#and i can crack it really easily with my physical therapists help but i will not be seeing her again for another 3 weeks

[nexus-nebulae]

fell off my bed while trying to crack my back BUT i think i cracked it while i was falling so i win

[kiwiraccoon]

Numb, Emptiness Chapter ii

Ateez OT8 x OC

Summary: after witnessing the death of her family, her uncle sends her back to South Korea to live with the eight guys he had saved over the years. They seem to be almost, if not just, as mentally messed up as she is, and the goal is for her to help them and them to help her. Time heals, but it’s already been 11 years of suffering for her, can they really help?

overall notes: MDNI mental health: depression, anxiety, ocd, antisocial, agoraphobia, personality disorders, mental breakdowns. mentions and descriptions of gruesome deaths, gore. polygamy, shared female, suggestive, fluff, smut?, building relationships. THIS IS NOT MEANT FOR THE WEAK HEARTED OR UNDERAGE!! this not meant to depict real Ateez but an au, not about their real selves or real struggles, I took ideas from their real selves but again not meant to be negative towards them or anything against their image… THIS IS JUST MY MORBID MIND RUNNING WILD!

Word Count: 2865

It’s evening now and I sit holed up in my room hiding from each and every one of the occupants of this building. My mind races taking over the music that flows through both of my ears once again. Why did I do that? How did he get that close to me? 

I can’t understand how I so quickly extended an olive branch to a stranger who could easily mask his true intentions like I do with my emotions. The only explanation I can come up with is the shared struggle with our thoughts, how they rip at our sanity no matter how hard we try to conceal them in a steel case. Yet the only case we find is made of fragile glass. My music soothes my thoughts enough to keep them from breaking the glass, but the cracks continue to taunt me, reminding me that even the smallest slip up could cause it all to come tumbling down. Leaving sharp pieces scattered around waiting for me to step on them and let the poison that coats them into my bloodstream. 

Mingi is a stranger, just as much as my therapist who ruined me, and all the other ones that tried to solve my ‘issues’ only to fail. They all tried the same things, show and do things that would cause great amounts of positive emotions. And when that didn’t work they turned to negative emotions. They all wanted me to express just one emotion, yet all they found was my blank stare. My family did it too, they all tormented me for years just to see one emotion take over my form. Everyone abused me like a free punching bag to alleviate all of their own struggles. All because I couldn’t express my emotions. And none of them knew inside I felt it all.

I could feel the pain, isolation, trauma, tears, fear, and heartbreak. My own family tormented me, trying to scare me randomly, yelling at me, telling me how much they missed me, explaining how much they hate my emotionless state. All just to see something, even just a tiny twitch. How much it hurt me to hear they ‘missed me’ when I was right there just behind a wall. I hated the wall in the beginning, tried to tear it down as well, but the second they started to do things physically, I thanked that wall. 

That’s when I promised to never let anyone touch my wall, but Mingi did. He touched it with a caring hand, one that said ‘I know why you’re here and I hope you will let me in one day’. My wall gave in. Let him have a little hole to peek inside and see just a tiny amount of care towards him. And when I realized that I stood from my spot next to him, waited for my ear bud to return to my hand, and left. 

I think I’ve been in my room for hours, but I needed to be alone. I needed to process the fact that my mind, the one that has been locked away for eleven years, just let someone, a stranger, inside. Even only for just a tiny peek. Why do I still care for people when I can’t even express it? Why do I torment myself? 

I even answered Wooyoung, and helped Seonghwa. Why? 

“Dinner!” Someone yells from outside my door and instead of going to get food I sit still. I watched my door like a hawk daring someone to even try and open it. I locked it and even put the chair from my desk in front of it. I refuse to let more people in, I can’t let them break me too. 

Mingi unknowingly felt like home to me, and that scares me. I never felt like I had a home besides with my uncle, and for someone else to give me that comfort, I couldn’t allow it. The last time I let someone feel like that for me, they turned out to be a ploy from my family to get me to express something. That person never cared, they just enjoyed the money. I won’t be a toy again. I won’t be a job and I won’t be a cash grab. I won’t.

Hours go by of me just drowning myself in my music and once I hear the silence around the building I stand from my spot in the bed. The dip that holds shows I’ve been in the same spot for hours in my own little world of pain, confusion, loss, and uncertainty. I carefully move the chair from its spot underneath my door handle and twist the lock from its hold, allowing myself to pull the door open slowly. My music still bleeds into my mind but at a lower volume to allow me to listen for anyone who might be awake and walking around. When I’m met with nothing but my music I move to walk out of my room only to slightly hit my foot against something on the ground.

Looking down I see a glass of water sitting in front of my door with a sandwich sealed inside a plastic bag. I lean down and pick up the items turning back into my room. Without second guessing myself I lock my door the same way it was before taking this food, that I think came from my uncle as it was my favorite sandwich in the bag and my name written sloppily, back to my bed. I sit in my hole once again and slowly eat the comfort food, drowning out my thoughts even more as I refuse to think anymore. 

I set the empty glass down next to the plastic bag that now sits against the top of my bedside table waiting for me to put it away, but I fear meeting someone accidentally on my way. So instead I turn off the lamp beside me and switch my phone to play music through the speakers, not forgetting to put my headphones in their case. I slip under my covers more, essentially hiding myself away from the monsters that are my thoughts and traumas who constantly torment me. Sleep consumes me, bringing me into my dream world where I can express my emotions and show those I care about how they make me feel. One day I will be able to break this mask and shatter it into pieces that can never be put back together. Hopefully soon.

“Kai?” Someone knocks at my door, awakening me from my peaceful world of dreams, “we have breakfast if you want any.” I know that voice. Wooyoung sighs and walks away, I know he possibly has more questions, but I can’t help the fear that rises in me. There’s never been someone who genuinely wanted to know me, and as much as I want to believe he is that person I can’t. I won’t fall into another trap.

After two days of being locked in my room, my mind reminds me I’m not in America anymore, my family can’t force someone on me anymore, it’s only me. My uncle understood me and never pushed me, he wouldn’t send someone to torment me. Maybe I could try again today, just later. I make my way to my connecting bathroom to shower with my phone playing music through its speakers as the Bluetooth one died right as I woke up. I take my time washing away all of my negative feelings, I can’t let them win anymore. I want to be better, I want to really feel, I want to be me.

Finally in fresh clothes and a light amount of makeup to soothe myself I walk into my bedroom to make my bed and put my desk chair back where it belongs. My chair only moved to the side these past couple of days, everytime I opened the door I found food and a drink. Whoever left me these things cared and I first believed it was my uncle until I still got something during lunch when he was at work. I never brought my dishes out of my room creating a pile that rests on my bedside table reminding me that I let my negative thoughts win for so long. They won’t anymore.

Reaching the surface by my bed I grab my headphones to place in my ears and balance the stack of dishes on my arms to bring down and clean. Balancing them on my one hand to unlock the door completely and walk out without bothering to look around to check for anyone as I don’t want to let myself hide away again. I walk to the beat of the music, immersing myself in the sound to ground myself and create a sense of power in myself. Each step I take I feel my courage building, my mind no longer having power over me.

The kitchen is empty when I walk in, allowing me the space to clean my dishes that resemble my trauma away, I want it to go down the drain and never resurface again. Get lost in the sea that is healing. I no longer have to go through constant pushing, torment, or abuse. I will get better, I want it. I notice some extra dishes in the sink that Seonghwa hasn’t gotten to yet, so I clean those as well. What I don’t notice are the eyes that catch me cleaning the dishes, but he doesn’t allow me to catch him as he leaves the second the last dish is put away in its place.

I stop at the fridge to grab a drink and luckily an apple to hold myself over until lunch, before walking out to the living room and finding the chair I sat in two days ago left open. I take my seat avoiding the eyes of those in the room, I guess they are shocked to see me. My eyes look over the books once again and take the same one from before turning to the page number I last remember. I hear a sigh from next to me and look over to see Mingi looking down at his phone, but he does nothing except stare. Again I take a headphone out, clean it, and extend my hand to Mingi.

I can tell he is in his head, if I could beat my thoughts I will help him beat his. Mingi looks up at seeing my hand in the corner of his eye, making his eyes meet my dull ones as a smile spreads across his face. The headphone gets placed in his ear and my music continues, nothing is said because there is no reason to. The comfort I feel around him is also felt on his side, I can tell by the way his shoulders relaxed when I sat down, the way he took a deep breath, and the way I pulled him out of his daze easily.

“I wanna listen too!” Wooyoung yells coming over to where we sit and sitting on the ground right between our chairs looking up at me expectantly. My bored face looks into his childlike one wondering why he would even want to listen to the music.

Mingi chuckles from his spot and looks over at me asking if it’s okay for him to listen to the music, I give a small approving nod not seeing any harm if Mingi doesn’t mind giving up his music. Wooyoung eagerly places the earbud in his ear and if I could laugh I would at the way his face shows shock. “You listen to rock?” 

“I listen to everything.” I say simply turning my attention back to the book laying on my lap, internally enjoying the bonding moment between us three.

“She listens to rock, rap, r&b, pop, punk, literally everything. It surprised me too.” Mingi explains reaching to take the earbud back from Wooyoung. The younger allows him as he sits in wonder letting questions run through his mind.

He hums to himself pondering which question to ask first, but when he looks around the room and sees the others have left he decides quickly. “Why do you always listen to music?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” I respond, simply closing the book with my finger in between the pages to keep my place.

Mingi chuckles and Wooyoung smiles, “I have a lot I want to know. Eventually you will tell me.”

“It’s true, he won’t stop asking until you give in, better to do so sooner rather than later. He will get annoying.” Mingi explains with a teasing smile on his face while slightly pushing the younger’s shoulder.

Wooyoung gasps, “hey! I’m not annoying!” His voice is loud and full of shock but also a playful tone seeping through.

“Yes you are!” Someone yells from the kitchen and I recognize the voice to be the one that comforted Wooyoung when I didn’t respond to his question the first time I met him.

His shoulders slump, I take a moment to situate myself in a more comfortable position before responding to his question. “I'm not used to people wanting to know me for me and not for personal gain. I listen to music because my mind always has negative thoughts, I want to drown them out.”

“Always?” He asks, his full attention now on me just like Mingi.

“Always.”

“Is that why you were locked in your room for two days?” He asks not thinking about how the question might come off.

“Wooyoung.” Mingi says in warning.

I open my book back up thinking of a response that won’t sound harsh with my lack of tone. I can’t find a good answer and everyone takes it as I was offended by the question. Mingi scolds Wooyoung while he tries to apologize for asking such a forward question. Meanwhile I remain in my mind thinking of the correct way to say why I wanted to be alone, but nothing comes off as friendly. Wooyoung takes this as his hint to leave and before I can notice he’s gone leaving just Mingi and I alone.

“Where did he go?” I ask finally looking up to meet eyes with Mingi who looks at me worriedly.

Mingi sighs, turning more in his chair to face me, “he left, he thinks he made you upset.”

I shake my head and turn in my chair to face the only other person in the room to explain myself. “I’m not upset, I couldn’t think of an answer that wouldn’t sound rude. You know, with my lack of emotions and all.”

“Do you lack emotions entirely?” He asks, his own curiosity beating him and causing him to ask the tough questions.

I shake my head again, “I feel everything, inwardly. I just can’t express them, no matter how much I want to.” The way my voice sounds makes me cringe, I want so badly for my words to come out softly with a hint of sadness but instead they are just boring words.

“Do you know why you can’t?” He asks his phone now put away entirely and his hands clasp together on top of the arm of the chair, proving that his entire being is paying attention to me and my words only. He cares and he wants to know.

“Trauma.” I shrug, letting silence fill the air for a moment as I think of how to explain my life to someone who cares enough to actually listen instead of torment me. “I was eleven when it started, ever since then everyone I knew, except my uncle, tried to force strong emotions out of me. Whether that be happiness or pain, they didn’t care as long as I expressed it. They made it worse, I went mute for years, selectively.”

“Thank you.” He responds, reaching out to grab my free hand and hold it in both of his.

“For?” I ask looking to meet his eyes as mine had downcasted to look at the cover of the book in my hand. I had only told my uncle of the pain they put me through, I didn’t think I could tell anyone else. Yet here I was telling a complete stranger who felt like home, something I’ve never felt before.

He smiles a comforting smile and squeezes my hand, “for trusting me enough to tell me something serious, I hope you know I don’t mind that you can’t express your emotions. There’s some part of me that feels like it can tell what you're feeling deep down, that’s enough for me.”

For the rest of the morning we sit in the living room doing our own things in each other’s company, him playing on his phone and me reading. Both of us listen to my music and enjoy the distraction from our thoughts that consume us to the point that we break. I won’t let that happen to him anymore and I hope it doesn’t happen to me anymore. One day neither of us will have to worry about them again, that’s a new promise I will make to myself.

[yourfavepookiebear]

I just realized something. I'm not good at anything.

I'm not good at learning. I'm not good at teaching. I'm not good at concentrating. I'm not good at listening. I'm not good at working. I'm not good at pe. I'm not good at horseriding. I'm not good at rock climbing. I'm not good at hiking. I'm not good at running. Im not good at basketball. I'm not good at volleyball. I'm not good at football. I'm not good at roller skating. I'm not good at ice skating. I'm not good at maths. I'm not good at physics. I'm not good at chemistry. I'm not good at computer. I'm not good at biology. I'm not good at technology. I'm not good at researching. I'm not good at writing. I'm not good at cooking. I'm not good at speaking. I'm not good at remembering. I'm not good at comforting. I'm not good at being kind. I'm not good at being myself. I'm not good at being pretty. I'm not good at being funny. I'm not good at acting. I'm not good at singing. I'm not good at voice-acting. I'm not good at French. I'm not good at Spanish. I'm not good at Arabic. I'm not good at German. I'm not good at Persian. I'm not good at advising. I'm not good at analyzing. I'm not good at statistics. I'm not good at negotiating. I'm not good at convincing. I'm not good at eating. I'm not good at observing. I'm not good at creating. I'm not good at being creative. I'm not good at helping. I'm not good at respecting. I'm not good at dancing. I'm not good at..

I'm not good at anything. There's maybe two or three things I'm relatively good at : daydreaming, cleaning, and thinking. Heck maybe even at spouting bullshit and random nonsense in the middle of class.

Mom was right, I'm actually not good at anything. I always hated her for saying that but ig she was right. How will i even find a way to support myself when i grow up ? At this rate, even working as a Walmart cashier is too hard for me.

How will I find a job ?

Mom says I have to be a doctor but I doubt I'd even get accepted into a university, much less a med school.

Lawyer ? Impossible, I wouldn't get accepted and I'm bad at arguing, plus I'm mostly a pacifist.

Writer ? I have bad imagination and on top of that I'm lazy and bad at writing.

Singer ? I'm bad at singing and I don't have the looks.

Actress ? Im bad at acting.

Voice-actress ? Nope

Office worker ? I can only concentrate for 30 minutes maximum

Therapist ? I'm the one who needs therapy.

Police officer ? Nope, not a chance. Not only do I hate that, but I'm also pretty weak so it's not even an option.

Philosopher ? I'm good at overthinking but Philosophy courses need a lot of complicated math.

Mathematician ? I'm horrible at math.

Translator ? Maybe, if it was my last choice.

Soldier ? I used to want to be one, but I'm weak both physically and mentally and emotionally and psychologically.

Dancer ? Low stamina, I get tired easily and I'm bad at dancing.

Scientist ? It's super interesting to me but science is not my forté.

Carpenter ? Nope just no.

Maid ? Maybe, but the pay is horrible..

Waitress ? My voice cracks, I'm clumsy, and I struggle to keep my balance.

Rock climber ? Nope. My hands and feet are always super sweaty and cold asf. I really sweat a LOT, even if the weather is cold.

Hostess ? Idk man, doesn't sound too good

Flight attendant ? I really like that job and I think I would be good at it but then again I'm scared of heights and I'm not strong so I wouldn't be able to help a passenger eith their luggage.

Pilot ? Scared of heights.

Chef ? Cooking is just not my thing, I'm bad at it and I often get impatient while cooking, and I get my hands dirty easily.

Model ? I'm not tall enough. Plus i doubt I'm skinny enough bc to become a model you have to be as thin as a stick and as tall as a tree.

Assassin ? Nope, nope, just nope

Hitman ? // (^)

Spy ? I would probably trip on something or laugh and expose myself.

Bus driver ? I can't even ride a scooter/bicycle, what makes this an option..

Uber driver ? No, I'd rather avoid anything consisting of driving a vehicle, whether it's a car or a motorcycle..

Fuck hopefully if I get really really super duper lucky maybe I'll find a rich guy i could marry.

[turbulentscrawl]

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request a matchup for Identity V? I love your work! You manage to capture the characters personalities accurately! It’s very refreshing! Also sorry in advance, this submission is very long 😔

For my preferences, I’m a heterosexual woman, so I would prefer to be matched with a male character!

Currently, I’m attending college as a dual major (psychology and sociology) with a minor degree in law. I’m still deciding what career path I want to pursue. Right now, I’m torn between forensic psychology or becoming a therapist for victims of crimes. I’d say I’m pulled toward the ladder, because I feel like victims aren’t focused on enough and they deserve to have access to such a resource. I feel like I’d make more of a difference in that line of work and my heart feels more invested in it.

For hobbies, I enjoy sketching, kickboxing, playing video games, creative writing, listening to music, cleaning and playing around with makeup.

As for my personality, my MBTI is INFJ and my enneagram type is 6 (the loyalist).

I’m usually quiet around new people but I’m friendly when spoken to. I take a bit to fully open up. I’m polite but guarded, so to speak. And since I am introverted, my friend circle is kinda small since I prefer quality over quantity.

I can maintain conversation well and have been told that I come off as pretty confident person, though I’m really not. I’m not deeply insecure either, more so, I just think of myself as in the middle if that makes sense. Normally, I’m a very calm person but I do like cracking jokes (sarcasm) and teasing people and can seem quite chaotic sometimes (because of my stupid ideas and occasional risk-taking) but I also know when to draw the line.

Kindness is a virtue of mine, as I like to help others whenever I can. That said, my love languages (giving) is physical affection, quality time and gift-giving. When I have the money, I love to spoil those I care about! Even more so if it’s a person I’m romantically interested in. I just like knowing they’re cared for and showing that they’re appreciated in the small ways. On that topic, my receiving love language is physical affection and quality time. I like gifts, but I’m more content just having that person near me. One hug (or cuddle session) is good enough for me! I’m affectionate but I can lay off if needed.

I’m considered to be fairly open-minded and understanding. I’d like to think I can read people pretty well and can adapt to whatever they may need. For example, if someone is quiet and prefers to have space, I can give them that easily. Additionally, I like learning about new perspectives on almost anything! I like to make people feel safe around me, like they could tell me anything and trust that I’ll listen and won’t judge them. I believe firmly in balance and equality and prefer to avoid conflict (if possible) so I’d say I’m a pacifist at heart, though I am not afraid to resort to aggression if I have to. I can be very cruel if I feel like it, so I try to avoid lashing out (verbally) because I feel guilty for causing harm afterwards. Sure, I love martial arts but I try to remain disciplined, I believe it shouldn’t be used to hurt others besides defensive reasons. Hurting others or seeing other people hurt upsets me. In fact, I’m the first one to speak up when I feel like something is an injustice. My friends tell me I have a “strong sense of justice,” which fits I suppose. It ties into my stubbornness because man, I can be VERY stubborn, especially when I am angry or annoyed. Funny enough, it takes a lot to make me truly angry. I can get annoyed at things (like at arrogant people or people not taking a hint) but I can stay mostly composed and brush it off. Unless someone insults my friends or family, I don’t get angry much. That said, yes, I have a protective streak. And if someone is younger than me, it doubles tenfold.

Unfortunately, I have resting bitch face and have moments where I can come off as kinda stoic. I tend to feel my emotions deeply and I also suffer from anxiety, so sometimes I just shut down and become very bleak for a while, usually from overthinking. I prefer to be alone in moments like these, at least until I recover. I usually bounce back within a few hours or days.

Another flaw of mine is that I get distracted easily and I don’t function well without a schedule. I need one to stay productive, otherwise, I can be lazy.

Lastly, relationship deal breakers…arrogance or refusing to be vulnerable AT ALL and clinginess. I also CANNOT stand people who try and pressure me into conforming to what they want. I’ve had guys try and pressure me into being more submissive (I’m very independent) or traditionally feminine, which I hate. I’d rely on my partner, trust him and accept him WHOLLY, but I expect the same in return! If a man accepts me wholly and treats me as an equal, I would allow him to be the more dominant one in the relationship. Basically, lack of respect and inequality is a major turn off in a romantic relationship.

Sorry this was so long! Have a great day/night! 💕

---

I Ship You with Eli Clark!

-I'm getting the "high-school sweethearts" vibe from this matchup! You and Eli share a lot in common, with both of you being kind, empathetic, and pretty patient people. I can see the two of you becoming fast friends, and the relationship just naturally develops from there. I honestly can't see there being many, if any, disagreements between the two of you.

-Eli sees you not only as an equal, but as his literal other half. Eli likes people for their hearts, so it doesn't matter to him what sort of societal "role" or "dynamic" you two fall into, just so long as you both take care of one another.

-He prefers to give Physical Affection! Quality time is sometimes a little harder because he's such a natural leader and well-liked person, but when he is with you he likes to be touching in some way. Holding hands, linking arms, whatever you prefer is good with him. He just wants the skinship. He may struggle occasionally with receiving gifts from you, but only because he feels guilty if you spend large sums on him.

-You're on the same page as far as injustices and standing up for other people goes. Eli's calm nature lends itself well to his charisma, so he advocates on behalf of other people a lot. It would make him proud for you to do the same as well--but please, please do not start any fights. Finishing them is something else...though he still doesn't like it.

-Eli is very emotionally available and is usually pretty good at comforting people when they feel down or anxious. As his partner, you'll be his top priority with things along that line, so expect him to try pulling you out of any slumps with a helping hand.

Runner Up: Antonio

[dazzle-writes]

Thank you!! I'd love a stranger things matchup <3

I'm a straight female and my pronouns are she/her, I'm 20.

Physical description - I'm 5'9 and I have long and curly dark brown hair and brown eyes. I have a fair skin tone, I'm slim and I've got full lips and fairly large eyes. I also have these dimples that I really like! I love getting all dressed up.

Personality description - It takes me a while to feel comfortable around new people but once I do, I become really talkative and outgoing. I love helping out and I'm the therapist friend, people come to me to vent or for advice and comfort. I'm smart and ambitious; I love being the best at everything I do, but I'm deathly afraid of failure and disappointing the people I love. I'm quite the hopeless romantic and I love being in love! I adore big and small romantic gestures and I love domesticity sm!! I also daydream a lot and I can get lost in my own world for hours. I can be quite dramatic and stubborn and I tend to be withdrawn and distant at times. I get frustrated easily and I'm quietly competitive. My love languages are acts of service and quality time. I'm a ravenclaw, my mbti is infp and my enneagram is 4w3!

Hobbies/likes - I love reading, my favorite genres are poetry, Russian lit, and mysteries! I love learning about new things and knowing a little bit of everything. I adore adventures, witty and playful banter, joking around and having indepth discussions on anything and everything! I adore all forms of art and I have quite a few creative hobbies! I listen to a lot of modern/indie rock and I love watching films of all kinds.

I'll be okay with whatever you want, headcanons or otherwise!! Can it be please angst with a fluff ending? I'd also like the nsfw if you're okay with it!

Thank you very much!! I love your energy, it's adorable!! hope you have a wonderful day ❤️

UWAAA!! I'm so glad you like my energy!!! I am really excited to write this!!

I was originally going to match you up with Eddie but....honestly I could see you two as being related or siblings more than anything!! Straight up twins!

I DEFINITELY match you up with Steve!

Steve is a fellow romantic, so I can totally see you two constantly out-doing each other in big romantic gestures!!!

However, you both met in high school, when Steve was still very much so a Huge Asshole, and occasionally picked on you.

You often huddled in the library, pouring over books and mystery novels like you couldn't breathe without them. You often hid out there instead of in the noisy lunchroom, eagerly reading or even writing your own poetry. You had a small notebook, filled with your favorite poems and small verses you had written, doodles and even notes from your friends. It meant a lot to you, and you carried it with you everywhere.

The perfect target to really get under your skin.

It was Nancy who finally got them to stop, Steve and his little gang having been tossing your notebook back and forth, ripping a page from it each time and tossing them onto the ground.

"Hey, C'mon, give it back! It means a lot to me!!" You said, trying to jump and catch the notebook. Steve and Tommy just laughed and snickered at you, before Steve cracked open the book.

"And to my great love, the daydreams of my mind, I promise thee space in my thoughts forevermore." Steve read out a tiny verse you had written, mockingly waving his hand in the air. "Seriously, what is this shit! You think you're some kind of Hemingway?"

You groaned and picked up the abandoned pages, wincing as he ripped that one out too. He crumpled it up in his hand, and you fought very hard to hide the tears building in your eyes as he continued to destroy your journal.

"You know, you're a special kind of asshole to do this, Harrington!" You said, jumping for the notebook again. Steve tossed it over to Tommy, but it was quickly intercepted by Nancy who had a bitter look on her face. She began chewing Steve out as you took your notebook and ran, unable to find the page with your own poem on it.

You quickly switched to the art room when Steve learned you frequented the library, indulging yourself in painting and sketching instead. You soon found peace with that hobby, letting yourself have a little break from your notebook. This little hobby stuck with you while you graduated and got you through a horrendous job waitressing at a local diner.

Finally, you landed a gig at Scoops Ahoy. Your coworker Robin was a dream to be with, she got your style and your humor. She even convinced you to start a new journal, so you pasted all the old pages from the first one inside, and began writing again. You worst nightmare came true one day, when you saw Steve Harrington walk through the door instead of Robin.

You had half a mind to quit right then and there, and the other half to chew him out for every tease and torture you went through with school.

"You son of a bitch!" You said, the second option having won out. You threateningly waved your scoop in his face, as if you were a lion tamer in a circus. Steve raised his arms in surrender, backing up away from you.

"Hey, hey! Watch where you wave that thing! Easy, Y/N!!!" He said, as you chased him around the tiny ice cream scoop.

"I'll wave this wherever I damn well want! You deserve worse for the number of times you made school living hell!!!" You screamed. He yelped as you swung at him, jumping on top of a freezer and waving his arms out to you.

"Okay, I do! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Y/N!!" Steve said, flinching as you wielded your mighty ice cream scoop.

"Yeah you better be-What? What did you say?" You asked, staring at him incredulously. You both were breathing heavy, adrenaline and anger flooding your veins. Steve merely gulped and slid off the freezer, still holding his hands out to you.

"I.....I said I'm sorry. I can't make up for high school, I know. I was an asshole." He said, before he scratched the back of his head. "If I could take back all the things I said and did I would."

You stared at him, surprised to see this level of maturity from someone who used to laugh when Tommy called you "Edgar Allen's Hoe". You looked him up and down, before finally easing your stance.

"Your girlfriend finally teach you to play nice?" You sneered, putting your scoop back into your apron pocket. The tension between you two was thicker than steel. Steve just snorted at your comment and shook his head.

"Ex. She left me because I was an asshole."

You found it hard to feel bad for him when he said that. You huffed through your nose and crossed your arms. He just sighed before rooting around in his pocket. "I actually begged Robin to switch shifts with me today, because I wanted to give this back to you..."

He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and hands it to you, not meeting your eyes. You gingerly took the paper and opened it up, gasping as you saw the page of your notebook you never found.

"You.....You kept it all this time?" You said, reading the tiny verse you had written over and over again. Steve nodded and chuckled.

"I thought what you wrote was...pretty." He said, turning away to hide his pink face. "Anyway, if you don't mind, I'd like to start over? And maybe be friends?"

He stuck his hand out to you, still giving you the space to say no if you wished. You decided to give him a chance, seeing as he had returned that final piece of your notebooks puzzle to you.

"Fine. But I won't hesitate to shove this ice cream scoop up your ass if you test me again, Harrington!!"

He smiled with relief, and you two shook hands to honor the deal. You quickly grew into a routine with him as your coworker and friend, often times the three of you Scoops Ahoy employees grabbing dinner after work together. Steve quickly wormed his way into your life, and your wriggled your way into his. Carpooling when you had shared shifts. Hanging out at the library to try and help him figure out what he wanted to do with his future. Occasionally babysitting his gaggle of middle school friends with him. Overall, it was rather nice seeing him so domesticated and grown up.

Some days you really regretted saying yes. Like right now, when you were screaming bloody murder as you tried to escape from Russian clutches. He tugged you behind him as you separated from the rest of the group, and you dove for a utility closet, tucking yourself against each other. You both flinched, grabbing onto each other as guards ran past, muttering to each other in Russian. Steve began to gently pat the top of your head, trying to calm you down. He whispered into your ear as quietly as he could that he was so sorry that you got pulled into this mess.

"Hey, when we make it out of here, I'm gonna take you to that bookstore down the street and you can pick out whatever you want, okay?" He said, pressing his forehead to yours, and gently stroking your cheek. "And....And I'm also going to ask you out properly, because I've begun to really like you. I like the way you talk about things. And I like the way you sketch on napkins at work when you are bored. I like your hair and your eyes. I like the way you describe things when you write poems in your notebook. I like you."

You both flinched again as you heard a loud bang, but stayed hidden in that closet.

"So, when we get out of this, what do you say?" He asked, staring at you again.

You figured the kiss you gave him was answer enough.

(NSFW below!! Done more headcannon-esque)

Escaping the Russian lab was easy. Keeping Steves hands off of you while you two were together? That was a task no man could handle.

He never pushed your boundaries; he always knew just when to kiss you and just how to slide his hand down your back to make you weak in the knees. For as much as a loveable goofball he was on the outside, Steve was an utter devil with you in bed.

He would eat you out until you couldn't remember your own name. Sometimes he would make you pick a poem so he could mutter it to you in between your thighs, his lips constantly grazing over your clit. He was eager to please you, so much so that he often forgot to do anything for himself.

Fav position is def missionary. He just can't help but want to see your face and kiss it over and over! He just cant help but want to please you again and again and again.

Lord if you call him a good boy? Get a wheelchair.

Sometimes you have a deep urge to walk up to Nancy and ask her why the hell she left Steve. He tells you that he wasn't always this good, especially when the two of them were together.

Listen, he has such a breeding kink but he does not want any mini-hims or mini-yous until he has two rings on your finger and a roof over your head, so he is a condom KING.

never unprepared to fuck. NEVER.

His only thing is he doesn't like doing it when he's drunk because he gets pussydrunk on you so easily and doesn't have the willpower to control himself anymore and can easily overstimulate you.

AAHHHHHH!!! I hoped you like!! Its been forever since I've watched stranger things so I was scrounging tik tok for edits to get a good image of him in my head, I hope you enjoy!!!

[multiverseofimagines]

Hi! I hope that you're keeping well! I've sent in a ship request before so I hope it's okay if I'm resending it? Feel free to ignore this though.

Could I please get a ship for mcu, marauders and stranger things? I'm a straight female, she/her and I'd like to be shipped with a male please!

My mbti is infp, enneagram is 4w3 sp/so and I'm a ravenclaw!

Physical description - I'm 5'9 and I have long and curly dark brown hair and brown eyes. I have a fair skin tone, I'm slim and I've got full lips and slight dark circles under my eyes. I wear glasses and I have broad shoulders. I also have these dimples that I really like! I love wearing makeup, and I almost always have a red lip on. I dress mostly in relaxed suits, blazers and coats and I love the occasional dress or sweaters layered over a white button down! I think my aesthetic is dark academia with a little bit of 90s mixed in?

Hobbies/likes - I adore adventures, witty and playful banter, pulling harmless pranks, joking around and having indepth discussions on anything and everything! I love reading, my favorite genres are poetry, Russian lit, and mysteries! I love learning about new things and knowing a little bit of everything, I'm very interested in psychology, history, mythology and folklore, and fashion! I adore all forms of art and storytelling, and I have quite a few creative hobbies! I especially enjoy interior decor. I listen to a lot of modern/indie rock and I love watching psychological thrillers and romcoms.

Personality description - It takes me a while to feel comfortable around new people but once I do, I become really talkative and outgoing. I love helping out and I'm the therapist friend, people come to me to vent or for advice and comfort. I'm smart and ambitious; I love being the best at everything I do. I sometimes struggle with the hardwork and conviction, and I'm deathly afraid of failure and disappointing the people I love. I'm quite the hopeless romantic and I love being in love! I adore big and small romantic gestures. I also daydream a lot and I can get lost in my own world for hours. I can be quite dramatic and stubborn, and I tend to be withdrawn and distant at times. I get frustrated easily and I'm quietly competitive. My love languages are acts of service (giving) and quality time (receiving)

Thank you very much! Take all the time you need! I hope you have a lovely day ❤️

Hi! Sorry I didn’t get to your request last time, My Dad died so I was on hiatus for awhile 😢 I hope ur not upset with me! Hope you like your ship <3

Stranger Things

I ship you with….

Steve is far from the “perfect” guy, he’s kind of a mess but thats why you match so perfectly.

He loves your intelligence and your love of life in general.

Literally Mom and Dad of the group!

You are 100% best friends with Robin. Probably childhood friends with her before you even knew Steve.

Your the “brain” of the group, constantly researching with Nancy and Robin, theorizing with Dustin.

Constant huge romantic gestures but comes off about it in the wrong way 99% of the time. He wont necessarily buy you flowers all the time but he probably would die for you so thats a plus.

He has the capability of bringing you to reality when you get too much into your head, when your falling apart over failing something or doing something wrong, he’ll be your voice of reason. Talk you down and crack some stupid joke.

Marauders

I ship you with…..

Obviously I had to pick James! He’s super similar to Steve, they are practically the same character to me lol.

You guys are always pulling pranks and fucking around.

You come on every adventure, even the ones Lily doesn’t wanna come on.

Dates on the astronomy tour <3 Naming stars silly names that you know they aren’t named.

Being best friends at first. I can imagine you being one of the Black Sisters, meeting James in your first year through Sirius and Andromeda. Your the only sister to be in Ravenclaw, despite your ambitious spirit. Much like Andromeda you see the truth behind the lies of Blood Purists.

You definitely get disowned from your family, you and sirius hella bond over this, and call eachother brother and sister despite being cousins because you practically are siblings while living with James

He will buy you flowers AND die for you.

Doesn’t know how to calm you down though, is terrible at that 😭 he’ll panic alongside you, and then Remus or Lily will have to comfort you both, and give ya’ll some senses lol!

Them being pissed that Ravenclaw wins house cup mostly because of your competitive effort. This is a year long rivalry, and you will constantly prank each others house, in order for that house to lose points.

Marvel Cinematic Universe

I ship you with……

Oooo I probably surprised you with this one!

Here me out! You are both very intelligent and ambitious, yet he’s much more quieter than you.

You bring him out of his shell, as much as you can. And he appreciates your efforts, he’s not one to have “friends” but you kind of force his hand, take him to Tony’s parties (pre endgame.) You introduce him to your friends as well, give him some sort of normalcy within his life.

I feel like you would also have powers, maybe like mental/telekinesis powers.

He’s terrified of you getting hurt. Will literally hunt down whoever has hurt you villain wise and make them rethink what they have done.

Having to babysit Peter ( in no way home)

The Variant Spidermen flirt with you and Strange is very protective and quiet jealous. You have to take him off to the side and scold/comfort him about it.

You guys definitely get married. Its a small ceremony, but its really romantic, and you love being called Mrs.Strange. (Even if you do keep your last name.)

Overall you guys are very different yet very similar, and I think you would cover each-others bases romantically. I think you two would have a hard time admitting your feelings for one another though.

[backhurtyy]

for the prompts can u do zukka with 72 & 99🥺 congrats on 400!

72. Brushing hair from face

99. Would it help if I stayed?

Sokka woke suddenly in the middle of the night to a sharp pain exploding from his knee and tears streaming down his face. His knee throbbed, pain traveling down his shin and up his thigh in tiny repetitive waves, and he choked on a sob. It had been a long time since he woke up in this much pain- the type of pain that filled his senses and made everything blur around him until it was all he was aware of- and he didn’t quite understand why this was happening to him, because he’d been doing so well.

He’d been feeling so good recently, with barely even a flare up in the past few weeks, and he’d been extra good about taking care of his knee. He’d been doing his exercises- both those recommended by his physical therapist, Yugoda, and by Katara. He’d been good about wearing his brace when he knew he’d be on his feet for long periods of time. He’d been taking the elevator instead of the stairs, despite being terrified of getting stuck in it. He propped it up and applied ice when he got home from school, and heat before he went to bed.

He was doing everything right, so why was this happening to him?

He tried to relax and shift around to relieve some of the pressure on his knee, but when he tried to move his leg there was a stabbing, white hot pain, and before he could stop himself he cried out loudly. He collapsed into his bed tiredly, giving up on getting comfortable, and his eyes slipped shut as he sobbed loudly into the silent darkness of his room.

The tears flowed freely and heavily, combining with the pain to make it so that he wasn’t sure how long he had been there, when there was brightness beyond his eyelids from his light turning on.

He didn’t open his eyes or stop crying, but he did relax slightly, because there was only one person it could be. He felt bad for waking Zuko up with his crying out and sobbing, but at the same time he couldn’t help but be grateful that he wasn’t alone anymore, that his best friend had come to help.

There was the sound of rummaging around in his bathroom for a few seconds, and before he knew it his bed was dipping slightly under Zuko’s weight.

“Hey, Sokka, it’s me,” he murmured softly, his tired, raspy voice more soothing than Sokka could begin to say. “What’re you feeling right now?”

When he spoke, his voice cracked from crying for so long. “It’s really sharp and throbbing. And it’s hot... It hurts, Zuko, really bad.”

“Okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry it’s hurting so badly. But I brought you some stuff to make it feel better... I wasn’t sure if you wanted heat or cold, so I grabbed both, but it sounds like it’s a heat type of night?”

He nodded mutely, and a moment later there was the gentle pressure and steady warmth of his heating pack over his knee. He sighed in relief.

“Is that good?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, patting around until he found Zuko’s own knee with his hand, and squeezed it in gratitude.

“I brought you some painkillers and water, too. Do you think you can lift your head and take them?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

He lifted his head a little bit, Zukos hand coming to the back of his head to support him. He then dropped the medicine in his hand, and Sokka brought to his mouth- Zuko following him with a cup with a straw in it. His heart flip flopped at the gesture, unbearably warm; his thoughtfulness was just one of the reasons he’d been pining over Zuko for so long, and it seemed he wasn’t going to make it any easier for him tonight. Not that that was what Sokka was worried about, considering his knee throbbed painfully again.

He hissed, tensing up again as he lowered his head back down, and Zuko sighed. “I’m so sorry, Sokka,” he murmured again, his hand coming up to brush the hair that had fallen in front of his face back. “Is there anything else I can do?”

Sokka shook his head. “I wish there was, but... No. I don’t even know why this is happening to me. I mean, I’ve been so good about everything, doing exactly what I’m supposed to. I do everything right, but I still wake up in the middle of the night in the worst fucking pain, and I can’t even get out of bed to take care of it myself-“

He cut himself off before he could start crying again, bringing the heels of his palms up to dig into his eyes. Still, Zuko didn’t stop brushing back his hair or speak- he just waited for Sokka to continue.

“I’m sorry. I woke you up with my crying and now you’re taking care of me, and all I can do is cry and rant at you.”

“It’s okay, Sokka, I’m happy to do it,” he said, a depth to his words that Sokka couldn’t quite wrap his mind around right now.

“I just wish there was something more I could do,” he confessed instead. “I always feel so... So helpless. Like I should be able to do more to help myself feel better.”

“I understand how that can feel,” he murmured back, just as quietly. “After my scar, I didn’t know how to help myself, but it’s all I wanted to do. It took a long time to welcome other people’s help, even Uncle’s.”

“You make it easy to accept your help,” he said, the words slipping out before he could think about the implication of them. Still, once they were said, he found he couldn’t bring himself to regret them or take them back.

Because it was true- Zuko did make it easy, with his soft smiles and gentle touches, how he always did what he could to help and understood things so easily, how he listened to what Sokka had to say and somehow knew exactly how to make him feel better. It was just one of the things that had led to Sokka falling for his best friend, and falling hard.

Zuko didn’t seem to find it weird though, and just squeezed Sokka’s hand. “Is it beginning to feel a little better?”

He shrugged- it had settled to a dull ache now, but it was still painful and all consuming. “A little. Not a ton, but you’re helping.”

He hummed, brushing his hair back again. “Would it help if I stayed?”

“Yes,” Sokka said immediately- he didn’t need to think to know that having Zuko at his side the rest of the night would help.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I’m just going to turn the light out, but I’ll be right back.”

He nodded, and the bed shifted again as Zuko got up. Just a second later, though, it dipped again, and the warm line of his body was pressed against Sokka’s side. He sighed, the warmth comforting, and he reached out blindly. He didn’t have to search for long, though, before he found Zuko’s hand and laced their fingers together.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Zuko responded quietly. “It’s okay.”

There was something more to those few words, Sokka knew, but now wasn’t the time to talk about it. In the morning, he thought as he drifted off with Zuko clutching his hand tightly. In the morning, they’d talk about it.

Send me a prompt to celebrate 400 followers!

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

why does jean warn up to mc so quickly? ikevamp makes it clear that jean is a pretty reserved person and doesn't open up or let people in easily but he seems to let mc in quite quickly and it confuses me quite a bit.

Oh boy, where to begin with this one.

Well, I have a lot of Feelings^TM about this, but I'll try to be concise. Essentially, I think Jeanne doesn't recover in the other routes--or the general storyline--largely because he's just a lot to unpack narratively speaking. And without some pretty direct intervention, he has a hard time healing. MC’s direct intervention was meaningful because it was focused, consistent, and adapted to Jeanne’s specific needs. She also doesn’t make light of his experiences which is key; she fully understands that she can’t fathom what he’s been through. There is a very weighty respect and acknowledgement, a seriousness with which she treats his wounds that’s important.

It’s easy to make this a “why is MC nOt LiKe ThE oThEr GiRlS” but honestly that’s just not the sense I get when I look at all the information available to us. 

That being said, I also just feel like every person's recovery from traumatic events doesn't really look the same? I mean Leonardo’s cptsd isn’t going to operate the same way Jeanne’s wartime/Inquisition cptsd is going to operate. Some people require very individualized healing, others will often require a large scale group effort to lift them up.

Typically people don't ever just get over what happened to them and never worry about it again, either. It's usually a process of coping; the hope is that with time you find healthy ways to deal with grief and move forward. Therapists aren't magicians, they just help people process painful experiences/thoughts. It's honestly up to individuals to find meaningful ways to implement these tactics. 

Tl; dr: My contention is that Jeanne doesn’t open up or choose to stay alive because MC magically heals him, rather his recovery is a convergence of many people’s efforts and hopes that he stays alive. Gilles (he insists that Jeanne must live, asks him to promise), MC (affirms and bolsters that promise), Comte (makes a second life and recovery possible)--and in no small measure Mozart and Napoleon--all make an active effort to buoy him. As people often say, it takes a village to raise a child.

While Jeanne seems to respond most powerfully to MC’s attempts, it feels more like a product of chemistry/compatibility than it does a random cop out. There is no insinuation that only romantic love can heal; after all, MC gets close to him without any romantic intentions at first. They’re just good friends? It’s more that their feelings simply moved in a different direction after a point, which doesn’t necessarily happen all the time. Jeanne is also incredibly moved by Mozart’s love for him as a friend, Comte’s love for him as a father, and even Gilles’ love as a comrade to an extent. If anything, without their input Jeanne’s capacity for romantic love would be questionable at best.

Now, because I can never for the life of me stop analyzing, I have a more large scale outline of my thoughts below. Spoilers for Jeanne’s route:

If we look at Jeanne's life history, he has pretty specific trauma. Most of the harm he endured was a direct result of human rights violations after the war itself. He didn't enjoy fighting and killing people, but he's also very much a man that sees the reality of his position: it's either kill or be killed. His entire goal was to defeat the enemy as efficiently as possible in the hopes of ending conflict, and with his enormous resolve turns the tide. He had no innate interest in inflicting harm, or lack of control when engaging. He isn't pathological about it, and doesn’t dehumanize the other side. He was more "this was an act of necessity, but those are still human beings." So as far as I can tell he has a very strong moral compass and sense of duty, he doesn't show much delusion/confusion in that regard. (Also evident in his conversations with the young orphan boy.) Furthermore, he has been shown to have a sense of humor--cracking jokes with Gilles and boosting morale for his fellow soldiers.

His childhood abandonment is significant (he left his home because he was "not an adequate farmhand and they had no ability to feed all their children") but I don't know if I would consider it a huge trauma point for him. It seems as though he deemed it an act of necessity--not spite. It was simply the way of things, and he couldn't help his wiry constitution. You'd be surprised how common that was once upon a time, tbh... While it's certainly not right or fair, it does appear that in his perception it was the choice he made and he moved on after he became a soldier. Just focusing on what he could do, rather than everything he lacked. For people in his position, they often feel it is useless to linger on what should have been. There’s no time to linger or doubt, life hangs in the balance.

That leaves us with his time under the Inquisition, just before he was slated to be burned alive. I think this is the keystone trauma point for him, because there are a lot of moving parts to his powerlessness here. The first part is that his entire life's mission--ending the war so that people would no longer have to die and/or starve as a result of senseless violence--was just sabotaged. All those years of doing things he never wanted to do (wartime violence) and being forced to leave his family to ensure they didn't all starve, all of it treated like some kind of joke. Like he didn't sacrifice years of his life and sanity to protect a people who were happy to call him a monster and watch him burn alive. The second part is the overt gaslighting and rewriting of Jeanne's personal history (and overall French public perception) for the sake of the King's political agenda. To call him a treasonous danger to the country when he was once lauded a hero. The third portion is the actual physical helplessness of being arrested, starved, and continuously maimed for no reason beyond pure malice. While it's never right to do that to any human being, this was done to a man who prided himself on his stalwart moral code. To abuse and torture him for something egregious that he would never do (at the risk of death) is just another slap in the face to everything he is and believes in.

I just feel like the context clarifies why that period of time would be the tipping point. His entire moral code and life’s work is being called into question and swept aside, as well as his agency? He believes very powerfully in a sense of right vs wrong, what's fair and what isn't fair. Somebody else deciding that for him--and deciding in a way that is openly unfair/incorrect--further makes him lose himself and his sense of reality. A person in that situation begins to doubt if they are good or bad. His belief in god all the more pressing; if he was a good person, why would fate bring him so much suffering? Honorable soldier or not, his blade has drawn so much blood...

People often reference his stilted social skills (and I am of the belief that he is on the autistic spectrum) as a reason why he is so "people-adverse" but tbh? I don't agree. His memories before the onset of this trauma reveal that he was actually a very warm person, and that people were more than willing to fight under his banner. He had friends, and he had comrades--his country loved him. He was the picture of well-meaning civic duty. Just because he doesn’t integrate smoothly into larger social groups or adapt well to socially shifting circumstances, doesn’t mean he just hates people lmao. When people give him the space to exist within his comfort zone and don’t take advantage of him, he thrives. Compounded by that, we also have his actions in the present to further prove what is true and what isn't.

While he is stern with the orphan boy (I'm sorry I can't remember his name, damn it) there is no malice or cruelty in what he has to say. He doesn't punish the kid or do anything out of line. It may not be fair in terms of the adult level of discretion he asks of him, but the kid also didn't have a lot of options realistically speaking lmao. Same thing with MC, she and the orphan boy are nearly identical in how Jeanne treats them. He's a little rough, but the route reveals that his intentions are just a reflection of what he's been through. He truly believes that if a person isn't strong, they won't survive--because his entire life was a series of trying to be strong/reliable because nobody else would. There was nobody to protect him, and nobody to care for him went things went south. It was him and his sword against the world, and even his exceptional skill as a fighter did not protect him from the Inquisition's arbitrary torture. He has lived in a world where good acts can become absolutely meaningless, where following rules and helping people still gets you slaughtered. That's going to take a considerable toll on his mental health: where do you find the will to go on when the next second of your life could mean the devastation of everything that matters to you?

Spoilers: you don't. Or if you do, every minute of the day is a fight to stay alive. That is the point at which we meet Jeanne. Caught in the hellish whirlpool of wanting more, wanting better--but being terrified of the cost. The cost of hoping, only for his entire world to go up in flames again. It's not a small thing, in my view.

If you have any doubts as to whether or not that is the case, I direct you to literally every singular instance in which Jeanne's emotional sensibility goes visibly dark/south. When do these instances happen? When it rains, for one. And when Shakespeare deliberately starts pressing on his sensitivities: about the soldiers he was forced to kill, about the nation that spurned him, how he's truly "wicked" at heart and doesn't deserve to be happy--seconds before flames erupt for the festival. Does that really sound coincidental? I mean lmao. The rain is a painful reminder, but MC transforms that memory into something a little lighter with her bet. He has nothing to lose in her game, all she does is ask for time with him or offers him something if she loses. There's a playfulness there, a restoration of agency and ease that's invaluable to his recovery.

As for Shakespeare's deliberate retraumatization...I can't even begin to explain how damaging that event was. Shakespeare is undermining Jeanne's agency in that he--not unlike the corrupt monarch of Jeanne's era--is twisting Jeanne's beliefs to work against him. He knows full well that Jeanne doesn't feel like he deserves somebody so bright and understanding (we need to remember it's not really a luxury he's had much in life, especially after the war ended). He knows Jeanne has a tendency to impose that strict moral code on himself even more than he does on others. To reaffirm his every worst fear and lurking terror only throws Jeanne into a vicious downspiral. Jeanne doesn't reject MC out of disgust or hate. He rejects her because he literally cannot handle the concept of trying to be happy again, or of burdening her with his constant struggle to move on while he’s in the middle of a bad episode. He knows he won’t be able to stop reliving the past, that every second of his life and breath will be colored by his gruesome memories. He's trying as hard as he can to keep the intrusive thoughts quiet, to move on. But I'm not going to lie to any of you, that is incredibly difficult to do alone.

The next obvious question is, well why can't the other men help him? This isn't to say that they can't--we see how much solace Jeanne finds in Napoleon and Mozart. Even Isaac is gentle with the veteran. But there are limits to how much they can do. Napoleon is struggling with his own wartime trauma, and it's not identical to Jeanne's. Plus there’s a distinct difference in their sensibilities? Napoleon is the type to habitually seek comfort in helping others when he can't help himself, he's not as in tune with answering his own personal feelings and regulating them. (I mean just look at his new ES: he knows what he wants, but it takes a nudge from Isaac for him to go through with it.) He’s very communally reliant in ways Jeanne isn’t; Jeanne is a very private person, and typically prefers one on one from what I can tell.

Mozart is the definition of repression, and if you look at their interactions it's usually Jeanne that's smoothing over Mozart's rough edges. Mozart says as much himself: that he feels like a rotten friend because he knew Jeanne was struggling with a lot of intense trauma, but he didn't know how to unravel it without hurting him in the process. Mozart calls it personal cowardice, but honestly I just feel like they both had too much going on to be able to help each other effectively. (And Jeanne expresses this sentiment too? This idea that he's not angry with Mozart? He knows they're both carrying a lot, he's just touched Mozart cares about him in return.)

Okay, briefly unrelated, but like. Am I the only one that wheezes uncontrollably when Mozart is like "?????? Idk what it is about MC...I don't want her to be scared of me..." in his own main story in the baths. And Jeanne. IS TRYING SO HARD. NOT TO SPILL THE BEANS ABOUT HIM O B V I O U S L Y BEING IN LOVE. THE HILARITY I CAN'T DO THIS. Jeanne was like "yeah....yeah that's rough buddy.......[screams internally, give your boy time Jeanne he's fragile]"

Honestly? That's the thing about Jeanne too--he has incredible self-awareness and hyperarousal-related (I mean the PTSD kind, get your head out of the gutter) awareness to the people around him. He's very, very conscious of the fact that he is surrounded by geniuses when he can't even write his own name. Just because he has the fortitude not to lash out with his insecurities, doesn't mean he never feels stupid or inferior. And it doesn't help when there are people in the mansion who call him--a fucking war veteran from 500 YEARS AGO--nAiVe. He's not naive lmao. He just doesn't know how the world works so many years later, and it's a ridiculously steep learning curve? Leonardo and Comte are nearly 500 years old, but they lived throughout every hour of that time in a linear fashion. It is a big deal to be moved from 1430 to 1890 in the span of a second asynchronously, and then be expected to function without a hitch??? Given the circumstances he adapts well.

That atmosphere--this constant impatience with what he doesn’t understand, his inability to be caught up to speed quickly--is going to hinder his recovery lmao. He feels like a burden most of the time, and agency and freedom are crucial.

Another thing that occurs to me about the mansion's arrangement is that there is a power dynamic, just as any space with people in it has some level of hierarchy (unless you live with miraculously chill people). Jeanne is acutely aware that Comte is the most powerful being in that space, and he is not only hatefully angry at him--but likely afraid too. We have to remember that the biggest betrayal he witnessed in his life was at the hands of a monarch; it was the aristocracy that turned on him and erased the truth. Comte is openly a child that resulted from both that era and that type of lineage, I don't really blame Jeanne for being wary. He intimately knows how willing rich people are to throw normal folks under the bus to suit their ambitions/whims. Comte, while not deliberately threatening, also seems to be painfully aware of this impression he gives off. His "chad persona" as I've mentioned allows him to navigate his life in secret by necessity, but it’s actively damaging to his son. He can't reveal the truth because of Vlad's betrayal, and he's openly unsettled by what it could mean to be honest. Will they wonder about Vlad and find themselves ensnared under his mind control as Charles and Shakespeare are? Will Comte himself be subjected to the mortifying ordeal of being known only to lose them?? That's a risk he isn't willing to take--and that leaves him in a double bind.

What is it that they say, the truth will set you free? This is where MC and Comte come into enormous play when it comes to Jeanne's recovery. One thing to keep in mind is that most of the people in the mansion have their own traumas they're trying to carry, and I feel like a lot of them are unsure how to approach Jeanne. Or if they do, he's very guarded. It takes a lot of consistent effort to get through to him. What does MC do when Jeanne unleashes his harsh worldview on her? She's understandably frightened, but Jeanne isn't malicious (so she chases him around). In fact, he openly avoids and runs away from her--well aware that what he's done is wrong. If anything, he did it on purpose, bringing us right back to Shakespeare's verbal undoing; why does Jeanne attack her in the first place?

LMAO. He attacks her because she essentially says "oh thanks for helping me!" "I am not nice. Watch yourself." "But you seem like a nice guy to me?" "REEEEEE" Does the pattern become a little clearer? When people think kindly of him, his instinct is to shatter that illusion with an impulsive reprehensible act. When people think poorly of him or lash out, what does he do? When that orphan boy starts yelling and screaming, Jeanne is nothing but calm. He explains the situation, and offers the kid a choice, perfectly happy to be the bearer of bad news. This operates on many levels I’m sure, but I have a feeling it has something to do with him being hailed a saint and a war hero only to be tortured and branded a monstrosity (and he probably thinks being a vampire is doubly monstrous). He’s more comfortable being hated because he feels it’s what he deserves in a lot of ways.

Jeanne has a lot of internalized self-hatred because of what he's done, and because of how much harm was inflicted on him outside of his control (he's Catholic and he was tortured, come on this writes itself). If I'm honest, I think that's actually the greater part of why he hates Comte lmao. Comte refuses the very concept of being cruel no matter how much Jeanne lashes out. Sure he lectures him and scolds him, but he never actively limits what's important to him or controls or harms him. Comte fully realizes the tragedy of how Jeanne's life was used by a nation in dire straits, and knows he needs time and acceptance to heal. No matter how dismal or unhappy, Comte doesn't stop--he fully believes Jeanne should have time in his life where he can really live for himself for once. But therein lies the issue, Jeanne doesn't know how to live for himself.

Which brings me to how MC and Comte "heal" Jeanne. I feel like they give him the space he needs to recover, and that's what results in his gentled temperament and happiness. Remember that so much of his main story is MC endlessly chasing after Jeanne. No amounts of his hissing or running or threatening stops her. Even if his refusals are empty of real dislike, they're enough to deter most people. Not MC. She's able to see through to the depths of who he is, and doesn't just use him for her own ends? She actively seeks to teach him (to read and write) to help him settle better in this era, she actively tries to ease his distaste for rain with a well-meaning bet, and she never gives up on him. (Actions mean so much more to him than words in general too, tbh...). Love is more easily defined by work and effort than it is by attraction.

When he has his episode at the festival, sure she's rattled; but that's because she truly believed that he didn't want to be around her anymore. When she notices he really doesn’t want to be followed, she stops like any normal person would. It’s only when she reads his notebook and sees the truth for herself (that he’s given up despite having the same feelings for her) that her determination is rekindled. She doesn't approach him fearfully, doesn't treat him like he's made of glass either. She just wants him as he is--accepts and loves him as he is. Scarred, bloody, exhausted, abrasive, terrified. She doesn't define him by how easy he is to love. That is a huge issue with traumatized people lmao. Because of their maturity, people always just assume they don't need help, or they rely on them to an extent that isn't sustainable. The second they reveal need or that they struggle, people walk away or victim blame them because it’s easier than taking them seriously.

While MC's attempts may be a little more obvious (cherishing his lily field, wearing the hair pin he gave her, careful about his gruesome injury, really listens when he talks about the horrors of his life and accepts that he experienced a level of agony/terror she can never understand, tries to express her feelings no matter his evasion) I think it's also important to consider Comte's large scale effort. I don't say this to undermine MC, I say it because Jeanne's life was defined by a complete lack of security. He left his parents to make their lives easier, he lived in a war that meant life or death any second, and his country's leader branded him a traitor which lead to his endless torture and public execution. Jeanne does not know a life in which safety is the norm. Point blank. He does not understanding going outside and not expecting the worst anymore.

Comte not only understands that level of despair, but treats it with dignity and respect. He fully accepts being hated if it means Jeanne can use that hatred to live on and find a way to heal. And most importantly, when Jeanne begins to move forward with MC and Mozart's help, Comte never once holds it against Jeanne when the truth is revealed. He's not angry, this isn't about reprisal or reparations or revenge. It's just love.

Jeanne doesn't really have a concept of this? His entire life was mostly transactional, defined by strength and efficiency. Nobody gives a damn about your feelings. You either hurl yourself at the problem or die. Nobody is going to help you or carry you or save you. While he may have had a little more support while he was in the military from his fellow soldiers, that support system was ripped away from him during the Inquisition.

One very common sentiment regarding elongated imprisonment and torture is that survival occurs in pairs. It is an undeniable fact that people need others to survive. It is the nature of who we are. Individualism has never proven to be successful, or if it is, its dividends are astronomically minimal when compared to people working together.

What does it mean to be the most reliable, steady person in the room? Usually it just means you don't know how to ask for help when you are no longer capable of maintaining that stance. Napoleon is guilty of it. Leonardo, Comte, and Jeanne all are too. It's part of why MC and Comte's capacity to see what he needs and provide as much as they can is such a big deal. That sort of consistent support (without a constant necessity to beg for help) allows Jeanne to be able to re-integrate into his new reality and find joy. Even if his nightmares and memories never go away, they are now being actively overrun by positive experiences. That's the thing about recovery, really--it tends to be more about drowning out the negative as much as possible and coming to terms with it, than it is about forgetting or never feeling it again. It’s about softening the sharp edges of pain like sea glass.

So is MC magical and randomly got Jeanne to open up? Nah, I don't think so. I think it was a series of persistence and real acceptance of who he is that made him warm up. People really seem to underestimate how deeply affecting understanding is, but that's how damage is undone. Jeanne can't really linger on the idea of his own monstrousness, his unworthiness, a lifetime of misery, when the person in front of him actively listens and cares about him. Makes him laugh and smile and lose himself in warmth for the first time.

If I'm honest, I feel like people also just...underestimate the level of traumatic resurgence that's perpetuated and inflicted by society’s standards in general lmao. This rhetorical structure in which good and bad exist in moral extremes, this idea that people should be able to recover and never experience relapses or periods of sensitivity. The refusal to radically listen to people and their problems, and make active attempts--not matter how small--to mend/ease those hurt feelings. Granted there will always be people in the world who do not want to improve, but I feel like most people want to. It's hopelessness, silence, and stigmatization that remain the true enemies of traumatized/mentally ill people everywhere. And among that population are always war veterans...

[rantingwriter]

Accidentally in Love (Hawks x Civilian Reader) pt. 2

Trigger Warning: Strong language, long hospital stay, lots of anger, depression, and more angst than last time. I swear there will be fluff later...starting in pt. 4.

 “Damn it,” you grumble as you try to support your weight with the parallel bars. 

“You are doing great, [y/n], just a little bit more.” Mayu, one of the physical therapists helping you with your recovery does her best to encourage you. 

The door slams open and you lose your concentration, collapsing to the floor. “Fuck!” 

Mayu cringes at the angered tone, “Ryo!!” 

The man who barged into the room bows apologetically, “I’m so sorry, I was running late,” he hurries off to the changing room for the employees. 

You feel your frustration boiling over, “this is pointless!” 

Mayu turns her attention back to you and her features soften, “Please don’t say that, you’ve only been at this for a week and you are making good progress.” Her positivity only serves to frustrate you more.

“What progress?! I can’t even stand for longer than a couple minutes at a time!”

“I understand your frustration-” 

“How could you possibly understand this?!” You gesture wildly at your legs. “You can stand and walk and you still have both of your feet!” Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you glare at the therapist. 

She simply sits on the floor with you and gives you a very soft smile. “You are right, I will never understand fully what you are going through. So, tell me, what is causing the most frustration and I can do what I can to help.” 

“All of it!” You raise your arms up like you are surrendering. “Trying to stand on these limp noodles, trying to get out of my stupid wheel chair, even getting out of bed…” Your anger quickly morphs to sadness, “it’s just too hard…” Mayu gently pats your shoulder. 

“It’s a process,” She shifts to sit next to you. “Healing can be a very long and difficult process, especially when you lose an ability you’ve been able to do so easily until now.” You feel a lump form in your throat, trying really hard not to cry...again. “I’m not going to lie and say this is easy, but I know you can do this.” 

You wipe your eyes and sniffle, “I’m sorry for yelling…” 

“It’s alright, I understand you are frustrated, but I am here to help.” The employee door opens again. “So is Ryo when he actually shows up on time.” The teasing tone and Ryo’s exaggerated response brings out a soft ghost of a laugh. “Are you ready to give it another try?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” she helps to get you off the floor and on your shaky feet. You grab the parallel bars and repeat the exercise you’ve been doing all morning. A light tap on the window near your station alerts both yourself and your physical therapist to a note on the glass. “What does it say?” You feel your arms give out, but you are able to land in your wheelchair this time.

“Let’s see,” The older woman walks up to read it aloud, “when you are free, please come to the roof. HaWkS!?” Her voice cracks at the name, “who, wait, who is he talking about?!” 

You hold your hand up, “probably me, he said he was going to pop by once I was awake.” You were starting to think he forgot about you. 

“Oh my goodness!” Mayu covers her mouth and looks at you, “are you two friends? Are you dating?!” She gets closer with each question, her eyes shiny diamonds that scream ‘tell me everything!’ 

“He kind of gave me a concussion,” you watch her expression drop into one of horror. “Not on purpose, it was during that big fight that landed me here.” 

“I see, well, we are actually done for today if you want to head on up.” She goes to grab her clipboard and record the progress from today. 

“Does the elevator even reach the roof?” You can feel a knot form in your stomach, why are you so nervous? 

“Yes, the recreational therapy team has a community garden up there for the patients. I can get you some information if you would like to join them for a session.” You never heard of such a thing, it does strike a cord of curiosity, but that is for another time. 

“Sure, just send some to my room when you have the time,” you wheel your way to the exit. “Oh, and uh...thanks for the pep talk.” You rub the back of your neck to hide your embarrassment. 

“No problem, if you need anything just let me know.” Mayu smiles and waves as you leave to go up to the roof. Sure enough, the elevator opens right in front of the door. You push the button to get the door open and find rows of box gardens, some raised, some lowered. 

“Wow, this is neat,” you take a closer look at some of the plants bearing fruit, when you spot your mystery visitor. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the huge red wings on his back. The same ones you saw before you went into your coma. You clench the wheels of your chair and swallow your nerves. “Um…” He appears distracted by something, as he scans the city streets below, his feet hovering off the ground. “Hello? Are you Hawks?” He looks over his shoulder and his features light up with recognition. 

“Hey! Glad to see you up and about!” He lands and folds his wings in a bit before approaching you.

“Yeah, mostly…” You weren’t entirely sure what to say to him. 

He doesn’t seem too sure either as he pockets his gloved hands. “Uh, what’s your name?” 

“[Y/n].” More silence follows, wow the awkward tension is a little too palpable. “Why exactly are you here?” 

He looks taken aback, his wings puffing up a small bit, “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“Well, as you can see, I’m doing just great.” You can’t help the sarcasm as you move your wheelchair. 

His features fall, his eyes aimed towards what’s left of your feet. “I’m so sorry, I made a bad judgment call and you got hurt because of it. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” 

“Unless you have some means to turn back time, there isn’t much you can do.” 

“There has to be something,” he lifts his gaze back up to plead with you. “I’ll do anything, just say the word.” 

You can’t tell if he is being genuine or not, before you can open your mouth a glint of something from the nearby building catches your attention. You wheel closer to the fence that lines the top of the building and spot a man with a camera aimed at the two of you. You whip your head around to face him, “is this some kind of joke to you?!” 

“What?” His golden-brown hues are full of confusion as you struggle to turn your wheelchair around. 

“Look, if you just came to Peacock for the camera’s or throw some kind of a pity party for yourself. I don’t want any part of it!” He looks between you and the nearby building, his feathers get ruffled at the sight of the camera. 

“No, wait, this isn’t what it looks like!” He holds a hand out to try and stop you from leaving. 

“Thanks for checking in, you can leave now.” You try to wheel your way back inside, but something is caught in one of your wheels. 

“I swear I’m not with that guy, he must have noticed me fly up here after I left my note.”

You aren’t paying any attention to him, you are too focused on getting away. “Stupid thing,” you try to muscle through the clog, but you end up tipping the whole thing over and landing on the hard surface of the roof. “Son of a bitch!” You slam a closed fist on the ground as you push yourself up. Tears of frustration and pain leak from your [e/c] pools. You feel a gloved hand on your shoulder but you quickly shove it away. “Don’t touch me!” 

“Please just let me help you,” he tries to reach for you again, but you stop him in his tracks.

“I’ve had enough of your help! Your ‘help’ is the reason I’m here!!” Your voice echoes around you, you wouldn’t be surprised if the camera man heard you. 

You can see the hurt in the hero's eyes as he backs away, his wings drooping as your words settle somewhere deep within himself. 

“Just go away…” you get your wheelchair back up and haul yourself into it again. You can hear the sound of his wings as he takes off, the force of the air blows your hair all over the place. You cover your face as you allow the tears to flow freely. If you were completely honest with yourself, you didn’t truly blame him. It was just easier than accepting your rotten luck. A couple of nurses hurry onto the roof and rush over to you. Apparently someone on the street heard you and told the staff in the lobby. You are immediately wheeled back to your room to rest and have your vitals checked. Your body is exhausted and so was the rest of you. You look out your window at the clouds rolling in, “nurse?” 

“Yes?” The kind man responds as he gets your table ready for dinner. 

“Would it be possible to send a letter to a hero agency?” 

He hums in thought for a moment, “I believe so, why?” 

“I...was just curious…” The nurse drops the topic and leaves you to your thoughts. “Doubt it would make a difference anyways.” You roll onto your side as your eyelids drooped, the sound of rain lulling you to sleep. Your dinner is left for you on the little table, along with a can of coffee with another note. ‘I still owe you a coffee, good luck with your recovery. -Hawks.’

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf

Ok, so I’ve tried and tried several times to get this posted, we’ll see if this is the time it goes through. Half the reason why this review series has slowed down is not just the multitude of real life stuff I have to deal with, but also Tumblr just refusing to work with me and deleting my posts. I also can’t save my work else where due to Tumblr messing up the formatting. It’s been a frustrating mess and so far no one @staff​ has come up with a tech solution or work around. 

Summary: Rapunzel helps to rebuild Old Corona, (after its near destruction from the Black Rocks) which will become the permanent home of Red and Angry, who have returned to Corona to settle down. However, she begins to notice strange footprints around the area, as well as the livestock becoming more unruly and fearful. The group comes across a monster hunter named Creighton, who explains to the group that the area is being stalked by a werewolf, who possessed one of Corona's citizens. Aiming to save this person rather than kill them, Rapunzel sets out to find who it is. 

When Was This Decided?

No seriously, when was this decided? It’s a pretty big leap go from ‘the rocks makes various towns inhabitable’ to ‘let’s rebuild!’ What’s changed here? Cause the rocks haven’t been removed and Rapunzel failed in her mission to nullify their power. In fact the rocks were not only reawaken in the second season finale but shown to be under the power of someone who’s intentions were made unclear to the heroes.

So I ask again; who thought this was safe thing to do now? What provisions have been made to accommodate the rocks? They blocked the well, remember, and destroyed the fields; how are the people getting food and water? 

And most importantly why wasn’t the audience informed beforehand? When you change up the status quo in a story you need to provide just cause to the viewers. I legit thought I had accidently skipped an episode when I first watched because this plot point was not set up properly.  

Why Were They Ever Left Alone to Begin With?

In a story where neglect is a central theme and motivating factor for all the main characters, it is super tone deaf to have those same characters perpetuating neglect themselves. The decision to live on their own should not be left up to Angry and Red because they are children. Children are not mature enough to provide for themselves neither emotionally nor physically and when placed in situations where they have to do so it psychologically damages them. Which the series already showcased with Varian so why is this suddenly deemed ok? 

This Completely Undermines the Past Two Seasons

The entire conflict of the past two seasons was the rocks forcing people out of their homes. Eugene was made an orphan from them, Varian lost his entire support group because them, they drove out the Saporians from their encampment which prompted them to invade Corona, and Rapunzel and company spent an entire year on the road trying to find a way to stop them from spreading supposedly. 

All of that has now been flushed down the drain with this decision. And its super insulting to watch because it’s the writers telling us that we’ve wasted our time caring about this plot for two years. You don’t resolve major conflicts off screen and without explanation; it’s lazy!  

Also Where Is Varian and Quirin During All This?

This is not only their home and legal charge, but it’s also the ending to their ongoing story, and they’re not even here in a silent cameo. 

Wouldn’t Quirin be overseeing the rebuilding of his town? Wouldn’t Varian be using his skills to find workable engineering solutions for them, fulling his season one goal of saving his home and making his village better with his inventions? Also wouldn’t Edmund want to catch up with his brother and help out now that he’s here? 

In fact not a single person who actually lives in Old Corona is to be found in these opening shots. 

Oh, But We Do Get Earl

Earl might be from Old Corona, or he might not be. We’ve literally never seen him before. The artists had to create a brand new character model for this character, the writers had to write new lines for him, and the casting director had to hire an actor and have him record these lines for only less than a minute of screen time, never to be seen again. Even though they legit had shepherd models already to go from season one that they could have used. It’s a waste of resources and a prime example of the mismanagement going on in this show. 

It’s Too Late In the Series to Waste Time On a New One Off Villain

Speaking of a waste, Creighton might have more story reasons to appear in this episode than Earl does but her inclusion is still a poor decision. The show already has an overabundance of villains, so many in fact that they shipped the bulk of them off in season two, and this is the final season; the season where we should be wrapping up plots and minor characters stories not kicking off new ones.

Taken on her own Creighton isn’t a bad character presa, she works for the episode, but when we could have gotten a resolution to Caine’s, Hector’s, or the Disciples’ story arcs instead it highlights how misused the series assets are. 

All This Lore Will Be Forgotten In Just a Few Episodes Time

We finally get like some magical rules and backstory only for future episodes to ignore it from here on afterwards. Red can turn into a werewolf whenever she pleases, night or day, with little explanation as for why.  

Just Arrest Her Rapunzel

You’re the acting queen. You have the power and the right to arrest or even merely detain someone who is threating your citizens and refuses to leave. In fact it’s kind of your job. You don't even have to throw her in a dungeon if you thought that too cruel. Just lock her up in a nice room somewhere in the castle until you’ve sorted out the mess yourself. 

The series wants to treat Rapunzel as the underdog when she isn’t, and her failure to wield her power effectively doesn’t make her look ‘nice’ it just makes her look stupid and grossly incompetent. This is a conflict that didn’t need to have happened and Rapunzel let it happen.  

Oh, So Now Y'all Riot

You didn’t complain when the king orphaned children with his crack down on crime. You rolled over as he dolled out overly harsh punishments to poor people who committed minor offences. You gleefully went along with the royals as they  scapegoated a child for their mistakes, even as they endangered your homes.  And ya’ll sat on your asses while invaders pulled off a coup and enslaved you. 

But this is what you get mad over? A rumor about a mythical creature existing that your princess has zero control over. Seriously? 

Man, I hate the townspeople in this show. 

Pointless Dream Sequence Is Pointless

This scene tells the audience nothing new and just wastes screen time. 

This Is the Wrong Lesson to Focus On Rapunzel

We do not tell the 12 year old to unload their phycological issues onto their baby sister!

You’re telling me parents were involved in writing this show? What the hell!?

Rapunzel you are the adult here. At 20 now you should be more adept to handle listening to the deep seated emotional traumas of a little girl than a fucking 10 year old! And if you’re not, or don’t want to, then it’s your job to find another adult who will. 

That’s the core problem with this entire episode. It treats Red’s and Angry’s problems as some eternal issue that they need to work out and not as the inherent failure of the adults around them that it is. 

It is neither Red’s nor Angry’s decision on weather or not they get live on their own. Nor is it their responsibility to be each other’s therapist. Yes, a change in living arrangements is always stressful and for children with abandonment issues it can be hard to readjust, but that’s when you need to step it up and deal with the problem; not shove it off onto the kids themselves! 

Monty Is Useless

Is this all Monty is good for? Being a red herring in ridiculously simple mysteries? Is this why we wasted a whole episode introducing him back in season one? Really?

Why Are We Still Treating Old Corona As Being Separate from Corona Itself?

Look, I get that it’s a joke, but it’s a joke that highlights how poorly thought out the worldbuilding is in the series. Is the Coronan government in charge of Old Corona or not? If so then you can just make those lease laws yourself as the acting regent Eugene. If not then Frederic shouldn’t have had any say in the matter of relocating Old Corona’s citizens nor putting a child outside of his jurisdiction under arrest.

But more importantly this is a just a repeat of that vague level of responsibility Rapunzel has for people who live off the island. She can’t order a whole village to be rebuilt while simultaneously claiming that she bares no accountability for Varian and Quirin’s problems in season one. 

Replacing Guns with Crossbows Isn’t the Safe Option That the Censors Think It Is

I find it kind of amusing that censors will ban showing a 17th century blunderbuss but allow it to be replaced by a weapon that is still mass produced today and can be bought in any Walmart across the country. Like I’m a major advocate for gun regulation in real life, but even I have to find this to be a bit silly. Crossbows aren’t some fantasy weapon. People still own and use them. But it would be seriously hard to get ahold of a working antique firearm.  

Seriously This Is How the Girls Have Been Living and the Adults Haven’t Done Anything About It Until Now?

I feel like I’m beating a dead horse by now, but it’s so engrained into the episode I have to keep bringing it up. The show itself is visually telling us that Red and Angry can’t keep living this way, but it never wants to call Rapunzel and the other adults out for not rescuing them from this life sooner. 

So All This Tells Me Is That Rapunzel Could Have Easily Checked Up On Varian In Painter’s Block, But Didn’t.

Remember they’re right next to Old Corona; meaning that Janus Point is also right next to Old Corona. Meaning that Rapunzel could easily have checked up on Varian right after Painter’s Block and choose not to. With each passing episode Rapunzel has less and less excuse for her behavior in season one. 

Yeah Remember that Plot Point That Wound Up Being Entirely Irrelevant to the Story?

In jokes don’t cover your ass when you make poor writing choices. Quite the opposite in fact as all you’ve done is remind the audience of all the various dangling plot threads that you will fail to follow up on. The disciples plot goes no where and serves no purpose, and it should not have been introduced as this big important thing if you weren’t going to do anything with it. 

Nice Idea, Poor Execution

I’ve heard fans of this episode tell me that they enjoy it because of this scene with Red. If you’re a naturally introverted person or neurodivergent and have trouble communicating at times then Red’s speech here can strike a cord. Which is cool; I’ll never deny someone’s feelings and if a piece of media speaks to you on a personal level for whatever reason that is great. What I’m here to discuss though is story structure and whether or not the story’s themes are presented well in context of what it’s set up. 

The conflict here does not work from a pure structural standpoint because it’s a surface level deflection of the real issues. Red’s problem isn’t that she is being ignored, it's that she’s been abandoned. Now communication issues can arise from that abandonment and feeling heard can be step forward in working those issues out, but Red’s central trauma isn’t going to be magically fixed by people ‘listening’ to her, i.e. being granted whatever she wants, but by providing her with a real home and with a real guardian to look after her. 

Because what Red wants on a surface level is harmful to her, and the reasons why she wants what she wants needs to be addressed more so than then sedating her angry outbursts in the moment. This is treating the symptoms not the cause.

So What Is or Isn’t Real About the Curse?

Once again, we finally get some actual lore and rules for magic and the writers are already throwing it away during the same episode they are introduced. I now have as little context for how the wolf curse works within the Tangled world as I did before the episode started. 

This Is Sweet, But Once Again Context Brings It Down.

So just to reiterate, this a surface level resolution to the conflict of the episode that doesn’t actually address anything. It might feel like an appropriate ending but only if you ignore the fact that Red and Angry are orphans who’ve been abandoned but the adults. 

Angry apologizing here to Red does not solve any of their problems, especially since Angry, as a child herself, is not responsible for her sister’s behavior, feelings, nor well being. That falls to the adults and they fail to address Red’s core issues and their own failings to her in their apologies as well. Not to mention that the very next scene undermines any optional progress that could have been made here. 

Listening to Someone Does Not Mean Giving Them Whatever They Want

This does not fix anything. Red and Angry are still left to live on their own without any real supervision. Giving them a big play house is not providing for them, it’s spoiling them. Would you let all the other orphans in the local orphanage roam free without an adult to take care of them? No!? Gee I wonder why? Could it be because letting a 12 and 10 year old raise themselves is a very stupid idea? One that will potentially damage them later in life assuming that they don't get themselves killed in the meantime. 

Moreover this is yet another example of the series overall problem with not understanding that compromise and resolving conflicts does not mean rewarding the characters at the end with everything that they want without having them work for it. That’s not how life works and it’s not how good story telling works. 

This Is Beyond Irresponsible

No! Bad Show! Bad! 

You do not get to pretend that negligence is the same thing as compromise. Yes I know Eugene said to come to him when they have a problem, but as demonstrated by this very episode children do not always know when to ask for help nor can they always find it when needed, that is why parents exist!  

Nor does the show get a free pass for turning it’s main characters into child abusers who neglected three minors multiple times now. Even when they themselves are victims of that same abuse!

How utterly blinkered do you have to be to not see the problem here? 

It’s the Return of the Pointless Parallels

Let me count the ways for how stupid this is. 

Red and Angry’s conflict has no impact on the on going narrative. Even with them now being reoccurring characters they still manage to contribute nothing to the future storylines involving Cass. 

Neither Rapunzel nor Cassandra learn anything from Red and Angry’s spat; Rapunzel because she refuses to acknowledge her own flaws and Cassandra’s not even here for any of it. 

The sister’s dynamic between Raps and Cass is not well established and the writers mange to piss all over it by series end because of gay baiting and poor writing. Therefore relying on lazy parallels to other siblings in the show to bolster this connection falls flat.  

Red and Angry’s argument has nothing in common with Rapunzel and Cass’s current fighting. One is about abandonment issues and the other is about shallow validation. Trying to tie these two themes together actually winds up undermining both conflicts. 

Red and Angry are children. Rapunzel and Cassandra are not. That very much matters. 

Red and Angry didn’t drag innocent people into their petty bitch fight and endanger them because they wanted to feel special. 

This Makes Zero Sense

I don’t know; she looked pretty happy during Crossing the Line. 

She was also able to control the rocks just fine then, so what happened? 

Not to mention soon after this Zhan Tiri is telling her she needs some sort of incantation to control the rocks, despite being able to already control the rocks.... 

It’s almost as if the writers are full of shit and don’t actually know what they’re doing. 

So Are We Remembering the Burnt Hand or Not?

Does the hand matter or not? Is it ever a motivating factor in what Cassandra decides to do? Is her waning control over the rocks connected to her burnt hand; even though having a burnt hand is what allowed her grab the moonstone in the first place? Did the moonstone heal the hand? Does Raps singing the healing incantation later on heal it? Does Cass have a forever burnt hand? 

Who the fuck knows! 

Not the writers that’s for sure, cause it never comes up again. 

Don’t introduce plot points and then not resolve them. That’s writing 101 guys. 

Wait if she needs the incantation to control the rocks and the angry thing is a lie, then how the heck is she controlling them just now? Make up your dang mind show! 

I swear I lose brain cells whenever I have to rewatch the evil Cassandra plot. It is so dumb  you guys.... so, so dumb. 

Conclusion

It’s not the worst thing ever but series has far better episodes on offer than this one. Even in a season as suck ass as season three. 

So there’s praying that this review posts this time and if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me in my projects feel free to leave a tip on my Ko-Fi. Thank you. 

https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

[backseatsiren]

A Dramatic Day

It’s been awhile since I’ve written here! There are a couple of reasons: first, my life has reached brave new heights of busy - I was promoted to Editor in Chief at work a bit over a year ago, and my responsibilities there obviously take a lot of time. I’m also teaching more courses than usual at Berklee (right now, one section of Film and TV and two of Game Design Principles), and, as usual, I’m training grappling on top of it all. Plus, naturally, the ambulance. I’m hitting my tour hours, and proud to do it, and as pumped as ever to be an EMT in this neighborhood.

I’m also... very, very, VERY slowly *actually writing a book* about all of this. I’ve begun interviewing a few fellow EMTs, mainly volunteers, about what it is we do. Because of how insane my schedule is, it’ll be a very long term project, and I can’t put any pressure to finish soon. But, especially through the pandemic, I’ve felt a desire to document and interview and report on the idea of volunteer emergency medical services in New York City, here in Brooklyn and Queens, and I think other folks might be interested in reading a bit about it.

But I’d like to get back into the practice of writing about calls and concepts and experiences. As always, I’ll respect patients and patient privacy, and will never reveal identifying information or anything inappropriate.

Today was a fairly busy day, but it started with a bit of a dramatic call. We were called to an unknown, and flagged down by a bystander. A man called us over and told us that he saw a man lying on the train tracks (a less-used track, not the subway or commuter rail or anything). He said he regularly feeds a colony of feral cats there, and noticed the gentleman lying down the way.

We thanked him and high tailed it over, yelling out to him (the usual “sir are you ok?”). My more experienced (many, many years in EMS, including at a much higher level of certification) partner took a look at him and said “he might be dead” and began looking forward a pulse. He went for more help (another ambulance was arriving and they needed to be directed over, the physical layout of the space was weird), and he instructed me to look for a pulse. I did, and found nothing. My other partner (a newer EMT, just cleared for CC status, who I also love working with), said “he’s cold to the touch.”

It was raining lightly. The tracks were a little slick, and there was some litter. It’s early may, and the grass had that beautiful sheen on it, that it gets in the rain. Weird things, visual and sense memory things, are coming back as I write about it.

He was lying down on his face on the tracks. I checked for a carotid pulse again and felt nothing. I checked his hands - they were closed and held tight. Rigor Mortis. I checked his arms, his coat, his clothing, careful not to mess with anything, but looking for lividity. He was bleeding from his face, and, on inspection, his face was very clearly badly injured, bruised, and bloated. I was wearing an N95, but even so, you could smell that he was deceased.

I told my more experienced partner that when he arrived with the other crew. We inspected the scene - noting a shovel and some other tools. There was a little encampment nearby - possibly where this man lived. Beer and food in a little shelter.

It certainly looked like foul play was possible. I learned a few minutes later (on my next call) that the cops did start an investigation there.

As one of the other EMTs from the other crew noted, it was “like a movie scene.” Something about the rain and the light, the way the blood pooled, the way the ants crawled around in it... was surreal. It may have been my less experienced partner’s first DOA when they were first on the scene (it wasn’t mine, but it was certainly the first *outdoor* DOA where I’ve been first and had to help establish that). It was my first suspected murder scene.

And yes, it was deeply sad. There’s some initial adrenaline, for me, in every call. There would be more on my other calls today. There is a voice in my head that repeats a lot of the basic instructions and goes through scenarios: “ABCs” (a note to always prioritize airway, breathing, and circulation). I think about what happened in any given situation and what I should do for my patient. I look for threats to everyone’s safety. And when I can breathe and get a clearer picture of what’s going on, that’s when I can start to process things a bit.

We covered him with a clean sheet from the ambulance and did all the things we needed to do. We talked about it a little, after the call. But I always need to think about things for a few hours after, which is what I’m doing here, by writing about it a bit.

I’m a deeply, empathetic person. I feel for my patients. The call I’m about to talk about - the very next call - required that of me in a different way. But in this scenario, I want to first do everything right for the person and situation, and next, be as respectful as humanly possible. This poor man died - was very probably killed - and was left outside in the rain. I don’t know much about his life, and very little about his death. The whole scenario is very sad, and very surreal.

Every time I’ve had a dead patient, it’s stuck with me. I don’t think I’ll ever forget my first, a woman who very probably died of a heart attack or in her sleep, and her son found her. He was mourning. He was on top of the body, hugging her, crying “I’m sorry, mommy,” and there’s... I guess there’s nothing on earth like that. Nothing like that kind of pain. People, as a rule, do not expect to see their loved ones deceased, and when we do, we usually have a ceremony for it.

I’m just a bystander to that. I can do nothing to help the deceased person, and very little for a mourning loved one, besides being a respectful, empathetic human presence. For my deceased patient today, all we could do was establish that he was dead and do the proper things to ensure his remains would be taken care of (and his death investigated).

My next call was very different, but it was heavy in a different way. We got a call for, basically, a suicidal young woman. We arrived, with PD, to her door. The officers assessed things to an extent, but she revealed that she had been traumatized by police in the recent past, and didn’t want any police in her home. I talked with her calmly, and was able to relieve the cops and take this one, with my partner.

We listened to her. She had obviously been through some extreme trauma and needed mental health resources. I won’t reveal any details here, but I had to keep assuring her that I had no handcuffs and wasn’t interested in taking her against her will. She was terrified of being taken somewhere she didn’t want to go, and I basically sat calmly with her and talked to her about her options. Just talking. Just listening.

This is a case, like a patient a couple of years ago, where I’m very happy to take my time. I’m a volunteer, man. I’m not grinding through a shift for miserable pay, as most EMTs are - I’m here because I frankly want to be useful in this manner.

And I’m happy to sit with a person going through emotional hell, because this is what I can help with. I’m five years into being an EMT with RVAC. I do this 2-3 shifts per month, so I’ll never be the fastest, best, EMT in NYC. But I can be the most patient EMT, and I can give plenty of extra time to a person.

I’m not a therapist, and I don’t pretend to be. That’s what I told her - first, that I’m not a cop, I don’t have cuffs, I have no interest in taking her if she’s of sound mind and doesn’t want to go. Then, second, that I’m no doctor, and no therapist, and that I want her to have resources if she needs them.

We talked more, and did more vitals, and she decided she wanted to come to a mental health facility. We explained every step of the process to her, and what she could expect, and what to bring.

Do I wish I was an actual therapist who could help this girl right away? Yeah. Do I wish I had the ability to make mental health policy that provides good, effective, supportive therapy to all human beings who need it? Yeah. Do I wish I could do better for her than an ER with psych specialists? Where she could easily get lost in the cracks or simply never connect with what she truly needs? Yeah.

I can only take her to a place where people are at least trained to assess her and offer her further resources. I can only hope they actually can help, and do so.

I had another call where we did a bit of *psychological first aid* not long after that. A dramatic scene! A young woman fainted at work at a store, and several people were surrounding her and holding her at the scene! Folks were holding her hands and crying.

It looked wild at first glance, but our patient was completely ok - we got her out, had medics assess her completely, and brought her to the ER while assuring her parents that things looked ok. Her mother was extremely upset, and we had a bit of a language barrier, but we were able to assure her and let her know things looked ok, that her child had very promising vitals and EKG readings, and we just needed the ER visit to make sure.

The medics helping us out were INCREDIBLE. They offered a full walkthrough for us of what was going on physiologically with her and gave a very helpful tip on scenes like that - give bystanders little jobs (just simple stuff, like holding the door, or looking for something like a towel) to do! It helps (caring, kind, just want to help) folks feel helpful when they get scared, especially in dramatic-looking situations.

A lot of drama today. A lot of learning. I felt really good about taking charge with my psych patient and helping her to feel safe and able to make her own decision. Im glad we were able to help our young fainting patient. And as much as it’s heavy, I’m glad I was at least on scene today for our first call. I know I can do nothing but confirm obvious death, but, I take some heart in the kind bystander who called for him (the gentleman who feeds cats nearby).

At least someone cared enough to try.

I’m forever grateful for my partners, for the folks who have taken the time to teach me (back when I was VERY green and still, to this day, as I am learning every single shift), and for the patients who trust me to do my best for them. 

I noticed today, this month marks five years of doing this, with my volunteer corps. I can only hope I learn more and become a more effective EMT as I go.

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32-Epilogue

When he’d agreed to let Lucy move in with them, Natsu could admit it wasn’t the greatest idea to make a snap decision, because inside he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Plus, it had also put Gray in a tough position, because he knew his friend wouldn’t be so heartless to kick out a female with a problem. Yeah, that was kind of a dick move for which he’ll be paying once the dust had settled. Especially now that they were finding out, just how difficult it was really going to be...

Nightmares? More like night terrors. It wasn’t every single night, but Lucy would often wake Natsu up at all hours as if reliving the events of the kidnapping. Physical movements, from fighting a Touka memory. The whines and screams, sometimes blood curdling shrieks as she’d shoot up in bed covered in a film of sweat, hyperventilating and still in the midst of an unseen attack. It was bad enough that Natsu started sleeping on his side, so if Lucy started swinging, his back took the brunt of it. He’d have to grab her arms and just hold her, doing his best to keep his voice low or soft, until she fully awoke from the dream state and collapsed into his arms in sheer exhaustion. Heaven help him, if this is what Levy had gone through for months, the woman deserved a Nobel peace prize for staying sane. After two weeks of this, Gray arranged with Levy to use Lucy’s room. He didn’t want to abandon Lucy, but the lack of sleep was starting to affect his school and job. It left Natsu all alone with his girlfriend, and frankly it was affecting him too. Not only the mental struggles, but the physical exhaustion made it difficult for him to get his job done. Makarov was a saint for being so understanding through it all.

“You look tired today,” Natsu’s therapist questioned in a toned statement. “I take it you’re still not getting enough sleep.”

The bags under his eyes were a dead giveaway to anyone that saw him. “Is it really that obvious?” Natsu responded with a bit of sarcasm to his tone.

“Is it your own demons or Lucy’s?”

“A mix of both.”

“Have you told her about your struggles or are you still hiding it. You know it’s better if you be honest with her.”

Way to go for the kill shot. The therapist went straight to the heart of things. Natsu sighed, “I told her a little... when she’d admitted being worried I’d leave her.”

“What did you say exactly?”

He fidgeted in the chair. “Well... literally, just that. I was just trying to kill her fears not worrying about my own at the time.”

“Ah. Well, maybe it’s time. You’ve told me that you’re trying hard to help her to get over her own struggles, but Natsu, you also need to take your own advice.”

Turn of the screws. But the therapist was right. “I know. I just worry it’ll add to her worries, which will make it worse, a-and that’s not gonna help either of us.”

“I think you should have more faith in Lucy. As you are her strength, she can be just as much yours. Don’t dismiss the idea before you even try it. If she feels like she’s helping you, it will give her a sense of accomplishment too, just like it gives you when you feel like you’re helping her.”

When the therapist put it that way, Natsu couldn’t help but pause and reflect on it, because damn the woman was making a lot of sense! Why did he fall in love with Lucy in the first place? Because of her feisty personality, that’s why. Had he forgotten? The real Lucy was still in there, it just needed to find its way back to the surface. There’s no harm in being honest about feeling scared or guilty. Kind of bare his heart to her in a way.

“Alright. I’ll give it a shot.”

He knew if he’d waited to confront this, he’d find an excuse not to do it. So that night after dinner, Natsu sat Lucy down for a heart to heart and bore his soul. His fears, his guilt, how the brave face he showed her day after day really just hid his own pain and insecurities over the situation. It was difficult and freeing at the same time to get it off his chest.

“Thank you for telling me, Natsu... that actually makes me feel a little better, because I thought I was going through it alone all this time. I mean, you being positive helps to keep me a little grounded, but it also made me feel like a burden. I want to help you as much you help me.”

“Are you sure? I just don’t want to add to your struggles.”

“I can’t tell you it won’t always be easy, so, all I can tell you is right now is I don’t think it will.”

“Okay— then promise me that you’ll say something if it is, a-and we’ll figure out something else.”

Lucy took Natsu’s hands in her own, “now that, I will promise.”

But despite their decision to co-fight, Natsu still took the initiative for Lucy and himself to figure out how to make things better... or lose his sanity in trying. He scoured psychology websites, searching for therapy’s and techniques used for PTSD, anxiety, depression, or anything related that might be useful, even meditation. It was a lot of work, but the information was useful, and he learned a lot about helping Lucy and himself to heal. Some of the horror stories were difficult to read, yet many of the survivors stories he came across provided the much needed encouragement to get through this ordeal.

The first thing Natsu decided to tackle was the nightmares, and to do that he’d learned he first needed to deal with the underlying causes. Pent up emotions being unleashed in Lucy’s subconscious as she slept were producing these horrific night terrors. With suggestions from both his therapist as well as Lucy’s, Natsu encouraged her every night before bed to write, write anything that came to mind, and he gently coaxed her into letting go of the worst thoughts. Unleash it onto the page, as the therapist put it. Then, together they would meditate using a relaxation technique he’d found appealing. Meditation wasn’t something Natsu thought he’d take a liking to, or even believed would work. But after learning more about it, decided it was worth a shot. 

Everyone he knew used to tell him, it’s about clearing your mind of all thoughts... yeah, uh-huh, who the hell can pull that off? No, in this other technique it started off by saying that’s almost impossible, and that immediately caught his attention. It taught them about learning to control instead, to have thoughts, but focus them, compartmentalize them away and let them become background static you could more easily ignore through habituation. Ever wonder how a person can sleep near an airport or a train track? It’s because you get used to the sound. Once that’s done, you zero in on something you do want to think about, a nice memory, a sound, whatever you choose. Let it soothe and relax you until the next thing you know, your mind wants nothing more than to fall away into dreamland.

It took a few days of pushing Lucy through each step, because at first, she really did not want to rehash, even in a fictional way, the events of the kidnapping. So, Natsu would pull her onto his lap, with his arms around her waist while she held the paper and pen, closely monitoring her body language. The tensing and shaking were his first signs... ‘it’s okay, let it go...’ he’d whispered and tightened his hold, continuing the positive mantras, ‘you’re safe now, you can do this, I’ve got ya...’ Next came the release in the form of tears. A trickle, like a cracking of a dam, until it burst forth. Words on paper and liquid trails along her cheeks, but it was a good thing. All the anger and negativity flowing out instead of walled up in her mind. After a couple of weeks, the techniques were showing signs of working. Lucy awoke less and less because of the nightmares. She was still having some, but they weren’t to the same degree or frequency they’d once been.

“Yup... uh-huh, n-no, really, I am doing much better Lev. Yeah, we’ll visit tomorrow.... That sounds awesome. It’s be awhile since I’ve eaten sushi... I’m pretty sure... I’ll be okay, I promise… Yeah, we’ll meet you at Genki Zushi… Uh-huh, you too Levy. Good night.”

As soon as Lucy hung up her phone call, Natsu checked to make sure she really was okay with the plan to go out for dinner. It’d been just over three months since Lucy went anywhere aside from the doctors or police station willingly.

“I need to do this,” she stammered, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I can’t stay locked away forever.”

Natsu kissed her on the forehead. “I’m really proud of you babe.”

“I’m proud of us both,” Lucy smiled. “But I couldn’t do this without your support.”

Such a simple phrase meant the world to Natsu. After the last two months of struggle, his therapists advice was coming to fruition, or at least his truly believing it was possible. They were on the road to healing and nothing felt better than that, because one of the hardest legs of their journey was coming up fast.

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Andromeda |  Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 1865

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 03x05 AND THE SECOND HALF OF SEASON 12, prison Reid, mentions of trauma/anxiety/therapy.

A/N: Remember this post?  I was talking about this fic. Anyways, the concept of both Spencer and Reader being groomed for the BAU was one that intrigued me so I wrote this. One day I’ll get tired of writing for this universe but today is not that day. Enjoy!

GALAXY MASTERLIST (not needed to understand the plot but there’s similar content here if you liked this fic!)

You had seen a lot of bad things in your life, but hands down the worst thing you had ever seen was Spencer Reid sitting on the other side of the partition in the prison visiting room. As always your proximity to the doctor cleared your head and relaxed you in a way you hadn’t felt in weeks, but due to the circumstances you knew it was only because he was alive.

“I don’t like this,” you wasted no time making your feelings known.

“I know, me neither,” even though he was alive, you could tell your friend was in rough shape, “how are you doing?”

You breathed a laugh, “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m the same as I was when Garcia visited last week, and we both know she called you as soon as she left here.”

He was right, Penelope had filled you in on everything he had said when she had gone for her visit the week prior.

“Have you gone back to work yet?”

“Yeah, but I’m still not allowed in the field. My therapist keeps telling Emily I’m compromised,” you rolled your eyes, “I think being back in the field would help me compartmentalize better than doing paperwork in Penelope’s office.”

“What have you been doing outside of work?”

“Has my therapist talked to you too? Yeesh,” you rolled your eyes again, causing Spencer to crack a smile, “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Luke, he reminds me of some of the guys from my Platoon. He lets me watch Roxy when the team is traveling, and we go to a veteran’s support group every Tuesday. I don’t think he actually needs the support but he definitely knows I don’t go if he’s not there.”

Spencer sighed, “support groups are good, is it helping?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “I already did the work to cope with my time in the military years ago. The problem isn’t my military trauma, the problem is that my best friend is in prison and the constant anxiety is dredging up old wounds.”

Your eyes narrowed, aware that he was definitely doing a light psych eval of you in that brain of his. You half expected him to start spouting exactly what was happening in your brain that was causing the increased frequency of your episodes, but it never came.

“Will you keep going, for me?”

“Sure, but only because you asked. And if Luke says anything about it you can’t tell him I don’t think it’s working.”

“Deal,” the light banter was the most normal thing that had happened to you since bringing Spencer home from Mexico.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I know you’re a super genius and everything, but do you ever feel like you weren’t cut out for the BAU even though you were groomed for it?”  

“Yeah, I had to get waived on every physical part of training and failed my gun certification an embarrassing number of times even after I was hired. I wouldn’t have gotten the job if Gideon didn’t do some serious vouching for me. Do you… do you feel like that?” You thought it was ironic that Spencer was concerned for you when he was the one in jail.

“Out of everyone in my class at the Academy, Rossi and Hotch picked me. There were at least four other agents that were better at profiling than I was, I was not the obvious choice. My entire career has been defined by joining the BAU and yet I still get hit with some serious imposter syndrome, especially since you’ve been gone. Sometimes I wonder where I would have ended up if I hadn’t been picked, what kind of agent I’d be.”

“You would have ended up with the Hostage Rescue Team,” you knew Spencer was a know-it-all, but you were surprised at his confidence and quick response.

“How do you figure?” you questioned, watching the tips of his ears turn red as he blushed.

“Garcia and I overheard Hotch and Rossi talking about you when they came back from recruiting. We did some… ‘spelunking’ and found your file.”

“Anything juicy in there?” you teased, thoroughly amused at the image of Spencer and Penelope huddled around her desk investigating you.

“No. It said you were ex-military and had been psychologically discharged. We didn’t dig deeper into that, but I could see signs of anxiety the first time I met you so it wasn’t really going to be a secret anyways.”

“Fair, so how did you know about Hostage Rescue?”

“There was a note from their unit chief that they wanted you. It makes sense, you passed the field tests in the Academy with flying colors and you’re exceptional in the field. You would do really well on a tactical team.”

“In theory, until I have a panic attack and get thirty people killed,” you joked, “they probably asked Hotch to take me because I’d have the smallest chance of being a liability in the BAU.”

“Actually, Hotch said he liked how you had approached the exercise they had given you.”

You remembered that day like it was yesterday, Hotch and Rossi had come into your class with the bare bones of a case: an abducted child in a mall a week following a prior abduction of a similar nature. As a collective you had to solve the case, asking the right questions to get the information you needed from the two Supervisory Special Agents.

Your previously mentioned classmates that had a knack for profiling were quick to build a few theories and get a bit more information, including a glimpse of the girl on a security camera, but there were still a lot of missing pieces. Something about the whole thing felt off to you, so you finally spoke up.

“What if it was someone in her family?” Your classmates looked at you in confusion, a few of them jumping up to reiterate the evidence against your suggestion. “I see your point, and I’ll support the group if you still think I’m wrong, but hear me out. There’s evidence of the abduction being personal. I don’t think it’s related to the prior case at all.”

“The family has been with us the whole time,” one of your classmates argued.

“The father?” someone else suggested.

“No, not him,” your brain was working hard, “I think it was the aunt, Susan.”

“Well done, Agent,” you heard Agent Hotchner over the clamor of the room at your suggestion.

“Do you want to back up your theory?” Rossi asked once your classmates had settled down.

“Her husband shows signs of grooming Katie: he knows more about his niece than he does his own kid. If his wife noticed, she might be trying to protect her family. She was probably ashamed that her husband was a pedophile, her son had a record, and her marriage was falling apart. Susan already said she worked retail in a mall, even if she didn’t work at this mall she’d at least have knowledge of how malls work and where she could hide a body. The abduction from the previous week would have given her something to pin Katie’s disappearance on, and Katie would have trusted her enough to go somewhere without an obvious struggle.”

“Bingo, Agent…?” Rossi looked at you for your name.

“(y/l/n),” you offered.

“Susan took her own pain out on Katie. Our agents were able to recover Katie’s body and resuscitate her, and both Susan and her husband were brought into custody.”

Later, as class was dismissed, you were approached by the two men.

“What was it that made you look deeper into the family as suspects?” Hotch had asked.

“I just had a feeling, sir,” you told him honestly.

“What kind of feeling?” Rossi seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying.

“A gut feeling. I know we’re supposed to use the facts, and all the facts were presenting themselves as becoming a serial abduction, but it just didn’t feel right to me. When I started exploring other possibilities the relevant evidence jumped right out.”

“Sometimes we get cases with barely enough information to make decisions from. Following instincts can lead to breakthroughs that solve the whole case. Keep up the good work,” Hotch shook your hand before walking away with Rossi right behind him.

“Yeah, I went out on a limb with that one. I’ll tell you about it later,” you shook your head, knowing you didn’t have enough time to tell Spencer the whole story. He was quiet for a minute, glancing around the room before he spoke again.

“If I can’t get out of here, I think you should look into transferring to Hostage Rescue.”

“You’re not serious, are you? You’re getting out of here. I’m seeing to it personally,” you said it like it was a fact. His face told you he wasn’t kidding.

“Let me ask you this- if I’m found guilty at my trial, how are you going to take it?”

You wanted to tell him you would be fine and continue to fight for his freedom, but you both knew there was a reason your therapist wasn’t clearing you for field work that would only get worse if your best friend had to serve upwards of 25 years in jail.

The BAU without Spencer Reid just wouldn’t be the same BAU you fell in love with when Hotch and Rossi had hired you all those years ago.

“Do you really think the brass would approve a transfer to an anti-terrorism tactical unit when I can’t even get cleared for field work now?” you countered.  

“I do. Your coping mechanisms are well developed. If you separate yourself from the BAU… and me… I think you could pass their psych eval just fine. And everyone knows your tactical skills are off the charts, even after you’ve taken time off.”

“You’re not a very good genius if you think you can get rid of me that easily,” you were quick to point out, “even if I did transfer, I’d still be here as much as possible. Penelope wouldn’t let me cut myself off that easily from the rest of the team either.”

“Just think about it, please.”

You sighed, “I’ll think about it, but I’m still holding out that we’re proving your innocence and you and I will be back to our shenanigans in no time.”

“I’m looking forward to it. How’s my mom doing?”

“She’s been ok, I visit every day and JJ usually comes with me. Cassie’s been really great for her,” you told him.

“Good, will you tell her I-“

“Prisoners line up!” a guard yelled.

“Will you tell her I love her?” Spencer said quickly as he stood. You nodded, watching as he lined up with the other inmates and walked away.

As you left the prison you told yourself you were never getting used to this, and you were going to start working double time on proving Spencer’s innocence. There was no family like your BAU family, and whoever had framed Spencer was not going to destroy that so easily.

[astralsweetness]

I can’t be honest (but neither can you) || Changkyun/Reader (m)

➣ I cannot believe this is my first contribution to Monsta X, this is really how I’m entering the writing side of this fandom OTL Also hello idk how to write short summaries?? I proof-read this at 4:30 AM so please tell me if I missed something lol. Fair warning I switch P.O.V.’s often in this and with absolutely no regard to any writing rules

➣ Changkyun/Reader | Angst[?] with a surprisingly happy ending that I didn’t mean to write | Showcases some bad coping mechanisms from both he and the reader | Mentioned Wonho/Reader, but it’s purely platonic in a sexual way | Smut warnings include: mentions of choking, pegging, fingering, mentions of a ruined sexual scene, sort of self-imposed edging if you squint, hair-pulling, facesitting

➣ It’s been almost a year since he called off the relationship and your name still tastes like a mixture between sugar and ash on his tongue when he says it, your picture is still saved in his camera roll, and he’s taken the plunge these last few months to reach out to you to be friends again. His hyungs tell him it’s a bad idea, and he tells them he knows, because he does, really, he swears he does. It’s just that his heart soars when he gets to talk to you and he can’t remember why he was ever scared of letting you in past that last wall he’d put up, and he’s going to your place and he hates himself because instead of “I love you” he says “please fuck me” and even now he can’t be honest to you about his feelings.

“I want you to fuck me.” He’s standing at your door, speaking in English with that deep voice of his, and you just blink blankly at him - he hadn’t called or texted to say he was coming over, and to be completely honest you hadn’t seen him in over a week. The silence is uncomfortable, but his eyes are intense, and he refuses to shift shyly under your blank stare.

“..well, come in I guess.” You invite him in with raised eyebrows - he goes easily, knowing your apartment like his own home. It’s been almost a year since you two broke up, but he hasn’t forgotten anything. That same stupid plant he hated was still on your table. He had no idea how it was still alive.

“So.. we aren’t together anymore, we haven’t hung out in a while, but you decided I’m the person you want to fuck you. Suddenly.” Your tone of voice conveys your lack of belief - this sort of feels like some very strange joke, but you have no idea who’d ever come up with one like this.

“You fuck Wonho-hyung all the time, and you aren’t dating him, so why can’t you fuck me?” His words are said in a rush, the first sign of nervousness, and you cross your arms and cock a hip. It’s your default power-pose, lets you feel like you’re in control when you have no idea what’s going on.

‘Is that really all it is?’ you want to ask, but you stay silent. He doesn’t seem aware that when you’re with Hoseok it’s more for the other man’s emotional well-being than it was just to get laid. Sometimes people needed to be broken apart and pieced back together lovingly just to feel okay. For Hoseok, you were a friend he trusted enough to let break him and then take care of the pieces that remained shattered on the floor.

“If you tell me why then maybe.”

“I’m not doing shit for a maybe.” He fires back instantly, gaze narrowing. His shoulders have tensed and he’s widened his stance, an unconscious reaction to the way your own body language had changed. Whether he actually felt it or not, at a subconscious level he believed he was being threatened.

You step forward and snag him by the forearm - the fight goes out of him instantly, replaced by pure innocent confusion as you lead him to your bed. He notices dully that you’ve redecorated your bedroom - though it makes sense considering he was the one who had helped you liven it up before.

“Sit - and try to relax. All the muscles in your shoulders are tensing up.” Your words have the opposite affect you wanted them to have - he tenses more, seemingly thrown off by your care, your notice of his minute actions.

You watch the way his gaze drifts over your room – it catches and lingers on a group picture of you and the rest of his group, tucked safely into the frame of your vanity mirror.

It’s a nice picture, though you really don’t remember taking it. You’re fairly certain everyone was drunk though, since you’ve got your arm thrown around Minhyuk’s shoulders in it, pressing your cheek against his.

It’s cute, even if looking at it is bittersweet. You can see the question on his face, the ‘why did you keep this?’.

“It’s not like I stopped being friends with them just because we broke up.” You feel defensive over your choice, face heating – you weren’t even near him in the picture, on completely opposite sides in it. He just murmurs a soft “oh” that sounds dejected, and you desperately don’t want to think about it.

“Anyway –“ You’re desperate to move on at this point, and he seems to feel the same because his attention snaps back to you. “You’re not really in a position here to argue and make demands, but fine -“ It was just sex, right? For you, anyway. “I can’t literally right now, I have a class in 30 minutes, but if you tell me why then we can negotiate.” You feel like some sort of fucking dealer.

He seems vaguely surprised you’ve agreed so easily, but he works his jaw and tries to figure out how to explain his reasoning to you - whatever it may be. You let him think and go in search of your computer bag. Online classes were a pain, especially those that required attendance in the form of a webcam. The bag has been thrown into a corner of your room, and you sigh and bend down to begin your annoying search.

“Well, we’re not together anymore, so..” You crane your neck to look at him, even as you continue to rummage through your backpack for your computer cord. Damn thing was in there somewhere, you knew. “I don’t have to worry about what you think of me anymore?”

He finishes his statement with an accidental upwards inflection that turns it into a question, and your hands pause before you turn back around and continue searching, mulling over your word choice carefully. ‘You never had to worry’ sits on your tongue, something that is desperate to be said, but you swallow it back down. He wouldn’t believe you and it’d cool the current mood.

“I see.” You finally settle on, standing and popping your vertebrae back into place as your prize - the fucking charging cord - dangles from your hands. Your two words could convey many meanings, and you can see from your peripheral that his brow has furrowed. It’s not the answer he was expecting, though you think he probably didn’t know what he’d been expecting in the first place. “Then - what is it you want?”

“For you to fuck me.” He answers again, and then swallows as he notices your blank stare has returned.

“I know that, you said that. I meant what specifically are you looking to get out of this?”

“I want it to hurt.” His words make your breath catch in your throat, emotions swinging between vaguely turned on and worried. Sure, he’d had some masochistic tendencies in bed before, but - “I mean - I don’t – not physically -“ He’s switched to Korean in the wake of your silence, a comfort language, and you wonder if he even realizes he’s done it.

“Okay.” You respond simply in Korean back and he stops his rambling, just blinks at you. You see the tension finally start to drain out of his shoulders and switch back to English purely for your own sake, because it was easier, definitely not because you wanted to be able to hear his voice speaking your native language. “So long as you promise to use safewords, I won’t ask. I’m not your therapist and I’m not -“

“My girlfriend.” He finishes your sentence quietly, back to English as well, and your mouth goes dry.

“And I’m not here to judge you.” You remedy - you weren’t going to mention anything about your past relationship, and he looks away quickly at that realization. “You mentioned Hoseok -“ His hand twitches at his side when you call his hyung by his real name, but you mercifully don’t call him on this. Maybe this was a bad idea, but you’ve gone this long purely on the denial that he regrets breaking up with you, and it’s too late to stop that now. “- so I’m going to treat this situation exactly like that.”

“Okay?” Changkyun has no idea what that means, his fingers curling into your bedspread. You check the time - 20 minutes until class.

“I’m your friend, and I want to help you. This doesn’t change anything between us, this doesn’t add some extra dynamic, some extra layer.” Your voice has gone business mode and he’s stiffened his back at it, an ingrained response from being in the music industry for so long. “I’m not doing this just because I want sex - if you are, that’s fine, but I’m just doing this to help you out. Is that clear?” He nods once, eyes wide. You think he’s cute. You’ve always thought he was cute, and it reminds you of how cute turned into smitten and smitten turned into perfection and perfection turned into love and love - well, he ended love. “Changkyun - do you promise this is just about sex or release of some kind and nothing else?”

Your tone had softened, and he’d been let out of whatever thrall your no-nonsense voice had put him into. The question hangs in the air heavily, dripping of a nectar so sweet it’s sickening.

“Yes. I promise.” His voice is hoarse, cracking and quiet - and you think he’s lying.

But you’ve held on to your denial for so long. He had said before that the spark was just gone - and what were you supposed to say to that? It wasn’t his fault; people fell out of love all the time. You could barely believe he’d ever been interested in you from the beginning and you refused to believe you were worth falling in love with for a second time. The fact that you had managed to remain friends is more than you could have ever hoped for.

“Okay.” You repeat his assurance, more for your own benefit than his. The room is quiet, and thunder rolls in the distance. Fuck - a storm meant spotty WiFi for your class.

You check the time again - 15 minutes.

“We can use the stoplight system -“ His gaze has blanked so you take the time to roughly translate it into Korean, explaining until his brow smooths out, and then you’re back to English. “Aside from that, though, I need to know what you’re interested in, what you want to happen or don’t want to happen. You can hang out here if you want during my class, or leave, I don’t care - but take the time to think over what it is you want in this session.” Your words are too clinical, you know this, but you can’t keep yourself from doing it that way. You know most of the things he’s into and not into, but if you don’t take this route then it all feels too intimate. Besides, he’d always kept a very careful hold of how much control he’d let go around you before, never wanting to slip too far into subspace, always wanting to seem in command, even when subbing for you. You wonder if that’s changed. You certainly don’t remember him ever blatantly asking outright to have something done to him before.

Memories flash across your mind eye, his back covered in your scratch marks, the way he moaned brokenly when you pulled on his hair, the way he came when you pressed your fingers to his throat. But he never asked for any of it - you had to ask if it was okay to do to him, and he always brushed off any of your attempts of aftercare.

You swallow again, feeling vaguely sick. Things had been broken in your relationship long before he called it off, but neither one of you wanted to admit it. Your heart hurts for multiple reasons, but when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye you know the biggest one: ‘I hope I didn’t hurt him by not talking about it’.

But he didn’t talk about it either. Did he care about whether it hurt you?

“Is that okay?” He’s been talking to you, and you startle out of your thoughts - a half-formed little smirk dances at the corners of his lips, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. He knows you well enough to know when you’ve been drifting. “I said, I’ll stay here if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, it’s fine - sorry, was just.. thinking.” It doesn’t really surprise you that he’s decided to stay - he’s confident to a fault, it’s true, but there’s a slash of shyness that strikes through his character, and you know that if he left he might not be able to come back. The thunder rumbles in agreement.

You half-watch him as you set up your computer on the coffee table – he’s looking around your apartment with thinly veiled curiosity, though you don’t really blame him. It didn’t really look anything like when you two had been together, and yet.. you felt it still had his subtle touch all over it. You wondered if he noticed that.

The class is boring, as it usually is – you’re watching the screen but your mind is far away, listening to your admittedly enthusiastic professor talk about the hyoid bone and articulations while your focus is on Changkyun. He lingers around you with a nervous type of energy, clearly not feeling allowed to roam around your apartment (it’d be kind of weird if he had, you admit) but also not feeling comfortable enough to sit on the couch next to you, even if he would have been off camera.

It’s almost like it was before, and you half expect him to sit down next to you anyway and throw his arm around your shoulder, always just off-screen, sitting next to you during your classes while he amused himself with his phone, just so he could be near you.

You’re just about to be able to feel the phantom warmth from the memory of his arm around you before he coughs and you startle, eyes snapping to him – he looks back wide-eyed, not understanding your surprise but murmuring a quiet apology anyway.

God you were so fucked.

.｡..｡.

“So?” The instant your class had ended you’d snapped the computer lid shut – you hadn’t retained a single thing said, what a complete waste. It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d skipped and focused on Changkyun in the end after all. “Did you decide on what you wanted?”

You’re so flippant with your question that he feels like he’s being asked about what it is he wants to eat instead of how he wants to have sex – the entire hour of your class he’d been nervous, and those nerves had by now tightened into a very tight ball at the base of his spine that periodically sent white-hot flames licking along his muscles.

“I –“ His mouth is so fucking dry and he hates how small he suddenly feels – he’d never felt like this around you before, but usually it had always been you asking if you could do something to him, hadn’t it? “I said it earlier. I want you to fuck me.”

He watches your reaction with pin-point precision – the small widening of your eyes, the way your gaze darts to the side like it always did when you were thinking something over – it wasn’t like you hadn’t ever fucked him before, but he’d never asked you to do so, and you clearly hadn’t expected him to come out with something like that so easily.

Why the hell could he say something like that and not something as simple as ‘I love you’, or even ‘I miss you’?

“Okay.” You’ve wrested your thoughts back under control – it wasn’t fair of him to say something like that, looking so utterly and effortlessly attractive. “As long as there’s no kissing I’ll fuck you any way you like, Changkyun.” You were over him and he was over you and this was just sex.

If you said it enough you’d start to believe it, right?

Changkyun just nods at your terms, looking a bit despondent – you can’t help the strong surge within you that says to fix it, fix whatever upset him, but you have a feeling you knew already. He’d always been a bit fixated on kissing you, but you knew if you let him this time then it’d all be over.

“I don’t remember you ever falling this far into the ‘submissive’ side of things, Changkyun.” You’re desperate to regain the upper-hand, and he flushes a bright red at your comment, grumbling out a weak “shut up” that has you smiling.

“Have you been experimenting?” You’re still teasing him but he bristles at the insinuation that he would have been with anyone after you – you had no reason to think he hadn’t been but the mere thought of being with anyone other than you makes him ache deep in his chest, in his soul.

“No.” He tries to keep his voice calm, but it wavers still and he digs his fingernails into the soft leather of his belt, pausing. “I haven’t been with anyone since –“

He can’t say it, but you understand regardless – he doesn’t like how surprised you look, ducks his head and lets his hair obscure his view of you as he refocuses on undressing. It’s not that you’d been wrong to be surprised with his decision for today, either – before you, he’d never really definitively considered himself particularly dominant or submissive, happy with having the choice to be either at the drop of a hat. That changed with you though – you had been so uncompromising with your power, beautiful and self-assured, and he knew without a doubt that if you so much as even hinted at it he would be on his knees for you every single time.

Not that he had ever told you that, of course. He’d never told you anything he really wanted to. Even now, with you looking at him softly, trying to see if you’d crossed a line with your little teasing jabs, the words ‘I’m happy being this for you’ get stuck in his throat and all he can do is tug his shirt over his head wordlessly, fingernails clicking nervously at his belt as he undoes it. You pretend not to notice the way your heartrate accelerates as he reveals his body bit by bit to you, slender waist but powerful figure, beautiful skin, beautiful body.

“Well, then – lie down.” You gesture to your bed and he swallows down the stupid fucking butterflies he gets at the gesture – he’d been on your bed before, he’d been in this position before, there was absolutely nothing to be nervous about.

And still, despite his nerves, a pleasurable chill runs down his spine when he hears the cap of the lube being clicked open, and he forces himself to exhale as he shifts and tries to get comfortable on a comforter he no longer recognized, in a room that had no trace of him in it anymore.

You look at him with a level gaze, always so calm, and he ignores the erratic beating of his heart and nods his assent for you to begin, immediately shifting his gaze to your ceiling.

Why the fuck was he so goddamn nervous?

(He tries to forget the way he instantly whimpers when he feels your finger, slick with lube, probing at his rim, tries to forget the way he gets hard in under a minute from your heavy gaze and one finger alone, and god he aches for more, aches for anything you’re willing to give him.)

“You’re taking this awfully well.” The teasing comes out unbidden, spilling past your lips before you can even think about the words – but it’s true, for someone who had claimed to not have been with anyone since you he was taking your fingers incredibly well.

“My own hands – fuck – exist..” His snarky response turns into a shaky moan halfway through when you decide to carefully – but quickly – add a third finger. There’s something erotic (and interesting) to you about that, thinking over the fact that Changkyun had been finger-fucking himself ever since you two broke up.

“You look good like this.” It’s an attempt to make up for the previous teasing but all it does is cause him to groan and throw a forearm over his eyes, legs spreading wider when you hit that spot deep inside.

“Fuck, jesus – fuck..” It’s a broken sob instead of an actual sentence (though he manages to stick with English), a familiar feeling already building deep in his gut. He’s not sure if it’s because it’s been so long since he’d been fingered by someone else or if it’s because it’s you doing it, complimenting him while doing so, or if it’s a combination of everything, but his back arches against his will and he knows he is seconds away from coming undone already.

“Stop – stop, oh my god –“ At his desperate plea you stop moving completely and he wants to sob as the pleasurable feeling slowly ebbs away, an almost painful drag as it settles back into a dull burn. He’s gasping, tiny whimpering sounds as he sucks breath back into his lungs, chest heaving – his eyes are wide, fingers curling into your comforter. He looks frantic, frightened almost, and even if it wasn’t your responsibility you knew you’d be desperate to fix it.

“Changkyun, ar –“

“I’m fine.” He bites it out angrily, doing his absolute best to look like he had been anything but moments away from an orgasm five minutes into.. whatever this was. He’s shutting you out again, before anything even begins, and it fills you with such an irrational anger that you have to suck in a breath of your own to keep from lashing out, taking gentle care to extract your fingers even as your blood boils.

“Stop fucking lying to me.” You can’t keep the ice from your words, even if you manage to control the volume and pitch – his dark eyes snap from the ceiling to you in surprise. There’s a panicked feeling bubbling up in his chest, because he really doesn’t know if he can handle you calling him on his true feelings for you right now, doesn’t want to have to admit he still loves you while he’s naked and so vulnerable.

“I’m not –“

“Stop it.” His mouth shuts with an audible click of his teeth, so sudden is your cut-in. Your brow has smoothed out, no longer angry, instead immensely sad, and he’s not sure this is any better. “You said you wanted to do this because you didn’t have to worry about my opinion. So why are you still doing it?”

He can’t breathe, and the lube is drying sticky on your fingers, and for a moment neither of you are aware of the position you’re in, the way the thunder has become your constant background music – he’s looking at you unblinkingly and you’re staring back, and it’s too intimate, too much, but neither of you look away.

“Please stop.” He speaks and it’s barely a whisper, the sound of someone’s heart breaking louder than his voice. You don’t know what to say but open your mouth anyway.

Lightning flickers outside your bedroom window and then your apartment is shaking from the resounding thunder, the power flickering and then plunging the two of you into darkness. Suddenly you can breathe again, and you’re quickly trying to slide out from in between his legs because he said ‘stop’ and he was fully coherent even if he hadn’t said ‘red’, because he said ‘stop’ and you have only ever wanted him comfortable.

“Wait –“ He is frantic, grabs your forearm with frigid fingers as he leans half off your bed to catch you from retreating too far. It’s hard to see him but you get flashes from the light outside your window, electricity reflecting off his dark eyes in starbursts.

“You said to stop.” Your voice is broken and you feel so powerless, sick inside because while you rarely manage to ruin a scene it still tears you up inside each time, and Changkyun wouldn’t let you try to fix it with aftercare and you don’t know what to do anymore.

“I meant –“ Stop talking, stop laying me bare and open, just fuck me and make me forget everything, stop being you so I can stop loving you. “I just want to be ruined.” He says instead, and his voice is so low but so weak that you barely recognize it.

“I can’t do that if you don’t let me.” Your clean fingers curl around his and gently pry them from your arm – but then you keep holding them, and you want to let go but you can’t remember how to tell your body to do so. “Will you let me, Changkyun?”

The air is still and silent aside from the rain slashing angrily at your windows – there is no thunder, your own heartbeat loud enough (or maybe it was his, you didn’t know anymore).

“I want to.” He answers instead, voice quiet but a bit stronger than before, and your eyes have adjusted so you can see the features of his face vaguely now, follow the line of his brow to his cheek to his lips, and you’re leaning in and you hate yourself because you had promised this was the one thing you wouldn’t do.

“Let me wreck you then, baby.” And oh that nickname was a mistake but you’d said it anyway, a ghost of a whisper against his lips, a proposition and a plea all in one. He moves forward the last centimeter and connects your lips as an answer, a sound that is almost one of pure relief being ripped from his throat.

It’s like he’s been waiting years for this moment, doesn’t even fight as you grip his jaw lightly and angle him into a better position so you can scope out the inside of his mouth with your tongue, relearning things you had known long ago but had thought were forgotten.

There’s a flighty feeling in his chest, one of nervousness and expectation – he doesn’t want to give you control so easily, he doesn’t want to be opened and laid bare in front of you, he doesn’t want you to see something you dislike in him – but more than anything he wants you to touch him and keep kissing him and god he fucking misses you, has missed this. He’d asked you to ruin him, you’d asked to wreck him, but he knew he was already both ruined and wrecked just from being near you again, from having your lips on his own.

You try to slide your hands back down his body but he stops you, continues to kiss you as his fingers curl around your own, and the act is so intimate it almost feels wrong.

“Just – hurry up, I’m ready enough.” He manages to say scattered between four different kisses, never apart from your lips for more than a few seconds. You hate yourself for not even trying to stop him, leaning into them each time.

“You can stretch yourself some more while I get ready.” You have to pull away from him completely to say this, and he follows you like you’ve got some magnetic pull on him before you’re off of the bed and the connection is broken.

Even with your eyes adjusted it’s hard to properly get the harness on, fingers fumbling with the straps but managing in the end. You can hear him breathing harsh, anticipating – you can tell from the sounds alone that he hadn’t taken your advice, but you’re not surprised. Always your little pain slut, even if he had never wanted to admit it.

When you approach him again his eyes are wide, brow furrowing as he notices you’re still fully clothed – he keeps his mouth shut tight though, gaze darting in the dark. The storm still rages on outside but neither of you even notice it anymore.

Your fingers on the inside of his thigh startle him – he jumps, trying to close his legs, but you force them back open again. Something about that simple action makes a moan trickle into his throat, but he swallows it back down stubbornly.

He can’t conceal the next sound he makes when you press the blunt tip of the strap-on to his opening, though, a rasping whine as you push in slowly, so fucking slowly. Even with all the lube he knew you’d slathered over the toy it still takes a bit of work to get it into him, and every slight stretch makes him grit his teeth in a masochistic type of pleasure, feeling so full by the end that it makes him so painfully hard his head spins. It hadn’t taken long to get him worked back up, but he’s not really thinking about that right now.

All he knows is that he wants to be close to you, wants to feel good, wants to make you happy – he wants so much that he doesn’t think he can even begin to put any of it into words. It always ends up at ‘I love you’ and he already knew that was a phrase that lodged in his throat like knives.

“Please.” This he can say – you don’t know what he’s begging for but he’s begging all the same, the word ‘please’ becoming a chant that slowly shifts back into his native tongue when teeth mark his throat, fingertips pressing insistently into his hips as you fuck him hard and rough. He hopes, distantly, that it bruises. He wants to be able to remember this for as long as possible.

If he was present enough in the moment he might have been embarrassed by the sounds he was making – his naturally deep voice has transformed completely into high breathy whines, all trace of his ‘savage rapper’ persona gone when you bite his lip hard enough it throbs before you’re flipping him, pushing his shoulders down into the bed with one hand.

The feeling of your palm, small but blindingly warm on his back, makes him weak enough that his thoughts stutter, head a chaotic mess of fractured thoughts and sensations. His eyes are open but unfocused – it’s dark in the room anyway, but he’s unaware of it, cognizant only of your presence and his, that warm fuzzy feeling in his chest competing with the white-hot fire you were stoking lower in his pelvis.

You want to cry at how beautiful and perfect he is for you, the way he arches his back instinctively, presents himself as your own personal plaything – but he wasn’t yours, you had to remember that, remind yourself over and over that this was just sex. (If you repeated it enough it started to stop sounding like real words, and that was equally as dangerous as forgetting them in the first place.)

The head of the strap-on teases his entrance and he groans, clenching his fists into your pillow – you’d taken it out when you’d flipped him and he was fighting against every fucking urge and want and need his body was screaming at him to just take the plunge and force himself backwards. (But another part of his brain is telling him to wait, to make you happy, to draw this out as long as fucking possible because he has no idea if he’ll ever get to experience it again.)

“Can you tell me what you want?” Your voice is soft as silk, quiet, and a fluttery feeling rises up in his stomach at the sound, at how you’ve modified an order to be a request. He doesn’t know how he feels at the realization that you were taking it ‘easier’ on him verbally, that you had at some point come to understand he was having trouble letting go completely.

“I –“ He tries, he really fucking does, but like always the words get stuck in his throat. He just can’t seem to bring himself to admit what he really wants out loud and it is destroying him. One of your hands smooths down his side, lingering at his hip, and he feels like you’ve left behind a line of pure fire on his skin, almost burning away the shame and hatred he feels at himself for his fucking inability to be vulnerable, his cowardice.

“Just fuck me.” He says instead, defeat coating his words – and he can feel you hesitating, because it was obvious he’d meant to say something else and hadn’t.

He opens his mouth to say something, though he has no idea what, at the same instant you decide to slide the strap-on back into him. Whatever he’d been planning to do is gone from his mind instantly, his world reduced to just the dull burn, the frustratingly slow drag against his innermost walls, the way you manage to somehow brush up against the spot that has him trembling and dropping to his forearms. He curses in a strange mixture of Korean and English and you laugh softly at the sound, even as you slide out and thrust back into him hard enough that he jolts forward.

He feels, in a sense, like he is being broken in all the best ways – all he can focus on is you, all he can feel is the way you’re fucking him, grabbing at his hips. His breath is caught in his throat and he just knows he is going to ache later, bone-deep and satisfying.

But it’s not enough, never enough – you’re not asking to do more to him like you had in the past and he can’t manage to tell you what he desires most (though, at this point, he’s not totally sure he could say anything coherent anyway). He reaches back with one hand, groping – your fingers wrap around his and he drags them up to his hair, a wordless plea. He hopes you understand what he’s asking for.

A broken moan is ripped from his throat when you fist your hand in dark strands and pull backward, forcing him into an arch – his mind has blanked into varying shades of white, electricity on his skin and molten lava running through his veins, your heat against his back overwhelming.

You know it’s a bad idea before you do it, but you lean down and press you lips to his shoulder anyway, teeth scraping over feverish skin – the hoarse whine he gives at the feeling makes wetness pool between your legs, uncomfortable and wrong because this was just sex, this was just supposed to be for him.

The urge to mark him up is so strong it’s almost distracting – your hips falter in the bruising pace you’d set as your mind drifts, Changkyun groaning at the sudden shift in speed.

“Let me –“ He’s gasping, feels like he’s been running a fucking marathon or drowning (and oh, he has, drowning in you, in his expansive and terrifying feelings for you) but he knows your hips have to be sore by now and to be completely honest he is just downright greedy, wanting to feel you deep inside, wanting to –

He just wants so much. He reaches back to press at you gently and you let him move you instantly, trying to figure out what had bothered him – as soon as you realize he just wants a change in position you’re grabbing at his hips again, tugging him over your legs. His cock drags against the fabric of your shorts and he nearly sucks in a breath, trying to focus on lining himself up instead of the way it throbbed (or the way you were looking at him, hair splayed out on the pillow and yet so in command still).

He thinks he should feel more in control like this, on top of you, hands braced on your shoulders – but he doesn’t, not at all, and he knows instantly that he isn’t when you snap your hips up to meet his and he falls onto you, moan vibrating against the skin of your neck. He can feel your fingers in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, can feel the infuriatingly teasing way his cock is rubbing up against your fucking shirt you never took off. It’s gone untouched for so long that it’s absolutely aching by now and he thinks he might actually be able to orgasm like this – but he doesn’t want to, not yet, even with how border-line painful its become. He doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want to have to go back to a world without you in it.

His hips stutter on top of yours when you tug on his hair again, grinding hard against the strap-on, and you lift his face high enough you can press your lips to his, all hot breath and panted moans. He tastes of honey and heartbreak and you want nothing more than to make him cum and fall apart, trembling, on top of you.

“Am I ruining you properly, baby?” Your voice is dark red and sinful, and he trembles at the sound and tries to seek out your lips again, a whine lodged in his throat when you tighten your grip on his hair and keep him in place, rolling your hips languidly up to meet his frantic movements. “Tell me.”

“Fuck..” He responds instead, deep and rough in his chest – it cracks into a high moan when you punish him with a harsh upwards thrust, fingers curling into your shoulders. Your soft laugh, amused or delighted he’s not sure, makes a feeling like electric butterflies break out across his skin. If you had let go of his hair he’d have buried his face into your neck again to hide his expression – but you haven’t, and he knows you can see everything, every part of him, every expression he makes.

He thinks he must look stupid, embarrassing – but all you see is pure beauty. His brow has furrowed and sweat drips down to his collarbones, bruised lips parted slightly, glistening from where you’d kissed him earlier. Hazy eyes try to look anywhere but your face failingly, allowing you to see the foggy galaxy residing in their darkness. You’re not sure if what you’re seeing is his pupil or iris, but you find it gorgeous all the same, intoxicating.

“I’m going to make you cum, Kyunnie.” He shakes at your dangerous words, your knife-sharp gaze. You’re aware he never responded to your last question. “You’ll fall apart up there, ruined, just like you asked to be.”

Your words wrap around him, coiling tightly like chains – he feels caught, trapped, and he wants nothing more than for you to make good on your word, even if it sends a sharp trill of fear through his stomach.

The grip on his hair lets go suddenly and he sags forward, as if your pull on him had been all that was keeping him upright. He’s left a mess of pre-cum on your shirt, flushes a dark red when you drag your fingers through it thoughtfully.

“Messy boy..” You muse, heat spreading through you when you see the way his cock jerks at those two simple words, so red and aching, so fucking beautiful and desperate.

Fuck, you wanted so badly for him to be yours.

One of his hands flies to your wrist when you finally wrap your fingers around him – more of his weight is on you now but you can’t find it in yourself to mind, not with the way he’s breathing hot and wet against your neck, the way he doesn’t stop you when you move your hand, just clings to your arm desperately like he’s not totally sure he wants to be touched yet.

A choked sound leaves his mouth, lips bitten bloody, and you turn your head so you can breathe against his ear, let him press his face further into your neck. “Such a little whore..” You murmur, and he sobs open-mouthed against your skin and thrusts weakly into your fingers and then back onto the strap-on, unsure of which feeling he wanted more of. “So beautiful. So perfect.”

A part of him feels like he’s dying, unsure if he was really okay with being so vulnerable with you – but another part of him, the larger part, feels like he is fucking soaring, like this is all he had ever wanted and more. There are flames licking at his body, coiling tighter and tighter in his stomach, and he’s not sure how much longer he can last like this.

“You can fall, Changkyun.” Your voice is in his ear, like the sound of silk sliding over skin, fingernails tracing lightly along the back of his neck. He hates the way he reacts so viscerally to it, climax surging forward at the sound, at the way your fingers slide wetly over the head of his cock pinned in between the two of you. “It’ll be okay, you can fall to pieces. I’ll catch you.”

He orgasms with a wail that makes him flush a dark red, and he would have been mortified at the sound if every nerve ending in his body wasn’t currently sparking, his muscles spasming as he tries to keep thrusting into your fist even as the lightning bolt sensations turn from overwhelming to painful. He doesn’t even realize tears have slipped from his eyes until he feels your lips kissing them away, and he is hit with such a wave of emotion that he can’t breathe all over again (and it is just pure emotion, he couldn’t identify a single one of them if he tried).

After you slowly pulled out and settle him on the blankets he watches, distractedly, as you slide the straps down over your hips, leaving it on the floor to be dealt with later. Impulsively he reaches out to catch the edge of your shorts when you try to head to the bathroom, tongue sliding over chapped lips when you turn that powerful, beautiful gaze of yours on him. One of your eyebrows has raised, appraising him as he slowly tugs you back to the bed until you’re resting on your knees next to his waist. Sweat is drying sticky on his skin and he’s trying not to feel like he’d done something wrong, reacted in some undesirable way that you’d remember and relate to him for the rest of your life - but above all that, he wants to taste you. It’s the only consistent thought running through his mind, more prevalent than the lingering unease at having bared so much of himself to you.

“Please.” Again, it’s all he can say, eyes so dark and wide, pleading – his fingertips rest lightly on your hip, over the waistband of your shorts, lips parted ever so slightly. It’s so obvious what he’s asking for, and you want to say no. You’re pretty sure you need to say no. “Babe –“

You surge forward to cut him off mid-sentence with a brutal kiss and he gasps – you didn’t want to hear that, and you can tell from the way he’s frozen that he hadn’t meant to say it, even as his body returns the kiss on pure muscle memory alone. This entire experience had been a mess, a mistake, and yet –

“Okay.” It’s more a breath against his mouth than a word, but the way he smiles at your soft agreeance makes your heart hurt. You were in so deep, had fallen so far – how foolish of you to think you had been over him. How fucking stupid you’d been.

He wastes no time, pulling your shorts and underwear down like he’d done it hundreds of times before – because he had, you note dully – fingers wrapping around your thighs. When you sink down onto his face a tension drains out of his body that neither of you had even noticed was still lingering.

All he can smell is you, all he can taste is you – you surround him and this is all he’s ever fucking wanted, to be possessed by you, to be as close to you as possible. He’s not even totally sure what he’s doing aside from the fact that he’s putting his absolute all into it – he’s just trying to taste every inch of you he can, tongue delving as deep as possible before switching to suck on your clit. There’s no rhyme or reason to his method and it has you letting out a quiet sigh that borders on a gasp. He tries to memorize the sound instantly – any sound he could get out of you was a treasure in itself, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to hear them again after this.

There is no particular build-up to your orgasm – it’s at first lingering briefly bone-deep and then suddenly it is upon you in streaks of lightning, hips grinding against his face but mouth stubbornly shut. You can’t let this be any more intimate than it already was. (And yet you instinctively reach down and lace your fingers with his, and his thumb smooths across the back of your hand as he continues to mouth at your cunt, drink up your fluids. You are so utterly and completely stupid, your heart in your throat.)

There is a moment you want to carve out afterwards, a small bubble in time where the two of you could just bask in the afterglow and pretend like nothing had changed from a year ago – but you can’t let yourself do that, pushing yourself up off the bed even as every fiber of you begs to remain beside him for a moment longer. His fingers remain holding yours a moment too long before dropping to your bedspread, defeated.

Your heart suddenly felt like it was three sizes too big for your body, filled to the brim with love for a man you knew you’d have no second chance with, and you clench your teeth tightly to keep it from oozing out between your teeth like bittersweet sugar.

He’s still panting when you return with a damp cloth, reaches for it as if he really expects you to make him clean himself off. You scoff and catch his hand with your own, setting it back down on the bed as you begin to clean off his face first. Whether you wanted to avoid intimacy or not there were things you simply refused to throw to the wayside just because you wanted to remain distant, and one of those was taking care of him after sex. (He’s more receptive this time than he used to be, not fighting you and claiming he was fine, letting you dote on him with a sort of hesitant and soft acceptance. It makes your heart hurt all the more, the pure ache and want almost unbearable.)

“You’re always so messy..” It’s meant to be a light comment but the two of you accidentally lock gazes when you say it, your hand stalling in its motions. He looks like he wants to say something, lips parting – your breath catches in your throat, waiting, but he ultimately just shuts his mouth, gaze darting away from you. Your breath leaves you in a small burst. “Just relax, Kyun, I’ve got you.”

It’s the typical words you say to a sub after an intense session (with an accidental affectionate nickname that you bite the inside of your cheek for), but you mean them, and you don’t want to, but you do, irrevocably. You know that if he needed it, if he asked for it, you would let him stay here for as long as he wanted. You knew that tonight you wouldn’t be asking him to leave. And for that you are so, so incredibly fucked. (You wonder if he is too, judging from the way his eyes widen at the nickname and his breath stutters – but you crush that thought instantly, don’t dare to get your hopes up.)

He’s surprised that you take the time to clean him up, bring him water and a change in clothes – they aren’t his but they’re clearly a man’s, and he wonders if they belong to Hoseok considering the size. Something deep in his chest hurts at that thought. He’s even more surprised when you pull on an oversized shirt instead of telling him to leave – he faintly realizes that he recognizes it, a soft violet that hung down to your lower thighs and always felt soft against his chest when he’d hold you – crawling into bed next to him after changing into it, though he’s automatically moving to accommodate you, perfectly content to throw the thick comforter to the floor to be dealt with in the morning.

“Is.. this okay?” Your voice is quiet, so tentative and soft and hesitant, and all he wants to do is tell you yes, this was more than okay, this was everything he had ever wanted.

“Yeah – I mean, it’s your bed, so..” He hates himself for the way he responds, swallowing hard but taking the initiative to slide his arm over your side, nose in your hair. He can feel the way you tense, but you don’t say anything against it or try to pull away. “And.. this? It’s okay too?”

“…it’s okay.” It’s a small response but he inhales deeply in relief, drinking in your scent half by accident. It’s the same smell he had missed for so long, the one he’d dream of and wake up thinking there was a chance it still lingered on his pillow, heart dropping through his ribcage when he realized it wasn’t.

Despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach you fall asleep fast, mentally drained and physically exhausted - his fingers trace the line of your shoulder, head pillowed on his own arm as he watches you sleep. There is a purely warm and happy feeling trying to spread through his body, but it doesn’t make it very far before the remembrance that you still weren’t his and he still wasn’t yours freezes it in its tracks. He feels like his heart is melting, dripping through his ribs and oozing into his stomach and making him sick.

He’s shaking your shoulder before he even knows what he’s doing, and you’re half-awake and groggy but so fucking beautiful and every single one of his nerves feels like a live wire underneath his skin, buzzing and loud and painful, and he is so scared, but he is also tired. Tired of hurting, tired of missing you, tired of the way Kihyun will be talking about you but stop awkwardly when he notices Changkyun listening, tired of the way he smiles so big his cheeks hurt when the two of you talk on the phone, tired of how he swallows down the words “love you” every time you hang up – and he’s fucking tired of being scared most of all.

“Changkyun, you better be fucking dying..” You’re angry, always angry when woken suddenly, and he just wants to kiss you.

‘I love you, I’m stupid, I was scared, I always loved you, I never fucking stopped, did you know I would dream of you? Did you know that you were the only thing on my mind? On plane rides, in the vans, backstage, all I could think about was you and my hyungs all told me I was just hurting myself and I knew that but I still hoped that somehow you and I would end up happy together.’

Like always he can’t say any of it. It sits on his tongue and he just utters a quiet ‘fuck’ instead, throat tight. Why couldn’t he fucking do this?

“..Kyun?” He’s sitting up now, and you are too, side by side – your expression is open, sleepy but worried, and he has a sudden urge to take your face in his hands and kiss your eyelids.

The scariest part of telling the truth, of laying yourself bare for someone, of letting them in, was that they could take one look and never come back. And maybe he’s not afraid of loving you – maybe he’s never been afraid of loving you, with your eyes that hold the only stars he ever wants to look at. Maybe he’s been afraid of not being loved back.

He swallows hard, reaches for every bit of confidence and courage performing has ever given him, forces himself to be brave the way the industry has taught him to be. Moonlight filters in through the window and he thinks your eyes might actually house the milky way in them somehow.

“I love you, still – always. I never stopped.”

He can’t breathe because you’re just looking at him, stunned and disbelieving, tears collecting on your lash-line but not falling, never falling, and he feels like the fucking worst for telling you now, this way, this bluntly – but he knows if he didn’t say anything he would have never said anything, and he’s not sure he could have survived that, so the words had fallen from his lips hard and heavy and desperate to be said. (And a part of him is still surprised he even managed to say them at all, rushed and frantic as they were.)

“I –“ Your brow is furrowed and your voice is thick, but when he reaches to brush your tears away you let him and his lungs start to tentatively fill themselves with oxygen again.

When you smile it is watery and weak but it is there, and he feels like sunlight has reappeared in the lining of his skin, bright and blinding and warm.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Forty

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 13th, 1999

Emile sat in his bedroom, staring at the lighter in his trembling hands. All he needed to do was flick it on, and decide where on his arm he’d leave the first mark. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was wrong. But everything else was going wrong, why couldn’t he show that through his own pain?

People said that it was selfish to commit suicide. Emile disagreed. His friends who had killed themselves, they weren’t selfish, they were desperate. They couldn’t see any way out so they made their own way. And it hurt Emile more than words could ever say. But maybe...maybe the lighter could say it for him. He flicked the flame on, and shakily put his arm over the fire, closer...closer...

Not close enough. In an instant, the lighter was snatched from his hands and he jumped as he realized his mom was there, staring at him. “Emile, what do you think you’re doing?!” she asked. “Don’t you know you can get seriously hurt doing that?”

He looked up in shock. He spoke without thinking. “That was kind of the idea.”

His mother shook her head. “Downstairs,” she said. “Now. We’re finding you a therapist.”

  August 8th, 2001

Emile fell back into the car with a sigh. It was done. He had just donated to the sperm bank, and he never had to think about how embarrassed he felt making his donation ever again.

Well, he’d never have to think about it after Remy’s obligatory teasing. There was always the obligatory teasing to consider, at least when it came to things near and dear to Emile’s heart. Usually it wasn’t done with malice, and if Remy crossed a line nowadays he’d apologize. Emile still wondered, though, why exactly Remy always teased Emile about the things Emile really cared about.

He drove to Starbucks, where Remy was working for another hour or so. He had some time, and a little extra change in his pocket, so he figured he may as well go for a coffee. When he walked in, though, Remy must have been in the back, because there was a woman Emile didn’t recognize at the register. She flashed him a smile as he walked up, but Emile felt slightly unnerved by it for reasons he couldn’t explain. “Hi there! How may I help you?” she asked.

“Hi. Uh...tall Earl Grey tea would be lovely, thanks,” Emile said.

“Sure thing, cutie!” the woman said. “Can I get a name for the order?”

“Emile.”

“Oh! Are you Remy’s friend?” the woman asked. “He talks about an Emile he shares an apartment with all the time.”

“That’s me,” Emile said with a smile. “I have some free time so I figured I’d relax here before I pick him up, you know?”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, he said the two of you only have your car to get around. Say, you free Friday night?”

A beat. That was a sudden change in conversation. “Uh...sorry, I’ve got plans,” Emile managed. “My boyfriend and I are hanging out.”

The woman tsked. “Shame, you’re too cute to be gay,” she said. Emile wisely didn’t correct her about being bisexual. “I’ll get you your order, cutie.”

Emile nodded and took up a table by the window, watching the people outside walk by. So many people with different lives, different stories. He was just one college kid in an entire world full of people with unique perspectives on this planet. He was just a background character in most people’s stories, and it hurt his head to think about sometimes. That he might have unwittingly appeared in someone else’s dream and he would never know because that person could have just passed him on the street one day and never saw him again.

There was a call of “Order for Emile!” from the counter and Emile smiled, walking over to Remy to grab his order. He may have been a side character in most people’s stories, but he was glad he was a main character in Remy’s.

“Still get off in an hour?” Emile asked Remy.

“Yep,” Remy confirmed. “Planning on hanging out here until then?”

“Pretty much,” Emile agreed. “You know where to find me when your shift’s over.”

Remy nodded and Emile went back to his seat, sipping his tea. He didn’t have much to do for an hour, so he just sat and continued his people watching until, with a world-weary sigh, Remy collapsed in the chair opposite him. “Shift’s over,” Remy breathed. “And Jane was very disappointed about your mystery boyfriend.”

Emile laughed. “Ouch, yeah. I hate when people try and hit on me, especially when I can’t say you’re my boyfriend without risking you getting fired.”

Remy sighed and nodded. “Jane’s a bit much at all times. She’ll flirt with just about any guy over the age of eighteen. She’ll flirt with me, sometimes, even though I’ve made it clear to her that I won’t date a coworker. She doesn’t have to know it’s because I’m already taken.”

Emile laughed and finished his tea. “I don’t suppose she’s the most accepting person on the planet.”

“Definitely not,” Remy agreed.

They both stood and walked out of the shop, Emile yawning. “Man, I’m tired, and I didn’t even have a shift today.”

“Yeah, but you did have a date with the sperm bank,” Remy teased, nudging Emile’s shoulder with his own. “How did that go?”

“Without a hitch, believe it or not,” Emile said. “No people accidentally walking in or knocking on my door, no awkward conversations with any of the women in the waiting room, nothing. It was an in-and-out thing.”

“That’s good,” Remy said. “Of course, this is you we’re talking about. I doubt anything in your life could go badly.”

Emile coughed out an awkward laugh. How was he supposed to respond to that? “I’ve had things go wrong on me before, believe it or not,” he managed to say.

“Yeah, but you’ve got it pretty easy,” Remy said.

They got in Emile’s car and Emile chewed on his words. “I wouldn’t say I have it easy, per se,” he said. In his mind’s eye, he was thinking about his high school years. All the tears, the pain, the anger, the therapy appointments and the shock on his parents’ face when he...no. That was enough of that. He didn’t have to go down that road. Just focus on driving. “My life’s gotten better over the past few years, but it wasn’t easy to get this far.”

“Emile, no offence, but I sincerely doubt that you could ever have a serious problem. Your friends, maybe. I know you said you lost a couple of them, and almost lost a few more, but...if that’s the worst that happened, then I would argue it wasn’t that bad. It affected you personally, but it didn’t traumatize you,” Remy said.

“You don’t know that for certain,” Emile muttered under his breath.

“What?” Remy asked.

Emile sighed. “Nothing,” he said. “Just saying that you’re jumping to conclusions a bit early.”

“Well, come on, you’re still here without a scratch on you, I’d hardly say that it was that bad if you’re here without a scratch on you,” Remy said.

“Not all scratches and scars are easily viewable,” Emile said. “My life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, Rem. Never has been, never will be, and it certainly isn’t right now.”

“How bad can it be, though, really?” Remy asked.

Emile forced himself to relax as he parked the car in their parking lot and walked inside. “It can be pretty bad, Rem. My friends...my friends had problems. Problems that I had to help with. And it hurt me to help them, sometimes, and it hurts to look back on them now.”

Remy scoffed, and Emile felt himself twitch. He had gotten used to Remy being a little softer around most subjects, and had forgotten how stubborn he could be when it came to anything surrounding trauma. “Rem, I’m serious. It hurt. It was bad.”

“How can anything in your life be bad?!” Remy asked incredulously. “You’re practically perfect in every sense of the word! You never even look sad! How could anything that happened to you leave such bad scars that you can’t even stand to look at them now? Huh? What was so unspeakably bad that you can’t bear to think about it? Friends come and go, Emile, that’s just a fact of life! People get hurt sometimes, and it’s not the end of the world, it’s not even bad most of the time! It’s the emotional equivalent of a scraped knee!”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through!” Emile exclaimed, voice cracking. “You don’t get to decide what was and wasn’t bad for me!”

“Oh, right, because you could ever have it bad! Ever!” Remy snapped. “Your life is so miserable because you had some people you cared about and they’re not around anymore! It happens! My family tried to kill me, Emile! I don’t think you can top that!”

“I’m not trying to top it!” Emile exclaimed. “But I’ve had friends die on me, friends try to kill themselves and cut off all contact with me! I’ve had to hear my grandfather go on about how he hates people like me, without him ever knowing that it’s me he’s talking about! I’ve been dismissed, I’ve been belittled, I’ve been picked on for being smart and picked on for being dumb! I never felt like I fit in anywhere except with a select few friends, and even then I was the odd one out in most cases! And maybe my parents didn’t try to fucking kill me, but the rest of the world certainly did!

“You think I magically made it through my high school years unscathed, with friends killing themselves and self-harming and unloading on me because I was the only one they trusted? Do you know how many times I stared at razors, and lighters, wondering what it would feel like if I could just feel pain for a brief second, and let it show? I wanted that pain so bad, Remy, I wanted the scars because then people would know I wasn’t okay, and things weren’t perfect the way you claim they were! I was lucky; the first time I was going to try my mother found me and stopped me! And my parents helped me get therapy because I’m not fucking perfect, and I can’t handle everything on my own! And at least I have the stones to admit it! I don’t keep everything to myself until I physically can’t anymore and break down into a useless heap!”

Remy turned red. “So, what, by not admitting to everyone that I feel bad sometimes I’m automatically useless? I’m automatically unhealthy and in need of help because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve?!”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Emile snapped.

“Well that’s what I’m hearing!” Remy exclaimed. “You can’t possibly tell me anything that would be worse than what I’ve been through!”

“I’m not playing the misery Olympics, I just wanted acknowledgement that sometimes life sucks!” Emile exclaimed. “I wanted to lean on you for a minute, because I thought that we understood we’d both do that for each other!”

“Whatever!” Remy crossed his arms and turned away. “You’re making this out to be way worse a situation than it is, Emile! You’re exaggerating! This isn’t a situation any competent adult would need help with!”

Emile reeled back like he had been slapped. He may as well have been, with what Remy just said. “You genuinely think...you actually think that I’m incompetent?” Emile asked softly. “You think that I can’t handle myself? That I’m just an idiot who’s going to get hurt the second you leave me alone?”

“You don’t?” Remy asked.

Emile’s hands balled into fists. “Fuck you, Remy.” Emile’s voice was filled with pent-up fury, but he couldn’t reign it in even if he wanted to. “If you think I’m that stupid, why even stay with me? Am I just your emotional punching bag? The person you go to when you can’t vent to anyone else? I’m just supposed to stand here and take the hit without expecting anything in return?!” Emile’s breath was ragged, and he laughed, a choked sound that resembled someone being strangled. “Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it? Here I thought you actually cared about me, when in fact you were just using me. Great. Thanks for clearing that up.” Emile smacked his fists against his skull. “What I wouldn’t do for a little pain right now.” Smack. “After all, maybe then you’d understand I’m hurting, right?!” Smack. Smack. “Maybe then you’d understand that you don’t need to be traumatized to struggle with your mental health!” Smack. Smack. Smack.

Remy was staring at him, a silent, startled gaze looking Emile over.

“Forget it,” Emile said, a few tears finally starting to fall.

“Emile...” Remy reached a hand out, but Emile backed away.

“Just forget it,” Emile said. “I’ll help with my half of the rent, but I won’t bother you anymore. We don’t have to be boyfriends, since I’m clearly just a pity case.”

And before either of them could say anything more, Emile hid in his room for the rest of the day.

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

The Sparrow

Green light filtered through the window. It made the room feel like it was under water, or on some foreign planet. Andrew dropped his arm over his eyes trying to block it out, trying to will himself back to sleep for another hour. Or three. Nobody was counting.

A sharp pip sounded from somewhere outside. A minute passed, and it sounded again. And again. Andrew dropped his arm and glared out into the greenish dawn. A little bird hung from one of the branches of the giant vine that clung to the side of the house. It stared at him, cocking its head to the side, bright eyes considering. Pip!

“You’re an asshole.”

The bird gave a self-satisfied pip and flew off. Bastard. Just what he needed, an alarm clock with a mind of its own.

He yawned and stretched, taking inventory of what hurt. Knees. Left thumb. Right hip. Better than yesterday. He left his cane where it was, leaning against the wall.

Going down the narrow stairs that his physical therapist had assured him were a terrible idea, he entered the tiny kitchen and grumbled at the landscape of boxes he could see stacked in the living room. The coffee maker was the one thing he had set up yesterday, and he listened to the gurgling sounds as the water dripped through while he looked over the boxes. Finding the one labeled Dishes, he dug through and pulled out a bowl and a mug.

He took his meager breakfast out onto the patio. The cracked concrete was shot through with weeds; the abandoned furniture peeling and rusted. The little pipping bird was back to sitting in the vines. He couldn’t figure out why it was there; other than the vines that were assaulting the house and a few coarse weeds, the yard was bare dirt, hard and unwelcoming and littered with junk. It was ugly as hell, but Andrew didn’t really care. All he had to do was lift his head, and the view was spectacular: rolling mountains, the caps slowly baring themselves to the spring sun, the slopes a mix of trees and green expanses that he knew from photographs were covered with flowers. Someday, he’d walk there. Someday, he’d reach the top.

Scoffing at himself, at his stupid impossible dreams, he creaked to his feet and went in to take his medications.

~

Andrew’s house was full of strangers. If he hadn’t just bought the thing two days ago, it would’ve been tempting to set it on fire.

They weren’t technically strangers, as Allison had pointed out, given that he worked with them. But when Renee had said she’d be stopping by to help him unpack, he would’ve preferred it if she’d mentioned she’d be bringing half the town. He glared across the room at Renee, who pretended not to notice while she helped her girlfriend unpack cooking supplies. There was banging overhead where Kevin and Matt were putting together his bed. On the one hand, he was glad he was going to be able to stop sleeping on his mattress on the floor. On the other hand…

Movement outside caught this eye, a flash of reddish brown in his front yard. “What—”

Renee paused in her silverware sorting and followed his eyes. “Oh good! Neil came.”

“What, you hadn’t brought enough people?”

His words were punctuated by a crash from upstairs, followed by Matt’s voice calling a strained, “Everything’s okay!”

“Neil’s a gardener,” Allison said, as if that should have been obvious.

“Great.” More help he didn’t want. He made his way outside, but Neil had disappeared. Grumbling, he walked around the house, only stumbling twice. A slender man stood at the edge of his backyard, facing the mountains. Andrew tried to pretend that the man didn’t improve the view considerably, and stepped up to his side.

The man gave him a slashing glance, then a matching smile. “You must be Andrew.” He held out his hand, shrugging when Andrew didn’t take it. “Neil. I’m a friend of Allison’s.”

“What fresh hell do you have in store for me?”

Neil laughed easily. “Depends on what you want. Clean all this trash up to start; after that it’s up to you.”

“Up to me.” So far not a damn thing had been up to him, despite Renee’s lip service. “In that case, can you get rid of the assholes who have taken over my house?”

“Sorry, no,” Neil said, grinning. Andrew couldn’t take his eyes off of him, and he cursed himself for his weakness. “You know how it is. Once you’re in Renee’s clutches, you will help people and you will like it.”

“I most definitely will not.”

Neil laughed again and turned back to the yard, picking up one of the discarded plastic buckets that littered the space. “I better get started.”

It was rapidly becoming familiar, getting dismissed in his own house. He would have stayed just to watch Neil work, but Dan called his name and he headed back inside to prevent a book-arranging disaster.

~

The rumble of a truck pulled Andrew out of the mental cocoon he went into whenever he started working on his book. The week had been blessedly quiet, save for his avian alarm clock, but it appeared that was at an end. Grumbling, he forced himself to his feet, leaving his cane leaning against the couch.

Neil was standing on his front walkway, rubbing a hand sheepishly through his hair. “Morning.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m here to figure out what we’re doing with your yard. Didn’t Allison tell you?”

Andrew thought of Allison’s parting words on Friday. “You’re welcome!” He hadn’t known what she meant and hadn’t cared. Evidently he should have. “Why?”

Neil looked at him, nonplussed. “Because having that yard basically being a wasteland of dirt is criminal?”

“Hey, it’s my wasteland of dirt.”

That damn smile made a reappearance. “You deserve more than that.”

“That’s such bullshit. Nobody deserves anything.”

Neil cocked his head to one side. “Do you really believe that?”

Andrew studied his face, the faded scarring across his cheeks, the stubborn set to his jaw that made the smile a lie. “How much is Allison paying you?”

He looked genuinely startled at that. “Nothing. I volunteered.”

“Why? What do you get out of this?”

Neil looked away, color staining his cheeks like a sunrise. “Everyone deserves a little beauty in their lives.”

Andrew wondered what it was like, going through life with the evidence of other people’s viciousness on your face, and believing in beauty anyway.

~

Slowly the garden took shape, each Sunday adding a little more. When Andrew greeted him the third Sunday leaning on his cane, the truckload of gravel went back to where it came from without a word. The next week, he came outside to find Neil laying out paving stones in a sunburst pattern where the concrete had once been.

Neil was interesting and unpredictable, some days working for hours in silence, others chattering at length about plants and birds, on this continent and others. Sometimes Andrew helped, raking the dirt in the raised beds, then setting the native perennials Neil had picked out gently into the sun-warmed soil. Sometimes his hands wouldn’t close on the tools, and he sat in the shade of the house and talked or read aloud from the book he was writing. Once he stopped, uncertain if Neil was even listening; his friend raised his head from where he was setting out a bird bath. “Is that it?” Neil asked, disappointment coloring his voice, and Andrew bit back his smile as he turned back to his book.

Neil arranged shrubs around the house and planted a couple of flowering trees for shade. Soon Andrew’s little pipping bird had friends of his own, and he woke to a melodic cacophony each morning. One afternoon, they sat in silence on the new furniture Andrew had ordered, sipping lemonade and watching fat bumblebees tumble in and out of hot pink flowers. The garden was almost done; the summer had already passed its peak. Andrew looked at Neil, at his summer-sky eyes and his autumn hair, and he swallowed back the grief as he realized these Sundays were drawing to a close.

~

The singing was not enough to stir him. He heard it, dimly, through the haze of pain, but he closed his eyes and drifted back into the darkness.

~

“Andrew?”

He knew that voice; it wrapped itself around his heart and pulled, forcing him into consciousness. Stifling his groan was impossible, and Neil was at his side in a flash. “How can I help?”

“I need to take my meds.” His voice sounded like gravel, and he tried to clear his throat but it was too dry to make a difference.

“Bathroom?”

Andrew hummed, and Neil disappeared, only to reappear in a second with his pill case and a glass of water. “Can I?” Neil asked, hovering an arm over Andrew’s shoulders. Nodding didn’t hurt, at least, and Neil slipped an arm gently behind him and coaxed him into a sitting position against the headboard. He held the glass so Andrew could suck some water through the straw, then handed him the pills, one at a time. When he was done, they sat there like that for a while, Andrew avoiding Neil’s eyes. He hated this, hated that Neil found him like this. Hated that this was the new reality of his life, where he could be going along okay and then suddenly be incapacitated by pain.

It hadn’t struck him down like this since he first got sick; he would never forget that panic, being alone and unable to move without screaming, having to drag himself to the bathroom. Then the weeks of doctor’s visits and tests, the medications that helped the pain but messed him up otherwise, until they finally found a cocktail that worked, more or less beating his immune system into submission. He had moved here out of sheer stubbornness; maybe he should call it stupidity. But he needed this. He needed the mountains out there, calling to him. He needed to believe that one day he would climb up there.

“Why are you here?” he asked, shattering the silence.

“It’s Sunday.”

But the garden is finished, he wanted to say; you are wasting your time with me.

Neil reached out like he was going to touch his hand, but refrained when he saw the red, swollen joints. “Did you think I was just coming for the garden?”

“Why else would you bother?”

“Andrew…I could have finished that garden in two weeks, if I’d wanted to. That was my plan, at first.” He laughed, shaking his head as if at himself. “But then you wouldn’t let me cut down that damn vine because that sparrow likes it…”

Andrew closed his eyes, hearing the unspoken words behind Neil’s soft tone. “I will never be more than this, Neil.”

“You’re Andrew. What more do you need to be?”

~

There was music in the trees. A symphony composed of wind through tree boughs, of the singing of birds, the chattering of squirrels, the baseline of leaves crunching underfoot. Andrew paused for breath, gulping down some water. The early springtime air traced cool fingers through his hair, and goosebumps erupted down his arms.

Recapping his water, he followed the sound of footsteps in front of him. His walking stick was worn smooth where his hand rested, and he rubbed his thumb in the glossy spot as he negotiated his way over some roots.

“It’s just up ahead,” Neil’s voice called from somewhere out of sight. Andrew took his time, even though he knew he would follow that voice anywhere. He had waited a year for this; he could wait a few minutes longer.

The trees finally opened up to a scene out of a movie. Flowers, blue and purple and white and yellow, all bowed before the wind that tore across the meadow. Neil stood on a little rise, one hand shielding his eyes, staring west. Andrew climbed up to stand next to him. He could see their house from here, the windows glinting in the sun. When he squinted, he could discern the blossoms on the flowering cherry Neil had planted near the bedroom. The tree was still small, barely taller than they were, but it bloomed with reckless abandon. Warmth crept through him that had nothing to do with the springtime sunshine as he thought of their tiny tree, and the nest the sparrows were building in its branches.

Neil bent down and kissed him, soft and lingering. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Andrew nodded, looking at the riot of color all around him. Up above, he could see the peak of the mountain looming white; once, he had longed to reach the very summit. Once, he had thought he would never set foot in the woods again. His free hand found Neil’s, tracing the familiar calluses and scars. “Beautiful.”