#i think. my routine is finally starting to stabilize. so maybe i can at least be a little more present here from day to day

[tea-of-destiny]

*voice of a guy who all but disappeared over the last month because he's already got too much to do* you know what would be fun? if i did some kind of month-long drawing challenge during this end part of the year

[questforgalas]

My thoughts on TBB Season 2 finale

It's a long one so strap in if you enter

First, before I get started, I wanted to say that this has been such a fun season to watch, and the interactions I've had with everyone in this fandom has made my Wednesday and weeks since January so delightful. I know hiatuses see a lull in activity, and some people are going to need to step away for a bit, but I just wanted to say thanks for being such a warm and open environment (at least the little corner I've found myself in). Here's to fingers crossed that the panel at Star Wars celebration in just a couple weeks brings us confirming great news!

Love ya all. Mama Tay is here with blankets and ice cream for the Tech babes if you need it. My man is unconscious on a torture table and my babygirl is a captive so we can all cry into the containers together

I'm able to watch the episodes at 8am EST every week, it's my little weekly routine I look forward to, so I've had a couple hours to process my one watch through of the finale episodes, and, just, wow.

Warning, "The Breaking of the Fellowship" just started playing on my playlist so who knows where this is about to go lol. Let's go to feelings town

The Bad Batch Season 2

I have not been quiet about how much I love season 2. Out of 16 episodes, there are maybe 2 that could be written off, but put them anywhere in season 1 or any TCW season, and they'd be some of the best episodes, which only adds to how well written and well done this season was.

I'm a Crosshair girl, not just in a "heart eyes spindly toothpick" sort of way, in fact that really didn't develop until halfway through season 1 - which my therapist definitely doesn't need to analyze - but his personality and his subtle devotion to his squad sucked me in from the beginning. So even with how little we had of him this season (granted, what we did get was some of the best television I've ever watched), this season is up there for me.

The character development for all batchers but especially Omega, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair was intriguing and dynamic, and that's not to say Hunter and Wrecker didn't have their moments either. They did, they were just much more subtle. We saw a lot more of Hunter's enhanced senses at play and Wrecker's knowledge, not just fascination, of explosives, but that pales in comparison to the other four.

The universe expansion was everything to me. We don't have anything depicting the rise of the Empire. We've never seen it's take over and the effects that rippled across the galaxy. We've only ever seen the afterwards, so to get this eery and terrifying depiction is exactly how I'd expect the galaxy to feel during that time, and I really applaud the creators on being so detailed with it.

The Finale Episodes

Wow. Just, wow. Admittedly, I had two reactions to these episodes.

The first was as the Crosshair fan who's put a lot of my emotional stability on this group of animated misfits, and that reaction hated these episodes. Not because I didn't think they were done well (getting into that in a second) but because I latched onto the Bad Batch's dynamics as a family since TCW and I so deeply in my soul to the point it's almost a wound in my heart want them back together again. I fell in love with the TCW Bad Batch, and I want that dynamic back so I've been rooting for it since "Aftermath", and every time we were given crumbs of a possibility that could happen this season, I devoured them and clutched onto them like they were my lifeline. So yes, from that perspective I hated these episodes.

Now, from the Star Wars fan taking a step back from my fanon - holy freaking shit. I laughed. I cried. I sobbed. I oooo'd. I cheered. When they stopped "The Summit" in the middle of the action, similar to how they broke up "Spoils of War" and "Ruins of War", it hit me that we weren't getting the reunion I desperately hoped for, and I took a minute to grieve that, went into acceptance, and then dove into "Plan 99".

Again, were there points throughout both, especially "Plan 99", that I was going "oh I hope this happens" or "ok annnnnd now!"? Yeah, absolutely (cut to Omega waking up at Cid's and me going "nice this is when they reveal it was all a bad dream and Tech's gonna walk in in 3..2..1..."). Did I have 4 other endings in my head halfway through the episode? 1000%. But it's not my creation, and based off of what we were given all of season 2, it all made sense to me. Even the things that made me have to pause for 4 minutes while I sobbed into my hands.

We are set up for an extremely action packed, spy/political thriller filled, intriguing season 3, and that wouldn't have happened if the season didn't end the way it did. If it was all tied up neatly in a bow, then there would be a lot more doubt, in my mind, about 1. if we'd even get a season 3 and 2. what the heck it was going to be about.

I'm not going to get into individual character analyses, but I thought everyone was in character. There was not a moment in either episode I thought "huh that doesn't really fit does it?" All of them were on brand in my opinion, and I again encourage people to take a step back and separate fanon from canon.

So why the emotional impact?

One of the things I've really had to process and think through is why this finale was staying with me like it is. I mean, I've been a Star Wars fan since 1999. I lived through watching Revenge of the Sith in theaters. I, like many of us, watched "Victory and Death" at the beginning of a very dark time in the world. I gripped the edge of my theatre seat watching Rogue One, praying they made it out like I hadn't known the end of their story for 25 years. But none of those endings stayed with me the way TBB finale is.

Sometimes something stays with me for an hour, maybe more, but I've never had any show have a finale where throughout the day as I thought about it, I burst into tears in varying degrees, and I can feel that being the case for awhile. Honestly, I haven't put my finger fully on it yet, but I think one of the reasons why is because all of those other endings I mentioned above - ROTS, Rogue One, TCW - and really any Star Wars media so far, has not had such a sorrow filled ending in such a dark period of time without us knowing the story after already.

ROTS we knew the outcome of that 20 years before. Rogue One even longer. TCW was filling in the gaps of a story long concluded. The Mandalorian is set in a time when it's supposed to be peaceful and the galaxy is mostly living in the light, so even when Mando and Grogu are separated, it's sad to witness the pair be apart, but there's no umbrella threat that makes the separation dangerous.

We are in the darkest period of time that we as Star Wars fans know in TBB. That is the point of the series - it's not just about these clones and how they cope post war. It's we the fans seeing how terrifying the Empire is beyond just the two sith lords running it. The inner workings and how easily they squash hope within their own government. We as the fans are meant to watch the Batch and love the family but be terrified of what can be waiting for them around every corner.

And that's not to mention we have no idea what the fate of the clones is. First off, the events of A New Hope are 20 years away. Rebels and the Obi-Wan Kenobi show are the only medias we have depicting the time between ROTS and ANH, and they barely scratch the surface. Rex is canonically confirmed to survive to Return of the Jedi, and we have Gregor and Wolffe in Rebels, but where the heck are the rest of them. We don't know. We literally don't know, and we're now left to speculate what that could possibly entail for the clones (especially the Batch) on any given day, let alone when we're left with two of them as captives of the Empire and one "dead". It is, in my opinion, one of the most devastating endings to a Star Wars media because of the terror it can hold.

Tech's Fall

Why yes, this would be the part I had to pause the show for and sob over for 4 minutes.

Tech has been my second favorite member of the Batch since they were introduced in TCW. This unapologetic, enthusiastic nerd who knows what he likes and hyperfixates on it spoke to me on levels, as I know he did for many of you - especially after "The Crossing" (I personally cannot relate to the ND connection, but was really happy to see the community joyous over the moment).

I, like many of you have already said in your thought posts, had the growing pit in my stomach each time they developed his character. The constant-optimist in me latched onto the possibility that just once they wouldn't pull that shit on us, but obviously that wasn't the case.

Tech and Crosshair's sacrifices punch me in the gut. Both of them are to save their family and give their family a chance. To have Wrecker and Tech bicker back and forth even up to the last minute like brothers do, and then the fucking awful shot of Wrecker watching his brother fall knowing he did it so they could have a chance. As a sibling, I couldn't handle it (I've actually started crying again now writing this). If I was Tech and that was my family, I'd do the same thing. If I was Wrecker watching that in front of me, I'd be on my knees screaming.

The scene was shot chaotically to make us, the viewer, feel panic and feel the gravity of the situation the Batch was in while seeing tiny moments when maybe they could pull it off, maybe Tech is moving faster than we think, maybe the car will come online and speed away, all to keep us hanging on while feeling the pressure of the environment they were in to then watch the fall and feel anything but relief, just like the Batch.

Now, onto what's keeping me hanging on

Is Tech Dead?

No, and I'm blaming Echo for this, but I do not think he's dead. And I do not think that takes away from his sacrifice either.

First of all, this is Star Wars. Unless you see the body, they ain't dead. @jealous-sloth77 even made the point of Darth Maul in their thought post. My dude was cut in half and fell down a supposed never ending shaft, but came back with the v-neck of all v-necks and a 200 step revenge plan, then literally became the cockroach of Star Wars.

Let alone the direct parallels to Echo Tech's fate could have.

So stay with me on this for a second, and I may be giving Filoni and Corbett and Rau a little more credit than they deserve, but follow me here.

Echo's blown up at the citadel in Season 3 of TCW. Not season 6 and then reappears a season later. 4 seasons of separation, and given the cancellations and renewal breaks, you're talking literally 10 years in between his death and his revival, which narratively makes no sense to me. And don't get me wrong, I know the Dominos were a fan favorite and Fives and Echo were a fun pairing, but all in all, Echo appeared in five episodes? Maybe six before he's killed off? And only 3 of those was he a "main" character. Compared to many other clones and characters, that's not exactly a recipe for "bring the fan favorite back 10 years later". So that makes me think that Echo coming back, especially the way he did, was setting the ground work for something. Now hang with me here.

In Mando S2E1, Mando kills the Krayt dragon by going inside of it, a monster who's stomach is literally full of acid, and blows it up from the inside out, dramatically coming out pointedly covered in the krayt acid showing that it has no affect on beskar. Then 2 minutes later we get the cameo of Boba Fett in the sunset, a character who last we saw was swallowed by a monster, supposedly digesting in stomach acid. Then in Book of Boba Fett, we see that because of his beskar armor, he survived the sarlacc, etc, etc. My point is, Star Wars has recently developed a habit of setting long-con explanations in various medias. Planting the seed you could say. So it's not far fetched to theorize that they brought Echo back from a ship explosion that we were made to think nothing but his helmet survived so they could set the ground work for other characters to be dramatically saved/scavenged and "brought back to life".

I mean, this is the world of Palpatine clones so, it's not out there.

That's not to mention the scene of Hemlock bringing Tech's goggles to Ord Mantell and making a point of mocking his death in front of them. Hemlock's entire purpose is to unlock the cloning techniques of the Kaminoans, and suddenly the literal genius is separated from them, assumed dead. If I'm an evil-scientist like Hemlock, I'm figuring out anyway to make sure Tech's alive.

So yes that's a long-stretch plan that gives Corbett, Filoni, and Rau a lot of credit for potentially thinking multiple seasons of plot lines through at the beginning, which, honestly, would be a good strategy considering the time period they're navigating around so I don't think it's that crazy to consider.

However, the main fact that I'm latching onto that Tech's not dead is the same fact that I've latched onto ever since "Aftermath" to tell myself Crosshair will be back with the Batch someday, and that's because it narratively makes no sense in context to how the Batch were introduced to us to keep them separated.

Think back to TCW S7, when the Batch are introduced. That was 4 episodes highlighting a tight knit, unique, family unit who all complimented each other to round out an unbeatable unit. Their sibling dynamic was the main focus of that group and is what made me fall in love with them, and it made no sense to me that they separated that dynamic within the first 10 minutes of the first episode and now to further separate it by taking Tech away.

I feel this so strongly in regards to Crosshair and Tech. I was sad when Echo left, and I was confident he was going to be with them again, but his departure didn't hit me the same way as Crosshair's and now Tech's. It just does not make sense to me to have the OG 4 separated permanently given how they were presented to us. It would be one thing if they went all in on the "Crosshair's evil" route and semi bait-and-switched us, but given his evident loyalty to the Batch and clear, long path of him being back with them someday, it really would not make sense to me for them to "swap one out for the other". That, in my opinion, would be lazy writing, and with how much love and care the creators have shown this series, I cannot fathom them throwing in the towel like that.

Unfortunately until the new season, I'll sadly have to accept the fact that he is gone and in our eyes right now, he's dead. And that hurts. It really does, but boy, am I grasping onto this last analysis like it's my tether over Mustafar

Love ya all. Mama Tay is here with blankets and ice cream for the Tech babes if you need it. My man is unconscious on a torture table and my babygirl is a captive so we can all cry into the containers together

[annytheseal]

thwre has been something liek. wrong with my brain recently

[beann-e]

Haikyu characters reacting to their s/o screaming back at them

Nekoma Characters reacting to their s/o Screaming back at them

Read Part One Here

kenma

-it would not take much -_-

- Kenma doesn’t even notice he’s yelling at you or much less using his raised voice when talking to you

-he’s so used to screaming at kuroo through his mic that when he’s finally pissed off and bubbling ; it just happens after you try to ask him what he wants for dinner at the wrong time

-post time skip

“ go left “ The sound of the controller clicking swirled through the room as your boyfriends eyes followed the screen at every turn his character took “ kuroo I said go left “

“ uh which one ? “

kenmas face went into a straight line as kuroos body stiffened knowing he hadn’t been listening in the first place “ no wait which way I meant —which way “

“kuroo I said go left “

“ oh “

“ yeah — go left “ the strain in your boyfriends voice was evident

it showing off the sliver of annoyance he was trying to hold back knowing that you were somewhere in the same house

he hated for you to see him anything other than calm

Anytime he showed any bit of annoyance with you or even showed he was about to give you attitude you quickly shut it down. It was obvious to him who was the dominant one in the relationship and he had no problem with it

Honestly he was scared of what you would think when you finally saw him fly off the handle. Of course you’d seen him have an attitude he was a gamer that was normalized to have one after a lost game but, it wasn’t often he showed you that side because kenma doesn’t do losing

so what would happen if he finally got ticked off so badly due to something that was ‘just a game’ to you would you be scared?

he couldn’t help but think that you would run for the hills and then screw him over in the breakup and tell everyone he still wears tidy whities and forgets to go pee during gameplays unless you remind him by asking had he peed all day

“ hey du— “

“ don’t talk until you kill the leftover guys so we can win“

“ ken you don’t think I can multitask “ kuroos laugh fell into the room over kenmas headphones “ I used to do it everyday i was the captain of the vb team, I keep you in line “

“ sure sure — but are you watching your corners “

“ I keep everyone healthy , and i’m hot , plus I’m about to win this gam— I died “

the silence in the moment spoke volumes before kenma could

his hand grabbing the controller harshly as he refused to blink seeing the word loser flash in bright letters on his screen

Body growing hot and sweaty while he tried to hold in his anger and process what just happened so he could determine the next best course of action

Knowing , He just knew

The amount of trouble he’d get in if you walked in to hear him screaming at kuroo shouting words you hated when he used

He was trying to hold it all in

really he was

he just needed some quiet first just some silence to figure out how to calm himself down his brain going over serveral images of kuroo dead at the bottom of stairs maybe even him getting hit too hard with one of kenmas sets when they played 4 on 4matches

Anger only growing when he heard a voice pour in that he couldn’t figure out who it belonged to much less cared

“ hey ke— “

“ Do you ever fucking listen “ his voice was hard and threatening “ do you ever just shut the fuck up and “

he threw his headphones to his keyboard “ and listen — no you don’t— you go quiet and now here i am upset because you simply don’t listen — answer the questions i’m asking you— you fucking sea creature“

his body only growing hotter as his neck got red eyes darting for a person to scream at and take his anger out on

“ answer me “ he screamed pain eteched in his voice as he finally turned to find you

a look crossing over his face before he blinked looking to the floor then up at you in confusion before turning back to his screen that glowed in the dark room anger hitting him all over again when he saw kuroos wide open mouth and their dead avatars laying on the ground

“ Why the fuck — how the —- I always fucking lose when that asshole —that miscalculated creation— whenever he plays with me it’s so serious to me — i make money off of it i make — i get deals and i — I can’t — can’t lose them they’ll think i’m not good enough— i“

he slammed his fist into the wall speaking low

“ I hate fucking losing “

he turned to you “ it’s not nice y/n — I tried to fucking do your shitty routine of calming myself down first but it just “

he moved closer to you with anger pouring from his body

your eyes wide in a look of fear when he grabbed your face pointing to his screen “ look — “

he screamed in your face when you didn’t tear your eyes away from his “ BABE I SAID LOOK“

your eyes never leaving his as he just grew angrier at your incompetence

“ so your not fucking listening to me either “ his voice grew questioning “ are your ears dirty just like kuroos ? huh ? are y’all apart of some shitty cult for mute wannabes “

his hand gripped tighter on your cheeks “ i’m so stupid your just as fucking dumb as that asshole — fucking — I bet you wanna date him huh — “

his mind ran wild as he thought of the two of you together insecurity blooming

“ you want a loser like him over me right ? you have to like kuroo — look at him you want to date kuroo right “

he laughed “ fucking slu— “

“ finish it and we’ll be playing our own game of kenma getting his ass beat until he finally gives up and cries “

your eyebrows quirked up as you held eye contact with him “ trust me you’ll lose “

you looked at the male in front of you in disgust

“ get your shitty cheeto dusted gamer hands off of me “

his hands loosened their hold on you

“ all the way off you dirty imbecile “

you scoffed as he dropped his hand in a rush of fear

“ I bet your dirty ass didn’t even wash them after I made you pee earlier — yeah made — you wanted to get back to that sweaty chair that badly ? “

his cheeks grew hot as he blinked himself out of his trance only to see what he’d gotten himself into

“ who do you think you are talking to like that “

your stare making him shake even more in fear

You always scared him when you were upset wether you were taller or not your annoyance alone at an action he’d done scared him enough

Your words stood tall and poured in on him making him feel like he was suffocating but, he knew he needed to hear this. You only did this when his anger was out of control like he knew it could be. He stayed on his games all day and all night which was the only way to provide your shared income

at least until he could get his company up and running he had yet to sign contracts because he said he needed to read them first and reading took too much work

this was how he paid your bills. It stressed him out knowing that any day someone on the internet could call him a loser and that same day your steady flow of money may trickle in slower than usual

So when he lost a game any game even something as simple as Mario or even kirby it pissed him off because he couldn’t help but shoulder all the responsibility of taking care of you and himself. He didn’t want to be the reason you lost that stability and all of this catered into his rage. A rage only you could catch and calm down with your sheer words.

“ who do you think you are “ your voice came out low and calm as you spoke down on him “ answer me “

“n-no on — no one babe “

“ don’t babe me “ your hand pressed on his chest “ you don’t deserve that not after you talked to me that way “

“ I -i’m sorry “

“ for what “

“ f-for talking to you like that and “ his voice came out soft as he spoke

“ I cannot hear you “

“ fuck i’m sorry for talking to you that way —and for using force —force and grabbing you like that “

“and i’m just expected to forgive you? you know I hate this — you know this and yet you keep doing it? why ? why do you keep shouldering this and then lashing out “

“ p-please “

“ mm — i’m not seeing it ken— I mean you treat me like one of your other asshole friends and then on top of it you grabbed my face this time— you’ve never gone that far “

“ y-yes I know — I know “

“ so you can see my problem with just accepting your apology right “

“ y-yes ma’am “

“ oh — “ you laughed as you spoke “ now we’re using nice names huh “

“ i—I thought it’d work“ he pouted

“ I wanna forgive you ken “ you looked at him as his head dropped in embarrassment cheeks going red

“ I really do babe but “

“ I swear I won’t do it again y/n “

you thought for a moment staring at the boy in front of you who was pissing his pants in fear

“ y-y/n I swear I didn’t know it was you I was angry and I —I thought kuroo was talkin— “

“ but you realized it was me? “

he paused

“ you even looked from me and back to your screen so you knew correct “

“ yes “

“ and yet you still yelled at me and grabbed my face “

“ really i’m sorry— I wasn’t there all the way “

you took a deep breath before looking to his computer eyes made up in a squint and then trailing back to the boy in front of you

“ ok ken “ his eyes glowed in happiness

“ you— your forgiving me “ he laughed almost mocking you knowing he’d never been let go this quickly you usually took away his gaming system until he’d learned to calm down

he even started ‘doing’ yoga, if you count playing the youtube videos on the tv while he played on his apple watch that you’d forgotten to take, just to fool you into giving his game back “ this easily“

your eyes moved pointedly to his as he fell back into submission

“ i’m sorry I just meant you arent more upset “

“ well i’m deciding that since it was the first time you ever went to that extent of yelling at me I’m gonna let you off the hook “

you smiled “ also I thought you already got enough punishment “

“ h-huh “

you let your head move up to face his computer screen in a slight nod his eyes lighting up before his face fell in sadness

He never meant to fall submissive let alone show who was the dominant one in the relationship to anyone outside of you especially not with kuroo on the other line

“ I don’t think kuroo minds much babe it’s ok “ you said happily changing the whole way you carried yourself earlier and the way you spoke your body easing after beating into kenma

“ no trust me he doe— “

“ goddamn “

your eyes fell onto his friends open mouthed smile

“ and you just let ‘em do you like that “

kenmas eyebrows came together in sadness

“ damn ken —“

your eyes went hard on kuroo

“ and do you think your any better ? because from what i’ve heard churro it seems to me like you couldnt even keep your own team on a leash much less that lev kid so ? “

“ god “ kuroo coughed shifting in his seat whispering softly to himself “ so hot “

he shook his head before speaking again a little bit louder “ uh no— no I completely understand y/n —god i just know your fun “ he laughed

“ kenma keep listening to your s/o don’t mind me “

he moved to log off speaking under his breath “ so fucking scary —swear i’m bringing ‘em in to scare my vb kiddos— shit “

you shook your head in confusion “ uh wha—”

“ he had a — he had a crush on you and yeah I”

“ oh well “ you moved to throw your arms around him in happiness his body stumbling back at the action as he cautiously wrapped his hands around your back

“ n-not in trouble “

“ not in trouble “

“ still love me “

“ still love you “

“ then can I pla- “

“ no “

“ nevermind I didn’t want —want to play anyways “

“ that’s good “

“ yeah “ he drawed out as you grabbed his hand pulling him to the living room “ but babe the monitors still on just one matc— “

your grip tightned on his hand “ movie ken “

“ got it movie — movie “

he spoke low following you wrapping his arms around you as he kissed your cheek “ movie first — game later “

lev

-I don’t think he would ever ever ever scream at you but he would totally say something hurtful and not even realize it because kuroo and kenma said it to him

-so he’s literally just using what he was taught but In the wrong way

- not a time skip

“ lev can you help me “ you shouted to the taller male as you made your way across the court his hands cupping around his mouth as he stared down on you from the other side “ yeah “ he smiled “ totally “

you copied him a smile itching to spread across your face “ just because I yell doesnt mean you yell “

“ well as bossy as you are you should know I’m going to “

your face dropped before it fell back into a happy smile mind racing with thoughts of maybe hes just making a joke he knows you hate when people say that about you

“ hey uh lev ? “

“ yeah babe “ he said running over to you

“ let’s not say that ok cause it kinda — it really hurt my feelings “ his eyebrows furrowed as he looked down on you his voice vibrating along the gym before he smiled again “ babe I like the design you added to your face I didn’t notice but other people said you looked good with it and yeah —honestly they were right “

“ huh — design? “

“ yeah it’s red it’s right by your eyebrow “

your hands moved quickly to cover the pimple from his view eyes darting across the gym hoping no one else heard and was trying to take a look at it

“ it’s fine it’s fine maybe if you put on some makeup you can hide it right ? i mean if you don’t like the design like I do i mean that’s what you usually use it for right ? “

your eyebrows went up face holding nothing but sadness as you spoke “ do you— lev baby do you really think i’m bossy “

he jumped up and down on the balls of his feet in excitement as he kept going “ yeah — I do everything you tell me to and I like it i’m like a puppy and your the master “

you could feel your body heat up at his words his smile spreading wider as he turned to his awestruck teammates

“ babe it’s ok id follow you to the end of the earth because I don’t understand your just stringing me along”

your hands dropped the balls you held onto from picking them up off the floor. head cocking to the side as you studied him trying to see what sparked this new way of thinking

“ oh god “

“ he’s so fucking —so so fucking clueles- “

“ stupid just outright stupid is what he is “ you said as his eyebrows creased face struggling to find the right way to react to the burning hot anger he felt radiating off of you in waves “ lev baby who told you this “

you walked a bit closer to him head leaned back to see him clearly “ who made you think this way “

“ uh what “ he shook his head face coming up in a pout “ babe I — “ he played with his fingers as he looked off to the side hand moving to run across his neck “ for some reason I feel like i’m in trouble —I did—did I do something wrong baby ?“

“ this is not cool lev not helpful, not sweet and nice it’s hurtful “

“ no what ? wait i’m “ he took his hand out to grab your arm his face made up in pure confusion “ no i’m —i’m complimenting you “

“ you— your complimenting me? “

“ yeah “ he smiled struggling to hold it up as his eyes darted across your face

“ lev baby “ you faked a smile as your eyes hardened “ think about your words —what have you just said “

“ well I said that your my master and i’m like a puppy“ he smiled as he thought back “ only because I love you and would do anything you tell me and because i’m hyper and sometimes you have to explain stuff to me in simple form because I can’t pay attention when anyone else talks but you “

he kept going “ then I said that I do anything you tell me to and I would “ he smiled harder voice sure of himself“ because I like following you and making you happy “

he scratched his neck face flashing a deep red “ then — then I said that you cover up your bossine— ok i’m sorry “

his face made up into a pout as he slumped “ really I didn’t know I thought it was nice I heard the team saying it in the back rooms and I though— “

“ FUCKING IDIOT “

“ LEV WHAT THE FUCK “

“ HOLY SHIT LEGS ARE YOU SERIOUS “

levs face dropped as he turned to kenma “ legs seriously ? “

kenma shrugging as he continued to play his hand held game “ eh well everyone else was saying something and you annoy me so — I present legs “

he sighed as he turned back only to see your eyes holding nothing but garbage fires In them as you stared at the group of guys huddled together

“ speak “ everyone whimpered as you stared them down “ explain to me why my boyfriend is telling me I need makeup to cover my pimple ”

kuroos uncomfortable laugh left him quickly as he looked away from the both of you rocking back and forth in his shows “ well um y/n “ he coughed “ you see we were — we’re guys y/n we were making jokes and you see lev doesn’t understand “

“ well I do so explain “

he jumped “ we thought— “

“ not quick enough you sweaty catboy“

“ god ok he came to us wanting to know how to compliment you he said he didn’t want to say anything dumb and —so that made us realize we can really make him do anything cause he’s so clueless—thought if we could get lev to say some dumb shit—trust me we didn’t go that far “ he said pointing to lev who was picking up the balls you’d dropped on the floor chasing after one that rolled away

“ then you’d break up with him and I guess at least one of us would have a chance — well except kenma he says he has princess peach as his wife —wait who the fu—I actually don’t know who that is ken is that an online girlfriend “

he furrowed his brows actually puzzled by his earlier words “ I don’t know why it seemed so normal to me at the time “

he shook his head “ but lev is so fucking stupid that he said everything fucking wrong — we literally just told him what we personally like about you —gave him some corny pickup lines but he said everything wrong like even the phrase about your makeup we were saying how you don’t wear any or when you do it’s not obvious because your natural beauty just radiates through it— then the next thing we talked about is how strong and just how you take directive I guess — and we — we thought it was hot “

“ then where did he get the stuff he said from “ your voice went high now you were confused he couldn’t have made that stuff up

“ y/n he’s just fucking stupid where do you think “ he rolled his eyes “ he made it up because he didn’t understand “

levs eyes widened as he had stopped paying attention to the situation taking place hours ago “ uh I cannot confirm or deny that statement but I will say you are very very beautiful my love “

your heart warmed as the team groaned your body moving into his as you kissed him softly “ did I do something wrong ? “

“ no lev your ok “

“ ok I never want you to feel bad or like y’know how kenma feels I always feel like he’s so angry “ your boyfriend shivered as he locked eyes with kenma who was ready to pounce on him claws showed as he gripped his game harshly “ see —- so angry “

“ not angry lev just “ you looked at him seriously “ babe you have to pay attention to what you say you may say something really really wrong to me one day and then — “

“ and then you’ll tell me what I did wrong while we cuddle and drink hot chocolate“

you smiled squeezing him harder “ no — then i’ll break your kneecaps so you’ll never be able to play volley again and i’ll dye your hair black in your sleep so people will think you look like a tall dirty mop “

he shook before he led you out of the door the team watching as you left leaving all of them to curse silently about their failed plan “ he’s the stupidest guy on the team and he — he got that “

“ bet he doesn’t even know what he’s doing when he’s tapping it “

kuroo laughed “ yeah right like he even gets that far — they probably gotta explain how to continue a kiss without him focusing and staring straight into their eyes — he’s probably learning how to ‘multitask’ right now as we speak—lucky idiot “

the doors to the gym slammed open roughly a few minutes later as you held levs hand tightly behind the door “ HEY ASSHOLES “

everyone tuned to you in fear for themselves and the tall male behind you who you dragged like a mom in a store his eyes stuck on the lollipop that stuck out from his mouth “ guys y/n found me a lollipop—she stuffed it in my mouth when I told her the joke you guys told me to “

“ w-what joke “

“ the one where I called the sex line and said that I requested them because I heard good reviews “

the teams heads all dropped knowing they’d never said anything of the sort or even along the line he’d messed up their original words yet again and put not only himself but them in danger

“ if you guys ever try to taint my boyfriend with your dumb fucking words again I swear I will end you all —kenma i’ll buy every copy of the new game that you want that’s coming out — literally blow all my money so you can’t ever play the stupid game until im ready to allow you to “ his mouth going up in an o as he still had his attention on his game hands only tightening a bit at the threat his body moving behind kuroo for safety

“ kuroos chemistry lab will become a garbage chute for my lunch trays “ kuroos body slumping as he draped himself over kenma only to get pushed off and fall on the floor in pain your mouth moving to tell everyone else on the team what would happen if they didn’t respect your boyfriend and treat him like the nice , caring guy he was

Until finally you flashed a smile and walked off leaving the team in disarray as they couldn’t figure out if you just grew that much hotter or if they were having heat flash from the pissed off emotions they felt when lev turned around and winked at them while he ran his hand down your shoulder to land at your lower back as he followed you out

[spectaclespencer]

P.H. // Part 1; Alone

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N; Here’s the first chapter! Let me know what you think <3 this is based off of this request I got. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Please know I know this theme/part has little to nothing to do with the actual meaning of the song, but some lines work if you ignore the rest 😅

Summary; After Gideon leaves, Reader takes up chess to comfort Spencer through the difficult time.

Category; Fluff, Angst(?), Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings; Sad Spencer otherwise none!

Word Count; 3.5k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next

It started when I found Spencer one morning. He had fallen asleep on a chair at the bau, and he explained to me that he’d been waiting for Gideon because he promised to play chess with Spencer that night.

“Is Hotch in yet?”

“No, he will be soon. We have a case, JJ is gonna brief us and we leave in 30.”

He thanked me and left the room, with his head down. He kept the same mood during the briefing, he kept drifting off as JJ was talking. Spencer was known to be stuck in his head often, but this was far more unusual behaviour. I figured maybe he slept wrong, or maybe just was simply looking forward to playing chess with Gideon. That was their usual routine, to have a game or two after cases to relax. It was understandable to see him on edge after not hearing from him all night.

As we got on the jet he didn’t sit with me on the couch right away as he usually did, instead he walked over to Hotch in the back corner. I craned my neck to try and see what he was doing and hear what he was saying. He spoke in soft whispers, seemingly asking questions I assumed were about Gideon’s presence. I saw Hotch shake his head, to which Spencer’s expression dropped. He thanked him, then made his way over to the couch beside me.

“You okay?” I asked.

He gave me a quick nod -- yet didn’t meet my eyes -- then curled up at the end of the couch to presumably take a nap before we landed.

We were all worried about Gideon, none of us had heard from him since the last case. We figured he just needed a break from the chaos; having a loved one die would take a toll on any of us. It was logical really, any one of the team would need time to recover when presented with that situation.

Spencer remained more quiet throughout the case, not engaging in conversation when it wasn’t crucial to the work. We ended up sharing rooms but even then he didn’t budge. He mostly sat in the corner and played chess against himself, often zoning out and staring at the wall. It was hard to see, and even harder to sit back and let him try to get through it. I could tell he was fighting himself in his head, probably going over scenarios on Gideon’s whereabouts. I imagine the stress was affecting him heavily -- or at least it was clear with the way his forehead had been creased all night.

Chess. Nobody on the team had a fair shot at him besides Gideon. Sitting there staring at the pieces probably wasn’t doing him too good, only making him worry more.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care because I did, but when it comes to certain things Spencer can be defensive and refuse help, so I wanted to give him a chance to get better. It wasn’t unlike him to refuse help, and I didn’t want to make the situation worse by opening my mouth. Instead, I opted to ask, “Mind if I join in for a game?”

“What? Uh- no it’s fine. I mean, okay yes. Sure,” Spencer stuttered, spooked by my sudden appearance beside him.

“Stop slouching, you’re gonna make your posture even worse,” I chuckled lightly, patting his shoulder to remind him. He shot me a small smile, watching as I rounded the table to sit across from him. I wasn’t too good of a player, but I wanted to make Spencer feel just a little less alone.

“Do you even know how to play?”

“Ouch,” I mocked offense, slapping a hand over my heart. “So cruel, Spencer.”

He raised his eyebrows in a form of asking again, to which I replied with, “Kind of. I haven’t played for years but I’ve observed you.”

“Y-you’ve observed me?” Spencer questioned, resetting the chess pieces on the board.

“Well, yeah. Kind of hard not to. You’re a pretty interesting guy.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

I smiled when he finally made eye contact with me. He looked tired -- more so than usual -- with his eyebags a deeper shade than they were normally.

The game didn’t last long. In only seven minutes, he managed to beat me. I groaned at my loss, lips pulled into a tight line. Spencer didn’t react, however.

“Okay that’s enough for me,” I said, heading over to the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. “Goodnight Spence. Get some sleep. No offense but you look like you need it.”

He hummed at me, cleaning up the table before he climbed into his own bed.

I could tell he didn’t sleep much that night, as he kept a lamp on and littered his bed with various books. He looked cute, all swaddled up in the blanket he brings with him on every case for a sense of stability. His glasses were perched on his nose, and he was chewing his fingernails -- a habit I’ve tried to get him to kick over the past two years.

We didn’t talk during the night, but we both knew that each other were awake. I was kept up by my thoughts, trying to figure out how to get Spencer out of his slump. Re-learning how to play chess seemed like a decent enough idea -- yet one that would take some time. I was proved tonight that my skill needed to be greatly improved. It was nice in the moment, but realistically it would take a few weeks, if not more, to get the hang of.

The next day at the precinct I was stationed at the map, trying to figure out our geographical profile. I heard faint chattering coming from outside, and looked over my shoulder to see Spencer and Derek talking. I couldn’t hear much, but I did get that Spencer mumbled about calling Gideon, to which Derek answered that he might’ve just missed the call. It was possible, but likely deeper than that.

“Six times? Six calls? Something’s wrong,” Spencer sighed, rubbing his eyes.

I didn’t intervene with the conversation, instead deciding to finally speak to him about it after the case had ended.

On the last day, we all headed to our rooms after grabbing some dinner, to get a good rest before we took off early the next morning.

“Hey Spence, you awake?”

He hummed in response, and I could hear the rustle of the sheets as he rolled over in his bed to face me.

“I know you’re worried about Gideon. How about when we get back tomorrow I’ll drive you down to his cabin? We can go check on him.

“Would you really?” he asked softly. I couldn’t see him fully in the darkness, but I could sense he was looking at me with pleading eyes.

“Of course. I don’t like seeing you this stressed and down. I want to help.”

“Thanks ____, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

After our conversation it was like a blanket of grey was lifted over his head. He settled in more, drifting off to sleep within minutes. I hated seeing him sad, and I did my best to try and fix his mood whenever I could. Spencer didn’t like change, I knew that, and the team knows that. A part of me had a sneaking suspicion that Gideon wasn’t coming back, and I had fear for what that would mean for Spencer.

-----

“Do you want me to come in with you?” I asked, pulling up in front of the cabin and turning off the engine. The only sounds were the faint hum of rain outside, splattering against the windows.

Spencer shook his head and took a deep breath, before unbuckling himself and opening his door. He mumbled something about being right back, as he headed off towards the building. It wasn’t dark yet -- only being four pm -- but it wasn’t too light either.

It looked as if the lights inside the cabin were off, and I could just hardly see Spencer as he knocked on the door. He waited on the porch for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would come to the door.

Nobody did.

It was hard to just sit there and watch, as his desperation grew stronger by the millisecond.

-----

I took deep breaths, trying to even out my intake of air and remain calm. When nobody answered the fifth time that I knocked, I reluctantly grabbed a hold of the knob and turned it. Much to my surprise the door opened, creaking inch by inch as I stood there unmoving.

“Gideon?” I called into the home, taking one step inside. “Jason?”

I wasn’t greeted with an answer, he didn’t come to the door and thank me for coming to visit. It was eerily quiet -- so quiet I took a few more steps inside to create some sort of volume.

“Hello?” I spoke again, louder this time. Shutting the door behind me I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack next to the entrance.

The place had been mainly cleared out, there weren’t many personal items behind. I stalked over to the kitchen, to see if there was any trace of someone within the last few days. It’s been officially a week and a half since anyone had last heard from him that I was aware of. I thought someone must have eaten, or at least left a bit of a mess behind them that would signal a presence.

As I turned the corner to enter the new room I noticed something on the table. I stopped in my tracks, leaning down to take a closer look.

Gideon’s badge, gun, and an envelope.

I swallowed thickly, walking around the table and took a seat in front of the items. When I saw the envelope had my name on it, my heart dropped. With shaky hands I picked up the paper and opened it, seeing there was a letter inside.

Spencer,

I knew it would be you who came to the cabin to check on me.

You must be frightened, I apologize for that. I never meant to cause you any pain. But then I also never envisioned writing this letter. I’ve searched for a satisfactory explanation for what I’m doing, all I’ve come up with is: a profiler needs to have solid footing. I- I don’t think I do anymore. The world confuses me. The cruelty, indifference, tragedy.

I stopped there, my eyesight becoming blurry from tears. I shoved the letter in my pocket, not caring at the moment if it got crumpled or not.

I was out of the cabin in no time -- choosing not to stay there and sulk in a deeper sadness.

-----

Waiting in the car for Spencer felt like torture. It was difficult, letting him go in there alone to be met with possibly no answers. I was thrown out of my thoughts by the sound of the cabin door slamming shut, Spencer jogging over to the car.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, red flags hanging immediately as he climbed in the car, tear soaked face pointed down towards his lap. It took me a moment to realize he was crying -- the rain had completely soaked through his top layer of clothes. He didn’t reply with words, instead reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. He handed it over to me, still not meeting my eyes.

I unfolded it and began to read -- it was hard, through the tear stains smudging the ink across the page.

“Oh, Spence…” I whispered and stopped after the first few sentences, leaving the rest for him. I didn’t know what to say, how to comfort him.

“He’s gone,” Spencer sniffled, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his nearly drenched jacket. “He just left. He didn’t say goodbye. He left me a note,” he froze, taking a few deep breaths. “Just like my dad did when I was a kid.”

“It’ll be okay. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s okay,” I assured him. “You know he cares about you, right?”

“I know he is. It’s just-” he started, trying to find the right words between his gasping for more air. “Can you just take me home, please.”

I nodded, while turning the car back on to drive away. Spencer kept his gaze towards the window, refusing to let me see his face. I’m selfishly almost glad for it, because I don’t know if seeing his heartbreak is something I could handle.

It was a long, quiet drive, taking around an hour and a half to finally reach his apartment. He scrambled out of the car fast, but I still walked him up as I usually did. He got to the door before me, thanking me for driving him home. He shut the door just as I got fully up the stairs, leaving me standing with my mouth open.

‘Baby, when you fought me at the door

Kinda hard to force what's natural

Maybe you don't want what you need most’

-----

The next day when he came over after work he was almost back to normal. It was weird to see, to see such a shift in his behaviour after less than twenty-four hours. As much as he tried to hide it, I could tell just how hard it was for him. The sudden change didn’t go well with anyone, we’d all been informed that Gideon wouldn’t be returning and that he’d moved on from the BAU. It was especially hard on Spencer too, since Elle had just left not too long ago, and then Emily joined the team. First he loses a friend, someone who truly understood him as I did, and then someone he considered a father figure.

And neither of them had said goodbye to his face. It was scary, knowing a member of your team could walk out and never return before you know it.

We were seated on the couch, a game of chess displayed on the middle cushion between us.

It wasn’t anywhere near a fair game -- Spencer’s skills were still far ahead of mine. However I noticed it made him smile, and that’s all I wanted. For him to feel loved, and secured. It was a sense of grounding, a routine that was regular in his life. I still wasn’t very good -- not having played since high school and that night on the last case. But I downloaded an audiobook and several player’s guides for the plane ride home to study, because I wanted to learn for Spencer’s sake. However I soon realized it was easier to watch Spencer and how he plays, and to ask him questions. He seemed to enjoy it, having someone else in his life to play with.. And he loved to teach, to help people learn. He was so good at it too, his big brain being used to help people no matter the context.

Eventually he won the game as usual, causing me to groan in frustration..

“You bastard.”

“Not my fault you kinda suck,” he laughed bashfully, lips curling up into a small smile. It was nice to see a bit of happiness on his face, no matter how temporary.

“You’re so rude to me,” I joked, moving the board to the coffee table. “I thought we were friends.”

It was silent for a few moments, with me figuring out what I was going to say next.

“Spencer I know you haven’t wanted my help, but please tell me what I can do for you. Tell me how you feel, at least?”

‘Maybe you don't want what you need most’

“It’s nothing, ____,” he breathed, looking away from me and instead at the wall the couch was facing. He could see our reflection on the blank tv, and instead opted to just look down at his lap. “I’m better now.”

‘You ain't even there for me

Now you're scared to be alone’

“Respectfully, that’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on. I know you don’t want to talk about this but at least give me something. Don’t keep it all in. It’s not healthy.”

His face screwed up at my words, eyebrows furrowed and lips twitching. I could tell he knew I was right, as much as he hated it.

“I’m just- I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Spencer whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear.

‘Got me thinkin' that you scared of yourself, not me’

It all made sense -- the way he’d been distancing himself lately. It took me promising candy and Star Trek for him to come over tonight, and even then he almost declined. Too many blows to the heart made him afraid to get attached. He didn’t want anyone else from his life to disappear in a flash.

“Look at me,” I said, and he snapped his head to face me. “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t claim to be far in the future, but right now? I’m here. You’re stuck with me for a while, Spencer.”

He smiled, closing his eyes as a stray tear graced across his cheek. I used my thumb to wipe it away, and pulled him into a tight hug. He relaxed against me, I felt the tensions in his shoulders deflate as I held him.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. His breath shuddered, and he wrapped his arms around my middle tighter, pushing his face into my shoulder to muffle his crying.

We sat for a while, my hands tracing patterns along his back. It took a few minutes for his cries to calm down, but eventually his breathing evened out with only a few hiccups here and there. He was practically sitting in my lap with his legs flung over mine, suddenly not caring about his personal space. I couldn’t blame him -- the boy was so touch starved he so clearly craved all contact he consented to.

“Do you want to spend the night?” I asked, quietly so I didn’t scare him with the sudden sound.

“Could I please?”

“Of course,” I smiled, pulling away. He still held on tight, not wanting to let go.

We made our way to my bedroom, repeating our usual routine. This wasn’t the first time we’d had a sleepover, and it won’t be the last I’m sure. Sometimes after particularly harder cases he would spend the night, just to be close to someone.

I went into the bathroom to change, giving him the opportunity to do the same. When I returned, he was dressed in a t-shirt and flannel pants he left at my place for sleepovers like this. He was already in bed, and when he saw that I was done in the bathroom he lifted the side of the blanket to welcome me in.

I joined him, grinning as he scooted over and pressed his back to my chest. I felt him breathing softly, my right arm slung over his torso to bring him in closer. He held onto my hand, and didn’t let me drift away. I was happy to comply, happy to feel his body warmth radiate through me.

“Thank you, ____. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Spence.”

From that day on for the foreseeable future, I swore to myself to have check-ins with Spencer whenever it seemed necessary. Whether it was in the form of words, sleepovers, movie nights, or chess.

His smile got brighter everyday, and eventually he no longer felt as much weight on himself a few weeks down the road. He still cried to me about how he missed Gideon, but it had gotten less frequent. And I was always there for him, offering my shoulder and the promise of my embrace. I knew he appreciated it too.

After a few months since our first game, I beat him in a game of chess. We were on the jet on the way to Montana for a case, and Derek was sitting beside Spencer. He kept annoying him, doing little things like twisting his hair and fanning him with files. Spencer kept shrieking quietly -- trying not to alert Hotch of the bickering.

“Checkmate,” I said, biting back a smile.

“What?!” Spencer froze, arm raised in what looked like to be a poor attempt of whacking Derek’s head.

“Awe, pretty boy. You’ll get her next time,” Derek threw his head back in laughter.

“What?” Spencer repeated quieter, eyes darting across the board, likely running calculations in his head.

“Better luck next time,” I smirked, tilting my head to the side. I wiggled my eyebrows, my small victory boosting my ego.

Spencer tried to keep a neutral face, but I could see by the tension in his cheekbones that he was happy. He was enjoying it.

-----

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[sambvcks]

crawl home to her, b.b. x reader

chapter one // body’s working on empty

summary: bucky isn’t as receptive to this new life of his as everyone had hoped. he’s cold, sharp-tongued, and closed off. except to the tenant across the hallway from him, who always wears pajamas and bakes a dozen too many of his favorite cookies

warnings: food, nothing too bad this chapter!

word count: 1.5k-ish

author’s note: i thought my marvel phase ended five years ago...here we are again. i haven’t written in awhile so please be kind! title and chapter titles taken from hozier’s ‘work song’.

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[ NEXT ]

Five minutes into their first session, Bucky decided he was going to make Dr. Raynor’s job as difficult as he possibly could.

It wouldn’t be an impossible task, seeing how this whole ordeal depended on him opening up and talking, two things that he had abandoned decades ago. Her unwavering stare was nothing more than a challenge, these fifty-minute sessions once a week were nothing more than a slight inconvenience to his lackluster day to day routine. He would play along, do whatever exercises she asked, and feign stability until he never had to see her again.

“Since this is our first session together, we’ll take it easy.” She promised with a forced upturn of her lips before whipping out her notebook.

Suddenly, it felt like he was encased in bulletproof glass in Berlin again. He remembered that the last time he had been forced into receiving psychiatric help, it hadn’t exactly gone to plan. His chin fell to his chest, hands wringing together as he thought of any excuse to request a different doctor. 

“Let’s begin.”

It was already getting too hot to wear leather gloves and his heavy jacket. New York’s heatwave was supposed to be the highest on record this year and while kids popped open fire hydrants in the street, Bucky would be settled on the hardwood floor in the back corner of his apartment, waiting.

Waiting for what, he wasn’t quite sure.

It was a fairly nice apartment, newly renovated and practically barren. Government issued and funded, of course, and he had spent the first night pulling the furniture from the walls to the center of the room in search of bugs and cameras. He found thirty-four, destroyed them under a rolling pin, and they hadn’t come to replace them. Message received.

The one thing he really liked about the apartment building were his neighbors. The price tag for a one bedroom was substantial to say the least and only older couples could really afford it. No children, no dogs, no outsiders. The only break from his undisturbed routine would be occasionally helping Mrs. Johnson down the hall carry her groceries as she struggled to get the door unlocked with her brittle hands.

They affectionately called him James and the older women were quick to get a hold of his arms, saying things like “They don’t make them like you anymore, James!”. He swallowed the bile prickling at the back of his throat as he nodded, and they moved on to telling him about their single granddaughters.

It was almost nice, his routine. Almost.

Outside of those small encounters, he spent most of his waking hours jogging in the park and cooking the same three meals. He had his appointment every Wednesday with Dr. Raynor, but that was it. He’d take two trains back to his apartment and wouldn’t emerge again until he needed groceries two days later.

It was when he was returning from one of his biweekly grocery trips, a paper bag settled on his hips, that he spotted you outside his door.

He stilled in the hallway, taking a quick step back to peek around the corner without being spotted. His breath stalled, his ears picking up your soft humming and the crinkle of plastic as you set a bundle of cookies at his doorstep, the only one without a mat. His eyes flicked to the other doors, where identical bags of cookies sat propped up, tied with blood red ribbons.

His shoulders relaxed. No threat.

The bottom of his grocery bag suddenly gave way, fruit rolling in every direction. Bucky fell to his knees, glove clad hands snatching up everything he could reach as quickly as he could manage. You were faster, though, and scooped up a plum that had rolled your way, offering it over as he tried to balance the rest of his groceries in his arms.

“Thanks.” He was quick to sweep past you, hand digging in his pockets for his key.

“James, right? Ms. Robinson downstairs is like, in love with you.”

“Yeah, but, uh-“ Dr. Raynor’s instructions from their last session rang in his head, as much as he tried to tune her out: make connections. “You can call me Bucky.” He cleared his throat. “And Mrs. Robinson is far too good for me.”

“Bucky it is then.” You trailed him down the hallway, “Y/N.”

Bucky tried to sneak a glance at you from the corner of his eyes, which was harder to inconspicuously do now that he had gotten a haircut and couldn’t hide his wandering eyes behind long tresses. Young was Bucky’s first thought. much younger than the other renters in the building. Bright was next, followed by much too smiley for a Tuesday morning.

Pretty, he admitted as he turned his back to unlock his door. Maybe in another life he would have lingered in the hall, his so-called effortless charm seeping through as you swooned at the very thought of a date with James Buchanan Barnes. But that life was long gone, and instead he rushed to retreat.

“Oh, don’t forget these.” You swooped down to collect the bundle of cookies you had left at his door, handing them to the hand that wasn’t delicately balancing the pile of groceries he still held against his impossibly broad shoulders. “Oatmeal raisin, super-secret family recipe.”

He was back in the doorway of his ma’s kitchen, watching his little sister balance on a wobbling stool as she struggled to crack and egg with her little fingers. He can so distinctly see the pale green of the cabinets, remember the fight his parents had when she begged for that shade of green while his dad had wanted white. Of course, she won.

“These are your brother’s favorite.” His ma whispered to his sister; her flour covered hands reaching for the age faded index card with their grandmother’s script detailing the ingredients. “Our family’s recipe. One day, you will make these for your children. And your children’s children.”

Rebecca, still so young and with a hatred for smelly boys deep in her bones, giggled at the mere thought as her fingers fished out the bits of eggshell that snuck their way into the bowl. She wiped it away on the spare apron tied twice around her waist, much too big for her. 

Bucky would never see her grow into it. He would be drafted only a few months later.

In the meantime, he would bundle half a dozen of them in a tea towel and split them with Steve on the walk to the movie theater. Steve would begrudgingly admit that Buck’s ma made the best cookies, but his made the best brisket. They’d sneak in through the back door and do it all again the next weekend, until they ran out of weekends together.

“Oatmeal raisin are my favorite.” He admitted, accepting your offering like a stray cat does to the first scrap of food from a stranger.

“I think you’re the only person under the age on one hundred to ever say that.” You teased, backing away to the door adjacent to his, “Anyway, don’t tell me things like that. I’m a stress baker and with finals coming up…” You winced at the image of the dozens of batches you would surely be whipping up in the coming weeks.

“Finals?”

“Law school, one semester left.” You fished your own keys from your back pocket. Bucky barely held in the scoff at the shiny Spider-Man keychain that dangled from your fingers. “You?”

“Oh, no. I haven’t been in school in what feels like…a century.”

“Well, I’m all alone here and as much as I would love to, I can’t eat everything that I bake. So, expect a few dozen muffins and cookies every few days.”

“No arguing from me, doll.”

You both lingered in the small hallway, only a few steps apart, each leaning against your respective doors. Keys in each hand, with no intention of using them any time soon.

“Law school, you said? How do you afford a place like this?” Bucky was sure he was the only recently pardoned fugitive under this room.

“Well, this used to be my grandma’s apartment and it was handed down to me in a maybe no so legal way. If the landlord asks, I’m an eighty-year-old woman who doesn’t know how to work her answering machine.”

He huffed a laugh, mostly because that wasn’t particularly far from how he felt with today’s tech. The flip phone that Dr. Raynor had described as archaic sat heavy in his back pocket with only three names programed into his contacts. Don’t get him started on his television.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

With that, you each stepping into your respective apartments. Bucky stalled at his door for a moment, listening as you locked and dead bolted your door behind you. He sighed, dumping his half-ruined groceries on his barren kitchen island.

The next day, he’d have another appointment with Dr. Raynor. This time when he’d say I’m trying, as he did each week, it wouldn’t be a complete lie. His phone buzzed in his back pocket.

2 New Messages

From: Sam

You coming up this weekend?

Don’t ignore me this time. He’s getting worse, Buck.

[mongooseblues]

Well folks. Here it is. The horniest thing I’ve ever written. CW for some mess, as you might expect for a piece about someone in a shower with a running nose, but I’m not super into mess myself so it’s more implied than described for the most part. I couldn’t get the idea of shower sneeze out of my head so I’ll put it into yours.

-- - -- - -- - -- -��-- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - --

The first thing he does upon getting home is turn the faucet to the highest setting to start a shower white-hot enough to be appropriately described as scalding. That would help, that would probably help.

He undresses as hissing steam gradually fogs the room, his peaky reflection becoming little more than a blur in the mirror. It’s cloudy and dreamlike, almost some fevered unreality by the time he steps into the spray, the temperature change provoking an instantaneous smattering of goosebumps and a good hard shiver. It takes all of maybe one minute for the steam to depressurize his sinuses and leave him with a remarkably runny nose and a tickle so sudden and overwhelming that he’s sneezing before he realizes he’s going to.

He snaps forward into the gushing water with an urgent, “HihYISSHHue—” hard and sharp in the acoustical bounce-back from tile and porcelain, an echolocation of resounding decibels that’s loud in his own ears. One isn’t enough because it never is and especially not right now so of course he’s going to—

“IIXSHHOO!” Sneeze again, “hih!” and—

“ISSHHyue!!” Again.

One after the other and depleting what feels like all of the air in his lungs, mandating a gasp like he’s coming up for air which technically speaking he is, pulling his head from the discontinuous curtain of water, sputtering post-baptismal. He slides his hair back from his forehead, two separate streams now running down his face, and wipes at his upper lip with a sigh.

He supposes it’s not unhygienic, to use his hands to blow his nose into, considering he’s able to rinse them off immediately. It does feel a little gross, even though it’s basically clear and barely viscous, undergoing quick liquefaction in his hands and erased by rushing water. And the obscuring steam makes this an even more private unraveling. It’s okay here, to be sick.

His only objective is to rid himself of every milliliter of it, forcibly empty his sinuses as much as he can, fingers folded over his nose and pressing closed one nostril at a time. It begins, the hopeful emptying, in effortless production, but eventually after dwindling relief crosses some line where it starts to feel aggressive and there’s a stinging burn that reminds him of breaching the surface of a swimming pool.

His nose and sinuses are warm and swollen and ever tendering with his continual abuses. He really should be more gentle or at least pace himself over the course of this cold because there’s plenty more of it to come, so this is the last time he’s going to blow his nose for now. This final go however buzzes so intensely against oversensitive membranes that he has to wrinkle his face and perform a little head shake that actually just makes him want to sneeze again.

Which he does in short order, a stabilizing hand finding purchase against the tiled wall, drawing a tremulous breath, small droplets of water slipping their way into his parted mouth and very temporarily pooling there.

Wet but richly voiced and made louder by ringing echo, “HihIIDSHHoo! —HIISSHHuu!!”

The briefest possible cycle of inhale-exhale-inhale leads into a higher pitched and very breathy, “Hih’IIHHH-hoo!” that almost makes him stumble and causes a few wetted locks of hair to tumble forward.

The groan afterwards is rather dramatic. He blinks to refocus through wet lashes and lets the pressure of the water gently recline his head backward. Letting go of the wall, finally, to rake his fingers through his hair, other hand occupied with an absent swipe under his nose at the resulting not-so-fluid trickle until it becomes clear this effort requires both hands and the whole production of blowing his nose over and over and okay just once more.

It does again tickle terribly at one point, and for a few unsteady seconds he thinks he might sneeze three goddamn more times but then miraculously doesn’t, just squints vaguely toward the corner of the shower with gaping lips and widened nostrils, a wavering look of white-flagged surrender. It’s almost meditative to close his eyes and concentrate on the distorted rhythm of indecisive breaths waxing and waning, and the patter of water against his skin. But then the feeling dissolves into a huffy exhale and he remembers he does have other things to do in here besides sneeze. Wash his hair and body, for example.

He works soap into a lather and allows himself longer than usual, letting the water pound and pulse against his shoulders and the back of his neck, which feels particularly tight. Self-soothing, his typical brisk and efficient shampoo scrub lengthening, softening into indulgently slow kneading.

He takes a minute to rub at his face, pressing the heel of a hand between his eyebrows to massage an oval into the ache building there and emits an involuntary moan falling somewhere between pleasure and exhaustion. Employing his shriveled fingertips to travel along the lines of his sinuses beneath his eyes and above his cheeks, palpating the places where it hurts. He’s unable to make it through his routine to the point of rinse much less repeat before he’s pulled out of it and into yet another crashing crescendo he grits his teeth against.

“HrrRISSHue!” The sudden velocity of the motion sends suds jettisoning from his hair, combining with misty spray.

“hih!YIISHHoo! IIZSHH-shuue...!” It concludes with a deflated release and leaves him an overall streaking and streaming mess.

Blowing his nose in here is starting to become a very tiresome chore. He’ll reach a point where he feels like he’s done and then the steam and heat inspire a new round of melting congestion he goes on trying to rid himself of, in an almost mechanically continuous loop and okay it’s probably not going to stop on his account.

Finally he rinses himself of all remaining foamy traces of soap and shampoo, enveloping his entire being into the disorienting rush of frenzied water, for a few moments feeling that uncomfortable washing machine nausea. Frankly he can no longer tell whether or not his nose is still running. This is probably as clean as he’s going to get and that’s fine by him because he’s starting to get dizzy and this is no place to be dizzy with its hard slippery surfaces.

He turns off the faucet and leaves the sanctuary of steam, suppressing a shudder as he pushes the shower curtain back into its accordion folds and steps out onto the much colder floor. He’s toweling his hair off when niggling irritation stops him and somehow he can no longer do anything else but just stand there, forestalled, waiting. His chest swells with need and his breath catches on a jagged-edged inhale and oh apparently he’s just going to sneeze into this towel because there wasn’t really enough warning to be thoughtful about towels—

“ErrRIISHHue!” directed into scratchy terrycloth, hands folding the entire thing around his face but he’s never been very good at muffling anyhow “—IIXXSHHuue!” He pulls back for a second to draw a bated breath through curling lips before his still-wet shoulders seize him into the third act of this exhausting display.

“hehh’YISHHHOO!!” ...Wow. His face feels loose and fuzzy in the aftermath. He never thought a shower could leave him so spent. A single quick wet cough crackles and breaks in his throat, bluntly foreshadowing worse yet to come. He sighs heavily, manages a slushy snuffle. Waterlogged and goosefleshed and dripping over the ground. Feeling naked in more ways than one.

He really is about to be quite sick isn’t he.

[unbridgeabledistances]

okayyy so i had something heavier/hurt-comforty in the works as a gapfiller about mickey processing (bc we all need that!!!) but this fluffy little 3+1 about ian and mickey singing to each other happened instead— i hope u enjoy💞

a 3+1 of 3 times ian sang to mickey, and one time mickey sang to ian (to give context to the absolutely wild 11x09 serenade)

also the biggest shoutout to @southside-forever’s 80s gallavich playlist which has SO many bops and inspired bits of this😌

--

1.

Mickey didn’t really know when it all started— Ian was always fucking humming these days, always whistling or singing some tune under his breath when he came out of the shower. He was more buoyant recently, lighter— the security gig was going well, and these days it felt like something looming and heavy had lifted, releasing the crooked hunch out of Ian’s shoulders that had taken root the sour morning weeks before as he shoveled Fruit Loops and Jameson into his mouth. Since then, it felt like he and Ian were finally on the same goddamn page for once— like they had a purpose, like they were moving forward.

Or at least, moving forward on the weekdays— but today was a slow, lazy Saturday, and Mickey was still laying in bed in a tank top and boxers, sweaty and entangled in the crumpled sheets, laying back with his head on the pillow and playing some overly-gory sharpshooter game on his phone. He’d been trying to beat this fucking level a million times, but his thumb couldn’t move quickly enough at the pivotal moment when he had to shoot a bunch of enemy forces— he’d been at the game for a good half hour, since when Ian had sleepily stumbled off of the mattress sporting a full bedhead to go take a shower, and Mickey was starting to get a tinny, sharp headache from staring at his phone screen for too long. He was just starting to consider getting up, to peel off his sweaty tank top and head downstairs to grab some coffee— when Ian came into the room from his shower, a fraying towel wrapped around his lower half and his torso slick with excess water droplets. Mickey flickered his eyes up from his game for a moment, taking an… appreciative glance, and then quickly focused his attention back on his pixelated mission as Ian stood in front of the dresser in the cramped bedroom, and started to rustle through the drawers for a t-shirt.

Mickey maneuvered his buff video game avatar through a minefield, biting his lip in concentration— when his sharp focus was suddenly infiltrated by Ian, singing under his breath in an airy tone.

“Ooooooh we’re halfway there.”

Mickey gritted his teeth slightly and tried to pour all his attention into the pivotal moment of the level, but half of his mind was being pulled to listen to Ian’s gravelly voice, continuing to softly murmur to himself in a tone that was ridiculously off-key.

“She says we’ve gotta hoooold on, to what we’ve got—”

Mickey’s phone screen flickered. GAME OVER.

Mickey wanted to throw his phone at the fucking wall. He inhaled, then pressed “Start Game” again, one last time— and again, his focus was disrupted by Ian, singing under his breath as he pulled on his jeans and gently pattered his hands in a rhythm on the top of the dresser— which was endearing and sappy as fuck, sure, but it was not helping Mickey with the task at hand. Mickey puffed out a sharp, frustrated breath, keeping his eyes on his phone screen.

“The fuck are you singing for right now?”

Ian suddenly gave a sheepish smile over his shoulder as he rifled through their sock drawer, like he’d been caught in the middle of doing something wrong.

“Don’t know. Song was just stuck in my head I guess.”

Mickey glared at Ian, pressing his thumb to the screen to pause his game. “Cut that shit out.”

Ian rolled his eyes fondly, sitting on the edge of the mattress to pull on his socks. “You should be thanking me for serenading you with your fucking eighties dad music. I could be singing Carly Rae Jepson right now, or some other pop bullshit that you hate.”

Mickey felt an involuntary, amused smirk split onto his face, and he tried to turn it into a scowl. Fucking adorable motherfucker.

“Okay, tough guy. If anything you should be thanking me for cleansing your ears from the techno garbage that you used to listen to.”

Ian gave a soft smile, shoulders turning fully towards Mickey now that he’d finished pulling on his socks— and then he turned and clambered into the bed, hovering above Mickey and causing Mickey’s fingers to go slack around his phone case. Mickey could smell the warm, freshly-showered scent of him, all cheap bar soap and Old Spice deodorant, and felt the soft press of his t-shirt through Mickey’s thin tank top— an overly worn t-shirt, one of Mickey’s, that stretched just a little too tight over Ian’s torso.

Ian looked down at Mickey, fucking beaming for some reason, his eyes light. He swooped down, pressing a soft, quick kiss above Mickey’s eyebrow. And then—

“Take my haaaand, we’ll make it I sweeear”

Mickey felt an involuntary, uncomfortable chuckle bubble up out of his ribcage. Was Ian fucking… singing? To him? It definitely seemed like it. And as much as he didn’t want it to, because this was fucking sappy and ridiculous and… well, gay— Mickey couldn’t help the fact that his husband leaning over him, breathily singing the tune of one of their goddamn wedding songs in his husky tone-deaf voice, made Mickey’s blood run a little bit hotter; which was bullshit, because absolutely nothing about this should be hot, and it was probably the most disgustingly married thing that Mickey could think of— but apparently everything about Ian, every dorky and fucking god-awful cringey thing that he did, was a turn-on, or at least according to Mickey’s thudding heartbeat and sweaty palms right now.

Ian’s face was still hovering centimeters above his, his eyebrows raised triumphantly and sporting a sappy fucking grin, like he knew how affected Mickey was by this, no matter how much Mickey grumbled and complained and tried to hide it.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking soft, Gallagher.”

Ian just leaned down again, kissing up the slope of Mickey’s neck and biting at his earlobe—and, okay, maybe Mickey could get behind Ian’s singing after all.

 2.

Ian’s singing was starting to get fucking ridiculous— and as much as it made something deep inside Mickey feel a light pang of relief, to see Ian being his old bubbly self again in the rhythms of routine and held by the safety net of financial stability because of the security gig that made the air between them less stale, it also meant that they were also around each other pretty much 24/7, and Ian’s serenades were starting to get relentless.

While they pretty much had a common ground in liking nostalgic 80s music, they would still inevitably argue about what music to play in the ambulance every morning— and whatever shitty album they eventually chose to put on, whether it was Ian’s pop garbage of Mickey’s mellower 80s tunes, Ian’s brain would apparently absorb all the songs like a fucking sponge and he’d start singing them all day long—in the kitchen, in the shower, even when they were just laying in bed on their phones and Ian would constantly hum absentmindedly.

Today they were driving to some bougie dispensary in Glencoe, near a bunch of ridiculous mansions on the very outskirts of the city, and it was Ian’s turn to pick the music— Mickey usually elected one of the well-loved CDs that he’d jammed into the glove compartment as they were refurbishing the ambulance, CDs that he’d kept since he was a kid when he piled them high in the corner of his grimy room next to a half-broken boombox— but as much as they were Mickey’s comfort CDs, Ian could only listen to Bon Jovi so many times before he started to slander 80s music as a collective genre.

“Can we just listen to something by someone who isn’t older than us, just this once?”

“Easy for you to say, Gallagher. At least the music that I like has fucking words.”

When it was Ian’s turn to pick the music, he usually picked more modern stuff with heavy beats and a thrumming bass (though more often than not he also appeased Mickey’s tastes with some “80s throwback” playlist he’d found on Spotify that he’d noticed Mickey would bob his head along to)—but on longer drives, like this one, it was easy to butt heads about the soundtrack. Ian had allowed Mickey to play through one of his Queen CDs that morning, and then Ian had put on some whiny indie bullshit from a playlist on his phone for the other half of the drive— now they were heading home after a long day, with the stereo turned low to a local radio station.

They’d settled into a comfortable silence, as they often did at the end of the day when their energy faded— Ian had stopped pattering his hands on the steering wheel like he usually did when he was amped up and buzzing with energy in the mornings, and Mickey could tell they were both ready to collapse onto the couch the second they set foot in the door.

Mickey blew out a deflated breath and reached to turn up the radio, tuning in to some middle-aged host with a cheery voice chattering about the heat wave in Chicago that upcoming weekend—and then the airwaves went silent, and there was the overdramatic sound of a slamming door and a gospel choir.

Ian’s ears nearly fucking perked up at the sound as the opening chords began.

“Life is a mystery… Everyone must stand alone…”

Ian immediately raised his voice to join in, the tired slouch leaving his shoulders.

“I hear you call my naaaame”

He turned to Mickey and pointed overdramatically, causing Mickey to shove his arm away but unable to quell the overly fond grin that he knew was blooming on his face.

“And it feels like… home.”

The beat dropped, rolling into the chorus, and Ian energetically drummed his hands against the steering wheel once more.

“C’mon, Mick!” Ian laughed, throwing his head back dramatically as he sang while still trying to keep his eyes on the road.

“When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer, I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there.” Ian’s pitchiness clashed with the melody, but he was too focused on singing and bopping side to side in this seat to really care.

Mickey rolled his eyes, his lips still turned upwards at the corners while he watched his absolute dork of a husband jamming to Madonna. “Isn’t this song about giving someone a blowjob or some shit?”

Ian gave an easygoing laugh. “Technically, yes. And it’s also definitionally a gay anthem, which means you have to sing with me.”

Mickey scoffed and flipped Ian off. “Fuck off.”

Ian raised a playful eyebrow, and continued to sing with relentless eye contact:

“It’s like a dreeeeam, no end and no beginning”

Mickey felt heat rise into his cheeks against his will. No fucking way was he going to sing a Madonna song about a blowjob stone-cold sober at 2pm on a Tuesday while driving home from work with his fucking husband—which, wow, that was probably the gayest sentence that had ever crossed Mickey’s mind in his 26 years of existence (which was definitely saying a lot).

This wasn’t ever a place Mickey thought he’d be in— sitting beside Ian so comfortably, singing fucking songs while they drove home from their daily commute; getting to soak up all the warmth, all the brightness that had always radiated out of Ian so intensely that it nearly blinded him, a warmth that he’d always wanted to lean in closer to even when they were just scrawny kids in a shitty neighborhood still figuring everything out.

Maybe, just maybe— it was okay to lean in a little more.

By the time the chorus rolled around the third time, Mickey was begrudgingly humming along, like he usually did whenever the songs that Ian was singing on and endless loop got stuck in his own head and popped up while he was brushing his teeth or making toast for breakfast— by the time the final rhythmic chorus faded to silence on the radio waves, Mickey glanced over at Ian, singing at the top of his lungs, face slightly flushed and grinning ear to ear.

“Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there.”

3.

Ian and Mickey were walking down the moonlit sidewalk, veering back home after an evening at Lip’s— the night had honestly been weirdly enjoyable, which was definitely a welcome reprieve from all of Lip and Debbie’s intense back-and-forths about the house over the past few weeks. Tami and Lip had needed to go over to Brad and Cami’s for some bullshit crisis management about the stolen bikes, and Ian had readily agreed to watch Freddie— which meant that whether he liked it or not, Mickey had spent his Friday evening at Lip’s half-packed apartment watching Ian coo over a one-year-old, which was… not a totally unwelcome sight.

Trying to keep his shit together, Mickey had snapped a picture to send to the Gallagher family group chat, and everyone had immediately given them shit about being so eager to babysit and get their hands on a toddler like a couple of baby-crazed newlyweds—which had caused Mickey to start overzealously complaining in the groupchat to compensate while Ian occupied Freddie. Kev had noticed the texts and swung by Lip and Tami’s house after closing the Alibi to keep the two of them company, bringing by a pack of beers—and now he and Ian were warm and happily buzzed, relieved of their babysitting duties and walking the chilly city streets back towards the Gallagher house.

Halfway through the walk Ian had interlaced their fingers, and now their arms were swinging slightly as they turned the final corner to walk down the last stretch of pavement towards the chain-link fence—when suddenly, Ian stopped cold a few houses away from the Gallagher front porch. He looked down at Mickey, raising their entangled hands and pressing a kiss to the inside of Mickey’s wrist.

Mickey raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Ian just looked back at him—his cheeks glowing pink from the few beers, his eyes light and unguarded under the streetlamps.

“This spot reminded me of something.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. Of fucking course it did. Ian was a sappy motherfucker on the best of days, but with a couple of beers in him he was practically uncontrollable.

“What?”

All of a sudden Ian let go of his hand, punching into the air dramatically.

“Cause love is a battlefiiiield”

Mickey laughed, feeling warm hot blood rush to his cheeks in delight—and fuck, he loved his husband so goddamn much. And just this once, mostly because of the own alcohol running thick in his bloodstream, Mickey made the lurching decision to join in, stepping closer towards Ian and raising his hands equally as dramatically.

“No promises, no demands”

“Woooooah”

Ian had practically doubled over with laughter, tears welling in the corner of his eyes—and Mickey let himself get lost in it, the warm feeling buzzing through his body, of love and joy and fuck knows what else, getting to sing on a fucking street corner with his husband a decade after everything had gone so gut-wrenchingly wrong, leaving him bleeding on this same pavement.

They stumbled over their own feet up the stairs, fumbling out of their clothes and collapsing into bed—and later, just as Mickey was on the brink of fading into unconsciousness, Ian mumbled the same refrain into the crook of Mickey’s neck in a sleepy voice, like the song was still stuck in his head and he just couldn’t help it.

“Love is a battlefield.”

4.

It was late— it was one of those slow, tender nights when the past was hanging heavy over them, laying pressed together in bed as thin streams of moonlight poured in through the blinds, pressing whispers into each other’s skin about all of the hurt and the doubt that had been seeped up and healed with time.

Ian was sprawled back on the bed and Mickey was laying with his head resting on his chest, feeling his ribcage expand and contract each time he took a breath. They’d absorbed so much the past few weeks— the sick, twisted blows of a loss that felt all the more jagged and painful because of how muddled the grief for Terry was—but after a few days had passed they’d found a place to settle, in the comforting press of the silence in their bedroom.

Mickey was mindlessly playing with Ian’s fingers, listening to his steady breathing—and without thinking, he ran a finger over the cool silver of Ian’s wedding band, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“I still can’t believe we’re married sometimes, man.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s lips curve upward into a smile from where his mouth was pressed against the top of Mickey’s head.

“Yeah, me either.”

And Mickey felt something bubbling, something welling— and he didn’t ever fucking sing, not unless Ian made him, but Ian was always fucking dropping song lines into sappy moments like this.

So he took a breath, and, half-singing but mostly talking, in a way that sounded almost mocking if it wasn’t so soft around the edges, he let out into the dark silence of the room:

“At last….”

He wasn’t even singing, not really—he was just sort of… saying the words in a singsongy way, but he knew that Ian could tell what he was doing, what he was trying to do. He was trying to be as fucking sweet and soft and pliant as Ian was, as Ian always was in moments like this, in a way that sometimes made Mickey feel brittle and hard in comparison. This time, Mickey wanted to breathe out the love he had for him into this moment, the love that made his ribcage feel like it was going to fucking burst— a love that he felt erupting outwards when Ian had played this song for him for the first time a few weeks before the wedding, and had asked with a shy smile, “D’you think it’d be okay if you walked down the aisle to this song?”

Ian’s chest shook with laughter, and he carded a hand through Mickey’s hair. And then, in his gentle, sleep-soft voice, in a breathy tone that tickled the shell of Mickey’s ear:

“My looove has come along”

Mickey rolled his eyes fondly, just to prove something to himself, even though he knew Ian couldn’t see him—and then he reached a hand upward and leaned back, drawing Ian’s chin forward to press his lips to his for a brief, lingering moment.

Mickey settled back against Ian’s chest again, and felt Ian press a kiss to the top of his head. He smiled contentedly, closing his heavy eyelids.

Maybe being a couple of sappy motherfuckers wasn’t so bad.

[catgrump]

consider: 4 (when did u last eat?) with naegami? //byakuya voice: food is for the weak, coffee is superior*

I did consider and I decided on something else lol

It’s still Naegami tho don’t worry 🥰😌

And it’s Post-Canon! This is like pre-SDR2’s events so uh mild DR3 Anime spoilers and some SDR2 spoilers!

🌻🌻🌻

Makoto looked over his desk and felt absolutely overwhelmed.

The recovered Hope’s Peak Academy files were strewn about and the words were all melting together in his mind.

He went to school with these kids, and it frustrates and agonizes him that he can’t remember who they were.

He picked up the nearest sheet of paper and looked at the name and ID photo printed on it.

“Where are you?” He begged the parchment for answers, as if it could speak back to him.

He looked at the face of this guy. The printer ink distorted it a bit, but he looks like he would’ve been such a nice person.

“Why can’t I find you in particular? Are you hiding?” He whispered his questions even though the office was bare, “It must be the Luck.”

He stared into the eyes of the shoddily printed black and white photograph, somehow hoping the one thing that tied him and this other former Hope’s Peak student together would send him a sign.

And the longer he looked and stared, the more his peripheral vision caught up with the other black and white photos on his desk.

The former students’ faces all spun around in his head, laughing at him. Taunting him.

His head was heavy and light at the same time. The room felt like it was spinning. The ticking of the clock’s second hand grew louder and louder and louder and louder

“AAAAHHHHH GOD DAMMIT GOD DAMMIT—“ he shouted from deep within his gut, slamming his fists down on the wooden desk, but suddenly caught himself, holding his forehead to attempt to stabilize, “god... dammit...”

His eyes were fluttering shut. He barely comprehended the door in front of him opening.

He could barely make out Byakuya’s look of panic and fear as Makoto’s vision went black and his head slammed down onto the desk’s surface.

———

“Makoto?”

“... huh?” Sound barely escaped from Makoto’s mouth as he came to.

Makoto’s eyes drifted up and shifted into focus to see Byakuya sitting beside him.

He just connected that the warmth on his back was Byakuya’s hand.

“I didn’t know you were still here,” Makoto hoarsely told Byakuya’s worried eyes

“I was about to leave when I heard you scream,” Makoto trembled when he realized Byakuya’s fingers were softly brushing back and forth across the fabric of his blazer, “You passed out for a few moments; when did you last eat?”

“Hah,” Makoto weakly chuckled, “Even now you find a way to criticize me... that’s so like you...”

Makoto felt his head get heavy again but was snapped back when Byakuya’s other hand held on to his cheek and jaw, trying to balance between fight and flight

“I’m not criticizing you, Makoto, I’m asking about your physical health,” Even now, his words had their signature venom and his face, as perfect as it was, had its signature scowl, “I don’t think I ever saw you leave this office today.”

“I made so much progress, Byakuya,” Makoto deflected, trying not to exert anymore energy than was necessary, “I found three of them. They travel in a pack; if one is around, the other two aren’t far behind—“

“Makoto—“

“And I think one of them is the source for the weaponized Monokumas loose in the city—“

“Makoto—“

“He’s the Ultimate Mechanic, Byakuya; if we get him, we can at least stop any more machinated monstrosities—“

Byakuya’s hold on Makoto’s face strengthened and he tilted Makoto to be at his level, “Makoto. I admire all the work you’re doing, but I’m worried you’re killing yourself.”

Makoto didn’t want to admit it, but Byakuya was right. He can’t remember the last time he had water to drink. He’s been in this room since early this morning, piecing together tips and clues and trying to disguise it all as routine business just running on cups of coffee.

The fact that this plan is being kept so under wraps is driving him mad enough.

But when he looks at Byakuya— a man he never expected to be the comforting hand— he feels confident in what they’re doing.

And then he felt his face heat up. He couldn’t determine if that was from embarrassment or exhaustion or... attraction.

“Byakuya?”

“Yes?”

“You never call me that.”

“What; your name?”

“I can’t...” his words were fuzzy and went from his brain to his mouth in milliseconds, almost as if he weren’t processing them at all, “I can’t remember you ever calling me Makoto.”

His hands were still there.

“Ridiculous,” Byakuya scoffed, “I’m sure I’ve—“

“I can’t remember, that’s all,” Makoto’s eyes were being drawn shut like curtains and his head was jerking forward with Byakuya helping him resist, “Maybe you have. I just can’t remember.”

“Makoto, I’m taking you to your room. You need to rest.”

“H-hide the papers, please,” Makoto asked, giving in to Byakuya’s care as he felt his body giving in to shutting down

Through his exhaustion, Makoto guided Byakuya through securing the documents from any other Future Foundation members’ eyes.

Byakuya carefully took Makoto’s arms and helped him up, making sure to go slow to avoid any vertigo

They were close. Makoto felt his body pressed against Byakuya’s as Byakuya held him up, leading him out of the corporate sector of the HQ, toward their rooms.

As tired as Makoto was— as much as Makoto’s body was screaming for rest— his mind was occupied by ‘close’.

He’s close to bringing in the Remnants.

He’s close to pinning down the locations of three of them specifically.

He’s close to Byakuya.

Makoto hasn’t had too much time lately to worry about this attraction that’s been in the back of his mind for... he doesn’t even know how long it’s been.

But every time Byakuya surprises him somehow— tonight especially— it comes back.

I guess pining can’t be repressed, he thought.

Makoto fished his room key out of his pocket and Byakuya snatched it out of his hand, unlocking the room for him.

He continued to aide Makoto in settling back down, gently bringing him to sit at the edge of his bed.

“What do you have in here to eat?” Byakuya practically demanded, starting to sift through Makoto’s drawers

“Huh?”

“I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re okay,” he insisted, “You must have some sort of food in here.”

Makoto focused his eyes a bit and remembered, “there’s a sleeve of crackers in the nightstand.”

Byakuya aggressively opened the drawer and found them instantly, shoving them toward Makoto.

He also took note of the empty plastic water bottles littering the surface of said nightstand and grabbed one, crinkling the plastic in his fingers and storming into the bathroom

Makoto’s brain was suddenly processing.

Bed.

No, eat crackers.

Then bed.

He heard grumbling coming from his bathroom followed by a faucet turning on as he finally let his body eat.

As soon as he swallowed, the sleeve of crackers kind of just fell out of his hands as his body crawled into fetal position in bed, shoes still on.

He shut his eyes and wasn’t quite drifting off, but he didn’t have enough energy to turn around to face Byakuya as he came back from the bathroom.

“Drink some—“

Byakuya must’ve cut off his train of thought when he saw Makoto laying like that.

After a few moments, Makoto heard the water bottle’s base rest on the nightstand from whence it came.

Then, he felt the mattress sink a little further.

Then, he felt a hand hesitantly brush through his hair.

That was followed by a sigh.

“If you’re not going to take care of yourself,” Byakuya spoke softly as his fingers soothed Makoto to sleep, “I guess I’ll have to do that for you. I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping a better watch. I’ll do better from now on, darling.”

And in a daze, Makoto smiled, and prayed Byakuya would stay by his side.

If you enjoy my work, you can leave a tip in my tip jar! (Ko-Fi) 💛 Fics will always be free; this is just an additional way to support me

[depressing-debbie]

REINER SIMP BACK FOR MORE!! If you're interested, of course, fluff alphabet for the absolute blonde of my dreams???

WELCOME BACK, I had so much fun with this one <3

Every time I write for post time skip Reiner it ends up just the slightest bit angsty, so just be aware

Again, I'm using the prompt by @snk-warriors

Post time skip of course! :)

Fluff Alphabet: Reiner

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

The activity doesn't really matter to him, he really just likes being with them. He’d do any kind of activity that they suggest because he loves the way their eyes light up doing things they’re passionate about. But, if his SO likes going on fun dates, he’d definitely be down to plan something. Probably still something pretty small and intimate, maybe like a picnic or a walk through a pretty area.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He definitely loves his SO’s eyes, especially the way they light up when they’re excited. He also loves getting to watch them while they’re moving around or doing something, he thinks they’re so amazing just existing. More than anything, though, he really admires their personality and spirit.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Reiner wouldn’t know instinctively what to do at all, but he’d be so concerned. He’d probably just sit with them quietly the first time, and then have a discussion later about what they’d like him to do in the future. And he definitely commits that to memory, so the next time they’re down or anxious, he knows exactly what to do. He has his fair share of negative experience with mental health and image, so he knows at least to some extent what they’re going through, and he’ll do whatever he can to make sure they no longer have to feel that way.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

I think it takes a while for him to actually imagine his SO being in his future just because he’s endured so much loss in his life, but one he finally allows himself to start to make plans, he definitely has a nice rosy little vision for the future. It’s total domestic bliss, with a cozy home, a vegetable garden, and maybe even kids (depending on his SO, of course). He really craves that peaceful security of a boring, stable life because he’s never gotten to experience it before, so thinking of the future makes him really happy.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

It’s definitely pretty equal. He doesn’t go into relationships with any preconceived notions of playing an active or passive role, so it really just depends on his SO and how their dynamic falls. But for the most part, he’s happiest when he’s able to alternate between the two, both comforting and being comforted.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He’s honestly not great with conflict. He really hates fighting and would never instigate a fight, but when it does occur, he gets hurt pretty easily. He has so much going on in his own head, and conflict with his SO just adds to internal self doubt. But, since he really doesn’t want to fight, he’s always open and willing to make up at any time. 

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Reiner is so grateful. He is constantly showering them in praise and thank you’s, and he just feels so damn lucky to be with them. Every small act of service or gift from them makes his heart swell, and he goes out of his way to make sure that they they know just how much he appreciates them.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

I definitely think he would be very honest. Secrets put space between the two of them, which is the last thing he wants. He would much rather have an awkward conversation about something than lie to his SO, which would make him so guilty. He also leans on them for support a lot, and he knows that they can’t support each other if they’re not totally honest.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Reiner’s SO has such a positive influence on him. He has a lot of self doubt and a lot of fear when it comes to relationships and commitment, but over time, he began to let himself rely on them and make himself vulnerable. They honestly probably inspire him to be more open and positive, and their optimism rubs off on him, even if it’s just slightly.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

I don’t think he gets jealous often, but he does have a habit of not dealing with it properly. He would never be rude to his SO, he just starts to pull away because his self doubt keeps saying they would be better off with someone else. It’s not hard to help him relax, though, it really just takes some quiet words from his SO and a reminder that he is enough for them.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

He was really nervous for their first kiss, for literally no reason. He was very careful with his general timing, but in the moment, it probably seemed a bit abrupt just because he was so nervous. He’s a really good kisser, and after the first kiss, it’s a regular occurrence.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

In terms of asking his SO out for the first time, I think he was very nervous and probably make it pretty awkward just because he kept trying to shrink into the background. But if we’re talking about the first time he told them he loves them, it wasn’t awkward at all. It was probably late at night and they were laying in bed together when it really just hit Reiner how happy he was, and how lucky he was to have them. He said it so casually, as if it was already a part of their routine instead of something foreign and new.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

I think the idea of marriage would scare him just slightly, but it is appealing to him. Again, it’s that idea of stability and security that just seems so cozy and comfortable for the future. He doesn’t indulge in making plans for the future often, but when he does finally let himself think about it, it makes him really happy. He spends lots of time planning the most romantic proposal, maybe even something public if his SO is comfortable with it. The idea of getting married makes him so excited that he wants to share it with everyone. He doesn’t necessarily have a great eye for decoration or color, but he’s so eager to help, so together, they plan a beautiful wedding. Probably small and intimate, and absolutely lovely.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

I think nicknames make him a bit embarrassed, so most of the time, it’s just “honey” or your name. Your name is amazing, and he’s more than happy to keep saying it.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

When Reiner’s in love, especially at the beginning, everyone can tell. He just gives off an air of contentedness and confidence from being with his SO, laughing a bit more often than usual and frequently being caught zoning out while smiling into the distance. It’s almost laughable how much the stoic man’s behaviors change when he’s finally that happy.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He’s pretty private in general. He holds onto his SO’s hand in public and offers them his arm while walking, but otherwise, they don’t like to show off in public. In terms of how much he talks about them, I think it depends on his SO. If they’re a private person, he won’t bring it up a single time. But if he can tell they don’t mind, he’d talk about them with his friends and introduce them as his SO, and he’d be happy getting to show everyone how amazing they are.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that's beneficial in a relationship.

He’s always warm, even in the middle of the winter. If his SO is ever cold, he offers his jacket (because he’s probably overheating anyway), or he can just warm them up with a hug. It’s really sweet.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

It makes him pretty embarrassed, but he really is very romantic! He can definitely appreciate the cliched romantic tropes, but I think he also likes to be creative. He love surprising his SO to see the look on their face, and he just loves making them happy. When they’re happy, he’s happy!

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Reiner has a lot of doubts in his life, especially for himself. But when it comes to his SO? There is nothing they can’t do. He believes in them 100%, and he will do whatever he can to support them. 

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

He’s absolutely someone who prefers a nice stable routine. Not that he won’t go out and try new things, especially if his SO would like to, but he just prefers to stick to their normal plans. Being able to plan head is a luxury for him, and he appreciates the calmness behind it.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

He knows his SO very well, and he’s very empathetic. He can’t read their mind, and he does still need lots of communication, but he genuinely does almost feel their pain with them. He’s great support through a difficult time because he can empathize so well.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Once his relationship becomes serious, it’s one of the most important aspects of his life. Part of becoming serious with his SO is allowing himself to open up to and rely on them, which creates such a deep level of emotional intimacy. He really wouldn’t trade them for the world.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

He makes his SO coffee every morning. If they don’t like coffee, he makes tea, or maybe even just pours them a glass of orange juice. If they don’t live together, he will literally drive to bring it to them. In his eyes, it’s not only an excuse to get to see them every morning, but he likes making sure that they start off every morning happy.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

He’s very affectionate! Sometimes it makes him a little bit uncomfortable to be vulnerable like that, but he likes having his SO close to him. Definitely big on cuddling, again because he likes to be close to them, and because it makes him feel safe.

Y earning - How will they cope when they're missing their partner?

He definitely gets a bit sad when they’re away for a long time. If possible, he likes to check up on them in the morning. Otherwise, he just tries to keep himself busy. I think he also gets a bit anxious when they’re gone because they’re such a source of support for him, so he’s very relieved when they return.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind?

He’s absolutely willing to do what it takes to keep his relationship strong. As much as he loves his routine, he’s always open to make changes that will keep things running smoothly and keep his SO happy. They’re very important to him, so of course he would go to great lengths for them.

[junko-and-riri-domain]

jungwon ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ just be ( best ) friends

loving him meant that you could never be with him the same way you've been all your life. loving him meant that you weren't strong enough to ignore your feelings, certain that he doesn't feel the same way.

warnings : angst, no good ending

note : this is honestly a drabble off the top of my head, ignore any mistakes pls TT

"hey ! once we get home do you wanna call ?" your childhood best friend jungwon said enthusiastically, hand signaling a silly little phone near his ear.

"yeah sure, just give me a heads up, last time you called me out of nowhere I almost cut my finger in the middle of cooking, dude."

"yeah yeah whatever- hEY-" he exclaimed as you shoved him lightly but hard enough for him to stop train of stupid words.

on your way home you couldn't help but bite down on your lip to hold back tears. you didn't even know why you were holding them back, there was no one around you to see it anyway. maybe it's because you knew, deep down, that you didn't want yourself to know that you're head over heels for your own best friend.

no one else really knew about this except you, and your mother. she often teased you about it when you were younger, saying that you two would be cute together

well, you know what they say. it's impossible for two people to be friends for this long without one catching feelings, and unfortunately, it just had to be you. you wouldn't have it any other way though, you'd take this pain if it meant he didn't have to experience it.

and that he didn't. he's talked about crushes with you before, and before you know it, he tells you that he has a crush on someone in your class. it took all of you to not just break down right then and there.

you wondered to yourself constantly,

"why did it have to be me?"

"why do I feel this way? isn't it.. bad?"

"whenever I see you, I can't help but smile. is that a crime?"

whenever I see you, all the butterflies I was sure I got rid of the night before come flooding back. and I hate it.

I hate it because I know you don't feel the same way.

finally arriving to your front door, you proceed to take off your shoes and coat, and wait.. why are there tears falling down your face.. ? your eyes were practically leaking and you didn't realize until now, great timing. you were sure you could hold them back until after the call with jungwon.

it's been a daily routine to come back home, call jungwon for a couple hours and say you're doing homework but end up procrastinating, eat, and sleep.

well, at least try to sleep, that is.

*ring* *ring* *ring*

well isn't that just great timing.

your eyes are swollen from crying, snot threatening to come down your nose and your skin dry from how cold the wind was on the way back. how could you possibly show your face ?

you accept the call, trying to stabilize your voice as much as you can before unmuting and saying hi.

"so like, I'm gonna need some help with the art project-" he starts off hesitantly, not questioning why you're not showing your face.

one of the things you love about him : he knows his boundaries and he's careful. he doesn't ruin the mood, and he's considerate about everything.

"it's okay if you don't want to though hehe ;; I know you're not the best at it either but I just wanted a little hint of you in my project." he said, smiling. his dimples were evident, and it made you want to cry even more.

another thing you like about him : he's unreasonably good at making you feel special. seeing as you've been friends since you could barely talk, he treats you better than anyone else that he's met. maybe it's something you should hate, but if it means feeling even a sliver of what his future lover would feel, then of course you'd like it.

"yeah sure, just gimme a sec. my stupid hair has been poking my eyes the entire way home that my eyes started tearing up."

oh aren't you lucky you're good at acting.

~~~

in your room, you reminince a time that never existed. you think about all the good memories with him, and wonder why it has to be you to catch feelings.

the way his eyes turn into little crescents when he smiles, his dimples popping in to say hi, the way his eyes shined brighter than anything else when talking about what he loved.

was it so foolish to wish that his eyes would sparkle like that whenever he talked about you?

staring at the stars, you tell them how your day was. the stars always knew how to comfort you. they can't judge you for anything you say and they're always there for you, shining bright in a crowd of darkness.

jungwon, he was your star.

was.

until he became someone you wished you could be with.

wished, that you were more than just best friends.

[ end ]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ written by junko

[benlaksana]

2021

It's been roughly a year and a half since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic here in Indonesia, and I've recently been trying to understand where I'm at. Not physically, as in physical space, but mentally and probably existentially. What is the state of my mind? I am aware that I've become somewhat bitter, my late nights are sometimes riddled with anxiety for what the next day may bring and reoccurring personal-collective grief has at times, and recently more often than I would like to admit, numbed me.

This may probably be my mind's automatic coping mechanism seeing all this death mainly as a result of how my government has failed us, its citizens, especially during a time of crises. And I really need to stress this point: how my government has failed us Indonesians during the times we need it the most and I very much believe that it is because of this why many of us Indonesians are in constant misery and haunted by that feeling of despair. If chronic physical pain causes constant daily anguish, I am not surprised if chronic physical and mental pain caused by structural violence causes persistent misery as well.

I'm somewhat fortunate in this regard, I'm grateful that I've learned ways to keep my sanity in check. My contemplative practice is key for me. Honestly, I wouldn't have gotten far in life without it. I have many people to thank, but Art Buehler especially, my former professor in esoteric contemplative/meditative practices who reminded me and pointed a certain possible direction of where I should head when I sense a lost in my life's direction, is one those I should thank the most. I know this seems like an individualized response to structural oppression, and I don't intend to paint such a picture, but I do believe we need some kind of mental stability to keep on going. To survive if not thrive.

Art sadly passed away in 2019. I received an email about his passing. And come to think of it I never really did allow myself to properly grieve for his passing. I don't know why. To be told through a short concise email that someone you cared for died, without having the opportunity to properly say goodbye feels like that person never really passed away. It is horrible way to end relationships. A sudden cut, nothing finalized, and since goodbyes are relational, now nothing can really ever be concluded. I have to make amends with myself and only with myself. If I said goodbye yesterday, or if I say goodbye today or perhaps tomorrow, will it ever be enough for me?

Life is individual yet also relational. It's good to have friends, family, people that care for you or the odd mix of all three to get you through life. So although I have these array of tools to possibly help get me through life but if the people whom you look for some kind direction is no longer present, I'm just not sure for how long I can maintain it if I'm doing all this by myself. Will a breaking point come to me?

The mind is a fickle thing, and the mind is as strong as its habits. Bad habits, bad mind. Good habits, good healthy mind (no habits, no mind?). They also say that things that might happen, will indeed happen. It is just a matter of time. If so, how will I break? To what extent? For how long? What will change? What will I lose? Will there be something renewed? Will I come out the same person? Will I come out changed but for the worst?

This is one of the things that worries me. That certainty of uncertainty. The certainty of breaking, the uncertainty of when and of its form. Will I explode in sudden exasperation, engulfed in madness? Will it be a quick balloon pop yet a slow descend into meaninglessness? An unabashed diatribe rant towards someone I care? Something that's just a twitter post away from me on actually doing it. Will this be an opening, an opportunity for 'satori', a sudden lift of the 'veil', bringing about comprehension and understanding of the true nature of things? Questions, questions, questions, not much when it comes to answers, is all I have for now. To be hopeful is hard these days and with the wavering hope, very much coming and going like waves, it has become incredibly hard to even retain any semblance of kindness. That is something I do not want to actively become a habit of. Without hope, comes the cold embrace of fatalism that many on the 'left' are guilty of. Clutched by fatalism, empathy becomes harder to come by. I've seen it, and I have felt it.

I know that my eroding sense of hope is connected to my personal dreams. Specifically how it has become very hard to actualize it. Rara and I never really planned on staying in Indonesia for long. I was confident enough, a bit too confident come to think of it, that we will be out of Indonesia by 2021 the latest. A mere 2 1/2 years after our last stay in New Zealand. The plan was for me to continue my studies, getting into a Ph.D. program and of course a scholarship. That was our ticket out. Hoping that we'll be back to our old routine in Wellington, in and out the university's library, my head in books, loving our 'flatwhites' while regretting having too much of it, the usual stint doing some university tutoring, community organizing stuff, lazy gardening, out and about on the weekends tramping around Wellington and if Covid did not happen or/and maybe if my government handled things much, much better I think that would've been the case. Or at least I constantly would like to imagine that would be the case.

Yet here we are still in Indonesia, me struggling to do my Ph.D. through this wretched distant learning, initially in the comfort of my home yet steadily devolving into cabin fever. And Rara with her own struggles trying her best to get back on her feet as an aspiring musician. None of it is going as well as we had hoped for. All this while juggling trying our best to keep ourselves safe and our families and friends safe. Both of us have become direct witnesses how challenging this has been, physically and mentally. Both of us slowly grappling with the continual kick in the gut, the never ending structural absurdity, violently absurd.

That slow grueling realization of how fragile our lives are. Not just existentially. It is existentially precarious yet at the same time understanding that precariousness in many of its aspects is structurally and politically maintained. It is this political construction of precarity, which Isabell Lorey elaborates in her book State of Insecurity: Government of the Precarious, that angers and saddens us the most.

Lorey provides a nuanced approach in unpacking and differentiating this thing called being 'precarious'. The three dimensions of being precarious: precariousness, precarity and then precarization. On precariousness, Lorey draw's on Judith Butler's conceptualization of precariousness which she sees as existential, relational and inevitable. I'll insert my existential philosophy and Buddhist values here, to help me see and more importantly accept the transient nature of life and that impermanence or change is the only constant. Our lives, our bodies are destined to die and wither away. We humans are fragile mortal beings. The loss of life, the loss of one's identity, the loss of everything that makes us, us is unavoidable. It's also a 'relational' thing, as in it is also a shared experience. Everyone will experience it. It is the great equalizer some say.

Then we have precarity. Yes everyone dies, but the process of dying or even the process of grieving someone's death is dependent on what Lorey see as the “effects of different political, social and legal compensations of a general precariousness”. Some die at young age due to starvation, riddled with poverty and disease and have nothing or no one to ease their pain, others die surrounded by family and friends in a well-cared for hospital. Some have days or weeks to grieve, others have to go back to work the next day as she or he have no luxury to stop working even just for a moment and simply grieve. To stop working even for a day draws some closer to the possibility of death for the person or those dependent on the person working. This is the inequality of dying and grieving due to our social hierarchies. How fragile we are, is dependent on those social hierarchies.

And last we have Lorey's third dimension, governmental precarization which is the instrumentalization of insecurity by the government. In other words, the government using the idea and the reality of insecurity as a tool or device to control its citizens. The calculated, deliberate attempt by the government in destabilizing our lives in order for us to be easily governed. Insecurity, be it real or due to perceived constructed fear of insecurity is an effective governing tool. The fear of being labeled "useless and lacking in contribution to the nation-state". The genuine insecurity of not being able to get a job due to the false understanding that it is simply a result of an individual's laziness rather than due to systematic government policies. The deliberate attempt in making our lives constantly insecure, constantly on the edge, without us initially knowing it and when we do come to understand, the blame is on us. It is normalized and it is internalized.

This is not simply a social issue, it is a deeply existential one as well. We Indonesians have very little to make us feel safe at the moment. Covid and the government's response to it has severely limited our movements and it's not simply physical immobility, but also an existential one, the inability to even have the imagination that our lives are actually "going somewhere", towards a forward direction. Perhaps some sort of minute incremental progress, but progress nonetheless. This imagined mobility is what Ghassan Hage calls as "existential mobility" and this immobility suffered by many of us is what he also calls as "stuckedness".

Turning an often momentary or the ephemeral nature of a crisis into something prolonged and perhaps even permanent is another part of the strategy of governmental precarization. Our lives or jobs are always on the line and again coupled with the sick prevailing idea that we only have ourselves to find the solution. The crisis is permanent, we don't know why but we've been told that way, if we fail to overcome it is because of our personal inabilities thus proliferating and intensifying this sense of stuckedness.

Forcing us to accept whatever solution the government-messiah presents us with in order to relieve us from this suffering. From labour laws that normalizes precariousness even more, to oppressive new laws that limits our desire and ability to dissent, to including who or how our enemies are defined, easily accepting who is to blame for all this insecurity we are all suffering.

Be it the long dead Indonesian communists, the Chinese Indonesians and the racist perception of them being "selfish and greedy", the Indonesian Islamists - the kadruns and their conservatism, the "foreign forces" whomever they may be constantly trying to take over Indonesia, anyone or anything is to blame. Anyone but the Indonesian government and its affluent patrons. Insecurity and the fear that rises from it renders many of us easily governable and compliant.

This governmental precarization and this 'stuckedness', which Hage sees no longer as a possibility that may or may not happen but an "inevitable pathological state which has to be endured" is how Rara and I feel at the moment.

Rara and I feel our lives are going nowhere. We feel that our lives are stuck, constantly rotating in a hamster wheel trying our best to overcome our precariousness. No progress, no forward movement, no growth, just trying our best to survive from this sustained uncertainty. It's an awful feeling, paving way to existential dread. We are very much looking forward to moving back to New Zealand as soon as possible but with the conditions right now, that is something I can't even dare to imagine.

And although I am grateful that the weave of our privilege with at many times just pure sheer luck has kept us alive and physically well for the time being, we both now realize that we have hit a proverbial concrete wall here. Adding to the already precarious nature of life here in Indonesia, our line of work as a fledgling social science academic and aspiring artist and what Rara and I aspire to do socially, what we aspire to become, easily ends in stagnation if we intend to continue to live our lives in Indonesia. (I want to direct you to Social Science and Power edited by Vedi Hadiz and Daniel Dhakkidae to get the gist of what I'm trying to get at here.)

This is a hard pill to swallow, harder to write and even more so to act upon. I am existentially tied to Indonesia, my family and friends are here, my father is buried here and so will my mother. Memories of the distant past, the colloquial language when shitposting on social media, my mind and body have been shaped by Indonesia in ways I possibly do not even fully realize. This is why I oscillate between guilt towards others and guilt towards the self. I feel guilty for simply having an exit strategy when many others don't, I have the luxury of choice. Yet I also I feel guilty for feeling guilty about this, as it means I am also neglecting the well-being of myself, now and in the future. I need to work on this and find my bearings, being stuck in a guilty limbo won't get me anywhere.

And the future is far from stable, I wonder what is on the other end of surviving this pandemic? There is so much collective grief, collective anger and of course personal anger. All this will amount to something, I'm sure of that. Although I don't know what exactly, I'm not entirely confident this something will be good. John Keane's new book 'The New Despotism' comes into mind.

What do I personally do with all this anger? I’ve noticed how anger, especially when it is on the verge of hatred, morphs itself and easily descends into madness, into aggression and often showing itself, unawaringly to us, when the act of expressing anger happens. Your mind becomes instantly clouded, ending in mindless action. This inability to have control over oneself terrifies me. I already have so very little semblance of control over life in general at the moment, if I truly have no control over myself whatsoever, what then do I have?

And I wonder if it is a waste of time asking these pseudo-intellectual questions? I don't know, yet I do know I live in a society where it hones aggression and hostility, whether it be in physical and digital spaces, and I would like to draw myself away from all this at the moment before I transform myself into something I do not wish to be. Anger I can fully understand, and it is needed and useful. Yet to actively transform it into deep blinding hatred and sustain it daily, is something I feel psychologically destructive for me and I'm trying my best not to go on that path.

I rarely update this blog I know, but this blog has always been used as a personal chronicle of how much I have progressed, digressed or both. And I needed to write all this, because I've never been this least sure of what my life should be like and where it should go. I know I am not alone at this. This pandemic has destroyed the lives of many, our futures, our dreams, our sources of love and I hope that anyone of you reading this finds a way to get through it, doing anything you can do day in, day out.

I'm not sure it if amounts to anything. Maybe it won't, maybe it will, or maybe it has but maybe we just can't see it. All I can personally do for now, is to hold on to these 'maybes', and maybe, just maybe I'll get through this too.

“Where must we go...

We who wonder this Wasteland

in search of our better selves?”

- The First History Man, George Miller

[asherlockstudy]

Rhett and Link’s problems with the Enneagram

I have now watched both Enneagram EBs and the second one actually set my gears to work (So Anon here it comes! I promise it was spontaneous).

After listening to Link and mostly Rhett talk about the Enneagram again and again, I realised I have a problem but I can not place its exact root. There is either something fundamentally wrong with the Enneagram itself or maybe it’s Rhett and consequently Link who talk about it in a way that made me feel a little uncomfortable.

My problem and cause of concern was that everything that was said during the two podcasts had a clear negative tone to it. I will have to bring in myself to it to give you an example so bear with me for a paragraph. I did the test and I am a 5 (Investigator - Observer, something like that) which suits me rather well, especially since it agrees perfectly with my Myers-Briggs INTP type. The results said I was a 5w6 (essentially an emotionless analytical robot) which is definitely wrong as I am clearly a 5w4 (a sad mess who analyses the world and searches pointlessly for the true meanings in life and wants to come up with the ultimate all-encompassing philosophy). I mean, OK, they are not described exactly like that but trust me, that’s the point. But despite all the flaws associated with it, especially in the fields of socialising and tremendous procrastination due to an insane fear of failure, I am actually very much in touch with it. I revel in analysing, in trying to see the bigger picture, to make up my own theory about life and the world. It gives me fuel to go on, it fills me with excitement, it gives me a purpose.

Now, what I kept hearing from Rhett and Link are the things they would hope to run away from. I can’t seem to remember a single positive thing they said about their personalities. All traits they mentioned ( which were all pretty one-dimensional for both I dare say) were presented in the context of torturing them and having to confront them. With these insights in their personalities and the spiritual deconstructions earlier, their old (surprising back then) statement that they are “fundamentally sad people” makes more and more sense. Some of their traits, like Link’s care for perfection to the smallest detail and his moral concerns could have been neutral or positive but, no, they are almost all given as clear negatives or at least as things that have an emotional toll on them.

This gives me the impression that Link and especially Rhett have found comfort in studying the Enneagram and try to find an explanation for what they are like, to feel part of a group, represented in their misery. In short, they focus on the analysis of the flaws of their personalities as a part of who they are and avoid dealing with the root that caused said flaws. Link is more self aware while Rhett still struggles to reach the root of it, which is his childhood. Not that he doesn’t know it but he can’t just deal with the people and the situations that impacted him enough to make him a three. For instance, Rhett seems to believe that he is a natural three that his parents made manifest even more strongly. It could be the case or the threeness we observe in him is the direct product of his parents’ constant judgement. By keeping chanting he needs to “be” instead of “do”, I am not sure Rhett will achieve much. Honestly, the one impactful step he needs to take is to stop caring about what his father thinks and I am sorry to say he is still not near achieving this. Especially when I take into account how scared he was during his videocall with his dad in GMM and how relieved he looked after the call was over without drama. In short, my problem with their take in the Enneagram is that it seems that Three is Rhett’s pack of unresolved issues rather than his complete personality type.

Furthermore, Rhett speaks knowingly about all numbers / personality types which proves he consumes passionately all Enneagram information that is available. For a man of his level of active lifestyle, hectic schedule and impatience, this shows that he indeed seeks comfort in finding a detailed description and an explanation for his personality, for the way he feels and acts. What does this mean? Well, that he does not like the way he feels about himself a lot. Not only that, but he is actually in a search of self. At this point, he is no longer cryptic about it but it is more serious than he lets on. He tries to make sense of himself and he tries desperately to find something in himself to love. I hope there are people in his life who let him know that he is worthy of their love, friendship and appreciation even though he is so deep inside his head that even the affectionate feedback can only help so much. Rhett will start finding some peace only if he takes the one step I mentioned above.

And then it seems that Link’s personality type is also exclusively a byproduct of his childhood and is aggravated by his relationship with Rhett. Link’s perfectionism doesn’t cause him enthusiasm - he just dreads the disturbance of his supposedly perfectly stable world. In all honesty, Link doesn’t strike me as an ambitious person. Link would just love to have his dear routine and a loyal person to share it with. Link needs stability and companionship. He is fine with just one person as long as this person contributes to the stability of their bond. Who that one person is in Link’s life is another story…

Link doesn’t care that much about the creative process and, frankly, he doesn’t care all that much about the comedy. Link cares to keep the environment Rhett and he work stable and safe. For Link, judgement from the audience is not as alarming as Rhett’s frustration because of it. Link cares to ensure that Rhett’s idea will be successful enough to keep working and to keep working together. So Link’s entire self-identification as a one seems to stem from his fear of abandonment and worthlessness only. Link fears he has not much to contribute to Mythical and he tries to counteract that by becoming the ultimate source of management and control. Because if he didn’t even manage the company, then what would Rhett need him for? Hence, Link’s obsession for control is a consequence of his fear, he doesn’t necessarily love to be in control for the sake of it. This is proven by his plane example, which shows that he finally relaxes when he does NOT need to be in control.

Link has been working hard most of his life to ensure his position next to Rhett. This brings even more insight in his resentment for Rhett that explodes from time to time. Link resents Rhett because he tries so hard to be always by his side but due to Rhett’s opportunitism, he can’t tell whether Rhett wants his companionship or he simply needs it for their brand. Even worse, Link dreads that the reason Rhett is his friend is because Link feeds his ego with his loyalty and admiration, because he takes Link for granted and not because he loves Link for who he is.

“Do you care for me or do you revel in the fact that I care for you?”

Now, I can’t get inside Rhett’s head but I doubt he uses people. I believe his genuine care for Link can be found in the weirdest examples - those from which Rhett has nothing to gain i.e getting frustrated when Link doesn’t enjoy food as much. Yes, this is a sign of love. Rhett enjoys food so much that he wants to share that enjoyment with Link. He can’t realise Link’s tongue works differently - he thinks Link is missing out and it frustrates him. Another silly example is Rhett buying Apocalypse equipment for a clearly disinterested Link and probably never getting its money’s worth back. This is important to Rhett for some reason and he is concerned enough to protect careless Link as well despite having no personal gain from it.

The truth is that these two men feed off each other; Rhett keeps Link attached to him to always feel worthy and Link keeps Rhett attached to him to always feel safe. However, the fact that Rhett is almost his entire source of safety and that Link is Rhett’s biggest calibrator of worth is indicative of the levels of love and need. Nevertheless, Rhett and Link are not independent people. They were constantly in search of support from one another and they lost themselves in the process of satisfying others or being safe. This is something they are realising only now.

Link’s fear of abandonment is so big that it frequently leads him to an almost paranoid behaviour. It is crazy that he felt left out when Rhett communicated with the audience during a podcast whose key purpose is to… communicate with the audience. His fear here has two sides: 1) that Rhett didn’t consider him an equally important business partner so he preferred to speak directly to the audience and 2) that Rhett isn’t emotionally invested in him in order to open up to him. And by saying he can deceive people if he needs, Rhett doesn’t help Link overcome his huge insecurities. This is why Link begs Rhett to talk to him about his feelings more. He does not understand whether Rhett loves him or uses him. The notion that Rhett doesn’t truly love or appreciate him is one of his biggest fears in life.

As for Rhett, it is certainly huge growth that he starts opening up and being vulnerable to a few thousand strangers yet it all still derives from his need to be accepted by said strangers as I am afraid that the late disproportionate criticism he gets for silly stuff on Twitter and Tumblr surely don’t help him deal with his issues, no matter how hard he tries. Therefore, Rhett is trapped in a vicious circle. Besides, Rhett was overly sensitive to be hurt when Link stated the obvious; that he was being vulnerable in hopes to be understood and accepted, because that was clearly what Rhett was openly doing. However, having someone discussing openly his vulnerability immediately made Rhett retreat back to his shell because no matter how hard he tries, Rhett hasn’t managed to separate vulnerability from weakness in his mind yet.

Long story short, Rhett and Link might be Three and One respectively but I am not sure they have a good understanding of themselves anyway. They may have figured out their types correctly but they certainly narrow their entire sense of being to their unresolved issues and phobias. They entirely lack a sense of self-worth and they probably have not realised the extent of the traumas in their youth. In the Enneagram language, the nine personality types have nine levels of development. I believe Rhett and Link are either in the average levels or the mildest unhealthy level. They are certainly not in the healthy top three levels.

Their obsession with the Ennegram helps only superficially but they seem to have based an illogically huge part of their self exploration on it. The Enneagram might offer some insight but won’t offer the resolutions they long for and badly need in order to find some relief. The ones that come when you confront your environment instead of overanalysing yourself and beating yourself up because of it.

[captain-hen]

quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

title: quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

Summary: “In that warehouse,” Buck says. “I almost gave up.”

Eddie doesn’t bat an eyelash at his words. “I know,” He says, simply.

Buck isn’t sure why he’s saying this. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to confess this to Eddie, why this is something he needs for him to know. He also doesn’t know why Eddie is being so calm about it.

“I almost stopped fighting,” Buck continues, his voice breaking a little. 

“I know.” Eddie says, again. | Post 4x05: Buck Begins.

ao3 link

a/n: i wrote this when i should have been sleeping so it’s probably incoherent...pls excuse me..

tagging some people who may be interested: @malikjavaddzayn @evaneddie @matan4il @prettyboydiaz @firefighter-diaz  please let me know if you’d like to be added to/removed from my tag list!

Seconds after Buck knocks, the door opens and Eddie is looking at him with an arched eyebrow. "Since when do you knock?" He asks teasingly.

 Buck shrugs wordlessly. The weight of the past couple of days he's had—his parents arriving in town, finding out about Daniel, god, the fire—all had been momentarily forgotten in the time he spent with Maddie after his shift, the relief that came with forgiving her making something that had been unbalanced shift back into place in his heart. However, after leaving her apartment, it had all come crushing down on him again, leaving him shaking and breathless in the aftermath. Before knowing he was doing it, he was taking the turn to Eddie's house instead of his own apartment and now here he was.

 "You're just in time," Eddie gestures for Buck to come in. "Dinner's almost ready."

 "I—I didn't tell you I was coming, though," Buck says, confused. Eddie grins at him.

 "I had a feeling you would." Not waiting for a reply, he turns to go into the living room. "Christopher! Look who's here!"

 Buck is greeted with an armful of Chris when he enters the room and he can't help but laugh, hoisting him into his arms. Pressing his face into Chris' hair and hearing his bright laughter, Buck feels some of the tension drain from his body.

 "Hey, buddy! Hope you don't mind me coming over so unexpectedly."

 Chris giggles as Buck puts him down, as if he's said the funniest thing ever. "Don't be silly, Buck! We always want you around."

 Buck feels his eyes burn with tears inexplicably and he's relieved that Chris chooses that moment to turn around to search for a drawing he wants to show him. Eddie says nothing, instead moving past Buck to leave the room, pressing a warm hand to his shoulder as he passes him.

 Chris takes Buck's hand and tugs on it, leading him to the kitchen. Buck's eyebrows raise at the sight of Eddie pulling a pan out the oven

 "Dad cooked," Chris informs him. Buck chuckles.

 "Maybe I shouldn't have come over," He jokes. Eddie throws a dish towel at him, scowling.

 "It's just mac and cheese," He retorts. "And I'll have you know I've gotten better at cooking over the pandemic. Make yourself useful and set the table."

 Shifting into the usual routine of dinner time at the Diaz household has a comforting familiarity to it, Buck thinks, as he moves around the kitchen, grabbing plates and glasses, knowing where everything is supposed to be without even thinking about it. They sit down at the table to eat, Chris chattering away about his day as Buck listens on, barely suppressing an eye roll when Eddie not-so-subtly heaps two servings onto his plate. God, his best friend can be such a dad sometimes.

 As dinnertime comes to an end, though, Buck can feel the lightness begin to slip away, tension gathering in his shoulders once more and his smiles come less easily, not even Christopher’s cheer being able to bring them out easily. Eddie seems to notice (of course he does) and quickly stands to gather their plates.

 “Chris, I think it’s time you start getting ready for bedtime,” he says and Chris groans dramatically.

 “Dad, can’t I stay up? It’s not even a school night!”

 “Nope,” Eddie hums. “Rules are rules, Chris, you know how it is.”

 Chris groans again but doesn’t argue his point and gets up. “Goodnight, Buck,” he murmurs, and Buck bends down to receive his hug almost automatically, barely registering it. Thankfully, Chris doesn’t seem to notice that anything is amiss and pulling back, grins at him before leaving.

 “Hey,” Buck startles as Eddie taps him on the shoulder and looks up at the barely concealed worry in his friend’s face. “Why don’t you go wait in the living room? I’m gonna go tuck Chris into bed.”

 “It’s late,” Buck mutters. “Maybe I should leave.” He doesn’t want to. It’s almost more than he can stand, right now, the thought of leaving the warmth of Eddie’s house, of Eddie, to go back to his apartment, that has never felt like home the way Eddie and Christopher have. But he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. He’d once told Maddie that he’s not really a guest in Eddie’s house, but now, with his entire world, with everything he’d ever known about himself turned upside down, he can’t be sure of anything.

 Eddie shakes his head and repeats, a little more firmly. “Wait for me in the living room.”

 Buck goes, helpless but to do as he asks. He looks around at the room as he sits down on the couch, Chris’ homework on the side tables, the video game consoles scattered around it, Eddie’s jacket tossed over a chair—just a few weeks ago, he had been on this couch with Eddie and Christopher, playing video games and teasing Eddie about his newfound fear of technology. Just a few weeks ago, he had been in this same spot, happy and lighthearted with two of his favorite people in the world.

 Just a few weeks ago, he hadn’t felt this overwhelming sense of wrongness and uncertainty, like everything was collapsing around him and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

 Eddie returns shortly, sinking down into the couch beside him, his shoulders pressing into Buck’s; solid and grounding. Buck lets out a shaky exhale, ducking his head as he feels his eyes burn with tears again. He doesn’t want Eddie to see him like this, cracked in a hundred places and this close to falling apart. Which doesn’t make sense, he knows, Eddie has been there during some of the worst moments of his life; he was there holding his hand while his leg was being crushed under a firetruck, he had seen him choke on his own blood during that welcome-back party; there was no end to it. But this—this was just too much. Too vulnerable. Too raw, and open and exposed.

 Eddie says nothing, just sitting there, a line of warmth and stability against Buck, waiting for him to open up. And Buck does, inevitably.

 “I forgave my parents,” He doesn’t look at Eddie while he says it, but can feel him stiffen momentarily before he relaxes again.

 “That must have been hard,” Eddie says, his words so similar to Maddie’s just a few hours ago. Buck shrugs in response, talking about it with his sister had been hard enough, he doesn’t really want to get into the why’s of it again.

 “I just feel like---” Buck stops himself and sighs in frustration. “I feel like this should have brought me some sort of relief, right? Taken some of the weight off my shoulders? Now that I actually have some context to what they did, and why-“

 “Hey,” Eddie interrupts, almost sharply. “Your parents lost a child, and that’s terrible. But them ignoring the two living children they had, not being there for their kids who actually needed them? That is on them and nothing can excuse that. You are well within your rights to feel angry, Buck.”

 Buck shakes his head. “I am so tired of being angry,” He says. “But---I still am. I thought forgiving them would make me feel less angry, but it didn’t. I am so angry that they kept my brother a secret from me, all this time. I am so angry that they forced Maddie to keep that secret, when she was just a child. I am so angry that I was finally, finally, doing better, feeling more secure and good about myself and my life and it took just one visit from them to turn it all upside down!”

 He sucks in a deep breath and buries his head in his hands, shaking slightly. He did not mean to explode like that. Hell, he doesn’t even know where it all came from. He had no idea he was even feeling like that before it all burst out.

 I sometimes hide my true feelings, Buck remembers telling his therapist that one time, and he chuckles hollowly at the memory.

 Eddie lays a hand on his shoulder, the pad of his thumb drawing soothing circles over his sleeve and remains quiet until Buck raises his head again, eyes wet.

 “It’s clear to me, now,” Buck says. “Everything I ever did to try and win their affection, to win their love—none of it mattered. I was set up to fail since the very beginning. The entire time, whenever they looked at me, all they could see was Daniel and I would never measure up in their eyes. How could I compete with that? God,” He scrubs a hand across his face roughly and lets out a bitter laugh. “I’m jealous of a dead person. How fucked up is that?”

Something shutters in Eddie’s expression and he ducks his head for a moment, swallowing. “I understand completely,” He murmurs. Before Buck can really think about it, Eddie is talking again.

 “It was never on you to win your parents’ love, Buck,” He says. “It’s not something that needs to be won, it’s something that has to be freely given. And your parents—they—no matter the loss they were mourning, the way they made you feel like every scrap of their attention needed to be earned was unacceptable. You have to know that. I mean—” He sighs and pauses for a moment. “I have made a lot of mistakes with Christopher, but I can never imagine doing to him what your parents did to you and your sister. It’s unthinkable.”

 Buck manages to smile at that and says, his voice breaking a little, “You’re a really great dad.”

 Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “I hope so,” He murmurs. “At least, I try to be. And sometimes, trying is the best you can do. It’s what every parent should do.”

 Trying, huh? Philip and Margaret Buckley certainly hadn’t. They had given up on Buck the moment he’d failed to save his brother, Buck is certain of this no matter how they might say otherwise. They had given up on Maddie when she married Doug. They were never willing to try when things got hard, instead that burden had been placed on their children and Maddie and Buck had carried it even into their adulthood, without even noticing.

 He had never felt that burden so acutely as he did in the fire, as he relived his entire life, seeing his past through new eyes as he fought desperately to save Saleh from the flames and himself, from giving into all that despair and guilt and hopelessness. And in the end, he hadn’t had to carry it alone, because the 118, his family, stepped in to carry it with him.

 “In that warehouse,” Buck says. “I almost gave up.”

 Eddie doesn’t bat an eyelash at his words. “I know,” He says, simply.

 Buck isn’t sure why he’s saying this. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to confess this to Eddie, why this is something he needs for him to know. He also doesn’t know why Eddie is being so calm about it.

 “I almost stopped fighting,” Buck continues, his voice breaking a little.

 “I know.” Eddie says, again.

 “You’re not—” Buck clears his throat and says, hoarsely, “You’re not…I don’t know—” He can’t finish.

 Upset? Angry? Disappointed?

 Eddie, evidently, doesn’t need him to say it. “No,” He says, his voice impossibly soft. “I know what it’s like. I’ve been there.”

 Oh. Of course, that’s—Buck doesn’t know whether he is referring to Afghanistan or the well, when he was buried under thirty feet of mud. Or both.

 Buck doesn’t ask, and Eddie doesn’t elaborate.

 “It feels easy, to just stop resisting,” Eddie continues. “But then, you remember that you have something to live for. A family that loves you.”

 Buck shakes his head, almost automatically. “My parents—”

 “I’m not talking about your parents,” Eddie says, firmly. “I am talking about your sister, Bobby, Athena, the 118—”

 “—you?” Buck finishes, something in his heart lifting at the soft smile Eddie gives him in return.

 “Yeah, me,” Eddie says. “And Christopher,” He pauses, suddenly looking almost uncertain. “That is, if you’ll have us.”

 If he’ll have them? Buck almost laughs hysterically—what sort of question is that? Surely, Eddie has to know—to have him and Christopher as his family would be everything and more. He wants it, all of it, so badly that it’s almost terrifying. He wants Eddie, in any and every single way possible, no matter how selfish it is.

 “Eddie, you don’t know what that means to me,” Buck says, instead.

 Eddie smiles. “I think I have some idea,” He says, and reaches out, slipping his hand into Buck’s. Buck can feel his breath catch, his heart leaping at the gentle touch, at the way Eddie’s fingers slot so perfectly between his. It is at times like these, that he thinks that Eddie might return the feelings he has for him, the feelings that are definitely not those of friendship. But he can never bring himself to cross that line, too afraid of being wrong, of ruining one of the best things he has in his life.

 They sit in silence for a few minutes. After a while, Buck glances at the clock.

 “It’s getting late,” He says reluctantly. “I should go.”

 “Stay.” Eddie says. Buck’s pulse quickens, he knows that Eddie doesn’t mean it that way, yet—

 “I think—”

 Eddie shakes his head. “Stay. Please.”

 And how can Buck say no to that?

 He nods wordlessly and allows himself to lean into Eddie, his eyes drifting shut. This is slowly exceeding the realm of best friend behavior, but Buck can’t find it in himself to care at the moment, especially when Eddie turns into him, resting his head on his shoulder.

 For now, he can have this.

 For once, he can be enough.

[noona-clock]

The Personal Trainer

Genre: Gym!AU

Pairing: Junhoe x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 2,395

Finally, after weeks of putting up with your older brother’s badgering, you caved. You relented to his persistent suggestions to sign up at the gym close to your apartment -- and not only that. You had signed up (and paid extra for) personal training.

You really had never been one to find any sort of exercise enjoyable. You hated getting sweaty, and you had yet to find any activity you actually wanted to do. Just thinking about going to the gym and running on a treadmill or doing strength training made you feel like whining. And hiding under your covers in bed. And sleeping for about a week.

It’s not your fault you were lazy! It’s just how you were! It’s who you were as a person, and now that you were well into adulthood, you had come to accept that about yourself.

But, apparently, your brother had not.

He claimed to be “concerned for your long-term health,” but you knew he really just couldn’t stand lazy people and wanted everyone he cared about to love working out just as much as he loved working out.

It would never happen, but you got irritated enough to give it a try.

So, here you were. Wearing brand new workout clothes and scanning your fresh, new membership card at the front desk of the gym.

“Excuse me?” you asked the gorgeous, young receptionist who looked worlds better in a spandex crop top than you ever could.

“Hmm?” she chirped, shifting her gaze up to you. “How can I help?”

“Where do I go for personal training?”

The girl stood up, a beaming, friendly smile tugging at her lips as she replied, “Right over there!” and pointed to a closed-off area to the side of the main exercise room.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a slight grin before heading over there.

“Have a great session!” she called out cheerfully after you.

...How could you be that cheerful working in a gym?

I mean, obviously, a lot of people could be. But you couldn’t imagine it. The only place at which you’d be that cheerful to work would be... like, a candy store. Or a coffee shop. Definitely something to do with food.

Anyway. 

Your heart began to beat faster as you approached the personal training area, and you chewed the inside of your cheek when you realized your trainer -- whoever he or she was -- hadn’t shown up yet.

Then again, you were basically always early to anything and everything, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that you’d arrived before your trainer.

You let out a soft sigh as you set your bag and water bottle down next to the wall of the fairly small, roped-off area designated for personal training, and then you slid onto a bench to wait.

As the seconds ticked by, you found your gaze wandering out into the main area of the gym -- who didn’t love people watching? Especially when you were just sitting somewhere waiting for someone else to arrive.

To your slight surprise, the ellipticals and bikes and treadmills were not occupied solely by buff guys and fit ladies. There were definitely some of those, but you also saw a couple of -- truly no offense intended -- average people running and cycling their hearts out. There was even an older, gray-haired man speed-walking on a treadmill, and it brought a tiny smile to your face.

At the very least, it made you feel better that you didn’t seem to be the most unfit person here.

Just as you turned back around, you caught a glimpse of someone walking toward the personal training area.

...Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn --

You shook your head quickly to dispel the thought.

No. It couldn’t be.

“Hey,” you heard a voice call out.

And it was a very familiar voice.

Indeed, the familiar voice of the person you thought for a split-second you’d seen in your peripheral vision walking over here.

...Great.

You stood, your heart jumping up into your throat as you turned to face...

Him.

Junhoe.

Your ex-boyfriend.

As soon as he saw you, Junhoe stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened slightly, but it was enough to be noticeable.

What -- was he -- I mean, was he also here for personal training or was he --

“Are you my trainer?” you blurted out. Your nerves were very obvious in your voice, and you scolded yourself for letting your anxiety show right now.

Junhoe’s mouth fell open, but it took him a few seconds to actually answer you.

“...Yeah.”

Wonderful.

So, he was a personal trainer now? After your break-up a couple of years ago, you hadn’t kept up with him on social media (but you still stalked his sister on Instagram kind of regularly... not that you would ever admit that out loud), so you hadn’t even known he’d quit his job at the music store.

Now that you thought about it, going from working at a music store to being a personal trainer was kind of an odd jump.

But that was Junhoe for you. He was predictable in some ways, but in many ways, he absolutely was not.

That was ultimately why you’d ended things with him. The romantic aspect of your relationship had been great -- more than great, actually, but Junhoe just hadn’t been stable enough for you. He was too spontaneous for your schedule-loving, plan-everything-within-an-inch-of-your-life self.

But, looking at him now...

Good god, was he handsome or what? He always had been and, apparently, he always would be.

“Ah,” you replied somewhat breathlessly, your nerves slowly sucking all the air from your lungs. “Well. I -- I guess I’m your new -- trainee... person... thing.”

At that, Junhoe’s expression relaxed, and an amused smile appeared on his lips.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied with a soft chuckle. He then stepped closer to you, his eyebrows raising just a smidge. “...How -- how are you?”

“I’m good -- doing well -- just fine,” you replied, inwardly cringing at how awkwardly you’d answered him. “Nothing much has changed, really. Same job, same apartment, same cat.”

You knew from your Instagram stalking escapades that things had changed more for him than they had for you since your break-up. He’d moved in with his sister at one point, and he had adopted the tiniest, fluffiest puppy you’d ever seen. And, apparently, he now had a different job.

“That’s great,” he said. The grin on his lips was genuine, and it kind of warmed your heart to see that he really did think it was great that your life hadn’t changed. He obviously remembered how greatly you valued stability and routine and structure.

You were about to ask him how he was doing (despite the fact you had a good idea based on his sister’s Instagram), but he clapped his hands together and said, “Well, we should probably get started” before you got the chance to.

“Right,” you murmured, feeling your heart jump again. You had been nervous about starting personal training before, but now that your ex-boyfriend was going to be your trainer...

Despite the fact this was your first ever personal training session -- and Junhoe knew this -- he didn’t go easy on you.

Maybe he was still bitter about your break-up and had made you work super hard because he wanted you to feel as much physical pain as he’d felt emotional pain a couple of years ago.

...Or.

And this is the most likely option.

Maybe he was just a tough and passionate trainer who didn’t believe in easy exercising.

(You kind of still wanted to believe he was still bitter, though.)

(But no one needs to know that.)

After the hour was up (though, you were hard-pressed to believe it had only been an hour), you found yourself lying on your back, staring up at the gym ceiling, and trying to catch your breath.

The workout had just ended, but already, every part of your body hurt.

“Good job,” Junhoe chuckled, holding his hand out to help you up.

You closed your eyes briefly because you really did not feel like getting up yet. 

“Are you sure?” you panted. “It doesn’t feel like I did a good job. It feels like I did a horrible job.”

“No, no, you did good,” he assured you with one of his signature smirks -- you know, the same one that had been the first thing to make your stomach flip back when you’d met him. “Come on, let me help you up.”

Well. You had to get up some time, so it might as well be now. The sooner you left the gym, the sooner you got to take a hot bath with three pounds of Epsom salts sprinkled in the water.

Weakly, you lifted one hand, allowing Junhoe to grab it and hoist you up. You were basically dead weight because you were so exhausted, but he was able to pull you to a standing position all on his own. And quite easily, too. It was... pretty impressive.

Junhoe had certainly had a great body while he’d been your boyfriend, but you had no doubt his job as a personal trainer had only done good things to his physique. 

...Mm, nope, better not think about his muscles. It’s not good to think about an ex-boyfriend’s muscles. Especially when that ex-boyfriend is standing right in front of you.

“See you Wednesday?” he asked casually once you were (basically) on your feet, referring to your next training session.

“Y--yeah,” you stammered. “Wednesday. Absolutely.”

There was a pause, and you were just about to turn and grab your bag... but then Junhoe broke the silence.

“Listen, I -- if you don’t want me to be your trainer, I can ask --”

“No, it’s fine,” you interrupted, though... to be quite honest... you weren’t really sure why you said that.

Was it fine?

I mean, sure, your session had gone pretty well. In terms of your interactions, at least. You had felt awkward at first, but you’d gotten used to it after a while, and Junhoe hadn’t acted at all like an ex-boyfriend -- only a trainer.

But... still.

Did you really want to see him three days a week? After not seeing him at all for about two years?

(Not seeing him at all in person, that is. You’d definitely seen him in pictures since, as we’ve established multiple times, you stalked his sister’s Instagram.)

But Junhoe’s lips had already curved into a smile at your reassurance, and you would feel too guilty if you took it back now and asked for another trainer.

“Okay,” he murmured through his grin. “Well, then. See you Wednesday.”

You just nodded before hoisting your bag over your shoulder and beginning to make your way out of the personal training area and into the gym -- limping slightly as you walked, mind you.

It felt like it took you about five hours to leave the gym, get to your car, get inside your car, drive home, walk up to your front door, go to your bathroom, and draw a bath.

And now that you were in the bath -- the hot water and scented Epsom salts relaxing your muscles like nothing ever had before in your entire life -- you were pretty sure you were going to stay in here for another five hours.

You tilted your head back, letting the base of your skull rest against the edge of the tub and closing your eyes. You breathed in the healing aroma of the salts and sighed with content.

Truly, there was nothing better after a long day than a nice, relaxing bath.

...Well, actually. A nice, relaxing bath with some music playing.

Opening your eyes and lifting your head, you reached out and stretched your arm to grab your phone nestled in your discarded clothes on the floor.

Just as you opened up your music app of choice, though, your ringtone cut through the silence and made you jump.

Your eyes narrowed when you saw your brother’s picture on the screen, but your heart was still racing with fright as you answered and pressed your phone to your ear.

“What?” you asked irritably. “You interrupted my Me Time.”

“How was the gym?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes because of course that’s why he was calling.

And you were just annoyed enough to be sassy about it.

“Well, my personal trainer ended up by my ex-boyfriend, so thanks for that.”

Your brother chuckled softly and said, “Junhoe? No way, what are the odds?”

“No matter the odds, it happened, and I’m blaming you.”

“No, no, no, Dear Sister. You will be thanking me when you have more energy and don’t get out of breath walking up two flights of stairs.”

“Okay, those were very long staircases!”

“You’re going back, right?”

You waited a few seconds... let out a long sigh... then replied, “I mean, I paid for two months of sessions. I don’t want to lose that money.”

“Was it super awkward?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged. “At first. It got better once we were actually training, but... still. It’s not like I had a pleasant time.”

Your brother chuckled softly and said, “Hey, you never know. Maybe it’s fate.”

You quirked one brow. “...Fate? What?” you asked, entirely unamused.

“You never know!” he repeated in a singsong tone. “Good luck on your next session, keep me posted, okay?”

“Whatever,” you murmured, though you could feel a smirk tugging at one corner of your lips.

“Love you, Sis,” he teased (but you knew he really meant it).

“Love you, too, Bro,” you teased back (but you obviously really meant it).

As soon as the call ended, you tapped on the icon for your music app and pressed shuffle on your relaxing Jazz playlist.

After tossing your phone back onto your pile of clothes, you leaned your head against the edge of the tub again and closed your eyes.

The bath, although it was starting to cool already, and the ambient music were doing wonders to ease your aches -- both physical and mental.

But... your brother’s words kept ringing in your head, for some reason.

You never know.

Part 2

[floorbe]

Rock Lee x Reader “Thorns of a Lotus”

Warning(s): Hanahaki Disease, angst, fluff (at the end), angst with a happy ending, cursing

Summary: Okay, yeah, you have a crush on Rock Lee. But he likes Sakura, so you ignore it. What’s the worst that could happen?

Pairing(s): romantic Rock Lee x Reader

Word count: 5,739

~

It all starts with you feeling congested. It’s not obvious, really, like how nobody pays attention to a slightly stuffed nose. And it doesn’t bother you at first, so you don’t mind it. Except now it’s been weeks and you’ve slowly gotten more congested. You didn’t notice it at first, it had been moving so slowly that it just felt normal, until someone points out how much you’ve been clearing your throat lately. It makes you stop for a moment, but you just convince yourself you’re coming down with a cold. You don’t start to worry until today.

You wake up congested, as you always seem to be lately. You stretch and get out of bed, starting your daily routine. While eating your breakfast, you clear your throat softly and ponder what to do for the day. After contemplating between being lazy or actually training, (being lazy sounded so nice right now... but what would your Sensei think if you lazed around?) you begrudgingly decide to go to the training grounds. You don’t have any missions today, so you figure you’ll get a head start on some training methods you’d recently picked up. 

When you get there, you find Rock Lee. You aren’t surprised, it seemed like Lee was always training, even when he wasn’t at the training grounds. You almost turn around to find a different spot, you don’t want to bother him, but he notices you. He energetically greets you, waving you over, inviting you to join him in his training. You ignore the way your heart jumps, and you clear your throat before walking over to join him, smiling widely. Had you gotten more congested, or was that just you?

“Good morning Y/N! How are you on this beautiful morning?” Lee beams at you, placing his hands on his hips.

“I’m good, Lee! How are you?” You hold back from clearing your throat again, rolling your shoulders back. 

“I am well, thank you for asking!” Lee swings one of his arms in front of him, stretching it out. “Would you like to spar with me?” You nod, raising your arms above your head to stretch before starting. You spend a couple of minutes stretching and warming up before Lee springs up, hopping between feet and asking if you’re ready to start.

“I’m ready! Let’s go!” You exclaim, and almost immediately Lee lunges towards you, leg flying up to kick you in the jaw. You let out a shriek of surprise, throwing your body into a back bend in order to avoid him. You quickly flip over, dragging your feet to flip yourself around before launching yourself at Lee’s still airborne body. He grunts as your fist hits his side, swiveling to jab at you. You duck your head to avoid his fist, jumping away from him. Lee lands easily on his feet, turning to face you with his hand raised. You move into an offensive stance, eyes flickering around him, ready to attack if necessary. 

Your sparring match continues on for a couple of minutes, mostly composed of Lee trying to kick you and you just barely moving out of the way. You’ve landed enough hits on him to see him falter, and him you. You raise your wrist to wipe away the blood oozing from your nose, panting heavily. Lee suddenly sprints towards you, and you can see him begin to form a lunge to spring himself upwards. Preparing yourself for possibly his hurricane attack, he surprises you by suddenly ducking and lunging towards you, punching you straight in the chest. 

The air in your lungs leaves you as you’re hurtled backwards, and in a vain attempt to stabilize yourself your hand shoots out to grab Lee’s wrist, pulling him down with you. You land on your back with a thud, releasing Lee’s wrist and groaning quietly at the spikes of pain throughout your body. You hear Lee let out a small shout and open your eyes just as his hands slam on the ground on either side of your head. Lee’s face stops inches from your own. Your eyes widen as you realize that you’d just forced Lee into pinning you to the ground. Lee is pinning you to the ground. Lee is- wow, okay. It’s suddenly very hard to breathe.

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you stare up into Lee’s eyes, both of you breathing heavily. It feels like minutes go by as Lee stares at you in surprise, eyebrows furrowing slightly as his eyes flick around your face. If you had any coherent thoughts right now, they would be: 1. Lee is pinning you to the ground. 2. Geez, how long has it been since you’ve both been here? It feels like it’s been a long time. 3. Why does Lee look so confused? 4. Man, you’re so flustered it feels like you can’t breathe. Like it actually feels like you can’t b-

Your hand suddenly flies up to cover your mouth as you let loose a spurt of harsh coughs. Lee seems to finally snap out of his thoughts, realizing fully the situation you’re both in. He springs off of you, kneeling next to you as you cough violently into your hand. God, what is in your throat? It feels like something is stuck in there. 

“Are you okay?! Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I hit you too hard! Please, forgive me!” Lee cries, arms flailing wildly as he tries to think of a way to help you. He settles on rubbing your back as you sit up, shaking you head at him to try and dismiss his apologies. Unfortunately, his hand rubbing your back only sets loose more coughs, and he retracts his hand, biting his lip in fear. 

Your coughs slowly die down, leaving you breathing heavily with the distinct feeling of something in your throat. You clear your throat, trying to dislodge whatever is making you so uncomfortable, but it doesn’t seem to help. Your breathing finally evens, and Lee cautiously moves to sit next to you, “Are you alright?” 

You turn to look at him, giving him a small smile, voice coming out a little hoarse, “Yeah. I’ve been congested lately, so maybe you hitting my chest just set it off or something.” 

Lee furrows his brows once again, “I am not sure, Y/N. Those coughs sounded very painful. I do not think my punch was strong enough to provoke that.” You shakily stand, Lee’s hands hovering near you to catch you if you fall. 

You shrug your shoulders, “It’s probably nothing, Lee. A combination between a cold I’m developing and the sparring.” Lee doesn’t look convinced, but before he can say anything else you cut him off. “I think I’m gonna head back for a little bit of rest, actually. I’m still a little shaky.” 

Lee nods, approving of your choice, “I will walk you back to insure you make it home safely!” 

-

“I think you should see a medical ninja for a check up, at least,” Lee insists, “if it turns out to be something severe, you could be bedridden for months!” You nearly groan. Lee has been pestering you about seeking help the entire walk back. As annoyed as you are, it makes your heart flutter how concerned he seems to be about you. Your hand moves to rub your throat as you clear it again. 

“Really, Lee. I think I just need some water, then I’ll be-” you’re cut off when Lee suddenly snaps his head forward, a pink blush hinting at his cheeks. You look at him confusedly, and follow his gaze to see Sakura. Of course. Where Lee had just been concerned over you, you suddenly cease to exist when Sakura is around. Just like always.

Lee rushes over to Sakura as you stifle another cough. “Sakura! You look positively radiant today!” Lee compliments her. Great. Now you have to listen to him ask her out in his “youthful metaphors” and try to ignore how your heart stings. Just like you always do. 

“Oh, thank you, Lee!” Sakura thanks him, smiling. Lee’s blush darkens, spouting out more compliments to her. A pit forms in your stomach as you listen to him babble praises to her. Your chest constricts with a sudden suppressed cough, and you breathe in deeply trying to hold it in, but it only causes it to harshly force itself from you. Your hand covers your mouth as you feel whatever was in your throat finally come out. You pull your hand away to find... a flower petal? What the hell? 

“Y/N, are you okay?” You hear Sakura ask you, and you quickly crush the petal in your fist, moving it down to your side, turning to them with a smile. You really don’t want to talk to them for much longer, and showing them this petal will only force you to converse with them and painfully endure more of Lee’s blatant pining. (You wish he would pine over you like that, you think, but immediately banish the thought.)

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely, clearing your throat before continuing, “I’m just a bit congested.”

“Ah! Actually, Sakura, you are a medical ninja! Y/N, you sh-”

“It’s fine, Lee,” you cut him off, smile becoming more forced, “Just a cough.” You take a deep breath, holding back another cough, “I’m actually going to head home now, I’ll see you guys later.” You turn and walk away, not waiting for their response. Once you’re far enough away from them, you cautiously open up your hand again. Why the hell did you cough up a flower petal? Maybe you swallowed one during training? You sigh, shaking your head with a small cough before shoving the petal in your pocket and continuing home.

-

Okay, maybe this isn’t just a cough. It’s been a few weeks since the first petal incident. You’d convinced yourself that you had just accidentally swallowed a petal somehow, I mean, what else could it have been? But your coughs only grew worse as days went on. You started coughing up more flower petals. It started getting harder to breathe, too, and your strength was slowly draining from you. While weeks ago you were able to stay active most of the day, you could barely take a twenty minutes of training before needing to rest. 

Your friends were getting concerned. You had stopped showing up to most hang outs with them, and when you did you either left soon or looked sick the whole time. You couldn’t train with them without needing to stop soon after. The most concerned, you think, is Lee, who’s seen your coughing fits first hand the most. You’ve realized that they seem to trigger whenever Lee is around. You doubt it’s Lee himself, you have no clue what type of illness would cause you to get sick around one specific person (unless you’re allergic to Lee?). Plus, he’s been hanging around you a lot more lately, now that you think of it. It’s likely just coincidence; obviously if he’s hanging out with you the most he’ll see them the most.

He continuously pesters you about going to see a medical ninja, get a check up, anything, please, he will even come with you if you’re scared, and you know you should at this point. It’s only getting worse, and you assume it’s only going to get worse as time goes on. While you’ve managed to keep the petals a secret from everyone by coughing into tissues or into your hand, there’s only so much you can hide. If you keep coughing up more and more (the amount seems to be increasing, which is really scaring you) eventually you won’t be able to hide it, no matter how many tissues you have with you. 

The final crack in your decision to go to the hospital is when you’re sitting at home, and suddenly you can’t breathe, more than usual. You choke, pounding on your chest to try and force the petals blocking your airway. You manage to dislodge them rather easily, thankfully, and cough up nine (yes, nine) bloody petals. You freak out, the petals have never been bloody before, and you’ve never coughed up so many. You struggle to stand up, stumbling to the door, still panting lightly. You quickly make your way to the hospital, ignoring the worried looks from the people around you. 

In a stroke of luck, the only friend you run into on the way is Hinata, who gladly helps you to the hospital after seeing how panicked you look. As you walk in and Hinata quietly explains that she thinks you need help right away, (you tried to tell them but ended up coughing again. You try and thank Hinata with your eyes, and she seems to get it, because she smiles at you) and the nurse quickly ushers you to a nearby room. Hinata seems to read your mind again, as she promises not to tell anyone about this, but asks softly to please tell everyone if it’s a huge problem. You don’t get to respond as you’re pushed further down the hallway, her face vanishing from view as you enter the hospital room and are helped onto the bed. 

A doctor comes in rather quickly, asking you what the problem is. You go to answer her but end up hacking, clutching your chest as a few bloody petals flutter onto the bedsheets. You hear the doctor gasp, rushing over to inspect the petals. “What-? Did you accidentally swallow a flower?” You shake your head, explaining how you’ve been coughing these up for weeks, now. You’re sure you haven’t swallowed any flowers. She picks up the petals and places them in a bag, placing them on the table before grabbing her stethoscope to hear your breathing.

“It sounds like something is blocking your airway,” she murmurs, moving the cold metal along your chest, “Are there still more petals in there?” She seems to be asking herself more than you. “I’ve never seen something like this before... Excuse me for a moment, I’m going to go get a second opinion.” She leaves the room and you’re left sitting there in silence. She had never seen this before. What is this? Are you going to die? As you’re starting to panic, the doctor comes back with another doctor. 

The new doctor comes over to inspect you, looking at the plastic bag on the table. She, too, feels around your chest and makes the same comments. “I’ve- I’ve never even heard of something like this!” And off they go, to find yet another doctor. And then he comes in, and rinse repeat, off to find another doctor. Your panic is slowly rising with each new doctor and nurse that enters the room, each one just as bewildered as the last. Has no one really ever heard of something like this? Are you the first one? Oh, God, are they going to name this disease after you?! 

“Maybe we should get Lady Hokage,” one finally suggests, “if anyone in the village knows what this is, it would be her.” They all murmur in agreement, and one rushes off to go find her. You sigh as they all slowly file out of the room, giving you sympathetic smiles in hopes of comforting you in some way. You’re, again, left alone in this cold hospital room with nothing but your thoughts. A lone petal flutters out of your mouth, and you nearly start crying. You hadn’t even felt that one come up, that’s how normal this had become to you. How much longer were you going to have to go through this? Are you going to suffocate because of these stupid little-

“Y/N,” Tsunade calls out, entering the room, “How are you feeling?”

“Not good,” you mumble, unshed tears still in your eyes. One drips down your face as Tsunade holds up the bag with the collected pieces, murmuring to herself, “These look like lotus petals...” Her eyes widen slightly, moving towards you to feel your chest with her hands. “It feels like there are flowers all throughout your lungs...” 

“C-can you get them out?” you ask shakily.

“If you have what I think you have, then yes. There are two ways you can get these flowers out,” Tsunade says, leaning back and crossing her arms. “First, let me explain what I think.” 

“O-okay.” 

“What you have is called Hanahaki Disease. It’s written in old medical ninja practice books, but since there’s been no cases within the last few hundred years, it was written off as a myth. It’s the only disease I’ve ever heard of that involves flowers in this way.” 

“W-what does that mean? I grow flowers in my lungs?”

“Yes, the patient grows flowers in their lungs in response to unrequited romantic feelings.”

Unrequited romantic feelings? A picture of Lee flashes in your mind and you frown.

“It starts with a few petals, but slowly grows more and suffocates the patient more over the course of months, sometimes years. Eventually the patient is coughing up full flowers, and if not treated, it’s fatal.”

Your heart jumps at the word fatal. 

“The flowers often relate to the patients love interest in some way, causing the disease to kill the patient quicker if the flowers have dangerous elements, such as thorns. Lucky for you, you seem to be coughing up lotuses, which don’t have anything.”

The lotus of Konoha blooms twice! Of course. What a sick irony. Lee, one of the people you couldn’t imagine ever intentionally hurting you, is now indirectly killing you. With the thought of Lee, you start up coughing once again, and suddenly the reason why you seemed to have fits around him the most is clear. Obviously being around Lee would make it worse.

Tsunade rubs your back soothingly as your hacking dies down, “H-how do I get rid of them?” 

“Well, you confess to whoever your unrequited feelings are for-” okay, that seems painful but bearable in the long run, “-and if they return the feelings, the flowers will disappear.” You take a moment, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as tears fill your eyes again. Of course. It was never easy, was it? Tsunade rubs your back again as sobs shake your form. Lee likes Sakura, not you, and that’s pretty damn clear from every single interaction they’ve had compared to how Lee acts when he’s talking to you. 

“Hey, hold on. There’s a second option,” she reminds you, and you wipe your tears away as you turn to look at her hopefully. “The second option is a surgery, I would have to open up your lungs and remove the flowers directly. The only permanent consequence of this option is losing feelings for whoever the cause of the disease is forever, and possibly problems with your lungs.” So you’d lose feelings for Lee forever? A pang of sorrow shoots through you, but you shove it down. Losing feelings for Lee is better than death, you harshly remind yourself. You could handle that, and you could handle lung problems if it meant living. 

“I-I’ll do the surgery.” 

“Are you sure? You don’t want to try confessing before-?”

“I already know they don’t feel the same.” Tsunade pauses, blinking in surprise before a solemn look crosses her face. She nods.

“I understand. It’ll take me at least a day to research the disease again to safely perform the procedure with the least physical repercussions; since I thought it was a myth, I didn’t look much into it...” You nod. “Are you able to stand? Since you’re not coughing up full flowers yet, you should be okay to go home, however...” 

You somewhat shakily stand taking a moment to regain your balance. “I’ll be fine going home. I can still walk, and I’m alright when they aren’t around. As long as I avoid them until you’re ready I should be fine.” 

Tsunade nods warily, “Alright. But if you start throwing up full flowers, come to me immediately. We’ll need to start the procedure as soon as possible.” You nod and make your way out of the hospital room. 

Just as you’re exiting the hospital, you run into Naruto. “Huh? Y/N? What are you doing coming out of the hospital?” he asks, rubbing the back of his head. “Did you finally take our advice and get a check up?” When you nod, Naruto’s face turns more serious, “Is it anything bad?” You hesitate, considering telling him. It would be nice to talk to someone... but if you told him chances are he’d tell everyone else. You decide against it. You’re going to get surgery to fix it soon, anyways, so there’s no need to worry anyone. 

“No, nothing bad. Just a really bad cold,” you weakly chuckle, and his face lights up. “What are you doing here, anyway, Naruto?” 

“Oh, I’m looking for Grandma Tsunade. Shizune told me she would be here,” he shrugs. “I’m glad it’s nothing bad, Y/N! Everyone will be relieved to hear it, y’know!” You smile and nod, bidding him goodbye as you continue your walk home. 

You try to avoid any routes you know your friends are likely to be on, you don’t want to risk running into Lee, even if the chances are low. He’s usually training right now. You clear your throat softly and turn your thoughts away from him. You instead enjoy the bustling scenery of the village, laughing quietly at the kids around you playing ninja. It takes a bit longer than usual, but you finally reach your home. 

Unlocking the door, you quickly enter and shut it, sighing. You’re exhausted. When aren’t you exhausted anymore? You trudge to your bedroom, flopping onto your suddenly overly comfortable bed and drifting off almost immediately.

-

Someone is knocking on your door. No, someone is pounding on your door. You groan, rubbing your eyes as you try to roll out of bed. How long were you out? It’s still bright out, so maybe a couple of hours? You grumble as you make your way to the living room, “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” You have no idea who would be knocking on your door. It’s rare anyone ever comes to your home without you expecting them. Yawning, you swing open the door to see... Lee. Fuck. 

“Ah! Hello, Y/N!” You cough. “I apologize for showing up unannounced, however Naruto has told me the good news!” Good news... you don’t remember any good news. Your mind can’t keep up, and it’s not helping that your throat is slowly constricting. He must see the confusion on your face, because he explains, “Your illness is nothing but a bad cold! I am relieved. I was very worried about you!” A few more coughs force their way out. You struggle to keep your eyes on him, and he must take your obviously weakened look as nothing but a part of the supposed cold.

“Once I heard it was nothing but a cold, I-” he pauses, bringing out a thermos from behind his back that you hadn’t noticed he was hiding before. He holds it out to you, a distinct blush forming on his cheeks, “I made soup for you!” Wow. That’s... that’s adorable. The blush on his cheeks (he had never blushed around you before, not without Sakura there), coupled with the fact that he went out of his way to make you soup... your heart flutters. 

Unfortunately, Lee had unknowingly triggered the final stage of your ailment by doing this. You suddenly start violently hacking, collapsing onto your knees. The petals you were holding in your mouth before fall onto the ground. Lee frantically kneels beside you, talking about something you can’t understand. Everything is suddenly blurry, and he sounds distant. You feel like you’re coughing up something huge, something so huge that it’s blocking your airway completely. You can’t breathe at all, desperately pounding on your chest. You’re heaving, tears falling from your eyes as your throat stretches painfully. 

Then, Lee puts his hand on your back to try and soothe your violent heaving, and it causes the most forceful cough you’ve ever had. Whatever is in your throat inches its way into your mouth, allowing you only small amounts of air. You cry harder as your throat is rubbed raw from how painful it is. With one last heave, the object falls onto the floor beneath you. Dripping with blood is a fully bloomed lotus. 

Lee is still talking, the the tone of his voice is noticeably panicked, but you still can’t quite make out his words. “Hospital,” you croak before slumping forward, passing out. 

-

Your throat and chest have never been in more pain. You open your eyes only to immediately shut them, the bright light too much of a contrast to adjust to quickly. You blink a few more times before you begin to make out what’s around you. You’re back in a hospital room. Looking out the window, it’s still light outside. How long had you been out this time? It doesn’t seem like much time has passed. 

Hearing approaching footsteps, you turn to the door to see Lee entering with a cup of what you assume is water. He’s looking at the cup, eyebrows furrowed, and he only looks at you after he’s turned back around from closing the door. Meeting your gaze, he gasps and nearly drops the cup rushing over to you. He places the cup down on the desk beside you, gently grasping your shoulder in relief, “Y/N! You are awake! How are you-”

You interrupt him by coughing yet again, yanking your shoulder away from him harshly. His face contorts into a hurt expression, and guilt fills you. Coughing harder, you turn away. Lee’s gaze turns solemn, but there’s something else in his expression you can’t pick out. “Lady Hokage told me about your condition. And your decision,” he says quietly, handing you the cup of, you were right, water. You take a sip as he tries to find the right words, “Why... Why did you not try confess to your loved one? There is a chance this could have been avoided.” 

“I know they don’t feel that way about me,” you shrug numbly, suppressing a cough, “So it wouldn’t really matter.” 

“But how do you know?” Lee asks, a hint of anger in his voice, “Forgive me, I do not understand. If they do feel the same, you would not be suffering in this hospital room right now! To not even try to save yourself before resorting to a more severe method that could leave physical repercussions is-!” His voice had been slowly gaining volume, tears glossing over his eyes as he became more passionate. 

“They like someone else,” you cut him off, pausing to cough again. “They’ve always had feelings for someone else and they’ve made that quite clear.” 

“But you did not try! There would be no harm in trying, even if they do like someone else!” Lee insists. He really didn’t get it, did he? 

“Lee, please, just drop it-”

“No! I am sorry, but I cannot drop this! I refuse to allow you to put yourself in a more dangerous position where there is a possible solution that is painless-”

“It’s you.” 

Lee cuts off abruptly. You stare down at your lap, clearing your throat softly. You place the cup back on the desk. If he was just going to keep pestering you, you’d rather get it over with. The reason you could go on with the surgery in the first place is because no one knew, no one would pester or judge you for choosing not to confess.

“W-what?” Lee whispers.

“You. It’s you,” you restate. Maybe they would’ve been right, after all, but you figured you could just spare yourself the humiliation. There were other options, so why do it when you knew it wasn’t going to work? It would just waste time you didn’t exactly have. Confessing to Lee could’ve also triggered the next stage in the ailment if he didn’t reciprocate. In your eyes, the surgery was safer in multiple ways. Or maybe that’s just what you’re telling yourself.

“Me? It is-” you look up at him to see something click in his head. “A lotus,” he realizes. You nod weakly. 

“See? It wouldn’t have mattered, you like Sakura. Everyone knows you-” you’re interrupted by Lee throwing himself at you, wrapping his arms around you tightly, laughing. You let out a noise of surprise, feeling a violent cough start to form.

“Y/N, you do not understand! I like you, too!” he pulls away, grinning at you with the darkest blush you’ve ever seen on him. You feel your throat clear a little. 

“Huh? But- Sakura?” 

Lee shakes his head happily. “It is true, I liked Sakura for a long time. However, I realized recently how strongly I feel about you! And how long I have unknowingly felt this way! That is-” he pauses, seemingly bashful, “That is why I brought you that soup. I was going to confess to you after you felt better, and soup would allow you to recover quickly!” 

You feel the weight in your chest lift almost instantly, a grin spreading across your face. You take a deep breath, feeling how light and empty you feel, tears welling in your eyes. You take one of his hands in yours, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. He gives you a flustered smile before remembering the situation, “The flowers! Y/N, are they-?” You nod, letting out a laugh. 

“They’re gone! Everything feels clear!” Lee pulls you in for another tight hug, laughing happily. There are tears falling down both of your faces as you clutch the other. Wiping his tears, Lee leans back from the hug, looking at you bashfully, averting his gaze as he opens his mouth and closes it again. You tilt your head in confusion, “Lee? What’s wrong?”

Lee taps his fingers together, stuttering, “W-would it be alright if I k-kissed you?” Your blush worsens, but you smile and cup his cheek with your hand. He shivers slightly and leans into your palm, looking at you hopefully. You nod, and he grins, letting out a small excited laugh (the cutest laugh you have ever heard from him, honestly). 

His hand comes up to shakily cup your cheek, leaning forward and closing his eyes. You meet him halfway, pressing your lips together and letting your free hand’s fingers run through his hair. Your lips move against each other, a little sloppily, but you couldn’t be happier. Lee tentatively places his hand on your hip, drawing you closer, to which you gladly oblige. His lips are soft against your own, and his hair is just a silky as it looks. You feel a swarm of affection fill you, making you smile into the kiss. Pulling away, you lean your forehead against his, grinning widely. He slowly opens his eyes, a dazed look on his face, and grins dopily at you. Your heart flutters, quickly pecking his lips and laughing as his chase after yours. 

Before he can connect your lips together again, someone clears their throat from the doorway. Lee nearly jumps away from you in surprise, turning to look at the doorway. It’s Tsunade, staring at you two with an amused look on her face and a raised eyebrow. “I’m guessing you don’t need the surgery anymore?” she asks, smiling as she starts to peel off her gloves. You shake your head, embarrassed, apologizing for troubling her. “It’s fine,” she reassures, “Better this than surgery.” Lee takes your hand in his as you agree, and you shoot him a smile, squeezing his hand. “You’re free to leave, with the disease gone you should be back at almost full strength, save for maybe a sore throat.”

You nod, thanking her again, making her wave her hand at you dismissively. As she exits, you swear you see her hand a smug Shizune something? You don’t have time to ponder on it, as you’re suddenly lifted into Lee’s arms, letting out a surprised shout. “I will take you home, my flower!” He seems to realize the connotations behind the nickname, “Er, perhaps not my flower... my sun! My star! My youth! My moon on a lightless street!” 

You laugh as he spins around with you in his arms excitedly. “I think flower is fine,” you smile, tucking your head into the crook of his neck, “It’ll overpower any bad connotations with flowers we have.” Lee tightens his grip on you, beginning to walk out the door. 

“My flower it is, then,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Your smile widens, nuzzling your nose into his neck and sighing. 

As he walks out of the hospital room, you you still in his arms, you realize something, “Hey, Lee?”

“Yes?”

“You said you recently found out you liked me, right? When did you realize?”

“O-oh, well,” Lee stutters a bit, shifting you around in his arms, “Do you remember a few weeks ago when we were training, and I knocked you down? You pulled me down with you and I ended up pinning you to the ground.”

Oh, geez, right. You could never forget that moment. “Oh, y-yeah, I remember that.” 

“Well, it was right then! My heart suddenly swelled, and I got very embarrassed! I realized that those are not usual feelings one would have for a friend, they are romantic! And then I realized had actually felt this way for a long time! It just took that push to make me understand,” he explains passionately. 

You hum in response, “Good thing I pulled you down, then, huh?” Lee chuckles and nods, continuing to carrying you outside the hospital. You laugh quietly, “Lee, you know I can walk, right? My strength is almost back to normal.” 

You see Lee nod his head, “Yes! However, if it is alright with you, I enjoy carrying you!” 

“More than alright,” you affirm, placing a soft kiss against his neck and laughing when he jumps. The steady rocking of Lee’s walking soothes you into a sleepy state. Closing your eyes, you drift off, content knowing that the path ahead of you is filled to the brim with happiness.