#Love the sound of other people living life

[fairyhaos]

◈ love of my life // yoon jeonghan

jeonghan x gn!reader, 2k+ words

tags: technically requested by lots of people bc everyone wants jeonghan fluff, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, crack, mutual pining, almost-confessions

warnings: light swearing

summary: in which your relationship with jeonghan isn't exactly platonic and isn't exactly romantic... but rather, it's a secret third thing.

It has to be at least two in the morning when Jeonghan's ringtone blares throughout his bedroom, and he rolls over with a groan, grappling blindly at his nightstand before finding his phone and pressing it against his cheek. 

“Who is this and what do you want?”

“Jeonghan, let's go on a date.”

He recognises your voice in an instant, even in his half-asleep state, and he huffs a laugh, flopping back against the pillows and rubbing his eyes. 

“Gee, at least ask me when it's not ass o'clock in the morning, won't you?”

“No, no, this only works if you get up right now,” you say. “Come on, Jeonghan, just go on a date with me. Right at this very moment.”

Jeonghan rubs his eyes, before taking his phone away from his cheek and peering at the screen so he can read the time. “See, you’re not presenting a very good argument,” he says, once he’s put the phone against his ear again. It’s almost three in the morning. What are you thinking? “I don’t wanna date you that much.”

You make a sad sound on the other end of the phone. “What will it take to get you out of the house?”

“Wire me an obscene amount of money right now and I’ll think about it.”

There’s a pause.

“No. Best I can offer is a pretty please.”

Jeonghan can’t help smiling at your dry tone, and he rubs his eyes once again with a yawn. “Fine. I guess I can’t expect anything better from you, anyway.” He can almost see you biting your lip in annoyance, wanting to quip something witty back at him but also wanting to keep quiet so he’ll actually come. 

“You know me so well.”

“Yes I do,” Jeonghan teases, and groggily hauls himself out of bed. “I’ll be ready in ten. Where do you want me to go?”

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll pick you up,” you say, suddenly sounding excited. “Just wait for me and I’ll come over to take you out.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

You laugh, bright and happy, like it’s not four in the morning and you’ve asked your best friend to go on a date with you. Jeonghan can’t help but smile again, even as he grapples blindly through his dark room to find some clothes.

“Don’t worry. It’s a promise.”

───────────── 🌘

Jeonghan is, admittedly, more than a little confused when you just take him to the nearest playground.

Sure, maybe this entire thing is weird—you calling him up during ridiculous hours of the morning to “go on a date” is definitely not something you’ve done before—but that’s just the kind of friendship he and you have. 

It’s like how, last year, he spent an entire month calling you increasingly ridiculous pet names, ranging from “beloved” to “honey butter snuggles bunny bear”, and purposefully took you out to public cafes and restaurants to test them out for everyone to see and hear, preventing you from punching him as hard as he probably deserved. 

So this is, like, nothing new. Just a funny and silly thing the two of you do, because you've known each other for the whole of your lives, and when it comes to the way your relationship works, the lines separating “platonic” and “romantic” have always been curiously nonexistent. 

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s never meant to mean anything.

But sometimes, sometimes, it feels like it should.

“I think I’m going to end up alone forever,” you say abruptly, and Jeonghan looks over at you in surprise. You’re sitting on the swings next to him, dragging yourself back and forth as you look up at the sky. There’s nothing to see up there, with the clouds obscuring any moonlight, so it's obvious that you're just looking away so he can't see your face. 

It's so quiet; Jeonghan didn't realise that the world could be this quiet at 2 in the morning, and it makes your words echo extra loud into the abyss, before they're swallowed by the darkness. 

Jeonghan shrugs. “Maybe you will.”

Instantly, you're leaning over to swat him on the arm, and he laughs. 

“Asshole,” you say, but there's no venom in your voice, even as you level him with a glare. “You're really no help. I'm trying to unload all my deepest fears for you, here, practically begging you to reassure me, and yet all you can do is be mean.”

“You said one thing,” Jeonghan points out. “I don't think that counts as unloading all your deepest fears.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it's my only deepest fear.”

“Why are you unloading your deepest fear on me?” Jeonghan asks, kicking his legs out in front of him. “We're on a date. Our first date, mind you, so this hardly seems appropriate.”

“Asshole,” you say again, but like before, the word has no bite. You glance over at him, before realising that he's looking at you, and then quickly raise your gaze to the sky. “I'm being serious about this, you know.”

Jeonghan says nothing for a long moment. Watches the way the pale light from a nearby lamppost gives you an unearthly, almost otherworldly glow. 

“I'm being serious too,” he decides to say, looking up at the cloudy sky with you. “You shouldn't be saying that stuff on a first date. Kinda makes it sound like you don't think things will work out between us, you know?”

You huff a confused laugh, looking over at him again. “Jeonghan, wha—?”

“And maybe you will end up alone,” he carries on, thoughtfully, as if he's talking to himself, forgetting that you're sitting there too. “But maybe you won't. I think you probably won't. And even if you do, it's fine, because I'll still be with you.”

It's a painfully vulnerable thing to say, made doubly so by the quietness of the night. Like a love confession, almost. Except it's not, because he's not in love with you. 

He isn't. 

“That's really sweet,” you say, almost begrudgingly, as if it pains you to admit that Jeonghan actually said something nice, and he laughs. “Though wrong. If you’re with me, then I'm not alone, am I?”

“Oh, I see. When you said alone, you meant in general. I thought you meant, like, romantically.”

“Well, maybe. But maybe I also meant overall,” you shrug. “I didn't think you'd want to spend the rest of your life with me.”

Jeonghan swallows, tilts back on the swings, head still raised to look at the sky. “I want to spend every life with you.”

You look away from the sky at his words, turning to face him in surprise. The echoes of what he’d just said were already fading away, muffled and pressed into the velvet dark of the night, but the surprisingly soft air that followed in its wake still remained.

 Now, he's the one avoiding your gaze, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the shapeless, misty blur of clouds above him so he doesn’t have to look at you. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you tilt your head, and smile. 

“Oh, look at you, you sap,” you say, bright and teasing. “Face it, you like being with me. Oh! I bet you're in love with me, seeing as how you agreed to date me and everything! Isn't that right, Jeonghan? You love me.”

Jeonghan pulls a face, and you burst into laughter, so ridiculously loud and happy even though it's two in the morning and the whole playground is silent, the sound of your happiness ringing against the cool air of the night. He can't help but look at you then, exasperated and fond, shaking his head as you grip the swing chains and sway back and forth, still giggling to yourself. 

He sniffs, feigning annoyance as he leans to the side, making a dramatic show of pulling his swing away from you. 

“This isn't a real date. I could never date you.” He scrunches his face in faux disgust for good measure, and you laugh again, rolling your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. And yet you still came out when I called, didn't you?” you tease, smiling widely, and Jeonghan has to admit that you're right. He's here because you asked him to be here. He’s here for you.

Hm. This was getting weirdly soul-baringly truthful for what he’d thought would be a silly little hangout in the middle of the night.

“Next time you call me at 2am, I’m blocking you forever,” he says dryly, giving you an exaggerated look of disdain just so he can revel in the laugh that it pulls out of you.

“No you won’t,” you say cheerily. “Because you looove me.”

“Um, lies.”

“No lies. You literally love me so much.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. You do, you do, you do, you’re actually genuinely in love with me and there’s nothing you can do to deny it, because it’s so obvious that I’m literally the love of your l—”

Jeonghan makes a clicking sound with his tongue and leans over to shove your arm, causing you to swing to the side as you cackle with delight at his reaction. He glares at you, again, sighing with exasperation as you continue to laugh.

“Yes, yes, I love you, just as much as you love me. Now if we’re not actually doing anything of importance, then can I go home?”

“What?” you say indignantly. “Of course not! If I can’t sleep, then that means you’re not allowed to sleep either.”

“I knew it. You called me out here because you couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Duh. Now come and push my swing, will you?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes and stands up from his swing, groaning and holding his knees like he’s some kind of grumpy grandpa. You laugh, mocking him for his bad joints as he walks around to stand behind you, and he snarks back something ridiculously funny and rippling with light, twisting through the cool air.

And then his hand presses against the small of your back, soft and yet sure, and suddenly all you can focus on is that gentle, feathery point of contact that connects you to him.

Your laughter subsides as he begins to gently push your swing, and you move up, and down, and up, and down, the fleeting warmth of his hand an intermittent pressure against your back. He doesn’t say a word. Everything is quiet, in your head. Like his touch alone could silence any worries that still floated around in your brain.

It’s one of the things you adore most about Jeonghan. He makes you feel safe.

“For the record, by the way,” you say, voice quiet, “I really do love you.”

There’s no noise but the metallic creak of the swing, sounding weirdly small in the yawning abyss of the dark. Jeonghan’s hand is still steady as he pushes you, again and again.

“As a friend?” he asks, eventually.

You can’t see him, and maybe that’s for the best. His voice is tinged with a colour, an emotion, that you can’t quite name, warm and cool and fleeting and present all at once.

Yet more silence greets his words. You continue swinging, and he continues helping.

It’s hard to know what he means by that. As a friend, in a hopeful way? As a friend, in a meaningful way? Or as a friend, in a way that could maybe, maybe, signal that he thinks, or wishes, that you mean... something else.

More.

These things are difficult to tell, when it comes to Jeonghan. Who wears his heart on his sleeve and yet also hides it away where no one can see.

“Yeah,” you say, after it has been far too long since he’d asked, but it’s clear that you were both waiting for your answer anyway. The word leaves you as a sigh, threadbare and thin. “As a friend.”

Jeonghan huffs a soft laugh. Maybe because he believes you, or maybe because he doesn’t. You’re not too sure.

“Okay,” he murmurs, pale as moonlight. “In which case, I love you too.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[nerdy-novelist017]

Soaked (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Reader pt 8)

Hello, my lovelies! Sorry this took forever to write and post but I’ve been very busy with real life (ew) and I’m actually posting this while I’m on vacation. I wrote it on the plane and am posting in the car so please be kind if you see any mistakes hehe 😉

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 4.7k+

Summary- Benny’s never wanted anything as much as he wants to marry you, but with such different lives, you’re not so sure it will be as easy as he claims.

You felt the wind surge around you as Benny accelerated down the main road, his motorcycle roaring beneath you both. The world blurred past in a whirlwind of colors, but all you could focus on was the way your heart lifted, how a thrill of excitement shot through you as you zoomed past the rest of the gang. He did it just because he knew it’d make you giggle. And you did, the sound escaping you in a way that felt so carefree, so full of joy especially as you shot past Johnny and the others, leaving them in your dirt.

The wind was relentless, blowing your hair out of its carefully manicured braid, but you didn’t find yourself caring much anymore. The days spent with Benny had a way of shifting everything you thought had mattered. The things that once held so much weight – social status, gossip, public appearances – no longer seemed as important anymore. With Benny, it was almost like discovering a whole new world. No, not a new world. The same streets passed beneath the tires, the same faces you once worried about still existed. The world was still the same, but it was how he viewed it that felt so different. He didn’t care what others thought about him, didn’t pay attention to their expectations. He lived in his own world, surrounded by others like him that didn’t conform to the societal molds – people that you wouldn’t have even approached just based on their appearance. You never considered yourself a very judgemental person, but because of Benny, you have met and befriended people you could have never imagined.

That’s one of the things you loved about Benny. He wasn’t like anyone you had ever met before. He was different. And you were beginning to love that too.

He pulled off the main road, stopping in his signature spot in front of the club house. The roar of the rest of the gang pulling up sounded in the distance as Benny helped you off the bike. He held his grip on your hand, lacing his own fingers through yours as he pulled you gently into the bar. You followed him inside where the Vandals’ laughter and chatter soon filled the air. A familiar buzz of camaraderie enveloped the place, and before long, you found yourself seated around the table with a few of the core members. Benny was close – as always – with his arm draped over your shoulder.

“Hey, Bunny,” Cockroach’s voice cut through the sea of noise as he leaned forward and used his beer bottle to point at you. “When are you finally gonna say yes to our boy Benny, here?”

You stiffened slightly, the weight of the question hanging in the air and drawing the attention of the others at the table.

“Oh yeah,” Corky piped up, one eyebrow playfully cocked in a challenge. “He’s been asking, what, 100 times now? What’s the holdup? He’s not getting any younger, ya know?”

Heat filled your face at their teasing. Though Corky’s words were a bit of an exaggeration, they weren’t technically wrong. Since your kiss behind the clubhouse, Benny has asked you to marry him almost every day, sometimes more than once in a day. It had started by him mentioning married life in casual conversation, and you jokingly pointed out that he hadn’t actually proposed to begin with – not traditionally. And you were shocked to see him abandon everything he was doing in the moment to ask you to marry him. You giggled and rolled your eyes at his dramatics, but something deeper inside you caused your heart to flutter nervously. Since then, he’s asked several times, some in passing, a casual remark slipped into the conversation. Other times, he’d pause what he was doing, drop to one knee and grin up at you as if he were waiting for you to give in. But each time you’d laugh it off, brush it aside as him being unserious.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment?” you replied as you timidly played with the chain of your necklace, trying to deflect the attention.

“The right moment?” Cockroach parroted in disbelief. “He’s been proposin’ left and right for a week. Hell, I’d have said yes after the first time if it were me!”

The group laughed, and you tensed under Benny’s arm, wanting to melt into the floor from embarrassment. Benny squeezed your hand reassuringly, and he leaned, his voice dropping to a low murmur that was only meant for you, “They don’t mean nothin’ by that, you know that.”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He was right, you knew that. They didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but the constant razzing – especially with this particular subject – was start to weigh on you.

“Yeah, c’mon, Bunny,” Cal chimed in from across the way, “What’s it gonna take? Benny’s a catch! He’s got the bike, the looks, the . . . mommy’s issues. If you don’t say yes soon, you might lose your chance.”

That playful jab was too much for Benny who stiffened next to you. You expected him to get angry, to blow up like you had seen your father do when he was upset. But instead, Benny leaned forward, eyes narrowing with a playful glint that you had come to adore. The table was buzzing with laughter, but he wasn’t about to let the spotlight stay on you for too long. Without missing a beat, he flashed a grin at Corky, his hand raised as he said, “Alright, alright. But let’s not pretend you all ain’t desperate for a distraction since none of you can keep a bike upright without fallin’ on your asses.”

The table roared with laughter and Corky’s mouth fell open in mock offense. “That was one time! And I had an oil slick!”

Johnny immediately jumped in, “Yeah Corky, an oil slick you created when your bike was leakin’ everywhere.”

Laughter erupted again and you shot Benny a grateful look as the guys started ribbing Corky about his infamous fall. Benny’s eyes met yours briefly, his thumb brushing your hand under the table in a silent message: I’ve got you. Most of the group knew you were shy and did not appreciate being the center of attention in a crowd, and they respected that. However, there were a few class clowns (as Benny called them) who loved to tease you, knowing it could get a reaction without fail. But Benny never let it go on for long, always shutting them down when he recognized your discomfort.

They’ve never teased you about marriage though. You had to wonder if Benny had voiced his irritation to them at some point or if they had picked up on your hesitation organically. Either way, it left you feeling bad. Excusing yourself, you wiggled out of Benny’s grasp as you stood and made your way for the restroom, needing a moment to breathe, to clear your head. But just as you reached the back of the bar, a voice stopped you.

“You ain’t gotta worry about what they say to you,” Funny Sonny stood leaning casually against the bar top as he sipped a glass of whiskey. “That just means they like you, accept you.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder at the table of rowdy bikers. “I’m just not . . . used to it. All the teasin’.”

Sonny nodded, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes as he grinned. “You’ll get used to it. Won’t be long till you’re the one throwing out the first jabs.”

He said it so nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious course of action, as if you weren’t from completely different worlds. You furrowed your brows, eyes casting downwards as you admitted, “I’m not so sure about that. I’m not at all like you guys.”

“You don’t gotta be like us to be with us. We’re family here and family means lookin’ out for each other, even the ones who came from different backgrounds,” he said, his voice lowering a register to a bit more of a serious tone.

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, the concept so foreign yet so familiar. Family. You knew what that was, you had one, you were loved by one. But for some reason, it felt like it meant something different with the Vandals. They chose their family, stood by them despite no blood relation. Your parents loved you, you knew that. They showed it in their own ways every day. But by default, they had to love you. With the Vandals, they chose to care for each other, chose to look out for each other. In a way, it almost seemed more powerful, more profound.

Being Benny’s girl didn’t just mean he alone had your best interest at heart. It also meant having the rest of the Vandals on your side too, all of them looking out for you. You weren’t sure if you’ve ever experienced such an intense loyalty before, even from blood relatives. And it left you with a warm feeling in your chest.

When you returned to the table, Benny was already standing as if he were waiting for you. His eyes met yours with a slight unease, almost like he thought you wouldn’t come back, like he thought you were so upset that you’d sneak out the backdoor.

“Wanna go for a night ride?” he asked, his voice soft as his hand extended out for you.

Your heart squeezed at his thoughtfulness. He knew how much you were growing to enjoy the feeling of blazing down the empty streets under a star-filled sky with him. A smile tugged at your lips, and you took his hand without hesitation, nodding.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hand slid into his own. You were vaguely aware of the groans and exaggerated protests from the table about the night being still young, but you didn’t hesitate to follow Benny as he led you to the door. He pulled you along to his Harley, the cool and fresh air a welcome change.

The tension from earlier still lingered as Benny’s hand touched your leg, helping you onto the back of the bike. You wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your face into his back, finding solace in the familiar scent from his jacket.

He drove you around the city, stars and stop lights shining above, engine roaring below. He eventually pulled off the main drag, heading down a quieter road that led out of town. The blacktop blurred beneath you as he slowed the speed to more of a lazy joyride. He took a familiar turn, stopping at the small pull off area before a bridge. The sound of the engine faded as he brought the bike to a stop, the air filling with crickets’ song. The night’s air was breezy, but a welcome change from the hot, loud atmosphere of the clubhouse.

Benny dismounted first, reaching out to help you down. His touch – lingering longer than necessary – against your arm felt electric, sending a jolt of butterflies to your stomach, his eyes searching your face as if he was trying to read your thoughts. The two of you walked over the concrete bridge, pausing once in the middle. You leaned over the railing, getting lost in the gentle swirl of the water below. But Benny was lost in the sight of you.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low, the usual playful teasing replaced by something softer and reserved only for you.

With your heart beating hard at his gentle tone, you nodded. “I’m fine.”

He frowned, reaching out to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. “I know the guys can be a bit much. I don’t like when they tease you like that. I didn’t mean for them to make you uncomfortable.”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at his words, knowing that wanting to protect you was something he took very seriously, even if it meant from his own friends, his own family.

“I know,” you responded softly, leaning your chin on your hand over the railing.

“I’ll talk to them, make sure they won’t raz you like that anymore,” he promised, his expression serious.

“It’s not that. It’s just . . . I don’t know. It’s a lot to get used to,” you admitted gently. Before Benny, you’d never even been in a bar before, never ridden a motorcycle, never stayed out past curfew. He was a completely different experience than you were accustomed to. And now he wanted you to marry, after only knowing him for a few weeks. He wanted to be your husband, your partner for life. Your life felt like a bit of a whirlwind ever since you met him, but you wanted to be certain it wasn’t just fun because it was new.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there, his eyes tracing your features, his hand resting over your own. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain, something in him conflicted. Finally, he released a soft sigh, putting an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. “You don’t have to answer them, you know. Hell, you don’t have to answer me. Not till you’re ready.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you breathed in his scent – leather, smoke and something uniquely Benny. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I . . . ”

Benny pulled back slightly, his fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “Hey, you don’t owe anyone an explanation, not even me. You’ll say yes when you’re ready. And when that time comes, I’ll be here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as it was your turn to kid. “How do you know I’ll say yes?”

Benny’s smile was gentle but still roguishly confident. His hand lingered on your cheek, his fingers tracing down the curve of your jaw as if he were mapping every detail of you. “I just know. When you feel it – when it’s real – you just know.”

He said it so simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if love were the most uncomplicated concept. You didn’t understand that, couldn’t see it that way. You’d seen the love your parents shared and that was beautiful and kind but it was also messy and cruel more often than not. And you understood that your parents were not the only representation of what love and marriage was supposed to be, but it was a constant presence in your life. They didn’t have perfect love, not like what you’d see in the movies or read in books. And you wondered if maybe you were giving too high of expectations for what love was supposed to be, but what you felt when you were around Benny . . . well, it felt exactly like the books described.

The way he looked at you, as if you were the most important thing in the world, made you feel so seen. The way he listened to you as if you were the most entertaining show, made you feel so heard. And the truth was undeniable: you were falling for Benny faster than you thought possible. It was terrifying. Benny was all fire and freedom, a rebel who didn’t play by the rules, who followed his own path with reckless abandon. And you admired that about him, but the thought of stepping into his world permanently felt like stepping off a ledge into the unknown.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asked, pulling you back into the present.

You pulled back slightly, biting your lip in contemplation before speaking your mind, “Don’t you wonder if there are other girls out there that you haven’t even met yet? Girls who are more suited for you?”

He shook his head, his voice light as he said, “Nah, I know you’re the only one for me, kid.”

“But marriage is serious. It’s forever.”

His hand slid down to your hip, turning you to face him fully, his expression solemn. “I never . . . I never thought marriage was real. The way I saw my mom and old man together . . . what they had wasn’t love. And I realized that at an early age. I didn’t think it was something that was real, just a bunch of fairytale bullshit you tell little kids. The girls I’ve been with, girls that may have been more suited for me, have never made me feel what I feel with you, Bunny. This is serious to me too because it proves everything I’ve never believed in.”

Emotion caught in the back of your throat as you pictured the man standing before you as just a boy living in a toxic household, an unloving home. It made you want to hold him tight, to shield him from the rest of the world. The man who held you so gently, who took you for night rides just to cheer you up. The man who came to your bake sale when nobody else did. The man who promised to drive slow so as not to scare you. The man who said he’d follow you all the way to California so that you didn’t have to go by yourself. The man who taught you about his hobbies with eagerness, and listened to yours with attentiveness.

He deserved to be loved in the same way he loved. But the tragic thing was that he didn’t see that, couldn’t comprehend someone loving him like that. He was damaged by his childhood, and you realized that he didn’t think he was worthy of repair. But you’d show him that he was, that he was worthy of everything he never had.

Slowly, you lifted your hands to gently cup his face, and his breath hitched in his throat. There was a shift in his expression – his usual teasing and bravado now replaced with some raw and unguarded as though he was offering you a glimpse into a deeper part of him, one rarely ever shown to anyone.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You’re not just some girl to me, Bunny. You know that, right?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t playing around now, not hiding behind his usual flirty quips. His sincerity was almost overwhelming. You swallowed thickly. “But what if I mess this up? What if I’m the one who can’t do this?”

Benny’s brows furrowed and he lifted a hand to brush across your cheek, his touch gentle but grounding. “You won’t. You couldn’t, even if you tried.”

“You’re making it sound so easy,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn’t quite believe him.

Benny could feel your tremble, the shaky laugh betraying your nerves you were trying so hard to hide. He could sense your heart racing, and he wanted so desperately to be the one to soothe it, to take away the hesitation in your eyes. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, the soft curve of it making his heart ache in his chest. He loved how your lips quivered just slightly under his touch. He loved making you blush, loved teasing you until you looked at him like you were annoyed or completely at his mercy. But this . . . this was different. His touch lingered on your lip, slow and almost reverent as he savored the way you responded to him. It wasn’t about teasing anymore – it was about showing you what you meant to him.

“It is,” he murmured, his voice a little rougher than he intended “It’s easy because it’s you.”

The air between you felt electric as his hand slid down the curve of your neck, his fingers lingering there, feeling the steady thrum of your heartbeat that seemed to match his own wild one. He ducked his head slightly as he whispered, “You’re scared. But you don’t need to be.”

He meant it, more than he meant anything in his life. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, searching for any sign of doubt, any sign that you didn’t feel the same way he did. Your eyes – wide and uncertain – met his, and Benny felt the weight of his words over them both.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, your soft voice almost disappearing in the night.

And how could he explain it, especially since he’s never been good at explaining his feelings? How could he put into words what was so abundantly clear to him? That you made everything – even the most outrageous things – seem possible. That with you, he didn’t feel like just some fuck-up waiting for the next diaster. With you he felt grounded, like he belonged somewhere. Like you saw him for more than just the wild, reckless kid everyone else saw.

“Because you make me sure,” he responded with a gentle, encouraging smile as his hands moved to tilt your chin upwards to him. “You make my life feel like it’s supposed to.”

His gaze moved down to your mouth once more as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and he simply couldn’t resist anymore. He closed the gap, brushing his lips so softly against your own. The kiss was gentle, tender, but as you responded to his touch, the need that had been simmering inside him for so long flared to life. His hands dropped down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, smiling into the kiss when he heard your slight gasp.

His heart pounded in his chest as the world seemed to fade away briefly until it was just you and him, just this. He never wanted to stop, never wanted to let you go.

But you did eventually pull away, the need to breathe becoming all consuming. Breathlessly, he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes remaining closed as he focused on slowing his pulse. His hands remained on your waist, holding you like you might slip away if he let go.

“You see?” he whispered as his lips brushing against your forehead softly. “It’s easy being with you.”

You giggled and his heart soared at the melody. It took everything in him not to pull you back into another kiss, not to hold onto you like you were the only thing that kept him grounded.

His lips still tingled from the kiss, and he could taste the faint sweetness of your breath, the softness of your lips. It wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough for Benny. He wanted more of you. He’d never wanted anything like he wanted you, never craved anyone like he craved you. It was almost unbearable, like every second where he wasn’t touching you was a second wasted.

And yet, he knew you were scared. He could see it in the way you looked down at your shoes, could hear it in the timidity of your voice. It only made him want to protect you more, to make you see that being with him would never be something you had to fear. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like he was pushing, without making you feel like you were being rushed into a decision that was as much about you as it was him.

But damn if he didn’t want to make you his.

He opened his eyes and pulled back enough to look at you face again, to really take you in. And my god, the way you were looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes made his chest tighten. And you didn’t even realize how much power you had over him. One look, one smile, and he was a goner.

Before either of you could speak, thunder cracked off in the distance, bringing you both back to the present, back to the rest of the world. You glanced up at the dark clouds that blew in to cover the stars, wondering how long you had stood on this bridge with Benny.

“Guess we should get back,” you said sheepishly.

“Guess so,” Benny replied with a lazy grin as though the storm could come crashing down and he’d still be perfectly content standing here with you.

“Do you think it’s going to rain?” you asked as you walked to his bike, glancing up at the thick, dark clouds blowing in from the west.

“Nah,” he said as he swung a leg over the bike with that signature confidence that made your heart race. “We’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.

******

By the time Benny pulled up to your house, rain was pouring from the sky like a waterfall, fat and heavy droplets splattering onto the sidewalk. Despite wearing Benny’s Vandals jacket, the rain had completely soaked you. Your hair, which had been meticulously pinned up just hours ago, was plastered to your face, and your dress clung to your body like a second skin.

You didn’t wait for him to shut off the bike before you hopped off and tugged on his sleeve.

“C’mon!” You laughed, tugging on Benny’s sleeve as you ran for the safety of your porch overhang. Your heels splashed through the water pooling on the blacktop, and he followed quickly behind, his warm hands finding your waist to steady you from falling as you both stumbled beneath the overhang.

Breathless and grinning like an idiot, you turned to face him, and you were momentarily stunned by the sight. Rainwater rolled down from his usually swept up hair, sliding down the curve of his cheekbones and falling off his jawline. He only wore a whote t shirt, the wet fabric turning almost transparent as it clung to every ridge, every toned muscle and you blinked before your gaze shot back up to his face. Even as wet as a drowned rat, he still managed to look so effortlessly sexy.

He was grinning at you with that boyish expression, and heat filled your face at the realization that you were just as soaked as he was but definitely not as pretty a sight. You probably looked like a mess — makeup smeared, hair ruined — but he was staring at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Not gonna rain, huh?” you teased, quirking an eyebrow at the heavy rainfall just off your porch.

“Just a light sprinkle,” he returned easily, but you noticed he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Do you wanna come in?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “To dry off?”

He sobered instantly, his gaze raking over your form before moving to your front door. He’d never been inside your house, never seen where you call home, where you lay down at night and replay your memories of him. There was never really an option for him to be inside your house. He’d never met your parents — despite asking multiple times to meet them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put neither your parents nor Benny though that. Deep down, you knew your father would never approve of Benny, never give him his blessing. It was a disaster waiting to happen when he found out that you were dating a biker. You begged your mother to keep it a secret to which she obliged, but you knew it wouldn’t be long till he found out.

Benny took a full step back from you, hesitation obvious in his face, his voice low and almost regretful he said. “I—I better not, Bun.”

Normally, you wouldn’t ask again after being denied, wouldn’t be so bold. But you weren’t the same girl you were a few weeks ago before you met Benny. Emboldened by the perfect opportunity to have him inside your home, to share a piece of yourself with him, you stepped forward.

You took a step forward, your voice soft but sure. “My parents aren’t home. C’mon, just to dry off and wait till the rain lets up a little. You can’t drive in that anyway. It’s not safe and I won’t let you.”

Benny released a breath that sounded a lot like a laugh as he shook his head, clearly conflicted by your invitation. And for a moment, you thought he might shake his head and turn away. You thought he might face the rainstorm and leave you behind.

But instead, he nodded and your heart soared at the small gesture. Filled with hopeful energy, you shot him a smile, moving to open the front door and invite him inside your home, inside your world.

-Tag List-

@beebeechaos @imusicaddict @elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love @ironmooncat @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @charmingballoon @eugene-emt-roe @sunnbib @killerqueenfan @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @tranquilty @m00npjm @justsomewritingblog @thepassionatereader @rebecca-hvnstn @nethanybear @dreamlandcreations @buckysteveloki-me @simsiddy @zablife @sansaorgana @autumnleaves1991-blog @butler-trouble @lindszeppelin @wavyjassy @real-lana-del-rey @ilovehyperfixating @xcallmetaniax @lovenewfandoms @youngestxhearts @abaker74 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @thefallofthedamned @hottpinkpenguinreads @nctma15 @vendylewin @capswife @alexa4040 @pearlstiare @sweetestrose569 @18lkpeters @mrsalwayswrite @thedreamingfish99

[devnmon]

to be loved is to be changed.

Summary: Cutting Daryl's hair and his uncertainty around the idea of a walled community that's survived thus far.

a/n: back to writing daryl like i never left! i wanted this to be mostly soft but i realized thats unrealistic for him during the first days in alexandria. twd rewatches really do it in for me huh. wrote this in two days cause it was an idea i really liked and wanted to put it out there. enjoy <3

no warnings except suggestive at the end! | wc: 2k

Daryl was not amused. By any of it.

Exhausted, covered in sweat, on edge, sure.

But amused? No. Far from it.

Absurd. That's what it was. To walk into metal walls of a community and trust it's exactly how it looks... that was the furthest thing from happening.

So when everyone else was taking advantage of the running water and toiletries, Daryl sat in protest. He would never fit in here, no matter how long they stayed. If this place lasted that long.

He sat in the filth and sweat and grease that coated his skin, sweat painted forehead and hair stuck to the back of his neck. Dark bangs covered his eyes, peeking through the hair as if it were to shield him from the darting eyes of people around him.

Though nothing would compare to how terribly out of place he felt. It took him a lot to feel included in Rick's group, to utter family in a world he thought he'd spend with his brother.

But now, they all were his family; Rick, Maggie, Glenn, you. Picking him back up by the knowledge that he can try to start over every single day.

He wouldn't-- no, couldn't conform to the pristine, blind-eyed disposition he saw in all the people living so wonderfully in this place.

Not being how he was out there didn't feel like him. Felt the farthest thing from it when he knew everyone else just felt grateful to not be out there. At least, almost all of them did.

Those people hadn't seen what you'd all seen. What you experienced, who you'd lost on the road. They didn't know.

Seeing you and Carol and the others refresh yourselves with soap and clean clothes that weren't stained by sweat or blood made him scoff.

How could you let down your guards so quickly? Give up the weapons you slept next to and gripped tightly to like they were merely objects and not a part of you.

His bow was like a second skin. What made you all indifferent?

You, once terrified of the outside, became a strengthened version of yourself. No longer shying away of everything that went bump in the night, too timid to move.

Then, you were safe inside yourself. Now, you were edged and cautious, backed by those you trusted.

To be invited back to a walled community with running water and actual houses? It sounded unreal.

But you were almost out there for too long.

Refreshing yourself from all that covered you on the outside only made you hopeful for what was to come. What could come. Optimism and hopefulness radiated from Deanna the minute you saw her face.

It was bizarre, seeing a bunch of people without the same hardened looks and dirtied clothes you all adorned. Strolling down the streets, going about their day like they were unaware of what the world was. Of what it had come to.

By the way they ogled as you passed by, dropping your weapons to be stored and trudging down the lane to be interviewed, they had not seen what you had.

They were the lucky ones. Lucky enough to hide behind steel walls and barbecues like the world hadn't stopped turning.

But you weren't as opposed to cleaning yourself up as much as Daryl was. A little nervous to be as vulnerable washing alone for the first time in months, but excited to see it all wash down the drain.

You knew Carol would be begging him soon enough. Not even a full day had passed and you had all jumped at the chance to have warm water rush over your skin. So your clothes wouldn't stick to your skin from the sweat and grime built up there.

If you could have stayed under the shower for the rest of your life without getting pruned fingers, you would have chose so in a heartbeat.

But spotting Daryl with the same dirt on his arms broke you a little. You knew how far he'd come since the quarry, how he was used to being on the outside.

You always knew he leaned into that part of him, the archer who never needed to rely on anyone for anything before. Watching him protect all of you though, that was the kicker.

"I'm gonna hose you down in your sleep." Said one Carol Peletier as she walked down the sidewalk, other members of your group further exploring as they'd been told to do so.

"You know she's serious about that hose." You began, walking out the front door to greet him.

Daryl scoffed and went back to playing with his bow.

"And I'd help her, if I didn't know how you are." You could see his blues peeking through the hair stuck to his forehead, almost poking into his eyes.

Standing next to him now, you reached out a hand to brush some of the hair out of his eyes, before cupping his cheek softly. He flinched at first, but welcomed your warm contact.

Daryl knew you cared for him, though being on the road had made him retreat inside himself again. Just before the prison fell, you saw that golden heart of his peek through his chest. But after Hershel, after Beth, he was overcome with a need to harden his exterior.

Any physical affection he was warming up to was all because of you, how your words disarmed him and tied a string around his lungs. Even if the road challenged him and your whole group, it was something familiar that you all knew like the back of your hand.

Walkers, people, the elements. The lot of you felt prepared to handle anything that was thrown at you.

But meeting Aaron, making it to his community and seeing how life could be from now on, instead of just making it-- that was something none of you had seen before.

"Could I be the one to convince you then?"

His eyes met yours, darting back and forth across your face and the background with uncertainty.

"Dunno." He shrugged, looking away off into the distance now.

"It's okay if it takes you a while, Dar. I know out there is where you feel the most you, but we don't have to just make it anymore. We can live. Feel some semblance of normalcy. But if it takes you longer than some of us, I get it."

"Y'think this is normal?"

"No... but we have to start somewhere. It started for me when I turned in my gun, precious as she is to me..." he glanced your way again, "And washing the outside off. Feeling how it was without all of that on my skin."

"Don't matter. Just gonna get dirty again."

You sighed, "Fine. If you won't take a shower, will you at least let me trim your bangs? They're covering your pretty eyes and you know how much I love to look at them."

One of the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, a semblance of a smile?

"Nothing crazy, Dixon, just a trim so they don't get in your way."

A gruff sound came from him before standing from the railing and letting his fingers brush against your shirt. He went to grab his bow before you reached for his wrist.

"You don't need it. We're just goin' inside, okay? We'll be more comfortable in there."

His stern look faltered, blinking a few times before nodding and leaving it to follow you inside, your hand in his.

Daryl spotted the comb and pair of scissors on the counter before he even got close to them, trusting you enough to go near his brown locks with something that sharp. He knew your steady hand was careful, having stitched multiple people up over the time you'd been with the group.

Clearing his throat as he sat, you picked up the scissors and comb and sat in front of him.

"Let me get all the knots out first, okay? Even though I'm just trimming your bangs, you deserve to be pampered a little. Are you okay with that?"

His eyes met the floor before looking to you, heart in your hands as you spoke. Silently he nodded, and you grinned before standing back up and moving behind him.

Your hands planted softly on his shoulders, feeling him fidget in his seat as you slowly rubbed his shoulders ever so slightly.

Fortunately for you, Daryl's hair was thinner and therefore less prone to knotting, but still had a few you took a minute to get through. The teeth of the comb scratched his scalp in such a way that was foreign to him, sending goosebumps down his spine.

The little sounds of content and enjoyment made you smile to know he was finding some comfort in what you were doing. It almost brought tears to your eyes at how much he trusted you.

Placing a kiss on the crown of his head, you walked back around to his front.

He grunted again, "Why'd ya stop?"

"I haven't even cut your bangs yet, Dar." You chuckled lightly, knowing a proper hair brushing would put him to sleep from how relaxing it was.

To be the only individual he'd ever let touch, let alone cut his hair, filled your chest with joy.

"Okay, now close your eyes and hold your head steady, here." Your soothing voice had him smitten, willing to be at your beck and call whenever you asked. This time was no different. He'd not known what he did to deserve you, much less anyone willing to get to know and trust him as he did you.

Two of your fingers lifted his chin and spotted those blues once again looking your way.

"You've got eyes like the ocean, Daryl. Wonder when I get to swim in them." He saw the stars in your eyes, something he hadn't seen since you all arrived at the prison.

Slowly you combed through the hair framing his face, separating it from the rest to begin trimming. His eyes fluttered shut as you lifted the scissors up.

The first snip was the most nerve wracking for him, hearing the scissors open and close. While a soft powdery aroma from the soap wafted from your skin, he realized that maybe it wasn’t the worst idea.

He's not sure the last time he's had his hair cut, if ever. Daryl decided it wasn't worth it to remember the past, and to just live in the moment now with you.

"Thanks," he mumbled, clear enough for you to hear. Your movements slowed a bit as you realized this was a big moment for him. Even bigger than when you admitted your feelings to him.

There was something about how easy it was for Daryl to unfold around you, not completely, but a bit more every day he got through with you by his side.

Little hairs floated to the floor as you trimmed, shedding them like he did the makings of his former self. It was mandatory, or else he wouldn't be where he is today.

"Of course. You do so much for everyone else, I'm lucky I get to do this for you. I'm happy to do this for you." Your hand grasped his, interlocking your fingers.

"Means a lot t'me." Slowly he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it ever so lightly.

A whiff of that soap you smelled so nicely of made his head spin, realizing that if you smelled like it, he wanted to as well. There would be more dirt and sweat to come in the future, if this is where they were going to be from now on.

"Don't be getting all sappy on me now, D."

Scoffing, he replies, "Stop."

"Just let me know when you're ready to take that shower. Or I'll let Carol know she can hose you down instead..." You joke, standing up before combing his bangs through once more.

"Nah, I'll take the shower." Daryl shook out his hair from the left over snipped pieces of hair and stood up.

"Oh yeah?" You turned and crossed your arms at him with disbelief.

"On one condition."

"And what's that?"

"You come and join me."

You smiled, uncrossing your arms and holding out a hand to him.

"Deal."

[agent99galanzo]

Please Hear My Plea

Summary: In every lifetime, Natasha remembers you, but you must rediscover her before the curse begins anew.

---

In a quiet village under the golden glow of autumn, Natasha Romanoff sat on a weathered bench, watching as people moved through the bustling market. Despite the ordinary sights, her heart raced, an instinctual recognition pulling her attention to a familiar face in the crowd.

You. In this lifetime, you were an artist, painting the world with vibrant strokes. But you had no memory of her; to you, Natasha was just a stranger.

With each encounter, the ache grew deeper. She felt the weight of the centuries pressing down on her. In every life, they had found each other, only to be separated by the cruel hand of fate. Natasha had lived through it all, while you remained blissfully unaware of your shared history.

As the days passed, Natasha followed you, drawn to the spark in your eyes. You were passionate and carefree, and each smile felt like a flicker of light in her long, dark existence. She longed to reach out, to tell you everything, but the curse held her back—if she revealed herself too soon, it would only drive you away.

One evening, under a canopy of stars, she found the courage to approach you. “Your paintings are stunning,” she said, her voice steady yet warm.

You looked up, surprise evident in your eyes. “Thank you! I’m just trying to capture the world as I see it.”

Natasha smiled, a bittersweet pang in her chest. “You have a gift.”

Weeks turned into months, and a friendship blossomed between you. Natasha relished every moment, cherishing the time you spent together, even as she felt the impending darkness looming. The curse would strike again, and she had to find a way to break the cycle before it was too late.

One night, while sharing stories over a candlelit dinner, you asked, “Do you believe in fate?”

Natasha hesitated, her mind racing with memories of past lives. “I believe in connections that go beyond time.”

You looked thoughtful. “That sounds poetic. I think we’re all just trying to find our place in the universe.”

Her heart swelled at your words. You were so close to the truth, yet so far from knowing her. As the seasons changed, Natasha felt the familiar dread creeping in, a sense of urgency clawing at her.

When the inevitable happened—an accident, a sudden turn of fate—Natasha was there, but this time, she couldn’t save you. She watched as life faded from your eyes, a gut-wrenching pain ripping through her soul.

“No!” she screamed, desperation tearing at her. “Not again!”

---

In the aftermath, Natasha fell into despair. Time flowed endlessly, and she felt trapped in a loop of grief. But each time, she felt the flicker of hope. You would be reborn, and she would find you again.

---

In the next life, you were a writer, lost in the pages of your own imagination. Natasha recognized you immediately, but again, you didn’t remember her. Each lifetime began anew, and the curse remained unbroken. She would always seek you out, knowing that rediscovery was her only chance to save you.

As you walked the streets of the bustling city, Natasha felt the familiar pull. She approached you cautiously, “Your words have a way of capturing the heart.”

You looked up, intrigued. “Thank you! I try to weave truth into my stories.”

With every interaction, Natasha fought against the curse that bound you. She searched for ways to break it, delving into ancient texts and seeking wisdom from those who had walked the earth before her.

But time wore on, and each reunion ended the same way—too brief, too painful. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t change the outcome.

---

Finally, after centuries of heartbreak, Natasha found herself at a crossroads. With each new life, she felt more desperate to keep you safe, but the curse always reset their connection.

“Tell me how to break this,” she pleaded to an ancient seer. “I can’t keep losing her!”

“Only love can transcend the cycle,” the seer warned. “But both must remember.”

---

In the next lifetime, you were a dancer, vibrant and full of life. Natasha watched from the shadows, her heart heavy with longing. She knew she needed to awaken your memories, to remind you of the love that had endured through countless ages.

One evening, as you danced under the stars, Natasha stepped forward, determination igniting her spirit. “You’re mesmerizing,” she said, her voice low and filled with emotion.

You paused, your eyes locking onto hers. “Who are you?”

“Someone who has loved you through time,” Natasha replied, her heart pounding. “Please, trust me.”

As you looked into her eyes, something flickered—an echo of recognition. But just as quickly, the moment slipped away, and you turned, leaving her once more.

---

Each time, Natasha faced the heartbreak with renewed resolve. She wouldn’t stop searching for you, wouldn’t stop trying to break the cycle. Even as the curse twisted their fates, she held onto the hope that one day, you would remember.

Through every lifetime, she would find you again, and perhaps one day, you would understand the depth of her love. No matter how long it took, Natasha would fight against fate, determined to end the cycle of loss.

Because love, she believed, could conquer all—even the bonds of eternity.

---

[satanfemme]

I....I think I might have some of the anger you used to have. How did you grow? How do you become so positive but it doesn't feel fake anymore?

a combination of a shift in perspective + the kind of healing that just takes a lot of time and practice.

on my shift in perspective:

understanding political theory better has helped (communism, anarchism, and transfeminism are the schools of thought I study the most. the abolition of prisons/punitive justice is also especially important to me). it sounds silly, but when you don't understand truthful and reality-based political theory it's very easy to feel like there's fundamentally "good people" and fundamentally "evil people", if not feeling that it's human nature as a whole to be evil, and this worldview can taint every part of your life. studying theory has helped me understand HOW and WHY horrible things happen in the world on both large and small scales, and that it's more complicated (and also more solvable) than just paranoid and misanthropic "people are bad" fears. this has helped me a lot.

on a more personal and esoteric note, I've also come to see people as inherently interconnected. I believe we're all part of the same macroorganism and there's no fundamental differences between us other than circumstances. everyone in the world is traumatized and doing their best to respond to what's happening to them as it's happening, and learning as they go. it's a lot harder to hate someone once you understand whatever they're doing to wrong you is out of fear/trauma. it's also a lot harder to hate someone once you understand that you could've been them if only your life went a different way. (in other words, as I like to point out: everyone is capable of being abusive, and people who are abusive are still people). it also probably helps through all these beliefs that I don't believe in genuine free will, but I understand that thought probably isn't comforting to most people the way it's comforting to me.

on my healing:

living away from my abusive parents for five years and counting helps. trying to find ways to treat my mental disabilities with patience and grace (and with an increasingly anti-psych viewpoint) has helped. getting an emotional support dog has helped.

maybe the BIGGEST help has been meeting and befriending more people in real life, and doing new and novel things all the time. socially speaking I consider myself raised by social media, and although my feelings towards that fact aren't wholly negative, let me tell you that the real adult world is SO much better and healthier than any website. I like meeting people who are different than me, and have different thoughts than me, and I like exploring, and going to shows, and experimenting with things. nothing makes me feel as alive as when I'm out there in the world Doing A Thing, In A Location, Dressed In An Outfit, and With Other People.

I also think age has helped to an extent, but not because of any pseudoscience "your brain matures at X age" stuff. I think I just have a lot more practice at being a person than I did in the past. and I hope to have more practice in the future. this is the first year I've felt like an "adult" and it feels fucking GREAT! I feel emotionally mature, I feel autonomous, I feel really good.

AND ALSO. my last piece of wisdom for you: stop worrying about how other's see you, stop worrying about your interests being cringe, stop worrying about being the most perfect morally pure person in the world. letting go of these fears doesn't happen over night, it takes time. but the more I become openly & proudly freakish and weird, the happier and nicer I become. I love being a cringy furry pervert so much. it's awesome. can't recommend that kind of thing enough.

[lightofraye]

You are completely so fucking stupid, just because people prefer jenmish they hate Jared? grow the fuck up. and you stanning a person who is mentally a child is pathethic. oh wait you are mentally a child as well, getting pressed over a fictional ship is pathetic. and don't act like you know Jensen personally or his thoughts and feelings. you parasocial fuck. get a fucking life, Jensen isn't a fucking puppet for you to use for your fucking para-sexual fantasies. you need to be permentally locked up in a psychiatric ward allway with your mutals and friends and the fact you pretend to have children when in reality they are your sock accounts is utterly pathertic, no ones actually likes you they are just humouring you and you and you fucked up brain are too egomamiac to realise how delutional you sound.

Wow.

Five, no wait, six days. That’s how long it took for my haters to find out anon asks was on and have a meltdown.

And look! Dehumanization galore! And yes, anon, you are hating on Jared. I’ve yet to met a genuine J2M fan who doesn’t subtly hate on Jared, because he stands in the way of their fantasies.

You say I’m being parasocial. Okay. How aren’t you being parasocial by wanting Jensen and Misha to fuck? Or have Destiel to happen, even though the show’s been over for four years and was never canon?

What do I do? I write observations of the human behavior. I never leave my blog to hate on others. Ever. I ignore my haters, even when they dehumanize me and then try to pretend they’re good people. I’ve tried to stay above it all, to not sink to their level. I won’t sink to yours.

Hate me all you want, anon.

You’re just proving me right, again and again.

Meanwhile, what do I do? I write about how worried I am about Jensen. About how happy I am for his career. Celebrate his joy with Jared. Then I talk about abuse, to help people notice the signs. To help them. I write about my family that I love dearly.

I enjoy talking with other bloggers, and I imagine they enjoy talking with me. If it helps you to think I’m unloved and unwanted and unliked, go for it. Let that delusion be a balm to your wounded ego.

Meanwhile, I’m gonna go live my best life, enjoy being a gossip columnist of three fantastic Texans, a cat mom, a writer, a mother, and friend.

Thanks for the talk.

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

Hi admin. I really don’t want this posted unless you think it’s for the best. I’m extremely anxious right now. I don’t even know what to say. I’m the one who took the pic yesterday at the airport. I bought the event tickets and booked flights a month ago. I didn’t expect to ever see him outside of a public event like at an airport. I didn’t know what to do. Should I bug him and try to talk to him? Or not bother him? I’m too shy and anxious to talk and I’ve seen so many pics of him at airports and coffee shops and I thought Evan fans would like another. I completely regret posting it let alone taking it or even going near him even though I planned on sitting in that area before I even recognized him. I feel terrible that I invaded his privacy and I never had any bad intentions and never would want to upset him. It kills me most that he might be upset right now. I never thought it would blow up like this since others have done the same, but it did. I guess it’s because all I ever posted on Twitter was Evan stuff and nothing personal. That’s because I’m terrified of criticism and too scared to post things. But Evan stuff made me happy so I’d risk any negativity. I went up to watch them film Tron. The outdoor filming locations were public knowledge posted on Twitter and I don’t live far from there. I am weird like you said (the good weird) but I promise I’m not a stalker. I’m sorry to Evan if I offended or hurt him. Hindsight is 20/20 and I would do it all differently if I could. The account is deleted. I will never post or talk about Evan again. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I love your blog. And again, Evan, if you ever read this, I’m sorry.

i am posting this just because i actually do believe it's important for some of our twitter friends who may be reading my blog to get a reality check about this situation. i can promise you, the very same fans who are acting aghast at your airport photo regularly reblog/retweet/post and save photos taken over the past 10+ years of evan at airports, at restaurants, in all sorts of public places.. without his knowledge or consent, including countless paparazzi photos, which seem far more intrusive and inappropriate than a single airport shot. they do it without a second thought or any sort of guilt, but because you had a face and name they could attach to that one particular shot, and it was easy for people to click on your profile and see you had met evan previously and are a big fan of his, unfortunately some people have created a narrative and ran with it. ironic but… doesn't that sound familiar?

i'm not going to let people do this on my blog. you did absolutely nothing wrong or anything that you should be feeling badly about. i know i get on here and unload PLENTY of criticism for the fans who cross boundaries, disrespect evan as a human, and display unstable behavior but this is not one of them. this is about people being ugly and judgmental over someone, you, who paid for tickets to events and behaved as a fan. going to meet & greets you paid for does not make you a stalker. going to a movie set like tons of other people do every day does not make you a stalker. observing an awards show does not make you a stalker. none of these things are indicative of someone who is acting inappropriately or has some sort of delusions they're going to capture evan peters or find a way to enter into his life. and if you're someone outside of fandom, i don't expect you to understand that these things i just named off are extremely common and not some sign that you're going to kidnap your favorite celebrity. but if you're on my blog, i do sort of expect you to understand that people who engage in fandom routinely do meet their favorite celebrities and go to events to see them, and that isn't automatically indicative of anything nefarious. for instance: you know i have been very vocal in my criticism of the weird behavior jackie has exhibited online, but i didn't post any of the numerous messages from people who were speaking about her at the M&G because she paid to be there, and i have not heard she did anything questionable in his presence.. so why should i give a fuck that she stood in line and took photos just like the other tons of fans who did the same? that's an appropriate way to meet a celebrity you admire.

this will make some of you mad, but you need to hear it regardless: evan peters is not our personal friend from missouri. evan peters is a multi-millionaire actor, celebrity and public figure who is not entitled to the same privacy you and i are. no celebrity is - the very concept is contradictory. if you want discretion and privacy, you're not going to get it as a celebrity. period. argue with your mother.

if you believe evan peters is somewhere trembling, deeply traumatized because the 12 millionth candid photo of him has been released to the internet, i'm going to need for you (not literally you) to come to reality with me. he is most certainly fine even if he finds the concept of being photographed in public bothersome. and even as someone who is deeply sensitive to the fact that social anxiety and discomfort can be crippling, please remember that the man is damn near 40 years old and been in this industry for the majority of his life. he knows how to deal with it. i've said this multiple times already, but anyone reading this who disagrees and thinks a celebrity shouldn't be photographed without their knowledge and consent: you're absolutely entitled to your opinion and i respect that. but i'd be a total and complete hypocrite to sit here and tell you, while i'm running an evan peters tea and discussion blog, that i'm just outraged that a fan took a photo in an airport. i am not. we regularly engage in conversation about the darkest, most painful aspects of evan's life while we are actually strangers. why do we even know any of the things that we know? because he is a celebrity, not a private citizen.

please don't beat yourself up over this. even if you are regretful, at the end of the day, it seems like you had absolutely zero ill intentions and did nothing to bother him, or attempt to cross boundaries to be close to him in an inappropriate fashion. i'm sorry that people have taken something that made you happy and hurt no one, and turned it into something ugly. that wasn't necessary. quite frankly, within the fandom i think there are some people who feel envy that you got ''lucky'' and met evan, and that you've met him multiple times, in legitimate ways. people need to save their outrage for the ''fans'' who are quite literally acting atrociously these days and largely going unchecked. this is the last message i'm posting about this incident.

[regicide1997]

Doors at 7pm, Noise at 8pm, Bring $10:

An ode to Unpunctuality

Five weeks and one day ago, my boss reprimanded me for being unpunctual.

Five weeks ago today, unpunctuality saved my girlfriend's life, and by extension, my own.

"Doors at 7pm, Noise at 8pm, Bring $10"

Five weeks and five days ago, I stayed up all night comforting my girlfriend.

Five weeks and four days ago, I slept through all my alarms. I woke up half an hour after the mandatory department meeting had started, and I immediately ordered an Uber to get to work. By the time I got there, it was lunchtime, which was good, because I needed food to take my meds. And I had forgotten my keys at home.

"Doors at 7pm, Noise at 8pm, Bring $10"

I generally try to show up at least a little early to most things.

Five weeks and three days ago, I went to a house show with my girlfriend and my now-ex-gf. I don't want to go into the details. We all had fun, as well as traumatic flashbacks that we comforted each other for.

Showing up early to shows gives me time to prepare myself, mentally and physically, and it gives me a chance to socialize with the rest of the early crowd—to chat with friends, to meet the people in the touring bands, to be part of the reason these shows never start on time.

"Doors at 7pm, noise at 8pm, bring $10"

Five weeks ago today, at 8:04pm, I got a text from my girlfriend.

Five weeks and one day ago, my boss reprimanded me for being unpunctual. I'd explained that I'd followed the instructions I was given to the best of my ability at the time, and I have done my best to make up for every way I've fallen short. Still, "sleeping in is not acceptable".

The World In Broken Glass, Whirly Birds, Macizo, Razorway. Healer DIY, Indianapolis. Tuesday, August 20, 2024. Doors at 7pm, noise at 8pm, bring $10. A night of screamo, death metal, "shoegaze if it was good", and pure, unabashed transgender rage.

I definitely need this show after the shit I had to put up with at work yesterday. I need some way of releasing this anger. I need some fucking catharsis.

Doors at 7pm, noise at 8pm. Bring $10.

Enjoying the pre-show conversation. Talking about various levels of band equipment Tetris involved in going on tour with tiny vehicles. Talking about our past lives in high school marching band. "Wait, so, the band is called Math, but this person unrelatedly also happened to be in your geometry class?"

Doors at 7pm, noise at 8.

Five weeks ago today. Tuesday, August 20, 2024. 8:04pm. A text message from my girlfriend.

Twenty-one thousand milligrams of acetaminophen.

Doors at 7, noise at 8.

One hour, thirteen minutes, and thirty seconds of phone call—getting the cops to fuck off so she'll be safe enough to get in the ambulance on her own accord, riding in the passenger seat of the person I had just paid $10 in exchange for a paper bracelet, ambulance sirens blaring through the phone speaker, correcting the EMTs every time they misgendered her—protecting her, because she's already had so much trauma in hospitals; protecting her, because she needs to be safe in order to heal; protecting her, because she's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I cannot live in a world in which she is not; protecting her, because I love her, so fucking much.

Doors at 7pm, noise at 8pm, bring $10.

A text from my girlfriend at 8:04pm.

Had the noise actually started at 8pm, I wouldn't have heard the notification sound from my phone. I wouldn't have seen the text message. I wouldn't have been able to call her. To tell her I love her. That I can't live without her.

Five weeks and one day ago, my boss reprimanded me for being unpunctual.

Five weeks ago today, unpunctuality saved my girlfriend's life, and by extension, my own.

Doors at 7.

[dontforgetukraine]

Our life is not as horrible as theirs. We are not in the trenches. My loved ones are safe and sound. Electricity is available. Grocery stores are open. All my friends, close and distant, often (in fact, all the time) talk about a deep sense of shame. A shame to live when others are dying; a shame to eat when people out there are starving; a shame to desire something when so many people have no desires whatsoever. Psychologists call this feeling “survivor’s guilt.” Well… I would not be so sure. We are “survivors” at this moment. The minute I am writing this line. At this moment, we are not in the trenches, and the electricity is available. It is curious, though, that the soldiers defending us on the frontlines sometimes (not all the time, I hope) feel guilty too: for doing something not well enough; for not being on the battlefield; for being alive; for not doing more. I am not thinking about the normal/abnormal state of mental health against the backdrop of a large-scale war with the cannibals. I am thinking about them, the cannibals “repeating their grandfathers’ heroic deeds” and their slogan: “I am not ashamed.” Fuck you. Our country is choking on the feeling of guilt for all the could-haves and should-haves, while the I-am-not-ashamed hashtags stick out of the abyss of hell.   Not ashamed to kill, loot, rape, and piss their pants after being captured. Not ashamed to know that they target their missiles and drop their bombs on civilians. Not ashamed to be happy about getting a fur coat looted from an apartment whose owners were most probably murdered. Not ashamed to lie; not ashamed to curse; not ashamed to threaten the whole world with a naked ass crowned with the nuclear button. But now I understand why. The feelings of shame and guilt indicate the ability of the brain to process difficult emotions. It has not been established yet whether cats and dogs can feel shame. Well, it’s clear with the cats. At the house where a cat lives, everything belongs to the cat — it is its two-legged slave who must be ashamed. It gets more complicated with dogs. They are believed to pretend to feel shame or guilt. At least, they can fake it.    But russians? No. In the surrounding world, some animals can feel shame, but plants, minerals, and products of human labor — cannot. A rock, a rose, a tank cannot feel ashamed. Can a russian be a rose? Definitely not.

Excerpt from the flash essay "Olena Stiazhkina: Kyiv. March 24" from the collection “Wars. Ukrainians. Humanity”.

Source: Oksana Stomina, Olena Stiazhkina, Taras Prokhasko, Valerii Pekar, Mychailo Wynnyckyj — March 22-26, 2022

[unashamedly-enthusiastic]

Thrilled and Delighted to hear (quite literally) that my 8yr old downstairs neighbour has kept up with his music lessons and has progressed from stage 1 to stage 2

Stage 1 Stage 2

[lightbulb-warning]

so has anyone figured out WHY there is the Need To Share our Artworks™ or is it just the vibes and our Soul apparently

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

All I’m going to say I think now that my brain remembered part of what it was thinking is that Taylor and Joe went through a lot together (good and bad) and regardless of how it ended or what led to it they both seem to be determined to keep that private and not throw each other under the bus and in the end they’re just two very, very different people whose outlooks in the long term were just never going to align and never has that been clearer.

[skunkes]

doing figure drawing studies because i know thats what i should be doing right now but also ive been in a very insane deranged state for the past 2 months that leaves me like this whenever i look at a man for too long

[hauntingjasper]

We are all afraid of something...

I wonder what Prince Gumball's biggest fear would be?

There's an episode (Five short tables I think) where it shows that he's afraid of dying alone/his own mortality to some extent. I imagine that because he's long-lived and most likely has watched many people die before him, he's scared that there won't be anyone else by *his* side when it's his turn. There's no way of knowing when or how, he wouldn't be ready for it, so that's probably double scarier for him. He's an anxious fella

[wonder-worker]

"The newly widowed Elizabeth (Woodville) was exceptionally vulnerable. Several of the trustees responsible for her jointure refused to hand over the manors that were meant to sustain her in her widowhood. Moreover, her brother-in-law, Edward Grey, had seized estates that her son Thomas should have inherited from his paternal grandfather, while her mother-in-law’s new young husband, Sir John Bourchier, had prevailed on Lady Ferrers to settle her principal properties on them jointly for life, ensuring that Thomas would have to wait far longer for this inheritance too. Rivers and Scales were pardoned in July 1461 and swiftly moved into the Yorkist establishment, which perhaps explains the success of the chancery suits Elizabeth launched to regain her jointure. Her son’s inheritance proved harder to recover. By 1463, Rivers was often in (Edward IV's) company and on his council, but Elizabeth needed someone with much stronger influence over the King. She turned to a distant kinsman, William, Lord Hastings, the King’s chamberlain. Hastings drove a very hard bargain for his aid but it was probably amid these negotiations that the King’s desire for Elizabeth was kindled."

-J.L. Laynesmith, "Elizabeth Woodville: the Knight's Widow", Later Plantagenet and Wars of the Roses Consorts: Power, Influence, and Dynasty

[uwudonoodle]

Writing is the one activity where I prefer to have total silence. So I got a pair of earplugs. I can't recommend it enough. I can take them with me anywhere I write, and it blocks most ambient sounds and talking, so I can just live in the world of my story.