeling about tomorrow? Last preseason game."

"I'm just ready for the season to start," Joe says. "Preseason feels like... practice with an audience."

"I've been watching all the games," Riley says, her voice softer. "This will be the first season I actually care about football."

Joe feels something shift in his chest. "Yeah?"

"The Dolls are trying to talk me into starting a fantasy football team, except none of us know anything about football, so it would be based purely on vibes. Like, who has the best name or looks good in their uniform."

Joe's laughing now. "That's the worst fantasy strategy I've ever heard."

"Hey, vibes are important. I bet we'd do better than you think."

"You absolutely would not."

"Rude. I'm not asking for your help anymore."

"Good, because I wasn't planning to help."

"Well, now you're definitely not invited to our draft party."

Neither of them says it out loud, but they both feel it—how little time they'll actually have once both their careers kick into high gear, how Joe asking her to come with him, wanting her to meet his friends, feels like the kind of step forward that makes her having to say no sting more than a simple scheduling conflict should.

"How's tour prep going?" Joe asks, and Riley can hear the shift in his voice, more serious now, genuinely asking.

"Exhausting. We're rehearsing like twelve hours a day. Pete's being a perfectionist about the setlist, Andy keeps changing his guitar setup, and Daniel..." Riley pauses. "Actually, Daniel's been the only sane one, which is terrifying."

"When do you leave?"

"Three weeks after the season starts. So we'll have, what, a few scattered visits before I'm gone for two months?"

The weight of that settles between them, how little time they'll actually have before she disappears on tour.

* * *

Joe sends the text as he pulls into the venue parking lot, still humming "This Must Be the Place" under his breath. The song has been stuck in his head since Riley sent that video, and he can't shake the image of David Byrne catching that lamp every time it tips, protecting something beautiful.

Walking into the reception, he's immediately hit with the familiar chaos of former teammates reuniting. Justin Hilliard's wedding has drawn half their old Ohio State defense, and Joe can already hear someone recounting a legendary practice story from their sophomore year.

"Burrow!"

He turns to see one of his former teammates approaching with a drink. "Man, I was wondering if you'd actually show up."

"Last-minute decision," Joe says. "Couldn't miss Justin getting married."

"Where's the girl? Zac said you took them all to her show in LA. We've all been dying to meet her."

Joe takes a sip of his drink, deflecting with the ease of someone who's had this conversation before. "She's working. Big meeting she couldn't get out of."

"She real though?"

"Very real."

Joe's voice carries a certainty that makes his teammate look at him twice. Before he can ask more, someone calls his name from across the room.

"I want to hear more about this later," he says before disappearing into the crowd.

Joe finds himself smiling as he heads toward the bar, thinking about Riley explaining fantasy football based on vibes to a room full of people who've probably never heard of half the players.

* * *

Joe's halfway through his second drink when he hears a familiar voice behind him.

"Hey, stranger."

He turns to find Olivia approaching, looking genuinely happy to see him. She's wearing a soft blue dress that brings out the color of her eyes; she looks beautiful.

"Livi. Hey." Joe smiles, and it's easy. No awkwardness, just two people who used to know each other well. "You look good."

"Thanks. You, too." She signals the bartender for a wine. "I heard you might be here. Justin said you RSVPed last minute."

"Yeah, decided I needed to get out of Cincinnati for a day." He takes a sip of his drink. "How've you been?"

"Good. Really good, actually. I moved to Nashville a few months ago."

"Nashville? That's a change."

"My boyfriend's in music production. The move just made sense." She accepts her wine from the bartender. "Speaking of... I heard through the grapevine you're seeing someone. Riley Carter?"

Joe's not surprised she knows their circle is tight, and news travels fast. "Yeah. I am."

"The rock star. That's... not what I would have predicted for you," Olivia says, but she's smiling. "But you look good. Really good. Not just successful, like you're actually enjoying your life."

"I am happy." The words come out easier than Joe expected. "She's... I love her."

Olivia's face brightens. "That's wonderful, Joe. You deserve that."

Joe realizes what he just said so easily—words he hasn't even said to Riley yet. "With her, everything feels..." He pauses, searching. "Like I can stop calculating. Like, I don't have to manage every piece of my life. She... she makes me want to be present."

Olivia studies his face. "You know what? You deserve to be this happy without worrying about what everyone else thinks. I never saw you talk about anyone the way you just talked about her. Even us."

She's right, he has been worrying about what everyone thinks. His team, the media, and fans who have opinions about his personal life.

"I used to think that was just you being careful," Olivia continues. "But maybe you were just waiting for the right person to stop being careful with."

Joe looks at her, this person who knew him for years, whom he loved just differently. "You know I loved you, right? What we had was real."

"I know." Olivia's smile is gentle and understanding. "But this is different. I can hear it in your voice. See it in your face. You're not holding anything back with her."

Joe nods, feeling better. It's good to hear that from someone who knew him before, who can see the difference. "Thanks for saying that."

"Now tell me about the Nashville guy," Joe says, genuinely interested. "Music production?"

"Nick. We met on Raya, actually." Olivia laughs. "I know, I know, dating apps. But he's really great. Works with a lot of country artists, and he's got this studio in his house that's just incredible. He's been teaching me about music production and all that technical stuff I never knew anything about."

"Funny how we both ended up with musicians, in our own way," Olivia says with a smile.

"I guess we have a type we didn't know about."

"Right? And Nashville is..." She pauses, searching for words. "It feels like home in a way that Cincinnati never did. Even though I loved my time here."

Joe nods, understanding exactly what she means about finding that feeling of home.

Before he can respond, a woman with a camera approaches them. "Excuse me, would you mind if I got a quick photo?"

Joe and Olivia exchange a glance. It's innocent enough, and they are comfortable together in the way that only people who've genuinely moved on can be.

"Sure," Olivia says easily.

They pose naturally, Joe's arm around Olivia's shoulders, both of them genuinely happy. Joe is thinking about Riley and how talking to Olivia has clarified something for him, while Olivia is clearly content with her new life in Nashville. The photographer snaps a few shots.

"Perfect! Thanks so much," the photographer says before moving on to capture other moments.

The rest of the reception passes in a blur of congratulations to Justin, catching up with old teammates, and the easy rhythm of people who've known each other for years. Joe finds himself relaxed in a way he hasn't been in a long time at events like this. Usually, he's calculating how long to stay, who might be watching, and what the optics are of every conversation.

Tonight feels different. When Eli asks about Riley, Joe finds himself describing how she processes the world through music, how she's taught him that not everything needs to be planned. When another teammate jokes about meeting her, Joe realizes he's tired of compartmentalizing, tired of treating his relationship like classified information.

* * *

Joe's barely out of the parking lot when he reaches for his phone to call Riley, then remembers she's probably still at her ticketmaster dinner. He settles for sending a quick text: The Wedding was good, missing you. Call me when you're done?

The drive back to Cincinnati gives him time to think, and Olivia's words keep circling back: You deserve to be this happy without worrying about what everyone else thinks.

She's right. He's spent so much energy managing how things look, being careful about who he's seen with, when, and where. Keeping Riley compartmentalized is not because he's ashamed of her, but because he's been protecting himself. Protecting the image he's built, the careful brand of being uncontroversial.

But sitting in that reception, talking about Riley with people who've known him since before any of this shit mattered, Joe realizes he's tired of protection. He's tired of having something good, something real, and treating it like a secret that needs to be managed.

Riley's not a problem to be solved or a risk to be calculated. She's the person who makes him feel most like himself. And it's time to stop hiding that.

By the time he pulls into his driveway, Joe's made a decision. He wants to go public, not with some grand announcement or orchestrated photo op, just by living their life together without constantly looking over his shoulder.

He wants to bring her to events. Wants to stop cropping her out of his world. Wants to introduce her as his girlfriend without it feeling like he's revealing state secrets.

Joe sits in his car for a moment, engine off, thinking about Riley in that industry meeting, fighting for her fans to have affordable tickets. She's not hiding who she is or what she stands for. Maybe it's time he learned something from that.

He checks his phone one more time, but there is no response from Riley yet. She's probably still in meetings, still fighting for what she believes is right.

Tomorrow he'll call his team and tell them he's done being so careful. Tonight, he'll wait for her call and figure out how to tell the woman he loves that he's ready to love her out loud.

* * *

The private dining room at Republique is understatedly elegant, featuring exposed brick, soft lighting, and a setting where million-dollar deals are often made over wine and small plates. Riley sits across from three Ticketmaster executives, her team flanking her like a well-oiled machine. The leather-bound presentation Gwen had their team prepare sits open between them, charts and data points highlighting everything they've spent weeks perfecting.

"What we're proposing isn't radical," Riley says, leaning forward slightly. "We want to eliminate dynamic pricing entirely for our tour. Set a hard cap on face value tickets and stick to it."

The lead executive, a woman named Janet, nods thoughtfully as she flips through their proposal. "The numbers you're showing here, you're talking about leaving significant revenue on the table."

"We're willing to take that hit," Pete chimes in from Riley's right. "Our fans shouldn't have to choose between rent and seeing us live."

Andy, usually the wildcard, is completely dialed in tonight. "We've run the projections. Even with reduced ticket prices, we expect to sell out every venue. The loyalty that builds is worth more than surge pricing."

Riley watches Janet's face carefully. "Look, we know surge pricing works for you. Supply and demand, market forces, all that. But our fans aren't commodities. They're teenagers saving up from part-time jobs. They're parents who budget for months to take their kids to a show."

Daniel clears his throat. “Honestly, the numbers are clear, price caps make people happier, and there’s way less drama with customer service. Fans stick around. It works.”

Haley slides a tablet across the table, showing their social media analytics. "Rambles fans trust us because we've never treated them like ATMs. This keeps that relationship intact."

"And the bot management?" another executive asks.

"That's where we need your help," Gwen says smoothly. "Better verification systems, improved queuing technology. We're not asking you to work for free, we're asking you to work with us."

Riley can feel the energy in the room shifting. "On resale and scalpers, we want aggressive monitoring. Any ticket being sold for more than face value plus fees gets flagged immediately. We'll promote official resale only."

Janet closes the presentation and looks at her colleagues. "This is... actually more comprehensive than most artists bring us."

"Because most artists don't spend months researching every aspect of fan experience," Riley says with a slight smile. "We do our homework."

"I can see that." Janet's expression is impressed, maybe even a little surprised. "The revenue projections are conservative but realistic. And the fan retention data is compelling."

Riley feels the familiar rush of being in her element, passionate, prepared, fighting for something that matters. This is what she does best: taking care of her people.

"So what do you think?" she asks. "Can we make this work?"

Janet exchanges glances with her team before turning back to Riley. "I think we can definitely work with this framework. There are some details to iron out, but the core concept... It's doable."

Riley tries to keep her expression professional, but she can feel Pete's excitement radiating beside her. They did it. After months of preparation, they actually did it.

"That's incredible," Gwen says, speaking for all of them. "When can we expect a formal response?"

"Give us a week to run this through our systems people," Janet says. "But I'm optimistic."

As they start gathering their materials, Riley feels a deep satisfaction settling in her chest. This is exactly why she does this, not for the money or the fame, but for moments like these, where she can actually make a difference for the people who support her.

"Should we celebrate?" Haley asks, grinning. "This calls for another bottle of wine."

"Absolutely," Riley says, settling back into her chair. "We earned this."

The conversation shifts from business to celebration as they order another round and toast their success. Pete tells stories about their early days playing venues where tickets cost five dollars. Andy makes increasingly ridiculous suggestions for victory celebrations. Daniel, emboldened by wine and success, actually cracks jokes.

Riley feels loose and happy in a way she hasn't in weeks. Tour prep has been stressful, with the constant rehearsals and pressure building toward their first show. But tonight reminds her why it's all worth it, these people, this work, this ability to fight for what matters.

* * *

After the Ticketmaster executives leave with promises to follow up within the week, Riley and her team stay behind to properly celebrate. The adrenaline from the successful meeting has them all buzzing with energy.

"I can't believe they actually went for it," Pete says, shaking his head in amazement. "The whole thing caps, bot management, resale monitoring."

"Did you see Janet's face when we showed her the fan retention data?" Andy grins. "She looked like we'd just presented her with the holy grail of customer satisfaction."

Riley takes a sip of her wine, feeling genuinely proud. "Three months of research and number-crunching. Worth every spreadsheet Gwen made me review."

"Every boring conference call with data analysts," Gwen adds with a laugh.

Daniel, who’s been quietly glowing all evening, finally speaks up. “This is the kind of thing that actually makes a difference for the fans. It’s huge.”

"That's the point," Riley says simply. "We've got a platform, we might as well use it for something good."

They spend another twenty minutes rehashing the meeting, analyzing every response, getting giddy over the implications. Riley feels the warm buzz of wine and success, surrounded by people who've become family over the years of building this together.

"Alright," Gwen finally says, checking her watch. "I should head out. Early morning tomorrow."

"Same," Haley agrees. "This was amazing, though. Really amazing."

As they settle the bill and start gathering their things, Riley feels loose and happy in a way she hasn’t in weeks. She wants to hold onto this feeling when tour prep ramps up again, wants to remember that all the stress is for nights like this, moments that make the hard parts worth it.

They're walking toward the restaurant's exit, still talking and laughing, when Riley spots a familiar figure at the bar. Her stomach drops instantly.

Ethan Mills is slumped over a whiskey, clearly several drinks past his limit. His hair is disheveled, his expensive shirt wrinkled, and even from across the room, Riley can tell he's not just drunk, he's obliterated.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath.

Pete follows her gaze and immediately tenses. "Is that—"

"Yeah." Riley's mind is already calculating. Exit strategies. How to get past him without being seen. "Let's just go. Quickly."

But it's too late. Ethan's head lifts, and his unfocused eyes land directly on her. A slow, unpleasant smile spreads across his face as he slides off his barstool with the unsteady determination of someone very drunk with an agenda.

"Riley fucking Carter," Ethan calls out, loud enough that several other diners turn to look. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Riley's team immediately shifts into protective formation around her, but she puts a hand on Pete's arm. "It's fine. Let me handle this."

Ethan stumbles toward them, and the smell of whiskey hits her before he even opens his mouth again. “Word is Riley’s got herself a quarterback now. That's cute."

Riley's blood runs cold. "How do you—"

"Oh, come on, babe. You didn't get all our friends to yourself in the breakup." Ethan's words are slurred but pointed. "People talk. Even when y'all are trying to keep it quiet."

"Ethan, you need to go home," Riley says calmly, though her heart is racing. "Call someone."

"Don't tell me what to do." His voice grows louder and more aggressive. "You always think you know better than everyone else, don't you? Think you're so fucking perfect now."

Andy steps forward. "Dude, back off."

"Oh, the cavalry," Ethan sneers. "Still need your little boyfriend to fight your battles, Riley?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Riley says firmly. "And I don't need anyone to fight anything. You're drunk. Go home."

But Ethan's not done. "So what, you're too good for musicians now? Gotta upgrade to America's golden boy? Hope he likes surprises, never a dull moment with you, right?"

"That's enough," Pete cuts him off.

Riley can feel the eyes of other restaurant patrons on them now. This is exactly what she was trying to avoid: a scene, drama, the kind of spectacle that follows her around like a shadow from their toxic relationship.

"I'm leaving," she says simply, turning toward the exit.

That's when Ethan's hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, pulling her back toward him.

"Don't walk away from me," he hisses, his grip tight enough to hurt.

Riley jerks her arm free, her face flashing with anger and something that looks like fear. In that split second, with phones already recording and cameras flashing, the optics are all wrong; it seems like she's the aggressor, as if she pushed him, as if she's the one causing problems.

"Don't ever touch me again," she says, her voice shaking with fury.

But the damage is already done. The photos are already taken. And by tomorrow morning, the headlines will paint her as the unstable ex attacking her former boyfriend at an upscale restaurant.

Riley doesn't know this yet. Right now, she's just trying to get her team safely out of a restaurant while her hands shake with adrenaline and her ex-boyfriend calls after her with increasingly nasty comments about her life, her choices, and the quarterback she's supposedly not good enough for.

* * *

Riley's hands are still shaking as she slides into the passenger seat of Pete's car. The others have scattered to their own rides, but Pete insisted on driving her home, and she's grateful for it. She doesn't trust herself behind the wheel right now.

"What the fuck was that?" she breathes, running her fingers through her hair. "How does he know about Joe? We've been so careful."

Pete starts the engine, his jaw tight with anger. "Ethan's always been a piece of shit, but that was next level. Grabbing you like that—"

"The photos," Riley interrupts, the reality hitting her. "Pete, there were people filming. This is going to be everywhere."

"Hey." Pete reaches over and squeezes her shoulder. "We'll figure it out. Call Joe. He can help you process this."

Riley nods, pulling out her phone with trembling fingers. She needs to hear his voice, needs him to tell her it's going to be okay, that they'll figure this out together.

The phone rings once, twice, three times. Straight to voicemail.

"He's not answering," she says, trying again immediately. Same result.

"Try one more time," Pete suggests gently.

Third call. Still nothing.

Riley stares at her phone, feeling something crack open in her chest. She knows he's probably just asleep, probably had a long day at the wedding, but right now it feels like abandonment. Like when she needs him most, he's not there.

"He's probably just—" Pete starts.

"I know," Riley cuts him off, but her voice wavers. "I know he's probably asleep. It's just... fuck, Pete. Everything was going so well tonight. The meeting was perfect, we were celebrating, and then Ethan just..."

"Ruined it. Like he always does."

Riley leans her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes. "He knows about Joe. Which means other people know. Which means we're not as private as we thought."

"That doesn't change anything though, right? You and Joe, you're solid."

"Are we?" The words slip out before Riley can stop them. "I mean, yeah, we are. But this... this is exactly what he's been worried about. Drama, headlines, his image getting dragged into my mess."

Pete pulls into Riley's driveway and turns off the engine. "Riles, this isn't your mess. This is Ethan being a drunk asshole. Joe will understand that."

Riley wants to believe that, but something cold is settling in her stomach. She keeps thinking about Joe's careful nature, his team's concerns, how hard they've worked to keep their relationship private.

"I'm staying tonight," Pete says, not making it a question. "Daniel and Andy are worried sick, and honestly, so am I. You shouldn't be alone right now."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm staying," Pete repeats firmly. "We'll make some tea, watch terrible movies, and tomorrow we'll deal with whatever fallout comes from tonight. But right now, you need someone here."

Riley nods, grateful beyond words for Pete's steady presence. "I love you, you know that?" she says quietly.

"Love you too, Riles."

As they walk toward her front door, she tries Joe's number one more time.

Still nothing.

* * *

Riley curls up on her couch with a mug of chamomile tea that's gone cold in her hands. Pete's in the kitchen, puttering around and giving her space to breathe, but she can feel his worried energy from across the room.

Her phone sits face down on the coffee table, but she can't stop herself from picking it up every few minutes to check if Joe has called back. Each time, nothing.

"Stop torturing yourself," Pete says gently, taking the chair across from her. "It's midnight here, but it's, what, three in Cincinnati? He's definitely drooling on his pillow by now."

"I know." Riley takes a shaky sip of tea. "I just... I needed to hear his voice tonight, you know? After everything with Ethan."

"Want to try again?"

Riley shakes her head. Three missed calls are enough. More than enough. She doesn't want to seem desperate, even though that's exactly how she feels.

"Let's see if anything's posted yet," she says, reaching for her phone.

"Riles, no. That's a terrible idea."

But she's already opening Instagram, searching for any mention of her name or the restaurant. It doesn't take long.

The first video appears on a gossip account with 2.3 million followers. The caption reads: "Riley Carter's restaurant meltdown - is the rock star back to her old ways?"

Riley's heart sinks as she watches grainy phone footage of the moment Ethan grabbed her wrist. Out of context, it appears that she's pushing him, making her seem like the aggressor. The angle completely misses Ethan's grip on her arm, completely misses his drunken state.

"Oh god," she whispers.

Pete moves to sit beside her on the couch. "Let me see."

More posts are appearing by the minute. Twitter is already exploding with speculation. #RileyCarterMeltdown is trending. The comments are brutal:

"Same old Riley, different day"

"Thought she cleaned up her act"

"Poor Ethan, he looked scared"

"Rock stars never change"

"Turn it off," Pete says firmly. "None of these people were there. None of them knows what actually happened."

But Riley keeps scrolling, unable to stop herself. Each new post feels like a punch to the gut. The narrative is already set: troubled rock star attacks ex-boyfriend at upscale restaurant. The fact that Ethan was blackout drunk doesn't matter. The fact that he grabbed her first doesn't matter.

"I should call Gwen," she mumbles.

"It's midnight, Riles. Call her tomorrow."

"This is going to be everywhere by tomorrow. Joe's going to see this and think—"

"Joe's going to see this and understand that your drunk ex ambushed you," Pete interrupts. "Because he knows you."

Riley wants to believe that, but she keeps thinking about all their conversations about being careful, about his image, about how they've worked so hard to keep their relationship private. And now this is exactly the kind of drama he's been worried about.

She opens Twitter again, searching for any mention of Joe. That's when she sees it: a photo from the wedding, posted by someone named Amy with the caption "Great seeing old friends tonight! ❤️ @justinhilliard's wedding was perfect!"

In the photo, Joe has his arm around a beautiful woman with dark blonde hair and light highlights. They both look relaxed, happy, and comfortable. Riley's stomach drops as she recognizes Olivia from Google searches she's done in weaker moments.

"Who's that?" Pete asks, looking over her shoulder.

"His ex," Riley says quietly. "Olivia."

They look so natural together, so easy. While Riley was getting ambushed by her toxic ex, Joe was posing for photos with his. The contrast feels devastating.

"It's just a picture, Riles. Doesn't mean anything."

Riley nods, but her throat feels tight. She knows it doesn't mean anything romantic, but right now, seeing Joe looking that comfortable with someone else while she's falling apart, it feels like everything.

Her phone buzzes with a text from Andy: Saw the videos. Are you okay? Want me to come over?

Then Daniel: This is bullshit. Everyone knows you're not like that anymore.

Then her mom said, 'Baby, I saw the news.' Call me.

Riley turns her phone face down again, feeling overwhelmed. "I can't deal with all of this tonight."

"Then don't," Pete says simply. "We'll watch something mindless until you fall asleep, and tomorrow we'll figure out how to handle it."

But as Pete scrolls through Netflix options, Riley can't shake the image of Joe and Olivia looking so perfectly at ease together. Can't stop thinking about how this night started with such a victory and ended with everything falling apart.

* * *

Joe wakes up at 9:23 AM feeling better than he has in weeks. The wedding, the conversation with Olivia, and his decision about going public with Riley —everything feels clear in the morning light. He's ready to stop hiding, ready to bring Riley into his world properly.

He reaches for his phone to text her good morning and sees seventeen missed calls.

His stomach drops immediately. Seventeen missed calls before 7 AM means a crisis.

The first call back is to Mark, his agent, who answers before the second ring.

"Jesus, Joe, finally. We've been trying to reach you for hours."

"What's wrong?" Joe sits up in bed, fully awake now.

"Have you seen the headlines? About Riley?"

Joe's blood goes cold. "What headlines?"

"Check your texts. I'm sending you links now."

Joe opens the first link Mark sends:

"Riley Carter's Restaurant Meltdown: Rock Star Attacks Ex at Upscale LA Eatery"

The photo shows Riley with her arm extended toward Ethan, her face twisted in anger. Out of context, it appears exactly as the headline suggests: an unprovoked attack.

"This is everywhere, Joe," Mark continues. "TMZ, People, Entertainment Tonight. The video's been viewed three million times since last night."

Joe scrolls through more headlines: "Troubled Rock Star Riley Carter Back to Old Ways," "Riley Carter's Violent Outburst Caught on Camera," "Is Riley Carter Spiraling Again?"

"Shit," Joe breathes.

"It gets worse. People are already asking what you think about this. Twitter's blowing up with questions about whether you're going to comment, whether you're still together. Your mentions are a mess."

Joe's phone buzzes with another call, Bill, his publicist.

"I need to take this," Joe tells Mark.

"Joe, thank God," Bill says the moment Joe answers. "We need to talk about damage control. This Riley situation is about to become your Riley situation."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, social media is already speculating about your connection to her. And with your season starting, we cannot afford to have your name tied to this kind of drama."

Joe stares at the photos on his laptop screen. Riley looks unhinged and aggressive. Nothing like the woman who sent him that David Byrne video yesterday, nothing like the person who fights for her fans' affordable tickets.

"Have you talked to her?" Bill asks.

"No, I—I just woke up."

"Good. Could you not call her back yet? We need to discuss strategy first."

"Strategy?"

"Joe, this is exactly what we've been worried about with this relationship. Her past and reputation were always going to be a liability. And now it's playing out in real time."

Joe feels something cold settling in his chest. Yesterday, he was ready to go public, ready to stop caring what people thought. Today, faced with actual consequences, he's not sure.

"This is exactly what we've been worried about," Bill continues. "Her past is catching up, and now you're getting pulled into it. Every story about this is going to mention you by the third paragraph."

Joe looks at his phone and sees three missed calls from Riley from late last night. She was trying to reach him while this was happening, while her world was falling apart, and he was sleeping off wedding champagne.

"What are you suggesting?" Joe asks, though he's afraid he already knows.

"You need to be extra careful now. No comments, if anyone asks. Definitely no being seen together until this dies down. And Joe? Is this relationship worth this?"

Joe stares at the headlines again. The photos. The comments calling Riley unstable, violent, and a mess. Part of him knows there has to be more to the story. Riley doesn't start fights, doesn't attack people. But the evidence is right there on his screen, and his team's panic is infectious.

"I need to think," he says.

"Don't think too long," Mark chimes in, having joined the call. "Every hour this story grows, it gets harder to stay out of it."

After Joe hangs up, he sits in his bed staring at Riley's missed calls. Yesterday, he was ready to tell her he loved her, ready to stop hiding their relationship. Today, looking at these headlines, all he can think about is protecting himself.

He doesn't call her back. Not yet. First, he needs to figure out how to handle this without destroying everything he's built.

* * *

Joe stares at his phone for another ten minutes before finally calling Riley back. It's nearly 10 AM, and she tried to reach him at midnight. Realizing how long she's been dealing with this alone makes him sick with guilt.

She picks up on the first ring.

"Joe." Her voice is raw and exhausted, as if she's been crying.

"Hey. I'm sorry I missed your calls. I saw the headlines this morning and—"

"You saw the headlines before you called me back." It's not a question.

Joe pauses, realizing how that sounds. "My team called. They were panicking about—"

"About how this looks for you."

"Riley, what happened? The photos... they're saying you attacked Ethan."

Riley takes a shaky breath. "I didn't attack anyone. He was drunk out of his mind, Joe. Like, blackout drunk. He came up to us after our meeting and started saying things about you and about us. When I tried to leave, he grabbed my wrist."

"He grabbed you?"

"Yeah. And when I pulled away, that's when someone took the photo. It looks like I'm pushing him, but I was trying to get his hands off me."

Joe can hear the exhaustion in her voice, the hurt. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay! I've been watching this story explode all night. People are calling me unstable and violent. They're saying I'm back to my old ways." Her voice cracks. "And the worst part? Ethan knew about us. He said people talk, that we weren't as private as we thought."

Joe feels that familiar clench of anxiety. "What exactly did he say?"

"Does it matter? The point is our relationship isn't as secret as we hoped, and now I'm a PR nightmare for you."

"That's not—"

"Isn't it?" Riley's voice gets sharper. "Joe, I needed you last night. I was falling apart, and I called you three times, and you were... where were you?"

"I was asleep. I didn't know—"

"You were at a wedding. With Olivia."

Joe's stomach drops. "Riley—"

"I saw the photo. You two looked really comfortable."

"It was completely innocent. We just talked, caught up. She's seeing someone, she moved to Nashville—"

"While I was getting ambushed by my drunk ex, you were posing for pictures with yours."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" Riley's voice rises. "You want to talk about fair? I got attacked last night, had cameras shoved in my face, and when I call you for support, you're too busy to answer."

"Riley, I'm sorry. I should have answered. But right now, with everything that's happening—"

"What? What about right now?"

Joe takes a breath, and he can hear his team's voices in his head. "We need to be more careful."

The silence that follows is deafening.

"More careful," Riley repeats slowly. "More careful than what, Joe? More careful than never going anywhere together? More careful than me having to crop you out of every photo?"

"Just until this blows over—"

"There it is." Riley's voice has gone cold. "Until this blows over. Until I stop being an embarrassment to your image."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yes, it is. I know this is the part where you say you panicked, you didn't know what the fuck to do, it all looked bad. I get it. But not once was it because I was ashamed of you."

"I know that—"

"Do you? Because it sounds like you're more worried about how this affects your precious reputation than about the fact that your girlfriend got grabbed by her drunk ex."

"Riley, you know that's not—"

"What I know is that when push comes to shove, I'm the problem you need to manage. Not the person you want to protect."

Joe feels everything spiraling. "I'm trying to protect us—"

"No, you're trying to protect yourself. There's a difference."

"Riley, can you just—"

"What? Can I just what? Disappear until I'm convenient again? Make myself smaller so you don't have to worry about how it looks?"

"That's not what I'm asking—"

"Yeah, it is."

The line goes quiet except for the sound of Riley's uneven breathing.

"I can't do this," she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Riley, wait—"

But the line's already dead.

Joe stares at his phone, the silence echoing in his ears. The quiet lasts maybe five seconds before panic sets in.

He calls back immediately. It rings four times, then goes to voicemail. He hangs up and tries again.—Same result.

"Riley, please pick up," he says after the third attempt goes to voicemail. "I know I fucked that up... please call me back."

Fourth call. Fifth. Sixth.

By the seventh call, it goes straight to voicemail without ringing. She's turned her phone off.

Joe sits in his kitchen, his phone silent in his hands, and knows that somewhere across the country, Riley is doing exactly what he would do protecting herself from more damage. The difference is, this time, he's the one causing it.

* * *

Joe rubs his face with his hands, replaying the conversation. Riley's voice when she said his name—raw, exhausted, like she'd been holding her breath all night waiting for him to call. And his first response wasn't to ask if she was okay, wasn't to tell her he was sorry she went through that alone. It was to mention the headlines.

You saw the headlines before you called me back.

She was right. He had seen them first. He had let Mark and Bill get into his head, had let their panic become his own. By the time he called her, he wasn't calling as her boyfriend who was worried about her, he was calling as someone who needed to manage a crisis.

The photos flash through his mind again. Riley looks angry and aggressive. Ethan looked startled, almost afraid. Joe knows Riley knows she doesn't start fights, doesn't attack people. In all the time he's known her, she's never violently lost her cool. She gets passionate, sure, but not aggressive.

But if he’s honest, looking at those headlines, he let himself believe it for longer than he should have. Or at least, he acted like he did.

I needed you last night.

That's him. While he was sleeping off wedding champagne, feeling good about his decision to go public, Riley was getting ambushed by her drunk ex. She was dealing with cameras and questions and her past being weaponized against her, and she'd had him. Three times.

And he'd be unreachable.

Joe thinks about the David Byrne video she'd seen just yesterday. The way she said she missed him. The conversation about their song, about home, about love that doesn't have to be justified to anyone else. How had he gone from that to "we need" to be more careful in less than twenty-four hours?

His team. Is this relationship worth it?

Bill's question sits like a stone in his chest. Three hours ago, Joe would have said yes without hesitation. Riley was worth it; he was worth the media attention, worth the complications, worth people having opinions about his personal life. She made him feel like himself in a way he'd never experienced before.

But when faced with actual consequences, actual headlines, and actual crises, he'd falter.

Joe gets up and walks to his living room, surveying his perfectly organized, impersonal space. Everything in its place, everything carefully curated. Before Riley, this house felt like enough: clean lines, no drama, no mess to manage.

Now it just feels empty.

He thinks about Riley’s in New Orleans, how every room feels lived in, every corner full of music and memories. The records stacked by the window, the mismatched mugs, the way it felt like home the moment he walked in.

While I was getting ambushed by my drunk ex, you were posing for pictures with yours.

The photo with Olivia. Joe pulls it up on his phone, him and Olivia smiling, his arm around her shoulders. They do look comfortable. Happy. Like two people who don't care about the world.

Meanwhile, Riley was fighting off her toxic ex and getting photographed at her worst moment.

The contrast is devastating when he really thinks about it. Olivia, who he'd told he loved Riley before ever telling Riley. Olivia, who'd encouraged him to stop worrying about what other people think. And there he was, twelve hours later, telling Riley they needed to be more careful because of what other people might think.

Joe drops onto the couch, the same spot where Riley had curled up against him just weeks ago, talking about her grandfather, her music, her fears about trusting someone new. She'd be vulnerable with him in ways she probably hadn't with anyone since Ethan destroyed her trust.

And this morning, he'd proved that trust was misplaced.

When push comes to shove, I'm the one you need to manage.

That's what she'd said, and Joe had denied it. But sitting here now, he realizes she was exactly right. The moment things got complicated, his instinct wasn't to protect her—it was to protect himself. To distance himself. To treat her like a liability instead of the person who'd made him happier than he'd ever been.

His phone sits silent on the coffee table. Part of him wants to call her back again, to try to apologize once more, to explain that he panicked and said all the wrong things. But he can hear the finality in her voice when she says she can't do this. Can see the pattern they've just fallen into—him pulling back every time external pressure mounts.

The worst part is that his team was probably right about the practical stuff. This will be a headache. There will be more headlines, more questions, more people having opinions about his personal life. Dating Riley Carter was never going to be simple.

But yesterday, sitting in his car after the wedding, he'd been ready for complicated. Ready to figure it out together instead of trying to solve it by keeping her at arm's length.

Now he's here, he gets another chance to choose differently.

Joe looks around his empty house and realizes that for all his talk about being careful, he might have just made the most careless mistake of his life.

The silence stretches on, and for the first time in years, Joe Burrow doesn't know how to fix what he's been. Worse, he's not sure he deserves the chance to try.

He'd told Olivia yesterday that he loved Riley. Said it so easily, so naturally, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And less than twenty-four hours later, when Riley needed him to prove that love meant something, he'd failed completely.

The irony isn't lost on him—he'd spent his whole career learning from mistakes, adjusting, getting better. But with Riley, every time it mattered, he kept fucking up.

* * *

Riley sits on her couch, phone clutched in her shaking hands, trying to process what just happened. The conversation replays in her head on a loop—Joe's careful tone, his measured responses, the way he said "we need to be more careful" like she was a problem to be solved.

Her phone starts ringing again. Joe's name lights up the screen.

She doesn't answer.

It rings again. And again.

"Riley?" Pete calls from the kitchen, where he's been giving her space but clearly listening. "You okay?"

She's not okay. She's the furthest thing from okay. The phone keeps ringing—fourth call, fifth call—and with each buzz, something inside her breaks a little more.

By the sixth call, Riley can't take it anymore. She sees Joe's name appear again and something snaps.

Riley hurls the phone across the room.

It hits the brick wall next to her fireplace with a sickening crack. The screen goes black immediately, pieces of glass scattering across her hardwood floor.

The sudden silence is deafening.

“Riley!” Pete rushes in from the kitchen and takes in the scene—Riley hunched on the couch, her phone shattered against the wall, glass glinting on the floor.

"I broke it," she says through tears, staring at the wreckage. "I broke my phone."

"Okay," Pete says gently, sitting beside her on the couch. "We can get you a new phone."

"He kept calling." Riley's voice is barely above a whisper. "After telling me we need to be more careful, after basically saying I'm too much drama for his perfect life, he kept calling like that would fix it."

Pete carefully steps around the glass to examine the phone. The screen is completely shattered, and the device is bent at an unnatural angle. "Yeah, this is definitely dead."

Riley lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Perfect. Add it to the list, right?”

"Hey." Pete sits back down, his voice serious. "Talk to me. What did he say?"

Riley pulls her knees to her chest, making herself small. "He said we need to be more careful. Like we haven't been careful enough already. Like I haven't been hiding in the shadows of his life for months."

"And?"

"And I told him the truth. That when it matters, I'm just a problem he needs to manage." Riley's voice cracks. "He didn't even deny it, Pete. He just... he didn't deny it."

Pete is quiet for a moment, processing. "Maybe he was just scared. People say stupid things when they're scared."

"No." Riley shakes her head. "This wasn't scared. This was calculated. This was him choosing his image over me."

She thinks about last night—how confident she'd felt after the Ticketmaster meeting, how proud she'd been of fighting for her fans. How quickly it all turned to shit when Ethan showed up with his poison and his cameras.

"I called him three times last night," she continues. "Three times, Pete. And he was off taking cozy photos with his ex-girlfriend."

"You don't know that's what—"

"I saw the photo. They looked..." Riley struggles for the word. "Happy. Comfortable. Like two people who don't have to worry about being 'too careful' with each other."

Pete shakes his head. “It’s just a picture, Riles. Doesn’t mean anything.”

But Riley barely hears him.

“I’m such an idiot,” Riley says, burying her face in her hands. “I really thought he was different. I thought he saw past all the stories, past everything people think I am. I thought he actually saw me.”

"He does see you—"

“No, he doesn’t. Because if he understood me, he’d know I’d never start something like that. He’d know Ethan was the one who grabbed me. He’d know I needed him last night, and he wasn’t there.”

Riley looks at the shattered phone again, at the pieces of glass scattered across her floor. It feels symbolic somehow—the destruction of connection, of hope, of the carefully constructed bridge she'd built between her chaotic world and his ordered one.

"What am I supposed to do now?" she asks quietly.

Pete follows her gaze to the broken phone. "First, we clean this up. Then we get you a new phone. Then..."

"Then what?"

"Then we figure out how to get through this without him."

The words hit Riley like a physical blow. Without him. The thought of going back to her life before Joe—before someone who made her feel seen and valued and worth protecting—feels impossible.

But sitting here, surrounded by the debris of her broken phone and her broken trust, Riley realizes she might not have a choice.

"I can't keep doing this," she whispers. "I can't keep being someone's secret. I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt when the person I love chooses everyone else's opinion over me."

Pete reaches over and squeezes her hand. "Then don't."

Riley nods, but inside, something fundamental has shifted. The walls she'd slowly let down for Joe are rebuilding themselves, brick by brick. And this time, she's not sure anyone will be able to break through them again.

* * *

Pete looks at Riley crying on the couch, then at the shattered phone, then back at Riley. In all the years he's known her—through the worst of the Ethan days, through panic attacks before big shows, through family drama and industry bullshit—he's never seen her this broken.

"Come on," he says gently, standing up and extending his hand. "Let's get you outside. You love it out there by the pool."

Riley doesn't move. "I don't want to—"

"I know. But you need air, and I need to make some calls." Pete's voice is firm but kind. "Trust me."

She lets him pull her up from the couch, and he guides her through the sliding glass doors to the backyard. The pool sparkles in the late morning sun, lounge chairs lined up under the wide sky, the sound of water trickling from the small fountain she installed last year. Usually, this is her sanctuary. Today, it just feels like another place where she’s alone.

Pete settles her into her favorite chair, the one with the soft cushions that she always curls up in when they're writing songs out here. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

Riley nods, pulling her knees to her chest and staring at the water.

Pete goes back inside and pulls out his own phone. First call: Haley.

“Pete? What’s wrong?” Haley answers immediately, her voice a little panicked.

"Riley needs us. Can you get over here?"

“Is this about the Ethan thing? I saw the videos—I’ve been trying to call her all morning.”

"It's about Joe. He fucked up. Bad. And Riley's..." Pete looks out at her through the glass doors. "She's not okay."

"I'm already getting dressed. Twenty minutes."

Next call: Daniel.

"Everything alright?" Daniel's voice is groggy—he was still asleep.

"Riley needs you here. Now."

The grogginess disappears instantly. "On my way."

Andy answers before Pete even hears it ring. "Dude, I've been watching Twitter all night. How bad is it?"

"Worse than the internet knows. Get here."

"Fuck. Yeah, I'm coming."

Last call: Laura.

"Pete? What's up?"

"Riley needs you. Joe broke her heart, and she broke her phone, and I need all hands on deck."

Laura doesn't hesitate. "I'll stop and get coffee on the way. The good stuff from that place she likes."

Pete pockets his phone and looks out at Riley through the glass doors. She's still curled up in the chair, staring at the water. Before going back outside, he opens his messages and finds Joe's contact.

Dude what the fuck. I've been in your corner this whole time. What are you doing?

The response comes faster than Pete expected.

I fucked up. Is she okay?

No, she's not okay. She threw her phone at the wall and broke it. She's crying her eyes out.

I've been trying to call her back

Well, you can stop now because her phone is in pieces

Pete, I know how this looks, but I panicked. My team was freaking out about the headlines

So you chose your team over her?

The typing bubbles appear and disappear several times before Joe's response comes through.

I don't know. Maybe. I wasn't thinking straight.

Joe, she needed you last night. She called you three times after Ethan ambushed her, and you didn't answer.

I was asleep. I didn't know what happened until this morning

And your first instinct was damage control instead of making sure she was okay

You're right.

She loves you, you know that, right? And you just told her she’s too much trouble for your perfect life.

That's not what I meant

But that's what you said. That's what she heard.

Another long pause before Joe responds.

How do I fix this?

Pete looks out at Riley, still staring at the water, and types back:

I honestly don't know if you can.

He puts his phone away and goes back outside. Whatever Joe's response might be, Pete doesn't want to see it right now. His focus needs to be on Riley.

"They're all coming," he says, settling into the chair next to her.

"You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did." Pete's voice is matter-of-fact. "This is what we do. When one of us is hurting, we show up."

Riley looks at him, and for the first time since the phone call, her expression softens slightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

"You'll never have to find out."

They sit in comfortable silence, the quiet broken only by the fountain and the distant sound of wind moving through the canyon. Pete knows Riley well enough to know she’s replaying the conversation with Joe, picking apart every word, every pause, every implication.

"Want to talk about what he said?" Pete asks finally.

Riley shakes her head. "I want to wait until everyone's here. I only want to say it once."

Pete nods. "Fair enough."

"Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For staying. For calling everyone. For..." She gestures vaguely. "For knowing what I need before I do."

"That's what family does."

Riley's eyes fill with tears again, but these feel different. Not the desperate, betrayed tears from earlier, but something softer. Grateful.

"I love you guys so much," she whispers.

"We love you, too. And we're going to get you through this."

Pete means it. He's watched Riley survive worse than Joe Burrow. She's stronger than she knows, even if she can't see it right now.

But as he sits there watching her stare at the water, Pete can't shake the feeling that this particular heartbreak might take longer to heal than the others. Because this time, Riley had actually let herself believe it might be different.

* * *

Haley arrives first, twenty minutes after Pete’s call, with that focused expression she gets when there’s a crisis to manage.

"She still outside?" Haley asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Yeah. By the pool."

Haley nods and heads straight out, settling into the chair next to Riley. She pulls out her phone and starts scrolling through something work-related, creating a quiet presence without trying to force conversation.

Daniel shows up next, looking like he rolled out of bed and grabbed the first clothes he could find. His hair is going in three different directions.

"Brought snacks," he says, holding up a bag of gas station junk food. "And these." He sets down a case of White Claws.

Andy steps inside, worry written all over his face. “Okay, what’s going on? Pete sounded serious.”

Laura walks in last, carrying the good coffee from that place Riley likes and a small pharmacy bag. "Figured she might need caffeine and Advil," she says practically. "Where is she?"

They end up by the pool, everyone grabbing chairs or settling on the ground. Andy immediately cracks open a White Claw and offers one to Riley, who shakes her head. Daniel sprawls in a chair and closes his eyes. Laura distributes coffee. Haley stays close beside Riley, scrolling through her phone.

It's Riley who finally breaks the silence.

"Joe told me we needed to be more careful," she says to the water. "After Ethan grabbed me last night, the photos made it look like I attacked him."

The fidgeting stops. Everyone's attention shifts to Riley, but nobody jumps in with questions or outrage.

"More careful how?" Haley asks.

Riley explains the phone call, Joe's team's panic, and his suggestion that they lay low until things blow over. Her friends listen without interrupting, letting her get it all out.

"So I hung up on him," Riley finishes. "And then he kept calling, and I threw my phone at the wall."

Andy speaks first. "Good. The hanging-up part, not the phone-breaking part. That was expensive."

"Andy," Daniel says.

"What? I'm proud of her for hanging up. That was some weak-ass bullshit from him."

Pete looks around the group. “Her phone’s done for—smashed it after he kept calling.”

Laura nods. “So it’s not like she can talk to him, even if she wanted to.”

Riley just shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t know what to say to him anyway.”

"How about 'go fuck yourself'?" Andy suggests helpfully.

"Or nothing," Haley says. "You don't owe him anything right now."

They spend the next few hours just existing in Riley’s space. Andy reorganizes her outdoor speakers and starts playing music. Daniel helps Haley clean up the glass from Riley’s broken phone, moving quietly. Laura forces everyone to eat the sandwiches she ordered, and Haley keeps Riley close.

No one tries to solve anything or offers advice about what Riley should do next. They just stay, filling her house with the familiar chaos of people who know how to be around each other.

After Pete texts Papa to let him know Riley’s phone is out of commission, it only takes a few hours for her mom to call Pete’s phone, worried. Word travels fast in Riley’s family. Pete hands off the call, and Riley finds herself retelling the story to someone who’s already planning a trip to Cincinnati to “have words” with Joe Burrow.

"Mom, no," Riley says. "I can handle this."

"I know you can, baby. But you shouldn't have to."

After she hangs up, Riley looks around at her friends scattered across her backyard and feels something loosen in her chest. Not better, exactly, but steadier.

"Seriously thanks for coming," she says. "All of you."

"Where else would we be?" Daniel asks, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

* * *

Riley sits cross-legged on her bedroom floor at 2:47 AM, acoustic guitar balanced on her lap, surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper. Her friends left hours ago, but Pete's asleep in the guest room down the hall. The house is quiet except for the occasional creak of settling wood, too full of thoughts she can't shut off.

She strums a chord progression she's been picking at for the past hour—something haunting and raw that matches the ache in her chest. The melody feels familiar, like it's been waiting inside her since that phone call with Joe.

Mmm, mmm, mmm

She hums softly, testing the sound. Sometimes songs start with nothing but a feeling, a vibration that needs to find words.

Riley's fingers move across the strings, and fragments start coming:

Everyone says I look happy...

She stops, shakes her head. That's not quite right. She tries again:

The more that you give, the less that I need...

She scribbles lines in her notebook, crossing out, rewriting. The melody pulls her toward something rawer, more honest:

'Cause they say that misery loves company It's not your fault I ruin everything And it's not your fault I can't be what you need

Her voice cracks on the last line. This is the part that hurts most—not that Joe was wrong, but that maybe she really is too much. Too complicated, too messy, too likely to bring chaos into someone's carefully ordered life.

Baby, angels like you can't fly down hell with me

She stops playing, staring at the words she's just written. The line came from nowhere, but it fits. It's about the distance between them—not just physical, but fundamental.

I'm everything they said I would be

Riley plays the line again, feeling the weight of it. Simple words, but they carry everything—all the ways she's been labeled, all the expectations she's lived up to whether she wanted to or not.

She keeps working, the words coming easier now:

I'll put you down slow, love you goodbye Before you let go, just one more time

It's about the inevitable ending she can see coming. The way loving her always seems to hurt the people who try. The way she's learned to protect herself by leaving first.

A little more hurt won't kill you Tonight

The words feel like confession and accusation rolled into one. Like admitting she knows she's poison while daring someone to love her anyway.

Riley writes until her fingertips are sore from the steel strings, until the notebook page is covered in lyrics that tell the truth about being the kind of person who breaks things just by existing in them. The song isn't finished—songs like this never really are—but the core is there. The raw honesty of knowing you're someone's biggest mistake.

By the time she finally sets the guitar aside, dawn is creeping through her windows. Her fingers ache and her voice is hoarse from singing the same phrases over and over.

Riley climbs into bed, leaving the notebook open on her nightstand. The pages are covered in her messy handwriting—crossed-out lines, fragments, half-formed thoughts that might become something real.

She closes her eyes and for the first time in days, the silence doesn't feel heavy. The song isn't finished, might not ever be, but it's hers. Her truth, her pain, her choice about what to do with both.

Sleep comes easier than it has since that phone call, dreamless and deep.

* * *

Saturday, 11:47 PM Can we talk?

Sunday, 7:23 AM Riley

Sunday, 10:15 AM I saw the actual video. I'm sorry.

Sunday, 2:33 PM Please answer

Sunday, 6:45 PM I know I fucked up

Sunday, 9:18 PM Don't want to lose you over this

Monday, 6:30 AM Riley

Monday, 11:42 AM Just want to talk

Monday, 3:55 PM Your team won't answer either

Monday, 7:21 PM This silence is killing me

Monday, 10:33 PM I was wrong about everything

Tuesday, 8:15 AM Practice today. Thinking about you

Tuesday, 12:00 PM Are you still coming Friday after my game?

Tuesday, 4:47 PM Riley please just tell me you're okay

Tuesday, 8:30 PM Long day. You would have made it better

Tuesday, 11:52 PM Can't sleep without knowing we're okay

Wednesday, 7:45 AM Your flight's still booked for Saturday

Wednesday, 2:20 PM I'll pick you up at the airport if you let me

Wednesday, 9:15 PM Last preseason game Friday. Then I'm free

Thursday, 6:30 AM Game tomorrow. Season starts next week

Thursday, 1:10 PM Remember when you said this would be your first season watching?

Thursday, 8:00 PM Still hoping you'll be there Saturday

Each message shows as delivered but never read. Joe stares at his phone after sending the last text, the simple words feeling inadequate but also all he can manage.

He doesn’t know that across the country, Riley’s phone is still in pieces in a drawer, and she’s been borrowing Pete’s phone for the essentials, staying offline the rest of the time.

He doesn’t know that she picked up a new phone yesterday but hasn’t set it up yet—no texts, no calls, nothing beyond what her team and family need.

He doesn’t know her flight to Cincinnati is still booked for Friday, or that she’s been staring at the confirmation email for hours, unable to decide whether to cancel or just not show up.

All Joe knows is the silence, and the growing realization that she might not be coming this weekend after all.

* * *

Joe stares at his phone Thursday night after sending what feels like his hundredth unanswered text. The silence is eating him alive, and tomorrow's preseason game feels meaningless when all he can think about is whether Riley will be on that flight Saturday.

He scrolls through his contacts and calls his dad.

"Joey," Jimmy answers on the second ring. "How you doing, son?"

"Not great."

Jimmy's tone immediately shifts. "What's wrong?"

"Riley and I... we had a fight."

There's a pause. Jimmy knows how Joe feels about Riley—he's been asking about her for months, has seen the change in his son since they started dating.

"What happened?"

Joe gives his dad the short version—the headlines, his team freaking out, telling Riley they needed to be more careful.

"She hasn't talked to me since," Joe says. "It's been five days."

"You try calling her?"

"Phone goes straight to voicemail."

Jimmy is quiet for a moment. "You know what doesn't work when you mess up?"

"What?"

"Sitting around waiting."

Joe feels something shift. "You think I should go to LA?"

"I think if you care about her, you don't let her sit there thinking you chose everyone else over her."

"What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"Then you'll know. But Joey, from everything you've told us about Riley, she's not someone who gives up easy. If she's not talking to you, there's a reason."

Joe thinks about that last conversation, how hurt she sounded. "My game's tomorrow."

"Saturday's when she's supposed to come here?"

"Yeah. If she still is."

"Then you better figure out how to get to LA Saturday morning."

Joe's chest tightens. "What if I get there and it's over?"

"What if you don't go and she thinks you don't care enough to try?"

After Joe hangs up, he sits in his house thinking about Riley's voice when she hung up on him. How she said he was treating her like a problem to manage.

He calls Sarah to book a private flight to LA for Saturday morning.

Joe books it.

Tomorrow's the last preseason game. Saturday he'll find out if he still has her.

Either way, he's done waiting.

* * *

Riley stares at her new phone, Joe's messages lighting up the screen one after another. She got the replacement yesterday after living phone-free for three days, borrowing Pete's when absolutely necessary. Now all of Joe's texts from the past few days are flooding in, a steady stream of apologies and questions that her broken phone never received.

She could respond. Could end this silence that's been stretching between them for five days now.

She doesn't.

"He's asking if you're still coming Saturday," Haley says, reading over Pete's shoulder at Joe's latest message. "To Cincinnati."

Riley looks at her laptop screen, where the flight confirmation email sits open. Departure: Saturday 4:20 PM LAX to CVG. She's been staring at it for twenty minutes, cursor hovering over the "cancel trip" button.

"I don't know," she says honestly.

"What does your gut say?" Andy asks from where he's sprawled across her living room floor, supposedly helping her reorganize her vinyl collection but mostly just making piles based on "vibes."

Riley’s gut twists with how much she misses Joe. She keeps reaching for her phone to text him the stupidest things—a weird billboard, a song that made her laugh, even the fact that she caught herself watching his team’s highlights on SportsCenter just to feel close to him.

Her gut also says that nothing he's texted changes what he said to her on that phone call. That when things got complicated, his first instinct was to protect himself, not her.

"My gut says I'm tired of being someone's secret," she says finally.

Daniel looks up from the corner where he's been quietly tuning his guitar. "But you were okay with keeping it private before."

"Yeah, well, that was before I realized I'm always gonna be the problem." Riley's voice gets sharper. "The messy one, the complicated one, the one who makes everything harder. I'm so fucking tired of men treating me like I'm too much."

"And you think Joe's ashamed of you?" Laura asks gently.

Riley considers this. "I think Joe's more worried about how I look on paper than who I actually am."

Her phone buzzes with a text from—

Gwen: How are you holding up? Ready for rehearsal Monday?

Riley types back: As ready as I can be.

It's not entirely true. She's been trying to channel her heartbreak into her music, but everything she writes comes out either too angry or too sad. She needs the sweet spot—the place where pain becomes art instead of just noise.

"You know what's fucked up?" she says, looking around at her friends scattered throughout her living room. "I was actually excited about football season. I downloaded apps, I was going to understand down and goal and all that shit. I was ready to care about something I've never cared about because I cared about him."

"You still could," Pete offers.

Riley shakes her head. "Not anymore. Every game would just remind me of this."

Her phone buzzes again with another message from

 Joe: Still hoping you'll be there Saturday.

The casual hope in that message breaks something in Riley's chest. Like he just assumes she'll show up, that she'll swallow her hurt and pretend everything's fine because it's easier for him.

"I'm not going," she says suddenly.

"To Cincinnati?" Haley asks.

"To Cincinnati. I'm canceling the flight."

She pulls her laptop closer and clicks "cancel trip" before she can change her mind. The confirmation disappears, replaced by a cancellation notice and a small refund to her credit card.

"There," she says, closing the laptop. "Decision made."

Andy sits up from his record sorting. "How do you feel?"

Riley takes inventory of her emotions. Relief, mostly. And something that might be disappointment—not in herself, but in Joe. In the possibility of them that she's officially letting go.

"Free," she says, and means it.

Her phone buzzes with another message from 

Joe: Remember when you said this would be your first season watching?

This one hurts because yes, she remembers. She remembers being excited about learning his world, about having something to root for besides her own career. She remembers texting him that silly David Byrne video and feeling like they were building something real together.

"He doesn't know you're getting all of these," Laura observes.

"No," Riley agrees. "And I'm not telling him."

"Why not?"

Riley thinks about it. She could text him, let him know she’s seen his messages and explain why she’s been silent. It would probably fix things, at least for a little while.

However, it wouldn't address the bigger problem: that Joe's first instinct in a crisis is to pull away from her, rather than toward her. That he spent more energy managing the situation than supporting her through it.

"Because his first reaction told me everything I need to know," she says. "About him, about us, about what happens when things get hard."

“For what it’s worth, I think he’s panicking. Like, losing his mind a little…or a lot.”

"Good," Riley says, and she's surprised by how much she means it. "Maybe he'll learn something from it."

"And if he doesn't?"

Riley looks around her living room—at Andy surrounded by vinyl records, at Daniel with a guitar, at Pete and Haley and Laura, who've all rearranged their lives this week to make sure she wasn't alone. At the evidence of a full life that existed before Joe Burrow and will continue to exist after him.

"Then I'll be fine," she says. "I was fine before him. I'll be fine without him."

It's not entirely true yet, but she's working on making it true. And for the first time since that devastating phone call, Riley thinks she might actually get there.

Her phone stays silent for the rest of the night. But for once, the silence doesn't feel like abandonment.

It feels like choice.

* * *

X

@PopSpotter:

Not Ethan Mills and Riley Carter fighting in public again…She’s always in something messy.

@NFLFanatic89:

Why is Joe Burrow’s name getting dragged into this Riley Carter drama? Man’s never been messy a day in his life.

@AnonMusicTea:

So are Riley and Joe Burrow actually together, or did TikTok just make that up? Either way, if they are, I’d be running after last night.

@RileyCStan:

Okay but you can literally see Ethan grab her wrist in the video and people are calling her unhinged? Do better.

Instagram

@starwatchupdate:

Swipe for video: “Riley Carter Restaurant Meltdown? Fans spotted her arguing with ex Ethan Mills last night. Rumors swirl that NFL star Joe Burrow is ‘freaked out by the drama’—but nothing confirmed.”

Top Comments:

goldengoosefan: If she and Joe were together, he’d be long gone after this lol

ethanisoverparty: How is Ethan always at the center of the mess?

softvinylz: Feels like everyone’s blaming Riley when Ethan’s right there starting it.

Reddit

r/popculturechat [Megathread: Riley Carter, Ethan Mills, and Joe Burrow Rumors]

u/notanotherstan:

Why is everyone acting like Joe and Riley are a thing? I feel like there’s no actual evidence except one tabloid photo from months ago.

u/football_boy:

Honestly if she was with Joe, you think he’d deal with all this drama? Guy hates being in the spotlight unless it’s football.

u/musicrocks:

Poor Riley. Every time she gets her life together, some ex drags her back down.

TikTok

@popcultdive (duet with viral restaurant clip):

“POV: You’re Joe Burrow, waking up to your name trending because of someone else’s drama. The man’s probably making coffee in total peace and the internet’s like: what would Joe DO?? #notmycircus #rileycarterdrama”

@rileysrideordie:

[compilation of Riley’s best live performances and a caption: “She’s been through worse. Stop blaming women for their ex’s bullshit.”]

News/Blog Headlines

“Blind Item”

Blind Gossip:

“Which low-key NFL star is allegedly regretting his private flirtation with a headline-making musician after her ex caused a scene in public? Sources say he’s ‘focused on football and not here for the drama."

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer smiled: Perfect.

For a few moments, they stayed in silence, the king just watched his wife pain.

Adele: So. Did you see your friend? It would have been good seeing after so long.

Lucifer sighed: He uh... didn't turn up, actually. Another angel did.

That made Adele stop and turn to Lucifer: Didn't turn up? Why wouldn't he turn up?

Lucifer: Well uh... they said he's missing. Actually.

Adele: ...How the fuck do you go missing in Heaven?

Lucifer chuckled: I have no idea... I think... I think they're hiding something... or genuinely have no idea where Adam is... luckily for them, I may have an idea.

That made Adele smile: Oh yeah? And what's that?

Lucifer: I don't think he went missing in Heaven. I think he went to Earth.

Adele: Oh shit... can you get there? Or do you need to be summoned?

Lucifer: Summoned, unfortunately. But it's okay... I'll figure something out.

The queen pulled her husband into a fight hug and rubbed his back: I'm sure you will, Lu. I'd like to meet him. He sounds like a great guy. You have a lot of respect for him.

Lucifer: I... yeah... it's been... It's been a while since I've slowed him that respect...

Adele: Hey. You're too hard on yourself. I'm sure he'll understand, love. And he'll believe you when you find him.

The king nodded into Adele's shoulder, wrapping his arms around her. That's when she got a truly fantastic idea.

Adele: If we're having a boy, we could name him Adam. I've always liked that name- and you have a personal attachment to it! What do you think?

✨Worship✨

@beef-brisket

Adele was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, everything had to be perfect. She was wearing a black mini skirt, a black thin crop top, fish net stockings, a push up bra and crotchless lace panties.

She was ready, she's been preparing for this moment for years and now it was finally going to happen.

Adele was going to summon the devil, marry him, and have all of his babies. She worshiped him for years much to her mother's disappointment. Adele even saved herself for him and stopped taking her birth control to be sure that she would get pregnant.

Adele: There, all finished.

Looking around her room, that was normally a mess but she even cleaned it up.

She grabbed this book that she got from this shady looking guy outside a Walmart parking lot, he said that it would summon the devil to her guaranteed. He also said there was a spell to bond him to her.

Adele sat down on the bed and took a deep breath, she needed to calm down before this happened. First impressions matter!

-

Down in Hell, Lucifer was reading over the papers that his lawyer gave him for the divorce proceedings for him and Lilith.

Ten thousand years down the drain.

Groaning he slapped the paper down, he didn't want to deal with this or that woman right now.

He needed a distraction.

[mcytegg]

i think ive given up on the sticklers ngl LOL like they are nawt a real team atp, id honestly consider 4c more of rek's teammate then the sticklers. all three of them joining the server at the same time for once and not even considering messaging each other today is what sold me unfortunately, like it wasnt even just ro agreeing to help the empire fight before even contacting jumper or rek for me, it's the fact that all three of them gen are always off doing some random side quest or massive solo project thats made me realize they just dont play the server as a team frfr. i dont even know if id consider rek and jumper proper teammates either

[fist-of-vengeance]

thinking about how essentially every relationship john locke formed in the early seasons of lost has completely disintegrated by the time of his death.

of course there's his relationship with jack, which starts tense but manageable and culminates in jack pointing a gun at john's head and pulling the trigger. but even his smaller, less narratively prominent relationships either implode or drift apart. he bonds with walt in season one but then walt leaves the island, which is itself a severing of their bond since it was mainly based on being the only two people who wanted to stay. still, he goes and visits walt off the island so this is probably john's most successful relationship. I dont think i need to explain how he fucked up with boone, "the sacrifice that the island demanded." charlie viewed john as a mentor and claimed to trust him more than anyone on the island, but after the events of fire and water, that trust is destroyed and charlie despises him. at the same time we get john bonding with claire and having a pseudo-paternal dynamic with her, but their closeness basically drops off the face of the earth as he gets less and less involved with the other survivors.

his arc in the series is essentially a gradual distancing from everyone around him. it starts when he abandons hunting (providing for the others) in favor of trying to get the hatch open (it's extremely clear his primary motive isn't any survival applications but getting answers to the mystery). when they do open the hatch, he spends more and more time inside, underground, cut off from other people. he spends more and more time interacting with ben, a human mystery box that he's obsessed with cracking even if it gets him killed. he follows the proverbial white rabbit deeper down the hole and leaves his connection to humanity behind. the island and its mysteries become more important to john than anything or anyone else.

then in season three we get him claiming to go undercover with the others only to unceremoniously tell sawyer that he's actually going to join them. and it doesn't feel shocking, it feels inevitable. because john has spent the entire series becoming less and less connected with the people he arrived with. in that sense he actually makes a fascinating foil to juliet, who is introduced as one of the others and yet never really fits, she's increasingly sympathetic and kind in a way the rest of them aren't, her redemption arc feels so natural that she actually starts referring to her old people as "the others" like she's been one of the crash survivors from the beginning. her and john basically have inverse arcs, which is probably accidental but very neat.

in season five john tries to convince everyone to go back to the island, and fails spectacularly. and of course he does, because he was so consumed by obsession that he stopped maintaining his relationships, and in many cases actively alienated people (this is also basically what happened with helen) and now he can't wrap his head around why they're all so hostile to him. i am forever obsessed with the scene where he confronts kate and she brutally calls him out for wanting to return to the island because he doesn't love anyone. it actually struck me on rewatch how well the two of them got along in season one, and how badly their relationship has degraded by this point. john repeatedly casts aside interpersonal relationships in favor of his obsession with destiny, so when said destiny actually involves persuading the people he once shunned, he's at a loss. this is because john treats purpose as a supplement for connection, destiny as an alternative to love.

as an aside, this aspect of john's character kinda ties into my opinion that several lost characters can be read as allegorically neurdivergent under a certain lens. i know this was absolutely not intended, but as an adhd former gifted kid who struggles socially, there is something uncomfortably familiar about a character who allows their relationships to burn around them because of a single-minded obsession, especially as a result of being promised the fickle status of "special."

tl/dr: john locke is a doomed idiot and i love him

[bardic-irritation]

maybe unpopular opinion but I'm kinda loving Elias so far? like as a Person I would hate him but as a Character? kicking my feet and giggling everytime he makes a stupid joke or menaces someone. slayyyy old man. terrorizing your employees is so good for the Plot.

[curufiin]

“The origin of the Orcs is a matter of debate. Some have called them the Melkorohini, the Children of Melkor; but the wiser say: nay, the slaves of Melkor, but not his children; for Melkor had no children.(1)”

So obsessed with this line about Melkor bc it perfectly fits how I envision him. He “creates” (if you can call it that) things but he is not attached to them. I see a lot of people making Melkor a dragon dad like a dog dad and that’s perfectly fine and very cute! Just not how I like to portray him normally. I think he treats dragons the way a kid would when they discover some shiny new toy, plays with them for a few days, and then completely disregards them once he’s bored. In this case he keeps them around because they serve his higher purpose of wreaking havoc on Arda, but I don’t think he considers dragons his children, and he certainly isn’t attached to their existence.

[vaguely-concerned]

I must admit it exhausts me a bit when people compare the interactions between the companions in da2 and veilguard and complain that the veilguard crew don't argue viciously enough or don't have enough fundamental unbridgeable ideological differences. like yeah it's almost like dragon age 2 is a game specifically about implacable human discord in all its forms and that's the theme the companions also build up under and provide a lens to look at. and perhaps. just maybe. veilguard is doing something different and also interesting thematically if you look at it for what it actually is, and its companions are playing into those themes instead (come become beside me my friend none of us have this figured out but at least we have each other along the way. you must struggle with who you are. despite the high high stakes on paper, veilguard (sometimes to its detriment, often to its advantage once you realize this is what it's doing) is really not that interested in outward conflict, between ideas or groups or individuals -- most of the real meat and potatoes is in the internal struggle of the characters with themselves and their identities, the ways they've been changed and also stay the same, it's weirdly deeply trans all the way to the depths of the narrative that way, as well as fundamentally being about trauma recovery. again, what you're ultimately fighting is not actually in the realm of elgar'nan and ghilan'nain at all, it's on the level of solas' despair and his regret over what he's done and who he's become).

tl;dr why are we pitting two bad bitches against each other etc. they're literally both pretty and I love them

[the-mpreg-guy]

top five angels you want to throw rocks at?

GREAT FUCKING QUESTION

lucifer!! how DARE you make the coolest angel ever deeply unfun and uncool and unsexy. BOOO 👎also his "they called me a freak" speech to sam made me physically cringe

samandriel bc he's annoying to me personally and i dont understand why people like him so much

hannah

gabriel for being a great concept that they do fuckass with and also for being the most massive hypocrite out of probably any of the angels (i both like and dislike this about him, it has nuance)

naomi for the homophobic crimes and late seasons haircut

[missdarhk]

reeeeeally thinking about an au where instead of taking 10 years, athena goes to see how telemachus is doing after like a year of parting ways with odysseus. her unexpectedly befriending this unhinged but well intentioned child does in fact result in her having her "oh shit was I wrong" realization and helping odysseus way sooner than in canon

[dailyjasontodd]

Hi! I saw your last post's tags, and I was wondering, what was your favourite theory for Robin Lives? How did it get debunked? Somehow I haven't seen proper speculation for this comic, only criticism 🥲

Oh my very early first theory (like literally thought about it after reading the very first issue) was that Jason's therapist would kill the joker, there was a page that could've been really neat foreshadowing if it went that route, but well. -🐅

[dejavalentine]

should this be how i introduce my @infamous-if mc no am i gonna do it anyway yeah. so hyped for the update!! can't wait to be tortured by my own voluntary choices!!!

Innes Von Yang— ‘Ivy’ or ‘IV’

she/they (nonbinary)

Vampire aesthetic. She also has a lollipop gimmick, as in, she'll go out on stage with one. She's starting bringing unopened ones onto stage to throw into the crowd since it became a thing, but it actually started because she ran onto stage one time with one and some fans thought it looked cool so she kept doing it.

Appearance wise, she has choppy dyed hair with white red and black in the mix. East asian girl with beige skin, but she does full face makeup on stage based around goth and vkei. Might do an outfit collage another time…

Goes by Ivy because it’s her initials (her parents thought von was a middle name and didn’t realize it’s meant to be part of the last name)

Her stage name though is IV, as in the hospital equipment, but cause it’s also the roman numerals for four, her lucky number. She started using it to match with Seven, and he has this as his tattoo because it’s always been ‘her number’ even before it was her stage name. She still has her tattoo as well, and doesn't bother to conceal it.

"Sev!" and "Ive!"

Similarly to how Seven doesn't like Duckstein, Ivy hates her first name and any variations of it, treating Ivy as her name. "Don't call me Nezzie!!" (unless it was high school and you were Seven getting back at them for calling you 'Ducky')

Needs glasses but wears contacts! They worked hard on that eye makeup goddammit!! They just wore glasses back in high school though.

Has a Soundcloud they’ve been using since middle school. They started posting solo songs there which are usually indie pop or some other experimental sound different from the band.

She used to play the violin, but stopped when she got older and focused more on being a vocalist and dance. Ironically? Not that good with plants.

Girl the first meeting between them and August was so funny. “August, meet IV, the one I was telling you about." “You can just call me Ivy. It's nice to meet you." “Isn’t that the same thing…?” “Nah. Ivy— I-V-Y is based off my initials. IV— I and V, is the Roman numeral four.” “…For?” “Yeah, four!” “No for what?” “What do you mean, four what? Four just…means four.”

Deadly arachnophobia. She screamed her fucking lungs out on the bus when they thought they saw one and climbed onto Rowan while shrieking at him to kill it (it was some thread).

They became way more bitter and cynical over time, but out of spite (towards their parents, the world, Seven—) remain stubbornly ambitious and laugh in the face of whatever tries to take her down. It’s just easier and less embarrassing to be volatile than wistful or a doormat. It's for the sake of pride, really.

Closeted Soft Violence fan. You will have to threaten to kill her (or catch her deeply off guard) before she even thinks of admitting this.

She projects anger and spite in front of Seven because she can't help herself. When it comes to being vulnerable, she would always stamp it down or try to cover it up. Inwardly, she’s just really sad and wanting for what’s not really there anymore and never will be. You’re in his dms I’m disgusted by the enormity of my desire!!! We are NOT the same!!!

This is similar to how she acts around her parents. She still really wants to have a relationship with them but feels she's the one who has consistently had to try to have that, which makes her bitter and embarrassed as an adult. They make her feel like a meek little kid again and this time she doesn't even have Seven to fall back on when that happens-- which makes the feeling worse. AUGHH!!!

She’s really only chasing fame because that has to be what makes all of this hurt and effort worth it. Otherwise, genuinely, what was it all for? To share their music? Don't fuck with them like that. It stopped being about 'their' music when Seven left. They're a damn good band, Ivy loves her friends, and she has fun-- but it's just not the same goal without him around anymore.

Used to hate confrontation, but now dives into drama for the hell of it (even if she won’t start it herself necessarily). Generally hates being underestimated or pitied, and doesn’t like getting help because they’re not a ‘charity case.’ Has become kind of trashy and plays comic relief with Rowan alot. Speaking of him...

Her ship name with Rowan was originally ‘IRow’ (Ivy’s a shameless atla fan) but was quickly overtaken by ‘Bloody Hart.’ They’re not into each other but they did kiss while drunk once (which for them kinda solidified the fact they aren't into each other). Fans also coined ‘Snivy’ for her and Seven, though the two never dated.

Is rooting for Piercehart. She has the edits that have started rolling in saved on her camera roll already. They've also been victims of the shipping culture though #AutumnIvy (a typo that just...stuck? August isn't even a fall month!)

Started believing in the idea of fate after Seven left the band. If it brought them together once it can do it again (she refuses to think about it or accept this being the real reason why yet and just chalks it up as her committing to the bit.)

Worst Demeanor: Tweeted ‘Taylor Swift is mid’ then put their phone on dnd for the next two days. She still has it pinned to her profile.

Pinch Me— cause I must be dreaming!

Genre: Alternative Rock, dipping occasionally into Pop Rock

Fandom: Idealists

First album: Burn the Candle

Hit song: At Both Ends

GC: pretenders

xoxo to anyone who got this far have these two drabbles. first one was inspired by the very normal line of thought ‘man what if mc died before they could make up with seven’ (+haha they swapped how they feel about fate) and the second from the fact that sev canonically thought abt mc during their dates like DUDE !!!

[whatudottu]

Hey, I noticed your post on Ectonurite religious practices, and I thought the concepts were very interesting. I’m a big fan of the Anur System myself, to the point I’ve learned how to make languages for them, if that’s not too weird…

In reference to this post-

The 'having a favourite fictional setting' to 'make a conlang' pipeline is all to real Pilgrim, my linguistics teacher let me use mine for my end of term project instead of the assigned analysis (transcribing a conversation between yourself and a friend, which probably would've been useful to study); you wouldn't believe what planet I based it on (don't look at my icon that's cheating :P)

But nah yeah, the Anur System is to me one of my favourite parts of Ben 10 Omniverse since I love horror and horror themed things but hate being scared of them so- the Anur System and the movie monsters that influence their design always has a special place in my head!

Even in my mutants and magic au where I retcon even OS to include more mutants and more magic users and presence where I made the Mummy an actual mummified priest who's attempt at resurrect worked (to the detriment to waking up to the grubby mitts of the British museum) and making Viktor an actual frankenstein's monster who's functionally mutant both to parallel Gwen and Max better (Gwen for magic obviously, Max for being a not-so-ex-Plumber who dealt with more than just alien phenomena but humans doing weird things inspired by old books and other stuff), I can't not still have the entirety of the Anur System still exist! I can't remember who but someone made thep khufan siphonophores and well- riding the coattails of my fulmini posting I got excited over them :P same goes for transylians though I haven't thought much about their potentially interesting biology other than the thought of 'how weird can scar tissue adaptations in biology become' so :P :P :P

[batlovebites]

https://www.tumblr.com/batlovebites/782195144442216449/thinking-about-how-the-beasts-would-deal-with-a

Oooogh, love this this so much Also, I’m imagining the companions(Cloud Haetae, Candy apple cookie & Black Sapphire cookie, and Nutmeg Tiger) will be there from their masters (idk if they may or may not interacted with reader but I like to imagine they did) They know it so well, even if their masters don’t show it/admit it, but their companions knows it

Oh, yeah, the minions almost certainly knew of their masters' partner even if not personally. Candy Apple and Black Sapphire can certainly see that Shadow Milk is grieving and try to be there for him, but can only do so much. Candy Apple is more likely to have been close to Shadow Milk's partner than Black Sapphire is, I think, and is also likely grieving them a lot, but Black Sapphire is probably the one most distant- friendly with them, but not close- and by extension most put together about their death. I think there's a lot of back and fourth with the two of them on if the best way to help him is to just help feed further into the lie he's telling himself, help him make it more 'convincing' or to... Not do that. Cloud Haetae can also see that Mystic Flour is ever-so-slightly off, but she denies such. Cloud Haetae instead approaches comforting her as them seeking comfort themselves, which she 'begrudgingly' gives. Cloud Haetae was almost certainly close with Mystic Flour's partner and is grieving themselves, though mostly cares about how Mystic Flour feels (or "doesn't".) Nutmeg Tiger, though, I think is far less 'close' of a minion to Burning Spice than the others are to their leaders, so I'm not sure she'd be able to read Burning Spice as well as the others are able to read their masters. She does, perhaps, get an inkling that his partner's death is directly linked to shifts in his behavior, but I don't think she'd seek to 'comfort' him about it because Burning Spice very, very strongly aims to make it seem like he does not want nor need comfort, and if anyone offered it he'd almost certainly react with violence instead of any kind of acceptance. She almost certainly had no personal attachment or connection to Burning Spice's partner beyond being aware that they existed and were his partner.