#also therapy is supposed to be a safe space for me but thanks for fucking that up

[laughroditee]

Once upon a time (specifically last year in 2024), I was finally writing a novel.

Again.

But this time would be different because I was prepared. This one wouldn't end up like all the other projects I've abandoned over the years because I've Learned Things™.

And then came my entrance into the COD fandom. Fanfiction became both my new shiny object and a way to practice exposure therapy, showing my work to the ether, and it was anxiety-inducing.

Fanfiction, for me, was a joy and an exploration, but also my way to try to break through my creative blocks that have been holding me captive for the past few decades. Words do not come easily to me anymore, like something's gummed up the cogs that used to be so well-oiled. That kind of loss of self-expression feels like a kind of crippling self-abandonment and has left me clawing and grasping for something that, in the past, had been almost too present. I feel abandoned by the muses I once had, who had always been with me, and I am left wondering how to get them back.

I have WIPs that are outstanding (as in not fulfilled, not excellent in quality lol), and I had to stop taking part in things like WIP Wednesday because I always end up feeling like they're broken promises to myself and just remind me of how much I'm struggling to write.

There's no real point in this post I guess, except to say that I'm struggling. Fanfic was supposed to be haha fun, but it's become hard, just like any other writing I do, or try to do.

My very first drabble (and entry into fanfiction) will turn one year old at the end of this month, and my first serial fanfic ("Your Ghost" - tw it's an exploration of grief) will follow in June. I haven't updated it since June 26th last year. The last chapter I wrote took a lot out of me both cognitively and emotionally (it's a very, very emotional chapter), and though it was rewarding to have written it because it was my first published sex scene (something I struggle with), it was SO HARD LOL!! I feel so bad for not being able to update it in an entire year!

While I did start writing further chapters, I had to put it on pause because I had to figure out where I wanted the story to go instead of getting myself into the usual situation of writing myself into a corner and then abandoning ship.

And now I'm wondering if it's even worth it, if people would read further chapters, or if I'd be wasting my time. (But then I remind myself that I'm basically writing this for myself to process things, so that's its value to me; it shouldn't matter what other people do or think.)

My fanfic experiment has basically failed is what I'm trying to say. Because it was supposed to help me be able to write my novel by providing a safe space to practice and have fun (my sandbox), while getting feedback sooner on shorter works. And I haven't touched my novel at all during this whole time. All my spell slots were eaten up by fanfiction.

Or maybe it has worked, just on a very fucking prolonged timeline, which is kind of par for the course with me as a perpetual late-bloomer. (Thanks, Saturn complex.)

It's frustrating to have all these things I want to say and write, and then when I get to the blank page, my mind is just as blank.

Anyway, that's it. That's the post.

I'm not looking for productivity hacks or anything like that; believe me I've got plenty. Just wanted to see my blog have some kind of update because I feel bad for also neglecting it.

Be excellent to each other.

🖤🤡🖤

[tearueful]

Round 2. I'm obsessed w/ him so I cannot resist sending Noir

Also going to throw Butcher at you (You can do them in separate posts if you want)

These two I have a LOT LESS THOUGHTS about because they're not Homelander or my other 2 favs BUT:

Black Noir

Sexuality Headcanon: Post-brain damage? Asexual Gender Headcanon: Eh, I doubt Noir cares anymore so gender fluid A ship I have with said character: No one actually?? He's too removed from everyone to want to hold anyone's hand. The brain damage and muteness makes Noir feel like he'd pull away from everyone. Still, I'd love to see some Noir x Kimiko stuff for OBVIOUS reasons. A BROTP I have with said character: Noir and Homelander were besties as much as anyone can be with Homelander. Homelander looked up to Noir given that Noir looked out for him in the beginning. A NOTP I have with said character: Anything with Soldier Boy. FUCKING SOLDIER BOY. A random headcanon: Before the head trauma, Earving wanted that mask off but after that? The suit and mask became more of a security blanket, a means to hide the physical and mental trauma Soldier Boy inflicted on him. A blatant barrier between him and the rest of the world to keep him safe. General Opinion over said character: Wasted potential. They never utilized Black Noir enough beyond someone to be a silent threat. The dynamic between him and Homelander could have used more exploration. I'd love a spin off series about Payback to get more of Earving. (He a cutie~) The scene where he tries to distract the little boy with the plushie. 🥺

William "BIlly" Butcher

Sexuality Headcanon: The white cis het boy energy gives me psychic damage, but heteroflexible. Gender Headcanon: See above A ship I have with said character: Okay my SURPRISE fav? Hughie and Butcher, all because of ONE FANFIC that scratched ALL the proper itches. Subby Butcher? ACTUALLY YES, makes 300% sense. Butchlander is fine, but he's always an aggressive top and- Do you see this man? He wants his chin cupped tenderly while you tell him how good he's being for you. (I RECOGNIZE MY FELLOW SUBS, THANK YOU.) A BROTP I have with said character: MM, Frenchie, and Butcher. The OG Boys team. I love watching them. Hughie, Kimiko, Starlight's dynamic with Butcher, too. Okay, any of the Boys with Butcher. A NOTP I have with said character: ???? BIlly will fuck anyone. Just get him drunk first. A random headcanon: Fuck it. Butcher is a submissive in the bedroom. He's a brat type. He wants to be tamed. (He's just like me fr) He's a cocky little shit always in control and self-assured and let me tell you boys and girls, that man needs a safe space to put all his trust in someone else behind closed doors. He HAS A MIGHTLY NEED. (just like me frfr) He's a manic mess right now because he's not getting to let go of everything and hand control to someone else. Someone put a collar on his neck and maybe he'd calm down. General Opinion over said character: Hey it's Bones! I hate his beard. Hey, what the fuck do you mean he's suppose to be British!? BILLY STOP MAKING BAD DECISIONS. BILLY I FUCKING HATE YOU, BILLY I STG DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE. BILLY, NO! Butcher endlessly frustrates me with his stupid man pain and REVEENGGEEE need. Shut up and go to therapy, you stinky man.

[kurlik42]

(I reblogged my previous post to clarify a few things. Again, it's about proship, so I've also put it in "read more".)

Thank you for all the activity on this post! I appreciate your clarifications and patience, now I can see that some of the statements and formulations I've made were wrong. I can see that not everything in that text is comprehensible, so I apologize for my English — it isn't my native language. Since censoring words isn't necessary on this site, I won't use the censorship anymore.

I agree that fiction and reality don't work in the same way and I believe it is fine to explore dark themes in fiction for any reason, as long as it doesn't hurt real people. If certain ships make a person happy and bring them comfort, there's likely no harm in it due to the fact that it's only fiction. It's not always used as a way to cope and it's fine to enjoy fiction due to different reasons, as well as it doesn't necessarily reflect a person's morals and beliefs. Also, as I understood, attraction towards anything doesn't make a person bad, since they can't control the feeling of attraction itself; rather, the actions speak volumes: if they decide to act on the urge and consciously hurt someone real, then they should be held responsible for the illegal act. However, if they decide against it, there's no specific action to judge them for. I believe that these people also deserve help and a safe space, because harassment and oppression never made anyone better, but everyone deserves a chance for a happy life. And of course, any sexual act in reality should be solely performed from consent after every party reached the legal age.

And to answer the question of the user miranova23: although I'm currently not pushed into such beliefs by my close social circle, the topic of proship makes me anxious due to confronting my previous beliefs. I'm not officially diagnosed with moral OCD, however, I'm indeed prone to questioning my morality every so often. So all of the questions I asked are hypothetical — I'm strongly against CSEM and no real child deserves to be hurt (the thought itself makes me uneasy). In case that was the case for concern, the question about monetisation of r34 with underage characters was asked because I wasn't sure whether it's appropriate to gain money from such art despite the depicted characters not being real. But I suppose it's fair to say that it depends on the laws of my country; besides, pixels can't consent, which is why being concerned about this in the first place isn't necessary, so it's better to focus on real victims who should have support and help. Even if so, I'm not going to draw sexualised minors at any point. I'm not judging those who do, since they don't harass real children and, again, just draw pixels, and I definitely will not harass and threaten people over it. I'm only saying that this content makes me uncomfortable and I prefer to skip it respectfully, because your kink is not my kink but your kink is okay. I think that not all kinds of content are for everyone, but it's alright. And yes, I suppose I could use therapy 😅 Perhaps I should learn not to give a fuck about others's business. I hope I answered your questions.

Feel free to correct me if I might be wrong somewhere — I simply would like to have a better perspective on the topic, because I strive to be a better person. Anyway, wish you all a great day!

(It's about proship, so I've put it in "read more" in case someone finds the topic uncomfortable. Take care)

Without negativity, I have a few controversial questions which I'd like to see from some different angles. It's curiosity, but not an accusation by any means — I just question my moral beliefs, so I don't want to cause arguments but a discussion. And you aren't obligated to answer all the questions and aren't obliged to answer at all, of course.

With all due respect, what I'd like to ask is:

Can "proship" be considered a bad coping mechanism? Does the media that one enjoys reflects their morals and beliefs? Also, I'm not sure if that's okay to sexualise and fetishize underage people, even if it's fictional. I understand that it's often a way to cope with trauma, I don't mean to invalidate it in any way and I'm not a doctor, though I can't decide whether it's a healthy way to process it. I once heard an argument that it works in a similar way with gambling and p0rn addiction, as in indulging in fantasies and letting urges control one's behaviour, but I'm not sure if it's really so. Isn't it possible to see ped0phile inclinations in a person through the media they consume and produce? Also, is it okay to monetise drawn child p0rn? Because this content is created specifically with the idea to get turned on by drawn kids, which sounds not so far from getting off on real ones (with the difference that in the first case, it's fictional, so no real kid is technically hurt; however, the attraction is still caused by knowing the drawn person is underage, so the mechanism remains the same).

So all in all, I think there are concerning people on both the proship and antis sides. Which doesn't mean that every person in both communities is inherently bad or good, but I think it's important to acknowledge that there can and will be people who do questionable things from both sides. I also would like to clarify that I'm against threats and bullying over fiction, respect should be always prioritised.

Thank you for your patience, I apologize if I made you uncomfortable or understood something wrong.

[preraphaeliteknight]

I've spent a few days thinking about what to do moving forward. It's not the breakup of a celebrity couple that's affected me the most, it's the feeling of losing my safe space in the Tumblr Swiftie fandom. Every time I've logged onto this app in the last few days I've flinched and quickly exited the dash to get away from yet another take mocking and ridiculing Joe. Or minimizing his very valid fears. "Unbothered 3.0". Rewriting history to make the last 6 years seem insignificant. Comparing him to CH as if petty jealousy is the issue here and not years of harassment. Celebrating the return of Taylor Swift, The Brand, no matter what that means for her future happiness. And circulating pressers that make it sound like Joe was a therapy dog who's no longer needed. All of which is making me feel physically ill. For both of them. And even when this stuff isn't coming from the people I follow (who for the most part have nuanced and fair takes), it's coming from their anons. And no matter what I do I can't get away from the outright cruelty and shocking lack of empathy for the person Taylor has credited with saving her life. Even though swifties know better than anyone what Joe has had to put up with for over half a decade. Given that treatment, I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that this is how he's being discarded. But fuck it hurts. So where does this leave me? This blog was never supposed to be an update account or an ask blog. I just wanted a space to fangirl over my favorite actor. But in the last few months this has become a space for Joe fans to be excited for his upcoming projects and clown over castings (remember a few weeks ago when we were giddily figuring out his next movie because of insta follows? yeah, take me back to that please). And I know some of you rely on this blog as a space to both appreciate Joe and vent your frustrations with his unfair treatment. I have 70+ asks in my inbox right now, the vast majority of which are well written, thoughtful takes on what's been happening. And I agree with pretty much all of it. Thank you for taking the time to send me your thoughts. But the truth is, I simply don't have the emotional capacity to reply to them right now. I can't do it. I can't talk and think and dwell on this. To quote a song that's too painful to listen to right now: "I'm just too soft for all of it." So I feel like I have two options if I ever want to be able to be active on Tumblr again: 1. Unfollow all swifties. Because just seeing pictures of Taylor (especially from the pap walk) makes me feel ill. And it's affecting my opinion of her even though I'm mad at her fans, and not her. And I don't want that to happen or the music to be tarnished. But I also don't want to break mutuals and hurt someone's feelings. And I want to know what's going on with Taylor. I'm a huge fan of her too, and I want to be excited for tour and the re-recordings. So that's why I'm going with option 2: Take a proper break. A real one, this time. Hopefully this all won't feel so hard with some time and distance. I don't know if it will solve anything, because swifties will get back to talking about Joe in the future (whenever she makes art about this) and then I'll probably have to flinch every time I open this app again. Because he will have been reduced to yet another ex swifties can make fun of. So maybe I have to go with both options in the end. If I do, I hope any mutuals out there know not to take it personally. I wish more than anything that I could return to the days of being a casual fan who wouldn't have thought twice about any of this. And maybe that's what I need to try to get back to. For my own sanity's sake. I'm sorry to any Joe fans out there who need a place to vent. I feel like I'm letting you down, but I just can't do this right now. Maybe I'll be able to in the future. Maybe I'll leave this blog and go back to my main instead where the subjects will be more varied. I don't know. I'll always be a Joe fan though, and no shitty presser or swiftie narrative is going to change that.

Please just be kind to each other, and to Taylor and Joe. Let's hope the best for both of them, and please please please don't tarnish all the good that this relationship gave them. And all the beautiful music it gave us.

All my love

[red-jaebyrd]

My Brother’s Keeper

Ric hadn’t set out to make a new friend that day. In fact he hadn’t even expected to see the guy again once he had helped Ric push his busted cab to the side of the road.

Hardly anyone ever went out of their way to help others in Bludhaven. It surprised Ric when this guy, Jason just appeared as if out of nowhere to yell at honking drivers and help Ric get his cab out of the way of traffic. Ric had invited him to The Prodigal for a beer that night as a thank you. He wasn’t sure if Jason would even show up that night, but to his surprise he did.

“So what do you do when you're not swooping in to help complete strangers push their broken down cars out of rush hour traffic?” Ric asked.

Jason laughed. “Little bit of this, little bit of that, mostly free-lance stuff.”

It was a vague answer, but Ric let it slide. Everyone had their secrets, he couldn’t fault a guy he just met to have a few.

“Must be nice. Is it real lucrative?”

“The pay isn’t bad,” Jason shrugged. “I get to set my own hours and carry a gun.”

“Can’t argue with those perks,” Ric chuckled, taking a drink of his beer. “So did you grow up around here?”

“Nah, I grew up in Gotham, what about you?”

Ric tensed at hearing Gotham and gripped the handle of his beer mug tighter. He really hoped Jason wasn’t another one of Wayne’s associates trying to jog his memory and lure him back ‘home’. Maybe he should just play along.

“Same, seems everyone one I’ve run into lately is from Gotham.” Ric challenged.

“Well, to be fair Gotham is a pretty big place,” Jason replied causally. “So what brought you to Bludhaven?”

Ric shrugged allowing the tension to leave his shoulders. “Let’s just say I needed somewhere new to spread my wings.”

“And you chose Bludhaven?” Jason snorted. “Did you lose a bet?”

“Shut up.” Ric laughed, elbowing Jason in the arm. “Don’t knock it. You’re here too. What brought you to the ‘haven’?”

Jason ran a hand through his hair. His brow furrowed in thought before he answered. At first Ric thought that maybe he was prying too much into this guy’s life, or asking too many personal questions.  He couldn’t help it. He liked talking and Jason was the first person besides Bea that was actually interested in talking to him.

“Gotham wasn’t safe for us anymore, so my brothers and I bailed and came here.”

“Looks like you left just in time. I heard a lot of crazy shit with the Bat was happening in Gotham. Wait, did you say ‘brothers’?” Ric’s smiled wistfully.

Jason nodded. “I have four. One was staying with our sister the last time I checked in with him and the other two came here with me.”

Ric had always wondered what it would be like to be part of a big family.  He wondered if he had ever asked his parents for a brother or a sister. If they hadn’t died, would they have had more children? Would he have been a good big brother to them? Wayne did have a younger son, so Ric was technically a big brother, but he couldn’t remember his life with him. When it came to the Waynes, Ric was just a son and brother on paper.

“Where’s the other one? You said four brothers, but only mentioned three of them.”

He watched as Jason scratched along a groove in the wood of the bar, like he was trying to think of the right words to say. Ric’s stomach flipped as he started to speculate that maybe something serious did happen to Jason’s family. Or maybe Ric was just making Jason feel uncomfortable with all his questions. Ric did that sometimes when he got too excited talking to new people. Jason took a swig of his beer before answering Ric’s question.

“Our older brother...” Jason answered, running his fingers along the condensation of his mug. “…he went missing a few months ago. It’s been hard on the family, especially our father and my youngest brother.”

“I’m sorry. I can imagine it’s been difficult for everyone, especially you. It can’t be easy being the one that they depend on.”

Jason shook his head. “No, truthfully it sucks sometimes, but it has its moments. He was– I had a good role model and they’re good kids. They just miss him. I miss him too.”

“Well you got them somewhere safe,” Ric clapped a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Well…relatively safe. Any leads on his whereabouts?”

“Nothing but dead ends. Deep down I don’t really think he wants to found,” Jason shrugged. “But I’ll keep looking for him. So what about you, any siblings?”

Ric knew a dismissal when he heard it. He didn’t mind the change in subject. He couldn’t blame Jason for not elaborating. It had to be stressful for anyone looking for a missing family member. He assumed this question was bound to make its way onto him.

“No, I’m an only child. My parents died when I was eight.”

“Shit, sorry man. We can talk about something else.”

“It’s fine. You told me about your brother. I can talk about this. I did get taken into a good home, so I shouldn’t really complain,” Ric shrugged.

“But…”

Ric shook his head. “It’s just frustrating to have these people who are supposed to be my ‘family’ constantly telling me how I should be living my life.”

“Oh, I know how that is, trust me. It’s the worst.”

“Right? Why can’t I live my life how I want to? I’m an adult. They’re not even interested in getting to know me,” Ric ranted. “They just want their precious ‘Dick Grayson’ back. It’s my life now not his, let me live it how I want to.”

Shit. He went too far. He could see the look of surprise on Jason’s face. The lull of silence between them stretched and Ric couldn’t form a cohesive thought. Ric’s brain was scrambling for something else to say, anything to say, to fix the mess he just made but nothing was coming. Instead his mind started replaying all recent moments of disappointed people coming and going in his life claiming that they loved him, but not wanting to take the time get to know him.

Ric really hated his brain sometimes and how there was no filter between what he was thinking and what came out of his mouth. He needed to explain himself to Jason fast. Ric knew Jason had to have noticed the gnarly scar on the side of his head. Maybe the scar would give him a free pass at his unfiltered choice of words.

“Sorry, sorry, that uh kinda came out of nowhere. I…uh…had a bit of an accident…” Ric explained, pointing at his scar. “…I got shot a few months ago and well let’s just say my “family” or whatever they want to call themselves, didn’t take to my recovery well.”

“I’m sorry. Sometimes injuries that intense can either bring a family closer together or tear them apart.”

Ric shrugged his shoulders. It had been rough having to relearn how to do everyday tasks like eating, writing his name, and walking. His “family” and friends had been there at every therapy session encouraging him with their words and overall presence. But the worst of it had been their reactions to the news that his memories of them were gone.

“I couldn’t remember them,” Ric admitted, staring at his near empty beer mug.  “They were literal strangers to me the moment I opened my eyes from the coma, and it was something that they wouldn’t accept. In the end their concern for me and my recovery just felt conditional, so I left and came here.”

“Damn. Do they at least check up on you?” Jason asked.

“The old man used to, but I haven’t seen him in a while. A red-headed chick did too, but I told her not to bother anymore. Not if she’s going to keep looking at me searching for ‘him’ to come back. Apparently the other guy they really want was a real ‘Golden boy’, that’s not me.”

Jason snorted.

“What did I say?” Ric quirked a smile.

“Nothing,” Jason smirked, and took a drink of his beer.

“I’m doing just fine on my own. I don’t need them.”

“No you don’t. I know they’re family, but fuck them.” Jason clinked his beer mug against Ric’s.

Oh Ric really liked this guy.

 8888

The next few weeks Ric and Jason met up at The Prodigal for beers. Some nights all they did was talk and drink. Other nights they drank and played pool. Jason became one of Ric’s favorite drinking buddies.

Ric couldn’t legitimately remember ever having a feeling of kinship with anyone like Jason before in his life. It was nice and a bit scary at the same time letting someone new in his life. Still, instead of running away from this newfound friendship, Ric embraced it.

Friendship was a concept Ric wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to again. He didn’t have many friends in Bludhaven, well friends that he remembered. Dick’s old friends wanted nothing to do with him. They kept waiting and pushing for Dick to “come back”. When he finally snapped at them that Dick was gone and never coming back, they stopped visiting him. He did have Bea. She was the only one who had welcomed him with open arms and genuinely wanted to get to know him.

Jason had been the only other person he had run into that also didn’t have some hidden agenda to “bring Dick back”. With Jason there wasn’t any pressure or demand to be anyone other than himself. He could be Ric with no expectations thrust upon him. Jason empathized with Ric’s struggle to find his identity apart from the Waynes.

This was what made hanging out with Jason so easy. The anxiety of having to censor himself, afraid he might say or do something that was so inherently not Dick didn’t exist when he was around Jason. It was such a relief and a weight off Ric’s shoulders to just exist in a space with a friend and be himself.

Once Jason had opened up to Ric, he learned that there was a whole slew of shit that had happened to his friend in just a short amount of time. Aside from his brother going missing, Jason had a serious falling out with his dad that had caused a significant rift between them causing him to take his brothers and leave. However, the most devastating news had to be hearing that Jason’s best friend had been killed while staying at an inpatient rehabilitation facility.

“I wish I had some advice to give you, but something tells me you weren’t looking for any,” Ric said.

“No, not really, just a sympathetic ear, I guess.”

“I’m sorry about your best friend. That really sucks what happened to him.”

“Thanks, man. At least we got to work one last job together before he died. Anyway, that’s enough of my bullshit. What’s up with you? You look like my little brother after seven Red Bulls and 3 hours of sleep.”

Ric sighed. “It’s kind of embarrassing, but I’ve been having these dreams lately of faceless people in weird costumes. In the dream I feel like I know them. I’m ready to say their name but I can’t talk. I wake up and by the time I try to recall the images I can’t remember them.”

“Do you think your memories are trying to come back?” Jason asked.

“I don’t know, maybe?” Ric shrugged.

“But…you don’t want them to come back, do you?”

It felt silly getting so worked up over something like lost memories resurfacing. Ric should be happy that parts of his lost past was trying to get through to him. He should be relieved that the 15 years of lost memories were finally starting to return, but he wasn’t happy or relieved. He was worried.

“What happens to me when I start remembering everything? Will I still be Ric when Dick’s memories come flooding back filling in the gaps? What if I don’t like the things I start to remember? What then?”

Jason turned in his stool to face Ric. “No matter what, you’ll still be Ric. You’ll still be the guy with the busted cab I had to push out of traffic. You’ll still be the guy that kicks my ass playing pool. You’ll still be the guy who insists on buying the first round and listening to all my bullshit. You’ll still be you, just with new memories.

“No matter what happens you are not obligated to go back to your old life or live your life by your old memories. You don’t owe those assholes in Gotham anything.”

Ric nodded allowing Jason’s words to sink in.

“We’ll take it one day at a time,” Jason clapped a hand on Ric’s shoulder. “Next round is on me.”

The anxiety slowly started to ebb away as Ric watched his friend leave their high top table and make his way to the bar to get another round of beers.

Ric couldn’t stop the new memories from coming. They were coming whether he wanted them to or not. And when they did come he was glad to have found such a great friend in Jason. The man was right, no matter what happened, he was not obligated to go back to his old life or live his life by his old memories.

Part 2: Somebody That I Used to Know

[fruitydiaz-archived]

nothing safe is worth the drive

post 4.12 treasure hunt fic that i forgot i was working on

set after taylor turns buck down outside bobby and athena's

insecure buck | soft eddie | love confessions

6,513 words

AO3 link

Buck felt like he was floating.

And not in a good way. It felt like he was floating in a way that he hadn’t felt in a while. He felt listless, aimless, purposeless. Therapy was supposed to be helping him, he was supposed to be sorting through this — this thing that he had, this issue with abandonment, this need for everyone around him to constantly reassure him that they wanted him around.

The real problem was that this abandonment thing wasn’t just a single loose thread that Buck just had to untangle and then set right. It was a million little threads all knotted together, threads from his past relationships, threads from his family, threads from his friends, threads from work, twisting and weaving together into this suffocating blanket of shame. He wanted to be needed, wanted to be loved. He wanted it so badly that it made him feel sick, made bitterness creep up the back of his tongue, made his skin itch.

Every session he had with his therapist felt like a battle.

He wanted love but he hated that he wanted it. He wanted to be self-sufficient but he was lonely — he wasn’t strong enough. He wanted something meaningful but he never felt like he could trust it. He never felt like anything was enough — because he never felt like he was enough.

He was supposed to be getting somewhere, he was supposed to be making progress, but lately he’s been falling into the same old thought patterns he was supposed to have left behind with Buck 1.0 and 2.0.

Supposed, supposed, supposed.

Have patience with yourself, Evan. Show yourself the same compassion you’d show a friend.

These things take time.

Have you ever thought maybe you just need to be patient, wait for the universe to come to you?

The thing was — he knew Taylor just saw him as a friend. He knew every time he looked at her, every time Eddie joked about her being his girlfriend — he knew it wasn’t right. But he wanted it to be right.

They already knew each other, they had history. They already knew they had incredible sex together. So the only thing they needed now was the love. And he thought that they could work at it, maybe. He thought that over time, the more that they built on their friendship, the closer they would get to crossing that line into something meaningful.

But it wasn’t right. She didn’t like him that way and, honestly, he didn’t know why he kept trying to push it. Everytime he leaned in, everytime he let his eyes soften and linger, there was a voice in the back of his head screaming at him that it was wrong. But he wanted to ignore it.

Because he wanted it to work. He wanted it to be her. Because he didn’t have any other option.

They’re on the front porch at Bobby and Athena’s and he’s trying — he’s trying, again. It should be easy, he does love Taylor, maybe just not in the way he thinks he’s supposed to, but he can pretend. He can pretend that the pounding of his heart in his chest is excitement, pretend that the way his stomach is twisting is because of butterflies, can pretend the reason his hands shake and his palms sweat is because he wants her that bad.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t. He just wants love.

“I’m glad that we’re friends,” She says, smiling up at him. She knows what he’s trying, and she knows why he’s trying it — she’s called him out on it before.

That’s not what I meant, when I said you should wait for the universe, Buck. You know that.

But he really wishes that it would just work. That things would just fall into place like they do in the movies, that some switch would flip and he’d get what he wanted. But this...this isn’t really what he wants. And he supposes, that’s why it’s not working.

When he heads back into the house, there’s a cloud over him. He can feel it and everyone else clearly picks up on it, with the way their eyes all fall on him, then shift to Taylor, then back at him, then soften with a false sense of understanding.

They don’t get it. Nobody does.

He knows he’s doing that thing he does, where his face hardens, and he stares off into space, absorbed in thought and mentally checking out of the conversation. Eventually, everyone stops nudging him, stops trying to get him to check back in. But Eddie keeps his eyes on him.

Eddie.

Eventually, the crew begins to clear out. Taylor leaves first, of course, thanking Athena and Bobby for hosting, waving a quick goodbye for everyone else, walking briskly out the front door, phone in hand, always with a purpose.

Buck can’t tell if he’s sad to see her go or happy. Her friendship has been something like an anchor for him over the last couple of months — but he keeps trying to turn it into something it's not and the rejection he always knew would come is stinging more than it should.

Her presence is starting to feel like a constant reminder of all the ways he’s failing right now, which isn’t really fair to her.

Eddie and Buck hang back after Hen and Chimney leave, insisting on helping Bobby and Athena clean up a little. He’s not sure why they both linger. It feels oddly domestic, the two of them collecting silverware from a kitchen table that’s not either of theirs — it reminds him of the way Chimney and Maddie will linger in his apartment kitchen after dinner, clearing up and giggling to each other, Buck sitting stunned at his own kitchen table, feeling like an outsider in his own apartment.

They don’t talk much as they help — because Buck’s still brewing under his dark cloud of self-doubt. But Eddie’s nothing if not persistent.

He comes around to Buck’s side of the table and Buck glances at him, hands freezing as he reaches for another fork. Eddie doesn’t look at him, though, so Buck continues what he was doing, a little more on edge now. Their fingers brush once when they reach for the same bowl and Buck shocks the both of them with how quickly he rips his hand away. Eddie studies him for a second and Buck keeps his eyes trained on the table.

Buck doesn’t know what Eddie finds when he looks at him, but he must find something, because he sets his collection of dishes and silverware back down on the table and turns to face Buck, one hand on his hip with a sense of determination. He can practically see the way Eddie’s turning over words in his head, trying to figure out the right thing to say, so he braces himself.

“Why don’t you come over after this?” He asks, his voice gentle. Buck wants to ignore him, wants to finish clearing the table, say goodbye to Athena and Bobby, and leave — go back to his quiet apartment, bury himself under the blankets in his bed, and let his anger and hurt simmer.

But also — God, does he want to go to Eddie’s. He so badly wants to go to Eddie’s and soak up all of the gentle attention he knows Eddie wants to give him right now.

But also — he knows exactly how much that attention is going to hurt when he has to leave, when they have to cap off this week of brief fun and excitement and go back to reality — where Eddie’s with Ana and Buck is alone.

He doesn’t look at Eddie when he speaks, tries to force a casual smile onto his face but he knows it looks more like a grimace.

“What, you haven’t had enough of me yet?” He laughs, aiming for a joke, but he knows exactly how it lands; it’s pitiful and self-deprecating, a thinly veiled challenge. Eddie doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile, doesn’t frown. He just stares, steadily. Buck can feel the facade crumbling under the weight of it.

“Look, Chris is spending the day with Pepa and I don’t have to pick him up until later tonight. If you’re still around, I know he’d like to see you. He misses you.”

It’s a cheap shot, throwing Christopher at him like that. Eddie knows he’d do anything for that kid. And, to be honest, Buck misses him too, fiercely. It’s not exactly like they’ve been spending a lot of time together.

But he’s stubborn, so Buck keeps his eyes on the table, and doesn’t say anything.

After a moment, Eddie adds quieter, “I want you to come over, Buck.”

And Buck feels it all fall apart, right then. Because that’s exactly what he wants, isn’t it? To be wanted. To be wanted by Eddie.

Buck wants to think that he’s good at hiding it, wants to pretend that this burning desire he has to be the center of Eddie’s entire world isn’t written all over his face every damn day. But he knows it is — he’s never been good at hiding his emotions. His sister’s called him out on it, Hen has made gentle, quiet comments about it, and even Taylor saw right through his weak advances, saw them for what they were — a distraction.

The fact that he can’t get a grip, can’t put a fucking lid on this boiling hot need of his, is embarrassing. And he hates that Eddie apparently sees it too. Because of course, Eddie knows that Christopher isn’t his only weakness. The kid gets it from his dad. Buck’s weak for the both of them.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with all of the emotions building up in his throat, so he looks at Eddie out of the corner of his eye, and nods quickly.

The smile Eddie gives him nearly knocks him back off his feet.

A few minutes later, they’re saying goodbye to Athena and Bobby. Well, more like Athena is kind-heartedly herding them out of the kitchen and out the door. Bobby says bye to them in the doorway, pulling each of them into a hug that surprises them both. Buck’s pretty sure that Bobby holds onto him just a second longer, squeezing him tighter, and clapping him on the back with a force that hides some kind of message.

I love you, kid is probably what he’s saying. Buck wants to swallow his tongue.

If he wanted to dig into himself and figure out exactly why he finds it hard to accept that the love from his co-workers — who are like his family — is enough, which his therapist actively encourages him to do, he would probably find that it’s because he believes that these are overwhelmingly good people. These are the people whose hands he willingly places his life into every single day, because he knows they’ll take care of it. They’re people that he looks up to every day, follows their lead whenever he feels lost, takes after them to better himself. And the thing that life has taught him about people like them, is that eventually they see him for what he is, and it’s never enough.

He fights every day not to feel like a fraud in that firehouse. He fights every day to earn his spot — even though everyone keeps telling him he doesn’t have to.

Old habits die hard, they say.

He climbs into Eddie’s truck — he had insisted on picking Buck up for lunch, since Buck drove them to dig for treasure — and feels the cloud over him start to dissipate, just a bit, in the familiar space. Part of him wants to reach out, grab hold of it, and yank it back into place. It’s that stubbornness of his that likes to hold onto the bad feelings, because they always feel safer than hope.

For the first 10 minutes of their drive, they don’t speak, just listen to the sounds of the radio. It’s peaceful, and as they drive Buck feels the cloud of his start to disappear. When he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, he can pretend that he doesn’t want it to stay, and he can start to let it go.

His feelings around Eddie are confusing, especially lately. He knows how he feels about Eddie, though, admittedly, he’s scared to say it out loud. When you voice something like that, give it a name, it makes it more real. Before, it was easy to ignore. Eddie was his best friend, Eddie was his partner, Eddie had his back, Eddie wasn’t going anywhere. He was content to keep that unnamed emotion under wraps for the sake of their friendship. Things were good — why would he want to risk it? Anytime he’s loved someone openly, they’ve left him. He wasn’t going to let Eddie leave him.

But now there’s Ana. And Buck doesn’t want to keep that emotion locked up anymore — not with the way it’s eating away at him. He wants to let it out, let it consume him, and maybe consume Eddie too. But that’s not an option. He can’t love Eddie, precisely because he loves him. He can’t risk losing him any more than he already has.

So he can’t let himself get too comfortable, can’t settle back into that spot he’s had reserved for the last 3 years. Because comfort leads to slip-ups; comfort leads to revealing things he shouldn’t. When they were both tiptoeing around their emotions — that was fine. Buck would slip up, then Eddie would slip up, then both of them would pretend they had no idea what they were dancing around.

Or, at least, that’s how he thought things were going. But, apparently, Eddie had enough of that dance and found someone that was actually worthwhile. Buck desperately wishes he could find someone too, but apparently the only one worthwhile for him — is Eddie.

Buck knows his peace can’t last forever so he’s not surprised when Eddie eventually turns down the radio. He’s been tapping his fingers against the steering wheel anxiously ever since they got in the car. Buck knew he was dying to start probing him with questions — in the most gentle, caring, Eddie way possible.

“Want to tell me what’s bugging you?” Eddie flicks his blinker on, eyes trained on the road, and he asks the question with such an air of nonchalance that Buck almost believes him.

“No,” He says flatly, shifting in his seat. The corners of Eddie’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he hates the fondness that creeps up in him at it. He fights to keep a smile off his own lips — he’s frustrated right now.

“Anything to do with that private conversation you had with your girlfriend out on the front porch?” Eddie asks...and...there’s an edge to his voice. That edge that’s been there every time that Eddie’s brought up Taylor — like he can’t let Buck have one thing. It cuts right through him, and he snaps, just a little. He sits up straighter in his seat and stares at Eddie. He can feel the heat rising in him — the anger, the want — getting twisted in his chest.

His face burns.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” He bites. He’s got more venom in him than he expects, the baritone of his lower register rumbling beneath the surface. It surprises Eddie, enough that the smile falls off his face, and he turns to actually look at Buck.

Buck knows his mask is all but wiped away — he’s clear as day to Eddie, his emotions all there on the surface, for Eddie to see.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting the anger bubbling in Buck die back down a little bit, and turns into his neighborhood. Buck feels himself relax again and guilt starts to settle in, in place of the anger that’s slowly fading. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, apologize, maybe, for snapping — but nothing comes out.

“Do you want her to be?” Eddie cuts in, interrupting whatever unnecessary apology Buck was trying to work out. He deflates against his seat and looks down at his lap. Yes, is what he wants to say. But it’s not really the truth. And as much of a fight as he’s been putting up — he’s really fucking tired. Fighting against Eddie’s not worth it, and he never likes it.

“I don’t know,” Buck says honestly, quietly. His voice sounds smaller than he’d like and he rubs a hand over his face, embarrassed. “I’m tired of being alone, Eddie.”

His voice breaks, and it hurts, and it’s humiliating, but it’s the truth, ugly as it is. Eddie nods, like he understands, which he doesn’t. Buck wants to scream, just a little.

“You’re not alone, Buck.” Eddie turns onto his street and slows down, taking the chance to look over at Buck, slumped down in his seat. He watches Buck roll his eyes, watches his eyebrows jump up and his head tilt like he’s ready to brush Eddie off. “You don’t have to be in a relationship, you know? You can just be Buck.”

“No offense, Eddie, but I’m tired of hearing shit like that from people who don’t get it.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t get it?”

“No.” Buck’s getting short with him again, so Eddie doesn’t say anything in response. He waits, counts to five, lets his breath even out. He’s not looking for a fight — but that seems to be Buck’s default, right now, and that’s not how tonight’s going to go.

He parks in the driveaway and cuts the engine off, letting the silence settle over them.

“What don’t I get?” Eddie tries again, once he sees that Buck’s backed down a bit.

“It’s not the same for us, Eddie. It’s not the same for any of you. Everybody has someone. Maddie, Chimney, Hen, Bobby, Athena...you. Hell, even Albert had Veronica. I don’t have anyone.”

They stare at each other for a beat, before Buck breaks their eye contact and looks back out the window. His jaw locks like he’s not going to say anything else, and Eddie waits.

He turns his keys over in his hand and drops his head down. He doesn’t understand Buck’s need for a relationship — that much is true. He’s been on about this for months now, probably as long as Eddie’s been seeing Ana. Or — was — seeing Ana. That’s ended now...and he hasn’t really found the right opportunity to bring it up.

Eddie sighs and slips his keys into his pocket.

“Look — you’re right. I don’t know why you want to be in a relationship so bad. You don’t have to put all of your self-worth into someone else’s hands. You’re enough on your own, Buck.”

Buck still doesn’t look at him but Eddie can see the telltale working of Buck’s jaw, the way he clenches it and unclenches it whenever he’s trying to fight back some wave of emotions. He tries to sniff subtly, but Eddie’s watching him like a hawk.

“And, uh, besides, I’m...Ana and I broke up. A while ago, actually.”

Buck’s neck snaps as he turns to look at him, surprise all over his face. Eddie shrugs a little, cocks his head to the side, and smiles, shy.

“Wh — what? What do you mean?” Eddie shrugs again.

“We...we just ended things, man, I don’t know?” The look Buck gives him is entirely unimpressed and it almost makes him laugh.

“I don’t know? Eddie. How did I not know about this?” And — Eddie knows Buck. He can pick apart the layers of anything Buck says in an instance; the fake lightness in his voice, the question hiding another question, the underlying layer of hurt.

How did I not know?

How did you not tell me?

Eddie rubs his jaw with his hand before shaking his head and pushing his side door open.

“Come on, Buck. We’re not having this conversation in the car. We’ll end up here all night.” He jumps out, then turns around, leaning against the frame of the car and looking at Buck expectantly.

Buck stares at him a couple seconds longer, brain still struggling to catch up with him. He looks like he wants to argue. Against what, Eddie’s not really sure, and he’s pretty sure Buck isn’t either.

Wordlessly, he unclasps his seatbelt and slides out his side of the truck. Eddie counts that as a win.

They head into the house in silence, Buck walking straight to the kitchen to grab them some beers while Eddie flicks on the lights and does a general scope around the house, just to feel settled.

When he walks back to the kitchen, Buck’s shoes are off — he left them by the door, next to the pile of Eddie’s and Christopher’s — and he’s hoisted himself up onto the counter by the sink. Eddie’s body warms, the way it does whenever he sees Buck comfortable in his home. He stopped trying to analyze the feeling a long time ago — just accepted that Buck was a part of his home now and when he wasn’t there — it didn’t feel complete.

Buck’s got one bottle of beer in his hands, another uncapped on the counter next to him. Eddie smiles as he walks over to Buck, drifting into his orbit to grab the bottle. They tap their bottles together in a wordless cheer, a habit of theirs they can’t ever break, even with tension sitting heavy between them, and Eddie leans back against the kitchen table as he takes his first sip.

They drink in silence and Eddie can feel the way Buck’s holding himself back, the way he’s refusing to broach the subject before Eddie does. He takes another sip of his beer and sighs, holding it down in his lap, and fiddling with the cap.

“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t ready. It wasn’t like there was a big problem between me and Ana...it just wasn’t working,” He glances at Buck, who’s watching him with that look in his eyes; the one that always makes Eddie feel pinned in place, grounded in a way that few things do, like he’s the only person in the world. He shifts.

“We both agreed to end things...together. But I still needed some time, you know, to think about...things,” Eddie drops his gaze back down to the bottle in his lap. He pauses, taking the opportunity to take another sip of beer.

He hadn’t been planning to have this conversation with Buck for a while. That’s exactly why he didn’t tell him that they had broken up in the first place. Because somewhere between introducing Ana to Christopher and the last couple of months — Eddie had come to a startling realization.

The moment it hit him was nothing, really. It was a quiet moment. One day his Abuela had stopped by the station to drop Christopher off at the end of Eddie’s shift and Eddie was still in the locker room. He came out to find Chris and Buck talking by the truck. Christopher had just pulled out his latest art project to show Buck and Buck was on his knees beside him, staring at the piece of paper like it was a genuine work of art. He asked serious questions about the subject matter, the colors Chris had chosen — and Chris eagerly answered all of them, laughing when he thought Buck asked a silly question, and Buck would fein offended and then burst out laughing with him.

It was so ordinary, so normal for them, that Eddie didn’t even pause when his heart warmed at the sight or when that fond smile made its way onto his face or when he squeezed Buck’s shoulder as they said goodbye. He didn’t realize until he had made the whole drive home, ate dinner, helped Chris with his homework, put him to bed, and then settled in under the covers that night. Then it hit him all at once.

He was in love with Buck. He wanted to see Buck every day, wanted to wake up in the morning and come into the kitchen to find Buck doing something entirely mundane like drinking coffee, or eating breakfast, talking with Chris about anything and everything while he sat at the table eating cereal. He wanted Buck to come home with him after a shift and sit down at the table with them while they ate dinner and talked about their days. He wanted Buck there for movie nights and beers and birthday parties and bedtime stories and sleepovers and — everything.

So he broke up with Ana. And he spent the last month and a half trying to figure out exactly how to move forward from there because he was pretty sure that Buck loved him too.

But now there’s been all this time and space between where they once were and where they were now — a weird distance between them, a chasm that seemed impossible to cross. And every time Eddie tried to reach out he was met with resistance — because Buck was clearly trying to make something work with Taylor.

Why? Eddie didn’t understand. They seemed friendly with each other, and Eddie tried not to let his jealousy eat away at him, fought hard not to listen to that voice in the back of his head that screamed that he lost his chance, that he’d been replaced. But Taylor was clearly disinterested in pursuing anything else with Buck. And from where Eddie sat? Buck sure kept trying, but his heart didn’t really seem to be in it.

So — it was confusing. And the more time went by, the less Eddie really knew what to do.

And now they’re here.

“Look — nobody knows, except, you know, Christopher...and Abuela, Pepa, my mom, my dad, my sisters — you know,” He waves his hand, dismissively. “But nobody from work knows. You’re...you’re the first one I’ve told...because I want to tell you.”

He doesn’t miss the pleased look that passes over Buck’s face before he forces it down into something slightly more neutral. He stalls, taking another sip from his beer. He looks like he wants to say a couple of different things, or a million different things — Eddie wouldn’t know — but he settles for the easiest.

“How long?”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and presses his lips together.

“Month and a half.” And there it is, that unimpressed look, again.

“Eddie—” Eddie holds up his hands in defense.

“I know, I know, okay. It’s been a while. I told you, I had...some things to think about.” That’s as vague as he can be. He’s not really sure that now’s the time to say I was trying to figure out how to tell you I love you. Buck blinks, waiting for Eddie to elaborate. When he doesn’t, he rolls his eyes.

“Eddie — a month? What was there to think about, you had already broken up,” Buck’s tone is exasperated but he’s not angry — not like he was an hour ago. Eddie chews on his lip, looking back down at the bottle in his hands and picking at the wrapper on it.

“I had to think about what I wanted,” He says quietly. When he looks back at Buck — he sees the confusion. But Buck stays quiet, eyes flicking over Eddie’s face. They stay like that, suspended in the moment, for a while, before Eddie speaks again.

“What do you want, Buck? Is it Taylor Kelly?”

He’s not sure what gives him the confidence to ask that, to turn the conversation back around on Buck. He tries to keep his voice level when he says Taylor’s name; he’s perfectly aware of how his voice turns to something twisted and bitter whenever he talks about her. She doesn’t deserve it, not really, but he can’t help it. He tries his best.

Buck keeps his eyes locked with Eddie’s and they narrow a little, like he’s trying to figure out Eddie’s play, flipping the switch on him like that. Eventually, he drops his gaze and does a confusing series of tiny head nods and shakes. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t know — no. Not really.” Eddie nods. He repeats his question.

“What do you want, Buck?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, not at first. He’s distinctly thinking that he’s not drunk enough for this conversation. He’s not drunk at all — he’s barely had half of his beer. He’s not nearly as loose as he’d like to be for this — not nearly as loose as he needs to be for this. But he wants to be honest with Eddie, wants to save this intimate moment, wants to cherish the closeness. This is what his therapist encourages him to do, take the opportunity to open up, not to hide away in the things he thinks are most comfortable, not to shy away from the vulnerability that scares him, to embrace it, and be honest and real.

“I want...someone to come home to,” He starts, and his voice cracks on the word home, but he powers through, even if he has to take another large gulp of beer before continuing. “I...want someone who...will see everything that I have to offer and...it — it will be enough.”

I want you. I want you. Can I be enough for you?

Buck falls quiet again and Eddie takes the risk, stepping forward into the space between Buck’s legs. They weren’t far apart to begin with, the space between the counter and the table isn’t that great, but now Eddie’s breathing his air. Buck chances a look up at him.

“Do you know what I want?” Eddie asks, eyes steady on Buck. He doesn’t dare to breathe. “I want someone that I can count on. Someone who...won’t be scared by all of the parts of me that are broken. Someone who will look at Christopher — and see him the way I see him, the way he is, a kid with so much light and love in him. Someone who won’t just see his limitations — but all of the possibilities of things that he can do. Someone who will love him and support him and never leave his side.”

Buck’s eyes are big and watery and he jumps to fill Eddie’s silence.

“Eddie, no part of you is broken. And Chris — Chris is an amazing kid. It’s impossible not to love him. Anyone who gets to be a part of your lives is lucky.”

And — of course. Of course, that’s how Buck responds. Of course, Buck skips over the quiet declaration, the subtle implications that it’s him, it’s him, it’s him — to reassure Eddie in a way that just proves that he’s everything he could ever want. Eddie nods, rests his fingertips on the counter, just on the outside of Buck’s thighs. His voice drops into a softness he rarely indulges in, a tone he saves just for the people he loves.

“I want someone who will have my back.” He watches the way Buck’s eyes widen, the way he freezes at the words. His eyes jump back and forth between Eddie’s and his mouth drops open, just a bit. Eddie continues.

“I want someone...that I can count on...and that I know, no matter what, they will always have my back.”

The silence in the room is borderline oppressive — the way Eddie can feel it surrounding them, enveloping them like a weighted blanket. He struggles to breathe as he stares back at Buck, waiting. They’ve been playing this game all night. One moves, the other waits, then they move, and the other waits. It’s Buck’s turn to make the move. Eddie doesn’t want to push him — but all his cards are on the table.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, but nothing else follows. He’s frozen in place on the counter and Eddie knows what’s running through his mind.

It’s fear. It’s fear clawing its way up Buck’s chest, fear pressing down steady on his lungs, suffocating him. It’s fear that has every fiber of his body locked in place — unrelenting.

Buck is one of the bravest people Eddie’s ever met — and he’s met a lot of brave people. He throws himself headfirst into danger every day of his life for the lives of others. He would lay his life down on the line for anyone, no matter who, no matter what, no matter when. And he loves — he loves so fiercely, so bravely, so willingly, despite every way in which he’s been hurt before.

He’s brave not because he doesn’t feel fear — he feels it constantly, but he lives in spite of it, loves in spite of it, fights in spite of it. All Eddie wants is for him to feel safe in this, to know it's real and that he can love and not be afraid of it.

He takes another calculated risk, and lifts one of his hands from the counter, settling it gently on Buck’s thigh. He jumps, slightly, at the contact but doesn’t move away or go to remove Eddie’s hand. He swallows.

“Evan, I want you.”

And Buck can’t hold it back anymore — the fear, the want, the anger, the love. It comes bursting out of him at once. His face twists up as the emotions rush over him, and he wants to just shut his eyes, block it all out, not let them ruin this moment — but he can’t. The next thing he knows, he’s crying, breaking down sobbing in the middle of Eddie’s kitchen at the simple admission that somebody — not just somebody but Eddie — wants him.

It’s too good to be true. It has to be.

“Eddie,” Buck tries again, struggling to keep back tears. He gives Eddie that look, the one that says you don’t know what you’re talking about — I don’t believe you, and Eddie’s heart breaks.

He reaches his hands up and gently cradles Buck’s face between them; he can’t hold himself back from touching him, not anymore. Using his thumbs to wipe at Buck’s tears, he moves so that they’re eye to eye and Buck can’t look away from him.

“I love you, Buck.” And he can’t bring himself to care about the fact that it might be too soon to say it — because he’s been in love with Buck for years and in their line of work anything can happen to them at any time. If life has taught him one thing it’s that we never know when we’re going to go. And if anything were to ever happen to them and Eddie hadn’t grown the fuck up and taken the opportunity to tell Buck, this man who radiates light like the sun, who’s filled to the brim with love, who wants to give it to anyone and everyone who will accept it, who deserves love honestly returned — he doesn’t even want to think about it.

So he tells him, and he means it, and he needs Buck to know that he means it.

Buck’s face crumples on itself again. Eddie gives him a second to let more tears fall, watches as the muscles in his face move, trying to work out a response.

“Eddie,” Seems to be all he can say. He tries again.

“Buck — what do you want?”

He pauses and the tears keep streaming down his face but then he looks at Eddie, wide-eyed, and Eddie sees it — the moment that it clicks for Buck. The moment he realizes that this is real and if he wants it he can have it.

“You.”

Eddie nods, trying to keep himself from breaking down crying too, but he’s not sure it’s possible. They’re both exhausted, running on the carbs and coffee from Bobby and Athena’s and little to no sleep. But he’s grateful for anything that got them here, finally.

“You have me,” Eddie says, and he means it. “Me, Christopher, we’re yours, Buck. You’ve always had us.”

“Eddie,” Buck sobs and he’s clinging to Eddie’s shirt like it’s a lifeline. “I love you. And I love Chris. And I can’t lose you, not again, I can’t—“

“You never lost us, Buck,” Eddie shushes, pressing a solid kiss to his forehead. “Never. You might have, you know, been a dumbass once or twice. But we’ve both made mistakes. And here we are.”

Buck nods and looks around, blinking like he just realized where they were. He looks back at Eddie, eyes red from tears but a soft smile on his face nonetheless.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to make out with you on this counter.”

And — it’s tame, by his standards and Buck’s, he’s well aware of that — but something about that admission leaves him winded. He’s too startled to even respond for a second before he breaks out laughing.

It’s an effective tension cutter, and Buck laughs too.

“Really?” Eddie chuckles, letting his head drop so he can stop staring into Buck’s eyes for five seconds and breathe.

“Oh yeah,” Buck says, sniffling. He slides his hands up Eddie’s arms. “Here, and on your couch, against the wall...in your bed.”

He tacks the last part on with a kind of shyness that Eddie’s not used to hearing in Buck’s voice — especially not when it comes to sex. He looks back up again to find Buck’s eyes on him, still a little guarded and unsure.

He recognizes that a simple declaration of love isn’t enough to wash away Buck’s self-doubt — it’s not enough to fix either of them. But they’ll work on it together.

Eddie swipes his thumb across Buck’s cheekbone.

“We can do all of that, Evan,” He promises, smiling at the gentle gasp that leaves Buck at the sound of his given name.

“You know, I normally don’t like it when people call me Evan,” Buck says, dropping his hands to Eddie’s waist and letting his fingers dip under his shirt, feather-light against his skin. “But there’s something about the way you say it.”

Eddie hums in acknowledgment, bumping Buck’s nose with his and pressing gentle kisses along his jawline. Buck sighs and shrugs one shoulder.

“I dunno. It makes me feel good.”

Eddie pulls back again, eyes shining, and he smiles at Buck.

“I always want to make you feel good,” He says, and Buck tilts his head to the side, face flushing as the sweetest smile grows on his lips.

Eddie closes the space between them and presses his lips against Buck’s — gentle, at first, like a promise to keep him safe.

They kiss in the kitchen for a while, their hands lightly traveling over their arms, their backs, their chests, their thighs — a sweet exploration of something familiar and new all at once.

They kiss until they get lightheaded and Buck starts to feel like he’s floating again.

But it’s different this time, better — because they’re doing it together.

[elphiej]

Be My Light - Chapter 2: Her Devil, His Angel

*Pairing: Yoongi X Reader

*Genre: Mafia, angst, eventual smut, slow burn

*Warnings: Language, violence, reference to physical / emotional abuse, blood 

Author’s note: Hi everyone. Thank you for sticking with me. I am also uploading Be My Light up on AO3 under the same username. I’ll link below. Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think or what you liked about it. I get really excited when I see what you guys like. I hope you like it. 

Tag list: @lolalalooo​ @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng​, @barbikatherine​, @mrsfortune1306, @lovesick-heart0​, @iamnamjoonsbxtch​, @deathkat657​, @deeepvibes​

                                  Chapter 2: Her Devil, His Angel

               Almost there, you thought as you quickened your pace to your bus stop. Nothing had passed you on the road, so you were sure there was plenty of time before the bus arrived just beyond the construction. But with the morning you were having, you wouldn’t stop worrying until you were seated at the bench. You felt yourself smile a bit as you drew closer and closer to the shopping center; it was so large, and you were sure there were so many surprises lurking inside. You hoped it wouldn’t be too long before you could go in and find something special. 

               A black car went racing past you as breakneck speed, from seemingly nowhere, leaving you shivering from the blast wind that trailed behind. I must not be the only one having a crazy morning, you thought as your eyes followed the SUV’s taillights. As you passed in front of the construction zone, you saw the gate of the fence that surrounded it had been opened, leading to the paved entrance. Could the car have come from here? You stopped walking long enough to look around; nothing looked out of place, at least to you, and there didn’t seem to be any vandalism. Did they go inside? The chain on one of the doors had been unlatched and left hanging from the handle of the propped open doors. Or it would have been one of the workers checking on things and needed to leave quickly? You supposed there could be a lot of conclusions; instantly thinking something bad had happened just because of the gang activity wasn’t the best thing to ease your anxiety. It was best just to keep going. The bus stop was in sight at the edge of the fence.

               Before you could sit on the bench, you heard a loud ‘popping’ sound from the building behind you. You wanted to say it was a car backfiring or a firecracker, but it was too rapid to be anything else. Ever since you had lived in Central, you learned how to tell the difference. You could hear some loud yells that sounded like it was coming from the other side of the building. But the shots were coming from inside the building. You should run away and hide somewhere safe; you know you should. And you started to back away, reaching for your phone to call the police. You heard more yells and footsteps heading your direction. There was nothing close by to duck into, so you hid yourself behind a trashcan on the other side of the bench. Peering around, you see two large men, both dressed in black suits, holding semi-automatic handguns. They were looking, wildly, up and down the street. You prayed they wouldn’t find you, not knowing what would happen.

               “They’re not here! I don’t see a car anywhere! They must have got away,” one of the men said, out of breath.

               “What did you expect after that fucking chase? Everywhere they ducked into was rigged with one of Vante’s traps! I can’t believe that fucker got in there and did all that with no one noticing him. My eyes are still burning from that pepper spray.”

               “Tell me about it,” the first one replied, “On the third floor, he set off another smoke bomb and had trip wires all over the place. I almost busted my ass! He had every floor rigged with some kind of stupid trap. Yao went into an empty shop on the third floor and the security door came rolling down and locked him inside; they’re still trying to get him out.”

               “Well, Vante and the blond are gone. And Choi’s going to have our heads. No matter how many traps we suffered through.”

               “Maybe, but there are still the other two. I heard them chasing someone above us when we were pepper sprayed. Chen had said one of them was shot twice; there’s no way he’s making it out alive. Fairly sure it’s the youngest that’s still running around. Choi would be pleased if he could lay one of them out and get that secretive maknae they’re always protecting.  If we can corner him and capture him, that teaches them not to mess with the Royals. Let’s go check around back and help corner the fucking brat. Bet he’s hiding in some stairwell.”

               “As long as there’s no more damn traps…,” the other man trailed off in a low grumble.

               The two men turned and ran back towards the side of the building. So, the speeding car must have been who they were looking for. No wonder they were driving like their lives depended on it, you thought. Whoever they were looking for must have wandered into a gang meeting? And there were more still in the building, hurt, being hunted down. You needed to leave, call the police, protect yourself. But you found yourself looking back at the building, and a thought emerged that really affected you. For much of the life you remembered, you had been bullied. You wished, back then, someone had stood up to protect you. Now, after all the therapies and hard work, you were trying to stand up for others like you. These gangs were nothing but bullies and the city was you, looking for someone to take a stand and help. You knew you were nothing compared to the men with guns and weapons, but there were people who needed help. The police would take too long, and you couldn’t stand the idea of letting someone die. Sometimes people need to do scary things to help people. Your father had always helped people; as a police officer he had ran into danger. You were a nurse; you could help them until the authorities came. All you needed to do was stay out of sight. Suddenly, the person Amber wanted you to be took over and that scared girl hiding behind the trash can disappeared, as you stood up and eased over to the open fence, peering around to see if anyone was there.

               You pulled your phone out and called 911, quickly telling the operator what was going on; you were a nurse at Central Mercy, there was an active gang shooting with possible multiple injuries, and that you needed an ambulance to Central Mercy along with police. You hung up after the operator confirmed that they were on the way and to stay away from the scene. There was no talking you out of it. Someone needed to help before someone lost their life unnecessarily. The area around the open fence was clear of people, but from inside you could hear people were running around and yelling. You ran to the door, and slipped in once you saw the coast was clear.

               Inside was dimly lit, and every noise echoed in the open concrete building. You couldn’t see anyone on the ground level; the noises seemed to be coming from the upper floors, where you could hear people yelling commands, breaking glass, and throwing things around. Whoever they were looking for must be hiding. You moved, quietly, into the open food court area, looking for some sign. This is stupid, you are so stupid, you kept chanting as you kept moving. On a box next to you, there was a crowbar and you snatched it up, holding it as if it was a bat. It may not do anything against a gun, but it made you feel a little secure as more shots were fired above you. There was a bunch of yelling; from the sounds of it, they hadn’t caught the young man the ones outside had mentioned. And you hoped they wouldn’t. But then, you heard someone yell, ‘He’s running towards the fire escape! Take him down’. It was quickly followed by more shouting, more shots fired, a scream, and the sound of glass breaking.  As you made it to the fountain in the middle of the space, really wishing you would get out of there, you heard someone running. It was closer than the ones that echoed above you, and you could hear heavy breathing getting closer and closer. You crouched down against the wall of the fountain, gripping the metal bar tighter and trying to keep your breathing as quiet as you could. The footfalls got closer and closer, and they were not even steps like the two suited men from outside, and the breathing sounded labored and strained.

               Around a corner, the owner of the steps came into your view. It was not a suited man, but a younger looking man with sweaty, blond hair, and a pale face. He was alone and swaying on his feet as he moved, with difficulty, towards the fountain. His breathing came in harsh gasps. He stumbled and hit the ground hard, hissing and struggled to get back up. From your hiding spot, you saw there was a massive blood stain on the red coat he wore from a bullet wound in his shoulder, with blood dripping from his limp hand. His other arm was wrapped around his waist and his black shirt seemed like it was wet, as well. As he tried to push himself up, you saw blood on his other hand, too. This had to be the one the two gang members were talking about, the one who was hurt. Instantly, you felt your heart break seeing someone so hurt. As he struggled to push up on his shaky arm, he tilted his head up.

               Then, he finally noticed you.

               Your eyes locked with his dark brown eyes. At first, he just stared at you, as if he couldn’t figure out if you were real or not. His eyes – you couldn’t help but think that they were so captivating and beautiful- kept searching yours for some kind of sign, like he was expecting you to turn into something else. But then, he realized that you were not a figment of his pain-induced imagination and that you were really sitting there. His eyes got bigger as he pushed himself to get to his unsteady feet, but his arm gave out and he dropped back to the ground. Some of the strands of his blond hair were stained red from an open cut at his hairline.

               Before you could move to him, you heard someone coming. The young man heard them too and tried again to stand up, only to fall again. He turned his eyes back to you. His lips moved but you were so focused on the steps that you didn’t hear him. A man in a black suit, like the ones from outside, came around the corner. He looked around before his eyes fell upon the bleeding blond. The smile that cracked his face made your pulse race in your ears. It reminded you of the smile Daniel had shown you when you said you were leaving. The suited man let out a chuckle as he stalked over to the young man.

               “There you are, you son of a bitch. Who would have thought you would have made it this far in your condition. Choi’s going to be so happy that he’s gonna get to finish you off.” He kneeled down next to his prey and fisted his blond hair, pulling him up to his knees. “And I’ll get such a reward for capturing you. And it’s only a matter of time before they catch your little friend. Last I heard, they cornered him on the second floor. He almost made it to the fire escape. I can’t wait to see your face when I smash his skull against the floor. After Choi has his own fun, that is.”

               You couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping your lips as the mental image filled your mind. Two sets of eyes slid over to you. The suited man seemed startled at your presence and it took him a moment to fully process you. Slowly, that predator look he wore slipped back into place. He, roughly, released the youth and rose to his feet. His steps towards you were slow and heavy. And with each step, his well-tailored suit changed to a pair of worn jeans and a whiskey-soaked jacket. With each step, he became your ex as he stalked you against the wall of your apartment. Then back to the suited gang member with a gun in his belt. The edges of your vision started to darken and get fuzzy from panic. You pushed away from the fountain, trembling fingers releasing the only weapon you could protect yourself with, and tried to crawl away from his gaze. But he grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you back to his grasp. He grabbed you by the collar of your coat and crouched on top of you.

               Just like Daniel had done after he backhanded you for asking why you couldn’t leave.

               “Well, what do we have here? A little bitch who wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time, maybe? Do you belong to him? Or were you trying to play hero? What a fucking joke! You should have minded your own business! Now, I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

               You just couldn’t be the happy little bitch I asked you to be. You had to go sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. Guess I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, Daniel’s voice echoed behind the suited man’s words.

               “No,” you gasp, not sure who you were responding to, “please stop. I’m sorry!”

               He pulled you up to your feet, fingers biting into your arms. “Sorry isn’t gonna help you. You’ve seen too much. I doubt the boss will want to keep you around for a quick fuck either; you’re not pretty enough for that.”

               You should be thankful someone like me even wants to be around you. You’re nothing but useless. You’re not even good looking. Not even pretty enough to call a girlfriend.

               Your heart was racing; all the emotions were flooding your mind. Suddenly, you were back in your old apartment wanting to leave to make everyone happier. Daniel was screaming at you, breaking down every shred of courage you had mustered to tell him you were leaving. His hands were bruising your arms as he was about to throw you against the coffee table when you moved towards the door. There was a crack echoing in your mind as your head contacted with the wood then the wall as he slammed you against it. No, this wasn’t happening again! But the suited man kept changing forms, both faces sharing that venomous smirk. You were gonna be a victim again, forever trapped by his words and actions.

You were useless.

               “No!” You squeezed your eyes shut and brought your knee up as hard as you could, hitting him right in the stomach. The man stumbled back and it gave you enough time to reach down for the crowbar and swing it up. It connected with Daniel’s face as he moved towards you again. You swung it again, and it hit the suited man in the back as he doubled over. With a surge of rage that had been hidden within all the fear and anxiety, you swung again and again.

               When the red in your vision faded, the suited man was on the ground, unmoving. You stared down at him, breathing hard. For a moment, you weren’t sure what had happened. Was he dead? How did that happen? The weight of the crowbar in your hand brought it back to you. You were protecting yourself the way you wished you had before. The suited man had triggered your memory so strongly that all that pent of anger Amber had always said needed to be addressed came surging out. You stared at the crowbar in utter shock. How did you do that? You glanced down at the unconscious suited man before you; you nudged him with your foot and let out a sigh of relief when he let out a moan. He may have been trying to attack you, but you really didn’t want to kill anyone. It went against your whole purpose of running into this hell hole.

Your eyes darted back to the bleeding man leaning heavily against the edge of the fountain. You dropped the crowbar, making a loud ‘bang’, and ran over to him, wrapping your arm around him and steading him. He, unknowingly, leaned his weight against you and his head pressed against your shoulder. You got a better look at his wounds; the cut on his forehead was long but not deep, and the gun shot wound in his shoulder was bleeding quite a bit. There was no exit wound, so the bullet was still lodged somewhere in his flesh. You reached down and moved his shirt from his side to see another gunshot wound, deep and heavily bleeding. He tried to push you away.

               “What are you doing here,” he hissed at you through clenched teeth. “Get out of here! They’ll kill you.”

               “I handled that one,” you said, nodding your head in the direction of the suited man, “didn’t I?”

               “Barely. I could have handled him.” Was he seriously dismissing your effort? “A few lucky swings aren’t gonna save you from a gunshot. You need to get out of here. Just leave me here. They’re coming.”

               You eased his limp arm over your shoulder, wrapped your arm around his back to his uninjured side, and pulled him to his shaky feet. “I’m not leaving you here. You’ll either bleed out or whoever is looking for you will finish you off. Come on, I’m gonna get you out.”

               “You shouldn’t be in here. What were you thinking?”

               “Are you really berating me right now? I am trying to save you, you know. From where I’m standing, my lack of skills would have fared better than you. Why are you here, anyways?

               Despite his weakened state, the man struggled in your grasp, trying to push you away. “Are you crazy?”

               “No,” you said as you lead the way towards the door, “I’m a nurse at Central Mercy. And I don’t like bullies. Just focus on staying awake, alright? I promise I’ll get us out of here alive. And when we do, I want the full explanation of who I just knocked out and what I got myself into saving you. Deal?”

               “Whatever-“

               “Look down there,” you heard someone yell from behind you, “I heard something! He couldn’t have gotten far.”

               You felt the man flinch in your grip at the sound of the harsh voice. The sounds of heavy steps sounded like a rolling thunder in the wide space. There was no way you were going to make it out the door before someone noticed you, especially with the way the blond man was stumbling with each step. He was losing too much blood, and whatever headwound he had sustained had him straining to keep conscious. You looked around for something to hide behind. There were some boxes and crates but that wouldn’t be good enough. With the steps and voices getting closer, you made your way to one of the food service counters, and crouched down behind it. The thunder of footsteps seemed to patter off into different directions, but one could still be heard walking into the space. There was the sound of something scraping behind them. You braved to glance around the edge of the counter to see. At the fountain, right where you had hidden yourself a few moments ago, was a tall, well dressed man in a light blue suit. While he seemed the type to take care of his appearance, he looked crazed and disheveled. In one gloved hand, he held a gun while the other was a silver, ornate cane. His eyes were locked on the fallen man; This had to be the big boss based on his attire, you assumed. He made a noise of disappointment before turning his attention to a small pool of blood from where the blond had fallen. He dipped the edge of the cane in the crimson liquid, and brought it up to his eyes. At first, you worried he was going to taste it, like some modern vampire. But he smiled and started to walk forward, dragging the cane behind him, leaving a red trail. The way he stalked through the space you couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. Your heart was beating so fast; this was beyond terrifying, but you needed to focus. You felt a shaky hand reach over and grab hold of yours. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. The young man, despite chiding you earlier, was trying to keep you from falling too far into your fear.  

               “I know you’re here, Agust,” the chilling voice called out into the space. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. Still have some fight in you? You did a number on my man. I should return the favor.”

               The voice made a loud yell and a sudden crash exploded in the space. You brought your hand to your mouth to keep your gasp of surprise from alerting the walking embodiment of death. The man had brought his cane down upon the boxes you thought to hide behind, and smashed them. He kicked the shatter pieces out of his path and moved on, dragging the cane again. The steps were closer, and you figured he had come to one of the other food counters. You prayed he wouldn’t find you because you weren’t sure what would happen if he did. Suddenly, the blond let go of your hand and reached behind him. He pulled out a black, studded gun. You couldn’t begin to wonder what you had actually gotten yourself into. His hand was shaky too much and he pressed it into your hand before placing his over yours; was he intending to have you shoot him? Could you? Or was he using you as a steady when you were shaking just as bad as him? You stared at him with wide eyes, but he shushed you and moved your hands where he needed them.

               “Hiding like a scared child? I thought you were better than that. But we have the same problem as before; you still have a heart. You should have let your boy die, Agust. Then, you could have gotten away to face another day. But now, you’re bleeding out. You’re gonna die. Unless I find you.” The cane hit against one of the counters and scraped across it. The sound made you shiver. The blond held you hand tighter, his finger against yours near the trigger. His eyes were feverish, and he was getting paler than before. The voice continued to move closer. “I’m gonna take my time with you. I’ll make sure you don’t die yet. It’s a matter of time before we find your boy. I want you to watch while I unmask him and break him. And I’ll remind you how it’s all your fault as I make him scream. Only after I break him so no one can ever fix him, then I’ll take my time with you. I’ll make sure to take pictures to send to your friends. I’ll make sure they know who they’re dealing with.”

               The voice was so close now, you were sure he was only a few steps away. The footsteps stopped and you could hear the man taking a deep breath. Then, he was quiet. You were holding your breath, your lungs burning. The menacing man, then, took an audible sniff of the air. He did it again and again, as if he was a bloodhound. What was he smelling? Or was this just another tactic to try and scare them out of hiding. Another few steps and you were sure he was in front of your counter. The blond’s hand started to move, ready to use your hand to help him get a steady shot. The man beyond the counter started to lean over when-

               “Sir!”

               The man stopped and turned his attention away from the counter. “Chen, what did you find? Did you track them down?”

               The man, Chen, came up to him.  “No sir, the two escaped in a vehicle. They lost our men running through different levels and shops. They set up a bunch of snares and traps. I had men ready to chase them but Vante did a number on the cars. They’re long gone.”

               “What about the boy?”

               “We couldn’t catch him.” You felt the blond let out a sigh of relief. “He jumped through a window on the second floor.” That explained the broken glass sound you heard. “By time the men got out there, he had dashed into the alleyways and we lost his trail.” A cell phone rang, and for a moment, you feared it was yours, but Chen answered it. “Sir, we need to go. Police are on the way here. The men can hear the sirens. Someone tipped them off.”

               “Damn it,” the man snapped. He slammed the cane against the counter. “Did anyone find Agust?”

               “No, sir. He must have gotten out. The front door and gate are opened. He must have escaped. Maybe the two in the car swung back around and got him.”

               “No, he’s still here somewhere. I can feel it. He’s too hurt to have gotten away from me. There’s too much blood splattered. He has to be close by.” The man took another deep breath. “Do you smell that?”

               “Sir, I can’t smell anything. But we really need to leave. The police are close. Please, if he’s that hurt, he won’t make it until the police get here. You’ve won the battle, sir.”

               “Unless there’s a body, there is no victory.” You heard as he started to move away from the counter. “Grab that idiot over there. Tell the men to get us out of here.”

               You waited until the steps disappeared and the space was all quiet. In the background, you could hear the sounds of police and ambulance sirens coming closer and closer, and the fear you had started to ebb away. You glanced around the counter to make sure they were truly gone before dropping your hand and taking a deep breath. It was going to be ok. The young man’s hand slipped from yours and dropped to his side. Suddenly, your panic started to return. You dropped the gun and moved in front of him, tapping his cheek to keep him awake and checking his pulse. His eyes were glossy and unfocused, his skin so pale and cold. The blood soaked his clothes and wasn’t slowing. You shrugged off your backpack and stripped your jacket off, ignoring the chill of the space, and pressed the material against the wound to stop the bleeding. The man jerked and hissed but his body was too weak to fight it. The sirens got closer still, but it felt like an eternity for you to hear the rush of police calling out. You yelled out for a medic, alerting the police where you were and who you were. Then, you leaned close to the blond stranger.

               “Hey, you got to stay with me, alright? I’m gonna get you out of here, remember? We’re gonna get you to the hospital and patch you up. But I need you to stay awake. Remember, you promised to tell me what I got myself into.” His eyes couldn’t seem to focus on yours and kept slipping closed. You patted his check again, leaving bloody prints. You reached for his hand instead. You squeezed it as he had done not so long ago, trying to bring his focus on you. “Come on, stay with me. Can you squeeze my hand? Talk to me? Tell me your name. Tell me how dumb I am for running into an active shooting scene. Tell me I’m a hot mess. Anything, just stay with me.”

               His hooded eyes caught yours and he tilted his head to the side. He slipped his hand from yours and laid it against your cheek. “Angel,” he whispered, before his hand dropped and his body went limp.

[kestrelmando]

Group Therapy - Oneshot

Inspired by this post by thecyndimistuff (@thecyndimistuff ), apollonkondric , and  floatingearth about Peli Motto taking Din to a support group for empty nesters post S2. 

Warnings/Notes: None, possible a single swear word slipped by. Angsty, introspective Din and space mom Peli Motto taking charge. No romantic pairings, not beta’d please excuse any mistakes until I find them. Couldn’t help to slip a nod my other Mando fic Bird of Prey, Way of War in at the end. 

---

He’s tried being useful around – what were they calling it now? Fett’s Palace? – the palace; taking stock of weapons and resources left behind by Jabba and Fortuna. Weapons he’s familiar with; taking them apart, servicing them, and testing them gives him something to keep him busy and keep his mind occupied.  

He even took to sometimes mirroring Fennec’s imposing, protective place – on the left on Fett, never the right that was Fennec’s earned spot – on the dais when Fett had meetings because no, you should not fuck with the legendary bounty hunter but especially when he’s got a sharp shooting assassin on one shoulder and another infamous bounty hunter clad head to toe in beskar on the other.

He’s done perimeter sweeps with Fennec, who chooses to humor his morose silence, and with Fett, who also allows the silence but is far less indulgent about it. Oh, Fett never calls him out on it. Quite the contrary, bounty hunter to bounty hunter he can read Din like a book and knew from the moment he returned to the Slave that he was not ok. Still wasn’t ok but that doesn’t stop the occasional long drawn sigh from the older man.

All in all, it took a week for Din to be sent to Mos Eisley to ‘pick up supplies’. He wasn’t stupid; he knew Fett could’ve sent anyone working for him to go on a supply run. He initially welcomed the change of scenery before remembering he’d have to travel hours around the Great Mesra Plateau and his only options of landscape were either endless sand or the red rock formations and canyons.

So Din dutifully took a land speeder and set off to Mos Eisley, trying to ignore the repetitive backdrop that allowed him far too much time to think about his foundling and his accidental acquisition of the darksaber with Fett’s warning still ringing in his ears ‘make sure you take that thing with you’.

 ---

 The supplies, or rather supply, in question was a tiny compressor part for the climate control unit that could fit in his pocket.  The vendor had taken one long look at his beskar and held up a bin of the teeny components after Din asked about it and he was done within half an hour.

…Now what?

He found himself following the by now well-known path to Peli Motto’s hanger. She was familiar territory, she was easy to talk to and almost painfully transparent. Perhaps most importantly in this moment; she wanted nothing from him.

The door to Peli’s outbuilding slid open for him and he wandered in, hands painfully empty, and let the pit droids fuss over him. Tatooine’s hot suns greeted him as he stepped into the hanger bay, eyes scanning for the mechanic. The hanger was empty, no parked ship in sight, and the mechanic was elbow deep in a pile of scrap muttering to herself and passing parts and pieces to a pit droid.

Din smiled under his helmet when she tossed a piece of scrap away from her with a huff and it landed near his feet. She turned her head briefly to see where it landed and then whipped it back towards him, hand flying to her heart.

“Stars Mando!” She sat back on her heels and blew out a breath. The mechanic frowned, “Where’s your ship?” Peli stood, dusting her knees and palms off, and took a few steps towards him with a hand pressed above her eyes to block the suns. She looked him over and then stopped dead in her tracks, “Where’s…where is the baby?”

He felt his throat close around any words he was going to say. Peli’s eyes darted around his body; around his hips for the bag, his feet for the little one to pop out around him at any second. She opened her mouth to say something, her face drawn tight, when he simply couldn’t keep up his stoic façade any longer.

A short hiccup, somewhat garbled by the vocoder of the helmet, slipped out followed by a low keen he couldn’t bear to swallow. Din shut his mouth with a snap, a flush creeping up his neck while his hands closed opened and closed around nothing – empty. Peli’s eyebrows rose in concern momentarily before she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before slowly extending her hand towards him. Her fingers closed around his elbow, shoulders losing their tense line when he didn’t protest, and guided him back towards the outbuilding.

Din let her steer him to a small table in the corner and ease him into a chair. She disappeared around the corner momentarily and was back with a bottle of boga noga and two small cups. Peli sank into the chair opposite him and poured a couple fingers the Hutt ale. She curled her hands around her drink and looked up at him, face pinched.

“Just tell me first; is he ok?”

He took a deep breath that sounded strained through the beskar, “Yes.”

Peli visibly deflated as her shoulders sagged in relief, “Oh thank the Force.” She muttered before taking a sip of her ale, wincing a bit.

Despite the lump in his throat, he felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards in the beginnings of a fond grin. Din swallowed, “His name is Grogu.”

She cocked her head, thinking on the name, and smiled. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes and watched the pit droids scurry about the hanger through the viewport. Eventually, she flicked her eyes back up the Mandalorian and asked, “What happened?”

He paused and wondered if it was safe to tell her more than sparse nonspecific details. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; quite the opposite she’d shown herself to be a loyal friend and Din had already entrusted Fett and Shand with the whole story. But Peli was different – she wasn’t a fighter. Still, Moff Gideon was in the custody of the New Republic and Grogu was safe with Skywalker. He supposed it was safe enough.

So he laid it all out for her and once he started he found that he couldn’t stop. He talked about the bounty from the remnant Imperials on Grogu and how the kid had saved his life with the Mudhorn, how he took on the task of keeping him safe as his foundling and out of the hands of those who would hurt him and use him. To their short time on Sorgan and how Grogu terrorized the local wildlife, how he was tasked by his alor to reunite him with other Jedi.  Din told her of his meetings with the Jedi Ahsoka Tano and Bo-Katan, interspersed with a quick and bastardized history of the Mandalore.

He had to pause when he got to Tython. His voice was caught in a steel trap in his throat.

Din considered the shot of ale and tipped the helmet back just enough to not spill it all over himself before downing it. He immediately understood Peli’s grimace when she sipped on hers; it was sweeter and fruiter than he was used to but it was unbearably strong. His eyes watered at the burn. Her gaze flicked to his exposed chin momentarily before darting away and she finished hers too, coughing a little.

She rose her eyebrows at him and he knew what she was thinking; I didn’t think you were allowed to do that.

He continued quietly – Tython, Grogu’s capture, and the Razor Crest getting destroyed. Din covered Morak as clinically as he could and felt the need to explain a bit more about his creed to the mechanic. She watched him carefully and frowned when he began to get hung up. Din gestured uselessly next to her, “I – it should have been a bigger deal. It should have meant everything but I – the kid –“

Peli gently laid her hand on his forearm. His helmet slowly turned to look back at her but she held her ground and patted his arm. Din pressed on and spoke of Gideon’s cruiser, the rescue, and his accidental acquisition of the darksaber. He haltingly recounted his goodbye to his foundling and slumped back in his chair when it was over.

The mechanic was silent next to him, her hand light on his arm, before she turned to him thoughtfully. “Mando—“

Why the hell not. “Din. My name is Din.”

“Din, you did what you had to do for the little one.” She looked nostalgic, “Parent’s sacrifice for their kids. You can’t understand it, can’t know what you are willing to do until you have one. He needed you and you stepped up. I don’t claim to know to know much about your people but it sounds like you fulfilled your mission.”

Peli stood then, collecting the empty glasses. “You say you’re out near the Northern Dune Sea? How long will you be here?”

He nodded absently, “No more than a few days. I’m returning to the palace soon—“

She whirled back around horrified, one of the glasses slipping from her fingers, “Jabba’s Palace?”

Din caught it quickly, “Fett’s Palace.”

Peli wasn’t appeased. “Fett? Boba Fett?”

“Yes—“

“That bantha brain owes me money!”

Din chuckled, realizing she more annoyed than afraid. Fett owed her money? That sounded like a story. Peli headed back towards the kitchenette with a huff and Din dutifully followed with the other glass. Peli sighed exasperatedly, “I was the only one willing to work on that ship of his for years! No one else would touch it, it sat in that hanger for years and no mechanic was willing to do any maintenance on it – oh Peli what if he comes back – well, what’s he gonna be more mad about? That someone was poking around keeping it running or that we just let it sit and get taken by the sands?’

She took the glass from him and deposited it in the sink, “I spent five years taking care of that rust bucket! He comes back looking like hell with no credits and says he’ll pay me ‘soon’. When is ‘soon’?”

He didn’t give it a second thought; Fett had given him way more credits than he’d needed to pay for the part and he knew that she would be a good resource for Fett – she wasn’t afraid of him. He reached into his pocket and held the bag of credits out to her. Peli slowly stretched out her hand and took it, inhaling at the weight of it.

“If that doesn’t cover it let me know. I can pass along that you are willing to work on the Slave, it’d be a regular job.”

Peli passed the heavy bag of credits back and forth between her hands, smiling, and then said, “You know…he can wait a little longer.”

 ---

 Why did he agree to this?

Peli turned from the small table housing drinks and snacks and held out a cup of chilled caf to him. Din slowly turned his head and shoulders towards her and, despite not seeing his face, she read his tone.

She frowned, “Oh right.”

The mechanic turned away for a moment, fiddling with something he couldn’t see, and twisted back with a triumphant grin. Peli brandished a long straw and poked him in the shoulder with it when he didn’t move.

“Come on Mando, just take it.”

With a sigh, Din took the straw and caf before reluctantly following Peli into the other room. All the chatter immediately ceased and six pairs of eyes snapped to him as he rounded the corner with her. He didn’t know what he expected, it was the normal reaction to beskar – still his insides felt hollowed out after his talk and something about it stung a little.

Peli, however, paid it no mind and all but dragged him to a seat next to her. The other occupants, some human and some not, stared and waited for an explanation. The mechanic took a bite of her snack, a large cookie, and chewed slowly. She met the confused and frankly frightened looks of the group and took her time to chew and swallow, all the while rolling her eyes at the over the top reaction.

She was never given a reason to be afraid of her Mandalorian, or even Fett despite his reputation, and he’d always been fair and polite. Oh, she knew their reputation – bloodthirsty, ruthless, and unfeeling. But after seeing Mando with the baby, she had done some digging. Tatooine might be in the backwaters of the galaxy but it had a long history and many colorful inhabitants; between the HoloNet and asking around she’d learned a bit.

That child was never in any danger from the Mandalorian, in fact there was scarcely a safer place to be. Mando – Din – had taken him in and done right be him. Still, she knew he had to be uncomfortable in a place like this. She picked a spot facing the door and had already decided on the way in that she’d do the talking.

She brushed the crumbs off her hands, “Sorry we’re late. This is my friend, Mando.” The silence was deafening but she continued, “He doesn’t say much.”

His helmet turned almost unnoticeably towards her and she met his visor. Peli shrugged and rose her eyebrows; am I wrong? The Mandalorian cocked his head in agreement and leaned back into his seat. She sipped her chilled caf and settled in as a human across from them began to speak. She hadn’t brought him here to talk, she brought him here to listen.

He stiffened when she mentioned it back at the hanger, thinking it was a support group for parents whose children had passed on. But when she clarified that it was for parents without their children with them, whether it be they had simply grown up or were temporarily away, he hadn’t seemed any less rigid.

“I – I’m not his father.”

It was the softest she’d ever heard him and she felt her heart clench at the melancholy tone. His fingers twitched anxiously at his sides, opening and closing.

She countered, “You are in all the ways that matter.”

In the end, Mando tentatively agreed to go with her. The pair listened as the group went around with updates or things they did to alleviate the ache of missing their loved ones; some were grown with families of their own, others had moved off-planet, and some were off training at various academies. They talked about how they kept in contact and how they kept busy. Some tended hydroponic gardens, others kept meticulous journals, and still others traveled. He snorted; one sent his alien foundling with a Jedi across the galaxy and took up being a menacing beskar statue behind an infamous bounty hunter who may or may not be the ruler of Mandalore.

Din retreated into his own thoughts, wondering how Grogu was doing with his training. He could almost picture it in his mind; Grogu’s little brow wrinkled in concentration, maybe with his eyes closed if he was really trying, and the Jedi directing him. He imagined the little womp rat chasing – terrorizing – the local fauna and pouting about not being able to eat all the time. Would he still have his mythosaur pendant? Was he happy?

He blinked back to attention when Peli plucked the straw from his fingers and slid it into his caf with a small clink. People were looking at him expectantly, he swallowed nervously before realizing it was actually Peli there were waiting on.

She stood to get another cookie and Mando took the groups distraction to slip the long straw under his helmet. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but a cold drink was too tempting to pass up. Peli settled back in next to him and began to speak, “Well I have some updates,”

Peli broke the cookie in half and continued, “Corjul still hasn’t left Endor. After all that time on Hoth, he just decided that Endor was ‘perfect’ and he volunteered to monitor the shields. I’m not sure there’s much of anything out there but the natives…but he seems happy.”

Din stared under his helmet – Peli Motto had a kid. He supposed it made sense now he thought about it; why else would she be coming to these meetings? The mechanic finished a bite and folded her arms, “I am glad he’s just an analyst, not running around after Empire remnants. “

He sipped at his now lukewarm caf and wondered what her son looked like. Her voice flitted over his head, "Now Briell—“ Din inhaled sharply and his caf slurped loudly through the straw. Two children? Peli glanced at him, amused, “Briell has been settled nicely on Ord Mantell for a while now with her husband. I’m heading there in a couple weeks, my granddaughter is turning two.”

There was a murmur of appreciation from the group, some congratulating and some asking for a holo. He smiled, happy for her. It seemed the meeting was winding down and he took a long drink of his caf to finish it. “And as for Savi—“ Din choked on his caf, coughing and yanking the straw out from under his helmet to press an ineffectual hand against his chest.

Three. Three children Peli Motto had and Din knew nothing about it. Sure, it hadn’t come up in casual conversation, not that he was much of a conversationalist anyway, but certainly it would have come up? Grogu took to her so quickly and he hadn’t really questioned it but now he could see the pieces fitting together. The way she’d fussed over how to hold Grogu, was he getting enough to eat.

“Anyway, Savi is still planet hopping. He sends a holo when he remembers to. Last I heard he was heading to Coruscant to stay with a friend who’s a lobbyist. Still trying to ‘find himself’.” Peli patted his shoulder, “I’ve got this one to keep me busy and he just hooked me up with a steady new client.”

He took Peli’s cup and his own, following her nodded direction, and went to clean them. It was a simple kitchenette and he used as little of the moisture farmed water as he could to wash them out. His mind wandered again and he palmed the metal knob in his pocket; Fett, in between gasping peals of laughter, telling him that he knew exactly who the Jedi was and that Grogu would be safe with him. He wondered if the kid was pulling all kinds of things out of the air by now – Din smiled – he was going to be a menace once he could grab whatever he wanted regardless of where it was.

Peli’s head poked around the corner, “Hey Mando, you ready to head back?”

The Mandalorian nodded and followed his friend back onto the dusty streets of Mos Eisley. They walked in companionable silence, Din’s head on a swivel watching the road as the twin suns began to set. He fingered the comm unit in his pocket, wondering for the umpteenth time when Skywalker was going to contact him about Grogu’s progress. The man said he’d be allowed to visit, that he wasn’t a believer in separating families but still Din wondered.

“You know, Mando, you’re allowed to miss him and be proud of him.” Peli said next to him.

He looked down to her, “Am I?”

She sighed and stuffed her hands into her pockets, “Yeah. My kids all left Tatooine to do bigger, better things. Of course I miss them, sometimes I miss them more than I can stand but I’m so proud of them. I couldn’t hold onto them forever but it doesn’t mean they are gone for good.”

Din sighed, “I understand that. But he’s – he’s so young what if he doesn’t remember me? What if he’d rather stay with his teacher forever? What if—“

Peli grabbed his elbow, stopping them just outside of her hanger. “He adores you, Din. Anyone can see it, he won’t forget you. He’ll do what he needs to and then you and him will decide what’s next. It isn’t forever.”

He blew out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and swallowed the lump in his throat. It isn’t forever, we will decide what to do next. Din followed her into the outbuilding and stopped when he caught the mischievous look on her face. He slowly tilted his head at her, almost afraid to ask.

“You’ve done me a favor with Fett, Mando. I might have a ship you’d be interested in.”

[thewickeddevil]

A Study In Jean Moreau

(tw: mentions of Jean's past, violence, mental health and suicidal thoughts/intention to die. let me know if there's something else)

ok, so, i say all the time that Jean Moreau is my favorite and comfort character in All For The Game (i know. it literally hurts but also brings me joy sometimes) and i would literally kill for that man. so, that said, i think too much about him and, consequently, i have too many hcs about him. on request, i will now do what i'm gonna call A Study In Jean Moreau

(my beta reader and best friend helped me a lot with this. thanks @jostenrun)

i'll start with this quote from one of my kerejean fics (https://archiveofourown.org/works/26146540)

During Jean's first four months at USC and playing with the Trojans, he would always ignore Jeremy and put a frown on his face whenever he was in the same place as him. It obviously wasn't the best of strategies to put distance between himself and all the Jeremy glow, but it looked exactly bad enough to work.

Still, Jeremy was all pompous and charming looks at him, always smiling and being polite even though he received much less in return. It pissed the shit out of Jean.

He was used by the Ravens for many years, treated exactly like the exchange item he had been, just possession and obliged to follow lines and lines of rules too strict even for how he should breathe.

Riko was violent, the Ravens were cruel, the Moriyama family was wrong and he needed to repeat this to himself on a daily basis to be able to just keep going.

Back at the beginning of those days, many times he would fight back until he was taught that it was only worse. Many times he would beg until he realized that it encouraged Riko more than it prevented him. Many times he would cry until he was taught that it was wrong.

He would often bleed.

He would often wish to bleed until there was nothing left in his veins, no thoughts in his brain, no air in his lungs, no words on the tip of his tongue—

And he would often try to do just that on his own.

That was his daily life for a long time. Evermore was what he knew, the Moriyama family was who he belonged to and all of that was for what he served. That was it.

How was he supposed to know back then that suddenly overly nice twenty-eight other people would replace all of that with magnificence?

How was he supposed to know that they wouldn't look at him with disgust whenever he accidentally let a curse in French slip away?

How was he supposed to know that the Trojans had complete freedom within the team, instead of having to walk in pairs like the Ravens?

How was he supposed to know that Jeremy wasn't going to hit him whenever he made a mistake?

Or how would he know that Jeremy never considered anything that he made a mistake?

It was all a very big break from reality and so, so suddenly. Jean felt confused at first. Lost, wrong, out of place, stupid and scared.

And Jeremy was always determined to be the best he could be. Jeremy was safe.

Until Jean felt comfortable, confident, fine, and satisfied. He was someone instead of something and he really felt like that.

i think Jean would take years to relearn how to live instead of surviving. sometimes he would fail at that, but so many failures can only lead to success eventually.

he really didn't want to keep playing exy after everything, he doesn't think exy is good at all and trauma made him hate it, but he needs it because of the deal with Ichirou. fortunately, the Trojans are a team big enough to put him in the background for a while, to give him a little rest. but he knows he can't relax too much

he starts therapy. he needs it badly and it takes time for him to really be able to do it, but Jean was never anything but strong, and when he sees the chance to finally heal he knows that, despite how tired he is, despite how many times he wonders if it's worth it to keep going, he needs to grab that and at least try. just one more time. he never wanted to work for anything in his life because nothing was important before, but now he thinks that maybe things are changing

the Trojans get a dorm exclusively for him at first, because they don't want Jean to force himself to share space with someone he doesn't know and still doesn't trust. they want Jean to have his own space and feel safe before anything. he needs that solitude and he knows that it doesn't mean loneliness because his team will always be just a call away from him

he relapses sometimes. days without taking basic care of himself and without getting up from bed, and he no longer remembers whether he’s alive or not. sometimes he's able to call his therapist when that happens, but sometimes he isn't

this is how he gets into the habit of learning poetry. and eventually, writing poetry. he needs a coping mechanism and words seem to be safe enough to float around in his mind and make space in his core

(French poetry that Kevin always dissects for him and tells about the history behind the period in which those texts were written, or about the authors of each text)

the process is slow but it’s progress nonetheless

so, we know about therapy, about not being easy, about difficulties and things happening slowly during the healing process, now let's talk about the little details when things finally start to work out positively. when the best part of Jean's life finally begins

he finds out that his eyesight isn't bad only because of the beatings he took in the nest, and finds it ridiculous when Jeremy offers to help him buy glasses because, according to him, all the glasses Jean likes make him look like a middle-aged man that curses people for fun. Jean doesn't hate it though

Jean learns how to swim and likes it more than he thought he would. he likes the fluidity and movements of the liquid around his skin, how he cuts the water with his body when moving around and how it doesn't hurt him, and he just feels light

Jean likes nutella and chocolate with nuts, because Jeremy used to give it to him after nightmares or difficult days, and it became a comfort food for him (something he wasn’t even allowed to eat in the nest)

Jean's musical taste is a big mess of R&B, soul, pop art, folk, dark pop... he likes artists like Lorde, Aurora, Marina, Sigrid, Sleeping at last and the list goes on

Before he left France, Jean's family had a farm and he was responsible for harvesting fruits and vegetables there. this is one of the last memories he has about France, so he likes to harvest fruits and vegetables whenever he has the chance in the US

Jean loves to read fantasy books. he is a hufflepuff and part of cabin 6 in camp half-blood (children of Athena)

he likes geography. pedology, topography and weather are his favorites. he likes to look at the sky and know how to name climatic phenomena regardless of where in the world he is

(he also likes history and sociology, but only because he can hear Kevin and Jeremy — respectively — talking for hours and hours about those two subjects)

he hates biology

he absolutely hates croissants, tea and coffee. in the morning he always drinks juice or chocolate milk (the latter is Jeremy's fault)

the first time he willingly got wasted on alcohol, he, Sarah and Laila woke Jeremy up in the wee hours of the night while singing in Spanish (Jean barely knows Spanish). he passed out after that and woke up the next day in his room. his first thought was that he was fine even though he lost control of himself around other people, and he cried because of that. Jeremy was concerned because he thought he was crying from a headache or something related to a hangover

Jean can never find shoes his size in conventional stores because he's very big (fucking tall, muscular but not too much, with large shoulders and hips, and eventually a tummy) and, consequently, his feet are also big. he needs to have it personalized and he completely hates it

he loves dogs but is easily scared by them. he couldn't get out of the dorms for almost an entire day after Jeremy's mom's dog barked too loud and it scared Jean. he felt guilty and didn't want people to be mad at him for being so scared of a simple dog

he loves cats though, and after some time into therapy, he adopted a service cat. Kevin and Jeremy always joke about it looking like a replica of Jean himself

Jean doesn't understand the purpose of MMA competitions, because he doesn't like violence and thinks martial arts should be only for self-defense, so he doesn't really understand why people choose to compete over something so aggressive

he also doesn't like the violence in exy, but he forgives because, at least, violence is not the main goal of the sport, but to score points

he learns to draw and starts to open art commissions on the internet. this is his first job and he's proud of it because it was something he achieved by himself

Jean and Jeremy fell in love on the beach

Kevin and Jean take time to forgive each other, especially Jean. the broken heart Kevin left in Jean hurt more than being abandoned by his parents. he suffered from it for years but he didn't really want to blame Kevin. he also knew Riko, after all. he knew how capable of driving someone insane Riko was. it didn't make things easier or less painful though. Kevin and Jean took time, but they never loved each other less

Kevin and Jean fell in love for the second time (the time they could, the time they were allowed) after one of the matches in which their teams were rivals

Jean is very picky for food consistency, and he hates ketchup and mayonnaise for that. he insists all the time that if people knew how to season the food well, they wouldn't need those condiments

(he secretly loves Dijon Mustard though)

Jean was born on 08/31. he’s a virgo

plushies are the first resource that Jean uses when he feels alone but is unable to be around anyone at the moment, so he unconsciously starts making a collection of them. they're all small, except for two that Kevin and Jeremy gave him and are, respectively, a fox and a red and gold trojan. he eventually distributes his plushies to children in local orphanages but keeps those two to himself out of sheer emotional attachment

he doesn't stop suffering because of his trauma throughout his life, but he learns to deal with it. that's the point of everything. he never thinks he will magically forget or get over it, but now he is in a different place in his life and he can start working his way to be the best version of himself he can. he doesn't fool himself into thinking it will be easy and fast, he never thought it would be less difficult than it really was, but he takes things slowly and carefully and hopes it works

his entire healing process is too complex and extensive to explain everything here, but i did the best i could and now i really need to stop because i could stay here ranting for days. xx

[justasparkwritings]

Illicit Affairs: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 1

Previous: You Made Me

Pairings: Namjoon & Reader (Barely)

Genre: Angst, Slice of Life 

Ratings: PG15

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Therapy and Swearing 

Summary: Namjoon arrives in LA to begin the work he promised he would do. 

Listen: illicit affairs by Taylor Swift

           Namjoon lays in his plane-bed, headphones blasting D-2, Daechwita, on a blind loop. The sky is dark, 30,000+ feet in the air, he knows he should be sleeping, resting at the bare minimum. But he can’t, melatonin not kicking in just yet, and his mind is too wired, filled with concerns.

           Over a two months ago, after the reckoning, Namjoon put his plans into action. You can’t take managements King, and Queen, and bishops and rooks, without having a plan for total annihilation. Namjoon decided, though without much discussion with Jungkook, what they both needed. What would be the best for both of them, and the rest of Bangtan, was guarantees in their contracts that Bang and Co wouldn’t manipulate them anymore. No more calorie counting, no more extra pay for working out more, no more using Namjoon as a weapon against Jungkook or the others. To do this, Namjoon brought in other lawyers who negotiated with Bang’s team, and in the end the seven men amended their contracts. Gone were the clauses about who they could date, gone was the clause that they couldn’t date, period, gone was Run BTS and the trickery management went through to get the men to perform. They would have ownership of their work going forward, and ownership of their work all the way back to the first Love Yourself album.

           Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok, Yoongi and Jin were shocked when their contracts were handed back, careful to read through the changes. They’d been floored, wondering how Namjoon and Jungkook’s brawl could’ve resulted in this swift change in their deals. Namjoon had put it simply: change or we sue. Big Hit knew that if BTS sued them, they’d take the house, the plastic plants in the lobby, the stock options and the futures of every person on the label. They had the option to lose everything, or to surrender, tails between their legs, to the gods that are BTS.

           Namjoon knew that if this had happened three months prior, even two years, he wouldn’t have had the weight needed to push the deal through. But, in their decade plus at Big Hit, their level of power and influence, the fact that they had never signed NDA’s coupled with Namjoon’s intricate diaries, Namjoon recognized he had the power to take everything. Bang and Sejin were scared. They knew that they had a limited amount of time before BTS revolted, and if they were revolting with evidence, there was no possible solution that ended in Big Hit’s favor.

           With their new contracts came one request from Bang, Sejin and the five other members of Bangtan, one request that was truly a demand: fix Jungkook and Namjoon.

           Fixing Jungkook meant fixing Namjoon’s relationship to the maknae, which is how he finds himself flying across the globe to LA. Getting Jungkook help, away from prying eyes, was his idea. He and his love had brainstormed what would help Jungkook get through this, and this was the solution:

Jungkook would spend 3-6 months in LA undergoing rigorous outpatient therapy

Jungkook would be booked for exhaustion, body dysmorphia, alcoholism, and a host of other issues Namjoon could’ve spent his entire flight listing

Jungkook would rehearse in LA and fly back for specific stages but would otherwise record and work in LA while he went to therapy five days a week

Detox would come first, followed by a month of inpatient treatment

Then, Jungkook would be settled in his outpatient apartment, with a few Big Hit bodyguards around 24/7

Jungkook would have a sponsor in Korea and in the states, whom he reported to,

Jungkook is required to attend AA meetings twice a week for the first three months

Namjoon, would attend therapy twice a week in Korea,

Namjoon would fly to LA to spend a month going through treatment with Jungkook

           To this, they signed their names, to the promise of something better, to the hope they would find common ground. Jungkook was packed and on a plane 48 hours later. The two men had some contact through music and through their group chat, but otherwise, Jungkook kept to himself. He loved LA, the sun, the ability to exercise outside every day of the week, the blue skies… There was a level of health that came with LA, and of course the seedy underbelly of diet culture, but for Jungkook, it was a welcome change. Everyone breathed in LA, they weren’t rushing to meet deadlines or get anywhere on time, they didn’t have the next five years planned on a detailed spreadsheet. LA was relaxed, it was breezy, and with its endless supply of green juice, it was the exact place Jungkook needed to be.

           He diligently went to therapy, working exclusively with Dr. Aarons on the years of abuse he’d endured. Wrapping his mind around what had happened to him, not as love, not as building his character or strengthening his work ethic, but as a traumatic state of emotional abuse, was harder to swallow than two horse tranquilizers without water. Dr. Aarons gave him books and pamphlets on trauma and emotional abuse, which in his off hours, he read. His first month in treatment was spent in therapy sessions, a weekly Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) session, monitored exercise to help reteach him how to use his body, and reading to discuss. Some days felt like high school, or training days, when he was required to both train for debut and be a high school student. He hated it, hated studying, hated school, but to get better he had to do the work. All he could hope was at the end of this he’d feel better, maybe he'd be better too.  

           Dr. Aaron’s agreed, for the two men to make progress, to find common ground again, they needed to work through their Kilimanjaro sized problems.

           A month into treatment, Jungkook was ready and willing to begin working on repairing his most treasured relationship.

           “Namjoon, thank you for joining us here,” Dr. Aarons says, eyes darting between Jungkook, who was freshly showered and bouncing his leg up and down, and Namjoon, stoic, perched on the edge of his chair. Dr. Aarons can tell that Namjoon is less prepared than Jungkook, which is why she is in full control of this session.

           “It’s, yeah, glad to be here,” Namjoon says, head bowing.

           “I am first generation and am fluent in both English and Korean. My maiden name is Park,” Dr. Aarons smiles, letting Namjoon into her stratification of both cultures. “We can flow from English to Korean at any point.”

           “Thank you,” Namjoon bows again.

           “This first session is just to create a welcoming and safe space for Jungkook to see you again. Soon he will be off, and you and I will have a bit of time to talk. I have been in communication with your therapist back in Seoul, and he has given me his thoughts as well as points that we can continue to work on as a triad. Jungkook, is there something you wanted to say to Namjoon before you go?”

           Jungkook looks at his brother, irises rising to meet his sun-twin. Namjoon’s eyes are tired, heavy, his lids weighty as he continues to battle some jetlag. Jungkook looks fucking fantastic, the sun and balanced eating working wonders on him.

           “Thank you, hyung, for being here, and thank you for being willing to work on this with me. I still hold love for you in my heart, though I don’t have to. We’ve both fucked up. I am sorry for punching you, well, beating you up, and I hope you can forgive me, if not today, at some point. And again, thank you, hyung, for fighting for me,” Jungkook’s voice breaks as he utters his last words, eyes dropping to his hands.

           “Jungkook, you did great,” Dr. Aarons reassures.

           “Thank you, Jungkookie, for being, forgiving, for still wanting to speak to me, to work with me, it,” Namjoon clears his throat, that familiar lump forming. “I know I let you down. I will always be sorry,”

           “I know, me too,”

           “Jungkook, thank you for being here today. I will see you tomorrow for our first session as a group.” Dr. Aaron’s gave the go-ahead for Jungkook to leave, and he did swiftly, giving Namjoon the chance to confide in Dr. Aarons.

           “Thank you, for doing this,” Namjoon spoke.

           “This was your idea, correct? The therapy, detox, all of it?”

           “Yes,” Namjoon feels the blood rush to his cheeks.

           “From what I understand, you’re kind of a genius, right?”

           “In music, I suppose,”

           Reaching for her notepad, Dr. Aarons’ glances down. “Mm, I spoke with Dr. Cho,”

           “Yes?”

           “He was very insightful, gave me lots of great notes and things to discuss. I wanted to start by saying that I understand the levels of abuse you went through,” She raises her head to meet his unsteady gaze, clocking the flustered expression.

           “Yes,”

           “The manipulation, the invalidation, the pain. Namjoon, no one should have to experience all of that, and yet, here you are. You are strong, you are powerful, you are dedicated to your brothers. None of it excuses what you have done, but what I want to convey to you, is that a lot of your actions were not your fault.” Dr. Aarons’ runs through the list of compliments she had jotted down, notes of what to say to create a safe space for Namjoon.

           “I, I know,”

           “I know you do; I also know that isn’t how you see it.” Dr. Aarons’ sets her pen down and recrossed her legs, eyes never straying from him. She’s formidable, honored and esteemed throughout the community, domestically and abroad. Namjoon knew, he helped picked her, she was the reason Jungkook was here.

           “I still did the actions,” Namjoon sighs, “I still followed through with the plan,”

           “Yes, but the cost to you and your life was exquisite. You were a pawn,”

           “Now I am the victor,” He mumbles.

           “Tell me, Namjoon, how old did you feel when you and Jungkook fought?”

           “What do you mean?”

           “Jungkook’s recounted his memory of that night, but how did you feel? In that moment when he hit you, what age specifically did you feel?”

           He takes a moment to think, but the answer is in front of him immediately. “Fifteen,”

           “What happened at 15?”

           He shifts nervously, the rapid speed of his speech slowing as he spoke. “I was still being scouted by Big Hit, no contracts, just negotiations. My parents were, unsupportive.”

           “Within the Seoul rap community, you were making a name for yourself,” Dr. Aarons’ didn’t have to be living in Korea at the time to know who he was, everyone in the first gen community who still had any ties back home knew. You couldn’t listen to music without his mixes coming through.            “Yeah, but that only gets you so far. I was talking to Bang about these big plans for a super group, a group that combined rapping and pop, some bridge between the two and other genres… the places were going to go seemed endless.”

           “How did you feel in those negotiations?”

           Joon smiles. “I felt, ten feet tall. I mattered in those meetings,”

           “And to your parents?” Dr. Aaron’s questions.

           “I was just their high schooler, hormonal, with dreams bigger than my mind could hold. They, they didn’t want me to do it,”

           “But you went for it,” She smiles gently.

           “I did, yeah,” Namjoon, hates flattery. Call it his sun sensibility, his rays unable to shine under the humility of the grey cloud he kept above himself.

           “What else happened around that time?” She presses.

           Namjoon nods again, knowing exactly where she’s leading him. “That’s when I started receiving a lot of hate,”

           “Mm, tell me about that,”

           “Do I have to?” He asks, voice no longer strong and steady.

           “Not if you don’t want to,” She replies.

           “It’s just,” Namjoon sighs. “It still hurts.”

           “I expect it to. The comments were very personal,”

           “About how I look, about the shape of my nose, the sound of my voice, that I’ll never amount to anything and BTS is just, complete trash passing off as music.” He rattles off the ones that plague him, when self-doubt creeps in, the comments that still rise to the top of the pack.

           “They escalated, didn’t they?”

           “Don’t they always?”

           She smiles softly, a precursor to the next blow. “Did you internalize them?”

           “Yes,”

           “When Jungkook hit you,” She starts.

           “It was like every internet troll finally getting their chance to swing,” Namjoon doesn’t hesitate to finish the thought.

           “Ahh, there it is.” Dr. Aaron’s allows Namjoon a minute to sit in the realization. “What hurt the most? The physical pain, or the emotional weight you put behind it?”

           “I haven’t thought about it like that,” He realizes.

           “Well let’s think about it now,” Her voice is kind, leading him to the pasture but never feeding. No wonder everyone raved about her.

           “It was the emotions,” He concedes.

           “Can you describe what those emotions were?”

           “Anger, frustration, inadequacy, disappointment, like I had just shattered the entire world I’d given every bit of myself to creating.”

           “That wasn’t why Jungkook was hitting you, though,” Dr. Aarons’ informs him.

           “It wasn’t?”

           “You tell me, why would he be hitting you?”

           “I,” Namjoon exhales, “I betrayed him.”

           “Did you let him down?”

           “Yes,”

           “But did he view you as inadequate?” She pushes.

           “No,” Namjoon whispers, voice caught between his vocal chords as the waves of tears start to gain on him.

           Dr. Aarons’ smiles again, “No, has he ever?”

           “No,” Namjoon shakes his head, hand wiping the tears that have fallen.

           “It seems to me like it’s quite the opposite. Jungkook loves you, pure and simple.”

           “I betrayed him,” Namjoon argues.

           “Betrayal and inadequacy are often put together, at least in our minds. We betray someone, or a relationship, because it’s either not enough for us, or because it’s too much. The dissonance between you and Jungkook is that his anger is misplaced, he can claw at you because you are there, you are present, you are with him every day. He’s shooting the messenger, but you didn’t write the messages, Namjoon.”

           “I don’t know if he understands that,”

           “There’s only so much I can do to separate what he feels towards you, and what he realizes isn’t your fault. In our time together, as a trio, we will hopefully work towards understanding these complexities within your relationship. Sound good?”

           “Yeah, sounds good,”

           “Great! I don’t have any work for you, other than, well, a major piece of homework,”

           “Bring it on,” Namjoon loves work. Pure and simple.

           “You can’t have dinner with Jungkook tonight, or engage with him in a private setting,” Dr. Aarons’ instructs.

           “Makes sense,” Namjoon agrees.

           “We’ll begin work on it tomorrow, but until then, you have to stay apart,”

           “I can do that, we’re staying in separate places,”

           “Great, Namjoon, I am really looking forward to working with you,” Dr. Aarons stands. “I hope you enjoy your day in LA,”

           “See you tomorrow,” Namjoon smiles gratefully before exiting her office, his phone at the ready, texts from Yoongi and Hoseok, Taehyung and the rest of Bangtan to check in on him. And then there’s the text from his love, who as he steps into the sun, is waiting for him.

           “Joon of my eye, what a pleasure it is to see you,”

           Though the smile is clearly plastered across his face, it’s the way his arms circle your waist, head nuzzling into your neck, lips pressing firmly to your skin.

           “I fucking missed you,” He mutters.

           “You’re being so affectionate, in public,”

           “No one’s here,” Namjoon says, head still resting against your shoulder.

           “That eye opening, huh?” Your hands move up and down his back, the comfort radiating from your familiar embrace.

           “Mm, can we go?” He asks, standing to his full height.

           “To your place?”

           “Anywhere,” He slips his sunglasses over his eyes, the mist beginning to cloud his vision.

           “Of course,” You respond, hand finding his, fingers intertwining. With his baseball cap pulled low on his head, Namjoon is barely recognizable. He doesn’t hesitate to move his free hand across your shoulders, holding onto you as you guide him to your rental car. He might’ve been the messenger of Bang’s threats and manipulations, but a pawn is still a pawn. Namjoon had taken the board in his game against Big Hit, but in Jungkook’s universe, under Jungkook’s rules, he’s still a piece in motion.  

Next: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 2

[thorne93]

The Stars Made Us (Part 18)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 1939

Warnings: angst and language throughout, mention of suicide

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter​​​​  and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @quailliamfears thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​​​​, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong​​​​ and @arrow-guy​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once you arrived at Stephen’s place, you helped him through his morning routine before stating, “If I’m going to stay here nearly all day, I’ll need to get some work done. Is that alright with you?”

“Oh, please, by all means, don’t let me get in the way of your pseudoscience,” he said, making a gesture of moving out of the way. “You can use my office.” 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed your suitcase full of things. “Thanks.” You went in there and made a small work space and began calling patients, trying to schedule them for therapy in the city. You could use another space nearby to start seeing them, depending on how long you would be here. 

When you took a break, you made lunch for you and Stephen. 

“New song today,” you said as you turned on the music, skipping to a random song in your library. 

“You make this so easy,” he boasted before nailing the artist, album name, and release year. 

“I will get you, one day,” you vowed with a grin. 

You went back to your office after the two of you ate, and talked quickly of current events in the news. While you were on the phone with one of your more unstable, and new patients, you had to calm him down. 

“Randy, Randy, take a deep breath for me. There’s nothing we can’t figure out,” you coaxed on the phone, standing up and pacing. 

“You’re two hours away! My father has cancer and I--” He started to sob and you continued to pace. 

“I know. This puts you in a very difficult position.” 

“No, no it doesn’t. It makes everything clearer. I can’t be here.” 

“Be where? Randy, where are you?” 

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t care. No one fucking cares!” he cried out. 

“Yes they do,” you insisted, your heart hammering in your chest. “I do.”

“You’re paid to!”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t care. Randy, tell me where you are. When did you find out your father had cancer?” 

“A few hours ago,” he said. 

“So where are you now?” 

“I’m not going to tell you anything. This is all too much. I just lost my mom a year ago, and now my dad… He might be an abusive son of a bitch, but he’s all I’ve got.” 

You took a deep breath, trying to think of what to say. 

“Randy, are you in danger of hurting yourself or anyone else?” 

He paused, silent a long time before saying, “Just me.” He began crying again. 

You began searching for his address on your laptop from the forms he’d filled out. You marched out of the temporary office and over to Stephen who was sitting on his couch, reading. “Randy, why do you want to hurt yourself?” you asked, making Stephen look up at you. You grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled a message that said to do a welfare check on Randy Smith, with his address. 

“Because I don’t have any body.”

“You told me you have some cousins, how would they feel if you ended your life?” 

“They wouldn’t even know. If they did find out they’d just say, ‘that’s a shame.’.”

You shoved the paper at Stephen with the instructions on it. He nodded and got up, grabbing his phone and going into his bedroom. 

“No friends? Girlfriend? Coworkers? Randy, everyone has something to live for. People aren’t the only thing that make a life go round. You told me you’re a computer programmer, yeah? What do you want to do with that?” 

“Well, I work for a medical software company.” 

“Is that your dream job?” 

“Not really. I mean, I love the programming, but it’s not all I want to do.”

“Tell me about what you do want to do.” 

“I want to program planes, for the military.” 

“See? That’s a noble cause. It’ll help your country. Randy, if you end your life now, that’s your choice, but you won’t get the chance to tell your father what he has done to you. You won’t get the chance to talk with me, to work through problems I know you can work through. You sought me out for help, please, let me help. Don’t miss this opportunity to take control of your life, and make it what you want to be.” 

Stephen walked back in the room and he said, “They went to the house, there was no one there.” 

“Randy?” you said again. “Randy, please, don’t make a mistake based on how you’re feeling right now in this moment. We know that all feelings pass, and you may be in the dark right now, I know you might be very far in there, in a pit you feel like you can’t climb out of. But that’s why you hired me, isn’t it? This cancer situation with your father is just that, it’s a situation we need to navigate together. I’ll help you every step of the way. You just need to tell me where you are and we can begin therapy as soon as you'd like.” 

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally said, “I’m in the parking garage… Oh, god, Dr. Y/L/N, please help me.” 

You held in your sigh of relief and replied, “I will, Randy, I will. I’ll be right there.” You hung up and called the police, telling them where he was. 

“I’m so sorry, Stephen, but I have to go,” you said hurriedly. 

He merely nodded as you grabbed your purse and ran out the door. 

Once the crisis was averted, you got him checked into the hospital, and you talked with him for a bit. Once he felt safe and secure, you left him in the capable hands of the hospital. You came back to the apartment, drained. 

“That was, uh, impressive,” Stephen noted. “Guess it’s more than just a pseudo science.”

“Guess so,” you responded tiredly. 

“So what made you decide to do this work?” he asked.

You scoffed. “Oh, so now you’re suddenly interested?” 

“Now that I saw you save a man’s life over the phone? Yes, I am. I’m very impressed. I can only save lives with my own hand. You did it with nothing but your own words, your own voice.” 

“I suppose I did. Well, if you must know, I simply want to help people. I love making sure people are okay and knowing I had a hand in that.”

“That’s rather noble.” 

You laughed. “That’s what Charles said when I told him when we first started corresponding.” 

“It’s true though.”

“So how about you? Saving lives, that’s quite noble. Is that why you do what you do?”

He laughed now. “Far from it. I just love the thrill.” 

You nodded slowly. “Ah, yes, people love holding other people’s lives in their hands for the thrill of it. I would say correct me if I’m wrong, but I know I’m not, and the only people who do that are those with antisocial personality disorder. You don’t strike me as the type, despite your best efforts.” 

Stephen smiled widely at this. “Touche. Uh, if you really want to know. I had a tragedy happen when I was younger. The thing you said when we first met, about losing someone close, someone family… you were right. Long story short, I wanted to save lives. That’s all I want to say on it.”

You pressed your lips together before nodding and saying, “Thank you, for sharing with me. I bet that was hard.”

“Don’t use your psychiatrist voice on me. I don’t need to be pitied or patronized.” 

“I’m not. I’m simply being sympathetic. I truly believed you went through something hard and I appreciate you telling me. Opening up to me is a great honor, I feel.” 

He semi-rolled his eyes. You realized you needed to take a different approach here. Stephen didn’t like talking about his past, in regards to his family. But Christine made it clear that he was arrogant, so maybe you should talk about his achievements. 

“Christine told me you were driving to a convention when your crash happened, to speak at a conference.” 

“Yes, I was.”

“Do you enjoy it? Speaking, that is, about your work?” 

“I do, I love it actually. Have you ever done it?” 

You shrugged slightly. “I’ve done it a handful of times but she said you did it often and were very good at it.”

“I’d like to say so, but she said she didn’t ever enjoy it.” 

“That’s too bad. I wish I could’ve been your date,” you admitted. “You seem like you’d actually have fun at those things.”

“I did. I wish I could still do it.” 

“You will, one day, I know it.” You grinned at him and the two of you ordered take-out. 

------------------------

Things turned south for Stephen though. He couldn’t afford the high price of his Manhattan penthouse without his job. He’d burned through all of his money trying to chase every cure. When he finally realized this, he went nuts.

“I’m losing my home!” he shouted as he ran around his room in a robe, looking like a mad man.

“It’s just an apartment, Stephen. We can find you a new one.”

“Oh, yes, because you have so much free time.”

“I do. I came here to help you, didn’t I?” you challenged. 

“I don’t need you to be a realtor.”

“Why not? You’ve made me a nurse, a cook, a maid. It’s clear you don’t want me as a soulmate, and friend is still even up for debate. Why not just make me your realtor?” 

“You’ve never lost anything, have you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be so heartless about this.”

You stopped, staring at him. “I’ve lost something before. I’m not being heartless, Stephen. I’m being realistic. You spent all of your money. You aren’t making any more. You have to move out of a place you can no longer afford. You’re always raving about logic and statistics and things you can see, well look at the statistics if you keep trying to live here.” 

“This is everything I’ve worked for.”

“No, it’s not. It’s a side effect of what you can do. There is more to life than just your work. You dedicated yourself like this once before, you can do it again. You didn’t work for a fancy palace in a shining city. You worked to be the best god damn neurosurgeon you can be and it paid off and it got you this. But you don’t have this any more. You don't have the means. I know it hurts, I know it sucks. But crying about it, getting pissed off about it, isn’t going to change the fact that your hands are beyond repair.”

He looked at you as if he hated you and your nerves just steeled. You couldn’t waiver from him, from this, not now. Not when he needed you most. 

“I’m here to help you. So help me help you, before you end up on the streets. Alright?” 

He sat down on his bed, his head in his hands. You were standing on the opposite side of the bed before you got on it and crawled over, putting your hands on his shoulders and resting your cheek against his back. 

“We will figure this out. Okay?” 

A long silence passed before he said, “I never wanted to end up like this.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” You kissed his robe clad shoulder. “We’ll get you another apartment, another job. You’re still a doctor. It’s not the end of the world.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[lemonysharkbait]

Here for Me - Mo Guan Shan x Zhan Zheng Xi

A year after Jian Yi's sudden disappearance and He Tian's subsequent mysterious departure, Zhan Zheng Xixi and Guan Shan start hanging out. Feelings get complicated.

Made this because I have headcanons about how the relationship between Mo and Xi will be after the other two disappear (it's only canon that Jian Yi will disappear, but it seems heavily implied that He Tian might depart at some point as well.) I think they genuinely like each other (in a bro way) in the Manhua. Add in a dash of angst and some feelings and you've got yourself some delicious fanfiction.

Tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, non-typical pairing, minor violence, aged up characters, there was only one bed, feelings

Read on AO3

---

Guan Shan gripped the banner tight, too tight. His knuckles went white and She Li’s words seemed to go white too.

Which way do I go?

Sweet snake with a tongue like honey. It had been lashing him with words, threats, ever since Jian Yi and He Tian disappeared like the pop of a chewing gum bubble.

“Well? It’s a year since graduation, Guan Shan, and where are you now?”

He knew he shouldn’t slide there. It was the last little gift that he grasped onto. Images of a cut palm and blood soaking a white jacket flooded his mind.

Guan Shan turned to answer and face the torrent of cold rage. But instead a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, sending his heartbeat off in a flutter. He Tian?

No, this hand was different, the scent of the person different. The voice had a different rumble and cantor.

“Guan Shan, there you are. Let’s go.”

Zhan Zheng Xi’s grip was strong and sure as it turned Guan Shan, tugging him away. She Li, surprised at the intervention of a friend– god, when was the last time he’d had one of those?– took a minute to catch up.

“Where are you going?”

Zhan Zheng Xi’s voice was even and flat as he spoke, brokering no argument. “Playing video games.”

She Li looked like he wanted to argue but they were in the midst of a crowd now and he was unbalanced. His eyes, sharp and angry, made contact with Guan Shan before he walked off in the other direction. Diverted. For now.

They walked in silence through the crowded streets like floating underwater, both slipping through the eddies. After awhile, Zhan Zheng Xi’s hand slipped from Guan Shan’s shoulder. They didn’t speak.

“Well, here’s my place, you can come hang out if you want.”

Guan Shan looked up at the nondescript block of apartments stretching high and long into a too bright sky. “Only if you’re ready to be obliterated in Super Smash.”

This brought back memories. Sprawled out on the floor, junk food and soda scattered around, the only light coming from the television. Guan Shan’s thigh was warm where it pressed against Zhan Zheng Xi’s.

Xixi’s little apartment was equal parts sterile and dirty. An unused kitchen next to a living room strewn with old carryout cartons. A neatly made bed next to a night stand filled with half-drunk water bottles. An uncluttered bathroom sink that needed to be wiped down.

He had never seen this space, having only spent time at Zhan Zheng Xi’s family house. The smell was still comforting. A hint of sweat, a touch of generic men’s body wash, no cologne. It brought him back to that summer.

The game pinged defeat. Guan Shan tossed his controller down in mock annoyance.

“You cheated fucker.” He shoved Zhan Zheng Xi.

“Maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are.” There was a little pause and a smile that you would only see if you knew Zhan Zheng Xi.

Guan Shan sat up “Ok, that’s it!” Arms locked around in a tackle, an embrace that was a struggle for control. Flailing, a bottle of coke went rolling across the floor and Guan Shan’s world flips. Zhan Zheng Xi is more solid than he was even a year ago, hours spent at the gym between college classes. Guan Shan’s wiry strength, culled from working on his feet at three different jobs, is no match. Flipped on his back and pinned, Guan Shan finds himself laughing. He can’t remember the last time this sound has come out of him.

They still.

“What were you doing with She Li?”

Fuck, now isn’t that a question.

“Nothing. He approached me. Fucker keeps finding me.”

“Are you going to work for him?”

“No.”

“Is he bothering you?”

Guan Shan looks up into those intense blue eyes, represses a shiver. “What would you do if he was?” It’s a challenge. Always is.

Zhan Zheng Xi releases Guan Shan’s wrists and sits up a little. His lips are pursed and he looks at Guan Shan like he already knows enough.

“Don’t get involved Zhan Zheng Xi. She Li’s not a nice guy. He’ll leave me alone when he gets bored. Always does.” Guan Shan sits up on his elbows. Looks around. Sighs.

“I should go, I got work early tomorrow.” He reaches for his phone. Notices that Zhan Zheng Xi hasn’t slid off his thighs yet. Doesn’t mind except for the tricks it’s playing on his mind. It’s been awhile and having someone so close is sending signals he’s working hard to repress.

“You can crash here.”

Guan Shan glances at him from the corner of his eye. Wishes he hadn’t as soon as he sees that intense stare. His eyes dart back to his phone, pretending to be entranced by the time. “Thanks man, but I really should go.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Guan Shan barks out a laugh “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t mind.”

God, the weight of this man’s stare is too fucking much. And they’ve spent an awful long time pressed together staring at each other. It’s the only reasoning Guan Shan can come up with for his stupid impulse, surging forward and capturing a taste. Warm lips and a moment where nothing happens. And then Zhan Zheng Xi starts kissing back and that’s when Guan Shan’s sense comes flooding back to him.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t– I’m sorry.” Guan Shan scrambles out from under Zhan Zheng Xi, snatches his jacket and keys and starts slipping on his shoes.

“Guan Shan–”

“Thanks for everything today. Text me some time.” And with that he slips out the door and nearly jogs down the hallway, a chorus of “stupid fucking idiot” running through his mind.

*** They hang out again and Guan Shan successfully keeps his hands to himself. He does not think about the way Zhan Zheng Xi siddles up next to him, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. He does not consider staying when it’s late and his eyes are heavy and maybe they could share the one bed. And he definitely does not linger on Zhan Zheng Xi’s lips when the other man sees him to the door.

They don’t say much out loud. That was what Jian Yi and He Tian were good at. But they text. A lot. They text about video games. Work, school and basketball. And when they’re really feeling bold, they text about them.  

“Who are you talking to?”

Guan Shan looks up from his phone, his mom’s question cutting into his little world. “No one.”

“You were smiling at your phone.”

She has the all-knowing mom smirk sitting lightly on her features. Guan Shan shovels more food in his mouth. Bounces his leg. “Just looking at stupid stuff on the internet.”

She looks like she wants to say more but doesn’t.

“Work’s supposed to go late tonight, so don’t worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you, it’s my job.” She says it fondly, lightly teasing. Guan Shan pushes away from the table grabbing his duffle.

“I’ll see you later mom.”

“Be safe Shan-Shan.”

*** This wasn’t exactly safe, but that was the thrill of it. Hands wrapped tight, lights in the makeshift ring blaring down on him, Guan Shan bounces on the balls of his feet and lets the energy of the crowd roll through him. There’s something hot and vicious prickling under his skin, the kind of feeling that keeps him up all night, makes his heart flutter when he gets a message notification and has sent him on long jogs with no relief. Time to release the tension, relieve some of this pressure that sits in his belly.

He passes a hand over his face, then balls them up in front of him, ducking into a defensive position. His opponent is pretty like a quarterback, chin chiseled like Clark Kent. Guan Shan snarls, bearing his mouth guard, spits out an insult and tenses for the bell, the signal to the start of this dance.

It comes and he goes.

He doesn't feel most of the blows as they happen, high on adrenaline and something else he doesn’t have words for. Maybe it’s all the late nights finally catching up with him. The other guy has a size advantage but Guan Shan feels unhinged. They go all three rounds and by the end of it, both can barely hold up their arms. Guan Shan wins by decision. He clasps his opponent’s wrapped hand and thanks him. The guy raises his eyebrows.

“This your therapy kid?”

Guan Shan barks out a harsh, unhinged laugh. And that’s when he finally feels the shooting pain in his right hand.

*** The call to Zhan Zheng Xi rings twice before he picks up.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

There’s a pause before Zhan Zheng Xi answers. His voice is flat as ever but it sounds strangely controlled. “Where are you?”

Guan Shan feels his stomach clench in a funny way, like he’s done something wrong. “Uh, actually, it’s ok, sorry if I woke you.”

The voice on the other line is tighter now “Mo, tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.” There’s a pause then “Please.”

*** Guan tries to clean himself up as best he can. There’s more cash than he’ll make all month in his duffle bag. The water in the shower runs red for awhile before finally clearing up. He looks at his face and it’s not pretty. They taped him up, but it’s gonna take awhile for the swelling to go down on his left eye. There’s also a cut on his forehead that keeps opening and dripping thin rivulets down his face. Nothing will leave permanent marks. Guan Shan prods at the swollen skin and grimances. The worst part is his right hand. His knuckles are split– that’s normal –but the stiffness and strange way his pointer finger now sits are not normal. Pulling on a shirt takes a little more work than he’d like but at least now he finally feels hollowed out, completely empty, all the fire and flame gone. The restlessness is replaced with a bone-tired ache.

Zhan Zheng Xi pulls up in a little beater, a hand-me-down of a car that looks like it’s nearing its last leg. The brunette hops out the car as Guan Shan walks up. The spike of excitement at his presence is completely involuntary. Guan Shan tries his best to taper it down and go for relaxed and normal. As though his face doesn’t look like ground beef right now.

“Hey.”

“Who did this to you?”

That was not the first question he was expecting. Maybe a “what the fuck did you do?” or the classic: “Guan Shan, what did you get into this time?” But the look Zhan Zheng Xi was giving him was making his belly do funny little flips.

“No one.”

Zhan Zheng Xi raises an eyebrow. His normal thousand yard stare somehow looks absolutely murderous.

“It was just a friendly fight. I won.” Guan Shan grins and his taped lip splits open. “You should see the other guy.”  

A muscle in Zhan Zheng Xi’s jaw jumps but he seems to swallow whatever impulse has him staring daggers into the exterior of the building. Wordlessly, he slides the duffle bag off Guan Shan’s shoulder and heads towards the car.

***

City lights pass by in a blur. A soft summer storm breaks across the sky. The air smells like ozone and the night feels still.

“Which hospital do you want to go to?”

It’s another question Guan Shan was not expecting. “None of them. I’m fine, really, I just, can I crash at your place tonight? I just want the swelling to go down a little before my mom sees me.”

There’s a long controlled exhale but Zhan Zheng Xi turns onto the highway toward his place. Guan Shan settles into the seat feeling warm from the free alcohol he drank– winner’s choice –and comforted with the rocking of the car.

*** They arrive and Guan Shan finds himself feeling stiff. His ungraceful exit out of the car has Zhan Zheng Xi by his side gingerly lifting and guiding.

“I’m really fine, just gonna be sore.”

“You were drinking.”

Their faces are close as Zhan Zheng Xi supports Guan Shan. He’s also holding his bag.  

“Oh, yeah, winner gets a bottle. The rest is in my bag if you want it.”

Zhan Zheng Xi doesn’t say anything at that, just smoothly maneuvers them inside to the kitchen and leans Guan Shan up against the counter. He busies himself with getting a glass of water. Guan Shan watches with his good eye appreciating the other’s sure build.

“It’s probably best if I just crash on the floor, this thing keeps busting open,” Guan Shan points to where he thinks the cut is. It’s hard to tell now that his left eye has completely swollen shut. “I don’t want to make a mess–”

Zhan Zheng Xi is suddenly there, filling his vision. Guan Shan realizes a moment late that he’s inspecting his wounds. He blushes despite himself.

“It’s really fi–”

“Stop. Stop, stop saying it’s fine.” A muscle jumps in Zhan Zheng Xi’s jaw.

Reflexively, Guan Shan narrows his good eye and tries to jerk away from the inspection. Zhan Zheng Xi boxes him in.

“Mo. Please. I lost him. And then He Tian disappears. I can’t just, don’t ask me to think this is fine.”

Oh. oh.

Guan Shan stills and the little butterflies that flit in his stomach any time he’s around Zhan Zheng Xi kick up into a feeling that has him exhaling unsteadily.

Zhan Zheng Xi leans his hands on the counter on either side of Guan Shan and he hangs his head. He stays there for a moment, breathing unevenly. Guan Shan wants to reach out and touch him, comfort him, let him know that he’s really ok.

Zhan Zheng Xi pushes up suddenly and hands Guan Shan a glass of water and an ice pack. “Drink this and hold this on the worst parts of the swelling.

Guan Shan obeys. He lets Zhan Zheng Xi wipe the dried clots of blood from his face and smear more antiseptic on the cuts. He lets him lift off his shirt and tries his best to not reassure Zhan Zheng Xi that it’s really fine. He lets him brush gentle hands over the bruising on his torso. He lets him look into his eyes for a long moment. Lets the frustration seep between them.

“I’m not, I’m not cut out to help with this, Guan Shan. I’m not like him.”

Guan Shan mentally fills in He Tian’s name. No one is like He Tian, a kid who could stitch a wound, fight off a group of grown men, survive a landslide.

“I know you’re not. And guess who’s not here right now. That’s why I’m here, with you.”

The words are a little too raw but they do the trick. Zhan Zheng Xi pulls himself together. 

“Let's get you settled in bed.”

“Just let me take the couch, I don’t want to mess up your–” Guan Shan cuts himself off at the stern look that Zhan Zheng Xi gives him. He follows him over to the small bed, taking his ice pack and water. Zhan Zheng Xi is watching him like any moment he might collapse.

The TV is on a pause screen, whatever game Zhan Zheng Xi had been playing when Guan Shan called stopped without hesitation. Guan Shan gingerly lowers himself onto Zhan Zheng Xi’s bed, propping himself up on pillows. The smell of the other man overwhelms him surrounded as he is by his bedding. Zhan Zheng Xi fusses with the blankets before grabbing something from the bathroom.

“Take this.”

Guan Shan takes the pill without protest. It’s not long before a relaxing warmth spreads throughout his body and the pain fades into the background.

Zhan Zheng Xi is applying ice to Guan Shan’s hand and Guan Shan suddenly feels giddy, watching wisps of soft hair fall over Zhan Zheng Xi’s brow.

“I thought you just tolerated me for Jian Yi.” It’s the first time he’s utter the other’s name. It feels wrong somehow.

“You’ve always been nicer than you let on.”

Guan Shan feels like his body is thrumming, levitating, the adrenaline crash and painkillers making everything feel unreal. “You’re more perceptive than you let on.”

“Do you miss He Tian?”

Guan Shan exhales like he’s just taken a punch to the gut. “That fucker. I know he’s alive out there somewhere and he’s just going to fucking show up like nothing happened. And I’ll, I’ll let him.” Guan Shan says the words like he’s been dumbfounded. It’s the first time he’s ever admitted the hold He Tian has on his past. His future. But not his present. Because He Tian isn’t here.

“Xixi, that fucker left without a word and hasn’t been in contact with me since. I don’t care if it was to protect me or because of duty, it was shitty. It is shitty. I’m tired of putting everything on hold for him.” Guan Shan grasps his face with his hands, winces, watches the colors bursting on the backs of his eyelids.

And Zhan Zheng Xi, the practical ass, gently takes Guan Shan’s hands and places the ice back on the right one. Condensation soaks through the sheets and Guan Shan sighs, gives in, snags Zhan Zheng Xi’s face with his left hand. Searches his face. “I remind you of him?”

“Yes.”

Guan Shan snorts “How? Blonde asswhole was actually nice.”

Xixi’s stare is so flat Guan Shan feels lost in it. Anchorless. Like shopping in a new grocery store– everythings in the wrong spot and he’s wandered through the entire building.

“You’re both very bright. He covers himself with happiness. And you do,” he pauses, continues. “Something similar.”

Guan Shan knows what he means. His anger. His sharp looks and resting bitch face. He Tian had seen right through it too. Their memories are all mixed up together and Zhang Zheng Xixi is the only person on this earth that knows what it’s like to have your crush ripped from your life suddenly without a trace. But not dead. Just gone.

It didn’t feel like hanging in indefinite space. It felt like falling. And where was the fucking bottom of this fall? Being around Zhan Zheng Xi felt like setting shoes on stable land. Guan Shan dropped his hand.

“Come on. Turn off the lights and get in bed. Don’t give me the “I’ll take the couch shit”. There’s enough room here and I don’t want to keep you from being comfortable.”

Zhan Zheng Xi moves around the apartment flipping off lights and putting things away like it’s just a normal night and there isn’t a man taking up too much space in his bed with a swollen face and a hand that might need more than tape.

Guan Shan is relieved when he crawls into bed next to him, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Just don’t do anything. This is just sleeping. Totally normal. Just crashing at a buddy’s house. Think about things that make you tired. Go the fuck to sleep.

All of Guan Shan's efforts are blown out of the water when Zhan Zheng Xi’s leg presses against Guan Shan’s and it’s just south of innocent. The only acceptable solution is to escalate. Not like Guan Shan could ever just leave something be.

So he shuffles into the touch, rolling onto his side and using the movement as an excuse to press more of himself against the other man. The movement also jostles his hand and he sucks in a little breath, waiting for the jolt of pain to subside.

“Your hand.” Zhan Zheng Xi sits up and leans over Guan Shan to look and Guan Shan feels his heart flutter– which is absolutely ridiculous. It’s middle school all over again only confusing for entirely other reasons. “Guan Shan, are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It’s not my hand that’s the problem.

“It’s not?”

Shit. Zhan Zheng Xi has an eyebrow cocked and a little smirk on his face. Guan Shan looks away. “Just, lay down.”

Zhan Zheng Xi does, but with an arm wrapped around Guan Shan’s waist. He noses into Guan Shan’s hair, breathing deep.

And it feels so comforting.

Every line of taunt question, curled like the curve of a question mark, relaxes in Guan Shan’s body. “What do we do when they come back?” He whispers it into the dim room, half expecting for some reason for no answer.

“They’re not here. We are.”

---

Notes: And then He Tian and Jian Yi come back and they all make one giant angsty poly family. The end.

I know this is not a normal or even popular pairing. But I saw the potential and just had to go for it! It just sort of flowed out into the word vomit you see here. I don't think I have the timeline perfect, but I'm shooting for when Zhan Zheng Xi has started college right before Jian Yi reappears.

Thanks for your likes, reblogs and comments! They feed my little crushed soul during these strange strange times.

[atxlxs]

Beyond The Veil: Chapter 11

The infirmary was nice, quiet, and completely boring so Muska was more than glad to be home. Eras had all but dragged her to the car and fretted over her the entire evening. Even making all her favorite foods and giving her space to settle. Eras had always been attentive to small changes in her mood and knew when she just needed to be alone. That didn’t stop her from making sure she had everything she needed before she left Muska to her own devices.

Eras was in the observatory now, probably destressing from the emotional day she had and really, she couldn’t blame her. When Eras had stepped through the infirmary door, Muska could tell she was on edge. She wasn’t entirely sure that Eras had noticed either, however Muska noticed that she had flinched when she saw the bandages on her arms paired with the word ‘burns’. That's when Muska remembered. She had only seen the scars on Eras’s back once and it was only a quick flash. They were Burn scars.

Fuck, no wonder she was so nervous and on edge. That’s why she relaxed when Recovery Girl promised they wouldn’t scar.

She knew what being burned felt like.

...

....

.....

Absolutely not, she was not dealing with this right now. This emotional revelation will be pushed aside for when she wasn’t absolutely decked by Recovery Girls quirk. Maybe she could even sleep tonight.

Surprisingly, she did actually sleep.

By morning, Eras was back to normal, which is still just as concerning as it usually is. Muska was almost positive that there were some heavy negative consequences to that kind of approach to emotional processing. She may not be a therapist, but her dad had been one so she knew, at least, the basics. Plus, who lives for centuries without gaining some kind of mental instability? At some point she was going to convince her to attend therapy, she just has to find a qualified therapist to handle a young adult vampire with years of memories and possible trauma to get through.

For now though? She was going to focus on her coffee, lovingly made with the higher end brand of coffee Eras had express shipped to their house because she’s desperate like that. Eras also chose not to give Tibbles treats for the next week as punishment which caused Muska to carry around headphones to ignore the loud and meowed complaints voiced during the entire discussion.

The calm and quiet atmosphere that had settled in that morning was shattered by the sound of a blender going off and Tibbles flinging himself from the table to the air and back. A grumbled [Bitch] followed right afterwards which caused Muska to cackle at her familiar.

“Smoothie time huh? It has been awhile since you last ate.” Muska mumbled, even over the sound of a loud ass blender she knew Eras could hear her. Her hearing was freakishly good.

The blender stopped and a few moments passed before the scratch of a pulled out chair was followed by the thump of a physical body collapsing in said chair. Looking up from her coffee, Muska cringed a bit at what she saw.

“Yea, I just… I’ve been a bit tired recently.” Eras looked deader than usual. The pale white skin was bordering on translucent a bit and the deep eyebags normally kept at bay were back full force.

Sighing, Muska sent Eras a rather pointed look. She knew her friend refused to fully sleep so instead she relied on the energy boost coffee and blood gives her to keep going. Along with maintaining a vegetative state close to meditation to make up for not sleeping. Eras rarely ever truly slept and whenever she did she was always off the next day. Energized, but also wary. On edge. Probably nightmares but Eras sleeps in the observatory to prevent Muska from hearing anything so she couldn’t confirm.

Eras ignored her stare in favor of sipping on the smoothie in front of her.

Sighing, Muska dropped the conversation. Eras would just clam up if she pressed further.

After getting ready and heading out, taking the train this time, Muska ran into Midoriya and Uraraka on the way to school. They greeted her with sunshine smiles and dragged her into the conversation. When they got to UA and were still conversing, she had almost missed the loud and angry demands made near the gate of UA.

Reporters.

Muska hates crowds with a passion and they brought one to her school.

Safe to say she absolutely hates them now.

Muska sighed and racked her brain for anything that could help in a situation like this. Energy could be manipulated to push them aside but that’d be a public quirk use law infraction. Witch stuff then. The type to be hidden in plain view. Manipulative…..

Muska grabbed her two new friends' arms and led them through the reporters with ease. The crowd moving and melding around them but not actually recognizing. She was using the energy produced by the human body to limit the signals sent to the brain and pushed the thoughts of “not here” and “just another reporter” to prevent them from being recognized.

She heard the soft mumbled “This is so cool…” behind her from Midoriya and she almost lost her control a bit in her surprise. That would’ve been a nightmare.

They managed to get through unscathed and passed by Aizawa-sensei, keeping the reporters back and helping other students through. Present Mic, or Yamada-sensei as he wanted to be called, was there with him whispering about something.

When they reached the classroom, a sigh escaped Muska as she finally relaxed. There weren’t too many other classmates present, probably due to the reporters outside, and those that were there were relatively quiet. Besides Iida, though it looks like he was refraining from speaking just yet, he did give a nod in their direction though so that was possibly Muska’s fault.

She just really hates when people have a strict view on how you're supposed to operate and act, hates being controlled like that.

Muska Bee-lined for her seat and sat down with a thud as she hooked her book bag on the side of the desk. Relaxing into her seat. Midoriya sat in his seat in front of her and Uraraka deposited her bag on her desk before making her way over to continue talking.

“By the way,” Uraraka started, turning to face Muska who was slowly collapsing in on herself for a nap, “I never got to ask but how were you yesterday? I managed to see Mido here before he left the school yesterday so I was able to ask him but you disappeared.”

Muska sat confused for a second before her brain caught up to the attention.

“Ah, my guardian came to the school for the meeting about what happened and she took me home.” She explained.

“Your guardian?” Uraraka and Midoriya echoed before they both shut their mouths with a click, Uraraka jumped in before Mido to stammer out “Ah! sorry that's rude to inquire about!”

Muska just waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

“It’s fine. My guardian is a friend and a friend of my family. When My parents passed away a long time ago, she took me in.” Which was the truth. Eras had found Muska when she had just joined the veil and had promised to take her in after her parents passed away. It’s just that her parents died of old age and not an ‘accident’.

The two nodded before Uraraka brightened again.

“What are they like?!” She asked, hands waving around as if getting rid of extra energy.

“Her name is Eras, so Viridis Eras. She's nice and a bitch.”

Uraraka sputtered and Midoriya muffled a snort. Iida snapped his head around with wide eyes but didn’t actually snap out an etiquette speech. Instead, he grumbled a bit and headed over. Before she could even glare, Iida bowed.

What?

“I wished to apologize for my actions regarding you the past couple of times! I spoke with my brother and he agreed that your advice was applicable to the way the world truly works and so I shall better myself and that starts with an apology!”

Muska was speechless. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Uraraka and Midoriya smiling knowing smiles towards Iida so they had probably had a word with him outside of school. That didn’t help her though. Iida was very earnest in a way she had never actually seen in a person before holy hell. What kind of childhood do you live to be this engaged all the time?

“Ah, sure, apology accepted?”

The rest of that morning was spent with Muska listening to her two friends and Iida talk about what could be happening today. Though Robocop did manage to complain about her calling Eras a bitch before class started, it wasn’t as heavy as his usual lectures.

Muska just wants normality please and thank you, but based on this morning so far she doubts she’ll receive a normal day. That thought plagued her throughout the class representative vote and her first few educational classes. (Was she getting different paperwork? She was definitely getting different paperwork...) The bell rang and her classmates all started congregating to head to the cafeteria while Muska just sighed and got up from her seat. Today was definitely not going to be normal and though she wanted to be wrong, it was not to be.

She just didn’t expect an alarm to prove her right.

The minute the alarm started blaring in the middle of Lunch, Muska did as any student that's been through American public education does. She kept eating. The rest of her classmates that had sat at her table, Mido Uraraka and Iida (for some reason), had already jumped up and started running towards the glorified mob at the doors. She just finished off her absolute heaven of a meal, Eras should meet this Lunch Rush dude (Midoriya had fanboyed loud enough for her to learn his name) their collective chef skills would crush Gordan Ramsey’s taste buds and have Guy Fieri screaming flavor town.

Vaguely, she heard Iida shouting about something and a cheery ‘PLUS ULTRA’ shout but she paid little attention. Instead, she headed back to class.

She would later come to regret not paying closer attention that afternoon.

If she did? She would have noticed the oil like energy tainting the harmony of the school.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags:

@baguettehead

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.21

Tense. Things at home were tense. Lance had muttered about needing to go shopping, then left. Keith knew when to bite his tongue, and this was definitely a time for tongue biting. Wanting to do something helpful Keith put his mind to cleaning. Not like in-depth cleaning, but enough to be counted as an effort around the house. That meant first he had to find everything, then he had to argue with the washing machine as he tried to figure the damn thing out as he didn’t know if sheets were washed on the same cycle setting as clothes... if they weren’t before, they were now. Blue had acted like it was the end of the world once the vacuum cleaner went on, dramatically running from the living room so fast she skidded. Adam would have been proud of him. As was every foster family he’d never fit in with. Sure, he had anger issues, but he wouldn’t have anger issues if people stopped making him angry.

Keith got less done than he’d set out to accomplish. Barely finishing the first floor before there was the sound of a car horn out the front, the approach drowned out by Lance’s ancient vacuum that would have been tossed out long ago if Adam had seen the device. Adam really did have the one functioning brain cell between him, Shiro and Keith. The hunter knew it was unhealthy to hold onto things, Adam had died over a year ago now, but he and Shiro together had been the best family Keith had ever had. Shiro never treated him like a legacy. The child of a hunter who’s name carried far too much weight. Since being accepted into the Order and beginning his training as a cadet, he’d lived in the shadow of the great werewolf hunter Krolia. He understood why she had to leave him, why she did fought as she did, but... Shiro and Adam felt more like family to him than she did. Krolia was... she was... it was heavy to think about her accomplishments. Stowing the vacuum back in the laundry, Keith rushed back through the house, trying not to appear like he cared whether Lance was alright or not... because he didn’t.

Heading out, Lance was standing at the back of his bronco, trunk door open

“Help me carry stuff”

Lance wasn’t supposed to be doing anything exerting like carrying in the whole damn shop from the look of it

“Did we really need so much stuff?”

“Not supposed to go out, remember. So I stocked up. Before you bite my head off, I didn’t go shopping alone. I found my phone in the car and shot Hunk a message”

“You... talked to Hunk?”

“Am I not allowed?!”

The snappiness in Lance’s tone kind of hurt, as did the fact Lance had talked to Hunk before they’d had a chance to talk about their situation

“I’m not saying that. I’m just wondering what... It’s none of my business”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have snapped. I told him Mami had a fall, well, Miriam had a fall and I was in Platt due to it. He went a little crazy shopping”

“So you’re blaming Hunk for this?”

They needed a whole army to eat the amount of food in the back of the bronco. Lance sighed as he passed Keith the first bag

“He’s a good man. I really do think he and Pidge are both interested in you, as in being friends. Sorry, can we save talking until we’re back inside. I want to wallow a little longer”

“Alright... but don’t think you’re getting out of this”

“I wouldn’t dream of it”

*

People were exhausting. Hunk was one of those people. He was a natural born worrier who’d worried the moment he showed up. Lance was pulled into a tight hug, hiding his discomfort as he was. Normally he loved Hunk’s hug, but he couldn’t tell him the truth and it sucked big hair testicles. Repeatedly trying to redirect the conversation from him, Hunk kept bringing up how unwell Lance looked and how he needed to eat more. Yeah. He did. But looking at all the food in the supermarket isles made him sick. It fed the knot of anxiety that’d settled in his gut. He was changing for the worse, and there was no way to back out of it now. When Matt came, everything would change again. Pidge would be over the moon to see her brother again, while Matt would be terrified of one wrong move exposing his secret. Secrets sucked. They festered like wounds. Growing and spreading that infection until you felt physically ill.

Settling down with a cup of coffee, like a normal human would, Lance stared into the cup as Keith put things away. Lance wanted to take control, he wanted to take back some kind of order in his life, yet with Keith living there, he needed to loosen up. Keith needed to know where things went and how to navigate his kitchen beyond how to use the coffee machine. Keith really seemed to like his coffee. He wasn’t so fond of broccoli, or corn for that matter, but he also never really complained about eating anymore... provided he could hover while Lance he cooked, still kind of paranoid Lance was going to poison him or something. If he was going to do that, he would taken care of Keith the second Shiro was clear of the picture.

“You look pale. Do you need blood?”

Keith’s question took Lance by surprise. He never hid his drinking blood from his friends, but they thought he was simply indulging in red wine. Keith had seen him drink, and extremely embarrassingly vulnerable. He’d swallowed down that blood bag at VOLTRON with no worries thanks to how hungry he was... So why was it now he was feeling self conscious thanks to Keith asking? And why were his teeth almost throbbing at the idea? It would be a blood bag like the rest of the times he fed, having Keith there was not his ticket to a fresh meal because he didn’t want a fresh meal. That’d mean only submitting to his vampire way

“Not yet”

“Coran said you need to keep your strength up”

“Since when did you care?”

Keith placed down the box of cereal he’d been trying to find a home for

“Since I don’t run away from mistakes I’ve made”

Ouch. Yeah. Keith had fucked up, but he was kind of trying... but only because he felt obligated too. Obligations sucked. Lance knew he was only a job to Keith, but “mistake” struck like a bullet to the heart

“Dude, ouch”

“I... I mean. I take responsibility for my actions. You’re changing because of me. We can’t ignore it”

“I can try”

Keith slammed his plan down on the kitchen bench with enough anger that Lance felt himself jump

“Why?! Why do you that? You said nothing to Luis. You didn’t try defending yourself. You didn’t ask to be turned”

He really hadn’t. He’d been such a lonely kid, he always seemed to have plenty of people around him, but he’d always felt so filled with faults that he kept messing up his friendships. Every month he seemed to have a new best friend who’d leave him to play with someone cooler and smarter than he was. Someone who better at games, and didn’t have problems with English as Spanish was the spoken language at home. He’d been alright with his siblings until they all started to grow older... then they’d all sort of... given up on their little brother

“Luis gave into his fear long ago”

“That doesn’t make it right. He tried to have you hunted”

“I know he did. Look, I’m way too sober for that conversation. But you’d be right if you thought I ruined our family. No one knew how to handle a kid with flashbacks, nightmares and all the things that come with being a vampire. I’m happy they all got out and had a life...”

“The rest of your family’s like that? Like, Luis?”

“It’s complicated. They don’t understand why I’m the way I am. Why I don’t drive a car in the hundreds of thousands of dollars, why I live in a house that’s a cross between farmhouse and plantation. Why I work so cheaply when I could be earning more. They all think I sponge off Mami, and stay with her so I have control over her. It’s easier to pick your battles and the way I see it, Mami won’t live forever. I’ve caused her enough pain that shouldn’t have to see me fighting with my siblings. Fuck... I really am way too sober”

Taking off his glasses, Lance leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Keith didn’t know his life outside of whatever he’d read. He didn’t know how hard it was in the house to have a blood sucker. He didn’t know how many times Lance had made things hard for their family. How he’d cost them all this extra money to keep him fed and safe. Then there was therapy. Him changing schools. Him dealing with his mental health while trying to deal with puberty and nightmares. And God knew how hard it was. How hard it was for his parents, how exhausted they were. How his condition was kind of taboo, and no one was allowed to make a joke about it lest his Mami heard and you’d get smacked across your arse with her pink slipper. Keith picked up the box of cereal again, Lance could hear his moves. The way the contents of the box shook, and the way his clothes rustled. The tiny shift of his footing as he stood on tiptoe to find a space in the cupboard

“I think you were wrong not to stand up for yourself”

Of course “Crusader Keith” thought he needed to stand up for himself, he’d been trained by “Shiro the Hero”

“Tried that, doesn’t work”

He always sent cards, via Mami who knew their address

“Even if Shiro turned, I don’t think I could ever give up on him”

“That’s because you’re far more emotionally mature that my siblings were when they had to deal with a messed up little brother. I’m going to get a bottle of red. Fuck being sober, I’m going to wallow the patheticness out my system, then hopefully I won’t be such a grumpy dick”

“I don’t think you’re being too grumpy. You’re still a bit of a dick”

Lance snorted, placing down his cup of coffee

“That might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me”

“Don’t get used to it”

Lance’s lips turned upwards, the ghosting of a smile. Keith was a total dick, and had no place in Lance’s life, but he wasn’t as obnoxious as he’d been when they first met

“Have a look in the blue bag, down the bottom. I got you something while I was out”

*

“Have a look in the blue bag, down the bottom. I got you something while I was out”

Keith didn’t get Lance at all. He’d been moping, now he was kind of smiling, or grimacing, Keith wasn’t completely sure, but the fact Lance had bought him something seemed kind of like a trap

“You got me something?”

“Yep. Blue bag is all yours”

His? Wasn’t the food because he was human? What else did he need?

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why did you get me something?”

“Because when I saw it, I thought of you. Don’t make this weird”

It was already weird. All of this was weird as fuck. Peaking in the first blue bag there was a whole heal of vegetables, including broccoli which he hated, Lance snorted at him

“Not that one. The other one”

“You could have told me that”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda”

Whatever that meant. Grabbing the second blue bag, Keith pulled it forward by the handles

“Milk?”

“Lactose free. Actually, all the milk I’ve been buying lately to feed your coffee addictions been lactose free, so you’re welcome over that. I said in the bottom. You know, under everything else”

“Shut up. It just looked like bottles of milk”

“On the top, maybe. I’ll give you that”

Keith sighed to himself mentally. How was he supposed to put up with Lance for another two weeks when he had nothing to do. He couldn’t work out, Coran had benched Lance from teaching him anything physical. Sitting around and doing nothing didn’t agree with him. Lifting out the two bottles of milk, he was annoyed that Lance had something nice. He wasn’t strictly like allergic to lactose, but some brands definitely upset his stomach more than others. At the bottom of the bag was a wrapped box, the paper slightly wet from the condensation off the milk bottles

“It’s a box?”

“Wow, I bet those powers of observation are what makes you a great hunter. Open the box, dummy”

Grumpily Keith took the box out of the bag, mumbling as he did

“You didn’t need to buy me anything”

“You’re really bad at accepting gifts aren’t you?”

“Shut up”

Inside the box was a red digital camera. Keith had always loved the colour red, he also indulged in a little photography thanks to Shiro. It wasn’t as fancy as his camera at home, but it wasn’t bottom of the range either

“You got me a camera?”

“Yep. If you’re going to be sticking around, I figured you might want one to keep up the pretence of having left it here”

This would have easily cost Lance a couple of hundred. Didn’t the vampire have better things to spend his money on?

“Why...?”

“Not this again. Fine, I’ll play along. Why, what?”

“Why did you spend money on me?”

“Because you’re stuck here and I thought that it might be nice to have something of your own. It’s also an apology for all the shit I put you through by turning into a bat. Just make sure you get a few photos of the house, I told the others you were taking photos to help me renovate. Accept the damn gift”

Lance seemed as bad at giving gifts as Keith was at receiving them. Not that the camera was a bad gift, the vampire seemed embarrassed that he was making a fuss over it all. Big gifts like this were shaved for birthdays or Christmas, no one went around simply buying things for other people, unless it was Shiro. Shiro had absolutely awful impulse control, Keith’s not that much better. His savings only went as far as saving for what he wanted, buying it, then looking at his abysmally empty bank balance sadly. There was no reason to really save when any mission could see him dead...

“Thanks. I’m not used to things like this”

“I can tell. Just... the camera isn’t me trying to buy your apology. Just so you know, I wanted to do something nice for you, with like, no strings attached... and now that this has gotten even more awkward, I’m off to get that red”

As Lance pushed his chair back, curiosity struck, Keith tilting the box in Lance’s direction

“Hey, Lance... Do you show up in these things?”

“Really? Photos, videos and mirrors... People wish they’d looked as good as I do dead. I mean, otherwise it’d be super suspicious when I didn’t show up in Pidge’s videos, when I let her film me”

“Oh... I hadn’t thought about that”

Lance snorted at him

“Some vampire hunter you are. Please don’t destroy my kitchen while I’m gone. Also, I grabbed some stuff so we can make pizza for dinner... I assume you don’t mind pizza and beer?”

Keith wrinkled his nose. That sounded like he was going to be cooking... and if the piece of shit toaster Lance used to have was anything to go by, then maybe that wouldn’t be the best idea. Lance was already walking towards the kitchen door

“I don’t know how to make pizza”

Raising his hand, the vampire waved his concerns off

“Then prepared to do the learn. Man, I’m going to have to teach you everything, aren’t I?”

“About vampires?”

“Nope. First you learn to do the human, then you’ll learn how to do the dead human. Don’t forget, I’ll hear you if you try breaking my kitchen... ow, fuck...”

Walking straight into the door frame, Lance rubbed at his forehead. Keith had no idea how Lance managed to walk into so many things and be so absolutely uncoordinated while in his own house. He wore glasses, shouldn’t that like help him see? Shouldn’t he have some kind of sense when he was getting too close to something? What kind of a vampire needed glasses? Lance didn’t make sense at all.

[kittensjonsa]

When you watch something (not telling you what it is) and it screams Jonsa and won't let you rest until you let it out.. another sub/Dom jonsa fic with Sansa holding the whip this time.

Summary: Sansa has deep seated issues she needs to work on thanks to a recent trauma from being mugged in an alley. But sometimes, it takes more than just therapy. BDSM-ish.

One-shot, I leave the rest to your imagination because I think.. we all have different versions how this could go.. 💦 and unfortunately, I am not a good enough writer to explore these visions and putting them into words lol.

Safe Word

Dove.

Little bird. Those are the words that spring to mind as Sansa sees the forms before her. It is strange, having to fill out forms and giving strangers a piece of her life before she gives all of herself to another. Well, almost.

He did come highly recommended. Sansa looks out the window from the lounge sofa she finds too comfortable to be filling out forms in.

Also, this is a sex club.

“You will keep my details private, right? I mean, I'm here because.. you know,” Sansa's voice trails off, wondering if she should explain at all. The lady with bright purple hair and blonde streaks looks up from Sansa's forms, only to smile at her, subtly hinting how she has encountered many a red-faced first timers like Sansa. Only thing, this time it's different. I'm different. Not like the rest, Sansa mumbles in a small voice in her mind.

“Miss Stark, I can assure you have our strictest confidence. Besides, your therapist made a call earlier this week to let us know about… your case. Don't worry, she didn't say anything, she just asked for Jon to help you. And that's enough for us to know. And, yes this is only between you and us,” the lady assures, the piercing on her lower lip quivering as she smiles again at Sansa.

Oh right, yes. My case.

Sansa nods and glances at the black tinted glass doors behind the counter. Sansa wonders what awaits her, come the day when it beckons.

“We'll give you a call once we've set up your appointment. You'll hear from us in a few days.”

Sansa heaves a sigh of relief and manages a polite grin. “Right, thank you. I'll.. wait for your call then, Miss Val,” Sansa addresses her after a quick glance at the name plate. Val nods and waves her goodbye and calls for the next one in line. Sansa gathers herself and leaves, regretting what fresh hell she had gotten herself into.

The hours ticked by at first when Sansa found herself in bed and staring at the ceiling. When sleep finally came, the nightmares took over. Sansa had tried everything from herbs, to tinctures and sleeping aids. None helped, because none of these, not even the anti-anxiety medication gave her the peace that was robbed from her, one fateful night in an alley. There were so many things Sansa realised, in retrospect, how the night could have gone differently. If she had taken the train instead of walking to the bus stop, if she went home on time instead of staying back an hour later, if she hadn't answered that goddamned phone call from her ex. But it only wrecked her inside and turned her stomach into knots every time she walks down that particular memory lane. Six months later, Sansa still finds herself in her nightmares, crawling in that alley, bruised, battered and mugged.

Seeing a therapist was the last resort. Describing and reliving the experience again was painful but gradually it eased, no longer was Sansa sobbing at the end of a session, thanks to Dr Carr, her therapist whom had provided an outlet Sansa didn't know she needed. Slowly, the sessions grew less arduous. The nightmares lessened somewhat though haven't ceased completely. Perhaps it was only thing that caused great concern, seeing what little sleep she'd been getting. Six months since a deep, restful sleep, Sansa recalls.

“There's a deep anger that needs to be resolved. Pure rage that I feel needs to be addressed here, Sansa. As someone, I think, who rarely expresses such an emotion, I can imagine this must be quite difficult for you,” Dr Carr suggests, tapping the end of her pen onto her notepad. Sansa sighed as she brushes off some imaginary fluff from her skirt.

“Might I suggest something? You might think this is quite strange but I feel it can be freeing for you. It's.. an acquired taste and you don't have to if you don't want to but perhaps you may want to consider letting all this anger out? On someone.. who is willing?”

Sansa raises her eyebrow at the 'willing' part. “You mean find someone to beat up?”

A wistful tilt of the head tells Sansa only one thing. “I don't recommend this method to anyone but I feel that you, Sansa, will find that it helps. I'll write down the address so you can decide for yourself. Now, before you say anything, I'd like you to approach this with an open mind. As open as you can possibly be.”

“What is it that you suggest, Dr Carr? I'm all ears.”

An address with a name. Jon Snow. Château Noir. Sansa answers back with a questioning glance. Sounds mysterious. Another therapist? Am I that hopeless?

“He's highly recommended. I heard of him from someone in my circle. He does… very particular work. And he has helped one of my former patients it seems, last I heard. So, moving forward.. I think you might want to try him.”

To do what exactly? This is uncharted territory. Sansa's mind wanders off to the darkest bits she was brave enough to muster.

“He's.. a provider of services for a small part of the community, whom I suppose require an outlet for their.. inclinations.”

Sansa's eyes widens at the statement and Dr Carr quickly adds, “Please, bear in mind that I do not in any way think that you have such inclinations but rather, been pushed against your own free will to a corner you no longer have space to move in. And it is affecting you more than you can cope. Am I right to say that? And I think one of the ways we can break out of that space.. is to face it head on, in a safe and controlled environment. I heard he's very professional. Would you at least think about it?”

Seven o'clock. As always, she is on the dot. Sansa fidgets with her jacket, hoping she was properly dressed for .. her meeting. A good sized room filled with contraptions Sansa thought she'd only seen in movies. The kind with mediaeval torture segments. Sansa quickly realises how this was probably a bad idea. But she had paid for it, that and also not wanting to face a disappointed Dr Carr, after the arrangements she had made.

Together, they both had made good progress; this is just a step further, she thinks. Still, torture devices aside, it was a cozy room otherwise for conversation if nothing happens. If she doesn't want anything to happen, that is. Sansa finds some small comfort how the lighted candles seem to brighten up the otherwise dim room, and a soft scent lingers in the air. Sandalwood? Rose? Sansa tries to guess, occupying herself while waiting.

The door creaks. A head of inky black curls and a boyish smile greets her. Sansa gasps. He isn't at all like how she imagined. And good-looking. Dr Carr didn’t mention that. 

“You must be Sansa Stark. From Dr Carr's office?”

Sansa nods and gingerly reaches out to meet his hand. She quickly looks away, out of courtesy. Perhaps also out of shyness and embarrassment. Quite the impression, and straight to business.

The harness strapped across his broad sinewy shoulders and chest made her jaw drop. And the crotchless leather trousers. Good thing he has briefs on, as Sansa's eyes dart back to the floor.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Jon Snow. And I'll be your sub tonight. At your service, whatever you need.”

Sansa sucks in a deep breath and blinks at the sight before her. All right no conversations then. Willing party. For fuck's sake, get over yourself and get it over with.

“Umm.. okay. Right.. oh, do you have.. a safe word?” Sansa remembers to ask, putting her bag down and removing her stifling jacket. He smiles again, his eyes shining in the poor light of the room. They gleam with anticipation. Somehow, Sansa had a feeling he had been waiting for her arrival, the moment she stepped into his lair. His castle. Strangely, not an ounce of fear filled her body, but something else entirely. Something hot and heady, as her breathing quickens.

“Well, thank you for asking. I do have one. It's.. crow.”

Sansa watches him slide across the room to a standing handle bar that stood chest high. A pair of shackles sit ominously on the handle, waiting to clamp on the next poor soul.

“Okay. But.. hold on. Don't you want to ask me questions? Sorry this is my first time, I don't know how this works,” Sansa apologizes as Jon stands behind the handle bar.

“Ahh, yes of course. But later, if you'd like. Sometimes, thinking about it, hampers.. the process. I know it is your first time. Don't worry, I'll lead you into it. Just.. tell me what you want to do, how do you feel and why you're here. At least that gets the ball rolling, no?”

“Well.. well-I'm here because I need to let some anger out,” Sansa stammers, suddenly feeling very large, self-conscious and awkward.

“Okay.. and why are you angry? Did someone take something from you?” Jon prods, his voice and tone as soothing as Dr Carr's.

“Yes.. yes. And he hurt me... He beat me. He left me for dead in an alley.. I had to crawl home, no one helped me..”

Jon keeps quiet as he watches Sansa, his heart slightly heavy. Poor girl. All the more she needs this, he thinks.

Sansa stops, the rage Dr Carr was talking about had finally reared its head. Ugly and snarling and all Sansa wanted to do was to smash its head in. Indeed, this is exactly what she needs.

“Well then, Mistress. Shall we begin?”

Sansa looks up from the floor and sees Jon already shackled to the handle bar.

And a loosely coiled whip hanging at one end.

---

Note: Dr Wendy Carr is a character who is a psychologist on Mindhunter and I adore her (and aspire to be like her one day). So much so that she deserves a place in my fics lol. Sorry, she's not an oc 😂 if you're wondering.

[r-ahh-mi]

A Cure I Know // Part 5

Part 1  II Part 2  II  Part 3  II Part 4 II

Pairing: Elliot Alderson x fem!OC (Emerson)

Summary: A sex addict & a nut case - what a perfect pairing, don’t you think?

Warnings: Brief brief brief hint of sex talk, but overall pretty much no warnings.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: If you’d like to be added to my tag list for this series or any of my other writing pieces, let me know and I will happily add you! Enjoy this cute little number xx

-

The evening after work was stiff and cold. Everything and everyone seemed to be frozen in their spots as they attempted, with crossed arms, to hold in any form of heat that was manageable during the cold month of January that hit New York like a gust of wind; both literal and figurative. Usually after work I would have gone straight home on severely chilled nights like this, but it was a Thursday. Thursday was therapy day. I was never fond of therapy, though I suppose it did give me someone with an unbiased opinion to talk to, but I just didn’t feel like I got anything out of it which I wasn’t going to blame on my therapist. She was nothing smaller than an angel who was trying to chisel away at the layered cement wall I’d built up around myself. 

You know me enough to realize that I'm not the most open person with others. It wasn’t that I didn’t find it appealing--i’m sure it would be beneficial for me to vent to my therapist or anyone willing to listen and get out my emotions instead of seeking out some sort of feeling through my body being sweaty and entangled with a near stranger, but everything felt so routine now. I wasn’t fond of therapy, but I also didn’t want to give it up because it was something I've been doing for years and it was something that i got to jot down on my calendar every other week. I didn’t want to stop seeking out intimacy with strangers because it was what I had been doing for years. Though I didn’t jot it down on a calendar, well, usually i didn’t, but i craved routine I guess you could say. I craved something that let me go through the motions, yet still gave me something to do besides sitting in my home with my thoughts to unravel on themselves.

Though, come to think of it, I hadn’t sought out anyone for sexual purposes at all this week. Seemingly normal to most, but not to me. I’m sure it was just my mind being preoccupied and busy...or maybe I'm finally cured of this ultimate craving for some sort of affection that is absent from my day to day life. The thing that struck me the most was how okay I was with that. I didn’t feel empty, I didn’t feel as though my routine had been thrown off its course or that my life didn’t have some sort of goal or purpose to fulfill. I was okay with it and had never even paid attention to the matter up until this very moment.

I didn’t let my mind get too carried away into this satisfactory feeling--after all, I had places to go. 

Thankfully the cozy loft building, that my therapist was located in, was nothing more than a ten minute walk at the very very worst. The cold temperatures were perfect motivation for my legs to get some lightning speed into them as they strolled quickly down the sidewalks that were just beginning to be littered with a light layer of snow. I let out an appropriately volumed sigh as I hung up my scarf and damp hat on the coat rack set just near the door. I was expecting to see Rose, the always smilie receptionist, which I did see, but stood next to her, just on the opposite side of the desk was someone I couldn't even have fathomed I would come in contact in this space.

Neither of us said anything as we stood there, both of us fully knowing, but not quite understanding why we were seeing each other's familiar faces in a space that was usually our own and completely separate from each other’s lives. It nearly felt like one of us had found out an intimate detail about the other, quite by accident.

“Elliot?” My words came out as if I was asking a question--Was this Elliot I was seeing? Was this a familiar face? Of course I knew it was, but my mind was still attempting to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together.

A large puff of air gulped its way down his throat as his prominent Adam's apple nearly popped right out from under the tanned skin of his neck.

“Hi”, was all he managed to say as he stood there, visibly uncomfortable and looking as if I had found out something I wasn’t meant to know about.

“So uh...you see Krista--I-I mean Dr. Gordon?”

At the mention of her name Elliot lifted his eyes to mine, but quickly moved them back to some space he found safe enough to hold zoned out eye contact with.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, uh..cool!”, I spoke with a little too much excitement in my voice for the occasion, but I suppose you could call that a little nervous habit of mine.

It didn’t take Elliot but a millisecond for him to lift the dark fabric onto his head, creating several shadows along his cheeks, nose and chin as he began taking big steps towards the door I had just entered in from.

My body was still standing in the entrance so I knew Elliot would need to either ask me to move, and do so kindly, or I could think ahead and move out of the way for him. I’m sure you could guess which option I went with.

“Can you move.”

“Sure”, I quirked with a rotten grin on my face. Elliot didn’t seem too keen on buying into my teasing manor as he rolled his eyes, but still stood in his place.

“Please.”

“Please what, Elliot?”, I placed special attention to this name as it rolled off of my tongue.

Elliot shook his head, letting a tiny, you’d miss it if you blinked, grin appear before his sadly too familiar frown lines set back into his face.

“Emerson, I'm ready for you.”

I turned my head over my shoulder to see the ever pleasant face of Krista, formally known as Dr. Gordon, but she had always assured me she wanted to be on a first name basis with one another to secure some sort of comfort. I adored her.

I smiled at her as she watched curiously while me and Elliot exchanged body language that was much too uncomfortable for two people to know each other well, but also too familiar for them to be total strangers.

Without a word I moved my body out of the way, keeping my much too happy grin on my face as Elliot shook his head, but his lips were much more relaxed this time. Not a frown, not a grin--somewhere in between. I watched as he pressed his palm on the steel door handle and let his body waltz out into the cold New York night. I too made an effort to move my body in the direction I was meant to be heading in, that is until I heard a very faint, but clear “bye Emerson”. 

I turned around quickly, stopping dead in my course to Krista’s office, but all I could make out was Elliot's slim shadow against the lighted sidewalk just outside the once cracked door that was now fully shut. Surely my mind could’ve made it up and that was my very first logical explanation, but there was a tiny voice that also wanted Elliot to have said my name.

Whether it was meant to be heard or just for him, I didn’t care. Though it was a simple and generic mannerism that was taught to toddlers when teaching them “please” “thank you” “hello”, and other friendly exchanges, but a simple goodbye from Elliot seemed like a lot coming from him and it elicited a reaction in me that even Krista took note of.

“Do you two know each other?”

I turned back around to the curious faced woman and  clasped my hands together in my front as I debated on how to reply—because both a yes and no would be truthful answers.

“Sort of”, I shrugged as I walked past Krista and took my normal spot on the couch, but I couldn’t help but feel the warmth beneath me.

My thoughts began to wonder as to why he was sitting on this very same couch, or rather why he needed to seek out a therapist in the first place. I knew not everyone needed a full blown reason to seek therapy. For some it was used as having a person to talk to that was guaranteed to listen and be non biased; everyone needs that. On the other hand, what if he was seeing Krista because he had a problem. Whether that be a past or present problem, I wasn’t too concerned with, I mainly was just curious as to know why.

Maybe Elliot and I weren’t so far apart from one another. We both seemed to share lifestyles that were far from identical, but also the same in the fact that we both wore masks during our day to day lives. Elliot just thought he was good at hiding his and maybe to the rest of the world the mask fit perfectly and succeeded at its job. But I too wore a mask, just a different threading weaved its way into mine.

The saying ‘creative minds think alike’ can also be the same for just about anyone who shared a common personality trait. Crazy minds can also think a like and I could tell that me and Elliot, we were both fucking insane.

-

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