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phoenix-creates · 4 months ago

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Genshin Impact, Both the Game and the Community, Cannot Hide Their Colorism or Racism Anymore

This is going to be a long read. I refuse to stay silent.

I've played Genshin Impact on and off since 2021 when I was first introduced to it. I drew fanart but rarely participated in the fandom, as Genshin has one of the most toxic and racist fandoms that takes pleasure in driving off content creators of color, perpetuating racism within the communities, as well as harassing and threatening people who dare try to speak out about it. But, for as racist as the fandom is, what can I expect from them considering Hoyoverse as a whole has it's own set of racial problems.

It is clear from the release of Sumeru to the recent teasers of Natlan. Hoyoverse has colorism problems and racism problems and we're going to take a look at them here.

Before we begin, I want to take a moment to say that there will be a lot of information presented in this post. I ask that you read carefully and be considerate of every talking point presented.

Now, let's talk about Sumeru.

Sumeru, the fourth region released in Genshin Impact, draws a lot of real world inspiration from Middle Eastern culture, with even the geography mimicking the real world geography of China and India. The characters, music, food, and geography all draw inspiration from various different real world cultures, and just from a few glances, it is easy to see exactly where and what cultures they’re taking from.

Candace for instance, from name to appearance, draws inspiration from kandakes, which was the title of a queen mother in Nubian kingdoms. Even her accessories, her talents, and her weapon take pieces from other aspects of Egyptian culture.

Cyno, another character from Sumeru, is dressed in garb that mimics depictions of Anubis, the ancient Egyptian God of funerary rites and protector of graves. As with Candace, his talents and abilities reference Egypt.

Even Sethos, a newcomer to the game and also a Sumeru character, has clothes, skills, and a name that alludes to either the Egyptian God Set, the god of the desert and storms, the Egyptian pantheon in general, or the Ancient Egyptian King Seti/Sethos.

These three characters are tanned, anyone can see that, but if you take a closer look you'll notice that they're all around the same shade. Considering all three of them take inspiration from real world Egyptian culture, it is insane to me that they're all a similar shade of the same slightly tanned tone. It is unacceptable that they're all a shade or two away from white when all of them has some aspect of Egyptian culture in their character.

To further shed light on Sumeru's racist sins, there exists a long standing conflict in Sumeru regarding The Eremites, a race of people descended from the ancient, now-collapsed civilization who primarily live in the desert. These people are the enemies in the game. You read that right. The desert dwellers are the enemies and not only that, but unlike the treasure hoarders who disappear into smoke when defeated, the Eremites collapse to the ground like the Fatui.

Why do the Treasure Hoarders, a band of pale skinned thieves, get away but the Eremites, treated as if their culture is lesser, presumably die?

Worse than that, there is a long quest in Sumeru where a white academic from Sumeru spends nearly the entire length of the quest insulting an Eremite. The quest I'm referring to, Golden Slumber, is a multi part quest that has the Traveler accompanying a researcher named Tirzad who is exploring the ruins in the deserts of Sumeru. Throughout the quest, Tirzad spends most of his time complaining and insulting Jeht and Jebrael, calling the latter an uneducated brute whenever Jebrael tries to do anything. And the Traveler is no help, with dialogue options remaining neutral instead of rightfully telling Tirzad to stop.

What we have here is a white man stereotyping a man of color and assuming things about himself and his race due to his own racist biases.

Many players have called out the racism in Tirzad’s actions and this quest overall, but Tirzad at multiple times fails to see the error of his ways and leads the group into life threatening situations simply because he can’t believe an “uneducated desert brute” could possibly know more than him.

I could sit here and pick apart more aspects of Sumeru and it's failures to properly represent the culture it's using, but I want to get into the inciting incident of this entire post, which is Natlan.

When the teaser for Natlan was released, it was just another failure on Hoyoverse's part. To understand why, we can break it down into parts, starting with the character leaks:

Mavuika, presumably the pyro archon, with a name inspired by Māori fire deity Mahuika.

Ororon, a mispelling of the Yoruba god Ọlọrun, the creator deity in the Yoruban pantheon.

Kinich, named after the Mayan god of the sun.

Iansan, another character whose name comes from the Yoruba pantheon.

Xilonen, this name coming from one of the aspects of the Aztec goddess of maize and the goddess of sustenance.

Kachina, name inspiration directly lifted from the religious beliefs of the indigenous Pueblos people.

Chasca, name coming from the Incan goddess of dawn and twilight.

Citlali, a name derived from Nahuatl, which is a language from ancient Mexico.

Are you seeing something interesting with these characters?

Hoyoverse has shoved multiple different cultures under one region and whitewashed every character. They did the bare bones work of lifting names and small design inspirations from so many different cultures and using them in the laziest way possible. If not pale white, the few characters who are tanned are a mere shade darker than Cyno and almost the same shade as Kaeya. There is nothing darker in sight with any of these characters.

Cultural representation matters. If Hoyoverse can explore the cultures of Germany (Mondstadt), China (Liyue), Japan (Inazuma), and France (Fontaine), it is insane that the same sort of love couldn't be given to both Sumeru and Natlan, both nations where we should rightfully be seeing more people of color.

(Side note, we should be seeing more people of color in the previous regions as well, even as NPCs. Bi-racial people exist all over the world, not just in America. Quick google searches will show what I mean.)

I can already hear the arguments against me.

"But Hoyoverse is an East Asian company! They don't need to/don't care about representation!"

Oh really? Because Lilithgames, the company behind Dislyte, is a company based in Shanghai, China. And when you compare the variety of skin tones of Dislyte to Genshin, you cannot make the argument that a company based in Asia doesn't care about diversity. Hoyoverse does not seem to care, but don't make it a blanket statement for all companies.

Still not convinced? Bluepoch, a small Chinese company behind Reverse:1999, is responsible for this character:

Smite, a game published by Hi-Rez Studios and Tencent Games (A Chinese publisher), has a character based on Olorun. And they did just fine in their depiction of him:

And the director behind Tekken 7, Katsuhiro Harad, shared concept art of an Arab fighter they want to add to the game. Why? Because he wanted to make sure he was respecting Middle Eastern culture and asked for feedback to see what can be improved. He posted this concept art and asked the community for input to make Shaheen as accurate as possible:

But sure. Asian companies don't care.

"It's a fantasy world! It doesn't have to 1-to-1 mimic the real world!"

Oh really? So why are characters named after real world cultural figures, why is the food based around real world food, why are outfits somewhat inspired by real world garbs then? If you're gonna draw inspiration from something and use the real world in your game, the world is a diverse place. It is not all white nor all slightly tanned.

"You can always stop playing the game."

I could, but that would mean letting them win and get away with their racism. It would mean letting Hoyoverse think this is the norm instead of the outlier. It would mean staying silent during injustice. I can do a lot of things, and exposing their issues is one of them.

"It could be difficult for them to implement dark-skinned characters."

It actually is not. Look at all the examples from other games and companies discussed previously. It's not hard. Plus, take a look at Wriothesley's concept art:

Originally, he had a different skin tone. So characters with different tones existed but got lightened and changed over time.

"I don't want [insert race here] in my fantasy game/it doesn't matter!"

Honey, you're just racist.

"Wow, I get it now. This is bad. What can I do to help?"

There are several ways:

Use Surveys and Feedback when you log into Hoyoverse games. This problem extends past Genshin, into HSR and ZZZ (a game whose ads promote itself with rap music and yet noticeably lack playable dark skinned characters so far). Use the platforms that they gave us in order to spread the word. Tell them that you're dissatisfied with the cultural appropriation and disappointed in Hoyoverse for taking certain cultures and whitewashing them. Email [email protected] if the feedback buttons aren't working for some reason.

Stop putting money into the game. A lot of companies listen when there's monetary loss involved. Show them that you mean business and stop supporting their business. You can also leave a one star and a review with your thoughts on their cultural appropriation.

Amplify the voices of those speaking out. There are plenty of posts out there better worded than mine that go in depth into a lot of these problems. Multiple voice actors of all ethnicities and backgrounds have spoken up about Hoyoverse’s injustices as well (many of the VAs from the game, including the voices of Albedo, Sucrose, Layla, Beidou, and even VAs for smaller NPCs have spoken out). When you see those posts, share them. Spread the word. Get those voices out there.

Shut down those silencing others. For as many posts out there trying to bring more light to this issue, there are others who try to shut us down. They continue to be racist and double down that nothing is wrong with Natlan. Do not let them get away with this. Show them this post or the myriad of other posts that exist. Tell them to shut the fuck up. Call them out. But don't let them silence anyone else.

If you've made it to the end and learned something, I'm glad. If you've made it to the end and want to further support me or anyone else in this fight, share this post and others like it.

Thank you for reading.

EDIT: As noted in this ask, the naming conventions of characters from other regions as opposed to Sumeru and Natlan. I’ll be adding a separate reblog to this post with a full list of naming conventions from each region.

#genshin impact #natlan #sumeru #genshin #hoyoverse #vent post #genshin cyno #candace genshin #sethos genshin #kaeya genshin impact #colorism #antiblackness

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burst-of-iridescent · 9 months ago

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South Asian and Hindu Influences in ATLA (Part 1)

disclaimer: i was raised culturally and religiously hindu, and though i've tried to do my research for this post and pair it with my own cultural knowledge, i'm not an expert on hinduism by any means. should i mess up, please let me know.

please also be aware that many of the concepts discussed in this post overlap heavily with religions such as buddhism and jainism, which might have different interpretations and representations. as i'm not from those religions or cultures, i don't want to speak on them, but if anyone with that knowledge wishes to add on, please feel free.

it's well-known that atla draws from indigenous, east and southeast asian influences, but something i rarely see discussed in the fandom is the influences the show takes from hinduism and south asia, and there are actually far more than i think people are aware of.

so here's a (non-exhaustive list) of the main inspirations atla drew from south asian culture and hinduism, starting with...

The Avatar

the title of the show itself is taken from the ancient language of sanskrit, often considered the sacred tongue of the hindu religion. in sanskrit, the word "avatar" means to "descend" or "alight".

the concept of the avatar is a very old one, referring to the physical incarnation of a powerful deity or spirit. the idea of the avatar is most often linked to the god Vishnu, one of three supreme hindu gods collectively called the trimurti, or trinity. the avatar is said to manifest upon earth primarily in times of great need, when balance must be maintained between the forces of good and evil.

atla borrows heavily from this idea in having aang be the incarnation of a divine spirit who returns to the world during a time of immense strife, and is tasked with defeating a great evil to bring balance back to the world. and though i don't know if it was an intentional reference, it's interesting to note that Krishna, the most famous incarnation of Vishnu was also reborn amidst a fierce storm and carried through a raging sea to a new home where he would be protected from the king who sought to kill him. sounds a little familiar, doesn't it?

Agni Kai and the Philosophy of Firebending

the word "agni" derives from the sanskrit name Agni, the god of fire, though it can also generally mean "fire".

the concepts of lightning bending and the sun being the source of firebending are likely also taken from the idea of Agni, since he's said to exist simultaneously in three different forms on three different dimensions: as fire on earth, as lightning in the atmosphere, and as the sun in the sky.

Agni is a significant aspect of many rituals, including marriage rites, death rites, and the festivals of holi and diwali. the concept of Agni is one of duality: life and death, rebirth and destruction. hindu rituals accept and celebrate both aspects, revolving around the idea that destruction is not separate from creation, but rather necessary to facilitate it. the cremation of the dead, for instance, is seen as purification, not destruction: burning away the physical form so the soul is unencumbered, set free to continue the reincarnation cycle.

this influence can be seen in the firebending masters episode, which discusses the idea of fire being vital to life. the sun warriors safeguarding the original fire and demanding that zuko and aang bring fire to the dragons as a sacrifice could also reference the ritual of Agnihotra - the ritual of keeping a fire at the home hearth and making offerings to it. the purpose of this ritual differs depending on which text you refer to, but it is generally believed to purify the person and atmosphere in which it is performed, similar to how zuko and aang must make offerings to ran and shaw and survive their fire before being deemed worthy and pure.

Agnihotra is said to serve as a symbolic reminder of the vitality and importance of fire as the driving force of life, a lesson that zuko and aang also internalize from their encounter with the dragons.

Bumi

bumi's name is taken from the sanskrit word "bhumi", which means "earth". it's also the name of the hindu goddess of the earth, bumi or bhudevi.

one of the things the original animation didn't do and which i really enjoyed about the live action was that they made bumi indian and added desi inspiration to omashu. it makes perfect sense for a king whose name is as hindu-inspired as they come.

NWT Royal Palace

chief arnook's palace in the northern water tribe takes inspiration from the gopurams of hindu temples, massive pyramidal structures that served as entrance towers to the temple.

gopurams were built tall enough to be seen for miles around, beacons to signal tired or weary travellers who wished for a place to rest that a temple was nearby. it's a nice touch that the chief's palace is located in front of the spirit oasis, a similarly symbolic entryway to a sanctuary housing otherworldly deities.

Betrothal Necklaces

to preface: i doubt this was an intentional reference, and this great post talks about other cultures that could have inspired the water tribe betrothal necklaces. given the desi influence in the nwt architecture however, i figured it was worth mentioning.

the idea of betrothal necklaces being given to women by their male partners is similar to the thaali, a necklace given to hindu wives by their husbands. during hindu weddings, grooms tie the thaali around their brides' necks to symbolize their marriage. once given, wives are expected to wear their thaali till the day they die, as doing so is believed to bring good luck, health and prosperity to their husbands.

Chi-Blocking

though chi-blocking takes primary inspiration from the art of Dim Mak, it is also influenced by the south indian martial arts forms of adimurai and kalaripayattu, both of which include techniques of striking vital points in the body to disable or kill an opponent.

kalaripayattu also shares parallels with firebending, being a very physically demanding, aggressive martial art that emphasises the importance of discipline and mental fortitude. control of the mind is essential to control of the body, a philosophy similar to that espoused by iroh across the show.

Wan Shi Tong's Library

the library draws inspiration partly from the taj mahal, the famous mausoleum constructed by shah jahan during the mughal empire as a monument to his beloved wife, mumtaz mahal.

i'll end this post here since it's getting too long as it is, and the following section will be even longer. for while atla treated the concepts in this post with respect, the same unfortunately cannot be said for its depiction of guru pathik and combustion man - both of which we'll be discussing next.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla cultural influences #hinduism in atla

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transmutationisms · 1 year ago

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how do i know what’s right?

i feel like i have zero critical thinking skills ;-;

a lot of the time when someone poses an idea or a theory they think they’re right, and so they use language that enforces that. but then someone refutes it, and uses language affirming what they believe and i see the point in their argument. and then it gets refuted again and again and again and im just confused.

hi great question. i would love it if there were a single easy litmus test to figure out who's 'right' and whose info i should trust! unfortunately things are rarely this easy, and it's actually completely normal to be overwhelmed by the amount of information being produced and shared, especially when it comes to topics you haven't researched/lived/etc. for most of us, this will be most topics!

i'd preface this by saying that i think your overall attitude here is actually a good one. you're framing it in a pretty self-deprecating way—but actually, imo this type of openness to discussion and disagreement is a really good place to start, esp when dealing with topics that are new to you. nobody enters a contentious debate with a fully fledged, defensible viewpoint. you might feel like you're just treading water here, making no progress toward being able to evaluate arguments for yourself, but i highly doubt that's true.

all of that said: while i again cannot give you a single litmus test for figuring out what's 'right', there are four pretty basic sets of questions that i automatically run through when encountering a new idea, source, topic, or argument: we can call these origin, purpose, value, and limitations.

origin: who's the author? do they have any institutional affiliations? who pays their salary? is this argument or paper funded in any way? is the argument dependent upon the author's social position or status (race, class, etc) and if so, are those factors being discussed clearly? does the author have ties to a particular nation-state or stakes in defending such a nation-state? what's the class character of the author and the argument? what's the social, economic, and intellectual context that gave rise to this argument or source?

purpose: why is this source or person disseminating this information or making this argument? are they trying to sell you anything? are their funders? are they trying to persuade you of a particular political viewpoint? keeping in mind the answers to the 'origin' questions, are there particular ideological positions you would expect to find in this source or argument, and are they present? what are the stakes for the author or source? what about for those who cite the source or further disseminate or publish it?

value: what does this source or argument accomplish well? what aspects of the argument are new to you and strike you as insightful? are there linkages being made that you haven't encountered elsewhere, and that you think are effectively and sufficiently defended? are there statistics or empirical data that might be useful to you in forming your own argument, even if you disagree with how this source or author is interpreting them? what does this argument or source tell you about the types of debates being had, and the rules of those debates?

limitations: where does this argument or source fail you or fall apart? are there obvious rhetorical fallacies you can identify? is the author forgetting or overlooking some piece of information that you know of from elsewhere? which viewpoints may be omitted? keeping in mind the answers to the 'purpose' questions, if this source is defending a particular ideology or political position, is that one you agree with? is it only defensible so long as the author omits or distorts certain pieces of information? are there points where the argument jumps from evidence to a conclusion that the evidence can't fully support? are there alternative explanations for the evidence?

over time you will often find that it becomes more and more automatic to ask yourself these questions. you will also find that the more you read/hear about a particular topic, the faster you can determine whether someone is presenting all of the evidence, presenting it fairly, and using it to fully defend the argument they ultimately want to make. and you will probably also find that at some point, you're able to synthesise your own argument by pulling the strong parts from multiple other people's viewpoints, combining them with your own thinking, and fitting them together in a way that adequately explains and materially analyses the issue at hand.

#sry if this feels kind of abstract lol fight between specificity and applicability #lit and literacy

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alpaca-clouds · 3 months ago

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Worldbuild Differently: Unthink Religion

This week I want to talk a bit about one thing I see in both fantasy and scifi worldbuilding: Certain things about our world that we live in right now are assumed to be natural, and hence just adapted in the fantasy world. With just one tiny problem: They are not natural, and there were more than enough societies historically that avoided those pitfalls.

Tell me, if you have heard this one before: You have this fantasy world with so many differnet gods that are venerated. So what do you do to venerate those gods? Easy! You go into those big temple structures with the stained glass in their windows, that for some reason also use incense in their rituals. DUH!

Or: Please, writers, please just think one moment on why the fuck you always just want to write Christianity. Because literally no other religion than Christianity has buildings like that! And that has to do a lot with medieval and early post-medieval culture. I am not even asking you to look into very distant cultures. Just... Look of mosques and synagogues differ from churches. And then maybe look at Roman and Greek temples. That is all I am asking.

Let's make one thing clear: No matter what kind of world you are building, there is gonna be religion. It does not matter if you are writing medieval fantasy, stoneage fantasy, or some sort of science fiction. I know that a lot of atheists hate the idea that a scifi world has religion, but... Look, human brains are wired to believe in the paranormal. That is simply how we are. And even those atheists, that believe themselves super rational, do believe in some weird stuff that is about as scientific as any religions. (Evolutionary Psychology would be such an example.)

What the people will believe in will differ from their circumstance and the world they life in, but there is gonna be religion of some sort. Because we do need some higher power to blame, we need the rituals of it, and we need the community aspect of it.

Ironically I personally am still very much convinced that IRL even in a world like the Forgotten Realms, people would still make up new gods they would pray to, even with a whole pantheon of very, very real gods that exist. (Which is really sad, that this gets so rarely explored.)

However, how this worship looks like is very different. Yes, the Abrahamitic religions in general do at least have in common that they semi-regularily meet in some sort of big building to pray to their god together. Though how much the people are expected to go into that temple to pray is actually quite different between those religions and the subgroups of those religions.

Other religions do not have this though. Some do not have those really big buildings, and often enough only a select few are even allowed into the big buildings - or those might only be accessible during some holidays.

Instead a lot of polytheistic religions make a big deal of having smaller shrines dedicated to some of the gods. Often folks will have their own little shrine at home where they will pray daily. Alternatively there are some religions where there might be a tiny shrine outside that people will go to to pray to.

Funnily enough that is also something I have realized Americans often don't quite get: Yeah, this was a thing in Christianity, too. In Europe you will still find those tiny shrines to certain saints (because technically speaking Christianity still works as a polytheistic religion, only that we have only one god, but a lot of saints that take over the portfolios of the polytheistic gods). I am disabled, and even in the area I can reach on foot I know of two hidden shrines. One of them is to Mary, and one... I am honestly not sure, as the masonry is too withered to say who was venerated there. Usually those shrines are bieng kept in a somewhat okay condition by old people, but yeah...

Of course, while with historically inspired fantasy settings make this easy (even though people still hate their research), things get a bit harder with science fiction.

Again, the atheist idea is often: "When we develop further scientifically, we will no longer need religion!" But I am sorry, folks. This is not how the human brain works. We see weird coincidences and will go: "What paranormal power was responsible for it?" We can now talk about why the human brain has developed this way. We are evolved to find patterns, and we are evolved (because social animal and such) to try and understand the will others have - so far that we will read will in nature. It is simply how our brains work.

So, what will scifi cultures believe in? I don't know. Depends on your worldbuilding. Maybe they believe in the ghost in the machine, maybe there si some other religions there. You can actually go very wild with it. But you need to unthink the normativity of Christianity to do that. And that is... what I see too little off.

#worldbuilding #fantasy worldbuilding #science fiction #scifi worldbuilding #religion #fantasy religion #forgotten realms #dungeons & dragons #dnd #writing #fantasy writer

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trulyhblue · 10 months ago

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Until We Moved Away

Kyra Cooney-Cross x Swedish! Reader

Warnings — fluff, coarse language, childhood friends w/ benefits

A/N — cried maybe three times in the past three hours because I had to rewrite this since it was deleted 🤭 Anyways, enjoy KCC content bc there definitely isn't enough on here!!

_______________________

When you met Kyra, you weren't quite sure what to think of her.

You were a Swedish international and had made your debut from a very young age. You were talented, well known within your country, and made it your life mission to make your family, country, and yourself proud.

You kept to yourself most of the time, choosing to focus on your career and paint a path for your future by working hard and improving on every aspect of your technique, gameplay, and overall performance. You had never played outside of Sweden before, and you were content with your decision. You were privileged enough to live close to home, within driving range, and know your way around. You weren't confused by the language, or troubled by anything in your day-to-day life. You were passionate about your job, you lived football, and you were determined to do anything in your power to win.

When you met Kyra, your mindset seemed to change.

Kyra was from Australia, and the Swedish language was foreign to her. When you first met, the girl complimented your sweater. In return, you told her the Hammarby jersey she was wearing suited her. She sent you a wide, warm smile, and you returned it.

From then on out, your relationship continued to be like that.

Kyra was very charismatic. She often held a lot of energy, and you were fortunate enough to witness it as you grew to know her more. The girl wouldn't know what to do with herself during the long bus and plane journeys, so she decided that talking your ear off was an appropriate solution.

The Australian wasn't very good at planning things, and you quickly realised that you were her guiding hand early on in knowing her. When Kyra didn't have a proper place to stay, she moved in with you permanently, only two weeks in. When Kyra was stuck with understanding your language, you made an effort to try and learn English, just so the familiarity of home would somewhat comfort her.

Kyra experienced homesickness from time to time, which you never really felt before, so you tried your hardest to make her feel at home by buying Australian snacks or making time to research some Australian movies.

When your schedules were empty, on the rare occasion that they were, you made the effort to show her around Sweden, hoping she’d find solace in a foreign country and find similarities between your home and hers.

When the opportunity arose, you managed to find time to get the two of you two plane tickets to Australia. You weren't quite sure how Kyra would react, but grateful was an understatement.

You found yourself falling for the girl in ways you never thought you would. Australia brought something out of the girl. You weren't sure what it was, but a certain aura enclosed her with an entity of warmth, solitude, and contentment. Kyra was in her element, and you felt bad not seeing how being away from home for so long could affect someone as it did to her.

When the World Cup rolled around, you were certain that you were completely and utterly in love with Kyra.

She had asked you on dates before, and you were blind to see them as simply hanging out. It wasn't until you both were due to fly to Australia, ready to prepare with your respected National Teams, that you realised how desperate you were to make that girl yours.

You weren't sure why you didn't just ask then and there, but you had kept the feeling to yourself in case it ruined the relationship you already had.

The two of you would text every night, talking about how it was both your first World Cup and the excitement surrounding it. While you both were relishing the adrenaline of each victory that passed, not realising that the two of you might verse each other.

You were there during the France versus Australia game. You were enamoured by the atmosphere of the crowd, and overwhelmed by the cheers, chants, and excitement around Women’s Football and the impact this tournament has had on the sport as a whole.

You were nervous when Australia lost to England, feeling the weight of your loss against Spain pulling taunt to your heart. You were disappointed in the outcome, not only because you weren't making it to the finals but because you felt like you had let your country down. It was no secret that your contract with Hammarby was ending soon, and no one but you felt as if your performance was costing a renewal.

Kyra had told you a million times how hard you were on yourself, and you always shook it off and told her that it was just passion. You still believed that. You were extremely passionate about everything regarding football. But if Kyra was right about one thing, there was always something more important.

It was clear to everyone in the stadium that both teams were still grieving the loss of the finals. You were exhausted from the games you had played this past month, and fatigue riddled you through the final minute of the Bronze Medal match. You hadn't spoken to Kyra since consoling her after her game against England, knowing that the ambiguity of tonight’s game might tamper with open wounds.

You weren't ready to face the girl after a month of not seeing her. You wanted to hold her, talk to her face-to-face, and tell her how proud you were of all that she has done for her team, her family, and her nation. That girl was all you cared and yearned for. Kyra was this beaming light that you could always confide in, and now that you were competing against her felt like a stab to the chest.

Despite this, you played your heart out. You made sure to keep your defence in the back line strong throughout the ninety minutes, hoping your forwards could break through Australia’s incredible midfield and defence. You were waiting anxiously for the final whistle to blow, relishing the final moments of such a brilliant tournament to be over, hoping the weight of the competition would fall off your chest the moment it was done.

Kyra played her heart out like she always did but with this new-found determination to prove herself. Every tackle, pass and shot was full of purpose and meaning. You watched her effortless talent shine through throughout the match, enamoured by her flawlessness in every aspect that she flaunted.

Your exhaustion sent you to your knees when the referee blew the full-time whistle. You were standing by yourself near the middle of the pitch, burying your face into your hands as they trembled. The adrenaline from the game, and every game you had played that past month, fizzled out from under you. The crowd was drowned out by your heaving breathing. Every muscle in your body ached. You wondered how your family back home was feeling. You wondered whether they were celebrating your third-place win.

Your home, your country, your nation; you hoped and prayed that they were proud of you and your team’s efforts, for you put everything you could into it. You so badly wanted to tell everyone watching that you tried your best.

Your thoughts were flooded into nothing when a soothing hand met the waistband of your shorts. You felt a familiar figure lean into you, the hand moving under your jersey and rubbing comforting circles across your back.

“Always beating me, aren't ‘ya, Älskling?” She muttered, her usual smug tone streaming through. There was no hesitancy in your movements as you sunk into her chest, hugging her chest and sighing as you took in the girl’s familiar scent.

“You played so well, Kyra.” You muttered, your tone much more sincere than hers. “You and the girls deserve the medal more than anyone else.”

“Oh, shush, you're just being modest,” Kyra replied, taking her spare hand and massaging your scalp. “Y’know what I deserve? Some love and affection from you, that's what.”

“What? Is the Kyra Cooney-Cross admitting that she missed me?” You scoffed, nuzzling your face into her neck. She was holding you up by now, keeping your body flush against her own as she rolled her eyes and huffed.

“Go back to being modest.”

You took her words as a sign to prop yourself up, smiling when you caught sight of the flush of her cheeks. “I missed you heaps, if that helps.”

“Oh yeah?” She answered, finding a loose strand of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. You bit your lip, smiling down to where your bodies entangled.

“What's next?” You asked. It question was ambiguous, but the Australian in front of you seemed to have a grasp of understanding as to what you alluded to.

“Kiss me and find out.”

You didn't have a chance to react, feeling Kyra’s lips push up against your own. Her hand reached your cheek, moving her lips against yours, smirking when you started to reciprocate the action.

You must've stayed like that for a while, since you pulled apart feeling out of breath. The flush on both of your cheeks meant a beat of silence, pulling you into your own little bubble that shielded you away from the stadium full of people.

“Wherever you go, I go,” Kyra stated, letting your thumb run a path over the freckles that covered her nose.

You nodded and smiled, and she did too.

___________________

hammarbyfotball

hammarbyfotball — Girlfriends that move together, stay together 💚🤍

Wishing Y/N and Kyra all the best for their Arsenal journey in North London.

Congratulations Girls 🙌🏼

Comments:

user12 — HELP THEY REALLY EXPOSED THEIR RELATIONSHIP IN THE GOODBYE POST AHAHHAHA

^ wowwoso — they like ‘Not my problem now, BYE’ 😋

yourusername — Will miss you!! Thank you for this opportunity 💚

* liked by hammarbyfotball

Kyracooneyx — admin has no shame lol

^ yourusername — Kyra. Log. Off

^ user78 — HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA

wosothings — after that absolute makeout sesh we all saw I think we all saw this coming 😭

^ kxxfan — I'm still in mourning.

^ user77 — no bc why did the camera pan to someone crying to these two shoving their tongues down each others throat I WAS SHOCKED.

y/nkcc — THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT THEY’RE LEAVING???????? i am grieving leave me alone.

matildasswed — admin saw that kiss and thought those two had hard launched.

_______________________

arsenalwfc

arsenalwfc — let's welcome two more gunners to North London!

Hammarby Legends Y/N L/N and Kyra Cooney-Cross sign with us after a masterclass World Cup ahead of the 23/24 season!

___________

Comments:

User22 — THERE IS NO WAY OMGGGG

Stephcatley — welcome girls!!! ❤️

Caitlinfoord — HAHAHA CALLED IT @ mackenziearnold

^ mackenziearnold — shut up.

kccfanx — Hammarby banked after selling these two🥲 just over 700k 💀

^ user90 — they've just lost two of their best players… I think they’ll need all the money they can get in order to replace them.

Bethmead — looking good in red girls 🥰🥰

user34 — both of them joining straight after the world cup kiss???? Coincidence?? I think not 🤭

^ wosox — they really said together forever

yourusername — Thank You ❤️

*liked by arsenalwfc

Hammarbyfotball — congradulations!!!

^ user88 — happy for them BUT IM IN MOURNING

^ user2 — I'm distraught.

kyracooneyx — yeah the Aussie tan @ yourusername

^ caitlinfoord — simp

^ alannakennedy — simp

^ mackenziearnold — simp

^ kyracooneyx — I was talking about mine but ok.

^ wosofan — HAHAHAHAHAHA

user2 — gonna miss them in Sweden

^ IK 😭😭😭

cooneyxfan — are they really soft launching their relationship with a transfer post????

^ kyracooneyx — yes lol.

^ cooneyxfan — AINT NO WAY

_______________

447 notes · View notes

fatuismooches · 2 years ago

Note

Hello!!! May i request how the habingers men act when they are drunk? How will the reader will take care of them? If you are not taking requests im very sorry you can decline my request

Imagine the Harbingers when they’re drunk.

Pierro is even more somber when drunk. It’s not like he does it on purpose, it just sort of happens. He does like to drink some wine to relax after many long days of work, but the idleness somehow always causes his mind to wander back to the old days, to before the Fatui. And he thinks. He ponders a lot and reminiscences about the past, how things could have been different. He has always been left alone with these wandering thoughts until you came along.

Don’t let the melancholic tone steer you away though. When Pierro drinks, he’s usually alone, but that’s not to say he doesn’t want you here. He’s been alone for as long as he could remember, even lonelier after the fall of his homeland. It was just natural for him to be this way. Having you there makes him unsure of what to do because he doesn’t want to make you sad, but please reassure him. Lay your head on his chest and put your hand on top of one. Tell him it’s okay, and it will always be okay, that you want to be here for the good and the bad, through everything. He’s silent, but Pierro appreciates your kindness so much more than he lets on. You don’t need to do much after that because your mere presence and warmth are more than enough for him as he strokes your hair until you fall asleep in his arms.

Dottore has a varying amount of emotions when he’s drunk. It really depends on which segment you’re talking to. The younger segments tend to get more argumentative with each other. The older ones are more mature and handle it better. With the younger segments, they’re a lot to handle, even more so when drunk. You’ve witnessed them throw stuff at each other, hurl some nasty words (about other people as well), and generally be gloomy at the end too. They can be immature and hotheaded compared to the older, calmer segments, but it’s honestly quite funny to witness. They just say the darndest things with the most humorous phrasing, sometimes gossiping about that one Harbinger who always cuts their funding. Thankfully, it doesn’t take much to placate them. The moment one of them starts to get pouty, you simply usher them into your embrace, successfully shutting him up. This has a domino effect, and soon you have a bunch of clones on your shoulders, hogging your lap, even against your legs.

Though, don’t expect the same outcome with the older clones, especially Omega and the original Zandik. Zandik has had his body modified to the point where such drinks do not have much of an effect anymore, and Omega is just… well, yeah, it takes far more than that to bother him. Zandik does not care for nutrition in general, much less alcohol, so you’ll rarely ever catch him drinking, but on the occasion you convince him to have a drink with you, he wouldn’t mind too much. It’s not as though he hates the taste. Though, a lot of it goes untouched because he tends to ramble on with his research and breakthroughs instead of drinking, so most of the time he ends up taking care of you.

Columbina gets even more clingy when drunk, if that’s even possible. While that aspect of her doesn’t change, she suddenly gains a lot more vigor. Normally she’s calm, eerily so, but it seems like the alcohol brings out a lot of laughing. The Fatui don’t know which side is scarier. She also has a very high tolerance and the recruits always watch in amazement as she downs bottle after bottle. She’s also the kind of girl who insists on refilling your drink. There’s not much you can really do than other go with her flow.

She’s very upbeat and giggly when drunk. Tugs you to your feet and twirls you around, giddily humming and swaying around with you until she dramatically falls back so you could catch her in your arms. Columbina has so much energy when inebriated that you wonder how she does it. But, always be on guard with this girl. She will stop all of a sudden, and then fall asleep and literally crash on top of you. The first time she did that you nearly had a heart attack as both of you were now on the floor, her body completely sprawled out on top of you. And she did not budge one inch. So you were stuck there until the next day when you woke up in the afternoon with her now in another weird position. But hey, there are not much people who have the opportunity to see the third Harbinger like this.

Capitano doesn’t drink very often. He sees it as unnecessary and more of a distraction from his duties than anything else. Even on the rare occasion he drinks, it’s not much to look at. The liquid just disappears behind the ever-present darkness that his helmet brings. You can’t see any blush, any smiles, any hazy eyes, nope. He has a high tolerance for quite literally anything so seeing him drunk is a tall order. If by any chance he does get drunk, which seems really impossible, Capitano gets a bit more clingy. When sober, although he does give a good amount of affection, it’s still a bit of a struggle for him. Because really, him? Of all people? Being soft? It’s still surreal to him and he’s still adjusting.

But on the rare occasion he’s tipsy, there’s a chance of him desiring such fondness, both giving and receiving. Normally, when sober, he gets a tad bit embarrassed and awkward when you shower him with love. But when he’s drunk, he’ll welcome it a lot more. Just silently though. He’ll always be a quiet man. He’ll return the favor with a strong embrace. He likes to hold you in his lap with an arm around your waist. For some reason, he likes to tilt the cup to your lips as if you can’t drink it yourself. He doesn’t really need to be taken care of, but it’s still cute nonetheless. Capitano prefers if you don’t bring up this experience. He’s honestly a bit mortified you saw him in such a disgraceful state. (You and Dottore definitely worked together to make this happen. There was no other way.) Then again, don’t get your hopes up too much. Your man is resistant to possibly every force in Teyvat.

Scaramouche doesn’t care much for alcohol. He is a puppet after all. The drink has no effects on him. And the taste doesn’t do much for him either, as he says it himself - he enjoys the taste of bitter tea far more. But, if you do manage to convince him, with all of his reluctance, he can’t deny that some sake and cherry blossom viewing is pretty nice. Although Inazuma brings up some distasteful memories for him, he can’t deny it’s beautiful. Kunikuzushi doesn’t talk about it, but he does have some warm memories regarding the drink. Sometimes, his family, his friends from all those years ago, would drink alcohol in celebration. The young puppet would watch in fascination and down all the bottles while his friends lay passed out in amazement. So really, despite all of his moaning and groaning, he won’t mind.

Even though Scaramouche doesn’t actually get drunk, you like to think he does from the way he acts around you. You have a tendency to drink more than you can handle so that you could see Scara reveal his secret affectionate side. Whining and slurring your words results in a lot of grumbling and eye-rolling from your lover, scolding you for your recklessness. But no one would ever believe you as he begrudgingly guides you to his lap, confiscating the sake cup. Rearranges his legs so you’re comfortable. Strokes your hair and brushes it away from your face, drunk on you. But then of course pinches your cheeks, earning a squeal and a few curses from you. After becoming the Wanderer, the taste is unsettlingly comforting for him. Perhaps because it was one of the things that began to connect you with him. Even if you can’t remember him anymore, he still likes to go to that same spot to enjoy some sake and the view.

Sandrone isn’t very much of a drinker. It distracts her from her work, and she’d much rather enjoy some tea and sweets too. So, it is going to be a long and arduous wait to see Sandrone drink, much less get drunk. That is until you recruit some of your favorite robots to oh, just innocently put a few drops of alcohol in her cup instead of tea. Luckily enough, she sips it without a thought. After all, there was no reason to be suspicious. She programmed these robots to obey her. The only thing is that she programmed them to listen to you too.

Please stop her from working. She’s been trying to unscrew this bolt from a robot for the last ten minutes and she still hasn’t realized she’s using the wrong screwdriver. Some Automatons may need to be enlisted for help but just get her away from that and into a chair. Sandrone huffs and puffs with a blushing face about how she’ll get revenge on you later, but you can’t really take her words seriously when she’s leaning on your shoulder so cutely. Her coat is off and her porcelain arms are intertwined with yours, her way of “punishing you.” You strive to get her tipsy more often in the future. At least she actually takes breaks that way. You’re so glad Sandrone built a Kamera into some of her creations because damn, it was really useful right now.

La Signora is a chatty drunk. She has the tolerance of a normal person, getting drunk after a good amount of refills. Many times she drinks to relieve some stress, as you have to listen to her complain about all the useless recruits and how unreliable her subordinates are most of the time. She always tells the best stories when drunk, always going into depth about how stupid this person was and how this person did that. It’s best not to interrupt or console her yet. She just wants to vent her frustrations right now.

How to take care of her? Just be a good lover by keeping her glass filled, her lap warm, and her boredom away. With all of the fuss she makes, she ends up winding down by the end of it to thoroughly enjoy your presence. Rosalyne gets very comfy during these sessions - hair flowing free from its usual bun, mask and makeup off, a silky nightgown adorning her body. She is a very tall yet soft lady, so her lap is much more suitable for sitting than any old chair would be, she tells you. Signora likes to have a firm grip on you, her hands playing with your hair as she swishes around the alcohol, her legs entangled with yours so you could not leave. Her voice tipsy and a bit slurred she’ll ask you about your day, what’s been going on, how she misses her lovely butterfly dearly. Anyone besides you would be shocked to know how sweet Rosalyne is as a partner. Experiencing love and loss changes a person more than what they show. So really, taking care of her means letting her take care of you.

Pantalone is a flirty drunk who has no problem telling you exactly what he thinks, very unfiltered. He is quite a charmer when sober, but alcohol turns up the flattery a hundred times more. A lot of times, the two of you have drinks together late into the night, after he is finally done with his paperwork and whatnot. Usually, it’s paired with an exquisite dinner. Of course, he only purchases and drinks the most expensive and delicious kinds of wine of course. Whenever he buys a new brand, he always does the same thing though, which you gladly welcome. Pantalone makes you take the first few sips, asks you how it is, and then kisses you to try for himself. You always playfully scold him but you can never be mad at that devilishly sweet smile.

Pantalone actually likes to be pampered and taken care of when he’s drunk. Brush his hair out, help him bathe and slip into his robes, tuck him under the blanket with you. More specifically, he likes when you read to him. While he can handle his liquor well enough, when he gets overly drunk, he gets quiet. You never pry into what exactly he thinks about, but after being with him for so long you can gather that he’s remembering his childhood. So, although his weight may crush you a bit, just let him lay on your chest for a while, stroke his hair while you talk, and take his glasses off once he’s asleep.

Arlecchino is a lightweight drinker. No one has ever seen her drink and it is because of that. She would rather die than have anyone witness her being drunk. She has only a few weaknesses, the most out-of-place ones being you and alcohol. Normally you wouldn’t mind, but it gets to be a bit awkward when you’re drinking and she’s just there with her cold hard coffee. Even during a relationship with you, she’s still adamant about not drinking. Arlecchino is serious about not appearing vulnerable in front of you. She doesn’t want you to think about her any differently.

She’s super observant too, so there’s not really going to be a chance of swapping her drunk. Perhaps if you beg and plead with her she could have just a cup with you. It is endearing to see her so unguarded and cute in front of you, but her lack of tolerance ends up cutting the quality time you have with her. There’s really not much you’re going to do when she’s drunk. Arlecchino tends to hiccup when drunk along with some intoxicated mumblings. Generally, she falls asleep rather quickly, so just cover her with a blanket and make sure no one enters her office. Otherwise, they’d have to die.

Childe is a happy drunk with a good amount of tolerance, so it’s a bit hard to see him actually get drunk, but it is certainly possible. He is instead the kind of person who tries to convince you to drink Fire-Water with him because he enjoys your drunk blabbering. He loves to bring up the things you said while drunk to embarrass you. While drunk he loves to chat and catch up with you, but he also tends to challenge you to drinking competitions (he has a competitive streak after all, always up for a contest) which usually ends up with you passed out and waking up the next morning to Ajax making breakfast (donning an apron if you’re lucky.) Though there have been times when you’ve been blessed to see a red-faced, drunk Ajax.

It would be funny if he was a fighty drunk. The kind of drunk who suddenly wants to spar with you out of nowhere. Wants to go to the Golden House with you but he can’t even make it halfway, literally about to make both of you fall from how much he’s clinging onto you. Though, it’s not too hard to take care of him, if you’re okay with a dozen smooches to your face and a lot of whining. He is incessant with his cuddling, arms tightly bound around you. It takes a lot of persuading to let him release you. What he would appreciate is a nice home-cooked meal at this point, especially if it's Snezhnayan. He’s the one who usually does all the cooking, so he’s actually really grateful when you make something for him. The only problem is that when he’s drunk, he wants you to feed him. After that, the only plan of action is to comply with his demands for cuddling in bed. Somehow, you still fall asleep after him because Childe refuses to slumber before you. Zhongli has dropped him at your house quite a few times so you’re used to the routine by now.

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cupcakeslushie · 1 year ago

Note

What condition does donnie have in EW?

Schizophrenia?

Well, it’s a mix of PTSD from his childhood trauma, and hallucinations from being slightly exposed to Empyrean. So, while it’s all partly a cause based off fantasy, I do try and do my research to keep it in the realm of something concrete. Donnie has audio/visual hallucinations, depersonalization/dissociation, memory blanks, etc…. Pile that all, on top of his genius brain fighting a chaotic, disorganized mind that’s constantly in fight or flight mode.

I’ve had a few people say they recognize certain aspects of themselves in my Donnie, and so I think it’s less about assigning a specific name to what Donnie has, and more about the story of how he and the people that love him, help him in figuring out how to live a good life, while handling all the trauma he’s been through!

I’m right there with you, and that’s probably one of those things I gave all the boys to some extent, because damn, if that wasn’t me when I was younger 😅. I’ve since moved on to using less harmful means of stress relief, but it remains something that I just instantly read as an anxious habit lol—it’s just the levels and ways each of the boys exhibit it that vary.

Leo is the one more likely to pick and scratch to harm, because unfortunately, he does his as a type of holdover, self-flagellating from even the tiniest of mistakes. Mikey gets distracted with thinking up ideas, and bites his nails, sometimes a little too deeply. To the point where he’s drawing blood—it also sucks because he loves painting his nails. Raph will chew on his palms and knuckles from anxiety, but his skin is so tough, that he rarely does actual damage. Donnie will pick and scratch at everything—his hands, his arms, his face—especially when he hits a frustrating road-block. It won’t even register that he’s broken skin—his pain tolerance is so fucked up.

Donnie’s worst near death experience was, of course, the vivisection. He didn’t follow any after-care instructions, and infection very nearly killed him. Most of the other stuff was, of course, physically and mentally scarring, but not life-threatening. Thanks to being spaced out, with time for recovery, where Draxum just flat out ignored Three’s existence. As far as testing his endurance in the sleep department. Draxum made Three create a smaller, more refined version of the collars he made for Big Mama. When Draxum was tired of dealing with Three, but still feeling slightly generous, he’d force him to wear the device, rather than just chaining him up to the table. The watch would track Three’s heart rate and keep his path confined to set rooms only. Any time the watch detected Three was falling asleep, or outside of his approved perimeter, it would, you guessed it—shock him!

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sashiavi · 1 year ago

Text

•·····🍑········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓔𝓵𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•········🍑·····•

𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 2023

#11•𝙿𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝙶𝚒𝚛𝚕•#11

𝙳𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚌 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ².⁸ᵏ

Diluc Ragnvindr was a Nobleman, drowning in unimaginable amounts of Mora, he was a bachelor, a businessman, a tycoon. He led a busy life, taking on a heavy wealth and a responsibility generationally entitled to him. Such a commodity often came in handy through the other aspects of his life - Paying off sketchy low-threat hooligans to bring him information, keep him in the loop of the criminal underworld. He was strict through both day and night, in the business world two dimensions apart. The Dark Knight Hero - Though he had a distaste for the kitschy name - was a monumental part of his life.

Diluc somehow landed himself in an elusive auction, held by an anonymous hierarchy - he had reason to believe they had connections to the Fatui, and may have research or documents or anything he could abuse to take them out. He sits on one of the many pews in the room, face skilfully hidden from the other patrons participating in the auction, some of which he personally recognised. Lawrence clan politicians, a few stray knights of favonious, breaking their vowed code of ethics, even a Kätzleinan he could vaguely recognise from the outskirts of Monstadt.

The auction drags on, completely uneventful, nothing he hadn't seen before - Delusions, Adepti relics, monster loot and stolen art. Not once had he lifted the wooden paddle in his hand, he was starting to think this auction was a real waste of his time. Until, an announcement piques his interest.

"Up next is an exclusive piece, an exotic pet all the way from Inazuma - Starting bid is Two Hundred Thousand Mora!" The Announcer chirps, moving across the stage performatively. What kind of animal would be worth such a high starting bid? A Kitsune? A rare fish? He doesn't have to ponder for very long. A large, cube object is wheeled onto the stage, covered by a thick, dark fabric. Whatever the creature was, it was under there. The Announcer dances across the stage, grabbing the fabric and tugging it off with a quick swipe, revealing the creature inside of the cage.

A young woman is revealed, nearly nude, clad in just enough fabric to be considered undergarments. She sits on the side of her needs, fingers clenched into her palms. The most noticeable feature on the girl is her large ears and tail - they were shaped like a Shiba's, or even a wolf's, round and fluffy and twitchy. Murmurs swim through the crowd, both in confusion and excitement. Diluc sits straight, they were auctioning off a person?

"This sweet, lovable thing is the best companion a Gentleman could ask for! Obedient and pliant, she will do just as you say, no matter how ludicrous it may be" the Announcer grins wickedly at his last line. Diluc felt a little ill, his moral compass spinning in every direction, surely he could.. He should do something? She'd be better off with him than any other slimy scum in the room. Without a second thought, his paddle raises into the air.

"Oo~ I see some interest in the crowd! C'mon folks! I like her and so should you!" His irritating voice booms through the venue. It's a vicious fight, the price attached to the girl goes up and up, reaching into a number many could never fathom. Diluc's heart races.

"This thing is as handy as a pocket on your shirt~" God Diluc was sick of him. The battle is coming close, the number continues to grow. It comes down to him and some other Nobleman, a Lawrence clan big shot waving his paddle up into the air, he ought to report him sometime. Diluc had to do something, to save this poor girl. He raises his paddle high and shouts.

"Two Million!"

The crowd gasps, even the Announcer looks shocked. No one in their right mind would try to outbid him. And he was right.

After the event, Diluc is taken to see his 'prize'. The poor Puppy girl was still locked away in her cage, shivering from the cold metal. He sneers at the attendant, demanding the key to the lock and ushers them away, leaving him alone with her. The lock clicks open and the door creaks loudly, shrill rusted metal on metal squealing from the movement. Up close, he gets a better view of her and Archons, she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen - albeit a little roughed up - nothing a warm bubble bath and a touch of Adelinde's charm couldn't fix. He reaches his hand out to her, earning a whimper, the Puppy girl nearly throws herself at him. Diluc is taken aback, surely she was scared, or apprehensive to even look at a man. She presses a kiss into his jaw, soft on his 5 o'clock shadow.

"Master..?" Her eyes look up into his, glimmering with something - it seemed she wasn't all there. He shakes his head, awkwardly patting her crown before standing, prying her body off of him. He removes the thick heavy cloak off of his form and wraps it around her shoulders, clasping it just under her neck. She tilts her head, ears flopping to the side, eyes wide and curious.

"D..Diluc… Just call me Diluc" He tentatively pets her head.

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

The sweet Puppy Girl adjusts to the Dawn Winery easily, tagging along with Adelinde during her daily chores around the estate. She keeps herself busy, doing all she can to help out. Diluc workshops a way to get the sweet girl back to Inazuma, though with the current lock down of the Electro nation, that proved to be a difficult feat.

Diluc pampers the girl in the meantime, giving her the tastiest treats and prettiest trinkets. Spending time with her, reading and learning about Mondstadt's history. He grows close with her, eating nearly every meal together, taking walks through the estate's gardens, and shopping in the markets of Mondstadt. To the outside eye they would seem to be a couple - not that Diluc particularly shut down the notion at all

The day turns to night, the Winery grows cool with the setting sun, candles light up the space. The Puppy girl feels restless, not at all matching the calmness of the night. A knock raps at Diluc's office door, with a short welcoming beckon it opens, revealing the girl. She pitters over to Diluc, her bare feet thudding against the floorboards of his office. She reaches up, looping her arms around his neck, stuffing her face into his chest. Her tail droops and sways in discomfort, she wobbles on her spot, standing on unbalanced tippy toes just to hug him.

"Hot.. Master Diluc.. 'm hot" The Puppy cries into his chest. She never dropped the 'Master' in his name, he doesn't think he hates it. Her skin did feel feverish, warm against his already blazing form. Diluc soothes a palm over the small of her back in an attempt to comfort the sweet girl in his arms.

"Hot how, are you ill?" He whispers.

"Hot in my head.. 'n down there" She squirms against him. Oh. It was only a matter of time he supposed, most hybrid races experienced secondary genders - She must be going into heat. Diluc grits his teeth together, eyes narrowing in thought, surely he should.. He didn't know what he should do. Call Adelinde? Albedo? Sucrose? Was she a canine? What is she? Diluc's thoughts are cut short when he feels a soft pressure on his neck.

He cranes his eyes down, finding the sweet Puppy Girl nuzzled into his neck, pressing into the beating pulse points under his skin. He swallows, his Adam's apple grazes her nose. She was scenting him, he was sure, imprinting on his skin. He fights a moan and ignores the soft swell of his cock in his trousers. He feels her tongue lick at his throat, small canines nip at his skin. His hands hover over her hips.

This was the exact thing he was trying to save her from, and here he was being a hypocrite. A dirty pervert no better than the other Noble scum in the city. He raises his hands, nearly pulling the poor Puppy Girl tighter into his chest, he doesn't, however. He releases a shaky breath, in an attempt to calm himself.

"Want you Master Diluc… Need you~" The Puppy Girl cooes softly into the skin of his neck. His brain was doing backflips, he was sure he was going to pass out. She is asking - He has no time for mental gymnastics, the Puppy Girl pulls him by the collar of his shirt, right in the direction of his master bedroom.

He falls into bed with her, the Puppy Girl snug in his lap, fluffy tail wagging happily. She noses and kisses at his neck, against his pulse points, nipping at the soft spots she imprinted her scent. Diluc's head fogs a little, unaccustomed to the shivery tingles her kisses shoot through his body. His length presses hard against the seam of his pants, it takes everything in him to not thrust up into the pretty Puppy in his lap. He doesn't have to, he muses, the girl straddles his hips, pressing her pussy into his clothed cock. He feels her arousal through his pants, Gods she wasn't wearing panties, his cock twitches hard into her. The Puppy Girl squirms in his lap, humping her puffy clit into his groin, hot slick easily soaking through his trousers.

"Feels ouchy, need it Master Diluc~" The Puppy Girl pulls from his neck, eyes bleary and wet as she looks down at him. She hiccups and humps his lap, face flushed and feverish, doing anything to fix the burning heat in her cunt. Diluc nearly growls, his palms grab at her soft ass cheeks, pulling her into a delicious pace. It didn't count - She could get what she needed without his thick cock nestled inside of her. He wasn't like those other Noblemen. He was just helping her. He couldn't deny how aroused she made him, her cute, dumb little head tilt. How she needed assistance for nearly every little thing. Archons and he was there to help her, help her bathe and eat and relieve herself in his lap.

The Puppy Girl keens in his lap, squeezing his hips with her thighs, tail wagging and ears pinned to her head. She digs her nails into his chest, biting at her lip as she grinds her puppy cunt on him. Diluc's pupils blow wide as she cums on him, hiccuping the prettiest little whines, pathetically humping his clothed cock. She messes in his lap, her creamy Puppy cunt drooling through his pants. She leans down, crying a kiss into his lips, begging for comfort. And he gives it to her, kissing back into her lips, rubbing his palms over her back.

Gods she was too cute to just stop here.

"More.. need more.. M-Master~ please, pleaseplease!" She cries, fat little tears trickle down her cheeks. The pretty Puppy Girl paws at his pants, rubbing over his hard cock, fumbling to undo the intricacies of his button. Diluc huffs a warm laugh, cupping her face with his hands, soothing his thumb over her cheeks.

"..'s okay Pup.. I'll look after you.." He meant it. Sincerely. Diluc easily pins the sweet girl to his soft mattress, slowly stripping the two of them. He pets at her puffy nipples and pretty clit. There was a pang of guilt at the back of his skull, easily washed away by how intimate and real the moment felt. This sweet Puppy coming to him for her own selfish reason, trained to please and yet she trusted him. The thought spurs him on, kissing firmly against her lips, becoming rougher with his hands, petting her heavily in all of her sensitive little places.

He slips his fat cock head between her slick folds, oozing with her creamy arousal, begging to have a Pup fucked into her. He feels the pang again, his brain screaming at him - this was a bad idea it said. Diluc couldn't care, she wanted this, it didn't count he wasn't like them, he was doing the right thing. He kisses at her eyelids, over her nose and to her lips. He dotes on the sweet Puppy in his arms, just popping the tip of his cock into her cunny, leaving sweet kisses to her face. If she weren't laying on her tail it would be wagging like mad. Her ears twitch every time he slips his thick head into her little cunt.

"Please make the ouchy go away Master~ need it bad" The sweet Puppy Girl whines, chin wobbling with pretty tears. How could he deny her when she asked so nicely.

He bottoms out in her Puppy cunt, heavy balls pressed into her ass, thick, fat tip kissing at her cervix. The sweet girl mewls, wrapping her legs around his hips nice and tight. Diluc groans, rocking his cock into her warm, gushy pussy, nice and slick from her heat.

"..'s good, good Master~ need it, need more of it, feels ouchy still!" The Puppy girl attempts to fuck back into his cock, rocking her hips up, tightening her legs. Diluc tuts in mock sympathy, steadying her hips, locking her down. He relishes in the soft cries of the sweet Puppy below him, squirming around, trying her best to relieve the ouchy feeling in her tummy.

"Settle Pup.. M-Master's gonna fix the ouchy.. M'kay?" He taunts at her, pulling his hips back and fucking her with one hard thrust. The sweet girl keens, nearly bursting through her bottom lip with her teeth. He grins, pushing his cock into her in slow, hard thrusts. He convinces himself it's to let her get used to him, yeah, going nice and slow for her. The sweet girl continues to whine, begging for more. Who was he to deny her?

He grips the underside of her knees, pushing them up, exposing her drooling folds wrapped around his thick cock. He pushes her into a pretty little mating press, just what a dumb Puppy needs. The pretty Puppy Girl whines into the air, clenching her sweet cunny around his length. Diluc growls, mounting her sweet puppy cunt with his cock, fucking into her at a delicious pace. Her creamy pussy gushes on his length, sucking him in greedily.

"..'s good Master! Master, Master, Master! Feels good- good in my- ah~" The Puppy girl babbles on his cock, crying stupidly as he fucks her good. The name spurs Diluc on, yeah, he was her master. Her big strong master there to coddle and kiss her and fuck her right when she needed it. His balls slap into her pretty ass as he fucks into her, his body clapping loudly into her skin. Gods everyone would know what they were up to, he hoped they could hear. Hear just how spoiled his pretty little Puppy was, how good he could make her feel, show them just how good of a master he was, taking care of his pet.

Diluc throws his head back with a growl, his thick bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat. He uses the bed as leverage, bouncing the pretty Pup back on his cock. The sweet girl continues to mewl and babble, praising her Master with the sweetest little words.

"Feels good! Feels- making the ouchy go away~ love you Master! Love you love you love youuu~" She cries, fucked stupid on his cock. Gods she was delusional and he loved it. He could feel her puppy cunt tightening on his length, squeezing at him deliciously. Her hot slick never stops oozing over his cock, making the prettiest mess all over his heavy balls. He shows a little mercy, bringing his thumb down to her swollen puffy clit, circling the sweet bud quickly. The Puppy girl keens, ears pinned back, pretty lips parted, sweet canines on display with her downturned smile.

The sweet Puppy looses it, squirting messily over his cock as he fucks her. Her pretty puppy cunt squirts with every heavy thrust he fucks into her, messing all over his front in pretty spurts. The Puppy girl cries and whines and sobs on his cock, her cunny milks him with her orgasm, pulsing and clenching hard on his length. He presses his cock so sweetly into her pussy, cumming thick, creamy ropes right into her little puffy hole. He marks her puppy cunt with his cum, making sure to fuck it deep into her aching cervix. He slows his pace, plugging the sweet Puppy up with his cock, making sure he'd bred her puppy cunt good with his cum.

"Feels better?" He coos, brushing any strays locks from the sweet girl's eyes. The Puppy girl tilts her head into his hand, nuzzling her nose right into his palm. She smiles dopily and peers up at him.

"Feels better.. thank you Master~" She says airily. She hums and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a cuddle.

Diluc's brain tries to fire, attempts to berate him and tell him that what he did was wrong. He's too distracted however, by the pretty Puppy Girl in his arms.

Not a usual kinktober prompt bUt I wanted to let other genshin boys experience some puppy love 😔 since it's what I'm knOWN for hauhwua

This took a long time and I apologize my babies i so sorry </3

Also did you know that it takes 2 million Mora to ascend a character to lvl 90

alSO if you have any kinktober prompts & characters you wanna see I am very happy to try them - I've lowkey abandoned my list bahHshksks

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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Appreciated! Lmk If There Are Any Mistakes And Tell Me What You Think Hehe

♡KinkTober Taglist♡

@heath-sama @yejiswifex @hunnibunnix @bleh09 @madsw9 @py-schi @wizzardcatwithastick @shiningpaint-marbleheart @cherrytomato2 @i-am-silver @your-tears-taste-sweeter @kqzutcra @themusingsofmany @kaijubxnny @tericula

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#ʚ•*°SashiAvi's Kinktober°*•ɞ #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x y/n #afab reader #diluc x y/n #diluc smut #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc x you #hybrid reader #puppy girl reader #diluc x puppy girl #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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hwavsg4ch4n · 8 months ago

Text

Awkward|| L.M

Note: hi guys, this is actually a music series (more info linked) bonus. I usually write multiple versions of a smut per song and choose which one fits the vibe the most. this one was actually supposed to be for SYNERGY (linked), but I reworked it and made it better for "Awkward". I haven't been here for a while and decided that I'm the kind of writer that likes to pop in randomly lol. I'm thinking about turning this into a mini-series separate from the music series. After you read this, please follow the link at the end and vote on the pole if you think this would be a good mini-series! ps. word count of 4,783... get a snack.

Disclaimer: I have decided not to no longer put any tags in my works to avoid unneeded spoilers. I will only warn when there are extremely triggering aspects in my work. Read at your own discretion.

Synopsis: You've been single for years, it's sad really. coming up with excuse after excuse as to why you should be okay. Then society introduced the appearance of 'soulmates', and somehow everything got worse. But then there's your boss, what should you do with him...

this is a mature work of fiction (18+), this does not represent any real-life figures, this is just for entertainment.

Music series bonus <masterlist>

You tilted your head back, gulping down the rich red wine as the brisk night air glided across your naked arms.

What was love? It was stupid, at least that’s what you always told yourself. Love is dumb, for the weak; and you weren’t weak. You wished you believed your thoughts, but you couldn’t help but crave love. What it felt like, sounded like, what it smelled like, what it tasted like.

Jealousy was a disease and you hated to admit that you were practically hospitalized and in a coma from said disease.

However, solidarity was alright sometimes. It was rewarding, no arguments, no having to worry what your partner was up to if they were taking care of themselves properly. You only had to worry about yourself… is it bad that was your biggest con to single life? Only having to worry about yourself.

You told yourself this for years. That was until early last year, when the CDC came out with a new phenomenon. They called it, soulmates. You thought it was corny. You watched as scientists explained the symptoms, and how it starts. How it feels, how you can differentiate your feelings blah blah blah, it was bullshit in your eyes. But not many felt the same.

The day after the news of soulmates reached the public, your office became littered with pairings. Mia from accounting and Felix in your branding apartment paired up instantly. Everyone saw that one coming. They were frauds, had to be, the CDC said their research is still new, meaning they’ll need long-term volunteers that they’ll compensate. That's when fake soulmates started appearing. You called bullshit when the news stated authentic soulmates are now being deemed rare. The CDC just wanted to cover its tracks, hiding another economic decline. Soulmates weren’t real.

Your loneliness grew worse because of your slight rebellion. You didn’t put yourself out there, scared someone would falsely claim you as a soulmate. It’s nights like this where you want to let yourself fall in line. Here you are, alone at the Valentine’s Day company party for another year, this time due to self-sabotage. You already hated this holiday, but of course, science had to make it worse. On the balcony sipping expensive wine your boss bought for everyone, you tried your best to drown out the jazz music and giggles as coworkers showed off their engagement rings.

Minho watched you through the glass door of the balcony with hesitancy. He tuned out the conversation he was dragged into. “Mr. Lee, what are your opinions on soulmates.” He looked at the second department secretary, taking in her inquiry, “I’m not quite sure.” He was telling the truth, he didn’t think much of it, if it was true great, if it wasn’t, it didn’t really affect him in any way, probably just another pity thing. The marriage statistic was getting low, he read it in a paper. Minho took one more sip from his whiskey glass before setting it down and excusing himself.

Everyone in the office knew that Minho, the COO of this company, took a liking to you; everyone was jealous in fact. The kind, extroverted, unmarried, painfully attractive man… liked you. The seemingly cold, work-a-holic, introvert of a woman. He’s liked you since before the news came forth with their studies, yet you were oblivious. Your self-esteem is so low that you wouldn’t dare to even think a man like Minho would see you in such a way, not when people are trying to claim the bachelor every day.

You looked over your shoulder as the balcony door opened. You smiled politely, “Mr. Lee, how are you?” You asked gently. He couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your voice, not even trying to hide the shivers that trailed down his spine at your tempt voice. “I’m doing well, but I couldn’t help but feel bothered when I saw you out here alone. Are you not cold, Ms. L/n?” You watched as he made his way next to you, leaning against the metal railing. He gazed at the city skyline, awaiting your answer.

You took another sip of wine. “It’s a bit chilly, but I can manage.” Short and simple, polite. That’s all Minho got from you. He's never wanted a person to rant to him for hours so badly, but that would be seen as unprofessional. He clears his throat, standing up straight. “Are you not having fun?” He asked. Maybe it was the wine that compelled you to answer him differently than you normally would. “To be honest, Mr. Lee,” He raised his brows, turning to you fully. “What is it?” You let yourself answer. “I don’t really favor office parties.” You chuckled before downing the last bit of your wine.

Minho frowned before biting his lip. “I hope it’s okay that I call you by your name,” He started, “Sure.” He gulped dryly before giving you an offer. “Would you like to get out of here, y/n?” You finally faced him, brows furrowed as your eyes lingered across his figure, taking him in.

White button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, black slacks, dark auburn hair fallen into his eyes, the eyes that were surveying you softly. It would be strange, to ride off into the night with your boss on the night the company is rumored to rename the festive party ‘soulmates night'. But you’ve had about 3 full glasses of wine, and you’re bored plus inquisitive.

“Where would we be going?”, he smiles.

After bidding an awkward goodbye to your coworkers, and avoiding questioning looks about the two of you leaving together; you finally made it to Minho’s car.

“Wanna catch a late movie?” Your head tilted in question, he drove out of the parking lot the humming of the engine fills the silence. Smirking to yourself in disbelief, you agreed.

The ride was filled with conversation, the longest non-work related conversation you’ve had with this man. He spoke of everything you didn’t think he’d speak of. How he missed home, how living in a bustling city was fun, but the sound of waves beat the sound of honking horns. You couldn’t help but ask him questions, you didn’t care if they were the right questions. You were comfortable, too comfortable. Was it the wine you downed? Maybe the grand looking air freshener in his car. It hurts your pride to admit that it might just be him. He smelled nice and spoke to you gently in that voice he would use to remind you of your lunch hour.

You took in a breath as his hands on the steering wheel came into view, “Oh sweet jesus”. You pressed yourself into the black leather seat. It’s the wine, it has to be the wine. Minho turned to you as he finished parking, “You ready?”

No one was there in the theater, no one but the two of you. You couldn’t focus on the movie, all you could focus on was how you were alone with Minho, completely alone with him.

You were zoned out until you were pulled back to reality. “Are you enjoying the movie?” He whispered, not looking in your direction, his eyes glued to the projected screen. You couldn’t help but ask bluntly, “What are we doing?”

Minho looked at you, you felt his gaze so you looked back. “Mr. Lee, it’s soulmates night.” He frowned, chewing on his popcorn. His heartbeat quickened, were you implying something?

It was dark, but you could see him like there was the light of a halo above him. “What do you wish we were doing, Y/n?” Why did he ask you that? Why did he ask like he wanted to fulfill a wish?

You looked away, parted lips and furrowed eyebrows. He couldn’t see your face properly, he took your silence as rejection, and maybe he read you wrong. “I don’t mean to upset you, I apologize. Let’s finish the movie, then I’ll take you home?” You didn’t want to finish the movie, you weren’t even watching the boring movie.

Your heart was pounding, was this what proper desire felt like? It felt different from your crush on the Grey’s Anatomy guy. Was this what being wanted felt like? But he’s your boss… You felt a surge of warmth, a shallow buzzing feeling accumulated in your fingertips, must be excitement. Your conscious almost coming alive, fuck it, give in. You did just that.

Biting your lip you breathed in deep, “I don’t want to continue the movie.” You stated in a whisper. You couldn’t see it clearly, but Minho grew worried, worried he scared you off completely.

“Oh- would you like to, would you like for me to take you home now, Miss. L/n?” He didn’t want to use your first name, afraid of abusing his power. It made you flinch, “I thought you said… you were gonna use my name from now on?” You whispered. Finding his eyes in the slim light provided by the screen.

He licked his lips, although it was out of his nervousness, the action made you gulp. “My apologies, Y/n.” you weren’t aware of it yet, but you held all the power at this given moment. He’d do anything you told him to with no question.

“I do want to get out of here, but I don’t want to go home Mr. Lee.” You said, standing up, and grabbing your purse. Minho stood up as well, eyes never leaving your form as he studied you for unspoken answers.

“I would like to see where my boss lives, I’ve always been curious.” your lashes fluttering, as you peered up at him with a quick pulse and sweaty palms. What if you read him wrong, what if he dismissed you and fired you on the spot? What if this whole ordeal was just because he pitied you for being single for every Valentine’s Day party?

“Well, I should let you overcome your curiosity, shouldn’t I Y/n?” He said with amusement. “After you.” He moved out of the way, letting you lead the way out of the theater.

You continuously asked yourself what you were doing on the drive to his house. Well, you knew what you were doing. You were lonely, and tired of it, taking up a messy offer that could end up in you getting scammed by this man. You’ll apologize in the mirror later. Hitting rock bottom was something you would worry about tomorrow. Your hazy mind only lets you think about his veiny hand gripping the gear shift.

What would happen if you took it upon yourself to place him where you wanted him?

Working up the courage, you sucked in a breath before allowing your fingers to trace his cufflinks, trailing your fingers around his wrist. His fastened pulse boosted your ego, looking to see his reaction. Minho remained focused on the road, with no intention of stopping you as he blinked and took more deep breaths than a calm human would.

You couldn’t help but lick your lips as you brought his hand to the warm flesh of your warm thigh, just under the hem of your black tweed skirt. Your blood pumped at the thought of how he’s letting you have your way. He wanted this too, to touch you. His hand was warm, and comforting. You liked how pretty it was on your skin, admiring the visual as your nails traced his veins.

Minho didn’t mean to squeeze, he did it subconsciously. He didn’t realize he did it until you gasped shallowly, clenching your thighs around his hand and looking up at him with the lowest gaze he’s ever seen from you.

“Sorry.” He muttered, rubbing his hand along the inside of your thigh in an attempt to soothe, not wanting to get you too worked up just yet. But his touch had the opposite effect. You didn’t want to wait anymore. It was known that Minho’s house was in the rich part of the city, all the way across town. Even Though it was a mere 30 minute drive, the distance felt like an eternity.

“Minho,” Minho gulped dryly. Your deep tone sent shock waves through his body, he enjoyed how his name dripped off your tongue. “Yes, Y/n?” His voice remained steady, not wanting to ruin something that could get so good. “I want you to pull into the park, I wanna watch the sky with you.” You whispered. Minho’s heart grew soft as you continued to trance his veins. He nodded silently, ready to take every command you asked of him.

You watched as he parked, the view of the city was beautiful, but that wasn’t your focus as of now.

There was a silence, loud, swallowing the city sounds in the distance. Your body shifted, rotating towards him. Minho turned to you, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly as he took in the view of you. “Kiss me,” Yes you were being blunt, and bold, but you didn’t care. Who cares?

You grinned as Minho pulled you on his lap, his strength not surprising you; considering how his arms looked way too confined in every dress shirt he owned. Your eyes shut as his lips collide with yours. Soft, buttery, warm, so so warm, and buzzing… your lips were buzzing. The feeling of him was clouding your judgment. Minho’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer. He tilted his head, kissing you deeper. Pulling back slightly, he watched as you followed him. Minho smiled, softly chuckling. You opened your heavy lids, growing shy to see his gaze. Your lips parted as he pushed you even closer, rubbing against the growing tent in his slacks, you jolted as your core began to buzz as well. Your lips molded with his once more, and the sounds of what you presumed to be fireworks sounded in the distance.

His breathing was heavy as you disconnected to catch your breath. Minho’s hands tilted your head to the side slightly, breathing you in softly, lips grazing your skin as you shuttered, your fingers gripping his sleeve. He licked his lips before kissing your collarbone, traveling up your neck, absorbing every gasp you let out.

You feel his hand slide to the back of your head, angling your face down so his eyes can meet yours as he lays his forehead on yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you, y/n.” Your heart panged, searching his eyes for truth. He wanted you, Minho, your boss, wanted you.

Your hands traced his bottom lip, and you blinked softly, “Take care of me then, yeah?” You whispered. He smiled gently, gripping your jaw and pulling you back.

The both of you suck in a breath as Minho presses his lips to yours once more, his hand pushing your head impossibly closer. He wanted to feel you, meet with you in ways he’d only imagined. You were letting him give you what he thought was impossible for him. Truthfully, he would’ve liked to ask you out on a proper date. But this would suffice if it was what you wanted from him.

The two of you kissed for a while, gradually feeling and touching each other. Feeling what was never seen. Your body grew warmer, the buzzing centered to your stomach as you bunched up his shirt, wanting to feel his skin bare against yours. “Minho,” It didn’t mean to sound like a plea, “What is it? What do you want me to do?” His voice was breathy, low, needy, and ready to please. You couldn’t get enough. “Off.” You tugged at his collar. Barely even a second later, he began to unbutton his shirt. You wasted no time placing your hands on his sculpted chest once exposed, gulping as you stared at his skin. Absentmindedly gliding your manicured fingers across him.

Minho watched your every move, whimpering as your fingertips flicked his nipples. Your nails left gentle scratches, he licked his lips at the sight. He can’t recall ever wanting someone so badly, to the point he was painfully hard, closing his eyes and throwing his head back at the slightest touches you granted him.

You wanted his reaction intensively, feeling his twitching member under you as you pinched and rubbed his nipples. His chest rose and fell at a somewhat hurried pace, the tips of his ears grew red, and so did his lips as he couldn’t stop licking and biting at them. It’s not like the action helped keep him quiet. His heavy breathing began to get mixed in with soft whimpers.

You smiled, “Who knew you’d be so sensitive.” You mumbled. “Sorry… uhm. I’m not usually like this.” You grinned at his hushed awkwardness. “Trust me, I don’t mind.” You whispered back, your hands continued tracing the outline of him. One by one you left open kisses on his neck, traveling up behind his ear. You sucked at his warm skin, “I hope the secretary doesn’t see what I’m leaving on you Mr. Lee, I think she might have a crush on you.” You said playfully, smiling against his clammy skin, sucking another bruise. Minho’s hands travel to the bottom of your skirt in response, pulling the fabric to bunch at your waist. He squeezes at your thighs as you find the spot that meets his shoulder and neck, his breath shallows. His hips bucking as you suck and nip at the skin. You were hot to the touch, it heightened the feeling of you on him.

Minho isn’t sure how you got the one up on him, but he lets your hands wander to the buckle of his belt. He looks up at your face, your eyes full of determination as you swiftly take off his belt, unbuttoning his pants. He can’t help but smirk as he feels heat center in his stomach, “You’ve got me right where you want me y/n,” Your movements slow as you start to push his pants down to his ankles, “You’re the only one who’s ever gotten me like this.” Minho watches you bite your lip as he feeds into your ego. His eyes shoot down as you grasp his erection through his boxers. “Haven’t been this hard in so,” his voice shakes as your grip tightens “So long, fuck baby.” Your lips part at his words, looking up to see his head thrown back at the seat. You tap at his tip, the fabric starting to stick to his precum as you admire the bites you left on his skin.

“Minho,” You call out softly, he opens his eyes to see you staring at his member. The look in your eyes almost makes him ask if you want him to take over. Your eyes were glazed over, your lips pouty as you tug at his boxers, he smirks slightly. “I’ll get these out your way, sorry baby.” Your pussy clenched around nothing at the use of the pet name again, it feels so good to be called that, the buzzing shoots to your core before centering again. It almost felt like a boost of arousal, you were too enraptured by the man in front of you to care.

Your hands returned to his stiffened member as soon as it sprang free, you felt Minho tense at your touch. You looked up at him as you began to stroke him lightly. His eyes were hooded, he watched your hand quickly become slick with his arousal as you pumped at a careful pace. Minho licked his lips, noticing through his foggy mind how you still remained fully dressed. Your thighs only exposed because he decided to tease just once. Yes, his words earlier were to edge on your performance, but they were true. Minho has never been on the receiving end, he loved giving, if you told him to take over he’d do it gladly. More importantly, his need to please was strong, if pleasing you meant stepping back a bit he’s happy too. However, he didn’t anticipate his sensitivity to your touch. He hears himself whimper as your pumping speeds up, the rising heat traveling down to his member. He jolts as the pleasure intensifies. A hand hovers over your pumping one before holding himself back and placing it back on your thigh.

He’s starting to lose a battle, don’t cum, not yet, she’ll get bored soon and touch you somewhere else, don’t fucking cum. He chanted to himself, one of his hands moved to your ass, gripping as his other kept shelter on your thigh. You watched as he shut his eyes tight, his lips parting as he huffed out puffs of air. You smiled in triumph as he began to shake his head side to side, starting to lose his internal war, “B-baby… y/n, I’m gonna c-cum baby,” His voice was hoarse.

You tilted your head, sliding your pumping up to only his tip. His thighs jolted, his eyes opening as he started to look at you for pity. He only saw you looking at his dick dreamily, the heat in his stomach pulses. He swallows down his need to overcome you, opting to let himself relax.

Minho cursed, he groaned deeply, throwing his head back. His brain started to become unmanageably fuzzy.

“Y/n.” He whispered, licking his lips.

His smooth thighs flexed.“You’re so good baby,” Your lips parted at his soft whimper.

You grin, slowing down your pumping, giggling as he whimpered trying to fuck your palm the heat causing his tip to pulse. “You like me huh, Minho?” Your words were teasing. You were met with an eager nod. Cooing, you slipped off your underwear. You looked into his brown eyes, just when you thought he let himself surrender fully, he had some fight left in him.

He gripped your waist, biting his lip as he guided you over his throbbing member. You let him sink you down onto his warmth. You whimpered, Minho watched carefully, looking for signs of you needing him to take over. Only for him to get knocked down again, his brows furrowed as you brace a hand on his blushed chest, beginning to ride him. He stared at your clothed chest, your nipples hard enough for the outline to push past your bra and blouse. With heavy breaths his eyes traveled up your littered neck, finally landing on your blissed face. “Pretty,” He whispered, so soft you barely acknowledged it. His brain was swirling with only the image of you, the smell of you reminding him of a warm cabin.

You looked down at him, giggling at his starry eyes and beads of sweat, you were unaware of the state his mind was in. You were enthralled by the thought of him being so pliant. Never in a million years did you think your boss would be under you with a flushed face and a throbbing dick. You feel his dick pulse as he squeezes his eyes shut. Your hands make their way to his jaw, “Are you holding your cum from me, Mr. Lee?” His member throbs again. Your voice and playful words have him shaking his head, gripping your ass so hard you're sure there will be a mark, it stirs you on. “Want you to... To cu-cum first.” He whispered. Your walls flutter and tighten around him, Minho’s eyes snap open, lifting you off him, and you forget about his strength for just a moment.

You peered down to see his jumping member and quivering thighs, precum leaking and he tried to catch his breath. You didn’t let him, you swatted his hold away, ignoring his groan as you seethed him back into your warm hole. “Ah, fuck I can’t hold it, baby.” He rasped out, listening to how wet you were. You didn’t answer him, tuning out his winning, starting to chase your own high that's been building up while watching him. The buzzing started to spread. You gripped his shoulders, pushing yourself closer to him. Minho’s hand placed itself on your sweaty back, bracing himself. His other hand slid down to your thigh, grazing where he was buried into you. His grip tightened, spreading your slick puffy lips slightly. “Min, that's so good.” You whimpered. He hummed, burying his head into your neck. He shifted, widening his legs the best he could, and started to meet your thrusts.

Your mouth formed an O, tears forming in your eyes as he hit the gummy spot you never reached on your own. Before you knew it your body began to go numb from the pleasure, the buzzing reached every inch of you in what felt like a millisecond. Minho felt your muscles detense, he whimpered as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He chuckled tiredly at the sound of your babbling. You finally needed him, you were close and god knows he is too. He fucked into you like you’ve unlocked a different part of him.

“Gonna c-cum min.” You whimpered, “I know baby, I Know.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, feeling his self control finally coming to an end. He grunts, taking a hand and reaching between your radiating bodies. You moan so loud you're sure any late night hikers would be able to hear you. Your thighs shake as if it feels you’re physically experiencing the color red, the buzzing now being heard in your ears, distracting you from your release covering his thighs as yours shake. Minho grunts before he bites down on your shoulder, seeing sparks of deep green as he squeezes his eyes shut, spilling himself into you as he starts to hear crackles of fire.

When you close your eyes you're met with the visions of the man that’s under you. Images of his life, his milestones, you feel what he felt all in the blink of an eye. The images seize, and you’re yanked out of the dreamy state, catching your breath. You gulp, slowly facing him. His eyes meet yours, “Did you see that?” he whispered. You nodded, your fingertips still buzzing. “I-is this that soulmate thing?” his voice slightly above a murmur. Your body tensed, “What?” He looked into your eyes, he could almost feel your fear, “U-uh nothing.” He lifted you off him gently, ignoring what the sight of his release dripping from you did to him. Minho watched as you straightened yourself out in the passenger seat of his car. His eyes glanced at the foggy windows before returning to your now tense form.

Were you his… soulmate? He thought it was just a speculation that scientists made up to give the single population hope. He cleared his throat, putting his softening member back into his boxers, and lifting his pants up. “I’ll, uhm… I’ll drive you home.” Minho licks his lips nervously as he puts on his wrinkled button down. He looked at the time on his watch, 12:57am. He moves to turn on the engine.

“You believe them?” Minho glanced your way, taking in your question. “Do you believe what they say on the news?” He blinked, thinking of a proper answer as he started to drive out of the parking lot. “I mean,” He turned to enter the freeway. “If it’s on the news, there has to be some truth.” You took in his words, rolling down the window. “Y/n, the… symptoms that they described, that’s what just happened.” You frowned, looking out the window taking in his words. “I saw you, your middle school graduation,” you glower at him, his eyes were on the road, only glancing at you briefly. “I saw your first, and only relationship…” He paused, seeing your hands clasp together nervously out of the corner of his eye. He changed the topic, “When I… finished, I saw green, a forest green. And I heard fire, like a campfire.”

You gazed at his side profile. Without a word, you looked forward. You gave him the directions to your apartment.

As he pulled into your driveway, you grabbed your purse putting it on your shoulder. Minho said nothing when you opened the door as soon as he came to a stop, not even giving him a chance to put the car in park. You stepped out, your heels clacking on the pavement. You took in a deep breath before bending down, coming into his view again. You looked at his longing eyes, waiting for you to say anything to grant him peace of mind. “I’ll see you on Monday Mr. Lee.” With that, you closed his door. Gulping down anxiety as you steadily walk to the entrance of your apartment.

Link to vote for this to become a series [click on me]!

#skz smut #stray kids #stray kids smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know #Spotify

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ask-the-prose · 7 months ago

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Writing Mental Health With Compassion

I've gotten a few questions regarding depicting characters with mental health challenges and conditions and I wanted to expand a little more on how to depict these characters with compassion for the real communities represented by these characters.

A little about this guide: this is, as always, coming from a place of love and respect for the writing community and the groups affected by this topic at large. I'm also not coming at this from the outside, I have certain mental illnesses that affect my daily life. With that, I'll say that my perspective may be biased, and as with all writing advice, you should think critically about what is being told to you and how.

So let's get started!

Research

I'm sure we're all tired of hearing the phrase "do your research," but unfortunately it is incredibly important advice. I have a guide that touches on how to do research here, if you need a place to get started.

When researching a mental health condition that we do not experience, we need to do so critically, and most importantly, compassionately. While your characters are not people, they are assigned traits that real people do have, and so your depiction of these traits can have an impact on people who face these conditions themselves.

I've found that reddit is a decent resource for finding threads of people talking about their personal experiences with certain illnesses. For example, bipolar disorder has several subreddits that have very open and candid discussions about bipolar, how it impacts lives, and small things that people who don't have bipolar don't tend to think about.

It's important to note that these spaces are not for you. They are spaces for people to talk about their experiences in a place without judgment or fear or stigma. These are not places for people to give out writing advice. Do NOT flood subreddits for people seeking support with questions that may make others feel like an object to be studied. It's not cool or fair to them for writers to enter their space and start asking questions when they're focused on getting support. Be courteous of the people around you.

Diagnosis

I have the belief that for most stories, a diagnosis for your characters is unnecessary. I have a few reasons for thinking this way.

Firstly, mental health diagnoses are important for treatment, but they're also a giant sign written across your medical documents that says, “I'm crazy!” Doctors may try to remain unbiased when they see mental health diagnoses, but anybody with a diagnosis can say that doctors rarely succeed. This translates to a lot of people never getting diagnoses, never seeking treatment, or refusing to talk about their diagnosis if they do have one.

Secondly, I've seen posts discuss “therapy speak” in fiction, and this is one of those instances where a diagnosis and extensive research may make you vulnerable to it. People don't tend to discuss their diagnoses freely and they certainly don't tend to attribute their behaviors as symptoms.

Finally, this puts you, the writer, into a position where you treat your characters less like people and story devices and more like a list of symptoms and behavioral quirks. First and foremost, your characters serve your story. If they don't feel like people then your characters may fall flat. When it comes to mental illness in characters, the people aspect is the most important part. Mentally ill people are people, not symptoms.

Those are my top three reasons for believing that most characters will never need a specific diagnosis. You will likely never need to depict the difference between bipolar and borderline because the story itself does not need that distinction or to reveal a diagnosis at all. I feel that having a diagnosis in mind for a character has more pitfalls than advantages.

How does treatment work?

Treating mental health conditions may appear in your story. There are a number of ways treatments affect daily life and understanding the levels of care and what those levels treat will help you depict the appropriate settings for your characters.

The levels of care range from minimally restrictive and minimal care to intensive in-patient care in a secure hospital setting.

Regular or semi-regular therapy is considered outpatient care. This is generally the least restrictive. Your characters may or may not also take medications, in which case they may also see a psychiatrist to prescribe those medications. There is a difference between therapists, psychiatrists, and psychologists. Therapists do not prescribe medications, psychiatrists prescribe medications after an evaluation, and psychologists will (sometimes) do both. (I'm US, so this may work differently depending where you are. You should always research the specific setting of your story.) Generally, a person with a mental illness or mental health condition will see both an outpatient therapist and an outpatient psychiatrist for their general continuing care.

Therapists will see their patients anywhere from once in a while as-needed to twice weekly. Psychiatrists will see new patients every few weeks until they report stabilizing results, and then they will move to maintenance check-ins every 90-ish days.

If the patient reports severe symptoms, or worsening symptoms, they will be moved up to more intensive care, also known as IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program). This is usually a group-therapy setting for between 3-7 hours per day between 3-5 days a week. The group-therapy is led by a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) or Licensed Professional Social Worker (LPSW). Groups are structured sessions with multiple patients teaching coping mechanisms and focusing on treatment adjustment. IOP’s tend to expect patients to see their own outpatient psychiatrist, but I've encountered programs that have their own in-house psychiatrists.

If the patient still worsens, or is otherwise needing more intensive care, they'll move up to PHP (Partial Hospitalization Program). This can look different per facility, but I've seen them to be more intensive in hours and content than IOP. They also usually have in-house psychiatrists doing diagnostic psychological evaluations. It's very possible for characters with “mild” symptoms to go long periods of time, even most of their lives, without having had a diagnosis. PHP’s tend to need a diagnosis so that they can address specific concerns and help educate the patient on their condition and how it may manifest.

Next step up is residential care. Residential care is a boarding hospital setting. Patients live in the hospital and focus entirely on treatment. Individual programs may differ in what's allowed in, how much contact the patients are allowed to have, and what the treatment focus is. Residential programs are often utilized for addiction recovery. Good residential programs will care about the basis for the addiction, such as underlying mental health issues that the patient may be self-medicating for. Your character may come away with a diagnosis, or they may not. Residential programs aren't exclusively for addictions though, and can be useful for severe behavioral concerns in teenagers or any number of other concerns a patient may have that manifest chronically but do not require intensive inpatient restriction.

Inpatient hospital stays are the highest level of care, and this tends to be what people are talking about when they tell jokes about “grippy socks.” These programs are inside the hospital and patients are highly restricted on what they can and cannot have, they cannot leave unless approved by the hospital staff (the hospital's psychiatrist tends to have the final say), and contact with the outside world is highly regulated. During the days, there are group therapy sessions and activities structured very carefully to maintain routine. Staff will regulate patient hygiene, food and sleep routines, and alone time.

Inpatient hospital programs are controversial among people with mental illness and mental health concerns. I find that they have use, but they are also not an easy or first step to take when dealing with a mental health condition. Patients are not allowed sharp objects, metal objects, shoelaces, cutlery, and pens or pencils. Visitors are not allowed to bring these items in, staff are not allowed these items either. This is for the safety of the patients. Typically, if someone is involuntarily admitted into the inpatient hospital program, it is due to an authority (the hospital staff) deeming the patient as a danger to themselves or others. Whether they came in of their own will (voluntary) or not does not matter in how the program operates. Everyone is treated the same. If someone is an active danger to themselves, then they may be on 24-hour suicide watch. They are not allowed to have any time alone. No, not even for the bathroom, or while sleeping, or during group sessions.

Inpatient Hospital Programs

This is a place of high curiosity for those who have never been admitted into inpatient care, so I'd like to explain a little more in detail how these programs work, why they're controversial, but how they can be useful in certain situations. I do have personal experience in this area, but as always, your mileage may vary.

When admitting, hospital staff are the final say. Not the police. The police hold some sway, but most often, if someone is brought in by the police, they are likely to be admitted. They are only involuntarily admitted when the situation demands: the staff have determined the person to be an imminent danger to themselves or others. This is obviously subjective, and can easily be abused. A good program with decent staff will do everything they can to convince the patient to admit voluntarily if they feel it is necessary, but ultimately if the patient declines and the staff don't feel they can make the clinical argument that admittance is necessary, the patient is free to leave. It should be noted that doctors and clinicians have to worry about possibly losing their licenses to practice. They don't want to fuck around with involuntary admittance if they don't have to, and they don't want potentially dangerous people to walk away.

Once admitted, the patient will have to remove their clothing and put on a set of hospital scrubs. These are mostly made of paper, and most often do not have pockets, but I have seen sets that do have pockets (very handy, tbh). They are not allowed to take anything into the hospital wing except disability-required devices such as glasses, hearing aids, mobility aids, etc. Most programs will require removing piercings, but not all of them, in my experience.

The nurses will also do a physical examination, where they will make note of any open wounds, major scars, tattoos, and other skin abrasions that may be relevant.

The patient will then be led to their bed, where they will receive any approved clothing items from outside, a copy of their patient rights, and a copy of the floor code of conduct and rules, a schedule, and any other administrative information necessary for the program to run efficiently and legally.

Group sessions include group-therapy, activities, coping skills, anger management, anxiety management, and for some reason, karaoke. There is a lot of coloring involved, but only with crayons. A good program will focus heavily on skills and therapeutic activities. Bad programs will phone it in and focus on karaoke and activities. Most hospitals will have a chaplain, and some will include a religious group session. I've never attended these, so I can't speak for them.

Unspoken rules are the hidden pieces of the inpatient programs that patients tend to find out during their first visit. There is no leaving the program until the doctor agrees to it. The doctor will only agree to it if they deem you ready to leave, and you are only ready to leave if you have been compliant to treatment and have seen positive results in the most dangerous symptoms (homicidal or suicidal ideations). Noncompliance can look like: refusing your prescribed medications (which you have the right to do at any time for any reason. That does not mean that there won't be consequences. This is a particularly controversial point.), refusing to attend groups (chapel is not included in this point, but that doesn't mean it's actually discounted. Another controversial point.), violent or disruptive outbursts such as yelling or throwing things, and refusing to sleep or eat at the approved and appointed times. All of this may sound like the hospital is restricting your rights beyond reason, but I've seen the use, and I've seen the abuse. Medications are sometimes necessary, and often patients seriously prefer having medication. Groups are important to a person's treatment, and refusing to go can be a sign of noncompliance or worsening symptoms. If someone is too depressed or anxious to go to group, then they're probably not ready to leave the hospital where the structure is gone and they must self-regulate their treatment. Violent or disruptive outbursts tend to be a sign of worsening symptoms in general, but even the best of us lose our tempers from time to time when put into a highly stressful situation like an inpatient hospital stay. The hospital is supposed to be a place of healing, for many it is. But for many more, it is a place of systematic abuse and restriction.

Discharge processes can be long and arduous and INCREDIBLY stressful for the patient. Oftentimes, they won't know their discharge date until the day of, or perhaps the day before. Though the date can change at any time. The discharge process requires the supervising psychiatrist to meet with the treatment team and then the patient to determine if the patient had progressed enough to be safely discharged. Discharge also requires a set outpatient plan in place, such as a therapy appointment within a week, a psychiatrist visit, or admittance into a lower level of care. This is where social workers are involved. Patients are not allowed access to cell phones or the internet. They cannot make their own appointments with their outpatient care providers without a phone number and phone access. Some floors will have phone access for this reason, others will insist the social worker arrange appointments and discharge plans. Social workers are often incredibly overworked, with several patients on their caseload.

The patient cannot be discharged until the social worker has coordinated the discharge plan to the doctor's approval. Most often, unfortunately, the patient rarely receives regular communication regarding the progress of their discharge. I've been discharged with as much as a day's notice to two hours notice.

Part 2 Coming Soon

This guide got longer than expected! Out of respect for my followers dashboard, I will be cutting it here and adding a Part 2 later on.

If you find that there are more specific questions you'd like answered, or topics you'd like covered, send an ask or reply to this post with what you'd like to see in Part 2.

– Indy

#writing advice #writing tips #writing resources #writeblr #amwriting #asktheprose #ask the prose #writing mental health #mental health #writing with compassion #writing mental illness #writing compassionately

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loulovingho · 4 months ago

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Carry the Burden

read on ao3 or below. 7.6k, tags: emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse, emotional/psychological abuse, depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of vomiting, love, care, no major character death

Summary:

With Buck, Tommy was an open book... mostly. There was one particular, very important chapter that he kept closed. He didn't bring up his childhood. Didn't mention his parents much. That was a part of his life no one but he and his therapist needed to know about. But a surprise visit from his father changes all that, and sends Tommy spiraling down a path he'd fought so hard to shun away.

They were on the couch, Buck laid out with his head on the arm rest and legs sprawled over Tommy's lap. Tommy had his own legs crossed and stretched out on the coffee table. Buck barely registered Tommy's phone buzzing as he reached and pulled it out of his pocket.

“Hm. Dad's in town.”

Tommy had been so nonchalant with his words that Buck was pretty sure he heard him wrong.

“What?” He asked as Tommy laid the phone beside him.

“My dad's here, apparently.” He didn't even look away from the TV as he spoke, keeping his focus on the basketball game.

They'd been sitting there for nearly half an hour now, Tommy watching the game while Buck did a deep dive on the history of mummification. It wasn't his first time researching the subject, but it was always good to get a refresher.

“Are you... are you going to see him?” Buck asked.

Tommy was an open book with Buck, mostly. It helped that Buck was always more than willing to share stories from his own past.

Tommy would talk about how he was a chubby kid growing up and got made fun of a lot for it. How he took up wrestling in high school. How he joined the military at seventeen, mostly to show his classmates just how strong he was. He'd go into detail about the missions he completed in the army, and the way it impacted his life to this day. He didn't shy away from who he was when he first became a firefighter. How he followed along with Gerrard because it was the easy thing to do. He made no excuses for himself.

Tommy talked about part of him wanting to stay at the 118 once Bobby came, but his past loomed over him like a dark cloud and, even though Hen and Chimney forgave him long ago, every time he walked into the station he was reminded of who he was and not who he wanted to be.

He talked about his first few weeks in therapy. How he went through three therapists before he found one he liked. How hard it was to come to terms with so many aspects of his life.

He still went to therapy, once a week, always on a Tuesday. That was one of his regular days off, and Buck knew there would always be a couple hours of radio silence from him then.

There was one aspect of his life that Tommy never really discussed in detail.

His parents.

It wasn't that he never mentioned them. Buck knew that his dad was not a good man, and that his mom died when he was young, but that's all Tommy had ever really said.

The scoff Tommy let out at Buck's question told him all he needed to know. “No, I- I will not be seeing him.”

Buck pushed himself up into a sitting position, bending his knees close to his chest. “How'd you find out he was in town?”

Tommy didn't have siblings. Didn't really have any extended family. None he was in regular contact with anyway.

“He texted me,” Tommy answered simply.

“I didn't even know he had your number.”

“Oh, he has it,” Tommy managed to look over at Buck and give him a grin that didn't quite reach the eyes, “he just rarely uses it.”

“But he is now?”

“Apparently.” Tommy turned back to the game, but Buck reached over and squeezed his forearm, regaining his attention.

“Hey, Tommy, use your words. I've never heard you mention your dad calling or texting you, but he suddenly is now? Is there a reason?”

Tommy sighed. He reached for his phone, unlocking it before handing it over to Buck. “That's all it says. He's not a man of many words,” he said, before mumbling out, “or many good words, at least.”

Buck read over the text:

In town. Let's talk. Stuff to figure out.

He handed Tommy his phone. “Are you gonna answer him, at least?”

Tommy shook his head. “No, I am not.”

“Aren't you a little curious...”

Buck's voice trailed off as Tommy reached for Buck's hand, gently tugging Buck towards him. Buck maneuvered himself until he was curled into Tommy's side, his head resting just below Tommy's shoulder. Tommy wrapped his arm around Buck, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I appreciate the concern,” he spoke quietly, “but this,” he added, lifting his phone, “is not happening.”

Buck understood issues with parents. He'd told that to Tommy so many times before. He'd gone over his life story time and time again, and Tommy always listened with the utmost care and consideration. He always seemed so happy for Buck too. Happy that he was able to, for the most part, work things out with his parents. They may not be on the best terms, and they'd probably never be what others considered a “close” family, but they were better. And that was good enough.

Still, Buck could tell that Tommy was done with the conversation, so he let it go.

“How much longer until the game is over?” he asked, changing the topic for Tommy's sake.

Tommy let out a laugh, shaking Buck slightly. “About ten minutes.”

Buck closed his eyes, settling further into Tommy's side, “Wake me up when it's over.”

*****

They'd been together six months now, had exchanged keys a couple months in, but Buck still felt a thrill every time he walked into Tommy's place knowing Tommy wouldn't actually be there yet.

Something about it just felt so domestic. And Buck loved that feeling.

They'd already discussed moving in together. If they both had a night off, they were never apart, instead switching between each place depending on what errands they had planned for the next day.

Buck had another two months to go on his lease, so they decided to hold out on actually moving in together until then. There was no reason to deny him getting his security deposit back, or being forced to pay rent for an apartment he was no longer living in.

Still, Buck preferred Tommy's house. It was an older place, and not very big, but it had a nice garage for working out and a good kitchen that Buck enjoyed cooking in.

Which was why he came to Tommy's today. Tommy was working, but he'd be off by six, and Buck wanted to have a good dinner ready for him to come home to. Bobby had given him a recipe for something called Marry Me Chicken, and well, who was Buck kidding, that was the ultimate goal.

They would be the first to admit they were a bit unconventional. Besides swapping keys two months into their relationship, they had discussed whether or not children were in their future on date number four.

Tommy never really let go of the fact Buck invited him to his sister's wedding after one failed date.

They had sex on Buck's balcony before they had it in his bed.

They said I love you for the first time in month three, when Buck was deathly ill with a stomach bug and somehow got vomit in his hair. Tommy got him in the shower, letting Buck rest all of his body weight on him as he cleaned him up. Wrapped in Tommy's arms, head resting on his chest, eyes closed as water and soap flowed down his body, and the taste of throw up still on his tongue no matter how many times he brushed and used mouthwash, he uttered out an “I love you” to Tommy. He didn't even care if Tommy said it back, but Tommy did. He pressed a kiss to Buck's temple, dragging a wash cloth down his back, and said, “I love you too, Evan. So much.” That wasn't just the day Buck knew he loved Tommy, it was the day he knew he wanted to marry Tommy.

And, no, the chicken wasn't going to be a proposal. That wouldn't be happening until after they had officially lived together for a while- which had been a discussion during date number six.

But the name of the recipe, the words marry me, made Buck feel soft in a way that almost felt ridiculous, especially since it was literally just a recipe for chicken breast.

Buck had just placed the chicken in the oven when there was a knock on the door.

He rolled his eyes. Tommy often came home with his hands full, opting to carry most of his items separately instead of placing them in his duffel.

“One of these days I'm not gonna answer,” Buck called out as he neared the door, “just to teach you a le- Oh.”

The words died out on his tongue when he was met at the door by an older man that was very much not Tommy.

This man had thirty or so years on Buck, and was a few inches taller too. He was broad- really broad. Like Tommy, but on steroids.

“Uh, sorry, I- I thought you were someone else,” Buck began after he collected himself. “Can I help you?”

“Is this Thomas Kinard's place?” The man's voice was gruff. The kind of voice you get after smoking a pack a day for years on end.

“It is.”

“You're not him.”

“I'm not.”

“Where is he?”

Well, this conversation was going swimmingly!

“I- I'm sorry, who... are you?”

“Right,” the man held out his hand, although the scowl on his face remained. “Charles Kinard.”

Buck couldn't hide the surprise on his face after hearing the name. He shook Charles' hand, which held on a bit too tightly. “Oh! Oh, you're Tommy's dad.”

“'S'what it says on the birth certificate.”

Once Charles let go, Buck moved out of the way, allowing him to come inside. “Come in. Sorry, I was, um, not expecting anyone. I'm Evan Buckley, um, Buck, by the way. Sorry.”

“You apologize a lot,” Charles noted as he walked farther into the house, eyes drifting around the place.

“Yeah, I- I know. Sor- uh, Tommy should be home pretty soon. He's been working. Was he... Did he know you were coming?”

He cringed at the question, knowing it was an odd thing to ask. He was still trying to catch up with what was going on. Tommy hadn't mentioned his father since three days ago, when he got the text he never answered. Maybe he had ended up answering and just never said anything to Buck, but that wasn't like Tommy.

“Not really,” Charles answered, finally turning to face Buck. “Who are you?” he asked, eying Buck up and down. Buck wasn't really sure if Charles was looking at him, or his apron, which he now remembered said, 'I like my meat rubbed, jerked, and pulled!'

Buck untied the apron and unceremoniously pulled it off of him, crumpling it up in his hand. He realized in that moment that he had no idea what Tommy's dad actually knew, or didn't know, about him. “I'm his friend,” he settled on, “from work.”

“You work together?”

Buck nodded. “Sort of. Different stations, but, yeah, um, yes we're both firefighters.”

“Mm.”

“Uh, why don't you have a seat,” Buck suggested, motioning toward the living room as he stepped closer to Charles. “Tommy won't be too much longer now.”

Charles moseyed into the living room, glancing around at the décor before taking a seat on the couch. “You come over and cook for your friend while he works?” Charles asked as Buck returned to the kitchen.

He wanted to text Tommy, or call him, and let him know what was happening, but he knew he couldn't. He couldn't exactly talk about his dad while he was right in front of him, and Tommy wouldn't check a text when he was driving.

“I, uh, I like to cook,” Buck started, trying to think of an explanation that didn't sound too ridiculous. “And he's got a good kitchen, so I come over, um, sometimes to cook. I- I pay with food.” God, he was an idiot.

Another grunt like sound came from Charles, and Buck was about ninety percent sure he didn't buy it.

Buck wasn't sure how to communicate with the man. He was usually pretty good about stuff like this. He could make up random things to talk about with anyone, whether they wanted to hear it or not. But this was his boyfriend's father who didn't know for sure that Buck was Tommy's boyfriend, and all the questions that were coming to Buck's mind were only questions a significant other would ask their partner's parents.

“So, Mr. Kinard,” Buck began, beginning to slice a cucumber. He wasn't even planning on using a cucumber for anything tonight, but he needed something to do.

“Charles.”

“Charles, um, what... are you visiting LA?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, good. That's... that's good. I'm sure Tommy will be happy to see you.”

Yet another grunt. This one almost sounded like a snort. Buck leaned over slightly to get a look at the man, who was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the turned off TV in front of him.

“You should stay for dinner,” Buck suggested, hating himself as the words left his mouth. “There's gonna plenty.” That was true. He always made enough for leftovers.

“Okay.”

This truly was a man of few words.

Buck was just about to tell him he could turn on the TV and watch something when he heard the sound of keys jiggling in the doorknob.

The door opened before Buck could get to it.

“Oh my God, Evan, what smells so good? I could smell it from outside,” Tommy said, walking inside. Buck met him at the entryway.

“Just chicken. Um, Tommy-”

Tommy dropped his duffel at the door, “I even put my stuff in it this time,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows as he grabbed at Buck's shirt to pull him in for a kiss. Usually, Buck would've been thrilled. Told him it was about damn time and asked if he could take a picture to remember this moment forever.

Instead, he quickly pulled away from the kiss and unwrapped himself from Tommy's touch.

“We have a visitor, Tommy,” Buck said when he was met with a confused face. “You do, I mean.”

“I was wondering who's car was out front,” Tommy replied. “Figured the neighbors were having another party or something.”

“No, um, it's...” Buck's voice trailed off. He could tell Charles was somewhere behind him now. Could see that Tommy's eyes trailed from looking at him to looking at his father. Whatever was left of the smile on his face disappeared, his skin paling.

Part of Buck wished he could disappear. Just melt into the floor and turn into a puddle of goo.

The other part of him had the urge to stand between the two men forever, making sure Tommy was protected from whatever pain his father had obviously caused him.

Buck had never seen the look on Tommy's face before. It looked like fear and sadness, mixed with rage.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asked as Buck stepped to the side to get out of the way.

“Well, hello to you too, TJ.”

TJ? That was new.

“Don't call me that. What are you doing here? How'd you find my house?”

The problem with where Buck was standing, was that he couldn't move toward the kitchen without walking directly in front of the two men, and he wasn't sure this was a good moment to move.

“I'm not an idiot. You own the place, I looked it up. I texted you when I got to town.”

“I know you did.” Tommy shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on top of his duffel bag. “Thought you'd get the hint when I didn't answer.”

“You know how I am with subtleties.”

“Not answering a single one of your texts for three years is not exactly subtle, Dad.”

Buck could not do this any longer. He could feel Charles' eyes on him and, if he was going to be Tommy's friend, he couldn't exactly go into protective-boyfriend mode.

“I'm gonna,” he pointed toward the kitchen, “just go over there.”

Tommy waited for Buck to be out of the room before continuing. “You need to go,” he said, staring his father dead in the eyes.

“Hm. Thought you wanted to know what I was doing here?”

“Decided I don't care.”

Charles smiled. It didn't reach his eyes the way Tommy's did. There were no laughter lines, no scrunched up nose. Just a meaningless smile. “You're lookin' good, TJ. Lower BMI than the last time I saw you. That's good.”

Buck wasn't sure if he was hearing things correctly. Who says that to their kid after not seeing them for years?

“And you're looking me in the eyes. You always struggled with that before.”

“It's easier now that I'm too big for you to hit.”

Buck sucked in a breath. It was impossible to not overhear the conversation. With the open floor plan, Buck could still see Charles, although he didn't have a view of Tommy.

Charles laughed. A deep, guttural laugh that made Buck feel uneasy. “You're never too big for that, T-”

“You need to go. Now.”

“Hang on a minute,” Charles said, waving Tommy off. “I gotta talk to you about my will.”

“I don't give a damn about your will.”

“I've got fifty acres of land in Colorado, TJ. Been in the family for generations.”

“You've got a double wide trailer on that dump of land and couldn't get rid of it if you tried. I don't want it.”

Buck could hear shuffling, so he quickly picked up a knife to make it look like he'd been chopping away at that same cucumber from earlier.

Tommy entered the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink before turning to Buck. “Need help with anything, Ev?”

“N- No, um, no, I'm good.”

“I'm not getting any younger, TJ.”

Tommy placed a hand on Buck's lower back. It was as though it was an anchor for him. Something to keep him steady.

He glared over at his dad. “You're still here?”

“Don't be dumb, Thomas. I'm not leaving until we talk about this. Besides, your friend here invited me for dinner.”

The hand on Buck's back stiffened, before being removed completely. He turned his head toward Buck. “You did?”

“I- I thought you two might, um, might want to catch up.”

He hoped Tommy could read between the lines. Hoped he understood what Buck was really trying to say.

“I felt like I had no other choice. This was really awkward, even for me, and I panicked. Please, don't hate me.”

“That's kind of you, Evan,” Tommy replied, his attention returning to his father, “but we don't have anything to catch up on.”

“Hey! Don't stand there acting like I'm the problem,” Charles said, crossing the room in three steps. Buck could feel Tommy stiffen beside him. “You're the one who left, not me! I've been the one contacting you. You can act like I'm a terrible father all you want, but I'm the one that helped you be something!”

“You didn't help me! I ran from you! I was seventeen years old, Dad, joining the army to get away from you!”

Buck wanted to say something. Wanted to kick the man out of the house, or at least hold up his bowl of finely chopped cucumber and ask if anyone wanted a bite.

But, this wasn't his house. Not yet, anyway. And, somehow, he felt responsible for this whole debacle. He couldn't stop thinking about how he should have done things differently. He shouldn't have let Charles in the house. Shouldn't have attempted to make conversation. Shouldn't have invited him to stay for dinner. Should have figured out a way to call and warn Tommy. Should have texted him anyway; maybe he would have read it before getting out of his truck.

“You know, I really should have known better,” Charles said, shaking his head. “Should have known you wouldn't want to help your old man out.”

“Help you out?” Tommy asked, exasperated. “I have done nothing but help you out for years! I bailed you out of jail three times. I paid your gambling debts for you. I took a second mortgage out on my home so I could pay your back taxes! If I didn't stop answering your messages, I'd be living on the streets! And now you want to come talk about a will? On property that you've nearly foreclosed on twice? I'm surprised you even have that place any-” he stopped mid sentence. Buck glanced over at him, worried something had happened.

“You're about to lose the property, aren't you?” Tommy asked. That made much more sense.

“Now, just listen-”

“You're really here to have me buy the property, and give you the money, so you can go blow it on booze and steroids and hookers and whatever else you feel like.”

“This is what family does, TJ,” Charles said, pointing at Tommy as he eyed him down. “They help each other when they're in need.”

“When have you ever helped me, Dad?” Tommy asked. His voice was different now. Resigned, almost. “Never.”

“I don't need to stand here and listen to these lies in front of your friend!”

Tommy scoffed. “I think you know he's more than a friend.”

“Yeah, I do know. He's been bumbling like an idiot since I got here.”

Buck could feel his face turning red. He wasn't embarrassed by Charles' words, more surprised by the man's lack of filter.

“Get out.” Tommy demanded. “Now!”

Charles moved even closer, a tight fist placed on the countertop of the island. “You owe me!” he spit out through gritted teeth. “The embarrassment you have caused me. Being the way you are, having to answer questions from my friends! I have been trying to knock sense into you for years!”

“Maybe I was too busy lying to doctors in the hospital for the sense to really get knocked in there!”

“Pathetic,” Charles said, before mumbling out, “like your mother.”

“Get out.” It was Buck's voice this time. It no longer mattered to him that this wasn't his home. He didn't care if he was overstepping. Tommy could be mad if he wanted.

For as little as Buck knew about Tommy's family, he did see the way Tommy's eyes got red and glassy when he mentioned his mom. How he'd clear his throat and say she was a good woman, a great mom, gone too soon. From what he'd pieced together on his own, it was a suicide.

Tommy had never said as much, but he came to Buck's after a particularly bad shift. Buck hadn't even been expecting him. He showed up at the door, eyes blank, mind somewhere far away. He'd even forgotten he had a key of his own.

He'd curled into Buck the second the door opened, arms tight around Buck's waist and head turned into the crook of his neck.

Buck squeezed him back just as tight. Asked if he was okay, accepted the silence in return. They stayed there for a while, until Buck was finally able to convince Tommy to move to the couch.

Tommy snuggled up to Buck's side the second they sat down. He laid his head on Buck's chest, one arm curled between them and the other resting over Buck's stomach. They'd rested like this before, but this was the first time Buck ever thought that Tommy looked small. Not physically, obviously, but the way he acted was like a child in desperate need of comfort.

So that's what Buck did.

It was the longest thirty minutes of silence before Tommy spoke. “I worked the ground today,” he explained through a shaky voice, making no effort to move off of Buck. “We were short-staffed. There was a call. A kid found... he found his mom. She was in the bathtub. She was already,” he swallowed down a sob, “she was gone already. He was freaking out. I waited un- until his dad got there to be with him.”

“That's terrible, Tommy,” Buck said, running a soothing hand up and down Tommy's bicep.

“It just... it reminded me-” he cut himself off, took a deep breath, “I like being in the air.”

Buck wasn't dumb. He could put together a puzzle that was missing half its pieces. He knew better than to press the issue. Knew what Tommy needed right now was simply to be held.

So he held him.

He held him until Tommy's breaths evened out and the sun had long set.

And now, with Charles in front of him, it was all Buck could think about. That moment replaying in his mind as Tommy's father spewed venom from across the counter.

“If you're not out of here in ten seconds, I'll call the police for trespassing, and you seem like the type who has warrants waiting for them.”

Charles opened his mouth to speak, but Buck grabbed for the phone in his pocket.

The older man held his hands up in surrender and, without another word, turned and left the house.

There were a few beats of silence before Buck spoke. “Tommy, I-”

“I need to go for a walk.” Tommy's voice was stoic.

Buck didn't like that. He followed behind Tommy as he headed for the door. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.

Tommy picked up his jacket and slipped it on. “No, I'm fine.”

“Tommy, I don't-”

Tommy stopped in the open doorway, hand still on the knob but halfway out the door already. “Evan, I'm fine,” he repeated. His voice wavered this time. Only slightly, but enough for Buck to catch it. “I just need a minute.”

Buck nodded, pursing his lips together. “Yeah, okay.”

He stood there long after the door had closed.

*****

A cool breeze filled the air as Tommy walked down his street. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets as a chill came over him.

He was tense. He kept trying to make sense of the thoughts in his head, but everything felt all jumbled.

He'd been doing so well. Therapy had helped him work through so many of the issues he had with his dad. Had helped him cut off contact. He stopped enabling the man and set himself free of him.

The only reason he didn't block his dad's number was because he knew, one day, a police officer or one of his dad's deadbeat friends would be calling to say he was dead. Even if he cared nothing for the man, he'd still like to know when it was all over.

There were times Tommy would sit and think about the things he'd say if he ever came face to face with his dad again. He had a list. All the ways his dad had screwed him over throughout his entire life.

And then the one time he actually did come face to face with the man after all these years, he didn't say a single damn thing he'd written down.

He knew he'd never get the chance again.

Knew his dad wouldn't really care anyway. He never cared about the pain he caused, even when Tommy was a little kid.

His jaw tensed. He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. He didn't want to cry anyway. He wanted to be mad.

That's what his dad always got angry at him for. Tommy would get upset, and he'd cry. His dad would yell, and he'd cry. His dad would hit him, he'd cry. His dad would hit him harder because he was crying, he'd cry even more.

Kids at school would make fun of his weight.

His dad would make him run laps until he'd puke.

He'd avoid eye contact to try and not be noticed.

He'd cry.

Not now though. Now he could hold it in. He finally learned that as a teenager. Perfected it over time. His therapist helped him with that too; taught him not to hold in his emotions. For the most part, he didn't anymore, he'd let himself feel whatever he was feeling. Right now he needed to control something, and this was the something he could control.

So he didn't cry.

But he let himself be mad.

Because he was so damn mad.

Mad at himself.

Mad at his dad.

Mad at him showing up to his house, invading his safe space, a space that had been free and clear of the trauma of his youth.

Now, every time he'd step in that house he'd see his dad there.

He hated that.

As much as he hated to admit it, a part of him was mad at Buck too.

No, mad wasn't the right word.

Envious, maybe.

Every time Buck talked about his parents, a twinge of envy sparked inside of Tommy. He knew it was stupid. He didn't even particularly like Buck's parents. He definitely didn't like who they used to be, how they used to treat their son.

But, to their credit, they had been trying now.

And that's where the envy came in.

Because Buck's parents went to therapy with him. They started showing up, being there for their kids, through good and bad, even when they weren't comfortable.

And yeah, they were a little late, and not all wounds ever completely heal. There were still problems, and they were always a bit on edge when Tommy was around, but they were there.

They still put on a smile for Buck, however forced, and corrected themselves when they called him Evan.

They'd never hit their kids. Sure, they were a little too busy ignoring them, but Maddie and Buck never had to be afraid of their parents.

“We were invisible,” Buck had told him once.

Tommy didn't say it, he'd never speak the words out loud, because he knew how much being invisible hurt Buck. But, the first thing Tommy thought when he heard that was I wish I could've been invisible too.

Even thinking something like that made Tommy feel like a bad person. Actually, he often felt like a bad person. A terrible, terrible person who was so undeserving of any forgiveness, happiness, and love. He'd think about who he became in the military. Closed off, angry, ruthless at times. He'd killed people. He didn't think about it. Just dropped the bomb on whatever target he'd been told to hit. They were just targets. Living, breathing targets. He'd hear reports of kids getting hit with missiles, innocent casualties who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that was war, and you didn't get emotional with war. Until you got home and you had to reason with who you'd become.

Then he'd think of who he became when he got hired as a firefighter. More closed off, angrier, trying to make up for what he'd done by saving lives instead of taking them. But, no matter how many saves he got, it didn't make up for the kills. And you could get close to people, but you'd probably lose them just like you did in the military, so why have a friend if they're just gonna die anyway?

Plus, there was Gerrard. Gerrard, who was so much like his dad in so many ways. A crass bastard who didn't care who he offended or how he mistreated people. Tears were a weakness, emotions were a weakness, and Tommy was tired of people thinking he was weak. So, he made sure he wasn't.

The difference between his dad and Gerrard was that, if you fit in with Gerrard, he wouldn't bother you as much.

His dad bothered him regardless.

Tommy was not a good person when he had Gerrard as a boss. At first, he blamed Gerrard. Healing came when he took responsibility for himself.

Even with the healing; with leaving the 118 and starting over. With getting therapy and changing his mindset and forgiving himself, there were times when he felt like the biggest fraud in the world. Because he may have forgiven himself, but he didn't deserve the forgiveness of the people around him.

He didn't deserve the friendship of Howie or Hen. He didn't deserve Eddie, who was always excited to hang out. He didn't deserve weekly dinners with Bobby and Athena, who would ask him about his week and listen to his stories. He didn't deserve Maddie, who was ready and waiting to watch The Bachelor each week with wine and a cheeseboard.

He definitely didn't deserve Evan.

Evan.

Who was always there, no matter what. Wore his heart on his sleeve, would do anything for anyone, Evan.

Evan, who was a soft kiss after a hard day. Who's body fit with Tommy's like two puzzle pieces that were finally placed together. Stubborn, smart, bold, unafraid, open, honest, loving, kind, adorable, Evan.

He'd talked to his therapist about it one day. Things were going too well, his life felt too good, and that nagging voice drudged its way up from the back of his mind to repeat over and over you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it.

Then his therapist asked him a simple question. “When you hear the voice, is it your voice, or is it your father?”

After thinking about it for a while, Tommy answered, “A morphing of the two. Starts as him, ends as me.”

A nod. “Let's dissect that.”

They did.

It sucked.

But it helped too. It didn't make the feeling go away, but it did help him recognize that what he was feeling didn't just stem from the choices he made as an adult, it started all the way back when he was a child. When he was told, time and time again, how he didn't deserve good things.

Oftentimes, Tommy felt like his mind was a cruel joke that liked to play, well, mind games on him. As soon as he'd push through his feelings of being undeserving, his brain would laugh and tell him he was pitying himself. Making himself the victim when, in the majority of the things he did as an adult, he was in fact not the victim. This would, in turn, make him feel undeserving of feeling undeserving.

“My mind is a very screwy place,” he said on a particularly grouchy day at therapy. “Truly can't believe they let me fly an aircraft.”

“It sounds kind of like you're torturing yourself for not being perfect.”

“I feel like the more I try to learn and grow from my past, to- to move on from it, it throws itself right back up in my face. I try. I really, really try to let it go, but I can't.”

“I know it's a sensitive topic for you, Tommy, but-”

“No.” Tommy knew where this was going. “No, it's not that.”

A sigh. “Tommy, how old are you?”

He was not in the mood for this today. “Forty-one.”

“And how old was your mother when she passed?”

“Forty-two.”

“I know you've mentioned before how she held onto her guilt. She felt hopeless. Worthless. Let it eat away at her. Your words.”

“I'm not like that. I'm not... I wouldn't do that. I don't feel that way.”

“I'm not saying that you do. I'm saying, sometimes, the reason we feel certain ways stems from our parents, grandparents, etcetera.”

Tommy uncrossed his legs, picked at a string hanging from his jeans. “Can we change the subject? Evan and I have a date tonight and I don't wanna be bitchy when I pick him up.”

*****

Tommy continued down the sidewalk, the only light from the street lamps above him. Occasionally, he'd hear a dog bark or a bird chirp but it was mostly quiet.

He was a couple miles from home now. He knew he should be heading back. His anger had mostly died down to something else by now. Something he couldn't really explain.

Emptiness, maybe?

Yet another word he'd used to describe his mother before.

But, he wasn't like her. He could always get out of bed. He didn't have problems brushing his teeth. He didn't let himself go. He never lost his appetite. He never felt like downing an entire bottle of pills on a regular Sunday afternoon. Would never think of risking his future child walking in the room, excited to tell him about winning the little league game, and instead find him on the floor, long gone.

“I'm the complete opposite of her,” Tommy said at his next session, still annoyed from the previous week. “I don't call out of work, I take extra shifts, I always have something planned when I'm off. I'm in a stable relationship which, yeah, I've only been in for five months, but it's been the best five months of my life. I manage everything fine. Sometimes my mind is just a dick to me.”

“Depression is different for everyone,” his apparently all knowing therapist replied. “Some people have all the symptoms, some have a few, none are exactly alike. There's levels to it, different kinds.”

Tommy slumped back on the couch, sighing as he stared out the window. “Well, that really sucks.”

He tried to be open with Evan. He'd told him so much about his life, about who he was. Evan knew everything about Tommy's time in the military. He knew what Tommy was like when he worked under Gerrard. He knew all the ways Tommy had struggled with himself and his sexuality. He knew all the bad parts, and he loved him anyway.

“I've made so many versions of myself, Tommy,” Buck told him one day, “I think I lost count at 5.0. They're all still me though. I wouldn't be here if I was never there, and I really, really like being here. Sometimes the crappy stuff makes you better in the end.”

Maybe it wasn't as well spoken as something his therapist would have said, but Tommy understood. No matter what, Evan wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't scared off by Tommy. Didn't judge him. He loved him. They loved each other.

Still, as Tommy walked the desolate street, he couldn't help the new voice inside his head. This one was his alone. It was telling him that, as open as he'd been, he'd still closed off a huge part of his life to Evan. It wasn't even necessarily intentional, it was just easier. Easier to avoid the topic altogether. However, it wasn't exactly fair.

He could hear his therapist in his mind, asking him the questions. “Why do you think you've closed that part of yourself off to Buck?”

He'd answer, “I don't exactly like revisiting the subject.”

“Do you not trust him with that part of your life?”

“Of course I do! I trust him with every part of my life.”

“Then why don't you tell him?”

“Because...”

“Because?”

Tommy would feel like pulling out his hair at this point. “Because I have spent so many years letting those parts of me go!”

“Have you really let them go? Unless you hit your head and get amnesia, is that even possible? Wouldn't it be easier if you let your partner help carry the burden when it gets hard for you?”

“He doesn't need to carry my burdens.”

“Don't you help carry his?”

On the street, Tommy stopped in his tracks. He groaned, staring up at the sky as if his therapist was some ethereal being. “I hate you,” he mumbled, before turning around and heading back home.

*****

He opened the door expecting to be hit with the ghost of his father standing there just hours earlier. Instead, he was met with the sight of Evan. Straight ahead at the kitchen table. He plopped his phone down on the table and stared up at Tommy, eyes wide and wet.

“Hi,” Buck said softly. He eyed Tommy carefully, trying to gauge the mood.

Tommy let out a shaky breath. “Hi,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and, once again, placing it on top of the duffel that hadn't moved.

“I was worried about you. You didn't take your phone and I- you were gone a long time.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize.” He really hadn't. He forgot he had ever put it in his duffel in the first place, usually opting to keep it in his pocket the majority of the time.

“S'okay.”

Tommy walked over to the table, pulled out the chair next to Buck, and sat down.

“I'm sorry, Evan,” Tommy repeated, for a different reason this time. “I shouldn't have left like that.”

“You don't need to be sorry.” Buck sat up straighter, splaying his hands out on the table. “I'm sorry. I had no idea your dad was like that. If I did, I never would have let him in your house.”

“Our house,” Tommy corrected. “Soon enough, anyway. You don't need to be sorry either. You didn't do anything wrong.”

Buck smiled at him, turning one hand up for Tommy to take. “Can neither of us be sorry instead then?”

Tommy held onto it, Buck's touch relaxing him in the way it always did. “Sounds good to me.”

“Are you hungry? I left the food in the oven on warm, just in case.”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah, I am actually. I'll get it though, you relax.” He squeezed Buck's hand as he got up. Before walking away, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple. When he began to pull away, Buck held onto his shirt, turning his head and giving him a real kiss. He moved his hands up to Tommy's face, stroking his thumbs along his cheeks as he did his best to project all his love into the kiss.

Tommy looked dazed as they parted. “I think I need to go on walks more often.”

Buck rolled his eyes, swatting at Tommy's butt as he walked off. “Ass.”

“And you love it.”

“I suppose I do.”

“So, what'd you make?” Tommy asked, putting on some oven mitts before pulling the dish out of the oven.

“You're, uh, not allowed to laugh at the name. It's a recipe I got from Bobby, but he got it from the internet or something.”

“Oh God, did you make that goat in the boat dish again?”

“It was toad in the hole, and you loved it!”

“Mm,” Tommy hummed. He got out a couple plates and started plating the food. “What's it called?” he asked again.

“It's... It's called, um, it's Marry Me Chicken.”

After a beat of silence, Buck looked over to see Tommy staring at him, an eyebrow raised. “Evan Buckley, are you proposing to me over a chicken dish?”

Another eye roll. “Absolutely not.”

“You know the saying, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

“And all this time I thought it was through his ass.”

“Aye!”

Buck laughed, resting his chin on his hand as he watched Tommy finish up in the kitchen. “There's also some very finely chopped cucumber in the fridge if you'd like that as well, but it's not part of the dish.”

“Still a delightful addition to any meal,” Tommy replied, grabbing the bowl out of the fridge. He balanced it on his wrist before picking up the plates and bringing them to the table. “This looks amazing, Ev.”

“I hope it tastes good.”

“I'm sure it will.”

As Tommy and Buck both began to cut up their pieces of chicken, Tommy glanced over at his boyfriend. “So, um, tonight was... it was a lot.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“I wanted to...” Tommy's voice trailed off, unsure of how to articulate what he wanted to say. He put down his cutlery and focused on Buck. “I was thinking on my walk about how open you've always been, talking about your mom and dad. Even the hard stuff, the uncomfortable stuff, you share it all. I- I haven't done that with you, Evan. That's not fair to you.”

“I've never felt that way,” Buck assured him. “I understood.”

“Still, I- I've always shared everything with you, besides that. It's not even the worst parts of me, really. I know... I know that stuff, when I was a kid, I know none of that was my fault. I think part of me felt like if I ignored it forever, it would eventually go away.” He shook his head. “It doesn't go away.”

Once again, Buck held out a hand for Tommy to take, connecting them on top of the table. “I'm here. Whenever you're ready. Now. Ten years from now. Whenever.”

Ten years from now. Those words hit him hard. He could feel his heart swell.

They were forever. Evan was his forever.

He took a deep breath, his residual anxieties melting away. “There's a lot about my parents you don't know.”

“Practically everything,” Buck agreed.

Tommy let out a laugh. “Well, I'd like to change that,” he replied, sharing a soft smile with Buck.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because we don't have to right now, if you're not ready.”

“No, I'm ready,” he answered. He squeezed Buck's hand tighter. “There's a lot to talk about with my dad,” he started, grabbing up his fork with his free hand to pierce a piece of the chicken, “but I think I want to start with my mom. She was... She was a lot like me.”

Buck nodded, smiling gently. “I love her already.”

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 #tevan #kinley

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