#even my nails hurt. I wanna just file them down. they hurt from how brittle they are I need to get some hardner

[anqelbean]

I hadn't even noticed I was scratching at my scar....

[weakzen]

Left on the detective’s desk, a single red rose and a note written in precise handwriting:

Alex,

What happened to you - you didn’t deserve it. You can be loved, if you let yourself.

Happy Valentine’s Day

(yolo experimental style; alex/mason, early established relationship, angst and fluff; no direct mention of abuse, just oblique circling and fatalistic thoughts; rated m for mason; also on AO3~)

Even though I didn't finish reading it, even though I hid it from sight, imprisoned it in darkness, cast it to the depths of the bottom drawer until the end of shift, when it would be possible to smuggle the thing into the break room recycle bin without risking Tina's eyes or interrogation, that stupid fucking note has somehow still managed to reach up through all those heavy files and twist my stomach into knots.

For hours.

Plucking my nerves hard enough to make my hands fucking shake too. Typos in every report, backspace key pulling overtime without pay. Not helped by eyes that won't stop stinging. Armpits that haven't fully dried either, along with a weird chill, shivers that persist despite the sweater and the cranked-up thermostat.

At least the rose is gone. Snuck it into the arrangement on Tina's desk, the one I get her every year.

It looks better surrounded by friends.

It was nice to see it on the desk this morning

(Can still smell it perfuming the air.)

And if I could get rid of my thoughts as easily, I would. Because after half a day of chasing them in circles, I still can't figure out who the fuck sent that goddamn note, who the fuck would write something like that—say shit like that, to me—who could possibly fucking think or know or say anything about that, or that I-I, that I—

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckingfuck.

That sickly feeling wrenches again, hard enough to jerk me forward over the desk, face buried in my hands while my breathing shudders into something unsteady and vaguely gasping.

Fuck.

It can't be Tina.

It can't.

It should be, but it can't.

The writing's not loopy enough to be hers, and it's not slanted enough to be Verda's, and the damn thing isn't covered in nearly enough heart stickers to be from Felix. We all should know. Nate's been sighing nonstop for the past week, scraping them off every available surface in the Warehouse—except for the lacy pink one Felix managed to sneak right between Adam's shoulders.

And the glittery red one I pressed covertly to Mason's ass.

(Maybe not so covertly. Found a few hearts stuck to my underwear later when I slipped outta my jeans, and the secrets of how the fuck he pulled that off are still locked behind his smirk.)

A smile tries to pull at my lips, but the tightness in my gut warps it crooked.

Another shuddery breath.

It can't be from Adam either. If he had something to say to me, he'd just say it, preferably after he finished laying me out on the mats, all sweaty and sucking down air from another session of his gentle ass-kicking. Nate, however, would write a note to me. Has written a note to me. Has written many notes to me and still not made a dent in that stack of expensive stationary, and although the card stock was silk cream, the pigment obsidian night, and the calligraphy swooping in almost a dead ringer, I know it can't be from Nate because he would never leave a rose with his words, not the ones meant for me.

But there isn't anyone else.

There's Mason

And it can't be from him.

It's not his handwriting, to start. I think. I'm pretty sure. I've never actually seen his writing, but I can't imagine it would be anything resembling neat or careful. It's gotta be complete chicken scratch. All cramped and illegible. He's left handed too, barely patient enough to sit through a stoplight, much less give ink the time to dry, so there'd be definitely be smears, and there weren't any smears. At all. Can't be him.

Not to mention he'd never do anything like this.

Don't know why he keeps coming to mind anyway. Just because we're…

Together

—for now.

Doesn't mean he'd ever say anything like that—

He already has

(He did. He said I deserved better and I believe him, but I don't, I can't.)

—only because he'd say differently if he knew.

If he really knew.

He'd say different and I'm not gonna fucking tell him and it doesn't fucking matter anyway, it doesn't. Shine's gonna wear off soon enough. Novelty, satisfied. Boredom, returning. And at least the conversation won't be awkward, just… blunt. To the point. A first for us both, in topic, if not style.

I've never been dumped before, at least not in a romantic sense.

Another breath. Another shuddery breath.

Wonder how it's gonna feel.

(It's gonna suck.)

No fucking shit.

If it can't last, why agree to it at all?

I rub hard at my eyes, grinding palms into sockets.

If it can't last, why not tell him anyway?

Because I already fucking know! Don't need to hear it from him, don't wanna hear it from—

If it can't last, why does it matter what he thinks?

“…Stupid fucking note.”

It was nice to see it on the desk this morning

(Someone took the time, wrote it, left it in here. Someone cares.)

Someone's playing a sick fucking joke, more like.

What if it's genuine?

I scoff ragged, squeezing fingers around the back of my neck.

(Tina cares. So does Verda. The whole team, so many others, I know, and I believe them all but I don't. I can't.)

What if you didn't deserve it?

I did. I stayed and I did. My fault. Fucking stupid, like he always said.

(All Mason ever speaks is care. In a thousand different ways of touch, in silence, in lingering looks, he cares.)

What if you can be loved?

What if you can?

A brittle laugh wheezes past my lips and shoots toward something hysterical, boosted by acid burn and cloying petals and that churning, churning tightness. My shoulders hunch high around my ears while the sound pitches even higher, lungs immolated and screaming along, nails digging, cutting crescents as I shake and curl tighter, smaller, compacting into stiffness hard enough to rival diamonds, every muscle verging on a cramp and my throat is stinging and my eyes are on fire, hot, wet, and the door is closed, the blinds shut, and maybe I could just— this time— if I stayed quiet, I could—

I could—

But I don't.

I swallow once, twice, suck down, blink it away, then snap upright and get back to work. There's too much shit, not enough time.

Never enough time, not for that.

For you

(Remember to eat lunch.)

I don't.

I don't really remember talking to anyone either. Or finishing paperwork. Answering email. Clearing the inbox backlog, digital and otherwise, but the stack depletes, the numbers go down, Tina gives me shit from the doorway, and soon the peripheral lights tick off overhead in the foyer, a mop bucket rattles its rounds, darkness crept into my office at some point for a visit and now it's here to stay, just its quiet company along with the monitor blasting eye strain, clacking keys, tight shoulders, a headache, and then—

A familiar ass plops down on my desk and scares the shit out of me.

I jerk back in the chair, wheels rolling, hand over heart to keep it from pounding free and Mason looms above it all, bathed in harsh blues, deep shadows, a deeper frown, and eyes that refuse to obey the rules of any ambient illumination.

Right now? They're crinkled soft, even as they scrutinize.

He looks… worried.

When did he even open my door?

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“…Yeah,” I mutter. A lie, an obvious one, but I fight the urge to glance away and dare him to call me out anyway. “You need something, sunshine?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You're late.”

“For what?”

We didn't make plans.

“Getting home.”

Fuck.

I sigh, slumping in the seat, and now I'm looking away, now I'm backing down, running a hand through my hair, mussing and tangling, just like he always does when he's uncertain.

And when the hell did I start doing that?

“Yeah, I'm still behind on shit from my vacation. I was gonna stay late tonight, try and catch up…” I explain, because Tina and I also didn't make plans this year.

(Because she's been marinating in smugness ever since I sighed and told her about the relationship. Because she dropped that shit-eating smirk earlier—that I remember, at least—dripping suggestion all over my office as she waggled her brows and winked and made obnoxious kissy faces until I shoved her out the door, but not before she told me to 'have lots of fun tonight, Alexandra.')

Sure.

“Sorry I didn't text. I… forgot.”

That tightness in my stomach does another loop, and I huff a quiet breath.

Stupid fucking note.

Mason folds his arms. “…The fuck is going on with you?”

Concern blunts the teeth of his words, not that there's any real bite. There never is, not with him, but I tense up anyway, expecting it, expecting to be ripped open.

Blood and pain.

I'd tense up no matter how he asked.

It's okay

(He's not Bobby.)

“Nothing,” I reply, folding my arms, eyes down, “just…”

It's okay

(He's not looking to hurt.)

Probably will anyway, but fuck it. I already know his answer.

Let's just get it over with.

“You didn't leave me a valentine earlier, did you?” My gaze snaps to his. “On my desk?”

Mason scoffs. “Why the hell would I do that?”

This time, it stabs instead of twists, higher up, somewhere in my chest. Something sharp instead of dull.

Disappointment? …Relief? I'm not sure.

Just that it stings.

And it's nighttime, so maybe he feels it too, and maybe that's why he unfolds his arms and shifts toward me, boot heel dangling by the bottom drawer while his voice drops to a softness that matches his accent. “What it say?”

“Nothing,” I repeat, even quieter than him. “Just someone fucking with me. It doesn't matter.”

It does

(Shouldn't lie, not to him. Don't need to. Don't want to, don't like it.)

Mason doesn't like it either, but he doesn't push it. Neither do I.

We look away from each other.

The office swelters around us, too stuffy, too small. Too silent and uncomfortable now to stay. I roll forward to save my work, then turn the computer off and Mason's already waiting for me by the door, a dark silhouette framed by distant fluorescent, my coat and bag hanging off his arms. He pulls me in while I put it all on, yanking me by lapels before abandoning them for the sweater on my lower back, the loose hair at my nape. His lips brush against mine in slow movements, soft nibbling, and he's whispering something to me with it all, with the strokes of his fingers and the circle of our chins, but I can't quite hear.

So ask

(He'll answer—and he won't lie.)

I swallow, then I do.

“…What kind of kiss was that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs beneath my hands, breath tickling my face. “I want you to feel better.”

“Oh.”

A shadow flits behind his eyes.

“…And if he's still bothering you, I'm gonna break his fucking jaw again.”

I chuckle softly. “Pretty sure it wasn't him this time.”

“Good.” Mason nibbles another kiss, then smirks. “Might still do it anyway.”

That gets a laugh from both of us, one that sprawls into a pause, grey eyes locked to mine while our grins fade out and our breath catches on everything unspoken and nameless rushing in to take the space.

Honesty. It's what I try to speak. Trailing up from the emotional ooze, raw and sticky.

I hope he can fucking see it, hear it cry, but I wipe it off and whisper the words into shape anyway, cheeks flaming, just to be sure—

“I'm sorry, I just… I don't wanna talk about it now.”

—and he answers me with a brush of his mouth, with his tongue parting my lips, with the way he teases into me before licking deeper, the way he jerks our hips together then shoves, a knee between my thighs, my back into a wall, a door frame, a sharp corner, a low groan rumbling up his chest directly into mine and I hear it all this time, in his breathy panting at the edge of our kiss, the firmness in his fingers angling my face to his, the solid heat of his cock pressed hard against me, grinding slow while I cling tight and moan, I hear it all, but he sucks my lip in with a sharp inhale, rolls me around his mouth before releasing with a drag of teeth, and he murmurs it aloud anyway, just to be sure—

“I know, sweetheart. It's fine.”

—then he nips down hard, and it's hard not to smile, hard not to laugh, harder still not to nip that asshole right back, so I don't.

Hold back, that is.

Our lips are swollen and sore by the time the station door swings shut behind us.

[nori-king]

i. no halo / personal

“the dust and dirt blind us slowly, but give a hint of a view to make it feel alright. and though it hurts, we keep on climbing. ‘cause our addictions take us from inside. a sturdy back, but brittle bones. too weak to show.”  –  KILL OUR WAY TO HEAVEN, MICHL

Wednesday, May 1st 2019, 6:17PM Wexler-Carsons Psychotherapy Practice

It came unexpected, a faint knock at the door to Eleanor’s office. She’d been so engrossed in reading her new patient’s file over and over again that she almost missed it. But sure enough, her head snapped up just as the door opened. She was disappointed to find her colleague, Shane, rather than the boy she’d been expecting for 17 minutes, now. “Nori... are you seriously still waiting on him?” he inquired as he readjusted his satchel on his shoulder. All he got in response was a soft sigh from the blonde-haired woman. “Look, it’s been seventeen minutes, just accept that your Moon boy’s a no-show and come out with us, we’re all heading down to that new Italian joint, the one that just opened? Heard their chicken parm is out of this world!” His enthusiastic mannerisms earned him a few laughs from his colleague. “Mhm, maybe you’re right, Shane. But sorry, I can’t tonight. I have a few things I need to tidy up in my office anyway, but I promise that I’ll go home after that, okay? I won’t wait a minute longer”, Eleanor hoped her words came across as sincere, a hopeful grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Fine, you win this round, King. But I’m not giving up on you yet!” Shane winked, making her giggle some more. Just as she was about to tease him some, his head vanished from the door frame, hand still holding the door open. He popped it back in with slightly wider eyes. “Hey, uh... is there any chance your Moon boy is some angry-looking Asian kid?” Eleanor’s brows furrowed together, faint confusion clouding her features, but before she could wonder any more, the door flew open on that very same angry-looking Asian kid, who shoulder checked Shane on his way in. He barely spared the two therapists a glance and just went straight for the patient’s chair, removed his backpack and threw it on the ground. “Well... uh... I’ll leave you two to it, then. Goodnight, Nori”, was all Shane could provide her with as he closed the door on his way out. A deafening silence fell onto both Eleanor and her newest patient, only his heavy breathing being heard throughout her office.

“...I take it you’re Jaemin Moon?” She tried, getting up from her desk and stepping closer to settle down in the chair opposite him. The boy remained silent, eyes darting around the room as if looking for the nearest emergency exit. Eleanor took this opportunity to scrutinize his appearance.

He was wearing light grey sweatpants and an oversized, black long-sleeved shirt. His hair seemed disheveled, a light sheen of sweat glistening against his tan skin. His brows were knitted together in what she assumed was a perpetual frown, from his aura alone. She recalled his file saying he’d turned twenty this past September, so he was still young, and it was evident by his spotless complexion. His leg was bouncing incessantly, and Nori took mental note of it.

“I’m Eleanor, delighted to make your acquaintance”, she extended a hand his way, a peace offering of sorts, but was met with nothing but more of that same silence that had been looming over both their heads for the past five minutes. She sat back in her chair with a quiet breath and started mulling over the methods she could deploy to at least get a look from the boy; anything.

“I’m happy you’ve decided to show, but for future reference, fifteen minutes is my limit. This is your first time, so... I wanted to give you a chance, you know... make sure you didn’t get cold feet or anything. I know going to therapy can be a scary experience, but I’m happy you’ve decided to come-”, she rambled on until her client cut in.

“Oh, I didn’t decide to come. I was forced to come”, were the first words Jaemin aimed at her, eyes narrowed. Even if he hadn’t said anything inherently bad, his pointed timbre made all of his words sound like an insult. “For future reference”, he started, mocking her previous use of the saying, “I won’t be coming back, so might as well not waste both of our times, don’t you think?”

Eleanor’s mouth opened, a sentence on the tip of her tongue and ready to spill out, but she stopped herself and, instead, only got up to retrieve Jaemin’s file from the top of her desk. She flipped through it without any haste as she made her way back to him. “It says here that your mother called to make the appointment. But you’re twenty years old... you’re of legal age. If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to”, Nori tilted her head to the side a little, peering back at her patient.

“But I do”, he replied flatly.

“But you don’t”, she counterattacked, eyebrow quirked in sudden interest.

“You don’t know shit about my life, lady. I don’t wanna be here, who the fuck in their right mind would wanna sit here for an hour and be psycho-analyzed when they’re totally normal?” Jaemin barked back, and Eleanor took note of the way his hands clasped around the armrests of his seat.

“Totally normal like...” King trailed off, scouring further through his file. “Like talking back, being aggressive and instigating a fight at-” She cut her own words short, eyes flickering between Jaemin and his file. “A ball? Did you attend James Houston’s masquerade ball?” She couldn’t hold back a tiny grin at the thought. James just so happened to be someone Eleanor was entirely familiar with, someone she respected and admired. Jaemin knowing him could be her only link to him, or at least a good method to get him to talk.

“Listen, I’m allowed freedom of fucking speech, I don’t have to suck up to everyone I meet and I didn’t instigate shit at the ball”, Moon leaned back in his chair, and Eleanor didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched; this was a touchy subject.

“You’re absolutely right. I’m just reading off my file for now, but I’ll make my own conclusions as I get to know you more and more. Those were the concerns your mother shared with us when booking your appointment. Would you say they’re unfounded?” She brought the end of her pen to her lips, caressed them with it as she awaited an answer.

“I’d say I don’t fucking care what you, or her, think, Eleanor. How much longer do I have to be here?” The younger of the two was getting impatient, it was clear to see in the way he was fidgeting in his seat. He’d switched positions maybe three times in the span of ten seconds.

“Jaemin, your hour just began”, Dr. King glanced down at her watch, then back at him. “Fifty five minutes”, the declaration made her patient sigh deeply.

“Jesus fucking Christ, alright. Well... I showed up”, he conceded, letting his head fall back onto the backrest of his chair. Eleanor observed him quietly, unable to bite back a smile.

“You did. I’m glad you did”, she tried to be encouraging, but to no avail.

“That makes precisely one of us”, Moon fished his phone out of his pocket, sitting back up straight. He unlocked it and started typing away, and Eleanor had to admit, this was the first time a patient outright texted during a session.

“Jaemin...? Could you put that away, please?” Despite being annoyed, her tone remained calm, kind. She gazed back and forth between the boy and his phone when he made no movement whatsoever, didn’t even react to her request. “Jaem-”

“The fuck you want? I told you I don’t need this, I’m just here to satisfy my folks, that’s it. I don’t need to talk to you”, he didn’t even spare her a single glance, eyes focused on his phone’s screen.

“I can tell you believe this is pointless, but even the healthiest of people seek out therapy from time to time. It’s a good way to unload, and you seem to have a lot on your mind. I noticed you seemed uncomfortable when I brought up the ball-”

“You didn’t notice shit”, Nori’s patient hissed, and he’d put his phone down to glare at her. That was an improvement... sort of. It surely was better than silence.

“You said you didn’t care, but whatever happened there played a big part in our meeting, so I doubt it was as uneventful as you’re painting it out to be. What happened at the ball?” She tried to pry further, notepad securely in her hands.

“Nothing. Fucking. Happened. Will you just drop it? Who cares about the stupid ball?! It was a shit show. I didn’t have high expectations, and even then it still managed to go below them”, Jaemin threw his hands up in exasperation, his tone lower than before, maybe an unconscious attempt to seem more intimidating.

No matter how much he frowned, huffed and puffed, Eleanor wasn’t buying it. There was something so delicate, so gentle about his gaze, even if he’d done nothing but scowl at her during the entirety of their session so far. His eyes were dark, bordering on black, and they reflected every single source of light in the room, making it look like he was holding entire galaxies behind his irises. They were big and round, evoked innocence, even when squinted with the intent to threaten. His features, although carved and defined, were somewhat soft. Eleanor could only imagine how brightly he shined when smiling. But the more time they spent together, the less she had any hope of ever seeing that smile.

“If you were so unimpressed, why did you attend?” She questioned.

“My parents asked me to, that’s it.”

“Does that mean you don’t know the host personally?” It was difficult to miss the way Jaemin flinched at the mention of James, and Nori made sure to take note of it. She anticipated a response, having gotten used to Jaemin’s rapid answers, but was startled to be met with another bout of silence. “Are you always so diligent in following your parents’ request, Jaemin?” Nothing but more silence, her client’s nails digging into the armrest of his chair. So she tried again. “Um... James, then. You know hi-”

“Can we not fucking talk about Houston? If this is my hour, I’d rather not spend it talking about that fag”, he grumbled, leaving Eleanor speechless.

“That’s a truly awful thing to say. I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from using slurs in my presence... or ever, for that matter.”

“God, why’s everyone so pissy about it? He’s a queer, I’m not about to fucking lie. And I’m not gonna talk about him, either. But, if it’ll stop you from asking; yes, I do know him. Unfortunately. End of discussion”, Moon retorted before she could get a word in.

James was off limits, but why? King would be lying if she said the reasoning behind that animosity didn’t gnaw at her mind for the remainder of their session, but she came up empty regardless.

“Jaemin, I will not tolerate such language here. Don’t you know it’s wrong of you to use those words? Have you not been taught so?”

“Calling them what they are is wrong? So I can’t call you a therapist, I assume? Not that I would to begin with; you’re pretty shit”, Eleanor blinked rapidly, caught off guard by his venomous words.

“Those words are slurs. They’ve been used in the past in a demeaning way, to belittle gay people. And although some LGBTQ+ folks have reclaimed them, it doesn’t give just anyone the right to use them. They are still highly offensive”, Nori tried her best to talk some sense into the boy, but all he did was roll his eyes in reply. “Jaemin... were you aware of that?”

“Yes, I was. Why?” His tone was flat, lacking any interest towards the therapist and her intrusive inquiries.

“...are you homophobic?” She hoped he wouldn’t answer this. Hoped that, in this day and age, homophobes were just a myth. But she knew better than that.

“No, because I’m not afraid of any faggot. Do I dislike them? Do I believe their way of life to be wrong and sinful? Absolutely”, hatred was spilling out of him as if ingrained in his mind, almost rehearsed. Each word oozing malice as he hissed them at Eleanor.

Without her own consent, Dr. King’s eyes had blown wide, left completely speechless by the sudden confession. She counted her blessings that, in twenty-eight years of life, this was the first homophobe she’d ever encountered. Loud and proud, at that. But he was so young. So young to have such a closed mind, to be tainted. She didn’t know whether she felt pity or contempt for the boy. Nonetheless, she swallowed back a few unpleasant words hanging on the tip of her tongue and focused on the task at hand.

“Why?” Jaemin’s head snapped up, somehow taken aback by the sudden question.

“What?”

“Why? Why are you a homophobe?”

“I just told you. Are you fucking deaf on top of being a fraud?” Nori bit her lower lip, feeling her pressure rising as she listened to her client’s insolent taunts.

“No, Jaemin, I am not deaf. You said you disliked them. I just wanna know why.”

“’You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.’ Leviticus 18:22. Pretty self-explanatory, don’t you think?”, he sat back in his chair, hints of a smile spreading across his lips.

“I know what the Bible says, yes. I’m asking you, Jaemin Moon, why you hate gay people?” She gripped her notepad tighter than necessary, her tone sharp. This only seemed to amuse Moon further.

“Something the matter, doc?” He shifted to be on the edge of his seat, maintaining solid eye contact with Eleanor. This didn’t phase her; he wasn’t the first client to try and intimidate her, far from it.

“Are you dodging my question, Jaemin?” He scoffed at the mere implication this statement held.

“Dodging? Fuck no. I’m just tired of answering the same question over and over again. How many different ways do I have to say ‘I hate fags’ for you to get it?”

“Oh, I get it. What I don’t get, is how you hold such contempt for a minority without having any actual reasons why... I just find that odd”, she raised an eyebrow, and the way Jaemin’s nostrils flared indicated she’d hit a nerve: finally.

“It’s unnatural, isn’t that enough? Guys have dicks, chicks have pussies. A stick and a hole. You put one in the other and boom! A baby. Gay people can’t reproduce-”

“No, but they can adopt. There are millions of children that get abandoned or put up for adoption. And I can tell that ‘breeding’ isn’t the reason for your aversion. All you’ve given me so far has been textbook homophobe, but you’ve yet to give me a single reason why you personally dislike them. So, what’s the reason?” Eleanor grilled him, couldn’t help but notice the way his hands balled into fists. Got him.

“You can’t tell shit, and whatever the fuck my father’s paying you is way overpriced, clearly”, Jaemin leaned down to retrieve his backpack and slinked off his seat, much to Nori’s surprise. “I’m out of here”, he announced.

“Jaem-” She didn’t have time to finish calling out his name that her patient was out the door, leaving with a quite literal bang that shook the walls of her office. Their short, but fiery encounter left Eleanor breathless. She sat in her chair, trying to calm down, for nearly fifteen whole minutes after his departure.

When she was certain her heart wouldn’t jump out of her chest, Nori stood up and paced across her office to her desk, retrieving a half-consumed sage stick and her lighter. She then proceeded to smudge her office for way longer than necessary, until her heart was content and she couldn’t feel Jaemin’s negative energy contaminating her work space. After that, she didn’t linger for a moment longer and decided to head straight home.

Eleanor only made it to the parking lot before her phone started ringing. It was Peneloppe, the secretary they’d only hired a month or two ago. A doll, truly. Maybe a little scatterbrained.

“Um, hi, Dr. King?” Her voice was delicate, yet reluctant.

“Yes, Peneloppe, how can I help?”

“I- I’m sorry I forgot to ask you before you left, but a certain Mr Moon called? And he wanted to know how his son’s session went? I think he said it was um... shoot, uh...”

“Jaemin?” Nori stuffed a hand in her purse in search of her car keys.

“Yes! Yes, that’s the one!”

“I’ll write a report tomorrow-”

“Actually, uh, he’s on the other line? So if it wouldn’t be a bother”, Peneloppe squeaked, embarrassment seeping through her tone. All Eleanor could manage was a sigh as she unlocked her car. She sat down in her seat after popping the door open.

“Okay, well... tell Mr Moon that his son was very aggressive from the get-go, not very open to therapy. He cursed a lot and walked out of his session. Let him know I’ll have a full report tomorrow ready for him, alright?”

No response.

“...Peneloppe?”

“Y-Yes! Sorry, I was writing it down. But um, yes, I got it. I’ll let Mr Moon know. Have a good night, Dr. King!”

“You can call me Eleanor.”

“Eleanor... right. Good night, Eleanor.”

Wednesday, May 8th 2019, 5:55PM Wexler-Carsons Psychotherapy Practice

Although Mrs. Moon had confirmed Jaemin would be attending his second session, Eleanor had her doubts, what with how it went last time. He was late on top of being rude, and generally closed off to the idea of therapy. His dark aura clung to Eleanor for days after, and so that’s why she was only now revisiting her notes from their first session together. She’d tried to put anything Jaemin Moon-related to the furthest corner of her mind, in a desperate attempt to protect her energy from his intensity. And it had worked, for the most part. Today, she felt good. Light. She wasn’t as optimistic about her client showing up, though, but her door swinging open with a loud smack proved her wrong.

A hooded figure, presumably male, strided into her office, even closed the door behind him. Nori rose to her feet, her usual smile plastered to her lips. She couldn’t make out his features, but recognized the backpack to be Jaemin’s.

“Jaemin! I...” she looked over her shoulder at the clock; 5:55PM. “You’re... early. I wasn’t expecting you to show, much less early”, she admitted with a scoff, figured it would be better to be honest with him. Maybe he would even appreciate her humour.

“Yeah? Well, I did”, he spoke, his tone lifeless and dry. Sure, she didn’t know much about him, only what his file and he himself told her. Which, right now, was homophobic young adult with anger issues. But she recalled him being more animated than this at the very least. He was slouched in the seat across from her, head hanging low and his entire frame engulfed in a ridiculously oversized hoodie.

“Would you, um... would you mind taking the hoodie off? I like establishing eye contact with my patients”, Dr. King tried. She couldn’t help but notice the way he recoiled, as if he was about to bark back at her, but stopped himself before it could slip past him. It was followed by a brief silence. “...Jaemin?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay! God...” he grumbled in response as he shuffled in his seat. His hands slipped further out from under his sleeves where they’d been previously hidden, and that was when Nori spotted his bruised knuckles. He was violent, she knew that much. But that didn’t mean the prospect of one of her patients getting hurt delighted her, either. It didn’t mean she expected it to resurface two sessions in. She’d have to address it, she couldn’t not, but he seemed to have crawled further into his shell, if that was even possible. Nori would have to approach him slowly, take it day by day.

His hands were shaky, hesitant, as they came up to pull off his hood, and Eleanor gasped the moment she caught a glimpse of his face. His hair had grown a little since the last time they saw each other, or maybe he just hadn’t groomed. But that wasn’t what horrified her. He was sporting a black eye and a busted lip. It was obvious whoever tended to his injury knew what they were doing, but it was unsightly, nonetheless. Nori didn’t have time to question what she should do that her legs were already carrying her towards her client.

“Jaemin, wha... what happened to you?” Her eyes widened as they scanned his face and his injuries, taking him in. She kept a reasonable distance, afraid of breaking any boundaries that weren’t meant to be broken. But every fiber of her body urged her to hug him, caress his cheek when she saw the way he cast his gaze down, nibbled his lower lip at her inquiry.

“What do you think?” he huffed with a small shake of his head.

“Jaemin... you know you can talk to me”, the softness of King’s voice made Jaemin look up at her, and for the first time, she saw him. Without any standoffish exterior. She gazed into his eyes and saw fear. A young boy in desperate need of help. “A- Anything that’s said here stays between us, you know that, right?” He only nodded to show he understood, but broke eye contact the moment his eyes became slightly glassier than usual. Eleanor took a step back, millions of thoughts rushing in her mind. “Jaemin?”

“...yes?”

“From now on... I’d like to see you two times a week.”

[sass-cass-writes]

Floating Downtown - Part 2

Title: The Hunters Club

Author: @sass-cass-writes / @sassy-castiels-angel

Description: Sammy its time to face your coulrophobia with Pennywise! With a string of disappearances occurring in Maine, the Winchester Brothers and the reader, a vivid Stephen King fan, try to stop the monster that snatches children and kills them every 27 years. But what will happen when the circus comes to town?

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader, Beverly Marsh, Demons

A/N: Reader is speech impaired after being tortured by Abaddon’s right hand man and having her vocal cords destroyed. Ive never written mute characters, so this is a first. If anyone has feedback, please give some!

Warnings: brief PTSD of torture, gorey description, angst(?) clowns

tagging: @totallyluckycoffee / @dixonlover1605 , @wonderavian

READ PART ONE HERE, GIFS ARE NOT MINE

You felt the metal on your neck, its chilling tip dripping with death as it dug into your neck. The demon’s eyes were dark and bottomless. You tried to whimper, but how could you? You were scared. The tip of the scalpel dug into your skin cutting through the five thick layers of you neck as his hand expertly dragged down the metal tool as if completing an operation. You screamed, your muscles tensed and pulled making the pain even worse. Thrashing and writhing, your eyes strained at the immense and excruciating pain you felt. They slowly cut your throat, blooding flowing heavily onto the bed and into your lungs as you started to choke on your blood. While taking this opportunity, the demons placed the scalpel under the muscles and flesh that produces your sweet and comforting voice according to Bobby. He started to pull upwards. The scalpel sliced through each stretch of muscle. You tried to screamed but you couldn’t. One muscle, two muscle. The demon smirked evilly. Even worse, the demons were Sam and Dean. SNAP! The final cord and muscle broke as you laid there thrashing weakly.

“Oh sweetheart,” The fake “Dean” said as he stroke your hair gently. You shake as you try to move away. “It hurts us that you’re being put through so much pain.” He smiles cockily exactly like him. “But you have to understand that this is the only way to protect us,” motioning to him and fake “Sam”, “and you care about us, right?” You stay quiet. As much as you want to swear at them, curse and scare them saying the Winchesters, the real, HUMAN ones would skin them alive, you couldn’t. He smirks and mockingly places his hand behind his ear and leans in. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He reaches over and caresses your cheek as you bleed out. This wasn’t the end, they’d bring you back, harass you, get their cursed hands all over your body, cut you up until you die from shock, pain or blood loss. This cycle was repeated daily for the past week. It was even worse seeing that they were also messing with your mind, making you believe Sam and Dean were hurting you. Every bad word they said stung worse than the physical pain. You, surprisingly of all people, started to pray to Castiel. Every night you’d plead him to rescue you and the realisation dawned on you that he wasn’t an angel but a human now. So what could he do? You cried wanting to go home to the confines of the bunker. At least there, demons and monsters were warded off against.

“Y/N?” The question snapped you out of your recollection. You jumped up to see rain drops hit violently against the windshield and slide fast alongside the windows. Lighting struck somewhere in the distance. 1…2…3…4…5- lightning struck again. You sit up and groan, rubbing your head Sam’s jacket draped over you. “You okay?” Sam asked as he drove. The road was pitch black, Baby’s lights illuminating whatever in her path. The radio was on as it played your favourite mix tape. You all had one, you remember Dean making your very own. It was a mix of classic rock, new age and a bit of Australian songs. Dean and Sam had gotten used to your mixtape, even Dean’s favourite collection of Metallica wasn’t favoured as much. Chris Rea’s “Let’s Dance” had just finished with its brass instruments in an upbeat tune and guitar strums played in sync. Prince’s “” started to play, and it was one of your favoruites.

“Dearly beloved,

"We are gathered here today,

"To get through this thing called loved.”

Sam looks at you and smiles a little as you drive in the rain. You nodded in response to his earlier question. He nods and drives tapping the wheel as the techno pop sounds of ‘Prince and the Revolution’ filled the impala. “We’re about forty-five minutes out from Chicago, wanna pop into a motel for the night? OR would our princess prefer a five-star hotel?” He laughs a little as you punch his arm from the pet name and joke. You signed an answer.

“Motel, jackass.” You smile a little. Sam’s phone rang and sure enough it was Dean.

“Get this kiddo’s!"Dean reported into the phone. "I found Abaddon, figure I can take her out."You and Sam looked at each other and sighed.

"Dean,” Sam started. “Wait for us to finish this case and then WE can go kill Abandon.”

“Sorry Sammy, I gotta do this, the Mark’s getting worse.” Your face fell at this. You were there when Dean and Cain exchanged the mark, how it glowed bright red as it formed the cursed seven. Dean reassured you that everything was going to be okay. Last words you ever heard before you got kidnapped. You and Sam sighed, and so did dean after a while. “I’ll wait, just in case something happens.” You and  Sam smile a little. “So where are you guys now? Princes staying in a hotel?” Sam laughs as you flip Dean off and sign to the phone multiple curses. Dean knows what he did, and he laughs a little.

“We’re coming up to a motel now.” Sam said, wheezing from a little laugh.

“Why stay in a motel when your riding in one of the best home on wheels ever? Besides you’re forty five minutes out, don’t waste it.” Dean says, almost offended that any grimy motel was better than the 67 Impala.

“Its 10:43 at night Dean.”

You give a deadpan look a look over at the back seat. And your thoughts were proven right. You signed to Sam your response.

“There’s stains on the apolstry from Dean’s "extracurricular” activities back there!“ Sam snorted a little and laughed. Even though he wasn’t there, you could feel Dean frowning in response to Sam’s giggles.

"Did you just offend my baby, (Y/N)?” Dean almost growled, Sam wheezed and forced his giggles to a halt, you smirking in pride.

“(Y/N) said, from what I understand, that she’d rather spend a night in a grimy motel than a backseat with your cum stains on it. She doesn’t wanna get the clap from you.” Sam said bursting into a tiny giggle as the line went quiet and you couldn’t help but smile widely.  He hangs up as Sam steered the car into a motel lot and got out to book a room.  Whilst he did so, you grabbed the bags and ran inside out of the torrential rain.

-•••-

The next day, you and Sam headed to the office warehouse of Beverly Marsh. Pulling up to the curb in the impala, you stepped out in your FBI suits and walked in grabbing a file and notepad. Walking in, the creek of metal glistened as machines whirred and fabrics torn.

You screamed as they brought the hammer down on your delicate fingers, the force of the steel alloy on the wooden pole impacting with the thin layer of skin and brittle bone. They repeated the motion, until your nerves and bones were broken into nothing but clumps. You screamed and cried as the cold air pierced the open wounds.

“(Y/N)?” Sam asked, grabbing you out of your daze, as your hand felt numb. You looked at him and walked towards the main office a few floors up. The whirring of the elevator above you made you think about the drill.

It spun and whirred quickly as they brought it closer and closer to your face, a scare tactic. You leaned away from it to avoid its impact, until it’s breeze caressed your cheek. The fake “Sam” held you head firmly in place as “Dean” pressed the drill against your cheek. Your skin tore and twisted until in broke from the extreme force as blood splattered and flesh twisted and flew as “Dean"pushed the drill into your skin. The major nerves in your cheek had got caught in the twisting of the metal extension as they tightened and stretched until they snapped making you scream and bite your tongue. Your nails dug into the wooden chair as your gripped it tightly as eyes wide as you whimper. "Sam” held your jaw tightly so you couldn’t cry out. God let this be the end!

“(Y/N)!” Sam gripped your shoulders, gently but concerned as he jolted you awake to the reality. He was kneeled down in front of you as you were cowered in the corner, arms over your face. “Hey, its okay.” You leaned into him as he helped you up and held you. “I got you (Y/N), thats all behind us now.” You nodded as he kisses your forehead and stroked your hair. You looked at him. He didn’t deserve you, he’s too good for you, all you deserved was a translating machine. Not this fucking 6'4" sunshine ray of comfort and sass whom you’re in love with. He tilted your head up and wiped your tears away with the gentlest touch as he gives a small reassuring smile. The elevator comes to a halt as you step back and straighten your dress as Sam does the same. You hear arguing from the office and you instantly raise an eyebrow. A man in a black suit was arguing with a woman wiht fuzzy brown hair, that must be Beverly Marsh. You and Sam walk closer as you knock on the door.

“Who the hell are you?” The man almost yelled.

“Tom, dont talk people like that!” Beverly chastised as he stared at her. You and Sam pulled out your badges and showed them to the couple, Tom’s face falling into one of hidden panic.

“I’m Agent Farris, this is my partner Agent Hutchence. We’d like to talk to Miss Marsh.” Sam said as you both put away your badges.

“We’re about to close a deal with Japanese investors, it can wait.” Tom scowled as he gripped Beverly’s arm and proceeded to the door. You were quick to grab the man’s arm and stop him. “Don’t touch me Agent, I can call you for assault.” He sneered as you stared at him. Sam growled at the man. Nobody ever talked to you like that and walked scot free.

“Five minutes.” Sam growled as he walked to Miss Marsh, Tom reluctantly letting go and walking off pissed. Once he was far away, Sam muttered; “Asshole.” He sat Beverly down as she looked down embarrassed and scared. You gripped her hand reassuringly and smiled. She smiles back as Sam begins the questioning.

“Miss Marsh-”

“Call me Bev.” She requested.

“Bev,” Sam paused. “We came to you because we want to ask you about a string of murders happening in your hometown of Derry.” At that instant, colour drained from her face and swallowed as if a fish swam through her throat. Sam noticing this, softened his face. “I’m sorry-”

“No it’s alright,” Bev reassured. “I just- Derry was a bad moment in my life. I’m sure you’ve heard of psychiatric reports.” She laughs little awkwardly.“

"We know ma'am. But we also know there was an incident with six friends of yours back in the summer of 88’. And people have claimed to have seen a clown.” As if at the word clown, Beverly’s face fell and became scared.

“A c-clown?”

“Yes,” Sam says leaning in. “Bev, just tell us the truth, because we’re going to end it.” She nods and sighs. She began to tell her situation as of 11 years old and how she befriended six male friends. And how he had haunted them. How they defeated him. It sounded so familiar.

“We had went to "It’s” hiding place in the sewers, and we had lost track of Stan along the way. We were scared.“ Beverly said as she fiddled with her fingers, scared of retelling the story.

"Beverly, you said defeated him.” Sam asked as you saw Tom striding towards the office angrier.

“Shit”

“Yes, we had found out tha-”

“I can’t hold off the Japanese Investors time anymore Beverly!” Tom roared, as he looked to Sam. “It’s been well over five minutes Agents.” He strides to Beverly but you once again grab his arm and stand up, giving him a stern look. “Get. Off. Me.” He sneered, the strong stench of alcohol in his breath.

“How about you show her some respect you son of a bitch.” Sam defended as he walked over. “She’s done more good than you ever had. And although she’s mute and lost her voice, she didn’t loose the respect and pride she has.” He stands in front of you and stares at Tom.

“I should go.” Beverly says as she stands, “We’ve been waiting for this deal for a while. If you have any other questions, please ask.” You nod and tap your chin lowering your hand as you sign “Thank You.”  Beverly smiles. “So thats why you didn’t talk, I thought you were shy.” She smiles as she walks out Tom following.

“What a dick.” Sam growled as he turned to you. “You okay?” You roll your eyes and nod closing your notepad full of notes.

“You shouldn’t have aggravated him Sam. As much as he deserves it, he’s not worth it at the same time.” You sign as you look up at him.

“He shouldn’t have talk to you like that (Y/N), you don’t deserve it.”

“Sam…”

“Don’t Sam me, (Y/N). Sam pleads almost. "Men have to respect you, not throw you around like nothing. You’re smart and beautiful, caring and selfless as well as bloody amazing.” Your face softens at his description of you. It’s almost like he’s saying he- NO, he doesn’t. Before you could respond, he walks- no, storms out and to the elevator. You sigh and follow, seeing Tom down the hall gripping Beverly’s arm tightly to bruise her. That would explain the bruises on her legs and cheeks through the make up.

Sam waited for you in the elevator as you walked in. It wasn’t long till you were driving back to the motel.