𝖌𝖔 𝖆𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 & 𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖊 @egodevths - Tumblr Blog

After Hana finished her exploration, she joined Eleanora on the bed. Willingly, she submitted her hands to the blonde, allowing her to clasp them as if they were the most important things in this room. Her incessant curiosity finally seemed to be satisfied, and she wondered if it was due to her startlingly accurate perception of each situation. Eleanora could never tire of talking to Hana, but there were limitations regarding topics like this one. It was exhausting to reach back into herself, pulling out all these pieces of her past to let this artist understand and marvel at. She couldn’t have asked for better reactions from the woman she loved, and it felt good to share these stories, but she was starting to reach her limit. The rest of the art in her home wasn’t going anywhere, and they both had the next few months to look forward to dissecting each piece.

Eleanora watched as Hana’s lips ghosted across her knuckles, smiling fondly. “He would be. I think he’d also be pleased with who I ended up entrusting this part of my life to.” The blonde squeezed Hana’s hands encouragingly before pressing her lips to her forehead. “He would have adored you.” In that moment, she would have given anything for the only two people she felt love for in her life to meet. To have her father’s unrelenting desire for knowledge, her lover’s insatiable curiosity, and both of their artistic capabilities in the same room, curated such a warm fondness in the pit of her stomach that it made her shudder. Hana’s lips found hers, and she reciprocated the kiss with the same unhurried pace. She let her girlfriend part first, leaning her forehead into hers. Eleanora nodded in agreement before smirking. “You should. Why don’t you get what you need for the bathhouse and put it in my bag? We can start to head over soon.”

the suggestion that matteo would have adored her left hana quiet for a moment, caught between warmth and an ache for a meeting that could never happen. she could picture him vividly now: surrounded by books and pigments, testing her knowledge with endless questions before launching into his own opinions, while eleanora watched them both with growing amusement. being considered worthy of the part of eleanora that still belonged to her father felt more intimate than any approval hana had ever received. her eyes closed beneath the kiss to her forehead, and she remained there with their brows touching, allowing the emotion to settle without hiding from it. “i would have adored him too,” she murmured, squeezing eleanora’s hands in return. “and i would have made sure he knew how extraordinary his daughter became.” hana stole one final kiss before rising from the bed, reluctant to leave the closeness they had created but pleased by the promise of the evening ahead. the day had revealed more of eleanora than she had expected to receive at once, and she intended to carry every memory with care rather than immediately reaching for more. there would be time for the remaining paintings, for all the stories waiting throughout the house, and for hana to offer her own in return. “i will only be a few minutes,” she promised, fingertips trailing across eleanora’s shoulder as she stepped away. a playful smile appeared as she headed toward her luggage. “try not to plan three additional stops while i am packing. i know how dangerous you become when left alone with an itinerary.”

Hana enjoyed that; the grin on her face told Eleanora everything she needed to know. But it was the truth. She would pick her lover each and every time over any other being on this earth. Why would she even want anyone else? Hana’s affection, devotion, and love for her was unconditional; it was all she could ever need. It didn’t matter how irritating she was; Eleanora still received them all as if it were the most obvious thing for the artist to supply her with. Each mask she walked through life wearing had been long abandoned, because the blonde was encouraged to give over her true self to Hana every single day. The security her girlfriend built around her deserved at least one day of her good behavior, no matter how many transgressions she could fit into that day. “My logic is sound,” she retorted. “What definition of good are you trying to hold me to?”

Eleanora’s hand remained pliant as Hana worked, even after all this time. She was a menace, yes, but she could behave appropriately when things she asked for were underway. Their gazes met, and the blonde hoped her antics would sway her girlfriend. Instead, she seemed more than pleased to soak in her reaction before busying herself with her nails. The conclusion she came to made Eleanora beam, and she squirmed in her seat, delighted. However, the caveat of being subject to Hana's approval made her sigh, and her eyes trailed down to the final nail on her hand that her girlfriend had begun working on. “And what will you approve of?” she asked, curiosity evident in her voice. Immediately, Eleanora groaned at the consequence dramatically laid out before her. The idea of having to sit and take Hana’s chastising while she rubbed acetone into her nail if she was ever responsible for a mistake that probably was not her fault was too cruel for her tastes. “To insinuate I’d ever ruin your design is insulting. I am a model client.” With her unpainted hand, she motioned to her other hand, completely still and obediently clasped within Hana’s, before motioning to herself.

hana considered the question with far more seriousness than it deserved, her gaze moving over eleanora’s composed posture and the hand resting obediently within her own. the definition of good had never meant quiet or agreeable; she would have found either unbearable if it required eleanora to dull herself for hana’s comfort. goodness, where her girlfriend was concerned, was this exact balance — the teasing tempered by trust, the provocation followed by perfect cooperation when it mattered. hana had no desire to tame her. there was too much beauty in the way eleanora took up space now, in the confidence with which she offered every sharp edge without fearing it might cost her love. “i expect very little,” hana said, though the glint in her eyes suggested otherwise. “only obedience, restraint, patience, and an immediate acknowledgment that i’m right whenever we disagree.” she paused to add the last pale petal to the nail. “a perfectly reasonable standard.” the grand gesture toward herself nearly made hana lose the composure she had worked so diligently to maintain. she looked from eleanora’s motionless hand to the theatrical expression on her face, affection gathering behind the exasperation she performed. model client was generous, but hana couldn’t deny that eleanora had entrusted herself to her completely, allowing hana to position her fingers and decorate them without once disrupting the actual work. that willing surrender mattered more than the teasing surrounding it. every time eleanora relaxed into hana’s care, it felt like another small victory over the life that had once convinced her she needed no one. “approved behavior includes compliments, kisses administered at appropriate intervals, and harassment that doesn’t endanger the artwork,” hana decided, lifting eleanora’s hand to inspect the completed set beneath the light. satisfaction eased her features as she turned it from side to side. “and while your performance has been adequate, calling yourself a model client is a serious exaggeration.” her eyes lifted to eleanora’s, mouth curving with quiet amusement. “you’re, at best, my favorite liability.”

me and gill and @egodevths are all watching drain rn and giggling abt how much we luv them

i would die 4 sharkie

#my santa cruz legends

Eleanora didn’t expect anything less than Hana’s signature observance. She scanned each photo with the same precision she used to dissect artwork before ripping it apart. “I was. I was still testing my limits in the beginning. I finally got my footing by 1980.” The blonde found herself holding her breath as if awaiting judgment for each decade she outlived. But it never came, and she should have anticipated that by now. Hana was too sweet to her to ever dream of casting judgment, especially over something as unserious as this. Eleanora missed the early years in the city—the sequins, colorful makeup, and glittery heels. No one dressed up anymore; it was just a depressing sea of black tops and jeans at the bars and the bare minimum dress to get in for the clubs. It made her sad; the creativity really did die with disco. “You are forgiven for all your incorrect assumptions,” Eleanora replied, smile smug and pleased. She accepted the tin from Hana before storing it away in her nightstand drawer. “You’ll see tonight; I’ll even bring my camera so we can add another picture to my collection.”

Hana drifted toward the portraits, and Eleanora watched as her analytical eyes grazed over them. She settled onto her bed as her girlfriend continued her exploration. Her lips curved playfully, arms folding nearly over her bust. “What can I say? Even hypothetical men managed to piss me off since the beginning.” Eleanora started to laugh at her excuse of a joke, exhaling softly when she grew bored with it. She hummed, nodding her head at Hana’s conclusion. The artist hit the nail right on the head. “My popá was a clever man. I like to think I inherited more of his traits than my mother’s.” Eleanora liked the tenderness in Hana’s tone and in her eyes as she continued with her questions. It didn’t make her feel like a silly little girl, crying over wounds still trying to heal after all these centuries. “He stored a lot of his paintings in there. It was big too; he kept everything he brought home there. He had so many books and trinkets, I could barely keep up with them all.” Hana returned to her, and Eleanora greedily snatched her hands into hers. She smirked, eyes playfully bright. “My mother never found out. That joke died with my popá and me.”

hana let eleanora claim both of her hands without protest, her fingers curling easily around the blonde’s as she settled beside her on the edge of the bed. the story of matteo’s office lingered in her mind: shelves crowded with books, paintings stacked wherever space allowed, and trinkets brought home from distant ports and offered to a daughter who greeted each one with wonder. she could picture eleanora there with startling clarity, trailing after her father and demanding explanations until he surrendered every detail. it was tempting to ask more, but hana recognized the faint exhaustion beneath the fondness in her voice. not every memory needed to be examined until nothing private remained. some deserved to rest exactly as they had been given. “then it belongs to the two of you,” she murmured, lifting their joined hands to press a kiss against eleanora’s knuckles. “i think he would be pleased that the secret survived.” her gaze softened as it moved over eleanora’s face, finding traces of the woman from the portrait in the playful brightness of her eyes. perhaps matteo’s greatest gift had not been the gold, the paintings, or even the clever deception. he had given eleanora a place where her curiosity was welcomed instead of corrected, and hana understood why the loss of him had carved so deeply. rather than offer another question, she leaned forward and kissed her slowly, letting affection replace the need to know every remaining detail at once. when she drew back, a small smile lingered against eleanora’s lips. “we can leave the past alone for a little while,” she said, thumb passing over the back of her hand. “you promised me a tour, a bathhouse, and photographic evidence that i survived one of your legendary nights. i should conserve my energy.”

Harassing Hana was never anything serious, and Eleanora knew she understood that. It came from the enormous amount of love she held for her girlfriend. Every tease dripped with affection, each eye roll carried her signature brightness, and every time she pushed, her fingers lingered just long enough to signify just how eager she was for her touch. And thankfully, Hana understood and took it all in stride. She never made Eleanora feel like she was being difficult—even if she was—and that was just one reason on the ever-growing list of them as to why she loved Hana the way that she did. “You’re the only person I’d ever consider being good for,” the blonde purred, smirking flirtatiously. “Which is why I know you won’t charge me extra for the rest of the evening.” Her brows arched neatly, as if she anticipated Hana to unsuccessfully challenge her sound logic.

Eleanora watched with great amusement as Hana worked. She could practically see the steam dissipate from her girlfriend’s ears, cogs turning as she mapped out every single milestone that would need to be reached to fulfill the blonde’s ridiculous request. It filled her with a deep, warm sense of pride. Eleanora would have never imagined being loved like this in all her years. The consideration, the tenderness, the devotion: Hana gave herself over to Eleanora without a second thought every single day. Her girlfriend accepted her—terrible attitude and all—while doing everything in her power to make her flourish. The blonde smiled at Hana’s concession, meeting her gaze as she looked up. The artist’s confidence made her beam, and she hung onto each word that came out of her mouth. Then, she took a moment to consider them all, humming thoughtfully before pressing her leg against Hana’s. “Fine. If the test run exceeds my expectations, I will decree you my permanent nail tech.” A genuine pout wormed its way across her lips. “But baby, it’s so fun to harass you! How else do you expect to be entertained while you do my nails?"

the flirtation in eleanora’s voice pulled a small, knowing smile from hana, though she kept her eyes lowered to the nail beneath her brush. being the only person eleanora would ever consider behaving for should’t have pleased her as much as it did, but hana had never been immune to the quiet privilege of being chosen by her. there was a profound intimacy in knowing eleanora trusted her enough to be difficult, playful, and demanding — knowing she never had to make herself smaller or easier to keep hana’s affection. hana wanted all of her, including the sharp wit and relentless provocation, and she took a private pride in being the person who could meet every version of eleanora without hesitation. “your logic is deeply flawed,” she replied, painting the final curve of a branch with exacting care. “but i may be persuaded to waive the fee, provided your definition of being good improves considerably before the evening ends.” eleanora’s pout nearly made hana laugh, and she glanced up long enough to admire the expression before returning to her work. the truth was that she enjoyed the harassment far more than she would ever admit without protest. it gave her another glimpse of the ease they had built together, a kind of love that had room for devotion without becoming solemn, for care without making eleanora feel indebted. hana could spend centuries tending to her and still crave these ridiculous interruptions, the taps against her ankle, the exaggerated complaints, the gleam in eleanora’s eyes when she knew she had gotten a reaction. “i suppose complete silence would become tedious,” hana conceded, inspecting the nail before guiding eleanora’s next finger into place. “you may retain limited harassment privileges, subject to my approval.” her mouth curved as she added another petal. “however, if you make me ruin a design, the penalty will be severe. you will have to sit there while i redo it and listen to me explain, in detail, why it was entirely your fault.”

The way that Hana tilted into Eleanora’s hands softened her features. Leaning forward, the blonde pressed sweet kisses underneath the artist’s closed eyes as she stroked her face reverently. The startling realization that the woman underneath her was her entire world should have embarrassed her. But nothing relating to Hana ever would, especially when it was the truth. No matter how impossible she acted around her, Eleanora would do absolutely anything to show her loyalty to the one person who gazed into the agony she carried and chose to cradle her instead of abandoning her. Shifting her weight, the blonde allowed her body to ground Hana through her tremors, pressing further down until Hana’s breathing slowed, and her body stilled. Her girlfriend’s eyes opened, staring at her in that adoring way that made Eleanora weak.

But the confession made her even weaker, and the giggle that ripped from her throat was shier than she wanted it to be. “Watashi wa eien ni,” Eleanora murmured, cadence slower as she considered the pronunciation of the kanji in her head. Hana’s thumb was on her chin, swiping off her own release before sucking it off her thumb. It shouldn’t have affected the blonde, but her dark gaze was transfixed by the lewd act. A part of her twitched with a fresh wave of desire, wanting nothing more than to place herself over Hana’s mouth and let her tongue work over her the same way it lapped over her fingers. But instead, the blonde fell into her lover’s tug, bodies pressed flush against one another in their bed. “I’ll stay with you forever,” she breathed, arms linking around Hana’s neck as the heat of her body enveloped her.

hana let her fingertips glide along the curve of eleanora’s shoulder, memorizing the rhythm of breath against her own ribs. a smile stole over her face—quiet, entirely certain—as she drew their foreheads together. “aishiteru yo. eien ni soba ni ite,” she whispered, promise melting into the space between their lips: i love you; stay by my side forever. the words felt less like a plea and more like the simplest truth she had ever spoken. she kissed the edge of eleanora’s jaw, tasting the echo of earlier desire and the future they kept vowing to build, brushstroke by brushstroke. tomorrow, she thought, they would wake beneath thinning moonlight, and she would chase tonight’s colors — scarlet, ivory, the deep burn of dusk — across a fresh canvas. but for now she folded both arms around the woman in her arms, legs tangling beneath the disheveled sheets, letting silence carry them. outside, brooklyn traffic hummed a distant lullaby; inside, the only sound was the twin cadence of hearts that would never tire. hana closed her eyes, letting the scent of paint, salt, and shared heat settle deep. “we have all the time in the world,” she murmured, voice laid bare with contentment, “and i’ll spend every hour cherishing you.”

poohsources

🐝 * ― 𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺. ( add " + " to reverse the action )

[ door ] sender holds a door open for receiver

[ groceries ] sender helps receiver carry their groceries

[ compliment ] sender randomly compliments receiver

[ gift ] sender gives receiver a gift

[ pay ] sender pays for receiver's shopping / food

[ help ] sender and receiver help out at a busy place

[ share ] sender shares their meal with receiver

[ scarf ] sender hands receiver a scarf while out in the cold

[ cookies ] sender and receiver bake cookies together

[ bandage ] sender (re)bandages receiver's injury

[ care ] sender takes care of receiver

[ flowers ] sender brings receiver flowers just because

[ prepare ] sender prepares breakfast / dinner / etc. for receiver

[ charity ] sender and receiver do something for charity

[ umbrella ] sender shares their umbrella with receiver when caught in the rain

[ directions ] sender helps receiver find their way

[ blanket ] sender brings receiver a blanket when they are cold

[ listen ] sender listens to receiver getting something off their chest

[ ride ] sender offers receiver a ride home

[ shelter ] sender gives receiver a place to stay

[ protect ] sender is receiver's shield (literally or metaphorically)

[ snack ] sender offers receiver a snack

[ defend ] sender stands up for receiver being treated unfairly

[ surprise ] sender surprises receiver to cheer them up

[ move ] sender helps receiver move furniture / boxes

[ study ] sender helps receiver study

[ tears ] sender wipes away receiver's tears

[ clothes ] sender helps receiver change clothes

[ stay ] sender stays with receiver because they asked them to

[ up ] sender helps receiver who fell up

[ promise ] sender fulfills a promise once given to receiver

[ birthday ] sender does something special for receiver's birthday

[ fear ] sender helps receiver face something they are afraid of

[ nightmare ] sender comforts receiver after a nightmare

[ hair ] sender does receiver's hair

[ praise ] sender praises receiver when they doubt themselves

[ photo ] sender takes a picture of receiver

[ donate ] sender and receiver pick out things to donate

[ water ] sender brings receiver water without being asked

[ company ] sender keeps receiver company when they had a bad day

#» memes

pininganticipation

“yeah, pretty boy, you got a problem with that?” for the most part, her accent had faded over the years, but whenever paloma got annoyed, she sounded exactly like her mother. niko started listing off all the reasons he liked the game, and she nodded along thoughtfully, like she was taking in very important information, only scoffing when he teased her about sightseeing. “hey, listen, i’m just trying to get a good vantage point, okay – ” she was cut off by a sharp yelp when someone appeared behind her and killed her before she even had a chance to react. her shoulders dropped immediately, the disappointment settling over her whole body as she stared at the screen in disbelief. then she lifted one finger toward niko without looking away. “nope. nada. say nothing if you value your own life.”

#threads ✧ niko #niko & paloma.#pininganticipation

niko pressed his lips together so hard it almost hurt, which was probably the only thing saving him, because paloma getting killed mid-sentence was objectively the funniest thing that had happened to him all week. the problem was, she got under his skin too fast (always had, from the moment they met) and the accent slipping out, the finger lifted in warning, the tiny dress, the wounded disbelief on her face, all of it made him want to laugh and do whatever she said at the exact same time, which was humiliating for a man who had built an entire online career out of never shutting up. “I didn’t say anything,” he said, immediately guilty despite the fact that his grin was already giving him away. he lifted both hands from the controller like he was being held at gunpoint, leaning back against the couch with an expression that tried very hard to look innocent and failed by a mile. “i’m being respectful. i’m honoring the fallen. terrible tragedy, really. one second she was getting a vantage point, next second she was getting folded by a guy named xXSnackLord420Xx.” his eyes cut toward her, bright with barely contained amusement, and he lowered his voice like that might make him less annoying. “for the record, though? you yelped. that’s not criticism. that’s documentation.”

365filmsbyauroranocte

Bound (Lana Wachowski & Lilly Wachowski, 1996)

#regarding winona and rikkie.#long post cw #usfw

yellow-cat

hey sorry for being so snappish earlier i was in a bad mood. and im still in a bad mood so can you fuck off

#musings. niko

77343

Noah has always been too much like himself. The differences subsided in how their fractured minds coped with the aftermath of all they had endured. He loves Noah fiercely, but recognizes that his coping skills weren't nearly as sharpened as his own. They can laugh about it, how Noah has always been hellbent on tearing up his own life for the sake of his sanity. Devon thinks it's damaging; Noah begs to differ. Rinse and repeat. Rory seems level-headed, like the kind of person that Devon would like to have become a constant in Noah's life. He braces himself. He knows how they both are. How many times had Devon found himself in an ideal situation just to fuck it all up for himself? He's not sure if he can even count that high.

"Look, Noah doesn't even expect perfection. The only person he expects perfection from is himself. That's not something you're ever going to break him out of, by the way," Devon admits, a hollow laugh tracing his words. It breaks his heart to think about Noah constantly striving towards something that was violently impossible to achieve. "Consistency is all it takes. It took me a really long time to realize I never had to say all the right things, or be the right way. I just had to sit there. Even if that meant sitting on the floor with him in absolute silence for hours. It's just..." Devon sighs, raking his hands through his hair. "He just needs somebody, y'know? Somebody there even when he insists that he's fine, that he doesn't need you to come over. Still do it. Still just be there."

Flashes of memories play in the foreground of his mind. Then, as kids, lying on the carpeted floor of the basement, not saying a word, but the comfort felt thick enough to choke on. The silence after all of the chaos, quietly cleaning up the messes made in the heat of an argument. All it ever took was to be around each other to ease up whatever weight sat on their shoulders. Even now, as adults, the two of them opt to suffer together in their own quiet ways. It never took much to feel even a partial sense of ease. Better to be in company than to sit in the mess their minds made totally alone. Devon releases a heaving breath, rolling the tension from out of his shoulder blades.

"It's nothing," Devon insists. "I think every Vanek should probably come with a user manual. Noah's really not that complicated, though, as much as he likes to pretend like he is." When Devon laughs, there's some hint of humor in it. Noah has always had a funny way of wearing his facade. "I appreciate you coming to me, though. I know it's probably not the easiest thing in the world learning to navigate all of this. I think it says a lot about the person you are to be willing to, like, have this conversation. I think Noah has needed someone like you for a very long time."

#threads ✧ rory #rory & devon.#77343

rory tried not to look too relieved when devon laughed, even a little. it didn’t work. relief moved across his face before he could stop it, awkward and obvious, because he’d been standing there feeling like he’d wandered into the final exam for loving noah vanek and forgot to bring a pencil. devon saying noah wasn’t complicated should’ve made him laugh, but it only made his mouth twitch. noah was complicated in the way a locked door was complicated when you knew there was someone on the other side pretending they weren’t trapped. rory didn’t know every awful thing those brothers had survived. he only knew the man who showed up at his apartment looking wrecked and furious about needing anyone at all. “yeah, well,” rory said, dragging a hand over his jaw, “i gotta be honest, man, a user manual would be great. laminated. little tabs. ‘chapter four: what to do when your boyfriend says he’s fine but looks like he’s one bad text away from biting through drywall’.” the joke came out crooked, with nerves showing through every word. he glanced away, then back at devon. “noah would hate that. he’d say he’s not an ikea bookshelf, then call me illiterate because i put the shelf on backward.” the humor faded after a second, and rory let it. “i can sit there,” he said quietly. “i can do silence. not naturally, probably. my family talks over each other until someone gives up or throws bread, but i can learn.” his shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “i can come over when he says not to. i can bring food he’ll pretend he doesn’t want. i can be annoying as hell, which is already one of my stronger skills.” his mouth twitched, fond despite himself. “it’s just hard knowing there’s no big thing i can do. no hit i can take for him. no guy i can fight. no one i can yell at until it fixes the fact that he learned all this too young.” rory looked past devon for a beat, then back again, nervous but steadier now. “i appreciate you saying that. about me. i don’t know if i deserve all of it yet, but i’m gonna try like hell to.” he rubbed the back of his neck, huffing a quiet laugh. “and for the record, i’m slightly terrified of you. respectfully. you’ve got the whole emotionally observant older brother thing going on, and i’m just a hockey player with a mustache and a history of saying dumb shit under pressure.” his eyes lifted to devon’s, earnest again. “but i’m glad i came. i don’t want to love noah from guesses. if the answer is showing up, sitting down, and not making him explain why he needs me there, then... okay. i can do that.”

i want in on the fun so 02. exhaling sharply through their nose and clenching their jaw. from rory <3

the first thing noah notices is that the air in the room feels off. rory has been surrounding him, like a warm embrace, like cigarette smoke from the pack that still sits in his night stand, like the way the frost blooms on the corn stalks. he felt it immediately underneath his ribcage. he doesn't know what has set rory off, but he also doesn't know how to ask.

noah doesn't live in a world of grey areas the way other people seem to. he lives in a world of holy black and white. he doesn't know how to let anything sit, or mean something other than the things he stacks up in his own head. the way rory exhales is enough to tip him off. he wonders for a moment, in some distant, amorphous way, if this was how rory felt when he opened that gatorade bottle and knew noah was upset.

noah's steps are quiet. like he's hoping not to disturb anyone with them, like he can't take up any real space. he has spent his entire life hiding from the family down the hall, being quiet so a foster parent or a member of a group home's staff doesn't hear him milling about. he has always been quiet in the way that he controls himself, like he's never been allowed beyond a certain decibel limit. it feels that way somedays, but rory isn't like that. rory wants him to be sad or angry or hurt loudly – he wants HONESTY in a way that is so foreign to noah he doesn't know what to do with it.

noah hears himself asking the question before he means to. "who were you talkin' to?" he shouldn't have said that. he shouldn't have spoken his mind. but he did all the same. he can't help it – he can't stop the way that he's programmed, but he's been told repeatedly that he's supposed to talk. rory tells him all the time that he wants noah to talk. if only noah didn't struggle so much to explain. if only noah wasn't so afraid of his own shadow.

his hands are shaky and unsure as they card through his hair. he takes the anger personally. he's sure he's done the wrong thing again, trained by years of being told that he can't possibly be worth more than the sum of his parts. the whole is worse. if only he could just be a body, something disposable and imperfect, but still worthy. but noah isn't that, and he doesn't know how to feel like he is. he doesn't know how to be worthwhile.

his chest twists with his adoration for rory, but that doesn't make the guilt stop threatening him. maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all, maybe it was all too much. maybe he was too much. his knees are so often pulled to his chest, while he's sitting on the couch one pulled close is second nature. like he's trying to make himself smaller, like he's trying to protect himself. sure, he knows that he doesn't need to here, but that doesn't make him any less uncomfortable. that doesn't make it any easier.

"you're okay." he murmurs, "i can kill 'em if you want." a soft smile, broken and wrecked and adoring all at once. grief and guilt and love have tangled themselves so desperately tight he doesn't know what to do with his devotion. but he is trying his hardest – he wants to be better than he is. he wants to be more than his history. he doesn't want every bit of himself to be tainted with a past that still makes him feel so fucking confused and disgusted, something that stains everything he does in his own mind.

"an' if you don't– i can sit here an' listen to why you're pissed off." he adds, "i tend to be good for listenin', y'know."

#threads ✧ rory #rory & noah.#hcllowbodies

rory stops pacing the second noah speaks, though every muscle in him still feels wound tight enough to snap. he looks over and catches the way noah has folded himself into the couch, one knee drawn up and his hands uncertain, and the anger in him changes shape. it doesn’t disappear — his father has always been uniquely talented at leaving him furious long after the call ends — but it stops being allowed to fill the whole room. “my dad,” he says, dragging a hand down his face. “that was my dad.” he knows he should explain before noah starts building an entire case against himself. rory can practically see it happening behind his eyes, each silence turned into evidence that he has failed again. the realization makes rory’s jaw tighten for an entirely different reason. “hey, no. don’t do that.” he crosses the room and drops onto the couch beside him, close enough that their thighs press together. “this ain’t you. you didn’t do anything wrong. i’m not pissed at you.” for a moment, rory stares at the floor, trying to figure out how to say it without sounding like the same little kid who used to stand in the kitchen while his father listed every mistake he had made during a game. wrong angle. bad turnover. too reckless. not aggressive enough. there’d never been a correct version of rory, only a new collection of flaws waiting to be named. “we made the postseason,” he says finally, a bitter laugh escaping him. “and he called to tell me everything i fucked up getting there. didn’t even say congratulations. didn’t ask how i felt. just started going through shifts like he was reviewing fucking tape.” rory leans forward, elbows on his knees, and knots his hands together before he can start pacing again. what bothers him most is that none of it surprises him. his father has treated praise like it would ruin both his sons, as though rory and romy might become weak if either of them heard that he was proud. “he does the same shit to romy,” he mutters. “kid could win the world series and dad would ask why he struck out in june.” rory hates that he can take every insult aimed at himself and turn it into fuel, but the thought of romy hearing the same voice makes him want to put his fist through the wall. then noah offers murder, and despite himself, rory lets out a rough laugh. he turns, reaching for noah’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his hair so he can lace their fingers together instead. “you’re not killin’ my dad. romy gets first dibs, and then you two would argue about technique.” his thumb moves across noah’s knuckles as he looks at him, making sure noah understands this part. “but you can listen. and you can quit lookin’ like you’re about to apologize for being in the room, because i want you here. even when i’m pissed. especially then.”

"why would you have to do that?" he laughs, head shaking "lord knows i fuckin' haven't." god, isn't that so much more true than he wants to admit. he hopes, somewhere in the back of his mind, that no one ever really knows how bad it was. but people are always rattling the doors the vaneks keep closed, always slamming on walls to see if they can break through them. "the fight is for love of the game, i think." noah laughs, head shaking. "i don't even REALLY think it has anything to do with me. i'm just stuck in the middle because – well –" a soft little laugh pulls through him. it's silly but hey! romy doesn't know him! "middle child perks, i guess." noah has always been patient. he's had to be. brothers who were largely at odds with each other in adulthood, taking care of things because devon had gone away, taking care of things because hudson needed him to – doing things in the dark so no one had to see the kind of responsibility he was shouldering – noah has ALWAYS been patient. but he also knows the line, where care feels suffocating, where difficulty can be confused for safety. it's one he's walked a million times. "he doesn't want peace and quiet." noah laughs, "he wants noise cancelling headphones and a good playlist." he says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. rory likes chaos, he likes to let the softer parts of himself fade into obscurity, he likes to be loud about the easy shit so no one comes knocking for anything harder. it's a shape noah recognizes. "boring is his NIGHTMARE." romy says he fits with his brother, and heat climbs up noah's cheeks again. he understood brotherhood. he understood the loyalty that bonded brothers to each other. he even understood the places where love and grief and resentment tangle together so tight that you can't separate them. so romy's approval? that's a huge deal to noah.

#threads ✧ romy #romy & noah.#hcllowbodies

romy liked noah, which wasn’t a thing he’d decided to do on purpose so much as a conclusion he kept tripping over every time noah opened his mouth and revealed another layer of weirdly specific rory knowledge. there hadn’t been many people rory brought around the family, and a couple of them had made romy want to fake a medical emergency just to leave the room, but noah was different; nervous, sure, and carrying around enough unsaid shit that romy could practically hear it clanking when he moved, but he also talked about rory like he’d actually paid attention. not the highlight reel version, not the professional athlete version, not the asshole-with-a-mustache version that was fun at bars and annoying at holidays, but the real one — the one who needed noise-canceling headphones, a good playlist, and enough chaos nearby to pretend he wasn’t choosing quiet on purpose. “okay, yeah, that’s disgustingly accurate,” romy said, pointing his water bottle at noah like he’d just won a prize. “noise-canceling headphones and a good playlist is exactly his version of inner peace. that and judging everybody else’s parking.” he caught the color rising in noah’s face and had to look away for half a second, laughing under his breath, because jesus, rory really had picked a guy who acted like being understood was both a gift and a crime. “for the record, i don’t say people fit with him just to be nice. i’m not that evolved. i’ve met a couple people he brought around and, respectfully, i would’ve rather eaten a baseball card.” his grin tipped sideways, but there was an honest warmth behind it. “you’re better than them. by a lot. and not because you’ve got him all figured out, because nobody does, not even rory, especially not rory. but you notice him. that counts for more than people think.”

rory's laughter has always been so so perfect. it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. he's bounding up the stairs, all the enthusiasm of someone who can't help himself. like a dog wagging his tail, like a stuttering school boy with his enthusiasm. "you're movin' real slow for a professional athlete." he laughs, cheeks pinked with his smile and the way his chest shifts. joy has never been particularly accessible to noah vanek. and some days, like today, he could at least pretend that it was easier for him. that he didn't need to pay up every time he had a good night, prostrated at the foot of determination and desperation. noah doesn't tell anyone the things that run through his head. he doesn't let anyone see the worst parts of him. but he never looks away first. never walks away first. so noah was never really going to be another one of those people that drifted from rory. he's become good at seeing where the foundation cracks before it crumbles, but he once he gets invested, he won't walk away until someone makes him. noah reaches for rory often and he loves to do it. even when it's quiet – especially when it's quiet. their shoulders brush, and rory teases him with a combination of breathless fondness and mischief, laughter in every motion from noah. "never." he laughs, "so you better get USED t' gettin' kidnapped."

#brought back the gifs bc why not #threads ✧ rory #rory & noah.#hcllowbodies

rory barked out another laugh, shaking his head as he finally caught up enough to bump his shoulder into noah’s again, refusing to let there be any space between them for longer than a second. “oh, that’s a threat?” he asked, eyebrows lifting with exaggerated concern. “i should’ve read the fine print before i got in the uber.” but the joke barely covered the warmth blooming in his chest. there was something almost unbelievable about hearing someone say they intended to keep reaching for him instead of finding a reason to let go. rory had never really expected permanence from people — it was easier not to — but noah had this quiet way of making staying feel obvious, like it wasn’t some grand promise, just the next thing he’d naturally do. it made something in him unclench before he even realized it’d been wound so tight. his fingers caught lightly around noah’s wrist for a second, giving him a gentle tug back toward him before they reached the apartment door. “yeah?” he murmured, smile softening into something smaller, more honest. “guess i’m gonna have to live with that, then.” he leaned in to steal one more quick kiss, grinning against noah’s mouth. “could think of worse people to get kidnapped by.”

noah laughs when rory repeats boyfriend privileges. he can't help it, really. "maybe it is." he laughs, "but i think that you'd do the same, if i ordered a hotdog or pizza wrong." he laughs again, "so i think you're the same kind of sick as i am." there's a level of fun that they've always strived for. he always likes when things are easy. after all, noah hasn't had it easy for a long time. having something like this, something meaningful that he wants to hold gently in his hands. he doesn't always know what to do – his grip is almost always too harsh. but he tries, oh god, does he try. he wonders sometimes, if rory notices just how much effort it takes to be anything other then some kind of shell, if he sees the scars of a history like the one noah has. it hurts, but hey, he's IGNORING THAT! rory repeats the stone pony, and noah can't help but grin. the stone pony, the starland ballroom, the meatlocker, birch hall, a million other places that noah's been to shows across passaic and essex and sussex and new york city. he laughs, and then shakes his head. "there's a lot of shit that makes jersey worth defendin' – you just have t' know where to LOOK." he can't help the grin that breaks across his face, because there's no way he can't when rory's got that look on his face like he would follow noah anywhere. "they were." noah laughs, "i'm glad you're aware of your obligations, ro." he laughs, "because otherwise i'd be SCREWED."

#threads ✧ rory #rory & noah.#hcllowbodies

“oh, absolutely,” rory nodded without a hint of shame. “you put ketchup on a chicago hot dog and i’m legally required to sit you down for a very serious conversation. so yeah, maybe we are the same kind of sick.” he laughed, but his smile lingered as he watched noah talk about jersey, how easily the names of little venues rolled off his tongue, and his whole face seemed to brighten when he talked about places that actually meant something to him. rory liked seeing that. he liked finding these corners of noah that had nothing to do with hockey, or surviving, or pretending he was okay. just music, memories, stupid bagel opinions, and places he’d wandered through before their lives ever crossed. every time noah shared another one, it felt less like he was telling a story and more like he was quietly saying, here, you can have this too. it made rory’s chest feel strangely full. “well,” he said, bumping their shoulders together with an easy grin, “guess i’m gonna have to let you show me where to look.” his eyes stayed on noah for a second before he huffed another laugh. “and don’t worry, i’m takin’ my boyfriend obligations very seriously. defend jersey when appropriate, call the devils idiots, make fun of corn sweat whenever possible.” he ticked each one off on his fingers before flashing him a crooked smile. “i’m basically excelling at this relationship.”

noah doesn't mean to put himself in a position where rory can TELL he's holding himself back. he never really leans. he never wants to take up much space. he tries to hold all of the hurt between his ribs, all of the exhaustion between his joints, so that no one can see where it hurts. the first animal picked off is often wounded, and despite the fact that rory is the one with a concussion and broken ribs, noah can't help but feel cornered and vulnerable. but then rory says he's doing it wrong, something tightens in his chest again. painful and wrecked, but still adoring. his hands are in noah's hair, and then he mentions that noah's doing some unnecessary ab work, and he lets out a chuckle. it's too hollow. "you don't have t' act like it's not." he mumbles, but there's something honest threaded through it. he relaxes just a bit, not enough to fully lean his weight into rory, despite himself. he wants to, he swears he does, but there's a part of him that is too afraid of being too heavy. too much. you don't have to earn it. oh, his chest hurts again. rory is gentle with him, hands soft in his hair. god, he doesn't know what to do with how desperately he wants to be comforted. "lord knows you put up with me when my head's a mess." he adds, as though it's not right now. but he's fine. it's fine. "if you wanna talk about it." noah might not feel like he has much, but he's always been good at listening. he's spent his entire life taking care of other people. listening to other people. it makes him feel useful."fine, you can be nice to me for morale for like–" another hollow laugh, "half an hour."