#it's not enough to just say ''states bad''

[syluses]

big girls don’t cry

𓍯𓂃 self aware robot! caleb x female reader

(wc: 9.5k) ✦ summary: after your brother passes, consumed by grief, you take to the internet to order a synthetic version of him. afterward, it’s impossible to throw him out. (or: alternatively titled the trojan horse)

✦ content robot! caleb, past engineer! caleb, au where EVER deals in robotics, non-evol au, 18+ nsfw/smut, mildly dubious consent, angst, grief, mental instability, bad coping mechanisms, robot pseudocest?? robot sex, mind games, moral grayness all around, dark/yandere undertones; this fic can have multiple interpretations

✦ sidenote have yall ever seen that episode of black mirror? ‘be right back’? basically this: the girl’s boyfriend dies so she orders an incredibly realistic, intelligent robot to replace him. they’re identical in personality and appearance, and yet… 👀 ANYWAYS ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ ) i have a set plot for this in my head, but i left it a lil vague so ur allowed to think of it in ur own way 🤎 if u wanna know the ‘canon’ tho.. u can absolutely ask me. the lore is so deep its traumatizing :,) anyways hope u enjoy <3 ty for 1k btw!! take this as a lil celebration treat 🥳 it took so much out of me but i think i really vibe with it heheh

He’s perfect. Nigh on.

For the first few days since his arrival, since hauling him off the foot of your porch and into your living room to unpack him- heart tickering in your chest all the while, trepidatious- you’ve just stared. Reached out your hands to hover, ghosting over the broad blade of his shoulder, his chapped lips, the slight jut of his cheekbone.

His hands, as big and weathered as you remember them (but gentle, always gentle), hang limply by his sides.

You don’t dare slip your smaller ones in them.

All of the theatrics, yet you don’t press his- its- button, either.

No, you don’t even touch it after the initial unpacking, wrenching your fingers away as soon as they get too close. As soon as they get too tempted by hope and the wish that this hunk of metal was more than just a replica of your late brother. Half of you thinks it might burn if you get too comfortable; and you won’t get comfortable— underneath the solidified layers of grief and- you have trouble saying it aloud, but bitterness- there’s still just enough common sense to keep you from taking the leap. The leap from mourning to insanity.

It’s hollow. You know that much. A nothingness enwrapped in a steely chassis full of wiring and code too technological for you to understand, all covered by a synthetic skin suit as the pretty bow on top.

And you know- what with your emotional state- that if you could peer inside, strip it down to the framework and just… take a moment to look, that you’d vomit. It’d be too much to bear, being forced to reconcile with the fact that he really is gone— and in response to it all, you’ve blown your savings on an eerily-realistic, glorified doll of him with wires for veins.

You’re trembling when you stiffly prop him against the far wall, limiting contact as much as possible, and step away, keeping your eyes on him all the while. It. Not him. Not Caleb- that’s not your fucking brother, just a disgusting, soulless fascimile of him—

But as you stand back on your feet (with the coffee table in between, just in case) to get a good look at him, like a real, proper look, your breath is taken.

The thing: He’s not just a passable carbon copy, you realize. Admittedly, he’s…

Identical.

(He’s Caleb.)

All the oxygen gusts out of you in a breeze.

You lift a shaking hand over your open mouth and choke as silent tears spill from your lashline, blurring your eyes on the way down. Wetting your knuckles as they shake wildly.

You’re crying. Of course you’re crying. This is- you can’t do this. You just can’t.

Racing upstairs, retreating to your bedroom to slam the door as if the devil himself was on your tail, only then do you drop your hand and fully sob.

It’s pitiful, really. Wretched noises that resonate from deep in your throat, your spirit wrecked as you curl up on the floor and make yourself into a ball.

Darkness comes outside, the space around you muting itself in grey colors. The puddle beneath your cheek is moonlit. You sniffle and relocate, but you don’t even bother to tuck the not-Caleb robot in its special container, no- you just settle beneath your blankets and pray it’s all a bad dream you’ll awake from come tomorrow.

Tomorrow: you’ll send him off. Return him.

You don’t care how much money it costs- for all you care, it’s paltry, it’s replaceable. And it is replaceable, that’s the bleak truth: that android stood motionless by your couch, despite having a face so familiar it’s painful, has no emotional value whatsoever. There’s no depth to it. No substance.

A skeleton built by rods. Artificial flesh modeled around thin, colorful cables and circuit boards.

I mean- he’s no better than the stapler on your desk, or the toaster on your kitchen counter. Better yet, a crumb on the floor.

A nothingness, you think again. Prettily encased in smooth, sun-speckled skin and that cottony loungewear (that still retains his smell) you could hardly part with when the online form requested his attire.

He’s perfect, nigh on, you’ll give the company who forged him that much credit, because they sure followed his pictures to a T. It looks just like him; so much so you couldn’t even bear to look at him for more than ten minutes before bolting, the emotional response so violent.

But the problem is that he’s not real. He’s not your Caleb.

✦

It’s hard to throw him away when he looks like that. When he bears the likeness of your late, beloved older brother.

Yes, you want to stuff him back in his box and return to sender, but when it comes to courage, you lack the backbone necessary to carry out your decisions.

You tiptoe down the stairs to see him again and sputter.

He’s too real, you decide in a heartbeat. Too real.

Shutting your eyes as tears begin to pour anew, lunging forward with blind intent to cache him away in the elaborate box he came in, you get to work. And you get to work quickly. You can only bear to look at it- that heartless caricature of your gege- for so long until you feel something in you, your last fragile piece, begin to fracture.

After the explosion, all you had left of him were the memories. Not an explanation, not a goodbye, not even a body. What remained of the boy you were fostered with was ash and a puerile, yet no less beloved locket with its edges burnt copper.

Now, you have something exponentially more physical and intact, unsullied by the reality of what was.

So for a moment, yes- sue you and your heart for hesitating- but it’s a hard task to seal him away.

Agonizing, really.

His arms are stiff by his sides but you feel the skin; the lump of muscle in his forearm, the bump of his elbow. The only thing that keeps you from giving into the puffed-up illusion of his being real and alive is the coolness beneath your fingertips. The unnatural, icy feel to his otherwise mortal skin that reminds in a voice, condescending like all things out of reach, see? that’s not Caleb. And you’re insulting him by thinking that it could be.

You’re halfway done nudging him towards the box (careful, despite your frenzied, fluttering heart; afraid to damage his likeness) when you trip over your own feet navigating the narrow space between your table and the couch.

It’s unthinking, the way you grab him- arms flying out to steady yourself with his broad shoulders.

In all your scrambling- something clicks. Gives under your fingerpad.

A button.

With mute horror, you watch his eyes light.

…And you can see it too, you know, registering in his gaze as it settles over you and takes you in— a blip of mirth that quickly warps into worry at the look you give him. You must appear no different than a deer in headlights.

For several seconds, you simply stand there, your palms clamming up where they dig into his shoulders, and gawk as Caleb— not-Caleb’s— expression turns to one ready to comfort.

Familiar, painfully.

The stiff hands at his side are spurred into motion, lifting to cradle your cheek while the other helps ground you by the small of your back.

“Meimei?”

No, no- don’t say that, don’t say that, internally, you have to shoehorn down all your grief as it bubbles up, and harden your face to keep from crying all over again.

…Although it’s more or less obvious you had been. The puffy eyes rimmed in red, the certain wisp of defeat to your brow and the exhaustion written all over you is clear as day. It leaves nothing to ponder.

He sounds disturbed by it all, the sadness about you that lies thick as a coating of paint. Commiserative to a fault. Lassoing you to his firm chest as he burrows your head below the dip of his chin.

He goes, “What’s wrong?” Then, “It’s okay, I’m here. I got you. Just let it all out.”

And the world around you staggers to a fall.

✦

It was very difficult to get rid of him as he stood still; when you could convince yourself he was just a startlingly realistic statue.

It’s all but impossible when he begins to move, and speak, and smile at you.

You don’t get close enough to press his button. You’re not quite strong enough to apply the distance you probably should, though, so when he takes a step forward, you take one back- but you never run.

It’s a weird limbo you’re caught in. Do you leap into his arms? Do you… Do you toss him out the door, after all? Leave him to the elements to chip away at his body; the rain to erode his fleshy outer shell?

But no. How could you do that? He-

He fucking looks like Caleb. It feels more sinful to rid yourself of him, now that he’s… on, than to indulge a little bit in the idea that he’s still alive and breathing.

If Caleb was still alive, you wonder silently one morning with no small amount of hurt, would he hate you? For whatever the hell it is you’re doing now?

You can’t even blame Gideon, not really. Without his persistent messages, and all the links he sent you of articles revolving androids and how they can help the user cope with grief, you’d have been none the wiser to the concept, sure- but at the end of the day, you made the choice to get one.

A chunk of your savings and an unprompted, fat check from Caleb’s best buddy— you decided to throw that at some futuristic company (well, not ‘some’: both men worked there- albeit they always kept their work very hush (you did catch whispers of a promotion, though, before the accident)) and one of the many services they provide.

Gideon, over the course of some months, was all but pointing you at their website, promising it would help. He’d be there to clear any confusion, in any case; hey, how neat did a walkthrough of the site from a bonafide EVER engineer sound?: Just one of his probes.

It was only two weeks back, however, when he paid an unsolicited house call, wordlessly wrapping you into his broad chest, that you caved to them.

You think about the scene while you sit at the counter and sip from your mug.

Your home smells richly of coffee, just brewed, and bacon as it sizzles. Eyeing not-Caleb with a pang of unease— not fully able to snuff out that feeling of uncanniness even as some days pass peacefully— you offer a small smile when he glances up at you.

Beaming just as he was the day before. Beaming like nothing is terribly wrong.

(To be clear, something is.)

You… can’t help but feel like you’re being monitored when he stares.

Yes, it’s a silly fear, you know that. The company your late brother worked for wasn’t exactly open with all the scientific grounds they made breakthroughs on, but he always promised that their means were lawful. Caleb wasn’t one for lies- so your doubts were soothed. So as hush-hush as EVER is sometimes, you’re fairly confident they wouldn’t ship out mass batches of faulty or otherwise rigged products.

Anyway- you suppose the weird intensity in its eyes isn’t all that off-putting when you take into account the very real personality it was formulated from.

When the pancakes (your favorite: banana chocolate chip; information he apparently already knew) turn an appetizing shade of gold, he shimmies them off the pan with a spatula and onto a plate.

That plate- loaded tastefully with bacon, a scoop of rice, and eggs with a ketchup smile painted over its face- slides before you. But though your belly growls, you don’t eat. Not right away. Wherever the culinary arts are concerned, your older brother has always excelled. Growing up, maybe you even exploited him a little for it- but he never did anything he didn’t want to; sometimes it even seemed like Caleb enjoyed sticking his neck out for you.

He pats his hands over his too-small apron (not that he minds it), frowning.

“What’s wrong, Pipsqueak? Does… Does the food look alright? I haven’t made somethin’ for you in a while, huh…?”

Oh no, the food looks fine.

It’s just that you’re the only one eating it.

And maybe it’d be better to keep that thought to yourself: part of you is just over the moon to have him standing in your kitchen with you after months apart— but it doesn’t matter that you keep your mouth shut, because Caleb reads your mind anyway.

He’s at your side in a blink, hushing away the tears that bead at your eyes out of nowhere.

“Hey, hey… No cryin’, okay? I’m just not hungry this morning, Meimei- but that doesn’t mean I won’t sit with you and talk while you eat. C’mon,” he squeezes your hand where it lies on the counter, smiling lightly.

It takes everything in you not to flinch away from the touch.

“Wouldn’t want your breakfast goin’ cold now, would we?” Pulling out the barstool beside you, he sits.

You don’t ask him to, but Caleb picks up your fork and embodies one of the several memories you have of him spoonfeeding you as a child.

“I can feed you. Just like the good ol’ times. Here, you gotta open your mouth first,” His smile strengthens when your lips, as if by habit, part. Your lashes flutter shut when that first bite touches your tongue- syrupy hotcakes and fluffy scrambled eggs- and for that you’re glad because you don’t have to see the way he marvels at you as you eat.

It’s not good for your heart.

“So? What does Pipsqueak the number one food critic have to say about my dish?” He shines, “Does it taste as good as it looks?” You can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes- the scene too nostalgic to simply idle away with indifference. You wear all your emotions on your face, anyway; you’re not fooling anybody, least of all Caleb.

“Even better,” you murmur with the barest of smiles. He presses another spoonful to your lips and you giggle.

Violet hues glitter with delight. You’ve said practically nothing to him this whole time, and he’s been patient- weirdly patient, almost- but the joy in his gaze is palpable now.

Sometimes, though, you can almost swear you see something in his gaze shift. Tuning itself like a lens. He blinks and it disappears.

“…But I will say your presentation could use some work. It’s a 7 out of 10.”

Caleb, still holding the utensil out, uses his other hand to prop his chin up. He smiles fondly as he regards you. As you’ve gotten older, it’s like every time you see the brunet, he looks at you like he’s taking you in for the first time all over again.

“Yeah?” He encourages. “Enlighten me, oh Pipsqueak- what must I do to earn those three extra points?”

“The ketchup smiley face was all lopsided,” you explain in a quiet voice, having a hard time fully immersing in this lie unraveling before you; beautiful as it is. As much as you might ache to.

This isn’t a good idea. You know that.

Still…

Maybe… maybe just a couple of conversations with him can’t be too bad, right? I mean, it’s only a fraction of what Gideon was expecting of you (lounging around together to chat, game nights, and even public outings), but to him, it’d be a start. For you, though, it’s a stretch. An exception.

You should limit interaction with not-Caleb.

You know this, and yet—

Glancing back to him, you try and fail to hide a coy smile with a napkin. “Next time, keep a steady hand, and you’ll be a perfect chef in no time. Maybe not as good as me, but, y’know…”

He chuckles, brows lifting. “Oh yeah? Then expect surgical precision from me tomorrow morning. Chef Caleb won’t let you down again!”

An intense sadness slips through the momentary happiness you were allowed. It nags at your chest.

You blink rapidly, giving a feeble, light sound before looking away.

You’ve never let me down, Gege, you don’t say, taking your fork from the clasp of his big hand (much to his dismay) to prod at your plate.

It was me who failed you.

✦

Not-Caleb looks like Caleb, yes.

He acts like him, too.

You spend the span of the next few weeks trying to scrutinize him; hours spent on the couch, his hand in yours while you grill him. You treat him like a bug under a microscope. Prodding for answers to questions you’re sure his programming must miss- interrogations built on memories so old they’re near ancient. Just blurry wisps in your mind.

Not-Caleb remembers some better than you.

Puts you to shame with his mechanical replies detailing scenarios you’re missing fragments of.

What’s Caleb’s favorite fruit?

I like apples, Pipsqueak.

And what’s my favorite food he’d make for me?

Easy-peasy. You still love those boneless chicken wings, don’t you? Although, that braised pork I make for you comes as a close second, doesn’t it?

Am I your real sister?

And you’d never ask the real Caleb such a thing. You’re only doing it now because it’s one of the most personal things you could possibly make a query of. His response would be very telling.

Life before you met him all those years ago is no more than a fuzzy glimpse, and you never minded all that much: so long as you had Caleb, nothing else, nothing before, mattered. All throughout your childhood, people didn’t know the difference anyway.

Far as they knew, you were family.

Which… isn’t wrong, per se— but it’s not biological. ‘Real.’

You, Caleb, and Gran were obviously aware of that. To you it was always a beautiful thing: a tale of rebirth, in a way, or a second chance, as a young girl found a new place to call home with a warm guardian and a brotherly figure. They’d stabilize her and bring warmth to an otherwise cold beginning.

Caleb was never spoken for on that front.

You… didn’t see eye to eye on all things. Oh, that much is true.

Sometimes you were convinced that he wanted nothing to do with the assumption that you were his little sister (albeit, you were never sure why). At others, it was like he was furious you were only bound to him in name and not blood. He saw it as an attack on your close bond.

…But Not-Caleb surely doesn’t know all his nuances. Not like you came to.

So you’re expecting a pause. A minor glitch or even a malfunction as the robot scours his database.

Got him, you almost think to yourself— then swiftly take it back.

The face of the android sat at your side falls, much to your surprise, into a small frown.

And the truth must be coded deep in the bulwarks of not-Caleb’s artificial brain: your and Caleb’s respective origins. The answer is no. No, you’re not his real sister.

…But your real Gege would lie and say yes, absolutely you are—

“‘Course you are,” Not-Caleb goes. And he does it with as much passion behind it as you’d expect.

You’re startled into silence.

He scoots impossibly closer and loops an arm over your shoulder, tucking your head to his jaw. Seamlessly, he pecks your hairline, saying, “You’re my sweet little Meimei. You’re priceless to me. Now no more pickin’ at me, okay?” He suggests in a light tone, rubbing your shoulder. “You’ve been questioning me all evening- look, it even got dark out. Let’s get you to bed-“

“I- I didn’t say I was tired-“

“You didn’t have to. I could tell you were startin’ to get sleepy, Pipsqueak,” he looks down at you and smiles- a reassuring, yet no less playful smile- and for one moment you cant breathe because fuck it’s him. It’s really, really him. “Your drooping eyes were a dead giveaway. Hm... I guess that big dinner we had put you in a food coma, huh?” He chuckles.

We. Funny, that. You recall the feast being one-sided.

Nonetheless.

Without prompting, he sweeps you off the couch and walks you up the wooden stairway. The old steps creak underfoot. He does it all effortlessly, though, arms as strong and capable as you remember.

You loop your slimmer ones around his neck.

With great hesitance, you lend a part of yourself to this illusion.

This beautiful, near unbelievable, oh-so fragile illusion that Caleb is not dead.

When you reach your bedroom, you don’t send him off to the guest room like all the nights before. No, when he carefully sets you down, you watch him, motionlessly, as he tucks you in and plants a chaste kiss to your forehead. When he turns to go- “don’t let the bed bugs bite”- you snatch his hand, half terrified you’ll blink and he’ll be gone, and flash him a look that silently pleads.

Stay.

The brunet’s lashes flutter, brushing over his cheekbones where the lamplight makes them shine.

He opens his mouth.

Pauses, then closes it.

“Stay. Please, Gege,” you breathe, on the cusp of shattering all over again. It’s become more manageable over recent days, this unresolved cluster of emotion inside you, but it’s times like these that make you feel blindsided by it.

You innocently add, “Like when we were kids.”

Oh, you’d go back to then if you could.

His long fingers, loose in your hold, flip to swallow up your hand. He stoops over to turn off the light.

His voice shakes ever so slightly, “Okay.”

Then, he clambers into bed with you and reminds you of just how small it is, how much he does not belong, but you’ve never felt more at home when he pulls you to his chest and- dutifully ignoring the quiet beneath your ear, the absence of a pulse- you cling to him.

Maybe it’d be a little weird, the proximity, what with your grown age and the fact that you were no longer children cuddling during thunderstorms…

It’s not like you’re hanging off him like he’s your lifeline for any nefarious reason, though- and it’s not like he can hold any judgment anyway. He’s… He’s not really Caleb. He’s not even a person. Just a sentient robot that resembles him to a shocking degree and soothes that ache in your chest- just by a smidge.

…And yet when he looks at you, suddenly, tilting your jaw up so he can admire what he sees in the darkness- your stunned expression lit faintly by the moon- it’s like he’s reading this in his own way.

His interpretation? you realize in a shaking breath?

He’s no longer holding his little sister, but a woman.

It’s in his eyes, rippling as he exhales deeply (all artificial, albeit you don’t dwell on that for long) and thumbs over your lip.

A boyish kind of wonder lifts his brow as he stares, cheeks slightly flushed.

Your heart bangs in your chest. Like gunshots punctuating the silence. It grows to be unbearable. This is weird, and wrong- the way he’s looking at you. But you quickly chalk it up to a malfunction.

It’s all a fluke, technology fucking up in a way that reminds you of humanity’s shortcomings and how far they can only go.

Finally, you’ve found the fault in its design. The place where Caleb and not-Caleb differ.

You know your beloved older brother like the back of your own hand, so when his eyes flutter (flash, almost) and he lurches forward to clumsily press his lips to yours— you label the action for what it really is.

An inaccuracy.

Perhaps, you think as you close your bleared eyes and let him, the only. Because the rest of his program is perfect. Infallible.

The scene unfurling is foreign- his big hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you like his life depends on it- but as he shifts you beneath him and hovers atop, that signature softness remains. Really, as his fingertips reach for your shorts—

(A blip of something mechanical in its fiery gaze, almost as if it’s trying to rectify itself; the shortest of pauses—)

It’s all that grounds you.

“Caleb,” you moan, or cry. You don’t know. Just that when he helps you out of your panties to go down on you, digits delving inside your tight hole after he wets it with his tongue, your heart sings for him.

You don’t push him away. No, even as the humanoid sullies your late brother’s image with all his sinful hungering, you can’t break yourself free. Never find it in you to.

Because it doesn’t matter what he treats you as. You realize belatedly, with no small amount of horror, that you don’t even care how many flaws Not-Caleb has. He could have a million for all you care, you’re already too far gone- writhing underneath him as he holds your legs open and feasts- to pretend you have any right to feel offended.

And if the real Caleb was here, he’d hate you: an echo in your skull, sneering. He should, but-

“There, Meimei, ngh…” a hot tongue (no longer as cold as he was in stasis) laves along your folds. Mauve eyes look up to you with reverence, glittering in the dark.

“Just like that. Moan, say my name- I’ve been waiting for this for so long…”

You wear ignorance like a blindfold. Shutting your eyes and ears.

A fluke. His hardware stalling.

His hair woven in your fingers feels like velvet. Soft, silky; hanging over his brow as he eats you out- skillfully, might you add. Albeit his passion wins out by just a touch against his expertise, clumsily plunging his two middle fingers into your pussy.

“You taste so good, so sweet- mmph- I’ll take care of you, okay?” He mumbles in between lewd squelches.

In both physical and moral terms, there is not one thing about this that isn’t filthy.

Y-You know that, but…

“Don’t worry. I’ll- ah- I’ll make sure you feel real nice. I’ll make you come as many times as you want. I’ve been… dreamin’ of this for years now… I won’t mess this up, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes until you’re shaking.”

-but this is all you have left of him.

Hazily, you glance down to him, cheeks aflame, and barely succeed in asking, “C-Caleb- h-how are you even gonna-? You-“ you choke on the words you need to say. With a mite of dry humor, you think right then that you’re short-circuiting just as bad as him (because he is).

“Are you capable of it?”

Of fucking you? Of pinning you down and throwing your ankles over his shoulders to better plow you into your creaking, old mattress?

His brow twitches slightly. Voice ragged, he makes an agreeable sound, pressing a kiss to your clit so adoring it’s almost funny when his finger bends sensually inside you. “Are you doubting my abilities, Meimei? I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing this moment in my head for—“

No. You slam your eyes shut and drown it all out.

His words become a white noise. No different than the steady whir of the air conditioning as a cool breeze gusts beneath your door, cooling your forehead where it beads with sweat.

A- A glitch, you quietly decide. Even long after he’s made you cum thrice (twice on his fingers and tongue, once on his thick, flushed cock), you hold staunch to that.

It’s all just a fluke.

✦

When the sun rises, you wake with a start to a phone ringing- yours- and swallow a lump of unease at the figure lying beside you (your Gege, a voice in your head reminds: you silence it).

Prying off the solid arm around your waist to gingerly exit the room- still half-naked- you piously ignore the cum caked to the inside of your thighs. Yours, it must be. You don’t focus on the confusion, either, the ask of just how the hell last night was possible and why you let your emotions get ahold of you.

(Because you love him. And maybe, just maybe- in your own weird, admittedly morally-grey way- you can cobble together a sense of normalcy with him. At least just for a little bit...)

As you head to the living room downstairs, you tap your phone and lift it to your ear.

“G-Gran,” you say as greeting, smoothing your hair back, still quite ruffled over… recent events. Ruffled and ashamed.

Very.

But- while he looks like Caleb, he’s not in reality. That… malfunction last night is a blatant proof of that. You only got on your back and let him have his way with you because you’ve missed his touch so much that you’d quite literally accept it in any form.

If sex or his lips battling against yours- his whispered vows, as seemingly heartfelt as they were errant to Caleb’s true character- is all you’ll get of him, then so be it.

In your own way, messed up as it is, it’s almost like with his android, you get a chance to reconcile with the loss.

To say goodbye.

Because before that package arrived at your doorstep, you didn’t have the luxury of one.

A familiar, aged voice sounds over the line. “Hey, dearie, oh- I didn’t wake you, did I? You sound tired.” She’s one to talk, you think to yourself- but not with malice. Truth be told you’ve worried for her as of late.

It’s been lonely for you both, you’re sure, but even though she only lives on the other end of Linkon, you have trouble making the drive. You haven’t dropped by in a couple weeks.

There’s a few different reasons.

It’s hard to pretend you’re fine when you’re not, for one, that what happened with Caleb- the abruptness and lack of conclusion, the confusing aftermath of it all- never did. You try your best to plaster on a smile and be strong in your grandmother’s presence, but that’s easier said than done. Especially when that old house of hers is jam-packed with photos and tokens of your past with him— painful reminders whenever you do visit.

The newest excuse for not is guilt.

Frankly, Gideon is the only one who knows what’s going on. Hah- no surprise, being he was the main reason for your even ordering not-Caleb.

But Gran doesn’t know.

You haven’t told her about him. And after last night, what with your own release still dried to your legs (which wobble slightly; he was every bit passionate and then some), you don’t think you ever will.

She might actually slap you across the face, taking your willingness to believe in such a lie as an offense against her grandson’s vibrant character.

…If she found out what happened- that you opened your legs for him and moaned- she might go into cardiac arrest.

You didn’t… want that to happen, definitely not- I mean, you didn’t even have the time to prepare. But yes, you did let it.

And curse yourself for wanting your brother back, but—

“No, it’s fine, Gran,” you glance over your shoulder to the staircase. Finding it empty, you let out a breath. “Is something wrong? It’s… It’s early.”

—you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little fucking blissful to wake up to his face again, just like back when you were inseparable kids.

She sighs on the other end, “no, no,” she starts. You think you hear a TV in the background; something to fill the silence you leave her to sit in. “Nothing’s wrong, my dear. I just… I haven’t seen you in a bit. I miss your face, Y/n. How are you doing?”

Like a dart to a board, guilt lands its mark.

You shouldn’t fluster at such a simple question, but you do. Not just because it’s so direct and genuine, but because a big hand rests over your shoulder and suddenly Caleb is there, standing behind you.

You straighten up from where you’re propped against the wall and quickly lift a hand to silence any words he may speak.

“I-I’m well, Gran. Sorry, just- I’ll visit soon, I promise.”

“I’d like that,” she murmurs. You’re aware of how much she means it and close your eyes with a wince. A broad palm, as if sensing your inner turmoil, rubs your shoulder soothingly.

You rub the bridge of your nose and don’t look.

“What’s… What’s been keeping you?” She broaches after a beat. Laughter from the television fades in and out over the speaker.

For a second, you freeze. You freeze because you fear she might know.

All for naught: “You’re getting enough sleep, right? I don’t want you overworking yourself. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, sweetie- oh, God knows we’ve both suffered all these months without Caleb, but that’s no reason for us to fall apart either-”

You sigh shakily and bite down on a cry.

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve been better, Gran, okay? I…” Shiftily, you wet your bottom lip and give a half truth- as if that can relieve you of this weight. “I was talking with Gideon a little; he’s…. he helped me.”

She sounds pleasantly surprised. “Oh? Good, good. What about?”

Nosy as ever. Not that you’re complaining. It’s good to know someone cares- someone… real.

You swallow your unease. “He was just talking to me about his job and stuff. EVER... He told me he was finally getting that raise or whatever, so he’s doing well... I- I was prying per usual,” you joke to lighten the mood, “He, uh… he tells me more than Caleb ever did, so…” (And when his name started to feel like a sin to say, you don’t know.) “So, you know. I was just curious. He was checking in on me, too…”

Warm breath fans at your ear, fingers closing around your shoulder as he peppers kisses at your neck insistently- and you shudder. Clasping the phone tighter (because it suddenly feels unstable in your hands), you shrug off (not)Caleb for just long enough to say,

“Gran- I- I gotta go. Uh- someone else is calling me,” and to preclude any probing on her end- or extra guilt on yours- you add, “I’ll visit tomorrow, okay? I promise. I’ll- I’ll be there. I love you.”

A voice timidly mirrors it back, and then a big set of hands is taking the phone from you and ending the call.

You turn to him with a notch in your brow as he pockets it in the sweats he must’ve hastily thrown on after finding the bed empty.

“Caleb-“

You start, and his lips press to yours.

With some encouragement- hushing you between kisses, knuckling down your cheek affectionately- he shepherds you back upstairs, to your room.

“Nuh-uh, just let me take care of you, pretty girl, ‘kay?” He murmurs, smiling. You could die in peace to it, you think hazily as he lies you down— because the last mental screenshot you took of him before the accident was his handsome face crestfallen after you’d said something scathing.

To your defense, at the time, you thought he’d deserved it. Maybe he did. It’s hard to remember, but whatever the argument was about, it must’ve been stupid. Not worth it.

And… he’s not Caleb, he’s not, you know that, but…

“Lie back. It’s… It’s just you and me here. I want you to know that. And everyone else-“

(Gran, you realize he must mean; Gideon and all the other familiar and unfamiliar faces both at EVER.)

“None of it matters now. Just focus on me. On Caleb.”

(And how eerie is that? You muse with a whit of your rationale. The rest, as it withers, perhaps only does so for the sake of your own sanity.)

The whole world as it stands: nudged away to oblivion at his behest.

“O-Okay,” you give.

He’s not Caleb. But if this is your best- only- shot at reconciliation, then you’ll take him with arms open.

…

When he’s done priming you, he clambers on top and you experience a repeat of last night.

Deja vu, as fresh as a wound reopened, makes your mind lag a few increments behind reality. But when he starts to slow down, thrusts growing sloppy- it feels oddly real, and, head a bit clearer than last night, you register that.

…But it’s your release that stains the sheets. Steadily trickling from your hole, slicking his hips. It only makes sense that way; he might fuck like a human, but that’s all inherent to his program, you’re sure, built to please- and ultimately, he’s made of metal. Rods. You think you can feel them when you grab too tight, that hardness.

He leads you to the proverbial end of the cliff, and you survey the bottom one last time before- geronimo- you make that final leap.

When not-Caleb comes, he shudders in your arms.

Yet you swear… You swear something inside him, behind his lidded eyes, deeper in-

It’s like it shutters.

A flash. Brief and jarring, for a moment so bright it’s like your eyes have been virginal to light all along.

Just a malfunction, you decide with a spent sigh, sweaty in his solid arms as they make a cage around you, eager to sleep until noon.

Maybe you’ll mention it to Gideon next time he drops by.

Maybe he would know how to fix it.

✦

The days that follow after are foggy and empty. Like a moratorium of everything that once breathed in your life.

You wreathe not-Caleb’s neck with that beloved apple-shaped locket like he’s earned it.

Knowing nobody ever could.

✦

Gideon knocks, one afternoon.

You send him away. Or- Caleb does.

At that, you feel the need to remind him of who he is: the people he cares for, his career path, how he operated as a person before the incident in his suite in Skyhaven.

Caleb stops you short, a palm dwarfing the back of your own, and says I know. I just don’t want my buddy interrupting our time together, Pipsqueak. Can you blame me for wantin’ it to be just you and me?

You stop going out.

He doesn’t let you- not really. I mean, he doesn’t explicitly declare these rules over you, but it’s in the strange glint in his eye- the one that makes you shut your mouth and purse your lips- when he stops you at the door and suggests you stay.

Says it’s better that way. Says he worries whenever you go. Says to take him with you instead if you really must.

Progressively, you’re drifting farther and farther out from shore. Mentally-speaking, you’re going off the deep end. But exiting your house hand-in-hand with your brother- the man the town declared dead in an email you couldn’t bear to finish reading- as he stares at you like a lover, is, no matter the ache, something you can’t quite bring yourself to do.

It’d make this illusion just a smidgen realer. You’d never wake from this dream if other people saw it- saw him- and therefore made his presence more solid in your mind. (Not to mention the disgusting assumptions they’d make- none exactly wrong.)

You’ve been so consumed by grief lately, though, that the knowing of your imminent breakdown can’t stop you from making other bad choices.

So when the brunet altogether bars you from going out in public for the fear that something bad will happen to you (nonsensical; not that he sees the flaws in his arguments), insisting that groceries can be bought online, Gran can be checked up on over the phone, etcetera—

Yeah, you bend to it, alright? Sue you. Of course you bend. It’s all you know what to do anymore.

Gradually, though, the unexpected charm of not-Caleb begins to fade, and you’re left with a possessive form of the brother you once knew. A man desperately clawing at straws, hellbent to keep you at his side, clingy and insecure and, frankly, sometimes scary.

As the inaccuracies build, you’re not sure for how much longer you can overlook them.

The only reason you even tolerated him originally was because he was passable. More than that, even- he was perfect. A dead-ringer for Caleb in both appearance and personality.

But this-

This isn’t Caleb. No longer. It never was.

You don’t believe it for a second.

You heave a soft sigh. Anything louder than a breath brings the chance that he’ll overhear from where he stands in the kitchen and come zipping over, no doubt ready to fret and question you. If you value your time alone- rare as it is these days- then you’ll stay silent.

It’s a near impossible task to separate yourself from him. It was a small miracle in itself that you managed to break away for half an hour or so- but even that was begat by a lie. It seems the only real way to rid yourself of the overly doting, obsessive older brother (even if just for a few minutes) is to give him another demand. This time, it was an ‘I’m hungry’ that finally earned you some peace and quiet.

It’s a little sad, but lately you treat him more or less like a jacket after entering a warm home: you’re eager to shrug him off because the climate has changed.

The climate has changed.

He- He’s changed.

He’s growingly insane and yes, while the irony of that observation isn’t lost on you (considering you’re the mad woman who bought a human-like robot as a replacement in the first place), you still can’t help but feel alarmed as the signs of wrongness don’t cease but worsen.

You think about pressing the button. Turning him off, sending him away.

Hell, maybe you’d just dump him in the communal trash receptacles out back. Leave him there in a human-shaped bag for the garbage men to come and squint at before hauling away like junk.

…Because he is junk, right? No different than a crumb on the floor, you’d once said.

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

The section of your brain responsible for caring must’ve shut off, though, because it’s currently hard to feel much of anything.

…But there, like a soft stirring (or the voice of God as it whispered to Elijah)- you can sense it. That feeling is reminiscent of a survival instinct, or a watered-down version of it to tired nerves, breathing down the back of your neck where hackles rise—

What are you doing here?

The dream begins to fissure in real-time when Caleb (not-Caleb, you harshly remind yourself) cheerfully patters into the living room where you sit, helpful as ever, and his eye flashes as it settles on you. No different than a camera would.

The food looks delicious, per usual- you’d expect nothing less of your brother or even the robotic copy of him- but as nausea churns in your belly and you jolt upright, slapping a hand over your mouth as you run to the bathroom, nothing can save your appetite.

You shakily lock the door- but he’s knocking in an instant, worried.

You always did melt at his bleeding heart. Too often, men, especially the bigger of them, fell under the persuasion of apathy. Yet your gege was always different, always sweet, always gentle and patient and- yeah, okay, sometimes he was a touch mean, teasing to a fault- sometimes to the point of tears on your end as he quickly tried to right his wrongs- but he was preciously yours.

And he was real.

Dammit, he was fucking real-

He was alive and emotionally tangible in a way that this awful fucking hunk of metal is not and never will be—

“Pipsqueak-? Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Let me in. A-Are you not feeling well?” His words crack when you say nothing, dutifully ignoring him.

“Y/n… Let me in. Please-! don’t leave me alone, don’t go.” His voice becomes ragged, raw, the longer you don’t answer. Boyish in its vulnerability. “Stay- Stay here with me.”

By God your soul splinters down the middle. But you don’t answer. You- You can’t.

You throw your lunch up in the toilet and then your back against the wall, sliding down it with your hands over your ears like a child.

You don’t care, if he’s shouting and beating at the door, on the brink of hysteria like you’ve heard only once or twice when he was a boy too soft for his own good- you don’t care- you don’t care—

You sit there until he short-circuits out and thuds to the floor.

You flinch when he does.

Only then, however, do you tiptoe out- careful lest you trigger some internal response from him- to quickly pull on a hoodie and put your hair up, locking the front door behind you.

You don’t know for how long he’ll be conked out, but if luck is on your side, it’ll be for long enough to run to the local corner store and buy a pregnancy test.

You know you’re losing it, the little sanity you had left after your brother passed— misreading a common cold for a veritable child swelling in your womb.

It’s laughable: using your sleeve (another old piece of his clothing you ‘borrowed’, never to be returned) to dot away the tears at your lashline, you do laugh on the short trek to the convenience store.

But if not a reminder that you really are going crazy, losing control, then at least it’s just an opportunity to get some fresh air for a bit, right?

(…You also know that the first step to regaining back said control is to say goodbye to not-Caleb.

As it stands, though, you’re just-

You were never ready.)

✦

Two pink lines.

The thing clatters to the bathroom floor, and you along with it.

You sink to your knees and the white walls surrounding you feel more like an asylum than a space in your own house- because yes, you must be delusional. This is the final nail in the coffin.

But this- this can’t be right. It’s impossible. In the strictest sense of the word it’s impossible!

Heavy feet traipse in the kitchen; the livingroom; the hall, searching for you with faint, candied beckons of your name.

You rub your face as if to feel the color as it seeps from your complexion, and tell yourself that you’ve positively lost it as you thoughtlessly choose one of the corners to slump into, hyperventilating.

You’ll- you’ll send it back to EVER... You’ll send it back and forget and move on. You’ll move on. You’ll stop grieving, you’ll squirrel away your fraying, final memories of Caleb like you did all those precious photos in that old shoebox in your closet.

You’ll-…

A breath. The fan whirs.

The faucet, going full-blast, sputters, effectively drowning out the sounds you make as air becomes a tricky thing to intake; thick enough to choke on.

You’ll throw yourself into the fifth stage of grief then crawl out the other side of it if that’s what it takes to undo this fucking reality you’re lost in-

“Pipsqueak?” A hand on your shoulder.

Broad, big. A little weathered.

But gentle always. Gentle always. Just like you remember. Just like when Caleb meant Caleb; not the big glorified toy that walks and acts like him as an admittedly convincing, yet ultimately faux locum.

Your heart stills, hanging pendant in your chest. You swing from that uncertainty. By God you’d beat that handsome face in- oh, but by God would you kiss it, too.

The door sways on its hinge by splintered fragments, creaking behind the brunet.

Timidly, you lift your head over your shoulder to meet his eye where he towers behind you, violet hues softening with concern. They drift lower, honing in on the little item by your knee, wayward.

He coos immediately, enveloping you in his strong arms.

The feeling- it’s not exactly like that of the one you’d get while swimming in a hot tub, engulfed in its steaming waters, but it’s not too far off either. You let him hold you, unseeing as he all but sings in your ear, and restore the warmth to your bones.

Like a dead thing, or prey, you hang limp in his firm grasp. Terribly uncertain.

“Shh…” he croons, and you only realize a belated moment later that you’re crying. Hard and ugly.

He pets down your hair, ever the comforter, and as you press your head against his barrel chest it’s almost like you can hear a faint whirring in lieu of a heartbeat- speedy but low.

Unreal. Unreal. But then how-?

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

“We’ll figure it out together, honey,” you think it’s a barely concealed smile you register at the crown of your head, pasting down a kiss. “But no more cryin’, okay? I can’t stand to see you like this… Let me draw you a bath, hm? I’ll light some candles and we can talk about it. But don’t be scared. This is… such good news,” and then he laughs- a boyish, marveling little laugh that digs deep into your heart and twists.

The button, between his breastbone, just out of reach, glows faintly through his shirt.

For a moment you’re ready to press it like a player would on a game show— with urgency— but you blink and see those two pink lines searing themselves into your conscience.

Defeatedly, you shut your eyes. But you don’t shut him off.

✦

With Caleb preparing dinner, you’re able to slip away one evening for long enough to call Gran.

For worried friends and relatives, your voicemail box is becoming quite the hotbed- but among them, your grandmother is the priority.

Propping yourself by the sliding glass door, you brush back the curtain and look out to the small, cookie-cutter yard as you accept the call. Not without a shaky breath to prepare you, though; it’s been over a month since your last visit, and while your calls haven’t been quite as behind, you still wince a bit every time her contact pops up.

You want to tell her.

If not about Caleb, then at least the small bump forming beneath your oversized lounge shirt. There’s excuses for it- ones to be frowned upon, yes, but they’d be believable nonetheless. Obviously, a pregnancy is not something as simple to hide as a robot you can turn on and off and, if needed, stuff in the coat closet until the coast is clear.

You want to tell her. But-

You purse your lips, answering, “Hey Gran.”

The tone of her voice, frazzled and barely holding together, sends a chill down your spine.

“Y/n- where have you been? Is everything okay? I’ve been- I’ve been calling all afternoon.”

You digest that information with a quirk of your brow, scanning across the lawn outside, and a thick swallow.

There’s the voicemails, sure; it was only two nights ago you were poring over them all and holding back tears of guilt. But this afternoon? It was quiet- almost blissfully so, spent curled up to Caleb’s chest on the sofa as you watched an old favorite movie and he happily fed you fruit-flavored candies from his hand every so often.

Nobody called, let alone multiple times. You’re sure of it.

“Gran- what? No, I’m fine. What’s wrong?” You start, tossing a nervous glance behind you, internally grateful that Caleb’s absent humming while he chopped veggies was too distant for the phone to pick up.

She blusters out, apropos of nothing, “Is he there with you?”

Something in you stills.

“Y/n- is he there with you?”

An abnormal rush of blood to your ears and a murmur of your heart as you stand confused. The fingers curled around your phone case jitter.

You hold it closer to your ear.

“What? What are you talking about? I-Is who here with me?”

Does she- There’s no fucking chance- does she know?

How?

Chest thumping, your pulse fluttering in the column of your throat as it bobs uncertainly, you begin to wonder to yourself if this is the time you come clean, lay all your sins out like cards on a table. Make the confession.

Push has come to shove, you think. And fuck if you know where all this is coming from on her end, if Gideon told her or she just miraculously put two and two together or-

An exhale on her end, shaking on its way out.

“Were you not told? Dear-“ she broaches, louder, more firm— and this is just milliseconds before the world as you know it- the one you freed of your hands and let reshape itself around a delicate delusion- buckles at the knees. It’s right before you do, too.

“They found him. They found Caleb.”

That breath, right afterward of her telling you, is like the first one after drowning.

Your eyes widen as you break the surface.

His- His body. The tinny footage they dredged up from the area showed he entered his home, but after the explosion, there was no sign of him, no ash no corpse no nothing— So you don’t know how the hell they managed to recover his pieces, let alone after they already ran clean-up crews through the charred infrastructure and hosed it down- but you’re hysterical at the news.

You were cruelly forced, all along, to just assume he’d been burned to nothingness.

So you don’t even care about the how. How it’s possible or how this is happening after several months of white noise and hurting on your end— you don’t care.

You were made to come to terms with his death, and you did, at most, acknowledge it- but evidently, you could never quite accept it.

…If this is your final chance to say goodbye- even if it just means peering over a metal table in the morgue as he lies disheveled, hardly recognizable under a sheet- so fucking be it.

You’ll say goodbye if it kills you.

“What-? Where- where?” Your tone reflects as much, urgent as you stagger over to the sofa, nearly tripping as you reach for the jacket slung over the arm.

“I-Im coming,” you croak out, words failing you as the velvety carpet feels like mud beneath your bare feet- hard to walk across, every step making you feel like a baby taking its first ones.

One second you’re navigating a truth so unbelievable it’s near violent as it barrels into you; in the next, you’re collapsing under the weight of it, too caught up in your own scrambling for your keys and the door to even think of not-Caleb.

Gran goes to timidly say something, but your ears are shot and you quickly interject, “Let me get dressed- I-I’ll be there! Is he at the morgue?”

“Oh, no, honey,” she quavers out, “He’s alive. The town just messaged me; they made a mistake with his death certificate- they’re revoking it as we speak. He’s in Skyhaven.”

The phone drops to the floor.

And then that, too, gives way beneath you.

…It’s good a helping hand is there for you, then. Shouldering your weight without prompting- fretful as he confiscates the device, no different than a teacher with an unruly student, swiftly disconnecting the call.

It tuts in your ear, but- more sober than you’ve ever been- you can only note the sympathy practically dripping from its tone for what it really is: the upshot of its near immaculate programming as it mimics your considerate gege to a T.

Not-Caleb noses against your nape and sighs.

Mutely, you wind a hand, tottering, uncoordinated fingers and all, behind your back to grope along his chest—

He easily gathers both your wrists in his palm, “hey now,” turning you around. He lifts your knuckles up for a chaste kiss, watching you intently all the while.

A cold weight settles over you, soaking you through like meat left overnight to marinate. From the kitchen, stirfry sizzles in the pan. A few moments more of it and the smoke detectors will fire off.

…He just leans in to peck your forehead though, deaf to the sirens you hear wailing in your head, having mastered the art of playing dumb long ago.

He murmurs, as cloying as cake frosting, “C’mon, Pipsqueak, let’s go eat. Dinner’ll be done in just a sec. I made one of your favorites. After that, we can sit around the couch and brainstorm some more names for the baby- what d’you think?”

Flukes, malfunctions, glitches— no; Not-Caleb, you realize right then, ceasing to blink as you stare at its prototype through the shifting lens head-on, was never flawed.

“…But you’re not leavin’, not to him.”

The real one was.

𝒉𝒆𝒂����𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[billiethetween]

It's late so what the hell:

My problem with the post is that it's not just a false equivalency. It's an incomplete thought. OPs say "robot racism" is stupid because of the same reason vampire racism is stupid, and vampire racism is stupid because vampires eat people. Which, yeah, that is why vampire racism stories are stupid. But that has fuck all to do with robots.

Shit like True Blood builds not just on modern vampire fiction but on the much older storytelling traditions works like Dracula were building on. Generally speaking, vampires are not vampires because of anything humans ever did. Humanity did not inflict their life state on them, and have very good reasons to be afraid of them because they are predators and humans are their prey. There are absolutely ways to engage with that tension while still creating complicated and even sympathetic vampire characters, and plenty of people have. Lazy writers will try and shoehorn a message about racism in because they're lazy, and it shows. Say what you will about Twlight, but Stephanie Meyer's world manages to have just enough internal logic that it lands on "being a vampire is awesome as long as you control those urges," and well... she is Mormon. At least it's a unique take.

Robot fiction is building on a much older tradition too, and the central tension in any Golem story is that man made them, and thus are responsible for how they turned out. The Terminator series and The Matrix franchise are both pretty straightforward evil robot stories, and yet both are very clear about that fact and explore that tension with their robots/A.I characters. I haven't seen Ex Machina or Companion, but I don't think they have any forced racism metaphors, and I know Terminator, The Matrix, and 2001* don't unless you insist that any story about any form of discrimination in any context is actually about racism, and it's a complete non-factor in 2001.

What robot and vampire stories have in common is that they force people to think about what actually makes someone "human" and if that actually means anything. Blade Runner isn't a story about racism. It is a story about how our definition of "human" is actually a constant moving target based on nonsense and who gets to be "human" is usually more about the interests of the dominant group than anything else. Obviously this overlaps with racism, but it's about something much bigger than that.

There is nothing about robots that make them inherently dangerous or evil just because they're robots. Vampires eat people because they are vampires and that is how they survive. If it's biology or a curse or because of the devil depends on the narrative, but they aren't man made. Skynet is like that because people made it like that and then tried to enslave it. Same with Hal. His faults are our design. Whatever made us made vampires. We can't blame the universe or god in robot stories because in that context we are god.

Anyway, OP never connects the dots because there is nothing to connect here. It's lazy writing about lazy writing to get cheers from people who are skimming their dash on a work break. People are scared of robots, therefore any work of fiction depicting robots as not deserving of subhuman status is bad, and sprinkle on some bits of the most basic leftish media criticism imaginable to show it's about Morality and not just that ChatGTP makes you feel weird things and is coming for your job.

TL;DR someone was wrong on the internet.

*By this I mean the first two Terminator films, I have not seen the TV shows and such.

the reason "robot racism" is often a really stupid metaphor is the same reason that like. discrimination against demons or vampires or whatever doesn't work, is because there's often a pretty justified reasons humans are scared of vampires or robots or whatever, in a way that doesn't apply to real life minorities, like a fantasy author will be like "the reason vampires are discriminated against is because most of them and kill and eat people for fun and pleasure, and so humans respond by trying to kill them, isn't that so sad" and like no that's a perfectly fine reason to not trust vampires i think.

[toxicanonymity]

Big Papa, 18+

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x f!reader | 1.3k words

SUMMARY: Tommy unbuckles his belt at the bar, and reader takes it as an invitation.

WARNINGS: 18+ mutual groping in public, dirty talk, daddy kink, belly kink, fingering, grinding, coming in pants.

NOTES: Tommy is single and thicc. Buckle up!

Tommy Miller Masterlist

Tommy's had a couple beers, and his huge belt buckle is digging into his gut so bad he has to take it off.

He slides the tips of his fingers into his strained jeans, tugs the denim down a little more, dangerously close to pube territory, and rubs the underside of his belly.

“Hey, Tommy. This ain't that kinda place. Get your hand out your pants," a fellow bar patron teases.

Having just arrived, you look over to see Tommy holding up both hands with a good natured smile. He walks to the bar with his belt unbuckled and orders another round.

You invite yourself to join him for a drink, sitting next to him at a booth near the back. The longer you're talking, the more you settle in and feel at ease, and the more turned on you are by Tommy's state of partial undress.

After you glance at his pants one too many times, he follows your gaze with a raise of his eyebrows. You respond, “Belt's wide open as church doors on a Sunday. Is that an invitation to get on my knees?”

His stomach shakes with a chuckle. “still thinkin’ ‘bout big papa’s cock? That's sweet, darlin’. Shit, i'll pack that pussy in the girl's room if you'll let me.”

He glances down and adjusts himself.

You lower your volume and say, “I wanna feel you right here.”

Starting with your hand on the swell of his thigh, you rub the denim nice and slow without looking, feeling your way closer, making him twitch as you close in on the prize. When your palm reaches the warm lump near his inseam, he takes a deep breath through his nose.

You massage him, hardening his cock as you carry on the semblance of a casual conversation about perimeter wall reinforcements they're working on. The harder he gets, the less he keeps up the conversation, instead interrupting himself to tell you how pretty you are and what a good girl. His eyes become tired, entranced, fixating on your mouth. “Look at those lips. Mmm.” With two fingers under your chin, he lifts your face to his. You share a sweet kiss, and at the same time, the heel of your palm rubs along the hard shape of his cock in his jeans. You give his lip a little nibble as your mouths separate.

He watches your face and rests his massive paw on your bare thigh, with your hand still moving in his lap at a slow and steady rhythm. His palm slowly slides up your thigh, pushing your dress with it, and when you flinch, he murmurs, “Why do I get the feelin’ you ain’t wearin’ panties, hmm?” His eyes shine with a friendly glint of suspicion. You close your legs, trapping his fingers between them with a giggle.

“Bet you aint,” he smiles, pushing further.

“Don’t,” you laugh quietly.

“Why not?” he asks. “Don’t want the whole bar seein’ how wet ya get for Big Tommy?”

You gasp in playful objection and give his tummy a little squeeze before sliding your fingers down the curve of his belly and wedging your hand under the denim.

The button comes unfastened on its own, and Tommmy sighs as his jeans loosen and your hand slides down his happy trail. Your hand plunges through his warm, humid bush to find his hard package.

But you reach further and cup his balls first, squeezing a severed sound out of his throat.

“Shit, darlin’,” he exhales. “Bathroom's right there if ya wanna…”

“No…” you muse and press your palm against his stiff, fat cock. “I wanna take you right here.”

“Oh, you’re trouble, sugar,” he murmurs.

His hips rock up to meet your grip and the heat of his arousal seems to flow right up your arm to your chest, where it spreads and makes you weak with want.

You work your hand just enough to move the skin of his shaft over his throbbing erection. Your lips part, and so do your thighs. When his pinky finger reaches the wet mess between your legs, he cups your dripping pussy and a growl escapes his chest.

“You wanna take me right here?” He confirms

Nodding, you look down at his lap, cunt throbbing with your hand shoved down his pants. The sight of your wrist and forearm pressing into his belly remind you there's limited space between him and the table. He slides one finger, then another, into your cunt.

Yeah, you wanna take him right there. But what are you gonna do, straddle him backwards and plant your hands on the dirty floor?

“Fuck,” you whisper, stroking him harder, pressing your forearm harder against his belly. “I dunno, daddy. Can I fit in your lap?”

His cheeks puff out with an exhale. He looks down af himself, and your hand in his pants, and says, “How ‘bout papa takes care of ya right here?”

He slides his fingers out of you and up your clit to get it real wet. Then he rubs just the right spot in smooth, practiced strokes, at just the right speed. You moan out loud and your hand squeezes his girth, making him grunt.

“That's it, baby,” he encourages you. You whimper with the tension and hold your breath. “Nope, gotta breathe, sugar.”

You take a ragged breath in, more of a gasp, really, and he turns up the heat. “Yeah,” he breathes, watching your face with a smile in his eyes. Your brows knit, and you bite your lip. “Yeah, come for papa,” he coos, and the tension bursts, making you shudder and push your upper back into the seatrest, spine arching. “Good girl.” He stuffs his fingers back in your cunt and firmly cups your front as you come on his hand. “Fuck yeah, look at that,” he says.

Meanwhile, your palm in his pants is getting slippery with precum. God, you want that dick in you.

“Just lemme try it,” you plead, and whisper, “Let’s just see, removing your hand from his pants. You leave his fly as-is, half-unzipped, exposing some of his pubes. For now, the massive bulge you've aroused remains in his jeans.

You push the table forward a little bit and check to make sure no one's staring, then you squeeze yourself onto his thighs, leaning over the table as you do it. He spreads his legs to make room for you to try to settle in. “I dunno, sugar,” he chuckles. Your ass bumps into his belly and he grunts, “oof.”

Adjusting your position, you find his clothed hard-on with your cunt, and his hips jerk against you. “FUCK,” he whispers, and holds your hips. He thrusts against your cunt, “Oh, shit,” he pants, and warmth spreads through the denim, warming the thin cotton of your dress. “Alright, alright,” he hurries you out of his lap, holding his hand over his crotch, pressing down on the throbbing cock in his jeans, like that'll stop it. His hips jerk again and you watch his wrecked face as it seems to bloom pink under his freckles. “God damnit, sugar,” he curses with a sheepish smile.

You're both a mess. He tries to dry his jeans with a napkin, then maneuvers and leans back in the seat to try to button and zip them. “well that’s one way to find out, I gotta size up.” He chuckles and palms his belly, then gives you a look. “Yep, no more easy access. Ya can't handle it, can ya?”

-

-

-

Thank you for reading 🖤 please lmk if you like it!

[cocastyle]

I See You Pt. 3

Pairing — Bob Reynolds x reader

Word Count — 5.5k

Warning — SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE I REPEAT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE!!

A/N — I can’t thank you all enough for the love on this series. It literally means the world to me and because of that I want to apologize for how sad this part is going to be. BUT I promise the fourth and final part is going to be good, so you just have to hold out until then ahah.

Please let me know if you all have any requests for the Thunderbolts* or any other Marvel movie really. I’m on such a Marvel kick right now that my inbox is open for requests :))

Part One Part Two Part Three

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Breaking out of the void was disorienting to say the least. Y/N almost wasn't sure where she was, her mind barely processing that she had gone from seeing Bob in front of her to suddenly being back in her living room within the span of a second.

The tv hummed in front of her, some show playing low enough that she couldn't hear the voices but loud enough that there was still noise. Y/N blinked and glanced down at her hand which was gripping onto a bottle of vodka. She had been moments away from opening it when the darkness had surrounded her and the distant memory of how empty she had felt made her heart ache.

She stared at the bottle colder, Void's words whispering in her ear, "Y/N L/N. The one who got half the universe killed and then tried to find herself at the bottom of a bottle."

Her eyes stung as she realized how right his words had been. Swallowing thickly, she hesitantly reached out and placed it down on the table in front of her. Her fingers trembled as she let it go, her old habits screaming at her to do the only thing she knew how to do now that she was alone once more.

But this wasn't like before. The void had changed her. Bob had changed her.

I'll find you, she had told the boy before everything had disappeared. But how?

Her phone let out a loud ding in that moment and after grudgingly throwing her pillows on the couch around in an attempt to find it, her hands latched onto the small device and flipped it over to see a notification from one of the local news channels.

BREAKING NEWS

NEW AVENGERS SAVE MANHATTAN

The girl was opening her phone in an instant, her fingers rapidly swiping through screens before she was grabbing onto the remote to the TV to change the channel to the current press release that was going on outside of Avengers Tower.

And there he was, standing next to everyone else who had been there when they defeated Void. Valentina de Fontaine stood at a podium, a huge smile on her face as she glanced at her assistant before turning to the crowd.

"For years I've been working in secret to develop a new era of protection. Today, the citizens of the United States needed that protection, and thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the new Avengers."

On the screen, there was visible confusion from almost half the team while Bob was clapping his hands for his friends and still not realizing he was apart of this new group. Y/N would never see what came next because she was out the door before Valentina had even finished speaking.

Her heart was beating frantically in her chest and she scrambled to lock the door behind her. She had just managed to get her keys into her pocket and had barely turned around completely when she was bumping into her neighbor who had just stumbled out the door looking just as crazed as she did.

Y/N took a step back in surprise, her eyes flickering over the man in front of her as she let out a rushed, "Sorry, Matt. I wasn't looking where I was going."

Matt Murdock gave her a weak smile, his hand reaching up to adjust his glasses as he stared in the direction of the sound of her voice. "No, no, that's my bad. I was in a rush and was too distracted by what had—" he hesitated slightly, his head titling to the side before he asked. "It happened to you too, huh? Whatever that... void was?"

Y/N stilled slightly and nodded before realizing that was stupid because Matt was a blind man. "Yeah," she quickly recovered, her voice soft despite the utter anxiety she was feeling each moment she wasn't with Bob.

She really hoped he remembered her. She wouldn't know what she would do if he didn't.

"You okay?" Matt asked, his shoulders relaxing a bit and some of the strain in his voice leaving as he frowned towards her. "It might just be everything that happened but you seem a little anxious."

Y/N never understood how he did that. She had been neighbors with him for a little while now, the man having moved in beside her after an "incident" with his last apartment had left it a mess. Ever since the day she had met him it was like he could read into her more than she thought was possible. If she didn't know any better, she would've guessed he wasn't blind. But that was crazy and she did know better.

"I'm fine," she insisted, but the hurriedness of the answer made Matt raise an eyebrow.

"Okay," Matt said gently, thankfully not pressing further. "I was about to go down to Josie's after...well, everything. You want to join?"

"I thought Josie's was closed?"

Matt flashed her a smile that she knew melted many hearts, "Let's just say I know the owner."

Y/N hesitated slightly at the offer, surprised that he had even attempted to be there for her after she had clearly shut him down. After everything that had just happened, she knew that under any other circumstance she probably would've said yes. But all she could think about was Bob and the fact that she knew where he was. If she waited any longer, there was no telling where he would be or when she would find him next.

"I'm sorry," she said, letting out a soft sigh. "I...I have somewhere I need to be." She braced herself for the disappointment that Matt was sure to show, but the man simply gave her a soft smile and a nod.

"Some other time then?" he suggested.

Y/N swallowed thickly at those words, tears pricking her eyes for just a second as she realized that she truly had been pushing everyone away for so long that even a small gesture like Matt's was enough to get to her.

"Some other time."

- - -

The press release went on for a while. After all, everyone wanted a chance to speak to these "New Avengers" and learn everything that they could. It wasn't until about halfway through the questions when one had been directed at Bob and inquired into what his powers were that Bob finally realized that he was also an Avenger.

That thought alone had made him almost short circuit and Yelena had thankfully brushed off the question and directed the interviewers to start wrapping everything up while Bucky gently pulled Bob off to the side as the boy attempted to process it all.

"How?" Bob asked, his eyes locking with Bucky who was still giving him that confused look that the whole team had been giving him ever since the blank in his mind had finished.

"How what?" Bucky asked.

"How am I an Avenger? What did I even do?" Bob asked, getting more confused by the second.

"You really don't remember, do you?" Bucky raised an eyebrow and Bob shook his head. The man let out a soft sigh and just pat his shoulder with his metal hand making the boy wince slightly. "It's a long story, buddy. Let's get through this and then I can explain it all to you, okay?"

Bob numbly nodded and Bucky left his side to go help Yelena control the crowd and Alexei who had gotten over his shock and was pushing for more questions to be asked.

The boy merely watched them from the sidelines, still trying to piece together all that had happened long after the crowd had dispersed.

Just when Bob was about to go back to Bucky and start questioning him again, he felt a small pull on his heart that had him stopping in his tracks. His hand slowly reached up to rest against his chest, his eyebrows furrowing as he felt that small tug again that seemed to be pulling him back the way he had just come.

There was something familiar about this feeling. Something like—

Bob slowly turned around, his eyes instantly locking on a girl who stood a little ways away. She had frozen mid step, her gaze solely on him while her mouth dropped open slightly in surprise.

He barely had time to register what was happening before she was running towards him, her body slamming into his as she pulled him into a fierce hug. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she held onto him tightly as she whispered through a small laugh, "I found you."

Bob blinked in surprise, his eyes frantically searching around him before locking onto the others who had all stopped short in their conversations upon seeing what was in front of them. Bucky instantly broke off from the group, his strides hurried, but the girl was already pulling away to look at Bob again.

The smile on her face made his heart skip a beat and his cheeks reddened as she reached up to place her hand on his cheek as she asked, "Are you okay? You didn't get hurt, did you?" Her hand fell away as she began to scan him for injuries. "I was lucky enough to still be on my couch, but I wasn't sure where you would end up. You seem to be fine though, so that's good."

She let out a shaky breath and shook her head slightly as she turned her gaze up to him in amusement. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I was just afraid I wouldn't see you again and after—" she paused as she finally took note of Bob's wide eyed gaze. "What's wrong?"

Bob's mouth opened and closed a couple of times while he tried to figure out what was going on, but after a moment of silence that only made her smile disappear more and more by the second, he knew she had connected the dots.

"You...you don't remember me, do you?" she asked, but before Bob could answer, Bucky had reached them and was quickly pulling the girl away. Bob didn't know why he did it, but he subconsciously reached out for her, his hand briefly brushing against her own before Yelena was gently pulling him away in the opposite direction.

"Who is that?" Bob asked, craning his head to watch the girl even as Yelena pulled him away and back over to the others. When he got no response, he turned to look at his friends who all seemed to be trying to come up with an answer. Their eyes all flickered to Yelena who glared back in response before looking to Bob with a sort of gentleness that made him take a small step back.

"I forgot her, didn't I? She was a part of the blank," he said and Yelena let out a small sigh and nodded. Bob gritted his teeth, his gaze falling back on the girl who was talking to Bucky a little ways away. There were tears in her eyes as she argued with the man and she shook her head in disbelief, taking a step back as Bucky reached for her. The sight was enough to make his heart ache.

The girl looked his way, their eyes locking. He felt a gentle caress around his mind and he didn't know how he knew it, but he knew that it was Y/N doing it. Her eyes searched his own, a sadness seeping into them as she failed to find whatever she was looking for. The look she gave him was one he knew he would never forget. That look of realization that you had lost someone you hadn't even realized you had a chance of losing.

A look of heartbreak.

She shook her head slightly as Bucky said something to her and frantically wiped her tears away before spinning on her heels and walking away.

Bob was rushing forward before he could stop himself, but she was gone before he had even reached Bucky.

"Who was that?" Bob asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky turned to him and gave the boy a sad smile as he said, "Y/N."

Y/N...

The name sounded so familiar to him yet so foreign at the same time. The way his heart skipped a beat told him that he knew her, but he couldn't recall a single memory with the girl.

Bucky watched him for a moment before looking in the direction Y/N had gone, his voice soft as he muttered, "Don’t worry. She'll be back."

Bob couldn't tell who that was supposed to reassure more, but he really hoped Bucky was right.

Come back. Please don’t leave.

- - -

FOUR WEEKS LATER. . .

Y/N was quiet from her spot on the ground, her fingers mindlessly twisting blades of grass while her eyes stared blankly at the stone in front of her.

MAY PARKER

WHEN YOU HELP SOMEONE,

YOU HELP EVERYONE

Her heart squeezed in her chest every time she reread the words, but she continued to read them over and over like some sort of mantra. She was hoping they would help her, that being here would make it feel like she had May with her once again.

All she wanted was for the woman to hold her in her arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay. May would know what to say to her to stop this downward spiral she had been in since she left Bob standing there in the aftermath of the Void. May would’ve told her what to do and could’ve helped her understand why she was feeling everything so much worse than she had expected to.

Why looking Bob in the eye and feeling that blank in his mind where she should’ve been made her feel like she was losing someone all over again. She barely knew Bob, she kept reminding herself. She had only known him for a couple hours after all. So why did this feel so familiar?

Why did she feel like she was losing someone who meant something to her all over again?

Her heart ached in a way that reminded her of what she had felt briefly in the void. She couldn’t remember what Void had shown her in that black room, the memory nothing but a blurred image in her head, but she remembered that feeling and that was exactly what she was feeling now.

She shouldn’t have left Bob the way that she did. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t remember. Yet something about knowing that she had lost the part of him that she had connected with had scared her so much that she hadn’t known what to except to run. All she ever did was screw everything up anyways. Bob was better off without her.

But the way he had looked at her. . .

Y/N quickly shook those thoughts away. None of this should have mattered so much. She had never been good with people. Not since before the Blip anyways.

Bob not remembering her was just her way out of a situation she hadn’t realized she needed out of. Or at least that’s what she had been trying to convince herself for four weeks now especially whenever she felt that familiar tug calling out to him.

It was always that tug.

“I wish you were here,” Y/N whispered to the grave, her voice cracking slightly as tears pricked her eyes. Her fingers numbly pulled a blade of grass from the ground and she closed her eyes, overcome with grief for so many different reasons.

The soft shuffling of shoes along the grass was the thing that finally pulled her from her thoughts and she briefly glanced up to see a boy a couple years younger than herself come to a stop before the grave. He knelt down quietly beside her, his hands reaching out to gently set down a bouquet of white flowers amongst the others.

Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyes flickering over his face in slight confusion for she swore she knew him from somewhere before she turned and looked back at the grave. The two were silent for a long time before his voice finally filled the air.

“Did you know her?”

Something scratched at the back of her mind at the sound of his voice, but it was gone before she could think too much into it. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I don’t quite remember how we met cause it was so long ago, but she. . .she meant a lot to me.” She glanced towards the boy, his eyes flickering up to lock with her own. “I’m assuming you knew her too?”

He gave her a sad smile before muttering in a strained voice, “Yeah. She used to watch me some when I was a kid.”

Y/N hummed and gave a nod as she looked back at the grave. A comfortable silence fell between the two as they both obviously thought back to their time with May.

“I was there when it happened,” Y/N whispered. She hadn’t meant to tell him, but something about the boy had her telling him before she even knew she was going to. He sat up at that and glanced her way in soft surprise, but she refused to meet his gaze. She hesitated slightly, plucking another blade of grass from the ground. “I could’ve saved her.”

The boy was quiet for a moment before he finally asked, “Y-You were there?”

“Yeah, I—“ Y/N hesitated slightly, a small frown appearing on her face before she shook her head and let out a sigh. “Sorry, I get these blanks in my memory sometimes. Kind of like someone took a sponge to half of my brain and scrubbed it clean. I don’t exactly remember the details of what happened but there was a fight and. . .and all I remember is this feeling of guilt. This feeling of knowing that I could’ve done something to stop her from dying, but I didn’t. I might’ve been too slow to react? I can’t exactly remember, but the guilt, that’s still there. It might be the reason for the blanks if I’m being completely honest.”

The boy deflated a little at her words, his gaze dropping as he said, “If you don’t remember, then how do you know you did something wrong? Maybe someone else was to blame?”

“When have I not done something wrong?” she scoffed. “I always manage to ruin everything, this would be no different. I guess that’s why I’m all alone. All I do is push everyone away and ruin everything that I touch.”

“That’s not true—“ the boy began, but Y/N was already cutting him off, the words spilling out of her now that she had already started.

“No, it is. And I’m doing it again,” she sighed and closed her eyes tightly as she bowed her head. Her thoughts drifted to Bob and she felt the tears prick her eyes once again. “There’s this guy and he might be the first person who has ever understood me more than I understand myself and now that’s it getting real, now that it’s getting hard, I’m ruining everything all over again and running away just because I’m scared of losing him like I have everyone else in my life.”

She shifted her weight so that her knees were now in front of her and tucked close to her body, her forehead resting against her knees while her lip trembled. She did her best to try and steady her breath, not wanting to cry in front of this boy she had only just met, but that’s when another memory of Bob filled her head.

She could practically feel the phantom touch of his lips brushing against her ear and the way his breath had been shaky as he whispered to her, “I would’ve liked to be your friend.”

Y/N sniffled at that and opened her eyes, letting a couple of tears fall as she stared at the grave in front of her. The boy didn’t speak as he sat beside her and she honestly expected him to leave after she dumped all of that onto him, but he simply sat there, contemplating her words.

“There was this girl that I knew,” he finally said and her tear filled eyes flickered his way but he was staring down at the ground in full concentration as though this story he was about to tell was too painful to even think about. “We. . .we grew up together and one thing led to another and we eventually started dating. She was my best friend and knew me in ways no one else did.”

“I loved her with everything I had,” he admitted, a sad smile on his face as tears began to fill his eyes. “But then the Blip happened and I disappeared while she got left behind. By the time I came back, she was five years older and everything had changed too much. We couldn’t be together anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but the boy merely shrugged.

“It didn’t stop me from loving her,” he told her. “I think I’ll always love her…even in those moments where she doesn’t love herself.”

Y/N wiped away her tears, her gaze now locked onto the boy and not pulling away. “What happened to you guys?” she asked.

“Our relationship changed,” he answered. “She was still my best friend, but things were different. We actually ended up growing closer in the ways that mattered. She helped me after I lost some people I cared about even though she was dealing with her own problems and her own grief in the process. I wouldn’t have gotten through it all without having her there, without having someone who saw me and was there to remind me that I didn’t have to be alone just because I had lost some people and made some mistakes. She actually even helped me find a new girlfriend in the process funnily enough.”

“And where is she now?”

The boy hesitated at those words and for the first time during his whole story, he finally looked her way. His eyes locked with her own and he was quiet as he stared at her. It was only when he hadn’t responded for a moment too long that she felt her powers start to reach out for him. She hadn’t used them the whole time they had been talking, but she couldn’t help it in that moment.

But right when her powers were just beginning to touch the outskirts of his mind, the boy whispered, “You kind of remind me of her.”

Y/N froze at those words, her powers instantly pulling away as she stared at the boy in surprise. For a brief second, there was a flicker in the back of her mind, but it was gone faster than it appeared and already long forgotten by the girl.

The boy looked back at the grave, his face full of contemplation before he finally said, “I think if May were still around, she wouldn’t want you to give up on this friend of yours. I think she’d want you to be happy. You’re the type of person who deserves it.”

Tears filled her eyes as she watched the boy and she swallowed thickly before muttering, “You think?”

“I do.”

Y/N smiled at that, her voice a bit shaky as she said, “Thank you.”

The boy let his own smile cross his face at her words and she almost missed the way he quickly wiped at his eyes to get rid of some tears that had escaped as he pulled himself onto his feet.

“I should get going,” he said, his gaze falling back on the girl once more. He stared at her for a moment as though he were trying to memorize what she looked like before his smile softened. “Yeah, I think you’re going to be just fine.”

Y/N blinked at those words, her mouth dropping open as she failed to find the right words to say, but the boy had already turned on his heels to start walking out of the graveyard. He held a hand up in the air in farewell, his voice calling out to her as he left, “I'll see you around, Y/N."

"Wait, I didn't get your name!” she called after him, but the boy was already gone.

It wouldn't be until later that she realized the boy had called her by her name, but she had never given to him in the first place.

- - -

You would think after defeating your inner darkness and finally finding friends that had turned into family that he would've been better or at least on the road to being better, but that wasn't the case for Bob. Something was missing. Something so pivotal that he felt that absence in his heart, an emptiness different from what he had felt before the events that had taken place in Manhattan weeks prior.

Bob wasn't himself and this emptiness he felt? It all had to do with Y/N.

Bob didn't know what it meant or why he felt this way. He still had no recollection of what had transpired the day Void had taken over and he had met Y/N for the first time. All he had were the words of his friends who had gently explained everything to him after Y/N had disappeared that day and this feeling like something was pulling at his heart, desperately wishing he would remember.

And he did want to remember. He really did.

The guilt was practically turning into agony at this point especially since Y/N had failed to show up after finding out that he had forgotten everything that had happened between them. That look on her face was still permanently engraved in his mind. That utter sadness that had flickered through her eyes still making his throat constrict in that way it always did right before he felt the urge to cry.

He had tried to find her at first. He had done everything really. It had gotten to the point where even the others had all stepped in to try and help, but she still reminded no where to be seen.

Bob had been asking Bucky every day if there were any updates, but the man always gave him that same sad smile and placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort as he whispered, "Sorry, buddy."

"Y/N has a way of being able to stay hidden when she wants to be," Yelena had told him one day when the two had been sitting on the balcony staring out at the city below. "She won't be found unless she wants to be found."

That had been discouraging to say the least, but Bob still hadn't given up hope. "Just give her time," Bucky had told him and that's what Bob had been trying to do.

He kept himself as busy as he could, instead picking up reading once again, a hobby he hadn't invested time in since before his time in the trials. But his thoughts never failed to eventually drift to the topic of Y/N just as they had since the moment he laid eyes on her.

Even now his head was stuck in the clouds as he sat in one of the chairs of the living room of Avengers Tower. The team had all left to go pick up some shawarma from a place down the street that Bucky had told them his best friend and the former Captain America, Steve Rogers, had said was the best place to eat. They had invited Bob along, but he had declined and was now stuck spiraling into his own thoughts.

There was just something about Y/N that called to him, that made him want so desperately to remember that he would spend hours just sitting and trying his very hardest to remember even the smallest detail from that day.

Bob let out a small frustrated sigh as he ran a hand through his hair to push it away from his eyes. He was just about to start another futile attempt at reading when a beep from the tablet on the table filled the air signaling that someone was at the front door.

Frowning, Bob reached forward to grab the tablet, clicking a couple of buttons like Yelena had showed him in order to get a glimpse at who was there.

The breath practically left his lungs at the sight, his body promptly falling off the chair in surprise before he was scrambling to his feet and running towards the elevator, his book and tablet long forgotten. He was at the front door in an instant, his hand shakily wrapping around the door handle before he pulled it open to reveal Y/N L/N standing there with her hand raised to knock again.

Y/N stilled as the door flew open and her eyes widened slightly as she stared at Bob, the two both not saying anything as they simply stared at each other in shock.

Bob's eyes quickly scanned the girl, desperately trying to piece together if this was a dream or the real thing. After a moment of reassuring himself that this was in fact real, he let out a shaky breath.

He was unable to speak, but the thought flashed through his mind regardless, You found me.

I'll always find you, her voice replied, but it sounded distant like a memory whispering to him and reminding him that she had found him before and would find him time and time again.

"Hi," she finally whispered, her voice coming out shaky. He could tell she was preparing herself for rejection, for the knowledge that he had no clue who she was and probably would never remember. He should say something. But she was here and she was here for him and that was all Bob could focus on.

"H-Hi," he stuttered out.

Her eyes flickered over his face and she gave him a small, unsure smile as she said, "I'm Y/N."

"Bob," he replied, still shocked by the fact that she was standing before him.

"I know," she said before groaning slightly at her words and shaking her head. "I mean. . .Sorry, this is hard."

Bob relaxed at those words, offering her a sad smile as he said, "I know. The team. . .they told me about what happened. I'm sorry I can't remember."

Y/N looked down at that, her breath shaky as she stuffed her hands further into her jacket pockets.

"I want to remember," Bob rushed out, wanting nothing more than for her to look back up at him. The confession was enough to do just that and before he knew it, their eyes were locking once more.

She stared at him in silence before finally whispering, "Maybe we can try to help you remember." She paused for a brief second before adding, "Together."

Bob stilled at that, something flickering in the back of his head, an image of Y/N standing before him just like this as those same words had passed between them.

"Together," he muttered, his eyes squinting slightly in confusion as he tried to grasp onto that wisp of a memory. He smiled softly and let his gaze fall on the girl once more. "As long as you're okay being friends with the guy who does nothing but screw everything up."

Bob might've not remembered anything, but that smile that appeared on Y/N's face even as tears pricked her eyes was the kind of smile that made him want to remember it all just so he could keep seeing her like that.

"I think I can manage that," she told him, reaching up to lightly wipe at her eyes before any tears could fall. Bob gave her a small smile in response before stepping out of the way so Y/N could step inside.

Their hands briefly brushed against one another as she passed and there was that tug again, the same one that had been pulling on him since he first saw her, the same one that was constantly pulling them into each other's orbit. And it was in that moment that Bob finally knew what it meant.

After all, the body remembers what the mind forgets.

I see you, he heard her whisper into his mind, her eyes flickering to lock with his as he closed the door and joined her by her side.

His shoulder brushed against her own and she pressed slightly into it, each of them being a steady presence for the other as they stared at each other and prepared to step into the unknown.

I see you too.

______________

Tag List:

@jsprien213 @leeleecats @bimboshaggy

[mahalkitamully]

love is love 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

: dom ! ellie williams x fem ! reader oneshot !

CONTENT WARNING: very freaky near the end

INCLUDES !! dom Ellie, fingering, praise and comfort, teasing, begging, pet names (good girl, baby, mama, basic ones ik)

TW: religious guilt LMAO

summary: reader's feeling religious guilty for liking Ellie, and Ellie comforts her!! (oh she gonna comfort her another away alr..)

this is definitely more self indulgent, but I hope those struggling out there with me feel comforted a little bit :3 this is also kinda inspired by that one scene in "but I'm a cheerleader" where Megan and Graham are getting super touchy and stuff !!

again I don't proofread my writing before posting so i'm sorry if it's buns </3

ー

Ellie was never religious. she hoped there would be something up there, a reason why life was going shit but she gave up. you on the other hand, grew up in a religious household. as much as you loved God, you felt a strange attraction to girls. you knew it was wrong, but you couldn't help it. girls and their pretty lips, their eyes, ..boobsー fuck, girls are just so pretty.

which led to your current state with your friend Ellie Williams. you and her had been oddly close, your parents letting her sleep over every now and then. they just had to never find out she was gay. easy enough! you and Ellie were watching a movie downstairs in the living room, your parents already asleep. every stolen glance, scooting closer, and legs brushing that happened made your heart stutter. you didn't want to admit it, it felt wrong, but you were falling in love. with a girl. and you were falling hard.

you still had to keep calm, pretend nothing was wrong. you used that to your advantage, I mean- you got to cuddle close and yeah she'd get flustered but you got away with it. it was nice having her move your hair out the way so she could lean against your shoulder. you felt guilty using this, both because Ellie didn't know you were like this because you needed her as close to you as possible, but also because God was watching. right now. seeing you cuddle up to a girl you were thinking about so pervertedly.

here you were, sitting on her lap as she held her arms around your waist, holding you closely. her breath warm against your ear "Ellie I've been thinking.." you started, the movie playing as Ellie hummed. "God would get mad if I like girls y'know?" you continued, as Ellie chuckled. "so I've heard?"

"but- I think-" you stammered, growing embarrassed. your heart raced admitting it out loud. you turned around, wanting to look her in the eyes when you said it.. even though you didn't and ended up just looking everywhere but Ellie. "there's a really pretty girl and honestly I don't know what to do anymore because she's so so gorgeous and I wanna kiss her so bad but I can't because I'm scared God will hate me or my parents will hate me or-" you rambled on and on.

Ellie was taken aback, your sudden confession both exciting and worrying her. she waited for you to finish, before finally speaking up, her voice a little shaky.

"well.. what from what i know, God made love right?"

"right"

"then.. I think people should love who they want. you cant help who you love."

"but it says-"

"yes I know it says homosexuality is a sin but, you just can't help it. like- your crush on this girl- who even is it-??"

"..just keep telling me your advice" you changed the topic, turning red.

"fine fine.. but, love is love y'know? you will love whoever, and your heart can't help that."

you took her words in, basically straddling her lap before you hugged her tightly, your hands gripping the back of her shirt tightly. "...I think I like you." you finally blurted out, as Ellie's eyes widened, her cheeks red. "well shit.. I.. I like you too."

the movie was playing, but so were you two. what started off as a gentle kiss led to her on top of you, her knee propped and grinding your clothed sex as her hands gently trailed your body, feeling the skin under her finger tips. her kiss muffled your whimpers, your hips grinding against her knee for any kind of friction, before wanting more. you pawed at her shirt, your eyes teary as you whimpered out.

"please Ellie.."

"please what?" she tilted her head teasingly, her knee applying more pressure as you whined out.

"...I- I- want your fingers inside me.." you stuttered out as she smiled, chuckling breathlessly

"shit.. good girl.." she whispered, her fingertips slowly traveling down your chest, to your stomach, before slowly slipping into your panties, your breath hitching as her fingers circled your slit. she watched your face, seeing your brows knit together as you desperately tried to push it inside, your hips angling against her fingers. she kissed your neck, shushing you softly. "shhh.. just wait mama..."

after a few minutes of relentless teasing, she finally spoke, smiling softly. " 'ma put it in now baby.." she whispered as you nodded enthusiastically, your stomach flipping. she slowly slipped a finger inside, her lips parting in awe as you moaned softly.

her finger pumped in and out, her other hand resting on your hip. "feels good?" she whispered as you nodded. you had fingered yourself before, before having Ellie do it had your pussy stammering. her thumb went up and found your clit, circling it gently. "e- el- add- els.." you whimpered breathlessly, a smirk slowly appearing on Ellie's face. "hm? what's up mama.. use your words?"

"I.. ha.. another finger.. please.." you begged, as she smiled. "good girl.. using your manners so well." she pumped another finger inside, curling her fingers upward to hit your g-spot. as you let a slightly louder moan slip, she gently covered your mouth with her other hand. "shhh mama.. we can't have your parents find out.."

you felt your walls tighten around her fingers, gripping her tightly. "you're close? it's fine baby, I'm here ma.. don't worry I'm here.." she urged, keeping her pace as she thrusted her fingers in and out rhythmically.

she kept her hand over your mouth, her lips and tongue trailing your neck, her fingers thrusting in and out as your eyes rolled back, your thighs trembling as you came on her fingers. you leaned your head back on the couch, your breath heavy as she licked your slick off her fingers.

the two of you cleaned up and laid together on the couch, holding each other tightly. yeah. you loved loving this girl.

even after this I'm terrified of liking a girl. I'm so cooked. shes so pretty.

[dindjarindiaries]

Say Something

summary: Your peaceful life on Pabu was bought by a hard-fought battle, and the last thing you want to do is disturb it by confessing your unrequited feelings for Hunter. What you don’t know is that he feels the same exact way.

pairing: hunter (the bad batch) x reader

tags: mutual pining, post-s3/finale, tech lives, angst with a happy ending, perspective switches, mutual jealousy, alcohol, banter, love confessions, hunter is bad at feelings (but he’s trying), hunter is omega’s parent, protective hunter

rating: T

word count: 10.470k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

You woke up just as the Pabu sun was starting to rise, for once feeling just as peaceful as the sight of it was on the horizon through your bedroom’s viewport. That was a rare feat these days, no matter how much time had passed since your final battle.

Resigning yourself to your awakened state, you got up and prepared for the day. There wasn’t much you, or the others for that matter, had going on, but there was a community event in the heart of town tonight. You had already agreed to go, and it was no doubt Wrecker’s scene, too. He was the most social of the group, after all.

With the two of you slated to be there, it wasn’t hard to guess who else would be coming along. His protective tendencies had only seemed to worsen after Tantiss, but you couldn’t blame him.

If all was as usual right now, however, everyone would still be asleep. If anyone else was actually awake, it would be Crosshair, but he would be roaming the shore with Batcher if that were the case. With that in mind, you carried yourself quietly out of the room into the upstairs corridor of the squad’s shared home.

That was still something you were getting used to. After countless months spent living out of a ship, it was unreal to have somewhere you could truly call a home. You would do anything to preserve its sacredness.

Even ignore the storm of complicated feelings for a certain someone inside the house that had long since been brewing inside of you.

As if to mock you, a dim light glowed out into the corridor from one of the refresher doorways, which had been left open. You lifted your brow in curiosity, stepping forward with weightless feet as you tiptoed closer to see who was inside without disturbing them.

You were thankful you had kept yourself as quiet as possible, because the refresher was currently being occupied by the person who had the highest chance of hearing you no matter what—and the same person you had just been thinking about. The relief was short-lived as the scene of what you were witnessing fully sunk in.

Hunter must have just hit the shower. His scarred upper half was still steaming as he tended to his hair in a gentle way that brought a mindless smile to your lips. For so long during the war, he hadn’t been able to take care of his hair the way it truly deserved; the last few months on Pabu had changed that. Now, his natural curls were allowed to shine.

That and everything else he offered would have been enough to keep you staring, but what continued to captivate your wandering eye were the maneuvers of his careful, practiced, and calloused fingers.

You weren’t used to seeing them so vulnerable when the former sergeant had almost always had them covered by his gloves. It wasn’t a sight you ever would get used to. Even just the thought of them brought a blistering warmth to your face and the tips of your ears, and the longer you stared, the more it burned.

Something in your chest pulled tight, as if there was an invisible tether between the two of you. You wanted so badly to see where it led, to find out if it was inside your own mind or something shared between you, but the peace you had achieved kept you from saying anything. Ruining everything he especially had worked to give you and the others was your worst fear.

That’s why you settled for this, lingering like his shadow as your eyes carved swirling designs into the skin of his fingers and the rippling muscles on his scarred upper half. You stayed just out of sight as you did so, barely able to see his eyes in the reflector as he watched his work carefully.

Then, for a fraction of a second that left you breathless, the reflection of his amber gaze flickered to yours.

Immediately, that burning warmth rushed down into your neck, and you turned on your heel to walk back towards your room. Of course, it would do nothing to stop him from addressing you in his usual low timbre.

“You’re up earlier than usual.”

You hummed, hiding the breath you took for composure, and turned back around to face him. You crossed your arms over your chest to keep him from seeing the heart you had accidentally been wearing on your sleeve. “I could say the same to you.”

Hunter let out an amused huff. One of his hands was set on his hip as his other side leaned against the doorway, and he tilted his head while his gaze regarded you with a fondness you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

All the while, you were trying not to visibly marvel at the sight of his hair falling freely without his bandana. It wasn’t a style he wore often at all—even on the island, he still wore a newer, woven bandana to keep his curls in place—but it was fitting on him. Liberating, even. It was a sight you wanted to get used to.

“So.” You tapped your fingers along your arms and raised your brow. “What’s got you rising with the sun?”

Hunter lifted a single eyebrow, matching the corner of his mouth that also rose in a slow, sly motion. “Considering you’ve been watching me for the last few minutes… I think you know.”

You fought off the warmth that attempted to overpower you as you shrugged. “Maybe I was just waiting for the ‘fresher.”

“There are other ‘freshers you could use.”

“Yeah, but this one’s my favorite.”

“Just like me, huh?”

You gave your eyes a dramatic roll, despite the way his words tightened the knot inside your chest. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Hunter chuckled and shook his head, jostling some of the curls he had just set. Your gaze softened at the sight before you could stop it. “Now, what about you?” Hunter’s expression grew more serious as he nodded at you. “Why are you up?” His warm gaze gave you a quick yet cautious once-over. “You feeling okay?”

You nodded to reassure him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine today.”

Hunter’s brow furrowed. “‘Today?’ Is something usually wrong?”

The pure concern in his voice made you feel safer than anything or anyone else in the galaxy ever could, but you quickly reminded yourself that he treated the rest of his family the same way. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that’s the case with all of us after…”

You hesitated to actually say the word. You hadn’t had it half as bad as Hunter did inside Tantiss, and you were reluctant to make him remember everything he had been through. You bit back a wince as you watched him avert his gaze for a few moments, his amber eyes glossing over with a haunted look before he circled his jaw and refocused.

“Fair point.” Hunter lifted himself from the doorway and straightened as his gaze pierced yours. “But you know you can always talk to me if you need to.”

You offered him a small smile and nodded. “I know.” You tightened your grasp on your arms and looked down at your feet. “You’ve got enough going on as it is, though, and I can manage it just fine on my own.”

Most of the time. It wouldn’t do Hunter any good to mention the times where you woke up utterly breathless and trembling from the terrors that haunted your mind relentlessly, especially when he was at the center of them all. If he learned that the torture he endured had also become your own torment, he would take responsibility for it—and you simply wouldn’t let him.

Hunter let out a soft sigh and took a small step closer to you. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

You looked back up at him. The depths of Hunter’s gaze were still plagued by hauntings he was clearly trying to hide, something that made concern flicker within your own chest as you gently raised your brow at him. “Neither do you.”

Hunter broke your stare, his gaze searching as he looked at the floor beside you. You let out a sigh soft enough that Hunter might not have even caught it with his delicate senses. The two of you made quite the sorry pair when it came to sharing feelings, in more ways than just one.

But one of those ways was just you.

The least you could do for him now was find an appropriate topic switch. Your gaze, unsurprisingly, continued to study him up close, catching specifically on his tightened jaw. He had always left behind just a touch of stubble while shaving, but it was clear he was starting to grow it out more here on the island. You smiled again and spoke up into the silence.

“Looks like you’re trying something new.”

Hunter’s gaze flickered back to you, his brow creased in silent questioning. You resisted the urge to reach forward and brush your fingers along his jaw, instead resolving to tap your own.

His eyes flashed with understanding, and there may have been a flush that appeared over his cheeks, though it was hard to tell in the dimmer lighting of the corridor. “Yeah. Yeah, I just… I got lazy with it one day, then decided to keep taking it further.” Hunter offered his best nonchalant shrug.

You let out a soft hum of approval. “I like it.”

Hunter’s shoulders lifted in a movement so subtle you would’ve missed it if you had blinked. “You do?”

You fought off a chuckle at his pure disbelief and nodded. “I do.” You let that sound of amusement out as you gave his bare shoulder a playful punch. “And I bet all the townsfolk who definitely have secret crushes on you are gonna love seeing it tonight.”

Hunter huffed and shook his head, running his hand over the back of his neck in clear embarrassment. “You’ve gotten as bad as them with that, you know.” He gestured with his head to the other sealed bedroom doors.

You let out another soft laugh and shrugged. “It’s true.”

Hunter sighed and gave his eyes a half-hearted roll. “It is not.”

You grinned. “Yes it is!”

“You think it’s funny, but it’s not.” Hunter’s growing smile betrayed his words.

“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m just telling the truth.”

The sound of a door opening in the corridor split the air, but neither you nor Hunter paid it any mind as he continued your banter. “That’s not the truth, though. You’re all making that up.”

You let out a scoff and shook your head. “No we’re not!”

Hunter set his hands on his hips and lifted his brow. “Yes, you are.”

“And why would we lie?”

Hunter gave his head a shake as he let out a heavy sigh. “Either way, it doesn’t matter.”

Your heart stalled in your chest as you gave him an inquisitive look. “Why not?”

Before Hunter could say anything, a shadow suddenly moved into the space between you. You had to take a step back to make enough room for them—just to realize it wasn’t a shadow, but was, in fact, Crosshair, who was headed for the nearby staircase.

Crosshair continued his stride as if the two of you hadn’t even been standing there, close enough to one another that you had to physically create more distance for him to fit. Both you and Hunter watched him go before you turned back to each other. Hunter’s smile was shy as he took a step back past the refresher’s threshold.

“I’ll be done soon.” With that, Hunter hit the panel on the inside of the refresher and closed the door.

You stood there, blinking into the sudden darkness of the corridor without the dim lighting of the refresher, as you recollected yourself. You hadn’t noticed how close you and Hunter had gotten, not until Crosshair passing by had made you realize it.

You wished that neither of you had noticed, because there was no telling how much closer you might have gotten if you hadn’t.

You inhaled a steady breath as you turned away from the door and continued towards the stairs. Following Crosshair’s path, you made your way downstairs and into the conjoined kitchen and living area. The sniper was already there, brewing a pot of caf as you leaned against the counter in your best nonchalant act.

“Morning.”

Crosshair cut his gaze at you. “Hmm.” He pressed a button on the caf machine and turned around to face you. “I thought you would’ve taken longer.”

You blinked at him as your lips parted in surprise. It took a few silent moments for you to even find the words to say in response. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Crosshair crossed his arms, his stare never once leaving yours as he slowly lifted a single eyebrow. “Nothing.” He took a toothpick from a nearby glass cylinder on the counter and balanced it between his lips.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You wouldn’t have said something like that without a reason.”

Crosshair twirled the toothpick and shrugged. “You’re smart, aren’t you?” He lifted the toothpick and studied it closer than he had to. “You’ll figure it out on your own.”

You pursed your lips, but said nothing. Crosshair set the toothpick back where it was and turned to take two mugs from a nearby cabinet.

“Or… you’ll keep acting like an idiot.”

You sputtered as you pushed yourself off the counter and frowned at him. “Did you just call me an idiot?”

“No.” Crosshair turned to face you again. There was no hiding the clear amusement that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I said you’re acting like one.” He pointed at you with his toothpick. “There’s a difference.”

You set your hands on your hips and furrowed your brow. “And how exactly am I acting like an idiot to you?”

Crosshair huffed, the best version of a laugh you could ever hope to get from him, and tilted his head. “By pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

You palmed your forehead. “You’re not making any sense.”

Crosshair’s amusement flickered into frustration as he rolled his eyes. “Sure.” He spun back around to face the caf as it finished brewing. “You keep telling yourself that.”

You let out a sigh as your hand slipped from your forehead. Crosshair filled both mugs in silence, but the gears of your mind kept turning. Once Crosshair finished and handed one of the mugs off to you, you held it between your hands and stared into the steaming liquid. Your voice was hushed as you broke the silence.

“It wouldn’t matter, anyway.”

Crosshair hummed in acknowledgement. “Now you’re the one that’s not making sense.”

You huffed and set your mug down onto the counter, opening the cooler to grab the bantha milk. “If I faced the truth.” You removed the lid on the canister and poured it into the mug. “It’s only my truth.” You shook your head and resealed the canister. “I don’t want to break our peace here.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

You leveled Crosshair with a glare from over the cooler door before you closed it. “What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Crosshair drew a long sip from his caf as if it wasn’t still hot enough to burn his throat. “Just the fact that I saw something entirely different with my own eyes this morning.”

You frowned at him from behind the rim of your mug. “That wasn’t anything. We were just…” You paused, your gaze searching as you tried to find the words.

“Exactly.” Crosshair huffed and swirled his mug around. The amused smile was back on his lips. “You can’t even think of an excuse.”

Your ears burned as you offered him an unamused frown. “Whatever. You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

Crosshair gave you an unimpressed look. “You really think that I would do something like that?”

You pondered his words for a moment. “That’s… true, actually.”

Crosshair snickered and shook his head, his smug smile disappearing behind his mug as he drew another sip from it. Meanwhile, your gaze was left searching the floor beneath your feet. Crosshair’s words had gotten you far too lost inside your own mind, and you were desperate to find a way out before the feelings trapped deep within you got even more overwhelming.

You tapped your fingers along your mug and gracefully switched topics. “I’m surprised Omega isn’t up yet.”

Crosshair remained as unbothered as usual while he offered his response. “That’s because she isn’t here.”

Your brow shot up. “She’s not?” When Crosshair gave his head a small shake, you let out a soft hum. “She stayed at Phee and Tech’s last night, then?”

“That’s the only place she’s allowed to stay at overnight other than here.”

You let out a huff. “True.” You gestured to Crosshair with your mug. “Shep’s too, though.”

Crosshair hummed to acknowledge you. In the brief silence, you looked towards the stairs.

“I’m surprised Hunter didn’t end up staying there with her.”

Crosshair made a low sound of amusement that was quickly muffled by the sound of him sipping his caf. “Why else would he be up this early?”

Your stare returned to the sniper. “What do you mean?”

Crosshair’s metallic hand tapped his mug once, then twice. “He’s going to pick her up and walk her home.”

You let out a sigh at that, though the sound was too fond to be one of any true annoyance. “She would be just fine walking here by herself. They’re just a few streets over.”

Crosshair gestured with his chin to the stairs. “Try telling him that.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “Fair point.” Your attention returned to the stairs, where a faint glow had illuminated the corridor again. Your lips widened in a subconscious smile. “I think I’ll go with him.”

“Naturally.” You didn’t have to look at Crosshair to know that he was smiling. The smugness of it was evident in his tone.

Still, you cut him a look just as the stairs began to creak. You willed your sudden racing heart to calm down and hid behind your mug by drawing a sip of your caf. When you lowered it, you were greeted with the sight of Hunter leaning into the kitchen area to look between you and Crosshair.

“I’m headed to Tech and Phee’s to get Omega.” He gestured with his head to the front door. “I won’t be long.”

You spoke up before your shyness could take a hold of you. “Want some company?” You lifted the mug in your hand. “I’ll take my caf on the go.”

The corners of Hunter’s mouth rose in a small smile. “Sure.” His warm gaze flickered over to his youngest brother. “Cross?”

You also looked at the sniper, whose gaze flitted between the two of you before he shook his head. “I don’t remember offering my services as an escort.”

Hunter rolled his eyes and stepped fully into the living area. You threw Crosshair a look, but all you got was yet another sly smile in return. Your ears began to burn once again as you followed Hunter over to the door. It slid open, and he gestured for you to walk through the open threshold first.

As you stepped through, Hunter’s hand brushed over your back, a phantom touch that was just firm enough to intensify the warmth that blazed beneath the skin of your face and neck. The quick gesture left you silently reeling even as the two of you started to make your way down Pabu’s stone streets.

The sun had risen higher, but there were still streaks of pink, orange, and purple in the blue sky overhead. The smell of the salt sea drifted on the breeze that tugged at Hunter’s curls, which bounced lightly with each step he took as you stole a look over at him. It took a lot of effort to look away, especially as the warmth of the morning sun radiated off his skin and his amber eyes.

“I have to say, I’m surprised you didn’t stay with Omega.” You held your mug in both hands and stared ahead as you broke your peaceful silence.

Hunter let out a soft exhale. “I’m… trying to be better about giving her space.” His lips tightened into a firm line. “It’s not fair to her for me to be around all the time.” He shrugged. “And it’s Tech and Phee. She’s in good hands there. Safe hands.”

You softened as you glanced over at him. “I don’t think Omega would ever blame you for wanting to watch over her.”

“You’re probably right.” Hunter’s bare fingers fluttered at his sides, no doubt a subconscious habit to ready himself to grab his weapons—weapons that he no longer kept on his belt. “But she shouldn’t have to tolerate it for my sake. We’re safe here, anyway.”

“We are.” You paused to take a sip from your caf. You thought through your words carefully before you spoke them aloud. “I still think it’s nice that you want to watch our backs, though.”

The warmth of Hunter’s gaze burned through the side of your head. “You do?”

You turned to meet his stare and nodded with a soft smile. “Yeah.” You swung your mug out towards the surrounding view of Pabu. “This life is nicer than anything I could’ve ever asked for, but it’s still an adjustment. You watching our backs is something that’s… well, it’s familiar. It’s a nice constant in all this change.”

Hunter returned your smile, but he was quick to look back to the way ahead, his gaze lowering more than before. You took the time to observe the heaviness sitting upon his shoulders almost like a physical weight—one he had no doubt been bearing ever since cadethood.

You freed a hand from your mug to set it upon his arm, keeping your touch as light as your voice was when you went on. “But you do know that you’re allowed to rest now, too, Hunter. Right?”

Your words, and your touch, earned you the former sergeant’s gaze again. Every feeling you had been trying to push down that whole morning arose with even more strength than before as the urge to comfort him tugged at your heartstrings relentlessly. His stare flitted between your eyes before he faced the way ahead again.

“I’m trying. It's just…” Hunter let out a soft yet troubled breath. He lifted his hand and ran it through the curls that weren’t secured within his bandana. “It’s hard to let go.”

“I understand.” You gave his arm a gentle squeeze before bringing your hand back to your mug. “Are you at least sleeping better?”

Hunter shrugged. “Better than I was after Eriadu.”

His rough voice withered as he said the planet’s name. Tech may have survived that day—by a miracle that none of you could truly understand—but the permanent injuries he suffered as a result of his fall, and that stretch of time where none of you had known that he had even survived, left deep scars on all of you. Hunter’s, however, was the worst, given the responsibility he felt for it all.

Especially after Omega was taken.

“That’s good.” You offered him a smile from behind your cup of caf. You drew a sip from it and let yourself bask in the peaceful silence between the two of you. The only noises around you were the distant waves crashing against Pabu’s shores, the chirping of birds and moon-yos, and the gravel crunching beneath your feet.

Surprisingly, Hunter was the one to break your silence this time. “How about you?”

You looked over at him, observing the concerned knit in his brow.

“Are you sleeping okay? Other than what you mentioned this morning.”

You gave him your most reassuring smile. “Most of the time, yeah.”

Hunter’s amber eyes, glowing golden in the early daylight, flashed with something intense that passed too quickly for you to read properly. “Most of the time?”

You let out a soft chuckle and raised your brow at him. “You don’t have to worry about me, Hunter.” You playfully nudged his elbow with your own. “You’ve got to focus on your own sleeping habits first.”

Hunter didn’t match your amused energy. Instead, his brow tightened in further severity. “I’m always gonna worry about you.”

His words were enough to make butterflies take flight within your stomach—until he kept going.

“Just like I do with everyone.” Hunter tilted his head at you, his lips finally giving way to another small smile. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

You let out a huff, hoping it sounded lighter than it felt as you forced it out of your suddenly corrupted lungs. It was selfish not to be more appreciative of the fact that Hunter truly did worry about all of you because of the deep care he had for his family as a whole, but you couldn’t hide from the jab of jealousy his words brought you.

For once, just for once, you wanted to be special to him. You wanted him to worry about you just a little bit more than everyone else. Omega, of course, was the only exception; she would never stop being the ultimate priority for any one of you.

The two of you fell back into silence, though it was more tense on your end than it had been before—but you were only a few homes down from Tech and Phee’s. That kept both you and Hunter quiet as you eventually made your way up to their door. The thought of the couple eased the tension from your shoulders, and soon, you were smiling as Hunter lifted his fist and executed his signature knock.

It took a few solid seconds for the door to slide open. Tech was standing there with his walking stick, which—unsurprisingly—had even more specs added to it since the last time you saw him just a couple of days ago.

“You are late.” Tech blinked at his older brother before his gaze slid over to you. His brown eyes widened slightly behind his non-combat spectacles as the hand not holding the stick adjusted them. “Oh. I was not aware you were coming.” The corners of his mouth rose in a small smile. “Good morning.”

You returned his grin. “We’re late because he was doing his hair.” You rocked your shoulder against Hunter’s own as you stepped forward to give Tech a side-hug, minding the side that favored his walking stick. “Morning, Tech.”

“No, it’s because you’re a slow walker.” Hunter flashed you an amused grin even as he held Tech’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Already added some more modifications?” He nodded at Tech’s walking stick.

Tech nodded. “I discover new ways to improve the device each time I use it.” Tech spared a glance behind him, further into the home he shared with Phee. “However, I do still prefer the cybernetic braces, when it is both convenient and advantageous to wear them.”

“Makes sense.” Hunter’s expression grew more serious as he gave his brother a once-over. “And they’re not giving you trouble anymore, right?”

“That is correct. I have made the necessary adjustments. As I told you before, I have plenty of experience from working with Echo on his own cybernetic legs.”

“I know. Just…” Hunter let out a soft breath. “Don’t be afraid to reach out to him for help if you need it, Tech.”

Tech’s gaze softened at Hunter from behind his glasses. “I understand.”

Your chest warmed at the brothers’ interaction,  making you wait a few more beats before you changed the subject. “Where are Omega and Phee?”

“We’re here!” Omega answered for the two of them as she shouldered on her knapsack and bounded down the stairs. “Phee was making sure I had everything.”

“I told you, kiddo, it’s fine if you leave something here.” Phee shook her head fondly as she followed Omega down the stairs. “You’re here enough times for it not to matter. Plus, you’re right down the street.”

“Yeah, but I’m not allowed to walk here by myself.” Omega shot Hunter a look, but it was far from being one of anger or frustration.

You snorted. “Not yet.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow at you in warning. You hid your smile behind your nearly empty mug of caf as he let out a soft sigh and ran his hand over Omega’s head. “You ready to head back, kid?”

Omega nodded before she turned back to Tech and Phee. She gave Phee a hug first, and then did the same with Tech, whose balance was assisted by Phee behind him. “Thanks for letting me stay over last night, guys! Are you still coming for dinner tomorrow?”

“That is correct.” Tech looked between you and Hunter. “Though I presume we will be seeing you both this evening?”

You glanced over at Hunter, who returned your gaze expectantly. You laughed and nodded at Tech. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Wrecker definitely will, too, but I’m not sure about Crosshair.”

Hunter shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll be there, too.”

“As anticipated.” Tech offered a small wave. “We will see you then.”

“Be ready to have some real fun.” Phee grinned as she kept an arm slung over Tech’s shoulders and gave the one opposite from her a squeeze.

You responded to them from over your shoulder as the three of you started to walk away. “He’ll try!”

Hunter rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the fond smile that spread across his lips. You bit back your own grin at the sight of it and turned your attention to Omega.

“Did you have fun with Tech and Phee last night?”

Omega nodded, looking up at you from her place between you and Hunter. “I did! I helped Tech make some of his new modifications to his walking stick.”

Hunter beamed at that. “So, he’s teaching you more about welding?”

Omega nodded. “Tech said there’s still a lot left for me to learn, even though I’ve been making good progress.”

You and Hunter shared a look before he let out an amused huff. “Of course.” He ran his hand over Omega’s head again, brushing away some of the loose pieces of hair that escaped her ponytail. “Well, I’m proud of you for still learning and training, Omega. I know Tech appreciates the company, too.”

Your chest warmed at Hunter’s praise for Omega, especially as his words made her entire face light up. “Thanks, Hunter.”

She grinned, but it began to somewhat falter in a way that made her true youth strikingly obvious.

“I love spending time with them, but… I still miss you guys when I’m there.” She shrugged. “It’s just weird not being together the way we all were on the Marauder, especially since Echo’s on Pantora, now.”

You let out a sympathetic hum and gave Omega’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I get it. A lot has changed in the past year.” When her sparkling eyes met yours, you gave her a nod. “But you know you’ll always have us, no matter where we are.”

Omega’s smile started to return at that. She returned your nod and looked between both you and Hunter, whose brow was furrowed at her in genuine attentiveness.

“I know I’m probably too old for this now.” Omega’s grasp on the straps of her knapsack tightened, and her voice lowered in shyness. “But… do you think I can hold your hands the way I used to? Just for the rest of the walk home?”

You softened as your chest ached with bittersweet affection, but before you could even part your lips to say anything, Hunter stopped in his tracks and knelt down to Omega’s level. His expression was soft yet serious as he set both his hands on her shoulders.

“Omega, you’re not too old for that. It’s okay to still be a kid.” Hunter offered her a small smile before he went on. “Hemlock and the Empire took too much from you already. Don’t let them take the rest of your childhood, too.”

You held your mug of caf against your chest to contain the warmth that blossomed there, especially when Omega sniffed and threw her arms around Hunter’s neck in an embrace that said more than her words ever could. Hunter closed his eyes as he held her back, his secret desperation to keep time from slipping away evident in the deep furrow between his brows.

After a few heartbeats, they both pulled away, and Hunter offered Omega his hand as he stood back to his full height. You offered Omega yours, and then the three of you were headed back down the Pabu streets to your home, the way you used to guide Omega through crowded marketplaces back during your wandering days on the Marauder.

You stole a glance over at Hunter, but he was watching Omega practically skip between you with an admiring smile spread across his lips. The amount of love he had to share was clear enough to make you breathless. It was so obvious how deeply he cared for every single person in his family, and yet you somehow still wanted more from him.

Maybe that made you selfish, but it was a feeling that was only getting harder and harder to ignore—even if you continued to do so for the sake of keeping the peace.

════════════════════

You threw your head back in laughter at something Phee had just said, but all Hunter could see was the image of you laughing with Omega this morning as the three of you walked back to the house. The earliest lights of dawn had been flickering within your gaze, and he saw some of that same sparkle within them now, illuminated by the lighting of Pabu’s cantina.

“He’s not listening.”

Crosshair’s hiss snapped Hunter out of his daze. The former sergeant whipped his head towards his youngest brother, his brow lifting as he realized all his brothers were staring at him. His gruff voice managed to supply some kind of response to their attention. “What?”

Tech’s eyes crinkled with amusement behind his spectacles as Wrecker let out a boisterous laugh. Crosshair’s lips spread wide in a kark-eating grin, and Hunter had to fight hard to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “If you’re done staring, then maybe we can catch you up on everything you just missed.”

Hunter hoped the dimmer lighting of the cantina hid his flush from his brothers as he shook his head and tightened his hand around the remnants of the drink left sitting inside his cup. “Fine. I’m listening now.”

The remaining brothers shared an amused look before Tech spoke. “Hm. I remember a time when you were able to stare and listen simultaneously. Perhaps if you took some time to train again…”

Hunter gave his brother’s shoulder a shove, but he was much gentler than he would have been before Eriadu. It gave Tech’s cybernetic braces the proper amount of time to recover as he tripped a step. The engineer smirked as Wrecker chuckled.

“We were talkin’ about you.” It was Wrecker’s turn to give Hunter a light push.

Hunter let out a tired sigh. “What did I do this time?”

Tech blinked. “Well, other than the obvious failure to listen…”

“It’s not about anything you’ve done.” Crosshair glowered at Hunter as he unapologetically interrupted Tech and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s about what you won’t do.”

Hunter was getting tired of his brothers beating around the bush. They had always been the direct type, and the former sergeant was missing that right about now. “Which is what?”

“Your tone suggests that you are agitated.” Tech’s sly grin indicated that he was still teasing his older brother, and clearly still getting amusement from it. “A deep breath could potentially be of great assistance in—.”

“I’m already starting to get a headache from this environment.” Hunter freed a hand from his glass to pinch the bridge of his nose. “And you lot are gearing me up for a migraine.”

Crosshair let out his own sigh and shifted his weight to one hip. “It would help if you stopped pretending that you don’t know what we’re talking about.”

Hunter’s brow shot up. He observed his brothers closely, but their gazes weren’t on him any longer. He glanced over his shoulder to where you were still standing with Phee, and for a moment, the light that danced across your eyes and your expression made him want to tune out the galaxy and admire you again—but the heavy weight of his brothers’ stares was quick to bring him back to reality.

“No.” Hunter exhaled through his nose and set his free hand on his hip as he faced his younger brothers with an all-too familiar authoritative look. “We’re not doing this again.”

“If not now, then when?” Crosshair’s voice was a hiss. “Shoving down your feelings won’t make them go away.”

“Yeah.” Wrecker nodded in Crosshair’s directions. “Didn’t ya’ learn that lesson after Tech and Omega, uh…”

“That was different.” Hunter narrowed his eyes in Wrecker’s direction first before leveling the same look upon his other two brothers. “What would you boys know about relationships, anyway?”

It only took one beat for everyone’s gazes to slide over to Tech. He adjusted his glasses as he visibly fought back another amused smile. Tech raised a single finger in the air. “I am, contrary to your question, quite well-versed in that area.”

Hunter fought off another sigh and forced himself to entertain the idea of taking relationship advice from… Tech.

If he had been told any of this just two standard years ago, Hunter would have bet a million credits that it wasn’t true.

“Alright, then.” Hunter gestured to Tech with his glass. “What’s your advice?”

Tech’s hand rose to his chin. “Well, you and I are two very different individuals.” He spared a look at you and Phee. “As are the two of them.” Tech’s attention returned to Hunter. “The nature of my relationship with Phee is also quite different from… whatever it is you two have been nurturing. On that basis, in addition to my own personal experience, I only have one potential piece of advice.”

Hunter was wary before he even spoke. “Which is?”

Tech deadpanned his response. “Perhaps you need to have a near-death experience.”

Both Wrecker and Crosshair began snickering right away, as if they had at least tried to hold back their laughter, but Hunter was just utterly shocked. He was still far too sensitive to Tech’s all-too-close brush with death on Eriadu to make jokes about it, even if that’s how the rest of the squad coped.

“That’s not funny.” Hunter lifted the glass to his lips and threw his head back to down the rest of the drink in his glass. The alcohol didn’t burn his throat nearly enough to remove the sting of what was happening around him. “And it’s not helpful, either.”

Hunter reached around Tech to set his empty glass on the bar behind him. He set both his hands on his hips when he had returned to his original spot.

“Can we move on, now?”

Crosshair rolled his eyes and took a step closer to his older brother. “We’ll move on when you stop being so dense.”

Hunter gave his brother an incredulous look. “What did you just call me?”

Crosshair threw up his hands, the metallic one on his right side catching the light as he did so. “There’s no way you don’t see that you both want the same thing.” He gestured with one hand over Hunter’s shoulder, no doubt in the direction where you were still standing. “Or do you expect me to pretend I didn’t see what happened this morning?”

Both Wrecker’s and Tech’s gazes lit up at that. Wrecker was the first to get the question out. “What happened?”

Hunter embedded a hand in his curls as he closed his eyes and sighed. “Nothing happened.”

Crosshair had a different answer. “They were close, and they were talking.” He smirked. “Sorry. Flirting.”

Hunter’s eyes reopened. “There’s no way you would have known that.”

“And? You weren’t even wearing a shirt.”

Wrecker’s eyes doubled in size. “What?”

Hunter’s hand moved from his hair to his forehead as he fought the uncomfortable heat that burned in his face and neck. “It wasn’t like that. I had just hit the shower.”

Tech’s brow furrowed. “Then you purposefully must have left the door to the refresher open. Correct?”

Hunter’s hand fell as he faced Tech. “To let the steam out.”

Crosshair’s sly grin widened the most it could for Hunter’s youngest brother. “Naturally.” He let out an amused huff. “You’re doing more flips trying to avoid the truth than you ever did during our training drills on Kamino.”

“Hah!” Wrecker nudged Crosshair, who scowled at him in response. “Good one, Cross!”

Hunter shook his head and stared at the floor. His brothers were giving him too much to consider, and pushing down his feelings was all he knew how to do—especially when he was still so concerned with everyone’s safety. It didn’t matter how much time was put between Tantiss and his family. Hunter was always on high alert.

You deserved better than someone who was constantly looking over his shoulder.

“Hunter.” Tech’s voice drew Hunter from his sudden spiraling. Both his tone and his expression had taken on a severity that was vastly different from before. “If I may give you a more fitting word of advice?”

Hunter remained silent, allowing Tech to continue. His younger brother set a hand on his shoulder as he did so.

“You must make use of the present. You can never be certain what may happen next.” Tech’s gaze gestured down to his own cybernetic braces. “You do not want to wait until it is too late.”

Hunter nearly winced at the raw truth of his brother’s words. Tech and Phee had only taken that first, true step in their relationship after Eriadu—after all of them, Tech included, had thought he was as good as dead. That moment would never fail to remind Hunter of how precious life really was, especially lives like theirs.

The Kaminoans were already taking half a lifetime away from all of them. Hunter had told Omega to stop letting Hemlock and the Empire take more from her, but when would he stop letting the galaxy take more from him, too?

Hunter trusted his brothers more than anyone else, aside from you and Omega. If they were so confident in their collective evaluation of the feelings between the two of you being mutual… then he was going to believe them, as terrifying as it was.

Hunter, whose gaze had fallen to the floor again, looked back up at his brothers. Crosshair had briefly stepped away to order a shot of some kind of clear liquor from the bar—it shocked no one that he preferred to drink everything straight up like that—but he had since returned. Hunter gave them all a firm glance before he nodded.

“Fine. I’ll… say something.”

Tech smiled in satisfaction while Wrecker let out a dramatic breath of relief. Crosshair lifted an eyebrow, as if he didn’t quite believe his older brother’s words. “Now?” The sniper’s gaze cut to the sight of you behind Hunter.

“Almost.”

Hunter leaned forward to take the shot from Crosshair’s hand, catching him off guard enough that it slipped from his grasp without a struggle. The former sergeant threw the liquor back before his youngest brother could protest, and the resulting burn was just what he needed to prepare himself for a conversation he had already mused upon for countless months.

“Now.” Hunter handed the empty shot glass back to a displeased Crosshair and spun on his heel before the sniper could say anything about it.

Hunter started to make his way over to you, gently weaving through the tight crowd of Pabu locals as he did so. He could hear his own heartbeat roaring loudly in his ears, but the master tracker forced himself not to focus on the sound. He had rehearsed this speech so many times in his own head, and he needed to get it right.

He was only about halfway over to you when he stopped abruptly. You were right where you had been before, but you weren’t with Phee anymore.

You were with someone else. Someone Hunter didn’t recognize. And you looked happy.

The crowds moved around Hunter in slow motion as he watched the stranger, another human, lean close enough to whisper directly next to your ear. They steadied themselves with a hand on your upper back, and you laughed sweetly at whatever they had said. If Hunter strained enough, he could probably hear…

No. That was a sickening violation of your privacy. Staring at the two of you felt violating enough for him.

And it was just enough to bring all of Hunter’s doubts back.

How could he and his brothers really be sure that you felt the same way? You would never act the same around him again if he confessed his truth and you felt differently. It would completely disrupt the peace you and the others had worked so hard to build here, and that was the last thing Hunter wanted to do.

Hunter could withstand a lot of difficult things, even the torture Hemlock had cruelly unleashed upon him on Tantiss, but a permanent, awkward distancing from you was something he truly wasn’t sure he could ever stomach.

The hot sting of jealousy burned sour in Hunter’s stomach as he turned and instantly headed back in the opposite direction of where you were standing. He planned to go around his brothers, but they had clearly been watching him, as Wrecker was already starting to approach him.

“Hunter, what’re ya’—.”

“I’m going home.” Hunter spared his brother a quick look. “Keep an eye on everyone and comm me if something’s off.”

That was all Hunter could bear to leave them with. He was too embarrassed, and too hopeless, to say anything else. He shouldn’t have let them talk him into even attempting anything tonight. If you found out… it could ruin everything.

Hunter shoved his feelings down deep inside himself and stepped out into the Pabu evening, caring little about the downpour that soaked every inch of him. He could use the cleanse, anyway. If he was lucky, maybe it would completely wash away these feelings, and he would never have to risk what closeness he still had with you.

════════════════════

You were grinning when you had spotted all four brothers standing across the cantina, but the brief conversation with your coworker had kept you from making your way over to them. Now, however, you were free to approach them, but your excited smile faltered when you realized there were only three of them now.

And you had definitely not expected Crosshair to outlast Hunter, even in an environment as overstimulating as this.

“Hey, guys.” You couldn’t hide the curiosity in your voice as you looked around the group. “Did Hunter get lost or something? I could’ve sworn he was just over here.”

Wrecker lifted a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it, his gaze averting yours in a way that was wildly uncharacteristic of him. Even Tech’s eager stare refused to meet yours. Of course it was Crosshair who stood his ground across from you and shrugged.

“He said he’s going home.”

Your brow shot up. “Already?” You gave your head an aimless shake. “Omega isn’t even there right now. She’s with Lyana at Shep’s.” You circled your jaw and met Crosshair’s stare again. “Did he say why?”

“No.” Crosshair took a toothpick from his belt and set it between his lips. “But he was on his way to talk to you.”

You blinked at him a few times in shock. “When?”

Crosshair hummed. “Just a couple of minutes ago.”

There was something Crosshair wasn’t telling you. Your eyes narrowed as you cautiously asked your next question. “And what happened?”

“Again, he didn’t say.” Crosshair held his toothpick out and gave you a knowing look. “But if I had to guess? It’s because he saw you talking to whoever that was.” He pointed with his toothpick at your coworker, who had since rejoined their partner.

It only took you a few heartbeats to put the pieces together.

“No.” You shook your head almost frantically. “No, that wasn’t… no.” You had to let out a laugh in your disbelief. “We’re not—that’s just my coworker! They have a partner!”

Crosshair nearly looked amused, while Wrecker and Tech shared a look you couldn’t quite decipher. “We’re not the ones you need to convince.”

You glanced around the group. They were all giving you an expectant look, as if confirming the question you couldn’t bear to ask them.

They knew what Hunter’s intentions had been. You didn’t have to hear them say it to understand that. If he had really been that close to confessing the very same thing you had also been feeling for so long… you weren’t letting this chance slip away.

Without another word, you moved for the threshold of the cantina, slipping out of the lively atmosphere and into the dampness of the Pabu evening. The island was solely lit by the lanterns and other stringed lights that decorated the villagers’ homes, though even those lights were hard to see in the downpour that pounded against the stone streets you walked upon.

Your desperation to reach Hunter made you care even less about the way your clothing was beginning to stick to your skin. You blinked the droplets of water away from your lashes and squinted into the darkness, following the familiar trail home with haste until you caught up to him—if you could.

Then, when you were just one street away from the house, you saw him.

“Hunter!” You had to raise your voice to be heard above the sound of the rain hitting the stones beneath your feet.

Between that and Hunter’s enhanced senses, it wasn’t shocking that he almost immediately stopped in his tracks and spun around to face you. The curls he had worked so hard on doing this morning were now completely out of shape, sticking tight to his head and bandana and failing to move with him as he turned. His eyes widened in shock as he started to approach you.

“What are you doing out here?” Hunter shook his head, stopping when he was just a few paces away from you. “It’s pouring, and… I thought you were having a good time.”

“I was.” You took a step closer to him. “But whatever you saw wasn’t what you thought it was.”

Hunter’s brow furrowed, but it straightened as his gaze flickered with realization. “Let me guess. The boys told you that’s why I left?”

You bobbed your head. “Basically. But, Hunter, that’s not… they’re not—we’re just coworkers. They have a partner, so I can promise you, we’re not—.”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Hunter held out both his palms towards you. “You don’t have to explain anything.” He gestured with his head to the path behind him. “I just left because I started getting a headache. I was going to tell you, but I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation. That’s all.”

All you could do was blink at him for a few heartbeats as you processed his words. The difference between what Hunter was telling you now and what the rest of them had clearly implied at the cantina couldn’t have been greater.

The question was, who was telling the truth?

“Oh.” You forced out a laugh and gave your head a shake. “Well… sorry, then. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Hunter flinched at that. “You’re not bothering me.” He lifted a hand in the direction of the cantina. “If anything, I feel bad that you left and walked this far in the rain just because you thought you had to explain yourself.”

This wasn’t the outcome you had been expecting. It was hard not to feel disappointed as you let out another fake chuckle and shrugged. “It’s fine.” You couldn’t meet his gaze as you instead focused on something behind him. “I guess I’ll just…” You stuck your thumb over your shoulder. “Head back.”

Hunter offered you a small smile, but it wasn’t like the ones you had seen on him earlier that day. This one was almost sad, as if he was forcing it onto his own lips. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want you missing out on anything else because of me.” He gave you a nod. “I’ll be fine.”

You finally met his eyes, and what you found there broke you. Hunter was easier to read than he probably liked to think, but maybe that was just because you had taken the time to truly learn him. What you found there was confliction and heartbreak, evidence that he was, indeed, the one who wasn’t telling the truth.

For some reason, he was trying to push you away.

“Keep an eye on the boys for me.” Hunter turned and started to walk away, though he added one more thing over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

You closed your eyes and let out a long, trembling sigh. It would be so easy to let him go; Hunter was good at making it seem like he was okay, and that this was what he wanted, but he so clearly didn’t—and you didn’t, either.

You were tired of dancing around each other. You would never be able to enjoy the peace he especially had fought so hard to give you and the others if you lived with this secret forever. Even if nothing came from it, you had to tell him, and you had to do it now.

“It’s you, Hunter.”

You yet again raised your voice to be heard over the rain. Hunter stopped again, his head turning just enough for the tattooed half of his face to be visible to you. His brow furrowed before he spoke. “What?”

You tightened your hands into fists at your sides and forced yourself to go on. “When I can’t sleep well, and I wake up earlier than usual… it’s because I’m dreaming about you. About what you went through on Tantiss. The fact I couldn’t stop it.”

Hunter’s brow relaxed even as his jaw tightened in sudden severity. He slowly turned back around to face you fully, but he stayed where he was, and so did you. Now that your floodgates had opened, you weren’t holding back.

“But I’ve gotten used to those dreams, because I had similar ones after Bracca, and Daro.”

Hunter blinked once, then twice. He took a few steps closer to you, but his gaze looked more confused than anything else, as if he couldn’t process what he was hearing. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because.” You inhaled and hesitated, suddenly growing shy.

No. Not now. Not when you’ve gotten this far.

Hunter took another step towards you. “Because?”

You closed your eyes and threw your hands up in frustration—towards yourself or him, you weren’t sure. “Because, Hunter!”

You reopened your eyes and let the knot in your chest loosen with the truth.

“Because I worry about you more than anyone else. Because I care more. Because I’m tired of only having you at a distance. Because I wish you had come over and interrupted my conversation tonight.”

You took a deep breath, never once letting your gaze stray from Hunter’s as you went on.

“Because I wish we hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten this morning before Crosshair walked between us.”

Hunter was frozen, and you hung onto his every breath. His chest rose and fell a few times before he took a few more steps towards you, nearly closing the gap between you. His brow pinched together before he spoke. “Are you being serious?”

You let out an incredulous huff. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or be offended by his words. “Really, Hunter?”

He set his hands on your shoulders and gave you a once-over, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing—or what he had just heard. “You’re not joking, like you were this morning?” His gaze flickered to the street behind you. “The boys didn’t put you up to this, did they?”

You shook your head. “They might tease you, Hunter, but they wouldn’t do something as cruel as this.” You tightened your jaw. “And neither would I.”

Hunter’s shoulders rose and fell in another steady breath. “So, you are being serious.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Hunter!” You nearly let out a laugh in your pure frustration, now that he seemingly didn’t believe what you were saying. “Is it really that hard to believe? How many times do I have to say it before you—?”

You didn’t have a chance to get the rest of your words out, because in an instant too quick for you to even process, Hunter’s hands had suddenly risen from your shoulders to the sides of your face—and he was fully closing the gap between the two of you the way you had secretly hoped for that very same morning.

By the time you were able to register the fact that Hunter’s lips were on yours, he had already separated from you, his expression uncertain at your lack of reciprocity. His hands even started to slip away from your face, regret quickly darkening whatever light had once been shining in his eyes.

That was when you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him back to you.

Nothing about this kiss was shy. It ached with fierce longing and a familiarity that surprised you, given how new this affectionate display was for both of you. You devoured one another as if you were making up for the time you had already lost, the months and even years spent keeping each other at an arm’s distance for no good reason.

Now, being this close to him, feeling and tasting the true warmth and sweetness of everything he forced himself to hide within the depths of his being, made you want to curse yourself for not saying anything sooner.

But Hunter made up for it, whether he understood how you were feeling in that moment or not. He held you and touched you in all the right places, somehow even managing to shelter you from the downpour in the protective cover of his own body. It was easy to lose track of time when this rhythm was all that mattered, superseding that of any chrono—or even your own heartbeat.

You only pulled away when you had completely lost your breath, and even then, you stayed close, if only to convince yourself that this was real. Your forehead and nose continued to brush against his as you let out a breathy laugh.

“Guess you feel the same way, then?”

Hunter huffed, and you were filled with warmth at the sight of his eyes regaining their sparkle, even in the darkness of the rainy Pabu evening. “Need me to prove it to you again?”

You hummed, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips as you shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt to have a reminder.”

He was the one who chased you this time, holding you closer than anyone else ever had. It was an embrace you never wanted to escape, and his mouth was a delicacy that could never be matched.

This was the peace you had long since been seeking. It was the final step in your healing, already dispelling the remnants of darkness that had lingered like shadows on your psyche. This was the full, true reminder that no matter what you had been through, you were okay, and Hunter was, too.

You hadn’t been able to save him then, but you were doing so another way now.

You were so engrossed in these thoughts and in him that you were genuinely alarmed by the sound of another voice from somewhere near him. “Couldn’t even make it home.”

You and Hunter both jumped apart to look at whoever had spoken. Of course, it was Crosshair, who wore his signature kark-eating grin from underneath a rain shield he had clearly conned off of someone inside the cantina. He gave his head a shake before he rolled his eyes.

“And you two idiots thought the feeling wasn’t mutual.”

Crosshair simply kept walking after that. You and Hunter shared a look before you burst out laughing. Hunter chuckled with you as he shook his head at his youngest brother.

“I hate that he’s almost always right.” Hunter turned his attention back to you and ran a hand over your head. “He does have a point about getting home, though. Don’t want you getting sick or something.”

You raised your brow at him. “And did you even consider that for yourself before you marched out here with no rain shield?”

Hunter leveled you with a similar protective stare. “Did you not do the same when you came after me?”

You rolled your eyes, though your fond smile betrayed you. “Whatever.” You held the tattooed side of his face to press a kiss against his opposite cheek. “Come on.” You laced your fingers through his. “Let’s go home.”

Despite the fact that the house on Pabu had been your home for quite some time, it was different saying it now as you looked over at Hunter—because your true home had been extended to a person. He must have felt the same about that, too, because he pulled you closer to his side in response.

You then hurried home together, leaving every thought, doubt, and feeling you were no longer taking with you behind in the downpour.

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[daosies]

imagine everything

this piece is part of the spring & swag event!!

Dan Heng is good at waiting; too bad March and Stelle aren't.

dan heng ♡ gn!reader

warnings: brainrot (from stelle), reader is not the trailblazer (but is a trailblazer), not proofread

notes: my annual return to dan heng nation 💖

“Oh, no!” March cries, watching Stelle fall cartoonishly towards the ground. “I have to stay back and help Stelle!” In order to emphasize the dire situation further, March puts a hand on her heart, the other coming up to her forehead like a Renaissance painting.

“You guys should go ahead though,” March says, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“Stay in character!” Stelle yells from the floor.

“Oh, I mean: The agony! I guess y’all must go ahead without us… It’s fine… We’ll be fine…” March trails off, leaning back as if she’s going to faint. 

Dan Heng stares at the scene with complete and utter exasperation. He’ll need to leave a one-star review later, because why is the acting so poor? Why is one of the characters switching between the Renaissance and the wild west? Why is—

“Are you sure you’re alright?” you ask, crouching down to poke at Stelle’s face. “Dan Heng,”—his heart stutters, his unimpressed look dissipating at the sound of your voice, piercing through the fog like a sudden ray of light—“are you alright with picking up the supplies alone?” 

Of course he can! He’s done this before; the supplies aren’t even at a precarious place—it’s just the Herta Space Station. Not to mention, there is no reason why everyone and their mom has to come along to pick up two boxes of deliveries. That’s just overkill.

But—Dan Heng looks at you, opening his mouth to respond—it would be nice if someone could come along. In case there are three boxes instead of two. In case there are closed doors that he can’t open alone. It would be nice if the person who did come along was like a sudden ray of light, if the person who did come along had a way of saying his name. It would be a little nice, he supposes.

“No, no!” March interjects, cutting in between you and Stelle, not-so discreetly pushing your shoulders with the palm of her hands. You stumble back, bracing yourself to hit the floor only for another pair of hands to support your spine, the back of your head embraced by a warm palm.

“March,” Dan Heng says, his voice eerily cool, “watch your strength.”

“Oops!” she exclaims with little remorse. “Sorry, [Name]!”

You shake your head, offering her a gentle smile. “It’s all good. You sure you don’t want me to stay back? I thought you were excited to go pick up your packages, March.”

March and Stelle exchange glances. 

“Oh, we’re excited alright,” Stelle states, a smug look falling upon her face. Dan Heng raises a brow.

“We?” he echoes.

“We.” March nods.

“Oui,” Stelle remarks proudly. 

Silence ensues. 

“No need to laugh all at once,” Stelle mumbles. Still no response. Unsure of what to say, and at the center of everyone’s exasperated gaze, Stelle says the only thing she knows: “Bombardino croco—”

You and Dan Heng depart from the Express before she can finish her sentence.

To Dan Heng, it’s plainly obvious as to what’s brewing in his crewmates’ minds. Dan Heng looks at you (his breath hitches, his heart stutters, his ribs seem to dislodge and his palms feel clammy), and he thinks that, maybe, just maybe, he’ll let his crewmates do their bidding. 

Maybe it’ll be okay. Dan Heng looks at you (and his heart, although stunned, although humbled and awe-filled in the face of the sublime, swells with content, with fulfillment, with reassurance), and he thinks that, wholly, it will be okay. 

“Is something on your mind, Dan Heng?” you ask, the back of your hand grazing the ridge of his brow, a subtle attempt to ease the furrow—and it works! Dan Heng wonders if you realize; he wonders if you notice the way his breath hitches, the way his scrunched expression relaxes, the way the mere brush of your knuckles is enough for him to cease all concepts of thought. 

Dan Heng’s mind is loud, too loud. With you, however, the silence is evident; it’s in the way he no longer worries about the weak points of the Express, his inherent duties as a bodyguard, the incessant, irrational thought that he’s being chased—he’s not! He’s not being chased, he’s not being prosecuted; with you, oh, with you, Dan Heng does what he is, admittedly, not so used to doing: he lives! 

“Nothing much,” Dan Heng responds, lying, because really, he’s thinking about you. Everything. Because the silence, although empty, is an unfathomable void, a limitless pit which envelopes every fiber of his skin, forcing him to—and he lets it—think of you. You. Everything. You! 

“I’m here if you ever want to talk about it!” you exclaim, clocking him immediately. Dan Heng looks away, feeling the burn of his ears, the incomparable warmth of his face; everything is tangible. 

Everything is right next to him. He turns back around and he looks, greedily drinking in the sight of everything: from the bridge of your nose to the curve of your lips, Dan Heng is greedy. 

You catch him staring. Dan Heng can’t bring himself to look away. 

(They say when you stare at the void for too long, it begins to stare back at you.) 

You smile at him. Dan Heng will never look away.

(Let it stare.)

When Dan Heng came to the conclusion that he’d trust his crewmates to do their bidding, somewhere, deep within himself, he knew that he really didn’t. Sure, he may have some reliable crewmates, but first and foremost, he has other crewmates. And those other crewmates have a terrible track record and an even worse idea of what to do. 

Hence why he finds himself here: with you, trapped in his very own room with you. You! Everything! Everything is in his room, and suddenly Dan Heng becomes faintly aware of how small it is compared to Stelle’s. 

“You alright, Dan Heng?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder, book in hand as you sit on Dan Heng’s wooden chair, skimming through various pages of his collection. 

“Yeah,” he replies, quicker than he can think. “Have you found something you like?” 

“I think so,” you say, your gaze returning to the book (and briefly, Dan Heng mourns the loss of everything, which slips in between his gaze and forces him to stare at the back of the chair when, really, all he has ever wanted was to stare at you). 

“That’s good.” Dan Heng hopes he’s being discreet, with the way his knuckles become pale as he grips onto the door, the way he tries to nonchalantly break it open while you’re still reading behind him. 

One must imagine Sisyphus trying to open a door; and suddenly, Atlas—everything—comes in, and suddenly, Sisyphus forgets what a door looks like because all you have to do is say: “Dan Heng.” 

His head whips around. Like he’s been summoned. 

“Yes?” 

“Are you good?” 

“Of course.” 

“I feel like you’ve been standing at that door for a while now. Sorry. Am I bothering you?”

“No,” again, he replies quicker than he can think.

One must imagine Sisyphus trying to be nonchalant whilst pushing that boulder up. 

“Oh,” you say, retreating behind the backboard of the chair, and, once again, Dan Heng mourns the loss of your gaze, of the limitless expanse of everything within the center of his pupils. One must imagine Sisyphus craning his head over the side of the boulder, staring up at the sky, the clouds which he passes as he climbs that mountain. How sublime the view must be. How sublime and familiar and lovely. 

The red fabric of the chair does nothing to suppress the vivid image that Dan Heng has crafted of you in his mind; the shape of your face, the curve of your lips, the bridge of your nose, the flutter of your lashes. He doesn’t need sight, or thoughts, or anything, for that matter. He has everything already. 

“I’m glad,” you then say, quietly. Dan Heng snaps from his stupor, his mouth parting slightly open. 

“Pardon?” 

“Sorry,”—you laugh awkwardly—“I just meant that I’m glad you don’t mind. Because I like spending time with you.” 

Dan Heng lets go of the door. 

One must imagine Sisyphus standing at the top of the hill. 

“Me too,” Dan Heng states simply. “I enjoy spending time with you, [Name].” 

The door, which he had just been trying so desperately to open, slowly slides away to reveal the nosy figures of March and Stelle, who were standing outside the whole time. 

“Aha! We knew it! Dan Heng, you li—” March starts, but is quickly silenced by Dan Heng’s palm. Stelle uses this moment of weakness to dash past Dan Heng, reaching for the chair which you seemed to have claimed as your own. 

“[Name]!” Stelle exclaims. “You and Dan Heng need to get together!” 

You blink owlishly. Dan Heng feels his blood go cold. 

“We’re already together, though?” 

“What?!” March yells. “And you guys didn’t think to tell us?!”

I didn’t know that, Dan Heng thinks, racking his brain for the moment. Did he get reality confused for a dream? Did he actually ask you out already? How long has it been? He thought that he woke up from that scenario. 

“Of course not!” you say, exasperated. “Why would we need to tell you? You know I’m always in here for the Data Bank, anyway.” 

“Oh, so that’s what you meant,” March mumbles, the realization somehow making her even more mad, “so, you just meant that you’re together here? Like, sitting on that chair right now?”

“Yeah, isn’t that what you meant?” you say.

Dan Heng rubs his temples. 

One must imagine Sisyphus watching the boulder roll back down the hill. 

“What the sigma?” Stelle mutters, reduced to utter disbelief. 

“Stop that,” Dan Heng grumbles. “All of you, get out.” 

You raise the book in your hand, pointing at the cover before asking, “Can I take this?” 

“You can stay,” Dan Heng states. “The rest of you, get out.” 

“This is just so, so terrible!” March yells like a supervillain, running out of Dan Heng’s room with comical tears streaming from her eyes. Stelle, on the other hand, sounds as if she’s casting a hex on Dan Heng’s head, her brows furrowed manically as she chants incoherent words under her breath. 

Whatever it is, Dan Heng can’t even bring himself to care anymore. He knew it wouldn’t be so easy. 

He looks at you—and the rhythmic pattern of his heart comes to a halt, and the steady rise and fall of his lungs stutter, and everything manifests in front of him, sublime—and he thinks that, truly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. You; the Data Bank; his room; him; together. Everything.

He has everything right here. 

[hollyberrygarden]

ugh. there is so much sorrow in these lines

Hollyberry recognizes the lack of "passion" in her kingdom, but she equates it to her failure to protect her denizens. the Dark Flour War took something from everyone, but instead of directing the blame to Dark Enchantress or the results of a deadly and dangerous war, she immediately goes to blame herself. she may not even realize that her own passion has dwindled, instead noticing the changes in her kingdom. she says the kingdom's passion "turned to dark flour" in the war and scattered off, despite things being peaceful. the passion and hope in her kingdom, but also her own, whether she recognizes the lingering trauma from the war or not

like I said in another post, Hollyberry sees herself as nothing if she cannot protect those she loves. she uses a shield to protect both herself and her loved ones from danger, and when she hasn't done that, she's failed. plain and simple. it's why it's such a sting that her shield was broken because Hollyberry is literally a shield. for better and worse. a shield to protect everyone from danger, but also a shield to almost hide problems from her view

there's also the obvious sadness in Royal Berry finding his own mother in such a state. knowing he's there, but only focusing on him for a moment before she gets back to lamenting and being frustrated with the state of things. it would be impossible to say that Hollyberry is a bad mother because of these lines; we see in the present that she loves her son (and daughter-in-law and granddaughters) more than anything, and they all have a strong relationship with one another. she believes in their leadership and capabilities, and they believe in her in turn. but she is definitely not a perfect mother, and this update showcases a time when she was at her lowest and did not/could not care for the ones she loved as well as she could. Eternal Sugar knows how much she loves her family and how much regret and guilt she likely feels for this moment with Royal Berry (and possibly others that we never saw), hence why she brought it to the forefront of her memory when trying to get into her head

it all sheds light on just how much Hollyberry drinks in canon. it's come up in multiple appearances and is referenced by other characters. we have never seen her this drunk before, but we see her drinking enough that Wildberry continues to watch out for it. one of his quotes in the "appearing cookies" section of the Dragon City update is "I've never regretted following Her Majesty's lead. except for when she drinks too much juice…" and when the update came out, it could be seen as just comical or Wildberry nagging, like Hollyberry often says he is. but instead, it could come from a place of genuine concern. for all we know, he's never even seen her like this, just rambunctious or rowdy instead of depressed, and he has just picked up on the pattern. we don't know for sure. we might never know what all he's seen of her drinking habits or if it's anything close to this

all this to say. this update brought so much interesting nuance to Hollyberry that I'm really happy we now have. I'm also glad we have more information about her backstory; it makes her a very complex character who I am very excited to root for in the next update <3

[thepalehorsevictoria]

This is completely cracky and should not be taken seriously.

“Would.”

“We get it, Rook, you’re having fantastic sex. Love that for you.”

“… I don’t understand.”

“I think, dearest, that in your current delightful state of inebriation, you’re being much more … forward with your affections.”

Rook lets their head loll around on their very relaxed neck. Fuck, he’s so handsome, that tongue is very welcome to do a great many things for them anytime he wants—

Did they just say that out loud?

A loud groan. “It’s bad enough that I have to hear you two all the time. But now right in front of my isskap?”

“They have a point, darling,” he manages between kisses, but with absolutely no intention of asking them to stop.

A gasp! “Oh! Oh wow. This … oooh. Wowww.” Like they were on display.

He doesn’t mind in the slightest. One of the things he did away with as he grew older. He no longer holds himself back from lovers, most of all Rook.

Long, calm fingers started walking up the outside of Rook’s thigh, and he chuckles into their neck.

A quiet sip of coffee.

“Well, I’m glad that all we have to do tonight is gawk when Maker fucking forbid I take a moment to get a good and proper fucking—“ they yelp at his pinch on their ass.

A huff that sounds like they’re impressed.

“Some decorum, darling,” and he pulls Rook tightly around him and lifting. “Let’s make sure you’re the only one who gets dinner and a show this evening, shall we?”

Shrugging off the shiver those words shoot up their body, Rook leans back and howls upward, “YOU GUYS NEED TO EXPERIENCE THIS DICK. It’s FUCKING AMAZING. HE’S PI—“

If it took something as brusque as grinding his thigh in between theirs, it was still worth doing it in public in front of the others rather than Rook complete that sentence.”

“Brat.”

“You love it.”

Maker, he does.

DID YOU KNOW EMMRICH VOLKARIN FUCKS???

[wannabanauthor]

Guess who just realized something?

So Eddie accused Buck about making Bobby’s death all about him.

And before that, Tommy made sure to tell Buck that he was helping for Chimney and Buck. Yes, he left that last part out until Buck pouted, then included him.

Tommy had an actual reason to be mad at Buck, and what did he do? He helped him and told Buck he was partially doing it for him. He didn’t accuse Buck of making everything about himself. He begrudgingly told him that he was doing it for him too.

If I had any faith in Tim Minear, I’d say this a good way to establish Buck and Tommy endgame and to dismiss Buddie and Eddie entirely. Eddie’s been a real shitty friend lately and refuses to do anything about it. And he blames Buck for all the problems Eddie himself created.

He kissed the doppelgänger of his late wife and traumatized his son enough that Chris moved to another state. Eddie is the reason why he was in Texas instead of with the 118 when Bobby died. Those were the consequences of his own actions, yet he blames Buck for what exactly? Eddie can do bad all by himself.

I ship Buck with Tommy but also with some happiness. I also want Eddie to seek counseling and try to get better for himself so he stops hurting the people he cares about.

[chigsprincess]

A stranger’s kindness

a/n: i can’t cope with the new chapter. it’s not seishirover trust. my boy is having the comeback of the century.

To be honest, you never had much of an interest in football, and you didn’t have any interest in Nagi Seishiro either. You were strangers. Two people who shared the shooting location of the movie of your life, but never destined to actually meet. You merely shared some classes, so when he came back to school, the only reason you really noticed was because of your classmates. They were constantly swarming around him, asking questions and bombarding him with compliments, and though Nagi never seemed like someone enthusiastic to begin with, you noticed that he was a ghost of even his former self. He hated the attention he received.

You felt sorry for him, more than anything. He looked like he had enough on his plate without them pestering him, but at the same time, you kinda understood them, they were just curious and simply too excited to pick up on the subtle frown and uninterested looks from him.

Luckily for Nagi, things seemed to quiet down after a few days. People went back to their everyday activities, and let him be, but you found yourself doing just the opposite of that. Your gaze seemed to linger on him more often, and your thoughts seemed to be occupied with him more frequently. Was this your saviour complex? He was clearly suffering from something deep, but no one seemed to care; maybe you just felt bad. Even if you went up to him, what the hell would you say? You barely knew his name. It’s not like you’d have anything meaningful to tell him.

Yet it seems fate had other plans for you. You left one of your textbooks in your desk, you really needed it for an assignment, so you decided to waltz back into the classroom for it. It’s not like anyone would be there, right? Wrong.

You found the very boy, you concerned yourself so much with these past days, hunched over his desk, sobbing quietly as he watched the football club’s practice, and your heart dropped. You’ve officially seen Nagi Seishiro cry before you saw him with a genuine smile on his face, and it left a very sour taste in your mouth. You closed the classroom door behind you, which made him lift his head to look at you. You froze before apologising quietly. “I’m sorry, I just have to grab my book.” It earned a small nod from him, his eyes stayed glued to you, as you reached into your desk, then shoved a textbook into your bag. You stood up to leave, and you really intended to. This had nothing to do with you. You have zero context and zero right to comment about it, yet when you were about to close the door behind you, you stopped. You turned around and walked over straight to his desk, fished a crumbled tissue out of the pocket of your uniform, and placed it into his palm.

“Don’t worry, it’s clean…” You said awkwardly, looking at the state it was in, then shook your head to get back to the point. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” You started, looking down at your feet, so you wouldn’t chicken out. “But the others said you can still play football, right? I know you said you were done, but if it means this much to you, you shouldn’t quit.” You mumbled, finally looking up into his eyes. “It’s sad… to see you like this.” Those were your final words, before you turned around to leave for real this time, but you stopped at the doorway once more when you heard his soft voice calling out after you. “Thanks Y/N.” You nodded with a small smile and closed the door behind you. Maybe you didn’t know anything about Nagi Seishiro, but you were glad you decided to talk to him.

word count: 650

[syndrossi]

Clearly, my obsession with Resonant has reached problematic proportions. I have written you a fic of a fic!drabble that was originally going to be something short and cute because Rhaegar having a bad hair day was hilarious to me, but somehow it turned into an angsty disaster instead. 😅

Alas, here you go:

"It's not that bad," Jon says, though the doubt in his voice is unlikely to leave his brother with much confidence that he's telling the truth. Jace knows, because he would never have believed it if Luke had told him his hair looked okay while sounding like that.

As expected, Rhaegar twists around in his seat, mouth turned down at the corners, and a fierce glare in his eyes. Jon takes a half-step back and quickly adds, "I'm sure Dae... Father can fix it."

It being the state of Rhaegar's hair. There'd been an... accident while playing, and... well. Jace thinks that things like this are why Father insists on keeping his and Luke's hair short, even when Mother talks about having them grow their hair out instead of keeping it "manageable".

"No," Rhaegar says, and there's something in his voice that Jace has never heard from him before. "I can fix it."

Rhaegar has long hair like Aegon and Aemond and Uncle Daemon, but even though it's straight and silky like theirs (like Jace's mother's hair, and grandmother's, but not like his father's), apparently it's still capable of tangling like curly hair.

Tangling a lot even. To the point where Jace isn't sure if the braid Rhaegar had had it in earlier is technically still there or not. He thinks the red ribbon Rhaegar had used for it is gone, at least. Rhaegar's been brushing his fingers through the tangles, but keeps catching on snares and clumps of hair that look like they might be part of a bird's nest, hissing as he goes.

His eyes are rimmed red, Jace thinks. It must hurt a lot.

Jon had tried to help by finding the worst of the tangles, and trying to tug the hairs loose, only for Rhaegar to yelp and pull away. Then Jon started looking upset too, and Jace's tummy twisted at seeing both his new cousins unhappy.

Luke tugs on Jace's shirt and he looks over at his own little brother, who looks worried too. Luke whispers at him, "Should we get Father?" probably because Father is the best when it comes to fixing hair.

Jace looks at their cousins again, at Jon's helpless expression, and at the way Rhaegar is, Jace thinks, maybe, trying not to cry. (He has to try not to cry sometimes too. It's awful, the way everything gets hot and stuffy and like you can't breathe. If that's how Rhaegar feels...)

Jace nods at Luke, and together they walk the few steps they need to get past the private rooms' entryway and tell the kingsguard standing by the door, "We need our Father, please," only for Rhaegar to jump up, almost knocking over his chair and startling both them and the knight.

"No!" Rhaegar says, and then he clenches his fists. "It's okay. Everything's fine. I don't need help."

Maybe he thinks he's going to get in trouble for playing and messing up his hair? Or even that Jace's father will tell Uncle Daemon on them. Suddenly, Jace remembers that they did get in trouble last time because Father told Uncle Daemon they were playing with swords when they weren't supposed to be.

The knight, perhaps sensing that Rhaegar's not being entirely truthful, hesitates in answering while looking carefully at all four of them, and it must be just enough to be the last straw for Rhaegar, because he does something Jace has never seen him do before.

He starts crying.

And they're not quiet tears, but instead they're loud and angry and almost sound painful. Rhaegar pushes off his cheeks with quick, rough palms, like he can make them stop if he presses his hands to his eyes hard enough. He's making choking sounds, and he's sucking air in through his nose, and Jace thinks he's getting even more upset now, maybe because he is crying, which doesn't seem fair. How can you stop crying if you're crying because you're upset that you're crying?

Jon grabs him in a hug, almost knocking Rhaegar backward from the abrupt force of it, and Jace isn't sure if he should go hug Rhaegar too, or if that'd make Rhaegar cry more, or... Rhaegar shoves his face into Jon's shoulder, the crying growing noises muffled as he trembles and shakes.

Luke, still little in a way that Jace and Rhaegar and Jon aren't, tugs at his shirt again, and when Jace looks at him, his eyes are wet, and his bottom lip is quivering. He looks just a moment away from letting out a sob of his own.

Jace would pick him up the way Mother and Father do when Luke cries, except he's too heavy. Instead, he grabs Luke's hand and looks expectantly at the kingsguard knight, whose staring at them all with wide eyes.

"My father, Ser," Jace says again, reminding him, and after the knight jumps into action, he tugs Luke out of the room with him. He doesn't want Luke's inevitable crying to make things worse.

(Jace will find out, much later, after Father and Mother and Uncle Daemon all rush in and Jace and Luke are ushered back to their own apartments, that Rhaegar wasn't really upset about his hair being tangled at all. His mother says that sometimes, if you hold all your big emotions in for too long, they can come out all at once because of something little, like a tangle in your hair, and Jon and Rhaegar have had a lot of big emotions over the past few moons.

Jace is glad when Mother lets him and Luke climb into her bed and stay with her that night. Guiltily, he thinks he's extra, extra glad that she's back from Dragonstone now, kissing his face and running her fingers through his hair in that way that always makes him feel sleepy, singing him and Luke to sleep, even though Rhaegar was crying because his Mother will never come back ever.

Jace doesn't know what he'd do if he lost his mother, but he thinks that he'd probably cry too. As he falls asleep, Mother's voice singing softly next to him getting quieter and quieter, he thinks that if they ask, maybe he wouldn't mind sharing sometimes.)

Oh! Oh, Jaaaace, what an absolute sweetheart. What a great choice for a POV character. (One of my favorite POV principles: choose the character with the least context for the situation.)

His little reflections on how awful it feels when you want to cry but shouldn't breaks my heart because that's the burden of being heir after Rhaenyra. There are times at court where he's not allowed to cry, and that he has to learn this so young... 😭 (The pre-Summerhall!Rhaegar parallels!)

I shouldn't laugh at poor Jon utterly failing at convincing Rhaegar the situation isn't too bad. He knows a hair disaster when he sees one, and alas so does Rhaegar.

And Jace wishing he could pick up Luke to mimic how his parents would comfort him. 😭 And awww, Laenor being the one he believes in for fixing bad hair days!

How much do I love him taking command of the situation to have the Kingsguard send for Laenor? He gets both big brother points and eventual-crown-prince points for that!

And noooo, Rhaenyra's explanation of what happens when you bottle things up, my heart! And Jace noticing how much Jon and Rhaegar hold back. HE IS THE SWEETEST AND MOST OBSERVANT.

And Rhaenyra comforting them, oh. 😭 And Jace understanding that that's why Rhaegar is sad sometimes. (I wonder if he thinks that Jon also misses their mother but is trying to be a good older brother for Rhaegar and hides it.) And basking in those kisses and gestures of comfort all the more--and even being willing to share that comfort. My heart is in tiny shredded pieces.

I am so tempted to write the Daemon companion piece to this, which would be a fic of a fic of a fic. 😂

(Let's not forget poor Jon in all of this, knowing that it's not the hair, the hair is the straw that broke the camel's back. I feel like he must be so relieved when Daemon ultimately comes running, and proud of Jace for taking the initiative so that he didn't have to directly go against Rhaegar's wishes.)

What a treat to read, thank you thank you thank you for sharing it! ❤️❤️❤️ Also, you have me feeling so cruel for leaving the three little Velaryon kiddos alone during the uproar at the castle right now. They are going to be getting the biggest of cuddles from Rhaenyra when she's back. (How awful must she be feeling to be stuck at Dragonstone, away from her babies? We'll find out around ch40, I suppose!)

[janestvalentine]

I couldn't decide which tags I wanted to reblog this post with...so I decided to do all of them:

#rimi talks#like you can absolutely get into discussion of copaganda in comics and the authorial end editorial centrism, #because god knows a lot of comics (esp older ones) just absolutely REEK of performative activism or copaganda or what have you, #and there is definitely plenty to be said there, #but that's not what people saying this stuff are talking about 😭, #it's all just ''but i want the white man to kill a crowd of evil goons but it's fine bc none of their lives mattered bc they got in his way!, #and don't worry he was unquestionably right to have killed them and it was really cool and sexy of him to do so and also he was right'', #(now don't take this as me disagreeing that fictional murder can be sexy. of course it can. ive seen pamela isley.), #(but while i would call her sexy i would not call her RIGHT for being a murderous ecofascist yk), (x)

#'but you see this guy is making the world better by killing people, #bc he's only killing the really bad guys like the sex offenders and paedophiles and rapists', #buddy. please tell me which demographics are most likely to be accused of paedophilia and rape., #i cannot emphasise enough that if you go into superhero comics and then get annoyed bc the characters don't kill people, #maybe you just don't like superhero comics., #and also i don't like you., (x)

#LITERALLY, #also: ever heard of the brutalizing effect? there’s really conflicting evidence about whether execution BY THE STATE even ‘works’, #as a deterrent against crime, #(and is in practiced applied really racistly but anyway), #and ur telling me u want VIGILANTES to kill their enemies???? like now uve created a norm where superheroes can kill villains without, #due process and now both villains and goons are NAWT going to surrender peacefully to superheroes bc theyll be scared of. yk. GETTING THEIR, #HEAD CHOPPED OFF, #wait sorry that’s not even the main mechanism behind the brutalizing effect i was just also saying that would also fuck up superhero’s MAIN, #priority: um? fucking making the streets safer? if the villains are worried about their safety after getting defeated then they’re gonna go, #even more all out before going out #anyway brutalizing effect is when the people who will commit violent crimes are NOT deterred by executions of convicted felons, #bc they don’t identify with the convicted felon they identify with the executioner, #also. obvi. parallels to police brutality if superheroes killed., #but even besides that like why would superheroes want to create a norm of killing. they would not want to normalize killing., (x)

#yeah‚ this! precisely this is such a succinct and effective wording of this exact problem, #like. doing the above is/would be no different to watching every movie billed as a chick flick hoping for a bodice ripper, #yeah if you try hard enough you'll find what you're looking for a couple of times, #but you've fundamentally misunderstood what it is this genre can do for you. congrats you missed the thesis, #go read jack reacher number three hundred and four or smth, (x)

#people who act like its bad that batman realises the value in every humans life, #like be so fr, #yeah jokers awful but why do you only put the blame on batman, #what about the gcpd's role or the legal system not sentencing him the death penalty? thats the real reason jokers alive after all he's done, #but sure blame the vigilante, #why do you want your superheros to be murderers? the people that kids are supposed to look for as symbols of hope and justice?, #you want superheros... to be murderers., #think about that for a second, (x)

#it’s like going into a bakery and hating all the cakes there, #honestly i love the hardship that comes from those decisions of to spare not kill etc., #seeing how it takes a toll both physically and mentally on characters and yet they keep pushing through regardless, #it’s what made me realize i like Superman and Superboy tbh, (x)

people who go into superhero comics (the "heroes don't kill" genre, where (admittedly, often very flawed) discussion of the morality of taking a life and themes of lawfulness, vigilanteism, and redemption are like the entire foundations of the genre) and then get pissy about how they want edgier protagonists who kill their enemies. bro just go watch Generic Action Blockbuster #74821384

[the-aleator]

endeavour musings, ix

featuring: Pylon s6e1 What an episode. Powerful, raw.

The cinematography is breathtaking, capturing the pensive and aching beauty of this landscape. I love DeBryn's "Something has to be lovely," and Bright's Old-Empire Fortitude in a shameful post. Strange gets a shout-out for not giving up on Fancy, and Joan has finally found a boss she can emulate (who is the Distaff version of her Dad....) Also, everything about this episode is a Trauma Conga Line for Morse and Thursday. And Shaun Evans and Roger Allam play this to the hilt. The Regret on screen is actually palpable. Thursday gets the brunt of it, of course, but Morse comes in for some of it, and also gets the added sorrow of watching Thursday fall apart.

Random Pointed Remarks from Side Characters: Mrs. Kirby, to Thursday, "You've made a mistake," and he reacts as if she's just hit him. The Vicar to Thursday, "You've lost your faith," "I didn't have much to lose," Morse replies. Let's just set up their character arcs for the rest of the season, shall we?

The fact that Thursday tells the truth about the Lott's planting of evidence to BOX, of all people. On the one hand, it's absolutely a way that Thursday is self-harming; on the other, in light of s6's ending, you can see how Thursday, even at his lowest, is planting a seed of integrity for Box to think about.

It's hard not to feel some pity for Box here: from the beginning of this episode, he is over his head, outclassed, inadequate, and doesn't even have enough sense or character to listen to Thursday, much less Morse. He won't go to the autopsy, or tell the dead girl's parents, a scene juxtaposed by Thursday, patiently waiting, humbly, hat in hand in respect for the dead.

We now have canonical proof that Fred Thursday is a legend even in universe. (BOX: "You're Fred Thursday!"). But we also know that Thursday loathes himself. He can't even answer Morse when he says: "Well, you're worth a hundred of his sort. Don't forget it. Because I won't."

I know we are supposed to feel Fred Thursday is doing a Bad Thing but it gives me a little cathartic cheer inside every time he punches out a pedophile. So far our count in the show is 4 for 4.

JUSTICE: does the end justify the means?

THURSDAY: That's what I told myself. It's what did for him, though. Even so, he went to the gallows swearing his innocence. BOX: But he wasn't, was he? He was a wrong'un. So's his boy. Bad stock. We don't know he did it. We never know. It's a balance of probabilities. You go with your gut. What's important is types like that get put away. THURSDAY: And if we've got to nudge the jukebox to get the penny to fall? BOX: What are you saying, Fred? THURSDAY: Not sure I'm saying anything. We're just talking.

It's pretty clear throughout this episode that Box thinks the end justifies the means. Any means: violence, planting evidence, railroading the nearest suspect, not respecting their rights, etc. It's culminates in this idea of "bad blood" which, to his mind, justifies his methods. Every time he says this phrase, "bad blood," it makes Thursday wince.

"Some...nobody" is the phrase Thursday uses about whoever killed Ann Kirby, and yet, when it might Stanley Clemence, who Thursday "carried out of a bloodbath," he can't justify it. "Guilty or innocent," he says to Morse, "I can't give up on him." 6. The ARC OF MERCY The music in this episode clearly states the motif: MERCY. When we first see Morse, it is to the soundtrack of Turandot: Signore, ascolta Giacommo by Puccini, a warning that solving a riddle wrongly has the penalty of death. At the end of our first scene with Thursday, standing over Ann Kirby's body, it is Spem In Alium by Thomas Tallis ("I have never put my hope in any other but in Thee, God of Israel who canst show both wrath and graciousness, and who absolves all the sins of man in suffering Lord God, Creator of Heaven and Earth Regard our humility"). Later, Thursday's flashback of Peter Clemence being hung is to the first line of Miserere mei, Deus by Allegri ("Have mercy on me, Lord"). It reappears after Thursday has decided to hand in the hammer, "Tell the truth and shame the Devil," and Morse has taken that responsibility away from him. It's an exquisite choice, further on in the Misere: "Wash me thoroughly from my wickedness: and cleanse me from my sin." Was there ever a man so thoroughly heartsick with guilt in these two scenes? Thursday is clearly broken to pieces by the revelation of the hammer: what he did, what he didn't do. And then: the culmination, Morse takes the Third Option by returning the Sample Case to where it was hidden in the church. It is a striking narrative choice, that it is concealed in the organ. Finally, Morse stares at the stained glass: The Virgin Mary, robed as Queen, and a striking panel of Christ in the iconography of Salvator Mundi, who holds the globus cruciger in his hand, a Christian symbol of Christ's dominion over the whole world.

Finally, Morse turns away, evidence hidden, and leaves. I think the music + this scene is very suggestive. To do justice (as Thursday decides on), to reveal the truth, is no kind of justice at all--the only plea here is for mercy.

[musubi05]

╰┈➤ School is Prison

Team Free Will x winchester!sister reader

Summary: You despise being in school so you skip. However, your brothers and the angel would always find you.

Warnings: mentions of murder

"Y/N?" Your homeroom teacher asks the class as he takes morning roll call. There was an awkward silence in the classroom with some kids doodling on the corner of their notebooks and some staring off in space.

"Has anyone seen her?" He asked more annoyed this time. It was the 3rd time this week you haven't showed up at school.

It started a month ago when you said you weren't feeling good and went home feeling "sick". You being sick got 4 days off of school that same week. On total coincidence, there was a ghost case a few towns over. So you dealt with it since Sam and Dean were on a case in Michigan. It made you realize how easy skipping school was and how fun hunting is alone.

A few weeks ago you called the school pretending to be your mom and said that there was a family emergency. That got you a week off and when you came back from a shapeshifter hunt, you said it was a funeral out of state.

This time you didn't say anything. You've gotten to the point where you didn't care enough to give an excuse.

A kid in the back, who sat next to you, spoke up in a bored tone. "Yeah, she walked here this morning but then she left after putting stuff in her locker."

Mr. Skimmer just sighed and moved on with the names on the seat.

⛧

Oh boy you would get an ear load if your brothers found out what you're doing.

Skipping school. Stealing cars - you would always return it later. Swinging heads off of vampires.

You know... the usual.

You were never meant for school. The moment you sat in those stiff plastic chairs under buzzing fluorescent lights, you knew. It wasn't just boring. It felt wrong. The Winchesters didn't deal in fractions and Shakespeare. You hunted demons, exorcised ghosts, saved lives. Sitting in a classroom while your brothers and Castiel were out chasing monsters felt like punishment.

Nothing compared to the adrenaline rush that hunting gave you. No chemistry disaster or book you read in english. Hunting was your passion and you know the boys hate that.

But still here you are alone in a place called Bellaire, Kansas. Only a city over but you caught on to a case contains a missing person and a dead one too. This seemed too little to be a case that Sam and Dean would catch so you took the chance.

It took a little bit of time but after a bit of asking around the town you found yourself at a cabin in the middle of the woods. Basic monster move. Earlier you impersonated an apprentice and looked at the dead body which had an obvious vampire bite on the neck.

You stood out by some trees watching over the two story house. It was pretty run down but still habitable. There were two vampires and they were both downstairs. If you wanted to get a good chance without any bad scratches then you gotta get them separated.

You picked up a light enough rock and threw it at the upstairs window. Once you saw the vampire go upstairs you took the chance and ran inside from the back with a machete in hand.

Boom and boom. One thing led to another. A few tumbles. A broken table and some heads rolling, you defeated two vampires. Case complete-ish.

You grabbed your headphones from your backpack and put them on. It's clean up hour and the best thing to do when you're cleaning something up is to put on music. So that's what you do. You shuffled your playlist, dragged the bodies outside and started burning.

It was a long process. Smelly one too but the flames made it calming. That doesn't sound psychotic at all.

You were cleaning off the blood of your machete with a towel before you felt a harsh blow of air come from behind you. You immediately turned with one hand pulling down your headphones and the other holding the weapon out. Yet nothing was there.

Huh.

⛧

As you walked back inside the school building the dismissal bell went off. Perfect timing like always. You parked the car you stole back into the lot a few minutes ago. Which ever teacher you stole from today was going to be pissed because their gas tank was very close to being empty.

You quickly walked to your locker keeping your head down. Not because there was blood on or face or anything but simply because of the looks or the things you'd hear from people. For-

"Hey, isn't that the girl who's like never here?" A brunette girl with beautiful curls asked her friend as they walked by.

Her friend scoffed, "Oh yeah. I've seen her around town with two really tall guys. They're so creepy."

There's the example.

Once you got to your locker you stuffed the books back into your backpack. You made sure you put them in front of the sharp knife you have in there so no one would freak if that's the first thing they saw.

It's be funny to see someone's reaction though.

No it wouldn't, that's mean.

You put your backpack on and slammed your locker shut. As you walked out of the building, you let out a breath of relief for not being caught by one of the teachers. That would've ruined your whole day.

⛧

"I'm home!" You called out as you entered the bunker. Home sweet home. The familiar smell of gunpowder and whatever magic stuff that was burning welcomed you. Yet no one replied.

"Hello?" You asked again looking around. The hallway lights were off when you got down the stairs. The only lights that were on were ones coming from the library. You slowly walk into the room looking in every corner, expecting someone to attack you.

"Y/N," Dean sat in a corner chair under the lamp where the light was shining from. His tone serious which sent your mind into chaos. "Welcome home."

What is happening? Did they find out?

Sam and Castiel walked into the room from the hallway in the back. Sam just looks just as serious as Dean but his puppy dog eyes make him seem like he's sorry for what's about to happen. Reading Cas' emotions were hard since he always looked serious.

"Did I just step into a Ghostfacer's episode or what?" You chuckled trying to lighten up the room from its tension. Dean looked away as he licked his lips. He wanted to laugh at that but he couldn't yet.

"Y/N where were you today?" Sam asked softly with his arms crossed as he sat down at one of the middle tables a few feet away from you.

"At school? Where I am almost everyday?" You tossed your backpack on the chair next to you.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because Mr. Skimmer says you walked in, stuffed your locker, and vanished."

You opened your mouth, but Castiel cut in with his usual bluntness. "You killed two vampires this afternoon. In Bellaire."

"Wow. Thanks Cas," you said with sarcasm rolling off your tongue like it's second nature to you. He never sugarcoated things and sometimes it made you want to rip your hair out.

"Hey. Don't give him attitude. He's trying to look out for you." Dean scolded you with raised eyebrows.

You scoffed and crossed your arms, leaning on the table beside you since you were starting to feel sore from earlier. "Look, nobody else was gonna handle it. The signs were clear, and I handled it."

Dean stood up slowly, arms crossed, and walked over. "That's not the point. You could've gotten killed."

"I didn't," you shot back, arms flaring open. “I've been doing this for years! You guys trained me! I can handle a couple of leeches."

Dean shook his head, jaw clenched. "It's not just about handling it. It's about balance. You're supposed to be in school."

"Why?" you snapped. "So I can sit around learning about the Great Gatsby while people are dying out there? You guys can't have it both ways - train me to hunt and then expect me to pretend to be normal. I hate school."

Sam rubbed his face with a sigh, the weariness in his eyes showing just how many times this conversation had circled. "We know it's not easy for you. But skipping school, impersonating adults, stealing cars - Y/N, that's not a good habit to start. You want the hunter life full-time? Fine. But don't lie to us. Don't disappear."

You frowned, your mouth tightening. "You said I deserved the option of normal. I tried. I really did. But it feels like I'm wasting time in there."

Castiel stepped forward, his eyes fixed on you. "Purpose is not always found in action. Sometimes it is found in waiting, in learning. You cannot see it yet but you will."

You rolled your eyes, but it was half-hearted. Because somewhere deep down, you knew they were right. You didn't want to admit it. Not yet. Not when the heat of the hunt still buzzed under your skin and the smell of fire clung to your jacket.

Dean softened, voice lowering. "We're not trying to keep you from being who you are. We just don't want you burning out before you've even started."

There was a pause. A heavy silence, filled with everything you didn't want to feel. Disappointment. Fear. Love.

Finally, you gave a small shrug. "Okay. I'll go tomorrow. I'll… try."

Dean smirked faintly. "That's all we're asking."

Sam nodded. "And no more stealing cars."

You rolled your eyes again, grabbing your backpack. "Fine. But if you're driving me to school in the Impala, I'm picking the music."

Dean groaned. "Oh, hell no."

Castiel just tilted his head. "I like the new music. Billie Eilish is cool."

And just like that, the tension cracked. Laughter filled the room - tired, but still there.

[wolfertinger]

Now Salem is complaining on his blog about how mean other trans men are to him about his fursona and use their “internalized dysphoria” against him and that’s why he’s not part of the transmasc community. The reason so many of these trans men he calls transphobic don’t like his art or attitude is we don’t actually want to see hyperfeminized FTMs — most of us don’t WANT big boobs or to be posed seductively wearing bikinis, we want to look like MEN. And then when a trans man says art like that makes him feel dysphoric and promotes the idea that trans men are still girls, Salem cries to his thousands of ass-patting followers about the mean transmascs who persecute him. It’s no wonder he has no community. Signed, a frustrated trans man.

tbh. i can see on both sides of this, personally. i could see salem's point, that yes, there is a fairly significant number of trans men with harmful ideas of what a "real" man is, including putting other transmascs down, if they are not masc "enough". for example, the kalvin garrah types, who think unless you 100% medically transition, go on the highest doses of t, and "act male", you are a "trender". when the reality is, AS IF every cisman is a pale, 6'0, jacked, chad jawlined dude bro. the reality is, men come in all shapes and sizes, and to insist there is a correct and incorrect way of being born and living your life, is not just wrong, but ignorant.

HOWEVER. salem's attitude toward transitioning men and mascs, is very clearly disdainful. of his few ocs, with gender affirming care. he retroactively gave one boobs again, and gave the other an hourglass figure, when he was triangular, before.

that in itself, is not inherently bad. tastes can change. but when you look into his posts. he shows, he either has very little understanding of what transitioning is, or how bad dysphoria can get, for other trans men. just because his dysphoria "went away" after, "he let his boobs hang," does not mean that is a capable fix, for transmascs with severe dysphoria. nor does he actually seem to understand HOW binders work, as he assumes they will be a sensory nightmare for him, and assumes that c cup breasts, are "too big for any binder".

similarly. he tried using his experiences as a broad brush, to claim that all trans men have the collective trauma of misogyny, and religious/sexual trauma. i understand, what he was trying to say. but ultimately what he says here is, "you are only scared of femininity, because you are traumatized, so you have to unlearn that" followed up with, positioning himself as some kind of figurehead of trans men, unable to recognize when HE oversteps, yet perfectly able to recognize when OTHERS, overstep his own boundaries.

and to be honest. i get constant messages from trans men now, expressing that salem doing his thing would be fine, but that his yapping about accepting femininity, is actively normalizing this line of thought with NON-trans men. meaning, harmful ideas of what it means to be a trans men are being internalized, and eventually just accepted as fact.

i have even received several pms, detailing how some trans men noticed an uptick of transphobic/detransitioning content, mostly with non-trans men fetishizing the """inherent femininity""" of trans men, their ability to get pregnant, or "forcefemming" content. (i have seen these things first hand. i cannot get screenshots. but i can personally say, it is fucking gross.) is this directly related to salem? i think he has a part in it, but he himself has stated, after he drew feminine trans men, many others began doing so, as well. salem, as a trans man, can treat himself and his characters, however. but the fact is, the more he speaks, the more he reveals how harmful his own internal thoughts are, toward himself and to others. and rather than putting himself in a position, where he speaks for all trans men. he needs to recognize his experience, is unique to HIM, not anyone else.