#which one of them is a 'better person' is generally subjective and more up to how you individually measure their virtues/vices
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After I write that new IDW Optimus meta, the next one is gonna be a post of "why I really hate that theory about Rodimus being a better Prime than Optimus and how it doesn't even match the themes of IDW OR canon fact about how the Matrix functions."
But the TLDR that I feel like encapsulates where a lot of this fanwank comes from, is that I feel like ppl don't properly appreciate that the context of Optimus and Rodimus' leaderships are extremely different.
Like, Rodimus only led a ship of about 200+ people. This means that the scale of his leadership responsibilities and the risks/consequences/stakes of his actions as leader were much smaller in scale. However, it also means that just because he only led one ship of people doesn't mean that his choices weren't important/weren't indicative of his personal character (that is to say, just bc it was only one ship doesn't mean that it had no meaning or significance at all).
On the other hand, Optimus led an entire freaking army over a 4 million year war that arose from political tensions that began even before he/most of the people in the war were born. That means that the consequences of his leadership had extremely far reaching consequences no matter what he did, which grants him a large degree of culpability/blame for his actions. HOWEVER, it must also be said that under the pressure of fighting an impossible war, just because OP wasn't able to "stop it sooner" doesn't mean that he was a morally bad/incompetent leader, because a whole galactic war is such a huge burden that one person can't possibly stop it or influence/control everything to make the most morally correct and peace-causing decisions.
TLDR can we please stop pitting Optimus and Rodimus against each other when the contexts of them being leaders was so vastly different (and they had such different leadership styles in general) that you can't really say "who's the better leader" without minimizing either of their accomplishments/magnifying their respective flaws.
Also, canonically speaking the Matrix can be wielded by anyone who's confident/at peace/self-righteous enough to believe they're worthy of it, which was shown not only by the ending of LL where a bunch of regular ass crewmates were able to use copies of the Matrix, but by the fact that the first Prime/ruler of Cybertron Nova Prime was a massive piece of shit who colonized people, yet was still a Matrix bearer who wielded the true/original Matrix.
And also Primus is literally Just Some Guy and not some omnipotent god who's an objective arbiter of morality that can point at a guy and go "YOU are the Specialest Boy Ever and are Divinely Mandated To Be A Good person"
So the entire premise of why ppl even make theories and debate about this is beyond me lol. In IDW1 the Matrix is more of a social/cultural symbol than it is an actual measurer of morality, which is in line with IDW1's consistent themes of challenging the inherent rightness of authority
#squiggposting#like frex i wouldn't say rod is inherently a worse leader just bc OP was a general and he wasn't#not every good leader needs to be The Top Leader In Charge and small scale impacts are important in their own way#likewise i wouldn't say that OP is inherently a worse leader because bigger and badder things happened under his leadership#bc the problem is that when you're a leader of a whole ass army the scale of all of your actions is much larger#so just as your heroic deeds and victories will be larger. so too will your fuckups and flaws#OP and Rod are also both good people with good intentions so like#which one of them is a 'better person' is generally subjective and more up to how you individually measure their virtues/vices#meta#i mean literally one of the central sources of conflict in idw1 (functionism) was put into place by a religious body#sooooooo why is it ppl are using the matrix as a religious justification for who The Best Prime is?#like bud the last time cybertronians used religion/alleged godhood as justification for their leader/government#they invented a fucking caste system and colonized the galaxy#even if the matrix had some divine power to objectively decide on Moral Goodness it's kind of a shit judge of character
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HEY! Just because I am now 20 I think having something to kind of re establish boundaries would be good! Considering the ones I put all those times ago have changed :D
GENERAL RULES!
Do not be racist, sexist, homophobic, antisemitic, ableist, or discriminatory against anyone for any reason. Please if someone is calling you out for things you have done or said, please self-reflect and take the proper steps to change or remove yourself from the community.
If you see something you do not like, and it IS MADE WORSE BY BRINGING ATTENTION TO IT, THEN IGNORE IT! Bringing attention to problems that just arent really problems with either the community or me in general are not worth it! Please use common sense when thinking about what/what not to engage with!
I personally wish that people in the community do NOT engage with people who just obviously do not like me! Chances are they want a reaction from it so it is MUCH better to just not argue with someone whos mind you will not change!
ALLOW CRITICISM OF ME AND MY CONTENT! IF YOU DONT AGREE OR DONT LIKE THEN DO NOT ARGUE ABOUT IT!!!! ALL IT WILL DO IS CAUSE UNESSICARY DRAMA!!!
DO NOT make ANY comments or content about me that is explicitly sexual. I completely understand that lately there have been bits due to the changes in how I’ve been presenting myself and how I’ve been presenting more femininely, but that does not allow anyone to use that as an excuse to sexualize any features and such that are more feminine or masculine. Remember that femininity is not sexual and should not be seen or created as such just because its there! (for example, the Vtuber costume and chat being overly weird over the added boobs where there was no need for it).
DO NOT draw me in ways that are sexual either, such as highlighting any aspects in a sexual way, or making the content something sexual. I am completely okay with being drawn as any body type, masculine presenting or feminine presenting, as long as you stick to this!
PLEASE DO NOT SPECULATE ABOUT MY PERSONAL LIFE!!!
Making jokes about certain topics CAN be fine, but a line is crossed when it becomes a legitimate speculation or if a joke is said when I have expressed my discomfort!
RESPECT MY FRIENDS!!! All of my friends are their own, incredible people. And they do not deserve to be lumped in or referred to as JUST "my friend". Be respectful in their chats even when im not there, and be respectful to all of them everywhere else!
IF SOMEONE IS TRYING TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU MAY BE DOING SOMETHING WRONG PLEASE LISTEN!!! There has been a lot of times in which I have seen people be unwilling to change in the face of a genuine discussion, and that is not something I want in the community! I should NOT have to police every single thing because it should NOT take me saying something in order to change your mind! As my words are not worth more or less when it comes to a lot of subjects!
And lastly, do good. Whenever you have the ability to. BE POSITIVE!!! The hater mindset is very draining and can be very toxic to both you and the people around you, so highlight the good instead of the bad if you have the ability to!
I am so incredibly proud of how far this community has come, and I cannot wait for the future!!!
I have spent some time writing this, but it may not be perfect, so I will update this as time goes on and I think of more, or if something needs to be SUPER cleared up, but for now these are the main ones!
I will NOT be updating this after every little thing however, as I do not want you guys to feel like the only way that something is wrong is if I talk about it! As you guys should be able to sustain yourself as a community without my consistent input! Imma go enjoy my birthday by eating a pizza :) thank you all!
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˗ˏˋ guilty pleasures ˎˊ˗
☆ content: eren jaeger x female reader, modern au, reader cheats on her loser boyfriend, dirty talk, praise, pet names, masturbation, pussy job, just filth, written very fast my apologies, mentions of alcohol, explicit language, explicit sexual content, reader discretion advised 18+
☆ word count: ~4.2k
☆ a/n: just a warm-up that got out of hand
Your boyfriend sucks. That isn’t an opinion, either. It’s a fact. The sky is blue; what goes up will always come back down; your boyfriend is and will forever be a jackass.
At least, according to your friends, Eren in particular. Sometimes according to you, too—let’s not leave that part out, it’s important.
Countless times, your boyfriend had driven you to wit’s end and back because yes, you always took him back. You aren’t the type to leave a kicked puppy out in the rain or a groveling man lying on your doorstep. He’d come crawling back, looking all lovesick and apologetic, and you’re ashamed to admit it hasn’t failed him yet.
Listen, Eren is just your friend. He doesn’t know the ins and outs of your relationship any more than the next guy. What he knows for sure is that your boyfriend generally sucks as a human being, and he knows you know it, too.
And it’s about time he does something about it.
Tonight’s as good a night as ever to make a move. Eren’s roommate, Armin, insists on hosting a game night every other week-ish to ‘get the gang together,’ as he likes to say. But game nights are hard. No one likes to learn rules. So game nights soon devolved into movie nights, which turned into drinking nights after no one could agree on a movie.
That’s the plan for this evening: drinking the beer Jean brought along with a few leftover seltzers from the last time they got together, and spending some time with you. Alone.
You walked into the apartment huffing and puffing, pissed over whatever your boyfriend did or didn’t do. You’ve spent most of the night wallowing in the displeasure, trying to hide it, but it’s not working; Eren can tell you’re furiously texting Sasha every little detail despite sitting across from one another.
If you were to ask any of your friends, they’d say they previously believed you and Eren would date. You had that energy about you—still do, frankly. But then you met your boyfriend and you’ve been seeing each other ever since. On and off, of course.
Eren dated other people, too. And sure, he liked them, but that’s all. Finding happiness with something (or someone) is difficult when he constantly sees the greener grass on the other side.
He used to believe it was a timing thing, the reason you never hooked up. It made sense back then. But now, Eren knows it’s not a timing thing because he’s single and you can dump your boyfriend any time you want—if that’s what you want.
Eren can pry. He can be forthright and ask what you’re texting Sasha about. But that’d get him nowhere; you’d undoubtedly reply, ‘Girl stuff,’ and let the subject die there.
He noticed you don’t talk about your boyfriend problems when he’s around. Not that he expects you to. He would have written it off by now if he hadn’t heard you confiding in Armin about it. Jean and Connie, too. How frustrating it is that you never tell the one genuinely curious person. The one who wants to know and wants to show you how much better things could be, with him.
So Eren does just that. He catches you at the right moment, once it’s just the two of you. Armin was in bed and Sasha already left, taking Jean and Connie with her. The only guests remaining are you and Mikasa—she’s been sitting heavy-eyed on the couch for the last twenty minutes and would probably be out cold in the next ten.
Then there’s you, all squirmy beside him.
“Are you cold?” Eren asks. He knows you’re not, but he also knows you’d never answer the more direct ‘Are you okay?’
“I’m fine,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m just—”
“Having a long night?” Eren guesses.
You merely sigh, but it’s weighty enough that it sounds like you’ve been holding it in for a while, like you must’ve needed it.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
It’s vague, but you still feel you said too much.
You fiddle with your fingers, hands resting in your lap. You focus on that rather than the fact that you can no longer bring yourself to meet Eren’s eyes; it’s too much, it makes your insides burn uncomfortably hot.
You can’t deny how Eren makes you feel. Even more, you can’t deny that you came over tonight with him on your mind—the sort of thoughts you shouldn’t have while tangled up with another guy.
“Is there anything I can do,” Eren slides closer to you, “to make your night better?”
Yes, you think. Yes, yes, yes.
You shake your head, gaze fixed on his leg pressing against yours.
“It’s not your problem to fix,” you try to assure, but it lacks any sureness. Instead, it’s demure and… inviting? You almost made it sound like a dare.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t try,” Eren says, always up for a challenge, especially if you’re the prize at the end.
You’re better than this, you tell yourself. You’re above this.
At the same time, you can’t help but think: what would your boyfriend do if the roles were reversed? You’ve argued about his fidelity before—hell, you argued about it hours ago—and you have no more clarity than you did from the start.
Maybe you haven’t been perfect, either. Maybe there were times you should’ve told Eren to cut out the flirting and even times you shouldn’t have reciprocated it. You thought it was harmless then, that you’d never end up exactly where you are now. You also never imagined how invigorating, how right, it would feel.
Eren places his large hand on your thigh, tentatively at first, light despite the guilt weighing down on you. When you don’t stop him, he becomes confident. He slides his hand higher, squeezes you gently. It’s chaste, something that could still pass as friendly if not for the way it made you weak.
I am absolutely not above this.
That’s how you ended up in his bedroom. Eren whispered for Mikasa and when she didn’t respond, he took it as the all-clear—that no one would know if you decided to head somewhere more private. Eren snuck you down the hall, shut the door behind you, and had you to himself, for the first time.
Your heart thrums in your ears. It’s adrenaline, anticipation, a rush you never want to end. You hardly hear him when he asks, “How can I make your night better?” He nears you in a step. “What would you like me to do?”
“I think you know the answer to that,” you murmur. He wants to hear you say it: that you want him. You want his mouth on yours, maybe on your neck, his hands on your chest, smoothing down your hips and between your legs. You don’t give him the satisfaction of it.
You lean into Eren without a word. He moves with you, meeting you halfway. You lead, he follows. You’re the one in the relationship, not him.
You tilt your chin high to meet him. He catches it between his fingers, gently guiding you to him. Your noses brush; your lips don’t, but you’re so, so close. Close enough for your lashes to flutter softly against his cheek, for you to feel every one of his hot breaths as they break over your lips. It’s intoxicating. It’s not enough. But you can’t make yourself seal the fateful gap between you.
“I can’t,” you regretfully stammer. It physically hurts to say the words. You wound the devil sitting atop your shoulder.
Eren doesn’t say anything, only pulls away from you. You don’t feel in control of your hand when it snatches a fistful of his shirt. You keep him there, still as close as before, eyes flitting between his pupils, big and blown, and his lips. He remains frozen, silent. He lets you decide where this would or wouldn’t go.
“I don’t—fuck, I don’t know what do to,” you bemoan. Your head is a spinny, screwed-up mess. Screwed up from forbidden fantasies and raging hormones and the pool of warmth spreading in the depths of your stomach—all from him.
“What do you want to do?” Eren asks in a low voice.
It’s coaxing, cloying, but it’s needful at the same time. It’s a voice you’ve never heard from him, yet it’s familiar. It’s reminiscent of the same need burning inside you, so hot you think it might create a hole, one perhaps only he can fill.
You lick your bottom lip only to find your mouth has gone dry.
Eren nudges the tip of his nose against yours. “I can tell you what I want to do, if that would help.”
He nuzzles lower, beneath your jawline. He doesn’t kiss you there—no, he wouldn’t do that. What he does is worse. It’s teasing. His breath fans over your ear and sends a shudder down your spine. He needs you not only to hear but to feel every word, every dirty thing he has imagined doing with you.
“I want you to touch yourself for me,” he breathes against the side of your face, warming you from the inside out. He clasps his hand over yours, then slips it between your legs. “And I want to watch.”
Eren touches your hand, encouraging you to rub. You feel the heat of your cunt through your clothes, like there’s a fire in your belly. You finally let its flames engulf you and god, burning never felt so damn good.
You’re dizzy, you’re flustered—how could he possibly say that with such calmness? More than anything, you’re dumb to everything except the boy in front of you.
“Can you do that for me?” he asks, smooth and soothing. “I’ll only look. I won’t touch, I promise.”
It’s a lousy excuse for a loophole. Actually, it doesn’t even qualify as a loophole.
Eren leans back, holding your shoulders in his hands. He looks you in the eyes and again, he insists, “No touching.”
Loophole or not, you can’t find it within you to care. You trust him, you think. Either that or your brain short-circuits because you can only repeat back, “No touching,” as you bob your pretty little head.
Eren smiles down at you, runs his knuckles down the side of your face. It’s gentle, it’s praising, it brings—no, it yanks you back to him.
“Lay on the bed,” he says.
You do as you’re told, laying back on your forearms. He tugs your bottoms off with ease and reveals a pair of pale blue panties—a telling color. When you spread your legs for him, he can see how you’ve stained them with your arousal, soaked and ruined after some innocent teasing.
You touch yourself without him having to ask. You trace over the damp patch and play with your clit through the fabric. He sees how easily your panties slip between your folds, how fucking wet you are, and has to stifle a curse.
Eren drops to his knees, nestled between your legs at the foot of the bed. He has a hand on either of your thighs, almost white-knuckling the plush skin.
“Look at that.” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or your pussy. “You like it when I talk to you, huh? When I tell you what to do?”
You whine at the words, rub your clit faster. You want to come.
“So needy. What’s the rush?” Eren tuts. He climbs onto the bed, propping his back against the headboard. “Make yourself comfortable.”
As he says it, his hand travels lower. Dangerously low. It draws your attention to how hard he is, his insistent cock tenting in his sweatpants. He palms over it once, then twice, then grips himself through the fabric. Fuck.
You stare with too much interest. The corner of Eren’s lip curls into a smirk when you have to close your hungry mouth. He’s just as greedy, though, just as riled up as you. Even the touch of his own hand has his arm muscles tightening and twitching.
You crawl over to his side and try to relax into the pillows as best as you can. Your shoulders droop, your knees fall to either side, but there’s a tremble to your hand as it returns between your legs. Your touch remains feather-light, almost a tickle, as you dance a finger along the hem of your underwear. You watch lecherously, with your head lolled to one side as Eren mirrors you—you’re still leading. His thumb dips below his waistband.
This still counts as ‘no touching,’ right?
Eren shoves his hand down his sweatpants. You can’t see it when he takes his cock in his hand, only the outline of him slowly working over his length underneath the fabric.
Your eyes ask the question your lips wouldn’t dare to ask. Eren responds, “You first.” His eyes flicker to your crotch—your panties, more specifically.
Your fingers stutter and pause. You’ve already dipped your toes into the corrupt waters, so you might as well take the full plunge.
You tuck your underwear to the side, pinching them in the crease of your thigh. Your fingers are almost cold against your wet, hot skin and you shiver in response, letting the feeling wreck down your spine. You clench around nothing, whimpering just as helplessly.
“Fuck,” Eren breathes, an incidental hiss.
He pushes his sweatpants and boxers down in one go, and his cock slaps his front. He aches for anything more than his hand, but it’s all he has right now. It’s agonizing how what he needs is so damn close, but out of reach.
He pumps himself faster, tightening his grip around the sensitive tip to mimic your cunt.
He can only catch glimpses of it. Your panties persistently get in his way, and when they aren’t, you’re having to tug them back to the side. Your gasps and moans turn to little grunts, your frustration staving off your orgasm even further.
Eren goes to grab your underwear but stops himself short.
“Take them off,” he tells you, somewhere between a request and a demand. If this is his one chance to be with you, to see you, then he’s going to see all of you.
You listen. Your hand slips from between your legs and a sticky string connecting your fingers to your cunt snaps. You hope Eren didn’t see it, but you’re sure he did based on the impatient sound that comes from the back of his throat. You lift your hips from the bed and shimmy your underwear down your legs. Then you kick them to the floor.
You don’t settle back into the bed before Eren says, “I want to see more of you,” because this still isn’t enough. “C’mere.”
He adjusts you to his liking until you’re in front of him, lying back on your elbows, spread, with your feet caging his hips. It’s a vulnerable position, you admit. One where you’re completely bare and completely on display and there’s no shying away. You may have even found it embarrassing if not for how turned on you are. The urge to come is nagging, simmering for so long that you fear you may boil over and do something you’ll regret later.
“Shit.” Eren’s in awe of the sight before him: your glistening cunt, swollen and practically begging to come, and the dreamy expression on your face. It’s the sexiest you’ve ever looked, and he’s not even sure it’s intentional. Your eyes are as alert as they are moony, as confident as they are flustered; a doe locked in his headlights, willing to eat out of his palm despite her better judgment.
“Spread yourself for me,” he murmurs. You do it with two fingers. “God, look at you.”
So pretty. What a shame it was that such a pretty pussy would go unfucked tonight.
Eren leans back again, this time with a complacent hand tucked behind his head. He spits into his other, then slathers it over his length, unblushing to how your eyes follow every fluid movement.
“Go ahead,” he says, still calmly fisting his cock. “For real this time. Make yourself come for me.”
The encouragement travels straight to your core. You sink your middle finger inside first, then you add another. Your walls pulse, sucking the digits in further. You curve them, drag them in and out, in and out, until you find a pace that has your thighs threatening to snap shut. You pull out of yourself one last time and, with properly wetted fingers, you return to your neglected clit. It only takes a few slick circles before your breath quickens.
“Yeah, just like that—fuck.” Eren feels his cock throb against his palm. He slows, pulling and tightening his grip, still pretending his hand is anywhere near as soft as your pussy. “You’ve listened so well. You deserve to come, don’t you think?”
You moan something incoherent.
“Tell me,” he says, smug and urgent, somehow at once. “Tell me what a good girl you’ve been. That you deserve to come.”
Slippery, unforgiving sounds fill the room, from the both of you, but you’ve already shed any shred of decency you had left. You dipped your toes first, and then you took a fateful dive. But now, the current has stripped away any semblance of control you had—or thought you had.
You’ve become a passenger inside your own body. Every motion feels wild and unpredictable, yet intimately inevitable. It’s a kaleidoscope of feelings and sensations. It’s strange and exhilarating. It’s this raw and primal surrender to only what’s physical and nothing more.
Flowery language aside, you know one thing for sure: as much as you enjoy hearing him talk filth to you; he enjoys hearing you just as much.
“I’m a—ah, I’m your good girl,” you moan shakily. Your skin becomes unbelievably hot, your fingers stuttering, struggling to keep up with your neediness. “I d-deserve to come.”
His good girl.
Eren’s stomach lurches, abdominals tightening. He nearly comes.
What a fucking gift you are. How lucky Eren feels to witness how you get yourself off when no one’s around, how you like to tease yourself—maybe even pretend he’s the one teasing you.
You bring a hand to your chest, gingerly caressing the tips of your fingers along your nipple that pokes through your shirt. You slide the hand over your breast before groping it fully.
“Can I see your tits?” Eren blurts. Once again, there’s no use for dancing around the truth of the matter anymore: you both wanted to get off.
“You first.” You giggle a little, all breathy, then restate, “Take off your shirt.”
Eren smiles at you before stripping, revealing a cute flush creeping up his chest. You stick to your promise, peeling your shirt off and tossing it aside. You skipped putting on a bra this evening because it was supposed to be a quiet night-in with friends, but it worked out pretty well for this, too.
You graze your fingers over the peaks of your breasts, bouncing just so with every rub, rub, rub of your opposite hand. You bite back a harsh gasp, but little hums escape past your teeth, anyway.
Eren’s thighs twitch. He fights the urge to buck his hips, to fuck up into nothing. His pants turn strained, exasperated. He thinks he might be numb to his hand at this point. He could use his spit again, but why should he have to when you’re right there, as desperate as he is?
Your name’s a raspy plea on his tongue. His hands smooth up your legs as he coos, “I need to feel you, baby.” His thumbs stroke your inner thighs, growing extremely close to the apex between them. “Need you to help me come. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”
Eren’s hands wrap around your ankles, pulling a yelp from you as he drags you toward him.
“I won’t put it in,” he promises. You’re so close he can feel the heat of your cunt against the underside of his cock. His hand somehow looks small in comparison as he holds himself at his base. He angles his cock until it’s about as close as it can be without touching you. “Please.”
Your heart pounds against your ribcage, but even more frantically, it pulses between your legs, loud and demanding. It’s as impossible to ignore as the man before you. Hot and horny, with messy hair and pretty pink cheeks and an even prettier cock that leaks at the mere thought of touching you, staring at you like he wishes to devour you whole.
You nod, and Eren doesn’t hesitate to push his cock between your slit. You watch him do it, sitting higher on your elbows. Even with the faintest amount of pressure, your jaw goes slack.
He rocks his hips, gliding his cock through you, up and down, with the ridge of his head nudging your clit. Your skin prickles despite the thin layer of sweat you’ve accumulated.
You raise your hips, dragging your pussy over him, and bring yourself back down to the bed. His cock jolts. You feel it. You repeat the undulating motion again and again, effortlessly, because you can’t recall a time you’ve been wetter. So wet he slips out a time or two. He takes advantage of it once, tapping the tip of his cock against your clit.
Eren gives a low chuckle when your head falls back between your shoulder blades. “What a pretty little mess you are.”
You tilt your hips so he’s back in place, hitting your clit just right, over and over. It doesn’t take long for your legs to shake, swaying like they may give out. He steadies you, resting his hand on the divot of your hip.
“Oh, god—Eren.” Your voice pitches on a broken moan. “I think I’m gonna come.”
His hand curves around your side, his fingers digging into the fat of your ass. He uses the grip to keep you moving, to guide you through it. He barrels you down the hill toward your release, and you can’t stifle a single cry as they spill from you.
“Yeah, that’s it. Let it all out, baby,” Eren encourages, saccharine as always but airless. Though his own release is imminent, he refuses to allow it to happen before yours.
He flattens his fingers against his cock, pressing and adding delicious pressure. He proves how heavy, how hard, he is for you—how much better he’d feel inside you. The mere thought of it makes you groan. You push back on him instinctively, arching your back as you teeter on the edge of your undoing.
“So fucking hot,” Eren grunts, thrusting as if he were truly fucking you. He meets you each time you bear down on him, his pelvis slapping against you as his hips rise from the bed. “So fucking hot.”
That familiar feeling fizzes in your stomach, swarmy and radiating through you. It sparks in the tips of your fingers, even in your toes, and then your orgasm rips through you. Your entire being tenses, fists knotting themselves into the sheets and eyes screwing shut. The pleasure is white-hot and leaves you with stars behind your eyelids.
Eren urges you to open your eyes. “Keep ‘em on me while you come.”
You try your best; you don’t let your eyes roll back. What’s hidden behind your fluttering lashes is pornographic. Your soaked thighs—his soaked thighs. You don’t even want to think about the blankets below you.
You curse and cry his name. You look ruined, with eyebrows pinched and pulled together, your mouth hanging open like you want to scream out your orgasm. Eren crudely imagines how wrecked you’d look, how much better you’d feel, if you were coming with him inside you.
Your knees snap together, thighs sealing shut around his cock. He continues to fuck between them, against your pulsing, oversensitive pussy. Your body is spent and shaking, and he is right there with you. The sinewy muscles of his chest flex as he builds toward his climax.
“God, fuck,” Eren pants. “I’m gonna come, baby. Gonna come all over this pussy.”
When he does, it’s with his head thrown back and a beautiful groan. His body is flush with yours, his cock spilling across your legs. Come drips down the creases of your thighs, smearing with the last few pumps as he draws out every drop. He can’t believe he could feel so good from something as pathetic as grinding.
Your body lies limp, sprawling across the bed with your legs still draped over him. You wait for some post-horny clarity to smack you across the face, but the only slap you feel is the truth: you deserve better. You aren’t going back.
You stay there, waiting for the rise and fall of your chest to settle. One moment, you’re staring at the ceiling, then blink, Eren’s above you, taking your cheek in his hand. His fingers curl around the side of your face before he places his mouth on yours. He’s soft, both how he feels and how he kisses you, with lips slotted perfectly against yours, coaxing them open with his tongue.
You finally let him touch you this way; you kiss him back. You wrap your arms around his neck, and you wish for the moment to stay, just for a little longer.
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Seasons
Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.
Pairing: Lee Felix x fem reader
W/c: 24.1k
Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of a hospital, alcohol, smoking, erotic photography, use of pet names, clitoral stimulation, breast/nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, dry humping, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, cum eating
Synopsis: Seasons come and go like your love for Felix once did- but when he reappears in your life several years later, things are much different.
[this work was based off a request from @crookedt44th - thank you for requesting!]
18+. Mdni!
•
Small town at the edge of the world. 11:30am. A Tuesday in Autumn.
If you told the average person to shut their eyes and think of their favorite city, they’d probably conjure up a lengthy description about the booming skyscrapers, the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the fancy restaurants and the well-kept people. Point it out on a map, you’d tell them, and their finger would land in the heart of the amorphous blob of whatever state they’ve chosen.
Now move your finger to the right- keep going, and going, and don’t stop until you’re almost off the map entirely. There will be no major indicators, no colorful dots on this area of the map. You might miss it, in fact, if you shoot too far.
That’s the town of Ember.
A town so insignificant, the only name they could think to give it was based on the fire that plagued it almost 50 years ago, which begged the question to those in neighboring cities- who even lives there?
Famous for absolutely nothing of importance, population who-knows-these-days, nothing to do and nowhere to go.
And the place you call home.
*
“Pieces of a Dream. 1970’s.”
“Yellow,” your manager responds, and you unravel a bulky roll of discount stickers, thumbing one off the adhesive and placing it gently in the corner of the plastic-wrapped vinyl.
“The rest of those should be discounted,” he says, quickly shuffling through the stack and giving them a little slap with the palm of his hand.
He slides the stack over to you, taking his spot on the wooden stool by the register again and flipping through a stack of pages on his clipboard.
Chris, your manager, has been the owner of Ember Records for the better part of a decade now. He succeeds his father’s role as store owner, who succeeded his father’s role, back when the record shop wasn’t mostly lost to the fire. Since its relocation, it’s much smaller, so you’ve heard, only about half the shelf space available to house the generous collection of records his great grandfather used to collect and sell.
This is one of just a handful of shops around here, located in the heart of the tourist attraction that is the town’s square. Thus, you’re well-acquainted with the baristas from the coffee shop across the street, the waiters at the diner, the librarians and even the car mechanics. You’re all familiar with the businesses you run to keep this town on its feet, many of you having chosen to stay here for a simpler life.
“I dig the grays,” you tell Chris, crossing your arms as you lean against the counter and slide him the finished stack of tagged vinyl.
He sighs, cocking his head and uncapping his pen between his teeth. “They creep up on you when you least expect it. You know this shit costs like, hundreds to get dyed?”
“Leave it,” you say to him, giving a small nod as you speak. “It makes you look more mature. I mean, what does Yena think of it?”
“She loves it,” he says, catching a glimpse of his reflection in one of the glass cases and running his hands through his hair. “But she’d also love if I shaved my eyebrows off. She’ll compliment anything.”
“Then shave your eyebrows,” you say, chuckling, as you stuff your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. “You’re lucky to have a wife who’s so supportive of your decisions. I’m taking my lunch!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Chris says, laughing as he shakes his head. “Oh, and Yena left you some pie in the back room.”
“Tell her thank you!” You call over your shoulder as you make your way to the back.
The back room is just a glorified storage closet, one dingy table pushed up against the wall, one wooden chair and shelves of records that need to be pushed out to the sales floor, or should’ve just been burned in the fire. You have to duck your head to not hit it on the hanging pendant lamp, its bulb buzzing concerningly loud as you take your seat and pry open the Tupperware container Yena left for you in the fridge- cherry pie, your favorite, from the diner down the street where she works.
As you take generous bites of your first meal of the day, you shuffle through a stack of records neglected on the table from last week’s donation. There are a myriad of genres- old jazz bands, electronic records, synth pop and even a few ambient pieces. As you flip over one of the covers, Chris calls to you from the front, his voice echoing around the dingy little storage closet.
“Y/n! I need you to come help out!”
And you sigh, promptly shutting the Tupperware closed again and making your way out to the front.
That’s the thing about this job- it’s small, but it’s busy, the hundreds of records demanding your very precise attention at any given moment of the day. You live to serve the people here, suggesting records to those seeking new sounds or curiously peering at genres unknown to them. And tourists are drawn to the place, often leaving with armfuls of old vinyl to add to their collections. It’s not a town they’ll likely ever visit again, you’re well aware, but the shop allows people to take a little piece of Ember with them wherever they go. And though the lack of grandiosity might not bring them back, your attentiveness to detail and passion for music sometimes do.
*
“Coffee?” Yena asks you, as you slide into the familiar spot of your favorite booth, next to the window in her diner. She saunters over with the pot anyway, setting a little white mug down in front of you and filling the cup halfway.
“Thanks,” you reply, already tearing open packs of creamer.
At half past 8, the record shop closes in only an hour, Chris taking on the role of closing procedures in your absence. It’s a routine life you lead, tending to the record shop by day and basking in the town’s simple pleasures by nighttime. And with all the people you love in it, you have no reason to leave, no rush to migrate elsewhere.
“How’s work?” Yena asks, sliding into the booth across from you and pulling a notepad out from her apron. She flips through the pages, stopping on a blank one and adding up her tips for the evening.
“Fine,” you say to her, taking a generous sip of coffee. “Just mostly repeat customers for today. But we did have a pretty hefty donation, so that’s a plus.”
“Anything good?” She questions, without looking up from her notepad.
“Negative. A lot of older stuff I used to listen to in high school.”
Yena finishes tallying up her tips, shutting her notepad and finally meeting your gaze.
“Hey, if that’s old, then I’m ancient.”
You both laugh, and she keeps her gaze on you for a moment before speaking again.
“Gosh, I still remember when you moved here. You were so… wide-eyed. And quiet.”
“I was so lost,” you say with a small chuckle. “I don’t even think I knew how to work a record player.”
“And now look at you,” she emphasizes, gesturing to your face. “You just seem… happy these days.”
She smiles for a moment, before gathering the empty cups of creamer off the table and sliding out of the booth.
“I hope you’ll stay here, if it means you’re always going to be this happy.”
You smile to yourself as she begins back toward the kitchen, humming to herself.
“Wasn’t planning on leaving!” You call out, and without turning around, she gives you a thumbs up before disappearing into the kitchen again.
*
Some days, your shifts feel like 5 minutes. Other days, they feel like 5 days. Today is the latter, the clock on the wall above the register ticking away by the second, and yet seemingly no closer to the end of your day. You’re on closing procedures this evening, Chris and Yena having taken the day off to have a much overdue date night. And it’s empty, like it usually is on Wednesday evenings, not a soul in sight as the town tends to their own duties, the tourists all working busy jobs in the city.
You slouch your shoulders over the wooden stool, dusting off a pile of folk records and shuffling through them, admiring the intricate paintings on the covers. It’s one of your favorite things about working here- locating the beautiful paintings and photographs that graze the covers of records, all of them vastly different from one another, but equally as evocative. You trace your fingertips over what appears to be a Polish record, a couple dressed in fancy colorful fabrics as he dips her into a bow. You can’t help but wonder what the atmosphere would be like if they were here in front of you, the whole room teeming with the choral ensemble as they’d tap their fancy shoes along the tile flooring and invite you to dance, too. The thought circles your mind with a smile, and you barely hear the next customer enter when they do.
The little gold bell hanging on the door chimes just once when they enter, indicating the arrival of a man, who promptly rushes to the back shelf without so much as a hello. Welcome, I guess, you want to say, dismissing their curtness with a shake of your head as you go back to organizing records.
You shuffle to the next record, admiring the black and white photo of a man with his guitar, a panama hat atop his curly head of hair as he sings into a microphone. It reminds you of the ones your dad used to collect before he passed.
“Excuse me?” A voice interrupts, and you practically jump, startled at the way he navigates the shop without a sound. He’s right in front of the register now, holding a CD in his hands and setting it down in front of you.
“I’d like to pay,” he continues, his baritone voice sounding painfully uninviting.
Without looking up at him, you take the CD from the counter, flipping it over to scan the barcode on the front. Four Decades of Jazz, the cover simply displaying the title in funky purple block text.
“This one’s actually on clearance,” you say, sliding the CD into a small paper bag. “Just 5.”
He pulls out a brown leather wallet, flipping through crisp bills as he searches for exact change. As he does, you take notice of the collection of silver rings that decorate his shorter fingers, a few of them painted with chipping black nail polish. Your gaze fixates on a thicker silver band, carved with black fleur de lis patterns that circle the band all the way around. You cock your head slightly, mapping out the pattern in your head as his hands move, the ring glistening under a beam of light that shines through the window and sets it aglow.
“It was a gift,” the man says when he notices you staring, and he holds out his index finger, rotating his finger to give you the full view.
You say nothing, your lips parting slightly as he does, transfixed by the way the silver hugs his finger and frames his veiny hands. The man stays silent, his gaze on the ring, too, as he pulls it off with a gentle tug and holds it up for you to see.
“Do you want to see it?” He asks, pinching the band between the pads of his fingers as he rotates it under the same beam of sunlight.
“No, thank you,” you reply, your mind still in a trance. “It just… reminds me of…” and your voice trails off, finally allowing your gaze to look up and meet the stranger’s.
His big brown eyes seem to widen when you finally lock eyes, his plump lips parting open as he scrambles to pull the ring back on.
“Something,” is all you can utter, folding the brown paper bag once in your hands and sliding it across the counter. “It reminds me of somebody I used to know.”
His breath hitches his throat as he finds the words to say, unable to string together a cohesive sentence as memories run rampant in his mind, everything coming back to him like a painful wound being reopened.
“Sorry,” is all he can say, clutching the brown bag in one hand as he gives you a small nod. “And thanks. For the CD. Or for ringing me up, rather. Thank you-”
“You’re welcome,” you reply briskly, pivoting on your heel to organize a stack of already-sorted records on the shelf behind you.
And you can still feel him there for a moment, his gaze boring into the back of your head like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t, instead observing the way your hair, a little shorter than he’d previously remembered it, sways gently in its ponytail as you go about your job.
You listen to the way the brown paper bag crumples in his grasp, before he finally retreats and exits, the little bell above the door indicating his departure.
And when you turn around again, there on the counter, his silver ring sits, glistening in the waning glint of the evening sun.
*
“The lattes are so expensive out there,” Yena says, as she takes a sip from her iced coffee. “I’d drink this gas station coffee any day over that stuff.”
You chuckle lightly, shaking your head as you wipe down the counter with a rag. Chris counts change in the register beside you, muttering counts to himself as he scribbles onto his clipboard and listens to your conversations.
“But hey, we still had a good time,” Yena continues, smiling over at Chris. “Sometimes leaving this town keeps you on your toes.”
“Yeah, well, I’m on my toes enough here as it is,” you respond, the three of you chuckling lightly amongst each other.
The bell atop the door chimes once, signifying the arrival of a new customer, and Chris gestures to the door as you look up.
“All you,” he says, going back to his work.
You fold the rag neatly, setting it on the counter and making your way over to the clearance aisle where the stranger stands. His back is turned toward you, his lanky frame towering over stacks of CDs as he thumbs through them casually.
“Can I help you find anything?” You chime in, your hands behind your back as you watch him. As you speak, he turns to face you, and you breathe a deep sigh of annoyance.
“Seriously?” You say, already retreating back to the counter again and turning away from him.
“Wait,” he calls, rushing after you and standing in front of the counter awkwardly. Chris looks up from his clipboard, furrowing his brows together as Yena shoots him an equally questioning look.
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” you respond, unfolding the rag again and wiping down the register.
“Hey, hey,” Chris says, giving you a confused look.
“Don’t worry about it,” you say to Chris through gritted teeth, brushing off the interaction.
“I just wanted to-” the man begins, as he looms behind the counter, fiddling with his fingers nervously.
“Why would you come back?” You question, not looking at him still. “Wasn’t one time awkward enough?”
“I left my ring,” he finally says, dropping his hands at his sides.
Both your gazes fall to your hands, where the silver band rests comfortably on your index finger, almost like it’s always been yours.
“Yeah, whatever,” you reply, pulling it off and sliding it across the counter to him. “Here.”
He doesn’t say anything, not yet reaching for the ring, nor telling you to put it back on. A part of him is fascinated at the prospect you chose to wear it around at all.
The silence that falls over the shop is painfully awkward, Chris and Yena keeping their gazes locked between the two of you as you angrily scrub at a stain on the counter.
“Hey,” Chris says, finally pulling the rag from your grasp. “You’re scratching the wood, kiddo.”
“If no one wants that ring, give it here,” Yena says with a smile.
The ring is slowly lifted from the counter again, slid back onto the finger of its respective owner.
“We’ll give you guys a minute,” Chris says, motioning to the back room with the tilt of his head. And Yena follows him to the back, the till of the register balanced in his arms.
“What do you want?” You ask, finally meeting his gaze again. “I’m working right now.”
His face drops a little, giving you a small shrug before he speaks.
“I was just wondering how you were doing. And I thought-”
“Felix,” you say brazenly, your heartbeat quickening a little at the feeling of his name leaving your lips again after so long. “Cut the small talk. Just tell me why you’re here.”
He sighs as he fiddles with the band around his finger, the metal still warm from the contact against your skin.
“That’s it,” he explains. “I didn’t expect to see you here. And I wondered how you were doing.”
“So leaving your ring here wasn’t an elaborate plan to come back for it?”
“It… was,” he says sheepishly. “I needed an excuse to come see you again.”
“We sell records,” you emphasize. “That’s the only reason you should be here. And if it’s not, then leave.”
“Y/n,” Felix says frustratedly. His eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading manner, his lips quivering as he struggles to find the words to say.
It’s the first time you take notice of his changed appearance, completely opposite to the Felix you last spoke to. His once blonde locks are grown out, grazing over his bony shoulders, a robust shade of ebony that contrasts against his pale skin, tied up into a half ponytail. His plump lips glisten under a glossy coat of peach tint, and his freckles are almost unnoticeable from this distance. You furrow your brows to get a better look, trying to make out the beige constellations you remember so well. But you can’t locate them- not on his nose, or his cheeks or even around his eyes.
He dresses differently, too, a baggy white tank top under a black leather vest, almost too big for him as it swallows his lean figure. And he flaunts a hefty collection of silver jewelry- rings, rows of ear piercings, a chain link bracelet and layered necklaces. If you didn’t know his eyes like the back of your own hand, you might’ve not even recognized him to be Felix.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” You finally ask, your voice softening a little as he toys with the rings on his fingers.
“This is my favorite place for CDs,” he responds, his shoulders relaxing a little as he speaks. “I used to come here every weekend back in high school. I didn’t know you worked here now, I promise I’m not trying to make things weird.”
You sigh a little, shifting your eyes to the shelves and then back at him.
“Well what are you doing here now? Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”
Felix shrugs a little, his expression unchanging. “It’s complicated, I guess.” And then he furrows his brows at you, gesturing to the shop. “I could ask you the same question.”
“It’s complicated,” you reply, echoing his statement back at him. “And I’m not in the mood to indulge you with the story of my life.”
“I have time,” Felix says with a chuckle, and he’s met with your deafening silence.
“Sorry,” he follows, fiddling again with the rings on his fingers.
As you begin to ask him to leave, Chris and Yena enter from the back room again, carefully making their way toward you with hands shoved in their pockets.
“Hey,” Yena says, nudging you gently. “Everything okay, you guys?”
“Yes,” Felix is quick to chime in. “My apologies- I’m Felix,” he says with a beaming smile, holding out his hand to shake Yena and Chris’. They comply, exchanging warm smiles with him, still confused at why you seem so irate.
“I’m sorry to disrupt the peace,” Felix continues, giving them a little bow. “We’re just-”
“Old friends,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes at this act he puts on. “And he was just leaving.”
“Right,” Felix says, his lips pulling into a disheartened expression.
“Y/n doesn’t bring too many friends around here,” Chris chimes in. “What’s the rush to leave?” He chuckles as he finishes, and Yena hits him lightly as if signaling for him to stop.
“Actually,” Felix begins, and you sigh when you realize he’s not done talking yet. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner, or a coffee or something.”
“Felix, I really don’t think-”
“It’s on me if you wanna come to the diner tomorrow,” Yena chimes in. “We still have leftover pie.”
And you pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing deeply as Felix stares at you with a hopeful expression. His eyes are big, gauging your response curiously as you shift your gaze amongst the three of them. Chris watches Yena, who holds her breath as you think. And Felix’s lip seems to quiver when you open your mouth to speak.
“No dinner. Just coffee. And Chris covers my closing shift.”
*
Felix is at the diner much earlier than you are, comfortably reserving a spot for you on a table in the middle of the room and allowing Yena to fill your mugs with hot coffee. He adds three packs of sugar, two cups of creamer and a dollop of whipped cream he requests from Yena. And he waits for you patiently, stacking the spare cups of creamer into an organized pyramid, in between nervous glances out the window.
Yena wants to ask who he is exactly- why you’d seemed so off yesterday, and whether he’s here for a reason, or just to catch up as the old friends you claim to be. But she refrains, knowing to stay out of your business the way you so graciously stay out of hers.
“More coffee?” Yena asks as she approaches Felix, taking note of the near empty mug in front of him now.
“Sure,” Felix replies, shooting her a nervous smile. His hands tremble a little as he shoves the pyramid of creamers away from him, pretending to look occupied with his phone instead.
Yena fills his mug to the brim again, sliding him the mug across the table and giving him an empathetic look.
“I’m sure she’ll be here,” Yena says, nodding affirmatively. “She’s usually a little late getting off work.”
And Felix just nods, keeping his gaze on the giant glass windows. Outside, the sun has already set for the evening, darkened skies casting over the little square of Ember. The streets are sparse at this hour, just a few pedestrians who also flock here after their shifts, and the diner is fairly empty with the exception of a few young couples. Felix scans the atmosphere as he waits, observing the way everybody seems so acquainted with the place. Red vinyl booths line the large glass windows, dimly lit by hanging pendant lamps that give a yellow hue to the wooden tables below them. Each table is neatly paired with a silver napkin holder, salt and pepper shakers, hot sauce and a myriad of syrup flavors. And a bright neon red sign advertising fresh pies flickers over the kitchen, which is hidden behind silver swinging doors. It looks like something straight out of a movie, he thinks to himself, as a table nearby is served steaming plates of omelets and fries. And as Felix turns his attention back toward the glass windows, he finally sees you approaching, earbuds in and a nonchalant expression on your face. Your hair is tucked loosely behind your ears, a simple ensemble of loose fitting jeans and a sweater complementing your worn down sneakers. The bell on the door chimes as you make your way inside, a smile on your face as you talk briefly with Yena upon entering. And she gestures back to Felix, who gives a little wave from where he’s sitting, in time for his third coffee refill of the evening.
“This isn’t my table,” you say to Felix when you approach, gathering your mug of coffee and gesturing to your favorite booth against the window. Felix’s eyes flicker to the booth, a confused expression on his face as you wait for him to relocate.
“Well? Are you coming, or what?”
“Yeah, um, sorry,” Felix responds, clutching his mug in one hand and carefully bringing it across the room to the booth.
You furrow your eyes when you look back at the table, a tall pyramid of creamer cups placed where Felix was sitting.
Felix slides in the booth across from you, gesturing to your mug and meeting your gaze.
“Do you take cream? Or sugar?”
“Just two,” you say, picking your cups from the little bowl at the end of the table and tearing them open.
He nods, stirring his coffee around with a spoon as you prepare yours.
“Let me guess,” you say with a knowing smile. “8 packs sugar, 4 things of creamer and an entire can of whipped cream.”
He chuckles lightly, angling you the contents of his cup, which now contains a mixture of frothy melted cream and coffee the color of chocolate milk.
“You always did have a sweet tooth,” you respond, laughing and shaking your head. “Might as well just have a sundae while you’re at it.”
When you’re finished, you hold your mug in both hands, taking a generous sip of the steamy beverage and setting it back down with a gentle thud. Felix watches you intently, like he’s waiting for you to initiate the conversation, but you don’t, raising your eyebrows at him as you wait for him to speak.
“I’m just visiting for a bit,” Felix finally says, twiddling his thumbs on the table in front of him. “I’m doing my classes remotely this semester.”
You nod, saying nothing, as he searches for more words to say.
“Are your classes remote, too?” He continues.
“There are no classes,” you interrupt quickly, before he can press you for more information about school. “I dropped out of college.”
“You did?” Felix retorts, his eyes widening a little at how easily you admit to it. Not an ounce of shame, like it was planned from the start.
“Why?” He follows, tracing mindless patterns into the wood of the table below him.
“Because I hated it. Anything else you want to know?”
“Why are you all the way out here?”
“Because I love it here.”
“And how are your parents?”
“My dad died. Last spring. Are we done now?”
Felix swallows nervously, averting your gaze as he taps his knee nervously under the table.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
You just nod at him, pursing your lips a little and toying with the handle on your mug.
“Are you going to tell me about yourself, or do I need to play 20 questions, too?” You ask him, rolling your eyes as a smile grows on his face.
Felix chuckles lightly, relieved that you’ve already forgiven his clear overstepping here.
“I’m still in college. I’m just… undecided. I took a semester off a little while ago because I don’t know what I want to do. I haven’t actually been to class physically in… a good while.”
You nod empathetically at his words, the reality of them contradictory to the Felix you once knew. He was a straight A student when you knew him last, quick to join campus clubs and gain popularity wherever he went. People often commented on how different both of you were from each other- Felix, a bright young student who could light up a room with his smile, always so eager to ask questions and familiarize himself with the world around him. And you, a bit more reserved, your world often tainted by the reality of the hardships you’d faced, and the knowledge that life, when not lived for yourself, is often arduous.
“So you’re doing a bit of soul-searching,” you say to Felix, no stranger to the concept of tourists stopping through here to ‘start life anew’ at the sight of run-down coffee shops and bookstores. And when they find what they’re looking for, they’re gone again, like a soul could never thrive here in the town of Ember, even if it’s where it materialized.
“You could say that,” he responds, swirling the remainder of whipped cream around his cup with a spoon. “Things just haven’t been… great.”
You nod in response, averting his gaze as you study the wooden table below him.
“Well good luck,” you finally say, taking a generous gulp of your coffee and scanning the room for Yena before the conversation can go any further than the base-level declarations of your new separate lives.
“Do you remember that night we snuck out of your house?” Felix asks suddenly, just as you begin to get up.
“What?”
“It was raining. I think it was like 3 in the morning.”
You turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes as he speaks.
“I didn’t have a car at the time,” Felix continues. “So you rode on the handles of my bike in the pouring rain. We went to watch the sunrise, only we didn’t realize that of course because we were in the middle of a storm, there was-”
“No visible sunrise,” you interrupt quietly. “We just watched the clouds turn a lighter shade of gray.”
Felix grins a little as you finish, nodding his head.
“Exactly. And when we got home at 5am, your dad was already awake. And he’d never met me before- we swore he’d have it out for me. But he didn’t- he brought us blankets, and he made us tea and laughed his ass off at our stupidity.”
“There’s no sunrise in a fucking storm!” You exclaim, echoing your dad’s lighthearted lecture from so long ago.
Felix laughs with you, the warm memory circling your minds, both of you equally as endeared by the tale you so vividly remember. As your laughter dies down, Felix keeps his gaze on yours, shooting you a half smile as he speaks again.
“Your dad really loved you. And… it’s one of my favorite memories, even today.”
You hold his gaze too, clutching the handle of your mug again and giving him a small nod, your lip quivering a little at the mention of your father.
“Thanks, Felix,” you say in a melancholy tone, taking a deep breath in an attempt to hold back your tears.
When the feeling’s passed, Felix spoons another dollop of whipped cream into his cup and brings it up to his lips.
“Your hair’s shorter,” he says with a chuckle.
“Yours is longer,” you retort. “And black.”
“I’m trying something new.”
“I can tell,” you say, laughing lightly. “And what’s with all the screws and washers in your ears?”
“My piercings?” He replies. “They’re a fashion statement!”
“They look painful.”
“This one was,” Felix says, toying with the silver helix piercing in his lobe.
“And this one,” his fingers trail down to another silver stud, just below the first. “And maybe this one.”
“At what point is this just inflicting pain on yourself for fun?”
“I’m not finished!” Felix says, as you both share amused laughter. He thumbs over another row of silver studs, thinking intently as he speaks. “This one hurt, this one definitely hurt…”
*
“How was your dinner thing last night?” Chris asks in the morning, shooting you a knowing smile as he breaks a new roll of quarters in the till.
“Coffee,” you emphasize.
“Coffee,” he echoes. “How was coffee, with your old friend?”
“It was okay,” you respond, organizing a stack of records on the shelf across the counter. “Just catching up, mostly.”
“Yena said you guys were there for hours.”
“Maybe we were.”
“Hours?” Chris repeats, shaking his head. “What could you have possibly talked about that lasted hours?”
“Friend stuff,” you reply to him. “Maybe if you had some, you’d know.”
“Ouch, kiddo,” he says, clutching his chest in a joking manner as you both laugh.
As you turn to grab another stack of records, the bell over the door chimes, and your heads snap in the direction of the noise. And like you’d accidentally spoken him into existence again, Felix saunters in, a shy smile on his face. He looks a little more casual this time, in just jeans and a black t-shirt, but still different than you remembered him nonetheless.
“Speak of the angel,” Chris mutters, nudging you with his elbow as he waves at Felix.
“Hi,” Felix says cheerfully. “It’s nice and warm in here. Outside’s really cold.”
“Felix, what are you doing here?” You sigh, averting Chris’ shit-eating grin.
“What? I’m buying some CDs.”
“We have a good amount on clearance,” Chris says from where he’s standing. “Back shelf.”
“Thanks!” Felix replies, and you pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance.
“Chris, would you give us a minute?”
And he nods, shooting Felix a thumbs up, before disappearing to the back room with a stack of papers.
“Look,” you begin, turning to Felix. “Last night was fun and all, but I’m still working a job. This doesn’t just make amends or something. It was great catching up, but respectfully, I really don’t want to see you again.”
Felix nods a little, and then he hoists something over his arm. It’s the first time you take notice of it- a black crossbody satchel, draped over one arm, his hand resting casually on the zipper.
“Then I suppose getting help for my project is a no?”
You narrow your eyes at him, gesturing to the bag with a tilt of your head. “What’s in the bag?”
“You don’t get to know if you don’t help me.”
“Just tell me.”
“Promise you’ll help me.”
“Felix-”
He holds the bag a little further away from his body, effectively shielding it from your view and shaking his head. “And it was such a good surprise, too.”
“Just tell me what’s in the stupid bag!”
Felix finally holds the bag out in front of him, unzipping it and carefully pulling out its contents. He reveals a digital camera to you, slinging the strap over his neck and holding it up to squint into the lens. “Smile!”
“What- that’s it?” You question, shielding your face from his view. “How does this pertain to me?”
“I’m photographing the town,” he replies, fidgeting with the lens in his hands. “I need some help.”
“Why would you need my help with that? I’m not a photographer.”
“Yeah but you know this town, and all of its little quirks.”
“There’s a maps app on your phone for a reason, Felix.”
Felix gets quiet again as he fidgets with the lens on his camera, doing nothing particularly useful as he prays you’ll change your answer. And he’s not lying- he does need to photograph this town, and all of its hidden gems for his creative project this semester. But he would be lying if he said having you keep him company wasn’t all he thought about when he went to bed last night, and woke up this morning and inevitably found himself back at your record shop.
“You used to be the best model,” Felix says just above a whisper, letting his camera hang loosely at his waist now. “I still have all my film photos of you.”
The room gets a little quiet as you meet his gaze, not missing the way his eyes seem to soften into a somber expression. He’s always had this way of begging- pleading for what he wants, and you’ve very seldom been able to say no to him. Seeing him stand in front of you now, heavy camera in his small hands and a dream circling his mind, you know the fact still stands true.
“If I do this for you, this is the last favor I run you.”
His lips pull into a toothy smile, his eyes forming little crescents as he nods eagerly.
“I promise. I won’t ask you for anything else.”
When Chris reenters the room, he shoots you a questioning look, which you wave off with a casual roll of your eyes.
“What time are you off today?” Felix asks, and Chris purposely nudges you as he passes by.
“Later. Just come by at closing or something.”
“Yeah, I can do that. Do you want me to bring a coffee or anything-”
“See you at closing, Felix,” you respond with a smile, and you gesture back to the door.
He nods, seeing himself out, camera firmly grasped in his two hands as he waves again through the window.
*
Felix drives the same shitty car he did when you last knew him. Its chipped navy blue exterior clashes horribly with the beige leather seats, the inside tainted by the permanent odor of cigarettes from its previous owner, Felix making futile efforts to mask the smell with pine tree air fresheners. The seatbelts are frayed, the legroom is nearly nonexistent and the live radio is completely busted, with the exception of the CD player.
“All jazz?” You question, shuffling through a neat book of Felix’s CD collection.
“Yeah,” Felix replies, two hands gripping the steering wheel as he adjusts in his seat. “They’re mostly just whatever’s cheapest.”
“I can tell,” you say with a chuckle, reaching the last page, where Four Decades of Jazz now occupies a sleeve of its own. You pop the CD into the player, turning the volume up a few notches and sitting back comfortably as the melodic tune of a saxophone fills the space around you.
“What’s this next place again?” Felix asks, as you shut your eyes and listen to the jazzy beat.
You’ve stopped at three locations already, all spots in Ember you’re particularly fond of. The old bridge that runs over train tracks, a narrow pathway into another world in late evenings. It’s always surrounded by starlings, which flock when the trains pass through and chirp songs that mirror the train’s cacophonous whistle.
The cathedral just north of your record shop, which you don’t attend regularly like the other town-goers do, but always greets you graciously with its towering stained glass windows and crested walls.
And a now abandoned grocery store just a few blocks away, the walls on the back now housing impressive graffiti murals and doodles.
“This last one is a more scenic spot,” you finally respond, opening your eyes as his car passes over a speed bump. “It’s my favorite one.”
Felix just nods as he continues driving, the road narrowing into a one-way route, the area surrounded by wet grassland and barely visible amidst the thick fog.
“What’s the whole premise of this project?” You ask him, realizing you haven’t quite figured out what part you play in this, anyway.
Felix is silent for a moment, his hands rotating over the wheel as he turns into another narrow road.
“It’s just a photography project. About observing your surroundings.”
“Why does it have to be here?”
And he smiles, chuckling lightly to himself, as he reaches a hand out and sprawls his palm over your mouth.
“You ask so many questions! You haven’t changed at all.”
You respond in muffled laughter, prying his hand off your mouth with two hands and shoving it back toward the steering wheel.
“I’m just curious!”
Your shared giddy laughter fills the car for several minutes, exchanging amused glances as he pulls into an open parking lot and circles around to look for a spot. And you let your fingertips graze along your cheek, briefly, remembering the sensation of his hand on you very well.
*
The fourth spot is a spacious grassland just past the hills, not necessarily a hidden gem by the town’s standards, but a place you discovered shortly after you moved out here. It requires hopping a fence to access, jogging down a steep dirt path and then marching back up a grassy hill to make it to your “sweet spot”- or a little dip in the top of the hill, perfect for setting up a picnic blanket and sitting upon for hours.
And of course the best part about it- the view. The whole town is visible from up here, the little buildings and shops you know so intimately an entirely different perspective from this height. Sometimes you imagine what you look like from this view- just a tiny speck of a human in a town not much bigger, crossing back and forth between your apartment, the diner and the record shop.
“You got it?” You ask Felix as he hoists himself up the last stretch of grass, balancing his camera in his hands and dusting off his jeans.
“Yeah,” he replies, coming around to occupy the spot next to you on the grass. You sit back on your hands, your legs crossed at the ankles as you take in the view you know so well. Felix sits cross-legged, toying with the lens of his camera as he prepares to snap a few photos.
“It’s nice up here,” he comments, filling the silence with the clicking noises of his camera.
“Yeah,” you respond shortly, your gaze fixed on the record shop. “It’s a pretty special place.”
He turns the lens, bringing his camera up and snapping a series of photos as you watch him out of your peripheral vision.
“How’d you find it?” Felix asks, scanning the photos and going to take another set.
“I get around,” you reply with a smile, keeping your answer short.
He takes one last set of photos, angling his camera at different sides, and when he’s done, he carefully places the camera in his carrier bag and leans back on his hands, too.
“You really have things figured out here,” Felix says a little quietly, turning to look at you while you keep your gaze straight ahead.
“I didn’t have a choice. It was up to me to keep things going.”
“And… how’s your mom?” He replies quietly.
You shake your head, adjusting your position so that you’re sitting cross-legged, too.
“I don’t know. Last I heard she was out west. New boyfriend or something.”
Felix nods reluctantly, not wanting to press the issue further.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he chimes in suddenly. “I hope you didn’t leave thinking that.”
“It’s fine,” you reply, brushing him off.
“No, listen to me,” Felix continues, turning to face you. “I know you hate talking about it. And I won’t bring it up again. But none of this was your fault. And that summer I wanted so badly to fix everything and take away your pain, and I just… I couldn’t. And I’m sorry.”
You don’t say anything to him, fidgeting with a blade of grass on the ground below you and reminding yourself to keep it together. Don’t cry. Don’t feel.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Felix says bluntly, like he can read your thoughts.
“What thing-”
“That thing. Where you don’t let yourself feel.”
“I feel a lot of things, Felix.”
“Then why haven’t we talked about it yet?”
“Talked about about what?”
“Why you left,” he finally finishes, huffing frustratedly. “Why are we not addressing it? Am I supposed to just act like it didn’t happen?”
“Felix, I really think-”
“You said you would stay and fight for what was ahead of us. And then you disappeared on me. You know how hard it was to go on with my life like you weren’t a missing person for all I knew? You didn’t even call.”
“I changed my number,” you say quietly.
“Yeah, I figured that much after three years.”
Felix gets quiet again, shaking his head as he turns his gaze back to the view. You don’t say anything for a moment, his words swirling in your mind as your heart beats erratically. There’s so much to say- so much you want to explain to him. But the words are caught in the back of your throat, dissipating with every passing second you fail to vocalize them. He glances at you again, hoping you’ll come around- but you don’t, your gaze now transfixed on the blade of grass that rolls between the pads of your fingers.
“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it,” Felix finally says. “And… I’m sorry.”
A copper sunset falls over the buildings below you, casting shadows around you that dance along the blades of grass and disappear over the rolling hills. They shift from massive charcoal forms into smaller shapes that sway with the setting sun, quick to get away from you and disappear when they graze over your seated figures.
“You know there was a fire here, like, 50 years ago,” you say to Felix, still averting eye contact.
“There was?”
“Mhm. See there?” You question, pointing out a vast, empty field and gesturing to the buildings across from it.
“It started east, and it traveled west. And everything there burned, and a few people even died.”
“Wow,” Felix responds. “I didn’t know that. That’s terrible.”
“A lot of the neighboring cities didn’t know this place existed. But when they heard about the fire, many of them came out here, just to donate and help build things back up. Even the record shop burned. The one we have now is a lot smaller.”
He nods as he listens to your story, glancing back at the town as he pictures the blazing flames that ate away most of its structure back then.
“I always think about it,” you continue. “Everyday I imagine how hard it must’ve been to pick up and build things from the ground up again. Chris’ grandfather did it, with the record shop. And the diner did it. And they’re still doing it, keeping things running the way they are.”
Felix nods again, turning to look at you as you watch the town.
“No one could’ve prevented the fire. They could pick up and move on, but things still burned before they did, and people still died.”
Felix begins to say something, his lips parting, but his breath hitches in the back of his throat, and he settles in silence as you finish.
“I’m somewhere there,” you say to him after a silent pause. “I’m somewhere between the fire and the mending.”
And he doesn’t have to say anything else, understanding that this is your way of explaining things.
As darkness begins to fall over you both, you think back to the last time you sat with him like this, on the old hill in your hometown, waiting for a sunrise that never came around. You had passed the time kissing and touching each other so desperately, speaking visions of a new life into existence and making hushed promises to embrace the end together. An end that came to fruition without him, one you ran from before could look it in its face and brave it with Felix by your side.
But here on the familiarity of your hill, looking over a town that burned like the flames inside of you do now, you know there’s good, there are people who will make the journey to help you rebuild no matter what their reservations previously were. But it also takes time, and patience, and the strength to admit things have turned to ash in the first place.
And sometimes, like this town, things and people turn to Ember, a dim glowing reminder of what happened always present still.
*
Soul-searching capital of the world. 6:00pm. On the cusp of winter.
“Think you’re ready?” You query at Felix, pulling the straw out from your vanilla milkshake to lick the other end.
“I think so,” he responds, sorting through a stack of photos on the table.
“Felix, your whipped cream,” Yena says as she turns the corner and sets a small bowl down in front of him.
“Thank you,” Felix replies with a small smile, already spooning a generous amount into his coffee.
The last two weeks have been cordial between the two of you, a sense of normalcy finally present during your time together as Felix wrapped up his photography shots and developed them at the convenience store in town. The pictures are beautiful, little precious neutral-toned glimpses into your everyday life and the town you love so much. It feels like Felix finally understands you, neither pressing you for answers anymore, nor trying to initiate anything more between the two of you like you’d feared. And although the photography sessions have spanned a little more time than you’d originally anticipated they would, you’re well aware this will all be over soon, and then you can get back to the normal, simple life you lead, without having to look introspectively at the state of things. You’re fine, and Felix doesn’t force you to think about it anymore.
“I just have to submit these, and then I’ll be done for the semester,” Felix explains.
“Are you staying in town for the holidays?” You ask suddenly, realizing you’ve never even inquired what his plans are for after this photography project is finished.
“I don’t know,” Felix responds, glancing at the stack of photos. “I don’t really have any solid plans.”
You don’t miss the way he fidgets with the ring on his finger, averting your gaze and swallowing nervously. It’s another habit Felix possesses, getting you to drag him along practically anywhere, but it’s hard to say no when he makes every effort to be so polite and forgiving.
You sigh deeply, praying you won’t regret the words before they leave your mouth.
“Look, a couple friends I have throw a party every year around the holidays. We just get together to smoke and talk. You can come, if you want.”
Felix’s expression brightens almost instantly, meeting your gaze again with big hopeful eyes and a beaming smile.
“Really?”
“Don’t make it weird,” you say, chuckling softly. “It’s just a small thing to unwind.”
“I’ll be there,” Felix responds with a nod. “And I won’t make it weird, I promise.”
“So…” Yena teases, sliding into the booth across from you and raising her eyebrows. “What’s… going on between you two?”
“Who?” You question, cocking your head slightly.
“Oh come on,” she emphasizes. “You guys are attached at the hip. We barely get girl time together anymore. He can’t just be an old friend.”
“He is,” you voice back. “We just go way back, that’s all.”
“He’s cute,” she says, glancing out the window at Felix’s lanky figure making his way back to his car. You both watch as he struggles to get his car open, yanking on the door handle a little hard and stumbling back.
“Well he’s single,” you retort with a soft chuckle. “So if you ever get tired of Chris, he’s your guy.”
“I see the way he looks at you,” Yena explains, as she pulls out her notepad and adds her tips for the evening. “Like he has stars in his eyes or something. I remember when Chris and I met, he was a lot like that.”
“Yena, we’re really not-”
“I know,” she says, shaking her head with a smile. “Feelings, feelings. Yuck. I’m just saying.”
You turn your gaze toward the window again, watching as Felix starts his car and backs out of the parking lot, strands of his ebony hair falling into his eyes as he checks behind him.
And Yena smiles, taking notice out of her peripheral vision at the stars in your eyes, too.
*
Seungmin’s annual holiday party is a tradition you joined in on the first year you moved out here. Working at the record shop your first year, you had no friends, no family and you were completely isolated from the town when you weren’t picking up shifts. He was a regular customer with a knack for old rock records, and he pitied the shifts you worked while the rest of the town mingled at their annual holiday events you’d hear so much about. An invitation to his holiday party was a big feat for you, not only because it was one of the first events you attended here, but because it allowed you to spend the holidays alongside people again, something you hadn’t done since your father’s passing. And thus, Seungmin invites you back every year, never missing a chance to talk records with you and challenge you to eggnog shots.
“I just want to pop these in the trunk really quick,” you say as you open the car door on the passenger side and gesture for the key from Felix. “I usually lend Seungmin a few spare records we have-”
Felix hasn’t registered a word you’ve said, completely entranced by the way your short skirt hugs your hips, a black leather coat thrown over your shoulders and a different pair of sneakers than he’s used to seeing. It’s much different than how he’s normally seen you, dressed down in sweaters and baggy jeans.
And Felix looks particularly dashing, too, his ebony hair tied up again to display his impressive collection of ear piercings, a fitted leather jacket hugging his slim figure and black jeans that elongate his legs. You give him a once-over as he cranes his neck from the driver’s seat and tosses you the keys, unable to verbalize his regard for your outfit. But as you make your way around the car to the trunk, popping it open and placing Seungmin’s stack of records inside, he can’t help but stare in the interior view mirror at the way your skirt rides up when you bend over, exposing a little more of your thighs and leaving little to the imagination.
The drive to Seungmin’s is only a few blocks down from Ember Records, one which Felix completes while stealing very obvious glances at you and making every attempt to calm his erratically beating heart. You pretend the glances go unnoticed, keeping your gaze on the darkened road ahead and making small talk about the party. But you don’t miss the way Felix’s voice hitches in the back of his throat when he speaks, his trembling hands turning the wheel as he pulls into the cul-de-sac and puts the car in park.
And he wants nothing more than to stay here, with you, to sit in his dingy little car and talk with you about everything that happened, to assure you that you’re not alone in your process of mending- he’ll love you through it, regardless. But as Seungmin makes his way out the front door with a red solo cup in hand, calling loudly for you, Felix knows that’s not a possibility.
“Y/n!” Seungmin exclaims, a big toothy grin plastered on his face at the sight of you. He’s a bit taller than Felix is, long legs that frame his slim torso, and a chiseled jawline that makes Felix a little jealous. His voluminous chocolate tresses fall into his eyes as he speaks, and he uses a slender hand to push them away again, shooting you another flashy smile as he chuckles lightly.
“What’d you bring me this time?” He asks, balancing the presumed cup of alcohol in one hand as he watches you retreat to the trunk of the car.
“Couple rock, some alternative and that one artist you liked last time?”
“Hell yeah,” Seungmin replies, as he takes the records from your grasp and shuffles through them eagerly.
Felix clears his throat as he stands beside you, his hands shoved awkwardly in the pockets of his leather jacket as he waits for an introduction.
“Sorry,” you voice, stepping aside and gesturing to Felix.
“This is Felix. He’s an old friend of mine.”
Seungmin hardly looks up from his stack of records, just briefly glancing at Felix and giving him a small nod.
“Hey man. Cool to meet you.”
And Felix’s lips pull into a thin-lipped smile, averting his gaze, too, as he nods.
“Yeah. Same.”
Your eyes dart between Seungmin and Felix, both of them painfully awkward as they stand beside you, avoiding eye contact like some unspoken challenge and looming over you like you’re meant to be the host.
“Should we get inside?” You finally ask, wrapping your arms around yourself and gesturing to the house with a tilt of your head.
“Yeah, sorry,” Seungmin says with a soft chuckle, still averting Felix’s gaze and pivoting on his heel to begin toward the house. Felix gestures for you to follow, trailing behind you and doing his best to steady his nerves as the three of you finally make your way inside.
The house is already crowded for the evening, people standing just about everywhere, red cups in hand and joints pinched between their fingers. They exhale white clouds of smoke as they converse amongst themselves, their eyes all tainted red, as they let all the weed and alcohol consume their consciousness and instill a calm demeanor in themselves. Felix finds himself standing a little closer to you as you approach the sofa everyone’s sitting around, their bodies lazily slung over one another as they chat and drink.
“Y/n’s here,” Seungmin says, as he passes the sofa and heads into what Felix presumes to be his bedroom, with the stack of records in hand.
“Hey!” They call in misarticulated voices. You make your rounds, greeting each of them and exchanging brief anecdotes with them, while Felix remains standing with his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the way you smile cheerfully and acquaint yourself with everyone in the room.
You look so relaxed, so well-adjusted to your new life in this little town. As stories are thrown back and forth between yourself and the guests, Felix wonders how long you’ve known them to be able to converse with them to such an intimate extent. They share stories of your shifts at work, stories of previous parties, tales of past lovers they’ve had and late nights all of you spent up in this exact household. Felix can’t help but wonder what he was doing during those moments- probably studying for a test at university, or hooking up with someone he didn’t exactly care for. And by nighttime, he was likely up thinking of you- pondering where you’d gone, what you were up to. If you thought about him just as much as he thought about you.
Part of him wants to be angry, listening in on your stories like this- you’re laughing about parties, exchanging tales of difficult customers- moments that occurred while he was up waiting for you, hoping one day you’d change your mind about everything and return. Felix swore every sunset began to look the same without you there to watch them alongside him, every sunrise much bleaker than the last- even the stars he’d gaze at through his window seemed to lose their meaning.
But watching you like this, a smile that hasn’t left your face once since entering the house and the familiar sound of your harmonious laughter, he knows maybe you did the right thing, after all. Maybe Felix wasn’t a part of this plan life had for you- and perhaps, it’s time to come to terms with the fact that he never will be.
“Felix?” You question, effectively snapping him out of the trance he’s fallen into just by watching you.
“Huh?” He responds, aware that the row of guests on the couch appear to be waiting for him to say something.
“How long are you here for?” One of them repeats, his stare a little cold as he raises his eyebrows and prompts an answer out of Felix.
“Oh, uh… I’m not sure yet. Just for the holidays, I guess.”
They nod in collective unison, no one saying a word as they gauge how nervous he seems to be. And you shoot them an apologetic smile, also clocking Felix’s awkward demeanor as he remains silent and avoids carrying on with the conversation.
“Anyone got a light?” You finally break the silence, and everyone chimes in to answer, offering you joints from between their fingers and fishing colorful lighters out from their pockets. You take a seat on the rug, patting the space next to you, and Felix follows your lead, crossing his legs in the spot beside you and taking a hit from the joint you offer him.
Felix feels himself calm a little as the mellow sensation begins to wash over him, his worries dissipating as he listens to you begin to share another story with the group of people. And his mind wanders back to the past, contemplating your actions and mirroring them with the current state of things.
Three hours into the party, you’re both a little buzzed, feeling much more mellow than you had upon entering, despite taking only one hit from a joint. The room is heavy with thick clouds of smoke, the pungent smell of weed and alcohol present at every corner of the room. Just sitting here and talking gets you high, and you find yourself enjoying the company alongside Felix.
It reminds you of back then, when you and Felix used to attend parties together and run off to random bedrooms for a quick fuck. You’d often find yourself leaving early to spend time just between the two of you, hitting all your signature spots to catch sunrises or binge greasy food. And Felix feels much more relaxed around you now, making small talk with the guests and observing the way you try your hardest to include him in the conversations. As Seungmin takes another hit from his joint, he slouches back in the concave leather of the couch, his gaze darting over the two of you as Felix eyes you curiously.
“So what’s the deal between you two?” He asks, narrowing his eyes as he awaits a response.
“We’re just old friends-” Felix begins to say, but you interrupt him before Seungmin can catch the answer.
“He’s my best friend.”
Felix’s head snaps in your direction, unsure if maybe he heard you incorrectly, or if you’re genuinely claiming that Felix, whose guts you’ve hated for the better part of three years now, is your best friend.
“Best friends?” Seungmin repeats in slurred speech, and you give him a nod.
“Yeah,” you say again confidently. “He’s my best friend.”
And Felix’s lips pull into an involuntary smile, the tips of his ears turning a bright shade of red as he reaffirms your words.
When you turn to smile at him, he pats the space in front of him, extending his legs so that he’s created a spot for you to settle in. And in your buzzed, mellowed out state, you comply, scooting back and slotting yourself between his long legs, letting yourself lean back against his chest and shutting your eyes briefly. Felix reluctantly brings two hands around you, holding you a little closer to him, but you don’t protest the action, the familiar sensation of his arms around you feeling comfortable and safe like it always used to.
“I’d think you guys were fucking if I didn’t know any better,” Seungmin voices, joining a chorus of laughter as he brings the joint up to his lips again.
“So what if we were?” You retort casually, feeling the way Felix’s embrace gets a little tighter around you.
“Nothing wrong with it. It’s just easy to see through you guys. Especially the way this Danny from Grease wannabe looks at you.”
And Felix’s eyes furrow at the statement, well aware of the fact that Seungmin’s begun to get a little aggressive, but not wanting to incite anything that might jeopardize your friendships.
“I should probably go,” Felix says just above a whisper, his mouth hovering just over your shoulder so that you can hear him over all the noise.
“What? No,” you reply, turning your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are wide, his lip trembling a little as he speaks. Felix isn’t confrontational- a fact you’re very aware of.
“I don’t want to start anything-” he begins to say, and you place a hand on his forearm comfortingly.
“Then let’s both get out of here. I’m kinda bored, anyway.”
He’s surprised at the offer- and undoubtedly moved by the prospect that you’ve chosen to stick with him instead of stay here at the party with all your friends. And because he wants to spend the time with you, he doesn’t protest when you turn to voice your decisions to the crowd.
“Well Danny from Grease and I are getting out of here. So you can let your imaginations run wild since you’re so obsessed with us.”
Seungmin chuckles lightly, too stoned to ask you to stay, and candidly, to care about any of it.
“My old records are on the kitchen table,” Seungmin says, as he shuts his eyes and exhales a generous cloud of smoke. “Catch you guys later.”
*
“Where are we going?” Felix asks, as he puts the car into park and watches you unbuckle your seatbelt.
“I have to put the records I lent to Seungmin back in the shop. It’ll only take like two minutes.”
He nods in response, his gaze fixed on the darkened record shop, not used to seeing it at this hour.
“You coming?” You ask him, gesturing to the door, and Felix snaps out of his tranced state, unbuckling his seatbelt, too.
As you twist your keys and push the door open, Felix feels a bit unsettled seeing the shop at this hour. The shelves are pitch dark at the hour, the usually colorful vinyl all looking indistinguishable as they sit in stacks against each other and gather dust. The neon sign above the CD wall is shut off, not even the gentle hum of the bulb present amongst the silence. And the doorway to the back room looks like something out of a horror movie, seeming as though someone- or something, could pop out at any given moment. It feels wrong being here- and he knows he probably shouldn’t be, but he’s not in the place to leave your side just yet.
“Don’t turn on the lights,” you say to Felix when you enter, him following closely behind you. “I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”
You begin toward the back room, glancing over your shoulder to ensure Felix is following. And he is, albeit reluctantly.
The back room is much smaller than Felix had originally anticipated it to be. It smells of paint, looking far more run-down than the rest of the store, and he’s not sure how anyone can take a lunch break back here considering the lack of table space and seating options.
“This is the break room?” Felix asks, squinting his eyes when you pull the chain beside the medallion lamp and illuminate the room with a dim, orange glow.
“Yeah,” you reply, now shuffling through Seungmin’s old records and putting them in their respective genres. “This is where I eat my sandwiches.”
He chuckles softly, running his hands over the series of music posters pinned to the cork walls, taking in the view you see everyday at noon.
“There’s a record player in here!” Felix exclaims, bending down to examine the 6200 marantz wood turntable on a little cart, just to the left of the dining table.
“Well this is a record shop, you reply with a chuckle, slotting the last few of Seungmin’s vinyl into the shelf. “It wouldn’t make sense if we didn’t have one.”
“Does it work?” Felix asks, tracing the silicone grooves of the platter with his fingers.
“Of course,” you respond, finally turning around to meet his gaze. “Pick something.”
Felix scans the shelves at the neat rows of vinyl, all packed together and indistinguishable from their thin colorful spines alone. He pulls one out, examining illustrations of flowers on the cover, and then slots it back into its respective home. Another flaunts an abstract pattern of cool-toned hues, which Felix observes briefly, and places it back where it belongs, too.
“I can’t decide,” he voices plainly, his eyes scanning over the rows that span the entire length of the room, some of them visibly much older than the rest.
Your fingers graze the spines, too; letting the cracked ridges serve as indication of their age, and then you pinch one between the pads of your fingers, pulling it out to examine the cover. It’s painted sky blue, with images of autumnal trees that stand tall and contrast the gentle hues nicely. In bold red cursive text, the title is scrawled at the top, followed by a brief list of credits and arrangements.
“The Seasons, by Tchaikovsky,” you read aloud.
You recall putting this one on the shelf after a donation a few weeks prior, never having listened to it yourself.
“Will you play it?” Felix asks, and you nod your head in response, already pulling out the black disc and placing it neatly on the record platter. You flip it on, and then bring the tonearm to a random spot, letting the cue lever lower it into place and begin playing. After a few seconds of fidgeting with the volume, the soft sounds of piano begin to fill the room, a somber arrangement that slows into gentler, discoordinate notes.
“This one’s probably winter,” you say to Felix, hoisting yourself up on the table and sitting on your hands. “It sounds sad.”
“Yeah,” he responds, his eyes fixated on the slow turn of the disc, a soft crackling noise emitting as the tonearm runs over the grooves.
Felix suddenly reaches for the bag slung over his shoulder, unzipping the pouch and pulling out his camera.
“What are you doing?” You ask with a soft chuckle, amused at the way he so quickly rushes to adjust the settings.
“I want to take a picture. It’s a nice record player.”
And with the rhythmic click of the lens, he snaps a series of photos, angling himself a bit higher to capture every moving part of the old thing. When he’s finished, he examines the photos himself, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looks over the moment in time captured so perfectly on the little screen of his device. Without warning you, Felix then holds the camera up once more, snapping a quick photo of you and chuckling softly to himself.
“Stop!” You say through laughter, holding a hand up to shield your face as he snaps a few more. “Felix, I’m serious!”
“It’s just for me!” Felix exclaims, bringing his camera down again and scrolling through the candid photos.
As he examines them, you notice how close he is to you now, standing in between your legs that hang lazily off the edge of the table, his frame towering over yours.
He meets your gaze again after a moment, taking notice of the proximity, too, and swallowing nervously.
“You used to let me take pictures of you,” Felix says after a moment of silence.
“That was so long ago,” you reply with a smile. “Things are different now.”
His eyes dart over your bare face, your eyes a little hooded from exhaustion and the mellowed state that overtake your body. It’s a sight familiar to him, still, the way you keep your words short when you’re not asking him questions, nothing except a small knowing smile on your face. But it’s one he’s thought about for so long, painting pictures of you in his head and scanning old photos, like your physical state would somehow come to fruition the more he studied it.
“Please let me take a few more,” Felix says, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes flicker between your lips and your gaze. He knows you’re going to say no, go away, or some other version of it.
But this time, you don’t, taking careful note of the way he so politely asks for what he wants. Memories of him have plagued your mind all night, the feeling of his hands around you still lingering on your body, recalling the way he used to ask so politely to fuck you in the bathroom of house parties like you wouldn’t say yes every single time.
And in the absence of your words, you slide your coat off, discarding it on the table behind you and keeping your gaze locked on his, in just a tight-fitting t-shirt and skirt.
Felix brings his camera up immediately, lest you change your mind like he knows you probably will, and adjusts his lens again, before snapping a single photo of you, sitting so innocently on the table in the back room of the record shop. Your expression remains unchallenged, your eyes softening a little as he pulls away to look at you again. And this time, you let two hands cross over your torso, pulling up the corners of your shirt and letting it ride up until it’s nearly off of you. Felix doesn’t waste any time, bringing his camera to eye-level again and snapping a photo eagerly, his eyes wide as he observes the sight of your hardened nipples through the lens.
The discoordinate piano music still plays from behind him, its tempo increasing gradually as you let one hand position itself over the mound of your breast, kneading gently as Felix positions his camera to zoom in. He snaps another set of photos, bringing his camera even closer to capture you at every erotic angle, and then he pauses briefly, as your hands move to your skirt.
You tug gently, not yet pulling it off, and his photos capture the moment you finally undo the small zipper on the side, revealing the hem of your lace panties to him and looping a finger through them. He feels his breath hitch in his throat, wanting to clarify that he’s not forcing you to do any of this, but too mesmerized to ask you to stop.
And then before he can verbalize his thoughts, you’re tugging the skirt down, too, pulling it off over your sneakers to discard it on the floor below you. Felix can’t look away from the sight, your body hugged so delicately in lace lingerie, your legs parted a little for his photos and practically begging him to come touch you. And yet you say nothing, amused at the sight of Felix gasping over your sitting figure, letting him take the reins and do whatever it is he pleases, even if the implications are clouded by your past.
Felix’s slender hands snap a few more photos, focusing meticulously on your clothed core and your hardened nipples for his own personal use. And then he sets his camera down at his waist again, pulling the camera strap off his body and shoving it back into his satchel. When he turns to say something, he can’t, still entranced by the familiar feeling in his stomach at the body he’s bore witness to so many times.
“Felix,” you say softly, coaxing him to come a little closer.
He obliges, lips parted nervously, as he takes another step forward and allows your legs to rest casually on his.
“I meant to ask you,” you say, cocking your head slightly, bringing one hand up to caress his cheek with your thumb.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Anything.”
“Where have all your freckles gone?” You finally ask, observing the way his skin still runs completely clear around his cheeks and eyes, not a hint of a galaxy visible to you, even at this proximity to him.
“Makeup,” Felix responds with a soft chuckle. “They didn’t match my new look.”
And you bring your other hand to his other cheek, grazing your thumbs over his soft skin, before pressing down a little harder and wiping the foundation off of him. He’s right- the beige stars you’d remembered so well begin to appear once again, scattered generously across his button nose and his big eyes. He lets you rub it off of him, not taking his eyes off of yours as you rid him clean of the stuff and then graze your thumbs over him again, in much gentler motions.
“That’s better,” you reply, your eyes darting between his now visible freckles and his plump, parted lips. “They’re my favorite part about you.”
And Felix doesn’t respond, his mind running rampant with thoughts and intentions, as he brings his lips a little closer to yours and finally kisses you, like he’s been dreaming of doing all winter.
You reciprocate instantly, your hands cupping the back of his neck as his lips work against yours, desperately leaning into you and letting his hands snake down the sides of your waist. His kisses are familiar, so reminiscent of years past when he’d kiss you exactly like this, in the proximity of whatever house party bathroom you could run off to and let him have his way with you. And Felix remembers the sensation all too well, this mutual pining of silently yearning for each other in the presence of other strangers until he could confess his love to you through whispered love making sessions when you were finally alone. Felix whimpers softly between kisses, as your hands snake up his t-shirt and graze along the toned flesh of his abdomen. You hum in response, letting your hands tangle in his hair now as he presses further into you and works gentle kisses down your neck. Both your hands find his silky ponytail, pulling off his hair tie in one swift motion and tossing it aside so that his long tresses hang loosely in front of his face, and you tangle your fingers in his ebony roots, tugging slightly as you pull him into your embrace and feel him trail back up to your lips. He pulls away momentarily to gauge your expression, worried you might ask him to stop, but your eyes are wide with anticipation, your breaths labored as you pull him into you again and arch your back into him. You can feel Felix smile into the kiss, satisfied with the turn of events from tonight's party- he’d been so certain you would leave with Seungmin, or shut him out again. But here in the dimly lit room of the record shop, your lips on his as your hands trail lower to unbuckle his belt, there’s no denying you want this just as badly as he does.
And Felix can’t help but wonder how long have things been this way- had something changed at the party? Something that would’ve led you to call him a “best friend” rather than an old one, leave the party with him and even drag him to the record shop after hours, knowing very well you could’ve come alone? Something that instilled an equal sense of desperation in you, to want his lips on yours as badly as he does right now, your bodies yearning for each other like you once did, as you undo his belt buckle and snake it out from his belt loops to discard it on the floor?
He’s not entirely sure- but he also can’t think straight when your hands are tugging at the hem of his jeans, begging him to take them off and mirror the same level of undress you are now. What he can think about are your lips working against his, the gasps that escape you when he grazes his fingers down your sides between kisses and the forte echo of Tchaicovsky’s piano record filling the room with sultry harmonies.
As Felix unbuttons his jeans, you help him tug them down so that they’re pooled around his ankles, the two of you now equal parts undressed and grabbing desperately at the now exposed flesh. You let your hand find Felix’s, wrapping your fingers around his slender wrist, and then bringing it to your panties, where you rest his hand against your clothed core and allow him to graze over your growing wetness.
“Jesus,” Felix exhales, pressing his middle and ring finger down against your core and rubbing in slow, back and forth motions. “I forgot how horny you get when you smoke.”
And you chuckle lightly, not breaking eye contact as he continues to rub you over your lace panties, the wetness against your thin fabric increasing with every gentle movement of his fingers.
“Will you do something about it?” You ask sweetly, one hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.
Felix cocks his head slightly, a smug expression pulling on his lips as he works you a little faster now.
“What do you want me to do about it?”
You chuckle in response, growing impatient as he teases your aching clit over the fabric of your panties and keeps his gaze on yours. He’s calculated with his movements, rubbing in gentle motions, pressing down firmly with every other stroke to watch the way your legs squirm desperately around him and ache for more.
“Don’t make me ask,” you say shyly, your hips rutting toward him to chase the friction of his fingers.
Felix’s gaze drops to your core, his lips parted with curiosity at the sight of you now rocking gently toward him, letting your movements do the pleasing as he almost entirely stops rubbing you.
“What if I wanted you to ask for it?” Felix says briskly, a serious expression on his face as he pulls his hand away from you momentarily.
“Felix, you already know what I-”
“Ask for it,” Felix interrupts, keeping his gaze locked on yours now. His eyes are hooded with lust, his eyebrows slanted in a challenging expression as he waits for you to say something. And he knows he’s never been one to make you ask for it- in fact, he was usually the one doing all the begging, whining when you’d take too long to touch him or begging you to let him finish. But coupled with the recent development of his new look, you can’t help but wonder if it’s not the only thing that’s changed about him.
“Ask for it,” Felix states again. “Or I’ll get dressed again.”
And you can’t bring yourself to, still riddled with questions at the peculiar phenomenon of Felix making you ask for sex, desperate to ask if this is a one-time occurrence, or if he’s intent on getting you to beg for his cock from here on out. Does he make all his hookups beg for it like this? Do they oblige without question, or are they just as taken aback with it as you are?
When Felix takes note of your silence, he doesn’t waste another second, pulling up his jeans again and beginning to work the buttons once more. And you feel your heartbeat quicken at the sight, disheartened at the action and still desperate for him to touch you, to fuck you, like your body’s been craving the past hour you’ve been back here.
In a desperate attempt to stop him, your hands reach out, grasping his wrists in yours and watching the way his cock remains tented under the denim fabric of his jeans.
“Please,” you say shortly, a sheepish pout on your face.
“Please what?” He responds, cocking his head to gauge your reaction.
“Please would you fuck me?” You finally say, exhaling frustratedly and flickering your gaze away from him, almost embarrassed to be asking him like this. But Felix’s lips pull into a toothy grin, leaning back into you for a kiss and beginning to work his jeans off of him again.
“Was that so hard?” He mumbles against your lips teasingly.
“Mhm,” you murmur back against him, hearing his jeans pool around his ankles once again as his hands cup around the small of your back.
“It was?” Felix queries, one hand looping through the hem of your panties and grazing along the elastic. “If I remember correctly, we used to play this little game all the time.”
You gasp a little as he pulls the elastic between the pads of his fingers, letting it snap against your delicate skin again and rest against your reddened skin momentarily. Felix observes the way you say nothing, waiting for him to undress you, touch you- anything, without so much as a plea for him to do so. And he’s undeniably roused seeing you this desperate for him, adjusting your position on the table to calm your pulsating core, your hands searching for him and your lips trying so hard to keep purchase on his. Felix feels his cock swell at the confirmation that perhaps you have been thinking of this just as much as he has, and that maybe leaving was the hardest thing you ever did, the way he always hoped it was.
“Are you sure about this?” Felix asks before he can ponder the words.
And in painfully slow movements, you find the hem of your elastic waistband yourself, tugging it down and breaking away from the kiss to snake it off your ankles and discard it onto the floor. The sight alone is confirmation enough for him- your pussy is glistening with wetness, your folds coated generously in your own arousal and your aching clit a robust shade of pink as you wait for him to finish his little game of neglect. Felix can’t even respond at the sight of your cunt on display for him, too engrossed in the familiarity of what it looked like all those past years, exactly like this, begging for him and only him. On the counters of bathroom sinks, in empty fields, in the back of your car and even when his fingers were shoved in it under blankets in a room full of people. Always taking him so wholly and effortlessly, like your cunt was made to have him fill it, squirming around him with hushed moans and whimpers, your bodies intertwining into one tangled mess of pleasure and pure, unadulterated love for one another.
“Felix, please fuck me,” You repeat, a small smirk on your face as you watch Felix stumble over his words, his cock fully erect in the fabric of his boxers.
And Felix can’t answer you, already attaching his lips to yours again and letting his hands come around your back to unclasp your bra. His motions are much quicker now, no lingering intention to make you ask for it or confirm your stance- but every intention to fuck you, fill you, like he knows you deserve.
When your bra is unfastened, he tosses it aside, letting his hands find the mounds of your breasts and kneading them with steady motions. You moan into his mouth as he works you, your legs wrapping around his hips to press his clothed cock into your wetness and grind softly against you. Felix winces at the sensation, doing his best to stave off a premature orgasm while you rut your hips gently against him and let your head fall back in pleasure. And mirroring the pleasurable sensation of his thumbs rubbing circular motions over your nipples, he brings his mouth down to your chest, taking a breast in his mouth and sucking with little whimpers. Your head comes forward to meet his gaze again, his big, innocent eyes locked on yours as he takes the flesh between his lips and swirls his tongue around your nipple. His plump lips remain locked around your mound, alternating between gentle kisses and then back to sucking on your nipple, like he might coax fluids out of it if he tries enough. And he looks so guiltless, so incorrupt as he lets his eyelids flutter shut and your nipple graze his teeth. His actions almost don’t match this darkened, grunge appearance he now sports- and you swear you can still see the blonde locks that once framed his wide eyes and his bright appearance.
As Felix moves to your other nipple, you wrap your legs tighter around him, swaying your hips in gentle rocking motions to stimulate his clothed erection against your wetness and provide some relief to both of you. And he arches his eyebrows up in pleasure, stifled moans escaping his lips as he finally releases your breast from his mouth, a string of saliva connecting you still, as his gaze drops to his boxers.
Hard- he’s unbearably hard underneath his boxers, the tip of his cock kissing the constraining fabric of his boxers that ruts against your exposed clit and sends waves of pleasure through both your listless bodies. And Felix knows if he doesn’t fuck you now, he might finish at the sight of you alone, your cheeks flushed a dark shade of pink and your cunt arching desperately into him as you wait for him to undress. So he does- one hand finds the elastic waistband of his black boxers, pulling them over his cock and wincing as it grazes against the precum dribbling down his tip. You run your hands over his toned abs, letting your eyes meet his cock as it protrudes so eagerly for you, and it looks almost painful how hard he is for you, reddening at the tip and dripping with beads of his preemptive arousal.
Felix leans in to kiss you again, and as he does, the bare flesh of his cock finally grazes your clit, running smoothly over your arousal and making you clench around nothing. You gasp at the sensation, scooting closer to him as your clit finally gets some attention from him, and Felix smiles as he trails his kisses down to your neck. While he sucks little bruises along the flesh there, he brings a slender hand around the base of his cock, guiding his tip back to your clit and rubbing his length along your flesh with more pressure now, a fervent moan escaping your lips as he does. He glides so effortlessly along you, your arousal allowing him to move so freely against you, still eager for him to fill you up. And when his lips move back up to yours, his hand guides his tip back and forth again, now rubbing against your clit in steady motions. He mimics the way his fingers stimulate you, only it’s better like this, your cunt contracting as you prepare to take his length.
“Felix,” you whine, as his cock rubs back and forth over your wettened entrance.
“What is it?” He coos gently, smiling into you as saliva dribbles between your hungry mouths.
“Put it in,” you order plainly, parting your legs a little further to signify what it is you want so badly. And Felix already knows, pressing his tip into you just a mere centimeter to gauge your reaction, satisfied at the way you whimper and push yourself against him even further.
“Is this what you want?” Felix muses, holding his base to keep from sliding into you involuntarily.
“Yes,” you whine again, tangling your hands in his hair. “Just fuck me like you used to.”
And Felix feels his heartbeat quicken as the filthy memories grace his mind again, images of you exactly like this.
He says nothing, opting to end his teasing streak, as he finally steadies his hands on the sides of your waist and pushes into you, your sopping pussy taking him with complete ease. You let out a fervent moan at the feeling, your cunt clenching desperately around him as he works to bottom out inside of you and find his footing. His girth takes little to adjust to, but he’s long, taking a good minute or two until the base of his cock is disappearing inside of you and being coated in your arousal. Before even moving, his tip is grazing your cervix, the familiar feeling making your stomach turn with anticipation as you remember what it feels like.
Felix’s lips part in pleasure, his eyebrows arched up as he pulls out again and then thrusts just once, relishing in the way your pussy contracts around him again and takes him so perfectly. Your hands find purchase in his hair again, tangling in his ebony roots, as he pulls out a little, and then begins to move. His cock fills every inch of you so well, grazing every corner of your dripping cunt with such fullness, as his wet kisses work against your lips and coat your mouth in his needy saliva. Felix has always been a particularly vocal lover, you remember, as the room fills with his deep grunts and moans at every thrust. His fingers dig into your flesh, holding onto you with strength as your legs wrap around him to steady yourself and push him into you fully. Your bodies one again, your limbs tangled until it's discernible who is who atop the table like this. But when he slows his movements and kisses you tenderly, you don’t care about the implications, about the past or what this will mean for your future. All you care about is Felix inside of you like he used to be for most of your relationship, making up for all this wasted time as he fucks you and breathes heavy grunts into the shell of your ear.
“God, I missed this,” Felix breathes, his voice shaky as he continues to pump into you.
“Me too,” you moan back, lining his jaw with kisses as he moves a little faster.
“You used to let me take pictures of you,” Felix repeats for the second time this evening. “You remember? Used to touch yourself while I’d snap photos of you. God, the way your fingers would disappear into your tight little pussy. Had me begging to fuck you at the end of every session, baby.”
“I remember,” you voice back in labored breaths. “You’d fuck me so well. All you had to do was adjust that stupid lens and you had me dripping for you.”
“Fuck, baby,” Felix groans, shutting his eyes as he thrusts a little harder. “Gonna make me cum for you.”
“Yeah?” You echo, wrapping your legs a little tighter around him and crossing them at the ankles. “Will you fill me up like you used to?”
Felix nods as his eyes remain squeezed shut, the room teeming with the squelching sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of your cunt.
“Come on, baby,” you plead, one hand angling his face toward you to press repeated, chaste kisses to his lips. “Fill me up. I know you want to.”
“I do want to-”
“Cum for me,” you order, grazing your free hand over his abdomen and tracing little circles over his v-line.
And Felix’s cock twitches inside of you twice, signaling his nearing finish as he quickens his pace again, now fucking you with even more force and hitting your sensitive cervix with every thrust.
“I’ll let you take whatever pictures you want,” you say to him as you pull him close and nibble the lobe of his ear. “As long as you fuck me like this every time you’re finished.”
And the promise is all it takes for Felix to reach his orgasm, his cock twitching inside you once more before he spurts ropes of his warm cum inside of you, filling your cunt with copious amounts of his arousal for you and fucking every last drop back into you. Your pussy contracts at the sensation of his warm cum grazing your insides, reaching your finish, too, as he brings a hand to rub your clit through your release. The table below you is sticky with your juices as you steady your breathing, Felix bringing a hand around the base of his cock to pull out of you and rest limply against your pulsing, sore entrance.
The room around you is quiet again, the gentle buzz of the pendant lamp replacing your moans as you let your hands wrap around him and hold him in your embrace. Felix presses a series of tender kisses to your forehead as you remain, his slender hands moving strands of sweaty hair out of your forehead to replace them with his loving kisses.
And the record has run through all its seasons now, having ended several minutes ago, as the needle runs over the last groove in repetitive clicking sounds, an indication to flip it over.
*
A precious town once set ablaze. 4:00pm. Spring on the horizon.
“To have hysteria or mania. 7 letters.”
Felix thinks for a moment, his eyes darting up to the ceiling and then back to where Yena is sat across from him.
“Madness?”
She glances over the crossword puzzle once, counting empty little boxes, and then begins to pen in his answer.
“How are you so good at this?” Yena asks, shaking her head. “You could be on a crossword puzzle reality show. If that exists.”
He chuckles lightly, observing as Yena checks her watch, and then shuts the book in front of her.
“My break is almost done,” she says as you chew on a French fry. “I’m gonna catch the bathroom really quick. You guys need anything?”
“I’m good,” you chime in, and Felix shakes his head from across you.
“Thank you,” he says politely, shooting her a little smile as she slides out of the booth and back toward the kitchen.
Felix’s gaze turns back to you now, a smile on his face as you nibble the remainder of the french fry, cocking your head at his curious gaze. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his sneaker glide gently up your ankle, grazing your bare skin with the sole of his shoe and shooting you a knowing smile.
“Felix, not here,” you say, pushing him away gently with your own shoe and letting your soles rest atop his laces.
“That’s not what you said this morning,” Felix says, swirling half-melted cubes of ice around in his glass of water.
“Harder Felix, harder!” He mimics quietly in a high-pitched voice, as he brings his glass up to his lips and takes a generous sip.
You stomp on his laces as he chuckles between sips of water, dribbling a stream from his lips when you kick him lightly in his ankles.
Don’t fuck your exes.
Advice that anyone with half a brain would give you- and advice you really should’ve taken to heart. But you can’t help it, finding yourself between the sheets with Felix nearly every night for the past two weeks, his lips all over yours and pleasuring you better than you’d ever remembered it. You tell yourself you’re just making up for lost time, both of you still young and naive, all of this over once he actually leaves for college again. He stayed for Christmas, gifting you a new pair of canvas sneakers and fucking you while reruns of Christmas rom-coms played in the background of your apartment. He was your New Year’s kiss at Seungmin’s party, where you swore again that the two of you weren’t dating, forcing you to press your lips to his only when you were sure the others weren’t paying attention at the drop of the ball. And when you’re not picking up shifts at the record shop, you’re with him every waking second of the day, keeping Yena company during her shifts as you feign your giddy attraction to him while she’s not looking.
We’re not dating, you’ve emphasized to Felix several times, and he doesn’t fight it, giving you a knowing nod as he utters a repetitive yeah, yeah. But it’s mostly because he knows you can’t say no to him, not when he’s bringing you slices of pie at work and burning CDs with all his favorite songs for you, slipping them into your bag without you even noticing until you’re home again. Of course there’s the physical factor, too- Felix is undoubtedly your best sexual partner, and he always has been. He’s quick to recognize when you’re aroused, slipping away with you in the backseat of his car to pleasure you, without any protest from you. He’s also understanding of all your intimate moments together, not fighting it when you remind him this is just temporary, all while he’s thrusting into you on the back room table of the record shop at late hours of the night. He just smiles against your bruised skin, reminding you that you have yet to push him away yet. And when he’s holding you in the gentle embrace of your afterglow, pressing kisses to your skin and reminding you how beautiful he’s always thought you are, he’s right- you don’t push him away from any of it. Maybe it’s the physical factor, maybe it’s little acts of service he performs to win you over. And perhaps it’s also because you don’t feel so lonely for once- the last time he was beside you like this, you still had a family, one that loved Felix like their own and encouraged this shared life with him. You still had dreams of being something bigger, aspirations while you were in school and visions of a life with Felix, because back then, he was always a part of your plan. And though things are different now, his beaming smile and lighthearted jokes serve as a reminder of a simpler time, and it feels right. So you don’t push him away- it’s a secret kept between the two of you, but he’s here with you, regardless.
“Will you let me take some photos of you today? ” Felix inquires, flipping through the book of crossword puzzles left on the table by Yena. You watch as he adjusts the familiar fleur de lis ring on his finger before uncapping a pen and filling in one of the words.
“I have an early shift tomorrow,” you reply, toying with the crumpled straw wrapper in front of you.
“I won’t be long,” Felix retorts.
“I know, Felix, but I have to get up really early tomorrow and I-”
“Let me take you out,” Felix says, not looking up from the crossword puzzle in front of him. “Just tell me where.”
You sigh, scanning the empty tables around the diner. There are only a handful of guests at this hour, most of them elderly folk chatting quietly amongst themselves. A slow jazz tune plays overhead, and sunlight beams through the large window beside you as Felix finishes penning in an answer, shutting the book again and folding his hands in front of him to meet your gaze.
“I have something for you,” Felix adds.
“You don’t have to buy me gifts, Felix.”
“I’m aware. But this one’s special for me, too.”
“What is it?”’you ask, a growing curiosity at his words.
“I don’t have it with me. You’ll have to let me give it to you later today.”
You sigh, crossing your arms in front of you and rolling your eyes sarcastically. He’s always known how to get exactly what he wants.
“Just this one time,” you reply, knowing you sound like a broken record at how many times you’ve sworn it to be just one more time.
“Just this one time,” Felix echoes, toying again with the ring on his finger.
And you nod reluctantly, agreeing to whatever he’s planned, for the purpose of pleasing him and because you’re unable to decline.
As he flips open the book again, he uncaps the pen once more, picking up where he left off and reading the question aloud to you.
“A discussion aimed at reaching an agreement,” he voices, nibbling the cap of his pen again.
“Negotiation,” you say, observing the way a smile grows on his face as he pens in your answer.
“That’s it,” he says, gripping the pen enthusiastically as he crosses out the question.
And the sole of his shoe grazes your ankle again, trailing up your flesh teasingly as he moves onto the next.
*
“Where’s she going?” Felix queries, reaching into the bowl of popcorn in his lap to grab another mouthful.
“I don’t know,” you respond, chuckling at the way he shoves a generous portion into his mouth and chews loudly.
“Is she leaving him?” He says, pausing his chewing as the main lead in the movie makes a dramatic exit on screen.
“Felix, I’ve never seen this movie either,” you state, chuckling as he finally resumes his chewing and brushes stray kernels off his shirt.
He reaches into the bucket again, gathering a generous handful of popcorn, and then he sprawls his hand over your mouth, pushing the popcorn into your still-laughing mouth as he moves a little closer to you.
“You argue too much!” He says between giggles, throwing his head back as he watches you try to down the handful, failing as loose kernels find purchase on your shirt, too.
You reach out to shove him playfully, and Felix intertwines his hands with yours, pulling you onto his lap as the bucket of popcorn is promptly set aside and neglected.
He doesn’t even give you time to finish chewing before his lips are on yours, kissing you with such tenderness and warmth. It’s moments like these you find yourself glad he’s here with you, grateful for his unwavering persistence to account for lost time and make amends. Of course you also know he’ll be gone soon, back to university to proceed with his education while you tend to the record shop. And you’re undoubtedly a little sad about it- but you also know it’s the way things have panned out to be. Felix has blossomed into the bright young soul you always knew he was, filling the shoes of a generation of good-natured people that came before him. He’s generous, and unselfish in his ways, and a part of you knows that leaving him was the best thing that could’ve happened to both of you.
Was sleeping with him a mistake after all this time? You would’ve answered yes in a heartbeat, at the first instance it happened, feeling you might accidentally led Felix on and ruined things between the two of you. But the more it happened, the more it affirmed the beautiful notion that he’s just a fleeting part in this process of mending- your souls intertwining to relive memories of simpler times, connecting like they had when you once belonged together. He gives himself to you as a way of saying I’m still here, if you need me. And you give yourself to him to respond I know, and I’m still healing.
“You want your gift?” Felix asks as he pulls away, his hands grazing the small of your back.
“Depends,” you say with a small smile. “If it’s anything like your gift this morning, then yes.”
He chuckles softly, caressing the dimples in your lower back as he sits up and nods in the direction of the kitchen counter.
“I’ll go get it. Be right back.”
And you slide off of him, crossing your hands between your thighs as he exits the room, the soft-spoken dialogue of the movie still playing as he shuffles about in your apartment kitchen. When he returns, his hands are behind his back, a smile plastered on his face and his eyes forming little crescents as he approaches you.
“You have to close your eyes,” he says, kneeling down and sitting cross-legged in front of you. “And put out your hands.”
You oblige with an equally endeared smile, closing your eyes and cupping your hands in front of you. Felix seems to get something situated in front of you, and then you feel him place something small in the palm of your hand. It’s cold to the touch, no bigger than an inch, and he positions it so that it’s centered perfectly in your hand.
“Now open,” Felix finally says, pulling his hands back and folding them in his lap.
You do as you’re told, your eyes fluttering open again and your gaze falling into the palm of your hand. And your heart melts instantly at the sight-
It’s a ring- his ring, the silver fleur de lis one he always catches you staring at.
“I can’t take your ring,” you say, your wide eyes meeting the crescents of his eyes that remain as he grins.
He holds his hand up, flashing you his own fleur de lis, and wiggles his fingers to show it off.
“It’s not mine,” Felix says. “I got you your own.”
And you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes, doing your very best to pull back and avoid crying in front of him. But Felix takes notice at the way your face contorts sadly, scooting closer to you and taking your hands in his.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, his face full of concern as you examine the ring.
“Nothing,” you’re quick to respond, sniffling and rotating it between the pads of your fingers. “I just…”
Felix waits for you to answer, giving your hand a little squeeze as you struggle to find your words. He knows that verbalizing your feelings isn’t exactly your forte, giving you time to think over the action and speak when it feels right to you.
“Your ring,” you say with a soft chuckle. “It was a gift from my dad.”
His expression turns serious, holding up his index finger to rotate it around in front of you. “This one?” He inquires.
“Yeah,” you respond with a smile. “The one I gave you before we broke up. I know I’m not the best with my words, but I never got to say thank you. You stayed up with me the night they told us he was nearing the end. And again when my mom left. And somehow you found me in this shitty little town, and I like to think it’s so that I can properly thank you for everything. That’s why I wanted you to have the ring.”
Felix can’t properly reciprocate with a kiss while he’s sat below you like this, but he brings his lips forward to kiss your knee tenderly, staring up at you through innocent eyes and humming against your flesh.
“You were not alone,” he says, pressing another kiss. “You’re never alone. I would do it all over again.”
And you smile down at him, as he takes the ring from the palm of your hand and slides it onto your ring finger, an unspoken promise that he’s always going to be here to help build you up again, regardless of your reservations or your conditions. That just like this town lost itself so many years ago, there’s always a way to build things back up again, you just have to hold onto the hope that it’s possible.
“I love it,” you say, examining the way it sits around your fingers just like his does. And Felix doesn’t answer, pressing more kisses on the pads of your knees and using a hand to part your knees slightly. You take note of the way he keeps his eyes shut as he trails kisses, relishing in the way you give into his actions, laying back to part your knees and observing his eager state.
“Can I take a picture of you?” Felix asks shyly, his eyes darting over your visible crotch as your skirt rides up. You shoot him a little nod in response, gesturing for him to go get his camera, which he wastes no time doing, pulling it out of his black carrier bag and slinging it over his neck. Felix sits cross-legged in front of you again, watching intently as you flip your skirt up and let your fingers graze over your soaking panties. Your new ring glints in the dim glow of the overhead lamp, glistening as you rub your clit over the thin fabric of your underwear and stare into the lens of his camera.
Felix clicks a set of photos, his breath hitching in the back of his throat at the sight of you tugging on your panties and spreading even further for him. You make a big show of staring innocently into his lens, your eyebrows arched in curiosity as you toy with your waistband and tug it down a little further, your hips swaying a little as you struggle to pull it off entirely. And Felix takes note of your struggle, snapping one more photo of your desperate state and slinging the camera back off.
“Let me help you,” he says with an amused smile, placing the camera on the bag beside him and scooting closer to you. His hands loop themselves in the hem of your panties, keeping his gaze locked on your core as he pulls them down, being met instantly with the sweet aroma of your arousal and your glistening folds.
“Fuck,” Felix breathes, swallowing in anticipation at you spread for him.
You let yourself slouch back into the dip of the couch cushion, propping a leg up to give him a better view, and your hands graze over your breasts as you watch him struggle to comprehend the sight.
“Go on,” you order simply, biting your lip as his eyes widen when you knead your breast gently.
And Felix doesn’t spare another second, his hands finding purchase on your inner thighs, as he brings his face forward and licks a long stripe up your folds. His tongue is instantly coated in your arousal when he does, moaning at the taste of you as you writhe in pleasure below him and clamp your knees around his pretty face. He holds them open again, letting his tongue graze over your pulsing clit, before licking another stripe and then latching his lips around your bundle of nerves, pressing a chaste kiss before sucking harshly.
The room fills with your high-pitched moans, gasping for air and clutching desperately onto the fabric of the couch as he works you, alternating between sucking your clit between his teeth and grazing his tongue over your entrance. He darts his tongue into your sopping entrance to gather more of your arousal, spitting harshly onto your cunt and grazing it around your folds using his tongue. And the more you writhe desperately below him, the more his movements become ravenous, working you like a starved animal as he eats you out and pries your legs open.
“Felix,” you groan, reaching a hand out to push his face further into you. “Feels so fucking good.”
He smiles against you, responding with little kisses peppered on your inner thighs, before moving back to your clit and licking in harsh back and forth motions. Your cunt clenches around nothing, desperate for him to fill you, but not wanting him to halt the motion of pleasuring you with his tongue. And as his fingers graze along your thigh to pry you open again, you gasp when he brings the same hand to your clit and rubs vigorously.
Your body is shaking now, trembling with anticipation as you approach your orgasm. But Felix doesn’t stop to gauge your reactions at all- in fact, if you were to cum right now, he’d keep going at this pace regardless. He’s too fixated on the taste of your arousal in his mouth, the melodious moans you let out for him and the way you reach for nothing tangible as he works you.
As your head throws back in pure ecstasy, you feel his fingers move lower, and lower, until he’s grazing your entrance with his knuckles in a teasing motion. And before you can ask him to fuck you with them, he’s already inserting two fingers, increasing the pace of his tongue as he begins to thrust in and out of you. Your cunt contracts eagerly around his fingers, desperate for release now as he matches the rhythm of his tongue with his fingers, the room teeming with the sounds of your squelching pussy. As he pushes deeper into you, you feel his ring- the cold, stiff metal of your now matching rings, graze your entrance, sending a wave of pleasure over your trembling body. His fingers work in and out of you, the cold metal pressing itself on your clit as he bottoms out inside of you and moves his fingertips in quick come hither motions to stimulate you. Your abdomen contracts harshly with every thrust now, your clit throbbing as he traces it with his tongue and peppers it in hot, wet kisses.
“Felix, fuck, I’m- gonna cum for you,” you warn, your voice shaky as he moves even faster, showing no mercy with his movements as he groans against your exposed flush.
“Let go for me,” he commands plainly, his deep voice vibrating against your clit as he holds his tongue there. “Always give me such a fucking show, baby. Make a mess for me.” He speaks between kisses on your glistening folds, alternating between pouting his lips to make out with your cunt and let his tongue wag over your sensitive core.
As you feel his fingers thrust into you one last time, the cold metal of his ring gliding over your folds in its coat of arousal, your abdomen contracts over him, your cunt clenching in syncopation with your fervent moans as you finally let go and dribble your juices all over his freckled face. He wastes no time cleaning you up, lapping at your core to swallow your release and pepper your dampened flesh with tender kisses.
“Stay there,” Felix orders, reaching beside him as your eyes flutter shut in overstimulation. You lie completely listless, your limbs languid and heartbeat pulsing at a now slowing rate throughout your body.
Felix brings his camera up to you again, sitting up on his knees and snapping a photo of your wearied state, his eyes wide with lust as he admires the way your legs hang loosely at your sides. His lens adjusts to capture your parted lips and flushed cheeks, your hands tugging your skirt down again and the smile on your breathless lips when you open your eyes again.
Felix stands up now, approaching you with the camera and letting his slender fingers graze your lips.
“Suck,” he orders, inserting the same two fingers down your throat as his other hand positions the lens in front of you. And you oblige eagerly, your lips wrapping around his digits to suck your own arousal off of him, your tongue swirling around the salty metal of his ring to rid him of your juices.
His photos capture exactly that- your lips wrapped around his knuckles, the kisses you trail down his fingers and the way your tongue licks the perimeter of your matching jewelry clean.
When you’re finished, you release him with a gentle pop, Felix letting his camera hang loosely at his waist again and using his now free hand to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.
“So beautiful,” he says resolutely, bringing you up for a gentle kiss. “You were always such a good model for me.”
*
When you work an early shift, you make it a point to kick Felix out of your apartment no later than 9, or sometimes 10. You’re not staying the night, you’d explained as a non-negotiable condition, wanting to avoid the awkward antics that come with sleeping alongside each other and waking up in his arms. But tonight, you can’t seem to let go of him, letting his arms wrap you in their warm embrace as he presses kisses to your forehead and tells you stories of college that you weren’t around for.
“It was the worst group I ever had for a project,” Felix says in a chuckle. “I don’t know how I passed that course.”
“You should’ve requested a different group,” you say in a sleepy voice, smiling as you play the humorous tale in your head.
“I did!” He exclaims. “I don’t think the professor liked me enough to let me switch so late in the semester.”
“Well, you got through it,” you reply, letting your hand intertwine with his as your rings rub tenderly against each other. “I can’t say the same.”
Felix chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and letting your hands rest against each other. He thinks for a moment, and then rubs his thumb along your hand lovingly as he begins to speak again.
“I want to take so many photos of you in the spring. There’s this new lens I want to try.”
You pause briefly, opening your eyes to look at him, and then you cock your head slightly before responding.
“You won’t be here for the spring, Felix. You’ll be back at school.”
He swallows nervously, pondering your words, and then he exhales deeply before continuing.
“I don’t think college is for me, either.”
The words hit you like a truck the second they escape his lips- you sit up in bed to look at him, releasing his hand from yours and furrowing your brows together.
“What?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I want to stay here, with you.”
“No, you don’t,” you’re quick to say, shaking your head.
“I do,” Felix admits sheepishly. “Everything makes sense here. Being with you, the town, the people- I think I’m meant to be here, too.”
“No, you’re not,” you say, pulling away from him even further as he sits up now, too. “Felix- this isn’t your life. You need to go back to school, and pick a major and live your life.”
“I don’t want those things,” Felix responds frustratedly. “I want you. I want this town. I don’t care if you don’t want to date, I’ll stay by your side regardless. I can’t just leave you.”
“You can, and you will.”
Felix narrows his eyes, anger quickly overtaking him as his face flushes a dark shade of red.
“So you’re allowed to and I’m just not? Who are you to dictate what I do with my life?”
“This is the life I made for myself,” you reply, exasperated. “It’s not some soul-searching pit stop like it is for you.”
“Maybe it’s not for me, either.”
You’re entirely off the bed now, your hands making angry gestures as you try to verbalize your feelings toward him, Felix’s voice growing increasingly irate as you attempt to.
“You know why I left you in the first place?” You question. “Because I was dragging you down. You had everything- a family, a future and a girlfriend who didn’t quite have things made the way you do. No one even understood why we were together, Felix. I’m not gonna drag you down a second time just because we had sex a couple times.”
“Is that all this is to you?” Felix inquires angrily. “Just sex? It doesn’t seem that way when you’re all over me at Seungmin’s parties calling me your ‘best friend’. That doesn’t sound like just sex to me-”
“You are my best friend,” you interrupt frustratedly, tears falling from your eyes now as you try to make him listen.
“You are my best friend, and I don’t want this life for you. The night I left you, my dad was moved to hospice, and my mom decided she wanted nothing to do with it. I knew you’d be wasting the best years of your life taking care of me, staying by my side like the good person you are, but that it would get in the way of college and your life. It wasn’t easy for me to do, Felix, breaking up with you and getting as far away from you as possible before I could change my mind. But you have a life outside of me, and I need you to go be that person still.”
Felix says nothing in response for several minutes, his eyes welling with tears, too, as you wipe your eyes with your inner wrists and avert his gaze. You hate when Felix sees you cry- it’s embarrassing, and it feels shameful. It feels the way it did when Felix skipped classes to be with you, neglected studying for his exams to hold you as you cried, rain checked his own family to be with yours and dragged you to every house party, so that he could fuck your sadness away in an environment that wasn’t a hospital bathroom or your childhood room.
“How dare you imply the time I spent with you was wasted,” he scoffs, his lip quivering as he wipes his own eyes. “You were my life, outside of all of this. And you still are, and you’re so stubborn in doing that thing where you don’t let yourself feel.”
You watch as Felix gathers his camera, stuffing it back into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
“You said you’re somewhere between the fire and the mending. But you don’t talk about the fire. You just shut it out like you do with everything else.”
He pivots on his heel, making his way toward the door and walking with loud, purposeful strides. You begin to say something, quickly swallowing your words again as he reaches for the doorknob and turns it slowly. Felix pauses momentarily, hoping you’ll ask him to stay, apologize, forgive- anything, any sort of indication that this is what you want, too. But as the door opens, your silence is answer enough for him.
“No one could have prevented the fire,” Felix says before leaving, echoing the words you told him so long ago. “You can pick up, and move on, but it still happened. And just because things burned, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to thrive again.”
Without another word from you, he’s disappearing out your front door, his camera bag swaying on his side as he marches out the building and back to his car.
And you feel yourself begin to cry, your heart contracting painfully in your chest, a pit forming in your stomach as you witness him walk out of your life again. The flames burn inside of you all over again, turning organ to ash as you wipe your never-ending tears and slam the door behind him. It’s akin to when your mother left, when your dad passed and when you left Felix the first time. It’s overwhelming, it consumes you whole, your entire figure trembling as you fail to extinguish the flames. The phenomenon begs the question- had the fire ever really stopped? Were you ever in the process of mending if not wailing like this, your vulnerability on display for the world to see as your walls are finally let down? Is this what it means to feel?
*
There are few people in this world who have seen you cry. Your mom, one of them, when you begged her to stay. Your dad, another, when you held his hand through his last breath. Felix, the third, several times throughout your relationship with him.
And the folks in this town- never. Not once have they witnessed you wail the way Felix has, tears brimming your eyes as you fail to keep your emotions at bay, mucus trickling down to your lips in an inelegant manner as you cry, and cry and cry.
“You want some coffee?” Chris asks awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as he watches you bury your face in the sleeves of your sweatshirt.
“No.”
“Yena should be here any minute,” he adds, his voice softening as he watches you lift your head to give him a nod.
“Hang in there, kiddo,” Chris finishes, rubbing your back in small circles and giving you a gentle pat.
As you rest your chin in your hands, a pounding headache overtaking your whole being, a knock at the front door catches your attention. It’s Yena, a hood thrown over her head as she balances a tupperware container in her hands and peers through the window. Chris gives her a knowing look, making his way to the door and unlocking it for her.
“Hey,” Yena says softly as she enters, setting down a slice of pie in front of you and taking a seat on the stool beside you. “You okay?”
You sniffle once, shaking your head sorrowfully as she awaits your explanation. But nothing is verbalized yet, and for a good few minutes, all you can do is cry.
Yena wraps you in her loving embrace, letting your tears stain the shoulder of her hoodie, as Chris shrugs from behind you and delivers reassuring pats to your back. They’re just as confused as each other, awaiting a reason or some story, but you can’t bring yourself to vocalize your thoughts, especially when you’re a crying mess like this. Chris finally ushers Yena to say something, and she does, albeit reluctantly.
“You know, just between us, I think he’s a little dorky, anyway. It’s his loss if he can’t see what he’s missing.”
And to their surprise, you chuckle lightly, still wiping tears with the corners of your sweatshirt.
“What?” You question, a soft hiccup escaping your lips as you speak. Yena furrows her brows, together shooting a questioning look to Chris, who shrugs in response.
“Is this… not about Felix?” She queries hesitantly.
“It is,” you emphasize, another giggle escaping your lips. “But it’s not that he’s not interested. We used to date, Yena.”
At this, Yena reaches around to swat Chris’ shoulder, pursing her lips together as she speaks again. “I knew something was up,” she voices, swatting Chris again. “Christopher over here was convinced he was too into you.”
“You guys talked about it?” You add, giggling softly into the sleeve of your sweater.
“It was hard not to,” Yena responded, giving you an empathetic look. “The way you guys light up a room when you’re together, it’s like winter turns to spring or something. I was so certain he was the one.”
At this, more tears escape the corners of your eyes, falling onto the counter below you as you nod slowly in regards to her words.
“I love him,” you finally say, and the room goes silent when you do.
“I love him, and he deserves better than me. Than this,” you finish, gesturing around you to the town. “He wants to drop out of college and stay here. Like that’s a good idea for anyone except me.”
Yena and Chris give each other staggered looks, unsure of what to reply to first. They’ve never heard you speak of your emotions like this, never seen you cry and never would’ve guessed that you would let down your guard to this degree around them. It’s a little frightening, at first, to watch you tear down your own walls so much, like watching a different person than the one they’ve known for all these years. But it’s also reassuring to see that you are capable of letting yourself open up for the right people. It takes a weight off their shoulders to bear witness to the confirmation that they’re the people you can go to when you need help, the same way they don’t hesitate to lean on you. And it especially gives solace to know that you feel so deeply at all, a trait Yena and Chris have always pushed you to familiarize yourself with.
“Well what’s stopping you?” Yena asks, threading her fingers in your hair and combing it back like your mother used to.
“Exactly that,” you respond. “I don’t want to confine him to this life of mine.”
“Let me ask you something,” Yena states, taking your hands in hers and bringing your gaze up to meet hers. “Are you happy?”
And the question throws you off guard, requiring a moment to think before you can say anything in response. It’s a fair question, too- one you should’ve asked yourself when you agreed to move here years ago. But it’s not a difficult one to crack, either, when you take in your surroundings. The diner across the street is packed with patrons, happily sipping away at milkshakes and glass bottles of soda. This old record shop, with its dingy back room and rows of genres you make an effort to learn about whenever you get a chance. The starlings that flock when the train travels through, the holiday parties you find a home in and your favorite spot on the hill, overlooking all of Ember. They’re all working parts of one larger phenomenon- that of happiness.
“Yeah,” you reply, nodding to affirm your answer. “I love it here. And I love you guys, and I’m still healing most days, but I wouldn’t want to be doing it anywhere else.”
A smile grows on Yena’s face as she glances back between you and Chris, and he shoots her a little nod.
“Then do something about it,” she finally says, giving your hands a little squeeze. “The first step is letting yourself feel. The rest is up to you to run with.”
And when you meet her gaze, and Chris’ gaze, their loving expressions looking down at you like you’re one of their own, you can’t help but pull them into a hug, letting yourself cry a little harder at the prospect of your found family, these tears ones of happiness.
“I love you guys,” you voice confidently. “And I’m sorry if I’ve never said it out loud.”
Chris’ hand pats your back, Yena’s combing through your hair tenderly, as they hug you with equal enthusiasm and allow you to cry as long as you need.
“We love you, kid,” Chris answers.
And when you pull away again, the three of you laugh, your tears staining your reddened faces as you bask in this unconditional appreciation for one another.
“Eat your pie,” Yena says, shoving a fork toward you. “And Chris, play some music, will you?”
Chris salutes her, pulling a random record off the shelf and scanning its contents.
“Polish folk?” He questions, and you glance at the familiar cover of the record, the same couple dipping into a bow as they dance in their colorful fabrics.
“This one’s really good,” you chime in, taking a bite of cherry pie as you nod toward the record player. “We should dance to this one.”
And as Chris starts the upbeat music, pulling Yena in for a comedic waltz, you can’t help but laugh through your tears, at the home this town’s given you in all your mending.
*
Felix hasn’t been at the record shop since your fight. He hasn’t been at your apartment, nor the diner, or even Seungmin’s place (and yes, you did ask). There’s only one place you know Felix would flock to after a night like the one you shared, and if you’re lucky, you should still be able to catch him on his supposed last night here.
The grassy hill is a little slippery at this hour, caked mud enwreathing your sneakers as you trudge your way up the hill and into the familiar dip of the land. And as the horizon becomes visible to you, spanning the length of the town and showcasing all the bright lights the nighttime flaunts, so does Felix, sitting with his back to you in a plain white t-shirt and jeans. He looks more casual tonight, less dressed with the intention to look a specific way, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of his slim frame taking in the view you led him to. He leans back on his hands, eyes scanning the sight of the town, before picking up his camera and snapping a series of photos.
When you occupy the spot next to him, he glances over at you briefly, before turning his attention back to the camera and waiting for you to speak.
“It’s prettier at night, isn’t it?,” you finally say, breaking the silence, and Felix fixes his gaze on the blurry lights of the record shop.
“Yeah,” he responds curtly, swallowing nervously as he ponders what to say.
And you know if you let him facilitate this conversation, it’d be over much sooner rather than later, but you also know that it’s up to you to make amends now.
“Your photography is still so beautiful,” you state, gesturing to the camera in his hands. “It’s always been so artistic.”
Felix remains quiet, toying with the strap on his camera as you speak.
“You’re artistic,” you continue. “And that’s why I want you to finish college. Don’t throw all this away for me.”
He turns his face to meet your gaze, his eyes trembling a little as you give him an empathetic look and shrug.
“I don’t want to go where you won’t follow,” Felix says, his voice coming out a little shaky.
“But I’ll always be here,” you retort, tears beginning to prick the corners of your eyes again. “Don’t put your life on hold for something that already lives in your past. You are an incredible person, Felix, and I’m not gonna drag you down a second time.”
Felix thinks for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat as he thinks over your words. And he knows that there’s a possibility this isn’t what he wants, either- to stay in this little town with your friends he’s not even sure like him very much. But he does know he wants you, and that staying here would mean sacrificing his old life.
“I want you to know it wasn’t your fault,” Felix says after a brief pause of silence. “Nobody who walked out deserved you. And your dad loved you- a lot. I think about that moment watching the sunrise with you every day. He’s there too, part of that memory tucked away in my mind. I’m sorry it happened so suddenly and disrupted things. I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy, Felix,” you tell him, chuckling lightly as you respond. “I have a whole family here. I don’t spend my holidays alone, I meet new people working at the shop everyday. There’s so many people I haven’t introduced you to. There are coffee shops, and parades on weekends, and I’m happy. I’m still healing, but I’ve also realized that being healed doesn’t equate my happiness. I can be one without the other, and still get by just fine.”
Felix’s gaze is fixed on yours for a moment, not saying anything as he lets your words circle his mind. And there’s so much he wants to say in response, so many questions about what the future means for you both, but he also knows very well that the rest is up to him to figure out, just the way you did when you moved out here. Maybe you’re still healing- and maybe Felix is still figuring out the rest for himself, too. And though the past may be clouded by a story much more complex than either of you can even begin to comprehend, the happiness you seek is attainable, whether or not you’re together to see it through to the end. That although sometimes things may burn and decay like this town once did, there are people who will make the journey to help in the process of rebuilding, and you can thrive again. You can always thrive again.
“You’re right,” Felix says, as he looks over the horizon again. “It is prettier at night.”
The dim glow of the streetlights contrasts the flashy signs of the diner and the record shop, painting the blackened town with vivid color and bringing life to the small town of Ember.
And with a half smile, Felix pulls you in for a tender kiss, the two of you letting your apologies flow through each other in the gentle embrace of your lips and your hands intertwining atop the grassy hill.
Felix pulls you close, letting your head rest comfortably against his chest, as he caresses your hand softly in the grasp of his. And his index finger rubs lovingly against your ring finger, your matching rings grazing against each other as if to say I’ve always loved you.
*
Small town at the edge of the world. No particular time of day. A blossoming summer.
If you told the average person to shut their eyes and think of their favorite city, they’d probably conjure up a lengthy description about the booming skyscrapers, the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the fancy restaurants and the well-kept people. Point it out on a map, you’d tell them, and their finger would land in the heart of the amorphous blob of whatever state they’ve chosen.
Now move your finger to the right- keep going, and going, and don’t stop until you’re almost off the map entirely. There will be no major indicators, no colorful dots on this area of the map. You might miss it, in fact, if you shoot too far.
That’s the small town of Ember. A town Felix holds very close to his heart. And one you call home.
The cicadas buzz with high-pitched melodies of summer as you slip your sneakers on, the piercing blue sky around you almost too bright to look directly in its face. The clouds seem to shift with the summer breeze, drifting along the canvas sky like a painting in motion as you take in the sight around you
“Let’s go!” Yena calls, honking her horn twice to signify her arrival.
“I’m coming!” You call back, making your way down the stairs of her porch, balancing trays of food in hand as you account for everything you’ve agreed to bring. Drinks, plates, pie, napkins- your signature arrangement for the town’s summer festival you attend alongside Chris and Yena every year.
“Slow down, kiddo,” Chris says with a chuckle, as you rush to place everything in the backseat. “Oh, and there’s a letter for you on the porch table,” he adds, shooting you a small wink.
“I’ll be right back!” you call to Yena, jogging back up the stairs to collect the little beige envelope that rests atop the wooden surface.
It’s addressed to you, the handwriting in neat swirly black cursive letters, the envelope feeling sturdy between your fingers. You tear it open with no real aim, a giant gash working down the envelope as you rush you pull out the contents and examine them.
It’s a stack of photos, you quickly realize, sorting through them to make out the glossy digital prints.
There’s a photo of you in the back of the record shop, your hands brought up to your face and your legs hanging lazily off the table. Another showcases you in the familiar beige interior of the passenger’s seat, laughing cheerfully and staring out the window. There are photos of the town’s horizon, photos of the record player at your work, Yena’s famous pie, Seungmin’s holiday party and even the matching rings, intertwined hands that rest on the car console. As you shuffle to the last photo, you recognize it to be much more recent than the others, even the quality looking clearer, perhaps a new camera or a different roll of film.
It’s a still photo of Felix, from the waist up, holding a peace sign up to the lens with a small smile. He’s dressed brightly in a white vest and layered jewelry, the background showcasing a blue harbor with rows of boats, the location indistinguishable to you. He’s blonde again, his now shorter golden tresses framing the myriad of freckles that scatter his face once more. And he looks happy, much like himself again.
You wonder briefly who took the photo of him, the angle being of very close proximity. And you can’t make out which hand usually houses the ring you both wear, the only hand visible to you covering his ring finger, regardless. You scan the photo for a moment, running your fingertips over his figure, before turning it over and reading the neatly scribbled text on the back:
Sydney, last fall. I think I’m the only photography major who doesn’t drink my coffee without sugar. And you were right, the freckles do suit me better.
All my love,
Felix.
#Lee Felix#lee felix smut#stray kids#skz smut#skz felix#felix yongbok#felix smut#stray kids felix#felix#skz#stray kids hard hours#skz scenarios#request#fanfic#felix fic#Lee Felix fanfic#ask#felix fluff#Spotify
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helloo, platonic ratio, aventurine and sunday with a teen!reader like mafuyu asahina?
Hello Anon! Thank you for the great request, and I'll hope you'll like this!!<33
Content: Reader is a teen, platonic relationships, mentions of potential suicidal thoughts, fluff, older brother figures hsr men, sfw
Reader has no set pronouns!
((Not proofread))
》DR. RATIO
When he first took you under his wing as a student, he was pleased with your work ethic and especially your grades. You studied all the time, excelling in everything and any subject. But despite all of these great achievements, he still noticed a certain... emptiness to you.
It started out with him noting that you never did anything else BUT studying, which he didn't think was healthy either. After digging deeper, he found out that you once had a love for music that was stomped out by your previous caretakers. And that alone made him immideatly realise many concerning things about you that needed to be helped.
He tried his best to handle the situation with the care it needed and slowly ease you into a feeling of safety for your passions around him. He'll slowly get you back into the art of music after he got you professional help, too, by asking you to sing/play him songs whilst he worked.
》AVENTURINE
Aventurine immideatly noticed something off about you, when he took you under his wing as a little assistant. You were kind, generous and helpful on the surface, but he could feel the darkness festering under it anyways. You were good at hiding the pain, yet he knew better than to think that you could keep it up forever.
He saw a part of himself in you, when he found out that the darkness had eventually turned into a need to end it all. He understood and related, which is why he wanted to save you, if he couldn't save himself. He knew about your passions and how you had to give them up when coming to the IPC and so he decided to simply make you return to what you once were.
He took you to musicals, operas, live shows, theaters, and anything else that could potentially feature music. Aventurine somehow also figured out what instrument you used to love playing and bought you the most expensive one he could get his hands on, on top of tutoring lessons if you needed them to get back into it. He was hellbent into turning you back into you once were, before he finally says goodbye to the world himself.
》SUNDAY
Hiding any form of emotions from Sunday was absolutely impossible, something he made very clear from the beginning. He noticed the way your eyes lost their light whenever no one was around, the way you'd always give everyone painfully empty smiles. But he didn't confront you on it. Not at first, at least.
He observed you for a while instead, never really letting you out of his line of sight as he began watching the way you began dipping lower and lower mentally, the more you lost your passion for anything. When he noticed you giving up your love for music too, he decided to finally confront you. He tried to be gentle and soft-spoken, even using his abilities if he had to, to find the root of the issue.
Once he gets you the help you need, he'll make it his personal mission to also help you feel better around the estate. He'll have your favorite music playing often, make plays for you to sing in, and also ask Robin to rekindle your love for your passions. He hopes that with enough patience and care, you'll be okay again and finally live out your life like a young teen should.
Okay, I hope this was alright for you, Anon, and thank you again for your request!!<33
#honkai star rail#honkai star rail fanfic#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#hsr x reader#hsr#sunday hsr x reader#sunday hsr#hsr sunday#hsr sunday x reader#sunday x reader#sunday x you#sunday x y/n#sunday#hsr aventurine x reader#hsr aventurine#aventurine x reader#aventurine#aventurine x you#aventurine x y/n#dr. ratio#dr. ratio x reader#dr ratio#dr ratio x reader#ratio x reader#ratio x you#dr ratio x you#veritas ratio#hsr veritas#hsr veritas x reader
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Tranny Tango
There's a man on the sidewalk, looking over, then up to see me walking past. He stops in his tracks and stutters back and forth, his read || reaction to me flickering between upstart woman // taller man || hold ground // make space, glitching him in place. When I step off the sidewalk and into the grass, he sheepishly passes me by without a word.
I'm interested in the everyday glitches, the double-takes, the way "everybody is just a little bit disgusted by you," what Susan Stryker calls 'monstrosity' and more than that, the casual experience of being a gaping hole in the gendered world. Stryker attributes this monstrosity to the idea that medical transsexuality, more than any other form of transgenderism, "represents the prospect of destabilizing the foundational presupposition of fixed genders." She takes anti-trans feminists at their word, assuming that their hate stems from some abstract gender trouble that transsexuals pose to female spaces, and her solution is a near-complete identification with that trouble. We can do better. This monstrosity, this glitching, is not just a downstream consequence of spectacular interruptions to some abstract 'fixed genders.' It is certainly not dependent on some unique threat posed by medicalization. It exists through instinctive disgust and constant little glitches in the social infrastructure that is gender, an uneasy response to an uncanny bricolage of the building blocks of gendered life.
Escaping the Cisgender Gaze
The classic trans encounter is to see a visibly transfeminine person out on the street, or as an escort, or in some carefully-curated performance piece, and to realize that gender is a lie. This is part of the utility of transmisogyny, which renders people both constantly accessible and utterly exemplary, and in turn this casts transmisogyny itself as spectacular exclusion instead of a slow social and economic death that sometimes spikes, particularly with multiply marginalized subjects, into horrific violence.
This singularization of transfeminine life and oppression (particularly with trans women of color) through suicide and murder statistics renders both trans life and pain spectacular and implicitly places one as a 'natural' consequence of the other. We need to seriously inspect the many interactions between non-passing transfem people and cis people which do not end with one of them dead. One way to start is Sandra Lee Bartky's understanding of hegemonic femininity as a disciplinary practice.
Femininity as Disciplinary Practice
As the lesbian separatists of the 1970s and 80s intensified the work of rooting out patriarchy from their spaces, they began to discover that nothing was sacred: nearly all everyday social activities were shaped by gender. As Bartky argues, the 'imposition of such discipline on female identity' influences every second of every day:
Iris Young observes that a space seems to surround women in imagination that they are hesitant to move beyond: this manifests itself both in a reluctance to reach, stretch, and extend the body to meet resistances of matter in motion—as in sport or in the performance of physical tasks—and in a typically constricted posture and general style of movement.
In an extraordinary series of over two thousand photographs, many candid shots taken in the street, the German photographer Marianne Wex has documented differences in typical masculine and feminine body posture. Women sit waiting for trains with arms close to the body, hands folded together in their laps, toes pointing straight ahead or turned inward, and legs pressed together. The women in these photographs make themselves small and narrow, harmless; they seem tense; they take up little space. Men, on the other hand, expand into the available space; they sit with legs far apart and arms flung out at some distance from the body. Most common in these sitting male figures is what Wex calls the “proffering position”: the men sit with legs thrown wide apart, crotch visible, feet pointing outward, often with an arm and a casually dangling hand resting comfortably on an open, spread thigh.
…in a way that normally goes unnoticed, males in couples may literally steer a woman everywhere she goes: down the street, around corners, into elevators, through doorways, into her chair at the dinner table, around the dance floor. The man’s movement “is not necessarily heavy and pushy or physical in an ugly way; it is light and gentle but firm in the way of the most confident equestrians with the best trained horses.”
Bartky concludes that, between behavior and makeup and skin-care, these disciplinary practices "produce a 'practiced and subjected' body, that is, a body on which an inferior status has been inscribed,” and that "the practices that construct this body have an overt aim and character far removed, indeed, radically distinct, from their covert function;" that is, she claims that gender is everywhere, that it is power, and that cisgender women are structurally made unaware of this connection.
What does this mean for transfeminine experience? First, as seen in the sidewalk example we started with (so chosen precisely because of how fucking boring it is), the abstract 'genderfuck' of transfeminine existence congeals into actual examples in the context of gender-as-infrastructure. Gender is a crossing-guard, a gatekeeper, a reviewer -- it performs social functions, all the time, which glitch and shake in our presence. Transmisogyny is not necessarily vitriolic rage at 'boundary-breakers,' it can also just be the passive exclusion of a person whose existence causes a few too many little frictions.
As we've noted, the singularization of transfeminine life makes non-spectacular trans life impossible for cis people to understand, leading to a constant current of disgust/disdain that accompanies their more exciting bouts of transmisogyny. One major inlet to this current is social friction, the way that non-passing transfems are structurally prevented from using social/visual gender infrastructures to do everyday things. The second inlet, which I will discuss in the next section, is the unease provoked by the negotiations transfems take to navigate gendered systems despite this breakage, making small corrections which are ignored, must be ignored, leaving only the horrible lingering fear that they're better at this gender thing than you.
Gender work
Because transfemininity makes no sense from a vulgar gender-power perspective, cis people generally view transfeminine people as either unwitting 'dupes' of gender or as spectacular hyper-aware gender predators, as seen across the HSTS/AGP split, the dead tranny/serial killer media split, the 'scheming eunuch' archetype, and the binarization of transfem identity in queer spaces. But because cis people also generally want to assume that they're talking to someone that isn't an evil serial manipulator, personal interactions encourage and enforce the good tranny archetype, which demands absolute suppression of any sort of informed gender negotiation. This archetype is impossible to fulfill because of the systematic failure of social gender-power infrastructure to account for transfeminine people, which demands some degree of semi-intentional gender work to fill in the gaps.
Fortunately, this work will basically never be understood as such by well-meaning cis people because of transmisogyny, so you don't have to be /super/ subtle about it. Unfortunately, ignoring this transfeminine gender work takes a lot of effort on the part of cis people, particularly if they also have had to perform reparative gender work because of trans-adjacent conditions (divorce, infertility, lesbianism, PCOS). The invisible work cis people must make to keep themselves separate from transfeminine people is then associated with our presence, most clearly articulated in Janice Raymond's lament that transsexual lesbians are feeding "off woman’s true energy source, i.e., her woman-identified self" -- our proximity alone demands intense effort to keep cis gender negotiations distinct from trans ones, growing frustrations that feed the slow current of transmisogyny.
Even if a cis person successfully suppresses their understanding of transfeminine gender work, for folks within queer & women's spaces, this itself leads to a horrible looming anxiety because people in these spaces usually pride themselves on having a full consciousness of gender, and we're a pretty notable exception to that. These anxieties are then channeled into a constant fear of the bad tranny, manifested in the horrible trans woman that your cis queer initiators will tell you to stay far away from. But there is really not much of a difference between the shadowy machinations of the bad tranny and the gender work transfeminine people have to constantly perform to even exist within queer spaces, so transfeminine people are rendered constantly precarious.
What's so deliciously ironic about all this is that this is just a shallow repetition of the cis man // cis woman dyad! Archetypes like 'the poisoner witch' or 'the gossip' or 'the slut' have always been used as a reaction to negotiating power gained via the kitchen, or cloistered social activity, or sex, all routes that men could never understand as a direct consequence of their own gendered power -- so in response to this fear, these roles pilloried exemplary women to structurally terrify the population, but just as importantly to exonerate the rest of the female population, to let men pretend that these weren't tools that everyone was using, to pretend that heterosexual relationships were pure! Just as transfems serve the role of gay best friend^2 in gay mens' films, they serve the role of women^2 in queer spaces, constantly performing gender work which is simultaneously unknowable and terrifying to the cis majority, forcing periodic purges to pick out 'the bad ones' which temporarily exonerate the rest, letting the majority believe that the 'good tranny' actually exists: that mythical trans woman who is not semi-intentionally managing their gender presentation around you, the one you can fuck without worrying if she's just faking it, the one who is good and pure and radical and really, really boring. I have never met a non-passing trans woman like this, but I'm sure plenty of queer people have.
Conclusion
So there are two main forms of everyday experience that express and constitute transmisogyny. The first is the social friction inherent in being freak-gendered in a world that relies on gender to make people move and talk and shit correctly. The second is the friction between the gender awareness demanded of transfeminine people (none) and the practical result of transgendered living in the world. If you want to take some of this back to cis womanhood, I've been trying to reframe the marginalized position of womanhood in terms of articulation work -- that while women have always worked, that work has generally been rendered unreal, always carried out with a dream of not existing, turned into stage-setting for the real boys to grow up and come in and be breadwinners. In this context, our components look like 1) do gender work and 2) don't let it show, and the framing of transfeminine people as socially useless outcasts despite their constitutive role in social life via flexible labor starts to sound a lot like the making of a super-woman, like the mujerísima sometimes invoked in Latin American travesti activism. That sounds just about right. I will become a witch of witches, the lurking terror that eats astrologers, always and ever a little bit too real.
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can u do where the reader is a nursing student and has to do a test and makes gavi their “patient” since he’s injured. I can see it being so funny and gavi throwing a small tantrum. Etc Ty 🤗
nursing student - pablo gavi
summary: you’re a nursing student and gavi is your "patient" to practice on.
genre: fluff
a/n: i absolutely have no idea about anything medically related, so everything here is made up🤣 and thank you for the request! i‘ve actually got two requests like that in my inbox so i combined them:)
———
„Do I really have to do this?“ Gavi whined, already being splattered across your bed, accepting his fate as your test subject.
You were an ambitious nursing student, currently studying for your final exams of this semester. You were specialized in sports medicine because of the internship you were doing at FC Barcelona. That‘s also how you met your boyfriend Gavi. You were the one taping up his ear as he injured himself against Osasuna.
„I just need someone to practice on, but I can also practice on Fermín if you want.“ You teased, knowing Gavi would become jealous quite quickly. As you predicted, he swiftly turned his head, giving you an annoyed glare.
„That was not funny.“ Gavi said, placing his hands behind his head, watching you as you prepared everything for your examination.
„Baby I was joking. I wish you were the test person during the exam.“ You chuckled and walked over to him, giving him a kiss for reassurance. He shyly smiled when you broke apart, feeling better after you gave him a small ego boost.
You put on your gloves and walked over to the side Gavi was laying at.
„Okay just tell me if I hurt your knee during the examination.“ You said. Gavi was still recovering from his ACL injury, so you were more careful than usual.
He nodded, then sat up to remove his shirt for your general body check-up.
Your eyes swiftly glanced over his toned body and you felt your temperature rise. After all it was difficult to concentrate when your handsome boyfriend laid there only with shorts on. To that, you knew he was going to tease you for becoming shy.
„Are you nervous?“ Gavi’s voice lingered in suspicion, his eyebrows were crooked. You rolled your eyes but he was right, you were a bit nervous.
You first checked his heart and lungs with the stethoscope and as soon you pressed it onto his chest, Gavi whined again.
„Amor it’s cold!“ He twisted around the bed, making you let out a chuckle.
„C‘mon it’s not that bad. You’ve done this a thousand times during medicals, do you complain there too?“ You scolded with a laugh and continued to listen to his heartbeat.
He gave you a side eye, pouting slightly at your words. You kissed his pout away a second time and looked for a flashlight to check his eyes. (a/n: i hope you know what I mean lol)
„Do you kiss all your patients?“
„Only the hot ones.“ You returned with a grin, to which Gavi let out a smile.
„Alright let’s check your flexibility.“ You said, trying to distract yourself from the teasing. After all you had to practice, there was no time to swoon over your man.
After checking his knees, being extra careful with his right one, you moved over to looking at the anatomy of the human body. This was also a big part of your exam, so it was the perfect time to look at an athlete‘s body.
„Okay so this here is the biceps brachii muscle.“ Your hand softly traced over his arm until you reached his shoulder. „…and this here is the trapezius muscle…“ you were in your own world, your gaze shifting from the textbook over to Gavi‘s body several times to see if you were right. Gavi smiled softly. He first wanted to tease you again about something, but as he saw you so concentrated, so focused on studying the right thing, he let it be and just admired you.
Gavi was proud to see you studying medicine. You were so smart, always giving him a massage or taping him up if something was nagging him after practice.
„Although I don’t like being your test subject and would rather cuddle with you, I can’t stop being so proud of you.“ You looked up, your cheeks red once again after hearing his words. A shy smile spread across your face as his compliments still made you nervous.
You stood on your tiptoes, textbook and anatomy long forgotten and grabbed his neck to bring him closer. His lips soon found yours and you both got lost in the sweet feeling of each other. Gavi brought you in a hug, quietly whispering into your ear.
„Can we cuddle now?“
#gavi x reader#pablo gavi x reader#pablo gavi#gavi#football x reader#gavi one shot#pedri x reader#barça#football one shot#fc barcelona
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One more question(for now) why do people on tumblr use tags to talk #like this #about whatever they think of the post, instead of just commenting on the reblog😭 Is there an etiquette I'm missing?
short answer: yes.
long answer, there is an etiquette to it, and I think it's a longstanding thing that just ended up ingrained in a lot of users, which comes off as cold/shy/outlandish or maybe even standoffish to people from other sites and apps. there's no be-all end-all of how to act online or on here but i think in terms of most* people (*speaking broadly, making this up) who've used tumblr for a while it feels like this:
tumblr is a theater, the dashboard is a stage, each post is a performance. (a joke, a dramatic act, a story, a movie, a picture, etc.) you have a variety of ways to interact with the performance, but some of them are going to be more frowned upon--based purely on how the long standing visitors of the theater are used to acting, honestly.
likes are a polite applause, but they don't show anyone outside of the theater that you enjoyed yourself, or what you enjoyed. the performer appreciates the applause but does not garner any new viewers when you only like a post, btw.
silent reblogs mean you exit the theater with merch or a leaflet and go show it to other people. look what i saw on the stage, don't you want to see it too. this shows the performance to a new variety of viewers, who might then also show it to others.
replies and reblogs with content are often seen as """"rude"""" because they're like standing up at the end of the performance and loudly saying "that was okay but I think MY take on things makes it just a BIT better." people are more forgiving of this when it's something universally true or acceptable, or when it's very funny. if it's not (and even if it is, sometimes,) there'll potentially be a reblog down the line making fun of it (and this is another person in the theater standing up and making a fart noise, regardless of how tasteless or rude.) it's never actually "wrong" to add comments on a reblog unless you're being intentionally hurtful, and it's normal to add commentary to a friend's post, but even then, people seeing this from the outside may see that as obnoxious and impolite and try to call you on it anyway. (people are very weird about enforcing what they see as a universal rule of etiquette, when this is admittedly the only site where you'll be punished for adding to the discussion.)
and again, this is an absolutely arbitrary rule because what one person finds universally true and hilarious, another will find trite and stupid and too niche. the polite thing to do in the case of the latter is just reblog from further up the chain than the commenter, but people aren't always nice when they're annoyed.
getting to your actual question now, comments in the tags are a way to leave remarks that you DON'T want to shout to the whole theater. these are you whispering to yourself or your friend, or writing in a guestbook on the way out. people can see/hear it if they go looking for it, but you're not shouting over the performance to get your piece out. it's polite because it's unobstructive and doesn't take up space, and if your tags don't make sense to someone else or seem too niche, they don't have to share the post with your commentary attached.
adjacent to this, "peer review" or screenshotting someone's tags to insert them in the post is like if you did whisper to your friend, then your friend wrote your comments on a whiteboard and held it up for others to see. as this is a form of commentary within the reblog, it's again subject to an arbitrary universal/niche rule. just because a tag gets peer reviewed doesn't mean it's beyond reproach by strangers.
also in line with this general line of thought experiment, blazing a post means that between acts, you run up on the stage and start shouting your piece. it is, once again, going to be more acceptable to strangers to see you do this if it's something universally funny, true, or cute. this is why niche fandom posts, vent posts, and self promotions get ignored or booed down, while pet birthday photos and silly jokes get blazed and get a lot of notes regardless.
lastly, a kungpowpenis is when twelve+ individuals from the audience get up and beat the shit out of the person performing on stage and leave their corpse on display in the town square.
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I like thinking about their more canon adjacent dynamic (character wise)
MINI ANALYSIS TIME
Because while I love the soft interpretations, even WITH those let’s be real; that’s not how they’d act off the bat
Horror would be extremely judgmental (fair) and hate Dust for what he did. He’d despise him and probably be very passive aggressive. Making jabs and making his disdain apparent when they have to interact. I think getting a read on Dust is also difficult and would piss Horror off. Horror is unpredictable and has a sadistic streak, if he was mad or manic and had Dust in a corner he’d have no qualms about manhandling the guy. (And Dust probably wouldn’t do much to stop him.)
Meanwhile, Dusttale’s creator was asked once how Dust may feel if he met Horror, to which they said he feels bad for Horror. He likes him, sees him as someone who went through something horribly undeserved. In my mind Dust is somewhat protective of Horror.
I interpret these clashing of dynamics as Horror’s just utter disdain for this guy, and Dust’s resigned acceptance of Horror’s judgment. He’d agree with him if he were to judge himself, but I think a part of him wants Horror’s approval. He doesn’t EVER expect to get it, but Horror is….
While he’s seen hell, he’s almost a less tormented version of Dust himself. Deep down they are the same. Horror has suffered greatly, but even still hasn’t hit the deep end dust has, and I think he’d want to protect that sort of innocence he’s granted. One could think of it as him protecting a piece of himself he himself has already sacrificed. And wanting APPROVAL from him, wishing to be forgiven, craving that small piece of validation or understanding as he tries to reconcile with himself.
Horror’s formed opinion makes sense, he agrees with it, and simply wishes he disagreed, that he could have proof of himself being a FRACTION worthy of forgiveness or understanding.
The judge in both of them has both formed an opinion of the other, and they happen to differ greatly. Horror sees Dust as an abuser and Dust sees Horror as a victim.
I like to imagine that, while reluctantly thrown into the same general vicinity, Horror would grow to be more understanding (again if we are going with a PROGRESSIVE plot line) and come to understand that, yes, he wasn’t WRONG, but there is nuance to the situation. They both have a very grim understanding of what it’s like to be trapped. I think he has the capacity to understand Dust better if he was given time. His hands aren’t clean after all, and he knows what it’s like to be forced into a situation and to feel backed into a drastic decision. He knows what it’s like to lose your autonomy and to feel your mind break itself under pressure.
I think the simple fact that Dust wouldn’t TRY to change his mind or justify himself would be part of why Horror could come to understand him. He’s devestated by his actions, he is by no means a sadist.
Horror coming to understand Dust and sort of reconcile/forgive him I think would be rather BIG for Horror, especially if you factor in other situations he now has to consider. (For example, his Undyne and her drastic attempt at freeing the undergroud…) reconciling his OWN arguably cruel decisions he has made with pure intentions, when he feels there’s no other choice (like his Papyrus and tricking him into doing something so outside of his beliefs, to protect him)
It would also be healing for Dust to get that reconciliation with Horror because again…Horror’s opinion actually may MATTER.
And in the same way that Dust may see Horror as a sort of person to be protected from further harm, Horror would probably pick up on all of the VERY bad habits Dust has that (in my observation at least) are EXTREMELY similar to his own habits/past habits (isolation, obsession, deprivation, paranoia, bringing harm to self etc) and I could see him being sensitive towards those and trying to prevent it worsening (it’s a sore subject💔) Horror is shown to prioritize taking care of those he cares about, even when he’s a bit mad, and he has the capacity to grow an understanding for someone he doesn’t like initially :))
I think they have potential to be VERY good for one another, Horror (while being fucked up) encourages (and maybe forces) better habits and actually has an opinion that matters to Dust, and Dust is inclined to be VERY loyal (Horror needs someone to show him loyalty.) to anyone who cares to give him the time of day, as it’s far beyond what he’d expect, and he’s got the sympathy/protective streak towards Horror as an actual in character detail.
And from there it would be wonderful to explore their dynamic in whatever way you like to interpret it🤫💥
I could go on but I’ll stop here, if you read this all CONGRATS!!!
Share your thoughts I love it
#utmv#undertale#ut au#sans aus#bad sanses#traditional doodle#character analysis#hehe#horror sans#dust sans#murder sans#horrortale#dusttale#horrordust#if you want ;))#bcs I want ahem#sans#my art#horrortale sans#dusttale sans#I LOVE DYNAMICS URGH I have so many little thoughts I want to spout about#don’t mind the shitty little doodle#also I’d like to clarify that there’s nothing wrong with fanon interpretations I love those too honestly#I see canon as a starting point to base stories upon rather then a restriction of the characters personality#I love bridging canon characterization with fanon ideas/ dynamics#blushes cutely
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Hi! Idk if you do headcanons but if you do can you do boyfriend headcanons for Dallas? It can be up to you to make it general things or just smut related things.
Dating Dallas HC’s
Despite what you may think, I don’t see Dallas being an overly possessive boyfriend. You two go about your business and that’s that, but the moment he catches someone flirting with you he’s bounding over and making sure everyone knows you’re his. Beyond that? He’s alright with PDA, but he’s not about to make out in front of his friends, that’s private stuff.
He’d let you wear his jacket, necklace, rings, everything. He loves seeing you in his clothing, and he’d certainly notice the moment you aren’t wearing one item that you usually do - and it’s not even for the reason you think, he’s just worried you’ll lose his stuff and he’ll have to find another one.
He has no problem remembering birthdays, anniversaries, all that jazz. He loves surprising you by remembering important dates for you. But the moment you ask him if he remembers someone you met last week he’s pulling a blank. He’ll remember eventually, but he sucks at remembering faces.
You ever need something but don’t have the money for it? Dallas does! Don’t ask where he got it, most of the time he doesn’t remember or doesn’t want you worrying about him - he doesn’t know which is worse and he ain’t about to find out.
On the topic of money, if you tried to pay him back he’d act personally offended and never accept the money. I’m talking full-on mouth dropping open, loud scoff, all of it. You’re his girl, why the hell are you trying to pay him back? Just give him a kiss or something.
Loves driving you places, and lets you control the music in reasonable amounts - meaning, you cannot play the same song over, and over. He’d let you get away with three replays max before he’s groaning and turning the radio off and tossing the mix out the window. He’d apologize afterward and buy you a new cassette.
I do not see him being a kind driver, the man has road rage and you’ve seen it. There have been multiple instances where you’ve ducked into the passenger seat and whisper-yelled at him to shut up - he never does.
The man is like a corpse when he sleeps. You want him to move over? Good luck. You’d have a better chance rolling over onto him to get sleep, he wouldn’t wake up either way unless you pushed him from the bed.
Speaking of sleep, if you’re ever cold and plaster your morgue-like hands against his back, he will shriek. His back will arch, his legs will shoot out, and he’ll throw every curse known to man your way as he moves away from your hands - your hands still end up warm.
His friends are his family and he takes their opinions seriously, I can see him genuinely fretting over their view of you if he cares enough for you. Hell, he’s got feelings for you, of course, he’s going to want his family to like you. They will, it’ll take a while to get used to their form of joking, but you’ll be at home with them and it’ll make Dallas smile.
On the subject of family, Dallas doesn’t mention his much. He might if you’re close enough, but you’re likely to get bits and pieces as time goes by until he’s sure you won’t leave either. When he finally tells you about his upbringing it hurts your heart, you’re both mentally spent by the end of it and you promise him to never mention it unless he does first. He appreciates you for it.
If you stay over at his place often enough he’ll try to make the place look more presentable. Mainly rearranging stuff that he hasn’t touched in months, maybe buying another set of bedsheets. You notice every time something changes in his room and whenever you mention it he’s happy to talk about it, even if he tries to play it off cool.
He watches you sleep, not so much in a creepy way, but it’s something he loves to do. If you talk or snore in your sleep he will imitate it in the morning. In the moment he finds it cute, but he’ll never admit it.
His version of helping you cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner is standing behind you with his chin on your shoulder, or leaning against the kitchen counter with a cigarette between his lips. The man can’t cook, maybe he could, but he likes watching you cook too much to try - that and the one time he tried to help he burnt the shit out of his hand.
If you smoke he’ll light your cigarettes or share his own, if you don’t he’ll appreciate you standing beside him while he smokes, but he ain’t gonna force you to be near him when he does - just don’t nag the man, he’s been smoking since he was a kid, I don’t think he could stop even if he wanted to.
Whenever he smokes he’ll blow the smoke to the side, always ensuring it doesn’t blow in your face. But, if the smoke follows you he’ll murmur some cliche line like “Smoke follows beauty.”
Any music he’s into he will show you in a heartbeat. He thrives on showing you things you haven’t seen yet, whether it’s movies at the drive-in he’s sneaking you into, or a cassette he snagged from a nearby store - either way, his eyes watch you for any reaction.
Definitely considers going on a walk or eating food in Buck’s T-Bird a date. You’ll have to specify what you want if you want anything different, otherwise he’s content with the routine. If you ask for something different he won’t take offense to it, but he might chide you for it.
Words aren’t his forte, actions are. He’ll try his best to be kind, but he’ll occasionally slip and might say something rude. If you can shoot back your own sarcastic quips it’ll make him swoon, he loves nothing more than someone who can fire back at him.
Likely won’t tell you that he loves you for YEARS. You can say it first, he’ll nod and likely kiss your cheek or forehead in return. You know what he means, but he’s not the type to say it until he feels absolutely certain about you. Dallas knows how he feels about someone rather quickly, but he’s wary when it comes to love. He wants to mean it, mean it in a way that scares him.
The first time he tells you he loves you will be when you’re asleep. He’ll continue doing that until one day when he randomly springs it on you. It’ll likely be around a cigarette, but you’ll be able to tell from his eyes how deeply he means it. Don’t expect him to say it often, but know that he always feels it.
A/N: This is so short, I’m so sorry. I’ve never done headcanons before, so I hope this was good! I think about Dallas’s character so much that I actually had a bit of fun with this! This is a late night post for me, but I finished it up and figured I’d post it for y’all anyways. Thank you all for the continued love and support you’ve shown me and my work!! I appreciate you all more than words could ever describe! <3
#the outsiders writing#the outsiders fanfiction#the outsiders fanfic#the outsiders dally#the outsiders dallas#the outsiders#the outsiders headcanons#headcanon#dallas winston writing#dallas winston x y/n#dallas winston drabble#dallas x reader#dallas winston x reader#dallas winston imagine#dallas winston#dallas winston headcanons#dally winston x reader#dally imagine#dally winston#dally x reader#dally winston x y/n#dally winston headcanon#anon ask#my work#request
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hello! platonic astral express (mostly welt and dan heng) + jing yuan with a teen reader like collei?
they were used as an experiment from a very young young thankfully the crew/jing yuan found and rescued them, they also took them in but they were still traumatized from their time as an experiment,they are chronically ill which makes them weak and are scared of being touched due to their time as an experiment subject
★ A/N: Colleis backstory makes me so sad :(( I love her sm. Characters here are just Dan Heng, Welt and Jing Yuan
☆ Genre/Trope: Platonic + Hurt/Comfort (kinda?)
★ Format: Mini Scenarios (Separate)
☆ Warnings: Implied torture + human experiments on reader // Scar/injuries mentions
★ Extra: Reader is shorter then characters // Reader is with the Express
Dan Heng is very careful around you, whether or not he sees himself as threatening he doesn't know if YOU'D see him as threatening. He could quickly tell how untrustworthy you were when the Express found you. And based on the scars scattered around your body, some clearly new as it seems they were inflicted on you recently and how you held up a make shift dagger towards them, you seem to have a very good reason not to trust them.
It takes some time but eventually Himeko and Welt do manage to gain your trust and let you on board so they can give you a better life then what you had experienced.
Dan Heng makes sure to always be gentle with you and helps you when you need help, he himself isn't much of a touchy person himself but he still ensures to steer clear from any touches, even the lighter ones.
He allows you in the databanks, especially when you have nightmares. He has them himself, although he isn't completely sure about what the nightmare is about, he'll never pry. Only comfort you.
He's also a bit more hesitant to show his dragon form, he doesn't want to potentially scare you but if there comes a time where he for any reason NEEDS to get into that form, he'll inform you and if you want he'll ask March or the Trailblazer to bring you away.
Overall: Dan Heng is careful around you, making sure that whatever he does doesn't trigger you in anyway - he makes sure he doesn't touch you, even slightly and comforts you if you ever have nightmares. He thinks a lot of his actions through just encase it may affect you negatively.
Welt was the first to attempt to gain your trust, his fatherly instincts kicked in as soon as he saw you, he could tell despite the face you put up to try and scare the others behind that was a scared child.
So he was patient with you, took the time to gain your trust, carefully tended to your injuries when you allowed him and as soon as you were comfortable to be on the express. He became your father, whether or not there was any paperwork done or not, you have eventually seen him as your father.
Due to his age (*cough cough* grandpa *cough cough*) he's very smart, so he takes the time to teach you, if you don't understand he'll go over it again and make sure he does it in a way that you'll understand.
He can tell that most of your childhood seems to be lost. So he attempts to make you smile, experience a good childhood you seemed to have missed.
He can also tell that your chronically ill, you're more weaker then others so he offers to get you a cane, something that can provide aid for you so it's hopefully more bearable for you, and if you ever get to weak for even that? He's more then happy to carry you, he'll always ask first as he does know you're a bit more hesitant on being held or touched in general.
If you ever have nightmares he'll make you some tea and listen to you about what it was, even if you decided to not tell him he'll keep you company.
Overall: Welt is a very patient man, who became your unofficial father, knowing that your childhood was seemingly mostly lost he tries to make up for it and he also teaches you the basics of everything. He offers a cane to hopefully help you with your more weak body.
When Jing Yuan first met you, he knew something was wrong. Whether or not you looked better then how you looked before meeting the Express, he's still a General and can catch a lot of things. He won't pry at all but when you're not around will ask about it. He's worried, a child so young and it seems like you've been hurt more then you've smiled?
He doesn't wish to pry, he knows it's none of his business but the fact he knows something bad happened to you and likely at a young age doesn't please him one bit.
Just like Welt, he's patient with you. He's also very careful around you. One time when he was supervising you he happened to summon Lightning Lord as some enemies tried to ambush you and this seemed to send you into a panic, Jing Yuan quickly made sure the enemies were gone before checking on you, being careful not to touch you but still finding a way to comfort you.
Whether or not he manages to calm you down is up to you, however you'll end up with a blanket wrapped around you in the comforts of his office. He'll give you various of games you can play, books or whatever. If you want to try a new hobby he'll get someone to get anything needed for it.
Overall: I think he's similar to Welt however he does sometimes scare you unintentionally. Whether it be due to having to summon Lighting Lord or even hearing him talk in his more "General" voice, he does feel bad though. He doesn't mean to scare you and if you're around he does try not to do either.
Sorry if this take a while to do wrjggdvg. This was slightly difficult to write as I wasn't too sure what direction to take but hopefully this is okay!
#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr x reader#hsr x you#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#hsr imagines#platonic hsr#hsr platonic#Dan Heng x Reader#Dan Heng x You#Welt x Reader#Welt x You#Jing Yuan x Reader#Jing Yuan x You#Platonic Dan Heng x Reader#Platonic Welt x Reader#Platonic Jing Yuan x Reader#🎭 masked fools
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Why is it that dc such as r@pe, sa, and incest is totally okay to write about and romanticize but y’all draw the line at racism, fat phobia, and homophobia *talking about the writings creators make, not personal beliefs*? Whats the difference between these things? All of them are hurtful and affect people in real life, so why is everybody on here choosing and picking one and not the other? Do writers on here think that they are not comparable or that one is okay to romanticize and the other is going way too far?
Im just genuinely curious as I have seen this topic be brought up again and again, which has made me realize this and Id like to see it from someone else's pov.
hi! there is a lot to answer and unpack here and i have every intention of doing so underneath the cut. forgive me if this gets long, but you’ve asked me 4 very massive questions that i think warrant detail, nuance, and thought. there is a lot i’d like to say here.
that being said, mind the content warnings and protect yourself.
cw: mentions of rape, incest, racism, homophobia, fat phobia, discourse in general
firstly, i am going to choose to give you the benefit of the doubt in assuming you are actually curious in hearing another side and you are not simply looking to stir a pot or pick a fight with beliefs you have no intention of changing or having an open discussion on. your accusatory tone in the first half indicates otherwise and kindly, i am not an idiot. but i want to earnestly talk to you about this and again, will think better of you than you perhaps have indicated you think of me.
secondly, you do not have to censor words like rape in my inbox. that sort of censorship has become wildly popular because of tik tok and other money-hungry social media that also desperately want to silence people. do you know why you have to censor words like that on tik tok? or words like genocide? suicide? racism? 1. so that they can make money and market and push their squeaky clean algorithms but 2. and perhaps worse, so they can silence victims. if social media platforms and capitalism and the systems of powers had it their way, you would never utter these words again—whether to call someone out for justice or to have an open discussion like this one. i encourage you greatly to think critically about this and how you choose to use censorship and why.
now, to your questions.
to preface, i am interpreting this ask as being anti-dark content in fiction as you state that ALL these subjects harm people in real life. or at least, you are being critical of all dark content in fiction and the way writers engage with them, effectively ‘picking and choosing’ which are deemed acceptable and which aren’t, when they are all hurtful. i apologize if that wasn’t your intention/what you believe, but regardless, i’ll endeavor to answer you.
i personally have drawn no lines about dark content nor spoken about any of these topics specifically really, which indicates to me you have a different narrative and/or are coming from more inflammatory arguments that are always circling fandom lately. in the post i most recently reblogged, i spoke mostly of violence. which, of course, all of those things can be. but i didn’t name one of those topics in particular.
regardless, i don’t believe in the censorship of any dark content in art, but rather advocate strongly for critical analysis on a case-by-case basis. in general, i encourage thinking critically about every aspect of the world around you.
i do not believe that rape, incest, and sa are okay to write about or create art about but racism, homophobia, and fat phobia are not. i believe all of those topics are ones that can, should, and will be explored in the safety of art. all to varying degrees of success, earnestness, impact, and intent. you’re right that these are real things, that can hurt people, and the fictional work about them can have impact on our society that is tangible but the actual art or fiction created is not real. and again, this is all to varying degrees on a case-by-case basis.
art and fiction also historically and massively do discuss these dark content topics and have actively swayed the public’s opinion on matters, whether for better or for worse. throwing away all dark content in art and fiction because it is ‘harmful’ is deeply, deeply dangerous and reductive. a lot of art that engages with dark content actually makes very succinct points about it—i think of vladimir nabokov’s lolita or octavia butler’s bloodchild or speak by laurie halse anderson.
this is where we must exorcise critical thinking. some pieces of work will handle dark content poorly—white saviors making art on racism. men making art about a woman’s experiences that (as you are so interested in) romanticize her pain. etc. etc. and some art will handle it’s dark content incredibly and be transformative, perhaps even revolutionary in how we talk, perceive, or acknowledge systems of oppression, violence, and dark content in this world. some dark content in fiction will have damaging beliefs and effects on society, some will not—we must also look at scope for this, at the writer perhaps, the historical moment, their audience etc.
(for example, there is a significant difference in a main stream male writer, writing of a woman’s experience with rape in a published book in a way that makes it sound romanticized, sold to thousands and thousands of general public vs. a woman using fanfic to explore rape, take control of it, or whatever in a fanfic for a small online community where there are warnings on it. indicating she is aware of its potential damage in a way her male counterpart is not…)
but i still believe in dark contents’ existence in art. of course there is differences between all of these topics you brought up, but i don’t think their differences matter in this answer. i believe in their right to be explored in art. i am talking broadly of media/art here, which i think is the more relevant conversation, but i think you are actually more interested in a much smaller scale of people. ie. fandom. ie. mostly marginalized people in small communities online writing and creating dark content.
people will choose and pick which ones they’d like to create art over and which ones they don’t, which ones they read and which ones they don’t. there’s no ‘hard line’ drawn anywhere. and i can’t control it and neither can you. perhaps you think violence is okay to be explored in fanfic, but racism isn’t. someone else will have different preferences. i do not believe in its censorship.
now, let’s move onto your interest in romanticization and what i think you are more pointing to, which is fandom. you are specifically referring to people in fandom who write about rape, incest, etc. and ‘romanticize’ it—ie. they write about it in a way that is a fantasy. it is perhaps supposed to be horny or sexy. so let’s talk about it.
i must remind you that these topics you’ve brought up (rape, incest, sa) being written are fiction and it is (most often) done by someone marginalized who has either experienced this or is in threat of experiencing this under a patriarchy. i assure you, they are aware of its harm. hence the copious warnings in fandom spaces.
if i can be candid, sometimes i think that people forget how systems of oppression work when discussing fandom and whether dark content being created should be allowed or not.
for example, i sometimes think people who are anti-dark content in fandom believe that a woman or afab person writing a fictional fanfic about rape or sexual violence then influences people to go out and rape people or that women actually like it. when the reality, in fandom spaces, is that rape and sexual violence happen frequently under the patriarchy and then these women in fandom write fictional fanfic in response to cope, explore, take control of, etc. etc.
to insinuate that women or afab people (which fandom mostly is) exploring dark content safely in fiction then causes their own oppression and harm or trauma is rather victim-blame-y to me. fandom exploring dark content does not cause these things to happen in our society….these actions (rape, incest, sa) happen in our society or systems of power and fandom reacts to them in their art by exploring it in dark content. do you understand what i’m trying to say?
it’s not a matter of what is ‘okay’ to romanticize and what isn’t. i do not think the romanticization that fandom does with dark content (ie. my kidnapper actually loves me! or this sexual act that i did not consent to…maybe feels good) is not actually romanticizing but coping because of the systems of power that i described above. and this can be coping with anything—shame of sexuality, shame of fantasies, trauma, fear, etc. etc.
as i said in my tags in that post i reblogged and as plato said, dark content in art is a safe place to explore what would otherwise be harmful and dangerous in real life. it is cathartic. potentially even, a purging.
and even if it isn’t all that—maybe it just is trashy fantasy. it is still playing pretend. it is still fiction and in fandom spaces, it is still most likely being created by a marginalized person. and again, even if it isn’t, we don’t get to censor it. we can be critical of it or wary or whatever, but to censor it, is a slippery, slippery slope. do deem some topics as “acceptable” and others as “unacceptable” is dangerous.
just like kids play pretend where they ‘fight’ or ‘kill’ or ‘kidnap’ or ‘shoot’ each other in games of cops and robbers or heroes and villains, they are safely exploring adventure, dark content, fantasy, tragedy, and higher emotions. adults can do the same in fiction and with adult topics like sex.
and at the end of the day, we don’t get to demand the credentials to do so either. we don’t get to censor them or control them and nor should we be allowed to. i cannot stress enough that i encourage you to be critical of censorship or the absolute disgust in dark content and at those (again—often marginalized people) who engage with it in fandom. i believe it is deeply puritanical, conservative, and dangerous.
you don’t have to like dark content or consume it at all and fandom makes it easy not to with all the warnings and tags, but you cannot control others or police them. nor should you want to.
and at the end of the day, i have some questions for you. you don’t have to respond to this, perhaps they’re just things to think about. what is the end goal here? what is the point in harassing, shaming, attacking, criticizing, or interrogating people in fandom spaces who create or support dark content? do you believe that if it is purged from fandom, it will be purged from our society? if you want it purged from society—shouldn’t you start there rather than in the inbox of marginalized writers in fandom? people in fandom did not create rape, incest, and sa nor do they in their exploration of fiction…they are merely reacting to a world that did create it.
i hope at no point i came off as rude to you, as was not my intention. i intended to stand up for myself and respectfully state my opinions and thoughts on this matter. i’m sorry it got long, but also i don’t believe in being brief on such complex matters. i am a writer who engages critically with the world around me and sometimes, things cannot be made into short, snappy answers. sometimes, we must unpack.
genuinely wishing you well.
#i cannot guarantee that i’ll have the time patience or energy to answer every ask like the one above in such detail#going forward#but i do support open discussions and i wanted to be kind to this anon#these are just my 2 cents on all of this#cw: rape#cw: incest#cw: racism#cw: fat phobia#cw: homophobia#discourse
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My thoughts on drawing wings (an unofficial tutorial)
Do you want to get better at drawing your favorite winged character? Do you have winged OCs? Just want to learn something new? I can't promise this post will help, but maybe it'll give you some helpful tips.
I know, I knowww, wing tutorials have been done to death. I don't care. This was initially inspired by a conversation on twitter, but actually I've wanted to write down my notes on the topic for a long time lol. Basically wings are one of my special interests so it's very important, for me, to draw them both nicely and also realistically.
On that note, let me first show you my resume *distant sound of floodgates opening*
Like what you see? Read on!
(Oh, and I will only be covering feathered/avian wings bc those are the type I know best.)
Now, I'm not here to give you a step-by-step guide on wing anatomy and aerodynamics, because there are plenty of other resources that cover this already, and I'll list my faves at the end of the post. Right now, I'm going to give you some easy guidelines and tricks that I wish more artists knew.
1: Wings do, in fact, have bones (crazy, I know) and are actually very rigid because they have to support the weight of a living creature. There are some positions you cannot physically force a wing into irl.
2: Flight feathers are not placed willy-nilly on the wing, because then they wouldn't catch the air properly. Again, like the bones, they are rigid and strong, so don't draw them like fur or ribbons. All wings have the same pattern of feather placement, with slight variation depending on species. If you learn the feather sections, it will automatically improve your drawings a lot.
2.5: Feathers overlap each other like a handful of playing cards, and this looks different depending on which side of the wing you're drawing. They always do this unless they're extremely untidy.
3: The size of the wingspan is important if you're going for a more realistic design. There is no "scientifically accurate" measurement when it comes to fictional creatures, but my general rule is when in doubt, you probably need to make them bigger. Personally, for my original winged human species, I give them wings that can be up to 12 feet long each (the artistic sacrifice is that it's really hard to fit the wings on the dang page lmao, so make your own call).
4: Get used to drawing folded wings. Most of the time, birds keep their wings folded because it prevents them from getting damaged and it conserves energy. The trick is to get good at visualizing how the joints bend and overlap (look at plenty of photos!) In general, they can fold much tighter than you think.
5: Wings and feathers take a lot of patience to draw, but the results are worth it. I've seen so so many incredibly beautiful and skillful artworks that are---well, maybe not ruined, but still negatively affected by a pair of wings that look like an afterthought, or not even like wings at all. You have no idea how much a little extra time and practice will add to your work until you see for yourself.
Finally, some notes on "stylized" wings: Of course it's perfectly ok to draw more simplified/cartoony wings if that's your preference!! BUT there is a difference between a stylistic choice and a lack of effort/poor understanding of the subject matter. Even cartoonists have to learn the fundamentals of realism so they know how to make their designs logical and appealing. Here are some examples of more stylized wings that I feel retain the core principles of anatomy/aesthetics:
And last but not least: A list of helpful links I use personally for reference and inspiration!
I made this pinterest board for general artsy inspo, and this board to curate my very favorite tutorials/refs/information, focusing on the scientific aspect of wings and flight in general. Feel free to use both! (I also suggest pinterest in general for pose refs and such, but try to only practice using photos at first and not other drawings.)
I highly recommend this blog and this blog if you want examples of artists who draw more realism-based winged creatures!! They are both huge inspirations for me and I think you should totally follow them even if you don't plan to draw wings lol <3
If you're REALLY serious about it, my favorite ref books are: Winged Fantasy, a lovely drawing book by Brenda Lyons; Proctor & Lynch's Manual of Ornithology; and Angelus vincens by R. Spano, which is essentially an artbook by someone who (I believe) designed biologically plausible "angels" for their senior thesis.
Ok, idk how to end this lol but I hope it helped! I know it's not my normal kind of post but I'm super busy with college stuff rn and this was all I had time for. If you guys have any questions or feedback, please let me know!!!
-Aloe <3
#my art#wings#drawing#tutorial#the way I could've talked for so much longer haha#but it's 3 am for me and I am fading fast so GOODNIGHT
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❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒ 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲-𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄
𝟭. set SMART goals ( 📒 )
make sure your goals are specific, measurable, actionable, realistic and time-bound. this will help you maintain focus and track your progress over time. how many times has it been you and your unrealistic to-do list against the world? well, it seems that a mile-long to-do list is not a good ally at all. remember that you are a person and not a machine, and that just dedicating four hours to deep work and concentration is A LOT. be kind to yourself and don't overload yourself with more work than you can humanly do.
𝟮. daily planning ( 🧸 )
mea culpa because i'm the first one who doesn't plan their day. to-do lists generally stress me out and make me feel overwhelmed as if i don't manage to complete all the tasks an asteroid will end up hitting the earth. but i recognize that it is a good starting point. sometimes i have too many things to do and i end up doing nothing in total confusion, but having at least a general list to follow gives me more motivation. moreover do we want to talk about the dopamine released when you tick an empty box? marvelous. maybe don't write down tasks that are too onerous and demanding, break them into several smaller tasks, also try to write simple activities such as "drink a glass of water" every now and then. having these low-commitment activities will help you stay motivated while completing more important tasks.
𝟯. reverse-engineering method ( 🪴 )
start with the end goal and work backwards to plan the actions needed to achieve it. this helps you maintain clarity on the steps to take and focus on the most relevant actions. the best thing to do is plan based on the time available and do your best to stick to your daily goal.
𝟰. timer roulette ( ⏳ )
choose a task from your to-do list and set a random timer between 15 and 45 minutes. work on that task with all your concentration until the timer goes off. this helps you fight procastination and keep your mind fresh.
𝟱. mind mapping time ( 📍 )
before starting a study session, take a few minutes to create a mental map of the subject you need to cover. this helps you see connections between concepts and organize information more effectively.
𝟲. task batching ( 🫒 )
group similar tasks together and tackle them in batches. for example, reply to all emails in one session rather than doing so at scattered times throughout the day. this helps you reduce transition time between tasks and maintain focus. contrary to popular belief, human beings are not truly multitasking (only a few possess this great ability) and when we do multiple things together we do nothing but shift our attention from one task to another, greatly reducing the quality of our performance. if possible, try to avoid these switches that are harmful to your focus and concentration.
𝟳. the pomodoro method ( 🍅 )
okay, y'all probably already know this one because it became so popular in the last year but if you don't, the pomodoro method is a time management technique developed by francesco cirillo in the late 80s. it is based on the idea of working for short periods of time, usually 25 minutes, followed by a short 5 minute break. after four rounds of work, a longer break is taken, usually 15-30 minutes. this technique helps improve concentration and productivity, as it breaks down work into manageable tasks and offers regular breaks to rest and regenerate energy. i personally prefer the 50/10 ratio while i'm studying but you decide which time ratio is better for you, i find it really useful and it helps me a lot while i'm studying for my exams.
#college#education#school#academia#note taking#student#study aesthetic#study blog#study inspiration#study motivation#study notes#study space#study tips#student life#study community#studyblr#studyinspo#studyspo#uni student#academic validation#chaotic academia#light academia#dark academia#university life#university#uni life#time management#time management strategies#pomodoro method#productivity
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thinking about how cursed objects work in most fantasy RPGs.
typically, they wind up just kind of being a big middle finger from the game master - a kind of "whelp, you should have been more paranoid, so now you get hosed" sort of deal. which includes the somewhat game-y trope of objects that you can't get rid of. it's kind of an un-fun mechanic, when you think about it, which is why in most games I've been a part of cursed items often don't see much play, unless it's as a "punishment", or part of a story arc.
...which naturally leads me to think about how to do it better. in the past, I've tried using a curse as a kind of limiter. restrictions or drawbacks to a mostly functional item that is still worth using despite being "cursed". that's good, but it doesn't let you draw on truly nasty curses, because the item needs to be worth using, but also still needs to be balanced.
so, I'm drawing from a lot of sources here, like the cursed shield in Final Fantasy VI, and especially the comics by @foldingfittedsheets, where curses exist to (literally) teach the recipient a lesson
MEAT OF THE POST STARTS HERE:
what about cursed items that have a way to overcome their curse?
it's actually a fairly common trope in classical literature / fairy tales. every curse has a way to be broken. yet in D&D and Pathfinder, most often the only way to break a curse is to find someone with the specific curse-breaking spell.
so, give each cursed item a condition. perhaps a weapon that fuels a person's rage and causes them to fly into a blind rage in battle waits for them to sincerely forgive a hated enemy. perhaps boots that slow the wearer are actually making them heavy with the weight of past transgressions and a sufficient act of atonement will free them. maybe the perpetually bloody doll that gives its bearer horrible nightmares simply waits for someone to be motivated to action by them, either to right some past wrong, or generally bring a certain number of murderers to proper justice.
...maybe a Bag of Devouring. which is technically actually a creature, not a cursed item (but usually classified with them), can be befriended by figuring out a treat it likes, and will not only carry things for the player if fed and cared for, but even cough up a few things that previous bearers had stuffed inside.
the specifics aren't too important, but the idea is that any item with a curse on it has a reason for that curse, and a way to break it. the players can drop the item at any time, sell it off, give it to someone they hate, whatever, but if they put in the time and energy to actually breaking the curse, it becomes better than it was before, sometimes simply losing a drawback, or sometimes gaining new powers.
for an example, let's look at how that doll idea from earlier could work in D&D 5e;
while the party has the doll in their possession, they will all be afflicted by horrible nightmares, seeing themselves as children being attacked by a group of eight bandits with indistinct features. the details of the dreams change each night, and the players awaken before learning their ultimate fate, but the general gist is always that they are completely helpless, and subjected to harm.
after a long rest, have them roll a Wisdom or Charisma save (challenging DC, but not too difficult), or take a small amount of psychic damage.
if the players bring murderers to justice - meaning deliver them to the proper authorities and see them punished for their crimes - the content of the dreams starts to change. one bandit gets caught or killed by the end of the dream for each real world criminal successfully punished, possibly hinting to the players what they need to do. once eight murderers in total have had their sentences enacted, the next morning the doll will be in pristine condition with a serene expression, emitting a faint glow. thereafter, any player may attune to the doll to gain the ability to cast the Guidance cantrip without components (as thought the doll's ability to project what it wants the players to do into their mind was turned to their benefit.
#tabletop gaming#tabletop roleplaying#roleplaying games#dungeons & dragons#pathfinder#game master advice#homebrew#my ideas#curses#cursed items#long post
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tips and tricks for ranboo fans to make chat (and the community) a better place!
hello! since the rebrand is coming up i decided i wanted to make a list of certain things ranboo fans should be discouraged from saying/doing, to keep chat/the community fun and keep from pushing ranboo back into the box of a streamer they no longer are. i personally don’t believe in cringe culture, i think everyone should be able to have fun, but at this point certain jokes and comments restrict ranboo from growing as a person and do reflect on the community. this got a lot longer than i was expecting, apologies! lets begin.
gender jokes (“genderman”, you stole my gender etc)
a super obvious one. getting gender envy from ranboo is normal and super awesome! nothing wrong with that. but the jokes have been overused. the genderman one specifically has ties to minecraft which, while ranboo doesn’t care about being associated with minecraft, it’s still a tie to their past content they would prefer to leave behind. this is the same level as calling them an “mcyt”, while there’s no harm in it and ranboo really doesn’t care, it’s also just.. not really true anymore and hasn’t been for years. let them grow!
2. *blank*boo/general spam
*blank*boo is nothing but spammy. all it does is fill up chats and replies and brings no substance to anything. spamming “tiredboo” when they yawn, “madboo” when they yell etc. is not contributing anything meaningful to a chat. it’s annoying and drowns out actually fun and interesting comments. as for general spam, you can use a few emotes here and there! but when all you do is spam emotes it again just floods the chat. when ranboo tells chat to stop spamming, you stop. don’t take it as a challenge, you will just get banned. yes there is delay, but you can see what other people in chat are saying too. spamming lag, telling them they missed a dono, anything where you find yourself repeating what other people are saying to either get their attention or just because (except for using bttv emotes) just don’t. i know most people are used to speaking in a fast chat, but the truth is chat doesn’t have to be fast! if you don’t have anything to say, you can just stay quiet. even spamming the PETTHEMODS emote defeats the purpose !!
3. telling off chat
slightly related, you don’t have to tell off chat either. going “chat stop” “oh my god chat” just adds to the spam. change the subject! ignore the spam and let the mods take care of it. focus on reacting to the stream and being silly, not being backseat mods.
4. the swearing obsession
ranboo is almost 20. they make so many innuendos every stream. they are heavily considering adding a mature warning to most streams from here on out, and as we have seen they no longer are the “family friendly” kid who they used to be. he can say shit and fuck and people can be normal about it. you don’t have to say LANGUAGE or go THEY SWORE ?????? he’s an adult and can swear. all of his friends swear and a huge portion of us in the community do too. it is not a big deal
5. telling ranboo what to do
back seating in video games, as well as in other situations when it’s NOT ASKED FOR is not fun. let ranboo do what they want. this applies to just general things too- you don’t need to tell ranboo to go to sleep. they can make that decision themself. again, he’s almost 20.
6. assuming ranboo is uncomfortable with something
it’s always good to be careful about respecting boundaries! but don’t confuse your own boundaries for theirs. ranboo has said many times that if something bothers him, he’ll talk about it! it’s safe to say they are more uncomfortable with you harassing an artist for drawing something you personally don’t like, over the actual art itself.
7. the chat hopping/mentioning ranboo unnecessarily
we all love ranboo. that is very obvious. their friends love them too! but when you go into one of ranboos friends chats or comment sections and start either asking about ranboo, telling his friends to play with them, or making unnecessary references to their content, it makes their friends want to do things with them less! streamers are their own people. there’s nothing wrong with watching one of ranboo’s friends streams because ranboo is there, i do it all the time. a lot of us do. the biggest thing is to be RESPECTFUL to the person who’s stream you are watching. if you chat, chat to the streamer! you don’t have to mention ranboo. or, just stay out of chat if you don’t think you’ll be able to stay on topic. you don’t have to speak in chat! there is the flip side of this, don’t bring up other streamers in ranboos chat unnecessarily either! no one cares if you saw two colors and it made you think of something unrelated. it’s so disrespectful to the streamer to do this.
8a. unnecessary negativity
the internet can be a very negative, reactionary place. seeking out negativity just for the sake of an argument is unhealthy and can also expose others to arguments that they wouldn’t have had to see. bait, obvious unchanging bigots, and also people who just don’t like ranboo (which is valid!) don’t need to be engaged. in the case of trolls, bait and bigots, they only bring negativity and are there to cause arguments. don’t give them the attention they want. As for people who just don’t like ranboo, you can leave them be too! Not everyone has to like ranboo. he can handle it, you don’t need to defend him or try and change someone’s mind. now, unnecessary negativity does not equal call outs/criticism!
8b. please criticize !
if something happens in the community, or from ranboo directly that hurts you or makes you uncomfortable, don’t be afraid to say something and help make us all better people! ranboo wants criticism. if it’s purely in the community, try reaching out to the other person first! often things can be settled privately so as to not hurt others by dragging them into the conversation or making things heated and causing people to attack each other. on the other side of this, if you see criticism from someone and feel the need to defend ranboo: don’t. if you are affected by something (ie. you are a person of color and the topic is racism) feel free to add to the conversation! if you do not have an opinion on something (ie lesbians call out lesbiphobia, and you are straight) keep it to yourself. let the people actually affected by something talk and have an opinion, and support them. it may feel like people are “attacking” ranboo (or you!) but they are not. they are real people with real, valid feelings, who want to feel safe in a community when in real life, they may be constantly victims of horrible things. listen first. if you still have your own opinions, reflect on them and why you feel the way you do, and dissect any implicit bias you may have. these are all important things that keep a community safe, happy, and mutually respectful!
ranboo encourages everyone to be good people and use common sense. remember when you say something, people other than ranboo see it too! every account has a person behind it, so treat each other with respect and help make the community a more fun and safe place for everyone to be in. ranboo has no tolerance for bigotry, racism, misogyny, antisemitism, ableism, and so on. remember to be aware of the things you are saying, and if you don’t know why something is wrong, look it up or try asking someone politely!
thank you for taking the time to read all of this! this list is non exhaustive. there are plenty of other things you can do in the community to make this a better place, from uplifting the minorities in the community more, to supporting artists by reblogging/sharing and commenting on their art, and more. at the end of the day though we are here because we love ranboo, so by following guidelines like these and putting in the effort, you show ranboo and the other people in the community you care and make everyone proud.
that’s all for now! keep boobing!
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