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grotesquevi · 1 month ago

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riva’s side note # i want to take special time on thanking from the bottom of my heart to @mxya-dreams who helped me out in doing the greatest proof read in the universe, not only she's my private editor, but the kindest girl in this place. if my english is better than you recognize in this? may be because she just where art thou why not uponeth me? the fuck of this. hope you guys love loud bark deep bite, im so excited for this also?? iNSANE.

art bellow in one of the windows belongs to blkfairyy0 on x, black hair violet gives me chills idk, edited by your girl aka me wc: 2.5k

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ series masterlist || chapter song || chapter #01

there's a subtle smell of sweat in the gym that makes violet vanderson scrunch her nose in disgust: how is it possible that the unmistakable smell of humans stuck to everything? the ceiling, the machines, the damn walls.

there's a red envelope on the reception table (which she treats like a personal desk) that says in big red letters how's it’s matter of the utmost urgent response. however, as much as it's clearly labelled as important, it seems to be forgotten in an ever growing pile of papers who expose just how shitty her finances were getting lately as all the graphics seemed to go downwards.

why are people suddenly not working out anymore? and more importantly — why are people not working out at her gym? were powder's designs too much for fit stuck-ups? she had a nice place, good rates, every day she blasts hella good music through the speakers only to be cutting expenses for what? three months already? numbers decreasing along with her faith in humanity.

she's recurring to everything at this point. dog walker, worst waiter ever, she even thought about doing porn when she saw an announcement on a website that was calling out for 'lesbians interested in quick money', ticked all the right boxes before backing out the very same day.

so obviously it makes sense she has now come to sell weed. embarrassing herself to the point where she's been offering green to frat kids, who vi wouldn't dare to even talk to if it wasn't out of pure necessity. people in their twenties who look so full of life, meanwhile she wishes she was in bed under twenty blankets and a glass of whiskey gripped in her fingers, shutting the world out just because she wants to.

sweat.

she's thinking about how much she hates other people's sweat when her phone buzzes with a notification that catches her eye immediately. It lights up the empty gym (since there was a storm forecasted that same night) friday night. she's a little curious as to why nobody has reached out to buy when she makes sure to have top-nugs-category: she's selling fucking purple weed, people should be lining up outside.

however, despite her ego being bruised, she reaches for the phone anyway to find a number she doesn't have saved in her contacts.

lena. she makes an effort to remember who exactly this person's talking about before she flashes a good memory from last week, that lena. cute mom she met in a club over the weekend, nice tits, drunk as fuck since she blatantly flirts for fun: good client, safe money. she stumbled upon lena and her group of mom-friends who seemed to be on this crazy-night-out they must pull once every six months or so.

she stares at the phone for a while not really sure what to say — what if it’s a fucking cop? she knows the tactics enforcers use to deal with micro-trafficking, even though vi’s sure her contribution to the drug society is far less intimidating than tony montana’s first years as a baby.

so, logically, she should be saying no. declining cause she doesn't want to go to jail and vi doesn’t want this to blow up in her face: what would powder do if she went to jail? the question makes a shiver run down her spine, she’s definitely not ready to find out. ever.

the owner of ‘the last drop energy’ is ready to make an excuse before another text pops up with a bop sound and she’s looking at the screen again, blue eyes already tired from how much shit she’s been doing the entire day — vi's too old for this.

blame her tender and bruised heart, blame her good will and trust for people cause she knows lena, a mother that seems stressed. maybe it's someone from her bookclub or someone of the sort searching for the good old way to relax, it's coherent after all, makes sense and gives her enough reassurance to back up in words.

despite any warning her brain might give, she needs money. urgently.

she's bad at calculating time cause it's past midnight when vi's parking the motorbike outside your house in the suburbs. her pride and joy, the engine roars loud enough to wake your neighbors as she's taking the helmet off and leaving it against the seat: no one this rich is stealing such a common helmet that looks like it’s barely being held together.

it's a nice neighbourhood anyway, a cute suburb with big houses and a nice design, pretty gardens with porches and thick doors, expensive, nothing like the places she's been living in her whole life — much different from her current place above the gym, her childhood home, as she stares at the garden of roses. it's so distant from her, so strange as she doesn't fit into the whole ‘perfect family life’ painting.

equipped with her trusty leather jacket, there's a two-headed dog design on her back, still on her knee pads securely wrapped around each leg when she's knocking on your door, being judged by your nosy neighbors as she can physically feel the weight of prying eyes on her, even when most of the lights in the other houses are already off.

she's having trouble concentrating for a minute. it catches her off guard, the universe almost calling her out for being so judgemental, so dumb for a minute cause you're not what she thought you were. hair tied in a messy bun, the jeans you're wearing hug your ass so fucking good that she stays silent and stares for a few moments when you're inviting her in, shame written all over your face as you soon state:

"i can't buy weed here, sorry i got gossip-loving-neighbors" and in every other situation, vi would've leave without saying a word cause it's one of her un-written rules: she doesn't go in people's houses, she doesn't do deliveries for new clients and she most definitely doesn't stare at anyone trying to do business with her the way she's doing with you — "you're vi right? sorry for being an awful client, can i offer you anything?"

crap. she thought you were older than you seem to be. it catches her off guard. lena looks older anyway.

"no, no. i'm fine. thank you." you're gesturing the couch, unaware of the whole shitshow vi's already got going on in her own head before getting curious as she looks at the large amount of art you have hanging on your walls, the nice wooden bookshelf with a big stair that seemed to be made to reach the upper shelves, some pictures and a lot of plants that were thriving. it's inevitable, she thinks, when you're this cool, this pleasing to the eye. it doesn't seem like a mom-house at all "got a nice place."

"thanks," you take pride in it, obviously. as you hold a glass of red wine to your lips, there's a knowing smile already tugging on the corners of your mouth. i designed it."

"are you some kind of interior designer or so?"

"architect " you correct her "i mean like, actually designed the house."

well that's hot. power's fucking hot. being in such control's fucking attractive. makes vi wonder if you're still married, searching for a ring on your finger which she doesn't find even when she makes sure of it twice: not married. you're not married.

so that's what it is then? were you trying to impress her? cause vi's such a whore for it already. it’s working damn right when it makes her mouth dry at the thought of it: was she imaging it all? good fuck. is it weird to say she wants you to flirt? that she wants you to try and impress her like a million girls have done before? it's not like the girls from piltover's campus, not like her regulars at the club. no. you're too busy to go out and waste a night drinking away, you have stuff to do, you're always busy and its different. hits her different.

a thousand movies seem to appear in vi's head and she's holding total liability of her actions when pleading guilty in her own brain: boring careers, boring small talk, dull personalities she doesn't really care about when she's selling like this— she forgot the last time she met someone interesting in a similar position. too many dumb fucks.

"lena told me you sell top-quality," you're pouring red wine in the glass cup you're holding between your recently manicured black nails before turning your attention back to her — "i'm really sorry for talking to you out of the blue, my friend told me it was fine."

"i did think you were a cop," vi replies, and the blunt honesty makes you chuckle for a moment. "almost left you on read."

"i knew it" your eyes narrow while she's pulling out an small pink bag of weed that she drops on the small table you have in the center, close to the glass that’s now stained with your lipstick "had to pull the big guns out there and told you it was for my little monster kid, can't leave him alone."

"i figured as much since your friend's also a mom" she understands, she really does. unlike most dealers out there vi got this thing called empathy. fucking hates people who ask to pay later, but kids? she can work with that "i didn't know how much you wanted, but i don't carry much with me usually."

"too much risk" you agree to her words as your fingers take hold of the package that she carefully made for you back at the gym — "its okay. i don't want much either, i didn’t smoke much until like- now."

"i can bring more if you like that. no worries."

she wants to give herself a slap on the back, congratulate her life choices cause she brought less than usual, afraid it was all a trap, but now? now you can call her again, ask for more weed, have her coming again this late to see your pretty face.

"well, that's if you don't hate me, cause i wanted to ask if you have any pre-rolls? i don't think i own a grinder anymore" for fuck's sake. you're looking at her with those eyes, the right corner of your lips pulling into a smile and vi knows, a gut-like omen rising, that you're going to shit on her life even when she tries to avoid it since you have a face people raise religions up on. you're going to make her another one of your worshippers as you're laughing almost in a self-deprecating way.

she doesn't care if you don't have a grinder. if you don't have a lighter, if you don't own papers. hell she'd do it all for you.

"no" she admits only to see the pout in your lips since she's sold way before shaking her head — "but i'll help you out this time."

"this mean you're going to keep on selling me weed?" you ask, head cocking to the side as you question your new go-to dealer "even when i'll probably be an awful client?"

"well, proud to say i have patience" she admits, but not really. vi's saying it to see that smile on your face when she's opening up the package and an earthy smell fills the living room with the soft sound of the television in the background. "it's not like i sell weed to pretty moms in rich neighborhoods every day- i have a feeling you'll actually be a good client."

are you nervous? shit. of course you are.

vi can see it on your lower lip, in the way you try to stay distant even when she experiences the intensity of your gaze as her tongues poking out to lick the glue side of her own rolling papers. fingers swiftly moving to roll the weed you just bought. makes her blush for a moment cause hell — you're intimidating after all, an alluring magnet that seemed to drag her closer like polar opposites, a force in the universe keeping her orbiting around like a moon to your planet.

"that's dylan" your dealer can hear you say, trying to break the ice when catching her staring at the picture of you and your son playfully posing. good to know, but, she was looking at you instead of the kid "he's the six-year-old reason as to why i can’t buy weed in a park."

that makes her laugh which then in turn, makes you laugh.

"he's cute" she replies, leaving the pre-rolls she was rolling on the table "he looks like you."

so it’s awfully clear that vi can't stop herself from flirting with you. can't fight the electric attraction filling the air almost immediately as she knows, by the look on your face that you're considering how bad it is to make out with a potential criminal sitting on your couch from a scale from one to ten.

knows it since she's thinking about it too, only, that in her head the positive outcomes outdo any potential bad ones.

"thank you, vi," you reply, cornered by a sword to your neck and a wall at your back. politely talking cause you desperately need to keep distance between you two to be on your best behavior; not fall for your cute drug dealer as you walk her to the door tipping a good amount of money in a way of showing appreciation for her rolling you enough supplies to last at least a week. "can i save your number?"

"yeah" she states when walking down the front entrance before turning halfway around on the way to the motorbike, helmet still resting in the seat cause you live in a happy world, one with no thieves, no danger or menace — "see you around ma'."

so you lean against the door. arms crossed against your chest, you stare at her like a guard dog until she's leaving the property (can your neighbors be this crazy? or is it that you don't trust people easily?) and the deep sound of the bike disappears into the distance with the stars still shining up in the sky.

she's officially making plans on the first red light back home, not really caring about a husband, a kid or a rich neighbor aware of everything you do.

it's official when violet vanderson decides on making her business, absolutely yours.

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤGROTESQUEVI, MMXXV © DO NOT FEED MY STUFF TO SHITTY AI, NOR TRANSLATE OR COPY TO ANOTHER PAGES.

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soeyekonic · 1 month ago

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— ✩♬ ₊˚. forget her ⭑ M.B

˚⟡˖⋆ synopsis you let go of manon thinking forgetting her would mean healing, but love doesn’t vanish with memory, it lingers in the gaps, in the ache you can’t name, in the places your mind avoids but your heart won’t.

disclaimer : manon bannerman x fem!reader. i recently watched esotsm for the first time and it has yet to leave my brain and i kinda wanted to make a fic based off the movie. angst…ofc. esotsm spoilers…kind of- just the basis stuff (memory erasing...lol) idk chat..they were just toxic

currently playing: forget her - jeff buckley

you met her on a tuesday.

not that tuesdays are particularly magical or memorable, but this one stuck. it was cold and rainy, and you were in line at a hole-in-the-wall bookstore-slash-café, the kind that smelled like old paper and espresso beans. you were tired, burnt out from work, and had just finished your conversation, ranting to your friends about how you were probably going to die alone watching netflix while your dirty pile of laundry stares at you untouched. but then you saw her again.

she was standing in front of you, hair a beautiful shade of brown, wet curls sticking to the sides of her face. she was humming to herself, something you vaguely recognized from a french indie playlist, and tapping the heel of one foot like she was too big for the space her body occupied. her coat looked thrifted and covered in enamel pins. she smelled like strawberries and something artificial, maybe candy.

when she turned around, it was because you sneezed. violently.

she blinked at you. "bless you."

you offered a half-smile. "thanks. sorry."

she tilted her head. "don't apologize for being allergic to the universe. it's not your fault."

you blinked. and maybe that was the first moment she had you.

she stepped aside in line. "order with me. i can't decide if i want coffee or tea and i need someone to force a decision."

you hesitated.

she looked you dead in the eye. "c'mon. it's just caffeine, not marriage."

so you ordered with her. she got an espresso and jasmine tea. you went with black coffee, no room for cream. she winced dramatically when you said that. "you're definitely a taurus or something," she said.

you weren't, but you didn't correct her.

the place was crowded, so she said, "let's share a table. if you try to murder me, i will throw this scalding tea in your face and scream. deal?"

you laughed before you could stop yourself. "deal."

you don't remember most of what you talked about, not in detail. you remember the rhythm of it. how fast she spoke. how fast she made you forget to be guarded. how she asked you questions with her whole body, like everything you said was the most interesting thing she'd ever heard.

her name was manon. "like 'manon of the spring,' but more annoying," she said, sipping her tea. "i do art. and other things. i get bored easily."

you told her you worked in design. you didn't tell her how lonely it felt. how most days you went to bed feeling like you'd sleepwalked through your own life.

she leaned forward and said, "you feel sad. not like... right now, but like, in general. you carry it around."

you blinked. "you always this blunt?"

she smiled, unbothered. "yeah. sorry. it scares people sometimes. but i'm not trying to scare you."

you weren't scared. you didn't leave. you didn't want to.

she wrote her number on a napkin with a heart beside it.

you texted her that night.

the beginning was chaos and thrill. manon didn't just walk into your life, she burst in, electric and too bright, like a song turned up too loud. she was spontaneous and unpredictable. she'd show up at your place at 11pm with a bottle of sake and a stolen traffic cone. she'd disappear for three days and then come back with three new tattoos and a story about a drag show in queens.

you never knew what to expect with her. but for a while, that was the whole point.

she made you feel alive. she made you feel like something was happening.

you first kissed in the middle of an empty street at 2am, both of you half-drunk and laughing, the snow falling around your shoulders. she told you she was a terrible girlfriend. "just a warning," she said. "i'm messy. and loud. and i change my hair every two weeks. and sometimes i say things i don't mean."

you said, "i don't care."

you meant it.

but love wasn't enough.

not when she came home exhausted and refused to talk. not when you sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for her to say something, and all she did was sigh and bury herself under the covers like you didn't exist.

not when she accused you of not listening, of holding things in, of being cold. "you never let me in," she said once, curled up on the couch, eyes rimmed with red. "it's like you've already decided i'll leave, so you're trying to get ahead of it."

you didn't answer.

"say something," she begged.

and you said, quietly, "i don't know how to love you the way you want me to."

she stood up, shoved on her boots, and left. no jacket. just fury and heartbreak, storming into the street like the night could swallow her whole.

she came back hours later, drenched and shivering, cheeks raw from the wind. you helped her out of her soaked clothes. she let you. she let you wrap her in blankets and press kisses into her hair while she cried silently into your chest.

other times, it was louder.

like the time she found your old journal. read the part where you questioned everything. whether you were happy, whether you were safe with her, whether you'd made a mistake letting her in.

"you don't trust me," she said, standing in the doorway, journal clutched in her hands. "you've never trusted me."

you tried to explain. "that was months ago. i was scared—"

"you still are."

she threw the journal on the ground like it burned her. "why do you even keep it if you're not going to tell me these things to my face?"

"i don't say everything out loud. that doesn't mean i don't feel it."

"that's the problem! you never say anything until i'm already drowning in it."

the fight lasted hours. you cried. she cried. you screamed. she left again, always leaving, like pain was a revolving door she had to walk through to make sense of things.

but then came the soft moments, too.

she'd come home with groceries and cook your favorite meal. "you need to eat something that doesn't come in a box," she'd say, handing you a bowl, eyes tired but gentle. you'd sit together on the floor, eating in silence, knees touching.

or the time she stayed up with you until 4am, talking you through an anxiety spiral. you couldn't breathe. she got in the shower with you fully clothed, let the hot water run over both of you. "you're okay," she whispered, over and over. "i've got you."

and maybe that was the worst part, the way you kept surviving the breaking.

it always ended in some fragile apology, some middle-of-the-night confession under shared blankets. "i'm trying," she'd whisper.

"i know," you'd say. "me too."

you'd kiss her then, slow and exhausted, both of you already knowing it wouldn't last. but the softness made you stay anyway.

there was always another fight. another snap. another silence that lasted too long.

like the one over her friend you never liked. someone who texted her at 2am and sent hearts too often. you didn't accuse her of cheating. you didn't have to.

"you don't trust me," she said again.

"because you keep putting me second."

"i can't make the world disappear just to make you feel secure."

you told her to sleep somewhere else that night. she didn't. she curled up on the floor, crying quietly, refusing the bed. you watched her from the doorway, arms crossed, and hated how much it hurt to see her hurt.

she moved back to the bed eventually. you held her while she shook.

"i'm sorry i don't know how to be softer," she said, voice cracking.

"i'm sorry i make you feel like you have to be," you whispered back.

but the apologies were wearing thin.

you accused her of turning everything into a game, of never taking anything seriously, of loving the version of you that smiled more than the version that shut down. she told you she couldn't read your mind, that she wasn't a mind-reader, a therapist, a punching bag.

you told her she made everything too loud. too sharp. that she didn't know how to sit still with things, how to let silence be a comfort instead of a weapon.

"i don't think you actually like who i am," she said once, during a fight that started over dishes and ended in catastrophe.

"that's not fair."

"you want me to be simpler. quieter. someone you can manage. that's not me."

"you want drama," you snapped. "you create it. you can't go five minutes without chaos."

she flinched like you hit her. "at least i am able to feel things."

that night, she didn't sleep in your bed.

you laid there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of her breathing on the couch. the distance between you felt endless.

a week later, she left.

no dramatic speech. no closure. just a note on the counter in her handwriting:

‘i think we broke each other. maybe that's all we were ever going to do.’

you wanted to scream. you wanted to chase her. say you could fix it, again.

instead, you sat on the floor of your apartment for hours, holding a hoodie she left behind, breathing her in like oxygen.

you didn't see her for two weeks after she left.

there were no texts. no calls. no breadcrumb trail. just silence. thick, total, deliberate.

it was almost worse than a fight.

you went through the motions of life like someone underwater. work, home, sleep, cry. you deleted the photos. then re-downloaded them from the cloud. you opened her favourite book to find the underlines she made in the margins. you told yourself you were fine.

then the envelope came.

plain. unmarked. just your name on the front in stark block letters, no return address. you slit it open with a key, half expecting it to be a letter from her.

but it wasn't a letter. it was a form. a cover sheet. clinical. cold.

lacuna, inc.

our clients thank you for respecting their right to privacy, comfort, and mental wellness. the following individual has undergone a memory erasure procedure and has specifically requested that you do not contact them or attempt to rekindle any prior relationship:

manon bannerman.

you read her name twice before it fully landed.

there was a line below it. your name, typed in sharp black font.

you flipped through the rest of the packet, hands trembling. it was a list of instructions, like you were contagious, don't approach, don't call, don't attempt to remind them. for the sake of her emotional well-being, you were to pretend she never knew you. like you never happened.

the paper crumpled in your grip. your ears rang. you felt sick.

she erased you.

not blocked. not ghosted. not pushed away in the heat of an argument. she deleted you from her brain. like it would make things easier.

you called the number on the bottom of the page.

you don't even remember what you said. something about an appointment. something about making the pain stop.

—

you went in on a tuesday.

the office looked like a dentist's waiting room. pleasant. generic. you sat in a stiff chair beneath a framed painting of a meadow. the girl at the front desk offered you tea. she wore blue glasses and smiled like she wasn't telling people how to forget each other all day long.

then someone called your name.

dr. mierzwiak was older than you expected. soft-spoken. polite. with a tiredness behind his eyes like he'd seen people make the same mistake too many times.

"we'll need a few things," he said, handing you a clipboard. "anything and everything that reminds you of her. gifts. pictures. notes. clothes. audio recordings. we use those to map the memories."

you stared at the form. "how long does it take?"

"the mapping takes a couple hours. the procedure itself is overnight. you won't remember the session. you'll go to sleep and wake up, and she'll be gone."

gone.

it echoed in your chest.

you came back the next day with a box. it felt like a betrayal, giving her things away like they were evidence in a case you were losing.

inside was the hoodie she left. the journal with her handwriting. a playlist burned onto a cd. photos. receipts from your first trip together. a birthday card. her hair tie.

you left out the ring she gave you, a cheap, silver one from a flea market that didn't fit either of you right. that one stayed in your coat pocket.

dr. mierzwiak didn't ask.

that night, they put a cap on your head, wires connected to a computer, a screen flickering with dots and lines you didn't understand. you stared at a monitor while someone asked you to describe her.

her face. her voice. her smell after the rain. the way she licked her thumb before flipping pages in books. how she always said your name twice when she was drunk.

"start from the beginning," the technician said. "we'll move through the memories one by one. try to let yourself fall into them."

you closed your eyes.

manon's laugh. her teeth against your neck. the fight about the dishes. her eyeliner smudged after crying. your hands clutching her hoodie in bed the first time she left. the way she kissed your knuckles when she thought you were asleep. that look she gave you from across the subway platform.

the technician typed something. "okay. we're good."

you laid down on the recliner. a blanket was tucked over you. they dimmed the lights.

"sleep well," the woman said gently. "when you wake up, it'll be like she was never there."

and maybe that was the worst part.

because you didn't want to forget her.

but you already felt her slipping.

the memories began to disappear one by one.

you were inside them, literally inside them, watching yourself move through old moments like a dream you couldn't control. there was no linear order. they came at you like waves during a storm, some soft, some furious, some you didn't even realize you still remembered.

the first time you met.

you were sitting alone in a coffee shop, reading something you'd later pretend to love just to impress her. she walked in wearing a green coat and silver hoops, her hair a messy halo of red and copper, like she had sprinted there from another life. she ordered something absurd, matcha with oat milk and cinnamon, and when the barista gave her a look, she winked. then she saw you.

"is that any good?" she asked, nodding to your book.

you blinked, startled. "not really."

she grinned. "at least you're honest."

that was it. then when you saw her again, you knew that was the beginning of something unforgettable.

you watched it fold in on itself, the smile fading from her face, the ambient coffee shop sounds muting into a soft hiss. you tried to hold the chair she sat in, tried to keep the way she bit her straw when she was nervous, but it slipped through your fingers like water.

the memory collapsed.

the park in spring.

manon in a yellow sundress, her knees scraped from falling after trying to climb a tree because she wanted a better view of the sunset. you had laughed. she had pouted dramatically, holding her scraped hand out to you like a child needing a band-aid. you kissed her palm. she blinked, stunned for half a second, then pulled you in by the collar.

that kiss lasted forever. until now. now it was nothing.

gone.

another memory surged up, violent and raw, the fight in your bedroom at 3am. you were both screaming over something stupid. dishes? plans you'd canceled? it didn't matter. she had tears in her eyes and mascara streaked down her face. you had said something cruel. you didn't even mean it. her lip had trembled before she slammed the door behind her. you chased her down the hallway. apologized in a broken whisper. she had folded into your arms like paper.

you tried to hold that too. but it faded.

the next memory hit like a knife.

you were both lying in bed in total silence. one of those nights after a fight where no one knew what to say. the room was dark, your backs to each other, but you had reached out, your pinky finger brushing hers, just enough. she turned, barely, and murmured, "i don't know why we keep hurting each other."

you whispered, "because i'm scared of losing you."

she turned all the way, her voice soft. "then stop pushing me away."

you didn't answer. you never did. and now you never would.

gone.

another memory.

the night she got drunk and started crying about her mother. you hadn't seen that version of her before — the one that unraveled like thread. you held her in the kitchen, the smell of tequila and salt and grapefruit sharp in your nose. she told you, slurring, that sometimes she felt like she wasn't real. that maybe she was just a storm pretending to be a girl.

you had whispered, "you're the most real thing in my life."

she had kissed you then like it was a promise.

gone.

the memory of you bringing her soup when she was sick. of her groaning dramatically under blankets and calling you her "nurse" in a fake british accent. of feeding her strawberries and rubbing her back while she sniffled. of her half-laughing, half-coughing and whispering, "don't fall in love with me, okay? i'm too much."

too late, you'd said. and meant it.

gone.

the memory of your birthday.

she'd filled your entire apartment with string lights and old records and tiny photos of the two of you stuck to the wall like constellations. she gave you a ring, a cheap, silver one that turned your finger green, but you wore it anyway. she looked scared when you opened it, like she thought you'd say no.

"i just wanted you to have something of me," she'd said.

you had kissed her slow and deep and whispered, "i already do."

gone.

you started to panic.

the memories were unraveling faster now, fraying at the edges before you could even feel them fully. you started running — through doors that no longer led anywhere, past places that no longer had names.

the fights. the nights apart. the quiet moments. her sleeping on your chest. her dancing barefoot in your kitchen. the way she always said "i hate you" before kissing you senseless.

the night she said "i think we're doomed" and you laughed until you realized she meant it.

her crying into your coat at the train station. her voice shaking as she said, "i don't know how to stop loving you, but i also don't know how to keep doing this."

your hand reaching for hers. her stepping back.

then, in the middle of it, she was there.

not the memory version. her.

manon.

or some figment of her your brain was clinging to with everything it had left.

she looked different here. blurry. soft around the edges. but her eyes were the same.

she looked at you like she'd just woken up from a nightmare.

"why are you here?" she whispered. "you're not supposed to be here."

you reached for her. "you left. you erased me."

she looked down. "i didn't think you'd do it too."

you grabbed her wrist. "i didn't want to."

"then why did you?"

you swallowed. "because i couldn't keep waking up without you."

her eyes glistened. "i was scared."

"i was too."

she leaned into your touch. "we can hide. we can stay in the memories. think of something. there are still places they won't look."

you followed her.

you buried yourselves inside the cracks.

a made-up apartment with walls you painted together. a childhood treehouse. a drive through a city you never visited. the night sky from her hometown. a room filled with books you never read, but she swore you'd love.

each time, the walls collapsed around you like paper burning at the edges.

you clutched her tighter.

"i don't want to forget you," you choked out.

she looked at you, eyes glassy. "then remember me now."

"tell me something only i would know."

she leaned in close. "you cried after i kissed your shoulder for the first time. but you said it was because of the movie we were watching."

you laughed, even as you cried.

"tell me again."

she kissed your cheek. "i loved you."

the room faded.

"say it again."

"i love y—"

gone.

you woke up gasping.

and the ache in your chest was enormous. like something had been torn out without anesthetic. you didn't remember her name. her face. her voice. but you missed her.

you missed her so much it felt like drowning in a dream you couldn't quite remember.

—

it was snowing again.

not the heavy kind, not a storm, just a slow, drifting fall, like the sky was emptying itself in the gentlest way it knew how. the kind of snow that softened the city, blanketed the world in hush. traffic moved slower. voices grew quieter. every sound was absorbed into white.

you walked down 7th street with your hands in your coat pockets, scarf drawn up to your nose. you didn't have a destination. just movement. sometimes it helped. sometimes it didn't.

today, everything ached without explanation.

your fingers were cold. your chest was heavier than usual. there was something playing on your phone through your earbuds, lo-fi, wordless, the kind of music you always chose when you didn't want to think too hard. and still, something stirred.

a memory that didn't feel like a memory.

a girl laughing in a kitchen.

cigarette smoke on a balcony.

a fight in a hallway that ended with someone saying, "don't walk away again."

but no name. no image. just static where something important used to be.

you pulled your coat tighter. turned the corner by a bookstore you used to like but didn't remember why. that feeling was happening more often now, small places or objects or sounds tugging at something you couldn't quite grab. you figured it was just déjà vu. or anxiety.

the wind blew past.

and then-

you saw her.

walking toward you on the opposite side of the sidewalk. the crowd parted like a trick of fate, just long enough for your eyes to find her.

she wasn't looking up at first, she was pulling something out of her bag, her pace quick, her hair short, auburn maybe, with streaks of gold like it had once been bleached and grown out. she wore a navy coat and brown boots, and she had a small tear in her scarf, right near the collar.

you stopped.

your breath caught in your throat before your brain could catch up.

then she looked up too.

for one unbearable second, her eyes met yours.

and the world stopped.

not metaphorically. not just in your head. it truly stopped.

the wind stilled. the snowflakes froze mid-air. a bus idled in the street but didn't move. your heartbeat thundered in your ears, not fast, just loud, like it was echoing off of something deep and hollow. the shape of her face, the tilt of her head, the slope of her mouth, none of it felt new.

but you couldn't place her.

she looked at you like she was trying to solve a riddle. her eyes scanned your face, then flickered down to your hand, where you were clenching something without knowing, the corner of a wrinkled paper, sticking out from your pocket. you hadn't noticed it before.

you didn't know where it came from.

she didn't say anything.

you didn't either.

but something passed between you. a heaviness. a pull. a gravitational echo of a thousand things left unsaid. her mouth parted like she might speak, but didn't. instead, she gave the smallest smile. polite. cautious.

familiar.

and then she walked.

right past you.

you turned, just a beat too late, just in time to see her disappear into the crowd. you could've called out. could've said, excuse me, have we met? but you didn't.

because how do you ask a stranger if they once held your heart in both hands?

you kept walking.

and the snow kept falling.

you didn't notice you were holding the paper until the wind almost stole it.

you pulled it from your pocket and opened it. there was no return address, no letter, just a page, yellowed and creased, torn from a notebook. on it, in handwriting that looked an awful lot like yours, were the words:

"remember her anyway."

you stared at it for a long time.

then folded it and tucked it back into your pocket.

you didn't know who she was. or what she meant. but tonight, you'd dream of someone dancing barefoot in your kitchen. you wouldn't know why it hurt.

you wouldn't know why it mattered.

you'd forget again.

but something would always stay.

a/n: in my head, this was supposed to be longer ☹️ i fear i might not have done the movie justice... getting back into my angst era. the season is changing and i’m sad

#soeyekonic #katseye #katseye x reader #katseye angst #katseye fluff #manon bannerman x female reader #katseye manon #manon katseye #manon bannerman #meret manon #manon x reader #daniela avanzini katseye #daniela avanzini x reader #megan skiendiel #eternal sunshine of the spotless mind #esotsm #jeff buckley

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7-deadly-cats · 2 months ago

Text

killing me softly | 12

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

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

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

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language, ruthie being a bitch, rafe showing signs of jealousy & protectiveness, also rafe making suggestive comments & sexual jokes, virginity mention, reader slowly learning how to handle rafe, slight overthinking/anxiety, chat pics containing cursed images lol

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ unfortunately, cara had totally forgotten that her mom's 50th birthday was on friday—the same day as kelce’s party. still, you insisted she shouldn’t cancel just for you. in art class, rafe surprised you with his effort for your project, and the dynamic between you had shifted into something more teasing. you were pretty sure he was actually flirting with you this time—on purpose. later in physics, topper texted to ask if you needed a ride on friday. apparently, cara had mentioned it to him. you agreed.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 4.4k+

✿ A / N ✿ i had sm fun with this one even though it feels kinda rushed and floppy BUT i can't wait to write the party and i didn't wanna drag on the pre-party stuff for another part. hope you guys enjoy it though and holy shit, i'm so scared of what will happen next bc i don't know yet either. lmk what you think of this one <3

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W E E K O N E // T H U R S D A Y

Thursday morning had completely thrown you off your game again.

First, Cara's sudden announcement that she'd totally forgotten her mom's 50th birthday being on Friday; then Rafe (honestly, you could just end the sentence there), who had looked unfairly hot in that stupid cap of his and there was the way he had flirted with you (yes, we’re staying delusional); and finally Topper, asking if you needed a ride on Friday night (which made zero sense because you lived like two seconds from Kelce's house—but hey, who cares, as long as you didn’t have to show up to the party alone).

At least the afternoon spared you from more stress.

Well, that kind of stress anyway.

After school, Cara had driven you home and stayed for lunch with your dad. Afterward, the two of you disappeared into your room to (A) pick an outfit for tomorrow night—because no way were you dealing with that stress last-minute—and (B) because you’d asked her to hang out so you wouldn’t spiral alone with your thoughts because MR CAMERON HAD GIVEN YOU ENOUGH MATERIAL FOR A WHOLE OVERTHINKING SESSION HOLY SHIT.

And (C), she was your bestie. Obviously you loved hanging out with her anyway.

“—and then you pair it with some cute brown western boots, like full cottagecore farm princess vibes, and Rafe’s gonna be like ‘Yee fucking haw, bitch,’” Cara concluded, holding up a cream-colored dress she had pulled out of your closet—one you didn’t even know you owned.

You sat on the edge of your bed, knees pulled up, raising an amused eyebrow. “You do realize no one at that party is gonna be wearing anything even remotely like that. I don’t want a spotlight on me.”

Cara frowned and threw the dress onto the already overflowing chair. “Girl, the biggest spotlight is already on you—and it starts with an R and ends with afe Cameron. So, use the damn stage while it’s still lit.”

“Jesus, save the metaphors for Ms. Langford,” you replied, laughing.

“Hey, if I wanna flex my literary devices, let me.”

You just grinned at her and flopped back on the bed with a groan. “Ugh, it’s all so... messy and annoying and just... why can’t he just say if he’s interested or not? That would make things a whole lot easier. But nooo, it’s this weird maybe-flirting-but-also-not thing—like, what even is that?!”

“Men,” Cara replied simply.

You frowned. “That doesn’t help.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe he’s thinking the same thing?” The mattress dipped as Cara sat down beside you. “Maybe he doesn’t give more obvious signals because he doesn’t know how to read yours. I mean, do you even give him any?”

As if Rafe ever overthought like that. His brain was pure 'in-the-moment' mode. He wasn’t like you, running through every possible scenario in your head at all times.

“Well, I don’t know,” you said, eyebrows scrunched.

Then you suddenly sat up, meeting Cara’s gaze with a little smirk. “I flustered him yesterday. Or... I think I did.”

“WHAT?” Cara’s brows shot up. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

You laughed. “I was so dead tired yesterday, I completely forgot.”

“WELL TELL ME NOW HOLY SHIT.”

“Okay, okay.” You shifted into a cross-legged seat. “It probably just made him uncomfortable but I kinda went on one of my little rambles again. Told him I appreciated how he doesn’t make a big deal out of stuff—like when I’m awkward or mess up. And then I don’t know... he just went quiet for a few seconds. Almost stunned? He had this look—caught off guard but also lowkey touched? Like he hadn’t expected it...? Ugh, I don’t even know.” You laughed nervously. “He probably just thought I was having a weird episode. He already thinks I’m mentally unstable anyway.”

Cara just stared at you, brows raised, mouth slightly open. Then she shook her head, holding up her hands in a slow, dramatic woah-woah-woah-woah gesture. “Holy fucking shit. I—WOW. I don’t even know what to—GIRL. YOU FLUSTERED RAFE CAMERON.”

You smiled sheepishly. “Yeah but—”

“NO BUTS. Oh my god, do you even—like, ahhhh.” Cara jumped off the bed and brushed a blonde strand out of her face. “I wish I’d seen that. I mean, goddamn, WHAT. I haven’t even seen you two interact yet!”

She frowned dramatically and shook her head again. “Okay, screw my mom. Well—no, I am going to her birthday. BUT. Oh my god. OH MY GOD. Y/N. We’re both so dumb.” She held her hands up like she’d just had a full-on divine revelation. “Kelce’s party isn’t gonna end at midnight. Let’s be real, it’ll probably start properly around then. So I’ll just come by after my mom’s thing. I HAVE to see you two together.”

Oh.

That actually didn’t sound like a bad idea and—wow, how had your brain thought of every possible scenario except that one? Like??? What was the point of overthinking if not for this kind of thing??

You smiled, cheeks warm. "I’m not sure Rafe sees it that way. Him and I spending the party together, I mean."

That would be... oh god no that would be—WHEW—like, that would 100% mean he actually liked you in some way.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, JUST IMAGINE.

AND DIDN’T HE EVEN SAY HE WANTED TO BE YOUR WINGMAN???? PROJECT-PARTNER-ZONED BUT STILL!!!

“If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass,” Cara said, scrunching up her nose. "Dude literally invited you. He better make damn sure you have a good night."

You know what? YES. Like, who invites someone and then just ghosts them? The bare minimum would include a conversation, right? …Or two or four, maybe more hihihi.

God, you just wanted to hug Cara. You’d been freaking the hell out about this crazy-ass party, and in less than two hours she’d somehow made you look forward to tomorrow night.

You nodded amused. “Assuming I’m the only one he invited—sure.”

Cara frowned and waved it off. “Then he’s for the streets anyway.” She tilted her head with a mischievous grin. “And Topper’s still an option. He’s not bad-looking, he’s sweet, sure his mom’s a helicopter parent and—”

“I’m not becoming Ms. Thornton.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Still think you and Barry—”

“No.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // F R I D A Y

“No?” Rafe raised a brow, clearly amused, as he zipped up his backpack. “Why not?”

You, on the other hand, grimaced, your cheeks burning hot, and prayed that half the econ class hadn’t just overheard Rafe asking if he should bring condoms for you tonight for when some dude would get you laid (his words).

But THANK THE UNIVERSE, most people seemed too busy packing up to head to their next class.

(And yes, you had sat next to him again because... IT JUST HAPPENED, OKAY.)

“Because…” God, why did he always put you in these situations? “I don’t plan on…” HOW DO YOU EVEN PHRASE THIS?

“Fucking?”

THIS GUY.

Staring straight ahead, you kept shoving your things into your bag. Now even your neck was on fire. “Yeah,” you finally muttered through clenched teeth.

Rafe let out a quiet, amused breath. “You scared ‘cause it’d be your first time?”

OKAY NOPE. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK??!!

It was bad enough your entire aura apparently screamed "VIRGIN" loud enough for him to notice—he had to bring it up IN SCHOOL in a FULL CLASSROOM?

You met his cocky smile with a dead-ass frown. “You scared to ever think for a second before opening your mouth?”

And whether that pissed him off or not, you honestly didn’t care in that moment.

Rafe had a whole personality spectrum going on but this asshole side of his? Yeah, not it. And just because you were—unfortunately—down bad for this boy, did not mean you had to take whatever came out of his pretty damn mouth.

But Rafe just smirked crookedly and slung his backpack over one shoulder (yeah, dude, we see your biceps flexing). “Keep that attitude for tonight. I'm sure there's a guy who's into that.”

BRO.

But before you could come up with something to throw back, a fake-ass-smiling girl popped up next to your desk, her glossy white Prada bag (girl this is a school, be fr) hanging perfectly on her shoulder. Her bestie Gracie stood right behind her with the same plastic smile glued on.

Ruthie’s big eyes fluttered right at Rafe as she said, “I’m assuming Topper’s playing taxi tonight again.”

Your stomach dropped. What the hell did she mean by that? LIKE WHAT? Topper had NOT mentioned Ruthie joining his ride.

Rafe gave a barely noticeable shake of his head, lips in a hard line. “Not for you.”

Ruthie tilted her head with a smile. “Did he tell you that?”

“I’m telling you now.”

You’d never heard Rafe sound so calm. It was... unsettling. You weren’t even the one he was talking to and it still gave you a weird feeling.

And that made it worse—because you felt so out of place here.

Ruthie’s brows twitched. Then, for a split second, her dark eyes locked onto yours—and seriously, she visibly looked you up and down before turning back to Rafe. “Is your new girlfriend coming too?”

AYO WHAT.

NONONONO DON’T BLUSH DON’T BLUSH DON’T BLUSH.

fuck.

Rafe let out a scoff, scratching his chin with narrowed eyes. "Come on, Ruthie. Fuck off. Go annoy someone who gives a shit."

Oh boy. She was lucky she wasn’t a guy because everything about Rafe screamed he was one second away from punching someone.

Ruthie’s lips pulled into that same fake-ass smile, and this time she addressed you directly. “Y/N Y/L/N, right? Funny how we’ve never spoken, even though you’ve been here as long as everyone else.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, face all fake-innocent. “Anyway, I hope it’s not gonna be another one of those parties where some girl ends up crying ‘cause she got ditched by a guy. Always so sad to look at.”

This fucking bitch.

Cara definitely would’ve slapped her for that.

And you know what? You were still pissed at Rafe from earlier, and this? Nope.

You just smiled politely and swung your bag over your shoulder, voice friendly. “Sorry to hear that. Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Three funny things happened in that exact moment: Ruthie’s raised brows, Gracie throwing her a not-so-subtle side-eye of agreement, and fucking Rafe letting out a clearly amused breath.

And Miss wannabe-netflix-meangirl-whatever did not like that one bit.

She was just opening her mouth again when Rafe cut her off, waving her off with a hand. “Jesus, enough already. Listening to you whine gives me a fucking headache.”

And that... actually wrapped up that little interaction.

“She’s such a fucking annoying bitch,” Rafe said as he walked beside you through the hallway.

Which—uh yeah—was kinda funny, because you had History next and he wasn’t even in your class and—

Never mind. Kelce and Topper were in your class. He was probably just tagging along to see them.

You didn’t have enough brainpower to think that far ahead anyway, since you were walking so close together you had to focus not to bump into him like a total clumsy idiot.

“I think she watched Mean Girls too many times as a kid and decided to make that her whole personality,” you muttered.

Still lowkey overwhelmed by everything that had just happened but also… a little amused by how it all played out.

Rafe chuckled again and you could feel his gaze on you. “You really should talk back to her more often. Might actually get her to shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything bad,” you said, briefly meeting his smirk. Which was technically true but sure, okay—your line could be interpreted as a soft dig. Oops.

“Shit, did you see her face? That was some ‘I’m ending you tonight’ type shit.”

Even though he sounded entertained, you still felt a little uneasy. Because yeah—Ruthie was a shady bitch. Everyone knew it. And she was always the first to start gossip and stuff spread fast on Figure 8—even if it wasn’t true.

“What? You scared of her?”

You blinked, meeting his eyes again. “What? No.”

“You suck at lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Sure.”

A frown crept onto your face. “It’s not like she’s gonna actually start a fight or anything.”

Then again... there probably was a reason “ruthless” and “Ruthie” shared the same root letters.

“Dunno,” Rafe shrugged. “I’ve seen her swing at another girl with an empty beer bottle before.”

Your head snapped to him, brows raised. “Now you’re lying.”

No way that was true. How had no one talked about that?

Rafe raised his hands innocently, still amused. “It's true. At some little beach party she threw last year. No clue what they were fighting about but the crazy bitch just swung at the other chick with an empty beer bottle. It was fucking wild”

Honestly, what shocked you more was that Rafe had been at a Ruthie party to begin with.

And before you could stop yourself, you heard yourself asking: “Why’d you even go to her party?”

OH GOD. That came out way too dry for something that was supposed to be a casual, joking question. FUUUUUCK.

Someone please shoot me now.

Rafe seemed slightly surprised by the question too, his brows lifting just a bit.

UGHHHH.

Then he just shrugged, eyes on the staircase ahead. “Had her annoying friend on my ass at that time but the free drinks made that crazy-ass party kinda tolerable.”

Oh.

Something tugged deep in your chest.

You remembered now—for like a week or so, Rafe had had a thing with Ruthie’s bestie, Gracie Malone. And the thought of them, how Ruthie and Gracie probably saw you now as just another one of his temporary girls... and not knowing if Gracie had maybe really caught feelings for him...

Yeah, that made you a little nervous about tonight.

Not knowing what to say, you just nodded, gripping your bag strap tighter. A somewhat forced smile on your lips. “Fair.”

Rafe just let out a soft chuckle and—OH MY GOD OMG OMG—softly bumped his shoulder into yours as you climbed the stairs.

OH. MY. GOD.

It was something totally normal. Happens all the time when people walk side by side—no intention, definitely not. No, you’d just taken a dumb step and ended up too close to him, and then he was the one who brushed against you with his next step, but—

GIRL STAY CALM.

“Yeah, so if you don’t wanna end up with half a beer bottle lodged in your brain, you should maybe hire yourself a bodyguard for tonight,” Rafe joked, turning the corner with you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, sensing an opportunity in what he'd said—something that even YOU could use as a basis for—

“Why, you volunteering?”

And there it was, out in the open—HOLY FUCKING SHIT AHHHHHHHHH.

Your heart launched into a full-on death sprint and every single nerve in your body started buzzing under your skin. And then you felt uneasy because he probably thought that was just some awkward, pathetic attempt at flirting, WHICH IT WAS, and he was SUPPOSED TO somehow get the hint that you liked him but—

A boyish chuckle escaped his lips and he raised his brows in disbelief. “You want me to play Prince Charming for you?”

Heat crept up your neck but you just smiled awkwardly. “You just looked like you’d really love to deck her one.”

“Oh, you think I like hitting girls now?”

“Girls no. Furies, yes.”

GIRL.

Rafe just laughed, an honest sound that sent a warm feeling spreading through your chest. “Shit, I think you're the one who’s gonna deck her tonight.”

Great. Your horrible attempt at flirting had ended in… whatever this was.

“Ayo, Rafe!”

Kelce’s loud-ass voice echoed down half the hallway. He and Topper were already standing outside the history classroom with the rest of your class, waiting for Mr. Davis to arrive.

You braced yourself for your fight or flight to kick in—But… it didn’t. Which was weird. WHY THE HELL NOT?

Rafe dapped up Kelce and Topper, and you just stood there like some NPC waiting to be addressed, unsure of what to do. Leave? Stay? SAY HELLO?

“Yo, Y/N, Rafe already told us he’d be bringing a date tonight,” Kelce said, eyeing you with a grin full of shining white teeth. “You excited?”

NEVERMIND, FIGHT OR FLIGHT ACTIVATED.

AND WHAT??? NO WAY RAFE HAD CALLED YOU HIS FUCKING DATE. Definitely just Kelce bullshitting.

“Dude,” Topper said with a scoff.

Your cheeks burning, you just let out an awkward chuckle.

“You made Ruthie shut up,” Rafe said, eyebrows raised unimpressed. “This bastard should be easy.”

Such a great friend.

“Ayo, what.” Kelce raised his brows, looking at Rafe and nodding toward you. “How come we didn’t adopt her sooner?”

DUUUUUDE.

And your face just hit a new level of heat.

Though it was kinda cute how Kelce and Topper were looking at you right now like two dumb little boys in awe.

You just smiled sheepishly and shook your head slightly. “I didn’t really shut her up.”

“You basically called her a crybaby,” Rafe countered (Kelce gasped) and turned to Topper with furrowed brows. “She wanted you to play her taxi again.”

Topper shrugged. “I got two seats left.”

OH. Now that was interesting. Could Topper Thornton actually… tolerate Ruthie?

You weren’t sure if he was just extremely polite and somehow blind to her mean girl energy, or if he was so aggressively nice it looped back around to ass-kissing, OR—and this was the worst possible option—he actually had a thing for fucking Ruthie Whitmore.

Kelce clicked his tongue. “Shii, Top, since when are you into evil chicks?”

Rafe, on the other hand...

“The fuck do you mean two seats?” His brow twitched, lips curling into an irritated smile. “Who’s the other bastard you bringing?”

...

Okay, um...

Topper hadn't told him.

Aka you were the bastard.

Topper eyed him irritated, his thumb pointing toward you for a second. “I’m picking up Y/N first, then I’ll swing by for you. Thought I'd told you yesterday.”

"You didn't." There was a shift in Rafe’s whole posture.

Subtle, wouldn’t even be noticeable unless you were used to reading people’s body language closely. His chin lifted a bit, shoulders squared, and his gaze sharpened just slightly.

You felt it the second his eyes landed on you. The intensity in his stare sent a damn shiver down your spine.

He looked like he might kill someone right now.

But why? Didn’t he want you to go with him? Was this too much for him? Too territorial? Some random chick from school being picked up by his friend for a party you could’ve easily walked to?

“I hope that’s not a problem,” you said, giving a smile that came out way more uncertain than you intended.

It’s not a problem and if he makes it out to be one then the fuck?

But his look made it very clear: it was a problem.

And the air between the four of you had suddenly thickened with this really uncomfortable tension, all of it directed squarely at you.

“Outta the way, outta the way.”

Mr. Davis. THANK GOD.

The middle-aged teacher, arms full of books and a giant bag slung over his shoulder, clumsily made his way through the group of students in front of the classroom, trying to unlock the door with his free hand.

“You better hurry, dude,” Kelce said to Rafe, tone sing-songy. “Jones won’t be happy if you’re late.”

Rafe just scoffed, an annoyed glint in his eyes. "Don't piss me off."

With one last unreadable glance at Topper, he turned and walked off toward his class.

And now that you were left alone with the other two, it was like everyone silently agreed that they were very grateful for Kelce’s well-timed distraction.

“He’s pissed,” Kelce commented.

Topper raked a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

“I wonder why,” Kelce added with a cocky grin aimed straight at you. Then he headed into the classroom like he hadn’t just dropped a mini bomb.

Great. Just great.

Topper sighed and turned to you but you beat him to it: “It’s fine, I can walk. It’s honestly--”

“No, no, it’s all good,” he interrupted, his voice calm and reassuring. “It's my fault. I thought I'd told him yesterday and he's probably more pissed about Ruthie having approached him than this." He gave you a friendly smile. "Don't worry, I’ll talk to him later.”

You raised your eyebrows slightly. Why the hell did Topper need to check in with Rafe about picking you up anyway? Sure, Rafe was kinda the alpha in their little trio or whatever, but seriously? That was a bit much.

Still, it was none of your business and your brain already had enough material to spiral over. And if Topper said it wasn’t about you, then it wasn’t about you, right?

Ha. Ha.

So you just nodded, gave him a polite smile, and said, “Okay.” Then you followed him into the classroom, trying not to fall into a pre-party panic during the next two hours.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

EXTRA SCENE containing the convo with Rafe and Topper + a little Rafe POV. you don't need to read it rn for it to make sense. you can also come back after finishing this chapter.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

You set your phone on your desk and ran your hands down your face.

Rafe Cameron, ladies and gentlemen.

Ugh, seriously, you didn’t even know, like, THIS GUY.

He messed you up so bad and turned your brain so upside down, it was nearly impossible to even start thinking about him. It was like his whole existence caused a short-circuit in your brain.

Which was crazy—and also kind of a paradox—because he made you spiral so much it almost looped back into nothing, like a vacuum that reset your thoughts.

… and somehow, that was kind of soothing.

Especially, because you’d somehow reached a dynamic in which you weren’t really afraid of saying the wrong thing or pissing him off. And that was mostly thanks to him, because during your little argument the other day, he had made it very clear that he did NOT want you second-guessing his mood or overexplaining things just in case he misunderstood them.

That was really hard for you but your positive-thinking-slash-delusion system had been a big help—plus the fact that Rafe didn’t dwell on things or embarrassing moments. Most of the time, at least.

Okay, the whole Apple Pencil thing was an exception, and the way he kept making suggestive comments that flustered you, and--

Okay, he did dwell on things.

But he did it in such a... skillful way, it didn’t feel like he was mocking you, more like playfully teasing you.

And part of you kind of believed (more like wanted to believe) he did it to get you out of your head. Even if he just enjoyed putting you in awkward situations, him short-circuiting your brain was a nice side effect.

You leaned back in your chair and looked up at the ceiling.

Then there was the whole thing with Topper...

Why had he offered to give you a ride yesterday if today he suddenly decided he’d rather drive Ruthie around? Especially when Rafe was also supposed to be picked up by him—and it just seemed so out of character for Rafe to back down because of Ruthie.

Especially since Topper had said he’d work things out with him. Had it really gotten so bad between them that Rafe would rather drive himself than let Topper give him a ride?

That made zero sense in any universe.

Or could it maybe be...?

You scrunched up your face and shook your head. No, that would be insane.

And yet...

God, you didn’t even dare say the thought out loud in your own head because it made you feel like you were putting too much importance on yourself. Like some hopelessly in-love naive girl from a crappy early 2000s high school rom-com.

GIRL, IT’S OKAY, IT’S YOUR OWN HEAD LIKE??? NO ONE’S LISTENING WHAT THE FUCK.

Okay, okay—could it be that Topper texting me and making plans behind Rafe's back, actually made him... jealous? IS THAT WHY HE WAS ACTING SO WEIRD TODAY IN SCHOOL AFTER HE FOUND OUT??? AND THEN HIM ASKING ME IF I HAD A CRUSH ON TOPPER??????

HOLY SHIT.

SO DID HE WANT TO PICK ME UP INSTEAD OF TOPPER DOING SO???

EWMJKDNGHXJNHFZCDDMHCUNGFKSHMSDFVHNFDAICHDFS.

You leaned forward and buried your face in your lap with your eyes squeezed shut. Absolutely secondhand embarrassed from yourself.

I’M FUCKING INSANE. LIKE HE IS RIGHT, I’M CRAZY.

A knock on the door made you jump and sit up straight.

“Yeah?”

Your mom poked her head into the room, her eyes briefly scanning the mess of clothes all over your floor you hadn’t cleaned up since yesterday. A smile on her face. “Everything okay?”

You nodded awkwardly. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I’m heading into town, wanna join? I wanted to look for a dress for Veronika’s party tonight.”

Ohhh right. Your mom was also going to the birthday of Cara's mom.

And honestly, that sounded perfect—there were still six freaking hours until 9 PM. No way you were able to spend that time alone without losing your mind.

And hey, maybe you’d even find a better outfit for later.

A smile crossed your face. “Sure, I’ll just get changed real quick.”

“Great. I’m waiting downstairs.” With that, your mom closed the door behind her.

Okay.

The buzzing in your nerves wasn’t here yet. Which was weird. But a lot could change in six hours, and worst of all: Rafe’s moods fluctuated like crazy.

It was basically a gamble trying to guess what mood he’d be in when he picked you up later.

And how he’d act at the party—that was a whole other level. And not even your fucking overthinking brain dared to make predictions about that...

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

EXTRA SCENE wheezie showing rafe how to use reaction pics

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

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

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

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

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

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yaseraphine · 4 months ago

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pick a card 8 - Who likes you ? Who wants to get closer to you ? (friendship, romantic love, platonic, family, soul family,...)

masterlist / ko-fi

my last reading : what do your guardian angels want to tell you ?

This is a general reading. Take what resonates and leave the rest.

Pile 1

The Hanged Man, The Wheel of Fortune, King of Cups

Who is this person ?

INFP, Life Path 22 - The Visionary Architect and 33 - The Spiritual Teacher, 1st house / Aries , 8th house / Scorpio, Kibbe body type Gamine, Face type essence Ethereal

Right off the bat, this person is the sweetest person ever. Really shy and introverted but a true romantic at heart. They might enjoy art, maybe they are a writer, a poet or a painter. They just create some type of art. maybe they are an art student or maybe you are an art student or both of you are ? I am heavily picking up that this pile is in a field surrounding the humanities. You both might study literature, philosophy, history, art history, even cinema for some. I find it hard to describe them because they're so infatuated by you that your energy is taking over. Like they already want to describe how amazing you are and why they like you. This person is just really selfless and sensitive and they don’t like taking too much space or demanding attention. They really are in their own little bubble made of magic and romance. They probably are an old school romantic. The type to write love letters and poems and bring flowers at your door. This person might have self-confidence issues though. They are the type to overthink for hours before sending a text, and they’ve probably deleted it twenty times already before hitting send. They maybe are a bit melancholic at times because of how sensitive they are, they really need time to retreat and reconnect with themselves. I am heavily picking up that this person’s purpose in this lifetime is to affirm their identity. With the 1st house card and 8th house card, they might have some kind of hidden aggressive side to them and a lot of untapped leadership potential. Which is weird because I have only been describing really dreamy, venusian, piscean and cancerian energies. But I feel like they have a true potential to pair those contradictory energies together and create some kind of legacy. They just are a late bloomer and will need more time than others to achieve this.

Is this romantic, platonic, familial, or spiritual love ? This is, obvioulsly, romantic love for most of you. For some, it could be a friend crush or someone that platonically admires you.

Why do they like you ?

Gemini - Curiosity, Intellect and Networking, House Twelve : Spirituality, Transcendence, Karma, sacrificial service and healing

You could be passionate about art and certain books, and you are much more extraverted than them. Maybe you are a leader in your local community, you have some kind of club, maybe a book club, that you animate. They might attend it too and this might be from where you know each other.

They like you because of your authoritative and commanding energy : you appear to them really sure of yourself and you are not scared to speak your mind. They also think you are a great conversationalist, really witty and smart. You also have really interesting takes and opinions on the books you read, the movies you watch,.. They like the fact that you make your own opinion about the art you consume instead of saying what everybody says. They also like your boldness and vitality. You might be an ENFJ and they seem to be an INFP to me. It feels like you complete them in the areas where they lack. They see you as a mirror, like you guys are the same person but in different fonts ? Honestly, I will say it, you guys would make a great couple (or just pairing) haha I am melting lol It would be a really sweet duo. This person is a walking green flag honestly.

They also like you because your fiery nature and leadership qualities are paired with a certain spiritual energy. You are a spiritual healer so you are really selfless but you don’t let people walk all over you. They admire you, Pile 1.

One quote for you : Write until you surprise yourself ! / Speak your mind even if your voice shakes.

thank you for reading until the end pile 1 ! lots of love <3

Pile 2

4 of Swords, Death, 2 of Cups, Queen of Cups

This pile is really gendered. You can switch the genders if you want, but I heavily picked up on feminine energies here and a vibe of a sorority / a community of women.

Who is this person ?

I am going to tell you pile 2, there ARE a TON of people who want to get closer to you and I think it’s mostly platonic. Like so many people in your direct environment have friend crushes on you, Pile 2, but they are too scared to approach you. They don’t want to disturb your peace lol. I think these people are getting desperate at this point lmaoo Like their energies were already channeled in pile 1’s reading. It was so strong that when I started the reading, I kept on saying “who likes pile 2” instead of Pile 1 by accident. You are a celebrity for some of these people. I am specifically seeing a group of people, a friend group that sees you walk by everyday and think you would fit perfectly in their group. Like you are the missing puzzle piece of their group. They think you would make an excellent leader and that your wisdom would help elevate the group to a higher vibration. I am seeing a woman with a hijab. Are you muslim or do you live in a muslim country ? I think these girls (I am picking up on strong feminine energies) might all have something in common that they share physically (like a scarf) or they are connected through some values or beliefs they have (e.g : they are all muslim). Okay, now the energy is getting hyper specific, some of you are in church youth groups, something related to religion or just beliefs in general (could be an art workshop you go to or went to, an art class? ). Either way, you just are alone doing your own thing and there’s a group of people (I am getting around 5 people ) who platonically simp for you from afar haha What an interesting energy you got here lol

Is this romantic, platonic, familial, or spiritual love ? Well, obviously, this is a platonic situation lol

Why do they like you ?

ESFP, ISTP and ENTJ, Life Path 33 - The Spiritual Teacher , House ten - Structure, discipline, life mission, accomplishment and career, House five - Passion, Play, Children, confidence and creativity.

Well to me it’s pretty obvious : they like your duality. Part of you is extremely ambitious, career oriented, and a true leader. You are practical and you have this stoic and cold energy about you. (ISTP, ENTJ, Life path 33 and House ten). But, at the same time, you might be really creative, you might dress colorful, you might have unique pieces of clothings. Generally speaking they love your vibe and the way you present yourself. If you wear makeup, they love the looks you do and they want you to teach them. They love your outfits and think you would step up the group’s wardrobe and fashion sense if you were there. They also think you would motivate them to work harder. I find the energy so endearing because it feels like when young girls/ preteens (like 9 to 11) idealize what being a woman is like. Manicures, pedicures, shopping, hairdresser, bubble baths, smelling good, Y2K, 2000s baddie vibes, juicy couture tracksuits,…They just see you as this dream woman they wanted to become when they were little girls. You are like a dream come true to them, a manifestation of their childhood dreams.

This energy was so sweet omg

One quote for you : Life gets better when you leave the house. (pile 2, have you been bedrotting lately ?? i mean i understand you if you live in the northern atmosphere the winter/spring hot and cold weather really isn't helping to motivate us going outside…)

thank you for reading until the end pile 2 ! lots of love <3

Pile 3

2 of Pentacles, 10 of Cups, 4 of Wands, The Lovers, The Chariot, 5 of Wands

TW : this pile could be really triggering for people with mother wounds / mother issues. If you know these kinds of topics trigger you, take some responsibility and don’t read this pile. Either choose another pile or just pass this reading, maybe it is not made for you this time (and this is okay <3). Take care of yourself first, guys, I mean it.

Who is this person ?

Life path 11 - The Illuminator (interesting how we only got master numbers so far! you guys have powerful people who like you and desire to get closer to you), INFP, Flamboyant Gamine, Soft Dramatic

The person who likes you and wants to get closer to you is your mother. They want to tell you how much they love you, how much they cherish you and are proud of you and your accomplishments. They see you struggling and their heart completely shatters. They want to get closer to you because they miss you. They know you are busy but they still wish they could connect with you. They actually often think about you during the day and they send so much love and protection your way. If you went through a difficult situation recently, or in the past or even when you were a child, they want to tell you you were so brave and resilient. I am sensing a lot of you have a tense relationship with your mother. You grew up being emotionally distanced from her and she deeply regrets that. She wants to take all of that time apart from you back and reconnect. She wants to get to know the real you, not just have blurry memories of who you were as a child. She knows and sees that you have drastically changed since then and she admires you for that.

Your mother is probably much more extroverted than you, or her personality is more externally focused if that makes sense. She comes across quite bossy and strict too. I am getting some of you could have a moon in virgo or capricorn. These are probably the most challenging moon placements to have in my opinion. The moon shows our emotions, the way we were nurtured but also the relationship we had with our mother. These two signs are naturally really emotionally detached, especially virgos who can get really cerebral and critical of others. You are more of a loner, and, in complete opposition with your mother as you are more internally focused. Maybe this opposition of personalities always created a lot of drama and fights in your household growing up. I feel that, for some of you, your mother is your twin flame or some kind of soulmate. You have a soul contract that you signed before being incarnated here with her. You guys probably had lifetimes together where you were enemies and you both came in this lifetime in the same family with a mother/daughter/son/child dynamic to make peace.

This is beautiful, pile 3. I think your mother feels genuinely guilty for neglecting you in the past. Now, it is up to you if you want to accept her excuses and make amends with her. I would personally advise you to choose forgiveness, as unforgiveness could lead to you extending your karma and karmic debts in other lifetimes (not to scare you btw lol). Holding onto the pain and harboring resentment against your mother figure will lead you nowhere. I know it is hard, but it is better for you to forgive her to help you move on from wounds that stem from your childhood. Now, use discernment, if your mother was abusive and manipulative, choose peace and cut her off (if that is possible, of course). I think you know exactly what to do in this situation pile 3. I promise, it will get better.

Is this romantic, platonic, familial, or spiritual love ? Well, here, it is a mixture of familial love and spiritual love.

Why do they like you ?

Opposition - Imbalance, a point of tension and a power struggle, Cancer - Nurture, comfort and protection

Ok pile 3, this pile is so deep. You mom loves you because you challenged them. I think your presence in her life completely changed her. Birthing you and just being a mother in general was part of her purpose. Maybe your mother has a north node in cancer/in the 4th house. She might be naturally quite cold hearted, more Saturnian. She maybe wasn’t really loving growing up and wasn’t really catering to your needs, or at least solely the material ones. You grew up being deprived of motherly love. I don’t know why but a specific book comes to mind. I haven’t even read that book lol but you might enjoy it or it might be relevant to you someway/ somehow Mother Hunger: How Adult Daughters Can Understand and Heal from Lost Nurturance, Protection, and Guidance by Kelly McDaniel.

Pile 3, I don’t know if you need to hear this but you are worthy of love. A lot of you in this pile might have been the family scapegoat, you might have the “older sister syndrome”, the "underappreciated high achiever". You grew up feeling like you were never enough. Some of you might also have an avoidant or anxious-avoidant attachment style. I would advise you to do some research, this could help you in this healing process. I am linking here a pretty short youtube video about this attachment style here. You might actually have the same attachment style as your mother. You guys mirror each other a lot. If you forgive her, you might be able to break a family and generational pattern, pile 3. You have a higher purpose in your family lineage and this reading (which deviated a bit from the normally pretty lighthearted topic) was sent to remind you of that. You can do it, Pile 3 , I believe in you.

Quotes for you : Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive. / The magic is in you, baby ! (this is a beautiful message, pile 3. You should learn how to have fun. I know it is hard but you deserve genuine love and hapiness. Don't deprive yourself from it, Pile 3. I am sending you so much love and light your way <3 )

thank you for reading until the end pile 3 ! lots of love <3

Pile 4

King of Swords, Ace of Cups, 5 of Cups, Page of Cups

Who is this person ?

ENTJ, ISTP, Life path 1 - The Warrior / Life path 8 - The influencer, Romantic face type essence, Classic face type essence, Cancer - 4th house, Gemini - 3rd house

Before I even started pulling cards for you, I felt a really sexual and primal energy. Not in a sense of sexual as sex but more as a vital energy. This person that likes you is most likely a masculine, and they have a really active sacral chakra. This person might own a business, and they might be really career oriented. They desire power and they want to make a beautiful life for themselves. They are hard workers and they know how to control their emotions. They most likely have their mars in a fire sign, especially Aries or Leo or some could have Mars in Capricorn. They can handle pressure and all the competition really well .They are a winner, they don’t like playing games they know they will lose. They could also be pretty family oriented, like they know they want to start a family one day. Probably a tiny bit traditional romance wise (so they might have an earth venus or moon). They have great stamina. They lead a really healthy lifestyle overall. I am picking up on CEO energy here. Maybe this person wants to be a CEO one day or just start their own business and be their own boss. Again, the sexual energy is strong here. This person might have a high sex drive but they channel it in their working endeavors instead of doing the actual deed. lol I think this person might be really sexually attracted to you too, pile 4.

Is this romantic, platonic, familial, or spiritual love ? It is obviously romantic love.

Why do they like you ?

House four - Cultural and family roots, home and comfort, Venus - Give and receive love, find value and see beauty

I think there is no real reason why they like you, they just do. They probably simply haven’t even had enough time themselves in their tight schedule to process the “why” they like YOU in particular. But if I try to read their energy a bit, the “why” may be that they think you are a sweet, caring and unique individual. They really admire you. They see you as really gracious. They feel at home with you, like you exude some kind of warmth. They think you would make an amazing parent/ caregiver. You have a really motherly energy, whether you’re a woman or not, and they like that. But not in a weird fetishizing way though. It’s really pure, really genuine. It’s almost like they see you as this earth angel that came into their life unexpectedly and that healed them by your presence alone. This is actually so cute haha

Now, despite the sexual energy and attraction being strong, it isn’t only that. They do harbor genuine feelings for you but, with their strategic and competitive nature, they don’t like to “lose” or make impulsive decisions/actions. They first want to elaborate a plan on how to attract you, then, they will be fully devoted to you. This person has the potential to be a really devoted lover for you, but it might take some time before they approach. And when I say some time, I think a few weeks or a month or two, depending on how well you reciprocate their subtle hints. So be attentive in your surroundings, try to identify someone who sounds like the person I described above and see if they are acting a lil sus or dropping hints. This relationship evolution depends mostly on you and how you reciprocate the advances. You are the one that gives the green light. It’s all up to you, Pile 4, if you want this person or not.

Quote for you : Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.

thank you for reading until the end pile 4 ! lots of love <3

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆stay blessed everyone⋆.˚🦋༘⋆

#pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #pac tarot #pac love reading #tarot pac #pac reading #tarot reading #tarot

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dlxxv-vetted-donations · 11 months ago

Text

Survival costs are taking up most of the Haboub family's donations.

Please see my other promotion lists for the newest version of this post with different goals.

I am no longer focusing on promoting/updating this post. Thanks for everyone's contributions!!!

Update Aug 26: Help promote this family on Instagram. See here.

Updated: Aug 31

Member: @mohammedhaboubsblog (Mohammed Haboub)

Verification: link

Payment methods: Google Pay, credit/debit

Donation matches and drive: 50 SEK, $5 USD art raffle, 105 SEK (under cut)

Current progress:

SEK 78,861 133,838 / 130,000

I've set a short term goal of 130k SEK for rent, which is roughly $12.8k USD. This is URGENT, the family needs to make rent by early September. See post here. The actual goal is 300k SEK.

The currency may appear intimidating, but this is a small-medium evacuation goal of roughly $30k USD. I think it's achievable if we work together.

Please donate if you can and share.

Details about this campaign:

1/3 of their funds have went towards outrageously expensive rent, healthcare, and basic supplies.

Mohammed was shot in the leg.

Mohammed's twin sister was injured during the Khan Younis massacre and went through a surgery the family currently cannot afford. We paid this off!

Rent alone is 1/10 of their campaign goal and the family is struggling to afford it.

On Aug 30, we helped pay off yet another month of rent so they wouldn't get evicted!

Donations are sparse and amount to around $100 USD daily. At this rate, the Haboub family will not be able to evacuate.

Their campaign goal is reasonable: roughly $29k USD to evacuate 4 adults.

I've attached my conversation with Mohammed below. If I get more evidence, I will provide it there.

If the inability to donate with PayPal or confusion around conversion rates is holding you back from donating, I propose that you donate to my Kofi. For anything that you tip me, I will round it up to the nearest whole SEK and donate it to the Haboub family. I will publicly post the receipt. You can donate anonymously (still requires an account) and don't have to notify me of any donations on Tumblr but I would like having a record.

Am I scamming you? Who knows, I'm some random person and I have no way of proving that I'm not interested in running off with your money. But I want to do something that might help tangibly because publicity isn't enough so far. Donate to me at your own risk.

Proof:

Update Aug 29:

[ID in alt text]

Mohammed sent me his and his sister's IDs to prove his identity.

Aug 27: Donation match for 105 SEK ($10 USD)

#palestine #support #contacted me #urgent #donation match

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electricpurrs · 3 months ago

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hey you 🫵 do you want to grow appreciation for japanese media that you wouldn't know otherwise and grow a more diverse taste to all the weird art that exists in the world?

i have a few recommendations for you!

i've been dying to recommend some youtube channels that i really love but never have the chance to bring up, but i think they have interesting things to say about japanese media!

Hazel makes video essays about anime and other media, i'm currently very entertained by her videos about obscure OVAs and old playstation 2 games. i really enjoy how she talks about things and hearing her perspective on various subjects

youtube

Amelie Doree (though i'm not sure if she goes by that or Noelle which is what she uses on her patreon) makes videos essays on (mainly eroge) japanese visual novels, from very famous and genre-defining ones, to extremely niche and often completely untranslated and undiscussed in the west ones! her videos are incredibly interesting and have given me a whole new appreciation for the visual novel genre of which i wasn't familiar with before

a good video of hers to start is "Why a Forgotten Visual Novel is the Best Trans Story I've Read' it talks about sexual topics but i think its clean enough to leave its good first impression regardless of how you feel about the medium

youtube

RickiHirsch (i believe she goes by Ricki) makes videos about a variety of subjects but often including also japanese games, anime and manga. one of my favorite and first video of hers i saw was "Queer Horror: Understanding Gender as Body Horror"

youtube

and lastly, i want to prove my point by recommending a modern anime i myself have watched completely on my own that i really enjoyed and think others would like!

have a totally legal link to My Senpai is An Otokonoko

this anime is from 2024 and i stumbled on it completely by accident. i was scared off a bit by the title (otokonoko being the common japanese term to describe a crossdressing man) but i was kinda pleasantly surprised by the softness and sincerity in which this show aproaches its topics.

its a romance/slice of life/drama show and its melodramatic and sugary sweet but a genuinely wholesome experience. the main character is extremely transfem coded (if you can even call it that? its in the text) and the show doesn't mock or demonize her for it and fully focuses on her perspective and feelings the whole time (and doesnt in any way deny a trans reading), and also its the first romance story probably ever where i've seen a character realize they're actually aromantic as a conclusion to their arc. its cute its sweet and if you watch the first episode and think thats for you then all 12 episodes will go by flying and you will cry. because i did

do it for her ^^^

#🧃.txt #i loveee love recommending media that i dont think anyone will see or care about #my interest in japanese media is probably very positively impacted by the fact the three only youtube channels i care to watch about it #are run by trans women LOL #getting your osmosis of anime from people who arent exclusively weird cis dudes #and being able to get trans readings which often lack SO much in those communities #feels quite special. they all have very interesting and fun perspectives to share #and again brought me appreaciation for a lot of media i wouldnt even heard about otherwise #which ignited my passion for niche and obscure media #and for going in internet rabbit holes about old art LOL #also i really really wanted to recommend my senpai is an otokonoko bc its so fucking cute and i love it so bad #i need someone else to watch it other than me

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quixoticprince · 9 months ago

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Yayyy!! Yippee!! I finally get to make one of these!! Art without the text under the cut and some long-winded elaborations:

How long I've been playing: well, it hasn't been a straight 11 years, rather off and on - but I have drawings of these guys dating back to when I was 14, so I'll give it to me. And man I had no business reading the fanfics I was reading back then It's also crazy how this was a super influential media for me in so many ways. It's the reason I ever made a tumblr, it changed the direction of my drawings for a long while, my broken sense of humor (gmod animation memes and yt poops were the brainrot back then), tf2 Sniper changed my god damned gender (rather, it was the inspiration for me to start socially transitioning at 15). This is part of my personal lore that I tend to not admit to 😓

Your main: I've always been completely ass at the game, and I can play flexibly, but I enjoy playing Sniper, and more recently as Heavy. Whenever I'm sitting around somewhere, occasionally throwing sandwiches and attracting Medics, I feel like this:

Favorite character: When I was younger it was definitely Medic, and I think you can tell that he's still up there based on how much I've drawn him! However, since getting back into it, I've felt quite a shift in focus towards Heavy, very strongly. It's unfortunate that he's side-lined in a lot of fanwork, and I think I'm also complicit in this so far - but for me it's cuz, how tf2 works is that it's going to prioritize humor over character and consistency haha, and Medic is just so loud and insane that he's really easy to make fun stuff with. Heavy is a more serious and grounded character, not to say that he's not funny or that he doesn't have his own cartoon slapstick moments! But that aspect of him is what is really really intriguing to me. I love his quiet, stoic, and intimidating character, I like how loud and boisterous he is when filled with bloodlust in contrast! I love his bird story and him getting into wrestling as a child from Poker Night. I love his back story setting, there's so much to extrapolate from a young boy in Russia growing up during WWII, what his parents must have been through before that from the aftermaths of the revolution, all the way to his fathers execution and his imprisonment. I love his strong relationship with his family, his role as an older brother, as a protector, as a man - the way that he performs these roles - and because I personally see him as bisexual - how his orientation intersects with all that! He is incredibly fascinating to me and I wish that he was played around with more to see a lot more corners and angles of these things that I listed! There's way more that I want to say here too but this is getting very long 😅

Character I relate to: It's so interesting that a lot of the characters have very strong, tho maybe dysfunctional, families. Heavy, Demo, and Sniper in particular really speak to me in that relation. From Heavy being an eldest brother (I am also an eldest sibling) the parentification that comes with that, especially with him probably being like 10 years older than his sisters from the looks of it. Demo and Sniper both struggle living up to their parents expectations (although there's a lot of love there from everyone), being disappointments in one way or another (not gonna deep dive into that lol), and the general alienation both of them feel. From Sniper not knowing why he's not like other Australians to Demo being "a black Scottish cyclops." And well, I'm Filipino, I'm queer, and mentally ill so - there's a lot to project there!

Class you want to play as: I find Medic incredibly stressful to play as but I find the idea of battle medics incredibly funny. However I usually find myself rushing around madly trying to cater to everyone, and I'd like to just not give a shit and just start stabbing people with a saw lol

Favorite ship: "I just like the dynamic" - The dynamic:

No but fr, they're really compelling to me, I'd probably need a longer more thought out post as to what I like about them and I was already going crazy up there ^ Overall tho I like that they're practically built for each other in terms of mechanics, really plays into my desire to spiral into intense codependency haha. I also think that Medic's drive to cheat death and hide behind meat shields plays really well into Heavy's desire to be a meat shield and a protector, and how nice it is in turn, that Medic can grant this man who's been around death, starvation, and war invulnerability. (He outsmart boolet, yknow?) They're also depicted together a lot and I like how much they enjoy each others company, and bring a lot of joy to each other. It's beautiful to me :'^)

Character you like to draw: What can I say! Medic is handsome! He is very fun to draw and easy to make memes and shit posts out of!

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 meet the artist #personal #tf2 heavy #tf2 sniper #tf2 demoman #tf2 medic

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birdiewritessometimes · 8 months ago

Note

hii looooved the mattheo riddle fic any chance u cld plsssss do more bc i’m obsessed. like mattheo riddle x harry’s twin sister or smth would EAT

All His

A/N: Hi anon! Thank you so much for reading and liking my mattheo fic <3 thank you so much for this request, i hope you liked it <3

I used some promts for this writing, one was from @thepromptswhisperer 's "you're blushing" promts and the others were from @stormyskies-writes 's spicy romance promts. These really helped me with the banter for this story and these two have really good prompts if yall might need/want some prompts for your own stories <3

Also, i'm sorry Mattheo isn't as soft in this one, i tried something different and i hope you like it. I will probably write more of soft!matty because he is a cutie.

Also, also, I'm sorry for any mistakes i might have made, I usually come back to my stories a couple of days later with fresh eyes hihi <3

Also request something if you want to!

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Potter!reader

Themes/warnings: Cursing, slight suggestive, slight enemies to lovers but not really, bickering, so much bickering, McLaggen (he's a warning in himself really)

Word count: 4000 - ish

Please do not copy or translate my work!

It has been about a month since the school year started at Hogwarts. It was colder, leaves changing colour for green to yellow to orange. The familiar cold breeze sweeping through the castle, signalling that autumn really was here. Thankfully there were fires scattered around the castle to keep its inhabitants warm. You were sitting by one of these fires in the library. Its flames effectively warming you from the cold that was seeping through the stonewalls. You were working on an essay for your defence against the dark arts class. It was about sirens. You found the subject intriguing, aquatic life had always interested you, but you couldn’t for the life of you concentrate on your work. Your brother and his friend had joined you and Hermione but instead of studying they were glaring and huffing at a table all the way across the library. The table in question were occupied by a group of Slytherin boys notorious for picking fights with Harry and Ron. At what seemed like their hundred huff you lost your calm, feeling extremely annoyed by their disruptions.

“Really, boys just study instead of making googly eyes at the Slytherins.” You said with an eyeroll. “Or at least shut up.” You snapped. Harry rolled his eyes at your attitude, he was quite used to your attitude, having the privilege to grow up with it since he was your twin.

“We weren’t-” Ron started to defend himself, but you interrupted.

“I must admit, Mattheo is quite cute under all that annoying personality,” You sighed as you cast a glance at the brunette that was chatting casually to his friends, he was a picture of relaxed arrogance as he leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, “but I didn’t think he was your type.” Harry made a face of disgust at your admission which you replied with a glare.

“Y/n, you can’t be serious? Riddle?” Harry said with that disgust distinguishable in his voice.

“I didn’t say I wanted his babies now did I, Harry?” You rolled your eyes at your brother.

“I don’t care who wants whose babies, just shut up.” Hermione hissed annoyed before she turned back to her own essay. You and Harry sent glares at each other, those types of glares only siblings seemed to be able to muster. Turning back to your essay you read through it. You noticed that you could add some facts to the last part of your text. To do that you needed a new book: An advanced guide to aquatic dangers. With a sigh you rose from your, the wooden chair creaking at your movement.

“Oi, where are you going?” Ron asked, accusingly, almost like he thought you were going over to the Slytherins. He eyed you suspiciously, making you roll your eyes for the umpteenth time.

“Relax Ron, I’m just going to get another book.” You said with a tired voice. You walked slowly through the old library, wooden floorboards creaking under your shoes as you browsed the shelves that held the books on water-beings. There was an unbelievable number of books on the subject, but you needed just one. Searching what you thought was your 50th bookshelf you finally found the book you were looking for. It was in a hidden corner near the table of boys your brother and friend had glared at moments earlier. As you reached for it you noticed that it was placed higher than you thought. You tried to reach it a couple of times to no avail. As you let out a groan of frustration a hand shot out from behind you, easily grabbing it. Another hand was braced on the shelf in front of you. It was adorned by two silver rings, one on the index with a serpent on it, and the other was a signet ring on the pinkie with the initials M.R. You swallowed quickly before turning around, coming face to, well, chest with the Slytherin you just referred to as ‘cute’. He still had the book in his hand, a smirk on his face and he leaned into the hand on the shelf, effectively invading you personal space even more. His presence wrapping around you like a warm blanket shielding you from the coldness of the castle.

“Reading up on your ancestry, Potter?” He asked with a smirk as he gestured to the sketched siren on the cover of the book. You narrowed your eyes at him confused, did he just complement you or insult you?

“Are you insulting me or complementing me, Riddle?” You couldn’t help but ask, your eyes still scanning him suspiciously.

“Isn’t that the same thing for you?” He answered, a cheeky grin on his face, “Hateful comments seem to be the way to your heart, Potter.” You sighed and rolled your eyes at the boy, was he always this annoying? You couldn’t believe you’d just called him cute. You wished you could take it back. Mattheo was quite the flirt with the girls of the school, but his latest target seemed to be you. It didn’t seem like it mattered what you threw back at him, he would always turn it into some weird way of flirting.

“Thinking of how much you want kiss me, Potter?” He interrupted your train of thought with a smirk, leaning in closer into your space, you could smell him now, he smelled good rich, but you would never admit that out loud.

“In your dreams, Riddle.” You huffed in feign annoyance, you would never admit it, but you quite enjoyed the back and forth between the two of you. If he wasn’t known for being a ladies man you might’ve considered going out with him, regardless of what your brother thought of him. It wasn’t a secret that Harry and Mattheo didn’t like each other. This was also a reason why you couldn’t figure out for the life of you why he had set his sights on you.

“Oh, trust me darling, in my dreams we do way more that just kiss.” He said while wiggling his eyebrows at you with a suggestive grin. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks in embarrassment from his insinuation.

“You’re blushing.” He said as he poked your cheek with a chuckle.

“Yeah, so? Never seen anyone fall for your charm before?” You asked sarcastically, rolling your eyes for good measure. He chuckled at that and handed you the book he was still holding.

“Always a pleasure, Potter.” He said, finally stepping away from you, cold air engulfed you when he pulled away, his hand falling to his side.

“I wish I could say the same, but I don’t think you’re capable of making a woman feel pleasure.” You said, you gave the boy a wink before turning on your heel, walking back to your table. You could feel your heart calming down as you neared your table as you weaved in and out of shelves on your way back. Sitting down on the uncomfortable wooden chair you gently placed the book on the table.

“What the hell took you so long?” Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“The book was just hard to find.” You said swiftly, you dared to cast a quick glance at the table across the library. He was already staring at you, his gaze was tracing your form, something alike hunger behind his eyes. You quickly looked away, not wanting to be caught staring by Harry or Ron. The rest of the evening you glanced over at him now and then. He was already looking at you every time. The look on his face unreadable but his eyes still had that hungry look. As the autumn weather really made its home on the grounds the lessons progressed. You had scored an ‘outstanding’ on your essay by Professor Snape. You were thinking about it late one evening around two weeks after your study session in the library.

You couldn’t sleep, which is how you ended up in the kitchens, a mug of warm milk in your hands. You were glad that it was a weekend, meaning that you didn’t have to be up early for classes. Your mind drifted from your grade on your essay to the boy who had helped you reach the book which had helped you. He continued to shamelessly flirt with you, ignoring your brothers warnings to stay away from you. You had to admit, his flirting was charming, in its own way. You had no idea how he pulled off half the stunts he did, like how he managed to get your favourite flowers on your bedside table. First of all, how did he know which flowers were your favourite? Second of all, how did he get them into your dorm? Or all the times you would find your favourite candy in your pockets or bag with a small note with his initials. You would lie if you said it didn’t work on you though. The banter whenever you would talk in combination with these sweet gestures really was the way to your heart and you had no idea how he had figured it out. When you had finished your milk, you thanked the houselves and started to make your way up the stairs that led from the kitchen corridor. Rounding a corner you slammed into a chest. Panicking, thinking it was a teacher, you started to utter out apologies and excuses as to why you were out of bed.

“Shut up, Potter or we will be caught!” A voice you so clearly recognised whisper shouted. Looking up you saw none other than Mattheo Riddle, the boy who was occupying your mind more often than not nowadays. Before you could retort you heard footsteps echo through the hall, nearing where the two of you were.

“Shit.” You whispered in unison. Realising where in the castle you were you grabbed Mattheo by the collar and dragged him in to a broom closet that was hidden right by the entrance to the stairs that led to the kitchens. The closet was small, the space felt cramped as you were standing chest to chest with Mattheo, your hands still gripping his collar. You stared up at Mattheo, eyes wide in fear of getting caught out of bed. Seeing your fear, he placed a hand on your cheek, rubbing your cheekbone slightly, in an attempt to comfort you. It did the exact opposite. Your heart was racing, not from the fear of getting caught, but from the way he was touching you. His hand was warm, his palm rough from quidditch but his touch gentle. You looked at him, really looked at him, his brown eyes soft, his curls sightly messy. You couldn’t help yourself as you shamelessly checked him out. He was looking at you now and it felt like the room got even smaller as a small smirk made its way onto his lips. You were so close, his body pressing against yours, his warmth surrounding you like a blanket. You were so close that your faces were centimetres apart.

“You like what you see?” He whispered, his breath hitting your face. Your brain couldn’t process what was happening right now. He let out a quiet, breathy laugh at your inability to answer him. When he quieted the tension flooded right back. His eyes traced your face, flickering to your lips for a split second before finding your wide eyes again.

“Is it weird that I really want to kiss you right now?” He murmured as his eyes found your lips again for a split second. Your mind went completely blank. All you knew is that you wanted him, needed him to kiss you.

“But I won’t, not until you ask me to.” He smirked before quietly opening the door to the closet. No footsteps could be heard. Cold air welled in, effectively breaking the trance he had you in. You frowned at him. He slipped out of the closet, and you sneaked out after him. You felt anger rise in you chest as you watched the back of his curly mop of hair descend the stone stairs to the kitchens.

“Fuck you, Mattheo.” You whisper shouted. You heard a chuckle from the stairs.

“Fuck me yourself, you coward.” He whispered back making you gape in the general direction of his voice in disbelief. You huffed in annoyance before turning around, sneaking your way back to your common room. The whole way back you thought about how soft his lips had looked and how angry you were with yourself for falling for his charms so easily. After this incident something shifted between you. The usual banter was mixed with something more, a longing, from the both of you. Insults was mixed with tones of want. He would also find ways to touch you more often after the incident in the broom closet. One thing you noticed in the middle of December was that he had not so much as looked at another girl while he was flirting with you. Hermione was even pointing it out. Saying that a few girls had tried to get with him but that he had ignored them completely. It was a beautiful snowy but cold day, and you had just been invited to Slughorn’s Christmas party, along with your brother and Hermione. You noticed that the grounds were covered in glittering white snow as you and Hermione were discussing who to go with on your way to ancient runes. You walked past Mattheo; him and his friends were also part of the so-called Slug club. You watched him as he laughed at something that his friend Theodore said. He really was gorgeous.

“I am going with Terry Boot, as friends, you should go with Harry, Hermione.” You said to Hermione when you had passed the boys.

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” She let out as she slapped her forehead in annoyance with herself.

“Are you going with someone else?” You asked amusedly. Hermione reddened, clearly embarrassed with her choice of date.

“Well, I was thinking about who would piss of Ron the most so I kind of asked Cormac.” She said as you let out a laugh. Hermione and Ron were having a rough time with each other at the moment, mostly because Ron was acting like an ass. She slapped your arm in annoyance.

“It’s not funny!” She said with a frown.

“It kind of is, Hermione.” You said, still chuckling.

“Well, I’m surprised that you didn’t go with Riddle.” She retorted.

“Why?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Because it’s obvious that you like each other.” She shrugged her shoulders as you walked into the classroom and sat down in your seat.

“We do not!” You said incredulously. She gave you a look of disbelief before bringing out her book and some parchment to write notes. Through the lesson Mattheo occupied your mind like he usually did nowadays. He was attractive, and sweet and he seemed to have changed his ways with girls. You were occupied by these thoughts even when you walked through the castle corridors to the great hall with Hermione after the lesson had finished. She was going on about how interesting the lesson was with you barley listening. When you were in the entrance hall you bumped your shoulder into someone and just as you were about to apologise you saw that it was none other than the boy who were occupying your mind.

“Stop daydreaming about me and watch where you’re going, love.” He said with a cheeky wink. Snapping out of your dazed state you narrowed your eyes at him, but not as sharply as you usually did.

“Please, any dream involving you would be a nightmare.” You rolled your eyes; you heard a chuckle from Mattheo’s friend Theodore. Mattheo sent a glare at his friend before turning back to you, that made you smile slightly.

“I heard you were going to Slughorn’s party with Terry Boot.” He stated casually. You eyed him suspiciously.

“Why? You jealous, Riddle?” You taunted him with a smirk on your face. He scoffed.

“Of him having to hold your sweaty hand? No, I think I’m fine.” He stated nonchalantly, you rolled your eyes at him.

“Oh, shut up.” You said, annoyance in your voice.

“You shut up.” He said back, getting closer to your face.

“Make me.” You retorted, staring him directly in his eyes.

“Okay, but you might moan a little.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders as he backed off slightly. You gaped at him. The audacity. His friends chuckled and he gave you a cheeky grin before casually sauntering off with his friends.

“You were saying something about not liking each other?” Hermione said, effectively rubbing salt in your wounds.

“Not a word.” You said grumpily as you made your way to the great hall in silence. The evening of the party arrived sooner than you thought. You were walking arm in arm with Terry. You wore a nice dress for the occasion, one that was accentuating your curves. Terry looked nice too in a suit and bowtie. When you entered the party, it was in full swing, people mingling and eating the finger food that was offered. You and Terry took the drink that was offered upon your arrival and went around and mingled with people. You looked around the beautifully decorated room, it was perfectly decorated for Christmas. Your eyes landed on a group of guys, Mattheo and his friends. You noticed that he didn’t seem to have a date. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. You were sure he would bring someone. Your eyes drifted to Cormac, alone, seeming to look for someone. You excused yourself to Terry. He let you go without any hesitation, continuing to talk with some other Ravenclaw boy. You looked around and saw two familiar silhouettes behind a sheer curtain. When you walked over you found Hermione hiding there with Harry, panic evident in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” You asked your brother as you saw Hermione stuffing her mouth with the dragon ball tarte. You scrunched your nose at this, since it was notorious to make your breath stink.

“Hermione is trying to ward of McLaggen.” Harry said with a laugh at the girl who was clearly suffering. You gave the girl a look of sympathy.

“Oh, here he comes.” Hermione said, panic in her voice, as she quickly escaped out the other side of the curtain, Harry hot on her heels. Leaving you alone to fend of the sleazy boy.

“Where did she go?” Cormac asked.

“To the ladies room.” You swiftly lied. You gave him a small, polite smile before you tried to pass him to rejoin the party. He stopped you by grabbing your upper arm rather harshly.

“Well, she is a real minx, your friend. But seeing as we’re here, alone, we might as well.” He said, a greasy smile on his face. You frowned at him, but you were gagging on the inside. You tried to yank your arm free from his grip, but he didn’t let go. You were about to tell him to let you go when someone else got before you.

“Get your hands off her.” A cold voice came from behind Cormac. You looked over his shoulder and you saw none other than Mattheo Riddle standing there, face stoic apart from the muscle that was popping from his jaw. He looked deadly. Cormac’s grip faltered but he didn’t let go.

“Look man-” He started, but Mattheo didn’t let him finish.

“There is nothing you could say that won’t make me break your face if you don’t get your slimy hand off of her in the next 2 seconds.” Mattheo got out through gritted teeth. Seeing Mattheo so angry made you feel some type of way. Cormac let you go slowly, his face pale as he excused himself. He knew better than to mess with the beater of the Slytherin team. The boy notorious for fighting anyone who pissed him off without a second thought. Your eyes met Mattheo’s under the low lights as he took slow steps towards you. He was handsome in his suit, the top buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned. His face was still cold as he stopped in front of you. His hand moved to gently touch your arm, where Cormac had gripped it rather harshly. His rings were cool against your hot skin, sending shivers down your spine. The way he was looking at you made you feel hot. He closed his eyes as he forced a breath through his nose.

“Are you okay?” You asked him in a low voice. His eyes shot open as he studied your face.

“I should be the one asking that, but I’m fine.” He let out tensely. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’re not.” You stated as a matter of fact.

“I am.” He was still sounding extremely tense.

“That’s not the truth, tell me the truth Mattheo. What were you jealous?” You threw the words out, but when you said them, it dawned on you. Could he have been jealous? His eyes narrowed this time.

“I was not, I just don’t like slimy guys.” He muttered irritably he looked like he would snap any second now.

“You’re such an asshole. If you weren’t jealous, why would you threaten Corm-”

“Okay, fine! I was jealous. I was so jealous that I could rip his throat out for just talking to you, let alone touching you. I was jealous when I saw you walking in with Boot” he spat his name, “because he had the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen as his date” he gestured to you, “I was jealous because whatever I do, I will never be that guy to you. I shouldn’t be jealous, because you aren’t even mine, yet here I am.” He was breathing heavily after he was done with his rant. You were smiling shyly up at him as you took a couple of steps closer to him, invading his personal space. Your hands found the planes of his stomach before they travelled slowly up his chest and around his neck. He let out a low groan at your actions.

“Kiss me, asshole.” You whispered; he closed his eyes at your words. Your mind was immediately brought back to the almost kiss in the broom closet and how sure of himself he sounded when he had said that he wouldn’t kiss you unless you asked.

“The problem is, if I kissed you, I don't think I'd be able to stop.” He murmured back his hands finding your hips, gripping them tightly.

“Maybe I don’t want you to.” You replied simply and it was like all restraint he had in him flew out the window. He smashed his lips to yours. The kiss was desperate, lips and teeth clashing, his tongue fighting with yours as his hands moved from your hips to your waist, giving it a squeeze. Yours found his hair, pulling on the strands on the back of his neck. Eliciting a moan from him. The kiss was far from sweet, but you didn’t want it any other way. It felt like months of feelings and want was poured into the kiss. It was as if he kissed you hard enough you would understand his feelings for you. You kissed him back with just as much fervour, as if you too were trying to convey your feelings through the kiss.

“My eyes!” You heard a shriek from behind you. You and Mattheo broke apart, startled from the sound. Turning around you saw Harry and Hermione standing there. Harry had the most disgusted expression you had ever seen, and Hermione looked awfully smug.

“Really y/n? Riddle?” Harry said in an annoyed voice to which you rolled your eyes.

“Shut up Harry, go away.” You said, annoyance in your own voice, Hermione didn’t say anything as she slowly pulled Harry away, but she still had that smug smile on her face. You turned back to Mattheo, who had your lipstick all over his lips, and he was looking at you with a look you’ve never seen before. His eyes were soft, tender, a small smirk was on his lips. The look made you feel weak in the knees. With your heart hammering you snaked your arms around his neck again.

“You can be as jealous as you want, asshole, because I’m yours.” You whispered, your eyes finding his. His smile widened as he took one of your hands of his neck and took it in his. He took off his signet ring, where his initials were carved, and put it on your index finger.

“There, all mine.” He said softly before kissing you again, softer this time. His lips were gentle against yours, his hands tracing your back as yours raked through his hair.

“All yours.” You murmured against his lips, to which he groaned.

“I could listen to you saying that all night.” He said, his voice sounding strained, and he parted from you a little, needing to collect himself. You were still at Slughorn’s party after all.

“If you play your cards right maybe you will.” You said seductively as you pulled him back to you by his belt. He groaned, which he covered up by coughing when a teacher walked by on the other side of the curtain. You giggled at this.

“Well, handsome, I’m going to rejoin my date for the party.” You said, a teasing smile on your face. He looked at you bewildered.

“I might be yours now, but I wasn’t when I agreed to be Terry’s date for tonight.” You said a teasing note in your voice.

“I’ll see you tonight.” You whispered into his ear before placing a kiss to his cheek and slipping out the curtain. It would be a long night.

#fan fiction #harry potter #x reader #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x potter!reader #mattheo riddle fanfic #potter!reader

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novella-november · 9 months ago

Text

See, here's the thing about generative AI:

I will always, always prefer to read the beginner works of a young writer that could use some editing advice, over anything a predictive text generator can spit out no matter how high of a "quality" it spits out.

I will always be more interested in reading a fanfiction or original story written by a kid who doesn't know you're meant to separate different dialogues into their own paragraphs, over anything a generative ai creates.

I will happily read a story where dialogue isn't always capitalized and has some grammar mistakes that was written by a person over anything a computer compiles.

Why?

Because *why should I care about something someone didn't even care enough to write themselves?*

Humans have been storytellers since the dawn of humankind, and while it presents itself in different ways, almost everyone has stories they want to tell, and it takes effort and care and a desire to create to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard or speech to text to actually start writing that story out, let alone share it for others to read!

If a kid writes a story where all the dialogue is crammed in the same paragraph and missing some punctuation, it's because they're still learning the ropes and are eager to share their imagination with the world even if its not perfect.

If someone gets generative AI to make an entire novel for them, copying and pasting chunks of text into a document as it generates them, then markets that "novel" as being written by a real human person and recruits a bunch of people to leave fake good reviews on the work praising the quality of the book to trick real humans into thinking they're getting a legitimate novel.... Tell me, why on earth would anyone actually want to read that "novel" outside of morbid curiosity?

There's a few people you'll see in the anti-ai tags complaining about "people being dangerously close to saying art is a unique characteristic of the divine human soul" and like...

... Super dramatic wording there to make people sound ridiculous, but yeah, actually, people enjoy art made by humans because humans who make art are sharing their passion with others.

People enjoy art made by animals because it is fascinating and fun to find patterns in the paint left by paw prints or the movements of an elephants trunk.

Before Generative AI became the officially sanctioned "Plagiarism Machine for Billionaires to Avoid Paying Artists while Literally Stealing all those artists works" people enjoyed random computer-generated art because, like animals, it is fascinating and fun to see something so different and alien create something that we can find meaning in.

But now, when Generative AI spits out a work that at first appears to be a veritable masterpiece of art depicting a winged Valkyrie plunging from the skies with a spear held aloft, you know that anything you find beautiful or agreeable in this visual media has been copied from an actual human artist who did not consent or doesn't even know that their art has been fed into the Plagiarism Machine.

Now, when Generative AI spits out a written work featuring fandom-made tropes and concepts like Alpha Beta Omega dyanamics, you know that you favorite fanfiction website(s) have probably all been scraped and that the unpaid labours of passion by millions of people, including minors, have been scraped by the Plagiarism Machine and can now be used to make money for anyone with the time and patience to sit and have the Plagarism Machine generate stories a chunk at a time and then go on to sell those stories to anyone unfortunate enough to fall for the scam,

all while you have no way to remove your works from the existing training data and no way to stop any future works you post be put in, either.

Generative AI wouldn't be a problem if it was exclusively trained on Public Domain works for each country and if it was freely available to anyone in that country (since different countries have different copyright laws)

But its not.

Because Generative AI is made by billionaires who are going around saying "if you posted it on the Internet at any point, it is fair game for us to take and profit off," and anyone looking to make a quick buck can start churning out stolen slop and marketing it online on trusted retailers, including generating extremely dangerous books like foraging guides or how to combine cleaning chemicals for a spotless home, etc.

Generative AI is nothing but the works of actual humans stolen by giant corporations looking for profit, even works that the original creators can't even make money off of themselves, like fanfiction or fanart.

And I will always, always prefer to read "fanfiction written by a 13 year old" over "stolen and mashed together works from Predictive Text with a scifi name slapped on it", because at least the fanfiction by a kid actually has *passion and drive* behind its creation.

#anti ai #not writing #well it is kinda #anti generative ai #long post

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that-smallinjured-bowylamb · 1 month ago

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MY NAME IS. BRUTUS.

Damn fourth fic of the day, yeah? Why am I listening to these music while writing? Idk. But let me do my thing ‼️‼️ P.S. All this while it was 5pm in the evening too🙏

Gender Neutral reader

Genre: as you can tell with many others in the singer!reader au posts, Romantic.

Involvement: Main cast

Warnings?: cussy [yk what time it is ‼️‼️], comedy cus I can't live without it, if you see mistakes I'm probably half brain-dead for not noticing it, OOC[just in case], and uhmmm other things idk help me I'm multi-tasking through apps [texting my friends in whatsapp, TikTok, going back to Tumblr, and random ass research that has nothing to do with any of my works 🙏‼️], idk what else to add.

Ayeee shoutout to @sparklybasementcherryblossom

Thank you for reminding me I had this in my playlist!!!

So you see, you've been getting popular recently... but who cares? You're actually getting paid for it so, Letts cook up another one ‼️‼️‼️

And you thought of one thing.

Brutus...

Oh, that name. With so much envy driven into madness. Yes. That one.

You are going to have so much fun with this.

For the next performance.

They have no idea what's coming for them.

You've already set up the stage, and set in the camera for streaming. You've already had a few people in your otherworldly band, so you were happy to do more.

☆~~———~~☆

You've set up the play, it was like everything before, everyone had sat down to see the play, you had new additions for this music, though.

Because it's gonna get loud.

Riddle, Ace, Deuce, and Trey all sat in front since yk, they're your first friends in a dorm?? And so on with Leona, Ruggie, Jack, Azul, Jade, Floyd, Jamil, Vil, Rook, Epel, Idia[tablet], Ortho, Malleus, Silver, Sebek, and who else could be companions of yours.

You've started it.

Now they'll hear it.

The music begins...

It went silent before it got louder and louder.

You hear the chorus of women, humming, singing random incoherent words.

And no one fucking understands.

The beats sounds heavy, like any other songs you've recently played, but this one has something, unspoken, heavy, feeling.

I've been watching him for my entire life,

I hate the air he breathes,

his foolish decrees,

His words so contrived

And I hate the way the townspeople gather outside,

They hang on every breath,

Cling to his chest,

Home to his heart full of pride.

Whoa, now that was a surprising start, your voice seemed exhausted, angry in a way. It's like speaking through your teeth with unbridled rage.

The oracle told him to beware of the Ides,

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing,

For an untimely death or demise.

You've spat out those words like venom.

DAMN. Right off the bat?? Chill [Name]! Ruggie would've been scared if it weren't it being a music play.

Or am I just wishing just wishing I could be like you?

That the people would see me too as a poet,

And not just the muse.

The envy in your voice pours out for everyone to see.

Rook was wondering if it was pointing to him...

Vil felt a strange feeling of Deja vú.

Oh, it's not true,

I don't wish harm upon you,

You reassured in a mocking way.

Riddle was thinking on what the implications might be... Trey was attentively listening, could you be envious as well? Cater stresmed again, in a more hushed tone.

From birth,

We've been like brothers of different mothers,

within the spirit of the same womb,

May the Gods strike me down if I forsake you,

You sounded desperate, in what way, though?

Frater Meus, you're beautifully made,

And to you,

I'm forever grateful.

I'll never forget that you showed me to make art,

And I know the love you showed me came,

From a pure and noble heart.

Okay... weird thing to say when you literally wished for someone's death...

Idia seemed interested, Ortho likes the emotions put into this, Malleus is wondering why your singing all the time, Vil explained its a form of expression.

I love you,

And if you want, I'll call you king.

You said in a hushed tone.

All are listening closely like a secret being told

But why do I lie awake each night thinking,

"Instead of you, it should be me"?

Jamil looks at you like you've hit amnesia, no shit???

Something wicked this way comes,

And as I set to face it,

I'm unsure.

Should I embrace it, should I run?

The words weigh heavy, lingering in the air, crashing down in suffocation.

What motivates me?

Hatred? Is it love?

What's more wrong:

That I too wish to be great

Or,

My mother wished she'd had a son?

Your voice grows frantic, in a desperate dance.

Everyone is worried on the implications of what it could've meant, jealousy.

You gasp.

And even if I can't be the one,

Maybe I could at least help

Make way for him,

Until the day that he comes?

In a crazed manner, your expression was manic.

Maybe my name could also be known,

That I helped return good to the people,

And restored greatness to Rome?!

You raised your voice slightly.

Making some flinch in surprise.

A chant of 'Brutus' in the background.

A scene of Brutus killing the man she envied.

MY NAME IS BRUTUS,

AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY,

SO WITH A HEAVY HEART,

I'LL GUIDE THIS DAGGER INTO THE HEART OF MY ENEMY.

Oh! Uhm...

MY WHOLE LIFE,

YOU WERE A TEACHER AND A FRIEND TO ME,

PLEASE KNOW THAT MY ACTIONS ARE NOT ONLY MOTIVATED ONLY BY,

ENVY.

I, TOO, HAVE A DESTINY, THIS DEATH WILL BE ART!

Your voice grew louder and louder, enough to awake the sleeping students.

THE PEOPLE WILL SPEAK OF THIS DAY,

FROM NEAR TO AFAR!

THIS EVENT WILL BE HISTORY,

AND I'LL BE GREAT TOO,

I DON'T WANT WHAT YOU HAVE,

I WANT TO BE YOU...!

The intensity of your voice increases, never ceases. The envy boiling in your tone like a forbidden spell not to be chanted.

The audience is left hypnotized with its intense tones and harsh words, it's like sharpening knives grazed on their ears.

I always knew I could be the one,

Though, I feel the endless pain of being,

And I am scorched by the sun.

What.

-Malleus, probably.

Of humble origins,

And born of the cursed sex,

My name is Brutus,

But the people will call me Rex.

Hushed out a voice from the last verse, a rasp sound in the throat.

The women hum and chant in incoherent voices.

The music ends.

Well done.

The audience was quiet, then finally.

"Wooo! That was amazing!!" Epel yelled.

Everyone erupted into an applause.

You're talented, [Name]. No matter what it is your good at, whether your confident or not.

You'll be recognized by the others.

The End.

OOUUFF DONEEE!!!

Enjoy !!! :>

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indierpgnewsletter · 2 months ago

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Why talking about RPGs (and other things) can suck

Over on Bluesky, there was some conversation about one of the long-running cyclical conversation that happens in RPG spaces. This time, it was about the category of statement that goes something like “I hacked D&D to run Cyberpunk 2077, just as god intended” to quote the original poster. To put it another way, it’s about this idea that design doesn’t really matter.

In the case of when this is used to defend specific games like D&D 5e, this is just fandom. People want to like what they like and will say anything. It’s best not to take it too seriously. But beyond that, I think there’s a specific structural reason that this conversation keeps happening.

Let’s talk about the two ways that people judge something. The first is by outcome (or effect or output) and the second is by input (time, effort, ingredients, values).

Have you ever gone “this is really tasty”? That’s outcome. It’s good because the effect was pleasurable.

Have you ever gone “someone put a lot of thought or skill into this”? That’s input. It’s good because of craft and care.

You’re probably doing both a lot in your life. Everyone uses both methods probably every day.

“But isn’t it more rational to judge everything by outcome?”, you might be thinking. It’s an interesting thought. In science and policy, measuring outcomes is essential to ensure you’re not just making stuff up. But in many situations you can’t measure outcome in any real way. Like for example, art. (There’s lots of other examples including almost everything you do because “it’s the right thing to do”. But getting into this is literally a philosophy class so we must hurry along.)

Coming back to RPGs, the truth is that you can have a great experience roleplaying with good design, bad design, no design, whatever. At the same time, the craft and values going into a design are also a real thing that can be observed and discussed.

People talking about the former (outcomes, experience, their fun) and people talking about the latter (inputs, design, values) are going to talk in circles if they don’t acknowledge the difference in approach. This conversation will never resolve because it’s not about the same thing.

When I talk about games in terms of outcomes, I’m really talking about myself. I had fun. I laughed. I grew closer to my friends. Those are real things — important things. When I talk about the games in terms of inputs, I’m talking about rules, setting, illustrations, etc. Those are also real things — but obviously different things.

Saying “this game is good because I had fun” and saying “this game is good because it is designed well” feels like they’re doing the same thing because of the way language works. But go deeper and they’re simply not.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not some impassable bridge. These two starting points can be connected. Two people can begin at different places and still have a conversation… if they’re willing to talk about interaction, i.e., the space between inputs and outputs and what happens there.

But here’s the things: talking about interaction is annoying and hard. Very often, whether you’re talking about inputs or outputs, it’s easier to just ignore it. When we’re talking about design, it’s easy to say that, oh, this rule does this or this adventure does that. But for who? In whose hands? What inputs do they need to bring that isn’t in the text? A can-do attitude? How common is that input really?

When we talk about outcomes, it’s the same thing but in reverse. Oh, you had fun? Amazing. How did you get there? What led to the fun? Was it the text? Was it something outside the text? What percentage would you allocate to both categories?

Stop booing me! I’m just asking questions! I’m normal! I’M NORMAL.

#indie rpg #ttrpg #ttrpg community #ttrpg design #game design #ttrpgsolidarity #rpg #ttrpgcommunity

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kalinazlatkova · 2 months ago

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“The Art and Making of Arcane: League of Legends” 🎨🎨🎨🎨 Book Review Under the Cut

⋆｡°✩*ੈ✶⋆.˚✩‧₊˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˙⟡⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⊹.˚⟡ ݁₊˚⊹⋆☆˖°

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi 👛🫙✨🖤 Thank you! 🥰

Hi All! 😊 As I have amassed loads of Art Books throughout my degree and in my work as an illustrator, I thought I could do some reviews so those of you who are just now embarking on your art journeys and wondering whether something is worth spending money on, can make an informed decision about what part of your creative development you want to put your money towards. I’m thinking of structuring the reviews in five key areas, with books earning a palette for each area they score against, with a total of five palettes being the max, and a brush being awarded in areas where a book can only score half a point. As someone from a working-class background who is also neurodivergent, I’m especially mindful how these things can impact the way in which we access information and new knowledge. Of course, if you have any suggestions on what else should be included, please let me know and I’ll be happy to consider this in future too. 😊

Now! Off to the main bit...

Is the book Useful? 🎨

I think this would of interest not only to fans of the game and series alike, but also less experienced artists who want to learn about the motivation, inspirations, ideas, and thought processes behind the storytelling, characters and plotlines. Alex and Chris (the Creators) talk about the history and background of how it came to be, how the right group and studio of people were found to bring it together, and how the story and visuals were built from the smallest details to the major production hurdles. There are the back scenes of the storyboarding and character designs, with frameworks and the timeline between the layouts of the game vs the show. The book also goes down into details on the music, lyrics, color schemes, speeds of animation, backgrounds and the in-depth world building of Arcane. It pays attention to the visual and personal development of the central characters, their set bases and their props. Given all of this, I would say – Yes. It is a very useful source and guide on master adaptation, for those already interested in the game as well as those who have just come into its world now, brought in by the art of the show before they got caught in the story.

Is the book Engaging? 🎨

The book design has been planned thoroughly, and the content is very well paced. There is good overlay between photographs, illustrations, game graphics and show scenes alongside the text and other visuals. The design of the book is beautifully done, with phenomenal coloring, and good spacing between the texts and images. As someone who struggles with big chunks of text, and a very temperamental attention span, the way that the chapters and sub-sections of the book are broken up, helped me quite a lot in managing to keep my focus and my mind engaged at one page at a time, without feeling the need to put it down indefinitely or jump ahead and move on to the next bit before I was done. Therefore, I would say – Yes. It is manageable, digestible, and entertaining, which makes it a joy to engage with, and even more so because it can be done so easily.

Is the book Accessible? 🖌️

There might be some pages where people who are easily visually overstimulated might struggle to keep with the text, as the graphics fill the sheet and overlay each other quite strongly. However, if you are someone who prefers the strong visuals of a comic book or a graphic novel, then this might not be an issue for you at all. Overall, the blocks of text come in small chunks and are set in narrow columns with a max of 15 words to a line at its longest (on average up to 10), which makes the text easier to follow. Though the typesetting of the book is primarily in serif fonts, and on some pages the text blocks are slanted to fit the visuals’ layout better. I have an advantage that I have a digital copy and can easily zoom into the text, though if you had the physical copy of the book (judging by the format size of 23.5 x 3 x 32.4cm) there might be some pages where you struggle with the smaller lines. From what I have been able to find out, the standard hardcover edition weighs approx. 800gr, which isn’t very light to carry or hold up with one hand, especially considering a thick rectangle is less manageable than a single bag of sugar or bottle of water for example. In terms of language, it is written in plain English (in EN speaking countries) and even though I am not a native English speaker, there were no overcomplicated structures or words I was unfamiliar with at any time. So overall, I would say Yes and No. It is up to you to decide whether any of the above is a deal breaker regarding accessibility, but if it is in the physical aspects, I would advise in looking for a digital copy alike myself as well.

Is the book Affordable? 🖌️

Well. When I was looking for a copy, unfortunately there were no paperbacks available, and the only hardbacks were second hand varying in price point from £40 - £80 GBP. Which is about $50 – 110 USD, or €45 - 95 EUR. I also could not find any free digital copies, so my only option was to buy the book on Kindle for £14, or approx. $18 / €16. Given that when I was a student, I used to live on £1 a day (my family is poor), I think that up to £80 for a single art book is a high price to pay, especially for a young person who isn’t in full time employment. But even though I am a working adult now, I still wouldn’t pay this for the book given that the actual cost was £40 before it went out of stock, and the price has been inflated solely because the book isn’t physically available anymore. Due to this, and because it is the right thing to do, before making a purchase, I would adamantly encourage you to check with the library(ies) near you first. If they have it, you can borrow it for free and make copies, scans or take pics of it if you’d like to make your own digital copy. If this is not an option, look for it online and check if there are any torrents on the sites you have access to where you live. Only if you exhaust all other options, or if you are dead set in buying a physical copy for a memento / getting it signed by the artist type of keepsake, should you consider purchasing it at the inflated price. So even though the book might be affordable to those who have the money, that simply isn’t applicable to most people, meaning that – No. It isn’t affordable as it would not fall into most people’s budgets easily or without being looked at as a luxury.

Is the book Worth it? 🎨

Even though due to points 3 & 4 above, I cannot give the book a full 5 palettes, and must settle only on 4, I would say – Yes. It has been great to learn more about the backstory and history of Arcane and the people who made it possible. The work they’ve put in for years, each single step in their journey and the care and dedication that has been poured into the creation of this new world. It has been lovely to gain an insight into the visual development of the series, as well as the character building, and the considerations awarded to all the small things that make them the characters that they are and the characters that we love. I may have never played LoL but I absolutely loved the show. Though even if I hadn’t seen it, from the perspective of a graphic designer, I can certainly appreciate the beauty of Arcane and this book still. And if like me, you are new to this world, then I suspect the book will make you love it even more. It’s worth it.

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