#but he's also seen all the shit musk says and does

[forsaken-sedai]

There were many but the biggest red flag Mr Beast had was being the biggest Elon Musk fanboy and constantly shilling for Tesla

[rubiehart]

thinkin’ about jayj and bsf!reader at poguelandia 2.0 when everyone’s away…

imagine a world where after the pogues get the money for finding el dorado, jj doesn’t spend the stupid amount of money on the maybank property and they get it for a decent amount, so they’ve got a shit ton of money left over for renevations and stock and also, jj’s auto shop.

from all the time he’s spent over the years fixing up his own bike he’s learned quite a bit from himself so he’s pretty much qualified, setting up a little auto shop near the tackle and bait shop, all the locals know it’s the best place to go because he doesn’t rip you off and the service is good, and you love it because you get to watch your man working all day in minimal clothes, grease smattering his tan skin while you kick back on the work bench with a cold one,offering him sips every now and again which he appreciatively takes, always trying to hide his half hard on from everhone customer that comes in when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral, shooting daggers at anyone who dares to glance at you when you’re strutting around in bikini tops and daisy dukes, thank god for outer banks scorchers.

so on busier days, you decide to kick back in the house, helping sarah and cleo with dinner or tending to the growing garden with kie, which gives you a little bit of a restriction on seeing jj. so on nights when everyone else is away, just you and jj left on the lot, the others gone on a bait run up the coast, he’s trudging up the stairs with his heavy boots on, whistling absentmindedly to himself as he swipes them off against the welcome mat before letting himself inside.

you’d seen him coming so you’re slinking around the corner into the entryway all sultry and smiley, wearing just one of his shirts, stretched out around the neck to reveal your collarbones and the ‘J’ necklace he’d bought you for your 17th dangling between your tits, and a black thong, sandwiched between the thick globes of your ass as you round the counter to grab yourself a glass from the higher cove, standing on your toes, back naturally arching. you’re looking a little sleepy, and it’s all domestic and warm as your head turns towards him, filling up your glass as you look over your shoulder at him, laughing softly at the way his eyes snap up from your ass at the sound of your voice, cheeks a little blushed. “hi, baby.”

once you’ve taken a sip, jj’s trained on the way the condensation drips down your chin and onto your chest, you’re skipping over to him to greet him properly, immediately you’re met with his strong musk as his strong forearms wrap around your waist to pull you flush against him, you can feel every indent of his muscular chest through his thin wifebeater as you lean up to kiss him gently, melting into him. “hey, pretty girl.” he mumbles against your lips, and you can feel his smile as his light stubble grazes your soft cheeks.

leads to a quiet little conversation in the entry way, bodies smushed together, quiet questions and answers between kisses, a soft, reverent mood that neither of you are in often so it’s nice when it does happen. of course this then to her asking him after a beat of casual silence, hot breath mingling. “you gonna shower?”

“maybe.” he’d teased back softly, fingertips dancing along the curve of your hip, partly from his undiagnosed adhd and partly because of how desperate he was for you.

“only if you’re comin’ with me. water conversion, y’know?” he’d say, flirtatious smile on his face and you can’t help but laugh softly, nose wrinkling as you shake your head.

“y’mean conservation?”

“potato- patato.” he shrugs with a soft smile, calloused hands moving down to give a playful squeeze to the supple cheeks of your ass. “so is that a yes?”

you don’t give yourself a chance to answer before your lips are on his, and he takes the hint immediately, strong arms coming under your thighs to lift you off the floor, your legs immediately coming to wrap around his waist as he carries you off down the hallway, thankful that all the other pogues were out right now or he’d be getting a mouthful off of john b about pda, he never cared though. why should he ever be ashamed about showing everyone how down bad he is for his girl? john b sure wasn’t either. hypocrite.

[amusingmusie]

Hi, I really hope you're faring well. Just wanted to say that I love your writing and yours truly, and I thought about something.

In hell, Alastor is a lot more durable and unkillable, so I imagine that's a lot more of a headache for Nel. She's walking behind him, ready to bash his skull and all of a sudden his head does a 180 and she's like >:0.

Also demon Al's hygiene must be HORRIBLE. So she's probably going to have to chase him around the hotel with a toothbrush and soap to no evail because he's a slippery motherfucker now that he's a demon.

Thank you so much for writing this masterpiece, and have a wonderful day <3

Fresh As Hell

Content warning for the Hazbin cast being themselves.

You're running out of ideas.

This has gone on far too long. The smell of an old shoe here, a hint of halitosis there, even a whiff of swamp water wafting your way if you get too close: it's all evidence that you can't ignore any longer.

Alastor kind of fucking stinks.

Sure, you've told him since your human days that his swampass stench is overwhelming, but that was a dig to piss him off, not the actual truth (usually, as long as his mother pressured him to scrub his tail). Nowadays? Well, if the demonic stop sign admitted that he bathes in his bedroom's wetlands, you'd be less than shocked. Shit, you'd actually be relieved if that were the case, because then you could fill the bog with soap and perfume to mask whatever funk perpetually lives on Alastor's grey skin. It's never overwhelming enough to knock you out; it's maddening subtle, the musk of his hair and the bite to his breath.

Maybe you could survive the Great Stink of '24 if he didn't insist on being on top of you at all times. Every time you turn around, you're assaulted by crimson, static, and Alastor's personal brand of miasma that wafts off of him since he insists on being no less than three atoms away from you.

Sure, it's possible you've got beef with his aroma since back in the day, the shitter smelled like freshly cut wood with notes of amber and his teeth sparkled like diamonds. You've seen his hygiene at its peak, which is why you cannot cosign this rank tomfoolery. Unfortunately, all of your attempts to rally the idiots at this hotel to agree with you that this is an issue have ended in disaster, leaving you without any allies in this fight.

"I haven't really noticed much, and hey, here at the Happy Hotel, we're receptive to more, um, eccentric lifestyles! As long as Alastor is being a team player and helping out with our mission, there's no reason to make him uncomfortable by bringing up his personal choices!"

"I don't get close enough to that pendejo to catch a whiff of whatever you're talking about."

"I dunno, tootz, I like a man with a little musk to 'em."

"Fuck off and fuck you."

"I like man stink~"

You're very much on your own here. The war on Alastor's subpar hygiene will be fought by you and you alone, and you won't be deterred- you've had worse battles before.

When you're once again yanked into Alastor's side and exposed to a faceful of his armpit in the lobby for the upteenth time, you vow to take action against him, more for your sake than his.

Game on.

---

Your strategy calls for small, stealthy actions in the beginning.

Positioning yourself in plain sight at the hotel bar with two cups of coffee, you wait for your target to appear. It's the perfect scene: you, alone (save for the bar cat, but he's passed out with his head down on the counter), with coffee. Alastor can't resist this. Hardly more than three seconds pass before a rush of static and a chill wash over you. A gentle pop sounds off to your left, and then you're greeted by your least favorite radio host smelling stale as ever.

"Good morning, sweetheart!" he cries, purposely shouting too loudly into your ear. "You're looking especially horrid this morning. Did you happen to catch a glance of your reflection in the mirror before it cracked?"

"No, I was too busy imagining all the ways I could skin you alive before eleven."

"Well, it is eight already, so hop to it, you need all the time that you can get to brainstorm!"

As his invisible audience laughs alongside him, you flick a handful of mints into his unguarded coffee cup. The jackass is too busy chortling at his tired jokes to realize that you've done anything at all. Perfect. Holding back your smirk is a damn hard move when Alastor finally lifts his red mug to his full lips and swallows down a mouthful of minty coffee.

Success.

Until-

"Hm..." Alastor hums, blinking his red eyes plainly. Then he promptly turns, spits out a stream of dark liquid onto Husk's bowed head, and snatches up your cup of coffee. After sipping down your drink, he sighs contently. "There, much better! Ah, that was a juvenile play, dear. You're losing your touch."

The deer motherfucker teleports away while you're left with a pissed off cat and determination to win this war.

---

Next comes the idea to douse Alastor in whatever perfume oils you can find as a direct plan of attack. Instead of using your precious concoction that you paid out the ass for from Rosie's Emporium, you decide that these other assholes living around here could stand to help out for five seconds. You're not asking for their support- just their cologne.

Angel is the unlucky winner that you approach since whatever he wears is pungent enough that it has your eyes watering on a good day. The spider leans up against his doorway, legs in your face and fluff looming above your head as you make your case.

"Listen." You crane your head back and fix him with what you hope is an amicable stare. "I'll shoot straight with you. I need a favor."

"Oh?" he asks, raising a perfect brow and examining his gloved fingers. "I don't do girls, sorry not sorry."

"No," you grumble at him. "Not that kind of favor. I need to borrow your perfume- whatever shit you wear is strong enough to be smelled across the Pentagram. All I need is to borrow the bottle for five minutes and I'll have it back to you good as new."

"HA! You think I'm letting you make off with my smell-good for free? No no no, nobody gets to borrow what I wear, not even Cherri. It's custom! You're out of luck."

"You're here at the hotel to redeem yourself- part of redemption is being selfless."

"Actually, I'm at this shitshack so I don't have to pay rent, and redemption don't mean you get a spritz of my good shit. Go ask some other shmuck." Angel laughs in your face one final time, then spins around to shut his door.

"I'll owe you," you spit out. That has the fluffy demon pausing and you fear that you've either royally fucked up or royally succeeded.

"...Owe me what?"

"One favor equal to borrowing your perfume that doesn't involve me getting my ass kicked or double dead."

Angel grins delightedly, retreats into his den, then sticks one spindly arm out with his perfume sitting pretty in his palm.

"Have at it!"

And you do, with fear of Hell's #1 pornstar in your heart.

Alastor comes in to kick your legs under the table during dinner and you immediately whip out Angel's perfume to soak the son of a bastard down. There's an ear-ringing screech before Alastor pops away, leaving you with a table full of coughing, gassed-out hotel inhabitants that are very, very pissed off.

Once Vaggie is done chewing you out, Angel Dust leans over and whispers, "You still owe me for my draining my fucking reserves, dollface."

Fuck.

---

After weeks of attempted baths, desperate tooth-brushing sessions, dirty bribery, and numerous double-death threats, you've decided that you have no choice but to go completely nuclear. Clearly, your rotten plague of a deer demon is determined to resist all attempts to freshen him the fuck up, so you are prepared to pull the dirtiest trick in your book. Forget screaming or cussing; you'll have his ass eating out of the palm of your hand in no time with this.

"Hello, my rotten peach!"

Ahah, it's time- you're about to win this little game no problem. You take one look at Alastor in all his awful glory here in the parlor, steady your face into an uninterested expression, and then you. look. away.

Alastor stares.

"I said, hello, my rotten peach! My fetid fruit! My most crusty crop!" he announces slightly louder as if you didn't hear him.

Nothing. No reaction. You refuse to engage with someone that smells of fragrant toes and has gums darker than his coffee; you'll have him suffering from your silence if those are the dumbass choices he'd like to make.

Just barely concealing his panic at the sudden lack of your attention, Alastor clomps closer, then pokes at your side with his staff. The thing winces from the contact. You, on the other hand, are not weak and will not relent, so you continue to watch the parlor wall with great interest.

All according to plan.

Charlie passes by, humming a happy tune. When she spots you lounging on the couch with Alastor hovering over you, she smiles at the familiar sight, and offers a happy, "Good morning!"

"Morning, Princess," you greet her. Then you return to wall watching.

Alastor wilts.

You smile.

And you play the winning game.

For days, you refuse to acknowledge anything having to do with your favorite least favorite parasite. If he materializes in front of you when you're reading a novel? You don't even flinch. If you awake to him standing over your bed and staring with glowing eyes? Well, there's no need to do anything but roll over, that's just Tuesday. You hardly bat an eye when a black shadow warbles over your shoulder as you brush your teeth; no, you simply show it the brush and toothpaste for a proper tutorial on how to avoid ripe ass breath. You're enjoying the power you hold over Alastor, and you especially enjoy the way his stupid tufts flatten against his head when you deny him any attention for a whole week.

You believe that victory is yours.

---

As you trudge downstairs for another miserable day at the Asscrack Motel or whatever they're calling this place nowadays, you're overwhelmed by a new scent permeating throughout the lobby- freshly cut cedar, something slightly floral and musky, hints of amber, and immaculately washed manass.

Shit.

You know that smell. You know that smell very well. It can only mean one thing.

Then you spot him in all of his glory; Alastor is leaning his spindly body against the hotel bar with a freshly patched suit, styled hair slicked back across his head, and shining teeth. Oh God, he smells and looks like Heaven, and suddenly you decide that maybe you don't give two shits about that white speck in the sky when you've got this presented to you on a metaphorical platter.

With a little grunt, you move closer, appraising Alastor with an indifferent expression. His static is whirring sweetly in the background while he simpers down at you- yeah, he's proud and peacocking a bit, you can tell from the manner in which his lips curl and the way his chest puffs out. Goddammit...he knows that he's got you hooked like a fucking sucker.

"Yeeeeees?" he sings when you stare for a second too long. "Something on your dreadfully empty mind?"

"..." Hm. You could shoot him for being annoying, but he did do all of this dolling up for you.

Ugh. You hate him so much.

So you yank him down by his lapel so you can kiss him square on the mouth. For the first time in a long time, he tastes of mint and sunshine instead of rot and coffee, utterly intoxicating you in the worst of ways. You drag your lips against his and feel that they've been moisturized, and when he bites down on your tongue, there's no slippery plaque to offend your senses.

All of this effort just to get you to look his way.

Good.

Then you release him with a pop, flip him the bird, and walk off with your head held high.

Alastor just hums in satisfaction from his place at the bar, idly commenting, "I've still got it," to a very disgusted Husk and Vaggie who are doing their damndest to ignore the scene.

You'll call this one even.

(Loosely based on a very old conversation with @gemrocknerd).

[marysdonuts]

S stands for scam

nepo baby!Seungcheol x scammer!reader

Synopsis: You are cold hearted scammer who loves to break men and use them for money. Seungcheol the rich nepo baby is your next target. Will the sadness in his eyes melt your icy heart? Or will you empty his bank account?

Warnings: smut, scam, dom!reader, sub!seungcheol (first time), slightly sad!seungcheol, oral (f. and m. receiving), dirty talk, light butt stuff (m.receiving), crack

WC: 1.7K

Status: part 1. - ongoing, part 2.

a/n: join my taglist to get notified about new chapters - here

You always liked cocky guys. You know, those who reek of confidence. Who boast their good looks for everybody to see. That smirk on their face.. Like they know they are the shit. Bossing people around. Extremely competitive. Eyes that don't take No for an answer. And let's be honest... Rich. Money makes you move.

You also liked, no, loved to take these type of men and wipe that annoying grin off their handsome faces. Make them beg or even better - cry. After being done with them, take all the cash and dip. Especially if they looked tough. Sweet little challenge for your ego.

That's why you picked Choi Seungcheol as your next target. It was not unusual to see him frequent the same upscale hotel bar as you. Upscale and luxury were two things you like more than putting men in their place. Unfortunately, for Him, he was both.

//

Sitting at the bar, each time in new tailored suit, definitely italian, changing limited edition watched like socks. Always came alone and acted like he owned the place. Manspreading on the chair, taking up space for three. So annoying.

However, men like that are such an easy prey.

"Your drink looks delicious, what is it called?" question rolled off your tongue with childlike curiosity, doe eyed, like you never had a sip of alcohol before. You always looked innocent. They never seen what was coming.

"Whiskey Sour" he slowly turned his head in your direction with raised eyebrow. He looked angry. Well, for a second. Looking you up and down, anger turned into pleasant surprise.

"Bartender, mix one for the lady" He didn't ask questions, only commands.

"I didn't say I want one" You smirked, knowing he bit the bait

"Join me" patting the chair next to him. Decreasing his manspreading to two people space. Damn, why are his thighs so huge? Sitting down, quite close to each other, whiff of his perfume entered your aura. Wood and Musk? Not sure, but he smelled good.

"Not bad. I mean your perfume" Compliments get the leo heart and you did your research.

"What about me?" he closed the distance between you, self assured look on his face

"You? Decent"

"Only decent?"

"I've met many people like you,"

"Oh? Is that right?" he paused, competitive side bubbling to the surface "Darling, you never met anybody like me" he purred

Just where you wanted him

"Spoiled, rich, pretty boy, spending his daddy's money" You continued

"So, you think I am pretty" He laughed, boost of confidence you could almost physically see. Like a skill level up in online game. Shoulders growing wider.

Confidence +1!

You sipped on your drink instead of answering. Letting him have this one. Glass hanging from your fingertips.

"Shall we get going?" he asked, suggestively brushing over your hand, taking the drink from it. You have to give it to him. He does not waste time. What Cheol wants Cheol gets. The way he was moving made it obvious nobody ever had the guts to question his autority. Sweet smile on your lips, dark shadow passing over your eyes.

"Lead the way"

Oh how you were looking forward to teaching this one a lesson.

//

Gently pressing your back to the door the moment they closed, his hands hugging the curve of your face, he swallowed your lips desperately. But in such a loving manner? What's going on in here? Is he not the type of person you thought he was?

"It's not often, people have the courage to say what they really think about me. To my face." Resting his forehead on your shoulder. Soft hair tickling your neck.

Why did that sound so sad? Almighty guy, now somehow looked like a lost puppy. You could tell he was tired of always being the responsible one. Searching for a caring soul that would take care of him. For once.

"There is more where that came from" you smirked. Pity? You did this many times before. Use a guy. Get the money. Why should it be any different today? You won't let any pity distract you from your goal.

Now pinning Him to the door. Forcing your knee between his thick thick thighs. He could probably crush you with those if he wanted. Ha. Take that.

"Such a big boy yet so weak" you mocked him

Eyes widening in shock, Cheol didn't resist. It was his first time being talked to like that. He didn't know what to make of it, but the growing heat of the moment your knee almost touched his Cheol Jr., showed him the way.

//

Next thing he knew, his knees were painfully pressed on to the wooden floor, gasping for air, as you completely drenched, slid painfully slow stroke over his face. Gliding your needy clit down the length of his nose, circling it like you had all the time in the world. You found your way to his, already open and waiting - mouth. Bulging in his pants became more and more evident, wet spot made its appearance quite quickly. Expensive fabric hardly keeping any secrets.

"Not the best day to wear gray suit, huh?" You smirked, running hand thru his full wavy hair, ending the gentle pet by pulling him closer.

"mmhm! " Seungcheol could barely breathe not to mention speak, the only thing that came out was muffled whine. No space was left between the two of you. He felt so weak. Just as you said. There was no strenght to fight back and step by step he realised that he didn't want to.

"You okay down there, pretty boy?" you couldn't help but laugh at the teary look in his eyes, mouth completely filled with your heat.

"I will need you to hold still now" not waiting for him to answer

You started rubbing on his face with gusto. Step by step increasing the vigour of your strokes. Caged moans, whimpers and what was that? Little cries? Kept escaping one by one from this tough built man, imprisoned between your thighs. You could tell he completely gave himself to the sensation.

"Look at you, moaning all over the place. Does it feel that good being used like a toy?" pushing him on his back, your legs now framing each side of his handsome, messed up face. You could see your dripping excitement spread all over his face, glistering under the warm lights. If he was wearing mascara it would be ruined by now.

"i-it does.." cheeks flushed with rosy colour, his confidence left the room long time ago

Confidence -10!

"Such a good boy. Do you know what happens to good boys, Cheollie?" At the sound of his name being spoken so sweetly, throb in his trousers almost made them explode. Nobody called him like that.

" What - " didn't finish, just looking at you with those sparkly brown eyes completely at your mercy

" You get a reward! " you exclaimed almost as if you were Oprah throwing gifts at her guests.

Straddling him backwards.

"Keep licking" you command as your warm lips reach the throbbing bulge in his pants. Soft kisses falling all over his pride. As they became increasingly wet the force he was eating you out with, surged.

"Shall I take it ou-" suddenly moaning as his tongue hit the correct spot.

"mmh p...l..se" struggling to get his answer out

"I will take that as a yes" slowly lowering his bottoms. All of him springing up like mushrooms after rain, slapping your cheek, leaving his precum all over it.

"Already this wet, huh?"

Pulling your lips closer to the tip, starting with playful licks circling the perimeter. Your kisses becoming sloppy, hands joining into the motion, cheeks hollowing. Up and down, up and down and in spiral. Producing moans from under you.

Cheol didn't know if it was the lack of air, the pulsing of your pussy tightly pressed on him or your pretty mouth, so so wet covering every single spot of his sensitive area... But he had a feeling he might finish uncharacteristically quickly. This was entirely new experience for him.

"fuck.. it feels so good, " Finally, a coherent sound escaping out for a second "not sure how long I will last if you keep sucking me like that"

"Then I better get to the highlight of tonight" chuckling devilishly as you quickly jumped off of his face.

"Put those muscles to use and take me to the bed" you ordered the poor man with his pants still stuck at the knees.

He wobbled but obeyed. After completely taking off his trousers, once carefully pressed fabric was a mess on the floor. Covered in your saliva and his own juices.

The image of finally embracing you, feeling your tightness powered his moves as he carried you in his arms, bridal style. Carefully laying you down on the sheets. You enjoyed that more than you'd ever admit.

"Such a strong big boy" you whispered as your lips brushed his cheek. Kiss as reward. Sending electric shocks down his spine.

"I will need you to kneel for me, okay?"

His head moved in agreement but the hands shamefully covering how hard he was.

"It's too late to cover up. I already saw everything," you laughed, positioning yourself behind him

"well... almost everything." suddenly forcing his head to the pillows, leaving his bottom raised up and totally exposed. He gasped as you started spreading his thick thighs apart. Nestling your face between the cherry cheeks, hot breath reaching the sensitive pink flesh. Freeing your tongue from behind your teeth. Pressing your mouth against his pulsing rectum all at once.

"Ohhh" he moaned in pleasure. Well, for a moment. Before realising what was happening

"Wait! Where do you think you are going??" He almost cried out

//

Cheol was an adventurous guy, but not THAT adventurous. However, the moment he felt your hot slippery tongue in his prohibited zone picking up speed running in circles, and heard your moans becoming louder and louder.. He started loosing any inhibitions present until this moment. His legs slowly opening even more on their own accord, hips pushing up and meeting your mouth halfway. All of this a reflex. He didn't know he had it in him, but the body was reacting and he could not control any of it.

Dignity -20!

to be continued

[boneblushed]

Cruel Summer

a/n: blink and you’ll miss it — it’s a folkloreslovechild original 💐 18+, minors PLEASE dni as contains mature content

Fever dream high, in the quiet of the night

You shouldn’t be walking the streets alone.

It’s the first thought Rafe has when he spots your figure from a distance, smooth legs exposed and pretty face hidden. Above him, the argent moon wanes, a half-crescent of silver light that does little to illuminate your features. A lone star twinkles further north of the horizon.

He begins to slow down and squints hard, pupils sharp and thick eyebrows furrowed. You have your head down as you walk along the path ahead of him, worn sneakers kicking up loose bits of gravel from the asphalt.

Of the paltry details he is able to discern, perhaps most valuable to him is your thready, white singlet and raw-cut, denim shorts. Glowing inches of bare skin. Rafe’s gaze skates along the poorly-defined edges of your silhouette, taking careful note of your slender limbs, the shadows created by the column of your throat. His pulse does something strange. You really, really shouldn’t be walking the streets alone, especially not looking like that.

He’s frozen in place, a conspicuous few feet away, when you do finally lift your head and meet his gaze.

You startle as his figure registers, stumbling backward in surprise.

“Fuck,” you curse, clutching your chest with adrenaline-weak fingers. Underneath them, your poor heart staggers forth in quick surges. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The street lamp overhead stripes your face with lemon-yellow light. A thick band of kiss-able cheek, a soft corner of your parted lips. You must be a touron. There’s no other explanation for why someone as pretty as you has evaded him until now.

“Me?” He asks, mostly joking as he raises his eyebrows. “What about you?”

You lift yours in tandem, the rate of your pulse acquiescing a little. Through the inches of velvet night that fill the space between your figures, there’s enough solid torso for your eyes to find purchase. Shadowing light defines his chiseled jaw, the strong biceps that become stronger, forearm muscles.

He’s hot. You almost forget that he’s also the stranger that’s blocking your path.

“What about me?” You return, faux-indignant.

“I’ve been walking this path since I was a kid,” he answers easily, taking a step closer. There’s something woody–vetiver, maybe, warmer notes of crackling musk–in his cologne that draws you in. “And never before have I seen you walking it, too.”

You shrug. “Maybe you’ve just never bothered to notice.”

“Trust me.” Rafe pauses, his voice low, gravelly around the edges. “When it comes to girls like you, I always bother to notice.”

You feel your pulse leap. The summer air presses into your skin, an all-encompassing heat, but it’s the sincerity in his tone that really has your warm cheeks burning.

“Girls like me?” You ask quietly, more bashful now.

He steps even closer still, the tips of his sneakers making contact with yours. And maybe it’s the stillness that twilight tends to bring, the way that dead of night suburbia warps time into something meaningless. But Rafe swears, in that moment, that you’re definitely not real. There’s a thin film of sweat that shines over your bare skin, and Rafe swears, bathed in dim moonlight, it looks honest-to-God iridescent.

The way his train of thought is veering toward Jane Austen prose is perplexing. His hand twitches toward yours without meaning to, an absent-minded action.

“Yeah,” he says, his heavy gaze falling over your features slow, agonizingly slow, like he’s trying to commit all of you to memory. “You’re the whole reason I’m out here so late at night in the first place.”

Lie. His father’s stern instruction about taking care of family business was the only thing capable of bringing him back to the Banks in the first place.

He’d only docked at the anchorage near Tannyhill a short while ago, the sky bleeding burnt ochre, dusk his only accomplice. And though he’d managed to sit down at Ward’s desk and get started, the restless whir in his brain had prevented any meaningful progress.

All he’d needed was some air. Clearly, your presence had given more than he’d bargained for.

“What?” You narrow your eyes jokingly. “Because I’m easier to kidnap in the dark?”

Rafe cocks his head to one side, his roguish grin cracking through. “Like… in a sexual way? Or…?”

“Oh my god,” you admonish, breathing out an exasperated laugh. “No way you’re trying to pick me up right now.”

“That’s the whole reason you’re out here, right?” Rafe asks seriously, furrowing his brow in feigned bemusement. “God’s put you in my path because he knows how much I need it.”

You raise your eyebrows appraisingly. “It?”

“You know,” Rafe answers vaguely, waving his hand in the air. His signet ring glints as the street light folds over it. “Beautiful girl with an end-of-summer deadline. Something to live for until the shit I’m running from catches up with me.”

This gets your attention. Your expression falters as the weight of his words wash over you, parenthetical tone with an allusion to something deeper.

And it makes Rafe’s chest ache, the concerned crease between your brows, pretty lips he wants to kiss pulling down into a frown. He’s even about to call it quits on grounds of your worry alone, when he realizes, questionable motive or not, you’re a touron that’ll be leaving in two months.

There isn’t time enough for you to wind up in his fucked-up orbit. He can still have you, he attests, he’ll just have to keep at arm's length; resign himself to touching, not marking, letting the bruises he leaves fade away.

Amongst other things. He adds, definitely overcompensating, “Don’t look at me like that, it’s nothing serious, yeah? I just mean the boring family business I’m supposed to inherit from my dad.”

“Oh,” you say, features relaxing it a little. You cock your head to one side and regard him for a moment, the moon’s glow bringing light to the mirth within your gaze.

When you’d first moved into your grandparent’s quaint beach house a few days ago, never once had you imagined stumbling into a no-strings-attached arrangement.

Not that there was any harm in one, especially not with a boy with as much small-town charm as this one. He’s just enough brash to make this fling a forgetful one, maintain a safe enough distance to ensure your heart remains unharmed.

You blink. Would-be fling. “So I’m something to live for, huh?”

“Worship, even,” Rafe murmurs quietly, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Your eyes widen in surprise, his rough voice rousing something deep in your stomach. “Little excessive, don’t you think?” You ask weakly, clearing your throat in an effort to regain your composure.

“Probably.” Rafe shrugs. So close now, you can almost feel the rustle of his polo as he does so. “Working though, isn’t it?”

A pause. You hate how right he is about that. Trying for more fire, you answer, “Maybe it’d work better if I knew who you were.”

“Fair enough,” Rafe says through a roguish smirk, pressing his tongue against his cheek. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Cameron?” You echo slowly, brow furrowing in thought.

Of the slew of unfamiliar names your grandfather had mentioned on his Outer Banks tour, Cameron was one of the few with enough significance to consolidate for good. The details were a little hazy — something about a powerful patriarch, a Pogue on Kook war gone awry. You’re sure the island slang would rouse more concern if you knew what any of it meant in the first place.

“Like…” you pause, looking up at him in astonishment, “…Ward Cameron who owns all of Tannyhill estate?”

Rafe makes a face. “Of course you’ve heard of my dad and not me.”

“Rafe Cameron.” You say his name slowly, soft eyes widening as they skate over his features. “The family business you’re inheriting is Cameron Development?”

Rafe could get used to this. Not often does he come across strangers—let alone pretty strangers—who correctly identify him as the big deal he is. He raises his eyebrows playfully, returning, “You sure you’re a touron, Polaris?”

“Pogue, kook, touron,” you list, shaking your head exasperatedly. “Why do the people that live here speak another language?”

Rafe chuckles appreciatively, strong arm swinging forward as he runs his hand over his buzz cut. Goosebumps bloom as the air shifts. “It’s a superiority complex thing.”

“To hold over tourons?” You half-admonish, mostly tease, the sticky heat of night pressing over you in waves.

Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. “To impress them. You.”

You balk, frowning bemusedly. “Why would you want to impress me, Rafe Cameron?”

“Are you kidding?” A gust of wind lifts your hair from your shoulders, exposing a smooth canvas of bruise-able neck. He could definitely get used to this. “You’ve gotta know that you’re the most beautiful thing on this Island right now.”

“This thing has a name, you know,” you say indignantly, your traitorous cheeks warming. “And it’s not Polaris.”

“You’re sure?” He grins easily, placing his hands on your shoulders, a soft-on-rough pressure that has your skin burning. In one, swift motion, he pivots you on your heel, stretching an arm above you to point out a lone star that's twinkling. “It was right above you when I spotted it, you know that?”

His broad torso folds over you easily, a blanket of vetiver and musk body heat. “The North Star?”

“Yeah,” Rafe says, his head above yours, chin this close to your hair. “Pretty, huh? Sure your name’s prettier.”

A pause. You can feel his chest wall lifting with every breath he takes, a barely-there force that presses into your chest.

“Guess you’ll never know,” you say with a shrug, pulling away slowly. Charming as he is, you’ll be damned if you make the chase that easy. You step out of his sphere of influence and turn back around, regarding him warily.

“Anyway,” you add, beginning to walk past him. “I better get back before my grand-parents realize I’ve left.”

“Hey – wait,” Rafe says in a hurry, reaching out to clasp your wrist. Hold you in place. He squeezes gently, jolting fire along veins that are already half-singed. “I can’t let you go alone.”

Your gaze drops to his rough fingers encircling your wrist, the way his thumb swipes over the skin of your forearm. You blink. “Of course you can.”

“No I can’t.” Rafe pulls ever so slightly, just enough force to return you to his side. “Not in good conscience, at least.”

“Seriously, Rafe,” you argue, drawing your hand back when his hold acquiesces. An imprint of sloven heat lingers. “I’ll be fine.”

Rafe frowns, looking over your features carefully. “Why’re you out here this late, anyway?”

Your lips pull down in tandem, a little meaner, a little more defensive. “Why’re you?”

“I know this neighborhood inside out,” he answers, raising his eyebrows.

“So you’ll know that the Clarence Lane cul-de-sac is only two streets away,” you return, folding your arms across your chest.

“Uh-huh.” He beckons you forward expectantly. “Won’t talk very long to walk you there.”

You frown down at his calloused palm, all the rough grooves and ridges that he’d pressed into your shoulders. “Alone.”

“Not on my watch.”

“If you’re trying to be chivalrous –”

“Would it help if I wasn’t?” Rafe interrupts faux-solemnly, splaying his large hard across the center of chest. “If I was only offering to walk you home as an excuse to get your number?”

“No.” You pause, the corners of your mouth twitching despite your feigned disinterest. “Maybe. Yes.”

“Alright then,” he says, nodding soberly. “I’ll be a total fucking douchebag from here on in.”

“From here on in?” You echo, raising your eyebrows playfully. “What? Because you weren’t being one of those when you scared the living daylight out of me ten minutes ago?”

“Shit, I know right?” He agrees apologetically, resting his hand on the small of your back to guide you forward. “I’m such a fucking tool. You’ve gotta make me pay by forcing me to walk you home.”

The warmth of his palm filters through your singlet, a spiderweb of heat that unfurls over your skin. You hadn’t realized, until now, how much comfort you’d find in his presence. It makes your pathetic pulse lurch, heart racing in juxtaposition.

“A five minute walk hardly counts as a punishment,” you say.

“You know what else you could do?” Rafe’s thick brows furrow as he pretends to think. “You could… wait, I know — you could let me take you out. I hate doing that shit. Fucking hate taking out pretty girls. Especially hate paying for them, bringing them home with me for another drink —”

“Fucking hell,” you interrupt exasperatedly, laughing despite yourself. “You know how creepy this’d be, Rafe Cameron, if you weren’t as hot as you are?”

“And rich,” Rafe supplies unhelpfully. “You forgot to mention my lord of the manor shit.”

His large hand sinks lower, a little less chaste and a lot more firm. You turn a corner in tandem and kick up more loose gravel, your grandparent’s large beach house growing in your line of vision.

“Cocky, too,” you return with a shake of your head, shying away from his touch. “Not used to people saying no.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” A few houses away from yours, now. The quaint cul-de-sac ends at a shortcut to the beach, and suburbia begins to thin as you near this man made trail. “Saying no to me?”

“If I am,” you say, raising your eyebrows at him. “It’s mostly just because I want to knock you down a peg.”

Rafe pretends to look affronted, his bright eyes full of mirth. “After I’ve taken the time to walk you all the way home?”

“Five minutes,” you remind him.

Rafe shrugs. “Feels longer.” His palm makes contact with your skin before drawing back, the rectangle of bare waist that’s exposed between hem and buckle. The heat of his touch lingers. “Actually, no, feels shorter. Five insanely short minutes where I still haven’t got your number.”

“Or your name,” he adds significantly, looking over you with a frown.

“Shame,” you say evenly, slowing to a stop as you near their gate. It’s paneled with driftwood and rustic bamboo, still quietly unlatched from when you’d snuck away before.

This time, when you step away from him, Rafe Cameron doesn’t catch your wrist and stop you. You walk backwards and nudge it open with your hip, trying to ignore the way your bones ache in protest. A phantom of his rough, clasping touch folds over your forearm.

“So…” Rafe trails off helplessly, running his fingers over his buzz cut, “...shit, I mean, that’s it?���

“I don’t know, Rafe Cameron,” you say softly, slipping through the gate and closing it on him. “Is it?”

“Fuck.” His pathetic heart lurches. “I hope not.”

“Hm,” he only just catches your silhouette shrug, any definable features shrouded by velvet night. “I guess all you can do is just keep hoping.”

—

Bad, bad boy shiny toy with a price

It’s a week before you see Rafe Cameron again.

The sky is a seamless, periwinkle blue, the sun shining over the horizon, a yellow bulb of light. Tepid seawater glimmers below it.

As you roll along the Island Club green in a golf-cart, the coastline dances in and out of sight. You veer to the right as hole eight comes into view, your grandfather and his old friend, Judge Thornton, close behind you.

You don’t recognise him at first. His buzz cut is hidden under a regal, white cap, a salmon-coloured polo stretching over taut biceps. He’s in the process of loosening the Velcro straps of his glove, and as he slips his fingers free, a signet ring glints in the sun.

An identifiable signet ring, with a flat surface of buttery gold. You swallow down the beating heart that’s bounding into your throat, trying not to think about the implications of him being here.

You being here. There’s something about the looming proximity that’s making your chest whir.

When the cart is close enough to cast his figure in shadow, he straightens and looks over, deep, blue eyes squinting hard. Acquiescing. He’s able to recognise you without any extra thought.

The whir in your chest grows deafening. It replaces the golf cart’s ignition as you slow, stopping just short of his figure by the hole.

“Looks like all that hoping’s paid off,” he says by way of greeting, grinning down at you as you climb out of your seat.

“All that hoping, huh?” you return playfully, folding your arms across your chest in faux-skepticism.

Rafe’s gaze drops with the action, an absent-minded gesture, and he catches an eyeful of cleavage that has him balking. You’re wearing a tighter singlet than you were a week ago, a black skirt instead of denim, shin-high socks with embroidered sunflowers. More gloss on your pretty lips, a sunscreen shine to your tired complexion.

And a visor. Rafe gives it a careless, little flick before responding.

“Think we can make a deal, Polaris?” He asks blithely, cocking his head to one side.

You raise your eyebrows. “Depends on the deal.”

“Alright,” Rafe says, gesturing to the tee below him. “I get this hole below par, and you let me buy you a drink.”

“And if you don’t?” You return with a frown, looking over the assessingly. The low rumble of Judge Thornton’s golf-cart grows louder.

“I will,” Rafe answers confidently, not missing a beat.

“That wasn’t my question, Rafe Cameron.”

“I know.” Rafe grins handsomely, strapping his golf glove back on. “That is my answer, though.”

You let out a defeated sigh, shaking your head exasperatedly. “What’s par for this hole, anyway?” You ask, obliging as he motions you backward.

Rafe doesn’t answer right away. He steps up to the tee with strong shoulders hunched, a punishing grip on the club that brings his knuckles to a blanch. When he swings, the metal heel clips the golf ball neatly, its trajectory through the air a majestic, half-crescent. It lands just short of the putting green, a few feet from a hole-in-one.

Behind you, your grandfather wolf whistles appreciatively. You blink. How did you fail to register his arrival?

“That was a beautiful shot, son,” Judge Thornton says then, stepping past you to give his broad back a firm pat.

“Beautiful shot for a beautiful girl,” Rafe returns smoothly, flashing you a quick, roguish wink as he straightens.

The compliment roars through your traitorous cheeks, a burning heat. You say, fighting hard to maintain nonchalance, “Par, Rafe Cameron.”

“Four,” he answers through a smirk, pressing his tongue against his cheek. “Does two under mean two drinks instead of one?”

“Woah there, country club,” you return playfully, trying not to smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your ball’s on the putting green, you haven’t even got it in yet.”

“C’mon,” he faux-chastises, raising his eyebrows. “What did I say before?”

“Something fucking cocky, I’m sure,” you snort out, shaking your head exasperatedly.

“Cocky or not,” he returns, plunging the club back into his bag slovenly, “I was right.”

“Not quite.” You watch him jog it backward with raised eyebrows. “Not yet.”

He grins devilishly before turning around and quickening his pace, the heavy bag gathering grass stains as it trudges along behind him.

There’s no denying the mild amusement on your features as you watch him, though it’s only once Rafe’s well out of earshot that someone addresses it.

“Ward’s kid, huh?” your grandfather says, raising his eyebrows appraisingly. Rafe’s poised and ready on the putting green, now, his strong forearms flexed, the sun’s shadow making them ripple. You swallow instinctively. “How do you two know each other?”

This gets your attention. You tear your gaze away just as he taps the ball, just enough force behind his mallet to make the ninth hole in two. “Hm?”

“Your acquaintance with the Cameron boy, my dear” your grandfather repeats, regarding you with steely-eyed disapproval. “How long has this been going on for?”

You grimace abashedly, looking equal parts helpless and defensive. “We aren’t… well, I wouldn’t say we’re acquainted, per se –”

“Now listen,” your grandfather interrupts sharply, his gruff voice austere. “That boy may come from a very reputable family, but there’s no denying that trouble seems to follow him everywhere he goes.”

“Grandpa,” you groan, burying your head in your heads. You do not want to be having this conversation with him right now.

Or ever, for that matter. It isn’t as though this fling with Rafe Cameron is capable of turning into something serious.

Right? You add, your quiet voice muffled weaker by sweaty palms, “I’m not – I mean… we aren’t –”

“And that’s not to say,” he continues grimly, more to eschew an argument than anything particularly paternal, “that I forbid you from seeing him. God knows he’s still far better than the pogues your mother would bring home.”

Your diffidence eases a smidgen, head lifting again and pretty smile shining through. Through the corner of your eye, you catch a smug-looking Rafe Cameron with his putter raised above his head, thick biceps stretching.

“You think so?” You ask absently, a little distracted now. Rafe relaxes his shoulders and jerks his thumb toward the Island Club, mouthing, through a satisfied smirk, “Come find me when you’re done, yeah?”

A terrifying emotion sears through you. You send him a playful glare before turning away, meeting your grandfather’s weary gaze with something akin to embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, grimacing again. “You were saying? About Rafe?”

A pause. Something within his stern features softens. “You’ll promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“You’ll take everything he says with a grain of salt?”

“C’mon, grandpa,” you chide, elbowing him playfully. “You really think I’d fall for his little douchebag act?”

“My dear,” he returns sagely, raising his eyebrows. “You can’t blame me for worrying. It’s a tale as old as time. How else do you think I got your grandmother?”

—

Rafe’s already ordered you a Mai Tai when you find him.

He’s drinking whiskey neat, the deep colour of thick molasses, lounging back against a chair that overlooks the yawning green. When he spots you, he’s quick to lean forward and straighten. The front legs of his chair slant down and strike the ground again.

“What?” You fold your arms across your chest, pretending to look affronted. “I don’t come across as someone who also likes straight whiskey?”

“D’you want to swap?” Rafe offers with a grin, sliding his low ball across the table.

You raise your eyebrows dubiously, sidling into the seat opposite his. The drink in front of you is sunset tangerine, a heady mix of tropical citrus and sweet, orgeat syrup. “That easy, huh?”

Rafe presses his tongue against his cheek, regarding your features with mild amusement. “Anything for a name, Polaris.”

“And what if I say no?” You return, taking a long sip of your drink. Remnants of sticky Curacao making your full lips shine.

“I mean,” Rafe says, his voice lower now, more gravelly. His eyes drop to the column of your throat as you swallow, and his mind strays to something less innocent leaving it awry. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

He leans forward and swipes his thumb over your bottom lip gently, just enough pressure to gather the glossy, Mai Tai film. When he brings it to his own mouth, his heavy gaze holding firm, it’s sweeter than he remembers it, more you than the orange liquer of his youth. “But I’ve realised,” he adds after pause, pulling away. “That a need-to-know basis doesn’t have to be so bad.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, hand lifting to your chin on instinct. The pads of your fingers press over your bottom lip, feeling the phantom of his touch, the soft nerve-endings he singed.

“Exactly,” you agree after a beat, swallowing thickly. “If anything, it’s better if you don’t know my name.”

Rafe cocks his head to one side, an imperceptible something flickering over his blue irises. “How so?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Makes things more interesting.”

Rafe picks up his wide-rimmed glass, taking a generous pull of whiskey. “And the other way around?” He asks, the auburn liquid burning as he swallows. “Am I less interesting as Rafe Cameron to you?”

“Not at all,” you answer honestly, shaking your head. “My name doesn’t carry the same weight that yours does.”

“Bad weight,” Rafe infers, a funny ache in his chest.

“Mm-hm.” A pause. There’s no way you’re thinking straight right now. “So bad that it’s good.”

—

Killing me slow, out the window

You’d decided against giving Rafe any means of contacting you.

Save knowing where you live and your affinity for moonlight trysts, you’ve given him little over nothing to work with since he’d bought you a Mai Tai.

Not that it matters. Somewhere between your first meeting and now, he’s made a habit of sneaking through your grandparent’s driftwood gate and waiting below your window for you.

Admittedly, there’d been a hankering in his chest since your Club rendezvous. Though you’d politely declined his offer to walk you home after a few rounds of liquor, the promise of more had permeated the sticky air as you’d looked over his features.

Harder when you’d pulled him closer. The kiss had been quick and fleeting, soft lips tinged with longing, and his rough hands had only just found purchased when you’d broken it.

“Later,” you’d said in cryptic yearning, breaking away from his figure and disappearing through the exit.

And of course, he’d taken you up this on this offer, finding his way to your grandparent’s front porch that night, rough heat in the stillness of suburbia.

Another kiss to seal your fate. His was doomed the second you’d slipped away.

Tonight, the air is thick with honeysuckle and the trill of cicadas.

You unlatch your window and push it open fully, the thick heat of June curling over you unrelentingly. You duck your head through the opening and peer into the back garden, a canopy of indigo dusk overlaying the perennials. No Rafe within the flowers. Your traitorous heart aches.

It’s as you’re preparing to acquiesce that a rustle of movement in your periphery catches your eye. It crawls along the dimly lit path until it’s right below you, a vague form with broad shoulders that you recognise, stronger forearms.

“Waiting for me, tonight?” He asks quietly, raising his eyebrows at you, roguish smirk on his face. “I’m touched.”

“God, shut up,” you bite back, smiling despite yourself. “What are we doing tonight?”

He shrugs cryptically. “You’ll see.”

It’s how you find yourself in a secret alcove on the edge of the beach, two towels splayed out with a bottle of French label connecting them.

You’re sitting opposite each other, cross-legged, the tips of your knees touching, jolts of electricity that hold you in place.

You reach for the bottle and take a careless swig, the bottom of your singlet riding up from the action. Rafe’s eyes drop to the taunting rectangle of exposed skin, silvery moonlight making it glow iridescent. He swallows thickly.

“Okay,” you say, handing it over to him. “Truth or dare?”

Rafe presses his tongue against his cheek mirthfully, still looking over at you as he tips back the bottle. “Truth.”

“How’d you find this place?”

A pause. Rafe looks over the weathered walls of the alcove, his eyes lingering over familiar ridges, the grooves his mother traced over when she’d first brought him here.

“I didn’t,” he says after a beat, the revelation searing through his chest like a knife. “My mom did.”

“Oh.” You regard him for a moment, your mischievous smile faltering a little. “Do you think about her often?”

Rafe hesitates. He takes another steely pull of the wine before thrusting it toward you, quick to avert his gaze. “That’s two questions, Polaris. It’s my turn.”

“Right,” you say, frowning slightly. You accept the bottle and take another long sip, your soft lips stick with saliva and warm liquor.

“Truth or dare?”

“Hm.” You pause, turning toward the poorly defined coastline in the distance, inky night descending over a slurry of dark waves. “Dare.”

“I dare you,” Rafe says deviously, swiping the bottle from your grasp, “to go for a swim.”

You tear your gaze away from the horizon, raising your eyebrows. “That’s it?”

“Naked.”

There’s only a moment where you falter, a split- second of uncertainty. Had you not already consumed half a bottle of expensive wine, you probably wouldn’t have had it in you to go through with something so brazen.

There’s a blur to your vision that has Rafe liquefying around the edges. You nod curtly and stand up, a coy smile dancing over your features.

“On one condition,” you say, voice smooth and saccharine sweet.

“Anything,” Rafe answers, and means it, too. He discards the near-empty bottle and pulls himself onto his feet, your gaze lifting up as his shadow folds over you.

“You count to five before following me.”

“Fuck,” Rafe groans, reaching forward and pinching your hip indulgently. “Fine. Alright. One —”

You break free from his grasp and tug off your thready singlet, throwing it into his chest before turning around and running forward. Rafe watches as articles of clothing fly onto the warm sand, watches the soft curves of your silhouette, the way you shrink as you grow bare.

By the time he’s counted to five, you’re already submerged in the water. Your exposed limbs glisten in the moonlight as you wave him over, and as he follows your fabric trail, Rafe feels a strange pull that makes him falter.

He’s a few feet away from you, and the pulse in his wrist isn’t capable of bounding faster.

“It’s warm, I promise,” you say, running your fingers through your wet hair.

“Fucking hell.” It’s an unrelenting rhythm, and his fingers shake as he fumbles with his own clothing. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

“In a good way?” You ask, watching his arm muscles ripple in tandem with the waves, almost balking at the ease with which he wades through the water.

He’s in your space before you can so much as blink, his rough hands skating along your bare back. “The best way,” he murmurs, pressing you against him indulgently.

“Guess that makes two of us, huh?” You mumble back distractedly, wrapping your arms around his neck. He nudges the slant of your jaw with his nose until your head falls back, sponging wet, hungry kisses along the soft column of your throat.

“Hm?” He hums, the sound reverberating through your skin.

“You’re the best kind of bad weight,” you breathe out, his tongue this close to rolling over your hard, sensitive nipple. “And I’m the best kind of death.”

There’s no coming back from making love in the middle of the ocean. In that moment, though, alcohol in your veins and Rafe everywhere, you realise, as the needy ache sears through you, that you couldn’t care less.

Control is overrated. For Rafe Cameron, you’d pick cruel over safe anyday.

—

And it’s new, the shape of your body

“Shit, Rafe,” you breathe out, awestruck, staring down at the vintage bottle of champagne that he’s holding. “No way you just happen to have 1990 Cristal lying around.”

A dim row of wall sconces bathe the scene in yellow light.

A dim row of wall sconces bathe the scene in yellow light.

The air feels stale as it bears down on you, thick and untouched, every bottle you disentomb exhaling a fresh cloud of must.

“What?” Rafe furrows his brow in mock thought, swiping over the chalky film of dust on the label. “This old thing?”

“Shut up,” you chide, swatting his chest playfully. “You have to know it’s worth like, $10,000, easy.”

Rafe’s blue eyes lift to yours, a glimmer of mirth painting them softer pastel. “Good enough to open, you reckon?”

You balk. “You’re kidding.”

There are a torturous, few inches between your figure and his, a little less when you consider the champagne bottle’s width. A faint, yeasty scent, some vetiver, a little bergamot, enough emanating body heat to rid the air of your alcohol-heavy lungs.

Rafe’s long retired the baseball-style shirt he was wearing when you’d first arrived, the mood lighting etching every line on his torso. His shorts hang low on his hips, belt free, revealing the devastating V that defines his lower abdomen. He passes the bottle between his hands absentmindedly, strong shoulders square and thick biceps tensing.

“C’mon, Polaris.” He raises his eyebrows faux-appraisingly, holding the neck away from your face. “Do I ever kid when it comes to expensive shit?”

He holds your gaze as he peels away the aureate foil, uncorking the screw and releasing wisps of white smoke. No brilliant spurts of foam, no deafening fireworks, and yet — you still feel that quick flurry of hope.

You reach for the bottle just as he pulls away, nimble fingers swiping still air instead of Cristal. He tsk-tsks softly before bringing it to your mouth, the cool rim bruising the pillow of your lips as he slants it forward to permit a pull.

It’s all effervescence and a hint of citrus, candied fruit and truffle within the melange. Rafe’s gaze skates along your neck as you swallow, his pupils dilating as he takes a gulp himself.

“More?” He murmurs absently, more an ulterior motive than anything particularly gallant.

“Mm-hm,” you answer, lips parting obligingly. He pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb gently, tilting it up so he can tip more in. The wetness on the bottle rim leaves your soft lips shining.

Rafe stares down at them, all pupil now, with something akin to reverence. “Can I have a taste?” He asks quietly, setting the bottle on a table beside him.

Your breath hitches. The criss-crossing shelves of the wine cellar press into your back, a firm pressure, though the heat of his gaze feels far heavier. He cages you in by placing his arm on the wall adjacent your figure, bicep to ear. And he’s so close, his head ducking to yours, lips a hairsbreadth away and yet still so far.

You lean in first.

There’s a tentative press of your lips on his before he gathers his bearings, pushing into you fully. The weight of his torso holds you against the shelves, a sloven, almost discomposed air to his movements. Like he’s desperate, memorising your mouth through rough, teeth scraping kisses.

His lips drag along your jaw, the smooth expanse of your neck. And when he finds the sensitive spot beneath your earlobe, bruising it amaranthine, you have to bite down on your soft cheek to suppress the moan it elicits.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs into your skin, like he’s worshipping you. “Wanna hear you, sweetheart.”

There’s a mess of warm limbs and discarded clothing as he paws at your layers, eager to feel you fully.

And though you’d never once imagined you’d make love in a wine cellar, the way Rafe Cameron rocks into you, slow, agonisingly deep, makes you feel as though you’ve been missing out on a whole avenue of sexual misdemeanours.

He’s in tune with your body in a way you didn’t think possible. Every thrust of his cock has your tender clit swelling, the stale air filled with the lewd sound of your wetness. And he’s a man starved as he fucks you, his needy tongue swirling over your nipple, rough hands groping every inch of soft skin.

“Fuck, you feel unreal,” he grunts out, a thin sheen of sweat making his chiseled torso shine.

“Mm,” is all you can manage in response, fingers gripping his broad shoulders, a needy ache at your core. “K—Keep going —”

“Yeah?” He encourages, his own orgasm close to apex. “You going to cum for me, angel?”

And when you do, hot pleasure shaking through you in waves, it isn’t the first time, nor the last, that Rafe’s made you finish since you’d arrived.

There’s something about being around him that tends to charge the air with hungry static.

A little later, when you’re lying in his bed, details hazy, you turn your head and look over his vaguely obscured features. A lone band of silver moonlight spills through his slightly ajar, bedroom window.

“Rafe Cameron,” you whisper, angling your body toward his.

He shifts in tandem, his vivid, blue eyes like glow-in-the-dark stars. “What’s on your mind, Polaris?”

There’s an ache in your chest that’s difficult to explain. It enfolds the heart within your ribcage and squeezes, a heavy, cloying pressure that’s fairly unrelenting.

If only you knew that you aren’t it’s only victim.

“I don’t know.” A pause. Rafe reaches out before he can help himself, tracing over the planes of your face with his forefinger. Along your cheekbones, the pert tip of your nose. The Cupid’s bow above your lips. There’s a soft on rough juxtaposition that he’s trying to commit to memory. “Summer’s ending in a month.”

“I know,” he murmurs softly, barely audible. He thumbs over pillow of your bruised bottom lip, faltering.

“I’m leaving in a month,” you say quietly.

“I know.”

Another pause. You reach up and clasp his outstretched wrist gently, squeezing the pulse within it that’s staggering. “How come I only feel like this when I’m meant to be sleeping?”

“The same reason you were out that night that we met,” he answers, coaxing your fingers free to intertwine with his. “Easier to think when the world isn’t listening.”

“I feel like,” you hesitate, exhaling carefully, “like this is going to end badly.”

Rafe moves a little closer, his hip brushing against your thigh. “Probably.”

“But hey,” he adds, bringing both of your hands down. He leans in and presses a kiss on your lips, harder, more pressure, his figure bearing down. “Let’s leave worrying about that for when it comes, okay?”

—

It’s cool, that’s what I tell ‘em

Polaris: my grandparents aren’t home tonight btw

“…and — eh! Hey now, country Club,” Barry rebukes, his metal crown glinting as he bares his teeth. “I ain’t got the time to say this shit again.”

Rafe peels his gaze away from his phone screen forcibly, feigning a cool sense of disinterest. “What?”

Barry pauses, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Who you texting?”

“Shit, relax, no one, alright?” Rafe answers in a hurry, locking his phone and sliding it into his back pocket. He raises his arms in placating surrender, trying to ignore the restless whir of his insides.

“Now I know that ain’t true,” Barry throws back, waving his weathered pocket knife at his face knowingly. “You ain’t been in this room for a while.”

Rafe swallows evenly, leaning back into Barry’s dirty couch and spreading his thighs against either armrest. “I’m listening.”

“No you ain’t,” Barry snorts back, shaking his head. “You been texting since you came. What…Mrs Country Club asking you where you went?”

The taunt makes Rafe’s face crumple, if only for a split-second, and the realisation that dawns on Barry’s features tells him he’s lost this battle.

“Well, shit,” he goads, wolf whistling lewdly. “A Mrs Country Club, huh. Didn’t even know that you had one of those.”

“I don’t,” Rafe answers, gritting his teeth.

“Why you getting your little panties in a twist then, eh?” Barry smirks smugly, regarding Rafe with mild amusement. “Where you two meet? Brunch, or some shit?”

“There’s — it’s not like that, okay?” Rafe responds wearily, running his fingers over his buzz cut. “We’re just fucking. No strings attached.”

“Shit, doesn’t look like no strings,” Barry raises his eyebrows, gesticulating with his knife. “You been off your game for a while now.”

Rafe balks, frowning bemusedly. Sure he’s had to cut a few business meetings short, cancel a trip or two to Barry’s because he didn’t want a date to stop.

But it isn’t as though he’s with you every second of every day, is it? Thinking about you within these parameters of time is different to your physical presence.

Right? He says, voice hoarse and unconvincing, “Whatever, bro. You’re full of shit.”

“And you, Rafe,” Barry returns, scoffing exasperatedly, “ain’t listening to me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rafe dismisses frustratedly, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “What were you saying? I’m fucking listening.”

Barry ignores him. He walks forward and squats just short of the couch, face to face now with his brown eyes narrowed. “She the reason you been avoiding these parts the last few weeks?” He accuses, cocking his head to one side.

“I’ve just been busy, alright?” Rafe answers gruffly, keenly avoiding the question.

“Huh.” Barry runs his tongue over his metal crown, his own jaw tight. “With Mrs Country Club.”

Rafe feels his phone vibrate with another text through his linen shorts. It’s as though, when the urge to check it surges through him, when the forefront of his mind works furiously to place his absence elsewhere, that he realises he needs to give in and stop fighting it.

You. Brazen as his taunts are, there’s some truth to what Barry’s saying.

Every spare moment Rafe’s had in the past few weeks, he’s wanted to spend in your presence. Sunset walks that end in moonlight trysts, endless hours of pillow talk, skinny-dipping at the beach. He’s tasted more champagne through your lips than he has a bottle, marked more of your soft skin with purple bruises than he thought possible. A criminal amount of touching. Don’t even get him started on the looking. Rafe thinks, the course of the cruel summer coming to fruition, that he’s done more memorising of you than school’s taught him. God, he’s in love with you, and the revelation is dreadful.

This wasn’t part of the plan. You’re leaving the Banks in a week or two.

“There,” Barry says after a beat, tapping the sharp edge of his pocket knife against Rafe’s forehead. “Shit’s clicking, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” Rafe answers in a rush, straightening. “I need to get my priorities straight.”

“And what might they be?”

“Not this.” Nothing else has ever felt more obvious. “Not any of this. Listen, Barry, I’m done.”

–

I’m drunk in the back of the car

You aren’t quite sure what set you off.

The pair of you were a few drinks deep when you’d felt it, that deep, cloying ache that’d been plaguing you since you met him. It was a sudden blow to the system, this ticking time-bomb of an arrangement, and the Island Club clamour in your ears was only heightening your emotions.

It was the same timbre of obnoxious as on your first rendezvous, a reminder of the day he’d used a Mai Tai to covet you. Frightening to think that that was a mere two months ago, the whirlwind of a summer romance with him feeling far longer.

Moments from ending. You were forty-eight hours away from being fully packed up and leaving.

So when that stupid, Taylor Swift song blares through the car radio, the same one you were listening to when he’d startled your midnight walk, you forgive yourself for the thick, hot tears that well to the surface.

Rafe’s struggling with his own hankering heart as they surge forward. He’s been stealing long, wistful glances at you throughout the car ride home, selfishly driving the scenic route in an attempt to avoid what’s coming. The fact that your skin glows in silver moonlight—a neck that he’s marked with a bouquet of bruises, smooth legs that he’s felt encircling his torso—is but an added bonus to an otherwise excruciating end to summer.

He isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere within the haze, you begun taking precedence over his father. He stopped thinking about retribution, his dauntless greed ebbed, and the situation with the cross and the pogues meant far less. Almost nothing, as he registers the falling tear on your cheek. It sears him with a fresh swell of longing, car beginning to slow as he pulls up beside your grandparent’s beach house.

He unbuckles and leans forward, placing his hand on your thigh and squeezing gently.

“What are you doing?” You ask in a strained voice, shying away from his touch. You turn away lest he see you cry, scrubbing your cheek in a hurry.

“Polaris.” Rafe reaches up to cradle your jaw, feeling his chest tighten when you flinch. “You’re crying.”

“I’m drunk,” you mutter, looking away from him. A fresh steam of tears flow down your face, creating a trail of hot fire that makes you ache.

“Talk to me,” he tries again, sounding more desperate than he wants to. He moves his arm around your headrest, the other finding purchase on the centre console. An all-encompassing figure in your periphery, the way he’s always been, the way you’re doomed to remember him.

“About what?” You ask, voice breaking as it rises.

“What — what’s on your mind?” Is it the same as what’s on mine?

“What do you think, Rafe Cameron?” You let out an exasperated sigh, muffled weaker by the sound of a strangled sob. “I’m leaving in two days.”

A pause. You turn toward him bravely, the whites of your eyes tinged red with a spiderweb of tears. “You’re staying.”

Rafe swallows. The pads of his fingers brush over the bare skin of your shoulder. “I thought that’s what we agreed on.”

It comes out all wrong — Rafe didn’t mean it like that. He grimaces when he catches the way your face crumples, cruel buzzcut a little longer, almost swaying as he shakes his head. “That’s not — I mean — I’m not saying I’m happy with —”

“No… I, whatever, I get it,” you interrupt languidly, swallowing down another sob. “We… it was no-strings-attached for a reason.”

“I’m bad news,” he reminds you quietly, honest-to-God yearning.”

“And don’t even know my name,” you agree, equally as quiet, a touch more subdued.

Rafe feels his own eyes burn, the unshed tears in your making them vague and glossy. “Not for lack of trying,” he murmurs.

“Glad I held my ground, anyway,” you whisper back, biting down on your cheek roughly. “It’s better this way.”

Is it?

Rafe doesn’t think so. His gaze falls to the same lips he’s memorised with his kisses, sometimes soft, something hard, and he really doesn’t think so.

“If you say so,” he allows after a beat.

“I do.” A pause. “I’m fine.”

Rafe forces himself to draw his arm back to his side. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I am,” you answer with a nod, averting your gaze as you click open the passenger’s side door. “Listen. Thank you. For… for showing me around, for taking me out, for making this summer so fucking incredible.”

Too fucking incredible. There’s a sad voice in your head that’s screaming in protest, growing louder, more desperate, with every inch of added distance.

“Hey,” Rafe calls, clasping your wrist as you pull away. “I — wait. That’s it?”

You look down at the rough fingers as they encircle it, wide-eyed and fairly close to acquiescing again. “That’s it,” you echo, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“Well,” he retrieves his hand, running his palm over his buzzcut distractedly, “Now it’s my turn to talk

You exhale slowly, watching him. “About what?”

“Shit, Polaris, maybe the fact that I’m in love with you?” He says incredulously, torso over the center console now. He’s looking up at you with enough intensity to revive burning embers, dry the tears on your cheeks until your skin feels vulnerable.

You balk, frozen in place as your eyes widen. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats, sighing defeatedly. “And I know that I’m meant to keep that shit to myself, it wasn’t part of the plan and —”

“Rafe Cameron,” you interrupt, your warm cheeks burning. “I love you too.”

A pause. The confession makes the hankering dissipate, so quick Rafe almost doesn’t notice. His lips pull up until he’s sending you that sweet, devilish grin.

“Huh.” He reaches for your wrist again, tugging hard. “Well ain’t that just the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

—

[faghubby]

Bear

THIS STORY IS SEVERAL FANS IDEAS WRAPPED INTO ONE STORY.

"Hey come here" a big burly man called after me as I exited the building. I looked at him but headed for my car. He quickly covered the distance between us. Grabbing my arm he spun me around.

"You were just upstairs with Connie" he told me.

"So" I said smartly. Even though this man towered over me.

"She is my sister" he told me.

"OH pleasure to me meet you,Eli" I said extending my hand.

"Don't give me that shit I know what kind of Sissies my sister likes" he said and yanked the back of the pink thong Connie had made me wear up giving me a massive wedgie. I was so scared, of him but also that someone might see that I almost peed myself. He pushed me into a near by alley.

"Please, I have a little money", I fumbled and pulled out my wallet.

"You should have a purse" he told me knocking my waller out of my hand he pushed me against the wall.

"Faggots are supposed to be good at sucking cock" he said unbuckling his pants. My God he was serious! "Or maybe I should just tell your wife you wear her panties and meet my sister on your lunch break" he said. Taking my phone of my belt clip.

"Okay, anything. But I never done this before." I knelt down and reached into his pants. I was shaking, I felt cold even on this warm summer day. I felt his cock, Jesus! Was that all him. I pulled out his cock. It was a thick fat cock his mushroom head already purple.

I could smell his musk and sweat. As he grabbed it and smacked his cock across my face.

"Let go bitch ain't got all day. I took the tip In my mouth the taste of sweat and piss. But he pushed it in more I gagged and coughed.

"Better get that mouth back non there" he warned. I went back to sucking on the head as I jerked him off. Without warning he shot his load into my mouth. I pulled away and the second shot hot me in the eye. The third all over my shirt. The rest seemed to miss me and hit the ground. He handed me back my phone, I had sucked off another man. I thought. I couldnt say inhad not fantasies about it. But innmy fantasies. He was a hot stud, and there was always a woman there. This was dirty, degrading, disgusting. I wanted to shower with bleach. I picked up my wallet.

"My name is Jake but you can call me Daddy" he told me. He then showed me pics of me sucking his cock. "You're mine now" he smiled and walked away. I needed to get back to work I was late. I couldnt go like this. I took off my shirt and threw it away after using it to wipe off my face. I stopped at a store and bought a new dress shirt. At the office I went to the bathroom and realized I had dry cum in my hair. I tried to tell my supervisor that I had an emergency and had to go. She didn't believe me.

"Eli, you got an hour left at this point, since you took a two hour lunch" she said annoyed. I went back to my desk defeated. As I sat down my phone dings. I pick it up to see a text from DADDY. there is a pic of his dick as his profile.

"I know you're dreaming when you can suck my cock again. I just thought I tell you. Your wife is hot" he sent a pic of of social media or my phone of Gail is a bikini on our vacation. "Does she know she married a fag?" I blocked him. He just sent a message on a different number.

"Maybe I should send this Pic to everyone in your contact list?" There I was on my knees with cum all over my face.

"Now unblock me and stop being such a little cunt" he texted. He would text me multiple times a day. He seemed to know my life. My friends, family, all about work. He used this to have me send him pics of myself dressed in my wife's panties, but he didn't stop there soon he wanted me fully dressed. I had to answer no matter when he texted. He had already released a pic on a website for gay men. But had blurred my face thankfully. I was in bed one night when he texted.

"Come outside" it was 1am. He was here! I had not seen him since that day two weeks ago. I got up and went outside he was sitting in a car in front of my house.

"Get in" he commanded I quickly got in hoping no one saw me, his cock was already out.

"Well it ain't going to suck itself" he told me. "Or should I gomknock on your door and get Gail to do it?" He said I leaned over and took him in my mouth. It was different this time, he smelled good. He must of showered because he didn't taste like sweat. His hand ran down my back and under my shorts.

"Where are your panties bitch?" He asked I didn't stop sucking his cock. "You are going to have to learn some things. Next time you will be smooth. I don't want to see a hair anywhere on your body. Your ass, your legs, even your pits will be smother then a new born" he told me. "I am also going to be around alit more. Seems like leaving you alone makes you think you don't belong to me" he told me then pushed my head down, I gagged as he shot his load in my mouth.

"Clean thar mess up" he told me shoving my face back into his crotch. I licked his thick bush sucking all of his cum up.

An hour had passed by the time I returned to my bed.

"Everything okay?" Gail asked as I got back in bed.

"Fine, go back to sleep". But I was rock hard in my shorts. I snuggled up to her.

"Um, what's this" Gail reached back and pulled out my dick without a word she stroked me. Not even facing me. I couldn't remember the last time we had had sex. Weeks ago I thought as I came all over her ass.

"Now get to sleep" she mumbled. I woke in the morning to pics of me sucking Daddy's cock in his car.

"Be around later cunt" he wrote. I decided to work from home today. Gail left for work. I couldn't shave. How would I explain that to Gail.

"So working from home today" i got a text from Daddy. "Good I want to see pics of you all smooth and dressed up by 4. Or I going to visit Gail at her office" he sent a pic of the building she worked at. I did some work then googled best way to shave body hair. I ran a hot bath and used Gail's razors to shave. It took two tubs of water. And had to shower after to rinse away any stray hair. I loved how it felt everytime I moved the motion seemed to electrify my skin. I got dressed in one of Gail's dresses. And sent Daddy a pic.

Ten minutes later I heard the doorbell. I panicked then I heard Daddy's deep voice call out as he came in.

"Where you at Faggot?" He called. I appeared at the top of the stairs. I wore Gail's dress. It was tight on me and barely covered my ass. When I saw Daddy I got excited. I don't know why, I had paid Connie to make me wear panties and degrade me. But this was different I needed Daddy, I hated him. But needed him. I didn't find him attractive. Not sure many woman would either. He was a big man, with a bit of a pot belly. A shaggy beard, and unkempt hair. But he carried himself with competent confidence. Daddy climbed the stairs two at a time. He grabbed me and kissed me. I felt wierd but my lips parted and his tounge danced in my mouth. His hand grasped my hard cock.

"My little faggot is happy to see me?" He smiled. Pulling my dress up so it bunched around my waist.

"Please no" I whispered his hands grabbed my ass.

"It's time you learned to be a proper bitch" he told me. He picked me up and carried me into my bedroom. He threw me on the bed but before i could get away he manhandled me. Flipping me over he shoved my head down leaving my ass up in the air. He tore Gail's panties off of me. And smeared some type of lube on my ass. He must of bought it with him. Then I felt his cock push against my ass.

"Daddy please, I don't" but as I said it his cock pushed in. Pain shot thru me as my ass adjusted to being invaded. He waited only a moment before he worked more of his cock inside me. My phone was ringing I was supposed to be working. Daddy didn't care and started to fuck me. Slow at first then speeding up. He pounded away on my ass before he stiffened and filled my ass with his seed. He pulled out and my ass as felt empty, and sore. He got dressed as I laid on the bed.

"Now I don't like you getting excited" he told me fippimg me over he sat on me his ass pointing towards my face. He fiddled with so,thing cold around my dick. Then got up I looked down he had locked me in a steel chastity cage.

"I can't! Gail!" I told him. "Please" he just laughed and left me sitting there panicking. My phone rang again bringing me back to reality I rushed downstairs. I still wore Gail's dress. Daddy was gone. I tried to get the cage off and to my surprise with a little discomfort I pulled it off. I ran upstairs and showered. And got dressed in my clothes. My ass was so sore.

Gail came home as usual I was still working making up for a day of dressing up and getting fucked. I must of subconsciously been more attentive to Gail that night because right after dinner she took me to bed. I tried to make an excuse. But as soon as she removed my shirt she stopped.

"I like it" she told me and kissed me. She then reached inside my shorts and grabbed my dick. "Where is it?" She stopped suddenly.

"What?" I said surprised

"He locked you up, I saw the pics" she told me pushing me back.

"What? You knew?" I said without even thinking..

"From day one, you charged that whore on the credit card" Gail scolded.

"Gail I" I started. "Where is it?" She asked holding out her hand. I opened my drawer and gave ot to her.

"I guess it's to small" she frowned. She picked up her phone and called someone.

"He pulled it off" she said. Whoever was on the other side said something that made her smile.

"Get dressed, yes in panties" she told me. I put on panties, some shorts and a tee shirt with sandals. Gail drove me across town to a tattoo parlor. As I walked in I saw Daddy tattooing someone.

"That chair" he pointed Gail had me sit. When Daddy finished he came over to me. "Pants off" he told me. I was shocked to see Gail follow his instructions as well. She also removed her panties. So I removed mine. I noticed a tattoo on Gail's ass. It read married slut. I was stunned but then Daddy put restrains on my arms.

"We are going to give you a prince Albert so the garage can't be pulled off" he informed me. I wanted to complain but he walked over to Gail and shoved his fingers into her pussy. Then he numbed my dick and drove a needle thru. He reinstall the cage then put in the prince Albert piecing locking the cage on permanently. He wasn't done I was still bound to the chair as he bent Gail over and drove his cock into her. He fucked her. Long and hard as she was bent over top of me. The numbing agent had worn off and my dick now hurt as he pumped his seed inside Gail. He then shoved his dick in my mouth making me clean it.

"Your Daddy's little faggot now" Gail told me. As she pulled her panties back on. I had no idea how long they had known each other. Was this all just revenge or had I been set up from the start.

Gail took charge after that. She threatened to expose me to my deeply religious family. I was subject to not only wear panties but also bras and often stockings under my boy clothes. Often making me dress fully as a woman. She bought me makeup and hair styles. Along with nail care. I never saw Daddy and Gail together again.

Although Daddy would often spend the night in my bed. I craved him now. I would beg to suck his cock. Or plead with him to fuck me. I refused him nothing. Even when he had me service his friends. I have a tattoo now that says Daddy's faggot on my ass. I never saw Gail naked again. We lived like roommates. Acting as a loving couple for family functions.

Soon that will end as well. Daddy wants me to get breasts implants. Gail thinks it's a great idea.

[lastoneout]

Anyone saying that the "tarrifs targeting red and swing states" thing is good is getting an insta-block BTW I've already seen people in the general tags saying we deserve it and that they hope everyone in Texas and Florida and every other red/purple state suffers immensely and it's sick. Our states have some of the worst voter suppression and largest marginalized populations. Trump doesn't give a fuck about his voter base, and neither does like any GOP politician, targeting red states in the hopes that making republican voters suffer will prompt GOP Governors and Congressman to stand up to Trump will never work. Like keeping us poor and illiterate and unemployed is HOW THEY STAY IN POWER. They do not give a single shit about the American people, so long as they can eat(and they will be able to no matter what) they couldn't give a less of a shit about their constituents starving. Hell, us starving will probably make them happy because they can paint you as the enemy and rile up whoever the fuck here is still allowed to vote in two years, which, statistically will not be the starving non-white, disabled, and queer people.

Don't laugh while innocent people suffer just because you don't like how a, let's be real, miniscule percentage of them voted. Voter suppression and interference was at an all time high, Trump basically admitted in front of god and everyone that Elon Musk fucked with things so he could win and the only reason no one did anything is because he's so old and so used to lying it's almost impossible to tell when he's being serious or just rambling bullshit.

Don't any of you fucking dare take joy in the suffering of innocent people. Hell, you shouldnt take joy in Trump voters suffering either, because you know, no one should have to starve and fear for their lives at all but I know actually holding true to your political beliefs is kinda hard for some of you so whatever. Just remember that laughing while people suffer is what the enemy does, and you're supposed to be better than them. At least, that's what y'all solid blue state assholes keep saying. Maybe shut the fuck up and act like it for once.

(Also I am not pretending to know what Canada should do, aside from protect their own citizens as well as swear to take marginalized American people fleeing for their lives, but I feel like you could just do country wide tarrifs instead of specifically singling out states who are only red due to massive voter suppression and election interference?? Always remember, if every single eligible American voted the GOP would never win another election for the rest of fucking time. So yeah, they're right to act, I just don't fully agree that they way they've chosen to act is going to work they way they think it will, which sucks for everyone on this goddamn continent.)

[uncannytimecandy]

why is The Social Network (2010) the most sexually charged movie I've ever seen.

It's literally affecting my ability to focus on class and in conversations. (i have to dissect this film for class and all I'm finding is homoeroticism. Im literally 10 years late but whatever.)

Okay first off, opening like 15 minutes. Cuts between girls at parties, doing drugs taking their tops off, he's in his dorm getting drunk, hating on his ex girlfriend on line, and comparing women to farm animals (like the piece of shit he is). It's supposed to be kinda... oh... look at him he's a loser he isnt out at parties like everyone else... but also this IS his party. This is pleasure. He might as well be taking ecstasy rn. Being a condescending asshole and showing everyone how smart he is, devoting his life to being behind a computer to prove it. (also the entire soundtrack is DOWN and DIRTY) Mark's motivations (besides being a smartass) seem to be girls and parties. I dont know just.... sex is like BAKED into the tone of the movie. I squirmed in my seat the whole time like an unwilling voyeur. (except the girls snorting coke off of each other that was awesome)

Okay that said. WHY IS THE MARK ZUCKERBURG MOVIE GAY. The share settlements could have been replaced with a divorce lawyer and I would not have noticed.

Edwardo's introduction as a character coming to comfort Mark about his breakup?

"Are you alright?"

"I need you."

"I'm here for you."

"No I need the algorithm you use to rank chess players."

They make me sick. I can't even structure my thoughts properly because it's the... IT'S THE EVERYTHING!!!

Mark is an asshole. This is the topic of the opening scene and the ending. The whole point is that He Is An Asshole. (I know the lawyer was like, 'You're not an asshole, you're just trying to be.' but like.... when he checked the math of the lawyer for no other reason to be condescending and petty? yea.... okay. DIVA-ING OUT!)

He's an asshole and Edwardo is his only friend. Edwardo keeps being his friend even though Mark is an asshole.

Edwardo showing up in the rain? Like a scorned lover? Just to get upset at Mark's new sidepiece? (i feel like the Elon Musk concubine tweet) Mark saying he needs him AGAIN????? The way Edwardo (assumedly) storms off and comes back as soon as Mark calls?

In the same scene Edwardo says he's scared of Christy, says she's psychotic and unpredictable. Later when she sets the scarf on fire, after getting jealous and treating Mark like one of Edwardo's side hoes, Edwardo tries to put out the fire of a relationship with both Christy and Mark (nahhhh bro ur gf and best bro are being parelleled... its sooooo over...)

On that note... when he first gets together with Christy? They make out and Christy goes to suck him off? At the same time the film points out that EDWARDO IS LISTENING TO MARK IN THE BATHROOM STALL NEXT TO HIM ALSO PROBABLY GETTING SUCKED OFF???? that is a WHOLE allegation

Okay post-fuck-you-flip-flops. All the legal stuff. OOPS??? FYM OOPS!!!

Something about the way these two points COULD have been used to help build their case but they don't, and they aren't exactly 'Harvard Gentlemen'.

Something about how on Edwardo says oops because he was just telling a story, not trying to open a new can of worms. He doesn't bring it up or use it for defamation because he was never angry about Mark's moral failings, he clearly doesn't mind those, he was angry over Mark not needing him. Or maybe ever lying about needing him in the first place.

And what does Mark say oops for? Sorry for bringing the chicken up? Sorry for not? Sorry for the possibility he started the rumor in the first place? Is he saying oops FOR Edwardo, for jumping to conclusions? Is he sorry for defending him?

Physically ill.

So anyways what scene do I use for my quiz because it was due three days ago and I am NOTTTTTT writing about mutually assured destructive yearning

[unreal-unearthed]

Just because Hozier was seen with Taylor and Taylor's " friends" (I don't consider boygenius members as her friends tbh because it's just called being friendly to a person who holds sm power in the industry and the members at one point in their life maybe looked upto her but now see her for who she really is cough cough Olivia and conan) and went to the same parties because duh he is a celebrity afterall doesn't mean that he must not know about the stuff she does.

Also even if swifities are critical of TS (saying this as an ex swiftie myself) you're still giving her money by streaming her stuff.

She's obviously not evil to the point of Musk and Bezoz or whatever but y'all need to stop being so apologetic towards everything she does and how performative all her activism is.. that's all I have to say

This stands against all the messages in Hozier's music

again i am asking where the hell you saw me being apologetic to everything she does. WHERE ARE YOU GETTING THIS FROM. you are making shit up about something i haven’t done. i have never spoken or praised taylor’s activism or frankly her lack thereof on here. i have so much to critic taylor for. do not come for me for being a taylor swift apologist when you have no evidence of me doing that. you can enjoy someone’s artistry and still be highly critical of them. also you have ZERO right to tell me what music i can/can’t or should/shouldn’t listen to. LEAVE ME ALONE. for fucks sake! again this is not a taylor swift blog! this is a hozier blog! i don’t post about taylor swift anywhere near enough to warrant this fucking bullshit! leave me alone!

[torque-witch]

Long post ramble

The diabolical update about my parents post-election, or more-so my dad is that he did apologize to me for texting me to sign up for Musk's petition + money giveaway "without speaking to me first" but low-key he was calling because it's his birthday today and probably because my mom yelled at him about it, mostly because it sent my sister into a panic. He said he was mostly just trying to give me an option for free money, and he is definitely money obsessed (and poor at handling it) so frankly I said I figured that was the bulk of his reasoning. But...also never actually went into talking to me about it at all. Hence, why I just say thank you and go on with my day because I know he doesn't actually want to have conversations with me about how politics affects MY life. I digress.

But then it got worse as he went on more rambling about his health and his business and a) mentioned that he believes vaccines cause autism and that he was sorry that he just trusted medical professionals when I was a baby and b) that he is now using AI to help process film to digital files in order to clean up the distortion from older film.

First of all, I said obviously it wasn't your fault for following baby medical regimen??? And mentioned that I tested pretty high on the RAADS-R and had a referral to be clinically tested so I'm already like fully totally fine with this outcome because it makes sense. It doesn't make sense because of vaccines though - it makes sense because HE is autistic. He can recognize it in my older sister because she has a lot more trouble socializing and gets visibly over-stimulated and agitated as a result, but is a lot better now at recognizing it. My dad, however, said "I don't think you seem autistic" and I had to explain that it presents a lot differently in afabs and that I still experience similar things that my sister does, but I am very good at controlling my reactions in public. No one has seen me have agitated meltdowns or the inability to speak because someone didn't understand my needs, I can't rip checks properly or because my clothes all feel like ants or hay or just that everything feels WRONG except my husband because I trust him to sit with me and not judge me for it. I still also get extremely overstimulated in crowded places which results in tachycardia, nausea or echolalia (which is often really really offensive because I mimic people's noises in the stores or phrases they say and I have to be super careful to catch myself or be super quiet because it just...comes out and I don't plan for it at all).

Anyhow I digress again, but secondly the AI shit is just like double diabolical because he specifically said he didn't tell his client (he owns a photography processing lab that he runs by himself and has for many years) AND he specifically had to buy a secondary processing chip and power source to run the program. It's bad for the environment/energy. He then asked if I've dabbled with AI and again I had to explain that I can't even post about it in a haha funny way because it's not allowed in curated art spaces and I could lose opportunities!!! "Ohhh...because you didn't do the work."

hmmm dad, hmmm.

Like...legitimately these people are supposed to have more wisdom than me. Somehow I follow Jesus' teachings better and somehow I have better empathy, and somehow I can connect with other people on more than a surface level and somehow I can sift through information on the internet and still remain somewhat cognizant of what is reality. I'm obviously not perfect, and I see so many of his mannerisms in me that have led him to become so enraptured in conspiracy. And it's 100% OCD and autism. And religious guilt/cult.

I'm grateful that all I got was stress that's eating my insides alive through the form of disease and probably autism, but my sister is the one who is suffering deeply from both a lack of educating themselves and genetic predisposition. It's not haha funny anymore, it's like oh...unfortunately my autism is pattern recognition and it's very clear how we all got here and why this family is so dysfunctional. And it didn't even have to be that bad either. The damage is done. Some things were out of everyone's control. But watching your childhood slowly turn into more of a nightmare as an adult isn't the best pasttime. I'm glad we didn't have the internet for a minute there.

Though, my mom was also deep in her fad diet era too which may have also contributed to malnutrition (we were all forced to participate as children, as in I grew up vegan but in a poor person way so it was all canned food). We did Atkins at some point, Whole 30 or whatever. Now she's gluten free and something else but not celiac. Lots of jazzercise lol. But mostly it certainly contributed to my body image as well. Even my dad pointed out that I had cellulite at like 13 as if I could do anything about it.

Anyway. Long trauma dump aside.

Why did these two get together? We will never know. I actually do know and it's not a happy story. For another time.

weeeeeeeee

[mugiwara-lucy]

Now some may be wondering why I’ve been so gung ho on Early Voting/Mail In Voting? The reason is because as we’ve seen in the last couple of weeks Trump and his cult are going to no doubt try and steal the election as evidenced by them trying by to make Nebraska a “winner take all state”, having Georgia do hand ballots, keeping Kamala’s name off the ballots in Montana (while miraculously leaving on RFK Jr’s 🙄) and trying to pass that “Save Act nonsense” along with Trump shit talking our troops that vote overseas.

All of what I mentioned is ACTUAL election interference. Thankfully all of them except the Georgia hand ballot thing have been shoved to the side although even that is being contested next week so hopefully that gets scrapped too. The reason this is actual election interference is because counting hand ballots by hand is no doubt mentally exhausting but you’re bound to make an error (and you can believe MAGA will make an “error” 😒) and you’d know this if you’ve ever done inventory at work, you’d know this. The Save Act screws married women since youzmd have to have the same name you were born with and making Nebraska a “winner take all” state would have NO DOUBT been an unfair advantage for Trump and as for leaving off Kamala’s name in Montana, there is NO excuse for that. Funny how the party of “law and order” is involved with all this untrustworthy nonsense. 🥴

But yeah sorry to segue in all that, I just wanted to let you know the shit MAGA is putting on is and how we can best combat them and I feel mail in ballots and early voting is a GREAT counter to that! Also I feel it worth noting that Trump said if he gets in office, he’s putting Elon Musk in charge of the government and both say they will do away with both mail in ballots and early voting. Gee I wonder why 😒

But yeah anyways, here are the Early Voting Dates:

And here’s your link to request a mail in ballot! Though please keep in mind when you get your mail in ballot, like I say, make sure to deposit it AT the USPS office! That way you can avoid MAGA mail fuckery! Here’s the link to sign up!

And well if you just wanna be old fashioned like me, here are the dates which list the deadlines and when it’s the last day to sign up to vote on November 5th as well as the link to register to vote itself.

Guys we’ve done so well and because of our hard work; Kamala has a lead in Arizona, Michigan, Nevada, Pennsylvania, North Carolina and Wisconsin. (Which is why MAGA is even more unhinged with their fuckery eye roll) but we can NOT stop here. We can NOT afford to take our feet off the breaks UNTIL Kamala wins and is in the White House. And even then this is NOT the end of Project 2025/Agenda 47/180 Transition Plan (new name same shit), it will only be delayed.

In short, PLEASE PLEASE VOTE in ANY way you can. Either Mail In (with the tip I shared), Early or ACTUAL IN DAY VOTING of November 5th!

If we fail and we get Trump….we can DEFINITELY say goodbye to voting since don’t forget two months ago he said and I quote “you won’t ever have to worry about voting again. It’ll all be fixed.” We all know what that means when he says “fixed”.

And we also enjoyed several events like Pride Month this year. With all his talk about “Christianity and going after Anti-Christians”, if he gets in, this could legitimately have been our LAST pride month.

And like I’ve always said if he gets in, he’s not leaving until he croaks and if that happens we get someone like JD Vance or Elon Musk as president.

I’m sure I don’t have to explain how HORRIFIC that would be. And keep in mind, our economy STILL hasn’t fully recovered from how bad Trump fucked us over even FOUR YEARS LATER.

So in short let’s NOT blow this. Thank You 🙏

[vampireradiation]

“Elon Musk isn’t autistic, he’s just a narcissist!” Is something I’ve seen ALL OVER lately and it makes me so fucking frustrated.

Like first of all, obviously autistic people are the furthest thing from a monolith, but I think it’s also just incredibly immature, idealist and delusional to cling to the idea that all autistic people are inherently more rational, safer, more understanding, etc. We aren’t, and the fact so many people seem to think that way tells me you’ve either completely avoided any autistic person that doesn’t match your specific personality requirements, or you’re just so painfully online and immature you can’t accept autism isn’t just an ‘UwU, anime and socially awkward strong sense of justice but only in an extremely leftist way’.

Secondly, what the FUCK does calling him a narcissist help? I find this SO FUCKING insufferable. I’m not saying it’s impossible or even unlikely, but it’s really irritating that people seem to think Narcissism is just like, Evil Syndrome or some shit. Like, fuck off. And also none of you guys are his therapist? Are we conveniently forgetting how weird and stupid it is to speculate on the diagnosis of a public figure we have no idea about in private? Maybe it is more likely to be a problem, maybe it is more likely to draw the wrong people to power and keep them there, but does acting like NPD is a curse against the soul and inherently evil really feel like the solution? I mean holy shit, I feel as though people go crazy justifying every BPD behaviour under the sun because it’s a trauma based disorder (and I get it, this is nothing against BPD here at all) but the second it’s an ever so slightly different pattern, that understanding of the disorder goes out the window. I’m not saying it can’t be dangerous nor am I trying to imply it’s an excuse for unacceptable behaviour, but like, neither is autism. I fucking hate it, the same people who repost shit like ‘10 ways to make traumatised people more comfortable’ or ‘how adhd is so misunderstood’ are following the exact patterns of demonisation they seem to fight against and resent, but because it’s seen as an ugly or immoral disorder all respect gets chucked out. I’m not even going to get into the fact that autistic people are often (completely unintentionally) more self centred, can be a bit more narcissistic (as in the trait, not the disorder) than average, and can struggle with empathy in both directions. There are a lot of overlapping traits, and people seem to hate to admit this shit, but it’s true and it shouldn’t be shameful. It’s more important to accept and work from reality than shy away from the ‘‘ugly’’ parts.

If you’re going to fight for the acceptance and understanding of neurodiversity but throw all of your principles away as soon as it’s the scary disorder, you fundamentally DO NOT understand the point behind your cause and your entire case is rendered weaker for it. Some of you guys claim to have immense and unending empathy but the second the condition is taboo or might make people slightly less kind, it’s like you forget the meaning of empathy.

[free-luigi-mangione]

Another factor I have not seen brought up wrt Luigi’s pending federal indictment is that the current administration is going absolutely crazy. This is levels of fascism previously unseen by almost everyone who is still alive in the United States.

A few weeks ago, the new AG Pam Bondi made it clear that the administration would be pursuing the death penalty in cases of heinous crimes committed by illegal immigrants and anyone attacking law enforcement. A lot of erroneous headlines actually correlated it to Luigi’s case and made it seem like Bondi was referring to him and thank heavens that’s not true. Other than Trump’s initial statement condemning Luigi and Musk’s deranged throwaway comments about him, they actually haven’t been focussing much on him and that is a big blessing.

The administration is paying El Salvador millions a year to house what on paper should only be illegal immigrants belonging to the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua. Unfortunately, with Trump being Trump, this has actually resulted in people even remotely suspicious being deported without due process. Like, they’re sending immigrants from other countries to El Salvador. It’s insane. The place is called CECOT and it makes Rikers look like a Swiss spa. Do not look it up if you have a weak stomach.

KFA is vocally anti Trump and has spent more time witnessing politics up close than Luigi has been alive. She knows it’s absolutely in his benefit if the DOJ is ignoring his case right now and dragging their heels. Republicans are currently as trigger happy as they’ve ever been in recent memory and it’s not like the opposition can be counted on to do anything useful. Hell, half the DOJ officials who took bribes to pursue federal charges against Luigi are Democrats.

Karen knows it could get a lot worse for him and she’s 100% in the right not to piss anyone off right now. Human rights violations are being committed at unprecedented rates even against orders from judges, and poor Karen is stuck with shit judges in the first place. Luigi having to wear handcuffs all the time is much better than him getting carted off to a foreign torture camp. If 10 years ago you’d told me an American citizen awaiting trial was in danger of being disappeared this blatantly, I would’ve laughed my ass off. But in 2025 anything goes.

I’m actually not that old (I guess), I turn 29 soon. But the crowd here does seem a lot younger so I definitely feel a difference - 💚

as far as i'm aware, didn't Trump bring back the pursuance of death penalty for all cases where it's eligible when he came back to power?? so how exactly does this new thing affect cases like Luigi's??? (specifically Luigi's tho because he's kind of in a very differently tough spot compared to others)

also i looked up CECOT, i saw it has a capacity for 40,000 inmates and i cut it out quick, i was like forty fucking thousand??? this is it, i've seen enough, i'm out (i don't want to know more about that place if it's supposed to keep 40,000 people imprisoned, that place must be hell on earth for anybody stuck there)

KFA is so anti Trump (and good for her, somebody needs to speak out against that orange fascist) that i sometimes worry about whether that can make Luigi's case be handled worsely just because she's defending him. i don't know if it's a worry from nowhere because i at least see the current administration as highly problematic and dangerous but i hope it is an unfounded worry and it stays that way.

also the fact that the Dems are so useless currently and that even before going away they shilled for the 1% so hard and made Luigi's cases so much worse than what usually happens in such cases is so infuriating. also uhh d'you mean to say he's in danger of getting Epsteined some other way??? if not the direct Epstein Epstein way because of the kind of person Epstein was??

[sweetofsin]

anyway sorry i'm annoyed because of the posts coming up on my for you and i keep pressing "not interested" but you know

i'm really annoyed and tired of the big divide with how people talk about neurodivergent vs. neurotypical. i'm not saying it's all bad but it's very annoying when i already feel like western countries, especially america, loves to categorize and divide and label people constantly which often times does nothing but create more division and this presumption that it's 1 Group and 2 Group when in reality, we're more alike and intertwined than we think

i legit don't think there's any way anyone, or at least most people on this earth, is neurotypical. anything can happen or be altered towards your brain or characteristic traits that can come from trauma, genetics, environments, etc. even something like allergies can cause a shift where you can end up having similar traits as if you were 'neurodivergent'

i guess i'm also tired of seeing the constant label and divide because i've seen a lot of neurodivergent people act in ways that people swear up and down mainly neurotypical people do. it's very exhausting when people believe an identity is so definitive and absolves people of things, when literally that's not how this works. humans are rarely, if ever, determinative and definitive by a singular label. and that's not a bad thing

also what it leads to is people thinking that there's no way they can cause x harm, or be as bad as x people, because they don't have that label/identity. i've seen people associate something like gossiping or shit-talking with neurotypicals—when i have an entire family of neurodivergents who thrive off of that shit. i've been friends with other neurodivergents who also love shitting on others too.

i hate using elon musk as an example but i mean, he is a clear example that being autistic does not mean that you are morally superior/incapable of certain forms of harm/etc.

there is this tendency to want to categorize groups of people into Good vs. Bad based upon identities/labels, and i understand some of it, but oftentimes... it causes more harm than good imo. because none of us are completely good or completely bad. i agree that there are definitely actions that we can do that are really fucking bad. but that distinction is important to be made, we are all capable of doing harmful actions. but they don't always have to be tied back to our identity

[blorbonicplague]

Poilievre has Trump and Musk's full endorsement, to the point he literally had to tell them to stop talking about how much they like him because it was affecting his popularity ratings

Trump and Musk then switched to trying to talk about how much they love Carney so they could tank his ratings instead. The same transparent idiot tactics they always use

The Canadian Healthcare system is in shambles because the conservative party has been cutting resources to it at every opportunity for years. This is a tactic to weaken it enough that they can point to it in disrepair and talk about how it isn't working.

Poilievre and his lackeys stand to make a LOT of money if we switch to the American, privatized healthcare system - and we've seen how badly that works

A substantial number of conservative party members are climate change deniers, or just don't give a shit about the climate. They are way more interested in how they can sell us to America for a quick buck then whether our children or grandchildren have a planet to live on

They also don't seem to really have much of a platform. Almost all of the messages they put out are about trashing the other parties, not about what they actually want to do. I've seen some mutterings about fixing the economy - from a guy who has, literally, never worked a real job, ever, in his life. He started collecting a 32 million dollar tax-funded pension in his 30's, I believe. This is also the party that tanked us into a recession every time they've been in power the last 75 years or so.

I don't know if you guys remember Harper and the recession of 2008, but I do. He took a lot of credit for 'fixing' the economy then with his action plan, and never mentioned the fact that that was the third version of that plan. The original version was so baseless and damaging that the entirety of other Canadian political parties actually united in a coalition to force him to not go through with it. The second plan had token adjustments that also would only make everything worse.

The third plan, the one that went forward, was heavily, heavily edited by the opposing parties - to the point of being almost entirely different then how it started. He didn't write it, but he took credit for it.

The conservative party has always, always opposed LGBT2SQ+ rights. They already have a recent history of revoking trans rights and human rights, even under a liberal government

If you believe Canada is not for sale then you cannot elect Poilievre. He is ready and willing to sell us to Trump at a moment's notice. Do not believe his lies, do not fall for his party's propaganda.

I don't particularly like any of the parties in the main running, but of all the evils there are to choose from, the Conservative party is the only one with a long and dedicated history of hate and bolstering billionaires at the expense of everyone else.

He is not your friend. He does not care about the little guy. If you point to the Maggats and say how could they fall for someone so obviously lying to them and you vote conservative you are a hypocrite of the highest order and fool besides

I know most people don't care about anything unless it has to do with the U.S. but can we please start talking about the Canadian election.

Please don't vote for Poilievre. He's basically the Canadian Trump and plans to put in place laws that harm trans youth, and lots of other shit.

Please vote istg this is the only way anything will get better. Poilievre has been kissing millionaires and billionaires asses. He'll make life even harder, and he loves Trump.

Reblogs are appreciated, especially if you aren't Canadian.

[demonsfate]

another thing i love fucking hate about this damn fanbase is that everyone constantly says "jIn dOeS nOt hAvE rEaL tRaUmA!!!" and mention how other characters like Kazuya, Lars, Eddy, etc went through worse than him. "but jin don't have real trauma! his mom was actually alive all along and he got to live a wonderful life with both jun and heihachi before he got shot at 19. he got to live in a nice house with heihachi, he got to live 15 peaceful years with jun. devil gene wanted to protect him all along and kept him alive. jin was never abused or tortured lmao he a whiny bitch". like it's not just tekken either it the echo chamber even bleeds into outsider povs and other fandoms too. all i wanted one day when i used to own a Twitter account back in 2018 was to make a thread talking about a potential Naruto x Tekken crossover and then some dumbass Sasuke Uchiha fangirls kept sending death threats to me and harassing me saying "HOW DARE YOU COMPARE THAT DISGUSTING MUSCULAR TOXIC MASCULINE PIG JIN TO SASUKE!!! SASUKE WAS ABUSED AS A KID AT 7 YEARS OLD HE IS A GENOCIDE HOMICIDE SURVIVOR ALSO JUN CAME BACK MEANWHILE SASUKE'S PARENTS ARE STILL DEAD!! ALSO SASUKE NEVER STARTED A WAR THAT'S JIN AND OBITO'S THING! JIN IS FUCKING UGLY BECAUSE HIS DESIGN IS TOO OVERDESIGNED AND HE'S TOO MASCULINE PIG! CLAUDIO AND LEE IS MORE HOT THAN HIM, LING SHOULD JUST DITCH HIM AND GO FOR CLAUDIO, LEE, OR SASUKE!" (yeah twitter was always a toxic shithole even before musk bought the site). I don't think the hateful echo chamber towards Jin is ever going to stop, as a matter of fact it's going to get worse more people are probably going to either hate Jin or join the bandwagon of making fun of him because of ppl saying the same shit about him over and over again. they downplay everything about jin, his character development in 4, his trauma, his kindness to other characters - everything. i have never seen a fanbase hate and spite their own damn main character more than the fucking tekken community...even narutards or sonic fanboys show more mercy to characters they don't like.

HONESTLY YEAH. The whole "Jin never had anything bad happen to him" is real annoying. Tho I'm ngl, Tekken 8 did ring some truth to it. Since I used to be adamant about how having the devil gene is a truly horrible fucking thing. Except... Tekken 8 says it's not actually because Devil Jin was protecting Jin all along and Jin was in the wrong for pushing it away. (What the actual fuck...)

BUT LIKE. Before Tekken 8 damage / ignoring that. Saying Jin lived in a nice house with Heihachi is like saying Kazuya lived in a nice house with Heihachi. Like yeah, Jin got to live wealthy. But Heihachi was definitely abusive & ruthless toward Jin like he was toward Kazuya. Jin lost his mother who was always kind & understanding to him, and on top of grieving, he had to deal with a cold abusive grandfather who sees him as nothing more than a monster. Jin definitely had it hard for those 4 years.

I also find it weird there are so many Sasuke comparisons (?) when Naruto & Tekken are two totally different things, and the only things Jin & Sasuke have in common, that I know of, is having similar hair and being considered "emo" by the fanbase. I'm also surprised there are that many fans of Tekken & Naruto! Lol!

Anyways, as I've always said. Tekken 8 had the power to subdue some of the hate for Jin had they just properly retconned Tekken 6 a lil. But no, they went about Jin's "redemption" in the worst way imaginable. So therefore, until the series is rebooted, I don't think the hate for Jin will ever truly die down.