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pparacxosm · 29 days ago

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uta hagen

(divorced!art donaldson x reader; tw divorce obviously; tw sporadic mentions of violent or otherwise shitty partners; that sounds intense but this is actually a fun time i swear; cw a little smut; as a treat; tw ironic intimacy; kaz write a normal romance where one or both people aren't hypercritical of the other challenge ((impossible)); tw group therapy; tw condensing of tashi duncan's character for narrative reasons but i hope you know me well enough by now to know where my heart lies; whoever came up with the art donaldson calvin klein campaign headcanon i owe you a kidney; tw exploiting therapeutic exercises for sexual tension lol; tw hamfisted closure; raymond carver easter egg for all who have the eyes to see)

Before anything happens, Art Donaldson is just another guy in the “Learning to Let the Ex Go” group therapy session you signed up for.

It occurs to you, pretty quickly, that Art Donaldson has zero intention of letting his ex go. Dr Harper has this question he asks all the newcomers.

You’re having circle time with a bunch of adults on a Friday afternoon. So that look of longsuffering on the new guy's face isn’t particularly remarkable. You note a few furtive whispers and glances his way. But then this sad little workshop is mostly comprised of weepy middleaged women. They, too, kicked up a ruckus when that silver fox with the Harley—Rick—deigned to grace the room with his impossible biceps for a single, cigarettescented session two weeks ago.

What you’re saying is you know he’s handsome.

And, anyway, you’d never hold anything against your motley crew. Agnes invited you to her neighbourhood book club. Padma brings little clingwrapped trays of desserts every other week. These are your gal pals. Your bereaved bosom buddies. You wouldn’t begrudge them their eye candy.

Dr Harper says, “So,” and claps his hands the way he starts every session, narrowing his eyes with that scarily sentimental smile and sweeping his gaze around the circle. He makes a point to make eye contact with every single person for two whole seconds, as though he knows something you don’t. Then, “As you can see, we are not as few as we once were.”

He tends to speak in that meandering sort of way. He makes a flourishing gesture with his clipboard, as if setting a stage, and says,

“If you wouldn’t mind introducing yourself, and letting us know…” He pauses for effect. He tends to do that, too. “… Why can’t you let your ex go?”

You do the guy the favour of not laving him in that expectant stare people seem to love doing here. You fiddle with your fingers and listen to the uneasy knell of his sneakers against the linoleum. The stilted whine of his little plastic foldout chair. You cast him a glance as stands. He’s sort of tall, but not imposing. His fingers fidget at his sides like he’s awaiting a time bomb.

When he speaks, he looks so upset you’d think he’s getting a root canal. “Uh, hi. I’m Art, uh… just Art.”

And, at the time, you think this is kind of strange.

The next week, when Dr Harper brings a purple tennis racket with Just Art’s face on the front to get him to sign it for his daughter—which you already think is unprofessional and a bit presumptuous, considering how few people actually return for a second session, and how fascinatingly tortured he looked all throughout the first—you will think oh. And then his whole humble kicked puppy thing will feel a little annoying. But that’s besides the point.

On that first day, while he’s standing there awkwardly, and every shriek of his shoes against the ground is making him wince like he’s sporting stab wounds, and he keeps casting very conspicuous glances at the clock, Dr Harper asks why can’t you let your ex go?

And the thing about that question is it’s mostly rhetorical. Sure, it’s supposed to make you think. But the ultimate unearthing there is of the truth that there is no real reason. And such is the first step to selfactualising change and so on and so forth. You get it.

There’s a couple answers you come to expect. The notably lachrymose will get to weeping straight away. Because I’m pathetic! you remember someone wailing, which made you feel like a bit of a sadist, just sitting there and watching. You’re pretty sure you’d said a less than kind, I don’t fucking know, on your first day, but you’ve grown since then, and you appreciate Dr Harper’s abiding effusiveness despite that.

But Just Art releases a contrite sort of exhale and says, “Because I still love her.”

Which—okay—strikes you as a bit overkill.

A tissue discreetly finds his palm, but he only rumples it into a ball.

Dr Harper nods sagely, leaning back in his seat, steepling his fingers under his chin.

“Go on,” he prompts in that gentle, needling way he does.

You don’t Google him. You don’t really need to. Dr Harper keeps intentionally-unintentionally peppering sporadic little pearls of information about him into conversation like some sort of bizarre BINGO game.

Like—for example—when he’s passing out little notepads and outlining your task of writing unflinchingly honest farewell letters to your exes, he tacks on, “—it’ll be tough, but it’s no Wimbledon, am I right, Donaldson?”

And Just Art’s ears will turn a dazzling shade of crimson.

You file these little tidings away in some less important corner of your mind, passively constructing a criminal profile.

Padma brings her son to a session, which you’re pretty sure she’s not allowed to do. Luckily, the kid doesn’t internalise any of Padma’s scathing anecdotes about his father because he’s too busy marvelling at his own freshly signed Art Donaldson racket.

There seems to be a new racket to sign every week.

You doubt people actually give this much of a shit about tennis. But—anyway—you suppose if fucking Michael Cera rocked up and joined the circle, everyone would be hauling a Superbad poster out from some dusty corner, too. Such is the nature of celebrity.

Dr Harper, for one, appreciates the effervescence. He seems to think the mere presence of a famous athlete will motivate everyone in the room to face with renewed fervour their own pathetic little romantic quagmires.

Well, it’s that, or a strange personal infatuation he houses with the guy. Probably both.

You don’t Google him. You don’t Google him, nor his conceivably equally famous exwife. You don’t need to. Dr Harper seems to think it necessary to give you all regular progress reports on that whole imbroglio.

You know there’s news—perhaps unfortunate news—by the colour of Dr Harper’s voice when he says, haltingly, “And Art… how have you been doing?”

By the severity with which Dr Harper nods as Art reads his letter. (“Tashi,” he begins, and one of those not so furtive whispers ricochets around the room, another tissue in his hand; you think it’s Agnes who’s slipping them).

By the abject enthusiasm with which Dr Harper declares what real progress Art is making. Like he’s one of those zoo animals being parallelreared with a human child, and he’s starting to glean the art of speech without being prompted.

This is all saying something, for whom you know to be an already colourful, severe, enthusiastic Dr Harper.

What you gather is a vague impression that Art’s exwife tortured him psychologically by wielding his body and tennis career as serrated edges by which to flay their marriage intricately, slowly. And then there’s something about her repeatedly sleeping with his exbestfriend? Which—big whoop. Eleanor’s boyfriend tried to kill her, which you feel is a marginally more exceptional love story.

A month in, you realise what’s really bothering you is the untruth.

Art Donaldson has zero intention of letting his ex go. He still loves her. He opened with that.

He reads his letter (that reads a lot more like a draft for vow renewals) aloud to the room. Everyone looks at him with these misty eyes like he’s just chainsawed his chest open and wrested his heart from his arteries while simultaneously reciting Sappho.

Which is to say—and you’re no doctor, but—what fucking progress?

You don’t think you’re the patron saint of therapy or anything. But you’ve paid decent money to be here, and you’ve spent more afternoons than you’d stomach admitting on guided meditation. You’re doing The Work, as they say.

You get it; you do. Losing a relationship can feel like a death. Losing yours certainly felt like the Sun had imploded. But Eleanor—you’ll mention again—could be dead. Your jaded inner voice struggles to identify with this probably deplorably wealthy Adonis who can't seem to cut the racket strings.

So you think it’s a little irresponsible to glorify the abject pining of this crestfallen man. All flaxenhaired and broadshouldered like Prince Charming lamenting bedside of Sleeping Beauty.

This is a class about severance.

Art Donaldson seems to weave himself inextricably around something. The love of his wife, sure, that’s obvious enough. But there’s something. Something. Something very sad, sure, but not sad in the way you’re all so sad around here. A different kind of sad.

You’re trying to figure it out.

So you spend some time doing that. Trying to figure him out. You expect to start to hate him the more you stare. The more you note the weird slope of his nose, his selfdeprecating laughter.

But you don’t.

In fact, you find it delightfully, uncomfortably strange. He carries himself like an interloper to despair. Not like he thinks he’s above it necessarily—you’d thought that (reproachfully) for a while—rather like sadness is one of many things stored at the other side of the city, and he keeps missing the train.

Like these brilliant sorrowers are deigning to include him in their orbit, even though he doesn’t belong. If he remains silent, maybe they won’t notice that he’s not one of them. Better yet, conceivably, he’ll actually belong one day.

That’s what it’s like. Like he’s striving for sorrow. Like he’s working with something worse than sorrow and is saying, you know what? I’d rather take the sorrow.

In the exercise you’re doing this week, you’re supposed to personage your ex and act out your final argument. Take your scene partner’s hands and look into their eyes and everything. Dr Harper makes a big deal about how he's not trying to trigger anyone's relationship trauma, but that feels like a lie. You can’t imagine a productive reason to make a bunch of lonely, divorced adults hold hands in a cruel parody of their last brush with fleshdeep connection.

And anyway, fuck this shit.

That doesn’t mean you won’t communicate circles around it. You’re doing The Work, after all.

But fuck it hard.

His hands sort of swallow yours. They are warm and calloused and a little sweaty.

You were, at first, excited by the idea of this proximity. Excited in the way a cultural anthropologist would be, at the prospect of conducting participant research. But now you’re here. Sitting at the edges of your little plastic foldout chairs. Your knees between his. And his fingers are curled pretty firmly around yours. He looks about as comfortable as a grade schooler called to the chalkboard. And you’re the one who’s been sitting around observing him from a distance and gleaning your data and passing your judgement all this time, but it is he who makes—and holds—eyecontact.

His eyes are dusky and intent—molten navy—like he’s seeing past your skin and bone. And you are less than pleased by this subversion.

So when he shifts and his knee brushes your outer thigh, a potent shock of heat resounding through the denim, and he clears his throat and mumbles, “Sorry,” you say,

“You could back up a bit.”

His expression falters. You must admit, there is something alluring in his being disappointed by your little rejection. Anyone looking at it from the outside would find the whole thing pretty ludicrous. That you could say no, that he would even ask.

Dr Harper comes up and puts his hands atop both your heads, which feels more than a little patronising. He squats to be eye level between the two of you and whispers, “Do you know why I paired you two together?”

For a moment, you almost roll your eyes. When all is said and done, and the skull speaks and the bell tolls, your primary takeaway from your time Learning to Let the Ex Go is that Dr Harper has a spectacular penchant for assigning meaning where there is absolutely none.

If he paired you with Art based on eyelash hue, would he come up with some reason for that? Probably, you think.

But what he says next manages to throw you.

“You two…” he begins, pausing for effect. Because, of course. And Art shifts his weight uncomfortably, quite literally wincing as he accidentally bumps your knee again. He glances fleetingly in your direction, ears gone florid, but you have little time to delight in this before Dr Harper stands up straight again and delivers his verdict, “… have the same problem.”

You make a face like you have just seen a lizard eat a bird.

And fucking Art, of all people, has this look in his eyes, this look that’s almost hopeful. Like some explanation is finally to be offered for what the hell is wrong with you.

And you don’t care for that shit. At all.

You bark out a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

Which is, of course, when Dr Harper’s gaze sharpens like a scalpel and locks on you, like you’ve said exactly what he predicted you would say.

Which you care for even less.

He doesn’t look smug. Not exactly. He doesn’t even look vindicated. The only way to describe that look on his face is total delight. Cat with the canary in his maw.

Art seems very committed to staring at the ground, now. Trying, perhaps, to evade something of a brewing storm. You’re tempted to reach up and flick his head for his cowardice, but his hands are—very tightly, now, you’ll note—still holding yours.

“You two are both at mercy to judgement,” Dr Harper declares, and he’s still got your head in his palm like a basketball, and all that selfregulatory yoga feels fucking useless right about now.

You shift to look up at him better. “I’m not at mercy to judgement,” you inform him as calmly as you are able, and maybe you’re disproving his point in this moment by being so affected by this analysis, but you sincerely believe that you’re generally pretty hardwearing.

Dr Harper pauses for effect. “You are at mercy to your own judgement...” Another pause. And you’re about to tell him that—nice fucking try, but—you’re actually a remarkably selfassured person who rarely, if ever, gives yourself to negative selftalk. But then, “... Of others.”

And now it occurs to you that the fucking room has gone silent. And you feel like your eyes have all but crossed in simmering anger. Because—okay—everyone here is crazy, and miserable, and a little fucking pathetic, but you’ve prided yourself on being the least crazy one here.

And fuck.

Fuck if you’re not proving his point right now.

When you open your mouth to argue—because you are going to disagree, if only for the sake of disagreeing—Art Donaldson’s fingers screw up firmer around yours, like he’s some sort of sentient lie detector, and you’re about to ask him where the fuck he gets off, but Dr Harper isn’t done.

He turns, now, to Art.

“And you…” he says. You’re getting seasick with all the pausing. “Donaldson. You’re at mercy to others’ judgements of you, my man.”

So Art, you see out of the corner of your eye, looks like he’d rather debone himself than be sitting here.

And fine.

Okay.

Let’s all agree that that much is true. That Art Donaldson lives and dies by the judgement of others, and you live and die in the name of it. Fine.

Even so, you can’t help but think that these are directly antithetical problems to have.

And, in practice, if you’re a callous shrew, and he’s an open wound, you’ll probably kill him. Or something.

But now Dr Harper’s pushing your heads together like a ref before a rugby match. And he crouches down again. And Art’s nose brushes yours, and your lash swipes his cheek, and you can smell the coffee Dr Harper was just drinking.

And he says, “Let. First serve.”

Then he stands again and pats Art’s shoulder like they’re old friends, and gives a wink to the room at large.

He saunters away. Art looks like someone is pointing a gun to his head. But really it’s just your—heartlessly selfrighteous, apparently—forehead still against his. His skin is feverwarm.

You pull away.

Of course no one takes the exercise seriously.

In its defense, you think, there’s very little that goes down in this room that can be veritably labelled a ‘serious’ event. Most of it—the guided meditations, the writing exercises, Dr Harper’s entire vibe—feels like you happened to miss some crazy event that tore reality asunder and tipped you over into a sadistically tragicomedic alternate universe.

But if you all were to sincerely sit here, knees to knees with mourning strangers, and concretise this litany of other strangers who have wounded you all irrevocably in different ways—shit—Harper’d be sitting with a fetid heap of weeping corses.

So—well.

Eleanor’s chasing Ally around the hall with a her fingers hoisting an invisible shiv yelling, I love you, I love you, you bitch. Which is certainly one way to contend with a murderous exlover, you guess.

Padma and Colin are treating this as a gossip session. You can tell because you can hear that delighted peal of laughter she emits whenever someone interjects one of her—deeply engrossing, by the way—caustic vignettes about her exhusband with a little observational jab at the guy.

Most people are laughing. Or making fun. You catch fleeting dregs of remarkably hilarious conversation from all angles and are reminded why you keep coming back here.

The only person, however, who seems to have really taken Dr Harper’s thought experiment to the harp of his heart—much to your horror—is Art Donaldson.

He sets his elbows on his knees and leans forward. You get a waft of him. Something acerbic like citrus, and maybe pine. He blinks up at you with this almost regrettable intensity. Like he’s about to tell you that he has to pull your teeth. But he’s not thrilled about it. You’re still deciding if you’re flattered by the notion. He’s looking at you like he’s trying to glean the pattern of your sinew with his eyes alone.

“I’ll be you,” he says, his voice low and soft. And there’s a hoarse quality to it, like he’s just run up a staircase.

You’re suddenly very aware of all the noise around the two of you. The laughter, the bedlam. Something faintly percussive.

His thumbs swipe over your knuckles, which you’re hoping is an absent thing.

You blink. Your face is overcast with a less than kind, more than unimpressed glower.

“You’re serious?” you deadpan.

He looks serious as the end times. His fingers twitch around yours. You feel his knuckles like piano keys against your palm.

Dr Harper has essentially told this man that you have something he doesn’t. Something he needs. And now—with a tenacity you can only imagine churns through his bones by rote—he seems determined to find it.

He’s gripping your hands like you’re the fucking racket.

He leans down further, elbows pressing into his thighs, and his face gets alarmingly close to your fingers. A whisper of heat against your nailbeds.

When his tongue dips out to swipe the chapped coral edge of his upper lip, you nearly flinch, because you think that wet will touch you. But it doesn’t.

He peers up at you intently. You see the way his throat shifts under his wan skin as he swallows.

“I’m as serious as you want me to be,” he says. He is absurdly sincere, but also something else.

Your brows twitch, and you frown, because you are now realising that, even after several weeks of careful observation, you do not have even a remote understanding of this man to speak of. You feel like an academic whose thesis has just been rejected, and now they’re back to square one of some miserable odyssey. Moreover, this is all just unutterably ridiculous, so you sigh and roll your eyes and shift in your seat, your knee knocking against his inner thigh.

“Fine,” you say, “You be me.”

Art’s face is set in what you first think is determination, but are incredibly unnerved to discover is him getting into character. He’s trying to emulate that vaguely bitter perennial scowl of yours. He looks like a bitch—which means he’s pretty fucking dead on.

You’re almost impressed.

Of course, he still looks sad. There’s a vulnerability his mimicry cannot conceal. But you think he’s finding something cathartic in wearing the hue of your passive vitriol.

You tell him to express a perfectly reasonable grievance to you—and you yourself are now rolling your shoulders and slinking into the ethos of a gaslighting asshole—like how you never wash the dishes. Like, ever.

He clears his throat.

“You never do the dishes.”

You swallow.

“Right…” you murmur.

You’re still a little facetious about this whole thing, but there is that intensity in his gaze that wrests you into the moment like a fervid point of gravity.

“Well, now I—as my ex—would probably tell you—” You roll your eyes again, but now it is at the memory you’re unsheathing. “—oh, you’re being dramatic. I was just about to do them. Why are you always on my ass?”

And Art’s nose wrinkles, like the memory is offensive to him, too.

He looks you over like a sawbones trying to determine a patient’s symptoms. Mapping out the incision.

“Then I—you—would say…” He’s speaking really slowly, too. Like he’s giving you the chance to object where you see fit, on grounds of mischaracterisation. “I would say that you always say you’re going to do all kinds of things. But you never actually do them.”

“Exactly!” you blurt, kneejerk. But then you catch yourself. Flex your fingers a bit in his. Clear your throat and put on your best impression of a total dolt again. “Okay—oh, maybe you’re too busy focusing on the little stuff I don’t do to recognise the large sacrifices I make for our relationship.”

He scoffs.

It’s your scoff. A facsimile of that incredulous ire you seem to always be evincing. It’s deeply disturbing.

“What sacrifices?” You can’t tell who’s asking.

“W—” You falter. Swallow. It takes you a moment—like you’re emerging from deep water—to answer, as your ex, “Well, I moved here, didn’t I? Packed up all my shit and left my friends, my family, fucking everything. To be with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to move.”

“You didn’t,” you confirm quickly. And you can’t tell who’s saying that, either. But you put on the voice again, and say, “You didn’t. But I still did it for you. And I don’t think you’ve ever said thank you. Or sorry.”

A beat.

Your hands go slack in his. You sigh. “You never say sorry.”

Art’s eyes search you like a probe.

Your shoulders are stonerigid and the blood is rushing like torrent through your ears because—somehow—this feels uncomfortably like a fight. Like that fight. And your body seems keen on adjusting the scoreboard accordingly.

His thumbs rub your knuckles again, in a way that feels a lot less idle this time.

“I’m still not going to say sorry,” he guesses with a marginal tentativeness, but a general certainty in his assessment.

You swallow again. “Yeah,” you rasp, “You’re not.”

It occurs to you that this exercise is a little like immolation.

He’s supposed to be acting like you. But he’s acting like you at your worst, and doing so—to his credit—a little more accurately than you’d like to admit.

It strikes you as unfair. And excoriating. And you picture yourself tackling Dr Harper to the ground and choking him out.

And then Art says, “We’ve been having this fight for…?”

“Two months,” you mumble. You’re not even doing the voice anymore.

Art clicks his teeth, a sentimental crease at the corner of his eye. “I think we should break up.”

You sigh. “Yeah, probably.”

“It’ll be really hard for me.”

A guess again, but then you’re here. Doing The Work. Holding hands and roleplaying. It’s not inconceivable that you didn’t take the breakup exceptionally.

Your lip twitches. “You’ll survive.”

He pushes off his elbows and sits up straight, his knees sidling fully around your thighs, now unashamed. He gives you a look. A different one. His mouth purses to the side in some alloy of pensive amusement, a dimple delved into his cheek. His gaze coruscates with a deep cornflower intrigue.

“I think I will, actually,” he says finally.

And he has the nerve to smile. Revoltingly soft and sympathetic.

He gives your hands a parting squeeze before dropping them in your lap, his chair scraping loud the linoleum as he backs off.

You call your ex that night.

��Hey, listen,” you say, “Sorry.”

Dr Harper’s probably somewhere creaming his pants so fervently as to have rendered himself numb in a state of gleeful stupor.

“Hey,” husks your ex—who, for his flaws, has always been more magnanimous than you—before chuckling, “No worries.” You can hear that easy smile of a life unburdened by you in his voice.

Which is fine.

“How are you?” he asks then, “You good? You surviving?”

You smile wryly. You feel like you’ve been flogged by four consecutive eighteenwheelers. “I think I will, actually.”

You Google Art Donaldson.

You’re having a drink with Eleanor and Ally and Colin and a few others from the group, and you’re basically shitting all over the whole programme in a very hush-hush sort of way because you all know what an Opportunity For Growth this has been, when Art walks into the bar and spots your table and nods at the whole gang. The mood quickly shifts. Excitement, sure, but a collective wordless agreement that the lighthearted gossip between real friends ends here. You feel bad. It’s not his fault.

Art slides into your booth with beer floats and greets Colin, who’s looking at him with a senex’s disdain because he was just telling you all how he’s thinking of getting hair plugs. Again, not Art’s fault.

Art’s in camouflage, with his baseball hat and T-shirt, which you think is unnecessary because—again—you’re still quite certain no one gives enough of a shit about tennis as to recognise him in a bar.

When he slides into the booth—into the space between you and Colin—he’s careful to leave a distance between the two of you. Which you only really notice at all because you’re acutely aware of exactly how much space occupies the expanse between the two of you at any given instance.

A bunch of people at the table are already looking at him like he’s some sort of foreign dignitary.

You don’t think athletes are necessarily charming by nature, and you refuse to give Art Donaldson that kind of credit, but he doesn’t have to try very hard to make himself agreeable to everyone.

He buys a round for the whole group. He asks after jobs, and the state of marriage, and family, and life. He seems sincere enough.

You all start chatting about the various horrific relationships that lead you here, as though they were all particularly uninteresting ham and cheese sandwiches. Colin’s exfiancée diagnosed with early onset dementia. Ally’s exgirlfriend developing a heroin habit. You’ve all jabbed and scrutinised these woes to deflated nothingness, by now. None of it hurts anymore. Is that the whole point? You still don’t know.

No one knows by what fancy Dr Harper pushes you all about in his great cosmic dance of personal selfimprovement.

You do know that Art remains quiet. Generally inconspicuous, but then you’re you, so you’re paying attention. And you don’t think he should get to sit there like an archaeologist recording the fossils of your collective melancholy, as though his own warm and living bones are out of the question.

Maybe you all can pull up the People.com article, A Comprehensive Timeline of Art and Tashi Donaldson’s Perfect Relationship and Messy Divorce, and have it contribute to the conversation.

Eleanor’s telling a story about the time her ex wrested her from bed and lobbed her out of the house at 2 AM in midwinter.

“And we lived in Duluth,” Eleanor’s saying, and she’s laughing in that disconcertingly manic way she does when she shares these things. “And I sleep halfnaked, so I’m fighting frostbite, and I’m just totally mortified that one of my neighbours will see me.”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about being halfnaked,” Ally shrugs.

And then you say, “Ha, yeah, I mean Art would know.”

Art—who, until now, looked like he was studiously contemplating the meniscus of his beer, or the grain of the table—flicks his gaze up to you.

You snort. “What, I’m supposed to act like everyone here hasn’t seen you oiled up and smouldering to the camera for Calvin Klein?”

A brief hush descends upon the table like a falling guillotine.

Then, laughter.

Eleanor snorts her gin and soda with such force that she coughs for a solid minute afterwards. There’s tears in her eyes and Colin is laughing at her and Ally is laughing at them both. And Art looks as embarrassed as a woman strewn porchside in her panties in midwinter in Duluth.

And—okay.

You were trying to be tongueincheek about it. But his discomfort levels are seemingly off the charts. He doesn’t know how to react and it makes him unhappy. Clearly, ten and something years of public scrutiny—and, in your defense, actually doing that photoshoot—have not prepared him for this moment.

You lean forward and awkwardly bump his fist with yours. “Hey, I’m kidding.”

But you’re not, because it was technically true.

“I thought it was artistic,” says Ally.

Eleanor, still crying laughing, “What, the fullpage spread of him fully waxed and laid out on a clay court surrounded by Great Danes?”

“Someone paid attention,” Colin chuckles, and Eleanor erupts into vibrant giggles again. Colin gives Art a courtesy clap on the shoulder before saying to Ally, “Maybe I’m old fashioned, but a Billboard of a guy wearing whities so tightie you can see his dickprint isn’t exactly Starry Night. But maybe I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to worry too much about that. The art has to get you,” Ally says, pointing at him with a fry. Ally studied theatre. “I mean, we are the most complicated machinery in our lives. You have to take yourself seriously to do something like that.”

Everyone’s looking at Art like he’s some kind of colourful textbook.

It’s not often people sit beside a guy of whom they can confidently guess the naked physique.

And maybe you’re thinking that, too; you brought it up, after all. His arms look strong in his T-shirt sleeves. Not, like, bodybuilder strong. But lean and cut. And there’s a sort of animal grace to his movements. Like a fox, or something. Even as his ears burn a practically neon shade of carmine in the dim lighting.

He clears his throat. “I doubt anyone took that seriously,” he says dryly, the corner of his mouth ruefully, if hardly, upturned.

Eleanor shoves Ally playfully, swiping her tears away in a blissful mascara smear. “My God Al, will you stop scaring him with your Uta Hagen spiel?”

The conversation meanders to other topics. Fringe stuff, briefly, like the societal implications of male sexuality and modern advertising. But then things branch off entirely—The Fast and the Furious franchise, artificial intelligence, Colin’s stepson’s career aspirations of becoming a TikTok street interviewer. Et cetera.

You hope Art isn’t looking at you when you chance a glance his way, but when have you ever been so lucky?

So he’s looking at you. He looks at you like he’s taking inventory of you at your expense. He gives a slow blink, an almost imperceptible smile, then he lifts his beer towards you and takes a swig.

At the end of the night, he asks for your number, which feels like a boot to the loins. Not because it’s profoundly unbelievable. Maybe a little surprising, but, if anything, it’s the conclusion you’ve halfanticipated all night. That’s the way he’s been looking at you, at least. It’s just the finality of it all.

But what are you gonna say? No?

You call him that night.

“Hey, listen,” you say, “Sorry.”

God, what have they done to you?

Art, on the other end of the line, presumably lounging in his stately mansion, remains cautiously silent. You sigh like you’re losing something here.

“I hope I didn’t upset you,” you say, but realise your tone is too grudging, so you adjust, “I got awkward, I was trying to be funny. Which we both know by now that I’m not. I’m just a bitch. So, I just wanted to say… you obviously look fucking amazing. And your shoot was great. Everyone can see that.”

You swallow the dryness in your throat.

Art makes his own pained noise across the receiver. “Everyone?” he groans, and you cannot tell if you’re imagining the fleeting hue of amusement you discern there. “Please no.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say here.”

“You called me,” he scoffs. It’s a good scoff, if such a thing can be said. But he still sounds pretty incredulous with you, and not in a way that says he thinks you a moral paragon. You think he thinks you’re a bit of a monster. Which doesn’t offend you, actually. “To apologise.”

“And I did!”

“Okay?”

A silence befalls you like a yawning maw, stretching out. He could hang up on you. He doesn’t.

“Look, you can internalise the things I say at your own risk,” you say.

“You’re telling me.”

“But it was a nice photoshoot. And, you know… pretty hot and stuff, which I guess was the intended purpose.”

You feel like a corpse whose arteries are being drained of blood and filled with embalming fluid.

“Pretty hot and stuff?” he echoes. You roll your eyes.

If you’re lucky, he’s tipsy, because you guys didn’t only indulge in beer floats. So, maybe—by God’s impossible mercy—he’ll have forgotten this conversation in the morning.

“I—” you hesitate, adding a small laugh, kind of hoarse, kind of unconvincing. “I—honestly—I can’t stop watching it.”

It’s not a joke, you both realise.

His voice drops an octave. “Really?”

And—fuck. Fuck, right? But you’ve made it this far.

“Really.”

You feel his eyes on you, not Tashi. Harper has you all thronged around a burn barrel in the community centre parking lot at 8 PM on a Wednesday. Scintillating honeygold flames lick at the night and shadow his face at pretty angles. And he’s reading his letter—that letter—and looking at you.

That’s bad.

This is supposed to be a cathartic and utterly sexless exercise in closure.

But you feel like a filthy fraud.

You’re crossing your arms, and blinking off the flameheat, and pretending not to stare at the scarp of his Adam’s apple and his tendons working beneath the skin of his hands.

He clears his throat, and his lips are moving like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Tashi,” he starts.

Her name, when he says it, still sounds like a tender orison. But last time he’d been reciting this thing, his eyes had been all flushed, raw, and misty, his voice abraded at its edges. Now—well—Agnes hasn’t slipped him a tissue in weeks.

“I still love— do we have to do this again? Can’t I just throw it in?”

The group sputters into giggles. You don’t know who brought the sweet Moscato.

Dr Harper pinches his nosebridge like an enervated preschool teacher. You think he, of all people, ought to be pleased—and you suspect he furtively is, but doesn’t want to discourage your good spirits with his approval—because, as much as you’re loathed to acknowledge it, all his forcible, unwelcome attempts at conjuring vulnerability amongst the lot of you have actually kind of worked.

The fire warms your brows to dampness, the saccharine acidity of the spirit seeping through your flesh and sweltering the rest of you. You should’ve worn a thinner sweater.

“Art,” says Dr Harper, “Your feelings are valid. Even—” The group interjects with a smattering of jeers, a slurred, densetongued amalgam of fuck you! and get a life, Harper! and other stuff to that effect. “—even your reluctance.”

The flames thrash deep indigo and copper. No one can quit laughing.

Dr Harper continues, “But the whole point of the exercise is—”

“Come on, Doc, we’re still pretending these exercises have points?” someone heckles.

“We’re still calling these exercises?” says someone else.

“Hurry up and cry already, Donaldson, I got work tomorrow.”

“Alright, alright,” Art raises a hand and everyone wanes to a simmer of firewarm drunken murmurs as though he’s some sort of Biblical king.

You roll your eyes, but you keep thinking of Great Danes on tennis courts and tightiewhities.

Everyone cheers like this is fucking Madison Square Garden when Art holds his hand out for the bottle, teeth scintillating in the pyreglow with a wry slanting smile.

He takes a long, healthy swig. You think you hear someone whistle. His lips gleam with moisture when they pop off the glass bottlemouth.

“You wanna see me cry?” he grins, eminently rueful and amused and resigned, all at once.

And everyone hurrahs and hollers and maybe some people even bark. He’s being pushed around affectionately from all angles. His gaze is sharp and garlanded by flames and trained on you. You raise your brows at him wryly, perhaps a little dubious, before lifting your hands and joining in the applause.

He clears his throat and sweeps his tongue over his upper lip and flicks the paper out like a Shakespearean scroll.

“Tashi,” he starts again.

You watch the fire lave and singe and swallow all your bitter, pathetic epistles.

Tashi.

I still love you. I’m still sorry. For something, or everything. For anything, really. It’s mostly okay, but it’s worse at night. And on weekends, and with Lily, and when the microwave starts making that shitty sound that you hated.

I miss you deep in my bones. I—

The flames scorch his words to flickering cinders.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and his bottom lashes glisten with tears. But he’s grinning widely. He’s laughing. He’s laughing a lot. Padma sings ‘Auld Lang Syne’, for some reason.

The goodbyes are a little maudlin, but sincere.

It’s time for you to all go home and actually get over your exes, which feels a bit jilting.

Art walks you to your car, and you let him, and you even let him get in your car, which is probably not a good idea. But it’s the end of the stupid workshop and you want to spend more time together. There, you can admit it.

You even say it out loud.

“I’m gonna miss this corny bullshit.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says, a little more quiet.

When the middle backseat belt buckle is digging sharply into your hip, and he’s got you pinned beneath him, and his hands are everywhere—seriously, it seems he was just waiting for your permission, because he’s squeezing all the flesh he can reach, slipping his hands under your shirt, between your thighs, just absolutely no decorum on this guy—you think to yourself, this motherfucker.

A spherule of spearmint gum slips from his mouth and into yours.

You’d thought, too, that he’d be more deft with this. And he is, but he’s also very clunky. Maybe because your car’s quite small. He’s not huge, but he is still fairly tall and broad and trying to fit himself between your thighs while covering you with his body in this small space, so it’s a bit chaotic. You don’t really mind.

And—yes—you have thought about it.

There’s a shot of him, in the Calvin Klein campaign, sprawled across the court in greyscale, his hand resting on his middle, his other arm above his head.

You know they edit those photos. That there’s some kid, fresh out of graphic design school, rubbing one out while airbrushing these halfnaked men to oblivion. But you now see—feel, more than see, really; there’s a streetlight nearby, but it’s blown, so you’re all touch—that such satin cannot be contrived. He really is that smooth. There’s not a bit of fat on him, but he’s oddly liquidfeeling, skin sloughing off like cream.

He’s always looked almost uncomfortably boyish to you. But you’re realising now that there’s an abrasiveness to his haggard breathing, and that potent, vaguely olid, mannish fume to his skin.

It's really doing it for you.

In that shot, he was lying right beside the polyethylene net and the sun was beaming down, searing alabaster, through the lattice, at an angle that splayed shadows all across him. The lines warping over the slopes of his body.

You feel the phantom crisscross of those shadows between your thighs now.

His eyes are still a little wet. He tells you he’s wanted to do this since he saw you giving him the jettatura while he was signing that racket for Harper's daughter. He also tells you he bets you’ve wanted to do this since you saw him in tightiewhities lying under a tennis net.

Can he be your tennis net?

You don’t even know what that means.

You laugh a little, but then he slips a finger inside you and latches his mouth to your pulse, and it is hot as magma, and you forget all about Great Danes and apologies and fires.

You would think they do some computer magic to make the cocks look bigger in those things, too.

They don’t.

To be fair, he doesn’t have some kind of doubletake worthy, John Holmes ordeal or anything, in the pictures. But the slope beneath the cotton, the bend of his hips like the handle of a water pitcher, all that pearlescent skin—so what if your saliva gathered on your tongue as you leaned in (way too closely) toward your laptop screen?

You feel especially shameless now as he slides into you.

Sure, the buckle is a bitch and the seatleather’s sort of chafing your ass and your elbow’s in a cup holder. But you take furtive pleasure in thinking that some people’s fantasies about him probably go like this.

The softest thing is his hand cupping the back of your neck, dragging your head up. It’s a weird contrast to the way his dick is pumping erratically in and out of you. Like he’s trying to control himself, maybe add a little romance.

You keep your eyes open to watch the way his body moves. Fuck it, you wanna see what all the fuss is about.

The talented Mr Ripley whose volleys (and probably orgasms) are intensive, frenetic affairs of selfpersuasion. Unless, of course, he’s fucking the random, judgy woman he met in a group therapy session. In this particular case—though laboured all the same—he comes harder and slower and you hear his panting groans in your ear as you shudder through your own pleasure.

He pulls your hips closer and empties himself in you and you rub yourself against him and you try to keep your eyes open, but, ultimately, you concede that you can only experience this pleasure in the dark.

You keep feeling his muscles work beneath your hands, though.

Dr Harper strongly recommends that you two not start seeing each other. He does just about everything but get on his knees and beg. And even that he nearly does. He reminds you that, on your Vision Tree, you mapped yourself single for at least the next two years.

But Art says he’s had enough of other people saying what’s good for him.

And your Vision Tree also forecasted you taking up jogging, which—come on.

#challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson angst #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson smut #the art donaldson calvin klein campaign is canon to me #challengers fic #uta hagen was team tashi #dr harper is his own trigger warning #i am actually an artashi divorce denier #but i was too compelled by this idea #tightiewhities #tag yourself i’m eleanor trauma dumping on a fun night out

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haechoxo · 4 months ago

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[5:14 pm]

“did he pick up?”

mark sighs heavily as he walks back into the living room, dropping down onto the couch with a soft thud. he shakes his head at you, “nah, straight to voicemail.”

you can’t help but pout. despite all he’s done, your feelings for haechan remain steady, unyielding. you pull your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them as you stare off into space.

mark purses his lips, watching you with a mix of concern and frustration. “don’t make that face, it’s not your fault. he’s just in a mood because he finally realized he fucked up.”

“i know,” you drawl, “i just… i don’t know…” you start picking at your cuticles, an anxious habit that’s become more frequent lately. your mind races with thoughts of haechan—his smile, his laugh, the way he used to look at you when he thought you weren’t watching. the anxiety over the whole situation eats away at you, making it hard to focus on anything else.

mark notices and grabs your hands to make you stop, reminding you that he’s there for you. he clears his throat awkwardly,

“i– uh… i hope you know hyuck’s insecurity when it comes to me is baseless. i don’t want you to think… like, that i meant to impose on your relationship– or… well, whatever it is you guys have–” he stammers, his cheeks tinged with a slight blush. his sincerity makes you genuinely laugh for the first time in a while.

“mark,” your hand rests reassuringly on his shoulder, “i know, you were never a threat to hyuck and i’s… arrangement,” you cough awkwardly at the label, “the first time you spoke to me in college was literally to ask about my roommate.”

he laughs at your deadpan expression, “yeah, i still don’t know i would've been able to even make eye contact with yeri if it wasn’t for you.” his admission makes you giggle, the memory of mark’s awkward attempts to get yeri’s attention bringing a smile to your face.

“plus we all kinda thought you and haechan were already dating, when we found out you weren’t, we were all rooting for you anyway. chenle and yangyang might’ve put bet on it too… chenle blames jeno for losing since he figured out you guys were only hooking up as ‘friends'.”

shaking your head at the boys antics before you sigh, i just don’t get why he’d take it that way, you especially always steered clear of him, i thought your crush on yeri was more obvious anyway.” you shrug.

“oh? you mean like your super lowkey subtle crush on haechan? for…,” his finger rests on his chin, pretending to think, “six years?” men (mark) can be so evil.

“hey! not fair, you took just as long to ask out yeri!” your childish protests echo down the hall, mingling with mark’s wicked laughter, his eyes sparkle with mischief.

“dude, i’m just saying! how did you even agree to be haechan’s fuck buddy, your best friend, if you liked him so much?”

previous - next

a/n ; i feel like this is more of a filler idk,, but i love a good mookie mark moment♥️♥️♥️ hope u enjoy! xoxo jelly

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wenellyb · 5 months ago

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How I feel about Buddie...

You guys have been warned, this is a long post.

I've always liked 911 and was a casual viewer but never got involved in the fandom or anything. Of course I knew about Buddie, but I personally never saw it. Buck and Eddie have always acted like best friends and do stuff best friends do. I have never seen any scene that could be interpreted as romantic, except maybe for the "you want to go for the title" scene. But to me it wasn't enough to ship them, especially since it was the only scenes in their hundreds of scenes together that could be seen as romantic.

That being said, I've always thought the ship was cute, and I understand it because who doesn't like a good friends to lovers storyline?

I just never got involved in the fandom because their behavior reminded me of the Stucky and Destiel fandom, which were chaotic experiences for me. Some people just don't know how to handle non canon ships and act entitled, complain to the showrunners and harrass the cast. I've always tried to avoid fandoms like that, but wasn't against the idea of Buddie as a ship.

The 911 Lone Star crossover episode for me was the confirmation that Buck was into men. To me, it was obvious they confirmed he was into men but hadn't set up a storyline yet. So naturally I thought... if they set up a storyline it will be with Eddie. There was no doubt it my mind.

So fast forward, a few years, I wasn't really watching season 7 and then I see all the fuss from Buddie shippers I follow, and it makes me watch the sneak peek video from 7x04 and I'm like....For sure Buck is being jealous right? (it was the scene where Eddie interrupted Tommy giving Buck a tour)

So I decided to watch the episode convinced this was going to be the episode where they confirmed Buddie, but I was also very cautious because Buddie shippers had cried wolf too many times before.

So I was careful, but I was also convinced that this was it: "Buck was going to get jealous of Eddie hanging out with Tommy and then confess his feelings or the other way around".

And that's actually what was happening until the end of the episode, we saw Buck get jealous, and most of us assumed he was being jealous about Eddie.

We didn't figure out until the end of the episode that it was all about Tommy.

And that's the beauty of that episode because you think you're watching something when in fact you're watching something else and when you rewatch some scenes you understand it, and that plot twist was written so beautifully.

So we have Buck and Tommy have a heart to heart in Buck's kitchen and they kiss. And what a kiss... the kiss itself was Nice but the look Buck gave Tommy after the kiss was breathtaking.

From that moment on, I was rooting for them.

But I still had Buddie at the back of my mind because I was thinking, what if this is all temporary and they're planning to break them up to set up a buddie storyline? So I shipped it but didn't want to get my hopes up.

This feeling got bigger when I started watching 7x05 and I saw the way their first date ended. I thought... this is it, we might not see Tommy again, what a shame. But then Buck talked to Maddie about his date and confessed it was with Tommy. And Maddie asked: "so tell me about the hot pilot", and I thought this isn't how they'd talk about a character we never see again. But I didn't know for sure.

Maybe they were setting up a Buck x Eddie storyline....

I changed my mind when I saw Buck's coming out scene to Eddie, the scene was beautiful and at that point I still was thinking Buddie was a possibility. But one line made me think that Buddie wasn't happening: "I can't stop thinking about him".

No writer would put a line like that and have Oliver say it like that with that look, if they were thinking Buck and Eddie would have a romantic scene in the future. And if you do write that, you would get a jealous reaction from the other character, not a "You should call Tommy".

And then I was conforted in my feelings when the writers doubled down and had Buck invite Tommy to Maddie's wedding. Buck could have just apologized and asked Tommy on antoher date, but no, he invited him to his sister's wedding.

There has been absolutely no hint of a romantic relationship between Buck and Eddie throughout the season. There has never been a sign of jealousy from Buck or Eddie's side when they were dating Tommy, Marisol. If they had been setting up that storyline, the writers would put some hints here and there. Instead, they shared meaningful scenes like best friends do.

I never had anything againdt Buddie as a ship, I was even open to it, but all the times I thought Buddie was going to happen, it was because of the fandom, not because of something I saw in the saw...To me Buddie is and will stay a fanon ship.

TL:DR: I don't hate the ship, I find it cute but the behavior of some shippers has made me want to stay away from the fandom. And when I thought Buddie might be happening, the writers showed us they had long term plans for Bucktommy.

#evan buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #bucktommy #platonic buddie #911 abc #long post

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madlori · 6 months ago

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Here's where I am with Buddie.

[CW: I am using the Buddie tag on this post, even though the gist of it is that I'm increasingly doubtful that it'll ever happen. This is NOT an anti-Buddie essay. If you'd rather not read about this topic, please keep scrolling. The bulk of the essay is behind the cut.]

-------

I've thought a lot about this over the weeks since 7x04 aired. It's not a secret that I'm wildly enthusiastic about the BuckTommy pairing (as are many fans) but what does that mean for my thoughts and opinions about Buddie, a pairing I still love and for which I am still writing fic (slowly but surely…)?

It's become increasingly difficult to reconcile hopes for Buddie with dread for a BuckTommy breakup, but if the show managed to pull off a breakup that did not destroy me, I would still be all in for a Buddie endgame.

But more and more, I don't think it's in the cards, and I'm increasingly okay with that.

First off, I know it's a common assumption that Buck and Tommy have an expiration date, and that it cannot last. That may very well be the case, but…the show is not acting like it, nor are they presenting this arc as if it's short-lived. Episodes 4-6, while also being about other things (especially the amazing Madney wedding plot in 6) were also a bit of a trilogy about Buck discovering his sexuality and taking tentative steps into a relationship with another man. It didn't go…particularly smoothly, but the events of 7x06 where they were concerned had a completely different tone. They had a much more settled vibe in the karaoke club scenes, from Tommy's very boyfriendly "check-in" look before he had to leave, to Buck's casual/distracted "Be safe" (as if he's said this before) and just how they spoke to each other and touched each other was much more comfortable than in the coffee meetup. Which makes me think it's been a few weeks and they've seen each other a few times in the interim.

And then that kiss. Putting aside that it was juxtaposed with a literal wedding kiss, there was nothing uncertain or hesitant about it. It felt like a very arc-capping kiss, coupled with the reveal to the rest of Buck's friends and family, and the clear message was "Okay, they're done 'getting together' now, they are together and will be together going forward, even if we don't see Tommy every episode (much as we don't see Karen every episode)." We know Tommy will be around through the end of S8, if not in every remaining episode. After that, we'll see.

A lot of fans have viewed one of the guys coming out as queer to be a first step towards a Buddie future, but I have to say I've never been super comfortable with that logic. I've always thought that if they were going to get together, or both be revealed to be queer, it would have to be at the same time, with each other, via them getting together. The minute they pulled the trigger on Bisexual Buck, I immediately thought that this made Buddie far less likely. Why?

Because it would mean that the writers/showrunners would be making BOTH their "hot younger firefighter" characters queer…separately. In separate storylines. Distinct from each other. And I just don't see that happening. I'm not saying it SHOULDN'T happen. I'd be over the moon. I'm saying I think that's unlikely.

As much as it pains me to say it, I think Eddie will be written as straight and will continue to be written as straight. I don't disagree with the many examples of queer coding we've all seen - the problem is all of them can be just as easily interpreted as arising from a different trauma. Almost everything we've seen from him that could very legitimately be read as breadcrumbs for a queer identity for him could also be rooted in his trauma over Shannon's death, his family trauma, his PTSD, or his general anxiety over being enough for people. He can be read as having sexuality crises. But he can also be read as having other crises with the same results.

I'm not seeing a sexuality crisis for Eddie in the future. I just don't feel like that's where they're taking him. They're taking him somewhere -- he's got storylines coming up -- but I think they're going to have to do with his family, possibly his friendship with Buck, maybe his relationship (I think we can all agree Marisol isn't going to last, she's like the anti-Tommy in that she's been around way longer but has infinitely less of a presence), and Christopher. That's a lot to deal with just right there. If I'm wrong, I will be delighted to be wrong.

But.

I think the show will continue to prioritize and showcase Buck and Eddie's very deep and emotional friendship, which is revolutionary in its own quiet way. Another thing that makes me think they're setting Tommy up to be a long term love interest is that one of the first things they did with him was affirm that he will not come between Buck and Eddie, give him his own relationship with Eddie and Chris, and have him show that he understands and respects the depth of their bond. Not to mention they've integrated him with the firefam. No other of Buck's love interests have gotten this treatment (Taylor had the most contact with the firefam, but I don't think anyone would say she was integrated, LOL). And it shows how committed they are to maintaining Buck and Eddie's friendship as a key emotional element of the show. Tim has also said this, repeatedly.

People often say that there's no explanation for how Buck and Eddie are with each other if it's not romantic - I read a fantastic essay that pointed out that this statement is the reason their platonic friendship IS so important. Men should be able to be vulnerable and loving with each other without it being romantic, as women can be. If we're unable to see a loving friendship without interpreting it as romantic or sexual, what does that say about the kind of male friendships we see everywhere, that makes this one so different?

I know this is an old anti-Buddie argument and I'm not anti-Buddie nor do I mean it's wrong to see it as romantic. I still do. I'm saying if it's not, if it never is, what it is, is already valuable and special, especially when one of them is now openly queer and dating a man.

Anyway. That's where I am with it, and my interpretation of where the show is with it.

#buddie #bucktommy #9-1-1 #911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #tevan #kinley #buck x tommy #meta #9-1-1 meta #shippy thoughts

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justmeinadaze · 3 months ago

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Secret Underneath Part 8 (Steddie X Plus Size You)

Warnings: Older (Mid thirties) Sugar Daddies Steve and Eddie/ Young (Early to mid 20s) Baby Fem Plus Size Reader, SMUT, dirty talk, dp, skinny dipping, FLUFF, they love each other. They get to hang out with the readers best friend so she's protective <3

ANGST, not much (I know, weird! Lol), Boys hang out with reader and her bestie so she does quiz them a lot. Eddie talks about missing Wayne and gives reader more insight into his parents, Steve does that same.

Word Count: 4862

Series here/ Donate to Me <3

“Look, I’ve been her best friend since middle school so I’m not going to be as easy to suck up to as her parents.”, Mya announced making you smile beside her as you four continued to eat.

“Pfft, that was easy?”, Steve asked playfully as he stuck a fry into his mouth.

It had been a few days since the guys had shown up and in a couple more you would have to get ready to fly back home to get prepared for the new semester. The new year flew by with little to no fanfare and both men doubled down on your post by taking pictures with you and posting them on their socials.

Their lawyers weren’t exactly thrilled stating they thought both men should lay low but they didn’t care. They wanted the whole world to know how much they loved you as a person and not because of what their ex was saying. Beside that one post you made, you still stayed away from your phone for fear of what you may read. You weren’t ready to handle any of that at a constant basis nor did you have any idea how you would handle it when you went to work but you decided you’d cross that bridge when you got there.

Since he was the most recognizable, Eddie had his hair up and behind a cap as he ate but a few tendrils fell around his face almost dipping into the sauce of his plate before you reached over and moved it behind his ear.

“Thank you, babe.”, he garbled with a full mouth making his friend roll his eyes as you giggled.

“So what’s the plan for today?”

“Mya and I were thinking we could go to the little carnival down the way here. It’s an annual thing that we used to go to all the time growing up.”, you beam as your best friend leans on your shoulder.

“That sounds like fun.”, the mogul smiles as he digs into his wallet and places his credit card next to the bill that the waiter hastily comes to pick up.

“I can pay for my meals, Steven.”

“I know, Mya. Think of it as a Christmas gift since I wasn’t able to bring you anything.” Quirking his eyebrow towards her, she smirks in amusement before giving in and nodding her head.

“Excuse me, Mr. Munson.”, a little voice shyly asks as a small boy appears at the rockstar’s side. “May I have your sign?”, he continues, holding up his hand in a waving motion to signal he wants an autograph.

“Yeah, buddy, uh…”, Eddie’s eyes scan around the table, thanking you when you reach into your bag to grab a pen. “What’s your name?”

“Wayne.”

Eddie blinks and you see his smile falter for a moment before it widens again as he signs the paper the little boy handed him.

“You know, that’s my uncle’s name. He taught me to play guitar when I was a bit older than you. Can you play guitar to?” The child shakes his head and the man laughs. “You have to learn, little dude. Maybe one day you’ll be on stage with me when I’m old and gray.”

The boy laughs as he thanks him and runs off towards his parents who silently thank him with a wave.

“That was cute…Did you hire him?”

“Yup. You caught me, Mya. That’s actually my illegitimate son and those people posing as his parents are from my entourage.”, he replies with snark without missing a beat.

Your best friend glances your way as you beam up at her with a “told you so” grin on your face that makes her own smile widen.

“Point one goes to you gentlemen. Let’s go have some fun.”

***

You giggle as Eddie tries to “root” for his friend as Steve and Mya go head-to-head shooting basketballs into the basket in front of them.

“Come on, man. You were MVP in high school. She’s kicking your ass.”

“You’re not helping, asshole.”, the mogul breathily laughs.

The buzzer beeps loudly and his head falls as your best friend claps, raising her hands high in the air in victory.

“I’m ashamed of you.”, the rockstar sighs jokingly before laughing when Steve pushes his arm.

After extending his palm as an olive branch, Mya shakes it with big smile on her face.

“I feel like together we could be stronger, My. What say we kick their ass in bumper cars?”

“Sounds like a plan, Steven.”

Throughout the evening, your best friend had not only been listening to the guys but watching how they treated you, taking in every little thing they did. When you went to lunch not only did they pull out your chair but hers. While walking up to the carnival area, they made sure to be on the side nearer the street for you both and always ran ahead to open any door that needed to be opened. Their physical mannerisms seemed to display a radiance of protective energy. When they weren’t attentively listening to the stories you both were telling, their eyes were scanning the area to make sure everything was alright.

Even now, she watched as Eddie held your hand to help you into the bumper and then once you were seated he helped buckle you in before making you laugh as he pretended to speed off as the car remained still.

“Munson is going to be ruthless I hope you know.”, Steve chuckles as he climbs in beside Mya.

“I can buckle my own seatbelt, Steven.”

“I would hope so.”, he grins after clicking the strap and leaning back as he waits for the ride to start.

“So can she.”

The mogul’s face straightened as he turned to meet her eyes that were scanning his features. He understood what she meant and you had explained the other night that Mya knew what you were into in your private life. You trusted her with something so personal and he appreciated that. That’s how he felt about Eddie as a friend when it came to things they did. He wouldn’t have entered a shared relationship with him if he didn’t.

“We know she can. It’s one of the reasons we love her…because she can handle herself. We love her strength and her sassy ass which after meeting you and her parents makes a lot of sense.” Steve smiles when your best friend laughs.

“After everything happened, I looked you guys up. I tried to tell her things but she insisted she’d rather hear it from you. Obviously she knows about Gina but does she know about your dad? Does she know about the expose he did on you after giving you his company?”

“If she read that she’s never said. Y/N isn’t much of a business person and that was almost 10 years ago.”

“He doesn’t seem to have any real empathy towards you or your mother.”

“What’s your point, Mya?”, he snapped before realizing his tone and sighing. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“No, no. I get it. Trust me, I get it. That’s why I’m so protective over her. Y/N’s family has been there for me through everything and I see her as my sister. Holden took her away from us and everything she knew before breaking her heart. She looks at you two differently than she ever looked at him. She feels safe with you…so if you ever pull that bullshit again I will come after you.”, she warns as she raises her eyebrows and Steve tries to hide his smile.

“Noted. I promise if that ever happens, which it won’t, we’ll fly down here personally for you to kill us.”

Eddie’s hand reaches for yours as he leans back and waits for the ride to start.

“She’s definitely grilling him right now.”, the rockstar grins as he gestures with his head towards your friends.

“Oh, 100%. I’m sorry if she comes off as rough. She’s been through a lot and has a hard exterior but her heart is soft…kind of like you.”, you grin up at him as he chuckles. “I wanted to ask you, um, are you ok after talking to that little boy? You seemed kind of sad after.”

“Yeah, I’m ok. I just miss my uncle sometimes. He’s very much like my father figure, you know, and being in Indiana…I don’t get to see him as much as I want. He, uh, he adores you.”

“Me? Edward Munson have you been talkin’ about me?”, you tease.

“Maybe.”, he grins as he kisses your forehead. “Maybe we could bring you home one weekend or even during the summer so you could meet him and some of our friends. I mean…if you want to…you don’t…have to.”

Your lips tenderly kiss his as you rest your chin on his shoulder.

“I’d love to.”

The car underneath you suddenly comes to life gradually moving you and everyone around you forward.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s kick their ass.”

***

“Were you nice?”, you ask Mya as you walk her to her front door.

“I was nice enough.”

“So no then?”, you laugh as she smiles.

“They do seem to care a lot about you and they are genuine which I appreciate. Holden only met with me that one time and I never heard from him again. You think I would have with how long you two were together.”

“I’m sorry for that…for leaving you…”

“No reason to be sorry, honey. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. I’m always going to be here for you.”

“Everything alright?”, Steve asks after you return to the car.

“Yeah, I just really missed her.”

You giggle as Eddie crawled over the middle console making his friend playfully huff as he tumbled into the backseat to sit beside you.

“Maybe sometime soon we can invite her up so she can hang out and see New York.”

You grin as you lean towards him to place a tender kiss on his lips.

“Can I show you guys something?”

########################

Both men’s eyebrows furrowed when you directed them to a college nearby but even more so when you guided them to a building that was locked.

“Ok, Eddie, baby. Can you lift me to that window please?”

“No.”, he answered sternly yet with a hint of teasing underneath.

“Oh, come on, Daddy. I would never do anything to get you in trouble.”, you joke with a smile before Steve finally steps forward and helps lift you into the building. After a couple of minutes, they heard the lock on the other end clink open and were met with your beaming face when you opened the front door, ushing them inside.

“This is the college I graduated from. We kind of had this club of cool kids who were able to come here and hangout. If the window is unlocked that means no one is here. I locked it after climbing through so it’ll just be us. Apparently students have been doing this for decades.”

“Where are we exactly?”, the rockstar asked as you three continued to walked down the hallway. After entering another room, the smell of chlorine hit them immediately.

They hear what sounds like a button being pressed and suddenly lights within a large pool illuminate the area.

“Oh, wow.”

Both men watch with fascination and amusement as you remove all your clothes before diving in the water.

“Are you coming?”

After removing their own garments as well, Steve gradually slid in whereas Eddie followed your lead and jumped in making you giggle as water splashed around you.

“We used to come in here after hours and just swim…talk about the future…maybe have a beer or two.” When you laugh, they laugh with you. “This was such a highly guarded secret and hard to make it into the club to hang out here. I always felt safe here with Mya and my other friends.”

“I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

Their heads turn as their gaze shift towards you, understanding the implications behind those words. Again, you were trusting them with something special to you and opening your heart. They needed to do the same.

“We didn’t have anything cool like this at my college. I mean obviously we had a pool but…I went to a swanky business school which was my dad’s alma mater and I fucking hated it.”, Steve chuckles. “Ed kept me entertained through those four years, taking me to concerts and movie premieres when he got more popular.”

“Pfft, yeah it took a while. I think our first song started finding steam right when he was about to graduate.”

“When did your dad give you the company?”, you ask.

“It took about a year or so to pry it from him and even then he, uh, he struggled. He did an exposé on me a month after…the journalist asked him if he had faith in my ability. He said and I quote ‘If I had another Harrington to give it to I would but he’ll do fine I’m sure.’”

“Jesus. What an asshole. You showed him though with how far that company has gone.” Swiveling your head towards Eddie, your eyes meet his soft ones. “You didn’t go to college right?”

“Lord, no ma’am. My uncle wanted me to but it all sounded expensive and useless.”, he laughed as he swam closer to wall where you two were floating around. “Believe or not my dad went to college and he still ended up in jail. I just wanted to play my guitar.”

“I love the way you play. Even before I met you.”, you smile his way. “What was your mom like?”

“She, uh, she was kind and loved music. She was unbelievably funny, always making jokes that made me laugh.”, he grinned back at you. “To this day I still don’t understand why she fell for my dad. Probably why I’m terrified of becoming him.”

“You don’t have it in you…neither do you, Steve. With all the stories you’ve told me, you’re nothing like them. I think that’s why you both fell for Gina…because you think you’re capable of it. You attract what you fear sometimes… And just like with her and your fathers, I will kick your ass if you continue to think so negatively about yourselves!”

They chuckle as Steve grabs you and pulls you till your legs are around his waist. You sigh pleasantly as he kisses your forehead before you rest it against his own.

“She asked to meet with me, your ex.”

His eyes shifted into that protective mode as the mogul blinked and cupped your face in his hands.

“Stay away from her, Y/N, ok? Unless one of us is with you.”

“I’m not afraid of her—”

“This isn’t about fear, honey. She can do a lot more that physically harm you.”

“So, you can confront my ex but I can’t with yours?”

“You were with us!”, he growled before Eddie patted his forearm, signaling for him to let you go.

“Do you want to meet with her?”, the rockstar inquired calmly.

As you tilt back against the mogul’s grasp, you shook your head.

“I know she won’t tell me the truth. I just thought you two should know that she reached out to me personally. I haven’t looked at my phone since that thing I posted so I don’t know if she’s tried again.”

“Ok. Ok, sweetheart. If you change your mind, just let us know. We would prefer to be with you if that’s alright. We wouldn’t need to be in the same room just within the vicinity at least.”

Oh, vicinity.”, you tease trying to lighten the mood again. “Officer Munson kind of has a ring to it.”

“Pfft. Yeah it does. The way I would utilize those handcuffs.”, he groans as he grabs your waist and maneuvers you till your back is against the wall with your arms circled around his neck.

“Like you don’t have some already.”, you grin. “I’ve, um, never made love in a pool before.”

Eddie blinks as his head playfully ticks to the side.

“Didn’t we fuck you in a jacuzzi?”

“Oh my god, that does not count. It’s not a pool!”

“It’s an area filled with water.”

“Oh, oh, ok Steve. I’d like to see you swim laps in a jacuzzi!” As you giggle almost uncontrollably, you pull the rockstar into your embrace and hug him tightly to you. When your laughter subsides, your fingers thread through his hair as you feel his nose graze your neck. “I love you, Eddie.”, you whisper, softly smiling when he tilts back to pet your head.

“I love you to, sweetheart. Fuck, I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that.”, he exhales almost breathlessly before his lips kiss yours. As you reach between your bodies, his eyes close as his head dips back as you gradually run your palm along his cock.

“You wanna see something?”, Steve murmurs, kissing your cheek when you nod your head. Tugging you lightly away from the wall, the mogul adjusts you so you’re floating on your back with his hand cradling the back of your neck. “I got you, honey. Daddy’s right here.”

Water lightly moves beneath you before you suddenly feel your legs resting on Eddie’s shoulders with his cheeks graze your thighs. His warm breath is an interesting contrast to the slightly cold water you three are floating in and you can’t help but moan as your pussy clenches around nothing. Steve’s mouth attaches to your neck as the rockstar’s tongue flicks against your clit making your eyes roll shut.

“F-Fuck, that feels so good.”

“I think this is the closest I’ve gotten to you riding my face, princess. That was one of the—God, you smell amazing—first things we talked about, remember?”, Eddie asked in a husky voice as his nose continued to prod at your little bundle of nerves.

“Yes, Daddy. I remember.” The mogul’s large palm reached over to massage your breast as the tips of his fingers ran along your nipple. “Please… I want to cum.”

“And we just want to play with you, baby.”, Steve smiles as your mouth falls open and Eddie begins devouring your cunt, his hands digging into your hips to hold you against him. “Maybe when we get back home, we can utilize those restraints and just keep you in our bed all day. Can you imagine that? Just…tune out the outside world for 24hrs…and keep you with us for one day to play with.”

As he spoke, his lips trailed kisses down your skin till his tongue found the erect bud on your tit causing a loud moan to leave your mouth as he lightly pulled it with his teeth before swirling his tongue along the sensitive area.

“To play with you whenever we wanted and really get to know your body.”

“I-If…you don’t know…my body by now…I’m worried.”, you breathily laugh, feeling them both smile against your flesh.

Eddie’s tongue rapidly licked in and out of your core as your fingers roughly clung to Steve’s hair and your back arched.

“Oh, we know your body, honey, but we want to learn and discover more of you in ways no one else ever has. Things you didn’t even know about yourself.”

Your legs around the rockstars neck trembled as you came.

Pushing your limbs down and around his waist, Eddie pulled you up till your arms were around his neck and floated with you back towards the edge of the pool.

“Can I have you both?”

“Yeah, yeah, baby. Let me just…” Keeping a strong hand on your back, he swims with you to stairs nearby and sits high enough so the top of his chest is visible above water. “Your knees aren’t scrapping the asphalt of the steps or anything right?”

“No, Daddy.”, you pant as you kiss his lips and lower yourself onto his length.

Subtly rocking your hips, you allow your body to get comfortable as you wait for the palm that places itself on your shoulder.

“Ready, honey?”

“Yes, Daddy. I love you, Steve.”

With a soft smile, his fingers lightly grip your chin to tilt your head and deliver you a tender kiss.

“I love you to, Y/N.” His gorgeous eyes remained locked on yours as he carefully began guiding himself into your ass. “Mmph—no, no, no, baby. Keep those beautiful eyes open for Daddy.”

It was so hard to follow his command as they both slowly started thrusting into you but desperately did everything you could to follow through. You loved watching their faces every time they took care of you. In a sexual realm, their faces would scrunch differently in ways you found utterly fascinating. Steve’s perfect head of hair would fall along his forehead or frame his face as his eyes would roam your body. It was almost calculated which would make sense with the business minded man he was. He would physically take in any little movement, jiggle, or moan and store it in his memory to utilize whatever he did to please you again in the future. As he got closer to his release his jaw would tighten and his eyes would close as he fully succumbed to the feeling of you with grunts and an eagerness that drove you crazy.

Eddie was all feeling and passion in more ways than one. His hands and lips always wanted to be on you especially when he was inside you. He wanted his senses to be absorbed in everything in the moment. He wanted to see you fall apart, hear you scream his name or title, touch your sweat tripping skin, taste your lips, and feel you shudder around him as you came undone. Sometimes he wanted those things so bad that his brain would almost shut off and he would lose all self-control as he pounded into you not caring if the bed banging against the wall was too loud or both your moans mixed together could wake people in their building.

When they were taking care of you out in the world, it was more or less the same. Steve would take note of the surroundings to make sure you three were safe anywhere you went. His eyes would follow you when they took you shopping and made mental notes of every item you mentioned or even touched as you absently grazed it with your fingers. You figured out pretty quickly that he learned all your tells for when you were hiding things especially to make them feel more comfortable.

“You don’t like this, do you?”, Steve asked while you three were watching tv one Saturday.

“No! I like this show a lot.”, you defended making him smile at your incessance.

“Uh huh. You’re doing that thing you do with your hair when you’re zoning out.”

Narrowing your eyes his way, you can’t help but giggle as you sigh.

“I like the show…I just don’t like the host. He comes off like a huge asshole being mean to these contestants who probably worked really hard to be here.”

“Why didn’t you just say that, baby. We can watch something else and he IS an asshole by the way.”, he jokes.

“You watch stuff you don’t like to make me happy.”, you pout.

“Says who? Everything you’ve shown us we love.”

“Like RuPaul’s Drag Race.”, Eddie added making you laugh as he started singing the theme.

Eddie wanted to experience everything with you and did everything he could to keep a smile painted on your lips. Whether it was something small like a joke or a grand gesture like taking you to a concert where he danced and jumped around with you by his side, he savored it. With every hug, kiss, cuddle, or a gentle pet to your head, he felt like he was in heaven and would do anything to make you happy.

“Hey, um, I’m working on this song and I was wondering if you could tell me what you think.”

“Ok.”, you beam as you take a seat in front of him on the floor near his windows.

As he softly strummed his fingers along the guitar and his voice filled your ears, you realized the song he was playing was about you. When his eyes met your teary ones, he chuckled as he reached out to caress your cheek.

“It’s beautiful, Eddie. I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s not finished but—”

“But it’s perfect already. Thank you so much.”, you coo as you tackle him and he laughs harder, falling onto his back with you in his arms.

Eddie’s open mouth kisses against your chest had you mewling as you leaned your cheek on top of his head and your hands clung to the bottom of his neck. Little waves around you seemed to sway you forward and back into them as the pumped their hips a bit faster against you.

Reaching around, you pressed your palm to the back of Steve’s head, holding him to your shoulder as he warmed your skin with his grunts of pleasure. Trembling between them, you whimpered their title as you came, loosely holding on to them as they chased their highs.

“Jesus fuck—“, Eddie whined with a strain in his voice before wrapping his arms tightly around you as he filled you up. Steve followed shortly after suffocating his moans into your neck as his fingers dug into your biceps.

No one moved and you were fine with that as you held them to you. Tender kisses and soft murmurs of love gave you a comfort you never wanted to lose again as you silently prayed they would continue to keep their promise to you that what happened before would never happen again.

“Do they have showers? Definitely not a good idea for you to go out in the cold with cold, damp hair.”

“Aw, thank you, mom.”, you tease causing Steve to playfully bite you as you laugh. “Yeah, they’re in the side there.”

###############

Your mom smiles at you from across the table as you sip your coffee and stare past her into your memories of the day before with a little smirk on your lips.

“I know that look.”, she murmurs getting your attention. “When your father took me out on our first date, I couldn’t stop smiling when I got home. Your grandma noticed and said ‘Yup. That’s the boy she’s gonna marry!’” You both laugh till it tapers off and she meets your eyes with a softness you know all too well. “You can’t marry them, honey. You know that right?”

You slowly nod.

“But you would if you could? Reputation be damned.”

After thinking for only a moment, you nod again.

“Things with that bitch Gina Frost are probably about to make things harder. Add in their fans, her fans, and the world who ALWAYS has to have an opinion.”, she rolls her eyes. “Are you ready for all that.”

Biting your lip to stop the small quiver as your eyes become watery, you honestly shake your head causing your mother to nod.

“But to you their worth it and you trust them to be there for you every step of the way.”, she responds matter of factly as if she already knows the answer.

You firmly nod your head.

“I already warned them that I won’t do…this…again but I trust them when they say they’ll never put me in that position again. I love them, mom.”

“Yeah… It’s disgusting isn’t it? Love.”

“Oh, absolutely. Just fucking gross.”, you giggle as she laughs with you and grabs your hand.

“What’s gross?”, your father asks as he comes in from smoking and takes a seat by your mother.

“You are, dear.”

“Mhmm. I love you to.”, he beams as he leans forward to kiss her lips. “Now where are those pretty boys of yours. Breakfast is getting cold. EDWARD AND STEVEN! I DON’T KNOW HOW THEY DO IT IN YOUR MANSION IN NEW YORK BUT HERE WE EAT BREAKFAST AT 8:30AM!”

“I was trying to let them sleep in, dad.”

“Mhmm, no special treatment here. They want to be a part of the family then this is how we do things.”, he scoffed making you smile at his gruffness.

He liked them.

Eddie appeared first with Steve gently pushing his back to guide him into the room and into a chair. The mogul leaned over and tenderly kissed your cheek before taking a seat on your other side, immediately placing his arm around the back so his fingers could casually run through your slightly messy, bed head hair.

As you threw one of your legs over the rockstar’s, his eyes cracked open meeting your glowing ones as you tried to hide your laughter in your coffee cup. Lightly pinching your cheeks, he pulled your lips to his before leaving his palm on your knee where he would occasionally rub your skin through throughout breakfast as he slowly woke up.

###########

@aol19 @paradisepoisons @paleidiot @dashingdeb16

@lilaclazer @joannamuns9n @thwippyparker @emotionaldreamer

@aactuaaltraash @alastorssimp @mygirlchaos @starksbabie @imagine-all-the-imagines

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deep-space-netwerk · 1 year ago

Text

So I wanna tell y'all about something very near and dear to my heart.

This is the Psyche asteroid, or, at least an artist's representation - we don't know what it actually looks like yet, but this is a fair enough guess. It's a roughly 200 mile wide asteroid in the asteroid belt, and it's made almost entirely out of metal. Its composition makes it unique; it’s the only large metallic body we know of in the entire solar system.

We think it might be the core of what used to be a planet.

When solar systems form, they start out as disks made of interstellar gas and dust, called protoplanetary disks. Here's a picture of HL Tauri, one of the best images of a protoplanetary disk we have.

That dust globs together into larger and larger pieces, and eventually forms hundreds of "planetesimals", which are rocky bodies about a kilometer across. Planetesimals had very erratic orbits compared to the modern planets - the dust of the protoplanetary disk caused friction and drag, which threw them off course.

They frequently collided with each other, and either broke apart or stuck together and grew even larger. Arrokoth is actually a leftover planetesimal, a time capsule from the early solar system, and we were able to visit it wayyy out in the Kuiper belt with the New Horizons probe!

Once planetesimals get to be about the size of the moon, we call them "protoplanets". Protoplanets were fundamentally different from their planetesimal siblings - we believe they were differentiated. When an object in space gets big enough, a combination of radioactive decay, impacts, and gravitational pressure causes them to heat up and melt. Denser materials like iron and nickel sink towards their centers, while the lighter materials rise to the surface. The differentiation process is why Earth's core is made of iron, while the surface is primarily rock.

While protoplanet orbits were much more stable than those of planetesimals, they still eventually collided with each other until everything settled into the planets we see today (though gas giants had a few extra steps - that's a different post!).

We think the Psyche asteroid was a protoplanet, well on its way to becoming a bona fide planet, when an impact struck it hard enough to strip away its rocky layers, leaving behind the dense, metallic core - like in this illustration.

More and more, we think the properties of a planet's core are fundamental to its long-term evolution. Venus, Earth, and Mars are all roughly the same size and roughly the same distance from the sun, cosmically speaking, yet they're so different! Venus has hell death clouds, Earth is home, and Mars is dry and dead - why?

The Psyche asteroid gives us the unique opportunity to actually observe a planetary core directly - it's much harder to dig to the center of a planet than it is to go to space, so that's exactly what we're going to do!

On Thursday October 12th at 10:16am Eastern, the Psyche spacecraft will launch and begin its journey to the asteroid belt! You can watch at https://www.nasa.gov/nasatv/!

I've been a part of this mission for over four years now, and I can't speak highly enough of the team that made it happen through all of the ups and downs. Good luck out there, buddy. We're all rooting for you :')

#space #NASA #psyche #asteroid #planet #psyche mission #long post #get home safe friend #you're gonna see some amazing things #For real y'all this mission has been my every single day for the past four years #I grew up with this project #end of an era but beginning of something new!#spost

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misctf · 1 year ago

Text

Movie Night

“Dude, look at this!” Matt looked up from his unpacking and walked over to where Josh was sitting, “I guess the old tenants forgot this gem.” Josh chuckled holding up an old DVD.

Matt grabbed is from his buddy. While there was no title on the case, the picture of two skinny blond men making out in a bedroom certainly caught his attention. Matt raised an eyebrow.

“Certainly interesting. Not sure if this is what they meant by fully furnished” He chuckled, “Guess they forgot it.” Not a huge deal- given that the rent was so low and it was within walking distance to their classes, a few scandalous items were acceptable. Yet Matt stared at the DVD case- at the two men passionately making out. He didn’t have any issues with gay people, but there was something about this DVD. The two men were certainly handsome, the one hairless and with a pretty impressive ass, while the other was just a tad more muscular and dominant looking.

“Earth to Matt, you good there bud?” Josh chuckled.

Matt blushed and looked up at his friend, “Uh yeah, sorry haha.” He laughed awkwardly, somewhat confused by his thoughts. Since when did he care about how good a man's ass looked? He focused on his friend, “We should probably put it back where we found it.” He said, his voice dropping off towards the end of his sentence. Matt couldn’t help but appreciate just how well Josh’s gray shirt hugged his body. Something about it just captured his friend’s muscular physique so well, and while he continued to stare, he felt a heat rising up within him.

“Hey you okay dude?” Josh asked, looking more concerned, “Lemme just take this from ya.” He chuckled awkwardly, grabbing the DVD case from his friend. Matt looked confused for a moment before shaking his head, “Feeling better now? Didn’t think you’d get all worked up over two gay guys.” Josh teased, looking down at the case.

“Yeah I don’t know, sorry man. Must’ve zoned out.” Matt took a deep breath, suddenly noticing how intensely Josh was staring at the case.

“You think we should watch it?” Josh asked, his voice somewhat distant and his eyes still staring at the case, “I mean, we have the DVD player.”

“Dude, what the hell?” Matt chuckled, “It’s probably some gay porn tape.”

“Only one way to find out!” the brunette replied with a grin, sticking the DVD in.

Matt wanted to protest, but when the DVD started playing, a strange sensation washed over him. The two of them sat on the couch, watching the film intensely. It wasn’t porn, but instead a stupid rom com of the two gay men. It was funny, it was romantic, and before either of the two realized, they had become enthralled in the plot. It was fairly predictable, at least to Matt- two soulmates unable to be together, overcoming the odds and making it. Of course with some passionate romance mixed in. But yet he couldn’t stop watching and rooting for the two main characters. And based on how Josh was similarly leaning forward, eyes focused, Matt assumed he was equally interested. But as the film was reaching its predictable conclusion, Matt felt a discomfort in his crotch.

“What the fuck?” He muttered, his erection straining against his pants. He quickly tried to adjust, which didn’t go unnoticed by Josh. Before his friend could say anything, Matt got up and turned away, “I need to go to my room.” He said quickly.

The young man rushed towards his room, wincing at the discomfort in his pants. He slammed the door and immediately stripped, his eyes widening at the site of his raging erection. Yeah the movie had some R-rated scenes, but it was all gay shit anyway. Why was he getting so horned up over some gay rom com? And when did it get so fucking hot? He threw off his shirt and stood naked in his room, taking deep breaths.

“Dude, you good?” Matt jumped and turned to face Josh, who was standing in the doorway. Yeah they had seen each other naked a few times in the locker room, but this wasn’t the same. And Matt couldn’t help but blush.

He wanted to say something, to say anything really, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth. He wanted to tell Josh to get out and to leave him alone- but it was like those words were trapped behind a mental barrier. And much to Matt’s horror, he could see Josh eyeing his erection. The two men’s eyes met, and although they couldn’t say anything, it was clear they were both not in control of the situation.

“Josh... what is this?” Matt strained as he proudly flaunted his erect member to his best friend.

Josh couldn’t look away, “I-I don’t know... I can’t...” He took a deep breath, “It’s like the movie... when the two guys first...”

Without another word, Josh’s body moved on its own, walking over to his naked friend. And before Matt could protest, Josh kissed him, passionately on the lips. Matt’s eyes widened, before he found himself reciprocating. He felt his hand move against his friend’s toned abdomen, gripping the gray shirt that covered his body.

“Let’s get rid of this.” Matt whispered. That cheesy line... it was just like what the one character from the movie. Why was he saying this shit? And as Josh’s shirt was thrown aside, the two continued passionately making out. He could feel as his friend gripped his ass and gave it a squeeze, causing Matt to moan. And in that instant, Matt could swear that his voice sounded higher. But before he could fully register what was happening, Josh pushed him onto his bed.

“And I’ll get rid of these.” Josh grinned removing his pants, while his eyes betrayed his fear.

Matt felt himself lick his lips as he gazed upon his now naked friend. And Matt could swear that his friend’s hair had taken on a somewhat lighter hue. But before he could fully register his friend’s changes, Josh had crawled on top of his friend, his sweaty muscular body pressed closely as the two continued to make out. Against his will, he began thrusting his hips as the two grinded against one another, moaning as they did. All the while, Matt was becoming aware of something. As his hands caressed his friend’s muscular arms and back, it almost seemed like his friend was losing mass.

“Josh...” Matt forced out, “You need to stop... you’re changing...”

Josh stopped for just a second and frowned, “I’m not the only one.” He forced out, before locking lips with his friend and then slowly kissing down his friend’s neck.

During this, Matt was able to turn his head to catch a glimpse of them in the mirror. Josh was smaller now, while still muscular, he must’ve lost some height and some mass, making the man a bit smaller overall. Meanwhile, Matt watched as his black hair became lighter and lighter, until settling on a natural blond and he let out another high pitched moan as his voice settled on a higher tenor.

“Damn babe, I love it when you moan like that.” Josh grinned, running his hand along Matt’s shrinking biceps and triceps.

“Josh... please...” Matt croaked out, his breath getting caught as his entire body shrunk rapidly. Years of working out and going to the gym seemed to reverse themselves as his frame became much smaller, with only small lean muscles, mostly for showing off rather than for strength.

“Don’t worry, I know what ya like.” Josh replied, flipping them so that Matt was on top and giving his friend’s ass a squeeze.

Matt moaned, feeling as his friend played with his juicy ass and hole, the feeling beyond anything that he was used to. He looked down at Josh and watched as two nipple piercing magically appeared and a tattoo formed on his left thigh.

“Josh...” Matt moaned, turning to the mirror, his eyes widening in horror. They looked just like the two guys from the movie. And it looked like he was becoming the more submissive of the pair- the "bottom". It was like a whole new vocabulary and knowledge was filling his head, and he knew he didn't want it. He did his best and pushed himself off the bed, landing on his jiggly ass.

“Woah there babe, you good?” Josh asked looking down. To Matt’s dismay, the look of fear that had clued him into his friend still being there was gone. Instead, it was the look of that guy from the movie... the passionate, caring, and sexy stare of his more dominant boyfriend. And it made Matt shiver.

“This isn’t right, we can’t be together!” Matt breathed out, a feeling of guilt welling up inside him. And it was at that moment he realized... that was the same line from the movie. He was still acting it out.

Josh slowly got off the bed, and plopped down next to Matt. He placed a comforting hand on his cheek, and forced him to look into his eyes.

“I don’t care.” He whispered, “I love you.”

And Matt knew it was over. It was just like the movie, the same stupid lines, the same passionate romance. And he hated how predictable it was- how he knew what was going to happen next. A warm feeling welled up from within Matt, all the concern and worry about being with Josh dissipating as he stared intensely into his boyfriend’s eyes. Josh made him feel right... safe even. All he wanted to do was be with him. And with that, the two leaned in for another passionate kiss, the sensual night picking up exactly where it had left off.

The next morning, Matt woke up, curled up in the arms of his lover. He nestled closer to Josh, enjoying the warmth and comfort that it brought.

“Good morning beautiful.” Josh whispered, planting a small kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.

Matt smiled and planted a quick kiss on Josh’s lips, before slowly pushing himself out of bed. Josh smirked, taking in the site of his naked boyfriend.

“Now that’s a sight I won’t get tired of.” Josh pushed himself out of bed and kissed Matt quickly, “Come on, we should probably get something to eat. I’m drained.” He winked.

As the two walked down to the kitchen and passed the living room, something caught Matt’s eye. He walked over to the DVD case that was tossed on the floor and picked it up, inspecting the cover. It was of two guys, in decent shape and working out at the gym together. He chuckled, they were kind of sexy, but he much preferred his smooth, toned look. Not to mention, so did Josh.

“Better put this back.” He whispered, placing the DVD back in the cabinet, the memory of it quickly vanished from his mind. And as he walked back into the kitchen where his sexy boyfriend was making them breakfast, he couldn’t wait to see what the day would bring.

#male tf #male transformation #straight to gay #twinkification #mental change

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sipho-pearl · 3 months ago

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analysis of the soul contract

(if you haven't seen the translation for that yet, look it up or look at my original translation post here)

Major spoilers for the entirety of Gravity Falls and also MAJOR Book of Bill spoilers for like the whole thing so go look at that first, ok? (Seriously, this post makes more sense the more you know about the content of the book...and the series)

**if i make any mistakes within this analysis in terms of existing lore or there's something i should add, send me a dm/reply to the post!! or just rb it with the information lol

Under the cut because it's really long (but contains information that I believe to be very important to the overall lore!!)

There are three really interesting things hidden in the translation for the soul contract that I actually NEED to talk about because I haven't really seen them discussed anywhere else?? (yes it's divided up into sections, don't worry)

The Soulmate Passage

The soul contract passage starts off with Bill's lawyer talking about all of the things that they can legally do with your soul, but then they go into the idea of soulmates, and something about this passage feels eerily familiar.

YOUR SOULMATE WILL NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AND WILL WALK RIGHT PAST YOU ON A COLD AUTUMN DAY, NEVER MAKING EYE CONTACT, NOT EVEN PROCESSING THAT YOU GAVE EYES AT ALL. NO AMOUNT OF INTERACTION WILL MOVE THEM TO A PLACE WHERE THEY CAN REMEMBER, IN FEELING, THE THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES YOU HAVE ALREADY SPENT TOGETHER, EACH TIME CHOOSING WHATEVER FORM WOULD KEEP YOU CLOSEST LIKE OTTERS HOLDING HANDS IN A TUMULTUOUS RIVER. YOU WERE BIRDS, YOU WERE TREES WITH ROOTS ENTANGLED, DRINKING IN THE SUNLIGHT TOGETHER. WHEREVER WE GO NEXT, WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE, I WILL ALWAYS BE RIGHT WITH YOU.

(sorry for the long quote but it's kind of important here)

He gets way too specific here, even going into the first person to begin talking about how he will always be there for you. In the Book of Bill, the main concept is that Bill is attempting to win over the reader in order to convince them to make a deal with him and, therefore, release him from the Theraprism, and he seems to be doing the same thing here with the reader.

However, in my opinion, because for the majority of this he talks about you using third person pronouns, it can be somewhat inferred that he is talking about himself and his soulmate. Not specified who that is (totally not the canonically divorced couple), but it can definitely be interpreted as him doing some introspection.

The references to loss of memory could also be a reference to how Stanley defeated Bill by wiping his memory, and how up until the last minute, Bill believed that he was back in Stanford's mind.

"THOUSANDS OF LIFETIMES" could be a reference to the trillions of years that Bill has lived and all of his exes, as well as how in every single one, he was the one getting broken up with. And, also, the many other muses that he (unconfirmed) may have had.

THAT'S DONE, BUDDY, CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE CHOSEN BILL INSTEAD.

Moving on!!

2. Bill's control over souls

**As far as I am aware, this is the first time in the canon that we see what control Bill has over the souls that he collects.

GOOD GOD! THE THINGS S I’VE SEEN. ME_ WHO AM I_ OH_ I_M BILL_S PREVIOUS LAWYER_ HE PUT MY SOUL INTO A QUILL PEN SO I CAN WRITE HIS LEGAL DOCUMENTS UNTIL THE SUN SNUFFS OUT LIKE A CANDLE IN THIS SICK UNIVERSE_ SPEAKING OF WHICH_ BILL RESERVES THE RIGHT TO PUT YOUR SOUL INTO AN INANIMANT OBJECT_ A STRANGE CREATURE_ A CONCEPT_ A SENTENCE_ A TASTEFUL BUT RUSTIC MASON JAR WITH WILDFLOWERS IN IT_ IF AT ANY POINT YOU WISH TO HAVE VISITATION RIGHTS WITH YOUR SOUL_ YOU WILL BE SWIFTLY DENIED_

According to this, Bill's control over souls when signed over gives him the ability to, (as first shown in Sock Opera, but in a more limited way) put souls into other objects, take them out of your body. While put in a more simplistic way in this passage, it is clear that he has a lot of control over souls, and, when signed away, may have the ability to do anything with one that he wants.

However, going back to the mischaracterisation present in the first quote where it sounds as if Bill is talking, now that we know it was his pen, it is clear that he also has the ability to control the souls to do what he wants.

The time limit on how long these soul contracts last for is indefinite, as Bill's soul lawyer himself says.

*Side note: it is revealed, in relation to souls, that the human soul is 21 grams.

3. The afterlives of the universe of Gravity Falls

So, later in this passage, all of the places that you can go to after you die are revealed. This is mainly important because you can see more of the in-universe lore, but also because we can see more of what Bill Cipher was hoping to happen when he invoked the Axolotl at the end of the series.

YOUR SOUL MAY BECOME FRACTURED AND PLACED INTO DIFFERENT OBJECTS_ THIS HAS NO PURPOSE AND WILL NOT RESURRECT YOU IF YOU DIE_ SIGNEE HAS FORFEITED ALL RIGHTS TO ANY AFTERLIFE_ INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO HEAVEN_ HELL_ PURGUTORY_ BIG CORNER_ FLOW STATE_ THE DREAM HOUSE_ THE REINCARNATION PROCESSING CENTER_ AXOLOTL_ S TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLD_

A definitive list of all of the afterlives present within universe:

Heaven, Hell and Purgatory

"Big Corner"

"Flow State"

"The Dream House" <- The Dream House could possibly be a reference to either Bill's Dream Realm or Bill's Nightmare realm.

"The Reincarnation Processing Center" <- This is where I believe Bill was hoping to go once he invoked the Axolotl. Going by what he said in the last few moments of Weirdmageddon 3, "A-X-O-L-O-T-L! My time has come to burn! I invoke the ancient power that I may return!" It is clear that he thought he was going to be able to reincarnate by invoking the Axolotl, and by doing this, he would be able to escape going to hell.

"AXOLOTL" <- This is a reference to summoning the Axolotl when about to die, such as what Bill did. Axolotls are known for being able to regenerate, so going back to what I said before, Bill probably believed that invoking the Axolotl would give him the ability to reincarnate or regenerate.

"S TANK AND CONSEQUENCES HOLD" I'm pretty sure that this is a longform name for the Theraprism.

More Notes:

The passage is written entirely in the cipher for the journals rather than any of the codes that Bill often uses (alchemic, theraprism, combined, bill's symbols) which I believe ties back to my theory in 1.

While dogs can sense when a soul is missing, cats don't care. Not important, I just thought that was interesting.

anyway, again: if i got anything wrong in this please rb this and add more stuff!! :3

#gravity falls #the book of bill spoilers #book of bill spoilers #fan analysis #analysis #bill cipher #stanley pines #stanford pines #billford #<- mentioned #the book of bill

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goldenhickeysandramen · 9 months ago

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BODY LANGUAGE SPEAKS

Not gonna lie.. this is one of my (thousands) favourite jikook moments

Besides the fact that Jungkook looks like he's going to eat Jimin, the body language speaks for itself

Sometimes it surprises me to see how many subtle yet glaringly obvious moments we have of them being something more special than ordinary friends.

And it is very touching.

And I think IT IS, among other things, because we are not 100 certain of anything about them, but we are moved to see that months and years go by, and the stability they show in their affection, support and need for being close to each other hardly changes.

I don't think I have talked about the buddy program. I didn't need it cause my posts spoke for themselves about the happiness I experienced when I knew they were leaving together.

I don't think I ever really thought about it or wished for it. I dismissed that possibility as "too obvious". But if I put it together with some "not so obvious" things that happened during 2023, maybe now I can better understand certain things that did happen last year.

I keep trying to be the best fan in the world, keep some respect for each of them individually - something some still forget 😶 - but enjoying all the moments they have given us away together.

And I try not to categorise their relationship in socmed…although there are times when I fail, like today…because I look at these pictures and I say to myself "what the fuck? they look like they are coming back from their seventh honeymoon!!! Jesus!"

And that's exactly how it is… Jimin and Jungkook sometimes look like they just came back from their honeymoon.

(I don't know if it will be like that when we see them in Sapporo… I don't want to think too much about what they would have done there, in that hotel with baths, and surrounded by snow… I already know what I would do…😏)

God bless them! I hope they are doing fine and know that thousands of us miss them very much and are still rooting for them.

#jikook #mingguk #kookmin #jimin and jungkook #jikook kookmin #jikook kookmin jinkook jiminshiii jk #minkook #mingukkie

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jrswritings · 25 days ago

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Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Eighteen - Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with the Chapters 1-17 on the Masterlist! :)

Chapter Eighteen - Mother Clucker

As Tyler pulled into his aunt’s driveway, you noticed the sign saying Daisy Dream Acres and the little hut with a closed sign on the window. You smiled slightly, knowing someday you’d want something like that. You looked down the driveway to see a light blue farmhouse with a wrap-around porch, set with a swing and a big Saint Bernard perched on top of it. You looked to the right and saw the huge garden full of fruits and vegetables at peak harvest, to the left of the driveway you saw another light blue building with a sign saying ‘Mother-Cluckers.’

“That must be the chicken coop?” You asked, gesturing to the building.

“Yeah, Auntie B loves sayings like that,” he chuckled, putting the truck in park behind her Ford F-150.

“You finally trade in that damn Ram 3500 for a real truck, Ty?” A voice called from the porch. You looked over and saw a woman with dark brown light curly hair, her gray roots showing her age. She had on yellow overalls and a dark blue shirt covered in small daisies.

“No, ma’am!” He said proudly while getting out of the truck, “This is (Y/n)’s truck.”

“Damn, and I was just starting to think you were comin’ around, boy,” she said, “Breakfast is almost ready and coffee is hot.”

While you were getting out of the truck, you noticed this flash of brown and white, and then Tyler was on the ground. You walked around the back of the truck to see him being slobbered with kisses by his Saint Bernard, Cash. You smiled, but it made you miss your pups at home.

“I missed you, too, bud,” Tyler laughed, scratching Cash’s back and hugging him tight while Cash whined with happiness.

“I can’t wait to see my boys,” you said softly, kneeling next to him to greet the dog.

“Just think, it’ll be tomorrow,” Tyler said, sitting up and brushing the dirt off his shirt, “Maybe we’ll bring Cash with us so they all can play together.”

“That’ll be good,” you said, “Hey buddy.”

Cash came over and almost knocked you over, slobbering kisses all over your face, too.

“Cash, c’mon man, I kiss that face,” he said, chuckling while standing up and holding his hand out for you.

“Like I don’t kiss yours,” you said, taking it and standing up.

“I am pretty kissable,” he said while smirking, “Let’s get inside and wash up before Auntie B yells at us.”

“On it,” you said, brushing your knees off while walking up the stairs to the front door. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.

“Ladies first,” he said, smiling and giving your butt a light smack while walking inside. This was new, but you were in front of someone else so you had to play it cool, but made a mental note to ask him about it later tonight when you were alone.

“I’m glad to see that you’re still a gentleman, Tyler,” his aunt said, “Your momma would be proud.”

“Well, I had two amazing women to raise me and whip me into shape,” he said, pouring two cups of coffee.

“Damn right you did,” she laughed, “So I’ll go out and take care of the horses if you want to do the chickens.”

“We can do that,” you said, “I’m sure Tyler can show me the ropes, but I’m sure it’s no different than the chickens my parents have.”

“They’re a handful and I’ve threatened to turn them into fried chicken,” she said while plating up hashbrowns, bacon, eggs, and toast.

“My dad not only threatened but then held out on that,” you laughed, “Was pretty good chicken.”

“When Tyler was younger a couple of the older chickens were chasing him around and pecking his rear,” she said, “Was pretty funny to watch from the porch.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t very fun running away from said chickens with a basket full of eggs,” Tyler said, sitting next to you and putting his arm on the back of your chair.

“You were, what, six?” She asked, placing plates in front of the both of you.

“Somewhere around that,” he said, “Definitely wasn’t old enough to know I could just kick them and they’d leave me alone.”

“I mean, you’re just pre-tenderizing the meat,” you said, taking a sip of your coffee. This made both Auntie B and Tyler laugh.

“I like this girl, Ty,” she said, “What took you so long to get her?”

“Well,” he said, trailing off.

“It was mainly my fault,” you said, interrupting him, “My past relationships left me pretty beaten up so if anyone tried I would usually brush them off or they’d give up trying.”

“Why do you say that they’d give up?” She asked, taking a bite of her toast.

“Let’s just say my heart is basically in Fort Knox,” you laughed slightly, “It takes a while before I start to trust people, men especially.”

“Good for you, know what you deserve,” she said, “It’s why I’ve been single after my first marriage fell apart.”

“Well, he wasn’t much of a man, Auntie B,” Tyler chimed in.

“Oh hush,” she said, waving him away.

“I’ve never heard anyone who doesn’t have a job, work ethic, is an alcoholic, and occasionally beat his wife who would do anything for him, a man,” he said, shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth.

“Ty, obviously she doesn’t want to talk about it,” you said, smacking his arm.

“It’s okay, (Y/n),” she said, finishing up her eggs, “He’s just protective, just like his father.”

“Can’t help it, it’s in my blood,” he said, finishing his toast.

“Nothing wrong with that,” you said, drinking the last of your coffee.

“You kids ready to get to work?” She said, taking the empty plates and putting them into the sink.

“As I’ll ever be,” Tyler said, getting up and stretching, “Been a while since I’ve done chores.”

“Been a lot longer for me,” you said, grabbing his ball cap and putting it on your head. You pulled your ponytail out the back and headed over to the door.

“The baskets are on the porch, dear,” she said, “Don’t be scared to give them a nudge with your feet.”

“Will do,” you said while cracking the door open, “Thank you for breakfast, Ms. Owens!”

“Call me Auntie B, honey,” she said, giving you a smile and a wave as she headed out the back door to the horses.

“And you were so worried she wouldn’t like you,” he whispered in your ear, putting his hands on your waist.

“Can’t help I’m a likable person,” you said, as he grabbed the baskets and headed down the stairs with you right behind him.

“More like lovable,” Tyler said, pulling you close and kissing your temple.

“Somedays,” you said, opening the door to the chicken coop to see a couple dozen chickens.

“You take one side, and I’ll take the other?” He asked, handing you a basket.

“Are you making this a challenge, Owens?” You asked, smirking and gripping the basket.

“What if I am?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Then you’re on,” you said, heading over to the first chicken box and grabbing the eggs left unmanned.

“Are we doing how fast or how many?” He asked, going to his first box where there was nothing.

“Why not both,” you said, grabbing another four eggs.

“Because how many is just a chance of luck with having the good side,” he said, going to the box under it and moving a chicken out of the way to collect the one egg.

“That sucks,” you said, laughing while already being down five boxes and having around two dozen eggs.

“Ow!” Tyler shouted while pulling his hand back and putting his hand to his mouth, “Mother clucker!”

“Careful, we don’t want a repeat of when you were six,” you laughed, “But on the other hand I’d love to see that.”

“It wouldn’t be as funny,” he said from behind his hand.

“Yeah, it’d be ten times more funny since you’re a grown adult,” you said, looking over at him with a big smile to be met with an annoyed glare.

“I can’t help that chickens don’t like me,” he said, trying the next box.

“Chickens don’t like anyone, but they can sense fear,” you said, being close to the end of the row of boxes for your side.

“Okay, maybe I have an irrational fear of chickens,” he said, trying to get more eggs from under a chicken.

“Want me to help you?” You asked, trying to hold back a laugh while holding your basket of overflowing eggs, “I’m pretty sure I won.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, looking down at his basket to see maybe a dozen eggs.

Want more? Here's Chapter Nineteen!

Taglist: @fanboyswhore9 @faith719 @ummmeg @nerdgirljen @winterassassin1804 @smoothdogsgirl @xbox5angelx

#tyler owens x y/n #Tyler Owens #Twisters #twisters x reader #tyler owens twisters #tyler owens x you #tyler owens x reader #glen powell x you #glen powell x reader #glen powell #tyler owens fanfiction #twisters 2024 #tornado wrangler

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