#anyway I think my irons low but I can’t take iron pills because of my birth control

[cherrysnax]

it’s been like two weeks and I’m losing so much blood bros

[danielxricciardo]

Can you do one with Max, with 46 and 55 from angst list?

Summary: You are suffering from depression and Max tries to be by your side

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of suicide, depression

Word count: 3.6k+

46. “I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

55. “You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay.”

Depression feels like a lot of things.

It feels like sadness, which is what everyone will tell you. It's a pretty common thread.

"I'm worthless."

"Everyone thinks I'm a horrible burden."

So on and so forth.

Everyone in the world is happy but you, and in the end, you are a worthless piece of shit that doesn't belong in this otherwise glorious and happy place. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you are lying there on your bed in the same unlaundered pair of pajamas, wondering why you are even allowed to keep living any longer. Some meteor strikes or lightning bolts should be reserved for people like you because you are taking up space and oxygen and food and other resources that real, happy, productive people need.

It feels like emptiness. You have all these possibilities and none of them seem interesting. You could do some art, or play some music, but that just doesn't feel right. There's no joy in it. You could have sex with your significant other, but you can't muster up the desire. You could play video games, or read a book. But what's the point? There's no real benefit to all of it but passing the time. You could get up and make lunch. But no, you're not that hungry, and if you close your eyes, time will pass a little faster. You can lie there. That works. It doesn't require active effort to do something fruitless. Everything is as empty and fruitless as lying and staring out your window at the clouds and the shifting shadows of tree branches, and so why do anything else?

It feels like fatigue. Standing up out of your bed requires the same amount of bodily effort as climbing several flights of stairs. Managing to get dressed and walk outside is like running a race. Heaven helps you if you try to go to the store or a friend's house -- that may as well be on the other side of the continent. Every step is heavy. Every muscle motion requires ten times the work it used to. Exercise becomes difficult, and control over your body expires quickly. You become clumsier, so heavy lifting is right out. You daze out randomly, daydreaming, even dozing, so biking or running is hard. You feel most at home when you are entirely relaxed, so you lie down...and don't get up again until something like your bladder compels you.

It feels like a loss of control. You have no idea why your brain and body are doing this. You don't want to feel sad. Nobody wants to feel shitty and tired and empty all the time. People will look at you and say, "It's like you don't want to get better." Those people are idiots. You truly, deeply, from the bottom of your soul, have no idea why this has happened or what to do. It's not logical. It makes no sense. You woke up like this, or it crept in overtime or something like that. It's like a fog, a force of nature that sweeps in, occludes everything, and there's not one thing you can do about it from where you stand. Trying feels like taking a paper fan outside and trying to blow away the morning mist. Someone has tied puppet strings to your brain and is playing this hideous dance with it, and you don't have the scissors to cut them away. The dance doesn't make sense; it's arbitrary and rhythmless. If you had any sort of reasoning behind it, you could take control. But you don't.

It feels like desperation. You can't find a way out. You lie there at night, keening into your pillow like a wounded animal, making all sorts of noises that no human being should be able to make. You claw and scratch at the sheets, or at yourself, as the pain wrings itself out through bodily expression. The tears won't stop. You don't know why. All you know is that it hurts, it really and truly hurts, and you think if it goes on any longer, you're going to die. Right there. Bleed out on the floor. So you grab up your phone, and you call someone at 4 AM, and you beg them to please just make it stop. You bury yourself in books and movies because at least then you can imagine something else than yourself. You read nonstop. You have to have your fix. It's like an addiction, no, more like a life support machine. Otherworlds, fantasies of happiness, and real experiences that aren't your horrible existence become the iron lung keeping air flowing in and out. You are alive because you can stop thinking for a while. Your friends come over to comfort you. Their stories keep you sane and well, like dialysis for all the toxins in you. Your mind has failed at being independent, and now it relies on a thousand little machines to keep itself running. You rely on one machine until another comes to save you. You read books until your friends come by. You stretch out your time with friends until you have to bury yourself in a movie again just to keep the thought of real-life away.

It feels like untamed anger. Your friends can't keep this up forever. You fall further and further, and you eventually start dropping commitments. You have become That Person, the flake that everyone knows will back out. People start getting annoyed at you, annoyed at how they have to spend so much time just keeping you afloat, annoyed at how often you're causing them trouble by constantly disappearing and backing out of appointments, and so on. Your workplace gets annoyed at your lack of productivity. And then you can't take it anymore, and you want to scream at them, grab them by the throat and shake them because IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! You start having twisted fantasies, the ones where you walk up to that person who keeps telling you he can't do this anymore, you're just too unreliable, putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. Just to make him know, for once, that FUCK HIM, your problems are REAL, DAMMIT, REAL, and he better FUCKING RESPECT that. And when you're gone, he'll fall to his knees and cry, and he'll say, he wishes he had understood, that he didn't mean to be so unkind, and the scar on his heart from his own failure will remain fresh and knotted for eternity. And then you shake yourself out of the daydream, and you wonder why you have turned into such a horrible person, someone who even considers ending their own life just to spite another human being. Then it creeps back in, the knowledge that the world is getting fed up with you...and the cycle begins again. You start thriving off these daydreams, because at the very least if you can't be happy, you can throw caution to the wind and get the petty, oddly satisfying revenge buried under all those layers of morality that are becoming worn and flaking away. It's just a fantasy, right? And it helps pass the time...

It feels like forever. You have forgotten what it's like to truly be joyful. You can imagine it, but it's not really you in those thoughts. This is who you are. This is your life. This is you.

It feels like you have only one thing truly under your power: your existence. You cannot choose what life throws at you. Your brain and body have betrayed you. Your friends have worn away, and you've fled from your job and any commitments you have.

It feels empowering. You can jump whenever you want.

But he accepted you the way you are. He never reproached you for negatively influencing his mentality or life, even though you knew he felt it too. He always listened to you, he was with you even at 2 in the morning when you were crying on the bathroom floor with your knees to your chest, and you knew it wasn't right. It wasn't right for him to go through, basically, what you were going through. But no matter how much you told him you could do it without his help, Max was coming back more insistently than ever.

He came up with the idea to start therapy. "You have to find out why you feel this way. Go at least once, see how it is, if you don't like it or feel that it doesn't help you, you will give up, okay?" That was a year and a half ago.

The psychologist gave you a diagnosis from the first session: Major Depressive Disorder. Sure you knew what the three words meant, but you didn't know what it meant to have a label on your condition.

"A major depressive disorder is characterized by one or more of these depressive episodes. the diagnosis of major depressive disorder requires depressed mood or anhedonia which is the loss of interest in pleasure and five or more signs or symptoms for the SIGECAPS mnemonic for a 2-week period. (SIGECAPS) Sleep Disturbance, loss of Interest, feeling Guilty, feeling fatigued and low in Energy, having decreased Concentration, decreased or increased Appetite and been agitated and slow and having Suicidal ideation."

It sounds incredible to you. Suicidal thoughts? Not everyone has a thought, somewhere, behind their mind 'What if I disappeared?'

You were prescribed Prozac and Zoloft and it helped. You weren't always sad anymore, you could go to the races with Max and support him as a normal girlfriend does. You apologized to my friends who tried to help me and whose lives you made impossible and you managed to get back to work, from home anyway. Sure, you still had moments when you felt like you weren't 100% yourself but not like before. You did therapy twice a week and the psychologist was happy with your evolution.

But being the stupid ass that you are, you stopped taking the medication. You took the last pill on Friday. Because you were fine. You felt ok, everyone around you told you you were better, you were doing amazing, so you were cured, right? Or so you thought. Saturday was normal. Sunday was not. Your mood and energy were very low. You woke up at like 2 in the afternoon. That is not unusual for you. You’re used to it. You were sad. You were exhausted. You knew that feeling like this was “no excuse” so you tried to force yourself to do it anyway. Typical of your life. You feel like you had already taken so much off work because of the triple-header, you were for three weeks attached to the hips with Max.

The only thing you thought of was dying. And that terrified you. And Max senses something was wrong. But he didn't want to tell something and ending up being wrong and you being upset by his misinterpretation. But, yes, he sensed that you were becoming your old self.

"Hey, babe," he snapped you out of your daydreaming. A tragic one, where you were finally at peace and Max was crying for you. You were on the verge of crying yourself at the mere image of Max in your head. But you pushed it far from your mind, somewhere in a dark corner for you to find it at an appropriate time to fantasize about your dying. "How about we go to a picnic? It's sunny outside."

Yes, the wheater was amazing. It was finally summer and you could go outside and spend some time with Max. But your brain literally is tricking you into thinking you don't deserve to enjoy the sunny day. Why? You don't have an answer.

"I'm not really in the mood, Max. Sorry."

You are not in the mood. That was his affirmation. You are not ok.

"You feeling good?"

"Yeah. Just tired I guess."

"But you just woke up."

You shrugged. He was right. You just woke up, so why do you feel like you were carrying a ton of bricks on your shoulders? You couldn't walk. You almost felt like 18 months ago. And that is when it hit you. And Max, at the same time.

"Still taking your meds, I hope."

Silence. Your mind was like overcrowded and you couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed your head and pulled your hair because you wanted it to stop. You were thinking that you didn’t know what to think. You didn’t know how to think. You didn’t know how you felt. You were like anxious-depressed-angry-miserable-irritable all in one. Your head was spinning with thoughts. Thoughts were talking over thoughts. So fast that you couldn’t even make out one complete sentence. It was just too much for you to handle. You just wanted someone to kill you.

Max came to you and he hugged you so hard you thought he could crush your bones right there and then. You calmed down eventually. But now you were embarrassed. Because Max saw you, again, at your lowest. Because you promised you'll get better, and for a while, you were better, but now you are fucked and back into square one. All those money on therapy and your pills, for what? For you to stop taking them because you thought you were feeling better? Well, you definitely were not ok, nor you'll be. So, yeah, being fucked sounded good.

Max brought you the medicine and a glass of water. Taking the pills again? For what? The pills only fuel the feeling that everything is fine and that you are a normal person. Nothing was good and you were not a normal person.

But you took the pills. And you looked Max in the eyes and you wanted to die. He seemed crushed. He was sad, devastated, maybe angry but definitely disappointed. In you. Because maybe you don't realize this, but while you were doing good, he was doing great. He knew you could be on your own so he stopped worrying that much, and that could also be seen in his driving. He was winning more races, he was at his best and now he was at his lowest. Because you were at your lowest; co-dependency and shit.

"I'm sorry, baby. I thought I was doing well enough to stop taking the meds," you say in a broken voice but the tears are yet to appear. He stroked your hair and kissed you on your forehead.

"You should have told me. You don't have to go thru this alone. I am here."

"Yeah, you are here. But you don't have to be!" you snapped. Irritability, one thing your depression came with. "I am just a burden for you. And no, this does not come from the fact I stopped taking my pills. You took care of me like I was a child, and, fuck it, you don't deserve this."

"Stop talking like this, alright? If I would suffer from depression you would have done the same thing. You would have taken care of me. Or am I wrong?"

"You are not wrong. To be honest, I don't think I would be here if it wasn't for you, but I don't want you to be. It's obvious that I would never get better. This is me. I am fucked in the head, half wishing I was dead and I am just bringing you down."

"Don't tell me this is a fucking break up, Y/N." he narrows his brows and looks at your features to make sure you were being serious.

“I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

"What the fuck are you talking about? Is this a break-up or a suicidal vocal note?"

You broke down. Crying can be cathartic and healthy, but if it goes on too long it can lock your body in a feeling of despair. Even if your mind works through the problem that caused the crying, because your body is still feeling the physical effects it will cause your mind to revert to the negative state. It's not sadness. It's dread and paralysis. You had a certain feeling of emptiness and purposelessness.

“You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay,” you say between sobs.

"You want me to find you a reason to stay alive or to stay in this relationship? To be frank, I can name a thousand reasons, but it all depends on you."

Max hugs you from behind and you lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was stronger than ever. You allowed yourself to inhale Max's scent, a soothing scent you could get drunk on.

"I want to believe you love me. I mean, I love you and I consider you the love of my life, you know? We are so young and I know it doesn't feel like it, but I promise you, I'm gonna marry you someday, even if right now you don't think you're gonna make it till tomorrow. So, yeah, this is reason number one," he said and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "This is not the worst you have been through in life. Remember where you were 18 months ago; you had no idea what was wrong with you. Now you know and you know you can be better. I know you get sick of those pills, but maybe, in the future, you won't need them. Isn't that exciting? This was reason number two," he said and pressed another kiss to your cheek. He was going to do that every time he would give you a reason. "Have you been to all the beautiful places around the world? Sure, you came to a few Grand Prix, but you never saw Great Ocean Road in Australia, you know Daniel promised he would take us there someday. You never saw Pamukkale in Turkey or Japan in Cherry Blossom season or the Blue Lagoon in Iceland. There are many places you need to visit, baby. So, yeah, this was reason number three. I don't know if you want me to continue but I can give you one more reason. Reason number four. Do it for you, baby. You deserve to live and be happy. I know you can be happy and I promise you I will do my best to help you. You just have to take it one step at a time. You just have to let me in. Let me help you, baby."

You turn around, facing him now. You loved him, with all of your heart. You love him for who he is. You love him because he literally came into your life as your lifeline. You love him because he helped you crawl up the deep bottomless abyss of depression. You love him because he had the patience and the audacity to bear with your depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, your phobias, your mood swings, your temperamental and short-tempered nature, your overthinking, your being overprotectiveness, and possessiveness. You love him because never once he thought of giving up on you in your hard times. You love him because he stands by you like a rock of unwavering support and he’s someone you can fall back on. You love him because he listens to you talking non-stop about your past, your pains, your fears, and your losses without complaining even once. You love him because he rediscovered you and helped you find yourself again when you were lost in darkness. You love him because he filled you with confidence and hope and strength and belief and determination. You love him because he believes you are the best when you set your mind on something and no one can stop you from achieving your goals. You love him because he is protective, caring, understanding, loving, and easy to be with while never being too suffocating or taking up your space. You love him because sooner or later he does everything you ask of him and does with his whole attention. You love him because whatever endeavor he engages in, he likes to give his 100% and hates doing half-hearted things. You love him because he can decode the nuances in your voice and judge your mood just perfectly. You love him because he read you like an open book and he can hear your silence. You love him because he never doubts your loyalty, your intentions, your hard work, and your million issues. You love him because no matter how busy he might get he never forgets that you are waiting for his message or his call. You love him because he keeps you in his priorities. You love him because he gave you a passion you never knew you had. You love him because he very strongly believes that you deserve the best of everything. You love him because he is empathic, kind, magnanimous, thoughtful, and down to Earth. You love him because he has eyes for no one but you. You love him because he wants to see you healthy, wealthy, prosperous, famous and he wants you to hold back at nothing, for no one, he wants you to be a Go-Getter. And most importantly you love him because no one ever loved you like he did.

"I will let you in," you say and you kiss him hard. "I'm sorry for the scene I caused."

"Don't be. It happens."

[reneejuliet]

Only Human

Author: reneejuliet

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Rating: T (cursing, mention/description of blood, kissing without consent, a slap to the face)

Word Count: 1,188

Genre: Angst, Idol AU (I seem incapable of writing anything else, I know)

Author’s Note: Another drabble! This one is angsty, sorry in advance. I can’t help but love to make people hurt. And as much as I love Yoongi (which is a LOT), it was just too easy with this. Anyway! I hope you like it, and as always, please let me know what you think!

You grunted under his weight, heaved haphazardly onto your shoulder as you dragged him through the halls toward the dorm. It wasn't that he was heavy - on the contrary, he weighed less than you did, for goodness' sake. It was that he was wasted, completely beyond offering any sort of aid in getting his own damn body through his own damn front door. And despite how many times you have had to do this, it never gets any easier. Especially when arms keep throwing themselves around various parts of your body like a drunken squid.

"Damn it, Yoongi, enough," you hissed through your teeth as you finally managed to free a hand long enough to twist open the doorknob, allowing your foot to kick the door open. It ricocheted loudly against the wall before swinging back to collide with your shoulder, but you didn't care. If anything, maybe it would wake up one of his six roommates and they could drag their hyung's inebriated ass to his bed. Though, given his current level of cooperation, you doubted anyone would get him further than the couch.

His response was slurred as you heaved your body forward, dragging him with you. He rolled from where he had been propped on your shoulder, and if it weren't for your quick reflexes, he would have crashed onto the ground. Luckily for him, this was not your first go at this, and you were well-versed in all the warning signs. You felt him slipping, his weight shifting away from you, and you dove. Your hands scooped up under his arms, hooking around his shoulders, and you threw your body weight behind you to counteract his momentum. The result - Yoongi did not crash onto the floor. He did, however, suddenly shoot forward, crashing the back of his head straight into your jaw.

"OW - Yoongi, what the actual fuck!"

You immediately dropped any grip you had left on him, crouching down between your knees as your hands flew up to your mouth. The hot taste of iron swirled on your tongue from where your teeth had smashed into your lip, flooding your mouth. You ran for the kitchen sink, throwing your face down into the sterling silver and pulling your lips up over your teeth to let the blood fall free from your tongue. The smell surrounded you, and you fought back a gag as you spit out crimson.

"Fuck," Yoongi's voice sounded behind you, tinny from where your ears were framed by metal. He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly very awake, and watched as you curled into their sink. The muscles of your back tensed each time you gagged, spitting out more blood, and he found himself reaching out without thinking.

His fingers brushed over the lines of your back, tracing your shape as he stepped closer, trying to soothe you as you coughed. For a moment, you let it be. His touch was hesitant, tender, and you could almost pretend it was under a different context. That he knew what he was doing, that his intentions were purposeful. That he hadn't just drunkenly smashed his head into your face, leaving you the bloody mess you were now.

It wasn't until his palm pressed flat against your back that you snapped, turning and shoving hard against his chest. No, you scolded yourself. This isn't real. It never will be.

Yoongi stumbled back into the island counter, eyes wide in surprise at the sudden burst of violence from you. You didn't spare him a glance before turning back to the sink, turning the water on and rinsing out your mouth. He could hear you hissing in pain with each mouthful of water you took in, and guilt pooled in his stomach.

"Shit, Y/N, I - I didn't mean -"

"Doesn't matter what you meant," you muttered, words thick through your swollen lip. Each time your tongue pressed into it, your face twisted in pain. But at least the blood had finally stopped.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, voice low and raspy. You gripped the counter against the unwitting shiver it sent down your spine. Once it passed, you flung open a cupboard and pulled out a glass, filling it with water before shutting the tap off. Thrusting it out, you turned, free hand covering your mouth as your eyes finally met his.

His stomach only flooded worse with guilt at your offering. Despite your injury, you were still taking care of him. He wrapped his fingers around the glass, gently grazing your own while doing so, and raised it to his lips with a slight bow in your direction. His vision swam as his head tilted back, cold water sliding down his hot, parched throat. It took a second for everything to straighten back out once the glass was empty, and he squinted hard to be sure that when he set it down, it was actually on the counter. Then he looked back at you, eyes drawn to where your hand still covered your mouth.

"Couch, now," you ordered, raising a finger to point into the living room behind him. Thankfully, those two words didn't require the use of your bottom lip, so they weren't as disfigured when they came out. Gulping, Yoongi obliged, turning slowly and walking for the couch. You followed him, albeit at a safe distance, to make sure he made it there alright. He only bumped into the table once before his legs hit the cushions and he dropped.

His body automatically laid out across the couch cushions, knees curling up into his chest and hands tucking between his legs. The room blurred again at the change of altitude, and he was vaguely aware of you throwing a blanket over him. You walked away, your form dark in the swimming lights of his vision as he tried to watch you. When you came back, you set another glass of water on the table before him along with two pills.

"For tomorrow morning, when you wake up," you instructed, your words soft as you favored your injured lip.

You were walking away again when Yoongi called out. "Do you think this is why she left?"

Your heart stopped just a second before your feet, trapping you between rooms as his words echoed brokenly in the quiet. This wasn't supposed to happen, you reminded yourself. Of all the trainees and idols you had helped through the years, all the drunken confessions you had heard out of sheer compulsion from the nature of your job - none were like this. Like him. Min Yoongi.

"Yoongi -"

"I know it's my fault," he babbled, vision no longer obscured only by a drunken haze. He blinked, and the hot tears cut down his pale face. "I wasn't home enough -"

"You were working, Yoongi," You offered, careful to make your words come out clear. The pull on your lip was painful, but it felt important he hear you.

"Not always," he exhaled, eyes fluttering against the exhaustion setting in now. "Sometimes, I... I just couldn't, go home... to her..."

Gooseflesh rose all along your skin, and you nearly bit your lip before remembering the pain, sucking in the side of your cheek instead. Just walk away, you urged yourself. He won't notice, he's too far gone now. Besides, you really did not want to hear more about his failed relationship, or how heartbroken he was over it. It had been hard enough to see him happy with her - seeing him broken over her was so, so much worse.

When he didn't speak again for a few breaths, you believed you were in the clear. Your feet carried you two more steps to the door, heart pounding hard in your chest. You'd just reached for the key you would have to deposit back in its emergency spot as you left when his voice stopped you again - because it was right behind you.

"Do you know why, Y/N? Why I couldn't bring myself to go home to her some nights?"

Your breath hitched in your throat, cold and cutting against your lip. He wasn't touching you, but you could feel his body heat, and that meant he was too close, he was much too close, but you couldn't move. Your body was pulled taut in that moment, and you feared that if you made any move, you would snap.

His fingers brushed over the curve of your neck, where it met your collar, and you inhaled sharply. Your eyes fluttered closed under his touch for a moment, your nerves buzzing heavily where his fingers trailed. Then his breath was on your nape, stirring your hair, and your throat was dry.

"Because she wasn't you."

Your eyes shot open in surprise just as he tugged you around, crashing his lips to yours. You inhaled sharply again, pain searing through your mouth where he pressed against your wound, but he didn't hear. Or he didn't care. It was hard to tell, with the way his hands snaked around your waist and up under your shirt. His lips were soft but firm as he pressed into you, kissing you with a heavy desperation that left you gasping.

Maybe it was the pain in your lip, or maybe it was the taste of alcohol on his tongue. Maybe it was the way your body seized up to prevent yourself from making the biggest fool of yourself. Whatever it was, it was enough to spur you into action. Your hands came up to center on his chest, and as his tongue ran along your lower lip, sending a violent shiver through your entire body, you shoved. Hard. He stumbled away from you, gasping as your warmth was torn from him, his hands grasping at air. His eyes flashed in surprise, and you reeled back to slap him.

"How dare you," you seethed, on the verge of a sob. "How fucking dare you-"

"Y/N-"

"No, you... you are an asshole, Min Yoongi!" Despite the anger on your face, the hurt was clear in your voice. The tears bright in your eyes. "You don't get to, to just - kiss me like that! After all these years!"

Whatever drunken stupor had still been clinging to him sobered up in that instant. His heart leapt into his throat and he choked on the words he wanted to say, his tongue too thick in his mouth. All these years...? You... you couldn't mean...

He opened his mouth around the shape of your name and you moved away, toward the door. "No, no. I'm not - I am not doing this. Not now, not with you. Fuck you, Yoongi -"

His fingers wrapped around your slender wrist, stopping you for just a moment more. The sheer pain on your face at the contact paused him, and you yanked yourself free the very next moment. "No," you whispered, voice full of tears. "I don't love you, I don't."

You slipped out of the dorms just as the first light flickered on in the hallway, sleepy footsteps stumbling their way toward him. And your words echoed in his head, hollowing everything else out until he was left with just one realization, one truth.

You very much did love him. And he was so screwed.

©reneejuliet 2021. No part of this material may be copied, photocopied, reproduced, reposted, or translated without consent.

[the-last-cuddlebender]

Blood In A Blacklight

Katara has a criminal empire to run, a family to protect, and plenty of shadows from the past who want to tear it all down.

Part 1: The Wind Howls (1/2) - She has him back, and everything should be perfect now, but it’s not. She’s more worried than ever. And she hasn’t slept in days.

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A/N: Mafiosa!Katara and Gaang™ gang because I want it and am willing it into existence. Basically took “Sokka and I, we’re your family now” and made my take on a bending-mafia-families AU lmao

Words: 1,748

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Katara punished her book for the weather and nearly tore it when she flipped the page. The words blurred again. She glared, hoping to become a firebender and burn a hole through the damn thing.

The door opened without a knock, and the frame of her vision shook, bordering on crimson. Mercy was still a foreign concept, and nearly ninety-six hours awake had mutilated her ‘moral code’ into watery dough. A few twitches of her fingers closed her hand around veins and arteries, but her bending recognized her intruder’s old blood and fresh wounds before she could register why her power wasn’t listening. It was worse than a tranquilizer. Worse than chloroform in a black alley. Aang’s heartbeat pinned her to her seat and ripped out her fangs like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Katara remembered that time was a thing that would still pass whether or not she kept breathing. Fresh rain met the wall of windows behind her. Her thumb dragged over the ear of the page. She crawled into the dull thump of his heartbeat and sank into her chair, hiding in his rhythm like it was a cave.

The soft click of the door startled her like it was a strike of lightning, stuttering her breath and rallying her instincts to probe for the nearest skein of water. She shifted, impatient for him to be closer, waiting for enemies to burst from the shadows.

She re-read the same paragraph until he limped — badly, on the left side — to her desk. He paused, thinned Katara’s sanity, and sat in one of the leather chairs across from her. His silence filled the room with static. The full moon taunted her with power for all the wrong problems. The storm put a distance of hisses and low rumbles between them, bleating her pulse against the drums of her ears.

“What are you doing?” Aang gently asked.

Katara propped her head on her fist, her voice like paint peeling from the side of an old ship. “I’m reading.”

“You’ve been staring at that page for seven minutes.”

“I’m reading slowly.”

“You’re sulking.”

She almost looked up. “I am not sulking.”

“And now you’re lying.”

Something made a spark, and Katara slammed her book, still open, on her desk. “I am not lying.”

Her almost-shout did things that the thunder could only dream of, but before Katara could retreat, Aang leaned forward, onto her desk, mirroring her posture and leaving inches between their faces. It brought the smell of the wind in his clothes, and his element tickled her frayed hair from her cheek. His presence was warm. In every way. Warm hues, warm feelings, warm heartbeat, warm memories—

It took longer for the crimson to leave her vision this time. The thin wound wasn’t the worst, but it was the most noticeable, crawling across his face and over the bridge of his nose like a comet touching from beneath one eye to under the other. It was a bleach-white horizon that his eyes sat just above, but what he leveled her with didn’t allow her the freedom to consider her to-kill list in detail.

Katara had been shot, captured, tortured, ransomed, and used as a bartering chip far more times than she dared to remember, but even oceans would part for the look that Aang gave her when she tried to dance around the truth with him and win. She scowled, not that it helped her. Intensity clouded his eyes in a smokescreen, and grey irises darted in short, sharp glances that wouldn’t have been noticeable if he was any further away.

Katara’s finger itched to turn the page. Aang’s breathing had been steady, but when he exhaled again, closing his eyes, it took the strength out of his shoulders and kicked her in the chest.

“You promised you would stop looking into this.”

Katara snapped the book shut and set it aside. “I told you to stay away from the hospital.”

“I had to see her. And you went there, too.”

He didn’t mention a name, but still, Katara’s nails dug into her hands and threatened to draw blood. She seethed, but her fire didn’t phase him. Always him. Only him. Even in her office she was powerless.

Lips pulled into a tight line, she took a calming breath and held it, waiting for it to start working. Aang didn’t look away. His smokescreen was looking more like a storm and shone lightning like steel blades clashing.

She knew what her glare did to good men, and she knew it didn’t work on him, but she looked away all the same. Her eyes found the book, and the pins and needles from her held breath suddenly became the cold gasps of a child who couldn’t run fast enough. She saw the splintering of ancient wooden doors and the darkness that spilled from them. She felt the ice of new irons and the strain they put on growing bones.

And the screams. There should have been screams…

Katara blinked and was back in her office, greeted by the sheets of bullets on her windows and the warm heat of Aang’s attention. She looked at him. He was the same as her gaze had left him.

She didn’t mean to sound so defeated, but she was so tired of losing. “What were you thinking, Aang?”

“Katara, you’re scared and angry and hurt and I get it, but you don’t have to save me anymore. I’m right here.”

“I can’t sit by and do nothing. If I don’t fight for you, then no one will.”

She had seen men recoil from a bullet through the heart, but Aang caught himself just before the stage of crumpling to the ground. His gaze dropped, staggering to her necklace and then to her desk. “…I guess you’re right.”

Katara scrambled to pick up his pieces. “That’s not what I—”

“I know.” He splayed his palm, pretending to read the lines. “You didn’t mean it.”

Lightning lit up the room, like a picture being taken. Katara combed back her hair, fiddling with her low ponytail, and gave up trying to keep her empty hands occupied. “Can you just—” She grabbed the air like she could hold onto the problem. “Can you just promise me that you won’t do something like that again? Please?”

It was the closest she had ever — ever — come to begging, but Aang kept his eyes on his palm. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m not one of your goons to boss around,” he said, still without looking up, though his brow furrowed with a small crease.

“At least they know their limits. None of this would have happened if you had just let me handle it. This is my family, and that includes you, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t belong to you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because you need me, too,” he said, with a soft voice that could shake a stadium. “And I might just be a speedbump to knock you on your ass and make you think twice before you do it anyways, but you’re my family too.”

The silence yawned, hissing with a thick but fine sheet of rain. If it weren’t for her desk, Katara would have hugged him. Probably. Doubt opened a pit in her belly, and her throat threatened to seal shut. Instinct and intuition went to war and left her with the sinking feeling that touching him would just prove how far away he was.

Aang still didn’t look up from his hand. Katara tried to find the right words and, more importantly, how to say them, but all she could manage after so many years of lying was a tender inflection of his name. “Aang…”

“They made me forget your face,” he said, deflating like saying it out loud finally made the scars real. His voice was watery, broken on the last vowel, and took a sledgehammer to Katara’s chest. “And now you…” He gestured. “Now you’re there and I’m here and…” The word died. He paused, then dragged his eyes up to hers. “You think of them when you look at me, so I see them, too. They scare me. And now you scare me. And I don’t want to be scared of you because I don’t want to stop looking at you. But it scares me. A lot.”

“I…Aang, I’m sorry—”

“I know. I know,” he said as he stood. His eyes roamed her empty desk, trying to find something of hers and settling on the book, which broke what was left of him. “…You didn’t mean it.”

Katara stood, but the desk was still in the way. “Aang, wait—”

“I'm going to take a walk to…,” he trailed, more in his own thoughts than in her office. “…I’ll get Zuko so you don’t worry.”

She should have gone after him. She should have done something, but her legs were pillars of cement. The door bled fluorescent yellow light into her twilight and took him, in his red and orange robes from across the world, with it.

Something cold crawled out of the old attic of where her heart was supposed to be. It cracked, weaving thin white scars — like his — in a web across her vision. She braced herself on the desk. There was nowhere to hide. No heartbeat. Not even a wound to distract her with its pain. She closed her eyes and bared her teeth and wished she had the strength to cry without him. Just this once, without him. She was so full and so empty and on the verge of combustion—

Something broke, something small, like a cornerstone, and Katara plopped into her chair. She breathed just like he taught her and eventually rubbed her face. Her bones ached. Everything ached. She was so tired of losing. She just wanted to sleep without knowing that she would wake up, still stuck in her worst nightmare.

Thunder growled above the city. Katara picked up the book. It was blurry, no matter how much she blinked. She dragged her nail over the scuff marks, feeling the minute pilling of old leather like a topographic map of the past.

Aang’s absence reminded her why she was reading, but she wasn’t sure if she could anymore. The book took on the weight of a planet, her arms even moreso.

Realization dawned slowly, like a dog attack in slow motion. The thought was a shadow bleeding out of the tall grass to fill her stomach with ice.

She peeled open the pages, praying to whoever would answer.

It burned. It burned like fire never could. It ate her away from the inside out, like cinders consuming a dry leaf in the time it took to blink.

The raindrops became smaller, like a mist, and gently brushed the windows. Standing was a miracle, but Katara dragged her feet around her desk, falling into Aang’s chair.

It was warm, like his shadow always was. She crawled into the footprint his life left behind, imagining his heartbeat in the hug of plush leather and the smell of salt and sand that reminded her where home was. Katara told herself to breathe and sank into the reasons why. Her legs curled beneath her, like when she was a girl, back when she wore her mother’s dresses to imagine herself a hero and not in three-piece suits to mask bloodstains.

She read the book slowly, from the beginning again, trying to love even the words that hurt. When lightning struck, she held it closer, trying to protect it, even though she knew that she couldn’t.

********************************

.

.

Don’t know if I described it well enough, but Aang’s ‘scar’ (quotes because it eventually seals up into a thin line) is supposed to be like the bottom arch of the Yu Yan archers’ tattoos.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Crossword Clues & Coffee - Five Across

Summary: A chance encounter in Lebanon’s finest (read: only) diner leads Dean to find the one thing he never knew his life was missing.

Warnings: Tiny bit of language? Angst. LOTS of sass. Honestly, it’s a lot of fluff. No romance.

Author’s Note: Many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock for always-masterful revision and editing advice, and to @thoughtslikeaminefield for encouragement and flails. I think we all need something a little more light-hearted these days, so here you go.

MAJOR NOTE: DO NOT QUIT IN THE MIDDLE. DO NOT KILL ME. READ TO THE END OF THE CHAPTER. You've trusted me this long, just read til the end of the chapter. One more chapter after this one.

Word Count: 1269

In Case You Missed It: CC&C: One Across | Two Down | Three Down | Three Across | Four Down

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Five Across

Winter brings chill winds and a rattling cough to Esther’s chest that has Dean this close to just picking her up, sticking her in Baby, and taking her to the doctor himself. She waves him off his “fussing,” swallows some pills, and puts her kettle on the stove for yet another cup of honeyed tea.

Dean gets it; she’s been along for a long time, and even before that she was the one who took care of everyone, not the other way around. Dean understands a little too well, actually.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

When Dean arrives at the diner the following Tuesday only to receive a message from one of the waitresses that Esther called and isn’t “feeling up to breakfast,” he turns on his heel without a word, stops for ten minutes at the grocery store, and is at Esther’s front door before Baby even has time to stop growling in the driveway.

He knocks once, for propriety’s sake (and only because Esther actually gives a damn about propriety in the first place), and then barges straight in, one arm cradling a small paper grocery sack as his eyes sweep the empty living room.

“Esther?” he calls. He drops the groceries on the table and heads in the direction of the coughing, his heart sinking lower with every little gasping breath he hears at the end of the coughs.

He finds Esther propped up in bed, not even dressed for the day despite it being an hour past their normal meeting time. She looks smaller than usual, the fluffy comforter pulled up around her shoulders as she holds a handkerchief to her mouth just before another round of coughs racks her frail form.

She doesn’t look surprised at Dean’s appearance, doesn’t even fuss at his unannounced arrival, and that honestly worries him as much as the coughing. He retrieves a glass from the kitchen, fills it with cool water, and holds his own steadying hand around Esther’s as she drinks slow sips.

He sets about making her honeyed tea and the oatmeal he purchased from the grocery store, adding some honey to the hot grain (sludge, he thinks with a bone-deep shudder). Then, sighing deeply, he adds a second bowl to the tray for himself.

She’ll be angry if he doesn’t eat, too.

She’s steadier after the hot meal, her coughs subsiding, and they manage a stilted conversation for a couple of minutes before Dean clears away their breakfast dishes and returns with the newspaper he brought.

Rather than handing it over, he pulls out his own pencil stub and starts reading the crossword clues aloud, waiting for input between coughing fits with an increasing tightness in his gut that he doesn’t quite hide behind the death grip on his pencil nor his deepening frown.

His teeth grind a little harder, and his gut twists a little tighter with every cough or rattle in her breath. She’s as stubborn as Sam on a quest to save the world, and Dean is irritated down to his soul. Every wheeze makes the fire burn a little hotter until he finally breaks, somewhere between Esther’s fourth coughing fit and the clue for twelve down (“Related to the lungs, 9 letters”).

“You won’t go to the doctor or the hospital, so does that mean you’re giving up? You done here?” He knows he’s being blunt, bordering on rude, but he’s past caring about manners.

“Because I’m not done with you. Not with coffee, not with dinners, not with… with fixing up your house. I still have… the flower beds to dig up, and you asked me to work on your porch, and… we haven’t even gone through a quarter of your recipe box. I’m not… I don’t accept it. You’re too damn stubborn to just quit.”

His torrent of words startles the truth out of Esther at last, and her eyes mist over a little. “Stanley died in a hospital. Doctors misdiagnosed him over and over, ignored some of his symptoms, just wouldn’t listen. Haven’t trusted them since. Figured if I can’t handle it myself, I can at least try to be comfortable at home.”

Dean mulls that over, his eyebrows drawn low, acid roiling in his gut. He probably looks angry, which is better than looking as scared as he feels. He’s got a feeling she sees right through the anger anyway.

“So you aren’t ready to die?”

She studies him for a long moment, taking in a slow, rattling breath but managing to forestall the next round of coughs with a sip of lukewarm tea.

“No, Dean, I’m not quite ready to go yet. Seems I’ve got a thing or two left worth sticking around for after all.”

Dean covers her hands with his once more, pressing his lips together to stop the tremor. He isn’t quite able to ignore how cool and fragile her fingers feel against his palm, how thin and papery her skin feels against his callouses. He holds her eyes with his own, his expression brooking no arguments.

“Good, I’m making a call to a friend. He’s not a doctor, but he’s going to help you.”

“You’re going to call a stranger over to-”

He cuts her off, his tone hardened steel to her iron.

“I’m calling a friend to help you. You said you’re not ready to give up. This is your option.”

Dean already has his phone, tapping in a quick text. His eyes flick to hers, not asking permission, but she nods anyway, and he hits send on his phone. There’s a whooshing noise, vaguely fluttering, from the hallway behind him, and Cas walks in, tie and trench coat in their usual disarray.

“What’s the emergency, Dean? Where’s Sam?”

“Heal her, Cas,” he says without preamble, his eyes locked on Esther’s. She raises her eyebrows, glances to Cas, but then looks back to Dean. He sees the questions rushing across her face, but for whatever reason, she chooses silent acceptance.

Her fingers tremble in his grip, but she redoubles her hold on him as Cas moves to her other side. The angel reaches out, places a chaste hand on her collarbone, and closes his eyes. The glow is brief and warm, and the rattle in Esther’s chest disappears.

Esther breathes deeply for a moment, her eyes wide with shock, and she looks from the angel to the hunter with her mouth agape. Her fingers grip Dean’s with more force than a moment ago, and relief floods through Dean so fast his head spins.

The tiny, elderly woman stammers for a moment, as off-kilter as Dean has ever seen her, before closing her mouth with a near-audible snap. She licks her lips, swallows, clears her throat, and then looks up at Cas.

“Go hang up your coat and put your shoes by the front door, young man. Straighten your tie, as well, and then go start the coffee. You’re skin and bones, too. Dean, I’m starving. No more oatmeal, we’re going to make a real breakfast. Now shoo, both of you. I have to get dressed.”

Esther swings her legs over the side of the bed, standing with a bit more alacrity than she’s used to, and she glances over at Dean, her eyes narrow.

“Hips not bothering you so much now, huh?”

“Dean Campbell, do not ask a woman about her hips; that is beyond indecent. Now get out of my bedroom, young man. Go be useful.”

Dean grins, shutting the door and heading down the hall to find Cas before the angel can destroy the coffee pot.

...

Next: Six Down

[kitkat1003]

Everything is Blue

Chapter 1:  His pills, his hands, his jeans

MK just wants everyone in his life to be safe and happy, to never leave him.  He'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

And, luckily for him, the voice in his head has the perfect plan to make that happen.

(Or, the author contemplates how slow the possession was for DBK in episode 10 and considers how MK would fall)

Ao3 link

This is a 13k monolith of a first chapter, but I'm very proud of how it turned out!  I threw it together in 4 days with the help of my beta reader @imnotcameraready on tumblr, famous for the Chivalry is Dead sanders sides au.  Give it a read, it's on Ao3 and tumbr!  It even has a sequel!  Seriously, she’s a great writer and edited this thing in like 2-3 hrs after I threw it at her.  A godsend.

Anyway, happy reading!

When MK knocks the canisters off of DBK’s back, he thinks that’s the end of it.  He wasn’t exactly given the rundown on how the cannisters worked, nor does he know why whatever was in them caused DBK to go crazy, but at the very least he only had to fight the one guy instead of the entire family. It was weird to fight with Red Son and Princess Iron Fan (shouldn't she be Queen, at this point?  She's married to Demon Bull King, after all. Do they not have the paperwork?) but not unwelcome. He wishes they could be on the same side all of the time.

Because he was raised on stories of Monkey King’s adventures, which frequently discuss the Demon Bull Family, and he’s always thought they were interesting in those stories.  He thinks Princess Iron Fan is super cool, even though she’s scary and actively wants him dead.  Red Son is...well, he wasn’t what MK expected, but that isn’t exactly a bad thing.  If anything, MK thought he’d be older.  He doesn’t understand how demon aging works.

Tangents aside, he watches them disappear in a gust of wind and groans, flopping forward as he bemoans the fact that they left again, when he’d just beat them.  Well, he hadn’t actually fought all three of them, this time.  DBK had fought more people than he had.

He jumps as the cave begins to crumble from all the damage that it took from the fight, scrambling to find a way out, when—

A New Vessel?

A voice curls into his ear, a soft whisper.

Young.  Powerful.  Weak.  Freedom.

He looks down, and he sees a white light sink into his skin.  Cold seeps into his every pore, bone, and nerve, his muscles tensing as the temperature drops.  His teeth chatter, and when he lets out a startled breath he sees white air drift in front of his face.  The warmth of his powers—his Monkey King powers—is smothered, and soon all MK feels is the cold that keeps him in place, rooting him to the spot.  It’s a miracle he’s even standing.  

What is this?  

What’s happening?

His eyes dart to the cannisters.  The empty canisters.  There was something in there, earlier, right? Where did it go?  

Is this?  Wher e it w  e n    t?  

Wha t   i  s  . .   .  ?

It’s hard to think.  His thoughts are newly cracked ice upon a lake, pieces crashing slowly against each other and fracturing further, splintering into nothingness.

New Vessel.  Rest.

His eyes slide shut, out of his control, as his consciousness, like everything else, is smothered by the chill.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up on the shoulder of the Monkey Mech, as the last rays of sun are streaking across the steadily darkening sky, like a lighthouse beam against the dark sea.  He sits up, staring far into the horizon, as confusion pulls him out of the just woken up daze.  How did he get here?

“MK?” He jumps, startled, and turns to realize that Mei is right next to him, a concerned smile on her face.  He stares at her, trying to figure out why she’s here, how she got here.  Then again, he doesn’t even  know how he got here.  He feels dizzy just trying to remember. 

“You alright, kid?” Pigsy’s voice comes from his other side, and he forces himself not to jump, turning to look at his boss.  Tang and Sandy are there too, and Sandy waves while Tang smiles in greeting mid slurp, bowl of noodles in hand.

“What happened?” he’s missing time.  He defeated DBK, and then...then nothing.  There’s a feeling of coldness, at the thought, but the memories don’t come.

“I found you on the ground after the Bull Clones all sort of fell apart. I figured you passed out after trouncing DBK, so I picked you up and got you out of there.” Mei doesn’t seem concerned, but MK is, just a little.  He’s never passed out after using his powers; rather, using them often results in him getting an energy boost.  He thinks back on it, trying to remember any time this has happened before.  Macaque comes to mind but even then he wasn’t tired once his powers returned.

His ruminating on the ordeal is cut off by a bowl of noodles being shoved unceremoniously into his hands.  He blinks down at it, and then turns to Pigsy  

“Here, kid.  Eat. You look pale, and skinny as ever.  Can’t have my employee lookin’ half starved.” He smiles at Pigsy’s attempt to hide his soft side, picking up his chopsticks with a grin.

He eats, and the loud conversations of what they’d just accomplished arrests MK’s attention so that the questions about DBK, the cannisters, the voice that he swears he can hear in the back of his mind, fall away like sand in an hourglass, time never able to be reclaimed.

The sun finally vanishes and stars dot the sky like sequins on a gown.  MK curls in on himself, hunched over the bowl a little, missing the sun's rays and the finished soup’s warmth.

He shivers, but there’s no breeze.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The bonus of living in such a technologically advanced age is that city reconstruction is pretty fast. Hospitals are rebuilt first, people are brought in en masse. MK spends his time volunteering there, because noodle shops are low on the list of things to be rebuilt and he needs to be useful.

MK tries not to be too guilty about the wreckage, though most of it had occurred because he was late to stop DBK. He'd been kept at Flower Fruit Mountain for a few weeks because Monkey King was worried after the incident with Macaque. Wanted to be sure MK's training ethic wasn't too messed up, wanted to be certain Macaque hadn't left any lasting effects or impressions.

It was a punishment, MK knows, for being a two timing student and for making Monkey King have to deal with a demon enemy when he’s made it clear that he’s retired. Doesn't matter that they only ever trained in the morning and early afternoon, then spent the rest of the day hanging out. MK has watched Monkey King: The Animated Series fifty-three times now, most recently with Monkey King during the duration of his solitary confinement at Flower Fruit Mountain. They'd both piped up with commentary, MK about the production and animation, and Monkey King about the inaccuracies that MK filed away for his sketchbook.

But even so, it was a punishment for MK’s failings. Why else would Monkey King keep MK close, keep him away from his family and friends, keep MK away from the outside world?

It takes two and a half weeks after the battle with DBK for MK to go back to work delivering noodles. He'll sometimes buy extra and drop it off at a random hospital nearby, for the medical staff. They're overworked because of him, because he was away for so long.

He has to be better next time. He doesn't know when DBK will be back, doesn’t know how to sense him. Is he able to do that? Can he learn to sense when his enemies are nearby? That would solve a lot of problems, near rid him of worry. Maybe Monkey King knows?

That thought has him swinging by Flower Fruit Mountain on the weekend, with a promise to Pigsy to be home before midnight.  MK is an adult only by age, after all; Pigsy still treats him like the 16 year old he found half dead outside his shop.

When he steps onto the mountain’s sand, though, he feels unwelcome.

The mystic energy that had beckoned him in the first time he’d arrived has shut its doors, like a silent way of saying 

Leave. 

Not a single monkey comes to greet him, but he can see their eyes, hidden in the trees. They regard him with suspicion. He frowns at them in confusion.

He hears a hiss in the back of his head and winces at the ensuing headache, stepping forward in hopes of pushing past the pain. Every step he takes makes the pounding in his head louder and more painful, and MK closes his eyes and focuses, reaching for the well of power he knows he has, the power that makes the staff feel lighter than air. 

It’s like sticking his hand through a well of ice, and his wrist is paralyzed by the time his fingers brush that warmth, the light curling around his palm.  Gold sparkles in his vision, and the unwelcome air starts to recede, as if the island recognizes him again.  He heads in deeper, and lets out a breath as the headache ceases.

He doesn’t have to head in too deep, because Monkey King comes through the waterfall in a rare moment of MK’s mentor leaving the inner sanctum of the mountain.  The waterfall itself moves like a curtain out of Monkey King’s way and the sight has MK focusing on that rather than the expression on Monkey King’s face, until he looks up.  

Monkey King’s eyes are sharp, darting around, an expression MK only recognizes from the suspicion and distrust Monkey King gave Macaque.  MK fidgets beneath that gaze, though it isn’t directed at him, uncomfortable.  He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?  He wracks his brain for any new missteps, but finds very little.  Still, his anxiety skyrockets by the second. 

The look vanishes, though not completely, when Monkey King’s eyes catch on the sight of MK.

“Hey bud!  Impromptu visit?” Monkey King greets.

MK tries not to shy away from the air of suspicion that colors Monkey King’s tone.  Is MK really that untrustworthy? He did mess up badly by trusting Macaque, and Monkey King is right to distrust him.  He bites his lip and tries to ignore the swell of guilt that sets like a stone in his stomach at the memory.

“Yeah, just-uh-just wanted to train, y’know?  Don’t know when DBK is coming back.” He shrugs, and Monkey King nods, only half listening.

He still looks on edge. “Cool.  You uh...you bring anyone with you?” 

Now that’s concerning. MK scrambles to find a supposed intruder, hands gripping his staff tight in preparation for battle. “No?  Unless-Oh no, is there someone here?  Is it a demon guy?”  What if he led a bad guy here?  What if he messed up again?

He jumps as a monkey lands on his head, picking through MK’s hair in typical grooming fashion, and then Monkey King laughs, loud and almost relieved.  MK turns back around to face him.

“Nah, must be my nerves.  Maybe DBK left something on you, messed with my senses.” Monkey King waves a hand, nonchalant, and MK perks up in ease at the reminder.

“Oh!  That’s actually why I’m here!” He takes careful steps forward, trying not to jostle the monkey on his head.  “I was thinking-I didn’t know DBK was in the city and destroying stuff, and a lot of people got hurt.  But!  If I could sense him, like you can, I could stop him quicker!  Right?” He’s bouncing on his toes, nervous and excited all at once, and Monkey King smiles down at him fondly.  

“Sure, why not?  If you’re up for some meditation, that is,” Monkey King turns, waving at MK to follow. 

The monkey on MK’s head hops away, and MK sprints after his mentor with a wide grin.  “Totally!  I’m, like, the best at meditation.  I’m like a meditation wizard!”

Monkey King laughs all the way to the training grounds.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Training actually is easier than he expects.  MK blusters a lot, but he isn’t dumb or unaware of his limits.  Sitting still isn’t his strong suit, so sitting still while not being able to talk, tap, fidget, or do anything else other than think is basically torture.

But, when he gets into the meditative position with Monkey King, something clicks.  A cool blanket settles on his shoulders, eases out the desire to move.  It’s so easy to be still, and quiet.

Frozen.

“You weren’t kidding,” Monkey King tells him, and MK grins a little, face warmed by the praise.  “Now, when you’re like this, you have to let every other sound and feeling fade out.  Nothing else matters but the energies around you.  Mine’s pretty easy to see cause, yknow,” 

MK can practically see Monkey King scratching his chin and grinning with barely hidden pride.  “I’m a pretty powerful guy.  DBK would be similar, he’s got a pretty loud aura too.  Now, just try it, kay?”

MK nods, and takes a deep breath.  The sounds around him-bugs, monkeys jumping around and talking to one another, the wind, the ever present sound of something in his head—those all start to fade away.

Wait, what was that last one?

He lets them all go, and then forgets the feeling of the cold, the grass, the fabric touching his skin.  Nothing exists except his own mind, and then.

He gets to see the bright light that is Monkey King.  Golden and red and royal in its feel, it’s near blinding.  He has to blink a few times to get used to its light.

“Woah,” he murmurs, and Monkey King opens one eye, before blinking both in surprise.

“Woah, already?  You sure you haven’t done this before?” Monkey King crosses his arms over his chest, almost offended, and MK is reminded of how betrayed Monkey King looked when MK had shown off the skills he’d learned from Macaque.

“Nope!  Maybe defeating DBK gave me a confidence boost?”  He shrugs, and then stands, looking around.  Monkey King’s expression sits in the back of his mind, and MK bites his lip.  “Did I, uh, did I do something wrong?  I didn’t…,” he trials off, worried.

“Maybe,” Monkey King mumbles in response to his first reply, mostly to himself.  “Oh-no, no, you’re fine, bud.  I think I’m just a little paranoid,” he laughs it off.  MK is too busy glancing back towards town to process Monkey King’s pensive expression.

“I can see Mei!  She’s...very green.  Did she always have a dragon?” It’s curled around her, like a protective barrier, snarling and poised to strike.

Monkey King chuckles. “You’ve got yourself some powerful friends, kid.  Not surprising.  Like knows like, even when they don’t know what like is.” He puts a hand on MK’s shoulder, and then starts.  “You’re freezing.  It’s not that cold, is it?”

MK blinks a few times, and everything comes back, the colors and sounds and feelings of the world returning to normal.  Monkey King keeps looking at him, as if MK is a puzzle he’s yet to solve.

“I don’t know, maybe?  I’ve been feeling a bit chilly, lately.  Maybe I’m coming down with something?” He’s been a bit stressed out, between Macaque and DBK and the reconstruction, and he’s heard stress can cause illnesses.

Monkey King sighs, after a moment, and scratches his head.

“I think I’m becoming an adult,” he says, like it’s a crime, and he shrugs again.  “You’re probably fine.  Just, take it easy the next few days, alright?  Practice meditating at home, or when you’re on the job.  When you’re as good as me, you can turn it on whenever you need to,” Monkey King puffs up with pride, and his tail swings back and forth leisurely.  MK watches his tail more than he listens to what Monkey King is saying.

“Okay.  Anything else for today?” It’s only been an hour or two, they have plenty of time.  

Monkey King deliberates.  Then, he grins, stepping back to position for MK’s inevitable first attack. “Tell you what.  We’ll spar for a bit, and then you can bring up that new show you kept ranting about a few weeks ago.  Kay?” 

MK’s eyes sparkle.

“Heck yeah!”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

MK’s muscles aren’t sore when he gets home.  He actually lasted a couple minutes sparring this time around, and Monkey King had rewarded him with peach chips and an arm around MK’s shoulder as he eagerly pulled up the show he had dove into during his free time on the TV.

Pigsy sent him upstairs with a bowl of noodles and a stern reminder to sleep early so he wouldn’t be late for work. He finishes the noodles in record time and, once he has showered and put on his warmest pajamas, pulls out all of the blankets he can find.  He just wants to be warm, just a little, even though it doesn’t make sense that he’s feeling this cold.  He’s not tired, he doesn’t feel achy, his sinuses are clogged—none of the other symptoms of being sick are popping up, so why is he so cold?!

He’s practically buried in blankets by the time he feels comfortable enough to rest.  For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t dream.

Things go back to normal, somewhat.  There’s a niggling something in the back of his head, and there’s guilt and the ever present chill that has MK wearing long sleeved shirts, but otherwise MK falls back into his typical routine, which is nice.  He missed his friends, between Macaque and DBK and training.  It’s good to see them again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first time he starts hearing the voice in his head, he’s getting yelled at by Pigsy.

It doesn’t happen as often, anymore.  MK is scatterbrained, but he genuinely tries to do his best at work.  Sometimes, he gets mixed up, because he’s only one kid and he’s never been good at focusing, no matter how hard he tries.  It’s hard for his stressed out and ADHD ridden brain to remember whose order is whose, especially when it’s the dinner rush and he’s running behind.

Today was a particularly bad day.  He’d accidentally given a customer an order with peanut oil in it, when they had an order specifically without peanuts due to their severe allergy.  Pigsy had gotten a very angry phone call, and he passed that rage at MK, rightfully so. 

MK can only apologize so much, so eventually he quiets and lets Pigsy let off steam.  Luckily the customer hadn’t tried to sue, but MK knows the review Pigsy likely got was scathing.  He deserves a bit of a tongue lashing for that, he thinks.

It was an honest mistake.  Cruel, to yell at one so young.  Why is he so mean?

The voice in the back of his head, new and different, nearly makes MK jump.  Pigsy notices the change in MK’s expression and mistakes it for fear, and that gets him to quiet down.  He dismisses MK with a sigh and a wave of his hand, and MK heads upstairs, feeling guilty and confused.

 That voice….it didn’t sound like him, did it?  When he tries to recall the sound, it mirrors his internal voice, but in the moment it seemed different.

 It’s probably nothing.  After all, if something was wrong with him, wouldn’t someone else have noticed by now? Wouldn’t he have noticed by now?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The voice keeps popping up at random intervals, random moments.  When Mei gets annoyed at his ramblings.  When Tang pushes him away when he’s begging for a story, because Tang is busy eating.  When Pigsy yells at him for being late for work, for messing up.  When Sandy awkwardly pushes him to leave because MK can’t take a hint, some days.  When Monkey King looks at him with something akin to disappointment, exasperation.

They’re tired of you.  They want you gone.  They’re plotting against you.  They’re going to betray you!

And, see, that would bother MK if he didn’t already know that.  He knows people don’t like him, find him annoying.  He knows he pushes too much, messes up a lot, misses social cues.  He knows that he’s not a good enough successor.  And that just makes him want to do better.  

As for the whole betrayal thing, plotting against him, it makes sense.  He isn’t offended or anything if they are, in fact he’d be more surprised if they weren’t, you know?  He’s the Monkey King’s successor.  He has all of the powers, has all of the strength and invincibility, with a caveat or two, but he’s also still just a teenager.  If they aren’t worried that he could go rogue, mess up and decide to be selfish, then that’s stupidity on their part.  Trusting him with anything is never a good idea, so knowing that, should he mess up, his family will be able to enact swift justice is a comfort rather than a worry.

And yeah, it’s a bit embarrassing, knowing just how annoying and useless he can be.  He flinches more often at their glares, gets quieter.  He doesn’t want to make them mad at him, he doesn’t want to lose them because he isn’t good enough.  He just needs to focus, be better, help out more often.  If he does that, hopefully they won’t leave.

The voice, after a few months or so, had backed off for a week.  He’d felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and smiling was easier.  Pigsy had seemingly relaxed at his good mood, and Mei seemed cheerier when they’d gone out to the arcades.  He hadn’t realized he’d been worrying them.  

Are you so sure they’ll stay?

A single phrase that pulls the rug out beneath MK’s feet.  He knows he isn’t good enough, but everyone knows that he at least tries, right?  That should endear them to him enough for him to prove he’s worth their time, right?  He can be good enough, he can do better, he just needs time!

Not fast enough.  They’ll get tired of you, and then they’ll leave.

The cold feeling in his chest feels so much heavier, as he panics in his room.  He’s supposed to be asleep, but the blankets don’t do much anymore.  He’s losing feeling in his fingers.  He keeps fumbling with things, even the staff, and everyone is getting annoyed at him.  And he’s so tired, all the time, and yet it’s so hard to sleep.  He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, but he knows that whatever it is, it’s going to ruin the equilibrium he has between being a failure and being good enough to keep around.

What happens when he loses it all?

You can be better.

Can he?

Wouldn’t everyone love you if they were safe?

Well, he can imagine not having to worry about DBK would make them far less stressed out.  If he can do that, then maybe they won’t get so easily annoyed at him.  He knows stress can make people snappy, and there’s a lot to be stressed about, like the economy and death by demons.

You can make them safe.

How?  

Listen to me. 

And MK knows it’s weird to make a pact with your own mind, but he thinks he’s pretty good at following directions, so he nods, and doesn’t sleep at all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The plan isn’t an easy one, and MK doesn’t know if he really wants to follow it.  The words turn over and over in his head. He doesn’t know if they’re right or not.

Maybe it would be better, if he wasn’t so nice.  He beats the bad guys, sure, but he isn’t that violent with them.  They try to kill him, but it’s never personal.  He’s the successor to Monkey King, it just makes sense that they’d go after him.  He’s not upset, really!

Even though the calabash has him looking over his shoulder.  They have earthquakes a lot, they live near a ring of active volcanoes, and each one puts him on edge, expecting a lie to turn his whole world apart. And the spider lady tried to eat his friends, tried to kill him.  And Macaque nearly hurt Monkey King because MK let him get close.  And DBK and Princess Iron Fan won’t stop, not until they get revenge or something.

Red Son is...he’s MK’s age.  And MK has noticed just how much DBK and Princess Iron Fan belittle Red Son, and he’s their son.  It’s too familiar for MK’s liking, and it makes the desire to bring Red Son to justice lessen.  Maybe, if he got Red Son’s parents out of the way…

You could have anything you wanted.

All MK wants is for his friends and family to be happy.

This is how you’ll do it.

MK doesn’t give in.  Not yet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

MK considers it when he goes over to see Sandy, one afternoon.  They’re just doing some leisurely painting practice, nothing like painting the whole boat.  After the whole clones thing, Sandy had learned that he should probably figure out which color he wants to stick with in the long run before asking for help in such a task.  So, he asks MK to come over and brainstorm.  You know, sketch out some ideas, test paint samples on different areas of the boat, see how it looks in light and dark.

MK also helps with the many litter boxes around the ship, as well as top up the water and food bowls all around.  He gets appreciative nuzzles from the myriad cats around the barge, so it isn’t so bad.  Then, he and Sandy will have tea, and Sandy will listen to MK ramble on about anything and everything until either Monkey King or Pigsy or Mei calls him to go do something (he gave Monkey King his number.  Occasionally he will get an incomprehensible text.  He’s pretty sure Monkey King has a Nokia phone).

Today, when they’re having tea, MK considers.

“Hey, Sandy?” He starts, more hesitant than when he’s ever asked the man a question before. 

Sandy notices, and MK sees him soften his pose even more, looking warm and welcoming. “Yeah, MK?”

“Do you think I’m too soft on villains?”

Because he beats them, but he always lets them leave, lets them escape.  They get to heal, recoup, and come back stronger every time, and people get hurt.  MK doesn’t want to be the type to attack first, to never ask questions, but at this point there aren’t too many questions to ask.

“You’ve got a good heart, MK.  You don’t have it in ya to go at ‘em too hard,” MK clenches his fist, his other hand gentle against the teacup lest he break it.  He did that a few times when he first got his powers, unused to the extra strength.

“That kinda doesn’t answer my question,” MK tries not to say it through gritted teeth.  He can feel his tea getting frigid, and bites back the burst of white air that would make Sandy ask questions.

He wouldn’t know how to answer questions about that, which is why he can’t deal with them.  That’s the reason.

He’s saying you’re weak.

MK hides a grimace, and lets his heart ache silently.  He sips the tea.  It’s ice cold.

“What brought this on?” Sandy asks, instead of answering the question, which grates on MK’s nerves more than it should.

“I let DBK get too powerful,” he says.  “He destroyed the city again, and people got hurt.  If I’d just got rid of him before, those people would be okay.”

Sandy sighs, taking a sip of his tea.  A cat hops into MK’s lap, curling up, but after a few frigid moments hops away.  Apparently MK is too cold for its liking.  He tries not to get offended by that, but the hot well of shame and longing persists. At least the feeling is warm.

“MK, you’re still learning.  Mistakes are bound to happen.  Those who got hurt will get better, and the city is rebuilt better than ever!  You don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders.  And,” Sandy looks away, and suddenly he looks a lot older than MK thinks he is.  “Honestly, being too harsh to make an enemy stop can feel good in the moment, but it does more harm than good, especially to the person who does the fighting.”

And MK leaves it at that, but thinks he doesn’t mind if it harms him, if it keeps everyone else safe.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Another story!” MK begs, spinning on the barstool.  Pigsy always tells him not to, something about wearing down the seat joint, but at the same time Pigsy never really stops MK when he does it either, because MK only does it when he’s very excited and hyper.

Tang finishes his bowl of noodles with a chuckle, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose in a practiced motion that MK is oh so familiar with.  MK taps the front of his sketchbook with his pencil impatiently.

“Alright, alright.  Tell you what, I’ll tell you the story of the Baigujing, or White Bone Spirit,” Tang’s voice falls into storyteller mode, and MK is immediately entranced.  Pigsy, from the kitchen, slams down a pan and groans.

“Not that one, Tang.  I hate that one, you know that,” MK turns to his boss and is surprised to see an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.  What in this story would Pigsy have to be embarrassed about?

“Hey, MK wants to know all the Monkey King stories.  I’m not going to rob him of knowledge,” Tang argues back.  He leans close to MK and whispers “Pigsy couldn’t sleep for a week after I told him this one.”

“That is not true!” Pigsy barks, indignant, and MK laughs.

Tang chuckles to himself, and Pigsy turns back to his work with a grumble.  Right now is a lull in business, right after the lunch rush and before early dinners get called in, so MK is taking his break and Pigsy isn’t too upset by it.  It’s just enough time for a story.

“Okay.  The Baigujing was a shapeshifting demon, who saw Monkey King and his group of traveling companions as they passed by.  Her eyes caught on the human monk, Tang Sanzang,” MK perks up.

“Hey, that’s like your name!” he points out, and both Tang and Pigsy look startled.  Tang coughs, awkward.

“Yes-well-uh, it’s a family name,” he amends quickly.  MK tilts his head to the side.  “Anyway, she decided she wanted to taste the monk’s flesh.  So, she disguised herself as a little girl, coming up to the group and offering them poisoned fruits.  Because she was so powerful, only Monkey King could sense her treachery, and he hit her with his staff, seemingly killing her.”

MK gasps, doesn’t understand the fury that builds behind his eyes.

Tang glances at him, for a moment, and then jumps.

“MK?  You okay?” He asks, and MK blinks.

“What-yeah!  What happened next?” Tang looks him over, gaze catching on MK’s eyes, before he sighs and continues.

“The Monkey King’s companions were shocked and appalled.  They thought he had killed an innocent girl!  He tried to explain, but they didn’t believe him.  The Monk buried the girl, who turned back into the spirit.  She tried again, once as the supposed mother of the little girl, and then the grandfather.  Monkey King managed to show her as a skeleton spirit during their last encounter, clearing his name, but then his companion, Bajie, told Sanzang that Monkey King made it up.  Thus, Monkey King was abandoned, at least until the Monk was captured by a demon Wujing and Baijie couldn’t defeat, and Bajie had to apologize to bring him back,” Tang finishes, and MK’s face settles into a pout.

“Bajie’s a jerk!” He crosses his arms.

“He apologized,” Pigsy mumbles, from his place in the kitchen, where he slices scallions violently.  “More than once.  Not that it matters.” 

“Monkey King didn’t exactly endear himself to his peers,” Tang amends.  “Perhaps if he had been less full of himself at the time, they all could have gotten along better.  But, all four grew to be better people by the end of their journey.”

MK finishes a sketch of the scenes Tang had described with a flourish, and he tilts his head to one side.  “Kind of rude to just attack the lady, though, couldn’t he have tried to talk it out?” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to defend the demon, but she doesn’t seem too bad.  

Tang makes a face.

“She wanted to eat a person, MK,” he says, and MK makes a face that mirror’s Tang’s expression.

“Right.  Eugh, gross.  Anyway, thanks Mr. Tang!” he hops off the barstool and puts back on his collared shirt, making sure his headband doesn’t slip down.  “Any orders, Pigsy?”

Pigsy jerks his thumb to the few on the counter.  MK picks them up, and continues on to work, the story sitting in the back of his mind.  He stumbles a bit while walking.  He doesn’t feel the key in his hand, his fingers numbed over time.  He should be concerned, but everything else seems fine.

He kind of wishes he could have met the Baigujing.  She doesn’t seem too bad, besides the people eating.  Maybe they could have worked it out.

Who does Sun Wukong think he is, deciding to serve justice anyway he sees fit?

MK frowns and buttons up his shirt.  His chest feels like ice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s so, so tired.

MK looks at himself in the mirror when he wakes up and his skin looks paler, his lips a little blue.  He has bags under his eyes that vanish by the time he leaves the bathroom, a bottle of concealer and a tube of lipstick on the bathroom sink that he doesn’t remember buying.

His memory’s been growing spottier, too, missing minutes, hours.  Mei talks to him about a high score he beat at the arcade and he nods along, no clue what she’s talking about but not wanting to worry her.  He hasn’t gone to see Sandy in what feels like years, but gets a text from him thanking MK for taking care of the cats one afternoon.  There are sketches in his sketchbook he doesn’t remember drawing, from stories Tang told him that he can’t remember hearing.

He’s lost feeling in his hands and feet.  He’s dropped enough bowls of soup for Pigsy to go from mad to worried, and he shoves MK off to Flower Fruit Mountain because it’s warmer there, and MK always looks cold.  

He stumbles when he hits sand, nearly bowls over with how much the island rejects him, how much it wants him not to be there.  This is supposed to be a safe place, but the sand feels like needles and the wind slices at his face.  Monkey King comes rushing out like a bat out of hell, teeth bared, but he sees MK, kneeling on the beach, and runs over.

“You okay, bud?  You look…,” he doesn’t say awful, but MK knows he’s thinking it.  MK looks awful, feels awful, is awful.  And the solution to that is right there, waiting for him, but he doesn’t want to take it because he’s a coward.  The voice in his head gave him an ironclad idea, a perfect plan, and he’s been ignoring it because he’s scared.

Weak little vessel.

The hiss in his ear makes him wince, and he trembles as Monkey King helps him up.

“Tired,” he manages, leaning against Monkey King because he hardly has the strength to stand.  

“I can see that.” The try at levity has MK chuckling, but Monkey King is soft and warm and all MK wants to do is suck that warmth into himself, so he can stop being cold for one second.  “Why don’t we head to my place and watch something.  There’s always my show, right?”

MK nods, blinking slowly, and Monkey King takes a step forward.  Suddenly, they’re at Monkey King’s house.  When did they get there?  Why are they here again?

He’s set on the couch.

“There’s something off about your aura, kid.  Touch anything mystic or weird back at home?” Monkey King runs his fingers through MK’s hair, and MK leans into the touch.  Warm.  Safe.  

He shakes his head, a full minute after the question is asked.  Monkey King hums in thought.

“How do you even see auras?” MK mumbles, words slurring a bit as he talks.  “Teach me?”

Monkey King’s hand stills, and MK whines a little, prompting his mentor to continue the motions.

“I already have, bud,” Monkey King whispers, more to himself than to MK.  MK blinks in confusion.  He doesn’t remember that.

Rest, Vessel.

The voice whispers so sweetly in his ear.  It’s nice, sometimes.  Mean other times.  MK wonders if that’s his fault.  Is he so bad that even his own head is mad at him?  How can he be better?  He’s trying so hard.

The TV is turned on.  MK doesn’t register the sound, but the light makes him turn his head away.  Monkey King turns down the brightness with his remote.  Another monkey rests on top of MK for a moment, before jumping off.  It shivers at the temperature of MK’s jacket, his skin, and moves over to Monkey King’s shoulder.

MK rests his head on Monkey King’s lap, and closes his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up in a dream.  He stands on ice.  Each step he takes is careful, lest he slip, and even still he stumbles and fumbles.  He can see something in the distance.

“Hello?” he calls out, but the person doesn’t answer.  The closer he gets, the more he can make them out.  “Mei?”

It is her, but then her head drops, straight off of her neck.

“NO!” MK screams, running to her, and he stumbles and falls.  His knees hit ice and they burn with the chill that sinks through his pants.  He slides to her body, cradling it and her head as if he could put her back together with hope.

He turns, looking for a reason for this, and when he looks up, all of the adults in his life are standing around him, their faces covered in shadow.  Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, Monkey King—they’re all looking down on him.

“Look what you let happen,” Pigsy growls out.

“She’s dead,” Tang continues.

“You didn’t save her,” Sandy drones on.

“You let her die,” Monkey King spits.

“No…” MK breathes, and the tears build in his eyes and down his cheeks, freezing on his face.  It burns.

You have a choice, vessel.

The figures of his friends vanish into mist, and MK curls his arms around himself.  He misses the contact.  He hates to be alone.

A woman wreathed in white kneels down in front of him.  It hurts to look at her, and MK averts his gaze until she tilts up his chin so he can look nowhere else.  Her face is ice cold, yet inviting.  He can’t look away from her eyes.

Don’t you want them to stay?  Don’t you want them to be safe?

MK nods, quickly.  Of course that’s what he wants.  More than anything, he wants that love, that adoration.  He wants his family to be safe, to never leave.

You know what to do.

It feels like ice is creeping up his skin, encasing him in frigidity.  She holds out his hand, and he can do nothing else but take it.  The cold reaches its peak, and suddenly it’s warm.  It burns, and yet the warmth is inviting, a relief after months of being so, so cold and confused and tired.  He is past the point of cold, of freezing, of sub zero.  He is warm.  He is ready.  

He is hers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up well rested, and the cold that had settled into him still feels like the burn that is a welcome respite from before.  Monkey King is still asleep, and MK leaves him there, leaving the house and walking slowly out of the inner mountain.  

He leaves footprints of ice where he steps.  The monkeys watch, from the trees, trembling as their eyes gaze upon something inhuman, sitting in MK’s skin.  MK has never felt better.  He knows what to do now.  He knows how to make things right.

The staff in his hands feels heavier, for a moment, but MK grips it tight and bends it to his will.  He pogos out of the island with ease, letting the wind whip his hair back.

He hasn’t blinked in a while.  He forgot he had to.  He blinks because the wind makes his eyes sting, and touches the ground with a gentleness he didn’t know he could master.

He lets his eyes glow gold, searching.  He remembers, now, how to look at auras.  He remembers a lot of things now.  It’s like the pressing weight of being weak for the sake of niceties has vanished, and now he is sharp and ready.

The only question is which of his enemies does he go after first?  He needs to get all of them, keep them secure.  It’s the only way the town, the city, will be safe.

The small fry first.  We’ll work our way up to the demon king.

Right, that makes sense.  MK grins to himself.  It’s so nice to have someone constantly helping, constantly making sure he’s doing the right thing.  He’s useless on his own, but give him a direction and he’ll follow it to the letter.

He can see gold and silver, in the distance.  He forgets their names, at first, but their auras jog his memory.  Yin and Jin.

They put him in the calabash.  They weren’t good at it, but they were good enough.  They’re demons.  Dangerous.  He needs to make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.  

He heads to their home, not in a hurry.  There’s no rush to the inevitable.  Is this what self confidence is?  The feeling of knowing you can do it, that you will do it, that no one can stop you?  It feels very gratifying.  He lets the glow in his eyes vanish, because he doesn’t want to startle everyone around him.  

His phone buzzes.  A text from Pigsy, demanding to know where he is.  He responds with ‘Dealing with Monkie Kid stuff.  Be back soon!’ and a string of emojis that Pigsy will find incomprehensible, before continuing on his trek.

He reaches the door, and hears a conversation.

“So, our plan has three steps.  That’s an improvement,” Yin seems to be pacing, from what MK can hear.

“Step one, capture the monkie kid,” Jin pipes up, and MK fights back a laugh.  “Step two, take the staff from him.” 

As if they could.  MK almost has to admire their tenacity.

“Step three, take over the world!” Yin finishes, and MK takes that as his cue to step in.

He knocks in the door.  Polite.  He still has manners, after all.

“Huh?  Jin, did you order out for dinner again?” Yin barks out.

“We don’t have the money for that!” Is the response.

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Yin grumbles, moving to the door.

Here they come!

MK counts the steps Yin takes to the door, itching with anticipation.

“Hello?” Yin opens the door, and then jumps in surprise.

“Hi!” MK waves, and taps his staff on the ground.

There’s a thunk; not a thud of a body, but a thunk of a block of ice.  MK pats the statue with a fond look.  He’ll chip away the extra pieces later.  This is his first attempt, it’s normal for it to be less precise.  He can get better at it with practice.  Jin turns, from his place at the desk, and his eyes widen when he sees his brother, frozen on the floor.

“Yin—what did you do?” Red eyes glow dangerously, and MK wonders if they would be more ferocious if he threatened one over the other.  Jin gets up, teeth bared.

“This,” MK replies, tapping his staff on the ground.

Jin takes a step forward and freezes in place. Or, is frozen, MK supposes.  He looks at the brothers, safely imprisoned, and wonders.  Where is he going to put them?  There’s not enough room here for all of his enemies to be placed.  What’s a good place to set everything up?

The cave?  The old villain hideout?  

That’s perfect!  After all, it would be the funniest form of irony, right?  Turning a villain hideout to his base for his world saving plan.  Gosh, he’s so smart.  Because this is him, all him.  He finally is smart enough to know what to do.  He has to clear out the cave, first.  It’s not far away, hidden beneath the sewers.  There’s a path to it from the area where the staff used to lie.

He sets Yin and Jin next to each other, considering their poses.  He thinks they look a little off, but he can fix that, right?  He can fix anything, given enough time.  That’s what all this is, fixing the problem of demons who’ve escaped because of DBK’s release.  He nods to himself, and heads off.  He has rocks to clear out, he has a cave to excavate.

But, he promised Pigsy that he’d be back soon.  That stops him short.  He can’t skip work!

This will make him far happier in the long run.

Still, what’s a few hours of work to make Pigsy happy now?  He shakes off the one track mind and puts his staff away.  The ice won’t melt fast (or at all) and he’s got time.  The flash of cold he gets in response to that thought doesn’t inspire comfort, and he second guesses himself a few times, but he heads to the shop anyway.

“Hey Pigsy!” he waves, and Pigsy glances at him and jerks a thumb over to the pile of orders on the counter.  “On it!” 

MK swoops them up and sets them all on the delivery cart.  Pigsy glances at him again, and then freezes.

“MK?” he asks.

MK turns, blinking a few times.  “Yeah?” he responds, and Pigsy peers at him, almost suspicious.

MK tilts his head to the side in confusion.  A part of him is glad that he has concealer on, because they don’t have the time to chat about MK’s new skin tone, not with all these orders.  He watches Pigsy shiver, muttering something about the A/C acting up, before Pigsy shakes himself off and sets his hands on his hips.

“I thought-your eyes-nevermind.  Get those orders out!” Pigsy barks, and MK stands at attention, giving Pigsy a salute.

“On it!” He promises, sliding out of the shop and hopping onto the delivery cart.

It only takes an hour, which is much faster than he usually is, but focus comes easy when he’s driven.  The faster he gets this done they faster he gets to get back to his real work.  The work that will make things better for everyone.

Right. Of course.

His shift ends when the store closes, and he’s gone before Pigsy can say anything about his work ethic or ask where MK has been or is going.  He rushes to the construction site, dives below, rushing past the decaying plants where there once were flowers and a growing tree.  Without Monkey King’s staff, there’s nothing making sure the plants live.  MK frowns at the sight but stays focused on the task at hand.

Aim.  The staff can be as large as a mountain if it needs to be.  Crush what’s in your way.

He nods to himself, breaking through the rubble that has blocked off the tunnel.  The ground shakes, the whole underground rumbles with power, and he hopes he’s not keeping anyone up.  Then again, it’s not too bad if it’s just for a night, considering how many nights later he’s going to keep quiet.  Everyone will be able to rest easy once he’s done.  

He huffs a breath, and it comes out white.  He should be concerned, but honestly it looks cool.  He remembers to blink, because his eyes are starting to burn.  He doesn’t know why he keeps forgetting.

He makes his way to the cavern, and uses ice to keep the ceiling up.  Pillars rise, frost fills the spaces between rocks that would have cracked and splintered eventually.  The floor remains untouched, save for when he fills in the cracks that could trip someone up.

He doesn’t remember when he got these ice powers.  They seem new?  Why hasn’t he used them before?  How come Monkey King never told him about them?

Monkey King’s always had ice powers.

Has he?  MK isn’t so sure about that.

You’re his successor, not a carbon copy.  It makes sense you would have different powers than him.

Right.  MK nods to himself.  Now, time to get Yin and Jin!  Carrying them is going to be a challenge.

It takes him an hour to get them both there, and another half hour to figure out where to put them.  He has to consider DBK’s size.  Wait, does he have to go and get the spider demon lady?  He shivers at the thought, a deep well of terror sinking in his gut.  Even as self assured as he is now, spiders still terrify him.

I can take care of that.

Really?

Yes.  But first, rest.

Right.  He needs to head back to his house.  Pigsy will be worried if he doesn’t come home soon.  He heads out of the construction site, skipping all the way home.

He barely sleeps.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The week is certainly a busy one.  MK spends any time not with his friends searching, and he spends far less time with his friends, nowadays.  The spider demon isn’t easy to find.  He does manage to get some small fry lesser demons he hadn’t met before and now never will.  He doesn’t need to meet people who will inevitably try to kill him and those around him.  Far better to prevent the attack than deal with the aftermath thereof.

His collection of ice sculptures is growing.  MK likes to spend time chipping away at the blocks to them more polished.  It’s like sketching, in a way, or cleaning up a sketch.  It also gives him an opportunity to practice a more precise use of his ice powers.  He can make a mean ice chisel now, and he’s learned how to force the limbs of those frozen into the position he likes.  Yin and Jin stand on top of each other, like they did in their introduction.  The expressions on their faces aren’t what he likes, but he can cover it with frost and it’s like it was never there.

He meets up with Mei, one afternoon.

“Hey, MK!” She barrels into him, and immediately jumps back.

He reaches out, missing the contact, but she shakes out a shiver.  “Dang, you’re cold!” She slugs him on the shoulder, and he laughs.

“I feel fine.  Maybe you’re just being dramatic,” he shoots back, and she laughs with him, before her eyes glance at his face and she freezes.  “What?”

“Your eyes,” she murmurs, all joking replaced with concern.  He tilts his head to a side in confusion.  “They’re blue?” She adds.

“Oh!” he says, and the words that come out of his mouth don’t sound like him at all.  He doesn’t think he thought of them, and he doesn’t feel his lips move but the sound comes out anyway.  “I’m trying out some contacts.  Do you like them?” He bats his eyelashes at her, all in jest.

Her confusion melts into a smile. “I like your regular eye color better,” She admits.  “But those look cool!”  

She grabs him by his wrist, using his jacket as a buffer, and drags him to an arcade.  Every machine he touches sticks a little, the joystick and button a tad frozen by his touch, and he doesn’t win a match by any means, but he doesn’t mind.  Every time Mei leans close to him it feels like a victory.  Even though he feels warm, at least a sort of freezer burn warmth, the people around him have pulled away.  He’s too cold for them.  

He needs contact.  

Someone trips Mei as they’re running around the arcade.  Her nose bleeds, and MK feels his hackles rising.  Someone hurt his friend.  A demon?  A scan of the area reveals no such thing.  Just a mean person.  He can hear them snickering as they walk away.

Mei is more important than MK’s anger, so he takes her outside and finds some tissues, cleans her up.  He takes her out to her favorite restaurant (not Pigsy’s, though they’ll never tell him that) and they end the night with a race around town.  Her bike is an electric green streak, and he’ll never catch up, but he gives it his all before they finish outside his place.

“See ya later!” Mei still sounds a bit stuffed up from the nosebleed, and MK waves until she’s out of sight.  When she disappears, his expression shutters, anger against her unrecognizable assailant returning in a flash.

He’s been getting rid of demons, but that’s not enough!  Mei still got hurt, because people are unpredictable.  He heads to his room and paces.  How can he fix it, how can he make it better?

Maybe more than demons should be frozen.

MK stops in his tracks.  Now, there’s an idea.  But to freeze them forever, that seems like too much.

Not forever.  Just until they know how to behave.  Think of it as a pause button.

It would be nice if things just stopped for a moment.  Then he could have all the time in the world to fix it.  Once he gets the demons out of the way, he can do that.  Then, once everyone learns to behave, they can come out.  However long that takes.

He can be patient, for his friends.  This is all for them, after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A day after that, and he’s found the Spider Demon’s lair.  Every step he takes inside makes him shake, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to take her.  He’s so nervous, so scared.

I can help, remember?  Just take a deep breath.

He takes a deep breath.

Close your eyes.

He closes his eyes.  

He doesn’t open them, but they open anyway.  Everything is washed in a soft layer of white, like frost, and his body moves but he doesn’t tell it to.  The fear he felt is muted, and he settles into the comfort of its absence.  He asked for this, right?

The spider demon—she wanted to be a Queen, right?  MK hadn’t been really paying attention when she went on her rant, too petrified to listen—skitters out, and when she locks eyes with him, she smiles.

“Aww, is the little monkie boy back to play?” She giggles, and MK’s body throws the staff at her.  She ducks with a yelp, and scrambles back.  “Ooo, we’re rough, now?  Seems you’re not so scared anymore,” She purrs, but he can hear the nervousness in her voice as the staff comes back to his hand.

“Iͥ ʷgͣˢoᶰtͤ ͮoͤvͬeˢrͨ ͣiͬtͤᵈ.” The sound comes out of his mouth, and it doesn’t sound much like MK at all.  Huh.  His body takes a step forward, and ice spreads out from beneath his foot.  “Tͭuͧrͬᶰnˢs ͦoͧuͭtʸ,ͦ ͧyˢoͪuͦ'ͧˡrͩe ͪnͣoͮtͤ ᵇtͤhͤᶰeʷ ͦsͬcͬaͥrͤiͩesͣᵇtͦ ͧdͭemͫoͤn ͥoͫuᶠtͬ ͤtͤhere.” 

The Spider Queen’s expression shifts, and she tries to run, but MK’s legs are faster. He watches himself move, jumping over stones and cliffs and any obstacle.  The webs she tries to trap him in freeze, and he slides across them as if his feet were skates.

Eventually, he corners her.  MK watches his body close in, and suddenly he’s back in control, staring her down.  Satisfaction crawls up his back, a cold grin splitting his face in two.

“ʷWͪhͦˢoˢ'ͨsͣ ͬsͤcͩaᶰrͦʷed now?” He grins, and she screams.

Ice, it turns out, is a great muffler.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finding DBK’s hiding place is harder.  MK locates it just outside the city limits, in an abandoned scrapyard.  The perfect place to get parts for new bull clones and other random things Red Son can come up with.

He decides to go on the weekend, but as he prepares the night before Monkey King makes an appearance in his room.

“Hey, bud,” MK jumps at his arrival.

He must have been hiding as a bug or something, like when MK first found the staff.

“Monkey King!” He grins at his arrival, hopping up.  “What’s the occasion?  Is there something new you wanted to teach me?  Is there a demon we have to fight?”  We, not as in MK and Monkey King, but MK and himself.  Because he’s not one, not really, and that’s fun!  He hates being alone, after all.

“No, no,” Monkey King chuckles, overly fond.  Right, MK hasn’t been to Flower Fruit Mountain for a week.  “It’s just-you left pretty early, and, uh, you didn’t say anything about our next training sesh, you know?  And, uhh, pretty sure you shouldn’t be slacking off on that.”

The half hearted scolding aside, MK almost thinks that Monkey King missed him.  But that’s ridiculous.

“Well, you were sleeping when I got up, and I had to go to work,” The lie slips easily off of his tongue.  “I didn’t want to wake you, so I left!  Um, we’re busy tomorrow, but Sunday works for training, if that’s cool?” He rocks back and forth on his feet, ever excited.

“We’re?  Who’s cooler than me to hang out with?” Monkey King reaches out to ruffle his hair, and MK can feel the shiver that jolts through the monkey’s body at the touch.  Monkey King doesn’t comment on it, though.

“I promised Mei we’d hang out.  It’s been a busy week at the shop, so I haven’t been able to party with her,” He doesn’t know where these lies are coming from.

Sometimes he talks and it’s not him at all.  He should be concerned, but honestly he doesn’t mind if his other self takes the reigns.  He fumbles over his words way too often to be annoyed that someone is smoothing him out.

Polished like an ice sculpture; MK thinks he could be beautiful if he was like that.

“Alright, fine.  You and your friend can….do whatever it is kids do these days.  Am I an adult—oh my god I’m an adult,” Monkey King flops back onto his nimbus cloud with a groan while MK giggles.  

“Anyway, get some rest, bud.  You look tired,” is the last thing Monkey King says to him.

“On it!” MK salutes, and Monkey King floats through the window and then rockets off.  The papers in MK’s room all swirl from the blowback, and MK grabs one of the sketches that floats back down.

He doesn’t remember the last time he asked Tang for a story. The last time he sketched anything else at all.  But, a hero doesn’t need hobbies so trivial.

He plans.  Plans for how the city is going to look like, when he’s finished with it all.  He doesn’t need to write down the steps to get there, he has his head voice for that, but the city.  How it will look, when he’s done.  He has to figure it out, draw it out, and pin it to the wall so he can look at it every morning and evening and remember why he’s doing this.  So he sketches.  Pins the piece to the wall.  

Squints.  He doesn’t like it.  

Back to the drawing board.

His wall is covered by the time the sun rises, and MK still isn’t satisfied.  But there is no time to waste.  So, he picks up the outfit that feels all the more new—blue isn’t a color he expected to like, but blue is cold is safe is good is the burning warmth he needs, so he leaves the orange jacket and red headband hanging off of his desk chair.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he can barely tell the difference!

He is gone before Pigsy comes up with breakfast, before Pigsy calls for Tang to look at the mess MK left behind, enough drawings of the same thing for anyone to get the picture.  He is gone before Pigsy and Tang investigate, speak in hushed tones, and call for Sandy, Mei, and eventually Monkey King.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Getting to the outskirts of town is the easy part.  Infiltrating DBK’s base is a bit harder.  It’s not heavily fortified, but MK thinks that’s more because he has never tried to infiltrate such a place.  He doesn’t really attack first, he just protects.  But that’s not good enough anymore, clearly.  He can’t just be protective, he needs to be proactive.

He slides past the guards, freezes them for good measure.  After all, they’re going to be made useless once he takes their leader down, so it’s not as if he’s wasting anything.  There’s also always the chance they get wise, and MK doesn’t want his entrance ruined.

The inner sanctum of the base looks more like a house, made large to accommodate DBK’s figure.  There are pictures on the wall, from painted portraits to black and white to color photos.  MK supposes that the Demon Bull Family has been around long enough to have portraits taken in all sorts of mediums.  He wonders if they have statues, a shrine?  He bites back a giggle at the thought.

The booming sound of cloven footsteps alerts MK to DBK’s arrival, though by the sounds of two voices approaching, Princess Iron Fan must be with him.

“Red Son has been pulling away from us,” the gravel in DBK’s voice is soft, somehow.  MK listens in with interest.  What is it they are doing to their son now?

“You tried to kill him.  He can’t help but take it personally,” is Princess Iron Fan’s reply.  “He barely knows you, and he’s young.  He’ll grow out of it,” she waves a hand, unconcerned.

MK glares at them.  The temperature in the hallway drops, until Princess Iron Fan shivers.

“Darling, I thought this house had a heating function?” Princess Iron fan curls her arms around herself, and DBK picks her up and sets her on his shoulder, suddenly on guard.

“It does, the boy made it so,” he growls, sniffing around for intruders.  MK decides to let himself be known.

“Hi!” he says as he pops out from around the corner.

“Noodle boy?” Princess Iron Fan questions.

“Little Thief,” DBK growls.

“Actually, I go by MK,” he corrects cheerily.  “But, anyway, could you hold still?  This will be harder if you move,” He twirls his staff casually.  DBK growls, and Princess Iron Fan places a hand on the side of his face to silence him.

“MK,” Princess Iron Fan starts, with a forced air of politeness.  “We are in your debt for helping save my husband.  However, if you attack us, we will have no choice but to fight back, and we will not be kind.”

She grins, self assured, and continues  “And you know what happened the last time you tried to fight me.”

Fire.  Volcanoes.  She had tried to kill him and, more importantly, she had made his friends cry.  But things have changed, haven’t they?

MK giggles.  The sound echoes, and the hallway gets colder.  Frost crawls over the walls, and MK looks up with eyes that glow.

“Aͣcͨtͭuͧaͣˡlˡlʸy,ͥ Iͭ ͪtͥᶰhᵏiʸnͦkͧ ˢyͪoͦuͧˡ'ͩllͬ ͧᶰfiͥᶠnʸdͦ ͧmᵏeᶰ ͦʷtʷoͪ ͣbͭˢeᵍ ͦhͦaͩrᶠdͦeͬrʸ ͦtͧo ᶰbͦeͭatͭ ͪtͣhͭaʸnͦ ͧbeͨfͣᶰorͤˢeͨᵃᵖᵉ,” He jumps up with a smile, and sprints forward.

Something dawns on her face, and Princess Iron Fan stands.

“Darling, we need to run,” She says, quickly, but MK jumps and bounces off of the walls and is eye to eye with her before she can explain.

She doesn’t even have time to grab her fan.

DBK jumps back as the block of ice slides off his shoulder and he roars.

“Father?!” MK hears Red Son’s voice from afar and ignores that for now.

“I will tear you to pieces you ingrate!” DBK shouts, and MK laughs.

“ʸYͦoͧu ͨcͦoͧˡuͩᶰlͭdnͤ'ͮtͤᶰ ˢeͭvͦᵖenͫ ͤbʷeͪaͤᶰt ͥmʷeͣˢ wͥᶰhʸeͦnͧ ͬI ͪwͤaͣsͩnʸ'ͦtͧ ᶠtͦrͦˡying!” he shouts back, dodging a blow that sinks DBK’s fist in the wall.

The frost slides from the wall to DBK’s arm, gluing him there.  He fires the gun on his other arm, and MK dodges. 

“Nͥiͩcͥeͦ ͭshot!” He dances around the room.

DBK takes a step in the wrong direction, and slips on the ice cube that is his wife, dropping to the ground.  MK wastes no time, and DBK’s roar is silenced abruptly.

Finally.

Finally.

“Noodle Boy!  What on earth are you doing?!” Red Son looks rather steamed, if the smoke coming off of him is any indication.

“Hi, Red Son!  I was just taking care of your parents,” MK gestures to the popsicles on the floor.  Red Son stares, face a mixture of confusion and horror, and MK barrels toward him.  “Now they can’t be mean to you anymore.  You can make fun inventions and not have to be a mean guy all the time!” Honestly, if anything, Red Son should be thanking MK, but MK doesn’t do this for thanks.  He takes a few hairs and blows on them, and his clones start to work on moving the new additions to his cave.

“You—” Red Son is at a loss for words before landing on “Give me back my parents!”

See, MK was worried about that.  He would likely have responded the same, when he first left his parents.

“But I worked hard to get them out of the way!” MK pouts.  “But, I get it.  You don’t understand.  You just need to ᵍcͤoͭolͦ ͧdͭowͦᶠn,ͦ ͧoͬkʷaͣʸy?” MK reaches out, places a hand on Red Son’s shoulder before he can be stopped, and Red Son is going to freeze too, when—

Red Son explodes, and MK burns.

It’s not enough to melt the ice, no, but MK is thrown back against the wall, eyes wide.

The chill in his bones vanishes with a screech, and all he can hear is screaming.  For a moment, something rises within him.  

This is wrong.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he can’t be.

He isn’t a bad person, he isn’t cruel. He wouldn’t do this.  

He needs to stop, he needs to—

And then the flames vanish, and so does Red Son, and the cold slips back into place with brutal efficiency.  MK blinks, tries to remember where he is.  Right, DBK and Princess Iron Fan.  He got them!  Great.

His clones have been destroyed in the blaze, so he makes some new ones, and heads back to base.  

A shame he couldn’t get Red Son to understand, but they all will soon enough.

Good job, vessel.

MK feels warm.  It burns.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s deliberating back at his hideout about where his newest statues should go when he hears a sharp gasp from behind him.  He turns, and Mei is looking at him with something that looks like horror, but that can’t be right.  Why would she be horrified by something so beautiful?

“MK?” she starts, cautiously.  “What…happened to you?  You look really bad, why are you wearing blue?”

“I like the color!” he asserts.  “And I’m fine!”

She purses her lips, and then tries again.

“Um...MK.  What is this?” She points to the frozen menagerie behind him.

MK does not pout, even though he feels like he should.

“You ruined the surprise,” he grumbles, arms crossed over his chest.  “I stopped all the bad guys!  See?” he gestures to them.  “Now they can’t hurt anyone.”

There’s a pause, before Mei can catch up, where MK asks, “Hey, do you think people would want to put them in a museum?” He taps his chin with his index finger, deliberating.

“How did you...does Monkey King have powers like this?” she tries, a third time.

“No, I don’t,” MK jumps at the sound of Monkey King’s voice.  Monkey King floats down on his cloud, hopping off and looking at MK with an air of suspicion.  “Kid, how are you doing this?  Why are you doing this?”

“‘Cause they hurt you guys,” MK has been itching for a chance to explain, to get someone to understand.  “And the-my head voice gave me the idea.  Once these guys are all gone, everyone can be safe, and no one will leave!”

“Head voice?” Pigsy comes from behind a pillar.  “MK, what are you talking about?”

“You know, the voice in your head that sounds like you?” He explains.  “It-it told me how to do it.  And I’m not a carbon copy of Monkey King, it makes sense that I’d have a few new powers, you know?”

“No,” Tang appears, from somewhere.

When did all of his friends get here?  He can see Sandy, Mo in tow on his shoulder, peeking in. 

“You shouldn’t have any deviations.  Maybe your transformations would be different, but to go so far as to have ice powers?” Tang pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and his glasses flash.  “That shouldn’t be possible, given Monkey King’s power set.”

“What’s going on, kid?” Sandy’s voice is very soft, as he approaches, just like when they were on the boat.  

“Nothing!” MK’s voice is cheery as ever.  “I’m just fixing things, okay?  I think you need to ˢcͪhͧiͭllͧᵖ ʷoͧʲuͥᶰtᵍ,” he reaches forward, and Sandy and Mo are ice.

Mei screams.

“What?” MK looks on, bewildered, as his friends stare at him in horror.  “He’ll be fine!  It doesn’t hurt.  I’ve been freezing for ages!  It gets warm after a while.”

His eyes glow, and Tang pales.

“Baigujing,” he breathes, and MK turns to him.

“What about her?” he asks, and Tang puts a hand to his mouth, biting his lip and glancing between the rest of the group and MK, unsure.

“Bud,” Monkey King takes a few cautious steps toward MK, as if MK were a cornered animal.  His feet slip a little on the ice, but not enough to stop his careful approach.  His tail is poised and very still, not so much as a twitch from it.  “I think you’re feeling a bit...um, scrambled right now.  Why don’t you hand me the staff, and we can talk about this?” He gives MK a soft smile, but MK frowns.

If he takes the staff you can’t finish your work! Does he think you don’t deserve it anymore?

“But I need it,” he responds, simple and to the point.  “It’s mine.”  Right?  Because Monkey King gave it to him.  Gifts can’t be taken back, right?  MK’s still worthy, right?

Monkey King takes a deep breath, like he’s biting back a retort.

“Preeeeetty sure I let you borrow it.  ‘S called ‘Monkey King’s Staff’ for a reason, bud.  C’mon.” 

Another step forward.  MK grips the staff tighter.  

“MK, please,” Tang calls from his other side.

Don’t let him take it!

“We need you to let go!” Mei’s voice hits his ears.

They’re all lying to you!  

“Kid-I-c’mon, just let ‘em have it and we can go home,” Pigsy’s voice breaks, and MK feels like he’s going to break with it.

Is he even going to let you keep your home?!

Monkey King is close enough that MK can feel the heat of his power emanating off of him, of the great Sun Wukong.  His paws are soft and somehow even warmer than his power as he curls them around MK’s grip on the staff.

They don’t understand! They’re going to abandon you!

“That’s it, easy does it,” Relief colors Monkey King’s tone, and he smiles at MK as if MK were the sun.  It’s too soft to be true.  “Just hand it over, and we’ll make sure everything’s okay, alright?”

He starts to tug, pulling the staff out of MK’s grip ever so gently, and MK flinches as the voice rings loud in his ear.

YOU NEED IT DON’T LET HIM TAKE IT FROM YOU HE’LL RUIN EVERYTHING—

“It’s MͫIͥᶰNͤE!” MK shouts, and he slams the side of it into Monkey King’s stomach and launches his mentor across the room.

Monkey King crashes into the wall, groaning as he pushes away the falling rubble.  MK’s eyes are wild.  

“It’s mine, and you can’t have it!  I need it!” Ice crawls over his right hand, cementing his grip.  

Tang sees it, takes a step back, and turns to the two horrified bystanders.

“Run!” he shouts, and Mei bolts.  Pigsy stares, motioning for Tang to run, but Tang is too close to MK to do anything.

“What’d you do that for?” MK frowns, lowering a hand onto Tang’s shoulder.  Pigsy makes a choked sound.

“Go!  Bajie, get out of here!” Tang shouts, far more desperate than MK expected.  Why is everyone so terrified?  This is just a misunderstanding.

“Okay, tͭiͦmͦeˡ ͣoͭuͤt ͭfͦorͬ ͧᶰyˢoͣᶰuᶻᵃᶰᵍ,” MK pats Tang’s shoulder once, and Tang is rooted to the spot.  MK freezes him slower, because Tang isn’t strong, merely smart.  And if he does it slow, then he doesn’t have to chisel away the extra later.

Mei comes roaring in on her bike, and she picks up Pigsy by the back of his chef’s coat, throws him on the back of her bike, and zooms off.

“Tang!” Pigsy screams, but his voice gets farther and farther away.

“What’s wrong?” MK is so confused.  He looks to Monkey King, who is just sitting there on his cloud, horrified.

“Sun Wukong,” Tang says, voice hard.  The ice is up to his chest.  “Get out of here.  Bajie is going to be a wreck after this.”

“Can you make sense!” MK throws his hands up, tired of being ignored, talked over, walked over.  “Or at least ˢsͪtͧoͭp ͧᵖtalking!” And Tang goes silent, frozen.

MK turns back to Monkey King, and finds that his mentor has vanished.

Well, that won’t do.

After them!

MK jumps onto a disk of ice and slides across stone, feet still as the ice barrels over any obstacle, leading him past the dead sliver of a great mountain and up onto the streets.  Mei just has made her way to ground level, aided up by Monkey King, and MK zeroes in on them.

They pass by cars, and MK ignores the blaring horns as he slides over city streets.  The ice trailing behind him makes cars swerve out of control, but he needs to get to his friends.  They have to understand.  This is all for them!

The ice shoots forward, and he gets closer and closer, until Mei’s back wheel hits frost and the back of the bike jerks one way, the front the other.  The bike slips onto its side with immediacy, and Pigsy and Mei go sprawling as Mei’s bike falls apart, skidding across the ice.

Oh no.

“Mei!” he runs to her side.  

She groans, her bike suit torn.  He doesn’t even think about Pigsy at the moment, too worried about his best friend to think of the other person he hurt.  Plus, Pigsy’s a full grown adult, and MK has never seen Pigsy hurt like Mei is, so it doesn’t even register that Pigsy could be as injured as she is.  Her left arm has a large patch of skin that’s been burnt off by the road, and her legs are bleeding from various places.  Thankfully, she was wearing a helmet, so MK doesn’t have to worry about something so serious.  

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.  Are you alright?  Where does it hurt?  I’m sorry!”

Some ice might help with the pain.

Right, right, icing the wound always helps.  He goes to make some, the power swirling in his hand, when a horn from a car blares, making him wince.  

Gosh, humans.  They’re so annoying!  If they could just stay out of the way, because he needs to fix this, that’d be great.

Remember the pause button?

It seems very inviting.  MK nods.  

Right.  A pause button.

“Just a sec, Mei,” he leaves her groaning on the ground, turning to face the city.

He slams his staff into the ground.

Ice shoots out in a wild dash.  It crawls over and into everything.  Cars, buildings, people—everything freezes.  He hears some screams, and watches people try and run for the hills, but the cold is faster. It billows down the streets, kicking up a white haze that is almost impossible to see through, that the pedestrians tripping on ice and solidifying get lost in, but it’s a snowy sheen that MK sees through perfectly. He can see the polished figures of buildings, glistening beneath their ice, the little mounds that must be people beneath the thick layer of ice. 

It’s all so pristine. So perfect.

Finally.

Finally.

MK is glad for the quiet.  With him and himself in his head, it’s hard to deal with outside noise. He just needed a moment of calm, to get to the task at hand.

The task at hand...Mei!

“Mei, are you—” he stops.  Mei and Pigsy aren’t there.  

His eyes search for them, and he can see Monkey King hurriedly pulling them up onto his cloud.  “Wait!”

Monkey King looks at him, and MK’s face is pleading.  He just wants to do right.  Why don’t they understand?  Once he fixes it all, everyone will be happy.  Can’t they wait?

“Sorry, bud,” Monkey King says.  

MK doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. A rush of panic tries to grip his brain, something that was once so familiar, something that was once so him, but it disappears in MK’s desperation to act.

The cloud zooms off. He throws a hand out, running after it.

“NO!”

This is just like his dream.  At the edge of the city, a wall of ice rises.  It sparkles in the light of the setting sun, and MK raises it higher, and higher, as Monkey King and Mei and Pigsy and everyone he cares about most gets farther and farther away.

Monkey King punches through the ice, and they disappear into the horizon.

MK drops to his knees. They land hard on the frozen ground.

“You said they wouldn’t leave,” he whimpers out, crying because it hurts and he doesn’t know exactly why.

It’s more than just regular pain.  Something warm and different and yet familiar stings.  Something knows this isn’t right, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go!  If this was the right thing to do, why would everyone leave?

“I have to stop!” The words are forced out of his mouth.  

MK doesn’t know when the words are him and when the words are something else.  He doesn’t know who he is.  What’s right?  What’s wrong?  How can he tell?  

He’s just been listening to his own head, but his own head is arguing with itself.  

He slams his free fist into his temple, to try and make things settle.

Chains drag him to the ground, leaving him stuck.

You are doing everything just right.

The voice is soft in one ear, but on the other side MK hears No! On repeat.  No, this isn’t right.  You froze good people.  Innocent people!  You froze Tang and Sandy!  You made Pigsy cry!  You hurt Mei!

They don’t understand yet.  Monkey King is notoriously stubborn.  He isn’t ready for his successor to pass him yet.  All you have to do is wait for them to come back.  And they will.

It’s harder and harder to hear the argument against this.  

The voice sounds so self assured.  The warmth that doesn’t burn gets weaker and weaker, like a fire out of kindling.  

He wheezes, and tears turn to snowflakes on his skin.  He chokes on his own breath.  It comes out white and fogs his vision, but he can’t find it in himself to care.  

Everyone’s gone.  

He’s alone.  

This can’t be right.

It is.  You just haven’t done enough yet.

That, MK understands.  The need to do more, be more.  It makes far more sense that he hasn’t done enough, than anything else.

“They’ll come back?” He asks, and his voice sounds so loud in the quiet.  He feels a hand brush his hair back.  He leans into the touch, but it’s gone.

Of course.  

MK stands.  The chains vanish, and he smiles.

“Okay then!  Let’s get to work!”  

He hasn’t let go of the staff in ages.  He doesn’t think he can.  He turns to the mess he’d made in his rush job, the frozen city’s statue.  He has to fix that, it’s unsightly!  Mei and Pigsy and Monkey King won’t like a mess.

As he plans, as he hopes, he feels a smile in the back of his head.  It feels like a snowball to his skull, chilling and yet a comfort, somehow.

Wonderful work, Vessel.  We’re going to do great things together.

[amysubmits]

Strict Discipline

Let me start off with a disclaimer. Like all of my posts, I’m just talking about myself, the way my own head and hurt work, and my own relationship. This post is going to talk a bit about why strict discipline feels better to me than a more lenient dynamic. This is just preference, just how i’m wired. It is absolutely not a universal truth for submissiveness, or DD submissiveness. It’s not a ‘better’ way of doing DD or D/s. I’m sure for many people this way would feel worse to them. I am not advocating for this style for anyone else. This is just me talking about what I’ve discovered about myself and my relationship. 

For a long time, we were quite strict with our Domestic Discipline. Some of our rules were highly detailed. For example, “taking my meds on time” was the rule, but we had agreed upon other details like:

Keep an alarm set to go off at ‘pill time��

Mark off on the app after taking the pills

Use a pill organizer and refill it once it’s empty.

Call in my refills on time. 

Or as another example, I had a rule about doing the dishes every other day. However it also included the details:

Check all rooms for any dishes that need gathered. 

Also wipe down the counters & stove

How our DD worked was, I could/would be punished for breaking a detail of a rule. Those punishments would be far lighter, but they were addressed. We did this because it felt better to us than being lenient did. It seemed to get rid of the vagueness and sense of uncertainty that I felt if I didn’t follow a rule 100%, but still mostly followed it or kinda followed it. More than anything else, in practice, it just felt right to us. It was in doing it this way, that we felt our power exchange the strongest. Not in the punishments themselves, but in the way the rest of our relationship blossomed when this strict discipline was in place. 

This strict form of DD is something some people struggle to understand, and I can understand why, yet I haven’t been fully satisfied with my ability to explain myself. It strikes some people as harsh, unforgiving, overly-critical, uptight, etc. They think it would make any insecurities, perfectionism, or guilt-issues worse. I understand why people who aren’t wired exactly the same way as I am see it that way. For some people I’m sure it would make them feel worse, like they were being picked on for being imperfect or something like that. I’ve basically only been able to respond to that by saying that I understand their view, but for some reason, it’s not like that for me. While sure, I can wallow in guilt sometimes, that happens for me when I’ve broken a rule that I should feel rally bad about anyway. Being punished for minor infractions doesn’t make me wallow in guilt over those issues. I still take the rule and infraction seriously, but it doesn’t make me feel low about myself. 

Still, I understand why someone would think ‘Why punish for something as small as forgetting to gather the water glasses from the bedroom? If the rule is doing the dishes, and you did all the other dishes...that’s pretty good!”

It absolutely is pretty good. I agree. When I break more minor rules, it’s not that either of us thinks I have failed, or am ‘bad’, or really anything negative about me at all. It’s just that the rule wasn’t followed, which means our dynamic is out of place, and so we address it via punishment to get back on track. 

I’ve had more leniency for quite a while now. I think it’s helped me to gain a deeper understanding of why I crave strict DD. For a while, it just seemed unreasonable to do strict DD, so we relaxed things. Then more recently, we came to the realization that while we’re under abnormally high levels of stress still, that this is going to be the case for the foreseeable future. Frankly, I don’t even want to guess how long it may be like this. But, while things are stressful, they aren’t as chaotic or unpredictable as they had been in the recent past. We’ve found some sense of normalcy, somehow. So, we felt like we could go back to stricter D/s, and we both wanted to. 

While things were more relaxed, it wasn’t that we had fewer rules, we kept roughly the same amount, they were just relaxed in how strict they were, or how detailed they were. If I was supposed to vacuum on Wednesday but didn’t get to it, I could just do it Thursday. If I took my meds but forgot to refill my pill organizer, I wasn’t punished. I tried to follow the rules, and mostly did, but if they weren’t 100% up to par, we mostly let it go. That was really all that changed, and yet it felt like we were doing what we needed to do, but it didn’t feel like thriving. It was fine, but not as fulfilling as we know DD can be for us. A piece of the magic wasn’t present. Which is why we’ve decided to go back to more strictness now that it feels like we can. This experience gave me a period of less strictness vs more strictness to compare to each other. 

So, why do I want the strictness? 

Well, it does just feel better to me. It’s like having strict discipline fills in all the cracks in my heart. Strictness feels more fulfilling, more intimate, more powerful. But why? I think it’s about feeling secure within the boundaries, and it’s about connection. Those are the two main reasons.

For me, when I have a list of rules or chores, but I’m able to kinda do them my own way or on my own schedule for the most part? That leaves the boundaries not really restricting my day to day behavior that much.  That means that I don’t feel the boundaries very much, because I can go about my week without really having to think much about them, without having to focus to accommodate them. Logically I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Boundaries can be farther out, but still very secure, or they can be more restrictive and also secure. But I need them to be tigher to feel them enough to relax into them. It’s like knowing that there’s a leash around my neck, but it’s so long that I move about as much as I ordinarily would and it never feels taut. And it’s still short enough to keep me from danger, but not to feel the taut feeling very often, and the taut feeling is what makes me feel safe. 

While I don’t enjoy punishment itself, it has a clear positive impact on me overall. It makes me feel very closely watched over, and seen for who I am...a submissive who craves strict discipline. It let’s me feel his presence in a really detailed, up close way. It feels like his control is deeply intertwined with my day, everyday. Feeling that really deep, detailed sense of control in my day to day actions has a really positive impact on me and on our relationship. Because the fulfillment it gives me security that helps me to really let go, to breathe deeper, to feel more free, though that may seem ironic on the surface, it’s true. When our DD is less strict, I feel more burdened and stressed, more tense, like I’m carrying more on my shoulders. With stricter rules, and more detailed reminders of his control everyday, I am more at peace and feel more submissive because I feel so secure. That positive impact on me comes back to positively impact CD and make him feel better, too.  

A small piece of it is also about interaction. The stricter the rules are, the more I have to turn to him for permission or approval. I can’t just say to myself ‘well I didn’t get to X, I can just do it tomorrow.’ if the rule says it’s done on Tuesdays. And a similar impact on his side. He has to keep a closer eye on me. So on both sides, we have to keep more in touch with each other on our DD on a daily basis, which helps us feel more connected to it, and to each other. 

I don’t need strictness to ‘be good’. I don’t need strictness to feel our D/s. I do my best to support his leadership, to serve him, to keep my commitments to him, regardless of whether punishment is likely to occur. There are endless ways to feel our D/s without strictness. It’s just that for me, strictness speaks straight to my heart and brings a sense of peace and security that is uniquely fulfilling. 

[winchester-books]

Spiraling

Based On: Outer Banks

Characters: JJ x Reader

Warnings: Drug Use, Alcoholism, Langauge, Terrible Coping Mechansims, Death, Angst

Word Count: 500

Summary: Everyone copes in different ways, some are healthier than others. Unfortunately, JJ isn’t the best with dealing with the loss of a best friend.

A/N: not sure if im ready to start writing as much as i used to yet, but i was inspired and wrote this tonight, so enjoy.

i didnt proofread (sorry) so all mistakes are mine

You took a shaky breath, standing in front of the chateau. You’d been there hundreds of times, shared so many memories with your best friends, and come to love the house and the people inside as your own, but things were different now.

You shook your head at yourself, deciding it was better not to think about it and let yourself inside.

“JJ,” your voice called as you peered around the front room. You sighed, your mind trailing off to the many laughs you and your friends had experience under this roof, “J?” You repeated, stopping in front of the guest room JJ usually stayed in.

You softly tapped on the door, but received no reply. “JJ?” You let yoursef in to see the mess that JJ was living in.

Discarded beer bottles littered the room and the strong smell of weed seemed to be seeping from the walls. Blankets and dirty clothes were strewn across the room, and some of the pictures that had previously lined the walls had been ripped down by an angry force. But what really caught your eye were the small orange bottles lined up on the nightstand.

“Y/N?” JJ muttered, clearly out of it as he lifted his head up so he could get a better look at your figure in the doorway.

“The hell is that?” You snapped, startling him at your change of attitude as you walked over and snatched on of the bottles from the table, only to discover it was empty.

“God- Y/N, screw off!” JJ groaned, rolling his eyes as he rolled over so his back was facing you.

“You’re joking right JJ?” You glared daggers into his back as you spoke, “After everything, you do this?” You shook your head, eyes filling with tears, “JJ, you know what this shit can do! You’ve seen how it hurts people! How... how could you?” You seethed at the boy who was now sitting up slightly and looking at you with an emotionless expression. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you thought of what your dad had put you through with his addiction. JJ had seen firsthand how it broke you, and he had been there to pick up the pieces and put you back together. How could he do this knowing how much hurt it had caused you?

You gathered the rest of the bottles in your hands and stormed out of the room toward the bathroom.

“Y/N! Hey! Stop- What are you doing?”

You ignored JJ’s yells as you slammed all the bottles except one onto the sink. You held the one in your hand with and iron grip, anger and hurt coursing through your veins and you untwisted the cap and dumped the contents into the toilet.

“HEY!” JJ snapped from the bathroom’s doorway, “What the hell, Y/N?”

You grabbed another bottle, but this time JJ grabbed hold on your wrist, forcing you to face him, “Cut it out,” his voice was low and his eyes were wild as he eyed the pills in your hand.

“JJ, I can’t let you do this to yourself... JJ, you know what happened to my dad, I can’t let-”

“It’s not your job to take care of me, I can do that myself,” JJ spat, “And anyways, I’m fine-”

“You’re fine?” You mocked, “You’re popping pills and drinking instead of actually coping! Kie and I haven’t seen or heard from you in weeks-”

“Don’t come in here and act like you’ve got you’re shit together!” JJ cut you off, “You’re really gonna lecture me after you just dropped off the face of the Earth the second we heard about John B- did you ever think about us... about me? How maybe I needed you-”

“Oh,” you scoffed, “So you’re saying this is my fault? I needed a break and you fell apart because I wasn’t here to hold you together?” You laughed dryly, “We were all falling apart JJ- not just you. And last time I checked, none of us decided to give up and become alcoholics or drug addicts-”

“Screw you Y/N!” JJ screamed, your words clearly leaving a mark.

You wiped your tears and took a breath, “I love you JJ, I really do, and I want to help you, but this...” You shook your head, defeated, “I can’t help you when you refuse to help yourself,”

JJ opened his mouth to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance to speak.

You threw the orange bottle at his chest, “Keep you’re stupid pills. But when things get bad- and trust me, they will get bad, I can’t promise I’ll be here for you,” you turned back on him and left before more tears began to fall, feeling like you were about to loose another best friend.

[deadmomjokes]

Hey, anyone remember back in, like, 2017/18 how I was tentatively diagnosed with fibromyalgia because of severe debilitating pain and fatigue, among other symptoms? Didn’t trust that doctor because she really just threw the term out there as an excuse to not do any testing. She threw some pills at me, refusing to refer me to a specialist because I wasn’t showing conclusive symptoms (like, that’s a reason they have specialists, to figure out the weird cases!). I quit taking those pills after several days of terrible side effects, and finding out that the pills interact with the medicine I was already taking and could have killed me.

Needless to say, I had good reason not to trust her, so I considered myself as not officially having a diagnosis because that lady was TERRIBLE.

Things got better because ???  but got worse again after having a baby (not a big shocker there). My new PCP is, like, the best doctor on the planet, and referred me to a rheumatologist asap. Unfortunately, the rheumatologist was... less than helpful. He basically told me to just exercise and lose weight, despite those being the very things I specifically told him I was having trouble doing. Beyond that oh-so-helpful advice, he shoulder shrugged me because my blood work showed no autoimmune or rheumatoid issues, and the one set of x-rays he did on my knees (only knees cuz ???) didn’t show physical damage.

Thanks, my guy. Such a good use of everyone’s time and money.

Anyway, my PCP made the professional stank face at rheumatologist and went to work on the fatigue side of things in the meantime. Tweaked meds. Ordered a sleep study-- normal. Loads of blood work-- hey, low Vitamin D and iron storage! Did 3 months pills to correct those, and just went back for a follow up.

Iron is... still low? and the vitamin D is on the super low end of “acceptable.”

But the big thing is, guess who’s back?

My old nemesis, working-diagnosis of fibromyalgia!

Doc says that given my chronically low vitamin D, my persistent fatigue, and pain without autoimmune disease or apparent joint damage (she’s still salty he only x-rayed the knees, but can’t justify full body x-rays to the insurance’s satisfaction), as well as persistent depression/anxiety that are only marginally responsive to medication, and severe brain fog/cognitive slowing, fibromyalgia is a possibility. She did the pain points test, and, uh, yeah. Basically all of them. One of them going so far as to trigger a lasting spasmodic back ache that I’m still fighting over 24 hours later.

So new antidepressant for me, but one in the same category that’s good for treating fibro, too. We’re moving forward under the assumption that fibro is a possibility. Also continuing vitamin D and iron. (Fun fact, my doctor says that her other patients with fibro seem to use vitamin D faster? more poorly? than other people, and almost all of them need heavy supplementation during the winter. She also said they tend to be more sensitive to lower levels, so we’re aiming for me to get to the high end of normal and see if that helps.)

I just find it hilarious that two doctors arrived at the same conclusion for totally different and opposite reasons.

“I can’t be bothered to do my due diligence, so I’m going to throw around a condition I clearly don’t understand and not tell you anything about it or managing it or what to look out for. Take your dx and go away.”

vs

“I went through the process of eliminating everything else first, listened empathetically, did everything bureaucracy would allow, and I think this condition fits your symptoms. Let’s operate under that theory while not risking your health, and here’s loads of info about it and things that tend to help. In the meantime, let’s see if we can trick your insurance into paying for these other tests just to be sure it’s not something else.”

Gotta love that chronic illness life, am I right?

[personasintro]

My Tiny Secret | 10; Weirdness

𝑴𝒚 𝑻𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆 | 10; Weirdness

⏤𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; Pretty face doesn’t make it up for an ugly personality. And Kim Seokjin is the perfect proof of that.

⏤𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: seokjin x reader

⏤𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: angst, smut

⏤𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: toxic relationship, mistress au, strong language

⏤> 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒙

It's six in the evening, sharp, as Seokjin calls it a night. The black suit that's thrown over his chair ever since this morning is another reminder that he's been stuck in his office for the whole day. He can't even feel hunger from how his stomach shrank from the lack of food.

He shuts down his laptop with a loud click before he slides his long arms into the holes of his fancy suit. There's a soft knock on the door and without waiting for his response, it's already pushed open.

“Hey, you already going?”

The sound of his friend's, but most recently a new partner, resounds in the empty office and it's like a bomb to Seokjin's ears. He's been accompanied with silence for the whole day, going over some papers that his assistant has pilled on his desk. It's his fault that he wants to be included in everything. He's the CEO after all.

Except occasional calls, he barely talked to anyone today. His head was buried in stack of papers and the bright screen of his laptop so much, that his eyes sting with occasional headache coming and leaving every few minutes. Maybe that's why he feels so irritated by everything.

It's supposed to sound as a joke, Namjoon teasing his friend once he sees it's only six in the evening. Seokjin usually leaves around nine or ten. But Seokjin doesn't crack a smile, not that his friend ever expected him to.

“Yeah,” he blinks, feeling how dry his eyes has become. “I need to run some errands.” he says, mentally cringing how it sounded coming from his mouth and ignores Namjoon's taken back gaze.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Seokjin asks with a mutter in his voice, not even paying a proper attention to him while he grabs his phone from the desk.

He doesn't know what comes over him, but he checks for any notification from you. You surely didn't forget, did you?

“I was having a meeting.” Namjoon answers, watching his friend grabbing his belongings in an awful rush.

“What?” Seokjin scoffs with chuckle, giving his friend a doubting look. “Your meeting ended three hours ago.”

Of course, he knows. It's no surprise for Namjoon that Seokjin knows about it, despite of him being hidden in the office since this morning.

“We were discussing important things about our contract with your assistant.”

For a second, Seokjin feels as if he made a mistake for sending his assistant to have a meeting with his friend.

“Please, refrain from flirting with my assistant while you're in the company.” Seokjin tells him, sending a glare at his friend's flushed face at the oblivious. Well, it's not like he tried to hide it that much.

“What's with the rush?”

Seokjin stops in his tracks, a cold sweat dripping down his neck for some reason.

“Is your wife waiting for you?”

Namjoon wiggles his brows in teasing manner, completely ignored by Seokjin who scratches his chin.

“Yeah, now get out of here. Go home.” he tells his friend, who is completely used to his attitude and only grins at him in response.

He got her phone number, he's pleased and ready to go home.

And so is Seokjin, but the difference is that he's only ready to go however, he's not going home.

The hallway and the same set of doors in it is very familiar to him, despite of him not being here for a week. He chose this apartment building and the apartment itself by himself. The key to it is well hidden in the pocket of his slacks, and it almost burn against his skin as he thinks about it. It's not right and he contemplated what to do, until he knocks on the front door and all his thoughts disappear.

He almost thinks you're not going to answer, and he pathetically stands in front of the door growing embarrassed that someone might see him. Even his fingers twitch alongside his body and he complements of using that key, invading your privacy. But then you open the door with slightly widened eyes, your hair slightly disheveled as you hug the material of your robe closer to yourself.

“Seokjin?” you ask quietly, suddenly awake of the sight of a tall man standing in front of you. “I thought you wouldn't come.” you tell him as you open the door wider for him, turning around with flushed cheeks.

He barely pays you any attention as he takes off his shoes, putting it nicely to your almost empty cupboard.

It's weird not seeing the huge amount of Hoseok's sneakers there. But rather than dwell on that thought, you nervously hug yourself even more considering your appearance right now.

“I texted you.” he points out and you vaguely remember his text he sent you this morning.

It was something along the lines “I want to visit Yoojin tonight”, no please as usual.

“I know, I just thought you wouldn't come.” you mutter quietly under your breath, walking to the living room with Seokjin trailing behind you.

“You look like shit.” he comments out loud and you can't even muster a glare at him from the tiredness that makes your muscles ache.

You sit onto the soft spot on your couch, closing your eyes for a brief moment. “Yeah, thanks,” you say ironically, rolling your eyes. “I haven't slept the whole night. Yoojin was being cranky, I think his tummy hurt.”

Seokjin spares you a glance, seeing you rub your eyes and yawn right after. He notices how swollen your whole face is and even catches a look at the bags under your eyes.

“Where is he?” he asks looking around.

You don't seem to be offended by his ignorance towards you, you've learnt not to expect some empathy from him long time ago.

“He's sleeping.” you swallow that small 'finally' that threatened to escape.

You'd feel as a bad mother if you even said it out loud, but it's true. He's never been this cranky ever before, you barely slept and managed to take a nap just an half an hour ago. If it wasn't for Seokjin's knocks, you'd still be sound asleep.

“Has he never cried before?” he asks dumbfounded, confusion crossing over his features.

It annoys you, because he'll never understand the struggles you had to overcome as a mother. From your birth to sleepless nights while your body was, still is, recovering from Yoojin's birth. You'd never admit it out loud, especially to Hoseok, but it's way harder to live alone with a baby.

“He did,” you breathe out. “But we always took turns with Hobi.”

The nickname freely leaves your mouth, and you don't give it that much thought because you sure miss him too much. Despite of him calling and face-timing you every night, it still gets lonely without him by your side. You always knew how much he has helped you, way before Yoojin was born, but this only reminds you of it even more.

“I can watch over him,” he speaks out, jaw locked in place as you look at him with stunned look. “You should take some rest.”

It sure is a hell of a surprise, hearing that suggestion to even come out of his mouth. He never even was all alone with Yoojin, you were always there to make sure he holds him right and it's not like Seokjin wanted it otherwise. He always asked if he's holding him right. On the other hand, are you really confident about leaving him alone? You can't help yourself but doubt him and it looks like he can see right through you, speaking out.

“I'm not going to kidnap him, if that's what you're worried about.” he raises his brow at you, letting you know that yes, he knows what you were thinking about.

“T-that's not- what- I wasn't--” you stutter over your words, covering your face with your face as you exhale with a tired sigh.

“It's okay,” he cuts you off, waving his hand as he takes off his suit off revealing the dress shirt underneath it.

It's almost weird seeing him wearing his usual attire. Seeing him with hoodie and jeans seemed much cleaner these days.

“Go take some rest.” he tells you, feeling annoyed that you still have doubts clearly written all over your face.

“Okay,” you whisper. “He's in his prim since I couldn't make him to fall sleep, that was the only thing that helped. I'll take him to a guest room and leave the room open, so you can hear him if he starts to cry.” you tell him and he nods along, fishing his phone out as he stares at the screen.

That's your cue to go to your bedroom, taking the pram and glancing at Yoojin who peacefully sleeps. As you walk out of the bedroom, Seokjin is standing in the living room and once he hears you coming, he walks to you. You stop, trying to hide the surprise on your face. Something feels weird.

“I just want to see him.” he whispers under his breath, glancing at Yoojin whose soft breaths can be heard.

He lightly coughs, walking back to the couch and you slowly place the prim into the guest room. When you come back, Seokjin turned on tv, volume so low that you can barely hear it and you wonder if he did it on purpose. Overthinking is a huge part of you whenever you stress over something, and that something is the father of your child right now. He seems almost comfortable, too comfortable, on the couch as he looks at the screen. He glances at you, or more like glares at you when he sees you standing there silently watching him.

The weirdness in the room is more than unfamiliar, and you don't know whether you welcome it or not. It's obviously something new and you wonder when it ever stops. Every time he comes to visit, there are new feelings around the both of you.

“I made some fried rice, there's not much in the fridge, didn't have enough time to buy something but uh, there are some leftovers. So feel free to eat, if you're hungry, of course.”

He silently watches you as you ramble, fiddling with the hem of your thin robe that feels so small underneath his dark eyes he stares at you with.

“Thanks.”

Did he just say thanks?

Turning around, you silently shut the door and quickly scurry to the comfort of your bed. It only takes a few relaxed breaths and you're out, finally getting some rest. Behind the doors, there is Seokjin standing up and aiming straight to the kitchen finding the leftovers on the stove. There is a lot of it and he doesn't bother to take out plate, eating it right of the pan and he moans at the home cooked meal on his tongue.

It's been a long fucking time since he tasted home cooked meal.

taglist: @kpopyandere​ @btsxarii​ @nostalgicstudyblr​ @rkivemagic​ @0minabean0​ @ughtear​ @queensavage1245​ @choppe96​ @mtgforall​ @jalexa83​ @euphoriugh​ @baekimseokjin​ @quirkyanya​ @ladyartemesia​ @seoulazzyy​ @sinstae​ (comment on the most recent chapter to be added)

[imaginesmai]

Tony Stark - Things we don’t mean

Requested by @snoopy3000​ a while ago, I hope you like it!! Mistakes was about make up after a fight. I tried to do it as good as I could, but I always I ended up doing something a bit different. Anyway, here it is!

Plot: a mission gone wrong, and Peter gets hurt. It hits Tony where it hurts the most, becuase he sees the kid as a son, and he blames it on you. Hard words are exchanged and apologies are muttered.

There was a clock, on the wall.

It was one of the few things that was old and broken in Tony’s penthouse, and it brought you a sense of comfort. It showed that not everything had to be neat and perfect in his life, and that he had space for common things like an old clock.

The clock didn’t work, but was stuck on the same minute.

It sounded, when the big, long needle hit the sides of the number. On a normal day, you wouldn’t notice it, because you didn’t visit the guest’s room too much; and even if you had noticed it the first time he gave you the tour through the house, you hadn’t thought about it more than a few times. The week where you made the plans of remodelling the penthouse some years ago, when your mom came to spend the weekend the first year you moved in with Tony, and a bunch of times where you had decided to clean for a bit.

The thing was it wasn’t a normal day. It had been anything but normal, from the moment the police department had called on the Avengers to cover up a huge guy, that seemed a brick stone and could dissolve into sand. There weren’t much ‘Avengers’ left, but Tony, Rhodey, Vision, Peter and you had gone.

You wondered if things could have gone different, if they had been there. The rogues, the other avengers. But they hadn’t been, and Peter, that sweet kid, had been thrown to the ground from a building, and which neck had been crushed by the monster’s rocky hand.

From what you had seen, there were thick, black bruises on his neck, and they were going to have to shave half of his head to evaluate the possible brain damage, because he wasn’t responding. You had wanted to see more, yet Tony had sent you outside the guest room with hard cold words.

They couldn’t take Peter to the hospital without risking his identity, so Cho was working the best she could with him in the guest room. Tony was there too, worrying over the child that he thought his son. And you were outside, because you knew he blamed you for inviting Peter over.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

Everyone in the quinjet turned around at Tony’s scream. It was followed by the sound of the mask of his suit hitting the other side of the place, rolling now destroyed a few inches back.

Until that moment, he had been sitting on the edge of a chair with Peter’s hand on his grip. You hadn’t thought he was in any condition to move, so you had let him be there while you evaluated the damages on the city. Then, Tony was up and looking at the fallen part of the suit.

Rhodey put a wary hand on your shoulder, knowing Tony could get pretty temperamental when someone or something he cared about got in the way. Dismissing him softly, you walked towards the man.

“Tony, that’s not –“

“Why did you thought it was a good idea to bring a kid, my kid, into the fight?” Tony turned to you, and you were met with the most hateful eyes you had ever seen on him. “No, I’ll answer that. You weren’t thinking”

“I was thinking” you answered calmly. You kept walking until you were in front of him. “I was thinking about all the people who were going to get hurt if we didn’t stop the threat. Peter is not a kid, he’s Spiderman. And he can handle himself in a fight”

“Yeah, I see how that has turned” Tony took a step forward, his nose almost hitting yours, and pointed a finger at your chest. “Next time, you listen to my rules. Only mine. No side decisions like that”

“I can’t believe you make everything about you, Tony”

You were angry, because Peter meant a lot to you too and, in a way, you felt the guilt of having him in the battlefield in your gut. You were tired and mentally exhausted, covered in wounds, bruises and Peter’s blood, since you had been the one to stop the bleeding of his head. And you wanted to get all of that off you as soon as possible, so an argument with Tony seemed the best option.

That was what you got when two headstrong people dated.

“Your rules, your kid, your mission, your plan. We’re a team, and we work like that” you sneered at him, and watched him grew angrier. “Peter is going to be fine, the guy is out and nobody else got hurt.”

“The team is broken!” Tony screamed, and you heard Rhodey sigh in the back. “It broke with the accords, and it won’t ever be back! So we’re not a team. We’re just –“

“We’re superheroes, people that have a higher chance of helping other than normal humans” you cut him off. “And we take responsibility for it. Peter knew what he was signed for when he became Spiderman”

“There won’t be any more Spiderman if you keep taking that kind of decisions” Tony crossed his arms, his voice lowering. 

“You’re the one who aren’t thinking. Get your head out of your butt and - “

“And what, let you take control?” he scoffed a laugh. “There is no way I’m letting someone who can’t remember her own name control everything”

There was a twitch in your left eye, and you knew Tony had hit low. Because of some pain meds you had to take from the wound of the last mission, you were much less sharper during two or three hours after the pill. It hadn’t been bad, but a bad twist in your knee had made you tear up a muscles on your thigh. The pain had been so bad, that Cho had given you a meds for two months.

It made you insecure, that you were so forgetful and distracted meanwhile, and you had confided in Tony with that. You hadn’t expected the sweet understanding man, that left you notes every now and then to help you remember, would use that argument in a fight.

“You’re on thin ice” you muttered. “Peter being hurt isn’t my fault, get that into your iron skull”

“Well, you were the one letting you come. So I don’t see any other responsible people around”

Tony finished the conversation by himself when he turned around and sat with his back facing you in front of Peter. You heard the kind reassuring words he whispered into his hair, and got stuck there until Rhodey pulled you away by your arm.

Without saying another word, you jogged out of the main part of the quinjet to the piloting part, where you could share your tears in peace.

Minutes, hours, maybe days later, you were still sitting on the hard cold ground in front of the broken clock. It tickled, and with each sound, you let another silent tear roll down your cheek. There was an instant when you thought there wasn’t much more to share, but you discovered that your backpack for tears was as big as your guilt. The tears kept falling, and the intrusive thoughts filled your head. You wanted to get up, to move and to walk away from the guest room. You didn’t think you could stand another round of disapproving-Tony; yet you couldn’t move.

Distantly, you heard the door clicking open. There were voices, hushed voices; or maybe it was you who heard everything underwater. You swore you heard Rhodey with his scolding voice, and Tony tearful one accepting everything he said. There was a curse, and then a hand was touching you.

“Y/N. I’m – It’s… It’s me. Come on, get up”

Tony helped you to stand, trying to put an arm around you; but you jerked away, stumbling down the wall away from him. It was because of the anger at him for his words, the worry for Peter in the room, and the hate for yourself because of the result of the mission.

He tried again, and you didn’t have the strength to fight him. His arms, on the contrary of what everyone thought, were pure muscle. He had been lifting big parts of machines and cars since he was four, and the first suit of armour weighted at least his whole weight. So you just hung there in his arms as he carried you through the corridors. Tony smelt like grease, an horrible smell you hated until you met him. There was too the ridiculous amount of Axe, which he sprayed you with after the shower, and the coffee that always seemed to accompany him.

You zoned out until you were in your room. The clock was gone, but the feelings that the old piece of furniture had created by being the only sound for hours weren’t. Suddenly, you were more aware of the clothes you were still wearing, and Tony couldn’t stop your shaking hands from trying to rip the clothes out of you.

“Wow, wow!” Tony tried to lock your arms with his. “Hey, none of that! You’re gonna hurt yourself! Y/N – Y/N!”

“The blood, Tony” you whine, feeling the tears coming back. “There is – Peter’s blood – I-“

You kept babbling a mess between words and apologies, and when you came back again, you could hear the water running. Tony was in front of you again, with your stained shirt on his hands and the jacket on the ground. He helped you out of your shoes and socks, took out your trousers and finally your underwear. All of it while talking softly to you, as you sobbed and cried to him that you were sorry.

The hot, almost burning, water made your muscles relax. You clung to Tony as he lowered you fully into the bathtub, that filled slowly, and almost dug your nails into his arms when he attempted to move.

Sighing, he used one hand to take as much clothes as he could, that were his shoes and socks, and his jacket. Then, he pushed you forward and got into the tub with you. The water fell out of the bath and hit the floor, so Tony closed the faucet and sank down.

“It’s okay” he mumbled into your hair. He had intended to have you between his legs, but you quickly dismissed his thought and turned around to wrap yourself around his torso. The clothes stung to his body in an uncomfortable way, but he accepted it as a punishment for his hard words. “I’m not leaving, ciccino. I love you”

You nuzzled your nose against his neck and hiccupped at the nickname, that he so fondly had given you since the first moment he met you. Tony did something behind you, but you were too tired to care about it. Instead, you fidgeted with the end of his t-shirt.

A few seconds later, the familiar coconut bath salts hit your nostrils, and you cuddled closer to him. It took you a while to finally calm down, and occasionally you scrubbed with your nails a part of your body where Peter’s blood had been. Tony was there every time, to stop you and caress it softly.

“Peter – is” you started, stopping to hiccup. “Is he… Peter is f-fine?”

“Yeah” Tony whispered, and kissed the line of you hair. “He’s fine. Kid knows how to take care of himself”

You listened to Tony rambling about Peter. Cho had taken care of the swelling of his brain and had stitched up the cuts on his neck. There wasn’t any permanent damage anywhere, so with a couple of weeks in bed rest and his healing power everything would be back to normal. Tony’s voice almost guided you to sleep. When it came to Peter, or to any matter he loved, he talked with such a passion and care that his voice became thick, deep and happy.

Eventually, the water became cold and your fingers became wrinkled. Tony was shivering and trying to hide it, so you decided to move and to stop him mid-sentence about the pros and cons of hiring a sitter for Peter.

He stopped talking and just watched as you moved away, the water moving and falling onto the ground with each one of your movement. There were a few inches between you, but you knew there were much more; and one of you had to jump.

You decided to start.

“I’m sorry” you whispered. Tony was quiet, and raised a brow. “For bringing Peter into the mission”

“Yeah, for the next time maybe listen to me” he gave you a half smile. “But it wasn’t your fault. Kid is reckless enough by himself. It isn’t on you, Y/N”

“It feels like it”

Tony grimaced and shifted. He moved closer until he was on his knees in front of you, the t-shirt clutching to his skin and revealing the scars of his collarbone. You decided to focus on the hem of the clothe, until Tony brought your chin back and forced you to look at him. You weren’t ready to listen again to his rambles about being right, and usually, the arguments between you two always ended up with Tony being right.

But that time there wasn’t any pride on his face. His chocolate eyes were kind and gentle, and were searching for you attention. So you gave it to him.

“I’m sorry for screaming so much” he smiled. “I don’t blame you, no one does. And I hope Peter doesn’t hear about it, because last time I felt guilty for him being hurt he spent three days here trying to convince me otherwise”

“Apology accepted” you tried to copy his smile. “And I’m sorry too, I don’t think you’re egocentric”

“Apology accepted” he copied you. Tony brought you closer until you were sitting against his thighs. Hugging your waist close to him, he leaned forward. “I said some things that weren’t true. You’re always thinking about everyone, and I know you’re doing your best. I’m proud of you, more of what I’m proud of myself, ciccino. I love you”

“Me too, Tony”

Tony smirked and finished closing the distance. His lips were cold, as everything in the bathroom since it had been nearly an hour, and when you reached your hand to cup the back of his head, you felt the small bump of a hard hit.

You didn’t mind it, neither did Tony when you moaned in pain and he let you stretch your leg behind him. It wasn’t the type of kiss you two had when you made up after a fight, where everything was solved with sex, sex and more sex. It was slow, loving and gentle. It was a way of pouring everything you were sorry for in the kiss.

Tony moved his lips against yours like reading a partiture, knowing exactly how to work to fit perfectly. His hands roamed through your body, erasing the guilt and the shadow of Peter’s blood.

Soon, you were lost in each other, and you could almost see again the clock in front of the guest room. It wasn’t stopped, it was working and it was sounding on a normal beat. As the clock needed the battery, you needed Tony to live.

There were moments where you two had your fights, where you said things neither of you mean, and when you suffer because of each other. But in the end, it was him what kept you going, through good and bad.

Too lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice that Tony was carrying you out of the tub. He leant you against the sink and positioned himself between your legs. His kisses travelled down your neck until his lips were only resting against your pulse point, hot breath giving you gossebumps.

“I’m really sorry for earlier” he whispered, and you knew that he was the one that needed comfort then. “I don’t think you’re not… thinking. I promise”

“It’s okay, Tony, I know” you assured him, and started to run your fingers through his hair. “There’s –“

“Mrs Y/L/N! Mr Rhodey told me you were blaming yourself!”

Peter’s voice came behind the door with a thin lay of panic, and you could hear Cho screaming in the back for him to go back. The handle moved and only then you realised that you were very, very naked and that Tony was too, between your legs and in a full view. Before you had time to warn the spiderling, that was too fast and strong for his own good, Peter broke up the handle and stumbled in.

“Peter, no – !“ Tony started.

“This wasn’t – OH MY GOD MR STARK WHAT ARE YOU DOING!”

Probably, Peter getting hurt wasn’t neither of your fault. But the screaming kid that couldn’t cover his eyes fast enough, was.

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everytime - MOTIVE(Chp. 39)

Author’s Note: All I got to say is Harry’s Jingle Ball jumpsuit got me feeling some way. And by some way, I mean he could get it. Have fun reading this one ;) -May

Catch up on everytime here

September 16th, 2015.

“Yes, Ali. I’m leaving now” I said into my phone.

I grabbed my heels from the closet. I sat down on my bed. I put my phone on speaker as I put on my heels.

“Okay because I want you to come before Naeem arrives” Ali said.

I got up from bed and grabbed my phone.

“And what if he does before I do?” I asked her.

“Well, you already promised you would” Ali said.

“And what if I don’t make it?” I asked, teasing her.

I heard Ali sigh.

“Oh, relax” I told her. “Of course, I’ll make it in time”

“Good” Ali said. “Because if you don’t-“

“You’ll block me on everything and never dare to speak to me again” I said, exiting my room.

“Yup” Ali said.

The doorbell rang as I began to walk down the stairs.

“Who’s that?” Ali asked me.

“Don’t know” I said. “Probably just a package”

“Okay . . . I’m nervous” Ali said. “I actually like Naeem and I don’t want you and Izzy to think he’s bad”

“Why would we think that?” I asked her, finally making it down the stairs. “You’re 25. It’s not like you need my permission”

I heard a knock on the door.

“Besides, it’s not like Naeem is Harry” I said, walking over to the door. “He can’t possibly be that bad-“

I stopped talking once I saw who was outside my door. It was Harry.

Speaking of the devil, what the hell was he doing here? The last I spoke to him was two months ago - when he rejected me for that supermodel girl.

“Umm, I’ll call you back” I said to Ali.

I hung up on Ali. I opened the door.

“Harry,” I said, not sounding excited at all. “What are you doing here?”

Harry had his hands behind his back. He revealed the flowers in his hands to me.

“Flowers?” I asked, confused.

“For you” Harry smiled at me.

“Why?” I said, hesitant to take his flowers.

“I hoped we could talk” Harry said.

I squinted my eyes at him.

If he really expected to be friends again after abandoning for another girl, he thought wrong. How could he have done that to me? Didn’t my friendship with him mean more than one girl? Didn’t I mean more to him?

“Thanks for the flowers but I can’t” I said. “Ali is waiting for me and I really have to go”

I turned around, going back into my home to set the flowers on a table. Harry followed me inside.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Then, maybe later tonight?”

I turned around to Harry.

“We could go out for dinner” Harry said. “At that Chinese place you like”

I bit my lip.

How could I make this more clear? How could Harry think everything was fine again?

“Harry, I can’t” I told him. “We can’t. We’re not friends anymore.”

I walked away from him, going to my coat closet my the door. My favorite handbag hanged on one of the hangers. I took it.

“Now, if you can leave” I told Harry. “Please”

Harry walked over to the door but didn’t leave. He turned around to me.

“I wish I could have told you at dinner but . . . I don’t want to be just ‘friends’ with you” Harry said.

“What?” I asked, confused.

Was he asking to-

“I want to give us a chance” Harry said. “I know it was wrong to leave you for her. I realized that. . . Whenever I was with her, all I thought about was you. I broke up with her when I realized. I tried calling you but you didn’t answer”

“Because I had to right to” I said, crossing my arms at him. “How do I know I can trust you now?”

“I guess you have to try” Harry said.

“Oh my god” I heard Ali say. “You have to try this”

December 7th, 2019. 11 AM.

I blinked a few times, snapping out of my head and back into reality. I looked to Ali.

“What?” I asked her.

“These chocolates” Ali said, chewing. “The hotel has excellent taste. You should try”

“I’m sure they’re great” I said. “But I’ll pass”

I got up from the bed. I went over to my luggage and opened it. I found my bottle of Xanax. I opened it and poured one pill into my hand.

“Really?” Ali asked me. “You’re that stressed about Harry?”

I broke the pill into two.

“A little” I said.

I put one half of the pill back into the bottle and closed it. I threw the other half in my mouth and swallowed it.

“Okay, I get it” Ali began to say. “You feel guilty. You think it’s wrong to give Harry a chance. . . but Ashton gave you his permission. He told you he would be happy if you choose Harry”

“Still doesn’t mean I should” I said.

I let out a sigh.

I shouldn’t be giving Harry a chance. After everything he had done to me, he didn’t deserve it. I questioned if he deserved my friendship even. I thought it was impossible Harry would ever think of me in that way, at least again. We both knew how the first time ended. I thought he would not dare to risk my friendship again over feelings. I thought he wouldn’t and now he did. Now, I had to think of him like that again - especially when I swore I would never again.

“I can’t believe myself” I said. “I don’t know why I’m even giving Harry a chance. I’m supposed to be with Ashton. Ashton, my boyfriend who has never made me doubt him. He’s more-“

“More better than Harry?” Ali asked me.

“Yes!” I said, frustrated. “I shouldn’t have told Ashton and just forget and cut off Harry”

“But you didn’t” Ali pointed out.

I looked to her.

“I thought you were on Ashton’s side” I said.

“Oh, I am” Ali said, sitting up in bed. “And if you are going to choose Ashton, I want you to choose him for the right reasons. . . It’s not right to be with him if you keep thinking of Harry”

“You think I don’t know that?” I asked her.

“I know you do” Ali said. “But as your friend, I have to make sure you’re really sure”

I crossed my arms.

Ali had to know what I was going through. She knew the struggle of having to choose someone when she could do better. She knew what to do because she was in the same place with her boyfriend.  

“What made you get back with Talha?” I asked Ali. “You said you would never get back with him after you guys broke up”

Ali looked down, sighing.

“Well, that was a long time ago” Ali smiled. “We changed.”

“But you broke up because you weren’t right for each other” I told her. “What changed your mind about him? What made him right for you now?”

Ali looked to the side of the bed. She looked to me.

“I can’t really explain it” Ali said. “When I met him again, something just changed. I still liked him. I always have a bit but I never realized it until I saw him again. He made me feel happy in a way no one else has. It felt right to be with him”

“That was enough?” I asked her. “Enough for you to take him back?”

“Yeah. . .” Ali said. “You don’t think Harry is enough?”

I walked over to the bed, sitting down.

“I’ve always felt something for Harry” I admitted. “But I never let that get in the way. I always thought I can do better or Harry would never see me more than a friend. But again, no one I have ever been with made me feel that way except for Harry. . . Not yet, anyways.”

Ali smirked at me.

“Something?” Ali asked me. “What do you mean by something?”

Ali looked as she already knew what that was.

“I don’t know” I said. “But I always felt like I can’t lose him. We always found a way back to each other one way or another”

“So?” Ali asked me. “Do you feel like you can’t lose Ashton? Would you lose Ashton if you could be with Harry?”

I looked down, unsure.

I didn’t know where to think. I couldn’t even think because Adrian was knocking at the door the second after Ali asked me.

“Y/N! Ali!” Adrian called us. “We got to leave!”

I got up from bed, walking over to the door. I opened it.

“Where do you want to go to lunch?” Adrian asked me. “Rosé and I want to get Greek food but Camila wants burgers-“

“Burgers?” Ali asked, excited as she got up from the bed. “I’m up for burgers”

Adrian looked to me.

“What’s your pick, tie-breaker?” He asked me.

I looked to Ali. Honestly, I was too exhausted to even choose between foods. I’ll let Ali pick for me.

I looked back to Adrian.

“Burgers” I said. “I’m low in iron anyways”

Adrian frowned at me.

“Great, great, great” Adrian said miserably as he walked away.

I looked to Ali.

“Let me guess . . . you don’t want a burger?” Ali asked me.

“Nope” I said.

“Don’t worry” Ali said, walking to the bed. “I’ll choose for you. That’s one less thing for you to think about”

I closed the door.

One less thing to worry about. The only thing I could worry about.

6 PM.

Again, I had no idea how Ali could eat so much. She had two burgers, fries and a milkshake. I couldn’t even eat my burger. I got nauseous halfway eating it. I easily get nauseous just from being nervous. I was even a little nauseous being in the same building as Harry.

“No to the biker hat” Adrian said. “It’s a little too much”

“Got to agree with Adrian” Camila said. “The collar is a bit tacky for me too”

“Aww,” I said, looking at myself in the mirror. “I like both of them”

“It’s either the collar or hat” Adrian said.

“Fine” I said.

I took my black paperboy hat off.

“Better?” I asked them.

“Yes” Camil said. “Would be better if you took the collar off”

“Camila, we already agreed on the Joan Jett look” Adrian said.

“Did Joan Jett actually wear collars?” Camila asked. “I find it a little dehumanizing”

“Okay, Camila!” Adrian said. “You hate collars. You don’t have a collar kink!”

Ali and I looked to each other. She laughed. I smiled, trying to not laugh. I failed, giving in as I saw Rosé laugh. Camila rolled her eyes.

“Fine” Camila said. “But I know I’m not the only one who doesn’t like collars”

“Oh, I know you’re not” Adrian said. “Did you tell Richard about your no-collar rule?”

“I’m not going to talk about my sex life with you” Camila said.

I got up from my chair.

“Oh like I would love to hear how Richard scream your name” Adrian said.

I shook my head.

“Adrian, come on” I said. “Let’s take a walk backstage”

I looked to Ali.

“You too, Ali” I told her.

Adrian and Ali got up from their seat.

“That’s what she gets when she insults one of my looks” Adrian said.

“I know, I know” I said, leading him out of the room.

Adrian, Ali and I walked out of the dressing room.

“It’s just a collar” Ali said.

“Exactly!” Adrian said. “She doesn’t have taste sometimes”

We began to walk down the hall. I walked behind Ali and Adrian, worried I would bump into Harry. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Harry. I did want to. I actually want to talk to him about us. Hopefully, alone and away from everyone backstage but I wasn’t quite prepared to talk to him. I talked to him plenty of times before but this time . . . this time was different.

This time he was expecting something of me. He was waiting for me to give him an answer, which I clearly didn’t have yet. How the hell was I supposed to choose between one of my best friends and my boyfriend? I just couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to either of them. Harry was practically a part of me. I’ve known him forever that I couldn’t imagine a life without him. Even if I could, he would just pop back into my life again like he always has. On the other hand, Ashton was my boyfriend and possibly could be the one for me. He’s been so kind and better than Harry has ever been to me. I couldn’t just leave him for Harry. I wasn’t that person . . . but what if I did? What if I did choose Harry? What if I did and things don’t go well? What am I supposed to do then? I couldn’t just go back to Ashton.

But what if I choose Harry and things do go well? I know Harry and I were together for a little in the past but that wasn’t really dating. A month couldn’t be. Harry only wanted to date me out of guilt. It wasn’t out of love. If Harry really means it this time, being with him should be different. I couldn’t base our future on something that happened five years ago. We were two completely people back then. I always knew I had something special with Harry but was that enough for a relationship? Was Harry enough for me? Was I enough for him?

“Oh my god” Adrian said as he stopped walking.

“What?” I asked him.

Ali and I stopped walking as well. I looked down the hall.

Oh, you got to be fucking kidding me.

Harry was standing down the hall, talking to Jeff and Helene. I wasn’t surprised at that. We were backstage. I expected that. I just didn’t expect Harry to be dressed in a blue jumpsuit that made him look much more attractive than usual. He looked hot. Hotter than he usually was. Wait, what was I saying? When did I think Harry was hot?

“I think I just felt a little rumble in my booty” Adrian said.

Adrian looked to me.

“Y/N, are you blushing?” Adrian asked me.

“What?” I asked them. “No. I just have too much blush on”

“I didn’t see Rosé put that much blush on you” Ali said.

I shot her a “not helping” look. I looked down the hall, catching Harry staring at me. He smirked at me. He began to walk over to me.

That . . . asshole. He had to wear that jumpsuit tonight of all nights. He wanted to make me jealous. He wanted me to see what I was missing. He wanted revenge on me. He had to of he was wearing that.

“Hey” Harry said to me.

“Hi” I said, faking a smile at him. “You look. . . great. Showing off the butterfly, I see”

Yes, the butterfly on his stomach. The butterfly I was pretty sure was in my stomach now.

“I am” Harry smirked. “You look good too. I like the collar”

“Thank you!” Adrian said, cutting me off before I could speak. “Someone who actually gets it. Is Lambert here?”

“Yeah” Harry said. “Somewhere backstage. He left a minute ago”

“See you after you get off” Adrian told me.

I nodded as Adrian left us. God, Ali better not leave me or else-

“He’s angry over the collar” Ali said. “Camila and him got into a fight about it”

“Really?” Harry asked her. “Over a collar?”

“Camila thinks it’s a bit tacky” I said.

“Oh, but you make anything look good” Harry said to me.

“Sure you’re not talking about yourself?” I asked him.

“Pretty sure I’m not” Harry said.

Harry smirked at me, staring into my eyes.

Have his eyes always been so green? Or was it the lights making them more hypnotizing?

I shook my head.

Okay, I needed to leave. The more I stood here, the more weird I started to act.

“Umm, when do you go on?” I asked Harry.

“In twenty minutes” Harry said.

Oh, great. I was stuck with him for the next twenty minutes. Can this get worse?

“You’re last, right?” Harry asked me.

“As usual” I said. “Ali and I were walking to pass the time-“

“Harry! Y/N!” I heard someone say behind me.

I turned around to see Rita walking towards us. Rita - as in Rita Ora who used to be our close friend a few years ago. We naturally drifted apart because of our busy careers. A part of me was happy I was not friends with her now. Time made me realize she really wasn’t the friend I was looking for. Harry was in a similar boat as I am with Rita.

“Rita” Harry said, greeting her with a hug.

“Aww, H!” Rita said as she hugged him. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright” Harry said, letting her go. “A few nip slips here and there but I’m good” Harry joked with her.

“I see” Rita said, playing along. “Your jumpsuit isn’t going to help with that tonight”

Rita laughed, lightly hitting his arm. Rita looked to me.

“Y/N,” Rita said to me. “You haven’t aged one day. Did you get skinner?”

“Actually, no” I said. “Gained ten pounds. Doctor’s orders”

“Ah, still skinner than me” Rita said, hugging me. “Finally, it’s the whole gang together in one place! Well, minus Nick”

Umm, could she let me go?

“Yeah . . .” I said. “It’s sad I have to leave now though”

Rita let go of me.

“Now?” Rita asked me. “Aren’t you always closing the show?”

“I am” I said, faking a smile at her. “But I was just leaving with my friend to see Ava Max on”

Rita looked to Ali.

“And who is your friend?” Rita asked us.

“Ali” Ali said, introducing herself.

“Ah, I remember Y/N talking about you” Rita said. “Never imagined you to be so pretty”

Ali smiled. Rita looked to Harry.

“Are you going with them?” Rita asked him.

Please say no.

“Oh, I can’t” Harry said. “Got to get mic checked now”

Thank god.

“Well, this is bullocks” Rita said. “I wanted to spend time with one of you before you go on”

Rita gasped.

“How about after the show?” Rita asked us. “We can get drinks. Ali could come too”

“Uhh, sure” Harry said. “I’m free, are you?”

Harry looked to me. I looked to Ali and then back to Rita.

“Sure!” I said, faking my excitement. “We don’t have nothing after this”

“Great!” Rita said, looking to Harry. I’ll be outside your room when I’m done”

Harry nodded.

“Well, I’ve got to get dressed” Rita said. “Good luck out there”

“See you soon” I said to Rita.

Harry waved goodbye to Rita as she left us. Harry looked to me.

“See you for drinks, then?” Harry asked me.

“That’s the plan” I said.

I began to walk away from Harry but I stopped when I heard Harry call me.

“Y/N?” Harry said.

I looked to him.

“What?” I asked him.

Harry smirked at me.

“You look really good” He said.

I slowly smiled at him. I nodded before turning and walking away. Ali followed me.

“Well, at least he’ll stop flirting with Rita around” Ali said.

“Oh, he still will” I said. “He’s trying to win me over.”

“And?” Ali asked me. “Is he?”

Maybe . . .

[lopithecusfanfiction]

Ride or Die

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard Rating: Teen+ Word Count: 1946 Alternate: AO3 Summary: Kaidan tries to convince Shepard to get some sleep --- "Kaidan huffs again, walking towards Shepard. 'It’ll be fine. Don’t be so dramatic.'

'Me dramatic?' Shepard chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. 'I think we need to discuss who is being more dramatic than the other.'

'Well, I’m not backing down.'

Shepard’s arms fall to his sides and he takes a deep breath. 'No, I suppose you won’t.'" Warnings:

Banter

Sleeping Pills

Cuddling & Snuggling

Author's Note: I told myself I wasn’t going to write any Mass Effect fics. Apparently I have no discipline. I know I’m like a decade late but I just played the trilogy for the first time (played Andromeda years ago before realizing there were games that came before it and, once I found out, could only get my hands on the trilogy recently) and fell in love with MShenko immediately. The title will make more sense later in the fic. ;) Anyway, please enjoy!

“He needs to sleep.”

“I agree,” Dr. Chakwas gives Kaidan a single nod before continuing, frown creasing her face. “But I don’t condone you giving Shepard sleeping pills without his knowledge.”

Kaidan shakes his head. “You know Shepard will just refuse to take them.” He gestures with his hand at nothing in particular. “You’ve seen him, how exhausted he looks. At this rate he’s going to die on the battlefield because he’ll be too tired to dodge a bullet.”

Dr. Chakwas shakes her head, as if she thinks Kaidan is being overly dramatic. Maybe he is. It is invincible Shepard they are talking about after all. So invincible, that death can’t even keep him down. Still, Dr. Chakwas stands, gives Kaidan a pointed look, and then walks over to a locked drawer. She digs a key out of her pocket and uses it to open the drawer. “I’m only giving you these because you are a good person, Kaidan, and I believe, in the end, you’ll do the right thing.” She procures two pills and deposits them into Kaidan’s palm.

With a quiet thanks, Kaidan leaves the med-bay and heads to Shepard’s quarters, knowing Dr. Chakwas is right. Even if it means having a fight on his hands, he shouldn’t trick Shepard into taking a drug without his consent. After all, Kaidan certainly wouldn’t be happy if Shepard did the same to him.

It’s been a rough couple of days, having just failed the mission on Thessia, so it’s not surprising when Kaidan walks into Shepard’s cabin and finds the man sitting at his desk with his face buried in his hands. Shepard doesn’t acknowledge him and Kaidan runs a hand up his back in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “Hey.”

Shepard takes a deep inhale of breath, scrubs at his face once, twice, and then turns tired eyes and an even more exhausted smile his way. “Hey.” He looks Kaidan over, as if checking for injuries, which Kaidan finds ironic since Shepard is the one that is always falling or threatening to fall from great heights, injuring himself in one way or another, or being the center of attention when bullets are flying at them. “What are you doing here? Everything okay?”

He wants to kiss Shepard for caring so much even when the galaxy is burning around them. Instead, he crouches down in front of Shepard and gently says, “I have something for you.” Kaidan holds his palm out.

The response is immediate. “No.”

Kaidan huffs. “You don’t even know what they are.”

“I can guess.”

Shaking his head, Kaidan stands up and crosses his arms. “They’re sleeping pills.” Shepard opens his mouth to comment or retort, Kaidan doesn’t know which because he doesn’t let Shepard speak. “Listen, I could have put these in your food or your drink, seriously thought about it too, but Dr. Chakwas reminded me that I’m not the type of person to violate your trust like that.”

“Remind me to thank her later.”

“You need to sleep, Shepard,” Kaidan continues, ignoring Shepard’s statement. “Because the way you’re going, you won’t make it to the final Reaper battle.”

“I’m fine, Kaidan,” Shepard sighs.

“You look exhausted, Shepard. When you do sleep it’s not for very long and it certainly isn’t restful because of how stressed you are. You need rest, Shepard. How are you supposed to fight to your fullest if you’re tired?” Kaidan shrugs. “This will help.”

“This,” Shepard stands and paces towards his bed, crossing his arms when he faces Kaidan again, “means if there is an emergency, I can’t help.”

Kaidan huffs again, walking towards Shepard. “It’ll be fine. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Me dramatic?” Shepard chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. “I think we need to discuss who is being more dramatic than the other.”

“Well, I’m not backing down.”

Shepard’s arms fall to his sides and he takes a deep breath. “No, I suppose you won’t.” Shepard’s eyes travel from Kaidan’s face to his hand and back to his face. “Okay, fine. I’ll take them on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You lie down with me.” Shepard shrugs. “You must be just as tired as I am.”

Kaidan approaches Shepard, grabbing his hand and transferring the pills over. “You’re the commander. I’m not nearly as tired as you are.”

Shepard’s other hand, the hand that isn’t holding the sleeping pills, comes up and cups the side of Kaidan’s neck, catching his eyes. “Do you think I haven’t noticed you’re not sleeping either? Lie down with me.”

Kaidan sighs. “Okay.” He pushes away. “I’ll get you a glass of water. Sit down.”

With a small, victorious smile, Shepard does as he’s told. “Aye, aye Major.”

Kaidan rolls his eyes and turns away, grabbing a glass that is sat on the coffee table. After determining it’s clean — “I only had water in it earlier” Shepard had told him — he goes into the bathroom and fills it with water. He then hands it to Shepard who is sitting on the edge of the bed. Shepard takes the pills — “Would you like to inspect the inside of my mouth to make sure I actually swallowed them, Sir?” “Don’t be an ass, Shepard.” “Calling your CO an ass isn’t very professional, Kaidan.” — and hands the glass back. Kaidan sets it back down on the coffee table.

Kaidan nudges Shepard’s shins. “Scoot.” Shepard, with a smirk, scoots back and lies down, allowing Kaidan to take his foot and start untying his combat boot.

Shepard stretches out, using his arms to pillow the back of his head. “What happens if someone comes up and needs me but I’m asleep?”

“I’m the next ranking officer on board. I’ll handle it,” Kaidan answers.

Kaidan hears Shepard take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You’re technically higher rank than I am.”

Kaidan slips the boot off of Shepard’s foot and moves onto the other. “You’re an N7. Technically , I’m not.”

“That gets kind of confusing doesn’t it? You’re a Major, a Spectre even, and yet because I’m an N7 I’m still higher rank than you.” Kaidan looks up just in time to see Shepard rub a hand down his face. “Do you want to trade?”

“Oh no, you’re a born leader. I’m… not.” Kaidan drops Shepard’s boot next to the other.

“You should stop selling yourself short like that.” Shepard’s smile is gone, turned serious now. Kaidan doesn’t know what to say to that, his self-esteem has never been all that great, and when the silence drags on for too long, Shepard pokes him in the stomach with his foot.

Kaidan takes a breath and moves on, not wanting to get into their personal history of wins and failures right now. Instead, he looks over Shepard’s body and asks him, “Do you want your clothes off, too.”

The smirk on Shepard’s face returns almost instantaneously. Kaidan doesn’t know how he does it. He supposes that mystery is some of the appeal. “Kaidan,” his tone is admonishing but playful. “You’re going to proposition me sex when I’ve got sleeping pills in my system?” When the only reaction he gets out of Kaidan is him crossing his arms and shaking his head, Shepard sighs and rolls onto his side. “I forgot you don’t have a funny bone in your body.”

Kaidan rounds the bed, going to the side Shepard isn’t lying on. “Sorry, I’ve been cursed with Serious Disease.”

“Ha.” The sound is devoid of any actual humor but Shepard doesn’t really seem annoyed so Kaidan knows he’s only teasing.

Kaidan crawls onto the bed, getting closer to Shepard until he can wrap his arms around the other man’s waist. He pulls Shepard close, resting his cheek on the back of Shepard’s neck. “Go to sleep.”

“Can’t, the pills haven’t started working yet.” Shepard chuckles. “They’re kind of slow.”

“They’re probably slow release so they keep working throughout the night.”

“So, then what happens if there’s an emergency and we have to escape the Normandy?” Shepard asks, moving his hand down to grab onto Kaidan’s.

Kaidan lets a heavy breath out, thinking about the last time they had to escape off the Normandy. “Then… I would carry you to an escape pod. At least, this time you’d actually make it on one.”

“What happens if you can’t make it to an escape pod because you’re too busy trying to carry my unconscious ass out of here?”

“Am I just now realizing how many hypotheticals you like to come up with? What is this, Shepard? Blasto?”

“Ride together. Die together.”

“That’s not…” Kaidan licks his lips, his chest constricting with the memory of Shepard dying, of leaving them — leaving him, or that’s what it felt like, despite not having been together at the time — and though Shepard is right there in his arms, alive and well, it still hurts to think about. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

The room falls quiet, solemn, and Shepard mutters a low, “Sorry.”

Neither of them speak for several minutes, Kaidan trying to get his emotions under check, and Shepard doing… whatever Shepard does in his head. At one point, Kaidan even thinks Shepard has fallen asleep until the man sighs heavily and squeezes Kaidan’s hand. In the end, Kaidan feels the need to fill the silence with something. He doesn’t mind sitting or lying in the quiet with Shepard, they’ve done it a million times, but the air is too heavy now to enjoy it.

“It’s a painful memory,” he supplies even though he knows the moment to say anything on the subject of Shepard dying has come and gone. “When you died, I mean.”

Shepard sighs again, shifts, and then settles. “Kaidan…” He doesn’t continue and Kaidan is left hanging there, waiting for Shepard to complete what he was about to say.

“What?”

Shepard twists in Kaidan’s arms, not fully turning over but enough to look Kaidan in the eyes. “When we face the Reapers…” He licks his lips, eyes flitting away before locking onto Kaidan’s once more. “You have to be prepa-”

“Don’t,” Kaidan cuts him off, feeling the lump form in his throat and his chest constrict painfully.

“Kaidan.”

“Not right now.” Kaidan gently shoves at Shepard’s shoulder, encouraging him to turn back around. “Go to sleep.”

Shepard stares down at him before letting his mouth curl into a tiny smile. He leans down, presses a kiss to Kaidan’s forehead, and then lies back down, back pressed into Kaidan’s chest. “Yes, Sir.” He tangles his and Kaidan’s legs together. “Think the pills are finally beginning to work. I’m starting to feel pretty sleepy.”

“Good.” Kaidan squeezes him, pecking him on the back of the neck. Shepard chuckles and Kaidan relaxes, glad that they’ve moved past what Shepard was about to tell him. It’s not like Kaidan doesn’t know. They both need to prepare for it, to say goodbye to each other. But when they are like this, they’re allowed to not live in reality for a couple hours. Kaidan wants to keep it that way.

“If something really bad happens, promise to wake me, okay?” Shepard says and he really does sound tired now, as if he’s going to fall asleep at any moment.

Kaidan gives him another kiss, this time on the back of the head. “Promise.”

Shepard nods, yawns, closing his eyes, “Alright, Major.” His body gradually grows more and more limp.

Kaidan snuggles closer, pulling Shepard as close as they can get, burying his nose into Shepard’s hair so he can breathe him in. “And the term is ride or die,” he whispers.

And he’s pretty sure most of the crew would.

—————————————————————————————————

A/N: I know a lot of people have Kaidan higher ranked than Shepard, and it makes sense if you only go by titles, but a comment from Joker after the Cerberus attack on the Citadel in ME3 made me question this. Joker says that Kaidan remembered the rule to not shoot the superior officer, meaning Shepard. That means, Shepard is still higher ranked than Kaidan, right? So, I got wondering how that could be and then remembered someone mentioned (during a conversation online about who would be in charge after Shepard) that since Shepard is an N7 (a made up title) that it could possibly mean that he still outranks Kaidan. If this is true, then that comment from Joker makes more sense.

Personally, I like this headcanon myself.

Thanks for reading!

[frostedfaves]

Let It Happen (5)

Masterlist

Pairing: Amy Santiago x fem!reader

Summary: Amy made the mistake of dating Teddy and vowed immediately after to never date another guy on the force again. Luckily, her new coworker is a woman. Reader insert with female!reader, told entirely from the point of view of Amy Santiago. Doesn't follow the show plot line and no Peraltiago.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: angst then fluff

-

She opened the door and my throat tightened almost instantly at the sight of her. The red in her eyes was enough of an indicator that I'd made her cry, and the slight creases underneath made it clear she'd also lost sleep. I had the sudden urge to run again, but I protested by planting my feet firmly into the floorboards in the hallway.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in a raspy tone that had me wishing I'd stayed home.

"We have Harry Potter in the park in an hour," I told her with a hopeful smile, which immediately dropped in response to the look she gave me. "Okay, and before we went I wanted to apologize and talk to you about yesterday."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Why didn't you just call me back last night?"

"Because I needed time to think about why I ran in the first place. Can I please come in? I'd rather not involve all your neighbors in this."

"Oh, you mean how you let the people on the streets of New York watch us kiss for the first time only for you to run off immediately after like we're in first grade or something? I'm good. Go see Harry Potter by yourself."

I stared at the door in shock as it slammed shut, the feeling only growing stronger when it opened again a few seconds later.

"Even though you definitely deserved that, it felt too mean. Get in here."

I closed the door behind me as I took in her living room, watching as she folded a blanket and rearranged some pillows before sitting down.

"Did you sleep out here?" I asked as I took a seat next to her a safe distance away, taking notice of the glass and pill bottle on the coffee table.

"Kind of...I couldn't get my brain to stop thinking of whatever it is I did to hurt you yesterday so I just watched old cartoons. Woke up with a massive headache a couple hours later."

"Oh." I paused for a second, giving the floor my eye contact instead of her. "So how do you feel now?"

"Amy..." She sighed and I caught sight of her facing me on the couch out of the corner of my eye. "Please just say what you came here to tell me. I don't want to talk about anything else until I hear that."

"Okay, well..." I shifted on the couch so that my stance matched hers and finally looked into her eyes, deciding it would be easier if I held her hands in mine and looked at them instead. "I meant to kiss you, I really did. I've wanted to kiss you since the day we met, but the thought just always terrified me. You terrified me and you still do.

"I've never dated a woman before. Honestly never even looked at women in any way other than friends until the first Monday you walked into the briefing room. I saw you and you've been all I could see ever since. I'm really, really sorry that I ran from you after the best kiss in my life and made you cry and made such a mess of things because you deserve so much better. I also hope I didn't make too big of a mess that it can't be fixed; I really like you and I'd love to be with you if you'll allow me to."

I took a deep breath at the end of my small speech and dared to meet her eyes again. They were watery and held a look I couldn't quite place, but the smile on her face gave me a sliver of hope that it was something positive. She let out a tiny chuckle and squeezed my hands a little tighter.

"Ames, I really like you, too." I watched as her smile faded slightly. "But I don't think we should get together...at least not yet. It's clear that you've got some things to figure out and I don't want to stand in the way of that. I can help, but only so much. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, don't be. I get it." I slowly pulled my hands away from hers, fighting to keep a friendly smile on my lips. "So does this mean you still want me to go alone tonight?"

"Of course not! That was my anger talking anyway. Do we have time to stop and get food? I haven't eaten since that cake pop I had yesterday afternoon and I'm starving."

Ah, yes. The first woman I ever kissed and got rejected by tasted like rainbow cake pops. Guess I can never eat those again.

-

I listened to the sound of her voice just barely carrying over the radio, taking me back to the first night in Shaw's. Ironically, it was the same song. I fought the urge to turn it off and throw the whole unit out the car window. That night, I was content with never having the chance to date her no matter how she felt. I hated that feeling, but it doesn't have jack shit on this one.

"Oh hey," she called over the radio announcer as the song ended. "This song played in Shaw's a while ago."

"Yeah, I remember."

She looked over in surprise. "You do?"

"Mhm." My grip tightened on the steering wheel. "The night you asked me about Harry Potter and rested your drunk head on my shoulder," I added as I came to a stop in front of her building, putting the car in park.

"I ruined this by turning you down, didn't I?" she asked in a low voice and I turned my head toward her with a sigh.

"No. It just hurts right now, but I'll get over it. Besides, you aren't obligated to date me. I do have a request, though."

"What's up?"

"Could I have one more kiss for the road? If I'd known that was going to be the last one, I probably wouldn't have run like a scared little bitch."

Y/N just shook her head and laughed. "Well, that's not how I would have put it but that is kind of how it happened." She looked me in the eyes as her laughter quieted down and nodded. "Okay."

"Yeah?" My eyebrows raised when she nodded again. "Because we don't have to, really. I just thought I would at least—"

This time she cut me off with her lips. I tried my hardest to memorize the shape of them and how they fell into place with mine. Focused on the way her hands slid into my hair as I reached down to unbuckle our seatbelts and pulled her as close to me by the waist that I could. Mentally saved butterscotch milkshakes to the list of things I couldn't have without thinking of her tongue fighting with mine. Saved the half moan-half squeak of surprise that came out of her when I slid my hand down to grab her ass in the part of my brain that held the rest of my favorite songs.

I couldn't bear to pull away, just the thought broke my heart, and it seemed she felt the same. We finally broke apart when we physically couldn't push on any longer, chests burning and heavy breathing filling the space.

"Okay, well, I'm gonna head in now. Text me when you get home?"

"Yeah, of course."

Neither of us made eye contact. I took a quick glance a minute later to make sure she was completely inside the building before pulling away from the curb and heading home. The only thought in my mind was the one where I wondered how I could keep pretending to be friends with a woman that kissed me like that.

[minniemixe]

Beauty And The Beast

Gangster AU

Stray Kids Fanfic

Chan x Reader

Other Appearances: GOT7 BTS

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: Violence, Mentions of stabbing

Beauty and the Beast Masterlist

Chapter 3

Moon screamed in shock and pain as she gasped for air, falling on her side, her vision blurred as she tried to sit up. “Yah! stop overreacting, I know what I’m doing, it’s not severe” but before his sentence finished, Moon had already fainted. Kneeling down next to her, he shook her body, assuming she was bluffing. “Hey, wake up” but to no avail, inspecting her wound, he saw no signs of a serious injury, his knife wasn’t that big, so the cut couldn’t be too deep nor was there excessive blood loss, which confused him as to why the girl fainted. He picked her up and sprinted out of the gym. Carrying her towards the infirmary, he stopped midway thinking to himself about how he was going to explain the situation, and there was no way that the leader wouldn’t find out about this, which worried him even more. Looking at the unconscious figure in his arms, he knew he messed up real bad.

To his dismay, when he opened the door to the infirmary, the leader was inside, joking around with Anna, “She’s not dead” he spoke before either of them could question him. 

“How did this happen?” CB inquired 

“Long story” HH answered putting Moon on the bed

Anna started working on the wound as the two boys engaged in the conversation.

“The wound isn’t very deep, was there too much blood loss?” the brown haired girl asked, interpreting the two boys 

“No, that’s the confusing part, why did she faint?” HH spoke

“Probably from the shock” CB stated 

“I’ll still need blood samples, something doesn’t seem right. She once came to me for painkillers after training with Changbin, saying she had a headache and was feeling dizzy, I shrugged it off thinking it might be because of hunger or low blood sugar since I have that all the time. But her fainting like this, I think it might be something else. Chan could you hand me that kit” Anna explained pointing towards the said kit  

“Hwang stabbing her was a little too much man” Chan spoke, handing Anna the kit

“Oh and IV drip as well from that cupboard”

“Yeah yeah, I know, I admit this was my fault, but it was kinda accidental” he defended himself

“Hyunjin dear, there is no such thing as kinda accidental, you either stabbed her or it was an absolute accident, please choose one” Anna sarcastically spoke while attaching the canola to Moon’s arm

“Well I meant to make a small cut but my hand slipped and I ended up stabbing her, but before I could even say anything, she just screams one second and is out cold the next” he explained 

“She’s a feisty one, you should sleep with your eyes open, she’ll definitely get you back for this” Chan laughed

“You se-” Hyunjin was cut off as Woo and El entered the infirmary

“I need the pill” El told Anna 

“You know Woojin, it wouldn’t kill you to get a condom.” Chan told the older 

“Nah that’s too much work” El replied popping the pill in her mouth 

“It’s literally just rolling it on, how is that too much work” Hyunjin questioned

“TMI bro!!!” Anna shouted  

“Alright that’s enough” Woojin spoke 

“What happened to her?” El asked looking towards Moon’s unconscious figure

Anna lifted the blanket from the side to show her the stitches. “Could you let the girl be???? Don’t you think stabbing her was a little too much” El said samacking Hyunjin across the head

“Owww!!!” 

“Woojin could you please get this blood tested?” Anna asked, handing him the blood sample

“Yeah sure” he took the blood and left the infirmary

“How long do you think she’ll be out?” Hyunjin asked 

“I’m not su-” Anna got cut off hearing a groan coming from behind them, the three turned around to see Moon sitting up on the bed. The moment she spotted Hyunjin she threw the sheets off her and leaped at him “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU” she shouted, before Moon could touch him, Chan casually grabbed her waist and bought her flush against his chest, stopping her from hurting Hyunjin or herself. However Moon wasn’t having any of it as she struggled against his hold trying to get to Hyunjin. “Calm down princess, you don’t want to open your wound”. Moon’s heartbeat increased hearing that pet name and the fact that his hand was on her bare stomach didn’t help either. Hyunjin stuck his tongue out and ran out the infirmary.  

Moon sighed loudly and cursed under her breath. “How long was I out for?” she asked turning around to face the Chan 

“About an hour, maybe less” Anna answered 

“Do you have any iron supplements?” Moon asked running a hand through her hair 

“Why do you need those?” Chan asked 

“I’m anemic” she answered 

“Oohh, must’ve been the reason you passed out” Anna put the dots together 

“The blood test isn’t of any use now” Chan said 

“When did yo-” Moon was about to ask when she looked down at her arm, which was bleeding around the canola, “-is this supposed to be happening?” Moon asked extending her arm towards Anna 

“No it’s not and it wouldn’t have happened either if you hadn’t tried to jump Hyu- HH so aggressively” she said taking her arm to remove the canola

“Now go easy, you don’t want to ruin the stitches, so it’s best to just rest” Anna said after cleaning her arm.  

“What about training?” she asked 

“Phase 1 and 2 will be put on hold, you’ll train with Dandy, I.N and Liv, that’s phase 3, we’ll just have to determine your position first” Chan explained

“Don’t get your stitches wet, and come get them checked next week” Anna told Moon, who nodded her head and left. 

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

It had been 3 weeks since the incident and Moon had been training with the three as told by the leader. During this time she learned that she was not fit to be in the Medic Team. Liv had tried her best to teach the older girl the basics, however it never ended in a good way. After almost killing J.One, Chan decided that it was enough and that more time shouldn’t be wasted. 

The gang was once again gathered in the meeting hall, this time to test Moon’s skills in tech. 

“There isn’t much to it, I hacked into the phone through which my dad was contacted, but not even minutes later the signal was lost, and the location I picked up was somewhere near a river. I managed to hack the traffic cams around the area and tracked the car CB97 go- is there some easier name I can call you, CB97 is weird. Anyways I tracked the car back” Moon explained when asked how she found them

“Impressive, and you may call me Chris” the leader replied making everyone gasp, considering this was against protocol

“Chris. Hhmm I like it, has a nice ring to it” Moon muttered 

“But what we can’t understand is how we couldn’t track back to you?” Dandy questioned 

“This one is connected to the projector?” Moon asked pointing towards Dandy’s laptop 

“Yeah” 

“I.N, can I have yours?”

“Sure” 

She took the computer and started typing away on it. 20 minutes later she spoke 

“Okay, now both of you, try  and hack into this using Dandy’s laptop”

“Excuse me? What did you do to it?” Dandy snatched it away from her 

“Nothing, just please do what I asked” Moon said 

Dandy looked at her skeptically but nonetheless began the task. Moon grabbed I.N’s laptop again to continue doing what she was. Everyone could see what Dandy and I.N were doing and the atmosphere was starting to get thick. “I’m in” Dandy spoke, Moon pressed a few keys on I.N’s laptop and everything on Dandy’s screen disappeared. “What the fuck?!?!?!?” Dandy exclaimed

“How did you do that?” I.N asked surprised, his eyes as big as saucers 

Moon giggled at the younger’s adorable expression and moved between him and Dandy. Taking Dandy’s laptop she started clicking away as she explained what she was doing, “So basically the hacker thinks they’ve gotten in, when in reality they’ve only reached a dummy server, the moment they fall for the decoy, I’ll be notified that someone is trying to break in, and if i do this-” she pressed a few keys “-the whole algorithm will reset and everything they did will be erased”

“How did you do this?” HH asked 

“How come Dandy didn’t know about this? He’s the head of all this tech stuff” J.One chirped in 

“Because I built this software to avoid legal issues. So no one knows about this” Moon answered

“Not bad shorty, looks like you can contribute after all” Woo smirked 

Moon wanted to say something snarky but decided against it, getting on HH’s bad side got her stabbed, she didn’t want to think about what could happen if she pissed off a sniper. 

“Well this concludes that Phase three is over and you’ll be put in the Tech Team with Dandy and I.N” Chris spoke

(A/N: I did not do a fact check, and I don’t know shit about hacking, please bear with me)

“What about my field test? What if I want to be on the task force?” Moon asked

“Shouldn’t you stick to what you’re good at princess, make things a bit easier for yourself” that pet name got her feeling butterflies in her stomach 

“Too boring, I want some action in my life”

“Joining a gang should be action enough” Lee Know said 

“At least give me chance, you said there would be a field test, if I pass that,  let me be on the task force” Moon requested 

“Okay, complete phase 1 and 2, if you pass, I’ll accept your request” Chris said 

“I thought I already passed phase 1? I won with all three of my instructors” Moon stated 

“Not with me” HH interrupted

“You cheated” Moon replied 

“I told you there will be no such thing as fair play when you’re in the field” 

“But I had you pinned down with my knife to your throat, what did you want me to do, kill you?” 

“Your body language said it all, your hands were shaking, you were hesitant, even if it were someone else underneath you, you wouldn’t have been able to kill them, that’s why I stabbed you, to show you what happens if you’re not quick” he explained 

“You don't know me!! I’d have killed anyone else, it was you that I was nervous, I didn’t want to accidentally do something that’d get me in trouble” she defended herself 

“Well how flattering, so glad to know I’m of importance to you” HH said sarcastically 

“Don-”

“STOP IT!!! BOTH OF YOU” Chris shouted 

“That’s enough. Moon you’ll fight me tomorrow in the ring, if you defeat me, you’ll start phase 2, if not, you’ll continue with SpearB. Dismissed.” Chris said and left the room, everyone following behind.

Hyunjin ran after the leader calling out to him “Chan wait!”, Chan turned around to face him

“Yeah?” he asked

“Why didn’t you put me with her to train, why Changbin?” Hyunjin asked 

“Because I don’t want her to end up back in the infirmary due to a childish rivalry” Chan answered 

“You seem to care a lot about our new member” Hyunjin smirked

“Watch your mouth or you’ll be the one in the infirmary” the older said turning around, his ears turning red.

“Mouth or hands?” Hyunjin called out. The moment those words left his mouth, a knife went flying past his head. The younger was completely unfazed until a scream was heard from down the hallway. “Shit!” the leader cursed as they both ran towards the source of the scream. 

“And I was going to put her in the infirmary” Hyunjin laughed looking at Moon who was clutching the side of her neck with blood trickling down. Chan raised his fist and Hyunjin ran away shouting a bunch of sorries. “Is this a subtle way of saying, ‘please kill yourself and make things easier for us’” Moon sarcastically questioned

Chan released a breathy laugh and replied “Sorry, this one’s on me, let me help you with that”. 

“Please do bef-” Moon started losing her balance, Chan hurriedly grabbed her waist balancing her “woah there” he said looking down at her weak figure

“Before I pass out” she completed her sentence, standing up straight with Chan’s help.

“The cut isn’t very deep, it doesn’t need stitches, a simple bandage will do” Chan spoke, inspecting her wound

“That’s a relief,” she replied. The room filled with comfortable silence as Chan cleaned her wound and started bandaging it.  

“How come you’re not fazed by anything” Chan asked focused on Moon’s neck

“Fazed as in?” Moon questioned

“I don’t know, you joined a gang 6 months ago, you were quite calm for that and after the beginning of training you were normal, you would be covered in bruises but you’d continue about your day as if it's not even there.” he told looking in her eyes, now done with treating her neck 

“Everyone has a story” Moon whispered 

“What’s yours?” he asked, hand cupping her neck, thumb gently rubbing her cheek

“Not the best one” she answered leaning into his touch 

“Why?” he asked after a few seconds 

“Why what?”

“Why did you look for him, why, even though he was abusive?” 

“I never sa-”

“I saw. The night you left, I followed you out, and I saw everything” he cut her off. 

Moon sighed closing her eyes “I don’t know, it’s complicated. I didn’t want to, but at the same time I wanted to, it was all so confusing” she answered opening her eyes, meeting his honey brown ones 

“What would you have done if I didn’t let him go? Would your life be peaceful right now” he asked, suddenly feeling weird towards her. 

“I don’t know. I guess I wouldn’t have left, I would’ve forced you, even if it got me killed. I didn’t want to look for him but I did, for my mother. Being honest, my life is much more peaceful than it was back at home” she told. At this Chan let out a series of laughs, his head resting on her shoulder as he kneeled in front of her. “What’s so funny?” She asked giggling 

“You, you are one of a kind. Who the hell says, they’re peaceful being in a gang” he said getting up, extending his hand out to her. She just shrugged her shoulders, taking his hand and standing up. “At least now I can fight back when someone hits me” Moon says as they both exit the infirmary.

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

  “Stabbing is not allowed. Pinned under, with a knife against the throat, one of us concedes, cut somewhere where a vital organ is, passing out, counts as losing. Since stabbing is not allowed any cuts made will be considered stab wounds, meaning if the cut is big it insinuates that the victim bleeds to death” Chan explained as Moon and him stood in the middle of the gym ready to fight with the rest of the members watching.  

Moon threw a punch to Chan’s throat, he successfully dodged it grabbing Moon’s arm and twisting it. She went to kick his leg but he threw her on the ground before her leg could touch his. Chan lunged forward to punch her when she rolled over causing him to hit the ground. Moon quickly got up and locked her arm around his throat, she tightened her hold trying to choke him but he leaned forward flipping Moon over causing her to fall flat on her back. Chan jabbed her with his elbow making her groan, she retaliated by kneeing him in the head, Chan fell back giving her the perfect opportunity to get back on her feet. Moon kicked Chan in the side making him stumble, quickly straddling him, she pulled her dagger to attack, however Chan was quick to react. He twisted her arm making her drop the weapon, successfully flipping them over, Chan now had Moon under him. But before Chan could draw his weapon at her, she headbutted him. Chan grabbed his nose groaning in pain, Moon took this opportunity and pushed him off herself and ran towards her weapon. Chan quickly recovered and grabbed her arm pulling her back, he turned her around and wrapped his hand around her neck choking her, evoking a scream due to the pressure on her wound. She started scratching his arms to get him to loosen his grip but it was useless. She put one feet on his chest while holding his arm, steadying herself, she hauled her other leg over his shoulder and around his neck. While Moon tried to elbow him in the head he grabbed her waist and pulled her back. Moon wrapped her other leg around his head as well making him bow his head, taking advantage of the position she put both her palms on the ground and with much difficulty she managed to flip them both over. Chan landed on his back with his head between her thighs. Moon tightened her hold trying to choke him which proved useless. Chan was both larger and stronger than her, taking advantage of his strength, he squeezed her thigh bruising it, however Moon was unfazed and kept tightening her legs, Chan grabbed her other leg and pulled them apart. Getting up he pulled her towards himself by her leg. Putting his legs on either of her waist he straddled her, he pinned both her wrists above her head and leaned closer to her, “Not so tough now, huh princess”. She’d be lying to herself if she said that the close proximity didn’t make her heart flutter. Looking up at his smug expression she knew he was doing it on purpose knowing how it affected her. Moon reached forward and attached her lips to his catching everyone off guard. Taking advantage of his shocked state, she kneed his back pushing him off. Quickly getting up and grabbing her weapon, “Not so tough now, huh daddy” the words left her mouth before she could stop them. 

“Enjoying yourself baby girl?” he asked trying to grab her, but Moon was fast and swung her knife making a huge cut from his shoulder, across his chest to the side of his abdomen. “More than you can imagine” she smirked stepping away from him. 

“That’s definitely going to leave a scar” Woojin spoke 

“Don’t worry, Moon’s gonna kiss it better” Hyunjin joined in

“I won, now I get a field test as promised” Moon said before anyone else could pass any comments 

“Not yet princess, you still have phase 2 to complete” Chan answered 

“How long will that take?” she whined

“Depends on how fast you learn to shoot a weapon” Woojin said 

“Why are you so eager for a field test anyway?” Bree asked

“Because it’s boring in here, I wanna go out” Moon answered 

“Being almost stabbed to death twice is boring?” Anna exclaimed

“I need more spice” Moon shrugged 

Chan grabbed her wrist and started dragging her with him. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, trying to get out of his grip. “To make your life more spicy” he simply said before dragging her out of the door.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

[lonestarbabe]

Holding Out For a Hero

Chapter 4: I’m Fine (AO3)

Marjan is worried about T.K. and enlists the help of Carlos to make sure T.K. is okay. Things heat up between T.K. and Carlos... but in an angry way... for now. Carlos learns more about T.K. while T.K. starts to think that Carlos may actually care.

T.K.

It was a Wednesday, but T.K. didn’t know which one. He only knew that the pool cleaner had been outside earlier. The pool cleaner came on Wednesdays, so it had to be Wednesday. He was almost positive it was March but coming up with the month took a few seconds too long as alcohol and Oxy muted his mind. “Maybe you should slow down a little,” Marjan suggested, looking at T.K. with her usual disapproving look. If T.K. knew she’d planned on coming over, he would have saved the drugs and alcohol for later in the evening. Marjan didn’t consume either, and while she didn’t mind being around people who were drinking or maybe even smoking some weed, she wasn’t shy about telling him why he should avoid those things. She thinks I’m an addict, but I’m just having fun. As much fun as a miserable person can have, at least.

“Don’t be a kill joy Marjan.” She always wants to spoil my fun. Some best friend she is. I don’t need her to look after me, no matter what she thinks. Between her, Judd, and the new bodyguard, I’ll never get a moment to myself.

“Slow down,” Marjan told him again, pulling the bottle of vodka from his hand and putting it out of his reach. “I know you already had pills, and you shouldn’t be mixing that crap together.”

“Okay, Doctor Marwani.”

“I’m a first responder. I know a thing or two about these things, but of course, teen heartthrob T.K. Strand doesn’t like to listen to rules. It’s not cute to be a bad boy anymore.” She sounded annoyed, but her eyes were terrified. Look what I do to everyone around me. I put them through shit, and I act like an asshole, even though I’d give them literally anything they asked.

“You’re such a rule follower. Are all firefighters as boring as you?” T.K. lamented. “You can’t get anywhere if you go slow. Did Michael Phelps ever slow down?” T.K. added, grabbing a new bottle and watching amber liquid fill his glass. He took the shot of tequila just to prove a point. Stings more than vodka, and I kind of like it.

“No, he didn’t, and now you see him sitting in an empty pool in those Better Help commercials. Do you want that to be you?” Yeah, sitting in an empty pool might be pretty fun, but you can’t drown in it. Unless you find something other than water to drown yourself in. Wouldn’t it be funny to drown at the bottom of an empty pool?

“That’s because he stopped swimming. He let his feelings catch up with him. If you don’t ever stop, nothing can ever catch up to you. That’s why I gotta keep going.”

“Everyone has to stop eventually, T.K. People get old and slow. They can’t win races forever. You just better hope that you’re the one who makes that decision and that it isn’t the universe that steps in and slows you down.”

“Give me too much time to stop and think, and I’ll go crazy. There’s nothing that you, Judd, or any hot bodyguard can do about it.”

“Hot bodyguard? Don’t tell me it’s another Mr. Clean.” Oh, yes, the Mr. Cleans. So many bodyguards he’d had were bald and had an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Clean. He figured Judd just thought those guys looked responsible. Mr. Cleans were attractive, sometimes, but in a one-night stand kind of way. Let ‘em use you and then clean you away with their magic erasers.

T.K. shook his head. “This one isn’t just hot in an ironic way. He’s an ex-cop.” T.K. had done a quick— two-hour— internet search into Carlos. Carlos kept a pretty low profile, but T.K. had learned enough about him to guess how he ticked. He also knew that he had an ex-boyfriend, so he at least liked men.

“And you say that you don’t have a type.”

“He’s an ex-cop.”

“Still. Once a cop, always a cop.”

“I don’t care what he was or what he is. I’m just saying he’s hot. He hates fun just like you, but he’s hot.”

“Don’t harass him, Tyler Kennedy.”

“Don’t call me Tyler Kennedy, Marjan Marwani.”

“Marwani isn’t even my middle name.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “Whatever. It’s not like I’m going to seduce him, anyway. I don’t do the chasing. People chase me.”

She looked at him like he was full of shit. “I’ve watched you chase plenty of guys. You practically mauled that big one last week.”

“Fucks, not dates. It’s different.”

“Yeah, because all you care about is having fun, I get it. T.K. Strand can never take anything further than a fuck,” she replied sarcastically. She doesn’t believe a single word of my bullshit, and that’s something I love and hate about her.

“I choose not to. Dates don’t like hanging out with party boys.”

“The issue is that party boys refuse to stay sober.”

“I’m sober a lot. Far too much for my liking, actually,” T.K. quipped.

“Yeah, I know. That’s exactly my point. You know, I rescue idiots like you every day. People who think they’re just having fun when they’re not having fun at all. They hate what they’re doing. They’re just being dangerous and stupid for no other reason than having a gap they need to fill.”

“I’m not dangerous. I’m really safe when I take anything. I don’t run heavy machinery when I’m high— not even my can opener. I’m careful, Marjan.”

She laughed. “Yeah that damn automatic can opener Judd got you could decapitate a person if they got their head too close.” Her face returned to concerned. “But don’t distract me with the Strand charm. I’m serious, T.K. I’m not worried about you getting other people hurt. I know you wouldn’t get in a car or endanger other people intentionally, but shit still happens. You’re going to do something to yourself that you can’t take back.”

“Maybe I’ll get a Better Help commercial out of it,” he said with a grin. When I’m washed up and the crowds stop coming to my shows, I’ll be one of those celebrities who has to resort to paid testimonials. I’ll suffer the horrifying ordeal of being known, forgotten, and known again as a relic from a time that had almost been erased from people’s memories. The voice from a song they used to love (or hate).

She punched him in the arm. “If you don’t shut up…” but she couldn’t help the smile that was on her face. “You look at the world so differently than I do.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure. Why are we even friends? I was trying to date a firefighter, not become best friends with his coworker.”

“Bob was forty-five with a wife and kids. You had to know it was never happening” Bob had a great dad bod.

“Why should that have stopped me?”

Marjan crossed her arms. “Your daddy issues are showing.”

“I don’t have daddy issues,” T.K. protested. My dad died a long time ago, and I’m totally over it. It’s not like he left me. He just left and never came back. He hugged me goodbye, went to work, and then just like that, he was gone. It wasn’t fair, but it was nothing he did. He died a hero, and now, there’s no hero left to save me. Not that I need one. I’m fine. Great even. I hate my life, but I’m surrounded by wonderful things. I would be happy if I wasn’t such a dreadful person.

“Your father was a firefighter and you wanted to date a firefighter old enough to be your father. Sounds like daddy issues to me.”

“You don’t get it because you don’t have daddy issues. I wasn’t interested because he was old or a firefighter. It was because he was hot… and looked nothing like my father for your information.”

“I’m just saying you never really dealt with your dad’s death.”

“It’s been two decades! Of course, I dealt with it. Mom made me go to therapy.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t take therapy seriously.”

“It only lasted a couple weeks before I threw a fit and convinced mom it did more harm than good.”

“See, you need to actually address your issues, T.K.”

“When did you get your psychology degree, anyway?”

“First, you tell me I’m not a doctor, and now you tell me I’m not a psychologist. You’re getting very predictable, Teek. And very defensive on top of that.”

“That’s not fair. I can’t say I’m not defensive without being defensive!”

“Sucks to be a loser.” Marjan made it her goal in life to win at everything.

“We all can’t be good at everything like you, Miss Has Gone Viral Eight Times.”

“It was only six, and I don’t think you stop going viral… ever. I always see your annoying face wherever I go— in magazines at grocery stores or billboards. I went on a date once with this girl, and when I went home with her, she had a big poster of you over her bed. Really killed the mood.”

“Any of the guys you dated have a poster of me?”

“One had a bobblehead.”

T.K. cringed. “That’s worse than a poster.”

“How? The poster is a lot bigger. I could shove the bobblehead in a drawer.”

“It’s unofficial merch,” T.K. explained.

“Oh, yes, the dreaded unofficial merch. How will you ever live without your cut of the money? You could have two Porsches by now if only you sold bobbleheads.” He didn’t mention that he could buy more than two Porsches if he wanted because he was sure she already knew that.

“The Barbie doll was nightmare enough. It looked like they glued feathers on my head.”

“I still have that doll. Just for when I need a good laugh.”

Marjan uncrossed her legs and got up to go to the kitchen.  “While I wish I could stay to talk, I have a shift in an hour, so I have to go. The captain doesn’t like my attitude as it is, which means being late would take me from his bad list to his firing list.” She shrugged. “It’s not my fault that I’m allergic to poor leadership.”

“That’s one hell of an allergy, Marj,” he shook his head at her. “If you’re trying to leave, the door isn’t in the kitchen. My mind is a little warped right now, but even I know that.”

Marjan put a water glass next to T.K. “I don’t want you to die. The hangover is probably unavoidable. But hydrate.”

“Why do you have to go? I thought your next shift wasn’t until Friday.”

“It is Friday. Hence why I have to go.” She told him impatiently. “Do you pay attention at all?”

“No, the pool cleaner came today. It’s Wednesday.”

“The pool cleaner comes on Thursdays, T.K. He came yesterday.” He checked his phone and saw that yes, it was Friday. Oof wonder where the time went.

“Fuck. Why does the week need seven days?”

“That’s it. I’m calling Judd.”

“He’s in Texas with Grace. I’m fine, Marwani. Go to work. Billy the Bully isn’t going to wait.” She sighed, looking torn about leaving him, but T.K. wasn’t going to be the reason Marjan got in trouble. Just because I can’t keep my shit together doesn’t mean I should drag everyone down into my miserable life.”

“I’m calling your new bodyguard.”

“No, you’re not.” He didn’t want the only times that Carlos saw him to be when he was indisposed. Carlos probably already hated him, and T.K., as much as he hated bodyguards, did not want to start again with a new bodyguard. If this didn’t work, Judd would probably call in a drill sergeant. Anyone but Carlos.

“I am. Maybe he can come sit with you for a while.”

“No way. You can’t call him on his day off.”

“There aren’t a lot of options right now. If he says no, he says no.” She’s so persistent. She won’t take no for an answer. Not with me, not with Carlos. “He might not be busy. He’s new to town, so he probably hasn’t made a lot of friends yet.”

“I’m not letting a hot guy see me in sweatpants and a hoodie.”

“That’s like your uniform.”

“Yeah, but it’s not for people who haven’t seen the shit show. I don’t want him to think I’m a slob.”

“Oh, so you care about his opinion? Give me his number. You know I won’t leave until you do.” She waited not so patiently for a response. “I guess I could ask Judd. Interrupt his nice trip with his wife, but you won’t make me do that, will you?” Friends are the worst.

“No, do not bother anyone. I’ll give you the number.” He sighed, fumbling for his phone. You’re a real psycho, you know that?” Marjan swiped the phone from his hands before he could even unlock it. She punched in the code. I really need to change that. “He’s listed under—”

“Hot Body Bodyguard, yeah, I got it.” She chuckled. “You’re so obvious.”

“Delete his number from your phone when you’re done.” He didn’t want Marjan talking to Carlos on the regular. That would be a disaster.

“Do you even know me?” Marjan laughed. “I still have Aaron’s number. This one isn’t going anywhere. I may delete Aaron’s though. I think it’s time.”

“Aaron?” He didn’t know who the hell that was. Was he somebody I slept with? One of Marjan’s exes?

“Mr. Clean #3.” Oh, him. He wasn’t so bad, but not at all personable. Hated the very idea of fun. Treated me like a toddler. Slightly attractive.

“Don’t remind me. He was awful.” T.K. groaned. He flipped his hand in the air to wave her away. “Go to work already.”

“Yeah, okay.” She finished up a couple of texts and stuck her phone in her purse. “I’ll see you later. Probably tomorrow, so don’t get drunk before five. No drugs either. I want you clear headed. I have boy issues to talk about.”

“I don’t get wasted every night, but okay. Cannot wait for your boy issues.”

Marjan smiled. “Good.” Before heading out the door, she turned to give him one last look. “Seriously, dude, be careful. I’d be really pissed if something happened to you.” Marjan always started throwing in “dude” when her emotions were getting the best of her.

“You’re the one who dives into fires for a living.”

“Yeah, but I do it with equipment. You dive into fires just to see if they’ll burn you.” She doesn’t understand that sometimes the burn feels better the numbness.

Carlos

Carlos’ plans were interrupted by a series of three pings on his phone. He picked his phone up, immediately having a bad feeling when he saw an unknown number. He was used to calls from unfamiliar numbers, but texts were rarer.

You need to get to T.K.’s house.

This is Marjan by the way. Marjan Marwani.

I’m T.K.’s best friend (reluctantly).

As he read the messages, Carlos stood from his couch, beginning to pace across his floor as his brows scrunched in consternation. This was not how he saw his day off going. T.K. better not be dead. I’m not going to lose that idiot if I can help it. I told Judd I’d protect him, and I don’t plan on backing down on my promise no matter how irritating T.K. can be.

What? Why? Is something wrong?

Carlos had just settled in from going to the store and was about to call his mom before cracking open a beer and watching TV. He was a worrier, so he couldn’t help thinking that something truly awful had happened. It can’t be that bad if T.K.’s friend is making jokes, Carlos reassured himself, but the chance that things might not be okay twisted Carlos’ stomach. I’m not going to let some bratty popstar ruin my evening. He’s probably just drunk and looking to do something stupid. I don’t need to deal with this.

Is it an emergency?

I’m not on duty, so I can’t just go over there if he doesn’t want me to.

Carlos had a bad feeling that his curiosity and worry would get the best of him, and he’d end up at T.K.’s mansion that was far too large for just one person. T.K. was difficult, but there was also something infectious about him. You couldn’t help but root for him or worry that he might not be okay.

He’s drunk and high. He shouldn’t be alone.

Please, just stay with him. He hates being alone.

I would but my boss is an asshole.

Please. Judd is away, and there’s no one else to call. He doesn’t have a lot of real friends.

He doesn’t even like me.

There was a thirty-minute delay before another text came in, and Carlos sat in suspense, worrying about all the things that can happen in thirty minutes.

Sorry. I was going to work. He likes you fine, and even if he didn’t, he’ll let you in because I told him to.

You’ve got blackmail on him or something? I barely know him, but I know T.K. doesn’t like being told what to do.

What you need to know about T.K. is that he doesn’t give a damn about himself, but he’d throw himself in a fire after taking a bath in gasoline to make sure the people he loves aren’t hurt.

Well, damn, he couldn’t argue that. Couldn’t say no to someone who clearly loved her friend so much. Couldn’t say no to T.K.

It would send the wrong message to spend his time off with T.K., but he hated the thought of T.K. overdosing or going out to find assholes to hang out with. He hated the thought of T.K. hooking up with some man who would take advantage of him. T.K. was a pain in the ass, but he was also a national treasure. Fangirls would never forgive Carlos if he let something happen to T.K. (He would never forgive himself.) This job is getting too messy. For whatever reason, I’m already too far in. Captivated by those green eyes and that lopsided smiled. I need distance because T.K. Strand is doing his best not to stay alive, and getting too close will set me up for a world or hurt.

He sighed, grabbing his keys from the hook by his door and heading out to his car. He sent Marjan a quick text.

Fine, I’m going over.

Good. I have to go. My bad boss is calling.

Keep him safe.

Carlos wasn’t sure if that last part was a best friend’s threat or a desperate plea, but either way, he didn’t want to screw this assignment up. I’ll keep him safe. But he couldn’t make promises because he couldn’t save T.K. from himself no matter how much he wanted to.

I’ll do my best.

Putting his car into gear, Carlos back out and zoomed down the highway until he got to a mansion set apart from the other houses. He wouldn’t admit to anyone how much over the speed limit he had gone. If he’d had sirens, he would have used them. Fuck T.K. for being such an endearing jackass.

He entered the code at the gate and haphazardly parked his car in the first place he could find. It wasn’t like him to be so impulsive. He liked order and control, and any lack of those things made him antsy, but he didn’t even notice that his car was 1 inch into the grass. He rushed up to the door, thoughts of T.K. being hurt or dead rising into a heart-pounding climax. What if I’m too late? What if I was too slow? What if I’m powerless to save him? What if I fail at this job?

The tension dropped from Carlos’ shoulders as he heard the deadbolt click open and saw T.K.’s head when the door swung open and Carlos was instantly relieved to see that T.K. wasn’t unconscious on the floor. In fact, T.K. mostly seemed fine.

T.K. gave a long, exaggerated sigh, and Carlos felt his breath momentarily constrict again. He looked good. Anyone with eyes could see that, but Carlos had self-control. He didn’t act like an animal just because he spotted a pretty person. He’s a ten, but he’s also off limits. He’s narcissistic and obnoxious. Maybe a little sweet, but he’s not good for me. He’s danger, and I had enough of that when I was a cop. I flew too close too the sun, but this guy, he’s flying in the center of the sun.

For someone who was supposedly in danger, T.K. looked like he had complete command over his situation. He wore a hot pink and baby blue striped button down with black skinny jeans that hugged his lean legs in ways Carlos didn’t allow himself to think about too much. He averted his eyes, being sure to look at T.K.’s face, which was just as overwhelming. Carlos noticed T.K.’s eyes were bloodshot with deep bags underneath. A person can hide under clothes, but the eyes, those emerald eyes, always tell the truth.

T.K. looked markedly too nice for a night in, looking and smelling like he was about to go on a date. Freshly misted cologne hitting Carlos’ nose— vanilla, cinnamon, and sandalwood. There was an underlying bitterness to his scent—cloves— but it was just enough to offset what would be otherwise cloying. “Are you okay?” Carlos finally asked.

“Yeah, but I have a little alcohol and Marjan thinks I’ve gone off the deep end.” That’s a can of worms that I am not even going to begin to unpack. “I’m obviously fine.”

“Fine or not, I’m here now. Might be nice to have a little company.” The more Carlos looked at T.K., the less fine he seemed to be. He didn’t seem as outwardly wasted as when they first met, but T.K.’s uncontrollable smile and aimless eyes told Carlos all he needed to know. The blissed-out look was chillingly familiar to him, so much so that he had the instinct to get in his car and speed away, but his sense of duty was too strong, and even as his past chased him, Carlos couldn’t look away from T.K. Maybe things can be different than they were with Taylor. Maybe not, but how can I in good conscience give up before I try? “I’m here,” Carlos reiterated. And I’m not going anywhere.

“I see that.” T.K. gave him a once over, licking his lips. “And you look very good doing it.” He’s just a flirt. I can’t let it get to my head. I have to protect him. Not fuck him. T.K.’s words were dripping with forced pleasantness, and Carlos couldn’t quite figure out what T.K. was really feeling beyond the happy highness. Silence fell between them.

T.K. bit his lip, looking down a little. The mood shifted. “I know you don’t want to be here. Don’t worry, Judd will pay you for your babysitting.” Carlos wanted to argue that he wasn’t here for the money or insist that he did care, but the air between him and T.K. had turned so suddenly sour that words swirled in his head with nothing to ground them into cohesive sentences. The smell of cloves was trapped in his nose and he tried to search for the vanilla and cinnamon, warm and pleasantly biting. “I’m sure Marjan will report back to him when he gets back from his trip. He’ll fret over me because it would be such a shame if I died and couldn’t make him any more money.” T.K. cracked a mechanical grin that clashed with the bitter tone in his voice. “He’d probably be relieved not to have me bothering him.” He’s got it all wrong, but I can’t tell him that. I barely even know him.

Carlos wanted to shake T.K. and tell him that Judd would be devastated if something happened to him, but he knew if he was too sincere, T.K. would retreat into the safety of humor and lightheartedness. He would become the happy and carefree T.K. that substances created to hide the sorrow. I have to learn to roll with his jokes and self-deprecation, even hearing it horrifies me. “I’ve heard that posthumous sales aren’t half bad. The initial spike… might be something to consider,” Carlos replied wryly. When there was more silence, Carlos wondered if he’d made a fatal misstep. Maybe I don’t have as good of a grasp on the situation as I thought. What if I’m losing him?

A flash of shock came over T.K.’s face before his lips upturned slightly and his head tilted to the side with curiosity. “You really busting my balls right now?”

Carlos kept the impassive look on his face, forcing his lips not to turn up. “I suppose I am.”

T.K. shook his head, the dark cloud lifting from his features just a little. Back to carefree T.K., and Carlos wasn’t sure if it was for the best or the worse. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely happy. “I can’t believe that of all the bodyguards in the bodyguard factory, you’re the one they sent me.” Back to joking, the cold tone dissipated in the early evening air.

“And I can’t believe that of all the popstars in the popstar factory, you’re the one I got sent to,” Carlos countered. He could keep up with banter if he needed to. He could even throw in some harmless flirting if it helped get through to T.K., but he couldn’t cross any lines beyond that. I know all about how crossing one line can lead to crossing more. I need boundaries if this is going to work. I must be careful for T.K.’s sake and mine.

“Rockstar,” T.K. corrected.

“You don’t sing rock music, popstar,” Carlos reminded him.

“It’s a—”

“State of mind. I know. Now, are you going to let me in? Or do I have to stand out here all evening fighting with you about the definition of a rockstar?”

T.K.’s head tilted again, this time in thought. “I don’t think I have much of a choice. Marjan will kill me if I make you stand on the porch,” T.K. answered, opening the door wider and leading Carlos into the living room. The stench of alcohol immediately hit Carlos’ nose and bottles were sprawled on a chair.

“That’s a lot of bottles,” Carlos commented.

“Some of them are old.” Some, not all. Not even most. Some. “It’s funny because sometimes when it’s dark, there’s so many of them there that it almost looks like a person sitting in the chair. I’ve gotten startled a couple times by it. Sometimes, though, it’s nice not to feel alone.” The honesty of the words struck Carlos. He’s got so many demons I haven’t even seen yet. He opened his mouth but quickly closed it again in the absence of having a meaningful response.  T.K. caught on to what he had said and backtracked. “I didn’t mean that seriously, you know. It was just a joke. I mean, there’s always people around me. Celebrities can’t escape people. I’m not really lonely.” The only people who feel the need to insist they are not lonely are the ones who are, in fact, lonely.

Carlos forced a laugh. “Right, a joke. You tell a lot of those.”

“Maybe. It’s more fun that way. I’m really funny when I’m not sober, so funny that people think I’m serious. It makes me a man of mystery I guess.” Oh yes, a mystery I’m afraid to investigate but desperate to know.

“Speaking of not sober, how much alcohol did you have?” He wanted a grasp on how bad the situation was.

“I’m fine.” Carlos had been a cop. He was used to dodgy answers, but they still frustrated the hell out of him. He’s testing me. Trying to see if he can make me mad. I won’t let him. I have to be patient and keep my temper in check.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Fewer than all the bottles on that chair.” T.K. added, “A lot fewer. I’m not trying to die tonight.” Tonight, that’s what I’m worried about. What about the other nights?

“How much?” Carlos asked with his no nonsense cop voice. It’s been a while since I’ve used that.

T.K. looked unimpressed at the question. “Several shots. I didn’t even have a full bottle of tequila. But shots are just bad if you only do one, so you have to keep going until you feel something. By the time the first one kicks in, you realize that the rest will be by shortly to hit you with a fucking hammer.” Carlos fought the headache that T.K.’s drunken logic was creating. He rubbed a hand across his temple, wiping the sweat and stress from his brow. He forced his facial features to relax. I need to keep those emotions in their place or else I won’t be able to understand what he’s saying. I have to listen.

“Pills?”

T.K. shrugged, looking at his hands cagily, which gave Carlos a pretty good idea of what he was dealing with. An addict who will try getting high on pretty much anything.

“T.K., I need to know.” He wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with the information, but it seemed like something he should know in case anything happened.

T.K.’s voice was quiet, and Carlos barely heard it over the murmuring of the central air working hard to cool the huge house. “Some Oxy. My favorite.” Carlos would put that piece of information into the T.K. file that he was compiling in his head, all the things that might come in handy someday when the inevitably awful stuff happened.

Yawning, T.K. plopped down onto the couch, and Carlos went to the kitchen and grabbed a recycling bin. He began loading the empty bottles into it. “You don’t have to do that,” T.K. protested. “It’s not your job.”

“I know, but it doesn’t help you to keep these here,” and to be honest, they were driving Carlos a little crazy.

“Why are you so nice?” It sounded like an accusation, skeptical and angry.

“I’m not.” I’m just bad at sitting around helplessly. I need something to keep me busy, and I hate looking at all those bottles and seeing him like this. “I like to keep my hands busy.”

T.K. winked, a sloppy wink. “I can think of a better use for those hands.” Oh, no. He did not just go there.

Carlos panicked. His jaw clenching. “Do not do that.”

“Do what?” T.K. asked as if he was completely innocent.

“Hit on me.”

“You weren’t supposed to be so hot.” Shut him up. Shut him up!

“I’m not hot. I’m just a guy, okay? Just a normal guy.”

“Normal, yeah, okay. Did you know that I’m really good with my mouth? I mean more than singing and stuff. I put enough junk in it to know how to use it.” T.K.’s eyes filled with hunger. He’s not thinking clearly. He doesn’t actually want me. He’s just horny. Carlos felt like putting his fingers in his ears and screaming “la, la, la, la, la.”

“Stop it. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“But if it was sober? Would you be interested?” He’s so desperate to be wanted. He doesn’t even care who wants him.

“It would still be a no.”

“Why? Aren’t I attractive?” Oh yes, far too attractive for your own good.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m your bodyguard. I can’t be blurring those lines.”

T.K. raised his eyebrows. “The more you know my body, the better you can guard it.”

“I said no. You can respect that, can’t you?” Carlos’ voice was agitated. His anger radiated through the room and spread to T.K.

“I don’t force anything on anyone,” T.K.’s voice was sharp. “I wouldn’t want to fuck someone with a stick up his ass anyways.”

“You don’t get to be an asshole just because things don’t go your way. Maybe try facing your feelings instead of getting mad and acting like a diva when any semblance of a bad feeling enters your mind.” So much for containing my temper.

“Wow, Mr. Nice Guy does have a backbone, after all.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Being an asshole?”

“You’re trying to see how many buttons you can push before I get up, leave, and never come back.”

T.K.’s face fell. “Why does everyone think they have fucking psychology degrees?”

“What?” What in the world is he talking about?

T.K. didn’t explain. “You don’t have to stay. I don’t care either way. I’m happy enough alone. Just leave me alone.”

“I don’t have to leave.” He took a breath. It’d been a long time since he had tried to handle someone so self-defeating and so scared to let anyone get too close. “I don’t want to leave.” Part of him wanted to run for the hills and stop the attachment he was feeling for T.K. Like T.K., Carlos was scared of letting anyone get too close. He was scared of knowing people too well, which was why he’d planned on spending his Friday alone. But I don’t want to be alone.

“You should want to leave.”

“But I don’t want to.” If only I could get it through his thick skull that some people just want him around. They don’t care if he is a singer or famous or a party boy. They just want to have him. Judd, Marjan, even me. We want him to be the person he’s happiest being and not this person who can’t stand to look himself in the mirror or the person who never shows the real him because he’s afraid no one will like it.

“What made you so stubborn?” T.K. paused to think. “Or should I say who?” Don’t think about Taylor. Now’s not the time. No need to make unnecessary comparisons.

Carlos crossed his arms as if it would help him keep all the feelings rushing through his body contained. “I was born a week late and put my mom through eight hours of labor. I was born stubborn.”

“Yeah, well, I was born a good person. Now, I’m a piece of shit, so how we come into this world doesn’t have much to do with how we go out.” Hopefully, we won’t be going out any time soon. Hopefully, he doesn’t want to.

“What do you like most about yourself?” Carlos asked, and it felt abrupt, but he had wanted to catch T.K. off guard.

“Why does it matter?” T.K. was already defensive, and the question made him more resistant.

“No questions, just tell me.”

“Oh, bossy. I like it,” T.K. said more biting than flirty.

“Favorite part of yourself?” Carlos pushed.

T.K. was quiet for a few moments. His tone softened. “Hard choice there’s so much to like,” he tried to act confident, but Carlos could hear his voice cracking. “but I guess the thing people like most about me is that I’m fun, the life of the party.” Is that all he’s got?

“Why is it that you love to talk about yourself until I actually ask you to tell me something about yourself and then all you can talk about is what other people think.”

“Here’s the thing, Carlos. Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not that interesting. I’m not that deep either. I’m just a vapid popstar who people like to think they know.” It sounded like defeat, and Carlos didn’t think the word popstar could ever sound so sad.

“You know what,” Carlos concluded. “Maybe you’re a rockstar after all.” T.K. looked up from his hands, eyes looking hopeful. Then, to make it sound less serious Carlos added, “Rockstar is a state of mind, after all.”

T.K. grinned at the inside joke, perking up a bit and letting a tentative grin appear on his face. “But I do play pop music,” he said. “So, maybe I’d rather be a popstar.” His eyes lingered on Carlos, “That stays between us, though.”

“Okay, popstar,” Carlos said clapping T.K. on the shoulder, and T.K.’s eyes flickered with something Carlos couldn’t quite make out. There’s so much to learn about T.K. Strand, so much that even his most devoted fans have even discovered. There’s a good person in there beneath all the layers of bravado. You don’t even have to dig that far to find them, but I want to bring that person out. I want to show him that there’s a place for the T.K. who can be happy.