#like I’m not a parent and they all are but they acted like it was horrible

[itneverendshere]

invisible string - r.c series (two)

pairing: pogue!rafe x kook!sweetheart!reader word count: 5.7k warnings: domestic violence; absent parents; angst; fluff. (so far) read part one here

Rafe didn’t know how to describe it, but it was like… he was breathing easier. Like he wasn’t always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He couldn’t believe you’d chosen him, a stray. He’d been taking it slow with you. 

It was mid-afternoon, and you were by the lake this time, sitting on the weathered dock, feet dangling off the edge, again. He had his fishing rod in hand, showing you how to cast it properly. The sun hung low in the sky, painting everything in this soft, golden light that made your hair glow like some kind of halo. He had to keep glancing away because it messed with his head. A literal angel.

“You gotta flick your wrist, not your whole arm,” he explained, demonstrating it for you. “Like this.” He flicked the rod smoothly, sending the line out into the water with barely a ripple.

You gave him a look, like you were tired of his shit but then copied his motion. Your line barely made it halfway to where his was, and you huffed, frustrated. He laughed quietly, shaking his head.

“You’re tryin’ too hard,” he said, standing up to move behind you. “Here, lemme help.”

He hesitated for a second, then stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your from behind, guiding your hands to hold the rod correctly. He could feel your body tense for a second before you relaxed into him, your back against his chest. His breath hitched, but he focused on showing you what to do, trying to ignore the way his heart raced from being this close to you. He was whipped.

“Now, just flick it—gentle, like you’re barely trying” He guided your hands again, and this time, the line shot out farther into the water, just like his.

You grinned, looking over your shoulder at him, and he realized how close your faces were. Too close. His breath caught, but he didn’t move, didn’t pull away. He never did.

“See?” he muttered, “Told ya, you got it.”

“Only ‘cause you helped,” you said, voice was all soft and sweet, like honey.

Your eyes didn’t leave his, and he couldn’t look away if he tried. He could feel the warmth of you, smell the faint scent of your shampoo mixed with the lake air. He should’ve moved. He should’ve stepped back, given you space.

But he didn’t.

“Is this why you wanted to teach me how to fish? So you could feel me up?”

Rafe’s face flushed red, heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

“N-no,” he stammered, but it sounded lame even to him. He stepped back, giving you space like he was supposed to, scratching the back of his neck, trying to play it off like he wasn’t burning up inside. “I was just… y’know, teaching’ you how to cast. Not my fault if you can’t get it right on your own.”

You laughed, that soft, carefree sound that always messed him up, like you didn’t know you were punching way out of his league. You turned back to face the water, flicking the rod out again, and this time, it went far—farther than you expected, your excitement obvious as you glanced back at him.

“Look at that!” you said, grinning like you’d just won something. “I’m getting better.”

He laughed, “Told ya you could do it.”

He shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be that close to you, shouldn’t want you the way he did. But there you were, fishing with him like it was normal. He sat back down beside you on the dock, pulling his cap lower over his eyes, trying to cool down and act like his heart wasn’t still racing. 

Rafe was feeling like his stomach was doing flips, and not the good kind. He wasn’t the type to get all worked up over stuff like this, but here he was, his hands sweaty, his heart racing like he just ran five miles.

You were sitting across from him now, looking all laid back and pretty, messing with that dumb bracelet he’d seen you wear a hundred times before, and he couldn’t stop thinking about what he was about to ask you.

You two had been sort of together, what, two months now? He didn’t know how to explain it, but every time he saw you, it was like a part of him just... calmed down. Like all the chaos in his head got a little quieter when you were around. And that scared the hell out of him.

He wasn’t the kinda guy to catch feelings. Hell, he’d spent most of his life trying to not feel stuff. It was easier that way. Safer. But there he was, that night, two months ago, sitting’ next to you on that fancy couch in your parents' house, kissing the living hell out of you. He couldn’t get you out of his system even if he tried.

And then he kissed you again, every day for that matter, for the next couple of months. Because, how could he not? You were perfect. His absolute dream girl. 

He shouldn’t want this so bad. Shouldn’t be sitting there trying to memorize the way you looked in that moment. And yet, here he was, listing off your favorite things in his head like it was his new obsession.

He thought about the way you’d light up when you’d talk about books. Not just any books, though. You had this thing for old, worn-out paperbacks, the ones that looked like they’d been through it. You said they felt like they had history, like every dog-eared page told its own story.

Then there were your playlists. He still couldn’t figure them out. You’d go from old-school classics like Fleetwood Mac or The Rolling Stones, then switch it up with some indie band no one had ever heard of. But it all fit you somehow—just a little bit all over the place, in the best way possible.

And sunsets. God, you could never resist a good sunset. Every time the sky turned even a hint of pink or gold, you were there, snapping pictures on your phone like it was your personal little piece of magic.

Rafe couldn’t explain it, but every time you were around, everything just felt easier. Like the mess in his head quieted down. And that scared him because it wasn’t supposed to be like that. Not for him.

It was like his brain had its own playlist, except instead of music, it was a loop of all the things you liked. It kinda freaked him out, how much space you were taking up in there. You didn’t even know, did you? How you had him twisted up like this. How you made the world around him feel like it wasn’t gonna fall apart any second. He wasn’t used to that.

He watched you flick the rod out again, more confident this time, and he couldn’t help but admire how determined you were. That’s another thing he loved—how you never gave up on stuff. You’d try something a hundred times until you got it right. Like the way you insisted on learning how to skate last month, even though you kept falling. You’d get back up every time, laughing like it didn’t even faze you. He liked that about you—how nothing seemed to scare you.

And then there was your laugh. That one killed him every time. It wasn’t just the sound of it; it was the way your whole face lit up when you laughed, like the world didn’t have a single problem. Like, for those few seconds, nothing could touch you.

He realized he’d been staring at you for way too long when you looked over at him, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” you asked, the corner of your mouth twitching into a little smirk.

Rafe blinked, shaking his head like he could shake the thoughts loose. “Nothin’”, he mumbled, feeling his face heat up again. 

Smooth, real smooth, he thought.

And then there was the way you loved the water.

Always dragging him down to the lake or the beach, talking about how the sound of waves crashing made everything else seem far away.

He never told you this, but he thought it was funny how you loved the water so much but were terrified of deep water.

You’d cling to him when you were in over your head, and yeah, he liked that way more than he probably should’ve.

He kept running through all the little things, trying to figure out when it happened—when he started catching feelings for you. When you shoved the food in his face? Offered him a warm shower and a bed? Was it when you forced him to watch that old movie, the one where you kept quoting all the lines before they happened? 

“Stop ogling me.”

Rafe's heart did that weird thing again, that stuttering, fluttering mess in his chest as you grinned at him, tossing that line out like you weren’t absolutely wrecking him from the inside.

He tried to act like he hadn’t been caught staring.

Again.

"Wasn't ogling," he muttered, feeling his face heat up. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking out over the water like he wasn’t completely whipped. "Just thinkin’."

You shot him a side-eye, clearly not buying it. “Yeah? About what?”

You, he thought. Always you. 

“Just... life," he mumbled.

What was he supposed to say? That he’d been sitting here mentally cataloging all your favorite things like some lovesick idiot? That every time you smiled at him, it felt like the ground wasn’t so shaky anymore? He couldn’t just say that.

But he was starting to feel like he had to. Like it was gonna burst out of him if he didn’t tell you soon. You’d been messing with his head for months now—it was driving him insane.

"Y’know," he started, swallowing hard, not even sure how to say it, "I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah? And what’s that?"

He scratched the back of his neck, feeling way too hot under that cool evening air. His voice came out rougher than he meant. "You. Us."

You froze for a second, that playful smile slipping just a little, but you didn’t say anything. You just waited. Always so patient just for him.

Rafe let out a shaky breath, rubbing the back of his neck like it could distract him from the fact that his heart was about to pound out of his chest.

"I—I like you, okay? I like you a lot." He looked down at his boots, then back at you, eyes searching your face for any sign of what you were thinking. "I know I’m not the best with... y’know, words and feelings and all that, but you—you’re different."

He stepped closer, the dock creaking under his boots, and he reached out, gently taking your hand. "You make all the noise in my head stop. I don’t know how to explain it, but when I’m with you... it’s just easier. Everything’s easier."

You blinked, your eyes wide, like you weren’t expecting that.

"M’ not good at this stuff," Rafe continued, his voice soft now, almost nervous. "But I wanna be better. For you. I wanna be the guy who makes you feel good, who makes you happy."

He hesitated, feeling like he was about to jump off a cliff. But he had to ask. He had to know.

"Will you—" he cleared his throat, his grip tightening just slightly on your hand. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

He wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable like this, like he was putting his heart out there and hoping you wouldn’t crush it. But for once, he didn’t care. He needed you to know how he felt, even if he was rough around the edges and still figuring it all out.

You looked at him for what felt like forever, and then, slowly, a soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips. 

You threw yourself at him, jumping into his arms with this burst of energy that caught him completely off guard. He stumbled back a step, barely catching you, his arms wrapping around your waist as you clung to him. Your face was buried in his neck, and that’s when he felt it—the dampness.

Hold on. Were you crying?

“Woah, baby,” he stammered, holding you tighter, but his heart started racing for a whole different reason now. “Did I—did I make you cry? Shit, did I mess this up already? I swear, I didn’t mean to freak you out or nothin’. I just—” He cut himself off, his words coming out fast and panicked. “I fuck up everything, don’t I?”

You pulled back just enough for him to see your face, and there were tears streaming down your cheeks, but you were smiling. Laughing, even, like he was being ridiculous, which only confused him more.

“No, no, oh my god,” you said, wiping at your cheeks, sniffling through your smile. “It’s—it’s happy tears, you dumbass.”

Rafe blinked, his brain not quite catching up with what you said. “Happy tears?” He looked at you like you’d just told him the sky was purple. “You’re cryin’ ‘cause you’re happy?”

You nodded, laughing as you brushed the tears away. “Yes, Rafe. I’m crying ‘cause I’m happy.”

Relief washed over him like a wave, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Oh.” He paused, then broke into this shy, crooked grin. “Okay. Good. ‘Cause for a second, I thought I messed up.”

You laughed again, your arms still around his neck as you leaned in closer.

“You didn’t mess up, not even a little.” Your voice was softer now, and you looked at him like he hung the moon or something. “You made me really, really happy.”

He never thought he’d be the guy to make someone happy, let alone you. He lifted his hand, gently brushing a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the last of your tears. 

“Didn’t know I had it in me,” he muttered, his voice low, almost shy.

“Well, you do,” you whispered, and before he could overthink it, you leaned in and kissed him—soft and sweet.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he couldn’t help but smile. “I guess I’ll just have to make you cry like this more often, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying the way you looked at him, like he was more than just some rough-around-the-edges Pogue. His grin didn’t leave his face as he watched you wipe at the last of your happy tears, still a little stunned that he of all people had managed to make you feel like that. 

You were looking at him, a teasing glint in your eyes, but before you could even start talking again, he pulled you in closer, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“Rafe,” you giggled, your voice muffled against his mouth. “Let me—”

“Nope,” he mumbled, cutting you off with another kiss, this one lingering a little longer. His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer, and you felt his smile against your lips. “Not done kissin’ you yet.”

You let out a breathy laugh, trying to speak between the kisses. “Rafe, seriously—”

But he wasn’t having it. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his lips soft but insistent, and you practically melted into him.

“Don’t care,” he muttered, his voice low and raspy against your mouth. “Got a lot of kissin’ to make up for.”

You tried to playfully shove him, but he just grinned and kissed you harder, not giving you a chance to get another word in. Every time you tried to pull back to say something, he’d tilt his head, his lips capturing yours before you could even think.

“You,” you tried again, your voice breathless between the stolen kisses, but he just chuckled, his hand slipping into your hair, tilting your head back slightly so he could kiss you deeper, “Kiss me every day.”

“Uh-uh,” he muttered, his lips trailing down to your jaw, making your head spin. “I don’t care.”

Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders, your breath hitching as he kissed along your neck.

“You’re impossible,” you whispered, but your voice was softer now, less of a protest and more like you were completely caught up in the moment.

He pulled back just an inch, looking down at you with that lazy, crooked grin that made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he teased, his forehead resting against yours.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. 

“Maybe,” you said, pretending to play it cool. “But you still won’t let me talk.”

Rafe brushed his thumb along your jaw, his eyes tracing over your face like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“Sorry, baby,” he drawled, clearly not sorry at all. “But I’m tryin’ to make up for lost time here.”

When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you again, his eyes were softer, more serious this time. “I mean it though,” he murmured, his voice low. “I’m real glad you’re mine.”

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling. “I’m glad too, Rafe,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against the back of his neck.

He grinned, leaning down to kiss you again, but this time, you were ready. You pressed a hand to his chest, stopping him before his lips could reach yours. “Ah-ah,” you teased, a smirk on your face. “Not done talking yet.”

Rafe groaned, but the smile never left his face. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, his hands still resting on your waist. “Get your words out. I’ll give you, like, ten seconds.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes again. “You’re such a dumbass,” you said fondly, shaking your head.

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning down just enough so his lips brushed against yours again, barely a whisper. “But I’m your dumbass now.”

“Hold on,” he nearly whined, pushing his forehead against yours with exaggerated impatience. “Does that mean you’ll accept the phone now? Actually, I was gonna say—since you’re so insistent on this whole ‘no phone’ thing—you should just take it.”

Rafe’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, you want me to take it? For real?”

You crossed your arms, giving him a look that said, "don’t push it." “Yeah, obviously.”

“But—"

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the truth was written all over your face. “Please? It would make me worry less.”

He stood there for a second, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he was still mulling it over, but then he let out a breath, stepping closer to you.

“Fine,” he said, his voice softer this time. “I’ll take it. But only ‘cause you asked so damn sweet.”

Taking the stupid phone meant accepting that you cared, that you wanted him in your life in more ways than just this. And while it scared him, it also made something bloom in his chest, something unfamiliar but good.

He found himself staring at the screen like it was some kind of foreign object.

“Now you have no excuse not to text me back,” you teased, nudging him gently with your shoulder.

His face softened as he glanced at you. “Guess I don’t.”

You gave him a playful shove, and he caught your wrist, pulling you close again before you could get too far. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he rested his chin on the top of your head, breathing you in.

For a moment, the world felt still. Peaceful.

But then, like a cruel twist of fate, he heard a voice—one that made his blood run cold and his heart sink. He turned his head, and there she was. His mom, if he could call her that. Her face was gaunt, lined with the weariness of someone who’d been through too much, but that didn’t make it any easier to see her.

“What the hell?” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He felt the protective instinct flare up, not just for himself but for you, too. He didn’t want her anywhere near you. Not now. Not ever.

She ruined everything she touched.

“I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you,” she said, her voice cracking with a mix of desperation and anger. “I need to talk to you.”

His jaw tightened. “What do you want, mom?”

Her eyes softened for a split second before that familiar hardness came back. “Come back, okay? I didn’t mean to—”

“Come back?” he let out a breathy sarcastic laugh, “You serious?’ Nah, not after you kicked me out, not after all the shit I had to deal with. You got no right to come here and act like you care now.”

Her face twisted in pain, and for a moment, he saw the woman he used to know when he was a kid. But it was quickly gone. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? You think you’ve got it all figured out?”

He didn’t want to scare you off.

“Aww hell,” Rafe muttered, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to keep the anger from takin' over. His hand tightened on your waist, like he needed to feel you there, grounding him. “I’m not doin' this with you. Not here. Not now.”

You stayed quiet, your fingers lightly brushing his arm, feeling the tension building' in him. He glanced at you, and for a second, you could see the rage contained in him, he was trying' to hold it back for your sake.

“Rafe, I didn’t have a choice. You don’t understand what it’s like—”

“I don’t understand?” he barked, his voice rough, like he was barely holding’ it together. “Nah, you don’t get it. You never did.” He took a step back, almost like he needed to put space between himself and her poison. “M’ gonna stand here and let you guilt-trip me. You threw me out like I was trash.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could get another word in. “I got someone now. Someone who gives a damn 'bout me. And I’m not lettin’ you mess that up.”

His mom’s eyes flicked to you, and there was this flash of something’—jealousy, regret, maybe both.

She huffed, her shoulders dropping’. “I didn’t come here to fight with you, Rafe. I just... I need help. I don’t got nobody left.” Her voice cracked, and for a second, it almost sounded real.

But Rafe wasn’t buying it. He was done being manipulated. He was tired of her games, she was sick and she needed help, and if she didn’t want to be helped, there was nothing he could do for her. 

“Yeah, well, I’m fresh outta help,” he said coldly, then turned back to you, his hand reaching for yours, like he was trying' to remind himself that he was better off now.

A familiar figure stepped out from behind her beated up car—her boyfriend, fucking Tony. His gut twisted the second he saw him with same smug look plastered across his face, strutted toward them like he owned the place.

"Well, ain't this a cute little reunion," Tony sneered, his eyes lingering on you for just a second too long. Rafe's grip on your hand tightened painfully, and you felt the muscles in his arm tense like he was ready to snap.

Tony’s attention slid back to him, but not before taking another slow look at you. “You picked yourself up a pretty little thing, huh?” He licked his lips, and Rafe's vision tunneled.

In that instant, everything around him went quiet.

The world could have been on fire, but all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart. The red-hot rage that he'd been holding in for so long, the anger he tried to keep locked down, was hanging on the edge. Every part of him screamed to beat the living shit out of him, to make him regret every second he spent breathing the same air as you.

“Watch your goddamn mouth,” Rafe growled through gritted teeth, like he was seconds away from losing control. “Look at her like that again, and I swear to fucking God, I’ll make sure you can’t look at anything ever again.”

You squeezed his hand, letting him know you were there, that he didn’t have to do this alone. His mom stood there, not standing up for either of them as usual, like she was waiting for him to change his mind, but when he didn’t, she shook her head and walked away, mumbling’ something' under her breath. She didn’t even put up a fight for him, how typical.

They’d probably run out of money to feed off. 

Tony raised his hands, feigning innocence, but the smirk never left his face. “Easy there, kid. I’m just sayin’. No need to get all riled up.”

Rafe took a step forward, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. You could feel his emotions radiating off him in waves, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as he fought to keep himself in check. You placed your hand on his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath your fingers.

"Rafe, let it go," you whispered, trying to pull him back before things went too far. But it was like he couldn’t hear you anymore.

Tony chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the way he was getting under his skin. “Guess the apple don’t fall too far from the tree, huh? Just like your momma—quick to anger, quick to screw things up. Look at you, following in her footsteps.”

“You have five seconds to walk away before I call the police,” You all but announced.

“You think you’re some big man now, huh?” Tony still taunted, ignoring you, his voice dripping with condescension. “Got a pretty girl on your arm, a fresh start, but you’re still the same angry little boy. You ain't gonna change—”

You didn’t even let him finish. Your hand was already in your pocket, pulling out your phone.

You weren’t going to let this escalate.

"Enough," you snapped firmly, holding up your phone so both Tony and Rafe could see it. You turned your back slightly to Rafe, giving him a moment to breathe and calm down as you dialed the number.

Tony’s cocky smirk dropped for a split second when he realized what you were doing. “Oh, what, calling for backup?” he sneered, but you could tell he wasn’t as confident as he had been.

“No, I’m calling the police. My dad’s a well-known attorney. He knows exactly how to deal with people like you.”

Rafe hadn't even realized what you were doing at first.

You didn’t take your eyes off Tony as you raised the phone to your ear. “Hi, yes, I’d like to report an incident,” you began, your tone professional, all business. “There’s a man harassing us, and he’s trespassing on private property. We’re at the docks, near the edge of Seabrook Avenue.”

Tony’s face turned a shade paler, his eyes darting between you and Rafe. “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute—let’s not do anything rash here,” he stammered, clearly realizing that the game had changed. The cocky attitude evaporated in the face of actual consequences, “I’ll leave.”

“Then start walking,” You threatened, phone still in your ear.

“All right, all right,” Tony muttered, “No need to get the cops involved. I’m leavin’.”

He cast one last glare at Rafe, then turned on his heel, stalking back toward the car.

You kept the phone to your ear, your voice low and professional as you continued speaking to the operator, making sure Tony didn’t have any second thoughts. His mom gave Rafe one last, but still said nothing. She followed Tony back to the car, and within moments, they were driving off, disappearing down the road.

As soon as they were out of sight, you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. You hung up the phone, turning back to Rafe, who was still standing there, staring at the empty spot where the car had been. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, but there was this brokenness in his eyes that made you want to bawl your eyes out.

You stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

 “Hey,” you whispered, your voice soft now, “They’re gone.”

Rafe let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair, like he was trying' to shake off the whole encounter.

“Sorry 'bout that,” he muttered, his voice a little hoarse. “I didn’t mean for all that to happen. Not in front of you.”

You shook your head, “You don’t have to apologize. I’m here for you, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he whispered, pulling you into his arms again, holding' you like you were the only good thing in his world. “Thanks for not running,” he muttered into your hair, “Most people would’ve bailed by now.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. “I’m not most people, Rafe.”

“Clearly. You’re better.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, and even with all the crap that had just gone down, you could see he was startin’ to relax a little. “You’re stuck with me now,” you teased lightly, tryin' to lift the mood. “No more excuses, remember?”

How did you have him under your spell in such a short amount of time? He felt delirious.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling his heartbeat still thudding hard beneath your fingers.

“Are you really okay?”

For a second, he didn’t answer, just stared down at you, like he was trying’ to figure out how much to let you in. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, running a hand through his hair again, like he was still trying’ to shake off the whole encounter with his mom.

“I-I don’t know,” he muttered finally, his voice low, rough. “I mean… I’m used to her being’ like this, y’know? It isn’t nothing new.” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “But it still messes me up every time.”

You reached up, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes, your fingers lingering on his cheek. “You don’t have to act like it’s not a big deal. It’s okay to not be okay.”

His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a moment, the walls he kept up so tight seemed to crack a little. He swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbin’, like he was trying to push down all the emotions that were building up.

“I just… I hate that she still gets to me,” he admitted quietly, “After everything, I should be able to just… forget about her. But I can’t.”

You tightened your grip on his hand, letting him know you weren’t goin’ anywhere.

“You’re not weak for feelin’ like that,” you said gently. “She’s your mom, Rafe. It’s natural to want her to care, even after all she’s done.”

He closed his eyes for a second, takin' in your words, like he was tryin’ to let them sink in. When he opened them again, they were softer, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he said, his voice low, almost like he was talking’ more to himself than to you. 

You felt him tense up under your touch, and it hit you—he was scared. He’d already cried once, already let you see that part of him that he usually kept locked up tight. Now, he was trying to pull it together, to show you he was strong, that he wasn’t some broken kid. But deep down, you knew he was still hurting, still carrying’ all that pain his mom dumped on him.

“Because I see you. Not the mess, not the baggage. Just you.”

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes flicking’ away again, like he couldn’t handle looking at you right now. “I don’t want you feeling’ like you gotta fix me or something’. I’m not a charity case.”

“You already know how I feel about you saying that.”

For a second, it looked like he might shut down again, like he was going to retreat behind that hard shell of his. But then, he sighed, shoulders sagging a little as he let some of that defensiveness go.

“I just don’t wanna be that guy,” he muttered, almost to himself. “The one who’s always leanin' on someone, cryin' about his problems. I already did that once, and…”

“And what?” you asked, “You think it made me see you any different?”

 “You didn’t see me like some... weak-ass loser? Bein’ all emotional and shit?”

You shook your head slowly, holding his gaze. “No, Rafe. I saw someone who’s been through hell and still manages to keep going. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you strong.”

He was quiet for a moment, takin’ in your words, his brow furrowing’ like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. Then, finally, he let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing' just a little. “You make it so hard for me to push you away.”

You raised an unimpressed brow, “Would you like to push your girlfriend away? Because I can walk—"

“Kidding,” He protested, pulling you back the moment you attempt to move, “Jesus Christ. Can’t even make a joke. You’re not going anywhere,” he muttered, like a prayer “Not now. Not ever.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in his words made you smile against his chest. “Oh yeah?” you teased. “That a promise?”

He chuckled, his hand stroking your back in slow, calming circles. “Damn right it is,” he whispered, his voice low, almost like a vow. “I don’t care what happens, I’m not letting you go. You’re stuck with me now.”

[salmalin]

My sincerest apologies and warmest welcome to my rant about FF7: Crisis Core. Or, as I like to call it,

Propaganda: The Video Game

I say this with the utmost affection. Crisis Core ranks really high up there in my favorite Final Fantasy 7 installments. I played it when it first came out, borrowing it from a friend to play on a borrowed PSP. And, the more I learn about the game and the more I replay it, the more everything lines up.

This game is not about Zack Fair.

This game is about how Capitalistic Propaganda can sink into every aspect of life to the point where it is entirely indistinguishable from reality. And it’s very overt about it. So…

Here we go.

My treatise on Propaganda’s starring role in Crisis Core.

Part One: The Timeline

Something that a lot of people gloss over due to decades of Child Heroes in media—Japanese Shonen and Shoujo series in particular—is how young these protagonists are. We’ll hand-wave a lot of stuff in non-live-action series with just a little bit of suspension of disbelief. And that’s honestly just accepted these days. But here’s the thing about those hand-waves.

Final Fantasy 7 doesn’t do that.

Now, FF7 hand-waves a lot of stuff. For example, how far you can travel in a day by foot, the distance a man weighing approximately 165lbs can jump after being genetically fused with what might as well be a cocaine demon (Jenova), and how much hairspray one can reasonably carry on a cross-country journey while on the run from the feds.

Age is not one of them.

Exhibit A: Yuffie Kisaragi.

Do I really need to say more? She acts her age. So does Zack. And Aerith, even. Most of the characters in the original lineup were over twenty for a good reason. We see several kids in the series, and they all act their age, too—both the OG and the remake. Age is not a thing that FF7 really grapples with. It’s something they take relatively seriously.

Now, to the point.

Zack is 16 when Crisis Core starts…

… and he was 13 when he ran away from home without his parents’ knowledge to join the military.

Which accepted him.

At 13.

Without a parental permission slip.

Think about that for a second.

… Or for the next several parts of this breakdown.

Part Two: The Main Character

As I mentioned in the introduction, Zack is not the main character of the events of Crisis Core. Instead, he is the focal point of the second person POV. This is not the first time Square has done this. It was done most notably with FF9, FF10, and FF12. (I’m not going to go on an Akira Kurosawa rant right now, but please check out his film “The Hidden Fortress”. FF12 and Star Wars episodes 4-6 borrow heavily from this film.) The purpose and position of this character is such that they might best witness the effects the other characters make on the world as their stories unfold, usually in the role of a love interest. For Akira Kurosawa, it may have been told this way because these people are most effected by the decisions being made.

“Well, then, Sal,” you may be asking, “who would you say is the main character? Would that be Aerith, since she’s the love interest, like in the other games?”

No, actually.

It’s the antagonist.

And by that, I mean Genesis.

Hear me out. I used to hate Genesis, for I was once young, full of judgement for flamboyancy (thanks, internalized homophobia), and was led by the narrative to believe he was mean to his friends. Then I met my Lovely beta who loved him, so I wrote a fic for her as a gift. So for that I kinda just… read stuff. Because that’s the thing about Propaganda—you gotta read stuff to navigate it. I read the in-game emails. I re-watched all the scenes I could get my hands on with him. I read his wiki and tried to track down more information about him. Then I watched the scenes in Japanese and gained a better understanding of not just Genesis, but Sephiroth’s character. And I realized that Genesis was put on this road from the start. In fact, a big part of the fact that he’s seen the way he is in Canon—only at his most hostile and lowest points—is because the story is told through Zack’s point of view.

So before we get into the breakdown, here’s the hard facts about Genesis.

1. He was a test tube baby who may or may not technically be Angeal’s fraternal twin brother, which we are not going to unpack right now.

2. He was adopted by a relatively rich family.

3. He was a child genius (which requires not only resources, but drive to achieve), and at a tender young age of like… ten or something? He decided to mess around and literally invented pasteurization. Which is incredible, and really speaks to his knowledge of the world and ability to grasp complex concepts even at a young age. But, again, this is not the time or place to unpack that.

4. He was best friends with Angeal, who might as well have been the sweetest, kindest boy to ever walk the Planet. (I’m biased. I love him.)

5. As a teenager, he became fixated on Sephiroth, who had gained national acclaim as a SOLDIER despite them being the same age. (Please see part 1 and think about that for a second.) He then goes to join SOLDIER and brings Angeal with him. And Angeal brings his step-father’s puritanical “hard work is honorable” mindset with him. (On that note, Angeal and his father’s arc really are a wonderfully scathing letter to companies that overwork their employees and how toxic/unhealthy that line of thinking is. But. Again. We are not unpacking that right now.)

6. At one point he became consumed with LOVELESS, a series of poems with heavy prose and symbolism thicker than syrup. It got to the point where he was so well known for it that there was an entire fanclub dedicated to both him and analyzing the text.

7. While he was in SOLDIER, he repeatedly had his achievements publicly accredited… to Sephiroth.

Over and over and over again.

Everyone did, really. They mention it in the beginning of the game. Sephiroth even got public credit for Zack’s raid on the castle when he wasn’t even there. How much of his legacy is real? How much of it is made up? How much of it was faked? We don’t know. No one knows. But he keeps getting credit, anyways. And when Genesis confronts him about it, Sephiroth doesn’t care. In the Japanese version of their fight scene, you could even say he indirectly implies that he wants Genesis to take his place as the “hero”. In the English, Sephiroth’s line is, “Come and try.” But in the Japanese the line is closer to, “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Which, depending on how you take his tone, can mean wildly different things—from mocking, to earnest, or even admiration—which is especially to tell because he might be annoyed with Genesis at the moment.

Fun Fact: In Ever Crisis, Sephiroth explicitly says they are making up his achievements in the press to target boys his age for recruitment. (Thus why they accepted Zack at age 13.)

My theory on this line is that he is being cynical; that Genesis doesn't understand just how harrowing and even humiliating his experience has been. This only enforces my theory that the "come and try" translation in the English not only does a disservice to a line as wonderfully heavy as, "Wouldn't that be nice?", but fundamentally misunderstands Sephiroth as a character.

8. Genesis then took the fight to Shin-Ra. Inspiring a good chunk of their staff to leave the company, he then staged multiple attacks on facilities, staff, and the main building—which also spilled out into the city of Midgar. He murdered his parents, buried them, killed everyone in town, and… Yeah. It wasn’t pretty. A lot of innocent people died simply because they were vaguely associated with Shin-Ra. These are the actions of a villain. What’s more, this is clearly a sign that he has been acclimatized to death and violence by Shin-Ra to the point where he doesn’t even consider taking hostages.

Except.

Except the entire town was a Shin-Ra town.

Banora, canonically, was a Shin-Ra built town, which means everyone there was basically an employee of the company. No one was safe. Everyone was a threat. And that…

That was how he was raised. And he finally knew the truth—that every moment of his life was touched, controlled by Shin-Ra, all the way down to his very conception. He has never known freedom. He has never known his own identity. And now that very cage was killing him, slowly and painfully, and turning him into something that couldn’t even be recognized as human. He was watching himself rot in the mirror, and it was all because of Shin-Ra’s greed. And as he searched for salvation, he sunk into LOVELESS as he always had, hinging his entire life on Minerva’s Gift because he knew he was dying and that was all he had.

9. And then he died…

10. … but then it turned out LOVELESS was actually kind of a blueprint, and he did meet the Goddess, and he did get reborn without his degradation so he was rewarded for his journey in the end.

So why wasn’t Genesis the main character of the game?

Simple.

His actions challenge the status quo without being about the status quo. It’s a story about revenge. It’s a story about retribution. It’s a story about answering mass violence with mass violence and ultimately being rewarded by it. And while, yes, the series is an action-based violence simulator, the violence in the original FF7 was a guided, tactical effort. (For all that the characters aren’t the brightest bulbs in the sun lamps.) But the biggest, most obvious shift in the narrative happened when they realized their role as terrorists—bringing mass violence to the company via bombing and open aggression—was just resulting in increasing levels of retaliation against uninvolved people. They might as well have been a child beating the ankles of a giant. The goals and themes of the game fundamentally change when they realize that answering mass-scale societal violence with mass-scale physical violence was not only unsustainable, but also wasn’t going to solve their problem.

FF7 is about change and learning when violence—and what kind of violence—is appropriate in the face of different threats.

Genesis’ arc undermines all of that, and making him the main character would contradict the very heart of the OG game.

So, instead, we are positioned as Zack, connected to him through a mutual friend. From there we see all the damage and horror this vengeance brings to those living under the status quo.

But also, that plotline’s a major downer in a lot of ways, so they needed to lighten things up a bit to keep audience involved. And that’s why Zack is, well…

Part Three: Zack is a Himbo

Please, for the love of all that is holy, keep in mind that everything I say here is with the utmost affection.

Zack is dumb as a rock.

He is a charismatic, enthusiastic sixteen year old jock who ran away from home at thirteen years old to join the military. Which, please know, why I say “military” I mean “private security guard force with a standard-issue Death Baton and a license to kill”. The first scene in the game is him being excited that he gets to murder a bunch of people in a simulation, which he is immediately scolded for by his mentor. He is a glorified, souped up private security guard who is canonically only in it for the glory at first. He wants to be a “hero”, but doesn’t seem to fundamentally know what that means. And, over the course of the story, the definition of that clearly changes for him.

Which tracks, because the story takes place over a period of time with high stress.

Occasionally I see people saying they wish that Zack had more complexity to him, and honestly? The game. Would be. SO. BAD.

Full Disclosure: I am not the biggest fan of Zack specifically because he lacks a lot of nuance. I wish he was a bit more complex, too. But I also know that would break the game. What’s worse, if he was still on Shin-Ra’s side because he understood Shin-Ra’s mission… Well… That would make him a villain, or a cog at best. That’s not main character material. It would make the ending more messed up, though.

Anywho, Zack was thirteen when he left home. He had no formal education. He didn’t tell anyone what he was doing. He even joined without a permission slip from his parents. This means that Shin-Ra was accepting thirteen, possibly fourteen year olds into the military. (Some people will say this tracks because you can get a job at fourteen in many parts of Japan. But, and this is important, you aren’t allowed to be a security guard until you’re quite a bit older, and you need a specific license for it, much like in the US.) Clearly they didn’t teach this boy critical thinking skills. Not because he’s a himbo, but because having their Super-Powered Private Security Force With A License To Kill think independently would explicitly go against their interests. (EX: Genesis.)

Shin-Ra needs SOLDIERs to follow orders or the company would no longer be able to function. Seconds and Thirds aren’t even allowed to reject missions. (One could argue that sending certain someone on back-to-back missions would be a good way for them to eliminate undesirables within the ranks by sending them to their deaths, which… would make an incredible fic idea, actually.) We already know that First, Second, and Third Class rank assignments do not actually reflect the power of the SOLDIER. This is canon. I would instead argue that those who make the rank of First Class aren’t necessarily the most powerful, but are instead the most visible in the media, thus the easiest to market, and/or the easiest to manipulate and control. (For a great example of this, see The Umbrella Academy.)

The point is, Zack may have been elevated to his position as a first specifically because he is malleable and single-minded. Even after all he saw with Genesis, he stuck by the company to the very end, with the exception of the time Sephiroth was literally guiding him to fail a mission. Zack allowed himself to take Shin-Ra’s side every time, taking down their enemies and following their orders, preserving his “honor as SOLDIER” as he had been taught. The only thing that made him stop…

… was literally getting put in a jar.

It was when he was no longer a SOLDIER.

Part Four: Honor

There is no such thing as SOLDIER Honor.

I repeat: There is no such thing as SOLDIER Honor.

It is a fictional thing that is borne of an ideology based around hard work. It only has power because it is believed in. It is an intangible social construct similar to the law, mathematical order of operations, and gender roles. So why are Angeal and Zack obsessed with it?

Pretty simple.

Angeal’s step-father followed it.

Now, we know three things about Angeal’s step-father.

1. He was chill with the fact that Gillian was already pregnant when they started dating.

2. He was a very good father.

3. He worked himself to death trying to pay off the sword he bought Angeal.

This, of course, says a lot about Angeal considering he rarely uses the sword. He essentially sees that sword as the symbol of his step-father’s life. Everything he uses it for, he sees as more important than his step-father’s life. That thing is usually Zack.

Zack, who is the child who joined the military based on stories of heroes.

Zack, who rises against Angeal in the name of his own step-father’s ideology and tries to talk him down, even at the very end. But Zack fails because he fundamentally doesn’t understand what’s going on, partially because “Soldier Honor” is just one more aspect of this narrative he was given. It is a narrative that Angeal has had to step away from, even though he doesn’t want to leave the memory of his step-father behind. He was a good man. He was a good, hardworking man.

And that is why he died.

Corporations will use you up until there is nothing left, then honor your memory/sacrifice. Shin-Ra was doing the exact same thing the company his step-father worked for did; using up SOLDIERs until they outlived their usefulness. And Angeal was horrified to realize that his “SOLDIER Honor” wasn’t honor at all.

It was willingly submitting to control.

But, unlike Angeal, over time, this meaning changed for Zack. Partially because he didn't understand it fully in the first place. It became about acting with integrity. It became about helping people. It became about not lying down and watching the abuse Shin-Ra handed out in exchange for literal money; for maintaining the status quo.

At the very end, Zack understood what it meant to be a hero.

Part Five: The Conclusion

To sum up, Zack believed in and idolized the propaganda spread by Shin-Ra at such a young age, and was so convinced by it, that he ran away from home at thirteen to join the military.

He was their target demographic, so they happily took him into their ranks. What’s more, people think this is normal enough that we see no one opposing this, because the only people who oppose Shin-Ra are “extremists” or “violent terrorists”.

Zack then became their loyal puppy, groomed to fill his role as super-powered attack dog to sick on anyone they deemed appropriate, and he filled the role. He believed he was doing good. He didn’t think they were invading another country, because that’s not what he was told.

He went after Genesis, because that’s what he was told, and he wouldn’t let Genesis’ actions shake his faith in the company.

Then he went after Angeal, hoping to get answers, only to become more confused. Angeal taught him about SOLDIER honor. He taught him about a higher calling. He was the one who made Zack truly loyal to the company. This challenged everything Zack knew.

He went with Sephiroth, planning a small rebellion of their own (a white lie on paperwork) to get answers, only to find things he wasn’t ready for and couldn’t fully understand.

Zack is shaken by each of these events. Horribly. At times, we even watch him grieve. But time and time again, he doesn’t leave the company. He sees the damage they do first hand, and he doesn’t leave the company. The company isn’t the problem, to him. He reads their emails, does their dirty work, and “maintains his SOLDIER honor”.

Zack swallows what they give him right up until what they give him is torture.

Zack swallows what they give him until he becomes their victim.

Every step of the way, Zack is fed a story of how the world is. He was raised on it. He lived it. He became part of it. He was paid peanuts to enforce the status quo Shin-Ra installed in the world by force, and he was proud of it because it was, to him, something to be proud of.

Zack believes the propaganda whole-sale, and we get to watch, from the point of view of an outsider, as it slowly destroys his life before killing him.

Propaganda has the power to make suffering normal. Propaganda has the power to make murder righteous. Propaganda has the power to take a thirteen year old boy out of his home so they can give him a sword, and when they point him in the direction of their enemies he charges of his own volition, because they made him believe in their cause. And he believes in their cause because he believes that it makes life better for everyone.

But that’s not what’s actually happening.

That’s just what he was told.

Crisis Core is about propaganda, and the depths to which it can affect our lives. It changes our belief systems. It changes our perceptions of reality. And when it’s torn down around our eyes, it can make us go insane. It can make us violent and unreasonable as we realize just how much violence is being forced upon us—violence other people just plain do not see. It's just a a piece of paper. It's just a law. It's just a job.

It's just a war.

Final Fantasy 7 was about Fascism.

Crisis Core is about the propaganda that built it. It is told from the point of view of a boy, then a man, steeped in it. He watches until the people suffering around him—Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal—are twisted into villains by the truths and lies around them. Genesis and Angeal are tortured by truths, Sephiroth is transformed by lies, and Zack is subsequently hunted down to conceal them.

Crisis Core is Propaganda: The Video Game.

[cerise-on-top]

hi sunshine 🤍 could you possibly do T141 with a hyper-independent S/O?! I’m hyper-independent and sometimes it can get very overwhelming and it would be nice to have someone try to break down my walls to help me understand that i can ask others for help!! sending all the love💕 Thank you!!

Hey there, sure I can!

TF141 with a Hyper Independent S/O

Price: I don’t think Price was too traumatized as a child, so he probably can’t relate to you very well. Maybe to the slightest degree since he, as a captain, is often seen as an authority figure, who needs to be relied on and make all the decisions. It’s not often that he gets to shut off his brain a little and be left alone. But all of that comes from his work environment, not because he was neglected as a child. I think he’d notice fairly quickly how you don’t seem to ask him for anything, ever. Not to get you a small snack, not to ask him what tomorrow’s weather might be, not to help you build that IKEA furniture. Truth be told, he’ll feel as though he’s failed as a boyfriend since his love language is acts of service. He wants to do things for you, but you don’t let him. It would annoy him at first, but he wants this to work, so he’ll talk to you about it. You’d have to be honest with him, or else I can’t see things working out for you both. If you are, then he’ll try his best to be more observant, try to find out what you like and don’t like. He’ll give you as much attention as you want whenever he can and always ask you if there’s some task that hasn’t been finished yet. You need to calm down a little bit, he does want you to rely at least a little on him. Even if it’s just something along the lines of letting him wash your clothes for once. He wants you to relax, to take some time off for yourself so you can recharge. I know it’s hard for you, but he’ll continue to communicate with you. However, you need to do the same for him too. He doesn’t want your relationship to fall apart because of something like this.

Gaz: His parents did not love him after some time, so he had to learn to rely on himself because absolutely no one would do anything at all for him. And yet, he still became successful. So yeah, I think he could relate to you. Though, I think he was able to stop himself from becoming hyper independent somewhere along the way when he was just about to break yet again. I think he would ask you for things here and there. Nothing big, he’s just self-sufficient that way, but he will ask you to cook him a certain meal when he gets home late or maybe draw him a bath. Naturally, he would do the same things and so much more for you, if you ever asked. And yet, you take it upon yourself to do everything on your own. He could probably see himself in you a little bit, which is why he’d approach you and talk to you about it. He can tell you’re not doing too well. That’s probably one of the first times he’ll open up to you about his past as well, to show you you’re not alone. He’ll ask you how he can help, how he can take this burden off your shoulders and help you become a happier person. He will go to great lengths to show you that you can rely on him. It’s okay if you can’t ask him for help right away, he’ll make sure to always tell you that he’s there for you and will try to help you with whatever it is you’re doing, whether it be finishing a report or trying to help you cope with the inherent isolation that comes with being hyper independent. I think, in a way, helping you would help heal his inner child as well. He wasn’t cared for for a long time, so it’s nice to care for you instead. He had no one for a long time either and it wasn’t good for him, so he would do whatever he could to help you through it all. He’s a very patient man too, so there’s that.

Ghost: Ah yes, the king of trauma himself. As you can probably tell, he’ll also be able to relate to you since he was actively abused as a child and doesn’t trust anyone around him, that isn’t the 141, Nikolai, Laswell or you. He does everything on his own, and I don’t think he’ll ever ask you for anything either. Maybe a simple “Do you have a quid? I wanna buy that tea.” but nothing more than that. So it’s probably gonna be difficult for the both of you to admit that something is wrong with you. Chances are you’ll break before him, though, and will be caught having a mental breakdown. If you’re honest with him, then that’s the first time he’ll realize that being like this is, indeed, not normal. He doesn’t want to see you breaking down and crying because you’ve been isolating yourself this much and can’t trust anyone. I don’t think he’ll be able to help you. Sure, he’ll suggest leaving some things to him here and there since he is a very competent man, who refuses to let you down, but he doesn’t really know what to say. At all. So I think he’ll probably make the suggestion of the both of you going to therapy together. I think the therapist will make him realize that he is not, by any means, “normal” and will tell him what might be wrong with him, but that’s for another time. I think he’d try to work it out with you somehow, trying to be more open to set an example for you, as uncomfortable as it might seem for him. He will reward you for “good behavior”, though, such as asking him to clean the bathroom since you were too burnt out that day. He’ll get you some ice cream. Your favorite flavor too, naturally, since he wants this to become a common occurrence. And he, in turn, will try to ask you for help here and there too. Mostly comfort. But he’ll try, just for you.

Soap: Another lil fella, who had a loving family. Sure, his parents sometimes ignored him when he became too loud and rowdy. But other than that? His childhood was pretty alright. He got into a lot of fights, though. Little Johnny never knew when enough was enough. However, he grew up to be a fine and observant man. He knows what you like and how you like it. Do you like your tea with sugar, honey or milk? He doesn’t even need to ask since he already knows. He will do what he can to help you however he can. He knows he’s a damn fine boyfriend, who will make your life as easy as possible. …except, for some reason, his plans aren’t working out? You avoid him more and more the more he does for you, and for no apparent reason as well? Oh, he’s pissed, but will talk to you about it. “Bonnie, you know I love you, right? So why do you avoid me like the plague?” Once he realizes why you’re the way you are, you can count on him being pissed beyond compare. You need to hold him back if you don’t want him to call your caretakers and insult them in a way only an angry Scot can. At that point, he’ll vow to himself to become an even better boyfriend. He’ll remind you that he’ll do absolutely anything for you. And he keeps his word as well. He’ll bring you coffee, he’ll buy groceries, he’ll deck someone for you. Just give him the word, please. However, he’ll be super proud of you if you ever do ask him for help and will give you a big hug and a few kisses. Baby steps, as he always says. He loves you more than anyone else, so naturally he’ll be patient with you and help you however he can. Even if it’s just a small reminder that he could do it instead.

[jennasslut33]

Cairo Sweet x Masc!Fem!Reader

Cairo, Winnie, and R/Reader are classmates. R is in love with Cairo but she doesn’t reciprocate her feelings, not yet at least, and Cairo uses R to make someone else jealous. R has enough of this and decides to forget about Cairo. R and Winnie are besties.

Maybe a smut scene? At the end?

Top!Reader x Bottom!Cairo

If it doesn't fit, it doesn't!

It can and in multiple ways. I vote for the happy ending, but if you feel like you want more angsty ending, I understand! Plus, if you don't want to write about this, it's perfectly fine too!

Thank you, Hope you are doing well!

My pretty girl.

Warnings: smut, 18+, angst a bit?, fingering, praise, pussy eating, Masc!Fem!Reader x Cairo Sweet, top!r, bottom!Cairo.

MNDI!!

it was a normal day for you. You were currently sitting in cairos bedroom of her parents mansion that they left her while they were away. Cairo was studying - as per usual, smoking a cigarette - while you and Winnie were sitting on cairos queen sized bed.

You, you however were in love with cairo. Did she know that? Absolutely fucking not. Because you didn’t know how she felt about you. You didnt wanna take any chances, and ruin the friendship you and cairo have.

While you were lost in thought, staring at a wall, you felt a hand on your thigh, and someone shaking you back to reality and out of your thoughts. When you looked up, you saw cairo and Winnie staring at you, Winnie’s hand on your thigh.

“Are you good? We’ve been callin’ your name for like.. the past two minutes.” Winnie said, looking at you. You blinked a few times, you saw how cairo was looking at you; one of her perfect eyebrows raised in confusion and question, her perfect maroon lips wrapping around the filter of the cigarette— ugh, god, focus!

“hm? o-oh uhm.. yeah! y-yeah, im fine. I just uh.. spaced out for a second. Sorry.” You said, trying act like you weren’t imagining the best way to ask out cairo without ruining your friendship with her.

Winnie raised an eyebrow at you. “what were you thinking about that you couldn’t hear us screaming in your ear for a good two minutes?” she chuckled. You looked at cairo, and then back at Winnie.

“o-oh uhm.. just uhm.. t-tests.. that we have for school.. just wondering if im gonna pass or not..” you lied, because there was no way in fucking hell. That you were gonna admit that you were thinking about how to ask out Cairo, WHILE she was in the room.

“You’re a smart girl, Y/N. I’m sure you did fine, you always get straight A’s, don’t you?” Cairo said, before taking a drag of her cigarette. “Well, sometimes not everything is gonna stay perfect.. I mean, I don’t know Jack shit about the world war. I tried to get as much information as I could, but I really couldn’t. I had such a busy schedule that I didn’t have enough time to study!” You exclaimed quickly, clearly in a bit of a panic. Because, well.. that also did happen.

“hey, hey! Calm down, girl. So what if you get something lower than an A? It don’t matter, all that matters is that you try your hardest, doll face” Winnie reassures. You sigh. You lay back on Cairos bed, and put your hands over your eyes. “God, im so fucking tired..” you say under your breath “then sleep.” Cairo said randomly. You sat up and looked at her.

“In your bed? Seriously?” You said with a raised eyebrow and a questioning tone of voice.. maybe a hint of sarcasm. “Yes, my bed. You’re already laying in it, and the floor is uncomfortable. Just sleep, Y/N” she said, clearly not in the mood for anyone’s bullshit.

“ugh, fine. You’re so bossy.” You said, laying back down and Winnie- well.. she was already knocked out cold on the couch next to the window.

About an hour goes by, and you feel someone’s arms wrapped around you from behind.. you were a masc.. “I don’t think this is how it works.. but uhm.. alright..” you think to yourself. You were just sleeping, and when you turned your head, your face went a bit red. Cairo?? why was she cuddling you?

“go back to sleep..” she said, mumbled into your neck. “why’re you cuddling me?” You asked quietly, not wanting to wake up Winnie. “because, you’re warm.” She said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. You rolled your eyes and you went back to sleep, exhaustion taking over your body.

. . .

The next morning, you wake up and have a shower, do what you need to and get ready. Winnie and cairo were already up. You all walked to the school, following cairo because she knows where she’s going, since she does this every damn day.

When you, Winnie and cairo all got to school, all three of you were standing in the packed hallway, it was filled with students. 7:48 in the morning, “how the fuck do these kids have so much energy at this time of the morning..” you think to yourself.

Cairo saw the girl she liked, being touchy and flirty with another guy, and all of a sudden, you feel someone wrap your arms around their waist. You looked down and saw cairo.

“What’re you doing?” You asked, your eyebrow raised in confusion. You didn’t know that cairo liked someone else. “Nothing, just hold me, please? im cold.” She said, looking up at you. You smiled and held you tight against you.

Winnie wiggled her eyebrows at you, a small smirk on her face and you rolled your eyes and mouthed “shut up” to Winnie, making her giggle.

. . .

Ever since that day, it’s been about almost two months. You think that cairo likes you back, because she’s been touchy, flirty, calling you pet names and letting you sleep in her bed a lot more often.

Today was the day, you were gonna ask her out. you walked into school, and after the first two periods it was break, and you went to go find Cairo. Your heart slamming against your rib cage, you feel like you’re on one of those carnival rides, where they go up really high and then drop, and it makes your stomach feel like your insides were all the way up to your head.

You walked around for a while, and when you walked behind the school, you froze. Your eyes were wide, your heart broke into a million pieces. Cairo was making out with that girl she likes. Tears well up in your eyes. You feel so.. used, betrayed, hurt, angry, just a whole mix of emotions.

You ran off, and you went to go find Winnie. Once you did, you told her everything, and you couldn’t stop crying. You were just some toy for cairo to use, to make that girl jealous. Almost as if cairo never even wanted you in the first place. 

the next few weeks, you became more distant, you didn’t go near cairo, you and Winnie stayed together. Whenever cairo would try to talk to you, you’d push past her and walk off, and go find Winnie.

. . .

Late one night, you got a text.

Cairo <3 (9:32 PM)

“Y/N, please talk to me. Why won’t you talk to me anymore?”

“You don’t even look at me anymore..”

you stared at those texts for a good five minutes. maybe even ten. you then replied back, your thumbs gliding across the screen as you texted back.

“You toyed with me, fucked with my feelings, and you used me to make another girl jealous?? What the fuck is wrong with you, cairo.”

your text was read immediately by Cairo, the three dots popping up on your screen that showed she was typing. while you waited, you scrolled through your social media until you saw her text pop up.

Cairo <3 (9:35 PM)

“im sorry, Y/N. But I really liked her, and she made me jealous, so I wanted to make her jealous..”

“please, I’ll make it up to you. I don’t want her anymore, I want you.”

“I miss you, Y/N.”

“Please, let me make it up to you”

you stared at the texts. You didn’t know if she was trying to get you back for her to use you again, or if she really wanted you to come back to her.

“Whatever. I’ll be over in 20 minutes.”

you got ready, and then got an Uber to Cairos mansion.

23 minutes later..

You finally arrived at her mansion and you walked inside. You walked up the large grand staircase and went to her room. You saw her laying on her bed, and when she saw you, she immediately stood up and went to run to you. You backed up.

“Y/N.. please I—“

“Shut up.” You said coldly, cutting her off. She looked taken aback, but she shut her mouth.

“Do you still want me, Cairo?” you asked, walking towards her slowly.

“y-yes..” she said quietly. she looked up at you, and you grabbed her chin between your thumb and index finger.

“She’s gone now, yes?” you asked, wanting nothing but the truth out of her pretty little mouth. all she did was nod.

“Do you want to be mine, cairo? Do you want me to make you mine?” you asked, your left hand now gripping her waist while your right hand was still holding her chin.

“yes.. please..” she said in a whisper.

“get on the bed.” “Now.” You demanded, which she obeyed immediately without question. You got on the bed as well, and you sat in front of her legs.

“Spread you legs for me.” you said, looking at her through your lashes. She did as she was told, spreading her legs wide. You straddled her hips, and leaned down, capturing her lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. your tongues sliding together, lips moving against each other in rhythm.

You kissed along her jaw, down her neck, and all over her tits, kissing any part of that sweet, smooth, soft, squishy flesh of hers that was visible. You kissed down her stomach, nipping at her skin every now and then, and that’s when you made it to between her thighs. You looked at her.

“Lift up.” You said, your fingers hovering above the waistband of her shorts, she obeyed, lifting her hips as you swiftly pulled her shorts and panties down, taking them off. You positioned yourself between her thighs, and pressed kisses, and gentle nips on her inner thighs. Her pussy was already dripping for you.

“Y-Y/N.. please..” she whined. You smirked, and you looked at her. “Please what? Use your words, Cairo.” You said as you continued to kiss and nip at her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to her dripping core.

“please.. I need you.. i-i want to be yours, Y/N.. please..” she begged. God, it was like music to your ears. “Good girl.” You praised, and your tongue then darted out, flicking over her clit as she gasped and moaned, those sweet, sweet sounds you had always longed to hear.

You continued to suck on the sensitive bundle of nerves, until you slammed two fingers inside of her aching cunt, making her gasp in surprise and pleasure. You didn’t move them just yet. You wanted to hear her beg.

“w-why.. mmh.. w-why aren’t you moving..?” she said through heavy breaths. You pulled away from her clit, your fingers still inside of her. “beg for it.” “You want me to finger this pussy, then beg for it, Cairo.” You demanded. Her eyes widened slightly. “w-what..? w-why do I have to—“ you cut her off “do you want to cum or not?” you questioned, looking at her. she nodded, and whined softly as she could still feel your long, slender fingers inside of her, but not moving. “please.. Y-Y/N..” she begged. “Please what? use your words.” You said teasingly. “please.. please, Y/N, i-i.. I want you to fuck me..” she said through soft whines and heavy breaths.

“There you go. Good girl.” you praised, before taking your fingers out and then slamming them back into her. Your fingers pumping in and out of her aching wet pussy as she gripped the bedsheets so tight her knuckles turned white. She moaned, whimpered, begging you to slow down because she couldn’t take it, but you didn’t oblige. Your goal was to make sure that she wasn’t gonna see that other bitch again, that she was utterly, and completely yours.

“mmh.. I-I wanna—“ she said through moans, her own moan cutting her off mid sentence. “you wanna what? talk, doll face.” you said, still fingering her at a brutal, and senseless pace. “c-cum! w-wanna cum, please!” She begging through loud moans. You could tell she was close, her velvet coloured walls clenching tightly around your fingers as you then curled them upwards, hitting the sweet, soft, spongy spot inside of her, making her gasp.

“Cum for me, cairo.” “I wanna hear you scream.” you said, not slowing your pace. As you kept going, and hit that sweet spot inside of her, her back arched off of the bed slightly, eyes rolled to the back of her head, as she screamed with pure pleasure. Her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave.

you helped her ride out her high, finally slowing down your movements, and pulled your fingers out of her. Your fingers now coated in her sweet juices. you put your fingers in your mouth, tasting her. “Mmh.. you taste so good.” you then pulled your fingers out of your mouth. you kissed Cairos forehead, and caressed her cheek.

“You did so well for me, baby.” You praised, looking at her as you smiled softly. You cleaned cairo up, and cuddled with her in bed, spooning her from behind, your arms wrapped around her waist, your face buried into the back of her neck.

All of a sudden, Winnie walked in, jaw dropped. “What. The fuck. Did I just listen to.” She said, looking at you and cairo. “What the actual fuck, are you doing here? You heard everything?” You said, slight disbelief in your tone. “Yes, I heard everything. Goddamn, who knew you were such a dom, Y/N.” She smirked, looking at you. You rolled your eyes and looked at her. But she spoke before you could.

“Sooo..? What’s the deal? Are you two finally together now?” She asked, a hint of hope, amusement, and a tinge of excitement in her voice as she bit her lip, awaiting an answer. “Yeah, we are. She’s mine now.” You said, looking back at cairo who was now fast asleep.

“My pretty girl.”

you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Cairos neck, before closing your eyes and falling asleep.

________________________________

I hope this is good enough for you btw😭💕

I am still currently working on Keep Quiet pt.2 tho, so stick around pookies💋💋

[allthingscons1dered]

Like Brothers

Batbros x batsibling!reader, hurt/(some)comfort. Reader is going through it.

warnings: canon typical violence, tons of angst, lots of self doubt. I think this is pretty gender neutral, I apologize if not.

For the past few weeks, you’ve been miserable. It had started with a particularly hard case you’d worked on involving Professor Pyg, and the victims he’d taken hostage. You had caught him in the act of dismantling one of them.

It would have made you physically ill, if there was time for it. Thankfully, your muscle memory took over and you took him down— hard.

Writing the report had been excruciating. You had seen a lot of gruesome and evil in this work. But this… it was stuck in your mind, replaying over and over.

You couldn’t sleep the first night. It was there, in every dark corner of your room and every time you closed your eyes. And if it wasn’t playing out in front of you, the screams were ringing in your ears with every second of silence.

So you trained and tired yourself out, thinking it would be the solution. It would never be so easy, of course. In fact, it was almost worse.

Because now you were sluggish and you had a much harder time occupying your mind with other thoughts. And when you finally drifted off, the nightmares plagued every moment of your slumber.

Sleeping no more than two hours a night was wearing you down. And now, after multiple weeks of this sick game, you were starting to make mistakes.

The first slip is not on patrol, but during school. You fall asleep in the middle of algebra. Which shouldn’t be a huge deal, right?

A classmate decides to take a picture and send it to the newspaper, suggesting issues in the home. And the next morning, you’re featured on the front page titled ‘Bruce Wayne: Unfit Parent?’.

The Wayne family has had its share of unflattering and false news headlines, so it’s truthfully more embarrassing than worrisome.

“That’s definitely not your angle, kiddo,” Jason says as he snags an apple from the bowl in front of you before stalking out of the kitchen.

Bruce ruffles your hair. “Try looking a bit more lively today, okay?”

You smile and duck your head, acting sheepish, but you’re overwhelmed. Having hoped you’d get over this nightmare situation by now.

Instead, you wake every night in tears or sweating bullets. The nightmares are always changing. Sometimes, you’re the one being captured. Other times, you’re forced to watch as your loved ones become disfigured, unable to aid them.

Patrol is the only time that you can clear your thoughts and focus on the task at hand. Until you engage too early, with not enough backup. Spoiler bails you out. She assures you that it’s no big thing, everyone has bad days.

You try to believe her.

The next mistake is made when you’re unfocused against Two-Face goons with Red Robin. They’re lousy fighters and yet, you misjudge a hit, sending you flying into the wall behind you.

It was a rookie mistake. And one you wish had happened without an audience.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tim asks as he hands you an ice pack for your split eyebrow. “You’re not seeing double or anything, right?”

You’re mad and embarrassed.

“I’m fine, Tim.”

His brow furrows. “You’ve been acting kind of strange lately,” he says.

You give him no answer, picking at your nail beds.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You narrow your eyes and grit your teeth. “I’m fine. It was just a bad day.”

He looks skeptical and eyes you blatantly. “You’ve been having a lot of those recently,” he starts, but you don’t let him continue.

“Whatever,” you snap, jumping down from the bed in the med bay. “You know, I don’t point out all of your missteps.”

You’re irritated, and more than that— you’re ashamed. Everyone in this family has witnessed something gruesome like you had a few weeks ago, and they continued on just fine. Why couldn’t you?

“Wait,” Tim stresses, voice filled with regret. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

A piece of your heart aches. You hardly ever fight with Tim. Though you may not be super close to him, you value his opinion. But now you’re suspicious of what he thinks of you. He’s obviously taken notice of your shortcomings.

You pace a few steps away from him, not quite looking at him as you toss over your shoulder, “I’m fine, Tim. Worry about yourself for once.”

He catches your arm with his hand, turning you around to face him. “Okay, now I know you’re not fine.”

You laugh, though you don’t know why. Nothing about this is funny to you. “Why do you care?” You ask, your words laced with irritation. “You never have before.”

Stop, you think to yourself. You’re clueless as to where this is even coming from. Have you always had these insecurities?

There’s hurt on his face, and it’s clear he’s trying to analyze your behavior so you rip your hand out of his grasp before he has the chance to.

“I’m just stressed about that stupid headline, Tim,” you lie easily, not giving away any of the usual body language while doing so. “So, drop it.”

You stalk off and hide in your room for the rest of the night, hating yourself for acting so stupid.

Tim didn’t hate. You knew that. Right?

The next night on patrol, you end up getting pistol whipped by one of Black Mask’s men. Your movements were too slow to block the strike— your body exhausted from the lack of sleep. Which lands you on the ground and seeing stars with a gun pressed against your temple.

Luckily, Red Hood was there to prevent the making of sidewalk art composed entirely of brain matter.

Your brain matter.

“Jesus,” he whistles low, hands tilting your head towards the streetlight to look at the purpling bruises on your cheekbone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take such an avoidable hit this hard.”

His comment burns you, even without intention. It’s a meaningless jab, one that’d you normally laugh at and return in good nature. Tonight is different.

“Yeah, he caught me off guard, I guess,” you dismiss him, shoving his hand away.

Jason rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “Yeah, no shit. You’re lucky I was here tonight, or this would be an entirely different conversation.”

Shame claws through your chest, causing you to clench your jaw. You pull the hood of your cloak over your damp hair and grab your grappling hook, firing and swinging away before more can be said.

You don’t sleep that night, which is no surprise. The imprint of the cool barrel of the handgun has made a lasting impression on your mind. It’s a feeling you can’t shake, sending chills up your spine.

Even worse is the disappointment you’ve seen in everyone’s eyes recently. It leaves your skin crawling and your heart aching.

When you make your way to the Batcave the next evening, you find three of your brothers conversing around the mantle of the Batcomputer. Only Jason is suited up, but is maskless like the other two.

You briefly wonder where Bruce might be, before remembering that he’s on a JLA mission.

Damian is with Jon at the Kent Farm for the weekend, thankfully. You don’t think he’d let you live down one mistake after another.

The sound of your approach draws their attention to you, and each of them seems worried.

“Uh, hey guys,” you greet, a small awkward wave as you survey their body language. The smile on your lips is strained but you’re hoping it leaves a good impression nonetheless.

It doesn’t, of course.

Dick steps forward, the golden boy he is. “Hey, kiddo.” Kiddo, always ‘kiddo’ with him. “You seem a little run down recently. Everything alright?”

You could come clean and explain that you’ve been going weeks without proper sleep, earth shattering images haunting you around every corner. They might understand.

But then you look at the three of them and consider all that they’ve witnessed and lived through, and now you feel sick with shame.

How pathetic you are, for believing you’ve been having such a hard time when each of them has overcome major adversity.

So no, you’ll save yourself the embarrassment of admitting that you’re dealing with childish bad dreams.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you laugh with a shrug. “I’m fine.”

You catch eyes with Tim and you realize he must’ve brought this conversation about.

Dick reaches out a hand, setting it on your shoulder. “You know you can talk to us, right?” His tone is gentle and it’s almost enough to break your resolve.

Almost.

“Why are you all convinced something is wrong with me?” Lie, your mind says. Lie until you believe it too. “I have a few bad days and suddenly, I’m not good enough for you.”

“Woah,” Jason raises a hand in defense. “No one said that, kid.”

“No,” you agree, stepping out of Dick’s grasp, “but you’re all thinking it.”

“This!” Tim raises a hand and points an accusatory finger at you, looking from Dick to Jason with his brows raised. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

A breath heaves from your lungs as you huff, face pulsing red with your embarrassment. “Oh, so you’re talking about me behind my back now?”

Tim levels you with an intense look. “I asked you what was wrong and you refused to tell me.”

“Because there’s nothing wrong,” you shout, your voice echoing throughout the cave. “God, why won’t you just believe me?”

You hate the way your voice cracks with the last statement. It’s obvious that you’re slipping.

“Hey,” Dick approaches you again, raising a hand placatingly, “Tim is just trying to help. We all are.”

Your fists are clenched, crescent-shaped marks digging into your palms. The air is so thick with tension that it is difficult to breathe.

“If you don’t tell us what’s going on, we’ll have no choice but to bench you.”

The speed at which you look up at Dick is breakneck. His jaw is set, eyebrows creased. Everything about him screams that he means business.

He’s dropped the ‘approachable-and-friendly-older-brother’ gig, branding himself the adult in the room.

“You can’t do that,” gasping, you thread your hands through your hair.

Dick folds his arms against his chest, raising his chin slightly. “I can,” he affirms, strong in his decision. “Bruce left me in charge and I know that he’d agree. You need to work through your issues before you can go back out on patrol.”

“That’s rich,” you snap, “coming from you of all people.”

Dick doesn’t take the bait of your harsh words. Continuing to stand solidly against you, he only raises his brows.

Tears come forth but they don’t fall from your eyes. You look at Jason and try to silently plead with him, but he seems just as content with this.

You tear your eyes away and trace them back to your eldest brother, looking him in the eyes. “Fine,” you concede, voice flat. You look back to Tim and glare. “I hope you’re happy.”

Confusion breaks across his face before fading into annoyance. “If it means you’re not out there being reckless— then yeah, I’m thrilled.”

You can’t control your eye roll as you scoff. “Whatever. How long is this prison sentence supposed to last, anyway?”

Dick tilts his head, something close to disappointment etched into his features. “This isn’t a punishment. You need time to decompress. Something is clearly bothering you.”

You blink at him. Whatever answer he’s searching for, you’re not giving it to him.

“Look, kid,” Jason stalks forward, his hands on his hips. “You can either save yourself the trouble and tell us now, or we’ll just wait you out. Your choice.”

“Why would I tell you guys anything?” You spit, your words setting the air around you ablaze. “You’ll only judge me even more than you already do.”

Jason shakes his head, denying it. “You know it isn’t like that.”

“Yeah,” Tim interjects. “When have we ever judged you?”

You sneer at him. “What do you think you’re doing right now, genius?”

“We’re trying to look out for you,” he snaps back, “like brothers.”

There’s a lump in your throat. And you can’t clear it. You face away from them, tears stinging your eyes. They were trying to help you and you couldn’t even let them in.

You shake your head, “You’ll be waiting awhile, then, because the only thing wrong with me is being suffocated by your constant worrying.”

The shock on their faces is evident as you take your leave, stomping up the stairs and into the manor. You regret your words, wishing that you had just come clean. It was clear that they cared about you, that maybe your insecurities were lying to you.

But what if they weren’t? What if they weren’t just insecurities?

“I know you’re angry with me,” Tim begins, following behind you down the hall toward your room— you had failed to notice his presence, “but we’re just worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

You stop at the door to your room but you don’t enter. Nor do you look at Tim.

“I hear you at night.”

That grabs your attention. Your eyes snap to him and his face is sympathetic, not judgemental. It’s worrisome, not hateful.

“What?” You ask, breathless.

“The nightmares,” he reiterates. “You aren’t able to sleep because of them.”

It’s not a question— you realize that he knows this to be true. It makes sense. He’s a detective, just like the rest of the family, but Tim is different.

He discovered the identities of both Batman and Nightwing, all on his own. Simply because he wanted to. And he obviously wanted to know what was causing you to behave this way.

“It started a few weeks ago,” you admit bashfully, voice barely above a whisper.

Tim frowns, brows lowered. “Professor Pyg.”

You nod, eyes vacant and unfocused. “All I can hear, when I close my eyes, are their screams. And then I think, ‘I could’ve gotten there faster.’”

A humorless laugh escapes your lips and your flies to cover your mouth, startled by it.

Tim reaches out, grabs your free hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You did the best that you could.”

Your somber eyes meet his, just before tugging your hand away. “And it still wasn’t enough.”

His expression falls as you slip away and into your room, hiding from the shadows of the manor and from the guilt you couldn’t possibly hope to outrun.

A/N: Sorry for, like, a crap ton of angst. Okay, I’m not sorry. It’s what I’m best at, unfortunately. Would yall be interested in a pt2?

[morphean42]

Rewatching Falsettos I was suddenly struck by an epiphany that I’m sure someone else has had at some point, but I needed to write out. This ending scene from “March of the Falsettos” jumped out at me from the first watching, but even though I recognised the nod to the “See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil (and lesser known do no evil)”, I didn’t know what it meant. Today, I tried to piece it together, and I think I’ve gotten it. These poses represent core attributes of the characters, as well as Trina’s view of them, so click the read more to hear the ravings of a mad man wayyyyyy too obsessed with this show

The idea of ‘evil’ to me is very loose. It can represent a lot of things for these characters; their actions towards each other, their character flaws, etc. But, for this analysis, one can replace ‘evil’ with ‘truth’. Each of the characters refuses to see, speak, hear, or ‘do’ the truth (please excuse the lack of grammar for that last one), and that is where the ‘evil’ stems from. Taking into account this is mostly based on Trina’s view of the men, I think ‘truth’ fits in well.

Let’s start with the one who fits in least— Jason. “March of the Falsettos” is a physical manifestation of how Trina views the men in her life (as childish and immature), but some slack is given to her son. He doesn’t sing his lines in falsetto, because we acknowledge he is in fact a child, and has more of an excuse to act as such. So, take his analysis with a grain of salt. The boy has every right to be a little selfish— he’s 10.

So, Jason has his hands over his eyes, representing ‘See No Evil’. This is a direct nod to his character flaw; his view of the world with him at the center. Although his parents are less than good to him, he still sees them through unfair lenses— ‘My mother’s no wife/My father’s no man’. He sings ‘everybody’s yelling and everybody’s ruining it’ in “Everyone Hates His Parents” because he is unhappy with how his Bar Mitzvah is turning out and wants to simply cancel it. He doesn’t have a concept of doing things for other people (again, he’s a child, I’m not blaming him per se), so he is blind to the will of others and refuses to see their side. In addition to this, even when Mendel tells him Whizzer will most likely die, Jason pleads with G-d to save him. He still views himself as the center of his world, thus Mendel’s line ‘Life’s not all about him’.

In addition to this, his ‘See No Evil’ means something when thought about from Trina’s perspective. She thinks her son is blind to the truth of the world, this son who stays inside playing chess alone, this son who ‘seems like an idiot to [Trina]’. She worries Jason will turn out like these other men in her world, blind to everyone but himself.

Now we come to Mendel, who has his hand over his mouth in ‘Speak No Evil’. Mendel’s flaw throughout the show is his refusal to accept the truth of any situation. He tells Jason to ‘feel alright for the rest of your life’ instead of actually trying to help, he is ‘frightened of questions’, he repeats over and over ‘I’ll make you well’ to Whizzer in the hospital. He will never say anything negative, nor will he allow others to do so. Even in the end of the show, he tells Jason they don’t know ‘when or if’ Whizzer will get better— he is still not accepting that it’s a definite thing. He believes that if he and those around him just don’t speak about the real problems, they’ll go away.

Trina’s view on Mendel is complicated here. In the next song she agrees to marry him, of course, and we know she at least likes him (the most of all three adults she knows). She says that Mendel ‘decides the role to assume’. She looks down on the fact that he can’t speak the truth to her, that he’s expecting this happy wife, this perfect new family. He wants her to play along with him and make their home together, even if she sings ‘liking our lives’ instead of loving. Even if he’s better than Marvin ever was, there’s still an element of control here. Mendel wants this family, and he wants them to all pretend nothing is ever wrong again.

Marvin, our titular character, is in the ‘Hear No Evil’ position. This one is fairly straight forward— he wants control and will never listen to the needs of those around him. He can’t hear what they actually need, he simply does what he wants. He also struggles with his masculinity throughout Act 1, his outward misogyny and need for the nuclear family (his treatment of Trina and Whizzer), so he imagines himself at the top of his family system. He will never take any other opinions, or counsel, in his decisions, seeing that as weakness. He’s similar to Jason in this regard, as he only hears what he wants to (like Jason only sees what he wants). He ignores the pain around him to pursue his own desires, he covers his ears and moves on.

Trina, of course, despises Marvin at this point in the show. Her subconscious showing Marvin in ‘Hear No Evil’ can tell us a lot about their relationship, how she was never seen as equal in decisions. Marvin always put her to the side, not listening to her needs, acting without thinking of her.

Whizzer is complicated. I’ve seen people laugh at his pose before, saying we’ve got ‘See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil, and Gay’, but I think he represents the ‘Do No Evil’. This final character is not often seen with the other three, and can be depicted with arms over the chest or covering the genitals. It wouldn’t make sense to have Whizzer be the outlier (especially because the fourth depiction of evil does exist), so I’m assuming he is supposed to be ‘Do No Evil’.

This fits in well with Whizzer’s flaws throughout the show. He doesn’t accept responsibility for his relationship with Marvin; seen in the lines ‘I’m not responsible’ during “Late For Dinner” or ‘I will not accept blame’ in “Games I Play”. He sleeps around, despite Marvin wanting monogamy, and clearly did not have an issue hooking up with a married man. Whizzer fundamentally doesn’t think his actions have consequences, he believes he has done nothing wrong (he has done no evil). Whizzer also has a hard time admitting to his love for Marvin. He says it ‘depends on the day’, he flat out says ‘no’ when asked if he loves him. He doesn’t want to show his love for fear of being too vulnerable, so he hides and doesn’t do anything about it.

To take this even further, him being ‘Do No Evil’ can represent his later question of ‘why me of all men’ when he is dying. He hasn’t done anything to deserve his death, and ‘all men get what they deserve’, right?

Moving on to how Trina sees Whizzer. He’s come into her life and ruined her marriage, though she ‘wants to hate him’ she can’t. She views him as the cause of her recent hardships, his actions being to blame. He is ‘Do No Evil’ to her because he has done evil in taking Marvin away (though it is obvious Trina is better off because of it). He has upset the careful balance of her world by breaking down the lies of her marriage and exposing the truth— Marvin never loved her, could never love her. She puts him in ‘Do No Evil’ because what he has done is what the rest of the men won’t— see, hear, speak the truth even at the detriment of her family.

Another way to view this is, of course, the fact that ‘Do No Evil’ is rarely seen with the others. Trina is separating Whizzer from the other men, not putting him in the same category as the rest of the ‘family’. He views himself as an outsider as well, yes he’s part of the group, but only as a technicality. Only as Marvin’s lover. Once he leaves Marvin, he is easily taken out of the equation and the remaining three do not feel the loss.

My conclusion is such: Each of the poses our men do represents the character flaw they must overcome throughout the show, as well as how Trina views them in her mind. I really hope this made any sort of sense, and if someone has already said all of this well… I guess it can’t hurt to be thorough.

I’m way too tired to read through this again so if there are spelling mistakes please print out this post, correct it in red pen, and send it to me by carrier pigeon.

[gimmethatagustd]

the heart nebula (1) | kth + pjm

♡ Summary: It has been a year since Jimin and Taehyung started dating, and they still haven't slept together. Jimin thinks they haven't because Taehyung doesn't want him; Taehyung thinks Jimin won't want him if they do. (Or, the one where Jimin is Taehyung's moon, and Taehyung is from the stars.)

♡ Pairing: Taehyung x Jimin

♡ Words: 8,039

♡ Rating: Explicit

♡ Genre: Science fiction, established relationship, angst, smut, fluff

♡ Warnings: Talking about outer space is both sexy and romantic (i bet you didn't know that), taehyung has tentacles or whateva, relationship insecurity, self-esteem issues, misunderstandings, sexual tension, making out, taehyung in grey sweatpants

♡ Post Date: September 16, 2024

♡ Notes: The number of times my brain tried to get me to write “testicles” instead of “tentacles” was unreal.

♡ Masterlist ♡ AO3 Crosspost 

♡ series masterlist ♡

Jimin’s parents hadn’t wanted him to move in with Taehyung. Some of Jimin’s friends also questioned what seemed like a hasty decision, though most were supportive.

Jimin finds it all rather ridiculous. Sure, he understands how big of a step moving in with someone is, and he knows that some people consider one year far too early to be taking significant steps in a relationship, but he doesn’t care. 

Anyone with reservations hasn’t spent enough time around Taehyung. If they had, then they wouldn’t have harassed Jimin over if he really wanted to do this.

Jimin was the one who had brought up the conversation about moving in, anyway. It was Taehyung who had been hesitant. Jimin can’t blame Taehyung for it; he knows their relationship is the only serious one Taehyung has ever had.

Although they haven’t spoken extensively of their past relationships, Taehyung being one of the most private people Jimin has ever met, Jimin knows that he has been Taehyung’s first for a lot of things— like saying “I love you" and moving in together — all significant steps that Jimin has taken before with other partners and forgets that not all twenty-eight-year-olds have taken them, too.

Taehyung is anything but hesitant now as he drops a cardboard box onto the bed beside where Jimin sits with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap.

It's impressive how strong Taehyung is despite his lean, unsuspecting figure. He nearly single-handedly carried all of Jimin’s belongings from their rented moving truck up the four flights of stairs to his apartment unit. Jimin had felt silly following behind Taehyung with an occasional plant or lighter box cradled in his arms.

“T-shirts and shorts folded, everything else hung?” Taehyung asks as he refolds one of the t-shirts packed in the cardboard box.

He doesn’t look up from his work, so he misses the affectionate smile that Jimin directs at him.

“Yup! I’m surprised you noticed that,” Jimin says, biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth in a teasing kind of way Taehyung loves.

Jimin’s comment causes Taehyung to look up and roll his eyes. 

“Ah, you act like I don’t pay attention to you.” He grabs a second t-shirt and ignores the tongue Jimin sticks out at him. “You should be nice to me. I’m handling the worst part of moving for you.”

"Oh, really?" Jimin taunts, sitting back with his hands pressed behind him to prop himself up as he watches Taehyung carry the neatly folded t-shirts into the walk-in closet in his—  their  —bedroom. "And what part is that?" he asks.

“Unpacking!” Taehyung’s voice sounds muffled; he’s likely bent over, putting away the t-shirts in the dresser drawers.

Unpacking is the worst, aside from all the manual labor that goes into the literal act of moving. The dark strands of Jimin's hair are gathered into a neat ponytail on top of his head, keeping his face cool after sweating all morning. 

Mornings are supposed to be cooler, but the late-summer heat is relentless at any hour. Jimin is lucky that Taehyung isn’t stingy with his electricity bill and lets Jimin crank up the air conditioning. They’ll be splitting their utility bills from now on, anyway. That little detail is such an adult thing, not even exciting, considering it’s just paying bills, but it makes Jimin giddy because from now on, it’s  Jimin and Taehyung. 

They’ve always fit each other well like they were meant to have found each other despite being tiny, insignificant specks in a grand universe. Their hearts knew, but now that they'll live together, they're ready to show the world it’s them. It’s always going to be them, Jimin hopes.

"You look exhausted, little moon," Taehyung murmurs when he returns from the closet and finds Jimin curled up on his side, embracing a large body pillow. The pillow is shaped like a mandu with a whimsical face, and its smile mirrors Jimin's.

“I’m not,” Jimin says with a yawn that he tries to hide behind the pillow.

He buries the bottom half of his face in the soft fabric and squeezes the plushie against his chest. Taehyung won the pillow for Jimin while playing a game at a local festival. It happened on their cliche first date just over a year ago. 

Jimin will never forget the sparkle of the colorful lights reflecting in Taehyung’s eyes when he shyly admitted that he’d never been to a festival. His confession was both sad and confusing to Jimin. How could Taehyung have missed out on so many experiences that Jimin finds commonplace, even inconsequential? Jimin supposes that these are privileges he never took the time to be grateful for.

“Oh, my little moon, what a sneaky thing he is,” Taehyung playfully chastises Jimin with a boxy smile. “What will I do with him?”

Little moon, my moon, pretty moon  — Taehyung gave Jimin the nickname early in their relationship. Unconventional and romantic, it's somehow just as perfect a reflection of Jimin’s beauty as it is a reflection of Taehyung's quirky personality that drew Jimin to him in the first place.

Jimin shifts to the edge of the bed where Taehyung is standing, both forgetting about the half-unpacked box of clothing and other trinkets that Jimin had hastily thrown into it in a moment of last-minute packing panic.

“Give him kisses, maybe?” Jimin looks up at Taehyung with wide eyes and juts out his plush bottom lip.

“Hmm… kisses, the only universal currency.”

Jimin smiles in response, understanding Taehyung so well but never quite knowing what might come out of his mouth next. His breath hitches when Taehyung runs his fingers through the hair at his temple, gripping the strands gently but firmly.

The way Taehyung treats Jimin is tender. While he refers to Jimin as his moon, he handles him delicately, as if aware of his mortality.

Life is promised to no one, and Jimin feels that's why Taehyung's lips meet his with deliberate slowness. Taehyung's touch sends electricity through Jimin's being, and his lips shock him with an energizing current that galvanizes his soul.

Parting his lips, Jimin flicks his tongue against Taehyung’s top lip. Taehyung always opens up to him without fail, being so obedient and giving. Jimin curls his fingers around the collar of Taehyung’s t-shirt and lets out a quiet moan when Taehyung gives again, following Jimin onto the bed with his hands pressed into the mattress above Jimin’s shoulders and his knees between Jimin’s legs.

It’s good, so good, having Taehyung close, but it’s never enough. Taehyung hovers above Jimin so that no part of his body touches him aside from their lips and the brush of their noses bumping into each other.

It isn’t that Jimin is frustrated. He loves Taehyung and greedily takes whatever he can get from him, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t crave more. It has been a year, and they still haven’t had sex or any physical intimacy beyond making out. Jimin hasn’t even seen Taehyung naked yet.

Hesitantly, Jimin bends his right leg and presses it against Taehyung's side. When Taehyung doesn't react, Jimin goes further by hooking his leg around Taehyung's waist. The pressure he applies to Taehyung's lower back is light enough for Taehyung to resist, but it's clear that Jimin wants to pull him in.

He wants so badly, so badly he needs it. He needs to feel Taehyung’s body on his, to feel Taehyung’s hips spread his legs and press into his thighs. He wants to feel, touch, and taste…

Taehyung’s hand is warm when he cups the back of Jimin’s thigh, bare skin on display from his athletic shorts riding up his legs. Slowly, he unhooks Jimin’s leg from his waist and lowers it onto the bed.

“Tae,” Jimin sighs as the familiar heaviness of disappointment settles on his chest where he wishes Taehyung’s weight could be instead.

Taehyung's smile is small but warm. He kneels between Jimin's legs with one hand still on Jimin's thigh, caressing his soft skin.

“We should order food. Your stomach is grumbling,” Taehyung says as he taps his fingers against Jimin’s thigh. 

Taehyung isn’t a liar, but Jimin never believes him whenever he pulls away like this. There’s always some excuse, something that comes up, something, something, something. Jimin and Taehyung get so close, and then something.

“Fried chicken?” Jimin asks, and he can’t suppress a smile when Taehyung’s eyes light up.

Jimin is Taehyung’s little moon, and Jimin knows that Taehyung is his little star, a smattering of twinkling constellations that remind Jimin that there’s more out there in the world than he can ever fathom.

It still hurts, though, when Taehyung pulls away. Taehyung's attention is drawn to his phone as he searches for their favorite restaurant to order delivery while Jimin flops back onto the bed.

Jimin is all too aware of the strain against the waistband of his shorts that will go unresolved until later when he's alone in the shower with his bottom lip crushed between his teeth and only one man on his mind.

“If I was a constellation, which one would I be?” Jimin asks one Sunday evening.

Jimin and Taehyung are in their living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes. Taehyung is on the couch with a box at his feet, while Jimin sits on the floor in the middle of the room. Taehyung stops mid-motion, his hands gripping the folds of the cardboard box as he opens it. With a furrowed brow, he looks up, his intense eyes meeting Jimin's across the room. His heavy gaze makes Jimin feel like Taehyung is delving into the depths of his soul, searching for the correct answer.

Jimin had assumed he was asking something silly, just a fun thought exercise to explore while they unpack the decorations they plan on putting up in the living room. It's been three months since they moved in, and their apartment is still cluttered with boxes and half-finished efforts to integrate Jimin's influence on Taehyung's space. Many of Jimin’s friends have said it could take a whole year before they finish unpacking. Jimin sincerely hopes that isn’t the case.

A few seconds pass before Taehyung returns to sorting through the canvases in his box and replies, “Cassiopeia.”

Why is Taehyung's extensive knowledge of outer space so attractive? Jimin can feel his face growing warm, and he's sure his cheeks have turned a rosy pink. It might be Taehyung's intellect or the authority with which he speaks. Or it's simply that Taehyung feels like he knows Jimin so well, and being understood feels good, even if Jimin has no idea what it means.

“Who is Cassiopeia?” Jimin clears his throat before asking, hoping his voice doesn't give away his flustered state.

“In Greek mythology, she was a queen who was chained to a throne in the sky by Poseidon for being vain after she claimed that either she or her daughter were more beautiful than the sea nymphs.” Taehyung’s lips quirk as he speaks, struggling to fight off a grin when Jimin releases an appalled gasp.

“Are you accusing me of being vain?”

Losing his battle, Taehyung flashes Jimin a lopsided grin as he stands from the couch. He selects one of the canvases from his box and picks up a hammer and nails from the coffee table.

“No, little moon,” Taehyung ruffles Jimin’s silky hair as he walks past him to the opposite side of the living room. “Inside Cassiopeia is the Heart Nebula, located 7,500 light-years from Earth. It's shaped like a heart and glows red because it’s filled with ionized hydrogen gas.”

Skeptically, Jimin reaches for his phone, which sits on the coffee table beside the little box of nails. Sometimes Taehyung is so intelligent about such random things that Jimin wonders if he’s actually bullshitting him.

A quick Google search proves that Taehyung is a genius and never a liar, and Jimin loses himself in a gallery of high-definition photographs of the Heart Nebula, glowing pink against a black galaxy speckled with other stars and space things Jimin doesn’t understand.

“It’s beautiful,” Jimin says, pointing to his phone to show Taehyung that he looked up the nebula online.

Standing at the far wall, Taehyung smiles over his shoulder. It only takes a few hits of the hammer on the nail to be the appropriate length to hang the first painting.

“You are my moon, but also my heart, Jiminie,” Taehyung says with a wink and a blown kiss that Jimin pretends to shoo away.

“Ahhh, why are you so corny!” Jimin only complains so he can act like Taehyung doesn’t render him breathless.

Taehyung shrugs and crosses the room to pick a new canvas from the box. Most of the paintings are ones that Taehyung created for Jimin as gifts, and a few are matching artworks they created together during painting date nights. Jimin had the paintings scattered across his old apartment. It’s nice to see them have a new home next to Taehyung’s other things, right where they belong.

“Thank you for putting these up,” Jimin says after Taehyung empties the box of paintings. They’ve nearly run out of space on the living room walls, but there are plenty more rooms for overflow if needed.

“Of course, heart,” Taehyung teases the new nickname. It’s cute despite being corny.

Jimin leans back on his palms, legs crossed, and stares up at Taehyung as he breaks down the cardboard box.

“What would I do without you?”

“Continue on living, silly.” Taehyung pretends to tap Jimin on top of the head with the flattened box.

“Would I?” Jimin asks as he stares up at Taehyung. He would be sparkly-eyed if it weren’t for his squinted eyes from how deeply he’s smiling. “Do you think I could handle hammering anything into the wall? Look at me.”

With the hand that isn’t holding the flattened box, Taehyung grabs Jimin’s bicep, which he puts on display to demonstrate that he doesn’t have the muscle for home improvement.

“You look adorable,” Taehyung says with a light squeeze of his arm as he helps Jimin stand up. They both know Taehyung is the brawns and the brains in his relationship, even if he’s occasionally a little strange. Jimin fell in love with his quirks.

“Am I adorable enough to nail into the wall, too?” Jimin asks sweetly.

Sometimes, Jimin worries that he’s being too pushy with Taehyung. It’s a tricky line to balance, being horny as fuck for the love of your life and wanting to be respectful, all while having no idea if intimacy will ever happen. Two normal adults would just talk about it, but Jimin fears Taehyung’s response if he asks outright.

“Do you want me, Tae?” sounds like a terrifying question because there is a 50/50 chance the answer will be “ No. ”

So, instead, Jimin does precisely what he shouldn’t and keeps trying without asking clarifying questions that could save both of them from discomfort and potential heartbreak.

“What do you mean?” Taehyung gives Jimin a boxy smile, head cocked to one side in playful confusion.

With soft laughter, Jimin takes the flattened cardboard box from Taehyung’s hands and tosses it onto the floor. Taehyung’s hands belong on his hips, fingers digging into the warm skin exposed by his sweatpants hanging low on Zhis hips.

“Oh, Taehyung-ah, you know. Nail me,” Jimin repeats gently, with an innocence that sharply contrasts how he uses Taehyung’s hands on his hips to pull them closer, closing the gap until he feels all of Taehyung’s body pressed against his.

Taehyung is firm with muscles but still soft in the spots that matter. It isn’t like Jimin never touches Taehyung; they hug often, and Taehyung likes to be the big spoon at night, but it isn’t the same as a moment like this when Jimin is so pent up with desire that he practically trembles with it.

Then there are those moments when Taehyung gives Jimin hope, like now, when his fingers flex against Jimin’s waist, tightening his grip. The response may be a reflex or a nervous fidget, or it might be that Taehyung wants Jimin. Is that so bad to want? To be wanted?

Jimin doesn’t think so, but sometimes he wonders.

“Nail you?”

“Against the wall.” Jimin leans into Taehyung, squeezing his biceps and lifting up on his toes to whisper in his ear. “You’re strong, babe. I think you could handle me.”

It’s cute how red Taehyung’s ears grow beneath his shaggy, mousy brown hair. There’s a slight flush to his tan cheeks, as well, something rosy and pretty, and Jimin realizes he’s not sure he’s ever seen Taehyung embarrassed before. Usually, he almost immediately backs out of intimacy with precision and finesse. Today, though, he stares at Jimin’s bitten lips and takes deep, shaky breaths.

“Tae,” Jimin murmurs as he brings his lips to the edge of Taehyung’s jaw. Each kiss along his jaw elicits another deep inhale until Taehyung’s breathing hitches and catches in his throat.

“Yes, moon?”

Sliding his hands up Taehyung’s biceps until he can wrap his arms around his shoulders, Jimin pulls Taehyung down slightly, just enough to speak against his lips in an almost kiss.

Taehyung’s eyes are squeezed shut, and his pretty lips are parted. His breathing isn’t quite a pant, but it’s breathy enough to make Jimin’s entire body erupt into goosebumps when he turns his face slightly, and Jimin feels his hot breath on the side of his neck.

“Kiss me, please,” Jimin’s lips brush Taehyung’s cheek, and he asks only half of the request that’s burning his chest, waiting to come out.

Jimin knows exactly what he wants to say but can’t bring himself to do it. It feels too monumental to ask for intimacy when the possibility of Taehyung getting spooked is so high.

Surprisingly, Taehyung doesn’t say another word. Keeping one hand on Jimin’s waist, Taehyung cups the back of Jimin’s head with his other hand, supporting him as he tilts to meet Taehyung’s lips. Like always, Taehyung gives when Jimin wants to take. He opens his mouth at the first nibble of his bottom lip, letting Jimin slip his tongue inside and meet him with the tip of his own. The kiss feels desperate and urgent, as though they’ve been starved of each other. Jimin supposes in a way they have, though he never thought Taehyung cared that their intimacy never went beyond a sensual kiss.

It’s easy to surrender to whatever this is. Jimin doesn’t care why Taehyung is rocking against him, letting Jimin shift so his thigh is between Taehyung’s legs. Maybe he’ll care later when they’re no longer panting into each other’s mouths, and Jimin doesn’t have his hands tangled in Taehyung’s hair. For now, Jimin has a one-track mind that he can’t shake, especially when he realizes something that makes him weak in the knees.

Taehyung is hard. Jimin can feel him through his loose pajama pants where Taehyung’s cock is pressed against Jimin’s thigh. He doesn’t dare look down at what he knows will be a prominent bulge partially masked by the checkered print of Taehyung’s pants.

Jimin would be a liar if he said he hadn’t thought about Taehyung's body, but now that Jimin feels Taehyung's cock pressed against his thigh, warm and thick, he realizes Taehyung is much more than Jimin expected.

Taehyung kisses him like he has been waiting for his whole life, and Jimin considers how possible that may be. They joke that they’re soulmates, but the more Jimin learns about Taehyung, the more he feels connected to him in a way he hasn’t felt with anyone else. It’s cliche, but anything Jimin feels deeply enough to make his heart ache is worth paying attention to.

But when Jimin’s hope for more than just a kiss reaches its peak, Taehyung pulls away.

“Your parents,” Taehyung pauses to clear his throat, “we need to get everything put together before they get here.”

Jimin opens his eyes only to narrow them immediately, eyebrows scrunched together and wrinkles lining his forehead.

“What?” he asks, out of breath. “They’re coming next week. We have plenty of time.”

Taehyung still holds Jimin’s waist, one thumb hooked around the waistband of his well-worn basketball shorts. It isn’t a sexual touch, just a way to keep Jimin close, but Jimin feels Taehyung’s presence against his skin like a hot iron brand.

“Time means very little, almost nothing at all,” Taehyung sounds exasperated, as though he can’t understand why Jimin is making this more complicated than it needs to be.

Except Taehyung is the one not making sense.

“Okay…” Jimin says blankly as Taehyung takes a step back.

Taehyung grabs the flattened cardboard box and a few other recyclables to dispose of, leaving Jimin alone in the living room with a tight smile.

Jimin should be accustomed to this behavior by now, but each time, Taehyung somehow manages to cut a new wound in him that hurts worse than the last. There was a time when Jimin thought he was invincible, that it was him and Taehyung against the world. These days, he feels like he’s on the outside, looking in. If Jimin is Cassiopeia, Taehyung is 7,500 light-years away on Earth, looking at stars that may not actually exist anymore.

Jimin thinks having his parents in his and Taehyung's apartment feels weird. Their apartment is a sacred space where they can escape the world's expectations and judgment. Inviting Jimin's parents into their space is unavoidable and frustrating. Jimin loves his parents, but they are difficult.

Especially his mother.

"So, Taehyung, remind me, what is it that you do for work?"

When Jimin's mother asks the question, Jimin flinches and nearly drops the shot glass in his hand. Luckily, the thick glass only thuds against the kitchen counter. Taehyung and Jimin's parents turn around to look at Jimin, but he waves them off and returns to making their beverages.

As a bartender, Jimin is always volunteered by others to make drinks at parties and family gatherings. Tonight is no different, with his parents visiting his and Taehyung's apartment for the first time and meeting Taehyung.

Jimin realizes they should have gone out to dinner rather than cook at home. It's nearly ten o'clock at night, and his parents are asking for a second drink, looking far too comfortable in their spots at the kitchen table while they hold Taehyung hostage in his own house. 

It would be impolite for Jimin to kick his parents out of his apartment, but he doesn't know if he can survive another four hours with them. At least Taehyung isn't sweating through his dress shirt like Jimin is.

Clearing his throat, Taehyung adjusts his posture in his chair and answers Mrs. Park's question.

"I'm an aerospace engineer for the Korea Aerospace Administration, eomeonim," he is polite, perhaps more than necessary.

"Is that so?"

Jimin stands with his back to the kitchen table, tending to their drinks. He has known his mother for nearly thirty years; he can sense the exact expression on her face merely from the tone of her voice. The familiar scrutinizing look causes her to furrow her brows and purse her lips as if she's caught a whiff of something unpleasant. The look itself doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's her thinking face; the thoughts could be good or bad. It's what she says when wearing the expression that matters.

"Yes, eomeonim," Taehyung responds almost cooly, but Jimin isn't entirely paying attention.

"Looking at this apartment, I wouldn't assume you have such a prestigious career. What is your salary?"

"Eomma!" Jimin nearly drops the three glasses of somaek he's delicately carrying to the table.

Taehyung immediately stands up to help, but Jimin hushes him until he sits down again.

"What? I was merely curious." Mrs. Park's eyes widen with feigned naivety. Only the subtle twitch at the corner of her lips betrays her poorly crafted ruse.

"The apartment is modest," Mr. Park finally speaks up once he has had a sip of his drink. "There is nothing wrong with that. I respect a man who lives within his means and doesn't flaunt his wealth. Or degree, for that matter."

Despite the positivity, Mr. Park's comment feels like a dig at Jimin, who dropped out of college after a year. Unfortunately, Jimin knows he tends to overthink his parents' words and intentions. It isn't much use, but he can't stop himself.

"Taehyung is incredibly intelligent, one of the smartest people I know. But he is very humble," Jimin says as he returns to his seat at the table.

Taehyung and Mrs. Park sit at each end of the small table, with Jimin and Mr. Park across from each other on the sides. When Taehyung doesn't respond to Jimin's compliment, Jimin turns to look at him and frowns at the sight of Taehyung drinking his somaek entirely too quickly.

"Clearly," Mrs. Park agrees, though Jimin doesn't understand what she means, "and what are your future plans, Taehyung? Do you want to remain in Seoul long-term? I assume you aren't from here, considering your satoori."

Jimin bites his bottom lip and avoids Taehyung's gaze, though he realizes Taehyung isn't looking at him anyway. His mother has always been invasive; Jimin supposes most parents are when meeting their child's significant other for the first time. It's just hard to watch, knowing that Taehyung is a very private person.

"I grew up in a small town outside of Daegu," Taehyung says with a smile that doesn't brighten his face the way it usually does. 

He doesn’t answer Mrs. Park’s other questions. 

Mr. Park grunts at Taehyung’s reply, going on a little tangent about a good friend of his from Daegu. Jimin doesn't pay attention, already knowing the friend his father is talking about. Instead, he watches Taehyung, who is unusually quiet and still. Jimin wants to blame Taehyung's standoffish attitude on nerves, but it feels like something more. Despite his polite language and concise answers to even the most probing questions, Taehyung comes across as apathetic, even cold. He isn’t making an effort to lighten the mood, even though Jimin already prepped him for what being around his parents would be like, particularly his mother. Before Jimin’s parents arrived, he and Taehyung had agreed to have each other’s backs and to stay positive. Now, Taehyung won’t even look at Jimin.

The confusing tension Jimin feels strumming between him and Taehyung – tension he isn't even sure Taehyung notices – snaps when Taehyung abruptly stands from the table after Mrs. Park asks him about his past love life.

"Please excuse me," Taehyung mumbles and avoids everyone's gaze as he rushes out of the kitchen without a second look.

With his nostrils flared, Jimin stares his mother down as they hear the bedroom door slam shut. 

“Eomma.” Jimin doesn’t say anything else. If he tries to articulate his thoughts, he may be the most disrespectful he has ever been to his mother. Even though she may deserve it, Jimin was raised too proper for that.

"All I asked was if he had been in a serious relationship before this," Mrs. Park sniffles and pats her cheeks with the corner of her napkin as if there are tears to be dried.

“Eomma,” Jimin repeats with frustration, “you shouldn’t ask someone a question like that.” 

The fake tears are quickly forgotten when Mrs. Park narrows her eyes at Jimin. “Jimin, I just want what's best for you, and I don’t feel confident that Taehyung is. He is not right.”

Jimin takes a deep breath as the room tilts. His mother continues talking and complaining, and his father chimes in to likely lessen the blow of his mother’s words, but everything sounds like Jimin is underwater. He doesn’t think he’s going to pass out, though he never has before. Everything is still in color. There’s no ringing in his ears or spots in his vision. He can’t breathe, though. It’s as if there’s a hole in him, a leak somewhere, and each breath is air that passes straight through his lungs without bringing him any sense of calm.

“Taehyung is just different,” Jimin whispers through the tightness in his chest. “Different isn’t bad. He just… he has a different way of thinking, eomma, and he’s shy. He was nervous to meet you.” 

Mrs. Park scoffs, “How am I supposed to accept him into this family when he can’t even be polite?”

What hurts the most is that there is truth to her words. Jimin thinks back to the tension between him and Taehyung the day before. It’s always the same: Jimin seeks a connection Taehyung won’t give him, and Jimin wonders if it means Taehyung doesn’t want him. Is that what everything comes down to? Is Jimin fighting for a partner who doesn’t even want him? 

“Different isn’t bad,” Jimin repeats as if saying it again might convince her. It sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself. 

Jimin’s parents leave by midnight. At some point, Taehyung returned from the bedroom, quietly apologizing. Only Mr. Park paid the apologies any mind. 

Jimin doesn't speak to Taehyung after his parents leave. Jimin goes through his routine in silence. He deliberately avoids looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he changes into his pajamas and washes and moisturizes his face. The sight of the frustration and self-doubt etched into the lines on his forehead and the deep creases that form around his mouth is too much to bear.

Ignoring Taehyung may seem unnecessarily cruel since the night wasn’t particularly great for either of them. The thing is, Taehyung ignores Jimin, too. Two wrongs don’t make a right, but Jimin doesn’t care. He’s tired of getting his feelings hurt and pretending it doesn’t matter. 

When Jimin and Taehyung first moved in together, Jimin felt like every night was a sleepover with his best friend. Now, Jimin just feels cold as he climbs into bed with Taehyung, who stares silently at the ceiling. 

“Goodnight, Tae,” Jimin mumbles as he reaches over to turn off the bedside lamp. 

If Taehyung responds, Jimin doesn’t hear him.

Jimin wakes up in the morning still pissed. Despite brushing his teeth the night before, he has a bad taste in his mouth, and a god-awful headache throbs in the middle of his forehead. Overall, it's a shitty way to start a Sunday morning.

When he gets out of bed, Jimin can hear the steady thump of music from down the hall. The sound is muffled by the closed door of their guest bedroom, which has recently been transformed into a workout room. Jimin rarely uses it, but when he does, he prefers peaceful yoga routines or guided meditation sessions from his favorite calming app. Taehyung utilizes the room far more often than Jimin and prefers more rigorous activities, such as weightlifting and cardio. 

Based on the beat of the music, it sounds like Taehyung is listening to a hip-hop playlist. Jimin knows that means he's doing cardio and probably woke up pissed off, too. Jimin hopes so; he doesn’t want to be the only one seething. He wants to slide down the hardwood floors of their hallway in his fuzzy socks pulled loose at the toes from being slept in, bust into the room with hell’s fury, and be met with Taehyung’s own fury, ready to combust with his. 

Instead, when Jimin flings the door open, he's greeted by Taehyung casually running on the treadmill as if nothing is wrong, as if the bullshit from the previous night never happened, as if meeting Jimin's parents and fucking everything up means nothing to him. It's as if he doesn't care at all.

Taehyung presses a few buttons on the treadmill, gradually slowing down to a leisurely walking pace. When he runs his fingers through his hair, Jimin is reminded that Taehyung is one of those insufferable people who seem to never sweat. For some reason, it makes Jimin even angrier.

"What is wrong with you?" Jimin raises his voice just enough to be heard over the music playing from the Bluetooth speaker.

Looking over his shoulder, Taehyung furrows his brows as his eyes scan Jimin, probably noticing his crumpled pajamas, unwashed face, disheveled bedhead, and arms folded tightly across his chest.

Taehyung hits the stop button on the treadmill. "What do you mean?"

"Obviously, there's something wrong, Taehyung,” Jimin scoffs and hates that he hears his mother in his own words. “It's either you or it's me. It's probably me. Am I really so repulsive to you? Do you really despise being with me to the point where you won’t touch me, won’t fuck me, barely even kiss me, can't even pretend to like my parents for just one night?" 

Taehyung steps off the treadmill but doesn’t move toward Jimin. They stare at each other from across the room, Jimin hovering in the doorway, Taehyung with one hand wrapped around the arm of the treadmill to steady himself. His face crumples as Jimin speaks, his frown melting into a pained expression Jimin has never seen on him before. 

"Little moon..." Taehyung starts, but Jimin interrupts him. 

"Don't call me that," Jimin snaps, blinking back unshed tears that burn the corners of his eyes. 

It isn’t fair how things have devolved so quickly. It has only been a few months of living together; Jimin thought being together would improve their relationship. He thought the insecurities and confusion would be resolved if they spent more time together. It doesn’t help that Taehyung’s hours at work are chaotic, and Jimin has revolving shifts at the restaurant bar he bartends at. It doesn’t help that Taehyung is so private, not letting Jimin around when he changes or showers. It doesn’t help that Taehyung has no family from which Jimin can learn and gain insight into Taehyung's life before meeting him.

Jimin thought they would be closer, but instead, he feels like he’s losing his mind. 

Taehyung’s expression softens, though he doesn’t look any less upset. It’s the most emotion Jimin has seen from him all weekend. 

"I don't hate being with you, Jimin."

Even though Jimin insisted that Taehyung call him by name, it still stings when he does. 

"So what is it then? You don't hate it; you just dislike it?" Jimin inhales sharply through his nose as he tries not to cry. "Do you even want me, Taehyung? Because I can't do this. I really can't."

Sighing, Taehyung lets go of the treadmill, reaching for his phone to turn off the music. Jimin thinks he will step toward him, but instead, Taehyung wraps his arms around his own torso. He embraces himself tightly as if holding himself together with his arms.

"You have no idea how much I want you," Taehyung says softly. The tender look in his eyes makes Jimin's heart crack even worse than it had when he watched pain twist Taehyung’s face. 

“Then what’s wrong?” Jimin quickly swipes his fingers across the apple of his cheek, gathering the few tears that have managed to escape. 

Taehyung's gaze darts to the floor. “I can’t tell you," he murmurs.

“Taehyung, I want to help you,” Jimin pleads. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you, but I want to help you, okay? Even if it’s me… if you don’t want me to be here, I’ll leave, okay? I just hate how… I just hate this.” 

It isn’t even about sex, not really. If Taehyung told Jimin right now that he never wanted to have sex, Jimin wouldn’t even care. He would hug him, tell him he loves him, and never bother him about it again. But not knowing why  Taehyung pulls away from Jimin and why he won’t even stick around to spend time with Jimin’s parents despite knowing how meaningful those relationships are to Jimin… 

All Jimin ever gets from Taehyung are evasive answers and forced smiles. It’s eating away at him. 

Taehyung lets his arms fall to his sides and gestures for Jimin to come closer. Jimin follows, drawn to Taehyung as always, their strings attached and stars aligned.

“Please don’t be upset with me,” Taehyung whispers. He keeps his eyes on the floor as he talks. “And please don’t be scared.” 

Scared? Jimin frowns so deeply that his head hurts, and it only worsens when Taehyung reaches over his shoulder to grab the back of his shirt and pull it over his head. 

“Why would I be scared of you, Tae?” 

Jimin watches Taehyung fold his t-shirt and hang it over the arm of the treadmill. The only thing scaring him is how strange Taehyung is behaving. 

Taehyung's eyes close for a moment as he takes a deep breath. Whatever he's about to reveal is causing him even more anxiety than the previous night's discomfort. Jimin can sense it; he can see how Taehyung holds his energy in his body, with slumped shoulders and a tight chest.

Rather than respond to Jimin’s question, Taehyung opens his eyes and stares into Jimin’s. He adjusts his posture to stand at his full height. Jimin watches the fear in his eyes and almost misses the movement behind him. 

“Jimin, I’m–” 

“What the f–” 

Jimin's breath catches in his throat as he stumbles backward, bumping into the sharp edge of the doorframe.

Two long tentacles emerge slowly from Taehyung’s back. They’re smooth with a slightly ridged underside and tapered, ending with a flexible, rounded tip. One wraps around Taehyung’s bicep while the other rests on Taehyung’s shoulder, the tip occasionally moving in a way that reminds Jimin of a cat curious about its surroundings. 

Jimin’s eyes flit from the tentacles to Taehyung’s face and the insecurity that etches wary lines in his expression. His heart quickens in his chest, fluttering and forcing his blood to rush into his ears. He hears nothing but his own heartbeat and sees nothing but tunnel vision that darkens everything around him aside from Taehyung with fucking tentacles. 

“What the fuck, Taehyung,” Jimin whispers, tilting his head back to rest against the wall. His legs are on the verge of giving out.

"I'm not from Daegu..." Taehyung admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I can fucking see that!"

Jimin's voice is high-pitched and followed by shaky laughter. Taehyung cringes. The tentacle wrapped around his bicep quickly shrinks back, retracting until only one tentacle is left. Jimin has the strange feeling that the tentacle is looking at him. 

"The Korea Aerospace Administration discovered my planet three years ago," Taehyung speaks slowly, never taking his eyes off Jimin's. “In exchange for a peace treaty, a group of scientists came to Earth to be studied.” 

A flicker of pain scrunches Taehyung’s expression, tightening his brow. He lets go of it quickly, but Jimin sees it and understands. Taehyung doesn’t need to explain further; what has happened is clear. Nothing good can possibly come out of being handed over to the government to be studied. Jimin can only imagine what experiments were forced upon these unknown people. Aliens. 

Taehyung is a fucking alien. 

Jimin opens his mouth, but he finds he can’t speak. He can hardly even exhale. His throat feels dry and stuck like it’s closed off. 

“I’m so sorry…” Taehyung breaks eye contact once more as the tips of his ears turn pink. 

The remaining tentacle touches the side of Taehyung’s face, just along the edge of his cheekbone, before pulling away to curl around his forearm. It looks like it’s… comforting him.

“I don’t know what to say,” Jimin confesses, his voice trembling.

Taehyung responds with a forced smile aimed at the floor. 

“I won’t blame you for thinking I’m a monster. I am, at least, on Earth. At home, I’m just a regular guy,” Taehyung says with a dark chuckle. “I have a mother who complains that I haven’t given her offspring yet. My father is a scientist, too. I grew up wanting to be like him.” Taehyung looks up at Jimin again, this time with wide, pleading eyes. “My little sister is still in school. We have school, just like here. She wants to be a teacher of human studies. She finds all of you fascinating.” 

Tears slip down Jimin’s ruddy cheeks, trailing along his cheekbone to travel his jawline. He doesn’t wipe them away; more will come. 

Taehyung has a family. He went to school and became a scientist. He risked his life for the good of his people and ended up here just to argue with his boyfriend about secrets and intimacy. 

Everything strange that Taehyung has ever done flits through Jimin’s mind like rolling credits, one moment after another, clearly laid out. His behavior at dinner with Jimin’s parents, his knowledge of space, his quirky little jokes Jimin rarely understands, and the pet names he gives Jimin, his job as an aerospace engineer. 

“Do you actually go to work?” Jimin chokes out. 

For some reason, Taehyung laughs. His reaction makes Jimin's face burn with embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says once he has calmed down his anxious giggling. “I just… That wasn’t what I expected to be your first question after finding out you’re dating a monster.” 

Jimin frowns. "Are you going to eat me?"

"Why would you think that?"

"I don't know. You keep calling yourself a monster."

Taehyung laughs again, and this time, the joy reaches his eyes. "Little moon, I'm not going to eat you," he says, tentatively stepping closer. "I'm in love with you."

Taehyung has said it a million times, but hearing his love confession always makes Jimin’s stomach flutter. 

"Why didn’t you tell me?" 

Jimin peers over Taehyung's shoulder at the tentacles extended from his back. Since their conversation calmed down, two more tentacles have emerged, all of them peeking around Taehyung's body as if they're cautiously watching Jimin.

"I never told you because I didn't know how. I'd been on Earth for barely a year when I encountered the most captivating creature I've ever seen," Taehyung says, looking at Jimin with a soft smile. "Was I supposed to walk up to you and say, 'Hi, I'm Taehyung, the alien! My tentacles and I would love to get to know you!'?"

Jimin struggles to look Taehyung in the eyes. 

“You could have said that,” he mumbles as he watches two of Taehyung’s tentacles bat at each other.

Taehyung snorts. “I could not have.” The playful tentacles seem to annoy Taehyung because he swats at them, and they shrink back slightly, separating themselves so one is on either of his shoulders. “Aliens aren’t real.” 

The statement sounds silly coming from a man with tentacles, but Jimin thinks he understands. If their roles were reversed, Jimin doesn’t think he would ever share his secret with Taehyung. 

“Well,” Jimin takes slow steps until he meets Taehyung in the middle of the room, “I’m not afraid of you. And I don’t think you’re a monster.” 

Up close, Jimin can see that Taehyung has been crying, too. His eyes are red and puffy, and his cheeks are tear-stained. He’s still gorgeous, though, a pretty crier. He could be nothing else in Jimin’s eyes. Tentacles and all. 

“Thank you,” Taehyung reaches for Jimin’s hands and grins with Jimin, offering both for Taehyung to hold. 

Jimin keeps waiting for something to happen, something horrible that will have him packing his bags and getting the fuck out of there. But it's the same two hands holding his, with the same rough calluses from lifting weights and the same warm skin that always bring Jimin comfort. Taehyung is still the same, with soft brown eyes that stare into Jimin's with the intensity of the desire to know and understand. Taehyung is just Taehyung. 

“You don’t need to hide them. They’re cool,” Jimin says, smiling when Taehyung laughs again. He could listen to those giggles for the rest of his life – plans to, actually. 

One of Taehyung’s tentacles sneaks out further, hovering near Jimin’s forearm. It doesn’t touch him, but something about how it moves makes Jimin think it wants to. 

“Are they sentient?” Jimin asks, looking back and forth between the tentacles and Taehyung. 

Taehyung furrows his eyebrows, deep in thought.

"It's hard to put into words for a human to understand... It's like my tentacles are an extension of myself. I can control them, but sometimes, they act on my emotions and instincts without me telling them to. Sort of like your subconscious. They have their own little personalities, but I think it’s because each one is a concentrated piece of my personality. When I let them free, they know what my mind and heart want without me having to tell them. Does that make sense?"

It doesn’t, but Jimin nods anyway.

“I guess the most important thing to understand is that they’re a part of me, and they won’t harm you,” Taehyung’s tone is gentle but firm. "My people, we use them to communicate and understand each other's emotions." He squeezes Jimin’s hands when he talks, drawing Jimin’s eyes up to his. “Okay, moon?”

“Yes,” Jimin nods again, “I never assumed you would hurt me, Tae.” 

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Taehyung raises his eyebrows as he takes one of Jimin’s hands and directs it toward the tentacle still hovering near his arm. 

"What?" Jimin squawks, but he doesn't stop Taehyung from guiding his hand.

The tentacle first pokes at Jimin’s outstretched fingers. After testing the waters, it slides against Jimin’s palm, though he doesn’t dare try to grab it. As the tentacle glides along the inside of his wrist, Jimin feels the line of tiny bumps on the underside that send tingles through his skin. 

“They’re really soft,” Jimin notes in surprise. He shivers as the tentacle climbs his arm and slips underneath his t-shirt sleeve.

"You're the first human to touch them who’s not doing it to study them," Taehyung admits shyly.

It’s shocking how quickly anger creeps up Jimin's neck and flushes his face. Just the thought of someone poking and prodding Taehyung makes him feel sick to his stomach. 

“It’s okay, little moon.” Taehyung reaches up with his hand to run his fingers through Jimin’s hair. “I’m okay now. I don’t have to go through that any longer.” 

“Okay.” 

Jimin doesn’t see the point in bothering Taehyung about it. Maybe one day he’ll ask, but today has been a considerable step for Taehyung. Jimin doesn’t want to push him even further than he already has. There’s just one more question he’ll allow himself to ask. It seems within the boundaries of what has already been uncovered. Still, Jimin has to take a deep breath to dispel his nerves.

"Can I see the rest of you?"

Taehyung finally breaks out into a full smile, all crooked and boxy. 

"This is all of me," Taehyung says with a laugh. "What more did you expect? Antennae? Green skin?"

"Leave me alone!" Jimin swats at Taehyung, embarrassed by his own curiosity. It’s the damn movies! Jimin doesn’t even like watching alien movies. 

"My people aren't too different from yours," Taehyung says with a knowing smile.

Maybe for some humans, learning that one’s boyfriend is an alien would be devastating. For Jimin, as he opens his arms to wrap around Taehyung, careful not to crush his tentacles, learning this vital information about his boyfriend only helps him understand Taehyung even more. Gone are his concerns about being enough or Taehyung’s happiness. Knowing the secret of who Taehyung is is a gift. It’s a guarantee that Jimin will be able to care for Taehyung better and nurture their relationship with a better understanding of what Taehyung needs.

And right now, Jimin knows that Taehyung needs reassurance — something Jimin is more than eager to provide him with.

“I love you so much, my pretty moon,” Taehyung murmurs into Jimin’s silky hair. He cups the back of Jimin’s head, keeping him close as if he thinks Jimin might pull away.

“I love you, too. Always.”

Always is a bold statement, and Jimin means it with all his heart.

♡ series masterlist ♡

My fanfiction works are created for entertainment purposes only and do not represent real individuals or events. My content is exclusively posted on Tumblr (gimmethatagustd) and AO3 (gimmethatagustd, daddytaehyungie). Copying, reposting, modifying, translating, or using my content for AI purposes is strictly prohibited. All rights are reserved.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Are there any fics about Nanny Crowley and Bookseller Aziraphale?

Thank you^^

Hi! Here are some nanny Crowley and bookseller Aziraphale fics...

I Hear You're in Need of a Nanny by emptymasks (G)

Aziraphale was trying his best to raise his son on his own, but at a certain point it was difficult to be running the bookshop while also keeping his eyes on Oscar all day. Crowley liked working with children, and children liked him, they’ve just always been drawn to him. A lot of people prefer hiring a female nanny to a male one, and as much as he thinks it’s a little ridiculous, it works out fine for him. He was happy to identify and present as female and tap into his maternal instincts. He’d been wanting to take a job closer to his apartment, but there’s not that many people wanting to hire a nanny in Soho; then he comes across a job advertisement in the local newspaper posted by a Mr. A. Z. Princer. When he meets Oscar, he finds a little girl tired of being told by the world that she's a boy. Single Parent! Aziraphale & Nanny! Crowley, Human AU

The Demon on Her Shoulder Has Her Back by Barely_a_human (T)

"'Hi, Crowley.” “What did you need, dear?” “I’ve- uh- been kicked out of my house. I don’t know where to go, and it’s raining. I’m sorry for bothering you, but you said I could call if I needed anything, and right now I need a grown-up that would be on my side.'" or Crowley adopts a young trans girl named Eve, and she get's to witness the almost-apocalypse, as well as Crowley finding love with an angel, from an outsiders perspective.

dancing queen (guaranteed to blow your mind) by Quilly (T)

Warlock has a secret, and it's that he invited three former staff members from his estranged parents' household to his wedding in the hopes that one of them is the one Nanny is still in love with. Crowley is just wondering what entity he pissed off to make three of his old flames show up the day before his adopted kid's wedding.

Connection by AppleSeeds (M)

In March 2020 when the UK goes into Lockdown, Crowley is faced with the unenviable task of homeschooling Warlock. A silver lining emerges when Warlock starts attending literature classes on Zoom run by local bookseller Aziraphale, who Crowley finds extraordinarily attractive. Crowley jumps at the chance when the opportunity arises to actually talk to Aziraphale away from Warlock and his classmates, and the two of them begin to build a friendship via Zoom. When they realise their friendship could be the beginning of something more, they explore ways to feel connected to each other until the day comes when they can finally be together in real life.

Millennial Blues by comicgeekery (E)

Aziraphale is a standard retail bookseller trying to make ends meet. One day a man named Crowley shows up with a flyer for a variety show looking for new acts. And, well, Crowley is handsome and Aziraphale has been lonely...and working on some magic tricks. What harm could a bit of light flirting do? It all should be fine as long as no one asks about his past...

- Mod D

[affableramen]

Assorted creditor Pantalone x afab!debtor reader headcanons. Episode one

((highly requested))

tags: tsundere!pantalone ; condescending, slightly vulgar villain ; he is a meanie ; toxic relationship ; early stage of relationship ; manipulative Lone ; slight degradation+humiliation ; choking ; slap dynamics (you slap him) ; degrading names (“bitch”) ; pet names (“kitten”) ; sexual themes ; criminal themes ; pantalone has chronic illnesses

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Madman’s note: I like mean guys and judging by what we know about Pantalone so far (Arlecchino’s voice-line, Lazzo teaser, Wriothesley’s weapon, Pantalone’s artefact) he fits this category perfectly. I see the pattern of a rude boy here. Charming on the outside but once he opens his mouth it’s disgusting (hahaha.) He probably likes mocking and lecturing others, that’s for sure vibing in the Lazzo. He also talks a lot (thanks Cholde). As for the toxic assorted au, Ik half of you don’t like reading gentle n sweet Pantalone, but when I see this man I just can’t imagine him being cruel to his lover who accepted him when the Gods did not. I really think he is very soft inside (with a person he trusts). He’s all about equality and fairness so probably he treats people the way they treat him, and if ur nice to him, well Panty acts with equal respect to you back. That’s for the personality part. Speaking of other aspects, at least you guys get a happy ending. Coz I hate bad endings. Don’t wanna fuck up huge efforts. The angst and struggle was worth it. Come get your man guys. He’s like the mean classmate who bullies you but is secretly in love with you. As for the gentleman part, I wish I could write something more than just him protecting the lady, coz I believe Pantalone to be a big deal of a gentleman who has his standards even though what he does for a living is very questionable. I’m afraid it will be too much information for this post already. I must also mention that he might say a lot of disturbing and condescending things in the beginning. Oh, and to avoid any misconception--i don’t like writing innocent readers. My reader is fierce, chronically exhausted and crazy.

⟣

“You will be my prize. A perfect fit for a powerful man like me. You have no friends, your parents are far away, the only person to care for you is your grandmother who was, for sure, foolish enough to take a loan from Northland Bank. You are helpless in front of me, and I enjoy seeing that smug smirk disappear from your face once you realise you’re completely at my mercy. All alone, with your life depending on me. And I will, by any means, show you mercy if you are worthy enough.”

Said Pantalone as your résumé was forcefully slapped down on his desk. Your past jobs, experiences and skills — all in front of him, in his long fingers which are sliding through the pages as if it were an action book.

Your grandmother, indeed, was the only dearest person you had and, unfortunately, in order to save your life (and future) she took the risk of becoming a debtor to the old devilish banker who was by any means an extremely questionable person.

You had a rough path of changing jobs, trying to find the most fitting and well-paid one, however ending up in only worse conditions. A few years passed like this, the workload traumatised you so much that you couldn’t believe two years had passed since you started doing work for a living. Your grandmother was too prideful to retire, but you both knew her money alone could not sustain your happiness.

And thus, you ended up under Pantalone’s sharp gaze. Now, standing up in front of him with an unfazed expression, knowing too well this man just adores chewing on others’ suffering.

“Fuck you and your long ass monologues”, you think but your face remains cold.

The tapping of his fingers suddenly stops. You feel your heart sink, and it makes you wanna vomit.

“What was that? The look on your face just a moment ago”, Pantalone takes his glasses off and looks at you sharply. You can feel that heavy presence with your skin alone. The violet charm of his eyes suffocating you. His whole presence does nothing but choke you.

“Beg your pardon?” You narrow eyes and ask him as politely as possible.

“Were you thinking something a bit ago, dear? Or should I say, were you doubting my professionalism?”

“Shit, he is reading my mind. I have to think about something stupid.”

“You’re so untamed and so… wild, I’d say”, he says as he rises from his desk and approaches closer to you. “But alas, I can’t discount your value after one mere impression, can I? That would be too unconscionable of me as a businessman.”

You see him lean to your ear, his body bending cause of how tall he is, and you feel nauseous once he opens his mouth again.

“Your résumé is trash, but I’m not a monster everyone thinks I am. I will let you work under me because of how persuasive your grandmother has been. Though, I’ll be watching you, kitten. Perhaps I’ll even put you under my strict supervision—"

A sharp slap lands on his cheek. That is the moment Pantalone should realise that your pride cannot be underestimated. With his face thrown to the side, he pats his cheek, holding his fingers on the reddened skin.

“…at the lowest position”, he finishes the sentence. “Heh, the audacity of yours.”

Pantalone grabs your throat, your is suddenly pulled closer. While being choked heartlessly you turn your eyes to him and hold them for a few long deep moments.

“I’m not afraid of you”, the words come out of your mouth weakly. “Just let me work for you. I won’t be plotting anything. Not interested, to be exact.” He keeps suffocating you, you almost roll your eyes at the back of your head before the banker finally releases you. You slowly fall onto your knees. “Haah… hha…”

“I’d never be mean to a lady. But a particular someone just doesn’t know any manners.”

He signs the papers quickly, squeezes a used draft in a ball and throws it into the trash bin. The signature he leaves on your zero-hour contract is so lazily made as if the man wanted to deal with you as soon as possible.

“Don’t disappoint me. You wouldn’t like to see me when I’m angry.”

“Thank God”, you sigh in relief, despite being choked a few seconds ago.

His movements, his body are so quick and flexible, you do not notice how the eyeglasses return to his face.

“You have a zero hours contract here, but I’ll personally make sure you work not less than six days a week.”

“Just so you know, I won’t kill for you. That goes against my principles.”

Pantalone raises his eyebrows, giving you a bored look.

“I wouldn’t let you have a privelege like that anyway. I have enough henchmen of my own to stain hands with unneccessary violence.”

When the conversation ends, you go to the bathroom and throw out. This man gives goosebumps, and he is not easy at all.

To your biggest surprise, as a leader Pantalone turns out capable enough. Just seeing him intricately managing his resources and employees makes you admire him at some point. No matter how unattractive his personality, for sure, was, none could not deny the fact that he is a skilful individual. He possess finesse and determination. Though speaking of his other traits, you cannot ignore the fact how suave he is. Women touch him with or without his consent all the time. And you’d agree: the man is attractive. Affable demeanour in public, though quite closed in private. “Closed” is an understatement. He is, in fact, incredibly emotionally unavailable.

His ill-favoured personality, hidden under that affable demeanour and polished looks, however, could not prevent you from falling. For him. And you are gradually finding yourself more and more addicted to him. Brushing off these ideas as soon as possible, of course. Occasional touch of your fingers, frequent looks he’d give you. You cannot remember the exact moment when Pantalone started showing signs, but you remember well that his glances in your first meaning were anything but interest. As you are a “special” debtor with a large sum to owe, Pantalone almost cages you in his main office buildings. To your knowledge, there were a few of them, but out of all people the fate of working with him has fallen onto your shoulder.

There was one day when he scared you.

“You… killed someone?” You ask, holding your hand to your chest as you walk into his office to bring some papers. But they are dropped down the moment you see the so-called crime scene. The heavy metallic scent of blood blocks your breathing and you dream of disappearing from this room, however it is too late.

“Just taught a disagreeable debtor a valuable lesson”, Pantalone walks out of the shadows, lighting the cigarette right in his own office.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the blood on his face once he makes himself visible.

“What are you doing here? Ah, the job. I almost forgot.”

A panic attack crashes you sooner than Pantalone inquiries.

“Why the sour face? Just put the papers here and you’re dismissed.”

You look down at the body next, and even if!(fat chance) that person is alive, you cannot pull yourself back into the calm state.

“Are you deaf? Put your stuff on my desk,” the banker commands, wiping the blood off his cheek.

Your vision goes blurry when you see his stained with crimson skin and you feel like fainting.

“I don’t… exactly like… seeing blood, yes.” You turn away but lose your consciousness the moment after.

When you wake up you find yourself lying in the leather couch, a blanket dropped sloppily over your body. Pantalone is sitting at his desk per usual, working on his papers when he sees you slowly come to senses.

“Alive? Good. Now go back to your duties.”

You rise from the couch slowly, pulling the blanket down and slightly wobbly proceed to the door.

“Y/N.” Pantalone stops you with his voice.

“What now…” you think. But your expression softens one you hear what he tells you:

“There is a bottle of water I left for you on the desk. Take it. I’m not exactly eager reviving you after another fainting because your careless ass is dehydrated”, he stops writing with his left hand and says again, this time harsher: “And never enter my office announced again.”

“Thank you”, you take the bottle of water the Harbinger offers you. It has a distinct spicy scent from cologne lingering on it. “Your couch reeks of tobacco, by the way.”

One time, when you save him.

Pantalone storms into the office visibly injured and infuriated. You can see his secretary come up to him, presenting some sort of intel while her hand slips under his sleeve trying to pull his gloves out. You see it all through the small doorway.

“Lord Harbinger, you must have had a tough mission, let me release this stress of yours…”

The other employee of his, a male, presses a wet sponge against his expressionless face. Pantalone, seemingly weak and tired doesn’t respond immediately to the secretary boldly roaming her lustful hands over him but a while after his consciousness makes itself known. He grabs the recently presented papers and slaps the woman’s hand with them.

“Sir—”

“Have you two no shame? I need privacy. For once, just leave me alone!” He shouts, uncharacteristically to him. Both the secretary and the lowly subordinate rush out of the room under his strict command.

When the shift ends you can see everyone leave the office, however there has been not a single move from Pantalone’s office since he shut his door. You look on the clock, it’s already 9:15 p.m. Why is he not going home? You decide to spy on Pantalone. Soon, as everyone has left the office empty, you raise from your working desk and go to check on your CEO.

“Pantalone.”

You knock, but the response is none.

“Pantalone, coming in.”

You push the door slowly. Even his spicy cologne mixes up with the metallic scent of blood. You walk in the office and feel your heart sink at the sight: the banker is lying on the floor, as if he had fallen from his desk, there are lots of tablets scattered around the floor, and a bottle of wine, shattered, the salty smell filling your nostrils. The ashtray on his desk is full and messy. Everything looks chaotic and Pantalone himself is, for sure, out of character.

He is unconscious as he is lying on the floor. You rush to him, gently placing your hand on his shoulder and start shaking him.

“PANTALONE!!”

He doesn’t wake up and you have to resort to drastic measures. You slap him. At that, he finally comes to the senses.

“This is the second time you have slapped me. Are you not afraid of the punishment I might force upon you?” he asks, groggily putting his body into a sitting position.

“Why didn’t you go to the doctor?”

“I’m perfectly fine handling some scratch.”

“Just a scratch? Then, what are the tablets for? I thought they were painkillers.”

You see as Pantalone examines his own mess, and his expression is calm yet a hint of exhaustion can be spotted.

“Clever”, he says. “I was beaten up, and my muscles obviously hurt.”

“And the wine?”

“To relax.”

“I see.”

Pantalone eyes you once again, his face extremely pale and tired. “Are you done? You can go home.” He turns away from you, you don’t know what he’s doing but you hear a drawer being pulled and Pantalone let out a short sound similar to groaning. His knuckles turn white as he grips the edge of the desk. You see a used needle roll across the very same desk…

“You’re… you’re diabetic?”

“An astitute observation” (silently). “Didn’t I tell you to go home?”

You analyse him from the top to bottom and deem this person likely not being able to get home himself. You open your eyes to offer taxi, but realise that he has a personal chauffeur. “Right, rich people…”

“That’s all? You won’t even give me a lecture for spotting you in such a vulne-” Pantalone’s gaze becomes so evil that you rethink over the choice of your wording. “In such a predicament. I mean, shouldn’t your mighty self cut my tongue in order to prevent me from gossiping about your health concerns?”

“You’ve been reading far too many detective stories. I’m not so…” he sighs, realising that given the circumstances of his long list of crimes even as a polished businessman he is a perfect match to Meropide. So Pantalone cuts his wording as well. “Forget about it.”

“You sure will be alright?”

“Worry of yourself, it’s getting quite dark and seems like rain and thunder.”

Wow. That’s a gentleman indeed! He won’t even offer you a lift? You roll your eyes.

“I’ll get home just fine. And also, you reek of alcohol. Can’t have the employees think poorly of you.”

You don’t even know if you are happy with your doing or not, because if you didn’t wake him, he’d probably be lying there on the floor until the very morning.

As you’ve cleaned your desk and taken your coat on, ready to leave, you see that the raining outside has become even more aggresive.

You walk outside and slip on the first level of stairs. “Great.” Before you could dial the number of the taxi, you hear the voice behind you stopping you.

“Don’t need to spend money. You’re coming with my chauffeur.”

“No thanks, I am quite fine being al-ready indebted to you.”

“That won’t need repayment. You saved my life. If I were not woken up in time, and didn’t inject insulin, I would most certainly end up in a coma not long after.”

“Especially considering that you drank wine”, you think.

“If you insist. Look like today I’m but a slave of the weather conditions.”

Pantalone hums to your response and leads you to the sleek black car. He throws the door open for you and gets onto the back seat with you. Once he’s settled and you wait to be dropped off your place you notice the holes on his gloves, revealing already dry blood stained cuts. You are only able to see them properly now, due to your close proximity.

“May I ask who attacked you?”

“It happens quite often so no one is really surprised by now”, he clears throat. “An assassination attempt. But I’m faster” he gives you a warning look, by which you conclude that the killer is no longer alive.

“I see.”

As you’re dropped off safely to your place, you sneak into your bedroom before your grandma has questions. As you lie in bed under a fuzzy blanket you cannot brush his scent, the mix of spicy cologne with blood, off your mind. The sight of him almost helpless, injecting that insulin like he was on a thin ice, stays carved into your mind as well.

⟢

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Daughter!Reader's Dating Life

How they handle your dating life

These headcanons explore how eight famous X-Men approach being the parent of their 18-year-old daughter as she navigates the dating world.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Scott Summers, Remy LeBeau, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Kurt Wagner & Emma Frost

Logan (Wolverine):

- Logan has always been protective of you, and now that you're 18 and starting to date, his instincts are in overdrive. He might act gruff and nonchalant about your dating life, but the truth is, he's keeping a close eye on anyone who shows interest in you. He’s likely to have a "friendly chat" with anyone you bring home, where "friendly" means sizing them up with those intense, steely eyes of his.

- Though Logan is fiercely protective, he understands that you need to make your own choices. He won’t interfere unless he sees red flags, but if someone hurts you, his claws won’t stay sheathed for long. However, he respects your independence, and after his initial growling, he’ll gruffly tell you, "As long as they treat you right, kid, I’m good."

- Logan might not give out relationship advice freely, but he’s always there when you need him. Over a beer (or in your case, soda), he’ll tell you stories from his past, cautioning you against the kinds of people who will take advantage of your kindness. His wisdom comes in the form of rough-edged grumbles, but underneath it all, Logan just wants to see you happy and safe.

Scott Summers (Cyclops):

- Scott is the definition of a dad who worries too much, especially now that you're starting to date. He’s always been structured and disciplined, and he expects the same level of responsibility from anyone you date. Before you even bring someone home, Scott’s already running scenarios in his head, calculating the safest and most responsible way to handle the situation.

- Your first serious relationship has Scott sitting you down for a long talk. He doesn’t want to come across as overbearing, but he will absolutely insist on open communication and making sure you know you can come to him for advice at any time. “I just want you to be with someone who respects you,” he’ll say, his tone firm but filled with genuine concern.

- When you bring your partner to meet him, Scott will grill them with pointed questions, but it’s all out of love. He wants to make sure they’re trustworthy, respectful, and, most importantly, that they make you happy. He’s likely to have a talk with them after the initial meeting, offering fatherly advice about how to treat you well, which is as intimidating as it is sincere.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit):

- Remy is much more laid-back about your dating life than most fathers, though that doesn’t mean he’s indifferent. He trusts your judgment, knowing you’ve inherited some of his charm and wit, but he’s always got his eye on whoever you’re seeing. He’ll joke around and tease you about your dates, calling you “ma petite” and making lighthearted comments like, “If dey don’t treat you right, I might have to show ‘em a trick or two.”

- As cool and casual as Remy can seem, he’s very perceptive. He’s got a knack for reading people, so he’ll quickly figure out whether your date is genuinely good for you or just putting on a front. He won’t be overbearing, but he’ll offer subtle advice in his smooth, charismatic way. If he ever sees you upset or hurt, his easygoing demeanor fades quickly, and you’ll see a much more serious side of him.

- Remy is also the kind of dad who loves embarrassing you in front of your date—lightly, of course. He’ll turn on the charm, maybe throw out a few anecdotes about your childhood, and wink at your partner in a way that’s both friendly and intimidating. At the end of the day, though, he just wants to see you happy, and if that means letting you explore relationships while keeping a watchful eye from the sidelines, he’s all for it.

Charles Xavier (Professor X):

- Charles approaches your dating life with calm wisdom, offering guidance rather than interference. He’s well aware that this stage of your life is crucial for your growth, and he trusts you to make decisions about who you choose to be with. However, that doesn’t stop him from subtly influencing the situation, making sure your partner is someone worthy of your intelligence, kindness, and strength.

- Charles would always remind you of the importance of mutual respect in relationships, giving thoughtful advice about emotional boundaries and communication. He’s more of a mentor in this area than a strict father figure, and he trusts that the lessons he’s taught you growing up will help you navigate the complexities of dating.

- When you bring someone home, Charles is unfailingly polite and gracious, but he has the ability to read your partner’s mind if he chooses to. Though he’d never do it without reason, he always ensures your safety, and if he senses any ill intent, he’ll act swiftly—discreetly handling the situation without ever letting you know he intervened.

Jean Grey:

- Jean is a supportive and empathetic mother when it comes to your dating life. She knows firsthand the complexities of emotions and relationships, so she offers you guidance without being overbearing. With her telepathy, she’s keenly aware of your feelings, and while she respects your privacy, she’s always ready to listen when you need advice or comfort.

- Jean is protective, but not in a controlling way. She'll want to meet anyone you're dating and will use her intuition to gauge their character. If she senses anything off, she’ll gently let you know, but she’ll always respect your decisions. "I just want you to be happy," she’ll say with a warm smile, offering her unconditional support.

- Jean is also great at helping you navigate the emotional ups and downs of relationships. She’ll sit with you for long heart-to-hearts, sharing her own experiences with love and loss, reminding you that it’s okay to make mistakes as long as you learn from them. You know she’ll always be in your corner, ready to comfort you if things go wrong, and celebrate with you when things go right.

Ororo Munroe (Storm):

- Ororo is a calm and nurturing mother, and that extends to how she handles your dating life. She trusts you and believes in giving you the space to make your own choices, but she’s always there when you need her. With her wisdom and serene nature, Ororo offers advice like gentle rain, never forcing her opinions on you but always guiding you in the right direction.

- When you start dating, Ororo takes the time to get to know your partner, but she’s not one to be intimidating or confrontational. Instead, she observes quietly, assessing how they treat you and making sure they respect you. If she ever feels they aren’t good enough, she’ll calmly talk to you about it, sharing her insights in a way that feels like a conversation, not a lecture.

- Ororo also encourages you to stay true to yourself. She’ll often remind you to never lose your independence or sense of self in a relationship. “Love is powerful,” she’ll tell you, “but it should never dim your light.” She’s always there to support you, whether you’re in the glow of new love or recovering from heartbreak, offering her wisdom and warmth through it all.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler):

- Kurt is incredibly supportive and joyful when it comes to your dating life. As your father, he’s proud of the person you’ve become, and he trusts that you’ll choose someone who makes you happy. Kurt’s protective, but in a loving, non-intrusive way, often reminding you that you deserve to be treated with the same kindness and respect you give others.

- When you introduce your partner to him, Kurt is warm and welcoming, immediately putting them at ease with his charm and humor. He’s likely to engage them in conversation about faith, values, and their view on relationships, subtly making sure they’re worthy of you without being overbearing. “All I want, mein Schatz, is for you to be with someone who sees you as the blessing you are,” he’ll say, his words sincere and heartfelt.

- Kurt might surprise you by occasionally giving you romantic advice rooted in his own experiences. He’ll remind you to have faith in love but also caution you about the importance of trust and communication. He’s the type of father who’ll give you a hug and tell you how proud he is of you, whether you’re in love or learning from a breakup.

Emma Frost:

- Emma is fiercely protective and a bit more direct when it comes to your dating life. She’s not one to mince words, and while she respects your autonomy, she’ll let you know exactly how she feels about the people you’re dating. Emma’s sharp instincts and telepathy give her an immediate sense of who’s worthy of your time, and she won’t hesitate to tell you if she thinks someone is beneath you.

- She wants the best for you, and while she can come across as intimidating, her concern is rooted in love. “You deserve someone who can handle all that you are, darling,” she’ll say, fully expecting your partner to live up to those high standards. If your date is anything less than impressive, Emma won’t bother hiding her disappointment, but if they earn her respect, she’ll begrudgingly give them a nod of approval.

- Despite her cool exterior, Emma is deeply invested in your happiness. If you ever come to her with heartache, she’ll comfort you in her own way—strong, practical, and brutally honest, offering advice that’s tough but necessary. She’ll remind you of your worth and push you to never settle for anything less than what you deserve, making sure you come out of every situation stronger than before.

[mylifesjustacarousel]

the crow

pairing: monty finch x fem!reader

summary: you just moved to port townsend, and you are under the impression that the supernatural is a load of shit… until you befriend a certain crow.

CW: swearing, mentions of blood

WC: 1.8k

not proofread!

Port Townsend was a strange city. It was usually cloudy and dreary, especially during the colder months. You had moved there during the spring of that year, wanting a fresh start for yourself. The city seemed pretty boring and lackluster until you started to hear the stories of all of the weird events that had taken place prior to you moving there; The Devlin murders, little girls suddenly disappearing, a local butcher shop mysteriously blowing up…

But, it was hard to believe any of it. It was just the way that you were raised. Your parents didn’t believe in ghosts or any sort of superstitions, they believed in “logic” and “common sense.” Plus, it was hard to believe any of that stuff without seeing it with your own two eyes. It was just run-of-the-mill gossip to you.

You didn’t have very many friends, as you had just moved to Port Townsend. You had more acquaintances than friends, really. But, you enjoyed the solitude sometimes. It felt very freeing to just be alone. You often found yourself in the forest, walking along the trails and watching the animals. It was a strange place to find comfort in, but there was something so calming about being in nature.

You were sat on a mossy log, doodling in one of your notebooks that you had brought, when a bird flew down next to you, perching itself on the other end of the log. You glanced over, admiring the crow that was now next to you. “Hey, little birdie.” you cooed, talking softly as to not startle the bird. The bird squawked, not moving from it’s position.

“You’re a gorgeous little thing, sitting so nicely. Y’know what? I’m gonna draw you!” You flipped to a new page in your notebook, turning to face the bird as you started to sketch. Your eyes darted from the paper to the crow in front of you, your hand quickly working to draw and block out rough shapes. “I’m y/n. Not that you care, though. You’re a bird. I just moved here, and I’ve heard a lot of strange things about this place. But, it’s nice here.”

You turned your notebook around when you finished the drawing. “Look, it’s you!” you exclaimed, slowly reaching a finger out to try to pet the bird. It nudged it’s tiny head against your finger, accepting the act of affection from you. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”

The sky soon got dark as the night came around, and you were still sat in the forest. You eventually packed up your bag, saying your goodbyes to the crow before leaving. Was it strange that a crow sat with you for literal hours until you left? Possibly. But, it was almost comforting. You could talk about whatever was on your mind, and it didn’t matter what you said because you were talking to a little bird.

Okay, it was a little strange. But, so was the rest of Port Townsend.

Over the course of the week, you found yourself going back to the forest over and over again, and the crow was there to greet you every single time. “Hey, birdie!” You sat down in front of the log, rummaging through your backpack. “I, uh, I did a little research on what crows like to eat. I brought peanuts and suet, I didn’t even know what suet was.” you mumbled, opening up the plastic bag you brought and sprinkling the food on the log next to you.

“You know, I’ve had a really hard time getting settled in ever since I moved here. My parents are really tough on me and I wanted nothing more to get away from them,” you explained, “But, I kinda miss them sometimes. It’s a little lonely here. Plus, I’ve heard some crazy things, like this old butcher shop blowing up? Heard the lady who did it was crazy, but no one’s seen her since.”

You turned to face the bird, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Birdie? Where’d you go?” you called out, getting up and looking around. You knew that it was just a bird, but something about it was so strange. You had been around birds before, and you had never met one like him.

Squawk. Squawk.

Whipping your head in the direction of the noise, you spotted the peculiar bird. He was sitting on top of a book, his beak pecking at a few of the pages. “What the hell,” you mumbled to yourself, walking towards him. It was a spell book, you had quickly discovered, and the pages he was pecking at showed a spell on how to turn your familiars into humans.

“No. No, no, no. You… you are just a bird. This is a silly little coincidence, because you are just a bird.” You got up, quickly packing your stuff up. “I have clearly overstayed my welcome, this is becoming weird. Um… bye? Yeah, bye.”

You threw your bag over your shoulder, quickly walking away. Your brain felt like it was spinning inside your head, trying to comprehend what the everloving fuck just happened. You had heard rumors of witches and ghosts in town… but they weren’t real. They could not be, that would be crazy.

This isn’t real. You’re crazy, y/n. It’s a bird.

One in the morning rolled around quickly, and you were still wide awake. You were hunched over on your bed, scrolling away on your laptop as you researched familiars. The more you scrolled, the more you believed that you needed a wellness check done. The most terrifying part was that it was all making sense to you.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You almost jumped out of your skin, looking over at your bedroom window. There he was, perched at your window. Scrambling out of bed, you quickly slammed your window open. “Okay, what the actual fuck is going on?” you asked, feeling ridiculous for even talking to the bird at this point. “Whatever you are, I don’t want to deal with it. This is not real, you are not real.”

You started to pace your room, talking to yourself at this point. “And, aaaaaand! There’s no way that all of this supernatural stuff is real, okay? There’s just- where did you go?” You looked back at your window. The bird was no longer there, but the book was. The same damn book that you had seen in the forest.

“Oh my god. Oh my fucking god, I am going insane.” You reluctantly picked the book up, flipping to the pages that were oh-so carefully bookmarked. Familiar transformation spell. Even just reading about the process made your stomach queasy, it was gross. You continued to flip through the pages, trying to find any information about the book. Your eyes flickered through the pages, catching on something in the very back of the book.

E. Finch.

You had heard the tales of Esther Finch before. She had lived in Port Townsend for a while, but one day she just vanished. No one heard from her, no one saw her. All that was left was her house and her… bird. Her crow.

You felt your mouth go dry and your heart drop as the puzzle pieces connected. Your entire world felt as if it had been turned upside down. Everything as you knew it was gone, everything you were taught from your parents ceased to exist.

Holy shit.

Your body moved before your brain could even think, slipping the book into your bag as you slipped your feet into your shoes. Before you knew it, you were out the door. You didn’t exactly know where you were headed, but you had a bad feeling about it.

Esther Finch’s house. It looked like it was never even abandoned. No one dared to touch the house, and those who did were usually never heard from again. You took a shaky breath as you approached the house, your heart beating in your ears as you made your way to the front door. As you put your hand on the door knob, you questioned why you were even there. But something drew you to that house, and to that stupid bird.

Without another thought, you opened the door and made your way inside. The lights were still on, which was unusual for an abandoned house. But, it was literally the most normal thing that you had seen that day. “Hello? Is anyone there?” you called out, your eyes darting around as you took in the sights in front of you.

You made your way around the house, stopping to look at things here and there; knick knacks, paintings, the weird medieval-looking torture device in the middle of the room. Well, everyone did say that Esther was a little strange.

Your final stop was in the kitchen. Setting your bag down on the counter, you rummaged around in it until you found the book. “I can’t believe that this is my life.” you grumbled, opening the book up.

Squawk. Squawk.

You huffed, looking over. The bird was sat in his cage, just watching you. “You know, this is absolutely insane, birdie.” You walked around, searching the cabinets for all of the ingredients. If she was a witch, then there had to be ingredients somewhere. “You could be a lot more help, since you’re apparently not just a stupid bird. You know, I’ve told you a lot of crazy things, you could’ve given me a heads up.”

Once you found all of the ingredients and got some pots onto the stove, you pulled out a knife from the knife block on the counter. “Well… this better work, bird boy. Or else this is a really unfortunate end for you.”

Chop. Squawk. Rip.

It was a disgusting and gory process, and it took everything in you not to get sick all over the poor bird, or what was left of him. You would pay any amount of money to erase that image from your mind. You set your knife down, holding your hands up in the air due to the blood and guts covering them. “Okay, um, copperhead snake rattles. That’s the last step.”

You looked around, snatching the jar up when you spotted it. Grabbing one of the snake rattles, you crushed it and sprinkled it over what could only be described as your own Frankenstein’s monster.

Within seconds, the disfigured crow was no longer there. Instead, a boy was sat there. He had shoulder length brunette hair and deep brown eyes. It was like a model from a magazine, he was almost too gorgeous. He looked over at you, grinning from ear to ear.

“This is nice and all, but you are very naked right now.” you grumbled, quickly turning around to face away from him.

“Sorry!”

a/n: it wouldn’t be a story from me without a cliffhanger. let me know if you want a part 2, and if you want to be in a taglist specifically for dead boy detectives storied lmk! and, once again, thank you to cafekitsune for the cutesy dividers! <3

[zutaranation]

Talking about The Search with some moots on twitter, got me thinking some really interesting potentials.

It’s in character that Zuko would forgive Ursa for forgetting him and want what’s best for her and intellectually understand why she did what she did, but I think emotionally, beneath the surface, he would feel deep pain at that.

Ikem and Kiyi’s existence clog up the plot. It’s too many cooks in the kitchen. Dont get me wrong, Ikem is a fine dude, he seems chill, and I love the dadko moments that come from Kiyi, but it’s too much going on directly linked to the main cast’s lives. That’s why it’ll never be addressed, which feels cheap and makes the reader feel cheated. Like Zuko has a STEPDAD now?! That should be a huge plot and discussion, but it’s not. It’s glossed over. There’s too many characters.

The whole gaang could’ve looked at Zuko, remembered what Ozai looked like, and laughed at him for thinking Ikem was his bio dad. That made no fucking sense. Sadly for Zuko, he’s the spitting image of Ozai. I could see Zuko being in denial, but Aang should’ve laughed at him tbfh.

Like Kiyi and Ikem wouldn’t come up in a gaang adult movie they’d be forgotten and that’s why they shouldn’t have existed.

Kiyi also just feels like some weird bandaid consolation prize for Zuko to toss Azula aside ??? It’s weird idk.

Like why are Ursa’s parents presumably dead? They easily could’ve been alive 💀 Ursa should’ve been vibing with them and zuko meets normal grandparents that were hidden from him for years … it feels less cluttering of a story than making up Ikem and Kiyi and then you would just presume the grandparents are old and rickety and have to hang back in Hira’a most of the time so it’s not like bugging your mind with questions and adding more unaddressed storylines!

I’m okay with the Ursa forgetting her kids plot. I do think it makes her shitty, but I’m okay with the tragedy of it and her being kinda a shitty mom.

Ikem is low key a freak for helping Ursa forget her memories then settling down with her like NOTHING HAPPENED

I wish that Ozai and Ursa once had feelings for each other and he slipped into “madness” in an “absolute power corrupts absolutely” kinda way. It’s more interesting than “he’s always an evil big bad gonna tie you to the train tracks” vibe and eliminates the need for stupid ass Ikem. I remember Bryke mentioning this once too in some old ass trivia bit or something for “Zuko Alone”.

The worst part about The Search is the glossing over the emotional scenes. What readers had wanted for years so badly was the emotional payoff of either Zuko facing his mother was dead, or actually seeing them reunite. Also— the most emotional— Ursa reacting to Zuko’s scar is entirely skipped. It sucks.

Not letting Zuko and Katara have a single conversation when Sokka and Zuko do and Aang and Zuko do is insane. Katara had so much to feel and bond and hurt over Zuko with (yes platonically in this case I’m not that in denial @ antis). It sucks so bad they cut this entirely for shipping bs hatred because BRYKE are 6 years old emotionally.

This would’ve been a much better and emotionally charged story on screen. It was really cheated by being done on a limited page comic. It needed more time, voice acting and music.

It’s implied heavily, as many of us always assumed, that Ursa was SA’d.

If zutara was canon, I think Katara would be furious at Ursa and it would be an interesting conversation and story. Maybe I’ll write that fic

Regardless of these many flaws, the story is much more in character than The Promise or Smoke & Shadow. I hate those comics so bad for making the theme let’s all kill Zuko and be nonchalant if he dies! And making it so that it’s like he never had a found family and still no one loved him and also the weird submissiveness they gave to Katara and the retconning of everything and the repetition and recycling of plots and it all is so bad… 💀😭

What thoughts do yall have? Happy to discuss 👀

[paperglader]

they really put alicent in bridgerton blue on the reunion and genuinely expected me to think that she didn’t in fact march all the way to dragonstone to get wifed up? bfr

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Interesting. Don’t necessarily think I’m autistic but I have more going on than just ADHD and I’m not sure what that is.

[sammygender]

wrt dean hitting sam and how its obviously something with an established history of happening from the way sam acts about it (‘you satisfied?.. guess not’ ‘take a swing’ etc). i personally think this has been a pattern in their life pretty much forever. wait i ended up saying way more in the tags im gonan make another post i think

[cuteniaarts]

@katkastrofa, circa 40-ish hours ago: Hey, what if our newest bunch of OCs adopted a baby from one of the other brothel girls who knew she couldn’t afford to raise one? That would make for some fun shenanigans :D

Me, with a notoriously non existent sleep schedule, instinct of self preservation or concern for my poor wrist: Alright, bet. Watch how fast I can make you fall in love with this hypothetical baby >:)

Daneli as a gentle and loving caretaker-turned-adoptive-mother is something that can be So Personal, actually, and originally I was going to leave it at this quick sketch, but then I got carried away thinking about what this child will grow up to be like raised by this little gang of misfits, so…

Here she is!! A little older and so, so beautiful, I need more of her in my life immediately, she’s way too precious

And, because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t also add a sapphic element to this absolute cinnamon roll, a small crack ship that I’m only half serious about for when she’s a little older still:

All in all, we may be getting impossibly far from canon, but I for one already cannot get enough of sweet darling Kumisai <3

(I fully drew three pieces from scratch in 9 hours I cannot feel my brain or my hands anymore send help)