#like its not even about the person who did it to me its just like huh????????????? my brain does not comprehend how u could do it and not
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hyuckmov · 9 hours ago
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haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 3 of 3
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wc: 11k (lol) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff warnings: unprotected sex, making out, creampies, fingering, oral (f recieving), lowkey don't have that dog in me anymore so this is kind of vanilla, dirty talk, aftercare...? needs to be read after part 1 and 2 a/n: fucking finally. so so so sorry for the wait and also this is lowkey probably so BAD because its been a hot minute since i've written for tumblr. because this could be written/ended in so many ways, AN EPILOGUE IS COMING with a 'happy' ending, just not putting it here in this part because i think i should post this out first on it's own. i love you guys so much, thank you to every single person who's read, commented, let me know how much you liked it, and waited so patiently. i cannot express how much it means to me.
"whose party is this again?" 
"jaemin's friend chenle," mark says, placing his drink down on one of the tables. "think they should be around here somewhere." 
through the smoke, he can see your eyes shine. you've come even closer now, and it's as if every movement of yours is liquified, rendered in slow-motion – you flick a strand of hair out of your face and it's like he can feel the damp air on your cheeks, a slow smile spreading across your face like sunrise spilling over the horizon, that lovely curl of your lip that he's memorized. he feels his chest cave in when he hears you laugh, feel you take another step closer to him even though your eyes never meet his, even though you never look his way – every memory he has of you threatening to burst through his seams. 
your skin glows under the dizzying lights, and all he can think about is the fact that you’re so close, he could reach out his hand and touch you. but he can’t. you weren't his – and he was the one who had thrown you away.
jisung comes up to you, and haechan can see his friend's shy smile met with your beaming grin as you turn to face him. jisung is saying something to you – a hand gently placed on your shoulder as he speaks into your ear, the other gesturing vaguely towards the upstairs rooms. and then you're nodding, and haechan watches wide-eyed as he takes your hand in his and begins guiding you up the stairs. 
he can't help it – he only waits a beat, enough for you to disappear up the stairs, before he's rushing through the crowd, climbing the stairs two at a time. he rounds the corner just as he sees the flick of your skirt as you disappear into the nearest room, the door clicking shut softly. taking a moment to calm himself down – chest heaving, wringing his hands – he pads softly towards the room, placing both hands on the door, straining to hear anything that might be going on. 
low voices. the rustling of fabric. haechan's imagination spun out of control – jisung's large hands on your skin, his plush lips exploring your neck, your soft sounds, the way you might look under him. he heard a light laugh, and he pressed even closer to try to catch what was being said – what if he had you on his lap? what if you laughed because he'd kissed you behind the ear like haechan did once? it had caught you by surprise, and you'd giggled – burying your face in the crook of his neck. you were sorry. you were just sensitive. haechan had wanted to pull you into his chest and never let you go. 
he knew he was breaking his own heart – over-analyzing each muffled sound that came through, all his thoughts drifting back to memories of you. but he couldn't seem to peel himself away as the party raged on and on downstairs, didn't want to be anywhere else but near you even if you didn't know he was there. he had never felt this way with anyone else before – never needed anyone else like this, never afraid like this – and the realisation roared loud in his ears along with the feverish ghost of your fingerprints all over his skin. 
jisung knows haechan's going to talk to him. 
can see it in the way he hangs back after practice, fiddling with his guitar and placing it back on its stand, before picking it back up again for no real reason. there was something off, slightly, about haechan these days. not enough for jeno or mark to comment about it, to hold an intervention, but things had definitely changed – haechan never brought around girls, or showed any interest when jeno and mark would discuss them. he was quiet, and subdued during practice, absorbed in his own guitar, or else discussing new songs with mark in low voices. and strangest of all – jisung mused, slinging his own bass over his shoulder as he ambled to the door – haechan started to seem afraid of jisung. 
jisung – who had for the longest time been the most timid and shy of the group, the least experienced by far. he remembered how haechan would tease him if a girl paid him any slightest bit of attention: half-joking, but half trying to build up his friend's confidence. he remembered how he used to be wary of haechan's attention at after-show parties, because haechan would watch him like a hawk and push him into any girls he showed the vaguest interest in. he remembered his shock at haechan, who had never been mean or vindictive – a pain sometimes yes, but never truly cruel to him –, standing there obstinately in his place on stage, staring down at you in the crowd. 
to the version of haechan now, who could barely look him in the eye. 
"jisung?" 
haechan clears his throat. jisung stops in his tracks, turning back to look at haechan. 
"yeah?" 
haechan's gaze is directed at his shoes. swallowing, he takes a moment before he asks. "uh…how was…um…how've you been?" 
jisung has to stop himself from laughing out loud. "i've been good," he says, amiably. he's not going to let haechan have it easy. 
"nice…nice," haechan mumbles. "uh…seeing anybody?" 
"haechan," he keeps his tone light. "come on." he moves towards where haechan is standing awkwardly, taking a seat down on one of the stools. after a beat, haechan sits down too. 
"how did it go with y/n?" haechan sounds almost timid – like a child asking a question, but scared of knowing the answer. 
"can't you ask her yourself?" he knows he's making things difficult, but he needs haechan to work for it. needs haechan to articulate, because he knows that's the least you deserve. 
"i…i could," haechan says. "but i…i don't want to seem possessive. i already fucked up by wishing her luck on the date and i just…" he buries his face in his hands. jisung doesn't say a thing, waiting for him to finish his sentence. "i don't want to hurt her anymore…but i need to know. i need to know what to expect.…" haechan's voice is so small, like he's disappearing into himself. 
"haechan��" he starts, slowly, but haechan cuts in, hurriedly. 
"if you really love her, jisung, if you're happy together, i'll back off. i won't see her again. it'll be…it'll be too hard to see her with you but that's for me to figure out. you…you should both be happy. she deserves you, ji. you'll be good for each other." 
"what are you even saying…" jisung lets out a nervous laugh. he knows haechan tends to get dramatic – loves blowing moments out of proportion, lingering on stories that were fun to tell and relive. loves to exaggerate – always taking the smallest details too seriously and making light of things that had real consequences. but as he watches haechan – curled in on himself, he sees that this is something else entirely. this haechan was anxious and overthinking, unsure of himself, fractured into a thousand different wants and needs. 
"i'm serious, jisung." haechan, the vocalist he is, keeps his voice as steady as possible. "i'll back off if you tell me to. if i'm making it hard for you in any way…" 
"haechan, it's…it's going to be fine. it's not what you think." 
"you…you're not together now?" a hint of hopefulness. 
jisung chooses to be kind. "we're not," he says, gently. when haechan's lips part, he continues on, interrupting him. "it had nothing to do with you. we're just…not." 
"i'm sorry," haechan murmurs, finally lifting his head. "i know you wanted it to work out." he truly means it.
"i'm happy with the way things are now," jisung says it, and he means it too. "but…but you know she's going to start seeing other people, right?" 
a beat. "yeah…yeah of course." 
"you can't go after all of them and ask them if it's working out or not, you know?" jisung says, wryly. "at some point…you need to just talk to her." 
"i…" haechan break off, a pained expression flitting over his face. "i don't have anything to say. but i really want her to be happy. i just want her to be happy. but it sounds…" he catches the look on jisung's face. "i know it sounds like a guilt-trip. i know what it sounds like." 
"give her space," jisung suggests, quietly. "figure out what you're willing to give. who you can be for her."
"hyuck or haechan." he says it almost spitefully. he had never hated the difference more. 
-
you were in the crowd today. 
it had been a little over a month – 6 days more, to be exact, – since haechan had last seen you in the crowd, each time spotting your face easily, everyone else fading to nothing. each time noting every which way your eyes shimmered under the lights, the ways your pretty lips curved into a smile or a shout, or even each time you looked away, distracted. 
he'd practically rushed into the dressing room after the show ended, anxious hands tugging at his clothes, trying to fix himself up just in case you decided to come find him. questions had spun around in his mind so much during the show, he was afraid he would start singing them in place of mark's carefully written lyrics. he's thought of a thousand ways to bring it up, but he wishes he could just ask — how've you been? have you forgotten me? 
he's still lost in thought when the dressing room door opens softly, the lock turning gently in the door barely louder than a whisper. 
"haechan?" 
he turns, and you're there. you're wearing a new dress, probably the shortest one he's ever seen on you, black glittery fabric barely brushing the tops of your thighs. but he doesn't linger on your body, his eyes seeking out your own, the flush of anticipation and adrenaline in your cheeks, the way your hair falls slightly loose, framing your face. the question is on the tip of his tongue, his lips are parting, his breath catches in his throat –  
" – don't worry," you say, breathlessly, as you catch the look on his face. "no one saw me." 
oh. 
walking towards him, you pull him into a hug, arms wrapping around his neck, so you can brush your lips against his cheek. pulling away, you peer at him, wondering why he's looking at you so lost. like he was wondering something since he laid eyes on you tonight.
you frown. "were you going to ask me something else?" 
his lips part, soundlessly. you've never seen him so speechless. his arms tentatively circle around your waist, fingers brushing the fabric of your dress, and understanding dawns on you. 
"yes, it's a new dress," you smile. 
he swallows, the cloudy look clearing from his eyes as he finally runs his heavy touch down your back, a feeling you've grown used to. 
his tone is slightly darker when he plays along, masking the traces of disappointment. "for me?" 
you nod, letting his hands wander to the zipper, eyes traveling to the mirror to catch the way he fiddles with it, slowly starting to drag it down your spine. 
what you don't catch, is the way he's looking at you – lip caught between his teeth, eyes focused on the side of your face, regret and sadness and a desire he still couldn't shake coursing through his body. you had come back – and maybe that was all that he should care about. 
"come home with me," he blurts out, suddenly. "i have to show you something." 
confused, you look back at him, frowning. "now?" 
he swallows. "yes. we'll still…it's just…" he stammers, confidence draining as he watches you zip your dress back up. "i mean…i just…thought you'd like my bedroom more than this dressing room. you said- you said it was uncomfortable, that last time…" he trails off. his head droops, fingers picking at his nails. 
you place your hands on his chest. his head lifts just slightly, glancing at you through his lashes. "haechan," the ache in your chest making your voice soft – barely above a whisper. "why are you so nervous today?" 
"i'm sorry," he starts, but you shake your head. "it's been awhile."
"that's fine, i'll go home with you," you say, smiling, hoping to reassure him. the words instantly relax him, and he lets out a breath. you can feel his chest move under your palms. 
"i'm sorry," he repeats, softly, but you don't know what he's saying it for. 
you don't know how you ended up here. 
one moment, haechan was unlocking his door, one hand fumbling with the keys as he held yours tightly in his other palm. the next, you were pushing him against the door – his plush lips, soft and tasting slightly like honeyed lip balm, finally kissing you deeply in a way you'd craved. and then he was sweeping you up into his arms, your legs locked in around his waist, his bag slumping to the floor as he focused all his attention on you. placing you on the countertop, he takes his time with your lips – his hand first cupping your face, then working its way down your neck, as if he was making sure you were wholly real through touch since his eyes were closed for the kiss. 
"hyuck?" you murmur. 
guilt pricks at your conscience when you feel him falter. you would never admit that you realized the name did something to him – made him more desperate and more tender all at once. you used it sparingly, only in certain moments, and tonight seemed just right for it, what with the way his touch was already so infused with longing. 
he hums in acknowledgement, pausing. a gentle palm tilts your face towards his, and his eyes are wide and patient. 
"what's wrong?" he asks. 
"i want to suck you off," you mumble, your words coming out rushed and careless. you almost think he might not catch it, but haechan goes still. his hands, caressing your face, stop moving.  
"what?"
your mind explodes with a million thoughts. did he not want you to? how many girls had sucked him off before you – did he think you wouldn't be good enough? was he not attracted to you enough? 
he was still just looking at you – something unreadable in his eyes. 
"do you not want me to?" you ask, doubt making your tone come off a little more insecure than you'd have liked. "is it…is it because i've never done it before?" 
he blinks. "what?" he repeats, again. 
you shift, uneasy. "you can teach me," you insist, holding onto his arms, wanting to be closer to him. "i'll practice…" 
"oh god," he whispers. "oh… oh y/n…" his hands barely skim your skin, nervously tucking your hair behind your ear. "don't," he says, quietly. 
"why?"
i don't want to hurt you," he says, voice so tender it wavers under the weight of his feelings for you. "being able to touch you is already everything to me-" he trails off, biting his lip, and then he's weak in the knees, and you melt into his embrace as he holds your body against his. "i don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with." 
"i want to please you like the girls before," you protest, weakly. "i want to…i want you to tell me your fantasies." 
"all that matters to me," he says, slowly, eyes suddenly grave and solemn. "is that i'm here with you. just you." he holds your hands up to his lips and kisses the tips of your fingers. 
you don't know what to say. the charged atmosphere from before has dissolved into the night, leaving a balmy and sweet taste on your tongue. the only thing that feels right is to hold him in your arms and hold him as close as you can. 
he's looking at you, before suddenly pulling you into him as if he could read your mind – arms wrapped protectively around your back, one hand coming up to stroke your hair as you lean into his chest. 
the memory of that first night comes back to you – the first time he rejected you. he hadn't wanted to hurt you then, either. and then he proceeded to in all ways possible – playing with your heart in a terrible back and forth. and then he disappeared from your life, and then he came back and something was different – in the way he touched you, looked for you, looked at you, was careful with you. 
but you moved on – told jaemin, told yourself you weren't waiting. you'd gone on a date with jisung, and then to some more with a few other guys on campus. you didn't hang around the band all the time now – didn't show up for every concert. and even when you did, you rarely stopped by to see haechan – spending more and more time with jisung, who was steadily becoming one of your closest friends. 
you tried to keep things light when you did visit haechan. always easy, relishing in how well he knew how to please you, how he always knew what to say. and for the most part, he was able to play along – a smile always tugging at the corner of his lips, or his tongue poking into his cheek as his eyes turned dark. 
but it was on nights like these – when the moon was a bit too bright and the air between your lips and his dense like honey, your skin heated and his face flushed – when you used the wrong name, or he said things too vulnerable and too intimate. it was on nights like these when you are faced with the reality that he made you feel the way no one else could – even as he was ever-changing, ever showing you a different side of himself. on these nights you plunge your hands deep into the kaleidoscope of him, and its like diving into shattered glass. 
"i wanted to show you this," he murmurs, shyly. 
he places a pair of headphones clumsily on your head, his long fingers scrambling to adjust it on your head, trying not to pull at your hair. your hands come up to help, and you shoot him a reassuring smile. 
it was even later in the night. you were both showered and dressed for bed – you in a long-sleeved shirt of his that you liked. when you came into the bedroom, he was fiddling with his laptop – and you could hear snippets of his honey-sweet voice starting and stopping as he tapped at his keyboard. it was natural, to head over to the bed and lean your head on his shoulder, as he started to explain to you what he was doing, eventually grabbing his headphones from the bedside table. his skin smells faintly of baby powder, and his bare face under the dim light is so soft – mellowed curves, the constellation of moles on his cheek ever visible, eyes tired but warm. 
he clicks play, and his voice fills your ears – clean, without any backing vocals or instruments. you try to catch the lyrics, but he mumbles through his words, voice meandering effortlessly around the melodies, drawing beautiful loops. his voice is delicate and gentle, flowing water with a current of electricity running through it, humming and buzzing with dangerous life. 
it ends all too quickly, and haechan – who was watching your face carefully the entire time, clicks on a few more tracks. you can hear his voice, muffled from under the headphones, start to explain. 
"that's…that's my draft for the melody. i made it for this, uh, it's one of mark's demos–" 
a sultry, low beat now plays, low strings filling in the gaps. when his voice leaks in, you feel your cheeks start to heat up. the same melody from before – so innocuous and sweet, maybe something even vulnerable – sounds sinful all of a sudden. you can practically hear the scream of the crowd punctuating each line, and now even the way he mumbles is hazed with a sort of suggestive glow. 
you look at him, wide-eyed. he's still watching your face, this time his lip caught between his teeth, looking up at you through his lashes. when the song ends, you tug the headphones down from your ears, and he takes them from you absentmindedly.
"mark told me to try writing for that. he said it suited my voice —" 
"it does," you respond. your hands reach out to play with his, tracing the way his fingers curved, running your touch along his calloused finger-tips. 
"but i…i don't know. i want to write something…something that feels…" he stumbles over his words, eyes lingering on the way your hands play with his, the gentleness of your touch. "that feels like this," he finishes, softly. 
"like what?" you hum, tracing loops on the back of his hand. 
but he doesn't respond. 
"do you like it?" he asks, quietly. 
you give his hand a squeeze. "sing it for me?" 
his hand trails off to the keyboard again, but you hold it steady in your palm. "no, sing it for me now. here." 
he's still. you almost think he won't do it, but then he's pushing the screen of his laptop shut, and he turns to face you. 
this time, when he sings, he gets all the words out. 
in person, his voice is hushed and soft, like every word is a secret. his eyes flutter shut, and he ducks his head shyly as he continues. when he ends, his voice trails off, and he doesn't turn to look at you, staring at his hands. you stay silent, until it's like he can't bear it, and his head turns to face you, eyes seeking reassurance. 
"i like it just like this," you tell him, softly. 
his smile blooms. 
"keep haechan on his toes," jaemin says, leaning back in his chair. the steam from the coffee he made – a 2am jaemin specialty — curled gently in the air, your hands nursing the mug in front of you, sipping just to have something to do. "don't see him for awhile. keep him guessing." 
"that's cruel," you mumble. 
"he's done crueler," he points out. "you know you don't owe him anything, right?"
"i know i don't," you say, slowly. "i just think that it would kill me not to know how he's doing. if he was going on dates with other people…" 
"and would he tell you?" 
no, is your automatic answer, one you can't run from in your head, but jisung cuts in. 
"he wouldn't go on a date with someone else," he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair so he could stretch out his long limbs. blinking sleep from his eyes, he shook his head again to clear his bangs away from his eyes. it had been late already when he showed up, after a show, bringing food, a tired but giddy smile on his face. "you really fucked him up, that's all i'm going to say."
"he may not go on a date, but he'd fuck someone else, probably." jaemin rolls his eyes. 
"we actually haven't fucked in awhile." the realization feels like butterflies in your chest – an uneasy, fluttery feeling. 
"what?" jisung looks at you in disbelief. "sorry," he adds, suddenly sheepish when both you and jaemin stare at him. "i just thought that was the big part of your relationship." 
"it was…" you say, slowly. ignoring how jisung said 'relationship' when it was really never that. "but…but i don't know. recently we always get distracted…or… or he's… i don't know." 
you think of his unmade bed. the careful, tender loop of his arm around your waist. you think of the way his lashes flutter when you lean in to kiss him – 
and yet, there was something bigger bothering you about this, something that tugged at your gut, the words forcing themselves out of you. 
"i hate that it feels like there's nothing more to me than this." 
"y/n, what are you talking about?" jaemin asks, his voice quiet. when you pause, he presses on, urgency in every word. "what did he say to you?" 
"nothing," you shake your head. "he didn't say that to me, it's something i feel. no matter who i'm with…even when i'm alone….i can't run from it." you take a breath. you hated admitting this, but jaemin's eyes were kind as they looked into yours. "even when we weren't talking, i was thinking about him…and tonight…jaemin i don't think anyone should be able to make me feel like this." 
“there's nothing wrong with being in love," he says, carefully. when you don't say a word, he continues on, as gentle as possible. "you know that no amount of attention he gives you will change the way you feel, right?" 
he was right. if you really dared to dream – to use up every last shooting star, count on all of the angel numbers — and haechan, donghyuck, gave himself to you fully like you wanted, you would still be afraid of losing him. a sick flutter beats in your chest at the passing thought of him slipping away again – that all this fight would have been for nothing. 
it was as if jaemin could read your mind. "there was a life before him," he reassures you. "there is so much more without him. you just need to start living like it, to really see it."
you had nodded, but you couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how many shows you skipped, no matter how many times you drove by his apartment or ignored his messages, it wouldn't change a thing: that even though there was a life before him, maybe it wasn't one that you wanted anymore.
you're cutting through the park on your way home from class, when you hear a shout of your name. you barely have time to turn before a small girl is launching herself at your legs, standing high on her tip-toes to throw her arms around your waist. 
"slow down!" 
you'd know that voice anywhere. 
haechan looks different. he's dressed in a striped sweater, glasses askew on his small nose. your heart skips a beat – he looks warm, and cozy, and comfortable. behind the frames, his eyes glow when he looks at you, an involuntary smile tugging at his lips. 
the two of you just stand there, looking into each other's eyes. every sense of yours is heightened –  the autumn air cold on your skin. the light catching everything around you. and your heart beating in your chest, speeding up with every moment you continue looking at him. you can't help it: even now you smile looking at his face. 
he raises his eyebrows. 
"what?" you blurt out, caught off-guard. 
he laughs lightly. "what are you doing here?" he asks, like he's explaining a question. 
"just…passing through," you say, slowly. "you?" 
"the…uh…kindergarten's right near here." haechan point vaguely at a point in the distance, you only look at it for a second before you focus back on him. you can't help it. he smiles again. "you're just passing through? can't you stay for awhile? we were going to get ice cream." 
his sister tugs at your sweater, excited at the sound of ice cream. you look down at her face – she has the same nose as her brother, the same bright smile. 
"just for a bit," you concede. haechan pumps his fist, playing up his excitement to make his sister laugh. it makes your heart go still and race all at the same time. 
"we need to talk." 
there was something wrong with haechan. 
the smell of rain and cigarettes hung in the alley behind the dingy venue. haechan sits on the steps with his head in his hands, jeno leaning on the wall opposite, jisung against the doorway behind. it's mark who stands directly in front of him, as he rubs his face with his hands, trying to calm down. mark who crouches down, mark's prying hands which make haechan lift his head to look at them. 
"what happened?" he asks, his eyes blazing. 
haechan swallows. "it's been a bad day," he tries, weakly. 
"it's been a bad month," jeno corrects. at haechan's glare, he raises his eyebrows in a silent challenge, and it's jisung who pipes up.
"i think people are starting to notice something's off," he says, softly. "that you play differently, sometimes."
"you mean that he messes up when she's not in the crowd," jeno says, bitterly. 
"i only messed up today," haechan mumbles. "it won't happen again." 
"what about yesterday? it's like you weren't onstage at all." jeno protests. 
haechan opens his mouth, but closes it. he knew this conversation had to happen, that things would lead to this – his fingers faltering, his mind going blank as his solo began. jeno's drums continuing relentlessly, mark's eyes on him, as he shook his head fiercely, trying to clear his mind and focus all at once. unsure of what to keep — the image of you, or the chords he'd worked so hard to get right. 
"hyuck, do you need a break?" mark asked, his words slow and gentle. "we can stop performing for awhile, cancel some of our gigs…"
"no," he breathes.  "don't." he doesn't want to lose all of it – and because he knew that if he stopped performing, he didn't know if he would ever see you again. 
and it's like jeno reads his mind. "she's not going to like you like this," jeno says, his voice impersonal. "she likes the version of you onstage, remember? it's how she first met you, it's what kept her coming back for more." 
"jeno." mark's voice is stern, but haechan looks up right past him, hurt pooling in his eyes. 
"i know," he breathes. "i know that. but i don't know if i can be that around her anymore." 
"not just around her," jisung notes. "you're not haechan anymore. it doesn't make you happy." 
"i know," he repeats, quieter this time. 
"hyuck, listen," mark sighs. "you're not doing yourself any good going onstage like this. i'm canceling the next few shows –" as haechan protests, he cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder. "no. we could all use a break." 
"mark," haechan croaks. "i can't." 
"we'll still have practice," mark says, firmly. "you still have to show up for all of it. and those songs i told you to work on —" 
"you should go home," jisung adds. "take care of your sister." 
there's a pause, as they wait for jeno to chime in. 
"none of it matters if you don't figure it out with her," he says, a tone of finality ringing in his words. he straightens, broad shoulders squared, suddenly much bigger under the lights. "if you need to get over it, you have to. staying like this is hurting everyone." 
haechan's lips part, soundlessly. there's a sharp creak, as jeno stalks back into the venue, followed by mark – who pats haechan gently on the shoulder. vaguely, haechan waits for the sound of jisung's soft steps to fade, but they only shuffle closer, until the lanky boy drops down next to him. his legs stretch out into the dingy alley, as haechan hugs his knees closer to his chest, for the first time perhaps truly afraid of what he was about to hear from his friend.
"sometimes, we meet the right person at the wrong time-" jisung's voice is quiet, almost a murmur, but the words still scrape against haechan's skin, rough like sand. 
"don't say that." he bites his lip harshly, a sudden rush of anger at the pity in jisung's responding sigh. "don't fucking say that." 
"haechan, it's okay. she liked you, but then she moved on after you realised you —" 
"she didn't –" his fist clenches, restless in his lap. "she didn't move on." 
"really? not at all?" jisung's eyes are fixed on haechan's, holding his gaze. "after weeks of telling her you couldn't give her what she wanted…you think she's still waiting for you?" 
"ji-"
"why should she wait for you?" 
haechan swallows. "she shouldn't," he mumbles. "i…i need to really let her go. jeno's right." he truly means it.
jisung hesitates. he's been spending more time with you, as friends – joining on your movie nights with jaemin, or else baking together, or letting you style him for shows and concerts. and the more time he spends with you, really gets to know you, the more he can see why you and haechan seem to need each other. your patience and gentleness matched the soft way he's seen haechan take care of his sister and at times, mark. he watched the way you sometimes falter – worry overtaking your features for a split second when you stop at a red light, or your teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you stand in front of the stove – and instinctively he can imagine haechan's confidence, his natural propensity to make everything seem easy, fitting in with you and taking care of you. 
but he knew that haechan could only give you his attention – not his heart, not until he was brave enough to admit how much you meant to him. 
your resolve to stay friends with him was as flimsy as haechan's promise to let you go. jisung almost wanted to laugh at the insistence both of you had, upon lying to yourselves. 
"be honest," he says, gently. "what do you want?" when haechan doesn't answer, jisung's low voice continues on, coaxingly. "what's your best-case scenario? what do you want to happen?" 
haechan takes a deep breath. "i don't know." 
jisung tries to hide his disappointment. "do you not know, or are you not ready to say it?" 
"i don't know," haechan mumbles again, burying his face in his hands. i don't know if i deserve it. 
the two of them sit there for a long, long, time. 
there was something wrong with haechan.
something's different. that's what jeno had said earlier, after the show. exhausted from sleepless nights, screaming fans making him feel nauseous, haechan barely paid attention to anything during his performances except for his own guitar. he hardly looked at the crowd, didn't acknowledge their pleas of his name, as if it wasn't one he recognised at all. 
he'd started missing parties, and was barely there even if he showed — ignoring the way girls swarmed around him, wondering if he was playing a new game, one where they had to work harder to earn his attention. it was a game they never won, his eyes trained on his cup, or else on the door. 
but out of all of haechan's bad habits, this might be the worst of them – sitting in the living room past midnight, sipping down to the last dregs of his alcohol, waiting for the knock on his door. 
it was late now — so late that the hours had bled into the next day. he hadn't seen you at the concert, not at the party, and despite telling himself not to dream, not to hope, he still carried enough desperation in him to stay up again. 
he's relieved he did. 
his hands shake as he opens the door. his hands falling to his sides as he drinks in the sight of you, letting you in. 
"hi," you breathe, and you don't ask before you lean into him, soft lips brushing his plush ones. 
he's at a loss for words, his tongue numb in his mouth, limbs still heavy from how tired he'd been all day. he lets you guide him to the couch, into the cushions. lets you straddle his hips, holding your body close to his with careful arms, as he meets your kisses gently.
something's different, but haechan's not the only one who's changed. on nights like these, all you do is take and take and take. 
"i haven't seen you in a while," he murmurs. quietly, softly, the words almost getting lost between kisses. immediately after he says the words, he slots his lips with yours firmly, as if afraid of what you would say if he let the space between you and him grow. 
"i've been busy." at the crestfallen look on his face, a small smile tugs at your lips, and you lean in to brush your lips with his. "why? did you miss me?" 
"i did," he says, almost timid. "i missed you."
at this, you raise your eyebrows. "you could have had anyone else." 
but he shakes his head. "i missed you," he repeats, hands mapping your skin, as if checking if you were really here, seeking the familiar way you fit into his palms, your slopes and your edges. 
"i missed you too," you say, meaningfully, letting him pull you in for another kiss. but when you push against him, body rocking into his and mouth open and wanting, the glow in your eyes tells him you're talking about something else entirely. 
his mind races. the feeling of you against him wakes him up like nothing else, the way you touch him, your smell and your taste setting fire to all his senses. there's something sweet about your lips tonight, something he wants to savor on his tongue and drown in all at once. 
he doesn't want to waste any of this, because this was the only thing you ever wanted to see him for — and that's what he tells himself as he pulls you into his body, because finally, finally, your attention is all on him, an electric heat simmering over each fibre of his being, the feeling of your body too sweet to be true.
but it's been one too many nights he's waited, a weight on his chest and a drowsiness he can't shake overcoming him like a cloyingly sweet poison. 
"i–" he's cut off by a shuddering inhale as your lips travel down to his neck, your hips grinding against him just right. "baby, i'm sorry," he tries again, his hands now gripping onto your waist, trying to steady you, even as he gives up. "i don't think i can take care of you tonight." 
you still. 
"don't go, please," he begs. "i'm sorry, it's been…it's been a long day and i…" he breaks off. the performance. the fight with the band. the fact that he'd been drinking for hours, the starless sky inky black outside his window, his fingers still stinging from plucking at guitar strings all night. "just give me a second," he stammers, burying his face in his hands, tugging at his features, before looking up at you with tired eyes. "i'll be fine in a minute, then we'll go to the bedroom, i just —" 
your hands slide down the slope of his shoulders. 
"don't go," he repeats, hands fumbling for yours as he brings them up to his lips, like a prayer. "i can take care of you, i promise. just…" 
"donghyuck," you say, softly. again you smile, cupping his face in your palms. his round cheeks, plush lips, the slight flare of his nose. he almost goes cross-eyed staring at you, as you lean in close and kiss him again – this one different from the rest, close-lipped and chaste. 
"hyuck, let me take care of you tonight, okay?" 
caught in a riptide of his own longing, he lets go. 
"you don't have to do anything," he mumbles. his hands tentatively touch your waist, the barest brush of his fingertips, before he's encircling you in his arms, easing you into his chest. slowly, tentatively, he holds you close by the weight of his arms, a large hand reassuringly patting the space right beneath your heart – clumsy, rhythmic thumps that trailed off into a lingering warmth. "i just want to hold you here, like this." 
he can feel the tension that spreads down your spine, your breath caught in your throat. your lips are parted, your eyes looking at his in an unreadable expression. 
"do you not like it?" he asks, his voice small. his hands fall from your waist, nervously tugging his sleeves down over his palms. "i…i'm just…" 
"i do," you say, slowly. and because your faces are so close, the thought is barely crossing your mind before you press your lips against his. it's supposed to be quick, reassuring, but the look on haechan's face when you pull back makes you lean in again right away. 
it was a look that was open and hurt, his hands still tangled in his lap. his eyes stayed open as you kissed him, as if he couldn't dare believe it was real — finally blinking shut when you kissed him again, his slight relief melting on your tongue. his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as you clumsily got up off the couch, and as you straightened, he ducked away from your gaze, staring at his hands. 
"hyuck," you start, but he shakes his head. 
"it's fine." he still wouldn't look at you - fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "you don't have to stay, it's late." 
"hyuck, listen to me." 
"i know," he says, quickly. the slightest trace of fear in his voice. "you don't….you don't have to remind me, i know. it's too…you said we couldn't…"
" — hyuck, i wasn't going to say that." 
his fingers falter, but he stays silent. 
"i can't fall asleep properly in your lap," you explain, slowly. "let's go to bed, okay?" 
he looks up then. "really?" 
"i said i want to take care of you," you repeat, his wide eyes making you feel shy all of a sudden. "i mean it." 
he lets you take his hands, body following pliantly as he stands from the couch, as you lead him to his bedroom, his eyes focused on your intertwined hands. it's both a familiar and unfamiliar feeling — crawling into his bed with his clothes on your body, sinking into the soft sheets and letting the senses of him wash over you. the usual buzz of pleasure isn't there, and its a different tiredness that seeps through your veins, one that comes with feeling safe. 
since when did you start feeling safe with him? 
you feel his weight sink in behind you, the duvet rustling against skin as he turns. an arm curls around your waist. his head lowers into the crook of your neck – you can feel his soft hair, his pouty lips brushing your shoulders in a light kiss. 
"the band is taking a break," he mumbles. "because of me."
"hyuck?" you try to turn in his arms, but his grip only tightens on your waist. he shakes his head. "hyuck, what happened? are you okay?" 
"m'yeah, i'm okay now." he shifts. "just…i just don't know if i like playing in the band anymore." 
there's a pause. 
"are you…are you disappointed?" the thumb drawing circles on your hip stills. "say something," he whispers. "please." 
"why would i be disappointed?" you ask, quietly. placing your hand on his, you turn, facing him as he encircles you in his arms. his eyes are half-lidded, tousled hair falling over his brows, his cheek squished against the pillow into a half-pout. it's almost instinct – the way your hand goes up to his face to brush his hair out of his face, fingers absentmindedly tracing his moles. 
you can feel his lips move against your fingers. "would you still come to see me?" he wonders, softly. "if you didn't have a reason to?" 
you bite your lip. "i would want to…" you say, slowly. "but i don't know if i should. haechan, what's going on? does music not make you happy anymore?" 
his heart aches. your care for him fills his lungs, making his eyes begin to prickle with tears. 
"i don't think the haechan…donghyuck thing is good for me." 
"oh." your thumb brushes over the bridge of his nose. "hyuck…" you start. "i don't…i don't want to overstep." 
his face falls. "sorry," he says, his voice small. "i won't bother you with it…you don't have to…"
"no, i don't mean…hey, listen to me." you wait until he looks up at you through his lashes, nervously. "i think i've gotten to know haechan and donghyuck, you know? i mean…" your heart skips a beat, suddenly shy at your own honesty. but you've already let your guard down – it's no use. "of course i like haechan. haechan's the one who invited me backstage, haechan's the one who made me go on that rooftop…but…" you take a breath. 
the sleep had worn off from haechan's eyes – he was alert as he watched you now,  hanging onto your every word. 
"i've gotten to know donghyuck too, i think. i hope. donghyuck makes the best sandwiches for his baby sister, donghyuck has a bear tattoo because he looks as cute as one, donghyuck is always gentle with me even when i ask him not to be." your thumb traces the constellation of moles he has again, tracing down to his neck. you draw him closer – the way he's looking at you: like you're his entire world, like your words were the only thing keeping him breathing, filling your chest with a tender kind of ache that didn't go away. 
"donghyuck and haechan aren't that different, not really. they're still you. i like them both. i like all of you. if you woke up tomorrow and told me you were someone else, if you were suddenly becoming someone new, i think i'd still want to fall asleep next to you anyway at the end of the day. because i know you –" you breathe in, sharply. "i…i think i do. i…hope i do." 
he doesn't say anything. just leans in, and brushes his lips with yours lightly – once, twice, and finally sealing them in a kiss. he kisses you deeply, intensely – it wakes you up, that familiar feeling stirring in your belly as your hips move of their own accord. a liquid euphoria fills your veins as he pulls you into him – him on his back, you laying on his firm chest, the toned muscles on his chest grounding you, a feeling so familiar, one that you craved for a long time. you've never felt safer, in his arms. he kisses you like with every moment apart, he wonders if you're still there, and each time he sighs into your mouth it's with relief that you're still here, with him. 
"do you want to…?" he asks softly. he's breathing heavily, but he tries to calm himself down. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and it's that act – so innocent, so nervous even though you've both done it a dozen times with each other, that makes your heart beat harder in your chest. 
"it's been awhile," you murmur. 
"i know." he nods, swallowing. "it just…it hasn't felt right. don't…don't get me wrong, i want you all the time-" he practically groans with frustration. "it's just recently i just…i've been really confused. it's so stupid, but i didn't know which version of me you wanted –" 
"just you," you assure him, softly.
"let me make it up to you then." his tone is just as soft. 
you take his hands, and slide them under your shirt. gently, he tugs it off of you, sitting up slightly to take his shirt off as well before focusing back on you. you're giddy with the feeling of his touch again, nostalgia heightening every single sensation. it's not just hyuck tracing his hands over your chest – his lips finding your nipples, tongue darting out to tease them lightly. it's every single time he's touched you before – in the backseat of his car, hands moving urgently. in your bed that first time – so careful because you were extra sensitive. you have to focus to get back to the present moment, where he's watching you carefully again – noticing that you're lost in your thoughts. 
"everything okay?" he murmurs. 
you nod. "i just missed you so much," you whisper, and you can feel his desperation in the kiss that follows. "i need you now." 
"need to prep you, baby." gently, he eases you onto the bed, crawling down your body as you tug off your shorts and panties. your legs spread, needily, as you can feel him inch closer to your core, his hands coming to hold your hips. "stay still for me?" he mumbles, his eyes dazed as he watches you nod, his own head bobbing along absentmindedly, guiding you through it as he encourages you to bend your knees, baring yourself to him. 
the first flick of his tongue on your clit makes you mewl, hands coming down to grip onto his hair. 
"i know, baby," he comforts you, drawing small circles on your thigh as he leans into suckle your clit, making your hips buck up. he holds you still, patiently continuing to circle your entrance and lap at your clit. "fuck…you're getting so wet, angel." he slides in a finger, and the intrusion makes you clench around him in sensitivity, especially as he kitten-licks your clit shyly while easing in another finger. 
"need you now," you whine, voice reaching that pitch only he seems to bring out in you. his fingers pump more urgently, now curling towards the front of your walls, as he applies more force to your clit with his tongue, massaging the sensitive bud. 
"need you-" you choke out. "need you inside." 
"just give me one right now," he says, a slight plea to his voice. "please, angel. cum for me please, –"
"wanna cum with you inside," you sniffle. that gets his attention. he crawls right up your body until you're face to face, kissing you deeply, palms coming up to hold your face, careful to keep his fingers away. it's heated – your hips rolling into his as he finally loses control, hips bucking into yours until he's practically humping you as he kisses down your neck. your hands go to his waist, and he whimpers into your skin, finally tugging down his sweatpants, and you feel a familiar weight against your core. 
"condom-" he gasps, breaking away. the muscles on his body flex as he reaches for his bedside table, you can feel them move against your hands. 
"have you been fucking anyone else?" 
he blinks. "no, not since…" he breaks off. "no. and i'm clean. mark made me check." the sound of your giggle makes him smile momentarily – a goofy, lopsided grin that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. 
"i want to feel you-" you say, slowly. "please." 
he sucks in a breath. "this…this isn't one of those things you're trying to do to please me, right?" he looks at you, skeptically. "it doesn't make a difference to me, you know that right? i just want you to feel comfortable. and safe…" 
"i am comfortable," you assure him. "i'm on the pill. i really just want to do this with you." 
"because-" he suddenly sits back, running a nervous hand through his hair. "i'm fine with using protection, you know that. i…i love how you feel either way. i never want you to do anything you don't feel absolutely right about…"
"is this about the blowjob?" you raise your eyebrows at him, smiling when you see his eyes widen. "because i'm going to do that too, with you. i want to make you feel good." 
now it's his turn to laugh, tilting his head back. his adam's apple bobs in his throat. "you have no idea-" he murmurs, voice suddenly low and serious. "you have no idea how good you make me feel just by the way you look at me. by the way you say my name." 
"hyuck," you say, patiently. "i need you. don't make me beg." 
"i should be the one begging," he murmurs, and this time when you reach your arms out, he lowers himself right into your arms, letting you wrap your arms around him. he strokes himself a few times, eyelashes fluttering, before slowly easing into you – a soft sound escaping his lips as his eyes went unfocused. it really had been awhile – his length filling you up, stretching you out in a way that was almost painful, but that pain was quickly dulled by pleasure as his body pressed against yours. 
"fuck-" he curses, eyes screwed shut in concentration. "can i…can i please…" 
you rock your hips against him, letting him in even deeper as he bottoms out. "move-" you whimper, "please-" you barely finish your words before he's already drawing back, barely pulling out before fucking himself back in, short intense thursts feeling dizzying. his slender fingers find your clit again, applying a light pressure as the blunt tip of cock perfectly hits the spongy part of your walls, the sound obscene in the quiet room. you were so aroused, you felt that you were making a mess of his thighs – wetness making the scene seem ever more lewd, creaming around his length as he increased his speed, groaning lowly to himself. 
"cum for me, princess," he pleads, lips dipping down to mark the sensitive part of your neck. you were already close from all the teasing – and once again the familiarity of every touch and movement sends your senses into overdrive. your entire body tenses as you climax, and you can hear him hiss out another string of curses, mixed with your name and every term of endearment under the sun. 
"where do you want it?" he all but whimpers, hips still fucking into you like a reflex. 
"inside-" you mumble, ankles loosely hooking behind his back, trying to stop him from moving away. "hyuck, please come inside, fill me up please-" with a soft cry, he pushes in deep – and you can feel him cum inside you, making a mess between your thighs, the feeling so arousing that it awakens something inside you, and your hips begin to move – begging for more. 
"wait-" he pants. "give me a minute, angel-" his eyes are closed again, head lowered, as he pushes through the overstimulation, feeling his soft cock slowly begin to harden again. the sounds falling from his throat now are scratchy, hoarse whines – a sound so dirty it makes your heart beat even faster, a sense of defiled innocence you've only ever heard in his music. the angle in which he's rutting into you stimulating your clit, pushing you closer to your edge as you fuck up onto him. 
"hyuck?" you push his bangs out of his eyes, tracing your hands over his shoulders, his chest. your fingers brush past his nipples and his mouth falls open with need, an achy sound releasing from the back of his throat, his puffy lips parted obscenely. you pinch his nipples again, gently, experimentative, and you feel his body shudder as he cums again, this time going still. it's so fucking arousing, an different side to him that you've never seen, that you feel yourself climax as well, the stimulation overwhelming. 
the both of you lay there for awhile, before he seems to come to his senses — a shaky hand moving the hair out of your face. 
he looks at you, and you look at him. 
and as if he can't help himself, he kisses you again – this time so soft and gentle, almost as if it were the first time all over again. 
"you alright?" he mumbles. 
you nod. 
"let's clean up in a second," he breathes. "just…let's stay like this for awhile." 
you nod again. you don't trust your own voice. something is happening – something tastes different in the air, something in the way you're looking at each other, something in the way he's touching you now – as if you might break or bruise if he even let his fingerprints get onto your skin. in the way he's looking at you now – something urgent in his gaze. 
"are you…are you free tomorrow night?" 
"i am." you sound stronger than you feel. 
"can i take you somewhere?" 
pause. "yeah." you give him a small smile. "i'd like that."
the smile that breaks out across his face is one that you know like the back of your hand. 
sitting across from you now, with your plates already cleared away and all that's left is your last few sips of wine, it hits you how that this is the most normal setting you've been in with him, possibly ever. his long legs stretched out under the table over by your chair, gently placing down his wine glass as he looks at you, his expression soft. his face is lit up by candlelight, hair falling over his brows in a hopelessly endearing way. 
"you good?" he murmurs. 
you nod. things feel cozy, and comfortable – it's a feeling so foreign but at the same time so familiar, you have to keep reminding yourself that this is real. 
he bites his lip. "pretend i'm jisung," he says, impulsively. "and…and you're describing how this went to him. how…how did you find it?" 
you give him a look, but he looks so shy, so nervous to be asking you this question, that you decide to play along. 
"well, jisung-" you take a deep breath, smiling when you see him smile too. "haechan picked me up today, that was really nice-" 
"-sounds like the bare minimum," he mumbles back, head bent.
"well, yeah it kind of is. but he doesn't have the best track record." you see him wince, so you let that comment linger for awhile before continuing on. "he's been a gentleman today. he…he took me to a restaurant that he found out i've been meaning to go to for awhile now, because he asked jaemin beforehand." 
"and that's…creepy? doing too much?" 
"it was thoughtful," you mused. "even though he made the reservation for the wrong date…"
"fucker," he shakes his head. 
"...it was nice because we got to go to walk around, and there was this moment, um…" his head darts up. now you can see him break character – something piercingly vulnerable in the way his bambi-brown eyes shine. 
you swallow. "we were crossing the street…and he put his hand on my lower back, just to guide me forward, and when we got to the other side he took my hand in his and just…held it-" 
he's looking at you, slightly confused and a little nervous. 
"yeah?" 
"he…he usually only acts like that when we're alone…when there's no one around." he still looks lost, so you reach forward across the table, taking his hand in yours. as if on instinct, his hand squeezes yours. "it's sweet," you reassure him. "it was really sweet." 
he bites his lip, but nods to show that he understands.
there's silence, for a bit. you think of breaking the silence, of saying anything, when suddenly he clears his throat slightly, sitting up a little straighter.
"hey, mark-" now he's doing the same bit, and it catches you by surprise a little - making you smile. "yeah, i'm still with y/n. i...uh...i fucked up the reservation, you were right, i should've checked again..."
"i really like spending time with her," he says, slowly. "i...i can't stop staring at her - she looks so beautiful tonight. and...and i can't believe she's finally here with me, that i somehow didn't fuck this up. and um...we were in this record store just now...and i was listening to her talk about an album she liked -" a smile plays on his lips as he recalls the memory. you suddenly become aware that your heart is beating hard again, pounding in your ribs. "and she was so excited, and she kept laughing as she talked, and...and i just realised i would do anything to make her that happy, all the time. and that i want it to be me, i want to be the reason she smiles like that."
you swallow.
"haechan..."
"you don't have to say anything-" he rushes to say. "i just...i just wanted you - i mean, uh, mark - to know."
"okay." you take a deep breath. "and um, i want jisung to know that-"
"yeah?"
"i like spending time with him too," you say, faintly.
he nods, but he doesn't smile.
-
as the car pulls up to your driveway, the quiet hum of the engine is silenced – headlights turned off, only the soft glow of streetlights casting their pools of gold over haechan's face. it's so quiet, you hear the shaky breath he takes as he steadies himself. 
"i have something for you," he murmurs. you can feel the warmth radiating off his body as he leans to pick something up from the backseat, the comforting smell of his perfume making your heart warm. but then you hear the crinkle of paper, his hair falling over his face as he sits back into the driver's seat, and your heart falls in a completely different way – your insides rushing with inertia, dizzy and heady – because he's holding a bouquet of dark red roses. they're wrapped sweetly, tied off with a piece of red ribbon to match the blooms, and your eyes linger on the way his fingers tremble as he holds them out to you with both hands. 
his starts to speak, but whatever he falters as he watches you stare at the soft petals, stems completely stripped of their thorns – and he bites his lower lip, breath caught in his throat. 
"too much?" he asks, softly. "i just thought…i just…mark and jisung said it would be a good idea," he stammers, lowering the bouquet as one of his hands falls to his thighs, nervously clenching his fists. "i was supposed to give them to you when i picked you up, but i got scared…you don't have to take them, i just thought…i wasn't thinking-" 
your hand closes around his hand holding the flowers. your other goes to his face, your thumb brushing his cheek as he falls silent, his eyes fixed on yours, caught in the haze of your touch. slowly, so as not to startle him, you lean in and kiss him gently. it's a beat before he kisses you back, as if he couldn't believe it, and when you pull away just slightly with a soft sound, you can see the nervousness in his eyes. and so you lean in to kiss him again – you kiss him until his lashes flutter shut, until you can feel him settle in his seat, sighing into your mouth as he kisses you deeply. you pull the flowers into your lap, his hand giving up control easily, coming up to your face to hold you in his palms. 
"hyuck." 
he pauses, leaning back – but his hands only leave your face when you hold them in your own, guiding them down to rest against the center console, your fingers intertwined. 
"i never want you to feel like i'm ashamed of being seen with you," he blurts out suddenly. 
"what?" 
"i never meant to let it get that far," he continues on, looking at his hands. "when i first met you…i wanted you to be like everyone else. i tried to do what i always do, but i just couldn't. you kept getting in my head, and i kept hurting you, and i didn't know how to stop and i just-" he exhales. "i never want to make you feel like that again." 
"hyuck, was this a date?" 
he swallows. "if you want it to be," he starts, but then he shakes his head. "the truth is, i was afraid you would say no if it was. but i really want it to be. i really really do." 
"hyuck," you take a deep breath. "whatever you're going through, you're not going to find the answer in me." 
"y/n, i love you," he says, quietly, tenderly. he says it like it's the easiest thing in the world. "i want to be a person who deserves to be with you, and love you, and i know you think you can't change me, and it isn't your responsibility to try at all…but you already have, and you can't take it back. when i'm with you i feel like i can see this version of donghyuck that i want to be all the time for the rest of my life." 
"no two people should change to be with each other –" you start, but he shakes his head. 
"we aren't a scenario," he insists. "this isn't a hypothetical. there's no should and shouldn't, because you know me –" he's pleading. "i'm not the same boy you saw onstage that first time you came to our show, and you're not that same girl on the roof," he pleads, voice breaking, tears welling up in the pretty cut of his eyes. "why is it so hard for you to believe that this version of us is meant to be together?" 
there's silence. 
"i can believe it," you start, quietly. "that's what terrifies me." 
you can see him start to lose hope. he can't force you to stay with him when you're not ready, and he doesn't want to be that person either. 
"i…" he hesitates. he wants to say so much more to you – that no one else makes him feel the way you make him feel. that he feels like he'll never love anyone again, not the way he loves you. the fact that you're it for him in a million different ways, a love he never thought he'd find. that he'll never be able to give anyone else a fair chance. 
but he can tell his love makes your shoulders heavy, makes your eyes go foggy with tears. already, you look shattered sitting in the passenger seat of his car, his love a weight on your chest that you don't know what to do with. already he's losing whatever bravery he had before – the bravery his love for you had given him. 
"sometimes-" you start, breaking off, your voice quivering. "when we're together, i feel like i could do it for the rest of my life. that you're the only one i've met to make me feel this way, that i'm the only one who knows you so deep." 
"you are," he breathes. 
"but-" your voice rises, agitated. "you hurt me. again and again. i came back when i wasn't ready, i should've given it more time, i just couldn't stay away. and then you came back into my life, and i forgave you to be with you again, and i tried to give other people a chance but i just…i just couldn't. what if this is too soon again?" 
i'll wait. the words are on the tip of his tongue, but he knows its the wrong thing to say, wrong thing to want. there's nothing romantic about waiting for someone – it's a cruel promise, one that rots each day going by in the wait for the future. 
"do you…" he takes a deep breath. "do you want to let me go?"
you nod, slowly. haechan can feel his heartbeat in his ears. 
"i'm not sorry," you whisper. "it's not right. you…i know you think you know what you want, but i need you to be sure of who you are, and who you want. i can't give you the answers." 
haechan remembers how – and it seems so far away, almost like a dream now – the night you went out with jisung, he dreamed of you. dreamed up the final version of you and him – everything good and always good, coming backstage to you, coming home to you. and some part of him had dared to hope, that despite everything, despite himself, the two of you would make it to that final version. 
but maybe the final version of you and him was this – the sound of the car door shutting as you walk up the steps to your apartment, and him crying all the way home, roses left in the front seat of the car, the ghost of your hands burning on his face.
(EPILOGUE RELEASE SOON)
@neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @makiswrld @itskkung @simpforarmihn @aryraaaa @rbf-aceu @laubyrinthine @yujuvly @nctevia @hyuckenjoyer @guhhfgbbj @girlwholoveslpreppyattire @kasperneo @eneiyri @toroufriteh @cauliephays @jisoung @niinjo @wonaoi @yuskitty @strawbabyz @readingisgodly @daegalfangirl @minkyuncutie @feat-sun @chaoticstrawberryland @shawnyle @sofix-hc7 @scftharu @spageddy @adorejaehyn @manooffline @02mrk @tyongspice1 @runahways @neosdaisy @hotmessexpress35 @kim-seungmins-gf @delllllllsstuff @nohunlee @kingsoowolves @enhasrii @fnafgirl87 @imzerozen @toroufriteh @torothecatt
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onlyangel4 · 2 days ago
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onlyangel4 1k event - P1. FA14. SMAU.
trope: grumpy x sunshine
pairing: grumpy fernando alonso x sunshine lawson!reader
author's note: reader is liam's older sister, she and fernando met in 2023 after liam drove for daniel while he was injured and started dating but the public have not seen them together, until now
faceclaim dianna agron
1k event
liamlawson posted a story tagging y/nlawson
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written: look who flew in the us ready for my first race
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y/nlawson posted a story
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written: i was on my morning walk and i found a dog, naturally we are best friends now, his name is edgar and i would die for him
fernandoalo_oficial replied to this story: before you ask, no we can not have a dog
y/nlawson: but look at edgar babe he is so cute
fernandoalo_oficial: it is so difficult for me to say no to you my love
f1wags
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liked by user1, user2, user3 and 134,283 others
f1wags: heads have been turned in COTA. fernando alonso did not arrive alone, he was joined by y/n lawson, liam lawson's older sister. the pair walked through the paddock holding hands before both going into the aston martin garage. they have been pictured together a couple times but nothing was ever announced, is this the ultimate hard launch?
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user1: i would have never imagined them together, y/n is the happiest person ever and fernando is just fernando
user2: they are an unexpected couple but fucking hell they are hot
user3: i wonder what liam thinks about this
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y/nlawson posted a story
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written: i guess the cat is out of the bag
f1updates
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liked by user4, user5, user6 and 192,384 others
f1updates: that sprint race was eventful for these potential brother's in law, sharing some heated words after the race. it seems that y/n has her work cut out trying to calm these two down.
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user4: the camera cutting to y/n with her head in her hands was peak cinematography
user5: fernando is going to get a stern talking to after talking to her little brother like that
user6: poor y/n surrounded by angry men
f1fan posted a story
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written: guys i just met y/n and she is still so smiley she just said "i love them both, they are big boys they can work this out between themselves" i love her so much
f1gossip posted a story
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written: max and fernando laughing about the liam lawson situation, "i was forced to apologise because otherwise i would have been sleeping on the couch"
y/nlawson posted a story
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written: so in love with you (even if you did almost punch my brother)
y/nlawson
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liked by fernandoalo_oficial, liamlawson, lewishamilton and 827,212 others
tagged: fernandoalo_oficial. liamlawson.
y/nlawson: this is their punishment for this weekend
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liamlawson: i hate you
y/nlawson: what's that? you want me to post your baby pictures, are you sure
liamlawson: NOOO
fernandoalo_oficial: he started it...
y/nlawson: nando
fernandoalo_oficial: sorry mi amor
user7: y/n has that man wrapped around her little finger
user8: best wag ever
user9: i am so in love with y/n lawson
fernandoalo_oficial posted a story tagging y/nlawson
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written: i'm still her favourite
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
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burrowdarling · 3 days ago
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Take It Easy
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Summary: With everything that's gone on this season, you decided Joe deserved some much needed time away.
Pairings: Joe Burrow x gf!reader
Warnings: implied smut minors DNI
Note: Hi! I was finally able to get around to the request from this anon. I hope you enjoy it! Some good ole bye-week comfort with some steam.
Word Count: 2k
Check out my Masterlist here!
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It had taken quite a fair bit of convincing, but you were all packed up heading a few hours away to a cabin with a couple other guys from the team and their significant others. Joe was beside you in the driver's seat, making you passenger with Sam and Jess passed out in the back. Evan and Gracie were in another car about 15 minutes ahead. Your trunk was filled with all of the supplies you could possibly need for the weekend with a few more hours on the road ahead of you. 
After how you’d seen Joe beat himself up this past week, you knew you had to do something to take his mind off of things. A trip like this has been something you’d wanted to do for a bit, but the bye week felt like the right time to get everyone rest for the remainder of the season. Joe was reluctant at first, still heading to the facility at the start of the bye week, head strong and adamant that he needed to be doing everything he could to get the team in shape. You’d had to talk him through things, getting him to understand that his body needed a break and having a few of the guys could help him to talk to other people who would get it. He’d only agreed to a few days, but you still took that as a win in your book. 
You knew he was trying so hard, carrying so much weight of the team on his shoulders. It was a burden he could only hold alone for so long before it did him in. Joe didn’t relax much during any typical season, but this felt like a special exception to his strict routine. You were trying to drill into him that rest was just as productive and all of the other components he prides himself on.
Joe was lightly drumming along to the beat of the song softly playing from the speakers, your music left on shuffle from earlier in the drive. You were excited to get away with everyone, knowing the guys needed a break during the bye week and what better way to spend it than up in mountains unplugged for a few days. His right hand found its way to your thigh, light stroking you out of your thoughts. 
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Joe asked, glancing in your direction. He looked so soft like this, wearing a hoodie and sweats with his hair down. His expression was calm, any signs of stress that had been showing on his face weren’t currently evident. You hadn't gotten to see him like this much recently, taking him in while you had the chance. 
“I was just thinking about how nice this trip is going to be. I’m really glad you agreed to go, I wanted to be able to do something nice for you and figured this was a perfect time to go”.
Joe sighed, humming constantly as his hand gently squeezed your thigh three times. It was a signal you both can come up with during your early days of dating, a nonverbal way to say ‘I love you’ and a simple reminder you were there for that person. The gesture brought a small smile to your face.
“I’m glad we invited some of the guys, but I can’t wait until I can get you alone” Joe spoke, keeping his voice low in case anyone had woken up. His voice held a rasp and desire that would cause you to fold right there in any other circumstance.
You felt Joe's hand begin to climb your thigh, sliding closure to the apex of your thighs. You placed your hand on top of his, applying a bit of pressure to halt his movements.  
“Slow your roll cowboy, we're not even there yet” you spoke chuckling.
“Cowboy? I’d gladly save a horse and let you ride me any day” Joe said with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. He looked over at you, tipping his nonexistent hat to really seal the deal. You couldn’t help, but laugh at his antics. Joe
You lightly patted him on the shoulder, rolling your eyes in his direction with a smile on your face “yeah, yeah focus on the road so we get there in one piece”. 
“Yes ma’am” he said with a short nod, turning his attention back to the road ahead.
By the time you had arrived, it had gotten late and you all were ready to get everything in and turn in for the night. You tried to do everything as efficiently as possible, creating a system of the guys bringing everything while you and the girls got it all sorted out inside. Once the last thing was brought in, the guys began to explore the place you had booked. You tried to keep as much of it as a surprise for Joe as you could, keeping the details limited.
The cabin itself was nice, a cozy feel hitting you immediately. There were plenty of bedrooms for everyone, a pool table in the living room, finished with a fireplace. There would be plenty of room in the kitchen to cook for the weekend, opting to stay in as much as possible to really unwind. Downstairs there was a small room that led out to a patio hosting a hot tub, the main thing that had really sold you on this place specifically. You could tell by the vibe it was going to be a nice few days getaway with each other even if you weren’t completely alone. 
You and the girls got to cooking, the guys finding enjoyment out of the pool table. You could feel yourself getting lost in your thoughts again as your eyes fell on Joe, leaning against the table laughing and joking around with his friends. When it was his turn to play, he bent over and steadied the pool stick expertly between his fingers. Joe’s hands were always something that you had found attractive and this instance was no exception. You knew exactly what those hands were capable of, causing a shiver of desire to run down your spine. The look of focus on his face completed the narrative you were writing in your mind, making your thoughts not so innocent. 
You were snapped out of it by a bump to the hip by Gracie, coming back into the moment and food you were preparing in front of you. A knowing look had crossed her face followed by a wink as she went back to what she was doing.
“It’s good to see him with a smile on his face again” Jess said, you nodded in agreement. Joe’s happiness was contagious, leaving you to finish your cooking with a wide smile on your face.
Everyone finished up dinner, deciding to head to bed and be ready for the day ahead. 
“I really wanna go enjoy that hot tub before bed, we had such a long drive and it’d be nice to unwind just the two of us” 
“I’d like that, I also brought that one suit you really like” you said with a mischievous grin plastered across your face and you made your way down the hall to your room.
“The red one?” Joe called after you, sounding eager.
“You’ll just have to wait and see Burrow” you said, tossing his suit out and closing the door behind you.
By the time you made your way down to the hot tub, Joe was already there getting everything set. You stepped out onto the patio, the sounds of the door closing alerting Joe to your presence. Joe let out a low whistle at the sight of you, letting his eyes rake up and down your barely covered body.
“You’re absolutely breathtaking sweetheart” Joe said, extending his hand to help you get into the hot tub. 
“Thank you babe, you know I had to bring your favorite” you told him, stepping into the hot tub and letting out a moan at the sensation of hot water and got comfortable.
Joe got in after, settling on the opposite side of the tub and letting his shoulders drop at the feeling of hot water relaxing the tension in his muscles. He let his eyes close, fully submitting himself to relaxation, a groan escaping his lips. The sounds he was making had you clenching your thighs together, still feeling worked up from earlier. You loved seeing Joe when he got worked up, but you also loved these moments when he was able to be unguarded with you. 
“C’mere, I feel like you’re so far away from me” Joe said, lifting his arms out of the water to gesture you over.
You swam over next to him, gently pushing his shoulders to turn him to the side and settled your hands onto his shoulders. You began massaging his muscles, leaving tender kisses across the top of his back, hearing the soft sigh escape his lips.
“I know I don’t tell you enough, but I appreciate all that you do for me. You're my biggest supporter in my corner and I want you to know how loved you are. I know I don’t always show it ” Joe said quietly.
“Of course Joey, loving you is the easiest thing I have ever done. Watching you get to do what you love for a living every week is one of my favorite things. You go out on that field and put your entire soul into it. I know you’re doing everything you can Joey and I know everything will work out eventually” you said, hoping he would take on some of the confidence in your words.
Joe wordlessly spun you around to face him, lifting you onto his lap. His hands fell to your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze while your arms settled around his neck, your lips connecting in a passionate kiss. 
“I really don’t know what I'd do without you sweetheart. You’re my rock, my safe place, there’s no one else I’d rather come home to every night” Joe said, his lips finding your neck trailing kisses down to your collarbone. 
“I’m right there with you, Joey, you have no idea” your words trailing off as he continued his assault with his mouth, biting and sucking your throat to the possibility of leaving marks.
He used the leverage to ground you into his lap, feeling his growing erection beneath you. A gasp caught in your throat, Joe taking the opportunity to let his tongue find its way into your mouth, fighting for dominance.
“That feel good, baby? I want you to feel just what you do to me "Joe groaned out, eliciting a whimper from you.
This was the sweet friction you’d been craving from him all night, letting your head fall back as pleasure overtook you. This only spurred Joe on more, watching how he was able to make you feel as good as you were. Seeing you fall deeper into your desire only made Joe grind harder against your clothed center. It was getting harder and harder for him to control himself, his patience thinning. You brought your head back up, leaning in letting your lips ghosting over his ear as you spoke.
“I’ve been craving you all night Joey, i want you so badly” you lightly whined, nipping at his lobe.
Joe reacted as quick as he could, scooping you into his arms as he carried you out of the hot tub and into the house. You broke out into a fit of giggles at his movements, careful to keep your volume down for your housemates. The remainder of your night would be spent relaxing in a different way.
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neostellarjpg · 14 hours ago
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inner mono-dialogue
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the more time i spend being davepeta with you the more i realize almost every single problem in my life was caused by my obsession with being this unfeeling cool dude
but youre cool already
like in the way that actually matters
youre chill and friendly and just nice and thats all there is to it
youre shamelessly yourself even if everybody around you is a jackass and gives you shit for it
youre similar to jade and john in that way
i really envied that about them
but its different actually being at the control panel and feeling where that earnesty comes from
it makes me wanna match your energy and keep that pawsitivity ball rolling even if it ends up being weird or cringe or whatever
fuck man do you know how exhausting it is building yourself social hoops to leap through all the time and when you trip up even once its suddenly the end of the world
what kinda dumbass does that its like dealing with life in hard mode for no reward
fuck that noise
i like your way better
Nepeta's heart burns and shines inside you.
:33 < thank you :))
:33 < but you know
:33 < i dont think doing things your way is unrewarding
:33 < its like
:33 < a shield!
Dave scrunches up with discomfort.
X33 < i dont mean that in an insulting way!
:33 < the fact is that shields are just purractical sometimes
:33 < it doesnt make you cowardly to hide behind one
:33 < in the same way that it isnt cowardly for a predator to hide in the bushes when stalking prey
:33 < its just a way to make sure you dont get hurt!
:33 < purrsonally i found shields too cumbersome
X33 < im a hunter after all!
:33 < and i guess maybe the same goes for my personality
:33 < its not really that im purrticularly brave for being myself
:33 < i just didnt have a say in the matter in the furst place!
:33 < honestly if i had a choice i would have loved to be more like you dave
:33 < you can befriend people almost effortlessly
:33 < and its beclaws youre also just a nice person
Dave recoils in surprise, but Nepeta passionately pushes forward.
:33 < fur real! i f33l it inside you! theres a really strong sense of empathy there
:33 < its just like mine! just smarter, and a bit more analytical
:33 < whenever we encounter someone mew, its like i f33l you lock onto them, and you gather so many insights into their purrsonality without even trying
:33 < and you can use that to bond with others without giving every part of you away
:33 < which unfortunately
:(( < i never really knew how to do
Nepeta sours with unpleasant feelings. Your brows scrunch together with both pain and sympathy.
Nepeta has a big and complex heart. She tried her best to keep it from spilling over, but it always did in the end. And it was embarrassing. It was embarrassing when your friends dismissed your hobbies or focused in on your strange quirks. It was embarrassing when they revealed they knew about your crush on Karkat that you'd worked so hard to hide. And it hurt whenever he would say mean things about you. He and anyone else.
But you always puffed out your chest and sucked it up. You stuck to your guns no matter what. Because it was fun! The things you liked, the people you liked, were fun, and they made you feel good. Why couldn't anyone else see that? And why did it seem like they never gave a single thought to who you were?
You curl in on yourself. Your chest hurts. You suddenly really miss Equius.
And you miss Rose. You miss Jade. You miss John and Karkat and Aradia and Tavros and Terezi and all the others. You miss all the people you can go outside and see whenever you wish, and you miss all the people that you have no hope of ever seeing again. You feel the choral echo of all the times you've ever felt this need for comfort, this thrumming pain searing hot inside you, like hunger wracking your stomach.
You clench your teeth. You remember being on your bed, curled in blankets, not having eaten a proper meal in days. You remember holding your stomach and sneaking to the kitchen, turning your shoulder at every step to look fearfully behind you, only for your fingers to falter hopelessly on the handle of the refrigerator, knowing there was nothing for you inside.
You shake with anger. You know that feeling. The feeling of being chased by something much bigger than you, a hulking silhouette of menacing strength following your scent through the thicket. You'd clutched a beast carcass to your chest, barely breathing as you stalked clumsily through the trees, performance wavering from exhaustion and hunger.
You'd almost died. You'd almost died often. And then after escaping death so many times, it one day claimed you. Casually. Unflinchingly. And the world beat on without you, leaving you stunned by your own insignificance. You'd looked out onto every preceding moment of your life, wondering if there was anything to truly be proud of in the face of your friends accomplishing all these fantastical things. You'd felt lonely before, but after that, you were truly walled off from every single person you knew.
And now, despite everything, you're alive again. Twofold, together with someone.
A warmth coats the ache inside your body. The two parts of you swirl together, feeling and tasting each other, trying to understand themselves.
It feels like a hug.
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balrogballs · 3 days ago
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"Bilbo had assumed accusing an elven lord of Tookishness in his own house would result in swift decapitation and not a decades-long camaraderie that both parties truly cherished, but it seemed that in this regard too, the Lord of Imladris defied expectation."
The Peculiar and the Deranged: Moments between Bilbo Baggins, Elrond Peredhel, and the most unprecedented friendship in Middle-Earth, under the cut!
(aka this friendship wasn’t leaving my mind so I wrote this on my phone and drew this with the 3 pencils I had on a train because I’m incapable of being normal about anything)
on Bilbo's first visit to Imladris, featuring Estel's pet snake:
"You had a rat?" Bilbo blinked, hoping Elrond wouldn't notice the snake he was glaring at had initially been curled around his own neck. "Sir."
"I did not have a rat," corrected Elrond imperiously, looking every bit the lord of the valley. "I would never have a rat, I do not approve of rats. My daughter had a rat. Lothinvar, it was called, the bane of my household. Until this terrible creature wormed its way in. The snake that is, not the child, though Estel is not in my good books at the moment either."
on the return journey, after the death of Thorin Oakenshield:
"What can I do? How can I ever move past this?" Bilbo asked quietly, unsure why exactly he was pouring his heart out to a being six thousand years older than him, who must have faced far greater sorrows.
"Grief," Elrond replied, staring intently at him, "tricks you into thinking it’s all you have left. As though if you let it go, even for a moment, you betray him. You hold onto relics like lifelines, thinking what else is there to keep Thorin alive in your mind? It is a lonely life, Bilbo. It will turn you into the loneliest person in the world."
"Is there no way out?" he gasped, looking up at the elf.
"Start small. A smile, perhaps, when you think of a joke he made," Elrond said steadily, like he was reciting a recipe. “And then, try telling someone about him. Perhaps you could tell me. Something new each time you visit, perhaps.”
“You say it like you have experience of it, sir,” ventured Bilbo. “Like you know it by-heart. Did you get past it?”
“I did,” Elrond’s voice was confident, too confident. Bilbo chose not to probe.
"Thorin's nephews?" Elrond asked later, after Bilbo had gathered himself together, mopped himself up. "They were slain too? Both?"
"Yes, both."
"That is good," Elrond had said with a blank, intense smile etched into his features. "That it was both at once."
"What?" Bilbo sat up in shock, spluttering. "Good? What is wrong with you?"
"Were they not twins? Thorin's nephews I recall were twins, no?"
"Brothers. But what difference does that make? What do you mean good? I beg your pardon, my lord, that's an unhinged thing to say!"
"Oh. I am sorry, Bilbo," Elrond shook his head, the awful, blank expression still on his face. "I am sorry, I spoke without thinking. It is only that I had thought they were twins. Do forgive me, I misunderstood, and spoke out of turn."
"Don't worry," Bilbo sighed, finding to his own surprise that he could manage a laugh. "With names like Fili and Kili, it's frankly a surprise they aren't."
He still thought it was a rather unhinged thing for Elrond to say, but, well — Bilbo Baggins had always been fond of the peculiar and the deranged.
on a visit to the Shire, sharing burnt scones
"Cel was — is — remarkable. She had an exceptional appetite for burnt bread: she would go into the kitchens and instruct the staff to deliberately burn sweetbreads, just because she loved the crunch, apparently."
"She sounds like a Shire lass through and through."
Elrond laughed, shaking his head: "I am certain had I brought her to visit, she would never leave. Though she is not made for the rustic life. A total terror of any creature on four legs. The first time I spotted her she was in a garden, standing on the bench screaming, because she had seen an enormous beetle scuttling around the grass."
"Oh, so it was a damsel in distress situation, eh?"
"Quite the contrary," he admitted. "She threw a pair of gardening scissors right at my head, and called me utterly disgusting for the crime of allowing beetles to exist on my property, and threatened to cut off my hair with the same scissors if she ever came across another one. And mind you, this is Celeborn's daughter, and that soul would have married an Ent if Galadriel hadn't come around."
"Well, that truly is a surprise! Did she not even like dear Arwen's little rat?"
"Oh, you remember the rat!" Elrond's eyes shone, genuinely delighted. "If I remember right, she paid our boys to get rid of it and told Arwen she had sent it to, well, your people."
"I will be certain to invent an illustrious Shire-based family tree for the rat, if your Arwen ever gets around to asking."
on a Yule visit, when Bilbo forwent self-preservation, featuring the same snake:
"Oh, it was not I who named the snake after the Mariner, it was my… other father."
"That's impressive, sir. Quite bohemian."
"One would wish," Elrond muttered darkly, pouring himself more wine, as if all the talk of snakes had driven him to drink. "Estel is friendly with Maglor, who along with Maedhros, raised my brother and I. And I had banned all talk of pet snakes until Maglor showed up last year with a present for Estel: his very own snake named Gil-Estel, which they both insist has nothing to do with the Mariner and is simply a play on the child's name. Which I would have believed, if Maglor did not also own a remarkably ugly cat named Thingol."
"When they say you are Half-Elven, Lord Elrond," Bilbo blurted out, after a short, surprised silence. "Do they mean the other half is merely mortal man, or…?"
"Yes, the other half does indeed refer to mortal men," blinked Elrond in surprise, looking something other than perfectly composed for the very first time. "Do you… suspect otherwise?"
"Oh, I was certain there was a bit of Hobbit somewhere. Just your life, you know, your family, all of it," he waved his hands about the valley. "It's a little… well, Tookish."
"What in the world is a Took?"
on a midnight wander in Minas Tirith on the morning of Aragorn’s wedding to Arwen
When Bilbo came across the figure sat on the steps, he was ridiculously old and his memory even more ridiculously ragged, so he didn’t know why it was that he thought, reflexively, it will turn you into the loneliest person in the world. He didn't say a word though, only reached out a hand and sat beside the figure. Elrond didn’t say a word, only grasped the offered fingers so tightly Bilbo's knuckles turned white, held on as he shook. When it passed, he looked away and apologised, sniffing. "Forgive me, my friend, I do not mean to get melancholic, especially not on a day of such joy. I —"
Bilbo cut across him, too old to deal with the elvish tendency to be completely insufferable.
“How did you get past it the last time? With your brother?”
"I have one of the longest memories in this land, yet I cannot truly remember this one thing," the elf smiled bitterly, tapping his nails on the stone steps. "I slept, I think. A lot. I shrunk out of the world until the sheer pain of it no longer clawed at me. But I cannot do that, Bilbo. Now, I have duties, responsibilities. I have kings to oversee, a valley to hand over and a people for whom I must keep up something of a brave face. There is no longer any room for the small death I was permitted last time."
Elrond sighed. "You must think I am terribly privileged, or that I have too grandiose an idea about my place in this world."
"No, I was just thinking how unfair it is," said Bilbo quietly. "So unfair that for you there is a last time and now a this time."
Elrond, in tears again, was looking at him with an almost obscene gratefulness, as if Bilbo had done him some enormous kindness and not something any friend would do, looked at him in a way that made the hobbit think again, inexplicably, the loneliest person in the world.
“I’m sorry,” said the lord, catching his friend’s expression. “You should not be h-“
"Shut up," Bilbo huffed, looking truly offended, rolling his eyes. "You're insufferable, do you know that? Stop acting like you've jumped off a damned cliff before my eyes, Elrond. I'm starting to think elven history would have been a lot less bloody and tragic had more of you — and I mean that Fëanor, mainly, but the rest of you too — appreciated the value of a good cry. Emotional constipation is just as bad as the real thing, you know. And you can be sure I'll tell old Fëanor that to his face when I see him."
Elrond blinked, then laughed. "Oh, Bilbo, I am glad you found your way back to Imladris this year, I truly am."
"And I, in turn,” Bilbo found himself saying, cursing the fact that his memory decided to make its wondrous reappearance that night. “Am equally glad our mutual friend Aragorn tried to bribe me to put his pet snake in your office that very first day."
on a ship in the sundering seas, far too early
"Suffering from a spot of morning sickness, are we?"
"My apologies, Bilbo," Elrond stumbled back into Bilbo's cabin from the privy, looking only slightly less green than he had when he left it. "Please do not make any sudden movements."
"I am only pleased that you and I are now such intimate friends that you feel comfortable enough to throw up your breakfast in my bathroom. Maybe you should come around and do it every morning to wake me up, like the world’s most useless cockerel."
"It was not by choice, as you very well know," Elrond muttered, downing a swig of ground herbs and honey from a bottle in his pocket. "My mortal heritage does, unfortunately, mean there are some weaknesses to the constitution. Perhaps this is why it was Elros who took ship for Numenor and not I."
"Well, that, and you couldn't resist micromanaging six thousand years of Middle-Earth now, could you?" chortled Bilbo, settling down in a plush chair and laying his walking stick by his side. "Mortality is all well and good, but heaven forbid you lose a chance to develop domestic policy over the continental grain trade. Besides, and I don't want to be the one who brings it up, but…"
"Elbereth, what now?"
"Your father was known as the Mariner, you know," Bilbo snorted. "As in, the seafaring sort, no? It would truly be such a shame if someone were to… write a poem about the mis-inheritance of seasi—"
"Write that poem, Bilbo Baggins, and I will personally petition Ulmo to turn you into seaweed."
in the house of Elrond in Aman, with the chattiest woman Bilbo has ever encountered (which is saying something)
"I only burned that layer because you made me do it, mind you. You really are as remarkable as he said you were," Bilbo blurted out as she picked out pink sugared biscuits with a dark crust that he knew to be from burning. He had even spread jam on them for a second layer of sweetness. "Mad and irritating, to be frank, but remarkable. I am truly glad to know you, Celebrìan — not as Elrond's wife, but, well."
He gestured at her weakly, meant the peculiar and the deranged. She understood.
"Yes, I do pity all the folk that know me as Elrond's dead wife," she wrinkled her nose, sitting down by him and grabbing a second burnt biscuit. "And considering my poor husband's approach to grieving, and all the laments Lindir said he's made him compose, that is what most end up knowing me as. It is quite a pity, I am as you say, delightful. Oh, Bilbo, this is amazing! So wonderful, I didn't think pastries could be this sweet!”
"No, not when your cheapskate of a husband is in charge of the rations," he said in a carrying whisper. "In the Shire though, we know how to live."
"Who are we referring to as a cheapskate then?"
"The elf who implemented a sugar tax in his valley," said Celebrian dryly. "You may know him. Have a biscuit!"
"I would truly rather nail myself to the birch," he said dryly, picking up a piece of bread. "I do not get the logic behind oversweetening victuals. Impractical, unnecessary."
"Oh," Celebrían clapped her hands to her mouth. "Of course! The Lord Elrond grew up amidst the War of Wrath! Surely, he has not mentioned that to you, has he? He never does!"
"Ah, that he was raised in military conditions by a couple of kinslayers?" chuckled Bilbo. "No, not at all. Not once. He certainly never brought it up in our first ever conversation. Should we ask him to expand?"
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dissapointu · 3 days ago
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“Faulty Wiring” sevika x reader
The first time Sevika darkened the doorway to your workshop, you thought she was there to intimidate you.
The dim light behind her only heightened her imposing presence: tall, broad-shouldered, her prosthetic arm sparking faintly as she leaned against the frame. She scowled, not at you specifically, but at the world in general.
“You’re the tech Silco sent for?” Her voice was low and gravelly, her words clipped.
You nodded, gesturing toward the workbench. “That’s me. I hear your arm’s acting up?”
Sevika grunted, stepping inside. “Keeps seizing up mid-swing. Useless in a fight.”
The sparks popping from her shoulder joint painted a grim picture. You set to work without delay, trying to push past the nervous flutter in your chest. Sevika’s presence was overwhelming—everything about her screamed danger—but there was something about the way her gaze lingered on your hands as you adjusted the wiring that made you wonder if there was more beneath the surface.
Over the next few months, Sevika became a regular in your workshop.
It wasn’t that her arm was particularly faulty; it was that she pushed it to its limits, testing every weld and circuit with her relentless lifestyle. Silco’s enforcer didn’t take breaks. She didn’t show weakness, at least not outwardly.
“Does this hurt?” you asked one night, prodding the exposed joint where metal met flesh.
Sevika gritted her teeth but shook her head. “Pain’s just noise.”
You frowned. “Still, I can adjust the connection to make it less—”
“Don’t bother,” she interrupted, her tone sharp. “I need this arm to fight, not to feel comfortable.”
You sighed but didn’t argue. Sevika wasn’t the type to let anyone take care of her, even if it was your job.
The Cracks Begin to Show
Sevika never talked about what she did outside the workshop, but the signs were hard to miss. She’d show up with blood on her clothes or bruises blooming across her skin. Her jaw was always tight, her shoulders tense.
“You’re going to burn yourself out,” you said one night as you replaced a damaged gear in her elbow joint.
Sevika scoffed, lighting a cigar with her flesh hand. “Worry about the arm, not me.”
You set down your tools, staring at her. “I am worrying about you, Sevika. You can’t keep this up forever.”
Her eyes flicked to yours, hard and unyielding. “I don’t have a choice.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d shut you down, but something about the way she said it—like she truly believed it—stung. You wanted to press further, but you knew Sevika well enough by now: push too hard, and she’d disappear for weeks.
The rift between you began subtly, like a loose bolt slowly working its way free. Sevika started showing up less frequently, her arm in worse condition each time. When she did visit, she was quieter, more withdrawn.
One night, after a particularly brutal repair session, you finally worked up the courage to ask, “What’s going on with you?”
Sevika didn’t look at you. “Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that,” you said, exasperated. “Your arm is falling apart because you’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re barely talking to me anymore. Just—talk to me, Sevika.”
She finally met your gaze, her expression unreadable. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” you said softly.
For a moment, you thought she might open up. But then her jaw tightened, and she shook her head. “It’s not your problem.”
Her words felt like a slap. You tried to hide the hurt in your eyes, but Sevika saw it. She just didn’t do anything about it.
The next time Sevika came to your workshop, she wasn’t alone.
A young recruit followed her in, wide-eyed and fidgeting nervously. “This is Kess,” Sevika said gruffly. “She’s taking over.”
You froze, your tools clattering to the floor. “What?”
“I need someone I can rely on,” Sevika said, avoiding your gaze. “Someone who doesn’t get… attached.”
The words hung in the air like a death knell.
“So that’s it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re replacing me?”
“It’s not personal,” Sevika said, but the tension in her voice betrayed her.
“It feels pretty damn personal,” you snapped, your chest tightening.
Sevika didn’t respond. She just turned and walked out, leaving you standing in the middle of your workshop with nothing but the sound of the recruit’s awkward shuffling to fill the silence.
You didn’t see Sevika for weeks after that.
Your workshop felt empty without her presence, and though you tried to focus on other projects, your thoughts always wandered back to her. What had you done wrong? Why had she pushed you away?
One night, there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Sevika standing there, her arm sparking and her eyes bloodshot.
“I need your help,” she said, her voice hoarse.
You wanted to slam the door in her face, but the vulnerability in her expression stopped you. Without a word, you stepped aside and let her in.
As you worked on her arm, Sevika sat silently, her shoulders slumped.
“Why did you leave?” you finally asked, unable to keep the question bottled up any longer.
Sevika exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Because I can’t afford distractions.”
“Distractions?” you repeated, your voice laced with disbelief. “Is that what I was to you?”
“No,” she said quickly, her gaze snapping to yours. “You’re… more than that. And that’s the problem.”
You stared at her, stunned. “I don’t understand.”
Sevika looked away, her jaw tightening. “I can’t afford to care about someone. Not in this line of work. It’s dangerous. For both of us.”
The weight of her words hit you like a punch to the gut. “You think pushing me away is going to protect me?”
“It’s the only way I know how,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, you spoke.
“Sevika, you don’t get to make that decision for me,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I care about you, and I know you care about me too. So stop running.”
Sevika’s eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in her armor. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted.
“Then let’s figure it out together,” you said softly.
Sevika didn’t respond with words. Instead, she reached out, her flesh hand brushing against yours. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes.
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theabigailthorn · 16 hours ago
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You know, it's a bit weird being a PT patron. I suppose that's more of a statement than a question.
Yeah? I think that's fair.
I think my Patreon is quite atypical compared to many. There's personalised rewards like the books and thank you cards that I do myself by hand, rather than just a merch store administered through Patreon, which other creators do. On the flipside, I try not to bother my Patrons too much with too many posts or being super active on Patreon - I always feel like I'm imposing on you by putting anything there! So it's simultaneously more personal and less?
I go back and forth on it a lot; I feel like I need to offer people some actual tangible rewards for signing up to the Patreon, but the process of doing the rewards and having it be a community seems so grubby? I genuinely feel like I am imposing on the people who give me money enough as it is so I'm anxious to even interact - in a way that I'm obviously not on tumblr! I just get bigtime imposter syndrome about it I guess.
And there's the balancing act I have to do with Nebula stuff, where I have contractual obligations to them to do certain content or put it there first. I've had a lot of conversations with the higher ups in both companies about that balance: it's a whole ongoing thing.
I think I'm gonna revamp the Patreon in the new year, maybe simplify it a little? At the very least I need to alter the 'Facebook and Twitter shout outs tier' cause I'm not even on Twitter anymore. But I'm terrified of changing anything cause the channel depends on the Patreon! Nebula + ads isn't enough to sustain it, not at the moment anyway. I've noticed people talk about "Disney money" or "HBO money" this year lol but to be frank with you, both of those jobs combined paid me less than I paid in rent that year. I'd like Philosophy Tube to be its own thing, self-sustaining, and for me to have enough from acting to live off that.
Anyway, I'll do the usual financial roundup post in December and see how the channel did this year, and plan my 2025 moves from there. Any suggestions are welcome! I recognise your name and I know you've been a patron for ages, so thank you!
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apricot-blossomss · 3 days ago
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Okokokok hear me out right
The reader is friends with hermes (God or moral reader, your choice!) And they asked hermes to deliver a love letter for them! Days, even weeks go by and Hermes still hasn't delivered it. He doesn't want to, he doesn't want the reader to be directing their attention at anything but him. Maybe this love interest will get tired of waiting! Maybe he should just hold onto it forever. Maybe he should just read the letter himself and decide if this person is good enough for the reader?
And then he reads it and its says something like "hermes I knew you couldn't stop yourself from reading this, I love you, you bastard"
Just an idea <3
☛ hermes steals f!bff!mortal!reader's love letter
☛ sfw; cw: a little suggestive; I got covid so I have some time on my hands
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When you asked him for a favor, Hermes couldn't have imagined a world in which he wouldn't fulfill it. Up until now. Staring down at the pink envelope in his hands, he felt his chest constrict with a feeling that could be perfectly encapsulated in the word 'shit'.
"Hermes?"
"Huh?" He looked up into your eyes and kept staring as you laughed about his dumbfounded expression. Your lovely laugh didn't make the situation any better for him, though it usually did. Now, it only added to the growing whirlwind in his stomach, clawing at his insides, screaming at him 'too late, you're too late, idiot'.
"Can you deliver this for me?" you repeated the question. "It's for someone very important to me."
Why not him? Why weren't you sending it to him? He was important to you, he had to be more important to you than whatever douche this letter was for. Hermes had to swallow down the urge to rip the stupid thing to shreds. But it looked like you had put a lot of care into the letter. It even smelled of sweet citrus, which really pissed him off, because the smell was so utterly you and he didn't want any other man associated with it.
"Yeah, sure," he said, forcing a smile onto his face. Gods, it hurt. The worst of it was the way your smile brightened, your eyes so kind and happy when you gleamed up at him. This wasn't right, you only smiled at him like that. Right?
Without turning the letter to look at the addressee, Hermes stuffed it into his bag that was already filled to the brim without much care. Maybe the bag could accidentally slip over the ocean and spill all the letters. Or he could throw it into Hestia's fire and pretend it was an accident. Or maybe he could deliver the letter but hide it somewhere the guy would never find it. Then he would have delivered the letter, technically.
Over pondering this conundrum, his attentive eyes missed the nervous twitching of your fingers and your excited little glances, as well as the way you practically shoved him outside the door with some rushed goodbyes to run into your bedroom and scream into your pillow.
Hermes stood in front of the closed door and had been standing there for a good minute, but he couldn't get his quick feet to move. On the other side of that door was you. You, with the gentle eyes, the dazzling smile and the understanding heart. You, who was his solace after a long day, his joy, his best friend. Right. His best friend he should not have these thoughts about.
Oh, but how dearly he wished to break down these doors, walk up to you and kiss you. How he dreamt of coming home to you, not just in his head and heart but also in reality. Like he already did, he would knock in your window and you'd let him in as if he were a stray pigeon, laughing at his jokes and winks and flirtatious comments. But in his fantasy, it didn't stop there. No, you would kiss him and tell him how much you missed him, he'd surprise you with a romantic picknick and spend the night with you and fall asleep in your warm arms.
Blinking, Hermes snapped out of his daydreams and cursed himself. He was a leecher, thinking about his damn pretty best friend like that. Sighing, he pulled his hat deeper into his face, obscuring his eyes, and set off for his job with flying feet. Knowing damn well he would not be able to concentrate on a single thing today.
🪽
Hermes had never messed up so many deliveries as in the last two weeks- and it wasn't even on purpose. Unlike his father suspected, ever since he had accidentally opened Aphrodite's sex toy delivery. The smacking down still made him wince, even a good five days later. And Hermes tried to concentrate , he really did, but it was hard when the damn letter, still safely stored in his bag, lay heavily on his mind. Stupid, flimsy little thing.
Hermes didn't want to deliver it. He didn't want anyone to get it, and though the guilt ate him up from the inside, he couldn't deny it: he wanted you all to himself. Selfishly, greedily, he didn't want you to give your attention to any man but him- at least not in that way. And, hey, maybe if he procrastinated it long enough, the guy would get tired of waiting and you would just forget him. Maybe he should just hold onto the letter forever.
"Hermes?" you poked his cheek and the god snapped out of his whirlwind of thoughts. Sitting on your couch, he realized you had stood up before him. Your concerned eyes hovered over him and he had to gulp down the urge to pull you down into his lap so he could study them more closely. "Are you okay? You kinda spaced out there for a second."
"I'm fine, baby," he smiled, glancing up at you sheepishly. "I'm not myself tonight." Your forgiving smile was too much for him as he let his upper body slump forward. His head, luckily hat-less as always around you, weighed against your upper body and when it vibrated with your little laugh, Hermes savored the comforting feeling. Choosing to tempt fate and test his luck, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you down into his lap, eliciting the most adorable squeak from you. He had to suppress the urge to bite you- you were just too cute.
Your friendship with Hermes had always been very affectionate. Lots of hugging, sitting halfway in each others laps, even sleeping next to each other sometimes, too which you would always wake up to an arm wrapped around your waist and a face in your neck. This open display of affection had you wonder first wether Hermes might see you as more than a friend, when his hand always dipped a little farther down, gripped a little tighter than necessary, when he buried his face in your neck and hugged you as if he never wanted to let go again.
Apart from the fact that having a literal god cling to you like a koala bear was a major ego boost, you really liked Hermes, in more ways than the platonic love you two shared. For weeks you had pondered how to do it and finally worked out a plan: you would give Hermes a love letter with a false address. If he delivered it, no one would read it, but if he liked you back and would try to read it...
"Where are we, like, in the plot?" Hermes muffled into your neck and you felt a light shiver run down your spine- you hoped he didn't notice, but you felt his signature grin form against your skin, and his hands departing from their grip on your hips with fingers like spiders up your sides. Squirming, you swatted them away and the god laughed, still holding you close.
"She slept with both of them and now she hates herself," you answered quickly to shut him up. Managing to get a hold of his hands, you pressed them down onto his lap with little resistance and squeezed them under your thighs to block their means of escape. A choking sound left Hermes' and the god coughed, slipping his hands away and placing you next to him on the couch.
Ouch.
What you didn't know was the war for self-control raging inside your best friend the minute you placed your thighs so deliciously and grabbable over his hands. When his daydreams had, up to now, consisted of confessing your love to each other and innocent kissing, he now felt the overwhelming urge to grab you by the thighs, flip you over on your little couch and have you scream out his name- and his name only. For that one, Hermes gave himself a mental beating and gave you a little smile to conceal his red cheeks- and the fact that you would get wind of his predicament if you only looked down into his lap.
"Sounds great!" Honestly, he didn't even remember your answer to his question, and his overly enthusiastic reaction had you giggling. And that was really all he needed to be happy. Why did he want more? Why was he so insatiable?
The movie was pretty boring, and you seemed to think so too, because your gaze wandered frequently and you caught his incessant staring multiple times. But neither of you turned it off, because really, it was fine. Sitting next to to each other, your head coming to rest on your shoulder at some point, his hand slipping into yours in a completely platonic way.
“Hermes?” you asked when the love interest on screen started to have an intense melodramatic meltdown (Hermes did feel seen).
“Hm?”
"Have you... delivered that letter yet?" You fidgeted with your fingers nervously, but Hermes' stomach dropped down to his feet at least. Shit.
"What letter?" Hermes could have punched himself in the face.
"The love letter I gave to you," you explained carefully. "It's just... I never got an answer so I thought maybe you lost it or..." Your voice droned off and you bit down on your lip nervously. Was Hermes purposefully avoiding the topic? Had he read the letter and now wanted to ignore it out of existence because he didn't feel the same way? You had been so sure there was more to it. At least he wasn't making fun of you, but it was still humiliating, thinking he had read those lines and-
"Ah, that one!" Hermes exclaimed and you flinched at his loud tone. A nervous chuckle left his lips. "Uh yeah, I'm so sorry, baby, I must have forgotten about that one, I forget things sometimes, lots of stuff to deliver and sometimes letters get left behind and..." His rambling droned off and he bit down on his lip like a child caught in a lie, looking up at you.
Your understanding smile nearly killed him. It would have, if it could have. Hermes felt like the biggest asshole when you sighed relieved. "Ah, good, I was a little worried." Fittingly, the lady on screen screamed loudly about how much she hated herself and Hermes pondered over how he could relate to every single one of these over-the-top characters.
🪽
"Good night," you smiled as Hermes exited the door and turned around to you. You were dressed all oversized and cuddly with those warm winter socks and looked just about irresistible. Especially with the way the stars reflected in your wide, slightly tired eyes.
Following a shy impulse, he didn't give you a hug, as usual, but pressed a kiss to your warm cheek. When he pulled away, he did feel satisfaction at the way your face had heated up visibly, even in the dim light. "G'night, baby," he grinned with new fervor and a dreadful feeling in his stomach.
When he turned to leave and pushed himself off the ground to fly up into the air, his decision was made. He would deliver the damn letter. No longer would he be in the way of your happiness. If this guy really was who you wanted...
But, Hermes pondered as the houses of your neighborhood shrunk down to little lights, like the sky but below him, and one of the stars was you. But he should make sure this person was good enough for you. And have an address in case they weren't.
Stopping mid-air, Hermes pulled out the dreaded pink envelope. Not recognizing the address, he decided to look for clues in the letter itself. If you were to ask him, the envelope just kind of ... slipped open and the letter just sort of slipped out of there. When he pulled it out, the familiar smell hit him. After two weeks in his bag, the envelope had lost your smell, but it still stuck to the letter it self. With slightly trembling hands, he unfolded the paper, surprised to find only a few lines written in your handwriting.
Hermes, I knew you wouldn't able to stop yourself from reading this. The address is fake, this letter is for you. I love you, you idiot.
Below that, you had given him three options to pick: () don't ever come near me again, () let's ignore this ever happened because you are the shrek to my donkey, () I love you too. Your messy handwriting on that part had him smile, because he could picture you writing the letter, becoming unsure of yourself and scribbling three options down.
Hermes didn't even bother ticking off option three. He had no time to waste. Within seconds, he was bolting down to earth with the speed of a meteor, the wind howling in his ears, the letter firmly in his hand. You were completely right. He was an idiot. But an idiot who was about to make all your time of waiting up to you.
﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
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rootspiral · 19 hours ago
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Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 5 part 2
(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])
(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2])
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I was so looking forward to brighten this particular scene, it's the darkest yet and it's such a beautiful one it's a pity to miss even one detail
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oh no lilia stop being so cute????
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have you ever seen jen with a bigger smile? and she's quiet as usual, it's almost like more than the ride she's enjoying how much fun her friends are having. especially lilia, those two have been forming a bond that is equal parts bickering and a growing respect
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I'm just glad alice had this moment of pure unadulterated joy before it came all crashing down
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agatha is very, very quiet. despite never letting herself feel anything freely, she takes a moment to close her eyes and enjoy the beauty of it all
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she looks back at rio, so sensual and confident
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how can kathryn hahn convey so much with so little time? her breath catches at her sight. and then worry and fear take hold and she gives the tiniest shake of her head, as if she's forbidding herself to entertain any kind of thought about rio. she looks away. the blood moon behind her spells disaster
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meanwhile billy is that kid who has the time of his life hanging out with the teachers during a field trip
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I want to personally thank aubrey plaza for every acting choice she made as rio, but ESPECIALLY for this witchy laugh
(I just brightened the salem seven witch vomiting bees and it's actually pretty impressive! but I don't want to trigger any insect haters around here) (I love insects though so please talk to me about spiders if you want)
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they couldn't get a good look at the cabin before rushing in and I couldn't either until now, do we know if it's something from Agatha's past? did she use to live there?
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I'm salty that alice had to die in these stupid clothes
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So. I think this trial is the most fucked up and humiliating yet. Billy knew nothing about jen except superficial facts, so he put her in a scenario that matched her work aesthetic, more of a personal insult than a wake up call (compare it with the broom lilia just made for her: roots and flowers, something that speaks about jen's work, beliefs and traditions.)
Alice's trial was entirely based on lorna, we know billy is a big fan so he ran with that concept creating something that really shook alice, and not in a good way. she was forced to sit in her dead mom's house and wear her clothes for god's sake. she took it as the Road wanting to teach her a lesson, when it was just a teenager with the grace and subtlety of a newborn puppy.
Now, agatha. billy doesn't know a thing about her because she's private to the point of paranoia. he has gathered that there's something in her past about a dead child and that's probably what makes her grumpy, so he... tried to make her talk to nicky. with a fuking oujia board. Despite having had his share of shock and trauma billy inevitably has a kid's point of view re: death, and even more so because he's functionally immortal. death is something that happens to other people, or far far away in the future. he thinks he's giving agatha much needed therapy, when he actually put a grown woman in child's clothes and made her relive her traumas for everyone to see.
btw I'm not in any way saying that the trials are bad writing. they are brilliant writing. they're just tragic and fucked up behind the funny exterior, just like agatha herself. sorry for the rant.
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I mean I wouldn't be opposed to that. we could put billy back in a closet for a little while and get down and dirty with it. and ooh there's a little leaf on rio's shirt, I hadn't noticed it!
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jen's retainer always SENDS me
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agatha's face when she realizes it's her trial
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agatha is irrevocably, eternally linked with death in all its forms
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looks like rio is playing along and setting the scene, but she's also doing something more subtle that only agatha understands: she's provoking her, and it's becoming more personal and hurtful. she's testing and punishing more than she used to. she is growing angrier.
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agatha wants to tell rio to fuck off but knows she deserves it. agatha is NOT happy to be in this trial for reasons that go beyond what everyone present (except rio) assumes, but she'll bite the inside of her cheeks until they bleed before she shows any of it
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the way he says it with a straight face too (again, NO PUN INTENDED. forgive me joe, I would never)
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oh great alice has only thirty minutes to live
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everyone looks worried and on their guard, rio has her whole knife out, playing along. agatha is STILL trying to look cool and casual, it's painful to watch. girl is panicking, hard
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meanwhile billy is always bringing a whole different energy, he's playing and having fun! think back to the second episode when they met lilia and then jen and alice for the first time. billy had no clue about the tension, the fear and hate between them and agatha. right now he's still more excited than scared. he's about to have a rude awakening.
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do not taunt the spirits, AGATHA.
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lmaooo. this motherfucker.
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another moment when billy sounds chillingly cruel. being jigsaw without realizing it
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I'm not pointing it out every time but whenever agatha does this with her arms she's really, really really nervous
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what does agatha do when she's scared or overwhelmed? she puts on a show. like clockwork. and rio has already guessed what's about to happen
I really want to continue this so there will be more later today, stay tuned!
go to episode 5 part 3
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estupidapendejaestupida · 10 hours ago
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Plus, is very cliché and extremely unfunny.
Don't drug people. It's a horrible experience.
Waking up not knowing wth just happened. With a killing headache and your stomach all twisting. It's sick. It hurts mentally and physically. I personally think that Tim would be upset about it, but he just would try to justify such actions at the same time, like:
Tim wakes up covered in sweat.
He had no clue what hour it or what day of the week. His vision is blurry, and it didn't went away even when he tried blinking. His head feels full of cotton, but it's not comforting at all. His stomach feels empty and too full at the same time, such an ache.
His body is trembling, and something is dragging a finger up and down across his spine.
Maybe minutes, maybe hours, but he finally gathers the strength to try to sit. Eyes finally flutter open, and he finds himself in a obscure room.
He holds no memories of getting in a room. Panick blossoms. All the worst possible situations swirl in his brain.
He feels... he feels. It's not a good feeling, per se. But he is kinda starting to feel again, so that's good.
Not as numb as before, he started to try to move away from the bed, when the door opens slowly and almost silently.
"Master Tim, I'm glad to see you got quite some hours of sleep." Alfred enters the room with the elegance and authority of a man who just knows knows what is the rigth solution to any problem, "Please allow me to bring you some food, any specific requests you may crave at the time?"
Tim's brain, still fogged and lagging its usual sharp ability, takes more than what the butler is willing to wait for a response.
"Very well, young master. I shall bring something easy to digest for your current state" No other word is said as he exits the room, not before turning the desk lamp on, leaving al elegantly as he always did.
'Ah. He drugged me again.'
It hadn't been the first time this had happened, and it probably wouldn't be the last one, but it still made him feel... something akin to being in a dangerous situation.
He felt quite empty after he wakes up after being drugged by the man.
Tim is quite a difficult one. He knows that. But deep in the back of his mind he felt hurt, he felt violated every time this happened.
Alfie doesn't do this with bad intentions. He just does this because Tim never follows his instructions and rests or eats when he works, if he is not being forced to. He can always count with the man to take him to bed, organize his workplace, and bring him food or water when he wakes up.
At first, when he first became Robin, the butler wouldn't pay him any mind, he couldn't care less if the kid was eating, sleeping, or taking care of his health if it wasn't strictly Robin-related. Maybe doing this, assuring Tim is following a good diet and sleep schedule, is his way of making up for his indifference from before. Maybe this is his way of showing that he cares.
And well... Tim is getting the hours of sleep he needs, so it isn't that bad if the butler slides some stuff in his meals or coffee to assure he actually rests between cases, plus this is safe environment, where he is safe... rigth?
Idk if anyone can understand this.
So I know how we have a lot of Jason and Dick or even Alfred drugging Tim in fics.
I have never liked that what so ever.
Like I don't think we as fandom really think about it.
I want you to imagine your brother or grandfather adjacent person handing you a drink that without thinking you take. You drink it and then nothing your are just out for over twelve hours.
You don't know what happened, you will never know what happened in that time frame all because you weren't sleeping the amount they wanted you to.
Also these are trained vigilante's who have more than likely witnessed rape cases with drugs who have had to help someone who was roofed home why in the fuck would you do that to one of yours.
Now another aspect why in the fuck would Jason Todd no drugs to children, and Dick Grayson who has had his bodily autonomy taken from him do this to their brother.
Alfred ok maybe he's done it to Bruce so many times he just doesn't think.
But look me in the fucking eyes and tell me they wouldn't lose their actual fucking shit if that was done to Damian or Tim.
They wouldn't be cool with it, they wouldn't laugh at it.
Imagine Jason and Dick chilling in the cave it's been a long patrol about to head to bed when they see Alfred come down and hand Tim coffee an energy drink pick your poison. They watch as Tim looks at Alfred before shoving it away.
"Master Tim it would be beneficial to your health if you drink your beverage."
"Sorry but I don't feel like being drugged tonight."
Dick wouldn't even blink before shattering the mug. Jason would be screaming at Alfred.
They would never trust that man again, the man who fed and taught them someone who had their backs.
Betrayed everything it doesn't matter the reason.
Or what if Tim drank it.
He starts slurring his words, starts to almost fall over calling for Jason or Dick.
"It was Drugged."
Falling unconscious into Jason's arms.
Jason who is screaming for help they don't know what it was they assume someone poisoned him not their sweet grandpa Alfred. The whole family rushing Dick practically crying only for Alfred to not blink tell them to get him bed as if it's normal.
In conclusion Dick Grayson and Jason Todd would not be the the spokesmen for drugging your baby brother and then carrying him to bed. They would not tamper with Tim or Damian's food. They would not ok with little brothers falling out of chairs or losing time not knowing what happened. All because they weren't following someone else's rules.
Well Tim hasn't slept in twenty four hours oh ok then let's drug him without his consent because I want him to go to bed.
That's some Arkham level bullshit.
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quillcraftconquer · 2 days ago
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John Price x Ex Wife Pt III
Part Two
(More to come)
John had been avoiding you.
4 long weeks had passed since you last saw John, the night he took your son with him. He had brought him back, of course, during those weeks. Or rather, his family did. When his mom and sister showed up to exchange him, you furrowed your brow. John never had someone else drop him off, it was always him. You tried to reach out to him on his cellphone - straight to voicemail. You called his family. Yes, he was home. Yes, he’s okay. It finally occurred to you that John just didn’t want to see you. 
That hurt. 
Really fucking bad. 
And you knew it was a bad idea, but you continued down John’s street, back to your old house, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
John was going to see you, whether he wanted to or not.
You didn't have a good excuse to show up, he had your son, had all the necessities, his sister even gave you a rundown on their weekend plans.
“Just a lazy weekend, spending some time cooped up inside. We said we’d come by, he said no. Said he wanted to spend some time alone with the baby.” 
A lazy weekend, some alone time, didn't explain why there was a stranger’s car in your husband’s, or ex-husbands, you had to remind yourself, drive. The leather of the steering wheel squeeked as you gripped it painfully tight, knuckles whitening atop it.
Who the fuck was in the house with your baby?
The car door slammed shut with a kick of your shoe, hands already fumbling for the old house key John never took back. Your hands shook slightly as it turned in the knob, battling with the decision to shoot first and ask questions later, or enter quietly and catch them in the act.
Hearing your baby's laughter from the kitchen answered the question for you. 
Like an animal stalking its prey, you rounded the corner to the kitchen, hand tightening around the cold metal of the key still in your palm. 
There your baby was, wrapped in someone else’s arms, perched on their hip as if he belonged. His tiny feet kicked in delight, another squeal escaping him when his eyes met yours. Slowly, the person turned from the sink, the empty bottle in their hand still filled with soapy water.
Except, nothing about the person was feminine. The arms wrapped around your baby were thick, hairy arms with tattoos. Your eyes slid upwards, meeting a pair of familiar brown eyes that were staring at you with confusion and surprise.
“Simon.” Your voice came out steelier than intended, and Simon’s eyes darted to his cellphone laying on the kitchen island before meeting yours again.
“Where the fuck is my husband?” You grit out, and Simon’s adams apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“Range.” Simon answered, depositing the soapy bottle back into the sink and wiping his wet hand on his jeans. 
“The range?” You asked dryly, not believing him. Simon nodded his head. You stepped forward, sliding his phone towards him.
“Call him.” You ordered. Simon sighed, picking up the phone and tapping on the screen before laying it back on the counter, speaker on.
“You alright?” Johns voice answered immediately, concern lacing the question.
“We’re alright. You about done?” Simon asked, eyeing you.
“About 5 minutes out, got to run and get more ammo. You fancy a trip?” John asked good naturedly. 
“Your wife is here.” Simon said, and there was a long beat of silence before John answered.
“I’m on my way.”
Simon reached down and hung up the phone, warily watching you. Your shoulders slackened slightly, knowing he was telling the truth.
The possibility of John being on a date, being with someone else, shouldn't have bothered you. If anything, it should have made you happy. John moving on, being human, taking time for himself, should have been something you wanted, shouldn't it?
Simon slid past you into the living room, the movement drawing you out of your daze as he settled onto the couch, still holding your son.
“Let me take him.” You said, holding out your hands towards your baby, now ignoring you as he played with a toy.
“No.” Simon answered, his grip tightening around your baby as he drew him closer onto his lap.
“No?” You scoffed, rapidly blinking in disbelief. 
“You wont hurt me if I’m holding him.” Simon answered calmly, picking up the remote to turn on the TV as he relaxed into the couch. You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back the smile that threatened to escape. You loved Simon, he was almost like you and John's little brother, and he was right. 
The sound of tires on pavement broke the silence, John’s keys clinking into the dish next to the door before he strode into the living room, the scent of gunpowder and lead still clinging to his jacket. 
“What did you do?” John asked accusingly, and your head whipped to face him.
“I haven't done anything, John.” You answered, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.
“If you haven't done anything, why does Simon look like that?” John asked, pointing to his lieutenant who was now stretched across the couch, absentmindedly biting at a piece of skin on his thumb while your baby laid on his chest, yet his eyes flitted between you and John like a child watching his parents fight. You pinched the bridge of your nose, fighting the annoyance that crept upwards. When neither of you answered, John sighed, making his way to the back bedroom. You followed him, and John didn't argue, the door closing with a soft click behind you.
“Why are you here?” John asked, facing you. You opened your mouth to answer, until John reached behind his head, grasping at his t-shirt and peeling it over his head. Soft, coiled muscles littered with dark brown hair spanned his broad chest, meeting tight abdominal muscles that fell into his nicely tapered waist. You watched as his fingers snapped the button of his pants open, the fabric falling from his hips, along with his boxer briefs. Your mouth continued to open and close like a fish gasping for air, your eyes hooded as you watched him peel off his socks, depositing them into the laundry basket along with his other clothes.
“I…” You started to say, trailing off as John ignored you, stepping into the bathroom and turning on the shower.
Fuck, why were you here?
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missmarveledsblog · 3 days ago
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Never doubt the Matchmaker ( jake seresin x reader )
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Summary : nat phoenix trace was well known by her friends and coworkers as being a excellent matchmaker although jake seresin thinks it all bullshit till he finally let her set him up and jake learns never to doubt the matchmaker ...
warnings : goofy , fluffy , miscommunication sort of rom com feel to it , picture doesn't describe the reader just cover art i started making for fics
Natasha trace  was a woman of many talents , she was strong , determined , and calculated . all good qualities that made her one of best female pilots but she also had another talent one that didn't even remotely have to do with the navy and it was her match making skills . when she disclosed the information it got laughs  , didn't bother her she laughed along with them .  then one by one it would start off joking then hinting to outright asking. first it was fanboy then bob then javy then rooster. only one she didn't get asked by was payback giving the man was already married and jake who still thought it was all  crock .  she didn’t really concern herself with what bagman had to say the results spoke for themself .  fan boy was living with the barista she set him up with , bob was married to the animal shelter volunteer , javy was still going strong with the yoga instructor while  rooster only began seeing the nurse it was still good and boy was he already gone . the results spoke for themselves as always but jake still a skeptic , still ready to shoot it all down of course . 
“ he’s just afraid of finding the one is all “ rooster laughed .
“ i mean i don’t doubt your skill but hangman finding the one is a bit far fetched “ bob shook his head amused in the constantly denial of the match making but in fairness they all were  til she did her thing. 
“ don’t worry bagman i wouldn’t subject any woman to deal with you “  phoenix rolled her eyes . 
“ because its not working i mean rooster would fall in love with a rock” he countered as the brunette exclaimed out a “ hey “ 
 “ why does it bother you so much , you feeling left out , a little lonely “ she taunted . 
“ never lonely phoenix i can get a girl to keep me warm at night any time” he winked  taking his shot potting the ball . 
“ why don’t you let her set you up then “ bob suggested . 
“ he’s right you think it’s fake then prove it “ javy added . 
“ ain’t you suppose to be on my side here?” 
“ come on man what have you got to lose”  rooster smirked . 
“ you know what i’ll bit just to show you i’m right” he crossed his arms looking to the female pilot.
“Fine  i’ll set you up bagman “ nat shook her head . 
It had been weeks since the whole agreement in the hard deck and jake constantly being the one to let her know the fact . then like an angel to answer all there prayers she found the one , the one that would have jake seresin eating his words .  then one day during lunch jake was looking at text of details for a date saturday . he promised to give the woman a chance   , knowing full well it would end like all his dates do  and that part wasn’t so bad .  He’d gotten the womans number striking up a conversation , she could least do that only thing was when he asked for selfie she would reply later , later never came then it was “ i forgot next” which didn’t fill him with much fate but still keeping his word he continues to chat . saturday he was on the beach  a regular tradition now playing dog fight football as the guys asked about his  date. 
“ i mean we text but no selfies so not promising “ he called as nat shook her head. 
“ she hot bagman not that it matters “ she rolled her eyes . 
“ all chicks say there friends are hot , i’m just being honest” he smirked . 
“ not al about looks “ rooster pointed out . 
“ says the guy with the hot nurse girlfriend , you telling me if she wasn’t attractive to you in the smallest bit you would be with her ?” he asked . 
“ yeah because of the person , she is” . 
“ again not that it matters but y/n is a hotty and well able to handle you “ nat scoffed . 
“ yeah we’ll see about that phoenix”. 
When he got home  still texting his date asking her what she was going to wear so he would be able find her .  all he got back was long red dress probably something a grandma would wear  he didn’t know why but that was what he thought . then he got ready   thinking the worse as time got closer , like it was set up in a different way , a ploy for phoenix to get back at him and set him up with some lady that had twenty cars the generic mad woman crossing his mind .  he could slip out early that was for sure  although javy was telling him it would be ok also agreed to call with fake emergency. He was glad he agreed to meet somewhere else because if this was a trick least there would be no witnesses that was for sure . checking over least he looked good   as he looked down at his dress pants that fit snugly on his legs of the light blue almost whitish blue shirt that made his chest and arms look great . he was ready to prove natasha trace wrong and make a  lady happy to get the jake seresin experience . he was sure it was going to be a disaster , some sort of catfish situation even though he had yet to she her face expectations were not high. He stood outside  the bar it was classy  place so who he thought he would meet would stand out a mile off already building an image of some desperate woman .   parking and taking one look at his phone both message one to tell him she was at the bar and another from javy to have good time but he was also on standby if needed . heading in there was one woman at the bar in a red dress , long that stopped at her shins , her long legs crossed with a pair of black open toed heels   , spagetti string straps as she looked around she was gorgeous. Maybe if his  date failed he could ? . 
She couldn’t believe she let natasha trace do her whole match maker thing knowing how it was going to fail , from texting the guy it was ok nothing special didn’t seem like he was into it either so least she wouldn’t be the only one who was going to go into it with less expectations , plus she could only imagine what she was going to meet not that she didn’t find  nat’s flyboy friends attractive because they were but they lacked a little something  .  she herself worked as a mechanic not as glorious or as dangerous as  the navy but she and nat bonded over being in a male dominated area even still she was confused as the receptionist . now here she was sitting waiting for some stranger  when she could be in her shop finishing the shit ton of cars that needed to be fixed but maybe a few drinks would be ok  , help take the busy week off her shoulders . one so busy she kept forgetting to send a selfie and then she thought it would be more fun to keep the mystery going . she text him to let him know he was at the bar barely flickering her gaze  when he text to say  he was outside well here it was. 
“ showtime “ she winked to the bartender downing the drink waiting for whatever disaster  that was coming her way . 
“Erm y/n “ the  southern drawl clear his throat she turned to raise her hand. 
“ over here” she smiled ok , so he wasn’t tragic looking maybe it was shallow but hey he was gorgeous blonde so she wasn’t complaining . 
“ well darling nice to meet you “ he beamed , he’d give nat this one she was the hotty at the bar . 
“ jake?  Nice to meet you too “ she held her hand out almost swallowed in his own , lifting it to his lips and kissing her hand .
“ what are you drinking ?” he nudged . 
“ just beer , southern boy huh” her own accent coming out more as she talked . 
“ austin born and raised , you ?” he took the seat  noting the slight disappointed glance of bartender since he came over. 
“ dallas , would you like to go sit down and get some food because i for one am hungry ?”  
“ lead the way beautiful whatever you want it on me “  he beamed holding his hand out and letting her take him anywhere and it would be anywhere damn she was like a siren luring him to sea .  following the sway of her hips like they were personal hypnotizing him and maybe they were , pulling the seat out putting the full gentlemen charm because shit she had him hooked with her body already . 
“ so jake from austin what made you ask nat for her skills “ she asked looking up  ever the gentlemen pulling her chair out and pushing it in for her as she looked up through her lashes at the blonde . 
“ honest answer?” to which she nodded .  “ honestly i wanted to see if she was good as other say kinda a skeptic but maybe not so much “ he winked as her  head tipped back and wondrous sound of her laugh came out. 
“ oh my god same i only agreed because she set my cousin up with ostrich , duck some bird dude “ she laughed . 
“ rooster?” 
“ YES !  i haven’t met him yet but my cousin  ironic dove is singing his praise then when she told me she got a perfect match not gonna lie since your being honest and all but i said no for while stuff at works been well hectic “ she shook her head. 
“ what is you do , you never said in your texts plus you owe me a selfie or two “ he teased . 
“ a mechanic actually while other girls where playing with barbies i was playing with tools and hotwheels i’m only girl of a bunch of boys so i guess when i wanted to be one of them safe to say my mom was little let down to say the least “ she chuckled . 
“ i’m only boy of bunch of girls i’m second born though “ 
“I’m the baby  , i’m actually working in a shop owned by my two older brothers and top at my job not as exciting as being a aviator for the navy though” she winked . 
“ nah i’m impressed least i know if my truck ever  has trouble i know who will take care of it for me” he smirked leaning forward honestly he hated how much he was going to be hearing nat gloat because he was already hooked  this woman was perfect although she was a decade younger but fuck she was making him feel like a teenager.
The date was good he laughed a lot she was funny , she seemed interested in knowing him and   kept the conversation light nothing was felt pushed or awkward . it was perfect date  he hated he would have to tell phoenix  as much he didn’t want that night to end ,  they even made out in the back of his truck  so why was it two days after the date and everything was radio silent . only thing that he was told was she got home safe and would contact him again .  he never had that much fun on a date especially one that didn’t end in sex , he wanted to be respectful , he also didn’t wanna text and come off desperate so he was wondering what hell went wrong .  maybe he could ask nat and swallow his pride at the fact she was good but clearly not good if he was ghosted . 
She wondered what went wrong did she come on too  strong , did he not like her .  the date was perfect and yet she never  got text back after she told him she got home safe .  it was all good even making out in the back of his truck til he stopped it now she was slightly annoyed he ghosted her .  burying herself in the overflowing work she could of been doing instead  when the familiar sound of an engine . to see natasha trace coming her way all smile probably ready to hear about how it all went . 
“ i’m mad at you “ y/n huffed tying her hair up before diving back into the hood of the corvette that needed dire attention.  
“ what did he do ?” she groaned now holding the coffee she brought like a peace offering instead of an early celebration . 
“ ghosted me  , i thought we had a great time  , even made out in his stupid truck and boom nothing even when i offered him to follow me “ she grumbled looking up . 
“ wait what javy said jake had great time i was here to rub it in both of you “ . 
“ well i’ll do that rubbing in your matchmaking skill ain’t all that .. but i love you and you didn’t know this was gonna happen so i guess i ain’t actually mad at you… my vagina might be “ she laughed finally taking the coffee. 
“ i’m gonna find out what going on cause something is  not adding up “ nat brows furrowed as she head off ignoring the protest that came from y/n mouth . 
She couldn’t make sense of it , according to javy he was smitten  like really smitten so what the hell was going on .  she knew y/n was younger than jake by ten years was that it but then she was thinking jake would date younger than himself maybe not that gap but again it didn’t seem to bother him . it wasn’t even to do with the match making anymore ..ok maybe it was could that be it , he was ghosting y/n in his own need to be right.  Now she was pissed  as she drove a little faster ,  parking her car and storming down the halls. She didn’t even look at the guys when she got to jake staring up , eyes narrowed  and hands on hips . 
“ what is your problem how come your ghosting y/n ,  she said she had a great time with you and what  is it your need to be right because that fucked if you don’t like her least be a man and tell her “ she gritted . 
“ what are you talking about  , she ghosted me nat  she should grow up and tell you the truth “ he scoffed . 
“ she looked upset although she wouldn’t show it …  she thinks you don’t like her she offered  her place ?” nat said even more confused .
“ believe it or not i was being a gentlemen because i actually did like the her.. The date “ he corrected pulling his phone out to show the fact he ended up texting her couple times . 
“ oh you stupid man , it concerning your still flying that not her the name is similar but you’ve been texting another woman no wonder she didn’t answer … idiots “ she scoffed as jake looked at his phone he didn’t even realize that name was still in his phone  he just saw the first three letters and was currently cursing the device in his hand .  it all connecting in his mind only for rooster to say it all out loud. 
“ shit you actually ghosted her after all” .
“ where she work  cause she not gonna believe me if i text her now ?” he asked chasing after nat  who honestly was done with life at the moment. 
“ if i  tell you , you gotta wear a shirt that says i was right for three nights of my choosing in hard deck ?” nat mused even though she was gonna help him either way but didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun too . 
“ you know what i’ll let you have six , come on “ he pleaded  ready to dart out knowing he’s morning was free . 
“  don't make me regret this “ nat smirked texting the address . “ make sure you check the right message “ she called as he ran off flipping her off . 
 he didnt know what it was but he was hooked on this girl like some sort of spell was cast on him  . he usually didn't bother texting after the fuck boy tendency  was strong he knew it himself but shit he was so disappointed and turned out to be his fault his fuckboy ways or some sort of self sabotage  .  already losing something so good before it even started he wanted to delete all the contacts in his phone maybe change his number start a new leaf. He was just hoping he wasn’t too late as he got into his truck nat sent another message telling him  the  coffee and baked good  peace offering to bring  as well as his size  maybe he would wear the shirt  an extra night for that. It was a race for what he didn’t know but he wanted to find out.   
She was tired but finally she gotten on top of the overflow of repairs  ones even her brothers were impressed she managed to pull of maybe the frustration of being ghosted was working in her favor , she was ready to grab her coat and head out . 
“ hey kiddo truck coming in can you sort this while i sort something in the office” her brother mikey called . 
“ you gotta be shitting me i’m heading out deal with it yourself” she scoffed. 
“ do it and i’ll give you rest of week off and next week  paid and overtime?” he said holding phone to his ear . 
“ fine after this i’m out for a week and half   “ she rolled her eyes throwing her things down tying her hair up . 
“ yeah she going  i think a date would be a good payment huh trace” he chuckled heading into the office. 
She was huffing and puffing but hey time of and extra money she could be happy with , what she wasn’t happy with was a tall blonde aviator standing by the truck . 
“ we’re closed” 
“ says your open “ he nodded to the neon sign. 
“ busy should of called a head.. Or do you have a phone?” she scoffed hand on her hip  , burning hole in his head with the fiery gaze she had on him . 
“ can we talk please ? i got your favorites here” he held up the container. 
“ you could of talked to me before , my brother is in there i will not hesitate to get the bat from his car “ 
“  hear him out … heres your stuff and thanks for screwing up so i can get a date with nat “ mikey called placing her stuff at the door before heading in and locking the door . 
“ traitor “ she mumbled taking her bag and  only see her car keys missing . “ son of a bitch “ she grumbled .  But it wasn’t going to get her down  no come hell or nothing she would walk her ass home . so she did turning out away completely not even sparing the blonde a second look or care if he was following her or not. 
“ come on please let me explain “ jake called. 
“ explain nothing if nat sent you here tell her it’s all good “ she waved over her shoulder not only was  she pissed she was no embarrassed thinking he owned her explanation .  which he did but one of his own violation and not one her friend force him to make .   she heard his booths hitting the asphalt , she could hear the panting  behind her shaking her head she kept walking . 
“ come on please” 
“ you ghost me , i practical ask you to sleep with me i thought you were doing the whole gentlemen thing  but turned out you just didn’t like me which is fine i mean not everyone gonna like me but shit when are guys gonna be honest and be like look i ain’t feeling it   or some shit “ she snapped not caring about the group of guys walking by .  
“ dude you blind “ one commented as she just groaned walking past them all . 
“ hey hey  i did want to ok and i was trying to be a gentlemen , i wanted to take you in backseat of the pickup if i could “ he yelled only instead of the group of guys passing it was a group of elderly women . 
“ pig “ one scoffed as they hurried passed. 
“ i thought you ghosted me ok …i maybe even worse asshole to admit that i was texting the wrong number because the names were similar which i’m going to have to text that person the same thing cause i’m pretty sure she married now” he winced as she finally stopped walking . 
“ you want me believe and if i did it worse that it was a mistake dude it ok we didn’t click i mean i thought we did … oh shit “ she said as he held his phone up showing her the messages her name but the contact was similar . “ is it safe for you to be flying “ she asked .
 “ yes i  made a dumb mistake but my eyesight is fine “ he snorted shaking his head nat previous statement . 
“ so you didn’t ghost me ?” she blinked up slightly  still trying to piece the new information slightly relieved since lets be real being ghosted is never fun . 
“ i didn’t ghost you be a fool to  ,  if  your in a forgiving mood since i cleared it up would you maybe wanna go on another date ?” he stood not the usually confident or cocky way he was used to he was almost shy when asking a definite new feeling that he would ( would not ) out loud . 
“ i guess since you got me a week and half off work i could least do that “ biting her lip , wanting to kick herself at the urge to twirl her hair in her finger like some smitten school girl . 
“Well then lets get going “ he winked wrapping his arm around her only for the same group of guys from before walking by looking barely 16 . 
“ dude kiss her “ one  not so hushed whisper yell  . 
“  man i was gonna ask her out” another whined. 
“ y’all watching this whole time ?” she snorted while jake was looking like the cat that got the cream having her at his side . 
“ tiktok was done … if things don’t work out with old man  heres my number” the guy winked as jake took the piece of paper instead . 
“She wont need it son “ was all jake could say leading her back towards the shop , back where his truck was least if her brother was doing him the solid he could have a small drive thru  date . he was new to it all actually wanting to see the one person actively and exclusive ( not that he told her , he wasn’t bradshaw ) but he was willing to show it in future .  He also learned never to doubt nat and her matching making skills again well how could he went he was going to be wearing the visual proof .
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rakhalofthestars · 3 days ago
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Under His Bangs
Synopsis: Boothill finally lets you see what he's been hiding underneath his bangs.
Tags: Boothill x gn reader, established relationship, Boothill's backstory, fluff, light angst, hurt/comfort, soft Boothill <3 a/n: This fic is based off my headcanon on what I like to think is underneath his bangs :3
Warnings: Self depreciation and talks of appearance, Boothill might also be a bit ooc here :(
wc: 1 733
Many parts of Boothill’s appearance are striking, causing him to easily stand out in a crowd. Poor guy. Blending in was never his strong suit and his metal body makes it even more difficult. There just aren’t many cyborgs who looked the way he did. 
It’s not like Boothill ever tried to blend in much. Everything from his whole cowboy get-up to his boisterous personality screamed that he was someone who you wouldn’t want to forget about anytime soon. Not to mention the bounty on his head that had risen to the billions recently.
“Whatcha lookin’ at me like that for, darlin’? I ain’t even responsible for half the things these people be accusin’ me for! I mean, just look at me, ain’t I just the picture of a saint?” Boothill protested one time when you had shoved his wanted poster in his face. On the poster was a (admittedly good) photo of him with his signature shit-eating grin along with the sum of a whopping one billion credits stamped underneath.
You had sighed back then, knowing you can’t argue with him and in all honesty, you doubt he was actually responsible for the wares disappearing from a shop at Pier Point shopping street. Maybe the poor employee was really just trying to get out of listening to Karen complain their ear off. Considering the amount of trouble he’s caused at Pier Point for the IPC, it’s no surprise that Boothill made a long lasting impression on everyone there. 
That’s the thing about Boothill. Every part of him always left an impression. Whether the impression was good or bad really depended on whether you were with the “shirt bags at the IPC” as he liked to call it. 
Even though you had been traveling with the Galaxy Ranger for quite some time now, there was one aspect of his appearance that was constantly on your mind. His bangs. They were so mysterious and styled in such a way as well. 
Why were his bangs the only part of his hair that was fully black? Why did they cover his right eye? Was it a stylistic choice to cover his right eye and look like an emo? Or was there some other, more bigger reason behind covering part of his face like that?
The flurry of questions always swirled about in your head whenever you were with him. It almost made you dizzy at times. However, since you knew about all that the man had been through prior to becoming a cyborg, you kept quiet and never tried to pry. It didn’t go unnoticed by Boothill though, the curiosity that was always brimming in your eyes when they flicked momentarily to his bangs. He really did want to explain what was underneath. The problem was that he just wasn’t sure whether he was ready to open this specific can of worms.
But when something is meant to happen, the opportunity for it will naturally present itself.
You and Boothill were lying on the motel bed, simply basking in one another’s presence. It was one of those quiet nights where all you wanted to do was to just forget about your worries and relax.
Lying on the soft mattress with Boothill’s body acting as a sort of weighted blanket whilst his face was nuzzled in the crook of your neck, you really don't want to ruin this slice of paradise by asking about his bangs. Nor does he want to ruin that lazy little smile on your lips by revealing this particular skeleton in his closet.
Your hands roam about and glide over him mindlessly until your fingers are suddenly tangling themselves in his hair. You massage his scalp gently before bringing his face out of its little hiding spot in your neck. An uncharacteristic and borderline pathetic little whine sounds from Boothill’s lips but it’s forgotten as the crosshair in Boothill’s eye locks onto you, the tiny target in the middle forming into the shape of a heart because each and every time you caress his face, he swears he’s falling in love even more than he thought was possible. He has the most adorable little smile on his face but it falters when your hand strays just a bit too far, almost brushing his bangs away from his face. 
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to”, you apologize immediately and retract your hand, knowing that the fact that Boothill even allows you to touch him and his hair so freely is something that not many get and you’d hate to overstep his boundaries.
“...Naw, it’s fine. I ain’t mad, darlin’,” is Boothill’s reply as he brings your hand back to his face, already missing your touch. He places your hand right underneath his bangs and the look in his eyes tells you that it was no mistake on his part for the placement.
“Can I…?”
The man hesitates, something that you’ve rarely ever seen him do. He’s always so sure of himself, so confident with each and every single move of his. What could possibly make him hesitate?
“Yeah, go ahead”, Boothill finally says.
Despite the bit of excitement that’s bubbling within you, you don’t rush to see what’s underneath. You take your time, simply feeling the soft skin and watching how your partner looks on with anxiety but also affection. He wants to know- no. He needs to know how you’ll react. Even if it might hurt him. You’ve done so much for him. You’ve loved him, taken care of him, listened to him without any judgment and have been with him through the highs and lows of this chapter of his life as he navigates through depression, anxiety and this new robot body of his. You deserved to know.
With love and care etched into your movements, you slowly brush aside the black locks of hair that covered part of Boothill’s face. 
Under his bangs, was a big, dark burn mark that marred the area his hair normally covered along with a deep scar that ran vertically down his right eye, causing it to be shut tight. 
Silence permeated throughout the room as you drank in the sight and Boothill stared back anxiously, waiting for you to say something.
“Oh…”, you finally breathe out and the Galaxy Ranger winces.
His breath hitches and his left eye widens in disbelief. Beautiful? Was there something wrong with your eyes? He was tempted to ask but falls silent when you trace the darker flesh with reverent touches and bring his face closer to press the lightest kiss on top of his right eye.
“It’s hideous, ain’t it?”
“You’re so beautiful, Boothill.”
“You’re so very beautiful.”
“Well fudge…ya can’t just say that, sugar. Gon’ make a man cry”, Boothill mumbles, his gravelly voice cracking so subtly you could’ve thought that you imagined it. He had never exposed himself like this to anyone. He could count on one hand the amount of times he felt as vulnerable as he did now. 
“Why can’t I say it? You’re the handsomest man that I’ve ever seen. If you want to cry then go ahead, there’s nothing wrong with crying. But believe me when I say you’re gorgeous.”
“How could you ever find a bag o’ bolts like me beautiful?”
“These scars on your face…they tell stories of who you are and what you’ve gone through. I won’t force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable but you don’t have to hide them. Not around me at least,” you whisper against his skin. Hidden in your words was an underlying plea that was only for him to hear. 
“Because you are. If I could, I’d let you see yourself through my eyes just so you could realize what a sight you are.”
With every word that passes your lips, you press soft kisses across his face, paying extra attention to the right side that he deemed “ugly”. It was as if your kisses were paint and his face was your canvas as he allows you to paint your love onto him. 
Please let me take your pain and shoulder it with you. Please let me shower you with the love that was robbed from you. Please don’t push me away.
A shuddering gasp escapes Boothill, the first sound that he’s made now in a while. He needs time and that’s what you give. You fill the silence with fond caresses and gentle kisses until the man finally manages to speak.
“Mah face wasn’t always like this, y’know. It was…on that night. When them cannons were falling down from the IPC…”, his voice cracks and he trails off. You wanted to know more but stayed silent, letting him take things at his own pace.
“I was runnin’ home, praying to every Aeon that I could think of at the time that everything would be all fine and dandy…Wasn’t really lookin’ where I was runnin’ and neither was I thinkin’ much about dodgin’ the bombs. A bit o’ burnin’ shrapnel fell on this side of mah face here and well…y’can see for yerself what happened.”
“When I went to that tech doc to get this here body of mine, I asked her to not do anythin’ to these scars. Maybe it’s stupid since I can’t stand to look at ‘em, but I just didn’t want to do away with ‘em. I wanted to keep ‘em, as a reminder of that night and what it is that I fight for. Not like I need much remindin’ but heh…y’know…”
Boothill lets out a small, bitter chuckle before burying his face back in the crook of your neck. He had long lost the ability to cry but he swore that if he continued to talk, he’d end up breaking down in front of you and that was something he wished to avoid.
All you can do now is to comfort him because the fact that he’s told you all of this means that yes, he will allow you to shoulder his pain with him. Yes, he’ll allow you to shower him with the love that he was robbed of. No, he won’t push you away. So continue with what you’ve been doing all this time. Continue to assure him of his beauty and his worth. Continue to love him because Lan knows how long he’s gone without it.
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gwemmieee · 3 days ago
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Yeah. I have a big bone to pick with women who go out of their way to gatekeep someone out of our club. Most of them are cis and straight, but trans fems who do this unfortunately exist. That instance looks like some disgusting hypocrisy to me, because most baby trans fems really emotionally lean on the willingness of this community to emphasize that you are your gender and you are valid no matter how many steps you've already taken and been successful with. That is a crucial, supportive message, and suppressing it in any way is tantamount to pulling up the ladder behind you. Which, yeah, every community has its assholes who pull up ladders.
It is also a tough line to walk sometimes for women, because most of us have learned that there are certain ways we can't entirely just open up to most masculine folks and let them into our entire lives and every space. Not without a lot of pain. So we are incentivized to wait until someone makes it clear that they're safe, before they're let into our inner lives more. This function has caused me SO much strife, because before I was accepted as a woman, it kept me outside in the cold, alone, really close to an early grave, but now that I am fully living as a woman, and even before I was doing that, my efforts to ignore this function entirely and just let any masculine person into my heart, my inner world, and my safest spaces, have not always gone well, and sometimes those efforts have backfired, made me unsafe, and deeply traumatized me.
These days, the only conclusion I've been able to find is that women need to work on what we recognize as red and green flags, for who is safe. It's pretty easy to see that the average set of red and green flags you see most non-queer white women adhere to are... crap. Truly crap. Delusional, not based in reality, etc. And that sucks because it isolates them more and it gives them more excuse to be really shitty to people, or to gossip about them in ways that really aren't fair to them.
Earlier in my transition, I still had it internalized that I had had so much trouble because I wasn't good enough, because I didn't do enough, and that's why women didn't let me in. But I was literally running around freely saying out loud that I was genderfluid, that I had no concept of manhood and little concept of gender, that I thought it would be cool if I was born as a woman, that I wanted other pronouns to be used on me, that I could be pretty gay/queer, acting pretty gay/queer, openly rejecting most masculine behaviors and modes of thought, constantly openly celebrating femininity, experimenting with gender presentation... I was a very queer little dude. And I've only been able to recognize that in retrospect. Because nobody let me in. Trans fems may have let me in, but they weren't around much in the late 00s and early 10s. I never met one. But I did meet and usually deeply connect with countless fellow eggs, before any of us knew. In situations like mine, trans fems generally didn't even get to find themselves until a bisexual cis woman took it upon herself to date them as a perceived man, and then recognize their queerness and allow them to explore gender with her acceptance and assistance. Because being allowed into womanhood was so rare and taboo that it had to happen behind closed doors as part of a romantic relationship. I was aro/ace, and I unconsciously looked to get the same experience out of a platonic friendship, but all I got was led on. Told I was a close friend but still treated like a stray animal compared to their feminine friends. Not let in.
Meanwhile, cis women, and fem-raised queer folks who at the time universally saw themselves as, yknow proudly not quite men at least, universally treated me like a burly cis man deserving of none of their support or curiosity and all of their suspicion and gossip about how "he's creepy." Consistently. Until I finally came out as a woman in 2022. And that's so 100% on them. They went out of their way to not see me for who I was and just keep me out in the cold. So yeah. The state of gatekeeping of womanhood is *bad*. And in my experience, most of it comes from people who had/have easy access to unquestioned claims of womanhood, whether that's because they're AFAB or because their transition into womanhood was really fast and made them really conventionally attractive.
But what about trans fems? Well, we aren't perfect with our red and green flags, either. It's hard to be. Personally, I've noticed there is a small contingent (VERY small) of trans fems my age who operate more like the old world transsexuals in that they really are truscum gatekeepers, often also ableist, and borderline psychopathic in the level of emotional labor they expect from you as a friend vs. what they're willing to put up with in return. And that is very unfortunate. My early transition saw a lot of them genuinely help me as incredible new friends, but then hurt me badly and burn bridges for no good reason. And I feel that there is a bit of a schism in the trans fem community between elders who usually just want to stealth out--who look down on baby transes and cringe and don't help us, or even if they do talk to us and help, there is still a very clear line denominating their actual friends and community that we never get to cross into--and the rest of us who openly embrace being queer and not assimilating all the way. But, frankly? Most trans fems I've met are the most welcoming and least gatekeeping folks on the planet. Most are that latter, queerer camp. And we operate exactly the way that we should: we let anyone safe into our inner world, even if that safe person happens to be a man. And some of us STILL see that backfire. And so even we can't be completely carefree. But we can always learn and grow and get better and better at what we actually identify as red and green flags.
wait where are all the trans guys
Historical-anthropological research, especially the work taking place before the 21st century or outside the West, tends to focus entirely on transfeminized groups. So when reading these works it’s pretty natural to ask — wait, where are all the trans guys? This is a reasonable question with a few clear answers; this post is something quick I can point people to.
The central condition of transfeminized groups' absorption into feminist activism has been to accept a kind of symmetry with select TME groups through the understanding of trans femininity as "gender variance." Under this framework, transfeminized groups' social position can be understood as a consequence of gender variance and some abstract violation of cis norms; this was proposed by people like Susan Stryker and Emi Koyama [1], among others, and continues to structure trans inclusion today. It also fails when considering several basic aspects of these groups:
Transfeminized groups are associated with hyperspecific labor practices, most frequently sex work, but also hair styling, drag, makeup artistry, acting, and other forms of 'gender work.'
Metropolitan transfeminized groups appear in the archive as highly clustered and active groups connected with, but usually intensely split from, the masculine men they fucked.
Transfeminized groups become a kind of 'third gender' on an epistemic level; they are Known to wider society before and after “coming out” in a way that USAmerican transmasculinity has only recently vaguely approached.
Transfeminized groups are heavily clustered in labor practice, social organization, and epistemic position, although this is not universal -- certain strains of USAmerican transfemininity have become a bit more labor-agnostic in the last two decades, not-so-coincidentally alongside more general currents of gender-labor liberation. The messy strains of trans male identity recovered from the archive and from current practice tend to lack labor, social, and epistemic coherence. As Aaron Devor notes in FTM, his 1997 history of FTM men, trans men in the 20th century tended to transition out of cities and into the countryside, finding low-profile places they could exist in. These practices, and the earlier "female husband" practices described by Jen Manion, relied on the labor-agnostic nature of transitioned manhood in order to disappear from public life. Transfeminized groups, on the other hand, are categorically restricted from the main form of economic life historically available to women -- marriage. Their labor practices are heavily constrained and have almost always revolved around some form of 'gender work:' as Susan Stryker put it, you need to get people to pay you for being a trans woman. Transmasculinity pushes away feminized restrictions on labor; trans femininity is labor.
Because transfeminized identities are so often labor-identities, and because their specific brand of 'gender work' and hormonal/silicone/surgical embodiment usually requires both specialized training and community support, nearly every metropolitan center in the world developed highly centralized transfeminized groups over the course of the 20th century [2]. As Ochoa notes, this visibility is partially due to epistemic visibility (everyone knows what a trans is), partially due to group structure (people work and train each other), and partially due to the selectively visible demands of finding clients. Fledglings come in with a way of being that is always already visible to society, but changing the body to match and learning how to fully enact and slowly contest the third-gender labor-identity they've been given takes a lot of community support.
So as labor-identities, transfeminized groups tend to a level of labor/community/epistemic coherence that has no clear counterpart. The news archives we have of trans men (as seen in Manion) position them as singular and easily absorbed back into the female gestalt; the cisgender feminist/gayguy/AIDS researchers that form the bulk of historical-anthropological work saw them as unnecessary to their grand theories of gender; the communities themselves have been materially fractured and, for the groups that rise out of lesbian-feminist activism, only partially committed to their own existence. The result of all this is that there is no clear equivalent to the "transfeminized groups" of Jules-Gill Peterson; there is no symmetry to trannydom, and while additional work to unearth trans manhood in the archive remains extremely valuable, sometimes the necessary level of label-coherence and social existence just isn't there.
[1] Stryker, "My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage," Emi Koyama, "The Transfeminist Manifesto" [2] As seen in Namaste, Invisible Lives, Prieur, "Mema's House, Mexico City," Kulick, "Travesti," Newton, "Mother Camp," Ochoa, "Queen for a Day," Hegarty, "The Made-Up State," and plenty more. Most of these works came out in the late 80s and 90s due to a combination of the feminist "third gender" craze, the burgeoning field of masculinity studies, and AIDS.
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faithshouseofchaos · 2 days ago
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Franco x male reader who absolutely can't stand microfibers and immediately pulls his hands away from franco's race suit (are those even made of microfibers?) Like its on fire, and fans just bash on reader cause what do you mean franco's boydriend doesnt give him hugs for doing good in races? And then franco just has to explain that reader severe revulsion to the texture of his race suit.
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Pins and needles— Franco colapinto x reader
Word count- 974
Fluff/angst
Franco stood on the podium, grinning from ear to ear as the crowd erupted in applause. He had just secured a solid finish, and the adrenaline was still buzzing through his veins. As the celebration continued, his gaze swept over to where his boyfriend, the reader, stood on the other side of the barrier, waiting for him. There was a familiar glimmer in his eyes, a quiet pride, even though his posture seemed a little stiff.
When the crowd began to thin out, Franco made his way over, expecting the usual gesture of affection. But as he reached out, ready to pull the reader into a tight hug, something unexpected happened. The reader flinched, pulling their hands back as if they’d touched something scalding. It was almost imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t paying close attention, but Franco caught it immediately. The reader’s fingers twitched and curled into fists, clearly avoiding the material of his racing suit.
“Hey, what’s up?” Franco’s voice was soft, almost teasing. But there was a hint of concern that crept in, just enough to make the reader feel guilty.
The reader, already feeling the heat of the crowd’s gaze, hesitated, then muttered, “I… can’t… the suit.” Their voice trailed off, an apology forming on their lips but never quite reaching the surface.
Franco’s brow furrowed, realizing what was going on. He looked down at his fireproof race suit—Nomex, the synthetic aramid fiber that protected him from flames but also had a rough, uncomfortable texture. It was a fabric that he barely noticed anymore, but he knew that the reader had always had an intense, almost visceral reaction to it.
Before the silence could stretch too long, the inevitable happened. The whispers started—first quiet, then louder. Fans who had been watching closely began to exchange confused glances, talking amongst themselves.
“Did you see that? Franco’s boyfriend didn’t hug him…”
“Why is he pulling away like that?”
“Don’t they—? Are they okay?”
Franco felt a knot form in his stomach. He had never been one for the public eye, but this was different. This wasn’t about his performance on track; it was about something deeply personal. He could already feel the weight of judgment in the air.
The fan chatter grew louder, and with it, a tension began to build. Franco could feel eyes on him, on them—everyone was trying to figure out why the reader had pulled away. A few spectators started to mutter accusations, their voices tinged with disbelief.
“He’s cold, isn’t he? I knew it was all for show—what kind of boyfriend doesn’t even hug his man?”
“I bet Franco doesn’t even care. This is just for the cameras, right?”
The judgment stung, but Franco wasn’t going to let it affect him. He knew the truth. He looked up at the crowd, then back at the reader, and stepped forward. His voice was loud enough for those near him to hear, but gentle, trying to ease the tension.
“I know you’re all wondering why he didn’t give me a hug,” Franco said, his tone casual but firm. “And honestly, it’s not because he doesn’t want to. It’s because my suit—” he gestured down at the Nomex fabric “—it feels like sandpaper to him. It’s not just uncomfortable; it’s something that gets under his skin. Literally.” Franco laughed softly, hoping the humor would help diffuse the situation.
The reader stood there, frozen, the murmurs of the crowd crashing over them like a tidal wave. They had never been one to enjoy the spotlight, but right now, it felt suffocating. They could feel their face growing hot with shame. It wasn’t Franco’s fault, and yet, they couldn’t shake the feeling that they were letting him down.
Franco gave them a soft, understanding smile, stepping a little closer, as if to shield them from the growing crowd. “You don’t have to touch it, babe. But I still want to hold you.” His voice was low, just for the reader, a soothing comfort in the storm.
The reader, eyes downcast, took a slow, shaky breath. The last thing they wanted was to make Franco feel unloved or unsupported, especially after such a big moment. The worst part was that they knew everyone else was watching, judging their every move. But there was no escape from the sensation—the scratchiness of the Nomex, the feeling of the fibers pulling at their skin. It was like a physical revulsion they couldn’t control.
“I’m sorry,” the reader whispered, not loud enough for the fans to hear, but enough for Franco to catch.
Franco’s expression softened, and without hesitation, he reached out, gently guiding the reader into his arms. The moment was quiet, just the two of them, and he made sure to avoid any contact with the suit’s harsh material. The reader slipped into his embrace, not touching the Nomex, but still feeling the comfort of being held by him.
The murmurs from the crowd began to die down. Some fans now looked slightly embarrassed, realizing they had jumped to conclusions too quickly. Others were nodding, understanding now that it wasn’t a simple case of neglect, but a matter of texture—a very personal one.
“I’m not mad, you know,” Franco whispered into the reader’s ear, his hand lightly rubbing their back, a gesture of reassurance. “You don’t have to explain to anyone but me.”
The reader nodded, their chest tight but easing with every word Franco said. The warmth of his embrace, the safety he provided, drowned out the noise. The fans weren’t the issue here. It was about them, about understanding and patience.
As the moment stretched on, the world seemed to melt away. The judgment and whispers faded into the background, leaving just the two of them—Franco, who understood without question, and the reader, who had never felt more loved in a moment of vulnerability.
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durgetavoc · 3 days ago
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Yes I really want to know the horrors of the shit bucket. I’m quite surprised that he isn’t obsessed with cleanliness. He always struck me as the type but then again… I guess I’m wrong.
Oh god, here we go then.
SPOILERS FOR THE HOUSE OF HOPE
(CW for...The Shit Bucket Guy, obviously)
So, if we ever decide to go steal the Orphic Hammer, we can go visit The House of Hope, there, we obviously find Raphael's collection of artifacts, his eternal debtors, and one of them is… This guy.
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You should know that all eternal debtors are condemned to a certain task/action. It's difficult to know if this has anything to do with their contract with Raphael, if it is a distortion of an already existing trait of their personality (for example, the Perfect Eternal Debtor, the Theologist Eternal Debtor or even the Voyeur Eternal Debtor) or if it's a way to completely dehumanize them (Loyal Eternal Debtor…My beloved :( ). It seems to be a mix of everything, that wouldn't be surprising if Raphael did what seemed most entertaining to him.
But let's focus on the Shit Bucket Guy, since he's the one that interested us today.
As our affectionate nickname for him indicates, we find him in front of a chamber pot with a visible green odorous cloud above it, which confirms us that it has been used (when you interact with the pot, here what the game says : "An overpowering stench singes your nostrils. Nothing good happened here."). The debtor doesn't appreciate us getting closer to it, and if we ask him if he is its guardian, this is what he answers:
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His "name" in the game is "Unclean Eternal Debtor" and if you're taking a look at his face... Yeah, I guess he's not just guarding the pot. When we observe the animation of the character, he walks around the pot, makes a hand gesture to smell it, and that's it.
It has become a running joke in the fandom, particularly for us, little mouses. Those who have been to the House of Hope know about the Shit Bucket Guy... But nobody talks about him.
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(Yeah I couldn't help it.)
It's not really surprising, the presence of the chamber pot, and not just any one, RAPHAEL'S, raises other questions. One might wonder if it's not a little OOC coming from someone like him.
Let's take advantage of this question to dig... A little deeper.
Here's, imo of course, why it's somehow relevant to show Raphael's chamber pot and what this tells us about him.
Shall we?
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1. Don't be fooled by appearances, he POOPS like us!
Raphael. Raphael. Raphael who embodies sophistication, intellect and danger... Alluring and at the same time fearsome, a fascinating mix. Goddamnit, he's a suave motherfucker, and he fucking knows it.
In video games, it's part of the suspension of disbelief to not talk/show toilet, unless you're in a life simulation game like sims. It's not just taboo since it's one of the most private aspects of our life, but it's also... Not relevant to the intrigue most of the time.
Showing us something that intimate about him disintegrate his mysterious aura. We learnt that Raphaels shits. Yeah, absolutely astonishing. Reminding us that he's exactly at the same level as us. Like the title said, despite his charming manners, his eloquence, his theatrical gestures... He's still human, hells, part human.
2. In the Devil's house.
The first time we meet Raphael, he wastes no time in bringing us to his home, on his own terms. We only see one room, and this is what we see:
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Luxurious place, lavish displays of food, ordered furniture... Promising, right? This is how Raphael wants to give as a first impression. I think this scene is perfect as a metaphor. Remember what Gale said? He's taking us to dinner! Like a date, he wants to impress us, seduce us.
But when we're back to this place during our improvised visit, what do we see?
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Rotten food. Blood. Skeletons. Mess. Remind me of my room before I have to rush to clean everything because a friend comes over.
By choosing to enter Raphael's home, into his privacy, the game takes us on a tour of his home: we discover what is hidden behind Raphael's character. It is of course expected that we discover his secrets and/or aspects of his personality that he would not wish to reveal, at least not before we make a deal with him.
Haarlep, his incubus, also participates in this demystification. Through them, we can learn about Raphael's sexuality (I'll be quick on this since @bitethedevil did some really good analysis posts about it):
Raphael is only attracted to himself (hence Haarlep's appearance)
He is a bottom pillow prince
And he doesn't last in bed (a valuable information that can be used to anger Raphael later)
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Once again, this is another very intimate aspect that is revealed to us. I'm sorry to say it, but Haarlep basically plays the same role as the chamber pot to accentuate the intimacy of the place and also to ridicule Raphael, thus revealing to us what he really is.
3. Raphael hates his father.
Our favorite cambion is having daddy issues, and the chamber pot seems like a nice response to the statue his dad gave him. It's a "blink and you'll miss it" kind of detail, but it's funny to point it out. Show don't tell as it's finest.
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4. How bad it is to sell your soul to Raphael.
This one is easy... The Shit Bucket Guy is an example of Raphael's cruelty : "This is what could happen to you if you make a contract with Raphael."
Sure, it's funny because the whole thing is ridiculous: "Guardian of his chamber pot? Seriously?", but it's hard to really laugh at it if you take into account the other eternal debtors. The whole place is designed to make you uncomfortable, because it's not treated as a joke. They had a life, had to ask Raphael for help, and are now reduced to doing something degrading until the end of time. They don't even have a name anymore. They could be your Tav/Durge or your companions...
Suddenly, the temptation to make a contract with Raphael is less appealing after seeing all this, isn't it?
Conclusion : Now the question that burns our lips : What could this guy have done to him to be reduced to this? And why?
My first instinct when I met this character was to think, "oh boy, you must have really pissed off Raphael..." let's be honest, it's the kind of torture you could imagine to your worst enemy or at least a very annoying one.
It could be that, or maybe, mayyybe...
Remember Mephistopheles' statue?
What if Raphael was SO annoyed by this gift that he woke up one day thinking "fuck my dad, fuck his gift" and decided to literally shit on him by putting a chamber pot in front of this statue to express his thanks. And just like any narcissist/paranoid guy, he named a "guard" to be sure no one would spy on him through this (it sounds delirious, but again, we learn that Haarlep was send to distract Raphael, so why not?)
Sure, maybe Shit Bucket Guy annoyed Raphael in the past, but wouldn't that be kinda fucked up that this guy didn't do anything that would justify this treatment? He's just a dude, and Raphael is just a pissed-off daddy's boy (and a very mature one).
Or maybe, Raphael just thinks it's funny. And who are we to discuss a devil's sense of humor?
In any case, sorry Shit Bucket Guy, but it wasn't your lucky day.
PS: Hush, I can hear you wondering "do you think Raphael is scat???" and on this subject I would say: I don't think so, his narcissism is there after all, but he also seems really into humiliation. So maybe it's for the best we don't really know the answer to this question.
After all, only Haarlep can judge him (so the bar is already on the floor).
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