#Like 90% of the time the idea of ''at least I'm not (x)'' doesn't work for me probably for a mix of valid and mentally ill reasons

[trans-soapberry]

I fuckin hate Reese's why did they tell the commercial voice over guy that he has to sound like he wants to fuck the Reese's. Let me out I'm trying to watch Tetris videos

[bitters-n-sweets]

take a break pt. 2 — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Months after Bali, you're finally back in the US, staying with your sister in Pittsburgh. You just have no idea who lives there, too. take a break pt. 1

warnings: cursing, inaccuracies of how the ER works, angst, misunderstanding trope, reader has a sister named Jenna—who gets mildly hurt, not proofread, mentions of miscarriage (not the reader), minors go away, 5.2K words masterlist I am overwhelmed with joy at how the first part of this got so much love, thank you all, I'm so glad you liked it ❤️

"You’re telling me," your sister says, blinking like she’s trying to process it while trying not to get angry, "you spent an entire week with a complete stranger??"

You sigh. Of course she’s going to lose her mind.

"Jenna—"

"What were you thinking???" She’s pacing now.

You roll your eyes. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But it wasn’t like that."

She stops, arms crossed, and gives you a pointed look.

"I’m serious. What happened in Bali… it was different. I’ve never met anyone like him."

Jenna takes a deep breath a few times and sits beside you. The sharp voice softens. "I just don’t want you to get hurt again."

"Too late," you murmur with a bitter smile.

She sighs and pulls you into a hug. "Of course it is."

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your phone sits on the table, still open from showing her a photo of you and Robby, sun-kissed and smiling. Jenna squints at it.

"Well," she says, "he is stupid handsome. Those sad-boy eyes? Come on."

You let out a laugh, some of the tension slipping from your shoulders.

"And he’s a doctor?" she adds, scoffing. "Girl."

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. She’s trying.

After months of traveling, your lease ended, so you're staying at her place in Pittsburgh for now, just until you find a new apartment. Your sister's been your rock since you were kids. If anyone bullied you, or if you needed any help with friends, math, you name it, and she'll be there for you. She's the most reliable big sister you could ever have, so you don't blame her for trying to protect you.

She's also trying to balance being the protective sister, and the fun one. It doesn't always work.

"So what’s stopping you from looking him up?" Jenna asks suddenly.

You hesitate.

"He’s one Google search away," she nudges. "Don’t even lie."

You suck in a breath. "I know. I just… what if I find out he’s moved on? What if it really was just a vacation fling for him? And what if he lives in New York or something? I mean, we didn't reveal our hometowns for a reason. We could've easily shared our phone numbers, but we didn't."

Jenna frowns. "Okay, first of all? If everything you told me is true—and judging by those photos and the way you talk about him—it wasn’t just a fling. And second, so what if he’s in New York? That’s like a 90-minute flight. You work remotely. Things could actually work out."

You don’t say anything right away. You just look down at your hands and bite your cheek, the way you do when you’re unsure. Jenna bumps your shoulder gently.

She adds, "Look, I’m not saying go camp outside his hospital with huge cards, Love Actually style. But you should at least give yourself the chance to find out. What if he’s been thinking the same thing all this time?"

You barely say anything before Jenna snatches your phone off the coffee table.

"Wait—Jenna, no!"

She's already typing.

"Just a little digging," she says, her fingers working fast on your phone.

You lunge for the phone, but she twists away, standing up. "Give it back!"

"Nope, you had your chance and you blew it. Plus, you know you won't actually do this. I'm doing you a favor."

"Jenna, I’m serious—"

"Aha!" She exclaims, stopping in her tracks. "Michael Robinavitch, MD. Trauma Attending at—"

Your eyes are wide as you stare at Jenna. Her face shifts. Something unreadable—then disbelief. She scoffs and meets your eyes. "You're not gonna believe me."

Robby sighs as he slides through the ER doors once again. Like yesterday, like the day before, like how it will be for the rest of his life, probably. Dana's already at the nurse's station, looking at the board, phone in hand.

"You know, every day you walk in here, and you look even more like shit." Dana frowns. "I thought you just had a vacation, you’re supposed to look refreshed, not like you got dumped in the ocean and left for dead."

Robby huffs. "Well, good morning to you, too, Dana."

And then something in Dana clicks. "Oh my God. You got dumped in Bali."

He lets out a dry laugh. "I didn't get dumped in Bali. I just…"

"Wait, did you dump someone in Bali?"

"Can we not do this here?"

"I mean… I just expected you to come back tanned and smug, not pining like some sad indie drama lead." Dana lets out a little laugh at her own joke.

Robby exhales slowly, a tight smile on his lips. "It was a vacation. Nothing more."

Oh but it was so so much more. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you. Let’s just get that out of the way. Your laugh, your perfume, the way you fell asleep on his chest like you were meant to be there. He swears he still smells you sometimes, and it’s driving him insane. He’s off his game at work, can’t sleep at home, can’t eat without thinking of the dinners you shared by candlelight and crashing waves. So yeah—he looks like shit. Forgive the middle-aged man for wearing his heartbreak on his face.

"What's her full name?"

Robby pauses. "What?"

Jack shrugs like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I know you keep checking the board for any new incoming traumas to see if it could be her." Jack continues, "You feel guilty for it, but you're still doing it. So tell me her name—I’ll keep an eye out on nights."

Jack knows it's a way to ease Robby, even just for a little bit.

Robby presses his palms to his eyes, just for a second. Long enough to see your face behind his lids, then mutters your name. He doesn’t want to see you on a stretcher. God, no. He doesn’t want to see you bleeding, unconscious, coding. He hopes you never have a reason to come through those ER injured, ever.

But the truth is, the ER is where estranged people meet. And though he hates himself for it, a small part of him still hopes one day you’ll walk through that door again—alive, healthy, maybe even smiling.

"Okay." Jack nods, then smirks. "How about a picture?"

"Jack." Robby warns.

"Backing down, backing down," Jack raises his hands in surrender, "Just testing the waters."

"She must've been something, huh?" He adds, "You haven't stopped thinking about her, and it's been months. You might be really screwed, brother."

Robby doesn't say anything. He knows.

[flashback]

You're both soaked.

It started with a walk along the beach. Then a splash. Then a challenge. Now you're standing in the shallows, dripping wet, and Robby is grinning like an idiot because he 'won'.

"You cheated! You said you wouldn’t grab me!"

He shrugs. "I said I wouldn’t splash you. Technically, dragging you into the water doesn’t count."

"You’re impossible."

"You're slow."

You gasp and lunge toward him, but he takes off running down the beach like a damn teenager. You chase after him, heart pounding, laughing so hard it burns. Eventually, he slows just enough for you to catch him, and you both tumble into the sand.

"I should’ve let the jellyfish have you," You pant.

"I think you'd miss me too much."

You roll your eyes. "You’re so full of yourself."

His voice drops just enough to make your pulse skip. "Am I wrong?"

Then he leans in and kisses you, slow and smiling, like he knows he’s already won. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his.

"You're the worst."

"Then you've got terrible taste."

[present day]

You linger outside the sliding glass doors for longer than you’d like to admit.

You'd gotten the same rosé you both shared in Bali, with a nice bow wrapped around the neck, and a letter you'd hand-written. It's very cliché, but it felt necessary. And now you feel stupid.

Fuck it.

Part of you is excited to see him, see his reaction, would he run to you? Hold you in his arms? Kiss you right there in front of everyone?

You're smiling nervously now as you walk past the doors. The emergency room at PTMC is busier than you expected, the front desk doesn’t pay you much attention, which is good, they're probably thinking you're visiting with what you have in hand. You’re not sure what you would’ve said anyway.

You ask quietly where to find him. They point you toward the consult rooms, and you murmur a quick thank-you, the gift bag tucked at your side.

You spot him almost immediately through the narrow strip of glass in the door to Consult Room A.

Your heart stops.

Robby is inside. He’s really here. Still tall, still impossibly handsome, and especially in his scrubs, exhaustion clinging to the curve of his shoulders. You almost burst through the door—when you realize he's not alone.

Another doctor is sitting on the exam bed, bent slightly forward, elbows on her knees, one hand cradling her stomach. Her eyes are red. Robby kneels beside her, not quite touching her at first—then gently, cautiously, he places his hand on her knee. She covers it with her own.

He says something you can’t hear. She nods. And then, quietly, she leans forward and presses her forehead to his, smiling, tears in her eyes.

You freeze.

All the warmth in your limbs rushes away. You feel like someone's just completely taken your lungs away and you can't breathe.

You recognize her—Dr. Collins. You’ve seen her on the PTMC staff page, probably one of the first names you found when you searched for Robby.

You take a step back, slowly, like you might disturb the moment if you're not careful. Then another.

It seems like Robby has moved on.

You're not sure what to do. You feel fucking stupid. Of course, he has moved on. It was just a fling, nothing more. Tears blur your vision as you take short breaths, the rosé now clutched tightly to your chest, and you hurrily walk back down the hall. You don't want him to see you. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Collins exhales shakily, then squeezes his hand one last time before standing.

"I'll be fine." she says, voice hoarse but steady.

"You sure?"

She gives him a small smile. "Yeah. Go save someone who’s actually dying."

He watches her walk out, her back straight even though her world just cracked in half. They’ve been through a lot, he and Collins. It was never romantic—not really—but there were late nights and shared griefs. A handful of near-misses. People who endure together sometimes blur lines. But whatever they were, that part’s long behind them.

A nurse knocks gently on the doorframe. "Dr. Robby?"

"Yeah?"

"There was someone here asking for you," she says, "I told her you'd be out in a minute but I think she left. She didn't leave a name, she had a gift bag with her though."

Robby blinks. "Okay, thanks."

People drop off things sometimes. A patient’s family, a resident trying to get on his good side, a pharmaceutical rep hoping to buy his time. He doesn’t think too hard about it. He heads back out into the chaos of the ER, unaware of the gift that nearly reached him—or the woman who had.

[flashback]

"So what happens after you leave?"

Robby doesn't answer right away. He drags a finger through the sand. "Get on a plane, go home, back to work."

"You know that's not what I mean."

He sighs. "I know."

You wait and Robby finally meets your eyes. "I don't want to ruin this."

"This." You repeat. "This… fantasy? Or us?"

His jaw shifts slightly, he’s trying to choose his words carefully. "I mean the part where I don’t have to think about how complicated this would get if we tried to keep it going."

You nod, lips tight. "Right." Complicated.

"I'm not saying I don't want this. Us." He says quickly, "I just... I don’t know how."

You know he's right. It just hurts to hear it. "Yeah… me neither."

You glance up, and there’s a long, quiet look between you. "So, let’s not make promises we can’t keep?"

Robby nods, but his hand finds yours in the sand. And he doesn't let go.

[present day]

You've been sitting in your parked car for ten minutes after leaving the entrance.

Your hands still tremble a little.

You’d come here with hope burning in your chest, you ignored all of the doubts because you wanted to believe what you had with Robby was real. Because maybe despite not sharing phone numbers, there was something there. You hoped he also regretted not continuing what you had. But seeing Robby with her, the way he touched her, the softness in his expression… it had knocked the wind out of you.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to throw the gift away—or bring it home. Or the letter. So you decide to rewrite the letter. As a goodbye. You slip it inside the gift bag and get out of the car.

This time, you don’t go to the front entrance. You spot a woman smoking near the ambulance bay, leaning against the wall like she’s on break.

You approach her quietly.

"Hi. Sorry to bother you—do you work in the ER?"

She squints through the smoke, "Yeah, why?"

"I, uh, could you give this to Dr. Robby? I…have an errand to run, so, I can't give it to him myself." You offer her the gift bag.

She eyes the gift bag warily. "You trying to sell him something?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just want to thank him. For everything he's done for me." You hesitate. "You can tell him it's from Ove."

She hesitates, then shrugs, taking the gift bag. "Yeah, sure."

You just offer a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Robby's sitting on his desk, busy charting, when Dana drops a gift bag in front of him.

"And this is…?"

"Rosé delivery, apparently." Dana chuckles. "Someone wanted to thank you, so she told me to give you this. Said it's from 'Ove'."

His heart stops. He snatches the bag like it might vanish, scanning the pink-gold bottle, the smooth ribbon, the familiar handwriting he could recognize anywhere.

You were here.

He bolts.

"Wait—" Dana calls behind him, "There's—!"

But Robby’s already sprinting down the hallway, dodging a gurney, ignoring the startled nurse who calls his name.

He jogs a little down the street, scanning every face. A couple arguing near the bus stop. A woman in scrubs checking her phone. But not you. His breath fogs in the cold air, and something in his chest twists painfully.

He missed you.

"Fuck." He keeps repeating, "FUCK!"

"Robby!"

He turns at Dana’s voice.

She’s outside now, waving something in her hand. "She left a letter."

Hi Robby, I'm sorry I didn't give you this letter and gift myself. I know it probably seems cowardly to leave a letter like this instead of talking to you face to face, but honestly… I don’t think I could’ve done that without crying. Or jumping into your arms. Or kissing you��� Or all of it. There’s so much I wanted to say, but maybe this will have to be enough. I’m happy you’ve found someone who makes you happy. I really am. I hope she’s good to you. I hope she sees what I see in you—your terrible jokes, your gentleness, the way you care too much and try to hide it. I hope she knows how lucky she is. Take care of yourself, doc. And thank you for all the memories. You deserve someone who makes coming home feel like peace. – Ove

Robby reads the letter once. Then again.

He’s standing in the hallway outside the break room, half-shielded by the open door, fingers curling around the page like it might explain itself differently on the third read.

You were here. At the hospital. He missed you.

His eyes skim the line again—the one about how you couldn’t face him without crying, or kissing him. Jumping into his arms. His heart clenches. It’s so you. Honest. Brave and terrified at once.

Then he hits the sentence that makes him stop cold.

I’m happy that you’ve found someone who can make you happy.

His brow furrows. Found someone?

He glances up like the hallway might have an answer. What are you talking about? There’s no one. There hasn’t been anyone. Not really. Just that moment with Collins—but even that... that wasn’t what you think.

His chest tightens. You thought he was with someone. That he moved on.

You thought he was happy.

He leans back against the wall, one hand dragging down his face. A deep exhale pushes from his lungs, but it doesn’t take the ache with it.

"Ove," he says aloud, the name barely a breath.

He lets out a quiet laugh, one that almost breaks halfway through. Of course you'd sign it like that.

Now you're leaving him rosé and a goodbye that read like a love letter sealed in regret.

His chest tightens. There's a stinging behind his eyes he doesn't want to name.

Dana watches him from the nurses’ station, saying nothing. She doesn’t need to. Robby just shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

"She was here," he says again, like he still doesn’t believe it.

"Yeah," Dana replies softly, looking at him sympathetically. "She was."

The letter is still in his hand. He folds it carefully, like it's something sacred. Then he tucks it into his jacket pocket and takes a breath.

He should have been faster.

He should have found you.

But now… now all he can do is stand here, holding the words you couldn't say out loud.

A few days after that, you're back to apartment hunting. Somewhere outside of Pittsburgh. You haven't told your sister, but you have a feeling she knows. She's been quiet in that careful way, watching you drift through nights of old movies and whiskey. Not rosé—never rosé. That would taste too much like him.

You're on the couch, laptop warming your thighs, when you suddenly hear a scream from the kitchen.

"Jenna!" You scramble.

Jenna had bought one of those aesthetic looking pots made of glass, and of course it shattered. Another sound—glass crunching, followed by a strangled yelp. You race in to find her on the floor, clutching her arm, shards of her new glass pot glittering across the tile. She must’ve slipped. Her forearm is red, swelling fast.

"I'm okay—" She groans and winces, "Okay, OW OW OW—No, I'm not okay."

You turn off the stove, moving quickly to help her up, careful not to step on the glass. "Let's get you to the hospital. I'll get a cab."

She’s quiet in the ride over, cradling her arm, the towel now damp from melted ice.

"I'm so stupid." She hisses. "It's not even that bad, it just hurts."

"You're not stupid," You say, "But it looks pretty bad. The glass shattered everywhere. You're lucky it didn't cut you anywhere else."

She lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, then presses her head back against the seat.

"Are you sure you want to come?" She asks after a beat, always worrying about you first. "We're going to that ER. After everything that happened…"

You glance out the window, swallowing down the familiar ache that tightens in your chest at just the mention of it.

"Jenna." You cut her off gently. "None of that matters right now. You’re hurt. We’re going."

She bites her cheek, clearly reading more in your silence than you want her to. But she just nods. "Okay."

It's not that late yet, and the ER is still as busy as ever. Due to the level of Jenna's injury, you get in fast. You push through the double doors with Jenna leaning on your side, her towel-wrapped arm clutched to her chest. You follow the nurse down the familiar hall, heart tightening with every step, and help Jenna settle into a curtained bay. She gives you a strained smile, trying to act tough, but she looks worried.

"I'll go get a doctor for you, it'll be quick." the nurse says.

You sit on the edge of the plastic chair, elbows on your knees, trying not to breathe too deep.

Then the curtain rustles. "Okay, let's see who we have here."

You look up and freeze—just for a second—until you realize it’s not Robby. You exhale quietly, chest unclenching. "You're Jenna?" the doctor asks, flipping through the chart.

Your sister nods.

The doctor nods back, "I'm Dr. Abbot, and this is…" He motions to you.

"My sister," Jenna says, giving your name. 

That’s when you see it—Dr. Abbot's face changes. He repeats your full name under his breath, eyes narrowing like he’s connecting dots in real time.

Something clicks in his head. Then, without another word, he steps back. "I'll be right back." He’s gone before either of you can ask anything.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Robby!"

Jack whisper-screams down the hall, catching Robby just as he’s about to exit through the staff doors. Robby slows, eyebrows raised in surprise as Jack jogs up to him.

"Jack, I really just—"

"She's here."

Robby stops mid-step.

"She was," he corrects slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "a few days ago. I couldn't catch her—"

"No, Robby." Jack cuts in, breathless. "She's here now. With her sister. Bay 5."

Robby's eyes go wide. "…A-are you sure? Wait, is she okay??"

"Well I mean you wouldn't show me a picture of her so—"

"Jack—"

"Right." Jack says, "She’s fine, she’s accompanying her sister. Just stay in the consult room. I'll bring her over, tell her she can wait there."

Robby feels like his world is spinning again. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. He still has your letter tucked in his jacket pocket.

He nods nervously. "Okay."

You’re still staring at the curtain, blinking like maybe it’ll open again and explain whatever just happened. But it stays closed. Jenna glances at you, then at her arm, and mutters, "Well, that was weird."

"Yeah." You frown.

You’re still thinking about the way the doctor said your name like he recognized it—like it meant something. Before you can say anything else, the curtain swishes again. Dr. Abbot reappears, breathless, like he’s jogged half the ER to get back. "Um, do you mind waiting in the consult room? There's… not a lot of space here, so…"

It's an odd request, but Jenna says she's okay, so you reluctantly go with the nurse who'll show you where the consult room is.

As soon as you’re gone, Jenna raises an eyebrow at Dr. Abbot. He’s still standing there, watching the curtain fall closed behind you like it just told him a secret.

"…Do you know something?" She asks. Vague, suggesting.

Dr. Abbot turns slowly and squints at her. "I don't know. Do you know something?"

Jenna tilts her head. "I might."

He tilts his head back at her. "Then I might too."

The nurse doesn’t say much. Just a polite smile and a gentle hand on your back as she guides you down the hallway.

You pass a few curtain bays, a trauma room, and then she stops at a door with Consult Room B printed in small white letters.

"Just wait in here," she says gently.

"Wait for—"

"—OK." But the door closes before you can finish the question. You blink. Turn. And that’s when you see him.

Robby.

He’s standing at the far end of the room, one hand braced on the counter like he might be holding himself up. He's still in his scrubs, navy jacket with his sleeves rolled up, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You freeze. He sees you.

For a second, neither of you speak. Neither of you even breathe.

Robby braves himself to step closer to you.

"Robby," you finally say, voice barely more than a whisper. You swallow, shifting your weight, arms folded like a shield. "I didn't know—the nurse just told me to—"

You break eye contact and step back as he steps closer. You can't look in his eyes, because you know you'll break. You're already fighting the tears that are about to fall.

He watches you for a moment, trying to find his voice. "You okay?"

You nod. "Jenna—my sister—she burned her arm. Slipped on glass. I just… went into autopilot."

He steps closer again, slower this time. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah. She’ll be fine." You bite your lip, still not looking at him.

"You left me a bottle of rosé," he says, gently, still stepping closer. "And a name."

You try to smile. "I thought you’d figure it out."

"I did," he says, now only inches away from you, "and then I read the letter."

Your breath hitches, just slightly. There’s a pause as you nod, your hands tighten over your elbows, fingers pressing into your sleeves. "Right."

"Are you ever going to look at me?"

You try to hide the sob escaping you and back away a little, but Robby reaches out, placing both hands gently to cup your face, brushing away your tears. You finally meet his eyes, and the sight wrecks you.

Why is he crying?

He steps closer, trapping you within his frame, and leans in. His lips press gently to yours, careful—as if asking permission, checking if you still want this, if you still want him. Your hands clutch his scrubs, holding on like a lifeline.

You pull away first. "This is wrong." You whisper.

Robby’s brows knit together in confusion until he sees the guilt in your eyes. You think he's with Collins.

"You…" You sniff, "You're happy, Robby. You—You can't ruin it."

"Look at me," His voice is firm, "Do I look happy to you?"

"I—"

"I'm not with Collins."

You look at him. "What?"

"The woman you saw with me a few days go," Robby says carefully, "she had a miscarriage. I was just… trying to be there for her."

You stare at him, breath caught. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Then, quietly, "Oh."

You look down, heart thudding, face hot with shame. You want to disappear into the floor, you feel even more stupid now.

He asks, a little broken. "You really thought I'd move on that fast?"

You shake your head, blinking fast. "I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe it wasn’t as real for you as it was for me."

"And what? Were you just going to leave?" He frowns. "You weren't even gonna let me say goodbye. Not even one last look at you."

You shake your head, eyes glossy. "I thought it would be easier on you," you whisper. "Like Bali."

Robby's expression shatters. "That was not easy on me."

"You left before I woke up."

"I thought you wanted me to." His voice catches. "You were quiet that whole last day. I figured you didn’t want me to make it harder."

"Because I didn't want to say goodbye!" You cry out, "I didn't want it to end. But I got scared, because what if you don't like the version of me outside of Bali? Because Bali was good, so good, and back here—" you sob, "—back here I'm not as confident. I'm nobody. I'm a mess."

Robby's heart breaks a little. He sees you, truly sees you, and realizes the irony: that’s exactly how he feels.

"You think I don’t get that? You think Bali wasn’t the first time in years I felt like myself again?" He swallows hard. "I was afraid, too. Afraid I’d already messed it up. Afraid if I said goodbye, it would feel real. Final."

You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

"You’re not nobody," he says, softer now. "You're the person who saw me when I was at my lowest. Who laughed so hard on that motorbike I thought I'd crash us into a rice field. Who made me believe I could want more than just work and sleep and going through the motions. Whose letter I still keep in my pocket. You're the person who lent me your book."

You chuckle at that, still sniffing.

He cups your cheek again, thumb brushing away the tears you’ve stopped trying to hide.

"And you don’t have to be confident all the time," he murmurs. "You don’t have to be the Bali version of you. I want you. All versions of you."

You try not to cry again, nodding your head. "…I want you, too."

He exhales—like he’s been holding his breath for days—and his forehead presses to yours, gentle and grounding. "I'm no picnic, either. I overthink everything. I push people away when I should let them in. I’ve spent most of my life trying to act like nothing gets to me."

"But you do." His thumb brushes under your eye. "You got to me."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"The worst." He smiles a little.

"Then you've got horrible taste."

He chuckles. "I believe what I said was 'terrible' not 'horrible'."

You share a laugh and there's a long, quiet pause. You’re both holding your breath, holding each other like the other person could disappear, like this might be a dream.

"Robby…" you murmur.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to make promises this time?" You ask, hopeful once again. "Ones we'll try our best to keep?"

He smiles. "Yeah. I do."

He leans in again, brushing his lips over yours. Your fingers tangle in the navy fabric of his hoodie, like you're scared he’ll vanish. But he doesn’t. He just holds you tighter, steadier. And it’s everything you’ve been aching for. No longer a memory of Bali. No longer a what-if. Just you and him.

You take Robby’s hand gently and guide him towards where Jenna is to introduce them. You thought she'd be asleep, but you hear chatter from behind the curtain. When you swing it open—you see her and Jack, gossiping like two teenagers, her wounds wrapped up long ago.

"Oh hey~ We were just talking about you two," Jenna smirks, "So, Dr. Abbot, how long did you say Dr. Robby here has been broody?"

"Well, I think since birth, really, but he became worse after leaving Bali."

You roll your eyes and glance at Robby, who's blushing like a tomato now. You try to soothe him, while Jack and Jenna share a subtle fist bump, quietly whispering to each other.

"We did that."

"Hell yeah we did."

--

hope you guys like it! side note, lowkey loving Jack and Jenna's interaction and thank you to all of you in the taglist for being so excited for this 🥰 ily, and im so sorry if i missed anyone, it is really not on purpose. I hope you enjoyed!

taglist: @biggestsimponhere @thesnugglingduck @qardasngan @lol-im-done @daisydark @onlyrealjoy @sabrinaselina55 @borbalalikesdocs @livingavilaloca @evans-dejong @thinemineours @marvelousmissmaggie @maiamore @hagarsays @evermoresivy @capj-1437 @beebeechaos @obfuscateyummy @omgbrianab @honestlystop @jazzimac1967 @msdariaknight @cozyfanficnook @wowitsafemale @princessjayll @heyysolsister @mcuwhore7 @1mverstappen @aryacoulson @the-one-with-the-grey-color @ravenouswild @littlezee80 @gardeniarose13 @bitchy-bi-trash @breemary05-blog @arrowswithwifi

[zepskies]

Hi, how are you?

I was wondering if you could write something like "Dean reads you wrong" but with Sam Please

Hey, lovely!

I'm doing well, thank you. 💜 I hope you are too! Hmm, I'm still working through my current bank of requests, but since "Dean reads you wrong" is so fresh, it got me thinking about how Sam would go about this...

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: It's hard for Sam to admit he wants you...when he thinks you might want his brother.

Song Inspo: "If You're Gone" by Matchbox Twenty

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, fear of unrequited love, mutual pining

Imagine: Sam reads you wrong.

When Sam falls for someone, he's...well, what he would call self-aware.

But also cautious.

He knows his own track record with women. He knows the life he leads, and has resigned himself to giving up most kinds of normalcy or domesticity.

And maybe, a part deep in the back of his brain has given up on the idea of love.

That's why it's so damn confounding...how you've managed to take him by surprise.

He's always been able to rely on you. Whether it's sharing the brunt of the research with him when Dean loses focus, or staying up with Sam on late nights, sharing mugs of tea and quiet conversation, bonding over familiar tastes in books, and '90s grunge music, of all things.

You also confessed to him, late one night, that you have a growing collection of mugs, fuzzy socks, and vinyl records, despite the fact that your record player has collected more dust than the bunker's old storage room.

You're wonderfully weird.

And you're unfailingly loyal to who you consider "your people." And Sam thinks (knows) he's fortunate enough to be included in that small circle.

Sam also knows, deep in his gut, no matter how much he tries to "rationalize" it away, that you're special. And special to him.

You've managed to do more than just slip under his skin. When he thinks too hard on it, he can admit it (just to himself). You've infiltrated all four corners of his heart so deeply, he doesn't have a prayer of scooping you out.

Some days, it's all he can do not to reach out while you're chatting away, filling the silence.

He can picture it like a scene in his mind: of interrupting your mouth with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your face up to his and showing you, with or without words, that he wants you...

And yet.

He can't help but watch how you are with Dean.

You two tease each other, bicker and gripe over coffee grinds left in the coffee pot and who ate the last of the leftovers. You fight with Dean over the remote on movie night (once, damn near smothering him with a pillow).

But you also dote on him, making sure Dean has one of his favorite desserts every time you go out to buy groceries. You swap his beer out for water when he's not looking. (And though Dean frowns and grumbles, he doesn't argue with your raised brow and imploring look.)

It's not quite flirting, but it's not quite platonic either—at least in Sam's eyes. You and Dean seem to have something.

And sometimes, your playful banter with his brother makes Sam sick to his stomach.

Like today, when Sam’s sitting at the kitchen table reading while you're making a cup of tea. The silence between you two is amiable, like usual.

Sam steals a glance at you and has to smile.

"Going with purple polka dots today?" he asks.

You look over with knitted brows of confusion, until you follow his gaze. You laugh sheepishly and wiggle your toes through your fuzzy socks.

"The floor is cold as hell," you defend yourself.

Sam's smile deepens a fraction as he turns back to his book.

"They're cute," he adds.

You turn your face to hide your blush. The mild thunder of heavy boots announces Dean's presence as he pops into the kitchen.

"Oh good, you're cooking. What's for dinner?" he asks. You turn to give him a familiar narrowed look.

"Who says I'm cooking?" you counter.

"Well, you're doing something on the stove..." Dean peers over and catches a whiff of the concoction you're brewing. He grimaces. "Second thought, I'm good. That smells like ass, whatever it is."

You roll your eyes at him. "It's just green tea, Dean. You know, health?"

He levels a deadpan expression at you as he opens up the pantry.

"I see your 'health' and I raise you...Doritos," he says. He digs his hand into the bag he's just pilfered and crunches a mouthful in your face. You can't help but splutter a laugh and push Dean away.

"You're ridiculous. If you catch a heart attack at 50, don't come crying to me."

"Hey, at least I'll die happy."

"Oh, right. A silver lining there. I'd hate to see what your arteries look like," you tease.

"Has anyone told you that you're unsavory?" Dean asks, continuing to crunch with an open mouth.

You smirk. "Is that your way of calling me sweet?"

He snorts. "Sure, sweetheart. We'll call it that."

"You know, I'm not your sweetheart," you point out.

Dean discreetly glances his brother's way with a sly glint in his eyes. Sam doesn't see it; by now he's trying his damndest to keep his eyes in his book and ignore the way his stomach is clenching, chest tightening.

Dean shifts his attention back at you and reaches down to brush your chin with his thumb.

"Not yet, but you could be," he says, in a flirtatious edge that he's never quite taken with you.

You're wide-eyed for a moment. In the end, though, you choose to take it as teasing. You push his hand away and give him an annoyed look.

"God, you're such a clown. Order a pizza if you're that hungry," you rejoin, and you pour two mugs of freshly brewed tea. "I won't even bother offering you one."

"Nope," Dean says, popping the "p." He walks out of the kitchen, giving Sam a firm slap on the back. Sam coughs and shoots his brother a frown.

Dean has the gall to wink at him before he walks out. Like he's having his own little private joke.

Well, Sam isn't laughing. He stares down hard at his book. He tries to ignore everything he just heard and saw out of the corner of his eye.

It becomes too much. He takes up his book and heads out of the kitchen.

He just doesn't see the way you frown as he walks away. There you stand, left holding two mugs of tea for you and him.

Sam returns to his room for a while. He's not hiding. He's...reading.

There's a knock at his door, and if it's Dean, he swears he's going to open his mouth and tell his brother to leave him the hell alone, like he's some kind of moody teen.

But it's you.

"Hey," you greet, after the door creaks open. Sam softens.

"Hey," he says, clearing his throat. "What's up?"

"You," you reply. You bring him his hot mug of tea and set it down on the desk where he sits.

"Thanks," he says.

You nod and place your mug beside his (Lord of the Rings themed, of course), and cross your arms as you lean against his desk.

Sam turns toward you in his chair. His hands rest on his thighs. His gaze travels back up to your face as he tries to keep his neutral, but welcoming to whatever you want to ask him. (He buries his heart deep, as he instinctively does whenever you're near him.)

"You okay?" you ask. Your brows furrow the longer you gaze down at him. Just staring, like you know he's hiding something. Like you can see straight into him, into the shadows where he keeps most of his thoughts of you.

This is perhaps the only area of his life where he's a coward.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam replies, in a tone that suggests, Why wouldn't I be?

You quirk a smile. "Why don't I believe you?"

Sam swallows. For once, he's not sure what to say to you.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" you say softly. You take a subtle step into his orbit, almost between his open legs. Your demeanor says that you'd gladly listen, do whatever he asked of you. Because you're just that kind.

Sam's mouth twitches upward. "I know. I'm fine, really."

"You're fine, or you're Winchester fine?" you raise a brow.

Sam chuckles then, showing a flash of his smile. It lightens you.

"Maybe a bit of the second one," he admits.

You smile and inch closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah? Tell me," you say. Your voice is soft, but not quite a whisper.

It leads Sam to sigh. He grasps your hand where it lies on his shoulder. For a moment, he debates internally. He realizes then that Dean's antics earlier might've been more than just teasing. Maybe it was a subtle nudge—to stop wasting time.

Damn it, just do something, Sam thinks.

When you squeeze his hand back, it's just the small push he needs. He glances up at you.

Then he takes your hand and holds it between both of his, with care. He tugs you forward, surprising you as you step forward between his legs. Your mouth parts in soft surprise when he reaches a hand up to your cheek.

You still look surprised, blushing up to your ears, but you're not pulling away. In fact, your widened gaze moves from his eyes to his lips.

Sam smiles. He tugs you down to him and enacts a living daydream, finally kissing you with everything he has. Everything he’s had locked inside.

You respond to his mouth in kind; the subtle gasp of breath against his lips sharply cuts off as you sink into his kiss. Your trembling hand comes to his cheek, grazing the dull prickle of stubble. When your fingers dive into his hair next, it’s his turn to take a deep breath.

With each new kiss, he explores more of you. His hands find your waist, and he gathers you against his chest. You find purchase on his strong shoulders and give into the opportunity to straddle his hips, sitting in his lap while he continues to make your heartbeat wild in your chest.

Sam slows the kiss, only because his brain is starting to catch up with his heart. He wants to see your face, to make sure this is what you want.

He finds that and more when he looks up at you.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, tenderly brushing his thumb against your cheek.

"Does that answer your question?" he asks, with a soft laugh. You join him and press your forehead against his.

"I don't know,” you tease. Your eyes are dancing, both with amusement and relief. Because your heart has wanted this for even longer than Sam's.

You lean back in to whisper close to his lips. “Maybe I need a little more clarity."

Sam takes you at your word.

AN: It's been a long time since I've written for Sam! 💜 I got in another request for him a while ago. I may dust that one off soon... Until then, let me know what you think of this!

(And don't worry. I didn't forget about the Soldier Boy imagine I promised. That will come out at the end of this week, most likely!)

Read Dean's version: "Dean reads you wrong."

Sam Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SW Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @tipthejar

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @siampie @violetlilysunshine @nic-kolas @hobby27 @pizzagirlxnsfwx @malindacath @brujaporfavor @katherineann83 @torchbearerkyle

@sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @deans-daydream @adoringanakin @sanscas @pap3rtigers @kaleldobrev @nix-rose

[fexarii]

Before I hit the hay and leave to the concrete jungle, I have to post these devious queer lists (like tier list but for the el gee bee tee) I made on VC . I'm tormenting my friend with look outside rn and it will become your problem too, dear reader!

Yes I will explain all of these just uhh scroll down ig

Rustle rustle grabs my papers . Ahem .

Okay I'm following the first tier list's order (besides Sam, he goes first) while I try to remember my reasons at like midnight rn so bear with me here.

Sam is an any pronouns bisexual because he is the self insert protagonist. It would be weird for him to be anything else for that reason alone. Don't tell me I'm wrong for this one or any of these for that matter I WILL kill you IRL with MY ARMY OF SQUIRRELS

Okay anyway Lyle is a cis gay man because at least the mlm part is canon. He doesn't strike me as someone particularly curious about his gender he just rlly wants sam's dick I mean lips. Yeah.

Hellen is a cis but butch lesbian ! She has lesbian energy I think she and Sam can be Yuri if you squint really hard. I have a reason as to why she's cis but you'll have to go through my 7 woke opinions to hear why.

Leigh is also a lesbian because hi Hellen x Leigh nation I see you. Also she/they/it is a diabolical pronoun line up, don't think I've ever met someone with those pronouns who doesn't bite people irl. She would bite your lips off if you tried to kiss her so like don't do that okay? Okay.

SHE'S CUT OFF IN BOTH IMAGES BUT THAT'S BERYL. TRANSFEMME LESBIAN BECAUSE OF A FUNNY MEME I SAW ABOUT TOP SURGERY OKAY THAT'S THE ONLY REASON BACK OFF

SAME GOES FOR FREDERIC EXCEPT ITS THE LINE "DEPENDING ON THE TIME OF DAY THE FRENCH GO EITHER WAY" I had to make sure that aligned properly with my dope as hell animatic (I'M WORKING ON IT). Also he's kinda transition goal so he gets to be transmasc tralalalala

Aster I imagined using Tumblr . Like the way he talks reminds me of Tumblr users, as a Tumblr user using Tumblr rn. Why does that matter? Idk bro but have you ever met a cishet person here? Yeah that's what I thought.

Okay Dan was like the second one I did. He gave me the energy of my former high school cishet classmates that would grab each other's asses but claim that they were just friends like okay bro whatever you say ig

With Jeanne I had the idea of her having been in a situationship with a biker back in the 90s and it just left her kinda confused, I think she has bigger things to worry about atm

AURELIUS' TWINK TIER HAS CONTEXT BUT I FORGOT WHAG IT WAS I think I made like a joke that the way he talks reminded me of TikTok femboys and my friend pinned the message in our chat and yeah so he got his own special tier, gj Aurelius!

Papineau was hard but my friend convinced me of them being enby cuz of the whole janitor thing so congrats you've been promoted to he/they. Also aroace cuz dawg's too occupied with cleaning to worry about relationships

Roach and Morton are both bugs and I don't think bugs really conform to our standards of love and gender plus they're too busy trying to not get eaten by rat baby rn

Xaria and Monty swapped genders back in highschool and one time I saw someone say that they're qpr together and god that's so true to me, thanks kind stranger for your wisdom

Ernest is a transition goal so same thing as Frederic, to the transmasc tier with you. Additionally! I think he doesn't really worry too much about finding love again because he has this whole muse thing going on. He liked this lady once, she's probably dead now and he sings songs about missing her. See my vision,,, (I love Ernest so much I might be his only fan)

Sybil doesn't remember jackshit but she's straight and she's transfemme, not that that matters much considering she's like all slopped now but good for her (in my head she once looked like elendira from the trigun manga,,)

I used cute moth philippe here but I was referring to the evil fungus. The evil fungus belongs into the derogatory tier because fuck you

Jasper... Let it go bro... That's the only reason he's in derogatory and also I don't think he's trans, he would watch conspiracy theory shorts

Oh yeah then the kids. Kids can be gay! I was very bi when I was younger . But ranking them in the sexuality list felt kinda weird so I just didn't do it. Rat baby got put into xeno tier because it doesn't have any gendered pronouns, does it even have a gender, is it even aware full stop?

Okay that's all I got, this post is so long. It's late so if I missed anyone chew me up in the tags idm . If u disagree lmk as well cuz I'm very much a multi-hc person and I am very agreeable. Though I'm always right so like heh I'm not expecting THAT to happen... (I hope you can tell that this shit is so unsrs)

Gn look outside nation... Sincerely, Benny mcSluggins

[thetravelingtyper]

On the same page... Pt 11 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader Bookshop! AU)

As Saturday morning dawns all the truths come spilling out...

Part 10, Part 12, Masterlist

Warnings! Typical Ghost violence in a dream

AN: Working full-time in the library now :D I will be writing still and trying to post once or twice weekly for this, Our shattered heart and comfort character.

The next 30 minutes find you pulling a freshly showered and changed Simon to your room. You wrestle with your phone, pulling up your music app and getting some music going. You flip through a few songs until lyrics tumble softly out. The choice satisfies something in you and Simon grins in amusement.

In a few weeks I will get time

To realize it's right before my eyes

And I can take it if it's what I want to do

You rifle through the drawer next to your bed and pull out a few bottles of nail polish, glancing at Simon as he sits down on your bed. The dark green of his shirt mixes well with his tattoos and skin. You pull out black, of course, a classic, but a few darker shades of grey as well. You pass a handful to Simon and then turn back for a few shades of purple for yourself.

And I am leaving and this is starting to feel like

It's right before my eyes

And I can taste it

It's my sweet beginning

He ponders for a moment, not used to a choice like this but it humors him. He was by no means against the idea just not used to the prim and proper care of his nails and hands. Kyle had told him one time over drinks that having a good skin care routine could make or break someone. He runs a hand through his hair, he at least took care of that after not worrying about it due to the balaclava. He used decent shampoo and conditioner routinely. Looking back to the nail polish, Simon hovers between a dark green and dark grey. He voices this and you think. 

And I can tell just what you want

You don't want to be alone

You don't want to be alone

And I can't say it's what you know

But you've known it the whole time

Yeah, you've known it the whole time

“The green would look with your skin tone but the grey is a neutral.”

He just nods passing you the other colors to return to the drawer while you keep a dark purple and the grey. You grab a new set of tools alongside your own and close the drawer. You then sit next to him, thighs about touching, and take his right hand. They are rough from service, a few scars littering his knuckles and as you flip them you trace your left thumb over his palm. His fingers curl in at the tenderness and you can see you don't need to do much other than just painting his nails. You hum, setting the kits aside. You set Simon's hand down in your lap and take the bottle of grey nail polish to shake it.

Maybe next year I'll have no time

To think about the questions to address

Am I the one to try to stop the fire?

When you're satisfied you unscrew the bottle and begin to paint. You swipe the brush over each nail in short but wide strokes. Once you finish his right hand you grin, the color looks good on him and you pat your thigh. Simon flexes his hand, careful of the polish, and moves his left hand to your knee where you finish that one too. You close the bottle and set the bottle on the table. He looks at you before examining his nails. Simon doesn't seem put off by it and you giggle when he admires them in the light. 

I wouldn't test you 

I'm not the best you could have attained

Why try anything?

I will get there

Just remember I know

You mention to your headboard, a dark wood piece with intricate trim that suggested it, like most of the furniture you had was thrifted. Simon nods and, minding his hands, stands. He moves around the foot of your bed and gets on to lean against the headrest, his long legs able to stretch out. While you do your nails he takes the moment to observe your room. Across from your bed is a TV with a switch docked and ready. He is amused however to see a VHS player, with a scattered collection of tapes around your room. Posters of 90s advertisements and franchises litter the room walls along with your records. He looks to the booked corner of your room where there is a plush lavender reading chair with 3 legs and one attached block to make up the 4th. In the chair sits a frog teddy bear.

You notice him looking,

“That's William, the love of my life.”

Simon nods a hello,

“Good to meet the competition.”

You laugh, setting the purple aside as you finish and moving to sit neck to Simon, both of you leaning against pillows. Your heart warms at the image and hazel eyes regard you.

And I can tell just what you want

You don't want to be alone

You don't want to be alone

And I can't say it's what you know

But you've known it the whole time

Yeah, you've known it the whole time

You hum along to the song as you lean back against the pillows, happy to just let the music finish. You yawn before shuffling carefully closer to Simon and tucking your head into his shoulder. 

“Give it 15 or so minutes and we should be good, it is quick to dry.”

“Right.”

Simon's voice rumbles through you his heart swelling with you tucked against him. Mindful of the polish his hand moves, and he lays it over your knee, thumbing circles into it. It's a little ticklish and you giggle quietly before nudging him. His lips quirk up but he stops, fingers pausing and his hand just resting on you. 

And I can tell just what you want

You don't want to be alone

You don't want to be alone

And I can't say it's what you know

But you've known it the whole time

Yeah, you've known it the whole time

As the song finishes you call for your phone to pause the music. 15 minutes pass in a blur of light conversation as Simon talks about his brother and mom. While his mom lived back in Manchester his brother traveled a lot. During tales of his childhood and early recruit days Simon doesn’t mention his father, but the clenching of his hand speaks volumes. Once you are sure the nail polish is fine your hand moves to Simons and the contact breaks his train of thought as he turns to you. The soft lamp light is warm and it lights up the gold in his eyes. 

You cross your legs and Simon turns himself easily to face you as you tug a stuffed dragon, one from your original book tour with James to your chest. Its jeweled eyes glimmer a deep ruby and you just think. Flashes of stormy eyes, soft and tender moments against James as you both talk into the night. Your chest feels tight then as you tug your keens to your chest, hugging the dragon closer you reach for your phone and hit play. 

The tinkling of music cuts into memory as you and James dance in your childhood home's kitchen.

I've got miles of regrets and confusing friends

But perhaps it's just my stupid head in the end

Thinking should I wait here or make my way home?

You said, "Go" (you said, "Go")

You had been finally able to go home after all those years and James came with you to meet your parents. It went swimmingly but as the days drifted on you found yourself missing Sam and your true home. On the last night, you found yourself ambling in the kitchen digging through ingredients for baking.  

Cavetown spins away as you sweep back and forth in the dim light. There is a noise and you jump before a set of strong and familiar arms come around you and spin you. You smile when James presses a kiss to your jaw. 

Making up problems that don't exist

Why do I let myself dream like this?

We're floating away, my body's in space

We are going home

A smooth voice joins in as James moves you skillfully in the wide space of the kitchen. You had learned early on dancing was a love of the man. He kept rhythm naturally and would often pull you into his arms.

Missing pieces of my skull

I'll sew on patches of my own soul

There's nothing you or I can do so let the stars fall

'Cause from up here the sky's my thoughts and we're all so small

The song was special for you both as it inspired parts of your first book. You would hum it before James would pick it up on acoustic or the keyboard tucked into his apartment. You had even considered the song for one of your wedding dances. 

Meteor shower, quick take cover

But the hues in our hair compliment one another

I'd sell my own bones for sapphire stones

'Cause blue's your favorite color

Back in your bedroom, your mind tucks away into itself for a moment. When you first moved here the cold hit deeper. You tried to throw yourself into writing, but the escape never got far. And at night your dreams would dance, swirling out the part of your wounded heart left behind. 

Missing pieces of my skull

I'll sew on patches of my own soul

There's nothing you or I can do so let the stars fall

'Cause from up here the sky's my thoughts and we're all so small

Simons watches you quietly before a shaky inhale from you sends a quiver in his chest. The song is not lost on him and he moves.

We're all so

My heart and the earth share the same rule

It starts with love and it ends with you

But don't go outside, it's dangerous tonight

Without me right here by your side

“Stretch out love.” 

You just nod into the dragon, unwinding your legs as you clutch the dragon with fresh tears welling. Simon's hands clutch your sides gently before he lays out, laying his head on the pillow before offering an arm out. Your eyes widen before you tuck yourself into his chest, his arms wrapping around you on the soft comforter of your bed. As you cry you hug the dragon to your chest. Simon just hums to the song quietly, it rumbling through his chest. The lyric hit you in the chest,

Take it slow, you'll know

Which way to go

Sew up your skull

Take your time

And we'll be just fine

Everything had been right for so long, then the world was torn out from under-

There is a quiet hushing from Simon and he presses a kiss to your head as the song finishes

Missing pieces of my skull

I'll sew on patches of my own soul

The following silence rings out before Simon continues to hum, his voice taking on a musical tint as you calm in his arms. Hearing you quiet down he slows to a stop, he goes to move back but you wind your arms around him.

“Stay”

His eyes widen but you feel him nod,

“Always.” 

He reaches for a spare blanket sitting on the floor before spreading it over the two of you. He clicks off the lamp, engulfing you in a warm darkness and you snuggle into his chest as Simon exhales softly.

“Si.”

He hums, a hand returning to your hair,

“Thank you.”

-

Simon awakens in Ghost, trudging through snow, dull pain thudding in his chest. He is alone, on some god-awful mission in the middle of fuck all nowhere. Static crackles as snow drifts down in the fading light. 

He tries to move his arms but Ghost just gnashes his teeth, jaw tight as the machine moves on into the light. 

Death, the reek of blood, and the stench of iron splatters barren grey walls.

Skulls knock against the concrete as he drops from above. Simon paces in his mind as Ghost eliminates soul after soul in a white wasteland as the snow stains. Hours pass in a trickle as the thudding in his chest thickens sickenly, a languid pull through him before hands reach his throat and he is there again. Buried. Ghost is marching as Simon thrashes, hands splayed across his neck as Ghost returns to the chocking white. 

But before Simon can black out there is a flash, Ghost stops, rifle dropping into the snow as Simon cries out in frustration, the rush of memories snapping as he spasms and drops into the snow writhing in pain. The weight of the gear is too much. The cold is too much. The weight of lives and steel is too much, its-

The sound of pads in the snow- Simon's eyes shoot open and he tears the balaclava off, flinging it into the forest as he takes in a panicked breath. His eyes dart around before a flash of orange is in front of him. He exhales shakily, control seeping into his skin as heat curls around him, a hand to his face and a pair of lips to his.

As his breathing calms the fox pads towards him and tucks against his chest.

-

SImon breathing calms in his sleep as your hand leaves his face and you press a kiss to his cheek before gently rolling out of bed in the early morning. It was barely 6 and the man seemed in a deep sleep. His movements in his sleep had woken you a little earlier as he was having a nightmare. You soothed him gently before deciding to just get up. 

You pass into the kitchen, Sam probably won't be up until 8 and you didn't want to wake Simon. You wanted to bake but a cup of tea and a book downstairs sounded like a good thing to pass the few hours until Sam could open shop. You would be closing earlier in the afternoon to go meet the boys. Simon would probably need to leave soon you think with a frown as you make a cup of Earl Grey and head downstairs, cracking the top door so Sam and Simon could tell you were in the store. 

The steps creak and you smile as the door opens into the early morning dimness. The store's windows allow in enough light to see your steps. It used to frighten you coming in alone but after a few weeks, it became home. You turn on the lamps, voting to keep the overhead lights off. There are a few commuters on the streets but your little corner of London is snug and quiet this time in the morning. 

You tuck into the stool behind the counter and begin to read. But as the time passes towards 6:30, your mind swirling with the fish of the Nautilus and the adventures of Captain Nemo a tapping sound pulls your mind from the book. You turn your ear up towards the back door, but no one is stirring and your phone has no messages. Your eyes shoot to the front door and there is a person there. You shoot up curious and a little apprehensive. It is a little dark to tell but there is a figure holding something and you debate what to do. 

The tapper seems to acknowledge your attention as they knock, a polite three taps against the door that has your heart freezing. That it couldn’t - Your heart is in your throat, tea forgotten, and book slumping before falling to the floor with a thunk. 

- 

Upstairs Simon jolts awake, perhaps some strange sense of fate as he rolls out of bed in search of you.

-

With a quivering breath you creep around the counter on autopilot before reaching the halfway point to the door you freeze, turning back to the stairs and thinking about running to get Sam, or Simon your mind supplies. But the low temperature and another set of knocks shock your heart.

You clench your teeth, your compassion winning out as you turn the final steps to the door and pull it open. 

-

Simon comes out into the main area and notices light through the crack of the door leading to the store, he nods to himself, opens the door, and passes quietly down the stairs.

-

In shock of the man in front of you back wordlessly into the safety of the bookstore as James fucking Marin stands in the doorway. In his hands are two cups from the cafe nearby and a bouquet is tucked into his arm. But it's the look on his face that has you retreating, a look of surprise, yes, that you even opened the door, but a wretched look of love and melting eyes as a storm curls its way around his heart. He stands at the door, the cold blowing in as he is unsure, the look of hurt on your face digs into him like a knife. 

He, this, everything feels wrong, it all felt fucking wrong, since that day. What once was love, a treasured closeness devolved into you retreating from him. Blue eyes look between you and the store and his brows draw close in a deep concern. He sets the drinks down on a little hat table first, before pulling the door close as you stand frozen.

He clenches the bouquet tighter as a potent anxiety bites him, somethin in his gut stirs and he looks to you as you are going through your processing points. He knew you too well, but this fear was a potent unknowable.

There is a sound then, and James's eyes dart to the back of the counter and he feels himself stand taller.

Having appeared silently was a panther of a man, he had only an inch on him but despite the causal clothes, there was a way the man carried himself, dark eyes first shooting at you then meeting his. James feels his muscles tense when the panther finally speaks.

“Dove?” 

You about jump head and body shooting around your eyes are watery, Simon can see them glisten in the low light, and something dark spikes in his chest, his eyes sharpen and muscles tense as he pulls himself and he feels Ghost settle.

“Si?” Your voice is small in the morning quiet.

You step back towards him, stopping with a look towards James unsure, but it's all that Simon needs. He rounds the counter before coming to stand behind you, a hand moving to brush over your shoulder and around your middle, his muscles firm as your hands shoot to his tattooed arm for support. 

James takes it in with shock before he straightens, eyes on Simon’s arm and his jaw clenching. Sharp eyes track his every breath with the precision of a trained killer, but a possessive anger burns in James and he moves to take a step forward when you finally speak.

“Why are you here James?”

Your voice is shaky and you dig yourself further into the man behind you, eyes tracing firm muscles and scars. It's the gleam of silver around his neck James sees and his eyes widen,

A soldier? 

His voice is firm as he replies, accent thickening with tension,

“I came to talk.”

You balk at that,

“Is it about work?”

James lets out a breath but his heart pounds,

“It is about us.”

This gets Simon's arm pulling you tighter to him and there's a low rumble from his chest. Your head whips up at the reply and a spark of anger ignites,

“Us, US? The first thing out of your mouth is to talk about US?” Shock, as your teeth grit, James takes a step forward before Simon finally speaks.

“Watch yourself.” His accent is thicker and his voice deep, it sends a tingle down your spine. 

James tenses eyes shooting up to Simon before he addresses him,

“And you are?”

Simon internally smirks, he dips and presses a kiss to your head before gently releasing you. He is pleased, however, when you tuck into his side, a hand seeking his.

“Lieutenant Simon Riley.” 

James's eyes widen at the rank and it fits he thinks, He is a tank. Seeing you tucked into the side of another man grinds against his heart, sparks of pain lighting up the darkness that has been in his mind for the past months. But rage and pain were not what he was, not anymore.

James relinquishes, careful to make slow movements and you watch as the man resets. He is coiled, a tenseness not usually for the easygoing man. Stress has tainted him, his hair is longer, the length of it curving past his ears and he has let his beard grow in. Your heart hurts because he is handsome, and he looks back at you with a lost expression before you can see his heart on his sleeve. 

There is a stare-off for a moment before James deflates and looks at you, his voice is smaller then,

“Can you trust me my heart?” 

You physically wince into Simon at the word, tears watering at your eyes again and James steps forward without thinking. Simon stiffens when you move forward, there are tears in your voice, you are smaller than he’s ever heard,

“Why?”

James clenches his jaw, pained as he wants to say everything, he heard Sabrina’s claims that night it broke everything. There was one thing he couldn't say, forced into silence by work, it succeeded, didn't it? She won in the end, but he ran, stupid at first not to chase after you. But, never again.

You see it in James, a quiet resolution as he readies himself.

“I never slept with her. It, all of this, was to protect your career.”

You blank, your brain short-circuiting. You stand frozen, not hearing him. Your mind jumped to Sarah, eyes flickering to his left hand, the rings?

“But Sarah said-”

“Sabrina was drunk, that event was for show, it was either that or you got thrown to the curb.” 

James grits his teeth at the memory of that board office meeting. Sabrina sitting at her dad's side, a smile on her face as she named her demands.

“What?”

“You were never pulled under a contract, Ms. Williams found out a few days ago and it blew up in the children's department, there was a full-on revolt.” There was a smile on his face at that. 

“But you said tha-”

“Don’t you dare fucking believe that,” He clenches his fist around the bouquet, Irises, red carnations, and honeysuckle. He holds out the bouquet and your heart picks up a beat at the meaning of the flowers, A message, heartache, and devotion. What he says next his voice breaks,

“Have the flowers ever lied?”

You can’t help the sob that follows, as you tenderly take the bouquet from him. He has never lied to you, not in this sense. 

“What is all of this James? Why now, why not text, fucking write a letter?” Anger sparks but the tired look on his face quells it. He takes another baby step forward but you shield yourself with the bouquet, not trusting. Simon doesn't move.

“I couldn't, not while you were still connected or within the power of those bastards. But” his lips quirked up as he looked past you and Simon.

“You have a lot of fucking nerve to show your face here.”

Your head darts to Sam, his shirt is off, evidence of sleep and you can see the dragon tattoos dancing across his chest, coiling around his heart. Sam steps around the counter, fists clenched in rage, reading Simon’s tense form, but you hold up a hand and he pauses at the flowers. James smiles at the sight of Sam, it lights up his face like a lifeline.

“Sam here I owe everything to, well White Owl Publishing as well.”

Seeing the confusion on your face he opens his arms.

“You left sweetheart. There was nothing to protect, especially once White Owl took your books over. Why do you think Sofia had such an easy time getting your publishing rights?”

Your eyes widen, everything falling together in your mind, and your eyes shoot to a gleam of silver on his left hand, it was a simple band but you recognize the engraving, and you gape at it. James's eyes shoot to it, it was the ring you gifted to him when your second book made it.

“Youve-?”

“Worn it ever since sweetheart, it's always, always been you. Once the publication rights were confirmed I broke everything I was contracted to help, they pulled the power on me. I swear it on my life nothing ever happened. Ms. Williams can confirm everything when she comes.”

You just gape up at him as Sam blanks, 

“So all of this was a fucking show?” Sam seeths, stepping past Simon but you pull on his arm, James steps forward, a fire picking in his eyes at that,

“To protect what she loved most, writing, her books, and her career? Yes.” He looks past Sam, blue eyes looking into your soul.

You step back as if shot, you wanted to be angry, to cry and bang your fist and scream. But James wasn’t lying, the look in his eyes told you that much. 

“Sofia will find out this morning I guarantee it, this tour business is all Ms. Williams, and” James takes the final step towards you, Sam tenses, 

“She broke my contract.”

You blink up at him in shock as a hand raises to your face, and you breathe shakily as a familiar hand cups your cheek, His eyes take you in, the light of a twinking star caught in them and he smiles

“I am free.” 

You clutch the bouquet to your chest as you lean into the touch for a moment but you come to yourself. The words that follow have James freezing when an arm comes around you. Blue eyes flicker up to burning umber, pools of melted iron as Simon steps in,

“I can’t, not that James, not anymore.”

James freezes pulling his hand back as if he was burned. His chest clenches as he remembers the firm voice over the phone. It starts to make a bit more sense when Sam crosses his arms.

“Right-” The syllables tumble out “-after everything I wouldn't expect that, not -” James cuts himself off. He wants to cry, he realizes then, but under Simon’s sharp eyes and you tucked against him. He looks to Sam finding a protective glare, but it is you that turns all the men's heads. 

You are already crying, the pain of the months burning your heart, but there is a sliver that tries to understand. The fact a man you loved and trusted would pull a stunt like this, bruises your heart. But there are the memories of dances and writing, it would never be the same, but-

But your stories were your life and if your relationship was meant to die to protect them.

James and Sam can see the debate, but it's Simon murmuring your name. Your head turns up against his chest and you look up to him and drown in his eyes. It was compassion that shaped you, you pat his arm and he loosens his arm with a quiet exhale. 

James’s eyes widen when you pull apart from Simon and you pad towards him cautiously. 

“It will never be the same.” 

He feels his heart pick up and James tilts his head down to you, eyes wide as you come to stand in front of him, a tender hand reaching out to his chest. You feel his heart stuttering,

“You broke everything,” your eyes flicker up to his clutching the flowers as a tangible reminder of who he was,

“You shattered my heart, broke my trust, and threw our relationship away, for which I won’t forget.”

His hand shakily covers yours and you cherish it for a quiet moment as a fresh set of tears rolls down your cheeks and this causes James to break, a tear rolling down his cheek. His voice is shaky,

“I did what I thought was best for you, I see now that may have been a mistake. I wanted to protect you but I hurt you, I will never forgive myself for that, and I haven't stopped loving you.”

Your hand shakes under his but you continue,

“I don't know where we go from here, I will need time.” Your eyes turn down but you slowly but surely touch your forehead to his chest in a final act of grace. It is not a promise of continuation but one of the possibilities of forgiveness and a new beginning and it only causes James’s heart to hurt more as he resists engulfing you in a hug.

“Always, I will always be here. I just hope maybe even to be- I don’t know anymore. But I will wait for you, always” 

His voice falters out as you lift your head from his chest and just look at him, but you nod and in a painful sweep pull your hand away to clutch the bouquet to your chest. 

James looks anxious, hand flexing to his chest in an echo of where you were and is about to speak when Simon steps forward and you finally curl into his chest. He is angry but the rage is quelled with you against his chest, but the fire does not leave his eyes as he looks into and even through James.

“You’ve said enough for now.”

James fist clenches but he steps back with a curt nod.

“Right, I will see you tomorrow.” And with a final glance back at you in Simon's arms, he leaves.

Taglist:

@ghostlythots, @tapioca-milktea1978, @cmbghost, @nexthyperfix, @feedthefandoms995

@blubearxy

[positivelybeastly]

SEEING THE HEADCANON THING

TW for my intense negativity.

ITS TIME FOR ANOTHER INSTALLMENT OF

GOATS GREMLIN GIBBER JABBER

You don’t have to answer this one if you don’t want to, hell you don’t even have to read it cause this installment has

rage

Behind it.

So is it Riggs Raging Rant time? Yes.

Sorry for the intense negativity but it gets my GOAT. It genuinely does so much, and I know you most definitely understand this.

It sucks when I have seen more than once “oh I love the O5” or “I drew the O5!” AND HANK ISN’T THERE OR ITS JUST HIS HAND OR SOMETHING THAT ALLUDED TO HIM.

Literally I have SEEN someone say “oh the O5 have such a great sibling dynamic.” And they give examples for everyone EXCEPT HANK.

Im sorry did we forget how to count everyone?

I get it. I’m an artist and drawing 5 people in a picture is hard. It is. But like…drawing even three people together is hard hell sometimes even two when the idea isn’t cooperating. But don’t say you did something for the O5 WHEN ITS NOT ALL 5 OF THEM.

It just hurts…it hurts a lot and for some damn reason it gets me to tear up genuinely. LIKE I KNOW HES A FICTIONAL CHARACTER BUT LIKE— OW

Anyway sorry again, have a nice day I wish positivity upon you, and I’m probably gonna go home and draw hank when I’m off of work.

Okay, so, I feel this so intensely, because it is absolutely a trend that I've seen in the X-Men fandom, over and over and over again, and the sheer lack of trying to hide it just - galls me.

Like, with that headcanon post, it's not even that they don't think about Hank. Guess what? I don't care if people don't think about Hank. I think they're missing out, sure, but so what? Everyone in a fandom thinks everyone else is missing out on something, because everyone has a favourite that they like in a different way to everyone else.

It's the fact that they want to look like they're including him, and yet they can't be bothered to spending three seconds just - thinking, about something, even if it doesn't pass muster!

Like, 90% of these headcanon posts are completely garbage if you know these characters, they're mass produced fandom slop designed to slot these characters into pre-existing archetypes for better mass consumption, but you can really tell who they at least tried to cram into one of those archetypes? Hank, though? Ehhhhhhhhh.

But I have a special bone to pick here, that is intensely related to this point, and I'm gonna share it with you.

Let me introduce you to the O5xmen sub-Reddit.

I got invited to this place . . . oh, I don't know, probably about a month or two ago? I took a quick look around. It's fine. It's niche, but whatever, I run a Beast RP blog, who am I to judge for niche?

And then I noticed it, as I looked back through their history - which didn't take long, it's not been around for very long.

This was the second post in their sub-Reddit.

I will give you a hint, and tell you that no-one said Hank.

Oh, someone just came out and said it, that's nice.

You ready, kids?

So, uhh. Hank and Peter actually have the closest relationship of any of these people. They've worked together multiple times. Hank has come through in a pinch for Peter a ton of times.

It's almost like Hank is one of the most well connected X-Men characters because he's spent time on other teams, fostered other relationships and friendships, and broadened his horizons, and that has a tangible impact on things.

But whatever. They'd be 'science bros.' A nebulous fandom term for 'these two characters are nerdy and I don't want to spend any time examining that, so let's just sweep that under the rug!'

OP, you can just say you don't give a fuck about Hank, it's incredibly clear that no-one on this sub-Reddit does.

I just gave you four. Think harder.

And it's just that, ad nauseam.

Like, guys. Just admit you don't give a fuck! Stop pretending! Stop acting! 90% of people on Reddit read these threads on the toilet or during their commute, the 10% that actually does more than upvote or downvote are the real devotees of whatever the sub-Reddit in question is - and that 10% also cannot pretend to care!

And it's like . . . the natural retort is, okay, well, if it bugs you so much, why don't you do something about it?

The answer being that I do? That's what this blog is about? That's what my Reddit account is about, even? Look at my post history.

I am the number one Beast discourse generator on Reddit. Because there isn't a number two. I can only be active on so many sub-Reddits. Eventually, I get tired of having to be Hank's champion everywhere because people refuse to pick up a fucking book and read it properly - and, to go back to that O5Xmen sub-Reddit?

Why would I join it? It's full of people whose only conception of Hank is as a war criminal, or as 'the other one.' I can only fight so many uphill battles because people are bone-headed idiots. I refuse to be that one Beast guy you invite into your O5 discussion so I can elevate conversations about your fave while you in turn look at Beast and then swipe left. That isn't my cross to bear.

That's one of those things I like about Tumblr. I get to curate my friend circle a lot more aggressively, and I can just shut out anyone I don't want to interact with. The people I follow and am followed by here, the people I talk with on Discord, they're the people I know I can trust because I know that they're genuine. That's you guys. That's all of you. If you're reading this, that's you. You can read this because I can trust you and I know you're here out of a genuine interest.

But these other people? Pffft. Just say you don't like Hank and move on. Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining - and for the love of god, have some fucking fandom etiquette, and don't post in Hank's tag for the express purpose of saying he sucks, because that just makes you look like a fucking cretin.

. . . Anyway, thanks for letting me vent, goat. :P

[cecilysass]

get to know your moots

What's the origin of your blog title? Fox Mulder's address. It's not that original; I was trying to come up with something fast and I've never gone back to be more clever. I'm always kind of fascinated that it seems to be a reference to the philosopher G.WF. Hegel, but that it's misspelled.

Favorite game: This is not really my thing, but I do like Carcassonne, the game on my phone and the actual tabletop game.

Song stuck in your head: Burning Pile by Mother Mother. Someone in my house was playing it yesterday.

Weirdest habit/trait? Lol... I have so many I wouldn't know where to start. I harmonize obsessively with songs I hear (or even, like, the hum of the dishwasher). I constantly write essays and angry comments in my drafts and never post. I talk out loud to myself in the car all the time-- telling stories, making speeches, practicing accents badly.

Hobbies: Writing, history, reading (fanfic, fantasy / sci-fi, historical fiction), watching documentaries, film, baking. I like museums a lot. I guess working out, if that's a hobby, but I have this IT band problem right now that is limiting me.

If you work, what's your profession? Education. I'm really struggling with it lately.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Writer. Playwright. Museum curator?

Something you're good at: Writing essays, trivia about pop culture and the humanities, theme parties, sarcasm. I used to be a good actor; I don't know if I am any more. I'm usually good at talking to kids.

Something you're bad at: Keeping my surroundings neat, spatial relations, driving, interacting with people at parties, being "positive," sitting through meetings without letting my face betray my feelings, being assertive.

Something you love: Alone time, recharging time. Time with my family.

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: American cultural history, especially religion. Shakespeare. The X-Files. The history of online fandom. Fanfiction. American politics, although I'd be stressed doing that. Problems with the American educational system, although I'd also be stressed about that.

Something you hate: Being undervalued, unheard. Cucumbers. The current leadership of my country.

Something you collect: I used to collect ticket stubs from movies I went to, starting from the early 90s when I was young. We go to fewer movies and the tickets are usually online now, so this has kind of stopped, but I do still have the collection. I'd write the names of the people I went to see the movie with on the stub. (For some reason I don't have FTF or IWTB, but I do have Playing By Heart and Return to Me lol.)

Something you forget: People's names. The way home from places.

What's your love language? Words of affirmation. Although we did this at work one time, and I was like uhhhh, definitely ACTS OF SERVICE at work.

Favorite movie/show: The X-Files. Also: Pride and Prejudice (1995 and 2005), Dirty Dancing, Rushmore and Wes Anderson in general, Spotlight, The Sixth Sense, basically all the Michael Schur shows.

Favorite food: Bagel with lox.

Favorite animal: We have a dog who acts a lot like a cat now. She's a good animal.

What were you like as a child? Too much, full of ideas, always wanting to put on a play or do an elaborate project. I was a social disaster and what a 2020s kid would call "cringe." I took up space and raised my hand all the time. Looking back, though, I wish some adult had fanned that flame in me and not let me become quite so self-conscious / self-censoring, because I just became a totally different person as an adolescent.

Favorite subject at school? Drama, history, English, chorus.

Least favorite subject? Math, science. I KNOW. It doesn't sound very feminist. I'm so sorry, Scully.

What's your best character trait? My capability to see different sides of a situation?

What's your worst character trait? The older I get, the more I realize that my tendency to avoid confrontation is a major character flaw. It seems like it makes you "nice" when you're younger, but I realize more and more that it can keep you from doing what's right. It's something I work on.

If you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? It's Sunday and I have to spend five hours grading and planning for school next week. I wish I didn't.

If you could travel in time who would you like to meet? I have so many answers to this, some of them strange. I'll try to keep my answer less strange. I wouldn't want to "meet" a historic figure, probably, as then I have to think about what they make of me, and I have to think about how we would communicate easily, etc. But I would very much like to somehow be able to see one of Shakespeare's plays performed in the Globe. I think the early modern English would sound odd to my ears, but probably not odd enough not to recognize speeches I knew already. Some people say early modern English actually sounded more like American accents. That seems suspect to me. I think that's only because early modern English was rhotic like contemporary American accents (pronounces the Rs), and most contemporary British accents are non-rhotic, so still I think it wouldn't be enough to make it sound normal to me. JESUS ENOUGH CECILY.

Recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): I have an entire recommendation list of fics I love to promote. You all don't understand how much I love that list. I add to it and re-read fics off of it all the time lol.

tagging @libbytxf @azure-firecracker @spooky-jordan

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

All Right, Let's Do a Dumb One

LeetCode has a bunch of problems that are at this point almost famous for how laughably unrepresentative they are of work in the coding world. Like, there are points where demonstrating that you can solve one also incidentally demonstrates that you know certain kinds of critical thinking, and those questions are genuinely quite good, but most of the time it's just a Credit Score kind of thing where what you demonstrate is that you spent time practicing on LeetCode, and therefore the site made itself necessary by getting enough business decision-makers to trust it. Anyway.

This is a good example because if I got this as a question during the interview the first thing I'd do is include a disclaimer.

The challenge is to rotate an image 90 degrees. The "image" is represented by a 2D array numbered, so this happens. 123 741 456 -> 852 789 963

Now, the question says they want you to change it in-place, meaning no making a new array and slotting things in. The disclaimer I'd include is: This is a terrible idea. Making a 2D array - even a very large one, such as the kind you'd need to display something hi-def on an IMAX theater screen - is not horribly memory-intensive in the scale of memory that our computers work with today. And working in-place is terribly error-prone, both in initial creation (which someone could theoretically lay at your feet - shouldn't you be good enough to get around that?) AND in maintenance, meaning even if I know I'M hypercompetent at coding and can do it all in-place, I'm metaphorically making a bridge out of hard-to-replace materials and setting that bridge up to fall apart when the maintenance guy doesn't know how to repair it. Not doing it the way they demand you do it for the question would be part of coding best practices.

But what the hell. Let's do it. For the sake of argument.

I'd still be doing a microcosm of the same. You have to record what's in a slot without deleting it.

I'm wondering whether the intent is to run this via breadth-first search, in order to work out which spaces have already been processed? I'm going to go on that assumption.

So in a Rubik's Cube kind of way, I'm going to start from the corners. Because they're the easiest to mathematically transform to each other regardless of size, right? We're supposed to be able to do this whether the square we're rotating is 3x3 or 300x300. For a mercy, it is at least guaranteed to be a square.

We make a (starts off empty) list of processed spaces.

We make a (starts off empty) list of spaces to look at.

for x, y what happens on "rotate" exactly? In terms of corners, for an nxn grid (0, 0) gets moved to (n-1, 0) which gets moved to (n-1, n-1) which gets moved to (0, n-1) which gets moved to (0, 0). Like, in a 4x4 grid (3, 3)'s contents get moved to (0, 3). What about that second space? (1, 0) turns into (3, 1). (2, 0) turns into (3, 2). So for the top row at least, you can reverse the x and y values and invert the number of the y value, and that does it?

...I think this means you want depth-first search, actually. Because you want to be handling the square each time in order to minimize how much info you're holding at a time.

What happens is you make a nested for loop, like

for i in array: for j in list: while (i,j) not in fixed: {Block of code that adds the 4 permutations of (x,y), (-y-1,x), (-x-1,-y-1), (y,-x-1) to a list for processing and then processes them in order, finally adding i,j to fixed when it's done}

The reason this works in Python is that calling for "-1" in a list is the same as saying "length of the list -1." So on a 4x4, calling "-x-1" when x is 0 will loop around the other side of the list to find the 3.

At that point, you're only holding two points of data - the item you've just "picked up" from a given space and then the contents of the space you'll be "putting it down" in. Then you swap it out for what's in the target location.

Again, this would all be a LOT easier to just do by writing to a new list.

At that point, for each space you'd just find the space 90 degrees counterclockwise from it and set that value into the corresponding space.

[ohbo-ohno]

As the resident pet play expert, is there any big difference between puppy play and kitten play? (I guess it would be called that?) As in, your sub is a kitten instead of a puppy? And do you think Ghost would be interested in having both a puppy and a kitten? I think Johnny would enjoy feeling like a big dog playing rough with a Kitten!Reader

ok wait as funny as it is to call me the resident pet play expert, i do want to make it clear that 90% of my writing is really not a good introduction to kink lmao. pretty much nothing i write is consensual, which automatically makes it unhealthy kink. pls god set boundaries and safewords when fucking around with pet play in real life, i am begging you :')

anyways! oh man i am so glad you asked because there is a reason i prefer puppy play to kitten play, but it is entirely based on my own personal preference and perception of those kinks lmao

so at their base, puppy play and kitten play are essentially the same. they both fall into pet play and that idea of being treated like an animal. that inherently has some degradation (since the person is literally less than human), but to me it's very different types of degradation

for me, i prefer puppy play because it feels inherently more degrading in general, and i prefer that as a kink. a puppy is sweet, sure, but a puppy is something that has to be trained, that's often too energetic to be trained easily (lending itself to words like silly and stupid). a puppy is overeager and desperate to please and impress, a puppy is something that needs to be guided with a stern hand and shown who's in charge

kitten play always feels softer, more affectionate to me. a kitten is cute, something to be cradled in your palm, something soft and sweet. maybe they've got claws or small sharp teeth, but overall they're mostly harmless and something to be doted on, and any attempt at an attack is a joke. to me, kitten play lends itself more to praise and pillow princess. works great for some characters, but it's just not something i personally prefer to write!

anyways i've written both with ghoap x reader (in asks at least), but i personally prefer puppy play so i tend to lean away from kitten play. i will say - i'm not sure ghost would lean into pet play without soap there. as much as i can see him loving to dote on something sweet, i think he would need the roughness of puppy play to balance out all that softness

i'm mixed on whether or not johnny would like to have a kitten!reader. in my writing (aka noncon stuff)? sure! because he can ignore that she doesn't like the rougher play, doesn't like having a pup on top of her :/ but i think he'd have a harder time calming himself down in a consensual world lol

however, if you'd like to read some johnny x reader petplay: @/bunnyreaper's fic collars and cages is a great read that i've loved! i really love her characterization of johnny and tbh im super jealous of her grasp on him as a character :,)

[daincrediblegg]

stargate sg1 for the ask games :))

GIVE ME A FANDOM AND I'LL TELL YOU:

Favorite Male Character: yeah... I think my obsession with Richard Dean Anderson on the whole speaks for itself. but also I'm so unwell about Teal'c.

Favorite Female Character: tough call between Samantha Carter and Janet Fraiser... but good god I'm so gay about them both.

Least Favorite Character: SENATOR KINSEY. WHAT A PIECE OF SHIT. and like what a fucking incredible political reflection of the times like I'm in awe that sg1 had the balls to critique the 'holier than thou' evangelical nature of US politics in like. the 90's. in the first season of the show. legendary behavior.

Favorite Ship: yeah probably sam x jack. what can I say? I'm a sucker for forbidden older dumber man x smarter younger woman dynamic. this doesn't say ANYTHING about me or the content I work on currently. nothing at all.

Favorite Friendship: honestly I think it has to be O'Neill and Teal'c. I'm obsessed with them. Never will we see the like of their specific dynamic again tbh.

Favorite Quote: Jack's little nuts monologue. describing his distinct flavor of madness as "3 fries short of a happy meal" just really speaks to me on a spiritual level.

Worst Character Death (if any): Janet. god that episode made me cry the first time.

This made me so happy you have no idea Moment: god any time Jack and Sam kiss in this show I swear I can fly.

Saddest Moment: Honestly when Danny ascends the first time. Also when abydos gets fucking nuked. my boy Skaara didn't deserve that.

Favorite Location: oh that's tough. I love the Nox world so stupidly a lot. also the Tokra caves are so fucking sick. also ABYDOS. but specifically movie version (bro they had CREATURES. not as many creatures in sg1 which I feel is a little bit of an oversight)

[b-else-writes]

The Great CLAMP Re-Read Part 7: X/1999

Part 1 (RG Veda) | Part 2 (Man of Many Faces) | Part 3 (Tokyo Babylon) | Part 4 (Duklyon) | Part 5 (Clamp Detectives)| Part 6 (Shirahime)| Part 8 (Chunhyang) |Part 9 (Miyuki-chan)| Part 10 (Rayearth)| Part 11 (The One I Love)| Part 12 (Wish)

The magnum opus that never was. Spanning 18.5 volumes, with 3 volumes unpublished, X is the most notorious of CLAMP's unfinished works, stalled for over 20 years at a cliffhanger because they and their publishers allegedly lost their taste for its too-real destructive violence and ending. Both the 1996 film adaptation and 2001 film attempt to give the story an ending, and while I'll touch on them briefly, I'm trying not to allow speculation to influence my reading.

X (subtitled as X/1999 in its original USA run) ran from 1992 to 2003 and in many ways marks the end of CLAMP's 90s era, tying up and saying goodbye to the stories of Subaru, Hokuto, Seishiro, and the CLAMP School, for now. There's a stylistic and even tonal shift after X halted, ending a run of tragic, violent, interpersonal psychology that so characterized their early writing. Reading it was bittersweet in that regard, as going through CLAMP's early years has made these characters, ideas, and dynamics some of my all-time favourites. At turns frustrating and meandering, revelatory and awe-inspiring, a surreal mix of Western and Eastern mythologies, with some of their most beautiful art yet, let's bid farewell to Tokyo and the Earth with CLAMP's most ambitious work yet. Heavy spoilers!

Synopsis: In the year 1999, the esper Shirou returns to Tokyo to fulfill his mother's dying wish of changing the fate of Earth. Kamui is destined to save the world, or destroy it, but he only cares about the protecting his childhood friends, Kotori and Fuuma Monou. In his wake are drawn the Dragons of Heaven, who fight to preserve humanity and the Earth as is, and the Dragons of Earth, who seek to destroy humanity and renew the Earth from our corruption. As the promised day of destruction draws near, what does Kamui wish for? And who is the second Kamui, and how is he connected to Fuuma?

The Story: A Christ figure character having to save Earth? Everything being re-explained at least 3 times? Constant dream scenes? In every way, X seems poised to fail, but CLAMP succeeds in infusing a level of ambition and sweeping grandeur that lifts X up in spite of itself. What sells X is that it takes a story about the end of the world and tells it on an emotional, inner-world scale - dreams become entire volumes as characters puzzle out destiny and what makes life worth living. The entire first arc revolves around building the relationship between the main trio, and Kamui's character psychology, so that Kamui's choice actually resonates and emotionally and narratively destroys us. The entire sequence of Kamui and Subaru inside Kamui, and the end of Seishiro and Subaru's arc will haunt me FOREVER.

At the same time, it contains all the sweeping epicness of RG Veda (and shares many motifs and plot elements!), presenting the tales of god-like characters against the backdrop of emotional, homoerotic fights. We're dealing with fate and god-like power, but all of this is placed against the question of, "who are you? and what do you want? And is that the right choice for others and yourself?" Set against the fight between two homoerotic best friends - honestly this manga is so sexually charged, from the BDSM undertones to Satsuki's computer-sex. This god-scope conflict is reduced to our own base instincts for humanity and sensation and consumption and intimacy. There's highly compelling stuff in here. It's so shojo in the best way.

That's not to say X doesn't have structural issues. It has some severe pacing issues, mostly at the end as the Dragons of Heaven are stuck losing battles while Hinoto goes evil and Kamui can't make a kekkai, ad nauseam. It feels like trying to fit the Tarot card number to number of characters, bloated the story. Additionally, while I really love the Keiichi arc, I think X needs more grounding in characters not tied to the apocalypse. Destruction can often feel weightless, an issue for a story that trades on the idea of human connection vs. apathy. Gaia Theory (killing humans will save Earth) is also just bullshit, which can make the conflict frustrating because nobody questions its logic.

Still, despite all that, I can't argue that X is just compelling. It has SUCH a strong sense of millennium angst mood, such interesting character and thematic ideas, lays just enough narrative bread crumbs, that it's visceral enough to work despite itself.

The Themes: X is sooo crystallized RG Veda with the deeply psychological exploration of human loneliness of Tokyo Babylon, CLAMP once again returning to these core themes of their career at a new, fresh angle! X feels so thematically cohesive in what it's trying to do. It's the journey of The Fool across the tarot deck into Judgment and The World. X takes the notion of fate internally, beyond the will of the stars, to explore shadow selves and personal desire. I LOVE a mirror character and Greek tragedy; I ate up the dualism and fatal flaws. It's all very (attributed to) Carl Jung: Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate. Fuuma reads the deepest, most self-destructive wishes of others, and is himself the shadow self Kamui cannot accept: only by realising his true wish and self, can destiny be overturned!

People focus heavily on the apocalyptic conflict, but X is so meaty because it is fundamentally about our own sense of self-identity. X deconstructs RG Veda's thesis that holding onto your wish (CLAMP defines as love for one person), beyond reason, pity and rectitude, is NOT a moral high ground. It tracks Subaru's character to its logical end-point: The Dragons of Heaven subsume their love for one singular person into their only self-worth that they self-destruct without them. Conversely, the Dragons of Earth lack all connection to anyone. It's nature vs humanity, attachment vs detachment, desire vs freedom. For all its Christian trappings, X is deeply Buddhist: we escape samsara in a middle path of a stable self-identity, beyond apathy and desire. X uses the end of the world to position the singular truth that you have to want to live and be a person.

The Characters: Oh Kamui, Fuuma, Kotori, my bargain bin Subaru, Seishiro and Hokuto, who are bargain bin Yasha, Ashura, and uh, Gigei I guess (who are themselves bargain bin Jotaro, Kakyoin, and Girl. God, it's just endless games of telephone between masculine reserved seme and feminine emotional uke. I see you CLAMP).

Okay being serious, I do actually find Kamui interesting - and I think it's meant to be textually repetitive. It's refreshing to have a shojo man who is a violent unpleasant little asshole. And while narratively I understand Fuuma absorbing these traits when he becomes Kamui's shadow, I don't care for the uke-fication of Kamui. Still, Kamui's inner conflict and inability to figure out who he is beyond "the Kamui" works. Fuuma never quite grew on me, mainly because he is so blandly perfect at the start, but I think he's acceptably charismatic as a villain. And the concept of twin stars is undeniably compelling. Kotori fared the worst for me. The purehearted housewife shojo ingenue is so riddled with sexism and Kotori never becomes anything beyond a satellite character - her dream scenes are narratively compelling, but her character is lifeless (literally) and dull.

The supporting cast fares much better, though it's too large. Aoki and Saiki, for example, could have been merged. Still, I loved Arashi and Sorata, Karen, Yuzuriha, Kusanagi, and of course, the conclusion for Subaru and Seishiro. There's such interesting ideas woven into the cast, and I really enjoyed watching them wrestle with connection and self-identity. The Dragons of Earth aren't as individually interesting, but they're just cool enough that it wasn't too bothersome (except Yuto. I kept forgetting him). The main issue is that having so many perspectives meant character arcs had less room to breathe.

The Art: With one major caveat, this is probably THE most beautiful CLAMP manga, ever. Very few pages have a traditional grid layout, with incredibly beautiful and inventive panelwork that bursts out and follows characters' emotions and dreams into consecutive pages of gorgeous spreads. Panels are layered but never visually messy and only enhance visual storytelling and meaning. The constant use of motifs and visual metaphor is, while unsubtle, just gorgeous that we become swept away in the grandeur of a new myth with swirling dragons consuming Earth. Water, feathers, sakura, ticking clocks and glass Earths lead the eye through dreams and inner worlds and even characterize entire interactions and distract from sometimes painfully repetitive dialogue. And the colour spreads and tarot cards are insane maximalist works of art. The fight scenes are illegible, but I don't think CLAMP knows how to solve this.

The character design is mostly memorable, transforming undeveloped personalities into fully realised characters, like Satsuki's bio-tech room - though Aoki and Fuuma look too similar. My caveat is I don't like the cuter look we get in the later volumes when they were influenced by other series they were drawing, though it still reads (Vol 1-10ish are the peak). Still, the art grants the story a mythos greater frankly, than what it ever achieved in its writing.

Questionable Elements: I've alluded that many CLAMP manga have a baseline sprinkle of sexism - not anymore than a lot of shojo, but something I'm more able to spot now than when I was a teen. X is decidedly more sexist. FIVE separate women are fridged to either help a male character and/or cause a male character pain, with Hokuto's being the worst because X strips her of so much agency to turn her into Kakyou's lost love. Arashi loses her power because she is no longer a virgin. Yuzuriha and Satsuki's arcs revolve around their male love interests. Kotori's writing is terrible (bless the anime for making her a PERSON) and Kanoe can definitely veer into hyper-sexualized fanservice in a way male characters aren't. I don't love how Karen's emotional worth culminates in becoming a mother. And Nataku lacking a soul because they weren't "born from a mother" sits poorly (plus being genderless because they're literally from a lab). X is one of my favourite CLAMP works, but it has a sexism issue and I think dismissing it as "well, it's a tragedy", fails to see the differences in how women are written and treated by the story, vs. the men.

The Ending: So, the elephant in the room is X has no ending. The anime and movie attempt to conclude things, to mixed effect: the anime ignores that Kamui's true wish is NOT to bring Fuuma back, and while the movie ending ties us back to X's inspiration Devilman, it feels mostly for shock. Ultimately, it doesn't matter because, how do you assess a story that is only 6/7 way told? I'm trying not to heavily speculate on whether the ending would have elevated or diminished X. In the end, I think X is still worth the read despite the lack of ending. As Subaru says, nothing will change and nothing will get better if you don't, but you will walk away changed if you do try it.

Overall: I've seen people say X is a series more to be experienced than to be read, and I both agree and don't. X is a visual tour de force, probably one of the most beautiful manga I have ever read and lessens MANY of its flaws. And it's true it doesn't stick all its story beats or character writing and perhaps, in hindsight, they might have written it smaller and more cohesive. But there is something beautifully human and raw and ugly and intimate at the heart of X, of human connection and shadow selves and self-destruction and free will, that really haunted me afterwards.

'X, despite its edginess, stands out from the drecks of misanthropic, apocalyptic, violent tales of dueling best friends for centering its story at the heart of the human soul. It remains deeply resonant and influential more than 30 years after it was started, and 20 years after it halted, and for that I would count it amongst CLAMP's best. It's a fascinating deconstruction of heroic sacrifice and selfless love and in so doing reaffirms human connection, individuality, and hope in the face of the apocalypse. The future, after all, is not yet decided.

[sparrowsgarden]

"i would do this project if i knew how to x" you don't need anyone's permission to learn a skill.

like i don't know how to say this to some people but you will need to learn new things, regularly, for your whole life. there is not some age at which you just know how to do shit, so one of the best things you can do is to get comfortable with the process of learning. knowledge is not going to magically descend upon you and also, hopefully, you are not going to subsist forever on what you happened to learn as a kid. so you'll need to learn the meta-skill of learning.

like 90% of my work is "nobody else has done this in a way that i like so i guess i'm going to", and that basically always means learning new skills! i learned plenty of things from school, but most of the stuff that i actually use regularly is self-taught to some degree.

let's make this actionable. here are some tips you can use if you want to learn art, or coding, or how to use a software, etc etc.

1. find somebody who knows how to do the thing and ask them how they learned/if they have useful resources.

there are some things which you have to actually go take a class for, but most things i see people vaguely wishing they could do are not those. however, it is worth asking someone who knows what they're doing which resources are actually helpful for beginners. the pros to asking self-taught people are they also had to learn from whatever stuff they could scrape together. the cons are they're more likely to have very weird ideas of how to do things. either should be fine for pointing you to stuff, though.

you can ask for tips too, that's always fine. but what you really want is to know which sources to trust when you need to look up how to do like a million specific little things.

also, if you're looking for beginner-level art stuff that is not for kids, it'll be to your advantage to find someone who has at the least gone through instruction targeted toward that level (such as, someone who's been in a college-level intro course that isn't specific to art students). it is super easy to get overwhelmed with art stuff if you aren't fairly careful and targeted about what you work on at first, especially if you're truly starting from scratch.

2. being confused is ok.

absolutely nobody opens up a program for the first time, without having done anything similar before, and understands how to use it. being confused when you start something new is not indicative of an inability to learn, it is a necessary step of the process. occasionally it also means that whoever designed the software did a bad job. either way, consider this part of the learning meta-skill.

3. fuck around. troubleshoot.

if the skill of troubleshooting problems is not one you're already good at, then you're getting a meta-skill two for one. don't be afraid to ask people for help if you get really stuck, but most of this is looking shit up. having that list of trusted resources to start your search will be a huge help.

4. don't do everything at once.

start simple and work your way up with mini-projects, no matter what you're doing. this is the advantage of having access to instruction, it's paced out to force you to practice regularly before moving on. depending on the size of the project you have in mind you can disregard this if it keeps you more motivated to see immediate progress, but beware!

5. resist the urge to redo.

at some point you will, presumably, get to actually doing that thing you want to do. when you get the urge to scrap everything and start over because you're not happy with your original approach, stick with it for just a bit longer. honestly, sometimes starting over is the right answer, but it's usually worth some extra consideration. if new stuff doesn't build on old stuff, you're probably better off moving on forward rather than getting trapped in the cycle of endless redos. if it does, at least really take the time to consider whether a redo would be helpful.

i would also say something like "make it a habit" but i have the type of intractible adhd where that's damn near impossible so like. do your best. anything that's worth doing is worth your persistence!

[buwheal]

Honestly as much as it sucks not being able to show like. 90% of what I have planned due to no one asking about it, the 10% of the time they do is like. God it's so good. You have no idea how amazing it felt when FINALLY people asked if Yellow knew Spam tore off his face.

I try my best to give hints but at the end of the day, if they don't pick up on it, I don’t touch it until it's important again. Obviously this doesn't really work with your not-story ask blog but... idk. I guess it's just something I keep in mind. If it's really important, if it's something they Need to know, it's best to make it obvious enough for the majority to understand. I mean, remember when it took like 2 days for just Me to realize spam was saying he doesn't starve /all/ the time?

Most people aren't extremely detail oriented, I've realized, and it makes it harder to strike a balance between a hint and essentially giving the answer on a silver platter.

Sorry I'm just rambling in your box. I guess I'm just trying to give my own perspective? Idk. What is bro yapping about etc etc.

Ouuhhh i BET!!!! Its so fun i get what you mean!!! Ty for the advice,, btw!! Its rlly helpful to get another perspective from someone who also has an active spam box lol X-S That i know of at least... may be more.. I think i gotta tinker with some stuff btw !!!!DO NOT!!!!! (/silly) apologize!!! for yapping!!!! or for rambling!!!! I love hearing from my moots!!! :wave:!!!!! All the little guys in my puter your little ramblings are music to my ears

[curlyboys]

Rating these tropes from fave to least fave for bucktommy: omegaverse, modern magic, sentinel-guide, soulmates, alternate universe - different jobs, alt universe - different first meeting, super powers, werewolf, vampire, fairytale retelling.

1 - alt universe - different first meeting

my fave!! tommy never leaves the 118 OR they meet on a call before season 7 because tommy is flying the chopper - he's been around so much already - or one of them is injured or trapped/stranded. i just really love them both being firefighters but meeting at an earlier point in canon.

2 - alternate universe - different jobs

not a big fan of their jobs being completely different - like actors, doctors, athletes, ceos etc. (although i have seen a few tumblr ficlets that have me wanting to read 50k of a particular dynamic) but i do love when their jobs are different threads taken from canon (or related media) so: swat!tommy (thankyou swat!lou), mercenary!tommy (thankyou Outer Banks lou), 118!tommy, seal!buck, armypilot!tommy, mechanic!tommy, chef!buck, ranchhand!buck, bartender!buck..

BTW: going to add Royal AUs in here because holyshit i love the potential (and oliver being in Into The Badlands makes me wanna watch) whether set in medieval times or modern times gimme arranged marriage or forbidden love or anything i just need some royal boys or one royal boy and one civilian or soldier or something i need them all.

3 - vampire

i have envisioned a few vampire au ideas sparked by some of lou's photoshoots and an audition video he did for a vamp role? but i haven't found any vamp fics yet. i love the idea of older vampire!tommy with human buck. a simple yet delicious concept.

4 - super powers

maybe i'm a little swayed by the fact lou has played a superhero, and also there's a Percy Jackson AU going around that i was surprised by how much i enjoyed it, but yeah gimme superpowers: either one or both of them have powers, could be an X-Men type thing or The Boys or something. i'm very much into the whole antihero and vigilante thing so gimme some angst, maybe some Daredevil or Jessica Jones vibes. i'm also a fan of the clark/superman secret identity thing and the two-person love triangle thing.

5 - sentinel guide

this is the first i'm hearing of this trope but i googled it and i like the sound of it: it would have elements of a Fantasy or Superpowers AU but with the specific dynamic of buck having a power or purpose and either not feeling up to the task or going overboard or needing help and tommy being his guardian or guide, and for their relationship to shift into something romantic even though it's not supposed to, i love that.

6 - modern magic

i don't really like modern magic - i'm more into fantasy worlds and pre-modern magic. something about mixing magic with the digital technology era just doesn't spark joy in me. HOWEVER: i would be into witchy stuff set in the 90s or earlier (i've seen talk of a Practical Magic AU on the dash and i would be all over that even though i haven't watched the movie yet i know enough about it to want it).

7 - soulmates

being a Supernatural fan meant developing a loathing for soulmates and fate because in canon they're tied to a controlling asshole god, so i'm sort of conditioned to evil-eye soulmate tropes. HOWEVER: i absolutely adore the invisible string theory for buck and tommy, but i don't think there's much there to focus on fic-wise. it works as a satisfying narrative thing in the show, but idk.. i'm open to good fic recs for this trope if anyone has them?

8 - fairytale retelling

i confess i don't really understand this trope? i tried googling it and i kinda get it, but i think it would be a struggle to make it bucktommy without getting too ooc? idk. if anyone can give me an example with our boys that'd be great because right now i'm just confused and don't see it.

9 - werewolf

despite being an og Teen Wolf fan, i don't like werewolf AUs for other shows. outside of Teen Wolf i'm just not into it, which is odd i think.

10 - omegaverse

i'm not into a/b/o at all, so.

[pennyserenade]

i saw that there’s going to be a new x-files series developed by ryan coogler and BOOKED IT to your blog!!! what do you think??! how do you feel??!!

first off: i love you omg??? i love that show so much--more than words can adequately express, as i'm sure you're aware--and im honored you want to hear my thoughts about this news.

at first i said that i wasn't going to say anything because admittedly not all my thoughts are great, and i don't want to shit on it before it even gets the chance to prove its worth. i'm not at all opposed to diversity being added into the x-files, or the show being developed by a person of color. in fact that's one of the things i'm most excited for regarding this. the entire time i watched the original show i noticed the startling lack of diversity in the cast, the plot, and the writers room. the original show does suffer at times from being written namely by white men and i think the x-files reboot probably will do better in terms of those things. at least i certainly hope

what i'm hesitant about is the fact that i don't see the x-files working in the modern day. when they did the revival back in 2018 (? i don't remember the exact year because i wasn't there yet, but i think it was around that time) it was obvious that they were all scrambling to make the plots work in the contemporary age. so much of the conflict in the x files is wrapped around the fact that fox mulder cannot prove that the government is doing all of these heinous shit, and that the paranormal and extraterrestrial stuff is real. he never could collect any tangible evidence that couldn't be ruined and he never could garner enough public support even if he did have it to build up to anything reputable before it was. they were always able to discredit him. now he could do that. we live in an age where everyone has a cell phone and an opinion and we can all get things to people faster than the speed of lightening.

but also there's the fact that every one has a cell phone and an opinion. it might not work, not because the characters can get evidence quickly and then, bam, the conflict is all gone, but also because conspiracies aren't what they used to be. we live in paranoid and tired age. our computers track us, companies own our data, and we see more ads in one year than someone in the 1960s saw in their entire lives. since 2020 i've heard the united states government twice confirm the existence of aliens and ufos. and then you've got shit like qanon and the campaigns of constant misinformation and no one is exactly sure what is real and what isn't. put fox mulder from the 90s on twitter or reddit for a week and you've got a terrible mess on your hands. in the revival scully literally tells him, "mulder the internet isn't good for you." much of the same can be said about the entire x-files in general. it simply doesn't have that magic that it did in the 90s when you translate it for the modern day.

my last complaint is the fact that i love mulder and scully so much, and the idea of anyone but these two characters doing the government work they did feels sacrilegious. i don't want other people playing fox mulder and dana scully, and i don't want other people playing remixed versions of fox mulder and dana scully. if they're going to start new i sure hope they start from scratch because these are two characters who are so beloved and cared about. i think it's almost disrespectful to tread on the paths they already walked.

having said all that i do think this reboot isn't without its hope. a lot of what i complained about can be solved with a simply putting this reboot in a different time period. i'd love to see what the an x files-like government sector would like in the '60s, '70s, or '80s. there's a lot to be said about the government in those time periods. it was all rife with reasonable conspiracy and i think they could very well do with making diverse storylines and all of that. i want this to succeed more than anyone. i'm just scared about it lol

[weikipedia]

Where you going now?

Jack Blades X OC

Summary: Ren was the bassist of a big 80’s band but now it's the 90s and her band broke up. Now she's back in her hometown and she's lost. Where does she go from here?

Note: If people like this I can write a lot based on this! So just let me know!

Nothing has felt the same since I came back. Then again nothing is the same. I was in a successful band, we were touring the world and sold millions of records and now it's all over. Just like that one argument too many and the landscape of music changed and it's over.

Now I'm back in the same Swedish town I grew up in. The one I wanted so desperately to escape and did, only to come back. I missed it. Or at least I thought I did.

I felt some kind of emptiness when the band ended. When the thing I decided all the last ten years of life too came crashing down. I didn't know what to do now. I needed a break.

Then I found out step mother had passed. Leaving my dad and my younger four sisters alone. I realized I couldn't let them grieve alone. I had to be there for them.

So I came back here. I thought maybe this time it would be different I wouldn't want to run. I'd seen the world and I'd lived in a different place. Yet I still want to run. It doesn't feel like home anymore. Yet I don't know where does.

Deep down I do, but it's not a place it's a person. Someone I left behind in America. It was a mistake. I shouldn't have run. I’m just do used to heartache and the distance. The distance. God the distance. It was okay when I lived in L.A. while doing one of our albums, but I knew once I left it could never be. I can't make him his home and I can't be with him. I have to be with my family.

I wish things were different I wish I didn't have to let him go. It's funny to think I would never have met him I didn't start my band. I would never have been on that tour that brought us together and I would never have been in America.

I love my family. I love my dad. He raised me as a single father till I was ten. He worked his ass off to give me the best life possible and taught me everything I know. He never discouraged me. Even if it was ridiculous to think a girl from Sweden could be a rockstar. He is my number one fan. Hell, he made a whole shrine to me in our house.

I have nothing but love and respect for him. Yet I know I've outgrown this place. I had back when I left and nothing has changed. Sure it will always be a part of me but it's not me anymore. I just need to figure out my next move and stop pining for the man I left behind.

“Ren!” I hear my dad call up the stairs.

“I’m coming down Dad!” I call back making my way out of my childhood room and down the stairs.

“Yes, Dad?” I ask looking up and nearly gasping from shock.

There in my childhood home's living room. Sitting right on the couch was Jack Blades. The very American boy I had been pining after minutes before.

This must be a dream. He can't really be here. Why would he come all the way here? Oh my god, he can't even speak Swedish how did he find me?

“Jack,” I manage through the shock. “Why are you here?”

“To see you, Ren.” He says looking at me, getting up and walking a few steps closer.

“How did you find me?” I ask, I mean I never told him the address and Sweden is a big country.

“I called him.” my dad speaks up from behind me. What? How did he- then I remembered.

It was a few nights ago. I was being melancholy as always. Of course, my dad noticed. He asked me what was going on and I told him I was just missing someone. Now my dad being my dad managed to pry it out of me.

I didn't expect he’d somehow find his number and call him up. I can only imagine Jack’s reaction to that phone call. That he'd get Jack here. Hell, I figured he'd leave it be. After all, it is a guy and my dad hasn't always been into the idea of me and guys.

I remember when he didn't like me being in my band because it consisted of 4 other guys and me. Some of which are older than me. Mind you I was like sixteen when I joined. Now I'm in my late 20’s.

“I miss you, Ren,” Jack says, and I miss him too of course but I did what I had to do.

“I miss you too,” I tell him. “I just can't leave them.” As much as I'd love to go with him and be with him, I can't leave. Not now.

“Yes, you can Ren.” My dad says firmly in his dad I mean business voice. “We’ll be fine. You’ll never be happy here. You haven't even picked up a bass or made a song. You aren't yourself.”

The truth is I won't be. He's right. I miss playing. I stopped because I got so disenchanted with it all. After everything that happened. After the band I worked on for ten years fell apart I lost myself. I came here trying to relive something. The youth I no longer have, but I'm not that girl anymore. All I ever wanted to do was leave and that hasn't changed. I'm just lost.

I want to keep making music I just don't know how and I don't know if anyone would want to hear it. That’s what scares me most. Doing something for it to become nothing.

“Ren. I'm going on tour in and few weeks. Please come.” Jack asks me, he hasn't let go of my hand since he took it.

I know as much as I love my family staying here isn't how I find myself again. That's all I want, to find myself again. In the last year, I lost me and I want her back.

“I’ll come,” I tell Jack. I think it's the right choice. Plus he came all this way for me he deserves this. I mean California is along way from Stockholm. I also want to be with him. I know that now. I've always known that but I think being apart has made me realize it more. I don't want to not have him in my life. I'm ready to start my new life with him in it.