#I think of partners I’ve been patient and gentle with because of their mental health issues

[oglegoggle]

I would like to have my neck and chest kissed. I would like to feel another’s arms wrapped around me. I would like to rest comfortably against somebody. I would like to have my body rubbed where it aches the most from old wounds and the general stress of life. I would like to experience gentle and tender love. I would like to feel at peace. I would like to feel safe. I would like to live with someone who will put as much effort into me as I would like to put into them. I would like to have my needs respected and health & well-being considered. I would like to have a support who will stand with me when I need it the most. I would like to not feel so alone against the world.

[writerlyhabits]

This has been in my brain for too long~

I feel like a lot of women have dealt with toxic and/or abusive relationships, and their behavior changes a lot afterwards.

Some people will tense up or flinch if someone walks behind them or moves too quickly, or will curl into themselves if someone raises their voice, or will apologize for literally EVERYTHING, or will cry the moment they think someone is mad at them (guilty as charged 😅). The list goes on.

I was wondering how you’d think Din and Bucky would react/say/behave if they noticed Reader doing those kinds of behaviors around them?

I feel like I’m not making sense. 😅 point is, these dudes are intimidating, and my skittish ass self would be halfway terrified of them until I could build some kind of trust, ya know? I just want some headcanons of them being gentle and patient 😭

While I am so sorry to hear that has happened to you, I understand exactly what you mean. I’ve had an unhealthy relationship of my own that has affected how I react, and for me, I get angry and very self-defensive. I also cry 😅 I hope I did this request justice with some moments with our big gentle boys. 💖 Thanks to @deceiverofgodss for beta reading as always!

Just gonna hop on my soapbox for a sec: Don’t settle. Please. Don’t stay with someone because it’s easier, or it could be worse. Make sure you’re being treated the way you deserve, and if your partner isn’t treating you like you’re a divine creature to be put on a pedestal, get out. For your own mental health and overall wellbeing, don’t let them keep doing it. I love you all 💖

(we're going under the cut cause I got carried away and wrote 2k words 😬)

Bucky Barnes

It was a stupid fight. It wasn’t about anything important, but you were irritated with each other anyway. You had a bad habit of letting your laundry sit in the basket for a few days before putting it away, and when his clothes got mixed in, he didn’t like having to fish them out and find them wrinkled. When Bucky would put your clothes away, he reorganized things and did it wrong, leaving you clueless to where any of your things were.

It finally blew up when you were trying to get ready for dinner with friends. The two of you were going to be late, but none of your clothes were in the right place or looked the way they should.

“If you would just fold it as soon as it was done, they wouldn’t get wrinkled like this,” he offered as he was ironing his shirt.

“I don’t usually have time, James.” You argued. “It’s time-consuming… like finding my sweater, apparently, after you moved them all again.”

“It makes more sense that way!”

“No! Not to me it doesn’t! That’s why I had it the way it was!” you were starting to get yourself worked up, you needed to calm down. It was just a sweater. “If you’re so concerned about the wrinkles, why don’t you just iron them out.” It was a cheap shot, but you couldn’t hold your tongue.

“I’m not going to iron out a t-shirt every damn time I need to get dressed,” he shot back.

Something about the way he said it was off. There was a stronger emotion behind it, it felt more emotionally charged, and it struck a chord within you.

You’d gone silent, and he didn’t continue to harp on you, finishing his work in silence, mulling over his emotions. But by the time he’d finished ironing his button-down shirt and slipping it over his shoulders, you still hadn’t emerged.

Working on the buttons at his wrists, he went to go help you retrieve your sweater so you could just get to the damn restaurant. He knew Sam would give him shit for being late.

When he entered your shared room, he found you crumpled on your knees, your head in your hands as the contents of the bottom dresser drawer sat in disarray in front of you. Your body shook with silent tears and his heart broke.

“Hey hey hey, what’s with the tears? What’s wrong?” he asked softly, quick to kneel down in front of you, trying to get you to look at him with gentle hands.

When you didn’t want to meet his eyes he tried another approach, and you allowed him to pull you into his lap as he sat with you on the floor, your hands still on your face as you buried it in his chest.

“Talk to me sweetheart, what did I do?” He placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head as he ran a hand up and down your back, the other stroking your hair.

“You didn’t do it.” He gave a huff of amusement.

“Bullshit, you’re crying. Clearly, you’re very upset about something.” He tried, and you just shook your head. “Baby, you gotta tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

You sat yourself up to look at him in the eyes, tears staining your cheeks.

“No. You didn’t do this.” He looked at you confused, allowing you to elaborate.

You told him everything. You told him how shitty your relationship with your ex really was. How they had treated you, how it made you feel, and the walls you’d built up in response. You explained your self-preservation method of sorts, how you had learned to defend yourself during the frequent fights and arguments that would break out just so that you could keep some of your sanity, let alone your dignity.

When you’d heard his angry voice, it had sent you back to a place you didn’t want to be, and you broke down.

“I kind of panicked at the thought of you being genuinely mad at me.”

You two had been together for a while, you were living together for fucks sake. But you couldn’t think of a single time where you had been truly mad, your arguments coming mostly from your differences and the struggle that came with learning how to blend them together.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m not mad at you,” he cooed, holding your face in his hand. “You drive me up a wall sometimes, but I know I do the exact same thing to you.” He laughed, and he earned a chuckle from you.

“I’m sorry,” you offered, and he furrowed his brows. “I know it’s kind of silly, crying over-”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t for one second think you have to apologize for this.” He didn’t even let you finish the train of thought, he wanted to get it out of your head.

Bucky understood more than most what it was like to have something or someone have control over you, no matter how hard you fought it. He knew what it was like living with the weight of having a reset code to undermine everything he’d worked so hard to get back.

But he also knew what it was like to be free from their hold, to have reclaimed his own mind, and still have to fight back his own memories.

“You have your scars, you have your traumas, just like I do. You’ve been so gentle and understanding with me and everything I come with… Don’t think you deserve any less.”

And he followed through.

You didn’t end up going to dinner that night, it was much more important to stay home and just hold each other, Bucky reminding you just how much he loved you, how much he was willing to do for you.

The next day, clothes were piled high on your bed as you gutted both the closet and dresser, working together to reorganize things in a way that made sense to both of you, putting an end to your missing clothes. You made a point to lay your clean laundry out on the bed when it came out of the dryer, and separate Bucky’s clothes so they could remain wrinkle-free, even if your basket sat at the end of the bed until it was time to do laundry again.

And when the two of you left your emotions unchecked, when your defense mechanism came out again, he was nothing but patient with you. The argument would be put on hold to return to later with clear heads, and he would just hold you.

In those moments, you would feel his love so fiercely that your body had no more room to feel hurt by ghosts of your past. He would try to heal your broken pieces the way you had done his, and together you would each become whole.

Din Djarin

Din communicates very differently than you do. You speak your mind at every moment, your thoughts and emotions are no secret. Din speaks more with his actions than his words.

Sometimes, that difference is your downfall.

He was back from a hunt tired, body aching, and just overall feeling very tense. He needed to release the tension from his body somehow, whether it be a hot shower, a moment alone in the cockpit, stealing you into his bunk … something.

But until he did, he was usually very curt, quick to the point. And sometimes, like tonight, it didn’t bode over well with you.

You’d had a day of your own, the child deciding that he only wanted his father today, despite the fact that he had not even been on board since the morning prior. Every little thing after that took more effort than it should have, more often than not you just had to put him down and let him cry it out while you cleaned the ship from head to toe to distract yourself.

And when you heard the ramp start to open, your head was filled with notions of a warm welcome home, holding your Mandalorian as he told you he missed you, the kid finally being able to find peace, and your little family being able to find comfort after your respective stressors.

So when he didn’t say a word to you before making his way up to the cockpit, you were filled with an array of emotions and you didn’t like any of them.

The child at least seemed to go down a little easier when you went to tuck him into his pod, the mere presence of Din seeming to be enough for him. Thank the maker.

You knock on the door of the cockpit before entering in the event that he’d removed his helmet.

“What?” He snapped.

“Can I come in?” you tried. He gave you the go-ahead, loud enough for you to hear, but grumbled very passively.

“What is it?” While it wasn’t necessarily unkind, it was sharp. He didn’t look at you, keeping his focus on the control panel in front of him.

You didn’t quite know what to do… He’d come back tense from missions before, but this reaction was new, and you didn’t particularly care for it.

“I just… wanted to check-in.” You were quiet, unable to stop the creeping fear that you were going to upset him.

“I’m fine.” That was the universal sign for no I’m not fine, but you didn’t know if you should press. He finally turned his chair slightly so he could look at you over his shoulder. “Was that it?”

With the lack of tone, his question was almost dismissive, and it cut through you deeper than you wanted to admit. It left you floundering, unable to move, unable to speak, your mind going through too many thoughts at once. Some of which you knew were wrong, but just couldn’t help thinking again...

When you don't answer, he turns his chair the rest of the way around to look at you, and he tilts his helmet in the way he did when he was exasperated.

“Sorry…” You couldn’t manage more than a whisper. “I’ll leave you be.”

He picks up on it immediately. Your whole demeanor is different than it should be when he’d turned his chair around. You were stiff and uncomfortable, like you didn’t quite know how to exist in the small space with him.

Dank farrik… his stomach tied itself in a knot seeing you like this. Especially when he knew it was his doing.

“Mesh’la, wait...” he tried much softer, reaching out to grab your wrist.

And you flinched.

He immediately let you go, his visor snapping up to meet your eyes. There were so many emotions behind them, and he didn’t like the thought of what they told.

“You.. you didn’t think I would-”

“No, of course not,” you were quick to reassure, watching his shoulders drop in relief. He waited silently in question. You took a breath to steady yourself, and you told him everything.

You told him everything. You told him about your shitty relationship with your ex. How they had made you feel, and the walls you’d built up because of it. How you’d become weary of quick and unexpected movements, especially being grabbed like that. Why they made you feel that way, and your own defense method to avoid it the best you could in this unforgiving galaxy.

He was quiet for a while, and there was a quiet voice in your mind that wondered if he thought you were being ridiculous.

He reached his hand out gently towards you. “Can I hold you?”

You smiled, nodding as you took his hand, letting him gently lead you into his lap, hooking your legs over his as you tucked yourself into the crook of his neck.

The two of you sat in silence like that for a little, Din having removed his gloves to run his hands soothingly on your back and through your hair.

“I shouldn’t have been so short, you didn’t deserve that,” he says softly after a while. “I didn’t mean to dismiss or scare you. I’m sorry… for how I responded, and for what has happened in your past.”

After that incident Din is very observant of you —more than usual— and is hyper-aware of his actions. Especially after a hunt, or any other time his mood wasn’t the greatest.

He made certain that you knew it was never directed towards you. And if he needed a minute to himself after a hunt he would come hold his helmet to your head before disappearing, a silent agreement between the two of you.

Even when he wasn’t in a sour mood, he tried to be cautious of his actions. Always giving you the chance to react and respond before he did something, or if he needed to act fast he would call your name and give as much warning as possible.

Trying to exist together with your crazy lifestyle was difficult. It was a very intricate dance, and Din was willing to learn every step.

...

Taglist: @deceiverofgodss @janebby @lam-ila

Bucky Barnes: @toothhurtyam @keepingitlokiii @ragnaroqk @iambeeee @st-verygreen @maltifandomwar

Din Djarin: @spideysimpossiblegirl @cats-are-a-girls-bestfriend @gracesmusings

[didsomeonesaydaddydraco]

Baby you | Tom Felton x Reader

Pairing: Tom Felton x Reader

Words: 1,637

Warning: none. just fluff

Author’s note: Sorry for the long wait, I was on a hiatus. I had to figure out a few things in my life and focus on my mental health. 

Hospitals have always been one of my least favorite places on the planet. When a family member or acquaintance had a kid, I didn't even want to go there. I felt sick to my stomach from the scent of antiseptics and the notion that someone could be dying in one of the rooms, so I tried to stay away from the building as much as possible. But right now, I'm sitting in the waiting room, staring at half-white, half-sage green walls, trying to take in as little air as possible to avoid the stench of antiseptics and my excessively protective boyfriend freaking out next to me. 

"How many times do I have to tell you that you need to be more cautious?" Tom sighs and fidgets with his watch on his wrist, checking the time every second and blaming the ER nurses and physicians for their slow job. "We've been here for more than a half-hour and no one has bothered to inquire as to what we're waiting for.”

"Tom, I have a sprained ankle, but I'm not going to die. Calm down, just because you're impatient doesn't mean they can work faster," I say as I roll my eyes and gaze around the waiting area, attempting to figure out why people are there. He groans and gets up to find a nurse or a doctor who can finally check on my leg. I take a big breath and rub my temples. Deep down, I'm glad he went to see a doctor because my ankle has swollen and become more painful than it was when we arrived. I would never have given him the satisfaction of being correct about me pushing my limits too hard and refusing to accept when my body attempts to tell me to stop or not do anything, putting me in situations like the one I'm in now. When I tried the online yoga session, it was meant to be a simple assignment, and I carefully followed every instruction, but my body was still fatigued and stiff from the hiking the day before. And, of course, my obstinate arse refused to listen to Tom when he advised me to take a break and try the class again a few days later. 

He sits down next to me and takes my hand in his, massaging the back of it with his thumb. "Alright, a nurse will be with us shortly," he says. Without saying anything, I kiss his shoulder and express my gratitude for his kindness and affection. "You don't have to hide it; I can tell how much pain you're in right now just by looking at the size and colour of your ankle, dear." 

I roll my eyes and lie my head on his shoulders, smelling his wonderful aroma and listening to his slow breathing. I attempt to ignore the puzzled looks of onlookers and patients who recognise him and are undoubtedly trying to figure out why he's there and with whom. We never told the gossip-hungry social media users and the deceitful newspapers about our relationship. Only those who were close to us knew about us, and we want it that way. 

"Miss Y/L/N, please come with me," a middle-aged nurse says, smiling gently and directing us to the examination room, where a doctor is already waiting for us. Tom assists me in standing and sitting up in bed, and then graciously moves away to give the nurse and doctor more room.

"What appears to be a problem, Miss Y/L/N?" He gets up from his desk and walks over to me, where he sits on a little stool and gently touches my ankle, causing me to groan in pain.

"She felt it would be a good idea to try an online yoga class with no prior experience in either an online class or yoga," Tom says, looking at me and then at the doctor.

"On my own, I can tell him what's wrong." I give my lover a mischievous scowl before returning my gaze to the doctor, who is attempting to examine my ankle without further injuring it. "But in a nutshell, that's what happened, huh”

"All right, let me see that ankle," he jokes, and a two-hour treatment begins, including a trip to another hospital level to have it x-rayed.

——-

"Careful" Tom assists me out of the car and supports me by placing my arm around his shoulder as we walk to the house. "You know what the nice thing in this?" I asked, holding a gorgeous pink plaster on my ankle up to the middle of my shin and a small bottle of pills in case "You know what the good thing in this?”

"No, but knowing you, you'll tell me in less than a minute," I say softly as I take a seat on the living room couch, my leg propped up next to me to relax.

"I can baby you, and you won't be able to stop me," he grins as he walks to the backyard to allow Willow in and feed her. She dashes inside, but Tom stops her and kneels to cup her cheek. "Willow, listen to me, mommy's ankle is injured, so you must be gentle around her," he says. "Please don't jump on mama or lay on her legs." He kisses Willow on the head and walks away. I chuckle from the living room, knowing well well that no one can stop Willow from sleeping on my leg.

———

"Tom?" you might ask. An hour later, I dial his number. After the painkiller knocked me out, I got a great nap, and when I awoke, Willow was sleeping on top of me, breathing noisily in my neck. I hear loud and rapid footsteps, so I suppose my partner is running down from our room or his study to the living area.

"Are you all right? Is there anything else you require? Do you have any discomfort?" I giggle quietly as he looks at me with a worried expression on his face. 

"I'm alright, but could you just get me a bottle of water?" I give him a friendly grin and gently massage the area behind Willow's ear. I smile at her as she groans a bit in her sleep.

Tom goes in and brings me my water before sitting down next to me and wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to his body, and kissing my cheek softly. 

"How are you doing?" he inquires.

"Much better," I say softly as I put my head on his shoulder, my eyes resting a bit. "Now that you're with me, sweetheart," I say softly as I kiss his lips and lean my head on his shoulder, resting my eyes a little.

"I've been thinking about us," she says. "We've been dating for a while, and if I'm being honest, you're the only person in my life who gives meaning to everything," Tom says, taking a deep breath. "Y/N, you're the light in my days, and I'm tired of always having to go over to your place, or waiting for you until you're off work and can come over.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out if the butterflies and peculiar feeling in my stomach are due to the love and happiness this man has given me for almost two years, or to my concern about his intentions about this brief speech. I raise my eyes to him and admire his features.

"Y/N, would you like to move in with me and Willow?" he asks, sighing and looking down at me with genuine love in his ocean blue eyes. I give him a big smile and kiss his jaw. When my buddy put me up on a blind date with him two years ago, I was convinced he'd find someone else shortly. But no, this man has always been at my side, giving me his undivided attention, sharing his dreams and anxieties with me, and becoming not only my lover, but also my best friend. I knew I didn't want to be with anybody else the moment he revealed me his soul.

"I'd love to, babe," I say as I stroke his thigh and advance a little to lightly kiss his lips. He pulls me closer to him and places his palm on my cheek, stroking my skin with his thumb as he smiles against my lips and intensifies our kiss. I make a slight movement, and he instantly pulls away from me, frowning at my leg.

"No, no, no sexy time till your leg is better," he says, shaking his head and kissing the bridge of my nose. "Do you need extra pillow under your leg?" he asks. Or do you want me to take Willow off your lap?" 

"No, I want you to kiss me again," I say as I grip his chin and turn his face back to me.

"Okay, so, I brought additional pillows to our bed, so you may put your leg on them at night," he pecks my lips a few times before pulling away, prompting me to grunt in irritation. “My mom will be here shortly with soup and cookies, as she is concerned about your health. In addition, I composed a song about our hospital visit and-“

"Tom, I love you, but you talk too much sometimes" I chuckle and look at him. "You know, you could use your lips for something other than talking" Tom grins and leans in closer to my lips. "Oh, really?" he asks, softly touching his lips to mine. "I can think of a few things you don't need your leg for" he kisses the corner of my lips and pulls me onto his lap.

[specialagentsergio]

all we can do is keep breathing || chapter two

summary: Spencer’s doing better, but recovery isn’t linear, and some scars run deeper than either of you knew.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: angst (eventual happy ending)

content warnings: swearing, drug abuse & addiction, substance use disorder, ptsd, descriptions of panic attacks/ptsd episodes, recollection of past bullying, unhealthy coping mechanisms, yelling/fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, body image issues

a/n: i was so taken aback by the response to chapter one--i didn’t think anyone would even read it tbh. thank you all and thanks for being patient with my lack of an upload schedule. i'm so sorry the word count is massive again. you get tummy appreciation, though, because 1) we all love spencer’s tummy, and 2) i personally gained weight when i was in residential treatment and it can be a bit of a mindfuck lol.

a/n 2: repeated disclaimer that i'm not a doctor, psychologist, psychiatrist, etc., just a direct care staff, past rtc patient and trauma recovery enthusiast. the horse therapy is pretty much entirely based on my own personal experience from nearly a decade ago, so don’t expect it to be an accurate portrayal of equine-assisted psychotherapy.

word count: 7.3k

song: you will be found from dear evan hansen

fic masterlist || masterlist

He’s been looking forward to the start of equine therapy since he got a spot in the program. But instead of being excited the morning of, Spencer ends up crying for an hour straight.

The day started off fine. It wasn’t hard to get up with the horses to look forward to, and he was able to get an extra plate at breakfast, so he could keep the pancake syrup from touching the eggs and sausage. Art therapy was a few hours later. He’d started to actually enjoy the pottery project—the recreational therapist had brought him a box of disposable gloves to use so the feeling of drying clay on his hands was no longer a problem.

Everyone’s projects were coming out of the kiln today and the next step was painting them. He’d been planning out the design and colors he wanted to use since the project started and was excited to finally start applying it.

Then he dropped his item, it broke into pieces, and he burst into tears.

He’d fled the room on instinct alone and curled up in a corner of the hallway, pressing his knees to his forehead. He was upset about the pottery, and upset that he was so affected by it breaking. He felt stupid and silly for crying over it, which only made him cry harder.

He heard distant laughter and he clapped his hands over his ears. He was being laughed at again for being a crybaby. He didn’t want to be a crybaby. He wanted to stop crying, he just couldn’t. The goalpost was cold against the bare skin of his back, and his wrists were starting to burn from the ties.

I want to go home. Just let me go home, please, I’ll do anything. Let me go, let me go--

“Spencer, it’s okay. You’re safe here. Can you repeat after me? I’m safe here.”

Safe here. Safe here.

Art therapy was over by the time he came out of it.

He has lunch at his therapist’s office instead of with the group. Lara asks what his flashback had been to.

He picks at his food. “It happened a long time ago. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright. Can you tell me how it felt instead?”

Spencer isn’t really hungry, but bites into his sandwich to stall for time. She doesn’t rush him. Eventually, he asks, “Do you know what alexithymia means?”

“No words for feelings,” she replies.

He nods. “That’s all.”

Lara opens one of her desk drawers and pulls out a composition notebook, which she then hands to him.

“What’s this for?”

“I want you to start trying to notice your feelings and sensations throughout the day. Make some kind of note, even if you don’t exactly have the words to describe it.”

He sighs. “Why?”

“Just noticing what you feel can help you develop emotional regulation,” she explains. She’s always been honest with him about the why of what she wants him to try and do. “It’s going to help you stop ignoring what’s going on inside you.”

I don’t want to do that.

“I know you don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he blurts. “That either. I—god.” He quickly takes another bite of food before he can say more.

“It’s fine. I didn’t expect you to like it,” Lara says with a small smile. “I’m sure the thought of confronting what you’ve been suppressing and avoiding is scary. But getting better requires you to do a lot of scary things.”

Spencer wants to protest. Being strapped to a chair in a shed and dosed against your will is scary. Your mother being diagnosed with Alzheimer's is scary. Being sent to prison for a crime you didn’t commit is scary. Feeling things? That’s not scary.

Isn’t it?

He tries not to think on it too much.

Despite the unpleasant thoughts running through his mind, Spencer finds himself nodding off on the van ride to the horse ranch. His eyes unfocus, his blink rate slows… and then he jerks back awake at the sensation of his head falling forward.

A frustrated noise escapes the back of his throat. He’s sick of feeling tired all the time. He’s getting enough sleep in theory, but still finds himself drowsy at least once a day. It’s to the point that he’s regularly wearing his glasses instead of his contacts to keep his eyes from feeling quite so dry. He pushes them back up now as he tries to tune back in to his surroundings.

“… don’t get how seeing some horse is supposed to make me feel better.” That’s Aiden’s voice. He’s Spencer’s new roommate. He wasn’t happy when he found out he was getting a new one, having much preferred having the room to himself, but it’s been okay so far, mostly because they keep out of each other’s way. Aiden seems uninterested in making friends, and that suits Spencer just fine. Lara’s been encouraging him to talk to fellow patients instead of just the direct care staff, but he’s resisted it. The last time he befriended someone, they ended up--

Spencer’s fine with the two of them keeping to themselves.

Melanie, one of the staff accompanying them, is leaned over the back of the middle seat as she talks to Aiden. “Well, I couldn’t tell you why exactly, but I’ve seen this program help a lot of people in my time here,” she says. “Spencer?”

“What?”

“You’ve been reading a lot about horses, right?” At his nod, she continues, “What have you found out?”

“Equine-assisted psychotherapy lacks the rigorous scientific evidence to demonstrate if it provides benefits in mental health treatment. Horses have been used to aid in psychiatric treatment since the 1990’s, though,” he says. He intends to stop there, but can’t stop himself from continuing. “It doesn’t necessarily involve riding, but may include grooming, feeding, and ground exercises. The goal is to help the client in social, emotional, cognitive, and or behavioral ways.”

He can feel Aiden’s eyes on him and takes a breath before meeting them. He knows all too well that his infodumps aren’t always well received. He doesn’t want to be friends, but would prefer for his roommate to not view him with disdain or annoyance. But Aiden looks interested, and says as much--”that’s interesting.” He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t, and there’s silence between them for the remainder of the drive. It’s not uncomfortable, though.

When the van pulls into a parking spot and everyone starts to get out, Spencer begins to feel nervous. He’s read everything he could get his hands on, but as a relatively new therapy, there’s no standard program; it varies by facility, so he doesn’t know exactly what to expect. He’s been looking forward to this, but what if it turns out to be a bad fit for him? What if the people here don’t like him? What if the horses don’t like him?

He hangs at the back of their group of ten—six patients and two staff—as they’re led to a shaded area. They’re introduced to the program director and assistants, and are given an overview of what they’ll be doing over the next six weeks. They won’t be riding the horses, just doing groundwork (he’s not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed). Then he learns that intention of this specific program isn’t just for the horses to help the clients—the clients are to help the horses as well. The animals all have the gentle temperaments suited for therapy, but also have their own struggles. A lot of them were adopted out of poor situations.

They’re led to a circular corral next and spaced equidistantly around the edge. Spencer’s heart rate picks up as the horses are brought in—the animals will be picking their therapy partner, the director says. As they’re let off their leads a jolt of anxiety runs through his body, making him twitch slightly. This feels uncomfortably familiar to school P.E. when teams were picked. No one wanted him then. What’s gong to happen if none of the horses want him, either? He looks down at his shoes.

But just a few moments later, he hears his name, and looks up to see one of the horses approaching him. “Looks like you and Chance are our first pair,” the director is saying.

First?

Chance is almost entirely black, save for a spot of white between his eyes and above his nose. His size is a little intimidating, but his demeanor is gentle. One of the assistants comes up to Spencer and instructs him to hold out his hand so the horse can sniff it.

His hand trembles slightly as he lifts it. Warm breath hits his fingers as Chance sniffs at it. Then the horse presses his nose completely against his hand. The moistness would usually bother Spencer, but for some reason it doesn’t. Instead, a smile slowly spreads across his face. The assistant tells him he can pet Chance now. He runs his hand up and down the horse’s snout, and despite the slight coarseness of the hair, finds it soothing.

The horse shuffles closer when Spencer is given his lead to hold. A startled laugh escapes him when Chance presses his nose into his neck. He pats his head a few times, then takes a tiny step back. He’s thrilled that at least one of the horses likes him, but feels a little crowded by the large animal. To his surprise, Chance seems to understand, and takes a step back of his own.

He absently pats his horse as he watches the rest of the group pair up. He still can’t believe he was picked first.

The rest of their time with the horses is very simple. They’re taught how to lead them, and after practicing in the corral, they take the horses back to their paddocks. Spencer’s disappointed to say goodbye already, but understands the need to not overwhelm the horses or even themselves. “I’ll see you next week,” he finds himself whispering to Chance.

There’s ten minutes left in the session, and it’s spent with the director telling them more about each horses’ specific background. Chance was poorly treated by his previous owner, mostly kept locked up in a small barn and not properly cared for. He has many talents and abilities, the director says. He needs to learn that he didn’t deserve to be treated the way he was, and be told that he is brave.

Spencer rests his chin in his hand and stares out the window on the drive back to the treatment center. He knows from his reading that horses are emotionally intelligent creatures, but he’s still… well, amazed by how the horses all picked who was most similar to them out of the group instinctively.

He feels more understood by an animal he’s interacted with for twenty minutes than he has by a person for months.

Before bed that night, he chews on the stem of his pen cap, thinking over the events of his day. Slowly, in a manner that could almost be described as cautious, he picks up the empty composition book Lara gave him and opens it. His hand hovers over the blank page for a few moments, then he puts pen on paper and begins to write.

---

You made dinner reservations for his visit this Saturday. You’re getting ready for it when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Spencer calls from the living room.

You return to fixing your hair up. You’re not expecting anyone, so it’s probably just a package or a neighbor. But just a few moments later, you hear Spencer raise his voice.

“No! No, I don’t—don’t touch me, please.”

You’re only half dressed, but hurry out to the living room anyways. When you round the corner, you immediately see what the problem is: JJ has dropped by unexpectedly.

It’s not that Spencer doesn’t want to see his team. They just bring memories with them, and he had decided shortly after his birthday that he wasn’t ready to confront that yet.

He’s standing a little ways back from the door, staring at JJ while she looks back with hurt on her face. “Spence--” she starts before she sees you.

At Spencer’s side, you place a hand on his arm and he takes a step behind you. “JJ, what are you doing here?”

She struggles to keep her eyes off of him as she answers. “(Y/N), I’m sorry, I just—Will and I made cookies with the boys today and we had a lot of extra, so I just wanted to drop some off for you. I—I didn’t know Spence was here. I didn’t mean to--”

You hold up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay, JJ. You couldn’t have known. You were just trying to do something nice.”

She nods, relieved at your understanding. “Yeah. Yeah, I….” She blows out a breath, then holds out a plastic wrapped plate of cookies to you. You take it from her with a quiet thank you. Then she looks back to the man that’s essentially hiding behind you as best as he can, despite how tall he is. “Spence, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t want me to touch you.”

There’s a tug on your clothing as he curls his fingers into the fabric on the small of your back. You tilt your head to look at him, but his gaze is on the floor. “You…” he glances up once, then looks back down. “You should ask next time,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” she replies, just as softly. “I will.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheeks to hold back a smile. Spencer often struggles to advocate for his needs, especially with his friends and colleagues, in fear of being a burden or more of a nuisance than he thinks others already perceive him as. He did it a lot with you when you first started dating. It took a lot of time and reassurance that yes, you really did want to know his wants and needs, for him to open up. Telling JJ to ask before touching him may seem small from the outside, but it’s a big deal for him.

After a rather awkward silence, JJ speaks again. “Well, um, I should get going. Just… let us know if you need anything, okay, Spence? We—the team, we’re all here for you.”

“That’s rich,” Spencer mutters behind you and you freeze. You recognize that edge to his voice. It’s usually accompanied by sharp words and remarks that he’ll regret later.

Please please please tell me JJ didn’t hear that.

“I’m sorry?”

Fuck.

“I hate to rush you out, JJ, but we have dinner reservations, so--” you try to interject but Spencer speaks over you.

“I’m just saying, why should I believe you’re here for me when you weren’t last time?”

JJ’s eyebrows come together. “I… don’t understand, I’ve always--”

“No, you haven’t!” It’s like Spencer can’t get the words out fast enough, the way he keeps interrupting before either of you can finish a sentence. This is clearly something that’s been weighing on him. You just wish he was unloading it onto his therapist rather than poor JJ, his best friend outside of you, who’s just trying to be nice. “Ten years ago I was shooting up in police station bathrooms and Emily is the only one who said a damn thing.”

His grip on your clothes tightens, forcing you to take a step back. You move the plate of cookies to one hand and reach back with the other, circling it around his wrist. “Spencer.”

Realization dawns on JJ’s face and she crosses her arms. “Spence, I couldn’t--”

“You couldn’t.” The little laugh he lets out derisive. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

You don’t know where all this is coming from or what he’s referring to, but JJ does, her expression hardening.

“You know what would have happened if the higher ups found out,” she says. “I was protecting your job. We all were.”

“You shouldn’t have!” he cries, emotions other than anger seeping into the words. “This damn job is one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me! I got anthrax poisoning, I still have issues with my knee from being shot. I nearly died from a shot in the neck, and let’s not forget, I was framed for murder by a psychopath I arrested, who then kidnapped my mother while I was in prison! Oh, and what else? Oh right, this job is the reason I’m a fucking addict in the first place!”

JJ’s clearly trying to hold back tears now, but one slips out and your heart aches for her. You close your eyes briefly and take a deep breath, then speak quietly but firmly. “Spencer, you need to leave the room.”

You can hear him breathing shakily behind you. “(Y/N)--”

“Now.” You squeeze his wrist and he finally lets go of your clothing. He takes a few steps away, stops, turns back and opens his mouth to say something, but at the look you give him, shuts it and continues on his way out.

A sniffle draws your attention back to JJ, who’s looking up at the ceiling and swiping at the tears sliding down. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I shouldn’t have come by without giving you a heads-up. I’ve just made things worse.”

“No, JJ, don’t be sorry. It--” There’s thumping noises from further back in the apartment so you step forward and shut the front door behind you. She has her arms wrapped around herself when you turn back.

“It’s not your fault,” you continue. “You were just trying to be nice. You’re a good friend to him. He’s just… everything is really raw for him right now, if that makes sense?”

She nods, wiping at her eyes again.

“It’s, uh, not an excuse, though,” you clarify. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. You didn’t do anything wrong. That was all him, so please don’t blame yourself.”

JJ is quiet for a bit, staring at the floor. Then she says, “I should get going.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” you agree quietly. Realizing you’re still holding the plate of cookies in one hand, you lift it slightly and add, “Thanks for these. And, um… I’m so sorry about that.”

She shakes her head and glances at the door. “Don’t be. Like you said, it was all him,” she murmurs.

You know she’s right, but you’re still barely able to stop yourself from apologizing again as she descends the stairs. You can’t help but feel like you should have done more, stopped him somehow, even though you don’t know how you could have. The way his behavior changed… it was like he wanted to get it all out, and when Spencer Reid wants to say something, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop.

The apartment isn’t quiet when you walk back in. There’s the scraping and clatter of a desk drawer, followed by frantic footsteps and the thud of books falling off the shelves. You know what he’s doing, and you know he won’t find anything, so you just lock the front door and continue on to the kitchen to put the cookies away.

You lean on the counter and cover your face with your hands. It doesn’t matter if you mess up your hair or face, or anything, really, because you’re not making it to dinner anymore.

You stay like that for a while, eyes closed, trying to think of a place to even start with Spencer after all of that. When the sounds of him tearing through the apartment stop, you lift you head back up and promptly jump—he’s staring at you from the nearest doorway.

“Jesus, Spencer--”

“Where’s my stuff?” he asks, and the seriousness in his tone of voice makes your anxiety spike. You know exactly what he means by stuff.

“It’s gone. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“Yeah, but it’s…” he trails off and his expression puzzles you. It almost looks like he’s confused. “It’s all gone.”

Ah. “Yeah, well, I know you think you’re sneaky, but you’re very much the opposite when you’re not sober,” you reply. “Finding your hiding spots wasn’t hard.”

He drops his gaze to the floor, frowning. “I don’t like it when you move my things,” he says quietly.

“I don’t like it when you use,” you counter.

He visibly flinches, then his hand tightens on the door frame. “I’m not going to—to take it, I just want to hold it. Where’s my stuff?” he repeats.

“Holding it, right,” you sigh.

“It’s comforting,” he argues.

“Even if I believed that, it wouldn’t matter, Spencer. I threw it all out. There’s none here.”

The humming noise he makes is angry, and he rocks back and forth on his feet in an agitated manner. “You shouldn’t… I don’t….”

I don’t have the energy for this. It’s a thought you feel terrible about as soon as you have it, but it’s the truth. Lara had cautioned you before his first visit that he was going to be hypersensitive to disappointment and frustration until he learned how to cope with the feelings he’d been using the Dilaudid to block out. Unfortunately, the information, while useful, didn’t always make his emotional extremes easier to deal with.

You run a hand down your face. “Spencer…” you start. You’re not sure what to continue with, but you don’t have to—for whatever reason, that sets him off.

He tears his eyes away from the floor to glare at you. “Don’t—don’t touch my things ever again!” Then he turns and all but runs to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

You suck in a breath and drop your head to the counter. The marble is cool and you thump your forehead against it gently a few times, focusing on breathing in and out slowly to calm down. When you’re ready, you walk as quietly as you can to the bedroom door and press your ear against it to hear the unmistakable sound of Spencer sobbing into his pillow.

Part of you wants to go in and comfort him, but you suspect that you’d just make it worse right now since some of his frustration is directed at you. And truth be told, you’re frustrated with him, too. So you retreat to the living room, flopping down on the couch and pulling out your phone to call the restaurant to cancel your reservations. Doing so is more upsetting than you expected; a few tears of your own slide down your face after you hang up. Before you know it, you’re calling Tara.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asks you.

“I…” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Spencer’s… we’re having a bad day. If you’re not busy, can I talk to you about it?”

“Of course,” is her gentle reply, and you pull yourself to your feet, moving to the farthest point away from the bedroom in the apartment so Spencer won’t overhear.

“He got angry when you told him you got rid of everything?” she guesses when you reach that part.

“Yeah. He told me that he doesn’t like it when I move his things. I already knew that; that’s why everything else is where he left it. I think he was mostly just caught off guard that I knew all his hiding places.”

“If he’s having a trauma response to seeing JJ, he’s not going to be thinking clearly, either,” Tara points out. “I wasn’t there, so I could be wrong, but from what you’ve said, it sounds like she was some sort of trigger for him.”

“That’s more than a fair assessment. It’s just… confusing,” you say. “He wasn’t like this with her when he first got home from prison. He actually spent a lot of time at JJ’s house before his relapse. He’d go over and hold Michael when he couldn’t sleep. Why is seeing his best friend suddenly such a bad thing?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t have to make sense to us. It only has to make sense to the traumatized part of the brain,” she explains. “He may not even know why himself.”

“Hmm.” You ponder it for a moment. “I think I’d find that interesting if I wasn’t living it.”

Tara laughs out loud at that. “Yeah, I’ve found that to be rather commonplace sentiment in the field of psychology.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling calmer. “Thanks for listening,” you say. “I feel better now.”

“Anytime, (Y/N).”

You exchange goodbyes, making plans to catch up properly over lunch next week. You hang up, then tiptoe back to the bedroom door. It’s quiet now; Spencer seems to have stopped crying. You knock softly. “Honey? Can I come in?”

When he doesn’t respond, you try the door handle. It’s unlocked, which is a good sign—he’s upset, but not upset enough to completely shut you out. You open the door just enough to look in.

Spencer’s on the bed as expected, huddled under his weighted blanket. His back is to the door and you see his shoulders shuddering in the little breaths that follow him crying. In your experience, he usually seeks out comfort before this stage, often having the breakdown itself in your arms or stumbling into them halfway through. This is a bit of uncharted territory. You know that after outbursts of negative emotions, he tends to need reassurance and touch from someone to help him decompress and feel better. You just don’t know if that’s going to hold true for this kind of reaction. A trauma response, Tara called it. You hope it will, because you don’t know what else to do.

“I’m going to come in now,” you tell him before taking a step inside. You leave the door open behind you so he won’t feel trapped, then slowly approach him, looking out for signs that he doesn’t want you near—tensing muscles, slight rocking, shaking his head—but he stays still.

Once you sit down on the edge of the bed you can see his face. His eyes are puffy and his cheeks are red and raw from wiping away tears. A few are still slipping out, sliding sideways down his face and dropping onto the wet patch on his pillowcase as he stares blankly at the wall across the room.

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his arm as lightly as you can. He takes in a deep breath, but does nothing to suggest that he wants you to remove it. After a few moments to ensure that he’s okay with touch, you start running your hand up and down his back. He whimpers a little in response, closing his eyes and titling back into your touch.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

You don’t get a straightforward answer. He chews on his bottom lip for a bit before speaking in a scratchy voice. “Can you…?” he mumbles, lifting his head up slightly from the pillow, then dropping it back down. You don’t know what he’s asking for until you see some of his fingers poking out from under the blanket and the stroking motion they’re making.

You maneuver across the mattress to sit against the headboard, jostling him as little as you can, and he shifts to place his head in your lap. When you start carding your fingers through his hair, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a little sigh.

“What’s going on?” you ask once the tension has faded and his body has settled fully into the mattress. He just shrugs and you press your lips together to hold back a sigh. You’re familiar with him going nonverbal and you know that he can’t help it, but it’s discouraging. One of the main things he’s been working on is being more open about his emotions. It’s been a welcome change to not have to pry things out of him. But he seems to have gone right back to old habits tonight and it’s… well, it’s disappointing.

The silence carries on for a long time as you continue to run your hands through his hair. He’s so still and relaxed that you think he may have fallen asleep until he takes in a deep, shuddering breath and clears his throat. “I… I want to go back,” he whispers.

“Back whe--” you start, then your heart drops as you realize what he means. “Oh.”

Your hands fall to your lap as he sits up and clambers out of bed, muttering, “gonna get changed.” He shuts the bathroom door behind him—for whatever reason, he’s not always comfortable with you seeing him changing or in the shower anymore—and you sit still for a few moments, processing what he just said. After over a month of listening to him express his desire to come home—begging you, even, in the beginning—you were unprepared to hear the opposite.

You shake your head slightly to try and clear it, then follow his lead, leaving the bed and changing out of your fancy clothes, trying not to think about how much you had been looking forward to wearing them to the restaurant.

Spencer remains quiet for the drive back to his treatment center, staring out the passenger side window, legs pulled into his chest. He mumbles a quick “bye” to you when you check him back in—no hug or kiss on the cheek like you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead he turns right back to the nurse and staff member running the process and asks, “Is Matt working tonight? I need to talk to him.”

At least he wants to talk to someone, you tell yourself as you leave, trying to soothe the sting caused by the fact that the someone isn’t you.

---

The next time you see him is six days later, on Friday evening. You’ve only talked once since Saturday, over the phone on Wednesday night, and it wasn’t a long call. He was upset about the horse therapy appointment being canceled that afternoon because of the weather—it had rained hard all day—and didn’t say much else. He ended the call before the ten minute mark, saying that he was tired and wanted to go lie down.

He also didn’t request a visit for the weekend—he either didn’t think his treatment team would approve it or he just didn’t want one. So you’re visiting him at the center today. You’ve brought dinner with you—you cooked one of his favorites yourself—but before you eat, you’re having an appointment with him and his therapist.

Spencer glances up only briefly when you enter the office, quickly looking back down. One of his knees is bouncing.

You sit down on the other side of the couch, looking between him and Lara in the chair across from you. “So, um, what’s going on?” you ask.

Spencer looks to Lara and she gives him an encouraging nod. He takes in a deep breath before speaking. “I… I wanted to talk to you about what ha—happened last week,” he says quietly, keeping his gaze on his lap.

You don’t know why exactly he wants to do it here, with his therapist, but wanting to talk about it at all is a good sign.. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“Right, um. Seeing… seeing JJ, it--” he stops abruptly, and his hands tremble slightly as he runs them down his thighs. “Sorry, doing… doing this is making me really anxious.”

“Take your time,” Lara says and you nod in agreement.

“Okay.” He runs his hands through his hair a few times before continuing. “Se—seeing her brought up emotions and, and memories I wasn’t ready to, um, confront. It… it really tri—triggered me.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” you say quietly.

Spencer grimaces at the words. He lifts his hand, puts it back down, then lifts it again and rubs at one of his eyes. “I…” he starts, then fixes his gaze on the floor and goes silent.

“(Y/N).” You tear your eyes from him and look at Lara. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Spencer about Saturday? Maybe what it was like for you?���

“Oh. Um.” You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. You’ve worried about how what you say could effect him since his relapse—one of your biggest fears is saying something that would drive him to use. But it’s stressful to keep up with, and with his therapist is probably the best place to start ridding yourself of your new habit of… well, of walking on eggshells around him.

“I think it would be good for him to know,” Lara says.

“Alright.” You lace your fingers together in your lap. “I guess it was just… startling to me. JJ’s your best friend and you’ve never acted that way to her. Or anyone, really, other than your father.”

Spencer stays silent, but flinches at the mention of his dad.

“Do you have anything to say to that?” Lara prompts. He shakes his head, so she looks back to you. “How did seeing Spencer like that make you feel?”

You take in a deep breath and let it out slowly; you’re a little scared to say, not wanting to make him feel worse. “It was… distressing. Especially when he got mad at me for getting rid of his Dilaudid. I know he doesn’t like having his things touched without permission but I don’t think it was reasonable to expect that I wouldn’t have done that.”

Lara nods. “That makes sense. But our feelings aren’t always logical.”

“Yeah, I understand. I guess I just wish he would have told me what was wrong instead of being silent--”

Spencer finally speaks up then, in protest. “I couldn’t help it!”

“I—I know that,” you argue back. “I just—I’m just telling you how I felt.”

He looks away, folding his arms and sinking further into the couch.

“Spencer,” Lara says gently. “You wanted to know how (Y/N) felt, remember? And we talked about how you were probably going to hear things you wouldn’t like.”

You blink, taken aback that this was his idea. And with that comes the realization of just how long it’s been since he’s asked how you’re feeling. Thinking back, you realize that the last time you had a conversation that wasn’t only focused on his feelings and well-being was the day you found him asleep and tied to his mother. This… it’s Spencer before prison.

You’re drawn out of your thoughts by him sighing and muttering, “Yeah, I remember.”

“Alright. Anything else?” Lara asks you.

There’s a lot else, you’re discovering, but you’re not sure you can unpack it all right now. “Maybe…” you say. “Maybe he could just tell me what I can do to help when he’s… triggered?”

“I don’t know,” he says dully, and when he catches the small frown on your face, insists, “I don’t.”

“Yet,” Lara adds.

He sighs again. “Yet,” he repeats.

“I know it’s frustrating,” she says. “Your solution to these kinds of feelings before was denial or using. A solution, not just a problem,” she emphasizes. “I want you both to try and think of it like that, and get comfortable with the fact that it’s going to take awhile to overcome those habits.”

A solution, not a problem. It’s… weird to think of his addiction that way, but you can try, so you give her a nod.

“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer mumbles. But behind the defensive body language, he just seems tired.

He seems to relax a little when the meeting wraps up and it’s only the two of you in one of the rooms used for visits. He remains quiet, but when you place the plate of food you dish him across the table from yours, he slides it back and sits in the chair beside you. “Sorry,” he whispers as soon as you take a bite of food.

“For what?” you ask once you’ve swallowed.

“For yelling at you on Saturday,” he says quietly. “I was upset but I shouldn’t have yelled.”

His leg is bouncing under the table; you put your hand on his knee to still it. “Apology accepted,” you say softly.

He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t have to. I was awful to you on Saturday.”

You frown at his skewed interpretation of events. “Spencer, you really weren’t. You yelled at me, yes, but other than that, you were fine.” And you’ve said much worse when you’ve been high.

“I ruined dinner. And don’t say it’s not a big deal,” he adds before you can speak. “You mentioned it every time we spoke in the week leading up to it. You were really excited about it, and I ruined it.”

Spencer’s read you like a book—that was exactly what you were going to say. “Yeah, I was really looking forward to it,” you admit. “And it sucked to have to cancel the reservations. But there will be other dinners, and it’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“But what if I did?” His voice is so quiet that you wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t right next to you.

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean…” he rocks slightly in his seat, which you immediately recognize as one of his self-soothing behaviors. You move your hand from his knee to his hair, lightly running your fingers through the curls covering the nape of his neck to try and help. His head tilts forward a little at your touch and after a brief silence, he continues. “I just mean that self-sabotage wouldn’t exactly be something new for me.”

“Oh.” You take your time considering it; he won’t believe you if you give in to your knee-jerk reaction to protest the negative feelings he harbors towards himself. But he grows agitated at your silence, rocking a bit harder and rubbing at his eye. You tug his hair lightly without really thinking about it in response.

“I’m just thinking,” you assure. “You deserve an honest, thought-out answer.”

After taking a deep breath, he nods. “Okay. I understand. Maybe you could just, uh… to help c--comfort…” He swallows and his voice drops back to a whisper. “Could you do that again?”

“Do what?”

“Um, pull… pull my hair. You did that a few moments ago. Please?”

You almost want to tease him—a year ago, you would have. But he’s been so timid and unsure when asking for any intimate touch other than cuddling since he got back from prison. You don’t want to discourage him from asking any more than he seems to be discouraging himself.

“Of course, baby,” you answer softly, and do just that. He closes his eyes and drops his head onto your shoulder. “As far as the self-sabotaging goes, you’re… not good at lying to me,” you muse. “And after six years with you, I feel like I’m pretty familiar with all the ways Spencer Reid self-sabotages. This never even crossed my mind until you brought it up, so I don’t see that as being what happened.”

You can’t tell if he believes you. A neutral “okay” is all you get from him, but at least he’s not outright disagreeing.

You gently pull his hair a few more times. “You should eat before it gets cold and we have to heat it up again.”

He takes the suggestion, picking his fork up, but you’ve never seen him less enthused about eating one of his favorite foods. He’s only cleared half of his plate when you’re done with all of yours.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

You can’t help but sigh at the habitual response, and consider your next words carefully. “Spencer, I don’t mean to be pushy, but you told me you were working on not dismissing people’s concern for you when they express it.”

“I am,” he mutters, but doesn’t say anything else, just continues to push his food around his plate aimlessly.

“Well, is something wrong with the food?” you ask. “Did I get the texture wrong, or--”

“No, no,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “It’s not the food. The food’s great. It’s… it’s me that’s the problem.”

Your eyebrows come together. “I don’t understand.”

“I…” He starts to blush. “I’m not eating it all because I think I need to lose some weight.”

“Don’t you dare,” you say immediately without thinking. He makes a startled noise at the same time you clap your hand over your mouth. You definitely don’t want him to lose weight, you just hadn’t meant for it to come out like that.

On the day he came home and agreed to treatment, you’d seen just how underweight he’d become as you helped him unbutton his shirt. The stark outline of his ribs against his skin had been scary, and you had no desire to see that again. It was a relief when he started to gain back what he’d lost in prison and afterwards. And you were happy to see him continue to put on even more than that.

You clear your throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. You were just so skinny when you got here. You look good like this.”

“I’ve never weighed this much before,” he says, and the distress in his tone makes you think that this is a fact that has been bothering him for a while. “Some of my clothes are getting too tight.”

“We can buy you new clothes.”

“But we don’t know how much longer the insurance will cover my stay here. Residential treatment is expensive. We don’t need to be spending extra money on clothes when I could just lose the weight instead and not need them.”

“Hey.” You put your hand on his cheek. “I don’t want you to worry about money. The insurance is covering it for now. If they stop, that’s a problem to deal with when we get there. Just focus on getting better.”

He looks away from you, down to his lap. “I should still lose some weight,” he says eventually.

“Have you medical staff told you that?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he admits with a sigh.

“Then you’re not allowed to worry about it,” you say firmly. “Finish your dinner.”

Spencer hesitates, but picks his fork back up. The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly when he starts eating again, telling you that despite his fretting, he’s happy not to stop himself from eating as much as he wants.

He seems to be in a much better mood at the end of the evening than he was when you arrived, though a bit more subdued and quieter than normal. He also appears to be very tired. It’s only 7:30 but he keeps yawning. He denies dozing off with his head on your shoulder while you were talking after dinner, but you’re sure he did.

During your parting hug, he nestles his face into your neck just like he always does when you’re sleeping in bed together. “Try and get some good sleep tonight,” you encourage, smoothing your hands down his back. “And Spencer?”

He pulls back to look at you and you settle your hands lightly on his waist. “I meant it, you know.” You squeeze slightly. “When I said you look good like this.”

It takes him a few moments to catch onto what you’re implying; when he does, his eyebrows shoot up and his breath catches. “Oh. O—okay. I’ll, um…” he glances down shyly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better.” You look over your shoulder as you leave, and the small smile he’s wearing prompts one of your own.

--------------- 

tell me what you thought here!

i'd like to put it out there that i don’t hate jj and i really hope it didn’t come across like that. i hadn’t even planned that scene; it just wrote itself. i promise it’ll be resolved before the end of this fic.

another shoutout to the book The Body Keeps the Score for helping immensely with the planning and writing of this. i literally have pages of notes from it. 

you can also find irl pictures of spencer’s therapy horse here.

all we can do taglist: @thatsonezesty13 , @jhillio , @elitereid

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor

[ask-rp-devra]

With autumn slowly creeping in, the team was busy every day, getting ready for the winter to come. The crops looked good, morning dew on them as the professor stumbled out with a few Pokemon, taking them out for a morning stretch and bathroom break. She ambled about the garden, mindlessly eating a berry or two, pulling the odd weed out, while sipping coffee in the quiet. It wouldn’t be long before the Galar region was to open a new area up to the general public, and seeing as the team now had a galarian resident on it, the woman decided it’d be wise to go back and get the remainder of Devra’s Pokemon. They’d been stashed at her family home from what she had gathered, and now the gates were being fully opened, they could apply to move to johto, to the island. She had to admit, the idea of the tundra area becoming accessible was a little daunting, peach had never been too resilient in the cold. Perhaps this would be a good test for her. Val was going to come along for this trip, she planned to just go for a field visit with her Pokemon, but with Devs enthusiasm to explore too, it seemed wise to team up and go together on the trip. The young intern had been steadily learning, and because of her, Peach was freed up to do more work in other areas, now less busy with the herds of non-grass types. She did however get to visit for fun more, which she had to admit was enjoyable. Secret meetings with the stantler had become her lunch breaks as of late, they all seemed very calm with the big leader around, Donut, peach’s dear baby boy. Sadly he couldn’t come with her on the trip, he would have been a perfect fit for the area and it’s cold.

Perhaps it’d be nice to just start fresh, see who she ended up with as a team. Her hand found Val mid thought, petting her stupidly warm body. At least they could get some time together. Val had been so upset about not being able to go to Galar the first time round, so now was the chance to make it up to the Pokemon.

Devra was up an hour before sunrise, a rhythm to her day now that just came easily to her now. She would get up, get dressed for the days needs, then feed her main team of Pokémon first. Once they were taken care of she made her way outside, heading over to the main stable and barn of her little pocket of the island. She went inside and flicked on some of the lights, not wanting to startle the sleeping Pokémon awake. Never the less, she was still greeted by some happy calls from stalls scattered around the building, the Pokémon inside having grown used to Devra’s routine by now. She grabbed her push cart full of different feed mixtures, humming to herself as she started feeding everyone down one side of the building then working her way back down the other side. The last stall she always took care of was that housing her favorite family. Her partner Pokémon Fiona was laying in hay next to her mate, Peach’s Pokémon Titan. While they still dozed there was already a nose poking over the stall door, little Aliza always excited to see her mom’s favorite human.

Not too long after her coffee, peach had thrown an outfit on, and ambled towards the stables, she needed a mount today, and figured it was a good time to pop across, see how everyone was doing. A few members of the barn groups had to be checked on, at least once or twice a week, peach could leave the busy work to Devra and she appreciated it, but still had to go do the general health checks needed to keep everyone monitored, especially as the winter was threatening to roll in heavily. She kicked the door too a bit, Val going in first, clocking Devra, leaning over the stall door to pet the young ponyta. Upon seeing peach Titan stretched his neck as high as possible, able to see over the stall doors, giving a cry to ‘come over here’.

“morning everyone, Dev, Fiona, lil baby bean lady. She smushed Alisa’s little face briefly before focusing on her big fire type who stayed lying down. “Buddy, parenthood has slowed you down.” She teased the Rapidash, his body finally getting up, looking more sprightly now, putting his entire face in hers, hot gross morning breath and all.

Devra had moved down a few stalls by the time the Professor came in. She had just opened the door to the pasture, letting out a handful of wooloo out so she could clean their stall. She grinned she heard her name called. “Morning Professor! Hi Valka!” She dusted herself off and went to join them, grinning as she watched Peach. “Titan had a particularly rude wake up call today. Aliza tried to jump over him again. Failed terribly though. Knocked the wind out of both of them for a second. I watched them though. They both got over it quick. And Fiona gave the little bean a good scolding.” She sighed, giving her own rapidash attention as she finally got up to the door.

“certainly giving them both a lot to deal with day to day. She’s getting so boisterous now.” Aliza was running in and out of the entry to the paddocks, running circles around a stray girafarig, small in size but otherwise ordinary looking. “you been spending time with her recently? She’s about ready to start doing some proper training, got all that energy and no where to direct it.” With a final pat to the family, they seemed happy to go out to graze.

the professor wandered from stall to stall, some Pokemon remaining in to avoid the morning frost, greeting her as she passed by. “‘have you given any thought to who to take with you on our trip back to Galar?” She mindlessly hung up any stray harnesses, returning items to their homes.

She followed along with the Professor, opening doors and adding water or feed here and there as they went. “I’m not sure. I was thinking Zek or Fiona. But Zek has gotten really into it with the bug community around here. The little ones love playing with him so much. They use him as a slide! But I think he really likes it too. He never turns them down. And Fiona...I think she’d like to stay with her man. We don’t know how long we’re going to be there after all.” She sighed, rubbing her neck as she let out three Kanto ponyta. “It’s a real head scratcher.”

The colder climate was an oncoming issue to prep for, hearing she had thought through taking Zek was very logical. That centiscorch had a lovely nature to travel with.

“‘how about the youngster, Aliza. She’s about ready to start seeing the world, and we won’t be gone for too long.” The family looked happy out in the field, but it was noticeable how much energy the little hybrid ponyta had now. The professor stooped to pet a passing wumple, placing him higher up to avoid getting stepped on.

“‘there’s also potentially one other Pokemon you might want to see before you make your mind up, rung of the litter, a bit scrappy but a good strong hybrid.” She left a lot of details out, the Pokemon she had in mind for the trip was a particularly fun little guy, but they had yet to home him. Perhaps this would be a good fit for both the Pokemon and Devra.

Devra finished the last of her tasks, closing the stall as she turned to Peach. “I was entertaining the idea of taking Aliza. It would be nice to have a good strong bond with her.” She brushed herself off again as they left the barn. “Well, if you think it’s a good idea to take a look then I’d love to see the little guy.”

The last time peach had checked the Pokemon in question was up near the water plant. Professor Grey was the owner of the young pokemons father, a rather gentle houndoom, who had been a household pet to both peach and grey for a fair few years now. The mother of the Pokemon was an arcanine, and having had her pups and completed her rehabilitation, she had since been rehomed, along with several brothers and sisters, all beautiful hybrids. The last, however, was very small and so he stayed behind and got extra care. Peach had been overly quiet, forgetting to speak out loud sometimes.

“I think you’ll really like them, they’re a bit different.”

Devra grinned as her friend Mel, a sweet little Chatot came over to join her. “I’m always up to meeting new Pokémon. And you know I’m a sucker for different. That part of the reason I’m so excited to go explore the Crown Tundra.”

She nodded once in response and glanced up at the clock hanging at the end of the barn.

“want to go now? Not got any patients until later today.”

She looked around the barn, doing one last run through of her mental checklist. “I’ve got the morning rounds done. And anyone that wants in the pasture is already outside. So I don’t see why we can’t go now.”

[jihyuncompass]

RFA+V+Saeran Having a Fight with Their S/O

This came as a request from @sneksssss This is my first real angst headcanon I’ve written here. There is some angst in here but it does have a happy ending because I’m a sap who likes happy endings. 

Zen/Hyun

Arguments between the two of you weren’t common but when they did they absolutely sucked. 

Usually they all got sorted out pretty quickly but this one was different. 

It started when you told him that you didn’t like how he treated Jumin all the time. You explained that you understood why he didn’t like him and why Jumin made him angry but it had gotten to the point where Zen’s antagonism towards Jumin was starting to make other people uncomfortable. 

Of course Zen didn’t take that very well. 

He was stomping around the apartment grumbling under his breath. You had tried everything to calm him down but it wasn’t working Every attempt he made only seemed to make him angrier and eventually things reached a boiling point. 

“So what! Do you like that jerk more than me?” 

“Zen that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying-”

“If you like him so much, why don’t we just break up so you can be with him instead!” 

You both stopped. The second the words came out of his mouth Zen knew he regretted it. His heart dropped seeing the way tears welled up in your eyes. 

“You. You want to break up?” You stutter out, heart breaking with every word. Zen runs to you embracing you before you could even take a step back.

“No. I don’t want to break up, I never want to break up. I didn’t mean it I’m sorry!” Zen held you tight. You quickly wrapped your arms around him.

“I know that Jumin reminds you of your brother, and I know how much your family has hurt you. But Hyun, can you please just try and be more patient with him?” 

You can see how he was struggling but he sighed and nodded pulling you into another hug. 

“I’ll try. For you, I’ll try”. 

Yoosung

It was about his mental health, and by extension, about Rika. 

You knew how profound Rika’s loss had been on him. How much he missed her but now the effects were really starting to take a toll on him and you.

He was barely going to class anymore, he spent most of the day playing video games or sleeping. Getting him to eat anything other than junk food was practically impossible. 

After a while you finally decided it was time for an intervention. You hated seeing him suffering so much. 

When you finally mentioned to him that maybe he should see a therapist, or even just a doctor he got pretty upset. 

He kept insisting that he didn’t need to see a doctor, that he was just grieving. You tried telling him that there’s no shame in seeing a therapist. 

That didn’t do much in terms of convincing him though. In some ways it only seemed to upset him more. He continued to insist that he didn’t need help, he was just fine on his own. 

It got to the point that you were both crying, you didn’t want to fight with him about this but you felt this was too important and you didn’t want to give up. 

Finally it reached a breaking point where Yoosung broke down. You reached out to him slowly putting your arm around his shoulders. 

“I don’t want to let her go MC. She was my family, I can’t just forget her.” His voice was small, you leaned over and put your forehead against his back. 

“Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting her. Rika knows how much you love her, and even though I didn’t know her I can’t imagine Rika would want you to be so miserable. You can still live a full happy life without forgetting her.” 

He was quiet but by the way he took your hand in his, you knew he understood. 

Jaehee

Jaehee was a chronic workaholic. You knew this, everyone in the RFA knew this. 

That didn’t mean it was healthy, even after she started the cafe she still had a bad habit of working late into the night. She also wasn’t very good at sharing her work either. No matter how much you offered to take on some of her work you could never convince her. 

You found her working at the cafe long after closing, she was staring at a cake recipe she had been working on, you could see evidence of her multiple attempts on the counters. 

You asked her what she was still doing working and from there it escalated. 

It hardly looked like a fight, the two of you weren’t yelling but it was obvious that you were disagreeing. She kept brushing you off, insisting that it was fine and she wanted to get this all done before she finished for the day. 

You kept trying to convince her to call it a day. You both needed to be up early to open the cafe for the commuters and she wasn’t going to be able to get any sleep at this rate. Even if there wasn’t any yelling there was plenty of passive aggressive comments and dismissive looks. 

This went on until eventually you and Jaehee locked eyes. You could see how tight her shoulders were and how dark the circles under her eyes were. 

Slowly she put the pastry bag full of frosting down and sighed. You could see how all the fight went out of her. 

“Let’s go to bed Jaehee. We can talk about this in the morning.” 

The next day, somewhat rested and preparing the cafe to open you talked. You both talked about your concerns, you both listened to each other and agreed to work better as a team so Jaehee wouldn’t have to work so much. 

You are partners after all, you take care of each other. 

Jumin

Jumin Han doesn’t yell in fights. He’s trained to be calm under pressure. 

He’s the type to do that thing where he speaks in a completely monotone voice so everything he says sounds rational. 

Which by comparison makes you look hysterical, which makes you want to get angrier and yell louder. 

It all started when you went to a business event together. A party filled with many accomplished business men and women. It was a perfect way for Jumin to make some good connections. 

Trouble started when someone had approached you, you knew that he was someone important so you did everything you could to be polite. 

Jumin had overheard some of the conversation and had assumed the worst. He most of the night silent towards you, He hadn’t even said a word until you both got home. 

You knew that Jumin had a tendency to be a tad possessive over you but you had only had a conversation with the guy. But apparently that was more than enough for Jumin to feel jealous.

Jumin was watching you with his arms crossed over hie chest, his face completely blank. You were standing over him, trying to explain what had happened. 

“I wasn’t flirting” You insisted. 

“He was flirting, you just let him.” You covered your face. You had already been through this part of the conversation and nothing you said had convinced him. At your breaking point you finally admit the truth to him.

“Fine. I knew he was flirting, but I know that he’s important. I didn’t want to offend him and possibly make you lose a chance for work with him.” Jumin’s face softened. He seemed to realize your sincerity. The blank expression on his face disappeared, now there was only guilt. 

“I’m sorry.” Jumin said honestly. He rose from his chair and bowed his head. “I’m sorry I assumed the worst. Please forgive me.” 

You give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. 

“Oh Juju I’ve already forgiven you.” 

“And so you know. I would never do business with a man who would so shamelessly flirt with someone knowing they’re in a relationship. If something like that ever happens again do not be afraid to stand up for yourself.” You smiled, holding his hand. 

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Seven/Saeyoung

He was being distant again. 

Even though things had calmed down a lot Seven still struggled with his mental health. So sometimes he would pull away from you like he did before you got together. 

Usually it only lasted a day before he snapped out of it and apologized. But this time it was longer, and after three days he was still keeping away from you. 

When you decided to try and talk to him it lead to a fight. 

It’s what you would expect, telling you to stay away from him, that he isn’t worth it. It isn’t anything you hadn’t heard before, but something about this time made it way worse. 

“Saeyoung please, don’t push me out. If you need space I’ll give you space but you haven’t been eating or sleeping and I’m worried about you.” 

“I can take care of myself. Just go away.”

“I just want to help you.” 

“I don’t want your help!” 

Frustrated you left the bunker. You weren’t sure where you were going to go but you needed to get out. 

You made sure to stay where cameras could see you. Sure you were angry with him but you didn’t want him to panic. You chose a coffee shop to sit in for a little while so you could sort your thoughts. 

After finishing your drink you figured it was time to head back home. As you approached the bunker you felt a lump in your throat while your stomach churned. 

Taking a deep breath you get past the security system and open the door. You see Seven sitting on the couch, his gaze snaps up to you. He runs to you pulling you into a tight embrace.

“I was so worried.” 

“I stayed where cameras could see me.”

“I know, but I thought. I thought you might not come back.” You pull him closer. 

You close your eyes and hold him tight, until you both feel better. 

“You can’t just push me out Saeyoung, I know things can be difficult but you can’t just push me out when things get bad.” 

“I know, I’ll do better, I promise.”

V/Jihyun

Honestly I can’t imagine V truly fighting with anyone. 

He seems like the kind of person who would rather be wrong than in a fight. 

So here’s what I think would be more realistic for him.

Jihyun had grown a lot since you first met. The V you met was long a piece of history. But sometimes, especially when things got difficult you could see the V you used to know reemerge. 

It began when he started to talk down on himself more. You could see how much harsher he was on himself. How he kept apologizing for the smallest of things. Then you noticed how he stopped painting and drawing. 

Finally he stopped talking about he was feeling. He kept insisting he was okay, that you shouldn’t worry about him. 

After talking with Jumin you decided that it would be best to try and talk to him about it directly.  

You approached him after dinner one night, sitting next to him on the couch. You told him how he didn’t seem like himself, how he wasn’t talking to you about how he was feeling, and how you were getting worried. 

“I’m fine love, please don’t worry about me.”

“Jihyun, you know you can talk to me.” You put a hand on his shoulder, he tensed under your touch, you pulled your hand back watching him carefully. 

“I’m fine.” Jihyun stood up to walk into the other room but you couldn’t just let him go. You stood up. 

“Jihyun stop!” He froze in his place. “Look at me.” He turned around facing you. Before you could even think you embraced him, arms circled around his chest, face in his shoulder. Just like that first time after escaping Magenta. 

He was still as you held him. 

“I know you have a hard time telling people when you aren’t doing well. I know you’re scared of being a burden but you aren’t. And god it makes me so angry thinking that you don’t think you can be open and honest with me about how you’re feeling.” You said. “I love you, more than anything Jihyun.” 

He wrapped his arms around you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck, grasping your shirt to keep himself upright. You could feel how bad he was shaking as you held him. 

“Let’s talk okay? You don’t have to tell me everything right now, but I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Saeran

Fights did happen sometimes. Because of his trauma he sometimes would lash out in anger. 

This happened a lot whenever he felt trapped, or when he felt like he wasn’t in complete control. 

As time went on these episodes became less and less frequent but they still happened once in a while. 

This specific one started during a storm. 

He had planned on going outside and working on his garden but it was raining  and thundering so much that you didn’t think it would be a good idea to go out there. 

Saeran knew that too, he didn’t want to get soaked or sick because of the cold but he hated the idea of being trapped inside. It made him feel anxious and powerless. And then, angry. 

You tried to find other things for the two of you to do but he wasn’t having any of it. 

“Maybe we could do some baking? I know you mentioned there was a recipe you wanted to try out-”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Saeran yelled, his arms were crossed over his chest while he paced back and forth around your living room. 

“Saeran I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I just thought maybe-”

“Well you are! God you’re so frustrating!” Saeran reached up and grabbed at his hair. You took a deep breath and fought back tears. You hated seeing him like this, so angry and scared. 

For the next hour you watched him, pacing, yelling, throwing insults. You stayed silent while you watched him. However eventually he started to run out of steam, sitting on the floor with his knees up to his chest. Now sobs racked his chest, guilt bubbling up. 

After seeing him calm down a little you stood up slowly making your way over to him. You sat down next to him, not touching him but making your presence clear. 

He didn’t look at you, he couldn’t bear to yet. But feeling your presence helped. You didn’t speak for a while but he rested his head on your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, just barely loud enough to hear. 

“I know Saeran. It’s okay.” 

“It’s not. But thank you for staying with me.” You smiled at him, he glanced over at you not able to force himself to smile just yet. 

“I’m not going to leave Saeran. I’m here for you, always.” 

Although it was challenging for him to believe, when you said it. Somehow he believed it. 

[inevitably-johnlocked]

i’ve been kinda in a rut deciding what johnlock fanfics to read, so i came up with a challenge for myself to read as many “A Study In ____” fanfics as possible. do you have any good suggestions?

Hi Lovely!

Ahh, what a fun request and a super easy list for me to curate!! Hee hee! Here’s what I have in my bookmarks AND in my MFL list! As usual, if any of my lovelies have any of their own “A Study in” fics to suggest, please add them below!!

A STUDY IN FANFICS

Peacock by ClassyGirlsWearPearls (T, 1,189 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Cranky Sherlock, Soft John, Hand Holding, Soft Sherlock) – A study in Sherlock and John.

Study in John by chappysmom (K+, 2,158 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiP, POV John, Introspection, Friendship, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, John’s Limp) – After the events of "A Study in Pink," John lies on the couch in Baker Street and thinks about the whirlwind events of the day. What is he getting himself into?

A Study in Lace by KarlyAnne (E, 2,320 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Crafty Sherlock, Tiny Lace Panties / Lingerie, Domestics, Experiments, Oral, Masturbation) – “Why do you suppose he was doing that?” “Why do I suppose who was doing what?” “The room. The lace. The secrecy. He was playing with fire in everything he did, and didn’t care one bit. But he had a secret chamber, carefully concealed, solely for the purpose of making lace lingerie. Obviously for personal use. Why?" Part 1 of The Unintentional Crafts of Sherlock Holmes

Study in Sherlock by chappysmom (K+, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || ASiP, Friendship, Introspection, Anxious Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Caring Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock) – Sherlock's thoughts and feelings during A Study in Pink. What DID he think of John, and why was he being so NICE?

Study in Mycroft by chappysmom (K+, 4,929 w., 1 Ch. || Character Study, Big Brother Mycroft, Mycroft POV, Nosy Mycroft, Holmes Brothers) – A look at Mycroft's thoughts and actions during a Study in Pink.

A Study in Intimacy by doodle (T, 5,183 w., 1 Ch. || WEBARCHIVE LINK || PODFIC AVAILABLE || First Kiss, Virginity, Romance, Touching) – People don't touch Sherlock Holmes, not like they touch other people. Then he meets John Watson.

A Study in Linguistics by rizandace (T, 12,425 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant/S2 Divergence, Friendship, Slices of Life, Communication, Cranky Sherlock, Hospitals, Sherlock Whump, Pet Cat, Jealous John, Sherlock’s Violin, Anxious Sherlock, John Whump) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had their own language. It was a language of few words and minute facial expressions, and John had learned that it was nearly the only way to have an honest conversation with his eccentric flat mate.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,689 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes by AllesandraQuartermaine (T, 50,234 w., 22 Ch. || Post-ASiP/Pre-TAB, Domestics, Friendship, POV John) – Learn about what happened between John and Sherlock January 31st and March 22. From John's pov on how to survive and learn to live with one eccentric mad genius known as Sherlock Holmes.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

MARKED FOR LATER

A Study in Pink Pyjamas by alexxphoenix42 (M, 1,628 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Est. Rel., Pink Pyjamas, Fluff, Cross-Dressing) – Sherlock hasn't been a fan of either Christmas or fancy pyjamas for a number of years, but John has a way of changing his mind about things.

A Study in Night Terrors by Dovahlock221 (T, 2,811 w., 1 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Night Terrors, (Emotional) Hurt/Comfort, PTSD Sherlock, Worried John, Hurt John, Angst with Happy Ending) – Five times Sherlock suffered from night terrors and the one time he had the best dream of his life.

A Study in Beard by Loveismyrevolution (T, 3,810 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Fluff and Humour, Experiments, Beards, Idiots in Love, Quarantine) – Sherlock has to face the consequences of using up all of their shaving foam. Which turns out to be more fun than expected. Boys being boys, nothing can go without a challenge. Although, being isolated presents a problem. How will they determine the winner? Part 2 of the Hairy Situations at 221B series

A Study in Sensuality (or, That Johnlock Gif Story) by MojoFlower (E, 4,693 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock || Porn Gifs, PWP, Pole Dancer Sherlock, Student Sherlock, Student John, Photography, Sensuality, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Rimming, Fingering, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Felching, Unsafe Sex) – When John signs up to partner with Sherlock Holmes in photography class, he never guesses it will end up with him balls-deep in his study partner's arse. Easy A?

A Study in Dichotomy by UrbanHymnal (E, 7,439 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Humour) – John wants his brilliance and his stupidity; his knowledge of 243 types of ash and his inability to name all the planets in the solar system; his perfectly pressed suits and his wrinkled t-shirts carelessly tossed on inside out. John wants to kiss Sherlock when he is still waking to the world, to press against him when he is still warm from sleep. He wants to grab Sherlock by the scarf and haul him close so he can bury his nose in the sweat that has collected at the base of Sherlock's neck, under his arms, in between his legs.

A Study in Asexuality by ladyxdarcy (M, 8,082 w., 1 Ch. || Asexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Acephobia, Mentions of Rape/Corrective Rape Therapy, Past Suicidal Ideation, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Overdose, Past Mary/John, Emotional Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Vulnerable Sherlock, Est. Rel., Angst with Happy Ending, Fluff) – When Sherlock, asexual to his core, fears that John may grow bored of a sexless life, he decides to do whatever it takes to make John happy so he stays. Good thing John is already happy.

A Study in Anorexia by madeleinefs (NR, 11,415 +w., 16 Ch. || WIP || Eating Disorders, Anorexia, Bulimia, Starvation, Mental Health Issues, Hospitalization, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Doctor John, Self Harm, Depression, Angst, Hurt Sherlock) – A realistic approach as to what Sherlock would look like suffering from an eating disorder. This will not be a Johnlock, or some sort of sick-and-then-love-heals-all story, because that isn't realistic. I want this to be realistic, and true to the characters, as well as true to the nature of the disease.

A Study in Sex Series by Castiel_For_King (E, 19,939 w. across 4 works || Virgin Sherlock, Bottomlock, Sensitive Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Porn with Plot / Feelings, Praise Kink, Gentle John, Naïve Sherlock, Sexual Exploration, Anal, Frottage, Tender Sex) – Sherlock is new to sex and John is the first person he's ever wanted to touch and be touched by. But wanting it doesn't seem to magically wash away his apprehension like he'd hoped. Luckily, it's John and John is wonderful and kind and patient and maybe has a bit of a thing for teaching Sherlock all about physical intimacy.

The Art Of Seduction: A Study In Pulling by flawedamythyst (M, 25,279 w., 1 Ch. || AU) – Sherlock ran a website called The Science Of Seduction, on which he gave advice on the best ways to get laid, wrote blog entries detailing the results of his various sexual 'experiments' and generally contributed to the stereotype of 'every gay man is a sex-mad playboy'. John avoided the thing like the plague. AU in which Sherlock treats sex like he does crime in canon. Inspired by Queer As Folk UK, but it very quickly went its own way. Part 1 of The Art Of Seduction

A Study in Slavery by sweetinsane (M, 88,538+ w., 12/? Ch. || WIP || Dark / Slavery AU || ASiP, Angst, Domestic Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Slow Build, Dehumanization, Sexual Slavery, Child Abuse, Master/Slave Dynamics, Dark Content) – John has never owned a slave of his own, but after returning from Afghanistan is awarded one with his pension. A disobedient male slave with way too much troubling history, however, is not what he would have chosen himself.

[korporxie]

this is ooc and not exactly ffxiv related, but i wanted to give a small life update, considering i used to be really active both in-game and here on this blog. 

i’m doing well. :) the winter and pandemic blues are both kicking my butt, as i know they’re likely kicking everyone else’s, but other than that, i’m doing okay. it’s weird that i’ve found a friend group much easier in a pandemic than outside of it, but i won’t complain. and though unemployment has been hard, and my mental health often low, my family and friends have all been really supportive and good to me. 

i also know that those who have been following me since the beginning of this blog probably know that i had an rp partner and boyfriend that ended in a difficult break up. it’s weird to think that two years have passed since that, and since then, i’ve found someone who makes me sparkle. 

my boyfriend now is not only one of my best friends, but he’s also one of my biggest supporters. he cheers me on with everything i do, whether it be video games or writing or singing, and not only that - he isn’t passive. he doesn’t just tell me he’s happy for me. he actively wants to engage with these things that i’m passionate about. he WANTS to hear me sing and be my biggest fan. he’s the first partner i’ve ever had that actively wants to see my writing and learn more about it, since he isn’t much of a reader and thought RP was kind of dorky until he learned more about it, as shy as i was to tell him about it. (now he KNOWS it’s dorky but also cool.) 

and as for video games - since we’re long distance, it’s one of the times we get to spend time together. i’m not always very good at the shooters he likes, but he always praises me and tells me i’m doing great. and today, he started out his FFXIV free trial after learning that it was one of my favorite games. here’s his character. he was excited to be a dragon man. 

it is so hard to make this man lose his patience. he is always graceful and kind with rarely a mean word to say about anyone, whereas i have a big temper and a lot of relationship trauma. he takes it all in his stride, though. his gentleness diffuses my anger when difficulties DO come up. he’s so good to me that it’s given me panic attacks because it’s so different from what i’m used to. from the beginning when we were just friends, i called him my ‘giggle fit buddy’ because i was always belly laughing with him over anything and everything. even right now, my throat hurts from laughing so hard with him tonight. 

he makes everything better. he is kind, and considerate, and patient, and selfless, and much smarter than he gives himself credit for. he is beautiful both on the inside and out, and i don’t write all of this to brag about how great my relationship is. i write this because i want to celebrate something i haven’t had, and it’s a relationship that isn’t full of waves and difficulties. 

the most in love i’ve ever been came at the most unexpected time, and honestly, with a fairly unexpected person. it’s a type of love i write about, that i read about, that i listen to songs about. and i think it’s a type of love that everyone should get to experience - something that makes you feel calm and steady, the deep breath you take when the world is shaking that levels you out, water over hot and hissing coals. 

i miss you guys. i hope everyone who’s still around is doing well. i’m going to try to be more active on here, at least with writing and with screenshots. right now, my spoons for reaching out to RP are low and i’m writing primarily with my writing partner on discord, but - don’t feel shy to say hi if you see me posting on here. stay safe and stay healthy. <3 

[mikauzoran]

Marichat: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: Kiss Seventeen

Read it on AO3: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: ...to distract.

“Marinette, My Love,” Chat Noir called gently as he frowned at the clock on his staff’s readout. “I think it’s time to call it quits. It’s getting kind of late.”

“What? What time is it?” She didn’t even look up from her sewing machine as she fed the fabric through, hands rock steady.

He propped himself up on the chaise. “One-o-five.”

“Meh. That’s not too bad. I can still get another hour or two of work in,” she replied with a subtle shrug of her shoulders so as not to throw off her stitch. Then she sighed and muttered, “I had hoped to be further along on the dress Clara Rossignol commissioned, but I’m not really used to working with such high-end fabric, so I’m having a little trouble with how it’s behaving.”

Chat made a mental note to bring his girlfriend presents of different types of expensive fabrics more often. If he split the gifts between Chat and Adrien, he’d be able to give her more without her scolding him for spending too much on her.

He’d finally found an upside to her thinking he was two separate people.

“You look like you’re getting the hang of it, though. You’re such a quick learner. I’m sure you’ll be able to finish in record time now that you’ve got some practice with it,” he encouraged, sitting up.

She blew out a breath, her bangs billowing up. “Maybe, but I’m still behind where I thought I’d be, and I need to get to work on my entry for the Dior contest if I’m going to meet the deadline in a month. I need to come up with something that’s really going to wow Maria Grazia Chiuri, so I want to be able to take my time with it.”

Chat got up and went over to her, depositing a kiss to the top of her head. “Tomorrow, Princess. Right now, you need to sleep…and I need to be taking my leave.”

She stopped sewing to turn and gawk at him. “You’re going home? After what your father said to you?” she snorted incredulously.

Chat winced, remembering Gabriel’s scowl and his clipped voice as he’d succinctly raked Adrien over the coals for fumbling an interview question that had caught him off guard.

Apparently, Adrien’s awkward response about his dating life had brought shame upon the family and dishonor to the company.

He only hoped that Gabriel hadn’t guessed the real reason why Adrien had kind of freaked out a little and stuttered for a full ten seconds when asked if there was a girl or guy he was interested in. The possibility of being outted on live, national television was kind of terrifying, so he thought that his reaction was understandable, but, according to Gabriel, Agrestes were prepared for any situation and conducted themselves with poise. No son of Gabriel’s would ever behave in such an undignified manner.

So, that was kind of like getting disowned for being bi, he figured. It felt like it at least.

He’d told Marinette that his father had given him a dressing down and soft-core disowned him for not living up to expectations during a company marketing event. Now he was wishing he would have come as Adrien so that he could tell her the truth, but he hadn’t been thinking straight in his rush to transform and get away.

“No,” he responded quietly. “I’m not going home tonight. Maybe, when I’m discovered missing by his assistant tomorrow morning, he’ll think about what he said to me. For now, I’m going to head over to the Liberty. I kind of want to talk to Luka, and even though your parents said it was okay for me to sleep over when I needed a safe space, I still feel kind of awkward. I don’t want your dad thinking we’re…like…you know.” He cringed.

She gave him a warm smile and a pat on the arm. “If you want, I can explain the asexual thing to them, if that’d make you more comfortable. I want you to feel at ease here.”

“I do,” he hurriedly assured. “I am. I just… Sleeping over would feel different now that we’re in a relationship. I kind of…” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to get his thoughts together.

She waited patiently.

Chat took a long inhale and blew it out slowly. “Thank you. I kind of want sleeping over to be more romantic and special than me running away from my troubled home life.”

“Okay.” She nodded, taking it in stride. “All right. Whatever you need, Minou.” She slipped her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you head out, then, so you get to bed at a decent hour? I’m sure someone’s still up on the Liberty. Text me when you get there, though. I’m just going to get a little further on this dress, and then I’ll turn in too.”

“Marinette, you need to call it a night,” he sighed, mentally shuddering at her idea of “a decent hour”.

“I’ll wrap up within the hour. Promise,” she insisted, an innocent look on her face as if she really believed herself.

His eyes narrowed and mouth tightened into a disbelieving frown. “Princess, I know you. You’ll get caught up in your work, lose track of time, and fall asleep at your machine. Has your therapist talked with you about your self-care habits? What does she say about you burning yourself out?”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, spinning around in her chair to face her sewing machine once more. “She says I need to slow down and not take on so much,” Marinette scoffed. “She says I don’t have to save the world single-handedly because it’s not like I’m Ladybug.”

Chat’s eyes widened as he stared at the back of his girlfriend’s head, suddenly feeling like he was seeing double.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Marinette grumbled. “I gave her a piece of my mind about how Ladybug doesn’t save the world single-handedly. She saves Paris, and she’s only able to do it because she has you. There’s no ‘single-handedly’ about it,” she huffed indignantly, completely oblivious to her boyfriend’s internal panic.

Meanwhile, Chat Noir felt like he had been hit with a truck.

Marinette’s therapist didn’t know what she was talking about, and suddenly Marinette’s chart-topping stress levels and unwillingness to talk about her problems made a whole lot more sense.

“Shit,” Chat breathed.

“What? What’s wrong?” Marinette spun around in alarm, eyes scanning for danger.

“Nothing!” He quickly slapped on a neutral smile, hoping it didn’t register on her BS meter. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s great. Except for the fact that you’re not getting enough sleep. Let’s fix that.”

In a fluid motion, he scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder.

Marinette gave an indignant yelp as he carried her up the ladder to her loft followed by a squeak as he deposited her onto her bed.

“Chat Noir!” she protested.

He pushed her down, silencing her with his lips.

Quickly, her complaints were forgotten as she enthusiastically lost herself in the kiss.

“P-Please take better care of yourself,” Chat entreated breathlessly when he pulled back.

Some of the haze faded from Marinette’s eyes as her brow furrowed. “Minou?”

“Please,” he begged. “I love you so much, Marinette. You’re the most extraordinary, smart, talented, wonderful, giving person I know. I know you’re tough, but I’m afraid you’re going to break if you keep pushing yourself so hard, so…please try to take care of yourself at least half as well as you take care of everybody else. I’m worried about you.”

“Oh, Minou,” she sighed, reaching up to caress his face. “I’m sorry, Chat Noir. I’m working on it. There’s just so much to do and so few hours in the day. It’s hard to fit it all in.”

“I know,” he whispered tenderly, leaning in to nuzzle her forehead. “Believe me. I know how hard it is to juggle everything, so I get it, but the first item on your checklist needs to be you. You’re too young to abuse your health like this.”

“I’m working on it,” she mumbled self-consciously. “I’m seeing the therapist and trying her suggestions.”

“You’re doing a good job,” he praised, pressing a kiss to her temple. “and I’m so proud of you, Marinette.”

He pulled back to look her in the eye. “How can I help?”

“Help?” she echoed, blinking.

“Mmhm.” He nodded. “Is there anything I can do? Anything I can take off your plate? Like, can I do coffee runs for you or help you study for tests or do homework with you? Maybe we can sit down and look at your to do list and see if we can organize things better. Literally anything you can think of that I could do to make your life easier.”

“Oh, Chat Noir,” she sighed, a grateful smile stretching across her lips. “Thank you, but I couldn’t add more to your load. You’re busy enough with your own stuff.”

“Not too busy for you,” he objected, wearing a serious expression “I’m your partner, My La—Love,” he quickly covered his near-disastrous slip. “I’ve always got your back. We’re a team, so don’t be afraid to lean on me for support. That’s what I’m there for. I want to help.”

She studied his face for a moment, taking in his earnest expression.

She smiled, pressing her lips lightly to his. “Okay. You’re right. You’re my partner, and I shouldn’t be afraid to rely on you. I’ll brainstorm and let you know what you can do.”

A bright, relieved smile exploded onto his lips, rivaling the sun with its radiance. “Thank you, Marinette.”

“Thank you,” she stressed. “…All right. I think the first thing you can do is head out so that I can go to sleep before I lose all self-control and start working on Clara’s dress again.”

“Uh-oh. Can’t let that happen,” he chuckled, stealing a quick kiss for the road. “Night, night, Princess. Love you.”

“Love you,” she giggled, watching him go. “Don’t forget to text me when you make it safely to the Liberty.”

“Will do,” he promised, disappearing up through the skylight.

As he bounded across the rooftops, following the Seine to the Pont de Grenelle near where the Liberty was docked, he muttered to his kwami, “Plagg, remind me to text her when we get there because I think I’m going to be too preoccupied freaking out because my girlfriend is Ladybug.”

[hazelandglasz]

“I just came out of surgery and I’m convinced you’re my partner but you’re the just the long suffering (and super hot) trainee nurse” AU !! Klaine!please and thank you ! Soooo cute and funnyyyyy ! Can Kurt be super high on painkillers ??

On AO3

“Did you hear about the patient in room 21?”

Kitty seems far too enthusiastic about one of their patients for it to be normal. Blaine sighs. “No, but I’m going to hear about them, aren’t I?”

“Well, you’re on night duty, and you’ll have to be there when he wakes up, so buckle up, buttercup,” Kitty retorts, jumping up to sit on Blaine’s desk.

In response, Blaine sits back and gestures for her to go on.

“Mr. Hummel, 26, living in Bushwick, came into our care tonight because he… Drumroll, please.”

Blaine obediently drums on the desk.

“He broke his forearm against his wall, when his feet got tangled in his sheet as he tried to escape from a spider.”

Blaine’s eyes widen with every part of Kitty’s story, before he can let out a snort. “Oh my God.”

“True story.”

“That is quite an injury.”

“Dr. Chang had to operate, yes.”

They both wince at the thought, before Kitty jumps off the desk. “He’s been back in the room for 30 minutes, and Chang wants you to make sure he doesn’t get off his meds for the night.”

“Oh, special treatment.”

“Apparently, his dad is a congressman.”

Blaine nods—he remembers now. His last election in Ohio before leaving for New York was to cast a ballot for one Burt Hummel, who represented everything he hoped for his home state.

“Besides, arm injuries are really painful, so, work on your bedside manner.”

Blaine stands, straightening his scrubs. “My bedside manners are impeccable, Nurse Wilde. Don’t try to turn the table on me.”

Kitty snickers as she unbuttons her own scrubs, revealing her wrinkled t-shirt. 

“My point exactly.”

Kitty’s snicker turns into a boisterous laugh as she walks out of his office. “Have fun with drugged boy!”

Blaine rolls his eyes before deciding to go to the room, just in case Mr. Hummel wakes up.

In room 21, sure enough, the man laying in bed stirs, showing every sign of the anesthesia wearing off.

Blaine is ready, a bag of painkillers in his hand ready to be attached to the I.V., when the man blinks and makes a small noise.

“Honey?”

Blaine looks around the room, but there is no one else with them. Kitty didn’t say anything about Mr. Hummel having a significant other, but you never know.

“Hum, welcome back Mr. Hummel. Is everything okay?”

The man smiles tiredly (or, more accurately, druggedly). “Oh, sweetie, Mr. Hummel is my father, you know that.”

O-okay then.

Blaine sits down, checking whether everything is, in fact, okay with his patient. 

“You’re so pretty.”

Blaine blushes, his eyes looking up from Mr. Hummel’s wrist to his face and, well.

It is a nice face.

He laughs, a bit embarrassed and really glad that there is no one else in the room to record that exchange and use it to annoy him to the rest of his days in this hospital. “Well, um, thank you. I appreciate th—”

Blaine would have finished that sentence if Mr. Hummel had not tried to pet his cheek with his casted hand. Grabbing it as delicately as possible, he puts it back on Mr. Hummel’s chest.

“I’m so happy you’re here with me.”

The man has a soft smile on his face, soft enough that it tugs at Blaine’s heartstrings in a way he has not experienced in a long time.

“Don’t worry,” he says, keeping his hand on top of the cast, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“‘Course not,” Mr. Hummel says, before blowing Blaine a kiss.

“Here,” Blaine says, after clearing his throat, “drink some water.”

“Hmm, yesss.”

The man drinks from the straw, looking so young as he does that Blaine relaxes a bit.

Too much, too soon.

“I love you so much,” Mr. Hummel says between two mouthfuls of water. 

“Oh. Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” he replies decisively, before drinking some more. “You should love me too.”

“I should?” Blaine laughs. “Seems a bit rushed, I mean, we only meant today. I’m all for romance, but even for me that is a bit…”

“We haven’t met today,” Mr. Hummel says with a pout. “We met a long time ago, don’t you remember me?”

Blaine cocks his head to the side. “Mr. Hummel, what’s my name?”

His patient looks confused for a moment. “I can’t remember. But I just woke up. And I know one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Some day, your last name will be my last name.”

Blaine blinks. “Really?”

“Yep. At the chapel.”

“I’m not sure I like the chapel very much,” Blaine replies, considering the small hospital chapel and its lack of windows.

“Why not?!” Mr. Hummel exclaims, positively outraged.

“Now, now, I’m kidding,” Blaine says, smiling against his better judgment.

“I think we should get,” Mr. Hummel says, pausing to take a sip, “maaaaaa-rried!”

Oh wow.

“I should have recorded it all,” Blaine whispers.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Mr. Hummel beams at him, eyes closing again. “You’re so adorable,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. “I wish I could kiss you.”

“Maybe later,” Blaine whispers back, knowing that, if anything, that will help appease his patient back to sleep.

A frown appears between his eyebrows. “It hurts. I’m scared,” he whispers again, and Blaine goes to attach the bag of painkillers. “No!” he exclaims. “Don’t leave me!”

Blaine takes hold of Mr. Hummel’s uninjured hand as soon as he gets on the other side of the bed, attaching the bag to the I.V. one handed. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hm. Where—where are my clothes?”

Instead of calming down and falling back to sleep, Mr. Hummel seems more agitated. 

“Hey, it’s going to be alright. You’re in the hospital?”

“The hospital?!” Mr. Hummel exclaims, dropping Blaine’s hand and trying to sit up. “Why am I in the hospital?”

Blaine takes Mr. Hummel’s hand, squeezing his fingers until he squeezes back. “You broke your arm. You got an operation, and now you’ll be fine.”

The patient does calm down at that, rubbing his thumb along Blaine’s hand. “You’re so sweet. I love you so much.” He lets out a happy sigh. “What would I do without you?”

Blaine can only laugh. 

“We are the cutest couple ever.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“And we will get married.”

“Sure.”

“In blue.”

“A blue wedding?”

“A blue wedding.”

“Okay.”

“And I want a blue wedwing.”

“A what?”

Mr. Hummel drinks some more water. “A. Blue. Wed. Ring.”

“Ah! A blue wedding ring. Okay.”

“Satyre.”

Blaine frowns. “Don’t you mean sapphire?”

Mr. Hummel frowns before beaming at Blaine, eyes closed. “See? That’s why I love you.”

Before Blaine can react, a loud snore comes out of his patient’s mouth, head lolling to the side as he falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

Blaine stands, checking that everything is on track. If everything goes smoothly, Mr. Hummel should have a quiet night and wake up a bit dizzy but in full possession of his mental capacity.

As far as weird anesthesia experience go, this moment was a fairly cute one.

Blaine closes the door quietly and proceeds to move on to the next room.

After all, as cute as he may be, Mr. Hummel is not the only patient needing Blaine.

#

When Kurt wakes up, his mouth feels as dry as a desert, and his arm feels painful and heavy.

“Ow.”

Someone moves around the room to stand next to his bed. “Good morning, Mr. Hummel,” a male voice says cheerfully. “How are we feeling this morning?”

Kurt painstakingly opens his eyes, and either the painkillers are distorting reality to make it look more appealing, or this hospital has hired some gorgeous male nurses.

“I, um.” Kurt pauses, mouth dry now for several reasons.

“I’m sure you must be thirsty—here,” the nurse tells Kurt, sitting down next to the bed and holding a glass with a straw for him.

Kurt empties the cup before looking up. “Hi.”

“Hi,” the nurse replies with a grin. “Did you sleep well?”

“Um. I, I did, thank you, Mister…?”

“I’m Blaine.”

“I’m Kurt.”

They look at each other for a moment before Blaine steps away from the chair to put the cup away.

“Do you remember what happened when you woke up?”

Kurt frowns at Blaine’s back. “What… I woke up and you were there, offering water?”

Blaine turns back, his grin wider. “Ah. So you don’t remember. It’s okay.”

“Did I do something… untoward?”  

“Not exactly,” Blaine replies, coming closer to check Kurt’s vitals and jotting them down onto his file. “You were…” he pauses, before looking at Kurt with a faint blush on his cheeks, “...you were cute, drugged out of your mind.”

“Ah?” Kurt tries to jog his memory, but nothing comes back to him. Then he shrugs. “I’ve been called worse.”

Blaine chuckles. “I bet. How is the pain?”

Kurt looks down at the blue cast around his arm. “Manageable.”

“Good.” Blaine writes it down too, before taking a deep breath. “Well, then. I should leave you to it. My colleagues will be here in a short moment.”

“You’re leaving?”

Blaine looks startled. “Um. Yes? The day-time team is in charge now?”

“But—” Kurt starts, a fuzzy memory from the past evening coming to mind. “You said you were not going anywhere.”

Blaine’s face softens. “So you do remember.”

“Just... just that part.”

“I see.” Blaine comes to stand next to the bed and closes his fingers around Kurt’s forearm. “What I meant was that you wouldn’t be left alone. And you won’t.”

“Ah. Well. Thank you for being there when I rambled.” Kurt would very much like for Blaine to stop looking at him with that gentle smile. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Blaine says as he stands, adjusting his scrubs. “But I think you’ll be gone. I wish you good health and, um,” Blaine pauses, his lips stretched into a crooked smile, “good luck against the spider.”

Kurt lets out a disbelieving laugh as Blaine exits the room.

Holy shit, he thinks. I’m in love.

--TBC?--

[anotherdarkiboi]

Warnings: blood, eye horror, medical themes, bandages, blindfold, mild cursing, mild nudity, innuendo and sexual references, references to murder.

Dr. Iplier changed out of his mildly bloody medical scrub shirt and formerly-white lab coat, discarding them onto the floor. His mind has been wandering lately. One of his regular patients seemed to occupy himself in his brain like a cancerous tumor or Taenia solium larvae might. He was frequently distracted and excitable, getting flustered uncharacteristically easily. That and the overall warmth he felt coursing through his body and the achey tightness in his chest concerned him to no end.

What's worse was that the doctor couldn't diagnose exactly what sickness he had. Dr. Iplier knew they could be signs of a heart attack or about a hundred other maladies that could possibly kill him, but he didn't dare imagine the possibility that he was the one who was dying, as painfully ironic that would be.

He wanted to get rid of it, and soon. It was impeding on his work and the credibility of his profession, to the dismay of his business partner, fellow doctor, and best friend, Schneep. Dr. Iplier accidentally dropped a scalpel into Peter during his surgery and caused a bloody mess (literally) because of it. Poor Peter didn't make it. But then again, that's what you got when you ran a medical practice with Henrik von Schneeplestein (the "Doctor" part was debatable): Peter never stood a chance.

But as time progressed, Dr. Iplier found that whatever he had made him feel euphoric. Maybe the disease or parasite released dopamine? He suspected that it had something to do with that patient of his. Maybe they were also the Patient Zero for his ailment? Or were they somehow causing these symptoms through mind control?

The doctor was familiar with the paranormal through his experiences with the infamous Darkiplier, so it wouldn't be too farfetched. He had his suspicions about his patient, but knew that it wasn't really professional of him to comment. Either way, they were forced to interact on a daily basis and Dr. Iplier didn't feel like losing his most loyal customer, so he said nothing of it and ignored the rapid beating of his heart (tachycardia?).

Soon the doctor found himself thinking about his "favorite" patient. Again. Of course. His thoughts always drifted to that quiet, contemplative man. The disease- Illness? Parasite? Whatever it was, the symptoms were getting worse.

Dr. Iplier sighed, picking up his bloody scrubs from the floor. He didn't want to further lower the reputation of his business by leaving his bedroom and private clinic messy.

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

The Host opened the door to Dr. Iplier's bedroom and makeshift clinic with a faint creek. He considered knocking first, but what he needed to ask the doctor was urgent. Well, maybe not urgent per se, but he had been thinking about it for a while now and had finally come to the conclusion that today was the day he would ask their resident doctor out.

What the Host didn't expect was to find was said doctor shirtless. The Host can't see, not in the physical sense anyway, but he has the ability to narrate his surroundings to get a vague sense of what's going on. So when his internal monologue started describing in excruciating detail exactly how lean Dr. Iplier's exposed upper body looked like and the faintest hint of his V-line peaking over the elastic of his thin blue scrub pants, the Host became overwhelmed. Of course, the Host doesn't say this aloud: for once, his narrations remained in his head in a loud, frantic monotone. The Host couldn't hear himself think, let alone focus from the mental barrage of stimuli. Shit.

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

Dr. Iplier tosses the bloody clothes into the hamper. He turns around to find the Host, propping himself up by the doorway looking like he was on the verge of collapse.

"Oh! Uh, you're here awfully early... Are you alright?"

"The Host, um, I- fuck."

The doctor's eyes widen in concern. Blood streaked down the Host's bandages like tears. It was rare to see him shocked into using first person and it was usually was damaging to his physical health. And this was the first time Dr. Iplier ever heard the Host stutter.

The Host makes an attempt to step into the room and falters. Dr. Iplier is quickly by the Host's side, holding the trenchcoated man up by the waist to guide him to the bed (which served as both a hospital cot and the doctor's actual bed). The Host sits on the edge while the doctor hangs his stethoscope around his neck, putting on his lab coat and head mirror out of habit: all without noticing that he still wasn't wearing a shirt.

The Host can't help but compare the mental image to the intro of a low-budget porno. He covers his head in his hands and groans in exasperation. Why did Dr. Iplier have to be at the pinnacle of health?

The doctor feels the Host's forehead with gentle tenderness, his cool hand resting against warm skin. He tilts the Host's head up from under his chin, examining how much blood his patient lost. The Host can feel Dr. Iplier's intense stare on him as he attempts to figure out what's wrong. He hopes that the doctor won't notice his face heating up.

The physical contact felt intimate, even though it was practically ritual at this point with the amount of times the Host visits. The Host mentally compares it to heavy petting leading up to eventual smut. He internally screams.

The Host's narrations drift to Dr. Iplier's inner monologue as the doctor checks his vitals. It's something that the Host tries to avoid as it's an invasion of privacy, but it wasn't something he was able to control in his current state. Anything was better than whatever his brain was conjuring right now.

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

Usually he's calm under pressure, but the doctor can't explain is why he feels irrational, seething anger for whatever caused the Host's predicament. Dark maybe? Or Wilford? Probably someone with a great deal of power for the Host to essentially overload.

The doctor rarely gets angry: Annoyed? All the time. Cranky? Every morning before the caffeine hits. But Dr. Iplier felt, for the first time, homicidal. How dare they? The Host's health is delicate to say the least: the other egos know that. Yet Dr. Iplier is well aware that the blindfolded man can take care of himself. Then why does he feel so protective of him?

He knew, in great detail, at least 50 different ways to kill a person and had the means to do it. Injecting air into the bloodstream and facilitating an air embolism, constricting the windpipe and suffocating them while they sleep, utilizing any number of lethal drugs he had on hand: the list went on. If anyone ever hurt the Host again, he'd have to...

He takes a deep breath. The Host needs a doctor now, not an emotional wreck. The doctor checks off his mental checklist and goes through the familiar motions of proper medical procedure for his patient. It was his job to help people, and he'd be damned if he did just the opposite: at least on purpose (accidents happen).

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

For some reason, imagining Dr. Iplier attempting to murder the infamous Dark and Wilford duo calms the Host down. The Host had an especially violent streak during his Author days, so he understood the feeling well. But the fact that the doctor would feel so passionately about him was... endearing. Maybe this could still work...

The doctor grabs his glasses from his desk and pushes them up the bridge of his nose. They were rectangular ones reminiscent of Mark's old trademark, which the Host imagined made Dr. Iplier look more distinguished and erudite. He reads off his clipboard with concern.

"Elevated heart rate, irregular breathing, flushed but no fever, dilated pupils... Host, do you know what -or who- caused this?" The Host notices how Dr. Iplier clenches his jaw at "who". How cute.

You. "That doesn't matter, Doctor. I can assure you, I'm fine. I've been experiencing these 'symptoms' for a while now. I know they're not fatal." He casually fails to mention the overload he just had.

"And you didn't bother to tell me? We see each other every day!" Dr. Iplier gasps with a look of genuine horror on his face. "Have you... have you been seeing other doctors?!"

The Host stifles a laugh. "Of course not. Dr. Schneeplestein may be 'zhe good doctah', but you are the best one."

"Oh, I know," Dr. Iplier asserts, the flirtatious remark flying over his large ego. "Trust me, you wouldn't believe how many lawsuits we get every week. It's a wonder how our business stays afloat."

Something that the Host said triggers something in the doctor's mind. He checks his clipboard again. The Host had been experiencing this for a while now, minus the almost collapsing part. And so had he. It can't be... can it? The symptoms were the same as his own.

"I'm sorry, but I think we're both dying."

"...We?"

Dr. Iplier sets down his clipboard and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He never liked being the bearer of bad news, but the burden seemed to be part of his job.

"I'm afraid we both have the same illness- same symptoms and everything. Yours is probably later-staged, which would explain the fainting spell. We should warn Dark and the others to quarantine the area or something."

The Host starts laughing, loud and unabashedly. Dr. Iplier looks on in confusion and finds himself unable to speak. This was the first time he saw the Host laugh this much. Creepy sadistic grins? Sure. A wry smile after making a snide remark? Rare, but certainly rewarding. This crazed fit of giggling however? Unheard of until now. The doctor liked seeing the Host happy, even if it was due to the thought of their own deaths. Maybe it was a coping mechanism. He wonders how much time he had left to hear it again.

The Host slowly calms down, wiping the blood dripping down his face as if he was wiping away tears of laughter. It doesn't have the same effect: Dr. Iplier grimaces at the red smear on the back of his patient's hand.

"I assure you, those measures will not be necessary. Tell me Doctor, when do these 'symptoms', as you call them, tend to occur?"

"All the time since a few weeks ago, but it gets worse when you're around: no offense. Is it that Hanahaki disease Yandereiplier was telling me about?"

The Host resists the urge to facepalm. For someone who supposedly went to medical school, Dr. Iplier was surprisingly dumb. He completely went against the stereotype of glasses-wearers being the most intelligent.

"No. What you- we have is not an illness nor disease, at least not in the traditional sense."

"You know what it is then? Is there a cure?" Dr. Iplier replies in all seriousness.

The Host sighs. He still didn't get it. "Doctor, are you familiar with the concept of love?"

"Obviously", Dr. Iplier retorts, his ego kicking in again. The Host sincerely doubts it. "There are tons of books on the subject and Wil talks about it all the time. It's a combination of dopamine, serotonin, and adrenaline."

"In scientific terms, yes. And the physical indications?"

Dr. Iplier thinks for a moment, going down the list. It clicks.

"Oh my god, I love you."

A pause. The doctor starts to realize what he blurted out loud. He covers his face in his hands, not daring to make eye contact (or whatever was closest to that) with the Host/newfound target of affection. He opens his mouth in an attempt to amend his spur of the moment confession until he hears the Host's muttered response:

"...The feeling is mutual".

The two of them are both blushing messes and the silence is impenetrable. Dr. Iplier doesn't know how to respond. What was he supposed to say? How does one typically proceed from here? How does this work?

He breaks the silence with a hastily stammered excuse to grab a damp hand towel and a fresh bandage for the Host's bleeding eye sockets. The doctor gently wipes the blood off the Host's face, dyeing the towel pink.

The Host knew better than to argue about being able to do it himself. "It's my job!" the doctor said every time the Host commented on it, even though he knew it wasn't necessary. Whether it be the simple action of bandaging his face or wiping blood off it, Dr. Iplier was always gentle. The doctor was one of the only ones who knew what happened to the Host: what happened to his eyes, what he had done, who he'd hurt. And still, still Dr. Iplier treated him with curtesy and kindness. But why? It was one of the things about the doctor that the Host found intriguing- captivating even. And to think that Dr. Iplier liked him back...

"You are..." the Host pauses, searching for the right word to say next. Although he's a writer and self proclaimed linguist, he can't find another word that conveys the same emotion and feeling. "Beautiful. The Host wishes that he could see you".

"Host, you don't have to. I'm really not," the doctor asserts with a half-hearted chuckle. He tries to focus on helping his patient instead of the burning sensation on his cheeks. At least the Host was stable enough to phase out of talking in first person.

The Host's head tilts to the side, frowning slightly. "You are the kind of doctor and person that others like the Host need, but not necessarily the one they deserve. The Host understands if this is something you aren't comfortable pursuing yet, or ever."

Dr. Iplier scoffs, setting the now bloodstained towel down. "Hold on, you deserve all the care and support in the world, medical or otherwise. Sure you've done horrible things in the past, but that doesn't make you any less deserving of happiness now."

The doctor gingerly unties the Host's bandage to expose closed eyelids caked with dried blood. "Because you're 'beautiful' too. And this-," Dr. Iplier pauses, taking the Host's hand in both his own. "This is something that I want too. If you'll have me".

"Of course," the Host says with a rare smile. It's sweet and small, but the doctor's heart palpitates anyways. "The Host would even like to ask if you were free for coffee or a beverage of your choice later, if you are interested."

"Are you... asking me out?" The Host was always taken aback at how dumb his doctor sometimes was.

"The Host says yes".

"Neat!" Dr. Iplier exclaims a little too enthusiastically, "Um, I'll be there."

He carefully ties the new bandage over the Host's face. The doctor knew the pristine cloth would only stay white for so long until it got stained red again and his patient would have to return. The Host slides off the bed to face Dr. Iplier.

"The Host would like to thank the doctor for his help and for accepting his proposal. The Host also implores Dr. Iplier to put a shirt on." The Host's gaze (if one could call it that) drifts to the floor to try and avoid having his thoughts veer into dangerous territory again.

That explains why the doctor felt so cold. He tries to ignore the sharp spikes of embarrassment stabbing his insides. You know it's bad when a legally blind man points out your dress code infringement (or lack thereof of said "dress").

"Well that's unprofessional of me. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"The Host says it's more than fine, just distracting. The Host will leave to let the doctor finish changing."

"Oh."

Dr. Iplier is still unused to all the compliments and to seeing this slightly flirty Host. Not that he was complaining though. He had so many questions and cursed his lack of experience. The Host was halfway out the door when the doctor calls out after him.

"Hey Host, how do you know all this stuff?"

Dr. Iplier knew with 100% certainty that the Host never brought any partners back to the manor (his medical questionnaires tend to be extensive, if not a little insensitive), and he was sure that the Author's experiences didn't really count as the Host's own.

The Host grins mischievously. "You don't know half of the things I write. Maybe I'll show you one day, if you're up to it."

A spot of crimson spreads through the Host's bandages as he shifts into first person. On that note, the Host leaves and the doctor is left with more confusion and a piqued interest.

The doctor grabs a clean shirt, bunching it up and covers his face, groaning. What does the Host write? Where the hell did he get "neat" from? What happened to the less awkward (but not nearly as fulfilling) doctor-patient relationship they used to have?

The doctor finally puts the shirt on and his lab coat over it, falling facedown onto his bed. The headmirror presses uncomfortably against his skull. He didn't know when "later" was for his little date, nor where. Where they going to meet there or were they going together? And holy fuck, what was he going to wear?

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

Host smiles to himself, walking down the familiar path to his room. For the first time in a long time, he felt content: he finally asked the flustered doctor out, though he didn't expect getting "distracted" or the doctor actually accepting.

He turns a corner to sense some of the other egos crowding the hallway with conniving looks directed towards him. How did they find out so fast? The Host mentally prepares himself for annoyance.

"I hear that someone has been trying to make a move on our good doctor here," Dark announces with a smirk. "I congratulate you Host, I hope the two of find happiness."

Dark sighs wistfully. The others can't tell if he is joking or not when he mutters "they grow up so fast" like a proud parent.

"So~?" Wilford teases in a singsong voice, slinging his arm around the blindfolded man's shoulder and whispers conspiratorially: "didya fuck?"

The others respond with similar curiosity, loudly talking over one another. The Host can sense an imminent migraine at the multiple dialogues and camera panning he has to keep track of. But he appreciates their support nonetheless.

"Can I just establish the fact that I am still the gayest one here? Just saying," Bim affirms as an afterthought.

"The Host asks all of the egos to stop blocking the hallway."

[terfhunter420]

“how ya holding up?”

This is about how I'm “holding up” how I'm “doing” and if I “need anything” as a covidclerk because so many beautiful kind amazing stellar friends and otherwise have been asking me that more times than I can muster to answer, at some points. The long story short is “fantastic!!” because that's true – every letter of the word FANTASTIC has about a million facets intertwined within them.

Betwixt grief and global pandemic there is an incredible relationship. I have been through the standard stages of grief that I wholly know – I expect to cycle through them in multiples the longer this goes on, while always growing despite/in spite – I created new stages of grief that are probably related to the new type of cognitive dissonance I have mastered, and I have re-grieved the loss of my partner due to the fact that I can feel Nhiki laughing about the most reptilian parts of all this. The word GRIEF and the place of grief is not a triggering word or a scary place, rather, a declaration of floating just above the Earth – place of rest and reflection, a powerful position to be in for action and clarity. I don't want anyone to feel unsettled approaching me knowing I am cycling through a grieving process and I don't want anyone to feel spooked that I am answering with raw emotion.

DENIAL: what denial in a pandemic setting looks like is not true denial, per se. I'm not hoaxin' out or making light of the severity of the pneumonia and organ failure and cardiac arrest perpetuated by this virus. I am trying to absorb as much new information about how the virus behaves in the body and regurgitate harm reduction practices and efforts from each piece of new study. What denial has shown itself to be for me, as time has moved on and on and on, and every day I keep showing up to work in a fucking contagion zone, and I continue to remain healthy – even though I DID get sick when this all started – the more I am (hopefully, productively) twisting what must be fear into believing that I will be okay. I will stay alive. I am not dying from this. I can FEEL the sickening aura of tremendous outsider grief, and it's not colliding with my own. Which is interesting – I am empathic, and I have isolated my own grief from the rest? Is this something I can consider a level-up, or a form of denial? Have I sharpened a tool in my coping toolbox or have I dulled one?

ANGER: there is so much and it is not harmful. I am made of fire – my heart exists on fire – I am surrounded by salty chicks because they throw salt on my heartfire – I am knives – my knives are on fire! – I have a prayer to Lord Shiva tattooed on the base of my neck and it is vibrating constantly. OM NAMA SHIVAYA  – wild destruction for the sake of wild growth. I WANT TO SEE THIS FAILED SYSTEM COLLAPSE. I MICRO/DOSE BELLADONNA TO BECOME ONE WITH THE ENTROPY. THERE IS NO FULL, CONTINUOUS UNITY and holy fuck is that scary or what! The response my own store took for basic safety measures was drip drip blackstrap molasses slow. The response the state has been unrolling has been drip drip pure unfiltered honey thick. The inappropriate responses of the TRUMP administration has been a maniacal outpouring of American vomit and bile foam. WHYYYYY of all presidents did this have to happen under this one? Well, some folks I know say it's because that's part of The Plan. I know what they're talking about. I hear them wide and clear – and it does not make sense for me to focus my energy exertion on processing the Grand Scheme of the Bourgeois and how it relates to global elite efforts. You begin saving the world one person at a time, after all. My biggest anger I have felt relates to the social conditioning that I felt like a threat to everyone around me, and everyone around me felt like an even bigger threat. That conditioning is nauseating so I have broken it.

BARGAINING: Should I keep my nails long or keep my nails short? Should I call out of work today? Should I lie about symptoms? I could keep my mouth shut at being placated or I could open it up and let the words fly out. Should I leave the cats to my mother or to a friend if I have to die? Should I spend time with this thoughtful chick? What if I cut most of my fingernails short? How do I get this guy to stop calling me a frontline hero and thanking me for my service? Can I trade spots with Nhiki for one day? What if I called out of work and said I needed a mental health day? What if I lied about symptoms just to get three days off and not two weeks off? What if I bought some scratch off lottery tickets? What if Nina met Death with me? How did I get here and how can I assure that I am never here again? HOW DO I GET OUT OF HERE?!?!? AM I TRAPPED WITH A METAPHORICAL GUN TO MY HEAD OR AM I JUST UNAFRAID? What if this is God (God is short for Good) placing me in a situation that I know I am meant for? How do I convince God (God is short for Good) that I am not meant for this? What if I convinced myself I am meant for this? Oh fuck it turns out I'm meant for this and it was insane to doubt thyself so much in the first place.

DEPRESSION & EXHAUSTION: My strongest trauma-bond is with the experience of helplessness. Living in a big helpless fury for weeks will lead to the inevitable: YANG flame snuffs and YANG must reignite itself. My candle wobbled, the YIN spilled everywhere. Now I have to carefully chip out the wick from the pool of wax, YIN poured up and out and over – tears, tears, tears – I had one night alone since this all started and I spent it in a heap on the ground full of trauma, remembering the way eyes with no life behind them roll in any direction that gravity takes 'em, being terrified that my baby would find me dead because that is the most horrific thing to go through, especially if that corpse wasn't supposed to die any time soon – tears, tears, tears – mourning the loss of our already fucked normalcy and expressing the fears of the future through screaming out to absolutely fucking no one. My face is puffy – and I need to work quick – because I'm too tired to keep going without my flame. What's that? I'm out of time?! TIME TO START TAKING TREMENDOUS AMOUNTS OF CBD. Oh god, perfect. All the serenity, without the cognitive hinderance... yeah baby, a global pandemic is what this shit was made for. At least something is made for this. Oh fuck, I have to remember I was made for this too. Not today – oh fuck, every day is today.

ACCEPTANCE: I am passionate. I am passionate for what my life means. I feel everything and everything and it is very beautiful. I love taking care of people, Nhiki taught me how to be taken care of. My life means help. My life means protection. My life means others are better from my existence – Yes – IT IS SYMBIOTIC, because that is WHAT MY LIFE MEANS. I am indeed a vessel for your sorrows and euphoria of all to flow through one side and come out the other sparkling and validated and warmed. How did I end up working in a vitamin department of a grocery store during a fucking global pandemic? HOW DIVINE THE NATURE OF TIMING – GOD IS SHORT FOR GOOD – ALL THINGS GOOD IN GOOD TIME. I assure you, dear customer, you will do everything I can so you won't die on my watch. My girls... you will not die because you are here, with me, and I love you. I have four beautiful girls in my house, and if I can keep them all fed, Dad is happy. I have a very important woman who has graced me with her presence, and if I can keep her feeling warm and smiling and appreciated, Dad is happy. The normalcy and it's failing systems can be collapsing all around me – somehow my world remains strong, remains in love, and remains standing – REMAINS GROWING AND PATIENT AND PROTECTIVE, as does my nature.

PASSIVE-AGGRESSION: I get passive aggressive at people who actively ignore the public health and safety standards imposed around me... apparently. You know I breathe in my own air for 40+ hours every week so it shouldn't be that much trouble for someone stopping by my store to do that for 40 minutes. Public Health is Selflessness. I feel like I work in an airport with the placating, gentle overhead announcements stuck betwixt the stepmom radio tracks reminding everyone of CDC guidelines and in-store signage instructions. The bright-but-not-abrasively-bright signage directing the flow of the public becomes such background noise that I almost forget it is there until I clean my glasses again or bump into it. I got a “talking to” by my bosses that I am passive aggressive. I probably am... Passive, Aggressive. This whole thing has been a balancing act between the two of these states and I think most moments I'd rather hop off that beam except I can't hop off it so it's a good thing my cautious vibe has taught me how to stay still.

COGNITIVE DISSONANCE: I was raised with the understanding that patience is the best virtue and the only acceptable state to operate from is “calm, cool, collected” –  my whole life I've done hard work on balancing the importance of operating from that state with the equal importance of allowing my heart-on-fire to steady burn. Since pandemic started at the grocery store I have become LOUD AND OBNOXIOUS AND DANCING AND PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE ABOUT PUBLIC SAFETY AND HIGH AS FUCK ON CANNABINOIDS and have managed to balance that with MY REQUIREMENT to stay helpful and calm and knowledgable. I do active harm reduction with people that find themselves standing in front of me and a row of incredible forces of nature, looking for the slightest of anecdote for their respiratory/immune/blood/stress systems. And, WOW, gaining that footing in this new balance within a two month period of time has not been always graceful, or easy. Cognitive dissonance was required to achieve it and that's all on my brain's capacity to immediately shift my thought flow, like I have an internal sensory overload kill-switch.

LOVE: My Glorious Baby of Buttercups. You will thrive. I am your dad. I love you. You will always eat before me. I know you know that I know Death, baby. I convene with Death eagerly, and not one morning begins without immense gratitude to Death for Just. One. More. Day. “THANK YOU DEATH FOR SPARING MY LOVED ONES OF THE TRAGEDY THAT WILL BE THE LOSS OF ME. I LOVE YOU – BOOM SHANTI!!” The tip of my iceberg-on-fire of Love is a base idea that I want to give the world everyone... because every one deserves the goodness and glory of the world, and all it has to offer. God is short for Good. Beneath that sea surface, oh my god. It is inexpressible at best, the depths of passion I hold for the well wishes of everyone who has touched my soul. I thought before this pandemic I was already grieving everyone I know and love. I was attuned to mortality salience as sharply as could be. As I continue to know and love ANYONE, the more I grieve. Grief and Love is a tandem ride, and that is the most important lesson I have ever realized. Now, the tuning has only gotten FINER – like discovering a new energy wave that is actually measurable, the edges of my sword of feeling everything all the time are thinner and shinier and more deadly – Here and Now, I am digging pits of love and sorrow for strangers like never before. Reaching new rock bed foundations of my soul's capacity to care about the world and wanting everyone to be okay. Sparkly rock-beds! The infinite vast in my grief for my family, for my chosen family, for my Eastside community, for all of my girls leaves me in awe. I am unabashedly unafraid to speak to everyone and anyone. I MAY SAY I HAVE ALL OF THE TIME – I MAY SAY THAT YOU HAVE ALL OF THE TIME – THAT DOES NOT MEAN THAT YOU AND I HAVE ALL OF THE TIME. I refuse to squander all of this time not connecting.

And then – ohhh and then – as if Grief and Death and Life and Love have not unraveled me and twirled me back up often enough, the brightest softest Violet found herself around me, and I am stumbling, then falling, then floating for such a beauty and my grief for her is already so immense – despite all this newness, my grief for her feels ancient. Where she landed from I don't know – and where she'll go – I can't know. I think of her so gently, softly, and it turns out SHE IS GENTLE AND SOFT – so much meditation has been wishing I could more consciously grasp onto the first moment I saw her because that was the only point in time where I wasn't grieving her so immensely yet – because we caught on like my heart on fire and she can do anything she puts her mind to and she deserves to do anything she wants to do and I am privileged that it seems to be me that she wants to be held by and I'm really proud of her and I want everyone I love to meet her – sometimes it can feel really sad to be always grieving the people you love, and sometimes I question it by wondering if it pulls me away from the present – except when I realize, this practice is a mindfulness practice. GRIEF TEACHES YOU BALANCING PRESENT WITH PAST AND FUTURE BUT NOBODY ACES THESE PRACTICES ALL THE TIME, NOT EVEN DADDY.

AFTER YOU'RE GONE: NHIKI WHY DID YOU LEAVE US – OM NAMA SHIVAYA – NAM MYOHO RENGE KYO – it is always unfair (the word UNFAIR in this context is my inner child speaking) that no matter what is happening that you are not here experiencing it with me. Everything I have experienced since you left our Earthly bond (despite the beauty or despite the turmoil of it) has a permanent burnt tinge of envy of your celestial nature, with your concave shadow (this reformation of my heart) upon it. We could have pandemic'd successfully together – although we may not have known how to do this so easily as I have been without the knowledge I gained from the Death of You – now its just me and my Dad Energy digging all this out, and feeling you're just above up next to me – my missing you is so TANGIBLE it can manifest the whole energy of a room into the shape of your eyebrows, your teeth with the light from the window hitting the spit on them, your hands cracked/tracked open, or healed back shut – whatever you want. I can hear you: “You're so beautiful, Ems!” – and I can hear your bells go off and your tuning fork go off and I can feel you holding me and I can feel the REGRET IN EVERY NUCLEOUS REPLICATING WITH EACH NEW STRAND OF RNA – (REGRET HAS BEEN AN EPIGENETIC TRAIT OF MINE FOR FIVE HUNDRED AND SIXTY DAYS) – regret! about missing our night-time snuggle on our last night together! October 25 2018 was my last chance to hold you and I squandered it – because I fell asleep early – because you were high high high and the next day you finally got high enough and I am here, NOW: sometimes floating over this ground made of griefy-lovey sand dunes not wanting to use the full effort of my toes to keep my feet on the ground for too long, anymore. I do it anyway, with a full understanding of how to fix exhaustion. My grief for you is just love, with nowhere to go – and my grief is thusly my safest resting place. To wander my thoughts in my boundless love for you is to reset, relax, detach from any superficial misery and behold the most powerful thing: EVERYTHING. I remember what the soft edge of your ear feels like on the tip of my nose. I remember feeling the soft edge of your ear with the tip of my nose, and thinking, I need to remember this feeling for the rest of my life because you might not be here for it.

EUPHORIA: I grew a mustache. I left peak fertility and I have never felt more FULL of life.

CREATIVE OVERTAKING: I can see how one may deduct the opposite of “fantastic” based on the raw emotion I openly spew up and out and over. Except... thinking deeply, I couldn't feel so outwardly expressive and creatively fired if I wasn't feeling fantastic. I hold rage and serenity together, I hold grief and love together, I hold water and fire together, I hold anxiety and creativity together. Since the pandemic settled, my creative outlets have expanded into almost every thing I am up to. I made a crossword, I am making collages, I made a painting, I am wandering the neighborhood and being in awe of how lucky I am, I am making up silly songs, I am reading, I am making up love songs, I created a prettier place to sleep, I am wool felting, I am stringing my thoughts together with a new mindfulness level-up, I am etching new facets to listen with in my ears. That's the coolest part...

LISTENING: Throughout my life, I have admired most the people who can make you feel like the only person in a crowded room with how intently and wholly they listen to you. My grandparents, several grandparents. Nine times out of ten, these inspirations in the mastery of listening are people are significantly older than me. Listening is a lifelong practice, after all, so I am naturally in awe of those who have had the most time to practice. I have made it a point to cultivate this ability from an early age. Sometimes, it takes a fucking pandemic to further sharpen your coping skill tools – and your listening skills, too. I think as well, with fleetingly meeting Death more and more often as time goes on, the ability to listen more sharply naturally strengthens. Nothing is worse that not being able to remember what someone sounds like, feels like, looks like – and most importantly, their unique characteristics and mannerisms displayed when talking about something they love.

So these are the classic stages of grief and the newfound stages of grief that I am cycling betwixt and down and over and out. That may or may not answer the question of “how are you doing?” and it's the best way I can answer that one.

I get asked “how ya holding up?” and I'm wondering if that is the same inflection as the previous question, although I could take it for a spin relating to my direct physical position during these moments in time. My back hurts, but it's not terrible most days. My feet hurt, but not most days. I am fed, for most days. My menstruation got wild. My world is not collapsing, I am getting paid, the state gave me back my tax dollars and sent me a cheque for some future tax refunds of mine, I have four beautiful critters to quarantine with. I cook for them, I buy us everything we want, we get El Oasis sometimes, and I come home and the dishes are done.

I come home and the dishes are done was a thing that hadn't happened to me since my Nhiki stopped spoiling me on this plane of reality, so, it's a really special and thoughtful thing that I am treated to – and have been treated to for two months. For a long time after Nhiki left us I unconsciously stopped accepting help with physical things like bringing groceries from the car or carrying things or chores or having my food paid for or help on house maintenance and it has become a new complexity of my grieving process: to allow others to give me physical help that they believe I deserve from them, even if the thought never crossed my mind to ask. No I certainly don't have to do everything just because I don't mind doing everything. It is a special symbiosis and I have been so humbled by my baby buttercup. I love taking care of her – without feeling like I am literally taking care of her, because she loves taking care of me, without feeling like she is literally taking care of me.

Taking care of others – LOVE AND CARE is the only thing that moves me and things and time along. Time suspends when I am useless. And time suspension, well, that's a creepy fucking thing when you live majority of your consciousness on a linear plane of reality. Luckily for me there is literally/technically everyone available to love and care for. Even more luckily, I need not seek anyone. They are dancing down their own paths and those paths happen to collide with mine, and it is beautiful. How am I holding up? Um, considering I have so many fantastical souls I have the honor of caring for – I AM holding up. Not how, just am.

My boss quit our job a few days ago, and I was welcomed into her magical home. There is a deep ethereal bond between two people who have lost big loves to an untimely tragedy. Hers was five years ago – her heart aches for my measly eighteen months. My heart aches for her knowing what she's felt for so long. We talked about the guilt of waking up every day feeling good about being alive. Our loves wouldn't want it any other way, and yet... the void left behind when their suffering finally changed from theirs to ours is a big and trippy one. “Strong people” choose to fill that void with joy, we are both “strong people” although, if anyone asked us personally if we feel strong... we may disagree. Strong is the wrong word. The fact of the matter is, there is no other choice – except to crumble. And, when you are needed – when you have people to care for and attend to, the choice to crumble becomes a non-issue, a non-reality. LOVE IS EVERYTHING, and I feel everything – I am a fully feeling being. DEATH does not stop the fire that tells its story and moves within me. Absolutely not, it only makes the blues deeper and heartier, and the bright more blinding in its awe and heat. In heaven there is no heat, I've heard. Until then: I AM BURNING AND COVERED IN SALT and my business card says “Call me if your love drops dead, I know how you feel.”

The question of “do you need anything?” directed at me will only move me to flip that question back at the bearer. Do YOU need anything? Because baby, I have everything. Other than flipping the question back I tend to tell people “what I need is for you to follow the public health and safety guidelines to the best of your ability” and “stay safe” and “if you think of anything I need or want I would be honored” and I like to hope that is a creative prompt. The kind gestures and thoughtfulness I have experienced off my friends? Oh, they have taken flight with said prompt – soared! – and have filled my heart up!! Lovely!

People intuitively understand kindness, care, love, compassion. Yes these things are practices and yes they are mindfulnesses and every person still has all of this within them. This is the key understanding I try to keep at the forefront of my head, especially when protestors/outsiders storm my city to hold a Trump rally. Their anger is misdirected. Damn every safety net that was spun of illusion and damn every systemic failing that has led to a dramatic display of these human beings wearing their rifles around my downtown. Maybe because my world is so full of kindness, and love, and beauty, and patience... that I failed to remember these sorts of protests/gatherings would indeed happen the longer this shutdown went on. And HEY that’s WONDERFUL fuck remembering that.

Clearly the trifecta of my existence is LOVE and ENTROPY and MUTUAL AID – so to all of you wonderful humans who only reach out to ask me “how i'm doing” and “how i'm holding up” I want you to remember that simply you, thriving in all your glory, makes me proud to be alive and knowing you – and remember that I am constantly betwixt the sparkles of grief and love and anger and serenity and exhaustion and vibrance. So, nothing much with me has changed, even though I have overheard once or twice the theory that “everything” has changed, except the world that changed is not mine – because EVERYTHING IS LOVE. Remember to tell me about yourselves to me. I want to know how you feel, too. Because you matter, and you are essential, and so am I, and we are EVERYTHING.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[hellofromuranus]

Aa psychology professor, I always try to listen to what my students are teaching me. For example, I used to poll my classes and ask everyone, “Who here tries to change their partner?” Almost everyone would raise their hand. Then I’d ask, “Who likes it when their partner tries to change them?” Nobody raised their hand, but there were always a few knowing chuckles.

After working in mental health and education for 20 years, I’ve learned that nobody likes being told what to do. When we want to talk about climate change with friends or family, or even with a stranger on social media, I think we too quickly launch into a proclamation of the superiority of our opinions. We lecture more than we listen and this gets in the way. A key question is this: How can we have productive conversations about climate change that result in people feeling more engaged, informed, and willing to do something different?

Here is an 11-step guide that will get results:

1. Know thyself

Before you have a conversation with someone else, you need to have a conversation with yourself. (Thank you, Richard of City Atlas.) Begin by asking yourself this question: “Why does climate change matter to me?” Spend time getting familiar with your own thoughts, emotions, assumptions, stories, and consumption habits. Ask yourself the questions in this 11-step map and really listen to everything you have to say. This will give you an invaluable foundation of self-understanding and self-awareness, and it will make you well-prepared to have your first conversation with someone else about climate change.

2. Having a conversation about climate change takes practice

It’s best to start small and work your way up, just like you would if you wanted to lift weights. Begin by choosing someone you know well, who is likely open to having the conversation. This 11-step approach is not for confronting trolls or deniers. It’s for talking with regular people who just aren’t used to talking about climate change. So choose a friend and set yourself up for a win. This is your time to build communication skills and enhance your confidence.

3. Begin by asking for consent

Be direct and gentle. Say, “I was wondering if we could talk about climate change,” or “I’d like to talk about climate change with you. Would that be okay?” You could say this when it’s relevant to the present conversation or you could just go ahead and bring it up because this topic is important, it’s been on your mind, and you want to talk about it. Remember, when you do bring climate change into a conversation, make sure your friend has the freedom to say “yes” or “no.” Nobody likes being told what to do, but people do like when you give them respect and space. If they say “no,” accept their answer and let it be. If the answer is “yes,” ask them when they’d like to talk and agree to a time. Again, this is all about consent. If they ask why you want to talk about climate change, tell them what you’ve discovered in step one: “I think it’s important to talk about climate change, and I’d like to know what you think. If it’s okay, I might also share what I think.” Your job is to lead with curiosity, make space, and mostly just listen.

4. Be a good host

Maybe you buy them a cup of coffee or a cookie. Make sure the person has time to settle in and get comfortable. Be friendly and don’t rush the end result. A good conversation is like having a good meal: You don’t want to race to finish it; you want to appreciate it. Being a good host communicates patience, respect, and goodwill. This creates a strong foundation for a useful and engaged conversation.

5. Begin by asking, “What do you know about climate change?”

Listen respectfully and don’t interrupt your friend or attempt to correct them. You’ll want to get a sense of where they’re coming from so you can learn which facts and opinions shape their understanding. If they ask you what you know or what you think, you can say a few things, but it’s important that you don’t crowd them with your ideas and opinions. Let the focus be on them. The approach is to listen, not lecture, because nobody likes being told what to do. Your agenda should be curiosity and being a good host.

6. Ask: “How do you feel about climate change?”

Feeling is different from knowing or thinking. Be curious about confusion, anxiety, grief, anger, indifference, excitement, dread, or whatever else your friend may feel. Ask questions to learn more about why they are anxious or confused, like “What kinds of things are you anxious about?” or “What is confusing for you?” If they ask how you feel, be honest and tell them but also be gentle. You don’t want to say too much and overwhelm them. Make space for their feelings without crowding in yours. Listen with empathy. Climate change is intensely emotional; we have to honor and talk about that.

7. Ask: “What do you think we can do about climate change?”

This question is about power, agency, and possibility. You’re asking about ways to mitigate, adapt to, or stop climate change. You’re asking what they think and feel could be helpful, if they think we’re powerless, or if they just don’t know. Again, if they ask your opinion, feel free to share a little but make space for them. If you think there’s nothing we can do, why would they want to talk to you again or become engaged in the issue? Remember, this is about having a useful conversation that can lead to feeling more connected, hopeful, and engaged. You are planting seeds and introducing the notion that climate is an issue we can do something about. You are helping your friend shift from being a passive observer to an engaged participant.

8. Ask: “What do you think you can do about climate change?”

Now you’re asking about their personal sense of power, agency, and possibility. This question is designed to prompt a conversation about hope, participation, and a sense of personal involvement. Not only are there things we can do about climate change, there are things you can do. You’re introducing or supporting the idea that their personal power and choices make a difference. If they ask you the same question, use the same rules as before: Listen, don’t lecture, and make space for them to make choices on their own.

9. Ask: “Would you like to learn more or do more about climate change?”

If they say “no,” don’t try to change their mind. You can be curious or gently inquire about their understanding but don’t judge or be pushy. Nobody likes being told what to do. If they say “yes,” ask them what they’d like to learn more about. Come prepared with practical information, including options for learning or doing more. I use Project Drawdown as a source of solutions and 350.org, Sunrise Movement, and Climate Reality as examples of groups that help us learn more about climate change. I also suggest that people follow the work of climate scientists such as Katharine Hayhoe and Michael Mann. Use whatever resources you’re familiar with and prefer to share. You can also say a little about what you’re learning and what you personally do about climate change, as long as you don’t overwhelm them or tell them what to do. The idea is to show there is more to learn and do, and there are ways to easily get started.

10. Ask: “Can we talk about this again sometime?”

If they say “no,” let it be. If they say “yes,” terrific. Future conversations can be less structured; make it any style you like, but please remember that nobody likes being told what to do. Continue to be curious, generous, inviting, patient, and kind.

11. Continue to talk about climate change.

Katharine Hayhoe tells us that one of the most important things we can do about climate change is to talk about it. Make consent and curiosity the core of these conversations. Don’t view the person you’re talking to as a “problem,” and don’t look at yourself as the “problem solver” who has all the answers. Rather, it’s important that we have these conversations as humans who wish to connect with other humans. We need to be trustworthy and kind. Our ability to be humane is absolutely central to our success in meaningful, impactful climate change work. We’re all in this together.

2.5K

[hogbullpup]

Ruminations-life, love, relationships

For the past nine months I haven’t been pursuing a boyfriend or boyfriends until either 1, my mental health improves, 2, I can move on from being a part-time caregiver for my mom and let my brother take over, 3, I can find a better job/career, or all of the above, but I’ve been feeling so lonely lately that I’m wondering if I should just say “fuck it” and get back on both growlr and twitter. Still, I feel like I haven’t gotten out a lot of my own thoughts about my personal shortcomings in my last relationship and other concerns before pursuing another one, and this is as good a place as any as no one’s really here anymore, so long story incoming...

About 6 years ago, after coming out as a proud lover of large, hefty men I started exploring chub/gainer communities around in the area and after a while found a big fella who ended up becoming my best friend, whom I’ll call C. We bonded very quickly; after a while we were hanging out once a week consistently and I soon developed feelings for him.

Around the time C and I were hanging out and bonding, my dad was diagnosed with stage four bladder cancer and 3.5 years ago passed away. 6 or so months after that C asked if I wanted us to be more than just friends, but I put him off because I was in a bad mental state, partly from my dad's brutal battle with cancer and partly from my own insecurities. This hurt C far more than I knew at the time, and I still don’t forgive myself for causing him that much pain.

Early 2018

Some time later, March 2018, I told C I was being dumb and that I loved him deeply, and we started dating, but he told me that in that time he had discovered the pup community and found a sir/handler, S, who was moving to the area soon with his other 2 pups. I on the other hand in that time had been looking for community with the Seattle bears and chubs, however I felt their scene was kind of cliquey, financially discriminatory, and on occasion racist (despite how physically attractive I found a lot of them--this was really frustrating for someone who is only attracted to bigger, fluffier men).

So in the first couple months of C and my relationship I started exploring the pup scene/fetish online and in a couple of gatherings, and enjoyed a lot of what I saw, but it also left me with more questions than answers (turns out I'm far more switch than dom) and C certainly couldn't answer all of them given the fact that he was still a very new puppy. He specifically admitted that the details of our relationship became harder because I wanted to explore pup play, but at the same time wasn't at all sympathetic because I was partly exploring pup play just because he was into it, which he really didn't like (I also lied about this which still makes me feel sick, and danced around the issue instead of just being honest and saying "babe I just wanted to explore and be involved in the things you like"). This became even harder for me because C was being quickly welcomed into S's family, and got his collar soon after they moved to the area. I didn't want at all to intrude on their family because it would be psycho rude and I didn't even know any of them, but I was also deeply protective of C at the same time, and didn’t know how to handle my insecurities. I wish I had the emotional knowledge then that I do now. Starting to date C was a big change for me going from open-but-committed to my first poly relationship, so I was upset that I couldn't explore poly WITH C. It didn't seem fair.

Jealousy took over and I started telling C that I might want to pursue a family like S had, because if he was able to build a family exclusively of cute, chub pups than so could I. C cautioned me that S got very lucky compared to most, and that the likelihood of me being able to find a few gay partners all of the chubby variety and all of whom are compatible was very unlikely, and even if possible would take years (but, to my frustration, he would never give me a clear NO). While this sat heavy with me and I knew he was most likely right, it didn't help with my feelings of complete helplessness and isolation in my situation. I continued to ruminate. A big part of it that I fully regret and admit to is jealousy, and I had no idea before this whole situation that I was such a jealous person. But there was also massive anxiety--the feeling that there was nothing I could do, a feeling I don't handle that feeling very well, and I think it made my jealousy worse.

So instead of being patient, exploring pup play, enjoying the chub/chaser relationship I had with C, and just seeing how things went, I BADGERED C for some 7-8 weeks with impossible questions like...

"how would dom (me) and sub (him) pup interactions work given the fact he already has a handler?" 

or "how can we ever belong to a larger family unit together (this was a big one for me) if your family is full,"  (I wasn’t his handler’s type anyway. He likes big chubs like I do so deep down I knew this was putting pressure on C to expand our relationship without asking if that was ok first),

or "what if in my explorations I discover I want want to be a handler or just part of a larger family, and somehow want you to be a part of that with me together without stepping on your handler's toes? How will that be possible?" (I knew C was an introvert and probably wouldn’t really have the energy/time to put into another complex relationship like that with me).

I knew that these questions were impossible to answer but still I continued to harass him, even though C told me on multiple occasions I was stressing him out and needed to back off and handle my jealousy and insecurities ("jealousy is poison in poly relationships", he said, and wasn't wrong). And in Fall, after a heated argument, he requested we take a 1 month break, which I spent learning to meditate and mitigate my anxiety and insecurities, while also begging fate for us to be able to stay together. When we met back up, I made my case that I was working hard to overcome anxiety and jealousy, but he told me the damage had been done. I was crushed.

Late 2018

After we broke up I continued to pursue meditation, but to be completely honest it barely kept the anxiety at bay and eventually I just gave up. I lost sleep over losing C for some 5 months, unable to clear my head of all those unanswerable questions for at least 2 hours most nights before falling asleep. I had lost both my best friend and lover, and at the time he was still rooming with my gaming friends and it was awkward for me to hang out, so I just felt alone, which is, without doubt, my one driving fear and what I wanted to avoid at all possible costs.

I remember thinking over and over again that I wished I had never put C off in the first place and had admitted my feelings to him sooner, but at the same time wouldn't have wanted anything to change as far as him meeting S and family. I just wanted things to somehow work between us as I explored what it meant for me to be poly.

Nov-Feb

In the months following our breakup I fought to recover from these feelings of loneliness by STILL continuing to attending pup social events and even a mosh (though I didn't participate in the mosh). It was hard when I would see S and his three pups show up, and I had to fight off nagging bad thoughts every time it happened. Still, I met a couple of very nice chubby pups who I bonded with and became friends. Sadly, despite liking both of them, one couldn't afford to live in Seattle anymore and moved back to Wisconsin, and the other (whom I really liked but was too damaged from my breakup to pursue) got adopted by a couple of husbands and moved just outside of Milwaukee with them. It felt like the universe was picking on me for my fear of being left out or rejected. I was alone again.

Somehow I persisted and survived, but my memories of the few months after that are such a dull blur I'm not sure I was even alive at the time. C and I are good friends again and I have a core group of friends (including him) who I feel close to and game with about once every 2 weeks. I still love him a lot but he's not looking for anything and I need to moderate my attraction to him. Also, time I spend hanging out with him is time I'm not spending looking for a big partner to call my own so I feel weird sometimes when I play around with him and my feelings are so fucking strong. I would like to find a guy I have that connection with who also wants to live together. It's depressing how hard something that simple is to find.

Anyways this has gone on for far too long, but I needed to write down my ruminations somewhere and also double down on goals and reminders for future relationships so I don't make the same mistakes I did before:

-If I'm attracted to a guy as much as I was attracted to C, I need to remember and understand that there probably will be major consequences to putting them off, even if it's for my own comfort.

-If a guy asks me to give him space, legitimately do it, and don't be actively looking for the next opportunity to talk about difficult things.

-If I date a man and he has a master or another family, I need to be happy for him, and not try to follow in his path, unless that's something he would enjoy/welcome (C didn’t, and I didn’t want to accept that). But also emphasize that a family like that is what I’m looking for and ask him to be gentle/supportive with me while I pursue it.

-If I date a man with a master, I need to be patient, respectful, and willing to communicate with him at his pace. After a while I can hopefully ask if I can work to earn the handler/master’s trust to not have to ask permission to do most things with my partner. If that option isn’t available, then it’s probably not the relationship for me.

-Accept that large men who are happy being large and soft are few and far between, and finding one into me is going to take significantly longer than a typical gay relationship, and that if I'm not out there looking, the few opportunities that are there are going to come and go.

-Learn to balance being flexible with knowing my limits, and knowing when to put my foot down. I honestly should have been the first to cut my relationship off with C because he didn't want his partners to cross or for sexual experiences in one bedroom to be shared in the other's bedroom. And right away that should have been a huge warning sign for me because that's something that's very important to me in a poly relationship (though at the time I was very new to poly so that was the first time I discovered what I wanted). I think I partly held on to him so hard because, other than my emotional feelings for him (which built up over some 3+years), there just aren't that many 300+lb non-judgmental guys who are going to find me as attractive as I find them. Regardless, no matter how many boxes a guy ticks for me, if something bugs me that much then I need to not settle.

-Patience. Patience. Patience. I need to learn to relax. It's possible that everything between C and I would have worked out if I'd just been patient. Perhaps not, but I'll never know how much I can accomplish with patience unless I try.

Well, I guess it's time to get back on growlr, dig up my old twitter, and hope for the best.

[thepilotanon]

Prelude xix

...to become close {masterlist}

I would like to thank everyone who has stuck around and has been putting up with the fact that my updates are slow, you’re all kickass people and I appreciate you! I know I’m not getting a whole lot of notes with the past few chapters as of late, but I would really appreciate if you let me know what you thought! I hope you will enjoy, and thank you for stopping by.

warning: spare violence.

Nova never went to the comfort of her lover’s bed that night.

Using the staff provided from the spar bin during her practice with Lumiya, one of the female Knights of Ren who wanted extra conditioning, Nova managed to force a blunt hit to her abdomen and flipping her over. There weren’t many stormtroopers within the facility, only Phasma and some of her own units going through a new evaluation of her training exercise; a bunch of clashing and pinning and painful groans coming from helmets. It seemed parallel to each other, when Nova and Phasma pinned their opponents hard to the mats below them. However, in comparison to Phasma, it seemed that Nova used a bit more brutal force on her sparring partner. It took her a moment to drop out of her second of negative thoughts to see Lumiya struggling to compose herself…

“I’m sorry,” Nova exhaled worriedly, kneeling down to try and remove Lumiya’s helmet to help her breathe better. “I’m sorry, I didn’t - Lumiya, please forgive -”

“It’s alright,” Lumiya huffed through her voice modulator, reaching up to carefully grasp her wrist and pushing it away. Despite the covering of her face and the change in her voice, Nova could sense she was smiling. “I wasn’t focusing hard enough, I know. I still have a lot to catch up to you, don’t I?”

“No, you’re strong,” Nova tried, sensing how her companion was finding the situation amusing and a good learning experience. “I wasn’t being fair to you in combat, that was my fault.”

“The fault in the situation is Lumiya,” a clicked voice caught everyone’s attention. Voices died down immediately at the presence of Kylo Ren entering the room, helmet visor aimed directly as Nova frowned. “It wouldn’t matter if her opponent was stronger or weaker in strength to her - she would still be easily killed in the matter of seconds for not focusing.”

Lumiya was instant in getting to her feet (although Nova could feel that she was sore in her lower back) standing in salute to the Commander. Nova took her own time getting up as she dropped her staff. “Still, it’s my job to make sure she improves at a safe pace for her health. It’s not her fault that I wasn’t being mindful in my own strength to help her.”

“If the student isn’t learning from the Master, then it’s the student’s fault for not listening,” Kylo responded, taking a step forward.

Nova felt Lumiya’s body stiffen. “Well, it would only apply to this situation if there was an actual Master present for the students,” Nova snapped rather stubbornly. Looking over to Lumiya’s empty mask, Nova’s voice softened for a moment as she spoke. “Lumiya, you’re done for the day. I want you to rest and report to the medbay, if you’re still feeling sore in your lower back.”

Lumiya didn’t move with Kylo’s stare at her, and Nova easily stepped between them and gave off a more authoritative tone. “That was not a suggestion, Lumiya. That was an order.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Lumiya stuttered and kept her head turned down as she made a quick exit, leaving Phasma to slowly turn and order her ‘troopers to return to their routine.

Nova boredly went back to the mat she was using with Lumiya to pick up the sparring staffs and return them to the bin. Kylo didn’t move a muscle as the activity returned to the training hall, seeming to wait patiently until she was done. Once Nova passed a message along to Phasma about discussing her new training technique later-on, Kylo was direct in turning around and following after Nova in an orderly fashion out into the hallway, where the other officers and ‘troopers were readying their cycle routines and droids rolling about. Nova didn’t particularly wait for Kylo, no matter how much he was reaching out to her within their Force wall, she kept walking. Where? Maybe to get some food to eat? She didn’t know, but she didn’t want to see or speak to -

Feeling a strong arm wrapped around her, Nova held back a frustrated growl when Kylo threw her over his shoulder. Stepping sideways in the currently empty hall, Kylo punches the panel on the wall to open the singular blast door; tossing themselves inside the unused storage unit of stacked towels, blankets, sheets and extra clothing to fit one size, Nova was upset being handled by him with her mind settled on getting food. Kylo was quick to set her down on her feet away from the door in order to close it.

“Kylo, what are you -!”

“Why are you ignoring me?”

His voice was gruff, even through the voice modulator crackling her ears. Nova puffed air into her cheeks and looked away from his masked face rather bitterly. Her Force wall hiding them within the cramped space, being chest-to-chest, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him and feel the tension and stress radiating from him and directed to her. It wasn’t to blame her at all, she knew, but he wanted to point out that he wasn’t happy about...where they left off.

“I just didn’t go to bed last -”

“No, you didn’t,” Kylo underlined and Nova’s lip twitched to a near snarl. “I’ve said that nothing was your fault, Nova. You could have come to bed, and I wouldn’t have done anything to h -”

“You left me upset!” Nova projected, causing Kylo to raise his hand to silently ask her to calm her voice. Nova’s face felt warm as she pushed his hand back down, looking anywhere else but at him. “You left me feeling a whole bunch of things, and I felt weird for the longest time and I got mad at you for it.”

Before Kylo could suggest that it was the fleeting moment of bad memories bring brought up, Nova released a groan and hit her forehead against his sternum. “No! It wasn’t that! It was - I don’t know what it is, I’ve never felt it before, but I know you were making it!”

“What are you - wait, do you mean..?”

Kylo looked down to her, allowing him to look within at what she was talking about. It took him a moment before a strangled exhale hissed through the helmet, making Nova shut her eyes as feeling his heartbeat pick under her touch. Reaching to scratch underneath his helmet, Kylo took a moment to recollect himself before reaching for the latch and remove the bulky accessory from his head. Dropping it to the piled up towels, Kylo huffed with flushed cheeks before hesitating to rest his hands anywhere on or near her body. It eventually left Kylo to drop his gloved hands at his sides.

“It was wrong of me,” he swallowed thickly, “to leave you...to leave you aroused like that. It was very wrong of me, when I thought you were uncomfortable of me, when I saw that image, while I was going to… I am so sorry, Nova.”

“It was only a split second. I was frightened, because I’ve never done it before and I have bad memories of what I thought it was suppose to be like,” Nova confessed. “Sometimes nightmares of what could have happened back on Bavva III, but… I really liked the way you were touching me, Kylo. The words you projected to me and how you were holding me, I was happy and I didn’t want you to stop.”

Nuzzling her face into her chest, trying to keep her frustration down and take in his warmth and scent, Nova sighed. “I didn’t want you to stop, Kylo, and it left me upset to the point I didn’t want to come to bed.”

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” he asked her softly, seeing her move her head against him ‘no’ in response. “Neither did I. I wanted to come and get you, but I didn’t want to overstep boundaries and frighten you. It’s very selfish of me to even approach you like I did in the training room.”

Nova shook her head again, nuzzling closer to him as his hand instinctively came to tenderly rub her clothed back. “I was mad at you.”

“With good reason,” Kylo huffed, somewhat amused and guilty at the same time. “A very good reason, in my opinion. The blame is entirely on me, and I don’t think I can apologize enough for what I’ve done to you besides what I thought.”

“I forgive you, though,” she responded quietly. “I sense that you are very, very guilty over this...yet, I don’t know where this leaves us now.” Looking up to him curiously, Nova was careful with her space between him. She could sense the discomfort from him, yet his hand caressing her back with the most gentle of touches were confident and reassuring, eyes contemplating.

“From last night, I thought things over, and,” Kylo took a careful breath, “you deserve a better place than aboard the Supremacy for your...first time. You’re beyond than what anyone else deserves, where there is the chance of being seen or noticed something is different with your appearance, aside from the confidentiality of a doctor… I don’t want to give you your first better experience of intimacy on this ship.”

The hand on her back coming to brush strands of loose hair behind her ear, Kylo’s gloved fingers brushed along her jaw with careful precision. “Your first experience should be where we’re not rushed or monitored, but somewhere I can take care of you, if needed. Where we can go at your pace.”

“My pace?” Nova asked curiously, seeing him nod before carefully grasping her chin and angling her head to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, mentally giving her the definition of what he meant. Hearing his meaning made her blush a bit, her body feeling warm all over again in a more endearing way of how he remained in letting her be in control. “Okay...I understand.”

“Until then, I suggest something that will benefit us both,” Kylo spoke softly against her skin, his nose inhaling her comfortable scent. “It’s still too early for either of us to really be needed anywhere; we go back to bed and sleep comfortably for a little while, and catch up on some important time we missed last night.”

“Yeah,” Nova immediately answered, leaning a bit against his chest and closing her eyes. For once since that uncomfortable night of the tension and need from the waist down, she felt at ease and comfortable in his hold. His arm wrapped around her back once more, urging her to come closer and nuzzle his chest. “I want that.”

Both of them managed to be unsuspecting in their different routes taken to return to their secluded hallway, Kylo waiting there first while Nova played one game with the droids of chase before slipping inside Kylo’s bedroom. His outer armor and gloves removed, Nova was more than happy to grin when his large hands cradles her cheeks and his warm lips kissing her smile. Collecting her in his strong arms, Kylo kissed her cheeks and jaw over and over while carrying her to the bedroom and carefully set her down on his bed. Nova simply yanked him by the shirt to catch his lips in a quick kiss and bury her face into his chest.

“Can we nap, please? I’m tired.” Only feeling the soft material of the blankets and the warmth that radiated off of her lover, she already was starting to feel the effects of her lack of sleep. It felt like a lifetime ago when she would have sleepless nights, being with him had helped her change to appreciate and enjoy the feeling of waking up feeling held and loved by Kylo.

Nodding, Kylo pressed a gentle kiss to her temple and motioned for her to lay down while he removed her shoes for her. Until he was pulled by his tunic again, rather impatiently, Kylo’s mouth formed a shy of a grin while obeying her silent request. Letting her take charge of where she wanted him, Kylo was pulled to lay on his side while Nova attached herself to his chest; her leg brought over his hip and face buries into the material of his shirt, Kylo own hand tangled into her hair and lightly massaged her scalp. Tilting his chin down, Kylo pressed his lips carefully against her head, inhaling her scent and finally relaxing in bed.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked softly against her head. Waiting for an answer, he was met with soft, delicate snores and Nova’s cheek snuggled against him. The corner of his mouth twitching, Kylo couldn’t do anything else but wrap his arms tighter around her and close his eyes, readying to find his much needed peace.

Supreme Leader Snoke watched carefully as the young woman stared out the vast window within the throne room, her head tilting with the most innocent, curious stare to the collection of broken asteroids floating by with the planet in the distance beyond of the field. Leaning forward to drown out more noise of the spar session going on behind her, Nova kept her gaze focused on the planet with the mixed atmosphere of beautiful blues and greens hidden from the dark lumps of asteroids. Instead of watching Kylo spar alongside with the Knights, as she was suppose to do in order to help Snoke find room for improvement, her focus was completely elsewhere in the universe. Snoke himself was taken aback by her...unknown distraction.

Eventually, Kylo and his Knights slowed their sparring session at the lack of attention from the two observers. Lumiya was able to stop her companion, Vost, from falling back by pushing his shoulder from Kylo’s blow just in time to see how Kylo deactivated his ‘saber and face his Master.

“It seems that little Nova finds something more important to focus on than taking notes from the spar,” Snoke drawled, flexing one hand to use the Force to carefully drag Nova away from the window.

Upon reaction, Nova swung her arm behind her back, apparently severing the connection and kept her eyes ahead. Few of the Knights stepped back from the wave of Nova’s Force overpowering the Supreme Leader, leaving him to actually chuckle with amusement at her stubborn behavior.

Getting up from his throne, Snoke approached Nova’s sitting form across the room, his hands helping to keep him balanced. “Young Nova, what are you doing, you brainless girl?” he asked her rather tauntingly. “What has your empty mind so focused on… Vardos, is it?”

Nova didn’t respond, only sparing a side glance to the tall humanoid before scooting away from him. Kylo watched emotionlessly as the Supreme Leader glanced carefully to each of the Knights of Ren helmets, searching their thoughts of their opinion of the situation. Chuckling, Snoke reached down and tugged on her braided hair. Nova didn’t show any expression of distaste for the treatment, or even the quietest of noise.

“You sense something on the planet Vardos, don’t you? I can see it,” Snoke said quietly, yet it seemed loud enough in the silenced throne room. “Something is drawing you to it, isn’t it, little one…”

Turning around, Snoke waved a hand towards the group of Knights standing idly by, as if waiting for something to happen or an order. “Knights, you are dismissed. Kylo Ren, you are to remain here,” he commanded. And, as usual, everyone followed the order accordingly while Kylo remained in his spot, eyes darting behind the mask to Nova’s relaxed body and Snoke watching her with a sort of pride that didn’t make sense to him.

“My young apprentice, Kylo Ren,” Snoke began, turning his body towards his way before turning his focus away from Nova, “I do believe it is time for little Nova to construct her own lightsaber.”

Frowning, Kylo turned his chin to see the distant planet he’s never visited, but knew so much about. “Vardos is an unoccupied planet, Supreme Leader. Aside from breathable air, there is no such thing as life forms present or even growing from Operation: Cinder… There isn’t any way for Kyber crystals to be capable to -”

“Vardos had multiple laboratories and safes filled to the brim with Kyber rocks, as well as some that were used for Starkiller Base, if you’ve done your research,” Snoke interrupted, and Kylo instantly shut his mouth when Nova glanced behind her shoulder for a moment. Nova sniffed boredly before looking back out the large window, leaving Snoke to watch her behavior carefully. “The satellites of the weather arrays have been deactivated and, so far, the storms have ceased. The planet itself is dead, yet I believe many of the storage units and structures still hold mass amounts for her to choose from…”

Turning to look back to Kylo, Snoke moved cautiously back to the aisle, aiming to the door of the mass room. “You will escort her to Vardos immediately, with proper equipment within your shuttle. Keep an eye on her while she searches for her Kyber crystal, and all - you know the customs and traditions, Kylo Ren.”

Leaving the two within the large throne room, eerily quiet, Kylo watched Nova carefully as he slowly approached her from behind, being mindful of her thoughts darting all over the place - unseen by the Supreme Leader. Something unknown to her was keeping her distracted, something she didn’t know or how to explain it to him.

“Kylo,” Nova spoke, her voice soft and filled with curiosity, “when can we go?”

“As soon as I ready the shuttle,” Kylo answered simply, reaching to his belt for his commlink. “I’ll order for it, but...are you alright?”

Seeing her nod, Kylo released a breath. “The Supreme Leader feels that you are drawn to a Kyber crystal, to construct a lightsaber. I don’t know how long it will take us, but I suggest we pack essentials for a few days, just incase.”

“Okay…”

“What do you sense coming from there, Nova…” he asked softly, seeing her lean and press her bare hands to the cold windows by her fingertips. “What do you see?”

“I don’t know, but it’s something I feel like I need. Is that normal?” Turning away completely from the window, Nova willingly approached him and looked to his mask with a concerned pout. “If Snoke said it’s a dead planet...is it really safe from - what did he say it was? The burning substance he was talking about.”

“Operation: Cinder,” he told her. “Something that happened before the plans of Starkiller Base were constructed. A collection of satellites were used to corrupt the balance of all living capabilities on the planet, only leaving it breathable. There isn’t any use for the planet to anyone, much less anything profitable to anyone…”

“But there is something there,” Nova claimed softly. “I don’t understand why I want to go there, but I need to. There’s something, I know it! Does that make any sense at all?”

“From anyone else, no. From you, I’m willing to compromise and assist you until you’re satisfied,” Kylo confessed rather casually, making her smile. “Go and pack clothing for a few days, and I’ll be at my shuttle waiting for you.”

Nodding, Nova gave him one more grin before running off to go collect her things, letting Kylo go off and ready his ship at the loading hangar. As soon as he stepped into the loading dock of the Supremacy, Kylo suddenly realized something rather important…

This would be Nova’s first time being allowed off ship to an actual planet without the guide of the First Order.

“What was wrong with this planet that they did Operation: Cinder?” Nova asked softly, her arms coming to wrap around Kylo’s neck from behind as her chin rest on his shoulder. Watching him easily pilot the shuttle all on his own, Nova was more curious of watching him man the flycraft with such precision without any other assistance, as he instructed the crew that he didn’t need anyone else.

When Kylo spared a moment to look over to her, eyeing her carefully, Nova gave him a soft smile and pressed her nose to his cheekbone. “It’s okay to tell me, I’m curious,” she confessed to him. “The planet was once flourished with life, right?”

“Yes. I don’t know the exact details of the mission, but I believe it was to experiment in preparation for Starkiller Base,” he answered, turning his gaze to the incoming atmosphere that held numerous shades of grey and darkness. Part of him truly wondered if the storms have ceased when he caught sight of lightning not too far away from where he planned to land on Kestro, the capital of the planet. “This would also be my first time visiting this planet; the Supreme Leader hasn’t instructed anyone to use this planet for anything, as far as I am aware.”

Looking over to the scanning pad not too far away from the pilot’s chair, Nova tilt her head at an angle to read it properly. “There is still no signs of any forms of life,” she informed him, feeling him nod against her arm. “So...will it be empty, like a unused storage unit?”

“Deserted, with building structures that haven’t been used for a very long time. Dead plants and maybe ruins,” Kylo attempted to help paint a picture. “I suggest, if the area we explore is not what you’re searching for, we return to the shuttle and find a different spot to try next. Do you feel anything different?”

Shaking her head, Nova rest her cheek on his shoulder. “No, it feels the same. Just...want to get there. I don’t know what’s there, but I need to get there.”

“We’ll be landing shortly, just be patient, love,” Kylo urged her softly, taking one of her hands into his and press a kiss to her wrist. “I need you to stay by my side once we leave the ship. If I sense any sort of danger nearby, I want you to listen to me and return to the shuttle and stay safe…”

“We will be fine.” Hearing her response, Kylo looked over and gave her a hard stare when she pulled away from him. Shaking her head, Nova gave him a smile. “I don’t sense any danger, Kylo. I believe there is nothing dangerous or anything to be afraid of here.”

“You say that, but yet I’m the one who has more experience, isn’t that right?”

Nova blew air into her cheeks rather stubbornly, making him raise a brow. Switching the shuttle to autopilot, Kylo stood from his seat and approached her with careful steps; she didn’t move away from him, standing her ground, and he was gentle to raise his hands to cup her face. His gloved thumbs brushing under her eyes, he released a long exhale when he saw that she wasn’t going to back down.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Nova. It’s nowhere near of me not trusting you,” he told her quietly, hoping she could read his words. “Out of majority of those in my life, I trust you the most. But, you need to understand that -”

“You’re scared for me,” she exposed with a pout, “with what happened on Starkiller Base.” His throat bobbing with a hard swallow, Nova reached to hold his wrists firmly. He finally noticed the soft, tingling sensation in the back of his head. “You worry for my health, ever since I got poisoned and the frostbite. And all that happened after...”

When he didn’t respond, Nova smiled sadly before leaning her forehead to press against his armored chest. “It happened, and it was scary. I also have bad dreams of it every once in a while, but waking up during the night and remembering that you’re holding me and keeping me safe and warm?” Sighing, she wrapped her arms around him and held onto him tight. “I’m no longer afraid of what happened in the past, because you’re there when I need you most. I’m not scared anymore, because I know you’ll protect me from anything that will hurt me, Kylo.”

“I would,” he responded, affirming her. “I will, at any time…”

“Which is why there isn’t any reason to worry on a broken planet, correct?” Nova asked him, leaning her head back to look at him. “There’s no lifeforms or anything...but there might be bigger Kyber crystals for me to find, right? I was very good at finding those tiny bits before, wasn’t I?”

Kylo couldn’t resist the twitch of his lips when his fingers traced along her jaw. “You would find the largest Kyber rock while anyone else can’t even find a single piece with the best of equipment,” he praised with a smirk, reaching to kiss her forehead when she grinned bigger. “I apologize for being easily worried over you, my love.”

“It’s okay, I like that you care so much. Just trust me a bit more than worry, okay?”

Kylo sighed, his arms holding her around her waist tightening just a bit, making her giggle softly. “I know it will be hard, but I promise to tell you if there’s anything wrong or if I need you for help,” she added, which helped him relax a lot more. “I don’t know anything about this planet either, so this will be something for the both of us to depend on each other for.”

“That’s very true,” Kylo agreed.

Once the control panels alerted them, the two separated with Kylo softly instructing her to sit down in the co-pilot’s chair. Keeping her hands on her lap, Nova watched with great interest of Kylo returning to his chair to switch off of autopilot, eyes darting over to watch them enter the atmosphere. The grey, murky clouds confused her view, making her stretch her neck curiously, as if it would help change her view. Stealing a glance to her love, she saw how focused he was at the controls; both hands maneuvering the whole shuttle with such ease, as if the clouds blocking their view wasn’t anywhere of a problem for him. Of course, knowing his talents and longer experience with the Force, she supposed that he could see without actually needing to…

Breaking through the clouds, Nova’s brows knit together at the sight before them. Layout of the planes lacked color and life, buildings remained as cemented blocks and shattered windows showed signs of plain darkness within them. Looking down to the ground, wreckage of ships and vehicles, barricades and broken down remains of what Nova could assume were trees littered all over. Everything looked drained and empty, just as Kylo had mentioned to Snoke back onboard the Supremacy. There were no signs of life of any sort: no animal or being scavenging about, no signs of floral or blossoming flowers or leaves. The lack of robots or any electronic lights also brought forth a sort of seldom kind of loneliness and sense of loss inside her chest.

However, a much stronger feeling overpowered that loss. Something unknown to her, but it was important and she had to find it.

Landing the shuttle on a platform that hadn’t looked to be used in years, Kylo killed the craft’s engine before allowing either of them to stand. The outdoors looked mute, in Nova’s opinion, as if there was no such thing as wind or activity to be seen or experienced on Vardos. Kylo had left his spot to gather a satchel and coats for the both of them, along with cowls; ensuring that Nova was properly dressed and covered to deal with the rather chilly temperature they were warned about, buckling the thick, long-sleeved coat on her first. Noticing her making a face, Kylo raised his brow at her when she presented her pout to him.

“Don’t start,” Kylo drawled quietly, kissing her forehead.

“It feels restraining in the arms,” she insisted with a sigh, allowing him to wrap the cowl around her shoulders and lift the hood carefully over her head before proceeding to put on his own. “Just...sleeves in general are bothersome.”

“I understand. I’ll have them tailored once we return to be more loose for you. Until then, you will have to manage for now,” he informed her and Nova only nodded. He reached over to open the hatch in the back of the shuttle, letting the door slowly open to the outdoors. Seeing her take the satchel and drape it across her chest, he went to reach for his helmet when Nova reached over and touch his arm. “What’s wrong?”

Her gaze was unfocused at the moment, yet her grip on him tightened just a bit. “The feeling is stronger now, I can feel it… It’s unusual,” she mumbled with a slight pout of confusion. “I don’t understand what it is, but there’s something important here.”

“Just be patient, don’t leave the shuttle without me,” he instructed her. Before allowing her to take a step further away from him, Kylo gently took her wrist in his hold and pulled her to face him once more rather close. His arm carefully wrapped around her back, resting comfortably at her lower waist, and the other held up a small pin with a muted blue orb in the center.

“This is a tracking commlink,” he explained softly, letting her look at the device for her own evaluation before slipping under the cowl to the collar of her tunic, pinning it securely. “For whatever reason, if we end up separated or anything, we are able to reach each other and I will be able to find you through the tracker within the shuttle and communicate.”

Nova nodded, a small smile on her lips. Kylo kept his stare of her with a raised brow. “This does not mean you can wander too far away from me, alright?”

“I wasn’t planning on it in the first place,” Nova hummed before getting to her toes and tug him down to kiss him, which he returned with equal force and more pressure to her lower back to bring her closer.

Kylo removed her hand from his top and slipped his helmet on, guiding them both to the ramp and down the hangar into the muted planet’s environment. Both unaware of what the planet holds on the surface and what is hidden underneath the dead grounds of planet Vardos.

Nova dug into the chrome-colored cabinet, digging through the dusty, yet carefully chiseled crystals arranged by their weight. Frowning, Nova closed the cabinet and went to the next one over, opening it with a bit of effort from the many years from being unused. She was quick to try and look through the cabinet with the Force, picking up a crafted piece of Kyber between her fingers to try and see if she could find any sort of color. The unusual feeling that gave her so much energy and excitement to explore and dig around have diminished over time of finding many laboratories that contained heavy pound after pound of many Kyber crystals. Once she was able to get her hands on it, there wasn’t much of her own curiosity or joy to search, and Kylo took a notice after searching three different buildings…

“There is nothing that catches your attention?” he asked her, turning his head and angled his helmet-clad face to see her huff and shake her head. “Would you prefer to go to a different district and look there?”

Nova tilt her head back with a small pout on her lips, looking up to him with a rather disappointed look in her bright, sparkling eyes. “I thought I could sense something coming from this area,” she confessed to him. “I don’t understand; one moment, I can feel it so close and now? It’s like it...dispersed? Evaporated? Can that happen with the Force, Kylo?”

“The Force can work in mysterious ways, with or without years of experience. Perhaps, the Supreme Leader thought you were looking for a Kyber rock, but you’re being attracted to something else,” he suggested, slowly aiming for the broken doorway while Nova got herself to her feet and followed close behind. “Has anything caught your interest here?”

“No.” Her tone was more depressed, and Kylo looked down to see her still pouting and keeping her gaze ahead. Sighing behind his helmet, Kylo exhaled, igniting a hiss through his vocoder while guiding the both of them through the threshold to the dead outdoors.

“Don’t worry too much about it. We will keep looking until we find something to your satisfaction,” he promised her, rather more confident than his partner at the moment. Hearing Nova make a simple noise while they both descend the stone steps, Kylo chuckled. “It’s very rare to see you like this,” he told her, catching her attention to look at him with a blink. “Being quiet about something that should be...exciting.”

“It’s not fun when the feeling went away,” she claimed. “What if it doesn’t come back, Kylo?”

Kylo thought it over, realizing the possibilities of the loss for whatever was attracting her. This wasn’t the first time Nova watched a planet they were passing by, yet it seemed that Vardos was suppose to hold some for of exciting discovery for her that allowed Snoke to let this exhibition to happen. If they were to return empty-handed, there might be an issue with the humanoid Master who was expecting more to come out of this mission. Knowing Nova, she didn’t particularly care for Snoke’s reaction or whatever outcome were to happen - however, Kylo knew Snoke better. He knows both of them better…

“Would you like to meditate,” he started softly, “to try and find it once more? At least a general direction. It would be better than nothing.”

Nova rocked her head from side to side, contemplating the idea before exhaling. “I suppose that’s the best option we got, isn’t it?”

Reaching the landing of the stairs, Kylo placed his hand on her shoulder and carefully turned her to face him. Angling her head upward with the touch of his gloved finger, he pressed the front of his mask against her forehead and the tip of her nose; imitating of connecting their foreheads with an affectionate gesture, just to make her perk up more.

“You’ll get it,” he assured her confidently. “You’re more powerful than you think, my love. You just need patience with this one, that’s all.”

Nova huffed, but smiled up to him. Somewhat returning the pressure, pressing her nose against the front material of the helmet where she knew his own nose was, hovering her lips where his would be. “Okay, I will,” she said with a more chipper voice.

“I’m going to get water from the shuttle,” Kylo told her before looking to the next building: a stall structure that was made from glass that seemed to withstand the numerous storms and catastrophes over the years, with no open cracks within any of the windows (although some cracks). He knew there was storage of Kyber crystals within safes inside, easy to break open with his lightsaber piercing through. “Go into the lobby of that building there and wait for me, alright? I won’t be long, just wait by the main door entrance.”

“Yeah!” Nodding in understanding, Nova turns and strolled across the abandoned street to the next building. Watching her climb the steps on her toes, avoiding the major crevice and missing chunks, Kylo then turned to approach the shuttle to retrieve water for himself and Nova before he heard a low rumble.

His head snapping around, he hurried to the building Nova entered not even a second ago to the dusty cloud flowing out of the propped entrance. Coming to a sudden stop, Kylo’s eyes widened at the sight of the sunken flooring of what used to be the lobby ground of the building. Dust rose from between the rubble, signifying to the young Commander that it just collapsed, with the woman nowhere in sight.

She was very much alive, yet he couldn’t see her anywhere above ground.

“Nova!” Kylo called out through his mask, unable to hear with the ground shaking and rubble clattered into the mess. His breathing quickening and feeling claustrophobic, Kylo ripped off his helmet and yelled as loud as he could, desperately:

“NOVA!”

Fun fact: The names of Knight of Ren, Lumiya and Vost, are canon apprentices to Darth Vader in the Star Wars franchise in various universes/story plots. They are not connected to the possible names to the film-canon Knights of Ren.

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Remember, if you would like to be tagged for future chapters, please don’t hesitate to message me! I’d be more than happy to add you. Thank you for reading and I hope to hear from you!

[yvaquietdays]

Deciding to be happy.

Sometimes meditation doesn’t work.  Sometimes being mindful of your downfalls doesn’t work. Sometimes yoga doesn’t work. Sometimes writing doesn’t work. It’s a little hard for me to describe how I’ve been feeling the last month or so. Of course I’m going to try, that’s why I write a blog. *sly face* So I’ve talked about cycles before. Being aware of the small turnovers of life makes the every day manageable; being aware of how our emotions and vibrations fluctuate certainly makes everything seem a little less daunting.

I’ve been conscious that I’m entering a new cycle of my life. I’m not so far away from turning 28, an age I’m told is the beginning of the fourth cycle in life. And whether you buy into the hokey-pokey, it makes sense if you suspend your disbelief for a moment. Apparently you have the first 7 years, the years of your childhood and innocence, of unadulteratingly questioning and experiencing the world you live in. Then the second stage, taking you to 14, where you’re contemplating adulthood and experiencing massive physiological changes and all the outcomes of that. Then to 21, where all the shit hits the fan and explodes outwards all over you and the people in your life. I’ve been dealing with the proverbial shit of this third cycle for a while, experiencing existential fear and anxiety for the first time, sorting through the people in my life, assessing how I relate and love, seeing my familial relationships through new eyes, shaving off the bits of me I don’t like. Essentially, the un-conditioning of myself and becoming a new person. 

The last time my life seem to change, there were signals. Life threw me signs that I was about to turn things upside down for a bit. I emotionally and spiritually gave up on London and I lost two friends to the music industry; its hold over all of us to get as much out of our creative outputs as possible (i.e money). This is important enough to mention because it damaged me a lot. It affected my trust with people and I felt so betrayed and let down. I’ve made my peace with them and with the situation, but I’ve learned from it, because at the time, it was just another knife in the side, and I didn’t want it happening again. From that point though, I headed steadily downhill somewhere close to the bottom, where I was thinking of jacking it in altogether. I considered going into property with my savings and my Dad. I considered opening a home-brew shop with my partner, who really was my anchor when I was close to floating off unmoored. I didn’t though, because my other anchor was my own spirit, the relentless resilience I seem to have inherited, that I’m sure I don’t deserve; my music and my innate and absolute desire to howl at the moon. Nitin played a huge part in getting me through this phase. Had I not worked with him, I might have forgotten how important singing was to me. He was a kind of the lifeboat that kept me chugging along in the rougher waters for a while; I was desperately unhappy but those days of rehearsals, shows, and being involved in the dance piece were all life rings that I could swim to and gradually get closer to solid ground. At this point, I believe I was shedding off the things I didn’t need to prepare myself for this next stage.

And this time, I’ve also lost two friends. I’m not going into any great detail about this, only that I believe it was for the best and ultimately the whole experience told me a lot about the people in my life, who I am, and what I stand for. It had a lot to do with how I’ve allowed people to take advantage of me for too long. This ties into one of my previous blogposts about saying sorry and not wanting to rock the boat. I have been conditioned to be nice and I am actively changing this. I have Jameela Jamil to thank for opening my eyes and forcing me to see that it doesn’t make me difficult or manipulative to call out the truth and stand strongly within it. They ended up deleting me from their life because of it. But I hated the entire situation. It hurt. Needless to say it had a big affect on me. That combined with new opportunities taking a while to come to fruition seemed to trigger my anxiety and low mood for the first real time since I wasn’t well. It brought back a lot of bad feelings about inadequacy, self-doubt and the need for external validation that I’ve worked so bloody hard on eradicating. 

Validation is the key word here. I believe it is what most of us struggle with going into our adult lives. I’ve worked very hard to not rely on other people’s voices to bolster my own self-esteem. I’ve done my soul-work, I only listen to my own. I’ve learned to tell the ignorant slut (pls read past post re this: it’s what I call my anxiety) in my mind to shut up when she’s being unkind. But over the last few weeks and returning from LA, which now seems like a dream, the voice has elbowed its way in and I’ve allowed it to have an affect on me. I’m waiting; waiting like I did before, waiting for good feedback, waiting for someone else to come at me with the next opportunity. Stagnant. Waiting for the world, looking for someone to blame.

So what the fuck am I doing? I mean, really. I have been arranging my own sessions, writing my book and flirting with a second, being open and vulnerable about my talent and about my humanness. I’ve been rocking it.

But recently, the difference was that I was doing my yoga, not practising it. I was forcing myself to set an intention of success, orienting everything around my goals. I meditated just to check it off the list. But you can’t apply mindfulness with brute force, with a shotgun to the head and your arm twisted behind your back. What I was doing went hand in hand with the thought that, “If I don’t, I will fail.” Before I knew it, I was telling myself I wasn’t worth it. I’m not creative. I don’t have any ideas. I don’t have an emotional scale. I feel nothing about anything. Have a baby, do something else. You don’t belong in that world (LA). You don’t know who you are. You’re not passionate enough about your art. You’re not passionate about anything. Why is nobody getting back to you? You’re forgettable. It’s because you’re not assertive enough. They deleted you because you meant nothing to them. They didn’t apologise to you because they don’t value you.

The rabbit hole is deep and it is wide. Once you’re on that slope, it seems pre-destined that you’ll end up at the bottom before you even notice you slipped. But I noticed. I’ve my best mate and flatmate to thank for a conversation that made me realise what I was doing, ‘cos I was feeling pretty low there for a minute.  The truth is that it takes real mental effort and strain to drag yourself up the mud slide back to even ground. When I was feeling pretty bad, I used to dream about doing the same thing over, and over, and over again and never reaching a resolution. I dreamt that I was at the bottom of the muddy bank and I could not get to the top where the grass was still green. So doing yoga and meditating over and over to force wellness doesn’t work. Negativity does not beget negativity. You have to accept your feelings and do the work to counter-argue with yourself in a gentle and loving way. I am worth it. I am creative. I feel everything, that’s why it hurts. I know who I am, more than ever. I’d be a great mum, but if I have a baby now I’ll probably forget about it and leave it in the washing basket. I am passionate. I am open and patient, and I trust that things will work out. I am hardworking. And they deleted you because they didn’t value you. That says more about them than you, you stone cold, lovely, bad ass bitch. 

Bye felicia.

I am entering a new chapter of my life soon, and I feel my world shifting to allow for it. It isn’t waiting if I regain control and organise my life. Just because someone is giving you an opportunity doesn’t mean that the work is done. It means that you’re just getting started, and you have to work, now more than ever.

Last week I wrote a song on the guitar. This has not happened in a long time. I was consuming a lot of emotional TV (Queer Eye, k thnks), and I was inspired to assess my own mental health. I got complacent, and the doubt got in. It never really goes away, and just because I was feeling better there for a hot minute in LA, doesn’t mean that the work is done. It continues. Always. I don’t want to wake up one day and realise I’m missing something vital because I looked to others to tell me what I’m worth. Everyone else wants as much as possible for themselves. If that means cheapening you so that they’re worth more; that is what they will do. Know. Your. Own. Worth. ‘Cos even your friends will undervalue you.

Self doubt waits at the door, constantly. It wants to be let in, but you keep it at bay. You nod to it, but you don’t allow it across the threshold.

After I recorded the song idea into my phone, I sobbed. Hard. I cried my eyes out. And then I was done. I let the tears come out, unbidden, because I needed to feel it. I think I needed to remember the power of that musical release, why I do what I do. Sure, I’m not like other musicians or singers. Maybe I am depressing, but I’m communicating something that is honest and what we all go through. I am me. And that is enough. It doesn’t matter, all that other stuff. It doesn’t. What matters is how I feel about my music. 

I’m getting to my conclusion, I promise. I meditated earlier this week, and the lovely Andy Puddicomb at Headspace told me to see my mind as the sky. Behind all the clouds, there is always a blue horizon. Just like when you’re on a plane and you finally get above the candy cotton clouds, and in your head you do a little Peter Pan style bounce across them. There’s a soft kind of release I get when I see that. Peace and quiet. Space and breath. Everything else; feelings, thoughts, how we dress, what the world might think...they’re the clouds. When I feel low, my mind seems like an overcast horizon that will not break. An endless, grey, unfeeling cloud of bleak whatever. When I feel good, it’s a summers sky with fluffy white clouds rolling through; you know they won’t stay forever. Meditating is grounding, and reminding yourself with nothing more complicated than breathing that your default setting is a vast blue sky. Warm and peaceful. It might even feel like nothing, but that’s ok too. Everything else is temporary. Clouds are impermanent. The sky is always clear.

So this is my point. I set my intention that day to have a good day. 

Enjoy the little details, enjoy my trial shift at the cafe, enjoy the look on southerners faces when I have a bit of craic with them. Enjoy cooking, enjoy the process, enjoy the walk between here and there, the blossoms, the warmth of the sun on my face. Choose happiness. Choose the blue sky. Decide to be positive. It’s not always easy, and maybe it doesn’t always work. After all, life throws us curveballs and it hurts to get whacked in the face, but it’s a damn sight better than choosing to be an arsehole about it. Try it.

Decide to be happy. 

xxx