Bonkus

I saw this sad little guy in Lowe's today while looking at stuff for my new apartment and I felt so bad I bought him too. I have this named him Dennis 'huckleberry' Whitaker because I don't know any other fictional character or name that embodies the same kinda sad puppy left out in the rain energy as well as Dennis does. The plant is kinda wilted due to the conditions it was in inside of the store so I'm gonna try my best to nurse it back to health.

So no, Dennis Whitaker wasn't poetic, but looking at Dr Robby holding the sweetest baby Jane Doe with this look of fragile love?

He could write essays and books, songs dedicated to the sheer amount of feelings the picture of Dr Robby cradling the baby to his chest like she belonged there, a painted sun from the pedes wall behind Dr Robby like a halo, making him seem divine even under the bright hospital lighting.

Dennis was lucky that Dr Robby wasn't a god, because he would quit his job as a doctor and put his theology degree to work. Spend the rest of his life kneeling at the altar of Michael Robinavich until he finally kicked the bucket regardless of his dreams of becoming a doctor. Cause a life kneeling to Robby didn't sound that bad, sounded amazing actually. Though despite the unrelenting want of Dr Robby filling his bones at the moment like bone marrow, he still had a job to do.

“Uh, Dr Robby? Ms Dana said she needed your help with something at the nurses station.” Dennis said, eyes not leaving the man's face, studying the slight shift in the crows feet crinkling from the small shut-eyed smile he gave Dennis.

“Sure, just give me a minute.” Dr Robby responded, voice soft and gentle like he was afraid of waking the baby in his arms. A pang of guilt flashed through his chest as he wished it was for him too, but Dennis pushed it down with a nod, going towards the front desk to tell Dana that Dr Robby would be over soon. The response that Robby gave, repeating over and over in his head like a broken record.

'Give me a minute.'

'Give me a minute.'

For a man like that? Dennis would wait forever.

This year Dennis showed up as Spider-Man and Robby went as a lifeguard, both don't know how they got that message from the other but hey, at least they are avoiding suspicion ig.

“Y'know driftwood?” Robby asked, refusing to look at Dennis. Instead, directing his gaze to the vibrant lights as he exhaled a mouthful of smoke, thick clouds clumping together as it floated up towards the dull night sky.

Dennis paused as he processed the words, his eyes focused on his swinging legs and the very distant sidewalk below them from where they were sitting at the edge of the hospital roof.

“Uh, yeah?” Dennis mumbled, refusing to look at the older man's face. The tired and weary expression that normally rested on the attendings face was replaced by something far darker than Dennis was able to handle. Something that he had no experience in handling properly, something Dennis would absolutely mess up.

“Why?” Dennis asked, though he gave a slight wince. He wasn't good at conversation, and certainly not leagues near what Dr Robby needed at the moment, but it couldn't hurt to try right?

Robby didn't say anything in response for a while, the only distinction that he heard Dennis was the little hum he gave before bringing the stale cigarette back up to his lips.

“It's like that.” Robby spoke after a few minutes of silence. “Where you're just floating, you can't stop and sometimes you get pulled under.” He continued, whips of smoke still leaving his mouth as if refusing to want to leave.

“Sometimes it's frequent, sometimes it's not. Sometimes you have good days, maybe it will last for a month, or a year.” Robby continued his voice sounding forcefully cheerful, as if he was trying to be optimistic. “But it feels worse when you get pulled under, cause you never know when you will be able to breathe again.” His voice changed again to be more monotone, as he took another drag. Both men waiting in silence waiting for the smoke to fill his lungs. Both sitting like two sides of the same coin, Robby calm, looking out in the distance with a sort of resignation that he couldn't quite hide, while Dennis looked close to tears, hands clenched in his scrub pants as he tried to hold back tears.

“And eventually, you may not be sure you want to continue breathing at all.” Robby finished the resignation fully taking over his voice besides a small crackle of emotion in his voice, ignoring the younger man's choked off exhale.

“So your driftwood? You're floating?” Dennis asked, looking at Robby who refused to look back into his eyes.

God. Dennis just wanted to grab the man and drag him off the roof, take him to the eighth floor where Dennis could feel that Dr Robby was safer, trying to currently ignore how even the slightest push could send Dr Robby over the edge and plummeting towards hard concrete floors below them.

But Robby was stronger, and bigger in general. Any kind of physical struggle could send them both over the edge and Dennis wouldn't be able to absorb all of the blow even if he would have managed to get under Robby as they fell.

“No.” Robby whispered, voice sounding colder than it had only moments ago. Promptly sending a chill down the younger man's spine.

“Then what are you?” He asked, ignoring the shakiness of his voice and the tears falling down his face.

“Drowning.” Robby replied a minute later ignoring the soft gasp that echoed from beside him.

Dennis grabbed a handful of the other man's scrubs with a shaky hand and his brows knitting together as the older looked at him and their eyes connected. Looking at the other man and hoping his message is conveyed.

'If you jump I will too.'

(tw: me projecting onto Shane, bad food combos, thinking about purging, sensory issues) did I eat this absolutely, is this what's going on in my head rn also yes. No time for insane editing of this since it's 2:07 in the morning and I'm gonna sleep now. Just post and done, have a good day!

Shane felt like a rock was sitting in his stomach, and while yes his stomach felt heavy. It wasn't because he had actually swallowed a rock. But because he had swallowed actual food.

He had been hungry, very hungry, enough where when he had stopped reviewing whatever brand email his mom had forwarded to him it had made itself known. The feeling of disgusting hunger roiling around in his stomach like some kind of sentient being. So in his very very bad judgement had eaten some kind of food monstrosity.

A toasted burger bun, with peanut butter and a slice of cheese. Not because he was necessarily craving it, but because it was quiet. A task that wouldn't crinkle that hard or be that loud, fuck he didn't even know he had cheese but in a course of temptation slapped the thing together and devoured it. It was good, better than he would have thought it would be. So like an idiot he made another and ate that one too.

Now he was sitting on his couch curled into a very sad ball and wondering how he could get rid of the calories of what he just ate. Of course the obvious choice seemed to throw it up, but he threw up goldfish yesterday and that alone had taken so much time to make sure he got at least most of it out (his stomach was holding on to it no matter how deep he stuck his fingers into his throat.)

The second option was to run, run or work it off, he didn't have time to sit in his home gym because he was supposed to be reviewing emails. He could go on a run and make his phone read it out to him, but that implied showering afterwards and water made him feel icky right now so that was also a no go.

He burrowed further into his couch as he realized the last option, starving. It would create a calorie deficit, yes but not eating was also hard, the hunger making him react without thinking, even if he avoided the areas in his house stocked with food it wouldn't matter because by the time he had to go his fingers would wander and he would get something. He groaned, pulling his hands up to his face to wipe at his eyes which had definitely not been getting wetter due to frustration.

“Why is it so hard to be pretty.” he mumbled to himself, only realizing the irony of his words once he realized how many times Ilya has called him pretty unprompted. Shane swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth, maybe it was better to just sleep in until he could eat again.

(tw: depressed Shane, suicidal idealization, thoughts of sh, mention of the tuna melt, and my shitty English) Anyway please enjoy this courtesy of my very shitty headspace this morning.

Shane felt like he was underwater. Not like when you're at the beach and you're swimming with your friends and laughing, and one of them shoves you a little too hard and you slip.

No, it was nothing like that. It felt like the water was polluted, leaving him unable to see or think properly and someone was forcing his head underwater with the wish to watch the air leave Shane's lungs.

Ever since the tuna melt that was more often than not how he felt. The feeling only intensified after the radio silence from Ilya Rozanov.

Sitting in his hotel room in Boston alone was lonely, laying in bed and rotting into his mattress was lonely, but he didn't know what else to do. The uncomfortable itch underneath his skin made him want to scratch at his thighs until he drew blood, itch until he could fix everything, until he could fix how awful he was and serve as an act of penance.

Because God did he deserve it, he deserved some kind of punishment, whether divine or man made to make him better. To sink its claws into the creases and crevices of his (albeit very) empty brain, and tattoo itself there.

I got bored so I wrote something for heated rivalry (set during Ilya ghosting Shane :(, as well as idk if it shows but may have hints or implied references to Shane's Ed)

Shane looked at the smoothie in his hand, tilting the shaker cup so he could see the sludge that filled the inside. The paleish green blur of blended vegetables looking like an eye sore compared to the white and dark brown hues of the rest of his house. Shane frowned, setting the shaker cup down onto the counter, and taking a step back to look at it from a different angle.

The green looked good, the shade by itself could have been a color of a shirt his mom would schedule a photo shoot for. Almost looked too good to touch, he felt the feeling of hunger make itself known, his stomach letting out a shaky growl that would have been embarrassing if anyone else was around to hear it.

Shane sat down on his floor, the feeling of cold wood seeping through his sweatpants, urging him to lift up his knees, putting the side of his head against a knee cap as he looked back at the cup. The sun made the drink look like something divine, rays of sunlight coming through the see through plastic and making it glow.

'Like how Ilya’s hair glowed in the sun, ’ his brain unhelpfully supplied.Shane stared, trying to ignore the thought as his hand came up to clasp at his free wrist.

Ilya, sweet special Ilya. Ilya, who looked like a marble statue, came to life. Ilya, who wore the dumbest cologne and his bear tattoo. Ilya, who deserved much more than Shane. Ilya, who realized how broken Shane was. Ilya, who realized it would be better just to leave. And broken Shane, who didn’t resent him for it at all. Because Shane knew how broken he was, broken Shane who would have left Shane too.

Ilya was just about to wipe off the tear rolling below his eye but Shane beat him to it, hand swiping a safe distance below to catch it, than switching to his thumb to wipe up the residual liquid.

So kind and so delectably Shane.

The only time he gets out of his shell was with Hockey and Ilya, almost making Ilya feel like he was on the same level.

“You have had jelly beans before?” Shane asked, guiding a grape jelly bean towards his mouth. He winced as he bit down, realizing that his question may be a bit insensitive since Ilya’s childhood was on his taboo ‘do not ask Ilya about because of his most likely shitty childhood’ list.

“Ah yes, kidney stone of fresh prey, lemon flavored.” Ilya shrugged, leaning further against Shane, and wrapping his arm around the other’s waist.

“Surprising since bears eat fish.” He finished, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. A smug expression on his face, one that made the Russian’s face look almost like a statue made of marble in the pale moonlight.

“Oh fuck off! I thought you were serious for a second!” Shane shouted, hand smacking Ilya in the bicep. Drawing a chuckle from the larger man that made Shanes stomach do an uncomfortable somersault.

“Very serious, you doubt me?” Ilya smiled head craning to look at Shane from where he was nestled into the Russians side.

“Shut up before i suffocate you with the popcorn bucket.” Shane threatened, hand shooting out to shake the popcorn bucket as a demonstration of his abilities.

“You wouldn’t do that, you love me.” Ilya bragged obnoxiously, looking at Shane with a wink.

“Fuck off.” Shane smiled, burrowing deeper into the Russian's side, as he picked out another jellybean and placed it into the other's free hand; it was green from what he could see. The TV screen is giving him a fair amount of light. He looked between the jelly bean and Ilya, green apple had to be a safe choice right? He could just give him one of every JellyBean until he said which one he liked best. Unless he messes it up and somehow makes the sugar-fueled Russian hate Jelly beans. Shane grimaced, hurriedly putting the jelly bean into the other's hand, taking his hand away in case the other man tried to return it.

He watched trying to stifle a nervous giggle, as the other man stared at the green jelly bean.

"You feed me grass colored bean? Is this another ehh-" Ilya waved his empty hand around as if the motion would help him come up with the word. "Rabbit? Rabbit food?" He finished, giving Shane a sly smile as he watched the other man blush, the reddish color contrasting across his beautiful freckles.